buffet of lines

BTS Reaction: Notice Me, Noona!

BTS Reaction: When he’s trying to get your attention~

A/N: <3


Jin

Seokjin’s walking through the buffet line in the small cafeteria off-stage from the concert series, his eyes trailing hungrily over the various dishes he can’t wait to try. This is his second time through the line, and he’s filling his plate again, without a single ounce of shame or guilt. Diet? What diet? EatJin has no such boundaries.

Seokjin’s deciding which of the kimchis he’s going to try when he notices someone approaching from behind. He looks over his shoulder and promptly chokes.

Y/N is walking slowly along the buffet line, inspecting the food and crinkling your nose at the wonderful smells. You’re dressed in full concert attire, stage makeup and styled hair, a simple white and red dress to match the sweet concept your group was promoting this comeback. You look up, noticing the person in front of you had stopped, and smile at him.

Seokjin’s heart kicks into high gear.

“Hello, Y/N-noona!” He bows, nearly toppling his full tray of food onto the ground. “I’m Kim Seokjin, of BTS. It’s an honor to meet you.”

You look surprised at his sudden shout. He flushes, embarrassed but happy that he got to meet you like this. He has your group’s last three albums on his iPod, and he’d tried to download your covers of other songs that he loved without much success, despite enlisting the help of the more tech-savvy Taehyung.

“I know! That you’re Jin-sshi, from BTS, I mean,” you answer, stumbling over your words just a bit. A small smile grows on your face. “It’s nice to meet you too, Kim Seokjin-sshi.” 

He nods, biting his lip to contain his excitement. An awkward silence falls over the two of you, forcing him to find something to say. “This kimchi is really good,” he says, pointing to the small serving bowl at the end of the table. “You should eat more– the concert’s going to be longer than usual tonight. More protein too. Try a portion of this steak or something.” 

When you look at him with bemusement, he realizes what he’d just said. Oh god, he just mothered Y/N-noona like he would one of his donsaengs. “Ah, I’m sorry, that was–”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. It’s been awhile since someone’s said something like that to me,” you say with a laugh, picking up the kimchi in particular. “It’s sweet.”

He flushes, embarrassment and happiness warring for supremacy in his chest. “Do you–would you like to grab a table? With me?” 

You look surprised again by the suggestion but accept with a cheerful “Sure!”

Originally posted by go2bedjungkook


Suga

“Ah, Noona,” he interrupts, his voice low and soft. “That’s not right.”

“Hmm?” You look over your shoulder at him, the ramyeon wrapper held close to your face as you struggle to read the fine print. An egg  “Ah, Yoongi. I didn’t know you were in the studio today. What’s not right?”

Yoongi steps into the break room, his hand pulling uselessly at his wrinkled hoodie. He’s not exactly thrilled that the first time he sees you again in two months he’s coming off of three overnighters, hasn’t showered in nearly a week, and has survived on instant ramyeon and Chinese takeout. “You have to boil the water before putting the noodles in. And once they’re nearly soft, you put the vegetables and an egg.”

“Oh….” You put the wrapper down and stare into the pot resting on the break room’s kitchenette. “Thanks. As you can tell, I don’t often make instant noodles. I’d rather cook or eat takeout.”

He hums in acknowledgement, stepping closer to double-check what you’d done in the pot. Water’s just sitting listlessly at the bottom, so he turns on the stove on to begin boiling. When you start cutting up vegetables, carefully watching the knife, he looks you over. You’re wearing a simple blue sweater and jeans with a pair of red converse, little to no makeup that he can see, a pair of glasses perched on your nose. Your hair’s drawn back in a messy bun and simple silver studs are fixed in your ears. 

You’re beautiful.

“No, Noona.” He stops you when you try to put the vegetables in the pot. “Yah, you’re hopeless. Let me do this for you.”

You pout and put the knife down, before pushing your glasses back up your nose and smiling. “I thought Seokjin was the cook of BTS. Who knew the notorious grump had such a skill up his sleeve?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes at you, but is pleased with the roundabout compliment nonetheless. “It’s just instant ramyeon,” he mumbles. 

