Hiya! I'm Zack Fair, SOLDIER extraordinaire! I'm a man of many names, many beverages, and a few too many cheeseburgers. Feel free swing by and pop a squat; there's cold beer in the mini-fridge and pizza on the way. -This is a Safe Blog- I ain't gonna judge, so sit on down and share some popcorn.
After a few weeks to work on life, love, and the pursuit of cosplay, I have, at last, returned. I also went ahead and doomed myself by adding a character to my repertoire, the impeccable Captain America himself! (starsstripesandgarters) For roleplays, any new ones, at least, you guys are going to have to drop me an ask (I'm roaming between all six accounts tonight), but I promise that as soon as I get it, I'll get right on the ball. Old ones, just let me hunt them down and I'll get to work!
And if anyone needs to talk or anything, just let me know. I'm right here and willing.
Hiatus: This time, I don't know when I'll be back.
Alright, folks, I hate to have to do this, but it's the truth; I'm not functioning as a roleplayer well at all. Drabbles aren't bad, but as for actual plot...fuck, I'm so out of it it's not even funny.
And the recent familial events haven't helped in the slightest.
I'm not sad anymore....I'm angry. I'm so angry that if I dare let spill what I want to say, it's never gonna stop, and I'm gonna Hulk out and break KC. So, in the interest of not becoming a homicidal nutcase, I'm gonna leave tumblr completely for the next month. I mean it.
No browsing, no likes, nothing.
Because the more I let myself get sucked in, the more I lose sight of what I need to do, and what I need to decide...and unfortunately, real life is taking advantage of that. If anyone needs me, please, feel free to contact me at any of the following emails:
You can also call or text me at 1-785-643-8539. Just leave your username, and I'll make sure I reply.
I'm not mad at any of you, by the way (well, I'm majorly pissed at Drake, but that's not what I mean), I just...I need to get away. And I love being on here, love all the support and friendship...but I have to tread dangerous waters, and I can't take you all with me. But please, if any of you need me, need a friend or a shoulder, you can contact me anytime. I will make time for you, no matter what.
bu i lack any & all motivation to do much of anything right now. though with my torn up knee & wrist i wouldn’t really be able to be down on the floor cutting out patterns & parts for costumes anyway.
though i really do need to go pay my car insurance before they close for the day
Human skin should always have a rosy or red undertone. So-called olive, ivory or extremely dark, brownish complexions are a sign of spiritual disharmony on a racial level.
A self-published textbook on energy as it relates massage therapy.
This is being used in a presentation at a massage institute next week. I’m…pretty appalled. (I got to make copies of this thing.)
If one looked in the front window of the old villa outside of Costa del Sol, they'd be rather surprised at the three fellows just inside the open screen. One, a silver-haired former General, lounged on the window seat, soaking up the sun's rays while he read a treatise on Wutaiian swordsmanship, one hand keeping his long locks out of his glasses.
Farther back, in the soft shadows of his armchair, sat a formidable ex-Turk, his head propped up by one arm as he flipped through a classic novel. Occasionally, he made notes on a small pad sitting on the table next to him, his lips moving with the words as he adjusted his own lenses. Now, both men were elegant, handsome almost to a fault, and might have been considered a pair...until one lays eyes on the third and final of their number.
Ensconced in his Lazy-Boy, the cranky airship pilot rustled his newspaper as he perused the sports and news, occasionally swearing in the balmy air when he read that his team had lost another game...
"Oy, Seph! Get me a sammich." Horn-rimmed bifocals peeked over the edge of the paper, only to dip back into hiding as slit-pupiled green eyes glared over at him. A soft laugh sounded from the armchair, and Cid grumbled to himself.
"You're just jealous, Sparkletits McFuckFace." If Seph hadn't seen the tiny flecks of sweat glistening on Zack's forehead, he could have easily convinced himself that his Major was simply teasing, and entirely sober. 'If' being the operative word. He sighed, rubbed one calloused hand across his face, and slumped forward, wondering what he'd gotten himself into when he'd agreed to host the bi-annual Turk/SOLDIER holiday party. It wasn't even six in the evening, and Mr. Fair was clearly plastered to the trained eye.
