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flipomatic · 11 days
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Arm's Length
Summary: Aerith had learned to keep people at arm’s length. All it took was a little deflection here, a question turned around like barbs instead of answered there, an engulfing smile or sometimes a pout stretched coyly across her face. She learned that if she acted as they expected, then they would accept her.
Though Aerith felt safe, she was also so often alone. There was one person though, someone who Aerith had only known for a few months, who she felt could see right through her.
Aerith glanced up at the window where that one person had waved from earlier, but Tifa was gone.
Word Count: 2,000
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Aerith glanced down at the high ankles of her boots, which dangled back and forth beneath her. The gap below extended far past the reach of her limbs, all the way down to the dusty dirt paths that led through town. Gravity kept water moving through the pipes, from the water tower to the surrounding buildings and then back to the ground, with a force as unstoppable as souls returning to the planet. If Aerith were to gently kick one of her boots off it would succumb, perhaps beaning an unsuspecting black cloak over the head in the process.
The thought brought the hint of a chuckle to her lips, but no she wouldn’t do that. Instead, her eyes tracked a distinct spattering of spiky blonde hair emerging from the house across that distant path. Cloud staggered slightly when the sun hit his gaze, right foot faltering as he turned towards the inn.
When he stumbled again, this time bumping roughly into a pedestrian, Aerith’s hand tightened against the edge of the scaffold. His behavior had been worrying for a while and had been even more troubling lately. Especially in Gongaga, though Aerith hadn’t seen it Tifa told her later what had happened. Even knowing that the Weapon hadn’t meant any harm didn’t stop her from remembering the chilling wash of fear and panic as she had searched the mako desperately for any sign of life. Learning that Cloud had knocked her in, put Tifa in immense danger, only made the feeling worse.
When he reached the inn, vanishing inside without so much as a glance back, Aerith released a sigh. It had felt strange to sit up here with him, to be together where so many of his childhood memories had been formed. It must’ve been nice to have a normal childhood, she thought, with friends who actually liked you.
That was a sour thought, bitter in the back of her throat as Aerith swallowed it back. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any friends as a child, but even as a young girl her heritage had hung like a hammer over her head. When they found out, or even if they didn’t, things would always change for the worse. When they decided she was rude, or angry, or introspective, or as so many unkind kids had put it, creepy, they always turned away.
Aerith had learned to keep people at arm’s length. All it took was a little deflection here, a question turned around like barbs instead of answered there, an engulfing smile or sometimes a pout stretched coyly across her face. She learned that if she acted as they expected, then they would accept her.
Though Aerith felt safe, she was also so often alone. There was one person though, someone who Aerith had only known for a few months, who she felt could see right through her.
Aerith glanced up at the window where that one person had waved from earlier, but Tifa was gone.
Her eyes were next drawn down to the entranceway of the house. On the right side, near where the mailbox was, she found Tifa. The other woman leaned against one of the pillars that supported the second floor, eyes closed with her head tilted back against it.
Perhaps it was time to go see her. Aerith carefully gathered her feet beneath herself before standing up, brushing any loose dirt from the back of her dress. The breeze rustled her braid as she descended slowly from the platform one rung at a time.
Once she reached the bottom of the ladder, her destination was only a few steps away. Tifa hadn’t moved from before, not so much as an inch. From this distance Aerith could see that she almost looked relaxed if not for the familiar clench of anxiety in her fingers.
Tifa’s eyes fluttered open when Aerith approached, a hint of red visible within them even in the shaded light. Her hair was mussed slightly as she rightened herself from the post, lips lifting in a warm smile.
“Enjoying your tour?”
Aerith tucked her arms behind her back and nodded as she responded. “The water tower made for a great look out point.”
“I bet.” Tifa broke eye contact to glance up at the tower. “You can see everything from there.”
“Pretty much!”
When Tifa’s gaze came back to meet her own, her expression had shifted into a more pensive one. “Well, not quite everything. I know you saw through the window but…” She faltered in her words and turned her eyes down towards her hands, which came together to fidget. Tifa’s tone was soft, almost uncertain. “This is where I grew up, well, it used to be. Would you like to see it?”
Aerith’s heart panged in her chest. “Of course, if you want to show me.” She stepped forward and placed her hand gently on Tifa’s joined ones. “Lead the way.”
Tifa nodded once, mouth setting in a resolute line, before turning to do just that. Aerith trailed behind her through the front door of what used to be her home.