For the next hour, the two of you sit over instant ramyeon and talk about music, about life. He’s respected you for since his debut, when you’d been brought in to help design the BTS debut tracks. The tiny flame he’d been holding for you had only grown over the years, but you’d both been too busy for any more contact. 

BTS is on a two week break, now that the album’s finished. Maybe this could be the time…

Originally posted by sugaglos


Rap Monster

Namjoon shifts on the sofa again, his eyes trained carefully on the book in his hands. He can see people moving around him from the corner of his eye, harried makeup noonas and coordinators walking amongst different clusters and working on the organization for the interview show. The waiting room itself is probably the nicest he’s ever been in, with plush red sofas, marble coffee tables, and a long bar on the far wall full of expensive teas and coffee available for the show’s guests. He’s already sampled several in the hours he’s been here and is nearly done with the collection of poems on his lap, but the same poem has passed unread in his eyes for nearly half an hour now.

He can’t concentrate with you curled up in the arm chair on the other side of the coffee table, your nose hidden behind the pages of a book, like him. Exactly like him–it’s the same collection of poems by Kim Nam-jo. The knowledge that you read the same literature as he does, that your mind is creating images and worlds from the same text at the same moment as he does, sends a thrill of interest down his spine. 

After weeks of attempting to engage Seokjin-hyung or Yoongi-hyung in the collection and failing continuously, Namjoon had given up on finding someone to talk to about the vivid imagery, the powerful and exacting simplicity of the verse and style, how he hope to learn from it and incorporate the same essence into his work. Now it seems fate has given that hope a second chance, and it’s with the Noona he’s been crushing on for nearly a year.

He hates to call it a crush. That sounds so much more juvenile than the feeling that burns inside him, the interest that had plagued him since he’s watched your interview on TV where you’d mentioned the works of Kim Chi-ha when describing your inspirations for your lyrics. But there wasn’t really another way to describe the giddy, awkward way he feels when he sees you on TV or for a second at k-pop award shows. And now, here he is, barely two yards away, with the perfect opportunity to start a conversation, and he’s…

He’s choking.

Namjoon twists again and heaves a loud sigh, hoping to draw you out of your book to look at him. He turns the book so the cover is visible but not so obvious that he’s practically waving it in your face. He holds his breath when he sees you reach for your cup of tea and take a light sip, keeping his body still, but your eyes immediately go back to your page. Damn it. 

Namjoon brainstorms for more ideas to draw your attention, when he realizes what he’s doing and promptly hates himself for it. “Hey, uh, Y/N-noona.”

You stir at the sound of his voice and look up. “Yes, Rap Mon-sshi?”

“Namjoon is fine,” he replies, ignoring the voice inside screaming that informality is too soon. “I-um…I just noticed that we’re reading the same book.”

You glance down at the book in his hands before a faint smile appears on your face. “Oh. We are.” A few seconds of silence follow, when you withdraw a small, flat piece of metal with a string of beads attached and slip it into the folds of the book. You don’t fold the corners of your books for a bookmark–Namjoon appreciates that. “Have you read her other works? I think this recent collection is pretty good, but I still prefer Music of the Windswept Forest.”

“That’s my favorite collection of hers,” Namjoon agrees eagerly, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Ah,” you say with a smile. “You have good taste.”

He smiles wider than the compliment probably warrants, but he’s thrilled as a conversation starts up between the two of you.

Originally posted by hogays


J-Hope

Hoseok’s messing around with Jimin and Taehyung in the dance studio when the new choreographer comes in for the day’s practice. Namjoon stands up immediately and greets you, bowing and shaking your hand as he leads you to the monitor with their playlists and shows you how to use the program. Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung continue to lean against the wall, already despairing of the hours of practice ahead. Jungkook’s stretching in front of the mirror, his eyes occupied with the same thing as Hoseok.

It’s a bit unusual for the company to assign a female choreographer to a male group, but Hoseok’s certainly not complaining. Especially when you take the bulky jacket off to reveal a tight fitting grey t-shirt and black yoga pants. Woah….. He meets Kookie’s eyes in the mirror and raises a brow. The maknae slowly nods back, his eyes darting to you before returning to Hoseok. 

“Okay, let’s get this started.” You announce, stepping to the front of the room. The rest of the guys gather around, Taehyung elbowing Jimin in the ribs and waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. Hoseok rolls his eyes at them. “My name is Y/N. I am your temporary choreographer until your choreographer returns from medical leave. I graduated from the School of Performing Arts three years ago and was recently hired by BigHit to help develop girl idol groups.”

You look over a schedule in your hand, flipping through the pages, before nodding. “Mostly I’m here to monitor your rehearsals and make sure you’re not slacking off–” you pause and stare flatly at Taehyung when he starts giggling “–and to work with Jung Hoseok–sshi and Park Jimin-sshi on their solo dance breaks.” You look around and smile tentatively at them. “Any questions?”

Namjoon glares at the maknae line, just waiting for the inappropriate questions, but they remain quiet. “Thank you for helping us,” Namjoon says politely, and practice begins without further ado.

Hoseok pushes his body harder than he normally would, works at every body roll and every minute snap of his hands and knees to ensure his dance work is perfect. You’re watching from the side, inspecting their movements and making notes, a small smile flashing when you watch Seokjin-hyung miss a step and struggle to get back in the loop, laughing at himself as he goes. 

He thinks he can feel the moment your eyes land on him, like a layer of electricity sits above his skin. He throws himself into the hip thrusts of Crow Tit, his eyes flashing to yours to see if you’re watching. At the end of the song, his dance break comes. Hoseok performs it as intricately and professionally as he would on stage, sweat sticking his shirt to his back with the strain, but when he raps up the song, he’s flushed with satisfaction. 

A clap starts up from the left, and they all turn to see you applauding by the monitor. “That run-through was perfect. Well–” you grin at Seokjin-hyung, who holds his forehead in his hands and pants “–almost perfect. Hoseok–sshi, I heard you are the dancer of the group.”

“Ah, well, we have a lot of great dancers in Bangtan,” he answers modestly but smiles when the other members protest that.

“I can see why people would say that,” you say, giving him a half smile. “That was pretty impressive. You run a dance show on V app too, yes? I’m looking forward to seeing you improvise.”

“Thank you,” he replies, turning uncharacteristically shy under the spotlight of your praise. Jimin and Jungkook are the ones that usually receive compliments from their choreographer. Hoseok doesn’t hold it against him; he knows that he trusts Hoseok to nail down the choreo and memorize it with little assistance. But still… it’s nice to be recognized.

Originally posted by hobisu


Taehyung

Taehyung’s performing a V live session in the empty communal break room off set, beaming at the hundreds of thousands of fans pouring in to watch. He’d already decided what cover he’s going to sing for them and is skimming through his playlists on his phone. “Ah, let’s do this one.”

He holds the phone up to his face, listening as the opening music to Whiz Kalifa’s See You Again starts. “This is an ode to Jungkookie,” he tells the fans teasingly, knowing the comment has already earned him a punch to the gut from said maknae. Then he starts singing, “It’s been a long day without you, my friend. And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again.” He’s making exaggerated faces since he can’t move his hands too much without giving the fans vertigo, nodding his head and struggling through the English rap in a rush. Taehyung’s just starting to get into it, letting go of all pretense at getting the pronunciation right, when the door opens.

He pauses for just a second, caught off guard, but continues a second later, turning to look over his shoulder. Indecision cuts through his train of thought. It’s Y/N-noona, dressed in full Hwarang regalia, your hair tied up in a strict bun on your head, skin glowing under the harsh white light of the break room. The flowing robes of the period drama glide behind you, the vibrant magenta hue with layers of emerald green and royal purple make for a majestic entrance whenever you entered the room. He certainly always loses his breath. 

Should he stop? ARMY might be disappointed if he suddenly cut the broadcast, and it’s unlike V to show any embarrassment at his antics. He’s not really embarrassed himself–there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun while he waits to film his scenes–but Taehyung’s been trying to get your attention for the past two months of filming. You seem so mature, so professional while on set, and yet also sweet and funny when out of character. 

Taehyung decides to bite the bullet and continue the broadcast but turns up the charm several notches, doing his best to sing in tune and get the pronunciation close to the original. He flashes you a bright grin when he notices you leaning against the counter and watching him sing and dance with curiosity. The song finally wraps up and he says goodbye to ARMY, citing his upcoming scenes for an explanation to the end of the broadcast, but really he’s just seizing the chance to talk to you if he can.

By the time he shuts the camera down and turns around, you’re walking back to the door of the break room, water bottle in hand. He deflates, a frown forming when he notices you’re headed back to set, only to perk up when you pause by the doorway.

“Taehyung–sshi, was that one of your V live shows?”

“Ah, yes,” he replies, turning to face you and smiling. “I feel bad that I can’t be there with the other guys right now, but I wanted to do a broadcast for the fans too. So no one gets left out.”

“Oh,” you say nodding casually. The corner of your mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “That’s nice of you. Do you always sing for them like that?”

“Not every time, but Jungkook and I usually do a cover on the shows.”

“Huh… cool.” You take a step out of the room but look over your shoulder at him. “I’ve heard you singing in the past, but I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you rap. And in English, too…. You’re not bad, Taehyung-sshi.” 

He glows as you finally leave the break room, unable to keep from dancing around in happiness and shooting Jimin twenty texts about how Noona thinks he’s a good rapper. He ignores Jimin’s reply of ‘no way she said that’ and grabs a  Coke from the fridge, deciding that he deserves a treat for his hard work.

Originally posted by chokemejimin


Jimin 

He’s trying to make it seem like he’s staring at himself in the mirror, but from the look of judgement on Seokjin-hyung’s face, he’s not succeeding. Jimin lifts a hand to ruffle his orange hair, relishing in the fluffy, silky texture and the effortless tousled look it gives to his face, licking his lips before chancing a more obvious glance.

You’re talking with the stage coordinator of the venue, checking the schedule for the hundredth time to make sure there wouldn’t be any confusion for them as they time their performance amongst others at the MAMA awards. Your eyes are steadfastly focused on the task at hand, but every now and then you will look up and find the members, to make sure everyone’s still on standby and read. He just has to be sexy in the right moment, in the exact moment that your eyes find him. Not hard, right? He’s always sexy.

Except he’s not usually surrounded by six other idol groups, several of whom have been eyeing you up like a steak dinner on New Year’s night. 

Jimin coils his body into a twist, stretching to make sure his limbs are still loose and ready to go. If he picks the stretches that show off his thighs and ass, well–that’s just coincidence. He glances in the reflection of the backstage mirror again to see if you’ve noticed him. 

Still nothing. Damn.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He strolls casually to the wall by the stage entrance, on the other side of the coordinator you’re talking with but still in plain sight for you to see him. With one quick lift, he flattens his leg against the wall, showing off his flexibility honed from years of intense dancing, and rolls his head back, sighing at the feel of his muscles being pulled taught and then loosening. He slowly opens his eyes in your direction. 

You’re staring at him, your mouth just barely open, surprise written across your expression. A small hand comes up to hide your mouth, your eyes shining with laughter. Laughter? 

“So bold, Jiminie,” Taehyung simpers, fanning his face with his right hand. The other hand pats Jimin’s raised leg as the singer waggles his eyebrows.

Jimin lowers his leg and hits Taehyung on the chest, a miniature fight breaking out between them. Once the other boy takes off laughing to bug the maknae, Jimin hesitantly turns around to check your expression. You’re still chuckling as you look at your tablet, but you glance up and meet his gaze. When he runs his hand through his hair again and grins, you smile. Your cheeks are just a bit pink.


Originally posted by bangtannoonas

Jungkook 

“Oh, there she is, there she is,” Taehyung chants in his ear, nudging his side with a bony elbow.

Jungkook shoves him off, his eyes darting down the hall. He runs his hands along his hair quickly, praying his stage make-up was still on point. 