"Zack, I tolerate your idiocy more than you know. Now knock it off with the profanity; the Turks aren't even here yet!"
"Aww...you're a bit of a bawdy, fen-sucked scut, aren't ya, Seph?"
"..."
"Relax, will ya? It's practice!"
"For what?"
"Sailor Trouble! It's a fucking awesome drinking game."
"Why do I suspect you and Reno spent a good portion of the company's time creating this game?"
"Because you know us, and you know that Elena likes to ply us with liquor and cheap chocolate in order to make her plans come to fruition?"
"And how is this going to get Elena into Tseng's pants?"
"The same way answering your questions with rhetorical ones helps me sober up enough to find the booklet." Sephiroth looked pained.
"There's a booklet?" Zack was rummaging around in his enormous knapsack, tossing rations, clothing, and cheap porn all over the floor of Seph's apartment. The General groaned and slouched back into his armchair, popping the cap off a bottle of tequila with careless ease on the square side table they so often used for card games, drinking games, and the occasional prop for Charades.
"Course there is, the drunker you get, the more likely the insults devolve. So, we had a few of these puppies printed up."
"Also using ShinRa materials."
"Nah, used the President's."
"..."
"DON'T SET MY PORN ON FIRE!"
"Then don't steal from the fat ass who tells Hojo to make my life hell."
"My poor Felicity..."
"Poor, my lily white ass. Implants like those do not come cheap, Zackary."
"Fine, fine..." He surfaced at last with a beat-up, stained, battered little booklet, stapled together in two places. "Hallelujah!" Reno poked his head in, followed by Rude, Tseng, and Elena, Reeve, Cloud, Kunsel, and Cissnei bringing up the rear.
"Hallelujah, what? We ain't even started drinkin'!" Cissnei smirked, and picked up one of the dirty mags, rolling it up and smacking Zack in the head with it.
"Clearly, we've been beaten to the punch, Director."
"And the tequila as well. Pass me a bottle, Seph." Smirking, the General tossed the tall Wutaiian a bottle, watching as he repeated the manuveur he himself had used, while the others spread out, Reeve lounging on the second sofa and pulling out a rather large plastic bag, full to the brim with dried green leaves. Cloud brought him the other side table so that he could start rolling roaches, and the girls began setting up the make-shift wet bar out of his kitchenette. As Zack finally got his shit together and shoved in a corner, he slapped the booklet down, eliciting a leer from Reno, and a groan from Rude.
"Fuck yes."
"Oh, hell no. Reno, you fucking rat, you didn't tell me we'd be doing this again!"
"Ah, quit yer bitchin'. We got time to study, this round." Reeve looked up from where he finished the first little roach, and looked rather inquisitive, completely oblivious to Cloud's fingers slowly filching the pot. Kunsel whacked him with his helmet, and settled on the arm of the chair, curious despite himself.
"So, what game is this? I keep seeing it on the monitors, but I never can quite figure out what the hell you're doing." Zack and Reno shared identical, creepy grins, and spoke as one.
"It's Sailor Trouble. The goal of the game is to keep a straight face while reading or coming up with creative new insults for the person to your right. Or your left. Or whoever the fuck you want it to be. If you crack up, you take a shot, whether you're saying it or not." Rude scrunched up his face and sighed.
"Basically, everyone ends up smashed, because the insults are so stupid you can't help but laugh."
"For instance!" Zack grinned as he pulled it open to page four. "Mister assfister blister." Tequila shot out of Tseng's nose, while Reeve nearly swallowed his joint, as everyone else, even Sephiroth, cracked up. Zack snickered. "It can also be sister assfister blister, or any number of things that rhyme. This little gem is a conglomeration of all the swear words, phrases, and dirty, filthy language we could come up with over the course of a week. If we'd had more time to devote to the project, I'd bet my non-existant paycheck there'd be more." Tseng was still coughing, but Elena kept breaking into giggles, while Cissnei would snort from time to time and Cloud just looked confused.
"I don't get it, Zack." The older man sighed, pulled out a bag of lemon-flavored candy, and chucked it at the chocobo-head. Cloud was promptly busy crunching on the yellow ovals, and the Major looked back at his friends with a shrug. "He's good for running to get pizza late at night."
