#this is also promptly your invitation to Get In My Inbox. Tell Me About Your Guys. We Will Discuss.

[unidentifiedspoon]

What is your ideal ending for all your DnD OCs whose campaigns didn’t formally wrap up? (This is lowkey an excuse about Nation in particular, but anybody you wanna talk about also counts!)

ogh my god okay. okay. this is the ask i've been waiting for my whole life. i was born for this. bless you. hell yeah. yes

(sits at computer motionless for 15 minutes with not a thought in my head)

nation is probably the one who like. Needs that happy ending the most y'all they are this close 👌 at any given time. so they are in fact topping three very important charts—needs a happy ending real bad, Deserves a happy ending real bad, and has a really straightforward happy ending lmao. i've dragged their ass out of their original campaign but their good ending looks the same—they settle down with someone who loves them close to their family, they have Many kids when they're ready, and they get to be silly sometimes. they love their huge grey daughter and their huge beautiful wife but also they need like...idk. five years to go to therapy. and learn that it is okay being a vampire, which everyone who loves them has been trying to teach them for years loal

pax and lilyvalley both are so so so dependent on their stories and there's a lot of possible ideals. pax.....idk i can see her on a courier ship. the kind of guy you pay one billion gold to bc she will make Sure your stuff gets where it's going. and she retires bonkers rich and grey haired and ripped with her equally ripped wife and knits sweaters

lilyvalley.......gets a business degree and is good at it

josephine bless her was a curse of strahd baby and i know zero things about curse of strahd so. idk. she finishes her dissertation and becomes the kind of professor who takes all her students on adventuring field trips probably

pasture, tahirah, and trillion never really got to be like. People

tick my beloved kleptomaniac teen. i think she manages to work out some of her issues w her mom and siblings, she actually goes to school for antique appraisal and becomes a crazy ol lady who runs the most kickass infinitely gigantic room of requirement type antique store in all the planes

rig is in my brain in what is technically an AU but who cares. his ex gets killed and he kills his patron and marries his beloved idiot voyage and they adopt their daughters and HE GETS UNPURPLE'D WAHOO

and shoutout to corona for actually Getting the ideal ending: almost everyone they loved had long, connected lives, and her best friend will live forever with her :)))

[afternoonpoppy]

Hi, long time watcher, first time asker! So I noticed that in an older work, you mentioned that Wolfram gets the hiccups any time he so much as has a drop of alcohol. So uh... I would die a very happy lady if you wrote something about Wolfram having drinks for the first time. Blushy, buzzed, cuddly, hiccupping magical boy? Uuuuughhh yes pleaaaase.

(aaaaaaa I've had this waiting in my inbox for wait too long and I'm very sorry! It took me a lot longer to get a chance to write this than I wanted to.

Not me accidentally making Allister's school and work history really relatable to my own and not me using this as an excuse to write something taking place in December because it's currently way too hot outside.)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Allister tapped his finger against the keyboard of his laptop, staring at the screen. The math on the screen stared back at him.

"I hate this," he muttered. "Fram, I can't do math."

Wolfram, seated next to him on the couch, leaned against Allister's shoulder and looked down at the screen as well. "Did you struggle during your classes as well?"

"When I was fully conscious, yes. When I was working off of sleep deprivation, coffee, and panic on exam days, I managed pretty decent grades. Somehow."

Wolfram's expression was a mixture of disapproval and concern as he looked up at Allister.

"Hey, I don't have to do that anymore," Allister said with a shrug. Instead, he just had to suffer through the periodic online courses that fulfilled the accursed 'continuing education' his license required every couple of years. It really wasn't so bad and all the questions were multiple choice. He could always have just answered blindly until he got them correct. But Allister had been raised to be honest and to put actual effort into things. This just happened to be the sort of thing he struggled at.

He looked up at the clock that hung up on the living room wall, seeing that it read the same time as his laptop. Quarter past nine, meaning he'd been working away at these courses for the past two or so hours. Something like that, he hadn't really kept track. Allister sighed and placed his laptop onto the coffee table in front of the couch. "I think it's time for a break. Hey, a friend at work gave me a bottle of wine for the holidays. It's cheap, but why don't we have some?"

Despite it being mid-December already, Allister had to admit the house didn't give that impression. It was snowing heavily outside, sure. But inside were only a few small holly wreaths that he'd bought at a discount from the pharmacy on a whim. He hadn't actually thought to buy anything for the holiday season otherwise.

"Wine?" Wolfram seemed to think that over for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose I'll try some."

"Oh. You haven't had wine before?" Wine and other drinks certainly seemed like a staple of fantasy worlds with magic and the like. But then again, Allister wondered if he should stop making assumptions about Wolfram's home based on YA novels.

"Not in particular, no. During my time studying, my peers occasionally invited me to join them for an evening of drinks during our own holidays or when there was something to celebrate. I preferred to stay to my studies, though."

Allister stood up from the couch, heading towards the kitchen. "So magic college had the kids who wanted to party and the ones who panicked for good exam scores. Sounds like normal boring college."

Wolfram followed, leaning against the kitchen counter with a playful smirk directed at Allister. "Who said I panicked over my exams?"

"Well, if you're such a genius," Allister said, reaching up into one of the cupboards for the wine bottle and a pair of glasses, "I may just have you do my math for me. I bet you'll love dilutions." He had to admit, he felt fancy pulling out the wine glasses. It wasn't every day Allister had an excuse for that.

Pouring some of the red wine into each of the glasses, Allister handed one off to Wolfram.

"Dilutions..." Wolfram stared into the wine as he muttered the word. "Mathematics regarding multiple liquids? I do believe we covered something of the sort in alchemical basics." He paused and took a tentative sip of the wine, then stared at it more as if studying it.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not certain how I feel about the taste."

"Well, that's fair. I doubt cheap gift wine is the best introduction to the stuff."

"I suppose it's fine eno - hic - ohh..." Wolfram grimaced with the sudden case of hiccups beginning.

"Oh geez, that didn't take much, huh?" Allister offered a sympathetic smile.

Wolfram stared at the glass of wine, eyes narrowing at it. "Appare - hic - apparently so... I'm not sold on the - hic - idea of alcohol thus far, Alli - hic - Allister."

Allister gently patted his poor, hiccuping boyfriend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Fram. It's not everyone's thing anyway." He shrugged.

"Mm-hm... Is it - hic - really all that enj - hic - enjoyable to be intoxicated?"

"Hm... I mean, I guess?" Given that Allister hardly drank much at once, that wasn't the easiest question for him to answer, but he liked it well enough in the right context. Seeing that Wolfram was still studying the wine with something of a skeptical look, Allister offered, "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, it's fine. Like I said, it's cheap stuff too."

It was Wolfram's turn to answer with a shrug as he said, "It's f - hic - fine. I'm not completely aga - hic - against the taste, so I'll see what I think of it."

"Oh." Allister was, admittedly, surprised. Wolfram wasn't completely disdainful of something that had so easily given him hiccups? That was unusual. "Well, how about we find something to watch for a bit before I get back to work?"

---

A glass of wine and some television later, Allister realized that getting back to work was... difficult. For one thing, he hadn't finished that math from earlier and was now facing down the dreaded dilutions. The alcohol may not have been helping with that. Then there was also the matter of Wolfram.

"Alli - hic - ster." Wolfram whined, draping his arms over Allister's shoulders. "Is the math - hic - done yet?" He leaned forward, resting his head against the back of Allister's neck.

"Still struggling with that part," Allister said. His attention drifted to the empty wine glass that Wolfram had left on the table. Was it a coincidence that Allister's sweetheart, now slightly red-faced in the cheeks, was acting clingier than usual? No, certainly not.

"Well, hurry up," Wolfram mumbled into the collar of Allister's shirt. "Finish up s - hic - so you can cuddle me."

Allister smiled, reaching a hand up to gently squeeze Wolfram's own. "I'd love to, Fram, but it's a bit difficult with you hanging onto me like that."

Wolfram pointed at the laptop. "Then gi - hic - ive it to me. I'll do it, let me - hic - see it."

"You know, I wasn't serious about having you do the dilutions, Fram."

"Allister, I'm - hic - smart, remember? Numbers are numbers even in a different world, I can - hic - do it." Without bothering to wait for an answer, Wolfram sat up and promptly stretched out to lay on his side across Allister's lap, reaching over to the laptop on the table.

"Fram, what are you -"

"It's fine, Allister, it's fi - hic - ine. I can do math," Wolfram muttered indignantly.

Allister sighed and relented, waiting as Wolfram stared at the text on the screen. Eventually, Wolfram rolled onto his back to look up at Allister. "How do I use this?"

"You know, Fram," Allister said, brushing a stray hair out of Wolfram's face, "I have to do a course on pharmacy law after this one too. I don't think you'll be able to help with that one so you're still going to be waiting a bit."

Wolfram pouted and crossed his arms. "Allister."

"What is it?"

"N - hic - o," Wolfram said, the single-syllable word mangled by his hiccups.

"You want to try that again?"

"I'm telling you no, Allister. You're do - hic - ing what you tell me not to do. You're going to ove - hic - overwork yourself, and I refuse to let you."

"I get it," Allister said, "but I have to do this stuff for work, Fra -"

Wolfram put a hand up over Allister's mouth. "Shush. You have ple - hic - nty of time to do this work, right? So I'll make you do more tomo - hic - tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?" Allister mumbled, pushing Wolfram's hand aside with a hand of his own, fingers intertwining. Tomorrow sounded like a better time for the dilutions. "So that means cuddling now?"

Wolfram nodded. "I dema - hic - demand cuddles, Alli." Still lying on his back, he held out his arms up towards Allister expectantly.

Allister broke into a smile at that sight. "You're playful when you're tipsy, huh?"

"I never said I was - hic - tipsy. Oh, wait." Apparently having a sudden idea, Wolfram abruptly sat up. He brought his hands closer together and began to recite a spell - though, with his hiccups interrupting him, it took three or four times before he was able to successfully do so. Once he managed the spell without interruption, one of the small animal-like spirits formed in his hands and Wolfram smiled at Allister. "More warmth to sit with us."

"If we doze off, it's going to run off eventually and start causing trouble, won't it?"

Wolfram thought, looking back down at the currently rabbit-esque spirit. He shrugged and said in a dismissive tone, "It's fine, it's fi - hic - fine."

"Well, if it starts knocking stuff over later, you're the one who has to clean it up. Get over here, then," Allister said before leaning towards Wolfram and pulling him down to lie down on the couch.

[marauder-exe]

Christmas break- Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: 84 & 92 from the 2nd prompt list with Fred Weasley

Prompts: 84. “No, mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!”

92.”I love you in every possible way.”