You’re walking down the hall, surrounded by the other members of your group. The rapper of your group, with dyed blue hair and rows of earrings, wraps her arms around your neck, laughing with you about something. You’re all breathing a bit hard, fresh from your performance for the BigHit family concert, but the faint shine on your face looks…sexy. The black leather pants and black ankle boots you’re wearing really emphasize the shape of your legs, the slender muscles of your calves and thighs carved from hours of dance practice. The white sweater, on the other hand, makes you seem softer, with fitted cuffs that wrap around your small hands, and smooth cashmere that conforms just enough to your shape to make you seem small, feminine. 

Jungkook can feel the ghost of his gangly, extremely awkward high school  years take hold of him at the sight of you. God, why can’t he act like he does on stage when you’re around?

“Do it, Jungkookie!” 

He whips around at the sound of Taehyung’s voice and remembers their plan. Without wasting another second, Jungkook throws himself into a back handstand, his shirt falling down his chest for a few brief seconds in air, before he pushes off the ground with his hands and lands on his feet, nearly kicking out the ceiling with his feet. 

Taehyung cheers loudly, spring forward and shouting Again! Again!, but Jungkook ignores him. He grins in elation at performing the move without falling and chances a glance down the hallway. Did she see?

Your group is in the process of turning a corner, managers hustling you along to get refreshments. Jungkook can’t see you in the bustle. Disappointment tasting bitter in his mouth, he turns to drag Taehyung back to their dressing room, when a familiar voice calls down the hallway.

Daebak, Jungkook-sshi!”

His head turns so fast he gets whiplash in his neck, but there you are, grinning that sweet smile from ear to ear, a small flush on your cheeks. You wave to him before being yanked around the corner by your leader’s arm. A giddy feeling, like a sugar high, fills him, has him bouncing up the walls with Taehyung as they head to their room, and his face feels hot. Your voice echoes in his head, the sound of his own name burns in his ears. 

“Oh my god, Jungkookie, she noticed you,” Taehyung’s teasing him, poking him in the cheek in a manner that would have normally earned him a rocket punch to the gut, but Jungkook doesn’t care.

Originally posted by jung-koook


A/N: Finally~

Things only people with anxiety get nervous about

–the person across from you at the buffet 

–people standing in line behind you even though that is exactly what they are suppose to do 

–people asking you if you need help even when that is exactly in their job description

–people in general even if they are clearly not even looking at you

Me and my family are at this really nice South Indian restaurant. I would like to emphasize South Indian because of where we live it’s so damn hard to find a place that’s focused strictly on South Indian cuisine.

Anyway let me get to my story. So as me and my mom are getting some food from the buffet line, we notice a ton of kids here. Prolly the oldest would be about 8. Anyway as we sit down at our table, my mom remarks to me “Did you hear the kids?” And I’m like “Naw I was paying attention to what I wanted to eat”. So she says to me “All the kids was saying Appa and Amma”. And I’m like So? What’s your point here?

So she tells me that when she first came to America in the late 80’s all the families would try to get their kids to refer to them as “Mom and Dad” and other English terms to help them acclimate to American culture faster and better. So because of little things like that it became progressively easier for American Born and Raised Desis to separate themselves from their culture and tongue. So she was jus remarking to me it’s nice to see kids from this new generation speaking their mother tongue and saying things like “Appa and Amma”. It’s the little things that make your day.

Your body is a magnificent instrument of highly sensitive energy receptors. Believe it or not, you can run your hand six inches over the food in a buffet line and, without touching it, feel whether it is of benefit to you to eat that right now. You can do the same thing with clothing that you are picking out of a closet to wear for the day, or that you are thinking of buying in a store.
—  Neale Donald Walsch

This morning many hearts broke as it was made known that every state in America will now accept and perform same-sex unions. My heart was among those that broke. Not because of what happened per se, but because of how far we have strayed from God. Every day brings another rebellion and it makes me weep. Our Heavenly Father has given us free will and it seems we’ve taken it and run. More and more people are turning their backs to Him and he is grieved. You have a right to grieve as well.

