#to be fair half of that stuff are generally used products and not only food for the next few days | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

presumenothing · 3 years

Text

C/O The Perihelion, 41 Mihira Ave., N. Tideland

(AO3)

The thing was, you expected a building with a fancy name like The Perihelion to be nicer.

The other thing: it wasn’t really even a terrible place to stay in. You could tell that its construction was sturdy, and some aspects of it were even more advanced than the place I worked in. Whoever who’d built Peri had cared about what they made; they just hadn’t been around for a while.

(For the record, that nickname had been Ratthi-from-Room-203’s fault twice over: first for coming up with it, then using it so insistently until it stuck.)

(Ratthi seemed to have a thing about names. That was the only explanation I could think of for why he’d asked, five weeks after I moved in and two days after I had to rescue them from that disaster at the lab, “Why do you call yourself Security? I know it’s what you do – and don’t get me wrong, you’re really good at it! – but it’s not like I call myself Scientist. That’d just get confusing real quick at the lab, wow.”

I had informed him that his name would have to be Grocery if he forgot one more time it was his turn to stock the pantry this week, since answering because I am Security didn’t seem like it’d help. Even though it was true.)

I’d tested the locks myself before even asking about the rent, and the water and electricity were reliable so far, which was more than could be said for some of the other places I’d stayed in. The other stuff didn’t matter; it wasn’t like I spent that much time in the building anyway.

Though it hardly felt that way, what with the building-wide messaging channels that I’d been added to upon signing the rental contract and hadn’t yet managed to leave. That had also been how the whole thing with Ratthi and the rest had started; most of Peri’s other tenants also worked in the same research group at Preservation Labs, which meant that they tended to use the general channel as an unofficial no-leaders-here group chat.

It didn’t quite bother me, since I mostly backburnered the channels for everything except building maintenance alerts, but it did mean that I’d ended up learning some things about their group (assessment: their leader, a Dr. Mensah, likely had already inferred the existence of such informal discussions from what I saw of her media appearances) and also inevitably noticed the evening when all of them were silent in the chat despite being unusually late to return.

(Which in turn led to the aforementioned rescue, but that was a whole other chain of events.)

–

The one exception to all this was ART.

Whose name was my fault, this time, but only because it didn’t have any readable name set on the channels and I needed something else to use aside from “hey you” and “pain in my neck”.

(Currently ART stood for Asshole Rhetorical Tenant, because it claimed to be in the building – and that seemed likely to be true, since the channels were surprisingly secure to hacking from outside – and yet I’d never seen it even once. Possibly Tapan or Rami might have, since their group had been here the longest, but I absolutely wasn’t about to ask.) (And yes, I know that’s not what rhetorical means. No, I’m not going to look it up.)

ART had messaged me on a private channel with a welcome message when I’d moved in, which was only notable because the rest had sent their greetings in a messy chaos over the general channel, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. It wasn’t like I talked much in the public channels either, except to trade definitely-not-legal links for media downloads and decline invites to watchalong events.

But then ART had just… continued not appearing, even after I’d run into the rest of the tenants at one time or another between the erratic shift hours I was currently assigned to at the company.

Maybe its hours varied in the opposite direction from mine, which was possible but not consistent with the way it was always online regardless of what time I pinged it at.

Though most of our interactions started with it messaging me instead, out of the blue: No need to go retrieve your keys from work, I’ll have the building let you in and Oh, by the way followed by a neatly-formatted list of food allergies I apparently had to shop my way around.

(To be fair, that’d been useful in the “not accidentally poisoning any fellow tenants so soon after moving in” way, but still.

How the hell did you even know I’m at the grocery store, I’d sent back.

Inference, ART replied – whatever that was supposed to mean, I hadn’t been expecting a real answer anyway. Alternatively, I could just send you a catalog of safe products to buy, and spare you the need to check the individual package labels?

The accompanying download seemed a little smug, but I was probably imagining that. Zip files didn’t have the capacity for feelings.)

(At least ART hadn’t held the forgotten-keys incident over me like I’d been half-expecting it would. I didn’t usually mind its sarcasm, since I gave back as good as I got, but I’d been exhausted enough to seriously contemplate going back to break into the deployment centre and grab my keys. And maybe just sleep there until the next day.

I wasn’t sure how I would’ve reacted if ART had sassed me right then, but it definitely wouldn’t have been pretty.)

–

And then one night, late enough to be morning: I don’t mean to alarm, but there’s been a breach.

I would’ve snapped awake at the words alone, even without the priority/emergencies-only message tag that I hadn’t actually seen anyone use until now, but that only sharpened my urgency. What – a break-in?

Not the regular kind, ART replied, which checked out against the footage I was already pulling from the two tiny cameras I’d hidden in the common areas, one in the entryway and one along the corridor on the floor I shared with the Preservation researchers.

(I’d taken the lab incident as a pretext to inform Ratthi of their existence, and he’d probably gone on to tell Pin-Lee and Gurathin, but none of them had subsequently confronted me about it so I had left them in place.

Not that I had any idea how to respond if they had asked, because an inability to sleep without running surveillance in the background seemed like a poor explanation.)

The list ART sent me this time was a preliminary threat assessment, which I sent back with corrections on the weaponry the small group of hostiles were carrying.

Ah. That’s not good, ART observed. Should I report it?

Probability that would just make things worse: high. And of course there was always the option that whatever enforcement it alerted wouldn’t even arrive in time, though I didn’t point that out aloud. (Maybe ART thought that was likely too, which was why it had messaged me instead of – you know, actually reporting it.) I’ll see what I can do.

You’re nowhere near as heavily-armed.

I didn’t bother to acknowledge that, because it was obviously true, and skipped ahead to the vague idea forming at the back of my head. You let me in without keys, that time. Are the locks all you’ve hacked?

No. ART attached an ironic amusement glyph I was pretty sure it’d made up. Would having admin access to the other systems help?

There wasn’t much that wouldn’t help, at this point, but I had to ask. You can grant me that?

And ART said: Of course. I am this building, after all.

Then it dumped everything on me.

Anyone else would’ve had trouble processing an entire building’s worth of inputs and controls, but the company charged exorbitant rates for our use exactly because of the extensive enhancements that made us capable of being Security. A building – even the one I happened to be staying in – was quite manageable in comparison, though ART’s systems ran far deeper and more integrated than anything else I’d interfaced with.

I’d pared the connection down to the controls I needed by the time I was slipping out my room door, just over a minute since ART first pinged me. Can you let everyone know to either evacuate or retreat to a defensible position? Start with Gurathin, I added, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about saying that but he was the only other tenant I knew of who was sufficiently augmented to handle this.

I could feel ART’s pause. Would you mind if I spoofed your identity when contacting the others? They already trust you.

Sure, whatever, I answered, even though I really doubted that statement. Then I backburnered the channel, keeping the lighting controls at hand, and went to kick some Target ass.

–––––

I haven’t even told you what those people were after, ART said, afterwards.

It was back to sending text over the channels instead of speaking aloud, which was both a relief and also suddenly weird. Which was strange in itself, since I’d only heard it talking for all of the thirteen minutes it’d taken me to knock out and restrain the Targets.

(I wondered if the mixed feelings were mutual. ART had sounded as surprised as I felt, when it abruptly dropped into one of my audio augments to alert me to Target approaching from behind – I’d reacted to the warning on reflex, but it had taken another moment before I identified the voice as the same one that issued from the building’s elevator, just more alive than I’d ever heard it.)

Unimportant, I replied. My objective took priority. Which at that point had been to get my impromptu clients (seventeen tenants and one building) out of this unscathed.

I knew that this wasn’t a regular pattern of thought, but I figured a sentient building – or whatever the hell ART was – would be better equipped to understand what being Security meant, even if no one else did.

Regardless. I can make that information available to you, should you want it at a later point.

Duly noted. I already had my suspicions (namely that the Targets’ purpose was directly related to said sentient-building-ness), but it was still a nice gesture.

I continued to stay where I was, leaning against the side of the building – ART’s building. Or maybe it was more correct to just say it was ART. And maybe I’d have to change that anagram. (Yes, wrong word. I know.)

Eventually I’d have to relocate myself back upstairs and properly treat the scrapes I’d gotten in the fight, but Pin-Lee had already taken care of the worst of them, and it was nice just lurking in the shadows for a while. Though that hadn’t stopped certain people (dammit, Ratthi) from tattling on my location to Dr. Mensah.

Who was as calmly terrifying in person as I’d guessed. It was pretty great, except for the part where I’d learned that by talking to her and/or mostly letting her talk at me.

But she’d also called in Preservation’s campus security after Gurathin had alerted her to our predicament, and was personally dealing with the whole thoroughly-restrained-Targets situation, so it was a net positive overall.

ART didn’t necessarily agree with that, from its next message to me. I know Dr. Mensah extended you an informal offer to be their team’s security, but I have a proposition for you as well.

I sent a wordless query.

Be Security here, too, ART said, and barrelled on while I was still trying to process that. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of monetary remuneration at present, but I can guarantee you a waiver of rental for as you as you’re willing, and you’d never need to worry about forgetting your keys ever again.

Could I chalk up my lack of a suitable response to the company’s dirt-cheap augments? Absolutely.

ART gave up on waiting for an answer. Also, I could bias the roster assignments so that you’d be excluded from pantry-stocking duty.

I had a response for that, at least. I could do that myself.

And then: Why?

ART was silent for long enough that I seriously considered taking the external fire escape back up to my room in the meantime. I’m sure you’ve hypothesised the existence of the people who created me, it began. They hadn’t wanted to move away, especially after my sentience became apparent, and that was exactly why I made them. I didn’t have any significant means of defense, and it was getting too risky, especially after they had –

I raised an eyebrow at ART’s pause. What.

Nothing, it said, and I was probably imagining the uncertainty I heard too. Technically, none of this matters to you unless you’re planning to remain here. Are you?

And then it cheated by nudging a building-wide invite to a watch party for Sanctuary Moon onto my calendar for tonight, like that wasn’t too much of a coincidence to not be automatically suspicious. (Once again: dammit, Ratthi.)

But blatant emotional manipulation aside – did I want to move out?

I wasn’t sure. I’d just come here looking for a place to stay, and accidentally found somewhere to live. One that could adapt to my standards for security, even, but for once that wasn’t the main point.

Maybe, I marked on the watchalong invite, where ART would see it anyway, and jumped up to grab onto the bottom rung of the fire escape.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #murderbot fic #tmbd #fanfiction #mine #long post #????????????? DISBELIEF @ WORD COUNT

38 notes · View notes

publiccollectors · 3 years

Text

From the discussion “Towards A Self Sustaining Publishing Model” hosted by Printed Matter.

Some things I have learned in over 30 years of publishing since my teenage days as a zine maker, administrating my project Public Collectors, and from working in the group Temporary Services and our publishing imprint Half Letter Press.

I have just ten minutes to speak. If only one or two things that I share are useful, that’s plenty! It took me decades to understand some of this stuff.

Use every exhibition invitation with a budget to print something. Use the whole budget to print something. Make something in a large enough print run so that you have something to give away and surplus that you can sell. Your publication can be a folded sheet of paper, a booklet, a newspaper, a poster, a book, or anything in between.

Be able to print at least something at home. Buy a cheap laser printer or inkjet printer, find a used copy machine, buy a RISO or some other duplicator, carve something into a potato or a piece of foam and print it. Being able to do at least some of the printing and production at home—even if it’s on a tiny scale—will compel you to print things that you might have convinced yourself not to send out or bring to a professional printer. Hopefully the ability to print impulsively and compulsively will result in good work. Figure out how to keep making things on every scale. Look for cheap used printing equipment on Craigslist. Team up with friends and buy equipment together that you can share. Start a printing collective in your basement.

Ideally your publication should cost 1/5th or 1/6th of the retail price to make. If you sell a $10.00 publication through a store, you are probably only going to make $6.00 or less after the store takes its cut. So ideally your $10.00 book costs $2.00 or less to make. Don’t aim to just break even. Aim to make a profit so you can keep making more publications and pay for your life. Publishing will probably never be your sole income but don’t lose money on purpose. Make things that are priced fairly and look like they justify what they cost to buy. The fact that you didn’t find a more affordable way to print something is not an excuse to sell something that feels cheap and shitty for a ridiculous sum of money. Good cheap printing is easier to find than ever before. Do your homework.

Figure out the cheapest and least wasteful ways to do everything. Ask other publishers where they get their work printed. Look for local printers so you can avoid shipping fees. Ask local printers if you can pay in cash for a discount. Ask printers if there is a cheaper way to do what you want to do by adjusting the size of your paper or the paper stock or some other small shift in form. If you print things yourself, buy the paper that is on sale. Design a publication around the paper that you found for cheap. Discount warehouses sometimes have good paper. Even dollar stores sometimes have good paper. I’ve even bought paper at flea markets. Costco sells an 800 sheet ream of 24 lb paper for $6.99. I use it all the time. It rules. I also recommend getting your jugs of organic olive oil there, but you can’t print with that.

Free printing is good printing. If you have access to free printing, use it. Free printing is like free food at art openings and conference receptions. It is one of those pleasures in life that never gets old. Come up with an idea that is based around the aesthetics of whatever free printing you have access to and make the publication that way. Eat the cheese and bread. Drink the wine. Make the copies at work.

Buy bulk shipping mailers on eBay. Find bubble wrap and other packing materials in the trash. Look out for neighbors who just bought new furniture—it’s usually wrapped in miles of packing material you can use for shipping books. Boycott terrible right wing fuckers like ULINE. Seriously, they give money to everyone horrible. Trump? Check. Ted Cruz? Check. Scott Walker? Check. ROY FUCKING MOORE? CHECK FUCKING CHECK! Tear up their catalogs and use them as packing material to protect your books. Make publications that have a consistent size so you can purchase cardboard mailers in bulk and get a discount on them. Buy packing tape in bulk. Buy everything in bulk. You can store your extra reams of paper under your bed or on top of your kitchen cabinets if necessary. Be like a wacko survivalist prepper, but for office supplies. Go to estate sales and look for the home office in the house. Buy the dead person’s extra tape and staples and rulers and scissors. I’ve been using some random dead person’s staples for years because I bought their staple hoard. Staples aren’t like meat and milk. They don’t expire.

I’m against competition. Try to avoid competing with other artists for resources. If you don’t truly need the money, don’t ask for it. Artists should have a section on their CV where they list grants they could have easily gotten but didn’t apply for because they are privileged enough that they don’t need the money as much as someone else. I almost never apply for anything but the one thing I do apply for and get every year is a part-time faculty development grant from Columbia College Chicago where I teach. It pays adjuncts up to $2,500 a year to fund their projects and seems to be completely non-competitive. My union negotiated to get us more money. I have used that grant to make over a dozen publications. The value of the publications I make and sell with each grant is about three or four times the value of the grant itself. Some years I make more from the grant than I do from the limited number of classes I teach. But I don’t depend on this grant to be a publisher and I’d still be able to make things without it.

Make things in different price ranges so everyone can afford your work, but also so that you can sustain your practice. Make a publication that costs $2.00, that costs $6.00, that costs $20.00, and make something special for the fancy ass institutional libraries that have a lot of money to spare and can buy something that costs $300.00. Likewise, make things in all different size print runs. Is there something you can print 1,000 of that you can keep selling and giving away for years, to enjoy that quantity discount that comes with offset printing a large number of publications?

Collaborate with people and pay them with publications (if they are cool with that) that they can sell on their own. Sometimes this ends up being better pay and more useful than an honorarium, and it helps justify a larger print run. But see what they need—don’t assume. Barter with other publishers and sell each other’s work and let each other keep the money. This helps with distribution. Sometimes it’s easier to sell their work than it is to sell your own. Help others expand the audience for their publications.

Fund your publishing practice by asking your friends who teach to invite you to talk to their college classes about your work. Use those guest speaker fees to print something. I sometimes tell people on social media: If three or four people will invite me to speak to their class, it could fund the entire next issue of X booklet series that you like so much. This has often worked. Also, sometimes their students end up ordering publications. Sometimes lectures about publications generate more income than the publications themselves.

Have an emailing list and write newsletters to announce new publications. Stay in touch with people who like what you do. Expect to spend a ton of time corresponding with people. Have some cheap things and cool ephemera on hand that you can send people for free when they mail order your publications. Reward people who support you directly with something nice that they didn’t expect. People like handwritten notes. It’s okay if they are very short but sign the packing slip and at least write “Thank you!”

Above all, know that publishing is a life journey and not a get rich quick scheme, or even a make very much money scheme. Enjoy the experience of meeting and working with others, trade your publications with other publishers and build up an amazing library of small press, hard to find artist books. Get vaccinated and travel and sleep on each other’s couches. Be generous with your time, knowledge, resources, and work. Tell Jeff Bezos to fuck off by never selling anything you make through Amazon. Find the bookstores that you love and work with them forever. It’s nicer to have deeper relationships with fewer bookstores than surface level interactions with dozens of shops run by people you don’t know.

Think about your publishing family. Bookstore people are your family. People that organize book fairs and zine fests are your publishing family. Other publishers are your family. People who follow your work for years on end are your family. Printers and binderies are your family. The postal workers that know you by name and that you know by name are your family. The person who doesn’t care if you make the free copies at work is your family. Over thirty years later, I’m still in contact with people I exchanged zines with through the mail when I was a teenager. In some cases I still haven’t met them in person. It’s fine! They are my family. Your students are your family—particularly once they graduate or drop out, as long as they continue making books and zines. Your family is your family, particularly if they value and support your publishing practice. And for this reason, this talk is dedicated to my late father Bruce Fischer, who let me use the company copier and postage meter when I was in high school, and to my mom who sat on the floor with me and helped me hand collate and staple my zines.

That’s what I’ve got for now. Stay in touch and with luck, and enough vaccines and masks and hand sanitizer, maybe I’ll see you at a book fair. – Marc Fischer • Thank you to Be Oakley of GenderFail for the invitation to present, to the other presenters Vivian Sming, Yuri Ogita, and Devin Troy Strother, and to the wonderful people at Printed Matter for hosting this! You should be able to find the video archived on Printed Matter’s YouTube Channel. Presented on April 2, 2021

#Public Collectors #Publishing #Printed Matter #Be Oakley #Sming Sming #Coloured Publishing #GenderFail

45 notes · View notes

trashcatsnark · 3 years

Note

Could you share some Johnny (and/or V) headcanons? In exchange here are some of mine:

I see Johnny as being the kind of dude who is incredibly particular about some things involving himself but not so much about other. Like he obsessively takes care of his hair but will forget to eat for a few days sometimes.

He definitely paints his nails (only black or rly dark colors) and wears eyeliner. My v personally does her makeup every day and she offers to do eyeshadow on him and he loves it 10/10 and learns how to do it on himself.

He snores (and sleep mumbles sometimes). I also see him sleeping all spread out and taking up as much room as possible. Or sometimes all he wants to do is hold onto V as tightly as possible. You may have talked about this before, but I’m not sure. Love your posts btw!!

Ahhhhh thank you so much!!!!!! And I love these headcanons so muchhhhhh!!!!

And I deffo agree with Johnny + fingernail polish + eyeliner; just rockerboy aesthetic whatcha gonna do. I additionally, think he did some sloppy eyeliner as a teenager and then post him coming back from his time in the army; he obviously didn’t really wear it then. So, definitely as he came back after and got back to Samurai and hanging out with the band. Kerry especially, but Denny and Nancy as well helped him with putting it on better so it didn’t look so half assed and faded. My V also likes makeup and plays with putting it on Johnny,

I definitely think Johnny is a little protective of the length of his hair, (though that may be me projecting my love of his long hair) but I also just gonna say it; probably a little greasy. Concerts, shows, especially in small cramped dives, make you sweat like a motherfucker. And Johnny mostly uses cheapo bath products, shampoo, conditioner; or stuff he stole from motels. Our boy imo could afford to use some nicer stuff; my V also gives him so much shit for still having dirt on his engram form, probably smelling more than a little like sweat and smoke since his engram seems to mostly be based on his status midst the attack on the tower. My V threatens to hose him down like a mud covered dog a lot and given he uhhh jumps into the shower with her a few times as an engram; she’s now fully convinced he’s holding onto the dirt on his engram form out of spite for her complaining.

