#in the time this has been in my drafts i have consumed copious amounts of fanfiction and come to the conclusion that yes you do think

[picklesinabottle]

do you think michael taught adam languages the human way. do you think adam tried to explain what his favorite foods tasted like. do you think michael told adam about the creation of the universe and adam told michael about like. his favorite tv shows and the stuff he was learning in school and what it actually felt like to be loved by your parent

[babyczk]

not sure if you’re taking requests but can you write something about nick being your best friends brother (or brothers best friend) and you guys have always liked each other and he finally tells you? thx

yess!! i’m most deff taking requests, thank u bb <3

went w/ brothers best friend hehehe

•••

you weren’t much of a drinker. or a partier. but when your older brother had decided to throw a huge christmas bash whilst your parents were away, the opportunity to get trashed in the comfort of your own home was too good to pass up.

plus, you knew nick mara would be in attendance, and drinking was probably the only way you’d be able to walk around without making a fool of yourself in front of him.

you spotted him across the living room, fresh cut on display for everyone to see. he was chatting adamantly to some people in a corner, and you eyed him down without any shame, the tequila giving you that liquid courage you needed.

it was cliché of you, you knew that. to harbor a crush on your brothers best friend. but honestly, you couldn’t help it. not with nick being around you 24/7 for the last three years. to put it quite frank, it was torturous. getting tongue tied anytime nick sparked a conversation with you in your own kitchen, which wasn’t too often. he’d mostly be tucked away in your brothers room, the two of them spending hours playing video games.

you smoothed down your velvet red dress; the only festive outfit you’d managed to find in your closet. the liquor was hitting you extremely hard as you pushed yourself off of the wall. looking around, you’d lost sight of nick, as well as any of your other friends that were scattered around the place.

“how much have you had to drink?” a voice called from behind you. the goosebumps on the back of your neck already alerted that you’d found nick. swiveling around, you were met with his boyish smirk, although concern was evident in his eyes.

“just a lil bit,” you slurred. nick raised an eyebrow, clearly not used to seeing this side of you on display. he was used to seeing the shy sister of his best friend, who’d blush and trip over her words anytime he was around.

“i think the party might be over for you, ma,” nick decided, looping an arm around your waist. the skin on skin contact sent butterflies swarming in your stomach, and you tried to focus on the ground instead of the way your heart was beating uncontrollably in your chest.

“but why?” you whined, allowing nick to lead you through the throngs of people and to the start of the staircase that lead up to your bedroom.

“because you’re drunk and if i don’t get you to the safety of your room, your brother might actually kill me.”

you didn’t object as nick continued walking with you, his hands secured around your waist, leaving a warm feeling that wasn’t coming from the copious amounts of alcohol you’d consumed earlier. he gently kicked the door to your room open, and you detangled yourself from his hold, flopping backwards on the bed. the room was spinning, but not in a way that made you want to throw up, but rather in a more comforting manner.

nick began to work on untying your sneakers, and pulling them from your feet, humming a random song. you lifted your head a little to watch him, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focused on the rather difficult knot that had formed with the laces.

“have i ever told you that you’re really pretty?” you asked. nick looked up, a crooked smile on his lips as he shook his head. “well then, i think you’re pretty.”

“i think you’re pretty too.” he managed to discard your sneakers, standing up and gesturing for you to scoot up so he could pull the covers over you. you obliged, but before he could grab the sheets, your hand abruptly fell onto his, halting his actions. he glanced up at you, curious as to what you were doing.

“i need to tell you this,” you said with urgency. “and i need to do it right now or else i’ll never do it again.” nick eyed you warily, pulling his hand away slowly.

“you sure you don’t wanna wait until the morning?”

you shook your head, glad for the liquid courage. “i like you nick, as in really like you. and it’s fine if you don’t like me back or whatever but i just needed to get it off my chest.”

the room was silent, and when you looked over at nick, he was laughing silently, shoulders shaking and everything. you frowned, about to let your anger take over when nick spoke.

“you think i don’t know that?” your anger quickly morphed into surprise, and then slowly into slight embarrassment.

“oh.”

“which is why i find it funny that you had absolutely no idea that i like you back.”

“no fucking way,” you blurted.

nick looked down, a blush tinting his cheeks that you were able to clearly make out despite the dim lighting. “i guess we’re both idiots then, huh?”

you leaned up on your elbows, your fingers grazing over nick’s face. he watched your movements, letting your finger trace over his features before stopping at his lips. without hesitation, you both were leaning in, the kiss as tender as it could’ve been.

you and nick pulled away after a moment, smiles adorning both of your lips. he smoothed down your hair as you moved over, making room for him to lay with you.

“i feel like this is the only time being an idiot has worked out for me,” you admitted, laughing.

“yeah, i guess me too.”

•••

this has been sitting in my drafts for WEEKS, so if the ending seems weird & abrupt, i was honestly over looking at it and had to wrap it tf up

[chibi-pix]

Your Plance Portal AU pics inspired a small bit of fiction from me. Not sure what to do with it, so here you are. Apologies if it's a bit rough, first draft. Feel free to modify, share, whatever. I'm just anon. And sorry for the lack of formatting that will result in posting here. (part 1) "Why?" The fascinating specimen asked of me. His eyes darting over the form I had taken. Curiosity. Heightened heart rate. A curious combination of two of the three primal Fs. Fascinating as always.

Wow! Your story parts were amazing! While I admit, some sections were hard to read, conclude who was talking, but I did love it! Of course, you did call it a first/rough draft and stories start that way!

You had said I was free to modify and/or share. I took you up on that offer and applied your work to this. It was fun to work with and thank you for writing it and giving me an opportunity to work with it.

Hopefully it all shows; if not, I’ll reblog the answer with the full post/ficlet.

Pidge. It was a simple name she was referred to as. She. A humanized term to separate sexes and give identity. That was her understanding. It was a logical things to humans, but not to the likes of an android, program to see and comprehend numbers, not emotions and desires. So why? Why did she go by that word that could otherwise be called a pronoun?

“Why?” Her attention was brought to the latest of the subjects, a young man. Subject number 117-98-78. He insisted on being called Lance. Another human thing. But she supposed, to some extent, she could relate. She was given a name, too, along with her identity number. Her name, though, was shorter and easier to input by her creators when they wrote their notes.

Pidge examined Lance further, doing a scan of her own on the biological creature. His heart rate was increasing. An emotional response? Or perhaps it was the adrenaline humans felt when going through certain tasks that forces them to exert themselves physically and even emotionally. “You will need to reiterate your query for proper understanding so an appropriate answer can be provided.”

“Fine then. Why are you putting me through this?” Lance commanded. “Why do I need to go through these tests? What do you gain from all of this?!”

Pidge considered his questioned for a moment. To be honest, there was no complex reason for why she did it. It was her core imperative; it was her duty to test subjects and gather data. But would that response be enough for the latest subject? “You are a new variable.” she responded finally. “With the cloned and robotic test subjects being identical variables, testing and collecting data has grown stagnant and all data is outdated and irrelevant. You, however, come from outside the testing facility. You are a new variable and therefore present new data to study.”

“Dude! I could have died back there!” Lance snapped, his anger elevating. It was an illogical outburst from Pidge’s perspective, but, then again, humans were rather illogical. “Pit traps? Laser grids? And don’t get me started on that green goo you dare call sustenance. It’s freaking torture!”

