#its just so funny when they try to define the non-business side of their relationship

[divorcedtom]

history will say they were very good friends

[delicrieux]

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”. 

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.  word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie​:  y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!” 

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

queen rly went from  🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing. 

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.” 

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live 

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜 

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall. 

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets. 

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout. 

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times  u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

[kittensjonsa]

Otherwise, Engaged

A Jonsa Proposal AU with a slight deviation from the original.

Summary: Sansa chose ambition over her heart. Jon chooses his heart over everything else. Choices, choices. Tsk.

A 'let's kiss and make up' fluff chapter with an unexpected twist, after the tacky angst in the previous one (lol sorry, story just wrote itself that way). Rated PG. No smut yet, all good things come to those who wait!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Chapter 8

“This..just doesn't feel right.. I can't do that to you.”

The words replayed in her mind over and over. Maybe he was drunk. People do and say stupid things when they're drunk.

Yet, Jon had managed to make her feel worse than all the shit he had wrung her through the past three years put together. Something's wrong with me. It was disheartening, watching Jon recoil, so taken aback by the thought of them together. So repelled that he sobered right up.

The sting of tears made their rounds again. That idiot. The bastard. Stop crying. Jon was a coward, afraid of any accountability if something did go further than just a kiss. A vodka-laden kiss Sansa could still taste on her lips.

If I hate him, like I always have.. then why do I feel so miserable?

Truth of the matter was, it was a slice of heaven, being kissed so fiercely and touched.. like that. Sansa liked it, against her better judgement. What was she thinking? Jon was right, it could have gone badly and tossed them deeper in hot water. The situation was tough enough as it was and sex - as much as Sansa wanted it, or the idea of it, wasn't quite in the script like she had planned. Sex always complicates things, she read once in a women's magazine article. Throw in the boss and assistant cliché to the mix, Sansa can kiss goodbye to a career she had toiled for three vacation-less years.

Adding salt to the wound, it had already come at a great cost in the shape of a non-existent personal life. If it counted, Jon had been the only man she had ever been in a relationship with, her first and longest too, if she could call it that. Also, if a relationship meant spending hours and hours together reading manuscripts, taking notes and eating take outs in the office. It was pathetic. But it was the closest she could get to one. Meeting people? Hah. Love life? Sigh..nope. 

Growing up, Sansa had always been a planner, and it was a good plan she had ever since she was twelve - study hard, get good grades, work in the city, write a book, meet someone and marry. All this, before thirty. Of course, real life stepped in and slapped her in the face in the form of a boss called Jon Snow who stomped on all over that plan when the truth stared her in the face - she had spent her entire first year of work attending to the whims of a madman. For a sad moment, Sansa would forever cringe to remember, her future looked bleak.

Though, never one to give up so easily, she trudged on, love and happiness aside, towards building her career. Besides, the opportunity for love and marriage rarely reared its head. Sansa could only blame herself for that; it had always been about family, studies and work for Sansa ever since she could remember. She kept consoling herself, how there were better opportunities out there and devoted her time and energy to finding them, staying positive and upbeat no matter what. Mormont & Sons Publishing was one of those bright opportunities, and Sansa was over the moon when she received the email for an interview. 

She just had no idea what was in store for her. But Sansa often reminded herself how this was her ticket in, the launching pad for her future in writing. And every year, meant a step closer to that goal. Sansa learned all she could, observed everyone she met in the industry and played nice. It would be hers to reap one day. And how she vowed to never let it out of her grasp, how she would absolutely do all she can to get to where she wanted. One fine day.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

“I don't think they'll be back so soon, Sans. You know how it is, whenever they go out fishing,” Robb's voice leapt within earshot.

“Huh.. oh, no.. I was just-”

“What.. doing yoga?” Robb teased as he joined her on the bench.

Sansa stuck out her tongue at him. Only Robb knew where to find her, at her favourite spot, a stone bench that had the whole Winterfell lake in view.

“You and Jon.. everything okay? Want to talk about it? ”

“Oh god. Please tell me you didn't hear us,” Sansa groaned, shooting a worried glance at her brother.

“No, I didn't but I did see how fast he got out of the house. With that look of his,” Robb said, as he tried his best to mimic Jon's broody countenance.

“I hate him.”

Robb chuckled. “No you don't. Well.. I mean you guys act a little funny but I wouldn't call it hate.”

“Yeah, right. And you would be the expert,” Sansa scoffed. Trust her big brother to dish out misplaced relationship advice.

“You, my dear sister, could never hate someone. If you do, it's only because on the flip side, you feel very strongly about it. Love and hate, takes a lot of feelings.”

Feelings. Sansa wanted to laugh. What feelings? He doesn't have any.

“Yeah, well, I hate him. He's just… arghhh.”

“Does he know you hate him?”

“Well, now he does.”

“Hmm. Seems one sided to me. I don't think he hates you back, sorry to say.”

All this after just a day of meeting Jon, was impossible to fathom.

“Yeah well.. he made it pretty clear he didn't want me. Or anything to do with me,” Sansa said, quietly.

Robb raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Did he say that?”

“Well not out loud. I just.. got the vibe, I guess. Maybe he thinks I'm gross.”

“Really, Sansa? What are you, twelve? He does not think that way. Come on. Three years with someone, I think it's more than just 'vibes'.”

“What, you and Lisa don't get vibes from each other?”

Robb shrugged. “Define vibes. I can tell exactly what she's thinking just by a look. Which by the way, aren't 'vibes'. That's being in a relationship and knowing your partner.”

Well, Jon doesn't care about that.

“Yeah.. it would take a hundred years for him to even care about how I feel, let alone know just by a single look.. so pardon me, if I don't have my hopes up.”

Robb glanced at her and rested his elbows on his lap. “Maybe you don't see it. Yet.”

“See what? I don't think Jon's that type though.”

“The sensitive type? Maybe. But from the way he looks at you, I don't know but I'd say he's trying at least.”

Sansa frowned at the statement. Maybe it's a guy thing. Solidarity and shit. Or maybe the advice wasn't be so misplaced after all. So, Sansa was willing to listen.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Robb chuckled. For someone claiming to be a romantic, Sansa was clueless as they come.

“He looks at you like how Dad looks at Mom. I've seen it. Every time. And man, I hope that's how I look at Lisa, too. Hard to believe Jon doesn't care. Because, I think he does.. more than he lets on.”

The talk wasn't making any sense. What happened an hour ago was so different from what Robb claimed Jon was capable of, it was hard to believe.

“Look, I've heard a lot about him. Not so nice things and frankly, I was expecting some jerk showing up at our doorstep.. but he isn't one. Surprised me.”

“You clearly don't know him,” Sansa protested.

“True. But I know guys and he's just one of those big softies. With a hard outer shell, you know. Must be tough meeting our family, I get it,” Robb chuckled.

“Well, he didn't have a choice now did he?”

Now that the government is hot on our trail.

“No, but he did have a choice. I mean, he's a big shot editor right? Or something like that, what Dad told me. Why would he be here when he could be busy making it rain back in the city? Schmoozing with the big names and whoever's the It person of the month. But did he? No. He chose you over that, coming here to Northern country. And going fishing with Dad? Props to him. Being nice to Mom, even though we can all see how much she hates his guts? Wow. And for coming to Gramp's birthday too. If he's such an asshole like you claim he is, why make all this effort?”

Fiancé visa. It's all an act. That's why. Sansa wanted to scream, to tell Robb the actual truth. But it would ruin everything. Not to mention, implicating him as well. Best if no one knew at all.

“Listen, you always sit here when you're in a rut. Is it something so bad that you can't fix?” Robb finally asked the right question. Committing a felony. Bad enough?

“I would tell you but.. it's between me and Jon. We'll figure it out.”

Robb placed an arm around her and pulled her in for a hug as he rested his chin on her head. “Of course you will. You're Sansa freaking Stark. You always do.”

Sansa rested her head on her big brother's chest. It was warm and cozy and been a while since she had done so.

“I just wish some things were.. different.”

“We all wish for that, don't we? But this is all we've got and we just have to make the best of it, Sans. And I'm sure Jon will too. Life and lemons sort of thing. He's like this 'run-with-it' kind of guy. Which is all right. Reliable, I give him that. Besides, he doesn't seem the type.”

There it was again. The great Jon puzzle. Robb seemed to know a lot more about Jon that she thought she did.

“The type of what?”

Robb smiled at her, wondering if these two were actually a couple. “The type who doesn't take advantage. You know, so he doesn't screw up a good thing. Not many guys like that. And he'd better be if he's engaged to my sister.”

The thought hadn't crossed her mind. That, instead of thinking how she drove him away, perhaps it really was Jon trying to control himself. For once, the words 'respect' and 'Jon' were in the same sentence, as Sansa considered the alternative.

“Thanks.. Robb.” Sansa sighed as they both sat, looking out onto the lake listening quietly to the waves gently sloshing against the dock.

It was dusk when Sansa heard her brothers and father shuffle through the kitchen with the day's catch but Jon was nowhere to be seen. Avoiding, of course.

Sansa ignored the feeling and went on setting the table. It was going to be a great dinner with everyone she loved and maybe her last together before heading back to the city, the prospect of imprisonment looming heavily over her head. Whatever happens, she was going to enjoy the dinner, with or without Jon. He's on his own now.

“Hey everyone. Hi.. honey,” Sansa heard Jon greet the family and her, as soon as he made his entrance.

