#◈ rp threads

[gcldfanged]

@umbral-dominant

Blackthorne's forge was noticeably empty, save for one lanky looking woman. She was not cleaning, nor taking account for stock of supplies nearby, instead single mindedly focused on the slow push and pull of her blade against a damp whetstone.

It was a small dagger, barely enough weight or heft to feel intimidating by itself, but the angle of the swedge and shape of the knife's sweep indicated it was made for precision- Whether that be precision cutting or piercing. Often the simplest of weapons were the nastiest, whittled down to it's base components through repeated use and time. The function isn't visual appeal, strength, nor endurance, but to sever a nerve, muscle or tendon fibers- or blood vessel to disable and kill the adversary via exsanguination.

Her long, scarred fingers handled it with the casual ease of someone accustomed to bloodshed- There was a intimate familiarity to the way her hands worked with rather than against it's construction, but also a comfortable amount of confidence, bringing the dagger to eye level to examine the edge for any burrs or a noticeably drastic difference in angle.

"Blackthorne's not back yet," she explained aloud, not sparing even a once over to the man who stood at the threshold between the anvil and smithing table.

"Charon called him away, but he should return soon. I have some business with him, so whatever it is you need will have to wait until I'm done with the old bear."

Ji-ho merely wanted to establish that she had since been patiently waiting before this stranger entered the smithy's. No reason to let some newcomer try and muscle his way in front of her position of priority.

The wraps of colored silk and short cotton crossed over her torso were reminiscent of a courtesan's attire, though any gaudy baubles and jewelry she may have once donned had long been sold off for coin. There was no bearer mark upon the steep angle of her visible cheekbone, but her arms and shoulders bore countless scars: semi-circular divots of flesh were entirely missing in places, puckered scar tissue forming shallow craters from where fine cigarillos had been repeatedly extinguished into her bare skin. Thin and meandering lacerations snaked around bony elbows in idle, nonsense patterns- Almost creating a mockery of constellations between the beauty marks and moles standing out against her honeyed-olive complexion.

The tall and taciturn male standing there looked almost passingly familiar. Maybe she had seen him in parting while leaving Cid's solar? It wasn't immediately clear just how the woman had recognized his grim countenance, there were so many refugees and Cursebreakers joining the cause that it was hard to keep track of every single soul who resided within the Hideaway.

[mutasharid]

@sunderedoldfriends requested a starter for Estinien:

For a gravely wounded man, the Warrior of Light was making quite a ruckus at the Barber's. The more sensible of the Healers had left, but one or two stubborn souls reminded behind to try and talk sense into the mage.

"I don't need to be attended to like some... invalid!" Vali raged while looking, if possible, even more angry than he had before he began to cough up specks of blood. He'd bellowed enough to strain his throat hoarse, held together with ruddy bandages that needed replacing, yet Arrzaneth had decided this was a feat he could manage on his own.

A roll of bandages was carefully gripped in his right hand, trying and failing to wrap it snug against the mangled remains oh his once dominant opposite. It had taken two weeks of sedation keeping him immobile, grafting the raw wound to a flap of skin on his lower abdomen above his hip. Once rooted, new skin began to form enough to remove it once more, at the cost of some bone and tissue remaining from the dregs of his necrotic middle digit. The remaining ring and pinky finger could barely move, trauma to the adjoining muscles and tissue having atrophied any dexterity he could perform.

An ugly line of stitches and stapling started a little below his sternum, the imperial viceroy's blade having caught him at a diagonal, carving into his chest to the shoulder.

Now that he was awake, all he could think about was the massacre that had unfolded at the Reach. How foolish he had been to think the empire was blind to their schemes and movements. He'd barely cobbled together some untrained young villagers to take up arms, convinced more sons and daughters of simple laborers to enlist and aid the Resistance. With those who remained with Commander Kemp after Baelsar's Wall, they barely had any numbers to rival that of an experienced legion.

The former Azure Dragoon's presence went barely noticed as Vali pulled at the bandages between his teeth, trying to knot the material and failing spectacularly. Growling out a frustrated noise of disgust, he curled his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on the wooden frame of the sick bed.

[gcldfanged]

"Nothing's stopping you from just... mouthing them, as a casual reminder. You don't even have to break their skin, just hold them in your powerful jaws like a large dog grabbing a smaller dog by the muzzle."

"Well I already have the social dominance of being the Phoenix and the heir to Rosaria so I've not needed to go and bite people to assert that."

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ actions and dialogue for forbidden kisses 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “… that shouldn’t have happened.”

²⁾ holding onto their shoulders/waist for the duration of the kiss, and making no move to separate even after it’s ended

³⁾ “stop telling me that we can’t be together and then pulling shit like this!”

⁴⁾ “[name], i’m sorry.”

⁵⁾ pressing the pads of their fingers into their lips in the aftermath, like they’re either trying to capture the feeling or banish it from memory

⁶⁾ foreheads pressed together as the kiss breaks, eyes guilty but so so full of want

⁷⁾ “this can’t be all there is. a half-dozen kisses every year that we pretend don’t happen and pretentious conversations about ourselves, is that what we’re clinging so hard to? what i’m clinging so hard to?!”

⁸⁾ having begun to trail impassioned kisses down their jaw and neck before the harsh reality kicks back in

⁹⁾ “i shouldn’t have let this happen. it’s not fair on either of us.”

¹⁰⁾ “we sh- “ “no, please. just- just let me have this. just for a minute.”

¹¹⁾ breathing in their scent because they know that this is as close as they’ll get to it for a long, long time

¹²⁾ “why are we doing this to ourselves?”

¹³⁾ using every ounce of strength they have to not lean into the hand cupping their cheek or cradling their head

¹⁴⁾ “that was an accident.” “yeah, you always seem to say that.”

¹⁵⁾ “no matter how cruel it is that you keep giving me hope like this, it’s still never enough to stop me from loving you as much as i do.”

¹⁶⁾ “i don’t want to let go of you.” “and i don’t want to let you.”

¹⁷⁾ feeling tears welling up in their eyes as the hurt and longing burns in their chest

¹⁸⁾ holding the face of their would-be lover tenderly in the palm of their hand, silently apologising for putting them both through this again

¹⁹⁾ “i love y- “ “no, no. please, i can’t. i can’t hear this, not again.”

²⁰⁾ breaking the kiss but still holding them close, hiding their face in the other’s neck to try and recover the moment

²¹⁾ “would now be a bad time to tell you you’re a really good kisser?”

²²⁾ calling them a petname to try and comfort them, but only succeeding in upsetting them more at the reminder of what they can’t have

²³⁾ pushing them away, knowing exactly how cruel it is but favouring it over hurting them both by letting things go further

²⁴⁾ “how do we keep letting this happen?”

²⁵⁾ “this is killing me, [name].”

[melancholicmoonlight]

In the dark afternoon, two horses guided by lanterns trudge off down a snow whipped path, up to a shabby cabin off in the distance. Ice nips at their noses, and in the distance, the sound of howling wolves echoes throughout the mountains.

Jameson tugs his scarf up to cover his face, glancing over at Reid. “Do we have enough firewood for the night?”

[gcldfanged]

"Maybe we could get you a body double, can never be too safe these days- Wait, don't you have vacation time piled up by now?"

Jae wasn't even sure he'd seen the Director take any time off since Yoon began working for Shinra, himself.

If Hojo of all people could take a trip to Costa del Sol for a few days, then Tuesti was definitely more than overdue.

"Yes a latte sounds nice, and Maybe not back to the office sounds better. Just for a little bit. No one will miss me. No one."

[mutasharid]

@contemptim: [ ◈ ]

Oh? Is it time to play?

It's hard to tell whether the prince failed to get out of the way on time or if the smouldering locks of blond hair falling to the ground, are a sign of some perverse enjoyment of the act.

Given the livened up expression of excitement on Zenos' face, and the joyous clink of a sword leaving its sheath, one might be better off not inquiring.  

The Reach is burning, curling tendrils of flames licking at the night sky as the framework of the Barber’s, the makeshift infirmary, collapses. Vali stands defiant as ever, soot on his cheek and shadows casting the angles of his face in sharp relief.

Zenos seems content to stand there for awhile, as if observing the Warrior of Light’s handiwork against his fallen subordinates. The survivors, imperial and rebel alike, begin to whisper amongst themselves- barely audible above the sound of groaning wood. They can feel the dry, cloying heat roiling off the steadily deteriorating complex as it’s eaten away by the inside, reduced to a charred, glowing skeleton.

The shockwave from the burst of concentrated aether rustles their clothes and hair with a sweltering blast of wind- A bead of sweat snakes down the column of Vali’s neck as he turns his head and is eerily cognizant of his own crazy-calm in the reflection of the split river’s surface gleaming against the sand. The dark, grainy smudges sitting high on his cheekbone and casting faded, contrasting lines against the vivid colors of his robes.

Ash begins to fall around them like dirtied snow.

He’s laughing.

Rich and full-bodied, nearly shaking from it. Coming straight from some wild, crazed place fueled by adrenaline and anger- Nerves and mania due to revealing the true nature of his spellcraft.

Stave and katana lock between them, Arrzaneth soundly cornered- Arms like coiled pythons as they bar Zenos’ sword arm, while the other interlaces their fingers, a familiarity that would have been intimate if they weren’t currently trying to kill each other. Leather creaks as they steel muscles and struggle to leverage weight or height to the other’s disadvantage, the Viceroy is certainly larger of the two, but the mage’s shrewdness is nothing to underestimate either.

The tip of Ame-no-Habakiri is inches from Vali’s shoulder, poised at a downwards angle that threatens to bite past lightweight fabric and the well-timed Manaward spell he’s erected between them, a patchwork of interlocking diamonds shining translucent in the air and crackling from the pressure of the honed blade.

The Eikon-Slayer is breathing heavily, partly due to exertion, but the unmistakable hatred glimmering in his eyes is hard to miss as well. There’s a certain tension and strained quality to his voice as he tries forcing Galvus back, a snarl of frustration twisting his features as the Crown Prince simply refuses to budge.

[miraivelgear]

Rio sat on the beach, staring at the Barian sea. It was a long war, and even when it was ended, she couldn't still let her to live a normal life. "Everyone..." she whispered.

Mirach saw Rio sitting alone on the beach and walked over to join her.

[gcldfanged]

speargifted:

"You overestimate how much I want you."

"Sounds like someone's just being a whiny little chocobo chick to me, but okay- Coward."

[gcldfanged]

@sometimesrufus

Photos enhanced to high quality perfection spanned each wall of the annexation remembrance display, SOLDIERs and infantry men alike caught in candid shots holding rescued children or helping the injured to a healer's tent. To Ji-ho, these were memories that did not reflect their home at all- They may have been born during the armistice between Hanuel and Shinra's military forces to oust Wutai's hostile occupation, but their grandfather had little love for foreigners.

Had they stayed behind and not been trafficked, they doubted they'd be anything but the last of a dying breed- A die-hard loyalist who stubbornly clung to belief of their own nation's might, trying to preserve what little dignity they thought they had left.

A well-dressed secretary arched an eyebrow at the state of them, but Ji-ho had no money for fine clothes, much less a formal silk blouse and skirt set that probably cost as much as a four-door car. Yet they wore the few scraps of fabric that composed their obvious 'street walker' ensemble with an easy confidence, refusing to be cowed into humiliation by a nine-to-five pencil pusher. The stiletto heels of their knee-high boots clicked ominously as they strode over to the elevator, disgruntled chaperone in tow.

It was a long ride up countless floors, until the elevator finally came to a smooth stop.

They’re not sure what to expect. The night before still felt almost like some strange fever dream brought on by malnutrition and one too many fists to the jaw, perhaps the contact high from the smoke. Rufus Shinra looked like what ‘good people’ in movies were- Blonde and pretty, clean and pale-skinned, wearing the purest white like some kind of sartorial oxymoron drifting weightlessly through the blueish gloom of Wall Market’s nightlife. Like an angel from on high, except an agent of God wouldn’t have packed blue steel heat like he did, wouldn’t have the cold and calculating poise with which he unraveled Masa’s born-bully psyche like a threadbare bathroom rug by simply pulling the most obvious string.

They had been the ‘shield’ afterall, a crude bargaining chip seized in the moment (which would have been hilarious if they all hadn’t seen it coming a mile away), as if the Wutaian gangster actually valued Ji-ho’s life in the slightest beyond being one more layer between himself and a hail of bullets. What had they looked like, they wondered- Probably tired. By the situation, the banter, the spectacle. Rufus could have shot Ji-ho through the heart and they would have thanked him, by that point. Shinra Junior had disarmed Masanori in one confident pull of the trigger, said his piece, then ended the ‘discussion’ with a second shot to the forehead. They’d merely wiped the blood from the side of their face and spit on his corpse in response.

That had made the corner of the blonde’s lips quirk into a crooked smile, like he was actually impressed by the display of obvious disdain. He’d given them a business card and offered an opportunity to ‘discuss employment’, whatever that meant. Honestly, they weren’t expecting anything so revolutionary, they couldn’t already guess what their ‘job’ might entail. Still, maybe some tiny part of their mind was holding out for a miracle, maybe something unexpected that could lead them to a better lot in life.

Even if such hopes were mere childish fantasies and they’d be re-learning the hardest lesson all over again, they would have regretted not showing up to the Shinra building at all. 

After being lead to the conference room, Ji-ho remained standing, almost prepared to walk right back out if they didn’t like what the other had to say.

[melancholicmoonlight]

It's been a few days of aimlessly searching for the werewolf that bit Jameson, and all they've come across in those few days are the remains of small animals and pawprints in the mud. The gang has given up for the night, and has made a camp in the woods near a babbling stream that Jameson can almost hear over Reids mindless strumming of a banjo, which is out of tune. Harper has already cuddled up in her sleeping bag and is somehow snoring through the thunking of the strings.

Jameson’s sat down on a log across from Reid, watching the fire. He glances over at them and clears his throat a bit. “You’re sure we’ve been going the right way?”

[thethreefaes]

Living on Berk was a dream. Lyra was learning fast from Gothi to be a healer and Altair was finally warming up to being around other dragons again! The two often flying in the evenings together. And Lyra exploring the forests for plants and herbs. She felt alive. Free.

It was only three months later when the dream would shatter. Lyra was working on a garden she’d placed by her hut. Her home! She smiled bright. Altair resting near by when she suddenly raised her head. Scenting the air before hissing. Her eyes sharp and teeth bared. The dragon all but pushing Lyra into the hut.

“Altair? What’s gotten into you? Wh-“ she covered her mouth to stop the panic that bubbled up. Thanking the stars the hut was big enough for both her and Altair to hide inside before they were seen.

Two large men, though smaller than most of those on Berk, approached the village. Dragon hide armor with metal spikes adorned them. One with a sword on his hip and the other with an axe. And hanging from both, iron shackles.

“We request a meeting with the chief of this place.” One of them called out.

@dragonmasterhiccup

[gcldfanged]

"I'm intrigued by the versatility of robotic with the organic appearance, but how would that even begin to work- Would the foreign material not simply be rejected outright by the body?"

"Oh don't go just yet - there's more options. We can do baseline humanoid, simple and normal. But we can go more bestial and still organic. But there's also robotic; that will offer a wider array of function and doesn't have to look robotic, we can use a faux skin..."

[gcldfanged]

@monstersmade [Kadaj]

Time would become meaningless, every waking second bloated and off-kilter, minutes stretching into empty hours.

He was pretty sure the pipes might explode if he kept the water that hot, eventually twisting the knob until the downwards spray trickled into like more than a few errant drops. Steam roiled off his skin, scrubbed down so hard and angrily, entire flakes of skin had sloughed off in pieces.