"Pustule-sucking rodent fucker."
"Flaming fuckweasel."
"Hitler's ass hair."
"Tofu puppy."
"Douche canoe."
"Count Fartula." Zack cracked, and started giggling like a maniac before he yelped and tried to throw a punch at Reno. Missing entirely, he settled for taking another shot and growling, though it was not terribly scary due to his swaying like a tree in a hurricane. Seph had refused to join; instead, he'd acted as referree while the others gradually either forfeited or lost horribly to the two sitting before them now. The whole apartment smelled of liquor, marijuana, and popcorn, and he was reasonably sure that Tseng had locked himself in the bedroom with Cissnei to avoid Elena, while the blonde was still rooting around for more alcohol in his cabinets. Kunsel and Reeve were in the shadows making out, while Cloud sat near Zack, watching the exchange with awe, giggles, and the not-quite-there gaze of the utterly stoned. Rude was asleep.
"Camel-fucking twuntsicle!"
"$5 dollar ass slapper."
"Moldy panty stain."
"Shit-sniffing, strudel-munching motherfucker!"
"Hobo-a-gogo!"
"ReTARDIS."
"Rush Limbaugh."
"Scarlet!"
"Heidigger!"
"Palmer!"
"HOJO." Even as Zack said it, he knew he'd gone too far. Reno went utterly white, as heads popped up all around the room, including from Seph's bedroom doorway, and slowly, with the certainty that there was a choir of clones somewhere in the depths of ShinRa chanting ominously, he looked up at the towering figure that was his superior, best friend...and likely executioner. He couldn't even make his eyes go big and full of tears like usual; oh no, there was no turning back now. Seph would kill him, burn him, drop his ashes off with his parents, then obliterate Gongaga in the time it took for him to open his mouth to apolgize, maybe even scream...when a low, husky laugh filled the room, and dumbfounded, the entire party was treated to the sight of General Sephiroth laughing his ass off. He pulled himself together quicker than most, though a smirk still hovered on his lips, and he shook his head slowly, staring down at Zack with a gleam in his eye.
"That'll teach you, you slack-jawed, candy-assed cumdumpster of a slam whore."
I know, I just...I want it all to go away for a while. Just a little while...not forever. Just enough time to fix what's wrong with me, and make it okay again.
Tifa had to smile a little as her frequent visitor shifted his weight on the bar stool, his contemplation of his whiskey glass interrupted by a gaggle of bachelorettes begging her for martinis and cosmos. This was part of her usual crowd on Monday nights, the last of the work crowd drifting off into Edge's shadowy streets, a remnant of the swell of people from just four hours before. Vincent had drifted in with the first swell, and after hiding in her smallest booth for the majority of the night, he'd slunk to the bar as usual, nursing a few glasses of whiskey along the way. It was his way, and she was quite used to it; in fact, she preferred it, and more often than not, she found herself taking her breaks with him, happy for the quiet aura of his company. He eyed her as she deftly made the drinks, pouring them directly into the salted glasses, earning her a chorus of drunken cheers for the final flourishes. As the girls drifted away, congregating around one of the far corner booths, Vincent finally heaved a sigh of relief. Crimson eyes met her own claret when she chuckled, and a tiny smile quirked those thin lips.
"You are amused?"
"Oh Vincent, I shouldn't laugh, but you're so easy to read." He tipped the glass to her and took a sip, eyes closing to the burn down his throat, and he settled his elbows on the bar, propping his head up on long, slender hands, one encased in a black leather glove to protect both the eyes of strangers, and the fragile skin that covered his arm as he met her eyes again. He was dressed simpler than usual; a dark blue silk shirt (ever the vain bird, he had to have the best, and really, he could afford it) and black jeans, his holster still strapped around one thigh, knee-high boots and a discarded jacket topping the ensemble. He'd cut his hair, too, to what it had been in his Turk days, though it still was about as unruly as it had been long.
"Ah, so I am an open book?" She mimicked him, just a little ways down, crab-shuffling over to lean across from him.
