i’d like to inform that i’ll be on an undefined hiatus for a while. i’ll try my best to interact with you guys through asks. ♡
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Peter Solarz

Kaledo Art

if i look back, i am lost
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dirt enthusiast
noise dept.
Misplaced Lens Cap
Today's Document
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

shark vs the universe
Three Goblin Art
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
NASA

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

JVL

izzy's playlists!
Acquired Stardust

oozey mess
RMH
seen from Greece
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@spardante
i’d like to inform that i’ll be on an undefined hiatus for a while. i’ll try my best to interact with you guys through asks. ♡
☆ put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs - it's time to spread positivity ! you're kinda cool i guess ;)❤️
you found me crying 😭 you Crew too 😭 WE BOTH CRODE 😭
HE WANTS TO SAY IT IS SIMPLY A SIDE EFFECT OF HIS UPBRINGING, ONE HE HAS NEVER MANAGED TO SHAKE COMPLETELY: the compulsive need to always maintain the element of surprise which is so often crucial to the difference between life and death. or maybe it’s the idea of habit that terrifies him more than anything else. habit breeds complacency, complacency leads to predictability, and he cannot allow himself to be predictable. somehow, when it comes to the ex-soldier, that’s a fate Sephiroth never quite manages to avoid, because the moment his heels touch down on the floor of the abandoned underground test site with a barely audible creak, he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he isn’t alone.
FROM @strifiisms : dead end. there's nowhere left to run; the sender has cornered you at last. / @ sephiroth
❛ Your stealth is improving, ❜ he remarks, words tumbling out of his lips in a rush to salvage whatever upper hand he still has. he senses Cloud hovering a distance behind him, his presence so palpable that he can almost count the exact number of footsteps it would take to bridge the gap between them. even so, it captivates him all the same. after all, danger has always held a certain allure for him. they’ve been in this exact same situation before, too, all those years ago. it seems every choice, every decision, every sacrifice invariably leads them back where they began, like an endless loop of repeating history, and the same mistakes, over and over again.
❛ Impressive. ❜ sometimes it’s important to give people the illusion of being in control. ❛ It appears I have reached the end, ❜ his voice is calm, unnervingly so, considering the circumstances. there is no panic, no sign of fear in him, only cold certainty.
i love all of you… yes you with the original characters with hours of work spent on them… [car crash noise] yes you who beautifully flesh out canon muses and do the characters justice… you guys spark my dash. explodes into a million pieces i love you all
THERE IS A WEIGHT TO THE UNIFORM, STITCHED WITH THE EXPECTATION OF DISCIPLINE AND THE UNYIELDING HIERARCHY OF RANK. it is the design of his upbringing, a cruel intention wrapped in fabric meant to mold him into a soldier. a sick part of Professor Hojo’s conditioning was allowing him to rise through the ranks, as if it wasn’t already inevitable that he would stand at the top. there is no movement as the young soldier stands perfectly still, silver hair caught in the faintest of breezes. his eyes narrow, unreadable, yet there is no malice there. the radiant glow of it could be considered beautiful, but to him, it is nothing more than a bitter reminder of what he is: a toy soldier crafted to be the perfect war hero, inscrutable & unattainable.
FROM @sungracd : " is that . . . a uniform? aren't you a little too young to be in soldier? " even at their age, adrian isn't sure whether they want to be amazed or concerned. " and your eyes . . . " they lean closer, bold but mindful of personal space. " they really do glow. " strange as they are, there's no doubt about it — this must be the boy their uncle mentioned before.
they have that glimmer in their eyes that tells him enough about how the will of their heart has not yet been snuffed out by Shinra. how utterly defiant they remain, unyielding against the despair that seeks to consume them. Sephiroth hasn’t seen this person before, or at least, not around the places permitted to him. ❛ What do you wish to know? ❜ he acquiesces, deciding the topic is relatively harmless despite his reservations. his profession is a topic that is precarious, entire life revolving around following orders essentially. he is no stranger to the rumors, stories spun with his name. some, blatant lies, crafted by Shinra to polish SOLDIER’s image, to make his greatest asset more than he already is. others are his real moments of victory carved into history. they are undeniably curious. he knows this, senses it in the way they scrutinize him.
plaster. it's not pretty but it'll do; you wince as the sender patches your wounds , for sephiroth ♡
teal, cat-like eyes gaze down at the nasty gash that glows sickly green at its core, leaving behind a cut traveling up the length of his abdomen. instead of blood, small tendrils of mako energy leaks out, spiraling upward like thin wisps of smoke before dissolving into the air. the second she presses the rag to his wound, an excruciating pain surges through the one-winged angel & he winces instinctively. he would’ve preferred for her to not notice it. ❛ Careful with those hands. ❜ tone is comparable to that of a hiss.
he’s lived through suffering & destruction, and pieces of those memories still reside within him as little fragments of glass that tear & burrow deep. this pain is nothing compared to what he has faced before. merely a foolish excuse to feel her fingertips against his bare skin, a way to indulge in her touch. Sephiroth basks in the moment, savoring the intensity of her focus solely on him & her careful movements as she patches him up.
to achieve this, he didn’t hesitate to lie about how the gash hindered his regeneration. he could have easily used the everlasting lifestream cells coursing through his veins to heal the wound instantaneously, but he chose not to, deliberately prolonging the bitter healing of the flesh. it stings like hell, but there is something about being looked after that brings a sense of comfort he hadn’t anticipated. an alien sensation for one who considers himself above the fragility of mere mortals.
❛ You’re not entirely incompetent at this. ❜ an observation on his part. ❛ I suppose I should be… grateful. ❜
⭒˚。🖁‧₊˚ 〖 down these mean streets . . . 〗 a collection of scene prompts inspired by n͟e͟o͟-n͟o͟i͟r͟, v͟i͟o͟l͟e͟n͟c͟e͟, c͟o͟n͟t͟r͟o͟l͟, e͟t͟c͟. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the receiving muse to be "the sender" instead. adjust details as necessary.
dead end. there's nowhere left to run; the sender has cornered you at last. anonymous. disguising your voice, you call the sender to threaten/warn them. loose ends. you thought you killed them! but there's the sender, walking your way. ashtray. your cigarette smokes as you extinguish it on the sender's skin. deck. you lick the sender's blood from your knuckles, still stinging from the punch. backstab. end of the road, pal—you reveal you're double-crossing the sender. blunt. hidden in the shadows, you press your gun to the sender's back.
heel. you stare at the sender from across the room and beckon them to you. fix. not looking like that—disapproving, you fix the sender's appearance. tilt. you take the sender's chin in your hand and make them meet your gaze. staccato. irritated, the sender drums their fingers against you beneath the table. listen. the sender disobeys and you swat their curious hand away. fasten. just something i picked up—you clasp a necklace/tie/etc. on the sender. quiet. you press a finger to the sender's lips and tell them to be patient.
the diversity is fuckin killing me
would yall still fw me if i turned this blog into a multimuse 😭 there’s some other characters i hold very close to my heart & wanna write, but i can’t maintain separate blogs for each one of them so . . . here we go, a poll!
♡
no Vro.
yes! ♡
in case uve seen the sketch; please don't blame me for removing the cat this drawing went through 3 major changes before it became this. dante's a zzz guy. let him zzz
[ : / / 𝙵 𝙸 𝙻 𝙴 ] : JOB & RELATED.
Dante has plenty of reasons why he isn’t as wealthy as one might expect from a legendary devil hunter.
though it’s assumed that he spends all his money on pizza, the reality is far different. nearly 90 percent of what he earns goes to the families of victims from demon attacks — people he couldn’t protect while on the job. he is acutely aware he can not protect everyone, so he goes to great lengths to make up for it. he often bankrupts himself paying reparations to the families of those who die because demons were after him, even when they don’t ask for it. it’s his way of shouldering the burden of the chaos that follows him, a quiet attempt at redemption for the lives he couldn’t save.
Ocean Vuong, “A Letter to my Mother that She Will Never Read” The New Yorker, May 2017
⸼ ⸒ ♡ @spardante / continued from xo .
" i'm looking for something that isn't drowning in either salt , sugar , or grease . " oh , they're judging alright . absently , adrian kicks at an empty pizza box on the floor of his messy shop before taking a seat at the edge of his desk ⸺ it's the cleanest spot they can find . " not that you have to worry about your insides rotting away like the average person . . . but don't you ever crave a nice pot pie or a classic steak and potatoes once in a while ? "
“Well, alright.” he absentmindedly chews on the inside of his cheek, a futile attempt to chase away the embarrassment pooling within him. now he feels even more stupid for feeling that way. oh well.
he blurts when he ultimately reconciles with their unwavering, candied gaze, mentally taken back to a more peaceful time: “Who the hell doesn’t like pot pie?” just because he likes pizza doesn’t mean he rejects other food. it is not as if he is unwilling; he simply finds them lacking in comparison. is it truly his fault that no other dish can match the comfort & simplicity of his favorite one? he has long since forgotten the taste, though the memory remains veiled on the depths of his mind. the richness of it once lingered on his tongue, a delicious reward after long hours spent in petty quarrels with his brother. that was a long, long time ago.
nostalgia is a burden he must carry lightly. to dwell too deeply is to court despair, to drown in the murky depths of memories that should remain sealed within the confines of time. no, Dante knows better; the past is a treacherous tide, and he cannot afford to be swept away. a fleeting glance backward, a murmur of remembrance — these are the limits he imposes upon himself.
“What, you a part of the food police now?” there is no mirth in the exhale of his laughter, dry & listless. is this truly satisfactory to them?
his entry inside of the agency is quiet, ‘least as best as he could be; the creaking door is out of his control. after pressing it shut by the pads of his fingers, V’s form remains against its large frame. he glances across the way at a snoozing Dante, precisely the one he’s been looking for. he’d caught a habit of spending the night here in hopes of the phone ringing, an ache to be commissioned for the steady work and cleanup of a demon problem. the summoner has reminded him time and time again of free hospitality in his own quarters, though his offers are never fulfilled.. he’s stubborn.
