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stanzoeywade · 4 years

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Poppy x MC Tinder AU

Summary: based off that one tumblr post about a girl who never experienced an orgasm and their friend hooks them up with their lesbian friend. aka, the au that no one asked for.

in which Veronica and Chloe find out that Poppy's never experienced an orgasm and they decide to help her out by creating a tinder account for her, cue MC finding her account and shenanigans happen.

Warnings: swear words maybe some smut but nothing too graphic. (OWO)

If anyone wants to be added to taglist please reply. As always these are only my headcanons so enjoy my take on that tinder au anon asked @somewillwin about. Your brain anon omg.

Taglist: @somewillwin @belvoiresqueenbee @origmansello @clownery-is-a-new-personality @kamilahtrash @poppysminion @poppysimp @captain-hanadeleine @poppysmc @iiizdumb @uselesslesbianfr @scattered-to-the-winds @idiot-justidiot @toyhenoctus

First of all this discussion happens one night where Poppy, Chloe and Veronica get their asses drunk at a frat party. Believe or not the top 3 girls of Belvoire actually care about each other, they just have a really weird way of showing it.

A heart to heart talk starts and the three of them start to confess things that they would never talk about when sober. Cue Poppy saying "I've never experienced an orgasm in my whole life."

Chloe and Veronica just look at Poppy shocked and their jaws drop. Veronica just looks at Poppy with a weird look of pity, whilst Chloe just stares.

After realising what she said Poppy quickly sobers up and clams her mouth shut. "What do you mean you've never had an orgasm before?!" Veronica all but yells. "Gee V, couldn't you have said that any louder, I don't think the whole school heard you." Poppy replies sarcastically.

Veronica just rolls her eyes and says "Girl, you're not getting out of this convo that easily. Now spill the tea sis." Chloe and Veronica look at Poppy expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. Poppy just sighs and looks away cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed.

The two don't stop pestering her, so Poppy has no choice but to raise her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you" she says as her eyes narrow dangerously. "But if you tell anyone about this, I will actually erase the both of you from planet earth."

Poppy begins to explain that none of her exes made her feel good, and that whenever she had sex with any of them she always had to fake it, so much so that she's started to find sex boring.

Veronica and Chloe share a look and nod at each other. The both of them say "We're gonna set up a tinder account for you to find a good lay (basically the british version of saying good fuck), because that's just pretty fucking sad. Why didn't you tell us sooner, like bruhhh??."

Poppy just looks away and says "Its not like I can just go up to you guys and say 'I've never orgasmed before'". The two just nod their head in understanding before taking Poppy's phone and installing tinder.

They spend some time taking and choosing the best photos for Poppy to use on her tinder profile. (If anyone has seen Euphoria, you know that scene where Rue helps Jules take nudes, it's like that but PG-13) Considering that the three of them were pretty drunk, it was surprising to see how well it turned out.

Feeling sleepy, both Veronica and Chloe retreat back to their room, and Poppy just feels so tired that she falls asleep as soon as the other girls leave.

Waking up the next morning Poppy wakes up to the sound of her phone beeping numerous times and annoyed by the constant ping, she picks it up to see that almost all the notifications were from tinder.

Poppy is confused because wtf? When did she download tinder??? And then it hits her like a truck, 'Oh shit, we were all drunk as fuck last night, I thought that was some bizarre lucid dream but I actually have a tinder account. Fuck.' - she thinks to herself, embarrassed that Veronica and Chloe know her secret.

She sees a few messages from the group chat. Veronica sent her a message. "Poppy, istg if you delete tinder after all the time we spent making your profile look cute, I will post the ugliest picture I have of you on my insta." it reads. What surprised her is that Chloe actually backs Veronica up by saying "Yeah Poppy, it took our three collective brain cells to curate that account so you better use it."

Poppy giggles a little amused by her friends' reaction and she messages them back by saying "Fine, but if it doesn't work out you guys have to pay for my next shopping spree." Chloe and Veronica just agrees albeit unwillingly, but they know not to argue back.

Poppy decides to check the messages and matches that she got on tinder, disappointed but not surprised, most messages say "Send nudes" or a nude pic is attached to their messages. Poppy just rolls her eyes as she immediately unmatches them.

You were looking on tinder for your latest hook-up with no strings attached because ewww commitment and no one really caught your eye, except Poppy. Imagine your surprise when you find Poppy's profile on tinder, deciding that it was a troll account you decide to message them saying "Wow, of all the people you could choose to pretend to be, you choose the HBIC of Belvoire. Stop trying to catfish people, that's just shitty."

Poppy shocked at the sudden message that she gets from you scoffs and replies back "I'm not pretending to be anyone, Farmsville, in case you didn't know even I'm allowed to use tinder."

You just roll your eyes and text back "If you really are Poppy Min-Sinclair, prove it. I might hate Poppy's guts but trying to ruin her reputation by doing shit like this isn't funny."

This catches Poppy's attention, and suddenly she's curious. 'Why would she even stand up for me?' she can't help but wonder.

Poppy screenshots your conversation and sends it to Chloe and Veronica who have vastly different reactions. Veronica's response compiles of this emoji 👀, and the words "Farmsville likes girls, we been knew." and Chloe's response is more of a "WTF, I thought she was dating that Zoey girl."

The girls tell her that it would be fun to mess with you, and they tell her that she should prove that the profile is hers. Veronica also messages her privately saying "girl, her bio legit says 'not looking for commitment' this is like your chance to sleep with her and if you don't, I will." Poppy just grunts in annoyance and decides that fine, she supposed that you were attractive enough for a hook-up.

When you don't get a reply within the next ten minutes you scoff and roll your eyes. 'Damn, people really stoop so low huh.' - you think to yourself. There's a slight disappointment that crosses your mind once the account stopped replying to your messages. You were kind of hoping that it was the real Poppy after all.

Against her better judgement (gay denial right here folks, you're the first to see it), she decides to take a selfie and sends it to you.

Right as you're about to unmatch to what most likely seems to be a fake account, you're surprised to see a message from Poppy's supposed account. It was a selfie of Poppy, where instead of her usual pink fur coat, she's wearing something casual, and to be fair it's a really nice mirror selfie. (This is what I imagine) (I still stand by my headcanon of Poppy looking like Chungha but I couldn't find a good photo lolol)

Doubting that it's really Poppy, you decide to check your socials to see if she's uploaded any new images, and so far you haven't found anything. However you're nothing if not stubborn. You ask if she could prove that she's real and not some weirdo.

Poppy just rolls her eyes annoyed that she's being questioned, as a last ditch effort to gain your trust she sends another selfie, which is a bit more revealing than the last and once you see it your brain stops functioning.

Regaining your composure, you message her saying "I thought you had a boyfriend? What the fuck?" The only response you get is a reaction gif of some girl rolling their eyes. Being the little shit you are you decide to annoy her by sending selfies back, each photo more provocative than the last.

Poppy amused by the photos decides to get you back and it becomes a game of one-upping each other to see who takes better thirst traps. This continues on for an entire week (It's such a stupid competion and both of you know but you're both competitive af so yeah.) until Poppy snaps and contacts you using her actual phone number instead of the app.

Poppy's already frustrated and she's annoyed because she can't stop thinking about you and your stupidly hot, gorgeous body - oh my god I'm going insane she thinks to herself. She decides enough is enough and messages you. "FUCK YOU FARMSVILLE! BACK DOWN ALREADY!"

You wouldn't be yourself if you didn't have a sassy comeback ready so you reply with "FUCK ME YOURSELF YOU COWARD!" sending her yet another thirst trap, this one more revealing than the others.

Poppy snaps when she sees the message and she's quick to make a reservation to her favourite hotel in NYC, because as if she'd be seen taking you to her room. She gets the biggest room because she's extra like that and she knows she deserves the best.

The only response you get is a pinned location on the map, aptly captioned, "Meet me here Farmsville and I'll make you eat your words."

Still feeling feisty you reply with "Is that a threat or is that a promise? 😘😜" and Poppy just tells you to hurry up.

This is a really stupid idea - you think to yourself. You can't help but be suspicious of Poppy wanting to meet up, after all she can use this information against you. However none of that matters to your lust riddled brain, considering the last hook-up you've had was with Professor Kingsley and that was quite some time ago and you're really horny for some action.

You quickly dress in your best underwear, and choose something fashionable yet casual to wear because let's face it even if you hate Poppy, you don't want to look like a loser if you're gonna hook up.

Once you get there, you quickly make your way to the designated room that Poppy told you to go to. Knocking on the door, you're lowkey expecting Belvoire students to berate you, but once the door opens all you can see is Poppy.

Poppy is dressed in nothing but her underwear as she pulls you into the room. Feeling a bit awkward, you decide to break the ice by saying "I lowkey expected this to be some weird plan where you embarass me in front of your clique."

Poppy just looks at you and she scoffs as she says "As much as I hate you Farmsville, even I wouldn't stoop that low. Plus it's a crime to share nudes without a person's permission." You just look at her in disbelief jaw dropping as you take all of her in. I mean if you thought she looked good in the photos, then damn seeing it in real life was a different experience entirely

She notices that you're staring and she just flashes you a smirk and says "See something you like?" and all you want to do is wipe the smirk off her perfect face.

Stepping closer to Poppy, you make the first move and kiss her roughly, each kiss longer than the last and you can feel your heart pound as your nervousness dissipates and all you can focus on is the smell of Poppy's perfume and how it drives you wild. As well as how soft her skin feels against your hands and it's enough to drive you over the edge.

Poppy pulls away and you follow after her, annoyed by the fact that the kisses stopped. You can hear her pant as she struggles to breathe.

As soon as Poppy catches her breath, she says "I'm starting to feel under dressed so let's fix that shall we?" She pulls you towards the bed and she strips your clothing off, and you can't help but stare because holy shit this is actually happening. You start to wonder if you're dreaming until you feel Poppy kiss you again, this time slower and softer and you can't help the wistful sigh that escapes your lips.

You decide to take the lead until you hear Poppy say something. "Wait a minute Farmsville." You stop and listen because no matter how sexually frustrated you might be at the moment, consent is always important.

You wait patiently for her to start talking and she says "Don't make fun of me, but I've never known what an orgasm feels like." You can tell that she's flustered by the way she looks away and refuses to make eye contact.

Your eyes soften up and you kiss her gently on the neck and whisper "I guess that's something we can improve after tonight, but if you feel uncomfortable at any moment in time just tell me to stop." Surprised that you even cared about how she felt Poppy just nods her head softly at you.

"I'm gonna start touching you, okay Poppy?" you say your voice gentle, as you hope that it soothes her nerves. "Just relax and let me do the work, alright, I promise I won't hurt you." Poppy just shoots you a shy smile and your heart pounds because fuck that's the cutest fucking thing you've ever seen.

Kissing your way to her inner thighs, you can hear and feel her squirm against your touch. In order to keep her still, you place her hands on your hair and assure her that it's okay if she tugs on it. You place your hands on her hips to keep her steady as you tease and suck on her clit.

Poppy's small moans of contentment makes you want to do more, so you try extra hard because you want to hear more. You can feel Poppy's body begin to shudder and you can tell that she's close and spurred on by that you insert your fingers into her core and thrust until you can hear scream in pleasure.

You can't help but stare as her body starts to spasm and you let her grind so that she can climax again and it's the most erotic moment of your life.

Poppy feels her whole vision turn white for a moment and she feels euphoric once she realises that she came.

As soon as she regains her bearings, she turns to you, who looks very satisfied, and omg did she just see you lick her juices off your finger. That sends a wave of arousal straight to her core and she looks away embarrassed from being turned on again just a few seconds after coming.

You put your hand on her chin and turn her face towards you forcing her to make eye contact. "It's not over yet, Princess. I'm pretty sure that we can wriggle more of those out of you and the night is young." you say your voice dropping an octave.

By the time that you've finished, Poppy's mind has gone blank and she feels so tired that she doesn't think she can move. She's got to give you props though, because goddamn that was the first time she actually enjoyed sex and she actually got to cum too.

Noticing that Poppy's too tired to move, you decide to lift her up in a princess carry and surprised by your sudden action Poppy's about to protest until you just tell her to be quiet.

Placing Poppy in the bath tub, you turn on the faucet and makes sure that the water isn't too hot or cold as it fills up. After the bath has been filled you slip into the bathtub behind Poppy as you help her clean up.

'Okay now she's just being unfair, why is she being so nice.' Poppy thinks to herself. Trying to make conversation Poppy says "Why are you taking care of me, I half expected you to leave after we fucked." You rest you chin on her shoulder and say "I didn't want you to catch a cold, and besides what kind of a person would I be if I just left you on your own? I like to think of myself as a gentlewoman." You start to place soft kisses on her shoulders and Poppy just sighs wistfully, feeling at peace as she leans back against you. "Don't tell anyone but this was actually the most fun I've had. Hell I don't think any of my exes would have compared against you." Poppy says shyly.

You can't help the smile that creeps it's way to your face. "You can't say shit like that Poppy, I'm pretty sure you're gonna give me a heart attack if you act this soft." you say teasing lilt in your voice and you can hear Poppy giggle. It sounds so soft and you realise that it's a sound that you want to hear.

Your relationship as enemies with benefits start and the both of you can't really keep your hands off each other, God forbid if you're in the same room.

Intense stares from across the room that everyone assumes to be glares, but little do they know that it's your own way of communicating.

One day Poppy calls you up and tells you that you're going shopping, but in reality it was just an excuse to spend more time with you. On the way to the mall, you guys get frisky in the car and before you can stop yourself you say "Babe" and you can't help but think that you've fucked up.

Poppy doesn't say anything but she likes the new pet name and can't wait to hear you say it again.

You guys go to a high end designer store and one of the staff approaches you and says "You guys look good together." While you're quick to deny it, Poppy just thanks them, but as she hears you deny it her eyes widen and you can see her heart break in front of your eyes. Poppy runs off and you're confused.

The employee looks at you and says "I probably shouldn't say anything else today but you should go after her. It's obvious that you both like each other."

Searching the mall, you're relieved once you see Poppy sitting down on a bench, and you approach her carefully. You see that her eyes are red and you feel shitty because you're the reason why she's crying.

Poppy notices you and she's about to run off again until you catch her wrist in your hand. "Poppy please look at me." you plead and she doesn't budge as she tries to get away from your grip.

Seeing that she can't outrun you considering you're holding onto her she just sighs and looks at you. Her face is covered in tears and you use your other hand to wipe them away.

"You know after you called me babe in the car, I was so happy because I thought that it meant that we were dating, but I guess I was just another girl for you to fuck." Poppy says and your heart breaks.

"I thought that you didn't like me that way, so I quickly denied that we were dating. I do like you Poppy, but you never made it clear that we were in a relationship. Though to be fair I should have tried to clear things up too. I guess we're both idiots huh?" You say as you hold her face between your hands.

Leaning in you capture Poppy's lips and she eagerly kisses you back, happy to resolve the misunderstanding.

Unbeknownst to the both of you a Belvoire student caught everything on camera and by the next day everyone on campus knows that you guys are dating.

No one dares to say anything because uhhh POWER COUPLE and they're highly scared of Poppy killing them lol.

Long story short Poppy sees your tinder account and you compete for better thirst traps and well you start fucking and it ends up with you two dating.

Well that was long, hope you guys enjoy, don't forget to like or reblog if you like it.

#playchoices #poppy min sinclair #queen b #poppy x mc #poppydailychallenge #choices #makepoppyali2020 #queen b poppy #choices stories you play #tinder au #veronica lombardi #chloe st. james #headcanons #choices fic #i hope y'all enjoy reading #these is just my take on the Poppy tinder au that anon asked @somewillwin #squint squint #veronica x mc but its one sided bc mc is only interested in poppy

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threeletterslife · 4 years

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04 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity again, mentions of depression and physical abuse, mentions of sharing a bed (because jimin is freaky) & pretty bad pms-ing

→ wordcount: 7.4k

You walk into Jimin's classroom, as usual, setting down your backpack as you prepare to wait for a couple of hours for your teacher to finish grading tests.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says as you sit down at your desk. He grins happily at you. "I actually finished grading everything for once, so I was thinking we could go and grab something to drink. It's my treat since I feel bad for always making you wait after school for me."

"Really?" you say, excited. "Then can we go to that new coffee shop? Wattbucks was it? It's a bit far from here, but I hope that's fine."

You had purposely suggested a place far away from your school, afraid of any of your peers seeing you grab a drink with your teacher. That would surely raise some suspicion to gossipy, hormonal teenagers.

Jimin nods to your relief. "Yeah, I think it was called Wattbucks. Let's go, I could use a good latte."

"I'm gonna totally tease Jin. He's always wanted to learn latte art," you laugh as you get up from your seat and swing your backpack over your shoulder.

Your friend laughs as he opens the classroom door for you to get out first. "I'm not surprised. That cousin of yours loves anything food-related. I think that's where you got it, Y/N the hog."

You slap his shoulder.

After spending more time picking a drink than you spend taking your math tests, you finally decide on a cute aesthetic one that claims to come with a heart latte art.

"I'll have the same as her," Jimin tells the barista.

"Copycat," you murmur as your teacher pays for the drinks.

"Am not," Jimin murmurs back as both of you choose a nice, warm seat in the corner of the cafe. "I wanted the heart-shaped latte too! You just ordered first."

You roll your eyes dramatically. "Fine, fine," you sigh as you adjust your seat on the plush cushion set beneath you. "This place is so nice."

"Does Jin not take you out often?" Jimin asks as he stretches back comfortably. "I should take you to WattDonald's sometime—it has a nicer interior design."

"No, he insists eating at home is much healthier or some shit," you sigh, then you frown, processing the other half of Jimin's words. "Wait, are you telling me you literally judge cafes by their interior design?" you ask.

"Why not?"

"I don't know... because you go to cafes to eat? Not see?" you say sarcastically.

Jimin laughs. "If you're going to eat, might as well eat someplace nice, right?"

You snort. "I'm no queen. I can eat in a dumpster and still be happy that I'm eating," you remark.

"Y/N the hog," Jimin whispers, grinning mischievously at you.

"Hey!" you shout, slamming your hands on the table.

Jimin only laughs. "Calm down!" he says between his laughter. "I was joking!"

You're still seething when a waitress practically skips over and hands you and Jimin your matching drinks.

Immediately you forget your dispute with Jimin as your eyes turn wide in wonder. "Oh, it's so pretty!" you coo at the drink. The cream-colored coffee cup to the elegant heart etched into the foam—it was all so beautiful.

Jimin nods, admiring his drink as well.

"Jin's going to die when I send him a picture of this!" you say as you fish out your phone and start to snap pictures of the rather photogenic cup of latte.

It doesn't take long before Jimin starts to photobomb, making silly faces in the background of your aesthetic pictures. "Jimin!" you whine. "Jokes on you, I'm sending the ugliest picture of you with the latte to Jin!"

Jimin shrugs. "As long as Jin doesn't post it, I'm fine."

"I'll tell him to," you say, evilly.

"My best friend wouldn't betray me like that."

"My favorite cousin wouldn't betray me like either," you say. "He'll post it!"

You quickly text Jin the picture.

You look up from your phone to see Jimin talking to the waitress.

"Yes! We've been dating for three years now," Jimin says, suddenly putting an arm around you.

"Wha—" you say, shocked out of your mind. Was he drunk again? But drunk from a latte? Was that even scientifically possible?

"Thank you so much for offering us a free couple's mini cake," Jimin tells the waiter, squeezing your shoulder.

OhhhHhhHh. You catch on. You want that complimentary cake.

You nod. "Three years strong!" you giggle.

"Oh, how adorable!" the waitress squeals, "I'll get you two the cake! Would you like a photo afterward? Even your lattes match!"

"Yes please," you say. "My cousin would want to see a picture of us."

Jimin nods, catching on. "Jin, that rascal. I've always told him to find a girl of his own."

The waitress laughs. "Oh, how adorable!" she repeats, "I'll get the mini cake!" And with that, she disappears into the kitchen.

You start to laugh. "Jimin, what the hell?"

"What? Free food!" his whispers in your ear.

You forget his arm was around you until he takes it away, the warm imprint still hovering over you.

The waitress comes back in a flash, holding a small, aesthetically pleasing cake. She places it smack in the middle of the table, as Jimin snakes his arm around your waist to play couple again.

You hand the waitress your phone, which she gladly takes. "Keep posing!" she says as she starts to snap photos repeatedly.

You and Jimin rotate from smiling to silly faces to pouty faces, but the waitress just won't stop with the pictures. Finally, she pauses, putting your phone down a bit.

"Only your faces look different, move your bodies!" she urges. "Kiss! It'll look adorable!"

You and Jimin give each other looks.

Oh shit.

"Oh no, we're completely fine," Jimin says as you nod in agreement.

The waitress scrunches her eyebrows. "A couple, huh?" she says. That's when it occurs to you that now you two are a suspicious couple.

Okay, but since when did couples have to kiss on demand??

"Let's just do it for the picture, Jimin," you say.

Jimin whirls on you, giving you a panicked look, but he quickly replaces it with a smile, nodding. "Okay Y/N, whatever you say."

"Adorable!" the waitress squeals.

You're starting to think this woman is the most annoying person ever.

With a bit of hesitation, you and Jimin turn to each other, Jimin cupping your face with his warm hands as you naturally sling your arms around his shoulders. He doesn't even look nervous as he habitually licks his full lips. You, on the other hand, knew you are beet red and you look a bit nervous as you both lean into each other, lips inching closer and closer. This just reminds you of the first time you'd kissed your teacher...

No, Y/N!

You almost feel bad, wondering if Jimin actually thought you'd kiss him. With only an inch to spare before your lips would meet, you jump back, laughing.

"Jiminie!" you whine. "Your breath stinks!"

"It does not!" Jimin shouts defensively before realizing your save. "Okay fine, I forgot my mint today."

The waitress laughs. "Even more adorable!" she says, not even suspecting a thing. "I took a picture of you two just about to kiss though!"

"Let me guess," you say. "It's adorable."

The annoying waitress nods. "How'd you guess?" she says as she happily hands back your phone.

"I had a hunch," you reply.

"Okay, well, I'll leave you two to finish up your adorable date!" the waitress sings as she practically skips away.

You turn to Jimin. "That's a fuckload of trouble you almost got us in, Jiminie," you say.

Your teacher laughs. "The save of the century brought to you by Y/N," he jokes. "God, I almost thought we had to reenact that time I was dru—"

"Oh shut up," you say, nudging Jimin, feeling your face turn red. "That was not appropriate."

"Whatever," Jimin chuckles. "Now what are you going to do with those couple photos we just took?" he teases. "Blackmail me?"

You perk up. "Wow, that's actually a good idea," you tease back. "I'll keep them—you know, for memories."

"Good idea."

"And maybe send them to Jin."

"Goddammit," you breathe as you stand helplessly outside your house. Jimin had just dropped you off and you were pretty sure he had driven away by now. You were screwed. Being your dumb self, you had forgotten your house keys and now you were locked out of the house. "Shit," you breathe. "This is just swell."

"Everything all right?" a familiar voice calls from behind. You whirl around, surprised to see Jimin watching you from his car.

"What are you still doing here?" you ask, frowning slightly as you start to walk up to your teacher's car.

"I always watch until you're inside your house," Jimin says, "just in case something were to happen. I thought you knew."

"Uh, no," you say, your brows creasing.

"Well, now you do." Jimin shrugs, quickly changing the topic. "Now what's the problem?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes at yourself. "Being the dumbass that I am, I locked myself out of my house."

Jimin chuckles, his eyes scrunching up cutely as usual. "Wow, I can't believe you're my best student. Get in the car, I guess you can stay at my house."

You freeze. "Uh, you sure?" you say. "Won't I bother you or something?"

But it was more like: Holy fuck am I really going to consider staying over at my teacher's house?? These days, other girls in your grade were busy staying over at guys' houses that were in their age range doing who knows what. You? Not so much.

"Nah, you won't be a bother," Jimin says surely. "It's always nice to have company."

As genuine as your friend sounds, you're still a bit skeptical. After all, it is your teacher's house... Mentally, you thank God that it's Friday. You don't want to imagine the awkwardness if you went to school the next day in the same clothes as before, all the while pulling up in Jimin's car. You shudder slightly at the thought.

But you also kinda have no choice.

"Okay... then," you say hesitantly as Jimin smiles and reaches over to open the car door for you. You clumsily climb back into his car. "Thanks, uh, I guess."

It feels a bit weird at first to step foot into Jimin's house. It's rather larger than you've imagined a teacher's house to be, but you can still tell that it's a cozy place.

"Make yourself at home," Jimin says, gesturing towards his commodious abode. "You can take the bed later, I'll sleep on the couch."

You nod. "Uh, yeah, thanks."

Goddammit. Is it just me or is this fucking awkward?

"Hey, do you usually cook?" you ask, hoping to brush off some awkwardness.

"Not really. I get takeout," Jimin answers. "But I think I have ramen somewhere if you don't wanna go out."

"Ooh, yes!" you say, never a girl to pass up ramen, or food in general. "It's just that... I don't really know how to cook it. When Jin said I can't cook for shit, he meant it," you confide, shrugging.

Jimin shrugs too. "Me neither. But how hard can it be?"

