#also changing my signature? like it’s more cursive now! my hand just slipped and now I’m way happier with it

[lily-avara]

Inspector…

Also my commissions are open!

[yongiefilms]

FILM | Together Alone

BASED ON | The NCT secret santa collaboration feature done by bumblebeenct and lucaswithnoshirt studios over @neoculturechristmas​ headquarters 

DEDICATED TO | My own precious secret santa, @sly-merlin​! This one is for you my love. I hope I did you justice for the type of fic you requested and I hope you like it! By the way I apologize for getting your present to you late.

STARRING | Huang Renjun and Female Reader

FEATURING | Lee Donghyuck 

GENRE | Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Business centred, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | Thematic elements, suggestive references and implications, crude humor, language, mentions of death, a deceased parent, drinking, alcohol, and other adult themes

PLOT | Everyone knew him. The heir to the multimillion dollar company. Next in line to inherit the top pharmaceutical business in all of China and South Korea. For being only 20 years old he was the most accomplished person of his age. Set to become the CEO at age 21 on his birthday, nearly a few months away, there was nothing that could deter him down the road for further success. They say he’s envied by most, yet loved all the same. If only people knew who Huang Renjun really was without his family’s name plastered against the walls of society that gave him fame and fortune. Only one would have the chance to find out the truth of his reality and sometimes when that comes near the end of a year shutting close, not everything can end pleasant like one hoped. OR Happy endings might not exist in this messed up world.

RUNNING TIME | 6.4k

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Happy Holidays, my loves! This work is in honor of you all and the amazing year you all gave me with your immense love as well as support. I appreciate every single one of you more than you will ever know so I wish happy days among you this season and new year. I love you and please enjoy! Also, shout out to my lovely proofreader, @dvrlingrenjun​, you’re the best.

1, 2, 3 Now Rolling...

“Fuck them all!” Huang Renjun yells out in frustration, leaning back abruptly in his black cushioned chair, his hands clutching tightly at his dark strands of hair.

The younger boy smirks at him, leaning against the pillar by his office. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

A glare was sent in his direction in retaliation. “Shut up, Donghyuck.”

“Sure, big guy,” he dismisses, the jab made at the older visible with the way his words cut through the air. “Still doesn’t render the fact that you have to go to this event like you always do.”

Renjun groans, his right hand going around his left wrist to play with the gold Cartier bracelet that rested there. A gift given to him when he turned the legal age of eighteen a few years ago. A gift given to him by his father, on behalf of his mother or so it was said. One that was a promise of luxury and achievement if he continued down the path they set out for him. His decision then when he was an adult to decide his fate, but that was only a lie. The bracelet was only a bribe for a materialistic life where he could be well off and if he stepped away then he would be stripped of everything that made him who he was. 

“I know, okay? We do it every year but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Perhaps his father was a part of that.

“Well,” Donghyuck drawls, shrugging his shoulders when he lifts his body off the pillar to take long strides in order to reach the other boy. “At least it’s out of town this year so I’m down...I mean free vacation.” He gives a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling of juvenescence and a thrill for adventure, mystery, excitement. At least one of them still had a childlike soul and a more or less normal life while the other was forced to grow up too fast in the spotlight where eyes were scrutinizing his every move before he could even walk.

They called it maturity, but Renjun calls it loss of youth. 

“You’re such a freeloader,” Renjun mutters, his hands stopping from playing with the bracelet to glance up in exasperation.

“Says the boy inheriting an almost billion dollar company without batting an eye,” Donghyuck snorts with an eye roll, picking at his nails that now gained all of his attentiveness.

It was true after all.

Renjun laughs in mockery. “You’re just jealous, so I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.”

Donghyuck sighs loudly for effect. “Cous, I wouldn’t want your life even if I tried. Some horrifying shit.” He shakes his head, obviously disturbed by the notion.

Renjun’s voice becomes small, yet firm. “It isn’t that bad...”

Donghyuck finally stops twiddling with his fingers to give the other the time of day with a look of obvious reluctance. “Uncle is scary, can you blame me?”

“Guess not, that man is my father.”

“Exactly and as much as I would love to continue this conversation,” Donghyuck glances at his crisp navy steel Bulgari watch, seeing the time half past noon. “I got to run, meeting with the boys soon and I just needed to deliver the message before that. Little pit stop if you will.” His hands flair out in a theatrical motion as if he were giving a bow.

“Oh?” Renjun raises an eyebrow, hands reaching out to get started on the stack of papers placed at the edge of his desk by his receptionist before Donghyuck’s surprised arrival. “Say hi to them for me.” He pauses in afterthought, knowing the younger’s antics. “Or not.”

Donghyuck’s boisterous laugh rings. He knew him so well. “Very funny, but oh, wait!” 

The increase in his tone attracts the older’s regard who was beginning to read through the proposal. “Yes?”

“Here,” Donghyuck states, reaching into the back pocket of his chinos to pull out a small black velvet box with gold edging. “An early present of sorts. I assumed you might like it.” He slides the box over on the desk where it is caught in the grasp of delicate hands.

“Proposing are we? You know we are related right?” Renjun smiles snidely, running his fingers over the soft velvet in wonder. It was rare to get a gift from Lee Donghyuck himself and with the right intentions at that. 

“It would be an honor and privilege to marry me, thank you, but no it’s just...open it when I leave. I’m not into that sappy shit as you know. I have a matching one too, but yeah merry early Christmas and New Years.” His easy grin widens as he winks to take backward steps to the exit of the office. Always one for a dramatic flare.

“Matching...we can’t be a couple either, Hyuck,” Renjun says, shaking his head while he puts the box down on his desk in wait.

Donghyuck flips him off and grits out a reply. “Shut up and be grateful for once.”

Turning his head back to his papers, he mutters, “Oh, I am.”

“Anyways, bye you fucker. Don’t drown in work,” Donghyuck lets out once he turns his back.

“Thank you for caring, delivery boy,” Renjun shouts as his cousin finally opens the door to exit after his much longer than anticipated stay.

Donghyuck’s hands still on the silver knob before he can fully push the door. “When don’t I? If you’re gone then that means I would have to inherit the company and as much as I would love the money, the fame, the attention, maybe even the girls...I don’t want that responsibility. You get me?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, spinning the black ballpoint pen between his index and ring finger. “Just say you’re lazy and go.”

“I am going!” Donghyuck exclaims while he turns his head over his shoulder, shooting the boy sitting at the desk that didn’t quite fit him well, another wink. “Bye for real, Junnie!”

The door at last closes and he is gone in a blur of colors.

Renjun mumbles under his breath. “I told you not to call me that.” 

His mother used to call him that and she didn’t have the chance to stay long in this world. Taken too soon is what they say, but maybe she was blessed before everything turned to stone. 

With Donghyuck’s departure, Renjun looks over at the lone box that was gifted to him, perhaps not a gift like the others that held no meaning, for this one was an outlier in the equation. Donghyuck never gave without meaning or gain so it had to be special.

He places his pen down and picks up the box, undoing the clasp that held it close. The box opens to a sight he has gotten used to, yet there was a disparity. In between the cushion of the velvet laid a beautiful silver Chopard ring. The band was simple in design, yet intricate with the signature ice cubes filled with small sparkling diamonds across the entire width. Renjun handles the ring with care once it is taken out of the box to inspect every detail. Not only was the brand engraved in stunning cursive on the inside, but Donghyuck had gotten the ring customized with the word family in the same writing on the opposite side of the inner circle. 

Renjun runs his fingers over the engraving, the words rough under his calloused hands. He hums in thought as he slips the ring on his middle finger, the radiance seeping in from the windows catching the precious metal. “Family...family...I haven’t had one in a long time.”

The truth is he had, has, but he was too blind to see. 

Family is not just those that are immediate, composing of a father and mother or even siblings. Family can also entail the greater extent from cousins to aunts to grandparents. Family can even be those that are not blood related like the friends a person surrounds themselves by. 

Renjun has family. If only he could acknowledge them before they too left him utterly alone. 

Alone was something Renjun was not for the days to come. 

A week later after his cousin delivered the news about the annual holiday vacation and company sponsored events that his family has been hosting since his late teen years, he was flown in a private plane against his will to a remote town near Busan, far off from the heart of Seoul. He would rather spend the holidays in the city where he grew up like all those past seasons ago, but his father decided there was a need for change, a mirror of one forthcoming in virtually three months. Usually those that made the trip came for the designated three days they were given which still involved work communications with scant room for relaxation depending on the schedules of selected individuals. However, if one was a Huang, which Renjun was the only one left along with his father that were at least part of the business, then departure and stay differed. Intermingled was the Huang winter vacation with that of business affairs, a factor that was born when the tradition started. His father always said to kill two birds with one stone when given the chance and this very situation was one he took hold of to morph into a personal gain. 

Nothing was ever as it seemed with his father, nor himself. One characteristic they shared among a hundred to a thousand polarities.

Albeit this time around, Renjun had fought against his father’s wants, which was not the first instance, but was one that ended in surprising success. Success he tasted on the daily, even if all was bitter with no room for happiness. However, this success was sweet with contentment, ending with an awfully horrid aftertaste. Convincing his father to fly him out along with the others on the 23rd of December instead of the 20th was a victory no less. At least he didn’t have to spend unwanted days in the presence of his old man longer than necessary. 

He arrives in wealth and social standing like he always did for once his black A.Testoni dress shoes hit the white tiled floor of the airport’s general aviation ramp building, everyone within his general vicinity, even those afar, are taking heed to his every need, that as of now are limited. 

A slightly older woman who he deems as his assistant, comes into view, her black Prada heels clicking loudly against the tile as she advances with a clipboard and her trusty cell in her hands to the boy. She cheerful speaks into the empty building, her smile unwavering. “Mr. Huang, I am glad you had a safe flight. I printed your itinerary for the next couple of days that I will hand to you once we are in the limo. Considering it is…” She glances at her Apple Watch Series 6 to check the time. “Two forty three as of now, we can drop off your luggage at the Lodge and get you settled into your room before your three fifteen lunch with Mr. Kim and his wife at the Yongsusan Café. You will be with them for an hour before the rest of the afternoon is yours to spend productively. Then at six o’clock the maids and stylists will come by to get you ready for the business meeting at seven thirty, following with a small dinner party with those same individuals, including their wives and children. Sounds good?”

Renjun does not even have time to reply before his assistant speaks again. 

“Yes, okay! Let’s get going then.” She turns on her heel abruptly, yet with expertise without room for error and begins taking steps away from the plane to the left. “The limo should be this way, follow me while your luggage gets loaded. The drive should not take more than ten minutes.” 

He has no choice but to accompany her as he would not be able to make a run for it, he will be caught within seconds. He tried once and that was only one failure amongst little to none in his book. 

His strides are slow and lousy as if he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased, when he in fact did not, far from it in actuality. Even so before he knows it he reaches the limo and is lurched forward in motion towards his destination for the next few days. The place his dad selected oozes with sumptuous intent, being a gorgeous mid-century modern wooden lodge that nearly looked like a manor upon inspection. As the limo pulls up to the front, Renjun is able to see the beauty up close that he is entranced by even if he seems unfazed. New places and people excite him more than he lets on for his life is dull, lacking fulfillment of an unknown tomorrow. 

The porter, who is situated in patience by the front doors, strides forward to open the door of the limo, permitting Renjun to step out with the authority and grace bestowed upon him. 

When he crosses the threshold into the Lodge he is met with an even better interior that rivaled that on the outside, but he is not allowed to ponder too much on the design before the head manager greets him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang, it is certainly a pleasure for you to stay with us at the Lodge this fine holiday season. I am Gwan Jang-Mi and I will be showing you to your room today along with giving you a small tour of this place in order to familiarize yourself with the setting. If you look here to your left…”

Her speech is drowned out into obscurity as Renjun’s awareness shifts to another woman, one so stunning that he is surprised he did not take notice sooner. When sauntering through the entryway into the resting room that will be cleared out in the next couple of hours, a bar is situated to the left where you stand, arranging countless bottles of liquor to wine on the counter, no doubt for the little party later or for the meeting. Those men were heavy drinkers and needed alcohol to make it through the rest of the evening. Renjun did drink to drown his sorrows, worry, and anxiousness away, but he was not one to throw himself down a spiraling hole of darkness nor chaos that he could not get out of, for those consequences were ones he did not want to reap.

The soft sunlight peaks through the high guarded windows, shining down on your face that enunciates your features. For simply being in a black polo and khaki pants, you made it work and drew all attention to yourself without even knowing the power you held. 

The moment of admiration comes to a close when Renjun is ushered away from the ground floor to make way to his room in the upper levels, leaving you behind.

Yet that would not be the last time.

Time goes by slowly when there is no purpose, no meaning to the daily workings of one person in the masses of others. Renjun has experience in that regard, time always goes by slowly for him and exhausts him a great deal like a rotary clock that seeks no end. 

He was worn out by the time he got back to the Lodge in the early evening due to the stay with the Kims went longer than necessary and he was called elsewhere upon emergency to discuss future matters. He did not have time for himself like his assistant had plainly made known so there he was, collapsed head first into his silk covers, ten minutes to six. 

Instead of taking a long awaited nap he is ushered up and into more formal wear after a cleanse from the bustle of bodies that barge into his room. 

No privacy. No sense of normality. 

That is the normal. 

The next few hours go by in blur from him sitting in front of a mirror to have his hair styled to sitting in front of burly old men that were associates and inventors of the company in a grad meeting room with locked doors and the finest assortment of liquor that money can buy. 

He is out of the confines in no time, not even bothering to say one final hurrah before he lurches himself out the door and into the now cleared out resting room. One of the servers comes by then dressed in all black attire that was nothing of the typical black and white uniform, edging towards a usual guest. Renjun snatches a glass of sparkling champagne and gulps it down in one go off their silver platter, discreetly of course, for he has to look composed—sober throughout the entire affair. He always could hold his alcohol without a problem and he felt blessed to have that advantage. One thing he is proud of. 

He is whisked away not even moments after by one of the older investors, Mr. Han, to moreover chew over the end of the year budget and his stance on future decisions to be made in the new year. From the corner of his eye while listening to the man talk in a flamboyant manner, he sees his father standing with a glass of white wine happily talking to another investor, a more influential one, the most influential one of them all and his wife along with their daughter who was not even carefully surveying the room in search of someone.

Renjun’s eyes widen in shock, mumbling under his breath, “Shit.”

Mr. Han stops the flow of words out his mouth, his eyebrows rumpling together. He did not hear the swear word the boy uttered, yet he heard something in passing. “Pardon?”

Renjun shakes his head vaguely, bringing his third glass of champagne in the air as a sign of departure. “Ah excuse me, Mr. Han, but it seems I have been beckoned elsewhere.” His eyes shift over to his father who was not making direct eye contact with him, but Mr. Han did not need to know that little detail as he observes Renjun’s line of sight. 

Mr. Han chuckles brightly. “I see, well I must not keep you from your father.”

Renjun smiles. “No, you must not, but we shall continue this conversation later, Mr. Han. I am sure you have much more to say and I will happily discuss further with you.”

Mr. Han waves his hand in the air nonchalantly. “We shall. Now off you go.” 

Renjun nods his head, his lips still quirked up in a smile, this one more genuine than the last, as he makes a beeline towards his father to make everything seem more believable. Though once he no longer feels the eyes of Mr. Han on his retreating back he switches routes, going to the left rather than straight ahead. He circles around the opposite side, catching a stark mop of washed out red hair amongst the crowd in the process—Donghyuck. His cousin is not alone, however, talking rather freely with a girl he could not quite see in his peripheral vision. The grin on Donghyuck’s face is undeniable even with his back turned and the way Renjun hears the tiny giggles you are emitting, all is too familiar, which is the perfect cause for a disruption.

Renjun does not acknowledge his cousin when he arrives at the bar, the younger boy too immersed in conversation so he signals for the other worker that comes becking to his call. 

“A Negroni, on the rocks.”

The girl nods in understanding and turns to prepare the drink while Donghyuck still has not noticed his presence. The younger boy always did focus on what was in front of him rather than on his surroundings, contrary to his cousin that saw the whole picture. Two contrasting people surely with unlike futures ahead of them. 

The frosted glass with the reddish-orange liquid and topped with orange shavings is served to him a minute later, placed in front of him on a matching glass coaster.

He clears his throat loudly in an attempt to catch Donghyuck’s attention. “Thank you.” 

A method that proves effective since the younger boy finally turns his head to the right to see Renjun sitting on the barstool next to him, sipping casually on his high class Negroni. 

His eyes are wide, but he masks his shock with a subtle smirk. “Jun! Well, well, if it isn’t the mini man himself. How long have you been sitting there?” 

Renjun snorts into his glass, shaking his head at the dig Donghyuck made at his height, always one out for blood. “Far too long to have noticed your flirting from across the room, Hyuck.” It is now his turn to smirk, but Donghyuck’s own is still unfaltering.

“I take pride in my skills, glad you gave your time of day to notice.” He elevates his glass up then, filled most likely with a Nicolashka, his favorite holiday drink to date, and takes a sip himself, a move Renjun mimics.

Then your voice interrupts. “Sorry to cut in, but I have to get back to work. You’ve been distracting me for the last ten minutes, mister.” Your stern gaze is directed at Donghyuck from the latter statement. Although once your words are uttered, Renjun focuses his eyes on you, scrutinizing your appearance. The very girl he saw earlier today, the girl Donghyuck so happened to have a chance with before him—you.

Donghyuck laughs, the smirk morphing into a shiteating grin. “I told you, call me Hyuck.”

“Well, Hyuck, I have to get back to work...plus I am sure you want to talk to your friend.” Your gaze flickers to Renjun in that instance and lingers there longer than necessary that has him laughing to himself. 

Donghyuck’s charm only goes so far. 

The younger boy peers at Renjun when you utter out friend, and he smiles small in remorse. “Sadly, but do not let me keep you from your work.”

You turn your back on him, your eyes catching Renjun’s in the process before you look away from the intensity of the dark orbs. “I wasn’t planning on it.” 

You leave the bar area then most likely to put on an apron that Renjun noticed you had not worn throughout the entire duration. Donghyuck simply distracted you before the start of your shift and after, not a good trait to inherit. 

Donghyuck hums, but let’s the remark go as he fully turns to Renjun to start up that conversation. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you always keep me from having fun?” 

Renjun shrugs his shoulders, swishing the liquid in his glass. “Not always, but I was saving that girl from misery. You should be thankful that I care enough.” 

Donghyuck taunts. “Oh wow I feel so special.”

Renjun sternly eyes him, his voice lowering. “You should.”

Donghyuck’s lips open to retort a response, but no words are spoken on his end for his eyes look over the older boy’s shoulders and he catches sight of someone none of them truly like or have liked after the incident. He sees her.

“Well fuck, here comes the devil,” is all he makes out and the phrase enough has Renjun turning his own head hastily to see who he was watching. Such is when he sees his ex-girlfriend, Cha Yeona, prowling straight towards their way.

“I’m going to go...so good luck, mate. You’ll need it.” Donghyuck pats Renjun’s shoulder in departure and his gesture of sympathy, leaving him in the wake of a girl he really did not wish to see or converse with. 

Once he leaves the bar in quick speed, you come in at that exact moment, your eyes zoning in on the way Yeona’s dainty hand latches onto Renjun’s forearm in greeting. You turn away from the image, busying yourself with wiping down the glasses. 

“Oh! What a lovely surprise,” Yeona voices, letting her hand maneuver down to place on top of Renjun’s hand in which she gives him a faint squeeze thereof. He flinches from the contact, retracting his hand to slip into the pocket of his Burberry blazer while the other rims his glass. 

He peers at her intently, a potency that has her giggling nervously. His looks could kill whenever he was serious with a blank face and austere hollows of eyes. “Hello, Yeona.”

She sits down gracefully on the stool next to him, crossing her long unblemished legs over each other, her hands placed in her lap. Her smile is bright and makes him want to pull out his hair. She was always two-faced. “Hi Jun Jun! How have you been?”

He lets the pet name go, but does not glance at her again, looking over her head at the white lights strung outside. “Good.”

Silence engulfs them that has her fidgeting out of discomfort. He evidently did not want to talk. She reaches her hand out to touch him once more that has him leaning away. She sighs in defeat, retreating from the gesture. She would have to reach him some other way. “Well...I—”

He cuts her off from continuing, drowning the last contents of his drink before he pushes the glass away towards the server at the end of the counter. He puts a hand up. “Save it. I have no reason to talk to you again. Leave.” 

He arches his eyebrow when he sees she makes no move to leave and he chuckles darkly. “Do I have to tell you again? Or should I have security escort you out?”

She flinches from the tone of his voice and gulps, her throat becoming exceptionally dry. She hurriedly stands up, almost ripping over her heels and departs without a goodbye, not that he wished to get one from her. Her slim body covered in a blood red dress slips into the crowd and Renjun finally releases the breath he was holding. 

He tugs at the strands of his gelled back hair. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters, lifting a finger in the air to signal for another drink that the server speedily moves to make. 

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”

Renjun lifts his eyes to see you gaping at him, an eyebrow uplifted in fascination as you finally were in your uniform, a white cloth draped over your shoulders. Renjun runs his hand through his hair and scoffs from the remark thereafter. He was sure the stylists would be upset to see him dishevel their mighty work, but he could care less.

He shakes his head, the strands of hair rustling. “No, I think not. She deserves it.”

“Wow. Again, harsh.” You laugh mockingly and grab his drink that was slid over by your coworker to clean the glass again. You place the beverage down on the coaster which he takes with pleasure, muttering a small thank you that you can barely hear amidst the classical music playing in the background. Your hands make contact for a split second that has tingles erupting on your end, in a rather cliche response, yet he made no move of the feeling. 

There is quietness again that makes you flustered since you were never one to enjoy the muted scenery, always wanting a sound ringing in your ears. While Renjun enjoyed the still, always wanting a sound that faded in the wind and never made a comeback appearance. 

