#tux of math command

[twobatsinahat]

Anyone else grow up with a Linux bro father who raised you in TuxPaint and TuxMath?

I was trying to describe these programs to my friends and they looked at me like I’m insane. Now I realize Linux-based educational software is probably not a common formative experience…

[out-of-jams]

War & Peace || jhs

↠ War & Peace ↞ “Your rivalry with Jung Hoseok first began at the tender age of five, right after you’d beamed a cardboard box of crayons straight at his forehead. He’d bled and it’d later left behind a thin scar that sliced clean through his right eyebrow. You should’ve felt guilty, but you hadn’t. Still didn’t.

He’d had it coming for trying to Compel you to hand them over anyway. And technically, you did hand them over. Just not in the way he’d probably wanted. At least, that was what you’d told the teacher after Hoseok had growled wildly at you from across the playroom table.

But you know what they say; all’s fair in love and war.”

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings/Genre: Alpha!Hoseok. Omega!Reader. Enemies to lovers. ABO dynamics. Explicit language. Fluff.Slight angst. Cliché spin-the-bottle scene. Pining. They’re both annoying idiots. Competition au(?). Bad puns. Cliche Jackson throwing a party (a party ain’t a party if it ain’t a Jackson Wang party).

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not.

The room was abuzz.

You paused where you stood at the entrance to the Four Seasons’ Hotel ballroom. Fingers tightening around the small, black clutch bag in your hand, you let your eyes rove over expensive dresses and suits and quaffed hair and curls. At least the spaghetti strap, two piece off-white dress your mother had bought (and forced you to wear) fit the occasion quite well, so your inherent fear of accidentally standing out wouldn’t come to fruition.

Whoever had decorated the ballroom had pulled out all the stops. There were miniature chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, lights turned to a dim setting. Small-yet-cosy circular tables were spread out evenly, chairs for two either occupied or emptied. A man in a catering ensemble approached you, extending his tray of bubbly champagne. Normally you wouldn’t put alcohol of any kind into your body, but you’d make an exception just that once. You took one with a smile of thanks and swallowed a mouthful in an attempt to chase away your nerves.

When your parents had first approached you about attending the matchmaking event, you’d been wary. The events themselves weren’t rare; young adults who had yet to find a mate would go to them. They had a ninety-nine percent success rate when it came to matching you. However, you found the whole thing to be quite archaic.

It wasn’t that you were against love or finding a mate or anything like that, you just didn’t think that attaching yourself to another person for life should be so significant. You’d been too busy during college getting your degree to date anyone seriously. And you’d never felt the desire to, hadn’t needed to.

As an Omega, you were the lowest tier in the societal hierarchy. And as an unmated Omega, you were a rare commodity. It was expected for an Omega to be mated before they even reached their twenties. Something about needing to be taken care of or some other bullshit that you disagreed with. You could take perfectly good care of yourself.

But when you’d come home mateless after graduation to visit your parents before trying to find a job with your degree, they’d been concerned. Your mother, a fellow Omega, had sat you down and forced you to fill out the overly long, three hundred questionnaire for the matchmaking service. Of course, you’d rolled your eyes, but ended up relenting. You’d decided that you’d just go to the damn event, let the mysterious matchmakers do their thing, give some excuse to leave sometime in the middle of the thing, and then go home and tell your parents that you’d tried.

You should’ve known that it wouldn’t be that easy.

Glancing down at the dark red card the size of your palm that the woman manning the check-in desk had given you, you memorized the two numbers printed on it. As if you hadn’t looked at it a few dozen times already. Just in case. You didn’t want to be there, but you weren’t about to somehow accidentally embarrass yourself either.

The flared, lace skirt of your dress brushed against your legs while you made your way through the room, eyes scanning the number placards on the table in search of your own. Some of them already had couples sitting at them, engaged in conversation and hiding shy smiles behind dainty hands. Your heels click-clacked against the shiny marble flooring as you weaved between others who were still finding their seats.

Eight, nine, ten, you mentally counted in your head, passing by the white-clothed tables. Eleven.

Your feet halted and you glanced down at your card one last time before looking up. Table twelve was already occupied, leaving a single seat left.

“Wow,” you murmured through red painted lips. He looked up at the sound of your voice, soulfully deep brown irises alighting on your form. Dark hair parted perfectly to reveal the smooth, tan skin of his forehead curled above a single one of those eyes. Heart-shaped lips that appeared soft to the touch parted in surprise. “I know you almost failed fifth grade math, but I didn’t think you were still this bad at counting.���

"I—what are you doing here?” Jung Hoseok looked so utterly bewildered that it would’ve been endearing if it had been anyone but him. He subconsciously smoothed a ringed hand down the front of his midnight black satin tux and stared at you like he’d never seen you before.

“What are you doing here?” You avoided answering his question with a raised eyebrow.

“What does it look like I’m doing here?”

“It looks like you’re sitting at my table,” you gestured at the aforementioned seat with your flute of champagne.

“No, I’m sitting at my table.” Hoseok tilted his head, sharp jawline standing out and tiny dimples revealing themselves as he pursed his mouth. “It’s not my fault that you can’t read.”

“Excuse me?” A sound of indignation sprang from the back of your throat and you dropped your clutch on the table in order to flip around the tiny card in your hand. The number twelve was embedded on it in swirling, looping gold font. “Now move.”

He did not, in fact, move. He just sat there like an impressive impersonation of a statue. The only part of him that moved was when those espresso hued eyes of his widened in either surprise or shock, you didn’t know. Nor did you care. Or at least you hadn’t until he slowly lifted a hand to show you his own card with the number twelve printed on it.

And then you too, did the best performance you could muster at being frozen solid. As if the universe was attempting to prove that the two of you had, in fact, been matched together, your voices harmonized as you spoke at the same exact time:

“Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me.”

                  (Seventeen years ago)

Your rivalry with Jung Hoseok first began at the tender age of five, right after you’d beamed a cardboard box of crayons straight at his forehead. He’d bled, and it’d later left behind a thin scar that sliced clean through his right eyebrow. You should’ve felt guilty, but you hadn’t. Still didn’t.

He’d had it coming for trying to Compel you to hand them over anyway. And technically, you did hand them over. Just not in the way he’d probably wanted. At least, that’s what you’d told the teacher after Hoseok growled wildly at you from across the playroom table.

The kindergarten classroom had been packed with screaming, rambunctious toddlers. It was an important time in every child’s life — not because that was the age where friendships first began; it was when nature started to reveal itself. When the part of the brain in charge of scent glands that separated the Alphas from the Betas from the Omegas developed.

You’d been relegated to one of the tables in the corner with all the rest of the soft, floral smelling, shy Omegas. Until the green colored crayon you’d been using to smear across your paper in an attempt at drawing the vast forest outside ran out. The closest resupply of your writing instrument had been lying all the way across the room on one of the empty tables.

Of course, because fate was nothing but a bitch, your quick hands snatched the crayon box up point-two seconds before a pouting Jung Hoseok could. He’d looked at you with those gentle, chocolate brown eyes of his, and then the first words he’d ever spoken to you passed his heart shaped lips.

“Hey, give it!”

And yours to him. “No way! I got them first, loser!”

The rounded apples of his cheeks puffed up with a scowl, jaw clenched. If he’d been taller than you, maybe he would’ve been intimidating. But to you, he’d just looked like a fluffed up chicken.

“Well, you’re an Omega and I’m an Alpha, so you gotta do what I say,” his tongue fumbled over the larger words and he crossed his arms over his chest with a look that told you he thought he’d just won the battle.

“Make me,” scoffing, you leveled him with a glare and waved the box of crayons under his perfectly straight nose.

“Fine.” His eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath. “Give them.” His dark irises flashed gold as he laced his words with the power of an Alpha Command.

If he were older and had more of a grip over his powers, perhaps you would’ve felt compelled. But the only thing that overcame you was annoyance. Your fingers tightened around the box; your arm cocked back. “Fine.”

And it went careening straight into his forehead with a crack! that had all heads in the room turning to look back. Sticking your nose in the air, you slipped your stolen green crayon into your dress pocket and skipped back to your table.

That was when your rivalry first started.

And the war began.

Eleven years later and the whole town knew of your blatant dislike for one another. It was difficult not to when the moment the two of you entered the same room, you were immediately at each other’s throats. Some of the older, more set-in-their-ways Alphas frowned upon your rivalry with Jung Hoseok. Though they were more annoyed at the fact that he never used his Alpha Compulsion to “put his mouthy Omega in her place” than anything else.

His. Hearing them call you his never failed to absolutely infuriate you. Like you were nothing other than a piece of property. Like you belonged to the one person in the world who you despised the most. Like you could belong to anyone at all.

Omegas were supposed to cow to Betas, and above all, Alphas. The hierarchy had been around since the beginning of time. Since Alphrina, the goddess of all mankind, had created the first Alpha in her image. They were the strongest of the Three, Betas coming in second and Omegas last.

If Hoseok had been like any other Alpha, then he probably would’ve long since made you submit to him. But he never had. Lisa, your childhood best friend and the town’s most popular female Alpha, had theorized that maybe he just didn’t know how to use his Alpha powers. But you knew better. His pride would never recover if he’d been forced to Compel you into listening to him.

Not even after you’d paid Jeon Jungkook a hefty sum to switch Hoseok’s shampoo bottle during the football team’s after practice shower with a similar one you’d filled with green hair dye back in high school. He’d stormed up to your locker the next day, cheeks aflame with rage and jaw clenched while he spat out (true) accusations.

But he���d had no proof that you’d been the one to make him look like a very festive Christmas tree, what with the already bright red strands of his hair stained with streaks of green. You’d thoroughly made sure that Jungkook would do it while the team was actually showering, so the soap and hot water would wash away any lingering scent of the culprit.

Hoseok had gotten you back, of course, by sticking a huge glob of chewing gum in your hair after you’d fallen asleep on your desk during history class. You’d cried for two days straight after your mom had to chop off your long locks into a shoulder length bob. And the cycle repeated itself with you taking revenge by stealing the janitor’s keys after school, and hiding a dead fish in Hoseok’s locker to decompose over the two week long Christmas break.

At least your rivalry had stopped anyone else from trying to mess with you due to your Omega status. Either they’d been too afraid of stepping on Hoseok’s toes, or had just been way too entertained by your antics, you weren’t sure. But you weren’t complaining, not when you saw how the other Omega’s in your school had been treated.

It hadn’t been good.

At all.

Suffice to say, maybe you would be somewhat grateful for Hoseok if you didn’t despise his existence so much.

You blamed your last weekend of your high school career for implanting the seed into your mind. For flip-turning your opinion of Jung Hoseok right upside down. Not that you’d exactly noticed it at first; it’d just kickstarted the slow sliver of doubt that began to fester.

Partying wasn’t usually your thing. You didn’t have anything against it, nor the people that chose to do so, you just refused to partake in anything that could alter your state of mind. Because being an Omega not in full control of yourself was a dangerous thing to be. But it was the end of mandated schooling and a very important milestone that deserved celebrating.

Which was the exact argument that Lisa had used in order to convince you to go with her and Jennie (a Beta and the most recent addition to your friend group) to the after graduation party. Jackson Wang’s house was unnecessarily massive, most likely due to both of his Alpha parents being on the city council. He’d somehow been able to convince them to take a weekend vacation and leave the estate in his (ir)responsible hands.

By the time you pulled up with both of your friends, the party was in full swing. Cars littered the curved driveway all the way down to the street below. (And seeing as how the Wang Estate was fifty acres, that was a long way down.) Music poured out from the opened front doors, heavy bass rattling the windows of Lisa’s Nissan.

You pressed your nose against the passenger side glass with a grimace. Fiddling with the overly tight dress that Jennie had forced you into, you sighed deeply.

“Oh, come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun,” Jennie leaned forward from the backseat to cheer encouragingly.

“I didn’t even say anything,” you argued and finally turned away from the steadily approaching mansion.

“You didn’t have to. You have that I-Don’t-Want-To-Be-Here face,” Lisa spoke up from the driver’s seat, eyes intently focused on finding a parking spot.

You snorted. “That’s because I don’t. Being surrounded by loud, drunk Alphas and Betas isn’t the most appealing way to spend my Friday night, thank you very much.”  

“We already told you that we’re going to watch out for you tonight.” Lisa made a noise in the back of her throat when she finally found somewhere to leave her vehicle.

“Exactly. Remember what happened last time some asshole Beta harassed you?”

“You mean the time Lisa almost got arrested when she fought that guy in the McDonald’s line?”

“Yup, that’s the one.”

“I’m still mad I never got my McDouble,” Lisa sighed forlornly and cut the engine to her car.

“All you think about is food,” Jennie laughed, quickly scrambling out of the car before Lisa could turn around and swat at her leg.

“Well, she’s not wrong.” The only thing that saved you from your best friend’s wrath was the fact that you were faster than she was.

Inside the house was just as you’d expected: crowded, loud, so many smells and sounds that had your heightened senses almost crying from overstimulation. You followed Jennie and Lisa to the kitchen for them to make themselves drinks (and to snatch up a can of soda for yourself).

Somehow, somehow, your night ended up with Lisa shoving her tongue down some poor Beta’s throat, and you stuck sitting in a circle in the basement of Jackson Wang’s overly large house. Playing a game of spin-the-bottle with a group of people that you barely knew. Well, most of them anyway.

And you hadn’t intended to play at all, hadn’t had any interest in it, but one look at your mortal enemy’s shit-eating grin sitting across from you had made you stop yourself right before you bowed out. Because you knew for a damn fact that if you’d tried, he would’ve ended up saying something to try and embarrass you.

So instead, you reached out and watched intently as the beer bottle spun around and around and around and around. The green hue of the glass gleamed beneath the dim, blue lights in the basement tauntingly. Everything slowed down, your heartbeat thundered in your eardrums, the music faded into the background. You thought it’d never stop.

Until it did.

A hush fell around the group as you sluggishly trailed your eyes upwards and locked them onto your apparent make-out partner. Fate was a bitch and your life was nothing but a cosmic joke. Because of course, of course, clichés wouldn’t be clichés if they weren’t clichés.

And god you hated clichés.

“Ew no,” slipped out of your mouth unhindered before you could even think to form the syllables.

Directly across the circle, Hoseok raised a perfectly shaped dark eyebrow. (You hated he looked so good even when his hair was such an obnoxious and unflattering shade of red.) That annoying, self-assured smirk tugged at the corner of his coral hued, heart-shaped mouth. “Afraid?”

Everyone around the circle had fallen silent, choosing to sit back and watch the drama unfold instead of talking over it. Like you were some kind of live entertainment, their heads bouncing back and forth between the two of you. So when you scoffed, it was loud enough that every ear could hear it.

“I’m not afraid, I just don’t want you touching me because you’ve slept with so many people. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“Careful, you sound a little jealous there, L/n.” A second eyebrow jumped up to join the first and Hoseok leaned his weight forward. That insufferable smirk grew.

“Jealous?” Now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “As if I’d ever be jealous of anything involving you, Jung.”

“It’s okay to admit it,” he shrugged casually. “If you ask me, I think it’s kind of flattering. Sad and a little pathetic, but flattering.”

“What would I possibly be jealous of? Didn’t you have an STD last month?” You shot back with an unamused snort.

He did that thing again where the apples of his cheeks puffed up and his mouth pursed. While that expression had made him appear very non-intimidating in the past, with puberty had come the sharpening of his jawline and the development of high cheekbones. Maybe if it were any other Alpha looking at you like that, your inner Omega would’ve been cowering. But witnessing someone pee their pants and then cry about it in the first grade tended to make it impossible to see them as menacing.

“That was just a rumor!” Hoseok glared, face beginning to pink beneath the stares of everyone in the room.

“That’s not what Sulgi said,” you hummed. “Yikes.”

“You—”

“As entertaining as this foreplay is to watch,” Jackson’s deep voice piped up, leaning back on his hands from where he sat between two girls you didn’t recognize. “I’d like to take my turn sometime tonight. So either kiss or go fight out in the parking lot, I don’t care.”

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, more than likely contemplating arguing with the party host (you knew he didn’t like being ordered around, especially by another Alpha), before a spark of mischievous amusement lit up his mocha colored irises and he turned back to you, head tilted. “I would love to move on, but L/n over here is too afraid to.”

Your lip curled. “I already told you that I—”

“Nervous then? I bet that you haven’t even been kissed before, have you?”

Even though he was correct, you refused to allow him to know it. So you’d never kissed someone before, who cared? People graduated high school all the time without locking lips with someone else. And it wasn’t like you’d never had the chance to—you’d had plenty of dating offers—you’d just never found any of them worthy enough to kiss. That was it.

Not that Jung Hoseok needed to know that.

So you lied.

“Of course I have.”

“Oh really.” It wasn’t a question. “Who?”

“That’s none of your business,” you sniffed.

Hoseok looked like a wolf right before it pounced on its prey: smug. “Then what’s the problem then? Afraid you’d like it?”

“Wow, I don’t know how you fit through the door with your ego as inflated as it is. Like I’d ever enjoy kissing you. It took Sulgi months to shut up about how bad you are at it.”

His haughty expression dropped from his face and his stare darkened at the blatant insult. You realized your mistake the very moment that the challenge sparked within his eyes. He stood slowly, gaze locked on your own as he stepped over the bottle in the middle of the floor. When he reached you, his hand shot down and grasped onto your upper arm, lifting you from your cross-legged seat and onto the soles of your shoes.

“Wha—” He cut off your indignant protest with his mouth before it could fully form.

The last thing you ever would have expected was for Jung Hoseok to kiss you, let alone softly. For his mouth to press against yours with just enough pressure to be labeled as delicate—like the tickling of butterfly wings. He trapped your bottom lip between both of his, slender fingers threading through the hair at the nape of your neck. You shouldn’t have let him touch the most sensitive part of your body. Shouldn’t have instinctively liked it.

Shouldn’t have let your eyes flutter closed and kissed him back. But you were too wrapped up in his strong scent, the warmth of his skin, the gentle exhaling of air as he breathed, the lingering taste of the alcohol from his emptied cup. One kiss turned into two, into three, into four. Until your hands came up to grasp the material of his shirt between your fingers.

Jung Hoseok kissed you like you’d always wanted to be kissed. Slowly and softly and warmly. When his tongue slipped between your lips and touched yours, it wasn’t with the roughness of someone trying to take control. It was a dance; one where he took the lead subtly and you willingly let him do it.

His hand on your arm found your waist and pulled you close, pressed your fronts together until there was no longer any space separating you. A sigh escaped when his tongue brushed against yours more firmly, more determined to have you melting and pliant beneath his touch. Until you had to swallow a whimper when he finally pulled away.

He didn’t go far, just enough to look at you down the slope of his straight nose, pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy and mouth kiss-swollen. You hated him then, in that moment, more than you ever had before. Hated him for stealing your first kiss. Hated him for making you want to lean forward and pull him back until you could no longer breathe. Hated him for dropping his hands from your heated skin with a wink and that knowing smirk of his.

Hated him.

The rest of the game had been a blur after that. You’d sat back down between Jennie (ignoring her imploring expression) and a Beta whom you couldn’t even process the face of. You didn’t spin again, had been content to just sit next to your friend and sip at your almost empty can of soda.

And you hated, hated, hated yourself for noticing that Hoseok never took another turn either.

                           (Present Time)

You’d been content with the fact that you’d never have to see your rival again after that night. With high school finally over, you would be going off to college on the other side of the country and would finally be free. To say that you’d been ecstatic would’ve been an understatement. There would be no more biting comments aimed at you in the hallway, no more having to be paranoid about being the victim of another of Hoseok and his friend’s pranks.

No more Hoseok.

It had been a glorious, stress-free (to an extent) four years of your life. Both Lisa and Jennie had applied to and been accepted to the same university as you, so you’d split the rent three ways and moved in together. City life had been a difficult adjustment, a culture shock, but now you were used to it and absolutely loved it.

Which meant that fate had to come around and fuck things up.

Silence had fallen between both you and Hoseok. All around you, couples sitting at the other tables in the expansive ballroom were jabbering away, getting to know one another to see how compatible they were. Laughter and glasses clinking harmonized together with the gentle music playing from the hotel speakers hidden somewhere you couldn’t see.

You’d collapsed bonelessly into your seat after the shock of being matchmade with your mortal enemy wore off. Now you were just annoyed. At your parents for making you go to the stupid thing, at yourself for not lying on your questionnaire, at the universe for existing. At Hoseok for existing. There was a lot to process.

Obviously, the matchmaking service was flawed, false, fake, inaccurate. And you were glad that you hadn’t been excited for the event in the first place, because you would’ve been dead by now. Reason of death? Disappointment. How in the world someone could think you and Hoseok were compatible at all was a complete mystery to you.

Glancing up from where you’d been glaring at your still half full flute of champagne, you eyed your unwelcome companion. Hoseok was looking out into the crowded room, stare blank as his mind went somewhere you had no interest in trying to follow even if you could. Four years had passed since you’d last laid eyes on him and in that time he’d changed physically, but also still looked the same.

No longer was he the teenager who’d yet to grow into his cheekbones, though he still had those broad shoulders and large hands and muscular-yet-slim athletic build. He’d always been handsome—not that you’d ever tell him that, even if your life was at stake—and his looks had only matured. Hoseok was all angles and sharp lines and deep set eyes framed by long lashes that always made you secretly jealous.

Which only fueled your puzzlement.

“Why are you here?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts were running through his mind and turned back to you. “What?”

“Why are you here,” you asked slowly, tongue spelling out each of the syllables like he couldn’t understand you otherwise.

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we already had this conversation.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. “I meant here as in this stupid event looking for a mate, not this stupid table.”

“Why are you? Already scared off everyone on the other side of the country with your annoying personality?” Four years later and he still had that infuriating smirk, that quirk of his lips that had your blood pressure instantly spiking.

“Are you here because you’ve slept with the whole town already?”

Humming, Hoseok tilted his head to the side in fake contemplation. “Your jealousy is showing again, L/n.”

“Your inflated ego is showing again, Jung.”

“Oh? If I’m recalling correctly, that’s exactly what you said years ago, right before you slobbered all over my chin.”

“Me? Me? Says the one who—”

“Could I have everyone’s attention please?” A woman’s voice cut through your heated response. Somewhere between the time the conversation had first begun and now, both you and Hoseok had gone from putting as much distance between the two of you as possible, to practically falling on top of the table to spew insults at one another.

With one last glare, you turned to look over your shoulder at the well-dressed blonde woman standing on the stage near the front. The material of her designer jumpsuit shimmered beneath the lights as her manicured hand held a microphone to her glossy, smiling lips. “Hello everyone! I’d like to welcome you to this year’s MateMaking—”

Hoseok’s quiet scoff echoed your own at the sound of the horribly unwitty play on words. His annoyed scowl also mirrored yours when you turned back to throw him one.

“—event! I can see that everyone has already found their mate-tastic partners for the evening.” She winked, earning a few light, nervous giggles from the crowd. “There are a few house rules that we must go over before we can officially begin. For starters, there will be no exchanging of partners. Secondly, a limit of two alcoholic beverages per person has and will be implemented. And last but not least, please make sure to enjoy yourselves! Now, onto the mate—” another wink “—event.”

“The grand prize for the lucky couple who wins tonight’s competition has been graciously donated by the Four Seasons Hotel.” She held up her fingers as she listed them, but you were too busy hanging onto her previous statement. “A free, one night stay in the penthouse suite tonight, an unlimited tab at the bar down the hall, and,” she paused in an attempt to build up the anticipation. “Eight hundred dollars cash.”

“Competition,” you questioned under your breath. What the hell did she mean by that? Wasn’t the whole event supposed to just be a glorified blind date? You threw a glance over your shoulder at Hoseok, who was too busy mouthing the words “eight hundred dollars” to pay you any attention.

“Now if you could all please leave your seats and gather onto the dance floor with your partner, we can begin.” The sound of chairs pushing back from tables echoed around the room and you watched as the people closest to the large opening in the middle of the floor started congregating.

Confused, you blindly rose to your feet and looked to see Hoseok doing the same. “What the hell is going on? I thought this was supposed to be about matchmaking?”

He blinked once, twice, before a laugh bubbled up his throat. “Did you not read the details of the event?”

“What details?” Your cheeks were slowly turning pink in embarrassment, you could feel it, and also couldn’t help it.

“You’re really telling me that you missed the giant, bold letters on the website?”

“What bold letters?” Weaving through the emptying tables, you tried your best to keep up with him on your shorter legs.

Hoseok tutted. “And you always tried to say that I was the stupid one.” He looked down at you once he finally found a spot on the floor that he liked, humor dancing across his face. You were just far away enough from the two coupled next to you that you couldn’t hear their conversations without trying to eavesdrop.

Annoyed, you smacked a hand against his arm and hissed, “Just tell me, asshole!”

“Owch.” He rubbed where you’d hit him, faking a grimace like you’d ever be able to actually hurt him. “Is that how you talk to someone you’re trying to get to help you?”

Your mouth opened to let out another string of character attacking profanities, but he halted them by holding up a hand. “This is a matchmaking event, but it’s also a competition. One that I’m not going to lose, not with that prize money on the line.”

“Oh,” you responded. Well, that explained some of it, but. “We.”

“What?”

“One that we’re not gonna lose,” you corrected him, mind already reeling with what you could use all of that cash for. “We win and split the money.”

“What makes you think that I’d want to split it with you?” A raise of his eyebrow.

A roll of your eyes. “Like you have any other choice. Do you see any other person you can impose your irritating presence on?”

A pause in the air. Pursed lips. Then: “Fine.”

“Fine.”

An agreement.

A temporary ceasefire just in time for one of the workers of the event to reach your side and gift the two of you with a bright green, inflated balloon. He walked off with the parting instructions not to pop it before making his way down the line and giving one to each couple he passed.

“The first stage of tonight’s competition,” the woman MCing (you were pretty sure she’d introduced herself, you’d just hadn’t been paying attention) addressed the crowd. “Is a slow dance to test you and your partner’s ability to be gentle with one another, both with the body and the heart. You must take the balloons that you have and put it in between your bodies.

“Whenever you hear the music change, you and your partner must step closer to each other. The last seven out of our ten couples that succeed in not popping the balloon or letting it fall to the ground will move on to the next round. Those of you who do not pass, will be shown to the bar across the hall to better get acquainted. Let us begin! Don’t be shy, everyone get into position.”

A few chuckles filtered throughout the room, balloons squeaking and strangers lightly conversing as they tried to follow the instructions. You looked up at Hoseok who looked back down at you with the medium sized balloon clutched in his hand.

He tilted his head to the side and wiggled the piece of rubber and hot air. “Are you going to come closer or not? Don’t pretend like you don’t want to touch me.”

“Trust me when I say that I don’t have to pretend,” you huffed, but stepped closer. One of his hands shot out to wrap around your waist, long slender fingers spreading across the whole expanse of the small of your back. You did your best to ignore the heat that bled from his body like a leech, and placed your left hand on his right shoulder.

With the balloon now firmly in place between the two of you, Hoseok took up your free hand with his just in time for the music to start pouring over the speakers. It wasn’t anything that you recognized—some indie song where the singer crooned lyrics about love or beauty or whatever. You didn’t care enough to pay attention.

“You better not step on my feet,” you spoke as the two of you swayed side to side, just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough for the slow dancing couples around you.

“Me? Step on your feet?” Hoseok gave you a look of disbelief. “Aren’t you the one who broke Felix Lee’s foot at prom?”

“No.” At the raising of his brows, you rolled your eyes and looked at some point over his shoulder so you wouldn’t have to meet his skeptical stare. “Okay, so maybe.” — he snorted — “But that had nothing to do with dancing!”

“You’ve always been a horrible liar, L/n.”

“And you’ve always been horrible at telling the truth, Jung.” The song changed into something a little more upbeat, one you thought you might have heard a time or two. Unfortunately, you had to step an inch closer to the man steadily guiding you around the dance floor.

A pop! resounded from the other side of the room as the first couple was eliminated. Squeaking from the balloon cushioned between both of your chests had your conversation pausing for a moment before it picked back up.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know what it means.”

“Believe it or not, L/n,” Hoseok began, “But I would never claim to know what goes on in that cluttered mind of yours.”

“I—wait,” you narrowed your eyes. “How do you know who I went to prom with?”

His mouth opened and closed, obviously ready to swing at you with another comeback before your question caught him off guard. “What?”

“How did you know that I went to prom with Felix?” Another change of the song had you automatically taking another step forward. “I thought you didn’t go to prom.”

“How did you know that I didn’t go to prom?” Hoseok fired back, avoiding the question.

“Oh, please,” you took a breath through your mouth and immediately regretted it when his strong, husky scent invaded your senses and lingered on your tongue. “If you were there, you would’ve been up my ass all night.”

“Now who’s the one with the inflated ego? Everyone was talking about how you’d stomped on him with your ogre feet the next day of school.” He didn’t make eye contact when you looked back at him, his gaze trailing over your head.

You raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s the horrible liar?”

“I’m not lying.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Liar.”

“Truther.”

“Truth— what — what even is that?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.”

“Which is?”

Hoseok’s lips pulled back into a grin, tiny dimples popping into place and white teeth kissing the air. “A truther.”

“You’re so annoying,” the words were supposed to sound annoyed, but you couldn’t help the amused upwards twitch of your mouth.

“I don’t think you have any room to talk, sweetheart.”

You blinked at the pet name. That was new. “Sweetheart?”

Hoseok didn’t respond right away. He just stared down at you past his perfectly shaped nose, dark eyelashes framing brushing the apples of his cheeks. And for the first time in as long as you could remember, you realized that you couldn’t read the thoughts lingering behind his softly bright eyes. Silence lingered for one moment, two, and then his heart shaped lips parted and—

Pop!

You started, jerking back in surprise and Hoseok’s grip on you was the only thing that prevented your balloon from falling to the floor. Pop! Next to you, a couple let out noises of disappointment as they watched the remnants of their popped balloon scatter beneath their feet. They must have frightened another pair of people in the center of the dance floor because theirs popped as well.

“And that concludes our first round!” The MC spoke out over the crowd. “Congratulations to those who have made it though. Now let’s see if your luck persists during round two!”

You looked at Hoseok and he looked back, previously open expression dropped. No words were exchanged, but you already knew that the conversation would be dropped.

Hoseok’s back was warm from where it pressed up against yours, the chairs you sat in doing nothing to stop it from seeping into your skin. In your hands was a tablet, screen displaying the game that the two of you were about to play. The goal was to “defuse a bomb” by following the manual filled with instructions. Which sounded easy in retrospect, but seeing as how the only way you could get said instructions was by Hoseok reading them off the packet in his grasp.

You weren’t allowed to look at the manual, and he wasn’t allowed to look at the tablet screen. And somehow, some way, you were supposed to “defuse the bomb” in five minutes. The MC had said something about testing your ability to communicate with one another, blah, blah, blah. All you knew was that there was no way you were going to lose the stupid competition.

Even if you had to deal with Hoseok’s frustrated grumbling.

“Just tell me which wire I need to cut, Jung!” Or perhaps it was you who was doing the frustrated grumbling. But eh, semantics. The tablet screen was displaying a section of the “bomb” that had four wires criss-crossing one another and you were only allowed to “cut” one of them.

“I already told you,” Hoseok grunted. “The blue one.”

“There’s two blue ones!”

“Then cut the one that’s more blue!”

“They’re the same color you idiot!”

“Stop yelling, I’m trying to read!” He huffed, the sound of paper turning accompanying it. Around the room, the noise level was a cacophony of people talking over one another. The closer the five minutes got to being over, the higher the voices rose. “It says, ‘if there is a red wire—’”

“I only have two blue’s and two white’s!”

“Cut the first blue wire then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, L/n.”

“Fine.” A pause as you tapped on the screen and waited for it to do something. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie—oh wait, no, there’s a little x on the screen. Okay I think we’re good with that one.” You didn’t even have to look back to see Hoseok’s face to know that he was rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Now it’s showing a square with four different symbols inside it. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hold on.” He shuffled his papers in search of the next set of instructions. “Okay, it says ‘always press symbols higher in the column than lower in the column.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“How am I supposed to know? Do I look like the game designer?”

“You’re an Alpha, aren’t you supposed to have great leadership skills or something?”

“What does that even have to do with this?”

“Just give me the damn instructions, Jung!”

“You’re so pushy. No wonder you’re still single.” Hoseok didn’t give you a chance to respond to his jibe before he continued. “Push the symbol of the pitchfork first, then,” he halted for a second, more than likely trying to find his next words before continuing. “Press the one that looks like a pregnant letter T.”

“A what?”

“I know you know what I’m talking about!”

You scrutinized the symbols before going with the one he described, not that you’d ever tell him it was pretty accurate. “Now what?”

“Next is the one that looks like a football goal.” (“God, you’re such a jock.”) “And then push the last one.”

Your finger tapped the screen and a noise escaped your throat when all of the panels on the “bomb” turned green and the timer stopped counting down. “Oh, hell yes!”

“What? Did we beat it?” Hoseok’s head tilted in your direction without him actually having to look back at you.

“Fuck yeah!” Okay, so maybe you were shouting a little too loudly and maybe all of the other couples who had yet to finish the game were giving you looks, but it wasn’t your fault that you were the first team to win.

“Yeah?” Hoseok finally turned to face you, torso twisting in his chair in order to do so. His face was lit up in excitement, the adrenaline of trying to complete the game sparking to life in his beautifully expressive brown eyes.

“Yeah!” It was unusual for an Omega to be competitive, but you couldn’t help your inherent desire to win. If you were to analyse it, a therapist would probably say that it was more than likely due to growing up competing with the man who sat at your back. (But you weren’t a therapist.)

You weren’t sure who went for it first, who moved, who decided to cross that boundary. But one moment you were looking up at his face, and the next your nose was pressed into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Hoseok’s arm was wrapped around your upper back and both of yours were loops around his neck.

The celebratory hug didn’t last long, just enough for his scent — gentle and earthy like petrichor right before it rained — before the both of you pulled away like you’d been electrocuted. An awkward silence followed the accidental physical contact and you weren’t sure where you were supposed to look. But it wasn’t at him.

And you definitely did not miss the feeling of being pressed to his chest.

(Or maybe Hoseok was right and you were a terrible liar. Even to yourself.)

The second round had eliminated a majority of the remaining contestants. Now all that was left were you and Hoseok, a petite woman with a contrastingly tall man, and two average height men. Since your team had come in first place during the last round, you were relegated to nonsensically going last in the final one. With the previous eliminated couples allowed back into the ballroom, you had quite the audience.

Sitting in another chair in the middle of the dance floor, you fiddled with the whiteboard and marker in your hands. You were facing Hoseok so the two of you couldn’t cheat by looking at what the other person was writing. The MC stood between and a little behind both of you, lips pulled up into a smile as she held a stack of cards in her hand.

You’d only ever seen this game played at the weddings of family members you’d gone to over the years, so why they’d chosen to have to (what they thought) complete strangers play it was a mystery to you. Something about “getting to know one another” and “testing compatibility” bullshit and the couple who got the highest answers correct was the winner.

Whatever.

When the MC asked her first question, you were ready.

“Okay, let’s begin! First question, write down which one of the two of you that you believe owns more clothes than the other.” Holding back an eye roll, you quickly scribbled down your answer with the dry-erase marker at the same time that Hoseok did. “Now show us your boards!”

You turned yours with a flick of your wrist, Hoseok’s name written across the surface in ink. It came as no surprise at all that he’d also penned himself down; he’d always been on top of all of the trends in the fashion world so you knew for a fact that his closet greatly exceeded yours.

“Would you look at that!” The MC crowed. “Already so in sync!”

(Unbeknownst to you both, your faces mirrored the same grimace as you erased your boards.)

“Second question: who do you believe is the most stubborn?”

That one took a bit more thought, your eyes flickering up to watch as Hoseok easily scrawled on his board. You already knew what he was going to write and you wanted to win, and you’d do whatever it took to do so. Even if it meant admitting something that wasn’t true.

At the MC’s cue, your boards flipped around to display your name written down on both of them. You glared. The crowd aw’d. The MC squealed at how “you were on the same wavelength.”

“Who’s most likely to cry during a movie?” Hoseok.

“Who do you think is the smartest.” You (much to your surprise that he wrote that down).

“Who has to have the final word during an argument?” You. That one took a little longer to decide with the two of you eyeing each other over the tops of your boards.

“Who got better grades in school?” A snort and the sound of your marker dragging across the board to scribble your own name down.

“Who’s the better dancer?” Hoseok, of course. Who could forget him dancing in the school hallways early in the morning before people even deigned to enter the place?

“If you were to become a couple, who would wear the pants in the relationship.” That question had you glaring and fingers cramping as you dug the tip of the marker into the board. Both was scribbled down on each.

“How about this one: who do you think is the better kisser?” The time in Jackson Wang’s basement popped to the forefront of your mind. It’d been years, but you could still remember the feel of Hoseok’s lips moving against yours and the taste of him on your tongue. You paused, marker hovering over the board before you took a deep, silent breath and wrote your answer down.

That was the first question that the two of you got wrong. With his board displaying your name and yours displaying his, all you could do was stare. Hoseok’s mouth was pressed into a line, not one of his angry ones, but the one he would unconsciously do whenever he was thinking hard on something. You weren’t sure what it was, nor did you have the time to try and figure it out.

“Aw, the first question they’ve gotten wrong. Or did they get it right?” Cue a wink from the MC and a few chuckles from the crowd. “How about we get a little more serious with the final question, hm? Who do you believe would be the first to fall in love with the other?”

You were positive that that would be the second question the two of you would get wrong, but you wrote your answer down anyway. When the cue came to flip them over, you felt your heart stutter. Lips part in surprise. Breath catch in your throat.

Hoseok looked at you with his lips pressed in that thin line, espresso hued, deep set eyes displaying an emotion that you’d never seen before. Never thought would be aimed at you. The whiteboard clutched between your hands shook as you read his over and over and wondered at what it meant (and if you were going to lie to yourself again).

Hoseok was written down on both of your boards, much to the delight of the onlookers.

The MC announcing that the game was complete and that you and Hoseok were the winners was a blur. The cheers from the crowd were a blur. The way the MC held both of your hands as she congratulated you and gifted you with your prizes was a blur.

Hoseok’s refusal to look at you was the only thing that was crystal clear. His back, his broad shoulders cloaked in his black satin tuxedo jacket, the nape of his neck, were the only things you could see. You didn’t get the chance to even speak to him until the elevator doors leading up to the penthouse slid shut.

The MC had sent you off with the key and a wink and a promise that the aforementioned eight hundred dollars was awaiting the two of you in the penthouse suite. Silence engulfed the steel box as it ascended that was neither awkward, nor tense—just heavy. You couldn’t stand it. So you wouldn’t.

“Hoseok.”

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, back braced against the elevator wall.

“Why did you write your name down for that question?”

“Which one? There were dozens.”

“You still suck at telling the truth.”

A pause hovered in the air, the red digital numbers above the elevator continuing to count upwards. And then he spoke. “I was telling the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok laughed breathily. Not of amusement, not of someone who’d found something particularly funny. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so all you could do was nod.

“I’d been wanting to kiss you since you threw that box of crayons at my head.” He turned to look at you, eyes deep and open and luminescent. “And I’ve been thinking about doing it again ever since that game of spin-the-bottle.”

Your mouth opened and closed, words stuck in your throat until you forced yourself to cough them out. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

He scoffed. “Why would I? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Hoseok.” The syllables of his first name were unfamiliar on your tongue, but you loved the taste of them anyway. “I’ve never hated you.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. “Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Okay, no, that was a lie,” you mumbled. “I didn’t hate you until after that kiss. But it was only because I’d never wanted it to end.”

“What are you saying?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” You shot back without any heat.

“Maybe,” he hummed, lifting a hand to brush against your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered closed when his nose brushed yours. That was the only warning you got before he captured your mouth with his. Hoseok’s lips were just as soft as you remembered, his kiss just as slow, taste just as intoxicating. You involuntarily sighed into his mouth when his teeth caught your bottom lip and tugged.

“I love you,” he breathed into the crevice of your neck.

You sighed. A soft, gentle thing that had the corners of his mouth ticking upwards. “I love you too.”

A pause and then:

“Even though you’re annoying.”

Hoseok’s laugh shook both his frame and yours and you couldn’t help the giggle that harmonized.

tagged: @kotaevln​ @ladyartemesia @alana-ba @lifegoesondotcom @ardoren @awsome-small-k @chimchimsauce @jjamsbangtan @ohheyitssj @bewitch-me @lovetic @veronawrites @lilacdreams-00 @clarissalance​ @daydreambrliever @unicornbabylover @taestannie​ @forever-once-gone @outrofenty @hoseokslefteyebrow @1am9root6 @btsmylife21 @fireheart2003 @iv-bts

[amintyworld]

Together - Sanders Sides Fic - Part 2 of "Brothers"

A/N: It's here! Part 2 is finally here! Thank you to all those who liked the first, and especially those who left a nice comment, it really warmed my heart to see you enjoy my work. Hope you enjoy this one, Part one is on my blog, and I reccomend reading the first part before reading this one to understand the story a bit better. Enjoy!

Ship: Plantonic LAMP, Prinxiety

Summary: Roman won't be ripped apart again from someone he loves.

TW: Sympathetic Remus, Brotherly Advice, Seperation, Kissing, Dancing, Crushing, Sandness,

They'd been texting a while. Roman seemed almost glued to his phone half the time, texting Virgil. He'd developed the ever loathing crush on him, always thinking of him, texting him, calling him. 

He laid on his red bed, giggling at Virgil's latest text, when his father, Patton called from downstairs. "Roman, kiddo, you have a guest!"

Guest?

He shoved his phone in his pocket and sauntered down the steps. Patton smiled giddily at him as he walked down, and his father Logan carried in a huge suitcase.

Wait…

"THOMAS!" Roman yelled, running and giving him a huge hug as he stepped through the door. The impact sent Thomas back a few steps. "You're home! I've missed you so much!"

Thomas ruffled his little brother's hair. "I've got a month off for Christmas, so I thought I'd surprise you by coming in a few days early."

"Best. Surprise. Ever." Roman smiled. Thomas was Patton's sister's son, who he took care of when she passed. He's three years older than Roman, already in College. Thomas had been there for Roman since… forever.

In fact, if it wasn't for Thomas dragging Roman out to his Theater Club's play, Roman would've never gotten his love of Theater in the first place.

"Now, what's going on, Ro? Tell me everything." Thomas said, sitting on their brown couch.

"Well, I…" Roman said, sinking into the fluffy couch. "I found...Remus."

"Wait, wait, wait…" Thomas said. "You found Remus?! As in… your twin from Theodosia's Orphanage?! That Remus?!"

Roman just nodded. "He got adopted, actually. I was… tutoring his brother."

Thomas laughed. "What a small world, huh?" Roman's phone buzzed, and he went to check it. Virgil had sent a few messages about what went on during their last session - Roman spilled soda on Virgil.

Roman giggled, and Thomas smiled. "Soooo, who's the guy?"

"Huh?! What guy?" Roman asked.

"Roman Price Sanders, I am your brother. I know when my little bro is crushing on someone. So, who's the guy?" Thomas said, smiling.

"Virgil Sanders. He's a grade below me. I...tutor him." Roman admitted.

"Hold the phone - you're crushing on the brother of your now adopted twin brother?" Thomas asked. Roman sheepishly nodded. 

"Promise you won't tell Dad?" Roman begged. "He'll spill to Lo, and you know how he gets about this."

"Of course, Ro." Thomas said. "I won't say a word."

"Speaking of," Roman said. "There's this dance, and I really want to ask him, but I...I dunno what to say."

Thomas sighed, holding out his hand for the phone. "I got you."

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

Virgil struggled with his history homework, trying to remember dates. Thanks to Roman, he flew through his math, remembering everything from their sessions.

Well, he remembered at LOT more than just math. He blushed at the thought of last week, their mouths so close together, his breath in his ear. He was fit. More than fit, even. They'd look at the same book, hunched close together, while Roman would explain the problem and how to solve it, voice nearly soft in his ear. Just when he thought their lips were so close they could touch, soda spilled on his jeans.

He looked down, noticing his answer to the Commander of the South Civil War armies - Roman Sanders

He went red, erasing the answer quickly. His phone buzzed. A text from Roman. Roman hadn't responded for 15 minutes, and Virgil was slightly worried. What was going on?

He opened the message and he couldn't believe what he was reading.

Look, I really like you. If you like me, I'd be honored to be your date to the prom.

The prom?! As in...the Senior Prom?! Roman Sanders wanted to take him to his own Senior Prom. 

Oh. My. God.

He..he didn't know how to respond. He was frozen. Was this why he'd been silent for 15 minutes?! Another buzz. Roman was calling him. He took a deep breath and answered.

"OhmygodVirgilpleasedon'thateme…" Roman started, on his own little tangent of a freak out.

"Roman, I wanna go with you."

"I mean how STUPID am I- wait. What did you just say?"

Virgil took a deep breath. "I'd be honored to accompany you to the Senior Prom, Roman."

There was a long pause. "Can you...give me a minute?"

"Uh, sure." He could hear Roman trying to cover the microphone, squealing and yelling in excitement. Virgil stifled a laugh. Roman uncovered the phone. 

"Friday night then. I'll pick you up at 7?"

"Of course, Princey. I'll be ready."

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

They'd been at the party for a bit, drinking punch with Remus, joking around, laughing. Then, Roman had dragged him outside for some air, leaving Remus doing the worm, a crowd forming around him.

The moon shone bright against the back, velvety sky. They sat on the front steps, the music blasting behind them. They looked up to the night sky. A thought loomed over them, and both couldn't help but think about it.

Roman and Remus would be graduating in a few months, going off to college. Virgil was only a Junior. Was tonight all they had before they were ripped apart?

"Sky's beautiful." Roman said, trying not to think about it. 

"Yeah, it is." Virgil responded, the weight of the situation weighing on his mind. Silence passed through them both. "So, you're graduating in a few months…"

"...yeah." Another pause. Roman turned to Virgil. "I'm really going to miss you."

Virgil held back a few tears. "I'm gonna miss you too." Roman held Virgil's cheek as he wiped the falling tears. 

He smiled. "Don't cry, Virge. You'll get mascara all over your tux." Virgil laughed. 

"If… tonight is all we have left, I...I wanna do something." Virgil said. "But, only if you'd let me."

"Of course." Roman said as Virgil stood, holding out his hand. A slow dance started behind them.

"Then…" Virgil bit his lip. "May I have this dance?"

Roman blushed. "Of course, Emo Nightmare."

Virgil lead as they danced on the concrete, spinning, twirling, moving. Then, Virgil dipped Roman, pressing his lips to his. "Virgil, what are you-"

Roman's leg twisted around Virgil's, not wanting the moment to end. Remus smiled as he watched from the doorway, holding back a snicker.

Those two were hopeless for each other.

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

"Wait, hold up." Remus said. "It's over?! What...why?!"

Virgil sighed as he plopped on his bed. "He's going off to College, Rem. I don't want him to fail because he's focused on seeing me every weekend. I...I want him to achieve everything he's always wanted, even if it means I have to be out of the picture."

"But, I SAW you two!"

"You SAW us?!"

"I was trying to find you guys, and...that's besides the point. There were sparks between you. I saw the way you looked at each other, the kiss...it was real."

"He's leaving today, Rem. That's it. It's over. Can you just drop it, please? It was only a stupid, stupid kiss." Virgil snapped, eyes brimming with tears.

"But-"

Virgil rolled over, laying on his bed, facing the wall. "Just leave me alone."

Remus sighed, closing the door.

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

Logan rolled Roman's bright red suitcase over to the car, while Patton shouldered his duffel. Thomas leaned with his shoulder against the doorway. "You're really sure it's the right choice?"

Roman huffed, packing a second suitcase. "I wouldn't just break his heart if there wasn't any other way."

"I know, but-"

"It was amazing while it lasted, like… almost a fairytale. But you know it won't work."

"But, Ro-"

Roman snapped his suitcase shut, a hard thud as it hit the floor. "That's everything." He rolled the suitcase toward the door. "Come on, Thomas." Without another word, he rolled past him to the stairs.

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

Roman wasn't happy. A year passed as he went to class after class, Virgil always coming back to his thoughts, the thought of the kiss…

He didn't hang out with his friends, he didn't go to parties, he just studied and went to class. He felt like a robot.