Your jaw drops. "Maybe we should get takeout then. I don't want to burn your house down or something," you say as Jimin makes his way to his spacy kitchen.

"Nah," your teacher answers as he rummages through his kitchen cabinets and fishes out two packs of ramen. "Like I said, how hard can it be?" Instinctively, Jimin rips both packs open, takes out the important contents and tosses the bags away.

"Shouldn't we use the directions you just trashed?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning.

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, waving his hand. "It's just ramen, how hard can it be?" Your teacher pulls out a large pot and fills it three-quarters with water. "Do you think this is enough?"

You squint at the water sloshing again the pot, scrutinizing the amount. "I dunno. Maybe you should put a bit more just in case. More doesn't hurt, right?"

"Right." Jimin fills the pot with water to the brim. "I think this is alright."

You nod. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I've seen Jin boil the water first."

"Do you know how long he boils it?" Jimin asks as he places the pot on the stove and turns it on in one swift move.

"Not really... But I remember he told me once you need bubbles in the water," you reply as you examine the water carefully.

"Like this?" Jimin asks as he cautiously points at minuscule bubbles forming around the ring of the pot.

You squint. "Those are some tiny-ass bubbles. But they're bubbles nonetheless," you say, chuckling slightly.

"See? I told you. This is easy," Jimin chuckles. "And fast," he adds. "Now we add in the ramen."

"Yup," you say. "Logically, we should let it cook for a while."

"So... thirty minutes?"

"Exactly what I was thinking."

But thirty minutes later, something didn't look quite right.

"Um, Jimin, is the water supposed to spill out from the sides?" you inquire, tapping your teacher's shoulder.

"No, shit, Y/N!" Jimin screams, as he dashes over to the overflowing pot and starts an attempt to turn the fire off. However, that was definitely not a good idea, especially since the steaming water was pouring down on the sides of the pot. "Ah, fuck!" your teacher shouts. "That's hot!" Jimin waves his red hand away.

"God, Jimin, you okay?" you shriek as you rush over and get a rag to safely turn the stove off.

"Yeah. Yeah," Jimin brushes your question off, covering his hurt hand with his good one.

"Get some ice," you say as you try to fan away the smoke that was now making its way up to the smoke detectors. "Ah, shit," you say, just as the fire alarm goes off.

Jimin, icing his bright red hand falls to the floor in frustration as the annoying alarm makes an atrocious racket.

Fuck my life.

"Don't just sit there! Help me open the windows!" you scream at your teacher as you jump around the house, opening every window and every door you spy. Soon, Jimin's sprinting around with you, helping you with the task.

Several minutes later, the blasted fire alarm stops beeping. You and Jimin collapse on the floor side by side, breathing hard and looking dazed.

"We are never cooking again," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. "How's your hand?" you ask your teacher, looking over at him.

"Nothing that'll scar," Jimin says, rubbing ice on his hand. "God, I didn't know cooking ramen would actually be hard. I'm sorry."

You laugh. "No hard feelings. It wasn't your fault."

"Technically, it's a good thing all of this happened because I think I bought that ramen a decade ago," Jimin chuckles. "Things could've been worse if we ate that."

"You what?!"

Jimin laughs heartily. "It was all back when I thought I was going to cook for myself," he explains shortly. He suddenly turns to you, grinning. "So... for dinner, I was thinking Plan B. Pizza?"

"Pizza," you agree, smiling.

Munching on pizza slices and drinking diet coke, you and Jimin were sitting on the living room sofa, sharing small stories with each other.

"My parents totally did not want me to be a teacher," Jimin says. "I graduated from one of the top three colleges so they thought it was a waste for me to teach a bunch of teenagers."

"Should I be offended?" you chuckle. "But you seem to really like math and teaching in general. I think your job fits you."

Jimin grins at you. "Really?"

"Mhm. Besides, you have a perfect life, don't you? Parents, friends, best friends..."

Jimin raises his eyebrows. "And you don't? Good grades, caring cousin, amazing teacher..." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Perfect life," he purrs.

But you don't laugh and instead shake your head. "No, you don't understand," you bite out. Maybe a bit harshly—which you hadn't intended.

Jimin looks at you, startled from your sudden change in tone. "Woah, there, sorry," he quickly apologizes.

His sincerity immediately makes you feel bad and you sigh, shaking your head. "No, you shouldn't be apologizing," you say. "I... I just get extra moody when it comes to this."

"But aren't you always moody?" Jimin pokes fun at you as you shove him to the side. "Sorry, sorry!" Jimin squeaks as you shove him again. But as soon as he gains his straight posture back and looks over at you, you can tell he became serious. "Hey, Y/N, if you need to vent to me, I'm here to listen," he says.

You raise your eyebrows. "Who says I need to vent?"

"Your mood swings tell me everything." Jimin shrugs.

"You—"

"Y/N, I'm here to listen, not judge. You can trust me," Jimin interrupts, his voice convincingly soothing.

Goddammit, Jimin.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "Can I trust you?"

"You need me to trust you," Jimin answers. "Besides, hasn't anyone told you it's healthy to vent?"

You let out a rather aggressive sigh. "Fine."

"I'll be a great listener, I promise!" your teacher says as he snuggles into his couch, looking expectantly at you.

"Uh," you say, unsure of where to start. "Okay, lemme think, the school lunch is just plain nasty, students need to stop smoking in the bathroom and teachers need to stop giving tests on the same fucking day," you finish proudly.

Jimin laughs. "No way."

"No way, what?"

"You're so not moody because of those dumb reasons," your teacher accuses.

You frown. "And how would you know?"

"C'mon, those reasons are just stupid, Y/N!" Jimin laughs. "You've always been the worst at making up excuses. What's the real deal?"

You groan. "I'm so embarrassed," you mutter. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start wherever's comfortable," your teacher says in a coaxing voice. "No need to be embarrassed. I won't judge, I promise."

"I dunno, Jimin," you say.

"Have you told Jin your problem?" Jimin asks.

"Well, of course. He's literally involved in it," you say.

"And does Jin judge you for your problems?" Jimin inquires.

"Well, no—"

"Then I'll obviously do the same," your teacher answers. "I'll be another person in your life that will care to listen. Now, continue."

You slowly digest his words, taking in each meaning. Then, you hesitantly nod. "I guess... my problem isn't really much about school," you confess. "I think I use the school to distract myself from my problems." You pause, turning your head to look at Jimin, his face inches away from yours.

He stares back at you, his wide, chocolate eyes softening. His eyes tell you to continue.

"Um," you mutter. "Jin's the only good family I have at the moment," you say slowly, choosing your words wisely in your head. You pause again, looking towards your teacher but he's silent, his full attention on you and your story, so you continue.

You sigh deeply. "Maybe several years ago I had a lot of friends," you say. "I remember I was pretty damn popular too..." you trail off. "And honestly, I was really happy in the beginning, you know, being the center of attention and all... but I guess things changed and I realized... I-I was too different from my friends." You awkwardly shift your position on the couch and pause, choosing your next words carefully. "My friends were close to their families."

Jimin shifts up, crossing his legs and leaning forward to listen more intently. You take that as a sign to continue on once more.

"I guess I never really had a family, as cliche as that sounds. I mean, I had a mom and a dad, but what's the use of having them if they neglect me?" you say slowly. "I was never told that I was loved... I was misunderstood, misjudged. I dunno, this sounds so dumb and non-original," you sigh.

"Hey," Jimin says softly. "No problem you have is dumb. No problem is cliché." He puts a soft hand over yours; and it's not a gesture to seduce you, no, it's the complete opposite—it's a calming gesture, a supportive one, telling you to trust him with your past.

You nod gratefully. "You know, I've always hated the way young adult novels always portrayed family problems. They do it just so they hide the worst part of it—the yelling, the name-calling... Then the protagonist always meets the guy that seems to solve all of her problems and totally end up romanticizing pain and depression..." you trail off and take a deep breath. "Anyways, back then, I didn't even have anyone to vent to. I didn't have Jin, or you. I could never get my friends to understand either. Besides, when I'd tell them about how my mom would verbally abuse me, or when my dad would physically abuse me, they'd compare my pain with their little first world problems."

Jimin rubs small circles on your hand. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

You shrug, giving your teacher a weak smile. "I'm okay now, I promise. But back then I obviously wasn't. I remember one of my so-called friends complaining about how their mother didn't buy them the white wattPhone X and got them the black one instead or some kind of shit right after I poured my heart out about my family situation. And I dunno, something about people not seeming to care about me and my struggles just made me build up my own stress and anxiety," you explain. "I think I wasn't doing so mentally well back then."

It's then when you realize you're worked up. Your breathing was abnormally quick and your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you couldn't help but cover your eyes with your hands. "I'm not going to fucking cry," you mutter into your hands.

"You can cry, I won't judge," Jimin assures you.

And that was all it took for you for your tears to start flowing out of your eyes.

"I was never good enough for anyone! But especially my parents. One single mistake, you know, maybe second place in Science Olympiad would cause them to bring out a train of other failures I've had in my life. I'd work my ass off every day, but it would never be enough. And as I got older, I decided to fight for what I thought was right, so I'd talk back to them. But of course, when that happened they'd start ranting about how ungrateful I am. Sometimes I felt like I was more important to them for the letter grade I produce than the actual human being that I am," you whisper the last part. "I always felt like I could disappear into thin air and no one would miss me."

You feel a warm hand pat your back reassuringly. That lets you know you can continue. "I remember my parents talking about a rich aunt and uncle. So that one day I was so fed up with myself, I left the house with nothing and found myself at their doorstep."

Jimin starts to rub soft circles on your back and you lean into his touch, feeling so cared for, despite what you encountered in your past.

"My aunt and uncle were really skeptical about me staying at their house. It wasn't like my parents died or anything. It was just me, begging to stay because I didn't like my own parents. I'm pretty sure they would've driven me back to my house if Jin hadn't intervened. I distinctly remember that time," you say. "Jin, their only child, arguing for me to stay."

"That sounds like him," Jimin comments and you nod. "So does it get better after that?"

"Barely," you reply. "My parents found out pretty soon that I was living with my aunt and uncle. God, you have no idea how mad they got. Actually, it was more like infuriated and enraged. They told me I was a pathetic parasite always fishing for the best like I was some gold digger."

"I'm so sorry," Jimin whispers, taking your hand again. You nod your head, silently thanking him for his support.

"But it did get better. I made strong bonds with Jin," you say. "It's just that it became clear that I was just a nuisance to the family. Money was being spent on me, time was being used on me... I just felt guilty all the time. So I left or tried to leave. Jin stopped me and offered to run away with me. Apparently, he wanted to live his own life and write his own future," you say. "Our parents still don't know where we are and we're not letting them find us anytime soon."

"Are they not looking?" Jimin asks.

"I dunno and I honestly don't even care," you answer. "Jin and I made sure we moved far away enough."

Jimin nods. "Good."

You smile at your friend's support. "You know, Jin's a lot like you."

"Really?"

"His parents wanted him to continue his father's business like any rich son would, but Jin wanted to work in the theater department. He followed his passion and guided me here," you say. "Kinda what you're doing."

"Exactly what I'm doing." Jimin smiles, patting your hand before letting go. "Well, that was some life story."

"I try not to dramatize it." You shrug. "So did it work?"

"Eh..." Jimin says, "I'm trying to hold back my tears." He wipes away nonexistent tears with a silly grin on his face.

You roll your eyes. "Such a goof."

Jimin shrugs, suddenly becoming scarily serious. "Y/N... so it's because of your past that you have... er, trust issues?"

You flinch. "Possibly."

Jimin gives you a look.

"Okay, fine, yes. You caught me. I don't wanna make fake friends as I made in the past—even though family problems pushed me down, not having friends to support me kept me down. Jin and you are the only people that I've ever fully trusted."

Jimin nods. "Hey, I understand. I know how you feel."

You raise your eyebrows. "You do? Don't you have 50 million friends?" you ask.

"Well, out of the 50 million, guess how many I actually trust," he says, leaning back and taking a sip of his coke. Jimin scrunches his nose. "Ew, this thing isn't even fizzy anymore."

You giggle, rolling your eyes slightly. "I'm guessing you trust seven," you say. "It's a lucky number."

"Nope, one," Jimin replies. "Your cousin."

"Are you trying to tell me—"

"That true good friends take time and work to find?" Yes," Jimin says.

"No, that's not what I was gonna say," you giggle. "I was saying, are you trying to tell me that you don't trust me?"

Your friend laughs. "Oh c'mon, Y/N," he says. "Spare a man. Of course, I trust you."

"Good because I didn't just tell you my whole private life story for you to tell me that you don't trust me," you say, taking a sip of your unfizzy diet coke.

Jimin laughs again. "I trust you, okay? You're like a best friend to me," he says, as he stretches and gets up from his couch. "It's getting late and we need to pick up my other best friend from the airport nice and early tomorrow. We should get to sleep."

You beam at his words and stand up too. "Mhm."

"I'll show you up to my room," Jimin says as he gestures you over to the stairs of his house. That's when you realize, oh fuck, I'll be sleeping in my teacher's bed.

It's weird how sometimes Jimin can be your friend but your teacher at the same time.

"You can borrow one of my shirts to wear to sleep in you want," Jimin says as both of you walk into his rather spacious room. Your friend walks to his closet and pulls out a long, black t-shirt. He tosses it to you and you grab it instinctively.

"Thanks," you say. "Are you sure you don't want me to take the couch? It was comfy."

"Are you saying you don't want the bed?" Jimin asks sarcastically.

"I mean, no, a bed's nice but—"

"Are you saying we should share—"

You smack Jimin's back. "That was—"

"Not appropriate, I know, I know," Jimin interrupts you as he laughs. "You gotta learn to take a joke, though."

"Not if the joke is borderline sexual," you seethe. "Not if the listener is your student."

"Aw, c'mon Y/N, you're only my student in school," Jimin protests. "You're my friend outside of school."

You sigh. "Fine, then," you mutter as you start to push Jimin out of his room. "Get out, I'm gonna change."

"Okay, okay," Jimin laughs. "Goodnight, Miss Yoon."

"Goodbye, Jiminie," you tease as you shut the door on Jimin's laughing face.

You sigh as you snuggle up into Jimin's warm, velvety covers. They smelled like him: fresh, clean and masculine. You still can't seem to believe how amazing your friend is—he's almost too good to be true. Even after you spilled out your deepest secrets, he treats you just the same, he doesn't pity you, he doesn't think he's better than you in any way. It secures you so much to be around someone like Park Jimin.

You're so lucky to have him.

"Y/N!" you hear some high-pitched voice screaming in your ear.

"Shut up, I'm awake!" you scream back, ironically keeping your eyes closed as you turn over and smash the soft pillow over your head.

"You don't look awake," the voice teases. "C'mon, we have to go in a few minutes to get Jin or we'll be late!"

You groan as you slowly rise up, only to see your teacher sitting on your—his bed, staring right at you.

"Wait, fuck!" you shriek as you quickly pull up the covers to hide your body. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to come in unannounced into a lady's bedroom?"

Jimin cocks his head. "For your information, this is my bedroom," he chuckles.

"Oh my god, Jimin," you groan. "Get out! I'm not wearing anything under the shirt!"

Well, shit, Y/N. That was a bit too much information.

You can see your teacher's ears turn red as he quickly stands up. "Oh, right. I totally forgot... Sorry," he says hastily as he practically sprints out of the room.

You roll your eyes as you climb out of Jimin's bed, stretching. You had slept so well—maybe it was the sweet, masculine smell of the covers or the high-end quality of the bed. You hadn't known your teacher was so loaded.

Walking over to where you had neatly folded your clothes last night, you scrunch your nose, picking up your white t-shirt. "Pizza grease stains," you mutter. "I am a messy eater."

I guess it won't hurt to wear Jimin's t-shirt to the airport right? It just looks like a t-shirt dress anyway.

You quickly take your bra to the bathroom, putting in on, then washed your face and attempted to comb your hair with your fingers. By the time you're downstairs, Jimin is all dressed as well, most likely having taken his clothes out of his closet when you had been sleeping.

"I've never seen you wear a dress before," Jimin teases as you roll your eyes.

"I got grease stains on my other shirt," you reply. "I had no choice. It's okay if I borrow this for a day, right?"

Jimin laughs. "Yeah, no problem. You look good in it, anyway."

Flushing at his casual comment, you absentmindedly nod as you walk towards the front door. "Uh, we should go get Jin now," you say.

"Hold up, no breakfast?" Jimin asks as he holds an apple out for you.

"Oh, thanks," you say as you take the apple gratefully. "You're not eating?" you ask as both of you make your way out of the house and into Jimin's car.

"Well... my fridge isn't exactly stocked," your teacher says, placing his hands on the steering wheel. "I usually eat out all the time so that's the only thing I had in the fridge."

Again, Jimin is loaded.

"How do you even afford to eat out all the time?" you blurt out.

Jimin shrugs. "Parents."

"Ah, right," you say quickly.

You let your teacher drive to the airport in silence as you awkwardly try to eat the apple as quietly as you can. But remembering your manners after a few minutes, you offer an uneaten side of your apple to your teacher.

"I'd thought you'd never ask," Jimin chuckles as you hold the apple in front of him and he bites in.

"Oh, sorry," you say, flushing slightly at the proximity between your teacher's plump lips and your innocent hand. "Do you want the apple? I'm not that hungry anymore."

"Yes you are," Jimin scoffs. "Don't you lie, Y/N, Jin tells me about the huge breakfast you always eat before school. Breakfast is important for you."

"What does Jin not tell you?" you cry, throwing up your hands, careful not to fling the apple to the back of the car.

Jimin chuckles. "He tells me everything about you—it's obvious he cares for you a lot."

"Yeah..." you say. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough for him," you confess. "I mean, the only times I actually take care of him is when he gets drunk. Other than that, he's basically my mom."

"He's the perfect cousin," Jimin comments, smiling. "In a way, you're really lucky, Y/N."

You bite into the apple. "I am. I have Jin and you," you say, grinning.

"Aw, my heart," Jimin says, dramatically placing a small hand on his chest.

"Two hands on the wheel!" you shriek. "I want to live to see my cousin!"

Jimin just laughs, gripping the steering wheel with two hands as you had instructed. "Y/N, relax, we're almost there anyway."

"Hmph."

"So, how much do you want to bet Jin takes us out to eat when we meet him?"

"MY BABIES!" Jin screams as he runs towards you and Jimin, his suitcase flying behind him.

"God, how embarrassing," you mutter, catching the weird glances people were throwing your way.

"YOU GUYS SURVIVED!" Jin shrieks as he rams into you and your teacher, pulling both of you into a tight hug.

"Not for long if you keep hugging us like this," Jimin says, his voice strained as Jin squeezes all three of you together.

"Sorry, sorry," Jin apologizes as he loosens the hug. "I was just so happy to see you two... alive."

"What, you thought we were going to die?" you ask as you pull away from the hug, crossing your arms.

"No, I thought only you were going to die," Jin answers. "That's why I didn't let you alone. You've never really been on your own, you know?"

"He demanded I got your back 24/7," Jimin says. "Did I do a good job?"

"A bit too literally," you tease, rolling your eyes.

"He even took you shopping, huh?" Jin asks, eyeing your—er Jimin's t-shirt.

"What? No," you say, tugging the long, black top down. "It's not mine," you quickly say, lowering your head in sudden embarrassment.

Jin's eyebrows raise. "Well, then, looks like Y/N spent a night at your house, didn't she?" your cousin turns to ask your teacher.

Unlike your flushed self, Jimin looks rather calm. "Y/N spectacularly lost her house key yesterday so she slept over at my place."

"The shirt?" Jin questions. You flinch in your place, feeling guilty for no reason at all.

"Y/N's a messy eater, you know that. She got pizza grease on her shirt so she borrowed mine," Jimin explains. "Is your interrogation over, buddy?"

Jin's serious face is replaced with a goofy one. "Of course!" he laughs. "Agh, you two are too cute," Jin declares as he swings each arm around the both of you. "Now, I'm going to take you out to eat."

You shoot Jimin a knowing look and he laughs, eyes becoming beautiful crescent moons. You can't help but laugh too.

It's yet again another weekend you, Jin and Jimin are spending together. You're relaxed on your couch as Jin sits right next to you while Jimin is sprawled on the floor, scrolling through his phone.

"Y/N, Jimin," Jin says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "So... as you know, my drama team is doing incredibly well these days. We, um... won state so we have to go to nationals."

"That's great!" you say as you jump up.

"Dang, Jin, congrats!" Jimin says as he starts to get up into a sitting position.

"Yeah, well... but that means I have to leave soon to get to nationals," Jin explains. "I'm sorry guys."

Your face falls slightly but you force a quick smile. "But you've always wanted your team to win these competitions!"

"Yeah but being apart from you guys makes me feel..."

"Empty?" you ask.

"Lonely?" Jimin inquires.

"Ugly," Jin says with a 'duh' tone.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I dunno. Something about being with you guys makes me feel full, you know? Like I'm my best self. I feel perfect," Jin explains. "When I'm not with you two, I kinda feel... insecure? Ugly?"

"Aww, bro," Jimin says, standing up to sit next to Jin on the couch.

"We'll miss you," you say, resting your head on Jin's shoulder. "Can you do us one teensy favor though?" you plead.

"Anything for my two favorite people," Jin says as he softly kisses your forehead, making you smile.

"So, we almost burned down Jimin's house last time trying to cook ramen..." you start. You don't even get to finish because Jin is already hysterically laughing, the familiar windshield wiper laughter filling the commodious living room. Your cousin wipes a tear away from his eyes, calming himself down with a few deep breaths.

"You're telling me... neither of you read the directions to cook ramen?" Jin cries, chuckling.

"Well... I would've, but someone trashed them," you say, eyeing Jimin accusingly.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N, don't blame me," Jimin whines, his lips pulling out into a full-blown pout.

You pretend not to be affected by the cuteness, rolling your eyes. "I didn't say it was you," you say. "I only implied."

"Same thing," Jimin mutters.

"And that is why you're a math teacher, not an English teacher," you reply.

Jin laughs. "Oh, you guys are so cute when you fight."

You and Jimin both shoot your cousin glares, making him raise his hands up in defense. "I was joking!" he exclaims. "You know what? Instead of just sitting around here and doing nothing, let's hang out productively."

"Productive? What's that?" you joke as you slump into your couch.

"I think I should teach you guys how to make ramen," Jin sighs.

"Oh, yes please," Jimin says. "I would like to keep my house from burning to the ground again."

"What do you mean, 'again' " you ask, rolling your eyes. "Last time I checked, we ran around like madmen opening all the goddamn windows to get the smoke out."

"Language, baby cousin," Jin chuckles. "You two really need to stop arguing if you don't want to look like a married couple."

Jimin pouts. "I totally would if Y/N would stop trying to one-up me with her arguments."

"I wouldn't have to one-up you if your arguments were solid," you spit back.

"Okay, okay!" Jin cries, throwing up his arms. "Let's just get up and cook before I have to hear you babies fight again!"

"I am not a baby!" you whine, annoyed. "I am not your goddamn baby cousin. I'm fucking 17 years old and I am so sick of you calling me a baby!" you burst. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much! I fucking swear if anyone calls me a little child again, I will... I will... uh, skin them alive!" you declare, hands fisting in sudden anger.

Jimin and Jin stare at you in shock.

"Y/N... honey, do you want to blow off some steam?" Jin asks softly as he steps slowly towards you.

"No!" you shout, then you rethink. "Yes," you say. Quickly scurrying away, you slam the door to your room shut.

"God, I've never seen her so worked up," Jimin says as soon as your presence is gone. "She actually looked like she wanted to skin us alive."

"Y/N gets moody at her time of the month." Jin shrugs as he walks toward the kitchen. "Believe it or not, that kind of behavior is normal."

"Oh, so she's not lying about her period this time?" Jimin chuckles. "She always uses it as some sort of excuse."

Jin laughs. "I've heard... but no, Y/N just lets out all the stress she gets from studying when she's on her period. I think it's a girl thing, I don't know. I just let her be."

Jimin nods. "I'll keep that in mind... So, I guess you'll just have to teach me how to make ramen."

Jin smiles. "Sure thing, bro."

You're on your bed, dying from the pain of cramps as you sort of regret the loud outburst you had in front of your teacher. You groan as you slam your face into the pillow. "Y/N, you are a stupid bitch," you tell yourself.

Sometimes, with the pain of cramps, you get embarrassingly moody and forget to control your temper. The pain should lessen though... you've just taken a painkiller. You sigh as you sit up from your bed, attempting to fix your loose sweats and messy hair. You're craving ice cream.

Almost like you're on some secret spy mission, you creak open your bedroom door and silently creep out into the kitchen. You're skillfully avoiding all of the floorboards that you know that will squeak, paying close attention to the ground.

"Ah, if it isn't but Y/N," Jimin says in his silky voice, making you jump. Your teacher smiles at you as he sets down a pot of hot ramen. "Are you hungry?"

You flush furiously, hoping he had forgotten your tantrum. "Kinda," you whisper, looking down at your feet as you make your way to the freezer.

"Mint chocolate ice cream?" Jin asks you as you nod, taking out your favorite tub. "Don't eat too much of it, Y/N. Do you want a heat pack?"

