#and then i have to COOK the food. the suffering is neverending.

[tomorrowonu]

I HAVEN'T WATCHED THE CB BECAUSE I'M AN ADULT AND I HAVE TO GO GROCERIES SHOPPING AND GO TO MEDICAL APPOINTMENTS!!!!!!! WHAT IS THIS LIFE

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Request: Victor Vale x Reader

Victor Vale x reader

Word Count: 1139

@dxestars : well, hello there! i read your victor vale fanfiction and was wondering if you could write another? maybe one in which serena suggests eli to kidnap the reader to get victor's attention, he doesn't know if it'll work (bc victor is thought to be a sociopath) but does so nonetheless. it turns out it works like a charm and victor confesses his feelings and all? thank you!! 💞💞💞

“Didn’t you say that there was someone that caught Vale’s attention back before all of this shit started?” Serena asked one day as they were plotting.

Eli gritted his teeth, mentally calculating for the millionth time if it was really worth the effort to have a partner in his scheme if she was going to keep talking and interrupting his thought process. “What?” he managed to force out past his clenched jaw.

“I don’t know; when you told me about your ridiculous backstory you mentioned that he had a lab partner or something that he wouldn’t shut up about.” She shrugged. “Maybe you could use them to get him where you want him.”

“That won’t--” He exhaled sharply through his nose much like an angry bull would. “Victor doesn’t have . . . attachments like everyone else. That wouldn’t work.”

“How do you know?” she demanded. “And besides, I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

~

Of course you didn’t know it, but that little conversation--or, shall we say, argument--was the reason you woke up with a splitting headache struggling to remember what happened. You’d gone to a bar with some friends, one of those places that served surprisingly decent food considering it was all cooked on a tiny hot plate or in a shitty deep frier that’d been around for at least fifteen years. You’d gone to the restroom after having a few too many drinks, and . . . That was all you could recall. Everything else you might have remembered was washed away by the pounding in your skull.

You’d heard stories like this from survivors of unspeakable things. You never thought it might happen to you, but you really couldn’t think of any other way to explain it. Someone had slipped something into your drink, something that’d knocked you out and left you with this lovely little jackhammer inside your skull.

Fuck.

You wiggled your wrists in an attempt to loosen the bindings that strapped you to a rather uncomfortable chair. They didn’t feel like rope; they felt harder. 

Must be plastic. Zip Ties?

A loud bang brought your attention to the room at large instead of the laser focus you’d had on your not-so-metaphorical shackles. It surprised you to see a face you recognized from a long time ago attached to the figure that was strolling through the empty warehouse you were trapped in.

Eli? No, it can’t be; he was such a nice guy back in college. I never did anything to piss him off. So you echoed your thoughts allowed by calling, “Eli?”

“The one and only,” he grinned. His smile was the same as it had been all those years ago. Slightly unsettling. Something about his neverending charm had always set you on edge; it was part of the reason you had clung so tightly to Victor’s calm presence.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Funny that you phrase it like that,” he laughed. “Hell is exactly where you are right now. Our own little Temptress to lure out the Devil himself, as it were.”

You stared at him in blatant confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, a certain old friend of yours is proving to be a real thorn in my side, so I need you to get him out of hiding. Victor and I need to have a little chat.”

“Victor?” you questioned incredulously. “I haven’t spoken to him in years!”

“Now, now,” he chided. “Lying is a sin. Good thing it’s my job to get rid of nasty things like that. I know you kept in contact with him after he went to prison.”

Your heart stuttered. No one was supposed to know about that. After the first letter you’d sent, Victor had requested that you always send messages as different people from different addresses, so it wouldn’t be traced back to you. You’d chalked it up as general paranoia, but now you weren’t sure it had been. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Nothing,” a new voice broke the tense atmosphere. “He’s not going to do a damn thing to you, because this has nothing to do with you.” It was Victor. The paleness of his body in sharp contrast to the gloom that was the warehouse around you.

“Oh, I think it does, Vic.” Eli’s smile had become something almost feral. Unhinged. “You see. I didn’t realize back then that you two were so close, so imagine my surprise when I started digging only to find that you kept in touch after all. These. Years.”

“Let her go, Eli. She’s got no place in your little quest to cleanse all of us. She’s not like us. She doesn’t have any powers.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for an instant. So that’s what this is about. Eli has lost his mind over these stupid powers. You knew about them, of course. Victor had told you in a vague sort of way in one of his letters; his findings hadn’t been nearly as negative as he’d first thought in that little experiment back in college.

“What are you talking about?” Ever the showman, Eli flung his arms out to the side dramatically as he asked that. “She’s got the most impressive power of us all! She managed to make our own little Grinch’s heart grow three sizes all on her own! And don’t try to say that she didn’t,” he waved a finger at his nemesis, “because you wouldn’t have come all this way if that were the case.”

“I’ve never said she didn’t matter. It would be stupid to try to lie,” Victor replied cooly. “I care about her more than anyone else on this absurd planet. But I won’t allow her to be dragged into your sick game. She’s innocent.”

“Was Eve innocent when she listened to the Devil in the Garden?” Eli challenged. “It’s my job to--”

“It’s not your job to do anything!” Victor snapped. He clenched his hand, and Eli fell to the floor gasping for breath.

Eli’s eyes were clenched as tightly as they would go against the pain as Victor deftly used a knife to remove the ties. “You won’t get away with this.”

“I already have.” He turned to you. “Get out of here,” he murmured so Eli couldn’t hear over the sounds of his own suffering. “There’s a black car out front. Get in, and they’ll take you somewhere safe.”

You squeezed his forearm. “Be careful, Vic.”

“When am I not?” There was a tiny little smirk on his face.

“I could think of a few times,” you replied as if this weren’t the most dangerous situation you’d experienced in your life.

“Go. I won’t be far behind.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

After all, you can’t say someone’s the most important thing in your life and just skip off, right?

[my-soul-sings]

just my luck: chapter 1

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Taehee x Reader 

Summary (placeholder): Having been cursed to live a life filled with misfortunes, moving to a new city to start anew was, as expected, a difficult process. But things start to change after you encounter a mysterious doctor who seems to know you even though you’ve never met him before. 

Notes:

Will contain spoilers for Taehee’s Story. 

The ‘Reader’ character will be left unnamed, and there are no mentions of ‘y/n’.

Taehee is trained in western medicine here, instead of oriental medicine.

The reader character will not be based on the in-game MC, other than her looks. The differences are because personally I think the in-game MC and Taehee’s personality don’t really match somehow.

This is basically my version of events of how Taehee and MC meet again. The details and events in this are not true to the game, other than Taehee’s backstory. 

For now it’ll be here on tumblr (if and until I move it to AO3) and i’ll be using the tag #justmyluck on the blog for chapter updates. 

***

The rain was loud in your ears. Cars whizzed by you, water splashing beneath the tires and onto the pavement as they went by, and people hurried about with their umbrellas that did little to keep them dry in this torrential weather. 

You stood still in the middle of the hustle and bustle, your luggage by your side and your broken umbrella hanging limp and useless in your hand. The cold rainwater seeped into your clothes, and you shivered as a chill ran down your spine when the strong wind blew against your frame. 

You could feel odd stares being directed your way, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your phone battery had been depleted, which meant you could no longer refer to Poogle Maps to get to where your new apartment was. You had already waited for the past hour trying to hail a cab to no avail, and no one was accepting your request on the Duber app. 

As if moving wasn’t stressful enough already, all of this just had to happen. But you weren’t surprised in the least—it was just another typical day in your unfortunate life. 

For as long as you could remember, you had terrible luck. At first it was trivial things like always getting the shitty prizes in a lucky draw no matter how many times you spun the wheel, and always losing in games of chance against friends. No matter where you went or what you did, it seemed you were doomed to consistently draw the short end of the stick. 

Your luck seemed to only get worse as you grew older. Injuries grew increasingly common, and more severe. You didn’t think there were so many ways a person could get hurt—you had to learn it the hard way, from slipping on a banana peel, getting knocked down by someone who accidentally ran straight into you, getting hit by stray soccer balls or baseballs in school… The events were countless. 

Your classmates used to joke that you had been cursed by a witch when you were younger. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if that was true after all. There was only so much bad luck one person could have in their life, and you seemed to be attracting a never-ending supply of it. 

You’d hoped that maybe things would change after moving to this new neighbourhood. You had even specifically asked for an apartment that had ‘good feng-shui’, hoping that would make some kind of difference.

It didn’t. You hadn’t even arrived in your new home yet, but you could already tell that things weren’t going to change. If you had been cursed by a witch or been fated to suffer neverending misfortune, then moving to a new neighbourhood to start afresh wasn’t going to change anything. 

With a sigh and a shiver, you decided to shake yourself out of your low spirits. No point dwelling on these things, you may as well hurry to your apartment before something worse happened. So you picked up the handle of your luggage and continued trudging on, your feet making squelching sounds with each step from the water that had filled your shoes. You’d get home one way or another, and a little rain wasn’t about to stop you.

Just as you finished that thought, the handle of your luggage broke, and the whole thing tumbled straight into a muddy puddle, sending specks of mud flying and staining your jeans.

It took everything in you to suppress a frustrated scream when you dipped your fingers into the dirty waters to pick up your luggage again. 

***

By the time you arrived at the apartment building, you looked like you had been to hell and back. 

But hey, at least you had come out alive, right?

Your landlord had been surprised to see you drenched from head to toe, and she had kindly offered a fresh towel and some hot tea for you after inviting you into her home. She was a kind elderly lady, and her warm welcome brightened your mood considerably. The tea had felt extra warm as you made small talk with her before taking the key to your apartment. 

But then your mood sank right back down to rock-bottom when you realised that you had to carry your heavy luggage up five whole flights of stairs, because it just so happened that the elevator wasn’t working. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone you could ask for help—certainly not the sweet old landlady. You felt bad to bother any of your neighbours too. 

So an hour and one rough tumble down the stairs later, you miraculously made it all the way up to your door. You would be jumping for joy if your arms didn’t feel like they were about to fall off. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower, lie down and get some sleep. Maybe take some painkillers before that too, because you could feel a migraine coming up. 

The apartment smelled a little musty when you entered, but otherwise, everything looked great. It was bare, seeing as there was some delay in the delivery of your furniture, but it was clean. There weren’t any bugs that you could see from a quick survey of the rooms, so that was good enough in your book. 

Looking around your simple studio apartment, you smiled to yourself, glad that you had finally made it here despite the many hiccups along the way. Nothing could dampen your spirits now; moving here marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life, and you were ready for your new job that would be starting in two weeks. 

You had a good feeling about all this somehow, despite dripping wet all over your floor and even though your sides hurt from falling down the stairs together with your luggage earlier. 

Cursed or not, you were excited about living here already. 

***

Two days later, your furniture still had not arrived. You had to make do with the sleeping bag you’d packed in your luggage for contingencies such as this. The moving company wasn’t getting back to you even though you had sent them a string of emails asking for updates. You hoped it was just a lack of staff around on the weekends, and that someone would get back to you by Monday.

Apart from that, there weren’t any major problems. Everything in the apartment was working fine. You had made sure to check everything to make sure you wouldn’t suffer some kind of freak accident in your own home—it had happened before, when the ceiling fan in the living room fell just when you left to take a drink. (Looking at it from another angle, you had been incredibly lucky with that close shave.)

The only issue left was the fever that you had woken up to that morning, definitely because you had been caught in the rain. Thankfully, the landlady had informed you that there was a clinic just across the street, so you made plans to go after forcing yourself to eat half of an apple. You didn’t have an appetite but you’d probably faint on the way if you went on an empty stomach, and ending up in the hospital was definitely not on your to-do list here. 

It was warm out when you stepped out of your apartment building. The sun was up, and the temperature was just right. Perfect for a walk. You’d probably enjoy it better if your head wasn’t pounding so much. 

It wasn’t too difficult to find the clinic. Like the landlady said, it was right across the street, a mere five minutes’ walk from your apartment. And then right down the street was a convenience store too. You’d go pick up some snacks and ready-made foods later — it’d be too tiresome to cook while sick.

The clinic wasn’t too full, thankfully. There were maybe about four to five people inside when you arrived, and after registering at the counter you took a seat and checked your phone. You hadn’t had the energy to reply to anything yesterday, so it seemed that your phone had blown up while you were gone.

The messages were mainly from Seohee, your best friend. You saw multiple missed calls and messages from her, and from what you could glean from the message previews, she had been worried because you just went MIA without updating her on your whereabouts. She had been worried from the start when she heard that you were going to live alone in a new city, without anyone accompanying you. 

