Ghost - Mystery Skulls I’d recommend checking out the music video if you haven’t already
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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Monterey Bay Aquarium

Love Begins

Origami Around
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Product Placement
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.

ellievsbear
d e v o n
occasionally subtle

tannertan36
Xuebing Du
tumblr dot com
RMH
AnasAbdin
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
DEAR READER

#extradirty

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@waveringloyalty
Ghost - Mystery Skulls I’d recommend checking out the music video if you haven’t already
ciitreae replied to your post
save me waifu
tiny smooch for the large husband
‘ here comes the general ! ’
— R I S E U P !
The fragility Cissnei’s showing, so uncommon, is displayed equally by her husband—Sephiroth’s face is crumpled into some mess of joy and exhiliration and relief, and it might be the most expressive his face has ever been, this, more than all the smiles and laughs and kisses he’s shared with her.
The last time he cried, he was a child. but he does it freely now, tears streaking down his pale face, something tight caught in his throat, but it’s good. Here, in Cissnei’s arms, in this room, is the real beginning of his family. He had never even thought he’d be married, let alone have a child, and Calla is beautiful. Even if Cissnei doesn’t see it, he recognizes her cherub lips on his baby’s face, the round doe shape of her eyes.
His hands won’t stop shaking, even as he takes Calla into his arms. She still cries, but she blinks up at him, her eyes shying from the bright light, since she came from a very dark place, and she’s precious, the most precious thing he’s ever touched or seen in his life.
He swallows thickly. “Hi,” he manages, though his voice is unsteady and catching in every single breath. “Hi, Calla,” Sephiroth says, running a hand over her brow, careful about supporting her little head in the crook of his arm, and every word comes out broken. “I’m your dad, sweetie.”
She doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t matter—just saying it gives him some wonderful sense of completeness, like now everything’s right, and everything’s better, and always will be now that she’s in his world. Curiously, he touches her face, examines her tiny hands, gently uncurling her fingers and looking at her clean, pink palms. But those fingers don’t want to stay uncurled, their instinct to grasp to something, and Calla’s little hand grabs softly on to Sephiroth’s index.
He’d been controlling himself before, but as his daughter holds on to him, a sob rips from his throat, and Sephiroth breaks down entirely.
They share in this moment, the quiet-- the gentle hum of Cissnei’s IV, and the nurses who dare to keep away during these moments. When Calla is lifted from her arms she is empty, she wants to cry, which she already has done, but she keeps her emotions in check this time, watching father and daughter interact. She knows Sephiroth never had a man he could call father, and deep down she knows his biggest insecurity is the same as hers. But just as her doubt melted away for the mere moments that Calla was in this world, she has done the same thing for her husband, who is always so consumed-- just as she. And these two broken people who have had nothing in this world, now have everything in this pink and yellow girl. They have such and unclean past, and it’s a shame that they were forced to be this way, since deep down she knows they could have been so much more, and now Cissnei is that more-- wife, mother and all that comes between. Ochre eyes watch her husband and child intently, their daughter is so small and innocent, and she’s lucky-- with a SOLDIER for a father and a Turk for a mother, with extended family waiting to meet her. Waiting to keep her the perfect little flower she is. And that’s exactly what she is--
Perfect.
It takes Cissnei a moment, but she sits up to be next to her husband, to be with her child who has ensnared the General completely with just one gentle touch. Her hand goes for her husband’s back and her head finds his shoulder. He’s perfect with her-- of course he is. He’s done all his reading and research, much like she had done in the beginning-- with their first, but she pushes that thought to the back of her mind as she leans in and brushes her fingers over her daughter’s head again. She’s perfect-- and she does it because she still can’t believe she’s real, even though her body begs to differ. When the word dad leaves Sephiroth’s mouth, Cissnei looks to the clock-- and it’s a little after two. It’s Sunday-- the third Sunday in June and this is the best gift she could have given him. Calla already has given him the greatest gift of all, but she whispers it anyway-- “Happy Father’s Day.”
