Fifteen minutes later a waiter just comes out like “Uh, who ordered the middle-aged man shrieking ecstatically in German while being pounded in the ass by an enormous Russian?”
And you just have to put your hand up like, “I guess that was me. I, apparently, ordered that.”
(Meanwhile, the cook’s in the back throwing another plate on the counter like “A Red Oni trashcan and a Blue Oni trashcan in a hopeless Foe-Yay spiral, pick it up!”)
This post got recommended on my dash, and I was going to reblog it anyway because the title is such a well-made point about joining a fandom, but then I read the rest and realised that I KNOW THIS MENU. I HAD THE DAMN BUFFET EVERY DAY FOR FIVE YEARS.
They make the best shrieking German I’ve ever had.
My long-standing analogy for why I don’t do fic exchange fests is because my writing brain is like a restaurant called Eats. You know the kind – the sign is half broken, and there’s no real menu. You get whatever I serve that day.
Today’s dish is unrequited love with a side of unreliable narrator. Dessert is store-bought trash of the thing.
Reblogging my own damn post because two people added amazing stuff to it. :D
God only know what you guys must be thinking of stuff here. It’s like this Chinese place you’ve always gone to that does decent Chinese, and now suddenly it’s turned into this weird Mexican joint.