Buona non festa delle donne

Aaah, con grande soddisfazione abbiamo celebrato anche quest’anno la festa della donna.

Abbiamo avuto i nostri 15 minuti di fama senza doverci lasciare per forza le stracce (ci hanno già pensato le lavoratrici che sono morte quella volta). Abbiamo avuto le solite mimose overpriced, e le più fortunate di noi sono uscite a sbevazzare con le amiche e magari vedere qualche bel ragazzone gnudo.

Ora possiamo tornare ordinatamente alle nostre cucine a lanciare pasta al pomodoro ai figli, e continuare a guadagnare meno dei maschi per le stesse posizioni, a morire sul lavoro, a vederci negata la sovranità sul nostro corpo.

Possiamo ricominciare a farci violentare perché ce lo siamo voluto e a farci ammazzare perché abbiamo disgarbato il marito, il fidanzato, il padre, il fratello.

Buona non festa della donna a tutte.

Study for a (self indulgent) scene

Sometimes I just don’t know how to describe the interactions of two bodies.

It’s then when I take out my beloved dolls.

Alex plays the part of “Falcioni”, Reno plays the part of “il Roscio”

It’s a matter of love (or how I got a Monstera for 5€)

I saved her from the supermarket where people were driving their carts over one of her poor leaves. A super lovely clerk discounted her to 5€ (she was the last of her lot, and quite in a bad shape)

I took her home on my bicycle (strapped in the small kid seat)

She was a dry mess, so I watered her properly. Aww look at those roots 🥺. I also cleaned a lot of yucky whitish stuff from her beautiful leaves

She gifted me with a tender new leaf

She was quite rootbound, the poor thing. One of her branches was broken, and kept in place by a single thick root that zigzagged between the other branches. A big chunk of roots was dead and rotten

I combed her roots—

—and gave her a new roomy pot and a nice pole to cling to. I also stuck the broken branch into the ground, up to the first node, in the hope that she will develop new roots.
Against every prevision, the ruined leaf didn’t die (it’s just floppier than the others), and the cart wheel marks are slowly healing

My friend Dodici (a fine fanfic writer) called her Chaska, like a PG I love dearly.

She’s recovering, I hope. Pls send good vibes to her 💚 .

I love her so much lmao. Lookie at those giant holey leaves ❤️❤️❤️.

Il Roscio

Bad rendition del Roscio in doll form xD

[…]

Sarà che il Roscio ha quel sorrisetto del cazzo che ti fa capire che lui sa un monte di cose in più di te, cose che nemmeno ti immagini, pivello. E che la legge comune a lui non si applica.

Il Roscio può vestirsi come stracazzo vuole (e infatti non si è mai visto con una cravatta addosso, anche se farebbe parte del dress code). Il Roscio può fumare in ogni ufficio malgrado gli onnipresenti segni di divieto, e a farli rispettare è nientemeno che WuMig. La voce rauca e sgarbata del Roscio si sente da un capo all’altro del Dipartimento Affari Speciali e nessuno gli dice mai di abbassare il tono. Quel mezzo falsetto del cazzo.

Sempre sopra le righe, agendo d’impulso, rompendo le regole e i coglioni, scivolando fuori dalle situazioni incresciose col suo sorrisetto mangiamerda e il suo passo strascicato. Il Roscio è sempre nel suo elemento. Il Roscio è il migliore, e lo sa lui come lo sanno gli altri.

Non stavolta.

Per niente. 

Spera almeno che ci voglia poco.

Spina

Excerpt da questa cosa improbabile che sto scrivendo

Pagine di grande letteratura.

Un coprotagonista memorabile.

More at 9:00 pm

My evolution as a writer

Aka un’anteprima del mio prossimo tentacle p0rn lmao.

Benedette sian le #badwrongweeks

Le sofferenze di una cretina

Caro blog, tu che raccogli tutte le mie più intime fisime e il mio p0rn più improbabile. Tu che hai sempre un orecchio pronto ad ascoltarmi (anche se sembra che ti stai facendo i fatti tuoi, so che mi ascolti <3). Tu.

