#just wish a few more of the Veterans were here

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Look at them all!!!

[New Shingeki Worldwide AfterParty visual]

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 1

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts You move next door to a disabled veteran and his troubled partner.

Warnings and details: disabled!Johnny; established Ghoap future Ghoap/reader; domestic abuse (not Ghoap); heavy themes of suicide, violence, abuse, poor coping mechanisms, prescription drugs. I’m not sure if I have anything here, let me know if anyone is interested in this series.

#

A helicopter goes down in the mountains of Kazakhstan and it takes a piece of Soap with it. They never recovered the arm—nor the three service members who lost more than their arms in the crash. The thought is one that Johnny’s mind cycles back to often, in moments of quiet or while he lies awake at night feeling tremors in an arm that’s no longer attached. Suddenly he’ll wonder: what are those bones up to, buried in snow and ice so deep the sun will never touch them again? Do they miss me?

Fuck, he misses them.

#

After the accident, the world is very black and white. Mostly it’s black. Blackness at the edge of his vision threatens to creep in when he stands too long, when he stands on his own, when he turns his head too fast. Anytime his blood pressure rises over that Goldilocks number of 120/80, it threatens to drop him faster than Simon used to during their first weeks of training together in the 141.

The doctors say that he’s a miracle. The traumatic brain injury had his brain swelling and pushing at the confines of his skull like water freezing in a bottle. Give him a little longer in the cold and maybe his cap would blow off. Except it hadn’t; he was still dealing with swelling all over: in his thalamus, his hypothalamus, in his cerebrum, all the words he’d never bothered to learn in school and couldn’t fucking remember now no matter how hard he tries. He gets the point. Simon does too. Johnny should be dead.

Instead he just wishes he were.

Even now, when he can remember his name and Simon’s and even (more often than not) the name of the waitress who serves them chicken and waffles at the local diner every Saturday, there are still more bad days than good. Still more darkness than light. Still more nights waking up to the sound of helicopter blades slowing, the relentless hum becoming a deafening chop chop chop like the thrum of his heartbeat. There’s that moment of weightlessness when the helicopter goes down and he has yet to go with it that makes him wake in a cold sweat, nauseous and looking for something to be sick in.

Through it all, Simon is there. Simon is the light. He’d laugh if he heard Johnny say that—though a laugh is probably too generous. Simon doesn’t laugh much these days. Not when he spends three fourths of his time taking care of Johnny and the other fourth thinking about how better to take care of Johnny. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny would have done himself in by now. There’s a thousand ways to do it; plenty of arms and munitions in the apartment they share together. Or there are the pain pills, if he wanted it to look like an accident. A few too many of those and he could crawl right through that darkness in his vision and find out what’s on the other side. As soon as the thought crosses his mind (and it crosses his mind more often than that fucking chicken crosses the road), the guilt comes, like anyone and everyone can read it on his mind: his mama rest her soul, Simon, Jesus on the cross. After all of the work that has gone into him, into saving his broken body and mind, into rehabilitating him, how can he even think of throwing in the towel?

Turns out it’s pretty fucking easy to think about it.

As a matter of fact, he’s thinking about it the first time he meets you, when you nearly do the job for him.

It’s spring, cool, and he’s working up a goddamn sweat anyway. Simon stands in the alleyway, smoking and pretending not to watch as Johnny hobbles up and down the length of the parking lot with his forearm crutch. His armpit throbs. His knee throbs. His head throbs as he continues along, beating out a strange little rhythm on the concrete—thum-thump, thum-thump, thum-thump. He says all the curse words he knows and dreams up a few new ones too. It’s supposed to be getting easier, but Simon just pushes him harder to make up for the ground he covers. That’s one of the shitty parts about loving an ex-military man; he never goes easy on you.

Johnny’s thinking about the tub upstairs, just big enough for him if he curls in on himself. Sometimes a hot bath helps the knots in his muscles, but sometimes when Simon leaves the room to get a washcloth Johnny will slip beneath the surface of the water and see how long he can hold his—

Then you come out of absolutely nowhere in your shitty little four-door and nearly hit him. As a matter of fact, you do hit his crutch, sending it sprawling out of his hand and sending him clattering to the ground on his bad side. For a moment, he thinks: this is it. This is how I die. Not in a helicopter in Kazahkstan but here, now, today, and he can’t tell if it’s relief in his belly or regret. Then your tires squeal like pigs on the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air, and he is face to face with you and your horror, close enough that the air from your hasty turn brushes along his body and sends his heart pounding.

“What the steaming bloody fucking Jesus do you think you’re doing?” he finds himself shouting, pain lancing all along his side from his fake knee to the stump of his arm. Simon is there all at once, cigarette abandoned to smolder to ash in the alleyway, putting his hands under Johnny’s armpits and lifting him like a child even when he yelps in pain like a kicked dog. Johnny leans against him heavily. The edges of his vision are turning black. He bangs his fist against the hood of your car. “Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in? ‘That’s the cunt right there, beam him with your car’? Did he tell you that?”

You reluctantly get out of the car, not even wearing a goddamn seatbelt. The car’s soft, insistent alarm begins to remind you with unending politeness that the door is open and your seatbelt is off while you stand there, pallid, eyes huge and watering in the face of Johnny’s shouts.

He sees then that one of your eyes is swollen almost completely shut, blood turning the white sclera pink like the fine mist of blood over the snow when they finally pulled Johnny free from the helicopter. No wonder you didn’t see him coming, with a single functioning eye. He’s opened his mouth to tell you so (and to tell you a dozen other fucking things) when he nearly swoons, the rug of the world being tugged under his feet by the hand of God.

Simon slips a firmer arm around Johnny’s waist.

A man gets out of the passenger side. He begins to berate you for not paying attention, for nearly killing Johnny. Johnny agrees, but is annoyed all the same. He’s the one who almost died; leave the shouting to him.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out, tears dripping near-constant from your eyes. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. Let me get your—”

“Done enough, haven’t you?” Simon asks cooly. It sends you reeling back into the car where you sit with both hands over your mouth, chest hitching with your panicked sobs.

“Hey, is he, like, okay?” your partner asks.

“Fuck off,” Simon says, deftly ushering Johnny over one shoulder and holding the crutch in the other. He carries them back to the elevators without breaking a sweat, and Johnny cries on his shoulder from the pain of it, the sheer embarrassment of it the whole way home. The day before Kazahkstan he couldn’t have been able to tell you the last time he cried; now he cries every fucking day from one reason or another.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says when they make it back to the apartment and Simon eases him down into a chair. They arrange his knee in the one position that has it throbbing less, but then Johnny bats Simon’s hands away. “Go. I’m fine. I don’t need you hoverin’ over me.”

“Alright.”

“Fuck off with yer alright.”

Simon doesn’t say anything. Johnny hears his footsteps leading toward the bedroom they share—hardly a bedroom, how long has it been since they slept there together peacefully? Since they fucked? Johnny can tell you how long it’s been. Since before things went black and white. The footsteps stop then.

“You stepped in front of her, Johnny,” Simon says, his voice low but not quiet enough to count as a whisper. “I watched you do it. Don’t think you’re so fucking slick.”

He shuts the bedroom door behind him.

[genderkoolaid]

I come late to organizing as a transgender activist. In doing so, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned transgendered people truly are everywhere and not just in New York, San Francisco and Washington D.C. I’ve learned many want to quietly assimilate into the white, heterosexual, middle class status quo that is the dominant culture of our nation. I’ve learned quite a few of us have no wish or desire for such assimilation — that for some of us, our greatest desire is to shake up that dominant culture, to question gender and identity on every level — social, biological, political and personal. I’ve learned that perhaps right at this moment there is a transgendered person — most likely an MTF transsexual or crossdresser, most likely a person of color, being brutally murdered. I’ve learned people much younger than I are coming out as transgendered in ways I never believed possible when I was their age and are challenging not only the status quo, but also calling on “old” activists like me to take another look around and see the world through their eyes. And I’ve learned that, perhaps like all other communities, we love to eat our own. Some of you reading this are aware of the controversies and conflicts swirling within the transgender community, most of which focus upon the organization GenderPAC. For those of you who aren’t up on it, here’s an abbreviated version. A significant number of transgender activists and community organizations have taken issue with GenderPAC’s expansion of its mission and vision to incorporate a larger view of gender rights rather than a specific and focused emphasis upon civil rights advocacy for transgendered people. Depending on whom you ask, this reinventing of GenderPAC is either the logical extension of its organizational vision to secure the rights of all people to free gender expression — or the cold-blooded abandonment of the very community by whom and for which it was created, nurtured and financially supported. Being the baby TG activist I am, I come to this drama late. Long after the battle lines were laid down. Long after sides were chosen, opinions formed and set in stone. Long after wounds (both real and imagined) were inflicted.

I’ve watched carefully for the past couple of years as the battle has played out online, in internet chat rooms, and on mailing lists. I’ve read statements from individuals and organizations that have taken a stand on the issue. I’ve received press releases and announcements from one camp or another; a battle of media propaganda that would make the veterans of the Cold War proud. And through it all, I’ve tried to be a rather casual observer, if one can be casual as they watch some of the best and brightest of their community consumed in an internal battle that threatens to tear the entire community apart. Of course my being a casual observer hasn’t stopped a few folks from demanding to know where I stand. I’ve been pulled aside at conferences and been given “information,” primarily innuendo and accusation, so I am up to speed on the situation. I’ve been directed to websites that were little more than character assassinations in badly laid-out HTML. And I’ve been emailed privately and off-list by those concerned I was going to make the “wrong choice.” Want to know what my answer to these people is? Okay, here it is — I really don’t care. That’s right. I DON’T CARE. You see, I believe almost everyone entangled in this controversy is acting in what they believe are the best interests of the community with which they feel most closely aligned. I believe they’re doing the best they can with what they have. I believe mistakes have been made by everyone involved, that the personal has become political in the most destructive of ways. I also believe in change and evolution; that even organizations that have had to be forced to listen to me and to consider my issues can learn from their mistakes and realize they must make a seat for me at the table if they are to truly realize the dream of civil rights for themselves and for others. But most of all, I believe in hope. I was asked point-blank whose side I was on. This is my answer: I am on the side of whoever has the guts and initiative to end this thing and make a real effort to move our community forward out of this debilitating and destructive conflict. I’m on the side of anyone who is more interested in healing the wounds than in proving who is right. I’m on the side of those who have the ability and the willingness to put aside their personal and political animosities and seek some way to bring together everyone involved to begin a healthy dialogue, one without finger-pointing and name-calling. Until that happens, I guess I’m on the side of those who are the most negatively affected by this dysfunctional family feud. In case anyone needs a refresher course as to who those folks are and the issues they are dealing with, allow me to introduce just a few of them. The transsexual FTM who has lost custody of his child when he began transition; the butch lesbian who lost her job because she refused to wear makeup or shave her legs; the crossdresser whose wife is seeking a divorce and custody of the children he adores; the effeminate gay man beaten to death and crucified on a fence on a lonely Midwestern plain; the 17-year-old MTF doing tricks in the back alleys of San Francisco because her parents kicked her out when they found “him” wearing dresses; the FTM who died of uterine cancer because he couldn’t get insurance approval for a hysterectomy after he had completed sexual reassignment. Ultimately, it is these transgender, transsexual and gender- variant people who have the most to lose if someone doesn’t step up to the plate to end this.

"Gender, Identity Politics, and Eating Our Own" by Alexander John Goodrum (2001)

[janeyseymour]

Never In a Million Years... Unless...- pt. 1

back on my bullshit and here with this for you

summary: Melissa feels a certain way about everything. And you? You're just happy to be there.

WC: ~1.8k

Melissa Schemmenti never wanted to be a mother. From the time she was little, she knew that she never wanted to have her own children. After having to take care of most of her siblings after her parents’ devastating divorce and stepping into a more maternal role at the ripe age of ten, the redhead knew what it took. She never wanted to be in that position again. Cooking, cleaning, running to the bus stop to make sure siblings got to school on time before attempting to get herself an education in a rightly manner was more than enough mothering than Melissa knew she ever wanted to have to do.

And she stood by that as she grew older. In fact, that single fact alone ruined quite a few relationships in the woman’s past.

“I don’t want children,” she would tell her partners. They would either try to sway her into changing her mind, or they would outright tell her that the relationship wouldn’t work out. Melissa found that she almost liked when they would just end it right there instead of trying to drag out something that would never work because of her stubborn position on the matter. The only person who didn’t push the idea of children on the woman was Joe- and she ended up married to him. Of course, she divorced him later on, but that’s besides the point.

All that being said though, Melissa Schemmenti knew that children were destined to be in her life one way or another- which led her to teaching. And teaching filled that hole in her heart of not having her own children. Some days, she almost wished she had her own children, specifically after her school children did something absolutely precious. But then there were the days where her school children were absolute menaces, and she was beyond grateful that she didn’t have to go home to her own little monsters (and she knows how Schemmenti children can be).

She led her life that way for oh so long, brushing off questions of when she was going to settle down again and finally have the children that others so desperately wanted her to have.

And then you came along- not that that changed her outlook on getting remarried and having children. But having you come into her life… it was nice. It was different. Melissa genuinely liked having you around, something that she couldn’t say about most of the people she worked with.

It had started because you were a new teacher at Abbott- a new kindergarten teacher to help take the load off of Barbara Howard. Quite frankly, the two veteran teachers weren’t thrilled with your appearance, but once they realized that you truly did have what it took to stay at the elementary school, they welcomed you with open arms- at least somewhat open arms.

And then one day, it changed. The redhead knew how perfect you were with your students, how you helped her best friend with the challenges that came with teaching at an underfunded and, at times, poorly run school, how your heart was in the right place… and that were absolutely stunning to look at. But when she was able to actual witness the magic that you seem to hold, she couldn’t stop herself from asking you out any longer. 

Everything that she stood for was laid out on the table right away, and you respected that. Hell, you leaned into it and promised her that the feelings she had about every matter on the table were valid. 

Your relationship with the sometimes brash and irascible second grade teacher was one of, if not the, healthiest relationships you had ever fostered. She had boundaries, you had your own boundaries, and neither of you crossed those lines. And if you did? The night was spent talking it out in a mature and calm manner, often times leading to making it up to each other in sweet and honest ways.

