#(:para)

[makerguideme]

for @whirlwindamell 

he thinks this is the most TIRED he ever has been.  he is no STRANGER to violence -- he’s been FIGHTING his OWN demons for years now, his flesh is marred by the SCARS of his past.  the EXHAUSTION in his bones is an old, FAMILIAR friend.  he’s long-since forgotten what a decent night’s sleep feels like.  but he feels close to COLLAPSE, the worry for the men at his COMMAND sapping his energy and the GRIEF he feels for those they’ve lost damn near finishing him off.

he has yet to pen the letters to the families of the FALLEN, a reminder that further SOURS his mood ever-further and he SCOWLS at the other wayward souls wandering the streets of haven at this hour as he winds his way to the chantry.

he should not be so visibly rankled.  

but he cannot help the BLAME that’s worked its way between his shoulder blades, driving its point HOME with every breath he takes that someone like HIM has survived this complete and utter horror, and not those with families.  with wives.  with lives far more DESERVING than his own.  

it’s a thought that makes his stomach TURN.  none of his men should have suffered like they did.  none of them should have EVER faced the atrocities they had.  he’s faced it once, twice before, and it is not something he’d wish even on his worst enemy.  

he lets out a SNARL as he sinks to his knees before the effigy of the maker’s bride, angry and feral and HURTING, far-removed from the prying eyes of the other souls who must also bear the BURDEN of surviving.  he’s no STRANGER to death -- every soldier is intimately acquainted with their own mortality.  he KNOWS his responsibility to his men -- to prepare them as best as he can for the inevitable.  

that does not mean he does not blame himself in the quiet hours of the morning when there’s no-one privy to his GUILT.

‘blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter.  blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. in their blood, the maker’s will is written,’ he breathes, tilting his face up to the bride of his god as he prays.  for peace, for his men, for his own ABSOLUTION.

[leexjun-blog]

pucker up--

@kgsehun​

jun is learning how to be herself, truly and fully. she’s learning how to feel like herself, dress like herself. most of all, jun is learning how to express herself.

ever since returning from mexico, she’s donned the skirts, high heels, fake boobs and make up more times than she can count. whether it’s to do with her having spent almost a week in such outfits or the fact that her emotional state of mind is a little off these days (courtesy of a certain indecisive male) she doesn’t know, and she doesn’t quite stop to think about it either. because being herself is so much fun, and getting attention from other people (positive attention, mind you) for the way she dresses or looks is a thrill all on its own.

but of course that level of fun comes with an unexpected added downside that she actually should have seen coming; a series of creeper guys expressing their interest in her and questioning her way too personally.

not that she’s afraid - she can probably take each and every single one of them in a fight, after all - but she’s not going out just to beat up all the creeps on the block. which is why she usually comes up with this or the other often-used excuse to get out of the situation and save herself the trouble.

but some days that doesn’t work out. like when you’re taking a walk through the park, for instance, clad in a knee-length comfortable fleece dress with scarf that clearly indicates you’re there for a walk outside rather than on your way to somewhere important that you really can’t be late for.

the only saviour nearby is a young male sitting leisurely on a bench and jun can safely say she’s never seen him before. she would usually be more polite and either go for a simple hug first or just go sit next to him pretending to know him, but the level of creep the guy next to her exudes makes her pretty certain she’s going to need more than that to scare him off.

and so, when her eyes fall upon the young male, she shifts her expression into a happy one, then politely greets the (quite old, she might add) male at her side goodbye before almost skipping over to the bench.

“oppaaaaaa~” she drawls out as she comes closer, all smiles and joy and warmth. it’s the only warning the guy gets for what she’s about to do, because the next moment she’s sat down on the bench next to him, arms easily sneaking around his neck and upper body leaning in to close the distance between them. not a heartbeat later, her lips land atop that of the stranger, and she can only hope that he’ll either be too shocked to yell at her or understand her situation and play along.

