(no subject)

You are a Tortured Conceptual Artist. Your fellow
postmodernists call you an anachronism, but
you've never cared much about the opinions of
others. After all, most of them are far too
simple-minded to appreciate the nuances of your
work. They talk, while you are part of a lived
tradition.


What kind of postmodernist are you!?
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lol. Okay. Whatever. :p

short sappy snippet

"I gave orders for a spare room to be made up for you," he said once we were inside the house.

I looked up at him, frowning. "You expect me to sleep in my own bed, after last night?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Not in the slightest. But you'll need a place for your things, as least as long as we're here. If we leave them in my rooms, they'll just lie about and make a mess. In your own rooms, you could unpack them and put them away." He shifted the packages to a precarious balance in one arm, then reached out with the newly-freed and cupped my cheek. His expression was solemn, almost sad. "And I would never want you to feel you had no choice but to share my bed. I'm no paragon, Rin. Every time I speak, I'm afraid that I'll say something else to hurt you. If that's the case, and my fears become reality...I would hate for you to share my bed with me because you felt you had no other option. It's your choice, Rin, always. Every night, from tonight until eternity. I would never presume to take that choice from you."