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leejeongz · 4 years ago

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fluffy a-z SUNGHOON (enhypen)

requested: yes, by anon

🔅the comeback!!???!!!?! amazing. i just had to write this today i just HAD TO. this is really long but nevertheless i hope you enjoy🔅

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

he loves holding your hand even at the most random times. if you seem anxious or upset, his hand slowly creeps closer to yours, just to remind you that he’s there. he’s not a fan of pda, but holding your hand is just fine :D. (taken from my enha as boyfriends post)

he messes up your hair (but only when he knows it’s okay to do so, he knows his place lol) when you do something silly or cute. he also does it when he’s first introducing you to people too. he’ll be all like “this is y/n, my gf/bf/partner” and then ruffle your hair, just to once again show them that you’re his.

similarly, he loves when you play with his hair. he’ll purposely rest in head in your lap so that your hands naturally fall to his hair. sometimes, he accidentally drifts off to sleep like that and then wakes up a few minutes later all smiley hehe.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

you don’t have the chance to meet up a lot, most of your contact is via text since he doesn’t have the time to call you all day, every day. he’s super supportive of you, he’s your wingman, your hype man and your parent all in one. he looks out for you as much as possible and (even if you’re not younger than him) he treats you like his younger sibling.

there’s always a lot of laughter when you two are together that stems from the assortment of inside jokes that you share. you can talk for hours despite neither of you being the talkative type (mainly about other people lmao.)

as a pair, you’re often misunderstood. people never associate you with each other but you just know that you don’t always need to be with each other to still be the closest of friends. when you are together, you’re an intimidating duo that people often avoid through fear, but you’re actually really nice 🥺😔

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

he uses cuddles as a way to distract you and/or annoy you. can and will be the big spoon every time you cuddle. he loves cuddling with you, holding you or just touching you, he’s just shy okay. he loves having you in his arms and holding you, especially when he knows you’ve chosen to cuddle with him over doing something important. cuddling with him just makes him want to cuddle all day :((. so if you start cuddling at 10am, except to still be in his arms at 7pm. more so than cuddling, he likes draping his legs over you “to irritate you” (he just wants to be close to you hehe). it makes him feel like he’s protecting you without it being too hot and stuffy and oppressive.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

there’s no time frame for him when it comes to settling down. he wants to settle down but there’s no deadline for him. he’s not actively looking for the love of his life at any point, he’s never going to force himself to be in love just for the sake of creating family. he thinks about settling down a lot, he wants a pet with the person he loves for sure, he’s excited for that day to come, but it doesn’t have to happen soon.

cleaning, he’s fabulous at. the house or apartment is minimalistic anyway, so things that are out of place are easy for him to spot and move. he almost enjoys doing chores with you even, just because he’s spending time with you. when it comes to cooking,,, like sure he’s confident which is so sweet but that doesn’t always mean a good meal. but please don’t tell him that else he’ll get really sad and disappointed in himself.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

if he was to break up with you, it would probably be a “right person wrong time” kinda thing. he wouldn’t get into a relationship if he didn’t see a future with that person, he’s very picky to find the perfect person for him. you’re definitely the right person, but he’s just too busy right now being an idol. he feels guilty for not spending time with you and so he wants to let you live you life, without being tied down so early on. he’d hope that you’d wait for him, but he’d understand it if you didn’t.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

commitment is a big part of the relationship for him. he would want commitment from day one, even if he's not officially your boyfriend yet.

he doesn’t care when you get married, but he definitely wants to get married someday. he likes the idea of dedicating one whole day to celebrating your love for each other, and sharing that with friends and family too. it would quite literally be the best day of his life. he’d propose to you pretty quickly into the relationship, but at a time that felt right. you both knew it was something that you wanted, that you dreamed your relationship would last forever, so why not propose?! he doesn’t mind eating years for the wedding though, it’s a big deal and everything has to be perfect.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

emotionally, he acts quite tough. he doesn’t want to be seen as weak, but at the same time he wants to show his emotions to let you know that’s he’s mature, and that emotions aren’t a sign of weakness. he often keeps really troubling things to himself until he can tell you and you only. you’re the only person who knows him truly, you know everything about him because he’s only willing to share this stuff with you. when it comes to things in your relationship, he also isn’t afraid to speak his mind. he’s not trying to be gentle or tough with his emotions when it comes to you, everything seems like a natural reaction, he’ll cry when he wants to and he’ll be stubborn when he wants to.

physically, of course, he’s very gentle. every touch feels like feathers, every kiss, every hug, every smile, it’s all just very soft and gentle. you notice that he talks to you differently too. his tone with others appears harsher and more blunt than with you. with you, it’s like he’s talking to a baby (in a non- condescending way ofc he’s very mature and you’re not allowed to forget that)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

when he’s congratulating you on something, when he’s proud of you for something, he hugs you. it’s better for him to communicate using hugs rather than telling you because he’s a little shy saying it, even though he means it.

he likes when you rest your head by his neck, while his arms are holding you close. he kisses where your ear is through your hair or your head while you’re hugging and (when he manages to finally say it) whispers a little “i love you”. it’s a tight hug, but it doesn’t last long. when you pull away, he reaches out to hold your hand, he doesn’t want to separate just yet.

if you initiate the hug, he laughs and grunts and lot just to tease you, but don’t be fooled he’s really happy that you are hugging him!!!

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

oh you pair beat around the bush a whole lot. it’s pretty much unspoken for the first year or so. although you never said it to each other, you both knew.

it wasn’t until sunghoon had left you for a little bit while he went on tour (not left as in broke up, just went out of the country lmao idk how to write that in a coherent sentence big sorry) that you realised that you should probably say it. he returned home and it was on that day that you told him you loved him while nestled against his chest in a satisfying hug after such a long time apart. he said it back straight away, looking down at you and waiting expectedly for your lips to meet with his.

he was always waiting for you to say it first, there were moments when he thought he should just say it, but he wanted to wait, he wanted to hear you say it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

he gets jealous quite quickly and he always makes you aware of his jealousy no matter how petty the situation may be. he wouldn’t try to hide it, or compromise with you, he wants you all to himself so if there’s even a chance that another boy could possibly be flirting with you, he’ll be mad.

that being said, he’d definitely voice his opinions in a mature and well thought through manner. he would think of how to say things to make you understand where he’s coming from without trying to guilt trip you into unfriending that person, he doesn't want to be THAT guy. he’ll just explain his side and wait to hear your response, and often times it turns into a sarcastic, inside joke which reassures him a lot. he’s just like “fine, go to the cafe with him, but he wouldn’t know which smoothie you like best, would he?!”

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

him initiating kisses? few and far between. but when he does, you know he means it. he loves all types of kisses, he just wants to cover you in kisses sometimes, but he’s gotta keep up his image of course. pecks on the lips and longer, more passionate kisses are his favourites though, he just can’t get enough of your lips. (taken from my enha as boyfriends post)

as i mentioned in the hugging part, he likes to kiss your head or place a kiss where he thinks your ear is while hugging. it sends a rush though the both of you, it just really makes you both think about how lucky you are to have each other.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

a little awkward at first. he’s not sure how to talk to them, and every time he speaks the kids are just like ”??” because he says things that are a little too mature for them.

it will take him some time to be comfortable and confident around the kids, but he wants to be liked by them and he wants them to be happy so he will not give up until that happens.

although, it does have to be said, he’d much rather have a pet than a kid 😳

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

usually, sunghoon wakes up before you. he gets up before you wake up too, and sits and stares at the wall with a blank mind, just to wake himself up a bit. once you get up, he’s gonna ask if you wanna go back to bed again and cuddle and/or watch some tv together when he has a day off. if you agree, he’d bring some toast with him for you both to eat. but if not, you’d just grab some cereal together and eat while sat around your dining table in silence because he does not want to talk first thing in the morning (valid,,, extremely valid)

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

sunghoon is a big fan of evening dates as opposed to going somewhere during the day. everywhere is quieter and this is usually his free time so you have him all to yourself, you can do whatever you want together. as much as he enjoys going to fancy restaurants, bars and what not (which usually take you into the late hours of the night), he’d still rather spend some time at home with you.

on those nights that he can spend at home with you, he likes to just rest with you. chilling on the sofa just watching some episodes of your favourite show, ordering a takeaway. you share your thoughts about the show and that’s all you really talk about while it’s on, but afterwards you talk about your day and head to bed, where you cuddle until you both fall asleep (which is pretty quickly since you stayed up late to watch more tv)

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

like anyone, he overshares when you first start dating due to nerves. you learn a lot about him through this and he’s actually pretty grateful that you do the same thing. you pretty much know everything about him before actually getting into a relationship. throughout the relationship, he’d never try to hide his feelings about certain things and would be pretty hurt if you used things that he’d told you against him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

with you, he doesn’t get that angry. you’d have to do something really vile for him to show actual aggression and disappointment. with other people, it’s not so simple. he finds a lot of things that other people do irritating but he wouldn’t show his anger there and then. he’s more likely to go home and get angry there. he’d appreciate someone to talk to about it, a shoulder to cry on perhaps. definitely an angry crier (cries when he’s angry) and likes to slam doors to make a point.

he’s not afraid of confrontation when something that someone did is actually wrong. he will stand up for what he believes in and it’s worth putting a friendship on the line given their opposing opinions.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

this bitch acts SO dumb when you ask him stuff but he knows… he knows everything. everything you’ve ever said is stored in his brain, probably written in his notes app as a back up. he’s ready to spring this knowledge on you at any point. he knows exactly what you like and what you dislike, important dates, about your childhood, he even remembers how certain things he did made you feel, so he could do them more or avoid them in the future. but of course, if you ask him, he knows nothing.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

you weren’t even together officially at this point, but when he turned up at your place on prom night. he’ll never forget how stunned he was when he saw you looking all glamorous that evening. you had some photos taken as a pair, egged on by your friends of course because you’d never normally do that, and he looks at them a lot. he can’t help but think how great you look as a couple (and how you two are going to look on wedding photos 🥺). he had a rose prepared for you, a white one because he knew it would go with your outfit, whatever colour it was and also because of its symbolism. he really wanted to confess when he handed it to you, but he over thought it a lot and the moment ended up passing too quickly. that’s his favourite memory. something that he’ll never forget.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i know i said he got jealous a lot, but he’d distance himself when it actually came to it. he’d be jealous in his own space until you two were alone rather than being protective while the act that made him feel that way was ongoing. as i mentioned above, he does indeed want you all to himself, but he’d hate to cause unnecessary drama and have you lose friends over a silly misunderstanding.

if you were clearly very uncomfortable around someone, he’d be there with an arm wrapped around you. you’d both like to think that his presence alone is intimidating enough, but sometimes he has to resort to harsh one liners to get them to back off.

i don’t think he’d ever get into a physical fight. it’s not that you’re not worth it, but he just feels it would make the situation worse.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he really wants to put a lot of effort into your dates, but he finds it difficult because one, he has no time and two, he doesn’t want to disappoint you/organise something you end up hating. most dates are spontaneous and on a whim, but also like… planned in both of your minds. like you know you want to go and you know he wants to go, but it’s not confirmed that it will actually happen until the time of the date if that makes sense. when it comes to it, he gets really shy asking you out on dates, so you’ve kind of just started to read each other’s minds lmao.

he never forgets your birthday or your anniversary. he makes a big deal out of your anniversary because it’s a celebration of you both, he wants to make you feel special and will do everything he can to do so. you pair make your own traditions when it comes to days like that, and he looks forward to them a lot. your birthday is pretty much left down to you (other than his gift for you of course). he doesn’t want to do a poor job of planning anything for your special day so he just leaves it and hopes that you do something instead, if you wanted a party you should have organised it. he would help you plan it thought, anything you want he’d do for you.

his gifts are always things that you like. things that you can treasure and things that you can display and show off are his go to. jewellery is a common gift that you receive from him and every single piece that he’s picked out is so delicate and beautiful.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

when you pair are out with mutual friends, he likes to tease you. sometimes he takes it too far without realising it, the atmosphere becomes tense and he becomes even more awkward and wants to leave the situation just to apologise to you but realises it will probably make everything 10 times more awkward.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he’s a handsome teenager surrounded by other pretty people of course he’s gonna have some concerns about how he looks. actually i don’t think concerns would be the right word. he’s very confident in his appearance, why wouldn’t he be, but he also thinks that everyone else should be too, everyone is attractive in their own way. in reality, he’s very humble about how handsome he is despite constantly flexing his visuals lmao.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

you do a lot for him, not just as in help him out with cooking or whatever, but his mental state. you’ve allowed him to mature a lot and he’s become more emotionally intelligent with you.

he’d hate to think of how his life would be if he wasn’t with you, he wouldn’t be the same person at all.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

one of the first dates you went on was to build a bear, it was his idea surprisingly (he wanted to see which animal/character you picked out, okay?!) you stuffed each other’s teddies and returned them to each other in time to name them. you named yours sunghoon first, he followed by naming his y/n. you both sleep with them on the bed and hug them tightly when you’re not together :( (but your never tell each other that’s what you do lol)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

people who are all up in his face. just back off, yeah? chill out for a second. he gets that you’re excited, and he wouldn’t want to bring you down, but you don’t need to get up in his grill. personal space is a big one for him. if you don’t respect that, then he’s not gonna have any time for you.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

the prettiest sleeper on the planet. his lips are slightly separated and his eyelashes often flutter as if he’s about to wake up, but it’s actually just a sign of him having a really pleasant dream.

#enhypen #sunghoon #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon #park sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon imagines

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

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A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 14

First

The next day was The Day.

It had been a full month since they had moved into the house.

Tensions had settled somewhat, people had more or less grown used to each other’s presence… but, on that one particular day, the five of them were on edge.

It was the day to begin posting.

Chat bit his lip, scrolling through all the different videos he had taken on patrols. Should he just go in the order that he had taken them in? That would certainly be easier than any arbitrary system he put out.

Then again, if he actually figured out a system it would make what he was doing feel like it had more effort. Out of all the account themes that he knew (Chloe was still refusing to answer any questions about hers), his definitely required the lowest amount of effort.

It fit him, but still.

He decided to schedule a little bit. It would go dogs, then cats, then more unusual animals, then repeat.

There. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Hopefully, Fu wouldn’t take issue with it --.

He tore through the skin of his lip and hissed in pain. He dropped his phone on the bed next to him and brought his hands up to stem the bleeding until he found a tissue.