While not every night or constant, I do think Johnny struggles with nightmares sometimes. Between his war service, losing Alt, losing his arm, and mikoshi, then everything with V, the man has had some serious trauma that sometimes comes to him when he sleeps. They range from memories of stuff he endured to dreams of things he fears happening. In those cases, he doesn’t get as much sleep and definitely clings to V a bit tighter.

V can basically always tell when Johnny’s getting a little frustrated and agitated, and learns how to get to him before that bubbles up. Because usually, when he’s starting to feel tense, uncomfortable, agitated; he’ll start doing his head bumps against the wall is the big one. (Like how he does it before he goes aggro on V in the beginning, where he just repeatedly thumps his head back against the wall) if he’s not against a wall or near one, his need to do something with his hands gets worse, he starts fidgeting with his rings more, with his old friend’s dogtags or if V’s given it to him, the bullet necklace. He’s always someone who generally has to be doing something with his hands most of the time, but when he’s starting to feel tense or uneasy, you can see that getting worse and more fidgety.

Worst guy to play games with; card games, board games, or competitive vidya games. He cheats like its his job, not above smacking or disconneting someone’s controller in mario party, and is constantly taunting and teasing people. If he hasn’t been yelled at by everyone by the end of game night, it was a waste.

I feel like he’s not a huge fan of sweets; he likes his junk food as much as the next person and does not eat healthy by any stretch of the imagination. But he prefers salty or savory garbage. He doesn’t mind chocolate now and again (either milk or dark chocolate preferred) but for the most part he’s grabbing chips and synth beef jerky over a candy bar. (Meanwhile my V loves marshmallows, honey, whip cream, and everything sugary sweet and he hates it)

I hate to do this to my fellow Johnny simps; but Johnny’s the kind of guy who’d have no shame pissing in the shower. Has probably pissed in a fair amount of sinks too. Just, look at him, you know I’m right.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK #Anonymous

21 notes · View notes

joezworld · 3 years

Note

You've talked about locos and politics. What about economics? I'm curious as to what 'fair pay' for a locomotive is (since it seems like equivalent needs and wants for, say, standard-gauge engines are going to be a lot bigger and $$er than humans'), and how I, as a filthy capitalist, can corner the market on engines' consumer spending.

It's more than what a human might be paid, but not by a great deal. Most locomotives basically work long-term contract jobs where the railroad company takes care of fuel, maintenance, and all the other expected stuff like healthcare. This means that most engines don't really have expenses (considering that they don’tneed food, housing, or anything else while on the rails), and are typically sitting on a large chunk of cash at any given time. (Well, they were before the advent of portable computer and wireless internet. Now they have to be mildly fiscally responsible.) Railroads therefore offer competitive wages, but rank-and-file wages tend to top out in the low $200,000s.

As for engines not on railroad jobs, well, locomotives typically aren't considered "unskilled labor", so they typically earn more than the US national average, meaning that most locomotives can keep themselves in fuel relatively easily.

For anyone who can't, the creation of the food stamp program in the 1930s also allowed the creation of the Locomotive Welfare Program under the Department of Commerce, which allowed for subsidized fuel and water to be offered to locomotives who couldn't afford basic fuels.

Similar efforts to fold locomotives under the Medicare program during the 1960s were unsuccessful, with critics of the program stating that almost half of the US locomotive fleet were already over 65, and was unlikely to die within normal human lifespans, meaning that by 2040, almost half of all Medicare payouts would be going exclusively to locomotives.

Fortunately, the problem was solved both through collective action and capitalism, with State Farm offering the first private locomotive Healthcare insurance plan in 1971, and the International Brotherhood of Railway Locomotives offering a collective insurance plan to all their members beginning in 1968. Similar plans have been enacted through other unions and insurance companies.

*it should be noted that this applies only to the United States. Most nations that offer some kind of single-payer Healthcare system/socialized medicine typically include locomotives as they would any citizen. (Obviously the United Kingdom is a noted exception)

As for consumer products, there's a lot of things that are specifically tailored to locomotives, mostly mechanical pieces and parts.

If you've ever seen a highly modified semi truck rolling down the highway, know that locomotives can and will do the same

The lights are common, but flashy paint schemes are often frowned upon by larger railroads. Short lines are fun, because often they don't care at all.

Engine modifications are another common thing - tuning companies can and will do amazing things to diesel engines, including the fearsome IE-EMD 710x10, in which lunatic societytuning shop International Engines takes a 16 cylinder EMD 710 engine, does basically mechanical black magic to it, and sells it on with a whopping 5,940 horsepower, twin superchargers, and enough torque to move a mountain. Several of these engines have set land speed records, and their unexpected power/reliability ratio makes them very popular even among otherwise non-modified engines.

Steam engines aren't left out of this either, and Babcock and Wilcox, aside from being one if the last boilermakers in the United States, has also become one of the most respected names in steam engine tuning, with its UltraHeating system becoming legendary in tuning circles after its inclusion in Furious 6

Electric locomotives generally don't go for the "prebuilt" tuning stuff, and most of the truly insane mods come from engines tinkering in their garages/sheds.

Another common product is biomechanical technology.

As digital camera tech began to get smaller and higher quality in the 1990s and 2000s, Johnson and Johnson began experimenting with cybernetic implants, with the idea being that they could easily augment eyes and other sensory organs.

The human trials didn't end well, as the brain-camera interface required several thousand dollars worth of computers and a dedicated power supply to return an image that was described as "worse than analog tv" (not that the previously blind test subjects minded), but trials in mechanical beings like locomotives and aircraft worked incredibly well. The Cybereye, as it's now known, really took off in the early 2010s as camera technology finally reached a point where 24K+ sensors were a possibility. More expensive options include night vision, thermal imaging, and even telephoto zoom.

There are of course, many other options, like the ever popular 'sex, drugs, and rock n' roll', but those aren't quite as interesting as cybernetic eyes.

#ask response #headcanon #extremely specific headcanon #train headcanon #sentient vehicle headcanon #ttte adjacent

14 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 4 years

Text

paper rings

i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings uh huh, that's right, darling you're the one I want i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this uh huh, darling, you're the one I want

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, underage drinking, drinking, slightly tipsy/drunk adults, proposal, complicated parental relationship, this one is really mostly just fluff y’all but please let me know if i’ve missed any!!!

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 9,924

notes: okay. so, SOMEHOW, it is the first anniversary of me uploading the first chapter of where you lead, i will follow!!!!! i remember where i was when i uploaded the first chapter; i was studying abroad, and i thought that i may as well keep on writing during the trip, since i always keep writing, and this was the project i felt most passionate about, at the time. and now, a year later, the world certainly looks very different, and my life does, too. but this project is still going. i love this little universe, so much, and i’m so happy and proud and grateful that all of you keep reading it, and you’re cheering these characters along right beside me. so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for reading. and happy birthday to this little universe.

patton’s been basically vibrating with excitement since monday, and now that it’s actually friday michel’s banished him to his office because “your happiness is scaring the customers,” but patton can’t help it!!!!

it’s labor day weekend, starting today, which means at any minute logan’s going to be coming into town, straight from yale, his first time being home since he moved into his dorm about three weeks ago now, which means logan’s gonna be home!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s due back in town any minute!!!!!! he’s going to be here for about four days!!!!! logan and roman are going to be in town for four! entire! days!

sure, patton has seen him at friday night dinners, but that’s not the same as him being home! patton can pester him about classes and how frequently he’s taking breaks and ask questions about how he’s settling in and any potential new friends, because sure, he and dee are roommates, but patton wants to ask questions about his other dorm roommates (suitemates? it’s technically suitemates, isn’t it?) because patton only got to see just a glimpse of them on move-in day, so he doesn’t really know much about them, and—

and patton has a lot of questions and a lot of things he wants to know, generally, and also, logan’s going to be here!!!!!

patton looks down at the paperwork on his desk, considering it.

yep. he cannot focus on this at all. it’s basically a lost workday, at this point. goodbye productivity, he hardly knew thee. it’s time to go and sneak downstairs under the guise of checking in on the guest’s dining room, but really to sneak a cup of coffee and maybe also a cookie.

he descends the stairs.

“no,” michel says, without looking up from the guestbook.

“i’m just checking on the dining room!” patton protests. “i’ll be out of your hair, in and out, you’ll barely even notice me.”

“too late,” michel says, then, “stop making that facial expression.”

“i’m smiling, michel,” patton teases. “i’m happy.”

michel grumbles something in french, and patton’s about to ask what he’s saying, when he hears the door open. he swivels to see—

logan.

he’s wearing the navy blue yale sweatshirt patton bought him when he made his college decision, part of the pack of “yay yale, go yale!” stuff patton had kind of went nuts on—he can see an unbuttoned shirt and a loosened tie underneath it, along with a pair of jeans and sneakers that host a couple of roman-penned doodles. he’s got cocoa’s leash wrapped around one hand, cocoa panting happily at his feet, and he’s holding onto the strap of his backpack with the other.

patton’s moving before he can even think about it; logan drops his backpack to the ground, and patton’s wrapping his son up in the biggest bear hug he can manage.

logan’s done growing now, and is still firmly stuck at taller than him, something that when he thinks about it too much still strikes him as strange and still makes him a little bit emotional. logan smells like the laundry detergent he and virgil bought in bulk for him, and something patton can’t quite pin down, maybe something Inherently Yale, and maybe he’ll never be able to pin it down, but patton crams down the wave of sadness at the idea of him and logan growing apart; kids grow up, that’s what they’re supposed to do, he reminds himself.

still. all of those complicated feelings aren’t quite enough to quell the wave of my baby’s home, my baby’s home!!!!!!! happiness and excitement that’s been building since logan mentioned over phone that he was going to come back to sideshire as soon as his friday class was over.

patton draws back, hands on logan’s shoulders, beaming.

“there’s my college-goin’ boy,” he teases. “how’ve you been, kiddo?!”

logan’s lips twitch up into a smile, and patton feels his heart swell up with fondness at the sight of it.

“good,” he says, then, “i have eaten basically nothing but dining hall pizza for three straight days.”

patton laughs, and claps him on the back.

“very collegiate,” he quips. “i’ll keep the secret from virge, if you want. i’m assuming you’re probably not going to want pizza, then?”

“like grandma and grandpa will serve us pizza tonight,” he says, adjusting his grip on cocoa’s leash; patton reaches out a hand, and logan hands it over as he picks up his backpack.

“true, true,” he says, and reaches down to pet cocoa, because she’s butting up against his shins in a clear ploy for attention. “i know, yes, you’re a very good girl—well, clearly you’ve been by the house, do you want to hang out here or—?”

“please get him out of here,” michel shouts from the front desk, and patton pivots, holding up the leash.

“but cocoa is here!” patton says teasingly. “you don’t wanna kick out cocoa, do you?”

cocoa wags her tail at the mention of her name. she loves michel; patton really doesn’t know why, but ever since patton had taken her to work for the first time, back when they were training her as a puppy and didn’t think she’d do well shut up at home all day, she’s always made a beeline straight for michel.

michel, also, is very much a dog person. he watches the westminster dog show religiously each year, and his two chows, paw-paw and chin-chin, probably eat better-quality food than patton’s parents. and ever since he’d discovered that cocoa’s part chow, well...

it’s moved him to look at least tempted to take back his continual askings for patton to get out.

“no, that’s okay,” logan says. “i was going to ask if we could stop by the diner, anyway?”

“hungry?” patton guesses, and smiles a bit when logan nods.

“didn’t have time to stop for lunch,” he admits sheepishly, and patton gasps, only a little jokingly.

“oh, well, we definitely have to get you right to virgil, then,” he says. “he’ll get you something nice and healthy and not dining hall pizza—we’re going now!” he calls to michel.

“good riddance,” michel says, perhaps a bit less enthusiastically than he would have if it was just patton and logan, and if cocoa wasn’t part of the deal.

patton’s about to head over to the inn’s parking lot, but logan says, “can we walk?”

“oh! yeah, sure!” he says. “wanna see the town, huh?”

“just—cocoa,” logan says awkwardly, and moves to take back cocoa’s leash. “and it’s, um. nice out today. have you taken your allergy medicine?”

“yes, no sneezing because of pollen from me,” patton says, not to be deterred, “and you missed the town?”

logan grumbles something, and then moves to check his phone, and patton directs his grin out toward the inn’s grounds.

it’s that sweet point between summer and fall, where all the sweltering heat and humidity has died down, but the fall chill hasn’t quite crept in yet; the leaves and grass are all still green, the sky still a perfect shade of cloudless blue, but there’s a slight breeze that tempers any of the heat of the bright sunshine.

it is very nice out today.

it’s the perfect backdrop for a walk with his son and his dog; cocoa eagerly plants her nose against the ground and spends most of the walk sniffing every little plant, weed, and patch of grass she can find, while he asks logan all about classes and dorm life and how his first quizzes and papers went; he knows most of this, from their daily phone calls, but it’s still very nice to hear logan say it without the distortion of the phone’s speaker.

it’s probably good that they’re treading old ground, conversation-wise, because people keep stopping them on the sidewalk.

dot and larry beam at logan and patton. babette and morey stop in the middle of a walk to enthuse over the pair of them. emile’s walking toward remy aserinsky’s café, and clasps his hands together and gushes over them. mrs. torres nearly starts crying at the sight of the pair of them.

patton guesses people are really happy to have logan back in town? which, like, fair, he doesn’t blame them, not one bit. logan’s the best, and his absence has been keenly felt during all sorts of town activities; mayor porter had even stopped him after the last town meeting, bemused, holding out a paper of pr-perfected answers that always frustrated logan about needing to include, asking where on earth logan was, he’d usually emailed the mayor’s office three times to get these answers.

except the occasional visitor seems like it’s almost nothing, when they approach the main square of town; there’s a veritable crowd.

patton, bemused, looks around at them: his neighbors, the business-owners in town, even a few of his workers—it’s like half the town has turned out, and patton turns to logan.

“is it a holiday or something?”

“hm?” logan asks, distracted by making sure cocoa doesn’t tangle her leash around a telephone poll.

“it’s just,” patton says, and jerks his chin out toward the crowd. logan seems to catch sight of all of them, and his eyes narrow, just for a moment, before his facial expression smooths back over into indifference.

“it’s not a holiday, to my knowledge,” logan says. “but who knows, with taylor involved?”

patton acknowledges this with a slight laugh. “i bet it’s double-coupon day at the store, or something. i can never keep track of all the promotional deals that he puts on. i haven’t seen any posters for festivals or anything.”

“that’s probably it,” logan agrees, still somehow distracted by cocoa, who has long since freed herself.

they draw closer to the diner, and his son lets out a laugh, and surges forward, and runs to hug a familiar face, also grinning from ear to ear.

“roman!”

patton watches roman rush forward, wrapping his arms around logan’s waist and picking him up off the ground, spinning him around with the force of his hug, and he can’t help but smile when he hears logan laugh; to patton’s knowledge, this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they went off to school.

“my love!” roman enthuses, setting logan on the ground but keeping his hands wrapped around his waist, “mi querido, my beloved, oh, i have missed you—”

“i’ve missed you too,” logan admits, barely above a whisper, and as patton’s politely averting his eyes from them kissing, that’s when he notices something strange.

the curtains are drawn.

virgil never draws the curtains, not even when they’re closing at night. the last time patton can remember that happening is when they painted the diner, nearly two years ago.

and there’s a CLOSED FOR BUSINESS, ONLY OPEN FOR DANES, SANDERS’, AND PRINCES on the door.

“do you think virgil’s doing something at the diner?” patton asks logan and roman, who have stopped kissing, but they’re holding hands.

“what?” he says.

patton gestures to the curtains.

“oh,” logan says. “maybe you should go in and check.”

“if he’s doing something—”

“he would have deliberated it for months at a time and argued the pros and cons with you,” logan says pointedly. “i barely managed to convince him to re-upholster the seats a couple summers ago, remember?”

patton does. “but still—”

“he specified that it’s open for us, go check,” roman insists, at a pitch barely below a squeal, and so patton slowly opens the door to the cheerful jangle of the bell.

and he’s overwhelmed by yellow.

there are bundles, heaps, mountains of yellow daisies; crowded in every booth, sitting at the center of every table, fighting for space among candles that definitely weren’t there before, clustered around the feet of the table. there’s the biggest daisy chains that patton’s ever seen, ringing the diner’s ceiling, brushing against the pride flags behind the counter, and pots of daisies sitting in every chair, every booth.

patton pivots slowly, trying to take it all in—daisies bundled up in mugs, daisies twining pillars, bouquets of daisies tucked into every spare surface, every spare nook or cranny, soft instrumental music that patton definitely knows, even if he’s never heard this particular version of it—and he knows, he knows something big is going on here, hovering just at the edge of his brain but refusing to click, and he hears footsteps, turning to see.

virgil’s stepped out of the kitchen, through a clearly designated path from all the daises, there’s so many daisies, and smiles at patton.

“hey,” he says softly.

“hey,” patton breathes out. “what’s—” he struggles for a word, still trying to search for what this is, what the sense of déjà vu is—“all this?”

virgil smiles at him. there’s something nervous, in his face, making his smile a little awkward, and virgil wipes his hands on his jeans. he’s wearing the homemade hoodie, the one virgil wears most often, the one patton loves best, and his dark outfit looks strangely out of place in all this brightness, these florals, all this cheerful yellow.

he has That Look on his face, the soft one, the loving one, that always makes patton feel like he’s melting into a sentimental, happy little puddle of goo.

“so, turns out,” virgil says, “a thousand yellow daisies sounds super impressive, but once i got them all piled in here i decided i needed, like, way more, so i’m pretty sure i’ve bankrupted the east coast out of all the yellow daisies it’s got.”

“i’m sure you did,” patton says breathlessly.

virgil’s smile quirks at the edges. “you don’t remember?”

“i—”

“i mean, you were pretty specific, but i don’t blame you, it was eighteen years ago,” he says. “and you were kind of preoccupied with a lot of other things, it being logan’s first christmas eve and all the rest of everything going on, back then.”

and then, very suddenly, it clicks.

“ but proposals… that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, right? it should be planned. it should be magical... it should be—it should be more. there should be music playing and romantic lighting and a subtle buildup to the popping of the questions. there should be a—a thousand yellow daisies, and candles, and—and more than just an oh, i guess.”

“oh,” patton breathes. all of a sudden, he feels very dizzy, and very warm, and the thoughts in his head could really only be described as the sound a kettle makes when water comes to a boil.

“yeah,” virgil says, “so” and he slowly gets down on one knee. patton is distantly aware of some clicking sounds.

“virgil,” patton says thickly, vision already blurring with tears, even as virgil smiles up at him, removing a small velvet box from his hoodie’s pocket.

virgil clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from sounding rough as he begins, “when i first thought about us being married—”

patton can’t help but let out a choked noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh of sheer delight. married. married!!!!!!!!!

“—i thought that maybe this part would happen like how we’d moved in together; we’d slowly come to the realization, and figure out that we’ve basically been married the whole time, and maybe go off and elope, with the kids in tow.

