serafim

[serafim]

Extended fingers and his breath held to match the passing seconds– only to escape in a quiet snort of amusement as Genesis insists on pushing his companion out of the frame.

Moment over, then.

Neither man is quite the type to approach such matters and acknowledge them for what they are. That would imply crossing a professional boundary, and in such a cold, corporate setting where fraternization is frowned upon (but quietly encouraged when nurtured for the “right” reasons), they ought to behave as is befitting their positions.

One rationale, scaled and stretched as appropriate to fit the occasion. Discretion is one of the few protections the elite SOLDIERs may keep when it is the nature of their employers to capitalize upon secrets.

“Mm,” Sephiroth hums, undisturbed and having recently completed an entire analysis in the short span of silence without having said a word.

“That would be appreciated.” 

Rising from his seat, Sephiroth relocates a few escaped sheets of paper to some cover of a book that won’t threaten to trample or wrinkle them further. They have a scant few minutes left before the third member of their troupe rises for the day. Whether Genesis would like to keep his pursuits private or not is entirely up to him. 

“Do we pretend there isn’t a dragon’s hoard of books and notes in the center of the room?” 

There existed a place, somewhere between dreams and reality that could not be captured with one's hands. Some tried to store it in fading photographs, folded and nestled close. Others spent the entire lives chasing that dying light of what the feeling left behind, or, what it might have to have one in the first place. Home... calling, to him. Softly, like the autumn breeze through rattling leaves, fallen blossoms brushing against his skin. And, as Genesis' eyes blearily opened, the shadow over him faded. The feeling, however, remained. grey-blue eyes slowly blinked up at Sephiroth, his visage an haloed eclipse to the encroaching morning light. Momentarily, Genesis forgot how to breathe. Ink smudged fingers reached upwards, hovering in hesitation for a moment at the peak of Sephiroth's cheek. Then, he exhaled, all at once, and into a quiet tch, fingers connecting to lightly push Sephiroth's face to the side, away from his rising abashedness. Lifting himself from his rebellious cushion, Genesis sat up. "Hmph... not comfortable anyways." Of course, not quite ready to get up entirely, back turned to Sephiroth the redhead allowed his head to tilt and rest against the cushions. "..." A pause, but after a few false starts, Genesis continued. "Want coffee?"

[serafim]

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER SENTENCE STARTERS pt. 1

❝ are you all very stoned? ❞

❝ god! what is your childhood trauma?! ❞

❝ i want to date, and shop, and hang out, and save the world from unspeakable evil. you know, girly stuff. ❞

❝ i know you'll never love me. ❞

❝ love isn't brains, children, it's blood. blood screaming inside you to work its will. ❞

❝ i know i'm a monster, but you treat me like a man. ❞

❝ you wanna go steal some stuff? ❞

❝ why is it always the virgin women who have to do the sacrificing? ❞

❝ i know what you're doing. you think if you get me mad enough i won't be so scared AND HEY, it's working! ❞

❝ i'm not exactly quaking in my stylish yet affordable boots here. ❞

❝ great, now I'm gonna be stuck with serious thoughts all day. ❞

 ❝ i may be love's bitch, but at least i'm man enough to admit it. ❞

❝ sorry, but i'm an old fashioned gal. i was raised to believe that men dig up the corpses and the women have the babies. ❞

❝ we saved the world. i say we party. ❞

❝ your mouth is open and sound is coming out. this is never good.. ❞

❝ i'm afraid we're having a slight apocalypse ❞

❝ demons after money. what ever happened to the still-beating heart of a virgin? no one has any standards anymore. ❞

❝ well, i'll just jump off that bridge when I come to it. ❞

❝ i believe the subtext here is rapidly becoming text. ❞

❝ i'm way off my game. my game's left the country. it's in cuernavaca.. ❞

❝ it's like talking to a wall. only you get more from a wall. ❞

❝ the hardest thing in this world… is to live in it.. ❞

❝ and you have the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone. ❞

❝ you know what, i was wrong. you are an idiot. ❞

❝ well, before i succumb to the ravages of old age, why don't you tell me what brings you here. ❞

[serafim]

What are you the Patron Saint of?

patron saint of horror

you're the patron saint of the dawning moment of realization. the patron saint of comprehension, maybe. the patron saint of understanding. the patron saint of knowing exactly what's going to happen. of seeing clearly. of not being able to look away.

tagged by: @unforestalledreturn tagging: anyone who wants to do it 🤷‍♀️

[serafim]

A peculiar knack for people-pleasing. It wouldn’t be the first assumption any person would make of one of the most famed individuals on the Planet, perhaps not even the last, because the world has defaulted him to unlike. Precision is in reality a loose framework, the product of constant observation and an unnamed thing, a precious thing, a concept. 