He walked to the mirror and snickered to himself when he saw his reflection.

Thank the kwamis he wasn’t home anymore. His dad would have thrown a fit about him ‘ruining’ his perfect face.

The door opened and he looked over to see Chloe. “Bonjour --.”

He groaned a little. “Bonjour. You’re not taking tonight’s patrols from me, but you can come along if you want.”

“What? No. I need more time to edit a video for my account so I’m going to be announcing the start of our accounts.”

“You had a month and you’re still not done?” He teased, tossing the bloodied tissue in the trash.

She scoffed. “Not like I owe you an explanation, but I have an hour of footage to go through and edit down to a few minutes at most.”

Ah. Yeah. That would be hard.

He followed her to where everyone had congregated on the couch.

Well, actually, Ladybug and Carapace were the only ones on the couch, Rena was standing behind it, peering over the other miraculous holder’s shoulders as they scrolled through their phones.

Rena looked up when she heard their footsteps and gasped. “What happened to your lip?”

“I lost a fight...” … with his own mouth, but that was beside the point.

Carapace raised his eyebrows. “You lost a fight without leaving your room?”

Rena’s lips twitched into a mischievous grin. “Who knows, with all the stuff in his room something could be living in there and no one would know.”

He fought the urge to sink into the fabric of his turtleneck (which he now felt weird wearing considering the actual turtle in the group never wore turtlenecks). “Shut up.”

“Nice comeback,” commented Carapace.

“Thanks,” he muttered, dropping down onto the couch beside him and resting his head on his shoulder.

Chloe hummed as she set up her phone to take a video of them all and then she paused, looking at everyone. “Costumes? Since this is the announcement video?”

Ladybug set her phone in her pocket. “Sure.”

“Oh, what if we start in costume and then we detransform?” Said Carapace.

“Why?” Questioned Rena.

“For the drama. Obviously.”

No one bothered to reply to that, instead they all called their kwamis to transform.

Chloe pressed to start recording and then waltzed over to take a seat on Ladybug’s lap. To Ladybug’s credit, her face remained neutral. They all knew she blinked behind her mask even if they couldn’t see it.

Rena snickered a little behind her hand.

Ladybug’s skin flared bright red. There it was. She’d finally finished processing.

“Was… was the spot beside me not good enough?”

“Nope!” Chloe said brightly before turning her attention to the camera. “Hello, Paris… and others, though I don’t know why you’d bother with our accounts if you aren’t Parisian. We’re the miraculous team!”

They went in a line from left to right introducing themselves and then detransforming to show off their civilian clothes.

“Now, you might be wondering: what’s going on?”

“A good question. Not even we really know,” Chat muttered.

(Carapace, the only one close enough to really hear, was now smiling more sincerely.)

“We’ve started TikTok accounts that we’re going to be maintaining until we defeat Hawkmoth. Why’d we decide to do this?”

Everyone’s gazes briefly pulled away from the camera to send Chloe looks that varied from slight exasperation (Carapace) to amusement (Rena).

“No reason! Just convenience!”

Chat rolled his eyes a little.

Chloe went on to explain what each of their accounts would be about, except...

“You forgot your own niche, Queenie,” said Ladybug gently.

“I didn’t forget.”

They waited for her to go on and say what she was going to be doing, but she didn’t.

The other miraculous holders exchanged wary looks.

“All their accounts are going to be in the caption. Follow them!”

The video cut.

A day passed, but no one was really getting picked up by the algorithm, it seemed.

They had all convened in the living room again to discuss what to do.

Chat had the most followers, which wasn’t a surprise considering he was just posting cute animals.

Ladybug actually had quite a few as well. A few of them were actual Parisians, but most just seemed to be random French speakers who wanted to get their lives together. Good for them.

Everyone else was having trouble getting their videos seen.

Chloe was taking this especially hard. She had flung herself over the sofa and buried her face in the cushions.

Ladybug didn’t seem all that concerned about the possible impending akuma as she sat down on the arm of the couch. “It would probably help if you had actual content,” she commented.

The other barely lifted her head to send her a glare.

Carapace sat down in the armchair with some chips and salsa. “Maybe we should just use all the trending tags to get people to see us.”

“We could tag our videos as cosplay and then see how long it takes them to figure it out,” said Rena, grinning as she stole some chips.

(Carapace sent her a tired, halfhearted glare but apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep his food away from her.)

Chat wasn’t really concerned about all of this. He sat in the window, smiling as the sun beamed down on his back. “I don’t know. If we want we can get some blogger to report on it.”

“If we do that one, how about the Ladyblogger? I’m pretty sure she’s the most popular one,” offered Ladybug absently. “And her blog has the option to send in stuff anonymously, too.”

Chloe pushed herself up to a sitting position, apparently done sulking. “Nope, she’s been inactive for a few months. Said something about her schedule getting too hectic, I think.”

“Oh! Is that why I haven’t seen her around?” Said Chat, trying to hide his relief. “I thought I’d done something to offend her or something.”

He noticed, vaguely, that Rena was now bright red. His brain struggled to figure out why and then it clicked. The Ladyblogger stopped showing up a little while before Rena had appeared… she must be feeling left out!

He gave her a tiny smile. “There’s still other blogs, though, so we could try that.”

“You know, I always thought it was weird that the Ladyblogger had always chosen Ladybug for her name when Chat was there first,” mused Carapace.

“Do you know any good puns for Chat Noir that has to do with blogging?” Said Ladybug, a little defensive.

“Fair.”

“She also had a different name originally, she just changed it when Ladybug came on because of the pun,” muttered Rena.

Ah, so Chat had been wrong about Rena’s feelings about the Ladyblogger. Clearly she was just a fan of her work. That made sense, that seemed like the kind of content she would enjoy --.

Chloe was the one to pull everyone on track: “Who cares? If she’s been inactive no one’s checking her page, so we need a new plan.”

The five of them lapsed into silence as they considered the options.

“I could get Nadia Chamack to report on it?” Offered Ladybug.

“No one under thirty really watches the news. Wrong demographic,” Rena pointed out.

Chat hesitated slightly before raising his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Can’t we just use Chloe’s dad? I mean… everyone follows him to find out what insane thing he did for his daughter this week.”

Chloe sent him a glare.

“No offense,” he added quickly. “That’s definitely on the people of Paris for their… judgementalness and tendency to --.”

“Chat, do yourself a favor and shut up,” advised Rena.

“Okay.”

There was a moment as they all thought about it.

Chloe pulled her phone out. She dialled a number and there was hardly a beat before she smiled and said: “Daddy! Hi!”

There was a collective wince that the mayor’s daughter opted to ignore.

“I was wondering if you could -- oh. Thanks! I’ll text you the info to tell everyone, then...”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

#a miraculous tiktok account #chat noir #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #rena rouge #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #carapace #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous team #miraculous fic #ml fic #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

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peter-parcoeur · 5 years ago

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“When you’re gone” - part 3

Post Thanos snap, Peter has to live in a world where Tony Stark is gone. But what happens when Tony’s daughter enters his life...?

Summary + Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Going back to school felt weird.

Though Peter always seemed to struggle to find a balance between his ordinary teenager life and being an Avenger, this time, the wake-up call was hitting harder. His body was definitely walking across the High-School Hall, but his head was somewhere else.

All around him were familiar faces, some looked obviously different after what they all called “the blip” but most of his school seemed back to normal, which was harder to digest as he felt like nothing would ever be the same now that his mentor was gone.

How could he live in a world without Tony Stark?

Luckily, his best-friend was there to show some support and bring random chit-chats back into his routine. Even MJ had given him a hug as she seemed genuinely happy to see him back, but when it should have been the most amazing, unexpected moment of his day, Peter had felt nothing but comfort from catching up with a friend. No tingles at the pit of his stomach, no burning red cheeks, not the usual stiffness down his abdomen. Nothing.

It was like a part of him had died too.

They were all sat in history class when Ned tapped him on the shoulder from behind, his voice filled with some unusual excitement.

“Wow mate, check out the new girl!”

Peter had to roll his eyes and smile at his friend’s typical enthusiasm over the opposite gender. Every time a remotely ‘hot’ girl walked by, Ned turned into a little kid on Christmas Day with a massive sugar rush.

His smile faded as soon as he locked eyes with the girl sitting at the back of the class.

“God” Ned moaned “I would gladly let her step on my face, who’s she?”

“That’s Y/N Stark.” Peter stated as she looked away as soon as their eyes met.

“What do you mean--- Stark? As in...?

- As in Tony’s only daughter.”

Ned was left gobsmacked at this new revelation, quite oblivious to his friend’s sudden change of attitude. Peter looked like he had seen a ghost, writhing on his seat with complete nervousness. He could tell her anger was still running through her blood from the way she avoided his look, but for some obscure reason, he also felt relieved. Now that they had to spend an entire year in the same room, maybe they would get to talk at some point.

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

When the bell rang, Peter wisely waited for Y/N to exit the room before he made any move. It had been the longest hour of his entire school experience and he had been sat in chemistry before, listening to Mr. Wyatt spreading bullshits about things Peter himself could teach better.

“You should talk to her” Ned said after being quiet for longer than anyone would expect him.

“I’m not sure she wants me to…

- When was the last time you spoke?

- Her dad’s funeral?

- Yeahhhh…. Ned winced, maybe not the perfect time to have a chat?

- I know, but she seemed so upset

- Dude, her father died, you think she’s gonna give you a lapdance?”

Peter rolled his eyes at Ned’s obvious answer. He couldn’t quite process how he felt about Y/N. Part of him wanted to avoid her at all costs to save himself the embarrassment, but mostly, he wanted to walk down the hallway as confident as possible and just… talk to her. There was this weird attraction between them that made it seems like, somehow, this reunion was meant to be.

“Alright, I’m gonna talk to her” Peter sighed as he caught a glimpse of Y/N grabbing a few books from her locker across the hallway.

His palms were sweaty as he tried his best to brush them to the sides of his pants, air caught in his throat like he was about to give an inspiring speech to a bored audience. Nobody had ever made him feel this way, not even his high-school crush, MJ.

“Hi, Y/N!”

Y/N turned around to see Peter standing there awkwardly, both his hands buried in his pockets.

For a second, it seems like she was about to speak, her eyes daunting him from head to toes. As he stood closer to her face, Peter realized just how much she looked like Tony. She had his eyes, his cocky expression but her slim nose and perky lips were definitely Pepper’s. Her long brown hair was tamed on a sid braid and her ankle boots made her seem taller than him, which was embarrassing enough if she had chosen not to talk to him.

But with the snap of her locker door, she simply turned her back and walked away, leaving him speechless and embarrassed once again.

“Well done, Don Juan!” MJ teased as she walked past him.

On the other side of the corridor, Peter saw Ned biting his lip so he wouldn’t laugh at his misery.

Things were going to be tougher than he had thought.

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

Economics was the worst.

Peter and Ned usually discussed any other topic that didn’t involve money and budget throughout the whole course, but today, Peter was just lost in his own daydream, looking out the window with his chin buried into his palm. It was a nice autumnal day, the kind that brought him back to better times where he and his Aunt would start decorating their apartment with Halloween/spooky stuff, their favorite time of the year. It was hard to think that life would go on after the blip but Peter was willing to be an optimistic. Happier days would come.

“Alright, today’s class will be sorely about your final assignment… I want you to pay close attention because this will be half of your grade for the exam.” Mr. Andersen spoke louder so the distracted students could hear.

At least half of the class moaned in complete despair. Mr. Andersen’s assignments were known as chaotic and frankly awful. This one was no exception.

“You will be working as a pair”

Ned smiled brightly at Peter, knowing they would definitely team-up, as usual.

At least it would make it less horrible to be working as a team.

“But don’t get too excited” Mr. Andersen added abruptly as he watched his students stare at each other, building up the usual team partners. “I have written half of the class’s names on papers. These papers I have folded and put in this box so the rest of you can draw”.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Ned burped out.

“Mr. Leeds, since you seem so pleased, we’ll start with you!”

Mr. Andersen walked closer to Ned and offered him a chance to pick a name inside the tiny white box he was holding. Ned reluctantly picked a piece of paper and pulled a worried face.

“Betty Brant…”

Sitting at the front of the class, Betty Brant looked over her shoulder and gave him an unenthusiastic thumbs up. At least, she was smart, but her good looks would definitely make it hard for Ned to focus on their homework. Shivers ran down his spine at the thought of having a girl in his bedroom, his temple, the architectural equivalent of a Jedi farting the Game of Thrones theme song, aka the shameful natural habitat of the biggest geek.

Things went on as everyone picked a team partner with more or less enthusiasm and soon enough, it was Y/N’s time to draw a name into the box.

She quite obviously hesitated before she composed herself and spoke.

“Mr. Andersen, is there any way I can switch partner?”

“Well, Ms. Stark, what would be the point if anyone just decided who they’d like to collaborate with? I’m sorry you didn’t pick your crush’s name but I’m afraid things are what it is. Now, would you be kind enough to share your designated partner?”

There was a silence before she spoke again, her hand fiddling with the piece of paper.

“Peter Parker”

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“Dude, what are the odds???” Ned squealed as he sat next to Peter at the cafeteria.

It was lunch time and the whole room was buzzing with chatty students and cutlery grazes.

“Yeah, wow, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, am I?” Peter mumbled, still baffled at the complete humiliation he had been given in front of the entire class. The second one that day.

“Now she has no other option than talk to you, think positive!”

“Amazing, it must be as pleasant as being held at gunpoint somehow, I mean… did you hear what she said?” he sighed “Mr. Andersen, can I switch partners?” Peter was mimicking her disgusted tone when Ned gave him the big eyes, nodding towards a point behind him.

“Brilliant, why wasting your time here when you could have a one-man show?” Y/N bluntly stated. Her arms were crossed against her chest, her eyes glued to his face like she was trying to read his soul for some reason.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t mean—it’s just—

- Let’s spare us both this conversation, alright? It seems like we’ll have to do this assignment, so… your place or mine?”

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at the ambiguous comment, but as Peter gave him the dead eye, it was definitely too late to take his nervous laughter back.

“What are you, 12?” Y/N pulled an unimpressed look, eyeballing Ned until he went slightly red. This time, it was Peter’s turn to contain his laugh. Her attitude and comebacks definitely reminded him of the great Tony Stark. In a weird way, it was comforting, like wrapping yourself into a warm blanket in a cold morning. She irradiated with that famous Spark Confidence.