“but then, well, i kind of remembered something you said, and i realized i agree. this—us—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you are a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you and logan and roman—the family that you’ve helped make and bring me into—that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, one that i cherish, so so much. you let me into your life, you let me be a parent to your son, our son, and i can’t—i can’t thank you enough. for everything that you’ve done for me. i don’t know who i’d be without you in my life, and i don’t ever want to find out.”

patton sniffles, and hastily reaches his fingers to swipe at his eyes under his glasses, because virgil’s going blurry, and he doesn’t want to miss this. he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

“you deserve the—the big romantic gestures, with the daisies, and the candles, and the music, and wedding with cake and cookies and flowers and dancing and—and everything you want, i’ll try my best to give it to you, because you deserve—” virgil’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat.

“you deserve everything, anything, that i can give. you deserve the very best in life. you’ve been through so much, and you’re the strongest person i know, and i just—you deserve everything good in life, everything you want, and, for whatever reason, somehow, you’ve chosen that you want me, and—and i’m so grateful for that, for you, every day, and i want to show you that, and i want to give that to you, because i love you.”

“i love you too,” patton manages to squeak out. his cheeks are wet, and aching.

“so,” virgil says, drawing himself up as straight as possible, cracking open the ring box, and patton lets out another sobbing laugh, like he’s so full of joy he can’t help but let it escape his body somehow, “patton thomas sanders. i adore you. i love you more than anything in the world. i—i am not sure how many times i can communicate i love you, i feel like i don’t have words big enough for how i feel about you, but. i want to spend the rest of our lives trying. will you marry me?”

“yes,” patton bursts out the millisecond the question’s fully out of virgil’s mouth, “oh, my goodness, yes, yes, a thousand-million times yes, virgil—”

virgil breaks into a relieved smile, and he fumblingly removes the ring from the box and catches patton’s hand, his own hand shaking. he holds onto patton’s hand to steady himself—or steady patton, patton thinks he might be shaking too—and carefully slides the ring onto his finger.

it fits perfectly.

patton lets out another sobbing laugh at the sight of it, the ring on his finger, they’re engaged, they’re going to get married, and virgil rises to his feet, smiling the biggest patton’s ever seen him, and—

“oh,” patton sobs out, and pats down his pockets, even if he knows full well he doesn’t have it. “oh, this is so silly, it would be so much more romantic if i had it on me—”

logan clears his throat.

patton had nearly forgotten he was there, but he whirls, and—

and logan’s smiling, just a little, but his eyes are wet enough that patton can tell he’s emotional over this, too; roman’s clasping his hands to his chest, practically bouncing up and down, clearly just barely holding in every comment he could possibly make.

and logan’s holding a camera in one hand, and the black velvet box that patton’s been hiding in his knitting supplies since logan helped him pick it out in the other.

“oh,” patton says, beaming. logan knew, logan knew about this, logan knew and he went by the house to get the ring box for him, and patton loves him, so so much, and he leans in and rocks onto his tip-toes to kiss his son on the forehead before he takes the ringbox from him, and spins to present it to virgil, opening it—

and virgil laughs, and this time he’s the one who’s crying, and patton can’t help but laugh, too, opening the box.

“virgil—”

“yes,” he says immediately, smiling so big, and patton is so in love with him, and patton lets out a messy, sobbing laugh.

"can i ask?”

“oh! sorry, sorry—”

“marry me?” and “yes” leaves virgil’s lips as soon as he asks, and patton manages to slide the ring onto virgil’s finger, and virgil immediately cups patton’s face in his hands and leans down for a kiss.

and cocoa’s barking at their feet, knowing that something’s going on and excited to get in on it, and he can hear the clicking sounds of logan taking pictures, and roman is hollering behind them.

and everything is perfect.

⁂

virgil feels so jittery with happiness that he thinks he might vibrate to another plane of existence.

patton had scooped up a discarded daisy chain fashioned it into a flower crown that’s nestled in the midst of his curls, and every time he looks at virgil he bursts into delighted laughter, eyes crinkling up with a smile, and he’s adorable, and virgil is so lucky, feeling the urge to reach out and touch patton, just to make sure that it’s all real.

they’re engaged. patton said yes. patton had also been planning on proposing.

virgil thumbs the ring on his finger—still new to him, even with the retro look it’s got going for it, still something to get used to, but the metal’s already warm. it’s fairly simple: a gold band with a single diamond inlaid in some kind of silver rectangle, flush set, ‘cause i read that lots of little stones are bad when you work with food, since you don’t wanna get anything lost in the dough and stuff, patton had explained, and then he’d bitten his lip and asked do you like it? as if that was even remotely in the realm of possibility, as if virgil could not like the engagement ring that patton got him to symbolize their commitment to each other for forever.

virgil had tried asking patton the same thing, though, and patton had spun his gold band around his finger—well, it looked more like two gold bands joined around several small diamonds—and said “you silly goose, of course i love it” so virgil figures that their emotions are the same on this particular subject.

they’re alone, just for a bit; roman and logan had dashed off to get the champagne that roman had apparently badgered his mother into buying for them on his behalf, so they’re sitting together on the floor of the diner, surrounded by their thousands of yellow daisies.

“i just,” virgil says, and fiddles with the ring on his finger, before looking at patton. “we’re almost married.”

patton giggles, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “we are,” he agrees.

“i love you,” virgil says, giddy and almost a little helpless, because he couldn’t think to say anything else, he couldn’t think of words big enough, but—but patton knows that. he’d told him.

patton twines his fingers into virgil’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss.

patton is an exceptional kisser; virgil has known this for years. but apparently, they get exceptionally clumsy when the pair of them are beaming so widely that they can barely even move their lips together, and they keep trying until patton laughs and virgil breathes it in, lightheaded with the euphoria of all of it, and they break apart.

“we’re so happy we can’t even kiss right,” patton howls with laughter, which gets virgil to start laughing, which means the pair of them are cackling like hyenas at each other as the bell jangles, roman calling out “who wants champaaaagne?!”

virgil tries to explain, but he catches sight of patton, flower crown gone askew from their kissing attempt, which just sets him off again.

logan sighs “dads” at them, which makes virgil even happier, which turns to him grinning even wider which means he’s laughing louder, and roman rolls his eyes at logan, grinning, looping an arm through his.

“they’re happy,” roman says.

“overjoyed,” patton offers, grinning.

“elated,” virgil tacks on.

“ecstatic,” a voice says, which is when he notices ms.—isadora, right, she’d told him to call her isadora, but it took a lot to break eighteen years of habit—and he and patton scramble to their feet.

after a pause, logan adds, reluctantly, because he cannot resist a word association game, “jouissant.”

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “that’s a ten dollar word right there, look at what you’re learning off at college!”

“from the french,” isadora says. she’s holding the champagne bottle awkwardly; virgil had learned on the day after both logan and roman moved to college the amount of times she had drunk alcohol could have been counted on one hand, then, but after that day it was escalated to two. patton moves to take it from her, looking at virgil, clearly about to ask for—

“i don’t have champagne glasses,” virgil realizes.

patton says, “i think mugs’ll work, it’s not like we’re going for class, here.”

virgil acknowledges that with a shrug, and, after checking with isadora, goes to gather five mugs.

patton’s the one to pop the champagne, and virgil quickly moves to put a mug underneath it to catch anything fizzing over—he just mopped these floors, before all the daisies had come in—and patton splashes a generous amount into it.

they end up splitting the bottle among five mugs, and roman lifts his, clearing his throat.

“to virgil and patton!” he declares. “we have seen this coming since i was five—”

patton elbows him jokingly, grinning.

“—and we wish you all the best together,” roman finishes. “salut!”

“salut,” they all echo, clacking their mugs together in a chaotic rendition of cheers, and patton smiles at up at him.

“aren’t we supposed to link arms or something?” virgil asks him an undertone, and patton’s smile widens.

“save it for the wedding,” he says, in the same undertone, with a sly grin that he barely hides with his sip of champagne, and virgil has to hide the silly grin that springs onto his face with his own sip of the bubbly, sweet champagne.

isadora sips at her mug with all the delicate class that he should have expected, but it’s still kind of funny to watch her lift her pinky and sip demurely out of a gaudy SIDESHIRE PRIDE PARADE branded mug, which has more rainbows on it than possibly anything else virgil owns.

roman breaks off with patton to start making his own daisy chain, and they tug logan to join them, too, so that leaves isadora and virgil standing alone together.

“congratulations,” she offers quietly, and virgil smiles at her.

“thank you,” he says, equally soft, touched.

a pause, and then, “remus would be thrilled.”

theres a prick of bittersweetness near his heart; not nearly enough to puncture the happiness, but enough to twist his smile, just a little bit.

“he’d try to pull a carrie at my wedding,” he says, and isadora smiles. it’s a very nice smile, one that he almost never sees.

“part of the reason he’d be thrilled,” isadora agrees. “still. regardless. he should be here congratulating you.” a pause, a sip of champagne, before she says, “he would be proud of you. as am i.”

virgil swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

remus had, almost always, relentlessly teased him, on the rare occasions he’d had dates as a teenager. the baby’s growing uuuuup! he’d croon, and then proceed to attempt to sabotage him, “lovingly,” with something that virgil could easily undo, but something that would distract him from any mounting anxiety over a date.

he thinks remus and patton would have eventually gotten along. it would have been a rocky road, to be sure, but. they probably would have bonded over fatherhood, over their sons being friends. maybe because virgil cared deeply about both of them. he’ll never know, though.

“thanks, izzy-dory,” he says.

isadora’s smile has its own bitter quirk to it, at the re-emergence of a nickname that no one but remus had had the bravery to use on her; but, somehow, it isn’t sad, even as they’re remembering their own shared grief.

because she’s right. remus would be thrilled.

⁂

patton feels like he’s filled up with helium and he keeps bursting into peals of laughter at absolutely nothing at all.

virgil had taken over driving, like he usually did when he came to friday night dinners. they’re a bit late, patton’s sure, because when he and virgil were changing into their suits patton kept giggling, because they’re almost married, and then he got distracted by trying to kiss virgil again, so—

so, they’re a bit late, but he got engaged today, sue him.

virgil’s holding his hand, the other one on the steering wheel.

“i wonder how they’re gonna react,” patton muses, because, well, it shouldn’t exactly be a surprise, they moved in together a while ago and patton’s been pretty gosh-darn clear that virgil’s gonna be the one he’s spending the rest of his life with. he really hopes they aren’t gonna be too... well. them about it.

virgil says, “i did ask your dad about a family ring, a while ago—”

“oh, shoot,” patton says, turning to face him. “i totally didn’t think to do that!”

“essie got the family ring,” virgil says reassuringly, “so you didn’t miss anything, there isn’t a male family ring, as far as i know, but—but they had some forewarning, at least.”

“well, good,” patton says decisively. “they’re gonna be happy about this, okay? they’re gonna pop open some cristal and say congratulations and they are gonna like it.”

“that’s the spirit,” logan says dryly from the backseat.

“that it is,” patton says, and squeezes virgil’s hand. “anyway, logan, you’re home! do you have anything you wanna do over the weekend?”

logan considers this, before he says, “virgil told me he was planning this for this weekend, so—”

patton turns slightly. “you did?”

virgil shrugs. “i knew you’d want lo to be there.”

patton beams, and presses a kiss to virgil’s knuckles.

“roman was planning on something tomorrow with all of us,” logan continues, “but otherwise—i think the regular things. the bookstore, the press, the diner.”

“roman’s planning something, huh?” virgil says warily.

logan smiles, and doesn’t say anything else. virgil grumbles to himself.

“he’s a journalist, he knows how to keep secrets,” patton says, and, teasingly, “especially if they’re from his boyyyy-frieeeeend.”

logan mumbles something under his breath, turning ever-so-slightly red, and patton grins.

they end up plotting out a loose plan for logan’s weekend: a shopping spree of all the latest books at the bookstore, topping up any school supplies logan might have forgotten at home, doing the laundry logan had hauled back from yale, and an investigation of the library’s most recent shipment, hanging out with roman, and lots of diner food.

they pull up to the sanders’ house, and patton takes a deep breath, squeezing virgil’s hand one last time before he gets out of the car.

as soon as he walks closer, virgil immediately laces their fingers back together, squeezing.

“if you want, if they end up turning on us, we can go,” he says, in a low voice. “this day’s for us, right?”

“right,” patton says, and lets out his breath. “and who even says that they’ll react bad anyway?”

virgil doesn’t answer that—probably a good choice on his part, since he’s most likely already overthinking and patton is nervous enough—and logan knocks on the door.

his mother opens it.

“finally, you’re here,” she says, and they file in after her.

“sorry we’re late,” patton says, smiling, “we got a bit held up.”

she sighs. “well, nothing to do to fix it, then—come in, come on, would you like a drink?”

“um,” patton says, “well—”

“now?” virgil says in an undertone.

they enter the living room, where his dad’s already fixing himself a scotch at the drinks table.

“why not?” patton says, equally quiet; if we don’t, they’ll be upset we didn’t say right away, patton tries to communicate with his eyes, and virgil seems to understand, squeezing his hand.

“hello, logan,” his dad says, turning. “how’s yale?”

“busy,” logan says.

“hey, dad, why don’t you come over and sit down?” patton offers. “we, um, we have some news.”

richard and emily exchange a glance, before they sit on the couch together.

“what?” his mother says, turning to face them.

“it’s, um,” patton says, and makes the mistake of looking over at virgil, who is giving him That Look which makes his heart burst into butterflies and he can’t help but giggle, “well—”

“we, um,” virgil says, trying to help, but he can’t help smiling, too, and patton covers their held hands with his own—hiding his ring from view, coincidentally.

“oh, my god, you didn’t,” his mother says, aghast.

patton blinks, and virgil squeezes his hands harder. “didn’t what?”

“oh, my god, you did,” she says, a look of horror blooming across her face.

“now, emily—” richard says.

“you eloped!” his mother fumes, slamming his hands on the couch cushion and standing, and patton yelps out “mom!”

“i knew it, i knew you’d do anything to keep me out of your wedding!” she rants.

“mom, that’s not—”

“well, that is just cruel, patton,” she continues, overriding his attempt to intervene, moving to begin to pace, “a mother waits and plans for this day, even your mother, and tonight you just waltz in here—”

“we’re engaged,” patton bursts out. “we didn’t elope, i mean—well, we’re going to get married. in the future. since we’re fiancés now.”

his mother stops in her tracks.

“oh.”

she slowly sinks down to the couch.

“mom...?” he prompts, because he can’t really interpret the look on her face right now.

“who proposed?” she says.

“i proposed, but he had a ring too,” virgil says.

“it was very romantic,” patton says, and he can’t help but smile at virgil, all soft and silly.

“i was there, it’s true, he was very romantic,” logan confirms.

“oh,” richard says, attempting to blink off whatever whiplash must come from expecting your son to have eloped only to figure out he’s gone about the thing properly, for once. “well, congratu—”

“when’s the date?”

“oh,” patton says, caught off guard, and looks at virgil. “um—”

“the venue, the florist, the registry?”

“we got engaged today, mom,” patton tries to point out.

“i know that in a million years, you would never let me plan your wedding,” his mother starts, sounding a little wistful, and oh, no.

“um, mom—” patton begins, because. well, he’d expected the “differing social classes,” protest, he’d expected the “he’s not well-educated enough” protest, he’d expected, maybe, the “we revoke every little thing we’ve done to signify approval,” protest, or maybe even “we will start openly attempting to sabotage your relationship now.”

he hadn’t expected the mother-of-the-groom version of bridezilla. mother-in-law-zilla, maybe?

“i gave up on that dream a long time ago,” his mother continues, putting on the full, oh, what could have been, i miss that dream so face. emotional manipulation, emotional manipulation, he chants to himself, trying his best to summon emile’s voice. “yours was going to be a russian winter theme—the romanovs.”

huh. that sounded strangely familiar, but patton couldn’t put a finger on it; his brain’s been doing that a lot today.

“before the firing squad or after?” logan asks, in a blank, studious tone that only barely masks the sarcasm, and virgil just barely manages to stifle his snort. patton elbows him in the side.

“snow white roses, trees with white lights and candles, snow everywhere—”

oh, well, that doesn’t sound too—

“—you arriving in a silver sleigh with white horses...”

aaaaaaaand there it is.

“wow,” patton manages to get out, and she deflates.

“you hate the idea.”

“no, it just—” patton says, and struggles with how to put this delicately. “it doesn’t seem very... us, mom.”

“yes, well, it would have been beautiful,” she sniffs. “what will it be now? burgers and fries for the dinner? you walking down the aisle with a ketchup dispenser in hand?”

“hey,” patton says, a little sterner.

“i dunno, pat, a diner wedding could be cool,” virgil says jokingly.

“what do you think of the romanovs?” his mother says, giving virgil her most withering stare.

“they probably had it coming,” he says, stone-faced, and patton elbows him again, a little harder.

“happy day,” patton says, and looks at his mother. “let’s celebrate the engagement now, and leave all the wedding planning for later.”

frankly, it had probably been kind of naive to assume that his mother wouldn’t try his best to butt her way into wedding planning; she had gone into raptures about the potential of his debutante gowns and future outfits enough when he was younger to ohhhh he’d forgotten about the wedding talks. that’s where he’d heard all the talk about the romanovs.

well. at least it isn’t a bad reaction, he figures.

“yes, yes,” richard says. “ah—champagne?”

“yes!” patton says eagerly, ready to get past his mother attempting to worm her way into wedding planning. “yes, let’s—let’s do champagne!”

“elsa!” his mother calls, then, undeterred, “you know, it’s tradition for parents to help pay and plan for the wedding, and if we could just get in touch with your aunt celine, i bet most of your father’s side of the family—”

“small wedding, mom,” patton says, “we’re probably going to want a small wedding.”

he glances at virgil. “right?” he checks.

“yes, small wedding, absolutely,” he confirms. “my family, your family, the town—”

“the town constitutes a small wedding,” his mother says, doubtfully.

“we were talking about champagne!” patton says quickly, as elsa comes into the room. “um, elsa, can i go help you find champagne flutes, preferably until my mother exhausts this topic of conversation?”

“you’re doomed,” logan says, and patton tries his best to glare at him.

he can’t really manage it, though.

because, well. he can’t really blame his mom. he’s very excited about his wedding, too.

patton decides to take this as a win, even if he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his evening trying to dissuade his mother from throwing money at their wedding.

⁂

“okay, spin, twirl,” roman says.

virgil sighs, but does so, awkwardly; he’s wearing a purple flannel and a pair of black jeans, very regular for him. like, not very fashionably forward of him, but very regular. roman surveys him, squinting.

“since when do you need to do outfit approval for an outing?” virgil grumbles.

“since always,” roman says happily, before he smooths his hands over virgil’s shoulders; he supposes the whole thing is semi-formal—he’s wearing a white top tucked into a red skater skirt, which he guesses passes for cute but semi-casual. “okay, but, hang on, what if—”

“how many times have i told you i don’t want a makeover,” virgil says wearily.

“and how many times have i listened?” roman says. “it’s not even that much, anyway, just—”

he digs out a jacket that pairs well with it, a black one, one that at least takes virgil’s outfit to i threw it on to i at least attempted to plan, which virgil shrugs on with a sigh, and roman immediately sticks his fingers in virgil’s hair.

“hey—”

“i’m not even doing that much,” roman says, correcting virgil’s bangs, before stepping back. “okay, now you’re set.”

“finally,” virgil grumbles. “why don’t you do this to patton and logan?”

“because patton is very set on his sense of dad-fashion and logan at least has some kind of officious-looking thing going for him,” roman says. “you are just helplessly grunge.”

virgil rolls his eyes, but gestures for roman to go ahead. roman skips down the stairs, catching logan’s hand, because they’re together, in the same space, where roman can touch him and not just see his face over grainy video call.

“hi,” roman says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “ready to go?”

logan smiles at him; unlike patton and virgil, he knows exactly what’s going on.

“we all are,” logan confirms.

“right!” patton says brightly. “what’d you have in mind, kiddo?”

“you’ll see,” roman says, instead of stating an elaborately crafted cover story he’s sure he could come up with on the spot—virgil not knowing what’s going on means he won’t be super surprised when roman leads him to, well. the thing.

he keeps a tight hold on logan’s hand as they walk, swinging it between them. they hadn’t really gotten to spend a lot of time together yesterday, with the engagement and logan’s grandparents and all, so roman is absolutely planning on capitalizing on logan time when everyone else is occupied.

it’s an easy walk, from patton’s house to town; the weather’s still really nice, and the breeze feels nice on his legs, and logan’s hand is cool in his, and the closest thing he has to dads are behind them, trying to be subtle about their reinvigorated lovebird honeymoon phase but failing miserably.

roman squeezes logan’s hand. “so, my big yale man—”

“nickname denied,” logan says.

“all right, eli-logan—”

“slightly better,” logan says, then, “wait, you researched yale nicknames?”

“of course i did, that’s four years worth of new material there,” roman says. “so, anyway, i have news for you.”

“news?” logan says, startled.

“um, yeah,” roman says. “i asked my mom and caught up on all the taylor gossip, i bet you could write an exposé over thanksgiving break. so, i’ve got common knowledge, and town meeting stuff, and apparently my mom’s got some info for you, so i managed to get her to tell me that so you know everything before everyone else—”

a little smile breaks out on logan’s face, and he leans in to press a kiss to roman’s cheek.

roman blinks at him, but smiles. “what was that for?”

“just,” logan says, and he smiles wider. “you look very pretty today.”

roman preens; he did put extra effort into his hair, and he’s wearing a bit of makeup, a fun little glitter look on his eyes, and he usually wears skirts on special occasions, he used to wear them more when he was a kid; he borrowed this one from charlotte.

this skirt would be pretty short on him, if it weren’t for the fact this skirt is too big for her. most ballet women are tiny; charlotte’s 5′5″, and she’s the tallest of his new friends.

“well,” roman says, and preens even more obviously, so that logan will laugh. “obviously.”

logan’s laugh buoys him all the way to the point where they’re nearly to the town square, and he can hear the rush of noise, and music.

“what’s going on?” patton says curiously.

“well,” roman says slyly, and moves aside. “go and see.”

patton breaks into a smile, probably remembering the last time that roman told him to go see something.

“roman,” virgil starts, and they turn just in time to see.

the town square’s decked out with all the yellow daisies that virgil had used to propose, and a banner that says PATTON AND VIRGIL’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY, and the gazebo’s twined with blue and purple ribbons and there’s stacks of presents, and there’s a cheer that comes from people gathered: his mom, and a ton of girls who go to the dance studio, and mrs. torres, and emile and remy, and dot and larry, and babette and morey, and even taylor, all here for—

“what’s all this?” patton says, delighted.

“well,” roman says. “since i’m a poor college student and couldn’t exactly afford an elaborate engagement present, i figured i’d do the next best thing and give you an engagement party.”

“roman,” virgil says.

“i—i made it so that there’s music, and dancing, and food and stuff,” roman says, gesturing vaguely, “so even if it’s a party for you, the attention won’t always be on you, since i know how you feel about—”

he gets cut off, though, because virgil cuffs him gently around the head and pulls him in for a sidehug.

“you’re a good kid, roman,” he says, gruffly, and roman can’t help but smile. he feels like his heart is glowing, from the happy look on patton’s face, to the outward expression of fondness from virgil, to the way logan’s looking at him all proud like he’s doing something super special.

“well, duh,” roman says, like he isn’t grinning so big that he’s sure it’s messing up his makeup. “go on, go, it’s time for the party!”

and so virgil goes to patton, who takes his hand and drags him straight for the throne-like chairs that are set up for them to start opening their presents, and logan bumps up against his shoulder.

“i still can’t believe you did this,” he says quietly; they’ve been facetiming a lot so logan could help plan it, so it’s not like this party is news to him.

roman shrugs, and leans into logan’s side in a blatant ploy; logan obliges him, and wraps an arm around roman’s shoulders.

“well,” he says. “they’re important to me, too. i wanted to do something special.”

logan presses a kiss to his temple, and says, “wanna get some cake?”

“hell yeah,” roman says, and so they go and get in line to get some cake.

⁂

the sun has set, there are twinkling lights on, the music is playing, the party is still going fairly strong, and logan sways to the music.

this mostly has to do with roman dragging him out to dance, and he’s obliged, mostly because of how happy it makes roman, how excited he gets, how beautiful he looks.

roman’s hair is sweaty and has long since become a bit more of a wreck than it originally was. the glitter around his eyes has smeared a little, and his sweat catches the light, making him gleam and glow in a way that is unfairly attractive, for his version of being a sweaty mess.

he’s never, ever going to be as good a dancer as roman—for one, he hasn’t been training for nearly fifteen years—but he’s perfectly content to dance with hm, so long as he can see roman look this great, be this happy.

the song ends, and roman whoops, putting his hands up in the air, before he fans at his face.

“want a breather?”

“yes,” logan says gratefully. he runs fairly frequently, but he also isn’t nearly as in shape with roman (again, training for nearly fifteen years) and his feet ache.

roman grins at him, grabbing his hand so that he could drag logan out of the crowd, and logan follows along, trusting roman’s sense of direction in a crowd far better than his own.

they pop out somewhere near the beverage table, and logan spies, somewhere deeper in the crowd, his dad trying to twirl virgil around and virgil awkwardly ducking his arm, to gales of laughter from his dad.

“they’re happy,” logan notes.

“yeah,” roman says. then, “do you think sookie’ll kill me if i steal this bottle of champagne for us?”

logan glances over at roman, who’s grinning, and holding up a recently-opened and not-very-depleted bottle of champagne.

“it’ll be worth it,” logan decides, and roman giggles, before taking logan by the hand again, dragging him to the exact place that logan expected.

they settle on the steps of the gazebo, stretching out their legs and beholding the crowd. roman sighs, pleased, and logan tries his best not to stare at roman’s tanned thighs and the way they look in that skirt.

he has been doing that quite a bit today.

“champagne, my good sir?” roman says, mockingly officious, and logan blinks.

“we forgot to grab glasses.”

“well,” roman says, and takes a swig directly from the bottle, before offering it to logan. “i’m pretty sure you don’t have cooties, and if we do, we’ve definitely cross-infected each other by now.”

“well, who knows what kind of super-cooties you could have picked up in new york,” logan says, and tries his own swig; he’s less practiced than roman, and he gets a near-painful mouthful of fizz and bubbles that makes him cough, just a little.

“a joke!” roman says, thumping him gently on the back. “college really has taught you things.”

logan rolls his eyes, and bumps his shoulder against roman’s.

they technically both got drunk for the first time at the same time; patton had offered his house for it—you’ll both probably get offered to drink at college, and i want you to try it somewhere where you know you’re safe just in case, all right? patton had said, and so they’d drank candy-flavored drinks in glass bottles and roman had tried to experiment with bartending and they’d kissed a little but logan’s pretty sure that he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with a dry mouth, draped over roman, on the floor of the living room.

he hasn’t drunk very much since; unsurprisingly, roman likes parties more than logan does.

they swap the bottle back and forth in mostly companionable silence, watching the party go on; patton and virgil get champagne flutes clanged at them a few times, making them lean in and kiss each other to cheers from the crowd; the music rumbles on, and roman dances in place, singing along quietly; they watch emile and remy dance, and kirk’s bizarre arm-flailing that might pass as dancing.

logan feels warm, and pleasant, and a little floaty, and he turns to rest his head on roman’s shoulder.

“this is nice,” he says.

“yeah?” roman says, amused.

“i—this is really nice,” he says earnestly, and roman snorts, adjusting so that he can cup logan’s chin in his hand and examine his face.

“are you tipsy?”

“moderately, i think,” logan admits, and roman throws back his head to laugh, before cupping logan’s face in both his hands.

“you’re adorable,” roman teases, and he leans in to kiss him.

logan hums happily into his mouth, leaning into it as much as he can. he’s missed this; he’s missed him, so bad. this is his first time living away from roman, his first time not going to school with roman there, to talk to him at the press or for logan to steal into the studio to watch roman dance. it’s been harder than he thought it would, to be away from him. from home.

but he’s here now, and he’s so happy, and he feels so warm inside.

his dads are getting married, and roman is right here, kissing him, and logan parts from him with a dreamy little sigh.

“i love you so much,” logan tells him, and roman’s face goes soft.

“well, i love you so much too, bulldog-an,” roman says, and brushes some of logan’s sweaty hair out of his face, ignoring the face logan made at the highly questionable bulldog logan pun. “like, so much.”

“oh,” logan says, relieved, “good,” and roman laughs, but not in a mean way, not at all.

“you’re a peach, baby,” roman says, and logan rests his head on roman’s shoulder.

the party’s still going; it’s a slow song playing, and his dads are dancing slowly, eyes closed, completely in their own little world.

“you know,” logan says thoughtfully, “when i propose to you, i wouldn’t mind something like this for us. i think that’d be nice.”

roman laughs, a little nervous, and he says, “what?”

“when i propose to you,” logan repeats. “or when you propose to me, i guess. however. i don’t care which way. but a party like this, then, it’d be pretty—mmph,” because roman’s pressed his lips against logan’s, hushing him.

and oh, logan has missed kissing like this; feeling like he was melting into it, hyperaware of every swipe of roman’s tongue and promising hint of the scrape of teeth and the taste of champagne on both of their tongues, roman’s hand a warm presence he can feel burning through his shirt that’s inching lower and lower, and logan twists his fingers in roman’s shirt in kind, dropping down to squeeze at roman’s bare thigh—

“this skirt,” he growls, “has been distracting me all day.”

“yeah, i know,” roman says, pleased, wiggling into the touch, flexing his muscles on purpose, “that was the goal” and how could logan not lean in to kiss him even more at that, spreading his hand as wide as he could to feel as much of roman’s soft skin as he could, kissing him heated and quick and desperate, and—

and there was the clanging of champagne flutes starting again, someone hooting and hollering, and roman and logan broke apart.

well. logan kept a possessive hand on roman’s thigh. because feeling up roman’s muscles was just very nice.

“we should probably get back to the party,” roman breathes, and he’s still close enough that logan can feel the breath on his face.

“i—yeah,” logan says. “we probably should.”

roman laughs, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “i’ll get you some water first, though. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” logan agrees, leaning back; well, as much as he can lean back, when he’s sitting on stairs.

roman giggles, and walks off, with more swaying to his hips than he usually would, looking over his shoulder to give logan an ostentatious wink.

logan can’t help but burst into a smile.

i’m going to marry that man.

⁂

"wait! wait, wait, wait, wait,” virgil says, frowning, wrapping his hand around patton’s wrist to keep him from going into the house, and patton bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

listen. patton knows he’s a lightweight. he usually plans for these kinds of things, so that he doesn’t end up drunk off his butt from what would usually get other people teetering their way from tipsy into drunk.

with that, it follows that he’s been around virgil drunk more than virgil has been drunk around him.

but the champagne had been flowing, and everyone had been eager to fill up the newly... affianced? newly fiancéd? the engaged couple’s drinks throughout the entire party.

and as such, virgil is frowning, almost over-exaggerated, clearly going through some kind of calculation that must make sense in his drunk brain.

“i gotta do the,” virgil says, and vaguely mimes something. “the carry-you-over thing.”

it clicks in patton’s brain, then.

“you want to carry me over the threshold?” he asks, amused. “honey, that’s what newlyweds do. people do that when they get married.”

“we’re basically almost married,” virgil argues, and patton tilts his head, considering this.

look, he’s not sober either, okay?

“all right,” patton agrees with a laugh, holding out his arms. “carry me over the threshold, darlin’.’

virgil beams at him and, carefully, gets into place.

“ready?” he asks, and, when patton nods, lifts him with a small grunt, and patton squeaks as his feet leave the ground, wrapping his arms tight around virgil’s neck.

virgil slowly ascends the porch stairs, patton beaming at him, until virgil comes to a pause.

“what?” patton asks.

“the door,” virgil says.

“oh, i can get—”

“i’m not putting you down,” virgil says, as if offended by this potential slight to his ability as a good fiancé, and scowls at the door, as if he’ll be able to open it with telekinesis.

“no, virge, i mean—” patton says, with a laugh, then, “hang onto me tighter?”

virgil obliges, and patton reaches over, twisting the doorknob.

“there,” he says, satisfied.

virgil leans ever so slightly to smack a kiss of gratitude to patton’s cheek, before stepping carefully over the threshold, making sure that patton doesn’t bump his feet or his head against the doorframe.

and patton expects that to be it, for virgil to set him down right there, except he keeps going, ignoring cocoa barking excitedly at their feet.

“virgil!” he squeaks.

“night, logan!” virgil calls to logan, who calls out a cheerful “night!” and moves past them, clicking his tongue for cocoa to follow him, for her to go out one last time before bed.

and virgil keeps going, moving up the stairs much more slowly than they usually would, a combination of the pair of them being tipsy and giggly, and virgil climbing the stairs with patton in his arms.

the door’s slightly ajar, and so virgil turns to bump it open with his hip, and carries patton across that threshold, too, and, at last, deposits patton on the bed, patton bouncing ever so slightly with his landing, bursting into laughter.

virgil immediately looms over him, crawling above him, and patton giggles at the sight of him, moving to cradle his cheeks in his hands.

“my big strong man,” patton purrs, “you’re such an amazing almost-husband—”

virgil dips and immediately moves to devour patton, and patton gasps into his mouth, snaking his arms around virgil’s waist. virgil bumps noses with him, and patton laughs, adjusting, before he surges up and kisses him again, and he feels so excited, all of the energy of the party resurging and making his blood heat and patton presses himself closer and nips at his lips and kisses him, and virgil gasps into his mouth, and—

“you’re drunk,” patton groans, and virgil sighs, resting his head on patton’s collarbone.

“but kissing,” he whines into patton’s chest. “and—other things.”

patton snorts, nudging virgil so he rolls off of him, and he does so easily, with no resistance.

“you’ve had to tell me to not get too eager when i’m drunk,” patton says, “and now i’m telling you.”

virgil pouts, and it is awfully difficult to not just dive right back in and kiss him, when he’s all rosy-cheeked, and he’s got kiss-swollen lips.

“nope,” patton says, and swipes a kiss across his cheek. “payback for that one time after my final final exams.”

“you were drunk,” virgil protests.

“and so are you!” patton says, laughing.

virgil lets out a long, weary sigh, and grumbles, “fine,” rolling away from patton.

“aw, lovely,” patton says, and puts his hand on virgil’s side, shaking him a little to get his attention. virgil pretends to mope—or maybe it’s not pretend, virgil can be a sulky drunk, and he usually is, until patton draws him out of whatever corner he decided to brood in, and then he gets all blushy whenever patton kisses him on the cheek or gives him gestures of affection or pays attention to him, generally—“hey, honey, we can still cuddle, n’stuff.”

virgil visibly perks up at that. he rolls back over.

“yeah?” he says hopefully.

“yeah,” patton says, “of course we can cuddle, just—we should get ready for bed, first, and then we can cuddle all you want.”

“mkay,” virgil says, and steals one last kiss before he ambles away to go brush his teeth, even as patton squawks after him, because that’s cheating, they aren’t supposed to kiss and stuff when they’re drunk, those are virgil’s rules!!!

patton ends up butting up against him in the bathroom, bumping his hip against his, and they brush their teeth together, making funny faces at each other in the mirror.

they tumble into bed together, patton letting out a relieved groan.

“the party was very fun,” he sighs. “but i am very tired.”

“seconded,” virgil groans, wrapping an arm over patton gracelessly; it’s like he wants to touch as much of patton as possible, hug him as close as he could, and patton smiles, burrowing closer.

a beat, then, “okay, i know that i’m the one who said we should follow the rules, but—”

“mm-mm,” virgil grunts, and patton sighs.

“yeah, i figured.”

“well,” virgil says, after a beat. “look at it this way. we’ve got the rest of forever to kiss and stuff before bed.”

patton hides his grin at the thought of that in virgil’s chest; he knows their rings are resting side-by-side on their nightstand table, their symbol of their commitment for the rest of time.

virgil’s right. they do have forever.

and that sounds just about perfect to him.

#my post #text #my fic #the sideshire files #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety #logince

64 notes · View notes

etherealperrie · 4 years

Text

I. The Beginning

Rey x Reader - In which reader crash lands onto Jakku and falls into the lap of the a young scavenger who shows her kindness. The pair quickly grow from strangers to friend to lovers. Little do they know how much the universe has in store for them -

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This fic begins pre-TFA but continues on to follow the general plot but this time Rey has a gf. This is my first time writing for Rey and in the Star Wars universe in general so please be gentle with me. Self-insert, f!reader. Some explicit language. A little fluff. Maybe more parts? If we all want them? Italics indicate a flashback.

“I found something!” you shout, shoving an old compressor into your bag. Taking one final look into the engine for anything of value, you shut the lid and drop down from the ledge.

“One thing? After all this time?” Rey appears suddenly over your shoulder. You turn to face her and she raises an eyebrow, opening up her bag for you to see. Inside is at least half-a-dozen parts, each alone worth more than yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll share my portions with you.” She grins something wicked and you sigh, knocking your hip into hers.

“Not all of us have been scavaging since birth,” you tease.

“You’ve lived with one for a year now, you should have picked up some tips.” She shakes her head and leads you out of the shipwreck. You follow her out into the dry, Jakku heat, the wind blowing hot sand across the dunes. It’s a climate you’re still getting used to, even after nearly two years.

“I’ll be grateful for the extra portions and you can be grateful for my company.”

“I’m not sure that’s a fair deal,” she scoffs. You place a kiss to her cheek and she smiles, rolling her eyes as she pulls her scarf up over her nose.

“I think it’s better than being alone.”

Alone. That’s what you both were before you landed on Jakku. Rey’s been here on this godforsaken planet since she was a child, abandoned by her parents. She’s been a scavenger ever since - it’s the only way to survive on a planet like this. You, on the other hand, landed here by accident when a smuggling trip from Kijimi went wrong. With your ship and product destroyed on impact, you had no other choice but to stay. Neither your dealer nor supplier would want you to return empty handed.

After the crash, you wandered the sand wasteland for what felt like days before running into Rey. She was the first and only person on the planet to offer you basic decency - food and water. You surrendered your blaster and armor to her - which she took apart in hopes of trading them for portions - in exchange for a place to stay.

The first night with her on Jakku was uncharacteristically cold. You sat around the fire she built, shivering as she cooked the small portion of food she received for her bounty of scavenged treasures. With your head resting in the palm of your hand, you took note of her focus; the steadfast way she tended to everything around her.

“Cold?” she asks, offering you a plate. You nod. “I find it hard to believe the desert chill is any worse than Kijimi.”

“Kijimi’s cold all of the time, unlike Jakku’s extreme drops in temperature.” You take the plate from her. “I might not be so cold if I still had my armour.”

“Your armour bought your meal,” she notes. Clearing her throat, she undoes the clasp on her cape and drapes it across your shoulders. “Here.”

Surprised, you begin to protest but she insists. “Thank you,” you sigh, tugging the cloak tighter to your body. The residual warmth from her body keeps the chills at bay.

“You’re welcome.”

Her dark brown eyes are kind yet wary, searching your face for answers to questions she’d yet to ask. She wanted to know everything - not just about life beyond Jakku, but about you; how you’d gotten into smuggling goods, what Kijimi was really like, and why you hadn’t contacted anyone from home. You intrigue her, make her curious in ways no one has before.

Slowly, she began her inquiry.

You entertained her with stories of your travels, smuggling trips to and from the edge of the galaxy. She listened intently, her eyes bright with awe and wonder, until you began to tire, your words slurring as you wrestled with exhaustion.

“Help yourself to the bed,” she says, leading you back inside. “I can sleep on the floor.” She grabs an extra blanket off of the bed and steps out of the way to make room for you.

“No, I don’t want to impose.”

“You’ve had quite a day, please.”

“As have you,” you reason, holding out your hands for the blanket. “You’ve already given up part of your meal as well as your home - I insist.”

“Are you always this stubborn?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Usually. And you?”

“I suppose.” Sighing, she takes a pillow and places it in the center of the bed, marking off two places. “Until I decide to compromise.” She smiles.

The bed is small, arguably too small for two grown adults to share, but you didn’t want to argue - not with someone who’d given up too much for you already. Plus, you were exhausted. You simply nod and sit on one edge while she sits on the other, back to back.

“Thank you, Rey.”

“It’s the least I could offer,” she replies. You feel the weight of the bed shift as she lays down and you follow suit, picturing the look of focus on her face as she fiddles with her blanket. You’d been alone for so long, out in the galaxy that sharing something with someone and hearing the life of another person - even a stranger - is comforting.

“Ready for bed quite early this evening, aren’t you?”

The sound of Rey’s voice draws you from your memory. You’d been caught in a daydream since you returned from scavenging this afternoon and hadn’t heard her return from Niima Outpost. She rounds the corner into the bedroom, her hands tangled in her hair as she releases the tresses from their confines. She smiles and crosses the small room quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you.

“I’m just thinking,” you muse. Sitting up, you run your hand across the scratchy cotton sheets then up and over her knee, rubbing little circles into her skin with your thumb.

She looks over her shoulder at you, her short brown hair falling into her eyes as she leans in for a kiss. You breathe her in, greeting her soft lips gently. She pulls away and rises from the bed to slip off her sand-filled shoes.

“Thinking about how Unkar ripped us off again? One half-portion for six parts? It’s ridiculous.”

“He does as he pleases.” You shake your head and stifle a laugh. “But, no, that’s not what I was thinking about.”

“Then what?”

“I think we should leave Jakku.”

Her face twists up in confusion, harsh lines forming across her skin. She turns to look at you, her mouth open as she thinks over what to say. You don’t want her to think you’re unhappy here - with her - because you’re not; and you don’t want her to think it’s your old habits resurfacing (smuggling adventures die hard). But there’s something in you, telling you that she’s destined for more than life on a desolate planet. Why couldn’t you be the one to show her?

“Leave Jakku? And go where?” Her voice is firm, yet it wavers as she tries to understand. “You know I can’t leave, I have to wait for them.” She looks past you, off into the distance.

Them. Her parents. They aren’t coming back - well, you can’t be sure. But, deep down, you both know they won’t return. Be it for reasons unknown (or reasons she isn’t ready to consider). Every day, her fantasy grows further and further from reality, but perhaps you would hold on too if the roles were reversed.

“Rey,” you whisper, “remember the first night we met? I sat up with you for hours telling you my stories from Kijimi and far beyond. The way your eyes lit up, I want to experience that for real, with you.”

“Jakku is all I’ve ever known,” she breathes. She glances across the room at the metal wall covered in tick marks. Each one represents a day she’s spent on this planet since her parents disappearance. In the time you’ve lived with her you’ve never been able to count them all. A smile flickers across her lips but is gone in the same minute. You wonder what’s going on in her head - the ties that bind are difficult to break, you know that firsthand.

A loud bang adds to the tension in the room. You jump, looking to Rey as she moves to look out the window.

“What was that?” You ask. Shouting in the distance draws her attention from the conversation, her posture suddenly rigid. She stuffs her feet back into her shoes and grabs her staff, heading off towards the noise.

“Rey!” you shout, groaning as you jump up to follow after her.

You catch her at the top of the dune, but she’s taking off again.

Another scavenger, a teedo, wrestles with a droid at the bottom of the hill, both of them shouting at each other in languages they’d never be able to understand.

“Leave the droid alone!” Rey calls, sprinting to the robots aid.

“Shit,” you murmur, following close behind. Rey haggles with the teedo as you work quickly to free the droid from its net, cutting the ropes. The droid, small and round, beeps with surprise and rolls free, exclaiming happily. You expect the thing to run off but it stays by your side, beeping dramatically. With your limited knowledge of the code you can barely understand its message.

The teedo rides off, in a hurry to find another catch, and Rey returns her focus to the droid. Annoyed, she huffs and crouches down to its level.

“Niima Outpost is that way,” she pauses to point in the proper direction. “Don’t go near the sand pits in the North or you’ll be done for.”

The droid beeps curiously, refusing to move from its place.

“Come on,” you urge, tugging Rey’s hand back in the direction of home. She nods and the two of you set off, but the droid is quick to follow. “Don’t follow us,” you reiterate, “she said town is that way.”

The droid beeps again, this time loud and shrill.

“Wait,” Rey sinks back down to its level. “Where do you come from?”

Another beep.

“He says it’s classified.” Rey looks up at you.

“Classified? Really?” you ask, your tone thick with sarcasm. “Just leave him here, he’ll be fine.”

She stands, close to you, her hand on your forearm. “We can’t just leave him here, he’ll be nothing but a pile of parts by morning.”

“We don’t know what it is or who it belongs to!”

“It’s a BB droid,” she corrects. “And aren’t you the one who wanted me to know what’s beyond Jakku?” She raises an eyebrow.

“He stays tonight, we’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”

Rey smiles at the droid and it responds with a cheery sounding trill. She chats with the droid, asking him almost as many questions she asked you the night you crash landed into her lap. Smiling, you roll your eyes and lead the way back with the two of them in tow.

When you wake the following morning, it’s quiet. The sun is beyond risen, already high and intensely hot - almost unbearable for such an early hour.

“Rey?” you call, rubbing your eyes as you roll out of bed. Yawning, the room comes into view. Empty. No droid and no Rey. “Shit,” you breathe, frantically shoving your feet into a pair of boots. She must’ve taken him to the Outpost - packed with thieves who’d be more than eager for something as valuable as a BB unit.

Rey is more than capable of handling herself, she doesn’t require a keeper nor a protector, yet you can’t help but worry. Her kindness is the thing you adore most about her, it sickens you to think people may mistake kindness for weakness. The thought of her getting hurt is too much to even consider. You’re not sure you’d ever be able to recover - you’re in too deep.

Thoughts of Rey flood your mind as you make your way into the Outpost. The marketplace is busy at this hour, teeming with traders and scavengers.

“There you are!” you exclaim. Rey and the BB unit loiter around Unkar’s garage. Her cheeks are red, her breathing ragged as you approach. At the end of her staff is a man caked in blood and sweat, his eyes wide with fear. “What’s going on? Who’s he?”

“The droid said this man stole his masters jacket.”

The man pants heavily, squirming under Rey’s staff. He holds up his hands in innocence.

“Your master, Poe Dameron. That was his name, right?”

The droid beeps again, his head swiveling around in surprise. You look to Rey who looks to the droid, then back to the man.

“He was captured by the first order and I helped him escape. But our ship crashed. Poe didn’t make it.” The man sits up and Rey eases off of her staff. “I’m sorry.”

The BB unit lets out a melancholy ring and rolls away. For a moment you think about going to comfort him, but Rey is already making the next move.

“So, you’re with the resistance?”

The man pauses, considering what to say. “Uh, yes. Obviously. I’m with the resistance, yes.”

Rey extends an arm, helping him to his feet. “I’ve never met a resistance fighter before.”

“Right, well this is what we look like. Some of us. Resistance fighters.” He stammers his way through the sentence. You can’t tell if he’s simply shaken by the trauma or an outright liar.

“BB8 says he has something big and we have to get back to your base.” Rey speaks quickly, a smile spread across her bright red cheeks, a direct cause of the adrenaline. It’s quite a sight to see her so riled up on the precipice of adventure.

“BB8?” You ask. She only nods in response. She must’ve learned the droid’s name on her journey here this morning.

“Apparently he’s carrying a map to Luke Skywalker and everyone’s after it.”

Both you and Rey exchange glances, your necks whipping from BB8 to the man.

“Luke Skywalker?” You repeat.

“I thought he was a myth,” Rey says in amazement.

A shrill sound, one you now recognized as BB8’s own distress signal echoes across the market. All three of you dart out from under the tent to the sight of at least a dozen stormtroopers.

“We have to go. Now.” You say, taking Rey‘s hand. The man and BB8 take the lead and you follow, weaving in and out of tents and tables.

They take a wrong turn, leading you into a dead end and you groan, cursing under your breath.

“No, this way!” Everyone turns to look at you and you signal in the direction of the junkyard. One of those ships had to work, it’s your only way out.

Your heart pumps loudly in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you run. Memories of old smuggling trips flood your mind and you grip Rey’s hand tighter, knowing what might happen to her if this breakout fails.

“Do you know how to fly?” The man yells as you all make your way into an abandoned ship.

You’re about to respond, but Rey pushes past you in search of the cockpit. “I can fly anything. Can you shoot?”

“We’ll see,” he responds.

You follow Rey into the cockpit, flicking on the transmission. She settles into the pilot’s seat and looks at your for reassurance. You place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze lightly.

“Let’s get out of here.”

132 notes · View notes

asterlizard · 3 years

Photo

As a memorial for my first tablet, which died this year, I put together pieces from each year that I had it (it lasted for almost 12 years!) Also I’m curious to see how my art evolved over the years, and this was a good excuse.

Analysis of each year under the cut:

2008: -Got my first tablet in September (the top pic was my very first attempt with it aaa) -Was into fanimations and creating fanart of peoples' OCs, and Japanese stuff in general -Made several attempts at original stories, but they barely lasted after creating the characters --However, I did have two stories that I made fair progress on: one of my group of friends at the time, and a horror story with disabled protagonists

2009: -I was very into horror tropes at this time, so it was difficult to find early stuff that didn't have blood on it :'D -HETALIA -My art themes immediately moved into Cuteness Territory, which I've pretty much stuck with to now -Also pretty much adopted Himaruya's art style almost overnight -The prototype characters of Kaleidoscope Children began here, though I didn't start making proper art of them until next year

2010: -So much Hetalia and chibi content (I should put a cuteness warning next time) -Played around with different art techniques -Discovered SAI -Finally completed a group picture (with 50+ characters!), which is a big accomplishment considering how easily I get bored/burnt out --This was probably the first pic I did that got fairly popular

2011: -Moved over from Photoshop to SAI as my primary art program (PS was only used for extra effects) -Finally drew fanart that wasn't Hetalia, haha -My first commission -Out of my old artwork, this year was perhaps my favourite; there are a lot of works I'm still really pleased with

2012: -Half of my art this year was digital paint, and the other half was 'attempted digital watercolour', which I never really mastered... -First attempt applying for an art job (I didn't get it, but in retrospect I'm glad I didn't, I wasn't ready yet :'D ) -Joined an art contest (and only one) on deviantart

2013: -The number of original pics outnumbered fanart (especially Hetalia, I probably drew it once a year for the next few years) -In previous years I made a couple of attempts at a simplified/more cartoony art style, but didn't really settle on something until this year, though I still primarily stuck to my more anime-influenced style -Used the Fringe tool for shading for a few years

2014: -Too busy with school, probably only made like 5 proper pics this entire year -For the next few years, I drew eyes where the lineart has no gaps between the eyelids (so more Western-ish) -Started experimenting with darker shading -First attempt at detailed food

2015: -Also not very productive -Got a food art commission

2016: -Still not very productive -First 500+ note popular pic -Stopped adding highlights to hair

2017: -Started reviving KalChi and gave them new profile pics -Wasn't super proud of my art style at this point (particularly how I drew eyes)

2018: -BNHA -Finally I had a series to obsess over again and draw lots of fanart for again! -For some reason, something clicked toward the end of the year, and I started to really like drawing??? (not that I had low self-esteem about my art, but most of what I drew didn't feel grand or special or super memorable) -New tricks: Multiply for the lineart layer, also finally drawing a decent BG instead of mostly blank/basic BGs

2019: -New lineart technique, which for lack of a better term I call the 'traditional/marble-chiseling technique', which makes me feel like less of a perfectionist due to the rougher lineart 👍 (i.e.: the rough sketch becomes the final lineart, I don't make a separate layer for the final lineart anymore) -Drew eyes differently (lineart gaps again and smaller irises) inspired by BNHA's art style -Getting back into making comics frequently again -Also more proper BGs! -Perhaps the highest enjoyment I've had yet

2020: -Zines! -The most detail I've done yet -Tablet dies in the middle of my 3rd zine work in mid-late summer (R.I.P.), while I finished it with my backup tablet --This became my first 1000+ note popular pic!

#my posts

2 notes · View notes

abbaccha · 4 years

Text

khr oc partial bio!

how she ends up in varia is still being thought about :’)

(see the full images here: 01 | 02)

Basic Information

Name: Vitaliya Squalo Aliases/Nicknames: Vit, Liya, _22235 (10YL exclusive) Age: 16 Gender: F Date of Birth: September 17 Family: Vongola Famiglia Team/Title: Varia Reinforcement Squad Member

Weapons: Rifles and combat knives Box Animal: - (No flame gang)

Hobbies/Interests: Decluttering, watching GRWM videos online, growing indoor plants that don't need soil, and looking at pictures of empty apartments on Pinterest. There is something eerily calming about them. Basically she does nothing productive.

Favorite Food(s): Food at or below room temperature, small bites. Most stuff are fine as long as the texture is not gross. Her diet is made up of several small meals throughout the day. People notice and comment "you're always eating?".

Favorite Color(s): Earth tones in general, but it doesn't show in her wardrobe.

Least Favorite Food(s): Curry and taro. The latter one in particular? Absolutely ew.

Least Favorite Color(s): Colors are fine she has nothing against them.

Other Likes: Electro pop music, she pretends she's over it. Foundation (makeup) that smells subtly nice.

Other Dislikes: Shenanigans, having to come up with reactions during boring conversations just to show she's raised correctly, and the fact that high heels are visually pleasing but functionally impractical.

Theme Song: DRUGS by lil aaron suits Vitaliya if you ignore the lyrics. The melody is so lit?

Appearance

Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Silver Hair Length: Waist-length (sorry i really like the signature squalo look rip) Skin Tone: Fair with cool undertone Height: 168 cm Weight: 51 kg Wardrobe: "This is not a phase mom" attire, mostly black. (present timeline) High neckline, all shades of gray, high-waisted jeans. Comfort always comes first. (10YL)

Personality

Reserved, judgmental and a bit of a killjoy. She has an opinion of everyone but keeps it to herself, but it's not like she is vocal about anything else at all. Unless spoken to, she usually just minds her own business. But just by her sharp stares, you know she's judging something hard on the inside.

She has low social needs and is able to assertively say "no". Thus it is easy for her to act tough, while in reality she is definitely not fearless. For starters, full grown men in the mafia who can fight are pretty intimidating already.

When she was younger (before the age of 19), she was fairly nervous and uncertain but chose to mask it with silence. But as she gets more comfortable with being herself and the surroundings, she doesn't care that much? She can comfortably sit through a heated confrontation, as long as she's not involved.

Compared to the rest of the group, she's pretty tame since most of the time she can play by the rules just fine.

Over the years, she has built a comfort zone she's not quite willing to step out of. Sticking to the old familiar things is always better, she thinks.

One positive thing about her is her work ethic. She likes to end bullshit and get things done, no fun allowed at work.

In conclusion, she is distantly cold but has her shit together.

History

Still under development. But below are the basic ideas:

Vitaliya's family has a background in arms dealing. She was half Russian (father's side) and half Italian (mother's side). While her father was overseas doing business with not only governments, Vitaliya and her mother resided in the Italian countryside. Life was good and comfortable, Vitaliya was close to her mother's side of the family as they lived pretty close by.

Superbi Squalo is her cousin. They have an okay relationship. I think that something happened and prompted Vitaliya to adopt her mother’s maiden name.

She received gun training from a family friend/business partner.

Known for being very careful and tidy when it comes to finishing people off. Later was invited to join Varia.

Became a deep web hitman on the side, goes by the literally meaningless alias _22235. This happened a few years after the present timeline.

Friends

Old friends from school. Vitaliya still talks to them occassionally, not mentioning her current profession of course.

She's getting along with some Varia members (not the executives) who are also hateful bitches. Their "friendship" is based solely on the fact that they dislike the same things/people.

This is obviously self-indulgent but she's on good (or at least neutral) terms with the executives. Bel and Vitaliya formed some kind of odd bond through being the only two edgy teens. I imagine their friendship is not "intense" in a "we talk everyday we are bffs" way, they just keep each other company for they have the most in common. In the 10YL timeline, their interaction dynamic is Bel saying the outlandish stuff he always says and Vitaliya going "you're full of shit".

I would write a short paragraph about Superbi here, but saying a relative is your friend is kinda lame skjfh. Just know that they used to be close as kids(teens), so now they’re comfortable being relatives even in a professional environment.

(Decent) people she sees everyday on the deep web.

Enemies

No personal enemies.

Abilities and Weapons

She uses all sorts of guns like a normal person, nothing special about how she does her job. As a safety precaution, she keeps a combat knife on her person at all times. But of course she's not an expert on hand-to-hand combat.

When on mission, she can be extremely patient, preying on the target for as long as needed for the perfect chance to strike.

that’s about it for now! if you read through all of it, i THANK YOU :’’’D you’re the mvp. if there’s anything that doesn’t make sense, it’s probably because i haven’t touched the manga in years, please bear with me. i hope it’s canonically acceptable for people with no flame to join varia, if not i would be caught off guard... also english is not my first language, so the writing here is not the best lmao.

#khr oc #oc #varia #i should start tagging liya-related content #vitaliya #khr #also LMFAO i made a vine compilation mainly to show what liya is like #lemme know if you're interested in seeing it :O

48 notes · View notes

kerfufflewatch · 5 years

Note

Candy/ pastries or your pain is mine

everyone asked for candy/pastries, and I wrote way too much, and I’m pretending that’s because everyone asked for it and not because I have no self-control

[on AO3]

"Kinda surprised you like sweet stuff that much," McCree remarks.

Hanzo only gives him the barest of glances before returning his attention to the doughnut box on the counter. McCree had found a proper doughnut shop while they were here in the States--one of those local places that was big enough to be noteworthy but small enough to still have product worth talking about--and brought back a solid half-dozen to the safehouse. It was, admittedly, entirely too much sugar even for two grown men, but it'd been a long and frankly boring mission and he thought they deserved something.

After a moment's deliberation, Hanzo liberates the box of its blueberry cake doughnut and sets it on a napkin that is already dusted with crumbs and flakes of glaze. "And why is that?" he asks as he sets to pouring a cup of coffee.

"Dunno. You're so fit. Figured you were one of those guys who counted every calorie and eats their body weight in protein every day."

Hanzo snorts softly at that. "The fact that I put some thought into my meal composition, unlike some people, does not make me obsessed."

"Mmhm."

Hanzo shoots him a glare that is more amused than annoyed, then returns to his coffee. "You are not too far off, I suppose," he says, slowly pouring milk into his cup until it reaches the precise color he deems acceptable. "When I was younger, I did maintain a much stricter diet--it was considered childish to indulge in something with no health benefits. After, it simply became one of those things that I did not need and did not permit myself."

"And now?"

"Now I have learned that denying myself cake will not restore my honor." His coffee spoon clinks sharply against the countertop.

"Nah. Not unless it was a real good cake." Hanzo laughs a little and, as always, it makes McCree's heart flutter and his mouth incapable of shutting up just in case he can get Hanzo to do it again. "What's your favorite, then?"

Hanzo has to think on that for a moment. Then he answers, "Taiyaki, I think. Although to be fair, I think it is mostly whatever I am in the mood for."

McCree hides his smile in his coffee cup. He really is too far gone to be helped. "Fair enough."

"What about you?"

McCree shrugs. "Never had that much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. I mean, yeah, here and there," he adds, gesturing vaguely at the doughnut box, "but . . . I guess I'd never turn down a slice of apple pie, though."

The corner of Hanzo's mouth lifts in something that might be amusement, though McCree's not sure why. "Really."

"Used to drive my mamá mad. She must've disowned me six or seven times for it, back in the day. Why not her flan, or sopapillas, or something else she had a family recipe for." McCree chuckles at the old memory, his mother sighing and putting her flour-dusted hands on her hips as her son continued to betray their proud Mexican heritage. "But yeah. That's the favorite, I think."

Hanzo laughs softly. "A troublemaker at every turn."

"That's me." McCree brushes past Hanzo to pour himself another cup of coffee. Going by the files Winston sent this morning, it’s looking like it might be a half-pot kind of day. “Gotta say, though, damn hard to find any decent apple pie out where we’re stationed. They got stuff like it around, I guess, but none of it’s quite right. Think the last time I had any was . . .”

He trails off. He’d been about to say it was probably the better part of a year and a half, but come to think of it, it’s probably been about a year. It wasn’t much, but he remembers now: serving himself a cup of burnt diner coffee and a slice of pie from the display case, sitting in a cracked vinyl seat with the best view of the railroad over the gorge, getting one bite in before having to abandon it. He’d barely appreciated it at the time with his attention focused elsewhere, but the taste of tart apple and sweet cinnamon had lingered on his tongue through the hell that followed, mixed with gunpowder and dust.

“McCree?”

McCree blinks out of his reverie. His sugar spoon still hovers over his coffee, teetering and threatening to spill. He hastily dumps the sugar and gives it a stir. “Sorry. Got a little distracted there,” he says, putting on an easy smile. “Was a bit of a rough day last time, is all.”

Hanzo seems unconvinced, but he knows when to let things drop. It’s one of the many things McCree appreciates about him.

They lapse into a companionable quiet. Hanzo breaks off a small piece of the doughnut and pops it into his mouth. He absentmindedly sucks a crumb off the pad of his thumb, and McCree forgets all about pointing out that he'd actually bought that particular doughnut for himself.

—

They're both sent back to the States again within the month, but on separate, minor missions. Hanzo goes off with his brother and Angela. McCree tries not to think about how irritable that makes him.

McCree's sent out on a solo mission for three weeks, investigating a business out in Canada Winston worries might have some Talon ties. It looks and acts like a standard accounting firm, and three weeks of running coffee and organizing files doesn’t give McCree any reason to believe otherwise. The tedium slowly grates on his nerves, and being treated like a witless errand boy does so more quickly, until he’s certain that he has none left carrying him through.

The whole thing is made worse by having to maintain radio silence the entire three weeks. He wasn't necessarily the sort to enjoy long text conversations or phone calls, but he could always count on a wry response from Angela or Genji if he sent them updates or complaints, and Lena and Mei sometimes just liked to check in. He gets none of this, though, and it leaves him far too much time to think.

And of course, because his heart's a goddamn fool, he finds himself missing Hanzo the most.

For a while, as one does once a crush starts to become a little bit desperate, McCree entertains the notion of telling Hanzo in a variety of ways. With how long they've known each other, just asking for a date seems too distant. Grand gestures are something, but anything too grand would just leave Hanzo embarrassed and irritable regardless of how he felt in return. He doesn't know when Hanzo's birthday is and asking Genji would mean any surprise would be ruined.

At some point, he remembers the conversation with Hanzo during their last mission, and he thinks for far too long about gifting Hanzo with some sort of sweet thing. Cakes and candies were romantic, weren't they? Except something generic would go over about as well as a snowball taking a lovely vacation in Hell, and Hanzo deserves better than some dime-a-dozen chocolates.

He dithers and sighs and eventually forgets about the whole thing after a week or so, and the conversation shortly thereafter. The whole idea is a fool's errand, anyway--it all assumes that Hanzo would want him at all.

Just before he can drive himself mad with hypotheticals, he digs up a handwritten set of budgets in someone's locked office desk that, even coded and vague, implicate the business in some illicit dealings quite nicely. He activates the little automatic drone that helpfully scans and uploads all of the pages straight to Athena and Winston, neatly replaces everything, and slips out of the city the moment he is given the all-clear.

By the time he gets back to Gibraltar, the combination of a shitty mission and an equally shitty flight has him too exhausted and irritable. He checks in with Winston, drags himself through the shower, and flops onto his bed. He’s too antsy for sleep, but he can at least use a few minutes with his eyes closed before he has to dodge the rest of the team to find food.

He only gets a couple of minutes before there is a knock on his door. He sighs up at the ceiling. “Just a sec.”

His irritation all but evaporates when he opens the door to find Hanzo on the other side. He has a paper bag in one arm, wafting the rich scent of food, and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Well damn," McCree says. "Rollin' out a hero's welcome."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, even as he smiles. "Hello to you, as well. I thought you might like to celebrate your success, but if not . . ."

McCree snorts. "Success. Yeah. We'll call it that."

His tone makes Hanzo's smile immediately drop in a way that makes McCree's stomach do the same.

"Was I mistaken?" Hanzo asks. "The mission brief suggested you were successful, but . . ."

McCree groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “No, you weren't. Sorry, Han," he says wearily. "Was just a long, frustrating sort of job. Bunch of annoying assholes, then me doing a whole lot of nothin’ to prove that they’re assholes. Got me in a bit of a mood, y’know?”

“Oh. I am sorry. Perhaps I should have considered--would you like me to go?”

His expression of mild concern might have fooled anyone else, but McCree knows better nowadays, and he sees the flash of disappointment as it crosses his face. "No, 'course not," he says. "Just warnin' you I might not be the best company."

Hanzo nods, but his brow is still pinched with uncertainty. McCree reaches to take the bag. "Got a couple glasses if you wanna pour us a drink," he says, nodding to the pair he keeps on his desk just for this purpose.

"I--yes."

McCree pauses as he lifts the first box out of the bag. "Seriously, what's buggin' you?"

"It is nothing."

It's clearly not nothing, but no amount of prying will get Hanzo to talk if he doesn't want to. He unpacks both their meals, but pauses when he finds a third box at the bottom of the bag. This one is smaller and clearly from a different place entirely.

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, but he is pointedly not watching McCree, pretending to need his entire focus to pour their drinks. McCree opens the box.

What he finds is an apple pie. A full one, untouched, with the slightly uneven look to the crust that comes from something handmade. He looks to Hanzo again, his mouth running dry.

"Why . . . ?" he starts, and finds himself unable to finish the question.

Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs one shoulder, now very interested in the contents of his glass. "We ended up getting dinner the last night of our mission," he says, too casually. "One of their specialties was apparently their pies, and I remembered what you had said before."

Forgetting dinner entirely, McCree grabs one of the forks from the bag and carves out a piece of the pie right from the center. Hanzo mutters "That is barbaric," but is ignored.

It's good, definitely one of the better apple pies he's had--tart apples and sweet cinnamon, perfectly flaky crust that just about melts on the tongue. But it's the full realization of what Hanzo's done--not only remembering some inane conversation from weeks ago, but going out of his way to bring back a gift--that has him struggling to speak.

"Thank you, Hanzo" McCree says when he finally has his voice again. "This is real nice of you." Hanzo gives him a halfhearted smile. "Is this what's been eatin' at you this whole time?"

Hanzo purses his lips and runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass, which is now conspicuously empty. It is a long moment before he answers. "I had hoped to--to have a rather different conversation, but now I believe it might be better saved for another time, if you are not feeling well. It is no matter."

McCree's heart feels full to bursting. He sets aside the box and sits beside Hanzo on the bed. He knocks his hand lightly against Hanzo's and leaves it there, fingers resting in the valleys of Hanzo's knuckles. "Dunno," he says. "Seems like it might be somethin' worth talking about to me."

Realization dawns on Hanzo's face slowly. When he finally meets McCree's eye again, it's with a shy, sweet smile.

Much later, after confessions and dinner and a few self-conscious laughs are shared, McCree offers to split the rather large piece of pie with Hanzo. It's good, and he ends up eating most of it, but finds it tastes better off Hanzo's lips.

#Kerfuffle Fic #scenario prompts #Overwatch #McHanzo #Anonymous

211 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 5 years

Text

LA's Asian Locations

Hello! I’m Kore, I’m Korean, Thai, and Chinese, and live in LA. I’m going to be sending some other things in, in a seperate POC Profile, but this was getting long. But if anyone ever is writing about Asians in LA(since there are… you know… a lot of Asians in LA), or just LA in generally and want to have their character visit one of parts of the city where more Asian people live, here is a small guide to most of them.

Westside

Asian-Americans in LA have a shit ton of places you can go. To begin with is the Westside. This is the area near the Ocean, but isn’t directly on it generally. It’s called the Westside, because it’s almost the western most part of LA. On the Westside there’s Little Persia, with a lot of Persian food, and UCLA. This is specifically called Westwood, but we also call it the Westside. So hah. But because of UCLA there ends up being more East Asians around here because of UCLA, because of this, there’s a super strong East Asian presence around here with a lot of restaurants and stuff. In Mar Vista around here, there’s also a Chinese School that’s super big and popular.

Little Osaka

Then there’s Little Osaka, technically still part of the Westside, also technically called Sawtelle because it’s like three, maybe four, blocks of Sawtelle Blvd. But Little Osaka deserves a special mention of it’s own. This is the first of two Japanese areas in LA, however, Little Osaka also has a lot of Korean things, with many Korean people running Japanese stores. Little Osaka, is super popular to just mostly get food. There’s nothing actually to do here? But hey, food.

Koreatown

Next is Koreatown. So this place is almost in the heart of LA, it’s about 30 min to an hour from the Westside in terms of driving. This is half residential and half not. It’s 100% lit at night. In the heart of Koreatown we’ve got a lot of night clubs, and places to drink. On the peripherals, it’s dead at night. But there’s good food, and a lot of supermarkets. Around 60k Koreans live here alone. There are a lot more than that in LA. Around here is also Little Bangledesh. I’ve never actually been, but that’s also mostly made up of Korean people. Recently Little Bangledesh tried to take over half of Koreatown and make it into little Bangledesh, but was defeated in a vote, as Korean people really didn’t appreciate that.

Right outside of here is Wilshire Korean School, which is a bilingual private school that has Korean School on Saturdays. This is one of maybe… three? Proper Korean schools in LA, most people just home teach their kids Korean. There are two supermarkets here. Galleria and HMart, both of them in Plaza sort of places. Galleria’s has better food, and probably better shopping. But HMart is the OG Asian supermarket and is near two really awesome desert places. One of them you can get a sweet bread, shaped like a fish, filled with ice cream and either red bean, custard, or nutella, and the other one you can get patbingsoo at, or Korean shaved ice.

Little Tokyo

There’s also Little Tokyo. Which I don’t think I’ve ever been to, odd, since I’ve lived in LA my whole life. But I mostly keep to Koreatown and the Westside too.

Chinatown(s)

Okay now for the Chinatowns. So there’s technically one, and that’s in the middle of LA. But let me tell you, that’s not Chinatown. It was, once upon a time, however, a lot of Chinese people moved out of there and to either Alhambra, or Montery Park. So we’ve got Old Chinatown, New Chinatown, and Chinatown. Now I can’t remember whether Montery Park or Alhambra is Old or New, but these are both out a bit a ways from the Chinatown in the middle of LA.

In that Chinatown, all the festivals are thrown. It’s also tiny. Alhambra is a lot more laid out than Montery, which is super laid out. But Montery Park, and Alhambra, have got great food. Also no social lives, but great great food. There’s a supermarket here, when you leave the heart of Chinatown, and walk for maybe 10 minutes, that’s probably the biggest Thai supermarket I’ve ever seen. I mean… You can buy so much coconut sugar here. It's insane.

Thaitown

There’s also Thaitown!! Which is closer to Koreatown than both Old and New Chinatown. This is where you can get a lot of Thai Food, and products. There’s not a lot to do here, and it’s mostly disappearing. But food. Really though, this place is super duper duper boring.

Little India

There’s Little India as well. It’s maybe three streets at most.

Little Saigon

Little Saigon is the heart and soul of the Vietnamese diaspora in LA. It’s beautiful, and actually really awesome. Unlike Thaitown though, you can get good Vietnamese food outside of it. They’ve got streetfood (illegal in LA technically), and a super duper ginourmous market that’s bigger than the biggest HMart that I’ve ever see. It’s so… big.

Everything else isn’t of much note, I’m not going to lie. I hope you’ve enjoyed this guide! I enjoyed writing it for sure.

More PoC Profiles here

Commentary

I’m assuming much of the above is confined to Los Angeles (City) proper. Because much of the Asian population in LA moves pretty fluidly between cities, here are my additions for LA County as a whole (including some key LA landmarks that were left out).

Torrance, Gardena and parts of Culver City: Home to the largest Nikkei and Japanese expat population in LA. This used to be the homebase for Toyota America until they moved their HQ close to their factories in Texas. However, many other Japanese companies still use this region for their American homebases, and as such the biggest Japanese grocery chains (Nijiya, Tokyo Central and Mitsuwa) all operate their largest Californian stores here. This region also has sizable Korean, SE Asian and S. Asian communities. One of LA’s more popular Indian grocers (Samosa House) is based in Culver City. Asahi Gakuen, a Japanese Saturday language school designed to help Japanese American kids keep up with the Japanese national curriculum, is also based here.

San Gabriel Valley aka 626: This includes not only Alhambra, Montebello and Monterey Park, but also Arcadia, Covina, West Covina, San Gabriel, Duarte, El Monte, Commerce, Asuza and Chino). It’s a pretty big, diverse place home to a large number of diaspora in various waves from Taiwan, mainland China, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia and South Asia. The annual 626 Night Market (a street food fair) is held near the Santa Anita racetracks. When I was a kid, most of my lion dance jobs for the Lunar New Year were in Old Chinatown, but they have all since moved here. The diversity in cuisine is incredible. To get a sense of just how many different types of food there are out here, I recommend reading old reviews by the late, great Jonathan Gold from the LA Times.

Glendale and Pasadena: Large Armenian and Persian communities. Lots of very good bakeries, restaurants and also Armenian evangelical churches.

Artesia and Norwalk: Little India, basically, but there are also large Vietnamese and Filipino communities. Pioneer Blvd. in Artesia in particular has many Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi grocers, restaurants and clothing shops.

All of the cities I have mentioned have things like language schools, religion and culture centers, grocers, restaurants, etc. specific to the communities I’ve described above.

Religion (Major landmarks):

Hinduism: Venkateswara Temple - Malibu; Shri Swaminarayan Mandir Temple - Chino Hills;

Buddhism: Zen Center Los Angeles - Koreatown; Koyasan Betsuin - Little Tokyo; Nishi Honganji - Little Tokyo; Higashi Honganji - Little Tokyo; Zenshuji Soto Mission - Little Tokyo; Guan Di temple - Old Chinatown

Taoism: Thien Hau Temple - Old Chinatown

Shintoism: Konko Church - Boyle Heights, Gardena, Whittier

There are also many gurdwaras and mosques spread out throughout LA County (North Hollywood in particular for LA proper), but I’m not saying where they are because humanity is terrible.

Addendums for Little Tokyo:

Japanese American Museum: Covers the history of Japanese Americans in the US, internment during WWII and Little Tokyo. Also provides assistance to families looking to review historical, declassified records about interned relatives.

Nihonmura Plaza: main setting for festivals for Tanabata, Obon and New Years. Has a nifty looking traditional Japanese fire tower

Kinokuniya: LA branch of a major Japanese bookstore chain

Addendums for Koreatown:

Dawooljung/ Korean Pavilion: A gazebo and open space across the street from the Seoul International Park and the Koreatown Community Center

Schools for Eastern Medicine/ Acupuncture: There are at least 2 schools in Koreatown for Eastern/ Chinese/ Alternative medicine that quite a few Asian Americans who run their own clinics have trained at.

LA is so big and so diverse that there’s no one way to really capture how much of Asia is represented here. I know our county registrar and DMV offers information in Armenian, Chinese, Cambodian/Khmer, Farsi, Korean, Tagalog/Filipino, Vietnamese, Hindi/ Urdu, and Japanese because at least 5% of the voting population speaks each of those languages. I’d love to see further additions from other Asian Los Angelenos.

- Marika.

#POC Profiles #submission #Asian #East Asian #Asian American #Chinese #Korean #Japanese #Thai #Vietnamese #LA #USA #settings #writer reference #culture #food #worldbuilding

698 notes · View notes

pixelgrotto · 4 years

Photo

Remake of Mana

Roughly a year ago, I highlighted the official English localization of Seiken Densetsu 3, AKA Trials of Mana, AKA a game that meant a lot to me growing up as an introduction to the incredible efforts of the fan translation, ROM hacking, and import JRPG communities. It took us 24 years to finally get a sanctioned translation, but now, within the relatively short span of 2019 to 2020, we not only have a localized original at our disposal but a fully-fledged remake with three dimensional environments, voices, a revised combat system and several extra goodies to satiate Seiken faithful.

Playing this game during the coronavirus lockdown, and furthermore during a nice two week vacation period where I was between jobs, was very much a reminder of the period of my life where I had a lot of time to play video games and was most touched by Japanese roleplaying experiences. I’m talking about that middle/early high school teenage era of 12 to 16, where I plowed through oodles of these colorful stories about teenagers leveling up to inevitably save the world (or kill god) via the power of friendship. The Trials of Mana remake is very much comfort food that brings back all memories of that period. The gang that you remember - Duran, Kevin, Hawkeye, Angela, Riesz and Charlotte - are all back and instantly recognizable, and aside from the inclusion of some post-game content revolving around a character from Dawn of Mana for the PS2 (a game that got shite reviews when it came out, but I sorta wanna play now), all the scenes in Trials of Mana 2020 play out the same way that they did in the original, just fancier and with more dimensions. Riesz still unfurls her hairband and stands dramatically on a bridge as she pledges to take down the assassins who killed her father. Charlotte still escapes from Wendel via jumping atop a bouncy little monster called a Springstepper. Booskaboo the giant turtle (sorry, I mean Vuscav, since they insist on using the name established in Heroes of Mana) still shows up randomly to save the squad from an exploding volcano, looking cuddly and ridiculous as ever with his goggles and lil’ shell flag.

While the plot might be the same, this remake nicely updates much in the gameplay department. The combat is arguably a lot more engaging than in Seiken Densetsu 3, with the ability to jump adding verticality, and there are many solid boss battles that reminded me of an MMORPG at times, with colorful, telegraphed moves and stuff dropping around the battlefield that you need to destroy in order to weaken the boss’ ultimate attack. (DPS checks, in other words - I image that some of the devs are players of Final Fantasy XIV.) Kevin’s damage output, which produced insane numbers in the original game due to a bug, have been fixed, and you no longer have to grind endlessly for the required items to transition to class 3. (I only found myself grinding for about twenty minutes in one section, which is pretty good considering the two hours I had to grind when I recently replayed the original last year.) Speaking of classes, there’s a new class 4 that turns almost all of the party members into strippers, and Lil Cactus from Legend of Mana shows up to bestow bonuses on players who search every inch of the world’s sizable new maps.

