welcome to @spawnradio, the canon-divergent q!fit roleplay blog ran by @fitmc, set in the yaoiverse! yeah, those words all make sense individually.
y!fit is exactly what it says on the tin (read: blog desc). 2b2t historian (and citizen), former radio host that won't give up the schtick, war veteran, and most recently... a father to the best kid in the damn world.
feel free to send asks or anons! as weird as you can get them! asks are canonized in the blog as callers to yfit's radio show, so get silly!
tags used include...
#on-air - all in-character posts.
#off-air - all face-to-face rp interactions!
#done and dusted - finished threads!
#yaoiverse - general tag for all of the rp goings-on
#straightverse - general tag for all the angst-adjacent goings-on
#sexoverse - general tag for the really intimate goings-on
in-character below the cut!
#broadcasts - My original work.
#rebroadcasts - Content that may be… borrowed, let's call it. Reblogs. That's the term.
#regularly scheduled programming - I like to play some music. Requests are welcome!
#sorry audio listeners - Photos. I don't post 'em often, don't worry.
#callers - You can send asks here? That's perfect for the radio metaphors!
#homesick - There's no place like home. Even if "home" is synonymous with "abysmal hellscape".
#trolling - We do a bit of it. It's tradition!
So what. I like to record the events too. I'm allowed!
#dating event - Speed-dating. Didn't get what I wanted, but it was nice anyways.
#storm watch - The denim-laden storm from hell.
#the breakout - Getting some families back.
#first contact - Everyone's on the island for a reason.
i feel like you should sue. Call'em accessability aids. Invoke some disability laws. Surely if you wrap them in enough red tape.
Ha! Please, Mr. Federation, I need my hack clients. I actually use tracers to cope? You're discriminating against me? I need to keep track of every single entity for my mental health.
Fit. Fit are there bad feelings. Would you be mad if I went on a date with your partner. You can say, and I will fix things. I don’t want to make you mad beautiful. If it bothers you I can cancel. You are my friend oui ?
[ - @humanwithfourheads ]
[The click of unmuting.] No, Antoine, it's alright, man. Don't ask me for permission, he's not my partner. You two have fun.
Fit kneels on the roof of his base in the middle of the night with the distinct feeling that this is the stupidest shit he's ever done.
Hell-- he's glad it is the middle of the night; if he had to guess, it's 3 in the morning, pushing 4. It's still a few hours until the sun starts lightening the sky on the other side of the wall. It's damn dark, too. When he looks up, he sees countless stars, lazy clouds.
It being fuckoff early means that nobody's going to see him. Nobody's going to know what he's doing. ...Hell, the instructions that he has are even a little fuzzy. He has the gist.
Fit kneels, in the middle of his quaint little rooftop garden, carefully unhooking the wires of his arm. Around him, in a circle like a cross between a steampunk workshop and a poser occult club, are radio components-- diodes, transformers, capacitors, antennae.
He connects the circuit to the port in his arm he'd disconnected the wires from. That seems to work; his screen flashes, goes dark, opens a terminal.
> ...
Fit doesn't know if this'll get through. Whatever he does, he has to do it quick. His contractor expects attentiveness.
> Hello, it's me.
> Sorry I've been taking my sweet time.
> I've been busy.
> We need to pivot from our original plan.
context is key. dad died to a baby zombie after five years of solo exploration of his own world. Quackity died to a fly after five minutes of being outside
It's been a hot second since I've seen a picture of a Victorian mustache cup on here so look at this one in all its glory
This is a sippy cup. You just invented a sippy cup for manly men who want to go to tea parties and not feel emasculated by drinking too fast and getting their perfectly coifed mustaches droopy I can't
Fit chooses to walk, instead of warp, to the favela.
He's not quite sure why. It's a beautiful day-- that could be his alibi. It's not even false. Air's fresh, sky's bright, and as he gets closer and closer, he can smell the "sea" breeze of the copacabana. It's gorgeous.
It's just catching up over coffee.
Fit arrives in a jog. He tugs on his tank-top to even it out, hopping up onto the outdoor seating's porch and dusting his hands together.
"Long time no see," he cracks, every inch the suave radio host. "How've you been, Pac?"
Pac hadn't reached out until after Richas had extracted herself from them and dragged Mike away to play with her. They offered the guest rooms to Felps and Cellbit - and, by extension, Roier - then sent the text to Fit.
Admittedly, he had been on their mind lately, especially after the whole thing with Trumpet and information leak and - it wasn't a secret Fit had secrets that he kept to himself. He was the security guy, after all. Pac wanted to check on him.
They changed into a casual outfit - brown shorts, black shirt, and a white dress shirt; nothing too extravagant because Pac wanted to have fun with it.
But as they waved everyone in the house goodbye - they didn't even know Charlie and Baghera were there - they started to to leave the Favela and almost bumped directly into Fit.
"Oh!" They chuckle and scratch the back of their neck a bit. "Good, good, it's been..." They look away from him and kick at some loose dirt. "Okay, there's been ups and downs. But it's getting better now."
They look back up at him with a smile. "And you? Are you adjusting to things fine?"
If this was a fucking intervention.
No, that's stupid. His hackles are raising for no reason. Calm and charismatic, he answers: "Yeah, I'd say so. Not sure what I'd adjust to, but we've been... well, we've been handling ourselves."
A firm nod. It's a satisfactory answer. Fit changes the subject quick, anyways; he gestures behind the empty counter of the coffee shop. "What can I get started for you today," he asks, briefly possessed by some type of customer service demon.
Pac laughs a bit. "It's been a little-" They shake their head a bit, feeling their bun hit the back of their head a bit. It was nice.
"It was a little hard for me, at the beginning. You go from me, Mike, and Richas to- to all of us being back. I still need to talk to Etoiles about how she's feeling but..." They shrug.
And they laugh again, putting on a thinking face as they look at the menu. "Hm... I'll have a..." An idea springs to mind. "Iced, ristretto, ten shots venti, with breve, five pumps vanilla, seven pumps caramel, four splenda, aaaand..." They smiled. "Poured, not shaken, please!"
Their tail swished behind them as Pac tried holding back a giggle.
They burst into giggles, the stare making them break. Pac reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it before dropping it. "Just a regular is fine, but if they have- like. Flavored sweetner I'd like that?"
It occurs to them, they don't know what Bobby and Richas have in here. Did Cellbit and Roier stock it? Did Mike? Who stocked it.
Oh.
For a moment, he just lets his hand drop idly to his side.
And then, like nothing at all had happened, he hops over the counter and begins to familiarize himself with where everything is-- grounds there, machines there, all the doctoring shit across the back wall-- alright.
"I mean," he tries. "I could do one of those iced, venti... whatever you just said. You'd just have to gimmie a minute. And written instructions, if you've got 'em."
He gets a cup, starts setting about getting the grounds and filters. "Cellbit and Felps holding up alright?"
"Oh, no no I was joking about the- okay, well iced does sound nice, now that you mention it. Only if you really wanna make it though."
This was sweet. It was sweet Fit was making the coffee for the both of them. Pac looked to the display case, wondering if anything in there was still good. Maybe one of the chocolate croissants?
"Oh they're..." Their ears flap a little against their head. "Like I said, ups and downs. Felps is clingier, and Cellbit is..." Pac looks down at the ground, and part of them hopes, a little, Fit doesn't see them. "He's sadder. Especially after having to tell Richas about the uh- the leg thing." Pac said the last part quietly, like the act itself was going to magically happen all over again. Or, god forbid, Cellbit and Richas heard them.
"But it seems like it's getting better. I don't know how xe is with Roier, but xe seems better at the Favela now than xe was before."
Fit gives a hum of acknowledgement. Clingy and sad comparatively sound better than... well, then however Spreen is.
Eugh. Don't think about Spreen.
"Well, it's good it's getting better," says Fit with a nod. "Glad to see someone's happy, huh?"
An imperceptible twitch.
"Eh." He starts up the electric kettle. "Could be better... could be worse! I mean, once the guy shows up, you know, that's the bare minimum."
Easy there.
"Spreen's on a trial run."
Pac laughs low, mischievously, hands holding onto the counter. "Ohhhh, oh I bet you have him doing everything." They giggle again, tail swishing faster.
But then they straighten again, clearing their throat and acting composed. "Sim, sim, the bare minimum." They look over at the display case again. "Is there something you wanna eat?"
No, actually, I don't. I've been making Spreen soup. Isn't that funny?
"I'unno," is his response. "What're my options? Little busy right now."
(Man. It might be easier to make his coffee first. It'd just be black, and he'd get a hold of it as to not mess up Pac's. Sure.)
When did they learn French. Why are things labeled in French.
"Uhhh... bread, I think? Croissants, the croissants with chocolate in them, a pie...? And the little sandwich looking ones. Macaron-es?" They tilted their head. "Macarons. That- that's how it's said."
They mouthed and mumbled it a few times under their breath, making sure they got it right.
Fit, in the roughest, thickest American South accent he can muster, goes: "Y'mean mac-rones?"
He doesn't keep it up. He breaks into laughter. He pours the now-hot water over the filter of the grounds, and out comes his own coffee. Now, how to make an iced one for Pac...
Pac stares in stunned silence at Fit's back, then laughs hard, holding onto the counter for support. It was the way he just said it, and Pac nodded, wiping their eyes.
"Y-Yesss, the- the mac-rones." Pac poorly imitated the accent, giggling unstopping.
"Yeah, the--" Pac's laugh feels contagious. "--and the fuckin'... the craw-sonts, right? They got those?"
Iced coffee. Probably a taller cup, for that, and-- ice, duh. Is that it? Vanilla and caramel... hm.
"Buhrehd. Think about it."
He taps the side of his head. Fit grabs a taller cup and begins to fill it with ice, tapping his fingers against the cup's side as he deliberates. Yeah, this'll work.
"Ahhh, buhrehd. Got it, got it, Fitch." They deepen their voice again to try mimicking Fit. "Buhrehd. Craw-sonts. Mac-rones."
Pac nods when the pronunciation settles. They tilt their head, peeking around his back to see what Fit's making. Was he still working on his drink? He didn't think Fit liked iced coffee, hm.
God damn it. Pac imitating his voice is really funny. He's glad his back is turned.
He gets out... what, a third cup, now? The logic here is to make a coffee and then cool it down-- so he can do that in a way that he knows, and THEN add the flavorings and ice. That way, he doesn't fuck it up.
He's got this shit on lock. "When did we even get this place?"
“Oh, Bobby and Richas made it a little bit ago? Cellbit and Roier helped with it.”
They shrugged and leaned against the counter, watching his back as he made the drink. Yes, they were just friends - and likely wouldn’t breach that - but Fit was still hot.
“I’ve gotten coffee from here a few times, and Mike keeps applying to get hired, then not getting the job. He does this thing where he’ll dramatically act like he’s dying over it in front of Bobby and Richas and they just let out these adorable little giggles…” They smile down at their food fondly over the memory.
...Applying to get hired.
Fit looks around, almost comedically exaggerated, at the almost-entirely-empty store. He leans over to see if the tunnel down to the coffee farm has anyone in it, and finds nobody. It's then that he looks to Pac, over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in a "really?" sort of way.
Then: "No, go on."
They laugh again at him checking out the store. It should be a crime, how funny Fit actually is.
But then he looks at them again, and they look back down to their food, picking it a bit nervously. They shrug again. “Mike doesn’t have a lot of…” They work their lip for a moment in thought.
“Guy friends?” Pac looks up at him. “And I was hoping you two could be, but Mike told me about him punching you and- well. I don’t know how that would work out now.” They look away from him, to the tunnel. “I think you two should have actual guy friends and not-“
They close their mouth, shaking their head. “So Ramón? Has he seen any of his siblings lately?”
It’s barely anything, but Pac takes it gratefully with a soft smile to Fit. “Thanks, and you don’t have to unless you really want to. He won’t ever admit it out loud,” They smirk like they’re spilling major secrets, “But he misses you. I’ve seen him looking at your pictures and doodling your arm.” They pick at their food again. “And whenever Mikey is designing something, you know he feels bad or misses you.”
Pac takes a bite, then after finishing it says, “And hopefully Ramón can see Dapper soon! They haven’t been able to place any tnt together in a while. Or- maybe we don’t want them doing that.” Pac shrugged again, tail thumping a bit against the counter. “Maybe you’d need Chayanne there, he seems good at calming them down. Or does he egg them on?”
Oh. Damn. Not a set-up for a Richas playdate. Fit loses the mental bet.
But without a beat lost, Fit laughs. “Ramón and Dapper— those boys, I swear. Like they’re both Cain and Abel at the exact same time. It’s a miracle they don’t give me gray hairs.”
Pause for effect.
“Ramón could hang out with… uh, Richarlyson?” He turns back to the coffee. Again, he scoops grounds into a filter, and places the filter over a cup as he pours in the hot water. “If you’re cool with that, if him and Ramón are, too.”
“Falouuuuu- okay, okay.” They laugh, again, shaking their head fondly.
They didn’t even think about Richarlyson and Ramón having a play date. That would be good for them, probably. Richas has seemed a bit stuck inside lately.
“Oh! That- yeah! That would be great, Fitch! We could totally set up a play date for them.” Pac smiles. “I’m sure they’d both like some time together, richas hasn’t been out much to see his siblings.”
Pat. Pat. Pac barks out a surprised laugh, taking the cup and setting it down on the counter. “Sim, sim, Pat.” They take a sip, then hum. “It’s good, I like it, Fit. Thank you!”
They nod to the display case, moving over and lifting the lid. “Is there anything from here you want?”
Pac smiles and nods, leading them both out to a seat on the patio.
It's a nice conversation, catching up over everything, even if it isn't much. They tell him about the future dates they have planned, the little moments between Felps and Cellbit, how Etoiles' move to the Favela was, just about everything Pac could do to keep them both there and talking. It was nice.
But everything has to come to an end, unfortunately. They waved each other goodbye, and Pac walked to the Favela alone, instead of just warping back. It was a good day for it, and Pac had a really nice time.
They smile to themself, hoping they could do this again soon, right as they enter back into their home.
Hey Fit, um. It's been a while since we've talked and I miss talking, sim? So I was hoping we could meet up for coffee and catch up? Spread some fofoca eh? - @packedtazer
Oh, sure. Not sure I've got a lot of updates on my end, but I'm always down for a coffee.
