by the time I'm out the door

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 06:51:34 GMT

Durhur meme from Kaya. :D

1. Comment to this entry saying "ICONS!" and I will pick 6 of your icons.
2. Make an entry in your own journal and talk about the icons I picked!

I was looking for Sasuke icons for an rp account, when I came across this. Their expressions are so cute, so I koped it. TwT And it makes for a good "... uh huh. Bitch pls" icon.

Alex Pettyfer, in a shoot with Kai Z Feng (one of the really popular celebrity photographers I think). |D He's so pretty!

Ahhhh, just look at him pout, socutedamnit. This is a young Bjorn Andresen, circa the 1970s, and he was called the most beautiful boy. It's not hard to guess why he had that nickname. ;D

Errrr I just wanted an 8059 icon? :D And TYL for the win! I've always thought Amano's set up a really good premise for fic writing. :B Not that I don't love canon for all its crazy crack.

I'm not really a fan of 5927 but-- LOOK AT THIS FACE. T____T It's so heartbreakingly honest and devoted.

Charmaine Sheh is one of my favourite actors (but then I fangirl a lot of TVB actors), and this is from Word Twisters' Adventures (铁嘴银牙）, which is a series about litigation and the first female litigator in Qing Dynasty China. She's so cute! ♥

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 15:23:41 GMT

I've never thought that thinking things through the way I do was anything troublesome. Sure, it's overanalytical at times, and the whole world doesn't need to know what I think of Picasso or Hugh Hefner, but I've always liked thinking shit through like that anyway.

Today I stayed back to talk a bit with Shubigi, and while I really enjoyed the conversation, on the way home I just felt so down suddenly.

Retrospective analysis of something you've read before is both interesting and troubling. I picked up Little Women when I came home, intending to read a chapter or two, but then I found that I couldn't enjoy it anymore. In the past, I could put aside all the little notions that the March family had about women, being ladylike and enduring their burdens with good little Christian souls. For some reason, I can't now. Every little word about it irks me so much. I mean, it's generally still good, and you see where the charm all is, but then you have Marmee March's ideas about how a woman should work quietly and toll for domestic peace. You have Meg, who is portrayed as a shining example of the weaker sex, with her domestic talents and yet she is silly enough to spend $50 on a piece of silk when her husband works so hard (though she does redeem herself a few pages later).

What really gets me is Jo's metamorphosis. I'd rather she have remained Mr March's "son Jo", rather than the womanly figure she becomes (and what really rankles is that she is praised for it. Femininity is seen as a sign of maturity. wtf.), going around with Laurie on larks and being her unpretentious self.

In one chapter, Amy says something about the lines of, "Women should be agreeable, because we have nothing else to offer than our kindnesses in return for what we receive". Why not? If that is the case, then what do men have to offer? The world? I think not, because no one person is capable of offering such, regardless of gender. Everyone has something to offer, no matter how worthless s/he seems to the rest of the world. It's so disheartening to see this kind of thing.

Even when reading Gone With the Wind again, I see so much racism in there and so many things that I never noticed in the past. On one hand, it's interesting to see how much my thoughts have differed from say- three or four years ago. On the other hand, I wish I could stop seeing all these in the things I used to really like. Not that I dislike them now, but some of the enjoyment is no longer there.

Or maybe it's just today, I don't know. All that I know is that I wish I knew how to switch off my brain as and when I like.

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 16:38:58 GMT

Sometimes I really really hate what my extended family is capable of doing. The wake is just barely over, and already all the crap is starting up.

Sunday, first thing in the morning, my third aunt calls up. At first it's just the usual- she's seen how haggard my dad is, and tells me that he really loves us, so we ought to take care of him.

I know that. I know. I live with him day in, day out, and however mad I am at how he thinks and what he does, I know he loves his daughters a lot, through all the little gestures he makes for us. It's sad how he didn't do all that shit for his wife until she wanted a divorce though, but that's life for you I guess.

Then my aunt starts in on how buay song my mother looked throughout the funeral. I just listened at first, rolling my eyes. Come on, how have you all treated her? Have you ever seen my mother as part of the family? You've always treated her as a second-class citizen, just one step above the maids you employ. Heck, in the early years of the marriage, she might as well have been a maid for you all. You kept criticizing her and moaning that my father could have made a better choice in terms of marriage partner- what is a new bride supposed to think? And now, at the funeral of a mother-in-law she has never liked, is she supposed to be sad and properly mourning? My mother is not a hypocrite like all of you, thank you very much.

But that's not even the worst part yet. My third aunt went on to say that my father loves his family a lot, to the point where he would offend people for it. Wait what, isn't that what families are supposed to do for each other anyway? If I felt that my father was being wronged, I'd offend people to stand up for him too- so why not he for his wife and children? She kept on harping on that point, and then implied that my father was my mother's victim.

Fuck you, bitch. If you weren't my third aunt, and if it wasn't for my dad, I'd bitch you out anyday gladly. You are my aunt, for god's sake- act like it and don't throw what little respect I have for you as an elder away.

She painted my mother as a selfish woman who never did anything for the family, who was giving my dad so much trouble to the point where he was losing sleep and appetite. True, he is, but it's not solely my mother's fault. He's playing the victim in some ways, and I can't bring myself to sympathize people who play the victim. It gets on my nerves like nothing else does.

Then best of all, she even dragged up matters from years ago. According to her, my mother liked to have her Saturdays off, so she always dumped us at my grandmother's place then, leaving a poor old woman to take care of two hyperactive kids.

Damned if you do, and damned if you don't, huh?

Because somehow I remember there was a period when we didn't go to my grandmother's place, and then they accused her of not allowing a grandmother to see her grandchildren.

I'm not four or five anymore, 三姑. I'm not going to sit there and listen to you bitch about things you never really understood or about things you can only see from your painfully narrow point of view. So I told her off. First time, but it won't be the last. When I know that my words won't hurt my dad's relations with them further, I won't even bother to be polite. It's not even like she's not aware that my sister and I are close to my mother, so I really don't understand how she thinks she can get away with painting my mother out to be such a witch.

FYI, my mother was the one helping her husband out of debt. Your precious brother owes her a fuckload of money, okay, so just shut the fuck up and leave me alone already.

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 04:05:09 GMT

Went out with Qing and got like a whole crapload of books. Now I realize where all my money each month goes to. /sob And plus the books I got today at the airport, I've spent $95 on books alone this week! DDD: NO MORE BUYING, FIONA.

On the other hand, I really love the books I got; three of them were centred on feminist themes, ahaha. u_u;; One of them is fiction, entitled the Forbidden Daughter, and the other two are feminist writings by Ariel Levy and Germaine Greer, respectively The Female Chauvinist Pig and The Female Eunuch.

I've only gotten around to reading the Female Chauvinist Pig (FCP for short now), and it's really amazing. I've always wondered what sexual liberation meant, and how far the boundaries were and should be pushed. Levy is top-notch in her writing, questioning our culture of raunch (as she describes it), and why Charlie's Angels and Sex and the City are not empowering symbols of femininity.

She puts forth the point that they rely on their sex appeal to attract- their athletic and analytical skills are bypassed to make way for them in skimpy outfits designed to attract men. That is largely true for a lot of female characters in action films. Now, I'm not saying that they should ALL have these feminist characters inside, because secretly I like my stereotypes and laughter. I think these action films are like spaghetti Westerns- today, we watch them and are entertained, but tomorrow, we will watch them for cultural value and laugh that people ever found them interesting at all. Retrospect is an amazing thing.

Let the films have their so-called 'strong' and 'beautiful' women. I have no objections to such objectification of women (because well. It does happen to men too, just not in the ways it happens to women), as long as it doesn't translate to the real world. Fiction and movies are there because part of it is escapist fantasy; if it were to start being politically correct and positive all the way, I think I'd be very bored with the entertainment industry. It might sound kind of retroactive, but there have to be bad films around. Without the bad, there is no comparison, and then the good films won't shine as brightly as they do. You need the dark of the night sky to notice the sparkliness of the stars.

What's really sad is when women feel like they have to be like men in order to fit in and have a social status. Personally, I don't like overly girly things, but it doesn't mean automatic degradation. What's wrong with being a girly girl? Does a liking for lace and all things pretty suddenly mean you're an airhead?

I really do agree with Levy when she says that it's a step backwards when women feel that they cannot be women if they want to succeed. In the end, it's all about being a person. Gender really doesn't matter when it comes to things like this. If you are competent, then you are competent. Feminism was never about women putting their dukes up and drinking beer coarsely like a man. Feminism is about being who you are, anywhere on the gender spectrum, and gaining respect for your abilities and your character rather than your gender. (It sounds so simple in theory, and yet in practice it's a whole mess of clashing ideals and perspectives.)

Levy gave a lot of anecdotes in her book, which really make me sad. Do girls who appear on Girls Gone Wild really think that they are empowering themselves and other women by taking off their clothes? They cry that it's sexual liberation- I cry that it's stupidity.

If you can look in the mirror and declare that you do it because you love it and not because you think the men will 'respect' (more likely ogle) you for it, then good for you. But somehow it's all so exhibitionist and pressurizing from my point of view. In the end, by becoming someone 'sexy', doesn't it boil down to looks? Whatever happened to living for oneself?

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:25:33 GMT

Today was the last day of the wake, and therefore the funeral procession. Bai sa& chu sua, they kept saying, until it was like an annoying catchphrase that refused to leave my head amidst everything else there was going on.

The last couple of days were spent going around, talking to people I didn't want to talk to, and feeling a little sad that my cousins were such distant people now. We really move in very different circles- somehow I get the feeling that two of them are vaguely misogynistic, but they don't seem to realize it. (Then again, who realizes that they're misogynistic? Rather few people, I should think.) They seemed a little bewildered that I was annoyed at all. But I guess it was nice to talk to them for a while.

Throughout the wake, I was also consistently annoyed by my relatives. Did they really have the call the maids orh eh? They aren't black in the first place, they're brown, and in any case, they're employees, not indentured servants, and even if they were, they're still people. The second-class treatment was so goddamned annoying.

On Tuesday night, we burnt an enormous paper house and a car full of paper ingots for my grandmother. It was something, watching the structure catch fire so easily. The heat was so great we had to stand ten or so metres away, as we called for her to move into her new house, for her to bless us in her death. How stupid. But I did it anyway. Why does a woman have to continue blessing her children and her grandchildren? And I thought they were Buddhists. Doesn't Buddhist belief dictate that people reincarnate after their death?

After that, I sat beside her coffin to burn papers in a circle around a large metal basin, to signify the steps she was walking after her death, in the netherworld. The fire consumed the joss paper slowly, insidiously licking around the edge before it raced across the surface, curling it, withering it to ashes. I think I'm a bit of a pyromaniac- I could have sat there and watched the never-ending circle of papers burn forever.

Then the morning of the funeral procession came, and everything else was forgotten.

I really hate the band that they hire to play songs to send the deceased off with. There was a woman singing something in Hokkien, in an absolutely maddening sorrowful wail- which just annoyed me all the further because there were people grieving in front of the coffin. People who were grieving for real, not singing out a faux sorrow. And they wouldn't even shut the fuck up when the monk had arrived and we were supposed to start prayers.

The Sanskrit prayers were soothing after the ridiculous garishness of the band. We stood there with joss sticks and prayed to her as she lay in her coffin, with that awful yellow-greenish make-up they caked onto her, then went to kneel beside her coffin and kowtow as relatives and friends came forward with their offerings of fruits and huat kueh. One of the old women my grandmother had known almost all her life came forward, and on her weathered face was sad resignation. As I kowtowed, I wondered how their lives had been like. What she was thinking at that moment about her old friend. Grandmother supposedly had this bunch of 姐妹, but I didn't see them anywhere. Though, if they'd come during the wake, I wouldn't have known either, because dad wanted us to meet this-and-this and so-and-so.

We took off our shoes afterwards, and slipped on white socks. They carried the coffin out to the hearse; we were not allowed to watch until the coffin was inside. In some ways, I can understand why. They didn't allow us to watch as they closed the coffin either- I think I would have cried. There is only so much a person can watch, can tolerate. In so many ways, all the little stupidities of funerals are designed to keep the mourners from mourning too much, from mourning more than they have to. I have to give my thanks to the people who came up with all these ridiculous customs.

As the hearse moved, we walked out with our socked feet onto the main roads, keeping our hands pressed together in prayer as we walked behind our grandmother's coffin. We walked for about ten or fifteen minutes before we got into the bus, which would take us to Bright Hill Temple near Ang Mo Kio.

At first, I didn't think I'd cry, but again, I showed myself how little I knew myself. As we walked to the crematorium, I watched another busload of mourners come to the temple, all in white t-shirts and loose baggy pants in black and dark blue; black was for the deceased's children and spouses, dark blue for grandchildren and spouses. Our family was particularly huge, so we had light green for the great-grandchildren. Nevertheless, we were mourners, all, and I watched the other family as I took my joss stick and knelt down. Three monks conducted the prayers, and then the band played, as they sent the body into the fire.