“Whatever suits you best” Peter finally said after what seemed like an eternity of quietness.

“What suits me best is to not be doing this with you but it seems like this isn’t an option, so…”

“Okay, my place then? Peter blurted out all of a sudden

- What time?

- Six thirty

- Good” she turned to Ned “You got a pen?”

Ned fiddled with his backpack and handed her a black ballpoint pen.

“Text me your address” she simply said, writing down her number on a napkin.

She walked away without further word, leaving both Ned and Peter speechless for a while. Peter watched her sit at a table with a bunch of fellow classmates and for a minute, it felt like his brain had stopped to frame-freeze the scene in front of him. Everyone around her seemed captivated, whatever she was talking about. She had inherited that charisma from her father, that ability to catch everyone’s attention in the blink of an eye.

As he stared at her for a couple more minutes, Peter realized this weird, tingly feeling was back at the pit of his stomach.

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@eternaleviee

#tom holland #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #fanfiction #imagine #tony stark #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction

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soundofseventeen · 6 years ago

Text

Home (Lee Jihoon)

Hi! Nothing to add other than I know Erin posted a Woozi thing last week, oops! Credits to the owners for the gifs! -Bee

Word count: 5819

“So, what do you think?” Jihoon asked his group mates excitedly, closing the Macbook. After spending so much time cooped up in the recording studio perfecting the album, he was finally ready to show them the track that would make their latest comeback remarkable, though that wasn’t exactly until the next month.

“Well, it’s great,” Soonyoung nodded after a moment of silence, “but do you think Getting Closer is the one to go with? I know we wanted something different but don’t you think it’s a bit...too much? I don’t mean that in a bad way, because look at the choreography we were able to come up with but I think it’s not the song to go with.”

“It’s either that or Good to Me.” The former rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I doubt we could come to an agreement on which unit song we can choose.”

“I’m sure that’s not what Hoshi hyung means,” Wonwoo interjected. “You worked hard on the song, and it deserves the recognition. I think what he was trying to say is that we’re already performing it at MAMA in Hong Kong and we should give everyone something else.” He drummed his fingers on the table fiddling with his cellphone.

“Good to Me does have potential,” Seokmin hummed, as positive as ever. “I’m all for Getting Closer too. Honestly hyung, whichever one you pick, we’ll be fine with.”

Chan, more interested, or rather annoyed, than the new pimple appearing on his cheek than the conversation, put the compact mirror down to voice his thoughts. “You’ve worked hard enough with Getting Closer and by the time we release the album completely, the Carats will be bored of what we gave them.”

“If we have to choose, I think we’d be better with Good to Me for the comeback song.” Junhui shrugged. (He was still pissy over the fact that the company had chosen for Seventeen to release a single the day after he released his own. “They could suck it,” Seungcheol consoled him, irritated at the lost battle.)

“But it also has the vibes of Getting Closer Minghao pointed out. “Similar ones at least. Since you’re asking us hyung, I don’t think you’re giving us many options to work with.”

Jihoon pursed his lips in agitation. He glanced at the time, making a face when he saw it was past midnight. “I’m not arguing with you guys tonight over what we should do. Go get some rest already. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“You’re not leaving yet?” Seungcheol furrowed his brows while he saw the 11 other boys standing up and stretching.

“Too much work to do still,” he waved him off, already opening a new tab and typing out an email to Bumzu about the possibility of using a new song. The downside of asking for 12 other opinions was that someone was bound to share a different one, and causing some sort of ruckus, like now.

“Alright,” he sighed, patting the younger’s shoulder, “just don’t pester Beomju hyung for too long. He’s a busy man. And don’t forget to call Y/N or something. Hey Mingyu, wait for me!”

However, by the time Jihoon had checked his messages he was already inside the apartment so he didn’t bother texting you back. He saw you asleep on the couch, a telltale sign that you had waited for him to come home. He felt a little guilty waking you up, but he couldn’t leave you there. “Jagiya, I’m here. You can go to bed now.” He smiled at your sleepy face, aware that you could throw something at him for waking you up, but taking the risk anyway.

You rubbed your eyes, returning the smile as his lips touched your hair. “What time is it? No, don’t answer that. Let’s just go to sleep?” Your eyelids closed involuntarily again, which your boyfriend took as a sign to guide you to the bedroom and when you climbed in, snuggled the pillow closest to you. “Aren’t you gonna get in so you can tell me about your day?”

“I just need to shower first.”

“‘Kay.”

“Are you gonna be able to stay up that long Jagiya?”

“No. Good night.” You opened one eye, still somewhat able to make him out. “I love you.”

“...and even though I was late, we were still able to go out for dinner,” Jihoon heard Seungkwan swoon to Mingyu the next day. “And then, we stopped by the park and played on the swings until we got kicked out by the cops. How did I get so lucky? Oh, good morning hyung!”

“Good morning.” He scratched the back of his head. “Did you guys have a good night?” He proceeded to walk in front of them which the other two took as a sign to follow him as they recounted their evening events of dinner, movies and a chase scene involving a dog, followed by the idle chatter of the boys already inside the booth.

“Have you decided on what you wanted to do?” Minghao asked after the formalities.

“I talked to Beomju hyung last night. Getting Closer will be our comeback song for both things.” He could hear the disdained huffs and sighs of annoyances. “And I had an epiphany last night. Since nothing has been recorded to perfection yet, I’d like a demo of each of you singing the entire thing again, so we can perfect this and see how we can distribute the lines. Hannie hyung, you’re up first.” He distributed 12 sheets of paper, each containing the lyrics, giving them a few minutes to more or less memorize particular lines before they scattered about, vocalizing, harmonizing, possibly rapping the suggestions, all music to Jihoon’s ears.

“Do that part again, but Not. So. High. And. Faster.”

“Here’s a thought: maybe I’m not cut out for this line. Give it to someone else.” Joshua, normally calm and collected, promptly removed his headphones, muttering a few choice words and walking out to catch his breath before he lost his temper. He knew when Jihoon turned into Woozi, it was best to leave everything before starting over

“If you’re gonna talk shit, at least do it in Korean!” Jihoon called him out which earned him the finger. He massaged his temples, nothing going to plan and getting ready to tell the president or whoever was in charge of their publicity to call off MAMA and get another group to do it. (Although, Seungcheol was in charge of that, but then they’d have to do a vote and things could get messy.) A knock on the door. “I’m not gonna talk to any of you right now unless you figured out how to listen to directions, so don’t bother coming in.”

“It’s me,” you called, opening the door hesitantly. “I thought you could use a lunch break. Can I come in?”

He sighed quietly, clearly not in the mood for interaction. “Just go ahead and leave the plate there. I’ll eat later.” He smiled involuntarily at seeing you come in, confusion quickly replacing his features when he saw a giant flower vase in your other hand. “Are those for me?”

“Seungkwan, actually. I was on my over here when reception asked if I could bring them to him. He’s a lucky dude, what with the way his love brings him flowers. Everyone else must be jealous.”

“I’ll make sure he gets them. Jagiya, did you wanna eat here with me?” He noticed the extra takeout box, the conclusion more probable than bringing it for one of the other boys.

“If you’re busy, I can come back later or wait until you come home. Maybe we can catch dinner or something?”

“Sure,” he waved you off, already opening his food despite his earlier protest and taking a bite. Maybe all he needed was lunch.

“I’ll see you later.” You smiled at him, trying not to let his brisk behavior affect your mood. “I love you.” He nodded in affirmation and you left as quickly as you came in.

“Oh hey, Jagi? Do you think you can pick up my suit from the dry cleaners? It’s supposed to be ready today.”

“How am I supposed to do it to your liking Jihoon?” Soonyoung snapped a couple of weeks later. He didn’t like facing off against his best friend, but the tensions were high and with the trip to Hong Kong around the corner, the leaders’ icy attitudes rarely diffused the situations. Being a perfectionist himself, he knew hard work and dedication, but he and they already had everything down, and wasn’t about to change the routine.

“I don’t know! You’re the choreographer, so fix it!” Though Getting Closer barely exceeded his expectations, he wasn’t about to let Soonyoung shirk that same responsibility.

“What do you want me to do? Throw Vernon on top of the boys while he does his part?”

“Perfect! If you had that thought an hour ago, we could’ve avoided this fiasco.” He turned his attention to the eldest, whose focus was on the latest recorded practice. “And you? What have you contributed lately?”

“Absolutely nothing. In fact, I feel like I’ve done so little throughout this comeback prep, I feel like I should quit. Oh wait, I can’t do that, can I because you WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO HANDLE 11 OTHER BOYS NOW WOULD YOU?” He abruptly changed the video, opting to see some kind of happiness. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “Look I get that you’re stressed, really I do, but if the pressure is too much, we can back out, get more time to-”

“NO. We told them we’d be ready, so now we have to be.”

“At what expense Jihoon? Because from the looks of it, you seem to be okay with pissing everyone off. God, I wonder how Y/N deals with you at home.”

“Y/N is not relevant right now; and if you don’t wanna see me pissed off, I’d recommend adjourning this stupid meeting so we can all get back to our lives. Soonyoung, I don’t care how you do that routine change, but get it done or I will. This needs to be perfect.”

“Where are you going?” Seungcheol demanded.

“I’m gonna go see what your unit is doing. They’re lagging their parts. I’m surprised you didn’t see that even though you’re the one who’s been watching the videos.” He opened the door to find you, hand balled into a fist ready to knock, holding out the cellphone he’d forgotten at home with the other hand and merely brushed passed you, calling out to the remaining members of the hiphop unit to step up their game and that Hansol better be prepared for a change in dance.

“What, are you gonna be their unit leader too?”

“I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight Jagi,” Jihoon explained over the phone or rather voicemail. “I promised I’d be here with them tonight. I’ll see you when we get back from China. Take care of yourself while I’m gone.” Once Jihoon clicked, he downed a shot of some tequila Minghao had imported from Mexico, making a face at the way the aftertaste managed to burn. “How do people drink this? Ugh.”

Junhui held up a key lime he’d been sucking on. “Apparently you’re supposed put that in there and maybe some salt to help.” He poured Jihoon another shot, and squeezed the remainder of the juice into it, clinking his own with it.

“Yeah, no still gross,” he commented after he finished it. What other options do we have?”

“You lived here for years and you still don’t know what we have? Get outta here dude.” A third one for both.

“I’m not trying to drink myself to oblivion, especially since we’re getting on a plane in a few hours. Lesson learned.” He shuddered from a distant memory that haunted him from to time. “Where is everyone?”

Junhui shrugged as if to say “Suit yourself” before fixing up his fourth shot. “Seungkwan said he’ll meet up with us at the airport tomorrow, Mingyu said something about a date so he’ll be back later. Jeonghan and Joshua hyungdul went to bring pizza and snacks with the money you gave Wonwoo. Hoshi hyung is looking for a movie. And here comes Minghao now. Hi Hao!” He waved happily.

Minghao gave the older Chinese boy a weird look before opening various cupboards and pantries, searching for anything that appealed to him, settling for a bag of some sour candies, an unsatisfied huff leaving his lips. “Tell me Woozi hyung. Why are you here with us and not at home with Y/N?”

“I have a lot to make up to you guys.” He grabbed a handful of the sweets, puckering when he shoved some in his mouth. “Might as well start now.”

“And Y/N is cool with that?” He raised his hand to pause the conversation, tilting his head to the side to hear the movie choice. “Soonyoung! We’re supposed to watch that together! I swear if you get ahead again, I will-” He glanced at his surroundings to finish his threat. “Shove the broomstick I have in my hands so far down your throat, you’ll have the taste of wood in your mouth for the rest of the year!” He could hear the boy in question fumbling for something and laughed. “You were saying?”

“Uhh, well...I called Y/N not too long ago, and I left a voicemail.”

“Classy move Jihoon.” With a shake of his head, Minghao stole Junhui’s shot and drank it. “Eww, you put too much salt in this. No wonder you’re not in charge of drinks.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“I’m a master chef, not a mixologist O’ Pompous Ones.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” A pat to Junhui’s shoulder. “Are you coming hyung, or are you planning to get shitfaced with this dumbass tonight?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Let’s go Jun.”

“Wait, don’t rush me. I’m not done yet.”

”Food’s here,” Jeonghan called happily through the front door and within three seconds, all 11 boys crowded around the living room, fighting for a slice and the first sip of the ice cold soda.

Jihoon smiled a little as he was squashed in the middle of the couch between Joshua and Chan. Everything he did was for them, and he hoped they knew the endless possibilities and roads that would open with You Made My Dawn.

“God, I already said I was sorry!” Jihoon yelled at the van, carrying his group mates, a near impossible feat that rarely happened. He slammed the door as hard as he could, his fists clenched, ready to hit the first person to piss him off further.

“You can’t fix everything with sorry!” Seokmin yelled at him. “God, I never thought I’d be glad to get rid of you.”

“Don’t come over anymore,” Wonwoo added stoically. “We’ll see you at the studio tomorrow…maybe.”

“Fine! Be there at nine sharp to film the music video! If any of you are even a minute late, I’m destroying the album and everything we worked on!”

“Oh so now you’re threatening us?” Jihoon could see Seungcheol beginning to unbuckle his seatbelt when Jeonghan stopped him and acknowledged the producer himself.

“Go fuck yourself. We’ll call you and let you know when we’ll be there. In the meantime, get your head out of your ass and remember that we’re not your circus performers and we will call out your shit. Vernon could’ve really hurt himself.” He rolled his window up and the van sped away.

“You’re all fired.” He fumbled around for his keys, muttering to himself. “After all I do for them, the least they could do is appreciate-Y/N, I’m here!” He expected you to run into his arms, and ask him how the trip was so he could vent out the frustrations, but when he saw you sitting on one side of the table, more focused on the teacup in front of you, he became anxious. Every time he’d seen you like that, no good news ever followed, but he tried to downplay it. He kissed your cheek, and headed for the kitchen, fixing himself a quick snack, deciding a peanut butter sandwich would be good.

He heard you take a deep breath and exhale. He counted 15 when you broke you broke the silence. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The knife clattered noisily on the counter. “Did I track mud in the house again? I’m sorry, I’ll get someone to come by and-”

“No. This. Us.” He could feel you staring at him, but he couldn’t face you. Not when he was hearing...this. “I’m tired Jihoon. It’s like I’m not even here unless it’s to your disposal.”

