Lost Number [Project V.]

One Bullet. One Life. The Madness within finally reflected. A Fallen saint abiding the Sin of a child's birth. Come, Lost to this Crimson Chaos.
[ An RP blog for Vincent Valentine. Will accept ask as well. All artworks do not belong to me unless specified otherwise. Affiliated with FFP. Open to RP with anyone. Tracked tag: crimsonchaos | sanguinesaint ] Online Users


#kisxragi #because...


#lostwhitequeen #he also was restrained at both ankles



The faint scars crisscrossing strong torso are nothing new, perhaps, saving for a tiny tender mark which situates barely an inch below my left pectoral, a twisted sort of blossoming flower when jagged flesh is percieved beneath Mako’s sickly illumination.

On a report, it will have stated that this is the killing wound.

Still, dead, the raven haired certainly is not. Obviously not when it was in recognition that both jaded oculus turned toward the pale complexion by his side. A tiny furrow would etched across handsome facade when those two consonances — her name — were drawn from his lips, with more force now, this time, and a question as form attempted to lift itself up.


      Nearly a rumbling echo of words,
      sounded the chains’ rattling and the EKG.

Her hands trembled, but from rage or terror she did not know. Pale eyes traced his skin, looking, searching for answers she would not understand. Not yet.

They told me you died. They said they couldn’t find your body…

He tried to sit up and she placed a delicate hand on his chest, gently pushing him down. He seemed so weak. Never had she saw him like this; never had she wanted to. 

They lied to me….

"A lab…Nibelheim," she said, looking around before taking one of his hands, "we’re under one of the bedrooms, I believe. I never knew this was down here…"

  Her hand is trembling, and I cannot help but not how blazingly white everything in the room seems to be, even her hand. It is too much that twin garnet insets find themselves narrowed into two thin slits simply in hope that some of those blaring rays may be shielded.

  I shake my head. The motion fills me with a dizzy swirl, and I discover my gaze drop momentarily to that hand on my chest.

      A lab.
      What else there is new?

  Swallowing deeply my nonexistent saliva, I exhale a quiet sigh. My head sounds a low thud against the operating table’s hard surface. Every frigid reminder only stirs a new wave of cold dread, leaving ice in the pit of my stomach. There is something I ought to remember, but what is it?

I lick my lips.

  ”We need to leave.
      do you…have the key?”

My quiet tugging of the restrains on my wrists implies precisely which key I meant.

Source: sanguinesaint


#vincent valentine #yuffie kisaragi #yuffentine #for the record #he is #fanfiction


Easter Eggs

"…But why, may I ask, am I clothed in pink?

It was Easter, and though Yuffie herself didn’t care for the meanings of holidays, that didn’t stop her from celebrating it. All out celebrating, in fact—more than most people who actually dedicated their life to what the holiday actually stood for. Which explained why much of her upper half was covered in multi-colored food dyes.

Last year was significantly worse. Vincent still remembered waking up to a rabbit plopped onto his face on Easter morning. That wasn’t all, though. His entire abode was filled with those hopping, defecating menaces. The year before that, there were brightly colored chicks. (Speaking of, he hoped Yuffie had remember to feed the one chicken she had begged him to keep.)

"Well…" The ninja bounced onto the balls of her feet before rocking backwards, hands behind her back and a sheepish grin on her face. "I wanted to paint the eggs like everyone. Tifa," she held up one with very noticeable breasts, "Cloud," a chocobo with a sword, "and so on. Unfortunately, red food dye doesn’t look quite red, so…"

In Vincent’s grasp was a very bright pink egg. It looked very much like him (as much as an egg-drawing could), but the pink was utterly distracting. And much to his distaste.

He looked between the egg and Yuffie. She was certainly a sight to behold; a ninja in brightly colored dyes who could probably still sneak into any place she chose. “And where might your egg be?”

Vincent followed her glance to the floor behind her, only to see several smashed eggs and a mess he would be the one having to clean up. “I didn’t have any more eggs.” She shrugged and laughed, kicking an eggshell away from her feet.