I couldn't help it then, I cried, and I cried her name. All around me, there was suddenly the cry for my grandmother, a sudden, heartbreaking cry from my relatives. She was gone then, truly gone, and even now, there's still an odd pain when I think of the coffin sliding in, past the metal opening.

It's so hard to believe it.

On the way back, to have our lunch before we returned to get the ashes, my head started to hurt badly from the lack of sleep and crying so much. Lunch was horrible, but by that time, I was relatively dry-eyed at least, if numb and tired.

Collecting her ashes was really odd. Somehow, the reality had seemed to recede, and as I stared down at the broken bits of bones, I wondered if these were really her bones. They were splintered and fragmented, little bits of bone that didn't seem like what they were supposed to be. I always thought a person's ashes looked like powder. The man handling it quickly sorted out her major bones, her skull and joints, putting them one section atop the other. We took her ashes to Yue Yin Temple, where another monk conducted prayers. Except this time, it was in Chinese.

For most of it, I was kind of all 'wtf?' because monks usually conduct them in Sanskrit, regardless of their actual language, but I was so tired that I didn't really want to care anyway. Let them do as they will. She is dead and cremated, there is no further point in all this.

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 03:36:59 GMT

Everything last night was a dizzying mix of lightning fast happenings and long, indeterminable waits.

It started with a visit to my grandmother at 10.15. Half an hour, after my grandmother had finally seen her oldest surviving son (not counting my second uncle, because he's mentally ill), she passed away.

It was so unexpected. All that really happened before that was her breathing going a little odd, and her suddenly opening her eyes horribly wide. I got startled by that, and for a moment, I thought the worst. Turns out, for one of the first few times, that my instinct was correct. The doctor came in, along with the nurses, and they tried to save her, but ten minutes after they went in, the doctor came out and announced rather blankly that she was gone.

For a very long moment, it just didn't sink in. Then it did, and almost distantly, I heard my aunt let out a choked cry. It was her tears, and my other aunt's tears, that did me in more than the news itself, I think. I don't know, it's all so blurred up. But I stood at the door and cried like I didn't think I'd cry for her passing. In that moment, for once, I didn't dislike my paternal family like I usually did.

Here were her sons, her daughters. Once upon a time, they had lived in the same house, hadn't backstabbed each other and treated each others like strangers who'd done each other wrongs.

Watching them at the deathbed of my grandmother was something of a revelation in itself. The ways that people cope with grief are so myriad and odd. They spoke stupidly, and they fussed over things that were really, by all means, unnecessary.

I can't remember who said this, but whoever did, it's true. Funeral rites are not meant for the dead, they are meant to console the living.

It just feels better to know that your loved one, in another realm, is going to a better place. Your grief is tempered by the knowledge (no matter how baseless) that the deceased has ended her suffering. A few days ago, when I was visiting her, I was really annoyed by the two members of this weirdass religion, who claimed they were giving the 'light' to her, helping to ease her suffering. When people tell me that aliens exist (as opposed to believing that aliens probably/possibly exist), somehow I just tend to doubt them a lot. But they really believed they were helping to ease her pain and erase negative karma, so I didn't say a word.

Now that she's gone, I wish I had been less negative about it, because knowing that she is less burdened really does make me less sad.

It sounds horrible, but somehow. I don't think she has great karma. Like at all. She was narrow-minded, and misogynist, and a great malicious gossip, and yet she never realized any of these traits about herself. I can only imagine how life was like for her as a child and a teenager in 1930s China.

But I'm still bitter that she never really saw her granddaughters as anything more than well- girls. Girls have never been anything great in her misogynistic mind. When she sold her house, she gave $10,000 to each grandson, and $500 to each granddaughter.

It makes me sound mercenary, but well. It's not about the money, it's about what it shows of her thoughts and attitude towards her family. Doesn't matter who visits her more, or who's closer and shit like that. In the end, as long as sons and grandsons are there to hold up the family name, and to continue the family line, who cares about the daughters and granddaughters? They are nothing, merely decorations who look good when it comes to the family register they have when they are writing out your obituary, and who take care of domestic affairs while the men do serious and important work.

Even when she's dead, I still can't let go of her ways.

I never knew that a funeral was arranged this quickly. Minutes after her death, everyone just started calling the funeral parlour, arranging this, and arranging that. I guess it's because her death's been expected for the last week or so, but the speed was still- well. A little startling.

My second aunt was crying at her bedside and trying to doll her up, combing her hair and arranging her false teeth. The nurse was helpful in that, because she was so calm that she became this pillar around which the mourners rallied. They didn't have any nice clothes for my grandmother, so my third aunt and sixth uncle sped back to her house in Boon Keng to retrieve a set of clothes for her to be buried/cremated in. My relatives all trooped down, until there were eleven of us to see her go onto the van that would take her to the parlour.

The rituals we had to go through were so ridiculous. But it comforts the living. So we do it. We turn our backs as they carry her into the van, we cut the pockets of the clothes that are to be burnt along with her, we place cosmetics onto her embalmed face.

The rest of it was just waiting around, while I tried to ignore the huge headache that was pounding away in my head. It's so ridiculous that when you're trying to come to grips with a dead relative, you still have stupid little mundanities like headaches caused by too much crying and a little bit of hyperventilation to deal with. It's like- life goes on, no matter what. The adults dealt with the license of getting the void deck, of choosing the coffin, of payment, while I sat and listened and watched them all.

They said gamblers might come to the funeral for their own selfish beliefs, that dead spirits will somehow grant them luck in their stupid little gambles. If I see anyone gambling for money, I'll fucking throw them out. Don't bring your stupidity into a funeral, you fucking miserable asswipes.

I don't understand how people can still think of shit like the relatives and friends gossiping. We have to wear the proper clothes, do the whole thing well, so that everyone will know we are grieving properly for her.

For all that I like Chinese culture, pretensions like these rituals are not among what I do like.

My uncle-in-law said that we shouldn't be stingy, we should make this as grand as we can, so that the people attending the wake don't gossip. I couldn't believe my ears. What the fuck does it matter if people say anything? This is our own family business, and the business of those who were her friends. All those distant cousins and relatives, why do we care so much? Jesus fucking Christ.

