୨୧ -rêveric ou -reveric

[pt: -rêveric or -reveric /end pt]

a gender suffix for genders related to or affected by having a character as your r/o! for example, ivanrêveric; a gender related to having ivan (alien stage) as your r/o, or that is affected by ivan being your r/o.

term is a mix of rêve (from rêve other), french for dream, revere, + the ic suffix!

coined by us!

please do not repost our creations, or add them to any wikis. our terms and flags can be used by everyone!

Rain flowed like liquid life; a rhythmic staccato of drips through derelict rafters, tumbling gracefully to a fertile earth below. Aerith was never entirely sure whether it was with joy or sadness that the sky saw fit to cry; but she had no quarrel with the downpour. Not while she could still linger beneath the one intact patch of roof that remained, a contented onlooker to nature’s way of nourishing the plant life so lovingly tended by her hand.

She could feel their joy at the thirsty reprieve, hear the jubilation in the chatter of their voices and an ever familiar song — yet their were tinges of something else too. Whispers carried in on the pollen of the wind, heralding something different; something foreign && diseased.  —— No. Maybe diseased was the wrong word,  it was more akin to malingering, like something parasitic, burrowed beneath her skin.

@reveric​ asked:  ‘strange how we’ve found ourselves exactly how we left off.’

“’Exactly how we left off’?” Reno echoes, EMR gripped firm in hand that hangs by the Turks’ side as he looks around the playing field. Off to his right, he hears his partners leather gloves creak as the tan man’s hands twitch. “If you ask me, I think we’re missing a player or two.”

As the Turk speaks, some small sparks snake up his weapon. He’s ready to play this time - both of them are - and they’re ready to show off some Turk tricks. Disregarding their previous tangles with the remnants, it’s been a hot minute since the experienced Turks have had challenging opponents. (Cloud doesn’t count, he’s never interested.)

ｇｅｎｅｒａｌ  ａｓｓｈｏｌｅｒｙ――

——Tseng couldn’t remember a time when Sephiroth had ever spouted something so utterly crass. It prompted a double take. A reaffirming that this construct had indeed just said what he thought he’d heard.     Outwardly, he was passive. Inwardly; Tseng imagined all the ways he could use his hands to kill the mouthy little shit.     Had the mouthy little shit been normal, that is.

Cold metal to temple.

A glare.

If looks could slice, Elena could have cut a diamond. Cold. Bruised and bloody…she wasn’t going to die on her knees. She wasn’t going to go out like this. Elena was a fighter, sure, this might not be a fair fight, but that didn’t mean you just gave up.

The last moments were fuelled by adrenaline, and survival.

It propelled her onwards, to bring her arm up and collide it with his as hard as she could, trying to knock to gun away from her head before she threw herself onto her feet. Balance was thrown out the window as she threw a punch, aimed for his throat in an attempt to disable.

He’s tired.

So, tired he can feel the world moving he’s so tired, and yet, the universe had decided that it wasn’t going to happen.

Denzel let out a soft sigh, “yeah.” Sleep had run away from him, like trying to keep hand in your hands, it ran through them, through the little cracks until it all drained away and that, was that. Sitting on the window ledge, blanket around shoulders, he didn’t tear himself away from the view outside.

It offered a few moments escapism.

Nightmares…were normal after trauma, though, if someone told him that it would be helpful. His dreams were full of moments curled in emotions that he didn’t understand and he didn’t have the skills to navigate. The guilt, over surviving, the grief for the people he had lost. The worries, for the future, or the lack of one. What kind of future was he going to have? Would he have one?

Being quiet was far easier than talking…especially when you didn’t know how to talk about it.