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bastardsunlight · 8 months
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//I ain't back from gettin' that hiatussy or nothin' but oh my GOD this place got... twittery-er--like the tungle straight up looks like twitter dear jesus
okay anyway I digress--so just a quick reminder to please read people's rules, respond appropriately (e.g. if they have a password, fucking send it, and if you don't "do" passwords, just leave 'cause they ain't breakin' their rules for you, twat. Uh also--wait holy shit what--did it just save this as I was typing? the fuck? OH okay anyway I digress...ed... again--UH read bios, ESPECIALLY for OCs. Canons might have divergence or whatever the cool kids are callin' it but like, an OC is someone completely else and you might just miss something CRITICAL about 'em like how @vehxmence's OC, hawk-a-tron (or variations on that theme) RE-HEE-HEE-HEEALLY hates Albert "swats an SUV just to spite you feeling carbon fiber might mutate and murder interns later idk" Wesker and there is literally no fucking incarnation of that which doesn't BECOME hate in some wild-ass way which you'd know if you spoke to the mun for 0.069 seconds or idk read her bio--wild.
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bastardsunlight · 11 months
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//Gunna get me some of that hiatussy, folks. Yep, that’s right, after like six years of nonstop horseshit, I’m going to be takin’ a break. Long story shirt I’ve received some pretty discouraging news at work and I’ve already been breaking my back for that place. I have a lot of static in my head and it’s become difficult to focus on long form writing. My queue will likely run itself out over the next few days, but after that, I’ll probably just draft any responses. If you don’t feel like continuing when I’m back, that is a-okay with me. I absolutely get it. Sorry if this feels sudden and take care of yourselves, okay? 
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//Gunna get me some of that hiatussy, folks. Yep, that’s right, after like six years of nonstop horseshit, I’m going to be takin’ a break. Long story shirt I’ve received some pretty discouraging news at work and I’ve already been breaking my back for that place. I have a lot of static in my head and it’s become difficult to focus on long form writing. My queue will likely run itself out over the next few days, but after that, I’ll probably just draft any responses. If you don’t feel like continuing when I’m back, that is a-okay with me. I absolutely get it. Sorry if this feels sudden and take care of yourselves, okay? 
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//I'm not crying you are
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he just wants to say hi
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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(June/Jericho or like, yknow, Noxus muses)
It was hard to make a prognosis at this time. They only just managed to pull her from immediate danger. June would live, for now, but for how long? And will her magic survive with her? All they knew was this: The bedridden child had saved the Immortal Bastion and all inside it from destruction, overloading her own power and absorbing a force that was dangerous and violent, the equal and opposing force causing the threat to fizzle away, and June to fall to the floor in a heap.
This was not a restful period for June, as Le Blanc filled in the blanks that her own powers would manifest, if she had the strength. That her sacrifice meant nothing, that no one was waiting for her on the other side, and without her magic, she was useless, he would discard her. It was only the inner circle of the Bastion present, watching June listlessly whisper to herself. "Nothing... nothing..." If she were in this state before, she'd be rudely awakened and thrown back into her work, she was simply waiting to be seized.
"You best put her out of her misery now, Jericho... What is she to you without her powers? Even more of a burden... Nothing. It was pathetic, her infatuation for you Darius, you should all abandon her, go back to your posts, she means nothing... She'll die how she lived, alone in a dark room, in pain, unloved, nothing to anyone..." "Nothing... Nothing..."
Swain could hear the voice, that malicious thing—she was talking to both of them, his secret agent of Guile, former lover, and maestra of Noxian upheavals, successes and all manner of shifting since its inception as a sovereign nation. He tossed his hand about to dispel her, holding June’s small fingers in his large, ruby, demonic one.
She liked that hand, he knew, so he held hers with it.
Nearby, the Hand himself stood, arms folded behind, watching with concern, brows furrowed. Outside the door, he knew his brother waited, watched, and guarded. Draven was insufferably full of himself, but even had had come to appreciate the waif mage who’d taken up residence in the Immortal Bastion. He figured he probably scared her and that was just fine; she wasn’t his type anyhow, but there was something about her that made a fellow want to be protective—like a sister, he figured, since he’d never actually had one.
“You will recover, little one,” Swain purred, “but first you must rest… let your mind be at ease.” His free hand reached down to push hair off her sweat-soaked, clammy forehead. “And when you awaken, we will create wonders… Noxus has never known power like yours and with it, she will rise to supremacy…”
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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“Quit squirmin’.”
The Hyena speaking (well, practically growling) seems to surprise even the operative next to her — he’s masked, too, albeit with a bandanna instead of the snarling bones and teeth on the face of the Revenant warlord. Her right hand is holding Chris’s jaw steady as the somehow softer left one tends to his eye. Well, where his eye used to be, anyway. There’s a man who appears to be a medic hovering behind her, and after she clears some of the gore from the big man’s face, absolutely heedless of the fact he probably outweighs her close to doubly, she backs away to let more experienced hands do their work. But only just. Chris Redfield might have found Revenant’s good side tonight, but he isn’t about to run back to his handlers and tell about it.
“Get him patched up enough to move — we gotta go. See if he feels like eatin’ on the road.”
Chris is weak and in pain and his heart is hammering angrily. He had looked into those eyes with his one remaining and he had seen… him. Oh god, he’d seen… He tried to struggle, or what his brain told him was a struggle, but the soldiers who moved in on either side to lift him didn’t seem to have trouble beyond his weight.
“You sure about this ma’am?” The voice came from an operative with no mask but mirrored sunglasses, incongruous in this darkness, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His voice was sharp, clipped, and smooth and the lines on either side of his mouth spoke of relatively advanced age for this kind of field work.
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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azurepanther​
Sephiroth’s gaze never left Cloud, and he chuckled, soft and low.
“Perhaps, but sometimes protocol can be ignored.”
Sephiroth could hear Cloud’s heartbeat (his enhanced senses seemed to be almost lazer-focused on Cloud at the moment) and realised that it was caused by him. Did that mean Cloud felt as he did? Well, he could not afford to obsess over that. He could, however, allow himself to wish that was the case.
“Cloud,” Sephiroth spoke low and softly, “I have a favor to ask of you. If I fall asleep again, could you make sure my hair does not fall in my face? It is always a pain to adjust it when I wake.” Sephiroth never let anybody touch his hair for any reason, but he was happy to let Cloud do so. In fact, some part of him wanted those hands to run through his hair.
He was also giving Cloud his permission if the other man ever wanted to touch his hair. Sephiroth knew that most people were curious about the hair’s texture and how soft it was, but he had always refused to have it touched. Until now.
It was at that moment he realised just how hard he had fallen for the quiet but occasionally feisty blonde known as Cloud Strife.
Cloud was stunned at the request—not so much at its intimacy but at its human banality. It was such a silly concern for someone like Sephiroth to have and yet he was admitting it to Cloud and asking him to correct it. Slowly, Cloud felt himself nod before he could control his response and then his treacherous lips began to move.
“Yeah, I always kind of wondered if it was soft or not.” Now why had he said that? What in the world had possessed him? It was true, of course, but hardly mission critical. This was not relevant. Sephiroth’s eyes, so like his own yet so much more dangerous, had arrested him and he was hypnotized. As they spoke, he found himself drawn to staring into them, unable to break contact… or unwilling.
“I ah… y’know, curiosity—I’m probably not the only one.” This was most likely the largest number of words he had strung together in a very long time with anyone other than Zack. Zack Fair could get anyone talking, if only to tell him to stuff a sock in it. But Sephiroth? Why open up to him? Even if it was small, it was an opening.
It was only then he realized he’d not answered the question at all and had in fact forgotten what it was. 
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//rebageling for day crowd and also to inflict the word “hiatussy” on more eyeballs. I hope you hate reading it as much as I hated writing it.
//Gunna get me some of that hiatussy, folks. Yep, that’s right, after like six years of nonstop horseshit, I’m going to be takin’ a break. Long story shirt I’ve received some pretty discouraging news at work and I’ve already been breaking my back for that place. I have a lot of static in my head and it’s become difficult to focus on long form writing. My queue will likely run itself out over the next few days, but after that, I’ll probably just draft any responses. If you don’t feel like continuing when I’m back, that is a-okay with me. I absolutely get it. Sorry if this feels sudden and take care of yourselves, okay? 
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//Gunna get me some of that hiatussy, folks. Yep, that’s right, after like six years of nonstop horseshit, I’m going to be takin’ a break. Long story shirt I’ve received some pretty discouraging news at work and I’ve already been breaking my back for that place. I have a lot of static in my head and it’s become difficult to focus on long form writing. My queue will likely run itself out over the next few days, but after that, I’ll probably just draft any responses. If you don’t feel like continuing when I’m back, that is a-okay with me. I absolutely get it. Sorry if this feels sudden and take care of yourselves, okay? 
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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unshackled-instinct​
In truth,  part of Iori just wanted this damned night to end already. 
But, another part of him was beginning to appreciate a certain trait that the Wild Wolf had - Iori was fascinated by how persistent he was, be it in combat or just trying to reach out to a relative stranger. He knew that Terry was something of a local celebrity among the citizens of Southtown, as demonstrated by a random passer-by earlier in the evening.  
As much as Iori was irritated by all of this contrived small talk - though, to think of it, there were few times when he wasn’t irritated by something - he found himself not wanting to refuse Terry’s friendly gestures. Part of him wanted to befriend the guy, while another part of his mind wanted to snap back at him to keep him away.
Since two managed cooperate in order to fend off a drunken Billy Kane, he found himself reflecting on his decision all the more.
And that was enough to irritate him even further, causing a grimace to form on his face.  
As for a topic that he wanted to talk about…
Something from earlier came to his mind.
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“Since you wanted me to talk so badly,” Iori replied. “You said you had a kid, didn’t you?”
There we go, Terry thought, reelin’ ‘im in. The thought of Iori as a particularly cantankerous fish delighted the man and he felt himself grinning even as he shifted position to pull the wallet out of his back pocket. He was aware he was being humored, but that was no reason not to preen. 
“I’m so glad you asked,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone as he produced a chain of wallet-sized photos of Rock Howard, red-eyed son of Geese Howard. Some pictures featured just the kid, some were of Rock and Terry, some included Andy and even Mai Shiranui. Terry’s cheeks were flushed with the alcohol and the pride of a father.
“He’s not really a kid anymore, but I’ve always got these—y’know… keeps ‘im humble.” He chuckled again at how the young man reacted every time he threatened to pull out the kid pics. It was always a devastating tool.
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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@ultramarineblues and I have a terrible running joke that Magnus got drunk and mischievous and turned a few of his brothers into animals.
Poor SanGoose just wants a few minutes of freedom to swim and hiss at joggers. He escaped Azkaellon by running into a flock of identical geese.
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//Turning off my inbox/submissions for a little while. No reason, just a way to control the influx of stuff as I’m kind of in a trough as far as wanting to do long form writing. Ain’t nothing wrong I just don’t wanna put myself on hiatus, so I’m trying this first. 
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//SIXTY NINE IT IS--TO THE THERMOSTAT
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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Leblanc takes Wesker by his shirt collar and pulls him down to her level, straining up on the tippy toes of her pale pink heels to whisper in his ear:
“Put my coffee cup on top of the fridge again and I’ll test the regenerative properties of your liver with whatever power tools I find in the maintenance closet. No sedative.”
“Talk dirty to me, Lilian,” he responds, raising his voice just enough that a passing intern nearly faints with the baritone rasp of its power. He knows it will bounce right off his vivisectionist-in-chief, but that isn’t why he plays this game, is it?
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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//leaving the thermostat at sixty to motivate myself to do replies. “If I clear my drafts, I can turn it to 65. If I clear my inbox? 69″. WHAM
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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azurepanther​
Rufus Shinra had seen many things since he had become a Turk, things that would horrify the normal folk. He was rarely shaken by anything, but having heard the resounding cracks of President Strife striking her own son behind those closed doors… Rufus felt uneasy. He entered when the doors opened, and noticing Cloud his eyes widened ever so slightly as he analysed the situation.
His eyes met Cloud’s, and he kept up a neutral expression. He was unsure if the heir wanted him to say something in response, so he kept quiet at first.
“Rufus Shinra, at your service, sir.” Rufus politely introduced himself by name, as was expected of a Turk. Professionalism in all situations, and it was social etiquette.
Glancing around, making sure they were alone, he spoke again.
“Are you alright, sir?” Now normally Rufus would not dare to ask such a question, but this time impulse won over reason.
The instinct to hiss and spit and behave like the cornered and injured animal he was came on strong. He shook his head and waved it off. “No,” he answered simply, “but that’s… normal.” Shrugging, he got to his feet and straightened his clothes. There was a little blood on the lapel of his button-down shirt, but he ignored it, probing at the lip with his tongue and making a face.
“Rufus Shinra… so you’re my …. babysitter.” The word came out flatly, like the rest of his sentence. He was fighting something, some emotion he did not want to feel or display. Anger was the easiest to discern, but deeper than that was frustration, embarrassment… and hurt, real hurt. He swallowed that down as he seemed to swallow everything else.
“I don’t need you, y’know,” he said, hearing the petulance in his own tone and hating it. The hatred targeted at himself was, he felt, more controllable than that toward his mother which was silly and foolish, ultimately doomed to failure and obscurity, as she insisted he would be if he did not “shape up”. She’d lectured him enough on that subject, treating him as a slow child.
“She’s just afraid her legacy will get himself killed in a ditch in the slums,” he continued, rolling his sleeves up. “She doesn’t wanna hand the company to someone who isn’t related.” All of this, the Turk likely knew well enough. Anyone with eyes could see how the Strife Electric Power company was structured. The passage of it from parent to child was a given. He was the prince or scion of a dynasty that spanned the globe and Claudia Strife would not have her son dying or making a fool of himself.
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bastardsunlight · 1 year
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azurepanther​
If Rufus was surprised by Cloud’s forwardness, he did not show any sign of it. Instead, Rufus allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of being pressed against Cloud’s body and being held there.
The kiss became more heated than before, causing the president’s mind to go haywire. Cloud Strife, his Turk and bodyguard, was kissing him. Did that mean Cloud wanted him too? Genuinely? The thought made his heart skip a beat, but he ignored that and continued to kiss the other man.
His own hands found their way onto Cloud, both of them tangling themselves into Cloud’s hair gently. The blonde’s hair was surprisingly soft despite the spiked appearance of it. He barely registered the ding of the elevator doors as they reached the lobby floor.
Breaking the kiss for air, Rufus remained pressed against Cloud on the wall. With Cloud’s firm grip on his neck and waist, Rufus was not sure he was capable of escape even if he wanted to. But Rufus did not want to part with him, not yet, so he stayed in Cloud’s hold.
Gazing into those crystal-like eyes, Rufus felt a hint of a smile on his own face. Removing one hand from Cloud’s hair, he trailed it down to the man’s face. Resting his hand on Cloud’s cheek, Rufus watched the other man intently for a few moments
He longed to have another kiss, and another. However, he supposed they should actually go to their ‘date’. But the idea of just staying in the presidential suite for the night, together, was a good one. Rufus leaned in and kissed Cloud again, that mouth was irresistible. Cloud himself was irresistible.
His hand rejoined his other one in Cloud’s hair, holding the Turk in place like how Cloud was holding him in place. Rufus gave up the pretense that this was practice. This was not practice for him, no, this was something deeper.
In point of fact, Cloud had surprised himself with his own enthusiasm. What had started as an attempt at authenticity—there was no reason to half-ass something when you were doing it with and for the man who paid you; that was just stupid—had become something Cloud found he rather enjoyed. He wanted more and Rufus seemed eager to reciprocate.
Those fingers in his hair pulled a quiet sound from Cloud’s lips that was swiftly swallowed by yet another kiss as Rufus pressed himself firmly to Cloud’s body, keeping them both in the elevator an indecent amount of time. Then again, the Shinra family owned this whole place—hell, the whole city—so they could linger wherever suited Rufus Shinra.
Briefly, Cloud wondered what kind of business Rufus might be conducting at dinner, truly. Surely this could not just be a desire to have dinner half on his own, could it? Did people who were so wealthy as the Shinra family do such things? As someone who worked for them, Cloud figured he should probably know this one, but the ways of that particular echelon of high society were foreign to him. He could imitate, but perforce never duplicate.
“We… you’re going to be late,” he managed, hating the breathless way his voice betrayed how he’d been taken off guard. He was a Turk, a hitman and a bodyguard, not a horny teenager. 
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