#but this flavor of dog people infuriate me to no end

[kipxan]

i wish all dog “activists” a VERY educate yourself on behavioral euthanasia, breed-specific behaviors, ethical breeders, unethical rescues, working animals, and the overall importance of genetics before you next open your mouth

“adopt don’t shop” crowd i’m looking at you

[asweetprologue]

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@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Favorite Food Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: G Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out. ao3

The small cheesecloth package that was dropped in front of him wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but the way that Jaskier hovered as Geralt picked it up was.

“What’s this?” he grunted, sniffing the air subtly. The little package smelled like honey and flour and cream, and the thick, sweet smell of-- “Are those dates?” He pulled the cheesecloth off to reveal a neat little tart, gently browned on the edges, about the size of his palm.

“It is!” Jaskier leaned over him slightly, his arms holding several more packages. He continued, sounding a little nervous. “I know you don’t usually enjoy sweets, but I know the dates are your favorite. Must feed that witcher metabolism, no?”

“No,” Geralt eyed the tart. “Our metabolism is more efficient, not faster.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, deflating slightly. “Well, if you don’t want it I guess I can--”

“How did you know that date was my favorite?” Geralt interrupted, looking back up at Jaskier. Oddly, he could see the bard color slightly at the question, an appealing pink spreading across his cheekbones.

“You bought a jar of jam from that merchant from Toussaint, remember? You never buy jam, unless it’s for me, so I assumed you must have a preference for it. I mean, unless you don’t, which is fine, I can… Well, not eat it, I hate dates, but I’m sure I can find some mangy child to give it to, or a dog, or something. Do you hate it? You hate it.”

Geralt picked up the tart and bit into it, giving Jaskier a raised eyebrow. It was honestly more of a miniature pie than a tart, the flaky crust filled with dates and prunes covered in a custardy filling, sweetened through with honey. The flavors burst across his tongue, the tart still warm. Jaskier must have picked it up at the market and come directly here to give it to him. Geralt swallowed the first bite, looking into Jaskier’s apprehensive face, and said, “Thanks.”

Jaskier visibly relaxed, shuffling onto the bench across from Geralt and beginning to relay the events of the morning market. Geralt hummed where he was meant to and sipped his watered down ale and ate his tart. If Jaskier noticed his absent mindedness, he said nothing.

Jaskier… knew what his favorite fruit was. The knowledge should not have come as a shock, Geralt knew. Jaskier was often getting him gifts - oil for Roach’s tack, new clothes when Geralt’s last threadbare shirt gave out, potion ingredients when he ran low. Sometimes he bought Geralt useless things, little bobbles or trinkets he saw that he thought Geralt might like or find amusing, and Geralt kept them safely at the bottom of his bag, or in his room at Kaer Morhen. He cherished those things, things that told him Jaskier thought about him when he wasn’t near. It was nice, to be thought of.

But for some reason this little gift felt different. Jaskier had known his favorite food, and Geralt had never told him. Dates weren’t particularly common in the North, and it was rare that they were far south enough to meet merchants who carried them up from Nilfgaard. Geralt could remember when he’d bought the jam, hoping it would last him a while, but he couldn’t recall a single other time in recent memory that he’d eaten dates, or even mentioned them. He didn’t tend to wallow on things that were unavailable to him.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier as he spun a tale about haggling in the square. No, Geralt didn’t make a habit of wishing for what he couldn’t have.

Still, there was a problem at hand, one he had to solve. Jaskier knew Geralt’s favorite food. He might know Geralt’s favorite everything. Did he know that Geralt’s favorite color was blue, the wide, free color of the sky on the first day of spring? Did he know that Geralt’s favorite thing to drink wasn’t wine or vodka, but warm honeyed milk like his mother made when he couldn’t sleep as a tiny child? He certainly knew that Geralt liked the scent of chamomile and sage best in his bathwater, and that he preferred cotton shirts over linen, and that he would pick a song with a sad ending over a happy one. If he’d been paying this much attention, there was probably quite a lot that Jaskier knew about him, without Geralt having said a word.

And he didn’t know a thing about Jaskier.

What was Jaskier’s favorite color? Was it blue, like the doublets he so often wore, or was that just to match his eyes? Did he really like wine the best, or did he just like it better than ale? What was his favorite season? His favorite weather? Did he go to Oxenfurt every winter because it was where he could find work, or did he prefer Novigrad, or Vizima? Geralt could tell how Jaskier was going to react every time someone recognized him on the street, anytime a young lad or lass winked at him, even what he might say if Geralt gave the right sort of hum. But he didn’t know much about him, at the end of the day.

He needed to find out. As they packed up their belongings and set out on the road once again, leaving the small town behind them, Geralt ruminated on what could be done to rectify this situation. He couldn’t very well just ask Jaskier about all these things. After all, Jaskier had figured it all out with nary a word from Geralt. He didn’t need to ask; he was paying attention. Which made Geralt’s chest feel oddly warm and heavy, knowing that Jaskier was watching him, paying heed to his reactions and filing them away. Maybe it should have felt invasive, to know that he was being read so easily without his knowing, but instead it just felt… nice. To be known.

He wanted Jaskier to feel known too. He wanted to know Jaskier.

He would start small. Jaskier had given him food, something he knew Geralt would like. It couldn’t be that difficult to figure out what Jaskier liked. Geralt could start bringing him small things, pass it off as returning the favor, and guage Jaskier’s reaction. It would be simple, he mused, eying Jaskier from atop Roach as they walked side by side. His hair was mussed slightly from sleep, still, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before heading out for the day. No one to impress, Geralt guessed, just the two of them and the road. He liked Jaskier this way, less pinned up and proper, more open. Letting Geralt see him without all of his armor, because that’s what it was, as surely as the leather on Geralt’s back was his. Right now, Jaskier was an open book. All Geralt had to do was pay enough attention to read him.

*

It was not easy to figure out what Jaskier liked.

The problem, Geralt quickly found, was that Jaskier was enthusiastic about almost everything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When he disliked something, he made his distaste abundantly clear. He was dramatic, which should have made it even easier to determine what delighted him the most. Geralt expected that, when he found it, poetic stanzas would be flowing like wine from Jaskier’s tongue, praising whatever it was. He had no reason to expect Jaskier to be subtle about his preferences.

And he wasn’t. The issue was that he seemed to react with the exact same level of excitement about everything Geralt brought him. On the first day they arrived in a new town, Geralt went to the market and brought Jaskier a small basket of strawberries, which Jaskier enthused over for half the morning. Geralt was pleased. Maybe it had been that easy, and he’d intuitively known what Jaskier liked. Maybe he had unconsciously been paying attention all along. He congratulated himself on figuring out at least one piece of the puzzle, and began thinking about how he might approach the next step.

But then he unthinkingly bought Jaskier a few sweetbreads when he was out the next day getting lunch. He’d been getting himself some, he thought of Jaskier sitting in their shared room, composing a ballad about the hunt Geralt had been on the night previously. He’d brought him the extra meats, and Jaskier had nearly the same reaction. Gushing over the gift, thanking Geralt for thinking of him. Lamenting his own forgetfulness, for getting so caught up in his work that he would forget to eat, as Geralt expected he might have. And Geralt was confused, because he didn’t think a few offal from a market stall in a half pint city in Velen was what Jaskier would like. Certainly not something he could call a favorite.

But he’d reacted the same to the sweetbreads as the berries. So Geralt was back to square one.

He reevaluated his metrics. So Jaskier reacted that way to anything he liked, apparently. It was odd; Geralt had seen Jaskier enthusiastically dig into a wide variety of foods over the years, but he didn’t praise them and rave about them the way he had done the berries and the meats. So he must have legitimately enjoyed both of them more than he would any old dish. But neither of them had seemed to outweigh the other. He still didn’t know what Jaskier liked best.

Over the next several weeks of their travel, Geralt bought Jaskier enough tortas and crepes and stews that he knew it was boarding on suspicious behavior. If it was any other situation, any other two people, he knew it might come off like courtship. Every time he offered Jaskier some new morsel, he could feel the back of his neck grow hot at the implications. But Jaskier only ever grinned in delight at whatever Geralt offered him, flushed and pleased no more or less than he had been at all the others. If he suspected any sort of foul play, he never said anything.

It was infuriating. After three weeks of spending more coin that he cared to count at markets and roadside stalls and taverns, he was no closer to figuring out Jaskier’s favorite food than he had been at the outset. It all seemed to go over well, which was gratifying, but he couldn’t tell what Jaskier liked the most of it all. Maybe he just wasn’t as good at reading Jaskier as he thought. He’d thought he was a master of it, at this point - he could tell when Jaskier was tired during a performance, even though his smile never flagged; he could tell when Jaskier was being dramatic about an injury and when he was actually in pain; he could tell the difference between righteous anger versus petty versus hurt. In most respects he felt like Jaskier was an open book, but there was nothing in his reactions to Geralt’s gifts that said he was anything less than entirely pleased to receive them.

He was running out of ideas. Giving Jaskier gifts one at a time was clearly not working; either none of them were right, or Geralt was misremembering Jaskier’s enthusiasm for the ones in the past. He needed to give Jaskier a selection and see for himself what was best, side by side.

It took another week to plan, mostly due to location. They needed to stay in one place for a few days, so that Geralt could collect the things he would need, and it was rare that the two of them were in one town for more than a day. Large contracts were few and far between, and it never took Geralt more than a single night to clear out some ghouls or drowners from an area.

As luck would have it, however, they were only a few days out from Carreras. Geralt pointed them in that direction, claiming that they would likely be able to find multiple contracts in one place there, and that Jaskier could take a few days to play for their small selection of inns and taverns. It wasn’t entirely a lie; there probably would be more contracts posted in a larger settlement, which would mean a solid few jobs to refill Geralt’s pockets. He would need the extra coin to execute his plan.

The first two days of their stay were filled mostly with real work. The city had been having issues with contaminated water, which sent Geralt out to investigate all the wells, and by the time he found the drowner that had fallen into the water supply a full day had passed. He was able to fill another two contracts on their second day, but the triple confrontations over less than 48 hours left him feeling bruised and exhausted.

It was Jaskier who suggested it, in the end. Pulling a comb through Geralt’s hair as the witcher let himself soak in the bath, Jaskier said, “What if we stayed for an extra day or two? The crowds have been good, and Barclay - the innkeeper, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to him - he offered us a discount if I play tonight and tomorrow.” His hand fell to Geralt’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “You could… take a few days.”

It had been his plan to stay, but Geralt felt an ache behind his breastbone at Jaskier’s careful suggestion. Always trying to take care of him, as if Geralt were someone who needed protecting, someone who deserved something like a vacation. He didn’t think he did, but it was nice, as always, to think that Jaskier cared. “Hmm,” was all he said, a soft sound of agreement. His eyes slipped shut as he basked in the quiet content of Jaskier’s company, and they said nothing else on the matter.

The next day he felt rejuvenated, the burn of overexertion in his muscles faded after a hard night’s sleep. Jaskier had played after getting him out of the bath and settled into bed, but he’d returned later, smelling of sweat and rosemary and catgut. Geralt had slept well with his solid weight by his side, pressed into the too-slim bed.

He spent most of the day preparing. The market was busy and bursting when he found it in the afternoon, though not as packed as he was used to seeing in larger settlements like Novigrad. There was a bakery on the corner from which the rich scent of fresh bread spilled out into the square, and the people at the stalls were standing around amiably, chatting about local affairs and peddling their individual wares to one and other. It was a homey little trade network, and despite his strangeness, Geralt didn’t feel unwelcome.

He made several minor purchases before he found his way to the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d feared, and he waited until the one or two customers before him had made their way out. The woman working the counter was twig thin despite her occupation, thin blonde hair tied up away from her face and covered by a light cloth, probably to keep flour out of it. Her eyes were blue, pale as diamonds. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier’s were nicer.

He made her nervous, it was easy to see, but she quickly warmed to him when he told her what he was looking for. Whether it was his gold that excited her or his plan, he couldn’t say, but regardless she helped him pick out his desired items with enthusiasm.

“If you’re planning to use them later tonight, I can make up a basket and have it ready for you. So nothing goes cold,” she explained, her forearms resting on the counter. “The pies are really best that way.”

Geralt nodded, and handed over her coin.

Jaskier would be back soon from where he was playing the lunch crowd at one of the taverns. Geralt rushed back to their room and put the purchases he had with him at the bottom of his pack, a blanket spread over them. Jaskier returned not fifteen minutes later, flushed and grinning. A successful performance, then. Good. When Jaskier was in a good mood he was more amenable to doing what Geralt said. “When do you play this evening?” Geralt asked, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword at the small table they’d been provided.

Jaskier set his lute case down gently against the wall and then flung off his doublet with much less care, flopping down on to the bed. Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, though the image that awaited him - Jaskier, spread out, his shirt falling open to reveal the smooth line of his throat and his sharp collar bones - burned against the back of his eyes anyways. “Not until nightfall,” Jaskier answered with a content sigh. “After the dinner crowd. Why? Do you have plans?”

“Do you remember where we stopped on the first day, the hill just before town? By the brook.” He set his steel sword aside and reached for the silver, which was the one that truly needed attention. So many contracts in a row had left her chipped in a few places, and dull all around. Geralt set his whetstone down, but didn’t draw it across the blade yet. Waiting for Jaskier’s answer. He felt his stomach twist with something like nerves, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t anything risky, anything that Jaskier would read into - probably. Probably.

“Sure,” Jaskier answered easily.

“Can you meet me there?” Geralt asked. “An hour or so before you have to play?”

He heard Jaskier sit up, could feel the bard looking at him curiously. His gaze warmed the side of Geralt’s face, and he refused to look up and meet those bright blue eyes. “Did something happen? Do we need to get out of town?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up within him. “No. Nothing bad. Just… meet me?”

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, long enough that Geralt gave up and turned to look at him. He was regarding Geralt with a curious expression, almost guarded. But all he said was, “Alright. I can do that.”

Geralt nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task.

*

He left before Jaskier, stating the need to drop by the herbalist's shop and that if he wasn’t back - as he didn’t intend to be - that Jaskier should go to the meeting place on his own. Geralt made his own way back to the bakery, where his basket of goods was waiting as promised. He tipped the girl well, and set out with his pack containing the blanket and other purchases on his shoulder, and the basket on his arm.

It was a nice evening, warm and thick with the last hints of summer. It would be fall soon; he could taste it in the faint hint of decay that lingered on his tongue whenever he took a deep breath of the air beyond the city. But for now it was still hot enough during the day that the evenings were comfortable. Geralt found his way back along the road to where they’d stopped to water Roach at the nearby stream, just before the landscape dropped down into the shallow valley that held the large town. He made his way off the path, far enough away that they wouldn’t be obvious from the road, to a raised patch of earth that looked down over the fields as they spread out below. It was a lovely sight, the landscape rich in the evening light, the dying sun casting the rooftops of the city in rich gold. Jaskier would appreciate the scenery, at least.

Geralt quickly set up, laying out the blanket and pulling out the supplies from the basket. He’d maybe gone slightly overboard. There was a meat pie, several stuffed rolls, a hearty cabbage stew in two small bowls kept covered by plates tied to them; a loaf of fresh rye bread, with cheese and jam and honey to go with it; berries and apples with cream; a plethora of desserts, including an entire apple pie, along with little marzipan candies and several little cakes. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red. As he laid out item after item, Geralt felt unease stir within him. It was too much, he realized, seeing it all together. That had been his goal, after all, to see Jaskier eat as many things as possible, to get a sense, at least, of where his preferences lay. But this was overwhelming. Jaskier would realize something was amiss. A picnic, laid out in perfect detail, in the warm light of the evening, fields spread out beyond them and the forest to their back. It was obviously, sickeningly romantic, he realized. So very obviously beyond what one might do to spend an hour eating dinner with a friend. Panic rose in his throat, choking him, and he grabbed one of the wine bottles, thinking to put it away. If he could put some of it back, maybe it wouldn’t look so much like--

“Geralt?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the desire to curse, and turned around. He hoped none of his apprehension showed on his face.

Jaskier was a few feet away, carrying nothing but his lute on his back. He was looking down at the spread with a shocked expression, eyebrows pulled up nearly into his hairline and eyes open wide. “What’s… all this?” he asked, his gaze flickering back up to meet Geralt’s.

“Dinner,” Geralt grunted, putting the wine bottle down. In for a penny, he thought grimly.

He watched several different expressions flicker across Jaskier’s face, too quick to parse. For a moment Geralt thought he looked almost… sad, or maybe anxious, but then he broke into a wide grin. The honest delight pouring off of him made Geralt let out a slight sigh, relief blooming in his chest. “Oh, well isn’t this just wondrous,” Jaskier laughed. He pulled his lute from his shoulder and set it in the grass beside the blanket, and folded himself down amongst Geralt’s offerings. A hand reached up towards him. “Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, raising a playful eyebrow. Geralt grumbled, but carefully sat down next to the bard and began dishing out the food.

It was good, all of it, but Geralt hardly paid it any mind, focused entirely on Jaskier’s reactions. The constant flow of conversation was interrupted every time Jaskier took a bite of something new - “This is delicious, have you tried this yet?” and “We must find out what spices they used for this stew, it’s absolutely the best I’ve had in months” and “Geralt, where did you find marzipan? Look at these little things, the details are impressive.” Throughout it all, Geralt watched his face, listened to his words, paid attention to what he returned to and what he didn’t.

And by the end, he was ready to tear his hair out.

Jaskier seemed to enjoy everything. He finished every helping he took, praised every dish, thanked Geralt for each and every selection he’d made. Even with so many choices, it didn’t seem to matter. Jaskier liked them all, but Geralt couldn’t tell what he liked the best. Not the way Jaskier apparently could do for him.

Finally Jaskier flopped back into the grass, one hand on his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve been so full in years,” he groaned, staring up at the sky with heavy eyelids. “Probably since the last banquet I played at. You really outdid yourself, my dear.”

Fuck it. He had to ask. “Anything you liked in particular?”

Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes. “Mm, how could I choose? Everything was so lovely.”

Frustration clawed at him. Before he could stop himself, Geralt heard himself ask, “Do you even have a favorite food?”

Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenched hard. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to--

“Oh, I don’t know if I have a favorite favorite,” Jaskier droned, blinking his eyes open to peer up at the sky again, this time with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s just such a range, you know. I suppose when it comes to desserts, there’s these custards that they make in Toussaint, have you had them? Tiny things, very sweet, with saffron and cinnamon. Delicious. We’ll have to get some next we go so far south.”

Geralt was hardly listening, even though he knew that had been the entire point. He’d failed. Jaskier had told him the answer to his question, which meant he was never going to have the chance to prove that he could learn Jaskier as Jaskier had learned him. He couldn’t prove his friendship, his affection, through his actions. Jaskier would never be interested in Geralt the way that Geralt was in him, but he’d hoped he could at least let some of his true feelings bleed into his actions, into the careful way he paid attention. Jaskier had already done so as nothing more than Geralt’s friend. Now he would never be able to pay him back in kind, not truly.

Jaskier turned his head to look at him, brow furrowed curiously. He must have been silent for too long. Geralt quickly schooled his features into neutrality, but some of his distress must have peaked through, because Jaskier frowned at him. Geralt could feel the incoming conversation before Jaskier even opened his mouth. He tried to get ahead of it, talking over the beginning of Jaskier’s soft inquiry. “We should head back,” he grunted, rising abruptly to his feet. “You have to play.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, in a tone that made Geralt’s stomach fill with dread. That was Jaskier’s no nonsense, absolutely-you-will-not-be-getting-out-of-this tone. He turned back towards Jaskier, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The bard had clamoured to his feet when Geralt stood up, and was now stepping around the blanket towards him. Geralt wanted to retreat further, to shove the remains of the picnic back in his bag and hide the evidence, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He was being too obvious, and Jaskier knew him too well.

The bard eyed him suspiciously, but there was a note of concern in the way his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, this time a bit softer. “I thought we were having a lovely time.”

“We… It was. It was nice. I just think it’s time to go.” Jaskier gave him a shrewd look. Not buying it then. Geralt sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s not you.”

“I certainly hope not,” Jaskier chuckled. The sound was thin, like that was exactly what he had been worried about. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I wondered if-- Well. But if it’s not about me, it’s something else? Are you trying to butter me up for something? Is there a big scary adventure you’re about to tell me I’m not allowed to come on?” His gaze turned sharp again, but this time there was something like fear underneath it. “Are you leaving me behind?”

“No,” Geralt said quickly, his hands rising in a placating manner. “I’m not leaving you, Jaskier, I swear it. It’s just…” He petered off, unsure how to continue. How to explain.

“It’s just what?” Jaskier demanded. “Why have you been so damnably nice to me lately? Are you dying?” His eyes widened. “Am I dying?”

“No, Jaskier, of course not, just--”

“Then why the gifts?” Jaskier spread his hands around their little picnic, an easy example of exactly what he was talking about.