Grimacing, you swiped right to open the chat, and you typed a quick message to assure her that you were doing fine and adjusting great, casually omitting the part where you had fallen sick and your furniture hadn’t arrived yet. No need to worry her, she had enough things on her plate to manage. 

The other messages were from random group chats that you didn’t have the energy to read at the moment, so you locked your phone and closed your eyes momentarily, leaning back in your seat and resting your head against the wall. The doctors seemed to be taking a while…

About half an hour later, your number was called. Finally. 

You stood up a bit too quickly, and black spots promptly appeared in your vision while your head started to spin. A nod was all you could manage when the receptionist pointed to one of the rooms down the hallway, while you took hesitant steps forward and tried to steady yourself. Eventually the dizziness subsided and your head cleared up a bit when you read the name written on the door plate: Dr. Taehee Kim. 

You repeated the name a few times in your head. It had a nice ring to it. You knocked twice on the wooden door and pushed down on the door handle to enter.

“Good morning.” You heard a deep, male voice, and your first thought was that you liked it. There was a soothing quality to it, and maybe it was an exaggeration but your headache seemed to lessen just from hearing him speak. 

You looked up, wearing a polite smile and returning the morning greeting. Or at least, you were about to, but then your voice caught in your throat and you found yourself staring into the eyes of who was quite possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. He had thick, wavy black locks parted to the side, and a pair of deep set, dark grey-ish green eyes—a colour you had never seen before. His complexion was fair and otherwise flawless, and you could tell from his defined jawline and broad shoulders that he worked out regularly too. He looked handsome enough to be a model, and you couldn’t help but stare with widened eyes, while heat began to gather in your face. Whether it was from the fever, or because of him, you couldn’t tell. 

But getting to see such a handsome doctor… today had to be your lucky day. For once. 

The only thing was, it seemed to be the exact opposite for him. Contrary to the tone of his greeting, he now looked like he had just seen a ghost. He sprang to his feet the moment he saw you, and his chair rolled backwards until it hit the wall behind him with a loud thump. His eyes were blown wide, lips parted as he stared at you, searching your face for something… You didn’t know what, exactly. 

The normal thing to do now would be to sit in the empty chair next to his desk and for him to do his job, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move a single step. Not when he was looking at you like this, as if he had a million things to say but couldn’t. So you stood there, feet glued to the spot by the door as you stared back, blinking and confused. 

He spoke again after the tense silence stretched on for much longer than you’d have liked. 

“Is… Is it really you? Am I dreaming? Is this… real?”

In the silence of the room, his shaky whisper rang loud and clear in your ears. 

Affection. Sadness. Longing. They were unmistakable in his wavering voice, in his eyes that were starting to glisten with what seemed like tears. 

The only problem was, you didn’t understand why. Much less why it was being directed to you. You were missing something here, or maybe it was him. You didn’t know. Your head hurt, and you just wanted some medicine, and then to go home to sleep this fever off. 

But now your doctor was walking towards you, each footstep ringing in your ears as he drew closer and closer, his perplexed expression remaining the same. And for some reason you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, much less find the strength to push him away when he stood an arm’s length away and gently held you by the shoulders. Even the way he tried to hold you was strange — his hands were shaking and his palms were barely brushing against your shoulders, hesitant and afraid. 

Maybe you had spoken too soon. It probably wasn’t a lucky day at all—when would you learn? Now you were stuck in an office with a weirdo who was getting way too emotional over a simple consultation.

“A-Are you… okay?” The words came out as a timid squeak, and you watched as he blinked, though his eyes didn’t lose the glass-like quality to them. The ceiling light was reflecting off his eyes, and they seemed to be glistening with fresh tears.

“I never thought… I… I can’t believe it’s- it’s- H-How could this happen?” 

You flinched when you felt something brush against your cheek, and it took a few seconds for you to realise that the back of his hand was ghosting over your skin. 

Belatedly, your fight-or-flight response finally kicked in and you pushed his hand away, putting your hands out to make him step back and put some much-needed distance between you. Handsome or not, this guy was getting downright creepy and inappropriate.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, and I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’ll just go to another clinic-” You turned around, ready to hightail it out of his office, when you felt his hand on your wrist, holding you in place. 

“No, wait. Please- Please wait. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

A voice pounded in your head then. An image flashed in your mind, one of a man who didn’t belong in this time period. He was dressed in traditional clothes, and he was holding you with tears streaming down his face. You couldn’t quite make out his face from the blurred picture that came and went like lightning, but the sound of his voice was the same as this doctor’s desperate plea. 

Then dizziness hit you once more, but this time it didn’t subside. The last thing you remembered before your vision turned black was the sound of him calling your name. 

***

A/N: I will be leaving this on tumblr for now, I’ll probably start posting on AO3 when I have more chapters ready to post. :) I’d love to hear your thoughts on this first chapter and thank you for reading! :)

[dansedan]

I threatened on the Disco Writer’s Nook server to share my notes from this latest fic, but since they’re wildly incomprehensible and kind of silly I thought maybe I’ll just... chuck ‘em on here instead, under a readmore where they can pass by easier so uhhh xX WeLcOmE To My TwIsTeD mInDXx !!!1!!

(warning for LONG LONG post- I write full sections and asides from the universe that aren’t even in the damn fic within the same notes document a lot... I’m also insufferably pretentious on notes I KNOW and I cull it on the final as much as I can, as well as mild possible spoilers for a fic I haven’t written in the same au-timeline-thing I suppose and NSFT stuff)

(also a lot of this gets discarded because it’s so stupid and I write it at terrible brain moments)

"Por la mañana me di a la estúpida tarea de esconder mis cigarros por los rincones de la casa. Los encuentro, claro, pero fumo poco, fumo menos, hago esfuerzos por mejorarme de una vez."

meditative cigarettes and quitting fic.

Harry smokes less than he drinks, because he smokes to keep sharp and he usually wants to be numb, down to zero, space-based. but after going tee-total and opening up on his quest to actual-human-persondom he finds himself chainsmoking constantly. A concern in his volition is raised, a thought project ruminated on, and strategems laid out.

Harry grasps at the first half at a low point in his attempts to get better without anyone knowing or helping. He wonders about Kim's life, Kim's control. The electrochemistry in him fantasizes about a free-wheeling party-boy sort of Kim, still cool, still quiet, but free and soft and in control of his lack of control- the aviator, the flying ace, at the mercy of the elements and gliding by by choice- lands on the question of the one-per day, the Kim he knows, who takes what he needs with trepidation and preparation.

The truth is that last one- Kim was a social smoker, an after-dinner-if-the-date-is-pleasant smoker, an after-sex smoker, a bumming-cigarettes-to-gague-his-interest smoker (it all started with a boyfriend) but police work and his neverending stint in Juvie drove him to once-per-day, a creature of obsession. He used to heavily resent it- until Harry came along and joined the ritual.

"bebiendo mate con el ademán gracioso de los novatos. Es lo que hago ahora cuando siento ganas de fumar, dijo, con una sonrisa."

Kim and Harry not so close together- the idea of Kim and Harry not knowing everything about each other, because that's just not how you survive, but somehow Kim aching to be up-to-date on Harry all the time.

Harry and his funny little excursions around town. Kim visits and finds cigarettes hidden around the house, smells them in fear of finding drugs, or Harry has to awkwardly shuffle around for one when Kim invites him to smoke. Harry tries to join a book club, starts cooking lofty meals for his yoga class, tries being vegan for a week, checks out a bunch of books on the history of the Coupris Corp (SUZERAINTY ERA MARK OF AUTHENTICITY BABEY) as a way to help him wean off substances but also off Kim. They want each other but they know they need to stand on their own </3

Harry starts going to this novelty/gourmet supermarket and buying one new thing every paycheck like furikake that says it has lead on it and mate and all that. He spends his ex-drinking, smoking money on it.

Harry makes Kim huevos rotos :'-)

You're barely holding it together- how the hell did you get to this newsstand? Is it a newsstand? This structure- round, metal, iron-wrought frame and squat stature- was once a newsstand. How do you know it isn't? What is it now? You feel yourself point someplace on a menu you can't see past the dew of heavy crying- the clerk does not react, he's seen you like this- slam your wallet on the counter. You receive a paper parcel slightly larger than your fist, long. It's warm through the paper, and you can feel the dryness of a light dusting of flour passing through it. Food.

Your legs and arms are moving on their own again, wallet shoved this way, steps stumbled past the other, clumsily bringing whatever it is to your mouth and feeling crumbs fall into your beard- like a shark. That's one of the first things you remember, the beautiful old ultraliberal woman, like a shark, on her boat. The joy of your first- no, second- idiom. The first was up on Marvel Hill where you can't live. Kim said that. Kim's gonna be there, when you do it like a shark and don't stop any of this on your way to work and you stop crying so nobody thinks you did what you're avoiding doing. Is there anyway you can forget the frittte? There's so many locations in your mind, what kind of man are you, remembering the placement of a store that's meant to vanish and appear out of convenience like it's a fucking pitstop (would a flask not be enough? A single habit to get rid of, easy- but you're never easy).

You feel dark-dark-light-darkness and then light again, and smoother flooring and your coat being too warm. You're at the precinct- fuck, you're at the precinct- and it's late, real late, but you are here and there's too many people to fuck up here and at least you aren't crying. Your red face and eyes blend perfectly into too many years and days of red and puffy eyes to call attention. Perfect, perfect- god bless the innocence (or is innocence god? You can't forget- Remember- something.)

"You're late, shitkid." At some point Jean appears beside you. He's walked the other way and stopped- he's grimacing- but more importantly you see his left arm raise and still and clench itself, like a restricted movement, natural instinct. "You smell like shit- is that fish?" You do not know if that is fish because your throat hurts so bad already that you cannot know if you've been swallowing bones for this past hour (minute? Minutes? The walk feels like forever and never enough. You're swearing like a pig now that you're standing, how adequate.) 

You want to say it's agony, the end of days, the end of you- you want to say reprise, and sorry, and oh god I didn't want to see you please I don't deserve it Jean please leave and go away from me and also please oh god please hold me up I don't know what I'm doing but I'm trying to be better but I ate this thing that might as well be sawdust and I do not know what time it's been for several days.

Instead you say "it's my GOD-GIVEN RIGHT, VIC" and you move along like a fucking idiot.

"An image arises in your mind's eye-- a baby, dirty, hideous, its skin mottled and raw and red, peeling, stretching almost impossibly. The baby cries from pain- in it's brief stay on this earth it has already suffered more than some men do in their entire lives. He is built for it- thick skin, quite literally. He is being held by a slight, pale, ugly nurse- a nun in bloodied white rags with a terrible smell of herbs permanently attached to her. The scene is a caricature of mother and child- the hideous thing, held up to her chest, is drinking from an amber bottle, clouded over. In ten years, the contents of this bottle he will be legally too young for-- is this the reason you became the way you are? Are you just born-and-bred this way, surviving off of alcohol where most people had blood and human kindness?

-- It's not. The little pastiche you've thought up for yourself is half propaganda and half racist idiocy. Despite what the supposed "race-realists" may say, not everyone from the Insulindian is thrown on the bottle the moment they're weaned from the tit. In truth, you were barely even medicated, and those bitter, herbaceous spirits are not the cause of your current addiction. It's still on you harry, it's always still on you.

"Wake up- time to listen to the radio.

You love the radio. You really, really love the radio. You think the radio was the greatest purchase you have ever made- drunk you was horrible, and traumatizing, and entirely undebatably subhuman, but he did buy this radio, and by god fuck if that isn't his saving grace (a story comes to mind- a Dolorean allegory from your childhood- about a selfish rich woman and a lazy cheating bum both ferried up to heaven by a single onion that she'd given him during their lives as charity. You choose to ignore the part where they fight and fall back into hellfire). It's the thing that broke you off from your mazovian monk-like refusal to buy anything for yourself other than flour for a week after THE HANGED MAN, it's what got you into cycling and hanging out with the neon eyebleed catsuits crew, it's what reminded you that public libraries exist and nobody will ask you why you're in there reading about suzerainty-era motor carriage manufacturing and the homo-sexual underground. It's the greatest thing since communism, since disco, since-- since-- since cigarettes and kebabs and- and--

... And idolizing someone to the point of crucifixion. Which you aren't supposed to be doing.

Good thing the radio cranks up real loud! 

"You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography, even, notably, the single romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice,  meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what books were, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years).

"Harry's apartment is no longer clean, but not as dirty as before, and its stalwart light-green walls seem, in the summer light, less queasy and foreboding than what they are now, almost dainty in the contrast of the sparse few frames and piles of knickknacks on the floor. 

