zack is a crazy impulsive wild child with adhd and ptsd and a whole colorful rainbow of spilling sunbursting always-bleeding emotions that are almost always on display, full of the weirdest habits and quirks and tendencies, who talks too loud and is always in motion and feels too deeply and isn’t easily offended but wears his heart on his sleeve where it’s especially vulnerable to injury, who sees too much and is prone to announcing all of his observations heedless of their appropriateness, who takes in everything that surrounds him like a sponge, who is an always-playful monkey of a boy and a teenager and a man, who moves too fast and doesn’t think nearly enough before he’s just jumping headfirst into things, who loves so hard and wants nothing less than to save the people he cares for even when it’s blatantly obvious that they’re beyond rescue, who is crude and inappropriate and speaks quick and dirty and has little concept of boundaries, who has a rich inner and outer life that he’s never quite learned how to keep up with or organize, who loves way too much and with a sort of indiscriminate anti-greediness that it gets him into trouble sometimes, who is quick as hell to declare someone family, who loves being cared for just as much as he loves caring for others, who doesn’t fear self-indulgence and is in love with the idea of someday letting himself get soft or complacent (though his mind doesn’t seem too keen on letting him do so any time soon), who has a lust for life that’s endlessly insatiable and likely will be forever, who kisses everyone just to say hello, who is capable of blinding brightness just as much as he’s capable of deep darkness

angeal is stern and somber and serious and yet so passionately warm and loving, keeps most of the more intense parts of himself locked inside most of the time for fear that they’ll overwhelm him or his son (he doesn’t fear for his friends, he knows they can handle it), who is deeply sensitive and artistic and loves smooth jazz and good food and romance movies but in the most hysterically masculine way possible, who seems impossible to wound but really just wears the most stoic of stone masks, who has a dark and slightly sad sense of humor that circles slowly around death and misfortune and financial instability, who would throw himself under a bus in a heartbeat if it meant bettering his loved ones and yet doesn’t have as strong a grasp as he thinks on what’s best for them, who doesn’t move and is boulderlike in his stationaryness and his solidity, who is prone to deep and soulbreaking depression and yet wakes up every day determined to see it through, who would have completely forgotten how to smile if it weren’t for zack, who is a control freak like no one else, who says so much with silence and with wordless looks, who drinks slowly throughout the day and who’s drunkenness isn’t apparent until the stroke of ten at night, who is so warmly sarcastic the air burns when he speaks, who loves physical contact but doesn’t very often let himself indulge in it, whose life is built almost predominantly around penance and guilt in a manner not very much unlike that of a monk, who only shops from thrift stores because to do otherwise would be wasteful

genesis is flamboyant and selfish and very similar to a sloppy overeating vampire in his lack of restraint when it comes to draining people dry, manipulative and cunning and emotionally abusive by nature, saddled with unfathomably high standards and a degree of self-indulgence that borders on parody, who speaks with the sort of over-articulate eloquence and literary flair that makes him hard to comprehend and almost infuriating to be around, who would certainly die alone if it weren’t for the beautiful friends he has (who he doesn’t deserve and never did), who is overly dramatic and has bred in himself a sort of over-the-top theatrical quality, who is almost painfully intelligent but possessing of so low a degree of common sense and decency and so high of degree of narcissism and madness that it would actually be impossible for him to live alone, who lives on spite and more than anything the possibility of gleeful satisfaction at the inconveniences of others, who is a fool of an almost religious caliber and believes in superstition and old gods, who is constantly seen with a full glass of red red wine in one hand and a pen or perhaps a cigarette in another, utterly lacking in self-hatred or self-awareness, who dresses in women’s clothing and anything else he finds as pretty as himself, who listens to blaring and overobnoxious glitter/bubblegum pop music, who is so emotional and full of so many sharp things that simply opening his eyes is an experience for him

sephiroth is quiet and gossamer-like despite his outward severity, values precision and quickness above almost anything else, has headaches often because he thinks too much and rests too little, struggles monthly with colds due to overwork and an overabundance of self-discipline, imposes on himself a regiment of self-control and psychological monitoring of unprecedented intensity out of fear of going batshit fucking crazy again, who is so gentle and so loving in the most leonine fashion, who sees and listens and quietly understands much more than he talks and directs and demands, who is malleable and whimsical and so full of unusual fancy, whose seriousness too often masks his feline playfulness and love for mischief, who has about eighteen different personas that all depend on the time of day and who he happens to be around and how much he hates himself at any given moment, who is awkward and uncomfortable and doesn’t favor socializing at all because he’s never quite understood it, who is sharply brilliant and quiet possibly the most intelligent person on the island, who is a lion of a father above almost all else this time around, who loves to sleep but doesn’t do so as much as he needs to, whose sarcasm is so dry and so arid it’s almost desertlike to be on the receiving end of, who nurtures plants and loves flowers and listens to classical music in his down time, who remains just as psychologically barren and alone as he was before but is slowly moving closer to living in a small mental neighborhood


when they left the garden, they dropped their finished roaches and watched them bounce twice on the ground before wedging into the minute cracks in the pavement, and tidus wound his arms around both cloud and squall and declared to the sky that he loved them, these friends of his – without them, he’d be entirely lost. (x)

i really wanted to illustrate this small scene from FUGUE because it surprised me how much i started digging these three’s collective friendship as i was writing
also – i couldn’t decide which version of this i disliked least, so you get both the simple version and the rainbow vomity, horribly-composed imitation photo version, happy birthday to you

Namore um homem que coleciona livros, em vez de um cara que estufa o peito orgulhoso do último tênis que comprou. Um homem que te apresente sua biblioteca pessoal – mesmo que ela tenha duas pilhas com cinco livros – e não um cara que lhe exiba um carro. Namore um homem que guarda uma lista com os próximos livros que gostaria de ler, em vez de um cara que está indeciso sobre qual iPhone comprar.Encontre um homem que gosta de ler. Você irá reconhecê-lo facilmente. Ele terá a fala calma – não é que seja lerdo, mas ele sabe que é preciso escolher as palavras com cuidado. De antemão, esteja ciente: às vezes, ele falará tão alto que o casal do banco ao lado irá reparar em vocês; outras, você precisará colar em sua boca para compreendê-lo. Ele sabe que cada fala exige um tom. Não se assuste se ele ficar em silêncio de repente. Homens que leem sabem que há momentos em que é preciso calar. Aprenda a ouvir o que ele quer dizer com o silêncio.O homem que lê é aquele que toda vez para diante de uma livraria, que sempre está com um livro aberto na mão enquanto espera um café. Repare que sua xícara virá cheia de um café bem preto, de onde sai uma fumaça fina, convidativa. Talvez ele seja tão absorvido pela história que, quando se lembrar do café, não haverá mais fumaça e o líquido já estará frio. Isso será o de menos. Se ainda estiver curiosa, chegue mais perto das páginas e repare o que está escrito. Seja discreta, afinal, se ele perceber sua aproximação, certamente não hesitará em puxar uma conversa.Divida com ele uma segunda xícara de café bem preto.  […] Se você encontrar um homem que goste de ler, é melhor mantê-lo por perto. […] Um dia, vocês vão juntar seus livros e formar uma biblioteca enorme, vão se lembrar de personagens da ficção quando passarem por uma dificuldade econômica, vão ter um cachorro com nome de escritor e um filho com o nome mais estranho da escola. Aliás, ele vai perder noites com seu filho lendo Peter Pan, vai te trocar por Emília e Pedrinho e só vai retornar à cama quando o menino já tiver pegado no sono. Mas mesmo tarde, ele voltará à cama todas as noites, carregando um novo universo para te presentar. Namore um homem que lê porque você merece. Merece alguém que possa fazer você viver para além do cotidiano do trabalho, da casa, da família. Merece um homem que te dê todos os mundos possíveis. E os impossíveis. Merece um homem que te dê as melhores reflexões, as mais bonitas histórias de amor, as amizades mais verdadeiras. Se quiser o infinito, namore um homem que lê. Ou, melhor ainda, namore um homem que escreve.