“That’s not true.”

“I don’t wanna argue with you because I love you, but just think about all the plans we made and how many you actually followed through. I get your work and Seventeen are important to you, but am I?”

“Yes!” He protested. He finally turned around, ready to bust your lie, but stopped short at seeing your wiping your eyes to hide the fact you were crying. “You mean so much to me.”

“No I don’t. I’m just someone who greets you when you come through that door and who tells you to have a good day when you walk out of it. I can’t keep living like this.”

“We can work something out can’t we?”

You shook your head. “I think that’s something only you and your schedule can answer. In the meantime, I’m gonna be staying with one of my friends.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“It’s already done. I’m sorry. I hope this won’t affect your comeback. You’ve worked too hard for it to fall to shambles now. I’ll start packing what I can.”

The, “Don’t go; please come back,” choked him and he could feel the his world crumbling around him.

“I’m never gonna get this done,” Jihoon groaned. He ran his hand down his face, exaggerating the movement between his eyes.

“Get what done?” You appeared behind him, making jump in his seat.

“I-yah! Hey don’t do that.” He checked his heartbeat to make sure he didn’t go into cardiac arrest. “What are you doing here?”

“Soonyoung said you were working late and that you might’ve wanted some company. So here I am. Only if I’m not a bother.” You fixed his messy hair.

He reached for you, kissing the tip of your nose. “You? Never. I hope you don’t mind waiting awhile to do something, if we even get the chance that is.”

“The exciting life and times of Lee Jihoon as a producer means being here to see his latest masterpiece.” You searched for a chair and pulled it up next to him. “Now, what are we doing?”

“Finishing line distributions. The performance unit just finished their demos for ‘Don’t Wanna Cry’ and now I’m gonna see how we can make a hit.”

You nodded. “What do you have so far?”

“Only the start of the second verse. If you listen carefully, the contrasts between Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s voices are not only necessary, but they give it...that feel, so when you transition Seungcheol’s low voice to Jeonghan’s softer tone, the smoothness is still there, but so is the rawness and confusion. Add in the fact that Soonyoung wanted them to lead in the second verse of the choreography, and you’re left with a heartbreak even the cinematics cannot create, and I’m talking a lot so I’ll shut up so I can finish. We’re gonna be here awhile.”

You held up a book. “I’m always prepared.”

He worked in silence for a couple of hours, mostly pausing to refill his coffee cup, though it didn’t do much except make him resent the coffee flavor. He asked you every so often if you were bored or tired, you could just go home and he’d call you in the morning, only for you to reassure him that you weren’t in any rush to go anywhere, which made him forget he had a deadline to beat. You continued to read in peace, only breaking your concentration whenever you heard him sigh in frustration, placing your hand over his to calm him down.

“This is never gonna work.” He removed his headphones and began looking for his eye drops to stop the burning of straining them too long. “Maybe if I quit now, I can still get by with mediocre work. And by a fun game of eenie meenie miney mo, I can decide who gets to open the song.”

“Can I hear what you have? Maybe you could use some outside perspective.” He handed you the headphones and played the rough version, deciphering your reactions from the way you tapped along. You surprised him when you started crying, the lyrics burning themselves into heart even though you hadn’t lost anyone. “Wow, that’s beautiful.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“No, it’s just the right amount of sadness and regret and god Jihoon, who hurt Seungcheol? Why the pressure of everything? It’ll all come together...what? Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

“Because...I don’t want you to think I’m a failure.”

“Ji, look at everything you’re doing; look at the time; look where you’re at right now. You’re busting your ass off to make it the best you’ve ever done. I know you well enough. Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

“We got an invite to perform at KCON in America, so if it’s a hit, I want this to be the track we’re known for.”

“When was the last time Hansol started a song?”

“Not since he and Seokmin decided to shove straws up my nose when I was asleep, and I swore he never would again.” He squinted at you suspiciously. “Why?”

“His voice is soft enough to sing it because you don’t expect this to come from him. It’s like he’s mourning a lost love. If you hear him say ‘I love you’, it’s like he’s regretting something even though it isn’t his fault. It’s so melancholy, very different than Soonyoung who sounds hopeful, if you were to put them together that is.”

“You are brilliant! Maybe you should become my right hand producer.”

“Pass. I’m here for moral support.”

Half an hour after working out the kinks and smoothing out the rough timbres, he showed you the final effect of the song as well as the finished Al1 tracks. He didn’t know whether to laugh or be endeared when he saw you crying over Habit’s lyrics and threw his arm over you where you sobbed into his shoulder. “What’s wrong now?”

“I don’t know. You’re just really good at this and the unnecessary pressure you put on yourself sucks, and also it’s really late so I’m very sensitive at this hour and I don’t know, having you around in my life has become a habit, so if I lost you, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

In that moment, he shed a few tears because of your raw honesty affected him. He only showed you his vulnerable side, full of doubts and insecurities and the fact that you knew what to say and when to say it made him emotional, so he hugged you close and your hair, the impulse decision slipping his tongue before he could think about it. “Jagiya, if I moved out of Seventeen’s house, would you move in with me?”

He felt like a complete jackass. A few days had passed since his incidents and there seemed to be no sign of reconciliations anywhere, and he knew he was to blame. He pushed you away and expected too much from his best friends. No one called; no one checked in; no one asked what was gonna happen and he didn’t think he had an answer for that anyways. He fucked up and now the consequences weighed heavily upon him. He’d never been one for apologies, always felt like a guilt trip to him, but now he was alone in his studio for the nth time and no one would come running in to see why he was there and not where he belonged. He didn’t like people asking about his relationships, always seemed to invasive and an excuse for gossip over coffee with Dispatch paparazzi, but now what he wouldn’t give for direction. He did know a person, but they weren’t on speaking terms at the moment, but he had to at least try.

“What hyung?”

“Seungkwan, can you-” He sniffled inadvertently, immediately alerting the other boy on the line. “Can you please come to the studio?”

The moment Seungkwan found him in the recording booth, Jihoon spluttered apology after apology and spilled the heartbreak he was experiencing, trying to regain control of his emotions, stumbling a few times in the process but finally managing it. “I don’t know what to do. I lost the one person who understood me and I can’t take you guys being upset with me, but I deserve it. I treated everyone like shit. Can you forgive me?”

Seungkwan’s golden heart very rarely let him hold a grudge, so when he nodded, Jihoon sighed with relief and enveloped him in a hug. “You know you can always come to us, right? Why didn’t you?”

“I had one of those times where I felt like your careers rested in my hands and the pressure got to me.” He squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. He didn’t like displaying anything for anyone to see, but he had to do it once more. “I need your help with something else, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything.” His watch beeped. “I do have to go soon though. We-I, there’s this thing with my aein.”

“That...how do you do that? How do you balance your time like that?”

“It’s simple. It’s all about priorities and where the line comes in. It’s communication and effort. It’s about little things like notes and compliments and random calls throughout the day, or even just a text. When was the last time you sent a text?” Silence. “Flowers? Lunch? A note?” Nothing. “When was the last time you got any of that?” When he shamefully opened a drawer that revealed notes, letters, and snacks that no one knew existed, Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “Hyung, forgive me for saying this, but you’re a fucking idiot. Do you even know how lucky you are...or were?”

“Don’t rub it in. How do I fix it?”

“That’s up to you to decide. Just ask yourself: what is Y/N to you?” His phone rang and he was quick to answer it. “Hi aein. I just stopped by the studio really quickly. Woozi needed me. I’ll be there soon...I love you.” When he hung up, he flashed the older boy a smile. “Good luck hyung. I really hope you can get out of this mess. You and Y/N look really happy together.” Another beep. “I really should get home. ‘Bye!”

For the first time since he felt like his life had fallen apart, his lips quirked up. “Home, huh?” He said to no one after Seungkwan showed himself out. He reached into his drawer, pulling out your letters to him throughout your time together.

“Gentlemen, I called you here for two reasons.” Jihoon took a deep breath, ready to swallow his pride. The meeting room seemed too warm for his liking, fanning himself lightly. Twelve pairs of eyes focused on him, some curious, some annoyed. “First, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for acting the way I did. I shouldn’t have changed the choreography during our practice. Vernon I’m sorry I pressured you to that extreme. Soonyoung, I’m sorry for exceeding your capabilities for everything. Seungcheol, I’m sorry I questioned your leadership abilities.” He rubbed his eyes. “I ah, put my relationship to the side to perfect this, but as it turns out, I fucked up both things, and badly.” He expected the jaw dropping effect, but he didn’t expect them to look at each other and hear nothing but air escape their mouths. “In case Seungkwan didn’t tell you, Y/N left.” Soonyoung immediately jumped from his spot and ran to him. He didn’t say anything, but his presence brought an odd sense of comfort to Jihoon as he laid his head on shoulder.

“I don’t expect you guys to help me, but I’m asking you if you’re willing enough to forgive me to do it. Bumzu hyung helped me with this. It’s a song and if you’d like the lyrics, I have them right here.”

The boys looked at one another and nodded. Hansol stood up and held his hand out. “We have some work to do.”

He didn’t know how many days had passed, but he found you at a friend’s house. He knew you weren’t expecting him, what with the way you answered the door in PJs and a book in your hand. He stopped you from closing the door. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I know I have to try. I can’t bear you walking away. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “Jihoon, no. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just show up and expect me to come back. I- your job, the boys, obviously mean more to you. I’m sorry. Just go home.”

He grabbed your wrist. “Can I just show you something before you kick me out for good?”

Relenting, you agreed and he pulled you out and into the car, driven by Mingyu, who smiled at you, but otherwise stayed quiet, in fear of giving away what he had planned. “Where are we going?”

“Pledis. I have something for you there.”

“Jihoon, if I wanted a signed lenticular or something, I would’ve asked the boys for it.”

“It’s more personal than that. Can you just trust me?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

At that comment, his courage deflated. He earned that, but it was still a blow. For the remainder of the ride, he stayed quiet, second guessing whether this was the right thing to do. He almost told Mingyu to turn around and drop you back off at your friend’s house. Almost. Even when Mingyu parked with an, “I’ll see you inside,”, he thought about it, but you already here and outside waiting for him. He finally slid out, and led you inside.

You waved at the staff, trainees, veteran artists and everyone you recognized. You followed him into the recording room where you saw Beomju on one side and 12 boys crowded over a single microphone in another. Beomju instructed you to sit next him, and shooed Jihoon into the other. “What’s-”

“Shh, just put these on, and listen.” He pressed a button to address Seventeen. “Are you guys ready?” They nodded eagerly. “You know your cues...okay. Ready? Jun, quiet down. On my mark…” Using his fingers, he counted down, tilted his pointer, and the music began.

Upon hearing Jeonghan’s voice, you shook your head. Jihoon really knew how to play dirty, and the lyrics didn’t help. As the song progressed, your gaze flickered between them all, torn between keeping your composure because of they said, and wanting to yell at Jihoon because of how needy it made you sound. ‘Cause I’m your home? Really, was that necessary? You commended them nonetheless, once again proving Seventeen had an unrivaled soft tone to them.

“Get ready,” Beomju murmured after Mingyu’s part so softly you almost missed it.

“‘Cause I’m your home, home, home, home,” Seungkwan sang.

“‘Cause I’m your home, home, home, home,” Chan echoed and expectantly stared at Jihoon so you knew this would be good.

“Because you’re my home, home, home, ho-home,” Jihoon hiccupped, keeping his eyes on you.

And that did it. You couldn’t even look at Joshua as he finished the song because you had fallen apart. You missed everyone high fiving each other, but you heard the way they ran out of of the tiny room and whooping. Only Jihoon stayed inside the booth, placing his headphones on the microphone, making no effort to leave.

It surprised you when Minghao nudged you. “Y/N, don’t be so hard on him. He loves you a lot more than you think. He just wants what’s best for everyone.”

“We might’ve not known everything about your relationship, but we know how happy you’ve made each other,” Junhui added. “Maybe we’re overstepping our boundaries by asking you reconsider your decision, but by the looks of it, you don’t look so well either.”

Wonwoo smacked his head. “You’re not supposed to say it like that. But yeah, please talk to him at least. None of us know how long he’s been staying here since he won’t tell us, but I think this is all he’s been working on.”

Joshua gave you a tissue so you could clean your face. “We’ll support your decisions, no matter what.”

You mustered up all your courage, swallowing heavily as you stood in front of the door. You finally opened it, tentatively walking inside and letting it close behind you, the slam ricocheting in all directions, until you were close to him. You took a deep breath, anticipating the next moment. He looked you, and slowly opened his arms, which you walked into and you let him hold you. You could feel him shuddering, hear him sniffling which made you tighten your hold on him in an attempt to protect from everything that was hurting him.

“I’m sorry,” he said after awhile. “I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I guess I’m just so used to having you around, I didn’t think I’d ever push you to your limit. I’ll try to do better, I promise.” He paused. “I don’t want to do any of this without you. Please...come home.”

You pulled away from him, opting to comfort him the way he had you in the past, even though you knew that you be bawling your eyes out in seconds. You wiped his tears away, your own threatening to bubble over soon.

“Does that mean you can tell Y/N the good news?!”

“Yah, you blabbermouth! Get out of here!” Jihoon threw the microphone at Soonyoung who tried to catch it, but ended up smashing his fingers.

“What good news?” You were actually thankful that Soonyoung had broken the serious moment so you could stop yourself from crying.

“Ahh, well, the boys loved this song so much they wanna add it to the album, and actually wanna use it for the official comeback.”

“You-that’s awesome! Maybe I should break your heart more often.”

He kissed your temple. “Yeah, how about we don’t. Come on; let’s go home.”

“I’m already here.”

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zamancollective · 6 years ago

Photo

The Constructive Agony of Talking Politics at Shabbat (Or How to Survive a Debate with Your Relatives)

By Gabriella Kamran

Illustration by Sophie Levy

I wasn’t yet 20 years old and I had already forgotten what it felt like to join my relatives for Shabbat dinner and eat brisket without a side of political commentary. Was that a new phenomenon? Was I too busy spitting tomatoes into napkins as a child that I didn’t notice the moral axioms being thrown above my head? Regardless, charged conversation after charged conversation gradually emerged from background noise while I chewed to a dynamic that captured my interest and charted the course of my intellectual development.

It seems accurate to say that I entered the fray around the same time I started buying my own clothes. These were the early teenage years: I was testing the waters of feminism, experimenting with political Facebook posts, and learning that not everything I believe to be true is, in fact, the truth. Every young person has a moment of realization that adults can sometimes be profoundly wrong. Mine took place gradually over a series of weekly dinners, as my male relatives argued and I felt an arsenal of my own opinions weighing in my chest.

I will say with no qualifiers that it is difficult for a fourteen-year-old girl to wedge herself into a conversation with several adult men. First, there is the issue of a quiet voice, not yet amplified by the support of social affirmation. Then there is the matter of being taken seriously — that is, the unspoken surprise that I was not in the living room talking to my girl cousins about nail polish.

(The aunts, for their part, either ladled soup in the kitchen or listened at the table, inserting a comment when appropriate. For a long time, I interpreted their disinterest as ignorance or resignation to gender norms, but with maturity one gets better at recognizing weariness. I remember once my jaw dropped when a cousin’s grandmother expressed a political opinion out loud- something about Hillary’s foreign policy. I hated myself for being so shocked that she’d have something to say.)

I learned quickly that family debate is rocky terrain. The post-meal discussion usually unfolded as follows:

Man 1: This ObamaCare is going to put doctors out of business, I’m telling you.

Man 2: Just awful. The liberals are pushing us towards socialism. Aunt: We’re just giving more and more money to the lazy bums. Me: What about the majority of poor people who aren’t lazy and were born into poverty? I don’t think anyone genuinely wants to be on welfare.

Man 2: Oh, no. We send our kids to the conservative schools and they still get brainwashed by liberals.

Man 1: Question everything your teachers tell you, Gabs. They have an agenda. An agenda.

Alternatively, the “elders” card was pulled and the conversation stopped short:

Me: I don’t think you should call people _____

Relative: You can’t speak to me like that. How can you disrespect your family?

The more politically conscious I became, the more these dinners began to wear on my nerves. At school, I was learning so much I could almost feel my mind growing into itself. The classic teenage practice of finding oneself was in full force for me as I wrote school newspaper op-eds in my successive editor positions and defined myself in the lines of my rhetoric. Dinner with relatives sucked this pride out of my chest and pulled the plug on my budding confidence. I oscillated between righteous indignation that prompted me to sit firmly in place when the political debate started during our meal and outright fear that anyone would ask me at any point in the night about something of more import than my week’s activities. Family dinners became a matter of fight or flight.

I took refuge in journalism and books. They seemed to possess more certainty than my relatives’ armchair sociological analyses. I read Betty Friedan, Ta Nehisi Coates, Ari Shavit… and the fact that I considered these all to be radical texts is indicative of how intimidated I felt in political terms. My progressive ideals were no longer inclinations; I could use words like “neoliberal” and “reactionary” to match my relatives’ rhetorical skill. Vocabulary aside, however, a gulf persisted between me and some of the men in my family.

What was this gulf, exactly? Was it a generational gap? Surely an ideological divide existed between every new crop of cousins, fathers and daughters, uncles and nieces. Common wisdom dictates that naïve youth will always be more progressive and open-minded than their older counterparts. It seemed to me, though, that something more was at play here. These Shabbat dinners meant more than a blasé tidal shift in opinions, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

The time came for me to go to college, and I was surrounded for the first time by a collection of politically conscious people who had enough intellectual acuity to rigorously critique the elder generation’s values.

I met friends who told me their grandparents were “hella liberal” and still smoked weed on the weekends, and I beheld these friends in awe. This must have been the diversity they extolled in admissions brochures, the expansion of horizons — but which one of us was living in a bubble? Then there were the students who seemed to have swallowed their relatives’ platitudes like pills, rolling their eyes when they passed a student protest or snickering at T.A.’s requests to state our preferred gender pronouns. These students made me the most uneasy.

Mostly, though, college brought me a network of friends who shared my experience. By this time we had all developed standby strategies to deal with opinionated table talk: some blocked out the rhetoric and ate their khoresht in peace, and some, like me, often ventured back into the weekly scuffles like moths to a partisan flame.

But, of course, it was more than righteous indignation that pulled me back into the tides of argument. The supposed radical leftist hegemony on college campuses gave my relatives plenty of dinner table fodder on the nights when I made the ten-minute journey from my dorm to their dining rooms. They particularly liked to raise an issue with my chosen minor, Gender Studies, which they denounced as man-hating. As they prodded me about my professors in order to attack their liberal agendas, I felt the familiar nagging anxiety: Was the leftist haven I found in college making me tone-deaf, insular under the pretense of high-minded morality? I felt obligated to listen to every dismissal of Hillary Clinton, every racial slur, and every condemnation of Islam. This was my internal protest at their accusations of narrow-mindedness.

I still wondered what was really new in our political conversations. Topics had changed — Obama and McCain became Hillary and Trump, Al Qaeda became ISIS, gay became LGBTQIA+ — but the emotions I had as a young progressive facing several elder conservatives were constant. What were we all feeling during those semi-heated exchanges? We one-upped each other and attacked arguments at weak points, but what was the seed of all this debate? Perhaps it was a sense of familial betrayal.

We swear to keep family and business separate but there is no such promise when it comes to politics, although we know they are equally divisive. “The personal is political” is also true in reverse — to disparage someone’s worldview is an affront to their world. Political standpoints are currents that run deeper than the surface waters of opinion. Debate is healthy and insult is not, and the line between them is fine.

One August night before my freshman year of college, one family member reminded me once again to question everything my professors would tell me.

“These are a different kind of people. Really liberal. They don’t think like us.”

I wondered briefly what he meant by “us,” considering our often radically divergent opinions. He had been at the dinner table all these years — could it be that he never truly listened to me?

My cousin leaned toward me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Or you could come back from college a flaming liberal, and we’ll still love you.”

I was struck by the resonance of my cousin’s joke, and I still think about it often. By the very merit of calling one another family, we make an implicit promise to stand by one another and love unconditionally – that is, regardless of ideology. When we sit across the dining room table, embroidered white tablecloth stretching between us, and launch attacks intended not to teach, not to strengthen, but to change, there is a sense of combat that doesn’t belong in a family. These mealtime political debates are not a leisurely pastime but a battle driven by an attempt to win, and to win means to vanquish. Hovering over the platters of chicken and tadig is an intention to change one another, and the promise of loyalty feels contingent upon your next comeback.

Isn’t that what families do, though? We change each other. Any amateur psychologist will tell you that our personalities begin at home. Parents, and to an extent other relatives, are charged with the responsibility of edifying their children. It takes a village, and a large part of this is the admonitions and proverbs of the villagers. Perhaps my relatives feel this weight of social obligation propelling them forward as they critique my beliefs. They crave my confirmation that they are succeeding in their efforts. Maybe when I push back and hold my own, they feel some kind of failure.

There’s a Jewish parable in which a sage, faced with a crowd of scholars who disagree with his judgment, asks God to determine who is correct. God declines to comment. The wise men debate and eventually move forward with a decision. From heaven, God laughs with joy: “My sons have defeated me!”

The goal of true mentorship has never been indoctrination. Young people look to their beloved elders to create some kind of safe space to learn to walk, to stumble, to mess up. The goal is that eventually, the pupil becomes the teacher. A student who recites their teachers’ talking points is a student lost.

Through the ages, a 7 p.m. roundtable over plates of freshly-cooked dinner has been the family’s classroom. The curriculum is set by the routine inquiries of “What did you learn at school today?” and, “How was work?” Some families study in groups of three, and some are lucky enough to learn alongside dozens. I should hope that men in my family take enough interest in my growth to stretch my mind and challenge my thinking. So, too, should they hope I prove them wrong sometimes.

#nonfiction & opinion #gabriella kamran #sophie levy

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paintedrecs · 8 years ago

Text

302, I Love You

[Read on AO3]

It was a beautiful summer morning—mid-70s with a light breeze, ideal weather for soaking up the sun without fear of overheating. If anyone asked, that was why Stiles was sitting on his balcony with a book he hadn’t touched in the last half hour and a mug of coffee he’d been absently sipping from, his gaze fixed on the parking lot several stories below.

Coincidentally, one of his neighbors—Hot Dude From 302, not that it was relevant—had chosen the same morning to wash his stupidly flashy Camaro. Stiles wasn’t watching him. He was sitting on his balcony, which happened to face the back parking lot, and Hot Dude happened to be in his general line of sight. And anyway, if he had been watching him, it was only to document the details of his flagrant lease-breaking activities, in case Stiles decided to file a complaint with their landlord.

Washing vehicles in their parking lot was explicitly against the rules, along with smoking, loud parties after 11 PM, and leaving trash bags in the hallway for people to potentially trip over, rather than dragging them all the way to the dumpsters—which were also located in their parking area.

If pressed, Stiles might admit that he’d broken the latter two rules once or twice. And that there might be an overstuffed trash bag sitting in the hallway at this very moment—deposited there because the smell had started to bug him, but not enough to motivate him to put on shoes and non-pj pants and make the trek downstairs. But that was more like rule-bending. It wasn’t an egregious violation like the unnecessarily thorough car washing that took place every Saturday, like clockwork.

Obviously this guy wasn’t originally from California, or he’d know how important water conservation was, and how much his utterly unacceptable behavior made everyone else in the building grind their teeth. Beacon Hills was in the middle of a fucking drought. And there 302 was, spraying water not only over the car’s sleek black surface, but over himself, too, making his loose shorts cling to his thighs, his already too-tight white tank top plastering against his chest and abs.

What was the point of even wearing a shirt to begin with if he was just going to get it soaked through every time, leaving the fabric offensively sheer?

“So you want him to take his shirt off for you,” Stiles's supposed best friend Scott said, kicking his feet up on the railing and crunching through a handful of pretzels.

“Shut up!” Stiles hissed. He instinctively tried to duck down in his lounge chair—as if that would accomplish anything—but 302 didn’t seem to have heard the exchange. He was too busy stretching across the hood, his back to them, the fabric of his wet shorts leaving little to Stiles’s admittedly very active imagination.

“You’re drooling,” Scott said. “This is kinda gross. I thought we were gonna be watching cartoons, not this guy’s ass.”

Stiles spluttered indignantly, then, when Scott motioned at his face, wiped away the possibly-drool from his chin. That happened sometimes when he was tired, okay? He hadn’t had enough of his coffee yet this morning. “I’m judging him,” he insisted. He firmly shut his mouth and twisted it into his most convincingly judgmental face.

“Judging whether you can get into his pants,” Scott said.

“Judging him for...not knowing how to use his hose,” Stiles countered, scrambling for a reasonable comeback.

Scott was, thankfully, silent for a bit. He popped more pretzels into his mouth and chewed while staring at Stiles meaningfully. Eventually, he concluded, “So you wanna teach him how to use his hose.”

302 suddenly swore loudly from down below, and Stiles jerked in his chair, nearly knocking his coffee—and himself—over. Once he’d made sure his mug and limbs were safe, he leaned forward to see what had happened.

Point proved, really. 302 had somehow sprayed himself right in the face with the hose, which required a special sort of uncoordinated talent that even Stiles didn’t possess. Scott was right; the guy clearly did need some hose-handling lessons. He was dripping wet, his dark hair flattened, leaving it almost as shiny and black as his car. Even from this distance, Stiles could see the water streaming off the sharp cut off his cheekbones.

Despite all that, the idiot hadn’t shut the hose off —he was just standing there, frozen in place, holding it as water arced into the air, the spray catching the sunlight in a miniature, shimmering rainbow.

He looked absolutely pitiful. Stiles almost felt bad for him. At the same time, though: “You remember that fountain by the library?”

Scott nodded. Of course he did. It’d been major drama when they were starting middle school; the local PTA had campaigned to have it torn out, claiming it was “inappropriate” for a public building to house a lifesize reproduction of The Birth of Venus. The sculptor’s argument—that it was a classic work of art that could be found in multiple books within the library itself—eventually toppled under the ire of parents with too much time on their hands.

Stiles had mourned its loss, taking art classes throughout high school with the vague idea of using his inevitable fame to battle similarly misguided attempts at censorship. As it turned out, he had no artistic skill, and he’d gradually found better channels for his righteous indignation. He was wondering now, though, if his bisexual awakening would’ve happened sooner if Venus had been replaced by something like...Eros. Or by a recreation of the tableau currently spread out below him. He would’ve spent a lot of time studying by that fountain during his teenage years.

“I should take the trash out,” he decided abruptly.

Scott moved his legs so Stiles could clamber over him and back into his studio’s compact living room. “So I should just go home, then?” he called after Stiles.

Stiles was too busy pulling on presentable pants, twisting in front of the mirror, then switching to his tighter jeans, to reply. He was cramming his feet into his shoes when Scott came inside.

“You might as well take this,” Scott said, shaking the now-empty bag of pretzels in front of Stiles’s face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to leave,” Stiles grunted, tying off his shoelaces and grabbing the crinkly bag as he stood.

“I really think I do,” Scott said. “Good luck. Please don’t text me any details.”

“I’m not going to hit on him,” Stiles grumbled after Scott rudely slammed the door on his way out. He wasn’t. Mostly because his knowledge of 302 boiled down to a few key facts:

- Overcompensating (that car, c’mon) - Environmentally unfriendly - Antisocial (Stiles had never seen him interacting with anyone, and the majority of their neighbors were annoyingly friendly; most of them had shown up, uninvited, to his last after-11 PM party. Which Stiles had definitely not thrown hoping that 302 would be among the attendees. He’d only posted the sign by the mailboxes as a courtesy notice, not an invitation. Technically.)

Perhaps most importantly, according to those same mailboxes, 302 was living with someone named “Laura Hale.” It was the only name listed, and although Stiles had snooped on the various packages that were too big to fit inside, he hadn’t managed to uncover any additional details. He had lurked in the entryway for long enough to see a beautiful dark-haired woman collect one of those boxes, which had smashed the final hope he’d deny he’d been harboring.

Expecting a guy like that to not have an equally hot girlfriend to ferry around in his douchey car? Dream on, Stiles.

He attempted to crumple the pretzel remnants—something he’d been planning to eat himself, thanks a lot Scott—into the trash bag, which only resulted in squeezing out a mess of banana peels and coffee-stained paper towels. Okay, maybe that rule existed for a reason, too. He sighed, wiped his hands off on his jeans, and heaved the bag up, beginning the trudge down to the garbage bins.

Once outside the building, Stiles stepped gingerly over the sudsy water snaking along the pavement, thumped the dumpster lid loudly enough to announce his presence, then oh-so-casually headed over to check on his Jeep, which was parked two spaces away from 302’s current location. Their building had unassigned spots—too few for the number of residents, leaving the rest to park out on the street. That created a headache sometimes, but it’d allowed Stiles—after some careful planning and light bribery—to set up this accidental meeting.

302 glanced at Stiles when he passed by, then fumbled his hose, spraying himself again.

“Wow,” Stiles said, attempting to hop out of the way, grimacing when that movement sent him splashing right into a puddle. “You have a serious problem, dude.”

“Sorry,” 302 said, in a soft voice that Stiles could barely hear over the water’s relentlessly wasteful flow. Now that Stiles was closer to his elusive neighbor, he was able to see the red shading those marble-carved cheekbones; he’d probably been out in the sun for too long, considering himself too manly to reapply sunscreen.

The thought brought back a sudden flash of memory: an afternoon in late summer; a sprinkler hissing in circles as Stiles jumped through the cool, stinging spray; a dark-haired boy laughing, the silver glint of his braces catching the sun as Stiles tried to flick water in his direction, convincing him to join the fun. Stiles’s mom had come outside then, tsking at him in feigned disapproval, then calling them both over for a fresh coating of smelly, sticky sunscreen that Stiles would immediately do his best to wash off.

Scott, Stiles thought, then: No. He hadn’t moved to Beacon Hills yet. That was when Stiles was younger, when his best friend was a quiet boy who’d always said—despite Stiles’s constant attempts to get him into trouble—that the Stilinski household was a lot more peaceful than his. He’d liked Stiles’s mom’s cookies, his dad’s stories about work, and—Stiles liked to think, anyway—Stiles’s magnetic personality.

“Derek,” he said aloud, and 302 jumped.

“What?”

“Sorry, I was just—” Stiles shook his head. Why was he thinking of Derek now? The guy had moved away ages ago. They’d exchanged letters for a few months, then Scott had moved to town, Stiles had started spending a lot more time noticing girls, and the letters had stopped.

302 was still staring at him, his multicolored—mostly green?—eyes wide. Looking at him for too long was making Stiles feel weird, like there was something pressing at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite grasp.

“You should be wearing sunglasses,” Stiles said stupidly. The bright light reflecting off the pavement was making him squint, and he’d been out there for less than five minutes.

“You’re not,” 302 said.

“My eyes are darker; more melanin means better protection,” Stiles automatically countered—it was an argument he’d often used as a know-it-all kid who didn’t want to stop playing outside—then tried to restrain his wince. He was being obvious. You didn’t start out a totally innocent conversation with a hot stranger by talking about his eye color, for fuck’s sake.

But 302 smiled. He had front teeth that were a little too big for his mouth—something that he might’ve been teased about when he was younger, because he immediately ducked his head and rolled his lips together, pressing them into a line that didn’t hide the equally endearing dimples in his cheeks.

Damn, Stiles thought. The guy was supposed to be kind of a dick. Not...this. Maybe he avoided hanging out with over-friendly neighbors because he was shy? Stiles had to mentally readjust his entire battle plan, which had mostly involved snarky commentary and a few clever innuendoes designed to test whether he really was taken.

“I was gonna ask you to wash my car,” Stiles said, plunging after his first thought, but unable to resist a slight dig. “While you’re wasting all that water.”

“Oh,” 302 said. His smile dimmed; even the curve of the hose seemed dejected suddenly. He released his tight grip on the spray attachment, the noise in the parking lot fading to the hum of bees in the hedge next door and the metallic creak of swings from the playground down the street. “I guess I could. It’s the Jeep, right?”

“Um,” Stiles said. “Yes. How did you know that?”

302 slid his hand down the hose, like he was planning to start rolling it back up, even though there were still suds on the Camaro’s roof. “It looks like your mom’s,” he said. “I remember you always used to say you wanted a car just like it, once you found out ordinary citizens couldn’t get Batmobiles.”

“How the—” Stiles stared at him. This was new. He hadn’t had a stalker before; at least, not that he’d known.

302 met his gaze for a few seconds, then looked away, his mouth twisting—in disappointment, weirdly, if Stiles was reading that expression correctly. “You don’t remember me, do you.”

“Should I?” Stiles asked. Maybe he’d hooked up with the guy and forgotten him, but that seemed incredibly unlikely. He’d remember a jawline like that. And why the hell would they have spent the night talking about Stiles’s childhood? He didn’t get that personal in relationships until...well, he’d always figured he’d start digging into the really gritty stuff at about the year marker, and no one had ever lasted that long.

“I guess not,” 302 said. “It’s been a long time. Laura said you wouldn’t and that I should get over myself and be the first one to say something. I was trying to work up the nerve, but then, just now, when you...”

He trailed off, so Stiles repeated it. “When I what?”

“When you said my name,” 302 said. “I...didn’t imagine that, did I?”

Stiles looked at him again, like he was seeing him for the first time. That’s what he’d thought this encounter was, but...he traced his gaze over the guy’s inky black hair, drying in the sunlight and beginning to wave slightly at the tips; the delicate curves of his ears, which somehow seemed a little smaller than they should be; the unusual color of his eyes.

“Derek,” Stiles said slowly, pulling that memory back to the forefront, the hazy image of his friend overlaying 302’s features. He had to make significant adjustments for puberty and an apparent explosion of late-blooming attractiveness, but: “Hale. Oh my god. Laura’s your sister. The scary older one you never wanted us to hang out with. How did I not make that connection?”

“It’s a common name,” Derek said. “Not like Stilinski. It was a lot easier for me to connect the dots.”

“Goddamn,” Stiles said. “Good thing my dad talked me out of joining the force. I would’ve been a shitty detective.”

“I doubt that,” Derek said, as generous as he’d been when they were kids. He had so many of the same mannerisms, now that Stiles was paying attention. “I look a little different than I used to.”

Stiles snorted before he could consider whether that was rude. That brought up a sudden, unsettling thought. “Wait, does that mean I don’t?”

As a kid, Stiles had been 80% eyes and mouth, and always a head shorter than the other boys his age. He’d hit his growth spurt late in high school, then shot up to six feet during college, but if his face was still that recognizable...

Derek was shaking his head. “I told you, I saw your name. A few weeks after we moved in.” He hesitated, then added, “But I think I would’ve recognized you anyway. You’ve changed, but there’s something...”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He felt it, too. He’d first seen Derek about a month ago—or so he’d thought at the time—and had nearly been bowled over by the degree of instantaneous attraction. It wasn’t just the physical part, although that was undeniable. It was the sense that something about Derek felt right. Familiar, almost. He’d thought stupid things, like maybe soulmates weren’t as outlandish as he’d always assumed. Turned out all it’d meant was that some part of his brain was still connected to those old memories of Derek.

He tried not to let the disappointment wash over him. This was cool, too. It’d be fun to reconnect, to revisit the old times, like: he flushed suddenly, another long-forgotten image drifting out of the past. He touched his lips without thinking, remembering the dry press of Derek’s mouth against his, the brilliant green of his eyes as he pulled back, mouth still parted, looking terrified that Stiles would laugh at him.

“I just...wanted to try that. Before...” Derek had said. Then, before Stiles had any time to react or process it, Derek had revealed that his family was leaving town. He was gone the next week.

The red along Derek’s cheekbones was darkening. So he remembered it, too. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you think...” He started to turn away, coiling the hose in abrupt, jerky movements, like he was trying to figure out the fastest way to clear out of there. Just like he’d done after the kiss, dashing off, claiming he had to start packing.

“That last letter you wrote me,” Stiles said. Derek stopped, his back to him, shoulders tensed. “I didn’t reply. I’m sorry. I was a stupid kid; I didn’t know what to say.”

“I never knew if you’d stopped talking to me intentionally,” Derek said. “I tried a couple times, and then I figured if you wanted to get in touch again, you would.”

And Stiles never had. At first, it really had been that he was busy; middle school had seemed like the most exciting and terrifying thing in the entire world, and trying to navigate its treacherous waters while keeping Derek updated had proved too difficult to maintain. Then that third unanswered letter—the last one Derek had written—had arrived. Stiles didn't remember much of it. But he could still see its closing line, a shaky scrawl that looked like it'd been added at the last minute.

I’m sorry I made things weird.

The kiss had made Stiles feel weird, in a way he hadn’t been able to articulate. It’d taken a few more years before he’d really understood why, and by then, Derek was a distant memory. By the looks of it, the reverse hadn’t been true.

“I used to wonder why you did it,” Stiles said.

Derek finished putting the hose back, twisted the water off and removed the nozzle, then finally turned back around. “Why I kissed you? Or why I wrote you that stupid letter?”

Stiles touched his mouth again, watching as Derek’s gaze followed the movement. Things were a lot different now than they were back then. Odd lingering connection or not, they’d both grown into entirely different people. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really need an answer to either.”

“So what’s your real question?”

“I liked you back then,” Stiles said. “A lot. I hated that you left me, right when everything started getting really big and confusing. I know you couldn’t help it, but every time I wrote you, it reminded me that you weren’t around anymore.”

Derek’s lips flattened a bit. He nodded, slowly. “So it was easier to let it go.”

“I don’t think it’d ever be easy to let you go,” Stiles said.

Derek’s mouth parted, his eyes searching Stiles’s.

“My question is,” Stiles said, taking a couple steps forward, then grimacing when that sent his sneaker splashing through one of Derek’s puddles.

“Sorry,” Derek said, but Stiles was already squelching the rest of the way over to him.

“So much for the seductive walk,” he said, close enough now for this to all go horribly wrong.

Derek hesitantly reached out, setting his hands on Stiles’s hips, then tightening his grip when Stiles reacted by leaning closer. “I remember the fountain, too.”

“The—shit, you heard that?”

“You’re pretty loud,” Derek said. “And hard to ignore.”

From most people, that might’ve seemed like an insult. The way Derek was looking at him, though, it felt like one of the nicer compliments Stiles had ever received.

“You weren’t here, though,” Stiles objected. “I remember, because that was the longest letter I wrote you. I think I transcribed half the town hall debate—the part I got to hear before my dad found me and kicked me out.”

“I remember,” Derek repeated, then cleared his throat. “I still have the drawing you sent.”

Stiles paused, his hands halfway up Derek’s chest—thick hair visible through the sheer fabric, as he’d guessed from his earlier vantage point—to his bare shoulders, which he’d been aching to touch for the last hour. The last month, if he was being honest. “Oh, the one of the fountain? God, I can’t believe you kept that. It’s gotta be barely recognizable.”

“I liked it,” Derek said. “It made me feel like I was there with you.”

It was strange to look into eyes this familiar, belonging to someone Stiles hardly knew anymore. He slipped a finger under the strap of Derek’s still-damp tank top, testing to see if it was as absurdly tight as he’d thought. There really was no point to him wearing this flimsy excuse for a shirt.

“You never asked your question,” Derek said.

“Right,” Stiles said. He had a lot of them, too numerous to delve into now. When Derek decided to move back, had he known Stiles was still around? Why had he returned? Was it for Laura, or was it his decision? And why had he ended up with a wet dream of a car, when he’d always been the practical one in their friendship?

For now, though, only one was pressing enough to ask. “Do you think it’s too late?”

“For what?” Derek asked.

“To try again.”

The first touch of Derek’s lips was hesitant, like it’d been all those years before. It was his answer—but a question, too, begun more than a decade ago.

This time, Stiles knew exactly how to respond.

“Okay,” he said after a while, setting a hand back on Derek’s chest but letting him chase his mouth for a few more lip-tingling moments. “You’ve gotten a lot better at that.”

“I should hope so,” Derek said, with a throaty chuckle that made Stiles feel warm all over.

“We should move out of the parking lot,” Stiles said reluctantly. “I’m not the only one with a balcony. And you should probably do something with your ridiculous car before anyone needs to back out of their spaces.”

“Not my car,” Derek said. He tangled his fingers with Stiles’s, dropping a very distracting kiss onto the tip of his nose.

“Not your—yes it is. You wash it every damn weekend.”

“It’s Laura’s,” Derek said. “I have a Camry. You probably haven’t seen it; Laura makes me park it out on the street so hers doesn’t get scratched.”

Stiles stared at him, processing that information. “Let me guess; she also makes you wash it for her?”

“It’s a trade-off,” Derek said. “She hates handling all the grocery shopping and apartment cleaning when I’m on shift, but she said she’d stop complaining if I spent an hour out here every Saturday. She claimed she was the one doing me a favor, but I haven’t been so sure about that.”

“She might’ve been right,” Stiles said, wondering if everyone in the building—everyone but Derek—had been watching this whole thing unfold. “Wait, what kind of shifts do you work? Are you at the hospital?”

Derek cleared his throat again, looking oddly embarrassed. “No, I uh. I’m at the station. I work with your dad now. He makes a pretty great Sheriff.”

“Deputy Derek Hale,” Stiles said. That part really shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Derek had always been the one hanging off stories from the station. While Stiles snooped around in his dad’s files, dreaming up exciting new criminal-catching methods, Derek had stayed by the then-deputy’s side, asking boring questions about procedure and policy. “For fuck’s sake. I can’t believe my dad didn’t tell me you were back.”

Derek’s cheekbones took on that pink tint again. “He said he, uh. Doesn’t like getting involved in your romantic life anymore. But that if we ever did figure things out, he wanted us to both come over for dinner.”

“Well,” Stiles said. “Then I guess we should get back to figuring things out.”

It took 207’s extended, irritable honking to finally move them out of the parking lot. Stiles was the one who ended up with a sunburn, as it turned out. But he didn’t mind that much, not when it came with Derek in his apartment, smoothing aloe vera onto the back of his neck, and then playfully kissing his nose again before smearing the gel along his lips’ path.

The next Saturday morning, the parking lot was quiet and still. Stiles was out on his balcony, a mug of coffee in one hand, the other resting lightly on Derek’s knee.

“Derek, look,” he hissed, nodding at the silver SUV that 401 was attempting to very quietly unlock. Rookie move; should’ve parked on the street if she didn’t want to be seen. “I bet you anything she’s sneaking off to the casino again before her husband wakes up.”

Derek didn't lift his eyes from the thick book he was reading—some boring examination of the history of European conflicts, last Stiles had checked. He hummed in the back of his throat, though, then rested his hand on top of Stiles’s to show he was listening.

Once 401 was safely on her way, revving the engine triumphantly as soon as she'd made it halfway down the block, Stiles drained the rest of his coffee. “Alright, I'm gonna take a shower.”

“Okay,” Derek said. He moved his hand and flipped a page of his book, still frowning in concentration at the dense, tiny text.

“You should join me,” Stiles said. “In fact, I think we should make that a habit for a while. It's about time you started making some serious strides in water conservation.”

“Honestly, Stiles,” Derek sighed.

But he set the book down.

#sterek #eternalsterek #sterekweek2017 #sterekmeetcute #derek hale #stiles stilinski #my fics

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bapnet · 8 years ago

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BAPNet presents: Summer 2017 COLOUR CHALLENGE! (#BAPNetColourChallenge)

Following the colour series B.A.P began with Noir and Rose, BAPNet has decided to start its first member event since 2015! The aim of the event is to provide inspiration for content creators who want to contribute, but don’t have much new material to work with (and to have more B.A.P creations on tumblr in general), as we are now approaching the quiet time before the next comeback. (We really hope this won’t clash with any comeback teasers!)

Event details:

The event will be a week long, starting on Monday 7th August and finishing on Sunday 13th August. It’s best if we work with KST for times, so we can all roughly be posting at similar times.

Choose a colour from below (blue, white or green), and work your way through the 7 themes. Create a post of original content for each theme, and publish each post on its respective day in the week. For example, if you are making gifsets and choose green, post a gifset inspired by the word ‘growth’ on the Monday, and then one about ‘energy’ on the Tuesday, and so on.

The event is mainly aimed at the creation of visual content, such as gifsets, edits, graphics and fanart, but if you find a way to contribute in another medium (eg writing, video edits etc), then that’s amazing! Please make sure that this is your original content that you are creating for this event, though: please no picspams of fantakens, personal/lazy text posts, or crack posts.

The challenge is to stick to the colour you have chosen and to be able to create something for each day’s theme! If you want, you can do more than one colour, but make sure you finish them!

You don’t have to make the same type of content every day: you could make a gifset one day, and a graphic on another, for example.

The creations themselves don’t need to contain the colour you choose: so if you choose blue, your content doesn’t need to actually have the colour blue in it (you can include it if you want, though!)

What’s important is addressing the theme for each day. Create content based on what the word means to you, and what exactly about B.A.P it inspires for you.

Anyone can take part by tagging their posts with #BAPNetColourChallenge for others to find. The network will only reblog members’ posts though, so if you’re a member, make sure to tag your content with #BAPNet as well.

Have fun!

We’ve not decided if there’ll be a winner yet, or how. We’ll see how it goes during the week, and if we have enough people taking part in the event.

Colours:

Please reblog this post to show your interest in the event, and to spread the word! We’ve been planning this event for a while in the hopes that it’ll boost activity in the B.A.P fandom on tumblr, so we really hope you’ll take part and enjoy it!

- Admins M and S

#b.a.p #bap #bapnet #bapnetcolourchallenge #events

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jessicabenson · 8 years ago

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Fighting On.

On September 3, 2016, USC lost to Alabama by 46 points.

By no means should they have made it to the Rose Bowl 4 months later.

On January 2, 2017, I embarked on the day trip from hell to Los Angeles.

By no means should I have made it to the Rose Bowl 14 hours later.

About two and a half weeks ago I asked my boss for a personal day on January 2nd. I’d come down with a case of the “I’m 24 and On The Verge Of A Quarter Life Crisis” blues and was fortunate enough for Santa Claus to FedEx me a pair of Rose Bowl tickets. OK FINE, Santa Claus is my dad. Karl came up clutch.

Chris and I were both given the day off. In our industry this is like a pot of flippin’ gold, so bottom line, it better be worth it.

My mom was going, too. She’d planned to go from the moment USC made it in even though she was recovering from extensive surgery that she’d had the week after Thanksgiving. But, if you’ve met Sharon, God forbid you tell her she can’t go to a college sporting event she’s planning to attend. I hadn’t seen her since the surgery, and suddenly seeing USC in the Rose Bowl with my mom became the most important thing to me in the whole wide world.

She had two tickets and no one to go with. I sent a text to two of my friends asking if either needed a ticket.

My friend Janet responded yes instantly; that she’d been on StubHub that very minute looking for a ticket. She won the lottery. Sorry, Paige.

Janet and I have had some great memories at the Rose Bowl. We had worked the 100th Rose Bowl and final BCS National Championship Game (RIP, BCS) together when we were students at USC. Then there was the time she got us kicked out of the Beyonce/Jay-Z concert. Ask her about it! It’s her favorite story to tell!

Alright, back to business.

With this trip on the horizon, I had my groove back. It was the kick in the pants I needed to head into 2017 with some pep in my step.

So, on January 2nd, I trotted into the Memphis airport humming “Tusk” and holding up a “Fight On!” while Sia’s “The Greatest” blared from the airport speakers.

“Don't give up, I won't give up

Don't give up, no no no….”

Chris brought his GoPro and said, “Oh this song will be perfect for the video I will put together of the trip!”

Ha…haha….hahahaha….

Our flight was scheduled to leave Memphis at 6 a.m. I had chosen for us to fly through Houston instead of Denver because I’m a genius and didn’t want snow to cripple my great day.

I’m a moron. The apocalypse hit Houston.

“Hi folks…”

Why do all pilots use the word ‘folks….’

“…the Houston airport has closed off all incoming and outgoing flights because of thunderstorms. It should only be a 30 minute delay or so. We’ll keep you posted.”

We only had an hour to make our connection so my nerves started pumpin’ real hard.

Chris assured me we’d be alright. The flight attendant assured me we’d be alright. We finally took off, and I got a text from my dad saying our flight from Houston to LAX was delayed, too, and that we should have no problem making our connection.

I breathed. I slept. I smiled.

“Hey there folks!”

I jolted from a deep, neck-scrunched-against-the-window sleep.

Folks…the word of death….

“I’ve got some more bad news. We are in a holding pattern as the Houston airport is closed again. We’re circling around Louisiana but we’re going to run out of fuel in about 45 minutes, so if it’s not open by then we’ll have to divert.”

The clock said 8:25. Our flight to LAX had been rescheduled to take off at 9:15.

I ate not one, but two, waffle cookies the flight attendant gave me. No New Year’s resolution diet could exist in a time like this.

At 9:22 we were diverted to San Antonio, TX. It was 60 degrees and sunny.

There was a single flight from San Antonio to LAX.

It was overbooked.

With the help of Karl, we were rescheduled onto another flight out of Houston, this one leaving at 10:45 and getting us to LAX at 12:30 p.m.

I looked out the plane window. We were surrounded by eight other airplanes, all waiting for fuel.

“It should only take about 20 minutes!” The words of our pilot. No “folks” included. I should’ve seen this as a sign that he was a Lying-Mc-Liar-Pants.

We waited in line for fuel, which turned into waiting in line for an open runway to take off to Houston which was now perfectly sunny and beautiful and wtf weather why you gotta be like that.

The clock ticked 10:25 as the wheels went up.

Travel agent Karl informed us we could get on the standby list for an 11:45 flight that landed at 1:30 p.m. PST. At this point, I didn’t care if we made kickoff, I just wanted to get there by half time.

In what should be investigated as the longest flight ever between San Antonio and Houston, we landed at George Bush Intercontinental Airport at 11:30 a.m.

We were at Gate C8. The mystical 11:45 flight (which was - shocking! - rumored to be delayed) was at C46.

Chris took off in a sprint.

I ran like the gazelle I’ve always aspired to be.

Just kidding, I huffed and I puffed and my Uggs started to give me blisters and at some point I took my sweater off and tied it around my waste like a 90’s mom at Disneyland and somehow those two waffle cookies didn’t end up on the ground in front of me. Saying “Diet starts back up, Monday!” for the last four weeks was really biting me in the ass.

Let’ go back to Sia’s “The Greatest”:

“Uh-oh, runnin' out of breath, but I

Oh, I, I got stamina

Uh-oh, running now, I close my eyes

Well, oh, I got stamina…”

We reached the gate. The plane had already been closed. No delay, no magic.

We just laughed.

At this point the only chance we had was to reroute to Orange County and then drive to Pasadena. The flight would land at 2:35.

This is the part where I remind everyone that kickoff was at 2:00.

Well, we can make the second half!

I calculated that if we landed at 2:35 we could be in a car by 2:40 and at the Rose Bowl by 3:40. We could make it by the 3rd quarter.

“Well we can hope for the world’s longest game and a USC 4th quarter comeback! Maybe some overtimes, too!” I joked.

Boarding was set to begin at 12:08. At 12:20 we were still waiting.

“Just an update everyone, the flight attendants for this flight were coming from an international flight and they’re now stuck in Customs, so we can’t do anything until they make it through.”

You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.

I still didn’t lose it! I still didn’t cry!

When we were still sitting on the runway at 1:35, nearly an hour after our scheduled departure, that’s when I cried.

But, what can you do?

The only thing that went right at that point was that this flight had DirectTV which meant I was going to watch kickoff from the sky. So technically, I had the coolest seat of all. THE SKY!!!!

(Literally trying to keep that whole return of “Look On The Bright Side Jess!” at the forefront here).

The flight attendant gave me a free Heineken.

USC and Penn State decided to throw me a bone in the form of a bajillion pass plays followed by: Touchdown. Review. Touchdown. Review. The clock ticked slowly.

We made up some time in the air and landed in the OC at 3:04 on the dot. The 1st quarter had just ended.

Oh my lord, we have a chance.

This is where you meet our new bff, Moe. Moe was the driver of the car picking us up. He waited at baggage claim with one of those signs that said “J. Benson” and had a luggage cart waiting.

Chris and I sprinted towards him.

“Hello, are you Jessica? I’m driver, M...”

“LET’S GO MOE!”

“Where is your luggage?”

“WE DON’T HAVE ANY!”

We traveled with a single backpack filled with our toothbrushes, toiletries, a pair of yoga pants if I decided to take a 6 a.m. SoulCycle class before our flight out the next day (spoiler alert: this was not happening), my small purse, Chris’s wallet and a brush. We’d planned to drop it off at the hotel when we landed at, oh I don’t know, 10:45 a.m. like we were supposed to, but now it was totally expendable. We had every intention of transporting our things into one of those game-friendly plastic bags (backpacks not allowed in the stadium) and ditching the backpack in the Rose Bowl parking lot.

Moe hustled with us to the car. Moe is a baller.

What if I told you…there was a day where there was zero traffic between Orange County and Pasadena? We seemed to fly down the 405 to the 605 to the 5 to the 110. We made it in 53 minutes. I just looked at how long it would be estimated to take right now. The answer is 1 hour and 47 minutes.

But like, you still didn’t think we were in the clear right? Because if you did you have not been paying attention.

The Rowl Bowl didn’t allow passenger drop off. The closest we could get was about a mile out.

I gave Moe a giant hug.

And again, we ran.

And again…why had I taken a 4-week hiatus from the Kayla Itsines workout plan?

We got to the gate closest to our seats, Gate G.

“Do you have any plastic bags?” we managed to choke out between coughs.

“No, try Gate A.”

So we ran again.

“Do you have any plastic bags?”

“No, we’re out. You’ll have to check your bag at Gate C.”

At that point, we’d be running around almost half the stadium.

“Don’t be a quitter!” Chris yelled at me.

“But I’m going to throw up!” I screamed back.

This is love.

We checked our bag. Lost in this moment was my happiness to not have to part with my backpack. We entered at Gate C. We had to walk all the way back to the Gate G area to get to our entrance tunnel.

We walked up the stairs right after Penn State scored in the opening minutes of the 3rd quarter.

I saw my mom. I saw Janet. Instant happiness washed over me. They greeted us with hugs and at that point more importantly, beers. The girl in the seats next to us had gone to one of the high schools in my hometown of Highlands Ranch, CO. Everything seemed to be falling into place perfectly.

We proceeded to watch Penn State score 28 points in the 3rd quarter.

And then we proceeded to watch a damn miracle.

I can’t describe the happiness I felt as Ronald Jones II ran it into the end zone wearing Joe McKnight’s No. 4 jersey to get USC back within a touchdown.

I can’t put into words what it was like to watch a freshman quarterback, Sam Darnold, throw his 5th touchdown pass to tie the game with 1 minute and 20 seconds left on the clock.

People joke that I went to USC during the worst four years of football. But everything - from the sanctions to Kiffin being left on an LAX tarmac to Sark- all became so worth it when Matt Boermeester nailed a 46-yard field goal to win the Rose Bowl.

As I stood watching USC win the Rose Bowl with my mom, my boyfriend and two of my best friends all I could think was, “Holy hell this day went from being one of the absolute worst to the absolute best.”

And couldn’t we all use that reminder as we enter the New Year? Pick a cliche, any cliche, but often times the best things come just after we think things can’t get any worse.

From USC football fighting its way back into the national spotlight; to 14 hours of travel that included 3 flights, 6 potential missed connections, 2 diversions, an hour car ride and a 2 mile run that landed me in the Penn State section at the Rose Bowl...you just cannot ever give up.

Because if you do, you might miss the part where the impossible transforms into one of life’s greatest moments.

After all, is that not what it means to “Fight On”?

As we walked down the steps of the Rose Bowl, no joke, Sia’s “The Greatest” played in the background.

“I'm free to be the greatest, I'm alive

I'm free to be the greatest here tonight, the greatest

The greatest, the greatest alive

The greatest, the greatest alive…”

The day was perfect.

The next day our flight to Denver was delayed 4 hours, we missed all connecting flights to Memphis and got stuck at the airport for the night. It was 18 degrees, we had no extra clothes and didn’t make it home until 2 p.m. on Wednesday, January 4th.

Again, it was perfect. And most of all, it was so worth it.

vimeo

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grassroutes · 6 years ago

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The Tivoo Max is a Retro Pixel Art Display That Doubles as a Thumping Bluetooth Speaker

Our verdict of the Divoom Tivoo Max: The Tivoo Max is a gorgeous pixel display and great bassy speaker, with a wide selection of features and massive library of pixel art–all wrapped up in a chic retro TV package. It'll look fantastic no matter where you put it, and add a little magic to your room. 1010

Pixels are making a serious comeback. Perhaps we’re just sick of the ultra clarity of real life, and yearn for the days when 256 dots were all you needed to make a convincing character. Whether you’re a child of the 80s or just love the retro appeal of pixel art, Divoom has the perfect desktop toy for you. The Tivoo Max is a gorgeous portable LED pixel display with built-in 40W Bluetooth speaker, all packaged in the style of an old CRT television.

It looks stunning and doesn’t sound half-bad either. With a huge library of pixel art, an army of artists, and a feature set that blows away any imitators, the Tivoo Max is a versatile device that would add a little magic to your desktop, bedside table, or shelf.

Join us as we take a closer look, and at the end of this review, we’ve got another one to give away to one lucky reader.

youtube

The Tivoo Max is available direct from Divoom, or on Amazon, for under $200.

Divoom Tivoo Max Divoom Tivoo Max Buy Now On Amazon $199.00

Design and Durability

With a hefty bass speaker and 10,000mAh internal battery, the Tivoo Max weighs in at just under 1.5kg (or just over 3 pounds). That’s heavy enough that it’s uncomfortable to hold in one hand for long. This also means that you’ll do some serious damage to the case or front panel if you drop it.

So despite technically being portable, we wouldn’t suggest taking this out and about for partying. It’s really designed to sit on display and just look stunning.

The pixel display itself is a 140mm square, and the whole Tivoo stands at 185mm tall, 160mm wide, and 86mm deep. Four chrome feet sit on the base, with a chrome dial and button on the side, and four capacitive controls on top for volume, play, and alarm. The main body comes in red (as reviewed), white, or black.

As a Pixel Display

The main function of the Tivoo Max is a bright, customizable 16×16 pixel display. The Divoom app features a huge library of art, and you can save up 12 animations or pictures directly to the Tivoo on a custom favorites channel. Your chosen favorites will just play in rotation.

The viewing angle of the screen is enormous. The large chrome dial on the side changes the “channel”.

Turning the dial on the side selects other channels or features as configured from the app.

There’s a couple of pre-made “cloud channels” too: seasonal, hot, and cool. These appear to be selections of top or topical content drawn from the library, and I’d assume they update over time.

There's a strong community aspect, and you can follow your favorite creators. Having people engage with your work will earn you points.

There's a massive library of pixel art to display on your device

Entering your pixel art into the seasonal competitions can net you real hardware prizes.

You can of course also create your own static pictures, animations, or text messages to be displayed on the Tivoo.

I wonder how many points I’ll get for this one?

If you fancy yourself as a retro art creator, upload your work and you could earn points. And what do points mean? Prizes! Points can be exchanged for Divoom hardware products, so the best creators are rewarded with more than just internet karma. There are also monthly competitions to submit your pixel art creations, again, with real hardware prizes.

Or you can just download the hard work of others. There’s no shame in not being a creator! Divoom has been around a while, so there’s a lot to choose from.

As a Speaker

Featuring dual 10W speakers for stereo sound, plus a 20W subwoofer, the audio quality from the Tivoo Max is surprisingly good. It’s easily better than your Amazon Echo, but not quite as good as a Sonos One. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with the sound at this price point, that’s for sure. You can hear a sample in the review video.

There’s a visualizer channel too, so if you have audio playing through Bluetooth or the local SD card, you’ll get a selection of music-reactive animations to choose from. Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear to work with ambient audio, so if your music is coming from elsewhere, the visualizer will remain static.

The only slightly annoying quirk I found with the Tivoo was that as the primary purpose is to be a display, it was left on most of the time. This meant I had to micromanage the Bluetooth audio connection. With most Bluetooth speakers, you’d only turn them on when you actually want to use them, so the automatic connection is a time saver. With the Tivoo, you may need to turn your Bluetooth off if you don’t want it randomly redirecting your audio when you walk near.

And More

While not truly being a smart speaker, in that there’s no Alexa or Google Home connectivity, the Tivoo Max can nonetheless run a selection of “apps”. Most of these actually run on your phone while using the LED display for visual output. At current count:

A basic version of Tetris and Breakout, played a little awkwardly using the dial on the side.

Magic 8-ball, and a dice roller.

A Slot machine, where you can win actual Divoom points.

Clock, alarm, weather, date display etc (these don’t require your phone).

Daily planner, which alerts you at certain times of the day (also doesn’t need your phone).

Stopwatch and countdown timer.

Sleep timer with built-in white noise samples and night light.

Scoreboard.

Volume meter.

“DJ Mixer”, which is a collection of sound samples (bass, synth and vocal loops etc) with corresponding reactive pixel art.

Most of these require you to be connected over Bluetooth, and some are certainly more useful than others.

The clock channel can be customized, including the ability to cycle through weather, temperature, and date displays.

It can also just be an ambient light, though not a particularly bright one.

You can also configure notifications of social alerts from your phone, though these consist of a large social icon flashing on the screen, and don’t actually read your messages. I’m not sure we need any hints to direct our diminishing attention to a phone screen, but it’s there if you want.

The “DJ Mixer” is very basic, so anything I made on it sounded awful due to the lack of automated beat matching (and my atrocious sense of rhythm).

There’s lot of amusing distractions then, and apps that will prove more useful in different situations. As a desktop gadget, the daily planner would be great. For instance, I understand it’s all the rage now to have hourly alerts telling you to drink water, among those whose sense of thirst is broken. As a bedside clock, the sleep timer is obviously useful. And I’m sure you could amuse your nephew or niece for literally minutes with the games (while recounting stories of how computers used to be).

But most of us will probably just ignore these features, and use it as a nice speaker and incredibly good looking pixel display.

Should You Buy a Tivoo Max?

The Tivoo Max is a gorgeous and versatile device with features that suit various tasks around the home. Buut a large chunk of the price comes from the hefty built-in speaker. If you’re purely looking for a portable Bluetooth speaker, this probably isn’t it. You’re probably seeking something a little more durable, that you can carry around and won’t destroy by dropping it. Take a look at the UE Boom series if you’re not particularly invested in the idea of having a music reactive pixel display attached to your speaker.

Divoom Tivoo Max Divoom Tivoo Max Buy Now On Amazon $199.00

On the other hand, if you’re really keen on a pixel display but don’t particularly need the speaker element, check out the Divoom Pixoo instead. It’s a lot cheaper (around $50), and the display is actually slightly larger.

Divoom Tivoo Max Divoom Tivoo Max Buy Now On Amazon $54.90

However, if you’re after a magical desktop gadget or art piece for your home–which also happens to be a rather great-sounding Bluetooth speaker–the Tivoo Max is perfect. It’s the best sounding device in Divoom’s extensive range, but there are other options to suit every price point and feature set. Divoom are also currently running an IndieGogo campaign for their latest design, the Ditoo (review coming soon!)

Enter the Competition!

Divoom Tivoo Max Pixel Art Display and Portable Speaker Giveaway

Read the full article: The Tivoo Max is a Retro Pixel Art Display That Doubles as a Thumping Bluetooth Speaker

The Tivoo Max is a Retro Pixel Art Display That Doubles as a Thumping Bluetooth Speaker posted first on grassroutespage.blogspot.com

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zipgrowth · 7 years ago

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In Move to ‘Unlimited’ Pricing Model, Cengage Hopes for a Comeback

It’s been about five years since Cengage Learning filed for bankruptcy, stumbling under the weight of shrinking print sales, a rough transition to digital and too much debt. The company reemerged a year later intent on growing its digital offerings and making more strategic acquisitions and partnerships.

Today, the Boston-based textbook giant is posting year-over-year revenue growth, per its latest investor call, and has regained enough confidence to start taking risks again—namely a new on-demand service for digital learning materials, called Cengage Unlimited, that gives students access to the complete collection of the company’s online textbooks for about $120 a semester (or $180 a year).

At the recent ASU+GSV Summit in San Diego, EdSurge caught up with Cengage CEO Michael Hansen to capture his thoughts about the (un)affordability of course materials, faculty concerns about digital texts and what the company is looking for in its next acquisition. The interview below has been condensed and edited for clarity.

EdSurge: Before we talk about the new service, can you explain what spurred the creation of an unlimited model?

Hansen: Well, if we step back and look at the digital transformation of the traditional textbook space, the prevailing hypothesis was that digital is the better learning experience, and therefore we should invest heavily in digital features and functionalities to convince faculty and students that this is the better product. But I do think that we have somewhat conveniently forgotten that for a large number of students out there, the promise of a better learning experience with digital is closely tied to the question of affordability.

The reality is that there are millions of students out there who are making very painful trade offs in the purchase of learning materials relative to paying the rent, paying for basic needs, food, etc. We as an industry have chosen for a long time to basically ignore that—or have more or less been paying lip service to them.

So the introduction of Cengage Unlimited is pivotal because it says that, yes, digital is the better learning experience, but it has to come at a price that is affordable to the vast majority—if not all—the students in today’s ecosystem. Faculty have asked us over the years whether we care about the cost of learning materials. The proof will be whether they are willing to actually make a decision based on that and switch from one provider to another based on the fact that we now have a vastly superior value proposition.

How are you characterizing a ‘vastly superior’ proposition?

Let me put some numbers around it. The average student today spends around $500 to $570 per year on acquiring learning materials. To get to that number, they need to spend about a week negotiating: Can I get something as rental? Can I get something used? Can I push out the decision further? If they wanted to actually have all of the materials that they need readily on day one, they would pay north of $1,200—and $1,200 on an annual basis for the average student in the United States is an extraordinary amount of money.

So we deliberately made that pivot to affordability and high-quality learning, and said it's not just the one versus the other. It's both packaged together. That's why we believe it addresses a major concern in the marketplace.

How do you think it might impact your bottom line, though? I'm thinking you could sell a single book for $120 and now you're giving unlimited access for $120 total.

So we have, as you will imagine, modeled this out very carefully. We have made certain assumptions, but it's very clear we have made a bet and a bet always entails a certain amount of risk. Essentially what the bet rests on is, on the one hand, you're recapturing students who have been using our materials but have not given us any revenue. These are students that went out and said, ‘I'm going to try to find a PDF online,’ which many of them can do very quickly. No revenue for us. These are students that are buying a used book from another student. No revenue for us. These are students that were in rental programs, and now we are renting to them ourselves. So we are recapturing what we have called the ‘white space,’ meaning students using our content without creating revenue for us.

The other bet is that we will be taking market share from other publishers.

Do you have a ballpark figure for what your current market share is amongst U.S. higher ed institutions?

Our U.S. market shares are slightly north of 20 percent. But importantly, within that 20 percent, think about all the conceivable courses that a student in a higher ed institution can take. We have coverage for more than 99 percent of those courses. We're not focused just on the hard side or the soft side or one discipline or several disciplines. We have the breath of the portfolio, which allows us to model how to get more share in other areas because we have product there.

It used to be the case that startups would look to publishers as a viable exit strategy, in that they hoped to get acquired. Where does Cengage fit in as far as acquisitions go?

Over the last 10 years or so, the majority of the acquisition activity for smaller edtech startups came from the big textbook companies. The textbook company would realize it was under a lot of pressure in regard to enrollment and the digital transformation and conclude that it should buy some companies that looked great from a growth perspective, plug them into the system and scale. That was more or less the hypothesis.

I think what was missing is the question of whether a particular acquisition was really adding to the core value proposition of the publisher. It was more a diversification play in my mind. But now that we have built an ecosystem of millions of subscribers, it is much easier to filter out which edtech startups actually add value to that ecosystem. So if an edtech startup is focused on enhancing the learning experience for students and faculty, that's the sweet spot that we're focused on.

It's not like we leave you out there, you do your own thing and hopefully you continue to grow. I think that approach typically fails because A) the founder typically cashes out, ghosts or something else, or B) stays in the company and growth slows. Typically, they grow very well when they're in startup mode. Then they become part of this big behemoth, and all of a sudden they plateau and they're flattened out. I think Pearson has seen it. Then they become more of a distraction.

But with the introduction of Cengage Unlimited, we're actually opening up to more potential acquisitions down the road.

Tell me a little bit about some of your recent partnerships with companies such as Chegg. What’s your strategy behind partnerships?

The partnership comes back to the premise that I mentioned earlier about building an ecosystem of millions of students. Chegg provides, amongst other things, tutoring services. A student that is in our ecosystem and takes one, two, three Cengage courses often gets to the point in their course where they say, ‘Jesus. On this particular content, I would love to have somebody give me two hours of tutoring.’

For me, I don't want to necessarily be in the tutoring brokerage business. I think Chegg is doing well in that. So, therefore, we're partnering with them. If there's another business that I think we should actually be in, then we would consider that acquisition.

Earlier you talked about getting faculty to switch providers. How do you win over faculty? Do you have a dedicated team?

We have 675 people in the field right now. It's not a small team. It's a huge number of what we call ‘learning consultants,’ or sales reps. They go, build relationships with faculty, explain to them the model and explain the content. Faculty is very, very concerned about high-quality content. The second thing they're concerned about is affordability.

Faculty still want that individual freedom to teach what they want, and the beauty of unlimited is we're giving them that freedom. For introduction to psychology, we have 12 different books. I mean, I'm not a psychologist, but I can tell you there are not 12 different ways to teach introduction to psychology.

It's not unlimited choice in the sense we don't have Pearson materials. We don't have McGraw Hill materials, but we have enough choice. Much like Netflix doesn't have every conceivable movie, but they have movies that matter to most people, and they create their own original content as well. So it's a very operable comparison.

We're seeing that this creates a real network effect. If you're teaching introduction to psychology and I’m teaching introduction to accounting, I never have any reason to talk to you because our disciplines are so different. But now if you come to me and say, ‘Look, I just adopted Cengage. If you adopt Cengage, the overlap in our freshman course, is about 60 percent. So if you adopt Cengage, 60 percent of your students pay no additional cost for their learning materials.’ So we're seeing a real viral effect on campuses: Faculty talking to each other.

Financially, would you say Cengage has maybe turned a corner from the bankruptcy years?

We have been through this digital transition from the time literally that we exited bankruptcy. I think we have seen the continued very robust growth of digital coupled with the continuous decline of print, but print now is relatively speaking a much smaller part of the base. Right now we are starting to turn the corner where digital growth will outweigh the print decline. The company continues to be very profitable. Not as profitable as it was in the heydays of high-priced textbooks, etc. But we are turning the corner toward revenue growth, at which point the profitability is going to turn as well.

In Move to ‘Unlimited’ Pricing Model, Cengage Hopes for a Comeback published first on https://medium.com/@GetNewDLBusiness

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