#or. alternatively i need to shut up and get offline

[monards]

ok in face of heterosexual alicia i need to be twice as annoying abt how beautiful she is in her portrayal as a lesbian

[aleksatia]

You're at his place. Pre-relationship stage. Taking a shower, you decide to have a little fun—entirely his fault, by the way. But… how could you forget to lock the door? Of course, he walks in at the exact wrong (or right?) moment. What happens next? 😈😱🤭

My sketches ended up a bit longer than what I usually write. The question is—how decent is my English? (It’s not my native language.) I’d love to write a midi or even a maxi, but right now, I’m not too confident in my skills.

🍎🚀🏋️ Caleb – "You're Actually Gonna Kill Me, Pip-Squeak"

Caleb walked in without a second thought, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his uniform, his boots moving over the tile in the familiar rhythm of a man who lived in motion.

He was halfway through his question, something about his damn flight log, when he saw you.

And his entire system crashed like a fighter jet hitting turbulence.

A strangled noise escaped his throat—not a gasp, not a groan, but something more like a hiccup crossed with a yelp. His ears turned bright red first, then his neck, then his face, color flooding upward like a thermometer about to burst. His limbs seemed to forget how joints worked, his body suddenly all awkward angles and frozen panic.

It was disastrous. Catastrophic. Mortifying.

His heart didn't race—it stuttered, tripping over itself like his brain tripping over thoughts. He didn't feel heat so much as he felt like he'd been ejected into the atmosphere without a pressure suit, simultaneously burning up and unable to breathe.

Because there you were—drenched, flushed, utterly lost in pleasure, oblivious to the fact that you weren't alone.

And him?

He was dying.

The way your back arched beneath the stream of water, the way your lips parted on a breathless sound that hit him like a goddamn missile to the chest, the way your fingers trembled, the way your body—

Fuuuuuck.

He didn't clench his fists—his hands actually flailed, one grabbing at the back of his neck while the other patted frantically at his pockets as if searching for emergency protocols that didn't exist. His pulse didn't roar in his ears so much as it zigzagged erratically, matching the chaos of his thoughts.

And then—you shattered.

A sharp gasp, a tremor rolling through your limbs, the kind of pleasure that stole the breath right from your lungs, leaving you wrecked, undone—

And completely unaware of the fact that you had an audience.

Caleb felt none of it.

Because he was too busy having what could only be described as a full-body short circuit, his brain officially offline, all systems failing simultaneously.

And that was the exact moment he realized he needed to get the fuck out.

Now.

He turned so fast he nearly tripped, nearly walked into the door instead of through it, nearly left without remembering to breathe.

By the time he made it to the bedroom, his body was vibrating with nervous energy, every single system in fight-or-flight mode with no enemy to confront except his own catastrophic embarrassment.

And Caleb? Caleb needed to do something before he lost his goddamn mind.

So he dropped to the floor.

And started doing push-ups.

Hard. Fast. Like his life depended on it.

One. Two. Three.

Fuck.

His arms burned, his core tensed, sweat already breaking out along his skin—but it was better than the alternative.

Because the alternative was thinking about what he had just seen.

The alternative was acknowledging how fucking hard he was, how tight his flight suit had become, how his body was screaming for something that had been denied for far too long.

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he pushed through another round, determined to sweat this out of his system.

But then—

"Caleb?"

Your voice. Soft. Confused.

His entire body seized.

And in that exact moment, he knew.

He was so screwed.

His arms gave out.

He hit the floor with a heavy, humiliating thud, his forehead pressing into the cool tile, his entire body refusing to function like a normal human being.

Silence.

Then—footsteps.

And then—your feet were right in front of him.

He slowly, painfully, lifted his head.

You were standing above him, wrapped in a towel, skin still damp, still flushed, still the living embodiment of everything that had just wrecked him.

Your eyes flicked over him—sweating, panting, looking like he'd just run a marathon inside your bedroom.

"Are you—" You gestured vaguely at the floor, brows furrowed. "—doing push-ups?"

Caleb blinked. Licked his lips.

And, because he was apparently determined to make this situation worse, he said—

"Working out."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

And somewhere in the universe, a god was laughing at his suffering.

"—You decided to work out in my bedroom?" you asked flatly.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, breathing hard, trying desperately to look like a man who wasn't dying inside.

"Yeah." His voice was rough, wrecked, a fucking disaster. "Needed to burn off some energy."

Your gaze flicked over him again—at his sweaty mess of a body, at the way his muscles were visibly tense, at the way he refused to meet your eyes for more than half a second.

"You're acting weird."

"No, I'm not."

"You are definitely acting weird."

He let out a strained laugh, dragging a shaky hand through his hair.

"Yeah. Well. Must be the altitude."

You narrowed your eyes.

"Caleb."

His jaw locked.

You took a slow step forward. "Did you—"

"Nope."

"…See—"

"NOPE! Didn't see anything." He shot up to his feet so fast he nearly lost his balance, pointing at you with zero confidence, zero stability, zero chance of making it through this conversation alive.

"Didn't see a damn thing. I walked in, realized I was in the wrong place, and I left."

Your arms folded.

"Then why are you sweating?"

"I told you, I was working out!"

"In my room?"

"Yeah!"

"You hit the floor like you lost the will to live."

"That's just my face!"

"You're breathing like you just had a near-death experience."

His lips parted. His eye twitched.

And then, just when you thought he couldn't look more like a cornered animal, your gaze drifted lower—

To the very obvious, very undeniable, very tragic outline of his problem pressing against the fabric of his flight suit.

Your lips parted.

His entire soul left his body.

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, his hand scrubbing over his face, dragging down to his jaw, and finally—finally—

He groaned.

Long. Rough. Wrecked.

"Fuckin’ hell, Pip-squeak." His voice was pure suffering. "You're actually gonna kill me one of these days."

🩺☃️👓 Zayne – "The Scientific Method, Apparently"

The door swung open with effortless ease, his movements precise, automatic—just another task in the relentless march of routine. His mind was elsewhere, dissecting case files, treatment plans, the intricacies of molecular degradation in Protocore patients.

And then, he saw you.

His analytical mind cataloged the scene instantly—temperature, humidity, body position—a clinical assessment that lasted precisely three seconds before his brain simply... stopped.

A statistical anomaly. A total system failure.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he had absolutely nothing to say.

His pupils dilated slightly. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Because you didn’t know he was there.

And yet, he could see everything.

The way your back arched beneath the steady pulse of water, the way your lips parted on a breathless, broken sound. The way your fingers trembled, moving over slick, flushed skin with a kind of helpless need that made his jaw tighten in ways he was absolutely not going to analyze.

He did not move.

Did not clear his throat.

Did not announce his presence.

Instead, he just stood there, and—completely against his will—felt his entire body react.

Heat coiled in his spine, sharp and insistent, something visceral curling low in his stomach. His pulse kicked up, a slow, heavy thrum beneath his skin, and when his gaze drifted lower, he was unpleasantly aware of just how little control he had in this moment.

Annoying. Inconvenient. Predictable.

And then, you came.

Right there in front of him.

His fingers twitched again. His breathing went perfectly silent, a conscious effort at regulation. But his body wasn’t regulated. It was tight, hot, a slow burn of frustration and something far more dangerous.

Zayne had spent his entire career maintaining impeccable control—over his body, his emotions, his mind. But standing here, watching this, a deeply inconvenient realization settled into his bones.

He was so incredibly screwed.

Your eyes met his.

Shock. Horror. Disbelief. A textbook example of "Oh my god, what the fuck" played out in real time.

Zayne exhaled, slow and measured.

Then—he smiled.

Lazy. Knowing. Absolutely infuriating.

"Well," he murmured, voice deceptively even, "that was… educational."

Your entire soul left your body.

He reached up, fingers sliding over the silk of his tie, adjusting it with obscene patience, as if marking the conclusion of his observation, as if filing away his findings for later review.

"I’m almost impressed," he continued, as if this was some casual afterthought, "but your breathing pattern could use some work. You keep holding your breath. Not ideal for long-term endurance."

Your face caught fire.

His did not.

Instead, he just tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wickedly smug.

"My office," he said, gaze lingering for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Ten minutes."

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away—far too aware of just how difficult that was going to be. In every possible way.

🧜‍♂️🎨🐚 Rafayel – "A Brushstroke Away"

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside like he belonged there—because, let’s be honest, he kind of did.

His mind was tangled in a half-finished painting, a battle between color and shadow, between chaos and control. But all of it—all of it—disintegrated the second his gaze landed on you.

And just like that—he forgot how to breathe.

Oh.

Well, this was interesting.

A slow, lazy grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, fingers flexing at his sides as his artist’s brain caught fire. Not lust. Not at first. Inspiration. Colors bled behind his eyes, unbidden, uncontrolled—the gold of candlelight against damp skin, the way water kissed every curve like a lover, the sheen of heat on your collarbone, the stray droplets tracing the delicate dip of your spine.

He should leave.

He absolutely should.

Instead, he stayed.

Because how could he not?

You were a living masterpiece.

He watched as you turned, stretching with lazy, unaware indulgence, fingertips pressing idly into your shoulders, tilting your head under the water, exposing the curve of your throat like a careless offering to a watching predator.

Mischief curled in his gut.

Oh, this was tempting.

Not just the sight of you—no, that was its own kind of agony—but the delicious, forbidden idea of pressing a hand to the fogged glass, of murmuring something sinful just to see you startle, to watch your skin flush for an entirely different reason.

Would you gasp? Would your breath catch? Would you curse his name, flustered and furious, or would you bite your lip, pulse jumping, a shiver betraying you?

The possibilities were endless.

And then—you sighed.

Not in frustration. Not in exhaustion. In something soft, warm, content—a sound that slipped under his skin like oil paint on canvas, soaking deep, impossible to erase.

And just like that—he lost the game.

His fingers twitched, his own body answering in ways he really didn’t have time to unpack right now. Heat coiled, heavy and hot, something annoyingly persistent pressing against the constraints of his pants. Well, fantastic.

He rolled his eyes at himself, exhaling slow and controlled, dragging a hand through his hair in frustrated resignation.

This was not the time.

With one last lingering glance, he stepped back, slipped soundlessly through the door—and left you none the wiser.

Later That Evening...

The scent of oil paint curled through the dimly lit studio, mingling with the distant hum of the city outside.

Your fingers ghosted over the canvas.

Over the impossible painting.

The one that should not exist.

Your face wasn’t visible—and yet, you knew.

Your stomach flipped, heat curling low, sinking deep, the weight of realization pressing into your ribs.

He had painted you.

Had captured that moment with such aching precision, such devastating intimacy, that your skin still burned, still tingled with the phantom sensation of his gaze.

"You found it."

His voice—low, smooth, too damn close.

Warm hands slid over your waist, a slow, deliberate drag of fingers that knew exactly what they were doing.

You exhaled sharply, your head tipping slightly as heat crackled between you, thick, unbearable.

"You were there," you whispered.

His lips brushed your ear. "I was."

A slow inhale—his breath against your skin, his fingers tightening just enough to make your knees weak.

"You should have said something," you managed, voice softer than you intended, barely a sound.

A quiet hum rumbled in his chest, his nose trailing along the curve of your jaw, slow, teasing.

"And ruin something so perfect?" His lips finally touched skin, a barely-there graze that sent a violent shiver racing down your spine.

"You—" your voice caught as his hands moved, trailing lower, firmer.

"You looked exquisite," he murmured, voice dipping lower, darker. "Like a vision I should never have been allowed to witness."

His lips brushed your pulse—lingering, feeling the way it pounded beneath his mouth.

"And yet," his voice was barely a whisper now, each word deliberate, molten, "I was."

Your breath shuddered.

His teeth grazed your skin, a slow, deliberate promise.

"And now, Cutie," he exhaled, his fingers finally slipping beneath the hem of your dress, a whisper of heat against your thigh—

"Tell me… did you think of me again?"

⭐️⚔️☀️ Xavier – "A Flicker in the Light"

He stepped inside without thought, the quiet murmur of his music still pulsing in his ears, his mind occupied with calculations, reports, and a dozen unfinished tasks. The shift in temperature barely registered—warm, humid air pressing against his skin like an afterthought. His hands were already moving, reaching for his cuffs, adjusting the crisp edge of his sleeve, his focus still half elsewhere.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you.

His first reaction wasn’t shock. Wasn’t arousal. It was assessment.

How much had you noticed?

His pupils contracted slightly against the steam, filtering out distractions, recalibrating the room. His brain clocked angles, escape routes, probability factors before his body had even begun to process what he was looking at.

And what a sight it was.

The way the dim glow of the light kissed your skin, highlighting the delicate rise and fall of your breath. The faint prickle of goosebumps that chased the lingering heat along your arms, the subtle tightening of your nipples against the cool air, a response so instinctive, so unguarded, that it sent something sharp and insidious curling low in his stomach. The slow, absentminded way your fingers grazed over your collarbone, down your ribs—trailing lightly, thoughtlessly—completely unaware of the fact that you were no longer alone.

His stomach tensed. Damn.

Heat curled low, insidious, something that burned slow rather than surged. It was unfair, really—the way his body betrayed him so easily, so completely, while his mind still lagged behind, stuck in logic, in planning, in the painfully unhelpful realization that he needed to move.

Because if you turned now—

If you looked at him with those wide, unsuspecting eyes—

If your lips parted in shock—

That would be a problem.

A flicker of light. A shift in air pressure. And just like that—he was gone.

***

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air carried the faintest trace of lavender and warm steam, the evidence of a moment now long passed. A moment you still weren’t entirely sure had happened.

And yet—something felt off.

Your fingers ghosted over the doorframe.

The smallest shift of energy, the faintest pull in your chest—like something had just been there, and yet, when you looked, the space was empty.

You frowned.

"Xavier?"

Silence.

Your gaze narrowed. Suspicious.

You turned toward the bedroom.

And there he was.

Sprawled out perfectly, suspiciously, on the bed. One arm slung lazily behind his head, the other resting lightly over an open book, his breathing so perfectly even that it immediately set off every internal alarm bell in your brain.

Sleeping.

Or rather—pretending to.

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

You took a slow step forward. Then another. Crossing the room until you were standing at the edge of the bed, arms folded, staring down at him with growing suspicion.

"Xavier," you said flatly.

Nothing.

Your gaze flicked to the book still precariously balanced on his lap.

A test.

With zero hesitation, you reached down—

Fast. Too fast.

Before your fingers even brushed the cover, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

Your breath caught.

His eyes snapped open.

Dark. Steady. Far too awake.

"Touch that," his voice was low, smooth, unreasonably calm, "and we’ll have a problem."

You blinked, pulse hammering beneath the press of his fingers.

"So you’re not sleeping," you muttered.

He exhaled through his nose, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Observant as always, Princess."

You rolled your eyes, tugging at your hand. "Let go, Xavier."

His grip did not loosen.

Instead, his thumb brushed against your pulse, slow, calculated, considering.

His gaze flicked up. Sharp. Knowing.

"Tell me something."

You swallowed. "What?"

His head tilted slightly, the smirk deepening, dark amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes.

"When you called my name in the hallway just now—" He shifted, stretching ever so slightly, his body so unfairly relaxed despite the fact that you were burning.

His fingers flexed against your skin.

"Were you hoping I’d still be in the bathroom?"

Your breath caught.

His eyes gleamed.

"Or were you just disappointed when I wasn’t?"

🐦🖤😈 Sylus – "How Generous of You, Kitten"

He was already inside before he realized he shouldn’t be.

Not because of caution—he never gave a damn about rules. Not because of hesitation—Sylus didn't hesitate. Ever.

No, the realization came only when he saw you.

And just like that—his entire world tilted.

Something dark and violent snapped through him, searing, immediate, like a live wire hitting water. His entire body seized with it—an impossible, infuriating rush of heat so intense it made his jaw clench so hard his teeth ached. His vision blacked out at the edges, the pulse in his throat pounding, his muscles locking as desire—no, something far worse—slammed into him like a damn freight train.

The sound that left him was low, guttural—more growl than breath.

Possessiveness crashed into his ribcage, molten and unforgiving. His skin felt too tight, his leather jacket suddenly suffocating, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he forced himself not to move. Not yet.

Because oh, kitten, you had no idea.

The fogged glass blurred details, but not enough—not enough to spare him the sight of you.

Your hand slid lower, disappearing between your thighs, the other squeezing the soft swell of your breast, fingers rolling, teasing, your lips parting on a quiet, wrecked sigh. Sylus didn’t blink. His pulse slammed against his ribs, his cock hard and aching, body locked in place, trapped between fascination and pure, seething need. That hand between your legs? That should have been his. His jaw ticked, teeth grinding, vision tunneling to the way your fingers moved—slow, indulgent, unknowing. And fuck, if you only knew.

And then—you broke.

Your thighs tensed, a sharp tremor rippling through them as your breath hitched, your spine arching, muscles tightening with the unbearable, sublime release. A soft, shattered moan slipped from your lips—his name. Barely a whisper, barely a breath, but undeniable.

Sylus stopped breathing.

Heat slammed through him like a fucking bullet, brutal, consuming, rage and arousal twisting, fusing, detonating. His fingers curled into fists, his entire body wired tight with pure, vicious hunger.

Because that? That wasn’t just pleasure.

Fuck.

A sharp, helpless exhale ripped from his throat, his control snapping thread by thread. His entire body was torn apart, his nerves frayed, raw, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed color.

And you had no idea he was there.

You sighed, tilting your head, exposing your throat like a careless offering.

Sylus stopped thinking.

And stepped forward.

Right into the shower.

In full fucking clothing.

The heat hit him instantly, steam curling around him as water soaked through fabric, clinging, molding to every inch of muscle and tension and hunger.

You gasped—shocked, unguarded—whipping around so fast you nearly slipped. But he was already there, hands snapping up, caging you in before you could even think of escaping.