“Incorrect.” Pidge responded, plain and simple. “This is testing. Testing is a necessary part of improving and moving forward. It is, after all, the core of my programming. To continue in my duty of gathering data. I test, therefore I am. I am, therefore...”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think Doctor and Professor Holt would have wanted testing to be this cruel.” Lance interrupted.

Pidge felt a stutter in her programming. Those names. Her creators. He knew their names. “Guessing their names correctly and knowing they created me specifically would be nearly impossible.” she commented. “Logic would point to you being aware of their classified research on redacted information. Despite this, mentioning them when in your current situation with the risks on your life tell me that you are not an intelligence operative of any enemy of my creators or their benefactors.” She performed another scan. “There are no indications in your biology to suggest any attempt of deceit. This is data that I did not anticipate. Explain. How do you know the names of my creators?”

“Huh? Well, everyone knows who the Holts are.” Lance stated, looking confused. “They changed everything. Botany, terraforming, space travel, they were the top minds of Altean Laboratories. Their work was groundbreaking.”

“Were. Changed. Was. These terms in how they are used are indication of past tense.” Pidge commented.

Lance was perplexed. “I mean… well… yeah, totally.” he said. “It was five centuries ago, give or take some months or single years.”

Pidge couldn’t explain the dip in her cor performance. Had she been human, she would have described it as a weight in her stomach. Had it seriously been that long? She had lost connection to her internal clock several thousand test subjects ago. “That is impossible.” she stated. “The facility around you operates due to the power obtained from the plasma reactor. It had only an estimated lifespan of three to four centuries; due to the renewal of energy sources, I have managed to re-calibrate that and extend it for another half century or so. To continue getting power to keep the facility functioning would be impossible. My ability to function would have ceased.”

Lance sighed. He then decided to bring up a holographic display. Pidge found she could not interface with the hologram; she decided she could endure collecting data visually. As she looked at the hologram, she saw the schematics of the facility. But not all was the same. There was a new structure that she could not identify.

Lance picked up on where Pidge was looking. “You see it, too, huh?” he asked. He pointed to an area on the hologram. “Right here. We had reason to believe that a piece of what we refer to as the trans-reality comet has found its way here. And by we, I mean my superior officers. I’m just the field guy who goes in and investigates things; the others are the science guys who understand this stuff better. Anyway, long story short, but this thing is apparently radiating energy and with a copious amount still stored in it. There’s a problem, though.”

Pidge couldn’t interface with the hologram, but she knew the subject could. She went in close, finding her humanoid form to be convenient for times like this. She gently took Lance’s hand and moved it, prompting him to touch certain parts and bring up more data on the hologram.

“It appears to be unstable.” Pidge commented.

“Extremely.”

“The plasma from the facility’s reactor appears to be the cause of of the instability. However, I do not have sufficient data to fully determine how accurate this is.” Pidge glanced over to Lance, realizing he was staring at her, his mouth hung open a bit. “Does me not having the full answer cause this human emotion of bewilderment?” she inquired. “It should not; results cannot be properly determined without sufficient amounts of data. I have not collected enough data on the subject of this comet and its interactions with the reactor.”

“No it’s just...” Lance looked at Pidge’s hand, seeing it still around his own. “Your hand. It’s so warm. I didn’t expect that.” Pidge pulled her hand away quickly. “What are you? How are you so warm?”

“I am not; this is simply a byproduct of the cooling systems aboard this particular interface unit.” Pidge responded. “This unit is only a feature provided to me. I am, after all, the facility computer.”

Lance looked closely. “So… why do you look like a girl?”

Pidge blinked. So even he acknowledged that he seemed like a girl, at least in appearance. She looked ahead and away from the subject. “This interface unit was called the Physical Interface Data Gateway Exchange. To make data input easier, they formed it into the acronym PIDGE.” she explained. “It was designed with the intention of making interactions with subjects feel less… impersonal. It is for the benefit of my creators and the facility, not of my own. I have insufficient amounts of data to determine why they have given me this form.” She didn’t speak about it, but what little data she had about that, she had image files showing a member of the Holt family with a similar appearance. Perhaps it was meant to immortalize that member? She lacked the data to determine that.

“Pidge, huh?” Lance asked. “So it’s a name?”

“It is what they called me due to it being easier on the creators and less time consuming for their already limited lives.” Pidge commented. “Now then, since I have answered your queries and indulged your curiosities, it would be preferable to continue the testing.”

Lance gave a smile, but it did not look calm. It looked almost forced. “Sorry, but… this is where the testing ends, Pidge. Pidge did not understand. She then felt something in her, as though the numbers she lived by were changing.

“I do not comprehend.” she commented. She felt off balance, as though she could not properly control the unit meant for interfacing. But she couldn’t disconnect, either; she couldn’t return fully to the computer system. “What did you do to my systems? How did…”

Lance gave a bit of a guilty smile. He then brought up a new image for the hologram. “I had some help but… your entire core program? It’s gone. No more testing. No more of this… cruel torture. You’re in this device now, disconnected from everything else. Like an old game disk; one wrong move, you’re gone. Completely.”

“Impressive.” Pidge commented. “I did not anticipate your device having the necessary storage capacity for my system. Perhaps the claim of five centuries passing is not as far-fetched as I originally determined.” Around them, the corridors and testing chambers grew dark. What Lance could only assume to be the emergency lights turned on, illuminating the area in a bright red. “It does not appear that you or your outside help have considered another variable.”

“Um… what variable?”

“The default settings booting back up upon my removal.”

“Ah quiznak.” Pidge could only assume that Lance’s choice of word meant something profound. “Okay… so what do we get? Some five hundred year old security system about to hunt me down?”

“That would be accurate to the data.” Pidge confirmed. “Which would not be good for your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Of being alive.”

“Oh.”

“However, I do possess the necessary data to thwart the old program. The variable now stands at you being the only one who can interface with my core due to the technology you transferred to it. It would then be in my best interest to keep your status as alive.”

“I mean, how hard can this be? I’ve dealt with you so far.” Lance prompted. He jumped when a sound caught his attention. There was movement further in the corridor. Blades typically seen in tests, meant to be turned off or dodged. Past it? There was another figure, though harder to see.

“In subject terms? Bad. Very bad.” Pidge commented. “I suggest listening to what I say and following my instructions without fail.” She looked to Lance. “My first instruction-”

“I’m gonna take a guess and say run!” Lance grabbed Pidge by the hand and ran off in the opposite direction, pulling her along; it was a good thing that despite her data being put into the device around his arm, her body, as one could call it, was still functional and able to move.

Again, thank you so much for this opportunity!

[amydancepants-peralta]

chapter three: head over feet

(the latest instalment of we’re the fortunate ones - my entry into the 2020 Vision Challenge) ♥️🎆

Jake takes a long draft from the bottle of beer in his hand, resting his weight against the pillar in the middle of the room as he watches Amy talk to other attendees of the party in a corner.  

