𝙄'𝙈 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀, ᴴᴱ ᴸᴵᴱᴰ

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 & 𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - a primarily headcanon based interpretation, containing world building lore and some major post-canon divergencies. tortured by 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗶𝗻, who is very much of age, from the gmt timezone. re-established: 11 / 06 / 2026. formerly, stoicnarrator. mdni. dark content potential.

blogroll: @MADKOKA @PUREID @GOGG1ES

₁. 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙳 + ₂. 𝙰𝚂𝙺 + ₃. 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂 + ₄. 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃 + ₅. 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚈

𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝚈 𝙸𝙽 - chronic depression, war trauma, the "unwanted" child, self isolation, abandonment issues, reluctant leadership, illness & disability, the sacrificial lamb, guilt complex, defying fate, battle lust, bottling up your feelings, the introvert, autism, found family, putting everyone and everything before yourself...because you don't care about yourself, elements of gothic literature.

𝙲𝙾𝙼𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚂 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷: @visionaryanarchist ♡ @fallcnstne ♡

@metoikhomai

Being around other people had never been his forte, especially those who shared the same age category as him. They were loud, often speaking in terms he did not understand, and didn't care enough to ask their meaning because some things were better left unknown. There were a few people he tolerated in his space. No, not tolerated; he actively didn't mind them in his space, though at certain doses.

Irvine wasn't always as animated as some, holding an air of distance about him at times, of which he felt grateful for. But when slotted next to Selphie or Zell, he somehow managed to match their energy beat for beat, and he couldn't help wonder if he'd spent some time around them as of late with the constant chatter now trailing behind him on his walk towards the parking garage. Maybe he really is as dramatic as the others, after all ... Then again, it occurred to him he hadn't spent any time around the people he called friends for a few weeks, and kept to himself in the office where it was quiet, where he could reduce the chances of getting a migraine.

... Am I a bad friend?

The second thought entered his mind whilst he stepped through the automatic doors into the garage, the sharpshooter still hot on his tail, spouting off gossip that he only half picked up on. It was a learning process, coping with the knowledge that people actually wanted to be around him despite how his personality often put people off, the man at his back included.

Approaching his bike, he unlocked the top box and took out a helmet when something caught his ear from his friend's senseless chatter, something that sounded real. "That sounds like a you problem, Irvine." He shot back, only to immediately regret the words as he slid the helmet into place. It would be easy to drive off, put the moment behind him, and then deal with the guilt later when it inevitably arose among his continuous storm of thoughts.

He cares. Stop it.