#train fare is fucking expensive

[demilypyro]

Ok so my checkup went well but just paying for train fare to Amsterdam and back to reach the clinic set me back like 60 bucks. So if y'all don't mind I'm linking my ko-fi

https://ko-fi.com/demilypyro

[who-the-fuck-is-sennalye]

sometimes I think about leaving it all for a day and just taking the train as far as I can. but then I think about how pissed my dad would be if he noticed a $20 charge to my gocard so I don't.

[frick-yes-dragons]

Myki inspectors can suck my FAT PENIS

[fingertipsmp3]

I love being ghosted by HR lmao

[xythlia]

⎙ — 𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐘.𝐓𝐎𝐑

› WELCOME TO THE RED ROOM... RESERVED FOR GUESTS OF PARTICULAR TASTES

› toji x f!reader

› word count : 2k+

- ̗̀໒ warnings : sex work, on camera, choking, my spit kink shining thru again, biting, backshots, (1) ass smack, fingering, cervix fucking, reader has hair long enough to pull, squirting, rough sex, full nelson, creampie

You take a drag of your cigarette, bleary sleep deprived eyes doing their best to focus on the obnoxious flashing neon sign. WE'VE GOT A DOLL FOR EVERY TASTE. It makes you scoff as you grind the but out beneath your scuffed shoe, that's all they think of you all as, dolls. Props that just so happen to moan and squirt.

For the most part you keep your complaints to yourself, money is money. Not that this was what you ever pictured you'd land on as a career but it could always be worse.

Exhaling the last of the crisp night air from your lungs you pull open the sleek silver backdoor to Cloud Nine. The back hallways are made up of dim, twisting corridors. Some lead to the back offices, to security, but as you hook a left to brush past a tinkling bead curtain you're met with the large open dressing room you all share.

You prefer to spend as little time back here as possible, doing the bulk of your prep at your apartment before you're on for the night. You can't stand their mindless, giddy chatter. It also prevents you from getting attached to any of them, or taking on a puppy so to speak.

Before you can finish tucking your bag and coat away in the dingy locker your floor manager is waving a piece of paper in your face.

It makes your stomach flip.

"You got swapped, Angel can't do the red room and you're the only other experienced girl in tonight."

The red room was only ever offered on nights an experienced doll was on the floor, since the people reserving red rooms always have a... particular taste in mind. Newer girls wouldn't be able to handle it. As much of an annoyance as it is to be switched with so little notice, you don't mind. It can get dull shaking your ass for run of the mill patrons all night, plus the red room is where the real money is.

"One or-?" You ask vaguely.

"One guy, don't keep him waiting alright?" She says dismissively.

You grab the piece of paper, the list of what you will and strictly won't do for a red room service. It was standard fare: creampie, light sadism, degradation, ect. Since it wasn't too extreme you didn't bother filling it out, it's easier to just tell the guy.

It's not far to the private rooms, and part of you is more than a little eager to see just who reserved one of these eye wateringly expensive sessions.

Even bathed in the dim red lights you could tell he was attractive, dark hair and eyes that held something elusive even though he kept contact with your own.

"I didn't bother filling this out, nothing you requested is off limits for me." You smile as you let the paper flutter to the floor, taking the seat beside him on the plush lounge.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the blinking light on the camera, he already set it up to record. It makes you quirk a brow at him, usually even the most gutsy ones are a little camera shy.

He smirks at you. "I'll be gentle."

With the way he says it you know it's a lie.

With a grin you lay back, propping a pillow under your head and trying not to focus on that little green recording light in your peripheral. The worst part is being filmed, but that's part of the rooms appeal. These guys pay for the ability to record the entire session not just for being able to fuck someone with no holds bared, but the catch is the club also gets to upload it.

The feeling of his skin brushing against yours cracks your train of thought. His fingertips are calloused, hands rough but he doesn't have the look of a working man. As those fingertips caress a trail down your inner thighs you shiver, letting out a quiet gasp.

"Puttin' on a show?" He purrs.

You give a breathy giggle, winding your arms around his muscles back as he leans over you between your legs. "Isn't that what you paid for?"

He pushes against you, lips brushing experimentally against yours, and deepens it to something harsh and hungry when he feels you start to squirm beneath him. His touch feels like fire, scorching a path across your skin with every grope and fondle of your body. You feel a familiar sensation of dizziness, of lightheadedness; every movement is skilled and purposeful, a deliberate attempt to steal the breath from your lungs and leave you choking on your own spit.

His lips begin to make their way down your neck, sucking hard against the delicate skin and making you groan with every nip of his teeth. In a daze you help him undo the straps of your barely there top, head tipping back when his mouth finds one of your nipples. They get the same rough treatment as your throat, and he gives a particularly sharp graze of his teeth clearly just to hear you yelp.

Your hands cup your breasts, kneading them, as his mouth dips marks a path down your stomach. Caught up in your own eagerness you wiggle your hips slightly, anticipating what's coming only to feel him grip your legs and yank you down further. The suddenness makes you wince, propping on your elbows to see just what he has in mind.

The way he's looking at you, with such debauched hunger it sends butterflies off in your chest. You don't even know his name but you know this is the kind of man a red room was designed for. As he leans forward again between your legs you feel his erection press hard against you, making the fabric of your panties slide against your clit with delicious friction.

Before you can ask, beg, for more his thick fingers glide up the column of your throat and press hard against the sides. Squeezing against your carotid artery and making your mouth drop open. As soon as your lips part you see the shimmer against his bottom lip, watch in fascination as a thick clear string of spit comes down to meet your tongue.

Sucking his lip he brings his face barely an inch from yours, through the fuzz of your restricted blood supply you notice a scar on the corner of his mouth.

"I didn't pay for you to look at the fuckin' camera." His voice is low, gutteral.

The second he lets go your body is automatically sucking air into your lungs, hard and sputtering as you lift your hips up to grind against him. In one smooth movement, before you can even process it properly, he's got you flipped on your stomach and pulling your ass up and back.

Your cheek presses against the plush fabric, eyes squeezed shut feeling his fingers run over your damp panties. There's not even enough time to relish in the contact before two fingers have the fabric pulled to the side, his knuckles sliding past the ring of muscle makes you moan against the lounge seat.

Hearing the soft shuffling of clothes you know he's undressing, even while his other hand is occupied with keeping his fingers scissoring against your slick walls. The sudden emptiness of his fingers withdrawing was quickly replaced by the head of his cock sliding through your arousal, making you suck in a sharp breath.

Just from that little contact you can feel he's got girth and heft, excitement makes you dig your nails into the lounge and press your chest down against it, keeping your ass higher.

You hear him scoff and the sting of his hand coming down hard against your skin makes you cry out, but it's nothing compared to the biting pain as the swollen head pushes against your soaked hole. The stretch is agonizing, you're not sure any amount of prep would've been sufficient. You groan, bottom lip caught in your teeth as you feel the fabric against your face getting wet with the spit seeping from the corners of your mouth.

He doesn't wait for you to adjust before slamming his hips against your ass, hard enough to make your breathing hitch in your throat, and you can feel him brushing against your cervix. The pace is brutal, making your body jostle and shake with each thrust.

Slick squelching mingles with the sound of skin smacking skin to form a perverse melody that only heightens the tension building in your gut. Frantically you slide one hand down to rub you neglected, aching clit but before you can make contact he's got you pulled up by a fistful of your hair. The sting of pain makes tears prick in your waterline as blubbering moans spill from your lips.

The way your body rocks forward with every brush of his cock against your cervix, the way his girth makes your cunt feel overstuffed, it all makes your head spin. His grunts join the obscene cacophony of sounds along with your whines when he lets go of your hair to support your body with one arm while his other hand catches your jaw in a bruising grip.