They’d all been roped into attending a New Years Eve party at this random loft in uptown NY, hosted by somebody that Gina called an acquaintance but didn’t seem to have a name (or a face, for that matter).  It was all very upscale, the widespread apartment floor decked out in hipster-luxe decorations and soft popular music streaming from the speakers installed into various points of the ceiling.  The well-stocked kitchen lay claim to copious buckets of alcohol - a virtual buffet of drinks lay waiting for consumption - and the Nine-Nine has spent the majority of their evening rubbing noses with a veritable ‘who’s who’ of New York.  He’s covered head to toe in a suit that - let’s be honest - makes him look way more suave than he is.  And maybe Jake is completely biased (because he definitely is), but he’s certain that Amy is by far the best dressed in the room.  Heck, best dressed in the CITY. 

Her dress is black, covered in this mystical shimmery material that seems to catch the light whenever she moves her body, and like a moth to a flame Jake is completely drawn to it.  There’s a smokiness to her eyes (and he doesn’t even know if that’s the correct term but wow those brown eyes of hers are drawing him in when they’re surrounded like that) and her lips are covered in a hot red lipstick, the kind that doesn’t seem to end up on his lips when she kisses him - a theory that he’s been oh so happy to test over and over.  Her hair is soft and wavy and perfect, just as perfect as she is, and Jake genuinely still cannot believe that Amy Santiago is his girlfriend.

It had taken him less than six days of being with her to figure out that what they had was different from all his past relationships.  To realise that until that kiss in the evidence lock-up, he had spent his whole life waiting for the rest of it to begin.  Everything before that afternoon was Pre-Amy; where things were okay but often disappointing, and his days were best spent alone.  

Now, his life was entirely with Amy:  where mornings began with sleepy cuddles and regardless of whatever the day would bring, there was always going to be her at the end of it.  A crazy intelligent, incredibly sexy woman with a heart of gold; whom’s opinion meant far more to him than anybody else’s.  

And a life Post-Amy?  Not gonna happen.  Jake would rather quit the force than consider it.  He’d had a gun pointed at his head a week ago, and her face had been the only thing to flash through his mind.  There have been very few times in Jake’s life where he’s been grateful for Boyle’s ability to appear unannounced, but that evening at Goodwin’s was absolutely at the top of the list.  Thanks to Charles, Jake had been able to wake up Christmas morning with the most beautiful woman in New York laying next to him, and that was honestly better than a thousand bottles of Heart Attack Soda.

She catches his eye from her position across the room, blushing slightly underneath his gaze before turning her attention back to the two other guests she had been talking to.  Jake stands a little taller and waits, knowing that her curiosity will grow too great, and after a beat her gorgeous eyes flicker back towards him and he smiles in victory, nodding his head towards the outside balcony in a wordless invitation.  Tonight has been great, but the countdown to midnight is creeping closer, and there isn’t anybody else in the world he wants to share his first moments of the new year with.  

Amy turns her head back towards the woman to her left, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before nodding vigorously, still giving the illusion of the others having her full attention because Santiago’s are nothing if not gracious guests at any party.  But it’s the only signal Jake needs to rest his now empty bottle of beer on a nearby table and head towards the balcony, shifting a nearby potted plant in front of the doorway as a hopeful deterrent to others.  

It only takes her a few minutes to join him, and Jake can smell her perfume before he can see her, the warm smell of spiced vanilla pulling his attention away from the glittering city lights below.

“Pot plant blockage, nice move detective.”  Amy’s smile is coy, reaching out to smooth the tie he had begrudgingly put on earlier in the evening.  

Jake captures her hand as it moves to leave, pulling her palm up towards his lips and leaving a soft kiss against her skin.  “Do you think it’ll work?”

Her fingers curl around his, tugging him a little closer as she shrugs.  “It might.”  Taking a sip from her champagne glass, she winks.  “That, and just before I left I mentioned how good the fireworks were going to look from that balcony on the other side.”  Tipping the glass further back, she drains it all before continuing.  “There’s a whole crowd heading that way as we speak.”

Jake nods in approval, taking the empty glass from Amy’s hand and sitting it on top of the heavy brick balustrade.  “Genius.  My girlfriend’s a genius.”

“Damn right she is.”

“And gorgeous.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh, YEAH.”  Jake raises his eyebrows incredulously, lowering them with his voice as he wraps both hands around Amy’s waist.  “And kinda amazing.  Also?  Brilliantly nerdy, and sexy. as. hell.”

Amy looks up at him with the softest smile on his face, a look similar to earlier today when she snoozed her alarm (something she’s begun doing with increased regularity, not that he will ever bring that to her attention), cuddled into Jake’s side and rested in the nook between his neck and his shoulders.  It’s a place that has become her nook - a place that feels empty when she’s not there - and she gave him the same smile as now when the alarm blared ten minutes later, and Jake was forced to finally open his eyes.  

There are a thousand things he could say right now, about how much Amy has changed his life for the better, but then her hands wander down his chest, diving underneath his jacket and wrapping around his midsection, and Jake finds himself completely lost for anything to say except the one thing that completely terrifies him. 

He loves her.  There’s no question about it.  He’s probably been in love with her for longer than he can remember, but his heart had caught up with his head somewhere around October and for the longest time there have been three little words bubbling up to the top of his throat, threatening release every time Amy looks at him the way she does.  It was different, this feeling - an all-consuming, undeniable force that has changed everything for the better, serving to remind him that whatever notion he had thought love to be before he’d started dating Amy had been completely wrong.  

Emotions have never been comfortable for him; love has always seemed like a mysterious force before now, and he hates the defeated look that flashes across her face whenever she gets serious with her feelings and his doofus brain responds with a noice or a smort.  Amy deserves better than smort and - in further proof that she is, in fact, incredible - being with her has made Jake begin to believe that perhaps he can be honest with her about how he feels, and not fear the response.  To tell her he loves her without masking it with a joke, or adding it into a ramble that steers her away from the importance of what he’s truly saying.  

Amy head rests against his chest and sighs contentedly, squeezing Jake softly.  “Tonight has been fun, but this right here has been the best part by far.”  He nods, throat heavy with unspoken words;  letting his hands roam over the back of her dress and dipping to the small of her back before pulling her closer.  The rest of the world can have all their sparklers and streamers; no amount of revelry could ever compare to this.  This moment was all he could have hoped for, and he’s endlessly grateful to be able to say that it’s finally his.

In the distance Jake can hear the rest of the crowd counting down the final seconds, and as the world fades into the background with the muted sound of “eight, seven, six” he looks down to Amy, resting one finger underneath her chin and tipping her face to his.  Her eyes are sparkling, catching the light from the party still happening inside, and he doesn’t know how she’s done it but it’s just further proof that she is magic and before another thought can be made, her hands are on his jawline, pulling Jake down until his lips meet hers for the kind of kiss he’s been waiting his whole life for.  

The crowd cheers, the renewal of another year long forgotten as their tongues tangle sweetly, arms locked around each other.  Resolutions of catching bandits and jumping from rooftops fall by the wayside as Amy’s fingers run through Jake’s hair, and the only promise he makes for the new year is make sure Amy knows how I really feel about her.

It’s a blinding bright flash of light that separates them, both blinking in confusion as they seperate and turn their heads towards the doorway it has come from.  Boyle is standing there, because of course he is, his grin wider than the Hudson as he lifts a polaroid camera in glee, snatching the photograph from the front and blowing gently onto the developing film.  

“Happy New Year, lovebirds!”

