bitterarcs

[bitterarcs]

what would time matter if it be borrowed from the lives of others? even monsters-made have debts; verona, no different. in the end, she knows she's her own to pay.

her estate, piece by meticulous piece, dissolves. the tyrannical struggle between her and shinra wordlessly, gradually, removed from the equation. and without so much as an acknowledgement. the great matriarch stepped down from her mantle, fading. rather, dying.

no-one knows for sure when it happened.

but one day, rather unbeknownst to anyone, parcels arrive for those she remained in contact with. reno, her reluctant companion, was one of them.

it's a simple affair, given the woman who sent it posthumously. the contents, however, far more sentimental: a photograph, tinted with age ( the two of them posed candidly, amid some debate, grinning the whole while, cigarettes in hand ), an engraved pocketwatch ( the very same which hung from her waistcoat, and finally... a box of fine cigars, the sort that most high society folk would choke for - made less with strains of tobacco and more with verona's personal blend of flora and opium.

a note flutters down.

' reno. for all that happened, thank you. v. '

For all that happened, thank you. Thank you. Thank you?! All Reno could think was — what the fuck. For a man whose entire life was composed of messy endings, doors shut in many faces ( dead and alive ), he didn't like them. Rather, he didn't like when things were beyond his control, and he was left standing feeling like he was nine years old again. Alright, it wasn't that bad, but truthfully he would have preferred a good relationship to end with a gory explosion or a bullet through the skull. What did this mean? Tokens for safe keeping a very brief letter as though she was expecting to depart suddenly.

Or . . or it was all fake. Like when Veld departed and a majority of the Turks departed with him, as if being a Turk had optional departure. Once a Turk, once a ShinRa employee, once a trusted person in Reno's life — they were there to stay. Items, including the aged photograph, were tossed across the room. However the photograph itself simply fluttered back and forth pathetically. Reno didn't know what pissed him off more: that she was gone, that she left something so disgustingly sentimental behind, or that it hadn't been more.

(  ❛  FUCK! ❜  )

What was the point?

What was it all for?

[bitterarcs]

The heat of the battle was all-consuming. Water evaporating into steam in the peak of summer. The red of swishing scarlet hair and blood completely dominating vision. There was fun in it, but there was also rage — the very notion someone thought them self good enough to kill a Turk or any ShinRa employee, but more than that was that some asshole very nearly succeeded. Imagine dying in a fucking dessert, not even with Rude at his side. He wanted to kick the fallen enemy but refrained from doing something so petty. With thoughts running through his mind, he didn't even detect Zack's sudden stealthy move. They were not standing shoulder-to-shoulder (or shoulder to breast bone), but the whispering quality of Zack's voice trickled into his ear. Reno flinched just slightly.

He had worked with 2rd class SOLDIERS . . more like bossed them around; never had he worked at the same level with a SOLDIER. It was like they were co-workers. Well technically they were, but not in the brotherhood type relationship he shared with his Turks. He eyed Zack with almost an angry or offended expression. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Did the SOLDIER puppy think Reno was fragile? Did he not know what the Turks regularly accomplished? Was he . . just considering Reno's chest which was, to his credit, scratched up from his rough landing? Reno looked back and forth between the enemy and his makeshift sniper camp.

(  ❛  Are you? ❜  )

Reno didn't try to be as abrasive as a steel sponge. Okay, that was a lie; he knew when he was being a little shit. The only person he should be biting the head off was their enemy. He was granted the opportunity not long after their awkward exchange. Fuck, he hated the desert. Fuck, he hated guns. Reno was fast as hell but not faster than a bullet. He played it tactical and rushed the armed soldiers before they could draw their weapons properly. He adjusted the electrical output of his mag-rod to its lethal level; he wasn't risking anything. With one blow to the backs of their heads or the exposed region between the leather of their boots and their leg armor, they dropped like flies.

Reno was pouring sweat moving so furiously, performing front flips, splits, and pirouettes to out maneuver his enemies. He never EVER envied the SOLDIERs, but all that genetic goop inside of them must have come in handy. He peeked several looks at Zack when it was safe to do so, then returned his focus when bullet spray hit the hardened earth. A man that could rival Sephiroth himself in size must have been scorching under all his armor, but it didn't seem to halt his convictions as he handled a gun that must have weighed more than Reno. He also didn't seem to mind mowing down two of his own men as he swept the air to try and shoot Zack and Reno down. The bigger they were, the yadda yadda.