Geralt’s resistance shattered. “I was trying to figure you out,” he snapped. “I don’t know you, not like you know me. You know everything about me. You pay attention, even when I don’t say anything. You knew I liked dates because I bought jam months ago. You know me better than anyone, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite food is, or your favorite color, or what you like to wear, or what your favorite kinds of songs are, or your favorite season. I’ve been looking. I tried to figure it out, I tried to bring things I thought you would like and see what you liked best, but it seems like you like everything. You don’t always… say what you mean. I can’t tell when you’re faking and when you’re not.” Geralt was tense, fists clenched at his sides, jaw hard. He knew he looked angry. Jaskier probably thought he was mad at him, for some reason, but all Geralt felt was fear. He wasn’t good enough. Jaskier had to see that now. Geralt had known him for years, and he couldn’t even say whether Jaskier preferred blueberry jam to strawberry. What kind of friend was he?

A hand took his, gently pulling his fingers apart. He jerked his head over to stare as Jaskier stepped forward to slip their fingers together, squeezing softly. When he looked up, Jaskier was regarding him fondly.

“My favorite color is yellow,” he said. “I wear the silk doublets a lot, because they’re in fashion, but I prefer a linen shirt because it’s not as sweaty. I like songs about adventure, but books about romance.” His other hand lifted to brush a bit of hair away from where it was stuck to Geralt’s warm cheek. His expression was difficult to look at, earnest and painfully affectionate. Geralt was trapped by those blue eyes, like falling into a clear sky. “And my favorite season is spring. You could have just asked.”

Geralt swallowed. “You never had to. I just didn’t want you to… I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay attention.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, laughing a little, “I know you’re not always paying attention. I’m talking constantly. There’s a lot to keep up with. I know you tune me out most of the time, it’s fine.”

“I’m still paying attention to you,” Geralt insisted, because it was important, critical that Jaskier know that even when he wasn’t listening, he was still attuned to Jaskier. His presence, his voice, the sound of his heartbeat always in the back of Geralt’s mind. Whenever the bard was around he could scarcely focus on anything else.

“Knowing my favorite color or food or what have you isn’t what proves that you’re my friend,” Jaskier said, still smiling. “You know me. It’s alright.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me if you didn’t like the things I brought you?” Geralt asked, feeling unmoored. “You acted like you loved everything.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his chuckle was nervous. The hand he held in Geralt’s was sweaty, and his heartbeat, always in Geralt’s ears, was a bit fast. “Well, they were from you,” he said with a half shrug. “Of course I loved them.”

“But they weren’t--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier interrupted, soft but firm. There was a slight, bitter twist in his lips that Geralt wanted to wipe away. “I just… like to know that you’re thinking of me.”

They were standing so close together. Jaskier’s hand was in his, palm to sweaty palm. They were nearly of a height, but Jaskier was just the tiniest bit shorter, so he had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly to meet Geralt’s eyes. Now it was Jaskier who was tense, his shoulders squared as if to absorb a blow. He nervously dragged his teeth over his lower lip, leaving the hint of an impression in the soft flesh. Geralt watched raptly, swallowing against the urge to soothe the spot with his tongue. “I’m always thinking of you,” he finally said.

Jaskier took a shuddering breath, and Geralt watched as his eyes dropped down to flicker over Geralt’s mouth before they dragged back up to meet his gaze again. “When I saw all of it spread out like that, I thought maybe it meant something,” he said, nearly a whisper.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, helplessly. He lifted the hand not clutched in Jaskier’s toward his neck, tracing his fingers along the delicate line of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier’s other hand came up to fist in Geralt’s shirt, inhaling sharply at his touch. It was an intoxicating sound, making his head spin more than the bottle of wine they’d consumed between them.

“Did it mean something more?” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes bright. His hand clutched at the fabric over Geralt’s heart, the fingers between his own tightening in a deathgrip. “Did it?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Jaskier gasped at the first press of their lips, opening for Geralt easily and without hesitation. He tasted like sweet white wine and meat pie and marzipan, and Geralt greedily mined the flavors from Jaskier’s tongue. He tried to pour all of the things he found himself unable to say into the press of his teeth against Jaskier’s lip, into the flick of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the way his fingers tangled delicately in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier gave as good as he got, humming encouragingly into Geralt’s mouth and hauling him closer by the hand in his shirt. He didn’t release Geralt’s hand from where he held it in his own, and Geralt made no move to extract himself.

Finally, Jaskier pulled back, panting against Geralt’s lips as he set their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and Geralt watched them flicker open, savoring the dazed expression on his face. “I think I’m going to be late to play that show,” Jaskier rasped, and a thrill went through Geralt at the sound. And indeed, the sun had begun to set, dipping over the edge of the mountains in the far, far distance, coloring the air around them in rich purples and reds. Jaskier’s face was soft and ethereal in the glow, and Geralt never wanted to let him go, never wanted to leave this moment.

“Why spring?” Geralt found himself asking.

Jaskier smiled, and his face softened even further. “Because it’s when I get to see you again, of course. You should have known all along; you’re my favorite.”

It was a corny sentiment, and by Jaskier’s grin he knew it, but Geralt couldn’t help the way it warmed him up from the inside out, radiating out from within him and making his lips pull into an answering grin. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier again, and again, and a third time, in quick succession, each more soft and lingering than the last. When he was finished Jaskier had that dazed looking expression back on his face, and Geralt decided it was a good look on him. “Want to know something?” he asked, teasing. Jaskier nodded, the hand on Geralt’s chest snaking up to wrap around his neck, holding the both of them close. Geralt leaned in to press his lips just behind Jaskier’s ear, to press his secret against the soft skin there.

“You’re my favorite too,” he rumbled, and Jaskier laughed, bright and joyful, and both of them knew that it was true.

~

This is my last s&s fic!! So excited to be done with the challenge, and happy that I was able to finish! Thank you to all those who encouraged me over the last two months, your kind words and support mean more than I could say <3

tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bao | myg | 1

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is always late to start work. He’s late in starting a lot of things. Like telling you he loves you.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of parental injury/surgery; it’s actually SO MUCH fluff; non-idol!AU; (slightly) jealous deliveryboy!Yoongi x hardworking chef!reader ft. bao fiend, next-door neighbor, model!Taehyung; Yoongi gets injured T_T

it’s Weverse magazine Yoongi; can’t be helped he looked too good and yes it’s another fic revolving around food like mango | jjk (less dark this time lmao), guess that’s my schtick now

-

Men in leather jackets?

Yes.

Men who liked to wear silver rings?

Double yes.

Men whose name was Min Yoongi?

Fuck, no.

But, unfortunately, Min Yoongi was both of the first two things, when annoyed you to no end. You could hate Min Yoongi, easy, if he wasn’t attractive, but the truth was that he was very attractive, with his dark hair, cat-like eyes that were the color of black coffee, large pale hands, silver earrings, silver bracelets, and raspy deep voice.

The infuriating thing was, he was always late.

“Sorry,” he apologized for the billionth time. “I had to do something.”

You always have to do something, you thought, pursing your lips as you pushed the paper bags towards him. Each one was stapled with a small piece of paper, indicating the address and complete order of the patron.

“I’m going to fire you if you’re late again,” you warned.

Yoongi grinned as he gathered the bags. He had pretty white teeth too. Fuck. You even liked seeing his stupid teeth. The fuck was wrong with you?

“Nah, you won’t fire me. I’m your favorite delivery boy.”

“You’re my only delivery boy,” you shot back as he retreated.

“Thus, being your favorite,” he chuckled, out the back door once again.

You sighed deeply as you watched the black leather depart. He was wearing black jeans today that showed off his long legs, with a tear in the right knee. Why did he have to look so good? And why was he always late? It was very annoying. You checked your phone, texting your father, asking how he was today.

-

You spent all day taking orders and prepping them for Yoongi to deliver. In between, you continued making buns of all kinds, from savory pork buns to sweet red bean buns. You father owned a small Chinese-style bao shop, but since his back surgery, he hadn’t been able to work for a while. Your mother was taking care of him and complaining quite a bit about having another baby, except this one was bigger and more demanding and sounded way too much like your father.

You just laughed through the phone as your dad asked for more water and a foot massage.

Being their only daughter, you naturally had some experience making bao, but actually running the business was much harder. You weren’t sure how your dad did it all these years to be honest. There used to be a counter where people could drop by and pick up a bun for their lunch break, but the person who worked at that counter used to be your mother or you, and that wasn’t happening if you were making them all day. You weren’t as fast making them as your father either.

Therefore, the small shop ended up being converted to delivery only, and your only delivery boy was late to arrive all the damn time.

Okay, he wasn’t a delivery boy per se, because he was definitely an adult man, but he might as well have been a boy with how often you scolded him about being late. At least he was good at delivering the actual orders on time.

You heard a knock at the back door and scooped up two steaming roast pork buns, brushing the excess flour off your hands before opening the door.

A bright, jovial, boxy smile greeted you.

“Hey!”

Your only exception to delivery only. Kim Taehyung, your next-door neighbor.

You handed him the pork buns and he handed you some bills.

“Keep the change,” he grinned, biting into the bun and gasping a little at the heat. “Mmm, delicious as always.”

You chuckled. “You need to learn how to cook for yourself.”

He pouted, chewing noisily. “Ugh, it’s so hard. Teach me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I tried. You burned it somehow. I don’t even know how that’s possible.”

He shrugged. “I’m better at watching anyway.”

You looked over his attire. A brown suit with a cream t-shirt, green silk scarf around his neck. His hair was dark brown again. “What are you advertising today?” Taehyung was a model. Sometimes you saw him on billboards or ads in the supermarket.

Taehyung shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m going to the agency right now.” He held up the buns. “But I gotta eat first because it’s gonna be long day.”

You chuckled. “Better go before your manager calls.”

As if on cue, a colorful tune erupted from Taehyung’s pants, chirping loudly. Taehyung shoved one of the buns entirely into his mouth and spoke around it, words muffled.

“Ugh, thanks again. Let’s hang out when I can!” he called as he ran off, snatching his phone from his pocket, mumbling into it as he chewed.

You smiled ruefully, watching him hurry away. “Yeah, like that will ever happen.”

Taehyung was far too busy to hang out with you. You were surprised he still lived in the same apartment complex you did, because he made decent money now, but he said it was because his dog Yeontan didn’t like change and his parents lived nearby so he could drop him off there when he was working.

“Your boyfriend or something?”

You suddenly noticed Yoongi standing next to the door. You jumped back, staring at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“How long have you been there?”

Yoongi shrugged. “As long as you’ve been making googly eyes at him.”

You frowned. “I’m not making googly eyes at Taehyung.”

Yoongi smirked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Ah, he has a name. And no honorifics. Very suspicious, if you ask me.”

Nobody asked you! You wondered if he needed both arms to deliver food, because you were pretty close to breaking at least one of them. Surely, he could drive one-handed? You were a bit disturbed on how imagining that seemed somewhat attractive to you.

“He’s my next-door neighbor,” you huffed, turning on your heel and going back into the shop to pack more orders for Yoongi.

“Next door to you puss–”

You spun around and shoved a pork bun into Yoongi’s mouth. He nearly choked, grabbing it as you let go, his fingertips brushing against yours for a moment. A strange tingle travelled through your palm, going up your arm. You ignored it, purposefully slipping buns into paper packages for an order for a local office nearby.

“It’s your lunchtime anyway,” you said impassively, not looking at him.

If you did, you would have noticed the pink tinge on Yoongi’s cheeks, the furrow in his brows as he chewed on the bun, watching you. You would have noticed the way his jaw seemed to be tense, thinking about what he just saw, holding tightly to the pork bun.

-

Yoongi knew you were the one who made it. It tasted great, almost as good as your father’s. He knew your father well, having been the on-and-off delivery boy through the years, from high school to university to now. Being an underground music producer didn’t make him a ton of money, but he didn’t care too much. If he was more popular, he would have to quit.

And he really didn’t want to quit, because he was staring at your back, hoping one day you’d notice he was watching you.

He knew who Kim Taehyung was. Taehyung came every day. Maybe even for the same reason as him. He never interrupted your interactions with Taehyung before, because it seemed rude. They were always short anyway. But, of course, Taehyung noticed you were alone now, and Taehyung had been dressing nicer, looking cuter, flirting more and more. Yoongi doubted you noticed, but it still bothered him all the same.

Yoongi sighed inwardly as he picked up another bun. You shot him a glare but he shrugged.

“Might make me taller,” was his response.

You raised your eyebrows. “You want to be a fucking skyscraper or something?”

He bit into it. Fucking delicious. “Maybe.”

Truth was, he just didn’t want to stop eating them because you made them.

Yoongi wanted to pretend you made them just for him.

-

"What's this?"

"Pork and leek bao. Tell me what you think."

Yoongi took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Light flavor, but nice."

"Too greasy?" you pried.

"Mm, little bit."

You sighed. "Hm, okay, won't sell them then. I'll have to eat them myself."

Yoongi looked at the huge tray of freshly streamed buns.

"I can help."

"Wait for them to cool and then you can pack however much you want," you said absentmindedly, off to wash the pots. "You have a steamer at home?"

"Mhm."

He looked good today too, still in his black leather jacket and black jeans, different loose gray shirt. Almost cute with the way he was chomping on the steamed bun, his cheeks filling and becoming round. 

Too bad he couldn't be punctual to save his life, you thought, violently scrubbing the metal clean. 

-

Yoongi sat in his studio, holding one of the pork and leek bao you had given him. He stored them in his freezer and streamed them periodically when he was at his desk. Easy, quick meal that had very little mess. 

He chewed on it. 

He should have told you to sell them. 

But he also liked having his freezer full of bao that you had made. You probably would have given him some of he asked, but Yoongi felt bad asking because he knew how hard you worked. They should be for customers, not him. 

He sat back in his chair, taking bites slowly, savoring them. Salty pork with the mild flavor of fresh leek, a little black bean to add a hint of nuttiness, grounding the greasy nature of the meat. Made by your own two hands, your hard work, day in and day out, trying to make up for the absence of your father.

He really should stop being late.

Then again.

Yoongi was always late because he was always working on music and when he wasn't working on music, he was oversleeping his work alarms.

It wasn't until you had gone to university that he realized how much he missed you and your presence at the bao shop. You were smart. Had a Biochemistry degree and everything. Yoongi couldn't make heads or tails of science, so that alone was impressive to him. But you hadn't been able to get a job in your field because your father’s back pain got worse and worse, until he had to get surgery. Now it meant you did everything and, while it pained him to watch you working so hard, secretly he was a little glad that he could see you every day. 

He felt ashamed for thinking that way, because your father had surgery for a misaligned disc and Yoongi didn't wish that on anyone.

His eyes shifted to his computer. 

He hasn't dropped his mixtape for a lot of reasons. One, what if no one liked it? All of his hard work, ignored? Or, what if everyone liked it? What if he made it big? 

Could he handle that?

He didn't know. He wasn't very good with people.

Who was he? A nobody. Yoongi doubted your parents would be happy if the fucking delivery boy wanted to marry you. They were nice people, but of course they wanted better for you. That's why they worked so hard to put you through school to the point of your father's back literally breaking. 

Maybe it would be better if you dated Taehyung. It seemed like he made a reasonable amount of money considering his clothes. He was handsome too. Yoongi saw Taehyung's face at the local supermarket sometimes. His own face would never be in supermarkets. No one would pick up a coffee with his face on it over Taehyung's. 

Yoongi ate the last bite of bao bitterly and returned to his music. 

-

"You're even later than usual today!"

"I'm sorry. I'll grab the orders right away."

"And why are you wearing this stupid hat? It's unprofessional–"

You attempted to grab the black baseball cap off of Yoongi's head, but he dodged you. He seemed more aloof than usual today, but you barely noticed in your irritation as you clicked your tongue and grabbed his leather jacket, yanking him towards you and pulling the cap off.

Three things happened at once. 

Yoongi's body collided into yours. 

He painfully gasped into your neck, turning your skin burning hot with his breath. 

And third, your eyes widened as you realized Yoongi had a black eye.

You barely even noticed the first two things because you were staring at the fair skin around his right eye tinged with rings of purple-red. You released him and he backed up away from you, wincing. 

"What happened?" you asked in a stunned voice. 

Yoongi narrowed his eyes and tried to grab his hat, but you moved it behind your back, eyes glued to his bruise.

"Yoongi, tell me what happened."

You saw him pause. If you weren't so fixated on the actual black eye, you would have noticed his expression change from annoyance, to bitterness, to realization. Your tone was not angry. You were genuinely worried, to the point you felt strangely emotional, like you were going to cry. 

"It's nothing," Yoongi mumbled. "I'm fine. It only looks bad."

Your eyes locked with his. Those dark orbs did not want to say anything. They wanted you to treat it like no big deal, or yell at him some more for being late, anything but address his black eye. 

"Please tell me what happened," you said quietly. 

Yoongi sighed, rubbing the back of his head. Usually his black hair was styled, but it was messy and flat from being under the cap. 

"I did something stupid," he finally replied. "I trusted people. And I got scammed."

You waited. Yoongi shuffled his feet and continued. 

"I produce and make music. I mixed a guy's entire album and when I asked for payment, they told me I was getting paid with exposure," he spat, as if the word itself was disgusting. "I was already in a shitty mood. So I punched him."

"You did what?" 

"I punched him," Yoongi repeated coolly. He shrugged. "There were three other guys so I punched them too."

"Y... Yoongi!"

"What?" he snapped. "They fucking deserved it."

"You can't go around punching people!"

"Yeah." He pointed to his black eye. "Sometimes they punch back."

You stared at him before you held out his cap. He took it from you and crammed it back on his head. 

"Yoongi, go home."

He paused. Then he chuckled, straightening. "What are you taking about?" He changed his tone, making to more lighthearted and teasing. He gestured behind you, to the brown paper bags waiting. "I have deliveries to make."

"I'll do them."

You stood in front of the bags, blocking him. Yoongi frowned. 

"You have food to make."

"Yoongi," you said softly. "Go home and recover. You probably didn't get much sleep last night. I can see your dark circles."

He chuckled, the noise dying in his throat as he looked at your serious expression. 

"I always have dark circles."

"I don't want you to get in an accident because of sleep deprivation."

"I won't get into an accident," Yoongi said impatiently. He tried to move around you, but you and your flour-covered apron blocked him. 

"I don't want you to get hurt."

The way you said it stopped him. You thought of your father, laying in the hospital, doctors and nurses trying to make sure he was okay after the surgery. Yoongi could see it in your eyes. He sighed. 

"Look, it's just a couple bruises. I did this to myself," he mumbled. His eyes shifted from side to side before they came back to you. "I need to make money. I'm short on rent because of this."

"Then I'll pay you," you insisted. "You need to rest."

You suddenly realized Yoongi was very close to you now, looking down at you from under his black baseball cap. His chest was almost touching your chest. The scent of leather and pine cologne filled your nose, vastly different from your dusty flour-covered self. His cat-like eyes were on you, expression unreadable.

"This is my rest," Yoongi said quietly. "Helping you deliver orders is the least stressful part of my day."

For a long moment, you didn't move. You weren't sure if it was because you were still worried or because Yoongi was so close and it felt weird all of a sudden, as if you recalled the way his body hit yours earlier and the way his breath tickled your skin. 

You moved away and Yoongi collected the bags, careful not to drop them. You always ordered them so they were from first to last delivery, maximizing efficiency and order number. He made his way to the back door, using his back to open it. 

You spoke again, voice nearly cracking.

"Please don't get hurt."

Yoongi looked up from under his black cap, expressionless. You expected him to give you a snarky remark as usual. 

"I won't."

He headed out. 

-

2.

--

masterpost

[hiimsociallyawkward]

Dear Lara Jean,

HI. so i watched TATBILB: A&F a few weeks ago, and I have some words. Before I begin, i'd like to preface that i'm literally 17 and have no film experience, and that I've read this book once maybe 4 years ago but here it is.

ps. if you haven't gotten it already: there will be spoilers. Heavy spoilers.

first of all, i'm sorry but i really didn't like the little edit things. Maybe I've reached that point in my life where I don't f with that anymore. Like when theres a drawn house and it slowly fades so it's real life?? no thanks

the music choice... I honestly didn't have that big of a problem with it, but my korean friend kept going "wtf is this music choice" so i'm quoting her on that.

the filming and editing. well maybe it's just me but I didn't really like it. yk when you're watching a youtuber and they do those zoom in things and it's sort of fast and funny? I think there were a few times the movie did that and i didn't like it.

literally, lara jean looking directly into the camera?? it feels like it's breaking the 4th wall and maybe they're doing it to be edgy but no thanks i didn't like that either.

WHY???? Her breaking the 4th wall added NOTHING to the movie. It just took me out of the experience. I especially didn’t like it when they did it in PS I still love you when they temporarily broke up.

