#lockedfighter

he had planned the entire night in the most quiet, thorough way, and with enough patience to make the end feel inevitably perfect. he kept it secret from the first whisper of the idea, for he wanted every part of it to feel like a revelation when it reached her, something she could unfold piece by piece until the final moment could take her breath away. he had left the dress where she would find it without being able to mistake the intent behind it ⸻ it was placed with unmistakable care, knowing the fabric deserved to be treated like something precious. the colour had been chosen to suit her, to catch the light in a way that would make her look almost unreal when she wore it, and when she discovered it there would be a note beside it, brief and maddeningly simple. the chauffeur had already been arranged by the time she read it, waiting with the same discreet professionalism sett had insisted on, because he wanted the whole thing to feel effortless to her, even though it had taken him hours to organise. he had wanted her to think she was being led toward a surprise and not toward a man who had spent the whole day thinking about the shape of her smile.

and by the time she arrived at the rooftop restaurant, he was already waiting. the tallest building in the city rose ( an exquisite blade into the night ), all glass and light and silver reflection, and the restaurant at its crown felt almost separate from the city below it. there, the city stretched out beneath them in a glittering field of distance, becoming naugh but a scene that he was certain she would love. sett had chosen it because he wanted the night to feel larger than ordinary life, because he wanted the sky to look close enough to touch, and because there was something fitting about giving her a place high above everything else. such a commemoration deserved its own place, and so did she: in every room she entered, in every breath she took, in every future he dared to imagine for them.

he stood near the edge of the rooftop terrace when she finally appeared, broad shoulders outlined by the warm aureate light spilling from the restaurant behind him, his posture still and impossible to ignore. even before she reached him, he could see the way the dress settled on her with elegance and made her look devastating in the most beautiful way. it hit him all at once ⸻ the helpless awe that could only belong to a man in love and was too proud to look anything but stunned by it for the first second. he went still for a beat, spheres fixed on her, half-riveted, half-enamoured, half-desperate, half-excited. but he knew there was more to come, and dared not to waste another second.

sett crossed the distance betwixt them, halting for a second to take hold of a devastatingly colossal bouquet of roses. the moment he was close enough, his calloused hand would come up to her waist, a thumb brushing over the expanse of her side. he looked at her dressed in the most exquisite way, and felt the heat rise through his chest so fast it nearly made him lose his own calm. she was radiant, she was poised, she was utterly, and irrefutably maddening to him. but he kissed her then, a mouth meeting another with all the hunger he had been trying to keep in check, all the affection he had dressed up in secrecy, all the devotion he had hidden behind planning and logistics and the discipline of getting every detail right. the kiss was deep and warm and sure, certain that if he dared not to stop, nothing would actually would. but he did ⸻ he did pull back only enough to breathe, forehead almost brushing hers, his hand still at her waist, caring, tending.

❝ you're absolutely ravishing. ❞ he whispered, spheres fixed on hers, the intensity of his gaze almost intimidating, if only she did not know better. ❝ happy birthday, princess. ❞ and there it was: a smile that reached the extent of his lineaments, a beam that cared not about hiding the happiness and mirth of being able to be part of such an important day. ❝ had to make sure tonight was right... ❞ he would gesture towards the view then, towards the place he had reserved with its candlelight and glass and skyline spread beneath them. the rooftop would not feel like a restaurant anymore but like a kingdom built just for one person's evening, and he would make sure she understood that was exactly how he wanted it to feel.

&   HE   WOULD   RATHER   NOT   GO —       back   there,   to   that   place,   childhood   yearning,   water   tower   promises       —       pallid   lips   forming   the   vowels,   lisping   syllables,   lying   promises   ( i'm   going   to   be   soldier. )   everything   else   that   the   trauma   entails       —       stirs   within   restlessly,   flutters   at   the   backs   of   his   eyelids,   in   that   cold   place.       cloud   ponders   the   response,   the   weight.   that   which   knows   death.   that   grows   in   the   skull.   the   basis   for   life   &   knowledge.       that   expands   the   mind.       the   complexity   that   lies   between   pomegranate - stained   teeth,   highlights   despair       —       that   knights   are   something   spectacular    &    grand,   but   cloud   is   something   else,   something   complex,   something   monstrous.       that   the   gates   to   elysian   have   closed   to   him   long   ago   for   the   terrors   in   the   wutai   wilderness,   the   crimes   committed.       that   she   doesn't   know.

if   they   were   a   knight,   would   there   be   a   princess   in   a   tower   waiting   for   them?       or   a   dragon,   silver - maned,   great   yellowing   teeth   ( cries   from   the   mother,   weeping,   ash - skinned   &   tearing   at   the   seams       —       wild - eyed,   troubled   visitor,   hand   around   the   elbow,   thrashing - yelling,   shaking   slender   child   with   a   dull   thrum       —       keep   your   gods-damned   son   away   from   my   daughter,   claudia! )   cloud   glances   at   tifa ( @lockedfighter )   anxiously.       no,   not   a   princess       —       but   an   imposter   in   a   princess's   gown,   rich   plum   with   a   sweeping   bodice   embroidered   with   the   finest   jewels       —       homeland   amethysts   strung   on   silver   beaded   bands   to   hang   elegantly   at   prime   collarbones       —       raven   thick   tresses   smelling   of   jasmine   &    happiness,   lillies,   freedom.       they   shake,   inhale       —       camphor,   menthol       —       cid's   cigarettes       —       &       try   to   stay   here   in   the   post - gongagan   heat.

everything  he's  worked  for  ,  bled  for  ,  cried  for  ,  burned  for  ,  meets  him  here  in  this  moment  .  the  royal  family  of  nibelheim  and  those  associated  congregate  around  him  ,  and  he  feels  entirely  like  he  could  swallow  a  frog  .  he  doesn't  open  his  mouth  ,  he  hardly  looks  up  through  his  helmet  as  he  dutifully  marches  to  kneel  at  the  steps  before  the  princess  .  he  is  nervous  ,  yet  he  would  be  unbecoming  .  upon  taking  his  knee  ,  armor  clanking  just  as  it  might  ,  he  looks  up  to  meet  her  familiar  eyes  and  a  world  of  memory  comes  rushing  back  with  a  dull  throb  at  his  right  temple  .  he  remains  unmoving  ,  not  a  smile  of  reunion  across  his  expression  ,  not  a  display  of  the  pain  that  aches  behind  his  eyes  ,  just  a  solid  seriousness  to  mask  the  gleam  that  lights  the  deep  blues  of  his  irises  as he removes his helm . 

🌿、· ⋆ 。 starter call ╏ @lockedfighter

⸻ @lockedfighter gets a thing!

it's another typical day in the slums of sector 7, people going about their business with the occasional visitor from another sector but for claudia, it's the mark of a new beginning for her. she had finally recovered enough that she could start working to earn her own income and the blonde was fortunate enough that a place for her to work at was already secured.

she needed to earn enough money to hire a mercenary, claudia was sure that her son had survived and she wasn't going to let this go until she either sees her son again in person or... potentially find hard evidence of his demise.

the thought of her baby potentially lost to her permanently was agonizing but she shared her son's determination and stubbornness, the blonde also held a lot of hope and she could only pray for her son's survival and safety.

arriving at the bar, appropriately named seventh heaven, she knocks on the door before stepping inside. "hello? tifa, you in here?"

⸻ @lockedfighter gets a thing!

it's only been mere hours since their escape from nibelheim but to corvus, it felt like days, maybe even weeks. he's been busy battling his own thoughts, the on-set of grief—both fresh and old—while also focused on keeping a strict eye on his newest charge—miss tifa lockhart, the youngest survivor and wasn't that tragic.

much as he wanted to stay behind and tend to everyone else, tifa's condition was immediately a high priority, especially after his brief examination of her injuries. she needed immediate medical care and surgery but alas, a lot of his equipment were burnt along with his clinic but he did what he could to stabilize her condition in the mean time.

they were getting closer to midgar, the three of them were currently in the back of a truck—which the driver probably appreciates given both his and zangan's intense.... persuasion—himself beside tifa while the martial artist sat on the opposite side. the two of them had talked previously before settling into an anxious-filled silence. there wasn't much to do but wait and hope that they would soon arrive.

NORMALLY,  HE  MIGHT  appreciate the words of admiration and accept them as being utterly true.  zack has been through a lot,  so much more than most,  and far more than anyone would've expected him to  ( least of all himself ).  but as the speech reaches him in tifa's own soft voice,  it almost garners a wince in response,  despite the sad smile that accompanies it.

          ❝ at least i chose this. joining SOLDIER,  working my way up to the top  —  i had to know it was gonna be dangerous.  not that it would end up this complicated,  but... ❞

          if he'd expected to grieve his coworkers,  it would have been that they'd died at the hands of the enemy;  not that angeal would fall by his very own blade.  not a sword swung by unrestrained madness,  either  —  zack had been in full control of himself,  just not the context.

          if he'd expected to be hunted down for months in the middle of nowhere,  he'd have reasonably assumed that it would been at the hands of conspirators,  of rebel groups,  of wutai spies and rogue machines  —  not that he'd be pursued till near death by his own employer,  the people he'd fought for and beside for so many years of his life.  the ones he'd committed himself to at the naive age of thirteen  ( too young to have signed so many lengthy contracts,  the legal jargon making his head spin ).

          it turns out that the context makes all the difference,  and that the unpredictable outcomes were the most difficult to prepare for.

          but tifa...  she'd been dragged into this,  kicking and screaming.  none of the residents of nibelheim had signed up for what had happened that night at the reactor;  tifa's father hadn't signed any waivers to consent being slaughtered by sephiroth.  it's easy for zack to become depressed when dwelling on how his life has unfolded thus far,  but compared to the true innocents whose lives had been torn apart through no input of their own,  he doesn't hesitate to quit his moping.

          that smile,  albeit somewhat forced,  becomes wider and touches his eyes.  time to crawl out of his self-pity.

          ❝ did you forget?  SOLDIERs are supposed to be strong.  i guess all that training has been put to good use  —  that's one thing to thank shinra for,  at least. ❞

Cloud @hroovitnirr, this is Tifa. Tifa @lockedfighter, this is Cloud.

Tifa throws amazing punches, BFF material, and look at how gorgeous she is.