You nod, still red from humiliation as you face the two people you had just shouted at a while ago. Making your way to the couch, you sit down as Jin hands you a heat pack. "Thanks," you mutter as you start to eat huge spoonsful from your tub of ice cream.

Jimin carefully sits down next to you, almost looking at you fearfully, as if you'd bite him—which was pretty possible if you were on your period. He sets down the pot of ramen on the table in front of you as he looks expectantly at you. "I made ramen," he says, poking your cheek.

A giggle escapes your lips at your teacher's actions.

Okay, what the fuck, Y/N. Did you just... giggle?

But then again, anything is possible when you're on your goddamn period.

"And if I say so myself, this is the best ramen you'll probably ever eat, so eat up," your teacher says proudly.

Jin rolls his eyes. "95% of that ramen is my work," he mutters. "But I think Jimin is pretty solid to cook for you now."

You smile. What were you going to do without these two men in your life? They took your bitching, listened to your troubles and were still hell-bent on being by your side and making you feel better.

"I can't wait to try it," you laugh as you tug the pot of ramen closer to you. "Thanks, guys, I owe you."

—previous | next

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin angst #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

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wonjaekook · 4 years

Text

100 Ways We Said “I Love You” (The First 26)

100 follower special w/Jaemin for @insomni-writing !

A/N: I hit 100 followers a while ago but Somni came up with a great idea for me to celebrate! The numbers are NOT in chronological order, so I hope it’s not too confusing. There’s potential for more parts of this in the future ^^

Description: You reminisce on some of your most memorable moments with Jaemin.

Word Count: 13.5k

Genre: fluff!! there’s a touch of angst, but it’s mostly fluff

Warnings: there might be a handful of swears?, alcohol at some point

One.

Na Jaemin has one mouth and he certainly uses it as much as he can. The only thing you know about Na Jaemin is he’s loud and you’re not sure you like him. On the contrary, everyone else in your class seems to be obsessed with him, as can be easily observed by the hoards of confessions he’s getting today. You would think that behavior would go away when you got to college, but apparently not.

Today is White Day and you are not in the holiday spirit.

Every break that your class has, the room explodes with noise as girls who, one after the other, are giving him so many chocolates that he barely has room to write on his desk anymore. Jaemin’s responses of, “you’re cute, but…” and “I’m sorry, you’re lovely, but…” to every girl that approaches him fill the space of the classroom while you’re at your own desk trying to study. Unluckily for you, Jaemin sits right in front of you and your best friend, Hyunjin, sits on the opposite side of the room. She shoots you a pitying look when she sees the irritated look on your face and you shrug. It only takes one more minute listening to the chattering of the girls gathered around the desk in front of you before you’re grabbing your textbook and walking out of the classroom.

In the hallway, things are nice and peaceful for a little while when you plop down on the floor and open your textbook. The sounds in the classroom are muffled by the door and walls and you find yourself focusing much better. That is, until a boy from the classroom next door stops in front of you. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m studying.” You answer shortly. You know this boy well - mostly because he won’t leave you alone. Not in the cute way, no. In the mean way.

“Don’t wanna be in the classroom because everyone is getting together and you’re alone?” He looms over you, his arms crossed over his chest.

You purse your lips together at that. “I don’t want a boyfriend, Jiwoon.”

“It’s not like you could get one anyways, even if you-”

“Hey, cut it out.” Jiwoon is interrupted when, to your surprise, another voice cuts into the conversation. In your distraction, you hadn’t noticed that Na Jaemin had left the classroom and is now standing a few feet away, giving Jiwoon a look. Jaemin starts to speak again before either of you can say anything. “If you like her, just say so. There’s no need to be an ass.”

Jiwoon turns three shades of red before he finally stutters out, “I don’t like her!” and shuffles quickly away to his own classroom.

“He doesn’t like me. He’s always just been a jerk for no reason,” you say, feeling the need to clarify to Jaemin. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before he looks at you.

“He’s just doing that thing guys do. The one where they’re mean to the girl they like because they think that’s how they’ll get your attention.”

Your lips part in an expression of surprise before you let out a little, “Oh.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” He breaks into a cocky smirk and your expression changes into one of irritation. “You owe me one, now.”

“Owe you what? I don’t owe you anything!” You try to insist, but he’s already walking further down the hall and it’s not long before he’s out of sight.

Two.

Na Jaemin won’t stop staring at you.

Since Jaemin technically helped you out in the hall on White Day, you supposed you owed him something. He called in his favor about three weeks ago, when he practically begged you to tutor him in physics. Usually, tutoring meant studying with him and helping him whenever he had trouble, but, today, he’s just been staring at you for most of the time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, trying to shield your face from his view with your hand. He hums in response to your request, looking back at his textbook. A moment later, you can feel him staring at you again, so you sigh heavily and turn to him fully, your head resting on your arm.

“Jaemin, if you have an issue with me, please just say it.” This time, he doesn’t even pretend to look away from you, keeping intense eye contact instead. The eye contact lasts long enough that you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you refuse to back down. He blinks a slow, long blink that, for some reason, has you feeling shy and makes your cheeks warm up. His long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones in the somewhat dim light of the library and his dark brown hair sweeps quite nicely over his forehead, parted just off from the middle. You refused to let yourself acknowledge it before, but Na Jaemin is, in fact, quite attractive. Finally, you feel like you have to say something again. “Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown a third eye?” You mutter, shying under his gaze. If he’s not searching your soul, it certainly feels like it.

“I’m not…” His words are somewhat mumbled as he continues to stare you in the eyes, “but you do have two eyes and they are very pretty.”

When those words leave his lips, your jaw practically drops and you can feel your face changing from warm to blazing hot. “I, you, ah-” you stutter, trying to find something to say, but grasping nothing.

His lips spread into a wide, bright smile that shows all of his teeth. “Do you want to get coffee with me after this?”

“Ask me again after you’ve finished the physics homework,” you mumble, practically burying your face in your own book, “and only if you don’t make me try that hell concoction you call a drink.”

You suppose that, somewhere along the last few weeks, you might have fallen for him.

Three.

Na Jaemin considers himself a photographer and, even you, a cynic among cynics, can’t help but agree that he does take some nice pictures sometimes. Then again, sometimes he chooses to take the absolute ugliest pictures of you, saving them as his phone background and not letting you change it. But, since he considers himself a photographer, he demands you take pictures with him anyways. There are a few in particular that come to mind.

“Wait, there!” Jaemin says, hand clasped in yours. You would call this your official first date, though you had been alone with him many times before. You’re still reeling from when he had actually told you he likes you about ten minutes ago, but he quickly guided you along, saying something about ‘golden hour.’ Now, Jaemin is pulling you towards a glass balcony that’s open to the spring air. The glass bends the orange-red light of the setting sun and almost makes the two of you glow just standing there. There’s a few other people milling about on this floor of the building, so Jaemin quickly taps one of them on the shoulder, giving them that charming smile of his and asking if they can take your picture on the balcony.

Just as the person reaches three in the countdown, he leans down, pressing his lips to your cheek. Your own expression changes just in time for the camera to catch it. “Jaemin!” You say, hitting him lightly on the arm. “You can’t just do those things out of nowhere!”

“You liked it though, didn’t you?” He collects his phone from the stranger and thanks them before turning around, catching the embarrassment clear on your face. He taps on the photo, showing you the picture. Both of you are bathed in the light of the setting sun, glowing golden halos of light around your heads, your surprised expression clear on your face, and his eyes closed as he kisses your cheek. “See? So cute.”

You’ve been with Jaemin for just a tad longer than three years now and the sunset pictures he makes you take with him every year, each with a different surprise, have become your favorites.

Four.

Na Jaemin considers himself to be quite the romantic. Most of the time, you would agree. He’s a rose petals in the bathtub, candles at dinner, slow jazz in the background kind of guy. You try not to let his efforts go unnoticed, as any loving girlfriend would, though you can’t say you’re nearly as smooth about romantic things as he is. However, for all his sensibilities, sometimes he has strange timing.

On the train, enroute to Busan, where you plan to spend the weekend with him, he has your hand firmly in his. Whenever you try to let go of it, he squeezes your hand tighter, so you accepted his grip a while ago. A little while ago, he had offered you an airpod, so you’re casually listening to his music and leaning against his shoulder as the train continues on its track. Idly, you thumb at the rings he’s wearing. One, two, on this hand and… another two on the other hand. Four rings in total. “Jaemin,” you say, breaking the easy silence between the two of you, “where did you get your rings?”

“Hm?” He focuses on you and processes your question a second later. “Oh. This one, I got from my mom, this one is from Jeno, this one is for UNICEF, and this one is just cool looking.” One by one, he taps the rings, still holding onto your hand. “Why? Do you want me to take them off? Is it uncomfortable?”

You shake your head. “No, you’re good. I was just wondering.”

“Do you like them?” Not knowing where he’s going, but knowing he’s scheming something by the tone of his voice, you carefully nod. “Well, I’ll get you a ring one day. It’ll be a lot fancier than these, though.”

It takes you a moment to really understand what he’s implying, but then your cheeks are heating up - not an unusual occurrence with Jaemin - and you’re burying your face in his shoulder. “Jaemin,” you whine, your voice muffled by his shirt, “you can’t just say things like that.”

“I can if it’s true.” A weak punch on the arm is all you respond with, his hand still tightly squeezed in yours.

Five.

Na Jaemin is the person you’ve spent more time with than anyone else for the last few weeks. And he still hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend.

Not that you’re expecting him to, or that he has to be the one who asks you. If you were certain that’s what he wants, you would ask him, but… you’re not sure. You don’t think he’s been seeing anyone else, but, by definition, you’re not exclusive. He could be seeing any number of the girls who confessed to him or are constantly chasing after him. You don’t think he actually is, but you’re scared. What if he doesn’t like you as much as you like him?

You’ve gone on four different “official” dates with him and tonight is date number five. When he shows up in front of your apartment, all smiles, you almost immediately forget all of your worries about your situation, content with just taking his hand when he offers it to you. The little hole-in-the-wall restaurant he takes you to is perfect, a pretty, small place with low lighting that smells vaguely of roses, and everything about the date is perfect. Until the waiter comes back for the second time.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” He says, directing his attention to Jaemin and then, a beat later, to you. “Or maybe for the girlfriend?”

Before your expression can even shift into one of awkwardness, Jaemin is smiling gently and shaking his head. “That’s okay, but thank you.” Confusion is clearly on your face when the waiter says he’ll be right back with your check and walks away, prompting Jaemin to look back at you. He quirks an eyebrow at you. “What? Did you want something else?”

“I… You…” You look back and forth between Jaemin and the direction the waiter disappeared off in. How are you supposed to explain…?

“Oh, you don’t like being called my girlfriend?” Jaemin tilts his head, the picture of obliviousness. At the back of your mind, some part of you knows he’s just messing with you, but you ignore that side of your brain.

“No, I like it!” Your mouth moves faster than your brain does for once and, almost instantly, you feel like your cheeks are on fire. Pursing your lips, you look away from him, practically burning up in your seat.

“Aha! That’s what I was waiting for!” As he says that, the waiter returns with your check, preventing him from explaining himself. He takes the check and gets up, practically waltzing to your side of the table and reaching for your hand, which you take without much question. Impatiently, you shift from foot to foot while he pays up front until, finally, the two of you leave the restaurant.

“Na Jaemin,” you say sternly, stopping him from continuing to walk, “you had better explain yourself!”

Pretending to be innocent again, he smiles. “Explain? That you want to be my girlfriend?”

Instead of shying away this time, you decide that you’re going to double down. You’re about two seconds away from ditching him if he doesn’t start making sense. “I do, but-!”

“Great! Then, Y/N, do you want to be my girlfriend? Be honest, now.” Jaemin’s tone is teasing, which it feels like is his near constant state anyways, but now you’re blushing.

Part of you wants to be difficult with him just for the sake of it, but the softer, more resigned side of you wins out. Your exasperation fades and you sigh softly. “Yes. I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Now, that wasn’t hard, was it?” Indignant again, you don’t respond, eyes fixed on the ground. “That makes me your boyfriend, then. I don’t know about you, but that makes me really happy.” At that, you look up at him. Though there’s a hint of humor on his face, the smile that reaches all the way to his eyes is real. Knowing that you’re too embarrassed to respond but that you feel the exact same way, he simply squeezes your hand and pulls you along.

Six.

Na Jaemin always says good morning to you. From early on in your relationship, he always made sure to text you when he wasn’t staying over. Though you prefer to wake up to an arm slung over you and his messy morning hair, a text from him is almost as nice. Whenever you’re away from each other for too long, he calls you incessantly and, when you hadn’t minded the silence before, his slightly staticy voice over the phone fills the empty space in your life nicely. Even just hearing the telltale buzz before your phone lights up with his contact name - he never lets you change it away from “My Handsome Jaemin” with a sun emoji next to it, which he set on your phone himself - you always feel a small prick of joy.

Well, most of the time. The buzz of your phone going off is enough to wake you up today and not even the cute “good morning, love” accompanied with all varieties of heart emojis from Jaemin is enough to forgive him for waking you up at this godforsaken hour.

Y/N: Na Jaemin. It is 6 in the morning.

My Handsome Jaemin: it’s a new day!

Y/N: Why are you texting me at this time.

JM: i’m volunteering soon and i’m not allowed to be on my phone until after it’s over, but i didn’t want to miss saying good morning :( sorry for waking you up

Y/N: oh my god jaems i’m so sorry

Y/N: ily, have a good time at your volunteering

Y/N: and good morning to you too ♡

JM: ♡♡♡

JM: go back to sleep, i’ll be done by the time you’re awake ♡

You suppose you can forgive him.

Seven.

Na Jaemin has somehow wormed himself into nearly every aspect of your life. Before him, you didn’t think it was possible to be so close to a single person. Now, he’s in your head at least once a day, all seven days of the week. Rent free, spending time in your thoughts. You wouldn’t charge him for taking up that space even if you could.

Eight.

Na Jaemin didn’t wait nearly as long to ask if he could kiss you as he waited to ask you to be his girlfriend. This time, there’s no games, no teasing, just him at two o’clock in the morning in front of your dorm.

The two of you were lucky enough that the weather cooperated with your plans for a picnic by the Han River and, soon enough, time got lost. To get him to go back to campus, you have to pull him along by his hand, his reluctance clear in the way he tugs back to try to get you to stay. Much too quickly, you return, standing on the pavement outside of your dorm building with your hand in his, neither of you really making a move to go inside anymore. Hesitantly, you smile at him. “I had a nice time today. As usual.”

“As usual?” He tilts his head, sending you a smile of his own in return. The way the music of his low voice floats to your ears in the still, peaceful night prevents you from letting go of his hands.

“Believe it or not, I enjoy spending time with my boyfriend.” He grins extra brightly at that, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug so you can’t see what is practically sunlight radiating from his face in the dead of night. If he had pulled you in like that a few weeks ago, you would have been stiff and awkward but, now, you quickly melt into his embrace, your own arms wrapping around him. Reluctantly, both of you pull away and look at each other again. The air still has that lovely, magical feeling to it that makes you forget that time exists, but somewhere in the back of your head, you know that it’s about two in the morning and you should both go to sleep. Somehow, you also feel as though there are unsaid words hanging in the air between you and you can’t leave until one of you says them.

“Can I kiss you?”

It clicks in your head that those were the words you had been waiting for. Naturally, you’re smiling again, a smaller smile this time in preparation for what you want to happen, hiding how truly ecstatic you feel. “I really want you to.”

That first kiss lasts for eight seconds. It’s eight seconds of feeling more right and content and happy than you ever have in your life so, when he pulls away, you pull him back to you a quick heartbeat later, your arms rising up to sling over his neck. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way he laughs into that second kiss and returns it.

Nine.

Na Jaemin asked you to move in with him. It’s been a bit over two years now, so it was only the next natural step to both of you. One sunny Saturday afternoon, he told you about this wonderful - and affordable - apartment a short walk from campus and proposed living together. You accepted. It’s not like the two of you hadn’t talked about it before. It’s very familiar ground and you were excited that your discussions were finally producing some fruit. When you went to check out the apartment with Jaemin, you were more than pleased with how good his taste was. It’s a corner apartment, meaning lots of natural light and a bit more space than usual.

Signing the lease was easy enough. Moving in was not, especially with Jaemin getting distracted every few minutes by one thing or another. Every so often, he calls to you from another room, his voice reaching you easily in the relatively small space. “Y/N!”

Tilting your head back to look at him as he emerges from the other room, you give him a look, not backing away from the box you were unpacking things from. “What is it now, Jaemin?”

“Do you know how many windows this apartment has?”

The question is odd enough, so you shrug in response. “No, but I have a feeling you do.”

“Nine! We have nine windows.” He’s far more excited about the topic than you are and your confusion is clear on your face.

“What’s special about having nine windows?”

“I don’t know. But we have nine windows and I just think there’s something great about that number.” The incidental sweetness of his statement has your mood instantly lifting, your face brightening and relaxing when he explains. He circles you, latching onto you and hugging you from behind. His broad chest against your back is a welcome distraction this time, so you lean back into him slightly.

“You’re very strange, but I think you’re right, Jaemin.”

Ten.

Na Jaemin makes every experience an adventure. Somehow, today he had talked you into climbing a tree and, while he had descended flawlessly, you’re stuck. After all, getting up into the tree is always harder and less scary than getting down.

“Jaemin! I can’t get down…” You’re embarrassed to admit it, but you need help.

“Just jump! I’ll catch you!” You blanch at that.

“No way! I know you’ve been working out recently, but I am not jumping from here!” Truth be told, you’re only about ten feet off of the ground, but it’s ten whole feet of terror that makes the ground feel much farther away than it actually is.

“Do you want to come down or not? Just jump!” Even with Jaemin’s goading, him standing below you is not looking any more safe. What if you break your leg? Or your arm? Or your spine?

“You know what, I think I’m okay up here! I’ll live among the squirrels from now on.” You shift on the branch and it bends slightly under your weight, causing you to let out a brief shriek of fear and cling tighter to the branch. When you look down again, Jaemin’s face is far more concerned and serious than it was before.

“Y/N, you don’t have to be afraid. I promise I’ll catch you. I have one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten whole fingers attached to one, two arms to catch you with! You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He opens his arms wide, staring up at you and smiling gently. It’s those words that make your heart open and, suddenly, you feel like everything will be okay. Because you trust him.

“Okay,” you say, mostly to yourself, “okay. Are you ready?”

He nods firmly. “Whenever you are.”

As promised, he catches you in his arms and prevents you from hitting the ground and breaking your arm, leg, spine, or anything in between. After he puts you down, he leans forward, pecking you on the lips before he grins. “See? I told you that you can trust me.”

Eleven.

Na Jaemin is very stubborn sometimes. That being said, so are you.

Someway, somehow the two of you had an argument about washing the dishes. At this point, after a bit more than ten hours of not talking to each other, you’ve forgotten who started the argument. A part of you still wants to insist you’re right, but the deafening silence of your boyfriend in the other room while you’re curled on your shared bed dampens your pride. You glance at your phone, which hadn’t lit up with a notification from him for most of the day now when he would ordinarily be sending you texts filled with heart emojis and sweet words. Sighing, you set your phone upside down, trying not to look at it. A minute later, it buzzes and you quickly reach for it, the screen lighting up in your eyes, only to see that it was just a message from a friend. With that, you throw your phone back on the bed and stand up. Enough is enough. You’re going to stop being stubborn and apologize.

Except, when you open the bedroom door, Jaemin is right in front of it, his hand lifted like he was pre-knock. He lowers his hand slowly, his lips pulling up into an awkward half smile. “What, can’t go eleven hours without seeing me?” The joke falls flat, but you give him a little exhale of laughter anyways.

“No,” you say, your voice low, feeling strange in the long, silent space of the hours between you, “I wanted to apologize.”

“That’s funny, I wanted to do the same thing.” If you took yourself out of the situation, you might have found it funny, but right now all you want is the comfortable feeling between you and Jaemin back. Neither of you speak for a moment, but then your words are coming out at the same, overlapping each other in a strange sort of apologetic verbal embrace.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Y/N, I’m sorry-”

Both of you stop at the same time as well. You stare at each other before another smile, a real one this time, lights up his face again. You return the look.

“It was a stupid argument. I accept your apology.” When he usually initiates, you make the move first this time, opening your arms in a gesture that invites him to hug you. He does, his arms wrapping around you and pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Without words, he tells you that he feels the same.

Twelve.

Na Jaemin always keeps his promises.

Your advanced literature class always gets out at the same time, exactly twelve. Every Wednesday, your lovely boyfriend makes a point to meet you outside of your classroom at exactly noon to meet you for lunch. Early on, he had promised you he would meet you at the same time every week, saying, if you remember correctly, he “wouldn’t miss it for the world.” A bit dramatic for a regular lunch date, but you have always appreciated the sentiment. It’s nice to have a schedule and to be able to see him regularly.

Except, now, it’s 12:15 and your professor is still talking. He keeps droning on about his favorite part of the book your class is currently reading, which also happens to be his favorite book, and, even with you and your classmates shifting awkwardly in your seats and very obviously looking at the clock on the wall next to his desk, he keeps going. Normally, you’d be sitting in the dining hall or nearby cafe with Jaemin right now, but instead you’re just blankly staring at your professor, his words drowned out by your antsiness. Finally, ten minutes later, he returns to his desk and dismisses your class. Everyone instantly shoves their things in their backpacks and, one by one, you all quickly exit. Through the crowd of your classmates, you try to see if Jaemin is at your meeting spot. When you run up to him, apologies spilling from your lips, he presses a finger to your lips.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting for you.” The way his lips curl up into a little smile messes with your heart, causing you to blink rapidly at him.

“You’re not upset…?” You manage to get out.

“I promised you, didn’t it? I know it’s not your fault, anyways.” He reaches for your hand, taking it in his. “Plus, you’re worth waiting for.” He tugs you along, heading towards the cafe you had agreed you would go to today. Even when you’re awestruck by him and he’s pulling you along, he’s still so gentle in both touch and tone of voice. Then, he opens his mouth again and you snap out of it to laugh at him. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you bought my coffee today.”

Thirteen.

Na Jaemin has always been popular. That was one of your first observations about him and it continued to be true, even a few months into your relationship.

This year, his birthday, August 13th, falls on a Saturday. When he said he was throwing a party, you were expecting it to be on the day of his birthday, a loud, wild occasion that would inevitably get the cops called on it. To your surprise, he plans it for the day before, Friday, and you can actually count and keep track of everyone there. You expected to see him only once during the night before he mingled among everyone else, but as he gets more tipsy and edges on drunk, you find that he’s not leaving your side, his arms mostly staying wrapped around your stomach, keeping you pressed to his chest, and his chin rests on your shoulder, his flush cheek pressed to yours. Friday changes to Saturday and everyone sings to him. Cake and more drinks are passed around, the air pleasantly filled with singing and talking and the music that always plays in the background. At around two, you attempt to peel his arms off of you so you can go home, but he just holds onto you tighter, whining about how you promised you would stay the night. Even though you never said anything like that to him and you’re more than embarrassed that he just said that in front of his friends, you just sink back down against him, doing your best to hide your warm face.

It’s only a short while before sunrise that the last of his friends finally leave. You barely manage to convince him to brush his teeth and wash his face before he’s dragging you into his bed with him, his grip around you unrelenting. This certainly isn’t the first time that you’ve slept in his bed with him, but you’re still a bit shy about it. Luckily enough, your shyness is overcome by your exhaustion and you quickly drift off.

You barely manage to convince him to let you get out of bed after the two of you finally wake up in the early afternoon and it’s another miracle that you get him to let you go home to change and get your gift for him. While he was initially planning his celebration, he made you promise to leave your Saturday open for him. You agreed, adding that you would only do it if he let you pay for dinner.

After you return and eat with him, giving him the gift of the new camera lens he had been wanting for months, you stop him before he can drag you back to his bed to watch a movie and cuddle.

“One more thing.” Shyly, you reach into the bag you had brought back from your apartment, pulling out a small chocolate cake, barely larger than your hand, and a single long candle. “I know you just had cake yesterday, but I got this from the bakery next to campus that you like and...”

The happy look on his face lights up your whole world and has you trailing off. With just one look, you can tell exactly how he’s feeling and that everything is okay, that you don’t need to make excuses. You can’t hold eye contact with him for long, your eyes flitting down to investigate the table instead of looking at him. You can feel your face warming and butterflies tickling the inside of your stomach with their wings. It’s an intense but welcome feeling. Quickly, you busy yourself with getting out the small lighter you brought - you came prepared - and sticking the candle in the cake, lighting it. A step forward and the light in the room is off, a step backwards and you’re back in your chair. The room is shrouded in darkness save for the tiny flickering fire casting a yellow-orange glow on your faces.

“Happy birthday, Jaemin.” Your voice barely makes a sound in the small room, but it adds to the warm atmosphere nonetheless. For a moment, he just stares at the candle, deep in thought. You can feel the seconds ticking by slowly, drops of wax sliding down the length of the candle, threatening to fall onto the cake but stopping just short. Then, he looks up at you.