The Turk was lithe and used that to his advantage. He ran like his ponytail was on fire and used his average ( short ) height to duck beneath the armored behemoth's line of sight and climb his body like a god damn tree. Reno wrapped his thighs around the giant's neck and squeezed tight, all the while trying to muscle to man's helmet off for a good zap. The massive gun was dropped, and then it was like riding a feral chocobo. Thick hands nearly broke Reno's ankles as both of their bodies thrashed. Reno's thick thighs squeezed tight, but his mag-rod was jolted out of his grasp. A battle between beast and beauty. Reno nearly bit off his bottom lip fighting the goon as he ripped the mask off.

He gouged the man's eyes out, then tried to leap off the crazy ride, but the giant held onto Reno's legs as he crashed down with a loud groan. The breath was knocked clear out of his lungs. More than that, it felt like all of his organs smashed against his rib cage, and that didn't even cover the pain shooting up from his lower back. The red head could handle A LOT of pain, but that crash landing ripped a cry of anguish out of his mouth. His vision went foggy, nearly black. He released the man's neck and acted out of pure instinct. Despite the pain, he twisted and freed himself from beneath the goon.

(  ❛  Fuuuucker . . fuck . . er . . er. ❜  )

He was gasping for air as he crawled away. Not knowing if the giant was after him, Reno kicked his feet wildly like a bucking ungulate. He felt the contact between the sole of his shoes and the man's head repeatedly. The goon was still alive but made no real attempts to grab Reno. Once far away enough, out of arm's reach, the Turk lied face down on the hot, scorching ground and watched Zack fighting through foggy spots in his vision. He didn't know how long he lied there. His vision wasn't quite as black but it was still blurry. By then, he saw the behemoth's body sitting up. Reno grit his teeth, rolled over, and swung his leg to hit the goon's ear with the top of his foot. It hurt. He yelled in anger as he swung his leg back, then back forward, kicking the goon's head again towards his temple. Reno's foot was screaming. The giant fell over on his side. The red head spit out a glob of saliva and blood as his breathing came out rough and feral.

Shit!

The first bullet zinged past his ear like an angry hornet, and Zack flinched purely on instinct, ducking behind a jagged outcrop of rock with a sharp thud of boots and steel. The Buster Sword—way too massive for a fight this cramped—nearly threw him off balance as it hit the ground behind him. Dust puffed up around him. His ears were ringing. His heart was pounding.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to breathe through the chaos, “not the vacation I ordered, but cool, cool…”

He peeked over the rock, eyes catching the shimmer of heatwaves rising from the distant ridge, and—yeah. Definitely a sniper. Somewhere up high, and way too smug with his aim. Another bullet hit the stone near his elbow, and Zack ducked back down with a sharp laugh. He wasn’t scared. He was thrilled. Sure, this wasn’t ideal, but there was something about being pinned down by a highly trained marksman under a sun that felt like it was trying to broil them alive that had his blood pumping. That, and the way Reno looked like this, was all just mildly annoying rather than potentially fatal. Zack grinned a little, despite himself. He wasn’t used to working with Turks. But Reno? Reno had that dangerous spark, like a firecracker. Zack figured maybe it did make sense that they got paired up. Sparks liked company. Then came the plan—Reno’s voice sharp and bright like a match being struck. Zack didn’t even pause. He gave a boyish thumbs-up. 

“On it!”

His legs were already moving. His heart thudded in time with each footfall as he bolted from cover, body low, every sense lit up like neon. The sniper fired again, and Zack felt the bullet cut the air near his face but missed. Close, though. Too close. He yelped instinctively but kept running, a breathless laugh slipping out as he skidded behind another set of rocks.

“Woo! You’re fast, I’ll give you that!” 

He called out to the unseen sniper. Another burst of movement. His boots hit uneven terrain, kicking up dust as he moved. His breath came quickly and excitedly. Not scared—just alive. Very alive. He could feel the heat on his face, the weight of the sword on his back, the tight pull of adrenaline coiled in his limbs like a spring. Zack hit the base of the hill and didn’t stop. He launched himself up the incline with the easy speed that came with Mako-infused muscles, scrambling over roots and dry soil, sunlight glinting off his sword as he reached the crest. That’s when he saw him, the sniper, gun in hand, already locked on to Zack’s chest. Zack’s heart stuttered. His legs shifted to move, but— CLUNK. The sound hit first, then the spray of blood. The sniper dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, weapon clattering uselessly to the ground. Zack blinked. There stood Reno, cool as ever.

“Whoa… That was awesome! Thanks!”

Zack turned his attention to the sniper’s setup: supplies, shade, and a radio that crackled to life with the worst possible timing: "Breach detected. Additional forces inbound." Zack straightened with a little bounce of urgency. The grin dropped from his face. He didn’t like how that sounded.  Zack caught the water bottle in mid-air, twisted the cap off with his teeth, and downed half of it in one go. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, blinking up at the sun like it had just insulted him personally.

