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@callmeteor
☞ CARRD ☞ PINTEREST ☞ PLAYLIST ☞ SIDEBLOG
CALLMETEOR ⸻ an independent , mutual - exclusive , multi - verse , semi - active roleplay blog for 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐄 from square enix's 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙮 𝙑𝙄𝙄 ( '97 - inspired + remake(s) inclusive ) .
STATUS: [ic] : open to new interactions ♡ [ooc] : busy + quiet + workin' on it
aster finally does replies day!! yayyy!!
"Lightning, let me past."
𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨.
❝ and if i don’t? ❞ a poised challenge. undeterred, unfazed, unmoved by the ire in mako - laden gaze. an assimilation of guilts && regrets && self - inflicted shame she recognizes. she’s held its hand before. familiarized herself with it on a molecular level that could sunder the bones belonging to storm - wrought she. it could make && unmake her, && she’d wager he’s no different. odds stacked, travesties abundant — they stand in destruction like cataclysmic storm - bodies. thunder that cracks through the marrow, catches in the eyes like glinting revelation. tempered - shine flash ; sparks arc through sinew, prepared to force. the hand held taut to sternum, push - back met even. like a stalemate she allows.
toy soldiers picked apart by the leaders of whatever crusade would see them die for. suspended like marionette, gods at play in their domains as if the troubles of the mundane mean naught. so in the furrowing of a sculpted brow - line, jaw goes tight && tenses in lieu of understanding.
❝ you wanna get even? get in line. ❞ knotted fist in his top imposes unforgiving shove. distance between them, but all the closer in the intention to reach him. to snap close to his humanity — remind him of the goal before them. ❝ if you wanna walk into an early grave, i’m not stopping you. but there’s only one way out of this mess — don’t hand them an easy win making stupid calls. ❞
With poor attitude comes poor consequence, and Cloud does well to reap them in measurements too tightly woven. He's met with a wall he cannot pass, cannot crack, cannot break, and Lightning does well to make it known. He meets reckoning with her fist now tied to the shirt lifted from his chest, eyes widened with disbelief for only a moment, as the motion ignites a specific rage spurred from fear, now violent and explosive; the pain against the back of his neck sends him into a burning inferno of vehemence. He attempts to force her to unhand him, but before he can draw any strength, he's thrust back into himself and has no choice but to catch his breath.
His own fists are clenched now, and he glares down at them. There's nothing he can do but stand pathetically angry, betrayed and embarrassed, dissatisfied with himself and the ill reminder of all he lacks.
❛ Shove it. ❜ His footfalls begin at a speed that only increases the further he walks, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, a fervent determination striking through his mako-ridden vision. Every step echoes with a firm thud of thick soles against the ground.
❛ ‘m not gettin’ myself killed. If you're not gonna stop me, then get outta the way. ❜
‘ hey , kid ! you’re pointing that thing all wrong. ’ soldier , he stands in all his grandeur. admittedly , he was a little disappointed in the training of the gunmen , below the ranks of soldier. were their dreams not that of becoming a part of something bigger ? so , he strode over to the other , hand on hip , the other pointing in the direction of the gun in the rookie’s hands. ‘ you need somethin’ lighter , easier to grip. don’t they give ’em out to you guys ? ’ / @callmeteor !
Kid? He doesn't look that young, does he? He's with Shinra, has been for a few years now… Should be grown enough to avoid the nicknames, at least… Still, the critique allows a thickness to build in his throat that he's forced to swallow audibly, and immediately starts to correct his stance and position, quite obviously without having any real direction.
The SOLDIER looks at him, and Cloud's nervousness is surely showing, and he's aware, which makes him even more uncomfortable. Damn feelings… He should be like steel. Like Sephiroth. Such thoughts cause him to straighten his shoulders and wear a straighter, more confident expression.