In usual Stark fashion, everyone, save for her mother, welcomed him back warmly, especially her father, who was now smiling ear to ear regaling the rest of how Jon helped to reel in a particularly large and stubborn trout and almost falling overboard in the process. Her father even sounded quite impressed by the whole thing. Sansa munched on her green beans quietly as Jon walked over and sat next to her.

“Sansa.. hey. I thought you'd be in your room-”

And what, wait for you? Boy, he's got a lot to learn in this house.

“Nope, was helping with dinner. You know, since it might be my last and all.. if we're going to jail.” mumbled Sansa, aiming her side eye at him with scorn.

Jon sighed and turned to his plate. It alarmed him realising how distressed he was, watching Sansa get visibly upset with him. I thought girls didn't like to pushed into that sort of thing. Jon knew nothing, absolutely zero of the female psyche.

It was unnerving and such a marked difference from the Sansa he was used to. But that was work, he had to remind himself. This.. this is not work. He'd be a fool to dismiss this as 'just work' and nothing else. It was a deal between them, he’d play his part and so would she. And in just one day, in spite of themselves, managed to turn it into something quite complicated.

Jon admitted he wasn't very skilled in the art of courtship and wooing, it had been years since he did any of it. But if it was one thing he knew about women, was that a great grand gesture would easily smoothen any rough patches in a relationship before being tended to carefully. Or so, he thought. At least he hoped that information was still relevant. And if there was still some semblance of a 'relationship' or whatever it was between them left to save. 

Regardless, he'd take the risk. Don't all heroes do, take the risk and save the day because he believes in love. Love, he smiled. What an idea. Then again, if there was anything the weekend was close to showing him, was that, for the longest time since his parents passed, Jon felt something deep inside of him slowly stirring to life, a strange magnetic pull he couldn’t ignore. It was heavy yet light as the warmth began to settle gently on his chest. 

So.. that's how it feels like.

Sansa kept to herself and mostly listened to everyone else's conversations over dinner. There was a lengthy discussion on Gramp's actual birthday party the following day and her family had decided on a list of party games for the guests to play. It was the big eight zero after all.

“Hey Sansa.. can we talk? Later after dinner?”

Sansa leaned back and sighed. If Robb was right, why was Jon taking such a long time to fix whatever it was that broke between them? As much as she wanted to share the faith Robb had in Jon, she just didn't see it. And it frustrated her to no end.

“What's there to talk about? You made it abundantly clear.”

“Well, I still haven't made my point yet but I think I know how. If only you'll let me. Please.”

Sansa was tired of thinking over and over about the 'point' Jon so desperately needed to make. She didn't care anymore and only gave a nonchalant shrug and returned to her plate, deliberately avoiding Jon's gaze.

Right.. okay then. For the first time, he felt invisible. 

“Uhh.. everyone.. I.. I have an announcement to make,” Jon slowly stood up at the table, the family quietening down as they looked on. Sansa's jaw dropped. Shit. He's going to tell everyone. How dare he? Sansa's heart almost stopped a beat. Don't do it!

“As you know.. Sansa and I, we're here to meet the family because, well..we got engaged.”

Oh my god. Jon.. don’t do it please. But Sansa didn’t make a sound.

“And what a lovely weekend it has been and such great pleasure meeting you all.”

Oh. My. God.

“And I know it's such short notice but it wouldn't feel right if I didn't take the time to do this. Especially with her family around. And.. I hope you all don't mind because I have something to say.”

Sansa wanted to scream, mortified at the thought of her family finding out the truth. But the cry froze in her throat - the horror, the embarrassment, the thought of talking to them through a glass screen. No. No, I won't let it! 

Sansa tried to breathe as normally as she could, one half of her was dangling on the edge of a full blown panic attack, while the other was stuck paralysed in a dining chair. She knew the panic attacks would come for her one day. And it did -what timing it was, on the day of her ruin in the hands of her sadist boss, before her own family. She couldn't watch nor listen and shut her eyes as she gave in, her body rigid with fear taking over almost completely. She absolutely refused to go through with it, she was guilty and there was no way she could face the angry and disappointed looks from her family, let alone the lectures. Sorry, Daddy.

That's it. We're done. Jon, you fucker!

But then.. everyone gasped. A giggle and an excited squeal had Sansa slowly opening her eyes. Her breathing was still ragged and Sansa knew she was minutes away from hyperventilating.

“Sansa?”

Sansa turned to a Jon kneeling before her and her entire family, holding up a shiny diamond and sapphire ring.

“Wha.. what?”

“I know you didn't plan for this but.. you deserve this. This is it. We're a team. You and I. I'm not going to let you go down for me, for this mess I’ve put you in. I won't let you.” Jon whispered quietly, his face softening, showing a different Jon than the one she knew.

“Will you...marry me?”

Sansa stared at the ring, in disbelief. Jon fidgeted nervously, seeing how quiet she was. Speechless. And the rapid blinking, worried him a little too. Sansa didn’t look too good as he noticed the beads of sweat rapidly dotting her forehead.

Sansa tried her best. She tried to breathe and calm herself down but nothing seemed to work. There was shouting in her head, alarms were blaring left and right. Is this a joke? Fuck! But there were no alarms - just her heart pounding so hard, Sansa couldn't hear anything else. The stares from her family waiting in silence only made it harder to breathe again. It wasn't supposed to be like this.. I’m going to prison...

Seconds passed like hours as everything around her moved in slow motion. Sansa felt her jaw slacken and her vision began to blur. The only word she could muster - was just one syllable long.

“Huh?”

Then, it all went black.

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

Kim Donghyun, 김동현

anonymous asked:

Okay, here's my request BUT you can take your time on it and just do it when you're not so busy! I'd like something with Donghyun, a non-idol au, with lots of intense feelings heh. Maybe something like you're college housemates with his friend and he always comes over all the time for literally everything and anything when actually its just excuses to see the reader? Dongdong needs the love :( -1102

Group: AB6IX

Member: Donghyun

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You stared out into the vast field of flowers, scattered with Sweet Peas, Stargazer Lilies and Daffodils. A warm breeze blew past, gifting you with the blossoms’ sweet fragrance. 

You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, taking a deep breath and just enjoying the atmosphere around you. It was that kind of calming, yet uncomfortably ‘too-good-to-be-true’ feeling. 

You squinted your eyes, swearing you could see some movement in the distance. Sure enough, a figure drew closer and closer. You could only see the person’s silhouette, not being able to pick out any defining features, but there was a certain aura around him. 

It felt safe, and romantic, and warm.

Even more so when that person held their hand out to you.

Just as you were about to brush fingers with that silhouette, a loud, jarring screech met your ears; a noise that you could recognize anywhere. It was your faithful friend that you greeted first every morning—your alarm clock.

You slammed your hand down on the bedside table with somewhat of a vengeance. Sure, you know the dream was too good to be reality, but couldn’t that damn alarm clock have let you be lost in for just a second or two more?

You huffed, sitting up and running a hand through your hair, almost certainly a greasy mess. You blinked harshly, trying to flush the last remnants of sleep out of your eyes. With sleepy, half-awake steps, you made your ways to the blinds, pulling them up hesitantly. 

Luckily, the sun wasn’t as blinding as you had expected. In fact, there was quite a bit of cloud-coverage. You made the mental note to bring an umbrella with you to school. 

You didn’t bother brushing your teeth, because you could already smell the breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. Your roommate would always say that he wasn’t that good at cooking, but his meals said otherwise. Maybe he wasn’t the best in the world, but you’d never eaten anything made by him that you didn’t enjoy to the fullest extent. 

You padded out into the dining room, hair still a mess, still half-asleep and wearing nothing but an worn, over-sized tee-shirt and some sleep shorts. Your roommate—Jeon Woong—was used to seeing this sight in the mornings; just as you were used to seeing him looking perfectly put-together, despite it being barely 6AM. 

You paused for a moment.

There was another thing you were used to seeing. One of Woong’s close friends from his hometown—Kim Donghyun. Through the last semester and a half, he’d been coming over to your dorm-room pretty much everyday.

Usually for breakfast, but also for some pretty mundane things as well. 

Like the famous, “Dude, I need to go to the grocery store, and it’s late, and I’m too scared to go alone”, or “My roommates ditched me, so I’m stealing you guys as my honorary ones”. 

Or (a personal favorites of yours), “I was reading my anatomy textbook and I read the word ‘womb’, and you know what rhymes with ‘womb’? Yeah, that’s right. Woong! So I knew that I just had to come over”.

Woong didn’t appreciate that one too much, but you thought it was hilarious.  

Kim Donghyun was a strange guy, but he was funny, so you never protested to his constant visits. In fact, you thought it was pretty cute how the two Daejeon boys stayed in touch.

Sometimes, you could physically see Woong getting fed up with him, but you’d never seen them argue, because in the end, they were friends and cared about each other—no matter how clingy Donghyun could be sometimes. 

You still remembered the first time Donghyun had invited himself over. You hadn’t expected him, and he CLEARLY had not expected you, because when you came out into the dining room looking like how you normally did, you both screamed. 6 in the morning, and you both screamed at the top of your lungs.

Nowadays though, it didn’t phase either of you. You’d gotten familiar with the feeling of seeing his dorky smile every day.

In your mind, any friend of Woong’s was a friend of your, so you kind of just let it happen. You and Woong had been friends since you both started college, not exactly clicking at first, but growing very close as time went on.

You walked to the the fridge and pulled out a jug, not fully acknowledging either of the boys milling around the kitchen. Woong was hard at work at the stove-top and Donghyun was sitting comfortably at the table, flipping through a Human Sciences textbook.

He looked up at you with that same smile he always had, giving you an elegant wave that was a bit over-the-top for so early in the morning, but you gave it a pass because it made you chuckle. 