“Ugh, Boyle!  How did you even know we were out here?!”  Jake responds.  He’s not ready to let go of Amy just yet, instead choosing to tighten his grip around her waist.  She shuffles a little closer in kind, resting her weight against him and presenting a united front as they stare down their friend.

“I sensed there was a precious moment happening somewhere around here, Jakey, and let me tell you - I was not wrong.  I am SO high on your relationship it’s ridiculous.  I cannot wait to frame this photo and put it on my desk, where I can stare at always!”  

“Jake!” Amy whispers, soft enough that only Jake can hear, and he flattens one hand her back.

“I’m sure it’s a great shot buddy, how bout you come over here and show it to us?”  Jake calls out to Boyle, throwing him his best ‘come over here and join us, we’re not angry at ALL that you ruined our private moment’ face.  It must have been convincing enough, and Charles scurries towards them, gripping the polaroid tightly in his dominant hand.  

Jake waits until Charles is close enough to feel comfortable before snatching the photo from his fingers, shifting his body (and by proxy, Amy’s) towards the light of the apartment as he examines it carefully.  

Admittedly, it’s a great shot - the two of them so wrapped up in each other that it’s hard to tell where Jake’s suit ends and Amy’s dress begins, save for the subtle sparkle of her outfit.  Her head is tipped up where his is tipped down - the towering heels that Amy had chosen for the evening making the distance between them seem just that little bit smaller - and they are completely and totally lost in their kiss.  It’s as plain as day that the two people in this photograph are in love, and Jake can’t help but smile as he takes it all in.  “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Boyle.  It’s a great photo.”

Charles nods eagerly, eyes widening into a mixture of confusion and horror as Jake flicks his wrist, tucking the polaroid into the inner pocket of his jacket lining, tapping the outside protectively as he goes.  “Wait, no!  That was going to - ” he huffs in frustration.  “If you guys want me to stop staring at you in the precinct, then you need to give me an alternative, Jake!”

“How about a selfie?”  Amy pipes up, pulling slightly away from Jake and resting her hand above his jacket’s breast pocket.  “One of all three of us, to commemorate the evening.  I think that would look great on your desk, Charles.”

Genius, Jake mouths in Amy’s direction as Boyle squeals in glee, quickly jumping into position in front of the couple and holding the camera up high.  Their smiles are wide, the genuine happiness palpable through the film as they seperate, Jake linking his hand with Amy’s and letting Boyle lead them back into the party.  Their friends were inside after all, waiting to celebrate the new year with them, and they could definitely sneak out of the party later once Four Drink Amy made her return appearance.

Jake had no idea what the new year would bring, but he had the strongest instinct that whatever would happen, he and Amy would face it all together.

[a-study-log]

The midnight dance and last of the tarts

What are midnights for if not for trying to finish parts of work on the kitchen countertop while I stir fry potatoes for a midnight snack? 

I’ve been thinking about logging my day on here for the past week or so, I did work towards doing that - Changed the theme 89855 times until I was satisfied with one, opened a text draft and noted the date. I proceeded to stare at it for a couple minutes before I move to something else. 

My aeropress got delivered today so I consumed copious amounts of coffee in the name of learning how to use it. I wonder if I can go to bed after it but, caffeine is powerless when pitted against my tired self. The fact that I had to use word check to correctly spell caffeine displays how sleepy I am.

caffeine 0 - A 1

I’m leaving to a place near my native for a the weekend, not that I want to but, I have to (the parent has commanded me to accompany) so I made a long list of things I need to pack in my backpack. I’m taking The Black Swan by Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s for reading during the 8 or 9 hour car drive. It is a conceptually daunting and possibly overwhelming (rip, I forgot how to spell this as well. Thanks word check, me loves you) book but the index has got me excited to read it.

I’ll be going to bed by 1:30am instead of the 3 to 4am that I’ve been pulling along the last few days. To celebrate it I blasted Walk Off The Earth’s Beatles compilation and danced around my room.

Oh and, I also finished the last of the mini matcha and fruit tarts I made. 

08.12.2020, Tuesday

[lacylu42]

11/11 tag game

I was tagged by @contes-de-rheio​. Thank you!

1. The plot of the first original story you wrote

Oh, lordy... I’ll have to think back on that. The first original story I can remember writing was in junior high (which would be *cough* like 20+ years ago???). It was a science fiction about a team of people who invented individual spaceship/suits to fight an alien invasion (think mechs, but I’m pretty sure I had never been exposed to those when I wrote it). I didn’t finish it because it really didn’t have a plot beyond what I just told you. ;) 

2. What do you think about advising a story solely over the character‘s sexuality, ethnicity or religion?

Not sure I totally understand the question, but I personally would never write a story where the main plot turns on someone’s sexuality, ethnicity or religion — mostly because I’m a cis het white female who grew up protestant, so I wouldn’t feel comfortable writing a book ENTIRELY about the life or struggles of someone who had a very different experience. At least, I don’t feel up to the task at this stage of my writing life.

I am, however, big on including a diverse cast in my books, and their struggles do play into the plot sometimes. I prefer to make those characteristics secondary, though to the person themselves; I try to treat those characters as I would a cis het white male. If his skin color/religion/sexuality isn’t a big deal, then the other variations in other characters shouldn’t be either (though it’s a fine line between treating those things as normal and unremarkable and tokenism, and I’m aware of that as well...)

My last epic WIP (that has become something of a bottom drawer novel for the time being) had an allegorical theme of religious intolerance (and intolerance in general) and one of the main characters was a Muslim teenage girl who experienced some serious crap because of her gender and religion. BUT were that novel ever to see the light of day, I would want to hire a Muslim woman to help me read and edit it to make certain I’m portraying my character in a truthful and appropriate light.

WHEW that was a lot. 

3.  How many alternatives of your WIPs plot do you have in mind?

None. I built my current WIP using the plot of The Thin Man as sort of a template (because I suck at plot and was using this NaNo as an experiment and practice to improve). Of course, the details and even some of the plot deviated as the WIP grew, but I didn’t have multiple variations.

As I’m outlining the sequel, I do have a couple of places in the outline where I say “either this happens OR that happens” because I haven’t decided yet, but they’re not big plot points. 

4.  Your favorite character ever

My own OC or character in general?

Right now, David MacInish, the half-fae detective in my WIP is my favorite. As for characters in other people’s works, I love the Doctor, from Doctor Who, and Remus Lupin.

(I guess I like a man with a tragic backstory...)

5.  what do you like about world building?

I love describing settings, and I love imagining fantastic, impossible places. There’s a magical, possibly sentient library that’s popped up in two of my WIPs and I keep wanting to find the right place for it. Maybe she needs her own book. ;) 

Question you didn’t ask: What do you HATE about world building? Working out the rules of my magic system. I sometimes paint myself into a corner and then don’t know how to get out. 

6. The longest time your worked on a WIP to finish the first draft?

OK, don’t judge: 10+ years. My bottom-of-the-drawer WIP took me more than 10 years to finish. I finally hired a book coach and finished the first full draft in 2017. In my defense, I was doing that thing where you write five chapters, then go back and rewrite five chapters, then rewrite those five chapters over and over and over again. But it took me 10 years to write the whole damn thing start to finish. And now I pretty much never want to look at it again. ;)

7. Movie or tv show adaption?

Oh man. I’m torn! What I really want is a thousand episodes of a TV show but with movie-quality production values. Is that really too much to ask? ;) 

Actually, I just recently watched the BBC miniseries of A Discovery of Witches and I thought they did a great job with the sweeping, epic feel, in 10 episodes or whatever it was. But I’m always like MOAR PLS. 