❛ They gave us these, sir! ❜ Announced like a proper cadet; a rifle tucked between his waist and his right arm, gripped at the bottom, barrel pointed skyward. He stands at attention until otherwise instructed.
@callmeteor
Approximately 4 months and 6 days since Reeve or Cait Sith last had contact with Cloud. All of them busy with their lives, and especially after the recent events concerning Geostigma and the Sephiroth clones who had been running around. The months prior to the three dangers showing up to Edge, Reeve had experienced personal tragedy because of the illness that ravaged across the land.
His mother had been one of the first cases of people who had contracted the mysterious sickness. At first she seemed alright if not fatigued as if stricken with a common flu. Then the splotchy dark marks started to spread here and there on her. Ruvie would say she was fine, just tired, just achy. Never admitting that she knew deep down nothing was getting better. Reeve had been unsure what to think. Then one afternoon he came to visit with some fruit he picked up, and she was slumped there on her sofa having already passed that morning.
Reeve got sick too. His came a few months after even though he had tried to avoid the rain at all costs. Funny, he used to love the rain.
So when the time came to take up arms again and try to source an end to everything, he sent Cait Sith in his stead. Still busy, still unable to properly fight one on one himself as much as he would like to. Reeve just wasn't cut for the overly athletic maneuvers the others tended to take on. And now -- it was peaceful again. People were still nervous, looking up to the sky at every rain cloud, but pressing on with hope. It was during this time that Reeve decided he was long overdo to head down himself and see Cloud and the others in person if possible. Calling never seemed to do the trick after all. And so he stepped through the door where Cloud sourced out his delivery service taking a gander. "Heya Cloud, are you here? It's been too long!"
The days have slowly lifted into something lighter, physically and emotionally. The sky has opened from the clouds, and the weight of living feels less like drowning. Black splotches of Stigma no longer taint his hands, nor Denzel's, and he hopes to whatever existence beyond his own, that it does not plague anyone else's. Every day lately feels just like the last; mild changes here or there, different places to offer different deliveries that result in different experiences, and yet, he feels like a cog in a wheel, cycling through life without a care or individual thought. For someone once considered a hero, he sure doesn't feel like one.
This day is just as stagnant as the last, perhaps more stagnant, as Tifa has taken Fenrir out to scout for needed fruits and vegetables – things he should know by now, but still tends to mess up time to time. The bar is closed for the morning, so he spends time doing extra cleaning whilst keeping Denzel and Marlene busy and occupied.
There's a knock at the door, and the two kids run behind the bar, wide-eyed and giggling, while Cloud cracks the door just so, uttering a rejection before he notes who stands there. ❛ Hey, sign says we're – ❜ Oh.
❛ Reeve. ❜ He allows the door to open fully, a silent invitation for him to come inside. ❛ Yeah, ‘m here. ❜ As if it weren’t already obvious enough. ❛ You need somethin'? ❜ He asks, as if it's obvious there's a purpose for this interaction in mind, a habit he assumes most people possess, even when often proven wrong.
❛ Not on delivery, so… Guess you can sit down. ❜ Motioning to a seat at the bar, and waving the children to the second floor, he begins to pour the man a glass of water. Must have something to do with the WRO, but he doesn't know what yet.
me: hey guys im actually changing my portrayal to portray cloud as transmasc
8 different people: i thought he already was
i am once again experiencing The Symptoms™ so my ooc responses are like. .. not there. and ic are few n far between... but soon...
i just wanted to make sure you were okay. -- alya!
[ @elpisbloomed ]
❛ Yeah… I… ❜ He's not certain the emptiness left within him will ever fill again… Aerith, in such time he got to know her, became a piece of his soul, and it's a piece he'll never get back, that will never be filled again. He'll have to grow comfortable with the absence, her absence, and make the best of whatever's to come… To remember there is still a fight worth fighting, to remember his rage, the betrayal, the agonizing pulse of revenge that seethes in his veins… It will be worth it. To destroy him. To save the planet. But, right now, there is a hollowness that sits in the room with them, and despite his own pain, these moments where his head threatens him with memories past, afflicting him with an anguish both mental and physical, are becoming more frequent. Alya looks to him with a familiar expression of concern, and all he can do is shake his head in disappointment with his own weakness.