Believe it or not, this is good-- sometimes, life with Harry makes you feel like a zoologist, intricately analysing an animal's pile of leaves and refuse and knowing, despite all human standards, what these habits mean for the foreign species. And for Harry, mess like this is good. It means he's kept busy by any one of his million little projects,  picked up and put down at a dizzying speed and constancy, each one increasingly out of left field in

Kim and harry talk about the radio, kim thinks about it "radio, what's new? Radio- some-one still loves you"

Harry talking abt agenda + library bc you can't smoke + planning for dinner with Kim :-)

Gotta go to the library so you don't chainsmoke

Gotta shower to go to the library 

Don't wanna shower bc executive dysfunction

Grab a smoke before you shower 

Oh wait you've been chain-smoking fuck (insert meditation on sharp vs smooth)

Hide all your cigarettes around the house feeling pathetic about it

You still don't feel like showering

But you just chainsmoked and you know you'll do it again because you JUST hid your smokes and the hiding spots are fresh in your mind

Birdbath (why are you so fucking dysfunctional that you can't shower like a normal adult) 

Introspective rubber ducky selfhate momence

Rubber ducky encourages you through the power of nihilism and Kim

Thought project gain

Go to library and need comfort so you're going thru all your usual shelves (insert le funny homo shelf joke here) 

What does he read about? Smoking? Idk

Kiiiiiim. Kimmy kim kim. Think about Kim

Maybe he reads recipe books to woo kim

        INSERT EXISTENTIAL BROTH EPISODE HERE to talk about how you've never actually seen Kim cook (he told you it was good soup, clearly lying, you told him it was broth, and that you could teach him how to make soup out of it if he wanted...)

(broth episode was another note, inserted here: 

ANOTHER harry coping fic. Miserable housebound weekend nights because he can't party but the house is horrible to be in and he keeps dunking his hands into more and more ice water and taking like half-body cold showers and he's like "maybe this is bad for my skin!!! I gotta get out holy shit" and he's like uhhhh fucking. Can't go to work. Let's go to the supermarket. And then he's almost there and he's like OH FUCK NO THERES ALCOHOL AT THE SUPERMARKET and he straight up bolts out of there and muscle memory gets him to a shady ass butcher shop in some random immigrant neighborhood and he buys so much fish because of a failed check and he goes home and basically he makes so much fish stock. He makes just so fucking much fish stock and Kim comes to pick him up the next day and panics because it genuinely smells like the dead in there but it's just harry making fucking. fish broth or something. Just harry coming up to the door in his work clothes with way too much cologne on and a thermos of fish soup like "uh... Do you want some Broth kim?" And Kim can't fucking cook but he takes some Broth anyway and he's trying to figure out why harry would do that but harry is being a little edgy about it and Kim is like oh god I need to help him a little and they have a sit down about it and he's like wanting to say "hey if you need somewhere to go I'm here for you" but it's hard and I don't even know if he ends up actually saying it. Okay bye)

Talking about the sexiness of supermarkets and how they make reptile brain go brrr

Think about alcohol vs smoking. Think about kimmy kim kim (insert european drinking joke here)

Have that get stuck in his head. Kim kimmy kim kimmy kimmy kim kim. Kimster. Kimbo. Kitsy. Kitty. Cutie. Oh god no fuck oh god I need to stop.

He goes home and still rlly wants to smonk

You hide the cigarettes around the house. It feels stupid, and you know you’ll be embarrassed having to pull the Jamrock Shuffle in your own apartment, that you’re a grown adult who could just *buy another box of cigarettes* whenever you wanted to, but you feel like it helps. Drag the killing thing away from the crappy little animal even for a couple moments more, let yourself get tired out like the old man you are below all the disco scaffolding. You can’t really bring yourself to shower, but you drag the radio into the bathroom with you and wash yourself in the sink. You try to be good about it- stay away from the mirror, really lather up and clear away the sweat that’s caked to you throughout the night and morning, feel the warm graze of the water on your skin. You brush shampoo through your hair and work it in in cycles, focus on the humming feeling of the bristles on your scalp, trying not to think of much of anything, just the smell of the cheap powdery soap and of what clothes you’ll wear today, try to settle into a better memory of this instead of picking at the shame you feel about how hard it is for you. ducking your head into the stream of the water in the sink and forgetting everything except the whishing, scratching sounds of cleaning.

Being clean feels good, and being dressed again feels maybe even better (knit sweaters are a revelation- who could’ve known polyester satin wasn’t made for seaside winters), so by the time you walk your way into the Jamrock public library the morning’s incidents are nigh-forgotten. The dry warmth of the old library is a reliable balm- the yellowed fluorescent lighting washing out the rows and rows of slate-grey plastic bookshelves lined up like soldiers over prerevolutionary tile, with its woven edges and dark, jeweled pinwheels of color, stretching out endlessly full of books, reels, and the rare intricate portrait hanging overhead. Before them, long wooden tables dotted with mismatched lamps, flickering in and out of use, occupied by antsy juveniles and sleeping hobos. It feels effortlessly like home, like a shared worldly past that welcomes everybody- and maybe that just means that it's generic and a little overdue for renovations, but you love it as it is.

Shuffling through the tall shelves of books, you weave through mindlessly to find your favorite sections- the history (both common and infra-cultural, with a surprisingly competent collection of industrial works and a predictably miserablly little shelf of homo-sexual underground interest), the art, and the meager offerings of political literature. You can hear your off-tune humming echo back to you somewhat feebly off the high, painted ceiling, done up in some lame facsimile of early Dolorian excess (therriers, noblewomen, forget-me-nots crowding the edges of each filligreed panel, dead-eyed faces in doleful expressions, pale and empty smiling). You've got all of daylight ahead of you, which is more than enough time to browse around as usual before you have to get yourself home and start cooking.

You turn the corner smoothly into the very back of the library, into a wider set of dusty and anachronistic wooden bookshelves-- history trends unpopular, considering the fact that all the books within are horrifyngly outdated due to a miserable municipal budget, maybe that's for the best. There are better places for students to get this information now, like the private library a couple blocks away at the Cycle Universitee, or from library dial-stations tuned in from the south, where the Bibliotheque Nacionelle Des Travailleures is run by Coalition-approved volunteers. The first thing to catch your eye is the pillar of works of infra-cultural expression and documentstion- essays and short stories from New authors, studies and zines on Disco, and of course, the particular political darling of the 20s, the homo-sexual underground.

You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography- even, notably, the single commercial romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice,  meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what the world was, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years). You shudder, now, at the sight of its cracked spine looking you from the middle sill. Its gaze feels hefty and judgemental, and you do not like it.

There are  

KIM CHAPTAAAA

"you'd like him to take care of himself. You'd like to be there to do it for him when he can't"

"He opens the door, and immediately there are a million little things that test you (hell, with that thick-knit sweater he's wearing, any weakness in you would have him writhing on the floor in seconds). The half-up style of his now-so soft looking auburn hair, split across to reveal the pale white of his nape between the raised collar of his sweater, the kind wrinkling of his open smile upon seeing you walk in, the light, jazzy music of the radio backing his belly-deep laugh and the heady smell of incense in the room are all exhilaratingly Harry to you.

What to do with jean:Standalone fic for him?

Starts when he sees Harry with the eyebleed crew and he's the one who goes up to him like "WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SHIT KID" and harry is like. Oh god oh fuck jean uh let's be... Cordial! Optimistic! (What jean sees is one of his signature pauses but like. Yeah it's the skills talking) and he's just like "oh it helps me stay sober and make friends, I found out about it on the radio🙂" and Jean is like holy fucking shit this is absolutely insane.

            1) bc Harry used to be so repressed he was basically homophobic with his macho act

            2)bc Jean originally didn't believe the amnesia thing but then when Harry genuinely did shit like this and never told him (which, if it was a cruel joke he would've tried to make it very public and obvious and drag jean into it to embarrass him)

            3) because JEAN was his friend and why the fuck does he just. Run off with random people with a radio ad instead

            4) because he's doing so well. He's like, fully at the sort of "this-side-of-pudgy" bear level that's hot enough to get him positive attention over the damage of the alcohol and he's wearing the sort of clothes that show it and he's got all these crew buddies where Jean is stuck with his hellish depression workouts where he sometimes works until he pukes and then feels like shit about self-harming like that. (what he doesn't know is that Harry is basically doing that same exact shit just he's using his swag alcoholic skills to lieeeeee about it. rip)

Maybe harry apologizes in their conversation about the romance novels. Like it blurts out.

eventually add in the previous consideration fic you were thinking of &quot

starting with bitter porno kimbo/viccy catfight bullshit

"no that's pathetic and he'd never go there." dynamic where kim cares quietly and jean is bitchy about Harry

then "no, he's dealt with harry so much already, I can't imagine." so it's all concern for him

and then that backslides into "how could I comfort him? how could he understand my need for comfort? "

we stan a mildly nonaccepted himself Jean so he's like "WAIT UH GAY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS GUY TOO? FUCK FUCK FUCK"

gotta make it panic horny. it's a Dan Gat fic. how would kim look.... yknow......

since the only other guy who's been like that with him has been harry -> third wheel dynamic going to ->

horny ot3 dynamic. old men doting on him because it's his fantasy and he gets to be the pampered one goddamnit

end somehow

THIS IS THE EXACT DYNAMIC WE'RE GOING FOR Jean liked Harry premart and Harry was unbearably machismo repressed homophobic bullshitero man (I need to decide if he was stupid enough to be like AS LONG AS IM ON TOP IT ISNT GAYYYY or smth sex/intimacy related like that maybe he just kinda. ""comically"" hit on Jean or said suggestive shit to him but never fully acted on it) and then he comes back from Martinaise all loyal puppy dog or whatever for Kim and Jean is like "??? OKAY SO I GO THROUGH ALL THIS BULLSHIT AND HE TALKS SO BIG ABOUT LOVING MUSCLE DUDES AND NOW HES GONNA FUCK THIS GRANDPA?" but then he's like self-aware enough to know that's stupid.(Jean's problem is that he looks for wounds on Kim and not Harry, so he's all like "damn this bitch stole my mans when he's actually good...." meanwhile Harry is like Very Obviously Self Harming All The Time and not even really with Kim so often rip)

Harry wants to reach out and ask him about his thing with Kim because he has memories of Jean either being gay or being less homophobic or just having Gay Energy that he was an asshole about or whatever plus it just feels natural to work through shit with Jean but he stops himself because he's like "well DRINKING also felt natural that doesn't mean we should do it..."

maybe they get into it because Jean makes an offhand comment about "stop ogling kim" and harry is like (computer warmup noises) and jean just kinda forces him to spit it out RE: meme description

Harry's whole deal with avoiding Jean is "some things are unforgivable and I'm fairly sure I've done things bordering on that to you for so, so long, and now I don't even know what they were or who I was when I did them, to me that person is dead, and I know then that I can't apologize to you thoroughly, genuinely, and I don't want to insult you by presuming that I ever could, at this point. I don't want to insult you by assuming I can just go back to what we were before, to each other, without an apology or an actual understanding of what went wrong. I can't speak for certain about his mind-my mind- but at least in some part that guy killed himself because of what he did to you, and to everyone around him, sure, but mostly to you. And now I'm here, and it feels horrible to try and go against that and push myself into your life. It feels horrible to see I've done something to you worth killing myself over and then still insist on coming back to bother you beyond the grave"

And Jean's response is "you thought everything was bad enough to kill yourself over! And you're still alive, you're still him, and fuck, yes it'll take a long ass fucking time for me to ever really forgive you, but you were my best friend and you're still fucking alive- I see you every single day, Harry, do you know what that's like? To see your best fucking friend every single day and watch him flinch and try to act like he doesn't exist every single time he sees you? Fuck you and fuck what you wanted before, *I* never wanted you dead, and your little stunt here with pretending you're finally fine and then keeping everyone at an arm's distance is just another, slower grave you're digging" etc etc "if this is the upswing at last, I’d better be there for it.**”

Jean is a frat boy that you do not expect to be a frat boy. He unironically gets along with mack and chester. He's only just started to grow out of it through dealing with Harry's horrible downfall

sequel to geste drole des debutantes but it's just a 3 chapter PWP masturbation fic..... of Kim and Harry after the dinner and then SHOOKETH SURPRISE IT'S JEANGST YEARNING TIME!

Kim trans.... Good for him...

Stroker shit

He wants to fuck Harry basically

     ...slow tease? Or fast and desperate?

Dry kissing

Hair pulling...

Youre hard, and you're wet, and you can't help but think of that smile on his face as you left and you want him to taste it, to get on his knees for what he's done to you and swallow it all down, feels the soft brush of his beard on your thighs.

 Harry also trans... Good for them good for them...

Handkink shit

Wants kim to absolutely wreck his shit

... He's new at this

Slow....