You squirm, feeling the hot tracks of tears slipping down your cheeks but his hold is steadfast. If you had more presence of mind you'd swear you could feel your heartbeat not just through your entire body but in your cunt too.

As you dissolve in his hold, a crying whimpering mess, he pushes you back down face first into the lounge, holding you by the scruff as he repositions to hit deeper. Your moans fracture into gasps and hiccups as you clench down around him, finally able to rub frenzied circles around your clit and feel that compressed coil snap inside you.

The lounge becomes incredibly damp around your knees and your brain feels as if it's coated in sticky, thick honey.

You whimper pathetically as he yanks you up again, never breaking his pace, forces you to look straight into that ever blinking green light.

"Not all you can take is it?" He sneers, hooking fingers into your mouth and whatever reply you had gets lost in the garbled sounds you choke out around them.

When he suddenly pulls out you groan, body feeling exhausted and boneless on the comedown from your orgasm but he isn't done with you yet. He lays on his back, supporting you on top of him as he makes sure your pussy faces the cameras lens and slips back inside you.

Your eyes roll back as you struggle to help support your own weight. It catches you off guard when pulls you down so your back is pressed against his chest, both of your bodies slick with sweat and various other fluids. His arms loop beneath yours and his fingers lock together behind your neck, making your breaths come in wheezed yelps and your legs automatically rise up.

The muscles in your thighs are screaming from the strain and your lungs burn again, you feel yourself camping around him, walls throbbing and sucking his cock back in with every thrust.

You can't help but sob and blubber hoarsely, begging to cum again with every sharp upswing of his hips. His pace breaks up quickly the tighter you squeeze him, devolving into sloppy thrusts until you feel his cock throb inside you. Warm, sticky heat spreads inside you and you sigh brokenly in his hold.

The cameras unfeeling, fish eye lens catches the creamy white rings forming on his cock, the way his cum drips out of your sore pussy when he slides out of you with a throaty, satisfied groan.

You grin, slow and lazy up at the ceiling. Red room sessions aren't just about the money, they're the most... fulfilling.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Keepsake

| a companion to 'Visiting Day' |

Coriolanus can’t stop staring at it.

He’s been sitting on the edge of his small cot for the past five minutes just staring at the small photograph in his hands.

This photograph should be framed and put in museums.

He had gotten a letter today, which he expected, she always writes to him. But he hadn’t expected this particular photograph to be a part of the letter.

Being stationed in District Twelve has been less than desirable, but, Coriolanus often reminds himself of what's waiting for him back home in the Capitol. A diploma commending his time spent serving his country for starters, an extra credit towards his studies at the University, the fame and glory that will come his way since he's one of the only people in his year to take on this task, and of course, his loving girlfriend Soarynn Nightingale.

He saw her two months ago when she came to visit, six hours had never gone by so fast before. He has less than two weeks left but it feels like years now that the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight. And this photograph is not helping.

Soarynn has sent him lots of photos before, photos of her and Petunia, photos of her and her friends, and more photos of Petunia, he's used to getting photos from Soarynn. He's got a drawer full of them.

But this photo will be taken to the grave.

It's a photo of her in white lingerie, beautiful lingerie at that.

The bralette pushes up her breasts while her hands press against her hips, giving him a peek at the panties she's wearing. This must be a part of some intricate set with garters and thigh highs and yet she's teasing him by cutting the picture off at her hips.

That little vixen.

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't constantly think about their little reunion on visiting day, how tightly her cunt wrapped around him, how breathy her moans were, and how soft her skin was. Living with stinky men caused Coriolanus to find a whole new sense of gratitude for his girlfriend who was always so feminine and gentle.

No, six hours had not been enough time.

And the amount of comments he got about her after the visit was astounding. Men were absolutely floored at the fact that Coriolanus had the most beautiful girl they'd ever seen on his arm. Some of them couldn't believe that she was truly his but Coriolanus wasn't surprised at all.

To him, it made perfect sense.

Soarynn Nightingale is a beautiful girl, one might even say the most beautiful in all of Panem, therefore enabling her to pick whoever she wanted to be her future husband. So considering her wide array of choices, she'd want someone of equal status and importance, someone who was also attractive, who dressed well and was well versed in Capitol etiquette. Someone who could take care of her, shower her with gifts and expensive trips.

Someone like Coriolanus Snow.

Coriolanus prided himself in how well he took care of Soarynn, ensuring she was always safe, warm, fed, and properly fucked to her liking.

But this photograph might push him over the edge.

Coriolanus carefully sets the photograph on the bed next to him and his fingers fumble to open up the letter she sent him.

To my beloved Coryo, Not a day goes by that I do not think about you, my love. The penthouse feels so empty without you to fill it with your presence. Our friends ask about you constantly, and I assure them that you are still dutifully serving your country without fail. My studies have been faring well, my exams have been easier than I anticipated and I should finish this semester with excellent grades. I can't wait to have you back by my side while studying in the library or strolling through the University courtyard between classes. Petunia misses you dearly, just the other day I found her asleep with one of your socks in her paws. Should I bring her to the train station when I pick you up? Please let me know in advance. I must admit that our reunion all those weeks ago has left me longing for you more than ever before. No one knows my body like you do, including myself. I can't wait for you to come home so we can have a true and proper reunion, no sergeants or soldiers yelling in the background. I've sent a sneak peek of what's waiting for you when you come back home, I went shopping with the girls the other day and they convinced me to buy some new lingerie pieces. I hope this set is to your liking. This photo can serve as a keepsake until we're reunited. My heart is always with you my darling, please keep yourself safe. I can't wait to become Mrs. Snow when you return. Love, Soarynn

Coriolanus runs his fingers over his curls, remembering how it felt when she tugged at them while he ate her out. He remembers how sweet she tasted, how she whimpered so desperately for him.

This photo is going to be the death of him.

Coriolanus glances down at his wristwatch, twenty minutes until it's time for dinner which means he's just getting closer and closer to getting the hell out of here. But it also means that he has a little bit of time to take care of the problem that Soarynn has unknowingly created for him in his boxers.

Coriolanus sighs and unzips his pants, slowly reaching his hand to take hold of his hardened length. Never in his life has he ever had to do this himself, not when Soarynn always offered up her own hands, mouth, or cunt. He always prefers the last one.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

He quietly sighs once his hand slips under the waistband of his boxers, finally skin on skin. He does his best to recreate how Soarynn usually does it but it just feels so much better when she does it with her dainty little hand and those blue-gray eyes batting up at him as if she's so innocent.

And he usually has at least two fingers lodged in her cunt while she's doing it so that always makes it more fun for him.

"Fuck," he mutters, increasing the pace of his strokes, grabbing the photo with his other hand to get a better look at it. He imagines what it'll be like to have that body on top of him again, to have her skin beneath his hands while he manipulates her body.

He tries to imagine her whimpers, her moans, and gasps while he fucks up into her.

"Oh fuck Soarynn," he grunts, giving his cock one last final stroke before he finishes in his hand.

His forehead is sweaty, and his boxers are now ruined.

Coriolanus takes in a sharp breath once he starts to calm down, settling back into the shitty reality that is living in District Twelve for two more weeks.

But that doesn't excuse him being late for dinner so he makes his way into the bathroom to wash his hands and change out of his pants and into new ones. He tosses his boxers into the wastebin and assesses his appearance in the mirror one last time before walking back into his small room.

He takes the photograph and tucks it beneath the pile of other photos she's sent him over the past few months, making sure it's out of sight for anyone who might dare to rifle through his things.

He'll have to write her once he gets back from dinner.