In a desperate attempt to keep conversation while making yourself busy by fixing up the bottles of alcohol, you propose a question that invades his privacy, whilst he never had privacy to begin with, a factor you were left in the dark about.

“So...um...your girlfriend?” You ask, in regards to Yeona that left some minutes ago. 

Renjun snorts, placing down his glass and interlocks his hand to rest his chin on, a move to focus solely on you. “Right. She’s my ex-girlfriend actually so you’re not entirely wrong.”

You mumble out a quiet, “Oh.” It was not your business to know his affairs after all, yet there was a voice nagging within that made you curious to find out every part of him.

The tranquility hugs the both of you once more, until he questions you out of the blue. 

“You want to get out of here?”

To say you are shocked is an understatement, since you are in fact bamboozled beyond belief. He says the declaration with so much firmness and certainty, it has your heart twisting on the inside.

You lightly laugh to mask the shock and turn around to really look at him, a look that he reciprocates. “I don’t even know you.”

A keen smile is visible on his lips. “Exactly the point. You have nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, leaning against the counter of the bar to stare into his eyes that look so lifeless, yet beautiful. “Maybe, but this is my job. I can’t just bail.” 

He leans his head closer to you, an act that allows you to a whiff of the Christian Dior Ambre Nuit cologne he wears and his minty fresh breath. “Of course you can.” His soothing voice turns teasing as he smirks. “Don’t worry I won’t tell.” 

You scoff to yourself, surprised by his mannerisms of outforwardness. You look around then to see if anyone is watching the two of you, but all eyes are elsewhere and you let out a sigh of relief. Another girl comes into the bar when you glance to the side, most likely to cover the next shift that was not yours quite yet, be that as it may you did have a break coming up. 

Renjun outstretches his hand in patience, his smirk slowly growing, even if it was borderlining a smile that you could see right through. He hums in anticipation and you give in.

“Okay fine, but not for too long,” you say as you rest your hand in his. The cold of your fingers meet his warm ones and you latch on for dear life, afraid to let go. 

He grins at you and squeezes your hand. “No promises.” 

Then he proceeds to drag you out of the bar, tugging you to who knows where. The tingle of a secret keeps you on your toes and you become giddy, laughing along the halls as he steers you left, right, straight, left, right, up...a never ending cycle of adventure.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” You ask after gaining the courage. He is intimidating in some regards, the thought of how he acted towards his ex-girlfriend as visible as day in your mind.

He shrugs, finally slowing down. “Who knows. Could be outside in the cold or near a fireplace in the warm. You will just have to see.”

“That certainly gives me no direction at all.”

He turns his head to look at you and stops suddenly, having you nearly crash into his back before he tugs you to the other side. He chuckles when he sees your horrified face from almost busting your nose. “That was the point, darling.”

You huff in annoyance when he continues walking, the pressure of his fingers around your own feels heavier as time drags on and your heart has no sense of calm, constricting with the name of endearment that slipped past his slim lips.

“Okay, we are here!” He announces and lets go of your hand, the bareness of his heat leaving you shivering. You take a step back from planting your feet firmly on the floor and glance around the room in which he stopped. It was one of the upper level rooms with strict access only to the most wealthy of the associates and investors. His family must be one of those highly regarded, if only you knew how highly regarded his family is, being the ones with the most status, the most affluent lifestyle. However, you would remain clueless.

“Oh, wow. The view up here is amazing.”

Renjun laughs, placing his hands in the front pocket of his slacks as he strolls around the room, glancing at the glowing fire that was left on and the books that were sealed shut. “Trust me, I am well aware. Why do you think I brought you up here?” He gives you an exasperated stare, peering past at the giant window you stood in front of that showcased the whole town, now covered in sleek white snow. It must have snowed while he was conversing with others at the party for when he arrived at the meeting hours ago, the land was void.

The white flakes are still falling outside, delicately covering everything in one uniform color that leaves you in awe and he is left admiring you, how at peace you are. How free you look, an emotion he never held onto in his entire life.

“So besides admiring this view, what are we doing up here?” You ask, your fingertips grazing the cool frosted glass of the window, seeing beyond to the endless landscape and twinkling stars along with lights of the houses nearby.

Renjun answers bluntly. “Admiring the view.”

You can’t stop the titters from escaping you and you roll your eyes, an action he sees through the reflection.

He steps forward, coming up besides your figure to look more clearly at the breathtaking scenery of a winter wonderland. “No, I’m joking...at least partially.” 

You giggle some more, interlocking your hands in front of you. “I didn’t know you had it in you to joke.”

It is now his turn to laugh. “Darling, I have a lot in me that you don’t know.”

You sigh solemnly, taking a step back to turn around, examining the other objects around the room. “Oh, I’m sure.” 

He is an enigma waiting to be unraveled, but you would not be the one to solve his case and that alone is an idea that scares you. 

Before you can get farther away, his hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from escape. You peer down at his hand then up to his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching together in perplexity.

He does not speak, only drags you into him to where you are now chest to chest, only an inch of distance between your bodies. The closeness between the two of you leaves you breathless and gasping for air. His thumb carrasses your arm and runs down to the palm of your hand, enveloping his fingers around your skin. Your eyes are trailing the movements and you take a sharp intake of breath, curious as to what can happen next. He hooks his other free index finger under your chin to lift your face up so he can see you in distinct luminosity.

You have gazed at his eyes practically all evening, but nothing has prepared you for seeing him up close. He is even more handsome in full definition from the lines on his soft pink lips to his perfectly tousled hair. 

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb running along your cupid’s bow. “Absolutely and breathtakingly beautiful.”

You gulp, the words drying up in your throat for what could you say to his compliment?

Then everything happens at once.

His hand moves to wrap around the back of your head and he tugs you closer by the other until you are pressed up against each other. He lightly pushes your head forward and contact is made. 

Lips against lips. Moving and moving against each other, taking all your breath away for the second time within a span of a few seconds. 

He lets go of holding your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, to pull you closer if such is even possible. To make the contact more tender and desirable.

You suppose desire is that which allows the moment to escalate further. From a mere innocent kiss to a fiery passion of craving for more. 

When your lips separate, he does not think twice before grabbing your hand once more and dragging you down the long corridor to arrive at his secluded room around the corner.

He opens the door with haste as you come tumbling in after him, grabbing, pulling, tugging until all that is left is just you and him.

The frantic beats of two hearts. 

The heat of skin pressed against skin. 

Simply two bodies that became one all due to the desire floating around the room and pushing you to the limit. 

You lost yourself in him that night and he in you. 

Lost to the pure ecstasy of pleasure during the season of joy and love.

Yet the season could also be one for giving and taking.

You wake to a cold bed the next morning.

Gone is the warmth of a boy who made you feel like you were on top of the world, someone special enough to demand notice and have anything that is asked for. 

Gone is the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear, the words of assurance, comfort, and false love that made you feel worth it and simply protected.

Gone is the long lingering touches of his fingers pressing into you and dancing along the lines of your body to explore and learn.

Gone is the feeling of his lips on your skin that was enough to ignite you ablaze and leave you seeing all the colors of the rainbow.

Gone is he—Huang Renjun. 

All that remains of the remembrance from the night is the note he left by the oak bedside table, one that crushed the dream of longing and hope within. One that slapped you with the crude reality of who he truly was, is, in a place that you did not belong to and never would. 

Thanks for last night, but it’s a one time thing. You can see yourself out. Happy holidays.

He signed the note with his initials, H.R. and his family’s embroidered seal. 

Then you realize in that moment, your bare body covered in his silk covers in the large suite he had all to himself, that the holidays are not for everyone. 

You can either be together with someone else or alone by yourself. 

Never the two. 

Always one or the other. 

You had hoped to be together yet alone with him in privacy to make your own memories away from prying eyes, but at the end of the day you were by yourself and he was too.

That is how life works in this sick, twisted world.

Men against men. Women against women. Everyone against everyone.

Alone.

Never together. 

Like he and you.

[ptergwen]

last christmas

w/c: 2.0k

warnings: a few descriptions of dizziness

summary: someone might be able to get you back into the holiday spirit

a/n: hi hi hi i’m really excited about this :,) i’ve had the idea for a while and i like where it’s going! it’s based it off of the movie last christmas and this is only part one, so if it feels a little slow that’s why AND on that note i hope you enjoy

━━━ *:･。.

“you’re late,” harry comments as the coat room door bursts open. he’s not wrong, but he doesn’t have to announce it. you slip behind the counter while tying up your apron. “only ten minutes. besides, we’re never busy this early.” he presses his lips together and grabs a large cup.

that’s the face he makes whenever you say or do something stupid. you’ve learned a lot about harry in your year of working together. he’s a pretty laidback guy. funny, too. you’d consider him a friend and not just your coworker. the only time he isn’t chill is when your coffee shop has what you like to call its rush hour.

it’s in a pretty prominent area in london, and it gets packed every afternoon. people like to pop in for a muffin or some tea on their lunch break. with it being christmas time and all, the shop is way more chaotic than usual. the seasonal flavors clearly draw a crowd. you take that as a compliment since you came up with a few of them.

the point is, harry can get stressed and pretty mean. you’re afraid he’ll explode if you ask him a question sometimes. he turns super red. but, he also knows more than you do. he’s had to fix countless machines you’ve almost broken. you two make an interesting team. it’s just you and harry who work mornings.

your mouth drops open when you see the line of people squished into the shop. “oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. harry hears it and hums smugly. “rush hour came early. get out there.” you quickly take your spot at the register. a man with a fuzzy red sweater and judgy look steps up. “hi, sorry for the wait. what can i get started for you?”

the rest of your morning is exactly the same. you deal with the crabby customers, harry makes the drinks. it gets better once your other coworkers clock in for the day. orders get done faster, and you have someone to joke around with from time to time.

you and harry eventually switch because he’s bored of making hot chocolates. you’re in charge of drinks while he rings people up now. it’s not too bad at first. all you have to do is dump some mixes into water and call names. then, everyone starts shouting at you. the drinks gets harder, you keep messing up, and customers aren’t happy.

harry is about to tell you off when he sees you stumble. he rushes to your side before you hit the ground. you grab his arm with an apologetic smile. “thanks.” “is it...” you nod, not wanting him to finish his sentence.

he’s your only coworker you told about your accident. it happened last year, almost a full one to date. you got this job a few months after. harry has always been understanding of it all, and he accommodates you however he can. you’re grateful to have his support.

“i’m just a little lightheaded. i’ll be fine,” you wave him off. he clicks his tongue. “you can’t stand if i let go of you.” you’d try to prove him wrong, but you don’t feel like falling on your face in front of all these people. “go take your break, y/n,” harry says softer this time. you give in, letting him take you to the coat room.

━ ❆

it’s finally the end of the day. your shift ended fine, and now you’re walking out with harry. you’re laughing at something he said inside. you pull your coat up around your face, smiling as you say your goodbyes. harry looks off to the car you assume is his before returning it. he waits until you’re out of sight to get into the passenger seat.

“who was that?” tom asks before harry can even shut his door. “y/n. we work together,” harry replies casually and buckles his seatbelt. the car engine is the only thing holding off silence. he raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“why do you ask?” “dunno. looks like you’re friends,” tom says quietly, pulling out of the spot he parked in. “you haven’t mentioned her.” “i have. you’re never home when i do,” he deadpans. tom drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they stop at a light.

there’s that void begging to be filled again. harry gives him a small smile. “thanks for picking me up, by the way. you’re cheaper than uber.” “does that mean i’m getting paid?” tom looks over at him. “joking. anytime, bro.”

harry can tell he’s waiting to bring you up again. all he did was look at you, and he’s falling. he’s never been subtle about his crushes. harry knows the two of you would get on well, but he’s not sure if you can handle a relationship right now. this year hasn’t been easy for you. you should be focusing on your health, not his tool of a brother.

at the same time, you could use some cheering up. you haven’t sang along to one christmas song playing at the shop. tom gets so into christmas every year, so maybe some of his festivity could rub off on you. it’s possible to work on two things at once, right? you’ll be happy and healthy for the new year. that’s all harry wants for you.

he wouldn’t mind the same for tom, either.

“she’s in all day tomorrow,” harry sighs. tom scrunches his face up in the side mirror. “who is?” “y/n, div. i knew you were going to ask.” there’s no denying that one. “right. i’ll stop in for a drink.”

he smiles about it the whole way home.

━ ❆

the next day is just like the last one. harry seems more on edge than usual, but you don’t know what that’s about. he does let you stay on register today so the chances of you passing out are lower. that all changes when your next customer walks in. you recognize him immediately, even with a scarf covering half his face.

what the hell is tom holland doing in your café? he pulls his scarf down and walks up to place an order. you sort of forget how to act. “you... you’re...” you stammer, eyes wide on him. smiling, he presses a finger to his lips. all he wants is a coffee, and you’re about to get him mobbed. you raise your hands in defense and focus on the register.

“sorry. can i get you anything?” you try again, lowering your voice. he’s still smiling. “sure, thanks. i’ll try an iced peppermint mocha.” a smile takes over your own face. “cool, i suggested that one.” you punch it into the register, keeping your eyes on tom. “i’ll bet it’s good, then. i trust your judgement.” he sounds genuine but teasing at the same time.

“hey, harry.” tom waves at him while he makes something in the blender. harry unenthusiastically waves back before getting to work again. you turn to harry with your eyebrows knitted together. “you know each other?” “really well. we’re brothers,” tom replies, your eyebrows now raised to the top of your head.

“what? how come you never told me?” you almost yell at harry. he awkwardly dumps the contents of the blender into a cup. “it never came up.” “you don’t talk about me, baby bro?” tom jokes, getting his card out. you give harry one more look before turning back to him. “oh, don’t worry about it. it’s on the house,” you dismiss him.

“he’s a multimillionaire, y/n. i think he’ll be fine,” harry chimes in. “family discount,” you decide. tom chuckles and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “you’re a funny one. can i make it up to you somehow?” his eyes lock with yours. you feel fluttery, like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. there could be a few reasons for that.

“um, can i get your autograph?” you murmur out. “easy. do you have something to write with?” he watches you scramble to get a piece of paper. you pull a pen from behind the counter and hand them both to him. a line is starting to form, but you can’t even pretend to care. there are more important things going on.

harry starts making tom’s drink while he signs the paper. he leans on the counter, his tongue poking out. he’s so sweet for doing this. your alarm goes off before you can tell him that. you quickly shut it and peek over the register to see. harry comes up to you.

“isn’t that for your medication? you should probably go take it,” he says so only you hear. you shrug a shoulder. “i set it a few minutes early. i’ll be fine.”

“here we go.” tom grins and hands you the paper, then the pen. you put it down with another smile before looking over his signature. you’re confused when you don’t see one. instead, he wrote down a bunch of numbers.

it can’t be...

“it’s my number,” tom explains, glancing over at harry for a second. he scoffs and puts the lid on his drink. “i figured you’d like it more than my terrible cursive.”

your whole body feels hot. whether it’s from putting off your meds or getting hit on by tom holland, you’re not sure. you wouldn’t mind the latter, though. it’s the safer of the two. in all seriousness, the fact that he has any sort of interest in you is pretty insane.

“wow, for real? thank you.” you look at the piece of paper in your hands, then at tom. “does this mean i can text you?” he’s practically beaming at you. “or call.” “tom,” harry calls from the pickup counter. he rolls his eyes for good measure. “i guess your drink is ready,” you laugh out. tom adjusts his scarf again.

“i guess it is. i’ll talk to you later?” you hold up the piece of paper. “that’s what this is for.” he breathes out a laugh and turns to go. you’re about to call up the next customer, but he looks back at you. you shake your head. it’s going to be impossible getting through what’s left of your shift. “enjoy.” tom nods confidently. “i will.”

━ ❆

the first thing you do once you get home is call tom. your roommate is out with friends, so you’re spread out on the couch. all the lights are off to help the headache you got. with your luck, you’ll wake up with a migraine. you’ve become too familiar with nursing those. it’s given considering everything that happened.

tom picks up on the third ring. you hold your phone to your ear and sit up. “hello?” he asks sternly. you cringe at yourself for not texting him who you are first. “hi, it’s y/n. i probably should’ve texted.” his tone softens. “no, you’re fine. i was waiting for you to call.”

“were you really?” you lay your head back on the arm of the couch. he hums proudly. “tom holland was waiting for me to call him?” “he was.” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “he really enjoyed your conversation earlier.” sighing, you look at your reflection in the tv. “i did, too. i don’t think harry could say the same.”

“he hates having me around. i’m embarrassing, apparently,” tom laughs at his brother’s behavior. you press your lips into a pout. “is that why i’ve never heard about you?” “probably,” he confirms. it seemed weird that he wouldn’t want to tell the world his brother is spider-man. then again, harry isn’t like that.

“that’s nice, though. it’s like i’m the same me before the movies,” tom lightens the mood. “not that i know you, but i feel like you are,” you agree with a small smile. he’s grinning at his phone. “speaking of not knowing me, when are you free?” he smoothly transitions to the asking you out part. you were hoping you’d get there.

“saturday. why?” “i was wondering if you’d want to go out with me.” you hold the phone away from your face and silently squeal. tom didn’t need to witness that. “that would be fun, yeah.” “anywhere special you want to go?” he asks. he’s hoping there isn’t because he already has a place in mind. you actually don’t.

“surprise me.”

-

i made a new taglist form, so fill it out if you want!! the link is in my bio

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part IV

A Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

Part I // Part II // Part III // Part IV

Requests are open if you have any oneshot ideas or opinions on how this should continue!

In their bedroom that night, Jens had a whole roll of parchment full of ideas. Robbe fell asleep first on the common room couch after Hufflepuff’s party, and meandered to his room at three AM to find Jens awaiting him on the windowsill. Aaron, conked out, had pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut and cast a few silencing charms for privacy.

“Muffliato,” Robbe cast under his breath, just in case. Aaron wasn’t the greatest at Charms.

“I was supposed to patrol tonight,” Robbe told Jens. “Did Jana go alone?”

Jens nodded. “She said you would’ve lost her anyway, whatever that means.”

“You’re talking again?”

“Uh, yeah, of course. Okay, here, look at this…” Jens smacked down his parchment on the little floor space they had in their bedroom. Each little segment of dormitory housed four boys with their beds in a circle around the heater in the middle. While Jens, Robbe, and Aaron didn’t have a fourth shoved in with them, the fourth bed’s curtains were also closed. Robbe assumed it was Moyo staying over after the party. Their copious belongings covered most available surfaces: books piled up next to bedspreads, clothing strewn over trunks, candy wrappers overflowing from trash bins.

“I think you have to dial it up,” Jens explained. He flattened the parchment until Robbe could kind of read his sloping cursive. The title at the top of the page was scribbled out, replaced with the words Operation Ditch-Noor. “Noor seems more persistent.”

Robbe thought back on their conversation. It made his head hurt to think. “She’s done.”

“Didn’t seem it today. How much did you drink?”

“I can read it,” said Robbe. He, in fact, could not read it. Why did Jens have to write everything in cursive?

The party itself had gone by pretty smoothly, from what he could piece together at the moment. Sander turned on music from his player, an upbeat song called Rebel Rebel, and had everyone spinning in circles on the common room carpet. Robbe didn’t remember kissing Sander at all. He remembered taking a cupful of punch from Aaron and not asking about its alcohol content. The girls left early to go console Zoë on the loss, and he’d woken up with a blanket that he didn’t have when he fell asleep.

Actually, that was a pretty solid outline considering the circumstances. Good on Robbe.

Jens gave Robbe a minute to puzzle through the spirals on the parchment. If he looked at it sideways, it might be a picture of a big black dog.

“Thoughts?” said Jens. He bumped Robbe’s shoulder with his own. Robbe looked around. When did they sit on the floor?

“Good,” he said.

“Good. It was a major oversight on your part, not having a public date in the first week. You’re going to have to compensate now.”

“What?”

Jens sighed. “Like, you have to be twice as convincing. Why am I even friends with you?”

“You’re so smart,” Robbe agreed.

“Is that Robbe?” said the fourth bed. It didn’t sound like Moyo. Moyo’s drunk voice was always deeper than his normal one, full of false bravado, while this one was much lighter. Sure enough, Sander peeked his head out from the curtains. His hair stuck up in all different directions.

Jens got up from the ground and smacked Sander’s arm as Sander tried to reach for Robbe. “You don’t have to trick us. Jeez.” He addressed Robbe again. “He’s been like this all night.”

Sander ignored him. “Come over here,” he said to Robbe. “I haven’t seen you.”

“You saw me,” Robbe said.

“Not a lot.”

“Yeah, so this is the kind of material we need.” Jens pointed at the parchment roll. “Noor’s going to leave you alone.”

“Come here, Robbe.”

Robbe sobered—while Sander didn’t exactly sound serious, there was something more in the way he said those words. What, Robbe couldn’t be sure. He was probably projecting, making the whole thing up.

Sander’s clothing was rumpled, a stain on the collar of his shirt. There were circles around his eyes as if he’d been rubbing them. His perfect hand was just begging to be held—the vision began to blur a little bit on the edges, and Robbe had to blink a few times to make the picture clear again.

This wasn’t real. He was drunk and it wasn’t real. Robbe was hallucinating or something, that’s what it was.

And he didn’t want to sleep with Sander, at least, not yet.

“I am going to be physically ill,” said Jens. “Save this.”

They left the parchment on the floor. Jens climbed into his bed, Robbe into his. Sander left the curtains open on bed four, staring over at where Robbe lay, so Robbe left his own curtains open. Gotta have that line of sight. He knew Sander was drunk as a skunk, but goodness, it felt wonderful to have his attention.

“Goodnight, love,” he called over.

Jens covered his head with a his pillow. "Kill me."