Word Count: 2k

a/n: The confession scene under the stars was inspired by a fic I read a while ago where Fred proposes under the stars near the burrow! Although I cant remember the name:/

also i’d love some feedback if you guys don’t mind, you can drop it in my asks or inbox or whatever, i feel like my writing is getting a little repetitive

During Christmas break you had arranged to stay over at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Your family had decided to go on a cruise for your parents anniversary, so Mrs. Weasley gladly took you in for the break. You hadn't told Fred though, you wanted to surprise him. It was actually surprising he hasn't noticed you where keeping it a secret from him. He usually figured out your secrets within 0.2 seconds, having been best friends for the last 5 years, it wast really a surprise. So, just before your parents left for their cruise, they had driven you to Ottery St. Catchpole. Being muggle-born, they where very wary of you using magic.

So, as you pulled up to the burrow, you gave your parents a hug and a quick kiss, saying goodbye. You where far too excited to spend your Christmas break here. You had spent the previous night imagining all the scenarios that could happen over the next few weeks. It made you sad to be honest, knowing that they most likely wouldn't happen. But you could hope. You hurriedly knocked on the Weasleys door, waving a final goodbye as your parents got into the car.

Inside the burrow, Mrs Weasley was cleaning up from cooking, her family sat at the table eating, when she heard the knock on the door, she could only assume was you.

“Aww, Fred get the door please, im busy” Mrs Weasley huffed while all his siblings giggled at the table. Did he miss something? He gave his twin a confused look but brushed it off.

“Who is it, we aren't expecting anyone?” He wondered aloud.

“(Y/N)” She stated promptly, throwing a smile at him, preparing for what he would say next.

“WHAT!” He jumped from his seat. The last thing he wanted was to spend his Christmas break with her. Not in a mean way, he loved her and all but that was the problem. He was in love with her. He usually spent his Christmas fantasizing about what it would be like to be in a relationship with her, love her wholly and fully, have a life with her. He was excited, obviously to spend his Christmas with her, but Christmas meant gifts, then he had to get a gift that conveys ‘Ive been secretly in love with you since the day I lay eyes on you but I don't want to tell you in case I ruin our relationship so im going to wait for any smidgen of a hint that you like me, so I don't screw anything up and if that doesn't come then ill wait it out till you get a boyfriend, then ill cry and eat chocolate with George and try to get over it’ vibes, which was hard.

George interrupted his panicked thoughts. “Yeah! Mum invited her over to tell her all about how you drool all over her and daydream about herrrrr ”

“And how her eyes are so god damn dreamy” Ron and Harry had joined in and soon the whole table was reciting Fred's love lines.

“No! Mum don't tell her I said that about her!” He insisted. This had been going on for around 5 minutes while you where still stood outside, so you gave another quick knock on the door, as it was snowing and bloody freezing.

“Get the door!”

“Yeah, don't want to keep the love of your life waiting” Ron said dreamily, but Fred just threw a bread roll at him. He trudged towards the door, conflicted emotions but heart beating with excitement. He opened the door, there you stood, beanie on, snowflakes in your hair, basking in the moonlight, more beautiful than he had ever seen you. He was snapped from his trance by you, enthusiastically throwing your arms around him.

“Freddie! Surprise!” You hugged him and held tightly, having missed him.

“Blimey” He stumbled back from the force of your hug, but grabbed you protectively. “Its only been a week, you missed me that much?” He was right, your break from Hogwarts came about two weeks before Christmas, meaning one week to go. You subconsciously glanced at your case, wondering if he'd like your present.

“Of course I have Freddie! Couldn't live without my partner in crime!” She stated enthusiastically before they heard George shout from the kitchen. “What about me?!” You two laughed it off. You walked into the kitchen, Fred offering to carry your bags.

“How are my favourite gingers doing, and of course Harry?” They cheered as you walked into the kitchen, they all hugged you one by one, and you thanked Mrs Weasley profusely, but she just brushed it off.

“You'll be in the twins room” She smiled, Ron quietly wolf whistled in the background, causing Harry to laugh and Ginny to smack him on the shoulder, hiding a small smile. Fred nudged you.

“Wanna put your stuff upstairs?” He questioned and you nodded, he grabbed your stuff and started heading upstairs, with whoops and cheers behind you from the boys, while Mrs Weasley tried to calm them down.

When you where close to his room you asked the question that had been on your mind. “What was all the cheering about when they mentioned me sleeping in your room?” You questioned innocently.

“uh...” Fred felt a blush creeping up his neck. “its just, they know we’ll be sleeping in the bed, and you know how boys are”

It had never occurred to you that you'd be sleeping in the same bed, the thought made your heart speed up, you assumed you'd be sleeping on the floor.

“Unless of course you don't want to share a bed, id be fine sleeping on the floor” He said smiling.

“Don't be silly, of course we can sleep in the same bed, come on!” You raced him to the top of the stairs, both laughing like crazy.

The next week leading up to Christmas went crazily quickly. And the first night sleeping in Fred's bed with him was possibly a Christmas miracle, at least that's what it felt like. You guys where cuddled up, obviously George had given you the ‘no shagging while im asleep next to you two’ talk. But honestly, it felt right, being there with him. You tried to convince yourselves you where just friends, but that was never the case.

And so the day of Christmas came, and the entire Weasley family and their guests where so excited. Molly had helped Fred pick out something he knew you'd love. So the crackers where opened and candy canes eaten, and it was time to open the presents, you and Fred had waited last to give yours to each other. After everyone had finished giving gifts, they turned to you two expectantly. You ran to your suitcase, gently picking up the box, and Fred went to get his present. You'd returned to the living room, adorned In your own honorary Weasley jumper, clutching the present.

“Ill give yours first?” You asked, he nodded and you handed over the present. He carefully unwrapped it, savouring every moment. He flipped open the lid, and stared at the glinting ring.

“See, its a ring, but it has the first words you ever said to me on it” You giggled, the ring had the first words he had said to you on that train in first year. ‘Blimey, your gorgeous. Wait, what?’ The Weasleys laughed at the fond memory, and Mrs Weasley recalled all the letters she received that year, about the pretty Gryffindor that he was enchanted by.

“(Y/N), i-” He was honestly speechless.

“Oh and also!” She bounced excitedly “Its charmed to show a different picture of us and glows every time you think of mwah!” She giggled and mockingly flipped her hair. God she was perfect. He hugged her, tighter than he'd ever hugged her before. He whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ in your ear, you kissed his cheek and giggled, adding an ‘of course Freddie’. They pulled away and it was Fred's turn to give you his gift. Mr and Mrs Weasley where already tearing up at the scene in front them. Fred delicately handed you a similar box, you slowly ripped away the gold wrapping. Flipping the lid of the white box, sat a ring similar to the one you gave him, but as well as gold it had a purple stripe (your favourite colour) and a green stripe (his favourite colour). You stared at it, it was so beautiful.

“Its a promise ring” He began to explain. “i promise to always be...” He paused, breath hitched in his throat. Your faces where astonishingly close. “Your best friend” He breathed out. It honestly felt like a dagger in the chest, for both of you. You stared into each others eyes, desperately waiting, wanting, willing something to happen. Until you snapped away at the sound of Ron couching and Mrs Weasley shouting everyone for dinner.

Later that night, after dinner and the sun set, You and Fred had decided to go and watch the stars. A comforting act in itself but felt suddenly romantic with Fred. You two lay on a hill at the back of the burrow. Your head on his arm, cuddled up into him. You pointed out a star, Sirius.

“See that one?” You pointed towards the brightest star in the sky. Fred reached past your hand and pointed somewhere in the sky, that was definitely not where you where pointing.

“That one?”

You grabbed his wrist and moved to point it at the star. “See, Sirius, my uncles named after that star, ya know. Isn't it beautiful?” You questioned but Fred wasn't listening any more. Any thoughts of the stars had been discarded, he was only looking at you.

“Yeah, yeah it is beautiful” A small smile lit up his face as he stared at you in the moonlight.

You giggled as you saw Fred's ring glow brighter than any star in the sky. “Freddie, you rings glowi-” You turned to look at him but he was already staring. “What's up?” You questioned, a concerned look on your face.

“i love you in every possible way” He was still staring, a peaceful glint in his eye. Your heart stopped, your breath hitched. What did he just say? You sat up on your elbows and turned to look at him.

“What-” you whispered quietly.

“i love you (Y/N)” He matched your position on his elbows. “Ive loved you since that day I stepped foot into your carriage on the train and accidentally called you gorgeous. Ive loved you since you stood up against that Slytherin in second year. Ive loved you since you played that prank on Snape in third year. Ive loved you since you gave Hermione advice about her crush on Draco in 4th year. I love you under the sun and under the stars, in the Burrow or in Hogwarts or anywhere. I love you now and ill love you forever. I don't care if it ruins our friendship any more because I want you and only you.” You where brought to tears by his speech, and so where all the Weasleys who where watching from the kitchen windows. You threw your arms around him and kissed him. Pouring all the tears and bottled up feelings into the kiss.

“Of course I love you back Freddie, you idiot!” You jumped on top of him and he began giggling, you burst out in a fit of giggles. Mr. and Mrs Weasley watched from the kitchen, knowing his son had finally found the one. That was the most magical and memorable Christmas of your life.

[recurring-polynya]

You might have noticed that I am more than a little obsessed with @kaickos‘s Squad 6 Guard Dog and All-Round Good Boy Milo. She was kind enough to let me write a fluffy little story about him. It is not 100% consistent with the beautiful comic she is drawing about him, because we were working in parallel and great minds work alike, but maybe not perfectly alike. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this over my Thanksgiving weekend. (Seriously, BEHOLD HIM )

Shinigami’s Best Friend (AO3 | ff.net)

Squad 6 acquires a guard dog.

Rated T because apparently I can’t even write some fluff about a dog without cussing. It’s Rukia’s fault, I swear!

Captain Kuchiki Byakuya stepped over the large lump lying across the entrance to the Squad Six Captains’ Office. He smoothed his haori as he sat down at his desk. He read three memos from his inbox before he very calmly said, “Lieutenant, what is that pile of damp fur doing in the doorway?”

His adjutant, Lieutenant Abarai Renji looked up from the mission report he was writing up. “Ah, he appears to be sleepin’, sir.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. Eleven years of working with this lummox, and trying to get information out of Abarai was still an enormous trial. “But why, Abarai?”

“Well, he had a very exciting day, sir. ‘Spect he’s worn out.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut. “Let us back up. What… what kind of animal is it? It is an animal, yes?”

“He’s a dog, sir.”

“Really ? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, sir. I thought you knew about dogs, sir. Pretty sure you mentioned havin’ a couple once or twice.”