“I’ll only blow it out if you do it with me.” Another one of his strange requests. He must know that you want to refuse him, but the rapidly melting wax of the candle prevents you from giving him the reasons why you shouldn’t do what he asked. He also gives you no time to argue as he leans forward, counting down. “One,” a slow blink, “two,” a small smile when you bend forward slightly as well, “three.” Both of you blow gently, the small flame flickering out.

You rise from your chair again, flicking on the lights. He’s giving you a strange look again, but one that you can still tell is happy. “I feel like I just ruined your birthday wish by doing that,” you laugh quietly, sitting back down.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his palm. “You can’t ruin my wish if you are my wish.” The butterflies and warmth return, not that they ever really left, but you keep looking at him this time. Before you can muster up some sort of response, he adds on another comment much more softly. “And I’m not afraid of losing you by saying that.”

Fourteen.

Na Jaemin always manages to take advantage of every good opportunity that he’s given, even if that means taking you along with him.

“My pretty Y/N,” he practically purrs in your ear, his arms encircling your waist as he hugs you from behind while you're doing work for class, “will you help me with something?”

You can already tell from his tone of voice that he means to cause trouble. You just don’t know if it’s the good kind or the bad kind yet. Laying your pencil down, you turn your head slightly and smile at him. “What are you trying to charm me into doing now?”

“Have you been outside recently?”

“Of course I have. Why…?”

“Take a break and take pictures with the flowers with me.” He’s absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt as he speaks. You know he’s persistent and won’t leave you alone unless you go with him. It also wouldn’t hurt to take a couple of pretty pictures. You should really be used to these impromptu photoshoots by now, anyway.

“Only if it doesn’t take that long…” He hears the hesitance in your voice and takes it as a yes, springing up to race to the other side of the room.

“Great! They’re cherry trees, so the flowers won’t last much longer than a few days, and all fourteen of them are in bloom right now!” He returns to you with his camera hanging around his neck.

“You counted the trees outside?” You follow him to the door of your apartment, slipping on some shoes at the same time he does.

“I had to do an ecological survey for my biology class earlier this semester. Just happened to remember.” It’s not a farfetched idea. It’s also very characteristic of him to remember that. As soon as you’re outside, stepping into the sunlight and squinting from how bright it is, you look back at him. He’s making a face, a sort of smirk, and you sigh.

“You’re about to say something embarrassing, I can tell.”

“I’m not! Look,” he says, turning you by the shoulders to face the blooming trees lining the sidewalk, “do you see them?”

Your eyes adjusted a moment before, so you nod slowly. “Mhm…”

“You’re prettier than any of them.” That’s all he says before he pecks on you on the cheek, taking you by the hand and guiding you farther down the row of trees. Even now, you can’t help but blush furiously at his comments. You would ask why he always says things like that, but you know the answer by now. It takes him only a moment to find the ideal tree, where he turns back to you again, observing your face. He grins. “You look even prettier when you’re flustered like that.”

Fifteen.

Na Jaemin, despite how he seems to brush things off most of the time, is more sensitive than he lets on.

One night, Jaemin invited you to go to a party with him. You had been dating him for more than a year, so it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to show up to every other social gathering with the other on their arm. The event is a typical frat party - loud and full of both alcohol and hormones. Jaemin had been invited by his older friend Lucas and you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to go. Except, at the time you agreed, you didn’t have the headache that slowly developed over the day. Still, you go. The music is too loud, the smell of alcohol makes you nauseous, and everyone is so sweaty. One girl even has the audacity to try to drag Jaemin away for a dance. He hadn’t had the same aversions to the environment that you did but, even in his inebriated state after the multiple drinks his friends had put in his hands and he had downed, he has enough sense to push her gently away from him, refusing her advances. She leaves, moping over his rejection, and you let him pull you in to dance clumsily before everything about the party becomes too much. His attempt at getting you to enjoy yourself isn’t missed - you know he’s trying his best - but you simply don’t feel well. With a reluctant smile, you tug him over to a group of his friends that you recognize.

“I’m going to go home. Stay here and have fun with your friends, okay?” He bobs his head up and down in a drunken nod of agreement before leaning down to sloppily kiss you. Normally, you love his kisses in any form, but the smell of alcohol on his breath and the taste of it on his lips has you pulling away from the kiss quickly, patting his cheek as you try to not let your headache break your patience with your intoxicated boyfriend.

Getting out of the party is a relief, the short walk back to your apartment is a relief, and finally lying down in your bed with pajamas and a clean face and mouth is definitely a relief. Sleep comes upon you quickly enough that you forget to text your very sweet and very drunk boyfriend to tell you when he gets home.

Waking up refreshed and headache-free twelve hours later is certainly a feeling you could relish in for a long time. Except, when you check your phone and see the fifteen missed calls and twenty texts from Jaemin on your phone, your relaxation instantly fades. Every message shows his building worry, sent about an hour before you woke up, and vague enough that you don’t know why he’s panicking. As soon as you read the last message, you call him back. He picks up nearly instantly, cutting you off as you try to greet him.

“Jaem-”

“Y/N! You finally answered!” Though you’ve known him for a substantial amount of time by now, you’ve never heard him sound this distressed. It makes panic slowly bubble up in you in return. Before you can try to get any answers, he continues. “I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. Please don’t break up with me.”

If you didn’t know him well by now, you would have jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Instead, you try to calm yourself and him down. “Jaemin, what are you talking about? Why would I be mad at you?”

“For letting you go home alone. For staying at the party. Because that girl tried to dance with me. Because I’m a terrible boyfriend. Because-”

With each thing he lists, you get more confused. One thing you’re certain of, however, is that Jaemin is the opposite of a bad boyfriend. You cut him off. “Jaemin, stop. I went home because I wasn’t feeling well and I told you to stay because I wanted you to have fun. You sent that girl away, so why does she even matter? You’re not a terrible boyfriend. I have no clue where you got that idea from.”

There’s a couple seconds of just his shaky breathing over the phone before he croaks out a quiet, “What?”

“I’m not mad at you. And I wasn’t ignoring you either. I was asleep until ten minutes ago.” You’re not used to hearing Jaemin like this, but that doesn’t mean the right words are hard to find. In fact, they’re just on the tip of your tongue, tumbling out seamlessly. “I love you a lot, Jaemin. I wouldn’t play those sorts of passive aggressive games with you. I also have no intentions of breaking up with you.”

“I love you, too.” His voice seems more even, like he’s taken control of himself again. You know he’s had some bad experiences with ex-girlfriends, so you’re certain these worries came from them. You’ll have to talk to him about that sometime. “Can you… can you come over?”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your heart bleed for him, this boy you’ve unwittingly given your heart to over the last year. When he’s only been perfect to you, you want to return the favor. “Of course,” you say, your voice soothing even over the staticy phone line, “I’ll be over soon. I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

Sixteen.

Na Jaemin is unbothered by the fact that anyone could be watching when he does embarrassing things. Over time, his behavior has become so normal to you that you don’t even notice sometimes.

You had been out of the apartment all day, working on a group project in the university library, and it’s just before eight at night when you’re returning. You shoot your lovely boyfriend a text asking him to open the door for you because you have your hands full with the takeout you brought back for the both of you and, unsurprisingly, you’re greeted by a hug and smattering of kisses pressed to your face.

“You were gone so long, I missed you,” he whines, hugging you in a way that has you dangerously close to dropping either the bag of takeout you have in one hand or the bag of supplies for your project that you have in the other.

“Jaems, you’re not a puppy, you can stand to not see me for a few hours.” Though the words sound reprimanding, there’s an undeniable sweet fondness in your voice that tells him that you missed him too. He abandons your cheeks and forehead and nose to kiss you directly on the lips a moment later, the feeling of his mouth against yours showing that he’s smiling more than he’s kissing. For a moment, you forget about the bags in your hands and focus on the warmth of his body against yours, melting against him with a contented hum. You would have been happy to lose yourself in the moment entirely, were it not for the comment being directed at you from just down the hall.

“Gross.” Somehow, both of you had missed the fact that your sixteen-year-old neighbor had opened the door of the apartment next to yours and is grimacing at your public display of affection. It’s not the first time he’s seen the two of you doing lovey-dovey things in front of your apartment instead of inside of it, but what he usually witnessed consisted of short pecks on the cheek and hand holding, not full blown romantic kisses. You might have laughed at the scene if you weren’t thoroughly embarrassed, taking a step back from Jaemin. As your boyfriend takes the bag of food out of your hand, giving you a sly smile, your neighbor walks by, muttering at you two as he does so. “You live right there and you have to do that in the hall?”

“Don’t worry, kid, your time will come!” Jaemin responds cheerily, making you sigh softly and jokingly hit him on the arm.

“He’s right, you know!” You say, shouldering past your boyfriend to get into the apartment. “We could have moved about two steps and not subjected him to that.”

“You know my love can’t wait!” After the door shuts behind him and he sets down the food, he wrangles you into the same position you were in outside, pressing another kiss to your pouting lips. “And I know you like it.”

Seventeen.

Na Jaemin always chooses the worst movies. Okay, not really. He usually chooses really good movies. They’re only the worst because he has seen you cry at an inordinate number of them. Whether it be from fear at the various jumpscares in his favorite genre of horror or a movie about heartbreak in any of its forms, your tear ducts never cooperate with you when you tell them that you’re not going to cry.

Tonight is no different. Somehow, the two of you had settled on watching The Hunger Games and you know for sure that you’re going to cry at this one. And cry you do. During one particularly sad part, you’re trying your best to cry softly, but Jaemin can feel you shaking against his side, where you’re cuddled up against him. All he has to do is turn his head slightly to see the tears sliding down your face. He frowns, reaching out to rub at the tear tracks on your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Are you still crying? That scene has been over for like five minutes now.”

You shake your head, trying to stop the crying. “I can’t help it, it’s just so sad.”

He’s stopped watching the movie now, too busy staring into your tear-filled eyes. “Do you only cry when you’re watching movies? I swear I’ve seen you cry at like seventeen different movies but never about any of your own problems.”

To you, hearing him say that is relatively expected. You’ve been dating him for just under three quarters of a year now. “Unsurprising,” you sniffle, resting at the urge to reach up and rub at your own eyes because you enjoy the feeling of his warm hands on your face, “I don’t cry in front of other people a lot.”

“Do you cry a lot? By yourself?” His voice is soft and has a heart-wrenching hint of sadness to it. You can’t exactly read him like a book yet, but you know that he probably feels like he’s failed as a boyfriend somehow. Carefully, you reach up to rest your hand over his.

“Not really…” It’s not a lie, but that look on Jaemin’s face is still there. The one that says your guess about how he’s feeling is right.

“You can cry around me, you know. I’ll take all your sadness away.” His profession is so sincere, so sweet that it almost makes you start crying again. You know that he truly means it, too.

“Jaemin…” The look has turned into something slightly more hopeful, pleading for you to let him in. “Okay. I’ll try.” Try? Neither of you know exactly what you’re going to try to do, yet it’s still enough for both of you. After that, he seems to snap back to his normal self, pressing little kisses all over your face and dragging you into his lap. Even so, it’s clear that neither forget the words you exchanged.

Eighteen.

Na Jaemin has always made more than enough time for you. Though there’s always a new school, family, or friend event to attend, he rejects about a quarter of them for quiet stay-at-home dates with you. As often as possible, he tries to bring you with him and you try to bring him with you to any of your own events. Sometimes, though, he has to go alone.

You’ll admit that, in the last few weeks, you’ve gotten far too used to your boyfriend being at home. This time, he has some sort of family event back in his hometown and, though he invited you to join him, you can’t because of a huge test you have on Monday. However, your shared apartment feels far too quiet without him. Throughout the day, you catch yourself when you’re about to call out to him to ask him a question or simply for a distraction. You distract yourself enough during dinner by going out for a friend, but then you’re back in your apartment by ten at night. To your disappointment, Jaemin has already sent you a goodnight text, saying that he wishes he could talk but he has to wake up early. After sending him a goodnight text back, you resign yourself to idly watching some Netflix show that you don’t remember very much of.

That night, you toss and turn in your bed, unable to sleep. The space where Jaemin normally sleeps feels too cold. Somewhere in your restlessness, you start to feel somewhat embarrassed. You’re really this dependent on your boyfriend? Still... it’s just so strange not having him here.

The comfort of the thought that he’s sleeping soundly in his bed in his hometown is enough for you to stop messing up your sheets with your movement and try to settle down. You know he would be telling you to fall asleep quickly so you can keep studying for your test, the entire reason you’re still here in the first place. Even with your head resting on his pillow on his side of the bed, his familiar scent wrapped around you as much it can be, you still count three sets of one hundred sheep before you even feel tired. The last number you remember is three hundred and eighteen.

Nineteen.

Na Jaemin has quite the memory for specifics when it comes to you. Whether it be the type of bagel you like to eat in the morning or the date of your mother’s birthday, he’s always remembering things about you. It’s quite sweet and is just another reminder of how important you are to him. You struggle a bit more with some of those things, but every detail you bring up that you remember about him has him glowing.

“Can you believe we met when we were teenagers?” Jaemin says it out of nowhere one day when both of you are lounging around your apartment.

You hum in response, looking away from your book and tapping your chin. “Hm, I guess you’re right. Nineteen feels like a long time ago, though.”

“You’re talking like we’re old. I don’t know about you, but I'm still young as a spring chicken.”

You can’t help laughing at that. “You want me to believe you’re not old when you use that expression?”

He turns his nose up at you, refusing to smile when you nudge him in the side. “Words are timeless, thank you very much.”

“Mhm, okay. Maybe you’ve just been a vampire this entire time and you’re actually two hundred years old, trying to trick me.”

He sits up, mustering up a look of pure innocence. “Me? A vampire? Trick you? Whatever would make you think that?”

“Well, you’re too handsome to be any normal human.” You’re almost proud of how you set that one up when his face lights up.

“What does that make you, then? An angel?” Though you don’t blush as easily as you used to, it’s still hard to simply swallow all of the flattery he throws at you, even if it’s a taste of your own medicine this time. Still, you attempt to continue the banter.

“You’ve corrupted this angel, then, Mr. Vampire.”

He pouts. “Corrupted you? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He pauses for a moment, then gives you a sly smile. “I suppose you have learned how to flirt better because of me.”

“Well, I had to get used to it somehow. Then again, it could just be natural talent.” Before he can laugh because you both know that’s not true, you swoop in, pressing a kiss to his lips. He relishes in the feeling for a moment, then proceeds to drag you onto his lap. As inconsequential as that memory may be, you’ll always remember the way your apartment filled with sunlight and laughter that day.

Twenty.

Na Jaemin, in all of his obviousness, can also be quite sneaky.

You learned this well in just the first few weeks you were dating, but even now, a year later, you still find it to be almost out of character for him. He’s strange in the way that he is simultaneously the most subtle and the least subtle person you know.

When you receive the text ‘Are you okay?’ from him one night while you’re sitting in your own apartment, face pressed into your pillow while you play sad songs and mope over the particularly frustrating homework that you left scattered on your desk, you’re slightly suspicious. Does he just have a strange sixth sense for you being upset? Still, you muster up the energy to stop moping and respond to him. Before you can finish typing a drab ‘I’m fine’ to him, you receive a second message from him.

JM: Are you okay?

JM: You don’t have to lie

After a moment of thought, you erase your message and start typing a new one.

Y/N: Not really… this assignment is killing me and ngl I spent the last twenty minutes crying

JM: oh baby

JM: you know that i believe in you more than anyone, right? if anyone can do it, you can!

Y/N: you really don’t know how much that means to me, Jaems :((

JM: check your spotify real quick :)

You’re confused, but you do as he says. You scroll through it for a moment before a new playlist catches your eye. The playlist’s title is simply a sun emoji and it says that you created it. You don’t remember the playlist at all, though. When you scroll through it, you nearly tear up again. All twenty of the songs in the playlist are your absolute favorites, ones that make you happy no matter what. Jaemin had to have made this playlist, right? Your suspicions are only confirmed when, after you start playing the first song, he sends you a sun emoji.

JM: you logged onto your account on my phone last week

JM: i know you only listen to sad songs when you’re upset, so put on that playlist whenever you don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you and you need a pick-me-up, okay?

You call him right after that, tears of happiness at how caring, how sweet, how perfect he is slipping down your face this time. At some point, time escapes you, so when you glance at the clock on your phone, you’re shocked to see that an hour has passed. With a promise to call him again after you’re done with your assignment, you hang up. Except, the first thing you do after you hang up isn’t to start working again. Instead, you edit his contact in your phone to have a little sun emoji in his name.

Twenty-one.

Na Jaemin has never minded you borrowing his clothes to wear.

Last night was one of those nights that you stayed over at his apartment - not an uncommon occurrence - so you’re digging through his closet, attempting to find something suitable to wear after you use his shower. As you’re pawing through his closet, your fingers wrap around a particularly comfy looking hoodie when you see a gem of his past hidden behind it. Abandoning the hoodie, you pull out an old jersey, his last name and the number twenty-one stamped on the back. “Nana, tell me about this. You played basketball?”

He looks up from his bed, where he’s lounging about, scrolling on his phone. The sight of the athleticwear draws a fond smile onto his face. “I played in high school for a bit! Jeno pushed me to try out one year and I actually did well enough that I got on the team.” He gets up and takes the shirt from your hands. “Ah, this brings back memories. This is how I got my lucky number, you know.” You make a little noise of recognition in response. The sight of him gazing at the jersey with a warm, nostalgic look in his eyes makes you smile. “I’m glad I got to see it, but why did you bring it to school?”

“Thought I could wear it as a Halloween costume or something one year. Or didn’t have the heart to leave it home, maybe.” You understand the feeling. You couldn’t leave one or two of your own high school shirts at home. Realizing how strange the comment has made the atmosphere, he stops gazing at the item in his hands, giving you a mischievous look instead. “You know, basketball player isn’t that bad of an idea for a Halloween costume, but we should do a couple costume. If I’m a basketball player, you get to be a sexy cheerleader.”

That sudden comment makes you snort. “In your dreams. I’ll be a cheerleader who wears a hoodie and sweatpants to perform.”

Though the conversation devolves into both of you playfully pushing each other with words and physical touches, it��s those small moments where you get a look at a different side of Jaemin that always stand out to you.

Twenty-two.

Na Jaemin does a really good job at convincing you to make bad decisions sometimes. This week’s bad decision is a twenty-four hour movie marathon that he insisted on having once he learned that you’d never pulled an all nighter. The first movie was his pick, then the second was yours, and then his again before you both agreed to put on the entire Lord of the Rings series.

Once the sun has long left the sky, the day starts taking a toll on you and, whenever you start to feel your eyes drooping, Jaemin prods you, telling you to not be lame and to stay awake, except one glance at him tells you that he’s also feeling the exhaustion. Even the abhorrent number of espresso shots he puts into his coffee can’t keep him awake forever, especially since you had convinced him that it was cheating to have anything too caffeinated after a certain time of the evening. You had started at nine in the morning the day before and the sun is now peaking through the blinds of Jaemin’s apartment.

“Only,” Jaemin says, glancing at the time on his phone, “two hours to go…”

His body is far too warm and the blanket you’re snuggled under is far too soft for you to be able to last much longer, you’re sure. You also know that it would invigorate you if you got up, walked around, maybe drank some water, but a part of you doesn’t want to succeed at your twenty-four hour movie marathon.

The little bit of extra warmth that lands on you from the sun is enough to lull you to sleep. As you nod off at around seven, twenty-two hours after you started, you’re too tired to notice that Jaemin had already fallen asleep, his nose pressed into your hair and his arm around your waist.

Twenty-three.

Na Jaemin has slowly divulged his secrets to you.

No ticklish person willingly gives up the information that they’re ticklish - you have to discover it on your own. You had your suspicions that he’s weak to being tickled when you first snuck up on him while he was wearing earbuds one day. You had surprised him with a hug from behind, like he so frequently does to you, and he instinctively responded to your fingertips grazing him side by squirming. He twisted in your arms, turning around to face you, his eyebrows raising in surprise before he broke out into a bright smile. When he had embraced you and popped out his earbuds, engaging you in a conversation and cooing about how happy he was to see you, you nearly forgot about his strange reaction to your touch.

You decide to run a little test. When you’re eating dinner with him at his apartment later that night, you reach over at one point and prod at his side with your fingers. His reaction is more than you expected - he practically doubles over, twisting away from you and swatting at your hand. Once you pull your hand away, smirking at your discovery, he recovers from being tickled and gives you a look of betrayal. Before he can complain, you speak. “We’ve been together for more than a year now and you didn’t tell me you’re ticklish?”

“I’m not!” That denial is the first thing out of his mouth, but when you make a motion with your hand that threatens to tickle him again, he raises both of his hands in defense. “Okay! I may have a slight weakness to being tickled...”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jaemin. Completely normal.” He just shrugs, but seems to be more relaxed. “Will you trust me for a moment?”

“I always trust you, I-” As soon as those words are out of his mouth, you swing a leg over his, straddling him with your phone in hand. “Whoa,” he says, his hands instinctively going to your hips, “I didn’t know you were feeling frisky tonight.”

“Don’t be gross.” You stick your tongue out at him.

“Me, being gross? You’re the one who just hopped onto my lap like-”

“Just tell me when it gets to be too much, okay?” You open the timer app on the device in your hand.

His eyes widen. “Wait, what-” He is interrupted as you press start on your timer and start tickling him furiously. The air of his apartment fills with his tortured laughter. He squirms uncomfortably under you, making it hard to keep your balance atop his legs. Finally, in a feat of incredible focus, he grabs onto both of your hands, holding them down on top of your own lap. A glance at your phone screen tells you that he lasted twenty-three seconds of your tickling. He’s red in the face, an uncommon sight for you, and he’s breathing heavily, a disappointed pout on his face. “You could have warned me! What if I just did that to you out of nowhere?”

“I’m not ticklish,” you say triumphantly, smirking at him, “and you pull any number of surprises on me all the time.”

“You’re so weird. It looks like I’ll just have to “surprise” you more often to make up for this, then,” he grumbles, releasing your hands to make air quotes in his sentence. Feeling a bit guilty, you lean forward slightly, kissing him on the tip of his nose.

“I look forward to it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, pretending like he doesn’t think what you’re saying is unbearably cute. “I hate you.”

“Well, I love you. Forgive me?”

You get your answer when you lean forward to kiss him on the cheek, but he simply captures your lips with his own instead.

Twenty-four.

Na Jaemin overworks himself far too much for your liking. That’s probably why he has a cold right now and is too miserable to get out of bed. When he finally admitted to being sick, you opted to visit and take care of him without even thinking too much about it. You never mind helping him out - he is your boyfriend, after all - but it certainly does not feel good to see someone you care about be in so much pain.

You let yourself into his apartment with the spare key he gave you, ingredients for some soup in hand, and all you can see is darkness. His blinds are drawn, so you feel around for the lightswitch, flicking it on. Everything inside is disturbingly untouched, telling you that he really hasn’t gotten out of bed today. Sliding off your shoes and depositing your food in the kitchen, you make your way to his bedroom, knocking lightly. You’re met with a groan, so you let yourself in. All that you can see of your boyfriend is a lump of blankets. You would laugh at the sight if this wasn’t the most ill you’ve ever seen him. “Jaemin,” you coo, padding towards his bed and putting a hand on what you think is his shoulder, “I’m here.”

His head pops out from under the blankets. He’s sweaty, some of his bangs sticking to his forehead, and you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him, but the very characteristic pout on his lips makes you believe that he might not be dying just yet. A moment later, he’s ducking back under the covers, hiding his face. “No,” he whines, drawing out the sound, “you can’t look at me. I’m not handsome right now.”

You have to stifle a laugh at that. “Honey, you’re always handsome. Have you eaten anything yet?”

He peeks out so that only the parts of his face above his nose are visible. “I don’t want to get up.” The sound comes out muffled, but you manage to decipher it.

“Lucky for you that I’m here so that I can bring it to you.”

Through the day, you feed him bit by bit and force him to drink water and tea, banning coffee because he doesn’t need that sort of caffeination in his system. You even coax him into taking a bath in the evening, where he nearly disrobes in front of you in his sick haze. As he’s doing that, you have some time to think and you discover that, though you would rather your boyfriend not suffer and be back in good health, you don’t mind him relying on you for once. Jaemin has always been there for you, supporting you with his entire heart and taking the lead whenever you couldn’t, and now it feels like you’re paying him back in at least some small way.

When he returns to his room, clothed this time, you take your time drying his hair for him. You’re about to stand and wish him goodnight, but he takes ahold of your hand as you do so, tugging on it. This is a familiar situation - there have been many times where Jaemin has stopped you from going home at night and made you stay with him. Except, usually, he would just pull you into bed with him, using his strength advantage. Now, the tug on your hand is small, weak, and your heart hurts at the expression he’s making. He’s pleading with his eyes as best as he can. “Please stay.”

“But,” you start, already feeling the weakness of the excuse, “you’re sick and I’ll just take up too much space in your bed and…” You sigh. “I’ll stay.” Luckily enough, you wore comfy clothes to his apartment. It’s warm under his blankets and his skin isn’t blazing anymore like it was earlier in the day. He’s facing you, blinking at you with half-lidded eyes. Slowly, his hand slides up, running through your hair before it drops down to find your hand. “Are you gonna sleep now?” You whisper, seeing his eyes droop even more.