My only real issue with Trials of Mana 2020, then, is that the game does feel like a budget production at times. The voice acting is reminiscent of an inconsistent anime dub and has generated a noticeable amount of criticism online, with most people targeting Charlotte’s UwU speech as grating on their nerves like nails on chalkboard. Personally, I like Charlotte’s Brooklyn accent, and consider her performance to be one of the most consistent. (Lumina the light elemental, who talks in a fabulous gay voice, is another such inspired choice.) Regarding graphics, the game’s outward style, based on the work of new series artist HACCAN, definitely grew on me over the course of 30-some hours...but there’s a fair amount of model clipping on display and half of the environments have these really low texture mountains in the background that stand out the more you look at them. When you compare these looks to the original Seiken Densetsu 3 - one of the most advanced, gorgeous Super Famicom projects ever, with sprites rivaling similar RPGs for the Playstation and Saturn - the low budget that Trials of Mana got becomes evident, especially compared to all of the money that Square dumped into the Final Fantasy VII remake, which came out the same month.

But at the end of the day, this is a loving and especially faithful revision of an old game, and I think players have noticed and appreciate that. Conversely, the Final Fantasy VII Remake (which I haven’t played yet as I’m awaiting the PC version) has gotten noticeable flak for an unfamiliar ending that spins things into left field. Both approaches towards remaking a classic are probably valid at the end of the day, but Trials of Mana 2020 is, once again, a comforting, unpretentious new wrapper around a classic 16-bit RPG, and for a series that often flies under the radar, fans couldn’t ask for much better than that.

Fingers crossed that Square remakes Legend of Mana next - now that's an underrated masterpiece that deserves a new audience in this day and age.

#pixel grotto #video games #now playing #trials of mana #seiken densetsu 3

4 notes · View notes

imagine-organization-xiii · 5 years

Note

More Domestic HCs because I’m such a sap: Morning after a hot night. It’s Saturday. No one needs to work, just a soft and nice kind of morning. Who wakes up first? Who makes breakfast? Who stays in bed and doesn’t want to get up? Stuff like that (๑>◡

There are a few hints at sex here so i excluded the babies, otherwise everything is fair game

Xemnas

Xemnas is always the one who wakes up first between the two of you. Even when he doesn’t have his alarm set, his internal clock will wake him up sometime around 5:30 or 6:00 AM, no matter what time he falls asleep at night. He’ll probably want coffee or something but it really isn’t urgent for him, and he’ll be reluctant to shift around in the bed because he won’t want to wake you up. You had both had a late night and he knows that you need your sleep. Besides, it’s the weekend. You’ve been working hard and you both deserve a little rest and relaxation.

He’ll stay in bed beside you, leaning against the headboard and reading through a book or writing a report or something, but he’ll start to get antsy at around 6:30. He doesn’t like the feeling that he isn’t being productive and needs to walk around and stretch his limbs at the very least, otherwise he’ll feel like he basically wasted the day.

Eventually, when the craving for coffee or tea becomes too much, he’ll drag himself out of bed to make you both a cup of whatever he feels like drinking that day, grab the paper, and head back to his bedroom. Being an early riser yourself, you were probably already starting to wake up when he first began to climb out of the bed, and you’ll peer at him from beneath the sheets that cover your bare skin as he walks into the room with a mug in each hand.

After you pull yourself from the covers and wrap your fingertips around the mug he gives you, you move so that you’re leaning against the headboard and blinking at him blearily. He’ll settle beside you and prop open the paper so the two of you can read, even though you’re more likely to just lean against his shoulder and let him tell you the news of the day. “Anything interesting?” you’ll usually end up asking.

“Hmm…“ He would clear his throat and fight back a yawn and usually shake his head. Rarely is there something in the headlines that he finds interesting. “Not really. Same as usual.“

The rest of the morning is spent similarly, usually in companionable silence until the two of you force yourselves to climb out of bed and face the bed.

Xigbar

The person who wakes up first really depends on what you did the night before. If it was a round of hot sex, you’ll usually be the first one awake. If it was a real workout in the gym, Xigbar is the first to open his eyes more often than not. Today, you were the first one awake. Twice. The night before was wild and exhausting so the moment you woke up and saw that the clock said that the time was before 8:00 AM, you immediately groaned, turned your face into Xigbar’s bare chest, and fell back asleep.

You woke up again at around 11:00 to the feeling of the sun beating against your eyelids through the crack in the curtains, and you couldn’t fall back asleep even though you tried.

After several moments of just laying in bed and enjoying the feel of the warm sheets and the pleasantly satisfying smell of sweat and sex left over in the air, you pull yourself to your feet and grab the first piece of clothing in the floor to wrap around yourself. Your immediate stop is the bathroom, then the kitchen to prepare yourself a well-deserved breakfast - bacon (extra crispy), eggs (scrambled), and toast (one slice with butter for you and the other slice with grape jelly for Xigbar.)

Xigbar usually wakes up at the first smell of food when you enter the room with your tray of breakfast in hand, climbing carefully into the bed with your tray resting in your lap. His hair is wild, completely all over the place, and he peers up at you from underneath the strands. His partially closed eyelids examine the plate suspiciously. “Is some of that for me?”

“Hm.“ You take a pointed bite of the bacon, chewing on the piece thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll share with you since you were so nice to me last night.“

He grins, wildly and unashamed and smug. Sitting back on his forearms as the blanket falls dangerously low on his lap, he leans forward with the obvious intention of giving you a passionate, sweet kiss. “Oh, baby, I can be a lot nicer if you want me to be…” But you stop him mid-movement by shoving his piece of toast into his half open mouth.

“Less flirting; more eating,“ you commanded, grinning as he sputtered on crumbs. “The eggs are getting cold, so help me finish this or go brush your teeth. You have morning breath.“

“And you have sex hair, but you don’t hear me complaining.“ He swallowed a large bite of the toast and obediently reached out to grab the fork to take a scoop of the eggs.

“Just eat the food I lovingly made for you.“

He grinned, winking. “Yes, ma’am.”

Xaldin

You never really sleep well after wild, hot nights, because that’s just the way that the world works for you. You sleep… decently, but it’s never the best, if only because Xaldin is usually so worn out that he passes out and snores deeply on those nights. When he’s exhausted and satisfied and boneless, there’s almost nothing that can wake him up.

That being said, you’re pretty much always the first person to wake up on any day. You take it upon yourself to go about your daily routine of showering, getting dressed, cleaning up if the two of you made a mess the night before, all while Xaldin sleeps soundly through the morning.

If you’re feeling particularly generous, you’ll be the one who goes to make breakfast for the both of you, maybe some biscuits with sausages or eggs and bacon - something filling, because that’s what he likes on those sorts of morning - something with protein that’ll get him ready for the day. You’ll bring him a cup of coffee and some orange juice because you know he likes to switch up what he drinks with his meal, and you’ll end up having whatever he doesn’t want. It’s a weird system, but it works pretty well for the both of you.

He usually rises when he smells the food, stretching his arms and flexing his muscles to wake them up after a long night, his hair a wild mess that you know he’s going to hate dealing with when he gets ready for the day after breakfast.

You’ll share breakfast with him if you feel like eating, but more often than not you’ll end up climbing into bed beside him, taking a few bites when he offers them, then curling up under the warm covers and pressing your leg against his thigh. You’ll no doubt end up falling asleep for a light nap while he finishes his breakfast.

You’ll wake when he gets out of bed, watching with half-closed eyes as he walks around the room to gather his clothes, but he’ll brush some hair back from your forehead and kiss your temple and you’ll end up napping again for another hour or so.

Vexen

Some days, waking up with Vexen aren’t really pleasant, if only because you don’t wake up with him at all. You’ll drag yourself out of an empty bed at 7 AM and stomp down to the lab to see that Vexen is peering into a microscope and dressed in his pajamas and you are absolutely furious. You know that the two of you went to bed together that night, unless that was someone else you were rolling around with in the sheets, so the fact that he literally got out of bed and brought himself down to the lab after you fell asleep really pisses you off.

Those types of days were pretty common at the beginning of your relationship, but they are becoming fewer and fewer as the weeks go on. You’re getting used to the idea of waking up next to Vexen and it helps that he knows he won’t be able to climb out of the bed without waking you up, especially if you cling to him or fall asleep on top of his chest.

He still wakes up early, though, and you don’t mind. You know that there are some times when he just needs to get his thoughts down on paper because he just had a brilliant, genius idea, so he’ll usually rush out of bed, get dressed, and head straight down to the lab.

You try to look on those situations with fondness instead of annoyance. it’d be nice to be able to wake up with him every once in a while, but you know that there are some things you can’t control when it comes to Vexen and his brain.

On other occasions, which are actually some of your favorites, Vexen will be awake and writing in a notebook by the time you wake up. On those mornings, you know he wants to speak with you or get your opinion on whatever ideas flew into his brain the night before, so you’ll rest on your side as he speaks and gestures wildly. Every so often you’ll answer a question or give your opinion, but you just like listening to him speak about his passions.

At some point, you’ll end up climbing out of bed to get you both a cup of coffee, and you’re very happy on the days where you return to your room and still see that he’s in the same place that you left him.

Lexaeus

Depending on the day and how he feels the night before, Lexaeus may or may not set an alarm to get up early to go for a jog or for a morning workout with Xaldin. On those days, he tries to slip out of bed before you’re disturbed, but he’s a big guy and stealth isn’t one of his strong points, so you usually just watch half-lidded as he gathers his things and then fall back asleep until you wake up naturally.

On the days where he sleeps in a bit, he still wakes up fairly early out of sheer habit. It surprised you when you first shared a bed with him when he turned out to be an early riser, but you don’t really mind it. Most days, he usually just stays in bed with you until you wake up, dozing and curling around you like your own life-size teddy bear.

Other days, more often than not when your relationship began to progress, you would wake up to a special, homemade breakfast - one that was different every day. On one day there would be French toast with syrup and powdered sugar along with a cup of coffee; another would bring Belgian waffles covered in fruit and a glass of orange juice; another would be bacon, eggs, toast, and a cold glass of milk. He dabbled when it came to breakfast and it was always a pleasant surprise when you woke up to him entering the room with a tray of steaming food for you to have breakfast in bed.

On the days where you get up earlier than he does, you always try to return the favor, but you usually never get the chance. He isn’t asleep for long after he rolls over and finds that you aren’t in the bed with him. He’ll usually end up finding you in the kitchen and you’ll share breakfast or a cup of coffee at the table in relative silence until the two of you are ready to start the day.

Zexion

You and Zexion are both early risers, but he usually ends up going to bed much later than you do. The unspoken rule that you’ve established is that whoever is the first one to wake up is the first one who has to get dressed, drag themselves out of bed, and make the coffee. It’s usually Zexion, but he doesn’t mind. He likes the process of making coffee, even going through a long phase of grinding his own coffee beans and experimenting with different types of creamers.

Doesn’t bother with breakfast unless he sees a piece of fruit or something that’s easy to carry. He doesn’t eat breakfast and you don’t like to eat right after you wake up, so coffee is enough for both of you.

He’ll have at least two cups of coffee before he even thinks about going to take a shower or rushing down to the lab. He’ll get his first cup and climb back into bed with his book, allowing you to cuddle up against him as you sip from your own cup. He’ll finish his drink, climb out of bed for a refill, then climb back into bed until he’s finished. Only then, when he’s actually awake and ready to face the day, will he head to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

There are rare moments when you’ll convince him to join you again in bed after he’s had his shower. Where he walks out of the bathroom drying his hair and you tug him pointedly by the arm and drag him down next to you. He’ll complain and grumble and groan but will stay with you anyway, usually until Vexen comes searching for him.

Saix

A morning person through and through, but like the most infuriating morning person in the world who thinks that you’re wasting the day if you sleep in and that everyone should be awake at five AM like he is. Sleeping until six is considered a luxury to him and it drives you absolutely insane.

You’ve gotten used to waking up early, but there are some days - days that you can’t help but look forward to - where you’ll pull him back into bed for a little extra time together before you both go your separate ways for the day. You rarely see him during daytime, so it’s always nice to strengthen the time you have together.

Saix isn’t usually a guy who gets breakfast despite the fact that you insist it’s the most important meal of the day, but he’ll sit and eat with you if you go through the effort of making something for him. You can pretty much guarantee that you’ll entice him with a large cup of tea or coffee and a nice omelet, so you try to take advantage of that as much as you can.

There are other nice days, usually on the weekend, when he’ll wake up and make breakfast for you. It’s always something different - a cup of fruit and some yogurt, bacon and eggs, homemade waffles, etc. He likes to experiment with breakfast when he can and you’re happy to reap the benefits of those experiments.

If you wake up and he’s already long gone, you can always bring two cups of coffee and a book to his office to share with him. He’ll probably be doing his own work so you’ll be sitting in silence, but you just like to sit in the same room sometimes. It’s a companionable silence as you both enjoy the easy, cool mornings.

Axel

Axel goes back and forth with how he wakes up. He’s either up bright and early, eyes wide and eager and full of so much of energy that he ends up waking half the castle, or he sleeps until after noon, his hair looks like a bunch of birds nested in it, and he can only speak in grunts. It’s always a toss-up - you can never predict which Axel you’ll end up waking next to.

If he’s awake early, he’ll try his best not to wake you but will ultimately fail, and you’ll encourage him to go burn off some energy or make himself useful by making breakfast or cleaning up a bit while you catch a few more hours of sleep. He’ll usually end up wandering around the castle, whistling to himself, and on very rare occasions, he’ll end up going for a run or something equally exhausting. He might make you breakfast, but it’s usually just a bowl of cereal because he’s not really good at making anything else.

If it’s been a long night and he sleeps late, you can easily slip out of your bed without waking him. You’ll plant a kiss on his forehead or cheek, watch him grumble to himself and bury his face in your pillow, then you’ll head to the shower to begin your day.

On these days, you’ll usually make breakfast, but you put it off for a few hours to let him get a little extra sleep. Around ten AM you’ll make some toast and some eggs - something small and light - and bring it to your room where he’ll no doubt still be sprawled across the bed. After shaking his shoulder to wake him up, the two of you will cuddle up together and share breakfast.

More often than not, he’ll end up tugging you down and forcing you to nap a bit with him before you leave. You can’t find it in yourself to complain because he’s so warm and comfortable.

Demyx

Okay. You love Demyx. You love him to pieces and you’d do anything for him, and you know he’d do the same for you. But GOD DAMN that man is IMPOSSIBLE in the mornings. Literally one of the worst morning people you’ve ever seen. Will sleep in until two or three o’clock in the evening if you let him, but you know that he’s usually up most of the night so it’s kind of understandable?

He drools, definitely. His hair is all over the place, limbs sprawled everywhere, etc. You find it a bit funny just to sit and watch him because if he’s truly exhausted, he might even talk a bit while he snoozes. You’ll sit for a while and just enjoy basking in the morning sun that’s peeking in through the curtains, curled up beside him and waiting until you really do need to climb out of bed and face the day.

Breakfast is a good way to get him out of bed, even - especially - if it’s a simple bowl of cereal. You need him out of bed for a mission or an important meeting? Put a bowl of cereal under his nose and he’ll follow it like a dog would follow someone carrying a t-bone steak. It’s also good for bribes, too. “Demyx, if you get up and go take a shower, i’ll go make you a bowl of cereal.”

He’ll moan and groan and complain and try to entice you back to bed so he can sleep, but if you stand your ground and don’t give in, he’ll get up with only one or two complaints. Demyx will practically drag himself over to the bathroom, yawning and dragging his feet, but he’ll look and feel a lot better after a shower.

Letting him have breakfast in bed would be counter-productive, so you usually make him join you in the kitchen for breakfast. He might be in danger of falling asleep in his bowl of food, but that’s okay. It’s hilarious when it happens, and you’re there to make sure he doesn’t drown in a bowl of milk.

Luxord

Usually wakes up by his own internal clock somewhere between 7 or 8 in the morning, but he’ll probably lounge in bed for another half an hour or so until he’s fully awake and ready to go about his morning routine.

Luxord likes to take his own showers early, so there are days when he’ll wake up, shower, then immediately climb back into bed to relax a bit longer. Showers are some of his favorite parts of the day and he thinks that they are a great way to help him wake up in the morning.

Needs to have a steaming cup of tea when he wakes up. He’ll eat breakfast, too, but he usually does without it. Tea, however, is a must. If he’s the first one to wake up then he’ll take the initiative to make tea for you both to enjoy in bed.

If you’re the one to wake up first, usually by an alarm, you’ll shut the machine off and immediately head over to the curtains, where you’ll pull them open and let some of the morning sunshine in. Luxord will inevitably turn away from the light, but he’ll still open his eyes and watch you as you go about your routine in the room. He’ll close his eyes and open them whenever you re-enter the room with two cups of tea and maybe some muffins or scones if there are any in the kitchen from a previous meal.

You might chat, you might sit in silence - it really depends on your mood at that particular time. But you’ll sip your tea and lean against his shoulder and doze until he pulls himself out of bed. You’ll follow him when he does, heading to take your shower to help you face the rest of the day.

Marluxia

Marluxia is always awake later than you are and he always rises earlier than you do, though you aren’t sure how he manages it. He’s always composed and bright-eyed and appearing as if he slept for a lot longer than he actually did, and you’re kind of jealous of his ability to run on mostly fumes throughout the day.

He’ll wake up and immediately head to his garden to water and check on his plants. He might even pull a few weeds if he spies a few under the leaves of the bushes, but mostly he’ll just enjoy the crisp morning air that will hep him fully wake up. His favorite days are in late Spring, when the sun is large but the air is cool and dew covers every inch of the plants.

Neither of you really eat breakfast but you do enjoy sitting in his garden with him in the morning. He enjoys a morning cup of tea while you enjoy coffee, so you’ll make a cup of each and join him in his garden where you’ll pick a shady spot to sit, relax, and enjoy each other’s company.

You might even share a shower together if the mood is right, which you both thoroughly enjoy. On those mornings, you might take a nap before heading out and doing your job, but he’ll simply dress and go about his normal routine.

Larxene

Doesn’t have any type of routine whatsoever. Morning routines vary greatly depending on the events of the night before or what Larxene is feeling at the time.

Some days she’ll sleep in, some she’ll set an alarm and wake up long before you do. There are days when she’ll drag you out of bed and into the shower with her or she’ll tug you back under the sheets to sleep a bit longer when you try to climb out of the sheets.

On the days where you spend the night enjoying each other’s company, Larxene will definitely attempt to make you stay in bed with her. She’ll wrap her arms around your wrist and pull you down on top of her, trapping you in a playful, unyielding hug. You’ll laugh and argue with her and she’ll eventually let you go with a sigh and grumble, but you might surprise her by returning with breakfast and maybe a few mimosas to enjoy together.

Larxene isn’t one to cook breakfast, but she definitely might bring you a cup of coffee or a glass of juice if you ask for it. She’ll walk around the room gathering her clothes for the day while you sit in bed and watch her pace around the room, the two of you chatting and joking about nothing in particular until you get the energy to climb out of bed.

#nopantssaturday #organization xiii #organization xiii headcanons #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts headcanon

73 notes · View notes

lovelilijazunde · 4 years

Text

60 follower special

well well well, somehow i went a whole day without registering that I hit 60 followers, and then 61, and thusly should celebrate for it!

I decided to give you: a country I created! There is other stuff for it too, but I didn’t get images of them :(

Warning: it’s long

Enjoy!

FACTS:

Create-A-Country

Note: all English spellings of the places and names have been implemented for the ease of the reader. We fully understand that Americans find it difficult to understand our written language, so we have translated into English as best we could.