They passed through the downstairs areas one at a time, dodging around men in black cloaks throughout the first level of the building.
Tifa told her a story about how she used to train with her dad in the living room, but one time he deflected her kick straight through the wall and that was the end of that. She pointed out where the damage would’ve been in the old house, though this new one showed no sign of it. Tifa ran her hand over that spot on the wall, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling back.
“He sounds like a wonderful dad.” Aerith said, trying to keep the melancholy out of her tone. She hadn’t realized it until long after breaking out of Shinra, but she had never known her father or even a real father figure. It didn’t bother her too much, but in times like these she couldn’t help but think about it.
“Yeah, he was.” Tifa looked over at her with a hint of emotion in her eyes, head tilted slightly. Then, inexplicably, she smiled broadly. “I’m sure he would’ve loved you, you know. He looked after everyone; he was always kind like that.”
Aerith inhaled sharply, the response being an unexpected one. It cut straight through her thoughts, directly to her concerns and worries. This time when Aerith’s heart throbbed, it was a warmer feeling. It took a few moments for her to gather herself for a soft reply.
“Like father like daughter.”
This drew a hint of pink to Tifa’s cheeks, as well as a shake of her head. “Those are big shoes to fill.”
“I believe in you.” Aerith said strongly, her voice steady and firm. She believed every word.
Tifa’s reply came low under her breath, her face already turned away from Aerith. “Thank you.”
The two continued their trip through the house until they reached the upstairs. There were only two rooms up there, one of which Tifa pointed out as her dad’s room.
“And this one is mine.” Tifa didn’t hesitate as she pulled open the door, allowing both of them to enter.
The room itself was small and looked about the same from the inside as it had from the view on the water tower. There was a cabinet, a bed, and a piano all occupying space within the room.
Tifa went over to linger by the piano, while Aerith moved to look out the window. She could imagine past her sitting out on that platform, staring down at the abyss beneath her feet. She was on the second floor here as well, but with an entire building below her.
Aerith sat down on the side of the bed, longing again for a childhood home like this one with a childhood friend right next door. How was it that Cloud was lucky enough to know Tifa his whole life, but Aerith didn’t get to meet her until a few months ago?
“A gil for your thoughts?” Tifa’s voice came chipper and inquisitive from right in front of her.
Aerith looked up at her, covering up her surprise by lifting one finger to her chin. “For anyone else they’re not for sale. But for you, hmm…” Tifa’s eyes glimmered with emotion, concern or worry perhaps, as she waited for Aerith to finish her response. She must’ve been watching her think for a while.
They had come here into Tifa’s house to dig up her old memories, haunting and sad and terrible memories, but she wanted to know what Aerith was thinking about? If it was anyone else Aerith would’ve thought they were prying, or perhaps stalling or deflecting, but not Tifa. No, Tifa asked because she cared.
Lately, in what felt like a completely incomprehensible way, Tifa had pushed past the invisible boundaries Aerith erected around herself. This was just another moment, one of hundreds or thousands or more. In the gaze of Tifa’s kindness and care, there was nowhere for Aerith to hide. And, for perhaps the first time, she didn’t want to.
“Free.” Aerith declared with a smirk.
Tifa let out a half chuckle, gaze softening a little. “Tell me then, please.”
Aerith followed Tifa with her gaze as she sat down to her left, their knees almost touching. She took a deep breath, warm from just how close Tifa was. “I was thinking about this town. It feels odd to be where you and Cloud grew up. I never had that kind of childhood.”
Tifa moved one hand to cover Aerith’s in her lap when she paused, a silent gesture of support.
Aerith kept talking. “I always wished for a childhood friend, someone who would understand the real me. Even after escaping Shinra it was hard, being here just reminds me of that.”
“I see.” Tifa replied quietly, voice barely audible. Her face was close too, their foreheads only inches apart.
“But I’ve also been thinking that we only have so much time ahead of us, I can’t just dwell on the past.” Aerith continued, smiling softly as she spoke. “I need to appreciate the friends I’ve made, who see me for who I am. Especially you, Tifa. Ever since we met, my life has changed for the better.” Aerith finished without hesitation. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for.” Maybe there was more to add to that once Aerith had more time to work through her feelings. For now, this was enough.
“Aerith….” Tifa’s slow inhale, so close yet still too far away, sent a tremor down her spine. “And you’re mine. You brighten every day and inspire me to push on despite the odds. No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you.”
