also um i may be remaking this blog tonight and by that i mean I Will Remake This Blog so just a heads up..
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@yikeen
also um i may be remaking this blog tonight and by that i mean I Will Remake This Blog so just a heads up..
obsessed with this icon
annie...............................
@nemurui said: “hey,” he’s not subtle at all, handing her a phone strap with a cute blue rabbit attached without much fanfare, “happy birthday.” min holds up his own flip phone, complete with a baby pink rabbit charm, “i thought we could match.” 🥰
𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙖𝙚𝙠𝙢𝙞𝙣’𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙚𝙛𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨. whether intended or not, he makes navigates everything with an ease tifa can’t quite conjure as naturally. he hands her the phone strap, “ 𝗈𝗁, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 . . . ! ” and she’s enthralled when he holds his own. a laugh bubbles from her throat, shaking her head, her way of saying oh, you shouldn’t have bothered, without actually saying it. it’s a gift, and denying it would be in poor taste. “ i did mention i wanted one, didn’t i, ” she takes it, and brings out her own phone, carefully attaching it. and she pauses a moment, smiling at the gift, overjoyed.
glancing up, holding the newly decorated phone, her gratitude is written along her smile. “ 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝖾’𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆. ”
umbnis.
𝒯he phone vibrates in his pocket, though he attempted to ignore the call. once, twice, thrice : the phone rang rather insistently until he finally brought the device to his ear, lips pulled into a grimace. ❝ what? ❞
aloud: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦. the guy saves the planet and suddenly he thinks he’s hot shit, doesn’t he ? or so the annoyance of having to call not one, not two, but three times tells him. “ don’t sound so excited. i’m callin’ for business, but only if there’s no one around that can hear you. ”
@lecrim said: *hands him his sack lunch* 'it has your favorite fruit gummies in it'
at the invasion of his desk, he withdraws the papers he found himself reading as knee jerk instinct. and, upon looking up, 𝗍𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇. unimpressed falls short to describe his expression, but he supposes it’s something to be amused at. “ 𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢. ” he says simply, nearly sighing afterwards. “ 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚, if that’s what reno told you. ”
ok im here . lets see who takes the first hit...........
shinraown.
abhorrent history : it’s ink is naught but blood written ‘pon the concrete streets of midgar. he laments not days passed, only learned from their mistakes, shinra’s mistakes —– nay, his mistakes. though, even so, he narrows in on the memories of their specific past together. phantom of a smile, fleeing when light shone too brightly ‘pon his features. ❛ —— your hair when it was short … didn’t suit you. keep it long. ❜ he says gently, a tone so foreign on his tongue.
his sigh embedded with thick fatigue, ❛ i suppose i am. ❜ three years came and went, he’d held his kingdom in the palm of his hands then. now, it was nothing, a legacy to die with him. ❛ what do you intend to do now, tseng —— i’m curious. ❜
more often than not, the space between the vibrations rufus’ praise hide intention. on their earlier days, that is. rufus had been wiser than to pretend tseng would be someone who crafts himself out of praise. 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, quiet sound it is, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗆. no. and it nearly makes him smile back, were it not for the worry.
𝘁𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗴 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀. it levels him to rufus, positioned before him, like the body is an offer. it has. it still is. as if he may steal a glimpse of rufus’ eyes. all he knows: he wants him to steal a glimpse of his when he says, “ my options are limited. ” nothing that lets on much, but it’s on par to his own clarity. the lack of it. “ to find my footing in a world no longer under you . . . proves to be harder than i thought. ” because it never seemed possible. 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆--------- 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. “ i don’t believe i’ll be staying here, no. ” he places a hand atop the back of rufus’, and carefully considers his words. “ i could take to finding a cottage far from here. my paychecks made for a lifetime of savings, you know. ” a dry, drier, humor. an attempt, still. “ 𝗂 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁. ”
misc edits . ( 2 / ? )
@shinraown said: tseng 🥺 can i have a smooch 🥺
the rooms pulse. they're an extension of his body, temperature kept in check and cooler than the summer intensifying by the day. 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯; the balcony welcomes it with only a lick of the warmth. tseng’s jacket is draped over his shoulder, the most casual you could ever see him as, and one could say he was off the clock. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘬𝘴. the railing presses at his back, and his eyes are set on the door in which they came out from, but don't quite focus on it. he's not thinking, not really. and rufus beside him makes not a sound. never without a purpose.
tonight, after long conversation that seemed so mundane, his newly set silence renders tseng thoughtful. nursing notions he's entertained briefly before; 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱, 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹, 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿. whatever that meant and has come to possibly mean. tseng supposes there had been an understanding beyond the workplace, and that any man gets lonely enough to amplify the feeling of longing. the keeping - to - themselves falters in its own strange way. it's not without give or take. and he, finally, takes a good look at him, only for rufus to hold it back.
𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝗎𝖿𝗎𝗌, tseng believes, 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗑𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍.
tseng reads the question fresh off the white of his eyes, deep in the iris. one of his hand removes the glove of his other, and it dares to come hold, carefully, rufus by the chin. he can sense the uncertainty as it crawls on his bare fingers; as he refuses it. as he tilts his head, leaning forward enough to feel him a breath away. he himself has never been above want, he realizes now.
and because of that, tseng pulls back. asking a silent question of his own, is this the whiskey deluding you, rufus, and going over his eyes to reread he hadn't misread it on his behalf; 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙣𝙤, 𝙩𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙤𝙧 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.
@yikeen asked : he can’t say it’s often, the times rufus sheds himself of his coats, no. tseng knows he doesn’t /have/ to, but he doesn’t mind stepping behind him and offer, “ allow me to help you, ” if it’s any more convenient for rufus.
layers of invulnerability shed like snake molting its skin. he’s freed of one single layer of clothing, then another. he feels exposed. naked, in a sense. a serpent with fresh skin in the form of black silk, revealed once white linen is peeled from his form. though, unexpectedly, his shadow behind him is quick to aid him in the removal of aforementioned jacket.
a rare, unfading sense of ambivalence unveils itself along with the silk. for another to become so intimately acquainted with his person, one he’d known for quite a long time, gnaws at the being beneath all the lies and his perfected mask. the armor he’s built ‘round his form to fortify the semblance of invincibility, ultimately damaged by the aid offered to him by another. and he’s able to focus on nothing more than the whisper breathed in his direction and the warmth that follows suit.
he does, indeed, allow the other to remove the second sleeve before turning and retrieving the jacket, placing it carefully behind the chair, his make - shift throne. there are words lingering on the very edge of roseate lips, searching for release. but no words make their grand arrival, only a gentle nod of thanks on his behalf. outwardly, he’s crafted such a remarkable facade, and he need not worry over the expression ‘pon its form. he knows his lips are pulled into a thin line, brows loosened enough to denote a sense of ease, yet there is strong contemplation tempting them to furrow.
when he seats himself ‘pon the chair, hands work their way up his forearms, rolling the sleeves up with such care as to not wrinkle the fabric, a habit he found himself doing quite often when alone in his office in junon. though, he realizes tseng’s presence lingers, and he looks to fill the silence as he risked exposure : ❛ no meetings today? ❜ eyes fixed on the other as he says aloud a query he already knew the answer. perhaps, he had no need to fear exposure —— not around one so fiercely loyal. tseng has seen far more than just a president shed his jacket : he’d witness the betrayal of a son, a vice president, who sought after his own father’s death. there was not much else for rufus to hide from tseng, save for the very skin that covered his skeleton.
with that train of thought, he’s unable to stop the flow of words as they come : ❛ well, then, i suppose you have time for a drink. ❜ a hand, acting of its own accord, gestures out to the nearest chair on the opposite side of the desk. he may as well continue, taking back his words now would be ridiculous. so, smoothly, he says : ❛ sit with me for a moment. ❜
corvalis.
TO ERR / A SLIGHT MISSTEP . his hand stills with fingers touched gentle against the rim of his cup and remains so for a long while after . the pleasantness that had invoked itself from your second sip ( surely a record ) dissolves amidst the cloud of reminiscence that will take him by surprise —— your utterance , soft as it is veiled , stirs memories from bygone days / his breath fluttering across the surface of his own cup / little more than a wrinkle as he sets the cup down once more .
❛ … ah . ❜ tender vocals that fold with singular sound . upon his tongue is the bitterness of mild displeasure : towards the self , mixed among the flavor of hibiscus . sweet in sourness / a potent blend . had nostalgia truly bled this far ? for him to brew such a tea , unknowingly or otherwise . a hum parts from his lips , quiet attempt to disperse of the sudden heaviness in the air , courtesy mirth painted atop his smile . ❛ his majesty always did have good taste . ❜
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒. despite everything, nature pays no mind to his grief and their presence. there’s chirping, distant as it sounds, and noctis gets lost in the melodies for a moment. mind going places where reality is kaleidoscopic and his father walks tall. it’s in the taste of the tea, and he’s unsure whether he wants to take another sip. he sets it on the table, then.
𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩. noctis doubts himself before the words just leave him, “ sorry, ” airy, mixed with a sigh. “ 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . ” 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥, he’s sure ignis can read off his lips. another sip, finally, shaking off the feeling that crept on him. or, attempting to. worthwhile all the same. “ it’s good, iggy. think i’d like it better with one of those tenebraen pastries i like so much, though. ”
youngbutgood.
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐔𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄. he may be a stranger, but he looks nice enough, harmless enough. maybe he took a wrong turn somewhere — at the end of the day, she’s just glad she was in the right place, at the right time. she finally gets a good look at him when he turns to her and she’s dumbstruck at the realization that…he is Cute. definitely the cutest guy whose life she has saved in recent memory. she has to stifle a smile watching his reaction to her; there’s a part of her that wants to be offended he has no idea who she is, but a bigger part of her that, frankly, just doesn’t care. she slips her bow over her shoulder, bending down to collect an arrow that pokes out of the thigh of one of his assailants as she looks over to him with a pivot of her neck. ❛ so just a regular dude no longer in distress then, huh? ❜ she wipes the blood off the point of the arrow in the fold of her elbow before slipping it back into her quiver, expression clearly amused, but endeared. ❛ i’m hawkeye, but you can just call me kate. i’m kind of a super hero. ❜
“ 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗱𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗼𝘄𝗲𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. 𝙣𝙤 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡. ” he quiets down the remnants of energy he almost conjured back then, an electricity jumping from finger to finger until it ceases. “ kind of a superhero. that’s . . . a big deal huh. almost feels like i should be asking for your autograph. ” or, were he another version of him, her number. “ well, kate, i’m siwon, ” a pause to glance at the men, then at her again. “ and i’d love to chat you up somewhere that’s not littered with the guys that were about to beat my ass. 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 ? ” nighttime does call for misfortune to happen, hidden in crevices only her arrows can fit through, it seems.
“ 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒, 𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺𝘦. ”
@shinraown said: straightens tseng’s tie
in midgar, things move in coordination with or against each other. the scenery blurs in the constants, even the incidentals--------- this is the inertia that keeps the city well on its way to burning out. a city tseng has the best view of. and standing here, raised and hidden all the same, 𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴. his breath doesn't stain the glass, and nothing reverberates when he steps away from it. not the way palmer makes himself known.
small man he is, he makes up for in ruckus. tseng follows his stream of consciousness better than anyone; until palmer tugs down at his tie, that is, his other hand balancing a cup of tea, which very well may not have tea in it if he's so bold as to touch him so carelessly. still, tseng merely disregards him with a half-formed frown and mild flinch. when he sees the window to excuse himself widen, he takes it.
were the pay any less, some things wouldn't go without comment.
𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵. on his way to rufus' chambers, where the air is cooler and noise doesn't filter unless he commands it to. steps in long strides, his clever hands almost make it seem like a ritual, putting on the tie again. 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, and between tying it mirror-less and nearing the president's seat, he's two buttons away from perfection. or so he thought. the sound of rufus just now entering behind him trails through his body in unforeseen shocks. he turns around, “ sir--------- " and feels thoroughly inspected by him. as if whatever he intended to command could wait.
the unmistakable weight of rufus' proximity is received with a stillness characteristic of his. the second man that has touched him---his tie---today. 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘶𝘴' 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. “ thank you, ” he begins, slow, clear, head canting to the right, “ mister president. ”
shinraown.
❛ ——– tseng. ❜ it is a quiet voice, smothered by a careful ruse. subterfuge solely to be used on foes, but the lies extended beyond, even into his close inner circle. the final stages of geostigma, they said; rufus shinra, how he’d fallen from his throne. but the mighty only fall so far. he beckons the other nearer, to whisper gently once more. a tone that denotes a sense of nostaglic contemplation during a strange moment of peace. ❛ do you remember when we first met? i remember. ❜ a gentle exhale, missed if one was not listening close enough. ❛ your hair was different. ❜
𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞. though he’s not exempt of working under someone, the scale makes itself felt, down to the building they stand on. the stakes are shaky and so is the power. there’s a practice obedience in the way he approaches him, but tseng’s expression holds a kind of worry. “ 𝘪 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵. ” the hands at his back loosen to his sides when he brings up his hair, a direction he couldn’t have predicted. “ was more at a practical length, if anything. i ought to . . . do something about it now. ” and he pauses. quieter. “ reminiscing, rufus ? ”
It is myself I’ve never met, whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind.
Sarah Kane, from 4.48 Psychosis (via lifeinpoetry)