#kwjack

get to know me || @kwjack    ✓ accepting till i die.

4. Name four things you wish you didn’t have.

I wish I didn’t have shoe lifts that I have to wear--

I wish I didn’t have to cook for myself.

I wish I didn’t have an allergy to dust.

Yosuke knew it didn’t mean all that much that alcohol buzzed beneath their skin. The skateboarding man was already always too willing to follow through. Dutch courage– or was it just stupidity– only made going through with whatever it was that more fun. The sharp prick of inebriation turned their senses fuzzy, and he thought the wheels on Jack’s board clattered on the asphalt like a soundtrack missing a distribution deal. Despite the soju already coating their tongues, they hustled into a corner store bar that brandished more seats than patrons. That sort of thing rarely mattered. 

Their initial order of fried chicken had dwindled between them. Yosuke’s gaze fell to what was left anyway, eyes hooded in hushed judgement as he counted the deep fried crumbs. His wallet wasn’t heavy, but it was disconcerting when it became too light in his board shorts, and clearly Jack, greasy lips telling, wouldn’t care. If the tables were switched, he wouldn’t either, and perhaps that was what made their acquaintance more than just tolerable. “Y’know, you can’t hold that jump against me. A dare’s a dare, man.” His voice was rusty under the alcohol’s bitter influence, grating his already sandpaper throat. But fuck if curiousity wasn’t badgering at the back of his head. He figured they’d split it, so he lumbered for the bar, “That fuckin’ oath’s broken when I get back,” words mumbled, he made for the bartender and took to ordering. There was no denying the weariness in the older man’s stare, as if to ask what in the world they were doing ordering anju like that. There were perks to being a foreigner. Eventually he returned, opened tequila and new glasses in his hand, expectancy shaping his features. 

“Spill. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve heard already– ‘less you don’t want any of this.” Forgoing formalities, he poured himself a shot glass, filled with amber until short lines of liquid fell over his fingers. Yosuke let a half grin change the corner of his mouth, curious as to what their mutual acquaintance, more acquainted to Jack than he, had spoke of him. His hopes were never all too high, but at least the tequila scraped the back of his throat with a satisfying burn. A long sigh wheezed past his lips. This was more like it. “Alcohol’s thicker than blood anyway.”

✎: My muse’s Christmas card to yours.

It was most likely the perfect gift, wasn’t it? Seeing as it was the only one that he’d be able to actually see and read. Which did not mean she thought anything else wouldn’t please him, but seriously she only saw the card and once she’d bought it with the mindset of just giving it to him, realised how she’d never actually bothered to even get a card for anyone before. 

Because well—sure things, holidays cards were a thing when you handed out gifts. But Hyeri just never found any use in them? She could just tell them what was in it and that was it, couldn’t she? They could hear her talk and blabber on non stop without being able to pause her. A thing most of them would most likely be thankful to him for successfully doing, shutting her up.

So it was the intentions behind the card—gift that mattered. Intentions being that she wanted to hand him something that just meant something, that showed that she cared about him enough to sit down and write a bunch of words instead of saying them all to his face. Not talking was so unbearable, Christ, he had to like pay her for all the effort.

Which she quickly jolted down in the card as well. 

Hey, hey, Dear Jack in the box,

It’s your favourite classmate, I know I am, there’s no use denying it with that ironic stare of yours I know I am!!! If you deny it I will literally tear your eyes out  you lil’ shit. God this is why I can’t write anything, I end up having to strike a lot of things because even through writing my filter doesn’t work. So you’ll get it all raw and rough, okay?

I’m petty sure you’re used to it anyway. You are right? everyone gets used to it. Did I ever mention that I can’t stop talking and that doing it with you is like some sort of miracle that everyone who knows me would let you know you’ve accomplished?? I need money, where’s my pay. This is a job. BUT THIS IS NOT THE POINT. the point is, this is a christmas gift, or something like that. To show or tell you how amazing of a friend you’ve been, but that’d be lying. Half lying, but you know I love you, right, right???

There’s also the fact that I might or might not have only started growing some interest in you because you couldn’t hear me god. this is awful. I’ll stop before I say anything else awfully insensitive again.

MERRY CHRISTMAS. even if it’s not merry for you, tell me you had a merry christmas anyway or I will throw a punch, I swear I will. I HOPE YOU GET MANY MANY GIFTS. but none better than mines. not that I will give you anything.

Fuck I spoiled that. 

Whatever you’ll survive, unless you like surprises, do you?

ok bye now.

again enjoy the holidays, I’ll most likely see you once it’s over and oh I might be even better at sign languages when we’re back in school because I WILL PUT ALL MY STRENGTH INTO LEARNING IT DURING THIS WHOLE FREE TIME PERIOD.  No I will not study.

Much love,Ri. 

For every ➹ I get, I'll put up my muse's current thought

➹ — With so much to do and so little time to do it, how on earth am I going to everything I need to do done in time for tea and biscuits?

( x )1. A pipe burst in Muse A’s dorm building and they have been reassigned to room with Muse B, who paid extra money to have a private room, during the renovation.

Cade wasn't up for this in the slightest. He was tired, he was over worked, he still had four papers to hand in and now he couldn't even sleep in his own god damn bed? He'd cause a riot if he could. But, instead of being his usual childish self he decided to be mature for once, and as surprising as that sounded it seemed to bag him a new room for the time being.

Pulling his suitcase along and carrying his backpack rather sleepily through the dorm building he looked down to the paper in his hand and looked aimlessly around for the room he had been assigned to; completely oblivious to those who were giving him strange looks since he was clad in his pyjamas. With a heavy sigh through his nose he finally finds the room, a few hard knocks against the door would do it. Upon seeing the person opposite the door he offers a semi-sweet smile, reaching his hand across to shake the others.

How could such an innocent conversation involving back-and-forth banter about absolutely nothing in particular have gone so awry? Fender versus Gibson has never steered so off-course. Maybe he is a little elitist when it comes to his preferred strings, but really, is that so wrong?

His immediate reaction is to scoff. And then he realizes exactly how that makes him look, so his expression sours and he strums a few notes on his Washburn - just to be extra douchey. If you're not getting out of it, you'd better own it, right?