The minutes tick by, painfully, terribly slow, and it’s so stressful Sephiroth feels like he could die from it, like his rapid heartbeat could make the muscle pound right through his chest. He hadn’t been ready for this, and Cissnei probably hadn’t, either. But she’s strong, he knows that about her, knows she can endure this, even if it happens again, knows she’ll come through it again if she has to.
What he worries about, more than anything, is seeing her go through that misery one more time. He doesn’t think he could take it.
His thoughts are a mess, a dizzying whirlwind, and nothing pulls him out of them, even when a nurse comes and detaches the crumpled, ruined magazine from his hands. She speaks to him for a moment, and he blinks at her, unable to understand what she’s saying at all; and then he hears, from the open door—the open door to Cissnei’s room!—the crying of a baby.
Sephiroth doesn’t need to answer the nurse. He’s almost running toward that door, a hand grabbing at the frame as he swings around it, cyan eyes widening at what he sees therein.
His wife. His daughter. Both of them so small, both of them so lovely, and it almost doesn’t even seem like it’s really happening, and he can’t feel the floor beneath him as exhales, relieved, and slowly walks forward, tentatively sitting at the edge of the bed, placing a trembling hand on Cissnei’s.
“She’s…”
He can’t even find the right word. Sephiroth looks at his baby, then up at Cissnei, eyes widening and expression nothing but pure adoration and gratitude, and he thinks it’s better that he doesn’t try to put it into words, a smile splitting his face.
An unhealthy sob is pulled from her body when brown eyes find her husband, she hopes that doing this alone is one more thing that he can forgive her for. They both have their own sins to carry, and for some reason the gods have given this this bundle, all swaddled in pink and yellow-- who has whips of chocolate hair starting to curl at the crown, the colour she must have gotten from her father, and the curls from her mother. Tears still fall freely as Cissnei takes a hard look at her daughter, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel real, the silver band and the babe on her breast shouldn’t be hers, but they are. She shifts, craddling their daughter in her one arm as she doesn’t let go of her husband, he’s her rock-- her tether to this life that can’t be real. “Perfect.“ She manages, between the tears. Finally the trembling subsides, she knew this could happen. A flush of hormones running through her body, breaking her down into something she rarely is, but she doesn’t dwell on it for long, she ghosts her finger tips over the almost settled newborn. It takes a moment to register, but she looks for some inkling of her in her daughter, and all she can find is the gentle curl of her hair, Calla’s nose is a halfway between the pair-- but despite chubby newborn cheeks, she sees Sephiroth. And that’s comforting and alarming, it makes their daughter a target-- but they are prepared, as she’s been assured time and time again. But she can’t shake the overwhelming feeling, the feeling that they have something more to give than their parents did. Sephiroth was raised without comfort, and she was raised fighting tooth and nail. Calla would want for nothing-- which would be good and bad, but she was their blank slate. Their chance to do some real good. “Sephiroth-- do you want to hold her?”
Sephiroth had never been one to pace, but he’s gone over the waiting room at least forty times now. He’s never been one to sweat, or look upset, either, but there’s an anxiety, a tension, set all through his form, his shoulders actually shaking.
He’s glad no one he knows is there to see him so distraught, but if they were, they’d probably understand it’s with good reason.
Cissnei’s been in that room for well over two hours now, and he’d kill to be with her but she insisted that he not be there—just in case of the worst happening, and he understood her fears but now he was left with a set of his own. He tries to think about good things, so he doesn’t worry. They decided on pale yellow for the room. He’s been devouring books more than tea lately. They’re looking at a house, instead of Sephiroth’s apartment, though there’s space enough for now.
But he’s separated from her, and he can’t see or know what’s happening, only every now and then hears a muffled cry, knows it’s his wife, knows she’s hurting and it hurts him, too.
He’s twisting a magazine in clammy hands. Strangers are looking at him but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care. Calla (Callum, maybe? he doesn’t even remember if they know for sure) will either be here soon, or not at all, and he’s praying desperately to every god he knows that it’s the first option and not the second.