He should be happy, right? He was in College, getting his Acting Degree. He was working to be a Broadway Star, his dream since he was little.

Why wasn't he happy?!

Nothing seemed to make him happy anymore. Not even Musical Theater. Not even Disney movies. The world seemed dull, losing the luster Virgil had given it.

He heard Virgil had got accepted to MIT, all the way in Boston. He guessed he wanted to be as far away from him as humanly possible, and well, Roman couldn't blame him.

One weekend, in the middle of studying, he had an idea. A crazy, stupid, romantic idea. His mind told him no, yet his heart yearned for him to do it.

He remembered what his Father, Patton, told him: "Follow your heart, Roman."

Follow my...heart...?

Roman grabbed his keys and sprinted out the door, adrenaline pumping as he ran to his car.

He only hoped he had enough fuel for the trip.

------------------ 

Virgil's roommate, Remy, was on his fifth Redbull, and now his fourth coffee, cramming for the exam. "Dude, how are you still alive?" Virgil joked. "You haven't slept for three days."

"Sleep is for suckers." He said. "A bit more cramming, and I'll be ready for Monday's test."

"Remy, take a break-" Virgil said, reaching for his arm, when Remy turned and let out a hiss.

"Did...did you just hiss at me?" Virgil said. "I think College is really starting to mess with you." A knock at the door sent him out of his thoughts. He went to answer, surprised, to say the least.

"Roman?! What are you doing here?"

"Virgil, I...I have something to say. You can hate me after, but I just need to talk to you."

"Okay…. what's up?" Virgil said, extremely confused.

"I was a selfish jerk to you. I only thought of myself, when I didn't realize you were hurt, too. I realized last year, I made the biggest mistake of my life by breaking your heart, and I...I don't want to do it again."

"What are you saying?" Virgil asked.

"I'm saying...you make me happy, Virgil, and...I'm miserable without you. I...I love you with all my heart, and I want you to be with me forever, and nothing will break us apart. Not ever again."

"Roman, what are you-?!"

"Virgil Vincent Black, will you marry me?" Roman said, getting down on one knee, and showing him the ring he'd bought with all his savings. Logan would be disgusted he'd spent his savings spur of the moment, but he didn't care. 

He loved him.

"Roman, I-" Virgil stuttered. "I dunno what to say, I…"

After all this time, Virgil couldn't deny his feelings. He loved Roman. He couldn't believe what Roman was telling him. He thought he'd be better off without him, but he guessed he was wrong.

He was glad he was wrong.

"Yes… yes, yes, yes, Roman, I will marry you!" Virgil said, tears going down his face as Roman slid the ring on. Virgil grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. When they came up for hair, Roman was a blushing mess. Virgil's face blushed.

"I've been waiting to do that." He said, catching his breath, smiling at his Fiance.

[douxreviews]

The Good Place - ‘Chidi Sees the Time-Knife’ Review

Eleanor: “There’s this chicken sandwich that, if you eat it, it means you hate gay people! And it’s delicious!”

We finally got to go to the International Hole of Pancakes, which was chosen by Michael for the meeting because the Judge doesn’t have her full powers in there (and they are all rightfully scared of Judge Gen). It’s a wacky and very dangerous place, and a wild and daring episode.

The episode is very talky, as they come up with a plausible theory to explain why humans are always being sent to the Bad Place now, and figure out a way to test it. So there’s conflict and resistance, but not the usual deception and running around to add tension. Some danger is caused by the IHOP location, which would be gratuitous except that we’ve heard about the dangers of the IHOP before. Poor Tahani attracts a Neednoggle, a creature that apparently needs to snuggle. It drapes itself around her neck, while all the non-humans keep yelling at her, “Don’t touch it!” And Chidi accidentally steps into the time-knife, which is also an unpleasant and probably dangerous experience.

The episode keeps things from appearing static by changing the scene. The Judge changes the appearance of the IHOP to a real House of Pancakes, and later, since they seem to be in conference, to a conference room (the conference room is where Chidi slips into the time-knife). Tahani’s Neednoggle’s appearance has been transformed into a scarf, but the non-humans warn her that it’s still dangerous.

Michael makes his case to the Judge: no human has made it to the Good Place for more than five centuries because every action has so many unintended consequences. Hence, it’s impossible for anyone to live a good life. The Judge scoffs at this – “Your argument is that life is complicated?” – but then, of all people, Jason steps forward and presents an example from his experiences that makes the problem much clearer to everyone. The Judge is persuaded to take a visit to Earth. Because the writers can do anything they want to with time in this show, she blips away and immediately blips back, with experiences to recount. She agrees that making good decisions is impossible.

Still, that doesn’t help the Judge decide what to do. Chidi suggests that they need more data and that they should run Michael’s experiment again – and this time collect data rigorously. Shawn from the Bad Place is brought into conference, and after some discussion they decide to put the new simulated Good Place in Mindy St. Clair’s Medium Place. This means we’ll keep having the chance to pop in on Mindy and Derek. Mindy has made some improvements to Derek, and he’s now wearing a tux and holding a martini glass (characteristics that would certainly appeal to Mindy, who still wears a professional suit despite having lived completely alone for some many years.

The episode ends just before one of the four newly selected humans is about to wake up and meet Michael. We get to see the guy, “John,” sitting on the couch with his eyes closed. Michael, however, has a panic attack; so much is riding on this experiment! Also, we know that the demons from the Bad Place will interfere. And what about the fake humans being created by Janet to populate the rest of the simulated Good Place? Will any of them malfunction? Will we enjoy meeting the new fab four or will it feel like a repeat of the first year? Will we stick with the experiment for an entire season, or will the writers move on to the next dazzling object? Lots of potential, and a very gutsy move by the writers.

Title musings:“Chidi sees the time-knife” is the title of this episode, and apparently just refers to the scene where Chidi made a literal faux pas and gets sucked into some weird vortex. And of course it does refer to that, and is also a great title, because "Chidi sees the time-knife" is an odd enough phrase that people will go, “What?” – a great way to get attention. But I want to mention (surprisingly not mentioned in the episode) that Chidi’s concerns, which were mocked in earlier episodes, turn out to have been right all along. He knew that he shouldn’t be drinking almond milk but he just couldn’t help himself. He had trouble making decisions for the right reasons. Another point: the unintended consequences and the impact on the point system appear to have started shortly after Columbus journeyed to the Americas. The reconnection of the continents, the beginning of the exchange, led to plenty of unintended consequences.

Bits and pieces

I loved the Neednoggle when the judge gave it the appearance of a scarf.

Delightful to see that the new version of Derek is all dressed up and always sporting a martini glass. But the glass is still off-beat, at one point containing a lemon and another containing a bunch of olives.

Jason and Janet decide to start dating, and Jason is jealous of Derek, which leads to some great dialogue about how Jason is kind of her son (since she created him) as well as a rebound-from-Jason booty call.

The idea that no one has gotten into the Good Place for more than 500 years contradicts the assertion that President Lincoln made it, a morsel that was mentioned by Michael in one of the earlier episodes. Possibly Michael was lying (or, what I suspect, the writers hadn’t figured everything out yet). Certainly Lincoln deserves a big credit for ending slavery, but being the Commander of an army in any war is bound to have plenty of negative consequences.

So, why hasn’t Accounting noticed this problem? They should have seen that “bringing your sick grandmother flowers” has gone from being a positive to a negative. Oh, well. They were remarkably incurious about everything. Or maybe I am poking too hard at a great story.

Alas, Tahani didn’t get much to do in this episode. I hope one of the new humans is just the right guy for her.

Quotes

Judge Gen: Don’t suck up to me, you suck-up.

Michael: Humans think they’re making one choice, but they’re actually making dozens of choices that they’re not aware of. Judge: Your big revelation is life is complicated? That’s not a revelation. That’s a divorced woman’s throw pillow.

Judge Gen: Earth is hot and crowded, but somehow also somehow cold and lonely.

Michael: If you eat anything in this place, you’ll explode. Jason: I knew it was an IHOP.

Overall Rating

When rating an episode, I look at it from several perspectives. The two questions that are most relevant here are: How amusing is it on its own? How well does it serve the arc of the series? On the first point, the episode was very talky. But on the second, the episode was absolutely brilliant. Three and a half out of four Neednoggles.

Victoria Grossack loves math, Greek mythology, Jane Austen and great storytelling in many forms.

[firsteducation]

Tuxmath – Game For Learning Arithmetic

Who ever said that math should be boring? If that’s what you believe, it’s because you’ve never tried Tux Math.

If you are looking for a program to assist and enhance your kids mental ability, particularly when it comes to solving math issues, Tux Math is the ideal choice for you.

Category:

Open Source

Description

If you are looking for a program to assist and enhance your kids mental ability, particularly when it comes to solving math issues, TuxMath is the ideal choice for you.

Tuxmath is an open source software released by Bill Kendrick in September 2001. This software is a video game open source arcade style for learning arithmetic, initially created for Linux.

This software is developed for kids to enhance arithmetic and typing abilities and features such as LAN multiplayer mode, screen tutorials and a training mode of over 50 bundled lessons ranging from simple number typing to all four basic arithmetic operations with negative number and missing number query e.g. “3-?” 1

Being open source multi-platform project support for Linux, Windows, Mac OS X, BeOS and others, tuxmath has more than 30 languages

Tuxmath game play mechanic is based loosely on arcade game missile command but with comets dropping on towns rather than rockets like missile command, player trying to defend their towns, rather than using trackball controlled targeting cross hair players solve math issue that labels each comet that causes a laser to destroy it.

Many schools and parents prefer this software as it is free and simple to use, this software enables kids to enhance their arithmetic and typing abilities.

Download Tux Maths

If you find this Article helpful / informative then, Subscribe to our site for latest education news updates :

http://firsteducationnews.com

[privateplates4u]

The Escalade Dilemma – The Big Picture

New York–based Cadillac might portray itself as cool, edgy, and urban these days, but it can’t live without a vehicle whose DNA is deeply encoded with heartland perceptions and values. A vehicle that, like the hapless Cimarron, started life as a cynical corruption of a brand that once proclaimed itself “The Standard of the World.” Yes, we’re talking about the Escalade. The original Escalade was a GMC Yukon Denali—itself a fancy Chevy Tahoe—with wreath-and-crest badges and some wood ’n’ leather inside. It was GM’s panicked riposte to the Lincoln Navigator, the gussied-up Ford Expedition that helped topple Cadillac from its position as America’s No. 1 luxury brand for the first time in history. Today’s Escalade more deftly riffs on current Cadillac design cues, and the interior is laden with luxury car prerequisites. But no amount of window dressing can disguise the fact that it remains a truck in a tux, obviously related to quotidian Tahoes and Yukons. That hasn’t stopped it from outselling all of Cadillac’s car lines in the U.S., and by a considerable margin at that. Combined Escalade and Escalade ESV sales through August this year made it the brand’s No. 2 model line—only behind the much less expensive XT5 crossover. As the priciest Cadillac you can buy, the Escalade is also hugely profitable. Most of the $24,000 to $40,000 price premium the Escalade commands over a fully loaded Tahoe is pure gravy. GM’s bean counters love this thing. There’s no polite way to say this: An SUV that’s more truck than limousine is Cadillac’s flagship vehicle, its halo model. That sound you hear is Brooklyn marketing hipsters sobbing into their Aperol spritzes. Over the past decade, Cadillac planners have looked several times at the idea of moving the Escalade off GM’s truck architecture. But the math has proven inescapable, so the next-gen Escalade will also share hardware and key components with forthcoming Tahoe and Yukon models. Well-placed GM insiders insist Caddy’s flagship will benefit from the fundamental improvements in performance, refinement, and quality being baked in across GM’s next-gen pickup and full-size SUV architecture. The new Escalade will get independent rear suspension and air springs that will deliver significant improvements in ride quality and overall refinement. Ditching the current model’s heavy, cumbersome live axle will also enable GM designers to lower the floor at the rear, allowing—at last—decent legroom for third-row passengers. GM’s 420-hp, 460-lb-ft 6.2-liter V-8 will remain the workhorse engine, but Cadillac will likely also offer a supercharged V-8 similar to that used in the CTS-V, tuned to deliver more than 600 hp and 600 lb-ft of torque. Both engines will drive through the new 10-speed automatic jointly developed by GM and Ford. (It’s still odd to hear that, I know.) The next Escalade should be the best version ever, though it remains to be seen how thoroughly Cadillac will sweat the details. The current model’s clunky and clumsy analog column shifter, something straight out of a Silverado pickup, is one obvious gargoyle that needs slaying. Escalade drivers ought to be able to shift between park, reverse, and drive with their fingertips instead of having to arm wrestle a relic from the 1960s. Regardless, the next Escalade will be a stopgap. No matter how well dressed or how well engineered, a body-on-frame truck simply cannot deliver the performance, ride, handling, quietness, interior room, and energy efficiency customers outside North America will demand if they are seeking a legitimate alternative to a full-size Range Rover or Mercedes-Benz GLS. In the meantime, Cadillac is racing to determine exactly what sort of vehicle can finally redefine one of America’s great luxury brands in the 21st century. This much is clear: With the market for large sedans collapsing, it will be a unibody crossover of some kind. Tougher emissions rules mean it will likely be available with a high-performance hybrid powertrain or even be fully electric drive from the get-go. To make it happen, though, Cadillac needs its truck in a tux to keep the cash registers ringing well into the 2020s. MORE FROM ANGUS MACKENZIE: Identity Crisis: The Trouble With Show-Off Technology The Truth About German Automakers and America Jaguar and Land Rover’s Tricky Balancing Act Why Automakers Are Still Betting on Electrification The post The Escalade Dilemma – The Big Picture appeared first on Motor Trend.

http://www.motortrend.com/news/cadillac-escalade-dilemma-big-picture/

[umbra-yoshi]

Warframe but like in high school

Atlas: Senior. Workout buddies with Rhino. Has a rock collection. Surprisingly good at cooking.

Ash: Senior. Bros with Excalibur. Closet weeb. Thinks Banshee is attractive.

Banshee: Junior. Loves listening to dubstep. Headphones never come off…NEVER. Very quiet and shy.

Chroma: Senior. Has a large pet lizard that he feeds live chickens named “Draco”. Plays Dragonborn in Dungeons & Dragons. Has multiple dragon posters.

Excalibur: Senior. Plays Quarterback on the football team. Has high grades. Also closet weeb. Has a crush on Mag.

Ember: Junior. Has a thing for Valkyr. Throws lit firecrackers at people. Smokes weed.

Equinox: Freshmen. Creepy twins. Finish each other’s sentences. One wears black, the other wears white. ALWAYS together.

Frost: Junior. Has a thing for Ember. Is always wearing a hoodie because he’s cold…all the time.

Gara: Sophmore.Got to this school on an art scholarship. Really into making glass sculptures. Can be a real hipster sometimes. Alot of the time. Likes to hang out with Loki sometimes but doesn't partake in his blazing. She uses other methods.

Harrow: Sophomore. Really into occult stuff. Has Demonic pentagrams on his notebooks and lockers. “Do you have time to talk about our Lord and savior, Satan?” is the line he uses to break the ice. Taken a liking to Nekros. History teacher’s favorite. Scares the hell outta Mag. (Poor girl.)

Hydroid: Sophomore. Likes pirates of the Caribbean. Wears a pirate hat everywhere. Perverted. Tells terrible pirate related puns.

Inaros: Sophomore. Has a beetle collection. Timid. When threatened throws pocket sand. Nekros’ younger brother.

Ivara: Freshman. Loves Archery. Reads comics. Green Arrow and Hawkeye are favorite heroes. Pro Hanzo in Overwatch. Always falls asleep in class.

Khora: Junior. Really loves cats. Her cat follows her to and from school. Has joined circles of other *clears throat* "animal enthusiasts". *COUGH* Has this secret Dominatrix thing goin' on. Has this crush on Valkyr.

Limbo: Junior. Wears a Tux everywhere. Thinks he’s good with the ladies. Not very good with the ladies. Terrible at Math.

Loki: Sophomore. Ash’s younger brother. Plays pranks with Mirage. Has a criminal record for Vandalism and Public indecency. Also smokes weed.

Lotus: Principal. Knows everything about the students. Chooses to do nothing about it. Inexplicably always drinking coffee. Plays handheld games (like DS and PSP) during work hours.

Mag: Freshman. Trusted by Lotus to keep everyone in check. Never acts out. Straight A’s. Makes Nyx jealous because her boobs are bigger. Loves Astrology and Physics. Has science blog. Smallest in school

Mirage: Senior. Teases Loki with “Perverted acts”. Loves playing pranks. Blew up Principal’s bathroom and didn’t get caught. Rarely shows up for class. Likes to dress Mag up in outfits.

Mesa: Junior. Plays Overwatch with Ivara, mains McCree. Loves to tell you what time it is (you know damn well what I mean) Has a bunch of old Cowboy movies. Remembers every scene of Walker Texas Ranger.

Nyx: Senior. Small boobs, big brain. Everyone listens to her, Sorta the disciplinarian.

Nekros: Senior. Always wears all black. Never smiles. Childhood friends with Saryn. Unaware that almost every girl and Limbo (excluding Nyx, Saryn, Ember, Khora, and Mirage) is afraid of him.

Nezha: Sophomore. Only Transgender in school, loves to tell everyone about it. Burned down the gym one time and didn’t get caught. Wrote his name in fire in the school courtyard.

Nidus: Junior. Owns every zombie movie ever. Likes to wear zombie makeup to school. Jumpscares Mag all of the time.

Nova: Freshman. Best at astrophysics…beats Mag actually. Has a weird thing for blowing shit up. Respected by Ember. Tutors Rhino and Valkyr.

Oberon: Junior. President of Nature club. Loves butterflies. Extremely dense but has an A in biology.

Octavia: Junior. Banshee and her are the female equivalent of bros for life. Made Banshee’s Spotify playlist. Makes her own mixtapes. Plays said mixtapes on morning announcements. Lotus would do something about it if she didn’t really like the music.

Ordis: Sophomore. Fairly nice guy on the outside but has some pretty weird/demented thoughts on the inside. Unfortunate that he also has tourette's syndrome. Convinced the Equinox twins that he was the same as them just sharing a body.

Rhino: Senior. Jacked! Pretty dumb. Great football player.

Saryn: Senior. Owns a Katana for God knows why. Pretty chill. Student Council president. Smokes weed and drinks. Developed feelings for Nekros. Created the dogmatic teaching of “Biggest boobs makes the rules”. Also not very liked by Nyx.

Simaris: Junior. Is in charge of a bunch of clubs. Gets REALLY in people's personal space, rapping off the club benefits if anyone shows just a passing interest in joining.

Stalker: Sophomore. Emo. Probably planning school shooting. Hates everyone but Nekros. Has a really creepy crush on Mirage.

Suda: Science Teacher. It's almost creepy how much she knows about science. Hates the History Teacher and all of his "ludicrous theories".

Titania: Freshman. VP of nature club Huge crush on Oberon but will never say it. Even dressed up as a butterfly to get him to notice her only to be outshined by his butterfly costume.

Teshin: Gym teacher. Doesn’t give a fuck.

Trinity: Junior. Goody two shoes. Helps out the school nurse. Wants to be a doctor. Asked Volt to play Doctor. Volt thought she wanted to like practice medicine which they did…sorta.

Vauban: Senior. Engineer. In robotics. A’s in physics. Heard of sports at most. Always in charge of fixing everyone’s….everything. Lotus even bribed him to fix the computersin the lab rather than paying for an actual professional. Worked out in the end.

Volt: Junior. On track team. Listens to Sonic the hedgehog soundtrack while jogging. Crush on Saryn. Avoids Trinity actively.

Valkyr: Sophomore. Good at gym but not much else. Anger issues. Pummeled Hydroid to a pulp for looking at her butt too long. Rhino’s younger cousin. Kinda scared of Khora.

Zephyr: Junior. Owns a pet hawk that creeps out everyone considering it follows her every command. Does parkour and hanglides.

Wukong: Freshman. Practices gymnastics. Practices martial arts with the Bo staff just to say he can. Showed up to practice drunk one time. Has a pet monkey named Pyjak that he puts sunglasses on and takes selfies with.

Clem & Darvo: College kids that hang out near the school. The suppliers of all of the contraband that goes around the school.

Amaryn (New Loka Lady): Vice Principal. Lotus’ advisory and all-around babysitter. Struggling to find a way to hide Lotus' video games from her.

Cressa Tal (Steel Meridian Lady): English Teacher. Claims she hates men yet has a new boyfriend every few weeks. Every class is like a sad romance novel.

Arbiters of Hexis: Mean teachers I forgot to cover.

Ergo Glast (Perrin Sequence guy): Math Teacher. So boring he sometimes puts himself to sleep while he’s at the board teaching.

Red Veil dude: History Teacher. During class he makes random Conspiracy theories. Everyone thinks he’s crazy.

[professoracoruja]

Já pensou em dar uma aula de matemática com tecnologia e diversão? Então conheça o jogo O Tux Of Math Command. Confira aqui: http://bit.ly/jogoTuxofMathCommand ou no nosso site: www.professoracoruja.com.br Essa foi a dica da Prof. Dhuany . . . #matematica #saladeaula #professoracoruja #pedagogia #professor #ensinofundamental #jogo #tecnologia #escola #educacao #ensino

[mirandagoing4baroque]

A Brief Sartorial Digression

As fun as all the planning is, I need to take a break to talk about clothes. My Dad just needs to pack suits and a tux (as I mentioned, Glyndebourne is a black tie event). I shouldn’t say just about the tux--Julius Ceasar at Glyndebourne is the only thing other than my wedding that would induce him to wear a tux, and I’m really not sure about my wedding. Dad is still going to gripe the whole time, but for him the chance to see his favorite opera is worth it. Regardless, his clothes are not that interesting. Which is as he likes it: his eleventh commandment is, “thou shalt not draw attention to thine self with thine clothing.”

I have no such beliefs. I’m not a clotheshorse by any stretch of the imagination: as a mathematician, if I was wearing jeans with no holes in them, had on a clean shirt with no writing on it, and had brushed my hair, I was the best dressed person in the classroom, and it wasn’t particularly close. However, there are not many occasions in a woman’s life where she gets the opportunity to wear a gown, and I intend to take advantage of Glyndebourne’s black tie dress code.  Obviously I have business clothes for work, but there is a noticeable lack of black tie attire in my closet.

The only other black tie event I have been to in my life is my friend Amy’s wedding, where I was a bridesmaid. You may be thinking that the reason I can’t wear that dress to Glyndebourne is because it was some horrible bridesmaid dress that is gathering dust in the back of my closet and I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Nope! It’s a beautiful dress. It’s so far from the stereotype of the bridesmaids dress that you never wear again, that I actually wore it to a party before the wedding (no one at the party would believe that it was a bridesmaids dress). I can’t wear it to Glyndebourne because I’m going to wear it to Vienna and then get it dry cleaned so I can wear it to the Royal Opera house. It’s also short, and I feel like I should wear a long dress to Glyndebourne.

My friends recommended Rent the Runway, but if you’re going to be out of the country for two weeks, their one week rental system doesn’t work all that well. See, I’m good at the math thing. I spent a while looking at international shipping, or alternatives, but long story short, Rent the Runway wasn’t going to be able to be my fairy godmother for this particular ball.

Instead of a fairy godmother I had Katie. I’ve known Katie since she was zero, and she’s known me since I was six months old, by virtue of the fact that I was born six months before her. So good at those numbers. Her parents are the friends we’ll be staying with in London (more on that later). She’s the closest thing I’ve got to a sister, and far more fashionable than I’ll ever be, aka the perfect shopping buddie. She was kind enough to come down for my graduation, and while she was down we went shopping because we both needed warm weather work clothes. As we walked into the Nordstrom Rack she turned to me and said “I have a good feeling about this store.”

The thing about Nordstrom Rack is, you have to be ruthless. You just can’t give deep and thoughtful consideration to each thing on the rack. There’s some bad stuff in there. But there’s also some great stuff. First we hacked our way through the business wear section: I scored a lovely red work dress and two pencil skirts. And then while Katie was trying on shoes I decided to look at the formal wear section, thinking, “hey, worst case I can try some on and it will be funny.”

It was pretty funny. Most of the dresses were not suitable for the opera, or life. Some were cases of bad things happen to good fabric, others would be more at home in a club, which wasn’t the vibe I was going for, and there was one sequined grey number that I can only describe as glam Emily Dickinson goes clubbing. But as we were grabbing things off the rack, there was a black and white one that I didn’t hate. By the time I tried it on I was in love. It was one of those dresses that when you try it on, it makes you feel like a pretty princess. It doesn’t have a twirly skirt, but I was twirling anyway. It fits perfectly; the only alteration it might need is a touch of hemming.* It doesn’t have pockets, but the top is cut so that I can wear a normal bra (ladies, you all know how important this is).

Reader, I bought it. I can make excuses, like it was on sale (more than 50% off), it’s black and white, so I can wear it in both seasons, but if I’m honest, I bought it because it was pretty, and because wearing it makes me happy. I can’t wait to wear it to Glyndebourne (and hopefully again and again and again and again).

*Update-I bought shoes, without measuring, that are the exact right hight, so it doesn’t even need hemming! Score!

[robertkstone]

The Escalade Dilemma – The Big Picture

New York–based Cadillac might portray itself as cool, edgy, and urban these days, but it can’t live without a vehicle whose DNA is deeply encoded with heartland perceptions and values. A vehicle that, like the hapless Cimarron, started life as a cynical corruption of a brand that once proclaimed itself “The Standard of the World.” Yes, we’re talking about the Escalade.

The original Escalade was a GMC Yukon Denali—itself a fancy Chevy Tahoe—with wreath-and-crest badges and some wood ’n’ leather inside. It was GM’s panicked riposte to the Lincoln Navigator, the gussied-up Ford Expedition that helped topple Cadillac from its position as America’s No. 1 luxury brand for the first time in history. Today’s Escalade more deftly riffs on current Cadillac design cues, and the interior is laden with luxury car prerequisites. But no amount of window dressing can disguise the fact that it remains a truck in a tux, obviously related to quotidian Tahoes and Yukons.

That hasn’t stopped it from outselling all of Cadillac’s car lines in the U.S., and by a considerable margin at that. Combined Escalade and Escalade ESV sales through August this year made it the brand’s No. 2 model line—only behind the much less expensive XT5 crossover. As the priciest Cadillac you can buy, the Escalade is also hugely profitable. Most of the $24,000 to $40,000 price premium the Escalade commands over a fully loaded Tahoe is pure gravy. GM’s bean counters love this thing.

There’s no polite way to say this: An SUV that’s more truck than limousine is Cadillac’s flagship vehicle, its halo model. That sound you hear is Brooklyn marketing hipsters sobbing into their Aperol spritzes.

Over the past decade, Cadillac planners have looked several times at the idea of moving the Escalade off GM’s truck architecture. But the math has proven inescapable, so the next-gen Escalade will also share hardware and key components with forthcoming Tahoe and Yukon models.

Well-placed GM insiders insist Caddy’s flagship will benefit from the fundamental improvements in performance, refinement, and quality being baked in across GM’s next-gen pickup and full-size SUV architecture. The new Escalade will get independent rear suspension and air springs that will deliver significant improvements in ride quality and overall refinement.

Ditching the current model’s heavy, cumbersome live axle will also enable GM designers to lower the floor at the rear, allowing—at last—decent legroom for third-row passengers. GM’s 420-hp, 460-lb-ft 6.2-liter V-8 will remain the workhorse engine, but Cadillac will likely also offer a supercharged V-8 similar to that used in the CTS-V, tuned to deliver more than 600 hp and 600 lb-ft of torque. Both engines will drive through the new 10-speed automatic jointly developed by GM and Ford. (It’s still odd to hear that, I know.)

The next Escalade should be the best version ever, though it remains to be seen how thoroughly Cadillac will sweat the details. The current model’s clunky and clumsy analog column shifter, something straight out of a Silverado pickup, is one obvious gargoyle that needs slaying. Escalade drivers ought to be able to shift between park, reverse, and drive with their fingertips instead of having to arm wrestle a relic from the 1960s.

Regardless, the next Escalade will be a stopgap. No matter how well dressed or how well engineered, a body-on-frame truck simply cannot deliver the performance, ride, handling, quietness, interior room, and energy efficiency customers outside North America will demand if they are seeking a legitimate alternative to a full-size Range Rover or Mercedes-Benz GLS.

In the meantime, Cadillac is racing to determine exactly what sort of vehicle can finally redefine one of America’s great luxury brands in the 21st century. This much is clear: With the market for large sedans collapsing, it will be a unibody crossover of some kind. Tougher emissions rules mean it will likely be available with a high-performance hybrid powertrain or even be fully electric drive from the get-go. To make it happen, though, Cadillac needs its truck in a tux to keep the cash registers ringing well into the 2020s.

MORE FROM ANGUS MACKENZIE:

Identity Crisis: The Trouble With Show-Off Technology

The Truth About German Automakers and America

Jaguar and Land Rover’s Tricky Balancing Act

Why Automakers Are Still Betting on Electrification

The post The Escalade Dilemma – The Big Picture appeared first on Motor Trend.

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