***

Sander was gone when Robbe got up the next day, and just as well, because it was one PM. Robbe’s head hurt like a motherfucker. Good news, though: he could now read the parchment Jens had tacked to the door of their dormitory. Not without pain, but without much struggle. In the bottom left-hand corner, an artsy signature marked that Sander understood the objectives. Sander Driesen. He dotted the i in his last name with a little circle instead of a plain dot.

Robbe speed-read the document to the best of his ability. And panicked. If Sander was following this, they had plans at five today.

He gathered his things and dashed to the shower, careful not to wake up anyone else who might still be sleeping. Aaron seemed to have gone out; his bed was empty. Jens wasn’t visible, and Robbe didn’t think it right to open the bedcurtains to see if he was there. The shower water was freezing cold. Robbe did a little warming spell he thought he remembered and ended up evaporating it all.

He took a very cold shower.

When that was done, he changed into a collared shirt with a sweater overtop and a pair of khaki pants. Casual date outfit, check. Fake date. Couldn’t forget that. He appraised his reflection in the mirror for too long to be considered normal.

There was plenty to do in the span between now and five o’clock—exams were three weeks away and Robbe didn’t know the main ingredients of Amortentia. But he couldn’t bring himself to open the books. It made much more sense to pace around the room.

Of course they’d go on a date. Real relationships would have dates.

And Sander—last night—it was nothing.

Robbe spent a lot of his mental energy convincing himself that things didn’t matter. He spent a little more trying to forget this revelation.

Four forty-five arrived before he could list out all the possible ways a date could go wrong.

The castle was always louder on Saturday afternoons and evenings. With the morning’s hangover remedied, students were free to gossip as they pleased. As Robbe headed down the stairs to the dungeons, where Jens’ note detailed he would meet Sander, he heard no less than four separate conversations that should have been private. Two Gryffindors were having a Wrackspurt problem in their dormitory. Several Slytherins discussed a magical cure for gonorrhea that would not alert Madame Pomfrey to their situation. Yasmina and Zoë attended extra Potions sessions together, and Robbe heard them debating the proper way to skin a human arm for use. Most of interest: Britt and another girl in the final hallway.

“Sander doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Britt lamented. “I don’t think he’s been going to the hospital wing.”

“You don’t know that,” the girl replied, resting a comforting hand on Britt’s back.

Robbe tried to shrink back on himself as he walked by.

Britt wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “And I’m the one that’s gonna be there when it goes to shit.”

Give it up, thought Robbe. He booked it the rest of the way to the Slytherin common room’s entrance.

Sander was waiting beside the door, his back against the stonework. His look today was different than Robbe had ever seen it, a leather jacket and a t-shirt paired with tight black jeans. When he raised a hand to wave at Robbe, the shirt rode up enough to expose a line of pale skin. Robbe felt overdressed in his sweater. Sander shouldn’t think he was taking this too seriously.

“Where are we headed?” Sander asked, as soon as Robbe was within asking range.

Robbe’s eyes went wide. “I thought you were planning it.”

“I've been hungover.” Sander pushed away from the wall. He slipped his hand into Robbe’s, and they headed for the staircase that led out of the dungeons. Usually, only Slytherins used it. “I'm good with whatever. For Britt, obviously. Somewhere she'll see."

The staircase spit them out into the upstairs hallway. Sander brought them outside through the front doors and down into the sprawling lawn. He stopped once his feet hit the grass, and turned to Robbe. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Did Jens give instructions?”

“Jens doesn’t dictate your dating life.”

Robbe frowned. “My fake dating life.”

He hated Sander’s pained expression. “Yeah, exactly.”

Only one way to make Sander smile again, and that was to go somewhere nice. Robbe surveyed the campus. They couldn’t go to Hogsmede today unless they snuck there, and Sander wasn’t in subtle attire. There was the forest, all of those beautiful, towering trees, but there was a fifty percent chance of death if they got too close. The Whomping Willow ruled out a good chunk of grassy lawn. He knew their only option would be to sit by the lake.

Lots of couples sat by the lake. Any fake relationship should feature a date there. It got foot traffic, it was public, it screamed to the world hey, we’re together.

Robbe didn’t bring a blanket. What if he got cold?

What if Sander got cold?

The thought alone of Sander cuddled into his side was enough to drive Robbe to action. He wondered what that said about him as a person.

“The lake,” said Robbe. “We can—um—we can be there.”

“You have something to sit on?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, I counted on it.” Sander reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny square of fabric. With a wave of his wand, it grew into a full-sized picnic blanket in his arms. “Show me where you want to be.”

***

The early evening air, combined with the chill off the lake, had Robbe shivering in no time. He should have brought his coat out with him, but it wasn’t in the best shape, and he worried that mending spells could only keep it alive for so much longer. Best to save it for winter, when things got bad. Sander, on the other hand, had no problem removing his own jacket and sliding it around Robbe’s shoulders. He wrapped one bare arm around Robbe, sliding his hand into Robbe’s back pocket.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Cold,” said Robbe.

“I’ll tell Jens to plan the next one. He seems to like us as a couple.”

Something in Robbe’s stomach fluttered. The possibility of more intoxicated him. He caught himself before the desire became too strong; there had to be more. No convincing fake relationship was just one date.

Dusk crept in along the sky. Many of the other couples gathered their things to attend a Great Hall dinner, the likes of which Robbe had not consumed all week. He willed his stomach not to growl. Their blanket was close enough to the lake that casual waves poked at its edges.

“That’s your friend, isn’t it?” said Sander, pointing toward the castle’s open doors.

Robbe looked over. Zoë and Senne made their way across the lawn with their own picnic blanket and a lumpy knapsack. Behind them was Milan, Zoë’s best friend and Senne’s suitemate. Zoë smiled when she saw Robbe and jogged the remainder of the distance between them, dropping to the grass an inch away from Sander’s blanket.

“Look at you!” She pinched Robbe’s cheek. “Date night, I take it?”

Robbe tried not to look sheepish. “Jens said we should.”

“Mmhm,” said Zoë. She turned her attention to Sander. “Tell me the love story. I need to know.”

“Oh, it’s a great story. Settle in.” Sander adjusted his position. He scooted away from Robbe, then gently tipped backward until his head rested on Robbe’s lap. “Picture this. My ex brought her best friend on one of our dates because she was mad at me. We went to the Three Broomsticks.”

Robbe remembered the Three Broomsticks. Obviously. His cheeks heated. He began twisting sections of Sander’s hair around his fingers, if only to do something with his hands. He knew Zoë just wanted to hear what Sander could think up on the fly.

“Her best friend had a date, too. No problem. I was going to spend the time staring at the wall so I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Except, the date walked in, and it was Robbe here, and I just lost it. I saw him sitting there and I thought, Sander, he is the one.”

Now Robbe was really blushing. He wanted to go vaporous and phase through the ground, if he could just remember the spell…

“I thought I was being dramatic, that I needed to give it some time. But I couldn’t get him off my mind. So I broke up with Britt. She used to complain that he spent all his time up in the astronomy tower instead of patrolling. You bet your ass I went there one night to see if he’d come up. And he did.” Sander shrugged. “The rest is history.” He propped himself up and caught Robbe in a chaste kiss.

“Yeah, you can cut the bullshit.” Zoë turned to check Senne’s progress toward them. He was still a decent distance away. “Robbe told me about this.”

Sander huffed. “I said nothing that wasn’t true.” He kissed Robbe again.

“Yeah, pretty sure none of that was true. But I like the backstory. It’s really good.”

“I think I could make it as a writer,” said Sander.

Robbe assumed the conversation would end there. Zoë and Sander did not seem like the types of people who would have much to say to one another. Unfortunately, Zoë’s prying conversation gave Milan time to catch up.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, upon seeing Sander and Robbe together. He got in close to Zoë for a stage whisper. “So this is Robbe's straight guy!” Zoë shot him a look. “What? is he not straight?”

Sander did not miss a beat, even though a statement like that implied Milan knew the truth of the arrangement. “Bisexual, actually. Or pansexual—I’m still trying to figure that part out.”

“Aren’t we all,” said Milan knowingly. “Don’t fall for Robbe, then.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sander laughed. It sounded more resigned than joking. Something inside of Robbe combusted.

Milan and Senne went off and picked a spot a respectable distance away to study for their exams. Robbe noted in passing that Milan was reading pages much deeper in the Potions textbook than he had learned. He hadn’t been to a class since he started fake-dating Sander.

Zoë flashed an apologetic smile. “I didn’t tell him you were straight. Don’t know where he got that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sander.

“And I didn’t mean to tell him the relationship was fake either, he was just so excited—”

“As long as it doesn’t get to Britt or Noor, we’re fine.”

“Robbe, are you okay?”

“Yes,” Robbe lied.

There were pleasantries afterward, although Robbe didn’t catch the specifics. He had other things to process. Sander talking about how they met—it all felt so real. Robbe found himself in a booth at the Three Broomsticks again, watching Sander take slow sips from his drink. He was in his four-poster bed while Sander slept, the curtains open so they could see each other in the dark.

He stepped on the emotion. Sander said he wouldn’t dream of falling in love with him.

Zoë went off to sit with her best friend and boyfriend, leaving space for Robbe and Sander’s date to begin. Where to begin? Number one: Sander would never fall in love with him because this was all fake. In tandem with Noor’s premonition last night, Robbe suddenly felt like he’d much rather be back inside the castle. In his bed. With the curtains pulled this time.

A headache could get him out of here. An urgent need to throw up? Maybe a mysterious summons from Jens. He needed to remember the charm that let him disappear.

Number two, back to Sander. He had wrapped his arms around his head, exposing that same patch of stomach. A line of black ink that might be a word traced the line of his hipbone down.

“Robbe?” Sander waved a hand in front of Robbe’s face.

Robbe blinked. “Huh?”

“Have you been hearing me?”

“Um,” said Robbe.

“You’re pulling my hair.”

Robbe moved his hands away. His mind was a mess of different thoughts—what would he tell the boys about this? It wasn’t fucking real. And Sander’s head was in his lap right now. He should have seen this coming before… no, he had seen this coming.

“Don’t stop,” said Sander softly. “Just… lighter.”

Robbe ran his hand through Sander’s hair. Lighter. A confession dangled on the tip of his tongue and he needed to push it back down.

“Some of what you said was true,” he said. He hoped Sander could draw the connection across conversations and realize he meant what Sander had said to Zoë, not Milan.

Sander understood. “Most of it was true.”

They waited a moment, listening to the soft waves on the lake and the bustle of other couples nearby.

“Right,” said Sander. “You’ve taken me on a date. The least you can do is tell me something nice.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Do you need Jens to write your speeches too?”

Robbe shied away from the vulnerability angle this time. Sander wouldn’t have any use for the information four weeks from now when exams were over. He marveled over how soft Sander’s hair was between his fingers, despite the fact that the ends were dry and dead from the bleach. “My father was the cook of the family,” he said. Something personal, but not intimate. “He had this recipe for blood sausage that had so many spices my mother could never stomach it. We would bring it to dinner parties when we didn’t like the people. It was funny to watch them try and compliment it during the meal when they clearly hated every last bite.” This was the story’s happier conclusion. Its actual conclusion was that his father took all the recipe cards when he walked out, and Robbe didn’t know the ingredients even though his father promised he’d get them when he turned sixteen.

“Tell me something nice.” He poked Sander.

“I don’t know if what you said constitutes nice,” said Sander. He reached up and ran a finger across Robbe’s chin. But he went on. “There’s this lady where I work over the summer that brings me David Bowie albums. She gets so excited every time she finds a new one in a garage sale somewhere, or at store, and I can’t tell her that I already own the albums already. I have five copies of Space Oddity.”

Robbe didn’t know who David Bowie was.

Another lapse into silence. Sander never seemed to mind a comfortable quiet. He guided Robbe’s head down to his for a simple kiss, but he left his eyes open, and Robbe could follow his sightline to Noor and Britt as they walked back to the castle from who-knows-where.

“Tell me something secret,” said Robbe. This much time without something on his mind could be seriously painful. “I went first last time.”

He kind of wanted Sander to refuse.

“I don’t have any secrets, Robbe.”

“You must have one.”

“Do you?”

Robbe shook his head quicker than he should have. He tried to sound as casual as possible when he said, “I’m an open book,” but he doubted it did any good.

The thing was, it was totally believable that Sander wouldn’t have any secrets. This was the boy who announced his sexuality to a friend of a friend that he didn’t even know. This was the boy who saw someone else in the astronomy tower, unloaded his relationship woes, and promptly kissed said someone else to get away from them. What did he have to hide, besides this relationship? What could someone like him possibly have to hide?

The dying day faded everything out into a stained-glass image that could take up the wall of a Hogwarts bathroom. Robbe let himself relax until his surroundings were no more than shapes and colors, pushing everything from his mind until he could barely process his hands running through Sander’s hair. The thoughts surfaced anyway. He was going to have to tell the boys about this, eventually, and maybe even Sander himself, if that was possible. Even now, his skin was electrified from contact.

So much for pushing back the sexuality crisis. It had to happen today.

“It is kind of nerve-wracking, all these people to convince,” Sander said, out of the blue. “I don’t even know who that guy is.” He pointed vaguely at Milan. “But right here, with us, this is okay. It’s just me. That’s my secret.”

That’s exactly the problem, thought Robbe. It’s just you. And I’m falling in love with you.

He said, “That’s a cop-out. Tell me something else.”

[liam-cadmus]

Sasuke thumps his head on the table, annoyed at the cooing he can hear from upstairs. He straightens up before letting the wet rag fall on the counter, moving to the sink to wash his hands, wincing at Ino’s very loud squeal. He grumbles, before walking around the island, walking to the bottom of the stairs. “Ino, shut the fuck up!” he says calmly in a loud voice, listening to Ino closing the door upstairs and appearing on the top of the stairs with a journal? book? on her arms, with some pictures haphazardly balanced on top. 

She walks— sprints down the stairs, sidestepping him and dumping the pile on a table, her nails digging to his arm. “Sasuke, you didn’t tell me you were childhood sweethearts with Hinata!” she exclaims, making him splutter in disbelief, cheeks coloring in bemusement. “What do you mean? I never—” he caught sight of the pictures, before groaning, hiding his face in his palms. He doesn’t remember, and he didn’t expect that Ino will see this. He thought Ino was the better choice to help him with organizing his house, rather than Naruto and Sakura. 

“We were not sweethearts. We were just friends,” he enunciates, tone slightly defensive, “and besides, it broke off when the massacre happened.” he added glumly. Ino sighs out in exasperation, with pity? amusement? exhaustion? before flicking him on the forehead, spreading the pictures in a line. His brows raise when he caught some glimpses of Shikamaru’s hair, looking at Ino expectantly. “My mom was genin teammates with their dads. Playdates.” 

She huffs forlornly, “You three are hopeless.” He just gives her a shrug, watching over her shoulder as she looks at the pictures one by one. The pile doesn’t have that much pictures, mostly drawings with crayons with scribbled names or half-assed drawings, some with neat lines and proper colors and some mostly empty and scarce. She giggles at one, seeing a wobbly stroke of brown crayon, and small writing in the corner saying : Shika fell asleep again. - Hinata and Sasuke.

He rolls his eyes, failing to hide the smile slipping on his lips as Ino plucks a picture of Mikoto, Hiashi and Shikaku with their three kids in front, ranging around 2-3 years old, wobbly standing and holding unto each other with tight grips. “You were adorable,” she teases, hand hovering over his chubby cheeks and doe onyx eyes, making him scowl, “I was not.” 

“You were.” she laughs, “although you look like an cat hissing a fit whenever you’re scowling.” It was a running joke with Team 7, who at this point are used to his glares and scowls, his intimidation tactic failing, instead looking like one of the cats in the Uchiha compound. He nudges her shoulder instead, Ino taking another picture , moving platinum blonde hair away from her face, blue eyes lighting up in mischief. A shy Hinata peeks from behind him, with a dozing Shikamaru sitting on the ground on his other side, leaning on him. He has a wide smile, hand resting on the tiny brown ponytail. 

Ino snickers, as he takes another one, seeing the three of them wearing kimonos walking hand-by-hand on the streets, the orange tint of the lanterns reflecting off of their dark hair. There’s another one, with the camera close to their faces, a lavender eye and upturned pink lips on the left corner, with Shikamaru’s hair popping up from the bottom, Sasuke’s eye appearing on the right. “You were such cute kids.” she comments, Sasuke finding it hard to refuse the compliment. Maybe, he isn’t, but Hinata and Shikamaru definitely were— are. He flushes at the realization, averting his eyes and stacking the papers instead. 

He tugs on Ino’s shirt, making the woman stand, before relenting to his request, going up the stairs. “Fine, fine, I’ll get going with organizing it.” He smirks, “I’ll let you shift through them later, just finish them first.” She perks up, before darting up, the enthusiastic “Yes!” echoing. He doesn’t get why Ino is excited about it, after all, she was also Shikamaru and Hinata’s bestfriend, she should’ve seen their childhood photos. “I never saw yours, or ones with the three of you. They didn’t even tell me you were childhood sweethearts!” she answers his spoken out loud thought, he glowers grumpily at the sweethearts mentioned, before pocketing his hands. 

He wanders back to the kitchen, taking the discarded rag and wiping the marble counter, moving down to the bottom cabinets. He lets himself hum and get lost in his thoughts, efficiently barreling through his old essentials, throwing away the long used cleaning supplies. He dusts his pants off, swiping at the dust and cobwebs clinging on his arms, before washing his hands carefully. He runs a wet hand through his hair, the black strands staying out of his face as he dries his hands off.

The rest of the house is already clean and organized, including the Itachi’s old bedroom which was surprisingly in good condition, the awards and clothes well kept and free of dust. His old bedroom was easy to discard of the old stuff toys and smaller clothing, changing the muted blue bedding for dark grey, softer ones, and refilling his closet with clothes that do fit him, with his now better color scheme. He absently places the new tea cups on the counter before placing the kettle over open flame, taking the bags of groceries to the fridge while waiting.

He places the tin of cookies beside the cups, as he fills the fridge with fresh cartons of milk, alongside the newly bought perishable goods. He washes the vegetables, plucking a cherry tomato and eating it while placing the fruits in the basket. He pours hot water as the tea bag bobs on the surface, opening the cookie tin to get a shortbread, nibbling on it as he listens to the fumbling from upstairs, heard from the kitchen. He stays quiet as Ino budges the door open loudly, stomping down the stairs, the wood creaking loud as she appears in the doorway, papers flying in her wake.

She looks at him with a determinedly grim expression, offering a smile— that looks more like a grimace, before waving two scrolls in her hand. His mismatched eyes narrow in instinct, the gold sheen on the white paper and the chakra presence of his parents intact on the delicate sheet. “What is that supposed to be—?” he asks hesitantly, not liking the information about to be told. “I don’t know, you tell me. I just found them in a box named Sasuke, with a seal on it.”

A box with my name on it? he thinks incredulously, mouth opening to ask before he shuts it closed, taking the offered scrolls instead. His brows knitted together in concentration as Ino takes the full cup of tea, taking a chocolate cookie daintily. He channels his chakra through the frisky seal, before it opens, his parent’s chakra hitting him full-force. He unfurls the top with bated breath, meticulously written words with precise and sure strokes of ink in beautiful handwriting— his mother’s appear on the sheer reflective white paper. It’s a marriage contract, he realizes, as his eyes follow the words written, the stark black ink blurring against the blinding white.

Marriage contract. With the Hyuugas. Ensuring the bond, and making peace. No more fights. His Sharingan whirl in horror, even if he is inwardly pleased, a pink blush appearing on his cheeks. He blinks, each time dragging on longer, before he reads the last part, seeing the Hyuuga Hinata written in Hiashi Hyuuga’s writing, blocky straight letters against Fugaku’s neatly scribbled one. The date is stamped with the Hyuuga and Uchiha stamp, as he releases a tense breath, shaking fingers following the chakra infused signature of his father.

He stays there staring at his mother’s writing, the cursive handwriting and the loops making him reminiscent of his own, ‘pretty’ handwriting. He exhales through clenched teeth, before pushing it aside, Ino taking it from his hands. He focuses on the other one, blowing the hair out of his face while his chakra unlocks the seal. Ino lets out a surprised ‘ah’ of understanding, munching quietly while she mouths some words, her chakra simmering under her skin. “So it is a marriage contract,” she murmurs wistfully, rolling it to a scroll, “I had my suspicions.”

“I assume you already seen one of these?” he asks, while his eyes start to skim through a different handwriting, tilting his head on the swiftly written words, the ends of some letters dragging lazily. He inhales deeply in realization, Ino letting out some sort of squeak, her eyes widening. “That’s Yoshino Nara’s writing.” He winces, before pulling the curled bottom of the scroll, patting it flat on the counter as he catches on his name on the bottom. Again. With Shikamaru’s name on the side.

Ino whistles in a low voice, amusedly looking at the scrolls side-by-side. “You have a lot on your plate, Uchiha.” He groans, pinching his nose in annoyance before whining pitifully, “Why me.” Ino smirks. “Stop being dramatic, I’m sure your parents wouldn’t contract Itachi with a kid your age. And it seemed like you were being prepared as a heir for emergency situations.” He levels her with a flat stare, “Well, it worked out, because I somehow became the clan head.” he answers with his dry humor.

“Stop with your deprecating shit Uchiha, and find out a way with these.” she points to the scrolls, while he leans on the counter, resting his head on his palms. His elbow digs on the hard surface, but he pays it no mind, biting his lip. “Are these still true? I mean, isn’t Hinata and Shikamaru engaged right now?” he hisses, remembering the two lovebirds recently declaring it. He turns a hopeless glance at Ino, “Can I turn this down? Since my parents aren’t technically here to make it true?”

“Sasuke, you could ask Shikaku-san and Hiashi-san about it.” Ino admits, “Although I’m not sure how this will work considering it’s a chakra-focused marriage contract.” He blows a shaky breath out, before dropping his head on his arms. He mumbles, the sound muffled on his arms, while Ino leans closer to hear the muted, quiet voice. “I don’t want to ruin their marriage.” 

“You aren’t ruining it, Sasuke, you didn’t even know,” she insists, frowning at the tiredly spoken admission. “Maybe they can consider you?” she tries to lighten it, only receiving hunched shoulders and Sasuke burying his face further in his folded arms. The state of the Uchiha is depressing, the male still deep in his after-war depression, even if others are already moving on. Not that Ino can blame him, the people around him constantly crushing him down with whispers and insults behind his back, some of them failing to hide their disdain. 

She sighs, rubbing at her childhood friend’s arm, listening to Sasuke calming down his breathing, his chakra tense and tight like a string. She became Sasuke’s confidant, after his time in the cells, trusting her enough to let her look through his memories. She soothes him, until his chakra coils uncurls into light flickering. Sasuke rubs at his eyes in exhaustion, temples pounding and his eyes aching. She doesn’t open her mouth, instead helping Sasuke clean up the used cups and tin, wiping off the crumbs and droplets of tea on the counter, before taking the scrolls and placing it on the table. 

She arranges the pictures and drawings, placing the scrolls on the side, making sure to not let it roll off. “You know, you’re allowed to be loved, Sasuke.” she smiles, as Sasuke’s eyes dart to her in a glance, “You’re not unlovable, you just grew up unloved.” Dark mismatched eyes cloud over as she pats his shoulder, “I’m here, your team’s always here. You’re not alone. Not anymore.” she presses her cheek on his, “You’re like my little brother now.” 

Sasuke huffs a amused breath, “I don’t fit in the little, in your description.” he says, but hugs her nonetheless, letting himself be vulnerable for once. “You’re always gonna be like a little brother, you don’t have the bones to be an older one.” Sasuke turned misty eyes to her, “I guess not.” 

“You’ve always have been. Now, I’m gonna go and let you settle in. Just send me a hawk, Chiya if possible, when you want or need help, okay?” she says, while she tightens the laces on her shoes, the door ajar. He nods, “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Ino.” She flashes him a smirk, making him grunt in amusement, as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “Ta-ta.” 

The door slams shut, as the tea cups dry off on the rack, while he returns them in their proper places, eye trailing over to the scroll on his way to the stairs. He stops by the table, thumb grazing the seals while he sits down, letting his cheek sit atop his hand. His eyes reads the words again, repeating it over and over his head, dazed. He takes two empty sheets of paper, taking a brush and an ink pot before settling down on the chair. 

He writes with clear lines, signing the letter with a flourish. He seals the scrolls with his chakra, stamping an Uchiha crest on the outside before summoning two hawks, tying it securely in their claws. Ishi and Aya stays on his shoulders, rubbing their wings on his duck butt of a hair affectionately before flying out the opened window, flapping of wings disappearing into the night. Hopefully, they receive his invitation, and talk about the contract. 

No, Shikaku did not die. And yes, Sasuke does have two intact arms. Bless me, I wrote this at 10 pm, and finished in 2 hours. I need sleep. I think I forgot to emphasize that Sasuke has a Rinnegan-

[life-0r-death]

(so this is technically two different templates, but I couldn’t resist the part two. shoutout to @the-kings-of-games and @asix-oud for inspiring me to do this)

Character Profiles:

Jack Atlas - 20, blonde, 6' (anime height I think) “No one loves like Jack Atlas!”

Yusei Fudō - 18, raven with gold highlights, 5'7″ - “Jack it’s alright--”

How it happened:

Growing up together in the same orphanage under Martha’s care, both Jack and Yusei developed a bond of brotherly affection toward one another that they also shared with their third brother, Crow. However, as they got older, Yusei started to realize his feelings for Jack were anything but brotherly. With his growing adoration, he slowly tried to feel out how Jack felt, slowly implying that he had more love to give. It took Jack well after the Fortune Cup, and deep in the WRPG to realize that Yusei had affections for him. And that he returned them. Unintentionally, the two kissed and the rest was history.

Showing affection:

Both Jack and Yusei take initiative when it comes to affection. However, Jack is more of a wild card on whether or not he wants to provide verbal affection or a physical one. Often, Jack will either smirk at Yusei and tell him he’s a dream or he’s his knight in shining armor (This tends to turn Yusei quite red). Or, Jack will pull Yusei into a hug no matter where they are, just to hold him in his arms.

Yusei is all about non-verbal affection. He holds Jack, kisses him, gets him things, or just takes care of him as he needs to. Yusei finds that he never has the right words to tell Jack of how he feels, so a kiss and a hug are his better applications.

Handling Conflict:

More often than not, many of their conflicts revolve around Jack. Whether that be to duel, go out and visit Martha, or the strain of Jack’s worries on Yusei’s health and his own flighty nature, Jack is usually the most vocal on his distastes. He’s one to yell sharply and angrily before taking time away to cool down. He has a fight or flight response and his motions are to verbally fight and then flee. Yusei understands Jack’s needs to just be alone. He is not one to give chase (unless he absolutely needs to).

Yusei is the most neutral. Depending on the fight, he can range from just listening and helping to resolve it, or he can be just as stubborn as Jack, silently seething and also removing himself from the source. 

They usually come back to one another eventually, though, and kiss and make up.

Dealing with jealousy:

Both Yusei and Jack are prone to jealousy as both are quite popular in their inner circles. Jack is often seen by his fans who love to latch onto him and ask for his hand in marriage. Yusei’s jealousy certainly spikes, but he doesn’t let it overtake him. He usually just requires a bit more attention after the source departs, whether that be cuddling or Jack just being in the same space while he works on a duel runner.

When Jack becomes jealous, he’s just as eccentric as he normally is. He’s loud and in faces, grabbing Yusei and practically dragging him away or making sure that Yusei knows he’s there. There are no if, ands, or buts about it. Yusei will give him the affection he deserves and whatever the source may be, alive or inanimate, they will feel his wrath. 

Relationship Attitude:

When it comes to their relationship, Yusei holds it near and dear, performing all sorts of PDA and making sure Jack knows just how much he loves him. To Yusei, he spent too much time hiding his feelings, playing it safe, and watching Jack run off to become King all alone (when Yusei wanted nothing more than to be his Knight). He had to watch as Jack never understood his advances, watched as Jack would be harmed from the forces that came after them. Yusei had even gotten to the point that he would always appreciate Jack from afar, but know he’d never have him in his grasp. But once Jack admitted feelings for him too, Yusei made an oath to never hide his feelings again. So he devotes everything to Jack, understands Jack’s own fears and anxieties, and puts their relationship above all other projects. A duel runner can be fixed another day. Jack’s tears? Those need to be attended to now.

Jack is just as devoted to their relationship. Hell, he thinks about marriage at times. But he doesn’t perform as much PDA nor does he express how important it is to him as much as Yusei does. He does this for two reasons; one, Yusei obviously initiates it all. Jack doesn’t need to start any PDA since Yusei will begin it on his own. And Jack doesn’t need to overthrow Yusei with adoration since Yusei seems happy enough to give it mostly to him. The second reason Jack is a bit more reserved is because he has a hint of anxiety for their relationship. He’s always been a flighty man, ducking out when something was getting too much. He fears if something should go wrong, then he’d need that escape path to make sure Yusei doesn’t crash and burn. 

But both of them are rather happy in their relationship, usually talking about their fears and loyalties in the dead of night.

Attachment:

Each person toes the line depending on their emotions. But they are quite heavily attached to one another. Jack is not overly-protective nor is he hyper lax, and he does value his independence a bit more. This goes back to his flighty nature that should he need to run, he needs that space to get going. But this doesn’t mean he doesn’t adore Yusei.

Yusei doesn’t mind indepence or clinging. He’s just happy to be in Jack’s bubble or to just be in his thoughts. Yusei is, however, quite protective of Jack. Watching his man be flung from his duel runner too often has boosted this feral need to just keep him safe, as well as make sure Jack is never taken advantage of again. So Yusei is pretty quick to do research on events, offer up to go with, and generally make sure Jack is going to be okay.

Things to elaborate upon...

First to confess - both sort of did it at the same time. Yusei never really outwardly confessed until Jack sort of gave him this notion and feeling that they felt something similar. So they both openly told one another than they loved each other.

More popular/charismatic - both are held in high regard, Jack with his fanbase and Yusei with their inner circle as with the City for being the King (since he de-throned Jack).

Sick caregiver - both are pretty on even ground to take care of one another. Jack makes Yusei soups and foods, making sure he stays away from the duel runners to actually rest. Yusei pets Jack, gets him water, and is a constant by his side.

Does the cooking - Jack does it all. He’s a baker, having honed the skill while under Godwin’s foot and locked within his penthouse. When he wasn’t dueling, he was committing his time to something that distracted him long enough to feel alive. So he’s known as the chef in their household, and everyone loves his food.

Does the cleaning - since Jack does all the cooking, Yusei takes it upon himself to do the cleaning. He’s pretty good at making sure all of his tools are set and ready in the garage, so he makes sure those habits follow him into the house (and Jack isn’t too messy to begin with, he’s actually quite organized and proper).

Does most of the speaking - Not that Yusei doesn’t talk, he just lets Jack speak for him. Especially when he’s hands deep in a duel runner. Jack knows what’s on his mind, or knows what he likes to eat or drink, so he lets his man take care of him in his own ways. Plus, Yusei is pretty lax on requested subjects, like what they’d wear to some party. Jack cares about that stuff, so Yusei lets him talk for both of them.

Designated driver - Now, Yusei is deemed this because he is also overprotective. He doesn’t want Jack crashing, so if they have to go somewhere and both don’t have to have their runners, Yusei will be the one to drive and make sure his King makes it in one piece.

Has good penmanship - Jack knows cursive from his time with Godwin. Martha taught both him and Yusei a lot in the orphanage, but cursive and clean writing weren’t the top priorities. Just know how to read and write were. So, Jack honed this skill not only because he wanted to, but because he had to. In order to appear like he was actually from the Tops, he had to be able to write signatures elegantly.

Has more experience in a relationship - neither do. They’ve only ever pined for one another, or never thought about romantic interests or advancements. So this is their one and only relationship.

Sensitive to subtle changes in partner - both are excellent at this. Yusei is already hyper aware of Jack constantly. He knows when he’s feeling a bit more agitated or when he’s on edge. Jack isn’t as honed as Yusei, but he knows what each facial expression and silent grunt means. He’s studied them for a long time, and honestly, Jack and Yusei never have to use words to communicate how they are feeling.

The one who proposes - Yusei will want to, will plan for it and will be sure its a fanfare (as by Jack’s request). But the world will decide that he’s now allowed to, either making him too busy or stealing his attention away constantly at the perfect moments (or more enemies appearing out of the woodwork to ruin his plans). So, in the end, it will be Jack who sets up some sort of extravagant world around them, getting down on his knee and holding Yusei’s hand with a simple yet beautiful wedding band ready to slip on his finger.

(if you want specifics on part 2, send asks! Otherwise, thanks for reading! You can find a lot of these dynamics in my fics on AO3 <3)

[justahopelessssromantic]

Runaways- A Mayans MC Fanfic

Runaways Masterlist

Part 20

A/N: Sorry I’m late, again. Hopefully someday I will have my shit together, thank you for putting up with me. Things around my place have been tough and have been for a long time now well before this pandemic even started and I just thought I should explain a bit why I’m such a mess. Some days it’s just hard to accomplish anything. Anyways thanks again and I hope you are still enjoying my story 💕 Also don’t know why I wasn’t using gifs before but I thought I might start now 😊

*gif not mine*

Warnings: Angst

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked Nicky, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "What do you mean I died?" Obviously I did not die.

David pulled off of me not saying a word, his hand was busted to hell which made me even more confused, his knuckles bloody and bruised.

I reached for his hand and he instinctively jerked away before I could get a hold of it, "What did you do?"

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." He said, shrugging me off.

"Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?!" I was starting to get really impatient now, whatever happened shook my brothers horribly.

"Why dont you have Mom's necklace, Will?" Nicky asked seemingly out of the blue as he looked to my bare neck.

"I lost it. I looked all over and couldn't find it anywhere." I explained, fear starting to set in as I thought about where this was going.

"Fuck," David cursed out, running his hand through his hair, taking a few steps back.

"Just tell me," I pleaded, “Whatever it is I can handle it.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket Nicky unlocked the screen and handed it over to me. I gasped, hand covering my mouth as I looked at the image before me. It was a woman, about my build, necklace around her neck, Mom's necklace, with her face smashed in leaving her unrecognizable, the only defining features being the bits of blonde hair you could see. She was wearing clothes I owned and her body positioned almost as if it was placed very delicately, like some sick piece of art.

The scene looked so familiar, and then it hit me. How could I forget? The body was displayed exactly like our father's had been.

Of course there was the obvious smashed in head, but it wasn’t just that. The way her left leg was straight but the other was bent and off to the side, foot flexed at a sharp angle, was exactly the same. Her left arm laid delicately over her chest, hand in a fist with her right flat against her side.

Then Nicky swiped the image over showing me the crime scene photo of dad, proving me right.

“Where did you get those?” Was the only thing I could muster out, my body was shaking and my insides twisting. They were never supposed to see dad like that.

“Some blocked number,” David replied. “How come you never told us, Willow?” His eyes were heavy as he looked at me. I’m sure he was trying so hard to wrap his mind around everything just like me.

"Who’s the girl?” I asked aloud but not really expecting an answer. Some poor innocent woman had been killed all as some cruel trick on my family.

"There's only one person who would go through all that trouble," Nicky said somberly, ignoring the previous questions.

We all knew who he was talking about still none of us wanted to say it out loud, almost as if we did it would all become reality, crashing down around us. We stood there for a moment in silence just looking at each other.

“We thought we lost you,” David breathed out, as if he still wasn’t convinced that the girl was not me and I wasn't really here alive before him.

“What are we gonna do?” Nicky asked, looking to his older siblings for the answers.

I looked at my two brothers, at how broken and lost they were. We knew this day would come whether we wanted to admit it or not and here it was. My fear started to turn to rage. I hated what this man had done to my family, the pain he had thrusted upon them, the things they should have never had to witness or experience.

And I hated that it felt like I was battling some invisible force.

The rumbling of EZ’s bike sounded as he rode down the road. Parking and dismounting quickly he rushed over pulling me into a hug of his own, “I knew it wasn’t you,” he whispered holding me tight, “Still I feared the worst, that I had lost you, both of you.”

I pulled back looking him in the eye, “Did you get the photos too?”

“No,” he shook his head, “Nick left me a voicemail, so I called Emily and she said you weren’t there. Then I rushed straight here.”

"We should go inside," I said, looking around to make sure we weren't being watched, suspicious settling in my bones.

"Good idea," EZ agreed, looking around as well before grabbing my hand and following my brothers into our home, locking the door behind us.

"Did you have a chance to sweep the house?" I asked him quietly so my brothers wouldn't hear. I didn't want to add on to their worries just yet.

He shook his head slightly, "Not yet, I had to go in to work. I was going to do it as soon as I got done but then well, this happened."

Nicky sat down on the sofa as David leaned against the wall.

"Show me the photos," EZ said turning his attention to Nicky. He handed him the phone as EZ sat down next to him.

Slipping out and into the main bathroom I reached under the sink grabbing the small first aid kit and made my way back to the living area.

I approached David determined to patch up his hand, "Sit," I said motioning to the chair beside me.

"Willow I'm fine." He tried to protest but I wasn't having it.

"Its not a request David. Sit." I demanded once more.

Sighing he did as was told, plopping down into the chair in front of me. I opened the kit placing it on the table beside us and held my hand out for him to give me his busted one.

Tearing open an alcohol wipe I wiped at the small cuts causing him to hiss out in pain. I dabbed gently focusing on the cuts as I spoke, "You gonna tell me what you punched?"

"I guess picking a fight with a brick wall isn't the best idea I’ve had," he muttered out hissing once more as I dabbed at another.

"No, I wouldn't suppose so," I replied, finishing cleaning up the last few. I lowered his hand gently, 'Sit still. I will be right back."

Going into the kitchen I opened the freezer pulling out a frozen bag of corn and then proceeded to wrap it in a towel before bringing it back to David, "Here. Hold it on your hand."

"Thank, sis." He mustered out a half smile, still the weight of everything showed heavily across his features.

EZ stood up from his spot after having looked at the photos and talked to Nicky. He walked over to me, turning my attention to him, "I'm staying here, I won’t leave you."

"We are all." David added, letting us know that we were to stay together again. He was right we would be safest together.

"I'm going to put my bag in the bedroom and get changed," I replied kissing EZ on the cheek. I was so thankful to have him for support especially now.

Leaving the three men behind me I walked down the hall opening my bedroom door and tossing my bag to the ground beside the door. I let my hair down shaking my head out and letting the locks fall to my shoulders.

It was then that I saw the unfamiliar box in the middle of the bed. With everything in me I did not want to open the small box that was about the size of a watch box. Still it was like I could not stop myself as I closed the gap between me and the bed, leaning over taking the small thing into my hands.

Taking a deep breath I slowly pulled the lid off, setting it aside. Inside there was a folded piece of paper. Plucking it out of the box I unfolded the note delicately reading over the perfect cursive writing: “I can’t wait to see you again, Wilhelmina.” With a heart scribbled at the bottom of the note.

My whole body had chills as I stared at the page. There was no signature or indication as to who the message was from but I knew, I knew exactly who had left this, who invaded our home.

Taking another deep breath I inspected the rest of the box. Setting the note down I reached in pulling out the only other thing, a silver and white gold wedding ring. The very same wedding ring that Patrick was wearing, the one that reminded me of Dad’s.

EZ, Nicky, and David must have walked in while I was staring at the wedding band. Out of the corner of my eye I saw David come in beside me.

“Willow?” EZ broke the silence as he placed his hand comfortingly on my shoulder, “What is that?”

My mind raced to put the pieces together. Why did he leave Patrick’s ring? Did he kill him too? Or the even scarier thoughts, is this really Dad’s ring? His ring had been missing ever since he was killed. If it was, the proof would be inside the band where the engraving was but I was too scared to look and find the truth.

“Where the hell did you get Dad’s ring?” David asked, staring at the silver band in the palm of my hand. Fuck, now the idea really started to set in.

“This can’t be Dad’s,” I tried to rationalize. Maybe if I said it out loud then it would be true. It wasn’t Dad’s ring, it couldn’t be, “It’s Patrick’s.”

Patrick, the EMT who was so kind to me. The man who I sat next to, held his hand, who helped me through a panic attack. Patrick the innocent stranger, a good guy.

It was Patrick’s ring. And that was the truth.

I placed the box down and held the ring up carefully. It was like everyone was holding their breaths, the room was dead silent. I rolled it around and tilted it so I could get a good look at the inside of the jewelry. My heart stopped as I saw the engraving, reading the words across the metal, the promise between my two parents to love each other eternally.

It was Patrick’s and it was Dad’s.

“Oh my god,” I gasped out. The ring slipped from my fingers as the world spun around me. The sound of the metal clattering on the hardwood floor rang in my ears.

A firm grasp caught my waist steadying me as EZ brought me safely down onto the bed. Nicky bent over picking the band up and examined it.

I looked into EZ’s eyes, “Patrick is Adrian,” I said as I watched the revelation run through his mind. He was right there, we had contact with him without even knowing. And then the message ‘I can’t wait to see you again, Wilhemina.’ It all made sense now. I had met the man who caused all this pain and torment in my family’s life. Who must have had something to do with our father’s murder. I met him, I talked to him, and the thought that made me the sickest was that I trusted him.

I could hear him now, saying my name. ‘Whilemina’. The sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. How did I miss it?

“Whose Patrick?” David asked, looking at EZ and I.

“While we were away for the weekend I met a man named Patrick. He was an EMT.” I explained.

“We never met this guy,” Nicky cut in looking to David to confirm that he hadn’t either, “And what do you mean Patrick is Adrian?”

“You weren’t supposed to see him,” I guessed, throwing the idea out there, “Because if you did you would have known. He was watching us, he had to be. Waited until I was alone. He knew I didn’t know who he was,” I closed my eyes swallowing, “He played me. It was all part of some sick game, just like you said Nicky.”

“So he approached you?” David asked sitting beside me on the bed, “What did he say?”

“He was just kind, helped me through a panic attack,” I said looking straight ahead, not trusting myself to make eye contact with my brothers, “Then we talked at the club. That’s when I noticed the ring. I just thought it was similar to Dad’s,” my voice cracked at the end, “I never thought it could be his, never thought he was any threat.” There was so much to process as we sat there, “He was a literal wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I whispered.

Nicky sat beside me on the side opposite David as our moment of feeling safe was now gone and who knows when we’d ever get it back. We sat there together in silence while I looked to EZ.

“I’m going to go sweep the house,” he said and I nodded. I knew he would make sure everything was locked up tight and safe. However even so there was little chance that any of us would be sleeping tonight.

EZ exited the room giving us some time as a family. David leaned over laying his head in my lap as I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to provide some comfort. Nicky on the other side leaned his head on my shoulder wrapping his arm around me and mine around his as I leaned back against him.

We just sat there together, holding each other. It was all we could manage to do in this moment after all the events of this day. The rush of emotions drained us all and we just wanted the comfort of having each other close, to cherish the moment of us all being alive and together while we still could.

Who knows what tomorrow would bring us.

Tagging: @themeanestlittlewitch

[today-only-happens-once]

Conditional

Title: Conditional

Word Count: 4373

Summary: High School AU. Virgil has bad news that he doesn’t know how to break to his dads. Especially Logan. Familial LAMP/CALM, paternal/familial Analogical.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, miscommunication, cursing, almost-crying, self-deprecation.

A/N: I have… mixed feelings about how this one turned out. I’m even less sure of how it will come across to other readers… I hope it’s okay! It’s kind of... paragraph-heavy, I guess... Apologies if this does not live up to expectations, but would love to know what you think regardless. I wanted to get it out to you all this week for #SidesContentWeek. <3 Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh

…

Virgil checks the mailbox when he gets home and sees the envelope with the college’s logo in the corner and his name in neat typeface. He folds the envelope, slips it into the pocket of his hoodie, and hands the rest of the mail over to Patton as he walks through the door. His dad gives him a bright greeting, asks how his day was, and Virgil manages to ignore the churning in his stomach long enough to carry on a brief conversation about the history test that he thinks he did okay on.

And then he mumbles something about an upcoming exam in chemistry and hurries up into his room. He closes the door behind him. Virgil pulls the crumpled envelope in his pocket out and sets it on his desk as he collapses in the chair.

He stares at it.

This is his last option. He had applied to four colleges. He had heard rejections from three of them so far. This is his last shot. He can almost hear Roman singing Hamilton in the back of his mind but the image does little to dispel the tightness in his chest. The unopened letter feels like a sentencing.

He feels like he’s on trial in the moments before the jury reads the verdict.

He can’t open it. Not yet. Just in case it’s bad news. He just wants to hold onto the hope a little while longer. He snatches the envelope off the desk, shoves it in his backpack, and turns on Evanescence before digging his science notebook out of his bag.

…

Roman Prince arches an eyebrow at his best friend as he closes his locker. “So you haven’t even opened it yet?”

The school hallway bustles with activity as students rush off to second period. Virgil shrugs, adjusting the strap of his bag slung over one shoulder. “Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil sighs. “I mean, what if it’s a rejection? What happens then?”

“You don’t know that,” Roman replies as the two of them start walking down the hall towards their respective classes: Virgil to World History, Roman to American Lit. “Do your dads know you’ve got the letter?”

Virgil glances away. “I haven’t told them yet.”

Roman looks at him, exasperated. “Why not?”

“Look,” Virgil says, “I’m just not ready for them to know yet, okay? They want me to go to college so badly. This is my last chance. I just…” He lets the thought go unfinished. He doesn’t know how to tell Roman that seeing that disappointment in his dads’ eyes just isn’t something he’s ready to confront yet.

“It might be good news.”

Virgil also doesn’t know how to explain to his far-reaching, bright-eyed best friend that he just doesn’t share his optimism. “Maybe,” he admits. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“You have a bad feeling about everything, Hades-frown.”

Virgil gives him a look and stops walking. Roman stops beside him, holding his hands up in mock-surrender.

“Forget it,” Virgil says, pushing past Roman. “We’re gonna be late.”

“C’mon,” his best friend implores, grabbing his arm to stop him. “Why don’t you just get it over with? Open it right now.”

“No.” Virgil pulls his arm free of his friend’s grip with perhaps more force than is necessary.

Roman sighs, his voice softening. “Waiting isn’t going to change what the letter says, Virge. Your answer is in your pocket. Whatever future quest is bestowed on you, it’s been decided already.”

Virgil blows out a frustrated, annoyed sigh. He wants to tell Roman that he doesn’t get it. Roman doesn’t have to see the awkward shifts of gazes when he explains that he’s still waiting to hear back from his last college. He doesn’t have to force a smile and lie through his teeth as he says he’s “optimistic and excited” even as his mind sifts through the minefield of potential follow-up questions, looking for an escape.

But Roman’s right. The paper isn’t going to change what it says, and waiting to find out only prolongs knowing what had been decided weeks ago. It would have no actual bearing on the decision. Roman’s hopeful brown eyes and small, encouraging smile is the last little nudge Virgil needs.

Maybe, a small part of him whispers, Roman could be right twice today. Maybe it could be good news.

Virgil rolls his eyes with forced indifference. “Fine,” he says, “if you really insist that much.” He swings his backpack around his shoulder and pulls it out. Roman grins at him.

Virgil’s fingers clench around the paper and he swallows hard. Just get it over with, Sanders, he tells himself firmly. He sucks in a deep breath and releases it in a slow, tight exhale. Then he digs his finger into the corner of the envelope flap and tears it open.

He pulls a white sheet of paper out and unfolds it. He glances up at Roman who raises his eyebrows in expectation.

His heart is hammering in his chest. He looks down at the page.

Dear Virgil,

We regret to inform you that while your application was appreciated and we are grateful for your interest in our institution, we are not able to offer you a place in the Class of –

Virgil stops reading.

“Virgil?” Roman asks softly.

Virgil shoves the paper hard into Roman’s chest. “I have to get to class,” he says hollowly.

…

Virgil avoids Roman for the rest of the day. He eats lunch in the library, a part of him grateful that he doesn’t have any classes with his best friend. He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. By lunchtime, he has four texts from Roman.

R: I’m sorry

R: You okay?

R: Can we talk at lunch?

R: If you need to talk, I’ll be there. Just say the word.

Virgil pockets his phone, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. The words from the letter keep running through his head and it is hard for him to hear much of anything else. We regret to inform you. We regret to inform you. We regret to inform you.

He’s a failure. A disappointment. Idiot.

He’d been so fucking stupid.

“Virgil?”

It’s right before last period when a familiar voice says his name. Virgil looks up from his shoes and pulls an earbud out sheepishly. He isn’t supposed to have them in, but blaring My Chemical Romance into his ears had been the closest he’d been able to get to drowning out the thoughts raging through his head.

In front of him stands one of the school counselors. Dr. Emile Picani. He had actually been a counselor at Virgil’s grade school before transferring into the high school when Virgil was in his sophomore year. Virgil had met with him for a few weeks when he’d first been transferred into foster care under Logan and Patton to help him adjust to the new school. They’d gotten along surprisingly well, and Virgil had to admit that he’d been pleased when Picani had transferred schools, if only because it was another friendly face in the hallways.

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, Dr. Picani.”

The school counselor gives him a warm smile. “How’s it feel to only have a couple of months left before graduation?”

The question makes something squeeze Virgil’s chest uncomfortably. Terrifying. “Pretty good.”

Picani’s head tilts slightly, like he sees right through Virgil’s lie. His smile softens a bit. “I’m glad to hear that. I should let you get to class, but don’t be a stranger. My door is always open.”

Virgil doesn’t know if he’s more transparent than he wants to be, or if Picani is just that observant. Virgil nods slowly. “Y-yeah. Of course.”

…

A few days have passed and he still hasn’t really talked with Roman about it. He thinks Roman wants him to bring it up, but he doesn’t. So they talk about classes and theatre and music and anything but college, the future, the letter.

Virgil gets home and he unzips his backpack at the kitchen table. He had stashed a coffee thermos in there in the morning and needed to rinse it out. What he finds, however, is the white envelope he definitely remembers shoving at Roman days ago.

We regret to inform you.

He doesn’t know when or how Roman got it back into his backpack. On it is a white Sticky Note with red cursive lettering that is unmistakably his best friend’s handwriting.

This is yet another beast you will come to conquer. Do not lose hope. Roman had drawn a small crown in the corner instead of a signature. Virgil knows his best friend is well-meaning. But he feels his heart constrict at the sight of the envelope and letter again. Bitterness floods his mouth.

He doesn’t want to deal with it. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not ever.

Most of all, he doesn’t want to think about telling his dads. Telling Logan. He doesn’t want to think about what they’ll say when they realize he really is the mistake they never should have bothered with in the first place. Education—college—had always been important to both of his dads. Logan especially. All the hours spent helping him improve his grades, understand concepts, patiently work through practice questions. They’d given him so much. What does he have to show for it now, to show he wasn’t a waste of their time? The answer is nothing.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Blindly, Virgil tears the note in half and shoves it and the papers into the trashcan before rushing up to his room.

…

“Virgil, are you alright?”

Logan’s question comes in the middle of dinner. The seventeen year old had been studiously avoiding looking up, instead opting to push chicken breast and broccoli around his plate. His dads’ conversation had begun to blend into the general background noise of the kitchen—the dishwasher running, the whir of the refrigerator—and Virgil had found his thoughts wandering for what felt like the millionth time. We regret to inform you.

“I’m fine,” he replies hollowly. Fine, he supposes, is a subjective term.

“Kiddo,” Patton says softly. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.”

Virgil still doesn’t look up, but he thinks he can feel Logan’s gaze narrow at him. He just wants to go to his room, close the door, and never come out again. Part of him whispers the understanding that he has to tell them eventually. The other part muses idly about whether it would be too cliché to run away and join the circus.

He doesn’t want to run away, though. Not really. His two dads sitting across from him at the kitchen table were the best home, the best family, he had ever had. When Patton had asked if he wanted to be adopted—Virgil had been ten at the time—he had answered nearly immediately out of fear that Patton might change his mind and take the question back. They had provided him with a constancy and security that Virgil had never before experienced. They had given him a kind of warmth and love that Virgil wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

He wonders if that’s what makes this so painful. Because he’s disappointed them—Logan especially—and he doesn’t know how to tell them. He’s failed his dads, failed Logan. Logan who had always believed in him so much, so obviously believed he could succeed.

“I’ve got a lot of homework,” Virgil tells them. “I should probably go work on it.”

“Virge, you barely ate anything.” Patton’s voice is quiet and concerned. It only makes Virgil feel worse. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, dad.”

Patton and Logan had always been supportive of him right from the start. Patton’s warmth and unending empathy had helped with the transitions into a new home and a new school. His words of encouragement and support whenever Virgil found a new interest had helped him feel more comfortable with himself in ways he never had quite been before.

Logan’s support had looked different, but had been evident nonetheless. The high school science teacher had demonstrated an endless amount of patience with him, answering questions and working with him, even if it meant teaching himself brand new subjects or methods in order to help more efficiently. More than once, both of them had fallen asleep at the kitchen table only to wake up to Patton setting two cups of coffee in front of them with an amused smile the following morning.

When Virgil would slip into self-deprecating talk out of frustration at not understanding something, Logan’s calm reassurance and rational explanations melted away the self-doubt and second-guessing. Logan showed over and over that he felt Virgil could and would succeed. And before long, Virgil started to hesitantly believe that about himself.

Logan had been the one who drove him for hours to go visit different colleges across the country. Any time Virgil had mentioned something related to going to college—even just passing comments about how his roommate might be a total idiot—the teen hadn’t missed the way Logan’s eyes would light up in that subtle way. Shining with pride and anticipation.

Logan had been proud of him. So much for that, he thinks bitterly.

“Do you require any assistance?” Logan asks him, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“I’m fine,” Virgil replies tightly. He pushes back from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

…

There’s a soft knock at his door. Virgil glances at the time on his phone. 10:13 PM. He presses a button to dim the screen. “Come in?”

The door opens slowly. Virgil admits he’s a bit surprised when he sees that it’s Logan. It only takes a moment before Virgil realizes that something seems… off. Logan looks hesitant. His jaw and shoulders look tense.

“Uh, hey,” Virgil says. “What’s up?”

When Logan steps fully into the room, Virgil sees the white envelope in his hand and pales. Shit…

“Virgil,” Logan says, and then stops like he isn’t sure what to say. He glances down at the envelope in his hand, then back up at Virgil. There’s something—an emotion—in his eyes that Virgil can’t place. Logan takes in a breath. “I found this in the trash. I wanted to…” He trails off. His grip on the paper tightens.

Virgil shifts. “You went through my trash?” he says, the accusation empty. Virgil knows the envelope was probably just sitting on top when Logan went to change the bags like he did every night. Virgil had been stupid. He should have buried it deeper into the bag at least.

“You know the answer to that.” He tosses the envelope onto the bed in front of Virgil’s lap. “What does it say?”

“Dad…”

“Virgil,” Logan says, his voice tight. “Please.”

Virgil shakes his head, his face flushing under his scrutinizing gaze. “As if you don’t know already,” he snaps. “Look, I’m sorry I’m such a huge let down to you but you don’t have to act like you’re so surprised.”

Something sharp flashes through Logan’s eyes. “You weren’t accepted.” It isn’t a question.

Something is squeezing Virgil’s chest at the cold tone. “No,” he says, hating how deflated his voice suddenly sounds. “I wasn’t.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Virgil looks down and stares at the black sheets on his bed. His phone. The Dear Evan Hansen poster on the wall. Anywhere but at Logan.

“How long have you known?” Logan asks eventually in a quiet, measured voice.

Virgil swallows and shoves his hands into his pockets. “A few days.”

He hears Logan take in a slow breath. In his peripheral, he sees his father nod stiffly. Logan then turns and walks out of the room. Virgil tries not to wince as the door latches shut behind him.

…

Days go by. Virgil does his best to keep himself busy and out of the house. He stays later after rehearsals to work on set design and building. Roman sticks around with him, rehearsing lines and blocking as Virgil adds more detail than had been asked of him to the brick texturing of the set wall. He pretends to not notice his best friend’s worried glances. He feigns ignorance of the questions he knows Roman wants to ask but won’t.

He spends more hours at the library, too. The good news is that he finishes his paper on Shakespeare’s The Tempest two days early. The bad news is that he can’t ever seem to focus on his Chemistry homework.

He checks Tumblr more often. He checks Facebook less.

When he gets home—usually around or just after dinnertime—he goes to his room first. He times snack breaks for after he hears Logan’s steady, measured footsteps come up the stairs and the bedroom door closed so that he can get to the kitchen without running into him. When Patton texts him in the early afternoon about whether or not he plans to be home for dinner, Virgil pretends that his stomach doesn’t twist with guilt as his answers go from idk to not tonight.

It’s surprisingly easy to avoid Logan, and Virgil begins to wonder if Logan might be avoiding him too.

…

It’s coming up on a full week since Logan had found out. 6 days exactly. Virgil shuffles quietly out of his room to the bathroom down the hall. It’s almost one in the morning, and the teen still needs to brush his teeth before he clocks out for the night.

The door to his dads’ bedroom is slightly ajar, a soft warm light peeking through. Virgil frowns. Usually, his dads went to bed no later than 11:00, often much earlier. The fact that there was a light on at one in the morning was… unusual.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Virgil risks a quick glance in the open space of the ajar door.

Logan sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door, Patton beside him with a hand rubbing his back. Logan has his head in his hands. He says something Virgil doesn’t quite catch. Patton stiffens, responds in a low, soft voice and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Patton pulls Logan closer.

Logan takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. Virgil watches, feeling like he’s intruding when he sees Logan tuck into Patton’s embrace a little more.

Virgil’s phone vibrates loudly in his pocket. He teen cringes at the noise and ducks into the bathroom before either of his dads can so much as look up.

…

The next evening, Virgil slips out of his bedroom and pads quietly down to the kitchen to grab a granola bar. Most of the lights in the house are off, so the teen figures it’s safe to assume his dads have gone to bed. Besides, Virgil hadn’t eaten much for dinner and his stomach was growling. He has seven problems left in his Pre-Calculus homework.

He still can’t quite shake the image of Patton with his arm around Logan from the previous night. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel uneasy. Guilty. A small part of him knows he’s at fault, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

He can’t change that he didn’t get into college, and he can’t change how Logan found out. If he’d had his way, Virgil thinks to himself as he rounds the corner of the staircase, Logan still wouldn’t know. Logan would still be proud of him. Logan wouldn’t have realized yet what a huge mistake—

His thoughts cut out abruptly at he sees him in the kitchen. Logan is washing dishes, his hands plunged into a sink full of hot, soapy water. Virgil freezes in the doorway.

He wonders if it’s too late to rush back to his room when Logan speaks up.

“You missed dinner tonight.” It sounds more observational than accusatory. But Virgil can’t be entirely sure without seeing his father’s expression, and Logan hasn’t turned around.

The teen shrugs. “Yeah, I just… production week is coming up, so I’ve been staying late to work on the set and stuff.”

Logan sets a pot on the drying rack on the counter and picks up a plate. “How’s that going?”

Virgil feels like he could choke on the thick, tense air of the kitchen. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” Logan’s hands still in the water for a moment. “Is that the only reason you’ve been home later this past week?”

He tenses at the question. “I mean, basically,” he lies.

“I am inclined to believe that is a falsehood,” Logan says, slowly and carefully. “Given that this didn’t start until after I found the letter in the trash.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything. Here it comes, he thinks, and takes in a breath to brace himself.

“Virgil, I just…” Logan sighs. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

The teen harshly shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He swallows, even as he feels a rush of defensiveness. “What do you want me to say?” he demands.

“Virge—“

“You want an explanation, dad?” Virgil continues. He can feel something cracking in his chest and he can’t stop the words racing up his throat and past his lips. “Do you want to know why they rejected me? Why I’m always such a fuck-up? Because I don’t know! I don’t know why.”

“That’s not—“

“They… they just didn’t want me, okay?” The words burn Virgil’s throat and taste bitter on his tongue. “God knows why you ever did.”

Logan’s hand slips from the plate in his hand, clattering into the sink. He whirls around, his eyes bright and pained. “I have always wanted you here,” Logan says, firm and unyielding. His jaw jumps. “Always.”

Something gives a sharp tug in Virgil’s chest. “I’m a screw-up.”

“No.” Logan shakes his head. He isn’t looking at Virgil. “If anyone in this family deserves such a label, it is myself.”

Virgil blinks at his dad, disbelieving. “You? Mr. Advanced Degree? Mr. Straight-A’s-All-Through-College? You’re probably the most accomplished man I know—“

“If I have made you feel like you couldn’t come to me,” Logan cuts in in a soft voice, “when you found out that you got rejected, then the logical conclusion is that I must have made a terrific mistake somewhere along the way as your father.” His father’s gaze finally meets his. Virgil stops cold at seeing tears pressing against them.

Virgil shakes his head quickly. “Wait—“

“And you have my deepest regret, Virgil. I’m…” Logan’s voice wavers. He pauses and tries again. “I’m so deeply sorry if you felt unsafe in coming to me with that news. If I gave you any reason to think that my support, my affection, or my love was ever conditional.”

“No. That’s… I didn’t…” He blows out a breath. “God, I just… I wanted you to be proud of me.” The confession falls from his lips and lands heavy in the air between them.

The silence that follows is deafening. Virgil feels suddenly desperate to fill it. “It’s just… you’ve done so much for me. And I just… I guess I just wanted you to feel like it… paid off. Like this person you brought in seven years ago was… worthy of it or something. I don’t know.”

But he does know. He doesn’t want to let Logan down. Not after everything.

Logan swallows. He looks abruptly young and vulnerable, his slender frame smaller in the dim lighting of the kitchen. His hands are shoved in the pocket of his jeans, his tie pulled slightly loose from his neck, his sleeves rolled to his elbows from when he’d been doing dishes. There’s an unusually soft kind of earnestness in his eyes behind his thick black glasses.

“Virgil, you’re my son. I would never wish to do any less for you.” He pauses, then continues quietly. “I have made many mistakes in my life. Choosing you, choosing to spend time with you, choosing to help you… those are not counted among them. Watching you become the young man you are has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. You have always been, and remain, one of my greatest sources of pride.”

Virgil’s throat closes up. He coughs in an effort to clear it. He doesn’t know what to say. Logan’s words ricochet in his mind.  You have always been, and remain, one of my greatest sources of pride. They fill the silence that follows in the kitchen.

“I…” he tries, because he feels like he should say something but he doesn’t know what. He swallows and tries again. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Logan’s brow pulls together in confusion.

“That I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” Virgil blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what to do. I…” Virgil’s voice cuts out suddenly when he feels strong arms wrapping around him in a hug. He hadn’t even noticed that Logan had crossed the distance between them. Virgil leans into the embrace a little, taking in a deep breath of soap and paper.

“This has no bearing on the pride I feel in who you are, Virgil,” Logan assures him softly.

Virgil closes his eyes for a moment. Logan lets the hug linger for a moment before pulling back. His dark brown eyes are still wide and searching. Virgil feels the last of the tightness in his chest relaxes for the first time since getting the letter in the mail.

“I… don’t know what comes next,” he admits softly. “What do I do now?”

Logan glances down at his shoes before meeting his son’s gaze again. “Plenty of students take gap years, Virge. There’s a wide number of possibilities open to you.” He speaks carefully. “It… is something we can figure out together, if you would like.”

The teen looks back up at his father. The corner of his mouth tug upwards in a faint smile. “Yeah, dad. I’d like that.”

…

[chpatdoorsl3z0a1]

In 100 Days, Donald Trump Hasn’t Done Much Except Show Off His Signature

KENOSHA, Wisconsin – On Day 89 of his presidency, Donald Trump set down his felt-tipped pen and did what he’s done most and best so far in his new job: held up a piece of paper he had just signed for news cameras to record for posterity.

More than four dozen times since taking office, Trump has invited the media he regularly attacks to show off his distinctive cursive on a presidential document ―  a document that, the vast majority of the time, has been completely unnecessary to accomplish the stated goal.

Previous presidents have signed executive orders and memoranda. None appeared to be compelled to hold them up and show off their penmanship.

“It’s show and tell,” Duke University historian William Chafe said. “It’s basically trying to create the impression of decisiveness.”

In Chafe’s view, it’s actually a misimpression, given the lack of a single significant piece of legislation to pass under Trump’s watch, including the 10 he specifically promised he would shepherd through Congress in his first 100 days.

“The executive orders are the only substantive things that he’s accomplished,” Chafe said, adding that even those have not been particularly substantial. All but a handful of the objectives described in the directives did not even need a formal presidential authorization for the agency heads to pursue them.

In Kenosha, for example, as employees at the Snap-on tools headquarters applauded, Trump signed his “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which he claimed would “help protect workers and students, like those of you in the audience today.”

Except the actual language of the order affects purchasing by federal agencies he controls and asks his own departments to look for ways to tighten some work visa rules. So why issue an executive order ― a tool that historically has reinterpreted laws or rules to achieve a desired goal ― when a simple email or phone call might have done the job?

“An executive order is a signal to every single worker in the federal government, including career workers, lifelong workers, every one across the federal government, that this is an order from the president of the United States, memorialized in writing,” a senior administration official said on condition of anonymity on the Air Force One flight from Wisconsin back to Washington, D.C. “There is no higher statement of executive direction than the form of an executive order.”

Two days later, Trump signed an official memorandum before the cameras, asking his Commerce Department to look into whether steel imports were unfairly undercutting the U.S. steel industry. Why the formal memo, rather than just asking Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to look into it?

“He has issued this memorandum to stress that he would like us to make this a real priority and to expedite it,” said Ross, who acknowledged that he had already started the review the previous day, before the memo was issued.

And the very next morning, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin conceded that Trump’s executive order that afternoon to study the tax code also wasn’t really necessary, despite the televised signing and passing out of pens. “I think the purpose of the orders is to make clear what the president and the administration’s priorities are, and to signify the importance of these issues to the American people,” Mnuchin said.

Chafe and other critics remain unimpressed, and argue that the rash of meaningless signing ceremonies is simply more evidence of a White House that cannot figure out a way to get what it wants ― and maybe cannot even figure out what exactly it does want ― and so settles on PR stunts.

“This administration is still operating under chaos and capriciousness,” Chafe said of Trump. “He’s erratic. He’s all over the place.” 

Promises For 100 Days

Trump had been in office for just a few weeks when he began bragging that he was already accomplishing more than any previous president.

“There has never been a presidency that’s done so much in such a short period of time,” Trump proclaimed in a Feb. 16 White House news conference.

As the days slipped past and it became clear the only bills reaching his desk were feel-good measures such as the one encouraging women to pursue science careers or measures using the Congressional Review Act to undo agency rules passed in the final days of the Obama administration, Trump’s White House began recalibrating its message.

Early this month, Trump’s legislative affairs director, Marc Short, asked reporters “to consider” making the CRAs a bigger deal in their news coverage. “I think if you take into [account] in totality what we’ve been trying to do on the regulatory front, it is a news story. And so I do think it’s an accomplishment,” he said.

The White House began bragging about the increase in the stock market, decreases in illegal border crossings from Mexico and strong job growth numbers ― and attributed them all to Trump’s election.

Eventually, Trump, even as he continued to boast about how great he was doing, began diminishing the whole 100-day concept. “I think the 100 days is, you know, it’s an artificial barrier. It’s not very meaningful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press last week.

Measuring a president by accomplishments in the first 100 days only came into vogue with the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who entered office at the nadir of the Great Depression. Roosevelt jammed through a significant chuck of his New Deal initiatives in those first months, and that yardstick has stuck ever since.

It is not necessarily fair, particularly to presidents who take office in times of relative peace and prosperity, said University of Texas historian H.W. Brands. Roosevelt in 1933 and Barack Obama in 2009 had to act quickly or risk seeing the nation fall even deeper into economic peril.

Trump, in contrast, took office following 75 straight months of job growth, a 4.7 percent unemployment rate and the wind down of massive, post-Sept. 11 troop deployments.

“He didn’t face a crisis, he didn’t face those emergencies,” Brands said. “But he’s bringing it on himself. ... If the tax code isn’t changed in six months or two years, the world’s not going to end.”

Trump, nevertheless, has claimed he had to act quickly because he inherited “a mess” from his predecessor. That, in fact, was a central theme of his campaign: that the country was a disaster that only he could fix. And on Oct. 22, just weeks before the election, Trump traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and issued a series of promises, some that he would do on his first day in office and the rest that he would accomplish in his first 100.

Based on the list Trump himself created, his track record has been abysmal. Trump actually participated in inaugural activities his first day in office, and spent much of the second day complaining about the media coverage of the first day.

In the coming days and weeks, though, Trump did follow through on some of the 18 actions he said he would start pursuing on Day One, signing orders to deport more undocumented immigrants, to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and to require that each new regulation be accompanied by the repeal of two existing regulations. He also appointed a Supreme Court justice off the list he had previously made public, as he had promised.

But Trump failed to follow through on other items from that list of Day One actions. He did not propose a constitutional amendment to impose term limits on Congress. Not only did he fail to label China a currency manipulator, as he promised he would, but he later came out and specifically said that China is not one. Most famously, his promises to “cancel all federal funding to sanctuary cities” and to “suspend immigration from terror-prone regions” are tied up in the courts, thanks to poorly drafted language and Trump’s own inflammatory statements about Muslims during the campaign.

And among the 10 pieces of legislation Trump promised to fight to pass “within the first 100 days of my administration,” he is zero for 10.

The End the Offshoring Act, the Clean Up Corruption in Washington Act, the Affordable Childcare and Eldercare Act ― not one enjoys much of an existence outside of Trump’s October press release. Even his signature campaign promise, to build a “great wall” along the southern border with Mexico, has now been effectively put off until at least October.

If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all. Nothing has happened. H.W. Brands, University of Texas historian

The only one of those 10 bills that has moved in either chamber ― repealing and replacing the Affordable Care Act ― had to be pulled from the House floor just before a scheduled vote last month because of a lack of Republican support, although a revamped version could soon be up for consideration.

“If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all,” Brands said. “Nothing has happened.”

Trump has even failed to follow through on the very first promise he made in that October Gettysburg speech, which came not long after a series of women went public with accusations of Trump’s inappropriate sexual conduct toward them.

“Every woman lied when they came forward to hurt my campaign,” Trump said. “Total fabrications. The events never happened. Never. All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”

In fact, Trump does not appear to have sued even one of those women.

A Consistent Track Record

To Trump’s many critics, both Democratic and Republican, none of this comes as a surprise.

His decades as a publicity-hungry businessman are littered with enterprises he plunged into with impulsive, poorly researched decisions that later failed, sometimes spectacularly ― everything from his Trump Shuttle airline to his branded Trump Steaks.

In the early 1990s, Trump’s entire business empire was on the verge of collapse. His Atlantic City casinos were bleeding money, and because he had personally guaranteed nearly $1 billion in business loans, their failure would have meant personal bankruptcy for him, too.

Fortunately for Trump, his lenders risked financial ruin themselves if he went down, so they continued to work with him to keep him solvent. Over a period of years, though, his empire shrank as banks forced him to hand over ever-larger portions of his holdings and made him give up extravagances like his 281-foot yacht. They even restricted him to an allowance.

Unable to borrow money for construction projects, Trump shifted his business model toward licensing his name to hotels and condominiums that he didn’t own ― a marketing scheme that became far more successful thanks to the adaptation of his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, into a hit television series.

Trump’s track record did not suggest a brilliant and savvy businessman, but that’s what he played on “The Apprentice,” talking tough and making shrewd decisions in every episode.

He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time. He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant

It was an image that burned into the American popular consciousness over a dozen years, and one that tens of millions of dollars of negative advertising featuring Trump’s actual business record could not undo in the months leading up to last November’s election.

“He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time,” said Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant and longtime Trump critic. “He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. ... This is also because he’s fundamentally an unserious person. He’ll say whatever it takes to get the sucker to sign on the dotted line.”

Never Afraid To Brag

Unsurprisingly, Trump brought the habit of claiming phenomenal success, regardless of the actual facts of the case, with him into the White House.

But with no obvious foils to blame as he had during the presidential campaign, Trump’s own character traits underlying his inability to get things done have become more obvious to more observers: His profound ignorance of both domestic and world affairs, an inability or unwillingness to focus, and an eagerness to lash out at perceived threats.

His short attention span and lack of interest in details became clear even to Republican House members during the initial attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last month. Trump did not appear to know how that law or his proposed replacement actually worked, and seemed more interested in passing something ― anything ― that he could call a victory.

His defenders, who say his lack of knowledge is understandable, given his lack of previous political office, argue that Trump will be held to a different standard by voters judging his performance now, just as they did heading into the 2016 election.

Ari Fleischer, a former press secretary to President George W. Bush, said that, in any case, the voting public’s verdict about Trump will not be determined in the first 100 days. Rather, their views about whether their individual lives and the lives of their families and friends are improved or made more difficult will decide how Republicans fare in the 2018 midterm elections and whether Trump can win a second term two years later.

Be that as it may, the Trump White House this week pulled out all the stops in touting its 100 Day successes ― a new page on the White House website, daily recitations by his press shop of his accomplishments, and a flurry of televised signings of presidential pieces of paper.

Among them are orders and memos asking for studies about agriculture, federal education policy and national monuments. All could have been accomplished without a formal presidential declaration.

The White House also staged a closed-door briefing with members of Congress about North Korea (members said afterward they did not learn anything new and wondered what the point of it was), released a single page of bullet points of a “tax reform” proposal (it was so vague that it was impossible to determine how any given taxpayer’s bill would be affected), and floated the idea of an order to withdraw from the North American Free Trade Agreement with Canada and Mexico (pulling out of NAFTA could require congressional approval, which he isn’t likely to get).

Fleischer said he agrees the presidential orders have been mainly stagecraft. “Legally speaking, there isn’t a big difference between an executive order and a president telling his agencies to do something,” he said. “But, no harm done in packaging it.”

Of course, if Trump’s press team gets truly desperate for accomplishments, they can reach back to a campaign promise he made when announcing his candidacy in June 2015, following his now-famous ride down the Trump Tower escalator.

Right after criticizing the Obama administration’s deal to suspend Iran’s nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions relief ― ironically, a deal the Trump administration last week acknowledged Iran is living up to ― Trump laid into Obama’s secretary of state, John Kerry, for crashing his bicycle.

“Goes into a bicycle race at 72 years old, and falls and breaks his leg. I won’t be doing that,” Trump said. “And I promise I will never be in a bicycle race. That I can tell you.”

Trump has not, at least thus far in his presidency, participated in a single bicycle race.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2oSCWEP

[grgedoors02142]

In 100 Days, Donald Trump Hasn’t Done Much Except Show Off His Signature

KENOSHA, Wisconsin – On Day 89 of his presidency, Donald Trump set down his felt-tipped pen and did what he’s done most and best so far in his new job: held up a piece of paper he had just signed for news cameras to record for posterity.

More than four dozen times since taking office, Trump has invited the media he regularly attacks to show off his distinctive cursive on a presidential document ―  a document that, the vast majority of the time, has been completely unnecessary to accomplish the stated goal.

Previous presidents have signed executive orders and memoranda. None appeared to be compelled to hold them up and show off their penmanship.

“It’s show and tell,” Duke University historian William Chafe said. “It’s basically trying to create the impression of decisiveness.”

In Chafe’s view, it’s actually a misimpression, given the lack of a single significant piece of legislation to pass under Trump’s watch, including the 10 he specifically promised he would shepherd through Congress in his first 100 days.

“The executive orders are the only substantive things that he’s accomplished,” Chafe said, adding that even those have not been particularly substantial. All but a handful of the objectives described in the directives did not even need a formal presidential authorization for the agency heads to pursue them.

In Kenosha, for example, as employees at the Snap-on tools headquarters applauded, Trump signed his “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which he claimed would “help protect workers and students, like those of you in the audience today.”

Except the actual language of the order affects purchasing by federal agencies he controls and asks his own departments to look for ways to tighten some work visa rules. So why issue an executive order ― a tool that historically has reinterpreted laws or rules to achieve a desired goal ― when a simple email or phone call might have done the job?

“An executive order is a signal to every single worker in the federal government, including career workers, lifelong workers, every one across the federal government, that this is an order from the president of the United States, memorialized in writing,” a senior administration official said on condition of anonymity on the Air Force One flight from Wisconsin back to Washington, D.C. “There is no higher statement of executive direction than the form of an executive order.”

Two days later, Trump signed an official memorandum before the cameras, asking his Commerce Department to look into whether steel imports were unfairly undercutting the U.S. steel industry. Why the formal memo, rather than just asking Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to look into it?

“He has issued this memorandum to stress that he would like us to make this a real priority and to expedite it,” said Ross, who acknowledged that he had already started the review the previous day, before the memo was issued.

And the very next morning, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin conceded that Trump’s executive order that afternoon to study the tax code also wasn’t really necessary, despite the televised signing and passing out of pens. “I think the purpose of the orders is to make clear what the president and the administration’s priorities are, and to signify the importance of these issues to the American people,” Mnuchin said.

Chafe and other critics remain unimpressed, and argue that the rash of meaningless signing ceremonies is simply more evidence of a White House that cannot figure out a way to get what it wants ― and maybe cannot even figure out what exactly it does want ― and so settles on PR stunts.

“This administration is still operating under chaos and capriciousness,” Chafe said of Trump. “He’s erratic. He’s all over the place.” 

Promises For 100 Days

Trump had been in office for just a few weeks when he began bragging that he was already accomplishing more than any previous president.

“There has never been a presidency that’s done so much in such a short period of time,” Trump proclaimed in a Feb. 16 White House news conference.

As the days slipped past and it became clear the only bills reaching his desk were feel-good measures such as the one encouraging women to pursue science careers or measures using the Congressional Review Act to undo agency rules passed in the final days of the Obama administration, Trump’s White House began recalibrating its message.

Early this month, Trump’s legislative affairs director, Marc Short, asked reporters “to consider” making the CRAs a bigger deal in their news coverage. “I think if you take into [account] in totality what we’ve been trying to do on the regulatory front, it is a news story. And so I do think it’s an accomplishment,” he said.

The White House began bragging about the increase in the stock market, decreases in illegal border crossings from Mexico and strong job growth numbers ― and attributed them all to Trump’s election.

Eventually, Trump, even as he continued to boast about how great he was doing, began diminishing the whole 100-day concept. “I think the 100 days is, you know, it’s an artificial barrier. It’s not very meaningful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press last week.

Measuring a president by accomplishments in the first 100 days only came into vogue with the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who entered office at the nadir of the Great Depression. Roosevelt jammed through a significant chuck of his New Deal initiatives in those first months, and that yardstick has stuck ever since.

It is not necessarily fair, particularly to presidents who take office in times of relative peace and prosperity, said University of Texas historian H.W. Brands. Roosevelt in 1933 and Barack Obama in 2009 had to act quickly or risk seeing the nation fall even deeper into economic peril.

Trump, in contrast, took office following 75 straight months of job growth, a 4.7 percent unemployment rate and the wind down of massive, post-Sept. 11 troop deployments.

“He didn’t face a crisis, he didn’t face those emergencies,” Brands said. “But he’s bringing it on himself. ... If the tax code isn’t changed in six months or two years, the world’s not going to end.”

Trump, nevertheless, has claimed he had to act quickly because he inherited “a mess” from his predecessor. That, in fact, was a central theme of his campaign: that the country was a disaster that only he could fix. And on Oct. 22, just weeks before the election, Trump traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and issued a series of promises, some that he would do on his first day in office and the rest that he would accomplish in his first 100.

Based on the list Trump himself created, his track record has been abysmal. Trump actually participated in inaugural activities his first day in office, and spent much of the second day complaining about the media coverage of the first day.

In the coming days and weeks, though, Trump did follow through on some of the 18 actions he said he would start pursuing on Day One, signing orders to deport more undocumented immigrants, to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and to require that each new regulation be accompanied by the repeal of two existing regulations. He also appointed a Supreme Court justice off the list he had previously made public, as he had promised.

But Trump failed to follow through on other items from that list of Day One actions. He did not propose a constitutional amendment to impose term limits on Congress. Not only did he fail to label China a currency manipulator, as he promised he would, but he later came out and specifically said that China is not one. Most famously, his promises to “cancel all federal funding to sanctuary cities” and to “suspend immigration from terror-prone regions” are tied up in the courts, thanks to poorly drafted language and Trump’s own inflammatory statements about Muslims during the campaign.

And among the 10 pieces of legislation Trump promised to fight to pass “within the first 100 days of my administration,” he is zero for 10.

The End the Offshoring Act, the Clean Up Corruption in Washington Act, the Affordable Childcare and Eldercare Act ― not one enjoys much of an existence outside of Trump’s October press release. Even his signature campaign promise, to build a “great wall” along the southern border with Mexico, has now been effectively put off until at least October.

If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all. Nothing has happened. H.W. Brands, University of Texas historian

The only one of those 10 bills that has moved in either chamber ― repealing and replacing the Affordable Care Act ― had to be pulled from the House floor just before a scheduled vote last month because of a lack of Republican support, although a revamped version could soon be up for consideration.

“If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all,” Brands said. “Nothing has happened.”

Trump has even failed to follow through on the very first promise he made in that October Gettysburg speech, which came not long after a series of women went public with accusations of Trump’s inappropriate sexual conduct toward them.

“Every woman lied when they came forward to hurt my campaign,” Trump said. “Total fabrications. The events never happened. Never. All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”

In fact, Trump does not appear to have sued even one of those women.

A Consistent Track Record

To Trump’s many critics, both Democratic and Republican, none of this comes as a surprise.

His decades as a publicity-hungry businessman are littered with enterprises he plunged into with impulsive, poorly researched decisions that later failed, sometimes spectacularly ― everything from his Trump Shuttle airline to his branded Trump Steaks.

In the early 1990s, Trump’s entire business empire was on the verge of collapse. His Atlantic City casinos were bleeding money, and because he had personally guaranteed nearly $1 billion in business loans, their failure would have meant personal bankruptcy for him, too.

Fortunately for Trump, his lenders risked financial ruin themselves if he went down, so they continued to work with him to keep him solvent. Over a period of years, though, his empire shrank as banks forced him to hand over ever-larger portions of his holdings and made him give up extravagances like his 281-foot yacht. They even restricted him to an allowance.

Unable to borrow money for construction projects, Trump shifted his business model toward licensing his name to hotels and condominiums that he didn’t own ― a marketing scheme that became far more successful thanks to the adaptation of his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, into a hit television series.

Trump’s track record did not suggest a brilliant and savvy businessman, but that’s what he played on “The Apprentice,” talking tough and making shrewd decisions in every episode.

He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time. He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant

It was an image that burned into the American popular consciousness over a dozen years, and one that tens of millions of dollars of negative advertising featuring Trump’s actual business record could not undo in the months leading up to last November’s election.

“He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time,” said Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant and longtime Trump critic. “He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. ... This is also because he’s fundamentally an unserious person. He’ll say whatever it takes to get the sucker to sign on the dotted line.”

Never Afraid To Brag

Unsurprisingly, Trump brought the habit of claiming phenomenal success, regardless of the actual facts of the case, with him into the White House.

But with no obvious foils to blame as he had during the presidential campaign, Trump’s own character traits underlying his inability to get things done have become more obvious to more observers: His profound ignorance of both domestic and world affairs, an inability or unwillingness to focus, and an eagerness to lash out at perceived threats.

His short attention span and lack of interest in details became clear even to Republican House members during the initial attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last month. Trump did not appear to know how that law or his proposed replacement actually worked, and seemed more interested in passing something ― anything ― that he could call a victory.

His defenders, who say his lack of knowledge is understandable, given his lack of previous political office, argue that Trump will be held to a different standard by voters judging his performance now, just as they did heading into the 2016 election.

Ari Fleischer, a former press secretary to President George W. Bush, said that, in any case, the voting public’s verdict about Trump will not be determined in the first 100 days. Rather, their views about whether their individual lives and the lives of their families and friends are improved or made more difficult will decide how Republicans fare in the 2018 midterm elections and whether Trump can win a second term two years later.

Be that as it may, the Trump White House this week pulled out all the stops in touting its 100 Day successes ― a new page on the White House website, daily recitations by his press shop of his accomplishments, and a flurry of televised signings of presidential pieces of paper.

Among them are orders and memos asking for studies about agriculture, federal education policy and national monuments. All could have been accomplished without a formal presidential declaration.

The White House also staged a closed-door briefing with members of Congress about North Korea (members said afterward they did not learn anything new and wondered what the point of it was), released a single page of bullet points of a “tax reform” proposal (it was so vague that it was impossible to determine how any given taxpayer’s bill would be affected), and floated the idea of an order to withdraw from the North American Free Trade Agreement with Canada and Mexico (pulling out of NAFTA could require congressional approval, which he isn’t likely to get).

Fleischer said he agrees the presidential orders have been mainly stagecraft. “Legally speaking, there isn’t a big difference between an executive order and a president telling his agencies to do something,” he said. “But, no harm done in packaging it.”

Of course, if Trump’s press team gets truly desperate for accomplishments, they can reach back to a campaign promise he made when announcing his candidacy in June 2015, following his now-famous ride down the Trump Tower escalator.

Right after criticizing the Obama administration’s deal to suspend Iran’s nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions relief ― ironically, a deal the Trump administration last week acknowledged Iran is living up to ― Trump laid into Obama’s secretary of state, John Kerry, for crashing his bicycle.

“Goes into a bicycle race at 72 years old, and falls and breaks his leg. I won’t be doing that,” Trump said. “And I promise I will never be in a bicycle race. That I can tell you.”

Trump has not, at least thus far in his presidency, participated in a single bicycle race.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2oSCWEP

[stormdoors78476]

In 100 Days, Donald Trump Hasn’t Done Much Except Show Off His Signature

KENOSHA, Wisconsin – On Day 89 of his presidency, Donald Trump set down his felt-tipped pen and did what he’s done most and best so far in his new job: held up a piece of paper he had just signed for news cameras to record for posterity.

More than four dozen times since taking office, Trump has invited the media he regularly attacks to show off his distinctive cursive on a presidential document ―  a document that, the vast majority of the time, has been completely unnecessary to accomplish the stated goal.

Previous presidents have signed executive orders and memoranda. None appeared to be compelled to hold them up and show off their penmanship.

“It’s show and tell,” Duke University historian William Chafe said. “It’s basically trying to create the impression of decisiveness.”

In Chafe’s view, it’s actually a misimpression, given the lack of a single significant piece of legislation to pass under Trump’s watch, including the 10 he specifically promised he would shepherd through Congress in his first 100 days.

“The executive orders are the only substantive things that he’s accomplished,” Chafe said, adding that even those have not been particularly substantial. All but a handful of the objectives described in the directives did not even need a formal presidential authorization for the agency heads to pursue them.

In Kenosha, for example, as employees at the Snap-on tools headquarters applauded, Trump signed his “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which he claimed would “help protect workers and students, like those of you in the audience today.”

Except the actual language of the order affects purchasing by federal agencies he controls and asks his own departments to look for ways to tighten some work visa rules. So why issue an executive order ― a tool that historically has reinterpreted laws or rules to achieve a desired goal ― when a simple email or phone call might have done the job?

“An executive order is a signal to every single worker in the federal government, including career workers, lifelong workers, every one across the federal government, that this is an order from the president of the United States, memorialized in writing,” a senior administration official said on condition of anonymity on the Air Force One flight from Wisconsin back to Washington, D.C. “There is no higher statement of executive direction than the form of an executive order.”

Two days later, Trump signed an official memorandum before the cameras, asking his Commerce Department to look into whether steel imports were unfairly undercutting the U.S. steel industry. Why the formal memo, rather than just asking Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to look into it?

“He has issued this memorandum to stress that he would like us to make this a real priority and to expedite it,” said Ross, who acknowledged that he had already started the review the previous day, before the memo was issued.

And the very next morning, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin conceded that Trump’s executive order that afternoon to study the tax code also wasn’t really necessary, despite the televised signing and passing out of pens. “I think the purpose of the orders is to make clear what the president and the administration’s priorities are, and to signify the importance of these issues to the American people,” Mnuchin said.

Chafe and other critics remain unimpressed, and argue that the rash of meaningless signing ceremonies is simply more evidence of a White House that cannot figure out a way to get what it wants ― and maybe cannot even figure out what exactly it does want ― and so settles on PR stunts.

“This administration is still operating under chaos and capriciousness,” Chafe said of Trump. “He’s erratic. He’s all over the place.” 

Promises For 100 Days

Trump had been in office for just a few weeks when he began bragging that he was already accomplishing more than any previous president.

“There has never been a presidency that’s done so much in such a short period of time,” Trump proclaimed in a Feb. 16 White House news conference.

As the days slipped past and it became clear the only bills reaching his desk were feel-good measures such as the one encouraging women to pursue science careers or measures using the Congressional Review Act to undo agency rules passed in the final days of the Obama administration, Trump’s White House began recalibrating its message.

Early this month, Trump’s legislative affairs director, Marc Short, asked reporters “to consider” making the CRAs a bigger deal in their news coverage. “I think if you take into [account] in totality what we’ve been trying to do on the regulatory front, it is a news story. And so I do think it’s an accomplishment,” he said.

The White House began bragging about the increase in the stock market, decreases in illegal border crossings from Mexico and strong job growth numbers ― and attributed them all to Trump’s election.

Eventually, Trump, even as he continued to boast about how great he was doing, began diminishing the whole 100-day concept. “I think the 100 days is, you know, it’s an artificial barrier. It’s not very meaningful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press last week.

Measuring a president by accomplishments in the first 100 days only came into vogue with the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who entered office at the nadir of the Great Depression. Roosevelt jammed through a significant chuck of his New Deal initiatives in those first months, and that yardstick has stuck ever since.

It is not necessarily fair, particularly to presidents who take office in times of relative peace and prosperity, said University of Texas historian H.W. Brands. Roosevelt in 1933 and Barack Obama in 2009 had to act quickly or risk seeing the nation fall even deeper into economic peril.

Trump, in contrast, took office following 75 straight months of job growth, a 4.7 percent unemployment rate and the wind down of massive, post-Sept. 11 troop deployments.

“He didn’t face a crisis, he didn’t face those emergencies,” Brands said. “But he’s bringing it on himself. ... If the tax code isn’t changed in six months or two years, the world’s not going to end.”

Trump, nevertheless, has claimed he had to act quickly because he inherited “a mess” from his predecessor. That, in fact, was a central theme of his campaign: that the country was a disaster that only he could fix. And on Oct. 22, just weeks before the election, Trump traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and issued a series of promises, some that he would do on his first day in office and the rest that he would accomplish in his first 100.

Based on the list Trump himself created, his track record has been abysmal. Trump actually participated in inaugural activities his first day in office, and spent much of the second day complaining about the media coverage of the first day.

In the coming days and weeks, though, Trump did follow through on some of the 18 actions he said he would start pursuing on Day One, signing orders to deport more undocumented immigrants, to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and to require that each new regulation be accompanied by the repeal of two existing regulations. He also appointed a Supreme Court justice off the list he had previously made public, as he had promised.

But Trump failed to follow through on other items from that list of Day One actions. He did not propose a constitutional amendment to impose term limits on Congress. Not only did he fail to label China a currency manipulator, as he promised he would, but he later came out and specifically said that China is not one. Most famously, his promises to “cancel all federal funding to sanctuary cities” and to “suspend immigration from terror-prone regions” are tied up in the courts, thanks to poorly drafted language and Trump’s own inflammatory statements about Muslims during the campaign.

And among the 10 pieces of legislation Trump promised to fight to pass “within the first 100 days of my administration,” he is zero for 10.

The End the Offshoring Act, the Clean Up Corruption in Washington Act, the Affordable Childcare and Eldercare Act ― not one enjoys much of an existence outside of Trump’s October press release. Even his signature campaign promise, to build a “great wall” along the southern border with Mexico, has now been effectively put off until at least October.

If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all. Nothing has happened. H.W. Brands, University of Texas historian

The only one of those 10 bills that has moved in either chamber ― repealing and replacing the Affordable Care Act ― had to be pulled from the House floor just before a scheduled vote last month because of a lack of Republican support, although a revamped version could soon be up for consideration.

“If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all,” Brands said. “Nothing has happened.”

Trump has even failed to follow through on the very first promise he made in that October Gettysburg speech, which came not long after a series of women went public with accusations of Trump’s inappropriate sexual conduct toward them.

“Every woman lied when they came forward to hurt my campaign,” Trump said. “Total fabrications. The events never happened. Never. All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”

In fact, Trump does not appear to have sued even one of those women.

A Consistent Track Record

To Trump’s many critics, both Democratic and Republican, none of this comes as a surprise.

His decades as a publicity-hungry businessman are littered with enterprises he plunged into with impulsive, poorly researched decisions that later failed, sometimes spectacularly ― everything from his Trump Shuttle airline to his branded Trump Steaks.

In the early 1990s, Trump’s entire business empire was on the verge of collapse. His Atlantic City casinos were bleeding money, and because he had personally guaranteed nearly $1 billion in business loans, their failure would have meant personal bankruptcy for him, too.

Fortunately for Trump, his lenders risked financial ruin themselves if he went down, so they continued to work with him to keep him solvent. Over a period of years, though, his empire shrank as banks forced him to hand over ever-larger portions of his holdings and made him give up extravagances like his 281-foot yacht. They even restricted him to an allowance.

Unable to borrow money for construction projects, Trump shifted his business model toward licensing his name to hotels and condominiums that he didn’t own ― a marketing scheme that became far more successful thanks to the adaptation of his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, into a hit television series.

Trump’s track record did not suggest a brilliant and savvy businessman, but that’s what he played on “The Apprentice,” talking tough and making shrewd decisions in every episode.

He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time. He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant

It was an image that burned into the American popular consciousness over a dozen years, and one that tens of millions of dollars of negative advertising featuring Trump’s actual business record could not undo in the months leading up to last November’s election.

“He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time,” said Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant and longtime Trump critic. “He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. ... This is also because he’s fundamentally an unserious person. He’ll say whatever it takes to get the sucker to sign on the dotted line.”

Never Afraid To Brag

Unsurprisingly, Trump brought the habit of claiming phenomenal success, regardless of the actual facts of the case, with him into the White House.

But with no obvious foils to blame as he had during the presidential campaign, Trump’s own character traits underlying his inability to get things done have become more obvious to more observers: His profound ignorance of both domestic and world affairs, an inability or unwillingness to focus, and an eagerness to lash out at perceived threats.

His short attention span and lack of interest in details became clear even to Republican House members during the initial attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last month. Trump did not appear to know how that law or his proposed replacement actually worked, and seemed more interested in passing something ― anything ― that he could call a victory.

His defenders, who say his lack of knowledge is understandable, given his lack of previous political office, argue that Trump will be held to a different standard by voters judging his performance now, just as they did heading into the 2016 election.

Ari Fleischer, a former press secretary to President George W. Bush, said that, in any case, the voting public’s verdict about Trump will not be determined in the first 100 days. Rather, their views about whether their individual lives and the lives of their families and friends are improved or made more difficult will decide how Republicans fare in the 2018 midterm elections and whether Trump can win a second term two years later.

Be that as it may, the Trump White House this week pulled out all the stops in touting its 100 Day successes ― a new page on the White House website, daily recitations by his press shop of his accomplishments, and a flurry of televised signings of presidential pieces of paper.

Among them are orders and memos asking for studies about agriculture, federal education policy and national monuments. All could have been accomplished without a formal presidential declaration.

The White House also staged a closed-door briefing with members of Congress about North Korea (members said afterward they did not learn anything new and wondered what the point of it was), released a single page of bullet points of a “tax reform” proposal (it was so vague that it was impossible to determine how any given taxpayer’s bill would be affected), and floated the idea of an order to withdraw from the North American Free Trade Agreement with Canada and Mexico (pulling out of NAFTA could require congressional approval, which he isn’t likely to get).

Fleischer said he agrees the presidential orders have been mainly stagecraft. “Legally speaking, there isn’t a big difference between an executive order and a president telling his agencies to do something,” he said. “But, no harm done in packaging it.”

Of course, if Trump’s press team gets truly desperate for accomplishments, they can reach back to a campaign promise he made when announcing his candidacy in June 2015, following his now-famous ride down the Trump Tower escalator.

Right after criticizing the Obama administration’s deal to suspend Iran’s nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions relief ― ironically, a deal the Trump administration last week acknowledged Iran is living up to ― Trump laid into Obama’s secretary of state, John Kerry, for crashing his bicycle.

“Goes into a bicycle race at 72 years old, and falls and breaks his leg. I won’t be doing that,” Trump said. “And I promise I will never be in a bicycle race. That I can tell you.”

Trump has not, at least thus far in his presidency, participated in a single bicycle race.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2oSCWEP

[rtscrndr53704]

In 100 Days, Donald Trump Hasn’t Done Much Except Show Off His Signature

KENOSHA, Wisconsin – On Day 89 of his presidency, Donald Trump set down his felt-tipped pen and did what he’s done most and best so far in his new job: held up a piece of paper he had just signed for news cameras to record for posterity.

More than four dozen times since taking office, Trump has invited the media he regularly attacks to show off his distinctive cursive on a presidential document ―  a document that, the vast majority of the time, has been completely unnecessary to accomplish the stated goal.

Previous presidents have signed executive orders and memoranda. None appeared to be compelled to hold them up and show off their penmanship.

“It’s show and tell,” Duke University historian William Chafe said. “It’s basically trying to create the impression of decisiveness.”

In Chafe’s view, it’s actually a misimpression, given the lack of a single significant piece of legislation to pass under Trump’s watch, including the 10 he specifically promised he would shepherd through Congress in his first 100 days.

“The executive orders are the only substantive things that he’s accomplished,” Chafe said, adding that even those have not been particularly substantial. All but a handful of the objectives described in the directives did not even need a formal presidential authorization for the agency heads to pursue them.

In Kenosha, for example, as employees at the Snap-on tools headquarters applauded, Trump signed his “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which he claimed would “help protect workers and students, like those of you in the audience today.”

Except the actual language of the order affects purchasing by federal agencies he controls and asks his own departments to look for ways to tighten some work visa rules. So why issue an executive order ― a tool that historically has reinterpreted laws or rules to achieve a desired goal ― when a simple email or phone call might have done the job?

“An executive order is a signal to every single worker in the federal government, including career workers, lifelong workers, every one across the federal government, that this is an order from the president of the United States, memorialized in writing,” a senior administration official said on condition of anonymity on the Air Force One flight from Wisconsin back to Washington, D.C. “There is no higher statement of executive direction than the form of an executive order.”

Two days later, Trump signed an official memorandum before the cameras, asking his Commerce Department to look into whether steel imports were unfairly undercutting the U.S. steel industry. Why the formal memo, rather than just asking Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to look into it?

“He has issued this memorandum to stress that he would like us to make this a real priority and to expedite it,” said Ross, who acknowledged that he had already started the review the previous day, before the memo was issued.

And the very next morning, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin conceded that Trump’s executive order that afternoon to study the tax code also wasn’t really necessary, despite the televised signing and passing out of pens. “I think the purpose of the orders is to make clear what the president and the administration’s priorities are, and to signify the importance of these issues to the American people,” Mnuchin said.

Chafe and other critics remain unimpressed, and argue that the rash of meaningless signing ceremonies is simply more evidence of a White House that cannot figure out a way to get what it wants ― and maybe cannot even figure out what exactly it does want ― and so settles on PR stunts.

“This administration is still operating under chaos and capriciousness,” Chafe said of Trump. “He’s erratic. He’s all over the place.” 

Promises For 100 Days

Trump had been in office for just a few weeks when he began bragging that he was already accomplishing more than any previous president.

“There has never been a presidency that’s done so much in such a short period of time,” Trump proclaimed in a Feb. 16 White House news conference.

As the days slipped past and it became clear the only bills reaching his desk were feel-good measures such as the one encouraging women to pursue science careers or measures using the Congressional Review Act to undo agency rules passed in the final days of the Obama administration, Trump’s White House began recalibrating its message.

Early this month, Trump’s legislative affairs director, Marc Short, asked reporters “to consider” making the CRAs a bigger deal in their news coverage. “I think if you take into [account] in totality what we’ve been trying to do on the regulatory front, it is a news story. And so I do think it’s an accomplishment,” he said.

The White House began bragging about the increase in the stock market, decreases in illegal border crossings from Mexico and strong job growth numbers ― and attributed them all to Trump’s election.

Eventually, Trump, even as he continued to boast about how great he was doing, began diminishing the whole 100-day concept. “I think the 100 days is, you know, it’s an artificial barrier. It’s not very meaningful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press last week.

Measuring a president by accomplishments in the first 100 days only came into vogue with the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who entered office at the nadir of the Great Depression. Roosevelt jammed through a significant chuck of his New Deal initiatives in those first months, and that yardstick has stuck ever since.

It is not necessarily fair, particularly to presidents who take office in times of relative peace and prosperity, said University of Texas historian H.W. Brands. Roosevelt in 1933 and Barack Obama in 2009 had to act quickly or risk seeing the nation fall even deeper into economic peril.

Trump, in contrast, took office following 75 straight months of job growth, a 4.7 percent unemployment rate and the wind down of massive, post-Sept. 11 troop deployments.

“He didn’t face a crisis, he didn’t face those emergencies,” Brands said. “But he’s bringing it on himself. ... If the tax code isn’t changed in six months or two years, the world’s not going to end.”

Trump, nevertheless, has claimed he had to act quickly because he inherited “a mess” from his predecessor. That, in fact, was a central theme of his campaign: that the country was a disaster that only he could fix. And on Oct. 22, just weeks before the election, Trump traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and issued a series of promises, some that he would do on his first day in office and the rest that he would accomplish in his first 100.

Based on the list Trump himself created, his track record has been abysmal. Trump actually participated in inaugural activities his first day in office, and spent much of the second day complaining about the media coverage of the first day.

In the coming days and weeks, though, Trump did follow through on some of the 18 actions he said he would start pursuing on Day One, signing orders to deport more undocumented immigrants, to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and to require that each new regulation be accompanied by the repeal of two existing regulations. He also appointed a Supreme Court justice off the list he had previously made public, as he had promised.

But Trump failed to follow through on other items from that list of Day One actions. He did not propose a constitutional amendment to impose term limits on Congress. Not only did he fail to label China a currency manipulator, as he promised he would, but he later came out and specifically said that China is not one. Most famously, his promises to “cancel all federal funding to sanctuary cities” and to “suspend immigration from terror-prone regions” are tied up in the courts, thanks to poorly drafted language and Trump’s own inflammatory statements about Muslims during the campaign.

And among the 10 pieces of legislation Trump promised to fight to pass “within the first 100 days of my administration,” he is zero for 10.

The End the Offshoring Act, the Clean Up Corruption in Washington Act, the Affordable Childcare and Eldercare Act ― not one enjoys much of an existence outside of Trump’s October press release. Even his signature campaign promise, to build a “great wall” along the southern border with Mexico, has now been effectively put off until at least October.

If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all. Nothing has happened. H.W. Brands, University of Texas historian

The only one of those 10 bills that has moved in either chamber ― repealing and replacing the Affordable Care Act ― had to be pulled from the House floor just before a scheduled vote last month because of a lack of Republican support, although a revamped version could soon be up for consideration.

“If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all,” Brands said. “Nothing has happened.”

Trump has even failed to follow through on the very first promise he made in that October Gettysburg speech, which came not long after a series of women went public with accusations of Trump’s inappropriate sexual conduct toward them.

“Every woman lied when they came forward to hurt my campaign,” Trump said. “Total fabrications. The events never happened. Never. All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”

In fact, Trump does not appear to have sued even one of those women.

A Consistent Track Record

To Trump’s many critics, both Democratic and Republican, none of this comes as a surprise.

His decades as a publicity-hungry businessman are littered with enterprises he plunged into with impulsive, poorly researched decisions that later failed, sometimes spectacularly ― everything from his Trump Shuttle airline to his branded Trump Steaks.

In the early 1990s, Trump’s entire business empire was on the verge of collapse. His Atlantic City casinos were bleeding money, and because he had personally guaranteed nearly $1 billion in business loans, their failure would have meant personal bankruptcy for him, too.

Fortunately for Trump, his lenders risked financial ruin themselves if he went down, so they continued to work with him to keep him solvent. Over a period of years, though, his empire shrank as banks forced him to hand over ever-larger portions of his holdings and made him give up extravagances like his 281-foot yacht. They even restricted him to an allowance.

Unable to borrow money for construction projects, Trump shifted his business model toward licensing his name to hotels and condominiums that he didn’t own ― a marketing scheme that became far more successful thanks to the adaptation of his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, into a hit television series.

Trump’s track record did not suggest a brilliant and savvy businessman, but that’s what he played on “The Apprentice,” talking tough and making shrewd decisions in every episode.

He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time. He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant

It was an image that burned into the American popular consciousness over a dozen years, and one that tens of millions of dollars of negative advertising featuring Trump’s actual business record could not undo in the months leading up to last November’s election.

“He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time,” said Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant and longtime Trump critic. “He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. ... This is also because he’s fundamentally an unserious person. He’ll say whatever it takes to get the sucker to sign on the dotted line.”

Never Afraid To Brag

Unsurprisingly, Trump brought the habit of claiming phenomenal success, regardless of the actual facts of the case, with him into the White House.

But with no obvious foils to blame as he had during the presidential campaign, Trump’s own character traits underlying his inability to get things done have become more obvious to more observers: His profound ignorance of both domestic and world affairs, an inability or unwillingness to focus, and an eagerness to lash out at perceived threats.

His short attention span and lack of interest in details became clear even to Republican House members during the initial attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last month. Trump did not appear to know how that law or his proposed replacement actually worked, and seemed more interested in passing something ― anything ― that he could call a victory.

His defenders, who say his lack of knowledge is understandable, given his lack of previous political office, argue that Trump will be held to a different standard by voters judging his performance now, just as they did heading into the 2016 election.

Ari Fleischer, a former press secretary to President George W. Bush, said that, in any case, the voting public’s verdict about Trump will not be determined in the first 100 days. Rather, their views about whether their individual lives and the lives of their families and friends are improved or made more difficult will decide how Republicans fare in the 2018 midterm elections and whether Trump can win a second term two years later.

Be that as it may, the Trump White House this week pulled out all the stops in touting its 100 Day successes ― a new page on the White House website, daily recitations by his press shop of his accomplishments, and a flurry of televised signings of presidential pieces of paper.

Among them are orders and memos asking for studies about agriculture, federal education policy and national monuments. All could have been accomplished without a formal presidential declaration.

The White House also staged a closed-door briefing with members of Congress about North Korea (members said afterward they did not learn anything new and wondered what the point of it was), released a single page of bullet points of a “tax reform” proposal (it was so vague that it was impossible to determine how any given taxpayer’s bill would be affected), and floated the idea of an order to withdraw from the North American Free Trade Agreement with Canada and Mexico (pulling out of NAFTA could require congressional approval, which he isn’t likely to get).

Fleischer said he agrees the presidential orders have been mainly stagecraft. “Legally speaking, there isn’t a big difference between an executive order and a president telling his agencies to do something,” he said. “But, no harm done in packaging it.”

Of course, if Trump’s press team gets truly desperate for accomplishments, they can reach back to a campaign promise he made when announcing his candidacy in June 2015, following his now-famous ride down the Trump Tower escalator.

Right after criticizing the Obama administration’s deal to suspend Iran’s nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions relief ― ironically, a deal the Trump administration last week acknowledged Iran is living up to ― Trump laid into Obama’s secretary of state, John Kerry, for crashing his bicycle.

“Goes into a bicycle race at 72 years old, and falls and breaks his leg. I won’t be doing that,” Trump said. “And I promise I will never be in a bicycle race. That I can tell you.”

Trump has not, at least thus far in his presidency, participated in a single bicycle race.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2oSCWEP

[porchenclose10019]

In 100 Days, Donald Trump Hasn’t Done Much Except Show Off His Signature

KENOSHA, Wisconsin – On Day 89 of his presidency, Donald Trump set down his felt-tipped pen and did what he’s done most and best so far in his new job: held up a piece of paper he had just signed for news cameras to record for posterity.

More than four dozen times since taking office, Trump has invited the media he regularly attacks to show off his distinctive cursive on a presidential document ―  a document that, the vast majority of the time, has been completely unnecessary to accomplish the stated goal.

Previous presidents have signed executive orders and memoranda. None appeared to be compelled to hold them up and show off their penmanship.

“It’s show and tell,” Duke University historian William Chafe said. “It’s basically trying to create the impression of decisiveness.”

In Chafe’s view, it’s actually a misimpression, given the lack of a single significant piece of legislation to pass under Trump’s watch, including the 10 he specifically promised he would shepherd through Congress in his first 100 days.