At this point, the two of you have been dating for a few years, and things still couldn’t be any better.

After a slight hiccup in the road, you’re living together. Domestic life could not come easier for the two of you. It is a blessing to be able to wake up to those sparkling emerald eyes, spend the morning getting ready together, have lunch together, cozy up on the couch after a long day with a warm meal, and then retire to the bedroom where you could fall asleep to the gentle beating of her heart.

Life is perfect with Melissa. There is nothing that you would change about her, and she wouldn’t change anything about you. Sure, the sometimes incredibly short temper on your girlfriend over menial things was challenging, and she didn’t necessarily enjoy the fact that you would kick your shoes off at the front door instead of placing them in the shoe basket you had. But every person has their faults, and you’ve come to learn that she needs space over certain things, and she’s realized that rather than pick a fight, she can just toss your shoes into the bin.

The topic of marriage and future is few and far between. Really, the only times that you ever spoke about it were when you first started dating, and then again when you took the leap and moved in with her. Neither of you were gunning for marriage or children, and that made the redhead breathe easier- knowing that you wouldn’t leave her over the topics.

You, in a blissful and loving haze, don’t know though, that things in Melissa’s mind are changing. You’re younger than her, and while you’ve made it quite clear that you’re more than okay with just being partners, doubts of you leaving her for someone else are never far from her mind. You could have anyone you wanted- a strong and beautiful man or woman who would gladly take your hand in marriage without hesitation and mother or father your children who would no doubt be the complete opposite of what a Schemmenti child is.

So when your girlfriend brings up the topic that is relatively taboo in your household, you’re taken aback.

“What?” you ask over a glass of wine, feet propped up on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, mi amore,” Melissa sighs as she plays with one of the rings sitting on your finger. Subconsciously, her hand begins to rub where an engagement and wedding ring could be sitting if you had decided that you wanted something else in life.

“Mel, I don’t need that stuff,” you tell her softly. “I just need you, and I’m the happiest woman alive.”

“I just…” the redhead trails off. “I’ve been thinking about it lately that you could have anyone you want, and maybe I’m just holding you back.”

At that you turn to face her, bringing your feet under you as you force her to look you in the eye. “Melissa Schemmenti.”

She hums, dropping her own eyes down to her lap.

“I could have anyone I want, and I have the person I want,” you tell your girlfriend fiercely. “You are not holding me back in the slightest. All I could ever want is the life I’ve built with you, and I do not need you getting in your pretty little head about the absurd ‘what if’s’ that are never going to come true. You’re stuck with me. I love you.”

“I love you too, mi amore,” she whispers as she leans in to kiss you.

“You are everything I could ever want,” you promise Melissa quietly. “Smart, sexy, confident, funny… brazen. Everything I could ever want, and then some.”

That night, just like every other night, you fall asleep with your head on her chest. And while the second grade teacher would usually follow suit relatively quickly, her mind is racing. She had always been so against marriage- giving her heart to someone else, only for it to be broken again the way Joe had broken her heart. She had spent so much time putting the pieces back together again, and even then, there were still cracks and scars from that relationship.

But… in every sense of the word other than legal parameters, the two of you are practically married as it is. You’re living together, you sleep in the same bed, she’s already given her heart to you. So maybe… just maybe, marriage isn’t quite off the table. 

She knows that you really don’t mind not being married, that you are perfectly okay with just spending the rest of your days together in the same realm that you are now, but… she also knows that you wouldn’t mind being married. And you’ve been so you about the topic of marriage- kind and understanding of her hesitations, doubts, and fears. You’ve never pushed for it because you’re so respectful of her boundaries. But she’s also heard when your coworkers ask when you’re finally going to have a ring. She’s also heard the way that you sigh softly, just the slightest bit of disappointment traceable in that little breath before smiling and saying that you don’t need one as long as you have Melissa. You’re just happy that you’re able to call her your girlfriend, your partner, the woman of your dreams.

The woman realizes that so far in this relationship, you’ve compromised on every big thing. You were willing to wait until she was ready to date, despite the fact that you knew she was into you way before she finally asked you out (she found out from Barbara that you had confided in your colleague and claimed that you were okay with waiting until Melissa came around to it herself). You were willing to accept her non-negotiable when it came to the romantic aspect of your relationship. You didn’t push her into living together until she brought up the subject, and then almost took back her offer because her own fears and doubts took over. The foundation of this relationship was mostly built upon the redhead’s views, and you were happy to go along with them because all you knew was that you wanted Melissa. 

And maybe… maybe it’s time she think about you. Of course, she still has doubts and fears about it, but jumping into a relationship with you was terrifying, and she thinks about where she is now. She said never in a million years was she going to get married again, but here she was- almost certain that at some point in the near future, she would be asking you to marry her. 

TAGS (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo

[janeya]

jane flight masterpost

(decided to finally repost this seperately from a reblog from another account's post so its easier to find)

2016-2019 american tour, jungle theatre, and mccarter/arena appear to all use a similar style rig, which uses a waist/back harness to allow them to spin and go upside down.

some theatre company uses a typical small-scale lift that doesnt spin

cs arts and eastview use the same seesaw-style lift, although the first rendition is much more polished (cs arts is a little janky). from the available pictures, it seems like steamer no. 10 uses this as well though thats less confirmed as there are no videos

majestic repertory jane flies for a very short moment at the end of the song! she also uses the seesaw method.

the metropolitan theatre also uses a pretty standard flight sequence- from what i know, she's simply lowered and lifted (similar to stc). beck centre theatre also uses a similar 'up-and-down' lift, the difference being its staged to be a 'test your strength' carnival game. again, the latter is less polished, since beck centre uses cables instead of a more reliable lifting system like the ones used in stc or the american tour productions. its a cool concept though!

hickory community theatre and usd theatre both use flight systems that go VERY high up so thats realy cool. usd uses a cable rig that lifts her freely by her back, causing her to spin slowly in the air. for hickory, i dont have much to go off of other than these images so i dont really know what sort of rig they use but it looks somewhat similar.

then there's a super insane flight rig where jane does backflips and is upside down!! (its incredibly hard to see so i apologize but just trust me. ive posted videos on here of it. its wild). it isnt the sort of rig where there are cables spinning her, it seems like she has full control over her flipping which i genuinely have not seen done in theatre much ever.

boise little theatre uses a rig that makes it look like she's being held up and pulled around by her neck?? its very scary but has a really cool effect for jane. i wish i could tell you how this one works but we only have a very small clip to go off of. i believe it could be a harness that attaches around her shoulders?

sinclair community college appears to use a harness/cable rig but im not 100 percent on how the sequence works

also according to an actor from the stagecoach production, jane had a flight rig, though i know nothing about that one. :)

veterans high school did have one aswell though im currently attempting to figure out how this one was done! it appears to me to be a seated lift but theres a few unique things abt the way it was done that im not sure abt, so i hesitate to pinpoint anything.

u may have also seen a highschool recently saying they were the first hs to fly jane! though this is not true (i dont blame them! the highschools that did have all been pretty niche productions), they still have a flight rig nonetheless nd that is still impressive! tho im having a similar situation with trying to figure out the exact sort of lift they are using. you can sort of see it from some angles, and it does look like it could be attatched at the waist? i included a few pictures where you can see the rig behind her. nd u can also vaguely make out what looks like someone unclipping her at the end, so im pretty set on that being it.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lonely Christmas

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army vet!cop!reader

Summary: During a Christmas Eve night shift with Tim Bradford, you glimpse what is behind his tough exterior.

Warnings/Word Count: vague depictions of veteran-specific depression, brief angst, Tim yells at r, fluff and comfort. 1.1k+ words

A/N: This is a dynamic (Tim with a partner who was also in the Army) that I've had on my mind for a while. While this is a really fast-paced blurb-like fic specific to Christmas, I'd really love to write more of this pairing if anyone is interested. Sorry for the short length but I really wanted to get it done before Christmas Eve🫶🏼

Working the night shift on Christmas Eve feels like the opposite of a Christmas miracle. The long night is made worse when you’re partnered with Tim Bradford. He’s had something against you since you joined the department after leaving the Army. Though you’ve never spent more than a few hours with Mid-Wilshire’s grumpiest officer, you know he doesn’t like you, so you decide to stay quiet and obedient to make Santa’s job – and your own – a little easier tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” you greet as you enter the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

Tim huffs, and you set a small treat bag of cookies from a nearby bakery in the console without a word.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Is Christmas Eve usually hectic?” you inquire.

“Depends on the year. Based on the last few weeks, I’d say it’ll keep us busy.”

You nod, then inquire, “Any plans for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Nope. Heads up, grey Challenger.”

“I’ll run the plate,” you offer, secretly wishing you were in a sleigh rather than a shop.

“VA Hospital reported a disturbance,” dispatch radios. “Two armed men forced their way into a room and have barricaded themselves in with equipment.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you inquire softly.

“Try to twist this into some merry Christmas thing. We’re vets, we know there are plenty of people like us spending the holidays alone, grieving for those we’ve lost, and I don’t need you to make this specific slice of reality any harder than it already is,” Tim snaps. “So, let’s deal with this call like it’s not Christmas and move on.”

As your shift comes to an end, with the brutal reminder that lonely people go to extremes even during the holidays and several emotional bruises from Tim snapping at you more than often, you try to remind him that he is not alone. Over the last few years, you’ve learned to take Tim’s attitude and swings from helpful superior to the short-tempered Bradford the station knows him as in stride.

Walking through the station to return to your lonely home, you’re surprised to hear Tim call your name. You turn to face him, and he pulls his backpack strap tighter against his shoulder. It’s nearing midnight, almost Christmas, and you’re expecting one more reprimand to conclude the all-but-perfect night shift.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” he offers. “My sister dropped off a casserole this afternoon.”

“Dinner at midnight?” you clarify with a grin. “I’d love to. Only if you’re sure, I don’t want to impose on you on Christmas.”

“I’m free for the next few hours.”

You follow Tim out of the station and tip your head in thanks after he opens the passenger door of his truck for you. The ride to his house is quiet, only the low humming of instrumental Christmas music filling the space as Tim navigates the quiet (for once) streets of Los Angeles.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask as you enter his home.

“Going to visit my sister and nephews for lunch and gifts,” he replies. “You?”

“I’ve got a few people to see.”

Tim nods and begins preparing the food. You start to speak simultaneously, and your expression of gratitude is cut short when you smile. “Go ahead,” you murmur.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Tim begins. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the vet in the hospital. It just… it reminded me of one of the guys in my last unit. Seeing people like us struggling around the holidays is hard, but you know that, and I had no excuse to yell at you like that. So, I’m sorry.”

“I do know that, but I can also understand that your response is valid. I probably would have overstepped, and honestly I’d rather you yell at me before I can do something that pushes you away rather than letting me do it and suffer the consequences.”

Tim’s brows pinch as he asks, “And what do you think the consequences would be?”

“Let’s just say I would hate to end up on the Bradford Naughty List.”

Tim’s face shifts into a smile as he shakes his head, and you grin at him before offering to get plates for dinner.

Something shifts beneath your cheek, pulling you from a peaceful slumber. You don’t sleep well most nights, and for a moment, you think Christmas magic lulled you to sleep. Then you realize that the fabric under your face looks awfully familiar. Sitting up, you press your lips together as you watch Tim blink and look at you. You remember eating dinner side-by-side and watching a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life. You had no intention of falling asleep together, or in his house, for that matter.

“You look your cutest like this,” Tim rumbles, his voice thick with sleep and concerningly unfiltered.

“But I just woke up,” you argue.

Tim nods, his full attention on you, and states, “I know what I said.”

“I- I should probably go. You have your family to visit. Merry Christmas, Tim, and thanks again for dinner.”

While you gather your things, Tim watches your movements from the couch.

“Why do you care so much?” he asks.

“About what?” you ask, looking up from your bag.

“Me, people… You tried to make last night feel like Christmas. Why?”

You shrug. “Everyone deserves some magic, and there’s no better time than Christmas. And, as for you… I have an idea of what it’s like. I do know that it’s not easy, and though I can’t imagine what you’ve dealt with specifically, you haven’t let it keep you from seeing the good in people. Even if you don’t let on that you do.”

“I see the bad too.”

“Job hazard. Despite seeing that bad side, you still let people close. That’s why I care about you, because you’re a good person.” Tim opens his mouth again, and you add, “That last point was objective, it’s not up for debate.”

“Do you want to stay?” Tim asks after a moment. “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, either.”

“Your family,” you remind him.

“I’m sure they have an extra plate,” Tim teases.

You gesture to your outfit and slept-on hair, but Tim stands and lays his hands on your shoulders.

“I already said you look your cutest like this.”

“Thought you were incoherent and half-asleep.”

“But don’t I see the good in people?”

Your head falls back as you groan. Tim offers to drive you home to let you get ready, and you realize that you wouldn’t mind spending Christmas with him and his family. Even if he yells at you and calls you cute mere hours apart. It’s part of his Tim Bradford charm.

[melishade]

Attack on Prime The Future Anthology: Snowball Fight (Rematch)

StrongArm and Sideswipe I

Strongarm and Sideswipe II

Thanksgiving

Winter Anthology:

Snowball Fight I

Snowball Fight II

The Survey Corps demand a rematch with Optimus.

Levi sneezed as the cold winds blew once more on Paradis. The fields were blanketed in white once more, the trees no longer had their leaves, and-!

"Bring it on!" Sasha screamed before chucking a snowball directly at Miko head. The agent rolled to the side before grabbing some snow and hiding behind a tree. She compacted it into a snowball and was prepared to throw it, but Sasha threw another one, forcing Miko to hide behind the tree more. Sasha was about to throw another one, but she felt the hairs on her back stand up before dodging a snowball that Jack had thrown out of the corner of her eye. She looked down behind her snow wall to see Armin on the ground, his chest covered in snow.

"You're weak, Armin!" Sasha pointed before throwing her snowball at Jack. Miko threw a snowball at Sasha once more, but Mikasa swatted the snowball away with a stick before grabbing a snowball and running after Miko.

Meanwhile, Gabi, Falco, and Colt were laughing with delight as the trio rolled in the snow, getting the frozen water all over their winter coats. It was their first time actually experiencing the element, and they wanted to enjoy it to the fullest. Rafael, Jean, and Pieck were finishing up the last of their decorations on the snowman they built together.