꧁ ꧂

To my darling girl, I can't wait to have you back in my arms my love, these next few weeks are sure to be sheer torture for my heart and me. Not a day goes by where I do not think of you and the joy you bring me, you simply light up my life. As for bringing Petunia to the train station, please don't. I would be lying if I said that the photo you sent me didn't have a large effect on me and my body, it's been so long since I've felt your touch and I can't wait to experience it again. I'm so proud of you and your studies, you've always been so inclined when it comes to your academics and I can't wait to roam the University halls together once again. I will be thinking of you every moment leading up to our reunion. Take care of yourself, my darling girl, for you are my entire future. Love, Coryo

꧁ ꧂

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe Origin Ch 3

A/n - Sorry for the delay. I just delved to deep into what will Elves think of the technology and items unfamiliar to them. I made way to much dialogues for it and the chapter became too long. So, I removed it all together. If you want to read it I'll but it in a bonus chapter.

Any back to the story

As the elves delved into the mysterious woman’s belongings, their initial intent to find potential harm transformed into an intriguing exploration of unfamiliar artifacts. Among the items, they discovered clothing of a similar fashion to what she wore, confirming the uniqueness of her attire. Strips of expensive fabric hinted at a meticulous attention to detail in her possessions. The food items, unlike anything seen in Elven or Middle-earth cultures, sparked curiosity. Exotic aromas wafted from packages that bore no resemblance to the lembas or other fare known to the elves. Moreover, the elves encountered objects previously unseen in Middle-earth. Mysterious in both form and material, these items were beyond their realm of knowledge. They exchanged glances, realizing that the answers to the woman’s origins might be hidden within these enigmatic possessions.

 The mystery deepened, drawing them further into the enigma that had unexpectedly arrived at their haven but their curiosity was put in hold because of the maid servant announced that the creature woke up, behaved Frantically and fell into fitifull sleep again. They all exited to see the creature

As the woman stirred, her eyes gradually opening to the unfamiliar surroundings, the elves observed her with a sense of reverence. The air was charged with anticipation, for in her waking moments lay the promise of unlocking the enigma that had woven itself into the fabric of their haven.

Glorfindel looked at the creature, she looked restless right now. Her pretty features were marked with distress. The woman began to stir again. Glorfindel could feel Gildor’s posture suddenly going rigid. The woman woke up again, looked at them with a bewildered face and blurted out something in foreign tongue which Glorfindel could only make out as

“What the Fuck”

 

 In the hazy moments between sleep and wakefulness, she felt the disorienting shift from the rhythmic motion of the train to an unfamiliar stillness. Her eyes fluttered open, searching for the familiar contours of her train compartment, but instead, she found herself in a spacious room filled with vibrant colors. A jolt of panic surged through her as she realized she wasn’t alone. The bed beneath her was soft, unlike the cold, impersonal surfaces she associated with kidnapper scenarios in movies. The room exuded warmth, a stark contrast to the chill of fear that gripped her. With trembling hands, she reached for the glasses she habitually kept within arm’s reach. The world around her remained a blur, causing her heart to pound against her chest. The absence of visual clarity heightened her sense of vulnerability. Where was she? How did she end up in this unfamiliar place?

As she fumbled for her glasses, her fingertips grazed a loose tunic of soft cotton that draped over her. It wasn’t the attire she remembered wearing when she fell asleep on the train. Her hair, usually secured in a bun, cascaded freely down her shoulders. She could make out were she was but everything felt like blurry shaking mess. The spaciousness of the room and the absence of ominous shadows began to alleviate the intensity of her disorientation. She fell down on the bed again.

The next time, she was awake of her surrounding. She dared not open her eyes fearing that realistic nightmare was a reality. She started to feel her surroundings, the warm blanket embracing her form, the gentle lighting that bathed the room, and the absence of any immediate threat. So, she was still here. It was not a dream. Her heart pounded in her chest. Everything felt too much. She couldfeel her body trembling. The question lingered—how had she transitioned from a moving train to this mysterious haven?

She refused to open her eyes till her heartbeat began to slow down. As her racing heart began to steady, she pondered the possibilities. Was it a dream? A delusion? Or had she truly been transported to a place beyond her understanding? The answers lay shrouded in the enigma of the unfamiliar room, waiting to be unveiled as she navigated this unexpected journey. She finally found courage to open her eyes. In the disorienting blur without her glasses, she found herself surrounded by figures draped in unfamiliar attire. Their voices melded into a symphony of incomprehensible sounds, leaving her bewildered and struggling to make sense of the situation. She saw tall figures standing near her bed. She screamed "What the fuck!".

She looked frantically to see clearing, her hands flying around her to find her glasses but everything seemed different. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes again. No, this is not real, she thought to herself, just take a deep breath, even if its real, its better to face reality with less adrenaline rush. She heard an unknown voice speaking in an unfamiliar language.

"Please let me focus", She muttered but incomprehensible chatter continued. The voices seemed to get closer to her. She decided to face them. She opened her eyes again. The figures were closer. The were....men dressed in.....robes?They were speaking something but she couldn't understand a word. She attempted to respond, her words stumbling in an attempt to bridge the linguistic gap.

Wait, where am I? Can anyone understand me?”

 The room echoed with a language she couldn’t grasp, and the figures, seeming more like shadows in her blurred vision, continued their conversation in more unintelligible speech. As the frustration of being unable to communicate mounted, her panic intensified. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision even further. The alien surroundings, the strange language, and the inability to make herself understood became overwhelming.

“Please, someone, help me understand. Where am I?

The figures exchanged glances, their expressions indecipherable. One of them, seemingly perceiving her distress, gestured for her to follow. With a mixture of fear and desperation, she stumbled after the shadowy figure, her cries echoing in the unfamiliar room.

 “Why can’t you understand me? Where am I going?”, she muttered to herself while walking.

The figures continued conversing amongst themselves, the strange language closing a linguistic barrier that seemed insurmountable. The room’s colors blurred into a mosaic of confusion as she clung to the hope of finding answers. As they led her through the mysterious realm, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being a lost wanderer in a place that defied explanation yet seemed to her very familiar, her cries of confusion echoing through the walls of palace.

 Lord Círdan, Glorfindel, Gildor, Lumion, and Fearon came in the room where their mysterious guest was staying. When they saw her walking up and saying something in a melodious voice. They began to talk. Lord Círdan was first to speak, “Greetings, traveler from beyond. Can you understand our words?”

The creature responded with a stream of sounds that were foreign to the elven ears, leaving the wise beings perplexed. Glorfindel ears perked up, he said to Lord Círdan, “Her language eludes us. We must find a way to bridge this gap and understand her plight.”

Lumion, quiped in, “I’ve never encountered such linguistic diversity. Our words seem to dance away from her understanding.”

 As the creature grew more distressed, her attempts at communication turned into heart-wrenching cries. The elves, moved by compassion, sought a way to ease her turmoil.

Fearon, seeing her pretty face distressed was unable to contain her worry. She sople softly, “We cannot let her suffer in confusion. There must be a way to connect with her. If we cant understand her, we can at least soothe her. There's nothing more soothing that nature. Lets take her to the gardens.”Gildor mused, “Look at the patterns on her belongings. They speak of gardens and life. Indeed, let us bring her to the haven’s garden.”

Lord Círdan looked at her shaking form and sighed. He did not expected such fearful reaction from this little creature. He gently guided her to the garden. She followed him,her eyes downcast and form shivering. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was safe but he was fearing that might trigger intense reaction in her. Guiding the creature gently, he led her to the serene sanctuary of the garden, where a tapestry of flowers and foliage unfolded. He saw her looking at the flowers. He gentky smiled, “In the language of leaves and blossoms, find comfort. Let the garden’s beauty speak when words fail.”