But we went home shortly after that, having settled the matter of the photo (is it possible that she was gone so fast we didn't even get a proper photo for her?), and even now. Still wondering if it's all real. It doesn't seem real, it doesn't seem tangible. But I think that when I see her in the coffin, I will know it's real.

Last night, they were debating whether to cover her face with the white cloth, and I silently begged them in my heart not to. Seeing her with her face covered would have made everything so final, somehow. And it wasn't final. Not just yet. Because when I stood beside her body, all it looked like, was that she was sleeping. That was all. I even fancied I saw her breathing, but that's not possible.

When I was younger, I was terrified of things like this, and I always wondered how I would cope. Now, it doesn't matter anymore. If her ghost appears, I won't be scared. Probably just really sad. I don't know why. But in the end, she's just my grandmother. In death, she looked the same as she had in life. I held her cold hand, and it wasn't frightening in the least.

Goodbye, I guess.

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 17:34:42 GMT

... You know what, I just remembered why I hate teaching little eleven year old boys who've just discovered profanities.

They come up to me and say things like "he said the eff word! D:" and "You know you know, our teacher watched this adult show where they said the eff word! *o*" (the 'adult' show in question was E.R.).

And I hate it because I feel like a fucking hypocrite. On one hand, they're all like "why can't we say the eff word? Why's it so bad? :O", and on the other hand...

Mind: Actually, who the hell cares? I sure as fuck don't.
Mouth: ... Because they don't want you to grow up to be rude.

ORZ ORZ ORZ ORZ

I'm never going to teach primary schoolers EVER AGAIN. NEVER. ON MY LIFE.

hospital crap

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 14:48:49 GMT

Two days ago, I went to the hospital after my dad said my grandmother had a stroke. For some reason, I was oddly apathetic, the way I was after I first heard she had liver cancer. My mother said something along the lines of 'she's old, it's not unexpected that she will be sick and that she will die'; it might sound cruel, but I agreed anyway, because it's true. Better to accept your mortality than to think like a stupid teenager and think you'll live forever.

But when I walked in the door, I almost stopped right on the spot. From that angle, my grandmother was so thin. I saw her a week before that hospital visit, and while haggard then, she had not looked that bad. Now, on the hospital bed, she was a bad caricature. Only my sister moving forward kept me moving too. On the other side, she didn't look that bad, I guess, but then I realized that she was half paralysed from her stroke. She couldn't move her left side much. Through the mask, I kind of vaguely noticed that my breathing had sped up, but I couldn't give a reason why, until I felt the tears gathering. Trust me to not even know I was so close to crying.

How can a person go from mobility to paralysis in so short a time? It's so surreal. We stayed by her side for a while, but she was a little delirious, maybe from the fever. She kept calling our names, Michelle and I, the nicknames that I'm pretty sure won't be heard in a couple of years' time now. We couldn't catch what she was saying though, because even speaking seemed to be so labourious for her, until my aunt got her to repeat it a couple of times.

Turns out she was accusing us of not picking up her phone calls. I had to turn my face away. The funny thing is, there were no phone calls in the first place. Later in the car, my sister said she'd called just a day earlier to make sure she was taking her supplements, but when my grandmother picked up the phone, she didn't seem to know what was happening, and kept asking my sister who she was.

Then today, my father came back with the news that her condition has worsened. She's almost completely paralysed on her left side now. Liver cancer isn't looking too good. We're going to go over a couple of times a week, mostly my sister, but I'll go after school to accompany her until eight or so, I guess.

I wonder if the visits will be a slow process of watching her die. I'm terrified. But at the same time, I'm all-- numb. Apathetic. I don't know how to explain it.

And added to this shit is my tuition class. One of the boys has taken it into his head to test my patience with insults and bigotry. Four weeks left to go. I'm going to cave in and yell at him one of these days.

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 16:08:30 GMT

This is going to sound so cliched, but-- god. I want to slap hypocrites so bad.

If you don't like me, don't act all buddy-buddy on me. Burn your bridges if you have to, don't bother to keep them intact because they'll be broken sooner or later anyway. If I'm openly rude to you already, seriously, why bother? You already know I don't like you, so just fuck off.

And the sad thing is, I was actually prepared to try and be decent if I ever saw you around. After this little bit of news? Die in a ditch. 8)

Edit: Has anyone seen Ris Low's interview on RazorTV? GOD, if I didn't know it was real, I would have thought she was trolling the interviewer! Who the fuck actually talks like Barbarella from The Noose? Janice already posted it, but those not on her flist, I'M INFLICTING IT ON YOU TOO. 8DD

Oh man, I love the subtitles. 8D I managed to get my class to watch it too, hurhur, and my lecturer was so horrified afterwards. Thassright, I'm good. 8)

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 18:39:37 GMT

Sunday was a miracle: they actually talked without sniping.

Thursday night was probably what did it, but I'm still amazed. Long story short, I was a selfish, pissy bitch, but for once karma seemed to have taken pity on me, and actually rewarded me with some peace in the house.

I feel gold.

Now if only I could get myself to work harder at school. I'm slipping back into bad habits. >:

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 16:15:54 GMT

Uhh-- if anyone of you smsed me on my old phone number-- I'll probably not get it hahaha u_u;;;; But I'm getting it back on Thursday, so! \o

And this is totally late since it's already 12am, but my wishlist remains the same.

A4 SKETCHBOOKS THANK YOU. If anyone is inclined for charity.

We went to the beach today. All 500 students from the foundation year. I'm wondering what the park rangers were thinking. Probably something along the lines of "wtf".

We were supposed to sit around, draw, collage stuff and be arty with the environment. So I was. Except I got bored, and I thought that the right side of my drawing looked pretty bland, so--- yeah.

My lecturer was like "... riiiight, so there's a sea monster there. /looks cursorily over at the sea." In my defense, boredom is a lethal weapon okay.

And there's shitty iambic pentameter on the left, except I'm not showing it. 8) /lazy to scan.

On the other hand, I think I might be looking at a lonely foundation year this time around. I wish making friends wasn't this terrifying social experience.

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 13:24:52 GMT

This is the second post in like what, an hour, but wdv idrc. =w= COSFEST REPORT.

Day 1

Oh good god, I'm not even sure I want to revisit this again. /sob. So I was almost done with my Yue costume sans wings, but that's still okay, because Yue doesn't have his wings out all the time. It was 4am, and I was all "FUCK YES GOING TO SLEEP SOON!"

Then I finished the huge swirly thing on the chest and I wanted to cry. Because I was so tired that I didn't notice the whole damn thing had jagged edges. And I really didn't want to unpick and do. So I went to sleep after telling Naz that I wouldn't be able to make it the next day and went with Badou from Dogs instead. (/so, so happy that a lot of people seem to have read Dogs now~!)

Went over to Kaya's house in the late morning to help her with the makeup for Liechtenstein (ffff thick eyebrows), ended up at Cosfest at about 2pm after catching a cab with her and Kim. And then I found out Sarah and the others were cosplaying Avatar on Day 1 instead of 2. /SOOOBBBB. Oh well. Photoshoots, and Turkey and the rest are doing Avatar some other time too. T_____T And, and, Dan. If you're reading this, I'm so sorry for being so pissy when E.Coli (or was that Xiaobai?) brought me over and I was all "Who the hell are you?" orz I just met someone I didn't really want to see, so I was kind of annoyed already. I-I'm so sorry, but it was really nice to meet you again. ;;________;;

But disasters aside, it was fun! And I stayed the night over at Niichan's aunt's place with Turkey and Taichou. I wasn't planning to stay over at first, but who knew that Italy and Turkey had awesome persuasive abilities. So I had to run back from Loyang all the way to Hougang, and then back again- dad sent me luckily, cos he thought it was too late and ulufied for me to even take a cab. >______>

I think we were all really tired by the time I got to Loyang again, but Turkey Roast and Niichan helped me copic my wig up for Spain the next morning. You guys are fucking amazing, I still can't believe you turned my wig for UK into one for Spain! \o\ Sometime before that, we all ran out for a Red Bull/coffee run, and oh god, there were tons of flying ants at the 7-11's. FUCKING SCARY. D:

Day 2

Tried to sleep, but I couldn't, cos it was a strange place >: The bonus of sleeplessness is apparently hearing all three of them sleep-talk within a minute of each other. >DD /blackmail material. But sleep I finally got, only to be woken up at 9am by TOMATO BUONO. I had the song stuck in my head for the rest of the day. /sob. Taichou woke up around that time too, and we just kind of sat around in sleepy stupor and giggled at the alarm.

Thanks for driving me out to Pasir Ris Interchange so early in the morning, 'niichan. TTwTT

Went back home, got my tomatoes and headed for Cosfest again after having a can of Red Bull because my eyes were about to close shut. It worked. I was hyper for the whole day, but it was good because Spain is happy and hyper with an H.

I couldn't join the Hetalia team for the first couple of hours cos there wasn't anyone else to help Kaya with the booth, but it was okay 'cos I got postcards~ 8D ... Which are sadly about the only things I got at Cosfest this year because I spent all my money on Yue's materials. /SOBBING AGAIN.

Still, awesome Hetalia team was awesome! We had photos and fun and even a picnic! Bullying Mishi with tomatoes was also awesome. <333

Further photos are here: http://sgcafe.com/showthread.php?t=63601

Later on in the day, we hid behind the tent and got more shots- that was also where I bumped into Himi; we literally bumped into each other, went "omg sorry!", then recognized each other and went "HEY IT'S YOU!". Ffff, how more epic can we get?

Taichou also displayed her moe-ness by going up to random people and offering them bloomers. Su-san is more pervy than Doitsu, because she actually took them and posed with it. Blushingly. I need to get the photos from the photog damnit. D8

I was supposed to meet Qing and Steffie after it was over, but some people from the Hetalia team wanted to go to Ikea, and plus the two of them had to go off, so. ~~yesantisocialperson.~~

By this time, I wanted to kill myself, pretty much, but I was also ravenously hungry, so we went off to Ikea, where we got Su-san to pose with the Swedish flag there. It was also ridiculously funny because when Su-san came back with the food on a tray, we were all like "STOP THERE, WE NEED TO TAKE A PHOTO OF THIS!"

Almost slept at the table though. I finished the meatballs, and while listening to them talk, I almost faceplanted into the plate of gravy. FML, if that'd really happened, it would have been so fail, pls.

So anyway, that was basically Cosfest weekend. The next day I crawled out of bed to go meet Jessie and Maki for a dollmeet that wasn't really a dollmeet. Spent some money at Kino's (which I shouldn't have) and learnt how to play Pimp! at MacDonald's. I LOVE MY MADAM MOONPIE. But I kept losing. orz Then there was the casual shoot the next day at Lasalle where we played that too, and I LOST AGAIN. I have the worst luck with that game, but it's so much fun. ;_;

Casual shoot was pretty fun~ I think the waiters there wanted us OUT though, cos we were monopolizing the whole of the lower level at the cafe, haha. At least there wasn't really anyone around. I cut my wig for England too short though, so I'll have to get a new one. :/

I love how Xiaobai's idea for Romano involves *skin-tight clothing~*. 8D RIGHT 老大? SO GAY~

In points for the shoot:
- England tried to teach Canada and America how to dance. Failed miserably with a broken toe to go with it.
- The Italian brothers tried to SIESTA~~ everyone by pulling their clothes off.
- France macked on everyone as usual.
- Lili got macked on, but has the assurance of Switzerland's VENGEANCE.
- Denmark and Norway had their Eurovision moment of epicness.

... I think that's it for the last few days. God I'm tired.

England killed Kumajirou with his cooking.

France, stop macking on the colonies!

Photos courtesy of Xiaobai and Turkey Roast.

Also. TURKEY ROAST. I heard someone say that character designs for Mama Greece and Mama Egypt are floating around somewhere. WHEN ARE WE DOING THIS? 8)

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 11:49:39 GMT

I don't know why I wrote this. 8| It'd be crack if it wasn't such an angstfest. Anyhoo, Olga (or at least, that's what I remember her name to be) is from a Russian novel titled "A Soldier's Daughter". Unfortunately I read it some time back and I don't remember names too clearly. I can't find any links to it either. :/

The main story of ASD is that a soldier returns from war, disillusioned and unhappy. His wife dies of shrapnel embedded in her side, and his daughter becomes a whore for the Union, trading her body for state secrets. However, in the later part of the novel, the soldier dies and the daughter wonders what it is all for. She gives up her job and collects her father's body, determined to start a new life after she had buried him.

Ivan Braginski is the personification of Russia, from the comic Hetalia. The on-going story with him is that he's been driven crazy by constant war and strife, which is pretty damn sad because all he wants is to be happy and surrounded by his sunflowers and vodka. >:

A Son's Daughter

Hetalia/A Soldier's Daughter crossover, PG13

Olga was alone in the washroom, reapplying her lipstick which had been slightly smudged throughout the course of their dinner. Matters were going well- Daniel Marks was young and unguarded, and he was foolish enough to think that a young Russian woman could not be of any possible threat to him and his country.

Well, perhaps in some ways he was right. Olga was not the threat, she was merely the messenger.

It was as she prepared to meet Mr. Marks again that the door swung open, and a blond man appeared at the door.

"Ah," he said, looking surprised. "Pardon me, I was looking for the men's washroom..."

Ever the diplomat, Olga pasted a smile on so sincere that only a fellow liar could tell, and nodded in the correct direction. "You should take a turn to your left, sir," she said and was about to leave when she noticed the man looking at her. A little flustered, she rose an automatic hand to her hair. "... Is there something wrong?"

The man merely shook his head.

"Tell me," he said at length, when Olga looked as if she were going to walk away just like that. "Do you truly think that you are helping your country like this? Dinners with people like that-" And here, he paused to look at the door beyond them, as if he could see through the thin wood, where Daniel Marks sat at a table with the remnants of their meal. "You give yourself up for a cause- but do you really believe in that?"

For a moment, Olga could not speak.

Who was this man, she wondered, how did he know, and was he a threat to her? Her eyes narrowed as she drew herself up tall- to no avail, however. She was tall in her heels. The man was taller still, yet as Olga looked into his eyes, she sensed that he would not sell her out. He had sad eyes, this man, lavender eyes that seemed far too solemn and sad for their vibrant hue. That look did not suit him, she decided. He looked as if life had cheated him of all and any happiness that he rightfully deserved.

"I do not know who you are, sir," she said. "But that is none of your business, and you will not say a word about this outside of this conversation. There are people backing me up, sir, and they will part the Red Sea to ensure that what I do stays a secret. Consider that your warning."

To her surprise, the man laughed. "Oh, Olga," he said as she froze, but he paid no mind to that. "I would be the last person to betray you. Trust me. Those people that you say will part the Red Sea- they listen to me." Gently, he placed a hand on her cheek, warm and delicate. "Tell me at least that you believe this will help your country."

"I cannot do that sir," she said, pushing his hand away. Suddenly, she felt a little ashamed. "I do it for the roubles, for a new world that will open to me. It is not patriotism that drives me."

"But are you happy?"

"I am happy to know that this will bring me a better tomorrow."

Almost, she felt sorry that she had put that look there on the man's face- it was a melancholic look, it did not belong on that child-like face. But the man smiled after a bit.

"As long as you are happy then," he said, bowing a little. As he turned to walk away, his steps were heavy even on the carpeted floor.

"You have not told me your name," Olga said just as he reached the door though she did not expect an answer. If he was as important as he said he was, he would not give his name freely to a girl like her. He surprised her again.

"I am Ivan Braginski," he said. "But you need not ask about me to your superiors. They cannot tell you a thing."

Then the door swung again, and he was gone. Olga snorted as she watched him leave. They could not tell her anything, eh? Well, she had her ways. After a last check in the mirror, she returned to dinner with Daniel Marks and in the evening that followed, she slept with him, prying out information when the Briton was at last asleep.

It was not a difficult task, this.

When she relayed the information back to her superior, she made sure to mention Ivan Braginski's name. To her surprise, he did not remain silent, instead turning stricken eyes onto her. She was not meant to know of his existence, how had she met him?

The matter was resolved after a bit, but his reaction shook Olga, and everywhere she went thereafter to find out his identity was a futile search. She never met Ivan Braginski again, except once when she collected her father's body. At the undertaker's she thought she saw a glimpse of him, but when she walked out the door Braginski was not there.

In the years to come, the memory of him would fade, but she always remembered his violet eyes, and the scent of sunflowers, for some odd reason.

misogynistic idiots

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 19:25:55 GMT

http://talkback.stomp.com.sg/forums/showthread.php?t=71436

... I have no words for this. No words. I think I haven't laughed this hard in a while. Oh Singaporeans. I love how almost everyone (I'm on page 3 so far) is all like "oh my god that sounds awesome, and you have really good English", except in typical abbreviations and whatever else people usually type in.

Come to think of it, this is probably why I've heard so many people saying that Twilight is brilliantly written.

I have to blame the education system for this, because in secondary school? EVERYONE was fucking made to write purple prose. Just so we have flowery phrases and bombastic words to bump up our marks.

Also, this thread is totally misogynistic, y/n? It's a very hidden sort of misogyny though, because at first glance all you see is the praise of women.

Yes, the TS is praising women, but it is in an intolerably contemptuous way. The woman has a degree, so what? She is the ideal of what a man thinks a woman should be. Beautiful, intelligent, strong (but when she's around her man, she shows her sweetly submissive side).

I don't know about the majority of Singaporean guys, but I do know that a number of them have said things like, "I like her to be strong, but be submissive when she's around me, like, she'd leave decisions to me and be happy" and etc. 外面做个女强人，家里是个小女人。 What kind of bullshit is this?

The way the TS goes on and on with his false modesty and misogyny is just-- I don't even know what to say. I'll just stick to laughing at his godawful language.

Edit: ... Someone just called him the modern Shakespeare. Head, meet wall. The wall is your new friend. Say hi.

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 15:13:21 GMT

I'm going to do something stupid and maybe I will regret this or maybe I won't. But I'm not submitting my concept to Ignite after all.

This is from their submission form:
"The following depictions and/or written descriptions are not allowed:

• Scenes involving explicit love-making and full frontal nudity;
• Portrayals of homosexuality, bi-sexualism, paedophilia, incest and depictions which justify, promote or glamourise such habits and lifestyles;
• Excessive violence such as brutal killings, torture, cruelty, rape and prolonged gory and bloody fight sequences;
• Drug abuse presented in favourable light;
• Stories that denigrate or satirise the sensitivities of any racial or religious group; inaccurate portrayal of beliefs or are proselytic in nature; and
• Words and gestures with obscene and vulgar connotations."

Offending part bolded. Do I need to say more?

Not allowing homosexuality and bisexuality to be depicted in such a mainstream type of anthology, I can understand, because hey, Singaporeans will be Singaporeans, and we are a bunch of homophobic, conservative idiots. But how can you put homosexuality and bisexuality in the same group as paedophilia and incest? What do you mean, justifying/glamourising/promoting homosexuality and bisexuality?

Whoever wrote that, you are a fucking moron.

On the other hand, I'm a fucking moron too, because if I get published in this anthology, there's a 5k grant or something to finish all 24 pages. Pffft.

