@ivory-paragon asked:  ∗ 21﹕ sender  overtakes  receiver  in  combat . [ Fight me RENO ]

Growing up in the streets of Midgar had provided Reno with a lot of life lessons on how to keep himself alive with a minimum of resources and under the roughest conditions, which turned out especially helpful during his work as a Turk. He knew how to save his strength if he had to go without food or water for a few days, how to kill people stealthily from behind (if he managed to shut up for once), how to stitch up even the deepest cuts without any healing materia or potions on hand and most importantly he had an incredibly high pain tolerance. He was especially proud of the latter; more than once or twice his opponents had called him a tough son of a bitch and hard to kill, because no matter how bloodied they had beaten him he simply refused to stay down. Reno liked to act tough and cold, but the simple truth was that he cared, he cared so much. Not really about his own well-being, but the well-being of everyone that was dear to him.

The last mission had been a mess. Eventually they had killed the bastards that were preparing to bomb the Shinra tower and accomplished their mission, Reno would hot have accepted anything else, but they had paid a price for it. Reno was still sporting a couple of cracked ribs and a broken nose, his whole body was covered in bruises, but Rude had it worse. At the climax of their battle he had been shot and barely made it out alive, now he still was in the infirmary and as far as Reno knew still in critical condition.

Reno hated this! He was the second in command of the Turks, he was supposed to take care of Rude, what good did all his knowledge and skills do if they didn’t help him protect his partner?

Now Reno was back in the Turks’ quarters, their very own training room to be precise, and he kept slamming his bare fists into the punch bag, his knuckles  were already bruised and bleeding, but Reno didn’t want to stop, he just wanted to feel something, anything else than this unbearable guilt that was tearing him apart.

When someone else entered the room Reno didn’t bother to stop and turn around to see who it was, he didn’t care, but then someone grabbed his wrist to force him to stop and as he looked up he was actually surprised. “Rufus?”, the redhead asked as if he really couldn’t believe who was standing in front of him; Reno had expected Tseng to come down here and scold him, but the president himself? “I don’t have time for you right now, can’t you see I’m busy?”, Reno asked with an impatient tone in his voice as he pulled his wrist free and he cursed under his breath as he barely managed to dodge the punch Rufus was throwing at him. “Hey, man, what the fuck?!” But the only answer to this rather unspecific question was another punch, then another and finally a kick that hit Reno right in his injured ribs and left him breathless. What the hell was going on, did he fuck up that badly that the president decided to punish him and beat the shit out of Reno all by himself?

Reno growled in frustration, but if Rufus wanted to pick a fight with him then he would welcome the distraction and when he finally threw a punch himself he could hear Rufus’ oh so familiar laughter, a clear sign of him simply being amused by the situation and that didn’t help the hotheaded Reno to calm down one bit. He knew Rufus could easily hold himself in a fight, trained to use all kinds of guns with almost perfect aim and skilled in various self-defense combat arts, he was not someone to be underestimated. But he also knew that meant Rufus was not an opponent he had to go easy on. So he didn’t.

The both of them ended up sparring rather intensively, the room was filled with their heavy breathing and even though Reno was slowing down and obviously in pain from this demanding match he didn’t stop or ask for a break. Rufus seemed to notice that and he probably had enough of seeing Reno act recklessly like that, because there was one quick punch to his broken nose he didn’t see coming at all and then Rufus grabbed his wrist again, twisting his arm behind his back before shoving him face first into the nearest wall, his ribs connecting with the hard surface made Reno see stars for a second as the pain shot through his body and only with effort he managed to keep himself on his own two feet. “Okay, fuck! If this is your way of showing me I should slow the fuck down it was a real dick move! Fine, I yield! And now let me go, for fucks sake!”

Closed starter for: @succiducus (Abdullah) Location: Training field Time: Shortly after the attack

“This cannae happen again!” Their voice roared like thunder. Their soldiers stood before them, bruised and battered, the anger upon their faces matching Cailean’s fury. “Chan urrainn dhuinn earbsa a bhith annta.” The officer seemed more like something that had crawled from the nightmare of an Englishman than the person they had been before the attack. Their fury was tangible; blood was still upon their shirt, their skin still tainted red from the blood that had been too stubborn to wash off. “They think they can walk all over us because we are small. They think we are desperate for their protection, but we do not need them; they need us! Let them try to touch our people again, and we will show them how fierce we truly are.” They continued in Gaelic, the only tongue they felt safe enough to speak to their soldiers in.

Cailean had long been known for bringing courageousness into the hearts of those who were too terrified to take another step into a battle, and that day was no different. The French were there, and they managed to ambush them; everyone was on edge, rightfully so. Their lips parted, ready to continue, but that was the moment when they saw him, and the mere sight of him somehow managed to steal their words from their lips and their breath from their lungs. Damn it. Their people continue watching them expectedly, no one daring to move an inch. Cailean turned to them again, clearing their throat. “Um- Get back to work; be vigilant, and do not trust them or anyone else.” With that, they waved them off.

For a long moment, they stood there watching him. He was safe… He was alive. Damn him. They thought to themself, the anger burning within them like a forest fire. He could have died. Someone could have easily killed him because he had been distracted, the most fatal flaw in any fight; he should have known better. Finally, they found the strength to march over to him while ignoring the stares of their soldiers which were burning through their back; damn him, damn him, damn him! Their anger had been a wildfire, raging through everything it touched, but the moment they stood face to face with him, it deflated into nothing but relief. He was safe; he was alive.

“Do you have a death wish? If you are so desperate for it, I’m sure we can arrange that quite easily.” It was all they could do to keep themself from screaming at him and the entire universe at the top of their lungs. How dare he? How dare he risk his life for them again? Despite everything, they reached for him, and they had almost taken his hand in theirs, almost. They only just managed to stop themself when there were mere inches between them. What would people think? They couldn’t…

 “What the hell were you thinking?”

hello hello, like this for a short starter !!

if you're reading this know that ily 👀

*  ♡  ↪  𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 @housefircs​

♡  muse : prudence barton.

“did you see the way she was looking at me? she hates my guts.”

— open starter.

status - open to all, but pls read my rules and mobile about (pinned post) first before interacting. don't like my starters. muse - vasti inaiê souza gonçalves, sculptor, potter and printmaker. bisexual, uses she/her pronouns. human, thirty. wanted opposites (in order of priority) - m/nb/f, 30+. mocs (muns/muses of color) preferred. wanted connections - literal strangers, an ex, fellow artist, someone they haven't seen since sixth grade, as long as they're a little richer than vasti is (and not related) go literally batsh*t plot - they're on their way to personally deliver one of their commissions but they haven't slept well in over 48 hours (they've slept enough to not get pulled over, they can drive) and really should have hired a truck or sent it through the post but hey they've done it before and the client is right across town (or city, cough) so it shouldn't be too bad right? they'll make it except you just kind of yk. rear-ended them at the stoplight and their sh*t's in the trunk bc it couldn't fit in the back seat and now you might have just f*cked sh*t up if that packing wrap isn't as good as it's marketed to be. potential meet cute with insurance problems and career threatening happenings basically, what could be better than that

— she hears it before she feels it, the way the body of the car lurches underneath her at the street corner. the rattling in the back is too loud for her to ignore, and she's already doing inventory on what she has with her. registration papers, house keys, studio keys, that flat tire kit she's never had to use in her life and hopes she won't have to now, the delivery— oh God, fuck, the delivery. in the trunk. surrounded by a shit ton of bubble wrap and cling film and whatever the fuck else she wrapped it in at 3am two days ago and placed it in its box, but last she checked no flat tire makes that kind of sound like the kind where there's a bit too much metal and you know in your gut you'll need to call your insurance company. both of them, in her case, if the vehicle in her rearview mirror is giving anything to go by. que se lixe isso, this is not a good day. her blood pressure was not made for this. neither was her neck, for that matter, but she doubts there was enough speed behind the impact to cause any whiplash worth worrying about. she unlocks her phone as she steps out, car door slamming closed behind her, insurance already on speed dial. as a precaution she takes a few photos of the other car's license plate, now neatly tucked (along with the front bumper) just barely under her chassis—she is not paying for this shit if she doesn't have to, especially if the driver in question has enough money to be driving a car like that right into her sedan and especially if they might have just jeopardized her commission. three months, hundreds of hours, possibly damaged in her trunk because it's the one day she didn't have her morning coffee and decided to put it there instead of the backseat, bubble wrap or no bubble wrap. yeah, she'll milk every last penny from that payout while she's at it. might as well be pissed for a reason. 'hey,' she says, coming up to the window as it rolls down, 'i'm sorry, this is going to sound so completely fucking obvious and i know this and you know this but i think you just rear-ended me? and there's something in my trunk that i really need to get out and check on before this day goes any further to shit than it already has so if you could please try and back the fuck up, it would be much appreciated. juro o túmulo da minha mãe.' her mother is alive, thank you very much, but it's not like they need to know that in english or portuguese. // @indiestarter