Jean

Jeangst

Want to wreck harry's shit... Mouthfuck stuff maybe

Power bottoming?? Idk

Whoops my hardcore dom revenge fantasy has slipped into a getting bossed around by the guy I thought I disliked for taking away my partner UHH.... LETS NOT UNPACK THAT....

Some idiot makes like a homophobic stupid "ah the fucking lieutants off scissoring or something" comment and then jean is like "oh god what if that but sexual instead"

Gym shower...

Jean has a big dick too bad bitch

When harry du bois ruined his life, thinks satelitte-officer Jean Vicquemare- he might at least have had the decency not to also curse his dick. This shit was weekly and only getting worse, now that the shitkid didn't constantly smell like despair and carrion had scored a threesome with a bartender's manual.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 4: Winter

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Four: Winter

Note: This will be interesting. It’s not every day that I get to just write like this. Time to spread my wings a little and just dig into this.

-~-

A little more than two years ago…

Blistering cold and exalted, tranquil solitude. 

That was what the small town of Lympha was known for at the time. 

Ever since it had been founded countless centuries prior, people had ventured there to escape the overcrowding, poor living conditions, and noise that came from larger settlements. Most had been looking for an opportunity to live somewhere where opportunities abounded and resources thrived, and those that didn’t succumb to one of the region’s trademark winter storms were likely to discover just what they’d hoped to find.

It was a pilgrimage of sorts to reach the local, even in modern times. For nearly half of the year, the region was consumed by what weary locals had affectionately -or perhaps less affectionately- dubbed the “Bitter Night”, a state of seemingly neverending darkness that came with winter and was unusual given the global location of the secluded town. Thick black clouds shrouded the area in what felt like an endless winter at times, contributing to an unusually high percentage of residents suffering from almost yearlong bouts of seasonal affective disorder. It was as though the small population of fewer than two thousand residents was trapped in the iron grip of a nameless and unrelenting foe with which they hopelessly battled against. There were members of the town that had spent their whole lives there, but the majority left after less than a decade, unable or unwilling to cope with the constant cold darkness.

The silence was also a factor to take into consideration. While the peaceful silence that came with an early morning’s snowfall was something that many had come to treasure in areas of the world that we’re not constantly buried under snow, that could not be said for the residents of Lympha. Most of them were accustomed to leaving their homes for nonessential reasons due to the constant snow, leaving the area almost hauntingly quiet, a fitting backdrop for the heavily wooded fishing hamlet that set nestled between two large black snowcapped mountains, mirrored by the sizeable lake that spanned the distance between them. 

The natural beauty and splendor of the region could not be denied, but that did not change the fact that there was something eery about it that was difficult to put into words properly. Most of the locals avoided the surrounding forests with an almost religious dedication, warning anyone new to the town to do the same. And the longer that they stayed, the quicker they came to the same collective consensus. Most homes were a certain distance from the trees with only farmland bordering the thick, black woodlands. But talk of something wicked residing amongst the trees was rampant, and cattle tended to go missing during the long nights that the town was so accustomed to.

In spite of such obstacles, the small town did prosper. Exports of resources such as fish and cold weather fruit and vegetables fueled a comfortable life for the majority of the residents, and once a year during the coldest, darkest parts of the winter after the fall tourists had long since left and only the boldest locals dared to stay behind, most of the town ventured elsewhere on holiday and basked in the warmth and brightness of less supernatural pastures, savoring in their well-earned funds and taking a break from the ceaseless mists that blanked the region due to its altitude.

Despite the frequent travel, there was only one way in or out of the town. The nearly twenty-mile stretch of winding road that connected the remote village to the rest of the country was the sort of thing that only a fool would dare traverse under the cover of darkness, but it was serviceable for the most part. It had to be to sustain any sort of livable conditions for the town. Keeping it clear of ice and plowed for vehicles to pass was an essential part of the town’s functionality, and everyone felt the anxiety that came with the reality that at least once a year they would end up trapped where they were, unable to leave for any reason.

Most sane, normal people who didn’t call the settlement home avoided the Lympha outside of the fall harvest season, having no reason to go there. And that particular winter, the majority of the town had found no compelling reason to linger, either, leaving to escape what promised to be a bitter, hostile winter. Something was just different in the air that year, and it wasn’t the lingering fog. With the population down to just two hundred intrepid -or perhaps insane- prospectors, the town was essentially shut down, just as it normally was that time of year. And then the silence settled in. Everyone hunkered down and kept warm inside of their homes, only the vague flicker of warm light from inside of their homes giving any indication that the town was not, in fact, totally abandoned, it’s residents finally coming to their senses and writing it off as a lost cause before taking their families and their personal belongings and fleeing to a less spooky local.

But in spite of it all, there had been at least one person in Lympha who was willing to greet the Bitter Night with enthusiasm, a level head, and an optimistic attitude, and that was one of the newest additions of the community. After coming to town to experience the autumn festivities, the young man with the white hair that had whipped the entire town into a tizzy had weighed his options and decided to stay. Solitude had never unnerved V. He was accustomed to it, having spent the vast majority of his life up until then as a resident inside his mind as opposed to that of the physical world in order to escape the reality of the cruel world that he found himself in. But when he’d first traveled there, the silent, almost gloomy nature of the place had ignited something within him that he’d never felt before. To say that he’d felt compelled to stay would be a vast understatement, and there was simply something about the place that put him at ease, even if that ease and that almost tangible presence that he felt so comfortable with did precisely the opposite to everyone else.

He’d managed to find housing relatively easy, all things considered. There were always vacancies out towards the edge of town. No one wanted to live out there anyway, so the prices were considerably lower for much larger dwellings. Strange and unexplained events over the years had gradually pushed everyone towards the center of town leaving farmers to contend with the woods and unlucky landowners with residences that they needed to repurpose. Most were converted into rental properties for curious tourists, but long-term leases were not out of the question on the rare occasion that someone came to town and decided to stay. That had been a lucky break for him.

V realized quickly that he enjoyed taking long walks through the countryside, taking in the smoldering chimneys and feeling the crisp mountain air ghost across his face and through his hair. It wasn’t so much that he loved the cold, it was that he hated the heat with a burning passion, and was more than willing to deal with a few months of brutal cold to avoid it if that meant that the rest of the year was more to his liking. There was something tranquil about the area that put him at ease, and that was something that he treasured at that point in his life. Most people his age were just venturing out on their own for the first time, but he’d been that way his entire life. No, he was looking for something entirely different. A change of pace of sorts while he tried and failed to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life as the mounting pressure he felt from the weight of that decision slowly threatened to drive him insane. He could feel it’s tangible presence at all times, the weight never leaving him and never failing to unnerve him. It was his own darkness more physical than the dark winter that encompassed the town its self despite the fact that it was invisible, and that he knew he had another alternative that he could act upon if this did not pan out for him.

But he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted to devote his life to just yet, so here he was, walking up a lonely road towards the center of town, ready for the time being to clock into his easy-going day job and to then check out of reality for a few hours as he waited pointlessly for customers to come in despite the fact that they rarely did. Gaining employment at the local bookstore had been simple, given his love of books, and it involved minimal amounts of conversation or social interaction since foot traffic was uncommon. He worked open to close for six hours and then went home each day, taking the time in between to catch up on his reading and to contemplate the horrifying serenity that was his reality. What was he to do with himself when he returned to his home later on that evening? Play the violin for a little while? Would he actually cook something this time, or just stand in his kitchen and eat cold food out of a can in his fridge in the dark like the heathen that he was? It was too early to say. After all, he hadn’t reached his place of work yet. But was it so strange to make plans for the end of the day when the day had only just begun?

He found himself absentmindedly gripping the edges of his hood and pulling it down slightly over his face as he passed a few bystanders on the street. He didn’t need to see them to know that they were staring at him as he continued up the street. Practically everyone in every place that he’d ever lived did. In spite of the fact that all he really wanted was to blend in and be left alone by those around him, his stature and unique hair color insured that that possibility was nothing more than wishful thinking.

“Don’t pay them any mind. They aren’t worth it.” He said quietly to himself as he approached the front door of the building, ready to do his quaint day job. The lights in the shop were still out from the night before, and he made a mental note to turn them on before opening the shop this time. He repressed the urge to scold himself for his inability to tune out the world around him, noting that it was not his place to do so. Why should he be made to suffer so for a simple quirk in his DNA that he could neither control nor explain?

At times, there was a part of him that wondered where his extraordinary hair color originated from. Had that been passed down as a result of his parentage, or was it the result of a medical condition he didn’t know he had? Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask either of his parents these questions. Much to his disappointment, he had never had the pleasure of meeting either of his parents, and he had no way of knowing whether or not they were even alive. It was a fact that he lamented, but it was just one of the disheartening realities that he had to come to terms with as a result of being an orphan. The place he’d been forced to call home for the cursory years of his life had no answers for him, at least none that they were willing to share with him the last time that he’d asked, and there was no way he was ever going to willingly return there. No, he’d quite literally prefer death in that scenario. By a considerable margin, if he was being honest. There was nothing but pain for him in that place. That was how it had always been and how it always would be.

He worked to put the matter aside for the time being as he prepared to open the shop. There was a small number of tasks to complete such as checking the shelves for dust and, making sure that everything was accounted for, but nothing too out of the ordinary or difficult. He took off his winter coat and draped it over the counter before tending to his meager duties, absentmindedly contemplating how the rest of the day would go, Would anyone actually come in, or would he be left alone to read again today? He’d finished the book he’d been reading the day before, so perusing the shelves for his new literary obsession was something that he had to look forward to at the very least. He could run across the street to the bakery and grab something for lunch in a few hours. The elderly couple there were welcoming, if not excessively chatty, but they were skilled and he occasionally found humor in their musings. From what he could tell, they were fairly certain that people his age didn’t read anymore, and he was always pleased to know that they were wrong about that and that he could easily prove otherwise if he ever bothered to put that much energy into their words. It was unlikely, though. He didn’t tend to actively give other people that kind of satisfaction, and wasn’t entirely sure why he cared as much as he did. Perhaps it was because they were some of the only people he really interacted with in this town. Or maybe he was just tired of being treated as though he were something inhuman monster by those around him. It was hard to say, in all honesty. Experience hadn’t helped him develop a thicker skin, it seemed.

Pitty.

Before long, he’d finished what little prep work he needed to do, and turned in the direction of the front door. The light switch was by the entrance, and he needed to flip the open sign the right way around before the store could officially accept customers. As he fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater and headed for the door, something unusual caught his eye. The store sat at the center of a Y shaped intersection facing towards the central street. As such, he had a decent view of the central sprawl, at least when it wasn’t snowing like it was today. It was rare to see anyone running around, but that was exactly what had caught his attention. V turned away, not paying much mind to the unusual sight as he reached down to unlock the door. But just as he did, two more figures came running behind the first, gaining on them. He squinted slightly as he tried to make out their approximate ages, something in the pit of his stomach telling him that something about this wasn’t quite right. To his surprised disbelief, his hunch was confirmed as the two figures in black knocked the first individual down face-first into the snow and began to carry them off.

From there, several other bystanders entered his line of sight, all of them seemingly running in a panic as more hooded figures descended upon them and attacked with blunt force weapons such as bats and metal bars. When one man ran outside from one of the local shops and started yelling, the young white haired man immediately recognized him as the bakery owner and questioned why someone his age would get involved in… whatever this horrifying situation was. Clearly, he was trying to help, but what was he hoping to achieve in this scenario?

Before he could give it any further thought, the figure in black produced what appeared to be a thin sword and stabbed the man through the abdomen, knocking him down into the street in full view of the public and the man’s horrified wife, the latter of which was calling out for help in a desperate attempt to try and understand what was going on. The figure looked at her and then violently attacked the elderly man again, never once looking away from her as if to challenge her. He clearly wanted her to be silent, but V was unable to tell whether or not he was telling her as much.

V stepped away from the door, backing away slowly as the streets filled with panicked people, all of which seemed to be fleeing the strangers in black who has descended upon the town like a plage, their intentions unclear but clearly impure, to say the least. In his petrified haste to get clear of their line of sight, V slipped over a small handcart in the isle, earning a glance in his direction. He scrambled behind one of the bookcases just as the individual in black who had been stabbing the old man looked in his general direction, seemingly cheating what had to be certain death.

Horror overtook every muscle in his body as he realized that they were under attack, the impossibility of that reality finally sinking in. He had no idea what could’ve caused this tragic scenario, but that didn’t change a thing. The older man was more than likely dead, something that immediately made V kick himself internally for thinking badly of him just a short while before, but there had to be something he could do about all of this. It didnt take a Ph.D. to figure out that if he stayed where he was any longer, then he would more than likely end up dead. Someone had to get help, and he had to do something to save himself, lest he die at the hands of these mysterious strangers who had come to his quiet little town and painted the white snow-covered streets red with the blood of his neighbors.

V’s veins ran colder than the winter winds as he realized what he had to do. And if he didn’t, he was going to die. There was no time to hesitate. He had to get out of there.

-~-

Hey everyone! I hope you liked this chapter! Getting to explore V’s background a little is going to be interesting, to say the least. I’ll see you all on Friday, but for now, thanks for reading. I hope you’re having a good week! Once again, stay safe out there!

[moeruhoshi]

testing this au out tho ~ angst warning

suffer while I’m on my way to school

~000~

Kai let out a deep sigh as the final school bell rang, lugging his bag onto his shoulder with an uncomfortable sense of dread crawling up his back. It was Friday, and he hated Friday’s the most. There wasn't a club meeting that day, so he was forced to make his way home to be there at a certain time.

He waved off invitations from his friends to go to karaoke or get a snack somewhere in town, even rejecting plans for the weekend with a simple excuse that he had to study.

“Aw, you never come out with us, Kai,” Mizu pouted as she mildly trudged behind the blonde boy who wasn’t wasting any time to get to his shoe locker.

“Really wish I could, you know that,” He sighed for the millionth time in the same manner he usually did, avoiding her puppy eyes as she tried to beg him once more.

“Kai’s got strict parents, nothing we can do about it,” Kurenai cleared his throat, pulling Mizu out of the corner of his field of vision. “We’ll just go with the twins and Kaminari, so get going before you get in trouble,”

“Yeah, see you guys on Monday,” Kai left with a quick half-smile, making his way towards the front gate. Only Kurenai knew what went on inside his home, and helped Kai her away whenever he needed backup with an excuse.

“Kai! Hey, you got a minute?” His science teacher and boxing coach, Natsu called out from the edge of the gate where he stood, on duty to make sure no one was fooling around on their way out.

“Not really, but what’s up?” Kai warmed up a bit to the smile of his favorite teacher, always a little too happy to receive a pat on the head whenever they spoke.

“You still haven’t gotten back to me about training camp coming up this next spring break,” He said, “It’s a lot of fun, so I hope you can join us. If it’s convincing your parents, I can help you out with that! You can tell them that—“

“I’d really love to, Natsu-sensei, but I can’t,” Kai quickly cut him off, grimacing as his teacher’s grin faltered. “I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you,”

He knew he’d be able to go, but decided against the idea entirely; he wasn’t even going to mention it to his parents. There was no way he could leave his mother alone for a whole two weeks...he just couldn’t do it. He was afraid she’d...ther was no knowing what he would return returning to if he left.

“Mom, I’m home,” The second-year called out as he slipped off his shoes, eyes meeting the tired smile of the woman he adored.

“Welcome home, Kai,” She sighed into his hair as she wrapped her arms around his torso. “How was school?”

“Not too bad,” He shrugged, trying not to hold her too tightly as he hugged her back. “I missed you,”

“I missed you too,”

If Kai let himself, he would have turned into a bawling mess right there and then. He always felt like it was a miracle to come home to his mother still breathing, still able to stand.

“Sit down and I’ll finish making dinner, okay? You need some rest,” Lucy nodded as Kai pressed a kiss into the crown of her head.

“Change out of your school clothes first,”

This was their routine every day after school. Kai would come home to his haggard mother who had to spend her life indoors, cleaning and over-cleaning everything out in the open. He would do what he could while his father was still out at work, letting his mother at least have an hour to run her feet and take a break watching television.

What stung most at times was that his father never laid a hand on him, only his mother. He’d see them fight sometimes, she’d get slapped, maybe grabbed and dragged off upstairs, all while he sat and watched his young mother lose her light day after day. She wouldn’t let him defend her, because of course, she didn’t want him to get hurt. But how much more could she take? It wasn’t enough to give him headphones so that he could block out the sounds of her pain anymore. Didn’t he deserve to take on the burden now?

When the food was done and still warming, he’d go up and find the first aid kit he always kept hidden before steeling himself and tending to his mother’s wounds.

There was another fresh bruise on her arm, usually telling Kai that she’d been grabbed entirely too tightly. Seeing those were never as tough as seeing the ones on her stomach...because then he knew she’d been kicked.

Natsu had taught them basic first aid in the club, how to wrap up a bruise from a fight and the right way to press against the stomach in case of broken ribs. Kai always made sure to check her carefully as she lied down on the couch while he kneeled beside her.

“Looks like you’re alright,” He sighed and glared down at the dark purple mark that marred her skin. “I didn’t feel any broken bones,”

“That’s good,” Lucy smiled again as her son spread a salve against the mark before bandaging it over. “Thank you, Kai,”

His cheek felt warm as she cupped the side of his face, her thumb wiping away the tear he failed to hold in.

“I promise, mom. I’m gonna get us out of here, I’ll save you,”

“I know, baby, I know,”

A timer on the microwave went off, startling them from their heartfelt moment. It was a warning they always gave themselves; ten minutes before he was home.

While Kai put away the evidence he’d taken care of his mother, Lucy would make sure everything in the kitchen was one-hundred percent before carefully plating her husband's food and setting it on the table. Once everything was set up correctly, the two would stand at the entrance of their house, hearing the hum of his car pulling up right on schedule.

“Welcome home, dear,”

“Welcome home, dad,”

They were experts at forcing a fake smile, the head of the Lore household appealed by their appearance of admiration.

“It’s nice to come home to such sweet smiles,” He grinned as he handed off his things to Lucy who was quick to take them upstairs.

“You’ve gotten taller, haven’t you, Kai? I fear I’ll be shorter than you in no time,” The son chuckled and shook his head as his hair was ruffled; Natsu’s hand was better.

“Mom keeps me healthy is all,” He would shrug before they both went to sit down at the table. Lucy would already be walking out of the kitchen with a beer ready from the fridge, the three sitting down to a quiet meal that seemed neverending.

“I got a call at work today,” Rufus said as he looked to Kai with a slight curve of his lips. “It was from your boxing coach, he said that there’s a spring training camp for your club coming up in a few weeks,”

“O-Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting to mention that,” The younger blonde laughed as his father shook his head.

“Really, you’ve always been so airheaded, he gets it from you, Lucy,” He chuckled as she plainly nodded with a smile. “Make sure you bring the paperwork home on Monday, I don’t want you falling behind the other students when there’s a good opportunity like this to strengthen yourself,”

“Yes, sir,” Kai said as his father still smiled, taking a swig from the glass bottle he had. His stomach twisted as he held in a curse, mentally punching a sandbag. There was no avoiding it now if his dad was expecting the papers to be delivered.

The squeak of his mother’s chair pulled his eyes from his food, her body moving at top speed towards the bathroom on the first floor. Kai could see his father irk as she had yet to be excused, the loud sound of her tossing up what she’d eaten filling the house.

“Gosh, your mother has no manners, it’s dinner time for goodness sake,” Rufus clicked his tongue as he continued eating, glaring as Lucy soon made her entrance back into the dining room.

“I-I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been feeling sick all day,” Lucy said as she sat back down, drinking slowly from her glass of water.

“That’s the third day in a row,” He sighed, his beer bottle clanging loudly onto the table, making her flinch. “I’ll have you see the doctor tomorrow, which is too bad really, I wanted to take us out to the beach for some family fun,”

“I’ve got a test to study for anyways, dad,” Kai spoke up, the hand not moving his fork gripping the chair tightly under the tablecloth.

“That’s good, you should focus on your studies. I’ll take your mother out, and maybe we’ll pick up something nice for dinner since she can’t seem to keep her own cooking down,”

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

328 of 2022

survey by penseve

What is your favorite genre of music?

Djent, hands down. I know there’s a neverending debate if this is a proper genre name or not, but I’m fine using it, so. :P I like sludge or post-metal, too, some alternative rock, and definitely hip hop, mostly Dutch, but not exclusively. Also, some electronics, as in industrial music. Basically I’m fond of things that are dark, heavy and/or atmospheric.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Honestly, I couldn’t care less.

What colors are the walls in your room?

Light green.

What is your favorite kind of cookies?

I’m not a big fan og cookies, but let’s go with gingerbread.

What are your thoughts on euthanasia?

I habe no opinion, it’s too hard subject for me. It’s fully legal where I live, for any reason that brings you “unbearable suffering”, so I guess there must be a reason for that.

Who did you last speak to on the phone?

My husband.

Do you scare easily?

No, but I’m prone to get startled.

What was your first car?

I’ve never owned a car solely.

What was the last book you read?

The Legend of Ice People, yet another part.

Do you like Gatorade?

We don’t have this brand here.

What is your dream career?

Thje one I’ve been having for the last 9 years, among others that didn’t work out.

Favorite time of day?

Mornings, always and forever.

Have you ever lived somewhere that has a fireplace?

I do now, but it’s a fake one.

Have you ever donated to charity?

I did a small amount for Ukraine, otherwise no.

What size mattress do you sleep on?

Double.

Do you exercise?

I do, five times a week. It does both for the gym and for the rehabilitation of my hand.

Do you believe in any old wives tales?

No, not really. I’d rather be rational.

Have you ever lived in an apartment?

Yes, for a few years.

What color are your bed sheets?

Red and white, with a cat pattern.

Are you afraid of the dark?

Not really afraid, but surely uncomfortable.

What is your favorite kind of juice?

Orange and apple, but it has to be 100%. Also, cranberry.

What is your favorite pair of shoes?

These black platform boots I wear now.

Have you ever written daily in a journal?

Yeah. I have a journal full of my thoughts somewhere in our bedroom.

Do you prefer jeans or sweatpants?

I like both, but they have to be loose and wide leg.

Are you a night person or a day person?

Definitely a day person.

Have you ever had any surgeries?

Yeah, more than one.

Would you rather write the story or read it?

Read. I’m not good at writing.

Do you currently owe anyone money?

Not that I know of.

Do you like to give people jump scares?

Yeah, I do. I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it.

Do you believe horoscopes are real?

No, I don’t.

How old were you when you got your license, if you do have it?

Let’s not talk about it.

Do you want to get married someday?

I am already.

What is your favorite fruit?

Strawberry.

Do you like romantic movies? If so, what is your favorite?

Hell no. I don’t like movies at all, and romance makes me cringe.

What are your favorite qualities in a S.O.?

Loyalty and trust.

What is your favorite meal to cook?

All soups.

What is your favorite fast food place?

I don’t eat fast food.

Did you have a lot of friends in school?

Not a lot, but a few good ones.

Are you good at wrapping gifts?

I’m terrible at it.

Have you ever been in a toxic relationship?

Sure. My first boyfriend was abusive in a way.

What website could you not live without?

I’m hesitating between sigidwiki.com and priyom.org, both are so cool.

What would you do if you won 1 million dollars?

Boring question. Travel around the world, and buy two houses first.

Do you like to do crafts?

Depends on what kind of crafts.

Are any of your grandparents still alive?

No, none of them.

Where are your ancestors from?

The Netherlands, Germany, France and some mix in between. Basically half of Europe.

How many windows are in your room?

Two.

What is your favorite animal?

Cat, always and forever.

What weather is your favorite?

Thunderstorms.

Have you ever read a book of poetry?

Not as a whole. I’ve never hold much interest in it.

Do you have any nicknames?

Yeah, Jelle.

What is your natural hair color?

Dark brown.

Did you ever get detention in school?

I don’t think so.

Do you consider yourself a pessimist?

Rather a realist, but with more optimistic side. It helps going through things.

Do people come to you often for advice?

Not for advice, but for some support because theuy know I care.

Have you ever had a board game night?

No, I haven’t.

Do you enjoy going grocery shopping?

I do, actually.

What is your favorite kind of candy?

Sour candy only.

Have you ever been to the zoo?

Yeah, I didn’t like it.

What was the best vacation you’ve ever been on?

Any summer holidays spent at my grandma’s.

Have you ever traveled out of the country?

I’ve been in five countries, not counting my own.

What are your top three favorite holidays?

Christmas and low key Easter, I don’t care about all the rest.

Do you have a difficult time falling asleep?

Sometimes I do. I have anxiety, so.

Who is the most attractive actor, in your opinion?

I don’t care much about actors, but probably Christian Brassington.

Have you ever slept nude?

Many times.

What is the scariest movie you’ve ever seen?

I don’t care about movies much enough to actually watch them.

When was the last time you went outside?

Yesterday. Going to the hispital soon, though.

Did you have over-protective parents?

No.

How many stories tall is your dream house?

I like the house I live in, it has two stories and an attic. No basement nor cellar, though.

What is your favorite thing about yourself physically?

My piercings lol. And maybe that I’m tall.

What does the last text you received say?

Probably some spam. I’m not bothered to check right now.

Do you consider yourself to be promiscuous?