I'm going to have to find other ways of publishing myself.

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 18:20:39 GMT

Back. I didn't get to go to Berjaya Times Square, so I didn't get the socks. Sorry, Kaya, Janice. I didn't get the DVDs either. But I got a packet of sugar-free gum.

My paternal grandmother has pancreatic cancer.

Before I went to KL, she went to the hospital for a slipped disc. Now I come back to find out that she has pancreatic cancer.

It's not that I'm close to her or anything, but I do have mixed feelings about her, like I do their entire family, my own father included. I hate their chauvinistic ways, their pretentious conversations, their family conventions that should have been dead and buried fifty years ago instead of living on in this time and age.

It really sucks to dislike so greatly the people who still love you, because somehow, you have to return that love. There's no choice in the matter, or at least, there isn't for me.

I wonder how long she has. I also wonder why I feel like crying. Somehow, I doubt it's because I'll miss her that much. As cold and hateful as it sounds, I think I cry for the loss of familiarity more than anything, and I kind of feel disgusted at myself, for being such a person. She's my grandmother, for crying out loud, and the only reason I'm crying is because a routine of my life is lost.

It's so selfish.

I don't know how to help it.

And. I'm not sure that this is relevant, but. Recently, everything's been breaking down around my house. I just want the divorce to be over now so we can move somewhere new, stop being in this old place, start from a clean slate and pretend everything's left behind. It's so frustrating to be around all this old stuff, all these things that seem to weigh everything else down.

It's also really annoying to come back from three days of relative peace to arguments. "Why didn't you go this way on the CTE?" "That way goes to the CTE too!" "Yah, but this way is shorter!"

FUCK LAH. 可以不要吵了吗？！ KNNB.

One year more. Just one year more.

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 13:48:04 GMT

... I hope this all works out. /cryptic Fiona is cryptic. And sceptical.

Also, will be gone to Kuala Lumpur this weekend. I haven't gotten my SIM card back yet too, so I'm not sure when I'll be contactable again.

My internet's been fudgy these couple of weeks, but the router totally gave out two days ago. And then I discovered something: I'm actually kind of addicted to the internet. And I know this because I felt like I had withdrawal symptoms.

... Okay, that was also partly because I was wondering where I'd get references from, and that the new game I was starting would just go kaboom, and because I really wanted to reply to certain tags. Still. God, I never knew it was this bad. D: I think it's still okay if I know beforehand I won't have internet though. 8| I think it was the suddeness that got me more than anything.

And before I sound like I'm justifying myself too much: BIG BANG THEORY. I'm glad I watched it. 8DDDD ilu Leonard, sarcastic socially inept theoretical physicist. ♥

Ugh, have to chiong colouring tonight if I want to go get some test prints done tomorrow. If I really can't, I'll probably ask ~~Kaya~~ someone to do it while I'm gone.

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 19:21:16 GMT

Every night, I tell myself to sleep earlier.

Never works.

But Kaya's coming over tomorrow, so I'll have to finish inking one of my pieces so that she can colour it. I'm in your debt foreveeeerrrr. ;;

Meant to blog about some asshole called Petrowski who has stupidly chauvinistic views, but I got angry yesterday halfway through, and I don't feel like looking at it today. 8|

I really don't like eating soursop.

But durian's probably going to make me nosebleed again, considering the BLAZING HOT WEATHER we've been having for the past few fucking weeks. WHY, SINGAPORE, WHY. Even air-conditioning isn't enough.

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 17:42:07 GMT

Gokudera and Yamamoto art spam. All in black and white because my screen is fucking PINK. D< And screwed. ;________;

Playing around with perspective. It looks nice on my spoiled screen so far. =A=

... Guess who got bored of lining Yamamoto? Hand got a little tired, and mind was elsewhere. Ugh.

Done a couple of days before; I was trying out a less anal way of doing lineart. I'm also pleased to say that the style turned out vaguely Houseki-hime ish. Vaaguely. I love her style so much. ;_;

Tue, 02 Jun 2009 14:01:07 GMT

To destress from drawing... I draw more. Well, and read new series in between. 8| /was supposed to read Dogs to app Noki, but got distracted by Loveless.

Here, have a Soubi. 5 minute sketch, 20 minutes digital inking, 20 minutes colouring. Goddamn, I'm fucking slow. D:

Edit: ... The more I look at this, the more clumsy I feel. Sfumato on the hair: not achieved. Skin colour: muddied. Tonal value: Shot to hell. Hair colour: Looks like puke.

Urgh. And I really wanted to draw a pretty, delicate looking Soubi with pretty, sharp colours. D:

Fri, 22 May 2009 07:57:55 GMT

I swear, my sister is on to some subconscious Uniqlo wave or something.

Tell me the colour scheme does not remind you of Uniqlo and other similar brands. Seriously.

That purple in the top left corner was what she suggested for the background. But I really don't want this to be some ad for Uniqlo. ;_; Suggest backgrounds pls?

Fri, 15 May 2009 20:20:07 GMT

This is why I hate dealing with little kids. I cannot give them the binary that they seem to desire. It's so hard to tell them that there is this enormous grey area that separates the white and the black. Here, even the grey goes from charcoal grey to pale silvery-white. But no- it's all too easy to deny the grey and accept only the extremes.

Out of all the odd questions they ask every week, they asked if I had a boyfriend. I said no. They asked why I didn't have one. I told them that there wasn't any particular reason- I just don't, and come on, please do your questions now. You have ten minutes left for your comprehension. Hurry up.

They went on to say that I should have a boyfriend, because I'm twenty, and people get married in their early twenties, don't they? And then they have kids before they hit thirty. And so the cycle goes on.

I think I'm vaguely horrified. But they're eleven, twelve- I don't know why I expect them not to think that way, because children do, don't they? They expect the world to go a certain way because that's how they've been taught, that's how their parents experienced the world and so they think the world goes on like that. Clockwork.

Grow, marry, give birth, retire, die. Be somewhat religious so that you won't go to hell. Be normal and straight, so that you fit nicely into the 'traditional' perception of the world. Be part of the working force, preferably in the civil sector. Don't do art because it does not afford you enough money to even live.

I think it's a little sad that I see their parents in them. Of course, I don't know the parents, but I've heard these voices before, from different people. It stinks. I do not need to hear their refrains of being normal and decent from every other mouth. And anyway, why do you all want kids? Are children something you really want, or are children just something you expect from life? The earth is getting overpopulated as it is, why do you keep on taxing the earth's resources with 255 babies every minute? I am not going to contribute to that number, I refuse to become part of that particular statistic.

