#enemies to something at least

[sephirthoughts]

The Ghost of Shinra Manor

Chapter 5 of this

This chapter is a brief interlude just focusing on the bellhop. It's not a whole proper chapter, so it's part 4.5.

summary: It's been two years-ish since the events of Dirge of Cerberus. Cloud visits his hometown, and investigates a rumor of a ghost, haunting Shinra Manor. If you're surprised by who it turns out to be, you are beyond my power to save, comrade.

tags: g-g-g-ghosts!!! sefikura, sephiroth x cloud, sane!sephiroth (sort of), post advent children, post dirge of cerberus, canon timeline, delusions, intermitten amnesia, low drama, enemies to…whatever the hell they have going on

warnings: horror, ghosts being bullied, brief body horror, references to death, canon-typical violence

rating: teen and up [BE ADVISED: THIS RATING WILL CHANGE]

screenshots shamelessly stolen from @soundcrusher who also deserves 100% of the blame for my obsession with this guy

Part 4.5: About that Bellhop

The Gold Saucer’s renowned Haunted Hotel may have looked crazy and chaotic from an outside perspective, but in actuality, every element of the seeming disorder was thoughtfully curated. From the holographic ghost projections, to the mechanical hands flailing around in the ‘graveyard’, to the ‘haunted’ grandfather clock, to the gigantic, eerie sculptures and bizarre paintings, to the carpet, furnishings, and lighting—everything was specifically fine-tuned to contribute to the spooky atmosphere.

The bellhop was no exception. His seemingly haphazard facial bandages were wrapped exactly the same way every day, without a millimeter’s deviation.

His pillbox cap was carefully pinned so as to never fall from his head, or even sit askew. His uniforms were perfectly tailored and meticulously maintained, before the ropes and bandages were secured around his person. Even his idiomatic speech and outré manner of greeting guests, were part of the carefully orchestrated performance. 

For all the willy-nilly whimsicality of the place, beneath the surface, it was a well-oiled machine, and he was the operator, running things with a firm and unflagging hand. He had even personally contrived and built many of the actual machines, which provided the delightful little scares that his guests enjoyed.

Was he a control freak? Some would say so, but that would be to mischaracterize him. He thrived on order, regularity, and most of all, rules, but he didn’t share the same rigid and fastidious attitude toward rules that most of those type-A people did. 

To Benjamin, who had the mind of an engineer, rules were not restrictions, they were the operating principles, by which any given system functioned. Both the sheet music that maintained harmony in the orchestra, and the key to comprehending the inner workings of the cosmos. 

Everything in the universe operated according to rules, from private business policies, to municipal regulations, to the fundamental principles of physics. The only way to truly be safe, was to know the rules, inside and out. The only way to be truly free, was to fully understand the boundaries within which that freedom existed.

Somewhere between the esoteric concepts of man’s law and eternal cosmic law, lay the rules governing the supernatural. Or rather, the so-called supernatural. Benjamin disliked that term, because the things people placed in that category were as much a part of the natural ordering of reality as any tangible, mundane thing. It was just that most people didn’t know the rules by which those elements operated, so they seemed scary and chaotic. Much like his hotel. 

And this was, indisputably, his hotel. He may not own it, but it was his home. His territory. He knew it better than he knew himself. Like the face of a lover, he could flawlessly trace its every detail in his mind’s eye. There wasn’t an inch of the place he couldn’t walk blindfolded with perfect confidence (unless someone’s children were running loose underfoot, which often happened, and didn’t count against him knowing his way around).

Every evening, just before the shift change, he would come down from his hanged-man rigging and do what the other employees called ‘his rounds’. This consisted of scrutinizing each area of the hotel for proper cleanliness and ambience (he was notorious amongst the cleaning staff for his stringent white-glove inspections, which even included the inner edges of the ornate picture frames, that hung ten feet high on the walls), greeting guests, sending small gifts to one guest or another, adding little extra touches to room service orders, and herding stray children out of off-limits areas.

“Victoria, is that going to 1201?” he called down the hall, to a newly hired maid, who was pushing a room service cart out of the kitchen. 

“Yes, Mr. Benjamin,” the girl answered. 

His nose wrinkled behind his facial bandages, as he approached. “Something doesn’t smell right, do you mind?” 

“Yes, sir. N—no, sir,” stammered his flustered young employee. 

To her further discomfiture, her intimidating, possibly actually insane (also weirdly good looking despite having most of his face covered, she was just now realizing) supervisor lifted the silver cover, from one of the dishes, bent down, and took a deep sniff, of what appeared to be a BLT sandwich. 

“Just as I suspected,” he declared, pointing accusingly at the food item, with the air of a television detective, identifying the murderer. “This is regular whole-wheat toast! But the guest in 1201 is gluten intolerant!”

Victoria was beside herself. “G—gluten intolerant?”

“Gluten intolerant! Meaning that serving him this sandwich would be tantamount to feeding him a dose of poison.” He leaned closer, with a weird leer, squinting one magenta-red eye. “You don’t want to poison our guests accidentally, do you, Ms. Victoria?”

“No, sir! I wasn’t—I didn’t!” the girl sputtered, near tears. “I only took the trays the kitchen gave me, I swear!”

“Uh. Sorry. I have a…kind of dark sense of humor,” Benjamin mumbled awkwardly. Then he caught himself and cleared his throat, shaking himself back into his dignified-but-deranged butler character; spine upright, hands folded at the small of his back. “Nothing to be upset about, young lady, just go back and have the kitchen make it again. And tell them to be more careful, this time.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” the girl nodded, practically running away with the cart. When she was halfway back to the service window, she slowed down and frowned to herself. “Wait…how could he smell that it was the wrong bread, from down the hall?”

Benjamin, oblivious to the consternation he’d caused, was already on the next floor up, escorting an elderly guest to her room on one arm, while carrying all of her heavy bags in the other.

Apparently, she had so much luggage, because she’d come for an extended vacation, with her daughter and two grandchildren, who would arrive tomorrow morning. She was the cheerful and chatty type, but she quickly got winded, and walked with a cane and a pronounced stoop.

“My old bones ain’t what they used to be. I’m gettin’ tired so easy, these days,” she puffed, holding gratefully onto Benjamin. “I hope those two rascals will go easy on their gran, this time.”

Her little chuckle turned into a dry cough, as a pair of pale, boneless, sinuous arms, were twisted more tightly around her neck. From behind her head, another head peered out, with a bulbous, mottled scalp, sparsely covered by stringy black hairs, which hung over its ghastly, semi-humanoid face. 

Semi-humanoid, because its eyes were too large and far apart, to look really human, and its smile split its mouth open at a disturbingly wide angle, revealing rows upon rows of pointed teeth, like a lamprey.

In actuality, this creature was not the ghost of a human, at all. It had begun as a lowly leech sprite, and had cultivated a more human-like form, by feeding on the pure life force of human beings, over several thousand years.

Its lower half was still a tail, like a slug, but if one had the stomach to look closely, one would observe that it was beginning to divide into two, and that there were things almost resembling flippers, protruding from the end. Just a few thousand more years, and it would be able to walk among humans, unnoticed. Then it would live like a king.

“I think a good night’s sleep, in one of our hotel’s fine beds, will charge those batteries right up, Mrs. Geller,” Benjamin encouraged, squeezing the old lady’s gnarled hand. “When you wake up in the morning, you’ll feel like a huge weight has been lifted off you. I guarantee it.”

As he said those words, he glanced over, and for a beat, seemed to gaze directly into the enlarged, milky eyes of the creature hanging on her back. The parasitic spirit’s gloating grin froze, and a shiver raced up its developing spine.

Did that bellhop just…look right at it? No. No way. It must’ve been a coincidence. It had latched onto and slowly devoured the life energy of enough of these fools to know that humans couldn’t see or sense its kind, at all. It was the cunning predator and they were the oblivious prey. That was the way things were. 

So, why did it suddenly feel like a fly, that had stumbled into the web of a very dangerous spider? 

The troublesome bellhop walked the old woman into her room and set her bags on the bed. Then, to the leech spirit’s manifest annoyance, he proceeded to hang up her clothing, and conveniently arrange all her other things in the room, too, chatting amiably with her all the while. 

The conversation mostly revolved around her grandkids and how they were doing in school and how fast they were growing, but he never appeared bored or impatient. The leech spirit was beginning to suspect there was something wrong with his brain, when at long last, the young man made to leave.

“You have a lovely stay, Mrs. Geller,” he said, with a courtly bow, as he stepped out of the room. “If you need anything at all, day or night, dial zero on your hotel phone, to reach my desk. If I’m not there, the call will be forwarded to my personal cell phone.” 

“Thank you very much, Benjamin. Such a good boy,” the old lady replied warmly, thinking it was a pity her granddaughter was born about fifteen years too late to make a match with this fine young gentleman.

Meanwhile, the leech spirit breathed a sigh of relief. It must’ve imagined that bloodthirsty glint in the human’s eyes, after all. He was finally leaving, and talking his weirdly oppressive aura with him. 

Just as the door clicked shut behind the bellhop, however, a strange thing happened. Hundreds of wire-thin strands of something black and sinister swarmed in, under the door, raced across the room, and leapt at the old lady.

These horrifying things bypassed her, however, and whipped around the leech spirit, so fast, it didn’t even have a chance to react, let alone evade them.

Its reedy arms let go of the old woman and it fell to the floor, its ragged fingernails clawing impotently at the black strands that were winding around its face and throat, burning and itching wherever they touched, while more of them encircled its body, quickly binding its arms to its sides. The harder it struggled, the tighter they squeezed, cutting painfully into its flabby, white flesh. 

It quickly realized that it was being dragged toward the crack under the door, but it couldn’t even kick up a proper fuss, with all these horrible threads covering its mouth. The thing gurgled and wriggled pathetically, as it was forcibly squelched through that small gap, squished and flattened, and then stretched out the wrong way, making it a ridiculously miserable sight. 

It didn't even connect these bizarre strands to the bellhop, till it saw that the other ends were attached to his gloved hand. The spirit was enraged to the point of spitting blood, that this worthless human dared do such a thing, but it was completely helpless.

All it could do was weep inwardly for the injustice, of such an old and powerful spirit, nourished on thousands of human lives, properly feared and venerated among its kind, being casually towed around, behind a whelp of a human bellhop, like a particularly ugly sack of rubbish.

After a humiliating circuit of the hotel, the boy stopped in a back hallway, and unlocked an unobtrusive door, with a brass key, which opened on a dark, narrow stairwell.

The leech spirit had an ominous premonition. It was currently serving as the world’s most unappetizing dumpling, though, so it could only bear with being dragged up the stairs, its deformed head thunking against each step, along the way. 

At the top of the stairs, the bellhop entered a small, rather outdated room, and shut the door behind him. The leech spirit sensed the aura of other ghosts, all over the place, but they were comparatively weak and useless, not even a match for itself, so it immediately gave up any ideas about being assisted.

Standing with his back to his captive, as if to show his utter disregard for it, the human removed his bellhop cap and set it on a dresser, then slowly unwound the bandages from his head. The spirit’s stubby body curled up and began to tremble, where it lay on the floor, and for good reason. 

As the bandages came off, the thickest, heaviest black qi that even that ancient creature had ever seen, came curling off the boy’s body, like smoke from an incense burner; running in little wisps and rills down to the floor, where it pooled around his well-polished shoes. 

Ghosts and malicious spirits loved black qi, normally, and gravitated toward it, but this was so intensely dark, so concentrated and potent, that it was another matter, entirely.

It was the difference between basking in the ambient warmth from a fireplace, and sticking your hand directly into the naked flames. Darkness at this strength and purity would obliterate any spirit it touched, of any alignment.

“You like to feed on the energy of humans, don’t you?” the young man’s pleasant voice asked, over his shoulder.

When he turned to look down at the spirit, it saw that his pale, fine-featured face was crisscrossed with deep, blue-black cracks, which seemed to have something squirming and writhing beneath them.

His crimson irises were gone, and his long-lashed eyes had turned pitch black, sclera and all, as if they weren’t eyes anymore, but pits, opening upon the formless void.

If it had the capability, the leech spirit would have (quite understandably) pissed itself in fright, as the deceptively weak-looking human knelt down over it, and smiled eerily. 

“I’m human. Why don’t you try feeding on my energy?” 

As he spoke, in a resonant rasp, that grated painfully in its spectral ears, that noxious, black qi spilled out from between his lips, instantly corroding the spirit’s exposed flesh, wherever it touched.

“What’s the matter? Too rich for your blood?”

The beset creature could only thrash and howl in its bonds, half-mad with terror and agony and bitter resentment, as the cocoon of black threads constricted viciously.

The very last thing it saw, as it was torn apart and devoured by the Darkness, were the ink-black eyepits of that demon in human skin, observing its suffering with an expression of cool disdain.

Just as that abyssal miasma digested the last traces of the unlucky leech spirit, there was a brisk knock at Benjamin’s door.

“Benny, are you in there? I know you’re on your lunch, but the guests checking out of 1304 have a problem with their bill, and they’re demanding to see the manager. Can you come help?”

“Sure thing, Ann,” Benjamin called back cheerfully, as thousands of black, spider-silk tendrils retracted into his body. “I’ll be down in two shakes!”

When he returned to his room, late that night, Benjamin had a low fever and was aching and stiff all over, from exerting so much of that dark power, dealing with that creature.

He knew it was dangerous, and was aware of the heavy toll it took on his body, when he let it have its way, but he couldn’t just stand by and let evil things prey on innocent humans. Then he’d be no better than the rest of the monsters. 

He changed out of his uniform and hung it up neatly, then went to the bathroom, to take out the contacts he was required to wear for work, which made his cat-slit pupils appear round, and splash some water on his waxen face. 

With a shudder, he avoided looking directly at his own reflection. He couldn’t stand seeing those hideous cracks, close up and in the light, like this. Fortunately, the meal seemed to have made the thing inside sleepy, so at least nothing was squirming around under his skin, at the moment.

He was too nauseated to eat properly, so he opened a bag of salty-vinegary potato chips, which always calmed his stomach, for some reason, and sat down at his desk. Exhausted as he was, he still had half a gig of scanned books and newspapers and journal articles, from the public archives, to go through, for Cloud Strife.

It was too bad he couldn’t take time off work and just go up to Nibelheim, in person. He’d be able to tell what his shapeshifting-amnesiac ghost’s deal was, right away. And even if he couldn’t, he’d at least be able to get rid of it, for him.

Though, to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t entirely convinced Cloud wanted to be rid of the ghost, as much as he would have Benjamin believe.

Benjamin’s theory, based on nothing but intuition, was that the ghost’s attachment was Cloud. If so, it stood to reason that Cloud was also somehow attached to the ghost, too, despite his claim that he had killed the man and would prefer him to stay dead. 

Could a strong, mutual attachment have something to do with the ghost’s abnormalities? Doubtful. If that were the case, every person you had particularly strong feelings about would be hanging around you, after they died. That would muck up the natural order of life and death on the Planet, resulting in all kinds of imbalance, and eventually, total chaos. 

Benjamin gave a little shiver. Though he loved order and rules, and observing systems working in perfect harmony, there was a part of him, deep down, that was thrilled to the marrow by the idea of flicking the spinning top. Upsetting the equilibrium, just to see it all come crashing down. 

Not from malice, but from pure curiosity. A gnawing desire to find out what would happen, next. What new things would arise, when the old ones were destroyed. Because, as much as he hated to admit it—hated himself for the perverse pleasure he took in the idea—he knew that chaos wasn’t actually against the rules. 

God is change and death his prophet. The raging fire purges the detritus from the forest, leaving clean and fertile soil for new life. Entropy consumes order to feed chaos, which routs out stagnation, so that the system can be reborn.

Order leads to chaos leads to order. It was breathtaking to contemplate.

“But I’m against all the rules, so where does that leave me?” he muttered, to himself, as he munched on a chip. 

Gradually, as he scrolled through page after page of dry, long-winded, historical text, he began to droop. When the tiny words were dancing and blurring, on the screen, he leaned back to rub his eyes and stretch, knocking a pencil off his desk.

Before it hit the floor, a long, reddish thing, that looked sort of like a thick, rubbery ribbon, dropped down from the ceiling, caught it, and replaced it on the desk. 

“Thanks. And…gross,” Benjamin said, wiping the pencil off on his pant leg. “I told you not to pick things up with your tongue, Dan.”

The blue-faced hanged ghost, dangling above his head, who’d had the appellation ‘Dan’ bestowed upon it, when this human began living in the room it was haunting, sulkily retracted its tongue.

Meanwhile, a skeletal hand, attached to an equally skeletal arm, sticking out of a black cloak sleeve, which was notably not attached to the rest of a cloak, emerged from the shadows behind Benjamin, and set a steaming mug on the desk. 

“Warm milk and honey! Thank you, Mort!” he said eagerly, then hesitated. “But this’ll put me to sleep. I still have a lot of work to do.” 

The skeletal hand jabbed his arm with its forefinger bone and pointed to the clock, then the bed. 

“Alright, alright,” Benjamin grumbled. “You’re pretty bossy for a disembodied appendage. Mm, this is really good, though, so I forgive you.”

The hanged ghost, which was still pouting from being scolded, rolled its bloodshot eyes at the skeletal hand, and inwardly berated it for being a suck-up. It felt a certain sense of entitlement to the room and its inhabitant, since it was already here, when the young quasi-human arrived, and didn’t like the other ghosts getting too cozy with him.

The day Benjamin moved in, the hanged ghost hadn’t seen a living person in over a decade, which was when this disused room, in the old annex of the hotel, had last been rented to guests. Needless to say, it was extremely pleased to finally have something to do. 

It was dangling from an exposed ceiling beam, in a far corner of the room, plotting how it would scare this idiot out of his mind, later tonight, when the idiot in question came around with the feather duster and politely asked it to move, so he could clean out the cobwebs.  

The hanged ghost nearly fell off the ceiling. It had never been spoken to like this by a human, before. Why wasn’t he scared? How could he see him? Why was he dusting out all the lovely cobwebs?? 

Too stunned to know what else to do, the hanged ghost just did as the human asked and moved. He had planned on dominating the interaction, but he’d lost the initiative, now, so all he could do was hang around and stay out of the way, while the human cleaned the place, from top to bottom, while humming jaunty little tunes to himself, and everything.

“I’m Benjamin. I guess we’ll be sharing a room, now,” the human said, with a bow, after he’d finished his cleaning. “What’s your name? Have you been here long?”

The hanged ghost could only stick out its long tongue and gesture helplessly.

“Oh, sorry. You’re a hanged ghost,” Benjamin said, with a wince. “Of course you can’t talk. In that case, I’ll just have to give you a name, myself. How about…Dangly Dan!”

The hanged ghost, who’d had just about enough of this shit, made his most ferocious and terrifying grimace. Far from being frightened senseless, as would have been polite, Benjamin only laughed merrily and said, “Dan it is! Good to meet you, roomie!” 

Thus began Dan and Benjamin’s cohabitation. As it turned out, it wasn’t so bad. Benjamin’s cold, windy yin energy made the place exceedingly comfortable to Dan, and Benjamin seemed to like having someone to chat to, so things proceeded rather amicably. 

Dan had not considered the possibility of his human’s aura attracting other ghosts. That is, not until the skeletal hand sticking out of the cloak-sleeve followed Benjamin home, one day, and much to Dan’s disgust, never left. 

Not only was it an eyesore, it was always showing off, arranging little trinkets in ways that made Benjamin laugh, and doing the dusting and sweeping, even though no one asked it to. It liked to act as if it was attached to a whole being, which preferred to keep its true form hidden, but Dan was of the firm opinion that it was just a shitty arm, putting on airs. 

Their fourth roommate, the drowned ghost, had crawled up the tub drain to lie in wait, in Benjamin’s bubble bath, one night, to which he had apparently taken great umbrage. Dan had been dozing above the radiator, when he was startled out of his senses by a shriek, a splash, and a crash, from the bathroom. 

There was a scuffling noise, then an irate, bathrobe-clad Benjamin dragged the drowned ghost out to the kitchenette, wrapped up in the shower curtain, and proceeded to give her a stern lecture about decorum and modesty, and how it was improper for men and women who were not married to one another to share a bath, while she shivered and dripped all over the kitchen floor. 

After Benjamin cooled down, he apologized to the stupefied ghost for losing his temper, and told her that she was welcome to use the bath, so long as he wasn’t using it at the time, and provided she didn’t make a mess. She was christened ‘Eliza-bath’ (as punishment, one could only assume), which Benjamin mercifully shortened to Liz.

Since then, she’d been inhabiting the drains, and had undertaken the chores of dishwashing and cleaning the bathroom. Dan didn’t really mind having Liz around, since she stayed in her lane, and wasn’t a self-important nuisance getting involved in everything, like that stupid arm.

The final roommate was a creeping shadow, that lived under Benjamin’s bed, and minded its own business. The only reason Dan didn’t completely forget it existed, was because sometimes its weird eyeholes would open and peer out at him, when he was picking up Benjamin’s clothing from the floor. Also, if anything rolled under the bed, it would helpfully push the item back out.

Having finished the warm milk and honey, Benjamin put the mug in his tiny kitchenette’s sink and went to brush his teeth. When he returned, the pale and bedraggled drowned ghost (clad only in her long, murky, seaweed-like hair, goddess help us) had crawled up the sink drain, and was washing the mug, while blithely dribbling water all over the floor. The skeletal hand was used to this, however, and was chasing her around with a dish towel, mopping it up.

“Thanks, Liz, you’re a peach,” Benjamin yawned, as he passed by.

Dan, still desiring to redeem himself after being scolded, dropped his long arms down, to pull back the bedcovers and fluff Benjamin’s pillow. 

“Nighty-night, Dan,” the young man smiled sleepily, as he was carefully tucked in by the monster from other people’s nightmares. 

Dan returned a positively blood-curdling grin, before an indistinct, shadowy shape slithered up the side of the nightstand, and shut off the lamp.

[bamsara]

"youve already written that trope" yesss. i like it a lots. i will be writing it again. 1000 stories of the same trope over and over again for ten million years

[kizzer55555]

Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.

[meidui]

“It kinda feels personal.” | for @catws-anniversary ♡

[poliffwoog]

age alliance linework WIP nyeh heh

(ALSO i threw in my interpretation in Bonnie’s ‘just attack’ from In Recipes and Repitition by @startagainaprologue if bonnie were to use it, go check out that AU it is very cool™️)

[nervouspearl]

Moiraine Damodred and Lanfear in season 2 of The Wheel of Time

[wollemi-whump]

i love enemy caretakers. people who shouldnt be helping the injured person but their morals just wont let them stand by. a soldier patching up an opposing soldier even knowing it might put their own life at risk. a criminal talking down a gang leader to keep a detective from being killed or leaving them an anonymous tip to a dangerous situation. a vigilante keeping the person who wants to arrest them alive even if it increases the chance they get arrested. theres just so many great versions of enemy caretakers!!

[lunameimei]

Thank you Buggachat for everything!

Bakery “Enemies” AU Comic has been with me for years (it was fun to read almost every day on four mornings before bed xD) It was an exciting adventure <3

[velvetwyrme]

Papselfship Week // Prompt: Enemies to Lovers

@selfshipperapproved

I am really stretching the original prompt but uh... this is a scene set in the future of the enemies to lovers fic I'm co-writing so it counts maybe? I'm saying it counts :]!!

[dreadark]

kim dokja definitely cares for shin yoosung and lee gilyoung both, but… it’s obvious where his bias is

I mean, shin yoosung is one of his favorite characters from twsa, so it makes sense… and since he knows her as a character so he can take some shortcuts (so he assumes, anyway) but he actually has to go out of his way to get to know lee gilyoung, which. he doesn’t? like he doesn’t try to find out what his sponsor is until it’s broadcast to everyone in the duet between good and evil, and he never even learns that wasn’t gilyoung's mom on the subway in the first scenario

not because he doesn't care, of course... but the potential similarities probably unnerve him a bit. he wouldn't really know how to deal with it

then I had a thought

if it’s these aspects of kim dokja that cause this bias … perhaps 49% kim dokja doesn't have it?

and now I have to wonder if lee gilyoung noticed the difference… how he would feel about that…

[alicentzwaitinglady]

maybe in an alternate universe aeron and davos become the lords of their respective keeps and befriend eachother due to having lost family during the winter fever. both putting the feud aside bc what were they even fighting about for so long? what reason do these two have to be against eachother?

this being one of the few times in history that brackens and blackwoods aren't trying to kill eachother but instead host feasts together...

[sephirthoughts]

The Ghost of Shinra Manor

Chapter 4 of this

summary: It's been two years-ish since the events of Dirge of Cerberus. Cloud visits his hometown, and investigates a rumor of a ghost, haunting Shinra Manor. If you're surprised by who it turns out to be, you are beyond my power to save, comrade.

tags: g-g-g-ghosts!!! sefikura, sephiroth x cloud, sane!sephiroth (sort of), post advent children, post dirge of cerberus, canon timeline, delusions, intermitten amnesia, low drama, enemies to…whatever the hell they have going on

warnings: references to death, PTSD, child abuse, etc. all of hojo's greatest hits, canon-typical violence

rating: teen and up [BE ADVISED: THIS RATING WILL CHANGE]

Part 4: Resolve

Cloud didn’t check his phone till they were back at the cabin, by which time he’d accumulated a number of alerts.

MISSED CALLS(4): Tifa

MISSED CALL: Barrett

New Messages(5)

He decided to deal with them in order of priority, and opened the messages app first.

Strife: hey what do you know about ghosts

Chadley: Hello, Cloud. It’s good to hear from you. Ghosts aren’t really my area of expertise, unless you’re referring to occurrences of unusual fauna, which are often erroneously reported as ghost sightings. May I ask what this is in regard to?

Strife: like how to identify one and how to get rid of it

Chadley: Hm. There are a number of so-called spirit mediums and exorcists, who claim to be able to detect and communicate with spirits, but since there isn’t an established scientific discipline, I’m afraid the field is fraught with charlatans.

Strife: so there’s no one who knows anything?

Chadley: Don’t lose hope, my friend. It just so happens that an acquaintance of mine is what I would call the world’s foremost lay-expert in spectral phenomena. If there’s anyone who could answer whatever questions you have, it would be him.

Strife: lay-expert?

Chadley: That means he’s highly knowledgeable, but it isn’t his day job.  

Strife: what’s his actual job

Chadley: He works as the concierge for the Haunted Hotel, at the Gold Saucer.

Strife: tell me you’re not talking about that upside-down lunatic bellhop

Chadley: Oh, are you acquainted?

Strife: forget it. i meant someone sane

Chadley: Don’t let his sense of whimsy deter you. That’s his professional persona. He’s actually a very astute and level-headed person. I assure you, there’s no one more knowledgeable in the field.

Strife: really?

Chadley: Indeed. Shall I put you in touch?

Strife: yeah ok

Chadley: Excellent. I’ll give him your contact information. Good luck!

Strife: thanks

Tifa: hey you, just checking in to see how you’re doing. how’s the job going?

Tifa: btw denzy managed to fix that old bike they found. he even rode it around today

Tifa: marley took these pics of him aren’t they cute? .img .img .img

Tifa: good news! i just got off the phone with barrett and he’s going to be in town friday. we’re thinking of having a big bbq dinner for everyone at the bar. you’ll be back by then right?

Strife: won’t be back by friday. something came up i have to deal with

Several minutes passed.

Tifa: i guess there’s nothing you can do when a rush job comes up. when do you think you’ll be back?

Strife: can’t say. could be a while

Tifa: oh i see

Tifa: ok well try not to stay gone too long ok? the kids miss you

Cloud was attempting to formulate a human-sounding reply, when his phone lit up with a new notification.

UNKNOWN: greetings cloud! my name is benjamin hopkins. my friend chadley said you’d like my help with some ghost related information. feel free to give me a call any time, and I’d be happy to assist you however I can.

He stared at his phone screen. A bellhop. Named Benjamin Hopkins. What the fuck ever. Of course that weirdo in the mummy bandages would have a weirdo name.

Sephiroth’s high-school AU version was still wearing the Gold Saucer t-shirt, with the addition of a pair of Cloud’s black jeans, which fit him far too well for Cloud’s liking. At the moment, he was sitting at the camp table, staring into space, because Cloud didn’t have any chores for him to do except wash dishes, and he’d done that already.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud said, giving him a start.

Big, blue-green eyes looked up at him, full of hope and trust. “Yes, sir?”

“If you want something to do, why don’t you go out and chop some firewood, before we’re ass-deep in snow. From the look of things, we’re gonna need it.”

Sephiroth jumped up eagerly. “Yes, sir. How much should I get?”

“Just whatever you can cut while I’m on the phone,” Cloud said carelessly. “The axe is hanging up over there. Shed is behind the cabin. I’ll come check on you, when I’m done with my call.”

“Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

“Sephiroth.”

“Mn?”

“Jacket.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And knock off that sir shit. Call me Cloud.”

“Yes, s—Cloud.”

With a sheepish grin, the boy pulled on the old down jacket Cloud had given him, grabbed the axe, and strode out into the snow, full of determination. Cloud stared at the closed door for a full thirty seconds, after he’d gone, and had to physically shake himself out of the reverie.

Seeing Sephiroth this way was wreaking havoc on his emotional state. The child version had been easy. Similar but unfamiliar. Cloud was able to dissociate him from the mental index he had for Sephiroth, and just see a little boy. The adult version was even easier. He was fully familiar and fit neatly into Cloud’s ‘mortal enemy, hated with the fire of a thousand suns’ index.

The teenaged version was more complicated. This was the Sephiroth who had been his idol and hero, when he was the bullied and ostracized poor kid in this tiny shit town. His reason for never giving up, when things seemed hopeless.

This was the Sephiroth he’d fallen in love with, in the innocent and wholehearted sincerity of childhood. The Sephiroth that a part of him, no matter how forcefully denied and deeply buried, still loved.

He clenched his teeth and swallowed the ache in his throat. If some fragment of himself was still idiotic and delusional enough to harbor anything approaching love for Sephiroth, that was just one more reason to quickly figure out how to end him, once and for all. The sooner the man was gone for good, the better. With fresh resolve, he pulled out his phone and dialed the bellhop’s number.

“Benjamin Hopkins, how can I help you?” said the man’s (not quite as deranged as Cloud remembered) voice.

Cloud sighed audibly. “Is that your real fucking name?”

“No, it’s not,” he retorted. “If you must know, my real name is Subject N-2, and thanks for bringing up that very painful memory. Would you like to talk about ghosts, now?”

“Uh. Sorry,” Cloud muttered. “Is this a good time?”

“Good as any. I’m at work, but it’s a pretty slow day, to tell you the truth, so I’m just hanging around.”

Cloud stifled another sigh. “Did you say that because you’re literally hanging upside-down right now?”

“Eh? Have we met before?”

“Couple years ago. My friends and I were looking for rooms at the hotel. One of them may have been a bit…aggressive.”

“Oh…oh! Are you the little blonde who came in with the giant, the vampire, the cowboy aviator, and a robot cat?”

“I’m impressed you remember us.”

“Ah, ha ha. Mr. Strife, how many times do you think I’ve had an arm-mounted minigun shoved in my face, at my place of employment? Just, ballpark estimate.”

Cloud swallowed. “Is it…one time?”

“Ding ding ding! Correct! Just the one time. So yes, I remember you. A man doesn’t tend to forget that kind of character-defining life and death experience.”

“Sorry about that guy. He has anger issues and trust issues and impulse control issues, and also he’s scared of spooky stuff, so he was acting tough to hide it,” Cloud explained, blithely throwing Barrett under the bus. “But, now that I think of it, I remember you seeming pretty chill about the gun. You didn’t even flinch.”

“Ok, you got me,” the bellhop tittered. “I was exaggerating about the character-defining life and death experience stuff. I’ve been through way worse than that.”

“You have?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all part of my tragic backstory. However! It was highly inappropriate of your friend to threaten a member of the hotel staff with a firearm. Imagine if a normal employee had been the one at the counter, instead. They’d have trauma! I’m sorry to be strict, but for the safety and mental health of the staff and guests, I’m afraid Mr. Barrett Wallace is not welcome on Haunted Hotel premises, until further notice. I hope he takes the opportunity to reflect carefully on his actions.”

“Fair enough. I doubt he’d go back there if you dragged him, anyway.”

“Good. Now that’s settled, let’s talk about your ghost problem. What seems to be the trouble?”

“That’s part of the problem,” Cloud said, feeling a little stupid saying any of this out loud. “I’m not even sure it’s a ghost.”

“Ah, say no more. I happen to have my ‘Got Ghosts?’ checklist handy. Why don’t we go through that, first. More often than not, the phenomena people misidentify as evidence of hauntings are perfectly mundane, explainable things.”

“Um. Ok.”

“Do you have any of the following: shadows or other unexplained movement in your peripheral vision?”

“No.”

“Sensation of falling, while seated or lying down?”

“No.”

“Cold spots in the house?”

“This is Nibelheim. The whole house is a cold spot.”

“I’ll go ahead and check no for that one. Voices laughing, or speaking in whispers/low tones?”

“No.”

“Thinking you hear someone call your name, when alone in the house or with others who deny having done so?”

“No.”

“Scratching or tapping on walls or under floors?”

“No.”

“Sound of footsteps, from empty rooms?”

“No.”

“Lights flickering, or inexplicably being turned off?”

“No.”

“Waking up to the certainty that there is a terrifying presence in the room with you, but unable to move or call for help?”

“No.”

“Pets behaving strangely, and/or interacting with something that is not there?”

“No pets.”

“Objects moved to strange locations, cabinets found open, doors opening or shutting on their own, et cetera?”

“Nope.”

There was a pause. “I’m a little confused, Mr. Strife. If none of these things are occurring, what leads you to believe you might have a ghost?”

“I found a dead person—”

“You found a body??”

“No. Let me finish my sentence, will you? I found a person who I know to be dead, except he’s not acting dead, and he was hanging around in an abandoned basement, naked and crying.”

“He was…that’s uh…wow. A lot to unpack. You’re sure he wasn’t just abducted, and presumed dead? Because, to be honest, that’s kind of what it sounds like.”

“I’m sure. I killed him, myself.”

The bellhop choked audibly. “I—I see. And, uh…the person you found in this basement, who resembles the person you killed—”

“Not resembles. It is him. He answers to his name and knew where he was. But he doesn’t remember me. He seems to be having some kind of weird amnesia, where he’s only getting parts of his memory back.”

“And, um. Not to belabor a point,” the bellhop said gingerly, “but, what makes you think he’s a ghost? I mean, apart from the fact that you claim to have killed him and are definitely one-hundred percent certain that he did actually die.”

“He’s pale. Like, corpse pale. His body is ice-cold. All of it gets kind of transparent, sometimes, but mostly his hands and feet. He has trouble touching things, without his fingers going right through them. And sometimes, when he talks, he fades in and out, like a radio.”

The sound of a pencil scratching, from the other end of the line said enough, so Cloud continued.

“Normal lighting hurts his eyes, so I have to use a gas lantern or just the fireplace. He doesn’t seem to see very well, or maybe he’s just seeing things that aren’t real. Less than two hours ago, I watched him walk straight through a solid wall of stone that he insisted wasn’t there. Also, when I found him yesterday, he was an adult. When I woke up this morning, he was a little kid. Now he’s a teenager.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Mr. Strife—”

“Cloud.”

“Cloud. If you would go this far, just to play some kind of mean-spirited prank—”

“Do I seem like the type of person who plays pranks, Benjamin?”

“Not really,” he conceded. “If anything, you seem to be the 'broody edgelord who takes himself way too seriously' type.”

“That’s not…inaccurate. So, can you help me, or not?”

Benjamin let out a long breath. “Hoo, boy. Let me be honest with you, I thought I was prepared, but none of my usual checklists cover anything like this. That said, your guy actually sounds a lot like a ghost. There are inconsistencies, but if what you’re telling me is the truth, I can’t think of any other explanation. Um. Let me look something up, real quick.”

“Sure, take your time.”

There was another lengthy pause in which Benjamin muttered to himself and Cloud heard pages turning.

“Alright, found it. So, the Cetra believed that the spirits of human beings could be temporarily unable to enter the lifestream, for a number of different reasons. A spirit can’t inhabit its dead body, though, so they show up as disembodied entities, mostly resembling intangible wisps of light. These are what people would commonly call ghosts.”

“But mine’s not an intangible wisp, or whatever,” Cloud pointed out. “He’s actually pretty solid. I even carried him a few times.”

“Right. Hence the inconsistency. The only stories of ghosts being able to take physical bodies and walk around interacting with living people, are from ancient oral traditions, and those were supposedly the spirits of demigods.”

“Ok, back up. Forget about the body thing, for now. What are the reasons someone could be unable to enter the lifestream?”

“Strong resentment, unfinished business, promises to keep—any kind of attachment so strong that it keeps them hanging on, past their time.”

“So, if it was that, what would we do about it?”

“Supposedly, the attachment has to be resolved, then the spirit can be freed and enter the lifestream. For humans. For the demigods…that’s a different story. They were considered to be corrupt beings, so they were rejected permanently. Pretty sad, if you ask me.”

“Corrupt how?”

“Well, demigods are the offspring of humans and gods, which is a big ontological no-no. Gods can’t die, and can’t enter the lifestream, but that’s a whole other thing. The children of an eternal god and a mortal human, therefore, are stuck between worlds. Their bodies can die, but their spirits can’t ascend to godhood, and they can’t join the lifestream either, so they just linger. Some of them go mad and turn into malicious entities, that spread plague and disaster and war, and some just gradually lose themselves, fading but never disappearing. Like Zeno’s paradox, but with existence, instead of infinitely shrinking distances.”

“Shit. That is pretty sad.”

“Yeah, man. Have you studied any mythology? Like, ninety percent of it is a huge bummer.”

“There’s another thing. I attacked him with a sword, when I first saw him. He wasn’t hurt at all, but the attacks backlashed on me, really badly. I’m still recovering from the internal injuries. What could cause that?”

“Huh,” Benjamin said thoughtfully. “A sword attack certainly shouldn’t be able to harm a ghost, but how does it backlash?”

“It wasn’t the blade I hit him with. It was a directed energy spell, using the blade as a catalyst.”

“You used a mana-based attack on the alleged ghost, and it backlashed on you? Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Well, in my experience—I mean, my experience researching ghost-related phenomena, obviously—untethered human souls are extremely fragile. An energy spell should have scattered it, if not destroyed it completely. I’ve never heard of one defending itself, let alone being able to harm a living person.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. So, to be on the safe side, maybe don’t do that anymore. In the meantime, are there any other extremely significant details that you haven’t bothered to bring up, yet? Because, I’d really like to just hear it all at once, if that’s ok.”

“Just a few things. He has these memory flashbacks, he gets caught in. He can bring me into them, but he doesn’t know how. It’s happened a few times. Also, when we were sleeping, last night, I dreamed a bunch of random pieces of his memories.”

“You believe he’s a ghost, and you went to sleep, in the same room with him?”

“I just said sleeping. Why do you assume we were in the same room?”

“Were you?”

“Yes. What does it matter?”

“I’m impressed, is all. You’re a different breed than most huma—ahem—most people, aren’t you.”

“He was a lot scarier alive. That’s why I want to figure out how to kill him permanently, as soon as possible.”

“Without killing yourself along with him, you mean.”

“Sure.”

“O…kay. Anything else you haven’t mentioned?”

Cloud opened his mouth to tell Benjamin about the pain in his chest, that had been growing since he approached Nibelheim, and how it had gotten unbearable when Sephiroth started to fade, earlier, but for some reason, he became extremely reluctant to talk about it. “Uh. No, that’s all.”

“Alrighty,” Benjamin said cheerfully. “I’m gonna have to do a little research and get back to you, because, um. Ha ha. I’ve never heard of anything like this situation, in my life.”

“Right. Well, thanks for doing this. I appreciate it.”

“Anything for a friend of Chadley. Hey, just out of curiosity, where’s your ghost, now? You didn’t talk about all of this in front of him, right?”

“No, I sent him out to chop firewood, so we could talk.”

“You sent him to chop firewood. And he just…obeyed you?”

“Yeah. He’s been cooperative, the whole time.”

“Wow. Are you sure you don’t want to keep him? Joking, joking. Oop, got some customers. It was nice talking to you! Bye!”

“See ya,” Cloud replied, but the man had already hung up.

What a strange person. Which, upon mature consideration, was rather unsurprising, for an upside-down bellhop at the Haunted Hotel, who dressed like a mummy for work, and studied ghosts in his free time. Despite all that, Cloud felt inclined to trust him. There was something familiar and reliable, in his aura. Like they’d already known each other.

Cloud’s hyper-tuned hearing didn’t detect any chopping, outside the cabin, so he went out to see how Sephiroth was faring. Fat snowflakes were falling heavily, and the world was still and silent, the way it only gets, when everything is muffled under several inches of snow.

Sephiroth was nowhere in sight, so Cloud went around to the back and stopped short. The woodshed door was wide open, and what appeared to be smoke was billowing out into the cold air.

“Fuck—Sephiroth!” he exclaimed, dashing for the shed.

The boy popped his head out. “Cloud? What’s wrong?”

“What’s going on?” Cloud asked, confused. “What is all this…steam?”

“I filled the shed all the way up, and now I’m using a desiccation spell, to dry the wood out, so it’ll burn better and it won’t rot,” Sephiroth explained brightly.

Cloud peered into the shed, and saw the neatly and tightly stacked wood, already split and free of twigs and foliage. Sure enough, there was a thin layer of yellowish light on all of it, and it was cheerfully releasing steam, like a huge stack of fresh baked buns.

“What about the wood that was already in here?”

“I moved it all to the woodpile, at the front of the cabin.” Misunderstanding Cloud’s expression, Sephiroth’s face fell, “I—I’m sorry, I know you didn’t tell me to do that, but I thought—”

“No, it’s ok,” Cloud interrupted. “I was just surprised that you worked so fast. You did everything right. Good job.”

The beautiful boy lit up like a firework, at that little bit of praise, nearly annihilating Cloud on the spot.

His cheeks and nose were touched with pink, from all the exercise in the cold, which only made him look even sweeter and more innocent, as he beamed up at him. If only he could’ve stayed this way. If only he hadn’t been tortured and horribly abused, until he became the very monster he’d always feared he was.

The moment his heart began to soften, a surge of black bitterness rose up in Cloud’s throat to choke him. How could Sephiroth ever have been like this? He was always beautiful, but he couldn’t have been innocent and sweet, even at this age. He was already a cold-blooded killer, after all. It must be a deception, to manipulate him.

“You look sad,” Sephiroth said. “Is everything alright?”

“You’re turning pink.”

“Am I?” Sephiroth reached up to touch his cheeks, self-consciously.

“Yeah. But why?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dead,” Cloud said flatly. “You don’t have blood. So how would your cheeks flush from being cold?”

The boy’s eyes suddenly went hazy and unfocused. “I’m…I’m dead.”

Sure enough, the flush of color drained from his face, leaving his skin waxen white; so translucent, that his veins were visible in his cheeks, as faint, bluish lines. His whole person seemed to wither, and become greyer and duller.

Cloud immediately regretted listening to that bitter part of himself, and lashing out at the boy. Whatever evil Sephiroth had done, this child hadn’t done it, yet.

“Seph…I’m sorry,” he said, gingerly patting the boy’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”

Sephiroth’s skin instantly began to brighten, again, and that dead, grey cast fell away. But now his eyes were dewy and pink-rimmed. “Wh—why did you call me that?”

“What?”

“You called me Seph.”

“Isn’t that how people usually shorten your name?”

“I don’t know.” Two big, round tears rolled down his rosy cheeks. “No one ever has.”

Cloud was utterly at a loss, so he just patted the boy’s shoulder again. “Come on, don’t cry. Let’s go inside. You’re covered in snow.”

They hung up their coats on the hooks by the door, and kicked the snow off their boots, which they set by the fire, to dry. While Sephiroth put more wood on, Cloud was assessing the food supply, in case this storm lasted a while. He wasn’t too worried, though. He’d stocked up well on canned and dry goods, had plenty of fish in the freezer, and could always hunt.

It was no problem for him to traverse the route into town in extreme weather, but that wouldn’t do a lot of good if the town was too snowed in to function. If worse came to worst, he’d go over and clear the main roads. That was work that would be long and arduous for an entire crew of regular people, but with his strength and fire spells, wasn’t even difficult. He’d done it before.

While Sephiroth was bathing, Cloud toasted up some simple, grilled cheese sandwiches, on the skillet, which he cut into triangles. Then he got out a saucepan and began to heat up some milk.

The heavy snow put him in mind of winters with his mother, in their little house, and the rare luxury that was hot cocoa. He didn’t have peppermint sticks or marshmallows, so he sprinkled a little cinnamon on top.

He was just pouring it into the mugs, when Sephiroth came out, in those old sweatpants and another of Cloud’s t-shirts. He’d pulled his damp, chin-length hair back into a mini-ponytail at the base of his skull, which looked ridiculously cute.

“Dinner,” Cloud said.

Sephiroth sat dutifully at the camp table. “What’s this brown stuff?” he asked, wrinkling his nose at the mug Cloud set in front of him.

“Cinnamon.”

“And we drink it?”

“If you want. You don’t have to.”

Sephiroth reached for the mug, which his solid-looking fingers picked up with no trouble. Putting it to his lips, he took a cautious little sip. He froze for a beat. Then his eyes went round and starry and he sucked down every last drop of the warm, creamy cocoa, smacking his lips and ‘mm-ing’ delightedly between slurps.

Cloud nearly spit his own cocoa out, laughing, at the tragic face he made, when he realized his mug was empty. “You like it, huh?”

Sephiroth nodded vigorously. “Mn! I love it! I want to drink cinnamon all the time!”

“It’s called hot cocoa,” Cloud corrected. “Cinnamon is just the stuff sprinkled on top.”

“Hot cocoa,” Sephiroth repeated. “What is it made of?”

“My mom made it with chopped up chocolate and sugar, but I just use the tinned mix. There’s more in the saucepan, if you want.”

Sephiroth’s expression became grave. “Your mother taught you to make this?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re sharing it with me?”

“Looks that way.”

“Thank you,” Sephiroth said, dipping his head, as Cloud poured more cocoa into his mug. “I feel very honored.”

“It’s just hot cocoa. I’m sure everyone’s moms made it for them.”

“My mother…would have made this for me?”

“Probably.”

Sephiroth fell silent, looking reverent and reflective, as he slowly sipped the cocoa, this time, carefully savoring every mouthful, seemingly lost in his own little world. He didn’t touch the grilled cheese, but Cloud hadn’t expected him to. He was surprised enough that the boy was able to drink the cocoa. He ate both grilled cheese sandwiches, himself, without remarking on it, then went to take his shower.

When he came out again, Sephiroth had washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. Cloud had never thought of Sephiroth as someone who would be able or willing to undertake such mundane tasks. He’d only seen the lofty and beautiful hero, standing at the vanguard, sword in hand, sweeping away enemies like chaff on the wind.

This ghost, however, was turning out to be quite the cheerful little domestic helper, willing to do whatever task was at hand, and very good at everything he put is hand to. He’d even piled more wood onto the fire, swept the floor, and tied up the garbage in a neat little bundle, by the door, to be carried away.

Cloud lay down in his bed, but seeing the teenaged boy curled up on the rug, by the fire, wrapped in his one blanket, was too much for his conscience.

“Seph,” he said. “It’s too cold to sleep on the floor. We can share the bed.”

The boy looked up timidly. “Are…are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on. If you get sick, it’ll just be more trouble for me.”

Thus reassured, Sephiroth hurried over in his blanket and threw it over the top of the others, then shimmied in under the covers.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Your bed is so soft!”

Cloud squinted. “Is it?”

“It’s the softest bed I’ve ever been in! It’s amazing!”

“It’s just a futon on a wood frame.”

“What’s a futon?”

“It’s um…a Wutaian mattress.”

For what seemed like a very long time, Cloud lay stiffly on his back, staring up at firelight dancing on the ceiling, and carefully avoiding touching the boy, who was writhing and wriggling about, like he had fleas. At long last, he seemed to get comfortable and settle down. But just as Cloud was closing his eyes to drift off—

“Cloud?”

“Hm.”

“Why does your hair stick up like that, but mine hangs down?”

“Dunno. This is just the way it is.”

“Can I…can I touch it?”

Cloud eyed him dubiously. “Can you touch it? I mean…I don’t know why you want to, but I guess so.”

Sephiroth reached out and delicately prodded the blonde spikes. “It feels just like my hair. I thought it would be more like goat hair.”

“What? Why goat hair?” Cloud scowled.

Sephiroth grinned and kept petting his head, absently scooting closer, till their knees touched.

Cloud’s stomach fluttered nervously, in spite of himself. Yes, he was an adult now, but this was his first love, after all. In his mind, he was suddenly eleven years old again, gazing at a Shinra recruitment poster he’d kept secreted away in his bedroom, daydreaming about what it would feel like to kiss those perfect lips.

“Ok, time to sleep,” he said abruptly, turning onto his side, with his back to Sephiroth.

“Goodnight, Cloud,” Sephiroth whispered, after a few minutes had passed.

“Goodnight, Seph. Now, no more talking.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY credit to @soundcrusher for the bellhop's name and backstory, which they let me borrow for this fic 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

ao3

[gz-missfit]

So with Phil ending stream and that event dying down I wanna talk about him.

And especially with how good of a decision it was from Cellbit to make him a fellow head of ther order.

Let me explain

So I'm gonna try and string this along but the basis I'm building on is that Phil is a center. Not just figuratively but also literally! Remember before the Favela and Spawn become the meeting places? Yeah his home was the point people would meet at, his doors were always open and his waystone was the one ingrained in people's muscle memory when a meeting or communal location was mentioned.

But Phil's also been a communicative center, he's a loner usually, mostly getting dragged along by tubbo or fit for some events.

But he's reliable! And people know this about him. They hear how a single father of 2 has carried the life of these 2 kids in his own, they've heard how Tallulah and Chayanne are the best behaved eggs due to him, they see him casual help people out etc. Phil's known for kindness and help when needed but people who don't know him don't realize there's so much more to him! Fit and Tubbo for example are the first 2 who are aware of this. Fit trusting Phil with literally everything because he knows how capable he is and Tubbo knowing Phil's capabilities in a way where he respects him heavily. And I don't even need to mention how Etoiles is aware of Phil's combat abilities.

Now why did I say that he was the perfect addition as a head of the order? Because he proved today that he is behind everything the order is about. He is a much needed cog in its machine, he's not a head investigator or strategist but he's someone they need to allow this.

Baghera wanted to investigate? Phil stopped trying to look around, focused on helping her clear mobs, gave her all his paper and kept an eye on her while calling to her to make sure she could collect evident when her inventory got filled. He's ready to put his own curiosity and knowledge aside to let others thrive.

Pierre needed a fighter when mobs swarmed him? Phil stood between him and the mobs, being a calm voice amongst panic, standing in Etoiles footsteps as protector and filling them well.

Roier wanted to stay and risk his life because he wanted more information? Phil will stay too, he's not leaving anyone behind even if it could cost his own life and he'd do it again.

Forever is acting weird and trying to brush worries off? Then Phil will worry even more and make sure he knows that Phil's someone who will be there whenever he's needed.

There's so many moments like this, Phil putting himself aside to let others thrive, becoming a support fighter for Etoiles, a teacher for tallulah, an investigator for Cellbit.

He's someone that island needs without them realizing it because he's a quiet constant hum but important! Like a humming of well working machines in a busy factory. Or the humming of bees in a thriving garden full of animals. He's quiet and not always noticeable but he's proof that things are working and okay, the backbone of it.

This is why this trust of Cellbit in him to call him a head of the order is so important for me, and especially Phil promising loyalty and trust to Cellbit cause it may sound basic but those who don't know Phil don't know how much Phil's loyalty truly means. How much his promise of it is an honor to someone because Phil's whole moral compass and trust is based on proof. If you can proof to Phil you're capable and put your money where your mouth is then he'll go through fire for you, and he's promised that to Cellbit, knowing fully well it's a promise he'll keep.

Phil's factual and logical, he's a grounding force when needed and someone who will fit himself into a role that needs to be filled. He's a support, a warrior, a investigator, a distraction etc. He's not focused on his own goals even if it hurts him to put those aside, if he sees potential in supporting or letting someone lead he'll do just that. He's so fucking observant and it's such an important trait not many islanders have to the same level he does. He watches with protective eyes and sees things most people don't. Ironically enough you can see this in his photographs a lot! He's a watcher an observer and acts based on what he sees.

Basically today, that little bit where they went into the new office where forever was taken, was proof of what Phil is needed for. He's not required, he knows that much, but he's important for the community of that island. He's important for letting others thrive. He's what the head of the order is, what they represent. Trust in eachother and letting people thrive in what they're good at while helping them in any way he can.

[monotone-artist]

[id in alt]

ive been um. drawing a little bit

about the silver-calling-shadow-grandpa thing: lil headcanon of mine that shadow and silver are related :] not by blood but because of funky gene experimentation someone or other did. basically,, idk they copied shadow's hedgehog genes and over time they got descended into silver 👍👍

bonus under read-more

hah reference

[ghostly-kal]

Something something the hands that cradled you something something (im going insane over my dnd campaign help, the Dm is scaring me)

[red-red-spout]

anyways neat how Sayeon went for the throat, like, literally.. was only not lethal because she underestimated Abberant healing factor... wonder if she's gonna start trying even more brutal executions now? What's there even to go from here... trying for full decapitation maybe?