Totally the opposite, to be honest. Either with one person for serious, or with no one at all.

Are you close to your family members?

To my parents and sister, yes.

Do you consider yourself a flirt?

People say so, but I’m just being nice and I can’t really hide it when I like someone.

What emotion are you currently feeling?

Hope. Is it an emotion, by the way?

What was the last thing you ate?

Croissant, just one. That was yesterday.

Who do you have the most in common with?

Literally no one.

What is your favorite form of art?

Photography and music. Yeah it counts.

Have you ever had sex in a public place?

Once in the car. We ended up with leg cramps XD

What is your biggest pet peeve?

Slow-walking people, people who hang on my back while waiting in the line, people who interrupt others. Can’t choose just one.

Do you consider yourself a sarcastic person?

Quite much so.

Do you have any obscure pets?

No, just cats.

Do you think you’re an attractive person?

Nope, not at all. People have different opinions, though. There were some who have seen me as the most attractive man on Earth and I wonder to this day what’s actually wrong with them. XD

Have you ever had a blog?

Well, here? I guess it counts.

Do you consider yourself politically correct?

I am when it’s appropriate. Just not with my frirends where I know nobody’s gonna be offended.

What is your wifi password?

You’re not gonna connect over the Atlantic Ocean anyway.

Who was the last family member you spoke to?

My dad. Just over text.

Have you ever won money on a scratch off ticket?

Yeah, 50€ back in time. I was a teenager then.

Do you like Disney movies?

I don’t like any movies.

Are there any candles burning in your home right now?

No, there’s no need for them.

Where is the person you love the most?

At work.

Have you ever grown any plants or flowers?

Yeah, we had a garden back then.

Do you consider yourself a smart person?

I do, but at the same time I’m not the “street-smart” one.

What is your favorite flavor of candy?

Sour candy if ever, I don’t like sweets.

Have you ever tried to follow a painting tutorial?

No, I’ve never been interested in it.

Are you good at working on cars?

Fairly. I can do small repairs here and there, especially with wiring.

[wanderlustwonderlots]

South of France - Day 4

Another day, another trip to a nearby city!  This time it was to Narbonne, to see the giant, incomplete cathedral there.  My dad said it was big, but oh man, I didn't have a good concept of big until we saw the town.  It absolutely dominates the town, towering over it very impressively.  It wasn't completed because apparently while planning construction, they didn't take into account the city wall that was soon to be in the way.  Rather than knock down the city's defenses, the architects decided to leave the cathedral incomplete forever.  It would have been unbelievably big had it been completed.  By the time we got to Narbonne access to the inner parts of the cathedral had shut down for lunch (as things do in France...) so we went to find the vegetarian restaurant my dad suggested for lunch.  It was a short walk to the restaurant, and what a nice place!  It was so exciting to be able to choose between more than two things on the menu.  It's much more exciting for me but also harder, having access to almost the whole menu.  This restaurant boasted a large menu of galettes, savouty buckwheat crêpe style things fried up with various fillings.  They also had a good selection of pizzas, all made to order.  My parents both got different galettes and I got a half-pizza with a side salad.  The pizza was spinach, pine nut and cashew, potato, sundried tomato, and a vegan soft cheese.  Vegan cheese in France?? Who knew!  The salad was just as delicious, heaps of greens with grated carrots, lightly pickled slivers of beets, red cabbage, alfalfa sprouts, and more nuts.  What a healthy and filling lunch for the day we had ahead of us.  I somehow managed to finish it all and still have room for dessert.  We shared a selection of three mini desserts and some ice cream - chia pudding with passionfruit and mango, strawberry sorbet with fresh strawberries on top, a tiramisu with lemon and yuzu (a Japanese fruit I believe?), and coffee and caramel vegan ice cream.  The caramel ice cream was quite possibly the best ice cream I've had, certainly in a long time.  It was so soft and sweet, and I think it might have been a slightly salted caramel.  It was the perfect sweet end to a wonderful meal, and a good compliment to the strong espressos we all got.  Filled up with good food, we went back to the cathedral to get a ticket to all of the areas within.

First off in the cathedral was up to the top of one of the towers to see the city from more than 40 metres up.  It was a lot of stairs, round and round, something my knees don't handle well.  I was getting pretty sore and tired of stairs but once we got to the top the view was absolutely worth it.  My mom with her fear of heights might not have thought the same thing, but I was having a great time.  We could see out to the countryside but we could also see the other parts of the cathedral, even more interesting.  The amount of care that was put into each and every part of the architecture amazes me.  There were so many cool gargoyles and carvings even this high up, where very few people would see it day to day.  I'm glad it was a clear day because we could walk around the perimeter of the tower and see the view from all sides.  After taking it all in we had to suffer the many stairs back down, luckily always easier than up.

We continued on up another flight of stairs (they're neverending), this time to an art museum within another part of the cathedral.  There were plenty of portraits and religious paintings but I found the mosaics on display on the floors and the intricately painted ceilings to be of more interest.  Another section housed a big collection of porcelain dishes, painted in various colour schemes, also cool to see.  Some lid handles were in the shapes of fish, or ducks, or vines with fruit.  What I wouldn't give for my dish collection to be so beautiful!  We continued on to an exhibition on Orientalism - their words, not mine.  It was all about the French/European fascination with the "Orient" and all things exotic, focusing on the Middle East.  Paintings by European as well as Asian artists were featured, and it was a refreshing exhibit to see after so many European paintings of stale old white men.  There were some haunting portraits of "exotic" women, and a few paintings that really caught my eye because of the way they showed the light.  Desert light is so different from what I usually see painted by European artists, with much more high contrast and vibrant colours, an evident change in style.  One painting showed intricate wall carving/decoration in the background and you could still see the artist's ruled lines and guiding sketches to get the carving perfect with the perspective.

After the art galleries we saw the part of the cathedral that housed archaeological history and more mosaics, something I'm seeing a lot of this trip!  There was one setup showing the different kinds of marbles quarried in the area, listing where they were from.  I'm certainly familiar with the Caunes-Minervois marble now and was able to pick it out immediately!  It was really neat to see the mosaics on display.  There were many mosaics that had only been partially discovered and reassembled, with sketches showing what the full piece was thought of to look like, but there were also more whole or nearly-whole ones than I expected.  I can't remember where they were excavated, or in what years... I'm bad at remembering these things.  They were beautiful though, showing geometric designs or daily life scenes or fruits and birds and other animals.  I haven't seen a lot of mosaics before and the ones I have seen weren't this old or big, it was a cool exhibition.  Our last stop in the cathedral was a room dedicated to treasures.  Silver dishes, gold jewelry, a few items with inlayd gems, massive tapestries in amazing condition, and an illuminated manuscript from the ~1350 (if I remember correctly) also in impeccable condition were a few things that caught my eye.

For the rest of the afternoon we went to a beach on the Mediterranean, in Gruissan.  It wasn't a far drive and soon enough we were parking somewhere we weren't entirely sure we were allowed and walking along the shoreline.  It wasn't the warmest day, especially when the wind picked up, but I brought a bathing suit on this trip so goddamnit I was going to change into it.  When we were walking along the shoreline I still had my shirt and shorts over top, gradually warming up in the sun.  By this point in the day it had become a bit cloudier than the morning so I was waiting for full sun before I committed to the bathing suit!  It was so nice to walk along the water's edge and have it lapping at my feet, sucking the sand away from beneath my toes, a calm noise punctuated by the occasional gull calling or child yelling excitedly.  The water was pretty cold so we certainly weren't going to be swimming today.  I feel like as a Canadian accustomed to swimming in cold lakes I should have just jumped in.. I'm a bit of a weeny though so I stuck to walking up to my ankles and wandering through the pools of water a bit higher up from the shore, warmed by the sun.  Having walked for a bit, picking up pretty shells on the way of course, I wanted to settle in on the beach and get a bit of sun because apparently I hadn't had enough of that yet this trip...  My dad and I sat down to rest while my mom kept walking along the shore.  I didn't put on any sunscreen, a risky move for a pale af ginger with no sun tolerance, but somehow I was okay?  I was lying in the sun for a bit and suffered no sunburns.  I attribute it to the fact that it was fairly late in the day, past 5, and I was moving from my back to my front often enough.  It was nice to soak up the sun without feeling gross and sticky from sunscreen, a feeling I despise. 

It was getting a bit late and dark threatening clouds had started to form so we called it a day and retrieved our car which had thankfully not been towed.  On our way home we only got a few drops of rain, the most we've seen since coming to the south of France!  Once home we made dinner (or rather my parents made it while I showered), tagliatelle with a homemade red sauce filled with vegetables we'd gotten from the market.  We drank a bottle of red that our hosts had kindly left in the house for us, from a winery not far down the road.  It was another tasty home-cooked meal, one I appreciated after many meals out.      

[zwei-the-penguin-with-a-pen]

‘Misery Business’

"Did we have to bring the dog?" Blake complained again as she and Yang walked toward the beach. Zwei trotted along at Yang's feet. Blake had gotten used to the Corgi to an extent, but she still didn't like it following them around all the time. Oh well, she was determined to have an awesome beach day with Yang, dog or no dog.

"Give it a rest, Bee Vomit. We're stuck with him until dad gets home from his mission, and Ruby and Weiss were hitting the gym. Dogs aren't really allowed, and Glynda would probably kill my sister if Zwei wasted his insides in her gym. Speaking of which," she looked at the dog bouncing at her feet, "would you kindly get on with it? I'm trying to have a date here, dude."

BORK! The small grey dog protested. He would expel his waste when he was good and ready. Humans were always in such a rush. He noticed a fire hydrant that looked particularly interesting and decided that would be the place.

"Finally. Good boy." Yang told him as he returned. Blake rolled her eyes.

"You're going to smell like that dog forever now," Blake complained, whipping her hair around.

"Hey, that usually makes you rub yourself against me, and that's an idea you know I can get behind." Yang purred loudly at that remark.

"Keep talking like that and you won't get any behind..." Blake retorted, Yang nearly spitting out the water she'd been drinking.

"Wow, Blake, I've never heard you make a sex joke in regular conversation."

"Well, I've been around Team SSSN pretty frequently lately, since they're visiting from Haven, and those four are a neverending fountain of crotch humor. Not to mention the horrendous jokes about butt stuff..." The kitty Faunus shuddered at the very thought. "I swear if Sun makes one more joke about Neptune's 'trident' I'm going to strangle him with his own tail."

"Isn't he kind of into that?" Blake thought she would vomit at hearing that.

"I try not to ask, and I try harder not to listen. I think Neptune is more into tail play. Dust, please don't make me talk about this anymore." She could see Yang smirking in her peripheral vision and knew this would not end anytime soon.

"I'll allow you not to suffer... for now." Yang's hand reached up and tousled Blake's hair, causing Blake's ears to wiggle. The same hand traveled down Blake's body before landing firmly on her rear.

"Come on, Glucose. Not with people around." Blake groaned though she appreciated the grope. She caught sight of the beachside snack shop and made for the stand. Yang and Zwei followed close by her. Blake ordered a medium salad with a mug of hot tea.

"And for you-- oh my god, can I have your offspring?" The young woman spoke, quickly covering her mouth. "GODS I'M SORRY! You're just so... muscular." The girl's eyes turned to stars at the sight of Yang's incredible arms.

"Thanks, but just so you know, I'm smashing on the cat girl whose order you just took..." Yang replied. This gave Blake an idea.

"Baby, do the thing!" Blake asked. Yang shot her a quick look, but she flexed her right arm anyhow.

"Oh my god," Blake and the cashier both groaned, each of them breathing heavily.

"Your food's on me. The both of you. And even the Corgi, if he'd like something." She told the couple, still starry-eyed at Yang's muscle mass.

"Oh, well I'd like a cheeseburger and a smoothie. Do you have anything raw for Zwei?"

"The only meat that isn't burger meat is our Seafarer Steak, and regulations say I have to cook it. Wouldn't want to get shut down."

"I can see that. He'll have one of those, as rare as you're allowed to do." Yang grinned. She and Blake flipped more than a few Lien at their server. "Buy yourself something you look cute in, though I'm sure you'd look cute in anything."

"Ease up on the flirting, Glucose. Are you trying to out-gay me?" Blake interjected, hardly able to keep a straight face.

"Seriously, Bee Vomit, do I even have to try?" Yang retorted, winking at her girlfriend.

"You two need to stop! I have a shift to work and I can't take much more of this!" The poor server was swooning over the two of them. Blake and Yang shared a laugh as they and Zwei found a table.

"You're seriously just getting a salad?" Yang asked her best girl. Blake wiggled her ears.

"Well, I'm gonna toss this into it." She mentioned as she dug a can of tuna from her pocket.