Some little part of me wonders sometimes- if they know that their teacher is a bigender bisexual who might not have a boyfriend but a girlfriend, or at least, in the future, when their parents stop imprinting themselves so heavily onto them, will it change anything? I can't see at all that it matters, but right now, they cannot even accept that there are such people as homosexuals, that there are people who do not view marriage as a sanctified thing, and that there are people who do not want children. It annoys me. A lot. They're only upper primary students.

Next year, I'm definitely sticking to secondary school students. At least they don't expect me to give answers beyond what Duncan thinks of Lellie the Martian.

Tue, 12 May 2009 04:40:20 GMT

I've been listening to the band at the funeral at the void deck play old tunes for the past hour. 小城故事，月亮代表我的心，and a lot of other songs I don't know the name to, but recognize vaguely. All those Teresa Teng songs. I think I heard One Night In Beijing too, but idk man.

Makes me wonder: in twenty years time, what kind of songs will they play at funerals? In fifty years? I think at my funeral, I'd want them to play Flying Apsaras. ... And Amy Winehouse. And Incubus. (B

I've been obsessed with Art Rage for the last few days. Luna introduced me to it some time ago, but I never really had the time to go play around with it. Until a few days ago.

Messing around with it; don't mind the wonky proportions. This was mostly a test for blending and colouring and all that shtick.

US/UK fanart! For the Hetalia fanbook, if anyone's interested. 8) I wish my composition didn't suck so bad though. ;; This is just a crop, so you can't see how awful the composition is until I'm done. >_> God, I need to seriously work on that. Oh, and I've been trying to do Degas-ish skin for my paintings, cos I usually paint them too bright and orangey (see Arthur above), but I'm not sure if this is too blue. u_u;;; I like the grayed purple on Alfred's forehead though.

And because I'm bored.

Don't ask. I don't know. I just thought it was funny at that time. Yes, it's in Chinese. I don't know why I wrote in Chinese.

This is probably the gayest thing I've ever drawn. The background is one of the wallpapers from Brokeback Mountain by the way. Feel dizzy from the gaaaaaaaay.

Done sometime after the Varia-style-asskicking in the TYL arc was released. Oh, I love my Varia. <333 And I fell in love with Squalo's hair. And his fur coat. *A*

In other news: Shitshitshit Hetalia fanbook and KHR doujins for Cosfest lkjsdlksdflkjslkjdflkjsldkfjlskdjflksjfd I'mgoingtodiiiieeeee.

Sat, 02 May 2009 18:33:57 GMT

Attended the EGM today. I'm kind of really tired, but ohhhh, I'm so hyped up about it. The new-old exco got owned so badly; it's so clear that they don't have any interest in running AWARE as a secular organization for womens' rights.

They shot themselves in the foot quite a few times even. I took down random events during the meeting, because I don't have a laptop, and I don't have a Twitter feed like MJ. Urgh, so going to set something up in case something epic like this ever happens again. (B More on that tomorrow, when I'm thinking more coherently and I have time to decipher my handwriting.

On that note, I can't believe I took down more notes in 2 hours than I do for two weeks worth of CCS! WTF MAN.

Also. Some woman told Thio Su Mien that she would not like her to be her mentor ('cos TSM is the 'feminist mentor' for Josie Lau's exco), and I applauded her so loudly jdhflkshdf because DAMN TRUE LAH. Who the fuck wants her to be their mentor? Whoever studied under her, I feel so sorry for you. A woman who tells a hall to shut up and give respect to elders who have not earned it does not earn any respect at all, and certainly no respect as a teacher. I'm only a tuition teacher who hacks it at some little neighbourhood centre, but damn if I'd be categorized as a teacher when people like you are around.

... Okay sleep. D: It's 2.34am and I should stop sleeping at unhealthy hours when I'm still sick.

... still really happy though. Hurhurhurhurhurhur. (B (B (B (B x 3029803249834

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:57:45 GMT

Yeeeeeeeeees. Guess whose school is oouuuuttt~~ Also. Went over to Qing's house. Talked about crack. This is the result. 8059 fic. 83

The 30th of February
Rating: PG13 for swearing
Pairing: 8059 ~~duh~~
Summary: Yamamoto wants to have kids.

“Hey Hayato, I was thinking,” Yamamoto mused one day, as they relaxed in the drowsy warmth of their bed, conscientiously avoiding the wet spot on the right side of it. This meant that Gokudera felt rather squashed on the left side, but Yamamoto was kind of nice and warm, so he decided magnanimously to let it go.

“I didn’t know you thought,” he replied- Yamamoto laughed even though it was an extremely old dig by now.

“No, really,” he persisted. “I was thinking…”

“Takeshi,” Gokudera grumbled, burrowing further into the warmth and trying to get the swordsman to shut the fuck up. “I want to sleep.”

Yamamoto nudged Gokudera, clearly unwilling to let the matter rest. “Oh come on, don’t sleep right after sex. You’re boring like that. Anyway, I wanted to say, I was thinking about kids.”

Gokudera’s eyes had snapped open at the accusation of being boring (Him? Smokin’ Bomb Hayato? Boring? Not on his fucking life, thank you very much), but they widened in further outrage and frustration when Yamamoto mentioned children.

“What the fuck?” He glared at Yamamoto, sitting up. “So now I’m the fucking woman in this relationship.”

“No, no,” Yamamoto laughed, sitting up also and wrapping his arms around Gokudera in a conciliatory gesture; it was shrugged off in annoyance, but then Yamamoto had never been one to give up without a fight, and he managed to subdue his silver-haired lover into some awkward sort of hug in the end. “You’re wearing the pants here if anything-” Here, Gokudera raised an eyebrow, quite sure that Yamamoto was only saying that to pacify him, though he made no comment. “But really, don’t you think it’d be fun to have kids? I could teach ‘em baseball! Teach them how to make sushi and stuff like that!”

“We’re in the fuckin’ mafia,” Gokudera deadpanned. “Kids are easy targets for kidnapping, killing, threats and whatever the shit else you can think of.” However, he added rather hastily, on seeing Yamamoto’s expression fall, and his eyes cast down, “Look, why don’t you tell me again next month? On the thirtieth. I’ll be back from Florence by the twenty-ninth.”

As predicted, Yamamoto brightened up again. “Haha, okay-” Then he paused. “Hey, wait, February ends on the twenty-ninth-”

“Shut up. Don’t think. Roll over.”

“Haha, yes sir.”