All alone with my solitary violence.

BOLD what applies to your muse ITALICIZE what sometimes applies repost, don’t reblog!

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets /sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

𝐑𝐄𝐃 wine soaked lips / internalised rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 marshy swamps / Cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / laboured breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

tagged by: @shinrasfirst​ (thank you! I love these)

OF COURSE HE CAN HEAR HIM. He heard him every single time he left that strange little building he called home these days, every time he wandered along the misshapen streets of the slums in search of.. him. He heard every word he muttered, every breath he took, every familiar scratch of the massive sword on his back. The weapon that has changed hands so many times, gaining more value with each pair it rests in. Zack feels almost nostalgic looking at it, part of him even jealous, perhaps, wishing he could get it back and hold it one more time. But his time with it is over and it now belongs to Cloud, who might pass it on to someone else in his own time.

It felt like a game, luring him out, watching him try to catch up, but it’s obvious that Cloud is losing interest in playing. And, at the end of the day, that’s not what Zack is here for either - but it wasn’t all fun and games. He had to get Cloud’s attention without drawing anyone else’s, because after everything that happened, he isn’t the slightest bit willing to go back to ShinRa. He’s leaning against a pile of scrap metal and rubble, eyes closed, and a soft smile spreads on his lips when Cloud’s demand echoes through the empty clearing. Not the shy and sweet boy he remembers, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Plenty of time and pain lies between him and the warrior Zack is facing now.

Deciding that it’s not fair to make Cloud wait any longer, Zack pushes off the rubble in his back and slowly steps out into the dim light of the ever-glowing lamps in the steel sky above.      “I can hear you alright,” he says, stopping a few feet away from Cloud, very much aware of the hand on the sword. He doesn’t expect his old friend to attack him, but he’s made that mistake before.

     “—Damn. That’s a really good look on you, Cloud. If I didn’t know better, I’d be sure you’re a first class SOLDIER.”

Stealth isn’t an option for him; dirt and small pieces of rubble creak under the weight of his boots, rubbish other citizens of the slums might find useful but only get in his way tonight. Not that Cloud is trying to go unnoticed per se. He knows he’s been detected, has been stalked for as much as he’s done the stalking, and that for once he’s not the sole hunter in their little game of cats and mice. Still, his senses are heightened, pushed outwards in the very likely case that he will be attacked. Something about the mysterious stranger’s scent rises the hairs on his skin - it’s tastes too familiar, smells too wrong. It’s the unmistakeable stench of ShinRa. 

Cloud chose this little, secluded niche for two reasons: it is spaceous and free from big chunks of garbage, far away enough from the rest of Sector 7′s main town to avoid ruckus or attention from wandering night owls. It also only has one entrance, and that puts him at an advantage. Once he finds his place in the middle of the cove-shaped yard, Cloud turns towards the narrow entrance, his fingers still curled around the cool hilt of his sword. He already did the calling - now, he only has to wait.

            ‘I can hear you alright,’

There - there it is. A voice that feels as though he ought to have heard it before, something his mind both remembers and doesn’t, a voice that definitely doesn’t sound like Sephiroth. A brief cause for relief, but only until the body it belongs to reveals itself by stepping from the narrow entrance and into the light. His hand slips from the sword, a weight that suddenly feels like lead, and Cloud knows his body’s having a reaction to something - someone - he doesn’t remember. Separated by eight feet, he has a clear view of those strange, familiar...beautiful features. Heat coils in his gut, but Cloud can feel his whole body clamping down as though he’d been thrown into the icy sea. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck and he feels as though he’s trying to swim against the currents, reaching for a memory that feels too far away, always out of reach, although he’s faced with its picture right here and there. The familiar flashes of mako-green lightning cripple him until Cloud starts grasping at his hair, gulping down air heavily, until his knees collide with the dirt of Sector 7. There’s nothing - it doesn’t come to him! But he should know. The tears on his cheeks seem to know. He should know this person - it’s someone important. 

But why does his scent smell so utterly wrong, then? Why does he smell like the enemy?

“I am.... I am a First Class SOLDIER,” Cloud grits out with another heavy gasp. When the headache finally subsides, he scrambles to his feet and unhooks the sword from his back, noticing that the man before him didn’t use Cloud’s vulnerability to his own advantage. Yet. 

He still feels disconnected from his body, and his limbs won’t stop shaking. Everytime he looks at the raven-haired man, he’s overcome with an urge to touch him, ensure he is real - why? What history do they share? But.. he also wants to - to eliminate him. It’s his scent. It’s not right. It screams all the wrong things. 