Sephiroth quirks a silver brow, the closest indication of protest he has to offer when Genesis lays a mighty claim to his freshly-vacated lap. The weight of Genesis settling across his thighs is heavier than any anchor, rendering any possibility of movement highly illegal. 

“Hmm,” Sephiroth hums accommodatingly and continues smoothing imaginary tangles and curlicues out of soft auburn hair with his fingers. His original objective had, after all, been to convince Genesis that sleep, amongst the red commander’s other self-inflicted tasks, was a worthwhile endeavor. The strewn papers and haphazardly stacked books will still be there upon Genesis’s waking.

Rhapsodos could safely take his well-deserved beauty rest without fear of disturbances and in the meantime, Sephiroth stealthily sends a series of texts that would, ideally, see a portion of Genesis’s burden alleviated. 

Sent. 

Received. 

Time will do the rest. Sinking back into the couch, Sephiroth eventually dozes off until awareness returns with the early hours. Shifting shadows, strips of gold sneaking through the shuttered blinds like crawling vines. The tea sits cold on the table and the lights have long been dormant. 

Nothing close to a proper night’s rest, but they’ve made do with less. 

Waking Genesis sooner or later gambles upon the results of a coin toss. Perhaps rousing Genesis now would incur sleep-deprived wrath, perhaps Genesis would have found his friend’s lap pillowy enough to ward away any possibility of retribution. 

Given all the options available to him, Sephiroth judges a gentle approach to be the best course of action. Angeal used such methods to great success. Regrettably, enticing Genesis with free smells would not be happening with the present couch imprisonment situation.

“Genesis.” 

Sephiroth trades volume for proximity, leaning down to sweep away a lock of hair and place a kiss in its place. He repeats Genesis’s name by his ear. With a finger, Sephiroth traces the curve of Genesis’s jaw until he detects the fluttering of eyelids. Sephiroth withdraws in time for reality to assert itself.

“Good. You’re awake. My leg is starting to fall asleep.”

Gradually, the burst of sleep-deprived, manic laughter subsided, and with the final breath he exhaled it out, Genesis felt spent, hollowed from the inside. A SOLDIER of their caliber no longer had the liberty to quantify their endeavors in terms of how much they had left to give. But of course, what spun Genesis in these fetid spirals was only inextricably tangled with SOLDIER, with ShinRa, the war. None were the source. By his own hands, he would find the answer. Somewhere, buried... Perhaps if held up to the light, perhaps consumed by it. Maybe, it glowed in the dark, meaning hidden under his nose the entire time. Were the squiggles a waste of time or the precipice of discovery? ".... I.. don't want to overlook... anything." It was a mumbled admission, one that almost seemed to pick up from where his train of thoughts prior had seemingly crashed. Scornful as such a statement could have been, it was said with a far more subdued energy. What if it all fell through his fingers? Incompetent. Who even understood in the first place why this burned in him so violently? To keep them safe-- was it love? Or was it fear? All at once, acutely, Genesis was reminded in the silence, what broke it afterwards, just how terrifying Sephiroth truly was. A flick to topple over his disheveled hair, clever rebuttal, even a sordid joke at the silver elite's own expense was a puncture, drain, and suture of that festering. Surgical, threading the needle of the pyromancer's increasingly fragile temperament of late... "... I do suppose the squiggles are... taking the place of more important matters." He did not even want to look at what smug sort of expression Sephiroth would wear with the small concession. In fact, even just the thought of it stirred the weary pyromancer into a bit of a petty mood, batting off the now deemed 'unimportant' paper from Sephiroth's lap, not unlike a cat and a mug. Only, it wasn't the lackluster sound of the page flitting through the air and skating on the pristine marble floor with a prolonged swssssh that was the source of his satisfaction. Being a menace was as he set his emptied mug down, pulled up his legs and made himself quite comfortable. Sephiroth's lap was his new pillow. ... Only, being horizontal was a major mistake. A very bleary, very yawn-inducing mistake.

[serafim]

“They certainly can.” His tone remains neutrally pleasant; acknowledging but not opinionated. Their responsibilities came with their own private battles, and Sephiroth saw no reason to let the world see them bow under the weight of those burdens.

More and more and more, the Company demands. 

Solo missions were often the simplest for the level of discretion required of them, but their exactness was a double-edged sword. What could not be glorified on the battlefield by the press must remain in the shadows. Those he had learned to survive through apathy, but even apathy can be stretched thin. Sephiroth did not know where his limit was, however, his limits were presently not his primary concern. Like Genesis, Sephiroth held no love for sitting idle. The Red General was not alone in recognizing their friend’s struggles. 

They could, contrary to Hewley’s beliefs, work together towards a common goal when it suited them.

His presence (and his lap), have clearly been judged satisfactory by Rhapsodos so far, given that he has not been driven away like a stray cat in need of a sweeping broom. Silence carries as many blessings as conversation. They share vague smiles and intangible aspects of their dotted discussion as the clock ticks over the hour to a new dawn.

And then there is silence’s companion, listening. Sephiroth sinks comfortably against the cushions, draping one arm across the back of the couch as he tips his chin down to concentrate on keeping pace with Genesis’s runaway train of thought.

“Many hands make for less work, as the saying goes. I think you tried to use that one on me once,” he muses, lifting a hand to flick an errant lock of hair arching from the top of Genesis’s head back into place. One of the many tells of sleeplessness, but Gaia help the poor soul that did not time the delivery of their warning well.

“It may prove a more effective strategy than trying to decipher the squiggles on this page… Assuming these were once letters.” Sephiroth pauses then, visibly grimacing as he picks up the page and attempts to discern its contents from various angles. “Researching is what Science does best.”

He wants to scrape his tongue clean now.

“If I ever say anything like that again, you should consider me deceased.”

continued from here @serafim Bumping into his lip as he drank, a slice of dumbapple was the source of a momentary pause. It was just enough of an opening for Sephiroth to artfully work his way into the catastrophic endeavors of research without so much displacing a single page. Such tactics were brutal and undoubtedly unfair. Nonetheless, Genesis was unwilling to give up his little treat either. He would make no commentary on 'what he thought of it'. That would require a critique to begin with in the first place.

"Poor thing's hibernating. Hasn't slept well since his last assignment." It was a... messy one, undoubtedly. Even if the reports spoke of one version of events, the heaviness in their fellow First's eyes spoke of another. And like clockwork, Genesis' nest had taken form, building until it was the state it was now. He should have been there, spare the misery. So he was now here, trying to make squiggles of some madman's diary garner clues he somehow missed the first, second, and... twentieth times. "Possibly." He replied to the suggestion of submitting a request for an open study with a suspicious amount of agreeableness. "Provided adequate furniture arrangements can be made." He set the page down on the newly available surface, namely Sephiroth's lap. Without so much as looking up, he took the next page in the diary, water-logged, and hardly legible. If one looked closely, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. And it remained there as he gently agitated the liquid of his mug to stir up it's pleasant aroma. Briefly, a comfortable silence fell, the rays of the early morning light creeping across the floor in declaration that it was indeed the next day. He was no closer to finding what he was looking for than when he started. "There... are only so many 'new' pieces of materia to be found." A nonsensical statement, one that made perfect sense in his sleep-deprived mind. "Fira is fira is fira. Once manufactured, that's all it is. The deviation in the memories stored within are muddied in favor of wide use. The same use. Standardized and mass produced. Even synergistic materia runs into the same problem--" Genesis cut his rambling short, seeming to even have lost his own train of spiraling thought. Head hitting the back of the couch cushion, Genesis stared up at the high-vaulted ceilings. A delirious laugh bubbled out from his chest. "I should send them on a wild goose chase. How does the ever elusive and legendary Bahamut Ultima sound?"

[serafim]

" i think you really sort of like me ; fess up ! "

"...You're projecting," Sephiroth counters, lacking a severe and obvious amount of confidence in his own accusation as he takes a step back from a woman a full foot shorter than himself like he can't take her by the shoulders and turn her around so she isn't staring into the depths of his soul.

Not that it matters when he has already made himself so horribly, horribly transparent.

Abruptly, Sephiroth turns away from her, hooking an arm around Aerith's waist so he can keep them walking down along the road. Traveling this way is a risk, but even he does not mind a short reprieve from the brambles and thorns thickly lining the path.

[serafim]

Once one Genesis Rhapsodos set his teeth into something, any mortal creature would be hard-pressed to convince him to let go. The Crimson General has fashioned a nest of sorts for himself, surrounding himself by loose-leaf sheets, precarious stacks of books, and torn-out notebooks. For all of Genesis’s lackadaisical bearing in the face of their “enemy,” it was clear to anyone who knew the man well that he cared a great deal about every life bled on the edge of his blade. Every flame that went out under his command was a direct injury, every failure a black mark against his confidence.

Where their superiors see such sensitivity as weakness, Sephiroth finds admiration. The world set upon the elite three’s shoulders different definitions of failure, and Sephiroth envied the two childhood friends for theirs.

“Certainly. I could hear you thinking through my door. I’m shocked Hewley himself hasn’t come out of his cave to drag you into his den,” he responds dryly as Genesis lifts the weight of the cup from the ends of his fingers. The dumb apple carefully sliced into thin pieces adds a honeyed, floral note to the spice of cinnamon now wafting into the air.

Matching sarcasm with sarcasm, Sephiroth continues, “If I poisoned you, you might actually go to sleep.” 

There’s hardly any room left on the leather-stitched couch set in the center of the penthouse suite with each cushion weighed down by the makings of Genesis’s mania. Sephiroth, broad-shouldered but narrow-waisted, finds space for himself nevertheless. 

“We could request the company make space for an open study, you know. Or…” He leans back, crossing his left leg over his right without so much as upsetting the balance of the chaotic nest of strewn paper and documents and meets Genesis's gaze with a quirked brow.

“Perhaps you rather prefer hunching over the coffee table like some sort of creature.”

Pride is the enemy of collaboration.

Genesis has bristled many a time at any obvious attempts at assistance. A cup of tea has already eaten into his allowance. Sephiroth makes a quick glance of the texts surrounding his friend, considering his choice of words before offering his own commentary in the guise of help.

“The materia researchers are always chasing leads for new materia. They scatter like crows as soon as they think they’ve found something shiny. I’m surprised they have as loose a leash as they do within the Research and Development Division.”

❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜

|| an assortment of dialogue prompts || Status: OPEN!

Off-duty, early mornings were always a hit or miss with Genesis, and it was entirely dependent whether he was still up from the night previous or had fallen asleep engrossed in his research into the arcane. That was his excuse, in the least. He was always on the cusp of a major breakthrough, something that would transform the very way SOLDIERs engaged on the field. A little lost sleep was a small price to pay, He'd say, brushing aside any concerns posed his way about his health and habits. In truth, it was hard to sleep. It was hard for all of them. He'd never say it out loud, but there persisted an impossible desire to somehow spare a little bit of that grief and loneliness. Angeal was kind and wanted to do good. But war was filled with the unexpected and the cruel, and the questionable decisions his dear childhood friend had to make weighed heavily on the man's soul. How could one be honorable as a murderer? Sephiroth was another beast-- he was far more accustomed to the atrocities, but only because that was all ShinRa had for their most precious hero. The weight he bore, did he even know how lonely it was? All by himself on that pedestal? Often, Genesis second-guessed himself at this. Maybe he was projecting too much on how he would feel if there did not exist a single person in the world that understood him. How maddening it would be. But it was so far a distance for Genesis to climb, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, to say with confidence that he could be relied upon. Yet, even burning the candle on both ends, Genesis could not help but feel the effort was futile. The dead language on the many scripts and texts before him had long since become watery and difficult to read. Another trail of another summon to substitute the strength he did not have, pewtering out. And, evidently, Genesis had reached a state where he was not even all too aware of his surroundings. Head supported by his hands as he tried again, muttering the same damn passage under his breath, he almost did not recognize that instead of scribbles and faded ink, there was a cup obscuring his view. The steam wafted into his face, a pleasant enticement of something herbal, cinnamon, and sweet. When he finally looked up, he found Sephiroth standing beside him in the cluttered disaster corner that Genesis called his 'study'.

❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜ Dull, exhausted eyes regarded his fellow elite. So far up there... Was there any world where Genesis could possibly reach? The smell of spice drew his eyes back down. "Oh, darling, did I wake you?" He purred sarcastically, but weariness made it sound a touch... too earnest. Genesis grasped the hot mug and brought the rim to his lips, inhaling deeply. Well and truly, there was nothing else that could smell better than that, not that he would ever give Sephiroth that satisfaction. Not intentionally. "Just as a reminder..." He paused to sip, and the sip turned into a gulp, savoring the way it burned down his throat. "... poisoning those who disturb your beauty rest is still considered a crime."

[serafim]

VARIED MUSICAL SENTENCE STARTERS .

" what is this feeling , fervid as a flame ? " " there's a strange exhilaration in this total detestation . " " i will be loathing you my whole life long . " " you are just too good . " " how do you stand it ? i don't think i could . " " i just want to tell you , i'm on your side . " " i can't believe i'm stuck with you all summer . " " i bet you don't wrestle , hunt or box . " " you look conceited . " " what a total bummer . " " so happy you could come . " " so happy to be here . " " this is not my idea of fun . " " we'll join our lands if this arrangement clicks . " " i think we've got a deal . " " i haven't packed or washed my hair , and i get seasick ! " " is that respect you're showing ? " " if you make me kiss your hand again , i swear i'll be sick . " " this really isn't fair . " " i think you really sort of like me ; fess up ! " " i can do much better , i am sure . " " you're so immature . " " i need a little help here . " " i'm a bunch of broken pieces . " " i'm running out of hope and time . " " i'm lost without you . " " you don't have to be scared you're not enough . " " i don't need you to fix what i'd rather forget . " " you and me . that's all that we need it to be . " " you're everything to me . "

[serafim]

northern crater - redux!

[serafim]

patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . + reverse

As much as it lingers in the air between them, Sephiroth knows better than to state the obvious. Genesis has already donned a characteristic scowl on his face, so Sephiroth lets the roll of gauze spooling out around Genesis's torso do all the talking. 

If it were Angeal in his stead, the man probably would have been lectured three times over already. 

A few dirtied towels are gathered nearby on an end table. Blood, dirt, unpleasant slivers of blown steel are tangled up in the fibers. He has already pulled strings for them to be here in the comfort of Genesis's personal quarters when Science would have liked nothing better to glean some inconsequential piece of data on SOLDIER physiology that they did not have before. Theirs is a never ending quest, and Sephiroth cannot imagine that thirst will ever be satisfied no matter how many bodies they have at their disposal.

In that regard, perhaps he is biased.

All the better that Genesis is in his own bed here and now, even if Sephiroth has gone to painstaking lengths to prevent blood from getting on the sheets. 

Impractical from start to finish to circumvent standard procedure, yet it is not annoyance that creases Sephiroth’s brow as he tears away the roll of gauze and ties off the ends with a well-practiced reef knot. He will mend within the week, like they all do. 

In the meantime…

“Shall I fluff your pillows? Help you put your feet up?” Sephiroth arches a brow, good-natured. Having Genesis Rhapsodos owe him more favors is not a terrible trade, all things considered.

[serafim]

The smile that Sephiroth mirrors back doesn’t quite reach his eyes. At least they are alike in that regard; apex predators need not expend their energy unless they absolutely must.

Sephiroth traces his hand over the concrete walls without looking back at Weiss. Hardly the walls of a prison. Cold seeps in through his gloves, through the palm of a hand that is not his own. His image, after all, is only a projection through a clone at best. Shambling waifs they may appear, Sephiroth has an awareness of all of them...and the interesting places they end up.

“When I realized I could use them to reshape this world,” he answers, honest, not at all deterred by deflection in the of of another question. Weiss’s existence offers more potential than a passing curiosity and friction is not the objective here. “Perhaps we have a difference of opinion, then.”

❛  i wonder sometimes how much we really understand our own gifts.  ❜ @serafim

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫? The smile Weiss sought to crack made no attempt not to look painfully forced. Seated on the concrete floor, he lazily rested his back against a wall and cocked a brow at Sephiroth. Instead of giving an answer - not that he could offer a satisfying one - he just drove the conversation with another question. His interest in it was far more genuine. "When did you start thinking of them as gifts?" The Deepground Soldier deemed that gifts usually don't come with a price.

Everything they are, everything they've been made to be- was there even a point in seeking to understand these things? If so, he didn't know it. Not yet. Maybe, the older swordsman would teach him something new.

[serafim]

 dressed.

"Don't you think this is cinched a bit...tight?" Even before the question fully leaves his mouth, Genesis's expressions telegraphs the answer.

The belt looped around his waist is exactly as tight as Genesis wants it to be.

"Have it your way," Sephiroth relents with a sigh. Like all of Shinra's seasonal celebrations, the Vernal Gala has always been an event that aspires for unreasonable levels of opulence. SOLDIERs were, of course, relegated to the ceremonial uniforms with their gold epaulettes, medals, lanyards, and all other dressings that Sephiroth considered wholly unnecessary where the Company liked nothing better than to advertise their own commemorations to the world at large.

He tilts his chin up to prevent the fabric at his throat from bunching up while Genesis's hands work to deftly button up the front of his uniform.

"I take it you have another prank planned this year? If I recall correctly, Tuesti was quite cross with you after you changed the direction of all the exit signage and the guests ended up triggering a deployment of Slug Rays when they wandered down the wrong hallway..."

[serafim]

patch + caress / it's been 84 years, from verona c:

What a strange pair of monsters they make; monsters made. Sephiroth remains still as Verona tenderly plies a blanket of gauze over his wrist. Blood, bright, red, seeps through the pale wrappings like a rosy watercolor. Regularly spaced lines, carved by claws. One for each finger. An incomplete tally.

Four is an appropriate number. Inauspicious. The number of death.

Sitting idle has drained the heat of battle from his skin, and the rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose hospital gown is near imperceptible. The Drum has its own rhythm. Pulse and thrum, ebb and flow. A steady supply of mako moves through curved, arterial pipes. He can hear it even through the veneer of steel at their backs. Above them, below them. Constant. Live with it long enough, and it becomes a part of you. Heartbeat. Inhale. Exhale.

The harsh light strips embedded in the ceiling make him squint. A slight glance upwards causes his pupils to painfully constrict. Any longer would spell a headache. His eyes fall half-mast, with the tickle of long lashes over his cheeks. 

He is younger than he looks. Older than he feels.

Still, they have moments. Rare ones, precious ones, when Science finds itself satisfied-- when the machines are silent and they no longer find themselves monitored or measured. Space in which they do not have to be ferocious, where they need not cut until the other bleeds, where they can simply be.

Sephiroth leans into the curve of Verona's palm where it brushes up against his chin, then up along to cup his cheek. He lifts his gaze then. Perhaps the subtle dilation of his pupils gives him away, perhaps he ought to be more guarded, perhaps he wants to be seen.  

[serafim]

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐕  .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐕 .    NSFW

❛   surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse . ❛   pin .   push  my  muse  against  a  [ wall,  table,  other ] . ❛   go down .   go  down  on  my  muse . ❛   choke .   intimately  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . ❛   skinny dipping .   go  skinny  dipping  with  my  muse . ❛   rip .   tear  a  piece  of  clothing  from  my  muse’s  body . ❛   mark .   leave  a  mark  on  my  muse’s  body  [ specify where ] .

[serafim]

@breathofthearth

Ugly fears, old fears that he has held closely to his chest. He has spent many an evening wondering. There are truths, even inconvenient ones, that are not enough to move the world. Not even to save itself. Yet when they arrived at Cosmo Canyon, were granted succor by the wise sages and their kindly glittering eyes behind wiry spectacles and learned enough to discern the truth, Aerith did not recoil from it. The dusty research journals he pored over in the Shinra manor basement were right about one thing: his mother had not been human. Aerith did not gaze upon him and see someone, something different. She held his hands in hers and they spent the rest of their evening under the open sky and its endless expanse of starlight and dust. 