“The executive orders are the only substantive things that he’s accomplished,” Chafe said, adding that even those have not been particularly substantial. All but a handful of the objectives described in the directives did not even need a formal presidential authorization for the agency heads to pursue them.

In Kenosha, for example, as employees at the Snap-on tools headquarters applauded, Trump signed his “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which he claimed would “help protect workers and students, like those of you in the audience today.”

Except the actual language of the order affects purchasing by federal agencies he controls and asks his own departments to look for ways to tighten some work visa rules. So why issue an executive order ― a tool that historically has reinterpreted laws or rules to achieve a desired goal ― when a simple email or phone call might have done the job?

“An executive order is a signal to every single worker in the federal government, including career workers, lifelong workers, every one across the federal government, that this is an order from the president of the United States, memorialized in writing,” a senior administration official said on condition of anonymity on the Air Force One flight from Wisconsin back to Washington, D.C. “There is no higher statement of executive direction than the form of an executive order.”

Two days later, Trump signed an official memorandum before the cameras, asking his Commerce Department to look into whether steel imports were unfairly undercutting the U.S. steel industry. Why the formal memo, rather than just asking Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to look into it?

“He has issued this memorandum to stress that he would like us to make this a real priority and to expedite it,” said Ross, who acknowledged that he had already started the review the previous day, before the memo was issued.

And the very next morning, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin conceded that Trump’s executive order that afternoon to study the tax code also wasn’t really necessary, despite the televised signing and passing out of pens. “I think the purpose of the orders is to make clear what the president and the administration’s priorities are, and to signify the importance of these issues to the American people,” Mnuchin said.

Chafe and other critics remain unimpressed, and argue that the rash of meaningless signing ceremonies is simply more evidence of a White House that cannot figure out a way to get what it wants ― and maybe cannot even figure out what exactly it does want ― and so settles on PR stunts.

“This administration is still operating under chaos and capriciousness,” Chafe said of Trump. “He’s erratic. He’s all over the place.” 

Promises For 100 Days

Trump had been in office for just a few weeks when he began bragging that he was already accomplishing more than any previous president.

“There has never been a presidency that’s done so much in such a short period of time,” Trump proclaimed in a Feb. 16 White House news conference.

As the days slipped past and it became clear the only bills reaching his desk were feel-good measures such as the one encouraging women to pursue science careers or measures using the Congressional Review Act to undo agency rules passed in the final days of the Obama administration, Trump’s White House began recalibrating its message.

Early this month, Trump’s legislative affairs director, Marc Short, asked reporters “to consider” making the CRAs a bigger deal in their news coverage. “I think if you take into [account] in totality what we’ve been trying to do on the regulatory front, it is a news story. And so I do think it’s an accomplishment,” he said.

The White House began bragging about the increase in the stock market, decreases in illegal border crossings from Mexico and strong job growth numbers ― and attributed them all to Trump’s election.

Eventually, Trump, even as he continued to boast about how great he was doing, began diminishing the whole 100-day concept. “I think the 100 days is, you know, it’s an artificial barrier. It’s not very meaningful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press last week.

Measuring a president by accomplishments in the first 100 days only came into vogue with the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who entered office at the nadir of the Great Depression. Roosevelt jammed through a significant chuck of his New Deal initiatives in those first months, and that yardstick has stuck ever since.

It is not necessarily fair, particularly to presidents who take office in times of relative peace and prosperity, said University of Texas historian H.W. Brands. Roosevelt in 1933 and Barack Obama in 2009 had to act quickly or risk seeing the nation fall even deeper into economic peril.

Trump, in contrast, took office following 75 straight months of job growth, a 4.7 percent unemployment rate and the wind down of massive, post-Sept. 11 troop deployments.

“He didn’t face a crisis, he didn’t face those emergencies,” Brands said. “But he’s bringing it on himself. ... If the tax code isn’t changed in six months or two years, the world’s not going to end.”

Trump, nevertheless, has claimed he had to act quickly because he inherited “a mess” from his predecessor. That, in fact, was a central theme of his campaign: that the country was a disaster that only he could fix. And on Oct. 22, just weeks before the election, Trump traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and issued a series of promises, some that he would do on his first day in office and the rest that he would accomplish in his first 100.

Based on the list Trump himself created, his track record has been abysmal. Trump actually participated in inaugural activities his first day in office, and spent much of the second day complaining about the media coverage of the first day.

In the coming days and weeks, though, Trump did follow through on some of the 18 actions he said he would start pursuing on Day One, signing orders to deport more undocumented immigrants, to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and to require that each new regulation be accompanied by the repeal of two existing regulations. He also appointed a Supreme Court justice off the list he had previously made public, as he had promised.

But Trump failed to follow through on other items from that list of Day One actions. He did not propose a constitutional amendment to impose term limits on Congress. Not only did he fail to label China a currency manipulator, as he promised he would, but he later came out and specifically said that China is not one. Most famously, his promises to “cancel all federal funding to sanctuary cities” and to “suspend immigration from terror-prone regions” are tied up in the courts, thanks to poorly drafted language and Trump’s own inflammatory statements about Muslims during the campaign.

And among the 10 pieces of legislation Trump promised to fight to pass “within the first 100 days of my administration,” he is zero for 10.

The End the Offshoring Act, the Clean Up Corruption in Washington Act, the Affordable Childcare and Eldercare Act ― not one enjoys much of an existence outside of Trump’s October press release. Even his signature campaign promise, to build a “great wall” along the southern border with Mexico, has now been effectively put off until at least October.

If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all. Nothing has happened. H.W. Brands, University of Texas historian

The only one of those 10 bills that has moved in either chamber ― repealing and replacing the Affordable Care Act ― had to be pulled from the House floor just before a scheduled vote last month because of a lack of Republican support, although a revamped version could soon be up for consideration.

“If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all,” Brands said. “Nothing has happened.”

Trump has even failed to follow through on the very first promise he made in that October Gettysburg speech, which came not long after a series of women went public with accusations of Trump’s inappropriate sexual conduct toward them.

“Every woman lied when they came forward to hurt my campaign,” Trump said. “Total fabrications. The events never happened. Never. All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”

In fact, Trump does not appear to have sued even one of those women.

A Consistent Track Record

To Trump’s many critics, both Democratic and Republican, none of this comes as a surprise.

His decades as a publicity-hungry businessman are littered with enterprises he plunged into with impulsive, poorly researched decisions that later failed, sometimes spectacularly ― everything from his Trump Shuttle airline to his branded Trump Steaks.

In the early 1990s, Trump’s entire business empire was on the verge of collapse. His Atlantic City casinos were bleeding money, and because he had personally guaranteed nearly $1 billion in business loans, their failure would have meant personal bankruptcy for him, too.

Fortunately for Trump, his lenders risked financial ruin themselves if he went down, so they continued to work with him to keep him solvent. Over a period of years, though, his empire shrank as banks forced him to hand over ever-larger portions of his holdings and made him give up extravagances like his 281-foot yacht. They even restricted him to an allowance.

Unable to borrow money for construction projects, Trump shifted his business model toward licensing his name to hotels and condominiums that he didn’t own ― a marketing scheme that became far more successful thanks to the adaptation of his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, into a hit television series.

Trump’s track record did not suggest a brilliant and savvy businessman, but that’s what he played on “The Apprentice,” talking tough and making shrewd decisions in every episode.

He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time. He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant

It was an image that burned into the American popular consciousness over a dozen years, and one that tens of millions of dollars of negative advertising featuring Trump’s actual business record could not undo in the months leading up to last November’s election.

“He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time,” said Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant and longtime Trump critic. “He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. ... This is also because he’s fundamentally an unserious person. He’ll say whatever it takes to get the sucker to sign on the dotted line.”

Never Afraid To Brag

Unsurprisingly, Trump brought the habit of claiming phenomenal success, regardless of the actual facts of the case, with him into the White House.

But with no obvious foils to blame as he had during the presidential campaign, Trump’s own character traits underlying his inability to get things done have become more obvious to more observers: His profound ignorance of both domestic and world affairs, an inability or unwillingness to focus, and an eagerness to lash out at perceived threats.

His short attention span and lack of interest in details became clear even to Republican House members during the initial attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last month. Trump did not appear to know how that law or his proposed replacement actually worked, and seemed more interested in passing something ― anything ― that he could call a victory.

His defenders, who say his lack of knowledge is understandable, given his lack of previous political office, argue that Trump will be held to a different standard by voters judging his performance now, just as they did heading into the 2016 election.

Ari Fleischer, a former press secretary to President George W. Bush, said that, in any case, the voting public’s verdict about Trump will not be determined in the first 100 days. Rather, their views about whether their individual lives and the lives of their families and friends are improved or made more difficult will decide how Republicans fare in the 2018 midterm elections and whether Trump can win a second term two years later.

Be that as it may, the Trump White House this week pulled out all the stops in touting its 100 Day successes ― a new page on the White House website, daily recitations by his press shop of his accomplishments, and a flurry of televised signings of presidential pieces of paper.

Among them are orders and memos asking for studies about agriculture, federal education policy and national monuments. All could have been accomplished without a formal presidential declaration.

The White House also staged a closed-door briefing with members of Congress about North Korea (members said afterward they did not learn anything new and wondered what the point of it was), released a single page of bullet points of a “tax reform” proposal (it was so vague that it was impossible to determine how any given taxpayer’s bill would be affected), and floated the idea of an order to withdraw from the North American Free Trade Agreement with Canada and Mexico (pulling out of NAFTA could require congressional approval, which he isn’t likely to get).

Fleischer said he agrees the presidential orders have been mainly stagecraft. “Legally speaking, there isn’t a big difference between an executive order and a president telling his agencies to do something,” he said. “But, no harm done in packaging it.”

Of course, if Trump’s press team gets truly desperate for accomplishments, they can reach back to a campaign promise he made when announcing his candidacy in June 2015, following his now-famous ride down the Trump Tower escalator.

Right after criticizing the Obama administration’s deal to suspend Iran’s nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions relief ― ironically, a deal the Trump administration last week acknowledged Iran is living up to ― Trump laid into Obama’s secretary of state, John Kerry, for crashing his bicycle.

“Goes into a bicycle race at 72 years old, and falls and breaks his leg. I won’t be doing that,” Trump said. “And I promise I will never be in a bicycle race. That I can tell you.”

Trump has not, at least thus far in his presidency, participated in a single bicycle race.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2oSCWEP

[exfrenchdorsl4p0a1]

In 100 Days, Donald Trump Hasn’t Done Much Except Show Off His Signature

KENOSHA, Wisconsin – On Day 89 of his presidency, Donald Trump set down his felt-tipped pen and did what he’s done most and best so far in his new job: held up a piece of paper he had just signed for news cameras to record for posterity.

More than four dozen times since taking office, Trump has invited the media he regularly attacks to show off his distinctive cursive on a presidential document ―  a document that, the vast majority of the time, has been completely unnecessary to accomplish the stated goal.

Previous presidents have signed executive orders and memoranda. None appeared to be compelled to hold them up and show off their penmanship.

“It’s show and tell,” Duke University historian William Chafe said. “It’s basically trying to create the impression of decisiveness.”

In Chafe’s view, it’s actually a misimpression, given the lack of a single significant piece of legislation to pass under Trump’s watch, including the 10 he specifically promised he would shepherd through Congress in his first 100 days.

“The executive orders are the only substantive things that he’s accomplished,” Chafe said, adding that even those have not been particularly substantial. All but a handful of the objectives described in the directives did not even need a formal presidential authorization for the agency heads to pursue them.

In Kenosha, for example, as employees at the Snap-on tools headquarters applauded, Trump signed his “Buy American, Hire American” executive order, which he claimed would “help protect workers and students, like those of you in the audience today.”

Except the actual language of the order affects purchasing by federal agencies he controls and asks his own departments to look for ways to tighten some work visa rules. So why issue an executive order ― a tool that historically has reinterpreted laws or rules to achieve a desired goal ― when a simple email or phone call might have done the job?

“An executive order is a signal to every single worker in the federal government, including career workers, lifelong workers, every one across the federal government, that this is an order from the president of the United States, memorialized in writing,” a senior administration official said on condition of anonymity on the Air Force One flight from Wisconsin back to Washington, D.C. “There is no higher statement of executive direction than the form of an executive order.”

Two days later, Trump signed an official memorandum before the cameras, asking his Commerce Department to look into whether steel imports were unfairly undercutting the U.S. steel industry. Why the formal memo, rather than just asking Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross to look into it?

“He has issued this memorandum to stress that he would like us to make this a real priority and to expedite it,” said Ross, who acknowledged that he had already started the review the previous day, before the memo was issued.

And the very next morning, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin conceded that Trump’s executive order that afternoon to study the tax code also wasn’t really necessary, despite the televised signing and passing out of pens. “I think the purpose of the orders is to make clear what the president and the administration’s priorities are, and to signify the importance of these issues to the American people,” Mnuchin said.

Chafe and other critics remain unimpressed, and argue that the rash of meaningless signing ceremonies is simply more evidence of a White House that cannot figure out a way to get what it wants ― and maybe cannot even figure out what exactly it does want ― and so settles on PR stunts.

“This administration is still operating under chaos and capriciousness,” Chafe said of Trump. “He’s erratic. He’s all over the place.” 

Promises For 100 Days

Trump had been in office for just a few weeks when he began bragging that he was already accomplishing more than any previous president.

“There has never been a presidency that’s done so much in such a short period of time,” Trump proclaimed in a Feb. 16 White House news conference.

As the days slipped past and it became clear the only bills reaching his desk were feel-good measures such as the one encouraging women to pursue science careers or measures using the Congressional Review Act to undo agency rules passed in the final days of the Obama administration, Trump’s White House began recalibrating its message.

Early this month, Trump’s legislative affairs director, Marc Short, asked reporters “to consider” making the CRAs a bigger deal in their news coverage. “I think if you take into [account] in totality what we’ve been trying to do on the regulatory front, it is a news story. And so I do think it’s an accomplishment,” he said.

The White House began bragging about the increase in the stock market, decreases in illegal border crossings from Mexico and strong job growth numbers ― and attributed them all to Trump’s election.

Eventually, Trump, even as he continued to boast about how great he was doing, began diminishing the whole 100-day concept. “I think the 100 days is, you know, it’s an artificial barrier. It’s not very meaningful,” he said in an interview with The Associated Press last week.

Measuring a president by accomplishments in the first 100 days only came into vogue with the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who entered office at the nadir of the Great Depression. Roosevelt jammed through a significant chuck of his New Deal initiatives in those first months, and that yardstick has stuck ever since.

It is not necessarily fair, particularly to presidents who take office in times of relative peace and prosperity, said University of Texas historian H.W. Brands. Roosevelt in 1933 and Barack Obama in 2009 had to act quickly or risk seeing the nation fall even deeper into economic peril.

Trump, in contrast, took office following 75 straight months of job growth, a 4.7 percent unemployment rate and the wind down of massive, post-Sept. 11 troop deployments.

“He didn’t face a crisis, he didn’t face those emergencies,” Brands said. “But he’s bringing it on himself. ... If the tax code isn’t changed in six months or two years, the world’s not going to end.”

Trump, nevertheless, has claimed he had to act quickly because he inherited “a mess” from his predecessor. That, in fact, was a central theme of his campaign: that the country was a disaster that only he could fix. And on Oct. 22, just weeks before the election, Trump traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and issued a series of promises, some that he would do on his first day in office and the rest that he would accomplish in his first 100.

Based on the list Trump himself created, his track record has been abysmal. Trump actually participated in inaugural activities his first day in office, and spent much of the second day complaining about the media coverage of the first day.

In the coming days and weeks, though, Trump did follow through on some of the 18 actions he said he would start pursuing on Day One, signing orders to deport more undocumented immigrants, to withdraw from the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and to require that each new regulation be accompanied by the repeal of two existing regulations. He also appointed a Supreme Court justice off the list he had previously made public, as he had promised.

But Trump failed to follow through on other items from that list of Day One actions. He did not propose a constitutional amendment to impose term limits on Congress. Not only did he fail to label China a currency manipulator, as he promised he would, but he later came out and specifically said that China is not one. Most famously, his promises to “cancel all federal funding to sanctuary cities” and to “suspend immigration from terror-prone regions” are tied up in the courts, thanks to poorly drafted language and Trump’s own inflammatory statements about Muslims during the campaign.

And among the 10 pieces of legislation Trump promised to fight to pass “within the first 100 days of my administration,” he is zero for 10.

The End the Offshoring Act, the Clean Up Corruption in Washington Act, the Affordable Childcare and Eldercare Act ― not one enjoys much of an existence outside of Trump’s October press release. Even his signature campaign promise, to build a “great wall” along the southern border with Mexico, has now been effectively put off until at least October.

If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all. Nothing has happened. H.W. Brands, University of Texas historian

The only one of those 10 bills that has moved in either chamber ― repealing and replacing the Affordable Care Act ― had to be pulled from the House floor just before a scheduled vote last month because of a lack of Republican support, although a revamped version could soon be up for consideration.

“If his presidency were to end tomorrow, he wouldn’t get a mention at all,” Brands said. “Nothing has happened.”

Trump has even failed to follow through on the very first promise he made in that October Gettysburg speech, which came not long after a series of women went public with accusations of Trump’s inappropriate sexual conduct toward them.

“Every woman lied when they came forward to hurt my campaign,” Trump said. “Total fabrications. The events never happened. Never. All of these liars will be sued after the election is over.”

In fact, Trump does not appear to have sued even one of those women.

A Consistent Track Record

To Trump’s many critics, both Democratic and Republican, none of this comes as a surprise.

His decades as a publicity-hungry businessman are littered with enterprises he plunged into with impulsive, poorly researched decisions that later failed, sometimes spectacularly ― everything from his Trump Shuttle airline to his branded Trump Steaks.

In the early 1990s, Trump’s entire business empire was on the verge of collapse. His Atlantic City casinos were bleeding money, and because he had personally guaranteed nearly $1 billion in business loans, their failure would have meant personal bankruptcy for him, too.

Fortunately for Trump, his lenders risked financial ruin themselves if he went down, so they continued to work with him to keep him solvent. Over a period of years, though, his empire shrank as banks forced him to hand over ever-larger portions of his holdings and made him give up extravagances like his 281-foot yacht. They even restricted him to an allowance.

Unable to borrow money for construction projects, Trump shifted his business model toward licensing his name to hotels and condominiums that he didn’t own ― a marketing scheme that became far more successful thanks to the adaptation of his 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, into a hit television series.

Trump’s track record did not suggest a brilliant and savvy businessman, but that’s what he played on “The Apprentice,” talking tough and making shrewd decisions in every episode.

He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time. He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant

It was an image that burned into the American popular consciousness over a dozen years, and one that tens of millions of dollars of negative advertising featuring Trump’s actual business record could not undo in the months leading up to last November’s election.

“He thinks he’s the best businessman of all time. He thinks he’s the most attractive man to women of all time,” said Rick Wilson, a Florida Republican political consultant and longtime Trump critic. “He’s a fabulist. None of this is real. ... This is also because he’s fundamentally an unserious person. He’ll say whatever it takes to get the sucker to sign on the dotted line.”

Never Afraid To Brag

Unsurprisingly, Trump brought the habit of claiming phenomenal success, regardless of the actual facts of the case, with him into the White House.

But with no obvious foils to blame as he had during the presidential campaign, Trump’s own character traits underlying his inability to get things done have become more obvious to more observers: His profound ignorance of both domestic and world affairs, an inability or unwillingness to focus, and an eagerness to lash out at perceived threats.

His short attention span and lack of interest in details became clear even to Republican House members during the initial attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act last month. Trump did not appear to know how that law or his proposed replacement actually worked, and seemed more interested in passing something ― anything ― that he could call a victory.

His defenders, who say his lack of knowledge is understandable, given his lack of previous political office, argue that Trump will be held to a different standard by voters judging his performance now, just as they did heading into the 2016 election.

Ari Fleischer, a former press secretary to President George W. Bush, said that, in any case, the voting public’s verdict about Trump will not be determined in the first 100 days. Rather, their views about whether their individual lives and the lives of their families and friends are improved or made more difficult will decide how Republicans fare in the 2018 midterm elections and whether Trump can win a second term two years later.

Be that as it may, the Trump White House this week pulled out all the stops in touting its 100 Day successes ― a new page on the White House website, daily recitations by his press shop of his accomplishments, and a flurry of televised signings of presidential pieces of paper.

Among them are orders and memos asking for studies about agriculture, federal education policy and national monuments. All could have been accomplished without a formal presidential declaration.

The White House also staged a closed-door briefing with members of Congress about North Korea (members said afterward they did not learn anything new and wondered what the point of it was), released a single page of bullet points of a “tax reform” proposal (it was so vague that it was impossible to determine how any given taxpayer’s bill would be affected), and floated the idea of an order to withdraw from the North American Free Trade Agreement with Canada and Mexico (pulling out of NAFTA could require congressional approval, which he isn’t likely to get).

Fleischer said he agrees the presidential orders have been mainly stagecraft. “Legally speaking, there isn’t a big difference between an executive order and a president telling his agencies to do something,” he said. “But, no harm done in packaging it.”

Of course, if Trump’s press team gets truly desperate for accomplishments, they can reach back to a campaign promise he made when announcing his candidacy in June 2015, following his now-famous ride down the Trump Tower escalator.

Right after criticizing the Obama administration’s deal to suspend Iran’s nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions relief ― ironically, a deal the Trump administration last week acknowledged Iran is living up to ― Trump laid into Obama’s secretary of state, John Kerry, for crashing his bicycle.

“Goes into a bicycle race at 72 years old, and falls and breaks his leg. I won’t be doing that,” Trump said. “And I promise I will never be in a bicycle race. That I can tell you.”

Trump has not, at least thus far in his presidency, participated in a single bicycle race.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2oSCWEP