"No, but you are a very interesting puzzle at times. So, are you going to the motel tonight, or will you finally spend the night here? The old place is a little empty without Denzel and Marlene." Vincent raised an eyebrow at her offer, but his expression softened. Tifa was not a woman who did well alone; she was like a songbird, and away from her flock, she didn't know what else to do. He could see how lonely she was...and ever since he'd returned from the hell that had hidden beneath Midgar, he'd made a point of visiting her more and more in the last two years. Five years since Meteor...
"Marlene is back home with Barret, of course...Denzel is with Cloud, yes?"
"Mmhmm. He's been Cloud's assistant for the last year or so anyway, and since Cloud's been working so much with Reeve these days, he's not alone in the warehouse anymore. It does help that Reno and Rude are helping him too..."
"I thought that Yuffie was moving in here a few months ago..." Tifa shrugged, absently noting that the bar was finally emptying out. She ran the bar from just after the dinner hours to around one or so, her second job out at one of the retail stores ending at five, but starting at nine in the morning, leaving her usually with very little time to herself. Vincent, and the others, of course, but mostly the tall gunman, had taught her to begin delegating her duties out so that she could take time off. Usually, it was a little dinner, some drinking, and the occasional movie, but lately...it had only been Vincent coming around. And she had wondered, ever since Cloud had moved out, if perhaps the reason why Vincent had warmed to her so much after the Deepground affairs was because he had a vested interest in her. Now, wouldn't that be a pretty picture? She glanced over at him and fought to hold back a blush at his own gaze. Cid had always said that Vincent was a raven; harsh, imposing, dangerous and solitary...but ravens were quite the gentlemen, weren't they? And they mated for life...Resolutely, she shoved that idea out of her head.
"She was, but then she had to go back to Wutai. Godo wasn't doing to well, and her honor won't let her neglect her country." Vincent huffed out a laugh and took another swig, his tone musing.
"I never would have imagined that I'd be on a first name basis with the leaders of two continents..." Tifa laughed, and filled his glass again, sipping her own long-stemmed wine glass with ease.
"Me either, but oh, how far we've come. So, I'd like an answer, my dear nightbird; are you staying or are you going?" She replied glibly, sliding off the counter to begin collecting glasses and shut up for the night. He raised another eyebrow at that; 'nightbird', was he? Well, then, that did deserve a truthful answer, and as he watched her sweep up the glasses, he had to admit, part of his reason for returning so often wasn't entirely due to friendship. Any fool could see that Tifa was attractive; he personally found her to be drop-dead gorgeous, and she looked no less beautiful in the dark jeans and swoop-necked blouse than she had in that white tank top and leather miniskirt. In fact, he rather liked what she was wearing tonight...the jeans flared from her knee down in a gentle angle out, curving up over those perfect hips...the blouse was loose and flowing, occasionally dipping down to reveal a perfect, pale shoulder, the soft swell of her breasts hidden, teasing just below that top hem.
Lucrecia had been pretty, but inside, she was as cold as the mako that encased her. Tifa was warmth and life and true beauty, alive in every sense of the word. He had cared for Aerith, but she'd been rather distant, in his opinion; not that he hadn't felt sorrow at her loss, but it was a sorrow for the planet and its people, as well as the girl. Tifa, though...he felt his chest tighten at the mere thought that she could be so easily harmed, and he knew, deep down, that should that ever happen...He rose, the alcohol making his senses just a touch sharper. He made his way carefully over to her, and picked up the first trayful, the larger one as she glanced up.
"Vincent, you're my guest!"
"Perhaps, but I can't in good conscience not help you." She sighed, but her rosy lips curved up in a smile and he felt his own face react in kind.
"...Alright then. It would be nice to rest early tonight, for a change..." The next hour went quick, to his surprise; she had two sinks behind her bar, and with both of them washing the glasses, (Vincent took off his glove to protect the leather) the workload disappeared with ease. He leaned back with a groan and stretched his shoulders, working out the kink that leaning over had caused. She laughed softly, her voice huskier than usual, and after drying her hands smartly on the towel between them, reached up to rub her strong hands along the taut muscles around his spine. Vincent's eyes closed in pleasure, and he let her massage out the knot, his hands clenching, just a little, at the lip of the sink.