“Thank you.” Aerith blinked away the start of a few tears, unable to stop one from escaping. Tifa’s hand released hers and rose gently to brush that tear away. “Thank you…” She repeated, voice trailing away this time.
The touch of Tifa’s finger lingered against Aerith’s cheek for a heartbeat longer as silence took over the room, quiet but safe and warm.
Aerith leaned her head against Tifa’s shoulder for what she told herself would only be a few minutes. The warmth of an arm around her back followed, pulling Aerith even closer. The two sat together in this small room, on the second floor of a rebuilt house, in what should’ve been a destroyed town, enjoying the kindness of each other’s warmth.
What did Aerith do to deserve her? She didn’t know, but she prayed to the planet, to the lifestream, to any being out there that would listen for this relationship to last. She hoped against all odds that the cruelty of her fate would leave well enough alone and not tear the two apart, that the inevitability of gravity wouldn’t send them tumbling to their doom.
She prayed to be able to spend another day at Tifa’s side.
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flipomatic · 21 days
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the rookie knights first escort mission
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flipomatic · 22 days
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goodbye to my friends of 12 years :(
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flipomatic · 22 days
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I wrote some words about this on Twitter that you can read below, but for now, thank you, Crwby
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flipomatic · 22 days
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The thing I’m trying to keep in mind right now regarding the Rooster Teeth news is this:
RWBY made it nine seasons. Nine. Seasons. Over ten years. For an indie series made by a comparatively small team. That’s more than most big studio shows get.
Even if we never end up seeing the end of it (I’m still holding out hope), even if you never cared about the show or thought it went downhill at some point, you have to admit that that is incredibly admirable.
Monty Oum, Miles Luna and Kerry Shawcross wanted to make a show, and they did. And that little show ended up becoming a whole ass franchise with over a hundred episodes and legions of fans all over the world.
And no matter what, I think that’s worth celebrating.
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flipomatic · 1 month
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Summary:
They're still in talks to make Volume 10 happen (they seem to still be looking for partners)
Volume 9 will be available for all members on the Rooster Teeth website starting March 30th
FIRST members will get the opportunity to experience (weekly) exclusive bonus content, including: > retrospective of Volume 9 one year after its release > RWBY Volume 9 Beyond, a "storybook style anthology series"
also, new Grimm Campaign
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flipomatic · 1 month
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Do not turn on the sound
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flipomatic · 1 month
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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.
What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.
What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.
What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.
The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.
And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.
But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.
I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.
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flipomatic · 1 month
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Day 2: First Love ❤️
I managed to draw another thing for P5 Girls Week!!
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flipomatic · 1 month
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Dreaming of Good Times
A wonderful Pokemon chinese animated short film directed by DaiWei (All Saints Street) and produced by MTJJ / HMCH studio (Legend of Hei) for Chinese New Year.
Youtube link
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flipomatic · 2 months
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My favorite Dungeon Meshi character <3
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flipomatic · 2 months
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everyone thinks their own personal favorite character is The Most Character Ever but they all pale in comparison to pearl stevenuniverse. she’s a neurotic, uptight, perfectionist, infodump-ballerina turned soccer-MILF-lesbian-bitch-magnet who’s seduced half the female cast of the show. she’s a former slave. she’s the veteran of a thousand year war. she’s such a talented engineer she once built an entire working spaceship in one night. she’s deeply in love with the main character’s dead mother to the point where it’s the focus of her entire personal arc. she’s a terrifyingly talented swordfighter. she’s almost unanimously agreed among fans to be autistic. she has a collection of phone numbers stored in the pocket dimension inside her brain that she’s never called because she doesn’t know what phone numbers are. shes an overprotective adoptive mother. she’s an extremely advanced AI. she’s a personified rock in a children’s cartoon who spends almost her entire screen-time singing musical-theatre-style-ballads or committing genuinely grievous interpersonal ills spawning threads of discourse more rancid then the depths of hell.  hey where are you going i’m not done yet i haven’t even mentioned the how she caused the toilet paper crisis of 2020 or how she spent the first 4 and a half seasons biochemically incapable of getting therapy 
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flipomatic · 2 months
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They were counting on him being out for the day smh
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flipomatic · 2 months
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this can't be true can it
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flipomatic · 2 months
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happy birthday blake 🖤
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flipomatic · 2 months
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the wording on this Jack russell vid beamed a permanent mark onto my brain
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flipomatic · 2 months
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The American Midwest is being hit with dangerous blizzards and subzero temps that can cause frostbite in under ten minutes and my dad is outside grilling burgers.
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