“I do. I own three dogs, actually.” They were champion hunting dogs, of the finest bloodlines. They were creatures of pure muscle encased in velvet coats, noble, handsome, and perfectly obedient. They looked absolutely nothing like this sentient dust mop, who was currently snoring softly and kicking one hind leg frantically. “My dogs are kept in a kennel, where a dedicated servant looks after their needs. Why is this one in my office?”

“Oh, well, sir, I’m trying to find him a home. Returning the favor, as it were.”

“The favor.”

“He saved my life, sir.”

This is the point where Byakuya should have known he had lost, because Abarai delivered this phrase exactly as he did when he told the story of how he had met Rukia. Byakuya did not ask for further detail, but he received it anyway, in typical Abarai fashion.

Abarai had been leading a sweep of one of the higher numbered districts of Rukongai -- his own home district, as it happened-- for an elusive Hollow that had been terrorizing the area. He had noticed the dog investigating a rubbish heap as he himself investigated a blind alley. Finding it to be empty, he turned to leave, when the dog let out a frantic bark of singular intensity, a bark that imported the urgency of the situation so clearly that Abarai drew his sword immediately, just in time to block the razor-sharp claws of the Hollow that was materializing from the shadows behind him.

“The thing was apparently able to travel from shadow to shadow, sir, completely untraceable,” Abarai noted. “But the old fellow sniffed him right out and let me know! Once I spotted it, the Hollow wasn’t that tough. Got his mask in one blow, but if I hadn’t seen him in time… Well, sir, you might be holding lieutenant auditions this afternoon, is what I’m saying.”

The alleged canine rolled onto its back, its legs hanging in the air.

Everything about this story sounded like, as Rukia would say, “some bullshit.” But Byakuya had put up with Abarai for long enough that he knew it was a trap to dwell on how they had ended up in this situation. It was more important to focus on how they were getting out of it.

“You said you were going to find it a new home,” Byakuya pointed out. “When is that slated to commence?”

“Well, I needed to file my report, first,” Abarai explained. “And it’s gettin’ kinda late in the day. Figured I’d probably just take him home with me, send a few texts around. See if anyone’s looking for a dog.”

Something about this struck Byakuya as a bad idea, but he did not want to get drawn any further into this nonsense. “Very good, Lieutenant. While, obviously I am grateful for his… services… to the Sixth Division… I do not wish to see him tomorrow, do you understand?”

“Oh, you won’t, sir!”

- - -

It was the next morning.

Byakuya was here.

Abarai was here.

“The dog is here, Abarai,” Byakuya observed.

“His name is Milo,” Abarai announced.

“Why is the dog-- Milo? What kind of name is Milo? Dogs are supposed to have names like Sakura Bloom Cascade. Mountainside Granite Crest.”

“Are they? I dunno. Ichika picked it. I think it’s after a character in one of her books.”

The dog was much cleaner than it had been the day before. It had clearly been bathed, the tangles teased from its coat.

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “So it is your dog now.”

“No, sir, course not! Rukia’d be pretty pissed, I think, if I did something like that without consulting her.”

“She is still in the Living World?”

“Yeah, for a few days, yet.”

“Ichika will grow attached to it, if she has not already.”

Abarai regarded him seriously. “Me and her had a talk about how he’s just a visitor and he can only stay for a few days. She understood.”

“She is very pragmatic,” Byakuya agreed. Amazingly so, all things considered. “So tell me again why the dog is back my office?”

“Oh, well, Iba said to bring him by, see if he gets along with Gorou.”

Byakuya wracked his brain. “Is Gorou the Seventh’s adjutant?”

Abarai gave out one of his barking laughs. “That’s a good one, sir, I’ll have to tell Iba that.” He abruptly realized that Byakuya wasn’t joking. “Uh, Gorou is Iba’s dog. He used to be Captain Komamura’s. He lives at the Seventh, the whole squad is real fond of him.”

“Perfect,” Byakuya replied. “I hope it goes wonderfully.”

  - - -

When Byakuya returned from his afternoon theoretical tactics exercises (which is what he wrote on his agenda when he wanted to go play shogi with Captain Hitsugaya), there was a distinct absence of canine in the office.

“The meeting with Lieutenant Iba went well?” Byakuya asked.

“Oh, yeah, those two old boys got on like a house on fire,” Abarai announced.

“Excellent,” Byakuya replied. He had just gotten settled at his desk again, when there was a rap on the office door.

“Third Seat Ohno and one good dog!”

“Come in!” Abarai called cheerfully.

The door slid open, and Milo trotted into the office, followed by an uncharacteristically smiling Third Seat Ohno. The dog sat down neatly in front of Abarai’s desk, and barked exactly once.

“Captain’s in the office, Milo, you gotta go greet him first,” Abarai informed the dog, as though he was talking to a human.

Bizarrely enough, the dog stood up, ambled over to Byakuya’s desk and repeated the procedure. “Er, at ease,” Byakuya informed the creature.

The dog looked back, questioningly, at Renji.

“Good boy,” Renji informed him.

The dog then went over to the corner, took an extremely loud and messy drink from a water bowl that had not been present yesterday, and then flopped down on a pillow that had also not been there yesterday.

“How was he?” Renji addressed the Third Seat.

“Oh, he was great! He loved chasing the ball. Fourth Seat Kuchiki wanted to throw that frisbee thing he has, but I told him, I won fair and square.”

“He just has to work harder tomorrow,” Abarai suggested.

“He can try,” Ohno replied, a competitive sneer creeping onto his face. “Anything you need, sir?”

“Get those mission reports from the unseated guys organized and filed, would you?”

“No problem, sir!”

Ohno saluted smartly and left.

Byakuya stared at this spectacle.

Their Third Seat was a prissy, waspish stickler for rules. He despised messes. He despised deviations from the usual order. Primarily, he despised Abarai.

Byakuya could feel an elongated “whaaaaaaat?” forming in his mouth, but he somehow couldn’t manage to get it out.

However, after their many years of working together, Abarai was quite adept at reading his captain’s unspoken thoughts. “The seated officers just love Milo,” he provided. “I told Ohno and Kuchiki whoever won their spar could give him his afternoon runabout. Both of ‘em went in-all in for it, I was surprised. Wouldn’t’ve pegged Ohno for a dog guy. Learn something new every day, eh?”

“I thought the dog was going to live at the Seventh!” Byakuya finally managed.

“Oh, no, sir, they’ve already got a dog.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut.

- - -

Over the next few days, Milo made a grand tour of the Gotei 13.

He had pleasant visits at both the Third and the Fifth, but neither extended a permanent invitation.

Milo did not care for the Eleventh. “Too excitement much for an ol’ boy like him,” Abarai explained.

A thank you card arrived from the Coordinated Relief Station in appreciation for “cheering up the patients.”

He was promptly banned from the Ninth, something about a fundamental incompatibility between dogs and newspapers.

Captain Yadoumaru claimed to be “a cat person.”

Milo actually did find a new home at the Tenth for all of an hour, before Captain Hitsugaya, who had been in a meeting, promptly delivered the dog back to the Sixth, glaring harshly at Byakuya, as though he had anything to do with it.

Surely, something would pan out sooner or later.

Surely.

- - -

Friday brought Milo again, along with a very shamefaced Lieutenant Abarai.

“What is the excuse today, Lieutenant?” Byakuya intoned.

“Well, Rukia got home last night, sir,” Abarai explained.

“Ah. So you will now actually be seeking a home for Milo.”

“Not… exactly. Um, do you remember when I said I had a good talk with Ichika about settin’ expectations?”

“Relying on the practicality of a seven-year-old did not turn out as you hoped?”

“Ah, Ichika’s not the problem, actually… it’s just that same talk didn’t work so well on Rukia.”

Byakuya glared at his brother-in-law.

“Well, you know how she is about cute stuff! I mean, look at him, sir, he’s such a charming guy! ”

Milo, as was his usual habit, was asleep on his back, limbs splayed in all directions. Most of him had fallen off his pillow. His tongue had also fallen out of his mouth.

“Perhaps he could spend his days over at the Thirteenth, then,” Byakuya suggested dryly.

“Oh, no, sir, Lieutenant Sentarou’s allergic, you see.’

“I see. You do have a house, Lieutenant. I have been there.”

“Well, sure, sir, but now that Ichika’s in school, no one’s there during the day. He’s so social, I don’t think he’d be happy all by his lonesome.”

Social. Of course. A dog who appeared to sleep for upwards of 22 hours per day.

Byakuya folded his hands. “I have been very tolerant, Lieutenant, but the Sixth Division is a place of calm and deportment and…”

In a flail of legs, Milo suddenly rolled over and sprang to his feet. A noise was emanating from deep in his little doggie ribcage.

“What is happening?” Byakuya asked, alarmed. “What is that sound?”

“He’s growlin’,” Abarai replied curiously, brows creased. “You have a bad dream, guy?”

Milo crept over to the office door, lip curled, hackles raised.

“HEY, BYAKUYA-BOU!”

Every muscle in Byakuya’s body seized. He scrabbled for Senbonzakura.

The door was thrown open and that frightful woman, Shihouin Yoruichi, pranced in.

Or at least she started to.

“Guess who’s back in tow-- aiieee!” The Demon Cat danced backward when she noticed the ball of grey and white fur growling at her feet.

“Milo, heel!” Renji commanded, standing up.

“Milo, belay that!” Byakuya ordered, also standing.

“What the--?!” Yoruichi exclaimed. “When’d you get a dog, Renji? I know that thing doesn’t belong to Byakuya.”

“He is a member of the Sixth Division!” Byakuya roared.

Yoruichi tried to take a step forward, and Milo slunk around her, his growl rising in pitch. “I was just stopping by, can’t stay. Too busy, y’know.” She pointed an index finger at Byakuya. “I will find you later. I know where you live.”

“Ah, too bad, I am dining with the Abarais tonight!” Byakuya snapped. “At their house, where Officer Milo spends his evenings!”

“You are?” Renji asked, puzzled.

“Yes, it is the night you make that thing I like, is it not?”

“You don’t like anything I cook,” Renji pointed out.

“I have changed my mind!”

Yoruichi was growing more and more uncomfortable with the dog snarling at her heels. Finally, she leaned down, made an angry hissing noise and dashed out, slamming the door behind her. A moment passed, then the door slid back open and stuffed her head back in. “I’ll get you, Kuchiki! And your little dog, too!”

Milo barked a single bark at her.

Yoruichi shuddered and slammed the door shut again.

Milo very triumphantly trotted back to his pillow, circled once, and settled back down.

“Good boy,” announced Byakuya.

Milo was back again the next day.

When Byakuya entered the office, he and Abarai stood up in unison to greet their captain.

Byakuya strode up to the dog. “You have proven yourself useful,” he announced. “As long as you continue to do so, you may stay.” He knelt down, and affixed a handsome leather collar around Milo’s neck. From it hung a badge. On one side was etched the character for six, on the other, a camellia. “But members of the Sixth Division must be in uniform.”

[bigskydreaming]

Jfc.

Okay, let me be perfectly fucking clear, thanks to an anon I just got and promptly blocked because hey, I’m a little fed up at the moment.

YOU DO NOT GET TO BE PISSED AT ME FOR MAKING ‘DEROGATORY’ REMARKS ABOUT INCEST SHIPPING.

Like holy fucking shit, have some goddamn perspective for once in your fandom lives.

I am an incest SURVIVOR. My childhood was DESTROYED by incest and abuse of various kinds, including sexual.

I FUCKING HATE IT, I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT, AND I AM ALLOWED TO.

You feel personally attacked by me frequently making comments along the lines of “I hate incest?”

That’s a YOU problem. Deal with it on your own time. Stop trying to make ME deal with YOUR feelings about this shit when I’m still busy trying to deal with my OWN. Hence, the aggro behavior about ONE OF THE PRIMARY SOURCES OF MY TRAUMA.

I don’t know you, random anons. I’m not IN your lives to any degree other than that which you INVITE me into them via following my blog or reading my posts. Take some responsibility for reading stuff that makes YOU uncomfortable the same way you so often insist the rest of us take responsibility for completely avoiding even any mention of the topic so it doesn’t sour our day. Which, btw, given how widespread these things are throughout fandom, is quite LITERALLY impossible, which accounts for why many of my days are SOUR.

Like. I’m just.

Do you HONESTLY not get how fucking MESSED UP it is that so many of you so frequently hop into the inbox of a vocal incest rape survivor TO BADGER HIM ABOUT THE FACT THAT HE HATES INCEST, because the only thing registering in your heads is “this guy who says a lot of stuff about fandom and some of which I even like is also saying all this stuff I REALLY don’t like about this other thing that I really DO like, and thus he is my ENEMY”????

Like.

Holy fucking shit, I would have SO MUCH MORE CHILL if some of you displayed even a SINGLE OUNCE of it, even on just like, every other day.

Newsflash. Your stories are not more important than my trauma, this is MY space, and you constantly invading it to get mad at me because I - without having any personal knowledge of you, whichever stories in particular you like or write or whatever - dare to say “Hey I really fucking hate this thing that traumatized me and impacts EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE in some way”....

THIS IS FUCKED UP BEHAVIOR.

(And please, nobody ‘helpfully’ suggest things like me turning off anon - I am aware of that possible course of action and don’t do it because I’ve chosen not to. I refuse to be accountable for the bad behavior of others. I do not feel victimized or harmed by this constant bullshit, its nothing I can’t handle, I am just ANNOYED and I am expressing that annoyance and frustration before I move on to something else. But IMO telling people to turn off anon to avoid getting harassed is a form of victim-blaming in and of itself, in that it suggests that by ‘refusing’ to eliminate a source of communication between ourselves and anyone who wants to use anon for any purpose, we are ‘inviting’ continued harassment. No. That’s not how it works. I never at any point invited people to come at me with this various bullshit, and I take no responsibility for their CHOICE to do so, and I never will. My anons stay open, so that people can continue to ask me questions that I actually LIKE answering, and if that means people continue to harass me too, so be it. I’ll be annoyed and I’ll occasionally vent about it, life will go on regardless, and I will remain convinced that it is ultimately THEIR responsibility to grow a human fucking conscience and realize how to recognize when THEY ARE IN THE WRONG).

[raijinhasverybigpecs]

I will gladly model for the RHVBP line, i hope that you'll have me. Also, for another idea, raijin invites you for family dinner, and the idea of like, cute stories from Ama and a home-cooked dinner from Iza

asdfjfjfkll i like to think that i know your typing style and it’s usually the same people in my inbox anyways so you’re not too hard to guess?? but i’m an idiot so ;) and of course i’ll have you for the modelling position, you’re naturally one of the top candidates bc ur cute lol 🥰

i love a family dinner tho!! it’s funny just to imagine a ‘meet the family’ scenario w/ the extended japanese pantheon and all their drama + ama bringing bellona for extra mayhem asdfjfkdkl

in a more ~cute~ intimate family setting w/ just raijin, amaterasu, susano and izanami i’m all for izanami cooking and getting you to help out, she’s probs an amazing cook bc of her whole ‘perfect wife’ past (although she probs can’t taste the food?? i don’t think she’d need it either asdfjjfjfkl). i’d imagine raijin and his siblings try to sneak lil samples from you. izanami gives you first dibs tho, and i think moments like these when she’s doing ‘motherly’ things like cooking is when she’s softest and you can see the old goddess behind the violence and anger (who knew we were getting all sad n shit w/ a cute family dinner scenario asdfjfkdkkll)

also izanami probs also has amazing knife skills but cuts her whole hand off when she snaps her head around after hearing raijin and susano trying to break into the pantry. she just wraps it back into place without any worries while you’re traumatised

if you’re not cooking then you’re sitting next to ama on the couch while she tells you embarassing stories about her siblings and bellona, and you volunteer you own stories as well. susano promptly joins in when you start ragging on raijin and raijin does the same to susano in return. they probs start fighting like idiots and raijin probs asks for a kiss to make him feel better after his hurt feelings or some dumb stuff like that asdffjfkdkll

and after the dinner raijin accidentally walks into the bathroom when you’re freshening up and probably tells you that you look really good... then it leads to making out in the bathroom before susano walks in and tells both of you to get a room ;^P

[crowned-ladybug]

@popsicletheduck

It took me so long to drag my butt into writing again, I’m so sorry!!! And this is so short, but I figured writing short is better than writing nothing, right?

(I’m also gonna work on the other prompt from this and all the rest in my inbox, expect those uhh.......sometime this century)

***

OC blog is @menagerie-of-morons

Prompt: “You’re a terrible lair.”

Setting: Rivals AU

Characters: Marvin, Jackie, a bit of Stephen

Ship: technically Jackie/Marvin, but they’re just being cute and not explicitly together

Word count: 766 words

Warnings: none

***

“No, I- I’m fine, come on, I-”

“Nope,” Jackie says, cutting off Marvin’s renewed string of complaints, and this time he makes sure to use his super strength to pin him back onto the bed. For sure this time. “You’re a horrible lair. Also, you sound like a mountain dwarf crossed with construction work and kinda look like it too, so you definitely do Not have permission to get out of bed today.”

“Mountain...I don’t need your permission to get up!”

Okay, so maybe he woke up coughing his lungs out and his voice is nowhere to be found, and okay, maybe he also feels dizzy as shit every time he stands, but he’s fine! Really! He just needs to get a fashionable scarf and a cup of neocitran, and he’ll be good for the day. It’s definitely not something to make such a fuss about.

“Good! ‘Cause you’re not getting it!” when he feels Marvin trying to squirm out of his grasp again, he feigns a bit more seriousness. “If you keep struggling, I’ll sit on your stomach until you give in.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks! Limit my lung capacity even more, will you?”

He doesn’t sound Nearly as menacing as he could if he wasn’t so sick. But he makes an attempt anyway.

Jackie grins, and it’s the most he’ll do right now, he really can’t laugh in the face of such a serious situation! “You keep your lungs in your stomach?”

“Details!”

Eventually, with the help of mainly Chase and Stephen (Teddy is kind of helpless when it comes to “friendly violence” and Anraí is strictly forbidden anywhere near a sick Marvin lest said sick Marvin would want to show off just how healthy and okay he is in the presence of The Long Thing and then promptly keel over), they manage to wrestle Marvin into bed for the day. He gets instructions from Stephen that are half fatherly scolding, half professional advice, and a cup of neocitran that he whines over a lot.

(“This tastes so bad! I don’t want it!”

“Well, do you want to get better or not?”

“You know, I’m seriously reconsidering my answer to that.”)

But of course, just as they manage to deal with a problem, a new one arises anyway.

“You can Not, under any circumstances, cuddle with me when I’m sick!”

All Jackie does is smile up at him lazily from his cosy spot on the bed. “And how are you planning to stop me?”

“You just don’t act all smug at me!” he tries to inch even closer to the edge of the bed without falling off, which is quite the challenge, especially while he’s still glaring down at Jackie instead of looking where he’s putting his bum. “I will Not be responsible for you getting sick despite your overconfident immune system.”

“You’re just grumpy because you’re sick.”

“I’m not grumpy!” objects Marvin while looking sufficiently grumpy. “Get out of my bed, you biohazard.”

Jackie laughs. “Not a chance! Now come here, I’ll hug it better.”

“You can’t ‘hug better’ sickness, Jackie.”

“You say that because you’ve never seen me do it before. You’ve never been sick in my hugging range before, either! What if it’s my new superpower? You haven’t even considered that, huh?” he opens his arms and waves a hand in Marvin’s direction as an invitation to come cuddle already. “Now come on, I’ll play with your hair and everything!”

For a moment Marvin keeps up his cold stare, but Jackie can all but see the cogwheels turning in his head. Finally he sighs and falls back onto his pillow dramatically.

“You’re quite the charming little shit, you know that?”

“Oh, I try.”

He tugs on Marvin gently until he finally lies close and relaxed enough to cuddle properly. He immediately starts petting his hair as promised, and even without looking he can tell just how delighted Marvin is by that.

“Will you braid my hair again sometime?” Marvin asks, somehow not fully committed to cuddling just yet, but his voice much, much softer than before.

“Hmm, sure.”

“The one where you, like, make two braids on each side and then they turn into one big one at the back?”

Jackie chuckles as he gently untangles a strand of hair from around his fingers, then goes back to his slow rhythm of running his fingers through Marvin’s hair. “Yeah. The one with the two little ones that turn into a big one, got it.”

“It’s a deal then,” Marvin hums, and he finally shuffles forward to rest his face against Jackie’s chest.

[dividivisee-blog]

Photograph #2

Part 1 (AO3)  / PART 2 (AO3)  / Part 3 (AO3) / Part 4 (AO3)

Pairing: Hyuk x Reader

Genre: Fluff / Slow burn

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,831

Summary: After you finish shooting VIXX, you’re invited to go on a drinking session with them. You promptly get drunk, can’t stop staring at Hyuk, and have a feeling he can’t stop staring at you either.

Author’s Notes: Thank you very much for the notes in Photograph #1! If anyone is interested in drabbles on other members, feel free to message me. As always, my inbox is always open to comments, making friends, and anything VIXX.

If you also go on AO3, I would appreciate any comments/kudos there!