THEY SET THE MOVIE IN OREGON. WHAT WAS THE REASON. THE BOOK WAS SET IN VA, AND I LIVE IN VA SO I FELT A CONNECTION TO THE BOOK. AND THEN THEY GO AND SET IT IN OREGON. WHAT. WAS. THE. REASON

OREGON DIDN’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING WITH THE COLLEGES. THEY’RE STILL PRETTY FAR AWAY FROM STANFORD. IN THE BOOK, UVA WAS CLOSE BY SO LJ WOULDN’T HAVE TO BE TOO FAR AWAY FROM HOME. NO OFFENSE TO THE STATE BUT WHY OREGON. THEY COULD OF PUT THEM IN CALI AT LEAST

ONE OF THE REASONS WHY LJ WANTED TO GO TO UVA IS BECAUSE HER FAMILY WOULD BE CLOSE BY. BY PUTTING THEM IN OREGON, YOU TAKE AWAY THAT REASON. i just want to 👊 whoever’s idea this was

FURTHERMORE: THEY CHANGED UVA AND UNC TO STANFORD AND NYU. I AM INFURIATED. THE WHOLE POINT WAS THAT THEY WANTED TO GO TO UVA BECAUSE IT WAS LIKE 10 MINS FROM WHERE THEY LIVED AND IT'S A STATE SCHOOL. LARA JEAN FELT LIKE THE WAS GAURANTEED TO GO TO UVA AND WHEN SHE DOESNT, IT ACTUALLY HURTS THE READERS.

in the book, LJ was waitlisted from UNC, rejected from UVA, and accepted to W&M. I’m sure you can find like 40 people at our school who can relate to this situation. I doubt 40 people in our school can relate to being rejected from Stanford BUT accepted to NYU. dear writers, please give teens across the nation (your target audience) realistic expectations for college admissions.

YOU'RE GONNA TELL ME THAT PETER AND LARA JEAN WERE ACTUALLY QUALFIED ENOUGH FOR STANFORD. LEMME JUST SAY, I'VE APPLIED FOR COLLEGES THIS YEAR AND I FEEL LIKE I HAVE A PRETTY GOOD GRASP ON WHAT IT TAKES TO GET INTO CERTAIN COLLEGES. YOU'RE TELLING ME THE TWO OF THEM. REALLY. GOT. INTO. THOSE. SCHOOLS. pls.

DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THE KISSING BOOTH. ELLE AND NOAH ARE POSSIBLY THE DUMBEST CHARACTERS I HAVE EVER WATCHED. I DON’T SEE THEM DO A PAGE OF HOMEWORK AND I DON’T EVEN THINK THEY ATTEND CLASS. LIKE MAKING A KISSING BOOTH FOR ONE FUNDRAISER FOR A CLUB THAT CONSISTS OF 2 PEOPLE DOES NOT COUNT AS ENOUGH TO GET INTO HARVARD. but that’s a different movie...

this is literally the idea that television and movies have in making it super easy to get into ivy leauges. as if some in state college isn't up to society's standards of where or where not it's ok to go to college. it's when gabriella montez goes to stanford, troy goes to berkely, ryan evan goes to julliard, teddy duncan goes to yale, cody martin is accepted to princeton, HANNAH MONTANA does to stanford.

and lara jean wants to study english lit. she never says “i want to go to stanford because of their great english lit program”. it’s only “i want to go to stanford because my boyfriend is going and i have no other life outside of him

fine. make your characters seem awesome by making them go to awesome colleges. but still. this is upseting.

you know how awesome it is to hear UVA, the college I've always wanted to go to, in a published book? and for them to just rip it away- espeically when UVA is so attainable?? Yea yea movie directors, i get it, UVA isn't good enough for you. whatever.

They had AT LEAST 5 MONTAGES. 5. FIVE. WHO NEEDS THAT MANY MONTAGES. To quote my friend "the movie is all montage and 30 mins of plot" AND I CAN'T FIND IT IN MYSELF TO DISAGREE WITH HER.

AND THE DANCES. I REALLY DIDN’T NEED TO SEE NOAH CENTINEO DO WHATEVER HE CALLS “DANCING” IN 2 MONTAGES. I know everyone fell in love with noah in the first movie, but i’m pretty sure everyone fell out of love with him in this one.

again, i know nothing about movies, but 5 montages?? it seems like you're just filling space and trying to make everything seem ✨awesome✨ and ✨amazing✨. SURE. everything might be awesome and amazing, but this movie was 1 HR AND 55 MINS. and you decided to add 1 HR of montages? WHy. AND. one of them was in slowmo. i can't

THEY HAD VOICE OVERS THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE MOVIE. sure. 1 at the begin and 1 at the end, I think that's cute. BUT THE WHOLE MOVIE?? WHY. like bruh- have a focus.

literally did anyone read the freaking book? Remember how- in the book right? Margot was actually really not ok with Trina bc she's sort of replacing their mom? and Margot is rlly not ok with it but gets over it?? see how that was summarized in like 5 seconds in the movie? Oh i'm sorry you used all your time for the movie making STUPID MONTAGES but can we get some actually emotionally beats next time?? thanks.

ok this is a big problem i have with the movie. in the 3rd book, peter tries to have a relationship with his dad who ran away from him years ago. He struggles with that relationship the whole book. This is good stuff. people can relate to this. the scene in the diner where peter “confronts” his dad was CRINGEY. It could be noah’s acting but i couldn’t take him seriously. AND HE FORGIVES HIS DAD AFTER 30 SECONDS. the movie tries to include these smaller storylines but can’t because of the time limit. i’m no screenwriter, but i’m sure there could have been a way to subtly move that plot line during the entire movie rather than that one conversation in the diner

and in the book, peter has to train for lacrosse so he has to eat healthy which stresses him out. i specifically remember him getting mad at someone (maybe it was john ambrose, i don’t remember fully) for EATING HIS CARROTS. this just shows that peter has a life too. he has to worry about lacrosse along with losing lj. but no, the movie makes him look like the perfect boyfriend who has no other worries in life except for the girl in front of him

remember how- in the book (right?? bc they had a book to go off of???) Stormy was a part of the 3rd book? like a BIG part?? They LITEALLY just used her as John Ambrose's grandmother (WHICH IM PRETTY SURE THEY DIDN'T EVEN DO IN THE MOVIES). literally, stormy and john ambrose were throw away characters in the second movie and i am infurriated. BUT ALSO I LOVE JOHN AMBROSE HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO HIM??

and remember, how in the book, how the dog's name is "Jamie Fox-Pickle" and they changed it to HENRY??? where is the flavor. what was the reason. SERIOUSLY.

BUT ALSO. CORRECT ME IF I'M WRONG BUT THERE WAS A POINT IN THE PLOT WHERE PETER'S MOM TOLD LARA JEAN TO BREAK UP WITH PETER. DOES NO ONE ELSE REMEBER THAT?? AND THEY CUT IT ALL OUT OF THE SCRIPT?? LIKE WHY. WHAT WAS THE REASON.

ok those are my biggest book grievances I think. but lemme just say, they NEVER went to NEW YORK. They literally wrote that in for the purposes of NYU. in the book, Chris and Lara Jean DRIVE to UNC because that's ATTAINABLE. BC THEY'RE STATE UNIVERSITIES. ANYWAYS

LJ’s and Chris’s spontaneous trip to unc showed their friendship in a good way. I never really liked chris as a friend to lj but during the trip, they are besties and it shows. the movie tries to do that in ny but peter is also in ny for some reason. she should have fell in love with ny WITHOUT peter at her side nagging her to sneak out and go on a date. she should have spent more time with chris rather than thinking about peter while she was watching the band.

the scene where Lara Jean is in New York and at the party and she sees the band? To all the boys I've loved before: Always and forever?? more like To all the boys I've loved before: gay awakening time.

when they moved the pink couch to the subway? WHy? They wanted snazzy pics.

when Lara Jean and Peter were making up and it was a really cute sequence AND THEN THEY MADE HER LOSE HER V CARD. FINE. I GET HOW THAT'S REALISTIC BUT IT WAS A CUTE SCENE. MY FRIEND ALMOST STARTED CRYING AND THEN LJ LOST HER V CARD AND WE COULDN'T STOP SCREAMING.

this is different from what was in the book (for the 100th time). In the book, they don’t do it and it shows that you can be in a high school relationship without being physical. I strongly appreciate that message. This darn movie had to have her lose her v card. WHY. IT ADDED NOTHING TO THEIR RELATIONSHIP. THE YEARBOOK SIGNING WAS SYMBOLIC ENOUGH

the montage where it's a montage of all of lara jean's and peter's cute moments?? ok fine. that was cute. but they literally just took scenes from past movies. imagine the impact if we like hidden moments from their relationships. maybe they're laughing in the car together. maybe they're watching they sunset. maybe peter is looking at her lovingly while she sleeps. WHAT IF. it WASN'T a montage of all the "bigger" moments of their relationship, and we got to see them just exist.

UGH. THE VOICE OVER AT THE END OF THE MOVIE IS SO CRINGEY I CAN'T

"WE AREN'T LIKE OTHER COUPLES. NOT US, LARA JEAN AND PETER KAVINSKY. BECAUSE WE HAVE SOMETHING BETWEEN US. WRITING LOVE LETTERS" please. b freaking s

Some redeemable qualities

while i didn't like most of the songs, "like me better" by lauv will always be loved. especially since it's a call back from the first movie?? I can ftw

WHY WASN’T “LIKE ME BETTER” THEIR SONG???? I really thought it was a good song to be their song and they referenced it in the beginning. No offense to the “beginning middle and end” people, but i felt no attachment to that song.

they customized her phone. it looked like it was a 7 (idk rlly, i don't know crap abt iphones) but they customized it. Granted, I KNOW lara jean would be the one with the aesthetic background with color coded folder, but still- they did give her relevant apps. some to note include; tiktok, spotify, instagram, netflix, notes, messages, facetime, maps, whatsapp and the STANFORD APP?? whatever- i'm chill.

they did make lara jean make choices so that was good.

the prom ask?? That was cute. with the pancakes??

at the end when Peter played the song even though earlier he didn't like it?? I liked that. i liked that a lot. ok fine i more than liked that a lot. There are multiple texts where my friends are screaming at each other. In fact, 26 separate messages.

chris in general. granted, she was more present in the books, but i'll take what i can get.

some notable quotes by her, the queen

"I'm dead inside"

not wanting to do a gigantic walk down from the stairs and asking the boys not to turn around

peter said he liked lara jean's forehead kisses and that reminded me of emma chamberlain so that's a positive only bc of emma

I remembered that they were the class of 2021, and I'M class of 2021 and it just hit for a second.

my friend cried over their graduation but i felt nothing bc we're literally living in a pandemic and chances of me getting a real graduation?? we'll see

again, these are all just my opinion. my friend doesn't like the movie bc she says she's sad and bitter and seeing these cute couples makes her feel lonely but i'm just diappointed. the books were GOOD. they were gold.

there was so much they could’ve done with the movies, and i just feel like they didn’t deliver on anything. Jenny Han, i’m sorry. The movie overall, ik someone who cried about it and someone else who gave it 7/10. props for them but jeez i just wish for more.

ok but that’s the show folk. i mean, obviously everything i said was opinion and literally don’t listen to anything i’ve said. BUT. feel free to add what you hated or loved abt the movie too. thanks. i love you guys. “always and forever” :,)

p.s- omg not them ripping off taylor swift. jk jk. ok bye

[legoshi-plz]

Cynic (Legoshi x Reader)

Legoshi x Canine! Reader

Warning: NSFW (+18), minor mention of Rape/ Sexual Assault

Summary: Maybe you and a certain Grey Wolf are more alike than you thought.

A/N: So I decided to change up these requests just a little so that I could combine them ! I hope you guys like it! These started off as Headcanons but i got a little carried away lol also Characters are all over 18 in this fic

/////////////

You weren’t exactly what people would call a ‘happy’ animal.

Okay that was an understatement, you could be downright depressing at times. It’s not like you actually meant to be such a downer, you just considered yourself a realist and being a Carnivore in today’s society was the farthest thing from a ‘happy’ existence.

People profiled Carnivores wherever they went, always quick to see your kind as natural aggressors and when they weren’t clutching their purses ready to call animal control on you all for just being alive, they were quick to go over the top to prove they saw “all animals equally”, which usually was just a ploy for ‘progressive points’.

Being a Domesticated Dog, you recognized your privilege was a double edged sword in one of the worst ways possible. You had Herbivores constantly in your face telling you “You’re one of the good ones” while other Carnivores mostly saw dogs as ‘sellouts’ who were willing to whore themselves out (socially and in... other ways) for even the slightest scrap of attention. It was infuriating just living in such a society and you constantly felt on the verge of snapping but if you did, you’d just prove to be everything they already thought you were.

So needless to say, you kept to yourself. You just couldn’t bring yourself to put on the false pretense of cheerfulness that domesticated animals were expected to uphold so you tried to keep to yourself. No one understood you nor did they try. They were too caught up in their own charades and you were beyond the point of explaining how screwed up this world was. They knew, they didn’t care.

You were convinced you would spend your entire high school career in the shadows, not making an impression (good or bad) on anyone or anything and for a while it seemed that way. Until your final year.

For the most part, keeping to yourself gave you a lot of time to observe others, rarely were you the one technically being ‘observed’. Which is why you couldn’t understand why a certain Grey Wolf couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He was painfully obvious, his awkward attempts to hide his little obsession whenever his eyes met yours was almost comical.

You chalked it all up to him probably being another sick fuck with a fetish for submissive animals. It was more common than most people like to address and Domesticated female dogs were the leading demographic of rape/ sexual assault victims from wolves. It was mainly the close proximity of their biology that made it so hard for wolves to control themselves (if you could say they had any control to begin with.) They preyed on smaller dogs because in comparison to them it was the closest they could get to defiling a Herbivore without the internalized shame and disgust. Also female Carnivores were often not believed when it came to these crimes because they were perceived as stronger/ more aggressive and should have been able to defend themselves. Yet another flaw in this fucked up animal judicial system.

You decided to ignore the Wolf and hope he just moved on. There weren’t many dogs at Cherryton but there were a few others who would probably be more than happy to tame the beast that lie within him. Or between his legs.

But weeks turned into months and his interest in you failed to cease. You decided to confront him. You decided to do so after class once the rest of the class filed out. He usually drug his feet so it wouldn’t be hard to catch him. Best case scenario, he was embarrassed about getting caught and promised to stop. Worst case scenario, he can’t control himself and takes you right then and there. You were apathetic either way, there were worst things out there than fucking a Wolf right?

You approached his desk as he was scrambling to shove his things into his shoulder bag, the rest of the class had long filed out by now.

“H-Hi,” he said looking up at you, his ears tilted downwards.

“You got a problem with me or something?” You can tell by the way his ears tugged down even further that your voice came off a little harsh but that was just the way you were.

“W-Why would I have a problem with you, YLN-san?” He was avoiding your cold stare. He was a Grey Wolf for crying out loud, what was wrong with him? Wolves were a lot of things but skittish wasn’t one of them.

“Drop the formalities. You stare me down day in and day out but now you’re afraid to look me in the eye? What are you playing at?” Okay maybe you did sound a little harsh but you didn’t believe in skipping around the topic.

“I just... noticed we were kind of... the same, y’know....” he grimaced. You left out a dry laugh. He knew nothing about you but he thought the two of you were the same? This definitely had to be some sort of ploy. He wanted something from you and sooner or later you’d find out what that something was.

But that later never came. He began to explain himself, explain how he was pretty bleak too and that he couldn’t help but notice that someone else seemed just as paused in life as he was. At first you thought he was just churning out bullshit but the more you sat and listened to him, the more you hung around him, you began to see the undeniable similarities between you two.

He would express the struggles he faced with his own existence as a Wolf, how he felt like he could never truly be himself, or even know what being himself actually meant because he was so busy trying to make people unafraid of him. It was like you had met your other half. He understood what had been gnawing at you from inside for years now because he was going through the exact same thing. And so the two of you became fast friends, nearly inseparable from one another.

You tried to deny it but you were slowly becoming more and more infatuated with the Grey Wolf every day. Legoshi was so kind and reserved at times but you found those traits all the more endearing. He showed such vast wisdom and maturity despite his own social awkwardness and you found yourself overwhelmingly comfortable in his presence. Comfortable and safe, his naturally huge physique and protective instincts which should give you every right to fear him actually proving to do just the opposite.

Speaking of Physique, you had to admit that Legoshi was undeniably attractive. Tall, beautiful coat, all lean muscle, a thick healthy tail you had found yourself drooling over near-constantly. He was any Canine’s kryptonite and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before now. Maybe it was just because you were so enamoured by his mind that your attraction to him physically was inevitable. Either way, you found yourself daydreaming about mounting him more times than you’d like to admit.

You thought that perhaps what you felt for Legoshi might be mutual until you found out he used to date a tiny Herbivore . And not just any Herbivore, a rabbit. The daintiest of them all. So he was just another sick psychopath with a fixation on innocence. You were heartbroken to say the least. What probably hurt the most was that you were no where near his type if Rabbits were his thing. You never stood a chance. But then again that wasn’t a surprise. You were nothing special prior to meeting Legoshi so why would yo expect anything to be different now.

That being said, it didn’t make you want Legoshi any less physically. You might not be his ideal mate but you knew there was still a part of him in there that had a desire for sexual release, a desire that Canine felt especially compelled to with other Canine, and you were going to capitalize off of that.

You found him in his usual spot in the art department after dark. He was always the last to leave.

“Y/N! Where’ve you been? H-have you been avoiding me?” He asked his tail tucked between his legs. You hadn’t seen him in about four days and giving the nearly inseparable friendship the two of you had over the past few months, it was out of character.

“I was,” you said bluntly. His ears lowered immediately.

“O-oh... did I do something wrong?”

“Yes,”

“... what was-”

“You fuck rabbits, Legoshi.” You saw his fur visibly stand on end and his eyes turn wide as saucers.

“Y/N I-”

“Look I’m just gonna cut to the chase,” you deadpanned, stepping forward, “I wanna have sex with you.”

“You WHAT?!”

“I’m attracted to you Legoshi. I might not be your type but I am small and I can make you feel good.” You didn’t wait for his response as you dropped to you knees in front of him.

“Y/N wait please,” he was tense all over but you were already unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers. Surprisingly, he went commando.

You pulled him out of his pants to see his knot was already beginning to swell at your touch and he was painfully hard. You licked your hand and began to stroke his impressive length. Guess it was true what they say, the thicker the tail, the thicker the-

“Y/N please just give me a second!” Legoshi asked cupping your face between both his large hands. You craned your neck up to meet his gaze but continued to pump his aching cock.

“Just relax, Legoshi. It’s okay if you have to pretend I’m a rabbit, I don’t really care. I know I’m not much to look at anyway,” you said, wrapping your mouth around his angry tip that was currently streaming out pre-cum. You moaned at the flavor as Legoshi shuddered above you.

“Y/N please stop, this can’t happen like this, okay.” He said slightly more forcefully as he pulled you off of him and began to tuck himself into his pants, his cock straining against the fabric defiantly creating an enormous bulge.

“Really? That unattracted to me, huh? Well, I guess it is what it is,” you said in your usually monotone voice while standing up and brushing off your skirt. You turned, about to make your exit when Legoshi grabbed your arm.

“Wait, Y/N, look I didn’t- it’s not that- I just-” Legoshi was flustered and looked as if he was ready to pass out at any moment.

“Spit it out, Wolf boy,” you said , trying to hide the fact that your feelings were pretty hurt.

“I just- I like you Y/N, really I do but-”

“You just don’t like me in that way. I heard you loud any clear. It’s whatever, Legoshi. Don’t stress it,” you said attempting to shrug out of his grip.

“Hold on, can we talk about this?!”

“There’s nothing to talk about, I wanted to have sex and you don’t.”

“I- I do w- of course I want to have sex with you, Y/N. I like you, a lot. You’re actually all I’ve been able to think about for a long time. But you’re so.... so.... indifferent towards even the slightest romantic implications, I didn’t think I had a shot in Hell...” he sighed.

“If you like me then why’d you stop me?” You asked evenly. You weren’t about to get your hopes up, that just wasn’t your style.

“Because I like you. If there’s even a chance you feel how I do then I wanna do this right. Ask you out properly, ask you to be my girlfriend, ask if I can kiss you, y’know the right steps before...”

“I suck your dick?” You offered, a small smirk playing at your lips. His still very much present hard-on twitched visibly at its mention.

“God, Y/N,” Legoshi groaned attempting to cover himself. You fought back the urge to giggle at his shyness despite the fact he was in your mouth less than two minutes ago.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I want to do it. Don’t you want me to?” You bit your lip in what you hoped was a seductive way.

“So fucking bad,” Legoshi groaned again unable to avert his eyes. You took this as an opportunity to step forward once more.

“Then why don’t we let this one slide, huh? And then we can do things your way?” You whispered palming him through his pants. He unconsciously began to grind lightly against your hand.

“Y/N, I’m in.... Male mode.... if we start, I might not be able to stop,” Legoshi voice was straining from trying to keep his own pleasure at bay. You dropped back down to your knees, once again pulling him out.

“Then don’t. Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to ride you, Legoshi? Let’s allow this one free-pass then you can start all the courting processes you want,” you said before taking him into your mouth. Legoshi felt his eyes roll back into his head as he thrust softly into your warm, wet throat.

“W-Wait, one more thing” he moaned, once again taking away what was quickly becoming your new favorite treat.

You were about to protest when he kneeled down to your level, again cupping your face in both his hands in order to place the sweetest kiss imaginable on your lips. He rested his forehead against yours for a moment, before pulling away to see you with the dopiest grin on your face.

Yeah, you were definitely going to be the death of him.

[purplesurveys]

1124

survey by nadine07

Three Names You Are Called:

1. Robyn, by virtually everybody. 

2. Byn, by close family members.

3. For some reason I have some friends who call me Bynbyn? even though I never established it as a nickname?? but they use it as an affectionate nickname so ultimately I don’t mind it. It just takes me aback sometimes, lmao.

Three Colors You Are Wearing At the Moment:

1. Red

2. White

3. Pink. Or light purple, depending on how you see it.

The Last Three People To Call You:

1. My mom, though I missed the call because I was at work earlier.

2. I just saw that Ysa, my director, also tried to call me. This story is so fucking stupid...I physically went to the office last Wednesday to pack some groceries, and all day long I had been leaving the door slightly ajar every time I had to go out because I haven’t had my biometrics enrolled yet and I don’t hold the keys to the office (and I was the only one who requested to go there for that day).

Of course, knowing my luck, the door slipped while I was out (I had to very briefly hand a package to a courier), locking me out of the goddamn office with all my shit inside. Even worse, I had a meeting going on with a client – I had speaking parts assigned to me, and I got locked out like 30 seconds before my part would start. I’m guessing Ysa called me during the time I disappeared but I obviously couldn’t have answered the phone. It was infuriating, especially since my manager had to cover for my slides which she didn’t practice for.

I’ll no longer get into how I managed to get back inside since it’s another embarrassing and complicated story altogether, but suffice it to say I was really upset about the whole thing and I still feel uneasy imagining how that meeting could’ve gone down with my disappearance.

3. A courier. They usually call when they’re already arrived where you are, so that they know where exactly to meet up with you.

Three Days You Look Forward To Each Year:

1. My birthday, because it’s kinda cool turning into a different age.

2. Whenever Wrestlemania is scheduled, which is usually late March or early April.

3. ...I don’t have any either favorite days/dates.

Three Jobs You've Had:

1. PR associate.

2. That’s my first job. I’ve had two internships before that, and they were both at PR agencies.

3. -

Three Bands/Singers You Love:

1. Paramore

2. Beyoncé

3. The Japanese House

Three People You've Talked To Today:

1. It’s exactly 7 AM. I could’ve talked to my parents when they headed downstairs earlier but I pretended I was still asleep on the couch so that they couldn’t, hahaha. They’ve since gone out to jog. I don’t think I’ve said a word at all yet this morning, actually.

2. -

3. -

Three Things You Could Grab From Where You're Sitting:

1. My phone.

2. The other end of this table.

3. My vape pen.

The Last Three Things You've Had to Drink:

1. I most recently had a glass of water after I finished my bag of salted egg chips.

2. I finished off the last of my coffee.

3. I also drank soju last night as an impromptu thing because I saw that I still had a peach-flavored one (my favorite) in the fridge.

Three People You Can Always Count On:

1. Angela.

2. Andi.

3. I’m also gonna name Pia even though we aren’t the closest. Girl has been crazy supportive over the last few months.

Three Places You Want to Go:

1. That I haven’t been to yet? Seoul in South Korea.

2. Thailand.

3. Morocco.

The Last Three Places You've Gone:

1. Other than places in the house – the local coffee shop inside my village.

2. The office.

3. The Starbucks beside the office. I had arrived a bit early so I had some time to walk over there and order something.

The Last Three Non-Relatives You've Hung Out With:

1. Angela.

2. Hans.

3. We were 8 in the group the last time we went out lol. But aside from the above, Pia (a different one) was the one who made the most effort to talk to me as well.

Three People To Be Stranded On A Desert Island With:

1. Angela.

2. Kate.

3. Not sure. Maybe Al for some comic relief while we try to survive there?

Three Smells You Love:

1. Cookies being baked.

2. A hotel room.

3. Seafood.

Three People You Look Up To:

1. Angela’s mom.

2. Andi.

3. My manager, Bea. Well she just got promoted, so I guess I’ll call her my director now, hahaha.

Three Places You've Lived:

1. The duplex where I mostly grew up, just a village away from my current one. I got to experience living in either house, as well.

2. Tondo, Manila. With my dad’s family.

3. Sampaloc, Manila. My parents briefly had an apartment and I was there for like a few months as a newborn.

Three Good Teachers You've Had:

1. My music teacher for the entirety of high school.

2. My professor in international relations.

3. My professor in my social history and history of Filipino women electives.

Three Things You're Good At:

1. I gotta say I’m great at parking, hahaha. Backward parking, parallel parking, you name it.

2. Going through my to-do list and finishing off every task by the end of the day.

3. Reflexes, or reacting/responding immediately, especially in games.

The Last Three People You've Kissed:

1. Gabie.

2. -

3. -

The Last Three People You've Dated:

1. Gabie.

2. -

3. -

Three People With Whom You've Shared a Secret:

1. Andi.

2. JM.

3. Jo was the first person I informed about my breakup, and I didn’t even reveal it publicly until like three months after. I didn’t expect to confide in her especially since we aren’t the closest, but I think I was just desperate to tell someone then to finally acknowledge reality.

Three Irresponsible Things You've Done:

1. Vape.

2. Road rage.

3. Leave my laptop in a classroom as I left to go to another class, in another building.

Three Movies You Love:

1. Two for the Road.

2. Revolutionary Road.

3. Room.

The Last Three People You've Gone to the Movies With:

1. Angela.

2. Leigh.

3. Gabie.

The Last Three People You've Ridden in a Car With:

1. Laurice.

2. Kuya Toby.

3. Lui.

Three Facts About Your #1:

1. Can I name my best friends instead? Angela is in her final year of college taking up architecture.

2. She has two shih tzus, Hailey and Kennedy.

3. Her mom is a pediatrician and has her own clinic in their home.

Three Places You've Gone With Your #2:

1. I haven’t been too adventurous with Andi...most recently we’ve gone to a Korean barbecue joint for a one-on-one catch up date.

2. TK.

3. Rita’s house.

Three Things You've Done With Your #3:

1. Kate works for the government.

2. Last time I talked to her, she’s still set on retake a law school exam after not getting admitted to her campus of choice last year.

3. She had a bad habit of dating orgmates.

Three Things You Have in Common With Your #4:

1. Laurice is great at debate.

2. She lives in the south, so I don’t get to see her a lot.

3. She has a cute habit of calling many of our friends by their respective honorifics, even though they’re the same age or even when she’s literally older than some of them.

Three Things That Annoy You:

1. Making the effort to go to a store and seeing they’re closed for the day, even though they didn’t indicate it in their social media accounts.

2. Offices of government agencies and their ever-grumpy staff.

3. Filipinos’ tendency to turn 3 lanes into 6 during a traffic jam.

Three Things That Attract You To The Opposite Sex:

1. Asexual. Pass.

2. - 

3. - 

Three Material Items You'd Save If You're House Was On Fire:

1. My laptop, since all my work files and a whole ton of memories are in here.

2. My phone, so I can update family and friends.

3. My glasses. Realistically, I wouldn’t care about any of these and would jump up to grab my dogs instead.

Three Careers You've Considered:

1. Journalist.

2. Lawyer.

3. Historian.

Three Things You Wish You Knew About Your Future:

1. Whether marriage or kids will be part of mine.

2. When I’m dying, and what from.

3. Where I’ll end up living, and what kind of housing.

The Last Three Songs You Listened To:

1. Wait On - Hayley Williams

2. Good Grief - Hayley Williams

3. Over Those Hills - Hayley Williams. Stream Flowers for Vases, friends.

Three Things You Consider Lucky:

1. I don’t believe in lucky charms.

2. - 

3. - 

Three T.V. Show Characters You Wish Were Real:

1. Mr. Peanutbutter from BoJack Horseman.

2. Chandler Bing from Friends.

3. Glenn Rhee from The Walking Dead.

Three Issues You Have Strong Opinions On:

1. Racial equality. 

2. Gender equality.

3. Abortion rights.

Three Things You Wish You Could Change About Yourself:

1. That I wasn’t so clumsy at work.

2. That I wasn’t too selfless all the time to just about anyone.

3. That I had a better hold of my finances and keep spending just because I’m still within budget, heheh.

Three People From Your Past You Wish You Could Spend a Day With:

1. My grandpa, who passed away before I could properly grow up and shoot the shit with him over some beer.

2. Nacho.

3. Sofie, so we can properly catch up, just the two of us.

Three Famous People You'd Like to Meet:

1. Beyoncé.

2. Hayley Williams.

3. Leni Robredo.

Three Things You Are Wearing:

1. A t-shirt.

2. A pair of shorts.

3. Underwear.

The Last Three Places You Went That Were More Than 2 Hours Away:

1. Tagaytay.

2. My dad’s family’s home in Laguna.

3. Those are the only places we’ve been to where we had to travel for a while.

The Last Three Reasons You Went to the Hospital:

1. Blood and urine test for my ~mystery illness~ last year.

2. I had to be confined for a couple of days because of low platelet count.

3. ...I was born. I haven’t made many trips to the hospital. 

Three Things You Are Addicted To:

1. I’ve never felt comfortable using the term addicted because it’s an actual condition...but if you mean to ask for what I’m hooked to at the moment, I’d go with coffee.

2. And salted egg chips. I literally bought five bags of chips yesterday and I’m already finished with my third.

3. Anything Korean, tbh. Korean food, shows, music, etc...the Korean Wave is very strong over here and I’ve finally been reeled all the way in.

Three Favorite Colors:

1. Baby pink or pastel pink.

2. Mustard yellow.

3. Maroon.

Three Things You Will Do Now That This Is Over:

1. Find another one to take for later.

2. Finish my breakfast, and maybe heat up some leftover pasta because I’m still hungry.

3. Maybe get my embroidering template so I can make some progress today.

[queenlists]

trainwreck.

A/N: I couldn't find a gif that fit this story really, so I stuck you with shirtless gifs of the two. Don't act hurt! 🤣 WARNINGS though: Implied sex and alcohol. This involves a very very toxic relationship involving Dean, Sam, and the reader. No implied wincest, dirty dogs! I was going in a different direction with this story, but it just got away from me and I went this direction instead. (p/p) stands for preferred pronoun. I hope you all enjoy this story. Remember, requests and messages are always welcome! Thank you for the support! I appreciate it all.✌

Post date: 11/04/2019

BEEP BEEP BEEP

It's my cue. 4:30 AM. Every morning. Wake up at 4:30 to slip into my room before Sam gets up to start his day. Why he has to wake up and take a jog every morning is beyond me. I gently nudge Dean who responds by waving me off. Jerk. I scoff, standing up and throwing a pillow at him nailing him right in the face. He mutters something under his breath before flinging the pillow across his room, hitting the wall. I roll my eyes and try to use the flashlight from my phone to find my clothes from the previous night. Failing to do so, I turn the light on which seems to infuriate the sleeping dragon. Dean shoots up from the bed, kicking the covers on the floor in the process "What, (y/n)? What do you want? Attention? Didn't I give you enough last night?" I roll my eyes, flipping him off "Not everything's about you, Dean! I need to find my clothes, so I can go. The faster I find them, the faster I can leave." Dean walks over to a pile in the corner of the room and throws the clothes at me "Here. Goodnight." Dean turns his light off and flops back into bed "Close the door on the way out." Any normal (p/p) would be crying or shouting, but not me. That (p/p) isn't me anymore. Dean's broken me out of it because no matter what reaction I give him, he doesn't care. I'm just an easy thing for him. I can't cry for sympathy because I'm far from a saint.

I quickly throw on the clothes that feel a little too tight on me. I slowly creep out of his room, keeping look out for Sam. I check out the clothes as I walk down the hall. Yup, they definitely aren't mine. I want to turn around and yell at him for cheating on me, but we aren't dating. 'It's not technically cheating if we aren't technically dating, (y/n)'; That's what he always tells me. Sam comes out of nowhere as I turn the corner to my hall, I stumble back and let out a gasp before laugh "Sorry, Sam!" Sam smiles, looking at me weird. "What?" I watch his eyes trail down my body. Sam shrugs and shakes his head, looking at me "Nothing. I..just was getting to my jog." I nod and start walking past him before looking back at him again. He's still standing there, watching me. Creep.

I finally get to my room, closing my door and pressing my forehead against it. I take a big breath and lock my door before turning my back against it, sliding to the ground. I sit there staring at the space in front of me. My laptop screen is black on the floor in front of me, so I see myself. My pathetic self. How I ended up with Sam and Dean? I couldn't tell you it's all a blur. The going was great in the beginning, but now it's complicated. I slam my laptop shut and kick it under my bed, grabbing the bottle of whiskey next to my nightstand. I never drank before. In fact, I only ever had enough sips to fill a shot glass over the course of years. Now, my liver counts it as a healthy week if I only drink myself into oblivion twice. I press the cold glass against my lips, raising the bottle. The liquid inside is cold, but I know it'll make me feel warm instantly. Out of habit, I close my eyes, feeling my body clench as the whiskey flows down smoothly. My body is feeling warm now and I keep drinking. I drink until my body is cozy. I drink until my broken heart is temporarily mended with invisible bandaids. I drink until my regrets are forgiven. I drink until my life is forgotten.

BANG BANG BANG

"Open the door!"

My eyes flutter open, but I stay seated on the floor, hugging the whiskey bottle a little closer.

BANG BANG BANG

"(Y/N)!"

It's Dean.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

"I'm going to kick the door down in two seconds!" His voice is booming through the door. "Okay! Hold on. Jeez." I hide the bottle underneath my bed and stand up, opening the door. Dean's standing there, his face hard as a rock. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are burning circles into my head "Sammy saw you this morning?" I roll my eyes, walking to my bed slowly crawling into it. "You were too busy lingering around instead of getting out of my room. I had to tell him nothing was happening between us. What happened to not telling anyone?" His voice is too loud. I cover my ears and close my eyes tightly. My head is pulsating at every word he says. He's too loud. He's talking too much. "(Y/n)? (Y/n)! You're pathetic." He slammed the door shut behind him. 

This is what my life has become. I had dreams. I wanted to be someone in this cold world. I wanted to be talked about for centuries from now. Taught about in classrooms. Adored in many generations. I had ambition, but then I got older and that eagerness seemed to lessen year after year. As the years went by, my expectations of myself diminished, but even a month ago I wouldn't have seen myself a drunken mess who stays with two brothers that could care less about (p/p). I don't remember much about myself, so I wouldn't know if I had a family run to. If they cared, I would've been at home right now.

I don't know what time it is, but I feel my bed move. I open my eyes, but I remain still. I feel hands trailing my body. It's dark, but they're being gentle. I feel soft kisses and warm breath against my skin with every small kiss. I slowly turn around to face him and of course, it's Dean. "Look, (y/n), I'm not ready for Sam to know about us. I overreacted. Let me make it up to you." He moves on top of me, kissing me. I know he's apologizing, but my day in and day outs are rinse and repeat at this point. Empty apologies. Empty promises. I feel my stomach gurgle; I need something to eat. 

"You're my only" my head snaps to Dean. My eyes search what glimpse I can see of his. He's never said that before. I can't tell if he's lying. Does he mean it? "I'm in love with you, (y/n)" I feel my mouth go dry and my body start to shake. He loves me. "I love you too" the words spilled out of my mouth. I didn't mean to say it back. Not yet. I needed to know if he meant it. I wasn't ready to be vulnerable to him yet. He doesn't hesitate to pull the shorts down. I realize I'm still in those clothes that aren't mine. I shake the thoughts out of my head. Maybe they were mine and I just don't remember, some of my clothes could be tight I suppose. I hear his belt buckle clink and clank as he removes it and the zip of his zipper going down. I feel him on top of me. I feel him slam inside of me. No warm up. No warning. I slam my eyes shut, squirming underneath him, but he pushes his palm into my shoulder hard to keep me still. I wince from the pain, but he doesn't seem to notice; I can tell this moment is for Dean and not for us.

After it's done, he gets up and throws on his clothes. I instantly sit up, reaching out for him "I love you, Dean. I meant it." I stand up and wrap my arms around him, but he pushes me off "Okay? I just wanted you to forgive me" He laughs in my face, turning around walking out. I feel a lump develop in my throat. I stand there, breathing heavily. Feeling like I just got punched in the gut, I hold my stomach in pain and disgust. I storm out after him yelling out "You're disgusting! I hate you!" He keeps walking down the hallway, not bothering to turn around. I feel dirty. I cover my naked body in shame with my hands and rush into my room. 

My stomach continues to grumble, but all I'm giving my body is whiskey. The bottles empty now, the swigs I'm taking are all gusts of flavored air. I can't muster up the strength to move. I can't muster up the courage to risk facing Dean. He's probably in there shoveling pie in his mouth, unphased by the hurt he's caused me. My back is against the door and I can hear footsteps echoing closer. The footsteps stop right at my door. I put the bottle down, sliding it underneath my bed. I listen to it clink against the dozens of other empty glass bottles underneath my bed. Listening for the knock, I hear the footsteps start again, this time walking away. I manage to stand up and open the door. The only thing down this hallway is a plate of food and a bottle of water right by my door. Hunger takes over my body as I fall to my knees, feasting on the food right there. I feel like an animal. I need to do better. I have to.

-------------

Finishing my drink, I slam the glass down and slide the money over to the bartender. "You calling it a night, (y/n)?" She starts clearing my spot as I get up. "Yup. I'm just a little tired. Plus Sam decided to stay in tonight, so I'm a bit bored." I smile at the bartender and we wave goodbye. The past two weeks, I made it a point to get out of the bunker. Dean wasn't too happy about that, but Sam was. I started going on walks with him in the mornings and the bars at night. Tonight, Sam decided he wanted to take a break from the routine and catch up on a case he's been hearing about. Walking down the road past an alley, I hear moans and groans. I laugh to myself. People just do whatever, whenever, and wherever! Curiosity got the best of me as I peeked further into the alley. I felt vomit race up my throat as I puke up the last ten drinks I had at the bar in the past two hours. Dean and a perfect little blondie out in the open for all to see and hear. I walk up to them, pushing her away from him "Dean!" He rolls his eyes, breathing heavily and he pushes me to the side "We're not together, it's not cheating. Go study with Sammy. We could get this case done and over with after you two find out what needs to be found out. Don't worry, I'll save some stamina for you too!" He smirks at me and pulls the blonde, who doesn't seem to care about my presence, in closer. "You can stay for the show" He laughs at me. I shake my head and run off not wanting to witness anymore of it.

For the first time in a long time, tears drench my face. He lied to me, he cheated on me, and he doesn't care. I push the bunker doors open and walk to the library. Sam's head is buried in a book, but he looks up at me and stands up quickly "Hey, what happened? Are  okay?" I rush over to him not wanting to hear anything he had to say, kissing him hard. Sam pulled away staring at me in disbelief, his eyes searching my eyes for some kind of approval before crashing his lips against mine. Our clothes were a mess on the floor in seconds. Books were flung off the table in minutes. I didn't need sympathy. I didn't need a shoulder to cry on. I needed to be Dean and Sam needed to be the blonde.

Two can play at this game.

[abandoned-ficlets]

Iwaizumi, the Cat Whisperer

Summary: 

Tooru slams the cat carrier down on the checkout counter followed by his cracked volleyball trophy. Ming meows loudly, annoyed, and sticks one paw out of the bars to swipe at him. The cashier, the same spiky-haired guy that helped him pick out cat food on Thursday, eyes Tooru like he’s gone insane.

“How can I help y-“ “I think my cat is defective.”

(In which Oikawa recruits Iwaizumi, a Petsmart worker, to help him with his problems.)

Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team is barely ten minutes into their evening practice when the usual whispers start.

Outside of the gym, a group of girls are huddled around in a circle, sneaking looks and cooing loudly at each other. The thudding of volleyballs hitting the floor serves as a backdrop to their excited voices.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so cute!” One girl squeals, her voice happy.

“What I wouldn’t give to have him come home with me,” Another girl says with a wink at her friends.

“Tell me about it! I don’t want to think what my dad would say about him though.”

“Adorable~ So adorable!”

The words are familiar to Tooru. He’s long since gotten used to his fan club’s praises - happy smiles and blushes that adorn their faces when he acknowledges them during practice. The girls have made it their priority to attend Seijoh’s volleyball practices, the most loyal of his fans sitting in the stands during every single one, cheering loudly whenever Tooru scores against a teammate in a practice game.

Tooru is used to their excitement as they watch him play, yes.

But what he’s not used to is their attention being directed at something other than him: namely, a grungy-looking stray cat that has been interrupting his volleyball practices for a straight week now. Currently, the thing is sitting outside the gym's main door, causing a commotion as the girls lavish it with attention.

The ugly little monster is purring loudly, loud enough that Tooru can hear it on the sidelines as he takes a swig from his water bottle. He huffs at the display, knowing he probably looks ridiculous but also aware that he can’t push away his thoughts of jealousy and betrayal.

A girl coos as the cat scratches at her leg, meowing loudly like it wants to be held. She giggles and picks the thing up, much to the other girls’ envy. They all crowd around her, holding out arms so they can hold him next. Over their shoulders, Tooru can see the cat staring straight at him. He narrows his eyes, trying to send a telepathic message of back off. This is my turf. The cat just blinks lazily at him, completely unconcerned with the warning.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Makki asks as he plops down next to Tooru, spreading himself out on the bench.

Tooru doesn’t respond, continuing to narrow his eyes at the rival cat who still hasn’t broken eye contact. If he didn’t know any better (and he doesn’t), he’d say the stray looks smug.

“Earth to Oikawa? Anyone there?” His friend waves a hand in front of Tooru’s face and finally Tooru looks away from the cat, eyes focusing in on Makki’s trademark smirk.

“I hate cats,” Tooru says, taking one last swig of water and making his way back to the court. He can practically feel the eye roll behind him.

But it’s true; Tooru has never really understood the appeal of cats. They’re rude, stink up the house with their litter boxes, and spend most of the day sitting like useless bricks, napping by the window.

Once, when he was about six, he had tried to pet his friend’s siamese cat. He had reached out with a tentative finger, merely wanting to scratch it behind the ear but the demon had lunged toward him, claws and teeth bared. The cat had only been able to reach for Tooru once before being pulled away, but Tooru had been left with a light pink scar on his cheek that didn’t fade until weeks later.

Since then, he’s sworn up and down that he’d never approach a cat again.

But the girls must not share that sentiment, because day-after-day, without fail, they go the the stray, bringing him food and blankets and water bottles to pour into fancy cat bowls. And day-after-day that cat keeps purring and offering love and affection along with those infuriating stares at Tooru.

The girls love that damn cat so much that’s it’s becoming a serious problem for Tooru. His fans have even started ignoring his volleyball practices to go hang out with the abomination, deciding that a cat is more important than him. More important than Oikawa Tooru. It’s impossible for him to wrap his mind around.

At his coach’s shout, Tooru gets back to practice but anyone can tell he isn’t fully present. His mind is busy, occupied by cats.

---

An hour later, as he bumps up a particularly perfect set to Kindaichi, Tooru realizes something. There is only one way to beat this cat, only one way to come out on top.

He has to adopt it. There is no other way.

Because if he doesn’t - if he leaves the stray to its own devices - the girls will begin to forget him. They’ll start skipping out on practices, stop giving him the attention he so rightly deserves for his volleyball skills. He’ll fade into obscurity, unable to land a volleyball scholarship because no one will be interested anymore, no one will care. He’ll end up with a boring office job and a wife he hates in a house that’s too small. Tooru will become inconsequential.

That’s not going to happen, not if Tooru has any say in it.

And thus, Tooru does what must be done - he sprints out of the gym the moment that their coach dismiss the team, waving off Makki and Mattsun’s curious glances. Less than ten minutes later, he’s walking into a brightly-lit Petsmart, grabbing a cart and passing through the automatic doors.

He looks around the store, not quite sure where to begin shopping for cat supplies. The place is completely foreign territory.

Scanning the brightly lit aisles, he sees colorful fish swimming around in crowded tanks and birds squawking at each other, arguing in loud voices. There is a dog section filled with food and toys.

Finally he lands in a section labeled, Cats, written in block letters on a huge sign. Next to the word hangs a picture of a striped yellow cat playing happily with a red ball of yarn.

“Okay,” Tooru hums, scanning the aisles. “Where to start?”

---

Ten minutes later, Tooru’s cart is filled to the brim. He hadn’t been sure what to get exactly, so he figured the safest bet would be to get one of everything.

He found a large litter-box, enclosed like a small cave (because he sure-as-hell is not going to put up with the stray stinking up his bedroom), a heavy carton of litter that had taken Tooru an embarrassingly long amount of time to pick up, as well as some other things. The food bowls are his favorite find: two turquoise metal dishes with white fish bones imprinted along the side.

The toys are nice too. He was surprised to see the sheer variety - he’d always assumed cats were too lazy to play or do anything but sleep. A long wooden stick with a feather pokes out from amongst all the others. There is only one thing stumping him: cat food.

Dozens of brands, each with their own specific “flavors” and “specialties” line up and down the food section. Tooru isn’t sure if he should go with the one for indoor cats, or the real-meat based one, or even the natural-organic branded one. Does it even matter which one he gets? It’s just cat food. The stray should be lucky it's getting any food at all.

But then again, he doesn’t want to make it sick.

In one arm he picks up a light blue bag. It has a sweet-looking striped gray cat on the front and is labeled “Indoor formula” so it seems like a safe bet. But then again, the organic one looks nice.

He’s about to just throw both into his cart and be done with it when a deep voice rings out on his left side.

“Do you need any help?”

Tooru jumps a little, surprised, before turning to look at the owner of the voice.

It is a worker - probably about Tooru’s age - wearing an employee vest in the most hideous blue color that Tooru has ever seen. Despite that, he’s nice-looking, with spiky black hair and a mouth turned down in a slight grimace.

“Yes actually,” Tooru says after a pause that is only a second too long. He puts on his sweetest voice, the one that Makki likes to roll his eyes at. “I need a second opinion.”

The guy grunts. Tooru takes it as an ‘okay.’

“Let’s say I’m adopting a scrawny stray. Would this” he holds up the blue bag in his right arm, “or that one,” he points towards the organic bag, “be better for it?”

The guy’s eyes flicker between the two before meeting Tooru’s gaze again.

“How old is the cat?”

Tooru shrugs, not entirely sure. He puts the indoor bag back on a random open spot on a shelf. The guy frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“Probably about this big,” Tooru holds his hands about a foot apart.

The guy nods, lips pursed thoughtfully. “You can probably just get the normal-“

“Wait!” Tooru says loudly, noticing but not caring about the annoyed expression that fall on the worker’s face at Tooru’s interruption. “I actually think it might be a few months old.”

He vaguely remembers seeing the cat hanging around before, back at the beginning of the school year. He never paid the creature any mind, but he is at least fifty percent sure about that at least.

“It sounds like your cat might actually be a kitten. You’ll want some of this food,” he says as he leans slightly in front of Tooru so that he can grab one to his right. Tooru takes an automatic step back to make room.

“Thank you,” Tooru says, genuinely, as the guy pulls back, setting the bag in Tooru’s cart. He takes a second glance at the guy. Raking his eyes over his toned form, appraising. Not bad.

"I'm Tooru by the way," Tooru says, injecting his voice with the syrupy sweet quality that draws people to him like flies. He expects the guy to react positively, maybe swoon or blush a little. That’s the normal response to Tooru’s flirting, and Tooru has come to expect it.

Instead the guy doesn’t react at all. He just begins walking toward the checkout counter. "I can check you out over here."

Tooru blinks, surprised. Odd. Tooru tries again, assuming the guy is just shy and needs extra attention.

"Oh, can you now?" He adds extra sweetness to his voice and even winks at the worker, just to make sure his point hits home.

"Yes. But if you keep hitting on me, I'll get my manager to help you instead."

Tooru blinks again, three times before the words finally sink in. Then he's blushing, mortified, and just nods and follows the guy to the checkout corner.

Wordlessly, the guy rings up his items. Five minutes later...

“One hundred and fifty dollars?” Tooru squeaks, voice unbelieving. “For cat supplies?”

The guy shrugs lazily, face bored and gaze directed behind Tooru’s head. “You bought a lot of stuff.”

Tooru swears under his breath, cursing the ugly cat, as he takes out his wallet and rifles through for his allowance - all of it.

The cat had better appreciate his great sacrifice.

---

The next day, Tooru springs the news on his fanclub just as they’re gathering to watch this evening’s volleyball practice.

"Hello girls~" he trills happily, “how are all of you doing today?”

There is a flurry of movement, the girls are taken off guard. Tooru usually doesn’t talk to them before practice, preferring to keep his focus on volleyball for as long as he can. They are happy for his presence though, their smiles make that clear.

The girls all start answering at once, and Tooru can only pick out a few of the responses.

“We’re good, Tooru!” “Thanks for asking!” “I’ve had a great day!”

Tooru smiles back at them and a few giggle.

“I’m glad you all are doing well. I’m feeling quite the same and I have some big news~ Can anyone guess what it is?”

The fanclub titters, none wanting to be the first to speak out.

“Have you,” one of the bolder girls, Asui, starts, “finally agreed to start modeling, Oikawa-san? We all know you got that offer a while back!”

Tooru laughs, shaking his head. “No that’s not it, dear Asui-chan.” The girl’s face lights up at her name and she steps back, nodding with a smile.

“Anyone else have an idea?”

“No, Oikawa-San,” a chorus rings out. “Please tell us!”

“I,” Tooru claps, pausing for dramatic effect. “I am going to adopt the stray that lives outside of the gym!”

There is a brief pause in which the girls absorb this new information, then chaos practically erupts. The gym fills with loud shrieks of joy, and Tooru catches his coach looking on, annoyed.

“That is so great, Oikawa-San!”

“You are the most generous person, Oikawa!”

“The cat will be so happy to live with you!”

Tooru smiles, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Thank you girls, I am excited too. There is one problem though, I don’t have a name for him.”

“Anyone have any suggestions?”

The girls fall over themselves, trying to shout out cute names for the cat. “How about Noraneko?” One asks. Tooru purses his lips, contemplating. It literally translates to “stray cat”. A little on the nose, but it’s not terrible. He writes it down on a paper list, planning to pick one of the names that his fanclub offers.

A few other names are tossed around but none seem right to Tooru. None stick.

---

Later, when Tooru, Makki and Mattsun are all scarfing down their lunch under a cherry blossom tree, Mattsun remembers the list. He leans over Makki to ask his question. Makki makes a sound of protest deep in his throat, but his mouth is so full of food that it can’t form words. His protesting just comes out as a grumble.

“Did you pick a name yet?” Matssun asks.

Tooru shakes his head, eyes focusing on the last rice grain in his bento box. It falls from his chopsticks. “No. Maybe Noraneko but,” he shrugs, looks up at Mattsun. “It’s so uninspired.”

Makki nudges Tooru with his elbow, cheeks still filled with food. “Ma Mrmhp ma nmeme,” he says, voice unintelligible and flecks of rice falling from his mouth.

Tooru jabs an elbow into Makki’s side. “Eww,” he whines, face twisting into a pout. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, or I’ll make you sit on the other side of Mattsun.”

Makki rolls his eyes and swallows a bit of the rice. His voice is only slightly more intelligible when he says, “why don’t you name him Minikui?”

Minikui? Tooru rolls the name around in his head a coupe times. It literally means ‘ugly,’ and Tooru couldn’t think of a better fit, himself. That cat is one ugly monstrosity. It’s perfect.

“You might just be a genius, Makki. Even if your grades are much lower than mine, there is hope for you yet.”

Tooru is so excited about naming the stray that he graces to ignore the flecks of rice Makki throws at his face.

---

Minikui and Tooru begin their relationship in less-than-ideal circumstances, and Tooru will take most of the blame for that, though the cat isn’t completely innocent either.

Tooru had gone after practice to collect the cat, and his fan club had followed close by his heels. After he had finally wrestled the thing into the carrier (it took about thirty minutes and what seemed like a hundred tries), Tooru had waved goodbye to his friends and fan club, optimism ringing bright in his veins. He was happy this had gone over so well, and though there may have been hiccups (who knew cats could hiss that loudly), he was sure that things would go back to normal. The monster would be locked in Tooru’s room, and the fan club would go back to adoring and supporting him no matter what. And the cat itself was the least of his worries. How hard could it be to take care of one small animal?

It was hard, as it turned out. Very, very hard and frustrating.

It had taken quite some convincing on Tooru’s part to convince his mother to let him keep Minikui. She was surprisingly against the idea, thought he had thought she would like it, but eventually she had caved, only after Tooru promised a million times over that he would take care of the cat all on his own. He would clean the litter box, buy food, and most importantly, pay for all medical bills without any help from his parents.

After all was said and done, she had smiled, patted the purring cat’s head - it was currently exploring Tooru’s room and trying to fit into every small space it could find - and left the two to their own devices.

Tooru had bounced on the bed excitedly the moment the door closed and whipped out his phone.

“Smile Minikui~” he trilled as he snapped a few pictures of the cat, adding them to his instagram with a soft pink filter.

In one, she is peeking out from behind his desk, her tail curled up around the leg and her collar a nice pop of blue against the otherwise neutral background. Another find her looking out the window - very artsy and thoughtful. He adds a few sparkles to that one. And in the last, she is on his bed, Tooru holding the camera near his face to take a selfie with the cat in the background. Under that picture, he titles the post: *Found a new best friend. Sorry, not sorry Makki!*

Within minutes, the likes and comments come flooding in. His fans are obviously overjoyed, and the comments are filled to the brim with hearts and cat emojis and a lot of exclamation points. Somewhere hidden amongst the flood of positive comments is Makki’s own: I hope the cat disfigures you in your sleep. But Tooru pays it no mind, spending the next fifteen minutes liking his fans thoughtful messages.

But after the high from positive attention wears off, Tooru isn’t quite sure what to do next.

He stares at the cat, who is curled up a few feet away, its eyes closed and seemingly sleeping peacefully. It doesn’t look that scary all curled up like that. With a tentative hand, he pats the cat on its head, lightly, just once.

Minikui does nothing, just continues sleeping as though Tooru hadn’t touched her at all. Emboldened by her lack of reaction, Tooru decides to push his luck a little farther. He puts his hand under the cat’s belly, lifts it up and sets it lightly down in his lap. The cat does nothing more than open one eye, checking Tooru out before going back to sleep.

Hmm, he thinks. Maybe this isn't such a bad deal. The cat doesn’t hate him, at least not as much as they though. Maybe this can work, Maybe—

In a flash, Mininkui’s eyes pop open and she chomps down on Tooru’s hand as he yelps. He doesn’t even have the time to blink, let alone snatch his hand away in time.

“Fine, leave,” Tooru holds his hands up above the cat’s head so the thing can get up and walk away. “No one is keeping you hostage.”

In response, Minikui jumps upward, hooking his claws into Tooru’s hand, pulling it down so he can bite into it once again. Tooru pushes the cat off his lap and he falls with a hard thud on the ground, complaining loudly. Tooru looks at his hand; it’s marked with tiny grooves from Minikui’s teeth, curved over his hand in a small arc. He holds the hand in front of its face, shakes it at the cat's uninterested stare.

“Look what you did! Now I’ll have to set with imperfect hands!”

In response, Minikui just eyes Tooru’s hands - looking as though he would like nothing more than to sink his teeth in one more time.

You have no idea what you’ve started, Minikui, Tooru thinks as he snatches his hand away, nursing the injured body part against his chest. This means war.

---

Meow ~ meow ~ meow. The string of cat noises wakes Tooru up like an alarm clock. He lifts his head from the pillow to stare at Minikui. The cat is on his chest, sitting on its haunches and staring intently down at Tooru.

“Hi, ugly,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Are you hungry?"

Minikui dips his head in what Tooru supposes is a nod, meowing once more.

"Okay, okay," Tooru yawns, "Give me five more minutes and I’ll get your food.” He closes his eyes again, wanting just a few more minutes of sleep.

He feels Minikui move on his chest, walking closer to his head. The cat swipes a couple times at Tooru's hair. Claws get tangled in his bedhead.

“/Minikui/,” Tooru whines, batting at him halfheartedly with one hand. The cat meows again and bats back at him in response. “Five more minutes.”

Tooru turns on his side, bringing the blanket up to his chin and snuggling down further into the bed. Minikui jumps off him and lands with a dull thud on his wood floor. He can hear the cat rummaging around in his room but pays him no mind. Just five more minutes, he thinks somewhat deliriously.

Then, he hears Minikui’s voice from a few feet above him, to the right. “Meow,” and the sound holds the taunting edge that he’s come to fear.

Immediately, Tooru's eyes shoot open an he sits up straight in bed, looking for the reason for that dangerous meow. Sure enough, the demon is on his bookcase, one paw held up behind a volleyball trophy (the participation award he received at the end of elementary school.) Minikui looks disinterestedly at him, grooming a paw while still holding the other up behind the trophy.

“Minikui,” he warns, but it’s too late.

The trophy comes crashing to the floor, and Tooru can hear it splinter. From downstairs comes his mother’s muffled, “Are you okay, Tooru?”

“I’m fine, mom!”

But he's not fine, not at all.

He narrows his eyes at the cat. That’s it. This needs to end. Now.

---

Making a beeline towards the Petsmart checkout counter, Tooru is a man on a mission. Minikui tries every few moments to break free from his restraint, knocking his head against the bars of his carrier but Tooru ignores the cat's struggle.

He slams the cat carrier down on the checkout counter followed by his cracked volleyball trophy. Ming meows loudly, annoyed, and sticks one paw out of the bars to swipe at him. The cashier - the same spiky-haired guy that helped him pick out cat food on Thursday - eyes Tooru like he’s gone insane.

“Can I help y-“

“I think my cat is defective.”

---

Tooru picks the cat up, straining to do so. The stray has almost doubled in size since he first brought him home.

“Look at it.”

“Oi,” Iwaizumi starts, frowning at the cat. “How much are you feeding him?”

“How.. much?”

“Yeah, like a cup a day, a cup and a half? How much does the side of the bag say to give?”

Tooru picks up the cat food bag and sure enough, there is a chart on the side, outlining how much to feed according to their weight.

“You’re,” Tooru pauses, eyes the chart. “You’re not just supposed to feed it whenever it meows?”

Iwaizumi groans and places a finger at his temple, like he’s warding off an impending headache. “We have a lot of work to do, don’t we?”

Tooru shrugs. “Probably,” he says, setting the fat cat down onto the wood paneling.

The cat meows in protest and swats at Tooru’s leg like he’s done something wrong before disappearing under the bed. Tooru looks to Iwaizumi, gesturing toward the cat and back at himself, eyes clearly saying, ‘do you see what I have to deal with here?

Iwaizumi ignores him and takes a few steps forward until he’s in front of the bed. Slowly, he gets down on his knees and lowers his head so that he can see into the shadows.

Tooru probably should warn him about Minikui’s tendency to scratch at anyone’s face if they get too close, but Iwaizumi has been a bit awful to him. Maybe it’s best for him to learn the hard way: through experience, aka getting swiped at by feral claws.

“Minikui,” Iwaizumi calls out in a low voice.

As Iwaizumi busies himself trying to get the cat out from under the bed, Tooru bounces on top it, rolling his eyes. Turning onto his stomach, he lays half off the bed, dangling only inches away from Iwaizumi’s annoyed expression. “It won’t come out, it doesn’t matter how much you call for it. Believe me, I’d know.”

Iwaizumi lifts his head to glare at Tooru but the intimidating effect that he is going for is somewhat ruined by the way his hair is all in his eyes.

“Maybe if you’d talk to him like a living thing, you prick, and not constantly call him ‘it’, Minikui would listen to you,” Iwaizumi pops his head back under the bed so that Tooru’s view is blocked. The man starts making weird clucking noises and calling out Minikui’s name in that same low voice.

The words bubble out of Tooru’s chest as his lips curl up in amusement. “Are you a chicken, Iwa-chan? What is that noise even supposed to do?”

Tooru thinks he hears a growl from under the bed but it’s impossible to know if it comes from Iwaizumi or the cat.

Eventually, Iwaizumi reemerges with the cat in his arms. The monster is purring loudly and cuddling into Iwaizumi’s toned chest like it’s the most comfortable place in the world. Tooru tries not to feel disappointed that there’s not a single scratch marring up Iwaizumi’s handsome face.

“How’d you do that?” Tooru asks accusingly.

Iwaizumi smiles down at the cat. “You just have to be patient,” he scratches behind Minikui’s ears and the purring seems to get even louder. “Cats don’t like being told what to do. You can’t force anything with them.”

“Hmm,” Tooru hums as he watches Iwaizumi sit down beside him on the bed, still scratching behind the cat’s ears. The two look so content, and the way that the sun is shining through Tooru’s bedroom window frames the scene like it’s some sort of painting. He blames the weird flutters in his chest at the strangeness of it all.

“Stop hogging the cat, Iwa-chan. Let me try.”

With a nod, Iwaizumi holds out his arms slowly towards Tooru. The cat stays purring, eyes still closed as it is undisturbed by the movement. But the second Tooru lays a hand on top of its fur, Minikui’s eyes pop open and the cat is jumping out of Iwaizumi’s arms and meowing angrily. ‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ the cat’s eyes seem to say and its tail is puffed up angrily like it’s expecting a fight.

“Right,” Iwaizumi says after a brief pause in which both boys just stare down at the angry cat. It isn’t hissing, but the look in its eyes says that one wrong move and there will be nothing but that ugly sound. “I guess we’ll work on the trust issues first.”

---

“No, you’re petting him all wrong. Do it like this,” Iwaizumi demonstrates. He strokes his hand down the cat’s back, and Minikui purrs happily. But when Tooru tries the same thing, all he gets is an angry lunge towards his hand. Luckily, the claws don’t draw blood.

“No, idiot,” Iwaizumi sighs and shakes his head. “Still wrong.”

Tooru can’t help the way he’s growing frustrated. It’s been almost an hour and there has been little to no progress; the cat still hates Tooru and he hates the thing right back.

“Well then, Iwa-chan,“ Tooru says through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you actually tell me what I’m doing wrong instead of parroting the same word over and over again.”

Iwaizumi ignores his tone and takes Tooru hand with a roll of his eyes, placing it gently on Minikui’s soft fur. “Here,” he says, “I’ll show you.”

Tooru’s eyes widen at the skin contact and the strange feeling of Iwaizumi’s rough skin against his own is enough to melt the agitation away.

With careful movements, Iwaizumi guides Tooru’s hands so that he is petting the cat. At first, Minikui stiffens up and growls threateningly but as Tooru continues petting her, she relaxes ever so slightly.

“There,” Iwaizumi says. “Don’t rub her so roughly and you’re fine.” Then he takes his hand away and by some miracle, the cat stays relaxed. After a minute, he even starts purring. It’s surprisingly adorable.

The three sit in silence until Minikui curls in Tooru’s lap - actually, willingly gets into his lap- and falls asleep. Once that happens, Iwaizumi stands up, brushing off some of the cat hair that had settled on his jeans.

“You two look comfortable. I’ll head out.”

“Wait!” Tooru says loudly and Minikui pops an eye open, growling at him before falling back asleep. “Wait,” he says again in a hushed voice. “Can I get your help again?”

Iwaizumi pauses halfway through slipping on his coat. “I guess,” he says but he doesn’t seem very committed.

“I can bring you something in return. What would you want?”

“Money,” Iwaizumi says rather bluntly, but his face cracks into a small smile at whatever expression Tooru makes at that. The expression disappears as soon as it comes. “It’s fine, you don’t need to pay me.”

Tooru makes a pained face. “Yes I do or I’ll feel guilty.” He taps at his cheek in thought. “How about food or something.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

“You’re being purposefully difficult.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, completely unconcerned. “That’s me,” he taps at his phone for a second and then looks back up to Tooru to wave goodbye. “Come by Petsmart next time you need help. I work Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Then Iwaizumi walks out and Tooru is left with an odd sense of loneliness.

---

The two end up spending much more time than Tooru had thought Iwaizumi would tolerate.

Every day Iwaizumi works, Tooru makes it a priority to keep him company, even on the days where Iwaizumi can’t help him with Minikui. He meets the manager of the Petsmart, an older woman who takes a liking to Tooru immediately. She lets him hang around whenever and even baked him cookies once for his ‘wonderful company’. “Crappy, ass-kissing personality,” Iwaizumi had taken to mumbling under his breath, but Tooru pays it no mind.

Tooru learns that Iwaizumi has endless patience for animals but next to nothing when it comes to Tooru. He sees it when Minikui hisses at Iwaizumi and the boy does nothing but smile patiently and back off to give the cat some space. Or that one time that Tooru was a couple minutes early to Petstmart and he saw Iwaizumi in his natural habitat - on one knee next to a happy dog, laughing as it smeared its nasty drool all over his face.

But the moment Tooru says something a little too flirty or makes an innocent joke at Iwa-chan’s expense, the boy is all anger issues.

“Shut up, Assikawa!” Or, “do you want me to whip this volleyball at your face, Trashykawa?” Or that one special time that Tooru had called him attractive and Iwaizumi’s face changed colors to match the red of a traffic light and he’d pushed a giggling Tooru off his own couch.

Tooru thinks that Iwaizumi is a lot like an animal himself - namely, a hedgehog: prickly on the outside but ultimately harmless.

To be truthful, he doesn’t know much about Iwaizumi, but he wants to know more. That feeling is alien to Tooru and it surprises him. Because, sure, Iwaizumi is hot, but Tooru finds himself wanting to see past that handsome face and learn what’s underneath.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” he asks one day as he sits on a stack of huge dogs food bags, ones that Iwaizumi needs to stack on the shelves. Tooru may or may not have spent the last fifteen minutes ogling Iwaizumi’s arms as he lifts each one on a shoulder. Who can blame him though, those arms are gorgeous.

“Mhmmpf,” Iwaizumi grunts. It’s his primitive way of saying ‘yes.’ Sort of like a caveman or a gorilla.

“Do you have any pets?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything for a few moments and Tooru is about to retract when he finally answers. “I had a dog but she passed a few months back.”

“Oh,” Tooru blinks. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Iwaizumi shrugs off Tooru’s apology. He moves to lift another bag. “She died this summer but it feels like ages ago now.”

“Hmm,” Tooru hums, staring at Iwaizumi as he heaves the bag over his shoulder. The other boy doesn’t /seem/ like he was affected by Tooru’s question, but there is this small crinkle between his brows and he hasn’t looked Tooru in the eyes yet.

“What was her name?”

“Molly.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Tooru comments.

“Yes. My younger sister named her.”

“What kind of dog was she?”

“Golden retriever.”

“What-“ Tooru pauses, worries his lip between his teeth. He doesn’t know if it’s okay to ask but the words come out anyway. “What happened to her?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t pause in his movements. He tosses the bag onto the shelf. The metal shelves vibrate under the additional weight, and then still. Iwaizumi’s back is turned when he answers.

“Hit by a car,” he says matter-of-factly. “It sucks but that’s just what happens sometimes.”

If Tooru didn’t know any better, he’d think that Iwaizumi was unaffected. But because he has been watching the other boy so closely these last few weeks, he can spot the difference from his normal demeanor. Iwaizumi’s shoulders are just the slightest bit higher, muscles pulled taught with tension. His head is slightly down turned, his expression is likely taut, though Tooru can only guess that much because Iwaizumi still has not turned to face him. He’s /sad/, Tooru realizes. Immediately, a rush of guilt washes over him. He shouldn’t have asked the other boy so many questions.

“I’m sorry,” Tooru says, his words soft and gentle. They float between the two, and Tooru hopes that Iwaizumi takes them instead of brushing them off.

For a long moment, Iwaizumi’s shoulders inch minutely higher. The tension builds, and Tooru hopes fervently that he hasn’t made Iwaizumi so upset that he will cry. The seconds pass. Above them, the speakers is playing some sort of happy pop song. Tooru wishes a few things - that the stupid music would stop playing first of all, but he mostly just wishes Iwaizumi would turn around so Tooru would see his face.

Then, with a loud sigh, all the tension rushes out Iwaizumi’s body. His shoulders lower and he turns around to meet Tooru’s eyes. Though Tooru thought he expected it, he is still a bit surprised to see the sadness there.

“Move over,” Iwaizumi commands as he moves to sit next to Tooru on the bags of dog food. Tooru complies readily, scooting over a few inches. The plastic crinkles underneath them, the sound emphasizing their movements.

The new position is close, but not uncomfortably so. Tooru can feel the heat of Iwaizumi’s body, only a few inches away, and he feels a strong urge to move his leg out just enough that he can feel that warmth up close.

“Do you want to see a picture of her?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

Tooru nods. He waits patiently for Iwaizumi to search through his photos until he finds a suitable one of Molly.

He catches brief glimpses of Iwaizumi’s life through the scrolling photos. He sees one of Iwaizumi with his sister, their faces close and happy - a setting sun behind them. There is one of Iwaizumi’s...

[artificialqueens]

Alaska Doesn't Know (Katlaska) - a-tresia

She doesn’t know when it happened. But it happened. Quietly. Gradually. Gently. Unknowingly.

AN: I was rewatching All Stars 2 on a 14 hour plane ride to Europe and wrote this on the plane ride home because I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s unedited and messy and basically a scattered brain on a long haul flight manifested in a 3,000 word story.

And, uh, if you like it – let me know. Turns out, sitting in a plane for half a day is great for *productivity*. So there’s another story in this same universe if you guys decide you like this.

My Craquaria fic is still being written – just had to purge a little.

—

Alaska doesn’t know when it happened — when she started calling her Katya (proper, formal, professional) then Ka-tee-ya (drawn out vowels, markedly Alaska) then Kataya (“My mom didn’t know how to say her name for a while and was calling her Kataya,” she said in an interview and it became a running joke but really it was just endearing) then Kati (Only Alaska calls her Kati, as far as she knows. And only Alaska can call her Kati. Because why would they? That’s not her name). Sometimes it’s an irreverent butchering of her name but she does it with the purest of intentions. And only in public. Now it’s just Brian. Or some sort of an overly sappy, teeth-rotting pet name. And it sounds more natural. And real.

It wasn’t until she lost her phone — in a cab, or the airport, or a plane, or another airport, in a car, in an event venue, a hotel room, wherever, whenever, whatever — that she realizes that Katya’s constant texts or phone calls or video calls, seemingly a continuous stream of consciousness, has stopped being Too Much and Infuriating to her.

(Alaska asks Trixie how she does it. How she can keep on listening to Katya go on tangents about anything and everything and not want to strangle her.

“Oh, you think I don’t?” Trixie laughs. “I constantly want to strangle her. Or kill myself. Which I think would be an easier option.” Trixie shoots herself in the mouth with two finger guns.

“TRACY!” Alaska laughs — screeches, really — and almost falls off the stool as she does.)

She doesn’t know when it happened. But it happened. Quietly. Gradually. Gently. Unknowingly.

(After a show, with everyone scrambling to get out of drag, trying to get the fuck out of this place and into bed, Katya’s going on about something or another on some sort of a live video. Alaska’s observing her from afar. She zones out of her (one-sided) conversation with Detox and focuses her attention on Katya. She laughs as she finally catches the gist of Katya’s seemingly endless and nonsensical story.

“Why are you laughing?” Detox asks, pulling Alaska back into THEIR conversation.

“What?” she asks automatically as she focuses back on Detox.

Detox looks at Alaska’s reflection on the mirror. Then at Katya’s. “I can’t believe people actually stay up to tune in to that,” she says. “Bitch gives me a fucking headache.”

Alaska laughs. Because it’s true. The bitch gives everyone a headache. Except her. Not anymore, apparently. “Verbal diarrhea. Like she’s dumping her psyche online,” Alaska explains. “Makes her more relatable, I guess. It’s cute.”

“When did you start finding that cute?”

Alaska locks eyes with Detox on the mirror, scrunches her nose, and pouts her lips. “I don’t knoooooow,” she drawls. And she really doesn’t.)

And now she’s uncomfortable at the sudden peace and quiet. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s usually on the phone with Katya as soon as she lands until she’s pulling up to their apartment. She just knows she needs to get home. Home to Katya. To Brian. A new phone can wait until tomorrow.

She comes home to an empty apartment. It’s as tidy as it will ever be. There’s mail on the floor. Why Katya didn’t pick it up, she doesn’t know. There’s an unwashed spoon and bowl in the kitchen sink, still with oatmeal left, almost calling out her name for a wash. There’s a cheap pair of heels, superglue, and some crystals on the coffee table. There’s also a new addition to their plant babies on the windowsill. Oh no, another mouth to feed. Alaska moves to admire them but is stopped by the sudden sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

Katya’s on the bathroom floor, head resting against the toilet seat. She lifts her head to see Alaska’s worried face. “Mother, I’ve been having morning sickness again,” she manages to say before Alaska could ask. She’s been in and out of the bathroom the whole morning, throwing up everything she takes in, so she’s decided to camp out instead.

Alaska grabs a towel before sitting on the floor beside Katya. “It was ONE time. Are you telling me I should have pulled out?” Alaska says with a straight face. Katya laughs — it’s weak, but it’s there, and the effort hurts. “Because, honey, you know that’s not how it works, right?”

“I didn’t go to fucking school for math.” Katya laughs again, more force this time, and Alaska joins in. She leans her head against Alaska when they finally calm down. “You’re home,” she says kissing Alaska’s shoulder.

Alaska nods. She kisses the top of Katya’s head. “I AM home,” she says. “And I lost my phone.” Alaska thinks she’s been trying to get in touch. Katya mumbles something about getting a new one tomorrow and Alaska agrees. That’s not important, for now.

It takes them a while to get up from the floor. Mostly because Katya has to throw up again. And again. And again. Each time finding herself crawling back into Alaska’s lap. All the traveling has Alaska’s back hurting but she doesn’t want to get up until Katya feels better. Solidarity. Poor, Kati. Alaska offers to take her to the doctor but Katya refuses. “Can you just call my mom? Or my sister?” Katya suggests.

She remembers that Pat’s a nurse. And she can help. She’s probably the only legitimate medical professional Katya trusts. “Your mom, okay,” she agrees. “But why your sister?”

Katya sits up to look Alaska straight in the eyes. “She’s a veterinary pathologist,” she explains, enunciating each syllable as if that would explain how she could help Katya at the moment.

“Exactly! She’s a veterinarian - AN ANIMAL DOCTOR!” she says trying to get up from the floor. She doesn’t know why Katya insists on deferring to the medical expertise of her sister whenever she has a medical issue because well, she’s not a human doctor, but Katya is Katya. She’ll indulge her sometimes. Not today though, not when she looks like she’s dying and dead. “You’re not a dog, Brian,” Alaska reminds her, AS IF she needed reminding that she is indeed of a different species.

Katya gets up on all fours. “But I AM an animal,” she pants before literally rolling on the floor laughing. Alaska has to laugh along with her because she walked right into that trap.

Alaska doesn’t know when she’s come to accept that nothing that comes out of Katya’s mouth will ever be as expected. But she always expects to be surprised.

(Another flight delay in the chronicles of touring drag queens. No one is happy but they’re trying to keep the beast mode to a minimum. It’s a silent but solid agreement that only one queen can lose their shit at any given time. None of them are having a breakdown at the moment. And that’s good. No one needs whiny ass bitches right now.

Katya opens a bag of Skittles and settles in. “Let’s get serious here for a moment,” she says turning her body to face Alaska. She mirrors Katya’s position, knees touching knees. She agrees and takes Katya’s candy to share. “What exactly do you want to wake up to everyday?” Katya asks very seriously.

With Katya, you never know what you’re going to get. Some days, it’s all nonsense. Some days, like today, it’s this. Smart. Deep. Existential. Alaska’s quite taken aback by the question. She thinks for a moment, as she chews on her Skittles, that maybe her tired brain can’t handle these types of questions. She considers a shallow answer. But shallow is not what Katya wants. “Warmth,” she answers. And frankly, she can’t believe that she’s comfortable enough with Katya to be this candid with her. Katya furrows her brows as if prompting her to elaborate. “Not in the literal sense, as in heat,” she starts to explain. “But, as in, the feeling of warmth and contentment. Whether I wake up alone or next to someone, I just want to wake up to a feeling of warmth, positivity, comfort, and safety.”

Katya is surprised. Genuinely surprised. “Wow,” she says blinking at Alaska. She grabs Alaska’s shoulders. “May I remind you, ma’am, that THIS is an airport,” she says seriously, raising her hands to solidify her point. “I came here to catch FLIGHTS, not feelings.” Katya abruptly gets up, leaving Alaska dumbfounded, thinking: feelings?)

Alaska calls Pat on Katya’s phone while she unpacks and Katya showers. They both agree it’s because of Katya’s shitty food choices. “He was filming with Trixie yesterday,” Alaska offers. It was a dumb explanation but it made sense to them both. Pat laughs. She knows. Everyone knows. All Katya takes in when she’s filming is caffeine and sugar. Nothing substantial. Nothing nutritious. Alaska promises to sneak in more greens.

Katya’s mom tells her what medicine to buy and what flavor of Pedialyte to get “because Brian gets very particular about that.” Alaska knows. “I’m sorry you have to live with a child, Justin,” she says in jest. Alaska agrees. Completely. She doesn’t mind though.

Alaska catches up with Pat for a bit while she sorts through her stuff. She doesn’t know when talking to Katya’s mom became like talking to her own — it’s comforting. She tells her they’ll try to come visit soon. Katya catches the tail end of their conversation, only to sneak in a hi mom, love you, bye, before the call ends.

She thanks Alaska for calling her mom, declares that she’s feeling so much better now that Alaska’s home, and starts to help with the unpacking. No, not really. All she’s really doing is playing with Alaska’s feather boa.

Katya makes a show of plopping herself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Alaska looks at her suspiciously. “I feel like there’s something you want to say.”

“I don’t want to be dramatic but —”

“Let me stop you right there.” Alaska holds her hand up to stop Katya from talking. “I can tell you right now that you are physically incapable of not being dramatic. You may continue,” she says with a hand flourish.

Katya crosses her arms and looks away. “I have feelings, you know. And you hurt them.”

Alaska crosses the room to sit beside Katya. “Uh, Brian,” she says, unsure. Her heart is pounding in her chest. She must be genuinely upset. But Katya being Katya, this can also be one of her stupid antics. She hopes it IS just one of her stupid antics. Katya refuses to look at her. She moves closer, enveloping Katya in a hug. “Brian, what’s wrong?”

“Alaska Joanne Elizabeth Thunderfun,” Katya starts. Alaska sighs in relief. This isn’t serious. But she’ll keep up the charade until Katya’s done talking. “Well, you’ve been home 4 hours and you haven’t even properly kissed me yet.” Katya pouts. “I brushed my teeth, mama. I don’t have vomity breath.” Serious enough, Alaska thinks. She shifts Katya’s body to face her. “Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!” Katya insists.

“A certifiable disaster.” And Alaska doesn’t know any better but to oblige. Again. And again. And again.  

(Alaska catches Katya in the dressing room taking off the last of her lipstick. She removes her wig and settles herself on the seat beside Katya to remove her nails. She doesn’t know it but she’s making a face. That face. The things-didn’t-go-my-way-I-want-to-cry-and-I’m-about-to-throw-a-tantrum face.

Katya eyes her carefully. “Are you okay?” Alaska doesn’t respond and it makes Katya uneasy. Their friendship has definitely changed in the past few months. And Alaska has never been this quiet around her. Not since All Stars. “Alaska,” she calls out. Alaska’s brows are furrowed. “Justin,” Katya tries.

She looks up. She heard Katya the first time. And she definitely knows what Katya wants to know. She’s been in a sour mood the whole night. She wants to say something. She has just enough alcohol in her body to be able to feel things but sober enough to stop herself from doing or saying something stupid.

“Look,” Katya says as she put on her boy clothes. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” All Katya gets is a nod. It’s vague. It doesn’t really mean anything. But she knows not to push it. She reminds Alaska that the van is ready to leave and tells her she’ll be outside to smoke.

Alaska quickly changes into her boy clothes, leaving her face to deal with later. She follows the rest of the queens to the parking lot where Katya has been waiting for them forever. She watches Katya take a long drag off her cigarette before calling out to her. “Kati.”

That must have sounded pathetic because Katya definitely knows something is wrong. It’s unfair, really, how Katya can see right through her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t want to talk about it. But she does, SHE DOES want to talk about it. “Kati,” she says slowly. She pauses. And Katya waits. Quite uncharacteristically patient and unmoving. “I need…” She takes a deep breath. “Please don’t make me say it out loud.”

Katya’s confused. She really doesn’t have patience for this right now. Alaska’s bad mood is contagious. “I’m not making you do anything, Alaska.”

Alaska thinks she would never have to tell Katya this. They’re friends, really great friends, and it’s amazing. Alaska even thinks she replaced Ginger as Katya’s best friend. She doesn’t know when it happened but this friendship, this warmth in her chest, is suddenly dense and heavy with feelings that she knows aren’t just for friends. It’s like Katya crawled her way into Alaska’s heart and made a home there. And tonight, Alaska is suddenly forced to open this floodgate. She is faced with the need to open herself to these feelings and just be true to herself. Because she really doesn’t need to see Katya flirting with everybody. She doesn’t need to see Katya STEALING. WILLAM’S. TRADE. In front of her. She doesn’t need that. Not when she’s already deep in this rabbit hole. Yes, Katya may not reciprocate. Because she never knows with Katya. And that’s not okay, she thinks. But it will be. It should be. They should be able to still remain friends.

It doesn’t help that Katya is just there, smoking her third cigarette, letting Alaska gather her thoughts. She’s quiet and Alaska isn’t used to a quiet Katya. Not when they’re around each other. “You really don’t have to tell me anything,” she repeats. “I can see that something’s bothering you but I won’t push. I can give you a hug if you need a hug or space if you need that.”

And Alaska knows that. But she has to get this off her chest. She looks Katya straight in the eyes. Katya senses that whatever Alaska wants to say is coming so she shifts her body to face her head on. “Kat — Brian.” She drops Alaska’s inflections. “You are the BEST human. Ever. And I like you way more than anybody, even myself. I really like you. You, Brian. And not just as a friend.” Alaska wants to stop but the words keep on coming. “If I don’t see you or talk to you, I get curious. I get worried. If you’re sad, I get upset. When you smile, when you laugh,  it makes me happy. It drives me crazy. And maybe that’s bordering on love. I don’t know. But I really need you to stop flirting with everything that moves. Because I really want to kiss you. And I NEED you to like me back.”

Katya’s gathering her thoughts. She looks at Alaska skeptically as she stubs her cigarette. “Did you really mean that?”