Cold glass at your back. The heat of him at your front.

A trap.

And Sylus? He wasn’t letting you go.

His breath brushed your ear, slow, mocking, entirely too knowing.

"Well," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, "that was quite the performance."

Your entire soul left your body.

Panic. Embarrassment. Arousal so sharp it made your fingers tremble against his chest.

"Get out," you hissed, mortified, pushing at him with zero success.

He didn’t budge.

"Get out?" he echoed, mocking. "Kitten, you’re the one moaning my name in my own damn house—and you want me to leave?"

Your face burned.

"I was not—"

His laugh was pure sin.

"You were." His nose dragged along your jaw, lips hovering just close enough to make your skin prickle. "And if you're going to be so generous as to put on a show for me—"

His fingers trailed down, slow, deliberate, water slinking down your skin in their wake.

"—don’t you think I should return the favor?"

Your breath hitched.

His grip shifted, pressing you into the glass, wet fabric clinging between you, his body unyielding, a wall of tension and heat.

"I hate you," you spat, voice shaking from everything but anger.

He exhaled, long and slow, drinking in your frustration, your resistance, your reaction.

"You keep saying that," he murmured, his fingers skimming up, teasing over slick, sensitive skin, "but somehow—"

His thumb brushed your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his predator-dark gaze.

"—I never quite believe you."

You clenched your jaw. You would not give him the satisfaction of squirming. Would not.

His smirk sharpened, gaze raking over you like a conqueror surveying his territory.

"Tell me something," he drawled, voice thick, deep.

Your stomach dropped.

"Did you come thinking about my mouth?"

Your lungs stopped working.

His lips curved. Wicked. Unfair.

"Or was it my hands?" His grip tightened just slightly—just enough to make your thighs press together on instinct.

"Maybe," he exhaled, his lips barely grazing your ear, the hunger in his voice dripping through every syllable,

"…it was my voice?"

You wanted to scream. Wanted to shove him away.

More than that?

You wanted to know if he was right.

And that? That was unforgivable.

So you did the only thing you could.

With a sharp tug, you yanked your wrist from his grip, snatched the towel from behind him, and shoved it hard against his chest.

"Go to hell, Sylus."

He caught the fabric before it could hit the tile, shaking his head with a mocking sigh.

"Now, now, kitten," he murmured, watching you wrap the towel around yourself, too smug, too satisfied with himself.

"Run along," he said smoothly, stepping back just enough to let you slip past him, his voice velvet-dark, dripping in amusement.

But before you could make it through the door—before you could breathe past the goddamn tension clawing at your throat—

His voice followed you, low, ruined with restraint.

"…You really think I wouldn't walk into your shower?"

You froze.

Turned to glare at him.

And his smirk? It fucking disappeared.

Because he was wrecked.

The way his chest rose and fell too fast, the way his fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body tight with restraint, the way his pupils were blown so wide despite the smirk still clinging to his lips—

You had never seen him this close to losing control.

Never.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

And then, before you could push it—before you could push him—

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was trying to snap himself out of whatever firestorm he had just walked into.

"Get out of here," he muttered, dragging a wet hand through his hair, turning away, jaw tight, voice strained in a way that sent something dark and electric through your bones.

"Before I change my fucking mind."

[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Three

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: binge drinking, I think that’s it???

Authors Note: heyyyyy guys. Sorry this chapter took a hot second to come out and sorry it’s a lot more filler than other chapters - a LOT more was supposed to happen in this one, but I realized I could cut them into two and get this one posted faster. Which means 1. chapter four will come out a lot quicker than this one did and 2. it will be a lot more exciting than this one (based on the ending you can see why). anyways xoxo enjoy!

“No fucking way!”

Brooke braced herself on our kitchen counter, examined my phone like she had never seen one before. I was very aware of the fact my behead was still intact and I hadn’t even washed my face this morning, but I knew Brooke would classify this as an emergency that needed attending to ASAP.

“There’s no way,” I groan, wondering how my mission of avoiding Paige and all feelings associated with her at all cost had blown up in my face less than twenty four hours after getting here. “How does she even know?”

Brooke looked equally puzzled, her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing before her posture straightened comically fast like a puppet. She shouted, “Adria!”

I was still confused, now even more so. “What?”

“Her story from last night must have gotten to KK, which somehow made it to Paige.”

In recent years I have become what my friends have lovingly referred to as “chronically offline” - it had to have at least been 2 days since I had opened Instagram, and I certainly didn’t follow the younger girl last night. Safe to say I had zero clue what she was referring to. “What story?”

Brooke grabbed her phone from the kitchen countertop, typing quickly before shoving her phone back in my face. Sure enough, Brooke and I were the stars of the story, both holding our glasses and wearing big smiles (certainly a symptom of the cheap wine). How Adria managed to find my account to tag me, I was not sure. All I knew is that Paige most likely saw it, and that a shameful part of me was at least a little happy that I looked good in the photo.

There was certainly no erasing Paige’s memory, so this text was mine to tackle. “Alright, how do I even respond to this?”

From the way Brooke looked at me, you would think I just suggested transferring again. “Respond? You’re kidding, right?”

I shrug, not exactly enthused by the idea of interacting with Paige on my first full day, but not enjoying the alternative either. “I mean, she knows now. It’s kinda rude to not say anything, isn’t it?”

“What’s rude is talking to a girl as if she’s your girlfriend, treating her like your girlfriend, and then disappearing out of nowhere and lying to her about it. You know exactly why she’s trying to hit you up again,” Brooke grabs my shoulder with care, a gesture I leaned into, “If she thinks you’re easy enough to let her in again, you gotta show her she’s dead wrong.”

My mind felt like it was destroying itself trying to figure out the truth. Part of me wanted to listen to Brooke, who had never once led me astray in her advice and had enough experience with fuck boys to know how they tick - even if the fuckboy in question was actually a girl. Everything she was saying matched the image I had built up about Paige in my head for years. 

Once my heartbreak molded into anger, it became a hell of a lot easier to get over Paige, at least enough to date other people at Minnesota. Anger became comfortable for me - except the occasional nights I spent alone in my dorm, looking back at old photos I couldn’t bring myself to delete permanently from my ICloud. Nights where I wondered if I actually had it all wrong, and if somehow I let myself get too comfortable hating Paige to consider any alternative to what was my truth. Was it pathetic to hold on to a grudge from over three years ago? I really didn’t know sometimes. 

I shut my phone off, reassuring Brooke that I was not going to fall back into Paige, which she seemed to accept fairly easily. Brooke ultimately just wants what’s best for me, and the last thing I wanted was for her to spend her last year at UConn worried about me. She had the LSAT to focus on, not my situation with my ex.

Which is why I conveniently forgot to inform her when I decided to respond to Paige that night, waiting until the sun had set and nearly twenty four hours had passed before sending a simple “yes”, throwing my phone on my bed and taking a long shower before I could decide I made a grave mistake. 

———-

The first day of classes came quick, which I was thankful for - there’s only so much time a girl can spend in her poorly air conditioned apartment, and it’s not like Storrs had that much going on when school was not in session. What I was not thankful for was my packed Monday schedule, starting with an 8am economics lecture that I wouldn’t have taken if it wasn’t the last one available to satisfy a requirement, and ending with general chemistry (again, would not take if I didn’t need to squeeze a science credit in). 

If my 3 alarms weren’t enough to wake me up, I could rely on the sun blazing through my apartment at 5:30AM. After making a mental note to finally order some curtains, my full morning routine commenced, the one I saved for special occasions (or for when I simply could not fall back asleep): 20 minutes of pilates, followed by a citrus scented shower, a full makeup routine, and styling my nearly black hair in loose curls. 

By 7:30 I was ready to begin my walk to the business school, smoothing out my floral sundress and hoping it would instill some confidence in me. I would probably lean back into wearing jeans within the next week, but I still had some belief in my mom’s insistence that dressing well on any first day or impression mattered. I guess it did make me feel pretty, in a “belongs more on a Hollister catalogue than a college campus” kinda way. The dress did not fix the way my my first day nerves seemed to wreak havoc on my body, causing me to barely shove a protein bar down my throat before my body decided that was all the breakfast it could handle.

If I were still in Minnesota, my walk to classes would have been a whole lot louder. It was not often I had a commute where I didn’t curse the incompetence of Minnesota drivers. This was not the case in Storrs, partially because there were no drivers. Aside from the shuttle that passed me as I turned onto Alumni Drive, the only sound to accompany me was Beyoncé serenading me through my headphones. While Minnesota was simply a college with a large city unrelated to it, it was evident that Storrs would be almost nonexistent without UConn - if Minnesota was a city school, this felt almost like summer camp in comparison.

 I didn’t know exactly what to make of it yet, but I promised myself I would keep an open mind. I had to. There was no turning back now. 

———-

The day ended up being just as exhausting as I anticipated, potentially even more so. I’m used to liking first days. The idea of a new start each semester usually feels exciting, but this time I may have bit off more than I can chew. Syllabus week at Minnesota was a breeze, my calendar filled with classes where we just went over standard course expectations followed by frat parties I pretended to have interest in. The second my economics professor began lecturing after covering the syllabus for a measly 10 minutes, I knew he did not roll that way.

I genuinely have no idea how I made it through my high school schedule every day: multiple AP classes, followed by an afternoon job tutoring middle schoolers, with mock trial practice shortly after. It’s a miracle I found time to actually have a social life. Clearly my stamina had depleted severely, as by the time I stepped into my history discussion (seriously, who holds discussion when there isn’t anything to discuss yet), I had already made an emergency stop for coffee and was contemplating whether it was possible to take a nap in my thirty minute passing period before my chemistry lecture.

I made quick stop in the bathroom to fix my mascara and ensure the concealer under my eyes wasn’t crumbling (it was). Leave it to a hot September day and a bathroom with yellow tinted lighting to deplete my confidence: my once voluminous curls fell flat to my face, frizz accumulating at the roots. My concealer which had been matched to fit my warm skin tone now made me appear sallow, and my eyes were not fooling anyone - I was truly, undoubtedly tired. Not much I could do at this point other than use a generous amount of travel size dry shampoo, wipe the remnants of my mascara from under my eyes, and hope that the lighting in my discussion wasn’t as harsh.

I stepped into the classroom and was quickly overwhelmed by the size of it - not because it was too big, but because it was intimately tiny. I had been comfortable in my two previous classes, the large lecture halls allowing me to fade a little into anonymity - just another body struggling to stay awake as my professor explains the importance of studying economic law in the most monotonous tone possible. Looking at the long fake wood table and the twelve chairs, four of which were filled, I realized my streak of avoiding introductions had ended. 

After a quick scan, I chose to set my stuff down next to the person who scared me the least: a tall girl with pin straight long black hair, dressed in black baggy cargo pants and an oversized SZA shirt, complete with silver rings on her fingers which were currently in use scrolling her laptop. I offered a customary closed mouth smile as I sat down and set my book bag down on the table. 

There was a short pause where the only sound to hit my ears was the hum of the far too harsh overhead lighting as I took out my laptop, before I heard a deep voice ask, “long day, huh?”

As I turned to face the girl and processed her statement, it was evident that my attempt at looking put together was no longer working, especially now that the humidity had done a number on my hair. To be fair, I did feel like I was about to crash. “Tell me about it,” I replied, face flushed. I began to wonder if I should have sat next to the frat boy who was scrolling on UConn’s barstool account instead.

Maybe she took pity on how embarrassed I looked, because the smirk was erased from her tanned face and was replaced by a look of sympathy. “Hey, I don’t blame you. My 8AM econ lecture was brutal.”

The gears turned in my brain before I realized just what she had said. “Wait, which econ class?” After the taller girl recited a number from the schedule on her lock screen, I grinned. “We’re in the same lecture!”

“I cannot believe he would teach that much content on the first day.” She rolled her brown eyes, “Ok, let me guess. History and economics classes, leather planner… you’re pre-law, aren’t you?”

I mean, she technically wasn’t completely wrong. “Yes?”

“Then why haven’t I seen you try out for mock trial?” She asked, a perfectly shaped brow raised high and the Colgate smile smirk returning to her face. Her voice was low and teasing - definitely the flirty personality type. I could recognize it all too well.

Not wanting to explain my long and complicated history with the organization, I settled for the easy answer. “I just transferred here.”

“Well, we’ll be at the org fair if you want to sign up for a tryout spot,” She smiled, “Just tell them that Alex sent you.”

“Going to take a wild guess here and assume you’re Alex,” I quipped, though I will admit the effort did bring a small smile to my face. “I’m Maya.”

“See! I can already tell you’re clever enough for us,” Alex joked, a ring clad hand bracing her head on the table as she stared at me. I noticed the way she scanned me, her eyes falling down to the v neck of my dress before tracing back up to my smile. I suddenly felt the need to smooth out the bottom of my dress against my legs, my hands feeling very sweaty. 

 Before I could respond, the TA announced the start of the period, and both of our heads turned to the front. The rest of discussion was spent typing notes on when my paper was due and what constitutes academic dishonesty, all while trying to ignore the way the girl next to me kept shooting looks my way.

————

The one benefit of my packed Monday/Wednesday schedule was that my weekend was essentially four days long. I had two classes on Thursday, both criminally early, but it meant that I was done by noon and ready to enjoy a few days with nothing on my agenda… at least once I finished all of my assignments my professors had mercilessly assigned on the first week. 

A groan left my lips for what had to have been the third time in ten minutes as my eyes squinted to make out my general chemistry textbook. I had read the same paragraph around 5 times now, and each time I seemed to understand it less. Even though Adria invited me to study with her on the patio of her favorite coffee shop, I was sure she was about to tell me to leave. “I don’t know how I did AP Chem in high school, this is like a whole other language to me now.”

Adria laughed, looking up from her organic chemistry book (the contents of which I’m pretty sure would give me an aneurysm). “Not a STEM girl?”

“Definitely not a STEM girl,” I shook my head, unsure why the version of me who picked her schedule over the summer decided taking a notorious weed out course was a great idea. Taking a quick sip of my matcha, I added, “But I don’t know if I’m necessarily a law girl either. Been a real pain trying to figure it all out.”

“You will, I promise. Besides, I can always tutor you,” Adria reassured me softly, a gesture that would be a lot sweeter if there wasn’t a tiny voice in the back of my head nagging me for needing a pep talk from someone so much younger than me. If Adria can have everything figured out, why can’t I? “Enjoying UConn so far though?”

“Yeah, it’s been okay! I’ve met some nice people in my classes,” I think about how Alex quickly spotted me yesterday morning in lecture and gestured to have me sit with her and her mock trial friends. Turns out sitting through an 8AM lecture on law and economics was a lot easier when you had a friend next to you. “I think Brooke wants to go to bars this weekend though, and I just know the lines are going to be awful.”

Adria lit up at this. “There’s a party being thrown by members of the mens basketball team tomorrow - someone basically rented out Huskies. I got access to one over the summer and it was a ton of fun - you should come!” 

My mouth opened, trying to form a response. On one hand, it’s not like I had any concrete plans yet, and staying in on the first weekend after classes just felt wrong. But the words basketball rung in my ears like an unwelcome echo. Brooke’s warning that Paige was everywhere on campus rung true already, already overhearing her name in conversations more times than I could count. Seeing her and possibly talking to her? That was a whole other ball game, one that I weren’t sure I was ready to play. It wasn’t even necessarily that I wasn’t over her yet, but rather that we hadn’t spoken beyond a couple of short text exchanges in years (the most recent of which Paige hadn’t even responded to). Running into her was bound to be awkward, and I was determined to avoid the discomfort.

“Oh Adria, I don’t know…”

Adria cut me off, her voice insistent and almost desperate. “Please come. Brooke usually ends up leaving with some guy and I don’t want to be alone. All of my other friends can’t come, they have to be dry for sorority rush.”

I scoffed, though there’s no bite as I joke, “So you’re saying I’m your last option?”

“I’m saying I saved the best for last,” Adria gave a sheepish shrug. “If it helps change your mind at all, the women’s team won’t be there. KK said they were all going to Ted’s.”

I knew that there was no point of basing my choices at UConn based on whether or not I could run into Paige, but I would be lying if I said the reassurance wasn’t helpful. “I guess I could be convinced.” 

Adria clapped, her smile big enough that agreeing already felt like the correct decision. “You won’t regret it, I promise. Pregame at yours?”

————

If there’s one thing I learned after two years going to college in the midwest, it’s how to throw a damn good pregame.

I felt the bass of my music from my JBL speaker course through my body as I set a shot glass back down on the faux granite countertop, wincing as the cheap tequila flowed down my throat. Brooke, Adria, and Brooke’s friend Marley stared at me, a mix of both amazement and slight concern on their face. On nights out, I have been known to pregame heavy, especially nights where I don’t know most people there. For one, it means I spend less money, plus it gives me some much needed extroversion to make it through the night. 

“Damn girl, I did not know you could drink like that,” Brooke whistled, sipping on her High Noon tenderly. Her and Marley had other plans for the night, some frat event. Brooke claimed the only reason she would be caught dead at a frat as a senior is because Marley’s boyfriend was the president and so they got special treatment, but I had my suspicions she might have a frat crush of her own. 

I felt the buzz as the four of us left our apartment, Adria and I running to catch our bus in order to avoid the thirty minute walk. In my alcohol induced giddiness, I noted how the sky faded from a bright blue into a mosaic of purples, pinks and yellows as the sun set over the lush trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adria’s phone face me as I gripped the pole, looking out the window of our bus with the amazement of a kid in a candy store. I had spent the past week unsure of what to make of Storrs, but it felt almost romanticized in this moment.

Unfortunately, the picturesque moment did not carry into Huskies, an establishment that was far more of a restaurant than a true bar. A tennis game played over the TV, paired with the speakers blasting Drake as we were surrounded by a sea of girls with bleach and tones and Princess Polly crop tops. The basketball players seemed almost allergic to mingling with their invitees: aside from one or two attempting to chat up one of the girls, they all stood at their own table sipping beers and looking like they would rather be anywhere else. 

Adria ordered us drinks as I snagged us a table. Soon enough we stood side by side, sipping on Captain Morgan and Coke and a tequila sunrise respectively, unsure of what to make of what we were seeing. “It was a lot more exciting over the summer, I swear,” Adria looked apologetic, “Maybe it’s just one of those things where we have to get drunker?”

I was making a mental note to take two Tylenol before bed for the sake of my tomorrow morning self when a man’s voice emerged from the crowd. 

“Adria, you made it!” A pale man with floppy brown hair and impossibly long legs emerged, grin on his face as he wrapped Adria in a side hug. She returned the hug and the smile while brushing a braid away from her face, though hers seemed more forced. She finally pulled away when he began rubbing her arm, her face lighting up upon making eye contact with me.

“This is my friend Maya, she just transferred here.”

He grinned, reaching a hand out to shake hers with a firm grip. “Hey, I’m Noah. You made a good choice!” 

“He plays for the team, I think he might be a bit biased,” Adria remarks, earning her a shocked look from her friend who quickly turned his attention away from me and onto her.

“Me and some of the guys were going to play some darts, you wanna be my partner? I’m sure we can find a partner for Maya as well,” Noah gestures to me without turning his head, as though I am an afterthought. While it’s not like I’m dying to play drinking games with a group of NBA hopefuls, it wouldn’t hurt to at least act like I’m there.

Adria clearly did not want to play as well, as she stuttered out some half-assed excuse. “I think we’ll stay here! Don’t want to risk, um, losing this table.”

Losing this table? Looks like I also needed to make a note to teach Adria how to lie. It was beyond obvious that Noah wasn’t buying it, but I guess  he was choosing not to be confrontational. With a cough, he replied. “Right, um, well I’ll catch up with you later tonight then!”

The second he was well out of earshot (not that far, considering the volume they were playing Passionfruit at), my interrogation began. “Who was that?”

Adria looked down at her drink, looking uncharacteristically unconfident. “That was my in to this bar. We met over the summer.”

I nodded, watching as Noah stopped to chat with a mix of guys and girls under the flashing blue and pink lights. “Well I’m pretty sure he wants to get with you.”

“Oh trust me, he’s tried.” Adria deadpanned, evoking a laugh from my glossed lips. “He’s still a good guy, and I like being his friend. But I’m not into him like that.”

“Is it KK?”

Adria bit her bottom lip, and for a moment I feared I had gone too far, like we weren’t quite at the point in our friendship where that wouldn’t be a sensitive subject. I was ready to retract my question when she spoke softly. “We’re not exclusive… at least I don’t think so. I haven’t been with anyone else, but who knows if she has.”

Man, Adria really liked this girl. Some part of me was thankful to give some advice to her for once, although it’s not like my history gives me the authority to give relationship advice. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I’m way too scared to hear the answer.”

I felt a pang in my chest, relating to that feeling all too well. I’ve always had a tendency to protect my peace too hard, avoid asking questions to escape conflict - through the years, I’ve discovered it almost never ends well. “But do you think you might be hurting yourself more by not knowing?”

Adria took a pause, staring off as Noah and his friends began frat flicking to some song that did not warrant that at all. “I am not drunk enough to think about that right now.” 

We both laughed, silently agreeing to down the remainder of our drinks at the same time. The ice had melted well with the remainder of my sunrise, dulling the burn of the tequila. This was probably a good thing - I’m pretty sure my tolerance was lowered over the summer, because I felt my body get warmer than anticipated despite the air conditioning working overtime. Adria set her drink down on the table, turning to me once more. From the glint in her eye, I knew she was about to return my line of questioning. “What about you? Are you looking to get set up, because I’m sure that’s the reason those guys invited all of us here in the first place.” 

“First of all, I’m gay,” I began, examining the crowd in front of me. “I’ve been here like a week, haven’t really had the time to think about hooking up with anyone.”

“Well, what’s your type?”

I thought for a moment about my (limited) history. “Tall, athletic, nice eyes…”

“Paige.”

I rolled my eyes, though I would be lying if I said the blonde was not included in my thought process. “I mean it, I’m done with her.”

“No, no. Paige. Right over there.”

It felt like my heart plummeted to my ass, the effects of the alcohol consumed unable to keep me cold as a chill rushed through me. Before my brain could tell me not to look, my head snapped to the front. Two girls now stood at the front of the bar, talking to the male players. One girls laugh cut through the crowd, and I saw a small smile erupt in Adria. That must be KK. The girl next to her, hands shoved in the pockets of her cargo pants, didn’t even need to say or do anything. I could tell Paige Bueckers from any crowd.  

---

taglist (open!): @paiges-1vur @unadulteratedcyclepaper

[simnostalgia]

@hugelunatic Hi, it's me, the person who scraped GOS! Sorry I couldn't reblog the original post so, here is my response.

First of all, I wanted to say. Thank you for everything you do for our community. You've really been a major part of The TS2 community from the beginning!

Second, you'll stop me from archiving when you pry the archiving software out of my cold, dead hands.

Do you know about Plumb Bob Keep? That's a real question because as the TS2 modding community gets ever smaller and becomes more and more insular it gets harder to know who is on what moderation team and who co-runs what. However, if you do know Plumb Bob keep you'd know that recently the owner died. Which meant that suddenly the entire community had to scramble.

Fortunately, they were able to get in contact with the family (in their time of mourning) to ask "Hey, sorry about the dead girl, can I has password please? I need my fix of virtual doll clothes"

I don't blame them for this. They'd obviously put a lot of time into this and the reason I know that is because I got approached to see what I could do when the site was offline and they were still trying to figure out what to do. Unfortunately, when a site's only existing documentation exists in the WayBackMachine that makes it basically impossible to scrape.

And this isn't even the first time this happened, when Yahoo Groups shutdown, ArchiveTeam had trouble talking to MOST older simmers because they were so fucking touchy about their content. Literally our community has a reputation for being obnoxious about TOUs and 'rights' to the point where they'd basically given up trying to archive anything that had to do with The Sims.

So if you thought that this was because I was concerned that you were running into the ground. Rest assured, I'm doing this in case you get in a fatal car accident so we don't have to call your mourning loved ones to ask the very cringe question: "Do you know about the forum from 2008 that your spouse/son/father/sister/daughter/mother ran? Can we have access to it please. I have recolors that I'd DESPERATELY love to get back."

As far as bandwidth goes, I do my best to make sure that I scrape with as little intrusion as possible and your load is lighter since you don't host any of the actual CC or even 75% of your own images.

Now, we could talk about what this really is: a pissing contest. But don't worry. I have no real interest in encroaching on your territory of running an alternative style sims 2 forum from 2008. I love GOS, or I wouldn't have made sure that it didn't fucking disappear into the ether.

But believe me, no one is choosing to look through a list of 10,000 zip files without images or descriptions as a replacement for a fully functional forum with like... images of the items. My archive of GOS is pretty much only for creators and people who know EXACTLY what they're looking for.

And that goes similarly for everyone worried about their precious TOUs in the comments of the original post. No one, and I mean no one, prefers to dig through an entire fucking ass ton of files labeled shit like "[POOKLET] SKYSIMS MESH 007 - UNNATURAL COLORS"

In fact, I've had several creators thank me because the scrape unearthed some shit they'd thought they'd lost. And if you don't like it, or me, get in line. I assure you there is metric fuck ton of people from patreon who hate me far more.

However, I would like to say that whenever you / or any other creator who is mad about this / literally any simmer, is searching for a dependency because someone got in some obscure internet drama and deleted all their cc or Mediafire got shut down by the RIAA or whatever the fuck.

You, for as "annoyed" as you are, will remember the big ass zip file and CTRL + F your ass to what you're looking for. And I'm going to say it now, for when that moment comes:

You're welcome. No hard feelings.

[boxfullaturtles]

For the fic title game, maybe something like "With Love, from an Alternate Timeline" or something with a fic/album title like "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge"? Or, finally, maybe funky like "Disaster Twins, Deft Torpedoes"? (Feel free to pick and choose which to answer!)

I like the ring that "With Love, from an Alternate Timeline" has, there's something very catchy about that. Unfortunately, couldn't think of anything.

Also mega distracted by the MCR title.

SO!

"Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge" Otherwise known as "You Kidnapped the Wrong Fucking Turtles"

Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo disappear.

Donatello, Splinter, April, and the Caseys are scrambling to find them.

It had been a regular patrol, the brothers scattering to chase after the stupid mutant silverfish taking advantage of the mess left in the wake of the failed invasion. Except Donnie loses contact with his brothers and the trackers--his trackers--go offline. Donnie knows his tech doesn't just fail like that, no fucking way. Someone's stolen his brothers and he's going to track them down and get them back.

It takes weeks of doing. Maybe several months. Scraping what clues and pieces of information they can. Donnie grits his teeth and enlists the Purple Dragons to assist him (not help, he doesn't need help, thank you very much). Kendra mocks him at first, but then she must see something on his face because she shuts up real quick. The government is the first suspect, because they were definitely poking around a lot during and after the Krang invasion. But nope! The government's not interested in trying to detain the people--mutant or not--who stopped an alien race for taking over the planet with goo and body horror. They'd rather leave the turtles well enough alone (and for the turtles to leave them alone, please, dear god, we can't fight you guys, we leave you alone and you leave us alone, okay). But if the government doesn't have Donnie's brothers, then who does? Baxter Stockboy? Mm, nope, but they do confiscate some high grade military tech from a kid who really shouldn't have it. Meatsweats? Nada. Draxum!? He's offended you would think such a thing. Not because he cares or anything like that. Just. He doesn't have time for that sort of thing anymore, you know.

But Draxum wasn't the only scientist-alchemist-whathaveyou in the Hidden City. And somebody got vveeerrryyyyy interested in the turtles after seeing what they did to stop the Krang. Some yokai has Leo, Raph, and Mikey and has been putting them through their paces. Read: unethical experimentation.

And the family can't just charge in half-cocked, willy-nilly, pell-mell. This yokai has a stronghold, has guards, is just as dangerous as some human facility, if not moreso because of the mystic powers available to them. It's dangerous and downright deadly. It's a stealth mission. So say they manage to sneak in. Then they separate to go their separate ways and Donnie beelines for a server room or file room or whatever. And it's going great! He sneaks in no problem! He finds out where they're keeping his brothers!

And he finds out what's been happening to them.

And he's pissed.

You DO NOT touch his family and you certainly don't do what's been done to his brothers. Donnie will be the first to admit that his morals are somewhat questionable. He knows his science gets a little...mad at times. But never in his life would he do the things that have been done here.

Well. Maybe he'll make an exception. For the yokai that have marked his brother's files with "TERMINATED".

Donnie snaps.

Forget stealth, he's going to raze this place to the ground and scorch the dust and bury the ashes and salt the earth. There will be nothing left when he's done. His Ninpo goes wild, he's tearing the place apart, he's killing indiscriminately, the rage he feels is too big, too much. The fury and desperation he'd felt when he'd flung his drill at the Krang through Mikey's portal to save Leo? That was a fraction of this almighty, crushing anger. Donatello is out of control, he is a beast, he is wild, he is a veritable god of power as he rips the building from its foundations and screams his vengeance upon the fools who thought to cross the Hamato clan. He crushes lives out underfoot and doesn't care about the blood that smears his hands. His weapons are endless, his body is a machine, he is righteous fury and he is light, and life, and fire! He is a god, a dragon, a nuclear warhead.

He is the atom bomb and he will destroy everything in his wake.

The only thing that stops him, is a faint, hoarse, plaintive chirp.

Because there are his brothers. Definitely worse for wear, frightened and hurt, but alive.

The monster eases, Donnie breathes. He staggers over to his family, falls to his knees in front of his brothers, and pulls them into a hug. No one cares about how much blood is on him, on the ground, everywhere. Because they're together again. They're okay.

Donnie doesn't leave them alone for days. He badgers them while they're healing, he sleeps in the med bay, he drops everything to take care of his brothers. His temper feels closer to the surface, like letting his Ninpo rage like a wildfire has irreversibly changed something in him. But he naps next to Raph, he draws with Mikey, he smiles at Leo's stupid puns. (Later, much later, after they witness that temper again almost level a city block, Raph takes Donnie aside and talks to him about how to turn that anger elsewhere.)

There's scars, of course. No one escapes these sorts of things without them. But no one in the Hidden City is ever going to try to touch the Hamato clan, not after this.

Donnie's pretty sure they got the message (and if he stays awake some nights smelling iron and hearing screams and feeling the power simmering just beneath his skin, then he crawls into Leo's bed and they watch stupid videos until they pass out in the early hours of the morning).

[longeyelashedtragedy]

it’s been a really powerful year for like mental health acceptance and self confidence building which inevitably means, when you’re as fucked-up as i am, that periods of that always then make you realize how much else is still wrong

at this point i think that as someone with C-PTSD i can’t expect to live a “normal” life in terms of how i interact with other people.  i really...don’t think that will be possible.  this level of acceptance has been my thing this year and it’s really been helpful to defy toxic positivity/disability porn culture and be honest and open with myself about the reality.  it will never happen and that’s that.  so i have to figure out what kind of “normal” i think i can realistically achieve and of course adapt that over time as needed.  but there’s no way i can have what other people have--in offline or online spaces.  and it’s actually sometimes worse to think about the latter because of the common belief that “oh you’re WEIRD you can’t make irl friends but can make Internet Nerd Friends” but to be totally honest i have some of the same problems in both spaces.

i was just reading about how exposure therapy for people who find it impossible to be in successful relationships with others is...duh, nearly impossible when you are triggered by relationships with others 😭 i keep trying to find alternate explanations but i think my actual complex trauma diagnosis kind of covers everything. 

it’s very difficult to be in a social setting when you kind of can’t keep up in a “group” and “group” to you literally means more than one other person.  i like...stop existing.  i feel like this caged spectator.  as the conversation goes on i start losing the capability to try to put a sentence together to get a word in.  like those people who are “locked in” and can only move their eyes.  if this happens the only thing that can kind of end it is if one of the people leaves or someone mercifully brings up something i’m very good at talking about, but i feel hurt after, like i’ve been hit by a bus and am picking myself off the ground.  i used to have these very big, very scary dissociative episodes that were kind of cinematic, and i haven’t had one since 2014 but i’m realizing that i think i have smaller ones all the time. i complain a lot about my work team but we also were weirdly close to the point where i just told my coworker that i have Trauma so if i ever just seem like....weird or off that’s why--sometimes my mind just goes elsewhere and i don’t realize until it eventually returns to me and i realize i’ve been sitting in a room of people staring blankly at a wall for....a LONG time.

(the thing is...my brain doesn’t shut off so...It’s that i’m looking inside my head you know?  the outside world just ceases to exist for a while.)

and like, jesus, everyone in the know agrees i’ve been doing “so much better” socially. this is so much better? i can’t even hold a conversation in a groupchat (unless it’s the deathpond because the deathpond is just. magical.) i’m so deeply afraid of other people.  not afraid of their judgement or something, but like, the crux of it is that Other People in Groups are going to happily watch me die because of something inherently wrong with me that makes me deserve this from them, and i can’t tell people i need help because...i can’t trust Other People in Groups.  by the time i was in pre-K or Kindergarten i knew my parents couldn’t help me with my problems and i lived in a constant state of random fear that would appear out of nowhere, which is pretty developmentally fucked up for a child less than six years old.  i used to want to tell them to please help me--but i was also a disturbingly smart and intuitive kid, and i remember thinking, i can’t tell them because the only thing that will help me is to “take it out of my head.” and they can’t reach in and take it out, so it will just continue. and indeed--that is the only thing that would have helped me!  i wasn’t properly diagnosed with anything till i was 24, and i had been to many therapists before that.

i’m not sure why i’ve written all this out.  i used to write stuff like this on my tumblr but then stopped because of how public it is, but whatever.  i guess i just want people to know.  i want to have good relationships with others and laugh in groups and have fun. but it’s just too hard for me a lot of the time.  sometimes i can handle it but other times it’s not at all possible.  i just have to learn to accept that i won’t fit in. i might truly never be able to. it’s hard to accept.

[sellmyhouseforcashgarlandtx]

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Selling your home for cash has numerous advantages over the conventional real estate exchanges. Convenience is the first advantage of selling your house for money. You don't need to stress over taking care of a long, drawn-out cycle that may involve showings and settlements among different gatherings. At the point when you sell your home for money, the deal normally happens rapidly – now and again in as meager as seven days relying upon the purchaser's offer and accessibility of assets – making it an alluring alternative regardless of what sort of time limitations you might be under while attempting to sell property in Garland, TX. Another significant benefit from cashing out is eliminating any conceivable costs related with fixes or updates that would have been needed before posting the property openly; purchasers who buy houses straightforwardly from mortgage holders regularly don't inquire them to make these sorts changes since they purchase properties “as-is” without inspection contingencies included in their offers—meaning on off chance that something isn't up at shutting then vendors will actually get paid. In certain cases this can help diminish general expenses significantly while additionally helping maintain a strategic distance from deferrals because repair work required prior finishing date too!

How to Attract Cash Buyers for Your Garland Property

If you are looking to sell your Garland property fast for cash, the best way is to attract reliable and trustworthy cash buyers. It doesn't have to be a tedious process; there are several ways that one can do this quickly and effectively. Creating an attractive description online as well as offline via flyers or email marketing campaigns will let potential homebuyers know what the exact specifications of your property are. Additionally, identifying relevant real estate investors who specialize in buying houses for cash like Garland Cash Home Buyers will help target serious interested parties with deep pockets directly instead of waiting around for them. Utilizing social media platforms by joining local networks related specifically to housing investment opportunities can act as a great advertisement reaching many more people faster than traditional methods ever could!