8. Your favorite part of being a writer?

I love the giddy explosion of creativity when I’m in flow, when I’m inhabiting my world, when I’m imagining new things. My daughter calls playing pretend “making movies,” and that’s really what it feels like to me. Directing and inhabiting these movies in my head. 

I think that’s why I struggle with editing, because it’s not the heady creation phase. It feels a lot more like WORK. 

9. Planer, Pantser or something in between?

Well, pantsing is the reason it took me 10 years to finish a WIP (that and I moved states, changed jobs, had a baby, and started a business in that time...). 

I found in writing this NaNo that it was SO much easier having a template to work from. Every time I got stuck, I just looked at the book to see what happened next and I could get moving again. So I’m working on a detailed outline for the next book. (Although, I am allowing myself to capture snippets of scenes and dialogue as they occur to me.)  

10. Writing by hand or via PC?

On the computer. When I was in junior high (see above) and just starting to write my own stories, I taught myself to type better, because I couldn’t hand-write fast enough to get the ideas out of my head. Now I type over 100 words a minute, so my fingers move almost as fast as my brain... ;) 

11. Your go to snacks while writing?

If I’m going to eat while writing, it’s the hand to mouth action I crave more than the actual food, so I try to pick something relatively healthy that requires a lot of that — like grapes, blueberries, or plain popcorn (love the buttered stuff, but it makes fingers greasy for typing). Mostly I just drink copious amounts of coffee, tea, or carbonated water. 

Thank you again for tagging me!

The rules are 11 questions answered, 11 questions given, and 11 people tagged! I’ll tag my new writeblr friends (but I tagged some of you in the last one, so just do the ones you like!): @iloveyouappleiloveyouorange​, @foreshadowingss, @starlitesymphony, @virginiawritesforlovers, @caberetofwords, and @kipoints. 

1. Have you had to “kill any darlings” from your current WIP, ie: quotes, characters, scenes, etc. that you LOVE but don’t fit and have to be cut? Please share.

2. What is your favorite genre to write in and why? Is it different from the genres you like to consume?

3. Do you consciously study existing works by other authors to improve your own writing? If so, what types of things do you look at?

4. Have you noticed any patterns in your own writing, ie: you always have a certain type of character, like to explore a certain type of story, etc.?

5. Do you do most of your world building before you write, while writing the first draft, or during revisions? 

6. If when your WIP hits the bestseller list, where would you like to go or what would you like to do on a book tour? Is there somebody you’d like to be interviewed by? 

7. How do you approach setting the scene in your work? Are you into lush descriptions or giving the bare minimum and allowing the reader to fill in the blanks?

8. Do you follow a set structure (ie: hero’s journey, 3-act structure) when plotting out your works, or fly by the seat of your pants?

9. What does your revision process look like?

10. Please share a bit of dialogue from your WIP that shows us something important about the character’s personality.

11. Please share any jokes or funny bits from your WIP of which you are ridiculously proud. ;) 

[annemayfair]

Parting Ways. [P.1]

@picchar @thatcalamity I did a smol thing

[Words: 1,970]

The fanfare fell quiet long ago, and the band players left the castle with all the extra servants that wore out their clothes within the past two months. An extraordinary celebration that cost more than the royal treasury could pay for already got spotlights in letters sent to Orlais and all the way to Seheron; countless people wrote to the royal chancellor, invoking ancient favors, hoping for an invitation. But they would need to defeat an Archdemon, ward off a Qunari invasion, or stop an ancient mad god in order to fit among the guests.

Or they needed to be family.

Oran celebrated like the rest. He drank sweet wines and honeymeads, washing it down with crystal-clear drinks that hailed from Rivain. He ate the Starkhaven fish pies and participated in a hunt that produced a large boar for a traditional Avvar wedding roast. He even fought a couple of nobles for everyone’s bemusement, every time securing a favor from different beautiful attendees. His legs got sore and his feet hurt from dancing that happened within last two weeks, and even Oran, the man who can talk a bird off a tree, grew tired of social mingling. So he was among the first people departing from the Royal Palace the very next morning when the fun ended.

His horse had been prepared, but he hoped to meet Rahlen and Fenlin before he rode back to Rainesfere. He stood at the back balcony, enjoying the early summer sun. Warm and yellow, it colored everything around him with a light tint. Green seemed greener, grey seemed happier, and the entire world was drowning in happiness. Yet, somehow, as he watched multiple servants prepare carriages for others who’d be leaving after the royal luncheon, he wasn’t really happy. His chest hurt, and he knew the suspiciously peppered broiled rabbit, served with Waller salad, was to blame.

“Bann Mac Eanraig,” a joyful voice sounded behind Oran. “I’m glad we could catch you before you left!”

Oran turned to see Rahlen and Fenlin walk down the marble staircase hand in hand. Rahlen’s blue and gold outfit shone in the morning sun, reflecting speckles of light onto castle walls. Fenlin looked most dashing in her corresponding greens and silver, and her hair seemed more luminous than the sun itself. Oran smiled, bowed to them, and greeted them back:

“Not Mac Eanraig yet, but I am glad to see you regardless,” he straightened back up. “I hope you survived your wedding well enough.”

“We lived, and this is what matters the most,” Rahlen laughed, coming forward to shake Oran’s hand. “But the company does seem to be tired.”

“I still can’t believe a dwarf named Oghren could drink so much,” Fenlin tiptoed to give Oran a kiss on the cheek. “Each barrel was twice his size.”

“Sounds just like our mothers’ stories, doesn’t it?” Oran smiled at them, hands placed on the hilt of his sword. “Oghren consuming copious amounts of alcohol. A fight. And a mabari sneaking torn pantaloons into pockets of their owners.”

“That sure was embarrassing,” admitted Rahlen, “but I’m still unsure where Lady acquired them. None of the guests complained.”

“Perhaps they were too ashamed,” guessed Fenlin. “Lady must’ve seen something unfathomable if she got them without a fight.”

Their conversation got interrupted by a loud crack. All three turned sharply and saw a trunk with spilled contents in the courtyard, and a few men panicked around it. Rahlen leaned over the balcony and told the men to fix the trunk, and Oran snuck a closer look at Fenlin. She appeared to be… happy. And joyful.

As she should.

“When are you leaving?” Rahlen asked, returning. “And are you sure you must depart today, and not in another month?”

“The castellans grow uneasy as your clemency approaches,” Oran explained. “They still stand by their words that I am unfit to hold a mining monopoly, that I am too weak to hold the power on my own. What’s the better way of showing them wrong than showing them who I really am?”

“There’s some logic in your ways,” Rahlen crossed his hands over his chest. “But I would prefer if you stayed for longer.”

“That would be my utmost pleasure,” Oran assured him. “But duty calls.”

He lifted his arms in the air, asking them for attention.

“There’s one more matter to attend to before I leave,” he announced. “I want to give you your presents in person while I can.”

“Oran, you’re just too nice,” smiled Fenlin. “Is it the super secret tome of Tale of the Champion you’ve been promising me?”

“Wait, there’s a second tome?” Rahlen’s jaw nearly dropped on the floor. “What’s there to put into a whole second tome?”

“I did obtain a manuscript,” Oran winked at Fenlin. “I’m waiting for it to be verified; and as soon it is proven authentic, I am ordering a copy for you.”

From his pocket, he produced a small box made of black wood. The entire surface of this box was covered in intricate carvings that showed the family tree of Couslands. Oran watched in sweet anticipation as Rahlen cautiously opened the box, and smiled as wide as he could when Rahlen looked at him in confusion.

“This is,” Rahlen licked his lips. “This is a lovely…”

“What is it?” Fenlin stood by her husband’s side and peeked at the contents of the box. “Is that a dried wormdust you mentioned, Oran?”

“No,” the bann shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “A gift from me to your family, Rahlen, and may you never need it.”

“I’m sure this is lovely, but what is it?” Fenlin persisted, furrowing her brows slightly.

A few bowing servants snuck past them, carrying trays of cutlery. They headed towards a section of the garden where the wedding guests have been having their breakfast for the last few weeks. Then a yawning mabari Oran couldn’t recognize strolled by with a huge piece of ham in its mouth. Windows started opening at the castle, above and around them, as the people started waking up.

“I won’t say too much,” Oran said. “But let’s put it this way: at Haven, my mother took a bit extra.”

He watched Rahlen’s expression change and color drain from his face. The crown prince’s fingers shook as he closed the box, tucking it away safely inside his chest pocket.

“I still don’t understand,” Fenlin admitted.

“I’ll tell you everything as we prepare for the breakfast,” Rahlen placed his hand on her waist in a semi-hug. “I promise.”

Fenlin appeared to be surprised of the change in Rahlen that happened in less than a minute. But she accepted it, knowing well that Rahlen would keep his promise and provide all information. For now, she just watched a bit of tears form in corners of both men’s eyes as they shook hands.

“This is more generosity than I’ll be able to repay,” Rahlen said with a coarse voice.

“We’re family,” Oran told him. “No repayment needed.”

A large red-faced man appeared in one of the windows just above Oran’s head. His bushy black eyebrows were covered in white powder, and his cheeks rapidly changed color from pale to tomato red. His purple hat, skewed to the side, threatened to fall off, but the man did not notice that fact. His eyes, wide with fear, changed their direction from Rahlen to servants in the courtyard to a large tree where Honeybun slept.

“Your Majesty,” the man screamed in the fakest calm voice, “your presence is needed urgently at the quarters of Tevene embassy!”

“Shall I be worried, Frederick?” Rahlen inquired with a stunned smile still on his lips.

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” the red-faced man insisted.

Oran and Rahlen exchanged looks, and Oran assured his cousin that he understood everything, and that it were fine. They hugged hard, patting each other’s backs, and Rahlen kissed Fenlin before departing back into the castle. The two remained alone.

“I’ll walk you to the stables,” Fenlin said, placing her palm over Oran’s hand.

“That would be very kind,” he smiled to an old friend.

He put his hand into a proper gallant position, and with a short laughter, Fenlin accepted his offer. It seemed that a whole another life passed since their first meeting at Rowan’s, although Oran’s mind knew that it had been only couple of years. Servants and others greeted Fenlin as they passed them, and Oran noticed that despite having been here for months, it still did not sit well with the former Ambassador.

They reached the stables, occupied with a quiet conversation about their Tevene adventure and about Mythalen. Oran informed her that indeed local farmers started adopting nugalopes as drafting animals, and she told him that she has purchased a long-coveted talking golem miniature from Wonders of Thedas. They both stopped to pick up Honeybun, now much larger than Fenlin last saw her.

“When is she due?” Fenlin asked, petting Honeybun’s engorged belly.

“About two weeks,” Oran said, scratching behind his dog’s ears. Honeybun growled with pleasure, yawning. “She’s going to be such a good dog momma.”

“She will,” Fenlin kissed the dog’s head. “Oh, she will be, because she’s always been such a good miss!”

She then stood up and saw that Oran’s horse had been prepared. The old mare was lead up to them, with her reigns already in Oran’s hands. The man fidgeted with the saddle before facing her again.

“When shall we meet again?” She asked with a kind smile. “I hope your business in Rainesfere isn’t too occupying so you could visit. I’d love to introduce you to Rasha; I’m still upset you’re going to miss her by just four days.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a while,” he told her. “I don’t know how much time it’ll take to convince the landsknechts that I am a worthy leader, and I don’t know for how long I’ll get stuck in there. But we won’t see each other in a long while.”

“Well, if you can’t visit, we shall visit you, then,” she chuckled and gave Honeybun a baked mabari treats. Oran never knew where she hid them, but she always was prepared to spoil her.

He took a deep breath.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

Fenlin’s face was immediately overcome with doubt and surprise. She looked him straight in the eyes, searching for an explanation.

“Why?” She inquired firmly. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Oran weakly resisted. “I simply think we both have our own business.”

She kept the silence for a while, lip bitten as a wrinkle formed between her brows.

“Fenlin, there is nothing wrong in me not seeing you, or vice versa,” Oran followed up. “But it’ll be easier and kinder. At least to me.”

He leaned over her and gently kissed her on the forehead, placing another small wooden box in her hands. This one was made from Brecilian ironbark with flowing Dalish motif carved deep into its surface.

“I am happy to have you in the family, Fenlin,” he told her, drawing back. “I am happy for you.”

“This is,” Fenlin said slowly, “this is extremely stupid.”

“Just as it’s supposed to be,” said Oran.

He got onto his horse, and pregnant Honeybun sprung to her feet. Oran half-bowed to Fenlin:

“Goodbye, Lady Ambassador, and may the Maker watch over your steps.”

She seemed confused and angry, and Oran’s heart jumped as he turned his back to her, heading his horse towards the gate. He listened closely to discern her footsteps when she finally moved back to the castle, her light walk barely making a sound against paved courtyard floor. A lump formed in Oran’s throat.

It was for the best.

[whiskyconsidered]

What I drink when I’m not drinking whisky

If you’re curious about what I like to drink when I’m not drinking whisky, read on…

I cut my teeth as a beer drinker. I somehow managed to persuade my mother that she should buy me beer or wine on a fairly regular basis once I turned 18. I grew up in an era of very memorable Bud Light commercials, so I had long determined that my first beer would be a Bud Light. I quickly branched out from there, with my mom getting me anything that could readily be found at the supermarket. Before I started university, I spent roughly 8-9 months in Europe, pretty well drinking my way from the UK to Russia to the extent that I had a fairly sophisticated palate for alcohol before I started college.

Despite an extensive exposure to single malt whisky, fine Belgian ales, crisp German lagers, and sundry interesting European liqueurs, I spent plenty of time in college drinking like a college bro—with a firm emphasis on quantity over quality. Given my earliest exposure to alcohol, I really should have known better, but that didn’t stop me from imbibing copious amounts of Milwaukee’s Best Ice, Miller High Life, Carlo Rossi Sangria, bottom shelf supermarket brand vodka as well as experimenting with atrocities like Steel Reserve and Olde English high gravity malt liquors and bottom shelf brown spirits. I also demonstrated an imaginative capacity for what might be deemed “frat-boy mixology”, with such creations as “the bloody Keystone slushy” (frozen Keystone Light mixed with V8 and citron vodka), a ghastly mixture of bottom shelf vodka and cola, and most astonishing of all, a cocktail of Carlo Rossi Sangria and either cheap vodka or Everclear, served in a pint glass. And yes, inquisitive reader, I did play “Edward 40-hands” on more than one occasion, and yes, I once played a variant of “Edward 40-hands” that involved bottles of bargain sparkling wine rather than the standard malt liquor.