You’re swaying in your seat at the head of the table, moving to the soft beats of a jazz record that you can’t seem to place over the speakers. You feel a pool sloshing from side-to-side in your head. Besides your own lively group of you, Ara, VIXX, and a handful of their managers, there was no one else in the restaurant, a small hole-in-the-wall that was half-bar, half-convenience store in a side street of the city.

You look around aimlessly, from the dim lights on the walls to the ripples of soju, shaking in its glass. You don’t remember how many shots you’ve taken as you lazily observe everything. Your gaze follows the bits of conversation around the room, Ara telling stories of her beginnings in the fashion industry, Ken showing off his best impressions, Hongbin trying to contain his giggling, and N chastising other members out of habit. You see Ravi taking videos and pictures on his phone, while Leo silently drinks and enjoying the atmosphere.

You don’t fight your drunken stupor as you continue to follow the motions of the sounds around you. Finally, your eyes fall on a half-empty beer mug on the table. You observe how a drop of beer glistens and slips down the outside edge of the rim. A large hand slides against the cold mug and grips the handle. You watch the hand lift the drink and you notice the sharp jawline, red cheeks, and high cheekbones, your eyes traveling around the angular planes of his face. When your eyes finally meet Hyuk’s, he quickly turns his head away from you.

Was he looking at me? You grip onto the edge of your chair as you continue to sway. You wonder to yourself if you’ve ever seen a person blush so hard. You snicker and shakily take a shot of soju from your glass.

Suddenly you feel an arm drop heavily on your shoulder. You smell the sweet shampoo of Ara. She gives you a strong kiss on the cheek and hugs you.

“Are you okay, my chick?”, Ara says. She wraps her arms tighter around you. You can’t tell if she’s drunk or just her usual self.

“I’ll give you a ride home so don’t worry about anything. Drink to your heart’s content!” She gives a celebratory cheers and the whole group joins her. You nod compliantly to whatever Ara said, her words sliding over your head. One of VIXX’s managers call her over and she flits back to socializing.

You press your hand against the spot where Ara kissed you. You take out your phone and turn on the front camera to check for any lipstick marks. No marks but you laugh when you see your face filling your cellphone screen. You take a picture for posterity and you switch to the back camera. You hold it up, try to steady your hand, and snap a quick candid of everyone.

This is still photography, right? You start taking portraits of people around the table. You’re flanked by Leo and Ravi, their conversation passing through you. You hold your phone and lean back to compose a shot of Leo, talking behind a wall of various drink bottles, the light reflecting through the glass. You carefully arrange the empty bottles to frame the photo and click the button. You swivel your body to Ravi, who notices you taking pictures, and he throws up a peace sign and a smug expression. He nudges Hyuk, who is seated right next to him, making him almost spill his drink.

“Hyogi, Hyogi, Hyogi!”, He calls his maknae. Hyuk looks at him and then looks at the camera. He quickly copies Ravi, putting on an arrogant sneer and squinting his eyes.

“Ravi swag.”, Hyuk jokes.

Ravi scoffs and continues to do various poses while Hyuk follows. Each picture getting blurrier and blurrier as it gets harder to suppress your laughter. While you continue to photograph the two, you hear Hongbin shouting prompts at them for different poses and N clapping at their performance.

“Aegyo, aegyo! Sexy, sexy! Leo pose! N expression!”, Hongbin shouts, egging them on.

Ravi quickly adapts to each of Hongbin’s challenges while Hyuk plays along, completely embarrassed but unable to stop.

“Hey, hey, me too!”, Ken whines and jumps into the frame.

“Let’s have a VIXX group photo!”, You slur. You look to the side and wave over Hongbin, N, and Leo to join. Hongbin immediately gets up to join them. N tugs on the sleeve of Leo, who hesitates, but eventually follows behind their leader.

“Ready? 1, 2, 3!” You take a picture of VIXX, bright-eyed and grinning ear-to-ear.

The hours slip by and you’re walking along an empty, wet road leading to the parking lot, trailing behind VIXX and Ara. You still feel the warmth of the soju heating up your body and the pleasure of having a good day. You smile to yourself as you swipe through the gallery in your phone, starting from photos you took from the shoot earlier. You look through various selfies, VIXX goofing off, and pictures of you working, taken by Ara. You reach the final photo of everyone at the restaurant, happily drunk, with half of your face covering the picture. You feel tipsily nostalgic over the past day. Your early reminiscing is interrupted by Ara’s screeching voice. You look up to see Ara’s silhouette, strutting in her high heels, with her arms draped over Leo and Ken as she attempts to sing one of VIXX’s ballads. You make a mental reminder to thank her again tomorrow.

You put your phone away and inhale and exhale the cold air, savoring the moment, footsteps crunching on the ground. Your worries about the incoming morning, your office job, your boss, the typical daily grind melt away with each breath entering your lungs. You feel your body relax and your mind quiet until you notice someone beside you. You turn your head and see Hyuk, walking at your side.

“(Y/N)-ssi, are you okay?”, Hyuk asks. He continues to look forward while talking.

“Yeah. I had a lot of fun, especially since I don’t usually drink or go out too much…”

“It seems like you don’t.”, Hyuk teases through a smile.

You notice that he has an endearing sheen of pink spread on his cheeks and nose. You wonder if he’s just making small talk and passing by, or judging you for your past misbehavior, or maybe he’s just drunk and cold. You can’t really tell from his expression. You realize that you might have been staring at him for too long and look down at your feet. You feel the effects of alcohol leaving your system and find that you’re not as self-confident as you were back in the restaurant.

“I was wondering if you could-”,  Hyuk pauses his question midway when you both hear a rip. You stop in your tracks and realize that you feel damp gravel on the bottom of your left foot.

You look down and see the small heel of your flat dragging behind, only hanging on to a thin piece of fabric. You slowly lift your leg, wobbling as you move, and you groan. You see a hole where the heel should be and your exposed skin covered in dark pebbles.

“Um…I think my shoe…broke.” You tiptoe on the foot of the damaged shoe and rummage in your bag again for your handkerchief. You pull it out and try to lift your leg again to clean the underside of your foot, but the combination of alcohol and fatigue throw you off balance.

Hyuk quickly steps closer and takes hold of your arm for support. “Thanks.”, You say. You try to wipe as quickly as you can, hoping he doesn’t see your cheap, damaged shoe.

“No problem. Are you sure you can walk back?”

You laugh. “Yeah, of course. It’s just a bit gross though.”, You shrug. You finish cleaning up and he lets go. You lean on your good shoe and tiptoe again with the other, folding up your handkerchief neatly and putting it back in your bag.

“Do you need a piggy-back ride?”, Hyuk asks, his face sincerely concerned.

You let a beat pass, processing what you just heard. You snicker and look at him, “Hyuk-ssi, the parking lot is right there.” You point to a nearby fenced lot. You see the rest of the group already approaching the entrance. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ah, right.”, Hyuk nervously laughs.

There’s an awkward moment of silence until he steps next to you and extends his hand.

“Let me help you walk back.”, He says. “Um…I might get in trouble with Ara-ssi if you trip or something.”

You smile at him, “All right.”

You take his hand and his grip tightens to keep you stable. The warmth of his hand feels comfortable as your hand fits in his. You tiptoe with your left foot forward and lean onto Hyuk’s side when moving your right. You hobble slowly with him matching your pace. You try to focus on keeping your balance, ignoring your heartbeat, the thought of holding Hyuk’s hand, his consideration of you, him looking at you right now. You’re about half-successful.

You finally reach the parking lot and approach Ara’s car, parked next to VIXX’s van.

“What happened?”, Ara squeals. She runs around and opens the passenger seat’s door for you.

Ara watches as Hyuk helps you slowly clamber in. “My stupid shoe broke. Hyuk-ssi was just helping me walk.”, You say as you let go of Hyuk’s hand and settle onto the seat.

“What a gentleman! Thank you for taking care of my dongsaeng, Hyuk-ssi. The others just got in the van now. ”, Ara says. She bows and waves as walks back to the driver’s seat.

“Hyuk-ssi, thank you very much.” You fiddle with the heel of your broken flat.

You see a small tug on the corners of his lips but he looks away from you. “It’s no big deal.”, He says. “Hey, (Y/N)-ssi?”

“Yeah?” You look up at him.

Hyuk rubs the back of his neck, lingering. At this time, you wish you could take a picture of him, with the neon lights and the deserted streets.

He sighs, smiles, and gives you a small bow. “Good night.”

He shuts your car door before you could say goodbye. You watch him cross in front, with his hands shoved in his pockets, and a frustrated look on his face. When he opens the door to the van, you can see his fellow members dozing off, exhausted from their long day.

Ara honks twice at the van and the van honks back. The cars go their separate ways onto the winding roads of the city.

You yawn and rest your head on the window as Ara drives onto the highway. You fall asleep barefoot, your hands feeling cold, not knowing when you would have such a perfect day again.

[sturlsons]

do you have any content that you regularly keep up with? like fics/comics/shows/blogs? i want to start consuming more content and be more knowledgeable/wellread in general but i don't really know where to start :(

i saw this ask like an hour ago and promptly got distracted catching up on my youtube subscriptions so thank u for the reminder but apologies for the delay,,

LONG reply coming up, discussions of depression.

(if u’d rather skip my sob story just scroll down to the picture of the upset dude with the cigarette)

before i get to your specific question, just a little something, because you’ve unknowingly shed light on one of my B I G G E S T struggles: i’m actually real shit at consuming content myself. i have a horrible concentration span and focus issues in general, and i tend to have tunnel vision for academia and hence spend nine months of the year memorising vocab blindly and watching like three episodes of anime. i regularly try to get myself out of this habit but It’s Hard™, so instead i try to make academic choices which will automatically bring new content to the table. choosing essay topics that i’m not familiar with, using the mandatory individual reading requirements to check out books i’ve been meaning to read, trying to do more than the required reading while i’m at it, etc etc. i also try to make lists of things to watch/read every summer, but usually end up being distracted with my writing projects. 

however, kinda good AND bad news. i only started getting stuck re: content consumption after moving to france and starting uni. in india my consumption was OFF THE CHARTS. eating through books and shows, doing research about all sorts of things, you name it. the good aspect of this is that as a child/teenager i already took in a way-above-average amount of information that still keeps me Smart and Cool™ in conversations to this day, but the bad aspect is that most of this was a form of escapism, a way to feed my insomnia back in the day, and then a horrible tangle with my depression which all ended in a huge mess. result: i was a pretentious fuckwit with an enormous amount of trivia in my head, but i was a manically depressed pretentious fuckwit with an enormous amount of trivia in my head, and what’s more-- the most hilarious-- i was actually terrified of moving out of my comfort zone in certain aspects. i used to read new things all the time, sure, watch new shows. but i’d also watch the same shows over and over until i memorised them, read the same books and poems out loud to myself, write the same kinds of fics, listen to the same artists. yeah, that one was weird as shit-- i couldn’t listen to new music, i just didn’t have the courage. the FIRST ever thing my therapist told me to do was check out a new artist by the time we had our second session. that’s when i discovered the national, one of the two most important bands of my life, and since that day i’ve made it a point to listen to at least one new artist a month.

anyway.

so then i moved to france, which was the best thing that could happen to me ever. however, as i quickly discovered (and sometimes still reel from), whether i like perpetuating this mindset or not (i don’t) the truth is at least for me, it seemed for a while that it was my very depression that kept me so Creative and Hungry For Knowledge and Pretentious Fuckwit. the happier i got, the “lazier” i got. i stopped writing for a year straight because i didn’t feel the urge to create anymore, i stopped consuming content because Who Cares I’m Living In The Moment I’m Finally Happy I Don’t Need To Hide Behind A Book. etcetera. most importantly: i was INSANELY focused on learning french and getting into the university of my choice, and since i kept seeing results in that department, i was happy with what my brain was doing.

then this dude broke my heart. if you’re from the jaywalkers readership, that’s when i started writing jaywalkers. you see how that doesn’t help the whole “no no, i’m only intelligent when i’m SAAAD” thing. i wrote jaywalkers, i wrote other fics, i wrote poetry, i sang songs and watched anime and read books and i used my brain more than i’d used it in the entirety of the year before this happened, and i was like, this is it. if i want to be great, i’ve got to be miserable. 

two years later, i’m here to tell you that it’s bullshit. bullshit, you’ve gotta be sad to learn things. it’s the best thing for being sad is to learn something, NOT the best thing for learning something is to be sad. i let my habit of seeking comfort by reading/writing make me believe that i could only do that when i was heartbroken. it took me two years to understand that i was wrong. i could’ve been doing all sorts of bullshit in those two years. i could’ve watched all the james bond films! i haven’t watched all the james bond films!

does that mean i’m magically feeding myself knowledge again? nope. because it’s not all about feelings. it’s also about how much time i have, how much energy (physical and mental) i have. i still have a shitty concentration span and can barely make it through a movie without getting the creepy-crawlies over my skin. i still have to do three different things simultaneously or i’ll never get any of them done. i gotta skype someone while doing the dishes. i gotta skype someone while eating. i can’t just eat. i can’t JUST read. i SURE as hell can’t just watch something. but you know what? the only reason i figured (am still figuring) all of this out is because i got rid of the initial block that said i don’t want to. i had to realise that it was up to me whether i consumed content or not, and once i did, THEN i could get to solving the practical problems that came with it.

it’s still a work in progress. a very, VERY fresh work in progress, because i’ve only started implementing big changes this spring/summer. it’s a lot of trial and error, but there’s a lot of solutions. turns out i’m better at keeping up with shows if i make it a regular date night thing with my boyfriend. i’m better at reading things on my kindle since it throws me back to my bookworm days when i had physical books. i’m actually better at listening to content sometimes, which was a huge surprise since i’ve always staunchly believed that my auditory comprehension is utter shit. but i’m still working it out u know? i’ll make it. i don’t want to stagnate anymore.

NOW. ONTO YOUR ACTUAL QUESTION.

here’s the thing, i’m REALLY shitty at keeping up with ongoing content. my preferred m.o. is waiting for whatever ongoing thing interested me to not be ongoing anymore, and then i binge. it’s a concentration/stamina/fucks thing. hence what i do is subscribe to anything i like and save it for later.

like i like knowing what my favourite authors are up to, so i subscribe to them. if an ongoing fic’s summary seems interesting i subscribe to the writer, that way if they write something shorter/complete i can check out their writing style, and i’ll still get updates if the main fic is completed. then i save those update notifs until a time that i can get to them, so that they’re little reminders in my inbox:

i also keep lists of everything that i want to check out at some point. i try not to give myself deadlines (anymore) because i literally never stick to them when it comes to consuming content and i end up feeling like shit. i used to have like, “SUMMER 2016″ lists and shit with like seven movies and three shows and i’d never do any of it completely and that sad little list would just lie there. so instead now i try to just make lists, period. it’s like a humongous queue of things that i want to check out, and whenever i have the time/willingness for it, i refer to it. 

 and then i keep a list where i keep track of what i checked out.

i find that it’s less pressurising to make a separate list of what i accomplished as opposed to having a to-do list where you check things off. because like, get this. so you have a to-do that isn’t urgent, right? not like, groceries, dinner, dishes. for those it’s totally important to have a reminder right in front of you, like do your dishes brah. but for things like this, especially for someone like me who’s a flake and will say “i’m gonna watch this movie tonight” and then will literally stare in your face without a word the entire evening and not watch the movie, it’s really shit to have a “TO DO: THINGS TO READ” which just lies untouched for a month straight.

instead, i keep a reference list. and then, when i do something, i note it down. that way i satisfy my inner list monster like “i did a thing today!” and at the same time avoid the disappointment of staring at a pileup of titles that don’t have a strikethrough. this helps with everything that isn’t urgent tbh. if you can afford it practically, don’t make a “what i have to do” list. make a “what i did today” list. it actually helps you to stay positive.

NEXT. i also always, always, always invite recs from my friends. this part involves having exceptionally patient friends, because i always ask for recs. and then i never check them out. literally me checking out a rec is a once in a blue moon thing, so my friends ( @fyolette in particular, may the lord bless her) really have a calm mind because they still always send me things they think i’ll like. i’m eternally grateful for this, ETERNALLY. 

so then i make a list of those. recs most commonly involve fics and music. i try to check out music recs within the day/week, and fic recs get tabbed on my favourite chrome extension ever: onetab.

boom. beautiful.

NEXT. how to retain all that Good Content™ that you binge? there’s no easy way, you have to figure it out on your own. before my depression hit i had an incredible memory and grasping power, basically reading through something once was enough to memorise it. this ability took a major hit in high school (which i nearly failed by the way, despite being one of the TOP students of my school), and i’ve never really come back to my full form. most days i fear that i never will, but i still have faith. it’s a long life. and hey, even if i don’t, i don’t shy from hard work. i’m willing to replace what was once natural intelligence with hours of manual labour if i have to. that’s a choice i’ll make. 

personally, saying things out loud helps me lots. making flashcards for everything too. i like anki, it’s pretty clean and friendly, but i also struggle with screens when it comes to learning. for me the best way to learn something is to write it out by hand. there’s something about the motion of writing that permanently inks things in my head, so i try to do it whenever i can. i’m trying to shift to digital methods more, though, to save time/money/resources. i like having a split-view. i’ll open whatever i’m reading on one half of the screen, and a notepad on the other, and constantly paraphrase. paraphrasing really helps me. another fantastic thing is to highlight anything unfamiliar (technical jargon, unfamiliar names, cited works, even pop culture references that you don’t get) and make it a rule to google all of it at the end of your reading session. not immediately-- you’ll get sucked into the black hole that is wikipedia and leave your novel aside. do the reading first unless your highlighted term is essential to understanding, and then check out whatever you set aside. that way you understand your current content better, and also branch out into related topics. 

i can go on about these tips for ages so if you have any specific questions/would like me to elaborate, hmu.

NEXT. your...actual...question...what content i keep up with...

so firstly, fic, because fic is life. i’m subscribed to: gentlestars, mindheist, porridgemilk, potter, retox, and rix. i’m also subscribed to a bunch of fics/series but would prefer to keep them private, so hmu off-anon if u’d like to know which ones!

i also kept up with OMGCP for an astonishingly long amount of time (for me) and then dropped off, but i do hope to catch up this summer. i adore OMGCP. i also started on WTNV the moment i realised that i’m good with audio stuff now, but i deliberately don’t binge it because its episodic narrative allows me to be sporadic, and WTNV is not something u binge. it’s something u feel in ur heart.

for music, i’m a mainstream hoe so spotify’s global top 50 is always great, i also love their daily mixes. spotify in general is fantastic, sometimes i like setting up a song radio and listening to similar music, it’s great. my cousin/best friend abhi always hits me up with fantastic music recs, he really knows my taste and knows when to insist that i listen to something. always ends up in my library.

the only thing i do on youtube is watch cooking videos and vine compilations honestly (btw nathan/ayitspnayo is the prince of my heart so i’m very much subscribed to him on snapchat, along with vice magazine and lemonde) but my favourites are sortedfood and peaceful cuisine. apart from those two the only channel i really keep up with on youtube is med school insiders. i love this dude. this dude is like my clip art older brother. 

for shows i’m currently crawling through weightlifting fairy kim bokjoo, and waiting for narcos S3 and GOT S7. i want to binge either brooklyn 99 or it’s always sunny in philadelphia, or parks and recreation. i don’t know, something funny, u know. we’ll see. 

of course it’s incomplete without a tumblr shoutout. i love lolmythesis, wizzard890,  pyrrhiccomedy, fyolette, saintjoan and some others that i don’t follow but keep bookmarked to check regularly. also, pretty random, but reddit is fantastic for trivia and more-than-trivia. the todayilearned sub is gold.

so there u go! i’m sure i’ve missed out on some stuff (it’s 4 AM how did this happen i started answering this at 2) and maybe none of this is useful as opposed to half of it being useful, but i sincerely hope that there’s a miracle and ALL of it is useful to u. it’s never too late to start learning things, and i know that it’s overwhelming when u feel like u don’t have any kind of base so u don’t know where to start. like where does one start learning the history of everything. what does one do to get to the point where u know some obscure detail about nikola tesla’s life? i feel u! i feel u! but u gotta start somewhere. pick something that interests u and branch out from it. u can’t know Everything about Everything Ever anyway, so why not accept that from the get-go and spend ur time wisely learning about what u really want to learn about! 

and it’s such a big world. i’m sure there’s so much you want to learn about. 

[geekprincess26]

The Snow: Chapter 4

Note: The beauties linked below depict both the emblem Jon used as a basis for the object described in this chapter and a few objects similar to Jon's that were created based on the same emblem.

Original symbol

First similar object

Second similar object

Third similar object

Twinkling florets of red and white and green reflected the light from the hallway’s overhead bulbs up at Sansa.  She recognized the designs in which they were arranged at once, and she knew Jon would have known she would recognize them.

 But before her astounded mind could go down that path any further, she heard Jon’s voice calling her name directly above her head.  She jumped up, startled, and barely avoided banging the top of her head on Jon’s chin.

 “You all right?” Judging by Jon’s worried tone, he had called her name more than the one time she had heard it.  Sansa, her eyes still wide from astonishment, merely nodded.  She realized belatedly that her mouth was still wide open, so she managed to shut it most of the way.  Her teeth reached out to snag her lower lip for the rest.

 Jon finally nodded and turned back toward his room.  He was reaching to shut the door when Sansa found the ability to speak again.

 “Jon,” she said, pointing to the box, “what is it?”

Jon closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and emitted a long sigh.  The pained intensity in the look he gave her when he was through made Sansa catch her breath.

 “It’s what I told you about,” Jon finally said.  Sansa, bewildered, shook her head.

 “You didn’t tell me about this,” she said slowly.  “Not that – not that I remember, anyway.”

 Jon’s jaw tightened a few more times, and Sansa could practically see the gears shifting inside his head.  He sighed again.

 “It’s what I told you about before,” he said quietly.  “I had it made for you.”

 The terrible memory of their first face-to-face conversation after Sansa’s disastrous final visit to the set of Jon’s and Ygritte’s film, back in Leeds three years ago, hit Sansa’s unwilling mind with the force of the snowstorm still raging outside.  Jon had called and texted her nearly a hundred times during her journey to Leeds, but her only reply had been a brief text message letting him know that she had gotten there safely and that he could now stop worrying about her and go back to Ygritte.  That, of course, had done nothing to lessen the frequency of Jon’s attempts to contact her; in fact, the day after she had arrived in Leeds, she had opened her e-mail inbox to find a rare and heartfelt e-mail from Jon, begging her to let him explain what had actually happened.  He had offered to come to Leeds or London or wherever else she wanted.  Sansa had responded with a text message saying he could come to her flat in Leeds if he were that eager to explain everything.  She had been surprised when Jon had sent her his flight itinerary just half an hour later, and even more surprised when she had seen that he would be arriving in Leeds the following day.  She had thought to have at least until the weekend to make less of a sobbing wreck out of herself and her flat, and to this day she did not know how Jon had talked his film’s director and producers into letting him off the filming schedule, but he had come nevertheless, and Sansa had spent much of the night cleaning her flat and sobbing.  She had had coffee the next morning with Catelyn Stark, who after spending most of the week feeding her brokenhearted daughter and washing the tears out of her clothing, had encouraged her to wring every detail possible out of Jon, and then check every detail with a microscope if need be.

 “That man gave me every overgeneralized denial in a cheater’s handbook, and I fell for most of them,” she’d said as she’d sipped her skinny cinnamon latte.  Sansa had winced at her mother’s refusal, even months after his death, to call him anything else, even “your father.”  Just as quickly, she’d reminded herself that whatever pain Jon had caused her, her father had after all inflicted upon her mother a hundredfold, and she had merely nodded and taken a generous gulp of her caramel white chocolate mocha, which had always been her comfort drink of choice.

 “But,” Catelyn had continued, taking her daughter’s hand across the table, “those were my mistakes. I am sorry you had to see them, but I have every confidence you will learn from them.  You have always been a quick learner, Sansa.”

 Sansa had not been quick enough to catch the tear that had run down her cheek then, but her mother had wiped it gently with a napkin, as well as the others that had followed.

 “You don’t have to do this now, Sansa,” she’d said.  “If he’s that serious about explaining everything to you, he’ll wait until you’re ready to do it.”

 Sansa had shaken her head. “No,” she’d replied firmly.  “His producers probably only let him off set for the one day.  Anyway, I’d rather hear it now and have done with it.”  She rummaged in her purse until she finally found the tissues she’d been looking for and promptly destroyed them by blowing her nose and cleaning her face as best she could.

 Once finished with her coffee, Sansa had returned to her flat to wash her face, apply a fresh coat of makeup, and change into her favorite blazer and jeans.  She paired them with a modest draped-neck blouse and her favorite knee-high boots.  If she had to cry in front of Jon, and she knew that despite her best efforts she probably would, she might as well look like a million euros during the ordeal, and if he were in fact sleeping with Ygritte, at least he’d get a chance to see what he’d be missing out on permanently because of it.

 Catelyn had shown up at Sansa’s flat half an hour before Jon was due to arrive, which had nearly given Sansa a heart attack because she had been expecting Jon and no one else. She’d brought a vase of yellow roses, Sansa’s favorite flowers, to grace the living room coffee table and to wish her good luck.  Sansa had seen her mother’s critical gaze sweeping across the remainder of the flat and known her mother had also brought the roses to bring the clean but spare flat closer to her own standards of housekeeping, but had said nothing.  She was probably about to fight with her estranged husband, and she barely had enough energy to deal with that, let alone start a fight with her mother in addition.

 “You have always deserved a better man than that man, Sansa,” Catelyn Stark had said as she had kissed her daughter on the cheek.  “I hope he does tell you the truth.  Just don’t forget to check everything he says.”

 Sansa had sighed.  “I know, Mother,” she’d said.  “I will.”

 Catelyn had left soon after, and fifteen minutes later, Jon had knocked on Sansa’s door.  That had begun two of the worst hours of Sansa’s life. Not only had she cried even more than she had feared she would, but she had discovered that the same now-vanished restraint that had usually relegated her tears to film sets and her father’s funeral had apparently controlled her tongue as well.

 “Sit if you like,” had been her brusque reply to Jon’s attempt to hug her, and those had been the kindest words to pass her lips during the entire conversation.  Jon had begun it by asking her how she was doing; she had snapped, “Do you really need to ask, Jon?”; and nothing had improved from there.  Sansa had forced herself to listen as Jon had explained earnestly that he’d been in Ygritte’s trailer because she had offered to help with the birthday gift he’d been designing for Sansa.  He’d brought it up in between takes the prior week, he’d said, and Ygritte had invited him to her trailer that day because she’d wanted to give him information about two artisans she knew who could make what Jon wanted.  Sansa had peppered him with pointed questions, which had come out sounding ruder than she’d intended, about the jeweler and the goldsmith Ygritte had recommended and exactly what they were supposed to make for Jon and why Jon had stayed in Ygritte’s trailer for so long.  Jon had answered all of her questions without seeming evasive, and Sansa had badly wanted to believe him, but her mother’s words about verifying everything would not leave her head, and her heart had splintered anew every time Jon had spoken Ygritte’s name, and her head had begun to hurt and she and Jon had both begun to cry.  He had clearly expected Sansa to be satisfied with his explanation and even return to their house in London, and when she had refused, he had been bewildered and upset, and they had both spat words at each other that had easily topped all of their previous utterances during every fight they had had to date.  Nonetheless, Jon had agreed to provide Sansa with the information Ygritte had given him about the jeweler and goldsmith, whom he swore he’d contacted the day after Sansa’s aborted visit to the film set, and she had agreed to follow up on it.

 True to his word, Jon had sent Sansa the information, and true to hers, she had made two phone calls – one to the jeweler, one to the goldsmith – on what had turned out to be the worst day of her life.  She’d begun the day feeling under the weather, but had convinced herself she was suffering more from the past week’s emotional ordeal than from a virus, and would feel better once she’d called both artisans.

 Instead, the bottom had dropped out of her life.

 Even now, over two years later, Sansa could not bear to think of that call for more than a few seconds, nor of the fact that she’d spent three days after that agonizing over her decision to file for divorce from Jon.  Both the goldsmith and the jeweler had denied everything Jon had told her, and even then Sansa had still wanted to believe him.  When Sansa had first arrived in Leeds, her mother had warned her that might happen if she caught Jon lying.  “Love makes you want to believe a man’s lies,” she’d said, and the crushing pain that had enveloped Sansa after she’d made those horrible phone calls had ensured she’d learned the truth of that lesson in the worst way possible.

 But now the box sat open in front of her, and inside it sparkled a brooch crafted in the shape of the red and white Tudor rose, the famous emblem created by King Henry VII at the end of the Wars of the Roses.  He had crafted it to symbolize the union of the two warring houses: first, his ancestral house of Lancaster, whose members, Sansa had explained to Jon and anyone else who would listen, may or may not have occasionally used a red rose as their symbols during the wars; and second, his new wife Elizabeth’s house of York, which had proudly displayed the white rose on its heraldic devices since a century prior to the wars.  That union had put an exclamation point to the end of the Wars of the Roses, and although the Tudor rose had been created more for its propaganda value than for its visual appeal, Sansa had always found it enchanting.  The gleaming brooch in front of her made it even more so. Each jewel had been precisely cut to fit into the intricate white gold setting, whose petals had been cut in just the shape Sansa had always told Jon was exactly the one Henry Tudor’s first propagandists had used.  It must have taken months just to get the setting right, she thought, let alone the jewels, and if they were real, the cost –

 Sansa quickly drew back the hand she had tentatively reached out toward the brooch.  All for the better, too, she thought, as she realized that both of her hands were now shaking.

 “It – I – ”  Her voice shook too, and she dared not look directly at Jon, who had sunk to sit on the hallway floor a few feet over against the opposite wall.  “It’s – I didn’t – the jeweler said, and so did the goldsmith, so I thought – oh – ” She covered her mouth with one still shaking hand and slumped back against the wall.

 “Neither of them made it,” Jon replied bitterly.  “Neither of them was ever going to make it.  They were both just part of Y – her plan to get to me.”

 Sansa was startled enough to risk a glance at Jon, who was now gazing down at the brooch.  

 “Get to you?  What do you mean?”

 Jon’s jaw clenched again with a bitterness that matched his voice.  “She did it to try – ”  He hesitated and looked up at Sansa, as if debating whether his next words were worth the effect they would have on her.

 “Try to get back with me,” he finally said.  Sansa let out an involuntary gasp.

 “What?  She – ?  She – but you never told me she did that!” she exclaimed, unable to keep the bewildered squeak out of her voice.  Jon, clearly relieved to that Sansa was not exploding with anger again, shook his head.

 “She came onto me later,” he said, “after you’d filed the papers.  When I went to the people she recommended at first, I thought they were genuine.  I thought she thought they were genuine.  That’s why I told you to call them.  It was a few weeks later when I asked the jeweler how things were going and he put me off that I realized something was wrong.  I asked her about it, and that’s when she threw herself at me.  I kicked her out as soon as I realized what she was doing.  I told her not to talk to me off set ever again, not that it matters now.”  He took a slow, heavy breath, the kind that meant he was trying to restrain himself – whether from yelling, crying, or both in this case, Sansa was not sure.

 “But it – ”  She gestured weakly toward the jewelry box. “You had it made anyway.”  Her voice had begun shaking along with her hands.

 Jon nodded slowly.  “I found some other people on my own later,” he finally said.  “I thought we’d work things out, and I’d give it to you then.”  His jaw was working furiously again, and Sansa turned her gaze to the wall next to his head.