“Mhm,” he hums in response, thumb idly rubbing over the top of your hand. A minute later, he’s stilled almost completely. After not much longer, you follow him into dreamland.

When you awaken, it’s because sunlight is burning through your eyelids. With a quiet groan, you realize that you forgot to close the blinds of his room last night after you had forced him to let some light in during the day. Upon opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the sight of Jaemin smiling at you, sleep still heavy on his face. “Good morning, beautiful.”

His voice is gravely, but doesn’t have the depressing weariness to it that it did yesterday. With a smile of your own, you murmur back to him. “Good morning to you, too. I only get one day off from your shameless flirting?”

“Shameless? You want me to have shame for flirting with my lovely, amazing, caring, talented-”

“You’re doing it again-”

“-girlfriend who took care of me when I was feeling my worst?” With that, you purse your lips, looking away from him. He proceeds to smother you in cuddles, pulling you against him and practically wrapping his entire body around yours.

“Na Jaemin, you’re still sick!” You try to say, but it comes out as a series of muffled sounds and he ignores you, continuing to cuddle you furiously. He pulls away briefly just to pepper you with kisses.

“I‘m only sick of how you’re not returning my love,” he says half in the middle of peck on your cheek.

“If I didn’t return your love, would I have stayed here for the last twenty-four hours taking care of you?” He stops just short of kissing you directly on the lips, pulling back to give you a look of shock.

“We spent our first full day together and I was completely out of it the whole time?” You’re about to open your mouth to scold him for trying to make you feel bad about taking care of him, but he breaks into a familiar mischievous smile. “Looks like you’ll have to spend all of today here to make for it.” When he sees that you’re about to protest, he continues. “Or all of today and tomorrow.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, holding back the grin threatening to spread on your face, too. “It seems like someone is feeling better. It’s like you don’t even need me to stay here and take care of you.”

He falls back onto the bed instantly, throwing an arm over his forehead and feigning illness. “Oh no, it’s so much worse than before. I can’t get out of bed.”

You spend the next few minutes trying to wrestle him out of the comfort of his blankets, only to find that, in all truthfulness, he is still a bit weak when it comes to walking and any other form of exertion. That night, he forces you to stay over once again and, honestly, you’re not sure you were ever opposed to the idea at all.

Twenty-five.

Na Jaemin does not make a point of crying in front of you. He also doesn’t make a point of showing you when he’s really, truly upset, either, for the most part. He scolded you before about keeping your tears to yourself, that he’s always there with an open shoulder should you ever need to cry, but you can count the number of times you’ve seen him cry on one hand. For someone so warm and radiant, he’s miraculously closed off. He never shies away from showing love and it’s a constant tug-of-war between the two of you over who loves who the most, as he won’t accept your care in return half the time.

It’s about a week before finals and you’ve deemed that you completed a satisfactory amount of studying for the evening. Somehow, Jaemin hasn’t joined you in your shared bedroom yet, so you step out to check on him, stretching your arms above your head and yawning. A quick glance at your phone tells you that the date has already changed from twenty-four to twenty-five, meaning that it’s past midnight. When you emerge into the kitchen, you see Jaemin’s figure hunched over the table, his forehead resting on the trackpad of his laptop. Well, that’s concerning. He doesn’t lift his head as you approach, simply staring down at the floor from his strange position. “Jaemin?” You question, reaching forward to prod his shoulder. He just groans quietly as you do so. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he mumbles, speaking towards the floor, “you should go to bed.” Despite his reassurances, a genuineness is missing from his voice and he still isn’t looking at you. Sighing quietly to yourself, you get on the ground, squeezing between some chairs to get under the table so you can look him in the eyes. Surprise lights his eyes up slightly as you grab his hand and tug on it gently.

“I’m not going to bed,” you say gently, the familiar warmth of your hands feeling soothing on his skin, “until you tell me what’s wrong and how I can help.”

It’s his turn to sigh. Still, he relents. “There’s nothing you can do to help. The paper I’ve been working on for the last six hours just closed randomly and I lost four pages of work.”

“That’s still fixable! Not a lost cause.”

“It’s due in the morning.”

“Oh.” You frown for a moment before letting out a quiet hum. “Hm, think of it this way. You’ve already written the paper, so now you just have to remember it, and maybe use this chance to make it even better than it was before! And the sooner you finish it, the sooner you’ll be done, if that makes sense.” Though his forehead is still pressed against the table, he nods to the best of his ability.

“I guess you’re right…”

“I’ll even make coffee for you if you want.”

He laughs quietly, only half of what a normal laugh would be from him. “You hate when I drink coffee.”

“I don’t hate it,” you say, pouting, “I’m okay with it when it helps you. And because you like it.” At that, he smiles slightly, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

“It’s okay, I don’t need coffee right now anyways. All I need is for you to come here so I can kiss you.” Encouraged by the fact that he seems in slightly better spirits now, you get too excited and try to lean forward from your position under the table, only succeeding on banging your head on the edge of the wood. You pull back with a groan, ignoring the full laughs now coming out of your boyfriend. As he tries to calm his laughter down, he pushes back his chair and slides to the ground, joining you on the floor. He moves the hand you have cupped over the bump forming on your scalp, his lips pressing over the spot instead. Before you can remark on him laughing on you, his leans forward, kissing you fully on the lips. You sit on the floor with him, the light from your apartment bleeding out into the dark night outside the window, letting him find comfort in your lips against his and your hands intertwined.

When he pulls away, the words leave your lips so easily. “I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, but that’s okay. That’s okay because he’s the only one who needs to hear it. He’s usually the one who says it first, always saying it so easily, but, this time, the words leave your mouth as smoothly as they usually leave his. He only lets the surprise show on his face for a moment before he’s grinning and then kissing you one more time.

“I love you, too.”

Both of you know that you shouldn’t spend much longer just kissing and exchanging confessions on the floor, but you take just a few more minutes to do so anyways. Finally, the two of you get up - more carefully this time - and he doesn’t complain as you drag a chair over and sit next to him as he wakes his laptop back up to work on his paper. He especially doesn’t complain when you drift off about two hours later and your head droops onto his shoulder.

“What’re you doing?”

Jaemin’s arms are suddenly around you from behind, bumping your arm and making your pen skitter slightly over the page, disrupting your sentence.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you sigh and don’t respond to the kiss he presses to your cheek before you turn towards him. He slides into the chair next to you and rests his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand. “Na Jaemin, do you see what you just made me do?”

“I would be sorry, but you’ve been cooped up in here for like four hours now and you haven’t said a single word to me. I know you’re not doing homework, so…” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. He glances down at your notes and you quickly move to cover them with your arms.

“I’m making a memory journal! You can’t look until I get all of them down.” He moves his head, trying to see under your arms, so you quickly snap the notebook shut, hiding the words inside.

“So secretive,” he grumbles, eyeing the closed notebook, “how many do you have so far?” “Twenty five.”

“You really have that many? Color me impressed.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips at that. “I’m trying to get to one hundred, one memory for each number.”

His eyes widen. “You’ll really have one for every number?”

“I mean… it’s not always easy to think of one… I-” As you’re speaking, he suddenly lunges forward, pulling the notebook away from you and flying away from his seat when you try to grab it back from him. “Na Jaemin!”

He ignores you, attempting to open your notebook and read what you have written, but you pursue him, forcing him to dodge you repeatedly. When you try to circle him, he simply raises the item above his head, avoiding your tries at snatching it back. Then, he tosses it onto your bed. Your eyes swing back and forth between him and the item before you go for it. His arms wrap around your waist and he’s suddenly tossing you onto the bed on your stomach as well. You shriek his name when he picks the notebook back up before you can and lies on top of you, weighing you down with his body. For a moment, you’re squirming under him, trying to smack at him, but you find that your leverage is too poor, so you just lie prone underneath him while he flips the notebook open and his eyes flit quickly over the words. “Jaemin,” you whine, “seriously.”

He ignores you, but you watch as his face shifts, his lips parting in some sort of happy surprise and eyebrows lifting. “Is this how you remember it?”

“Yeah,” you huff, his weight putting uncomfortable pressure on your lungs, “is there something wrong with it?”

“Nothing is wrong with it,” he says, eyes still moving over the page, “you’re just so... cute. Like, even more than usual.”

“If you think it’s that cute, you can get off of me so I can keep working.” You wiggle a little underneath him again.

“You should take a break,” he declares, getting off of you quickly and snapping the book shut. He reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you up.

“You just want me to amuse you.”

“No,” he says, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout, “I miss my girlfriend and I want to spend time making more memories with her.” He leans forward, his lips by your ear. Your hair stirs as his breath disturbs some of it. “In case you didn’t know, that’s you.”

He starts to tug you along, away from your bed and the incomplete notebook that is now resting on the blankets. “Wait, I didn’t even get to write about when you made me go cliff diving, or how your heart rate speeds up whenever we’re together, or-”

“Y/N.” He turns to you, still holding your hand. “It’ll help to go make more memories now. You’ll get to one hundred eventually. Let’s go.”

As he’s tugging you out of your apartment a minute later, the number placard on the front of your unit reflects back some of the hallway light. You make a note to yourself.

Twenty six. The apartment number where you live with the love of your life, where you sit and write the story of how you met, and where he can take you away to go on even more adventures.

#neowritingsnet #jaemin fluff #nct fluff #00 line fluff #nct dream fluff #if you have any comment or critiques feel free to leave it in tags comments or pop into my ask box!! i love hearing what people have to say!#also hi it's been two months since i've posted a fic <3 i'm almost at 200 followers so this is very late #somni ily i hope you like this

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years

Note

I would absolutely love to hear more of your headcanons about Luther, whenever you've got the time!! ((I love all of your posts about these messed up umbrella kids, tbh!))

Haha, thank you! I love pondering the lives of these seven awesome little assholes.

As for Number One….

He’s been unhappy for a while, possibly since his teen years. It’s hard to say when his dissatisfaction with life in the Academy started to come to the surface, but things probably began going from a simmer to a boil after Ben’s death. Whatever the case, I think he’s known subconsciously that things weren’t right for many years; but like most eldest/Golden Children in abusive homes, he’s actively denied this for just as long.

His denial takes the form of self-blame. For all his misplaced anger toward his siblings, Diego is able to recognize that Reginald is at the root of all their problems; but Luther doesn’t even begin to approach this point until the end of the first season. For most of his life, I think Luther blamed his growing unhappiness on himself. He’s not irritated with Dad’s refusal to let him off the grounds because that’s unfair; he’s irritated because he’s in a bad mood and needs to learn to be more grateful for what he has.

He’s always questioned how Reginald treats Vanya, but never explicitly. He doesn’t judge her for not having powers—that’s just the way things are, and getting angry at her for something she can’t help doesn’t make sense to him. He doesn’t question why she was left out of missions or sidelined during training—those things are dangerous enough when you do have powers—but leaving her out of family photos strikes him as a bit extreme. I mean, sure, Dad said they were Academy photos and she’s not in the Academy…but couldn’t they just take a family photo to go with the Academy ones? He’s never asked Reginald this, because Reginald doesn’t like to have his judgment questioned, but he’s always wondered.

Reginald taught him that he couldn’t have friends outside the Academy because friends were dangerous. “They’ll be a bad influence on you, Number One,” was probably what Luther heard. Reginald might have even done this awful illustration that my own parents did, where you take two fresh apples and one that’s rotten, stick them all in the same plastic bag, and leave them under the sink for a day or two. Then you take out the bag and presto! The two “good” apples have been “corrupted” by the “bad” apple, and that’s what’ll happen to you if you make friends Daddy Dearest doesn’t approve of!

As a result, Luther convinced himself he was happier without friends. He didn’t need anyone outside the Academy. He had his siblings, and Grace and Pogo when his siblings left. Sure, neither of them were probably great for a conversation, but they were something.

Reginald’s favorite means of keeping Luther in line was to tell him that whatever he did was for Luther’s own good—and as an adult, he’s reallyinternalized it. Mutated without his consent and left alone to adjust? Dad must have known his recovery would be more difficult if he’d been coddled. Sent to the Moon? He’s needed there. Not getting frequent shipments of food? Maybe Dad’s just trying to teach him to get by in dire circumstances.

Like many of his fans, I believe he enjoys writing poetry. But I think he shies away from writing anything too emotional or too personal, because the last time he allowed some of his frustration and despair onto the page, he wound up with a poem that made Reginald sound like a monster—not the benevolent (if harsh) authority figure Luther knew he was. The thought of Dad finding that poem filled him with so much guilt and fear that he shredded it and never allowed himself to write another one like it.

His decision to get hammered after learning his Moon mission was a farce didn’t come out of the blue. It’s clear he’s been sheltered from some of the ugliest aspects of Klaus’ substance addictions, but he wasn’t unaware of them. He didn’t know about the mausoleum or the resulting PTSD; all he knew was that his brother did a lot of drugs and drank a lot and always seemed to be happy and carefree. I think Luther was always tempted, on some level, to experiment with drugs, alcohol, or both—just to see if it gave him what Klaus had. I’d imagine the temptation got stronger after Ben died, and stronger yet after his nonconsensual body modification. He resisted, though, because he thought the world needed him sober.

He wasn’t always so aloof. Solitary confinement wreaks havoc on people’s ability to relate to others and read a room—but Luther doesn’t know this. He only knows that it was easier to talk to his siblings and understand what they needed from him before he went to the Moon. It’s clear to him that something is deeply wrong, and he’s certain it’s his fault, but he can’t figure out what it is.

Deep down, he hates being the Academy’s leader. He hates the stress, hates the uncertainty, hates knowing that everything that goes wrong will be his fault. Most of the time, he just accepts it as his duty. Sometimes, when things are going well, he convinces himself he enjoys it. He must enjoy it. Dad made him Number One, and Dad knows him better than he knows himself.

If he could have his pick, he’d choose to be more of a supporter. Instead of giving orders, he’d pitch in and make sure they were carried out effectively. Transporting the wounded, functioning as a heavy-hitter, generally doing whatever needed to be done—he’d do it. It’s not that he prefers to blindly follow orders; its just that he’s better at seeing what needs to be done than he is at charting the course. Once someone else comes up with the outline, he’s able to fill it in with colors and shapes.

He likes the word astronaut, but prefers the literal meaning: star sailor.

He loves nature. Never got much of a chance to be out in it, but he loves cooler temperatures and dramatic views, wild open spaces with cold fresh air and lots to explore. Alaska, Montana, Colorado, parts of Canada, Wyoming—that would be his jam.

If given the chance, he’d be a total country boy. Living and working out on a ranch, heading into town once a week for supplies, going to the county fair every year, walking around with a funnel cake in one hand and carnival tickets in his pocket….once he got a taste of that life, he might never go back to the city.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #headcanon #anon #answered

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szopenhauer · 4 years

Text

What shirt you’re wearing now? my old Mickey tee Last video you watched on yt?

youtube

I’ve felt like on drugs watching it <3

Who is the tallest person you know and how tall are they? my ex classmate Z.B. is but no idea how tall exactly, I’ve been “dating” him in pre-school which is even more funny when you know that me and N.A. were the shortest kids (and still are petite adults) What are you listening to? Natural by Imagine dragons

How do you get songs out of your head? listen smth else or wait for it to pass? Have you seen all the High School Musicals? I don’t think so, I know I’ve watched at least one because my sister forced me to but I hate musicals and Zac buffoon is no good Do you dress appropriately for your age? no What song reminds you of summer? many Do you like your neighbors? nah Has a bird ever flown into your window? chimney, don’t worry, it survived Do you have nicknames that are longer than your actual name? sorta, could say so

What did you do today? visited gastrologist Do you like to sleep a lot? kinda, would say so Have you ever been in a class that you thought you were too smart for? oh well... Who was the last person you apologized to? my gf because I wasn’t able to write back as I wasn’t feeling well and was a little busy Would you ever get a pet tarantula? nope, I’m not scared of it but feeding spiders is gross and also my current partner has a phobia so no point of getting a pet like this Do you charge your cell phone every day? yeah Do you use tumblr? <I dislike ppl who say “what’s tumblr” as a response to questions like this because those surveys weren’t made in here so chill> Don’t you hate when people stare at you? ugh... Do you have a secret you’ve never told anyone? I do not Are you Jewish? I am not Does anyone copy the things you do? some ppl used to and yet been bullying me for what I was doing - stupid Is your dad still alive? luckily

Are you OCD about anything? you either have ocd or not, you can be obsessed about smth but then it’s not a disease, I might have this mental problem but it’s more likely just my BPD

What breed of dog are you the most similar to? pug? Is anyone madly in love with you? hmm...

Are you over-protective of anyone? possibly ^^” Would you say cancer rates are on the rise? it seems Do you have a good memory? it’s complicated How do you normally pose in photos? not... normally XD Are you looking forward to tomorrow? knowing that my sis won’t come? more than I did an hour before, sorry not sorry Will you hug anyone tomorrow? my parents obviously Could you name all 50 states off of the top of your head? no way When was the last time you were scared? always, more or less What’s your favorite song by Rihanna? Bitch better have my money - dunno why Do you have a pretty eye color? it’s fine in my opinion What’s your favorite Mel Gibson movie? despite him being an ass irl I was a huge fan of his old movies Do you ever put ketchup on your cereal? umm... what? hmm... Do you hate the person who last texted you? we’re in a relationship Do you ever wear plaid? at times Where are your parents at the moment? dad’s working and mom’s asleep Are you procrastinating as we speak? drying my hair, drinking water, responding to my father’s text and going to sleep Do people ever make you smile stupidly at the computer? yup Do you take painkillers? nope

Have you ever hugged someone you didn’t know? for example - there were those women in heart costumes on valentine’s day who were giving away lollipops and they hugged me Do you think God actually exists? I believe so Who did you last give a piggyback ride to? to J.N. and P.N. brother D.N. Did you know that a banana is actually a herb? wtf Do you like little random facts like that? love Who was your favorite Beatle? Paul What’s the ugliest trend you’ve ever seen? can’t choose only one

Do you say ‘legit’? nah

Have you ever solved a Rubik’s Cube? tried, failed, gave up

Who do you think is the easiest to talk to? my dad and @jonasz-cat Would you ever date a friend’s ex? hell no Do you think Ke$ha is good or no? I don’t listen to her music Are you talking to anyone right now? online

Where did your last hug take place? home

What did your last text message say? jest akuratny :)

which of these prints did you last wear: animal print, striped, checkered, plaid, floral print, polka-dotted, argyle, or houndstooth? floral print (and plaid)

out of you and your friends, who is the pickiest eater? ME

is your room cleaner now than it was a week ago? mhm :3

who was the last person you picked up at the airport? -

What’s your favorite color of shoe? it doesn’t matter much

Do you post music on your facebook? yup What do you think about people who don’t have facebook? they should unless they’re old Would you rather go to school or have a job? job gives money so... Take pics with phone or actual camera? depends If you could paint your bedroom walls any color what would it be? I wanna a vintage wallpaper tho Chocolate or vanilla ice cream? vanilla Camping or going to the mall? mall Swimming or Hiking? hiking Do you collect stickers? I got ‘em as gifts for my scrapbook and didn’t use Stuffed animal, flowers or chocolates? stuffed animal Pizza or pasta? pizza Italian or Mexican food? italian Do you walk around barefoot in your house? ewww, yuk Do you have a ring on your ring finger? not rn What band shirt would you wear? my fav bands of course What band shirt would you not wear? guess... What do you think about cigars? remind me of Aquarius from my book

Pencils; Mechanical or Traditional? traditional

Does it weird you out when people much younger than you, hit on you? creepy Is there anyone you know is into you right now? :D Do you tend to want what you can’t have? I want health What are you most confident about, physically? pfft What are you most self-conscious about, physically? my skin Have you ever felt trapped in a relationship? sigh...

Is it wicked hard for you to sleep when its hot in your room? it’s harder

Do you ever think people are just saying dramatic things to get attention? there are human beings who act this way

Are you easily offended? I’m sensitive but not the worst?

Is most of your email spam? D: 99,99%

Do you laugh at the expense of others? when they “deserve” it

do you have any bruises? on my knee which is weird as I barely ever get any and I didn’t hurt myself lately would you consider yourself a drama queen? to some extent when you were little did your mom ever sing to you? from what I remember ever feel like you don’t belong? because that’s true does your printer need ink? black

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anniestrange · 5 years

Text

Theseus x Leta

Our future

Leta and Theseus had get engaged. They had decided the date, June 6.

They were in the middle of the preparations. "There's still a lot of time left," they said at first, but little by little they realized that planning a wedding took too much time. They had already chosen the place of reception: a beautiful garden in a country house on the outskirts of London. They had also chosen the banquet and the cake, although this was difficult since Theseus preferred lemon cake and Leta wanted a chocolate cake. Something untraditional in a wedding.

Newt would be the best man of his brother. Leta would not have bridesmaids since she did not really have anyone to ask her for (it's fine - she had said - I would spend my time choosing her dresses and hairstyles instead of dedicating myself to more important things).

Theseus had already chosen his suit. Leta still had not decided on her dress, she leafed through magazines with wedding dresses and placed little notes on those she liked in her spare time at work and when Theseus was not around. She walked around the shops and watched the other young brides accompanied by their mothers and sisters. Leta had neither mother nor sisters. She had thought about asking Theseus' mother for help, but she was too busy taking care of her hippogriffs. Even so, she always gave her advice on how to prepare herself as she will wear shoes one size larger to avoid being hurt.

In between all the fuss Leta and Theseus had not had time to talk about what would await them in their new life together after their wedding. They had not talked about where they would live.

Where they would have a small shelter just for them.

Theseus took the lead in this. Sometimes he would tell his fiancee that he would be late from the ministry because he would have a lot of work, that she would go home and not wait for him awake. But he actually went in and out of the city to find the perfect place where he and Leta could live together. He found it several weeks later. And he decided to take Leta to meet him.

Both left early from the Ministry, Leta had advanced all her earrings with Travers because Theseus told her that he had a surprise for her.

They went out together and went to an alley to appear with greater security.

-Close your eyes- Theseus said

-but if we're going to appear! Why do you need me to close my eyes? - Leta answered skeptically

-Because I want it to be a surprise from start to finish- answered the Auror with a smile

Leta rolled her eyes and then closed them.

Theseus took her by the waist and they appeared together.

Leta felt that she was touching land and assumed that they had reached their destination. She tried to open her eyes but Theseus stopped her.

-Ah ah ah, not yet- he answered and covered her eyes with his hands

- What are you doing Scamander? - Leta replied feeling the hands of Theseus on her face.

-Relax, trust me-

They walked a little, she felt the fresh air and the soft floor and assumed that they were in the field.

They continued on their way until he stopped her and she could hear the sound of a door opening.

-By here, with care-

They entered ... Wherever they were and Theseus closed the door.

They took a few more steps and stopped.

"Well," Theseus said, "you still have your eyes closed?" -

-Yes-

He removed his hands from her face and placed himself in front of her.

-Excellent ... Well now open them -

Leta opened her eyes and ran into Theseus in front of her. He was smiling.

-surprise! -

She looked around and realized they were in the living room inside an old and destroyed country house.

-For Merlín Theseus, where ... -

-I know I know. It's a little careless but I think you and I can make it a home

-What are you ... -

-Look around here - Theseus interrupted enthusiastically - Here is the fireplace right? -

He began to move around the living room - in front of it we will put an armchair with some cushions ... Here there will be a wall and we can paint it the color you want ... Over here I open a little table with books and flowers .. And in this corner we will put a small bookcase ... The biggest one will go in the studio that is here ... You will love it - he went to the room next to the stairs. Leta followed him - here in the kitchen we will put a small table for when we have breakfast quickly - the dining room will really be over there ... Up the stairs are the rooms ... There are three ... The main one is the biggest and the two others that are smaller but have enough space. Oh! There is also a guest room below ... And here in the entrance hall there will be a coat rack where there will be coats and an umbrella ... You see?

And Leta saw it. She stared dumbfounded at her future husband. He had looked for a house for them. For their new life together. And he talked about that future and that home with so much emotion that she did not know whether to laugh or cry. So she did both.

-You're good? - Theseus asked worried. Maybe he had exceeded himself a little.

-Yeah sure. Please continue - she replied crossing her arms

-Well ... - Theseus returned to his vision. And when Leta thought that he would not have any more ideas ...

- Here in this hall we will take pictures of our children ... And we will hang them on these two walls and put some on the little tables-

Children? Did he say children?

- They will be normal photos. Children being children. Playing with their toys, painting the walls, eating the cake you told them they could not eat yet ... - Theseus stopped. Did he said children ?.

Leta and Theseus looked at each other. They had not talked about having children. A small great detail that had escaped them. They knew they wanted to have them, but never if they were going to have them. Both were damaged.

Theseus always wanted children. Have a family and play with his children. See them grow, watch them go. See their grandchildren grow. But after the war he get damaged. He continued with his little illusion but he could not help but be terrified at the thought of what he could offer as a father. A child deserves love, patience and a father who does not have war nightmares. A man damaged with a wife and also being a father .....