As they walked amidst the vibrant flora, the creature’s tears began to subside. The intricate patterns on her belongings seemed to resonate with the natural tapestry surrounding them. The creature, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the fragrance of blossoms, started to calm. The elves, though unable to decipher her words, shared a moment of understanding through the silent language of the garden—a universal solace that transcended the boundaries of spoken communication.

 Her mind began to clear from the fog of confusion. Determined to understand her predicament, she made a gesture, a silent plea, for her glasses. She looked at the creatures that surrounded her. She looked at the bearded old man. As they had eye contact, the man seemed to freeze. It seemed like her was lost. What happened to them? she thought to herself, What the fuck is going on here!?

~○~○~○~○~○~○

Taglist @elvyshiarieko , @asianbutnotjapanese @bobitoo08

What to be in my taglist? Just drop a message ❤️

[applejee]

bestie im going to melb and as a local do u have any recommendations for stuff we should do while were there?

FYCK YESSSSSS COME TO MELBOURNE!!!!!!! okay heres my exorbitant mostly food related list (note these places are almost all in the CBD):

coffee/matcha:

if you like coffee, best locations in the CBD are little rogue on drewery lane nearby melbourne central station, and tbh any coffee joint along flinders lane

if you don't like coffee but like matcha or houjicha, drop by little rogue or tori's on niagara lane!! puzzle coffee (there's one on swanston st and in melbourne central station) is also tasty

i've also heard good things about naau's matcha - they're off russell st but i haven't been there myself

breakfast/brunch/bakery:

if you want to try a classic melb brunch, try hardware lane! there's a few places in the laneway and it feels very melbourne

also on drewery lane is bakemono - an adorable little bakery that does amazing melonpan! but they sell out quick and get busy, so you want to get there by 10am at the latest

(can you tell laneways are our culture)

okay i know they opened elsewhere in australia now but LUNE is great... love the croissants....... JC patisserie boulangerie is further north but a quick train ride away - heard great things!

if you want a fun time........ hopetoun tearooms!! SOO CUTE even just the cake window is worth a look. if you want high tea you gotta book out ages in advance, but if you don't mind waiting a little they take walk ins! perfect for an afternoon pot of tea and tasty cake

more lunchy-places:

look, anywhere on degraves st will get you there, and it's also a classic tourist spot! walk down and see the most quintessential melbourne laneway there is!

if you want american-themed fare, bowery to williamsburg FUCKS i had a stunning reuben there.

tbh i rarely actually have lunch, i just get brunch... so all the recommendations above can double

dinner or lunch restaurants:

soooo i love ramen so if you do too, ikkoryu fukuoka ramen is top tier! i love their yuzu ramen. hakata gensuke is good if you like chicken ramen, and shujinko ramen (rip the flinders st store) is good if you're going up elizabeth st and want affordable

mensho tokyo ramen opened recently but uhhhhh the wait has been 3 to 5 hous somedays. ITS POPULAR. ippudo in QV is probably easier and more convenient

outside of ramen, if you want more fancy fancy farmer's daughters is STELLAR. delicious food, great cocktails, mm. nice modern aussie dining. longrain nearby is also very popular!

also vaguely upmarket is chinchin - good curry! the waiters market is a place that my mum hugely recommend before shows but ive never managed to get there myself lmao.

not ramen but still japanese is dohtonbori.. ever wanted to mix and flip your own okonomiyaki? now's the time

I WANT TO GO TO THE NATURAL HISTORY PUBLIC BAR. it's also a restaurant set to look like the american museum of natural history, if you go pls have fun

bubbletea, its own category:

this is just a list.

milksha, the alley lujiaoxiang, machi machi, coco. these are all good. chatime is fine but gongcha is better but theyre the chains so... i really want to go to choulee!! i heard theyre good

desserts:

hokkaido baked cheese tart, black star patisserie, pafu, kurimu, uncle tetsu's, brunetti's for cakes and later nights, sulhwa, and bingsu.

further out or more expensive but fun:

i need to go to milk the cow so BAAAD. there's one in st kilda, which is a short tram ride from flinders st station. if you go lmk

places to visit:

the botanical gardens!! pretty, always a nice time

the NGV likely has some free exhibits going on! always a nice wander

you gotta stop by hozier lane. you gotta. and wander around fed square while you're at it

drewery lane also has some artwork!

a walk down birrarung marr is also nice, sometimes there's night markets going on by the stadiums

the docklands has some alright places, but i know less about it... but they have a ferris wheel rn! check it out!

if you wanna spend thirty or more bucks, go up the eureka tower!! tallest building, and you can get a cool view of the city. the edge experience is a little lift that sticks out the building so you can stare down through glass to the ground below. fun if you aren't afraid of heights

if you like shopping, emporium is fancy and has a MEEQ store where you can buy jellycats

you can go to the queen victoria market if you wanna.... its a classic destination after all

THE LUME is a classic experience here too rn - more exxy but if you want a fun visual experience, do it!

if you want comics - check out all star comics! best LCS in the area.

other specific stores i recommend:

gewürzhaus! there's one in block arcade off collins st, i love it and the spices

not far from gewürzhaus is essensorie - they discon'd my fave handcream SOB but they have some nice things (this is all in the black arcade, same as hopetoun)

and with that, tbh check out all the arcades? they have fun things going on!! there's the block arcade, royal arcade with gog and magog, tivoli arcade... that is to say they're little indoor walkways with shops and stores, as in an arcade you walk through! they're cute

bourke st mall is worth a wander, and you can see the outside of the old post office that's now a H&M...

i know you said "things to do" but... all i do is eat mostly LMAO!!

really, the best thing to do is give yourself a day or two for the CBD. just wander, it's all a grid and easily navigable, and take advantage of the free tram zone!!!! it'll announce when it isn't so you know to touch on your myki or not, i'm not a cop.

you could also wander down to crown at night, southbank has many restaurants and also the flames outside crown fucketh severely

if you're going outside the CBD, its an hours or so drive but healesville sanctuary is soo fun.. and on the way there you can stop by kuranga nursery, it's a gorgeous little place and the paperbark cafe does a bunch of tasty meals with native flavours and bushtucker

if you'll be in the suburbs i have more recommendations too!! but for those just message ma and i'll share so this list isn't crazier than it is xx HAVE FUN!!!!!!!!

[gaoau]

shaken with ice

Straight-Up warnings — none. word count — 3.2k

next.

Izana sits on a bench as he recognizes he's been burnt down to ashes by himself. If fraternal love was all he had, then why did he actively destroy it? All because he couldn't handle the scorching, sour truth of not properly belonging. He sits and wonders why nothing ever happens anymore now that Shinichiro is dead. He wonders why the world moves on and keeps turning, but everything around him remains impossibly still. He took as much as he could from his brother to build himself around Shinichiro's love, yet he's been left with nothing but an empty hole in his chest. He sits and wonders why he needs a random fourteen-year-old to force him out of his rut—still, his surroundings stay monochrome.

Izana sits on a rooftop as he wonders what it is about being isolated that harms him so much, to the point he can't even acknowledge it. He finds his strength better when being by himself, so isolation should be his best friend, right? Right? He's been alone and abandoned his whole life, so Shinichiro leaving him behind should be no different. He has no one to understand him, no one to keep up with him, no one to sympathize with him—he has no one to be as empty as him.