SPIEGAMI PERCHÉ

PERCHÉ

PERCHÉ

PERCHÉ INVECE CHE FINIRE I MIEI MOLTI WIPs che c’è gente che aspetta da un anno la conclusione di fanfiction mediocre

PERCHÉ INVECE CHE REVISIONARE LE COSE DI QUI DA RIMETTERE ANCHE SU AO3 (tipo ahem “choices we make” e una svalangata di Saint Seiya)

PERCHÉ INVECE CHE SCRIVERE QUESTI VAMPIRI P0RN che ho in testa dalla fine del COWT e che mi darebbero tanta soddisfazione

PERCHÉ

perché sto spendendo centinaia di parole di worldbuilding su una coppia di elfi gay (che non sono più nemmeno elfi) con inclusi un sistema magico, un sistema degli spiriti da domare, vari clan dai nomi improbabili, due backstories complete per Yano e Ceski, una minaccia sconosciuta, uno stronzone che odia Yano, un bimbo sacrificato al vento che sopravvive, una profezia (ovvio) e NEMMENO UN POCHINO DI P0RN perché questi sono casti e puri da quando li ho usati per la skinship del COWT e mi hanno comunicato che sono disponibili solo per bacetti, carezzine, sospiri, molte lacrime e laghi di sangue. xD

PERCHÉ???????

Pls send help.

Povero blog

Come al solito il COWT finisce e tu resti negletto e dimenticato per gli undici mesi successivi.

Avrei voluto fare almeno un post di statistiche ma intanto è iniziato il Camp NaNoWriMo. Ho 36 k sul groppone da portare a casa entro aprile, e li userò per buttare giù un po’ di idee che mi sono venute durante il COWT e non ho avuto tempo di scrivere.

Tipo ì VAMPIRI p0rn

O la bomba alla crema che lui si sporca, l’altro gliela lecca via e scatta il limone fortissimo (secondo le parole felici di un Calice)

O questi adorabili elfi Ceski e Yano che (gulp, plot twist) potrebbero diventare umani nel prossimo futuro.

Perché?

A parte che io non scrivo elfi (a meno che non sia monsterfucking) perché non è il mio (è necessario conoscere i propri limiti), qualcuno del mio adoratissimo server di scrittura mi ha detto che umani contro fate (dentute) è molto più jarring.

E per fisime personali, più è jarring e più mi ci rotolo grufolando come un suinetto nel fango.

Quindi avremo umani che fanno patti sanguinosi con gli spiriti per ricacciare fate dentute negli anfratti dei Monti Violetti.

Una storia d’amore super platonica fra ragazzini guerrieri un po’ alla Patrochilles (o Saint Seiya se vogliamo).

MOLTO SANGUE

E non so perché sto scrivendo questo ma è liberatorio.

Prima o poi posterò queste statistiche. Meanwhile

Sarai serpente

Per il COWT 13, W6, M3 prompt alba dei bimbi Inca for your pleasure

Sarai serpente

Sul tetto del mondo, il vento gelido le sferza la faccia. 

Non si è mai sentita così calda. 

Avanza con cautela tra gli spuntoni di pietra ancora tiepidi. Non è passato che un battito veloce del suo cuore, da quando ha divelto con un colpo di luce il totem che si ergeva al centro della terrazza, distruggendo i serpenti a guardia della vetta del vulcano. Da quando la marea di lava è montata dalle fessure del basamento rotto, fondendo il pavimento e i segni potenti incisi sulla sua superficie lucida.

Un battito del suo cuore o una vita intera. 

Le onde infinite delle cime dei monti brillano ai suoi piedi nella luce fredda dell’alba, il cratere ribollente di fuoco le scalda le gambe. Alza le braccia al cielo che s’infiamma di vermiglio e d’oro e saluta il sole come se fosse il primo.

Come se fosse rinata oggi.

Ekkeko le sorride, stretto contro il suo fianco; le frange della sua coperta rossa le carezzano le gambe. Il suo compagno silenzioso, il fratello che l’ha scortata fin qui. 

Forse senza di lui non ce l’avrebbe fatta. 

“Voi!” La voce del sacerdote la fa girare di scatto. “Com’è possibile?” Fermo di fronte alla porta del rifugio dove ha passato la notte, il vento gli agita addosso il poncho colorato come un paio d’ali. Un uccellaccio da preda, che vuole il loro sangue. I suoi occhi mandano lampi di rabbia. 

D’istinto si para davanti ad Ekkeko. Sono diventati fratelli durante l’ascesa infinita al vulcano, hanno condiviso gli ultimi giorni, convinti fossero anche gli ultimi delle loro vite. Non può abbandonarlo. Ora.

