#⇢ ❝ ᴘᴏssᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ! [ after ffviii. ]

[fujxnarchive]

Things you said, 22

things you said that kept me grounded-- -

   “We won’t leave you.”

   THERE IS NO wavering, no hesitancy to be found. He trembles, battered by the accusations, shaken by the calls for his blood to be spilled---covers it up in the reckless abandon of cheap alcohol && week-old takeaway food. They are not blind to the methods he uses to cope, not deaf to the things he partakes in to forget. They are merely there, ready to pick him up, ready to follow him.

   There is no judgement in her gaze when she runs a hand through his flaxen locks, softly, calmly, quiet in his moments where nightmares strike harder. The sleepless nights are not kind to him, so she will be. The press of fingertips against his skin, telling him that leaving would never be considered an option. That he is worth it. 

   “It’s ok, Seifer.”

⇢ ❝ you said things. many things. / ACCEPTING. / @reveromantique.

[fujxnarchive]

📊

📊...How does your muse feel about the state of the world? Could it be better? Could it be worse?

   [ ff8. ]

   It was worse.

   The death of the sorceress had heralded a unified breath of relief from a vast majority of the world. The death of the sorceress had effectively released her posse from that witch’s clutches, freeing them finally from her manipulations. The state of the world had fallen once more into peace, into tranquility.

   It was worse. && now, it is better.

   [ ff7. ]

   She does not care for the world. She is not trained to do so--here, as a dishonorable daughter of Wutai and operative of the Turks, there is only one thought that remains. The MISSION. It is not her task to place judgement on the actions of Shin-Ra, the plague that it is on Gaia. It is not her responsibility. Her task is only the mission, to collect information that would benefit Shin-Ra.

   But if her eyes linger longer on reports of the mako generators, of the sightings of more monstrous beings--if her mind begins to make connections, then it is truly traitorous to wonder if something better could be done for the Gaia that screams out?

⇢ ❝ thought-provoking hcs. NOT ACCEPTING. @chaoticflicker.

[fujxnarchive]

⇢ ❝ @prideanddiscipline. from here.

 He’d been bent over the engine of the utility jeep he’d been given by his employers, a beat-up old clunker that only worked about half the time, the rest spent giving him hell; just another enthusiastic fuck you from the system, he supposed. His face was contorted in frustration as he struggled to wrench a rusted bolt free, his grip slipping and pinching his knuckle hard enough to make him yelp.

 He stepped back from the car, knocking the hood arm out of the way and dropping the metal cover with a loud clang, not satisfied that the sound had carried enough finality with it, apparently, for he threw the wrench against the trunk of the nearby tree he’d towed into for shade from the oppressive Summer heat.

 “Sonova-… useless piece of shit-… break into Galbadia-… drop a flaming satellite on this hunk of junk — send me back to D-District, see if I care that this shithole has one more smoking crater-…” came the stream of vitriol muttered only barely under his breath as he inspected his hand, a line of crimson starting to gather on the surface where he’d scraped the skin off his joint. 

 He’d turned around to find the slight-framed woman standing just behind him, no doubt having heard the commotion, gazing at him with a discerning look. His brows cinched, head jutting expectantly on his neck, “—what?” But he’d never receive an answer — not a verbal one anyway. Before he had a chance to tell her to piss off, he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on his temper, she had drawn up to him, raising like a rushing tide against his chest and dragging him down by his neck until her lips pressed his own.

 He was struck at first by how warm and soft her lips were — not that most lips weren’t, but Fujin had always been the cold to his hot, the hard steel to his mercurial nature. Chills ran down his spine, but the sort brought on by water so hot it confused the senses, like liquid fire running through his veins.

 Whatever he had been upset about moments before had completely slipped his mind upon contact, replaced by the knowledge that his mouth had been open just enough when she caught his lips that he could taste her, and that she tasted both sweet and salty, like late lunch and horrible life choices — god how he was a sucker for horrible life choices… his expression would wane from startled surprise to the look of a man who was about to fall off the sobriety bandwagon and couldn’t figure out whether to be shameless or apologetic for it.

 He exhaled hotly through his nostrils as his bloodied hand lifted to cup her face, pressing forward against her, though not for the simple act of bringing himself deeper into the kiss, no. That was merely a side-effect of locomoting them both forward (or backward) against the front of the broken-down jeep, pinning her against the hood with hands at either side of her, the weight of their bodies causing the vehicle to creak and the steel cover to warble haphazardly.

 He broke the kiss with an almost painful suddenness, skin peeling from one another with a tactile reluctance as he gazed at her silently for a moment, jaw slackened.

 “—What are you doing?” he asked at last, brows bouncing high on his forehead. Hyne, what was he doing?

   She had initially left him to his angry murmurings, his disjointed irritation over the transportation vehicle. It was an area where she had not collected sufficient knowledge to be anything but a nuisance to him; thus, she stands watch, listening to the rise and fall of his words, observing the area that surrounded their isolation with caution, facing away from him. The cacophony of banging metal that erupts from his frustration is one that does not shock her--it was an eruption waiting to occur, with every moment he spent agonizing.

   It is with the noise that she turns, a vaguely scathing remark on her tongue for letting anger overtake him again, till she sees HIM. He stands, broad shouldered and golden hair framing his features. He stands, living && breathing, the survivor of the manipulation of a WITCH. He stands, there, and she knows that lecturing him would produce no advantageous results--Seifer had never been one to take such criticism without comment. All she wants is to replace the burning rage that spills from his lips, replace it with something worthwhile--what use would her doing the same act of reproach over && over cause, except insanity? Insanity. His lips.

   For some reason, his lips catch her eye again. Somehow, a curiosity occurs to her, a hypothesis that needed to be tested--her approach is rapid, letting not hesitation take hold of her, fingers reaching and tugging at his collar, pulling him closer till their lips collide. 

   It is nothing like what she would expect, not this sensory explosion. It is the exchange of breaths, the taste of something wholly him lingering on her tongue, the feeling of relief that the warmth of his lips bring. For once, it is not anger that falls from his lips, only silence. The air in her lung trembles, finding herself unable to draw herself away from this physical connection, the feeling of running her fingers through his hair, the feeling of his hand on her cheek. She lets him push her, allowing herself to be pushed back against the cold surface of the vehicle, slowly eliminating the space between them. She does not know how to stop, how to breathe--- -- -

   Until he breathes for her.

   Finally, the air struggles not to reach her lips, an entrance forming from the break between their lips. There is no shame to be seen on her features, only conviction, a hypothesis with evidence backing it. Her tongue wets her lips carefully before she attempts to explain.

   “OUTLET.” It was a solution that had not yet been explored--to divert his attention from his temper. Clearly, it had worked.

[fujxnarchive]

❝ I’m his mother, and until I am dead and cold, I am going to do anything I have to do to protect him. ❞ -corditeheart/Xu

   “I KNOW.”

   SHE cannot deny it. Even if she had not seen the struggle Xu had gone through to carry the babe to term, even if she had not been by her side as she ached && her hormones threw her into dizzying heights emotions, even if she had not listened and watched as the woman had given birth ( all of things that she had done, all of these memories that she would not trade for the world )… there is no universe in which she would have not recognized this child as Xu’s blood. The way that Xu cradles the baby, holding them close to her heart beat, letting those little whimpers and tears soak into her clothes: she is a mother.

   A GOOD mother.

   Good mothers love their children. Good mothers sacrifice for their children. Even bearing the pain, the loss of Seifer, Xu has never stopped once to look back and regret, at least not to her, not verbally. Xu is a good mother.

   Fujin is not a mother. When she looks at this child, sees the tuft of hair, sees those innocent eyes, she cannot help but remember the father, cannot help but wonder if this child’s fate will be kinder than their predecessor. When Fujin looks at this child, all she can see is a shadow of the past; it is hard to stare down this innocence && not remember the darkness. Sometimes, though, the babe grips her fingers, barely wrapping around her thumb, and something in her heart shutters.

   Fujin is not a mother, and does not think she would make a good one. Not in the way that Xu is, holding her baby close, loving through the tears. But she knows this at least— –she will KILL for this mother & child, so that they may never be torn apart. She will not let the fate of the father befall the child. She will DIE for this mother & child, without hesitation.

   She says nothing of this. Her hand reaches, rests gently on Xu’s shoulder, supports.

   “…well done.”

⇢ ❝ son of anarchy / ACCEPTING / @corditeheart

[fujxnarchive]

"Old men covered in blood. It never touched them, but they're drowning in it." -corditeheart/Rinoa

   FOR once, Rinoa’s words are darkened with the touches of realism, no longer wholly optimistic: she is the heroine of this era’s story, but also the culmination of tragedy, the physical representation of what could go wrong again. Here, in the hidden woods of the world, Fujin watched over Rinoa, at the request of Leonhart to keep her hidden until the world’s rage at the daughters of hyne died into embers.

   “BREATHE.”

   She cannot tell Rinoa to be patient, for she is patient enough. Cannot tell her to forgive, because forgiveness is what the world should be begging for. Instead, she tells this woman to breathe, to live a moment more; the best way to make the old men pay is to live past the day they DIE.

⇢ ❝ serenity comes / @corditeheart 

[fujxnarchive]

"You know what the definition of a hero is? Someone who gets other people killed." -corditeheart/Laguna

   NOTHING but a balm, used to soothe the soul, to use as justification for one’s actions: this is the meaning of hero. She nods in agreement, staring across the sea of uniforms, this day used to honor the founders of SeeD--lauded as heroes, as educators of the victors. So many lost to the mishandling of resources, && yet honor does not go to those who survived the horrors ( only those who has silently manipulated them ).

   The red of her gaze glances to the President, inscrutable.

   “MISGUIDED.”

⇢ ❝ serenity comes / ACCEPTING / @corditeheart

[fujxnarchive]

"what the hell happened?" -corditeheart/pick a muse any muse

sappho’s starters. ACCEPTING. @corditeheart.

   Everything. It is the immediate answer that comes to her mind, because everything has happened; to narrow down the range, everything bad has happened. She can feel the weight of her sins on her shoulder, the shoulder of a descendant of hyne. But hyne be damned, she never wanted this. Seifer’s outburst marks the first time Fujin has been able to leave her locked quarters without the coaxing of Raijin, or the pleading of Seifer. It is the first time she has deigned to even listen to what they say, allowing his words to break through the white noise of her mind.

   It is the dead of night, far past the time that Seifer should still be awake, and he’s still there, waiting in the darkness for her. His words manage to jolt her a little bit, quickening her heart beat. She doesn’t deserve his concern. Not any more.

   Even on this day off, she wears her shoulder armor. It is the only thing suppressing the buzzing in her body, the embodiment of magic that now holds her like a cage. She does not immediately lift her red eyes ( red, from crying? ) to meet Seifer’s; merely staring at her hands. Fujin focuses, first and foremost, on breathing. And then, she can finally answer.

   “Everything.”

[fujxnarchive]

“ you don’t look so good ”

concerned meme. ACCEPTING. @furymage.    

   She hates being a general. It is a position she has never coveted, never sought out; but right now, it is the only way that she can even be allowed to follow her friend into their spiraling darkness. The fields nearby the galbadian army settlement does little to calm her, to bring back color into her paling cheeks. The spoken words of another do nothing to pull her back into logical thought. She simply breathes, standing, staring at the clouds.

   “...foe?”