His frown deepened but he said nothing, ushering her out of the kitchen. She protested—until he said she could either occupy her time with “Chirpy” (why he let her name the chick, he didn’t know), or clean. Yuffie vanished in an instant.

When she returned to the kitchen, everything was spiffy and clean, with the only evidence of her morning mess the eggs lined up on the counter. A smile curved her lips; she loved the sight of her friends, especially in their cute little egg-forms. There was one difference, though.

On Vincent’s pink egg, one half was still him. But on the other side was a very, very artistically drawn image of Yuffie, smeared with a few extra colors that bore resemblance to that morning. The effort placed into it was extraordinary, and a light blush rose to her tanned face. The girl was stunned into silence.

For just a moment.



#animusinspire #I ended up writing this one

Q:[ Bites nape ] 8|




[shudders] that’s a near sure fire way to get hair in your mouth, Vincent >;3


"So drop it." It sounded easy enough, the casual way this man had made the statement seemed to be, when regardless of the Commissioner’s partial protest, crimson form’s quiet onslaught remained to be. With his back revealed to me, and the minor degree canting of neck a promise for further exploration, I shifted my chin forward. There was a clean scent of soap, and …something else? What might it be? A feline’s curiosity always demand its answer. "You have been doing it this entire morning."   

It sounded easy enough, deceptively simple in expression; a mere three – tempting – words. Yet this was Reeve and this was Vincent, and simplicity was hardly their mien in life. The Commissioner was at the work he had been doing the entire morning, hands toying with the edges of the paper and slight movements the only accommodation to Vincent’s non-verbal demands.

It was almost a tease just how little Reeve was allowing against the insistent nudges to the nape of his neck - just enough to silently suggest something that he was not going to give away so eagerly, or so simply.

He hummed once more in response to the inhaled breath sniffing at the scent of showers and the city, as he slowly slipped one page into position and resumed his apparent perusal of the facts before him, “And will be continuing well into the night from the looks of things…” A further tilt denied the gunman the taste of skin, as the Commissioner peered back and up at Vincent, “So… Why not make yourself more comfortable?”


Reeve carefully put aside one set of papers before surreptitiously plucking a remote from the edges of his desk as he picked up the next file. A slight hiss of decompression the only indication that he had in fact locked the office door.

  Life is never easy, and perhaps I have been too bold in my proposition. A three word statement uttered in such a careless demeanor probably would not have meant anything, nor should they hold any true weight against a man such as him, if not for the waft of air currently bid close to his conch of ear. It only took only one quiet drawing of breathe to confirm that the mild aroma currently toying my olfactory was the scent of soap. One mystery was, at least, solved, I decided.

      as everything is never what it first appears,
      or as life hardly yields an easy answer,
      it was not by the scent of his lather,
      a mind was first intrigued,
      nor such has been why I had felt the need to mark him so.  

  First, there was curiosity 
  There is always curiosity.

  ”You and Veld would do well together.” Whether the statement was intended as more, or something generic basing solely from personal observation, I did not say. Simply, in which the other occupier in the room inched away, suave facade would draw back. The room’s pale luminescence reflects off claret sheen as ruddy irises briefly stole a glance — his hand, the edge of the papers he was carefully tracing, a minor shift in a set of shoulder when he reached for another stack of folders and of course, a silent motion of digit, confirmed with a soft hiss of decompression that would have been impossible to notice by others, if not me. “The way you two work…”

  With my back reclining against the chair and the length of arm draping across its back, curling at elbow so as to provide chin with its resting, I shifted one leg across the other. Talon digits would shift ascent, and from there, execute a solitary motion of index drawing in languor down the length of the other’s nape. “…the way you two dress…”

  The aforementioned might not have gone as far as to include his W.R.O. attire. Still, he was a suit once, and a very picturesque of Veld’s colt.

  Again, cuspate tip rapped against the bare flesh, catching lightly the navy collar before addressing it with a soft tug. “…the people you socialize with…”

      From that,
      another swift cut
      found aureate talon mirrored closely
      … its very first move
      — a cut down.

  ”I am comfortable. Aren’t you?”