Contractions course through her body, and of course in a designated room, with her pre-designated doctor whom she did not like-- but tolerated for the sake of her husband. She’s taking on this daunting task alone, for her past is like a scar, and she does not wish to wound her husband if something was to happen to her- or if something was to happen to their daughter. And she is early, painful early, but Cissnei always knew this would happen. She was far too narrow to carry a child to forty weeks, so she screams as another contraction rips through her. She’s told to push, and the anxieties wave through her, how can she be a good mother if she doesn’t even know if she can love this parasite that has been growing within her for almost eight months. But she loves her husband, and she knows she’ll love her daughter, that she may muck her up, but that’s why she has Sephiroth, to even out the insecurities she has in this, much like the insecurities he’s faced with her. Perspiration beads down her neck as another groan is ripped from her body, and she’s demanding now that they remove the baby or give her something for the pain, but her doctor who has ruled her medical chart and has seen her twice a week for six months, has told her she can have nothing for the pain that is very close to making her feverish, and she gives it one more push and falls back into the sweat soiled cotton sheets-- to only hear a piecing cry, She didn’t mess up this time. Calla. Someone shuffles out, the doctors take their measurements, and the professor is escorted from the room, then-- and only they she feels the child placed upon her chest, and she relaxes, eyes closing for the briefest of moments.
She’s here.
Headcanons 2.0 (secrets edition)
♦ - something no one knows about your muse
★ - a guilty desire they are ashamed of
♒ - a secret that’s obvious
∇ - a secret about your muses family
☼ - a person who knows most of the muses secrets
♡ - a secret about their love life
• • •
I was one of 12 candidates from the Kalm Orphanage. I became a Turk to earn my freedom. Instead I became a spy and sold it. Cissnei of the Turks || Post Dirge || Written by Beanie
“You should have called.”
★ ☆ ★ ☆ An envelope addressed to you appears in your inbox. There is no sign of the person that left it, but you could swear you smell a hint of vanilla and rose in the air, (or is that your imagination?) There is a message neatly scrawled on a note that reads: "Here, have a drink on me." Attached is a coupon for a free coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, in any size, at one of the Cafés on Loveless Avenue. Lucky! ★ ☆ ★ ☆
The piece of paper is flimsy in her hands, but the smooths over the edges, that have been crinkled under the weight of her forgotten mail. It takes a moment, and her head tilts slightly in bemusement and wonder. Oh she will use this-- and it’s a nice gift for the early riser.A smile graces her features, “Maybe I’ll see them there so I can thank them?”
radtracks:
blackbird // the beatles
blackbird singing in the dead of night take these sunken eyes and learn to see all your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise
Illuminated nights captured by Roberto Bertero
100 days of headcanons:
Day 1: Childhood Day 2: Family Day 3: Dreams Day 4: Smile Day 5: Strength Day 6: Weakness Day 7: Hope Day 8: Loss Day 9: Desire Day 10: Clothes Day 11: Destiny Day 12: School Day 13: College Day 14: Work Day 15: Family Day 16: Bed Day 17: Breakfast Day 18: Nightmares Day 19: Fear Day 20: First kiss Day 21: Parents Day 22: Siblings Day 23: Heart Day 24: Illness Day 25: Hair Day 26: Skin Day 27: Pet peeve Day 28: Anger Day 29: Funny Day 30: Happy Day 31: Grief Day 32: Death Day 33: Hurt Day 34: Sandwich Day 35: Feet Day 36: Future Day 37: Lonely Day 38: Friends Day 39: Sex Day 40: Kinks Day 41: Sleep Day 42: Health Day 43: Cooking Day 44: Music Day 45: Art Day 46: Intelligence Day 47: Social Day 48: Scars Day 49: Injuries Day 50: Fight Day 51: Love Day 52: Hate Day 53: Disappointment Day 54: Aspiration Day 55: Admiration Day 56: Sunshine Day 57: Ocean Day 58: Heights Day 59: Cold Day 60: Pain Day 61: Resilience Day 62: Hands Day 63: Children Day 64: Technology Day 67: Writing Day 68: Sad Day 69: Faith Day 70: Loyalty Day 71: Honesty Day 72: Morning Day 73: Night Day 74: Evening Day 75: Phone Day 76: Sunset Day 77: Medicine Day 78: Jewelry Day 79: Relatives Day 80: Book Day 81: Photos Day 82: Colours Day 83: Diary Day 84: Tears Day 85: Humility Day 86: Selfless Day 87: Movie Day 88: Heat Day 89: Clock Day 90: Money Day 91: Fun Day 92: Comfort Day 93: Waiting Day 94: Scent Day 95: Voice Day 96: Seasons Day 97: Handwriting Day 98: Face Day 99: Storm Day 100: Time
average-to-beast: