Rufus Shinra, megane-style. He’s really hard to draw….Posted on April 2, 2014 at 11:56 PM
Doodle of Reno from FFVII. Just wanted to draw him in another outfit other than his suit.Posted on August 12, 2013 at 4:18 PM
FFVII- Reno. Just a headshot doodle thing, derp.Posted on February 9, 2013 at 10:00 AM
Inspired by the fic I posted earlier. A younger Reno, looking pissed off with a crowbar :”BPosted on January 17, 2013 at 11:00 AM
[Reno origin fic. Ignores BC canon in that he doesn’t join SOLDIER here.]
In his line of work, what lies in the past usually stays there, firmly rooted. No ties to friends? Good. No family? Even better. Those lines tend to get cut, sooner or later, so it’s better if the baggage has already been tossed out.
For example, he’d been recruited after he’d strewn his mother’s murderers’ body parts all over an alleyway.
He’d been at it all week, dogging the gang’s heels, picking them off as a wolf would do to a sick deer. Normally, he didn’t enjoy so much gore, but they’d taken away the last shred of humanity he’d actually cared about. His mother hadn’t been perfect by any means, but she’d raised his sorry ass without complaint. Had gone to work whoring at Honeybee, never slumping her shoulders, never bowing her head. She didn’t have any enemies. Quite the opposite, really. Many, if not all, liked her at work, and the Don was even charmed by her.
Which made finding her body, bleeding out on the street, clothing ripped, that much more painful. At first, he’d been numbed by grief, shocked that anyone under the plate would hurt one of their own. After grief came despair, which quickly turned into anger. That flared up into rage, and he had started hunting. The gang that did it probably figured she was a nameless nobody, just some regular whore with no family, as the story went.
What they hadn’t expected was that they’d end up facing him.
In the first few days, he tracked down some of the bottom rung members, paid some house calls, and left some very clear messages about how he thought of the gang proper. They responded with brute force, trying to track him down, but normally the scouts ended up the same way the first ones did. Soon, fear sunk into them. He couldn’t stop, though, not when the real offenders were still walking around, breathing, laughing (not really laughing as much anymore, were they?) Blood was still fresh on his hands when the killers walked right into him. Strolled right down an alley, one of them staggeringly drunk, the other distractedly trying to keep his friend upright.
It couldn’t have been more perfect.
Though really, it was merely coincidence that those men in navy suits had been walking by. That they’d witnessed him recreating his mother’s murder on two gang members about twice his size. And after all was said and done, one of them came up to him, asked him if he’d been the one responsible for all those deaths— he, covered head to toe in blood that matched his hair, had only said that they’d killed his mum and left it at that. The rest after that episode was a blur.
Two weeks and three days after his past had been put to rest, he found himself shrugging into a navy blazer and learning how to correctly knot the tie around his neck (which later, he’d forgo entirely).Posted on January 17, 2013 at 10:00 AM