"Finally got building a snowman off my bucket list," Rafael grinned as he put a top hat on the snow scuplture.

"Can't you go anywhere in the world to make one?" Pieck asked.

"My first time seeing snow was when I got involved with the Autobots," Rafael explained, "If that didn't happen, then I would have been living in the desert until I went to college. And who knows if I went to a place with snow."

"The snow is making my leg colder though, and I don't like it," Jean grumbled.

Levi felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Erwin offering him a cup of tea. The captain took it and took small sips, noticing the difference in taste. "What kind of tea is this?"

"Apple tea!" Hanji grinned, popping up behind Erwin.

"You can make tea from apples?" Levi questioned in confusion.

"Apparently you use apple peels!" Hanji explained.

"Hm." Levi took another sip, "How's the arm treating you?"

"I'm thinking about taking it off," Erwin grumbled. "Every time it touches my skin, it feels like ice."

"Maybe there is a way to make the arm reattach, like Jean's leg," Hanji suggested.

"The arm is connected to my nervous system," Erwin reminded.

"Doesn't mean that it should stop us," Hanji proclaimed.

A few moments later, the veteran trio heard the familiar sound of a spacebridge and turned their attention to see Optimus driving through it.

"Hello, Boss Bot!" Hanji waved, "How was the geopolitics?"

"I do not wish to discuss it," Optimus grumbled as he activated his holoform.

"If the world leaders are being a pain in the ass, just let Buckethead handle it," Levi suggested, "The one thing he's good at is scaring people."

"I have been avoiding the world leaders for quite some time," Optimus admitted, "Megatron informed me that it was a problem and I had to address it."

"At least it's over for today," Erwin reassured.

Falco stopped rolling in the snow when he noticed Optimus standing next to Erwin. "Hello, Mr. Optimus Prime!"

Levi nearly choked on his tea while Hanji snickered.

"Optimus will do just fine!" The Prime reassured.

Sasha noticed the Prime, wondering why he was here for a brief moment, before devious and infuriating thought crossed her mind. "YOU OWE US A REMATCH!"

Everyone stared in confusion while Sasha grunted when Jack landed a hit directly to the back of her head.

"Um...rematch?" Pieck questioned.

Levi blinked in realization before slouching in his wheelchair. "Oh god no."

"Oh god yes!" Hanji exclaimed with delight.

"Wait, what's going on?" Erwin asked.

"YOU OWE US A SNOWBALL FIGHT OPTIMUS!" Sasha pointed at the Prime.

"Sasha, no-!"

"Sasha, YES!" Miko yelled in agreement, cutting Armin off.

"I will have to abstain," Optimus proclaimed.

"No, you are not abstaining!" Sasha stomped over to him, "You're fighting all of us because Armin cheap shotted you and I refuse to accept it!"

Erwin snapped his head to Hanji and Levi. "What happened?"

"The 104th challenged Optimus to a snowball fight a few years ago. He only participated because I managed to phrase it as a training exercise which got him to participate. And that resulted in everyone getting their asses handed to them. But Armin somehow managed to sneak up on him and win the match," Hanji summarized.

Erwin looked at them like they were insane. "Optimus Prime lost a snowball fight?"

"Yes," Levi answered.

"Sasha, I must insist that-!"

"No! All of us!" Sasha gestured to her friends, "Versus you! Same rules as last time! We have to land one hit on you with the snowball!"

"Pass." Jean raised his hands in surrender before walking away.

"Coward!" Sasha yelled at him.

"I just got used to walking again!" Jean reminded before pointing to his prosthetic, "And this leg is cold!"

"Then you'll be support!" Sasha declared.

"Sasha you were dangling from a tree last time we did this!" Jean reminded.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," Jack told Miko and Rafael.

"Oh, we're doing this!" Miko grinned.

"I'm with Jean on this one," Pieck agreed, gesturing to her cane, "I'll never have the same mobility that I used to."

"Fine!" Sasha pointed to Armin. "You!" Then Mikasa. "You!" Then Jack. "You!" Then Miko. "You!"

"YES!" Miko cheered.

"You three!" Sasha pointed to the Warrior Cadets.

"Uh...." Colt wasn't sure if he should say no.

"And you!" Sasha finally pointed to Rafael. "Where's Annie?!" Sasha demanded.

"I think she's with her dad," Gabi recalled.

"Besides, I don't think she wants to fight Optimus," Hanji reminded.

"Then you two!" Sasha pointed to Hanji and Erwin.

"No," They both said in unison.

"Why?!" Sasha demanded.

"Girl, I know my limits," Hanji reminded in annoyance.

"I am practicing self-preservation." Erwin sipped more of his tea.

"I still have not agreed to this," Optimus declared.

Hanji raised a finger and was about to speak, but Optimus shot them a warning look, causing them to recoil a little.

"C'mon, Optimus!" Sasha begged, "Don't you want revenge on Armin for getting the jump on you?!"

"Why are you dragging me into this?!" Armin demanded.

"I am not going to participate," Optimus declared.

"You know," Rafael began, "You did break your promise in bringing me that snowball."

Miko gasped in mocking disbelief. "Optimus Prime broke a promise?!"

"What is happening?" Pieck was at a loss for words, "Are they blackmailing Optimus?"

"Oh, yeah, he's a softie. He's gonna fold," Hanji declared.

"You should make up for that promise~," Rafael suggested.

"Jack." Optimus turned to the eldest.

"Well you did break a promise," Jack retorted.

"There was a scraplet infestation," Optimus shot back.

"That's not an excuse, Chief!" Miko warned, "Snowball fight! Snowball fight!"

"Snowball fight! Snowball fight!" Sasha chanted along with her.

Jack looked at Rafael and the two shrugged before joining in. "Snowball fight! Snowball fight!"

Optimus could feel his eyes twitching at the chanting, knowing for a fact that it wasn't going to relent. "I will only do one-!"

"YES!" At least half of them cheered.

"Yeah, I'm gonna sit this out," Jean proclaimed as he started to walk away.

"Nope!" Sasha grabbed the hem of Jean's coat and dragged him back.

"What?! Hey, what the hell?!" Jean squawked.

"Um, we've never really been in a snowball fight," Colt spoke up.

"Oh, you are going to love it," Miko reassured with a grin.

"Or get hurt," Mikasa muttered under her breath. She remembered the last time she went up against Optimus in a snowball fight.

Pieck walked up to the veteran trio. "Should I be worried about Gabi, Falco, and Colt?"

"Hmmmm," Hanji hummed in thought.

"The fact that you're thinking about it is concerning me," Pieck stated.

"Prime will go easy on them," Levi reassured.

Moments later, the humans stood across from Optimus, each side having their snowballs and defenses ready. But not one person moved. The other side was waiting for the other to make their move. Pieck couldn't help but feel the tension in the air, and shivered at the cold wind.

"I don't think it seems fair that Optimus is all by himself," Falco confessed, causing everyone to be distracted for a brief moment. But it was enough for Optimus to make the first move. He threw two snowballs, one that hit Colt in the side of his head, and the other hitting Armin square in the chest. Both ended up hitting the snow hard.

"I knew you had it out for Armin!" Sasha grinned. Everyone yelped and ducked as Optimus started pelting them with snowballs.

"I'm just gonna crawl away," Armin groaned before he started shimming his way across the snow, grabbing Colt in the process.

Miko couldn't help but start cackling. "This is gonna be so much fun!"

"You go left and I go right!" Jack ordered Miko as he grabbed some snowballs, "Raf, help Gabi and Falco make more!"

"Don't need to tell me twice!" Gabi frantically started making more snowballs.

"I'll throw from here! I'm not moving!" Jean declared.

"We'll cover you!" Sasha and Mikasa stated. Jack nodded before he and Miko bolted from the snow wall. Mikasa stayed close to Jack while Sasha followed behind Miko.

Optimus' eyes darted at the two teams that split off and quickly tried to target them. The two teams managed to find some cover behind some trees before throwing their snowballs. Optimus quickly ducked before hiding behind his own snow wall. He was getting overwhelmed. He could try running into the forest like last time, but he was certain that they would be prepared for that. He needed to take out the weakest first, or at least take out the support.

He needed to get to where Jean, Rafael, Gabi, and Falco were. He needed to get to their stock pile.

Sasha was ready to throw another snowball, but flinched when her vision became blurry. When it regained focus, she saw the energy coming off of everyone once more. "Damn it, not again."

"You okay?" Miko asked her.

"I'm fine!" Sasha snapped at her before turning her attention to where Optimus was hiding. She gasped when she saw glowing energy coming from behind the wall. It was blue and bright and fluid, almost divine. Sasha grew tense when that energy grew more rigid and guarded. Almost as if-!

Sasha gasped when Optimus jumped over the snow wall and bolted straight for the four they left behind their makeshift fort.

"He's heading for the others!" Sasha shouted.

Mikasa didn't know what overcame her, but she bolted, and fast, rushing over to Optimus faster than anyone could think. Mikasa slid down low and threw a snowball directly for Optimus' face, but the Prime bent backwards to dodge it. The snowball hit a tree, causing it the shake and make the snow hanging on the branches crash to the ground.

Mikasa tried to make another snowball, but Optimus was faster. He dug his hand into the snow and flung it directly at Mikasa. She quickly rolled out of the way before the snow hit her, but broke focus when she saw Optimus getting ready to throw a snowball. Mikasa was ready to dodge, but was surprised when Optimus threw the snowball somewhere else. She followed the trajectory and winced when the snowball hit Jean directly in the face.

"Ooo," Miko winced as Jean hit the ground.

"Jean, you're weak!" Sasha shouted.

Jean raised a finger over the fort. "I told you I didn't want to participate!"

"Revenge!" Gabi shouted before throwing a snowball at Optimus, reigniting the fight. Mikasa yelped when Optimus grabbed her by the coat and used her to block a few of the snowballs. Mikasa grunted before kicking Optimus in the chest, causing him to drop her. Mikasa threw punches at Optimus, but Optimus was quick to block them.

"Mikasa! Snowball fight! Not fist fight!" Jack threw a curve ball right for Optimus' back, but the Prime ducked at the last minute and the ball hit Mikasa in the face.

"Sorry!" Jack apologized.

Optimus was prepared to throw a snowball at Jack, but stopped when he heard the snow crunch behind him. The Prime grunted when Miko jumped on his back and pulled at his hair, nearly causing him to lose his balance.

"Throw it! Throw it!" Miko shouted.

Mikasa quickly ran out of the line of fire as everyone else threw their snowballs. But in a split second, Optimus fell backwards. Miko yelled as she let go of his hair and crashed into the ground. The Prime had managed to dodge all the snowballs thrown his way before flipping backwards over Miko. He grabbed some snow and compacted it quickly before throwing it in Miko's face.

Erwin and Pieck could only watch the fight in disbelief while Hanji and Levi watched with apathy. Meanwhile, Armin, Colt, and Jean finally made it to the sidelines, but elected to remain on the floor out of pain and fear.

"This isn't a snowball fight. This is a full-blown fight," Erwin declared.

"Every time I see Optimus' fighting capabilities, it makes me grateful to be alive yet fearful at the same time of Optimus' abilities," Pieck gulped.

"You should have seen it when Optimus was fighting Megatron," Hanji added, "Those two were monsters."

Armin and Jean groaned in agreement.

"Miko, move!" Miko yelped when Sasha rushed forward and jumped before throwing a snowball at Optimus. Miko rolled out the way while Optimus dodged Sasha's throw. Optimus noticed Jack and Mikasa rushing forward to throw their snowballs, but Optimus ducked down and spun, using his leg to trip all three of them. Mikasa was the first to get up at lightning speed, sliding between Optimus' legs and grabbing the holoform jacket. She pulled it back to pull him down, but gasped when the jacket disappeared into sparks, leaving only the holoform shirt.

"What the-!"

"Cheater!" Sasha screamed at him. Sasha grunted when Optimus grabbed her by the face and threw her towards their snow fort. Rafael pulled Falco and Gabi down as Sasha crashed into the snow, ruining the snowballs they had set up. Before Sasha could get an intact snowball to throw, she grunted when Optimus threw one directly at her face. The huntress' head fell back against the snow in defeat.

"This is insane!" Falco cried.

"Nah, I gotta agree with Miko: this is the most fun that I've had in ages!" Rafael grinned.

"Any ideas would be great right now!" Gabi screamed.

Rafael thought it over before looking up at the trees. "Yeah, you two are bait!"

"What?!" Falco and Gabi screamed as Rafael ran to the trees.

"Sasha are you okay?!" Jack called out, earning a loud groan in response. Jack yelped when Optimus threw a snowball at his head, but the agent jumped to the side in response. Optimus dug his hand into the snow to throw at Jack, but Mikasa jumped on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. Optimus grunted as Mikasa yanked him back, giving Jack an opening. Jack quickly grabbed some snow to compact into a ball and was prepared to throw it, but Optimus grabbed Mikasa by her coat and threw her at Jack. Both ended up hitting the snow hard, unable to get up in time as Optimus threw snow at the both of them.

Optimus then turned his head to the damaged snow wall, his eyes falling to Gabi and Falco. He ran over to them, causing them to scramble back into a tree and hold each other for dear life. Optimus jumped over Sasha's unmoving body, grabbing two intact snowballs before walking over to them. Optimus was about to throw it at them and call the game over, but...Falco's eyes darted upward. Why would they-! Wait, where's Rafael?!

Optimus heard something above him and grunted in surprise when a pile of snow fell atop all three of them. He looked up to see Rafael grinning down at him from the tree branch, holding a snowball in his hand. He stretched his arm out and dropped the snowball atop of the Prime's head.

"We won!" Rafael called out.

"Nice!" Miko cheered while Jack and Mikasa groaned in unison.

Erwin couldn't help but feel his eye twitch. "He lost, again?"

"At least this time, it wasn't a lucky shot," Levi commented as Rafael climbed down the tree.

"Sorry guys," Rafael apologized as he dusted the snow off of Falco and Gabi.

"It's okay, Mr. Esquivel," Falco said.

Rafael winced. "Don't call me that. Makes me feel old."