He doesn't bother looking at Kisaki while he explains his schemes. For a moment, he considered maybe Kisaki would do, but his malice can only fill up so much of his heart and nothing more. It's not what he wants. It's not what he needs. He allows Kisaki to use him as much as he pleases; so long as their objectives align, he doesn't mind playing his part to regain what he's lost. It's only been a few days since they started making their moves to build Tenjiku into the perfect opponent for Toman. Kisaki talks and talks, smoothing out the logistics of this convoluted plan. It's dreadfully boring and it feels like nothing is happening at all.

Izana isn't sure if he hates to admit this or not, but he's surprised when he hears the door to the rooftop open behind them. As far as he's concerned, no one should be coming up here for anything. The click of the lock comes accompanied by a muffled voice he's never heard before, grumbling, "What the fuck are you making me climb all those stairs for?" There's an edge in the tone and a faint drawl on the corners of the sentence. Izana cranes his neck back to find hooded eyes that match the boredom dripping from their every syllable.

He knows these nonchalant eyes—not exactly. He's seen this bored gaze before, he's seen this bored girl before. At least once or twice, sharing a few words with Kisaki before exchanging money. This is, however, the first time he's close enough to hear her speak. The black mask covering her face moves with every word she pronounces. He thinks, somewhere, in the corner of his mind, that it's amusing how her monotone voice fits her empty demeanor perfectly. His attention is trained on her as she marches up to Kisaki without bothering to glance at the other three people on this rooftop.

Izana catches Kisaki rolling his eyes in annoyance while turning towards this newcomer. "Your report, of course," is all he replies with, lips curling into a scowl.

There's a faint twitch in her brows, hooded lids narrowing just a bit more. It's interesting how a millimeter can change her expression from awfully bored to mildly irritated. "Can't I do it over the phone? The train fare's expensive."

"Do you want your pay or not?"

Her face returns to its passive neutrality, but Izana easily takes notice of one of her brows arching higher than the other. "With the agreed bonus, I'm assuming."

With a nudge into Hanma's gut, Kisaki nods towards [Name]. Almost instantly, a sickening grin grows on Hanma's face and a low chuckle tumbles from his tongue. He pulls crumpled yen notes out from his uniform pocket, carelessly dropping them onto her open palm. Izana wants to laugh at how easy it is to give him orders without exchanging a single word. [Name] visibly cringes, brows bunching up, and steps away from Hanma before she accidentally breathes in his insanity. She busies herself with smoothing out the money to make sure her bonus is intact. Kisaki glares her down.

Silence hangs for longer than any of them tend to tolerate. The bills move swiftly in her hands as she counts, "…six, seven, eight, nine thousand. Good."

"I'm waiting, [Name]."

She sighs, folding her pay neatly and saving it in her jacket pocket. Then she looks Kisaki in the eye. "I dropped her off at her place before hopping on the train. Hanagaki-kun was there at her door, looked kinda fucked up." She doesn't miss the disgruntled scowl twisting behind his glasses. She contemplates her next words briefly. She has her pay anyway, he's not going to try and raise his hand at her. Her lips curl into an amused grin underneath her mask. Izana notices her eyes narrowing as she looks down on Kisaki. "He doesn't look half bad with his hair down; I can see the appeal."

"Stay on topic," he clips immediately.

A chuckle escapes her, oddly flippant for someone that must know how Kisaki operates. She continues, "She got the first-aid and patched him up outside. From what she's told me, her father still isn't all that cool with delinquents." She scans him up and down for a moment. "By the way, your call almost blew my cover."

"I told you not to save my number."

"I didn't." She rolls her eyes, but they remain as bored as when she walked out here. "I was busy eavesdropping on 'em when you rang me up."

"How long ago was this?"

"Fifty minutes, give or take."

"You left them there alone?"

"Yeah?"

Kisaki has heard enough, it seems, as he shoos her away with his hand. "Report back tomorrow, too." He doesn't wait for her to give him even a measly nod of confirmation and turns back to Izana to finish their earlier one-sided conversation.

A shrug bounces off her left shoulder. "Sure," she pronounces with that flat monotone, dripping in dreadful boredom. Without so much as a polite goodbye, [Name] saunters her way towards the door. Izana keeps his eyes latched onto her back until she disappears into the building. Her nonchalance, her sheer uninterest vibrates against his brain in camaraderie.

It's not every day that [Name] goes on a small trip to Yokohama just to earn some cash, but it is fairly often. Izana cannot wrap his head around an empty space becoming emptier simply because she isn't around. He believes he can hear her monotone voice all the way from Shibuya. As soon as she shows up and snarls a few words at Kisaki, his eyes locate and stick to her. It's almost appalling to have to endure her flippant gaze being bored in his kingdom.

Izana is, admittedly, curious, for lack of a better word. He knows very well his own reasons for being empty and bored and saturated with his unmoving surroundings, but why her? Why [Name]? Why is she here? Why is she bored? Why does she work for Kisaki? Why does nothing ever happen for her either? He's heard Kisaki complain about her plenty of times, making mention of how obnoxious her nonchalant demeanor is and how much it grates on his nerves. He keeps her around because she's useful to him. Izana understands that. He doesn't understand [Name].

Kisaki makes her wait, Kisaki addresses her like she's a slave, Kisaki uses Hanma against her, Kisaki orders her around without regards. Izana can see it in those inexpressive eyes, that she absolutely despises Kisaki more than he despises Sano Manjiro. He watches from afar as she pulls down her mask briefly. Her flat lips are painted a dark color he can't distinguish when she's sitting this far away—it might be black as much as it might not be. From her jacket pocket, she produces a small yellow ball. It disappears into her mouth and her mask is back up in a matter of seconds. A few minutes later, she repeats it all over again.

Izana is, not admittedly, very curious. He listens in on their conversation when Kisaki approaches her to discuss business again. Her mask moves as she speaks. Kisaki is the only person she's familiar with around here, surrounded by Tenjiku gang members, but she remains hostile while glaring at him like she wants to smash his glasses into his face.

"Did you talk to him like I said?" Kisaki asks her sharply.

[Name] rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation, "Yeah, said something 'bout wanting to save someone. I'm guessing that's Hinata-chan?" Her inflection rises in a monotone question. By the look on her face, she isn't even interested in knowing who lives and who dies as long as she gets her money.

"Anything else?"

"He fucking hates you." Her eyes narrow. Izana thinks there's a smirk on her flat lips behind that mask. "He's ready to beat you into oblivion, so watch your back, ATM."

"Don't tell me what to do; that's not what I pay you for." A faint frown settles on her brows at his words. If not Hanagaki, [Name] looks ready to beat Kisaki into oblivion herself before he can think about acting snarky again. Izana wants to know why she bothers showing up. "Keep Tachibana busy. Don't let her see Hanagaki that often anymore until this settles down." That's his last order of the day. He hands her a few bills and leaves her on her seat.

She nods her head automatically, muttering, "Sure," as she lifts her middle finger up at his retreating back. Izana keeps his eyes stuck to her while she slips another yellow ball into her mouth, counting the numbers on her pay. He is, admittedly, interested. This mirroring emptiness is something he wants to have. The nonchalance in her narrowed eyes becomes twisted in his clouded brain when he can't rationalize why nothing ever happens for her either.

[Name] finds this extremely annoying, but she's not exactly willing to do anything about it. She keeps getting calls from Kisaki at random, asking her to take a forty-minute train ride just to give a report. Why he's decided to base this new gang of his in Yokohama is beyond her and she doesn't care to ask. The issue is the burning, piercing discomfort stabbing her on the back of her head. Clearly, there's someone who's got their eyes on her, but considering she's surrounded by feral scumbags that could easily snap her in half if they wanted to, she knows better than to look around and figure out who it is.