@creationtainted || Starter

   Okay, so maybe she was a little worried about him. There's a bit of a conflicting feeling, between leaving him to fend for himself among the sinners he supposedly hates so much, and offering to help him so he's not alone like she technically was upon arrival over a year and a half ago. Sure she had the person who she made a deal with, but he often doesn't answer questions and leaves her to her own devices to figure things out a lot. 

   Despite that, she tries not to think too much about it, she'll just .. maybe ask how he's doing next time they cross paths. Or maybe ignore him? No. That's probably mean considering she did cook something for him to make up for that terrible joke. Not that he was probably going to eat it, she did sort of give it to him with no words or context. 

   Scrunching up her nose slightly, she runs her hand through her hair as her ears flatten slightly. This is stupid, she shouldn't give a damn about this, about him really, but of course, she has a habit of caring about people too damn easily. Sure enough, after a few moments of fighting with herself, she heads in the direction she last saw him go. 

   She hadn't expected to manage to spot him, but seems he's gotten a place to stay, and not in the best part of town. Then again, there's no real best part of this ring. Okay. So he's got somewhere to be right? So he's fine, right? He should be. So why is she still worried? 

   God she fucking hates herself.

   Against better judgment, she heads over to the door of the room he went into, standing there for a good few moments before lightly knocking on the door. Was she half hoping he didn't hear her? Yeah. Because then she could justify leaving and say that she tried. Plus, she's pretty sure she's gonna get slammed with a ' stalking ' accusation. 

as the threads of time weave an almost surreal encore, she finds herself trapped in a cinematic sense of déjà vu: stumbling upon fontaine's ludex precisely where their paths converged a year prior—on this precise date, at this exact hour. “ you're here again. ” navia comments, moving to his side; her cerulean gaze fixates on the gravestone adorned with her father's name. a pervasive melancholy lingers, a sentiment poised to tighten her chest. yet, navia combats its encroachment with a smile, one delicately aimed at the towering figure beside her. “ didn't i tell you not to feel guilty? ”

starter call ; @oneireth

closed starter for @likethefiish

❛   pike  ...  what  the  hell  ?  ❜   hands  move  to  hips  almost  instinctively  ,  brows  furrowed  and  frown  deepening  , offering  him  a  POINTED  look.  ❛  you  showing  up  here  every  few  months,  god            y'know  ,  for  the  record  ...  you  being  here  is  really  just  kind  of  annoying  most  of  the  time  ,  like  ...  what  are  you  trying  to  accomplish  exactly  ?  ❜ maybe  she's  being  harsh  ,  but  sometimes  ...  sometimes  everything  was  too  HARD.  maybe  that  was  her  fault.  maybe  going  to  college  and  trying  to  have  an  EASIER  ,  simpler  life  had  been  half-delusion  ,  half-wishful  thinking.  or  at  least  ,  it  was  starting  to  feel  that  way.  ❛  and  i'm  trying  to  be  discreet  ,  which  you're  totally  not  helping  with  ...  waltzing  on  in  guns  a'blazing  or  whatever.  if  you're  gonna  go  waving  that  stake  around  ,  do  you  think  you  could  like  ,  tone  it  down  a  notch  ?  the  vampires  on  this  campus  aren't  exactly  known  for  their  cunning.  ❜