Optimus dusted the snow off of his own body before going over to assist the others to their feet. He offered Mikasa his hand, and the Ackerman grunted and took it. As Optimus pulled her to her feet, Optimus noticed the shine in her eyes had faded to the blue that had now replaced her gray eyes. Optimus' mouth formed a thin line before he went to assist Jack to his feet.

"That was so much fun!" Miko tackled Optimus into a hug from behind, "We should totally do it again!"

"NO!" Falco, Gabi, Colt, and Jean shouted.

"I believe that I am done with snow activities for the day," Optimus declared.

"You sure?" Hanji sauntered their way over to Optimus, "You don't want to help with building a huge snowman or something?"

"Oh please!" Miko begged.

"That would actually be a lost safer," Pieck agreed.

"And we didn't get to do that today! We want to do all the snow stuff!" Gabi declared.

"I-!...suppose that would suffice," Optimus relented.

"Giant snowman!" Miko exclaimed with delight.

==

Later

Megatron had arrived at the island and planted his pedes in the snow. He couldn't help but shiver a little at the sensation of the cold weather but chose to ignore it. He was only coming here because he wanted to check on Optimus after the Prime had left that meeting with the world leaders. He looked so tired and annoyed, but he asked to be left alone for a now. However, he figured enough time had passed for Optimus to cool down.

He arrived at the coordinates he remembered Optimus used and was stunned to see a comically large snowman, about half the size of the Prime. He saw the Prime compacting the snow to make it sturdy while the rest of the humans were talking about decorations to put on the massive snow pile. However, Optimus didn't seem to mind at all. He seemed content with helping the humans out with this tedious task.

At least this helped ease the pain in his spark.

[peachhcs]

Does Will tell any of the guys he's realised his mistake??

Or even just that he slept with someone??

i like to think will calls grace first. she gives the best advice when it comes to any of this and then he calls gabe and ryan to talk to them.

"what's up, will?" grace asked as soon as she answered the phone.

"i hooked up with someone," will said immediately which caught grace off guard.

"what?"

"there was this halloween party last night..i think i was a little drunk and i hooked up with this girl," the boy explained, chewing on the bottom of his lip.

"okay. did something happen?" the older girl grew concerned.

"only that i did it because i thought i'd be able to get over samy and i didn't. i only thought about her the entire time," the hockey player's head fell into his hands as he sat on the end of his bed.

"oh. i see," the older blonde was at a bit of a loss with what to say.

"i think i fucked up, grace. i think i really, really fucked up," will frowned deeply as all the feelings he's tried pushing away for months began resurfacing.

"will..you didn't..fuck up. did you make a bad choice on rash thoughts? yeah. you didn't completely fuck up though," grace tried reassuring her brother even though she couldn't quite back his decisions.

"i should've talked to her more. i don't..i don't know what i was thinking. i thought i was letting her go for the better, but anytime i see her anywhere i wish i could call her and everything was how it used to be," now will was crying.

"it's not too late to talk. reach out to her. tell her you wanna talk or something."

"i can't. she blocked me on everything so even if i wanted to talk to her, i physically can't," the younger boy frowned deeply.

"do you want me to mention something?" grace offered softly.

"no, that's gonna make me look stupid. she doesn't wanna talk to me and i don't blame her," a long sigh fell from will's lips.

"look, we all do stupid shit when we're 18. she definitely does wanna talk to you. you guys were best friends once upon a time. that kind of bond doesn't disappear that easily. is there any time soon you'll be out near michigan or something?"

"i don't know. days off are random sometimes and unpredictable," will shrugged even though grace couldn't see him.

"maybe talk to gabe and ryan. they could make something happen. i know they're rooting for you two as much as i am to get back together or at least talk," will knew his older sister had a point. he should talk to gabe and ryan, but then they'd just tell him i told you so and harp on him.

"i don't know. i'll see. i should let you go," will mumbled.

"i'm always here to talk, will. it's gonna work out, i promise," the hockey player really wanted to believe his sister's words and he hoped to god it was true.

—

"wow, look who's calling first," ryan grinned through the screen when the call connected. will rolled his eyes a bit, but smiled when he saw his friends on his computer screen.

"you look like shit," gabe commented upon seeing will's red eyes and puffy cheeks.

"fuck off," the blonde mumbled.

"i'm kidding. it's good to see you. you had a hella game the other night," the dark-haired boy cheered.

"dude, you put those older guys to shame. like you were flying," ryan laughed making will laugh as well.

"thanks, it was pretty cool taking some of the veterans down. they're gonna be after me now."

"yeah, no shit. i think everyone now knows why you decided to sign on so early," gabe grinned.

their compliments had will flushing with pride. he's been working hard to prove himself these last few games and he was glad it was all finally paying off.

"by the way, halloween was so legendary this year. we went to like four different parties," ryan chuckled.

"i bet it's crazy in california," gabe wondered as the topic shifted.

"yeah, it is pretty crazy out here. so crazy i even hooked up with someone.." will began which had gabe and ryan's eyebrows raising.

"wait, you hooked up with someone? who?"

"uh..i don't really know her name, but i think..i think i regret it. i thought it would like..help me realize breaking up with samy was the right choice, but it didn't. i just thought about her the entire time.." will felt almost ashamed admitting this to his friends.

"oh."

"you're gonna tell me i told you so, but i know i fucked up now. i..i shouldn't have broken up with samy. i thought it would be better for both of us, but i just really miss her and i wish i could talk to her or something," the blonde frowned.

"you're saying this now? six months after the fact?" gabe raised his eyebrows.

"oh come on, give me a break. i was stupid, i know. i finally realize that now. i don't know what to do," upon seeing their friend's face, gabe and ryan saw how torn up will was about everything. they knew he really regretted everything that happened.

"i just don't get why you didn't talk to her more about this before you even decided to break up? you know she would've talked with you about whatever you were worried about," ryan said.

"it was a bad decision during very rash thoughts. i was overwhelmed and a mess back in may. i got scared and pushed her away like i do to everything. you guys don't need to tell me how much i fucked up. i know already," will huffed.

the three fell silent for a moment. will pulled a hand through his hair while gabe and ryan spoke with their eyes.

"a few of us are going to michigan over winter break to samy's lake house. if you can find some free time, you should come out. i think samy would like to see you. you two can finally talk maybe," gabe finally said.

"i'll think about it," will nodded. could he actually fly out to michigan and see samy after not speaking to her or seeing her for eight months though? the idea sent will's head spinning and not in a good way.

[cry-ptidd]

Me and my sister watched Hellsing together. Here's her opinion on the characters

- Alucard: "He's a cunt, but he's entertaining. I'd probably pay to see him in a strip club. I didn't like him and his shit-eating grin and 'master' bullshit at first, but he grew on me quick and i don't like that he grew on me. He's a complex character, and he's hot asf when he cries. Also I wish we'd seen his Dracula form for longer; that was awesome. Him and Anderson had a thing going on."

- Seras: "Didn't really mind her at first, but liked her after she drank blood. Her transformation and the guns are really fucking cool. I didn't like her voice and her whining at first but it got better after a few episodes. I like her when her personality became a little bit more spunky. Her story's fucked up."

- Integra: "Absolute bad bitch. Her attitude reminds me of myself so idk if I should like it or hate it, she's got a lot of pride which I respect. Really human and I like it, she takes no one's shit and she's a badass. Didn't even FLINCH when she got her eye shot out. Girlboss. She gives me ace vibes also."

- Walter: "I liked him, he was funny. And then he betrayed everyone and became emo. He gave good advice, and he was cool as hell with that wise older veteran vibe. I'm disappointed in him, but the plot twist was actually good. You'd notice the signs if you suspected him from the beginning."

- Pip: "He's FINE. I'd braid his hair any day. I was in love and then I mourned. I'm widowed. He was hilarious, plus his voice actor nailed the French. My favorite character. Screeched when he came back. He's a good leader and I loved his speeches, also his death made me cry. And I don't often cry when watching anime."

- Anderson: "kinda neutral. I didn't like him at first, he was obnoxious as fuck. Then he respected women and opposed Maxwell and his orders so he grew in my esteem a bit. His character is cool as fuck tho. I wish he didn't turn into a monster, he fell to the same level as Alucard. It's like human greed or desperation for power. Him and Alucard had a thing going on."

- Enrico Maxwell: "Lucius Malfoy. I hate him but not the one I hate most."

- Heinkel & Yumie: "Really like these two lesbians. So cool and I respect their resolve, especially Heinkel's. Rip Yumi. You were cool. Heinkel being intersex is a dope detail, she's very androgynous too. I like their designs."

- The major: "Augustus Gloop? I like the fact he refused vampirism, that was cool, but he's an actual fucking sociopath and I hate him"

- The Captain: "Ngl, I actually find him quite dope, aside from the nazi thing. Literally no one respected him, that shit had me crying. His face is pretty and his tits are big, even if he looks a bit goofy at times. Wish we'd seen more of him. I felt kinda bad when he got defeated."

- Schrödinger: "I want this thing dead"

- Rip van winkle: "She gives me the vibes of a Dr Seuss character."

- Zorin: "Bleach Ichigo knockoff. Fuck this bitch in particular I hate her"

- The Valentine brothers: "A slav squat necrophile and his gay brother that used to be a runway model but got cancelled after a scandal"

Overall: A hit, neither of us expected her to like it. She likes the political and literary aspects, and also finds the characters interesting. She doesn't really know how to feel about the ending; she considers it realistic and a good end, but she wished it was more epic. But from a writing perspective it's good. Also she lowkey wished Alucard would turn Integra into a vampire, just because it would be cool. Now we send each other memes about it. She calls Nendocard a whore when she passes by him, but says she'd buy a Pip nendo in a heartbeat

[pyxis-stellae]

I finished BO6 and here are my thoughts! (Part 4)

BO6 spoilers below the cut

Okay, so. Sims is back. I LOVED seeing him again. I didn't realize how much I missed him, and he's so done with Adler's shit it's hilarious. Sims is trying to make everything right and Adler is treating the Geneva Convention as a checklist

Interrogating Gusev was... Something. I loved it, I could see how terrified he was and you know what? Good.

Then, Vorkuta. It was nice seeing the map again in better graphics. I felt nostalgic, and might replay BO1 later just for the escape mission. Sev was being a diva again (I persuaded everyone to help me). Very nice. Running into the tunnels with Case was something, I want to replay the mission just to see how Harrow reacts to each option Case can tell her when they met.

Btw I haven't changed my stance Harrow can do anything to me I don't care. She's a little fucked up but I can fix her

I finished the safehouse puzzles, and then... Separation Anxiety. I was terrified of Harrow's part, mainly the second shard with the generators. For a second, I thought her father had killed himself (the hanged mannequin) and I'm scared of her doll. But I was also sad for her - I almost cried. She was vulnerable, and she was manipulated. I wish she hadn't gone down such a destructive path, but I understand.

I know I shouldn't be surprised, but Woods knowing about the "separation" as Adler called was a bit of a shock. My guy why are you so comfortable?? You know what this shit does to people!! Mason is rolling in his grave right now!!

I also loved the fact Separation Anxiety and Checkmate were interleaved. It made a frenetic rhythm that suited the end very well. I also like the reoccurrence of the chess theme.

Now, for Checkmate, I confess I was more paying attention to Felix going absolutely ballistic. Sir aren't you against weapons? Where's Mr. I don't want to touch guns anymore? Don't get me wrong: I'm living for it. I was terrified for a few moments as I thought he'd die on that bridge, but I'm happy it didn't happen.

Harrow's and Woods' conversation was... Something. And even if I knew he wouldn't die because of BO2 I was terrified when he was stabbed.

And then Case losing his shit on Harrow. Completely justified btw. Yes smash her with the weapon they forced you to be. The way she talked about him, it made me feel sick. And I really, really hope he didn't die. It would be a huge waste of a good protagonist, even more if they plan on keeping the Pantheon as the villain, because then it's personal

Overall, I really enjoyed the game and think it did a good job. I do think some things could be better, mainly Case and his link to the Cradle, but again, if he isn't dead this can be fixed easily. It was a fun ride, now I gotta write (I want to make a series of "what ifs" for the game) and replay everything to get it done on veteran :D

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

My interpretations of the Main 4 Postal Dudes 🚸✂️

I understand if there are some disagreements about my perspective, but this is just how I see them

UNDER THE CUT ⬇️

Postal 1 Dude

• Holy hell’s bells scrupulosity and schizophrenia do NOT mix

• The second nicest Postal Dude. Very quiet. The definition of a man who’s been pushed to the limit because mankind has been the greatest cancer to his soul. He does make an effort to be a good samaritan to others if he deems an opportunity worth it. But if you press his buttons, he can become pretty vicious.

• He was involved in the air force for the briefest amount of time during the Gulf-War. Despite being discharged, he’s still an avid weapons collector. He has attempted to use his veteran status to uncover government secrets in guarded areas (most are considered conspiracy theories).

• Dude is able to have conversations with The Demon. He can hear him when he’s awake and only sees him when he’s dreaming. It’s not always terrorizing. The Demon has a sense of humor.

• One of his few joys is setting up a fire in the outskirts of town. Nature has a grounding effect on him. He has made friends with the birds and a few ringtails. He wishes his societal expectations didn’t chain him from his dream of living in the middle of nowhere away from it all. His second favorite joy was ice cream sundaes with strawberry sauce, but lactose intolerance is a bitch.

Postal 2 Dude

• Easily the grumpiest of the Dude quartet. Not all the time though! Once he’s free from his failed marriage and awful time in Paradise, he can be somewhat content. The Postal Dude has titanium resilience. He doesn’t worry about the grand scheme of things. We only have one life. May as well enjoy it and make the most of the present.

• We all love his snappy one liners. They get much more venomous depending on how his day went. If he were to fall in love, he would use sharp banter before settling into the softness of vulnerability. It’s a coping mechanism, okay? Nobody’s ever been so nice to him without stealing his wallet.

• Favorite TV Shows/Movies include but are not limited to: Scarface, The Big Lebowski, Sin City, Dan Vs, Reno 911, Xavier: Renegade Angel, MTV’s Downtown and X-Files.

• Dude rescued Champ at a junkyard sometime around his teens. He was a puppy then, tugging at his jeans. Poor little guy was abandoned by his mom. “Surviving out here all by yourself too, huh? C’mere… I’ll take you home. You’re a real champ for sticking around.” Needless to say, Champ’s become his emotional support dog. He loves that dog so much that he throws him a birthday party every year.