It happens every single time she hangs around for a while, which says a lot when it's only been two weeks since Tenjiku became a thing. It gets increasingly more obnoxious, but she really doesn't want to take her chances and make eye contact with someone that will stab her for the hell of it. She remains bored at her surroundings, remains flippant towards Kisaki's threats, remains nodding her head and going along with whatever plays out in front of her. Then Tenjiku's head enters her field of vision, unprovoked. She figures if she had checked earlier, she would have been better prepared for his swallowing eyes staring at her so intently.

Izana has considered actively asking Kisaki about this little dog that runs around for him to have eyes where he can't casually see. He doesn't, though, because he's not one to be curious about people he doesn't need. The more he sees [Name] idly sitting and eating those yellow balls, the more he contemplates he's not as unique as he'd originally led himself to believe. Mikey isn't quite empty yet—Izana knows that better than anyone else—but [Name] is.

Or at least, he's convinced.

He doesn't have a name for what the voice in the back of his head is telling him. He can only recognize a faint lilt that sounds oddly similar to Shinichiro. It's not an unfamiliar feeling; he's been withdrawing from it for so long, that having it return to him unannounced is borderline euphoric. He's had more than enough of [Name] popping candy into her mouth and looking like nothing exists in the world but her. Izana is here—he's in the same world as her and he's just as empty as her and he wants her nonchalance before she wastes it all on someone like Kisaki. Whatever it is, he craves more of it.

[Name] holds his gaze with narrowed eyes that don't care how much power he has over her. Izana simply watches her every move, paying close attention as she pulls down her mask so he can finally establish her lips are colored black. Hidden inside the pocket of her jacket, he hears plastic crinkling. She pulls out one of those yellow balls. When she opens her mouth, the sunlight bounces back from the piercing on her tongue before it's blocked by her flat, black lips again. Then the mask is back up.

He's curious; why does she do any of the things she does? If she's so dead bored of everything around her, why bother showing up here? It doesn't make sense to him why she even bothers painting her lips when she'll cover them up with that stupid mask anyway. It moves along with her mouth as the candy clacks against her teeth. He hears the muffled shattering when she bites down on it.

Izana extends his open palm in front of her. [Name] limits herself to raising a brow, only slightly, barely noticeable unless he's looking for it—and he is looking for it. "Share," he orders. It's an order. It is an order. This is his kingdom, and [Name] is a part of it as long as she's here, bored or not, whether either of them like it or not. He's her king.

Her expression flattens again. She produces a clear plastic bag from her pocket, filled with candy balls she took the time to unwrap earlier in the day. It pokes at his brain and burns on his subconscious, how obnoxiously calm she behaves in the face of someone that could kill her in the blink of an eye. Not that he's planning to harm her yet, but he could. She presents the open bag to him, silently, and leaves him to take as many as he wants without complaint.

He takes two. There's powder coating the hard candy. "What are these?" he asks before popping one in his mouth. Instantly, he cringes. It's impossibly sour.

"Super Lemon," [Name] answers with that flippant tone he's heard mock Kisaki.

He shatters the candy and chews his way through burning sourness the same way he's been watching [Name] do all this time. Izana knows he's never been fond of lemons or limes or even the mildest of citrics, but he finds today he despises Super Lemons more than anything. He swallows the candy before shoving the other one in his mouth as well.

That burning sensation stabbing her on the back of her head doesn't stop, and although it still disturbs her, [Name] is no longer concerned about getting her head bashed into a rock for breathing in the wrong direction. Now that she knows it's just Tenjiku's head, she cranes her neck to the side, immediately locking eyes with Izana, who's completely ignoring whatever it is Kisaki is telling him. She holds his stare, because it's not just Tenjiku's head. It's Kurokawa Izana and she's afraid of what he can do. She's heard a lot about this guy, more than she needed. He will kill her if she refuses him a Super Lemon.

Izana wonders why nothing ever happens. [Name] stares at him, leaning on that wall like she's so fucking over everything happening around her. He hates her sour candy, but he despises the way she looks at him more. It's like she's analyzing him instead of understanding he's as empty as she is. And then she looks away, bored. 

She clearly hates being here. She's clearly bored. She frowns in contempt and sheer disgust as Kisaki snarls more orders. She nods her head regardless of the hatred in her face and does as told. None of it makes sense to Izana. Why is she here? What is she doing? Why is she bored of his kingdom? Why does nothing ever happen?

He doesn't care to ask. He dismisses Kisaki in favor of reaching his palm out for more Super Lemons. [Name] offers her clear bag for him to take as many as he wants. It stings his tongue every time he eats another lemon drop. He contemplates if he wants to admit his curiosity to himself. Cringing at the sourness overtaking his mind, he blankly stares at her. "[Name]," he calls, because he's only ever heard her given name. She meets his eyes with a questioning hum. "What's the fun in working for Kisaki?"

[Name] laughs to herself. "I actually hate Kisaki more than I let on." Izana disagrees. He's always quick to catch on to her reactions. Her attention flickers to the side while she shrugs, spotting Kisaki glancing back at the call of his name. A chuckle tumbles off her lips when her employer only glares daggers. She turns back to Izana with a hooded gaze, like nothing ever happens in her life either. "It's whatever. He makes up for it in cash."

It's the money. She's in his world for a few bills. "So you're smarter than Kisaki's dog, huh."

"Hanma?" Her brows rise and she giggles quietly. "Plenty."

Izana takes a step closer to get up in her face. She presses her back flat on the wall, but no emotion crosses her eyes. "You know we're planning to kill people, right?" Because it's the money for her, but it's everything for him. There's an empty space Manjiro carved by stealing everything from him.

He sees her shoulders relax, eyes narrowed. "The ends justify the means, I guess."

Something in the back of his mind tells him that his only sister dying isn't justifiable means to a stash of cash. He doesn't voice it, because disagreeing means they're not the same anymore. Kakucho, his servant, the one that's been with him for years dares talk back. Whatever this is—nonchalance, understanding, boredom, validation; call it anything—Izana gets high off of it. He allows it, otherwise things will never happen.

[little-escapist]

au + trope + prompt game

13. soulmates!au + 9. strangers to lovers + 2. "fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. fuck."

Thanks for prompting! The fic is under the cut, no warnings, just fluff ;)

Blaine never thought he’d meet his soulmate like this. And boy, had he dreamed up different scenarios as a kid, often late into the night, trying to conjure up what his soulmate might look like. Of course, it’s not quite as easy as that, as everyone knows. The time you meet your soulmate is fated and you can’t find out how it’s going to happen or who it’s going to be until it’s happening. 

He’s early to the subway stop. He wanted to give Sam some privacy for a phone call with Mercedes and so he left for work way earlier than usual, almost early enough to catch the previous train. Almost being the key word.  

A well-dressed, slim man is swearing up a storm, his pale cheeks glowing red and his breath coming hard when Blaine reaches the platform.  

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck.” The man looks close to tears as he stares after the back of the train.  

“Hey,” Blaine says and approaches cautiously. “Is, um. Clearly something is wrong, but is there something I can do to help?”  

The stranger groans. “If you can turn back time, maybe. Otherwise, no.”  

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, feeling bad for the other’s misfortune. “If I could turn back time, I’d do it for you, but as it is, I’m just human. I can listen and keep you company, though, if that helps any?”  

The man looks him in the eye and it’s like time stops. So maybe Blaine can manipulate time after all? They stare at each other for an eternity, Blaine drowns in the off-blue depths of this man’s eyes and never wants to leave.  

Finally, one of them blinks, and the moment is gone, reality rushing back in.  

“My name is Blaine,” Blaine says and offers his hand. He’s pretty sure already, but the touch will confirm it. His heart is racing in his chest, and he hopes that his hand won’t be too sweaty when this stranger takes it.  

