#stagnantmako

[xkuja]

NY Sketches

Nero for @stagnantmako

[sadistpet]

@stagnantmako !

if the major has proven to be anything in his short years of living, it is inconsiderate of the feelings of others. something he demonstrates in his utter contempt of the people around him, the deep misanthropy entwined with the blood coursing through his veins. and, more specifically, how he regards the other in his presence with a grating and biting cruelty, coming as easily to him as breathing.

" i think you're in the wrong place. " he snorts, plump lips curled into a smirk. judgemental eyes giving a once-over of the other man -- dismissed upon completion. he rests his cheek upon his hand, eyebrows raised and eyes half-lidded in self satisfied amusement. " did you escape from the local psychiatric hospital ? or do you just have a really weird taste in fashion ? "

[ofdeference]

@stagnantmako asked: 'I'm not tired.'

"Of course you're not." Something like him, a thing too close to inhuman. Did he ever need to sleep? Or was this some childish game played in the dark of night when those still with soul have returned to their corners in fear of the shadows he cast?

"But you've learned to simulate it, haven't you?" Tseng leans back in his seat, fingers steepled together as he studies the being across from him. The hair rises on the back of his neck. Every. Time. Unnerving..ghastly. Staring at him is hellish in and of itself. He is a void.

"Or do you need your nightly walk before you're put to bed?"

[bitterarcs]

Second cigarette of the day, and it hung flaccidly from between fingers. A play thing. Red embers continued to devour, yet darkening thoughts refused to blow away with the carcinogenic smoke produced at smoldering end. Reno hated it . . the smell of cigarettes, actually. As if the weakness of surrendering to a vice was not a pounding to ego, the odour which clung to hair, clothes, and skin continued to remind and reprimand. Realization permeated as deeply as the stench, even as the lighter was flipped open, as the flame danced in eyes, and as the cigarette was removed from the half crushed box. Plenty of time to back out, yet turmoil acted as ten different voices shouting within his mind.

At least with the deadly ritual completed, frustration at himself was singled out; one disappointed voice better than several deafening ones. Only a third of the second cigarette was actually smoked, another third was left to burn as he watched quietly, and the last third — it fell from fingers. With a shocking amount of precision, it hit his target three floors down. Gunners dressed in company issued sweats and tees had been taking a break from their training, gathered in a cluster of three within the training arena. Of all the horrid things to possibly occurred, none expected to have a Turk watch them, least of all drop a cigarette.

From his height, the red head was unable to see the extent of the damage, but the single gunner yelled suddenly and ran around while attempting to dislodge the cigarette which had slithered past collar. Depending on his mood, a burst of inappropriate laughter or an apology would have been issued; he said nothing. Several pairs of heated and confused eyes looked upwards, and the sight of an unusually stoic Reno washed animosity away from tongues with freezing water. Maybe he could indulge in his mindless sadism later. At the moment, he pushed himself away from the railing over looking the impressive training hall and casually walked ( not sauntered ) towards the double doors leading to the elevator.

Black duffel bag full of supplies was carried with his right hand, hanging over right shoulder, and left hand was shoved inside the pocket of his ebony trousers to toy with the silver and scarlet lighter. He fingered the cool metal until it absorbed the heat of his flesh. DING. A light hum of the elevator mechanism, and the large doors opened at the helicopter landing pad on the building's roof. Hand moved away from lighter and out from pocket to hang awkwardly at his side whereupon the agitated tick of fingertips toying with the stitching of leather glove commenced. Leather binding palms and knuckles were a second flesh. Suit . . he could have done without.

Tiny gravel stones gave way with each step he produced on route to the awaiting helicopter. No recognition was given to the pilot, loathing the fact they needed a pilot, as the duffel was tossed in the back without much of a care. The pilot had, of course, not done anything ill, but the sight of him caused tongue to click against teeth with displeasure. The mission details including the part where Reno was not to pilot the helicopter in order to keep an eye out on his burden refreshed within mind. Tseng's emotionless voice. The mission file. The vile stench of smoke. Fuck, I shouldn't have smoked.

Now he was going to be stuck in reeking clothes AND be at the side of an unhinged gremlin. When the news had broke, even Rude, the bald and stacked pillar of a man, had reacted. Of course it was only Reno who noticed the reaction, for the red head had been stunned in the subsequent moments. Was it a punishment? Apparently not, but Reno called bullshit. He had tried bargaining with Tseng, offering Rude's services in the stead of a man Reno had personally helped to subdue. He wasn't fucking clingy, and not every mission required the services of red and bald, but why ruin something which worked? Fucking Tseng. Fucking shaddy ShinRa departments. FUCKING SEPHIROTH.

The infallible pillars of the ShinRa Electric Company crumbled in an instant. No, it had taken a little bit more time, but the dramatics of the situation made everything appear like a sudden explosion. The SOLDIER program was practically annihilated, and the Turks and . . the other scraps followed to pick up pieces. Neither a pessimist or an optimist, Reno knew there would be no repairing the wounds created by Genesis, Angeal, Zack, and Sephiroth. Fucking SOLDIERs. No one had listened to Reno, and how right he had been. . . .

No, Reno hadn't precisely predicted the dissension and desertion among the SOLDIERs, but the Turk had never trusted any of them. Bunch of mako freaks, and once again Reno was stuck with another caliber of freak. The red hair was a hair away from pulling out lighter to set fire to something . . anything, when Nero and his walker appeared from the same elevators Reno had emerged from a minute earlier. Equally scoffing and grimacing at the sight, the mouthy Turk pressed back against the sealed pilot door and defiantly crossed arms against his chest. Once close enough, he cocked his head to the side and spoke,

(  ❛  Anything I should know? Favourite treats? What times does he need to be walked to go potty?  ❜  )

Reno was proud of that one, almost enough to erase the shitty fucking circumstances of the fucked up mission. The red head did not allow it to show in his expression instead he moved for the ajar door and jumped inside with swift agility.

(  ❛  Alright, freak show. You better be able to handle heights.  ❜  )

starter for @stagnantmako

[unforestalledreturn-a]

Duplicity

@stagnantmako liked for a starter! It was getting worse, and Genesis knew it. What had begun as a gradual, insidiously subtle decline over the years now plunged into further, deeper depths. The wound in his shoulder would not heal. Genesis had tended it for nearly two weeks now, and where a SOLDIER's natural regeneration should have made quick work of such a nuisance, there was no healing to be found. Rather, it festered and oozed-- a plague within. He felt it stir all sorts of things. Beneath his skin writhed what felt to be a thousand snakes, burning and spreading further and further. And as it progressed, the harder it was for him to maintain face. Yet, here Genesis was, gathering his aching resolve to bury deep the pain and sensation of something itching just beneath the surface-- there was no other choice. Soon, he would depart for Wutai, the busy coming and goings of citizens filling the train platform with noise, bodies, and... something that made his head throb. Was this how an insect felt as it was melted within a cocoon? Reduced to nothing before bursting into something else? Hollander had eluded to as much-- Genesis refused to believe it. I'll clear you for this mission, just keep in mind what I said. I'll be ready, when you come around. That, however, was not the start nor end of the crimson elite's problems. As if keeping face was not difficult enough in front of his men, his Director, the public, even his closest friends, he had been saddled with... an unexpected challenge. Nero was the name, a prodigy magic user seeking mentorship. Apparently, the SOLDIER had connections within ShinRa, and through the wheeling and dealing of the corporate madhouse, had managed to twist the Director's arm enough to assign him this new mentee. They were to meet soon, not that Genesis was paying all too much attention to anything around him. Rather, he sat back on one of many blue benches that lined the station wall, arms crossed and expression pensive, not too unlike how one might look to be on the verge of being sick.

[honorisen-a]

@stagnantmako​ 🙼 starters.

“Ugh, you definitely look like you’ve seen better days-” 

The comment was out before Zack could even stop himself -- but then again, he wasn’t even sure if the other could’ve heard him from where he’d stopped either. Zack wasn’t normally this cautious, but there was just...something about the atmosphere of the moment that had him keeping his distance. 

“You look like you’ve been down here awhile, haven’t you?”

[wastedsword-a]

“I ask not for your sympathy, nor your tears.” Nobody should cry for him. He knows there have been tears shed for him; each one adds to the crushing guilt that weighs upon him.

He does not flinch away from the gun held against him; he would not cower even if he hadn’t long since accepted this fate. He only looks sad. Sad for himself and sad for the man on the other side of the weapon. He has only a vague idea of what he is but it still serves to further break his heart.

“ShinRa created me as a weapon. Whatever fight I fight in, for them or against them, I am walking the path they created for me. I can’t wash away the blood on my hands with fresh blood... I know I should fight them, I know I should turn their own blade against them, but you’re right. I’m a coward.”

@stagnantmako​ | X

[comatosesoldier]

He hates how he cringes at every gunshot. He hates that his helmet won’t hide the clenching of his jaw. He hates that his hands tremble as he clutches his gun. He needs to be stronger than this. 

How can he make SOLDIER when he can’t deal with this? 

He doesn’t know if he spoke with awe or horror; he doesn’t know what he feels. He can’t do anything, he can’t lift his rifle and take a life... But he makes himself watch. Watch their enemies fall... He doesn’t let himself turn away until nobody before them breathes.

“I want to fight..” He says, too quiet, before trying again. “I want to fight.”

@stagnantmako​ | x