#mxkato #I think I spot a kenshin too #owo #vincent is clueless of samurai custom




      A vague gesture of hand,
      and a smile that was not quite there
      would convey perfectly the thought therein
      — a joke, this was perceived to be.


   ”Here…lain only ghosts, stranger.”

         ”Tell then…
          — what fruits may such yield?”

            ❝i have journeyed long, do you mind?❞

     he did not wait for confirmation. makoto had already found a comfortable spot of the earth, a small cushion was set before he seated himself, red eyes flickering back to the man.


             ❝i may have taken a faulty turn, but i heard of healing waters in this land. as you may see, i am not exactly healthy.❞

                                                    that was to put it lightly.

  To his self-invited attitude,
  a set of slender shoulder merely shift in dismissal.
  The day has been naught but ordinary,
  if not including the company.  

      Crimson eyes,
      such is rare among Gaian but more importantly
      is the other’s very bearing.


"One faulty turn led to another, I dare say." Regarding quietly the man before me from beneath cascading inky tresses, I proceed. "The land is barren; the water, poisoned."

  ”You have the look of a Wutai.”

Source: sanguinesaint


#mercale #Reeve Tuesti #Vincent Valentine #Tuestentine #evilrobotcat #drabble #ffvii

This writing was done as a response to mercale's post here. I began on it before the original writer post their conclusion part. If you wish to see their rendition, please go here. This is the first time I write as Reeve, so here goes.


The world was a better place with Reeve Tuesti in it

  — but was the world a better place without Vincent Valentine?

  Of late — precisely for the period of 9 months, 10 days, 9 hours and 16 minutes after his true awakening — that had came to be the question Reeve Tuesti discovered himself asking. Not aloud of course, for he can be discreet when he so choose to apply, nonetheless, Reeve cannot deny that it did not trouble him.

  It had taken him one week to notice that Vincent was no longer there;

  — three weeks before Reeve finally brought himself to admit that, perhaps, this was more than the elusive gunman’s usual extensive excursion.

  A week after that, the same sensor technologies that are used in Cait Sith were successfully applied in a pair of transparent skin on his hands. These feed a signal regarding the force of his grip directly to the contacts Reeve now is having on. The former assists him with his motor function, as the latter serves as well to disguise the lighter shade of his eyes.

  By the end of the fourth week after his true awakening, Reeve found himself having a drink at the Seventh Heaven. An idle question made to both Tifa and Cloud, who happened to be there after a delivery for the W.R.O., was met with a small shaking of head. They have not seen Vincent for awhile, but that is nothing new.

  On the seventh week, Shalua sent Shelke to him. It appeared the elder Rui still kept the shards from the first mug he broke, and she thought he might still want them. A sentimentalism linked back toward his first position at the W.R.O, she believed; while she had not addressed one aloud, much was implied.

  Shelke told him she had not seen Vincent either, not even with her Dive.

  At 10.47 in the morning on Wednesday of the twelfth week, Reeve was staring at the mug he had glued back together when Cid helped himself into his office. The long enduring task was a part of the test to help calibrate the recently developed sensors, a Mk II model, so he told himself.

Even while he was listening to Cid, Reeve’s own hands folded together in a loose tent in front of him, he still could not help shifting his gaze back toward the missing red piece that would have completed the porcelain’s broken handle. They talked about the previous transportation to Kalm. They talked about the weather, and possible upgrades they might have of the Highwind. They talked about the town Cid had visited and of old friends reacquainted.

        Vincent’s name was not in there.  
        He’s still missing;
        &   Cid was worried.

        It seemed
        the gunman has been less frequent in his unannounced visit.

Reeve told Cid that he should not be too concerned, and added that Vincent would probably appear in their Avalanche’s get-together, the one that was supposed to be held in the next seven weeks. Cid agreed, but he had not looked too convinced.

  Cait Sith discovered the piece Reeve had lost on the weekend of the sixteenth week. The trouble with Edge’s drainage system, in combination with the storm they were having, only exacerbated their situations. He had little sleep, and the man who returned his gaze in the morning was still the man he did not remember being.

But somehow, the glow in that man’s pair of eyes seemed to have dulled. Cait Sith said he was a fool. They had not outright disagreed for quite some time. Reeve thought it started after the pain in his ribs, but he could be wrong.

He was wrong about many things and he still hadn’t the time to fit in that last piece on the mug.

  Avalanche spent their reunion without Vincent. It was not as if it has not happened before but Reeve still found it disheartening. They did not know what he knew.

        Vincent   l e a v e   because of him
        &   and no amount of   d e n i a l   .
        could fix that.

  He told them to wait.

  He told them,
  they should know already,
  how the gunman could be.

  He did not tell them he did not think Vincent was coming back.
  All men require time to grieve in their own ways.

  It was near the ending of Avalanche’s meeting on the twentieth week after his awakening that Nanaki left, mentioning another drink he owed Vincent, as Vincent owed him. Reeve knew the loud noise currently assaulting his ear drums was the sound of his own heart — it had not left him flinch.

Thirty-sixth weeks after his true awakening, Reeve found himself toying with a piece of red shard as he waited. He supposed Nanaki would have been meeting with Vincent at the moment, perhaps sharing a laugh — alright, knowing Vincent, it would probably be more of a low chuckle that had often sent bood coursing through Reeve’s veins — over their glasses of moonshine. Reeve closes his eyes, allowing his imagination to run along. Somewhere in time tonight, Nanaki would give Vincent that first mug he broke, along with a letter.

  Somewhere in time tonight, or probably close to dawn, Vincent will be reading.

I seem to have misplaced one of its pieces but I know a hired hand who could track down almost anything.

  Come back to me…

  Reeve knows he has never been a better man
     Not without you.


#kisxragi #and a reply on the baby thread #was that when she dumped the boy in his arms #I don't think he was really given time to remove the gauntlet there #xD



might have some problems
the first moment Yuffie Kisaragi ascends the throne.

Nonetheless, those can be later considered.

      The more pressing issue at the moment,
      is how best to avoid complicating the matter further.

      As such,
      in which cranium drew back,
      both shoulders would shift,
      accommodating the move to straighten oneself.

"There existed a particular brew of tea a friend is taken to."


      ”I was merely running an errand,
               so is to speak.”

When she becomes Wutai. 
Their first order will be to Vincent to fetch her something. 
He’ll deny their wishes, but that is still years off. 
Still there is another matter at hand— a nosy snoop has caught her with still her childish wiles, she hasn’t had the itch to thieve since she was eighteen and now at twenty one she’s slipped for one moment. 


"If it makes you feel any better— I gave it back."

  W h e n   she becomes Wutai,
  and not   i f
  — sometimes all it would take,
  is an attitude.

      Perhaps it was for the best that this man,
      for the moment,
      was kept in the dark
      as to where precisely that
      attitude could have landed him. 

"Just try to detain from testing if you still possess the skills on me, Kisaragi.”


#siightless #need to go to bed though #( run away with ) #( night! )


Sigh, adults sometimes.


Just get out of the way Jiji, you’re messing up my schedule."


Tch, it’s not as if the other had looked that young either.

      ”And what schedule might that be? Pray tell.”

Nibelheim laboratory was long off-limited as far as I’m concerned.

Source: sanguinesaint


#mxkato #( hello hello ) #( <3 ) #( kenshin -- that's a serie I have not seen like forever )




"Whichever you were looking for, you shall not find it here."


        ❝is that so? would it not benefit to know what someone is after before you say their search is fruitless?❞


      A vague gesture of hand,
      and a smile that was not quite there
      would convey perfectly the thought therein
      — a joke, this was perceived to be.

   ”Here…lain only ghosts, stranger.”

         ”Tell then…
          — what fruits may such yield?”

Source: sanguinesaint


#siightless #[ smooches your cheek ]




"Whichever you were looking for, you shall not find it here."


Don’t lie Kyuuketsuki-chan, it ain’t nice."


"You must have been mistaken. I know no one of that name."

  Frankly admitted, that particular honorable suffix seems to speak ‘troubles’.

Source: sanguinesaint