The Coffee

whether it’s your sharp tongue, your tendency to blow hot or cold, or the familiarity of you, you’re the coffee. don’t immediately assume that your undercurrent means you’re bitter, a common misconception, because people who like coffee always make it work for them. coffee doesn’t always have to be dark, it can be a warmth that’s comforting and the first start to a day. you aren’t nearly as tough as you make out to be, but we’ll keep your secret. you’re a constant, won’t ever go out of style. not everyone’s taste, but what is these days? an unknown quote reads “I like drinking coffee alone and reading alone... I realize that even though I like being alone, I don’t fancy being lonely” remember you don’t always need to face things yourself, there’s a reason people suggest “coffee?” when they want to spend time together.

Tagged by: @shinrasfirst​ (thank you so much <3)

During his confinement in Hojo’s laboratory, using a couple of various experiments he tried to fuse Cloud’s DNA with Behemoth cells. This was an attempt to turn an obedient ShinRa subordinate into a manmade beast, to try and see if something akin to a SOLDIER can be created without using JENOVA cells. For the most part, however, Cloud’s body refused the Behemoth DNA, just as it had rejected JENOVA during later experiments and during his very first Mako showers. For the most part. 

Although Hojo discarded him as yet another failed specimen, after Cloud had woken from his Mako coma, he noticed changes to his senses and his fighting behaviour. He is far more aggressive than he used to be, but in his dissociated state, he puts it off as something all SOLDIERs experience in battle. His sense of smell has catapulted, though - it had increased so much that the first time Cloud woke up back in Midgar, the scents he picked up all around him overwhelmed him so much that he threw up by Tifa’s feet. For the longest time, Cloud struggled to get used to it and it is one of the many reasons he tries to keep his distance from people because gods, do some of them stink. 

It comes in extremely handy when he gets a hang of it. He can track down enemies like a bloodhound, knows when food or drinks are poisoned, and he even learned to smell a person’s true motives on their skin. His nightvision has improved drastically, but this, too, is something he puts off on being an ex-SOLDIER. His movements can be erratic and clumsy, but as stealthy as a predator when he truly puts his mind to it. 

@midgarmerc

Among the bustling streets of Wall Market, was someone who very clearly didn’t belong. Towering above the crowds was the very strange red-head. Long braid that threatened to trail against the ground, body boasting feathery wings, horns, and a tail.

The giant of a stranger was looking around, browsing the various stalls. They occasionally squirmed in discomfort while noticing the stares being sent their way. Though the stares did go unappreciated, they didn’t seem to be on edge. Actually…they seemed oblivious to this place’s main purpose.

Eventually they settled down on a bench, just people watching as they pulled out a book and roughly sketched out the scene around them.

Everything about this shitty, shady little corner of Midgar sucks. He doesn’t wanna be here and he doesn’t need to be here, yet somehow, his path had led him to Wall Market again. Cloud hates every. single. second of it. Misery laces its labyrinth of streets, scattered left and right with people who feel equally miserable. They’re all here for a temporary fix. Drugs, booze, cheap sex - Wall Market thrives on its unadultered darkness and people latch onto it like starving carnivores would latch onto prey. He isn’t here for any of it, but Cloud flinches every time someone grabs his arm because they see SOLDIER and begin to assume.

More than anything, he hates how Wall Market smells - no, reeks. It makes him sick to his stomach, but he bears it for the sake of helping his friends. Whatever Jessie’s got up to this time, he kinda owes her this favour, and there’s little resisting when she tries to get her way anyway. ‘All you gotta do is stand guard, leave the rest to me!’, she had chirped while waving the azure materia in front of his nose. Always with the fucking bribery, but he can’t deny that it had sold him. Elemental Materia are rare as fuck. 

Prepped against the pillar of a bar, Cloud cites her orders in his head without paying much attention to the crowd around him - if he had paid attention, Cloud would’ve taken notice that the bench to his left was now occupied by a giant of a person who previously had turned countless of heads by their sheer height and peculiar appearance. Rightfully mistaken for costumery, the first time his attention is drawn to them, is when a young couple approach the stranger to chatter about the finery of their costume. Cloud’s head turns, and even he startles slightly - if only for the fact that although this person is sitting, they are on eye-level. ‘You must be from the Honey Bee Inn!’, he hears the lady say. ‘Ohh, I always loved the extravagance of their outfits! Say, will you perform tonight? It must be a brand new show. I’m so excited to see it!’

For all that’s worth, Cloud believed this person to be a performer too - at first at least. Watching them becoming more and more crowded by curious, intoxicated people gives him second hand anxiety for sure. He observes the way they hold themselves, as though they’re used to being stared at like some sort of animal - that bit in particular infuriates him more than he likes to admit, and if he had fur, his hackles would raise and bristle when he finally pushes off the pillar to confront the imposing crowd.