He wasn't doing this as a courtesy. It wasn't as if he wanted to somehow mask the pollution steeped in his very soul, an earthy musk of street dirt, stamped down tobacco, alcohol and tears. Brimstone and gunsmoke.

The face in the mirror is too soft. Not from an accumulation of fat, but comfort. Life had been good because business had been going so smoothly. There was little by the way of competition, so he had a veritable stranglehold on the black market and aside from a few younger upstarts trying to expand their own territory, there were few dumb enough to challenge his authority. He'd become too lenient, perhaps- Due to the lack of opposition.

Jae-hyo had kept his hair longer, let it grow out. It had always been thick and pretty, raven black with just the slightest red undertone in the sunlight. Now it was shorn short and close to the scalp, combed through with pomade and camellia oil. A form of atonement, perhaps. It wasn't like the Old Ways, he never had to 'walk the line' when he'd left. No- When Tseng had given him permission to leave. He could even try to argue that he'd bled enough for something that only had amounted to loyalty forged in Verdot's memory.

The former agent toys with a straight razor taken from his shaving kit, turning it between his fingers in the overhead lighting. The decision could wait. He could always spill blood symbolically, in addition to literal intent... Really, he had all the time in the world to recognize if he was still sore about it.

The suit still fits like a second skin, Yoon smoothing down the ironed lines and pulling off any lint that might be present from simply being shoved in the back of the closet for what felt like eons. The gloves shined and creaked around his flexing fingers, sliding his cellphone into the inner breast pocket of the jacket.

Showtime.

His prisoner's hands were delicate. Like a woman's, really, he thought. Too fine even with all the calluses and rough edges from handling firearms. They didn't even twitch, knotted with thick zip ties and chains strapped down to a sad little metal chair giving no real hope about what was gonna happen.

His hair was soft, shiny and healthy like the scales of a fish pulled straight from the water when the light hit it just so. Silky when he brushed his fingers through it. Just a little stroke- Like a lover's, almost.

The kind of affection after that many hours of darkness and silence and isolation, would turn any living creature's skin alive and buzzing with sensation. Mako-tinged feline eyes wreathed in the length of lashes women paid for, or killed for, if they couldn't pay

"So..." Jae begins, dragging his fingers through those glossy locks once more before bearing down in a white-knuckled grip.

"You wanted to talk? Let's talk."

[novaxanomaly]

Father-Son Day || Nikolai/Lucifer || Open Starter

Lucifer, the fallen angel, had started living here, and pretending to be human. Even going as far as giving himself a human name, Nikolai. He had children from multiple mothers all over the world and it wasn't uncommon for one of them to walk into his life and demand attention.

Nikolai lifted his head up to look at his child, "How about we spend some time together, hmm?" He asked, tilting his head to the side just a bit. "We don't do that much, huh?"

[melancholicmoonlight]

It's been a long six months since they two have taken off west, now Jameson's biggest concern isn't ghosts or snow, mainly just scorpions in his socks and dust in his nether regions. Which Reid does not mind. They've been sure to stick by him since his friend died, only leaving every few nights to do things he'd hate to imagine, but this night is different.

Now they're being chased down on a stolen wagon, Jameson riding in the back full of crates being shot at while Reid steers the horses through bushes and rocks, while also trying to shoot back at the men on horses following after them, shouting incomprehensible things over the gunfire.

Jameson had been barely talking these past months, the only conversations ever having any effort put into them being the ones with Reid. He’s not as angry with them as he was before, and with them there to comfort him, things between them have almost gone to normal. But, despite his sadness, they’ve never once seen him cry. Probably because he’s been shut off and funneling all of it into anger, causing him to be more reckless during whatever crimes they’ve been committing.

He stays ducked down behind the crates as he reloads his revolver, bringing his head up ever so slightly so he can watch their pursuers. Once he’s got himself situated, he sits up fully and starts firing at whoever he can see, doing his best to keep steady as Reid is steering horribly.