#gainsflora

in retrospect, the appalled expression she wore in response to aerith's relay of information was hardly appropriate. lunafreya was aware of many other's lack of faith in their goddess, or lack of access to practice of it. that was not the glaring absurdity. it was ... the abandonment. a church with no god, no worshippers ... the only caretaker was ... in no way devout. 

it takes lunafreya longer than expected to process such words, and when she responds, she speaks as though she had the breath stolen entirely from her, voice soft and slow. " where i am from ... the mere concept of an abandoned church would cause an uproar. " not her though, oh she was sooo cool. save for her rigid posture, she was pulling it off well. " i understand not everyone share's the same sentiment ... there must be some desire in the community for a service, surely ... ? "

     today, he had found himself laying on the garden’s path—— not in the flowers, he would never do anything that might damage them or stop them from growing—— looking up at the plate & feeling warm & sleepy & he’d dozed off, sleeping until the echoing sound of footsteps woke him up.

     he didn’t have to look to know that the voice carrying towards the garden was aerith’s, but he did. he sat up, raising his head as much as possible to try to get a good look. confirming that she had returned, & that he was only a few moments away from getting caught, he lowered himself down as much as he possible in hopes that he wouldn’t be noticed.

    all denzel needed her to do was skip the garden & head right into the house so he could escape while no one was looking.

LATE NIGHTS SENTENCE MEME / accepting

perhaps she’s right, he thinks. it’s only logic really, knowing that somewhere there’s a place for them, no matter how long he’s searched for a place to finally fit in. nibelheim was home only in name, SOLDIER in its company, and midgar...well, it never really felt much like a home. he’s always on the edge of attachment, walking a fine line between belonging and being an outsider. but aerith? she world seems to open up in her presence, making a name for herself no matter where she goes. she’d even cracked his hardened exterior --something he’ll thank her for later. but it seems even she wasn’t immune to the feeling of being othered.

the lost soldier and the last cetra, what a duo they make...

  a  plate  shadow’s  dingy,   smoggy,   clammy  blanket  breaks  by  warmer  fingers  and  he  pulls  back,      crinkles  up  the  sun - flecked  bridge  of  his  nose   &   with  some  deliberation    (    you’d  made  the  world  take  you  serious  as  a  heart - attack,   she  takes  you  like  a  joke  that’s  𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢  𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢     /     heck   if  an  exhale  isn’t  puffed  out  on  the  ends  of  some  humbled  humor    )    Cloud  knocks  the  knuckles  of  his  own  hand  between  her  brows     —–      pushing,    but  just  barely.      “     .   .   .     𝘸𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘰 .     ”