finally got my second tattoo, this one for catb. there’s a few reasons for it, one of them being that i can’t possibly put into words the way i feel when the lights go down and homesick starts up. i realized i want live music to be my whole life because of what this band has shown me. i want to work in the live industry and i want to travel, and be homesick for anywhere but home. i’ve gotten a taste of that with following them around, and with how badly i was itching to get back to the next city and next show on those few days i came home to take exams. the image i used came from the artwork for homesick the single, which van says they consider the real beginning for them. first guitar part he didn’t rip from anywhere else, etc. and more simply, it was also my favorite song for a really long time. oh, and my really good friend who i met at one of their shows went with me to get it. i feel like i’m forgetting some but like i said, many reasons.
M’Lady: old, fat, lazy, but oddly elegant black cat, occasionally moody
Pebbles: pretty brown tabby with white belly and shorter than usual legs, dumb as fuck and somehow always in the way (tripping hazard)
Alfred: very very good, sweet goblin boy gray tabby, comes when called, does what told
Filinchen von und zu Knusperflocke: stinky lovely little rascal, part wild cat and Very Tall, doubles as cuddle monster and parrot (btw Filinchen is a brand for crackerbread*, Knusperflocke is partly due to Knusperbrot* and the chocolate treat)
since you're drinking, how about a drabble about drinking? my specific prompt is: fancy cocktails :P
“Okay! All set!”
Yuuri glanced up from his phone and found Viktor carrying a tray of… something. Something that definitely wasn’t the batch of martinis his fiancee was supposed to have made for the party. “Vitya… what are those?”
“Oh, I just thought we could shake things up a bit,” Viktor said, looking down at his tray. In the next room, Yuuri could hear people asking where the drinks were, wondering if Yuuri and Viktor had just absconded for some alone time at their own housewarming party.
Honestly, better they think Yuuri and Viktor were fucking than… whatever it was Viktor had done.
“Is that… a rubber duck?” Yuuri asked, peering at one of the concoctions. It looked for all the world like a bubble bath contained in a martini glass.
“Lychee, poppy seed, and lavender liqueur, with rose air for the bubbles!” Viktor said cheerfully. Yuuri didn’t want to know why they had poppy seed liqueur.
“And that one?” It looked like an eggshell, hollowed out and filled with… something. Something brown.
“Rum, chocolate, and bitters,” Viktor said. He looked so proud of his abominations. “That one is tequila infused with chorizo, vegetable juice, balsamic vinegar, smoked sea salt pepper, and port. And that one is-”
“I’ve got the idea,” Yuuri said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Viktor looked up at him, and deflated ever so slightly. “Do you… not like it?” he asked. “I thought… martinis are so expected, I just wanted to surprise everyone.”
Yuuri glanced up. After a year spending every minute with Viktor, after years of watching him from a distance, he could read between the lines. I wanted to surprise you. It used to be that Viktor lived to surprise the whole world, but now… Now he only ever looked to Yuuri for his reaction.
“Come on,” Yuuri sighed, leaning in to kiss Viktor’s cheek. “Let’s deliver these to our guests.”
Viktor grinned and caught Yuuri’s lips in a much deeper kiss. He set the tray down precariously on the stool Yuuri had just vacated, and trailed his fingers along Yuuri’s cheek. “They can wait,” he whispered, and kissed him again.
anyone else have the burning desire to deactivate all their social media accounts and book a flight somewhere and just disappear and live a totally anonymous existence where no one bothers you and you don’t bother anyone
If you ever feel sad about life just remember that Chyler fucking Leigh signed a picture, of Floriana Lima as Maggie Sawyer, as Alex Danvers, and wrote “Please arrest me officer Sawyer”. Just remember that.
Sometimes when I am editing, I have to wonder if other Brits go through the same disconnect that happens when a US writer refers to women’s underwear as “panties”.
It’s especially jarring when I read it in fic meant to be set in the UK, and I just know the words “take your panties off” just wouldn’t fly, especially in Scots. Knickers, yes, and even briefs and drawers. But panties, not so much.
Like I know it’s in our vernacular too, and maybe I’m just showing my age (what do I know what the kids are saying these days, old thing that I apparently am), but panties just has such a juvenile and patronizing quality to it that the word just makes me want to shrink in on myself. I dunno, maybe it’s just me being to finicky. Which I suppose is kind of the point when you hire me to make accurate cultural edits like Brit Eye for the Yankie but whatever, I feel certain in telling you the word “panties” would not have been used in 17th century Scotland.
Although if you want to tell someone not to get their pantaloons in a twist, I’m 100% here for this.