 “But I never knew – I didn’t know that this one – I didn’t know,” she said, biting her lip in a futile attempt to control her shaking voice.  “You could have – you never told – I didn’t know that she…”  She clapped her hand over her mouth again, but once again it had no effect on the shaking.

 Jon shook his head. “I tried to tell you,” he said. Sansa winced at the pain that had crept into his voice.  “By then you had your lawyer.  She was a damn good one, too.”  Another bitter laugh escaped his lips.  Sansa closed her eyes, unable to meet his any longer.  Jon was entirely right on both counts: after making the decision to leave him, Sansa had hired Jeyne Poole, the attorney almost everyone she’d asked had recommended as the best for getting as quick and quiet a divorce as possible, and one of her first requests to the woman had been to handle all necessary communications with Jon.  She did not wish to speak to Jon in person again, she’d informed Jeyne, and the attorney had done a stellar job of ensuring it, with the sole exception of the final, tear-filled conversation when Jon had agreed to the divorce.

 “She never let a thing get past her,” Jon was saying when Sansa allowed her eyes to open again.  “It was sheer luck that Sam mentioned seeing you in the park so often after you left.”

 Sansa closed her eyes again. As soon as she’d filed the divorce papers, she had done everything she could to leave her married life in the past. She’d moved everything she owned out of her and Jon’s house to the flat in Leeds.  She’d changed her phone number and e-mail address.  She had not, however, anticipated Jon’s best friend, Sam Tarly, who also lived in Leeds, spotting her in her favorite park one day and trotting up to her to say a shy hello.  It was completely impossible to be rude to such a sweet person as Sam, even if he was Jon’s best friend, so Sansa had spared a couple of minutes to make small talk with him before going on her way.  She had not thought that incident would lead to Jon’s finding her there one day months later with tears streaming down his cheeks.  The look that was on his face when Sansa finally opened her eyes said they were threatening to do it again.  When she bit her lip and tasted salt, she realized that her own tears had beaten his to the job.

 “But – you found me and said you’d sign the – and you didn’t – ”

 Jon sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands.  It took several moments for him to look back up at Sansa, and when he did, he looked ashamed of himself.

 “At that point, I just wanted to see you,” he finally said, “and show you some of the sketches they’d sent me.  I thought if I offered to do whatever you liked, you’d maybe agree to talk to me again, and look at the sketches, and then you’d see, and I did try to show you the sketches on my phone – but then…”  His voice trailed off, and he turned one of his hands palm upward in a gesture of futility.  

 Sansa bit her lip. She remembered that day all too well, and she remembered as well as Jon did that once she’d told him she did want the divorce and really appreciated his offer to sign the papers, he had indeed asked to show her something on his phone.  At that point she’d snapped at him, pointing out that she had only asked for a divorce and not for anything else he was trying to pull on her, and stalked away.  Jon’s clear misery had kept her awake that night longer than she’d cared to admit; and it had reminded her far too vividly of the doubts that had plagued her ever since she’d told Margaery she was leaving Jon.  Margaery, ever Sansa’s champion, had listened without interruption, but the first words out of her mouth after Sansa had finished explaining everything had been, “Are you sure he cheated?  That doesn’t sound like Jon at all.”  Even after Sansa had reminded both Margaery and herself that she had proven Jon’s explanation for the trailer incident was a lie, Margaery’s words had still nagged at her.  But then, so had her mother’s, and, as Sansa had informed Margaery and so many of her other friends, she refused to let Jon humiliate her the way her father had done to her mother.  At least this way, she’d said, she’d found out Jon’s true colors before they’d had any children to bear the same scars their father’s infidelities had inflicted on Robb and Sansa.  That Jon would not have inflicted those scars in the first place was a thought Sansa had refused to entertain, even though it had insisted on shuffling about in the back of her head from time to time.

 But if Jon had had the brooch made – if he had, in fact been trying to show her the sketches of it that day in the park –

 “She threatened to have me arrested,” Jon was saying, and both Sansa’s attention and her gaze snapped over to him at once.

 “She – wait, Jeyne did what?”

 Jon briefly raised his hands off of his knees, where he had propped them.

 “She said she could get me taken in on stalking or contempt of court,” he said.  “But she said she wouldn’t pursue anything if I signed the papers like I’d told you I would.”

 Sansa shook her head. “I didn’t tell her to do that,” she protested.  “I didn’t know – I just told her I wanted everything over with as quickly as possible, but I didn’t tell her to threaten you or – or have you arrested, or anything like that.  I didn’t mean – mean for her to do that, Jon, I really didn’t.”  She blinked away the tears, which had trailed off for the time being, and met Jon’s narrowed eyes.  She could not blame him, she supposed, for thinking otherwise, although it hurt that by the look of him, he did not believe her entirely.  Then she remembered that she had not believed Jon about Ygritte or the brooch.  Much as she hated that thought, it would not be pushed away any more than would the tears, which had begun pouring from her eyes afresh.  It was all she could do to keep her gaze on Jon, who was shrugging.

 “Either way,” he said, “I wanted to tell her to fuck off.  I probably should have.”  He shook his head.  “No, I really should have.  I should have gone to you again.  And again.” He grimaced and shook his head vigorously, as if trying to banish the memory from it.  “If I’d held out for you a little longer – ”  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to work its way loose from his bun.  “At least I’d have been able to show it to you finished.”  He gestured toward the jewelry box.  “I got it three days after the judge gave us the decree.”

 Sansa, unable to meet Jon’s eyes any longer, glanced at the box herself, but she could no longer see the details of the brooch through the heavy sheen of tears in her eyes.  She reached up to brush a few of them away and discovered that both of her hands were now shaking uncontrollably.  It was all she could do to prop her elbows gingerly on her raised knees and cup the sides of her hands around her nose and mouth. One, two, three, four…

 That doesn’t sound like Jon at all.

 I’m sorry, Ms. Stark, I’ve never heard of him.  As a customer, that is.  You understand.

 I kicked her out as soon as I realized what she was doing.

 Love makes you want to believe a man’s lies.

 He’s the strangest cheater I’ve ever known.

 She threatened to have me arrested. …I wanted to tell her to fuck off. I probably should have.  No, I definitely should have.  I should have gone to you again.  

 …those were my mistakes…but I have every confidence you will learn from them.

 He hasn’t had a girlfriend since you divorced him.  He looks like a brooding little lost emo puppy.

 I didn’t know…

 Sansa…

 “Sansa!”  Jon’s worried voice, which sounded oddly muffled as if shouted through water or on the other side of a closed door, finally brought Sansa’s face out of its cradle in her hands.  Now her entire body was shaking.

 “Sansa, are you all right?” Jon’s eyes had grown alarmingly wide. Sansa nodded as best she could.  Jon still looked troubled.

 “Are you sure?  Do you have a fever?”  He reached tentatively toward her forehead, but stopped himself. Sansa shook her head again.

 “I – I – I’m fine, just – bed – I’d rather go – go upstairs – to my room,” she ground out.  She managed to plant one hand on the floor and one on the wall behind her.  She moved one foot right next to the wall and began to stand, and made it almost halfway before collapsing.  She would have hit the floor hard had Jon not caught her under the arms and gently pulled her upright.  Sansa let out an unsteady breath and propped an equally unsteady arm against the wall. Jon let go of her, but as soon as he did so, she fell forward, and he caught her again.

 “Sor – sorry,” she quavered as she grasped his arm.  Jon looked at her as though he might call 999 then and there.

 “How about I help you to the couch?” he said, and held up one hand as though to ward off a protest that Sansa did not voice.  “Just in case something goes wrong and I need to help – or call into the hospital for you.”

 Sansa shook her head and forced a deep breath in and out of her lungs.  “I don’t need the hospital,” she said finally.  “Just – just blankets and – the couch has them, I suppose – ”

 Jon nodded.  “Here, then.  I’ll carry you.”  He dropped one hand from her shoulder.  “Or help you walk.”

 Sansa merely blinked at him. His words had begun fading in and out again.  She tried to turn and walk toward the living room, but instead she stumbled into the wall. Fortunately, Jon caught her before she could hit her head, and in a moment later she was ensconced in his arms and being hauled into the living room.  Almost before Sansa could grab him by the shoulders to brace herself, he was depositing her onto the same couch on which she had taken refuge before.  He reached into the laundry basket, which was sitting in the same place Sansa had found it earlier that day, and pulled out both of the blankets left in it.  Sansa was still trying to unfold the first one with her uncooperative arms when Jon reappeared in her line of vision, this time holding two pillows.

 “Here,” he said, and deposited both of them onto the couch behind her head.  He shook out the second blanket he had given to Sansa and draped it over her body.  Sansa sank down onto the pillows, dragged the blanket’s corners around her shoulders, and pulled her knees up to her chest underneath the thick fleece.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  

 “You going to be all right?” Jon, now crouched on the floor next to the couch, still looked concerned.  He also looked tired and upset enough to collapse on the floor next to Sansa.  She nodded.

 “I’m fine,” she said. Jon did not look convinced, but after a few moments he nodded and slowly rose to his feet.  Sansa heard him padding back down the hallway and reached for the blanket she had abandoned when Jon had covered her with its twin. Her tears had dried again, and her arms were not shaking as badly as they had been, but it still took a few minutes for her to wrangle the blanket into a halfway decent position.  

 Exhausted, Sansa flopped back onto the pillows and curled into a ball once more.  She could barely move a muscle, but neither could she rest.

 Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. But at least you found out early on. Not like I did.

 She said she’d help me with your birthday gift.

 Make him give you details.  That way, when you catch him lying, you can prove it.

 Here.  Call them both.  They’ll tell you the same thing I did.

 Get out, Jon.  Just leave.

 Thank God you had a prenup.

 I’m sorry, Sansa.  I thought he was one of the good ones.  I really did.

 Just don’t talk about it again, Robb.

 Shut up, Margaery.

 Yes, Mya, I’m sure he was lying.  I wouldn’t have divorced him otherwise.

 You spent three whole fucking years prancing around acting all wronged and grieved and innocent after you humiliated me…I spent the same fucking three years in fucking bloody fucking misery, and I will be fucked if I spend one more day in it after I leave here!

 You never even tried to think anything but the worst of me! You had your mind made up already…

 The words spun faster and faster inside of Sansa’s head, along with the wounded expression that had wracked Jon’s face as he had spoken the last of them.  Sansa did not realize until it was too late that the leftover lasagna in her stomach was also churning.

 Then she leaned over the edge of the couch and vomited onto Jon’s living room floor.

[griffinkathryn95]

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For all you can calm down after the two of you and stuff.He thinks that you'll have her back it needs a needy person.Let her realize her own life and yourself - some good, free advice proven to help:While I was shattered, I couldn't help myself.

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I Want My Ex Back But He Has Moved On