— ( question starters )

"Mmm Jealous?" Aerith holds up the tiny black cat, whose paws were kneading against her bangled arms, and waves it back and forth? "Yeah. Why wouldn't you be? Who wouldn't be totally jealous that I've got the cute kitty and they don't?"

The cat, for its part, has hissed at Cloud a solid six times since it arrived in the area, though it took to Aerith like it'd always known her.

I want to (___) you. --

@fakerthanme​ said: "I want to thank you"

            『 ❝ huh? thank me? for what? ❞ 』 the comment was unexpected, Zack turning towards the blond shortly after the words left his lips. what was Cloud thanking him for? he hadn’t really done anything worth being thanked for, had he? not that he could recall in the last little while. still, it was nice to hear Cloud thank him, even if he didn’t know why.

“Just tryin’ to help.” 

If, at this moment, he had a face to speak of, Zack’s would be scrunched up right about now. Ghosts lack the ability to truly affect the living. Damned if he isn't going to at least try. 

All that nonsense about joining the Lifestream and becoming one with a bunch of dead people doesn’t sit right with him. Remembering who he used to be seems important. Maybe Zack Fair is a name he’ll give up in the future. But not yet. Not right now.

Unfinished business and all that.

Not when he’s right next to Cloud, able to see but not to touch…The human part of him is convinced enough to try anyway, to reach out with a phantom hand in an attempt to comfort– swoosh. Right through the shoulder, as if Cloud were the one made up of nothing but air and not him.

    elena grits her teeth so hard she can feel her jaw squeak in protest. he's only trying to wind you up, she rationalised to herself, breathe elena. her hands form fists at her sides and she's ready to start flying at the blond, but it would just look like an unprovoked attack, and she knew that she'd be the one getting the blame for it.

Violent Prompts

“Oh, are you angry, dear puppet?” Sephiroth chortled at the pathetic growl his opponent produced. For what was a little dog’s feeble yaps to the mighty snarl of a fiery dragon?

Cloud trembled in rage, no doubt furious over Sephiroth deciding to torment him with visions of the past once more. But Sephiroth’s callous words and cruelty towards the boy served little more than to mildly enliven him.

The blonde took off with a violent cry, hands grabbing Sephiroth’s throat in a flash. The silver’s eyes widened slightly, he’d been expecting some outburst, but not of this nature. Cloud began to order him to stop it, stop tormenting me and leave me alone!

Cloud’s fingers squeezed tighter and tighter, as if he wished to tear off his enemy’s head with his bare hands. Sephiroth had appeared shocked for but a moment before he chuckled with a gentle smile. They both knew this would do nil to him; it was simply a way for his little nemesis to manifest his anger. Granted, it was an uncomfortable way, and he’d not allow Cloud to escape this without consequence.

“Now, now...” Sephiroth squeezed the words past his lips with amused irritation, large hands reaching for Cloud’s skull. They planted themselves on either side like metal clasps, thumbs gently moving in to rest just over the upper eyelids.

Questions/Comments meme

“What makes you think I would?” Sephiroth stared down at the memory, burning hot flames that torched the villagers, their homes, and their lands, being little more than a pleasant warmth to his skin.

“What guilt is there to speak of?” blood trickled down his arms, crimson rivers carved into his hands, dripping into the flames. The fire grew, remnants of death nourishing their wings of light. Why expect guilt from someone who’d been forced to destroy such feelings a long, long time ago?

It's funny.

Technically, they ought to be enemies.

Technically, both of them ought to be dead. Long dead, officially, though undercurrents in the current ShinRa zeitgeist have them marked for extermination. Funnier still that the most dangerous beings are clocked as 'dead' before the company ever comes close. Ambitious and arrogant, that.

Of course, there is still time for both things to become true at some point in the none-too-distant future.

The spiky-haired trooper was at one point a trusted collaborator for the Turks, dragged along on missions where they required infantry support and extra firepower. Tangential connections there seem like a lifetime ago. They might as well be, fuzzy around the edges and colored sepia.

He was handy with a blade back then too. A little more skilled than your run-of-the-mill PubSec grunt. A little mouthier too. A little defiant, standing in the way of executing a compromised Science asset. Rayleigh, was it?

Things change and they stay the same.

Freyja is far too close to the striking range of that slab of metal Strife calls a sword. One that belonged to someone else. Two someone elses. And he's running with AVALANCHE now.

She's been caught hanging about - literally, upside down, from her rafter-bound grapnel line - reaching to abscond with something pertinent to her own devices. The manila folder disappears into her buckled jacket, but that leaves a hand free.

What's an ex-Turk to do?

"Hey soldier boy," she sing-songs, head tilting, long tail of hair swinging like a pendulum she ought to secure. Her grip on the grapnel reverses, thumb on the trigger.

Its click she disguises with a noisy SMOOCH to her own palm, the kiss blown as she reels herself up to a (hopeful) escape.