They didn’t wait. They moved, fast and in sync, Zack jogging ahead with that natural SOLDIER glide. The ruins below offered cover—a perfect fallback point. Crumbling walls, jagged concrete, rusted beams that looked like giant ribs reaching toward the sky. Zack ducked behind one, adjusting his grip on the sword. The sun still beat down, but at least there was shade. He crouched low, ears straining. His eyes flicked to Reno’s silhouette as the Turk slid into place beside him.

“Hey,” Zack whispered, slightly breathless, “you okay?”

Then—voices. Boots. Real close. Zack’s breath hitched, but not from fear, from focus. He felt the moment tighten, like holding his breath before a plunge. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of the Buster Sword.

“We’ve got company,” he whispered. “Time to shine.”

He stood in one smooth motion as the first enemy appeared behind the rubble wall, and his smile was all teeth and adrenaline. “Hi there!” Then the sword came down—clean, fast, like a guillotine of steel and glowing fury. Zack charged into the fray with stars in his eyes and excitement in his chest—because honestly? This was way more fun than recon, and maybe he wanted to show the Turk what he was truly capable of.

[bitterarcs]

Even if it had been two days, Reno would have still believed . . no, would have still felt that it had been ages since he got laid. Though in reality, it had been nearly two weeks, and that amount of control was unraveling at the seams. Smelled good. Looked good. Moved well. Nothing short of an STD or small dick would get in Reno's way, so help all of Midgar. The red haired Turk did enjoy playing both mouse and cat; they keyword being play — playing hard to get, even when it meant his pants got awfully cramped. Tonight and right now, he simply wanted to sink his teeth and his nails into something perfect.

The humidity around them, drowning the entire building, was the wrong kind of hot, and precisely what he need was this stranger's heat. The contact of fingers to chest made him lick his bottom lip with anticipation. He chuckled, too, something of a mixture between amusement, excitement, and being driven wild. Reno liked driving other's wild, and he liked being driven to the point of combustion. Tall, dark, and handsome liked what he felt — of course he did. Reno did no coasting through life. Every single detail was methodical from the irrelevant of how he lit his cigarettes to the very relevant of how every piece of clothing was chosen to best compliment his body.

Boldness drove blunt nails into the back of the stranger's neck, disconnecting folded fingers, and leaving his left hand free to travel down the man's chest. Subtly was long dead. He felt the muscle with a strong, wandering hand, then hooked it around to feel up his back. Reno groped his ass, but kept the rest . . pg, simply dragging his nails up and down the stranger's back over his shirt. Reno was predator and prey, yet he almost lovingly nuzzled against the side of the man's face as he broke the silence.

(  ❛  Are we gonna fuck right here and now, or what? ❜  )

Fingers of his right hand cease leaving marks on his neck, instead ran blunt nails up the nape of his neck to further stimulate his partner. Though, in a way, it was like Reno was making his mark; lawing up what was his. At least for the night.

The longer Kunsel studied him, the more that swaying body acted like magnet. Any apprehension he held about what he was planning to find that night vanished as soon as the man in front of him turned and gave Kunsel a very intentional show. He stepped forward until there were only a brief few inches of space, and then he felt one taut ass directly against his lap. A single spark ran its way up through his body as he felt fingers slide over the back of his neck, hand pulling him down. He obliged. Through the flash of erratic strobe, he caught the pleased grin on the stranger's face, and once again Kunsel's attention was captivated by his catlike features. Most of all, those eyes. Though only illuminated for a fraction of a second, they practically glowed with an icy blue-green hue. Kunsel wasted no time meeting the stranger's body language with his own. Taking the other man's willingness to rock into him as invitation, Kunsel's hands found their way over the man's body. His palms smoothed over the man's hips, then ran up over where tight pleather ended and skin began. He could feel the moisture that clung to his skin, the lean muscle working underneath his fingertips as the man swayed, bucked his hips, and ground backwards onto the part of Kunsel he was likely the most interested in. Kunsel let his nails drag lightly on their way up, hands finally framing his ribs, and moved back down again; he bracketed the mans' hips firmly in his hands as he rolled his hips forward in time with the music. Several sparks ignited in this groin and traveled up into his gut, burning brighter. He'd done this enough times to know how to play the game. With the man's hand still on his neck, Kunsel bowed his head until his nose was brushing the back of an ear. He breathed in his scent, letting his lips shift until they were mouthing against his sweaty neck. He smelled of cologne and cigarettes; definitely nicer than the miasma of exertion hanging through the air. One of his hands worked their way back up, praising each divot between muscles, catching each bead of sweat that ran its way down the man's pale skin. Kunsel smoothed his palm over a well defined chest, the mesh rough beneath his fingers, until the crook between his thumb and forefinger was laid against the center of his clavicles; a suggestion of where this embrace could take them.

[bitterarcs]

[bitterarcs]

Reno: "I'm subtle!"

Also Reno:

[bitterarcs]

dont ignore me ?? i despise being ignored ?? i mean im ignoring like 8 ppl right now but still ???

[bitterarcs]

He is my first crush

[bitterarcs]

BITES.

(  ❛  I love it when stray kitties want to play. ❜  )

Actually he didn't, but there were certain strays people he actually enjoyed the pleasure of their sudden company, regardless if they have tendencies to bite. Reno quickly pulled her into a headlock and playfully ruffled the mess of blonde-white hair.

[bitterarcs]

He doesn’t like formal suits( ˇωˇ)

[bitterarcs]

Eye contact was not easily earned, and it had nothing to do with the darkness of the atmosphere — okay, maybe that did have a greater part to play. However when the desire was present, effort was made, and Reno's feline-like gaze ran across the strangers body from the lowest part of him he could see all the way up to his eyes. Along the way, Reno liked what he saw. Fit, athletic, great sense of fashion, and the compliments didn't just end with his body; when the strobe lights danced across them both, the redhead in disguise loved the face which accompanied the body. Finally.

It was a breath of fresh air in the slums. A cold drink of water in the desert of North Corel. Alcohol and shimmering lights of red, green, and blue had a way of making moments special. Would Reno feel the same if the two crossed paths under the light of day? He was not going to plague his mind with more quandaries as he spun on the heels of his boots and positioned himself with his back towards the good-looking stranger. He was not snubbing him. Back arched, head tilted backwards, and ass stuck out further as invitation. The mating dance of the horny.

Dark ponytail flicked back and forth as body moved with the rhythm of the music. When the hard warmth of the stranger's body made contact, Reno circled his hips, rocking his ass backwards, and his right hand lifted up to hook his hand behind his dance partner's neck. Fingers held him steadily, and Reno tilted his head to get a better feel and better smell. Even with all the bodies around them, Reno swore he was able to smell him, and he smelled good. Being in a club was no excuse to smell of body odour. Delighted, the Turk in disguise chuckled, not desiring the break the moment with talk. He wanted to dance and he wanted to get laid. So far, his plans were coming to fruition.

Keen, mako-tainted eyes squinted back at him in the mirror, framed by smoky, smudged eyeliner and enough glittering silver jewelry to make anyone's eyes linger. Kunsel ran a hand back through his hair and adjusted the roots until it hung just right, tightened the black spiked collar around his neck, and decided this should be more than adequate for tonight.

A sea of swaying bodies congregated in a dark room full of thundering bass and trancelike synths was just what he needed to get his mind off the dizzying stress of this week. There were too many third classes getting citations for acting like jackasses, and too many reporters waving microphones in his face, demanding commentary on the war with Wutai that was entirely classified. Being in SOLDIER wasn't all glory and praise. Instead of being assigned to any field missions, he'd been stuck at HQ, saddled with what amounted to bureaucratic janitorial tasks.

It was all bullshit, and it was all exactly what he'd signed up for, apparently.

Kunsel shrugged on his black leather jacket as he shouldered open the door to his barracks room, tossing a look over his shoulder to make sure there weren't any thirds out breaking curfew before he headed to the elevator and stepped out into freedom. The crisp, chilly night air was welcome in his lungs and he made for the train station to catch a ride down to the slums, his preferred avenue for clubbing, where most of the interesting subculture tended to converge. The rest of the walk to the club was brisk, and Kunsel kept his head down until he could see the line of darkly-clad patrons clamoring into the queues, awaiting permission to join the crowd. Kunsel looked no different than any of them; a skintight mesh shirt clung to his torso, showing off his chiseled physique, while a pair of black leather biker pants contoured his lower body. Chunky black combat boots with silver trim and studs, with matching fingerless gloves completed the look. His strides were confident, yet leisurely, his stature towering above even the bouncer as Kunsel caught the stout man's attention. The flash of glimmering mako in his eyes was Kunsel's ticket in with no wait. Being a SOLDIER, a high-tipping customer, and a regular had its benefits, and Kunsel was greeted with a sideways nod towards the open door.

The place smelled the same as always; sweat, booze, and cheap cologne. It was just as crowded as ever, but the cluster of bodies parted for him easily as he made his way in. There were familiar faces, and not so familiar ones, people casting curious eyes in his direction, and others scrunching their face up in disgust. With the way his eyes glowed in low light, it was impossible to hide his identity, but Kunsel found that to be a blessing in places like these. Those who despised Shinra for understandable reasons kept themselves far away from his personal bubble, and those who fetishized the strength and prestige of SOLDIER pressed closer. He didn't necessarily come to the club just looking for sex; it was an option, one that tended to be more appealing when his stress levels were high. But, whenever he wanted it, it was always effortless to find.

Normally his first matter of business was getting some mako-laced alcohol flowing through his system. The clubs of the slums were the only places with enough balls to stock contraband, and so Kunsel found himself frequenting them again and again. He was willing to dish out as much gil as the bartenders wanted, and in return for letting him get drunk, Kunsel kept his lips sealed. Tonight, though, he wasn't feeling the appeal of alcohol; the only thing on his mind was finding the hottest body or prettiest face here, and getting some much-needed stress relief for the night.

He worked his way to the middle of the dancefloor, eyes scanning the crowd as he tried to make up his mind about *what* he was in the mood for. Some nights it was a cute girl, others it was men who might be able to best his strength if he held back a little. Other times, a twink who liked it rough and delighted in being tossed around like a doll. Tonight, maybe he'd just let those keen on big biceps and smoldering eyes to wander their way in and out of his personal bubble, until he found someone who smelled, looked, and danced on a level above everyone else.

To his left, someone swayed into view that solidified what his libido was craving tonight. Black spiked hair, angular features, and a gorgeous body that was nothing less than an advertisement and a tease begging Kunsel to imagine what he'd look like without those black shorts on. The corner of Kunsel's mouth ticked up in an amused grin as he discreetly shifted himself closer to get a better read.

The other patrons were swarmed around him with straying hands and wanton looks, but the man seemed to be paying them no mind, almost like they were invisible. It wasn't difficult to see why, though; his movements were fluid, energetic, fully immersed in the music. Blatantly attractive, yet playing hard to get, clearly, and that only made him so much more enticing. Kunsel meandered his way forwards until he was practically pressed up against him, fixing him with an admiring look until he could steal a moment of eye contact.

[bitterarcs]

FuckfuckfuckFUCK. Reno was not opposed to danger; it was the direct opposite. Like a plant that could only grow when its roots were nourished with blood ( did such a thing exist? ), chaos and violence made life worth living/ He, however, did not appreciate being nearly shot to death during what was supposed to be a very short mission. He wanted to bash that fucker's head in for even trying, and he wanted to bash the sun for making the circumstance even more insufferable. Opting to unbutton his white shirt had not been the wisest option either — perfect for welcoming a breeze but tactically imperfect for landing on sharp rocks.

At least one of them seemed to be getting a kick out of it. Truthfully, the Turk expected SOLDIER boy to react just as angrily as him or be stoically focused. That glint in bright eyes was . . endearing. Was Puppy Fair itching for spontaneity or did he get off on danger? Reno allowed his adrenaline to level out as he brought his right thumb to his mouth. He lapped the pad of his thumb, brought it down to one of the scrapes on his torso, and wiped at the tiny, aggravated mark. Thumb returned to his mouth where he briefly sucked on the bloody mess, then dropped his hand to fish out his leather gloves from the pocket of his black trousers.

(  ❛  Oh I'm peachy. Nothing like dodging bullets in an inferno to get the blood pumping. ❜  )

Two more bullets were fired and ricocheted against the ground and rocks beside their hiding place, then all was silent. The sniper was waiting for them. The singular sniper. They wouldn't be able to hit two targets moving in opposite directions. Reno slipped on his gloves slowly and methodically as if they weren't under fire and as if his temper hadn't flared so fiercely. Turquoise eyes locked with blue eyes.

(  ❛  Let's flank the son of a bitch. You take right. I take left. Sound good, SOLDIER boy? He's what — 600 metres away? More? We both run like hell, and one of us will break his neck. Sound good? ❜  )

Reno was brash and hot-tempered, but he wasn't an idiot and only slightly suicidal. He waited for the affirm by Zack before he got into position, taking a runner's position, and then both men were off in different directions. Another gun shot penetrated the air and threatened to burst an ear drum, but Reno didn't see where it landed and it certainly didn't cut through his flesh. He ran like a chocobo escaping slaughter, throwing himself behind another set of boulders to catch his breath and track the sniper's next shot. He regretted not coming armed beside his mag-rod, but a pistol would do squat against the long range weapon.

He didn't give the sniper too much of an opportunity to track them and didn't leave Zack high and dry either. Reno took off again, and he was gaining on the sniper. Once he reached the bottom of the hill, the sniper didn't have the upper hand . . at least not with his long rage weapon. Reno with his lithe body made quick work of scrambling up the side of the hill. By the time he reached the top, the SOLDIER had already made it to the top and was gripping that obnoxiously massive sword. The armed and armored sniper had been waiting however, and his massive pistol was drawn and pointed towards Zack.

Reno didn't step foot on the top of the hill. He opted to remain low as he unfolded his electro mag-rod, and he let the electrified rod fly. Fly it did. Charged with enough volts of electricity to subdue, it hit the sniper in the back of the head with a sickening CLUNK. Blood burst from a split skull as electricity sent the sniper convulsing on the floor. Reno cleared the top of the hill. His heart hammered loudly in his chest from the exertion of the mad dash. Beside the fallen sniper, he bent over to retrieve his electro-mag rod and shut off the voltage. He didn't make eye contact with Zack as the tip of his shoe knocked against the sniper's head.

(  ❛  Out like a drunk. ❜  )

There was no real time for respite. The sniper had been lying in wait with a pretty sweet setup — shade from the sun, supplies, weapons, and a radio. The radio stirred to life with the voices of other hostiles. The line clicked and disconnected repeatedly. With the check-in a failure, more hostiles would be arriving. Reno angrily kicked the fallen sniper in the head and ducked underneath the makeshift tent to grab the radio and two bottles of water, one for him and one for Zack.

Though warm even for him, Zack was no stranger to harsh climates. SOLDIER training didn’t exactly come with climate control, after all. Rain, snow, blazing sun—he’d faced it all with a grin and a sword. Then again, he had always been one to enjoy time outdoors, and it showed; his skin had picked up a healthy, sun-kissed glow. His outfit wasn’t exactly beachwear either—thick, tactical gear with enough straps and buckles. But somehow, despite looking like it could stop a missile, it was breathable. Honestly, he bet it was comfier than whatever stiff, heat-trapping suit the Turks had to strut around in.

He chanced a glance at Reno—right on cue, the redhead was undoing another button like the heat had personally offended him. For a heartbeat, Zack caught a glimpse of smooth, pale skin. He almost snorted. At this rate, he might as well just ditch the shirt entirely. Who’s he trying to impress, the sun?

Zack bit back a laugh and settled for a grin instead, watching Reno's near-outburst with thinly veiled amusement. Babysitting him, huh? Sure, that’s what this is. Funny—he had the sneaking suspicion he was the one who’d be playing babysitter before the day was out. Not that he doubted Reno’s skills; the Turk had a reputation, and not one Zack wanted to test the hard way. Still, the mission was a test. It had to be. SOLDIERs didn’t just get tossed onto highly classified operations with Turks for the fun of it—especially not rookies like him. And especially not with Reno, of all people. Zack steeled himself. Professional. Focused. Get the job done. Show results. That’s what they wanted. Sephiroth-level missions were still a distant dream—but dreams started somewhere.

“I mean, do you often get sent on missions with SOLDIERs?”

He tilted his head toward Reno, tone playful but tinged with curiosity, trying to strike that delicate balance between friendly and not offending the red-haired human wildfire. They moved together toward a patch of shade, and Zack pulled out his canteen, sipping just enough to wet his throat. Rationing. He nodded at Reno—more water would be nice, but finishing the job quickly would be even better.

Then… movement and a blast!

Zack’s instincts flared like a limit break, and in a blur, he launched himself. Reno moved just in time, but Zack still nearly flattened him as they hit the ground, scrambling behind a thick tree. Dust flew. Tension spiked. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the terrain with sharp SOLDIER precision. This was what he trained for. His pulse thrummed with adrenaline, not fear, but excitement. Classic Zack. He glanced at Reno, quickly checking him over even though he knew the Turk could handle himself. Still. Never hurt to ask.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low but steady, a spark of a grin ghosting at the corner of his lips.

[bitterarcs]

Reno the Turk ❤️⚡️

[bitterarcs]

Black was flattering, there was no doubt, however when it came to missions which took place under the inferno of a cruel sun, Reno did not understand the necessity for ebony suits. Perhaps it was time for the Turks to trade in the sleek black for modern white, though Reno really looked spectacular in black. Actually, the redhead looked good in everything and, most notably, in nothing. Like his hair and his temperament, he ran hot hence the boob window of his button-up shirt. It wasn't like anyone was around . . anyone who would dare speak to the higherups of ShinRa regarding something as mundane as dresscode.