Even among fellow believers there is discord when it comes to this issue. It’s because the Bible has become something like a buffet line where you can pick out the verses you want to believe in and pretend the rest simply don’t exist. The reality of it is that everything in there is truth, and the laws and guidelines Jesus spoke in the New Testament, the words he gave to his followers and the prophets, those are what we should be following; the perceived good, the assumed bad, and the seemingly ugly. Those laws and guidelines were set for our protection, to provide boundaries in which we could function in unity. But the more these laws have been torn apart, the greater the rift between us ha grown. We no longer function as one people who seek and search after the heart of God, but bend to the will of our own personal wants and desires. That has become our god.

What happened today was a something to be bothered by, absolutely. But keep in mind the real issue behind it. Satan is getting a stronger grip on this world and we need to fight back. We need to pray. We need to LOVE. Don’t let this affect the way you treat anyone because whether you like to believe it or not, you’re a sinner just like anyone else. But not everyone’s sin looks the same. And while this issue may feel like the biggest weight, please remember that there are much bigger issues on our doorsteps than gay marriage. Christians are still being slaughtered like animals, persecuted for their beliefs. There is famine, and war, and so much unrest in the world. A friend of mine on Facebook said it so beautifully.

“2.2 million children die worldwide every year due to water based illnesses…over 100,000 children soldiers in West Africa…20.9 humans entered into sex trafficking yearly (2 million being children), genocide is alive and happening as we speak…not to mention there are hundreds of thousands of sheltered homeless people living on the streets of our own country… if the decision of the supreme court saddens you more than the above facts, don’t you think it would do the world, the church, and the face of Christianity some good to take all of the time and energy spent boycotting and “taking a stand” against homosexuality and focus it on helping this lost and dying world in practical ways? Imagine a world like that. I was under the impression that as Christians we are to have open arms, loving hearts, and kind words for all…yet I see articles saying things like “pastor pledges to set himself on fire if gay marriage is passed as civil right” WHAT TO HECK? Are we following the same Jesus?“

Hopefully that answers your questions. If not, I apologize. It’s been something on my mind a lot today as well, obviously. I’m also leaving this post with two images I found that spoke really strongly to me.

Because when Christians say they don’t agree with gay marriage it’s intolerance, but when gay people say they don’t agree with straight people it’s just voicing an opinion. There is a double standard here tat needs to be addressed.

Smetana

Smetana means sour cream

Just a small quick drab for fun!

[-]

It started out slowly. Subtle little instances of quirky awkwardness that made the socially aware populace scrunch up their noses in passing disgust; small occurrences of confused bewilderment that made Alfred question his sanity. “I swear I just bought more of this…” He mumbled to himself as he peered into the mostly-empty jar, screwing the brightly colored plastic lid into its place before setting it back in the fridge.

The first time he genuinely noticed that something was amiss was on baked potato night. Ivan lounged in a poolside chair, a baggy white shirt scrunched around the hem of his swim trunks, the suburban ideal of paradise beneath a warm summer sun. Alfred grinned as he finished patting the crispy smoked bacon dry of any excess grease, crumbling it up into a bowl next to the rest of the buffet line toppings. “Oh Vannycakes~! Dindin’s ready, babe!”

Ivan perked up happily and gladly trotted over, the loose ends of a light scarf trailing behind from where they hung limply over his shoulders. “Mmm, spasiibo!” He crooned through a passing kiss to Alfred’s cheek and helped himself to a foil wrapped potato, Alfred splicing it open for him before grabbing one himself. Following behind Ivan down the line, Alfred was eager to spoon on tons of different toppings, completely loading his potato up with delicious goodies.

And then, he got to the bowl of sour cream. “What the–” he started in surprise, shocked to find so little left in the bowl. He knew Ivan loved the stuff even more than he did, which was why he got such a big bowl, but– “Uh, Vanya, baby, where’d all the–”

“Hm?” Ivan turned over his shoulder, blinking softly at his petrified lover when his heaping plate came into the blond’s line of sight. “What’s the matter?”

After that it was a whirlwind of digging through old shopping bags for ages old receipts, printing out months of credit card transactions and reports, the evidence mounting higher and higher making Alfred’s stomach drop lower and lower. He uncovered the escalating truth, knowing something of this severity simply had to be stopped!