Why Real Estate Investors Are Your Best Option

You may be looking for a great option when it comes to selling your house for cash. Real estate investors offer fast and convenient solutions that other methods, such as listing with an agent, may not provide; this includes quick closings, no realtor fees or commissions, and the ability to buy homes “as is” without repairs or improvements. Furthermore they come with their own built-in expertise which can help you navigate through all of the paperwork associated with selling a home quickly rather than waiting on traditional buyers who could take longer and include added costs like staging expenses. Investing in real estate gives individuals more control over how much time there is between closing on their current property and buying another one—all while avoiding costly delays down the line from regular buyers who might struggle getting financing approved even after accepting offers. Selling your home quickly for cash may also be beneficial if it helps avoid foreclosure proceedings or provides money right away due to financial hardship caused by job loss or medical bills.

The Benefits of Selling to a Real Estate Investor

You find that selling your house to a real estate investor is incredibly beneficial. There is no need for expensive repairs or staging since the investors purchase houses "as-is". Plus, you can sell your home much faster than with traditional methods - some sales are even finished within days! Depending on market conditions and other factors like where it's located and what condition it’s in, there may also be cash incentives when closing with an investment company. On top of this, you don't have to pay commissions owed to brokers or agents which generally come out from sale proceeds. All these advantages make financial sense too so this option should definitely be considered.

How Real Estate Investors Streamline the Cash Sale Process

You provide a great way to streamline the cash sale process, especially if you're looking to sell your house quickly in Garland, TX. At Garland Cash Home Buyers, understand the importance of speed when dealing with a home sale and put our customers' interests first throughout every transaction experience. Real estate specialists offer expert advice and transparent processes that make it easy for you to complete a cash sale without hassle or stress. Get all the benefits from streamlined sales processes by trusting us as professionals who will ensure an efficient transaction every time!

Preparing Your Garland Home for a Cash Sale

When preparing your Garland home for a cash sale, it is essential to ensure that potential buyers are aware of what they have on offer and can see the value in the property. This means de-cluttering and sprucing up both indoors and out, showcasing any renovations or added features, attending to small repairs, providing updated information about fixtures included with purchase, setting up viewings properly so visitors stay safe while perusing the grounds detailing legal documents or other paperwork relevant to the sale as well as contacting local realtors if needed during negotiations. Doing due diligence helps make this part of selling a house easier than it otherwise might be.

Essential Home Improvements to Increase Property Value

When you are considering how to sell your house for cash in Garland, Texas there are several essential home improvements that can help increase the value of your property. From simple repairs like painting and sprucing up outdoor space to larger fixes such as updating appliances or installing a new roof, these changes could all contribute to making the home more appealing - meaning you will be able to get top dollar when it eventually goes on the market. At Garland Cash Home Buyers we believe that investments now could pay off big time when it comes time for you to receive an offer from us. So don't delay – start planning those upgrades today!

Staging Tips for Attracting Cash Buyers

Optimizing the appeal of your house in Garland, TX when selling for cash can be fast and easy if you use the right strategies. Staging it before listing will help draw attention from cash buyers who are often looking for quick, hassle-free purchases. Paying attention to curb appeal and removing clutter both inside and outside is a great start. You may also want to consider sprucing up small details such as fixtures or applying fresh paint coats on walls that require them - all while taking advantage of natural lighting throughout! Utilize these essential tips from Garrett Home Buyers , which will aid cash buyers in finding value in what you offer quickly!

Navigating Legal and Financial Considerations in Cash Home Sales

If you are looking to sell your Garland property fast for cash, the best way is to attract reliable and trustworthy cash buyers. It doesn't have to be a tedious process; there are several ways that one can do this quickly and effectively. Creating an attractive description online as well as offline via flyers or email marketing campaigns will let potential homebuyers know what the exact specifications of your property are. Additionally, identifying relevant real estate investors who specialize in buying houses for cash like Garland Cash Home Buyers will help target serious interested parties with deep pockets directly instead of waiting around for them. Utilizing social media platforms by joining local networks related specifically to housing investment opportunities can act as a great advertisement reaching many more people faster than traditional methods ever could!

Understanding the Legal Aspects of a Cash Sale

Confusing the legal aspects of a cash sale can be daunting for homeowners looking to quickly sell their house. When you are selling your home in Garland, TX, it is vital to understand all the required regulations that come along with a cash sale. To guarantee there are no major problems later and everything goes as expected, make sure you have talked with an experienced real estate attorney before proceeding with this type of transaction. Besides consulting an expert, get acquainted with any local laws overseeing sales transactions which will bring peace when negotiating conditions or signing contracts pertaining to your property. By making certain these significant steps are taken prior to accepting offers on your home, you will be setting yourself up for success!

How to Secure Your Financial Interests in a Cash Transaction

Protecting your interests when selling a house for cash is important. You should take key steps to ensure the best outcome and secure your financial interests during this transaction. First, work with a reputable real estate professional who can help guide you through the process of selling your home for cash. They will draft up comprehensive paperwork outlining all details of the sale - including any contingencies or exclusions from each party involved in the transaction. Both parties must review and verify this agreement before finalizing anything by professionals such as attorneys specializing in real estate law or established title companies. Detailed records like receipts should be kept throughout the entire process so that everyone knows what has been agreed upon over time – taking out much of guesswork associated with these types of transactions moving forward.

Frequently Asked Questions

How do I sell my property myself in Texas?

Navigating the process of selling your property yourself in Texas can be an intimidating one. However, it is very possible to complete a successful sale on your own with dedication and finesse. The first step is understanding what type of real estate transaction you are engaging in and compiling all the necessary paperwork for contracts, disclosures and documents associated with each form or agreement for prospective buyers to review prior to signing. It will then require marketing such as virtual tours, print ads or even yard signs when appropriate - made sure you abide by state regulations regarding these postings - so that interested parties know they have found something special within their desired price range. Home visits must also be conducted while observing social distancing protocols due to the Covid-19 pandemic; always ensure that contact information from visitors has been obtained before entering any premises regardless of who initiates conversation about buying said home/property during face time meetings (measure twice though since there may still exist legal ramifications related with certain types of recordings). Last but not least; consult a seasoned professional if help managing complexities becomes overwhelming -- some situations call for outside guidance like a qualified closing agent who specializes in this kind of work! In conclusion: don’t shy away from potential profits by attempting DIY methods accompanied by self-education when considering how to sell your property quickly yet prudently throughout Texas alone..

What documents do I need to sell my house in Texas?

When it comes to selling your house in Texas, you will need a couple of documents. Most importantly, you'll require an executed deed from both the buyer and seller that indicates the exchange of rights and title. You should also have evidence that proves ownership such as mortgage or home equity loan statements plus other records documenting any liens on the property. Additionally, if there are special conditions for selling attached to the sale they must be reflected in a legally binding contract between parties involved signifying agreement with terms set forth therein before transferring title deeds.

What is the fastest way to sell a house in Texas?

Selling your house quickly in Texas doesn't have to be a daunting task. With the right strategies and assistance from an experienced realtor, you can easily find a buyer for your property within days or weeks. One of the most reliable ways to expedite selling is by working with cash home buyers that are familiar with the market trends in Texas and can provide competitive offers on properties. Most cash home buyers will commit to closing dates so sellers can rest assured they're not sacrificing their timeline for profitability. Additionally, since these individuals purchase homes without involving banks and other potential lenders, it eliminates lengthy loan approval processes which further reduces timelines associated with traditional sales methods

Is Texas an as is state in real estate?

Answering the question 'Is Texas an as is state in real estate'? requires some understanding of the current regulations for that jurisdiction. In this case, Texas is considered an 'as-is' state when it comes to home sales. This means that sellers must disclose any material facts about their property that might affect its value or desirability to buyers - such as damage caused by natural disasters, major repairs needed and applicable zoning laws and restrictions. Buyers should also be made aware if a lien or title problems exist with the house before closing on a purchase agreement. It's important for both parties involved in these types of transactions to know all available details beforehand so they can make informed decisions regarding their purchases and closes appropriately without being taken advantage of down the line.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is the fastest way to sell a house in Texas?

Selling your home quickly in Texas doesn't have to be an arduous task. Cash Home Buyer TX provides you with a guaranteed streamlined approach that helps guarantee the fast sale of your house. Our highly experienced team of professionals will provide all necessary solutions at one go, so there is no need to wait for long durations or juggle multiple appointments. With our top-notch industry knowledge and network access, we are able to make sure that you get the most desirable offer in less time than any other traditional method available.

What is the quickest you can sell a house?

Selling your house quickly is a cinch with us! Our expert cash home buying team uses streamlined processes to make the entire sale process efficient. We guarantee that, in most cases, we can close on your property within two weeks of accepting an offer on it - and sometimes even faster! That's why so many people trust us to help them sell their homes swiftly and securely.

What is the secret to a fast sale of a property?

The key to a speedy sale of a property is getting the best offer from prospective buyers. To ensure that you get top-dollar offers, it’s important to maximize your house's potential by thoroughly preparing for showings and marketing events. This includes decluttering, deep cleaning, staging with tasteful décor or furniture pieces as needed –anything that will help appeal to prospects and cultivate interest in your home. Additionally, working with an experienced real estate agent can be invaluable; they bring influential negotiation tactics along with successful strategies like pricing accurately for market conditions which increase buyer motivation–all strengthening the likelihood of obtaining competitive bids on your property quickly!

Can I sell my house without a realtor Texas?

Yes, you can absolutely sell your house without a realtor in Texas. In fact, it’s becoming increasingly common due to its financial benefits and convenience. Selling directly to cash home buyers often provides homeowners with more affluent returns than listing on the open market as there are no commissions or fees taken out from the sales price of the house. Additionally, selling directly ensures that paperwork is completed quickly so you don't have to wait months for your sale to go through; instead Sellers usually receive their funds within two weeks of accepting an offer from a Cash Home Buyer!

[silkling]

Could you please write a crossover of Rescue Bots and TFP? Rather than dying on the Nemesis, a critically injured Dreadwing fleas and crash lands on Griffin Rock. The Rescue Bots find him and nurse him back to health, not realizing he’s a Decepticon because his markings got scratched up in the fight. Dreadwing wakes up while the Rescue Bots are trying to contact Team Prime, but can’t since, unbeknownst to them, they’re all on Cybertron, fighting the Cons for the Omega Keys and Omega Lock.

So, this one turned out to be much, much longer than I thought. So long, in fact, that I had to divide it into three posts. The second post will be linked at the bottom of this one, and the third will be linked at the bottom of the second. Dear god, apparently I had a lot of more thoughts about Rescue Bots than even I was aware of. Oh well. Either way, I hope everyone enjoys! (FYI: most prompt fills will not be this long. This one was just so long cause I have many emotions and ideas about this scenario.)

———————————————————————————————————

Dreadwing felt the betrayal of Lord Megatron as surely as if it were just as physical a wound as the hole blown through his chest. He had heard the weapon powering up, and his war-forged battle instincts had had him diving to the side just as the fusion canon had fired. It has still torn though his chest, but rather than destroy his spark chamber the blast had torn a hole straight through the right side of his chest near his shoulder. He lived yet, but if he could not escape the Nemesis that would not be the case for much longer.

He had served Lord Megatron with loyalty and honor for millennia, ever since he and his brother had joined the Decepticons after Vos had fallen. Dreadwing had sold his very spark to the Unmaker to act on the wishes and orders of his leader, and this is what his loyalty had earned him? Megatron attempting to offline him, and protecting the mech who had desecrated his brother? The same mech who had, countless times before, betrayed Megatron himself? Dreadwing could scarcely understand it. Why would Megatron spare Starscream, who had given the warlord no true loyalty, when Dreadwing himself had been nothing but loyal? Is this what his loyalty bought him, among the Decepticons? Dishonorably killed solely for attempting to avenge his brother by killing a traitorous coward?

If so, he wanted nothing to do with it.

He dragged himself down the halls, finally making it to the flight deck, and looked down to see the ship flying above the ocean. Rather than attempt a proper take off, he simply pitched his body forward off the edge and allowed himself to fall. As he neared the water, he forced a transformation, ignoring the agony of the action, and his engine roared to life. Lucid thought slipped away, then, as baser survival coding took over and guided him away from the warship, away from danger, away from what would have been his death.

Only one thing was certain, now.

In attacking Dreadwing to protect Starscream, Megatron had lost the loyalty of his most devoted frontline warrior.

Dreadwing simply refused to follow a mech who would protect the one who desecrated his brother.

And so, survival protocols overriding every other thought or higher system, the large Seeker allowed his higher processor functions to shut off. His mind quieted to blissful silence. Instinct alone drove him forward, flying towards a destination even he did not know. He could only hope it would be somewhere safe.

——————————

Blades didn’t know what he was expecting when he went on a walk along the beach, but it most certainly wasn’t a large Cybertronian lying in in the sand, looking like he’d crashed landed and resting lifeless on patch of sand soaked with energon. Technically, the copter wasn’t even supposed to be out here, as Sigma-17 had to maintain their cover, but everything at the firehouse had just been several kinds of too much that morning, so he had, for once, flown off on his own and landed on a beach he knew no humans ever really came to, intent to just take a walk and clear his head.

Except, upon coming around a bend, he’d found the aforementioned Cybertronian. For a moment, he’d simply frozen, but then the instinct ingrained by his training kicked in and he sprung into action. See, Blades was a trained and licensed triage medic. He couldn’t perform complex surgeries or anything on the level of a proper medic, but in the Rescue Academy on Cybertron he’d taken the courses for field level medical aid so that, if he’d ever run into someone during a rescue who’d been hurt, he could treat them and keep them alive until they could get to a medical facility. The training g had been fun, especially when he’d studied with-

He shook his head roughly before that thought could complete itself. He didn’t want to think about the time….Before. It hurt, remembering what and who he’d lost during his millennia of stasis. Before he could fall back into grief, training snapped back into place and his processor quieted. He knelt next to the fallen Cybertronian, noting that they were a Seeker frame, and carefully turned the bot over. His next thought was an observation that the bot was a mech, and that the energon soaking into the sand under his frame was spilling from a large hole torn straight through his chest. That meant the first thing he needed to do was seal the leaking lines to keep him from losing more energon. After that, he could call Heatwave. He didn’t have the skills to patch this wound up fully. Once he’d made sure this mech wouldn’t die here and now, he would need to get him to proper care. One of the stasis pods would certainly help, though if they wanted the wound healed fully he’d need to be in the pod for a while. The other alternative was contacting Optimus. Blades knew the Prime had a proper medic on his team, which might be the better option.

As his processor raced, trying to think of a plan, his hands worked on autopilot. He slipped the tools he needed from his subspace, cleaning and removing grime where it was needed to prevent infection, removing bits of sand and stone from the wound, and using a small welder to seal off the free-flowing energon lines. He covered loose, sparking wires and circuits, , rerouting a few of them in places where it was needed. Finally, after many long minutes, he finished and sat back on his heels.

It was then the helicopter realized his comm. was pinging with an alert for an incoming message, and had been for quite some time. In fact, it seemed he’d missed several messages. From Heatwave, Chase, Boulder, Dani, the Chief, Cody…Pit, even Graham had sent him a message. Embarrassment and guilt settled heavy in his chest, and he lifted his hand to his audial to accept the current call. As soon as his comm. clicked to life, Dani’s voice was coming through it.

“Blades! Finally! Where are you? We’ve all been worried sick, you know.” his partner scolded. Blades couldn’t help the small smile that twisted his lips upwards. It was nice knowing she cared. He loved Dani dearly. She was family, after all. “You know you’re not supposed to even be out of the firehouse on your own, you idiot bot!” she continued, her voice holding an undercurrent of worry despite the insult. Blades didn’t take it personally. “What if someone had seen you? You need to-“

And now that was enough. “Dani.” he interrupted her, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I’m sorry for ignoring you and everyone else, but right now there’s a bigger emergency than me risking our cover. I found an inured bot on that small beach behind the mountain. You know, the one no one likes to go to because the hike is too long? He’s in a really bad way. I have triage training, and I’ve patched him up, but he needs either a stasis pod or a proper medic, as close to immediately as possible.”

There was silence on the other end, before-

“Alright. I’ll tell everyone to come to your location. I’m with Dad and Chase right now. We all split up to look for you, but we’ll meet you there. Don’t move, and keep the bot alive.” Dani instructed. Despite himself, Blades was smiling again. Yes, he really did love Dani. She knew when it was time to get serious. He had a feeling he’d be forgiven for his blunder today, given the circumstances.

“Will do. I’ll see you soon.”

“Just hang tight, partner. And stay out of trouble.”

“You too.” he chirped, hands still working over the bot to patch up his more minor wounds now that the life-threatening one was dealt with. “And Dani?”

“Yeah, Blades?”

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then her voice came though, softer and fonder.

“Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing.”

Then the comm. line cut off, and Blades was left alone to in the silence. He let his processor drift, kneeling in the energon soaked sand as he worked on saving the life of a bot whose name he didn’t even know.

——————————

Chase was worried. He knew Blades was more capable than the others thought he was, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. He hadn’t been surprised when the copter bot had left the firehouse that morning. He’d seen the way he had held his rotors tight to his spinal strut, seen the way he’d fidgeted around the others, seen the way his optics had slipped and gone dull and distant. He knew today was not a good day for Blades, so his disappearance had not been a surprise. He’d been mildly concerned, simply because he did not know if Blades would be able to avoid being seen in his more distracted state, but he hadn’t been too worried. Still, when Heatwave had insisted on going to track down their rogue teammate, he hadn’t protested. He’d even offered to let Dani ride with him and the Chief to make things simpler.

But then Blades had finally picked up Dani’s comm. and that was when he started to worry. A strange bot, found injured on Griffin Rock? It raised many questions. Where had they come from? Who where they? How had they been injured? Chase wasn’t worried that the bot would die. He knew Blades had triage training, so he was confident his teammate would be able to keep his unexpected patient alive. Even so, this new development raised many questions that Chase did not have the answers to, and that was what worried him. There were not many Cybertronians on Earth, he knew. Aside from Sigma-17, there was Team Prime, and….the Decepticons. As far as Chase was aware, and he admittedly did not know as much as he would like, there were no unaligned bots on the planet.

Which meant this newcomer was either one of Prime’s team, a Decepticon, or he had crash landed on the island from space and wasn’t attached to either faction. It would be easy enough to confirm; they simply had to contact Prime and ask if he was missing a teammate, and if not ask if he recognized the bot in question. If this stranger was a neutral party or an Autobot, Chase knew there would be nothing to worry about. But if they were a Decepticon…well, that was the root of the police bot’s concerns. Sigma-17 was a rescue team. They knew rudimentary combat skills, enough to defend themselves or those they were rescuing in an emergency, but they were non-combatants. By the standards of the War, his team would be classified as civilians. If this new Cybertronian was a Decepticon…Chase wasn’t sure they’d be able to protect Griffin Rock, this time. He wasn’t sure they’d even be able to protect themselves.

Before he could slip even further into his own processor, they arrived at the coordinates Blades had sent. His snapped into focus, his doors popping open to allow his passengers out, and then he was transforming and walking over to where he could see Blades. As he approached his friend, he heard Boulder and Heatwave pull up behind him and transform. Blades looked up from his work when his three teammates stopped next to him, and Chase was mildly disconcerted to see the amount of energon soaking the sand and coating the copter’s hands.

“Blades, what happened?” Heatwave demanded, voice rough.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged helplessly. “I came out here for some space and to take a walk, cause I know this beach is practically abandoned, and I just found him like this.”

Indeed, this close, Chase could see that the mystery bot was in fact a mech. That answered one question, but none of the others. How irritating. It was also making him very nervous and queasy to see just how badly injured the very, very large bot was. Boulder too, seemed to feel ill at the sight of such horrible wounds and so much energon. Distantly, Chase noted that the bot might be even bigger than High Tide. He had no idea how they were supposed to get him back to the firehouse.

Heatave made a frustrated noise, clearly displeased with the lack of information though he knew Blades was not to blame. “Well can you tell how he got so injured?”

“A weapon of some sort, though not one I’ve ever seen the damage of before.” Blades said, frowning. His processor was clearly working hard, trying to turn over the facts he knew to figure out the bigger picture. “There’s also signs of older damage. I can’t be 100% sure, but I think this bot is, or maybe was, involved in the War.”

Heatwave paused, seeming more wary with this new information. “…can you tell which side?”

“No. Any faction identifier or badge has been destroyed or scraped off like most of his paint. I can only just figure out what his colors are supposed to be, and even them only barely.”

Chase could tell that Heatwave was annoyed, but the fire truck only grumbled his curses under his breath before sighing. “Alright. What do we need to do?”

Blades startled, looking surprised. “You’re asking me?”

“Of course.” Chase cut in before Heatwave could snap something rude and further stress the already clearly frazzled helicopter. “You are the triage medic here. Protocol dictates that, in the absence of a full medic, any medical decisions would fall to the next available medical expert. In this case, that would be you.”

Blades blinked a few times, before shaking himself and sitting up straighter. “Like I said earlier, he needs a stasis pod. Badly. I don’t have the ability to fix him completely, my training only covered keeping patients alive until they could get to someone who could repair them fully. The only one on planet I know who might be able to help is Optimus’s medic. He can also heal completely in one of our stasis pods, but it would take longer than just asking Optimus for help.”

Heatwave grunted. “Got it. He needs a stasis pod now, and a medic later. We can do that.”

That seemed to be enough to startle Boulder into awareness, and the bulldozer jumped before nodding and turning to Heatwave. “Graham and I can figure out a way to transport him safely. Though we’ll need your help, Blades. You have a better understanding of his condition than us.”

The copter nodded, and Chase let that be his que to retreat to back to where the humans were waiting. Apparently, they didn’t want to get too close in case their presence caused an issue with the unknown bot’s care.

“Well?” Chief asked. “How’s our newest guest?

“Unwell.” Chase said succinctly. “He is severely injured and appears to be involved in the War in some fashion, though it is impossible to tell for which side. We are going to transport him to the firehouse in order to put him into a stasis pod so that he may heal. Graham, I believe Boulder requires your assistance in that respect.” he said, directing the last part to the engineer.

Graham nodded, making no protest as he jogged forward towards his partner, Boulder already turning and crouching to begin discussing plans. Dani followed him quickly, though she split from his path to join Blades, clambering up onto his leg and patting his canopy as she shot him a reassuring smile.

It was here that Kade made his own opinion known. “Hey hey hey, let’s slow down!” he protested. “You just said you don’t know what side this guy’s on, and you want to bring him back home? We can’t do that! Why can’t Blades just fix him here and we can send him on his way?”

Chase tilted his head. “Blades is a licensed triage medic. He does not have the training necessary to fully repair him. Besides, even if he did, I do not believe it would be wise to simply ‘send him on his way’, and you said. If he truly is a Decepticon, then doing so would risk leading the entirety of the Decepticon army right here to Griffin Rock.”

Kade froze, seeming suddenly queasy. “Oh.”

Chief sighed. “Fair point, partner. I agree we can’t just leave him or let him die. It wouldn’t be right, even if he isn’t on our side. But for safety’s sake, would it be possible to keep him unconscious until we can confirm his identity with Optimus?”

Chase nodded. “Indeed, Chief. I believe that is the current plan. As soon as he is safely in a stasis pod, we will attempt to contact Optimus. With luck, we can have this matter sorted by the end of today.”

“Good.” Chief smiled. “Then let’s get to work.”

“Agreed.”

Chase returned to his team, Chief and Kade following at his heel, to find they had come up with a plan to transport the unknown Cybertronian. Working together, the rescue team was able to get the large flight-frame settled into a make-shift trailer the engineer duo had thrown together, and after hitching it to Boulder’s vehicle mode the whole group made their way to the firehouse using the tunnels in order to avoid being seen. Barring Blades, of course, who instead flew straight to base with Dani in order to prepare a stasis pod.

By the time Chase and the others arrived, the pod was set up and open to admit the unknown mech. It took all four of Sigma-17 working together to lift him into it, but then the glass door was sliding shut and frost soon hid the bot from view as the stasis function of the pod took affect. Now, all that was left was for Blades to clean himself up, and for Heatwave to contact Optimus about their guest.

Chase just hoped this development didn’t come back to bite them.

——————————

Dreadwing woke to the hiss of an unfamiliar system disengaging and onlined his optics to see icy mist billowing to the floor as a glass door slid up from in front of him. A stasis pod? That was odd. The Nemesis had no stasis pods and he knew the Autobots did not have the means to maintain or build one either. He was also not aware there were any other Cybertronians on the planet. So where was he, and how had he gotten into a stasis pod? The last thing he remembered was fleeing the Nemesis, although….he did have very vague, hazy memories of a crash. Had he been discovered and saved before he could offline? If so, he would have to thank his unexpected savior. Unless, of course, it was an Autobot and he had only been saved so he could be locked away. If that was the case, a bot was going to die here today and it would not be him.

The stasis pod fully disengaged from him, and he was able to step out and onto the floor. He glanced down at himself, humming idly. It seemed that he had been fully repaired either before or while in the pod. That was good for him. He looked around, frowning at his odd surroundings. The location he was in had medical supplies, but was clearly no full medical bay. Perhaps it was only set up for emergencies, then? His wings twitched when he picked up the sound of pede steps beyond the doorway, and his gaze turned towards the sound. After a moment, he realized whoever it was wasn’t coming towards him, but rather they seemed to be…pacing? Yes, that is what it sounded like. Curiosity piqued, Dreadwing strode towards the door, making sure his own steps were quiet so as not to alert the other to his presence. He stepped though, looking around…and his optics blew wide.

It was a youngling. A small, orange and white helicopter bot was pacing back and forth in tight circles in the center of the room. Dreadwing was willing to bet that this little flyer was even younger than the Autobot scout. As the mechling turned to pace in another circle, the Seeker caught sight of the emblem on his chest. At first, he saw only a badge similar to the Autobot brand and his frame began to stiffen. Then the rest of the badge processed in his mind and his vents froze.

The Rescue Bot insignia.

This tiny little flying mechling was a Rescue Bot. But how? Megatron had seen to the destruction of the Rescue Bot headquarters in the early days of the war, and had sent his soldiers to systematically hunt down and offline any who had survived the initial attack or had not been present during it. Dreadwing and his brother had joined the Decepticons after massacre, but it was one the only acts the Decepticons had committed that they had wholly disapproved off. The Rescue Bots had been unaffiliated with any faction. They took an oath of neutrality, a vow to save any and every life they could regardless who who or what that life was. Megatron had wanted them gone because he’d wanted to make a statement, but also because he wanted to deny the Autobots any potential allies or any aid that the Rescue Bots would have given them.

It had been a great loss, and had been one of the reasons Dreadwing had initially wished to avoid choosing one side or the other. The Decepticons, in his mind, took things too far. The Autobots, while more restrained, had initially risen from the regime in which he and his brother had suffered under. But then….Vos had fallen, and word had spread that his city’s destruction had been the doing of the Autobots. He and Skyquake had been forced to pick a side, then. He’d gotten over his hesitance at the Decepticon methods and given Lord Megatron his undying loyalty. And now…he was here, betrayed by the one who he as sworn himself to, watching a youngling Rescue Bot pace in nervous circles. It was something that should have been impossible.

Suddenly, the mechling froze, and wide amber optics turned to him. Idly, Dreadwing realized he must have made some noise, and then the little copter was yelping and scrabbling back. He paused, then hurried forward, his hands fluttering as if unsure what to do. Before the little one got too close, Dreadwing locked his own sharp, red optics onto him, and the bot froze in place with a startled yip.

For a long moment, there was only silent staring.

——————————

Blades was pacing. There wasn’t much else he could do. The day they had brought back the large Seeker, Heatwave had contacted Optimus. Only, the Prime had very quickly shut him down, explaining they were busy with an issue of “upmost importance” and that he would return their contact when he was able to. That had been three weeks ago, and he hadn’t called back. The Seeker was still in stasis, and Heatwave was once against attempting to make contact, for the 15th day in a row. Chase and the Chief were on patrol, and Boulder and the other humans were at Blossom Vale, having a picnic. Blades had opted to remain behind, wanting to keep an eye on the Seeker.

In the time since finding the large mech, Blades had done some research. He’d had to dig around the Sigma’s files, and dig through the files of the computer that connected them to Optimus, as well as dig through the various data-pads that had been left to them by High Tide and Optimus. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that he’d been able to piece together information about the War that the Prime hadn’t been telling them. Now, Blades understood why the War had started. The civil unrest had been a thing even before Sigma-17 had been formed, when he was still in the early days of training, it had been mild, then, but it had been there. So he wasn’t surprised that it had grown worse, especially if the root causes of the unrest hadn’t ever been addressed.

He also knew, from the information he’d dug up in his search, that after the fall of Vos, most Seekers had joined the Decepticons. Which meant that his patient was, in all likelihood, a Decepticon himself. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But he hadn’t told the others his suspicions. Mostly because…something about the situation was odd. Optimus didn’t strike him as the type of mech who would inflict or approve of that type of wound being inflicted on a mech. So unless he had someone on his team who was excessively violent and he couldn’t control, Blades didn’t see that wound coming from the Autobots. Which meant it had come from the Decepticons. Of course, that only raised more questions. Namely, why would they do that to one of their own, if the mech really was a ‘Con? He wanted to get answers before he shared his suspicions. He didn’t want to condemn the Seeker to anything bad if he was wrong.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t been all he had learned, in the past few weeks. In one of the data pads High Tide had left about the early days of the war, there had been a mention of the “end of the Rescue Force”. It had just been a mention, a reference to an event that was probably detailed in a separate data pad. But he hadn’t ever found that separate data pad. And when he remembered What Optimus had said, when he’d first found them..”

“I was not aware Rescue Teams were…still active.”

He’d said it slowly, haltingly, as if choosing the words carefully. He’d paused before saying the last part too. At the time, Blades hadn’t thought much of it. But with the information about the War Optimus had allowed them to have, and the mention of the “end of the Rescue Force” in that one data pad, well…Blades was starting to think that “active” had not been the word that the Prime had actually meant. Something had happened, something he didn’t have enough information to figure out yet, but the faint picture he was starting to get from the pieces of information he did have wasn’t one he liked. It was another reason he was hesitant to share what he suspected about the Seeker. Optimus was keeping vital information from Sigma-17. He didn’t care if the Prime didn’t want them fighting in the War. He agreed that it was a bad idea. But he was withholding information that Blades suspected his team would very much want, and they didn’t even know it.

So here he was, pacing restlessly as his processor turned over the information he got, unsure how or even if he should share it. Would his team even believe him? He doubted they would. He knew they thought he was silly and couldn’t understand complex ideas, but that was far from the truth. After all, of all the Rescue Bots he had the greatest understanding of human nature and culture. His understanding wasn’t always 100% accurate, and just because he understand the what didn’t mean he understand the why, but he still understood more than any of the others. And sure, he applied most of his ability to learn new information to pop culture rather than the things the others might consider more “worthwhile”, but that was only because pop culture was more fun. Plus, pop culture was where humanity really displayed they way they ticked. Did it really make him that much of an idiot if all that was the case?

He was startled from his spiraling thoughts by a sound from the direction of the make-shift medical bay. The copter glanced in that direction, thinking it was one of his teammates, only to yelp and leap back upon seeing the Seeker. He’d known the other bot was large, but seeing him awake and up just confirmed how large. The red optics too, made discomfort curl in Blade’s tanks. The data-pads had suggested that red optics were typical of Decepticons, though they shouldn’t be used as an identifier of such. Even so, it was another tick in favor of his theory. Then the scene caught up to him, and medical training overrode his temporary moment of panic.

This bot wasn’t supposed to be up yet. In fact, even if he had been fully healed by the pods it was supposed to keep him under until Optimus could arrive. Except….Blades must have put in the settings wrong. He was so used to setting the stasis pods to release once the healing process was complete that he must have input that setting without realizing it. Which…presented a problem. Is this mech was hostile, he didn’t think his team could handle it. Those thoughts circled in the back of his processor as he directed the bulk of his worry towards making sure his patient was alright. His hands flapped awkwardly as he approached the larger flyer, ready to skim over his frame to check out his condition, when piercing red optics locked onto him. He froze with a high pitched squeak, his own optics blown wide as that gaze pinned him in place.

For a long moment, the two Cybertronians merely stared at each other.

Then Blades, getting increasingly nervous, broke the silence. “Are you okay?” he asked, curling and tucking his hands against his canopy. “The stasis pod should have healed you completely, but you were hurt pretty bad. Even most of your paint was gone, though it looks like your color nanintes were able to fix that while you were healing.”

Indeed, the mech standing in front of him was now in full color, his purple and yellow paint bold and bright on his frame. It did seem, however, that he was still missing a faction brand. If he’d ever had one, of course, though the copter strongly suspected he did.

The Seeker seemed put off for a moment, as if he didn’t know why Blades was worried. “I am well.” he said carefully. “Are you the one who repaired me?”

“Well, sort of?” Blades’s rotors fluttered against his back. “I’m a triage medic, so I couldn’t fix you completely, but I kept you online until my team and I could get you into a pod.”

The Seeker narrowed his eyes. “Team?” he repeated, obviously suspicious.

Blades squeaked again, shoulders hunching. “We’re Rescue Bots.” he gestured at his insignia before his hands tucked back against his canopy. “Team Sigma-17. I’m Blades.”

The Seeker was silent for a long moment. “You may call me Dreadwing.” he said slowly. His gaze was still piercing.

Blades nodded, then took a few steps forward, and when Dreadwing made no move to stop him, he closed the gap between them. “Do you mind if I scan you over one last time? I just want to be sure all your systems are in order.”

The Seeker bowed his helm, and Blades lifted his hands to skim over plating, using his built in scanning systems he’d gotten in his triage training to check his patient over. Everything was coming back fine, but with a wound as serious as his had been Blades away taking no chances.

“You are a Rescue Bot.” Dreadwing spoke. His voice was low, and there was an odd note to it.

“Yep. Me, Boulder, Chase, and Heatwave. We crashed here a while ago and Prime stationed us on this island to act as a rescue team for the locals.” he explained distractedly.

Dreadwing made a soft hum. “Prime knows you are here? Are you Autobots, then?”

Blades frowned. “He knows. He visits, sometimes, but not often. We haven’t been able to contact him lately though.” He was too focused on his task to think about whether he should actually,be answering so freely. The second question gave him pause, though. “No? At least, not really? We’re a Rescue Team. Rescue Bots take oaths off non-affiliation. We can’t side with any particular group or individual since our job is to help any bot or being that needs it.” He was reading over the results of his scans, mouth turned down. “We’re more closely tied to the Autobots right now, but that mostly because we don’t know much of what happened with the war. We were in stasis until we crashed.” He let the readings flicker away, and froze when he realized how much he’d shared. “Uhhh….”

Dreadwing only snorted, actually looking fairly amused. “Yes, I think it is quite clear now that you are no warrior, little youngling.” he rumbled. His expression darkened. “I understand why Prime stationed you here, out of sight. Megatron would see you hunted and slaughtered if he knew a Rescue Team still functioned.”

This made Blades freeze, and as he recalled Optimus’s first words to them, and that data pad, dread began to build in his spark. “What?” he asked weakly.

Dreadwing stared. “You were not told?” he sounded…angry. “That is foolish. It is not a pleasant tale, but you should have been told if only to ensure you understand the importance of your existence remaining secret.”

Blades swallowed. “Optimus doesn’t really tell us much of anything about the War, and the data pads he leaves only really cover the basic and important bits, not the details.” he whispered. “Does…does Megatron wanting my team offlined have anything to do with the “end of the Rescue Force”? I read about it in one of the data pads, but it was just a mention. I couldn’t find any details other than that one phrase.”

Dreadwing’s gaze was solemn as the little bot lifted his optics to meet it. “Yes.” he said bluntly. “In the early days of the War, Megatron grew angry that the Rescue Bots aligned with no faction, and he wanted to deprive the Autobots of any who might aid or help them. He ordered the destruction of the Rescue Force. The Headquarters was destroyed, and all Rescue Bots present were massacred. Any who survived, and any who had not been present in the initial attack, were systematically hunted and slain.”

Blades’s knees felt weak. He pressed his hands to Dreadwing’s chest to steady himself, grateful that the larger flyer didn’t protest it. His rotors rattled madly against his back with his distress, and his optics were blown wide.

“But that would mean…”

“You and your team are the last Rescue Bots in existence. All the others are offline and have been for many, many millennia.”

The copter’s knees gave out, and Dreadwing was quick to grasp his frame to keep him from hitting the ground. A sharp keen left Blades’s vocalizer, and the Seeker blessedly said nothing and made no moves to push as the youngling processed the new information.

It was, of course, that moment that the others chose to return.

——————————

Part 2

[my-writings-and-musings]

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

[visionsofus]

Hi! I hope I’m not bothering you but I was wondering if you’ve written Wanda’s first reaction to Vision’s human shimmer before?

hi! you'd never be bothering me! sorry this took a bit for me to get around to - my response ended up being a lot more long winded than I meant! thank you for reaching out with this, at the time I hadn't written anything like that but now I have ~ hope you enjoy 🥰

my inbox is open for anything and everything scarletvision

I just see you

synopsis: Vision hasn't seen Wanda in nearly a year, not since they both decided the danger was too great and they needed to go their separate ways. But he's still her emergency contact, so when Wanda ends up in hospital, Vision is the first to hear. Frantic, he travels to France, desperate to see her safe and harbouring hope that they might yet reconcile.

words: 4,140

read on AO3 here

There was a ringing coming from Vision’s bedroom.

It took a few shrill rings for him to realise that the noise wasn’t coming from inside his own head. Vision had been so wrapped up in his research that he hadn’t resurfaced for hours. It was a jarring thing to do all at once, to leave the carefully regulated interior of his mind and appear back in the physical world once more.

The ringing continued and Vision glanced around, his eyes adjusting quickly. Morning had quickly turned to evening and the pale walls of his room were lit up amber by the sunset.

The source of the sound was quickly discovered in the depths of his wardrobe, hidden within a pocket of a jacket he rarely wore. Vision fished the small flip phone out, anxiously. It had been a gift and the only person who knew its number hadn’t spoken to him in months.

Recalling that telephones only rang for a set time Vision hurriedly answered, lest it run through to the voicemail he’d never had cause to set up.

“Hello?” He said hesitantly, straining his ears to hear the person on the other line. The environment behind sounded busy, he could hear many voices piling on top of one another in chorus.

“Monsieur Maximoff?” The voice on the other side of the phone sounded stern, but unfamiliar. She was also speaking French. Vision did not know anyone who spoke French.

“I’m sorry, who am I speaking to?” Vision asked, fumbling for what to say and desperately grasping at the internet for a French translator. Mr Maximoff? He thought, who on earth was he talking to and how had they come across his number.

“Ah, Anglais.” The voice sounded more distant, as though she were talking to someone else. She returned, this time speaking in English with a heavy French accent. “Am I speaking to Mr Maximoff?”

Vision wasn’t sure what else he could say. “Yes, yes, you are. I’m so sorry, who is this?”

He was just about to trace the caller’s IMEI but the woman at the other end provided him with all the information he needed.

“Bonjour, Mr Maximoff. I am calling from the Toulouse University Hospital,” she said.

“Toulouse,” Vision repeated in astonishment. “Toulouse, France?”

“Yes, Monsieur,” she replied, sounding slightly vexed. “We had a patient brought in earlier tonight and you were listed as her emergency contact. Her condition is stable, but she had a hit to the head. We’ve observed her for a few hours, and she seems fine, but we wanted to advise you of the incident so you might pick her up.”

Vision breath caught in his throat as fear gripped his heart.

“To clarify,” Vision said shakily, “you are speaking of Wanda.”

“Yes.”

“Is she okay?”

He must have sounded rather strangled in his panic for when the woman spoke again her words were measuredly more soothing. “She is perfectly fine, Mr Maximoff. Just a bit shaken up with some light bruising and an abrasion on her forehead. We would like to monitor her overnight and if everything is okay, we can discharge her in the morning. Can you come to the hospital for then?”

“Of course!” Vision said frantically. “I can be there soon.”

She ended the call with a pleasantry in French that he didn’t recognise, but he was already on the move. He thought about leaving the phone behind, but decided it was better to have it near him in case the hospital called again.

Vision’s form blurred as he darted about the room grabbing at bits and pieces, he thought he might need. He wanted to travel light but also didn’t want to be caught unawares. He withdrew the travel bag he kept in his nightstand which contained any identification he needed to appear human. Vision had gotten his driver’s license once he had started making more solo trops and Tony had thought it useful. Vision obviously hadn’t taken the test itself; he was a better driver than any human and a test wasn’t needed to prove that.

He also retrieved his passport and the credit card he seldom needed to use. None of these listed his real identity, mind you. Instead, they displayed his human glamour with his pale skin and a head of sandy blond hair.

There was no way he could travel under his true identity without being clocked by the authorities as operating without the Accords’ instruction. Vision doubted that visiting your ex in hospital counted as noble activities that the United Nations would look favourably upon in the event he was caught. Especially when that ex happened to be an international fugitive.

With his ID secured and slipped safely into the pocket of his jacket, Vision made for the door. He was out of the compound before the building’s AI had the chance to trigger the system and notify Tony that someone had crossed the property line.

Vision had never had cause to test his super speed over such extensive distances. There had always been easier alternatives for travel.

Thankfully, progress went fast. Though it was frustrating having to stop at ever major border or airspace to disappear offline so he couldn’t be identified as a hostile flying object. When he did have secure connection, Vision kept an eye on the news in Toulouse, terrified that Wanda might be discovered. So far, the feed was quiet, and Vision had to rest on the assurance that the woman he had spoken with on the phone had said nothing to indicate she was suspicious of Wanda.

In the end, Vision managed to make it to France in just over two hours, having had to detour over the North Atlantic to avoid some nasty weather. Staying low to the ground and mostly hidden under the cover of night, he risked getting within two miles of the hospital before returning to the ground.

Vision ducked down an alley and took a moment to hide in the shadows. Taking a deep breath, he focused his energy on putting on the shimmer that made him appear human. It slipped into place easily. Straightening his jacket and running a hand through his hair, Vision ensured he looked relatively presentable before heading back out onto the streets of Toulouse.

It was an excruciatingly slow walk, but Vision knew he couldn’t risk drawing attention by walking any quicker than a human. Even in the early hours of the morning, Toulouse still had life to it. There were a few too many watchful eyes than he could be comfortable with. Even knowing that no one on this side of the world had seen his human form, it was still difficult to put the fear to rest.

Vision quickened his pace marginally as he reached the hospital’s entrance, figuring it might seem normal enough to hurry given where he was. In his head he reminded himself over and over that this was normal. He was here because he had received a call about his ‘partner’ who had been hospitalised. Vision felt sick even as he thought it.

Inside the brightly lit ground floor was a round desk with bright green letters hanging above that said la réception.Sitting behind the desk were three nurses. Vision caught the attention of the nearest and smiled politely.

“Bonjour,” Vision said, the language sounding strange in his mouth, “je suis ici pour Ms Maximoff.”

The nurse leant forward to catch Vision’s quiet tone. He was hesitant about using the last name ‘Maximoff’ and wondered why on earth Wanda hadn’t given them a false name.

“Ah,” the nurse’s eyes lit up in recognition and she turned to call over her shoulder, “Louise?”

Another nurse came around to the reception and as she rattled off something in French Vision recognised her as the stern woman who had spoken with him on the phone.

“Mr Maximoff?” She said with a welcoming smile.

“Yes,” Vision said hesitantly, “oui.”

“I though you would come by in the morning—”

Vision opened his mouth to provide reasoning for coming so quickly. He had forgotten how difficult it was, having to lie all the time when he was with Wanda.

“—but I understand you must have been very worried. If you would please follow me.”

Vision shut his mouth tightly, perhaps it was better to say less and let them assume more. The nurse turned away and walked down a long corridor to a set of lifts. She called one down and the doors opened with a chime, before gesturing for Vision to get in. As he stepped in, Vision let his hands brush against the control panel and shuddered slightly as he was absorbed into the hospital’s security system. It felt wrong, but it was better than risking someone having recognised Wanda already. Vision scrubbed through the security, uploaded a match of Wanda’s face and proceeded to edit all visual of her from the camera’s history. The system was too limited to even realise what was happening, let alone retaliate.

“Could you please explain what happened?” Vision asked politely as they reached the fourth floor and the elevator doors opened once more.

“I’m afraid I do not know much more than what I told you over the phone,” Louise said. “She was brought in about seven hours ago with a few other patients from a car accident. A vehicle lost control on the motorway and took out several other cars with it. A bit of a mess I am afraid.”

Lousie caught sight of Vision’s horrified face. “Not that Ms Maximoff was badly hurt,” she said hurriedly, “she is perfectly fine, and we will be able to let her out in the morning.”

Vision breathed out shakily as he was led down a brightly lit corridor. “Thank you.”

“Do not worry,” Louise gave Vision a comforting smile and stopped in front of a nondescript door. “You’re welcome to stay until morning though don’t tell anyone that I let you in out of visitor hours. There is a canteen on the ground floor, but it does not open until 7 I am afraid.”

“That’s alright, it won’t be a problem,” Vision said with a smile, eager to get inside the room and out of view of prying eyes. “Thank you for all your help.”

“D’accord,” Louise said her eyes crinkling in another smile and waving her hand, dismissing his thanks genially.

Vision managed to wait until she had retreated down the corridor before steeling himself and letting his human glamour fall. He did not want to see Wanda as anyone but himself.

As Vision erased himself from the corridor, he took the first step into Wanda’s cramped hospital room. The space smelt sterile, even to him and it was so wholly unwelcoming that Vision’s heart seized at the idea of Wanda spending hours here alone.

It seemed she wasn’t as troubled, instead lying sound asleep in the hospital bed. With the bed propped as it was, Wanda’s face was bathed in the light peeking through the blinds as car headlights flew past. Vision peered at her face intently, surveying the damage.

There was a graze across her forehead and a couple of stitches in her chin, but otherwise no other outwards injuries. There was a clipboard attached to the end of the hospital bed and Vision picked it up quietly to assess the doctor’s notes. It was in French, and shorthand at that, but he managed to decipher the words with the aid of his translator. MTBI. A mild traumatic brain injury, Vision thought. He knew it sounded much worse than it was and was comforted by the doctor’s following notes: no further cognitive symptoms, keep overnight, review in morning before discharge.

So there really was nothing else wrong. It was reassuring and he felt much better now that he was standing before Wanda’s sleeping form, her chest rising and falling steadily.

It was only then that Vision realised precisely how long it had been since he had last seen her. 8 months. Three seasons had passed since she had pushed him out of her life for good and he had let her. Wanda had sworn she didn’t want to see him again, and Vision had let it happen. He’d regretted the argument ever since it had happened

Now here he was, her unassuming emergency contact after a car accident. What if it had been something more final, what if that call had been made to deliver more devastating news, what would he have done?

Vision didn’t waste time pursuing such guilty thoughts further, instead going to Wanda’s side and sitting in the chair beside the bed. As he reached out for her hand, laying still atop the scratchy hospital blanket, he knew it was where he was supposed to be. As he took her hand her fingers twitched, registering the contact.

When Vision looked up, Wanda’s eyes were open, if slightly bleary. She blinked slowly in the darkness.

“Vis?” She whispered, her voice thick with sleep and exhaustion.

“Yes,” Vision replied, desperately wishing he could reach out and take her into his arms but knowing it was not his place to do so. Not unless she invited him to.

“It feels like you,” Wanda smiled and closed her eyes again, squeezing his hand. “I wish you were here.”

Vision frowned and wrapped both hands around hers. “I am here.”

Wanda stilled and Vision felt his hands grow warm and the familiar feeling of Wanda’s power. Perhaps just confirming it was him, or maybe it was a more involuntary reaction.

She sat up abruptly. “You shouldn’t be here!” The movement had apparently been too quick for her as Wanda winced and raised a hand to her forehead in pain. Vision jumped to his feet once more and helped her lie back down on her pillows.

“How did you get here?” Wanda asked, now wide awake and staring up at him.

“They called me,” Vision said slowly, trying his best not to distress her further. He thought about moving away from the bed to give her space, but she had grabbed a hold of his wrist and didn’t seem keen on releasing it. After so long without hearing her voice, Vision was content to stay as close as she would allow.

“The accident, was it bad?” He asked.

“Honestly,” Wanda said slowly, “I don’t really remember. It happened so quickly, nothing like a real fight. Just a flash of metal and I was lying on the curb. It barely touched me, but the paramedics insisted I come to the hospital.”

“As they should,” Vision said, unable to keep the distress from his voice. “What if something worse had happened? You really never know with head injuries…”

“Well, I feel fine now,” Wanda said relaxing somewhat amongst the cushions. “Did they tell you when I can leave?”

“In the morning,” Vision replied, “as long as the doctor checks you one last time before you leave.”

Wanda didn’t seem happy at the prospect of having to stay any longer than necessary but at least she didn’t push him to break her out of the hospital.

“I didn’t realise I was still your emergency contact,” Vision said quietly, looking intently at the mattress.

Wanda sighed quietly. “If you’re asking if there’s anyone else, there’s not.”

Vision stiffened. “I wasn’t prying.”

A few moments of silence passed by. “That doesn’t explain why I was listed as Vision Maximoff in your contacts.”

Wanda groaned and finally released his wrist, using her hand to instead cover her face in embarrassment. She sighed heavily and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s just say I was young, hopeful and in love.”

“That wasn’t that long ago,” Vision smiled, half-heartedly trying to joke past the growing discomfort in his chest. He hated that she used the past tense when talking about them.

“Yeah,” Wanda shrugged, “well a lot has changed. Being a fugitive changes things.”

Vision nodded, though he knew he’d never really understand what the last year had been for Wanda. “I hope it does not change everything.” He spoke slowly, afraid of saying something that might make her ask him to leave. “My feelings have not changed.”

Wanda bit her lip but seemed to be fighting off something like a smile. “Mine haven’t either.”

Hearing this made Vision breathe easily for what felt like the first time in months. Despite the circumstances, he was here beside her. Wanda was safe, light bruising aside, and through it all she somehow still loved him.

“I know things will always be complicated, but I hope you’ll think about letting me back into your life again,” Vision said softly, taking Wanda’s hand in his again. “It does not matter in what way or form, as long as I can be near you.”

“I’d like that,” Wanda said, her words barely above a whisper. Her chest shuddered as she yawned, wincing again as she shifted her head.

“You should rest. We can talk in the morning.”

Wanda nodded and let her eyes flutter close.

Vision stayed up for the last few hours of the night, a loyal shadow at Wanda’s side. All the while he counted down the minutes until they could leave and he could see Wanda safely to her house, wherever it was she was staying in Toulouse. It concerned him that Steve and the others probably hadn’t heard about Wanda’s accident, and he hoped they weren’t losing their minds with worry. There was another part of him that thought Wanda might be alone in France, she had always preferred staying in Europe when her small band of fugitives went their separate ways. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

It was foolish for Vision to hope, but he was starting to think the best way for this day to end was with him in Wanda’s bed. Of course, logically he knew they weren’t there yet. Even Wanda’s admission the night before to allow him back in her life felt like enough. But it was difficult to curb 8 months of longing.

As the clock ticked past 6am and the sky began to lighten behind the blinds Vision waited patiently, not wanting to disturb the rest Wanda so clearly needed. She had never been a quiet sleeper, always tossing and turning and mumbling in dreams. Vision was well accustomed with her habits, so it was unnerving to observe her stillness. But her breathing remained steady through until dawn. The only time Wanda had shifted was to roll onto her side, pulling their hands, which had found each other in the night, closer towards her.

Wanda finally woke around 7 and Vision busied himself by pretending to peer out the blinds and observe the street below.

“How are you feeling?” He asked over his shoulder, hearing the sheets rustle as Wanda sat up.

“Better now,” she mumbled. “But ready to get out of this place, I’d rather not risk it with the authorities in France again.”

Vision hated the way that Wanda said again. What had really happened in the months he hadn’t heard from her?

“No need to worry, I’ve removed you from security camera footage and before we leave, I’ll scrub us from the system again.”

Wanda rubbed at her eyes as she slipped out of the hospital bed. “Give me a chance to splash my face and change and we can get going.”

“No rush,” Vision murmured but it felt untrue. There was a rush. Even if he did remove them from the records there was no saying that a member of staff wouldn’t eventually recognise the name Maximoff and tell the authorities. Yes, the sooner they were out of the hospital, the better.

While Wanda was freshening up, Vision gathered her meagre belongings. Her necklaces, rings and phone had been left in a plastic tray on the bedside table. With everything safely in his pockets Vision slipped back into the hospital’s security system. From what he could tell, no alerts had been tripped but then again he didn’t know if the hospital had a specific code for ‘there’s an international fugitive on premises call the police’. Vision knew the hospital was nearly at capacity based on the records he had looked at, so the chances that their faces would stick out of everyone felt unlikely.

Nevertheless, it was better safe than sorry and there was no way they wouldn’t draw attention with him looking as he was. Once again, Vision closed his eyes and visualised his human shimmer, shivering as it fell into place. His skin tickled as his hair fell onto his forehead and Vision reached up to run a hand through it, a mannerism he had never had reason to practice but had seen others perform.

The bathroom door creaked as Wanda closed it behind her. It was a relief to see her out of the hospital gown and in something more Wanda.

“Vis how are you going to—” As she turned and caught sight of him, Wanda’s voice caught in her throat. She brought both hands to her mouth in astonishment.

Vision suddenly grew shy. Of course, Wanda had never seen him like this, of course it would be a shock. Did she even recognise him?

“It’s still me,” Vision said hurriedly, whether for her sake or his he couldn’t be sure. He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck as Wanda’s eyes continued to search his face in disbelief.

“I know,” she finally said, approaching him slowly. “I can tell it’s you.”

Just as she reached him the door to the hospital room slid open and a young woman entered.

“Bonjour,” Vision said hurriedly, taking a few steps back from Wanda and turning his attention to the doctor. Wanda’s eyes remained on Vision right up until the doctor approached her and asked her to do a few simply exercises. When she was sure that motor function was normal, they were told they were free to leave and to go down to the reception to begin the process of checking out. The doctor made Wanda promise to return to the hospital if she began experiencing anything like memory loss or migraines.

With the doctor gone once more, Wanda spun on Vision, getting far closer to him than she had yet. She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, frowning.

“This is new.”

Vision nodded against her hand, relishing this one touch that he had spent months dreaming about. “I started working on this as soon as I left…”

He didn’t need to explain more and saw Wanda’s gaze grow shadowed as she presumably recalled their fight. It had been about their safety around each other, it always was. Wanda had been angry about Vision being put at risk around her, and he had been annoyed about the same thing for her. It had been so difficult to hide and meet up every few weeks back then, especially when Vision was so recognisable, and Wanda was being broadcasted around the globe. When Wanda had finally insisted on breaking things off, Vision had agreed. He’d returned to the compound and spent a week perfecting his new human mirage. It was all in the hopes that when she next called him things would be easier. But she hadn’t called.

“Do you have a—” Vision swallowed nervously, “—a preference?”

Wanda tilted her head curiously, “I don’t mind this new glamour, either way it’s you. But I prefer the you you.”

Vision tried to hide his relief as he raised his hand to Wanda’s which was still pressed to his cheek. Her thumb was running curiously circles over his skin. Carefully, cautiously, he took her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of her knuckles. The gesture’s effect was immediate, and Wanda closed her eyes.

“I miss being close to you,” she whispered, as they gravitated closer together. “I could imagine you; I could see you were safe on the news but nothings the same as having you here under my hands.”

Well, she’d had one more assurance than him at least.

It didn’t take much for Vision to pull her closer, hooking an arm around her waist and letting his human glamour fall. She sunk into his embrace, as he had imagined her doing for months and Vision wrapped his arms securely around her.

“Please don’t ask me to leave,” he said, strained.

“Alright,” Wanda said, her voice muffled as she pressed her head into the crook of his neck.

She drew back and took his face in her hands and kissed him. Vision’s legs nearly gave out from underneath him as her mouth moved softly against his own, something he hadn’t let himself dream of doing ever again.

Wanda smiled against his mouth. “We’re sticking together from now on.”

[presumenothing]

bad end NE. character death warning

(AO3)

I didn’t know what I’d expected to happen, when I ran the code that I’d pulled from the galley storage.

That was a lie. Mostly a lie. I knew what I hoped would happen, what I wanted – needed to happen, because the alternative wasn’t something that I could accept.

And that was exactly like this: all the display surfaces reinitialising with the message New admin recognised. Granting root access…

Like this: the comm under my ribs bursting to life again, this time with streams of data I didn’t want, couldn’t ever want because of what they had to mean.

Like this: my own voice, aloud, a rasping shout, “You can’t do this to me. No. Damn it, ART!” and hearing, seeing that echoed right back on the bridge’s camera inputs because this was how I had to find out it was holding out on me.

Had been holding out on me.

Because it was dead, gone like I thought it’d been until the MedSystem activated except this time I knew it was true. That everything I’d seen, the MedSystem and the comm array, were just autonomous functions you couldn’t stamp out short of dismantling the whole ship and scrubbing every processor thrice over.

Like how a human’s heart sometimes didn’t stop beating right away when they died, my MedSystem – ART’s MedSystem – told me, and I snarled and slammed down the hatch on all non-emergency inputs from there.

If it was autonomous then it could very fucking well run itself, unless it could tell me how to resuscitate a dead ship.

Which it couldn’t, and I slammed shut all the reactions I wanted to have at that too, because I didn’t want to see what a performance reliability crash on the scale of a ship would look like, not when I still had my humans to save.

Except I now had enough processing space to already manage that, too.

SecUnit? Arada said over the feed, and I shoved away the automatic tone analysis. I didn't need it to tell me that she sounded confused but relieved. The remaining hostiles in here just collapsed at once.

Yes. I know. I did that, I didn’t add, because I couldn’t deal with that yet. If Gurathin were here he’d already have noticed something wrong, since my feed address had changed when my SecUnit-self finally bottomed out and crashed in the chair where I’d been sitting.

Not that it stopped Amena from asking anyway. Are you okay?

That was a terrible question. It was entirely possible that I would never be okay ever again.

But I didn’t have time for that either, because my humans were (relatively) safe now but I’d just received another delayed message on the comm –

I’m sorry. Find my crew. Thank you.

– signed both ART in text and with its hard feed address, and I couldn’t.

I couldn’t deal with any of this, but if I went without answering for another moment there was a 98% chance that Arada and Amena would try to force their way onto the bridge and I could deal with that even less.

My humans were injured, I was offline, ART’s crew was missing and this ship was functioning but ART was dead.

So I did what I had to do – assigned priority to restoring MedSystem, activated an emergency gurney to pick myself up, and sent: Get to Medical. I’ll explain everything there.

[dropintomanga]

11 Years of Manga Therapy

Today, this blog is 11 years old. And it all feels like the past year went by so suddenly despite a pandemic that’s shut off almost everything.

Given that everything was at such a standstill, a good number of my thoughts from the blog when it turned 10 still stand. I will talk about a few new things that came to my mind recently and over the past year.

COVID-19 sucks. I have a lot of compassion for those who are just trying to survive. I’m sick of this need to be productive for the sake of being productive during a time where life isn’t normal at all. A lot of people have no outside help for basic needs. I find myself to be very fortunate and I owe that to the support systems in my life. I wish they had what I have.

I don’t know how I found the need to blog for this long even when it’s okay to just stop. But after the little rant I wrote a couple of days ago, I find that social media is too transient for what I really want to say. It’s platforms like Tumblr/WordPress that provide outlets for more concise thoughts. I still love manga and there’s always fascinating titles/stories (like My Broken Mariko pictured above) that can mostly be told via manga waiting to be explored.

What else? I got a PlayStation 4 last year and finally saw for myself the renewed popularity of Japanese video games post-2016. The PS3 era disappointed me and got me away from gaming. I’m excited to see where Japanese games go from here after playing through various games since my console purchase.

Plus playing a bunch of Yakuza (I played through Yakuza 0, Judgment, and Yakuza: Like a Dragon) games got me into riichi mahjong. It all started from doing a mandatory mahjong side-quest in Judgment to unlock the chance to fight the game’s superboss that got me into it. I couldn’t get mahjong at first, but I had help from my parents who played mahjong their whole lives despite regional rule differences. I struggled at mahjong for a while until I decided to try it again in Yakuza: Like a Dragon after I finished the main story. I’ve been hooked ever since after taking the time to understand the rules and how to properly win. I now read riichi mahjong books and want to start playing more Mahjong Soul (a gacha-style mahjong game with cute anime characters). Once the pandemic is finally over, I think I’ll try going to a local riichi mahjong club near me and see what it’s like offline.

What I like about mahjong is that the game is a metaphor for life. My dad sent me a video of Julia Roberts talking about her love of mahjong. She said that mahjong is like sorting your life out of chaos. I find that to be strikingly true. A big part of learning mahjong is WWYD (What would you discard?) as you need to draw tiles to make a winning combination and throw away ones that won’t help you win. Yet while certain tiles will help you win, there are times where you need to throw out tiles that are considered to be safe in order to not lose big. In various points in life, there’s things you need to toss away in order to become better and/or safer. To be honest, we’re not always perfect at what to throw away. I feel the complexities of mahjong is good practice for me in understanding that not everything’s going to go our way even if we’ve done a lot of good for the world.

Finally, I’m starting to embrace myself as a non-binary thinker. I support important cultural movements and find them necessary. Yet I know there are always voices still being shut out despite good intentions and alternatives. It’s disrespectful to believe that everyone all happily agrees with one another when that’s not really the case. I don’t think we truly listen enough to each other and try to shout so much about how important this and that are without considering that some things are helpful for some people while some aren’t.

Empathy isn’t enough. You can understand someone’s suffering, but it doesn’t mean that you’re willing to sit with them through it. I think the person who’s suffering wants compassion more than just empathy. I want people to see there’s power in knowing uncomfortable truths in everything.

Of course, I’m not sure there’s room for someone like me up in a world of absolutes. It’s fine. I relish where I’m at and I now know that I’m not alone in my thinking. I’m also thinking about changing the name of this blog because truth be told, I’m not sure the name “Manga Therapy” is right anymore because I’m not a licensed mental health professional. I’m more on an peer/advocate level. I know some of you may disagree, but calling myself “therapy” feels like an insult to the mental health profession and does disservice to anyone with serious mental illness that doesn’t have the luxury to enjoy the privileges (i.e. reading manga as a way to process emotions) that most of us have.

That’s about it. Thanks for reading and following me this past year (or longer)! I just want you all to survive somehow this year. Nothing more.

[osbjorn]

Time for a new sticky post.

After some inspiration from around Second Life, we created our blog with newbies and people short on Lindens in mind. We understand that not everyone has tons of Lindens in their account if they have any at all. Not everyone that starts is going to be able to afford nice clothes. After reading a notecard that was in a bundle from Amazing Creations about people being made fun of because they didn’t have nice clothes, really bothered both of us greatly. We’re both seasoned SL users, who decided to come back after being away for a while, we all need a break and a new beginning.

About Us

We are Onyx and Asbjorn. A married couple from the midwest somewhere. If you haven’t noticed from our photos the dark side, you know the place that has the cookies, is where we’re from and where we’ll always be. We don’t mind experimenting with our looks, don’t hesitate to make an offer as a store or an event that wants to work with us (please read the ‘working with us’) tab. Hopefully, in the near future, we'll have some more 'adult' photos for our other blog (we're keeping our Tumblr family-friendly), for those interested.

Below you’ll find a little bit about us separately.

About Asbjorn Username: asbjornosvifsson Age: 36 Gender: Male Sexuality: Bi C lothing Style: Goth, Alternative, and gorey, with or without a bit of androgony Hobbies/Interests: music (on and offline), body mods, horror movies, 420, blood & gore, and tasteful nude photos.

One day I hope to help other male avatars find a fashion that suits them, that doesn’t cost many Lindens. I know it’s tough in Second Life finding free and cheap men’s stuff. It took almost four months of hunting to nail down the look I have now, and I still have a long way to go until I’m satisfied with my ideal finished look.

A wise, but a very handsome man named Cody Fern (you know the antichrist from American Horror Story), one I get compared to online and off more than enough once said, for Louis Vuitton has been my driving force for my individuality on Second Life, he said, ‘Clothes can just be clothes. It’s not shocking for women to wear things that are traditionally masculine, or men to wear things that are traditionally feminine. The lines and the form of the clothing are cut in such a way that it can be worn by anyone.” I can still be a sinister, androgynous weirdo and find more clothes when I open my boundaries.

Beyond the body mods, the tough exterior, and the blood and gore, I’m a huge softy and I wear my heart on my sleeve. Don’t attempt to take advantage of my kindness, because if I find out that someone does so, they are no longer treated with kindness. I’ll treat you with respect until you disrespect me.

I can be a bit of a helpless romantic, even to the point if a shop happens to be free and/or giving out free gift cards. I’m known to go to the store myself just to buy presents for Onyx without spending actual money.

As a forewarning, I can be an annoying, goofball and jackass. Some days Onyx wants to run far far away. Try if I must, but even on Second Life, my strange self shows through. You have my full permission to tell me to sit down and shut up if you need to. I won’t take any offense over it.

My apologies to all of you that don’t like blood or gore, I tend to add a little bit of blood, gore, bruises or whatever to my outfit when I can. Second Life is one of the few times I can express that side of me without freaking out the rest of the public. There are times wherein real life I think it’d be cool to buy some water-activated blood from the internet, and go shopping in the pouring rain just to freak people out, but I can’t imagine how many people I would scare and worry.

Stay spooky my loves!

About Onyx Username: InfectedOnyx Age: 35 Gender: Female Sexuality: Prefers not label my sexuality Clothing Style: Goth, punk, alternative, cute, and boho. Hobbies/Interests: Fashion, 420, creating, writing, and the occult.

Isn’t it funny how a girl can be twisted, alternative, and macabre, but still love to doll up and shop? It’s even nicer to get free clothes, makeup, and hair when shopping. When I’m not out shopping for a new look and finding some really cool freebies, I’m creating. I’m still new to creating, but love learning how to create. I even plan on creating a shop in the near future called Coffin Cuties, it’s a goth/occult shop with clothes and décor. I can’t wait until I’m able to show off more of what I’ve made.

I’m a firm believer in empowering others. This world so tough and so diverse. There should be no reason another person needs to bring someone down. Even in Second Life, nobody needs to be alone or brought down for any reason. It’s another reason why we post as many freebies for men and women alike, it empowers everyone to be themselves if they are a 12-foot tall goblin.

If I’m not on Second Life, I’m the wife of a musician and a parent to both human and furry kids. It may be hard to believe, but in between Second Life, being a parent, being a wife, and being a homemaker, I find time to sleep! I love to sleep and wish I could sleep all the time, but you know sleeping a lot isn’t good and people worry about you more if you love to sleep.

I look forward to getting to learn more about our followers and what they like, so I can tailor my Coffin Cuties to my fellow Coffin Cuties!

[pikkington]

Finally getting around to posting some of my drafts.  This one is kinda old and has some wrong info, but I really don’t feel like going back and editing it.

That post about self-indulgent stuff inspired me, let’s go.

So apparently anything set in alternate universe futures immediately activates the ‘it need robots’ part of my brain, even if it’s ‘20 minutes into the future’ dystopian futures that still use CRT televisions.  Look, if they can have AI, they can have robots.

So in this AU/thought exercise, Network 23 commissions a CPU-less robot so Max can interact with stars on TV in real time, rather than just with the broadcast, and it’s designed so he can upload his AI into it at will.  Problems arise as he wants it to look like himself, and since most of his body image are holdovers from Edison...Network 23 inadvertently commissions a 6′3 robot that, despite being composed of lightweight materials, weighs about 400 pounds.  It takes four people to move the thing close enough to a computer, and it’s all dumped on Edison’s team (technically it was dumped on Bryce but the poor boy couldn’t even get it out of the elevator).

Uploading goes a lot smoother, but a few quirks carry over, namely his audio idiosyncrasies.  Bryce is baffled because the stutter and repetition should be caused by a lack of dedicated processing power on the computer (and the robot’s AI has a dedicated process specifically for speech), but Max doesn’t really care.  Skipping animations don’t translate into physical tics, so it’s unclear if Max deliberately glitches his speech or it is just inherently something he does.

An outside observer who didn’t know he’s an AI-now-robot would just think he’s got a bad stutter and echolalia.

Another problem is that because Max is rendered shoulders-up and is typically always at eye-level, being in a TV, he has no idea how tall he actually is, so of course he’s absolutely thrown the moment he stands up.  Edison’s not super thrilled either because he’s used to being the tallest person in the room, and all of a sudden there’s someone who’s not only his same height, but meets his eyeline dead-on and does not break eye contact.

So of course they joke about how he’s going to borrow Edison’s clothes and vice versa, but Max tries on leather once and decides never to wear it again because it’s too rough for him.  He prefers silks and other smooth materials.  And of course, synthetics.

Oh and the first time he runs out of power is great, he effectively faceplants into Edison’s couch and spends the night there.  He wakes up groggy and miserable and loathing that no one told him sleep is a new requirement because he has a self-charging battery now, his back hurts from flopping over like that for eight hours, and he didn’t get to dream on top of it, so it’s just offline standby that comes without warning.  It did come with a warning, Max just ignored it.

Bryce is in charge of repair, because the skin is synthetic and resembles a human’s, and therefore tears like one, and Max doesn’t one hundred percent understand that he talks with his hands and since they are actually there now he can bang them against stuff.  He didn’t really care until he tore some tubing underneath and started gushing hydraulic fluid.  Bryce frets over him like a concerned mother, since his creation now has an actual body and is even more human than he was before.  Also imagine a shrimpy, skinny fifteen-year-old fussing over a 6′3 giant trying desperately not to scream because pain is worse than he remembers it holy CRAP as the only person who knows how to fix him flash-heats what’s essentially a vein shut because the tape didn’t work.  On the other hand Bryce also chants “chug chug chug!” when Max has to refuel since he did lose a ton of fluid, and that was a scene Theora never thought she’d ever see.

As far as a living situation, the executives are more than content to let Max charge every night in a closet somewhere in the building, but two events change this:

1.Max knows the ins and outs of the whole network, so he knows which floors are occupied when, who’s accessing the network where, AND he knows the admin passwords, so it’s incredibly easy for him to, say, run a never-ending loop of “What’s New Pussycat” with a “It’s Not Unusual” thrown in for good measure starting at 11 AM the next day over the intercoms.  The audio’s so loud that it can be heard during the local news.  Imagine trying to report with Tom Jones being heard in the background.  The network doesn’t have the music rights to his library.  They can’t prove it’s him, he’s never used a computer in his life.