"OH, MY DUST! BLAKE HAS TUNA IN HER PANTS!"

"Yes, Yang, I do have tuna in my pants. Apparently, everyone here needed to know that, so thanks for sharing that vital information with the entire snack shack." Blake condescended, or at least tried to; her honeypot was too upbeat for any of that.

"CAT EARS AND MUSCLES, since I forgot to take down your names!" The server called out. Blake acquired the food so Yang wouldn't give that poor girl a nosebleed. Blake popped open her tuna and spread it liberally over her glorious salad.

"Oh, and the Struggling Seafarer for the Corgi!" Zwei's head perked up at that, and he trotted over to collect his food. The cashier winked at him as he picked the plate up with his teeth. He returned to the table and tore into his delicious dinner.

"Is it good, boy? Geez, it must be." Yang asked, answering her own question. Zwei seemed to be enjoying his meal just as much as they were enjoying theirs.

BORK! AWOOO! CHOMP!

After their eats, the three of them found a nice spot on the beach to lay out on some towels. Yang complained about her tan wearing off, as she hadn't made the beach since long before the summer started. Blake rolled her eyes, which nearly popped out when Yang tossed off her tank top.

"Good grief, now I know how the snack chick felt. You are so chiseled it's terrible. You have better abs than Sun and better arms than Nora."

"Too bad I don't have better legs than Pyrrha."

"And who says you don't? Hers are much more muscular, but yours are nicer to look at, Honeypot." Blake twitched her eyebrows at her favorite blonde. Yang grinned widely.

"You're too kind, Glucose." Yang rustled Blake's hair with one hand, slapping her behind with the other.

"I knew the suffering wouldn't stop. And here we were, having a cute moment."

"Does my hand being on your butt make it any less cute?"

"I guess not." Blake grinned, resting one hand on Yang's chest. "I hope this moment lasts forever."

"This moment with your hand on my boob?"

"The same as the one with your hand on my ass. It's perfect."

BORK!

"Shut up, Zwei!" Blake complained. "And no, you can't snuggle with us. Not where anybody can see it, at least." Zwei frowned, but he understood. He found a nice spot at the edge of Yang's towel and made a few circles before falling over and sighing loudly.

\/\/\/\/\/

\/\/\/\/\/

\/\/\/\/\/

Day 13: ZWEI

Zwei is one of my favorites. I mean, I named one of my OCs after him, and I took his name for my artistic endeavors. I’m glad he gets a whole day to himself, even if he’s a bit difficult to write about. The usual way is to just have him off in the background or something while I write a shameless shipping story WAHAHA!

But yeah, bees and shit. And inside jokes. @magical-game will understand most of them, and some of the folks that attended NebKon this weekend might recognize one, too.

[apairofcrepeswiththerarestape]

So I did it again guys, I made another recipe from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking! This time it was soup! I love soup! The first time I ever made soup was also the first time I realized that cooking was more than heat inedible thing until edible and then maybe add some salt! I even have this idea for a live comedy show called Everyone Gets Soup where I host the show and cook soup on stage while comedians come up and do their funny things and then at the end I serve the audience the soup! I wanted to continue keeping it simple so I went to the first recipe in the soup section of the book (another section is sauces, fellow humans, I will not be writing about sauces). I'm sure there'll be one of these entries where I end up covered in flour crying on the floor of my kitchen while something burns in the background like so many ineffective home cooks of 80s film and television but I want to build up to that. Thankfully the first soup recipe was a certified Soup of My Youth, Potage Parmentier aka Leek or Onion and Potato Soup aka Potato Leek Soup! We used to have this on jewish holidays back when people ate coursed meals sitting at a table rather than all at once in a bowl sitting on the couch while watching Narcos (which is how we ate the soup that I made, boy they really use some salty language on that show!). I think I liked it because I enjoyed any and all potato permutation and I currently also like any and all potato permutations so this one seemed like a safe bet. IT WAS MY FELLOWS. THIS SOUP WAS GREAT AND VERY EASY TO MAKE.

Remember, just last paragraph, when I waxed rhapsodic about soup and it's transformative powers and how it taught about the great alchemy of cooking and how like a good soup is food for your soul (haha, just kidding the only food for the soul is pain and suffering!) and how the thing about just heating and adding salt? WELL THIS RECIPE IS PRETTY MUCH THAT! Yep, this soup is basically a bunch of potatoes and a bunch of leeks and water and salt and fire. A bunch in this case is a pound of each but I'm not sure how much I put in because my grocery store doesn't have any scales in the produce section (do I go to a secretly anti-science flat earth grocery store? Maybe? I don't know? This is in Queens so if it were at least it wouldn't be bougie flat earthers). So I stood in there with three large potatoes in a plastic bag trying to conjure how much a pound was in my mind. I repeatedly lifted my bag of three large potatoes like I was engaging in some sort of very low rent crossfit activity for at least 5 minutes. I'm very bad at weights and measures and don't really know my own strength (not in a simpleton who smothers a baby rabbit and then kills a lady and then is shot by his best friend causing a 12 year old me to cry under covers while reading about his exploits way, I just don't lift a lot of things that have their weights listed on them (I think people call these things "weights")) so this was particularly painful. Luckily the leeks came in batches of two so I just got one batch and said fudge it.

  After I got home from my existential produce crisis I, of course, had to clean said produce. Cleaning the leeks and potatoes somehow didn't bother me as much as the mussels did last week. Maybe because my addled brain associated the foods grown in the ground with dirt that needs to be cleaned and things that grow in water with water, which we use to clean things. I'm not pursuing this as an actual theory, I'm just talking about the dumb things that happen in the deep recesses of my mind back there with all my most irrational fears, like my weird fear of being hit by a car and crapping my pants (like I said IRRATIONAL fears). Anyway I actually find the cleaning and peeling of potatoes to be kind of soothing. Remember in cartoons  and other tv shows when people who were bad at being in the army they got sent to a big room full of potatoes to clean and peel as punishment (also, remember how so many cartoons and tv shows were about how funny the army was)? I promise you this was a thing. Well I would've tried to be as bad as possible at being in the army because I would've cleaned and peeled the HECK out of those potatoes. Also, I'd much rather hang out with potatoes than learn how to shoot a dude in the face, besides if I did that then whenever the army dudes would come around looking for a face shooter I could use the excuse that I never learned how. This is the same reason why I never learned to fix a printer jam.

SO after all the cleaning and cutting up, or in the case of the leeks cutting up and cleaning, I gently placed the stuff into a pot with one tablespoon of salt and 2 quarts, which is 8 cups as I learned after googling "how many cups in a quart" for the 100000000th time (I do not have any tattoos but I'm seriously thinking of getting this on my arm Memento style), of water and let that stuff simmer for a little less than an hour. I wish I had spent that hour cleaning all the stuff I used to prep this food because few things in this world feel better than eating food looking at the lack of dishes in your sink. Instead I looked at sports blogs and instagram and twitter and continuined my neverending silent unposted judging of the internet versions of the people I know. IT WAS A VERY VALUABLE USE OF MY TIME. After my very fulfilling and not sadness inducing trip around social media I went back to the recipe and WAS AGHAST! I was supposed to mash the vegetables with a fork until they became soft or put them through a "food mill"???????? WHAAAAAAAA? I do not have a food mill and the other thing sounded like a bad idea since our home forks are regular sized and not big enough to mash into a big pot of hot potatoes/leeks/water/salt without burning my beautiful beautiful hands. Luckily I remembered that we have an immersion blender and also remembered to put the blender into the pot of hot potatoes/leeks/water/salt before I turned it on so I did not spray hot potatoes/leeks/water/salt all over my beautiful beautiful face. Crisis averted! Then I added some butter (because the book told me to) and some pepper (because I like things peppery!) and chopped up the parsley that I DID NOT forget this time and put some soup in a bowl and garnished the hell out of it and ate it and it was good as heck! We did get too much bread this time but regardless WE MADE POTATO LEEK SOUP AND IT WAS VERY EASY AND GOOD AND YOU SHOULD DO IT TOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

#tdandjulia #potageparmentier #potatoleeksoup #everyonegetssoup #notcryingyet #oldmedia #itssoeasy #memories

[dorkshadows]

From Where the Rain Falls

If anyone’s interested, I did it! I started writing a fic for Journey to the West: The Demons Strike Back. Here’s an excerpt from the first scene of chapter 1. No idea when I’ll finish the first chapter or how to summarize it lol or how long it will be...

It’s supposed to be an angsty Wukong/Sanzang slowburn, but that’s probably not obvious from this intro. And I’ll definitely be weaving in the Ginseng fruit arc ;)

The air was heavy with water,  stuck in pregnant clouds that refused to feed the dry earth, and so, everything under the sky suffered. A man walked on, pausing every now and then to wipe the sweat dripping from his nose, stuffy under his straw hat, weighed down by the dusty clothes that dragged along the barren dirt. Even the desert heat was preferable to this torment, with its cool night air-- this, all he had was the neverending humidity of a barren road and the churning of his stomach, so starved that he no longer hungered. He refused to yearn for respite, but the discomfort won out in the end: he was made of flesh and blood.

He fell in a cloud of dust, mouth too dry to speak. And like gnats, the companions gathered around him, fluttering in their ragged clothes as they checked for signs of life.

“Is- is he dead?” the masked one asked with feigned concern.

“So he takes us halfway and just drops dead? Well, what do we do now? And he calls himself our head?” the gilled one rasped.

The hooded one knelt by the Tang priest’s side, calloused fingers undoing the strings of the monk’s hat. He pushed the hat off, unwound its strips of black cloth, and pulled the man into his lap. “Still alive,” he said, before turning to the other two, “he’s still alive.”

“Lovely,” Bajie said, “now we have to carry baldy out of here, great.”

Wujing narrowed his eyes: “I can’t. I’m pulling the wagon.”

“What if we just put him in the wagon. Problem solved!”

“I said. I can’t. I’m. Pulling the wagon.”

“So what? You want me to carry him, in this weather? Then we both collapse and die, can you live with that?”

The eldest disciple scowled: “Shut it, you two! I’ll carry the baldy. You assholes can’t do anything right anyway.”

That being said, Wukong placed the priest on his back, dragged both of Xuanzang’s arms around his neck, and took to the road once more, miles of grey sky stretching ahead. Behind, the junior disciples exchanged looks of delight. Problem solved, the pig mouthed, it worked.  Of course it would, the fish mouthed, eldest brother would do anything for him, and we just enjoy the ride. Haha, yes, the pig replied, haha.

Wujing lifted the handles and walked, rickety wheels scraping the ground as he followed the monkey’s footsteps, with Bajie powdering his sweating face as he struggled to keep up. But they might as well have been invisible to their eldest brother, and as far as they were concerned, it was just as well.

Wukong carried the Master until the sun set, silent feet never once stopping. When night washed over, he gave a simple order: “Make camp.”

And so, in the middle of nowhere, they did. Wujing stopped the wagon, gathered his dirty pots and pans, and cooked in spite of the heat. Bajie slumped lazily beside him, too frazzled to complain, and not far away, Wukong set the Tang priest down on a pile of scratchy blankets. Without a peep, the pig watched him tend their Master, spilling water from his wooden canteen into that parched mouth. Wukong cradled the monk’s head, fingers prodding Xuanzang’s lips to prevent a choke. Almost hungrily, Bajie looked on, oblivious to Wujing’s deadpan glare.

“Congee’s ready.”

“Took you long enough! Eldest brother, food’s ready!”

Wukong: “You have legs, don’t you? Bring it over!”

“Right away, boss, right away! Little brother, you bring the boss his food, alright?”

Wujing: “Fuck you.”

Wukong never touched the congee. After Friar Sand came and left with the bowl, he took to spooning bits into the priest’s mouth, little by little until the monk was surely full. He hovered there for the rest of the night, pouring water into Xuanzang’s mouth, and soothing the Master’s fevered moans with soft strokes against that bald head. It was too hot for the other two to sleep, and with nothing better to do, they watched the monkey work. Wukong never drank from the canteen.

“The boss can be pretty dumb, don’t you think?” Bajie whispered, shifting on his side to face the fish, “Master won’t know he did any of this. And he won’t tell either. Tomorrow he’ll just go back to being the ‘bad monkey.’”

“How do you know Master doesn’t know?” Wujing narrowed his eyes at the priest in the distance, still cradled in Wukong’s lap. “He’s a slick one. For all we know, he’s pretending to sleep. But he won’t let any of us know, especially eldest brother.”

Bajie: “Why?”

Wujing: “Because he knows himself best, and when it comes to eldest brother, Master wants him to be that ‘bad monkey.’ It’s easier that way.”

“Easier, eh? Doesn’t look that way to me… well, sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, your head.”