Leta for her part was always afraid of having children. She loved them. But the simple idea terrified her. That since it passed her brother. Leta just wanted to get rid of him for a moment ... It was just a moment ... He did not stop crying ... Just a moment ... And it ended up being the ugliest mistake of her life. If that's how it was as a sister, she could not imagine what she would be like as a mother. She would also get tired of his own son? Would she also leave him alone for not listening to him cry? A son deserves love ... Fatherly love, something she did not know. What would she offer her husband and also her son?

Both continued looking at each other. And after a moment they smiled. They wanted children, of course they wanted them. But it would not be something that would happen soon. She would not be telling Theseus that she was pregnant two months after they got married. Maybe not even after a year. This would take time. They would have to resolve themselves in order to have something to offer to little ones. It would take time, yes. But it was certain that one day, maybe not today not tomorrow or two years from now, Leta would be smiling and crying to tell Theseus that they were expecting a child. And he? He would embrace her, kiss her and even begin to speak to her bump in the midst of tears and smiles. It would be a beautiful moment.

-You said the main room was upstairs? - Leta asked pulling both of their thoughts.

-Yes, come on if you want- Answered Theseus

They both went to the stairs more, him behind her. Leta fell on the sixth step.

-yes, I also have to repair that- he said holding her

She laughed. When they reached the top Leta looked at all the rooms. Leaving the main one for the end. Leta came in and Theseus watched her from the door. Leta slowly turned around and looked around the room.

It was spacious and beautiful. It had a closer and a bathroom with a tub. There was also an old dressing table that, behind all that dirt, was certainly beautiful. Leta smiled. That was their room. The room they will share together. Where they would rest and tell how their day was. A little space just for them.

-I think I'll take care of this- Leta said - Look, here in front will be a very comfortable and bigger bed than we have in our apartment in London, there is enough space. The toilet will be moved to this side ... In the bathroom I will place some candles ... A small table next to each side of the bed, some lamps around here .. And I will see what colors we can use for the walls ... I think of a red, what do you think?

Theseus watched her with love from the door, chuckling and taking his hands out of his pockets he approached her.

-I think it would be very good- and kissed her

Leta returned the kiss with the same sweetness and passion with which he was kissing her. It was the beginning of their future together. A great and promising future.

Thus the months passed and both found the time to build the house of their dreams. They had done everything they had proposed. And in a matter of time, with a little magic and manual labor. Their home was ready to receive them at any time. They even took some of their things little by little and got to sleep there a couple of times (and many others did not necessarily sleep). Also, Theseus connected the Red Flu with his office in the ministry to move faster.

Everything was ready. Everything was perfect.

But then Paris happened ... Oh damn Paris ...

Decisions were made and futures were ripped out of hand.

After that, Theseus could not return, neither to his apartment nor to his home. Everything was for him a future that had been taken out of his hands.

I apologize for the grammatical errors English is not my native language and I am learning it. It is also my first time writing, I always have ideas but I had never written them. So I hope you like it and tell me what you think :)

#leta lestrange #theseus scamander #theseus x leta #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald #fantastic beasts #the crimes of grindelwald

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printables80 · 2 years

Text

A Buyer’s Guide to Canvas Prints In 2022

Canvas prints are the most popular alternative for preserving and immortalising those priceless moments because of its limitless adaptability. But how do you know you're getting the appropriate prints that will turn your photo into beautiful wall art for your home or office?

Is it because of the the fabric? Is it the visual quality, or is it something else? It might also be the Design/photo’s orientation. While all of this is important, there are still a few more boxes to check. In this blog, we'll go over simple techniques that you should be aware of before clicking the "add to cart" button.

Quality over everything else

You don't want to print a low-quality pixelated photo on a very large canvas, no matter how dear to your heart it is, because prolonged stretching of a low-quality picture might have terrible repercussions. You can even come to despise your favourite photograph after seeing it at its ugliest.

Pictures used for canvas printing should have a pixel count of around 150-33 ppi. The topic should ideally take up the majority of the image space, and there should be little noise in the image. The picture appears better when expanded on the canvas when the pixel count per inch is high, but a low pixel count per inch results in a fuzzy and noisy canvas print. Even if you’re not a person who knows this technical details, always remember below rule for estimating size Whatsapp shared photo: 15x15 cm or smaller canvas

iPhone photo: 30x30 cm or lesser DSLR photo: A0 size or smaller Vector Design: A0 size or smaller

Google image: Less than 1mb (not printable) Google image: 5mb (20x20 cm)

Google image: 10mb (A3 size) Google image: 20-40mb (A1 size)

Durability

One of the most forcible arguments for Banners and prints is their durability. Canvas is a long-lasting and resilient material that has withstood the test of time.

Simultaneously, the high-quality ink used may preserve the print's brightness for much longer than paper. This is why, for ages, canvas paintings in art galleries and museums have looked gorgeous.

Is it worth hanging your photo?

It is true that not all photographs should be printed on canvas. Some photos are best left on your phone or deleted permanently. With well-taken shots that convert into larger images, canvas prints work effectively. Before sending your photos, ask yourself the following questions.

Is the image sharp?

Is the image compromised by digital noise?

Is the lighting adequate?

Will this work well as a large canvas print?

Nothing is more aggravating than printing a bad photo.

Framing

Depending on where the picture will be hung, framing wall with prints might be a tough task. Because you never know where a print will be shown, I recommend a basic, subtle black frame for galleries and art events that allows the artwork to breathe and speak for itself.

Pre-decide the location

It's usually a good idea to think about and plan where you'll put your canvas before you order. This helps to bring everything into focus. "Does this size and design complement the rest of the décor in the room?" or "Is there adequate space on this wall?"

If you're showing art, it should appear nice not only on its own but also in conjunction with the rest of the room. Consider a room with a blue and white theme and a pink flower-themed painting. You can have numerous thinner canvases that are tightly grouped to make one enormous image if there is adequate room on the wall, such as over the T.V. lounge couches.

If you wish to hang a print at home, you must first choose a location. It's preferable to pick a wall with adequate illumination. It will appear weird on your wall if the print is too little or too large.

The final touches

A few small decisions when buying the canvas print may have an impact on the final appearance and feel of your canvas print. These finishing touches are important and may make a big difference in how the piece looks and feels in the end.

Is there a beautiful family photo on your digital camera? Are you satisfied with your digital artwork? For whatever reason, you want to put it on display. Canvas is the only way to print large-size and high-resolution images on a large scale. Instead of a long-lasting printed image, canvas art prints provide a high-quality print of any digital image file. Check out PRINTABLES for customized canvas printing in UAE today for the greatest canvas prints in Dubai!

Printables is a website where you can create and print custom presents, home décor, and other items. They provide a variety of items, including personalised canvas, picture art prints, customised presents, corporate gifts, and more. Competitive prices, the greatest printers, high-quality inks, and long-lasting canvases are all available from us.

#Canvas printing #canvas printinguae #canvas printing dubai

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mother-rearest · 2 years

Photo

This photo shows the spell I was under pretty damn accurately. I loved him and I thought he loved me. I realize this is a lengthy post but, that dog on my lap, was by life. On this given day, weeks after he agreed to turn himself in to reduce whatever sentence was determined, after he literally ran from the courthouse, certain of a dirty urine, left me there to avoid going back to jail. At this EXACT point, he was an actual fugitive, on the run. In case you couldn't guess he didn't, and wouldn't, go willingly. That doggo, sitting there on my lap, Tiko, was my first "child." My one and only, real and most truest love. In the short time I had him, he already saved my life countless times. I struggled with depression, I had already left an abusive relationship once, college caused me stresses and anxiety that only added to my mental illness. That pup was ALWAYS, in all ways, there for me. He was also, an insanely good, undoubtedly accurate - judge of character. Do we all see the concern, the wariness, the uncertainty, in that dog's expression? Why couldn't I? I really think, that even though Tiko accepted him (to support me, no doubt... with his inability to speak English), he had to have sensed the imminent, if not already constant, wrong that would negatively impact my life. Oh Tiko, my love, RIP. You pure, innocent, beautiful soul - and curse the driver that hit you with his truck (slowed down, and upon seeing you lying on the road there, that he had most certainly killed you, speed away like it meant nothing)... In hindsight, with the knowledge I have now, combined with the lack of emotions you expressed at the time, the way you kept telling me to "get over it, he was. JUST a dog," I truly wonder if, while pregnant with your first son, if you simply convinced somebody to commit an act as heinous as this. Let's face it. Even tho he was "just a dog," you saw him as competition, bc I loved him as my child. If I had to choose between the two, who to save from certain death... I'd tell you differently, but deep down, you knew i would choose him. Jealousy may be the ugliest of human emotions. Leading to some of the ugliest acts humanly possible. https://www.instagram.com/p/CXJX7bwrabdIwkzk3s_P4nr6npJpk2vGrwSTPI0/?utm_medium=tumblr

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grandpaku · 6 years

Note

Since you're asking for prompts, i'd be really interested in reading one where sycamore and serena are at a party and someone starts hitting on serena and sycamore gets really jealous? maybe already- established relationship?

He’s watching them from across the room, his blood boiling underneath his skin.

Steven Stone was a classy gentleman who Augustine was very fond of. Many times they have crossed paths through work-related activities and were easily able to make a connection with each other through their love of Pokemon. This lead to a solid friendship that lasted for what seems like a lifetime, one so strong that the professor and the champion would meet up from time to time at a fancy restaurant and discuss what was happening in each other’s lives. Augustine was proud to have a friend like Steven, however, at the moment, he wished he would drop dead.

Although Steven was a polite young man who was humble about his wealth and fame, he did carry an ego around with him, which Augustine noticed but choose to ignore because it never interfered with their friendship. By himself, Steven was a quiet, if not shy, man who was a lot smarter than he usually lead on. But put that same man in a room filled with admirers and he became someone else. His alter-ego was a loud-mouth, arrogant, kiss-up who said anything he could if it meant he’d have time in the spotlight. There was nothing that man wouldn’t do to impress someone of prestigious or high standing.

Which is why he was spending the whole night talking to Serena, the new Kalos Queen.

Tonight’s party is in honour of Serena’s victory. All the most famous movie stars, models, directors, producers, and performers came out to celebrate the addition to the performing industry. The newspapers haven’t stopped talking about Serena since she won a week ago. It was almost as if she gained her fame overnight and suddenly everyone wanted her.

Including Steven, which was not okay for the professor.

He grips his champagne glass tightly as he see’s Steven standing too close to Serena on the other side of the room. He has his arm around her back, keeping her in close proximity as they laugh along with a group of people standing around them. Augustine doesn’t blame Steven for being attracted to Serena. It’s impossible for anyone not to be. She wore a beautiful pink dress tailored to her body and her hair was done up in an elegant Kalosian style that made his heart clench in his chest. But that was no excuse for Steven to be hitting on another man’s woman.

“He does with all the girls. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

Struck from his gaze, Augustine turned his head to Diantha, who had crossed the floor to join him in the back corner of the room. She pointed at a photographer who walked up to Steven and Serena and asked to take a few photos of them together. Steven looked elated by the question and ran his hand through his hair to ready himself for the photo.

Diantha noticed Augustine’s frown and shook her head. “He just does it for the camera’s.”

Augustine wasn’t bought by Diantha’s excuse. “He’s always been like this at parties. I never worried about his behaviour until now.”

“What do you think he’s going to do? Whisk Serena away and crush whatever is going on with you too?”

His lips form a straight line. “I’ve seen it happen before. I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened again.”

“Well it’s not going to happen with you,” she reassures, placing a delicate hand on the professor’s forearm for comfort. “Steven is your friend and Serena is in love with you. Everyone know’s it, including Steven. So don’t worry.”

He hummed in response, not really listening to anything she was telling him. Instead, he watched the photographer urge the two of them closer together and snap photo after photo of them. He wouldn’t be surprised if their eyes hurt from all the camera flashes. They did a few different poses, one with their arms around each other’s shoulders, another with them holding hands in front of them, and another one where Serena had her hand on his chest and was turned into him. He didn’t particularly like that one.

Then the photographer said he wanted one more of them doing whatever pose they would like. So, Steven brought a hand up to Serena’s face and pulled her to him so that he could press his lips against her cheek as the flash went off.

“Hold this,” Augustine said as he thrust his champagne glass into Diantha’s hand.

“What? What are you doing?”

It was like his feet had a mind of their own. They stomped their way across the hall towards Steven and Serena, not caring about who’s toes he stepped on. His eyebrows were furrowed and his fists were clenched when he walked up to them. As soon as Serena laid her eyes on him, her smile brightened and he had to admit that it did kind of make him feel better about the situation.

“Steven,” Augustine declared his name more harshly then he would have liked, but the man was too disoriented to notice his tone.

“Augustine, glad to finally see you come out from hiding,” Steven exclaimed. “Where have you been all night? Sneaking out into the hallways to check in on your research? You know, those mega stones aren’t gonna go anywhere.”

Steven still had his arm wrapped around Serena and Augustine couldn’t help but notice. The atrocious smell coming from his mouth did not go unnoticed either. He didn’t look intoxicated but he knew Steven well enough to know when he’s had too much to drink.

Without trying to sound offended, Augustine cleared his throat. “I was actually just talking to Diantha for a while.”

“Ah, sounds boring.” Steven deadpanned. “Serena and I were just taking our cover photo for the most acclaimed magazine in Kalos. The photographer thought that the beautiful, stunning, and talented Kalos Queen and the Hoenn Champion would be able to sell some magazines.”

He looked at Serena while he spoke as if he forgot that Augustine was with them. Serena simply blushed under his gaze. He wondered if she could tell that Steven was peeing all over the place to assert his dominance.

Steven continued. “I don’t remember the name of the magazine, though, but Serena said it was the best one in the region. It was something like Kalos… Kalos …”

“Kalos Temps,” Serena finished for him, chuckling at Steven’s attempt. “The Kalos Time’s magazine is what he’s trying to say.”

They both started laughing with each other. Augustine rolled his eyes. He turned his head slightly over his shoulder to see that Diantha was still standing on the other side of the hall. Holding his drink, she was leaned up on a cocktail table, watching the scene play out before her with eyes glued on Augustine. It sparked an idea in his mind.

He turned back to Steven and spoke directly to him. “I actually came over to tell you that Diantha is looking for you, Steven.”

He perks up at the mention of his name, or maybe it was Diantha’s name that interested him.

“Oh?”

“Yes, she wanted to talk to you before she left tonight. Something about catching an early plane tomorrow to go film one of her movies. I told her I’d come find you.”

Steven curiously looked across Augustine to see Diantha looking at them. His smile turned into a grin and he -finally- let go of Serena. “Well, it’s not nice to keep a lady waiting.”

He left Serena’s side and disappeared into the sea of faces. Augustine relaxed and took a big breath of relief. He then turned to Serena and was surprised to see that her bubbly mood from moments before had instantly transformed into a placid one. The smile was replaced with a frown and her shoulders dropped into a poor posture. Confused, Augustine raised an eyebrow.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Serena bellowed, pushing a flyaway hair back behind her ear. “He’s been clinging to me all night! I haven’t been able to talk to anyone because he just keeps budding in and talking about himself!”

Augustine was… surprised. He simply nodded his head at his girlfriend, admiring just how good of an actress she actually was because he thought she was having the time of her life with him.

Annoyed, Serena continued. “As soon as he arrived at the party all he’s been doing is following me around. That photo that we did for Kalos Temps probably won’t even get published because it’s the ugliest picture of me ever taken. I’m sure they won’t print it if I ask them not too. I’m the Kalos Queen now, so they’d do that for me if I ask nicely, right?”

Augustine chuckled. “So you’re annoyed with him too?”

She scoffed. “Annoyed doesn’t even come close,” she turned to him. “Wait. What do you mean by too? What’d he do to you?”

He felt his cheeks heat up at her question. “Well, to be completely honest, I didn’t particularly like how friendly he was getting with you tonight.” He said quietly, averting his eyes from hers. “Annoyed doesn’t even come close.”

Serena looked shocked at his confession, and then after a moment, amused. “Does the word jealous come closer?”

He cocks his head at her to see her grinning at him. He didn’t want to agree that he was jealous of Steven but Serena was right on the nose. Admitting it would just lead to a night full of taunting that he was not in the mood for. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and bashfully looked around the room, deciding to just not answer the question.

Serena tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. She could see the blush rising on Augustine’s cheeks. “Oh, Augustine, were you actually jealous of Steven?”

Again, he said nothing in favour of eyeing the dessert table.

“Augustine.”

This time, he looked at her.

She delicately reached a hand out to touch his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. Her soft touch and loving eyes made him realize that he didn’t have to ever worry about her leaving him for another man.

“I should be the only one kissing you for magazine covers.”

Serena nodded, understanding, and moved closer towards him so she didn’t have to yell over the roar of the party. “Trust me when I say I’d much rather have your lips on my cheek instead of Steven’s. His are kind of dry, to be honest.”

Augustine let a faint smile tug at the corner of his lips. She lifted a hand to his cheek and forced him to look at her. “Although I’d much rather have your lips right here.”

She leaned in and kissed him softly. He was no stranger to her touch and easily feel into her, deepening the kiss by pressing his lips against hers a little harder. He felt all his insecurities flow out his body, onto his lips, and disappear into thin air. It was like he never felt them in the first place.

#finally posted!! sorry for the wait!#Anonymous #ask #my fic #lacewood #lacewoodshipping #pokemon #pokemon xy #serena #professor sycamore #trainer serena #augustine sycamore #dr platane #prompt

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mysticalfriends · 7 years

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Anon Asks: RFA reacting to an MC with a fuck ton of cats

Hey there y’all. The excitement is great, almost 100 followers. We’re planning on doing something for the big event, and there will be a poll posted sometime on Saturday with a couple options for y’all to choose from. We’re all really happy that someone likes our writing (like wow, we never expected this~) and we’re so honored that y’all decided to join us in our fun. Anyways, have another head canon, y’all~

<3 Mod Vem

Yoosung -When he finds out that you have cats he’s excited to meet them -Until MC asks him to come over and meet them -MC starts listing off names while pointing out which is which -Yoosung knows that cats are social animals, they like having friends -but for the apartment where MC is living, this is too many furry friends -Yoosung finally just asks how many cats you have -6? That’s...a lot of cats. But momma cat had 5 kittens, and if you can’t find homes for them you’re certainly not going to kick them out on the streets -Yoosung knows the feeling, you can’t just abandon them. They’re a family. -Once he gets to see the cats together, chilling out and not acting stressed he settles down -He becomes a cat whisperer, spending time over at MC’s place is really helping him learn about feline behavior -It takes him a while, but he does learn all their names, even though he always gets Tootsie and Footsie mixed up.

Zen -Nope -No -Why did you think this was a good idea again? -He loves you, very very much, and he’s willing to try for you. He’s not going to ask ‘me or them’, he’s afraid of what the answer might be -He doses himself with allergy meds and braves the fray, and knocks on your door -He braces himself for the sneezing -MC greets him and he walks into the living room -and screams -It was a very manly scream, and he would like you to know he heroically jumped in front of MC to defend his lady from the demons -Wow Zen, I’ve never heard anyone call my cats a shriveled pack of goblins before -With their big floppy ears and bald wrinkly faces they do look like goblins, or bats -They are the ugliest things he has ever seen. But he’s not going to tell MC that. -And it just so happens that they’re hypoallergenic. Zen’s allergies don’t act up around them. -He refuses to admit that he likes them though. He’d never hear the end of it from Jumin. -Jaehee, however, does have a photo of Zen sleeping on the couch with Fizzles sleeping in the crook of his arm, courtesy of MC

Jaehee -Jaehee knows you have cats, she’s seen the traces of fur on your clothes -But she doesn’t expect there to be so many of them -She stops and stares in shock at the 4 kittens chasing each other around the coffee table -and what is apparently their mother cleaning another 2 in a fluffy cat bed -And the biggest, meanest looking cat she’s ever seen lounging across the back of the couch in a patch of sunlight -Before she works herself up into righteous indignation MC heads her off -I know you don’t care for cats, but only Victoria belongs to me. The rest of them are foster cats from the shelter, here to be socialized for future homes -Now Jaehee appreciates community service. It’s important to help out causes that are important to you -But did it really have to be cats? -So long as Jaehee isn’t responsible for their care (and MC is very practiced at handling their charges) she doesn’t mind that much -And it obviously makes MC happy -And they both cry when it’s time to send the batch of kittens off to their new homes

Jumin -Unfortunately, Jumin had to be away on business -MC was kind enough to offer to take care of Elizabeth the 3rd -He hated leaving them both all alone -So it was a suitable arrangement -Especially when MC told him they had cats of their own -He worried about Elizabeth the 3rd. How would she handle meeting the other cats? -But he trusted MC to know how to properly handle the situation -When he got back he went directly to MC’s apartment, he wanted to surprise them -But he certainly didn’t expect that -Elizabeth the 3rd was cuddled up with a beautiful orange male, they were grooming each other, as a tortoiseshell looked on jealously -Instant protectiveness -After MC greeted him, they opened up a can of cat food and another 3 sets of eyes magically appeared around corners, before they slunk around the edges of the room to their dishes, one of them looking painfully round -MC was more than happy to explain that they had a business breeding calico and tortoiseshell cats -They really knew a lot about their cats. While he knew about Elizabeth the 3rd, there was a lot he didn’t know about cats in general. -He was more than happy to support them, and in return MC was more than happy to let her pets test out any of his feline products -They had a system, and it worked

Seven -For a while MC wouldn’t even let Seven over -He knew she had cats -They said that they couldn’t handle a lot of stress -And that’s okay, not every cat wants to play all the time -But eventually MC relented -but he had to promise to leave them alone -He was just so excited when he drove over -Until he got in and saw them -They were all so old, or thin, or sick -MC had a deal with the local shelter, they called MC’s apartment the ‘Hospice for Hopeless Cats’ -He was so proud of her, taking care of all these lost causes -It still didn’t stop him from tossing around a few toys to the energetic ones -and when Sir Purrcival decided to chase his headphone wires -That just made his week

Saeran -He didn’t understand why people wanted pets -She certainly never allowed them -So when MC offered to introduce him he was wary -He wanted to get away from Saeyoung though -He was feeling smothered -After MC reassured Saeyoung that there wouldn’t be any problems, he was released with an embrace -He stared at MC. He didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to apologize? How do you even say “I’m sorry for kidnapping you?” -MC just smiled at him, and led him into the living room. Apparently he’s not supposed to say anything. -They handed him a ziploc bag full of green...what sort of spice was this? It didn’t smell like oregano... -There was a rush of bodies low to the ground at the door -He shrunk back into the couch, and went completely still -The bodies resolved to be cats, and they were very interested in the bag he was holding -It was a swarm, and they weren’t particularly picky over where they were standing. -One of them thrust their face inside and almost knocked it out of his hands before MC took pity on him -“Tiberius, don’t be rude to our guest!” They pulled the tall, obnoxious cat away. “Feel free to push them away if they get too nosy, they know their manners. They just forget them when they get excited sometimes.” -Well doesn’t that sound familiar. Despite himself, Saeran felt a grin on his face. -After a while of letting the cats investigate him and the bag of catnip they wandered off -All except for the small one half-perched between his shoulder and the back of the couch cushion -“Oh don’t mind Nugget. She likes to be tall.” He stuck out a hand and let her sniff it in introduction -Nugget then pressed against his hand so forcefully she fell over and slid down into his lap -Where she proceeded to make herself comfy, and started up the cutest purr -And her fur was so soft he couldn’t stop petting her -It was comforting

V -He...doesn’t actually realize that MC has more than one cat -They just never seemed to appear in the same room at the same time -so when he told MC that he really liked how friendly their cat was -MC was all, “I don’t know, I think Andromeda can be kind of rude. Chiron is the nice one.” -“What do you mean the nice one? I thought you only had 1 cat?” -He could just hear MC’s incredulous not-laughter -“I’ve got 5 cats, but they’re siblings, so they’re all pretty identical” -And MC went and collected the cats one by one -Everytime they brought out another cat his jaw dropped lower and lower -And they were pretty identical -He has never felt more embarrassed -How is it that in 3 years no more than 1 of these cats has ever been in the same room as him at a time?

#mod vem #writes #mystic messenger #mysme #mm headcanons #headcanon #mystic messenger hc #yoosung #zen #jaehee #jumin #seven #searan #choi #v #cats

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missymwac · 5 years

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The Egg Dress: a photo rescue story

I am starting a rescue effort. It has nothing to do with dogs, cats, or dolphins caught in tuna nets. I’m not trying to salvage old buildings nor save the environment. I still use plastic straws, people. I admit it.

What I am rescuing is old photos.

I rescue them from garage sales and thrift stores. Old photos that nobody wants. It hurts my heart, that nobody wants them; that these precious portraits held no value at all and so they were given to be sold.

It hurts because these photos are of people and each of these people had a story. A life that mattered. Their lives didn’t cease in importance because they weren’t important to the family member who threw them in a box marked $1.00 each.

And having rescued them, I give them a story. I use their faces as inspiration. I offer a glimpse into a possible life behind the still. I draw back the curtain just a bit and imagine what might their life might have been like.