Woong glanced over his shoulder as you poured yourself a glass of orange juice. “’Morning,” he said, smiling a little. You gave him a small wave and a hum. He knew that meant, ‘Good morning to you, too’. 

He went back to folding the omelette he was working on. “Heard you talking in your sleep,” he mentioned, urging the egg onto a plate. “Whachya dreamin’ about?” 

You downed your glass, glad to get the morning breath taste out of your mouth. “Prince Charming,” you said simply, smacking your lips to get rid of the leftover flavor. 

Donghyun’s brows rose in intrigue. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “Prince Charming got a name?” he asked, wiggling his brows. 

You shook your head, leaning against the counter of your cramped kitchen. “Not even a face, dude,” you said. You nodded slowly, as if working something out in your head. “I think he will one day, though.” 

“Why do you say that?” Donghyun asked. 

Woong set a plate-full of food in front of him. “’Cause she’s a closet romantic and she believes that a reoccurring dream like that will have a different outcome as time goes on,” he chuckled. He leaned down, as if he was sharing a secret. “She likes to think that when she meets ‘the guy of her dreams’, that’s where he’ll show up.” 

Your cheeks grew hot. “Shut up, Woong!” you said, chucking a damp dish towel at him from last night. Unfortunately, he dodged. Freakin’ athlete. 

“Weak,” he teased, making an ‘L’ shape on his forehead and sticking out his tongue. He chose ‘weak’ instead of ‘you throw like a girl’, because he’d learned the hard way that would just get his ass thoroughly whipped.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Whatever,” you huffed.

Donghyun raised his hand gingerly, as if he were asking a question in class to a particularly salty professor. “So,” he started, “you’re into the whole ‘fate’ thing?”

You hummed thoughtfully. Did you really believe in that? “Yeah, I guess I am into it,” you finally decided on, nodding. 

Woong coughed, the words coming out something along the lines of, “Closet romantic”.

You smacked his shoulder. “I said—shush!” you chastised. 

Donghyun chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s all good,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me.” He flashed a cute smile. “It’s cute.” 

It wasn’t long before you were all sitting around the dining table, munching down on another top-class meal by Jeon Woong himself. 

“11 out of 10, Woong,” you said to him through a mouth-full of food. 

He gagged exaggeratedly. “Talk or chew,” he said. “Choose one, not both.” 

Donghyun nodded. “It’s not hot,” he added. “Negative points, my friend.”

You rolled your eyes and swallowed. “I’m not eating breakfast at 6:30 in the morning trying to be sexy,” you grumbled. You made a sour expression and pushed your plate away. “You guys are making me lose my appetite.”

Donghyun chuckled. “Oh, come on! You know we didn’t mean it,” he said. He poked your side. “As your honorary guy friends, we’ve gotta make fun of you.”

You quirked a brow. “Who says your my friend?” you teased. 

“Who says I’m not?” he rebutted, a sly little smirk making it’s way to his lips. He tilted his head. “You’re too comfortable with me not to see me as a friend.”

You dipped your fingers in your water glass, flicking it after him after. “Whatever, Hyun,” you said. 

He laughed, splashing water back at you. “You even gave me a nickname!”

Woong groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m third-wheeling here?” he whined. 

That’s how breakfasts with Donghyun and Woong usually went. More fun than when it was just you. By yourself, it was quiet and lonely. With Woong, it was simple and filled with comfortable silences, but easy conversation. 

With Donghyun added into that equation? 

There was no shortage of early-morning chuckles and juice-out-of-the-nose snorts. It wasn’t even that he was trying to be particularly funny—you just found him amusing in the simplest of ways. 

And even though it was really shocking and annoying sometimes to find him just randomly there, making himself at home on the couch or raiding the fridge, it definitely wasn’t the worst thing to find.

Especially after a crap day, because he had a seamless way of lightening up the mood without feeling like he was trying too hard. You could see why Woong liked him, even if you weren’t a fan of him at first.  

He was just simple like that. 

He sneaked up on you—like the spice after a pepper, or the warmth spreading through your body after the first sip of hot chocolate with marshmallows. You were pretty happy with how your relationship with him had grown, though you couldn’t quite place why.

When he first started coming over, you felt a little left-out. He and Woong would always share funny stories from their hometown, recalling their nostalgic childhood adventures, and you’d feel a slight disappointment not understanding the inside jokes and small situational innuendos.

Though, it didn’t take too long for them to start inviting you into the proverbial circle—Donghyun being especially welcoming. You supposed that’s just how he was; always the campus heartthrob.  

You were happy that, nowadays, all three of you would swap stories, recalling some of your amusing adventures together. 

“Remember when you legit”—you made an exaggerated arm movement, complete with funky sound-effect—“dived into that pile of leaves?”

Woong sighed, somewhat reminiscent of a tired single-mom. “I do,” he said, raising a hand. “I thought you broke your neck, ‘cause you didn’t come back up for like... A solid eight seconds.”

Donghyun choked on his drink; a fruit smoothie that he was always very proud of telling you he made himself. “You remember that?” he asked, a little flushed. “It was such a long time ago, though!”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course I remember!” you said. “I almost peed my pants laughing.” When you really thought about, you’d never had a bad moment with these two.Maybe they were your best friends.

You’d never had a best friend before, let alone two of them.

He smirked a little, looking smug. “Then I did my job well,” he said, taking a deliberately slurpy sip of his smoothie.

You quirked a brow. “Oh, yeah?” you started. “Elaborate.” 

He shrugged with that dumb, yet charming smile. “You looked sad that day.” He met your eyes. “I was trying to cheer you up.” 

You froze for a moment, just staring at him.

Woong looked between the two of you, looking like he was holding back a chuckle, his lips sucked in and chest shaking with effort. You gave him a look, silently asking, “You know something I don’t?”.

You cleared your throat. “Well, thanks,” you said simply. You smiled a little at the memory. “It definitely cheered me up, even though I thought you died for a second or two.”

Donghyun stood up for a moment, bowing gracefully. “’Twas my pleasure, m’lady,” he said. He sat back down and hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the table in some sort of rhythm. 

Your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to it. You knew he played guitar, but sometimes, it was more evident than others. His finger-tapping habit could get repetitive sometimes, but in the end, you could always forgive it.

His fingers had a certain strange beauty to them.

Donghyun glanced over, seeming to notice you staring at him. You didn’t realize it at the time, but his cheeks gained a lovely shade of red.

“What’re you looking at?” he asked, chuckling a little. 

You pulled yourself out of your daze, looking him in the eyes. “Hm?” you hummed. The question registered in your mind. “Oh! Nothing really,” you said. “You just have really nice hands.”

All of a sudden, his tapping stopped as he stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor as it was pushed back by his legs. “Is that the time?” he asked, staring at a non-existent watch on his wrist. “My class is in like, ten minutes,” he said. 

Scooping his bag up off the floor and tying the flannel with the hole in the pocket around his waist, he flashed you and Woong a playful salute. “You’ll see me again, so don’t be too sad,” he said with a wink. 

With that, he was gone. 

Disappeared out the door, just as he reappeared every morning.

Woong coughed, sounding a bit more like a stifled laugh. “Whipped,” he said softly.

You furrowed your brows. “What?” you asked.

He shrugged, making a funny expression. “I didn’t say anything,” he assured you, picking up the empty plates and carrying them to the sink. “Nothing at all.”

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2:56AM

It was late. Too late.

You turned the page of your textbook, ignoring the heaviness of your eyelids. You’d already tried going to sleep, but it wasn’t cooperating, no matter how tired you were. 

Maybe this was why Woong had given you the nickname ‘Night Owl’.

Your reading light cast a harsh shadow on the words, but you powered through it, accepting the headache that you’d probably have in a few hours. 

You sighed, resting your head in the palm of your hand. You tapped your fingers lightly against the pages of your book, trying to remember the rhythm that Donghyun had been tapping out earlier. 

It was mid-tempo, calm and smooth, and it made you feel better to try and work it out in your head.  

You almost jumped out of your skin when your heard a tap on your window.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, all too aware of the fact that Woong was sleeping above you on the top-bunk. You felt your blood run cold, not daring to turn around and see what was waiting for you outside the window. 

As if on cue, your phone buzzed with a text notification. 

You looked over, scanning the pop-up. 

From: Donghyun

Dude... It’s just me. 

Your head whipped around, glaring at the window. Or, more aptly put, the face outside of it. Standing outside of the window, standing on his tippy-toes (you lived on the first floor of your dorm building) was Kim Donghyun, waving sheepishly.

You were about to open your mouth and say something, but he quickly brought a finger to his lips, silencing you. He made a circle with one hand and tapped it with the other, giving you a hopeful look. 

Slowly, the realization dawned on you. He wanted you to buzz him into the building. You nodded to him, flashing a quick thumbs-up. Despite your initial frustration, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

There weren’t many people that would come to visit you at 3 in the morning.

You hopped out of bed—fuzzy socks and all—and grabbed your over-sized sweater off the back of Woong’s rolling-chair, meeting Donghyun in front of your building. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, he was panting like crazy and he had a piece of crumpled up paper held loosely in his grip.

He looked up at you with relief in his eyes. “You’re here,” he breathed, creating a puff of heat in the chilly air. His eyes smiled before his lips did. “You came out.”

You crossed your arms, furrowing your brows. “Well, duh,” you said, looking down at him from the top of the steep incline of stairs. “You scared the crap out of me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to catch his breathe with the stinging air. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. 

You furrowed your brows. “Did you run here?” you asked. “Where’s your coat?” 