• Despite being an anti-social sociopath, he actually doesn’t exalt that about himself. The Dude is humble about it. Just let him finish his errands peacefully. He does believe that the system we live in is corrupt and people are all inherently fucked up in some way. But don’t expect his “We live in a society” rant to be something valiant, no. His “We live in a society” is on par to George Constanza being denied his crab bisque at Soup Nazi’s kitchen.

Postal 3 Dude

• A confident, smoother Dude despite how much of grungy himbo he is. Lack of impulse control is on overdrive. Since starting a new life in Catharsis, he has eased his once tense shoulders into the great unknown. Dude is more in touch with his loner wolf instincts being left alone, making him somewhat more optimistic. Also draws more juvenile cartoons in his spare time

• He’s a bit clumsy when he isn’t setting fire to everything on purpose. Like if he leans against a wall and accidentally sets the fire alarm off. Or maybe throwing a box at a temp job before being told “Be careful! It’s fragile.” He has a pinch more drive than most Dudes. Still doesn’t earn the A for effort.

• Where P2 has a refined edge to his offensive personality, P3’s delivery always comes off as distasteful and on-par to a teenager learning how to make 9/11 jokes for the first time. Also SHUT UP ABOUT SARAH PALIN ALREADY-

• You hand this guy the aux cord and it is the most obnoxious playlist you’ve ever heard. Slut pop, annoying hits that get stuck in your head, outdated meme songs, douchebag rock, hillbilly bagpipes. And he isn’t fucking with you either. He’ll fold his arms behind his head with that stupid grin on his face and hum along.

• Finally having a computer all to himself, it lead to his first exposure to use the internet longer. Holy shit. This opened a whole new world of meme culture for him and his ADD to fixate on. And there’s free porn too?! Sign him the fuck up! Unfortunately, the Dude contracted terminal brain rot in the process (2010 variant). So, expect it to seep into his vocabulary.

Postal 4 Dude

• So laid back. Doesn’t really need crack anymore because he’s a huge kush stoner instead. He would be the very cool uncle in a found family way. His wisdom isn’t the best but he’s got the right spirit at least. So used to rolling with the punches that he isn’t able to get angry as often. It’s more like, “Huh. This may as well happen. Time to head home.”

• His jokes have mellowed out to be more on the crass side. That’s not to say he won’t throw in some dark one-liners though. They’re just not the same bite it used to be. “I always thought Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire was perfect for a commercial about hemorrhoids.”

• He actually got the bathrobe from a mall he temporarily worked in as a security guard. The job was the best 4 months of his life. Of all things, he got fired for urinating in the mall fountain. He left with a bird flipped in one hand and a smoothie in the other.

• 7/11 is his comfort store. There’s just something about the convenience stores that have brought him a slice of comfort in his endless trying times. Life is short. But the pathetic 2 for $4 hotdog rolls on forever.

• Dude has a vocal stim which is him meowing to the tune of whatever song is stuck in his head. It’s actually kinda cute.

[icekingofhope]

(Enjoy this meme here-)

so the Sonic 3 trailer is out and I decided to go on and make a silly post and a small announcement

I have decided after much debate I will start officially making sonic art NOW KNOW I am new at drawing the sonic artstyle so the characters may look like something out of the shining or something cause I’m getting used to drawing them I done the same with the lmk style until I perfected it

Anyways I decided to ramble my thoughts on the trailer and why I love Sonic

now I am a sonic veteran I have drawn sonic before but when I was way younger but Sonic has stuck by me I remember back in the 2000s I used to watch sonic underground a lot on Netflix that’s how long ago it was I always loved sonic I loved the video games even own some sonic games myself!

my first one was sonic unleashed one of my favorite games I always loved and still love to this day the time where he was a werehog and sometimes I even wish he can go back to werehog sonic and plus it introduced me one of my comfort songs endless possibilities

I got way more into Sonic thanks to the anime Sonic X I didn’t watch the whole series cause it started to get weird but it was how I was introduced to shadow one of my favorite characters

I remember I was so intrigued I tried to find other content and then I found YouTuber named animebromii (who unfortunately is a…well piece of shit to sum it up he was one of those found out to get to close to kids type of YouTubers category but that was found out right after I stopped watching him) I remember his Sonic videos always made me filled with joy and made me love the characters more

although I stop getting into Sonic as fans started to get a little to weird for my taste and such and Sega didn’t know what the fuck they were doing

what rekindle my love for Sonic was well the Sonic movies and as I watch I remembered the joy I had for it and started to slowly get into Sonic again and explore more of it due to being more mature and such I turned out to have well a lot of unpopular opinion that I know will have a mob of angry Sonic fans chasing me with pitchforks

Just Some headcanons and ships I don’t agree on and such even some dislike on how Sega is going about like trying to make sonamy now NOTE I don’t mind sonamy hell as a kid I was one of the people who ship it or more specifically the werehog sonic x Amy (i saw so many AMVs and one of those story shits….you have no idea how much of a huge werehog sonic fan I was) but the reason it makes me uncomfortable cause I found out Sega have gave the group canon ages at one point….

which where Amy is 12 and sonic is 15 NOW I don’t know if this is true I haven’t seen proof and out of all honestly I personally think the ages shouldn’t have been confirmed cause well it feels like to me it fucks up the lore and a lot of ships people love and you could have your own headcanons and such for their ages and to me Sonic doesn’t feel like he is 15 to me like hell when I was younger I thought he was ALEAST 18 or 16

There is only few ships I feel comfortable with that is Elise x sonic and sonia x knuckles

now admittedly yes I maybe not the biggest Sonic fan I haven’t read any of the comics i haven’t played all the games hell sometimes I don’t know half of the characters sometimes but still I love Sonic with all my heart and I hope you guys enjoy this little adventure of mine of Sonic the hedgehog

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 12

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: flashback two - you're fifteen. it's been three years since you last saw the boy named levi.

Warnings: depictions of violence, mentions of death, injuries, levi doesn't have a single chill cell in his body, hurt/comfort, wound dressing, levi is 16 and mc is 15

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 12 - FLASHBACK: TWO

Three years pass without seasons.

Every now and then you think about him — the small boy you fought, the small boy you shared bread with—

The small boy you would never see around the fighting circuits ever again.

Levi.

For someone as scrawny and unassuming as he might have been, it’s hard to forget him — how piercing his gray eyes are, how his voice carries like a whisper in the wind.

Days come and nights go, but in your loneliness, you seek what could have been.

Sometimes they’re nightmares — his eyes turn hollow, lifeless, as he crushes the life clear from your lungs by his hands around your throat. An attack out of necessity and never out of anger; you often wake up gasping, holding your neck with your hand where he once squeezed.

Sometimes they’re dreams — he appears at Roxy’s without cuts or bruises and sits besides you. His clothes aren’t tattered anymore. His hair stays the same. He shares the same food with you, over and over, until you can no longer eat bread without thinking of Levi.

You imagine conversations about nothing in particular. Most of the time, you do all of the talking: about your life, about made-up aspirations, about wishing you could get the hell out of here and fight for something bigger than another person’s purse. 

If he ever responds, then you can't remember. The details of the exchange tend to disappear as soon as you open your eyes.

And you wonder:

Maybe he’s taller now.

Maybe he’s managed to escape to a life on the surface with the living world, making a name for himself in the sun.

(There is a third option to his fate, one more permanent and honest, but you don’t wish to entertain it.)

In your head, you’ve told him everything:

How you cannot picture your mother, but you hope you really do have her eyes.

How you don’t remember your father, but have a feeling you might have his nose.

How you’ve lost so many siblings as you grew up to violence. You tell him their names, their favorite colors, their little quirks, so someone can remember them, too.

How you want to someday see beyond the Underground City, beyond the Walls, and make something of a name you barely own. James; it was a name Mother gave you, but it isn’t your given name. You know your first name. You were just forbidden to use it around her.

(She hoped you’d forget. So many kids do. You never did.)

He doesn’t say much in return to your confessions, but it’s nice to tell someone else.

To exist in someone else.

Except he isn't real, not really.

The boy indifferent to winning a fight to the death one gloomy evening in the underground three years ago is only a figment of your imagination.

.

.

.

.

Until he isn’t.

.

.

.

.

Even off the clock, the street fights never cease.

Strangers love to think — to pretend — they can take on fighters. At fifteen, you’ve learned the reality of this all too well.

The dim lit alleyways and backroads paved to avoid wandering Military Police offer plenty of opportunities to get jumped by begrudged managers, other fighters, other people — the same snakes lining Mother’s pockets.

To them, it's a chance to take on the seasoned veterans out of the ring but with the advantage in the element of surprise.

It’s how you’ve ended up here tonight — trapped in an alleyway a few blocks from Roxy’s pub with nowhere to run.

Your assailants’ silhouettes have their intentions etched all of their postures.

Three against one. 

It was supposed to be an unfair fight.

And it was — for them. 

You find yourself being held back by the armpits by one of men keeping you stationary, your back to his chest. The other two, emboldened by the rare chance, wail on your face and torso. They’re cheap shots. Nothing you can’t handle. 

None of their hits would have landed if you hadn’t just left a fight an hour prior. They'd caught you off guard while nursing your wounds after winding down from a victory.

These three idiots are not calculated, though. Each want a chance to show off their moves, to prove they're strong against the strongest.

(They haven’t thought this attack through, have they?)

You’re the one with the advantage.

So you make them pay for it.

You manage to escape the hold from behind by slamming the back of your head into the one person's nose, causing the tallest boy to scream in agony. Next you attack the girl fumbling to keep you still.

You grapple and punch your way out of their triangulated attack, dropping each body like flies.

The first goes down with a kick to the groin.

The second crumbles the minute you flip her over your back.

The third? He tries to run, but you quickly follow and slam his face straight into the brick wall.

You step back to observe your work: all of lay there groaning and whimpering on the ground, spent and pleading to be left alone.

(Does that count as four victories in one day?)

Except you can't stay to admire, not down here. In an attempt to avoid potential onlookers hoping to brawl next, you run.

You stick to the shadows you’ve grown to memorize and nurse your fresh wounds as you limp towards shelter. 

Going home isn’t an option — Mother will question the fresh wounds with scrutiny.

You have to fix them alone, here, with nothing but the clothes on your back.

You park yourself against a brick wall to catch your breath, dissolving a wheeze to something more stable as your teeth grit with the shooting pain in your torso.

From an initial mental assessment, your ribs feel bruised but hopefully not broken. The one son of a bitch got a shot to your jaw, but when you move it side to side, it isn’t clicking. 

Good. All good signs. So far it’s superficial.

Though your hands might need bandages before next week’s—

“You look like shit.”

A baritone voice sounds at the other end of the alleyway.

Your neck cracks by how quick you lift your chin to find it.

Maybe you did get hit hard enough to hallucinate, because what you see staring straight at you are piercing gray eyes you’ve seen a thousand times by now.

However, it’s only the second time you would have seen them in the flesh.

This person — a young man — has jet black hair shaved at an undercut just above his ears. The front of his hair flops along the edges of his face, framing his pointed nose and even pointier scowl.

You know those eyes.

You know that stare.

He wears a white, long-sleeved shirt, bundled up by a burnt orange vest that buttons at his abdomen, and a pair of fitted dark trousers. It fits better than the mangled tee you’ve recalled for all these years. His hands are at his sides, resting in fists.

“Mind your fucking business,” you bite back in warning, ignoring the shooting pain your torso.

He ignores your aggressive demand and dares another step forward. 

“How bad did they get you?”

You blink in rapid succession to see if maybe his form changes.

It doesn’t.

You clench your jaw as you push your back from the brick wall.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he cooly replies, feet stopping just outside your personal bubble.

(This cannot be real.)

You shamble a step towards him, but pain shoots straight through your system. Your arm instinctively wraps protectively around your abdomen. 

His eyes drop to follow. 

“I guess the answer is bad enough.”

“Fuck off,” you exhale, maintaining an aloof attitude in conjunction with the hammering of your heart in your chest.

“Sure." The word drips with boredom, but he doesn’t turn to leave.

Instead the two of you stand there, staring, allowing a beat to pass.

You’re afraid your internalized excitement — relief — has overtaken your entire face.

Levi.

He really exists.

“You can leave, you know,” you force yourself to tell him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine so long as those shitheads don’t get up.”

Your attention flickers over his shoulder, past the rows of buildings lining the streets where you’ve left three unconscious idiots to rot.

So he saw the aftermath of the jump.

(How much did he see?)

There is something hidden between the lines of his statement that has you reconsidering. Levi’s voice is nothing like you remember. It’s languid. Smooth, like a buttered whiskey. 

Your first thought is that his voice doesn’t match his height in the slightest — he’s still short, never quite hitting that growth spurt you imagined in your sleep.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” you finally tell him, unable to hold in the thought any longer.

He shrugs a noncommittal shoulder and resumes his trek towards you. 

“I get that a—”

“Whoa.”

You stumble back a step, using the wall to keep your balance while your other hand creates a barrier between you. 

“Hold on. What the hell are you doing?”

He says nothing beyond a tilt of his chin: really?

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat.

His tongue clicks. Tch. “Yeah, and I’m six-foot fucking three.”

The deadpan joke takes you by surprise, forcing you to lock eyes. Levi doesn’t betray the passive act he’s putting on, but he doesn’t stop moving, either. 

Not until his chest stops where your open palm hangs in the air.

The teenager regards you briefly, gray eyes flickering down then up.

“Roxy’s is close.”

“I know.”

“They have back rooms with supplies.”

“I know.”

“So why not go?”

He’s taunting you. Great. 

You draw in a slow inhale through your nose, only to halt when a sharp pang hits once more. A pathetic squeak of pain exits your throat before you can suppress it.

“C’mon, dumbass.”

In that moment, Levi swats your boundary away with a flippant hand. He crosses the threshold, attention fixated on you as he drops a centimeter in height. You wait with baited breath when he dips to situate a strong arm under your armpits, pressing your battered body right beside his.

You can smell something herbal on his breath, and the world feels a little smaller.

“Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Because,” is all he replies.

He could be leading you to more danger. He could have switched sides and turned into an MP rat of the Underground. He could be a lot of things, and you have one last fight in you to ward him off, but you… don’t.

He’s surprisingly gentle when he takes a step forward, testing just how hurt you might be. You limp beside him, determined to look brave. Strong.

He never moves faster than the pace you’re able to give.

Levi is right: Roxy’s pub is close. And every single inebriated soul at Roxy’s knows you, which is why you avoided the watering hole at all costs. You might be fifteen now, but you’re still under her reign. If Mother was drinking early, or one of your siblings— 

He must have a psychic link to your stream of worry, because the first right turn he takes is into another alleyway. You recognize where he’s headed immediately:

Not the supply closet but the staff back room door.

“You have a key?” you ask, perplexed.

“No,” is all he replies.

Once you both make it to the door, he maneuvers your body off of him and props your back against the wall adjacent to the entryway.

Levi doesn’t fumble into his trouser pockets. He doesn’t pat down his vest.

He instead takes a decided step back.

Then he kicks hard, flinging the wooden door wide.

Your eyes mirror, rounding like large saucers.

He appears not the least bit bothered by what he’s done, instead returning to retrieve you under his arm. You reach for him this time, understanding his intention. Awkwardly the two of you pass through the opening of the door sideways, squeezing chest to chest to fold inwards.

To go from his hands on your throat to sandwiching together in the midst of a break-in, you’re sure you’re still dreaming or dead on a cobblestone street.

Levi shuffles you both to a chair situated askew in the tiny backroom and unceremoniously drops you onto it, lowering with you so not to spark any added pain to invisible wounds. For someone you envisioned so violently, he's... gentle. Careful.

You’re watching him like a mirage that may flutter like ash in the wind.

None of this makes sense.

Why is he helping you?

(A worry lingers in the back of your mind: perhaps he’s not.)

“Oi.”

You return to your body and find yourself staring at the open door, lopsided on its hinges.

You blink to the teenager’s face with cloudy interest as he stares down at you.

“Eyes on me. They aren’t coming.”

They. The assailants.

You realize he must have assumed you were keeping guard instead of spacing out.

“What makes you so sure?” you ask absently.

He doesn’t answer as he crosses the room to a lower cabinet by a sink. The room fills with the sounds of gentle rummaging, clicks and fabric, until he stumbles upon a med kit. 

You swallow to coat your parched throat and lick your dry lips, keenly aware of every movement he makes.

He turns to you, kit in hand, and holds it out to you. You continue to stare, immobile.

“What do you want me to—”

“Hold it, idiot,” he snaps. “I can’t do everything.”

You liked him better when he barely spoke.

Snatching the kit from his hands, you let the fabric sit on your lap. His gray eyes map out quadrants of your face with diligent focus, noting a scratch here and bruise there with the hover of his hand, before getting to work.

You sit as well-behaved as you can manage while your attention switches between his hands and his face.

“I don't understand.”

You pause, expecting pushback. 

“Why are you doing this?”

A rude remark never comes beyond a tentative press of medical cloth to your forehead. 

“Helping anyone down here paints a target on your back, so why would you step in?”

Wordless, he presses a bandage to the spot where the skin broke.

“Levi.”

Sharply his attention rips down to you, and your breath halts.

So it is his name.

You’ve never said beyond your mind’s eyes, but it feels nice on your tongue. Like an answer to a question that was almost lost forever.

His arms remain raised, hands busy with pressing a lukewarm rag to the cut on your cheek.

Then he responds:

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” your murmur.

“Why?”

“Because it’s harder to help than to ignore.”

Something flickers in his dulled gaze.

“Kind of like giving bread to a strange kid, right?”

His rhetorical question knocks the wind right out of your lungs, flaring the pain in your bruised rib cage. Levi ducks his attention back to tending your wounds, discarding sullied rags to the nearby sink display after addressing each bloodied cut. 

Twelve years old with a selfless act.

Now you’re fifteen, soon to be sixteen, and he’s repaying the favor.

Neither instance ought to make any sense.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “I’m not a saint for giving you food.”

Levi doesn’t react beyond a flare of his nostrils, but that could be attributed to a silent exhale.

“I could have killed you,” he says, dipping lower to hover slender fingers right where your arm clutches your ribs. “Broken?”

“Bruised.” Strands of hair fall into your face as you shake your head. “I’ve felt broken before.”

“Positive?”

“Yes.” His hand drops away from your torso and to his side. “And I was trying to kill you back then, too. It wasn’t our fault.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he corrects simply.

“But you could have.”

His fingers pause for a fraction of a second. “Yeah. I could have.”

You barely nod. “I thought maybe something happened to you. I never saw you on the circuit again, so I thought—”

“That was the first and only time I fought in that nasty shit.”

Your brows furrow as his fingertips lift your chin. “...so you weren't sold into it?” He shakes his head. “I was your only fight?”

“Technically.”

“So then why were you—”

“Practice, in case I ever met someone who needed to kill me for quick cash.”

Someone yells cheers! from the other side of the wall where Roxy’s patrons gather for an early evening binge. Muffled laughter bubbles in the throats of strangers, causing your muscles to instinctually tense.

“That's a morbid reason,” you decide after a beat. “You were just a kid.”

“So were you, but for some reason you’re still in it.”

His words simmer with a hint of anger you can’t quite place. Levi drops his hands from your face, shoulders deflating in a rushed exhale.

“Good news: you look like shit, but you’re not in deep shit. I can’t do anything about your ribs, but your face should be fine. You have a bad habit of leaning into your hits.”

“Excuse me?” you blurt from the 180-degree turn of his assessment.

Levi doesn’t respond. His fingers draw the med kit off your lap, folding the fabric ever-so neatly in his hands — it’s more pristine than how it was left.

As his words fester in the air, your temper starts to get the best of you.

Your mirage is an asshole.

When he turns to the cabinet, you stand from the chair.

“What do you mean, I have a bad habit?”

“Did those shitheads make you hard of hearing, too?” he sarcastically bites.

“No, shithead," you mock right back. Although you’re grateful for his help, you’re not one to let someone walk all over you — Mother does it enough. “I don't lean into them."

Levi regards you from a side-eye stare. “Yes, you do.”

“What, so you’ve watched my fights?”

“I watch fights. Not just yours,” he corrects. “You're not special, so get your head out of your ass.”

“Oh fuck you, man.”

He hums, something like hmmph, but you could swear it’s paired with a smirk.

“Leaning into them makes an opponent feel like they have the upper hand,” you explain hotly. “Let them hit, then you strike.”

“It’s a shit strategy.”

“I’m smaller than a lot of my opponents.”

“So?"

“So? Coming out to a fight like you own the place puts a target on your back.”

“Did your Mom teach you that?”

Your nostrils flare. “Maybe she did, but your Dad sure as hell forgot to teach you manners.”

“He wasn’t my father.”

All of the heat gets sucked clear from the room as Levi’s icy statement cuts through it. The teenager finally faces you now, standing at his full height, and taps the cabinet door closed with the toe of his boot.

His expression has soured in contrast to his softening voice. You lift your chin in defiance in a show of bravery.

(Levi didn’t scare you back then. He doesn’t scare you now.)

“And you’re a better fighter than that. Making yourself look weak is a shitty strategy for someone who can't land a punch, let alone someone who can. You take the punches because you damn well know you're better than every opponent they match you with. If you didn’t play the theatrics, then those idiots would all be dead in minutes.”

As you bask in the whiplash of his insults switching to compliments, Levi walks across the room with his sights set only on you.

"I met you three years ago. I thought by now you would've found a way out."

Then he asks a question. Four words.

“Do you want out?”

When your eyes widen, he takes one more step closer. You don’t move away.

“If I had a way to get you out, would you take it?” he clarifies.

Your voice is hardly above a murmur. “...I don’t have a way out.”

“You do.”

“I don’t,” you snap, voice crackling. “I’ve tried. You know people in the circuits—”

“You have a way out."

“Levi—”

“James.”

The surprise is evident all over your face when Levi murmurs your name against his lips. It takes you completely out of your body, drowning in a dream that’s become reality.

There’s a dream where we run away together. You barely know me, but I tell you my name.

How long has he known the name Mother gave you?

“This isn’t a charity hand out. We need a fighter.”

“We?" you whisper sharply. "Who the hell is we?”

His jaw sets. “Furlan Church and myself.”

“Furlan fucking Church?” You sputter in disbelief. “That’s where you ended up after all this time, with that idiot?”

“If you stay in the circuits, then you will die,” Levi snaps, voice raised with deadly seriousness. “That bitch has been trying to put you in the ground for years. Do you really want her to win?”

His words should be a kindness you run towards.

But according to rumors, Furlan Church is an insufferable, big-headed thug. You’ve heard his name in passing among the youth for the last year or so now — he’s some gangster not much older than you in the midst of building a criminal empire.

Head in the clouds yet simultaneously in his ass, you’ve seen his very tiny crew rob a plethora of street brawl managers through the circuit.

And now Levi associates with him.

The boy with the bread at the pub found himself doing business with that stupid idiot, responsible for—

Responsible for challenging authority.

Responsible for running the show on swiping the seediest of trades in the Underground right from under the noses of corrupt MPs.

Responsible for mugging and attacking people in the middle of the night.

You stagger a step away from him and ask before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Wait — did you send those guys after me?”

Something indistinguishable flashes over his eyes — are you naïve enough to think it’s guilt?

“The three in the alleyway,” you continue. “They attacked me after the fight. It was really convenient of you to find me in the nick of time. So was that one of his initiation stunts?”

Finding you wasn’t a divine intervention of fate but a curated — calculated — test.

An audition to an Underground City gang that evidently Levi had leverage in.

Levi stares, unwilling to dispute your accusation.

“Dirty trick,” you spit, getting ready to turn the other way.

He steps a pace forward to stop you.

“We need muscle for our next heist,” he finally says. “You would get a cut. You would have a permanent place to sleep. You would have routine meals, day and night."

"I'd be selling myself for one contract to another," you growl.

"You're free to leave whenever you want," Levi tells you. "This doesn't work out in a week? Fine, then you can go. But if you do this, then you would never have to see that woman’s face again.”

“She’d find me,” you reassure in defeat.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he tells you with an unspoken promise. “You would be protected with me.” Then he corrects himself. "With us."

Your shoulders slump, too exhausted to fight him. "Levi..."

"You'll be paid."

"I don't give a shit about pay," you say, studying his eyes. "I have no money to my name as it is. Your... proposition just sounds too good to be true, that's all."

His brows knit in surprise. "What do you need to be convinced? We sent our three best brawn and you cleared them in minutes. You can see why we'd want you."

"And if I say no?" you hum, brow quirking expectantly. “Are you two going to keep sending people after me?”

“No,” Levi assures with utmost seriousness. “I'd let you live your life. This isn't an intimidation tactic. You would never hear from me again.”

There is hidden weight to that statement, whether you want to admit it or not. Not us, not Furlan — me. He doesn't correct himself this time.

Your eyes finally leave Levi’s face to watch the broken door.

That bitch has been trying to put you in the ground for years.

She has.

Do you really want her to win?

Not at all.

Do you want out?

More than anything.

You’ve wanted out since your first fight, but saying yes to his proposal means that you’re potentially stuck fighting worse.

Military Police, for one.

The gallows, another.

“James.”

You’ll never get tired of it — hearing a name you used to hate now flowing against his lips like cool water.

As if he’s waited to say it just as long as you’ve dreamt saying his.

Someone remembers you—

Sees you.

Just as you see him.

You speak before you can regret it.

“I’m in.” 

Levi’s expression shifts, brows softening. Surprise etches across his face.

You draw in a breath, slow and controlled, and memorize the look of surprise when you nod with determination.

“I’m in. I’ll go where you go.”

.

author's note: your replies/reblogs/asks seriously are my lifeblood. chapter 13 is already written, i just have to do final edits, so it will be posted next friday am! thank you dearly for your encouragement and support. xo

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore

[churromancermasterofchurros]

I think that the switch from reddit to tumblr is particularly difficult for me so far, and i know it's just been a few days, but i wonder if other people are having these issues as well, so i thought it might be a decent idea to write out my thoughts here.

-first off, i was a lurker almost exclusively on reddit. Much more introverted, and i only spoke about things i knew or if i knew id get karma for it (being a person with RSD, i kind of hated downvotes, regardless if they were just "useless internet points" or not).

-tumblr requires you to be more interactive and speak out more with its etiquette, by reblogging and so forth (ive read in a few places that comments sections werent used much before the refugees invaded tumblr, which i think seems like a cool positive)

-while there arent any downvotes, i still feel anxious to talk/put myself out there. Am i reblogging right? Are my tags funny? Is my blog a big uninteresting mess?

This isnt a problem with the site itself, but with me obviously. But we are talking about my difficulty here, so it still needs to be said.

-the communities arent built in here like they were with reddit, so you sort of have to find it, and the regular posters who have the kind of quality content you want. This is pretty cool, but vastly different from reddit and im having a tough time getting used to it.

-there's definitely a few people i missed from the reddit communities i was in, and i wish i knew if they were here or not. (Talking about you, u/nepalman230)

All this being said, holy hell, its wild. Im putting my thoughts out here right now, and while it does feel....uncomfy, i think its more because im not used to it. It feels more like shouting out to the void. Maybe itll talk back. Who knows?

But i think this site is very neat, and i love love LOVE how much more inclusive tumblr is. Im straight and a cis male, but there were a lot of toxic communities that would just not let people be who they say they are, and im so glad that all my LGBTQ+ friends have a more inclusive place like this, and that so many have migrated over here. I wish i wouldve come here sooner.

Im also very grateful to all you veteran tumblr users putting in the effort to help us out. Youve put so much out here for us, to help us better understand how to navigate these new waters, and honestly? I'd have been really screwed without the help ive received, because tumblr is really kinda chaotic.

Its good to be here, and i'm hoping i can get over all my dysfunctions and really enjoy this space you've shared with us.

[randomwriteronline]

Mata Nui refused to sleep.

He had not given a reason for it, in the distinct way one does not give a reason for something they find immensely discomforting, so none had bothered to pry further, and he had never slept.