To be honest, I wrestled with this. After all, I don’t know these people. I wondered if I was dishonoring their memory by assigning to their lives a short story from my imagination. But the more I dug into dusty boxes of unwanted photos, I realized that the real dishonor is found in abandoned photos that end up in dusty boxes.

I honor them by giving them a voice.

So I hope you enjoy this story and the stories to follow, but more than that, I hope you take a good long look at the portraits. Look at their faces. Look into their eyes.

Remember that your family’s history lives on paper.

THE EGG DRESS

At the age of 9, Beatrice was wiser than most adults she knew. Or, at least, that was Beatrice’s opinion. And a girl as smart as she was should certainly be allowed to pick out her own dress to wear for the portrait. Margaret and Trudy got to choose their dresses: Trudy, the navy with white polka dots and Margaret, the soft pink with a million buttons up the front. Steven chose his dark brown suit. To be fair, it was Steven’s only suit and this was probably the last time he would wear it for awhile. Steven would be leaving soon. The Army was going to make him a soldier. “A Private,” her Father had said, which Beatrice found hard to believe, since Steven couldn’t keep anything private, like the truth about Mother’s rose bush that met its death under the wheel of Beatrice’s bike. Steven saw it all. She begged him to keep it a secret; he didn’t. Maybe the Army would change that. Maybe he would return so private that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone ever again.

Her parents didn’t talk a lot about Steven leaving, and when Beatrice brought it up, her mother’s eyes filled with tears and her father just looked at his shoes, as though the words he wanted to say were written in their scuffs and worn leather. Beatrice couldn’t understand why adults didn’t talk about people leaving. It seemed like the time to talk about it was before they left.

Father was able to pick out his own clothes for the portrait, of course, but Father was funny about clothes. Some early mornings, Beatrice would see Father walk in the front door wearing the same clothes he wore the night before. She reasoned he slept in them to save Mother the extra washing, but Beatrice wished he wouldn’t. Father’s eyes were always so red when he came home in the early morning wearing his night-before clothes and Mother would scold him. Beatrice thought it would just be easier if Father put on his pajamas at night like everyone else. Mother sometimes became so angry about it all that she would go in her room and only come out again after Father went in. Beatrice would press her ear hard against the door, but unlike Steven, Mother and Father kept it private. Beatrice was wise enough to know that sleeping in pajamas was really important to Mother. She hoped Father would one day understand that.

As far as Beatrice could tell, little Jimmy was the only one who needed Mother’s help with his cardigan and tie, but Jimmy was only 5. He was practically a baby, unlike Beatrice, who could read almost anything, including Margaret’s dime store novels, sounding out even the big words she didn’t know, like “heaving bosom.” She knew her multiplication tables and long division and that Tokyo was the capital of Japan. Certainly a girl as wise as Beatrice could be trusted to pick out her own clothes, which is why that hot afternoon in April, Beatrice appeared in the living room wearing her wool Christmas dress. It was red, her favorite color, and had tiny snowflakes embroidered on the collar.

Margaret was standing by the window, buttoning her million stupid buttons. She looked up and snorted.

“Bea, why are you wearing your Christmas dress? It’s almost Easter. You look ridiculous.”

Beatrice glared at her. “You got to pick yourclothes. This is what Iwant to wear.”

“Well, nobody really cares whatyouwant to wear. Mother is going to make you change. I mean, really, Bea.” Margaret shook her head, laughed, and resumed her buttoning.

Margaret always thought she was right about everything. Everything. Trudy was much nicer to Beatrice, but then, Trudy was not home as much as Margaret. Beatrice thought that if Margaret had as many friends as Trudy, maybe she’d be nice, too. Maybe she wouldn’t cry in her room as much or mope around the house. She wasn’t always a sourpuss, though. Now and then, Margaret would allow Beatrice to dress up in Margaret’s red patent leather pumps with the white bow in the back. Beatrice liked the clip-clop noise they made as she walked. Margaret was really nice those days.

“Beatrice!” her mother called from down the hall. “In your room now, young lady, and put on the correct dress.”

“Told you,” said Margaret.

Beatrice turned to head for the bedroom. She felt Margaret’s smirk follow her. She rounded the corner and there, on the bed, was the dress her mother chose. Of all the dresses in all the world, Beatrice was convinced that this dress was the ugliest. There had never been nor would ever be an uglier dress. Beatrice didn’t like the color, she didn’t like the scratchy fabric and the oval pattern reminded her of hardboiled eggs cut in half. In fact, she called it The Egg Dress. She disliked it almost as much as she disliked Margaret.

She slipped off her Christmas dress and yanked the Egg Dress over her head. But the Egg Dress had a smaller opening than the Christmas dress and despite Beatrice’s tugging, the dress refused to budge beyond her hair bow. Beatrice couldn’t pull it down or up. She was stuck in the Egg Dress, her arms sticking out the sleeves midway like some sort of escape trick gone wrong.

As she wiggled and hopped around the room, trying to free herself from the dress, Beatrice wondered if this is how she dies. She learned in school that humans need oxygen to breathe and it was hard to breathe with her face pressed up against the fabric. She knew that when she died, she would go to heaven, she wasn’t really afraid of that, but Beatrice became panicked when she realized she’d end up in heaven wearing an awful Egg Dress.

“For crying out loud, Bea.” Margaret’s voice drifted through the fabric. “Let me help you.”

Margaret walked in from the hall, grabbed the dress with both hands and gave it a firm yank downward. Beatrice’s head popped out of the dress like a turtle from its shell. Relief washed over her. She wasn’t going to die but more importantly, she wasn’t gong to be spending eternity in an Egg Dress. She was so thankful, she didn’t even care that it was Margaret who had saved her. That is, until Margaret opened her mouth.

“You fat head. You didn’t unbutton the dress enough. What a crack up you are.”

Margaret put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. Normally, Beatrice would get angry at being called a fat head, but Beatrice’s attention was elsewhere. In her haste to help Beatrice, Margaret had missed the last 4 stupid buttons of her dress. Through the gap, Beatrice could even see Margaret’s slip. The unbuttoned fabric reminded Beatrice of a set of puckered lips, saying, “YOU FORGOT THESE STUPID BUTTONS.”

Beatrice had a decision to make. Beatrice knew that they would all be leaving the house soon. She knew that the walk to the photography studio would take them by Daniel Mulligan’s house. Beatrice knew that Margaret had a crush on Daniel. Beatrice knew that Margaret would be horrified to learn later she walked by Daniel with some of her stupid buttons undone.

Beatrice knew she should tell Margaret.

“Honestly, Bea,” Margaret continued, ‘it’s like you came from the Stupid Farm.” Margaret looked at Beatrice with pity and shook her head.

And that is why 9 year old Beatrice, who was smarter than most adults, and wearing an Egg Dress, kept her mouth shut.

#old photos #family photos #family portraits #memories #family history #short stories #rescued photos

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trippinglynet · 5 years

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Trial by Fire: A Burning Man Experience by Robert B. Gelman

Trial by Fire

a Burning Man Experience

by Robert B. Gelman Photos by Leo Nash and Jay Bain

I don't go to the Burning Man festival seeking spiritual enlightenment. I go because I like to revel in fire, dance and music. Nor do I go to Burning Man because I'm a student of anthropology and civilization, but rather because it's one of the few places on Earth where you can escape the constraints of modern civilization. And I certainly haven't made the pilgrimage to Burning Man these past eight years because I like driving seven hours to immerse myself in a hot, dry, hostile environment. Yet, I am always amazed at how my experience transcends all of these issues.

I know I must be there, and that I will come away profoundly affected. You might hear something like that from thousands who attend this event, yet each would be talking about an experience that is completely different and unique to them alone. Over the years I've read so many journalistic accounts of this festival, many by brilliant writers, and for the most part, they fail to convey the essence of Burning Man.

My own experience at last year's (1997) event was so intense, it has motivated me to join those before me who have attempted to share in words, this shared experience which defies literal communication. After reading, if you're so inclined, please drop me a note to let me know if I succeeded or not.

Labor Day Weekend 1997

As usual, there were wondrous works of art and performance that enveloped me and elicited my participation (I'm a drummer and part of the drumming collective that leads the procession to the man for his immolation). But even after eight years as part of this project, I was caught off guard and forced to once again re-examine my fundamental belief system, and view of creative expression in particular. I had a life-changing experience as a reaction-to and in interaction with a performance that on the face of it, was just a bunch of aggressive men and women bent on intimidating everyone in their path and burning everything they possibly could possibly get to. I had just met the "Vegematic."

The one fact no-one will dispute about the Burning Man festival is that things explode and burn there. What some might not want you to know is how dangerous these events actually are. Sure, the people designing the big pyrotechnic installations are skilled, but not necessarily professionals (at least in the pyro profession). I happen to know that some of the folks who prepare these displays for the festival enjoy putting their lives at risk in the pursuit of intense experience. I've been guilty of that myself from time to time, as it helps to remind me that I'm ALIVE.

The point is that this is not a sanitized, safety-bound event in which you need not be concerned for your well-being. You are putting yourself in danger by attending Burning Man. If you forget to drink enough water, you could die. Not watching where you are walking could make you an unwitting part of a fire-performance, getting injured or worse.

This situation presents an undeniable reality-shift from the world in which most of us live, where we expect governments and businesses to be our surrogate parents, to take care of our needs. We rely on courts to litigate our civil suits when we seek to make others responsible for what happens to us. It would be a much better world in which people would routinely take responsibility for their own well-being and the effects of their actions, in my opinion. That world exists at Burning Man.

The outrageous and absurd costumes, performances, theme camps and behaviors you observe only serve to enhance this shift of perceived reality to the extent that you begin to wonder what is real and what is not. Is that person truly a disgruntled postal worker, or just a stand-up comedian? Do they really know how big an explosion that contraption will create? Do I really need to worry whether they will burn down my tent?

Personally, I have no great attachment to everyday reality. I view it like a computer operating system that is useful mostly because it allows me to run the same software as most other people. We have no way of knowing whether there is such a thing as objective reality anyway, so why not enjoy the variety of a new one every now and then? Burning Man is nothing if not a smorgasbord of alternate realities. This then, is the frame of mind I found myself in on the festival's final day last year.

The anticipation of the "burn" builds the intensity of expression from the moment you arrive. You can feel it in the air. Sexual energy is intensified, primitive instincts usually dormant become shockingly prevalent. You are cro-magnon man, your life is a struggle, but you survive by your will, your wits, and your urge to evolve. And just how do you evolve? You express yourself.

I choose to express through ritual at this event. The drums I play hearken primitive aspects from within. The fire before me is the altar upon which I must make an offering. I select a treasured instrument, a drum which I have loved and played over time, and designate this physical thing as my sacrifice. Raising the drum above my head, I whirl in dizzying dervish-style until my fingers release their grasp and a thousand eyes bear witness to the short arc of flight. Landing amidst the white-hot embers of the now-fallen Burning Man, the sacrificial drum is vaporized in seconds. My catharsis achieved, I am now free to roam the desert playa, a character reborn to engage in human drama.

That's where I was when I encountered the Vegematic. It's straight out of hell, suggesting engineering from the industrial revolution transported to Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Part vehicle, part flame-thrower, part earth drilling device, I envision this machine being used to battle creatures in a 1950's monster movie, or to torture souls of the damned in the realm of Satan. I'm immediately fascinated.

Sitting atop the thing, its creator Jim Mason invokes the motor which rotates the intimidating giant drill-bit head. A pressurized gas-charger propels a massive flame as much as seventy feet from the barrel at its center. A hand-crank allows Jim to raise the angle of the barrel to about 45 degrees so that it is now pointing at a large helium balloon about forty feet away.

I notice that there is a now a crowd gathered around this scene, made up of others who like me, find something about this spectacle compelling, at least for the moment. They may well be gentle loving people in another reality, but this is an angry mob, bent on destruction, preferably by fire. "Burn it!" the shout goes up as I hear the ominous groan of the Vegematic's motor for the first time.

A man with a bullhorn, known in the performance world as "Chicken John," offers a warning to the owners of the camp with the helium balloon: "step aside." Faced with this machine and the angry mob, that's exactly what they do. Then in an instant, a very loud, very hot, very bright arm of flame reaches out for the balloon, clenching it in a heated grasp. The explosion it creates is awesome enough to quiet the mob. Just a little, and for just a little while.

The visual appeal of the helium blast has swelled the ranks of the mob following the trail of the Vegematic. The ignition of the first target seemed to simply feed their hunger for more fire. Like medieval villagers, we migrate on to the next camp.

Here, a young artist (whose name I did not get) is sitting around a camp fire with his friends at the foot of a sculptural masterpiece he had created and called "The Agony of Man." [Note: the art was Future Primitive by Steel Neal. The piece survives today.] I had heard that this fellow did not consider himself to be a "real" artist, and he was just building something to burn, in the spirit of the festival. I admit this is hearsay, but I understand that seeing how his work affected attendees at the festival changed his perception of himself as an artist, and of this work. Perhaps it should not be burned after all.

The Vegematic wheels into position directly in front of the 20-foot high wood and metal sculpture. Mason is revving the the drill-motor as if it were a race car. The ominous whine it omits is the cue for Chicken John on the bullhorn. "Step aside!" he warns the bystanders.

Three of the four people who were seated in the path of the fire cannon were safely behind it in about two seconds after that warning. One was not. The artist, rising slowly from his seat before the campfire, folds his arms and shakes his head to tell the confronting horde that he will not step aside and allow his work to be destroyed by them.

Chicken John repeats his instructions, more insistently now. Jim releases a small blast of fire, sort of a warning shot to indicate the verity of his intention. All of a sudden I find myself overcome with emotions of all kinds flooding in from the darkest corners of my psyche.

"What is going on here?" I ponder. "What am I doing here?" Is this newly transformed artist ready to die ablaze to protect his work? Will these "performers" make good on their threat? What is really being played out here? I am worried about the behavior of this mob. If the Vegematic does not destroy this thing, will the crowd accept that, or will they take control of the machine and destroy it themselves?

All these questions and not an answer in sight. I knew though, that I was engaged in direct interaction with some of the ugliest aspects of our human nature, and I was afraid. I did not know exactly where the line was to be drawn on the violent destruction of property (people?), and I knew that the behavior of the mob was real and based on suspension of disbelief. The most frightening aspect of this scene is a crowd being whipped into an increasingly destructive mood. A crowd for whom all of this is not performance, but immersive reality.

My mind was reeling with "what-ifs." What if they actually injured this man? What if the uncivilized mob overpowered the rational "audience?" What would I do? What could I do? Am I responsible for this by simply being here? Again, the answers are more elusive, yet I am unable to simply turn away.

It must have been only a few seconds, but they were some of the tensest I've ever felt, as the showdown reached its climax. The artist is still standing his ground, and finally the Vegematic disengages and begins to move on. This failure to destroy the work and the man sends a wave of visible (and audible) discontent through the mob...and a new bubble of fear to my chest.

Even as I am questioning my reasons for following this spectacle, I know I have to continue. This has now become much more than performance art with fire. This is the confrontation of good and evil in a cosmic allegory, revealing the truth of our nature in the process of unfolding before me.

I notice that we've been on this destructive quest for nearly an hour, the steadily growing crowd around the Vegematic cheering madly as all manner of flammable material meets its end before the machine. Shelter structures, miscellaneous sculptures and other property have become fuel for the flames. Each time Chicken John would shout "step aside!" (and eventually the mob joined-in on this chant), then Jim would rev the motor and let the jet-propelled fire out into the night.

Inevitably, the field of available targets had just about been exhausted. That is, all but one very big one. We are now headed straight for the festival's main stage. This large A-frame structure had been host to numerous music and dance performances over the course of the festival, and in the hours following the burn, it was home to the DJ's spinning techno and trance rhythms for the "community dance" (spelled r-a-v-e). The tool of devastation on wheels cut a path through the crowd of dancers to a position directly in front of the DJ console on stage. The surrealism of this vision has me cursing the fact that I am out of film.

As if to underscore the difference in mindset between the trance-dancers and the mob, instead of issuing his usual warning, Chicken John jumps onstage and insists to the DJ, "Play some Led Zeppelin!" The Vegematic lets out a motorized groan and a flaming belch in response. The overgrown drill-bit nose is now dripping gasoline in flames like the devil with a wet cold. A scene from Hieronymous Bosch's painting of "Hell" flashes across my mind.

The DJ is Goa Gil, and perhaps due to his nature, or perhaps the fact that he has come all the way from India, he is hardly reacting to the implied threat. In fact, he is turning up the volume in peaceful defiance of the metal invasion in front of him. With all due respect for the views of others, I've had my doubts about the professed spiritual nature of these dances. I do however, believe that intent is well more than half of the journey. I wondered if these frenetic dancing kids knew how their faith was about to be tested.

I didn't have to wait long to find out… The crew of the machine is tilting the flamethrower's barrel up at the console. Gil is staring down the 12-foot barrel of this jet powered char-broiler. I had to remind myself that this is theatre, or is it? I'm still not sure. "Burn it!" the mob chants, "Burn THEM!" in a mantra of destructive abandon that causes me to feel a mix of shame and fear and apprehension (fuel for enlightenment).

Like an opposing pacifist army, the ravers are standing their ground, some shouting in defiance of the threat, some in disbelief that this could really be happening. Chicken John, like the demented circus ringmaster that he is, issues his now-familiar warning over the bullhorn. We seem to have traveled back centuries in time. I don't remember ever feeling farther from home than this.

For only the second time among at least a dozen confrontations, the Vegematic is backing down, leading one to feel that there may indeed be hope for these humans, and perhaps there is something that purifies and bonds us together in the music and dance.

Final Showdown

This story is not quite over. There is one more challenge that we've been waiting to see the Vegematic meet. Jim had envisioned this encounter from the start, and has gone to great expense and effort to make it real. He has created a 15-foot high ball of solid ice in the middle of what is known as Black Rock City. Using a giant Fiberglas mold, Styrofoam and hay bales for insulation, a refrigeration unit had been employed onsite for days to freeze water that was poured into the mold. On Saturday (one full day prior to this encounter), the casing was removed and the glory of this work was revealed.

There it stood, in utter defiance of the desert heat and all the fire that was to surround it over the next 24 hours. A snowball in hell. I was surprised at how little it had melted in the day's sun, but was certain that a giant ice ball would become a giant puddle after the onslaught of the Vegematic's fire gun and drill. The drama continued to unfold.

The nose of the Vegematic is aimed for the center of the frozen sphere. It will bury its drilling blade in the outer surface of the ball. It will then drill its way into the center of the ice. From there, the flamethrower's power will be maximized, melting the chilly sculpture from the inside out.

The crowd is larger than ever, and shouting for violence against the target. As far as I can tell, there are no cheerleaders for the ice. As the monster machine moves into place against the ice, the familiar sound of the motor is drowned by mob-noise. The drill turns, but the ice is apparently tougher than expected. Jim resorts to using the fire to soften her up. Whoosh, whoosh, again and again the fire spews forward, the drill bit revolves and the battle of the elements plays itself out. This continues for some time, until the remaining fuel is spent.

The Morning After

The ultimate truth of this journey (internal and external) was evident the next morning for all to see. In a way, I half-expected to return here and find no evidence of the previous night's experience whatsoever. Instead, right where we left it during our night of fire was the Vegematic, it's rusting drill-nose buried just a few inches in the ice ball, out of fuel and out of luck.

I'm not sure whether the great truth I was seeking was actually embodied in this tableau, but I was satisfied with the outcome. It's easy to make poetic comparisons about fire and ice, but for me the intensity of the experience came from those unanswerable questions and what they told me about myself and my fellow man. Something ugly. Something beautiful. I am grateful for the mirror.

The ice had won - this time. Next time, who knows?

#1997

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szopenhauer · 4 years

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Have you ever kissed the last person you texted? yes

Are you in a good mood right now? r u serious?...

Is there anyone who you think you deserve an apology from? I won’t get any

Are you talking to anyone right now? my gf online and my mom irl

Did you buy anything today? I didn’t

Were you happy when you woke up this morning? I wasn’t

When was the last time you cried really hard? today, it wasn’t the hardest tho

When did you last hug someone? Who was it? this day as well, parent

How’s life going for you? no comment

Has something someone said today annoyed you? that’s normal Can you hear the crickets chirping at night? sadly not Do you like listening to new music, or just sticking to your favorites? depends on the new song - if it’s good then I like it as much as my old favs

When was the last time you were bitten by a bug? this summer has the worst mosquitos ever Do you have a pair of sunglasses that are worth over $200? I'm not rich, mine aren’t more expensive than 25 PLN Are you brave when it comes to trying new foods? ... When was the last time you saw your significant other? weeks ago, not counting video chatting Are you ashamed of your singing voice? I’m aware I have no talent so... Have you ever had a dream where you could understand a foreign language? also animal languages and been talking to plants etc. Do you have anything important to do tomorrow? hospital Are you a fan of retro things? prefer vintage, antiques, shabby - retro is fake but at times there are some good enough pieces as well Would you be considered to be knowledgeable about World War 2? I mistake WWI for WWII and vice versa If you’re with someone right now, do you think it will last? don’t feed my paranoia Have you heard of the Irish actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers? oooh that’s the one Do you have something to do, that you would rather not do? tomorrow Are you, in any way, feeling hopeless right now? absolutely Do you know who you’re planning to ask to your prom? I wanted to ask my current gf back in the day but my mom didn’t let me and I didn’t go because only me and K. didn’t have a date so we preffered to stay home When was the last time you went shopping? yesterday What’s the limit on how much you would pay for a shirt? 60 PLN but I cry when I pay 30 PLN, luckily I have like 3 shirts that are about 30 PLN Do you like making funny faces in pictures? better to be funny than ugly, right? Is there something you look back on and go “I can’t believe I did that”? regrets Are you good at offering advice? but not following them What was the last thing to confuse you? confused is my second name Are you a fan of Keira Knightley? she’s not that good Have you ever resorted to alcohol to make you feel better? it doesn’t make anything better Have you heard about Mel Gibson’s rant/freakout? he was such a good actor, such a shame he’s not a good person Do you wish your bedroom was bigger? I wish I had my own apartment Have you ever felt like a “new person”? I had my moments that were ruined right after Do you own any expensive jewelry? I sold the only necklace that was worth something Has there been someone in your life that just wouldn’t leave you alone? stalkers Do you hate to use public bathrooms? there are way worse things than public bathrooms, even when they’re covered in blood, poop, pee and vomit (but puke is least bearable from all four)

Are there any writing utensils close to you? I packed bunch of them

What was the last thing that shocked you? brain, remind me what was last... How many other rooms can you currently see into? hall Do you need to take the trash out? done Do you need to clean your room right now? soon Do you need to clean out a litter box right now? my cat’s gone Are these questions reminding you of things you put off to do this survey? there’s washing my head on my list for this evening - nothing more How many days have you been wearing those clothes? gimme a break!

Can you move your nose? yasss

Have you ever done a craft that you found on Pinterest? sew teddy and a cat from socks for example but I’m not fond of DIY in general Are you content with mystery, or do you wish you knew everything? knowledge is power

What’s one thing that makes your stomach hurt? what doesn’t?... Ever had a living nightmare? my life is a nightmare

Do you think successful people always come with a pack of haters? successful or not - haters are everywhere Do you wish you could be a world traveler? travelling ain’t my hobby Do you wish you could live in another city for a year? Ełk If you had kids, would you take them to Disney World? if I had money and they wanted to go and it wasn’t that far away from home and they were angels and they were old enough... Have you ever stood in line to get a Disney character’s autograph? wouldn’t bother, pics are better How long does it usually take your hair to dry? so short yet dry slowly Is your Pinterest page cluttered? it’s neat Did you used to name your Barbies? of course Is your life boring? ppl say it is but for me it’s not enough boring if you know what I mean Do you usually feel better around people or alone? alone Is there a broken relationship in your life that you want to fix? tried to fix friendships but it didn’t work out Do you ever think about Heaven? yup Are you ready for Heaven yet? I will go to hell but I don’t mind dying now if it’s a quick death as I prefer to be gone that an ill burden to myself and others Are you afraid of where you’re going to go? I don’t deserve heaven, I think it would be unfair for me to go wherever, I have love-hate relationship with God Do you feel better now than you did last night? noooo Does your body have any problems with it? my body is 99,99% a problem, it’s made of problems like jigsaw puzzle game Have you taken any huge risks lately? my life is 24/7 at risk - does that count?... Silence or songs? depends Do you ignore rude people or do you call them out? try to ignore them if possible What color socks do you have on? purple stripes, looks a bit like asexual flag - this realization :o Are you under a blanket right now? am not

How much was your prom dress? What’s the most you’d spend?: I wouldn’t buy anything expensive, dress from a second hand under 30 PLN Are most of your friends single or taken?: my friends were basically always single When you’re taking a survey that has a “Which of your friends is… the nicest? The prettiest? The smartest? Etc.” do you skip over it?: as I have no friends anymore to be honest What salon do you go to for getting your hair done?: I cut them on my own or ask mom for help Do you believe in luck?: I’m unlucky Would you marry someone of a different religion?: that would be hard Would you convert for them?: nope Worst part about your job?: I don’t have a job and the worst part about it is lack of money and regular UP visits Ever took something out of the lost and found that wasn’t yours?: they tempt me I took some lost/trashed stuff from the street tho Do you delete friends from Facebook if they never talk to you?: that’s me! Do you know anyone who smokes cigars?: my uncle did Ugliest fashion trend at the moment?: according to this - shorts suit, cut outs, sheer/transparent, raffia not a fan of most of vests blue isn’t my fav color but it’s a seasonal thing but shirts shouldn’t be such a huge part of summer in my opinion Do you like glittery nail polishes?: why not

Are you wearing a pink shirt? it’s white with black letters

If you had a baby, would you want to have it at home or in a hospital? hospital I believe

Have you ever had a bad experience with anti-depressants? If so, what? don’t even let me begin this subject...

What makes your room unique? trinkets

Does your past bother you? consequences of it

Do you take risks or play it safe? play it safe and yet...

Are you afraid of running into a certain person in public? more than one person, more than one reason

Do you live in the USA? Poland

Who do you want to meet in Heaven? from those who already died? my brother

Is it raining? slightly

Is your life stressful and exhausting? to me it is too stressful and exhausting

What is your favorite time of the day? when I sleep, if I sleep that is

Have you ever known anyone that’s gone missing? nope Do you put your foundation on with a sponge or your hand? I don’t use foundation, yuk Do you have to pee often? ppl told me that I pee often Do you live near a pet store? they closed pet store in my town

Who was the last person other than family to tell you that they love you? my gf How many people have you kissed in the last month? 1 Do you know anyone who writes really well? my gf writes well Does it bug you when people spell color “colour”? not spell but write, it sounds good in British accent but looks horrible on paper

What is the best fanfic you have ever read (lmao) only fanfic I remember reading was that one E.W. and K.K. sent me about Draco and Harry (yaoi)

If you could direct your own TV show/movie, what would it be like? it would be based on my book

One thing you’ve always wished you could do / be good at? be healthy

Post a picture of the weirdest/funniest text conversation you’ve ever had! can’t choose only one, also, sadly, I don’t have screenies of some of them

Is there a stranger you would like to meet again? for example - I’d like to see all those ppl that I thought have amazing fashion sense and ask them if I can take photos then I would make a blog about it

Does your school take sports too seriously? all schools do, that’s unfair What does the sound you currently hear remind you of? it’s quiet

Did you eat out anywhere today? nah Where is your purse? my purses are in various places around my room

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lokeanrampant · 5 years

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So. I apparently have a trigger. It’s an ugly one and it hits hard and it returned me to a very unhealthy place. Long post and Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified ahead.

And thank you, anon, for your words. I hope you’re right.

I have recently been diagnosed with a few things and have medications which are helping, but this particular medication is having an amazing and GOOD effect on me. I am awake and aware, I don’t need to do three things at once to focus on something, I actually can focus, so much good stuff. But yes, it has an effect on my appetite. I have fantastic willpower and I generally really, really hate anything that fucks with my appetite cause that will generally lead to me not eating enough. So that’s what I’m dealing with here. I probably wasn’t eating enough, but I felt good and I was basically grazing, so I figured, okay, we’re still okay.

Only...the doc who prescribed pull that trigger fucking hard.

So the medication works for ADHD and though I have a sensory processing disorder, she can’t quite say I have ADHD. But she can put in her notes that she is prescribing it for “binge eating,” not because I have it, but because she thinks the med will help. And it has. I felt better than I had in years. So I’m on this for about a month and doing great. My therapist was THRILLED with my progress and we were going to really work hard on my BDD.

Then I had the follow-up appt. Where the doc kept harping on how well the med worked for my binge eating and controlling cravings and overeating. Like over and over and over.

Let me tell you a lil something about me.

I’m a stress-starver. It comes from my teens where I was constantly told that, being overweight and trying to lose weight, I ate too much, that I ate like a pig, eat less. This is from DOCTORS, mind you. Yes, doctors told me this. Constantly.

So I did that. I ate less. Still couldn’t lose weight. Same deal - “you eat too much.” So I ate less.

I was down to one meal a day: a sandwich. Two pieces of bread, some mayo, some chicken.

Guess what? Yep, “you eat too much.”

So I STOPPED eating. Food was the enemy. My body needed fuel, but I didn't want it and the docs assumed I ate and never stopped and kept telling me to eat less and less and less. Obviously, I was still eating too much, right? So hey, okay, I’ll eat less. Just enough to keep me standing...and sometimes, not even then. Super healthy, yo. Bodies don’t like to lose weight in Starvation Mode. But I was too fat for that and I ate too much, right? So I essentially stopped eating.

That's not binging. It's not binge/purge. It's punishment for being fat and ugly and self-harm by restricting food because I wasn't worthy of it and it was ultimately bad for me. If I had been a skinny bit, they probably would’ve diagnosed me with anorexia, but I just never presented with that low body weight or being underweight. Nope. Not me. There is now an atypical anorexia that doesn’t present the classic way, but who are not underweight after significant weight loss. And even then, I haven’t had significant weight loss in years.

So there we are - eating disorder NOS, atypical presentation that doesn’t match anorexia, bulimia, binging. It’s a much bigger diagnosis catch-all than you might realize.

It took me a long time to have a healthier relationship with food, and it's still not great, but it's okay. Ask anyone in my life and they will tell you the same, that I don't overeat. Even when I pms and actually crave a junk food? I don't binge and I normally find a healthier alternative anyway (because junk food doesn't make me feel great).

There is no secret or hidden eating. There can definitely be guilt and self-loathing for eating, especially if it's not low-carb, but it’s rare...or at least, it was. My food intake is not out of control. I almost never overeat (it doesn't feel good!). The only time I eat when I am not hungry is normally because I couldn't eat when I was hungry and then proceed to feel ill because my blood sugar has dropped. Then I have to eat. But it's not binging. It's not healthy, and it doesn't fit the major eating disorders, but it's still not binging.

Do I have major body image issues? Fuck yes. I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder. I have horrible self-image and will be sent into a major tailspin if I see photos or, gods, video. I will stop being able to look in a mirror. I have covered mirrors for days before. I will have trouble showering unless I do it with my eyes closed so I don’t have to see the hideousness of me and even then, I still have to touch it to clean it. I’m very self-critical and hate this body in which I feel trapped. But I still do things. I’m still working. I do theater. I garden. I DO THINGS. I also have an intense fear of gaining weight to be even larger than I am. Even if I know that I am not the heaviest person in the room, and I can know that, logically, even with sizes or measurements, I will still feel larger, heavier, uglier. I will feel like the largest, heaviest, ugliest person there even if I know someone is twice or more my size. My friend at work is probably a good 100+lbs heavier than I am and I just think she’s gorgeous. Her weight doesn’t matter. She’s attractive inside and out. But me? No. I”m fat because fat was taught to me as an ugly word. So I am fat, because it’s ugly. Other people aren’t fat because they aren’t ugly.

So what happens when you tell someone, who has already told you all this history about being told you’re fat because you eat too much and that you need to eat less....so YOU DID and that’s also why you stopped going to doctors because you were eating barely enough to stay standing and they still said that, so they obviously didn’t know a fucking thing, and that yet again, I apparently have NO. FUCKING. CLUE. WHAT FOOD I PUT IN MY MOUTH.

What happens when you tell someone like that that they are binging and eating too much?

Answer: I stop fucking eating.

I’m right back to being 18yo and crying because I’m hungry because food is the fucking enemy. Because apparently, even what I eat, which is definitely light for American portion sizes, but actually really fucking healthy portion sizes, is still too much.

Even though my sis has been concerned because the medication is altering my appetite to the point where I really don’t eat more than 4oz at a meal, if that...which I did when I was having extreme gallbladder pain at one point.

Even though she, several friends, and a friend/coworker know how I eat, what I eat, that I don’t overeat, that I can make a sub-in-a-tub style salad into multiple, low-carb, healthy wraps and have lunch for two or three days.

That I don’t eat or even LIKE much sugar (why the FUCK is everything so gods damned SWEET? Holy fuck.). I vastly prefer savory (spice is nice).

I don’t tend to eat breads or potatoes because they make me feel bad (bloaty, ewww...so probably a gluten intolerance? I don’t know, but I know I don’t feel well when I eat them, so hey, idea! DON’T EAT WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL BAD. Crazy AF, I know, right?).

People who know me envy the self-control and willpower that I have regarding food. They don’t realize it came out of such self-loathing and self-harm mechanisms. I’ve made it healthier. I’ve gotten better with food and in a lot of ways, that was because it didn’t really matter what I ate after a point, my weight maintained. It wasn’t the food...or it wasn’t just the food.

There’s a fuckton more at work regarding metabolism and hormones and shit that just fuck up a body. And one medication stopped the bad thoughts from auto-play 24/7 and helped reduce stress to the point I was like, fuck, is this what I am supposed to feel like? And then this new one, that helps me feel awake, aware, and focused reduced that anxiety even MORE and it’s like another layer of fog is lifted? To realize how much CONSTANT STRESS AND ANXIETY I had that was literally non-stop fight-or-flight mode? Gods, no wonder I couldn’t lose weight. My body was always prepped for disaster and wanted to keep every fucking thing. I finally felt that I could maybe make a difference and not only feel healthier, but maybe actually get healthier, be in better shape, lose weight.

But to be told that I’m still a binge eater, when I fit only the “feel guilt or shame over eating” NOW, because you brought all that shit back by telling me that I still overeat and that’s why I’m fat and hey, this med is really controlling your binging?

Dinner last night was eight...yes, 8, cashews. It took me from 9:30 to about 2:30pm today to eat a Sargento’s snack pack (cheese, cashews, raisins in this one). I had a electrolyte water (36oz or so) and am working on my second bottle (fairly normal). I went out with friends tonight and managed to slow sip a beer over about two hours as someone was buying and really wanted to buy us a drink, so hey, I got some calories in the beer. Couldn’t eat though. The thought of eating today was met with instant recoil. Food becomes the enemy once again. It becomes a hyperfixation because it's too much, too much, it's bad for you, stop eating, yes even 4oz is too much, you don't need that much. And no, I don’t weigh myself or count calories/fat/etc for the same reason - it became a hyperfixation and an emotional minefield where any little (and frequently normal) fluctuation sends me into a very bad place. If I need to do something like that, measurements are easier for me.

And that’s not a place I want to be. I worked SO HARD to not be there. I KNOW the way I eat is healthy. I know the portion sizes are good. I know how to read labels (questionable reliability, but it’s what we’ve got). I can make good food at home. I can choose fairly healthy if I’m out and about. I had made my peace with food and while we would never be great friends, we at least weren’t enemies any more.

I am trying. I am. I, oddly, have some support around me. A friend really helped tonight, but it’s a serious work-in-progress. I managed to eat about 8-10 shrimp around midnight but I couldn’t do that with someone watching. It’s back to the high school cafeteria where it literally didn’t matter what you ate, if you were fat, you weren’t supposed to eat at all. It’s feeling guilty to be seen eating because you actually have the nerve to have a body that requires sustenance and they will judge you any bite you consume. The doctor created guilt around food I hadn’t had for YEARS. Admittedly, I still don’t like work lunch/break rooms, but I just don’t care to socialize with some people and I can keep my phone charged at my desk. Win-win. And I don’t generally have a problem eating at restaurants or with friends.

My friend tonight told me that i am NOT that person I was. And I’m not. I have changed so much since then. And since I know what the doctor said is false, it’s rather like someone yelling at me because they hate my hair for being blonde when it’s black. It makes no sense and what they said isn’t real; it shouldn’t mean anything. But it’s a whammy and when you already have a predisposition to fall into self-hate and self-harm, it’s a nasty, ugly whammy that lingers. It’s an old, well-worn pattern of badness that is only comfortable because you lived it for so long, you know how it works.

I’m upset. I’m angry. I’m furious. I’m hurt.

And I don’t know how long it will take to climb out of this.

#tw: self-hate #tw: self-harm #tw: eating disorder #tw: body dysmorphia #wheeeeee #long post #personal #feel free to ignore #I just needed to vent

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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The Resistance is now on offense. Democrats’ takeover of the House gives President Donald Trump’s opponents something they haven’t had till now: the power to force Trump to respond to them rather than being forced to respond to Trump.

But it also gives Trump something he hasn’t had since taking office: a political opposition with power, with leaders, with legislation he can attack. Trump has never liked negotiating the details of policy or overseeing the nuts and bolts of governance. Now he’s freed from the drag of signing and defending bills crafted in House Speaker Paul Ryan’s office.

This is why the president, in his post-election press conference, sounded almost happy to have lost the House.

Reflecting on the prospect of Democrats investigating him and him retaliating by investigating them, Trump was cheerful. “It will probably be very good for me politically,” he said. “I can see it being extremely good politically. I think that I am better at that game then they are, actually. But we will find out.”

A Democratic House permits Trump to engage in a politics of pure confrontation, which is the politics he prefers, and arguably the politics in which he thrives.

“During the 2016 campaign, we noticed this paradox,” says Ron Klain, who served as chief of staff to vice presidents Al Gore and Joe Biden, and was a top advisor to Hillary Clinton. “If you came at Trump on the stuff where you thought he’d be most vulnerable — his shitty business practices, his use of non-American workers — he was at his best. He knows that stuff.”

Trump’s weakness, Klain continued, was policy. “When you came at him on that stuff he was horrible.”

This proved true in 2018. As abnormal as American politics has felt in these past few years, House Democrats ran a fundamentally normal campaign, and it worked. They ran ads about protecting people with preexisting conditions and working on behalf of the middle class. They released their “Better Deal” agenda, a policy platform that ranged from raising the minimum wage to strengthening labor unions to investing in broadband to making campaign finance more transparent.

Mark Wilson/Getty Images

They did not, as a party, run on investigating or impeaching Trump. They did not, as a party, run on abolishing Immigration and Customs Enforcement or passing Medicare-for-all. They did not, as a party, offer an equal but opposite reaction to Trump. Their campaign seemed to exist in an alternative universe, one where Jeb Bush had been elected president and had repealed Obamacare, and where few had ever heard the words “Russia” or “Mueller.”

They won. The question is whether they have the discipline, or even the power, to hold to that strategy outside of an election.

If you want to see why Democrats ran the campaign they did in 2018, read the exit polls.

A majority of voters thought the Mueller investigation “politically motivated” rather than “mostly justified.” A larger majority opposed impeaching Trump. Perhaps most worrying for Democrats who want to focus on Trump’s ugliest affronts, 33 percent of voters thought Trump’s immigration policies were “about right,” and another 17 percent wanted to see them toughened; only 46 percent thought Trump had gone too far.

CNN exit polls

And remember: These are exit polls from the 2018 House election. These are exit polls measuring an electorate that voted overwhelmingly for Democrats.

In a fascinating postmortem on House Democrats’ strategy, the New York Times reports that the House Majority PAC “carried out two intensive research projects, studying right-of-center suburban voters and blue-collar whites who supported Mr. Trump. It concluded that only a message about health care and jobs could win over both groups.”

So that’s the campaign House Democrats ran. Discipline was the watchword. Pelosi, when confronted with something of importance to progressives but of danger to her message, became fond of saying, “Those things are in our DNA, but they are not in our talking points.”

Rep. Ben Ray Lujan (NM), who ran the Democrats’ campaign efforts, was even more explicit. “Every time he would say something or tweet something, it would come back: ‘We need to come right back at him! Define him!’” Lujan told the Times. “We would say: Look, we don’t need to talk about him, he’s going to do it himself. We need to continue to have a conversation with the American people about kitchen-table issues.”

But message discipline is easier when you’re running paid ads than when you’re fighting to get coverage in a media environment tuned to Trump’s antics and hungry for high-stakes confrontations. House Democrats will be able to pass bills, but they won’t be able to force the Senate to take those bills up, much less demand Trump sign them. And the media rarely covers bills that can’t pass.

What House Democrats can do is investigate, and so they will. “House Democrats plan to probe every aspect of President Trump’s life and work, from family business dealings to the Space Force to his tax returns to possible ‘leverage’ by Russia,” reports Axios, quoting one senior Democrat as saying they’re preparing a “subpoena cannon.”

Rep. Adam Schiff (L) (D-CA), the incoming chair of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, leaves a committee meeting at the U.S. Capitol. Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images

The incentives are clear. Investigations are what their base wants them to do, and what the media will cover them doing, and what Trump is preparing for them to do.

Among House Democrats, this is a constant topic of conversation — and of concern. Beyond the Russia investigation lies shocking levels of administrative corruption. Constitutionally, it is part of their duty to provide oversight of an executive branch in sore need of it.

But they fear unleashing confrontations they can’t control. They fear a race for coverage in which any time a Democrats utters the word “impeachment” it makes headlines but their messaging, and legislating, on the minimum wage goes unnoticed. They can see that ambitious 2020 aspirants, like billionaire Tom Steyer, are already trying to lead an impeachment charge that has no chance in the Senate and could endanger a House majority that hinges on holding at least some districts Trump won.

“I think I’m the only member of the House or Senate who was involved in both the Nixon and Clinton impeachments,” says Rep. Zoe Lofgren (D-CA), who worked as a staffer on the Judiciary Committee during Watergate and was elected to Congress in 1995. “If Mueller sends us an exploding bomb we may have an obligation to deal with that. But absent that, I don’t think the country will be on board with impeachment and nor should we.”

The problem, she says, is that impeachment, and the spiraling investigations that lead to it, keep the entirety of attention on the Trump circus.

“Trump’s sideshow has an audience,” she continues. “We magnify that audience when we pay attention to that rather than what matters to people.”

Talking in terms of sideshows and audience and attention is a reminder that the question isn’t just what Democrats do — it’s what the public sees them doing. And that means it revolves around what the media focuses on. If Democrats are passing bills over here and pursuing impeachment over there, the bills will be ignored. And every single day they will be competing for control of the media’s agenda with Trump, and Trump’s Twitter feed.

If Democrats are going to gave any chance of controlling their message, it will require an almost inhuman level of discipline.

Klain, the Democratic strategist, offered an unexpected piece of counsel to his party the day after the election. “However tempting it might be for freshly empowered congressional Columbos,” Klain wrote in the Washington Post, “not a single subpoena should fly in the first 100 days.”

Instead, Klain wrote, House Democrats should spend their first 100 days passing big pieces of legislation that would force Trump to choose between his populist posturing and Republican orthodoxy: a $15 minimum wage, an expansion of the Affordable Care Act, a serious infrastructure bill.

When we spoke, Klain said he offered this advice for a few reasons. First, he said, “Democrats need to make it unquestionably clear to the American people that their first priority is helping the country, not damaging Trump.”

Klain served in both the Clinton and Obama administration, and both administrations offer a cautionary tale to House Democrats who believe a strategy of maximum confrontation will rid them of Trump in 2020. Both Clinton and Obama lost the House in their first midterm election, with approval ratings very much like Trump’s now. Both then faced a House Republican majority with no agenda other than their destruction. And both were able to pivot off that opposition to reelection, as voters grew exhausted and disillusioned with a Republican Party that seemed interested in nothing but the next campaign.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Second, Trump is at his weakest on policy, in part because he understands it so poorly, and in part because it puts him crosswise with his own party.

“Trump’s problem has always been that he’d be happy to cut a deal, but every time he tries to do it, his own party holds him back,” Klain said. “He doesn’t understand the policy issues, and he’s intimidated by his party. He doesn’t want to cross them. And do you think Mitch McConnell will slam a $15 minimum wage bill through the Senate?”

Political confrontations often leave Trump polarizing, but clearly in control. Policy confrontations, on the other hand, tend to leave him looking overmatched. He seems less like a tough-talking populist than an in-over-his-head plutocrat (“nobody knew that health care could be so complicated”).

That isn’t to say Democrats shouldn’t investigate Trump, says Klain. They should. They just need to take the time to get it right. “Having worked on the Hill, it takes time to do oversight well. Who are the right witnesses? What are the right facts? What are the right documents? They need to hire staff. They need to get prepared.”

“Look at the Republicans,” continues Klain. “They’d do a hearing that they weren’t ready for. Then they’d need to do a second hearing to make up the first one. Trump is at his most dangerous is when you shoot at him and miss. You need to have it nailed.”

Investigations, if done right and chosen well, can also support a broader policy argument. “There’s a lot of revelations about ways the Trump administration has enriched itself at the expense of people,” says Ben Wikler, the Washington director of MoveOn.org. “Those are bread-and-butter politics in any era, but there’s a lot more bread and a lot more butter under Trump. The point of oversight is is to show whose side Trump is on.”

To Wikler, the investigations strategy and the policy strategy are more unified than people give them credit for. There’s already a Mueller investigation, he told me. Democrats don’t need to replicate it. What they need to do is use investigations to break Trump’s claims to populism, and his control over the news cycle.

“Think about Scott Pruitt,” says Wikler. “Every time a new soundproof booth or insanely expensive tactical pants became known, people were talking about the corruption of Trump’s EPA chief rather than whatever Trump tweeted that morning.”

In the final weeks before the election, the Washington Post and the New York Times ran more than 115 stories about a slow-moving caravan of Honduran asylum seekers that was more than 1,000 miles from the US border.

“Many of these articles are, on their own merits, laudable,” wrote Media Matters’s Matt Gertz in a thoughtful analysis. “They provide the compelling stories of the migrants themselves, debunk the president’s lies and conspiracy theories, and point to the facts that undermine his demagoguery. But the sheer volume of the coverage can’t help but fuel Trump’s claims that the caravan’s approach represents a crisis and suck oxygen away from other stories in the lead-up to the midterm elections.”

Why did the media converge on caravan coverage? Because Trump began tweeting about it in outrageous, offensive, bizarre ways. Much of the media’s coverage focused on debunking or complicating Trump’s narrative, but in letting that coverage reach saturation levels, the media let Trump control the narrative, and push dozens of worthier stories out of the headlines.

Most politicians try to distract from controversial stories by turning the media’s attention to positive stories. Trump distracts the media’s attention from controversial stories by turning its attention to other controversial stories — the ones that he thinks serve his purposes.

Consider what he’s done in just the few days since the election. He’s fired Attorney General Jeff Sessions and replaced him, perhaps unconstitutionally, with an unqualified loyalist. He signed a proclamation overhauling asylum rules. He took away a CNN reporter’s White House press pass and tweeted a misleading video of the confrontation.

Trump doesn’t want to talk about infrastructure or raising the minimum wage. He wants politics consumed by the confrontations he prefers, the ones that mobilize his supporters. He doesn’t know how to govern the country. But he does know how to govern our attention. He does know how to manipulate the media.

The question for any strategy House Democrats might pursue is whether they can hold the media and the public’s focus amidst Trump shouting and tweeting and waving his arms for everyone to look over there!

In an interview the day after the election with Rolling Stone, Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT) pointed out how easily Trump was retaking control of the agenda:

I would just reiterate that Trump knows how to manipulate the media and that it’s not an accident that he fired Sessions today, not tomorrow, not the next day. Because he wanted to divert attention from what happened Tuesday night.

Sanders’s answer to this? “I believe it’s terribly important that the Democrats come out of the gate full-steam ahead and start passing really good legislation that puts Trump and the Republicans on the defensive,” he said.

Sanders is one of the few politicians in Washington who can match Trump’s talent for driving media attention to the topics he cares about, and he does it, again and again, by going big, by crafting massive proposals that may not be able to pass but can inspire.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images

It was telling, two weeks before the election, that the White House’s Council of Economic Advisers brought out a bizarre and widely panned report attacking socialism in general, and Medicare-for-all in particular. It was a rare instance of the White House responding to Democrats — particularly Sanders — rather than the other way around.

What Sanders understands, and what Trump understands, is that you don’t shape attention by crafting compromise policies, you shape attention by creating controversy. Trump does it, well, the way Trump does it. Sanders does it by using big, controversial policies to draw contrasts and start fights.

Now Sanders is urging House Democrats to orient their health care push around an expansion of Medicare that there’s no way Senate Republicans would touch, but that would be a big enough fight for the media to cover, and that would either force Trump to break with McConnell and the Senate Republicans or to show himself up as a phony populist. That’s a very different strategy than where House Democrats seem to be going, which is a package of technocratic, and negotiable, proposals to lower drug prices.

“The challenge Democrats have is that Trump does not negotiate in good faith or follow through on commitments in good faith,” says Wikler. “As much as Democrats like to pass laws that make people’s lives better, to do so involves making devil’s bargains with a devil who lives up to his reputation.”

Wikler worries that Democrats will get caught in negotiations with Trump where they make painful compromises for deals that Trump abandons as soon as he sees them panned on Fox & Friends — and so they’ll end up discouraging their base, and helping no one.

“Democrats absolutely should pass a $15 minimum wage bill through the House,” he says. “What they shouldn’t do is negotiate significant compromises with Trump on issues that matter to them in order to get a minimum wage bill through.”

To fight and win against Trump, Democrats are going to have to force Trump to engage on the policy issues where he’s weak, and that means forcing the media and the public’s focus on to issues he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to talk about, and being disciplined about which of his provocations to respond to. This will be an era of conflict, not compromise. It will be a war for something Trump understands, and Democrats typically don’t: attention. They’re going to have to figure it out quick.

Original Source -> To beat Trump, House Democrats need to fight on policy, not just scandals

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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