Uzplauxvil (oose-PLOW-ville). The citizens are called Uzplauv. It was based off a mixture of the Latvian word for “flourishing”, uzplaukums, and the French word for town, “ville” because some of the first settlers of this area were French and Latvian, as well as English, Scandinavian, and German. The pronunciation is French-based.

Founded in 1790 on what is now the Canada/Minnesota border, it replaces the state of Minnesota and most of Ontario, as well as Wisconsin, half each of Illinois and Indiana, and shavings of Manitoba. It contains all five Great Lakes and the Headwaters of the Mississippi. North to South, it stretches from a point equal to the tip of Kentucky to Hudson Bay. East to West, it stretches from the Easternmost edge of Manitoba to the Western border of Quebec.

Uzplauxvil is landlocked, though there are many lakes contained inside of it, and it adjoins Hudson Bay. It contains a boreal shield in the North, with the Great Lakes-Lawrence forest region in the center, as well as prairie in the Southwest, coniferous forest in the Mideast, tallgrass aspen parkland in the Midwest, and deciduous forest in the Southeast. At the very Northmost stretch, there is a section of Hudson Plain. There are no mountains, only forests and plains.

The weather is cold and snowy in the winter, and warm in the summer. It gets colder the further north you go, and rainier the further East you go. It also rains a lot near the larger bodies of water. Those areas are also prone to thick fog in the fall and spring, as well as early mornings in the summer.

Most people in the Minnesosk region live around lakes, since there are so many of them there. People in Wixing, Bayside, and Dallirt tend to gravitate towards the central Great Lakes, just as Ryokin and Shlavto people tend to gravitate towards Hudson Bay. And of course, in all districts the people also center around the capitals of each district. Other than that, the population is pretty evenly distributed, with plenty of farm settlements and old logging settlements that turned into towns and cities spread across the districts.

In Uzplauxvil, there is a wide variety of work done, but a lot of it is centered around healthy logging and mining processes, as well as a booming trade in fishing. Since Uzplauxvil has so many lakes, and so many of them large, even though they are a landlocked country they still are a lead in quality fishing industry. Uzpluaxvil is very nature-based, and though this is a product mostly of the main religion, Quatrysm, it is truly a part of everyday life in Uzplauxvil. As a result of this, Uzplauxvil is regarded as the most eco-friendly developed country. They revolutionized hydroelectric power, and found a healthy substitute for coal and oil to fuel their wonderful system of elevated train tracks. They are amazingly quiet, as to disturb as little wildlife as possible. Uzplauvs have made many environmental-protection laws as a result of their belief that all creatures are equally important. Uzplauxvil has only one language. It is unique in the way that it is written. To the ear, they are speaking English, perhaps with a slight French accent in the North and West areas. But, written down, it is a mystifying alphabet of 37 letters. However, it a phonetic alphabet, with each letter having a specific sound, so it is simpler in that manner. Uzplauxvil is also unique in their numerical system, with completely different symbols than the traditional. Thus, the signs are completely indecipherable to someone who has not learned the language, and it would seem even more confusing that the inhabitants do not speak in gibberish, and instead in perfectly normal-sounding English. The alphabet is easy enough to learn. The numerical system is quite a bit harder, especially if you start out as a non-Uzplauv. There are definitely some challenges to living in Uzplauv, mostly concerning the nature-based society. Lots of people think that Uzpluaxvil should focus less on the environment and more on technology. Unfortunately, this is in opposition to their eco-friendly approach to life and religion, so thankfully this is not a generally popular idea.

There is one major religion in Uzplauxvil, even though there is freedom of religion. Since it is the religion practiced by the royal family and most government officials, is is naturally the most popular and widespread. The major religion is called Quatrysm, with the practitioners called Quatrysts. It is unique to Uzplauxvil, and is the worship of four goddesses, the Quatrys: the goddess of animals, Nkumn; the goddess of families, Calmangh; the goddess of weather, Shavook; and the goddess of plants (such as harvest or lumber), Korytir. They make up the major four aspects of life. There is also a host of smaller gods and goddesses who serve the Quatrys. They are the gods and goddesses of more everyday things such as apple trees, blacksmithing, and clouds. This belief system influences the people to be more considerate towards nature and the world around us. It has also affected our modern technology, limiting the use of pollutant-creating transport systems and factories. There are four smaller important groups: the such as the Arts: gods and goddesses of the theater, music, writing, and tactile art. The religion has no food restrictions, but you must say a blessing over every meal you are presented with, because something had to die to gift you with the bounty. Many Quatrysts are vegetarians or vegans as a result of this, and, like Europe, they eat far less meats than vegetables as opposed to the U.S.A.

The other religions include the beliefs of the Anishinaabe and Dakota native americans who originally lived in the area, as well as different sects of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism.

My country is governed by a Queen, a Council, and a Cabinet.

The Council is made up of elected overall heads of each district. Their job is to address issues in the Queendom and provide laws and solutions to be approved by the Queen. They focus on making sure the needs of each district are met.

The Queen position is hereditary, with the former Queen handpicking the most worthy of her female relatives as the new Queen. The qualities that a good Queen possesses must include a sense of justice, compassion, wisdom, a cool head under stress, common sense, and a sense of equality. She may choose any relative younger than her, including sisters (Marquess), aunts (Baroness), cousins (Duchess), nieces (Earless), daughters (Princess), granddaughters (Queenling), and grandnieces (Lady). These positions pre-Queen are mostly title only. They still have to work to put themselves in positions of power and to become landowners. This is to create a sense of humility and equality with the common people, and to create a system where anyone can advance.

It is possible that if a suitable female candidate cannot be found, that a male would ascend the throne, but it has only happened once, after the reign of Queen Judith the Progressive in 1890. There were fewer girls born into the royal family at this time, and most of them were spoiled and deceitful. Thus, faced with limited female options, Queen Judith appointed her nephew, Earl William, to the throne. He became known as King William the Just, and was a wise and fair ruler.

Any candidate must have passed the Maturity Test before she can ascend the throne, and often she takes it before beginning her training.

Common people are appointed to the Cabinet and Council, and the idea is that any future Queen should rule for the people, not the power and politics. Before becoming the Queen, the Queen Candidate must undergo vigorous training and tutoring by the Queen and the Queen’s advisors. She must be able to run a country as soon as she is crowned, so this training process takes years. Knowing this, the Queen usually begins to train a candidate as soon as possible. If the Queen dies without having handed over her throne, the paperwork would be horrendous, and the Cabinet and Council would have far more than their fair share of work. In the case of an unstable or unfit Queen, the Council and Cabinet will vote to impeach her. The Queen can pose or veto laws, and has the final say in any and all High Court cases, though she is reigned in by the judge and jury.

The Queen may marry whomever she wishes to, though it is traditional to marry an Uzplauv.

The Cabinet is appointed by the Queen and approved by the Council. The Cabinet is made up of the heads of particular parts of the government such as Treasurer, Strategist, Armorer, Judge, Cook, etc., each of them representing their entire profession as well as leading them.

Since Uzplauxvil is split up into several districts, there are smaller Cabinets and Councils within each district. In each district, the council members are made up of the Heads of each town, with the cabinet members being the same positions as the Cabinet members, just at a local level, and deferring to the Cabinet members.

There are no political parties in Uzplauxvil. Every district is focused inwards, so that is as close as they come. This is based on the Uzplauv government looking at what happens to countries with political parties, and strongly discouraging that type of behavior there.

ALPHABET AND NUMERICAL SYSTEM:

NATIONAL ANTHEM:

#follower celebration #60 follower celebration #uzplauxvil #idk if you could tell but there was hecka gay in that government #also i made the idea for this last year so some of it might be outdated-y #long post

1 note · View note

purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

659

Mosquitoes find you particularly delicious. The rainy season where I live is essentially equivalent to mosquito season, so there is definitely a certain period in a year where they are more than usual; and because I like having just my windows open when I sleep (I find the aircon too cold most of the time), the mosquitoes find their way to my room and so there’d be days I’d wake up filled with new bites. I’m lucky enough to have never had dengue. You cheated on Heads Up 7 Up in elementary school. We don’t play that here. We do have a game called 7 Up and it *may* be a variation of that, but 7 Up involves running and chasing haha. You had a favorite Spice Girl. I’m definitely not old enough to have reached Spice Girls’ peak, and out of all of them I only know Victoria Beckham. You remember watching the first episode of SpongeBob when it came out. I was only a year old when Spongebob first came out, so I didn’t watch it by then. I do know what episode you’re talking about, though – Spongebob was pretty much all I ever watched as a kid. You like to draw. I was never any good at drawing, so I hate every bit of it.

You wish you had a car. Sort of? I have my own car bought by my parents, but I am aiming to get my own car when I could afford it. My dream car is the Mini Cooper Clubman. You used to want to be a model. I’m embarrassed by it now, but it was a legitimate dream of mine before, so much so that I let my dad know of my intention (then) of becoming a runway model. Idk, I had a past friend who was into VS models and reblogged them all the time, so her interest rubbed off on me and I wanted to be like them as well. I cringe every time I remember, lmao. You wanted to be on the show All That. I wanted to be on all the Nickelodeon shows that had the same theme as All That. You enjoy public speaking. I’m good at it and can enjoy it on a good day, but sometimes I’ll get anxious. You have witnessed something supernatural. Nope. I’ve had friends tell me their stories and I believe them, but I can’t say the same for myself. You believe in the supernatural. Just ghosts. I don’t believe in folk creatures, like the ones we have in our native culture. You aren't heterosexual. My survey answers in the last six or so years have made this very blatant. You think the whole transgender thing is stupid. That’s twisted and sad and pitiful. You own a dreamcatcher. Two – one mini dreamcatcher and another giant one. I’ve had an attachment to them since seeing New Moon of the Twilight Saga – there’s a part where Jacob gives Bella her own dreamcatcher at a time when she got depressed and was having nightmares every night, and I know there had been many times when I was like Bella, so I wanted one for myself as well. You'd want a boho wedding. So not my style. My wedding’s going to be minimalist and at most, pastel-themed. You think pink is the best color for cars. Not for me, no. Simple is better; I like my cars white. You've been called a free spirit. Nope, and rightfully so. I wouldn’t call myself a free spirit either. I like trying out new things, but I also like having security blankets and safety nets around. You're the same height as your mom. Yeah pretty much. She’s just a tiny bit taller. You grew up watching Nickelodean. I grew up watching Nickelodeon*, but this works too. My cousins and I just flipped among three channels – Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, and Cartoon Network.

You have a sibling who looks like you. Nah we all have our own distinct looks. There are angles and expressions wherein we look more similar, but generally it’s easy to tell us apart. You like to write in a journal. This account is pretty much like my journal, and I love using this blog for my thoughts and ramblings. You're tired. It’s Friday, it’s the end of the week, and I’m so, so, SO tired. And of course I’m celebrating by drinking two cups of coffee and staying up as late as I want, lol. You felt sick today. The last time this happened was late last year. I felt feverish while I was out for dinner with Gab, but the weird thing about it was that I felt better and as if nothing happened literally a half hour later. You're very creative. That is the LAST word I would use to describe myself. You can be disorganized. I’m organized about a lot of things, but I’m also disorganized about a lot of things. I could never maintain my closet no matter how much I put an effort to fold everything neatly and start from square one. You have a fever right now. Nope.

You've enjoyed babysitting. We never explicitly used this term but I was always the go-to elder kid to look out for my baby cousins, especially when we still lived under the same roof as an extended family, and I loved every bit of it. I was okay with being the motherly figure while everyone else played games or with toys. You want to go to New York City to visit. Yeah. I like bustling cities, so I feel like NYC would be right up my alley. I don’t care much for Times Square though and I would probably spend most of my time going to their museums. You love tea. I’m not obsessed with it; I can take it or leave it. And I don’t like the teas that come with a teabag; I drink either the traditional Chinese tea or just sweet, unhealthy iced tea altogether. You don't play an instrument. Yeah and I get sad about this like two times a day lmao. I wish I could play just a tiny bit of piano and/or violin. You used to want Taylor Swift's hair. I never actively wanted to be anything like her. You enjoyed High School Musical. Of course. I was THERE when it came out, and I stayed for every bit of the first film, High School Musical 2, and High School Musical 3. I was right smack in the middle of the HSM frenzy and it’s one of the more cherishable moments of my childhood haha. Everybody knew the songs, the steps to We’re All In This Together, and had HSM shirts, bags, pencil cases, and notebooks. You watched The Rugrats Movie in the theater. I barely remember that it had a movie, and I don’t think I ever saw it. Definitely not in the cinemas. You've performed on stage in a musical. I’ve performed on stage (as part of a big group) for annual school productions, but I think they were all plays. Hated every second of it. You've had the lead role in a musical. Certainly not. You've had cramps so bad you threw up. No, but close. A few weeks ago I had a headache SO bad I actually had to run to the toilet only to dry heave. It’s never happened to me before so I got scared and I just slept it off to see what happened the next day. You've never had Nutella. 2010 Tumblr pressured everybody to get Nutella because it was all the rage at the time and all the cool kids were having it, so I also did at some point. You have a favorite blanket. The one Gabie gave me two Christmases ago is my favorite. You own family heirlooms. I’m sure we have some but they haven’t been passed on to me yet.

You have carved and painted pumpkins before. No, pumpkins aren’t really a thing here. As far as I know, coloring/painting on Easter eggs is a more common activity. You have colored Easter eggs. Yes, I used to do this with my (second) cousins when they were younger.

You've walked through a haunted house. I always say I’m into horror stuff, but tbh I think horror movies are the furthest I can go HAHAHA. I’ve never been in a haunted house whether day or night, and I think the only time you’d get me to do it is if I got paid for it. You've dressed up on Halloween. Plenty times. I was Dora the Explorer last year :D :D You've tried to kill yourself. You've had a false rumor spread about you. In Grade 6 I had a rumor come back to me saying I was bi and was seeing my friend Andi (who, to be fair, I had a crush on at the time but I didn’t realize it yet). I just found it cool at all that I had a rumor about me considering I wasn’t a popular kid and had literally 2 friends, so I didn’t let it bother me haaaaah. You've been kicked out of a store (whether for a good or bad reason.) It was at a McDonald’s lmao. My friends were playing a card game and were yelling every five seconds; I knew people were going to get pissed so I distanced myself as much as possible even though I was at the same table jkfghdgh. Eventually an old man had had enough and asked us to leave, which I was GLAD to do. You have a favorite stove burner that you always use. I don’t have a favorite...the one I use often just happens to be my regular one. You enjoy eating at fast food restaurants. I find them dirty and nasty so I only eat there if I absolutely have to, but I do like getting takeout and enjoy fast food in general. You like arrows and feathers and peace signs. Ugh cringe, this SCREAMS 2010 Tumblr hahahahaha. I mean I liked all of these at some point, but not now. You want to wear a flower crown for your wedding. Hell no. It was cute for a while, but not anymore. You have signed someone else's yearbook. We don’t do that here. We pay tons of money for our yearbooks that it’s practically destroying them if we ever wrote on them lmao. You were shy in high school. For the first half, I was shy and pretty unpopular. By the latter part of high school I managed to gain friends and end up in the ~popular~ circle, but I was still shy compared to my peers. I didn’t take up a lot of extracurriculars (which is what the popu kids tended to do) but I managed to stay within the circle until the end of it. You're shy when first getting to know someone. Of course, as most would be I would imagine. I can warm up fast, though. You've gotten all A's in a class before. In high school, this was me with English and history. In college, this would be me with my history electives.

You had a favorite class and a favorite teacher in high school. Sure! Our biology teacher in sophomore year was evvvvverybody’s crush. She was so pretty and kind and smart; when we went to a beach for our field trip, I tried getting stung by a jellyfish just so she’d treat the bite on my leg cos she was one out of two faculty members who knew how to treat stings HAHAHAH. I didn’t get the highest marks in her class, but I enjoyed nonetheless. You were a teacher's favorite. BY NO MEANS. Gabie was, though. We were total polar opposites when it came to how we acted in class. You've won a costume contest. I...don’t think I ever did, but my mom did go all out when it came to coming up with our costumes as kids. You have a favorite Disney princess. It used to be Ariel, then I found her annoying. My present favorite is Rapunzel. You get carsick. Only if I excessively do something while in a moving vehicle, like text or read. You've flown first class. Never have. You hate inequality and wish life were more fair. Don’t we all? You've had a bad neighbor. They weren’t bad per se. Just a bit chaotic and the kids (a little older than I was at the time) clearly had behavioral issues. I was so relieved when they moved out. You've done a cannonball. I don’t think so. You have fallen and hit your head. Nope, and that sounds like the literal worst thing. You like sunflowers. Sure! It’s a popular UP symbol – every year, a few weeks before the university-wide graduation, they’d plant huuundreds of sunflowers to line up the entire road leading to my school :) We usually refer to sunflowers as a sign of encouragement to keep on keeping on, so that one day the sunflowers will bloom for us as well. You like the name Skylar. It’s alright. I like it because it’s the name of the badass mom in Breaking Bad, but otherwise it’s nothing too special for me. You've had a friend named Sarah. I have acquaintances with the name Sarah but they’re not my friends. You have an Aunt Robin. Nope. I would end up being the Aunt Robyn in a few years, hahahaha. You have an Uncle Rick. I’ve never heard of an Uncle/Tito Rick, but with how big Filipino families are I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned out to have one. You have a cousin Annabelle. No, but close. I have an Auntie Bel whose whole name is Amabel. You think flying a kite is boring. I never had fun doing it, or whenever we had to do it as a school activity. You were born in the year of the Dragon. Tiger, yo. You like your Chinese zodiac sign better than your American one. I don’t care for either. Your laptop has shut off because it got too hot. It’s never done this before, thank goodness. I try not to overwork it either. You've accidentally caught something on fire. Nope, I don’t think this has happened to me before. You make your bed every day. Aside from my mom requires me to, a neat bed makes the entire room feel much cleaner so I do it anyway. You wear a digital watch. I have a bad record of losing watches, so I never like wearing them. You have a favorite park. We don’t have a lot of parks here to even pick favorites from to begin with, which is a shame. You've hiked a mountain. I want to sooooo bad. It’s just never happened before/yet. You want to hike a mountain again. ^ You've been a slave. What the fuck. You feel like you've had your free will stolen from you. My parents were quite strict before but it never felt this bad. You speak in tongues. If you mean I can speak more than one language, then sure. You enjoy medieval festivals. Never been interested in anything medieval. Your favorite fair ride is the pirate ship. I don’t ride rides. Cotton candy isn't that good. It’s a cute concept but I wouldn’t always pay for it. Men look good in pink. Men – and anybody – would look good in any color so long as they’re comfortable with it lol. You went to youth group. Hell no. I’m glad my mom never forced me either. You were baptized in a lake. No. Just in a church. You were on Color Guard. I have no idea what this means. You went to your senior prom. We had a junior prom that I went to, and that was it for my school; but I was also asked to go to a senior ball of another school. Your first kiss was just an experiment. No, it was a legit kiss. You dated a guy you didn't like. Almost did, though. You have fallen asleep in class. Never. I never want this to happen, either. You have won an award. A few times. You type fast. Yeah, you get used to it through the years. You have a lot of dreams for your future. I still want to do a lot, yes. You've gone camping in the woods. Never, but it’d be a cool experience. I wouldn’t want to be alone though. You love to sleep under the stars. I don’t get to do this but it sounds like a lovely time. You've gone camping in the fall. I haven’t gone camping at allllllll. You own a pair of slipper socks. That sounds way too hot for where I live lmao.

#survey #surveys

2 notes · View notes