#cryingyetcourageous

[coffeebleeds]

@cryingyetcourageous replied to your post “~*~*MA! You are now canon America for a week! *~*~”:

OH NO

What's your dealio, my man?

[coffeebleeds]

@cryingyetcourageous replied to your post “If Santa is a baby, why do we depict him as an old...”:

I have to agree with anon on this topic. It's weird that people call their romantic interests their "baby," "babe," and any other variant.

Says the babiest man to ever baby.

[radiomayak]

Ak, I can't believe the cold... It can't be so close to the end of the year already. Um, speaking of cold, though, I - I made you a hat to keep warm. [That's some thick, warm wool alright! It's a nice neutral brown to go with any outfit, but with tiny detailing in white and a shade of blue that matches Ivan's eyes. He heavily debated adding a pompom, but ultimately opted not to for fear that it may be seen as too childish and therefore a bad gift.]

The hat would've been lovely with a sweater he'd had in rotation before he packed everything up into vacuum bags and locked plastic tubs. Most of his clothes he stored in a new prefabricated shed on the corner of what would be his "lot" if he didn't own the acreage surrounding it.

His winter attire this year was black, all black. His hide coats were put away, but the horizontal quilts of his jacket were still jammed with the animal warmth. Goose down... he wasn't stupid enough to buy couch stuffing to wear around his arms! Only stupid enough to try and keep himself from missing the sound of wool and the warm, metal smell of something made from two working hands.

"You did a great job. I can always use a new hat, yes? I still need to pick you out something... What's something you look forward to for New Years? Something a little too expensive to buy for yourself... got a favorite chocolate?"

Swimming in the stuffy, sour heat of the tavern, Ivan unzipped his coat. The place around them was a livelier bar than what Ivan had gone to in the past, with craft beers and multicolored glasses and lavender cocktails (like they could ever taste good.) Televisions played sitcoms on repeat from boxed sets.

"Do you even like chocolate?"

[paralianprince]

@cryingyetcourageous

It's hard, embodying a place that could be generously described as "uniformly unpleasant", waiting impatiently for a visitor who has admitted himself to be, in his own words, "scared of almost everything, almost all of the times". 

That Peter is expecting such a visitor today has left him both unable to relax or to focus on any one thing for very long.  Since morning he has preoccupied himself with strategically upending small details of his home, to make it appear less conspicuously tidied.  Flipping up the corner of a settee blanket, pulling a few books from the shelves and leaving them strewn about, posing his laptop on the kitchen counter instead of putting it away... and, yes, rearranging the cans in the pantry back into a disorganized state, for he had indeed neatly sorted them, a few days prior.  That, he'd admit, had gone beyond "good host etiquette", and landed somewhere in the area of "silly and neurotic".

It is a placid and lovely blue-grey day for one's choice of either boating or flying, though to do either is a pretty big ask for someone not very used to it. 

But Rai had made it very clear he wanted to visit - and, perhaps a bit selfishly, Peter wanted him to about as much, if not even more.  Still - he has to wonder which it will be.  His home possesses such an abundance of upsetting features and details that Peter had once, in a fit of good-humoured self loathing, made an entire bingo sheet out of them.  The isolation (aloneness), the isolation again (inability to get help or easily leave), the ocean and its growling-belly drone, the heights, the wind, the cold, the towers' disorienting lack of windows, the godawful food selection, the water rationing, the physical danger, the boredom, the isolation a third time (vast emptiness as far as the eye can see)... which will it be? 

Or maybe Raivis is perfectly resilient, and Peter is being a big dumb loser, and everything will be actually just fine.  Maybe he should feel silly for wasting so much time doing something so unproductive as worry over problems that aren't even happening yet.  

-

It's a very welcome relief, the feeling of some kind of vehicle entering his possibly-supernatural radius of awareness (a sensation he would describe as like a spider crawling up his arms).  He jogs outside to take down the tall pole meant to stave off any unauthorized landings, finishes that task far too quickly and efficiently, and sounds the rest of his time pacing around the deck like a circling shark.  Just as the helicopter finally (finally!) arrives, he rushes back onto the stairs leading up to the landing pad to get buffeted by the downdraft. 

- 

"Hey, so, you did it!" 

Peter, fizzling with nervous energy like poprocks dropped into a soda, is clearly trying his best to seem nonchalant about the whole thing.  It's not working.  "I do hope the way over wasn't too terrible - how are you holding up?  You're actually here, wow.  Um - I can get your things if you want, you're not dizzy or anything, are you?" 

[paralianprince]

[There's a letter!! A handwritten snail-mail letter!

Peter,

I really hope this isn't weird, but I looked up Sea|and and its history since we met, and it seems like today should be your birthday, if I understand correctly? Daudz laimes dzimšanas dienā! (That's Happy Birthday in my language! We say it much longer). I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and I can't wait to come over soon. Your friend, Raivis.

Inside is a little wooden fish he got from a local carver. Is - Is that enough? He knows they don't know each other well, so he doesn't want to do TOO much and freak him out or seem clingy, but he also doesn't want to seem dismissive. Hopefully, whatever the case, he can make it up to him on his visit.]

Snail-mails are rare, but Peter is diligent, so, it evens out, most of the time. With regards to stopping by his post office box to pick up any letters in an acceptably timely manner, we mean.

It surprises him, actually; ever since approximately two decades ago, he'd lost any desire whatsoever to make a fuss over himself every year for no reason. Aided partially by the fact that he's well used to getting to do whatever he likes, and if he wants to go do something fun, there's no point at all in waiting for a specific date to go do that. And everybody who knows him well enough to know his birthday, (as his reasoning goes, anyway), has hopefully gotten all this out of their system by now.

So, yeah, from his perspective, this sort of comes out of nowhere!

He's walking slowly along the rows of shops, with his head down, which is pretty stupid of him, reading the short letter over again for maybe the fourth time. He mutters under his breath the words he doesn't understand or know how to pronounce, wondering whether he's anywhere close to getting them right.

Obviously, he's nothing short of delighted at the carved wooden fish, (and plenty amused by people's continued insistence on his inherent nautical theming), as the newest addition to his perpetually-expanding collection of plushes, gunplas, figures (quality/elaborate), figures (tacky/cheap/charming), and miscellaneous CUTE ICKLE LIL LADS in small toy form. Peter decides on gut instinct alone that this bitty carved fish is definitely good luck, somehow. Mostly just because he wants it to be, which by itself counts for a lot.

By that evening he'd be home again. He sends Raivis a photo of the lil fish perched next to his laptop screen, with an accompanying message.

[SMS: Rai!!!!!!]: she made it here safe!!!!! thank you i adore her [SMS: Rai!!!!!!]: can i name her zivs or is that weird. orrrr if u had an idea before you sent her to me then please save me because i have been losign my mind for like an hour trying to make a decision

[paralianprince]

@cryingyetcourageous

[ ... What's that rule, again, regarding how long to wait before follow-up texting somebody? What about the hours afforded to the family outing you know the other party is on, are those already assumed to be factored in? What about travel time? ]

[ And does it also factor in that other rule about not-being-overbearing, because-everyone-thinks-you're-overbearing, but-because-you-are-mature-now, (a lie), you-can-give-new-friends-some-space-without-being-neurotic-about-it? It's an awfully longwinded thing to call a rule, but at least it's apt... ]

[ Ugh. Uuuuugghgg. Gghghgh. Just !! get it over with!! Rip that plaster clean off!! Rai's even more neurotic than you are by orders of magnitude, Sea, so maybe you're actually the one being inconsiderate by making him wait!!! Fuck it we ball just send the text already!!! ]

[SMS: Rai!!!!!!]: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UIFnOIUoz0

[SMS: Rai!!!!!!]: KAIJUS SHOWCASE

[SMS: Rai!!!!!!]: this is Sea btw !!! hope u made / are making it home safe

[islandiis]

"it’s lemonade. it won’t hurt you."

love this one | always accepting

The heat that creeps up Fannar's neck and spreads across the bridge of his nose is plain to see, and he turns his head away so that he can cough into one hand. The path of least resistance would just be to shut up and drink it, and he worries that if he doesn't do just that that he might come off as rude — but even water sounds painfully unappealing right now. It's been three days since he's eaten or drank anything, he's pretty sure, but he always gets quite averse to everything when his geology plays up. This isn't anything new, and no need to draw attention to it.

"Y-Yes, um — I'm sorry," He answers for lack of anything better to say. Fannar coughs into one hand again, and then smiles sheepishly. "I don't think I'm going to drink it. Would you like it, instead?"

[bates--boy]

@cryingyetcourageous:

Don't you start with that. Shh. Shh shh. Don't.

No, Rai, it is true, and stop saying otherwise. Because honestly? I don't care. It doesn't matter.