hyacintho @hyacinthis - Tumblr Blog

He fell into despair ; [ lost all hope , ]

for who could ever learn —- to love a beast?

#`bloodburst

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turpium

Ah— digits sinking into flesh, not enough to draw blood, and no claws to kill, but enough to leave one black and blue, enough to asphyxiate a mere mortal man, but this man is not mere or mortal. Mako blooms behind grey eyes, the brown fading from them years ago. And like the Cerulean before him, he is augmented— not in the sense that his DNA is not spliced, but Jenova has kept him rooted to this planet. But— he is human and his body reacts as so. Hands go to the hand wrapped around his neck, not struggling to remove the hand, but simply there to grip.

The professor gasps, taking air into his lungs, before all the pressure is applied— so that he has some time, before the man tries to remove him from this planet— a few good moments. Eventually his lungs will burn, needing more air, but he has what he needs for now— dull pain radiating through the bottom of his jaw as his adam’s apple is pressed upon— it is pain, it’s dull and growing with each passing second, but he dares no squirm, no— the man’s hand fits around his neck. It would be too easy for the Professor to turn in this grip and snap his own neck— it wouldn’t be quite as fun if he was killed that way.

The Arch speaks, in his slow low tone, yammering on about bloodbath, and the Professor does not care. They were a pet project, groomed into his final masterpiece, nothing more than a throw away villain bested, by that pesky ex-Turk. The pain grows again, this time his lungs struggle needing fresh air. Dyspnea sets in, however, he’s still breathing slightly, the damage that the Professor is concerned about is to his larynx and his hyoid.

But— the man eases up, a question at the forefront of the lug’s mind.

"I’m— more surprised you did." It’s a raspy reply, laboured as the Professor takes in air. "—You faced…the crown jewel of my projects, and were bested— I survived…because I am intelligent…I gave my energy to Sephiroth…on the eve of Meteorfall."

"The planet—spat me back out, like I was something most foul. I see the planet did the same for you as well."

hyacinthis

The older man speaks, nothing but lies. Valentine had been a gem, but not the crowning glory of his ledger-- anger radiates in the pit of the man's stomach. The fire is simply hard to control. Once, the man would have been able to control the lick of those flames, however now with the ARCH within him and Mako flowing like blood in his veins, he is hyper-agressive prone to the outbursts that killed many on the research project that made Az into the Arch Azul.

The beast wants out-- however the man continues to be in control. It's a fight to simply not break the man's neck as he speaks, giving a simple excuse for all of his misgivings and sins, the Professor has written off all of them, simply putting them aside and clearing himself of blame.

He is a Tsviet.

There is anger that rises within him with each passing moment, and finally his anger boils over, the flames licking forward and he moves pressing the scientist against the wall, his grip tightening around the man's neck. "I will not demand an apology for what you have done. I wanted to be the ARCH, however-- you have no sympathy, no morals and no excuse. You are not augmented, you did not have your soul ripped from your body, a jolt of electricity through your neck if you did not act in accordance with what they wanted and you have the upmost gall to tell me that the planet spat me back back out like you? Like you are so important to be the most foul? How-- dare you." And ARCH comes forth, fur does not grow on his skin, but he rages, a guttural scream leaving his throat as ARCH rams the man into the wall, knowing his head may hit the metal plating.

ARCH stops quickly, bring his other hand to the man's neck, the man beneath ARCH fighting off the spurt of fur and claws, so both hands turn, making quick work of turning the man's neck to break it as if it was a twig. ARCH does not fail-- and the man is set down against the way-- Azul coming around and ARCH becoming docile.

Azul speaks, "I do hope the planet sends you back-- so you can return to play again..."

#turpium #tw violence

sanguinesaint started following you

A smirk grows upon rugged features-- "Vincent Valentine..." A pause, yellow eyes narrowing at the man, "A pleasure to see you again."

#sanguinesaint

ooc; please ignore the broken links on my sidebar. They will be fixed when I return. For now, I'll be off.

#`ooc

reblogthings

Introduce your muse!

hyacinthis

reblogthings:

Name: Az Lazuli, Azul the Cerulean Age: 37 (as of 0014) Height: 9'5'' Eye Color: Blue, augmented yellow Hair Color: Blonde, augmented blue Sexual Orientation: aromatic heterosexual Species: Augmented Human/Behemoth Hybrid Nationality: Del Solian Positive Weaknesses (like tickling or cuddling): Rosso the Crimson Allergies: N/A Fears: N/A How sickly they are: Peak Health How often do they hurt themselves: N/A Relationship Status: Single

#headcanon

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ablackwing started following you

"You and I are the same."

He stinks. Blood and brimstone cling to his scent, and he is a beast locked within human flesh. The Arch knows that so well. Not a mutant, but an augmented man-- caused to house a grand canine known as ARCH, almost Behemoth in nature.

Two colour palettes, one sharp in blues and in yellows, mako turning his veins into road maps-- the other without, silver flecked with pallid green, unsubstantial alabaster skin.

An angel and a devil.

Irony warped in it's truest of ways.

"We are both monsters."

#ablackwing

soubanightmare-deactivated20200

She is stained, but she is sullied. She is no proud creature, her vanity as black as the blood running through her veins. It is meant only to destroy, not to build herself up, she is small in stature in more than one way. Viridian eyes blink, claws coming to her chin to crack her neck and relax muscles, something more common taken in how she must look at him. Her demure stature is a perfect misconception, matching the childish frown flowing onto her face. “It is…still in your…blood.” Death is not a concept she is fully comprehensive of- death hadn’t stopped those she held furious emotion for before. “Mhhh.”

"I am…a weapon- a…parasite. I was…the Remnant’s. I don’t…know what else.” She does, but such information is hard to tap into, Hojo’s mind frightens her. “The New Nightmare.”

hyacinthis

He had been a calm man, anger running deep in his veins before he became the ARCH. Now, blue stains these veins, a glow to his eyes and skin. Mako tinges him, but he is not dependent, by any stretch of the imagination. Down on one knee, he is able to observe her, childish with a small frame-- much like the transparent, but this one does not reek of helplessness like the transparent did. Yet, the air of childishness remained, something that the transparent never had. He laughs at the face she pulls, "I suppose-- you are correct, little Souba. I will always be one with Deepground even though it has all perish."

Remnants-- he remembered hearing the whispers, from the world above, however he was not well versed in what their memetic will had been. It had to do with the SOLDIERs three, he had learned, from papers and books. The Professor's inordinate theories, springing to life from the General's left over data. So-- she was a genetic cousin, someone who had been born from the very experiments that had created all of the SOLDIERs, including Deepground. "I see. You look to petite to be a Nightmare, however you smell just like the rest of those high class SOLDIERs. I trust that you are quite skilful?"

#soubanightmare

turpium

It is hard to forget the past, when ones simply never let you leave it— the azure man should have been dead, much like the others who fell on the reckoning day. The Professor almost told the man that his survival was impossible, that the news had stated his body had fallen with the reactor— but here the professor was when the news had reported him dead as well. “I remember you as well, Arch Azul, third of the Tsviets— and I remember very clearly what I have done, to you and to that bloodbath of yours.” He lilts, taken back to the day when he was in control of these monsters. But— the chips no longer worked…and his lilt, his goad was uncalled for.

This was very dangerous.

hyacinthis

"You do not have the right to say my name-- nor do you have the right to speak of the Tsviets." The lilt is caught, annoying the man, causing a spurred motion. Canine in action, he jerks forward, hand forward and around the neck of the older man. He stinks, stinks of Jenova-- Mako, and formaldehyde. It takes years to change ones scent, and the professor did not change at all. Taunting the Arch, goading him into movement, using Rosso as his pressure point. But there is no chip-- if there is, it no longer functions in the way that the professor intended. No electric shock will come.

No restrictors, no aid for the wicked.

Pressure is applied to the man's neck, only slight.

"You will not speak her title with such an air of informality, you spineless man. She is worth ten of you, if not more, and I could send you back to the mother's womb-- this unholy earth if I so pleased, simply give me another reason." There is a part of the Arch that is tempted to lift him from the ground, apply more pressure to asphyxiate him faster. There are so many ways to kill this man-- spilling his blood for the sake of the crimson would bring him great joy. His grip relaxes, allowing the man to breathe. The Arch wants to here the tale of how the spineless continued on...

What a pesky cockroach.

"How did you survive--?"

#turpium

soubanightmare-deactivated20200

They, an obtrusively broad term. Does he mean she smells like the Puppet or the Remnants? Or worse yet, the Commander who had rotted in his own flesh. She does not rot, she festers all around her, death lingering ingrained in her skin and buried beneath her claws from her kills. She is tiny, craning her spine so she can meet yellow- yellow- eyes. Her green depths are wide, pupils fickle in width as she studies him- and she smiles. “Sou-ba.” She is back to having problems pronouncing her own name, the stutter forced through so she may press on. “You are…one of the…Deepground…soldiers.” The SOLDIERs were never as enhanced as this- yellow was a pretty color.

hyacinthis

Yes, festering smell of death-- he carries it too, but he is not stained with the blood of his foes, not like Rosso was. No, he found no enjoyment bathing in the blood of the unclean and the unworthy. She smells like those SOLDIERS, the ones that went through all of the treatments-- but not augmented. "Souba," He repeats to her, Wuati in origin-- like the knife metal that buried in veins under Da Chao. The small one is craned up, to look towards him, he is one to accommodate-- much like in his time at Deepground, he get"s down on one knee, before the silver. "Was. Deepground is no more. Our leader lies dead-- what are you?"

#soubanightmare

soubanightmare started following you

"You smell like they do." Canine DNA ran rampant through his body, the ARCH lifeform that lived with gave him his advanced sense of smell. The stench of death potent on the one before him, she of rotting flesh and-- mako. Could it have been that she was once a prospect, cast aside and left to bathe in Gaia's moors? Were they genetic kin-- forged from the same lifeforms? "Who are you?"

#soubanightmare

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turpium started following you

"I-- remember you." There is no growling or snarling, simply an admission of thought. Long, digits curl into palms, forming fists that flex, showing off the azure light that flows through his veins. "Do-- you remember what you have done?"

#turpium

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?

The beserker takes a moment-- a favourite was not something he was entilted to. He is slow to speak, voice deep: "The w008 specialised gatling cannon is the weapon of my choice-- it was made for only I."

#tumblrbot

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