His case files gathered, Alfred knocked hurriedly on their bedroom door to alert Ivan of his oncoming arrival, his eyes wild behind wire frames as he burst through the frame. His lover winced in surprise on their bed, a dish of sour cream in his lap and a waiting bowl of fried mini pastries next to him. “Ah? Alik, what is the matter? Be gentle with the door, I dont want to have it replaced again.”

“Replaced?!” Alfred sputtered with panicked indignation, hands trembly and voice a little screechy. Ivan scowled and took to sulking, dipping one of his dumplings into the cream before bringing it to his mouth, suckling it off so he could redip it. “As if we’d even have enough money to replace—stop!”

“Why are you interrupting my snack?” Ivan whined, popping the cream-smeared dumpling into his mouth anyway. Alfred suddenly rushed over and dumped all the papers he had in his arms onto the bed, snatching away the cream before Ivan could submerge another dumpling in.

“Stoppit!” He blurted out so fast the words ran together, Ivan gasping in shock as Alfred slammed the dish down on a bookshelf beyond Ivan’s reach, marching back to the bed. “You have a problem, Ivan! This is serious!”

“Da, I have problem,” Ivan snarled and brushed the paper aside, clambering out of bed to fetch the coveted condiment. “You just took my smetana away. What is matter with you? You don’t take what is not yours!”

“Vanya, babe, no! You gotta stop!” Alfred started to tear up, the waterworks startling Ivan enough to make him comply with Alfred’s desperate pleading. Alfred rushed forward and caught Ivan up in a big bear hug, sniffling into his shirt and clawing at his back. “Y-you’ve gotta! This can’t be healthy for you! And for us! We can’t keep living like this!”

“What are you talking about, silly Alyosha?” Ivan huffed, gazing longingly over Alfred’s hair at the bowl of sour cream just out of his reach. “Did you watch scary food documentary, again? You know you overreact to those.”

“No, Ivan,” Alfred huffed sloppily with a noisy snort through his nose, trying to get his snotty blubbering under control as he pulled back. “Take a look at the receipts, okay? Vanya, snowflake. Over the past few months, do you even know how much money we’ve spent to support your sour cream addiction? Do you even know how much you consume in a day? This is getting out of hand!”

“Chto? All this over smetana?” Ivan frowned, his heart beating a little faster as Alfred glowered and grabbed up a packet of stapled-together papers, flipping through the before holding the page in front of Ivan’s face.

“Look!” He hissed and then shoved the papers into his hands, picking up more and more as the background noise blended into a gruesome blur in his ears, ringing louder and louder. “Do you get it now?! You’ve— you’ve gotta stop doing this!”

Ivan’s jaw slacked, buffered by the soft fabric of his scarf as he flittily skimmed over the text on the paper. “I…” He perked up at Alfred when his lover touched his arm, a look full of loving concern. Alfred embraced him, Ivan shakily wrapping his arms around him as well. “I have a problem, Alik…”

“I know, babe, I know… Don’t worry, I still love you. We’ll get through this, together.”

“Anyone who has ever planned a trip to the #Philippines knows how daunting it can be. With more than 7,000 islands, it’s next to impossible to choose just one; lack of infrastructure, however, makes hopping around a challenge. We spent 3 weeks in December exploring the Pearl of the Orient Seas, re-routing our itinerary at the last minute because of Typhoon Ruby. This shot was taken while kayaking the palm-flanked Loboc River on the Central Visayas island of Bohol. Sadly, the closest many tourists get to seeing the river is from the buffet line onboard a cheesy “floating restaurant” river cruise. We opted instead to explore by kayak, letting the gentle current do most of the paddling.” — @ashleahalpern, this week’s featured instagrammer (at Loboc River)

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Tridents increase your range, power, and speed in the buffet line, leading to a massive improvement in your gluttony percentage and on-plate ratio. They’re banned on the professional buffet circuit for a reason, but there’s no reason to let that stop you from dominating the floor at your local Golden Corral.

Speaking of food, a trident can also be used for defensive feeding. If your job or familial duties require you to feed dangerous animals, a trident might be just the tool you need to end up spending more time with your kids and less time in the ER.