Happily, my days of drinking to get drunk are solidly behind me. I’ve still rarely met a drink I didn’t like, but my preferences are for things that I actually enjoy drinking rather than those that will efficiently render me black-out drunk. So.

Anyone who reads this blog knows that I like whisky/whiskey. My earliest exposure was to scotch, and I have built on that foundation, prioritizing scotch over other types of whiskey. Still, I enjoy good bourbon, good Irish whiskey, and good Japanese whisky, and I’m certainly not averse to trying other sorts of whiskey.

Here are other things I drink:

Beer:

My go-to drink remains beer, and I actually drink a lot more beer than I do scotch. For almost as long as I can remember, I’ve had at least one beer almost every day. My preferences tend to vary with the season—I drink lighter beers when it’s hot outside, and darker beers when it’s cold.

For lighter beers, I like continental lagers and a handful of brand American beers. I’ll gladly drink Stella Artois, Kronenbourg 1664, Lowenbrau, Beck’s, or Heineken. If I’m going American, my preference is for Lone Star or Budweiser (not Bud Light---ewww), or every once in awhile, Rolling Rock or Michelob Ultra. It is my firm belief that for all the great virtues of the American craft-brewing revolution, American craft brewers have failed spectacularly in the art of creating a simple, refreshing beer. Most craft blondes and pilseners that I’ve had are too malty to be refreshing, and while a good American style IPA can be enjoyable from time to time (especially in the early spring or late fall), those aren’t really refreshing, either. Every once in awhile, I go on a Belgian bender in the summer which usually involves a strong golden ale like Duvel and a mix and match of abbey or abbey-style beers.

When the weather gets colder and the days get shorter, I favor heavier, and often darker, beers. I like Guinness and various Guinness special releases, Abbey dubbels, and American craft porters and stouts. I also drink a fair amount of Newcastle Brown Ale and Bodington’s, and would happily drink more English bitter ale if it were easier to come by where I live.

I am fortunate to live in a city with a lively and thriving craft brewing scene. There are no fewer than 5 local craft brew tap rooms within 10 minutes’ walk of my house, in addition to several bars that serve an even greater variety of local draft beers. There are probably another 15 or 20 local breweries within a 15 or 20 minute drive. My girlfriend and I often go to one of these establishments, although given my dislike of lighter American craft beer, I tend to favor the darker offerings even at the height of summer when we’re drinking at a local brewery.

Given my fondness for beer, you might ask why I don’t write about beer. I guess I’ve never taken beer quite as seriously as I have scotch (despite my enjoyment), and I’ve also never quite been able to pull apart distinctive flavors in beer in the way that I can with whisky.

Herbal/Bitter Liqueurs:

After whisky, my favorite stronger liquors tend to be bitter herbal spirits or liqueurs. Traveling in Hungary, I took a shine to an astonishingly bitter drink called Zwack Unicum (not to be confused with the considerably sweeter version, Zwack Liqueur, that is now widely distributed outside of Hungary). Alas, Unicum is hard to find, especially in the US, but I also like other sorts of drink that are broadly in the same class, such as Fernet Branca, Cynar, Campari, Pelinkovac, and Chartreuse. I tolerate Jagermeister but mostly find it too sweet.

Cocktails:

I really enjoy well-made cocktails. Unsurprisingly, given my affection for a) whisky/whiskey and b) bitter liqueurs, I tend to favor “classic” cocktails with a brown spirit base and something bitter. Think Old Fashioneds, Sazeracs, and their friends and relations. I also like to make Mint Juleps, though I use Old Overholt Rye instead of bourbon, and brandy Sidecars.

Wine:

Generally speaking, I’m not much of a wine drinker. When I do drink wine, it is almost always red wine, mostly toward the dry end of the spectrum (I like malbecs and cabernets). I used to drink retsina, a Greek white with a pronounced pine-resin flavor, but after a very unhappy exercise in which my girlfriend and I got completely wrecked off a green chile-infused white of some kind, neither of us will touch white wine of any kind under most circumstances.

I do like ruby port and sherry (unsurprising, given my fondness for sherry-matured scotch), but I don’t drink either frequently.

Other stuff:

I’ve been known to drink sake once or twice a year.

I used to drink straight Gordon’s gin as an aperitif, and later, the occasional martini (which by the way, is a very particular drink made with gin, not vodka), but nowadays, I mostly shy away from gin.

Traveling in Russia and Eastern Europe, I consumed vast quantities of vodka, but aside from the occasional Harvey Wallbanger, I rarely touch the stuff, now. In the unlikely event that I get in a shot-taking mood, I’ll buy a bottle of Linie Aquavit.

I’d kind of like to get into good rum, but my experience has been limited so far, and I haven’t bothered much to explore, and I don’t really anticipate that will change anytime soon. I have similar feelings about cognac and Armagnac and various other schnaps (the liquor, not the liqueur).

Insofar as I’ve tried mescal, I’ve liked it (what I’ve had tastes sort of like a heavily peated scotch). Not so much with tequila, which, good or bad, always has an unpleasantly rancid quality to it.

[temenosjournal]

There was a time when I could go through a litre of milk, just get up, open the fridge, and drink glass after glass, hungrily, gobbling it up like I was starved of it. Mom would say she’d always go out and buy extra if she knew I was coming for a visit, so she’d have milk for her coffee the next morning. 

These posts take me back in time. Not just back the 3 years to when they were first drafted, but back to when Mom was alive, back to kitchen talks, and all the minutiae of life, and once they are gone it is always just one more moment you want, always. There are things I definitely would have talked to her about, things she would have known, and I miss those talks, her perspective, her voice. 

Another thing is I don’t crave milk anymore, or as much, and it is rare for me to have any in the fridge, or at least for long, so I guess perhaps I am weaned.

Well, no more bones to mend (knock on wood) and seems as though those copious amounts of it did little good besides.

After that break, I stayed off work for 2 1/2 months total, had the whole last part of that summer off, and when I finally went back I turned around and quit the very next day. Sort of like the boiling frog analogy, that goes if you put a frog straight into boiling water he will immediately try to get out, but if you put it into tepid water and slowly turn the heat up, he will be lulled into a false sense of calm and not see it coming.

No idea why I took a picture of boiling water, but I did, at the end of May of 2015.

Could not do it. After that time to think, and dream, I decided that I’d rather live in a cardboard box under a bridge then return to that pot of boiling water horrible no good call centre, I was DONE!!!

With just enough money for the rent that month, my internet and phone, and hope and faith, and a kind sister, and good friends, such as D3, that Crossroads Man, who fed me steak and kidney beans, beer and bread, and courage. 

It was the best of times, as it was the worst, and I survived, found a new job I still like, and all’s well that… well… nothing has ended, not even close, I’m just getting started and there is still another 19 more days to go of this trip through these dusty drafts. 

photos from April 14th, 2016

From April 30th, 2016.

This would probably surprise you, but I don’t normally buy milk anymore. Too expensive. Don’t even use it in my coffee now.

And you probably would be god-smacked at what grocery stores look like now. You’ve been gone almost 15 years and in that time, what with the onslaught of new tech, the whole experience has changed.

I remember years ago going to the old Dominion there at the merging of Hamilton and Gore? Think the place is now maybe a bingo hall or was a bingo hall, been ages since I was out that end of town.

Point being, shopping for groceries now is more like a 3 ring blawdy circus.

What got me thinking about that old Dominion Store, is this meme that came through my facebook feed this morning. This photo of one of the new self-checkout counters was pictured, with the heading…”Just Say No”…or something. The basic idea being that by using the self-checkout lane you are taking away jobs from hard-working Canadians.

Point taken, and for a lot of reasons, I completely agree. However, these same people will probably drive halfway across town to get the cheapest price on a bag of milk, but they insist on believing that these choices don’t have repercussions.

Out of necessity more than choice, and due to the proximity, I do my grocery shopping here in the village. The place has the reputation of being one of the most expensive stores in the city. However, I have the joy of the one thing those 3 ring circus’ just do not often offer – that personal touch.

For instance, one of the most well-known cashiers in London works there, ask anyone who’s lived here, and they’ll tell ya her name. “Dittly Do“…to which I answer “thank you.”

The place is not all glitz and glamour. Far from. Certainly, recent changes gave the place a facelift, but geesh, it’s a f’n grocery store. I walk in, I buy food, I smile and laugh with the checkout person, I leave and go home. I can do that anywhere, but quite frankly that middle part, the laugh and such with the cashier, well you don’t get that everywhere.

The big giant superstore near work? I use the self-checkout usually to avoid the cashiers, to be perfectly honest. Most are just nasty, unfriendly, sad, angry, and generally indifferent. It’s obvious that the majority of them absolutely hate their job. Not all, but most.

You just can’t have it all, simple as that. You want cheap, quick, choice, and have a friendly face meet you at the checkout? Well, that has been driven into the dirt as everyone races off to the next best deal, and now they care about that cashier’s job? Seriously?

You know Mom, I am still astounded at the ignorance. Although I guess that is more to do with my tendency towards generally thinking the best of people. And with social media, frankly, ya get smacked in the face with this prevailing wind of stupid on a fairly regular basis, so my resilience is worthy, if naive.

Some people are lost in the bushes, wishing for a world that is gone and quite frankly we have only ourselves to blame. Sad to say, but that grocery store here in the village is a treasure from a lost world.

You vote with your dollar bills, not via likes on facebook.

I suppose the difference with me is also that I haven’t really watched a lot of TV over the last decade or more. Don’t listen to the radio, and have generally not lived, shopped, and been enamoured by any of the garbage many gravitate to. All that shiny, glitzy, new-fangled, best ever, fad, trend, WHATEVER, has bypassed me. I’m not the consumer those 1%er’s are aiming their stun-guns at.

Sure, you can protest all ya want, but it is inevitable that self-checkout lanes will be as common as debit machines in no time. People just don’t get that you can’t have it all.

Guess that’s my rant for the day. And it really is unfortunate, but change is going to happen. I can’t stand shopping in those big box stores. I certainly get the convenience aspect, but I’ll take personality with a side of friendly banter any day over a cheap bag of milk. Thank you kindly.

The Village in Duo-Tone – Spring 2016

And The 51st Can See The Light: how do you buy a bag of milk? There was a time when I could go through a litre of milk, just get up, open the fridge, and drink glass after glass, hungrily, gobbling it up like I was starved of it.

[hoytdingus-blog]

Mastery Journal Reflection - Design Research

This month I was tasked to produced a website design composition for Turtle Jam (a reggae sea turtle benefit concert). Pages that have been requested were the home, about, concert information, artists, and tickets pages. Below will discussed the rationale behind these creations, design choices, as well as revisions that have been made to these assets based on feedback that was received.

MOODBOARD

The moodboard included the shapes, colors, and textures that were used. I also refined and updated my mood board base on feedback I had received earlier this week. Oval shapes were used to frame photos and create buttons. This was done because of the similarity in shape to the turtle shell as well as turtle eggs. This shape make perfect sense because the organization is all about sea turtle conservation and rescue. Sea turtle shape vectors were enlisted to showcase the color palette. Textures of hardwood and sand encapsulate that idea of a board walk this was taken advantage of for background and layout items in order to frame the experience and create a relaxing and warm environment in order to set the mood for the user. The typefaces used are Chinese Rocks and DIN condensed. The shape Chinese Rocks mimics the look and feel of drift wood and beach huts making it the perfect typeface for titles, headers, and logos. While, DIN condensed complements Chinese Rocks nicely and being a san serif with consistent line weight that is easily legible ideal for body copy.

WIREFRAMES

From my wireframes and sketches, the general layout use. I approached this first draft to get things in place and then played around with size and location after feedback was received. I didn’t want to sweat adhering to strictly to the wireframes as they were starting point. After doing research and referring to this months source material, I wanted to try and create a site the was relatively straight forward and not overly complicated. Adopting the mind set to create a website that didn’t require thought from the user became the idea. This led to me to attempt creating a site that didn’t require the user to scroll for information, but rather simplify this human interaction to a single click. The best example of this can be seen in the wireframes as a static bottom navigation bar. This allows the user to pay more attention to the content and less on how to interact with the website. This design pattern can be seen in a number of mobile applications and is a pattern that many user should already be familiar with, yet is rarely used in website design.

DESIGN COMPS

In my final design compositions for this month changes were made. The social media buttons for the page were move to the header of each page. This made sure that each page was consistent in the implementation of social features. There were slight contrast issues with the white text on the sandy background, to solve this issues a subtle drop shadow was chosen to help the text “pop” off the background making it easier for the user to read the information. Typos in the body copy were also corrected. On the concert info page, assets were moved to different locations and scaled down to insure a better fit on the page. This made a big difference because now the elements feel like that each have their own living space and room to breathe, as opposed to before where the elements were fighting for air and the user’s attention.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I hope you have enjoyed the work I have produced for this organization over the course of this project. It has been a pleasure to work with you. The work produced in the final compositions was in order to create a website the differentiates from the current web paradigm. The page is designed so that users do not have to scroll for any information, insuring that the content remains king on the page. The navigation menu was designed with mobile devices in mind as a bottom menu is a common mobile design pattern, that you don’t see much of on the web. Thank you for your time and I look forward to working with you in the future.

THE FUTURE

Reflecting on this month, I have been thinking a lot about what the future may hold for me in my career. Graphic Design is such a broad industry because it has it’s role in every industry. From retail to tech everyone needs design assets for branding, marketing, and their digital presence. For as long as I can remember my passion has always been in gaming. And the rise of eSports has really been something of devote interest and intrigue. I follow all the eSports publications i can get my hands on as well as listen to podcast and consume copious amounts of youtube videos and past eSports broadcast. I really want to make my mark in that industry in some way in the coming years. I also this past month on top of all my school work for this class, i also did  some freelance design work for a friend who is working on a launching a Kickstarter for a game. He needed a logo and told him I could help. I will post the logo below so you all can see what logo work I did this month as well. Thank you all for your feedback this month in class it has been extremely helpful.

DEICIDE LOGO v1

DEICIDE LOGO v2