"It's been a while since I've been a dishwasher..." His own voice had deepened, and a flash of a grin flitted across his face when her fingers stumbled. Ah, he still had his touch..."You need not do that, Tifa."
"Think of it as a thank you for helping me. I didn't expect to close up at ten tonight." Oh? Vincent licked his lips, and pulled away from her, just a little, curving his body back around to face her, leaning up against the counter's edge, his height diminished as he leaned over her. She was roughly a head shorter than he, and those warm red eyes met his own, pleasantly void of fear or distrust. She knew him, knew his body language, his actions...
"Tifa..." Was it just him, or did she color a little when he said her name?
"Yes, Vincent?" Gods, the way she said his...it was never 'Vin' or 'Vinnie', it was always, always Vincent. Gods, he could love the woman just for that. Fortunately, the feeling seemed to be mutual, and though he felt as though he was about to dive headlong off a cliff...the feeling had never been sweeter.
"Are you...seeing anyone?" Tifa flushed softly, but she shook her head, slowly, her heart in her throat. "Would you...like to?"
"Yes..." It was a whisper of sound that passed her lips, so quiet that even his sharp ears barely heard it, and he closed the distance between them, his human hand coming up to rest on her cheek, cupping her jaw. A thrill ran through his body as she leaned into his touch, her own hands coming up to close about his hand and wrist, and he drew her close, brushing his lips across her forehead. "How long...?"
"Since you and Cloud levered that coffin lid off, and woke me to the world I'd lost. Despite what our blonde friend might think, you were the first I laid eyes on in three decades...and my first thought was that I'd finally died, and my angel was there to take me away." He replied, his voice softer, gentler, as he tucked her head under his chin, snuggling her close. "And in the last five years, I've discovered that what I felt for Lucrecia was a kind of love, but not the sort that lasts. She never would have braved the wilds, fighting monsters, camping rough, for almost a year, and she never would have come to the aid of others. You...You thrive in adversity, like the little flowers that I remember clinging to the cliffs of the Nibel mountains. And you...are just as beautiful as they." She laughed into his chest, and he dipped his head down further, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"A flower, eh? I thought that was Aeris..." He chuckled as well.
"Perhaps the analogy is in need of alteration, then? A songbird, whose beauty is in her voice and her actions, as well as her plumage." She giggled at that, and pulled away, snickering a little at his quirked eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Cid always calls you a raven...so I suppose it really does fit. You know how the old saying goes, after all..." He smiled, and drew her in for another kiss, his lips hovering over hers.
I know...it just feels like a stupid thing to ask. I had to be the strong post for so long that now to ask for someone to just let me break and fall to pieces and support me for a while is almost anathema; I can't just quit my job, and I certainly can't just go hide for a few months in a secluded corner of a state park. And that's what I honestly need. I need to be alone, to be stuck out in a desolate wasteland with a horse, a bedroll, a hunting knife, and a rifle. But that's not gonna happen.
I have to keep this job, and save money, and pay off my loans. I have to fix my credit, and get a place to live, and move out. Then, I have to get everything taken care of. There are so many things that I /have/ to do; I don't have a choice...
-wraps around- I just don't know how much longer I can hold before I start breaking apart. I'm always holding everyone together, and I just...I'm scared to tell people I'm falling to pieces, because every time I have in the past, I got lectures, anger, and misunderstanding. I just need a break...I don't want to just give up, but it's beginning to feel like that's the only way I'll ever stop drowning in my own despair. And I feel horribly guilty for even considering that. It's not my right to be miserable and ask for help; it's not even my privilege.
-hugs back- I know, I just...someone I'm very, very close to just a bit ago told me how nothing was working in life, no distractions, nothing long term, and they just wanted to cut out and head off into death, and my first thought was, "Don't you think I want to do the same?" I can't even manage myself, let alone the raging bitch that's my depression, and the only reason I've stayed, the only reason I've tried to keep my head above the water, was because I thought I was making a difference, at least helping where I could, when I could. And now...now it feels like I'm not enough. And that hurts, so much that I can't stop crying. I just want things to be okay again...