❛ It passes quick. ❜ Most of the time. ❛ You… doin' okay? ❜ His eyes drift to her with equal concern, expressed minimally, but obvious to anyone who knows him.
black materia
@callmeteor : "it's just this campfire story for kids."
mathelin sighed. “ come on. you can tell me. i won't bite. no one will, &. i'm interested. ” that was either the best or worst thing to say. he ( obviously ) did not know this man much. a coincidental run - in &. the elezen sat them both down. “ we got time to spare. ” a whole lot of it with the final days behind him.
❛ ‘S not anything to write home about. ❜ A half-hearted shrug collapses from his shoulders, and he leans forward, further into himself, retaining his outward confidence despite it. His sigh is offered in turn, and his ‘lack of decorum,’ as he's grown more aware of it, seems to bite him in the ass far more than he'd like to admit. He's determined not to fuck this one up.
❛ Not that it matters now, but back in Nhalmasque, kids used to talk about damned souls whispering in the mountains. ‘Course, even the idea of cursed spirits in the afterlife wasn't s'posed to be brought up. Always got in trouble for talkin' about it… The Empire sure had its claws in the place. Don't know much what it's like anymore. ❜ And, perhaps now is a good time to stop talking…
you didn't need to show up. from squawk.
[ @frankensteintm ]
Such a concern seems entirely irrelevant to him, never crossing the paths of his thoughts or considerations. There is a genuine curiosity that lifts his brow, wondering for a moment what Squall gains from revealing information he's entirely, and obviously, already aware of. Beside his contemplations, Fenrir's motor continues to purr in the distance, the many of his blades presently combined in its whole post-battle, and an entirely too-confident smirk attaches itself to his lips, short-lived, perished quickly.
❛ Didn't do it ‘cause I needed to. ❜ There’s a soft shake of his head that carries strands of his wind-blown hair with it. For someone who seems not to give two-shits about most things, he cares just a smidge about the state of his style. He knows he should wear a helmet for more reasons than one, but to him, as of this moment, it seems of ill importance. ❛ C'mon, I'll take you back. ❜
Every Day this silly game proves im right. #ForkliftCertified
guards. Put the blonde man in a situation
the last time a man had touched her so intimately, she'd been left to weep in her chambers; a broken bird with nowhere to fly. this time, when it's cloud addressing her so sweetly and kissing her with such reverence, she folds into it with abandon. fingers desperately clasp for purchase. the cool skin of his shoulders is yet another shock to her system, but pleasant nonetheless. the way his mouth travels down the column of her neck, hot breath fanning her skin, has her trembling already in anticipation of what else is to come.
she ought not to be so eager to be undone by his hands, and yet cannot find it within herself to reel in her emotions. so badly, she's wanted to replace those terrible, black-tar memories with something holy and right. and this moment in her room, with cloud acting less like her sworn bodyguard and more like a besotted lover, could never be anything other than sacred.
corinne has crawled into his lap by the time his hands have reached her hair. the nightdress she wears hangs off one shoulder and droops low, exposing the tops of her breasts to the moonlight peeking through the curtains. her hips instinctively roll into his arousal already pressing against her thigh, then remembers herself and stills; unsure if she is doing too much or not enough. ❝ i— tell me what you want, please? ❞ she asks, voice low, saccharine sweet, and equally wanton in her need to fulfill his desires, too. this isn't just about her after all. she wants to make him feel good as much as she wants him as he is.
The way Corinne is exposed through the cast light and shadow of the moon looks like something out of a dream, unrealizable. He peels his lips from the beating of her chest, and cannot help the stare that loses itself to her breasts, now hardly hidden. Thumb dances over the string that holds up her clothing, and his eyes look as though he is both enamored and searching, exploring. He looks to her like he has struck diamond after days of mining; radiant, glowing, beautiful. He's undeserving, but he doesn't care. ❛ Could I…? ❜ Call him selfish, but he desires nothing more than to share his vulnerability with her, and be shared with in return.
His fingers linger there a moment as she grinds against him, and he is surely as hard as is possible, feeling every shape of her through the fabric that confines them. With the lustful motion, he grips her tighter, eyes closed, and mouth sucking in a breath, lips left slightly ajar.
Tell me what you want, she commands, and he obliges his liege with all due intentions. ❛ We've gotta take these off. ❜ Whispered quietly, as the hand in hair descends to slide up the skin of her thigh. ❛ I wanna see – ❜ Wanting is beginning to grow to desperation, and he looks to her with eyes practically begging, before a hardly audible, ❛ Please. ❜ escapes him, bordering on a whine.
go ahead, he says. as if the witch has only been holding back until permission would be granted to her. she had been attempting to annoy him for nearly an hour now, only now she would not need to hide behind pretending to read the tome she had already memorized at this point. the book is placed to the side, set down, the lilacs of her gaze never quite leaving cloud's eyes.
❛ if i said i wanted you, would that have helped? ❜ his attention was what she meant, but she liked the way this was phrased much better; the insinuation was not lost on her and yet her expression does not change. still, she wonders if speaking her heart outright would change anything, given how all of her previous attempts have ended before.
she flicked her finger in his direction, a small burst of force magic reaching him, mimicking the impact of a flick to his forehead. ❛ if your sword's so interesting, i'll spar with you. ❜
And with the simplicity of a single sentence, he is staggered to silence, eyes locked to hers with confusion, and something else that lingers beneath the surface. He feels his tongue catch in his throat for a moment, and once again, he cannot maintain their sight; his vision is cast to the knuckles of his glove. The only words that manage to scrape from his tongue, like a dull blade upon its whetstone, come out a bit weaker than he'd like… ❛ Yeah, probably. ❜ There are times he can be far too honest.
And while he is distracted by her advances, nervously looking beyond, he feels the light thump upon his forehead, and lifts his neck and eyes with a stunned immediacy.
Ah, sparring. Of course. That's exactly what he…
❛ Sure. If you think you can take it. ❜ Words shine with overcompensated confidence. Kira may be entirely aware of the implications behind their words, but Cloud does not share this luxury.
burn / fire tw:
thinkin abt cloud burn scars this tired morning...
yeah. anyway. i think he has burn scars on his right ankle/shin, and left forearm and a little over his palms... i think theyre more intense on his forearm and lighter on his hands/leg but you can still see/feel the texture... i think most of his scars pre-mako tube are lighter and seemingly more healed than those received after, but they're still there and still visible.
yknow... trying to help ppl and getting burned and almost passing out from the smoke during the whole nibelheim stuff..
" Not until you tell me who you are, and who sent you. "
At the very least, the aetheric glow to his eyes subsided, but the grip on the man's wrist held true. Travel on the road against bandits and other enemies alike have made him a bit.. jumpy as of late. It could very well be just a passing civilian. Still . .
The dagger in his grip did waver. What if it was someone from the Hideaway? He had to make sure, one hundred percent, that they were not an enemy.
" State your name, @callmeteor " ( sparring / x )
A low scoff hisses from his throat, and the roll of his eyes only strides halfway before looking to the dagger before him. He supposes he should have suspected such an encounter, but the prospect is least of all delightful. Arms are crossed as is his usual stance, but this time, consciously, as to protect his chest, were anything to go awry.
❛ Cloud Strife. ❜ Plainly spoken, and bold as well. His irritation is palpable as his weight shifts through his hips.
❛ No one sent me. Just lower the blade, Rosfield. ❜