The junior disciples slept and when dawn came, they were kicked awake by their senior. Wukong once again placed the Tang priest on his back and after their makeshift camp was packed away, the four journeyed on. The monk didn’t stir until well into the afternoon.

[barstoolkate]

Travel Guide: Tokyo

Tokyo: MIND BLOWN...

EATS//

TAKE-CHAN 武ちゃん

Our first night we were indoctrinated to the drill of finding restaurants in Tokyo.  Stand on the sidewalk in the dark.  Stare at Google maps and confirm you’re within 20 feet of the mapped location.  And then walk into every vestibule trying to make heads or tails of the Japanese characters and the confusing address system.  Repeat each night of your Tokyo trip.  We ended up confirming that we had found Take-Chan by matching the waitresses head scarves with a photo from Tripadvisor.

This place is OG yakitori shiz.  We arrived about 30 minutes before they closed so the menu was limited but we got our fill of skewered meats.  Chicken meatballs, chicken tail, liver, thigh, wing and miso duck all charred to perfection and washed down with cold Asahi.  A 90 year old man sits in the back of the room next to an equally old icebox and counts your bare skewers and the tokens they hand out with each beer to tally your check at the end of your meal.  This spot is the perfect way to ease into eating your way through Tokyo.

SUSHI IWA

You’re spending a week in Japan and you have to sift through HOW many sushi restaurants to pick the one you’re going to drop $500 at for (no pressure) the most memorable sushi experience of your life??  No simple task.  I trusted the Sushi Geek to guide me and I’m glad I did.  He calls Sushi Iwa the “perfect introduction to Tokyo high end sushi” and after our experience that feels pretty spot on.  

Had I not read after the fact that our chef that evening wasn’t Iwa-san I would not have known.  I loved the hospitality of his sous chef Shigeyuki Tsunoda.  His english was excellent, he made us feel comfortable in an environment that could easily be intimidating (6 seats = super quiet) and he answered all of my questions as he guided us through each course.

Anticipating my first omakase experience in Japan I wondered what weird shit might be in store for me.  And then about 4 courses in I wished that I had brought a bigger purse.  Tiny whole squids and hot squid rings oozing with something white stared me in the face - a sampler of sorts that I wasn’t sure I could tackle.  I put on my big girl pants and dived in to be surprised that hot squid stuffed with its own roe is actually rich, creamy goodness and not as fishy as I had expected.  And those tiny firefly squids won me over...especially when I learned that they’re luminescent!  

Our 2 hour meal was like the Neverending Story...but one I want to see one night a week.  The fish fest started with hairy crab, bonito sashimi, a cooked fish (I forget what exactly) and moved on to sushi of hen clam, toro, ebi, squid, o-toro, hotate, anago, the sweetest uni from Hokkaido (which will change my mind about uni forever), a giant prawn barely cooked, a maki roll, a seaweed salad, and finally custardy tamago that stood in for dessert.  If you have any doubt about whether a single sushi dinner in Tokyo could be worth $500 (for 2) ...throw caution to the wind and book a seat here.  

SHIMA

There are several restaurants in Tokyo known for waygu beef.  But when Dominique Ansel and David Chang both raved about the same place I felt pretty good about following their lead and booking a table at Shima.  Unfortunately the night we dined there I had horrific jet lag and couldn’t fully appreciate the meal, but I was well enough to comprehend that this was the best beef to ever have touched my lips.  

The starters are huge - order one to split.  We had a giant plate of cured salmon and I spied a sashimi starter that looked insane.  The steak comes in two options: filet or sirloin in 5 ounce portions.  We both had the sirloin.  Upon inspection we discovered that the steaks were both skewered through and after peering into the open kitchen confirmed that they’re cooked via rotisserie.  The starter, 2 steaks and a bottle of wine set us back $480 and was well worth every penny.

2 notes:

Everyone lusts after the steak sandwiches and after reading a lot of reviews it seems that you either have to order an extra steak and request it be made into sandwiches to take away with you or perhaps (?) if you book a table late enough you might be the lucky recipient of a sammich gift.  Don’t quote me on that!  

Next time we go I’ll request a seat at the bar/open kitchen.  We were seated at a table in the back of the restaurant and had to suffer through neighboring tables of obnoxious Americans (ordering well done steaks, asking for bordeaux glasses for their ginger ale, fist bumping the wait staff - no joke).  Spare yourself the pain unless you’re one of them and then please stay at home.

TSUKIJI MARKET

Holy hell - this place is worth the 12 hour flight in and of itself.  I was completely blown away by the scale of the market (reading afterwards that it employees over 40,000 people).  Endless stalls of beautiful species and the characters who sell them make it a chaotic and colorful photographer’s delight.  I’m so glad that we made the trip before the impending relocation of the market (which will be a blow to Tokyo that I can’t believe will actually happen...kind of like Trump winning the election).  

Everyone recommends going to the market shortly after your arrival in Tokyo so that you’re conveniently awake at 3 am to queue up for the tuna auction, and after the first few nights I understood why that makes sense (oy vey).  What people don’t really talk about is that if you don’t go to the auction you won’t see the giant whole tunas.  We went to the market around 10 am and saw tunas broken down in their “coffins” or on tables, but no whole tuna were still around.   

Other details you need to know:

INNER MARKET - I’ve read that some people miss out entirely on the wholesale market experience, which would be a huge loss.  It’s not difficult to find if you’re seeking it out, but make this your top priority/first stop as the selection is going to be better earlier in the day.  Also don’t wear precious shoes - you will get wet.  We visited Tsukiji after our phenomenal dinner at Sushi Iwa so it was fun to identify some of the treats we’d tried there.  Firefly sushi, ark shell clams (aka bloody clams) and uni for miles.

OUTER MARKET - Endless rows of varieties of vendors including dried fishes and seaweed, japanese pottery, tchotchkes, produce, more fish, food stalls, sweets, pickles, kitchen shops, etc.  I’ve traveled to France and Italy and always seek out farmers markets, expecting to be impressed, but I’ve never been more wowed by fresh produce than in Japan.  They offer the most pristine varieties of everything - no bruises, perfectly ripe, instagram-worthy fruits and vegetables.

SUSHI! - We didn’t worry too much about finding the perfect place for lunch given that we had our splurge sushi dinner already.  I knew that the longest lines would be at Sushi Dai and Daiwa and that we were too hungry to sign up for those waits.  We jumped in line at Sushi Zanmai and I immediately got nervous at the cheeseball exterior of the restaurant (giant plastic tuna and life size photos of Chef Zanmai).  Don’t let that scare you off - request a seat at the sushi bar (duh) and saddle up for a delicious meal for $40/person.

As everyone says, the sushi ANYWHERE in Japan is better than almost any sushi you’ve had in the states and it’s certainly true here.  Zanmai is open 24/7 to service the Tsukiji workers and I felt reassured that I was sitting next to what appeared to be a local woman having lunch alone.  Make sure to order the torched toro - the highlight of my tuna “flight”.

TONKATSU SUZUKI

I’m going to curse again because: fried pork.  FUCK is that good!

I was a tonkatsu virgin (how this is possible I really have no idea) and I’m confident that I picked the right spot for my first experience.  I’m also confident that I’ll never find tonkatsu this good in New York.  This recommendation came from Lucky Peach (RIP) and according to them should be “your first stop when you arrive at the train station in Tokyo”.  I’ll add that it should also be your last stop because you’ll want it again.  

If you want your pork fattier order the rosu or lean hire.  The fattier the better, right?  This meal was probably the singular best composed and most satisfying meal we had in Japan.  That juicy pork cutlet topped with tonkatsu sauce ladled on to your liking, shredded cabbage dressed with zingy ponzu (again, you dress it) and THE MOST PERFECT bowl of rice I had the entire trip.   All washed down with a crisp Asahi.  Ahhhhh.

Back to that rice.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it after that meal and upon returning home I conducted Google searches to see if I could uncover some secret technique or rice variety.  My “Tonkatsu Suzuki rice” search failed me...but going to the Japanese food store and buying the most expensive bag of rice did not.  THIS would be that rice and it’s changed my Japanese cooking world at home.  

CAFE ARLES

Visiting an owl cafe was on our list... a cat cafe was not.  You know when you’re traveling and your feet hurt, you’re cranky and you’ve already stopped for one glass of champagne in the middle of the day and it’s too early to just keep on drinking???  Well Ryan stumbled upon this place on Foursquare when I was in a particularly cranky mood and it turned my frown rightside up.

Cafe Arles is totally weird but definitely better than the other themed cafes because it feels like a neighborhood cafe with a few pet cats to add some charm.  Local teenagers lingering over their laptops and drinks tip you off that you’re not in one of the cat cafes catering to tourists.  Order a coffee (their iced coffee was actually really good) and it arrives with a half of a banana, a tiny bowl of giant corn nuts and a delicious vanilla creme filled packaged wafer cookie (that I also sought out when I got home).

Ryan desperately trying to woo one of the cats.

DRINKS//

MORI BAR

Mori was our first cocktail stop in Tokyo, so we didn’t quite know what to expect from a city so famous for high end mixology.  Thus my list of “things to note” about cocktail bars in Tokyo:  

The glassware: is beautiful.  And not just the cocktail glasses.  At more than one establishment we noted the thin-as-a-lightbulb tall glasses used for water and decided right away that we needed this kind of luxury at home.  

The snacks: are an adventure unto themselves.  At Mori we were greeted with a small shot of beef consomeé, some popcorn, seaweed snacks and some deliciously refreshing iced jasmine tea.  Don’t mind if I do.  

They know that the a barstool is the best seat in the house.  Here we were initially seated at a table across from the bar but they moved us without asking as soon as seats at the bar were available.  Cheers from barstoolkate...

Ignore the cheesy plastic table tents promoting their signature drink and go ahead and order the Mori Martini.  It’s unlike any martini you’ve ever had and I don’t even understand how it takes the way it does - smooth, full bodied...it would convince me to drink martinis again if one like this could be found anywhere else.  The drinks at Mori are super boozy so don’t count on having too many unless you need to induce sleep (which was actually effective given our jet lag).  

BAR BENFIDDICH

This was the highlight of my Tokyo cocktail experience.  Bar Benfiddich is certainly hard to find but worth the effort.  Photos online don’t do the space justice.  Enter this bar on one of the upper levels of a nondescript building in Shinjuku and you’re transported into a dark, dungeon-y lair.  Think Henry the Eighth’s private bar updated with hip Brooklyn live edge wood accents.  The atmosphere sets the right tone because you’re in for something dope.

Bartender Hiroyasu Kayama has a commanding presence and mixed every cocktail we saw served himself with the help of 3 assistants.  This being one of those “tell me what you like and I’ll craft you a cocktail” joints - you do need to be prepared to provide direction.  Since I’m yuzu obsessed I ordered a yuzu pisco sour and saddled up to enjoy the 10 minute preparation from my comfy lounge chair.  No bar stools here - primetime seats at the bar are in fact THE most comfortable seats at any bar ever.  

You’ll notice that Kayama stations himself centered in the middle of the bar beneath a dim spotlight, showcasing his hands and drawing your eye toward his mixology wizardry.  You’re entranced as you watch his assistants gather bottles, herbs and the gear he needs to craft your potion.  My yuzu pisco sour involved muddling, blending, shaking and straining and did not let me down - it was exactly what I had hoped for.  The second we tasted our first cocktails we knew we would order another.  Make sure you carve out enough time to wait for a bar seat (if you sit at a table you’ll miss the show) and to have more than one drink here because Bar Benfiddich can easily sway you to linger.

BAR HIGH FIVE

High Five was my least favorite of the cocktail bars we visited.  I read that they relocated to the ground level of the same building and noticed the new interior felt like it was trying to recreate another space.  It seemed like everyone drinking there was a tourist and several of the bar staff were interns visiting from other countries.  The cocktails were delicious but the atmosphere didn’t sit quite right with me so I wouldn’t go out of my way to return here again.

STAY//

PALACE HOTEL

We stayed at the Park Hotel for the first 4 nights of our Tokyo trip (comfortable enough, conveniently located, great city views) and after traveling to Kyoto and back splurged on a night at the Palace.  On my next trip I aspire to stay at there the entire time.  The luxury of this hotel room (get a Deluxe King room with balcony) was perfect for our last night when we were tired of travel and ready for some R&R.  We checked in and immediately after the bellman left our room I decided that I needed a glass of champagne to enjoy in the beautiful bathtub that was open to the room and faced the terrace and view of the Emperor’s Palace.  Avoid the $14 coffee in the lobby and venture down into the subterranean mall to fetch coffee and pastries and bring them back to your balcony for breakfast.  If I lived in Tokyo (which I decided I could) I would want to live in this room.

Photo: The Palace Hotel