20 Reasons You Need To Get A Trident Right Now

      the blonde made his way over to the breakfast buffet line, fingers raking through his hair in order to prevent it from falling flat against his head –– his whole form perking up as he noticed who was in front of him in the queue. boldly stepping down on the back of their shoe; he leaned down a little in order to whisper his greeting.  good morning, ten minutes. smug smile now firmly cemented on his lips, luke’s hands slid into his pockets –– a chuckle leaving his throat at his own joke.

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Rosella stepped into the ballroom, blue eyes scanning the crowd. She was new to Gotham, however it wasn’t the first time she had been to a party like this. She was known for having a collection of antiques that were in nearly mint condition. Rumor was she owned a small castle and if was filled with mostly antiques. Getting her to sell was said to be an impossible mission.

The vampire made her way towards the buffet line, eyes looking at the drinks.

Requested from Anon:  10.  his creep on a train keeps flirting with me and seriously this is really scary would you please play along and pretend my boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife (ft Barry Allen)


You had always thought the idea of riding on the rails would be this grand, romantic experience, a way to experience the past and also learn new things. And you thought that traveling your friends from work, Cisco, Caitlin, and Barry would be the very best of times. Thus far, your expectations had been utterly shattered. 

It had all started when you went to the dining car. You had told the others you were going to explore, but honestly you were just ravenously hungry. So you beelined for that trolley and grabbed yourself a plate, slipping into the buffet line. You hardly even noticed the man who entered the line behind you until he spoke.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?” He didn’t sound like he was from around here, with a small twang in his voice. “You sure look like you need some company, maybe you should come back to my compartment with me.”

“I’m just fine, thanks,” you replied quietly, wishing you had asked one of your friends to join you, and gripping your plate tightly so as not to smash it in the stranger’s face.

“Oh come on now,” the stranger said, moving slightly closer to you as you continued down the line. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see the stubble of a sandy beard and a very defined jaw. “I won’t do you any harm, I’m a very gentle man…unless of course a sweet girl like you likes it rough.” 

You blanched, your eyes narrowing, shocked by how ridiculously upfront this complete and utter stranger was being. Before you could reply, you heard the door to the dining trolley slide open and your eyes flicked over, landing on the only person in the world you wanted to see at that moment: your best friend,Barry. A smile lit up your face and you immediately set down your plate and half walked half jogged over to him, throwing your arms around him in a hug. He seemed surprised at first, but he hugged you back.

With his body so close to yours, you whispered in his ear “that creep over there keeps flirting with me and seriously this is really scary would you please play along and pretend my boyfriend?” your words came out rapid fire, hoping he would be okay with what you were about to do next.

Pulling back from your embrace, you smiled into his eyes. “Babe, I’ve been waiting for you!” You said, purposefully loud enough for the stranger in line to hear what you were saying. “I didn’t want to start eating without you.” Then, hoping Barry would be okay with it, you leaned in slowly, pressing your lips to his. You could see his eyes widen, startled, before you closed your eyes and continued the kiss. 

There had always been a sort of awkward tension in your relationship whenever the two of you had gotten too close or too flirty, but you had just completely broken down that wall. His lips were so much softer than you expected and kissing him was like drinking a shot of vodka: sharp, surprising, and made your stomach warm. 

After a moment, you broke apart, both breathing very deeply. He was staring into your eyes, making a soft blush cascade you cheeks. “The guy who was staring at you, he’s leaving now,” Barry said softly, but neither of you let go of the other. 

“Thank you, for pretending,” you whispered back.

“Y/N….that was…nothing about that was pretend,” Barry said softly, brushing a strand of Y/C hair out of your eyes. 

“Maybe..maybe we should go somewhere else and talk about what just happened?” You suggested, biting your lower lip. Any second now and he could be gone in a flash. 

“Yea, yea..I think that’d be a really good idea,” he said excitedly, a smile slipping across his perfect lips, and he slipped his hand around yours, starting to pull you towards the door.

“Wait,” you said, stopping him quickly, with a surprising amount of force for someone so small. “Can I grab my food first?” The both of you smiled, laughed, and everything was perfectly messy and perfectly okay.