Alaska looks a little offended. “You really think I’d pour my heart out like that if I didn’t mean it?”

Katya is silently looking at her. “THUNDERFUCKER!” This makes Alaska laugh. “I thought I was imagining things!” Katya shakes her head and turns to walk away but comes back quickly. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that there’s really nothing between us. That the shift in dynamic—“

But Alaska cuts her off. “This nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings.”

“Ha! You’ve Got Mail! You’re such a girl!” They both laugh. And it takes them a minute to calm down. Katya takes Alaska’s hand. “I really want to kiss you, too,” she confesses. But she doesn’t move. She’s letting Alaska take the lead.

Alaska raises a brow and takes a step forward. She’s just gathered enough courage to kiss Katya when the van door opens to show a very pissed off Willam. “Let’s go! We’ve been waiting for you bitches forever!” she screams before slamming the van door shut.)

Alaska wakes up with Katya draped over her. She’s awake but Alaska tries as hard as possible to sleep in for as long as possible. Traveling does take a toll on the body. And honestly, she can feel the age settling in. It’s difficult for them to sleep in. They’re just naturally early risers, despite the late nights. “I’m so happy you’re back,” Katya says as she kisses Alaska’s neck when she realizes she’s awake too.

There are things that Alaska are certain of — That she has a warm bed to fall into at night although it’s not her own on most nights. That she’s got enough money to keep her comfortable. That she has a caring and somewhat overbearing family. That she’s got friends and sister queens who redefine loyalty, who love her in ALL her forms — tantrums or otherwise.

And Katya. At one point, she didn’t know what to make of her. She remembers Tatianna commenting on All Stars that Katya is very quiet but also really out there. Everyone in the room agreed. Including her. She still thinks Katya is an amalgamation of contradictions. But there is something so sure, so solid, about her. About them.

Katya starts to get up but Alaska pulls her in closer, “Don’t move, you’re warm.” And there it is. The warmth. She just wants to bask in the light that came off Katya because it’s warm and it’s good and it’s enough. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be cold anymore.

[brazenautomaton]

Now that Silent Partner, Unfinished Business is complete, it’s time for answers and trivia and commentary and other such spoilers under a readmore! Send me an ask if you have any other questions about stuff, or post it as an AO3 comment.

First, the chapter titles. Following the naming convention of 100 Bullets, each of them references or alludes to the chapter number that it is.

One Is The Lowliest Number - references “One Is The Loneliest Number” by Three Dog Night. 

Folie a Deux - “Folie a Deux” or “Madness of Two” is when people transmit psychiatric illness, delusions, or hallucinations through social connection.

Bad Company - references the phrase “Three’s company, four’s a crowd” - and “Bad Company”, by Bad Company, on the album Bad Company.

Forewarned is Foreboding - references the phrase “Forewarned is Forearmed”

Slaughterhouse - references “Slaughterhouse-Five” by Kurt Vonnegut

Six Degrees of Severance - references the concept of “Six Degrees Of Separation”, and the process of severing a connection.

Magnificent - references the classic Western “The Magnificent Seven”.

Termination Procedure - AKA “Termin8ion Procedure”, it’s the process you go through to end someone’s employment.

Never A Cloudy Day - September is the ninth month of the year, "September” by Earth Wind And Fire contains the lyric “Say do you remember / Dancing in September / Never was a cloudy day”.

Epilogue: Decision - Deci-, as in decimal, is the Latin prefix meaning ten or tenth. 

I wrote the first version of this story over 10 years ago. I wrote myself into a corner in Chapter 5, because the Yotsuba Kira was still Higuchi, and it lay untouched for a decade. Naomi could write fluently and at length, her relationship with Misa was way easier, everything else was way easier, and it honestly wasn’t that good. I think like 1/3rd of chapters 1 through 4 are made up of text from the old version?

The idea of this being a fix fic to bring back a character that the narrative shortchanged was not the first idea. The first idea was “100 Bullets and Death Note ask exactly the same question, what would you do if you could kill someone and get away with it. But they answer it in totally different ways. How could those two concepts meet? Well, who in Death Note was betrayed and would seek revenge? Naomi Misora is a good candidate. How do I bring her back to life in a way that doesn’t seem she got off scot free?”

The original version of the story had no hints about the Minutemen (or the Trust, L’s employers) because none of that stuff was in the 100 Bullets comic yet, or at least not the trade paperbacks I had access to. The Minutemen and the Trust are kind of lame, to be honest, and they kinda dilute the elements and stories that made 100 Bullets compelling, but they are a perfect match for all the unanswered questions about L that Ryuzaki vocalizes in chapter 6.

You probably noticed how everyone had to stammer and search for the word “aphasia”. Did you notice that Misa was the only one who ever correctly used the word, had it immediately called to mind, and wasn’t reading it off a piece of paper? She was thinking about that word a lot more than everyone else.

I don’t remember when I first started using the double-slash notation for written text, but I figured that calling out written text was extremely, extremely important in a story where written text is extremely, extremely important for multiple reasons. I don’t know if I’ll use it for anything else I write.

Light’s symbolic fruit is the apple, obviously. Naomi is seen drinking orange juice and eating orange-flavored things, because they are as dissimilar as apples and oranges. Misa -- stuck between them and unsure of whose identity she will adopt -- drinks a lot of spring water.

“Midland Carbide Labs” and “Amalgamated Flourodynamics” are the two opposing player teams in the Half-Life mod “Science and Industry”, where players abduct scientists from each other to research their weapons.

Beta reader @ellieintheskywithroxy is a qt3.14.

Misa did a photoshoot, as a Malkavian vampire schoolgirl, for White Wolf Publishing back in the day. She thinks that White Wolf owns vampires the same way the Tolkien estate owns hobbits, so any changes they make to their setting are Official Vampire Changes, and she was miffed they got rid of Masquerade. Depending on her mood she thinks Naomi is either a Brujah or a Toreador.

Light’s “decoy Kira” plan was going to explode if it ever got to the point where he commanded or tricked Kira-Y into giving up his memories -- Nabiki Egawa would remember everything and they’d figure out Kira’s deception real fast.

The fact that Light’s WoW character is a Holy Paladin who he did not earn but instead purchased illicitly is extremely intentional. He plays WoW instead of a made-up game because A: I can cite details and people will appreciate the deep pulls and B: if I made up my own online game with a character as completely braindead easy to play as a Holy Pally in Burning Crusade, to allow Light to type messages while playing, it would look like I was making up absurd nonsense to make things easy on the character.

Naomi’s reaction to the BB case mirrors my own. I honestly could not finish the light novel because I found the authorial voice so grating, and the combination of smugness with the complete lack of knowledge about how things work in the setting of the story (literally one of the first things in the narration is something along the lines of “Of course her superiors were demeaning her, she was a woman and Japanese and this was America and we don’t need to go into any more detail than that”) was infuriating. And in the story that is supposed to be Naomi’s time to shine, she accomplishes nothing, saves no one, may as well not have gotten out of bed, and the things we’re supposed to see as her being a genius are her ability to follow along the clues that she is being spoon-fed by the actual serial killer. Jesus, dude. I said this whole incident gave her an incredible sense of impostor syndrome and hatred for her job, because the rest of the world -- like the LN itself -- acts like she accomplished something when she clearly did not. 

Similarly, I changed the details of Misa’s confinement to make sense. On someone else’s post, someone asked if Misa was tortured -- the depiction of her treatment is so inconsistent and incoherent that this is impossible to answer in the canon. They say she was denied water for three days, but has none of the symptoms of it. They have her bound a to gurney apparatus that takes twenty minutes to set up, and let her out every single time she asks to pee, and somehow she never tries to escape. And of course she gets out after a month of not moving with no muscle atrophy. This version is supposed to be a coherent model of treatment that sits on the borderline, in a grey area -- it’s torture if it’s done to inflict pain, and not torture if it’s done out of a reasonable concern for safety. The Second Kira was the most dangerous human being on the planet Earth and they had no idea how she worked. Some of her confinement was obviously necessary for the sake of safety. But how much of it was, and for how long was it warranted?

Most of the new Death Note rules are introduced to set up things that happen later, answer niggling questions I had, or just flesh out the concepts introduced. But the rule about “Once your lifespan goes negative, if you try to update it again, it just flips the fuck out” is just so Naomi and Misa can’t know how much lifespan Rem gave them.

There was no good or natural time to show it, but the moment Misa heard about rule 38a, which says that you can only regain your memory of the Death Note six times, she figured out if it was possible to surrender a Death Note that wasn’t being actively haunted (it was), she just reclaimed and gave up an evidence sheet of //ARVC-5// five more times.

Ryuzaki has no idea where the pina coladas are coming from and at this point he is too afraid to ask.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Soulless Riffing: Brainless Epilogue

I got a supernatural action/romance book series as a gift that’s just riddled with stuff that I hate….and as a steampunk Victorian London action romance story filled with werewolves and vampires…it’s yeah gonna be easy to poke fun at.

I just want to say, it’s totally cool if you like this story or ones like it!  It’s certainly a better caliber than a lot of what I make fun of…however…I can’t help but want to make fun of it.

Over here for the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7+8, 9, 10+11, 12, 13, and 14.

HERE’S THE FINAL CHAPTER, STRAP IN MY HEARTIES!

Epilogue

So, dang, this epilogue’s pace is the worst.  It’s so bad, if I recounted the events in the order they appeared I feel as if this riff would have a bad pace itself.  

So there’s this detached, braggadocios tone that describes two separate portions of the wedding in two totally separate parts of chapter.  I can boil it down to this actual quote, “The wedding was hailed as a masterpiece of social engineering and physical beauty.”

It starts off with almost an entire page of describing the dress.  I mean sure, but fashion isn’t my thing so my eyes glaze over.  Also that they had to redesign the dress at the last minute cause Maccon gave her a hickey that needed to be hid.  And I mean, isn’t that what we need to educate our young women about?

Man’s every careless sexual impulse needs to be catered to even if it greatly inconveniences everyone else. Why can’t you just cover it up with make-up?  Why is this adult novel treating a marriage of adults like a middle-school dance? WHO KNOoooOoOoooOooOOOWS?????

BUT THIS WAS ALL FOR THE BETTER cause the neckline of her dress inspired London’s fashion for a whole 3 weeks.  

Here’s an accurate attempt at me trying to understand this, “I guess it’s nice to have rich idiots incinerate and rebuild their wardrobe because of a thing you wore once.  But why stop there? I’d create an army of genderqueer flannel-babies out to hate read harmless fiction.”  Yes Faps, your interests are clearly superior to those who like to dress feminine.  Way to go!

We have a full page on the food which was more interesting but in a limited way because I have not had guinea fowl, aspic jelly, pigeons, sole, woodcock pie, pheasant, or grouse. But like, I’m not uncultured or anything! I’ve had alligator meat before! ….oh damn my American is showing real bad right now. DON’T MIND ME I’M JUST GOING TO HIDE BEHIND A WALL OF IMPERIALISTIC WAR CRIMES! But that’s okay cause the British can relate to that.

Personally I’d much rather the story brag about delicious food it’s likely the audience has had before, than just throwing out stuff that sounds period appropriate.  Cause honestly? My imagination does not think any of that would be tasty.   My dream wedding is definitely forcing near a thousand people (most of whom I’ve met only once) to pick at gamey meat and envy my dedication to an inconsiderate buffoon.

But before the wedding officially goes down we have the one and only nice scene.  Alexia wakes up Akeldama early so he can see the sunset before her wedding.  There was no reason for her to do it that day, since it made her late to her own wedding, but dangit it was nice.

However the actual wedding? Phew boy, there is no talk of the actual ceremony.  In fact there’s no cute speeches, dancing, bonding moments between friends or family, or even funny drama of the werewolves clashing with the humans.  I mean it would have been super annoying to have a scene where Alexia’s sister shrieks at one of the werewolves for drinking punch out of a bowl like a dog, and when she tries to rip it from him it spills all over herself.  Cause there’s no reason to cathartically enjoy seeing her sister humiliated but dang…it would have at least been SOMETHING ALMOST FUN!

Three things happened during the reception.

1.)    Alexia and Prof. Lyall hook Ivy up with some BARELY named servant to Maccon and Lyall. Like, you realize the trope of shacking up the side characters is supposed to be this cute little tying together of established characters, usually very different ones? Like it’s supposed to kinda help wrap things up by having separate parts of the story literally cum errr I mean come together.  Like, the obvious and decent choice, would have been Lyall and Ivy.  Hell if you needed Lyall for other nonsense, why not that Haverblink hunk guy Ivy was I THINK drooling over?  Took a fun trope and wasted it.

2.)    Alexia is ~gifted~ the Vampire hive servant Angelique.  Gosh I’m super looking forward to the part where Angelique realizes vampires are chumps and betrays them for the super cool Alexia.  I thought since she was named and pleading with Alexia for help earlier, she’d be damsel’d, or comes back later with more secret info, or was the villain mastermind AFTERALL! NOPE!  This human person with a name, hopes, fears, goals, thoughts, and emotions of her own is given like a decorative silverware basket as a GOD DAMN WEDDING GIFT! AND ALEXIA THINKS THAT’S FINE CAUSE TO HER HUMAN BEINGS ARE PROPERTY AND SHE’S OUR RACISM FIGHTING HERO! HOORAY!

3.)    Sorry to save the most tepid for last but the last thing of note is that Maccon’s werewolf pack, as part of werewolf tradition turn into wolves and just circle around them barking and howling….okay cool cool…but have you considered the more wolf thing to do would totally be for all of them to pee on her. ONE AT A TIME, THEY’RE CIVILIZED!  Her new husband gets all offended that she’s upset at this wholesome tradition.  Alexia secretly plots to bring supernatural genocide back into vogue again.

So on the carriage ride home they fuck but we have an entire book worth of build up for this scene to last 1 page.  Like, I wasn’t even looking forward to it but was still disappointed.  And, of course, this is one of those books that can’t directly mention SEX PARTS which SPOILER ALERT usually makes it confusing if you can’t be fucking straightforward.  Despite being all coy about it there’s the iffy phrase, “had Alexia squirming in such a way as to force the very tip of him inside her whether she willed it or no.”

Yeesh! As hot as you folks may find ravishment, it feels really out of place with a woman who’s supposed to be super horny and into her husband for it to still be written noncommittally like ravishment.

But with a lurch of the carriage he’s blamo balls deep and she says out loud that it hurts.  He DOES look worried and ask her if it still does. So kudos!  However there’s this infuriating line

“Something extremely odd and tingly was beginning to occur in her nether regions.”

Okay you weren’t aroused until he was balls deep, and we’re going to describe this as if a 26 year old woman (whom by the way has described being aroused by this man before, and describes being fascinated with her dad’s dirty books) is bamboozled that a dick in her made her horny.      

(Man looking confused and a bit suspect as he says okay.)

Also “It culminated in the most intriguing second heartbeat emerging around the area where he had impaled himself.”

WHAT!? YOU CAN’T SAY PUSSY BUT WE’RE GOING TO THROW THE WORD IMPALED IN THERE?

(Brittney Spears looking cringed out.)

That gives me the yikes.

She flops over after what sounds like 2 minutes of porking to remark, “Ooo,” said Alexia, fascinated, “it shrinks back down again.  The books didn’t detail that occurrence.”

OKAY 1ST OF ALL YOU LEGIT SAW THIS HAPPEN BEFORE WHEN YOU WERE DRY-HUMPING IN THE DUNGEON, BUT EVEN IF YOU HADN’T, WAS SHE UNDER SOME DELUSION THAT WHEN A DUDE GETS HIS 1ST BONER THAT’S JUST WHAT HIS DICK IS NOW?

YOU’D THINK CODPIECES WOULD STILL BE IN FASHION IF EVERY MAN IS SLINGING AROUND HIS ERECTION 100% OF THE TIME!

WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING STUPID ALEXIA!?

If you wanted a cute little sexy thing to mention…why not, “Oh my dad’s books never mentioned that it throbbed! Or that it could twitch! Or that it got SO red! Or that it got THAT hard, it’s only full of blood afterall!”

LE SIGH!

So the story ends with the prospect of them gonna fuck sum more.

Say something Nice Faps:

I legit really liked that brief scene where she holds Lord Akeldama’s hand as they watch the sunrise, and he’s crying, and she’s got her head on his shoulder and just PRECIOUS!

Out of the things to brag about at a wedding, food is the top of my list, I can appreciate that she dedicated some time to it.

The sex had a bit of that ravishment flavor but Maccon does check in, and she admits she enjoys it.

IT’S OVER!

[insideimasadrainbow]

I stan BTS, Not Stans

Last time I checked, I stanned BTS and not stans. Just because I dislike certain stans in this fandom does not make me OT6, dumb bitch, it means I don’t like YOUR motherfucking ass and YOU irritate my soul, not YOUR bias, dumb fuck. My disliking stans literally has no correlation to any member of BTS, lmao. I’m OT7 because I’m here for and to stan BTS and BTS only. I’m not here for the ships, I’m not here for the animals, I’m here to support all seven, love all seven, spoil all seven and protect all seven in this so called family fandom.

But it seems that all I’ve been doing lately is fighting delulu ass five year olds who obviously don’t share this same mindset and think hating a member to justify their ship is more important than BTS. Some of y’all trip over a damn dog than defend actual members. Some of y’all just like to be messy and be at war while your biases are living in peace and happiness because they invented strong bonds. As a Jimin stan, I truly don’t care if I am called solo, that’s how most people in this fandom look at us anyway, cool Craig.

But what we’re not gonna do is call me OT6. Trust that a bitch is everything but. Shit as petty as ships become nonexistent to me when it comes to BTS and their music. Their music is what brought me here in the damn first place, not fics (tho this fandom does have beautiful lovely stories written) and I for damn sure ain’t letting such rare good music go to waste to constantly argue with a bunch of nine year olds about irrelevant bullshit. Miss me with that, infuriating wh*res.

And I have to say this one last time because it truly irks me to no fucking end and it happens all the damn time; if you hate a member over a ship you have serious issues mental wise and need to leave for immediate treatment or reevaluate yourself on actual priorities that matter. Example, death threats. Members getting cut out in pictures. Their health. Those kinds of things that are not sending members hate is what y’all should bust a vein to worry over, not damn hair issues and shit.

If you’re OT6, you just need to leave. And if you’re solo, you’re truly just a waste of space. If I were any one of these, I wouldn’t even affiliate myself with ARMYs. I would only be here for Jimin but that’s crazy when a whole Namjoon exists living like the down to earth prince he is and Jin with his uplifting personality and Yoongi sharing himself through raw music, and Hoseok being more than just a dancer but a safe, loving brother for BTS, and Taehyung breathing in life with his uniqueness and Jeongguk growing more and more into the creative young artist he’s becoming.

Stan BTS as a whole. There’s no option and why would I want there to be when the seven of them each bring individual irreplaceable flavor to the table? Yes, it’s fine to have your bias. Yes, it’s fine to have your OTP. However, if that affects you from loving all the members, seek help because that’s what’s NOT fine.

[littledonkeyburrito]

Some lint

1. Have you ever punched someone and broke their nose? Haven’t broken their nose but I’ve certainly hit a few in the face bc karate

2. What is the longest time you have gone without sleep? Forty-something hours without even a nap

3. Have you ever been someplace tropical? Several places

4. You see an ant on the ground, do you squish it? If it’s in my house, yes.

5. Have you ever baked a pie? I don’t think so.

6. What is your favorite social networking site? Instagram probably

7. Has anyone in your family fought in any of the wars? Dad’s dad was in WW2. Dad fought in Belfast in the 70s I think

8. Would you make any changes to your current bedroom? Yeah, I would like $100,000 to magically appear under my mattress.

9. Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? Playfully. I stop playing with strays when they get boisterous bc rabies

10. When riding a bus, do you prefer to sit up front, down back or the middle? Middle-back generally

11. Have you ever been on a cross-country train ride? Yes, in a few places. I freaking love sleeper trains, I think they’re so fun with a group. On one of the sleeper trains I went on in China we accidentally taught the guy with the food/drink trolley the english word for beer because we bought more every time he went past.

12. Is there currently any caffeine in your system? No

13. Look around, are things organized? Yes, I keep my apartment very tidy.

14. Is there any TV show that ended that you wish hadn’t? Don’t Trust the Bitch in Apartment 23

15. Know what you’re planning to do after this? Attempt to kill time for a couple of hours until I can go to bed

16. How often do you update your Facebook status? I don’t really do statuses, just post photos from my instagram.

17. Do you even wear any jeans other than skinny anymore? All my jeans are of varying levels of skininess. From slim-fit to practically painted on.

18. Are you sensitive to caffeine? Yes. I would have a rum and coke right now but 1) I don’t have any coke, and 2) if I drank any it would take me a long time to get to sleep.

19. How do you usually get around? Walking or metro

20. Which languages do you wish you could speak fluently in? It would be nice to be fluent in spanish but if it happened magically overnight it wouldn’t be fun because I like the challenge. It would be cool to magically become fluent in arabic and/or mandarin.