The newly prompted 2nd Class wouldn't yap about it, and even if he did would anyone care? Reno was already without his leather gloves, so he made quick work of his blazer button and the rest of the buttons of his white shirt. It was a miracle he kept the blazer on, and it was even more of a miracle he didn't decide to outright ride the SOLDIER boy. Upon hearing the little bite out of the eager newbie, Reno whipped his long ponytail defiantly, aiming to hit Zack in the face but failing by just an inch.

(  ❛  What's that supposed to mean? Someone needs to babysit, was that what you meant? ❜  )

And Reno told himself he was going to behave . . within reason, of course. He gained nothing getting on the bad side of a SOLDIER, youngster or no. The Turks and SOLDIERS would never be the best of friends ( or friends for that matter ), but they were one of the power houses of the massive electric company. Every employee was supposed to look out for each other, but the real world did not work like that. Biases existed, attraction existed, and pettiness existed. If Reno was trapped in a sticky situation surrounded by SOLDIERS, he better be saved. Would he do the same if the roles were reversed? Well . . that hardly mattered.

(  ❛  I know SOLDIERs are usually dispatched in gory and explosive situations, but Turks - we're a master of all crafts. When the President wants a job done right, we get sent into action. ❜  )

At the first sight of shade, Reno basically marched over to the drooping tree and stood with his back facing the bark. If Rude was present, Reno would have been hanging off him before falling down to the base of the tree. He had to keep up appearances with the newbie. A canteen slung about his shoulders by a strap was held between his two hands, and he quickly unscrewed the top to drink until fresh beads of water dripped past his lips. Eyes of turquoise stared adamantly at Zack. He licked his lips absentmindedly.

(  ❛  From aerial views, there are watering holes used by animals and one piece of shit gas station for the local miners. If we really need to fill up, we can stop there, this shouldn't take long though. ❜  )

Reno took out his comms device on which was a rudimentary view of the landscape in monochromatic colors. He didn't get the chance to get a real good view when the wood mere inches away from his face exploded. He didn't even hear the gunshot. Reno reacted quickly. The water from the canteen dribbled into the thirty earth after the Turk hit the ground. What a waste. Eyes were wide and alert. Fear was not present, no, Reno looked absolutely pissed. He crawled on his arms and legs to hide behind a tree. Another shot rang out, this time hitting the ground.

(  ❛  Mother fu-. ❜  )

Every hero starts somewhere, right? For Zack Fair, that “somewhere” was the small, quiet town of Gongaga—a place more known for its trees than its tales of glory. He didn’t come from power or privilege, but he carried something just as powerful: the burning drive to chase a dream. A relentless, fiery desire to become someone who mattered. That dream led him straight to Shinra and into the SOLDIER program, where ambition often collided headfirst with cold, hard reality.

Climbing to 2nd Class wasn’t exactly a joyride. It meant brutal training sessions, countless sleepless nights, and an endless loop of missions that tested both muscle and mind. But Zack? He never flinched. He didn’t just want strength—he wanted to earn it. He looked up to men like Angeal, his mentor, a walking example of honor with a sword nearly as big as his ideals. And then there was Sephiroth—the myth, the legend, the bar set way too high for mortal men. Zack knew catching up to that level wouldn’t happen overnight. Maybe not even in a decade. But hey, dreaming big was kind of his thing. And he was determined to walk that path, one worn bootstep at a time.

Now, that path had brought him to a new assignment—one already fraying his patience before it had even officially begun. Shinra had ordered him to team up with a Turk. Not just any Turk—Reno. Zack could still remember his first impression of the red-haired menace. Sharp-tongued, devil-may-care, and… okay, annoyingly good-looking. Not that Zack was the kind of guy to get flustered or anything, but seriously, was it even legal for someone to look like that while causing so much chaos? “Beautiful” wasn’t quite the word. “Striking”? “Distracting”? “Hypnotizing”? Yeah, somewhere in that ballpark. Still, Reno’s reputation preceded him—a man who played fast and loose with the rules. They’d never worked together before, and honestly, Zack wasn’t thrilled that this was going to be their big debut.

Their destination? A Shinra facility three hours outside Midgar—remote, humid, and drenched in mystery. The briefing had been vague at best, the details half-baked, and the map? Barely legible. At least to Zack. But hey, he'd wing it. Winging it was practically his trademark. The heat was brutal, the air sticky, and his dark uniform wasn’t doing him any favors—not to mention the massive sword on his back. Still, he could manage.

Zack glanced over at Reno, who was already dishing out some smart-mouthed tease that may or may not have been an insult. Teasing, definitely teasing… right?

“Yeah, yeah. In and out. Do they always send you on these kinds of missions?"

 Zack muttered with a smirk and a roll of his shoulders. He cracked his neck and fell into step behind the Turk, eyes sharp despite the weather trying to sap the life out of him. He knew this mission mattered. If he wanted a shot at making 1st Class, he had to nail it—even if it meant playing nice with someone who looked like he belonged on the cover of a fashion mag instead of in a covert op. Still, he threw Reno a cocky little grin. Oh, he would show him what he was made of, alright.

[bitterarcs]

They're the meme of beautiful brown doe eyes and blue stare into your soul

[bitterarcs]

(  ❛  Seriously? ❜  )

It was not the wisest of responses nor was it a response that anyone was expecting. For a young hot-head, Reno knew better when it was the appropriate time to allow his personality to escape without restrictions and when to be absolutely civil. His obedience was perfectly crafted and had fallen out of his grasp in an instant. It was the nature of the beast, of a foul-mouthed and foul-tempered street kid who fought and clawed for a position outside of the slums. With a sharp look directed his way, Reno returned to civility with a nod of both acceptance and apology.

There were a few Turks who routinely concealed sticks up their asses, but none quite carried an entire tree trunk like the leader of the Turks. It was amazing Verdot managed to keep the integrity of his rectum! The scarlet haired Turk remained professional throughout the rest of the debriefing, only uttering a response when absolutely necessary, and only after the meeting did he allow himself to sigh and grumble in the presence of his partner. WHY HIM? The question was extremely warranted. Was it a punishment, or a test?

He thought himself beyond needing to be tested, however working under the iron fist of ShinRa Senior was a daily test of willpower and strength. If the President so wished it, all the Turks could be benched as office workers or janitors or chocobo wranglers. Rude with his quiet judgement did not perceive the huge issue, then again the bald and brilliant had been a stable asset since day one, or so Reno assumed. There was no doubting Reno's loyalties or his skills, but he did run . . hot, adrenaline fueled, injury prone, liability enthusiast, and extremely talented above all.

He would not be a Turk, one of the best of the best, was he not skilled and professional. As they said ( they being Reno ) the most gifted were often perceived as odd or rough around the edges. His kind of perfection was simply difficult to appreciate. Rude appreciated it to some degree, though that had taken a bit of time and mutual respect. Would the little SOLDIER boy be able to recognize how perfect Reno was? It didn't matter. Some SOLDIER's opinion, even if it was from Sephiroth himself, did not matter. It was Reno who was stuck. It was. . what'shisface who should cared what Reno thought of him.

Although he was not in command of the Turks, being A Turk put him in a place of superiority and leadership. So, being a position of power, he actually liked working with the gun grunts. Nameless and faceless hero-wannabes were just so fun to push around and test in the battlefield. Ans sure, maybe Reno enjoyed watching them train for more than just the sadism. Reno, however, drew the line at watching and bossing around; being assigned to work WITH a SOLDIER was an insult, a newly appointed 2nd class no less. Reno was going to put him through the ifrit-damned ringer.

(  ❛  What, looking for a reward? ❜  )

A dog treat perhaps  — he just barely bit back. He wouldn't hesitate bullying the grunts around, but Zack Fair was a 2nd class after all. Was he deserving of the position or was ShinRa desperate? Reno felt as though his tongue would be cut out just by thinking that. ShinRa liked its soldiers young, but damn, Zack looked like he came out of a camp in the country. The Turk had actually noticed Fair before, having peeked in the rigorous SOLDIER training sessions, but this was his first time seeing him up and close. There was light in his eyes. What an idiot. He wanted to be a hero just like Sephiroth, didn't he?

(  ❛  Let's just get this over with. In and out. Got it? I know you're sooo happy to be showing off that shiny new status. Show me what a 2nd class is all about, yo. ❜  )

Gemstone eyes scanned Zack's body up and done purposefully as he swung his electro mag-rod with practiced arrogance. Everything about Reno was loud. Loud mouth, loud hair, cleavage, and the strut of his walk. Two hours away from the civilization of Midgar, the redhead was already looking forward to returning to the boisterous city. He would be knocking back drinks by the end of the day or else. The electro mag-rod pressed docile against his left shoulder as he turned his head over the right to peer at the SOLDIER boy.

(  ❛  Fuuuck, it's way too hot out here. ❜  )

starter for @fateofflames

[bitterarcs]

12-24 1930's Inspired Gangster Rude/Paperboy Reno (Rude bonus cause he's just too sexy to me) I used A LOT of references for this one, and I'm pretty proud of how it came out! (I think the shirt could have been better, but)

[bitterarcs]

𝙎𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙧 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩~

FF7 charity art commission for koda~