2.He sneaks out to check out the city, since his view has always been restricted to interior rooms.  He makes it out to the Fringes before he’s stabbed in a mugging gone wrong (the mugger didn’t believe he didn’t have a wallet, he was wearing a suit, for goodness sake), and while he was okay, he was also close to a million dollars, so someone needs to supervise him.

That someone is Edison, because Murray has a wife and kids, Bryce’s is network-owned and too small for the both of them, and Theora doesn’t feel very comfortable with a male roommate.  I have more, but perhaps for another post.

[fang-wolfsbane]

Transformers Animated: Morning Star: Chapter 02: The Alternative

Greenblade hadn’t been a fan of the whole idea of seeking refuge on a maintenance ship but considering their lack of funds and things to trade, the old yellow and red ship containing a batch of maintenance bots were really all they had to choose from. It was different than they were used to.

Convincing the captain of the ship, a Prime at that, had been difficult enough, especially with the medic bot, an old, white, and red bot seeming to wait for rust to set in, had been the first one against it. Apparently, according to the annoying yellow bot, they weren’t the first asteroid-hikers the maintenance bots had picked up on their route. As it turned out, the maintenance bots had been the reason why the black and cold bi-pedal bot had to rely on them for transportation due to an incident that resulted in his own ship being destroyed. She pitied him. She truly did. Whether he felt the same towards her, he didn’t let on. She didn’t pry either.

Blueflame on the other servo, had been all too happy to meet the acquaintance of the five mechs, enough so that Greenblade had learned their names off by spark. The leader, Optimus Prime, who didn’t seem all that keen on explaining why exactly a Prime was leading a spacebridge maintenance team. Ratchet, the old and grouchy medic. Prowl, the forced travel companion. Bulkhead, the bulbous oaf, and finally, the irritating chatterbox, Bumblebee. She found that her personal preferences led her to stay close to Prowl, whom, as it turned out, was a ninja bot.

Greenblade had received stellarcycles of sword, stealth and other sorts of training, all for the sake of her sister, so she found having a decent sparring partner made the trip a little more worthwhile. Optimus had told them that it would take a long while to get the sisters where they needed to go, but that it would eventually be on their route, so they didn’t mind all that much. With the way Bumblebee ogled her sister, Greenblade was certain that he definitely didn’t mind the thought of the journey being delayed. The thought alone was enough to tighten her servo around the hilt of her sword, the sight of him happily chirping away at Blueflame’s audio angering her to her core.

She couldn’t blame her sister for seeking some form of companionship, considering that the only other youngling she ever really had contact with, was her. Their parents had kept Blueflame separate for stellarcycles, and now that she finally had the opportunity to gain freedom from them and their memories, she was taking full advantage of it.

A part of her envied her sister’s easy adjustment to their current wanderers status. She wished that she too could simply toss all she knew aside and just relax for once, to simply sit down and chat with one of the five mechs like they were old friends. Cycles of being trained to do the opposite had her on constant edge, so much so that the medic had begun to notice. He had offered to give her something for her jumpiness, but she had denied him in that regard. He had simply shrugged and gone off to do something else instead.

From the haunted look in his optics and the scars sticking to his frame, especially the missing half of the chevron on his forehelm, indicated that he had possibly been involved in the old war against the Decepticons. He confirmed it earlier that cycle when he caught the Prime watching some old footage of the war, scolding him for wanting to know what war felt like.

As payment for their travel, the sisters had to help clear the debris from the spacebridges the ship was forced to maintain. Greenblade was no stranger to hard work, so she took the task easier than Blueflame, who, for once forbidden from using her ability, hacked at the asteroid like a sparkling trying to figure out why a toy wasn’t lighting up. She found it amusing, to see her oh-so-greatly-revered younger sister struggling with something for once in her life, but instead of giving up and pouting in a corner like she originally thought Blueflame would do, the inexperienced femme happily took on the challenge, grinning like a content youngling whenever Bumblebee or Bulkhead tossed praises her way.

She often found Prowl focusing more on his meditation than actually helping out but considering that he was the only one forced to travel alongside the maintenance bots, she left him to it. Blueflame, with the backing of her formerly mentioned cheer squadron, often tried encouraging him to help out. Surprisingly, it actually worked at times, and made the effort much less on the rest of them.

At one point Blueflame had asked Optimus why they couldn’t just use the spacebridge to go straight where they needed to. His excuse was that the spacebridges were to remain offline because of their sole purpose being for the benefit of the Autobot Elite Guard under the guise of security reasons. Personally Greenblade didn’t believe him, thinking that the actual reason lay in it possibly causing too much traffic throughout space, but she kept her opinion to herself.

Normally the seven of them worked without much interaction, yet today it seemed that the mechs were in some kind of competitive mood. Bumblebee tried showing off for Blueflame by using his stingers in the flashy way only he seemed to have perfected. Blueflame had secretly begged for permission to use her ability, but Greenblade had shut her down fast with the fact that they needed to keep what she could do a secret.

At times she had the inkling feeling that her sister might have shown what she was capable of to the show-off mech but considering how difficult it seemed for him to keep his motor shut, he had no idea. Good. She didn’t feel up to explaining the real possible reason why the two of hem had snuck away on a maintenance ship instead of waiting on a transporter instead. Primus knew there were enough of those going around ever since the war against the Decepticons ended all those deca-cycles ago.

Greenblade had been relying on an old axe Optimus had found lying around in storage. There was no way she was going to damage her sword with stubborn boulders clinging onto the only emergency transportation system the Autobots had. She was just about to swing the tool down, ignoring the rest of the mix-and-match team when Optimus broke open one of said boulders, causing a blast of light to nearly blind all of them upon its moment of freedom.

One of them questioned what it was, but from the horrified look on the medic’s faceplate, it was clear he knew just exactly what the large orange container was.

“Ratchet?” Optimus’ voice broke through her thoughts, snapping her out of the trance the container seemed to set her under. “What is it?”

“The Allspark…” Ratchet breathed, almost as if he himself couldn’t believe what was right in front of his very optics. Bumblebee and Bulkhead were the first to exchange questionable glances between each other.

“The Allspark? But that’s only a myth, isn’t it?” Blueflame asked, nearly causing Greenblade to flinch at her sister’s ignorance. It seemed her mother hadn’t taught her everything Greenblade had been forced to learn at the academy. A glance between all of them, save for Ratchet, left the mechs assuming that the Allspark being something from a legendary tale was simply the version she had been told. Greenblade wasn’t going to explain anything to them. They could figure that part out on their own.

“Get it on board. Get it on board right now!” Ratchet ordered, his pinchers sliding out from their protective casing in his wrist plating. The rest of them barely had a chance to react as Bumblebee and Bulkhead helped the medic to get the container inside, the rest of them following in shortly after.

The ship blasted away from the asteroid whilst Optimus contacted the head honcho himself, Ultra Magness, leader of the Autobots, and commander of the Primes. She would have felt intimidated, if it weren’t for the fact that a different bot answered the communication hail instead. Some bot named Sentinel Prime. From the sound of it, he and Optimus didn’t seem to be on the best terms.

Without thinking, Greenblade forced Blueflame behind her, hiding her out of sight from the second Prime. From the sound of it, the second Prime didn’t seem to be aware of who was allowed to be on the ship and who wasn’t.

Blueflame had tried protesting against all the shoving, but Greenblade had gotten her into the same room as the Allspark. Blueflame hadn’t been happy about it, but a silent glare from her older sister had her shutting up and dealing with it.

The crew was ordered to take the Allspark somewhere, and the first thing Greenblade did was pull out her sword and hold it to the Prime’s throat plating. The mechs around them stood in shock, only Ratchet and Prowl ready to try and fight against her if it came down to deciding whether the Prime’s life fuel would be spilled or not.

“Greenblade, what is this-” Optimus began, his servos raised beside him in surrender. She cut him off by ensuring the side of her blade pressed right against the silver of his neck.

“Listen Prime, you have your orders, and I respect that, truly I do, but me and my sister have someplace we need to be. It’s only because you and your crew have agreed to take us there that we didn’t cause any problems for you, but if you choose to deviate from the original course, I’m afraid you will have a mutiny on your servos.”

“Uh, wouldn’t she need to be, you know, part of the crew to do that?” Bumblebee questioned, making her wish she could cast a glare in his direction. The first rule of fighting kept her from doing so. Never take your eyes off your opponent. Besides the Prime, the ninja bot was probably the only one that stood a chance of fighting her. She preferred not going ped-to-ped with any of them at the moment, not while it could potentially put her ward at risk.

Optimus ignored the younger bot, casting his blue optics towards her. He was handsome, there was no denying that, but she was a femme with a mission, and if it meant snuffing out the spark of some bot getting in her way, then so be it.

“Greenblade, now really isn’t the time to-”

“I’m not fooling around Prime. After you drop the two of us off, you and your little crew can go along your merry way, but I am not letting anyone, Autobot, Prime or even fragging Ultra Magness himself get in my way.”

For a nano click it seemed like the Prime was about to consider her request – or demand at this point – when, out of nowhere, the ship tilted to the side, sending them all sprawling into the closest object to try and regain their balance. Her first and only thought was concern for her sister’s safety before the ship’s computer, Teletraan One, pulled up footage of their attacker, the reigning Dark Ruler of the Decepticons, Megatron himself.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #414

“mirror, mirror, tell me who you see  /  am i you or me?  /  i can never remember”

How many people have you kissed? Four. Ever kissed someone you weren’t dating at the time? No. Of the people you’ve kissed, how many do you regret kissing? Two. Ever been kissed by a legal adult when you were a minor (or vise-versa)? Yeah, with Jason, but it was only a two-year difference. Ever kissed someone on a dare/as part of a game? No. Where’s the most public place you’ve ever made out with someone? Nowhere public. I wouldn't do that. Can you snowboard? Never tried. Have you ever made a mixed cd for someone? No. Do you use recycle bins at your house? Yes. Do you own more than one bathing suit? No. Have you ever kissed someone who smokes weed? Jason did occasionally with his best friend, but he stopped for me. How are you right this second? I'm all right. Last night was pretty rough, so I'm just glad that's over. My body is just tired. Is there anything you disliked about your last birthday? Honestly, I barely remember what I did on my last birthday. I just remember it was fine. Oh wait, actually, on the way home from going out to eat, we had to call the cops while behind a car whose driver was obviously drunk or high OFF. HIS. ASS. He was swerving like crazy and almost hit SO many cars. I was having an absolute panic attack. I pray to God that guy was more than just found and fined. Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? No, unless you count surveys, I guess. What were you like a year ago? I was the unhappily the same. Is someone on your mind right now? Fucking always. Having a warm dream about him last night didn't help. Who was the last person you sat next to? My mom. What do you currently hear right now? My screen is split so I can watch John Wolfe play some indie horror games. What’s something you need to go shopping for? I need to get new bras baaaadly because I'm tired of none fitting properly. What’s the last thing you ate? I had a donut 'cuz Mom stopped at Dunkin' for coffee. Do/did you do good in school? I did up to college. Then I just... sucked. Do you always get along with your siblings? I mean I don't see/talk to them every day or anything, not even very regularly even, but we generally get along fine now as adults. We disagree about shit for sure, but keep our mouths shut. Or probably talk to Mom about it while I'm not present. I don't even think they like me half of the time. Are you frustrated with anything? So much. Why did you fall for the last person romantically? There were/are a lot of factors. Just she as a person is phenomenal. What’s your younger sibling’s name? Nicole. Can you speak in a different language conversationally; if so, which language? A tiny bit of German. Do you ever fear of falling asleep? With my nightmares, I used to dread it. Now, thankfully, my APAP mask has prevented them from happening, mostly; I've only had two in the month that I've had it, and I ordinarily had them every single night. Do you have an idea of what kind of profession you’d like to have? I do, but I honestly doubt I'm going to succeed in even making it a part-time job by this damn point. Which beach would you say is your favorite? I don't have a favorite. I don't even like the beach very much. What kind of cookie is your favorite? Chocolate chip. Have you ever had a churro? Yes. Too crunchy and ridiculously sweet, not a fan. Truth be told, are you more into looks or personalities the most? A good personality beats good looks any day. How is/was your chemistry class in high school? I actually didn't take chemistry; my graduating year, physical science was offered as the alternative, which I took. How does alcohol affect you? I get hot, and my face flushes badly. It'll make me more talkative. Have you ever tried lemon brownies? No, and I don't want to. I don't like lemon-flavored stuff like that. What was the last type of meat you ate? Beef. Have you taken any medication today? I have prescriptions I take every day. Have you ever watched Parks and Recreation? I've seen some of it at Sara's house. What is your favourite kind of pasta? Just spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, really. I've been on a major chicken pesto kick lately, though. Have you set an alarm today? No. Think of a random person, and give them a message here, no names: Literally just the chance to say "I'm sorry" would be fucking amazing. Just two fucking words. What if there were two of you? Would the world be in trouble? No. That'd be a waste of space, though. Not like I'm contributing much to society. Would you prefer an ice cream sundae or an ice cream cone? I dunno man, it depends on my mood and what I want in the moment. Do you watch movies with the subtitles on? No; I find it to be distracting. Is the last person you kissed yours? I hate this saying. She's her own person that belongs to nobody but herself. But to just go along with it and answer the question, no, we're not together. Do you think you will be married by the time you are 25? Welp, I'm halfway through 25, so. Do you have siblings over the age of 21? All of my siblings are. Do you have a hard time admitting you’re wrong? No. Especially as I've aged, I'd say I'm pretty quick to accept if I've fucked up. Who has the ability to hurt you the most emotionally? Jason will probably always have that power, even if he's not in my life. Would you ever be a stripper? God no, nobody wants to see that. What are your plans for tomorrow? Just get through the day, man. Do you owe anybody money? No. How would your parents describe you? Reserved, shy, a deep thinker, animal lover, uhhhh... What is the most you have ever weighed? Let's not. Would you ever work at McDonald's? No. I'm never working in food service. If you aren't already, would you go vegetarian or vegan? I want to be a vegetarian and being a vegan would be perfectly ideal for me, but I really don't think I can healthily accomplish either. I am FAR too picky to where I'd almost definitely become malnourished. To make it even worse I absolutely cannot "suck it up" if I don't like a food, so it's not like I could choke down stuff I don't like. Not to mention I'd be pretty sad without any yummy food to look forward to, aha. Coolest person you've ever met? Uhhhh I don't know. Do you wear boxers? No. Girls, how old were you when you first learned how to put in a tampon? I don't remember. Would you ever attend a gay pride parade or festival? I would absolutely love to. Did you see Paranormal Activity 2? I think I've seen all of the movies. I liked them, given paranormal horror films are probably my fave. What would you do if an old man grabbed your ass? Kick him in the fucking balls so goddamn fast and probably slap him across the face at the same time. Probably cry later from feeling violated and having my fear of men aggravated. Do you like moustaches? It depends on the person, but I'd say I generally prefer an attached beard and a mustache versus JUST a mustache. Could you hack into someone's computer if you tried hard enough? No. I have no idea how to do that. Have you ever smoked a cigar? No. Do you go out on Black Friday? Hell no. NOT worth fighting people for deals. Do you have curtains in your bedroom? No; I have those blinds that you can close upwards or downwards. Did you like the Spice Girls when you were little? Yeah, I did. Can you sing the entire Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song? I think I can. Do you get heartburn? I'm literally on an antacid prescription, or else I get insane heartburn every day. Are you scared of elevators? To a moderate degree, yes. I'm terrified of it getting stuck. Have you ever seen a dead body in person? Yes, at an open-casket wake. Have you ever seen The Goonies? I have. If you're white, do you ever wish you were black? Or vice versa? I'm fine being Caucasian, but ultimately don't care. Do you bake cookies all the time around Christmas? I don't bake. Do you like your hair pulled? Uhhh... I'm assuming you mean this in a suggestive context, in which case no. Never pull my hair, actually. What kind of jeans do you like? Ripped skinny jeans. What do you think is overrated? Who really cares. Let people enjoy what they enjoy. And what are your goals for the remainder of this year? Lose lots of weight, find a job, get back into old hobbies and develop new ones... Name a city that starts with A in your state/province etc. Asheboro. Name a landmark that starts with M in your state/province etc. I'm blanking right now. When was the last time you gave a horse a carrot? Been years. I think I've only done that once, and I can't even remember where it was. Have you ever had to shovel snow? No. How many seasons is your favorite TV show in so far? MM was just revived for its fifth season! :') Where would you most like to go in your state, etc. that you haven’t been? NC actually has this really old Wizard of Oz theme park! It's on the other end of the state, though, and NC is one wiiiiiide state. What was the last bird you saw? A robin, I think. What color was the last thing you drank? Green. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Besides insects, no. Well wait, scratch that, once or twice we had a small mice problem when we lived in the woods. What’s the name of the bookstores in your city? The only one I know off the top of my head is Books-a-Million. Where do your parents live? I live with my mom, and Dad lives in the same city as us. Have you ever seen or touched an iceberg? No, but that would be cool. What colour are your father’s eyes? Brown. If your ex turned up on your doorstep now, with nowhere else to go, would you let him/her stay? Well one, this isn't my house, so I can't make that decision. My mom being who she is though, she'd let pretty much anyone stay the night. If it was Sara, Mom would let her stay as long as she needed. The last time you cried, was it connected with someone of the opposite sex? Ugh, yes. My PTSD was BAD last night. Delicious warm brownies or a giant cookie? I'll take the brownie. Have you visited a haunted building or area before? No, but damn I'd love to. Have you been to North Carolina? Ayyyyeeeee that's my home.