“ lousing around in wait of a cry for help isn’t your style. ” he speaks, only assuming the hunter is conscious underneath the open page of that magazine on his face.
the creak of the door is a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the legendary hunter. that wretched noise — he files it away in his mind for later, if only to spare his ears the torment. it is, after all, ingrained in his nature to remain hyper-aware of every flicker and whisper in his vicinity, even without conscious effort. the soft padding of footsteps against the wooden floor has already alerted him of someone’s approach. still, he remains as he is, draped across the couch, a familiar raunchy magazine obscuring his face as he pretends to be lost in sleep. he gives no sign of acknowledging the intruder, clinging to the hope that whoever was disrupting his daydream-laden rest might get the hint & leave. but the moment he hears V’s voice, he lowers the magazine just enough to catch a glimpse of him.
“And what, pray tell, is my style?” he mutters from behind the glossy pages.
now that he considers it, V has a point. but he has to pass the time somehow, and where better to await a call infused with hope than here? two weeks have stretched interminably, business creeping at a snail’s pace. the office phone has remained ominously silent for the past week & the demon hunting jobs on Dante’s roster are scarcely worth mentioning. just a few insignificant demons, hardly deserving of the title nuisance. the mere thought of reverting to a mundane, human-like job draws a shadow across his expression, a reminder of what lies ahead should this inertia persist.
he lowers the magazine from his face completely, the pages crinkling softly as he sets it aside. “Don’t you have better things to do?” the cushions give way under him as he finally pushes himself upright. he rolls his shoulders back, the tendons in his muscles flexing & releasing from their prolonged stillness. “Got any work lined up?” he adds in an equally low tone. surely, he didn’t come all this way for nothing. not that he is not willing to help, but ponders the reason for fate bringing the summoner to his office.
looks at the pizza boxes . . . looks at dante . . . "is that the only thing you eat around here?" // hello :> here's another attack on dante's lifestyle apparently lmao
he’s a simple guy. he likes indulging in a refreshing slumber, certain infamous foods, and a good fight that fuels his excitement. a day doesn’t go by where his comfort sensory stimuli isn’t calling out his name. don’t judge a man’s diet by a lack of groceries. “Why, you looking for a free slice?” there it is: a sheepish smile on his lips, bordering on the fine line between charm & pure cheekiness.
𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗨𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗦 𝗕𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗔𝗗𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 . dante seems to abide his own rules, adheres to the sort of routine that is so tumultuous in its own right that even using that word to address it does not seem appropriate. like most things that their younger twin surrounds himself with, vergil has noted: and for proof of that, he need only cast his eyes to the state of the shop that dante ( or perhaps he and dante, now, all things considered ) calls home, from the disarray of furniture to the scattered mess of documents and pizza boxes on the desk; notwithstanding the fact that he sits behind it all the same, feet up on the wooden surface, laidback. ( there are some things vergil will never understand. his brother is undoubtedly one of them. ) their nose wrinkles, then: ❛ ... surely you aren't serious . ❜
@spardante : 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 .
constant movement is nothing new to the legendary hunter. quite the opposite, in fact. it doesn’t even tire him out. but after running a much-needed errand on his own, Dante decides he’s earned a bit of rest. ( it doesn’t take a genius to notice they’ve been out of groceries for far too long, and blaming his awful eating habits wouldn’t be the worst idea. old habits die hard. )
he finds relaxation in leaning back on the couch, head comfortably resting against the cushions, mindlessly staring up at the wall. for the past week, he’s done nothing but order takeout. mostly pizza, unsurprisingly, from his favorite spot. he had planned to give the local pizza shop another generous contribution tonight, but much to his dismay, his stomach is craving something more nourishing this time. turns out, he can’t live off of pizza, other cheap junk & microwave dinners forever. the truth is, his culinary skills are limited to basic pasta, scrambled eggs, and sandwich: simple dishes that are easy to prepare & even easier to eat. he did not need an excuse to ask his brother to join him in the kitchen. he could have easily cooked on his own, but where was the fun in that if he couldn’t drag Vergil into it?
he lifts his head to meet the steady line of his brother’s gaze, snowy white locks cascading into his face & softly framing his eyes with the movement. “You heard me right. I’m dead serious.” he didn’t go out of his way to get ingredients & various food supplies for nothing, and he’s not about to let himself be brushed off so easily. especially not after he had sacrificed a week’s worth of pizza just to try his hand at kitchen. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not at least sick of eating junk every damn day.” he gestures toward the door with a nod, where two grocery bags lie haphazardly discarded in the corner, as if he couldn’t be bothered to bring them into the kitchen. “I wasn’t exactly sure what we needed or what we’d be cooking, so I bought one of everything that looked essential.” he appears, as ever, infuriatingly confident, making it clear that he had already decided on cooking together.