#enemies to something at least

[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

[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…

[sephirthoughts]

The Ghost of Shinra Manor

Chapter 3 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, mention of animal death in the context of ethical subsistence hunting/fishing, canon-typical violence, technical nudity but i didn't describe anything so you'd have to imagine it yourself which is not on me, pervert

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

Part 3: Regression

Cloud was not in a good mood, this morning. Firstly, it was dim and grey outside, and heavy cloud cover portended foul weather, which in the Nibel region meant freezing storms. Secondly, he had slept unusually well, last night, but his sleep was troubled by vivid dreams, of people and places he’d never seen, and so he woke fatigued, rather than rested.

Unlike most dreams, which faded and became indistinct, the moment you were awake, the chaotic and disjointed scenes remained etched clearly into his mind, as if they were real memories. This, of course, was because they were. He’d had enough other peoples’ memories stuffed into his head, to know the difference, and he did not appreciate it.

Thirdly, and arguably most importantly, he had awakened from these dreams, to find that the giant, silver-haired ghost he’d brought home last night, had undergone a deeply unnerving change.

Namely, he’d transformed into a tooth-meltingly adorable boy, of about ten years old, with huge, blue-green eyes, shoulder length silver hair, and a barely visible dusting of fairy-kiss freckles across his button nose. 

Cloud’s old shirt now hung nearly to the four-and-a-half foot-tall child’s knees, and the sweatpants had to be forgone altogether, since they kept falling off and he kept tripping endearingly over them. He was now wearing a pair of Cloud’s boxer shorts as a stopgap solution. 

When asked why he’d changed, the boy couldn’t understand what Cloud meant and began to cry, so Cloud gave up interrogating him, for now. All he could think was that this must be some sort of punishment from the goddess, because it was frankly sickening to want to pinch your arch-enemy’s precious little cheeks so badly.

“Cloud?” the sweetly childish voice said, while Cloud was standing at the stove, frying some of the fish he’d caught yesterday, for breakfast.

“Hm.”

“Did someone send you, to find me? Is that why you came to take me from the manor?”

“No,” Cloud answered gruffly. “I went in there looking for monsters and found you, by chance.”

Miniroth’s face fell. “Oh. But then, how did you know my name?”

“Recognized you from recruitment ads.” Cloud scooped a fried fish onto a plate, and set the plate on the table in front of the world’s cutest Sephiroth bobblehead. “Who would’ve sent me to find you, anyway? Do you even know anyone?” 

“I hoped, maybe…” the boy trailed off and his hand strayed reflexively to his chest. Then his expression changed and he jumped to his feet, patting his collarbone area frantically. “My locket! It’s gone!”

Cloud frowned. “What?”

“My locket! My locket!” he repeated, near hysterics. “I have to go back there! I have to find it!”

“Ok, calm down,” Cloud attempted. “I never saw you wearing a locket. Are you sure you had it?”

Sephpod-nano was not listening. “Her picture is in it! I can’t lose it! I have to get it back!”

“Hold it right there!” Cloud said, in the ‘dad voice’ he used with Marlene and Denzel (and Yuffie and Barrett and Cid), as the child made for the door. “You can’t go back to the manor, without me, and I’m not going anywhere till after breakfast, so chill out.”

“But I—” 

“No buts. Sit your ass back down.”

The boy wavered, then dragged himself back to the table and sat sullenly, with his arms crossed on his chest. The image was…pretty hilarious, actually. A minifigure version of the legendary silver soldier, in an oversized Gold Saucer t-shirt, sulking like a child whose parent wouldn’t let him go out to play. It was improving Cloud’s mood, quite a bit.

“If you dropped it in the manor, it’ll still be there when we’re done eating,” he said, as he sat down with his own plate of fish. “It’s not going anywhere.”

Chibiroth brightened a little. “You’ll take me there, after breakfast?”

“Yep.”

“Promise. Promise you will.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “Fine. I promise.”

“Thank you,” the boy said earnestly. “I’m sorry for acting like a baby. It’s only that, the locket has the only picture of my mother. She died right after I was born, and it’s all I have left of her.”