21. Have you ever been accused of being too clingy? No

22. Can you speak any French? No.

23. Have you ever stayed in a hotel? Dozens. I travel a lot.

24. What is in your pocket? Some lint.

25. Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? There are certainly some details of my life that I have omitted. Such as some experiences with sex, drugs and alcohol.  

26. Who was the last person to smoke a cigarette in your presence? People from that office I briefly worked at. Or probably more recently just random people on the street.

27. Have you ever lived with a friend? Yeah, a few.

28. What are a few of your favorite tv shows? iZombie, Brooklyn 99, Jane The Virgin, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Club De Cuervos, Parks and Rec 29. What kind of socks do you like to wear? Brightly coloured ones with wild patterns 30. Do you have your own house key, and how often do you actually use it? Whenever I need to get into my apartment. (This question must have been written by a teenager)

31. How often do you eat chocolate? Not actually that often. I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth as I did when I was younger. 32. How often do you wash dishes at your house? Every 1-3 days depending on how lazy I am.

33. How much sleep did you get last night? ~7 hours 34. When was the last time you went to a cemetery and why were you there? Last year on halloween myself and a few other drunk people from the party I was at decided to go wander around the nearby cemetery. 35. What were you doing when you heard about the attack on the twin towers? I don’t remember specifically hearing about it. I was only 7 so I wouldn’t really have cared anyway. Mostly what I remember is that they took cartoons off tv to play non-stop news for at least a week. 36. Doesn’t John Mayer suck? I have no opinions on him. 37. When was the last time you saw the sun rise? When I was in Colombia. One night in Cartagena I stayed up with a swedish and a colombian guy chatting in spanish while we watched the sun rise over the river. Then the cops came over and told us to leave.

38. What was the last picture you took? It was of my DS because I started playing pokemon in spanish and I was sending the picture to a couple of friends to say that the pokemon names are still the same in this language.

39. Are there many traffic incidents in your area? I don’t drive anymore so I don’t pay attention. 40. Have you ever been for a ride in the back of a truck? Probably at some point during travels. I’ve done a lot of weird shit 41. Are you currently downloading anything? No. 42. Does your father have any facial hair? No

43. Have you ever played golf? My mum attempted to get me into golf when I was a kid (maybe young teen?) and I absolutely hated it. It was the most infuriating game I’ve ever played.

44. What was the last tv show you watched an episode of? The Defenders 45. Do you like beer? If so, what’s your favorite brand? Beer is fine. I’m pretty used to Moritz and Estrella Damm because they are common local brands. The fucking worst beer is Balboa in Panama. God it was so awful. Also not a fan of San Miguel which is common across all of spain. 46. Do you feel bad when you throw food out? Yes 47. When was the last time you waxed anything on your body, if ever? I’ve never waxed. I just shave. 48. What’s your favorite fast food place? I don’t have one. I don’t really eat takeout here. 49. When was the last time you went out for a meal? A few weeks ago. 50. Have you ever been in a car accident? A few minor ones but not while I’ve been driving. 51. What colour shirt are you wearing right now? Navy blue

52. Have you ever had a bonfire on the beach? Y’know I actually don’t think I have... I should get on that.

53. Are you skilled when it comes to working in the kitchen? I don’t burn anything. That’s a skill, right?

54. When was the last time you went to a campground? That would have been back in April, camping in the Sahara Desert.

55. Do you listen to music while driving? Yes, and I sing along Very Loudly.

56. When was the last time you hung out with people younger than you? I have absolutely no idea. 

57. What is the closest blue object to you? Box of tissues on the coffee table.

58. How much did you spend on your last shopping trip? Probably about 25 euros at the grocery store

59. Have you ever gone over your cell phone plan by accident? I used to go over my data limit pretty regularly at my old job.

60. Can you honestly say you’ve been drunk before? Very, and many times. (this question must have been written by a teen)

61. Where did you get your last bruise from? Probably that mystery bruise I got in my armpit in central america. I’m pretty sure I got roofied that night so I don’t remember anything at all but I am still sooooo curious how I got that bruise. Nobody I was with knew how it happened either but then again they were all pretty trashed anyway so even if they saw they might not remember.

62. Are you a person that likes to take chances? Depends. Sometimes I take calculated risks.

63. Would you consider your life to be great right now? Right now it’s pretty mediocre but a month ago it was freaking awesome.

64. Do you remember the dream you had last night? Not exactly but I think it involved me getting tattoos on my arm

65. Do you get emotional easily? I don’t really have emotions tbh

66. Do you get obnoxious when you’re drunk? Nah, I get fun when I’m drunk

67. Who was the first person to ever give you flowers? I’m not sure anybody has ever given me flowers.

68. What was the last thing you heated up in your microwave? Chicken and veggies to go with my baked potato the other day

69. Were you born somewhere other than a hospital? No.

70. What was the last flavor of ice cream you had? Mango. It was homemade by a woman in Comuna 13 in Colombia 71. When you go out drinking, what do you prefer to drink? Beer or rum and coke 72. Is there a trash can near you? Yeah

73. When and where was the last time you took a picture of yourself? I think I took a selfie in my kitchen a few days ago 74. When was the last time you stayed up throughout the entire night? Cartagena, Colombia. ~8 weeks ago. But I stayed up until 2 or 3am a few times after that.

75. Have you ever considered a foreign-exchange program? No, I just fucked off overseas on my own accord.

76. Are sex and sexual activities something you enjoy? Yep 77. What’s an interesting fact about the state in which you were born? I know literally nothing about the region I was born in.

78. What’s one aspect of your life that did not turn out as you expected? Well I definitely didn’t expect to learn spanish 79. Is there a subject about which you know a great deal? Probably, but nothing immediately comes to mind 80. What was the last thing that you put off doing? I should probably vacuum and mop my apartment 81. What did you do instead of that activity? Anything else.

Before and after: 3 years ago, today

82. What size is the last bed you kissed on?  - Double.  - A single bed in a twin room in a hotel. Tbh I probably could have swapped to a double room but at that point I didn’t realise he’d be staying with me

83. When was the last time you were sick? - I got the flu pretty bad in 2013. Probably should have gone to hospital but instead I only took 2 days off work. - I had a mild cold when I got home from my last trip. 84. Do you have any summer plans yet? - I ditched summer in favour of going skiing in Japan - Summer just ended. I don’t know whether my next summer will be here next June/July, or back in Aus in January. Will depend on whether I find a job 85. When was the last time you shaved your legs? - Probably within 2 weeks - Earlier today 86. Is there someone you wish you were closer with? - I think I had just started developing a crush on a guy that I later dated briefly and then he cheated on me, lied about it and broke up with me by facebook message while I was on holiday overseas. So, not the best idea really. - I’m all g. 87. Do you tend to waste a lot of money? - I made 1 or 2 poor decisions with money but I was earning enough to cover my ass. - It’s not a waste when it’s something I actively want to spend the money on. 88. What did you last drink? - Probably pepsi - Orange juice 89. Have you ever received an injury from a hook up? - Uhhh no? - Not unless that’s how I got that mystery bruise in my armpit. 90. Do you have any good friends of the opposite sex? - Yes - Yes, the same ones 91. When was the last time you had a crowd at your house? - Probably around this time 3 years ago was my housewarming - I have never had more than 2 people visit this apartment at a time. Last time I had a crowd would have been my moving out party (from the place I just moved into 3 years ago) which was a bit over a year ago.

92. How many cell phones have you had? - 5 - 7, if you include the work phone I had 93. Where do you get all your clothes? - JayJays - H&M, C&A, Mango etc 94. Have you ever regretted kissing someone? - Nah - Nah 95. Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket? - No. - I got one just under 3 years ago 96. Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone? - Alone - Depends. Sometimes I wouldn’t mind having someone here 97. Do you think age matters in relationships? - To an extent - Not really 98. Have you ever lived with a girlfriend/boyfriend? - No. - No 99. When will your next kiss be? - Probably the next party I went to. I made out with a lot of people that year - No idea 100. Add up all the digits of your cell phone number. What do you get? - 40 - 50 101. When you lost your virginity, do you honestly feel like you were ready? - I didn’t regret it but I probably wasn’t emotionally ready for it. - Same as above I guess. You only lose it once.

102. Was the person you lost your virginity to younger or older than you? - Older. - ^^

103. Were you sexually experienced whatsoever when you lost your virginity? - Not at all - ^^

104. Have you had sex with more than one person? - Yes - Yes by a larger amount

105. Have you ever had sex with the lights on? - Yes. - Yes

106. Have you ever had sex on a floor? - No - Yes

107. When is the last time you had sex? - Probably like at least 6 months before - About a month ago (can’t believe my trip ended so long ago)

108. Do you care for that person? - Eh - I guess

109. Is this your boyfriend or girlfriend? - No - No

110. The first time you got drunk, how old were you? - 16 - ^^

111. Where were you located the first time you got drunk? - The afterparty of my highschool formal. It was in the backyard of a girl in my grade - ^^

[frogsandfries]

Daydreaming about all the things

I'm gonna do with my first check, which I estimate will only be like a hundred bucks.

For example, I want to get a frappuccino and a big bag of sandwiches from Arby's, I'm obviously going to pay my phone bill because I get tremendously stressed out at the thought of needing to call work and being utterly incapable, but also, it infuriates me how many kilometers I'm totally blowing in Pokemon Go. Additionally, purchasing tokens, with how consistently I'm pretty sure I'm going to be working, is going to be more expensive, especially when there are going to be days when I want to run errands and make extra stops.

I think I just had a squirrel bounce off my head, but it's raining, so I have my heavy sweater on, hood up. It's fine. I found some mysterious bug bites on my wrist after carrying my friend's dog into Walgreens when I was trying to get my dad's Western Union. Turns out, despite flea treatment, she has fleas. So guess who's not allowed on my bed till they get that under control.

Anyway, back to the topic of extra stops and errands, I want to purchase the next shelf and a couple more etoiles of DMC, which may have to wait. I'm not sure if I should order the next big bag of 18ct aida while I'm actively earning money, or just work through what I have and see how far I can get. I'm already anxious about running out of materials. It's incredible to me how much thread I use per ATC, and then the massive variety of colors this project is going to take. I know skeins are only around fifty to seventy cents a hit, but that's a lot if you end up blowing through a hundred skeins. And then, I still haven't found my thread conditioner, and cross-stitching sucks tannins without it, so I'm thinking about preemptively buying like three of the little kits with the sewing machine conditioner extra. When I'm actively stitching, especially when I'm using two strands, that stuff disappears quicker than you'd believe.

Something I definitely need to purchase is just an actual basket, like ten or fifteen water flavors because I cannot even tell you how quickly I go through them, even being back in Wisconsin, and even though we're quickly fading into autumn. Oh! Speaking of autumn, so a) I'd like to waterproof a sweater for walking in the rain, and b) I want to make my friend a felt autumn wreath that she hasn't even implied wanting. I'm gonna find my good hot glue gun, eh, strike that. It'll last longer if I sew it. Of course, by the time I finish it, whether I use glue or thread, it'll freakin be full on winter.

Another thing I eventually need to add to my stash of useful things is caffeine tablets. I'm usually the type to reach for actual energy drinks, because generally, I'm going to have a soda anyway, but also, they're becoming excessively sweet to my palate. My sweet tooth is quickly becoming sensitive to beverages; candy is one thing. Speaking of candy, I'm probably going to pick up some Halloween candy. Probably when it goes on sale. I'd like some Sixlets, and chocolate covered bridge mix. The chocolate covered bridge mix will be its own errand. There are a couple places I could get it from and it'll be an adventure to see who has it for the best price and the best quality. And once I finish my jelly beans, I'll have plenty of space to store a lot of chocolate covered mix.

Organizing a thread stash takes a lot of investment. I know some people just throw their skeins and scraps and the thread information into a bag, throw the bags in a binder and call or a day, but even that, when you're just starting, is going to take quite a bit of investment. I feel like the number of bags I would need also would command a serious financial investment. Even something as simple as making my thread into pre-cut lengths and loading them onto my cards is a lengthy time investment, and considering the sheer quantity of colors I already have, let alone the colors I intend to eventually acquire (it would be cool to mix in more over-dyes and variegated colors into my work, especially for scenery and backgrounds). I absolutely love using the twenty-hole cards. I'm considering linking them together so they're always in order but I'm not certain. I'm also not certain quite yet how I want to organize my multicolored threads.

Oh. Metallics. I haven't cross-stitched with metallics yet, but I've freehanded with them and......ehhhh. I'm also not certain when I would use metallics. Maaayyyybe when I stitch Kitty looking at the school. Maaayyybe to bring depth to certain kinds of textures and effects?? Like if there's ever any metal or....... maybe decorations??

Honestly, I'm probably just going to buy shoes, pay my phone bill, if I'm lucky I'll be able to afford at least another week of tokens and some shirts, but I might just have to wait on shirts, let alone water flavor or even an exchange carbonation canister. A carbonation canister doesn't really help when I can really only bring two or three water bottles with me and I drink like three or four. I already carry two, and with everything else, it's a bit much. So I could only have one soda water every day, at work.

Eventually, things will start to level out. Sooner than later, I need to purchase an actual work shirt, so I can leave off the heavy vest that wrinkles too easily.

I'll once again be even on all the things I need, and I can start stockpiling cross-stitch supplies, and saving to move out on my own and for going back to college and thesis.

Oh, back to the topic of my project, yet again, there's going to be all kinds of fun stuff as we go. Vertical frames, double vertical, double horizontal. I'm not above arranging a four-frame frame if I want maximum detail, or making panoramas. All kinds of shit. I'm really going to push the capacity of cross-stitch and ATCs in/as a storytelling capacity. In fact, at least once, I need a panorama of the village and the school. I think the school is actually one of my few planned panoramas and use of an effect thread. I think I might do the school itself as a maybe two vertical high and maybe three vertical in the bottom row. Then the cafeteria will probably be two side by side, and maybe I'll use an etoile for the parts of the floor hit by sun.

I didn't really overtly plan to make crazy layouts which will require different plans of frames, but definitely inthe back of my mind, it has been kind of just a part of using a pixel kind of style and wanting those details. Maybe that's where I'd be better off just making molds of each side, and I could cut the edges and fix everything back together with UV resin. Apart from visually detailed scenes, in the really quotidian scenes, it's not necessary, since there'll be more people action. It will be cool and fun to make bigger frames with little window frame dividers. I think it'll look cool, but it may cause some difficulties. Or maybe I should just make a bigger frame, a longer one, maybe like a comic strip. I would have to see the ATCs mounted, and be able to have enough of them to play around with arrangements. I'm probably just going to do what I originally had in mind and wait till I finish at least my current sheet before I wash, cut and mount.

Once everything is washed, it's glovey tiiimme! I should probably wear gloves all the time; it might save washing ha ha. Once I have them washed, I don't want to have to wash them again. I'm thinking maybe saturate them with the pre-treatment, then finger scrub each panel with dish soap, and rinse the hell out of it.

I'm really excited to be moving forward on this project.

[eurotraveltales-blog]

Day 1: Madrid

WE’RE IN EUROPE. WE’RE LIVING THE DREAM.

Sorta, kinda. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sights and the food are amazing - the kinds of things we always saw on the internet and considered a faraway and unattainable alternate reality. But we did encounter a few hiccups along the way today.

The flights themselves went pretty smoothly - a little turbulence, but nothing too harrowing. They also fed us a complimentary dinner and breakfast on the plane, which was nice. I especially enjoyed the croissant and yogurt my flight gave out for breakfast. Apriet’s flight arrived in Madrid-Barajas International Airport an hour before mine. When I landed at 7:45, we tried to meet up - a process that would take about an hour. Folks, this airport is massive. And this was coupled by the fact that we arrived at the two farthest terminals from each other. The airport WiFi kept cutting in and out too, so we could only kind of send each other our locations on Google maps. We finally reunited in Terminal 2, and after some figurative tears and hugging, we moved on.

We still needed to purchase our Eurail passes since we didn’t realize they had to be shipped to us prior to leaving for Europe. That wasn’t a big deal; we decided we would just purchase them in person once we got to Spain, coming to terms with the fact that it would cost more than buying them online. So after meeting up, we asked the Tourist Information booth where we could buy Eurail passes and we were told to go to Atocha Station - great! So we buy tickets to Atocha, and you guessed it, they don’t sell Eurail passes there. We asked two different Renfe railway ticketing agents for help, to no avail. The first one told us that we could only get Eurail passes at Chamartin Station, which we literally passed by on the train ride from the airport to Atocha, so it was a little infuriating to hear. At this point, both of us were pretty wiped out since it was essentially the middle of the night for both of us and as you can imagine, we didn’t sleep super well on the plane. As such, our first priority became finding a way to the hostel so we could check in and take a nap. We tried purchasing a point-to-point metro ticket to get to our hostel, but there didn’t seem to be a route taking us where we needed to go. I’m sure there was one, but we were just unfamiliar and confused about the 20 different maps there seemed to be. Since we were unsure, we didn’t want to risk buying a ticket and ending up in the middle of bumheck nowhere.

We were left with two options: Taxi or go outside and walk around until we find a McDonald’s or someplace with WiFi so we could use Maps to figure out where we were in relation to the hostel and far we were from it. Considering that we were both about to pass out, we opted for the taxi. It was simple enough getting to the hostel, and the taxi fare was about 10 euros - not bad at all. The cab drivers were pretty helpful even though we spoke little Spanish, and for that we are eternally grateful. The check-in time given in the email was 12:00 and we arrived five minutes to the hour. When we got there, however, the receptionist told us that check-in was actually at 12:30. They wouldn’t let us check in early, so we just passed out on the couches until it was time. But honestly, there was no reason why they couldn’t have just let us check in early. Ack.

After a somewhat refreshing 3-hour nap at the hostel, we got kicked out for maintenance, so we used the opportunity to explore the city. Our hostel is in a pretty good location. There’s a large shopping street right next to us that leads to Plaza Mayor, Mercado de San Miguel, and myriad other shops and squares. Here’s something that will amuse most of you - it took us until the third time walking through Plaza Mayor for us to realize that we were walking through Plaza Mayor. We were completely oblivious the first two times and just walked through it like it was a regular square. Shameful, I know.

At one point, we stopped at a McDonald’s so I could use the restroom. Let me tell you, if you thought lines for bathrooms were bad in America, wait till you hear about European bathroom lines. I actually have no idea why this particular McDonald’s had such a long line because we haven’t encountered the same issue at any other McDonald’s. I will say it was the most fancy, high-class looking McDonald’s I’d ever seen and it had two floors, but there were only three stalls in the bathroom. The line went out the door and down the stairs. When I finally got into a stall, I discovered there was no toilet paper, much to my chagrin. I very uncomfortably washed my hands, left the bathroom, grabbed some napkins from a table, and got back in line, which at this point had gotten even longer since the first time. The whole thing was just one giant debacle.

Once that was all over and done, we stopped in at some souvenir stores, took pictures of the Plaza, and got small wraps at Mercado de San Miguel to tide us over until dinner. I got a chicken curry wrap and Apriet got a ham and arugula wrap. There were pigeons and smaller birds all over the city. We fed a little bird the tiniest piece of arugula from one of the wraps. Watching the little sparrow grab the piece of lettuce, dart out of people’s way, and then chewing it up was the most adorable thing ever. After eating, we walked past the garden and the palace, both of which we would revisit tomorrow. We also saw street performers of all kinds - an accordionist, a violinist, a person pretending to be a statue (a statuist?), and some dancers. We even saw a mariachi band! I always wish I had enough money to tip street performers because I admire them so much for sharing their passion in such a bold way. Also, SO MANY DOGS EVERYWHERE. There was even one guy walking five dogs at once. We need more dogs in our lives.

Anyway, we alternated between walking around the city and chilling in a square to people-watch. We came across a building that had Madrid’s motto written on the side: “Fui sobre agua edifiica, mis muros de fuego son,” which translates to, “On water I was built, my walls are made of fire.” I think it’s a gorgeous motto, especially because it alludes to the origin of the city. Mayrit, the original city of Madrid, was built on a creek that ran down the street Segovia, and firewalls were built to protect the Arabs. When enemies threw arrows at the stone walls of Madrid at night, the sparks looked like the walls were made of fire.

Dinner time! Most restaurants in Spain open from 8:00PM to midnight for dinner. We went to an old authentic restaurant called Sobrino de Botin, and it was pretty mind-blowing. We shared a Gazpacho and a scrambled egg with asparagus. These eggs were the best eggs I’ve ever had. They taste so much better than American eggs, and I can’t even describe the difference. They were just bursting with flavor and freshness. Apriet says the gazpacho is the best she’s ever had, so 12/10 would recommend Sobrino de Botin if you’re ever in Madrid.

After dinner, we picked up some toiletry needs and headed back to the hostel.  Note that this was when the city was the most crowded and street merchants were setting up shop. We thought it was crowded at 18:00 when we were people-watching in the square, but that was nothing compared to 21:00. We realize we were turning in way earlier than people normally do in Spain, but we also needed to catch up on sleep. There’s always tomorrow to get tipsy on sangria and go a little wild.

It’s been a day... Buenas noches a todos!