Mai.

Risente la voce pacata del nonno, che le parla delle stelle che ruotano dentro di lei, dell’universo da cui esigere potere quando si trova alle strette, e alza le mani nel gioco che lui le ha insegnato, un gioco che le ha salvato la vita, stanotte. Che forse gliela salverà ancora.

“Abbiamo visto l’alba.” Gli urla nel vento. “Siamo liberi.”

“Maleficio. Maleficio e sventura per il nostro popolo, quest’anno che il sacrificio è fallito. Solo io posso far tornare alla normalità il corso delle cose.” Il Sacerdote appoggia la pianta di un piede contro l’altro ginocchio; con la gamba piegata in aria e le braccia aperte sembra davvero un condor. Un avvoltoio, pronto a pasteggiare con i loro corpi. Un brivido le sale lungo la schiena, non sa cosa deve fare, solo che vuole andarsene da lì, viva.

Come si è conquistata di diritto, con Ekkeko al suo fianco. 

Quell’uomo non potrà impedirglielo.

Lei non si arrende.

Mai.

Non quando ha così tanto da perdere, non senza provarci. 

Stringe i denti, alza di più i pugni a proteggerle la faccia. Un’aura di luce grigiastra circonda il Sacerdote, ha la forma di un condor che cala sulla preda. 

Quindi anche lui.

È uno che ha visto l’alba?

Eppure mai nessuno. Mai, prima di loro. Così le hanno sempre detto.

Non ha importanza. Lei dovrà essere serpente, crudele e silenzioso. Strisciare nelle fessure della difesa del Sacerdote, azzannarlo col suo morso letale. 

Non sa cosa deve fare ma sa come farlo.

“Muori!” urla e il suo corpo si infiamma di luce, rapida, inarrestabile, del colore torbido del veleno peggiore. Dalle sue mani quel bagliore diventa velocità e impatto, verso il Sacerdote che la fronteggia.

 Lui sogghigna, la ferma con il palmo della mano. “Cosa credi di fare, maledetta ragazzina? Mi hai dato problemi da quando abbiamo iniziato a salire le pendici del vulcano. Ora sii obbediente una volta tanto e sacrificati per il tuo popolo.”

“Mai!” Cerca di vedere nella difesa del Sacerdote, ma è un serpente bambino contro un rapace assetato di sangue. L’uomo ride, con uno scatto del polso le rispedisce colpo su colpo. Viene sbalzata all’indietro, ogni lama di luce è un dolore nella carne, la sbatte contro i massi che delimitano la terrazza, tutta l’aria le esce dai polmoni in un singhiozzo.

“Chaska!” Il grido disperato di Ekkeko si mescola al fischio del vento. 

Lei scivola a terra senza fiato, gli spuntoni di pietra le feriscono le ginocchia. 

Non può farcela. 

Non può.

Il Sacerdote è troppo forte. Sa quello che fa. Lei.

No.

Anche se l’istinto del suo corpo è forte. Punta le mani a terra cercando di ritrovare il respiro, le treccine le scivolano davanti agli occhi. Dovrebbe rialzarsi, ma tutti i suoi nervi urlano di dolore.

“Ora è il mio turno.”  Una vampa di luce erompe dalle dita del Sacerdote, piegate ad artiglio. Lei non ha nemmeno il tempo di chiudersi a difesa, alza le mani per proteggersi il viso.

“Chaska!”

Ekkeko!

Le vola addosso, facendola cadere all’indietro. Tepore liquido le inzuppa i vestiti. “Ekkeko–” Ha gli occhi sbarrati, un rivolo di sangue gli riga il mento aguzzo. “Ekkeko!”

Non è possibile.

Lei aveva giurato di difenderlo.

Lei.

Si tira su seduta con Ekkeko stretto addosso, lo bacia sulla fronte. “Perché?” chiede e un singhiozzo le tappa la gola.

Gli occhi offuscati di Ekkeko la cercano, pozzi scuri di dolore. “Sono inutile. Chaska. Tu. No. Almeno. Ho fatto una cosa per bene.” Fa fatica a parlare, altro sangue gli cola dalla bocca. 

Morirà. 

Morirà ed è solo colpa sua. 

“Hai fatto tutto per bene, fratellino,” sussurra. “Senza di te non sarei mai arrivata qui. Guardami, ti prego, mentre mando questo bastardo a Uku Pacha.” Gli toglie i capelli neri dalla fronte; un sorriso curva le labbra di Ekkeko, macchiate di rosso. “Fatti onore. Sorellona.” I suoi occhi si chiudono piano. 

Una mano gelida di terrore le stringe il cuore. Non riesce a rispondergli, lo adagia a terra con delicatezza e balza in piedi, i pugni stretti. “Codardo! Non dovevi toccarlo!”

Il Sacerdote ride, le sue mani si infiammano di luce. “Da qualcuno dovevo pur cominciare. Preparati, è il tuo turno.” 

Il sorriso di Ekkeko, così dolce. Il suo fratellino di cuore e rinascita. 

“Tu, preparati!” La voce di Chaska è rombo di tuono, è fuoco il sangue che le pulsa alle tempie. Il suo respiro urla più del vento; le treccine si agitano attorno alla sua testa, prendono vita come i serpenti che ha abbattuto per ottenere il suo potere.

Alza le mani, le dita canini impietosi gonfi di veleno, le braccia spire che non lasciano scampo.

Snuda i denti e colpisce con un ringhio roco, scaglia a terra il Sacerdote; la sua luce lo preme, lo schiaccia contro la pietra finché il pavimento sotto di lui si fessura e cede, liberando un’onda infuocata. La lava lo ricopre, lo inghiotte. Lui urla e urla, la sua sagoma si consuma nel fuoco, scomparendo nelle viscere della terra.

“Mille morti come questa! Mille!” urla Chaska ansimando, le gambe tremanti ancora divaricate in posizione d’attacco.

Non sa cosa sia successo.

Ma era un canale aperto per l’energia più potente che abbia mai sentito.

Ekkeko.

“Ekkeko!”

È rimasto fermo come l’ha lasciato; si accovaccia al suo fianco, gli accarezza la faccetta magra.

Le sue palpebre tremano ma non si aprono. “Sorellona?”

“Sono io, fratellino. Resta con me.” La sua mano si ferma sulla guancia di Ekkeko. Fredda. “Ti prego.”

“Non posso.” Ekkeko sorride. “Ma è stato bello conoscerti, Chaska. Mi hai fatto arrivare fin qui–” Una pausa, lunga. 

Chaska gli prende la faccia fra le mani. “Tu mi hai fatto arrivare fin qui, ti prego. Ti prego. Sempre insieme, ricordi?”

“Magari.” A Ekkeko manca il fiato per parlare. 

Il caldo delle lacrime le si raffredda sulle guance. “Non puoi andartene.”

“Devo.” Ekkeko sta ancora sorridendo e una rabbia sorda le oscura il cervello.

Non è giusto.

Non ha senso.

Come è capace di distruggere, dovrebbe anche saper aggiustare. 

Non può essere tutto qui. 

Pensa alle mani amorevoli di suo nonno, che la rialzavano dopo ogni caduta. Solleva Ekkeko da terra prendendolo sotto le ascelle, se lo stringe addosso. Esile e tiepido. Zuppo di sangue. 

Per lei. 

Lo stesso amore. 

Lo stesso amoreー

L’universo che ha dentro si incendia, la vampa infuocata del sole li avvolge.

Ekkeko spalanca gli occhi in quella luce.

Choices we make 2

For COWT 13, W6, M5 prompt “la fine dell’inizio”, I humbly offer you the second and last chapter of a very dramatic FFVII fanfic.

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Pairings: Reno/Rude, Rude/Tifa

Rating: 18+

Warning: MCD (aka Major Character Death, please be careful), violence, some p0rn, lotsa feels

Chapter two: the end of the beginning

And now he understands that his choice hasn’t been the best one.

Not at all.

Because out of the smoke appears Reno, sauntering in his direction. A handful of guards follow him close.

He keeps his right hand casually stuffed into the pocket of his black slacks, the left one gripped around the handle of his EMR that he is tapping rhythmically on the shoulder. The way he always does, ready to strike. The wind ruffles his bright hair, the hem of his jacket flaps madly

He’s just. Gorgeous.

A wave of ice runs down his spine, paralyzing each of his muscles for a split second. Now he reckons that he should have thought about it. Changing sides.

It would have implied. 

Obviously. 

That the time would have come, when he had to fight Reno.

That time is now.

And as Reno is approaching, silent and fluid like the beast of prey he is, he acknowledges he won’t be able to do that. This means that his party is as good as dead.

Especially Tifa. He knows perfectly the depths of Reno’s spite. He can’t let this happen.

“Nice day to die, Avalanche scum.”  Reno snickers, but it sounds shrill and. Off. It’s anguishing to hear his battle laugh in front of him instead of beside him. “Did you really think you could blow up a fucking reactor and go away with it?”

He has nothing to say; he moves to the side, almost covering Tifa. Cloud steps closer as well.

Reno grins. “Your sense of camaraderie is so moving. Such a nice, tight group of jerks See if you can protect each other against Shinra.” He nods at the guards and they charge in their direction.

Shinra base officers are pretty easy to take down, nothing more than a nice diversion, he always has thought, and these make no exception. But there are too many of them, and it takes a shitload of time to put all of them to sleep. 

Under the constant scrutiny of Reno, who’s enjoying the sight of the battle perched atop a tall emergency stair. 

At the end he is panting, his knuckles torn and bloody. He reunites with Tifa, back to back with her, surveying Reno’s next moves. For a split second he remains up there, looming over them from above, then he somersaults  from his vantage point, landing gracefully at few meters from them.

A manic grin twists his gaunt face, his eyes are reduced to narrow slits full of hatred. “Revenge should be served cold.” He snarls. “But I like it scalding, loser!” He yells the last words and charges at him, wielding the mag rod like a damn sword. Blue lightning snakes along its length; he sees clearly Reno’s finger pressing convulsively on the switch. 

He doesn’t even try to avoid the wave of electricity directed at him.

Blue lightning envelops him, his body tenses, jerking on its own will, an acute howl fills his ears, it’s. 

His own voice; he’s unable. To breathe. The shock sends him backwards.

The tarmac impacts him, damn hard and unyielding against his back, all air is knocked off his lungs.

He’s unable to expand his ribcage in a new breath, as he lies convulsing, limbs spasming out of control. His vision goes grey. Nerves on fire, heartbeat drumming with his own head, obliterating every other sound. But her voice.

“Rude!” she screams, it sounds very far, he wonders where Tifa has gone, he can’t see her. Can’t see anything but Renos’s shoes getting closer.

Then a flash of red. Her. Boots. Filling his vision. She yells an unarticulated cry of battle, jumping straight at his partner. 

His former partner.

Still too close to his heart.

“You’re done, damn bitch!” Reno hisses.

“Shut up, Turk!” She attacks first, her fists leave translucent trails in the night. Reno grins and waits for her raising his EMR in front of his face.

The two people he loves most in the world. Trying to kill each other.

“Stopit!” he yells, pushing himself on fours. His legs shake under his weight as he is finally able to stand up.

“Are you afraid that I’ll break up your doll, Avalanche scum?” Reno turns the head, in his direction, their eyes meet for the duration of a heartbeat.

His heart. Split in two.

Tifa takes the opportunity to get past his propped rod, past Reno’swrong timed defense, with a flurry of spinning high kicks that send him backwards. His shoes skid on the concrete, he has to put a hand to the ground for balance. As soon as he stops he dashes forward again, straightening his back as he’s already running, the EMR held out in front of him. A lunatic grin bares his teeth.

Worse. Than the worst nightmare. Who should he choose?

Is there even a right choice? His heart says there aren’t, that he can’t possibly think of seeing any of them dead to the ground.

He’d rather die himself.

“Tifa!” he yells as he’s already leaping, shouldering her to the ground. The full brunt of the discharge hits him again, molten lead runs through his nerves, paralyzing him totally. His ribs feel like they’re imploding, caging tightly his lungs, blocking his breath.

Grayness. Agony. Will Reno ever stop before. Killing him.

Maybe not. It’s ok.

He..

Deserves.

It.

All.

“Rudeee!” A scream. Far, far away. Fading to silence. And black.

The first thing that takes shape when he opens his blurry eyes are the soles of Tifa’s red boots. She’s lying curled on the ground, a few steps from him. On her left Reno’s sparring with Cloud; it’s uncanny the way his slim EMR keeps at bay the massive sword of the merc. 

He has no interest in helping Cloud, who should be able to fend for himself if he claims to be a First Class. 

All he can think of is. 

Tifa. 

He drags himself by her side, each of his muscles aching as if they were pulled too loose, like elastic bands wound around thick stacks of paper. 

He rolls her gently on her back, heart racing madly in his throat. She can’t be—

But as he examines her, he sees her chest rise and fall, feebly. 

She’s out cold, and her tank top is torn on one side. There’s a bad burnt spidering up her left arm, the kiss of Reno’s EMR leaves permanent scars. 

He grits his teeth. Damn him. “Tifa,” he calls under his breath, sweeping her dark locks away from her forehead. 

But she doesn’t open her eyes. 

“Tifa!” Louder. 

A hoarse cry, his head snaps up on its own. 

Fast enough to see Cloud pull his sword out of Reno’ss chest, in a wide spurt of blood. 

Reno stands still for a moment, his back arched, and collapses to the ground with a dull moan. 

“Reno! No!” He runs to him, wobbling on trembling legs. Stands in front of him, shielding him as Cloud raises his sword again. “Stop this!” he screams, opening his arms.

Cloud’s face becomes wary. “Why so?” but he lowers his weapon, pointing it to ground.

“You have defeated him, can’t you see?” 

A pool of blood is growing quickly under Reno’s sprawled form. Too much blood to survive much longer. He falls on his knees by Reno’s head, his hands are shaking badly as he reaches out for Reno’s face. 

Reno looks at him with dazed eyes and opens  his mouth. Dark rivulets of blood leak down his chin.

He bends over Reno, bracing himself. He’s not ready to hear Reno’s words. He fears them. More than death itself. Because seeing Reno lying in a lake of his own blood feels worse than dying. 

Reno spits at him, instead; a dark lump that lands on his cheek, near his mouth. His lips twist in a snarl, his eyelids tremble and close, his head slides  sideways.

He deserves it. He deserves it all. All at once he realizes that Reno’s invulnerability was due to his hard work. That leaving Reno alone, suddenly exposed when he was used to having his back covered by him, was like decreeing his death sentence.

“Reno-” he gasps. Does he even have the right to call his name? It was he who killed his partner. “I–” But there’s nothing he can say, his throat suddenly too tight even to breathe.

“I. loved you. Asshole.” wheezes Reno without opening his eyelids. He probably can’t. 

He feels his own eyes burn and sting.

Worse than the worst nightmare.

Can it really be Reno’s end? 

He reckons he’s crying as a gust of wind colls down his wet face.

Cloud’s shadow looms over him. “What the fuck are you doing?” His lips are a tight line of contempt and anger. “Do you know this son of a bitch?”

He snarls and doesn’t reply; just rummages in Reno’s pockets, looking for his PHS, and smashes his finger onto the emergency button as soon as he’s holding the device in his hand..

Tseng answers immediately. “Reno! Report. Why is it taking so long?”

“Rude here,” he blurts out in the microphone. Send backup. Reno–” He can’t really go on, words stuck in his throat like nails.

“Rude? Where did you disappear? We all thought you were dead.” A pause. 

So Reno hadn’t spilled the beans on his whereabouts; his partner protected his secret to the very end. His heart sinks. 

Tseng sounds very concerned, when he starts talking again, and he has every reason to.“What about Reno. Why insn’t he–” 

“Reno is injured. He needs an emergency chopper. Now. He won’t make it for much longer.”

“Where are you?”

“Close to the reactor. Be quick.” He swallows. “Please.”

“As he raises his head again, he finds the blade of Cloud’s sword in front of his face. A hateful snarl distorts his face. “Who in hell are you? ”

He moves away Cloud’s weapon with the back of his hand and gets up, standing between him and Reno’s broken form.

Reno won’t make it, he just. Won’t. The wound is too wide: Cloud’s sword pierced him so deep, and Reno’s narrow at the chest. And everywhere else. He knows it so well. He used to know.

Every inch of his slim body.

The EMR is still tied to Reno’s wrist. He retrieves it, and swings it at Cloud. “Back away. I won’t let you finish this man.” Reno needs him. One last time. He can’t leave him alone, right now. He will protect his partner one last time, as his devotion was not to Shinra, or Veld, or Tseng, or even the Prez. As he suddenly realizes with a pang of nausea.

His devotion was all to Reno.

“Why? Are you really a Turk?” Cloud’s voice grows colder, his sword rises again, this time directed to his head.

“I don’t owe you any explanation.” 

“But you owe them to me.” Tifa’s weak voice. Behind him. “Who the fuck are you?” He has never heard her swear. 

He cringes, keeping his head low. “No one. Let them rescue the Turk, then you can do whatever you want, with me.” He just can hope she won’t have the nerves to attack him. Not from behind.

“The Turk must die. A nuisance less.”The hate in Cloud’s eyes is so palpable it would make him stagger, if he wasn’t backing up Reno. For the last time. “Step aside,” the merc growls.

“Over my dead body.” he steels himself, raising Reno’s EMR, set at max voltage. Nothing ties him to the blonde annoyance.

“If it’s so easy, then-” Cloud’s arm tenses.

“Stop this bullshit!” Tifa cries. “I– I must know.” She walks beside Cloud, grips tightly his wrist.

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to know, Tifa. There’s nothing at all. I don’t even exist. You’d better forget me as quickly as you can, and find someone who cherishes you the way you really deserve.”

Tifa’s eyes fill up with tears. “You– you were the one. No one ever cherished me the way you did. Why?” 

He shakes his head, unable to reply. In a single movement of his finger he lowers the voltage and discharges Reno’s EMR against them.

They fall to the ground, convulsing, and remain both very still when he switches off the device. Whatever, to buy Reno some time. If Tseg could be faster. Maybe–

He feels a weak tug at the hem of his jeans; he knows it, already. Before looking down. Before seeing Reno’s fingers. Coated in blood. Gripping the fabric. 

Please. Not. 

His legs start shaking, just standing on foot becomes suddenly difficult. He falls on his knees again, at Reno’s side, and it’s appropriate.

This is some kind of love declaration. The last one.

Reno’s eyes turn to him, but they can’t find his face.

He’s seen this look before. On the faces of his enemies, Shinra’s enemies, when his job description was “killing assholes with Reno.”

Now Reno has become the enemy.

And his gaze is that of someone who is already contemplating another reality, just waiting to be released. “Partner-“

He reads the word on Reno’s lips, more than really hearing it. Blood runs down his chin. 

“Reno. Please-“ Then he doesn’t know how to go on. He disentangles Reno’s fingers from the fabric of his jeans, holding it between his. They are cold, and slippery.

Reno’s hands have always been cold. To counterpart his scorching hot heart. 

Who has now reached its last beats. 

“You. Were everything. I had.” Reno tries hard to focus his eyes upon his face, but he can’t, really. He can’t. 

They’re beautiful, nonetheless. Wide, naked. Standing out, brighter than ever against the dark blood staining his face. The same angry shade of green as the sea of his hometown.

Such a waste. 

More tears stream down his face. He should have died, instead of Reno, he. He’s the ugly, heartless one. Deserting Reno like this, without looking back. 

How could he think it would work?

He lets go of Reno’s EMR to caress his face with the back of his hand.

“Hold me? Please?” Reno’s broken voice has an edge of plea. “As if it’s true. “

“What?”

“You–know.”

Does he? He knows it, and he knows that, “it is true. It’s always been.”

“So why? Why? You were everything” Reno’s face contorts in pain as he takes his partner under his armpits and pulls him up against his chest, supported by his bent leg. Reno’s head lolls against his shoulder. His weight is so known that it makes him cry harder. 

“I loved you so much. And I loved her so much. I had to choose, but I made the wrong choice. It’s.” Unbearable to say. “And with my choice I’ve killed you myself.”

“‘Ts ok. Partner.” Reno’s lips tremble, in the effort of speaking. “I can’t. Really. Hold a grudge on you.” Reno’s eyes clear for a moment, lock with his, but they don’t really see him. His gaze is already beyond. 

He holds Reno closer to his body. Kisses his bloody face. “Stay with me, Reno. Please. Tseng’s coming.”

Reno’s mouth curls up slightly. “Nah. See you. There. Partner?”

“See you there, partner.”

But Reno is not seeing him anymore. 

“Die, you bastard!” 

He raises his head; Cloud is standing in front of him, a blurry silhouette through the tears that fill his eyes.

“You betrayed all of us, and broke her heart.” Cloud nods in the direction of Tifa, still unconscious on the ground. It’s perfect. At least she won’t have to see.

He holds tightly onto Reno’s dead body. There’s nothing for him in his world anymore. “Do it,” he whispers.

He just grunts as Cloud’s sword pierces his heart. It was broken, already, and this horrible pain is nothing compared to holding Reno’s limp frame in his arms.

Cloud draws the sword from his flesh.

He falls forward, over Reno.

I will crush you, gorgeous.

Another time, another place, another life.

Reno’s eyes were the color of the angry sea. Narrow and sharp. Full of fire. When he looked at him.

He could never have made the right choice.

The only possible choice. The only one.

Would have been choosing them both.

He plunges, wide-eyed, through layers of darkness.

But there’s nothing to see anymore.

°°°   °°°   °°°

Her eyes sting, but she won’t give Cloud the pleasure of seeing her cry. She runs. Away. As fast as she can, through wide alleys, lightened up by myriads of shop windows, skipping  from shadows to light back to shadows again. Her footsteps echo harshly in the silent night, the wind cools off the tears running down her hot cheeks.

The sun’s starting to paint the dark sky light blue, when she has to stop. 

Her lungs burn, her heart aches, thumping loudly against the ribcage. She’d tear it away, willingly, from her chest.

So stupid. So stupid and naive. Trusting a dark, tall stranger. Giving away herself so easily. Rude had asked if she was sure, a weird amount of times. He tried to warn her. Save her from himself.

She thinks to his eyes, soft and wide, shadowed by long lashes. There were speckles of gold dancing into those chestnut pools, when he gazed upon her.

Cherished.

She still feels his thick arms, holding her tightly within his warmth. There, she was safe and steady, like she’d never been before, she.

Was it all a lie?

How could he put so much warmth in his stares. Upon her. Pretend to be in love, so perfectly. Heated kisses. And hotter promises, that he already knew he would have betrayed.

Did he really know?

Her guts screamed no. Had screamed no all the way, from their first encounter, to now.

Now they don’t say anything, they’re just too hollow, she’s hollow.

He filled her up to the brim, now he’s gone. Dead. As good as dead. Taken away by Shinra, she saw clearly the logo on the chopper side.

Leaving her alone. Loner than ever, because she tried the difference. Of someone caring for her. Supporting her, whenever she felt like falling.

She’s always had to fend for herself. After. That night. When her previous life had been burnt down to ashes. It felt nice, for once, being the princess instead of the knight, when Rude was beside her.

Who was him?

She will never know, probably. His secret disappeared along with his. Body.

Her lips start to tremble, again. No princess. No knight. Just her. Falling apart.

Rude knew the redhead Turk. He knew him well. Well enough to shield him, risk his life and ultimately lose it to protect him. Maybe Rude had been a Turk himself. Coworkers. A. Shinra man.

Do you get killed to defend someone who sits at a desk close to yours? Who would she get killed for?

Now, she can’t say.

She only knows that she would have given her life, to save Rude. While he’d been the one to shield her from the Turk’s wrecked weapon.

He tried to protect them both, got crushed in the middle.

She doubles over, racked by sobs.

He. Cared. And it makes only things worse.

Once again. As if she’s doomed. As if she can reach the surface, and fill up her lungs with air, only to be pulled deeper. Where it’s dark, and cold. And lonely.

Then she’s on her knees, the asphalt scratching her skin harshly through the thighs. Her fists ache, because she’s slamming them on the ground. Knuckles start bleeding.

But it doesn’t work.

She would have to tear off all her own limbs, in order to numb this despair with pain. Maybe, again, that wouldn’t be enough, maybe her head should be ripped away too, so that she could be done with all this.

She would do it so gladly, right now. She just can’t.

It only makes her cry harder.

Then, from somewhere far away, comes the sound of church bells. A hand lands on her shoulder. Warm and gentle. She breaths deeply, trying to stifle her sobs, wipes her face dry with her gloved forearm. How’s Cloud been able to find-

Scent of. Flowers.

She raises the head, meets round, green eyes. Sweet lips, curved in a smile. Wavy chestnut locks frame a girl’s face, bending over her. A face she’s never seen.

The newcomer crouches in front of her, the hem of a frilly dress brushes over her thighs. Makes her shiver. The hand on her shoulder, so warm. Relaxing her stiff muscles.

“Are you lost?”

She’s about to snap at that gentle face She’s not  a toddler who’s been caught in a stream of people, separated from. Mommy. Daddy, everyone.

Alone.

Confused among a forest of tall legs.

She’s. Not?

“Yes. I’m lost. Please. Please, take me back home.”