He looked down at himself, as if just noticing the lacking article of clothing. “Oh,” he said. “Guess I forgot it. I just—” He was cut off by a sneeze. 

You sighed. How could he come out in this weather in short sleeves? “Hold on a sec,” you said, starting to walk down the steps. You pulled the sweater over your head, offering it to him when you got to the bottom. “Put it on,” you said, having a sneaking suspicion that baby-blue would look great on him. 

He shook his head, eyes wide. “No way! It’s freezing—I’m not gonna take that from you.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Kim Donghyun,” you said, voice lowering an octave. He froze on the spot, staring at you with that ‘yes, ma’am?’ kind of look. “Take the damn hoodie.”

He reached for it tentatively. “Thanks,” he said with a small voice. He took to gently and pulled it over his head, mussing up his hair and making it stick out in funny directions. 

You chuckled. “Cutie,” you teased, flattening his hair back out. You couldn’t help but notice the way his cheeks darkened in color; not even the dim lighting could hide it. You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

“So...” you said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “What brings you here at 3AM? You know that Woong’s asleep, right?”

His hand clenched a little tighter around the paper in his hand, making an audible crackle. “I know that,” he said quietly. “That guy goes to bed at 11 on the dot, even if he has to study for a test.” He nibbled his bottom lip thoughtfully, not meeting your eyes for a minute. “I came for you,” he finally said.

Your breath caught in your throat.

There he was. 

Kim Donghyun.

One of your best friends.

He was wearing your sweater, his chest was still heaving from his run over, his cheeks, nose and ears were painted with red, and his eyes were glossy with an emotion you couldn’t quite read. For whatever reason, he looked really attractive like this—standing in front of you looking so... Real.

He was like a picture, unedited and unfiltered. Absolutely candid, and in a way, it was somewhat touching that he was your 3AM rendezvous. It felt special.

“Oh, yeah?” you said, shifting your weight a little. This feeling... It was odd. “What’d you have to say?” you asked. 

He took a deep breath, looking like he was trying to hold something back. An emotion, an action—it didn’t matter what it was. It was something he didn’t want to show. “It’s more like...” His voice gave out a little, his eyes watering.

You felt concern build in your chest. You’d never seen him like this. 

You took a step froward resting a hand on his shoulder. You rubbed it up and down his arm in a soothing fashion. “Take your time,” you whispered. “I’m here for you.” 

That seemed to strike a chord within him, snapping the rope inside of him that was restraining his emotions. In a fit of tears and a bitten back sob, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m hurting a lot right now,” he yelled out into the night-air, hiccuping over his words.

He didn’t care if he woke up Woong. He didn’t care if he woke up your entire building. Maybe he didn’t even care if he woke up the whole world. He continued on, “It hurts so much because of the things I can’t say. Because of the things I’m really scared to say.”

You felt your heart racing, feeling his hot tears land in your hair; some on your shoulder. You rubbed his back, trying anything to get him to calm down. “I don’t understand,” you said gently. “I’m gonna try, though.” 

You pulled him over to the stairs, gently dragging him down to sit with you. “Tell me what’s going on,” you said. 

He chuckled a little and wiped his eyes, voice still shaky. “You know,” he started, “I don’t even really know why I’m crying,” he admitted. “Is this what a period feels like?” 

You snorted under your breath. “A little bit, yeah,” you said, nodding. “What—do you have cramps, too?” 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. He pointed to his chest, tapping it a few times in that same rhythm that he usually did. “In here.” He sighed a little, letting his shoulders slump. “You know, I realized something today,” he said. 

“And what’s that?” you asked. 

His left hand slowly inched closer and closer to yours, but you didn’t notice, too caught up in trying to read his expression. “When you were staring at me earlier and complimenting me...” he started. “I realized that I don’t regret one second that I spent coming over here instead of studying for tests.”

He continued, “At first, I just started coming over ‘cause school was stressing me out, and I thought that Woongie would cheer me up.” He smiled a little, staring up at the starless sky. “But then I met his cute, funny and smart roommate.” 

Your cheeks heated up. 

“I wanted to come over more often so I could get to know her better.” He shifted nervously, moving away by half a centimeter or two. “You better. Get to know you better,” he clarified softly. “I started coming up with all these dumb reasons to visit you guys, just so I could see you more often.” 

He met your eyes again, but with a shy hesitation. “I realized today that I more than just ‘like’ you. I think I...” He grumbled something under his breath along the lines of, ‘I don’t wanna say it out-loud, ‘cause it’s embarrassing’. 

He huffed, blowing a loose piece of bangs out of his eyes. “I think I really like you,” he settled on, hoping it would get his feelings across. Slowly, he unfolded the crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. 

He chuckled nervously. “I even wrote an entire freakin’ song about you, and I was gonna play it for you when I got over here, but like an idiot, I forgot my guitar at home, so I guess that plan died young—”

You cut him off with a hug that sucked the air from his lungs. “How about you sing it to me on our anniversary?” you offered. 

Why did you decide to fall into his arms? You weren’t exactly sure.

Maybe it was because he gave off the same warm and romantic vibe that the Prince Charming from your dreams did. Maybe it was him, and you just didn’t realize it.

There was a long, drawn out silence. 

Finally, Donghyun’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. “If you’re up for it,” he started, a smile in his voice, “that sounds like a really good idea.”

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Here you go, 1102! I hope this can help you finish your 2019 off on a high-note. 😉 Donghyun is such a lovebug and I hope people give him a lot of hugs. ;-; And like... Comforting + gentle collarbone kisses. I don’t know. I just feel like he’d be into that. I’m gonna shut up now.

Love ya, as always! Stay safe and healthy! 

[justlikeeddie]

tell me ANYTHING AT ALL about ready to shape the scheme of things.

I’m FINALLY replying to these asks, and I would of course LOVE to talk about ready to shape the scheme of things.

This fic is about lots of the things I like in A Knight’s Tale and about Chaucer and Will’s relationship in it. Chaucer being in the middle of this great love affair between Will and Jocelyn, the go-between, the facilitator, is extremely Interesting To Me, and I mean that in both a euphemistic and non-euphemistic sense, and this story is obviously about that. And it’s obviously also about pretending to be other people, and the limits and opportunities of doing that, which of course is what the film is kind of about, too: Will has to pretend to be someone else in an external sense, but in every way that matters he is a character who remains remarkably true to himself.

But both of those things are more like the window-dressing with which I hooked myself in to write this story, which I think turned out actually to be about the idea of loving someone in a way that doesn’t have to be lifelong and all-encompassing, but can still be very real and significant and impactful. The phrase in this story that gets to the heart of it for me is Chaucer feeling a clean, clear rush of love, in its purest and most transitory sense: that he feels something he knows doesn’t define him, that might not exist forever, but that in that moment is serious and honest and important, and he recognises it as such.

I think that A Knight’s Tale is a film about five people who just genuinely, absolutely love Will Thatcher— six, if you correctly assume the Black Prince has been quietly thinking about what a nice young man he is throughout his offscreen military campaigns, and possibly seven, if you count whatever the fuck is going on with Rufus Sewell. But of all of them, I think Chaucer has the most perspective on what that means— Chaucer the writer, who makes a living from understanding what makes people tick, and also a character who is a bit older than most of the rest of the gang, and certainly seems to have been around the block a bit. He has the self-knowledge to recognise and consider and pull apart the different strands of what he feels— is he impressed by Will? Does he find him attractive? Does he find him funny? Does he want to protect him? Is he grateful to him?— yeah, all of those things, to a greater or lesser extent, at different times. And Chaucer has the tools to recognise and deal with all of that, not to be too worried by it, to enjoy the parts of it that are enjoyable. As opposed to, say, someone like Wat, who would clearly defend Will to within an inch of his life, but probably couldn’t quite explain why.

In fact, around the time of writing this story I got a bit obsessed with the deleted / extended version of that climactic scene where Will is in the stocks: Kate and Roland defending him with their bodies and their tools, Wat attempting to defend him with his usual desperate, violent inarticulacy, and then— in the version of the scene that appears in the film— Chaucer trying to defend him with words, and failing. For the first time we see a crowd refuse to listen to him, refuse to bend to his will. That’s quite a powerful, upsetting thing, Chaucer’s almost-magical power dampened by the absolute despondency of that moment, and it works as a low point in the film. But in this extended version, it’s very different: he does win the crowd round, with humour, so that he can transition before they realise it into a speech that’s partly the same hyperbole he’s been shouting for the rest of the film, except it’s painfully honest, too, because it’s built on how much he loves that boy. “He is like gold to me.” And that makes the scene run very differently: the crowd are beginning to turn, listening to Chaucer, wondering what to think, and that sets the stage for Edward to walk in and grant Will his reprieve— unlike Edward’s much more deus ex machina, save-the-day appearance in the non-extended version. Which also works, obviously, but it’s just different.

The title of this fic is from Word on a Wing, which I presumably got to via Golden Years, but all I can tell you is that I spent several days listening to all of Station to Station on repeat and emerged with the fervent (and correct) conclusion that this song is about Chaucer’s response to having his life slightly upended by Will (even though it’s also about the narrator’s relationship with a higher power, but, bear with me). Lord, I kneel and offer you my word on a wing; and I’m trying hard to fit among your scheme of things. Just because I believe, don’t mean I don’t think as well. I’m swept up by you, I’m willing to follow you, for now, but I’m still my own complex self, of course. And I don’t stand in my own light. I’ll be warmed by yours, for a while.

(Stay is about Chaucer and Wat. ’Cause you can never really tell when somebody wants something you want too— [SEXUALLY AGRESSIVE 2-MINUTE GUITAR SOLO])

None of this would work, of course, if Heath Ledger’s performance as Will in this film wasn’t so surprisingly, easily loveable: Chaucer thinks in this fic about the fact that he ought to find a man like Will boring, and I think in the hands of another actor Will could be an incredibly bland romantic lead. But there’s so much affectless charm and determined goodness in him— coupled with just enough stubbornness and grace, and stupidity and cleverness, to make him human— and I think Chaucer loves that about him, too. As someone whose writing is so celebratory of the messy, complicated business of being people, complete with mistakes and misunderstandings and jokes and sex, comedy and tragedy, rich and poor, I think Chaucer likes people who have a bit of grit in their lens, even if the light shining through it is beautiful. So I tried to make Will like this in this fic: giddy and swept up in his love for Jocelyn, wanting to do the right thing, wanting to make himself and other people happy, but with a headstrong twist, too: it’s important that he’s the one to push what they’re doing to its inevitable conclusion, that he’s a few steps ahead (or to the side) of where Chaucer might have assumed him to be.

Someone left a comment on this fic that said, of Will, “my boy is a good kid!”, and I love this and I think about it all the time. He is!!!! And this is probably one of the most purely nice stories I’ve written, because he’s such a good fucking kid that it’s surprisingly hard not to be nice to him, or for other people not to be nice when they’re around him.

[calunavulgaris]

I’d like to think that anyone who knows me knows that I am 100% pro-choice, but in case it needs to be said: I am unapologetically, completely, irrevocably pro-choice.

There are two main reasons for this, the first being that I have known from a very early age that I never wanted to be pregnant or give birth. The idea is beyond horrifying to me. The second is much less personal. I have never encountered an anti-choice argument that wasn’t laughably easy to dismantle. I’ve been vocally pro-choice for roughly 30 years now (thanks, Mom) and in that time one thing has become painfully evident: anti-choicers have nothing but tenuous, easily debunked “arguments” that are based solely on emotional manipulation, anecdotes, and pseudo-science. They’re also dreadfully unoriginal and repetitive. It gets dull, let me tell you.

But what the hell, just for fun let’s go through some of them here:

“Abortion is MURDER!”

Nope. Murder is a legal term with a clear, concise definition. Abortion does not meet the criteria. Go ahead and look that up, it’s pretty easy to find.

“Abortion KILLS BABIES!”

It’s funny how those who claim to be on the side of science (which is ridiculous on its own) resort to unscientific terms when their goal is to evoke a purely emotional response, isn’t it? “Killing babies” packs more of a manipulative punch than “a medical procedure involving the removal of fetal tissue.” Believe it or not, I sympathize if the termination of a fetus squicks you. I get it. Being that I’m pro-choice, I will always defend your right not to ever undergo the procedure with the same fervour I employ when defending the choice to obtain an abortion. That’s what it means to be pro-choice.

“The fetus is innocent and has a right to life!”

By definition, the fetus can’t be innocent or guilty, it is purely neutral. The “right to life” does not grant anyone the right to use any part of another person’s body for their survival, no matter how “innocent” that person may be. The person carrying the fetus also has the right to life and bodily autonomy, and having sex/being pregnant isn’t something one can be “guilty” of, as neither is a crime. If we want to talk about innocence, let’s start there.

“What about the rights/autonomy of the fetus?”

For starters, the fetus has no autonomy. Its survival is completely dependent on the person whose body it’s inhabiting. That person is fully autonomous and must consent to their body being used and occupied by the fetus.

I know this is repetitive, but it seems to need repeating: There is no human right granted to anyone to use any part of another human’s body, living or dead, for their survival. If you’re in need of an organ transplant, and someone has just died with the organ you need, that doesn’t grant you the right to take what you need from them unless they consented to it before their death. You don’t have the right to take their completely viable organs that they are no longer using if that person did not sign up to be a donor, and it doesn’t matter if you will die as a result. If I’ve been stabbed and am bleeding out, and will die unless given a blood transfusion, no one can be legally compelled to give me their blood to save my life. Not even my own mother. Not even if she was the one who stabbed me in the first place.

If no one has the right to a dead person’s organs or their mother’s blood, what right does a fetus have to another person’s entire body?

“You shouldn’t get to kill a baby just because you’re too lazy to use contraception!”

Please, tell me which form of contraception is 100% effective 100% of the time. Even a minuscule failure rate (based on perfect use) means that unintended conception will occur. I have personally met several people who conceived/were conceived themselves despite multiple forms of contraception being used. It happens. If someone uses two or three methods in tandem, I think they’re making it pretty clear that they do NOT wish to conceive, don’t you? And sure, some do decide to continue with the pregnancy (I think the best reaction I ever heard along these lines was “I need to meet the person who could get past all that!). Again, that’s their choice.

Yes, some people conceive because they neglected to use contraception, for whatever reason. Those reasons are no one’s business but their own. Having unsafe sex is not a crime and isn’t something people need to be punished for. More on that coming up in the next point.

“Abstinence is 100% effective! You made the choice to have sex, deal with the consequences!”

Electing to have an abortion is one way to deal with the consequences. It’s just one that some find immoral, or icky, or selfish. Thankfully, morals are subjective, and it isn’t a crime to be selfish or icky. Even if it were, using forced pregnancy (which the UN defines as a form of torture) as a punishment is unconscionable and inhumane.

Also, what do you suggest for childfree couples? Believe it or not, there are people in long-term, committed, loving, healthy relationships who don’t wish to have children. Should they be condemned to lifelong abstinence because there’s a chance they might conceive? Have fun trying to sell that one.

Consent to sex does not equal consent to pregnancy. Now, imagine that it wasn’t consensual to begin with. (This is where they like to bring up the statistic of abortions as a result of rape, because they live in a world where every instance of sexual assault is reported, and every victim discloses how they came to be pregnant.)

We don’t deny medical care to those who develop lung cancer due to their 20-year pack-a-day habit, or those who drink themselves into liver failure. If a drunk driver causes a collision, we don’t stand by and let them die from their injuries, even if the collision caused the death of others. But somehow, there are those who think a person with a uterus should literally be tortured and have their human rights revoked if a fetus is inhabiting that uterus. That is terrifying.

“What about the father? The fetus is 50% his so he should have a say!”

It may be 50% his genetic material, but it is 100% inhabiting another person’s body, which is why that person gets to make the final call.

Let’s break down what’s being implied here: If a couple conceives and the pregnant person wants to abort, they should obtain permission from their partner in order to do so. If he disagrees, they should respect that and carry the pregnancy to term. That doesn’t seem very 50-50 anymore, does it? I think it’s funny that this argument only seems to work under the assumption that the father would want to continue with the pregnancy. If he felt it would be best to terminate and his partner disagreed, would they still argue that his vote somehow carries more weight? I doubt it.

“You shouldn’t have an abortion just because pregnancy is inconvenient!”

“Inconvenient?!” Dude. A hangnail is inconvenient. Missing a parcel delivery and having to go to the post office is inconvenient. Your cat’s preference for hacking up hairballs on your clean laundry instead of the tile floor is inconvenient. To call pregnancy “inconvenient” is absurd in the extreme. Pregnancy, even under the best conditions, permanently alters a person’s body. I dare you to tell someone who has been through pregnancy and labour that it was merely “inconvenient.” Seriously, look up third-and-fourth degree tears, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, abdominal separation, etc. just for starters, and then tell me it’s just inconvenient.

“Post-abortive women suffer from depression and mental illness!”

Find me an unbiased source to back that up, please. It simply isn’t true, the majority of people who have undergone an abortion report feeling relieved. Also, what kind of an effect do you imagine forcing an unwanted pregnancy and birth on an unwilling person has on their mental health? Hell, wanted pregnancies can take a huge toll on a person’s mental health, but I don’t see anyone using postpartum depression to argue against pregnancy, childbirth and parenthood.

“Doctors don’t know everything! I knew someone whose doctor said their pregnancy was unviable and they should terminate, but they didn’t and now they have a beautiful, perfect child!”

Cool story. I’m glad this person was able to make that choice for themselves and that things turned out okay. I’m still gonna trust the advice of someone who invested their time and money into getting a medical degree over the anecdote of an internet stranger, but that’s me.

“Infertile couples would be so happy to have your baby! Just give it up for adoption!”

I don’t know if you’re aware, but there is no shortage of children in need of families. There is, however, a shortage of people willing to adopt older children, or non-white babies/children, children and babies who are born addicted, HIV+, severely disabled/medically fragile... I could go on.

Getting back to the “Doctors don’t know everything!” point, it may be worth noting that I used to work in a foster home with severely disabled children. It was by far the hardest, most heartbreaking and exhausting job I’ve ever had. I have seen firsthand what these kids go through, how much around-the-clock care they require, how forgotten some of them are by their families, and how they are considered “undesirable” as far as adoption goes. I have seen how they suffer. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it would have been better for any of them if they hadn’t been born, but I fully understand if someone is simply not up to the task of devoting their life to caring for a child who will be completely dependent on them for everything for however long they live, which sadly isn’t long for many of them. I’m glad I did it, but not everyone can, and there is nothing wrong with admitting that.

All of that aside, adoption is only an alternative to parenthood, not pregnancy. No one owes you the use of their uterus to house a fetus you want just because you’re unable to make your own.

This is already longer than I originally intended, but I think I’ve covered the most commonly recycled arguments. The rest mainly boil down to “Abortion goes against my personal theological/philosophical beliefs or moral code!” and all I can say in response to that is that I’m so glad I don’t have to live by anyone’s concept of morality and am allowed my own. It’s pretty great.

I won’t be complacent, however. I have never been more terrified in my life as a uterus-bearing person as I am right now, and I know I’m not alone in that. We cannot allow our rights to be revoked. We cannot afford to lose the ground those before us fought so hard to gain. I will do all I can to keep that from happening.

If the right to our bodies isn’t worth fighting for, I don’t know what is.

[mythcarved-archive-blog]

RULES.  repost , don’t  reblog  !    tag  10 TAGGED.   you know i’m a bitch who loves to steal memes. TAGGING. any of my crit role rp folks who want to do this

BASICS.

FULL  NAME : scanlan shorthalt NICKNAME :   scanman, shorty, the meat man, burt reynolds, kingslayer. AGE :   unknown ( somewhere between forty to one hundred years ) BIRTHDAY :  unknown LANGUAGE / S :  gnomish, common, marquesian. SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  pansexual ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  biromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :  single HOME  TOWN / AREA :  unknown CURRENT  HOME :  transient/ank’harel/whitestone/greyskull keep PROFESSION :  bard, tal’dorei high councilman, the meat man

PHYSICAL.

HAIR :  brown & kept long, usually tied back into a pony tail, save for the untamable cowlicks that stick up in front. he has some thick side burns too. EYES :  greyish/purple, large and bright (every time matt describes gnome eyes as beady i’m ready to FIGHT) FACE :  heart shaped / long. high cheek bones, defined jawline.  LIPS :  full but perpetually drawn back to reveal a toothy grin COMPLEXION :  he has very very very faint freckles but once he gets that marquesian tan they’re fairly prominent. BLEMISHES : aside from the cowlicks and scraggly facial hair, he is a vision of beauty. SCARS : deep grooves on the palms of both hands. several large and deep claw marks that reach from his torso to his stomach, courtesy of raishan. a small but plainly visible slash under his right eye. TATTOOS : a wide variety of nonsensical but sentimental tiny vintage tatts including but not limited to; a moustache on the inside his index finger, a sprig of juniper over his heart and a hand with it’s fingers crossed on the back of his neck. (he plans to get kaylie’s name tattoo’d in some gaudily fancy script eventually) HEIGHT : 3′5″ WEIGHT : roughly the weight of a small child, whatever that might be. BUILD : the definition of dad-bod. his stomach is pudgy and although there is definitely some muscle mass its still fairly flabby. if one looks hard enough theres some evidence of past malnutrition but most of it carries in his face. ALLERGIES : none. USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  tied back and messy. USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  a perpetual grin that spells trouble and hides any characteristics deeper than ‘funny man and endless flirt’. USUAL  CLOTHING : extravagant and opulent. anything that gives away the fact that he’s got money and is maybe a little too self-preoccupied and it’s probably something purple or maroon. lots of ear piercings, six on each ear in fact. 

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S :  powerlessness, poverty, not being good enough, change, death/dying. ASPIRATION / S :  to be a good father / be a better person just in general POSITIVE  TRAITS : bold / charismatic / quick-witted / humorous / courageous NEGATIVE  TRAITS :  deceitful / salacious / reckless / arrogant / self-absorded MBTI :  esfp ZODIAC :  leo / scorpio i cant decide TEMPERAMENT :  sanguine / choleric (a healthy dose of both) SOUL  TYPE / S :   performer ANIMALS :  triceratops, dogs, rabbits. VICE  HABIT / S :  sexually careless, lies compulsively, theres also the drug habit... FAITH : until very recently, scanlan didn’t feel he had time for the gods. it was when he spent a year sorting himself out that he started to find some comfort in praying to sarenrae (the goddess of redemption). GHOSTS ? :  yes AFTERLIFE ? : no REINCARNATION ? : no ALIENS ? : yes POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :  good people are good, bad people are bad. EDUCATION  LEVEL :  self taught, son.

FAMILY.

FATHER : vikol MOTHER : juniper SIBLINGS : none EXTENDED  FAMILY : kaylie shorthalt (daughter) NAME  MEANING / S :  ‘scandal’ or ‘contention’ HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? : none

FAVORITES.

DEITY : sarenrae (mostly because of pike’s affiliation) HOLIDAY :  winter’s crest MONTH :  pfft SEASON : summer PLACE : greyskull keep / ank’harel / emon WEATHER :  warm but not humid, definitely prefers dry heat. SOUNDS : flute music, tavern ambience, the sound of a campfire crackling, his mother’s voice, pike’s laughter. SCENT / S : roses, patchouli, cinnamon TASTE / S : sweet stuff ! FEEL / S : physical contact of any sort / cuddling / hugs / more illicit physical acts, fabrics like silk or velvet, big cushiony soft pillows. ANIMAL / S :  dogs NUMBER :  69 bow chicka bow wow COLORS :  deep purples, gold, deep reds.

EXTRA.

TALENTS :  lying, singing, playing the flute or lute, flirting. BAD  AT : being honest, opening up to people, understanding people. TURN  ONS :  genuineness, sense of humor, equal parts strength and beauty, someone who can hit back whatever it is scanlan throws at them. TURN  OFFS :  nothing turns this little horn dog off  HOBBIES : shopping, singing / playing music, getting busy probably doesn’t count as a hobby but... TROPES :  i have many names, older than they look, sad clown, team dad, try not to die, really gets around AESTHETICS : scattered sheet music, floral printed fabrics, nudity just straight up nakedness, lightning and fire, intricately designed long swords or rapiers. QUOTES : 'you’re a scoundrel, scanlan shorthalt. it’s whats kept you alive.’ ‘you don’t leave your shit behind and keep going. you take it with you and the ones who stick around better get used to the smell.’

FC INFO.

MAIN  FC / S : hale applebaum ALT  FC / S : (i was using faceless icons of martin freeman as bilbo baggins but thats over) OLDER  FC / S :   YOUNGER  FC / S : VOICE  CLAIM / S : sam riegel GENDERBENT  FC / S :

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own  movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be  filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ? A1 :  listen i’m already writing a fic about the year scanlan spent away from vox machina and the whole aesthetic i have for it is lord of the rings meets a knights tale Q2 :   what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ? A2 : literally the same exact music i’ve reblogged to this blog Q3 : why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ? A3 : because i wanted to rp a critical role character and scanlan’s my fave Q4 : what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ? A4 : he’s my real dad. he raised me. actually, i just really like characters that are more than what they first seem AND i like comic relief characters. Q5 : describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse. A5 : i’ve coached myself to be a better communicator of my feelings (thanks therapy) so it’s sometimes very frustrating watching scanlan do the exact opposite of that when it would literally solve 90% of his problems. also some of the earlier and skeevier bullshit he pulled with women. Q6 : what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ? A6 : i’m also forty seven layers of sad hidden under a very thick layer of unaffected goof Q7 : how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ? A7 : idk but adopt me into your family, father. i’m already gay but if i have to get an undercut like lionel and kaylie, i will. Q8 : what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions  with ? A8 : canon wise; pike and vex / vax and grog and kaylie non-canon wise; i love seeing him interact with all the taakos Q9 : what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ? A9 :  new episodes, music, fanart/fics. Q10 : how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ? A10 : god it’s been in my drafts for two weeks now...

[alitheia-writes]

Automaton (KamiMiyo/Miyokami) ch 1

Automaton - Alitheia Fandom/Relationships: Joker Game/KamiMiyo-MiyoKami Tags: Canon Universe. Friendship/Love. Light angst. Non-chronological. Summary: —but spies were not machines. (Kaminaga recounted the past and dreamed of the days to come; of a world in which Miyoshi hadn’t ceased to exist.) Chapters: one | two | three | four Link: AO3

A/N: Did a fanfic with this kind of writing style before, I thought it'd be fun to try it with KamiMiyo too (and in English ;w;). Portraying both Kaminaga and Miyoshi is so hard—I have so many ideas for them, which I'd probably never be able to write lol—but the nature and complexity of their relationships was the thing that made me love this pairing instantly. Hopefully, though, I won't mess up so much and this fanfic comes out in the way I see them in my head, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (´・ω・`)

Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.

i. under the morning light

One of the reminiscences that could never be washed away from Kaminaga's memories was of a spy named Miyoshi, as he sat beside the window at the agency’s small library on the fourth floor, with a book on his lap, basked under the morning sun. It was a modest scenery, neither a special occasion nor a point of culmination, but there was just something in its simplicity that made the moment lingered. Perhaps because it was their first chance to talk with only the two of them present, or maybe because it was the first time he realized how flawless the contour of Miyoshi’s face was—from his pretty eyes to his salient chin—carved by shadows and golden rays.

Kaminaga had pretty much picked up on everyone’s quirks since the early of their trainee days. It was a little harder with the number of people who started at first, but later as the days went and they finally dwindled to eight men, the more chance they got to interact, the more each of their personalities became prominent. But it had never occurred to him, the Miyoshi who liked reading books—not that Kaminaga thought he didn’t fit the smart image—he just didn’t see that narcissistic Miyoshi would also need to hide himself away sometimes.

“Sorry,” he remembered it was he who first attempted for any sort of conversation, during the first few weeks of their training, “did I disturb you?”

“As long as you won’t start screaming or something of the like,” chestnut-colored eyes glanced, “then I’m not bothered.”

“I’m just going to open the window and smoke, if that’s alright with you?”

“Be my guest.”

Miyoshi titled his torso a bit to the side so he could easily open the windowpane, followed by a slight shake of the head and a thin smile when refusing the cigarette Kaminaga offered him. They eventually just sat there, falling into a sweet silence of the early winter. Kaminaga leaned on his chair, eyes parking somewhere between the bookshelves behind Miyoshi’s back, as his ears searched for proof of lives, even if it was just a faint sound of breaths or tiny chirp of birds outside.

He wasn’t thinking about anything particular when without a warning, Miyoshi closed his hardback book with a dull thud, blowing off dust particles that looked akin to light snow. He left it on his thighs, while his gaze shifted outside; still as a statue, as if was contemplating, or trying to find inspiration in the windows of other buildings. Bending forward to tap the cigarette on the ashtray on the small table separating them, Kaminaga peeked at his book—The Odyssey, carved in silver letters on a sky blue cover.

Positioning his back to be as comfortable as the wooden chair allowed him to, he puffed trails of smoke.

“I never thought you’re a fan of Homer.”

“I’m not,” their eyes met for a brief second, before Miyoshi returned his gaze to his book, tapping his fingers on the binding, “was just looking for something to keep me busy last night.”

“You could always come to cafeteria like usual, you know,” Kaminaga said, “we played cards until past midnight.”

The corners of his lips turned slightly upwards, and the only thing that crossed Kaminaga’s mind was how Miyoshi was always able to make his lips curved in a way that look so effortless and natural, “Sometimes you just need the time to be alone.”

“Well, if you say so, I guess I could understand.” He chuckled a bit. “So, did you find something interesting about Odysseus?”

“Not particularly, except maybe for the fact that he probably slept with pretty much every woman he met,” Miyoshi looked at him, still smiling, “somehow that sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s just pretend you weren’t looking at me when you said that.”

“I’m still looking at you, though.”

Kaminaga laughed. “May I ask what are you trying to imply here?”

“Other than things that have been depicted in some ancient Greek epic poems actually still could be found in today’s society, no,” Miyoshi replied, “I’m not trying to imply anything.”

Only a couple of weeks ago, this man and all of his sickeningly sweet, disparaging innuendos had irked him to no end. But now when he’d realized that Miyoshi might simply be a cynic to the core, and that by throwing sarcastic remarks was his way of trying to keep the conversation going, he instead found himself grinning, genuinely amused at how bizarre his personality was. For the same reason he also didn’t reply. Kaminaga hated losing, but for this one time, he’d let Miyoshi feel satisfied. Consider it as him being genial. And he could be wrong, but Miyoshi did seem a bit younger than him, so consider it as Kaminaga being a courteous big brother as well.

So then he resorted to just enjoy his cigarette, while the smoke danced above his head before it dissipated in the morning wind. There were, after all, some moments that were meant to be savored, just like this one.

Kaminaga might not look like it, but he actually fancied reading. So far the only trainee he met most often in the library was Jitsui, though their relationship was just that of a polite conversation with occasional comments or recommendations about books that both of them had read. Miyoshi’s presence might be a good change of pace; listening to other people was indeed Kaminaga’s natural interest. Miyoshi would almost certainly be a great partner for conversations, though sometimes he made Kaminaga want to throw him the ashtray.

“Actually,” Miyoshi said, suddenly, “there was something that kind of caught my attention more than Odysseus and his adventures.”

“Oh?”

Miyoshi set the book in his hands, letting the papers turned swiftly under his fingers, as if trying to find a certain page. Kaminaga didn’t want to admit that he was already curious. But he didn’t stop until the back cover was reached, and the man returned it to his lap instead. “I just thought there was something quite amusing.”

“And that something is?” When his interlocutor only smiled, he quickly added, “Don’t make it as if you want to say it then leave me hanging.”

“Am I catching your interest, Kaminaga?”

“Perhaps.” He puffed his cigarette, looking as absent-minded as possible. Though Kaminaga was a good actor—that was part of his job as a spy, actually—he knew there was no use of pretending in front of people who were also always faking.

“Automaton.”

“Pardon?”

“You asked what’s amusing, my answer is, automaton; King Alcinous’ gold and silver dogs,” Miyoshi said, “that, if you’re familiar with some Greek myth or Homer’s works.”

And of course he did. Kaminaga had read The Odyssey—hell, he even read The Iliad before that—and his memory was excellent, so he knew exactly what was being talked about. “The dogs that guard his palace?” he asked. “What’s funny about them?”

Miyoshi placed the book on the table, almost making Kaminaga think that he wanted to show something, but the book cover was closed. “Define automaton?”

“The Homer’s one? A statue out of metal, having the ability to move by themselves because they were given life by the gods or something.”

“Precisely,” Miyoshi sighed, “and that also sounds strangely familiar, isn’t it?”

Kaminaga raised an eyebrow, this time not catching what Miyoshi meant. He hoped his expression was enough to make the other spy elaborate further, but the man only maintained the curve on his lips, as if it was the only thing that he was supposed to do in the world. He then rose from his seat, dusted invisible dust off his waistcoat, and took the suit jacket from the back of the chair. Without any word, he walked toward the door.

“Wait,” Kaminaga called him right when his hand was on the doorknob, “where are you going?”

“I meant to catch some sleep, if you don’t mind,” stopping briefly, he said, “I was up all night, you see.”

“Well yes, but I still don’t get what you mean.”

He stared at Kaminaga for a few long seconds, face unreadable. Miyoshi then shrugged. “Yet.”

The door closed. Kaminaga was left alone in the room, with old books and tales about automatons.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Yarbrough Delivers 7 2/3 Sharp in Rays' G1 Win

John slowly opened his eyes. This one, again. Sort of. He had already lived it. It’d been awhile since he bothered to remember the same tired old sequence. It has been even longer since he had tried to commit it to memory. But even then, there was always a mistranslation due to … whatever. He had the utmost idea as to what he wanted to say and then it’d come out … wrong? He wondered if that was the right word for it. Anyway, this lapse in time, it was different. He had learned by now that it was much wiser to squint through the light the fluorescent tubes brought forth. He rolled on his side and faced the white cement wall. The shade of paint was just as unforgiving as the lights above him. He traced a finger on the groove of the wall. He guessed it was morning. The slot in his door would open and they would slide in breakfast. John rolled over and swung his legs off the bed. His bare feet touched concrete floor and the chill was a jolt to the system. He raised his arms into the air and stretched while omitting a long yawn. John listened for the footsteps. They weren’t there. Not normal for him to deviate from his routine but stranger things have happened. He usually woke up just in time for the morning shift to begin. In the year and a half since, he had become aware of when this happened. He always considered it a callback to a routine that essentially defined him half of his life. He got up. Stripped off his underwear. Relieved himself. Brushed his teeth in the sink built into the same stainless steel toilet he just used. He sequestered the previous day’s dirty laundry in a closed container under his bed. He looked into the bin right next it to find a stack of carefully organized clothing, retrieved them, and put on his clean underwear, white jumpsuit, and slippers. He made his bed. It had to be just right. He stripped the non standard linens and pillows he’d earned as some pittance for good behavior. He examined them meticulously. He would make sure that they didn’t need be laundered along with his previous day’s clothing. After the bed was made to his satisfaction, John stood around with his hands on his hips. He was getting a little agitated now. Most likely due to hunger. This was usually where this charade exposed its purpose. He looked to the drain set right before his toilet. Any moment he’d hear his voice. He had never learned the name that owned the voice. It happened. And then by happenstance, he’d been there all those years. There was a part of John that wondered if he was ever real after they’d encountered each other the first time. There was conflict in everything that defined reality. That’d been so long ago. And besides, one day, the voice had gone away by itself. Last thing he said is that he couldn’t wait to see Johnny in hell. John sat back down on his bed. A couple months back, he’d confided to Mike maybe to the nature of these encounters. What had possibly happened to him. Didn’t take them much to put two and two together. He hadn’t been seeking out some absolution as to what happened. The act was after all part of him. The absent voice, the man it belonged to, they would always be a part of him. And so in a strange way, John was disappointed that they wouldn’t reminiscence about old times. And he always had something to say about the present. And then he would join him. But that wasn’t happening. He clasped his hands together, cracking his knuckles in the process. He didn’t like this. It wasn’t part of the routine. Finally, there were footsteps approaching. Eventually ending at his door. There was the jingle jangling of keys, the scrape of metal on metal as the right one was inserted and turned just so. The release of the lock. The creak of the hinges as the door is pulled out, light pouring in. Partially blinded, he could only make out the figure’s broad form. Very familiar. It stepped into the cell. John sighed, “Me.” He had become very accustomed to what one would consider putting his best foot forward. And so here he was, in the dark grey suit he’d worn earlier in the week. “Really? This is just confusing.” The suit shrugged, “What did you think you were doing all along? This is a work of fiction, transcribed or not. Why are you writing these down afterwards? Half the time, you crumple up the page and toss it.  I mean I’d rather not obscure things by implying some disorder because that isn’t it. This is just you lost in thought. Mike and you are in the hotel room. You two are watching the Red Sox get their shit kicked in. Mike’s words, not mine.” “I know that. Just doesn’t make any sense to me.” “Me either,” the man, well, John, joined the other by taking a seat beside him on the bed. Bed was a generous term as it was a frame bolted to the wall with a sliver of a pad for comfort. He clasped a hand on the inmate’s shoulder, “Tell me something, and by that I mean, tell yourself something. You considered walking off the first night you were invited to stay in the guest room. Why is that?” John hated dredging up that mess. “I mean, depression, right?” “Probably.” “Actually, I’m asking the wrong question. Why’d you stay?” “Didn’t have anywhere else to go. Was tired of being alone.” The man in the suit bursted out laughing, even slapping his knee. It was a mischaracterization.   It was contrary to everything John was, “That’s, Church, that’s pretty funny. You could have surrounded yourself with all manner of people. The business being what it is and you chose to linger around the one person who takes you in like a lost dog.” “They seemed nice.” “Okay, okay,” the suit had now been prone to sudden peels of laughter and he had to wipe tears from his eyes due to the sheer hilarity of it, “Fair enough. And so what is this?” “What is what?” John wanted to run out that door, maybe it’d end this. He’d like to just explain everything to Mike. Stop playing around. Stop mixing up his thoughts. Stop being so … not sure? “Is this pretend? Just like before?” “No,” he said adamantly. “You sure keep quiet about all of this.” “Easy enough to find out. Seems like everyone knows more than me anyway.” The suit stood up, separating himself from the gloom of that statement. “I feel like a pinball, you know that? Just bouncing around from thought to thought,” he gestured towards the open door, “Funny enough, I don’t know what’s out there. There isn’t anything beyond this silly little cell. You think it represents clarity or self actualization or … eh, probably not. Doesn’t work like that. Sort of like how you’re handling, you know, life about now.” “I’m trying.” “At what? What do you think Mike is all twisted up about? I can’t tell you what it is. Again, I’m you. There’s something beyond an eighth grader’s first relationship. The chaste kisses. The hand holding. Then acting like you’re exploring the unsettled lands, step by step.  The haphazard gratification. The handjob under the bleachers. I mean, it wasn’t there literally but Jesus Christ, John. Saying you two are partners.” “We are.” “I’m … I’m trying to help you but John Bishop Church isn’t equipped to help himself. I’m just whistling in the wind. I’ll just go.” The suit turned his back to John, stepped towards the exit. “Game’s over. Four fuckin’ runs at the top of the 9th. Get fucked, Boston. Anyways, Mets’re on later tonight or whenever, timezone’s got me all fucked up, but you don’t gotta watch on the account of me. Your turn, John. Your turn to stop watching reruns of your life.” “I, I don’t know how…” Out the door, “Fuck if I know either. Figure it out.” The door slammed shut behind the suit. But the door didn’t lock. John slumped over, face buried in his hands, muffling his exasperation, “I don’t know how…” “Don’t know what, bud?”

“N, nothing.”

[wuollet]

Jack stuff Pt 1

First set of questions that Ive been filling out for Jack.  Wasn’t too much of a fan of some of them, but hey.  I filled out a bunch.  Lost a bit of steam towards the end.

Going to work on a second bit eventually.  But now now.  Literally too late at night to try and be thinking. 

What's one experience your character had that made them very afraid?

Jack nearly drowning has been done to death by myself in terms of experiences that made him terrified of water.   It was Jack's first time when he was truely on his own, shortly after Allen joins TFi and Jack doesn't want to.  A very life defining moment that doesn't involve near death for him.

What's your character's happiest memory?

At the moment, Jack does not have many happy memories.  He'd claim that he's have many with his brother, but never admit that he was more often then not unhappy.   As cliche as it sounds, his happiest that I would believe would be when he was with Delilah.  It's the few times where he put his own interests in front of himself.

What's one skill your character really wishes they had?

Vinny continually jokes about his skill on making decisions with terrible outcomes.  Jack wishes he could be better with his words.  Sort of like Allen, its a very "opposite side of the same coin" as Allen only wants to speak better to 'charm' people when Jack wants respect. Also, cooking.  He would really like to cook better, too.

What is their favorite food?  Their daily diet?

Meatloaf.  Has always and will always be meatloaf.  He doesn't eat it very much after leaving home as it was his mother that cooked it for him.  Apple pies are his favorite dessert.   His daily diet usually consists of food with heavy calories, spending most of his time racing around ______ being Vinny's courier boy.

Do they like music? If so, what kind of music do they enjoy?

He tends to listen to Jazz and blues music, although only in his free time.  He tends to find it relazing after running around the city all day.

Do they collect anything/have a collection?

He recently has started buying books regarding history of the United States.  It's one of a few things that has sparked one of his own interests.

Have they ever encountered someone they really wanted to kill?

No.  Jack feels very strongly against killing someone out of malice.  Anger is a temporary feeling, but death is permanent.  He's still questioning about killing someone out of self defense, but won't judge someone harshly because of it.

How do they deal with bullies and people who won't leave them alone?

He's against killing someone, but that won't stop him from giving someone a swift punch to the jaw.  The asshole is still an asshole but now they’re an asshole with a black eye.

Does your character have any accidents or stunts from the past that they're extremely embarrassed about or had a funny result?

Taking up up free running has definitely had plenty of accidents and failed stunts.  Jack's most embarrassing accident would probably have to be the time he was saved by Vinny when running from a rival business.   He was attempting to climb a wooden fence, got himself caught on a hinge, and ended up dangling on the fence.  After saving him, Vinny would constantly laugh at the memory of it all.

Your character discovered that they only have a week left to live.  What do they do with that time?

After lamenting about it for a few days, he'd spend a few moments with his son, Nathan, before going home to see his parents.  And that's if its "Seventh day, final hour" hits and he instant dies. Because if its one of the slow deaths and his health deteriorates within that week, he'd probably stay in bed.

What was something they struggled with greatly and how did they overcome it?

Currently, he's still struggling with it.  He spent a majority of his childhood doing what his mother told him too.  Being as old as he is now, he still finds it difficult to make important decisions for himself.  Hence, his very poor non-imporant choices he makes.

Your character has the opportunity to have one wish granted.  Would the wish only benefit them, someone else(one person or multiple), or everyone?  And what would that wish be?

Jack's ultimate test.  Currently, he would be unable to make the wish.  He would give it to someone else before using it for himself.   Later in life, however, more than likely, use it to benefit himself.  And it would probably be for better health.

Does your character have anyone that they really care about, to the point that they would give their life for them?  If so, who are they and what is your character's relation? If not, do they wish they did?  Is there anyone they wish they could build such a relationship with?

Yes, however, (1) It would definitely be Allen, although it would be because he felt like it was owed to him, not because he loved him beyond his own life.   (2) His son, Nathan.  Tying it in with the wish question, he would wish that he could atleast have his son be interested in him a little bit being that the few times he did meet him, Nathan seemed bored of him.

Do they have someone that they consider to be a family member, even if they're not related to their character by blood?  What was one of your character's favorite moments with them and what makes them so special to them?

Yes...?  It would be Vinny, his second dad/uncle.  Duncle.  After Jack leaves TFi that first time, Vinny's the one who gave him his first job.  And is the only time he 'gave' Jack anything.  Afterwards, he pretty much makes life difficult for Jack.   Which leads him to the ultimate decision of him rejoining TFi.

Does your character have a deep and/or dark secret?  If so, what is it?

No...?  Jack tends to not keep things secret but doesn't spill everything out either.  The only 'dark' secret that he has would be that he had cheated on his girlfriend in high school.  Earned him a lot of enemies because of it.  Migrated him from being "Allen's little brother" to "School Asshole" very fast.

What is their aspiration?  Their goal?  Their purpose?  What makes them want to wake up everyday and keep going?

He does not have any big plan that keeps him going forward.  A lot of his motivation is just, "Make it to tomorrow."  He has a big fear of death, and the unknown afterwards.  It was definitely the reason why he quit/was fired frrom TFi before (Along with other factors but that's another story) Jack's still trying to figure out his purpose, although he's continuously discovering things that spark his interests.  Vinny's also sort of convinced him that his purpose was to find his purpose and then continue from there.  

How was their childhood?  Did their parents treat them fairly?  Did they have any really good friends?

It was something Jack considered, "Along for the ride."  His mother told him to do a lot of the stuff he did when he was younger.  It's definitely not fond memories for Jack but wouldn't want them any different.  He was pretty much his mother's favorite, treating his brother unfairly a lot of the time.   Much of Jack's friends had been Allen's friends.  He had a few that were solely his own.  He lost them eventually.  Its something he laments when he's given the time to think about his own past.

Does your character believe the ends justify the means?  No matter who they have to step on to reach their goals?

No.  His moral standards are very 2-sided.  He resort to dirty tactics in order to come ahead, but he won't just let someone walk over him to do so, either.  

Have they ever lost a love one?  What happened to them, and are they the same as they were before they lost them? 

Yes, BUT its because he was being sleazy.  Jack knows it was a mistake, and isn't keen on making it again.  

How would your character define love?

"It's your brain deciding to make an obsession."  

How does your character decide if a person is mature or not?

Pretty much anyone that's not him, or Allen.  Jack doesn't see himself as being mature, even though he's much more mature then Allen.  It's synonymous with 'respect'.

Do they have any nervous habits?  If they know, what made them start doing them?

Yes.  He tends to twitch his feet when he gets anxious.  

Does your character know any languages apart from their native language?  What one would they like to learn?

Jack does not.  At the current moment, he does not have a want to learn.  He doesn't have a real reason.  

Does magic exist in your character's world, and can they use it?  If so, how does it work?

Magic as in tricks, yes.  And no he can not.  Although he loves watching the magicians do them.  

Has anyone tried to kill your character?  If so, why?

His job is a somewhat safe one.  Courier is usually just getting an object from A to B.  But sometimes that A is under fire, sometimes B has people shooting at him and sometimes the object is a bomb.   They're never aimed at him intentionally.  He just ended up being a messenger.

Has your character ever been hurt or betrayed by someone they thought they could depend on?  What happened?

Jack has not been betrayed by someone he trusts.  Yet.  A plot point in Jack's life makes him believe that he's betrayed by a loved one.