After all that he had borne witness to: Aerith’s stubbornness, her little indulgences, her unfaltering kindness, her growing knowledge of her people and her place in the world, on this Planet and all the responsibilities she bore out of her heritage, Sephiroth knows he should have better anticipated her next course of action– to strike directly at the heart of HQ and address the rumors they had been hearing about Science’s most precious specimen recovered out of the ashes of Nibelheim. 

Shinra has had its fair share of issues with security leaks. People talk. 

If there still existed any chance that Jenova could seek the ruin of the Planet once more, then they needed to stop the creature that had caused the near-extinction of the Cetra hundreds of years before.

What did that mean for unnatural atrocities like him and every SOLDIER that also shared her cells? He never did ask her, and he couldn't shake this particular feeling the more the question weighed on his mind. The same feeling he felt back in Nibelheim. Like someone important was waiting for him to wake up. Someone who he never properly met, but has known him his whole life. An eerie, cold, and unwelcome feeling.

Someone.

Something.

His mother. The Calamity. 

“You’re sure about this?” he asks one last time as they prepare to disembark. The rusting seams of the rattling can truck they have stowed away on seem to groan in response as it shuttles them down the crowded expressway. 

Not too late to turn back, to let humanity find someone, anyone else willing to play hero. 

Despite having been the one to ask, Sephiroth also knows what Aerith’s answer will inevitably be. He steadies her with a light hand on her waist as he releases the lock bolt and the loading door rolls up towards the freight ceiling with a clattering thump. 

The open door gives them a direct line of sight to the Tower. Ground spotlights criss-cross hazy beams of light that illuminate the heavy concrete and steel walls of Shinra HQ through the many layers of mako smog that hug Midgar’s highest peak. Landing beacons blink faintly at the top. Every floor has its fair share of silhouettes, backlit.

Employees, bustling to and fro across the halls. Security officers, Turks, SOLDIERs, salarymen, interns, techs, researchers. Monsters lurk there, too. Some human-shaped, some not. Elevators ceaselessly moving along their pulleys. Up and down. Top to bottom, bottom to top. Mako lines, glowing, pulsating as they course along the underside of Science’s playground in the upper floors. The engine and the drum. 

Would that he could, nothing would be more satisfying than to reduce the entire structure to slag. Sephiroth can only think of one person who truly possessed enough mana to do so. 

“Hang on tight. We’re going to jump.” 

[serafim]

@hisalis

There has been no variation in his answers. Sephiroth has not yet answered any one of Zack’s requests with ‘no.’ Not outright. Even so, Zack asks. The questions, the fact that they are posed, that Zack does not budge an inch until he receives an answer, that matters. It matters in a way that Sephiroth has gradually come to better understand over time in combination with Zack’s cheerfully patient persistence. He is accustomed to being observed, but to be perceived is another issue entirely. More a wonder than an issue, when it comes to Zack. 

They rarely have the time to spend together. Some of it is stolen, chanced upon by coincidence or sporadic moments of shore leave when their rotations happen to fall into sync or overlap at convenient intervals. 

For all of Zack’s powers of perception, he is still spectacularly lacking in subtlety in other ways.

Like right now, with Zack edging towards him once the elevator doors have slid closed. The panel lights up after a second destination has been added to the elevator’s queue and it shudders to life with a musical chime played through speakers installed somewhere in the ceiling.  A brief glance at the numbered buttons tells him Zack is likely on his way to meet with Angeal for training. His own stop is past that floor. A place Sephiroth is loath to frequent even on a good day. 

The floor panel does not hold his attention for lack. Zack has his usual look of intent about him, and Sephiroth is left to guess at what permissions he may be granting in this brief sliver of time. Assuming no one else boards the elevator after them. 

“You don’t have to ask me this time,” Sephiroth intercepts helpfully. A preemptive yes might save them a few precious seconds from interruption. 

[serafim]

#HOPEFLOWER

independent  aerith  gainsborough,  written  by  nini.