Cloud’s eyebrows went up. It had never once occurred to him that Sephiroth had parents. But of course he did. He must. Even if he was artificially conceived, the human DNA had to come from somewhere, and he’d have to be carried by a surrogate. No way did that dead thing in the mako tank give birth to a baby.

“How did you get the picture?” he asked. “Did Hojo give it to you?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Uh. Lucky guess. Come on, eat.”

Sephiroth reached for his fork, but his fingers slipped through it. He tried again, several more times, to no avail. Seemingly exhausted by the effort, his hand fell into his lap, and his shoulders slumped. “I—I can’t. I apologize.”

Cloud looked confused. “Apologize?”

“Refusing to eat what one is given is ungrateful and ill-mannered behavior, unbefitting a SOLDIER,” the boy said stiffly, as if by rote.

“Look, I can see you can’t pick up the fork,” Cloud reasoned. “It’s not like you’re refusing on purpose. So don’t apologize.”

“Why can’t I pick it up?” Sephiroth asked mournfully, looking down at his translucent fingers. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Cloud answered, technically truthfully.

He swallowed a few unenthusiastic bites of his fish, but he was in no mood to eat, now, with sad-baby Sephiroth sitting there all dejected, staring at his tiny ghost hands. He didn’t even look up, when Cloud took their plates away. 

It occurred to him, as he pulled on his own boots, that the child was barefoot. There was no way in the ten hells any of his shoes would fit the industrial-sized Sephiroth, but on this travel-sized version they’d even be a little too big. Any of his jackets would do, as well.

The problem was pants. Walking him through the woods last night had been a huge pain in the ass, and it’d be ten times worse with him tiny and bare-legged. 

He’d rather not take the road through the Nibelheim outskirts, and risk Sephiroth being seen, so he guessed there was no better way than to just carry him. Other than going into town to buy clothes for a ghost, which would happen over his cold, dead body.

“Hey kid, come here,” he said. “Try on these shoes.”

“I’m not a kid,” Sampleroth informed him, as he came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Oh yeah?” Cloud smirked. “What are you?”

“I’m a weapon. That’s what the professor always says.” 

“Tch. Hojo is a piece of shit. Forget everything he told you. Leg.”

He stuck out his skinny leg, so Cloud could pull a thick, wool sock onto his foot, which reached up to his knee. “What’s shit?”

“Shit comes out the back, when you go to the toilet.”

Microth’s eyes went wide, and he covered his mouth with both hands, to stifle a laugh.

Cloud’s heart felt sour. This child’s warm, spontaneous giggle was so different from that mirthless, psychotic braying, when the adult Sephiroth was laughing at him for crying over Aerith.

At that thought, a surge of black, bitter rage welled up in his throat. At the same time, that icy pain stabbed through his chest, again. He avoided eye contact with the child and concentrated on tightly lacing the work boots he’d found, so they wouldn’t fall off. 

“Alright, how’s that?” Cloud looked up, to find the boy unsuccessfully fighting back tears. “What’s wrong? The boots hurt?”

“I’m s—sorry,” Babyroth sniffled. “I didn’t mean to laugh. Please don’t be mad.”

“Huh? Why would I get mad about you laughing?”

“Everyone does,” the boy said miserably. “Hojo slaps me if I laugh.”

Son of a bitch. “Look, I wasn’t mad at you. I was…thinking of something else. So, no more crying, ok?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, hastily dashing the tears away, as they rolled down his cheeks.

Cloud felt a headache coming on. “For fuck’s sake. He slapped you for crying, too?”

The silver head bobbed faintly up and down.

“Listen, you don’t have to worry about Hojo anymore, ok? He’s dead. He’ll never hit you again.”

The pink rimmed eyes looked tentatively up at him, through long, wet eyelashes. “He is?”

“Dead as a doornail. That’s what he gets for being a piece of shit who’d slap a kid for laughing or crying. Shiva’s tits.”

“What’s a doornail?”

“No idea.”

“What’s tits?”

“Rough slang for breasts. Uh. Don’t say it to women.”

When they stepped outside, the frigid atmosphere was still and heavy, unlike yesterday’s windiness, and the dark-grey storm clouds were lower and closer. Cloud knew that meant they’d be ass-deep in snow before sunset. Better not waste time. Putting his sword in a storage materia, he squatted down and lifted the child onto his back, like a backpack. 

“Hang on tight,” he said.

WIth that, he took off at a full sprint, using his hyper-tuned senses to avoid trees and boulders and low-branches, and to leap deftly over fallen trees and other obstacles. That cut the two-mile walk to Shinra Manor down to less than five minutes.

“You’re so fast,” Sephiroth breathed, when he put him down, outside the gates.

“Were you scared?”

He shook his head decidedly. “I’m not scared of anything, when I’m with you.” 

The innocence and earnestness of that statement hit Cloud like a kick to the gut. He turned away to conceal any emotion his face might betray, and summoned his sword again, which he slapped onto its holster. 

“Let’s go find your locket.”

The locket was a pretext, of course. The real reason he wanted to come back, was to search for any kind of clue, which may help explain Sephiroth’s presence. He just didn’t know what the hell he was looking for. Before they went inside, he got out his phone and sent a text.

Strife: hey what do you know about ghosts 

He didn’t expect an immediate response, so he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He gave a start, when he felt the child’s ice-cold hand grab hold of his. Cloud looked down at him.

“I—I’m not scared,” Sephiroth said quickly. “It’s so we don’t get separated.”

Suppressing a smile, Cloud grunted his acknowledgement, and the two entered the manor’s sepulchral doorway hand-in-hand.

“Where would it be?”

“My room. I don’t think I’d leave it somewhere else.”

Cloud lifted Sephiroth in one arm and leapt up to the second-story landing. “Which one is yours?”

“Only the scientists are allowed to stay up here. My room is in the sub-basement.”

Cloud had an ominous premonition, but he kept it to himself, and the pair headed for the basement passage. 

The crypt wasn’t pitch black this time, because the torch sconces Cloud lit yesterday were still burning. They weren’t special torches, it’s just that firaga spells burned mystical energy, so they were hard to put out. A skilled enough caster could make a torch out of a wet rock, if they wanted. 

Past the ransacked library, through the Galian beast fight room, Sephiroth led Cloud to a narrow passage, full of steel doors. At the end, there was what looked like an industrial lift. Unfortunately, the manor hadn’t had power since the reactor shut down. 

Cloud pried open the steel gates, which gave way with a lot of metallic groaning and shrieking, and peered down, then up. “The lift car is below us. We can just go down the cable.”

The boy nodded dutifully, and climbed onto Cloud’s back again. Once he was secure, Cloud leapt casually into the pitch black elevator shaft, caught the cable one-handed, and slid down, to land lightly on the roof of the lift car. It was a simple matter to open the emergency hatch and drop down, then pry open the steel gates on the bottom floor. 

The darkness this far down was so heavy, that even Cloud felt uneasy. The stale, dank air was saturated with the smell of rust and rot. And…something else. Old blood. Death. And monsters. Not lot of them, though. The stronger ones must’ve eaten the weaker ones, long ago. Most of those had probably starved to death. 

“What’s down here?” he asked. 

“Specimen containment.” Sephiroth’s small voice sounded even smaller and thinner in the oppressive stillness. 

Cloud lit up a firaga spell and peered about. The hallway branched three ways, and all three were lined with huge, heavy, steel doors, like the ones in Shinra Tower’s Science and Research Division. 

Sephiroth pointed to the left hallway. “There.” 

“Shit,” Cloud muttered. 

Unfortunately, that was the side that was completely blocked by fallen rubble. Cloud could see from here that there were no gaps to squeeze through, and trying to clear it would be suicidal. Any disturbance could cause another collapse, and bury them under thousands of tons of rock. 

“What is it?” Sephiroth asked, while Cloud was staring at the rubble, considering what to do.

“Trying to figure out how to get in there.”

“I know the passcode.”

“What good does that do us, when the whole area is caved in?”

Sephiroth looked down the hall, then up at Cloud, with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Sephiroth, is there something wrong with your eyes? Can you not see that the hallway is blocked?”

“No. Well…yes. I think something’s wrong. A lot of things look blurry and grey, and bright light hurts. But I can see perfectly well, in here. Maybe it’s your eyes.” Cloud just looked at him, clearly disbelieving, so the boy pulled him by the hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Hey, stop, you’re gonna knock your head against—” Cloud stopped short, as the boy walked straight through the wall of collapsed rock and masonry. He was still tugging Cloud along, but Cloud’s knuckles were stopped by the solid stone and Sephiroth’s fingers slipped out of his.

“Damn it. Sephiroth! Sephiroth, come back! I can’t get through!”

Just then, there was a slight shift in the air. The soft hiss of some kind of hide, sliding against stone. The nauseating stench of death rose around him, like a thick fog. The corners of Cloud’s mouth curled imperceptibly upward, as he reached back and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword.

The intruder emitted a low growl, that sounded as if it came up from the bowels of hell. A snarl and a leap. Ten tons of muscle and bone erupted out of the inky darkness, to collide with the swing of heavy-bladed greatsword.

The titanic beast was knocked sideways, crashing into a stone wall, scattering debris all around. Mad with hunger and undeterred, it clambered to its feet, shook its head, and sprang again, with a roar of fury at the tiny creature that had dared to cause it pain.

This time it caught the blade in its mighty fangs and clamped down tight. With a swing of its head, it flung the creature in an arc, to pulverize its impudent bones against the wall. The little thing struck the wall…with its booted feet. And began to push back.

The beast snarled and snorted, slavering around the blade between its fangs, but it was in a conundrum, now. It couldn’t loosen its hold on the blade without the small creature cleaving its jaw in two. It shook its head hard, trying to dislodge the thing from the blade, but it just held on.

The beast had no choice but to give up the blade. With a half spin, it used the momentum of its body to fling both sword and wielder away down the hall. The small creature landed in a crouch, sliding backward, the blade digging a furrow in the stone floor, as it skidded to a halt.

The beast gave a snarl of wrath, foaming at the maw, and charged desperately, to meet its foe. The tiny creature shot forward like a bullet. Like lightning. Like nothing the hellish beast had ever seen, in its life of miserable captivity, forced to fight other beasts and little monsters like this one, for survival.

A flash of blinding, blue light clove the darkness asunder. 

All at once, the boundless sky opened before the eyes of the beast. It stood not in a stinking, rot-filled hole in the earth, but sweet, green grass, looking out upon vast meadows and snow-capped mountains.

It threw back its horned head and drank deep of the clean air. Its warped and mutilated body was whole and hale again. It felt young and strong and full of life, as it had not in many years. 

Then it heard a call. Hardly daring to hope, it turned. There was its pack, running free under the sky. Leaping and racing to meet it, were its mate and cubs, who had lived in chains and died in torment, at the hands of those two-legged monsters. The roars of joyous reunion shook the heavens. 

In the stifling darkness of that basement hallway, the behemoth’s massive head thudded to the stone floor, cleanly severed. Its body wavered for a split second, and then collapsed, a fallen mountain of hideously scarred and mutated muscle and hide and bone.

Cloud closed his eyes and held his blade upright in honorable salute. Hopefully, this tortured creature found its peace, at the end.

When he opened them, he blinked and squinted in the suddenly bright (compared to the pitch dark) illumination. There were wall lamps, all along the hallways, which seemed to have mysteriously powered on.

He looked down, confused. The behemoth’s carcass was nowhere to be seen. Not even a drop of blood remained. Behind him, the formerly rubble-blocked hallway was perfectly sound and clear, without a bit of gravel out of place. What the hell was going on, here? 

There was a noise, around the corner. Footsteps and voices echoing up the hall. They were coming this way, but it was far too late to find a place to hide. Having no choice, he stood his ground, sword at the ready. Two white-coated scientists turned the corner, looking over a chart and discussing something. 

They walked right past Cloud, like he wasn’t there. So, it was like the last memory. They couldn't see him, because he wasn't really in this time and place. He was only an observer.

Sheathing his sword, he followed the scientists down the hall, in the direction Sephiroth had gone. There were small observation windows in each door. Cloud peered in each one, as he passed.

Monsters, all of them. Twisted and mutated to varying degrees. Some were stitched together from parts of other monsters. Some were chillingly humanoid. 

The scientists had stopped before one of the doors. They were looking in at the specimen in the room and chatting idly about interesting experimental results. Cloud heard one of them say ‘Subject S’ and his stomach turned. The little boy. Child Sephiroth. That was his room. 

Cloud pushed the two men put of the way and he peered in the small window, as they stood there and kept talking, as if nothing had happened.  

Sephiroth’s ten-year-old version was sitting on what appeared to be an oblong metal crate, looking despondently at the floor. His feet were bare and his skinny body was draped in a thin, grey hospital gown. 

“Sephiroth!” Cloud said, banging on the door. 

The boy looked up quickly. Seeing Cloud, his expression turned ecstatic, and he leapt up and ran to the door. “Cloud! Cloud! You came for me!”

“Shut the fuck up in there!” one of the scientists said, smacking the door with his open palm. They both laughed, like it was hilarious to startle and bully a captive child. Cloud wanted to tear their throats out, but he ignored them.

“How do I get you out?” 

“Keycard. They took away my passcode privileges.”

He looked down at the door, and saw the number pad and keycard slider. The two scientists each had a badge with their picture and a microchip, clipped to their coats. Cloud plucked one off and slid it in the reader. After a second, the light flashed green and he heard a bolt click. He pushed the door open. 

Sephiroth’s little arms were flung around him as the boy’s tiny body struck his midsection with enough force to knock the wind out of him. “You’re here, just like you promised! I knew you’d come!” 

Cloud gently pried the child off him and knelt, to get a better look at him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and long, pink lines across his face. Fresh wounds in the process of healing. His arms were covered in more pink lines, plus ugly, purple-black bruises. There was blood under his fingernails. 

“What happened?”

“Fight.”

“Why are you in this specimen paddock?” 

“This is my room.”

Cloud looked around the bare, ugly, six by six cell, worse than the cells in a Shinra prison, and felt his fury boiling up like magma. He took a long breath, then spoke slowly and calmly, to keep it under control. “How can this be your room? There is no bed, no toilet, and nowhere to sit, except this metal crate.”

“This is my bed,” Sephiroth said, looking away, like he was embarrassed. “They give me a blanket at night. Usually.”

Cloud did not have the fortitude to unpack that ‘usually’ without unleashing mass destruction, so he moved past it for now. “Did you find your locket?”

Sephiroth shook his head, tears starting in his eyes. “I can’t find it. Last time I was here, I was wearing it already.”

“You’ve had this memory before?”

“Mn.”

“What happens next?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll protect, you I promise.” 

Sephiroth’s eyes flickered to the door, then away. “I don’t want you to see.”

One of the scientists had gone away, so only the other one was left. At that moment, he came into the room, looking only at Sephiroth, as if Cloud wasn’t there at all. 

“Exam time, Sephiroth,” he said, in a bland, inoffensive voice. 

Sephiroth was ash white and shaking, but his eyes were fierce and hard, pupils dilated to narrow slits, in the blue-green irises.

“I had my exam already,” he said icily.

“This is a different kind of exam.” The man smiled as he shut the door behind him. “I just need to check a few things, today, to make sure you’re developing normally.”

Cloud saw fucking red. “Sephiroth…did he—”

“He tried,” the little demon said, low and toneless. 

The man sat on the metal crate. “Come over here. I don’t bite.”

“No,” the boy snapped, in his unintimidating little voice.

“Come now, Sephiroth. You know what happens, if you don’t cooperate with medical personnel, right?” 

Cloud watched in horror, as Sephiroth hung his head, and went to stand before the man. 

“I didn’t know,” Sephiroth said to Cloud. “I didn’t know to have my guard up, for this kind of thing. But I learned.”

Cloud’s sword was already out, but just as the man tried to lift Sephiroth’s gown, the boy leapt on him, with an inhuman howl. The much bigger man fell to the floor, clutching his torn throat, as crimson blood gushed and spurted all over the stone.

Sephiroth fell upon his supine body, growling and clawing him with his bare hands. He died gurgling pathetically, while the feral wolf cub literally tore him open and disemboweled him. 

Sephiroth, bathed in blood, wild-eyed and white teeth bared, looked up at Cloud and burst into tears. “I didn’t want you to see! I—I didn’t want you to know how bad I am!”

There was a commotion, outside the door. It seemed the man had triggered some kind of emergency system. Alarms blared and red lights flashed. Booted footsteps thundered down the hall. A trooper kicked the door open. There were ten of them, with stun batons and black riot gear. For a ten-year-old child. 

Cloud picked up the sobbing, blood-soaked boy and swung his sword one-handed, blowing the soldiers away like chaff.  

“You’re not bad,” he said, in Sephiroth's ear. “Do you hear me? I’m proud of you, for what you did. I’m so proud of you, for defending yourself. That disgusting filth…he deserved a far worse death than that.” 

Sephiroth wrapped his bruised and bloodied arms around Cloud’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder, as Cloud carried him out of that room, stepping over the bodies of guards. 

“Does the memory end here?” 

“No. The guards beat me with those shock batons till I black out, then I wake up from it. But you killed them all.”

Cloud cursed under his breath (at the guards having beaten a small child unconscious, not at his having killed them all, with which he had no moral qualms, whatsoever).

“Why is it that people can’t see or hear me, but I can affect things?” 

“I don’t know.”

Just then, another troop of guards came storming up, but they ran right past Sephiroth and Cloud, like they didn’t see them. 

“Seems like they can’t see you either, if you diverge from the memory’s path.” 

As they stepped into the T-intersection of the hallways, the world suddenly went inky-black. The boy gave a little whimper, clinging even more tightly to Cloud. 

“It’s ok. I think we woke up,” Cloud said, and summoned his firaga spell again. 

Sure enough, they were back in the dank, disused basement, as it had been before the memory sucked him in. No time had even passed, evidenced by the dead beast's body, which was just beginning to dissolve into sparks of green, to be accepted back into the lifestream.

“What happened?” Sephiroth gasped, looking around wide-eyed. “The hallway…it’s all blocked off with rocks! Is that a behemoth?!”

“It attacked me after you went through the wall,” Cloud explained, as he set him on his feet. “It was suffering. Probably starving. I ended things as quickly as possible.”

Sephiroth lowered his head contritely. “I’m sorry I ran off. I got so eager to find my locket, but it wasn’t there.” 

“Maybe we can still find it. Is there anywhere else you may have left it, or dropped it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sephiroth said, quickly growing distressed. “I can’t remember.” 

“Calm down and think carefully. Where is the last place you saw it?”

Sephiroth’s brows furrowed in thought. Just as they did, Cloud stumbled and his firaga spell winked out, as the entire floor bucked and tilted under their feet. 

“What the hell is happening now!”

He grabbed for Sephiroth, who had been right beside him, but his hand closed on nothing. Suddenly he found himself blinking around, in the grey light of a tumultuous outdoor scene.

A beach. Waves roared and crashed on the shore, and the stormy sea was glowing a sickly green. The ground was shuddering and quaking, as huge fissures opened everywhere, emanating that same green light. It was that island, from those bizarre dreams he had, last night. This must be another memory.

He heard voices and turned, just in time to see a big, blonde man throw a silver-haired boy to the ground. Sephiroth. He was older, now, but not by much. Just a young teenager. Who was this jackass pushing him around? 

“Sephiroth!” Cloud shouted, as the boy got to his feet. 

Sephiroth turned his head, to look in Cloud’s direction. The man grabbed him and threw him to the ground again. He was bellowing about something, but Cloud couldn’t understand what he was saying, over the thundrous cacophony of the waves and earthquakes. 

He dashed toward them. Sephiroth reached for something near his feet. The man kicked it. Cloud watched in slow-motion, as a little silver glint went tumbling through the air, bounced off a rocky crag, and vanished into the massive rent in the earth.