This was a useful problem. Useful, because he could still rest through meditation whilst remaining aware of his sorroundings, meaning there was always someone to keep an eye out for the many rogue crawlies that infested Bara Magna at night and any Bone Hunter ambushes, so there was no need to take turns keeping awake and vigilant; a problem, because Kiina now had to be wrestled to sleep lest she abused the down time they had to pester the stranger on space and planets and the such, and Mata Nui was more than glad to speak of anything she might have inquired about at length.

That would have also been a useful problem, as his explanations were told in a low gentle monotone that could have lulled a furious Rock Steed into a chittering pup gently kicking and pawing at the sand in its slumber, if the Gaquri would have managed to stop interjecting with far too loud a volume of voice.

As it was, however, all their conversations did was hinder everybody else's attempt at getting some shut-eye.

When Ackar awoke, the night was perfectly silent.

He wondered briefly why in Plude he'd stirred. A sudden flesh-rendering pain jolting through his right shoulder answered him a little too eagerly for his tastes, and he groaned as he kneaded into it with his fingers.

"Ackar?" a half whisper reached him.

He grunted in acknowledgement.

Mata Nui shifted from where he sat to lean over him: "Is something the matter, my friend?"

The Glatorian pushed himself upright with a bit of difficulty: "Nothing, nothing... Give me a second," he muttered, "I shouldn't sleep with it, but - urgh! Alright, alright, hold my elbow a moment, would you?"

He hissed his thanks through gritted teeth as his limb was caught in a gentle grip. His fingers slipped below his armpit and fumbled angrily with the folds of his skin as his grimace twitched with each spark of pain: at last, with a few clunks and exhausted pops, the arm went limp in Mata Nui's hold as it detached from the rest of Ackar's body, leaving the Glatorian to sigh in relief and move his hand closer to the crook of his own neck.

His friend stared at the body part suddenly in his palms with no shortage of surprise.

"It is a prosthesis," he noted, a little awed: "I did not realize that."

"Yes, well - it's not really your fault for that. It's not that easy to tell, and I never mentioned it," the Glatorian replied as he did his best to massage his aching shoulder blade.

The motion attracted the attention of blue eyes: "Are you hurt?"

"Ah... Nothing to be worried about. I should not sleep with it, is all. It decides to start stinging like Plude if I do that too much."

"You have slept with it all these nights, though."

Ackar gave a lopsided smile: "I know, I know - but when you're out here in the desert, it's always better to have two arms at the ready rather than one."

Mata Nui nodded solemnly, with a grave air about him, as though the Glatorian had bestowed great wisdom upon him instead of basic Bara Magnan common sense, and the veteran warrior could not help chuckling a little at him.

The otherworlder took great care to place the fake limb on the sand so that it would not jam its inner mechanisms before turning once more to his friend: "May I help you?"

"With what?"

"Your shoulder."

"It's just inflamed muscles."

"It doesn't seem as though you can reach the spot bothering you very comfortably on your own. I would be glad to lend a hand."

"Oh? You have experience with this?" the Glatorian teased him lightly, but he did slowly begin unfastening his chest armor with careful movements made surprisingly swift by half a lifetime practicing with only one hand.

"I do not," Mata Nui confessed, completely missing any and all implications: "But I do wish to be of help."

"If it would please you, then, be my guest," Ackar smiled. "Though I will say, at the cost of sounding like a frail maiden - take off your gauntlets at least. I'm pretty sure you'd rip my flesh right off of me if it got pinched in your armor."

"I see. That is an unfortunate request."

"Why so?"

"I am physically incapable of removing my armor."

The other just shrugged casually as he pulled off his undershirt: "I can help you with it."

"You are very kind, but I did not mean that it is impractical to fasten or get out of," the otherworlder clarified. He placed a palm on where his clavicle should have been, lightly curling his phalanxes around the edges of the golden yellow metal covering his upper half: "Taking this off would be akin to skinning me."

Ackar responded to the information with a wide eyed stare.

"Ah," he convened finally: "That'd be quite terrible."

"It would indeed, my friend."

"So - hold it, hold it. You've been naked this whole time?"

"I... Would not... Describe myself as such."

"No, no, I mean--" the Glatorian reworded himself as he scooted over, "This whole time, we've been running around fighting for our lives, fending off vicious beasts and Bone Hunters, and you haven't had a single piece of protective gear on you?"

Mata Nui blinked: "I am shielded," he replied.

"I don't mean Click and the whole - thing, that you make him do that turns him into a shield," Ackar said as he settled down with his back to his friend. "I mean something that keeps your soft insides from getting sliced in half at the first swing of a blade, or from getting skewered by the first Thornax launched into the back of your knee."

"I am shielded." the other insisted.

"By what?"

"My carapace."

His fingertips laid on the Tapyri's back, only to retreat in confusion a moment after. Whatever puzzled him was eventually deemed inconsequential, as he returned to study the shoulder blade beneath his fingers in search of any anomalies beneath the skin that could clue him in on where to strike.

"Your what?" Ackar asked.

"My body is naturally armored," he explained without breaking focus: "Much like insects, certain species of reptiles, or likely the Vorox and Zesk from what I could observe of them, I am covered by an exoskeleton meant to protect my organs and sustain my body. It is unclear whether I possess an additional endoskeleton, like you, but I must confess I am not very keen to find out."

"Huh," his friend noted. After a moment, he added: "Because you'd have to be skinned."

"Yes."

"Very fair."

That was quite the load of information.

By all means, this wasn't necessarily the first time they'd heard of carapaced sentient beings - the Fezeri of the Iron tribe had something of the sort, and if you tried searching through their old settlements enough you were bound to find some molts that had survived the passage of time - but they still had bones in them. Like normal people.

And yes, of course, Mata Nui was abnormal under every aspect if you looked at him for longer than two minutes.

But being a huge humanoid bug?

Now that was unexpected.

More than everything else.

Including coming from space. Because even Kiina had imagined that spacepeople would have had bones in them, or at least been aware of having them.

All of a sudden the Glatorian gave a short snorting laugh.

"You're so confusing," he said whistfully, craning his neck back. "By the looks of it one would guess you're just a slightly irregular fellow, and yet you're some sort of alien who's more like Click than any of the rest of us. You're just full of surprises."

"Oh! I suppose that is true," Mata Nui mused.

He sounded somewhat amused by his resemblance to the beetle. Like he hadn't noticed it himself until now.

His fingers slid on what seemed like a slight bump under the oily skin. That must have been the problem, he thought to himself, and without further ado dug his thumb in the spot: against his carapace he almost felt the individual fibers of muscle flatten under the pressure he exercised upon them, the tight knot they were wrapped in struggling not to yield and unfurl.

He didn't quite get the time to focus on that, however, as he was startled out of the tactile sensation by a deep gurgling sound rattling almost right in his audio receptor.

Ackar, for his part, was trembling so much that the flesh folded around the back of his ribs seemed to be trying its hardest to imitate the vibrating tempo of a dragonfly's wings as it raced its peers across the surface of a lake.

"Oh, I think you found it!" he gingerly said before his friend could wonder whether he'd accidentally hurt him - which in a matter of seconds was no longer a concern seeing as the Glatorian all but leaned further into his thumb: "Go on, go on, those bastards are hard to get rid of--"

Another growl reverberated through the otherwise still air, and Mata Nui realized it was coming from directly under his palms.

Ergo, it was coming from Ackar.

He tried digging harder into the skin: the shoulder wiggled around his finger in a very curious way and the gurgling's volume raised a little more, while the trembling returned to rattle through the Tapyri just as hard as it had before.

Sound and tremors repeated in varying intensity as he continued to knead his fingers against the suffering spot, usually accompanied by the body in question trying to recline directly into the pressure much like certain creatures do when gently scratched in specific areas. He deduced these reactions must have been positive ones, meant to communicate a contented or happy disposition - perhaps specific to the Fire tribe? The trembling in particular, with its very visible reverberations all across the being's frame, seemed to require the presence of an amount of skin which was notably higher than what he could glimpse on Gaquri and Lebori alike... Although Ackar was also significantly older than Gresh, Berix and Kiina, and it would not have been wise to rule out the possibilty of age playing an important part in determining the quantity of soft tissue.

Speaking of the skin, though he was very taken with the large splatter-like marks all across his back, there was also something else that was puzzling if not outright concerning him about it.

"You're sweating quite a lot," Mata Nui noted out loud.

Ackar leaned so far into his hand that he almost dropped down right onto the sand.

"Ah - 'sss not sweat," he drawled through the rumbling in his neck: "Don'- don't frrreak out now, ok- 's mucus."

His friend hummed, unbothered: "That explains the consistency."

"Don' worrrrrry about it - 's norrrmal, yesss? We - us Tapyri, we jusss' make it, see... For the, the tem- RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! Sorrrrrry, so'ry... We live near volcanos 'n' open lava pools, so the temp'raturesss would shrrrivel us up..."

"I understand... It keeps you hydrated in otherwise extreme climates."

"Uh-huh... Plus 's easierrr t' wash off the ash like that... Jusss' ssscoop it all off, and the'e, all clean like an oil'd up--" an even more powerful gurgle took over his throat, and he arched his back so much that Mata Nui had to quickly catch him with both hands before he slipped right out of his grip. Now that the Tapyri's face was in view he could note with great interest that his thin teeth were paraded in a wide trembling grin, almost clattering together, and that his eyes were squeezed shut as if he were in great pain - although the effect his expression gave off, even looking at it upside down as the fallen god was, seemed closer to exceptional enjoyment. He watched him mutter a curse under his breath before his voice raised again, slurring in bliss: "A'e you su'e you've nev'r done this beforrre? Y're good!"

"I am afraid I only have theoretical knowledge at my disposal, although in great quantities," his friend replied, a little embarrassed as he laid the other's head down onto his armored legs.

Ackar grinned a little wider as his nape touched down on something pleasantly warm: "Ahhh, booksss, booksss..." he chuckled, wriggling in place, fingers idly pulling the air in uncoordinated motions: "I g'ess they'rrre good f'r sssom'thin', eh?"

His chest jumped with a giddy silent giggle, causing his rumbling to stutter a few times.

Now that he looked at his actual arm better, Mata Nui realized that its back too sported large splatters of different pigmentation. He caught it in his free hand very carefully, turning it over to observe it better while the Glatorian simply allowed him to, maybe not even noticing: their position and shape was not as random as it appeared, but instead seemed to follow an imperfect pattern which mirrored that flanking the man's spine. A quick glance at his prosthesis revealed no such detail on the fake flesh.

Such a curious thing, he mused as he thoughtlessly played with the organic limb - pressing on its palm, lifting it, bending its elbow and wrist to watch the skin crease and muscles tense or relax. He'd seen this sort of appearance on a few creatures along his travels, usually to ward off predators by denoting some sort of poisonous nature... Perhaps the Fire tribe had evolved to secrete a type of venom mixed into their protective layer of mucus in response to threats, or it could have been a strategy of ages past that had managed to survive with each subsequent step they'd taken up their evolutionary ladder for some reason or another.

He'd never had a tongue to test the effects of different poisons personally, and while he might have had one now (though he wasn't sure, since he had not had the time to properly study or think about this body's anatomy much) he was a little uncertain on whether his friend would have appreciated having his fingers shoved in Mata Nui's mouth for the sake of scientific research.

He had come across a few sapient species that considered that a formal greeting, but he would rather not take his chances.

Maybe he could have asked later.

He felt Ackar's shoulders shift and squirm in his lap to get more comfortable, and he returned his attention to him just in time for the Tapyri to open his eyes and meet his gaze in turn.

For a small period of time they simply looked at one another. The otherworlder continued idly moving the other's limb, exercising a gentle pressure upon his palm as he shifted the arm up and down without any rhyme or reason; Ackar himself just let him do as he pleased, only blinking back at him, face stuck in a neutral expression, not making a singular attempt at stopping him.

"Oh," he spoke at last with a nervous laugh: "Well. Hello."

What a strange thing to say. Mata Nui tilted his head slightly: "Hello," he replied in tone.

"I've made myself comfortable, haven't I?"

"If you are referring to your position, I took the liberty to recline you myself in order to keep you from getting injured."

It was unclear if the information reassured the Glatorian or not, as his reaction was to widen his pupils slightly, considerably darken the skin of his nose, and only peep: "Ah."

"You were leaning rather far back. You could have fallen."

"Ah," he repeated. "Thank you, friend."

"It was my pleasure."

Ackar's nose turned a little darker again.

Mata Nui touched it thoughtlessly: its temperature had increased, he mused to himself, so perhaps blood was rushing to that specific spot for one reason or other.

"You might be building a fever," he warned.

"I do not believe I am," the Tapyri replied a little stilted, again with an embarrassed chuckle, "But thanks for worrying."

Concerns soothed, the fallen god dug a digit back in the pained spot and earned another gurgle for his good deed, which reverberated this time across the plates of his legs. He was surprised to find it caused a weird, pleasant sensation akin to a feeling he unfortunately was not sure he had a name for yet.

He returned his attention to his friend: "How is your shoulder feeling?"

Ackar had shut his eyes again, and squirmed in a sort of pleased manner: "Betterrr," he replied, growls now coming from his throat in shorter bursts. He cracked open an eyelid to look at his own arm being maneuvered by Mata Nui's hand as though it were the limb of some sort of machine, losing himself in the feeling of the armored palm and the limp movement of his own joints: "Havin' fun?"

The other followed his gaze, and instantly turned bashful: "Oh - I apologize. I was lost in thought," he whispered sheepishly, placing the limb down on the Glatorian's chest.

His friend cackled: "It's quite fine, it didn't hurt."

Another gargle rumbled through him as the last kink in his muscle was smoothed down.

Mata Nui continued massaging the spot either way, and Ackar continued quietly responding to his kindness with soft purrs; and for a short while, as the desert breathed its tired chill and the winds didn't blow any sand into their eyes or noses or mouths, they simply remained quiet.

Fingertips ran across his arm softly, slowly.

If he concentrated enough he could hear how the barely perceptible sound them scraping the mucus off of one another.

It was terribly comfortable.

Terribly soothing...

A soft monotone stirred him from the torpor he was falling into: "In truth, I was quite taken with your skin's markings."

Without opening his eyes, Ackar turned his head: "Hm?"

"These," his friend explained. He felt him trace an unclear shape on his forearm a few times, gently: "You present an irregular pattern of noticeably different pigmentation both here and on your back. The closest condition I could try to compare it to would be vitiligo, but it does not appear to be anything like it."

The Glatorian hummed softly: "Oh, we just have them... They're common, to us Tapyri. Splatters, spots, dots... Various colors, too..."

"How curious," the otherworlder murmured. He moved from one spot to the other seamlessly, following their borders. "Poisonous creatures often advertise their toxicity to potential predators through similar visual cues."

"Is that so..."

"Perhaps you too have some."

Ackar chuckled as he humored him: "Perhaps I do, who knows!"

"Like a salamander."

"And what is that?"

"It is a term that indicates a family of small amphibians of which many species contain a potent poison within their mucus-covered skin. Their appearance is quite similar to that of lizards, so they are often mistaken for reptiles despite their lack of scales. Land-dwelling turtles often incur into a similar yet opposite misconception, being believed to be amphibians when they are not."

"Hm. And their poison, what does it do?"

"It is deadly in exceptionally small doses and can affect the victim by means of contact with bruised skin, ingestion, inhalation, and injection."

"Oh, I'd like that."

"You would?"

"Yeah, why not? First sand bat to swallow me whole gets a nice surprise, and I take that bastard down with me."

He laughed softly, reclining his head further into Mata Nui's lap.

His yellowish eyes looked up again curved into half moons, meeting the fallen god's own with a lopsided grin: "That'd be a nice little consolation at least, wouldn't you think?"

His friend's glowing irises looked back down at him with a sort of vacuous glimmer.

They were a very nice blue.

The otherworlder's hands were heavily segmented, each articulation encased in a golden shell fitting perfectly against the others. It was really curious how he'd never noticed that until he had his cheeks cradled into one of those palms, weirdly coarse and warm like sand.

Mata Nui looked directly into his eyes: "You are so deeply interesting," he said with such earnest awe.

He sounded so starstruck - he was so starstruck, staring at the Glatorian utterly entranced as though he was marveling at the sight of in the most incredible discovery of this age.

"If the circumstances of our meeting had been different, less wrecked with quests and worries," the fallen god continued, speaking awfully softly as he returned his mellow grip to the Tapyri's hand and began shifting his arm around aimlessly again, to feel the shift of muscle and skin and mucus, "I would have loved to simply watch you live for weeks on end. To take note of your speech patterns, your specific anatomy, how your body moves, how it reacts to stimuli..."

"That," Ackar murmured, breathless: "Is a bit forward - isn't it?"

His friend leaned his head to the side ever so slightly, not blinking.

"At least you should first..."

He choked on his own breath very briefly; he shut his eyes with a little bewildered wheeze and smacked his palm on his face.

Great Beings.

That could have been incredibly awkward.

Mata Nui, who was still holding onto his hand waiting for an elaboration with a fair share of interest on the matter, decided the necessary amount of time for an explanation's request to be polite had passed and curteously encouraged him: "Do continue. I would like to know the proper steps to follow."

But the Glatorian shook his head with a breathy cackle: "Don't- it's nothing, don't think about it. I'm very tired and talking stupid."

"I apologize. I should let you rest, then."

"Oh, no, if you - if you want to talk about something, it's fine."

A surge of warmth radiated from the carapaced fingers wrapped around his hand: "It would not bother you?"

"No, no... You've got a soothing voice really, so it wouldn't... I don't know how long I can listen to you consciously, but if you'd just keep telling me about... Oh, I don't know..."

"Would you like me to continue with the salamanders?"

Oh, he knew that little wiggle that had just shaken his friend's legs. It was the same as Kiina's flapping knees while sitting crosslegged, Gresh's one-handed claps and the weird little laugh Berix sputtered when he saw something he liked way too much.

Mata Nui really wanted to tell him more about those beasties.

Maybe he was excited about the similarities he'd found between them and the Tapyri. Or maybe he just liked talking - he'd always seemed awfully happy rambling to Kiina.

Either way, the little terrors had already gotten in his good graces with their poison, so why not learn more about them?

"I reckon I would," he smiled.

His arm was lifted again, and he could now see the excitement in his friend's eyes: "It would be my pleasure," he assured him. He leaned a little further down, closer to his face: "What would you like for me to start with?"

The Glatorian twisted his mouth for a moment: "To start, to start... The legs, let's go with those. How many do they have?

"They tend to have four limbs, two front and two hind, although certain species completely lack the latter," Mata Nui began without missing a beat: "The number of toes is also variable, but never exceeds four on the front and five on the rear. A rather incredible ability the entire salamander genus can vaunt is that of fully regenerating entire limbs without any trace of scarring."

Ackar hummed, amused, and moved his lone shoulder blade as though its arm was still attached: "That's a real good one, I'll say... Don't quite get the lack of back legs, though."

"Specimens that showcase such a peculiar characteristic tend to be fully aquatic throughout their entire lifetime, so perhaps an additional pair of limbs were considered more superflous to them than they were to other species that maintain an amphibious existence or even turn completely terrestrial upon reaching adulthood - though still favoring damp, cool habitats due to their permeable skin, preferrably near water." the otherworlder explained. Then, as though remembering it suddenly, he added in a slightly humored tone: "Sapient inhabitants of the planet on which I observed these creatures most often associate them to fire, particularly to the ability to resist it unharmed or putting it out entirely. A misconception created by the salamanders' habit of making their nests in rotting logs, from which they would flee when they were placed in the fire, also led to the belief that they were born from flames."

Something else they had in common with Tapyri...

One of their oldest tales, a myth to tell children - they were the spawn of embers, born from ashes still warm of extinguished bonfires, from the glowing rivers trickling down the sides of volcanoes...

Ackar squeezed his eyes hard and forced himself concious. A small sigh escaped him: he was already fighting a losing battle with his eyelids to keep them open, lulled into a thoughtless state by Mata Nui's excited monotone gently and eagerly pouring as much information as he could into his head.

His throat rumbled weakly, its grumbles vibrating against the equally pleased lap wiggling beneath his head - oh, if he could stay awake a little more, just a little more...

"Their diet tends to vary based on their environment and size, but they are known to eat anything the deem large enough," Mata Nui kept going softly, stroking the Glatorian's hand with his thumb: "Among their most common preys are insects such as flies, beetles, cicadellidae, moths, caeliferae and aquatic bugs, arachnids such as mites and spiders, earthworms, hexapods, and various larvae, while larger species may also hunt crabs, small mammals, fish, and other amphibians; in case of particularly scarce resources they might also resort to cannibalizing other salamanders, something that often happens between young specimens. Their jaws have each a row of small teeth capable of bending inward to keep the prey from escaping, sometimes helped by patches of teeth found on their palatine bones and vomer as well to better hold it down - aquatic specimens rely on them to macerate and tear the prey, as their tongues lack muscles and cannot be flicked out to catch food in the way their terrestrial counterparts' can. This is made possible by their ability to secrete a sticky mucus from glands positioned on the roof of their mouth and the tip of the tongue itself..."

And he continued talking for a good couple of hours, droning in the night with his quiet excitement without worrying too much about Ackar's silent snoring adding itself to the sound of Kiina, Gresh and Berix, simply happy to listen to them breathe and live around him and talk, talk, talk about all the marvelous things he'd loved alone until now.

[heichou-dancho]

FFVII Rebirth thoughts (Spoilers for everything)

I reemerge having finished Rebirth after four weeks and 92 hours in-game playtime. That’s an incredibly short but also massive amount of playtime for me, Yakuza 0 took me a year with pauses. I’m still reeling after finishing chapter 13, and since all my FF buddies from the old days are long gone, I’ll just vent here. I enjoy reading the reactions and thoughts of other players, so maybe someone else does too?

This post is full of spoilers and Shinra fangirling, but it’s about the whole game:

Shinra:

First, somebody on the team that wrote material for the Turks and Rufus must be some Shinra fandom veteran grown up with 20 years of fanon. Just Elena as a whole, Rude getting her that ice cream, Rufus in the Gold Saucer harassing fighting Cloud for fun, Dark Star not only obeying Rufus but also Tseng. Rufus complaining that Tseng is being overprotective… (faints) So much crack and shippy moments, I was grinning like an idiot.

(Is crack fic even a thing anymore? It feels like they’ve gotten rarer)

I expected maybe three or four scenes with the Turks, maybe less for Rufus. AND THEN SQUARE SHOVED THEM IN WHEREVER THEY COULD WITHOUT DERAILING THE PLOT. Elena was given so much room to breathe. Same for Rufus. Those little moments with Darkstar. I’m over the moon.

Okay, Rufus, so your father got stabbed, and the first thing you did after that was recording some motion-capturing and dialogue for a Turk recruitment hologram-video-thingy in an abandoned facility? It makes zero sense, but it’s my favourite protorelic mission and I’ll happily add it to my headcanon as a sign that Rufus gave Tseng his okay to recruit more Turks.

(The real answer would probably be automatically generated AI shenanigans, but that’s not very exciting.)

Viceroy Saruf. Just … Rufus, you’re such a cheeky idiot and I love you. Is there any faction in this world you’re not manipulating from the background? I can’t shake the feeling that being the man in the shadows suits you more than actually openly running the company.

Tseng and Reeve were great, I would love more little moments like that, where the Shinra folks just interact outside of action scenes and dramatic moments. The talk Tseng had with Reno and Rufus in Remake after the Sector 7 collapse hit the same note for me. I want more Reeve in part 3.

The scene between Tseng and Aerith at the temple made my eyes misty, but I wish it had been longer. Tseng keeping it short and abruptly leaving to "make a report" was perfect, and I know Cloud being so cold and cutting Aerith off fits his behaviour, but something about the timing just felt off.

I was surprised that Heidegger would take a bullet for Rufus. For President Shinra, absolutely, but Rufus? Hmm… This makes great fanfic material. I’ve read a fanfic before that tried to reimagine the Shinra executives (even Palmer) as more realistic people, and I found it to be really interesting, but then I’m a weirdo with plot bunnies in my head that involve a younger President Shinra, his wife, Veld, Vincent and the older Shinra execs.

I’ve never been a fan of Hojo but his R re-imagining is one of the few that doesn’t work at all for me. OG Hojo was far more unsettling. R!Hojo is just your typical mad scientist, I just can’t care about him, which is a shame, because him taunting Aerith in Remake with how he dissected Ifalna hit me hard.

I still haven’t quite grasped why Rufus is so obsessed with the Promised Land. It probably all comes down to wanting to be more successful than his father, right? I’m probably forgetting or mixing up details from Remake, Rebirth or the OG here, but I assumed that Rufus would outright dismiss it as a fairy tale.

Apparently there is a Midgar DLC for Power Wash Simulator. Square Enix, where is Hitman: Tseng and a version of Yakuza where I can play the Turks dealing with dumb crap doing missions in Midgar? Give us Shinra fans something, I'm still waiting for the EC version of Before Crisis. And I don't even like gacha mobile games. >:(

General game thoughts:

The open world is fantastic, I want to live in Gongaga or Kalm. So pretty. People online seem to hate the Gongaga map, but the soundtrack and the jungle theme made it work for me. I found the gliding parts in Cosmo Canyon far harder to navigate.

Shinra Manor is terrible with Vincent being it’s only redeeming part. The actual mansion looked great (the portrait of President Shinra was a nice touch) but the upper levels being inaccessible and turning it into another lab dungeon was boring. Same for the box throwing mini-game.

Dio the archaeologist turned body-builder is great, but Shinra knowing about the keystone and just not bothering to use it when President Shinra was looking for the Promised Land is a weird plot hole. It would have been a lot easier than trying to convince Aerith to come to them. There were some other little details like that, that bothered me but it’s a blur now.

Remake Barett made me into a Barret fan, Rebirth Nanaki into a Nanaki fan. The writers are genius when it comes to rewriting these characters from the OG. I’m not really bothered by Cid not being grumpy and swearing all the time. Him reminiscing about Ifalna was cute. Vincent using his old Turk skills (and having some lingering loyalty to the job?) was cool. Really looking forward to seeing how they’ll handle Lucrecia, the one character in FFVII I'm so conflicted about.

I’m still confused about Aerith’s death scene, especially the cuts where she’s lying in her own blood and then isn’t. I understand that she’s dead in her current reality, but is the scene without blood (and Aerith "waking up" in Cloud’s arms) Cloud’s hallucination or just a different reality? I’m also utterly confused by how many Aeriths we’re dealing with. The Aerith and Cloud we’re playing with and the sleeping Aerith (and Cloud) from the dimension where Zack lives are one and the same? It’s tying my brain into knots, and not in a good way. That’s why I usually can’t stand stories involving elaborate time travel loops or parallel universes.

(Man, why doesn't Tumblr allow spaces between paragraphs? I hope your eyes aren't bleeding)

I first played the OG as a young teen. Cloud’s mind being fractured and hallucinating was a neat bit of storytelling back then that I hadn’t encountered in video games before. Twenty years later, I’ve dealt with loved ones who are ill but refuse help, and known plenty of people who have some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Whilst I would never seriously compare Cloud’s problems with rl mental illnesses, I found the scenes where he sees Sephiroth and no one else, or is completely out of it hard to stomach. Interacting with somebody who has hallucinations (even "harmless" ones) or paranoid thoughts is unsettling at best, nightmarish at worst. The group trying to passively bear it and keep things together rings very true (especially Tifa) but I’m surprised that even Barett or Yuffie aren’t trying to confront Cloud about his behaviour at least once.

(I tried to format in html, but it somehow looked worse. I'm old. This is how Vincent must feel like every day.)

Dyne, Myrna and Tseng talking to Aerith at the temple had me tearing up, and I lost it at Aerith’s "date" with Cloud in Ch. 14. Hoo boy, I know Aerith stalling off the inevitable just for a little time, was the game having a very direct conversation with the player about what’s going to come, death and how we deal with it. But to me personally, it was more about how one gets caught up in trauma and repeat it over and over in your head, mulling about the point of where things went wrong and what you could have done to prevent it. I know it doesn’t fit, but that’s what my weird brain made out of it. Also Dyne’s and Aerith’s (at the temple) speeches about how they deal (or didn’t) with grief and trauma hit me hard.

Damn you, silly anime action game, you really shouldn’t affect me this deeply, but then a lot of fiction hits me harder than it used to.