                    julien   has   this   …       claim   …       over   camille   .       and   it’s   wrong   .       god   ,   it’s   all   sorts   of   wrong   .       but   he   charmed   her   away   from   her   ex   once   ,   didn’t   he   ?       so   why   wouldn’t   he   think   he   could   do   it   again   ?       “   so   ,   i   hear   darius   has   emerged   from   his   …       comment   dit - on   ?       ah   ,   yes   ,   hiding   place   ,   ”       mumbles   ,   lips   ghosting   her   neck   ,   barely   touching   ,   breath   warm   on   her   skin   .       he’s   so   damn   confident   ,   so   very   sure   ,   as   fingers   tilt   her   chin   up   ,   up   to   meet   his   gaze   .       “   to   that   ,   i   propose   a   night   out   .       just   you   and   i   .       oh   ,   and   a   horde   of   paparazzi   ,   of   course   .       think   of   the   message   that’ll   send   ,   hmm   ?       it’ll   paint   such   a   vivid   picture   of   where   your   loyalties   truly   lie   .   ”       //       @salvateure

"Have you ever been so awkward that you allowed something to happen for ages, just because you feel like it's been going on for so long that it would be more awkward if you said something about it?" Dante started off; though not usually the one for small talk, he apparently had one of his oversharing moments just to break a more awkward silence.

"I guess that sounds really vague, but here's the thing - sometimes I fail to avoid my neighbor when I go to work in the morning. Trust me, I've tried spending longer to drink my coffee, but it's like she's psychic, okay? And I don't know what exactly gave her this idea, because it definitely wasn't me, but basically she thinks my name is Harold. And she calls me that every single time I see her when I leave my house. It's been six months and I still haven't corrected her and at this point I'm scared to do so."

Hey you should like this for a starter -- specify which skelli you want + verse lest you want a grumpy fiery skeleton pirate

Interaction Call/Interest Check!

Hiya everybody! So uh... 👀 in case it hasn't been obvious by me reblogging Baizhu's content and screeching novels in the tags, I am officially adding him to this blog! ヾ(*꧆▽꧆*)ノ✨

If you'd like to interact with this here sweet and totally not shady snake doctor babygirl, perhaps hit that lil heart so I may toss him at you? 🥺👉👈 💖

Being reunited with Clive has felt like an impossible dream for so many years. And they are finally together again now. The sons of fire. And the best feeling of all of it is that it feels like nothing has changed. Clive is not angry at him. They are both relieved. Maybe they will never get these years back, but hopefully they will have much more years together and won't part for long again.

Joshua knows Clive worries about him because he overworked himself during that fight against Bahamut, but he doesn't mind. He was raised to be this way. He has to be useful, always, and now the most important thing is to be useful to Clive's mission and to work at his side with Jill and Torgal.

"I will be fine, Brother. I assure you that you can trust me," he says, gently patting the other's shoulder as a warm smile crosses his lips. How many years has it been since he smiles like this ? It was probably in Rosalith. "I will fight by your side. I... So many things I learned in the past years were to make sure I could help you someday." He then looks around for a short moment. "This place, though, the Hideaway... this is incredible."

@adureus ❤'d !

Haha will I ever write short casual little things

@swansofmisery | Calypso

---

How often can he walk along the endless shore of this island before the sand will swallow him whole and the pebbles within will pierce and gauge his eyes out?

How often can he hope that might happen?

Staring out at the ocean has become a habit transcended from a hobby, as if having a hobby in the situation he's in is even something he could consider having. The ocean doesn't function as a sight to behold, the sand isn't something to stretch his toes in, the distance from the immortal's abode isn't gained on a whim or casually, these are all the actions of a man trapped, not one at ease enough to want to find ways to busy himself.

A caged animal pacing the length and width of his cage, nothing less.

When Odysseus doesn't have the beach to explore or the plans to make or the gods to hope for or his mistakes to bemoan or his family to miss, he only has... her.

And whatever she demands of him.

"Goddess," if only he can hope to never call her by name. He turns a piece of wood he'd found between his fingers. It was hardly more than a twig from her lush vegetation, but he finds tranquillity in having something to toy with, something to hold when he speaks to her, so that his hands may always remain busy.

So nothing may be asked of them.

He tilts his head to one side and offers a brittle smile.

"Come to accompany me on my walks, I gather?"