[ornxry--archive]

@needlcd

he’s OLDER now, the last vestiges of BOYHOOD fled from his face -- his cheekbones jut out SHARPLY, his jaw square and STUBBORN to a fault, a hardness to his eyes that belies his age.  he is the spitting image of the late KING, though few enough recognise it in him.  there’s an ANGER to him, one that was perhaps once ABSENT before childhood had been chased away by hardship and disillusionment.  

he was S’POSED to be a KNIGHT, but all he was was a boy playing at WAR.  he has no more dreams that the brotherhood he’d so devoted himself to were GOOD men, a family to call his OWN.  home had been stolen away from him on horseback, kidnapped by the HOUND.  he had sought redemption with the brotherhood;; all he had found was OLD MEN and STUPID BOYS who had no place nowhere else.  it’s as good a place as any for a BASTARD like him, though, and so he stays.  he’d looked for her, for a time, but he was just a BOY then, barely able to swing a sword right.  she’d called him STUPID for that too.  that was all he was.  a stupid bastard boy.  

a stupid bastard boy who made the WRONG choice.  too bloody lowborn t’be kin to m’lady high.  

he lets the hammer fall with an EAR-SHATTERING clang, relishing in the way the effort makes his muscles ache and his shoulder sigh in exhaustion.  this, this is his penance.  he can’t do much, but he can SMITH ‘til he dies, either from exhaustion or old age.  it helps him FORGET everything he’s done.  he wipes his brow, soot and dirt and sweat smearing across his forehead.  he’s never rid of it, never clean.

the sun is setting, though, and he can already FEEL winter leeching the heat that the forge provided away.  soon, frost will cling to him as well as dirt and sweat.  he wipes his face on his apron and grunts, studying his work before he heats it again, hammers out a dent, and quenches it in oil.

he needs BREAD and ALE to fill his belly.

he’s stayed here, hoping, wishing to remedy his mistakes, every day the same as the one before.  maybe he’s fuckin’ stupid.  

maybe he’s just ORNERY, but he won’t give up on her.  

[ex-247jonghyun-blog]

eternal damnation *

jonghyun did expect something like this would happen. at some point. but he’d expected that point to be a bit further down the line, not so soon after graduating with his bachelor’s degree. yet here he is, in a tuxedo, ready to make his own engagement official. how long has he known this woman? well he’s less than five minutes away from meeting her. what makes her the right choice? he doesn’t even know. for as far as jonghyun is concerned, she is not the right choice. nobody is the right choice because he doesn’t want to get married. or engaged. or even into a relationship.

having a girl in his life for one evening is about as long as he can manage. by the time morning comes around he usually hopes they’ll have left before he wakes, otherwise he kindly requests them to leave. he doesn’t do mornings after. he doesn’t do listening to their wailing and complaining either. so why in heaven’s name did his father ever think an engagement was a good idea? it goes beyond him. but if his father says it’s the thing to do, that’s what he’ll do. for now.

the girl he’s set to marry walks in. jonghyun lets his eyes feast. she’s definitely good-looking. his father didn’t get him the ugliest one he could find at least. it doesn’t change how he feels about the engagement, but it does change how he feels about the girl herself. the smile he sends her is genuine, interest sparks in his eyes.

if there is a chance he can take her to bed he will. no hesitations. regardless of the entire situation.

he bows politely at who he presumes are her parents, then a bit more flourished at her, keeping up appearances for his father’s sake. he takes hold of her hand and places a chaste kiss on the back of her fingers. ‘it is a pleasure to meet you, miss song.’ a real pleasure indeed. he hasn’t seen such a sight for sore eyes in a while, but can only hope that this one is going to be a little bit of fun at the very least. before he finds a way to break off the engagement, of course.

he guides the young woman over to the table they’ll be dining at and pulls back her chair so she can sit. part of him thinks of pulling the chair away entirely right as she’s about to sit down and watching her fall to the floor, but he decides against it. those are the kind of things he’ll be doing when nothing else has worked and he just needs to make her parents so offended that they’ll refuse to let him marry their daughter. for now, he just helps her sit, then takes his own spot at the table opposite of her.

all prim and proper, ready to have a normal dinner and impress the so-called future in-laws. the better he gets to know them, the easier it will be to find a way to cancel the entire arrangement, after all.

@247chaewon

[vcga]

g h o s t s.

@willreignite

everything DIES.  it’s just the shitty way the universe works.  he thinks he’d be used to it by now, the loss, the grief, given all that he’s seen.  all that he’s DONE.  but even years later, it still stings.  his chest ACHES.  

who’s like us?

damn few. and they’re all DEAD.

he’s grateful for shore leave.  he always is, of late, as he brings the glass of amber liquor to his lips.  he doesn’t know what’s in it;; he just asked the bartender for whatever the hell was the STRONGEST.  

“to SHEPARD,” he mutters, turning it up and downing it in one gulp, burning his throat and his sinuses.  he misses his old CO like HELL.  the brightest star in the galaxy, snuffed out like a candle.  not the brightest idea, drinking his feelings, but when the goddamn fuck has he ever been known for having the BEST ideas?  strobe lights flash over the white and red of the N7 insignia on his hoodie, one just like shepard’s, and again, he feels a rush of regret and a pang of grief.  she was one of the best.

he’d have given ANYTHING to see her again.

[serursus]

@dariadaenerys

Peace was not a word oft associated with a Dothraki horde, but Jorah could feel it all around him.  The contentedness of the horse lords would have been contagious were it not for the worry that blossomed within his breast.  It had taken him nearly three days to catch up with the khalasar after riding his horse to a lather.  He was exhausted and tired, guilt and shame driving him to distraction.  The Andal took a bite of stringy jerky, grimacing at the taste and his own dark thoughts.  The meat was tough but not tasteless; he’d eaten so much of it, however, that his appetite for horse, which had been nonexistent to begin with, had all but disappeared.  But their rations still had to last them the rest of the near-two week ride to Vaes Dothrak and the few hunters who had been sent out had not found any rabbits.  

He took a sip of too-warm water, stowed the rest of his jerky in his pack, and rose, stretching.  Had he always been so stiff and sore?  He meandered around the camp, greeting one of Drogo’s bloodriders, his feet carrying him away from his problems. 

[makerguideme]

@honnleathrose || LIKED FOR A STARTER

he’s pacing in front of his soldiers, barely paying attention as they run their drills, hand rubbing furiously at the back of his neck.  what in the maker’s name is he going to do?  this is a bloody fine mess he’s landed himself in, and it doesn’t seem to MATTER how much he tries to strategize -- he’s never been at such a loss before in his entire life.  

elena is pregnant.  with his child.  his very illegitimate child, whose bastardy is, quite frankly, the thing that is troubling him the LEAST.  he has been PLANNING to propose for nigh on two months, rehearsing it in his mind in the quiet hours when he lay awake with her sleeping in his arms.  he thinks about how he’s YET to work up the courage to ask mia for his mother’s wedding ring, and his thoughts DARKEN as they turn to his family.  he’s been on tenterhooks with both of his sisters since they decided to barge their way into skyhold and take matters of his EMOTIONAL CONSTIPATION into their own hands.  the hand rubbing at his neck comes around to scrub at his face, and he tries to force himself back into the here and now.  

word has already gotten out.  THAT much he’s sure of.  in matters of subterfuge and intrigue, no-one is as subtle as josephine and leliana.  but in matters of the commander and the inquisitor expecting a child, they are about as subtle as an avvar in a crowd of dwarves.  he sighs and goes to bark an order for them to take up their tourney weapons and practice their offensive training when he spots her, golden hair dancing in the sunlight and making a BEELINE for him.

he swallows and lifts his eyes skyward in a prayer.  as though his patience weren’t being TESTED enough already today.