“Kurt,” the man says as their palms touch, and a strange, burning itch begins in Blaine’s hand.  

They both feel it, because they exchange another glance, half excited, half terrified. Blaine really, really wants to see what his mark is like, but he doesn’t want to let go of Kurt’s hand. Kurt gives him a wobbly smile.  

“I guess being late for my job interview is worth it, because I met you at last,” he says, voice oddly wistful.  

Blaine huffs out a laugh and tucks in his chin. “So, you’ve been waiting for me?” The thought makes him feel warm all over. He has been waited for, he has been wanted even when he felt small and insignificant and useless. 

“Since forever! The thought of meeting you was the only thing that got me through, sometimes.”  

“Me, too. I’ve been looking for you forever.” They’re still holding hands, and both of them are growing sweaty on top of the burning tingle of their marks forming.  

“Do you want to see?” Kurt asks, bouncing in place a little.  

Blaine nods, and they let go to take a look at their palms.  

The soul mark is beautiful. Not that Blaine suspected anything else, but still, seeing it takes his breath away. It’s like lace, looping lines forming a shape of a sun. It’s pale gold in color and fills his whole palm. It’s better than anything he imagined in his wildest dreams, and Kurt... Kurt is more beautiful than any imaginary man Blaine’s been conjuring up in his mind to get through his loneliness.  

“Let’s get a cab. If we split the fare, it won’t be that expensive, and maybe you’ll make it to your job interview,” Blaine suggests.  

Kurt nods. “Yes. And then we’re getting lunch and then dinner because I want to learn all about you.”  

They head back above ground hand in hand.  

[ajgrey9647]

For the heart ask gane

💛❣️💝

Yellow Heart: is your character religious? If so to what extent?

Exclamation Heart: What show/movie/game/book universe would your character thrive in?

Gift Heart: What would be the greatest gift your character could receive?

Red (alternate personality of Coinless Jason Scott) –

Yellow Heart: During his days in the palace, Red never gave much thought to a deity; his master was the all-powerful, mighty being that he served unflinchingly. He was a mere pet, an attack dog and later a plaything to warm his master’s bed. After coming to the Prime Universe and discovering the truth about his creation and his true identity, Red would be considered spiritual. He believes in a higher power of some sort because he managed to survive something so horrific to come out the other side. Red has his freedom and humanity back. With his love of nature, wildlife, and plants, he believes there is a Creation power. Also he is learning to practice mindfulness in order too manage his agoraphobia, anxiety, and PTSD. He prefers a simple lifestyle; he uses a very low-tech old flip phone vs the newest model, listens to the radio vs watching tv, reads novels, makes his own bread, etc.

Exclamation Heart: Red would do well in any slasher/horror flick considering the life he came from in the palace with Drakkon. He was trained to be deadly and is a skilled, tenacious fighter, very strong and agile especially when he’s having a psychotic episode or in a rage. That side of himself is well hidden in the Prime Universe but still exists just beneath his sweet, gentle exterior.

Gift Heart: Wild Red loved getting special treats and toys from his master. They might be anything from a tennis ball, braided rope, new blanket, or one of his expensive chocolates. His greatest joy and desire was protecting and pleasing Drakkon. Prime Red loves thoughtful, handmade gifts. Seeds, flower cuttings, paints, a good book, a new recipe, reusable tote bags for groceries… he likes the simple things in life. Out of everything, Drakkon giving his freedom and the truth about his past as Coinless Jason was the best gift.

Drakkon (sometimes goes by David) –

Yellow Heart: Drakkon is not religious. He was failed so many times in life, unwanted, left to be abused and mistreated in several foster homes and then with his adoptive parents. He was abused physically, emotionally, and sexually. Even medically, subject to taking various psychiatric medications in an attempt to ‘fix’ him. At so many points, things might have been different but the systems meant to help kids like him is broken. Drakkon believes a person creates their own destiny and one can only rely on themselves in the end. In the Prime Universe, Drakkon hasn’t really considered what he believes though he knows he’s lucky beyond measure that Red is still in his life when he could have beat his ass, killed him, and ran for the hills after what he’d done to him.

Exclamation Heart:  Drakkon would also fare well in a slasher/horror flick. He’s crazy as all fuck, crafting elaborate theatrical punishments (fuckery), usually carried out on a grand scale. He’s crafty, shrewd, and willing to do ANYTHING to come out on top. Prime Universe Drakkon isn’t any different.

Gift Heart: Having Red decide to stay with him, after much tension, fighting, and swearing, is the greatest gift he’s received. Of course, they had to negotiate the terms of their new relationship (partners vs a master/pet dynamic). Drakkon is learning to be human again and how to trust, build relationships, open up emotionally and be vulnerable. Back in the Coinless World, he had everything he ever wanted: treasures, exotic furs and art, expensive chocolates, and silks… and it NEVER fixed what was broken inside. Enough was never enough, not for long anyway.

[alightineverydarkness]

Year 2022 AD, or Something Terrible Has Happened to Everyone I Know

Now I am not a young musician from Kyiv, Ukraine. I am not poor, or subcultural, or famous. I am not single or dating, I am not in love or broken-hearted. I don't know what I am. I feel both the strongest, the most focused l've ever been, and the most fucked up inside I've ever been. I am the iPhone military salute emoji: half a head, the half that gets work done.

The war, the proximity of death, cuts off the superficial and shows you what you suspected you always were. You find whether you would do the right thing, or cheat; you see the life you lived and the life you haven't.

Now Europe is not a beacon of hope, but a gigantic bureaucrat octopus: European authorities deal with a genocide in progress in the same unwieldy manner as they do with a bus fare dodger. The collective Western Left is far too knowledgeable about the wants and needs of a person being murdered by fascists, and will happily lecture them on how to die. Shelling a sovereign country daily for a year, deporting its children, executing civilians, seems certainly frowned upon, but generally, «these things happen» — yes, the things that should never happen. And only Ukrainians are wonderful, but being wonderful is hard, hard work.

There has never been a time like this.

Nothing of my life is left. What I wouldn't give to go back to late 2021 and its hardships and joys. But the past is over, there is only now. And there may be a future where I start living again, where, in due time, I figure out what kind of music I have to make and where, maybe, I meet someone who would've waited for me to come back.

I am no longer in any kind of contact with the person I intended to marry in 2022, reasonably considering them the love of my life. Since the beginning of the year, I spent one evening with them in October, and was broken up with within the first hour. It is a loss so large it cannot be processed or grasped, but there she goes; we may never speak again, and all of my ideas about a future are useless now.

I have no reason to believe I will ever get to work on music full-time, or at least in my pre-2022 capacity ever again. The music scene has left me behind: it flourished, and I wasn't there for it, and will I ever be? At nights it seems like the people I used to talk to on Discord are all now famous and I am a soldier in a war that makes few headlines, and l'Il toil away like this until anything I was is extinguished. When I went back for a week and saw the streets of my life, I got lost quickly. And how much of my life has belonged to someone else?

There's this person holding a rifle and it's not me. There's this person sleeping with my fiancée and it's not me. Are there two or me, or zero?

I am so horny I can see through people's clothes.

Someday I will be free, in a room I've never been in, staring at a dead assortment of expensive music gear I ordered on my soldier's salary and don't know how to use. This is the light at the end of this particular tunnel. Not a train station kiss or tear-eyed hug, but nonetheless it is a life to be figured out and lived, as opposed to this. For now, I'll keep ordering whatever music equipment I may need, delivered to my mother's apartment.

I will be discharged before this war ends, and someone else will take my place, and I will not get any of the happy endings I imagined. I am tired. It feels like tonight I could sleep standing up.

There is a little part of me that is being destroyed every day.

But somewhere there's a day when nothing hurts, and a heart that's true, and a truth that is beautiful.

[asterism343]

america needs more trains but what we REALLY need is those 300mph maglev trains! not only because they're REALLY FUCKING COOL, but also, it means that people can go long distances without paying for expensive plane tickets or having to drive on super long road trips. (also the train fare has GOT to be a reasonable price because there isn't really a point if it's mega expensive)

also i'm really sick of those 4 hour bus trips to visit my family. obviously if they were to build this kinda system it would probably take a decade or three but it'd be cool to know its coming eventually!

[freedformwriter]

Diary of a Baggage Train: Day 5

 ‘I’m on a magical mystery tour,’ I explain to my hosts at the latest converted church hostelry. They’ve ambitiously converted it into a bunkhouse and an upscale bistro. A wall of permanently illuminated stain-glass saints watch over the late-breakfasting backpackers. Reclaimed religious artifacts are mixed with a series of renovation photographs only the people who put their blood, sweat, and tears into this building could appreciate. I am proportionately effusive as we chat over the porridge. As this bunkhouse seemed staffed only by men, I’ve determined that this impractically charming project is deeply queer. I look for little clues (the crisp packets are arranged in rainbow order!) Having branded my cluelessness as part of a ‘wherever the road takes me’ life philosophy, I mention being gobsmacked again today by how much driving it takes to connect the backpackers hotels. Yes, my hosts commiserate, tourists are always confused when they end up with a £160 pound fare. I should take the northwest, not southeast loop; there’s a good bakery on the way. Leaving, I bump into a beautiful woman in so obviously expensive a raincoat and boots that she must be the co-owner. ‘Don’t come off the road,’ she warns as I drive off into the rain. No rainbow church.

Thirty minutes of driving along a single-track lane, of letting the ever-present vans by me, and giving space to the men in midge nets clearing trees, and I’m already tired. From the Bistro Church to tonight’s hostel, which will probably also be in some type of converted Victorian civic building no longer required for its original purpose, is just six miles as the crow flies. By google directions, it’s sixty-one fucking miles. The Fiat informs me my average trip speed is 22 miles per hour. You do the math. Compounding things, we had a long-distance family conference last night about where I want be next year: a hard question to answer what with my vacillating long covid and an endless question mark over the Portugal project. I’m in anticipatory mode now and can feel the energy leeching from my body as my brain spins out the countless scenarios. Magical mystery tour, remember?

I stop to have lunch next to a martyr’s mound, the haunt of one of those Irish monks who paddled over to proselytise in the 6th century. The very thing that attracted the early Irish Christians to this part of Scotland is the very same reason I have spent so much time on the road today: the lochs. Today, the Hill of St. Kessog is populated by school children with soggy chips and dutiful dog walkers. Two kinds of seagulls swirl and compete with the ducks for food, the regular kind and the pretty little blackfaced ones with orange beaks that I find, with typical human caprice, more charming. A lone swan takes on all incautious dogs. In the distance, the mountaintops are mist bound. My mother’s trail updates show her wearing both a yellow raincoat and a midge mask. I get up from the bench, a memorial to a man by the name of Swann, my grandmother’s name. A good omen, perhaps.

I have neither the energy nor the fortitude to clamber out of the car in the pouring rain to investigate further roadside distractions, not even the tantalising ‘Famous Shark Bathroom!’ My destination, once sighted, is not another converted church. Moreover, it’s a building ostensibly still used for its original purpose: a public house with the bar and restaurant on the ground floor and rooms above. It’s not been updated. A giant stuffed black bear dressed in a kilt leers out from behind the doorway. A patron has placed a glass on its head. A wall of taxidermy birds are frozen in an unchanged tableau, and, oh my god, is that a baby seal? Who would kill that real life plushy toy and be proud of it? But the hotel is leaning into the creepy vibe. Their Wi-Fi password is Haunted Inn. No spaces.

[itsbecauseyoureontopofthatphone]

Chapter 48: Are There Cell Phone Delinquents Too?

In a flashback, Kawasumi gives Shizuka a ribbon to tie back her long hair with. She was going to cut her hair short but...eh, whatever.

Snap to the present and Shizuka wants to leave the student council. She fucked up too much and doesn't think she deserves her position. But, before she gets on the train, she finds out she lost her pass. She doesn't want to pay the expensive fare so, when an attendant asks her, she says she got on at the previous station. Her lie gets through and she ends up paying 160 yen (roughly $1.60). She did it as easily as she breathed. She skipped the fare, she bullied her president...she is officially a bad person. So, the only logical next step is to be even more filthy. She has to start smoking.

She buys a pack, takes out a cigarette, tries to light it...and drops it into the puddle at her feet. She's relieved...but a delinquent-looking kid, Masamune, comes up to offer her another one. She says underage smoking is a crime but he says it's a shame because she's so cute, she can pull it off. She's more mature than other girls so she should get a head start on growing up and smoke up.

Shizuka's still unsure so he says to just smoke one. If she does, he'll teach her more stuff. She reluctantly takes it, mentally saying goodbye to the council as he lights it...and Ryu stops him, grabbing his hand.

End of chapter.

[butchboromir]

one of my thought exercises that i’ve been thinking over for the past 3 days is like how could i feasibly end up going to see the 2023 felsenfest tour. like. ok. so it takes place oct 2023. i have a little less than a year to save. i will be in college. but that doesn’t matter my professors will live if i skip 3-5 days to go see my favorite band ever. SO. also this got really long so i’m putting it under a readmore everyone say thanks

the cheapest flights to germany that i’ve seen are like $400 roundtrip, realistically it would be more in $800 dollar range (because a lot of the budget airlines charge for stuff like baggage etc). but for the sake of this i’m going to say $1500 just to be generous (paranoid). 

i’m gonna need a hotel, for let’s say like 3 nights (get there, concert next day, recovery day + tourist stuff). i would go with like. an ok hotel. like a holiday inn express. and that’s around $125 a night, times 3 so now we’re at $375 for hotels. 

i’ll go with food and drink budget of like $50 bucks a day (so $150 for 3 days) to be generous and because i like food. and i’ll be legally drink there so that will be fun (will get hammered immediately after the concert. perhaps i will make friends in line or whatevs and we can go to a bar or something). 

now transport is a little bit trickier. i’m gonna be optimistic and do public transport mostly? i googled and apparently it’s pretty affordable but i will still be cautious and set aside like for $60-70 bucks just in case. and then rideshare to and from airport is like expensive as fuck at least for the us side so  that’s like ~$100 give or take each time for the US side (total $200) BUT apparently there is some public transport for various airports on the germany side so that gets to go in the public transport fund. so $200 getting to and from the airport.

 AND last but not least concert tix and merch fund. the concert tix are actually pretty cheap they’re like $30-50 bucks and then $100 for merch because i can’t order any in the us (won’t ship) so i have to take advantage of it. SO THIS TOTALS TO

$1500 - round trip flight tickets

$375 - hotels

$150 - food

$270 - all transport

$150 - tickets and merch

so TOTAL is $2345. WHICH. hypothetically. i could save up when i go back to work (and if i am working 12 hrs a week part time while in school and then during the summer more probs). BUUUUUUUT like realistically that’s a lot of money that like i really should be using so i don’t go into as much debt from college

also as an addendum IF i chose two concert dates directly next to eachother (like stuttgart+munich, which are on the 20th+21st) i COULD add like an extra day and then take a bus/train to the next concert. so add on an extra day of food, hotel, train or bus fare ($30ish?), and one more concert ticket then my total would be around $2700