Cold realization shot through him. It was the locket. Cloud told Sephiroth to think about the last time he saw it, and this was the last time he saw it.

The only picture of his mother. The only thing he had, to prove he was a human being, with a person who had cared for him. And that man had thrown the boy to the ground and kicked that irreplaceable treasure into a fissure.  

Cloud’s simmering rage exploded, and his brilliant blue sword-light went arcing toward the man, cutting a deep gash in the rocky ground as it went. The teenaged Sephiroth didn’t even see it. He was staring dazedly after the locket, which had been swallowed into the bowels of the earth. 

The sword light split the blonde man down the middle, cutting the vision apart, causing it to whirl away and vanish, just like the first one had, yesterday. 

Sephiroth was on the floor, sitting halfway up, still gazing away into the pitch darkness, after the locket. Cloud knelt by him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Sephiroth.”

The boy turned his head to look up at him. It was no longer the child, though, it was the teenaged Sephiroth, from that last memory. 

“Cloud,” said his deeper, but still youthful voice. “Am I...dead?”

“Yes. You are,” Cloud answered, as gently as possible.

“Then why…” His voice wavered and he swallowed hard. “Why didn’t I find my mother?”

Cloud cleared his own throat, against the sudden, aching tightness in it. “I don’t know.”

“I always thought, if they’d just let me die, then I’d finally be with my mother. But it’s not like that, at all.” 

A tear rolled down the boy's white cheek. He curled into himself, letting his shaggy, chin-length hair hang over his face. His body was translucent again, and his voice was becoming more fuzzy and indistinct, like a fading radio signal. At the same time, that pain in Cloud’s chest returned with a vengeance, a needle of ice stabbing through his heart.

“I’m alone, in the dark. I’m always hungry. I’m always cold. I’m always afraid. I feel like…I did something terrible. Something to make me deserve this. But I can’t remember what it was. I can’t remember anything I want to, and I can’t escape from the memories I don’t want, when they come. And I can’t leave this house. No matter how hard I try, I can never find my way out.”

“But you did,” Cloud said through his teeth, clenched against the pain, which was worsening by the second. “You came to my cabin, last night.”

“I did. I did, because…you helped me. You showed me the way.” Sephiroth looked up, then gave a start, seeing Cloud clutching his chest. “Cloud, what’s wrong! What’s happening, are you hurt?”

Unable to speak or breathe or even think, Cloud pitched forward. But the instant before his skull struck the stone floor, he felt himself buoyed back up. Something had caught him, and was lifting him to his feet. 

The pain in his chest melted away into soothing warmth. He felt fabric on his face and smelled his own laundry soap, along with something else, underlying it. A faint, aromatic scent, that reminded him of petrichor.

Teenaged Sephiroth was holding him tightly, against his chest. His lean, sinewy body felt solid and real. Rather than being ice cold, it was actually a little above the ambient room temperature. Which still wasn’t all that warm, considering they were in an uninsulated basement in Nibelheim, but it wasn’t so corpselike, as usual. 

Coming abruptly back to himself, Cloud twisted out of his grasp and backed away a step. “Thanks.”

“Does it hurt, here?” Sephiroth asked, laying a hand on his own heart.

“Yeah,” Cloud admitted. “It stopped, but when it hurts, that’s where it is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the hell are you sorry, for? It has nothing to do with you.”

Sephiroth lowered his head and looked wounded. Cloud found he had to suppress a sudden urge to apologize for snapping at him. What was wrong with him? Why was he so concerned with Sephiroth’s deranged ghost’s feelings?

“Why are you older, now?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sephiroth said helplessly. 

“You can’t tell? You’re almost as tall as me. A few minutes ago, you barely came up to my chest.”

“I can’t. I guess, you always seem the same, to me.”

“How do I seem?”

“You’re…Cloud. You’re warm and bright, like morning sun. And you’re so strong. Stronger than anything in the world. Being near you makes me feel safe. Like nothing can hurt me, when you’re there. But…you don’t feel safe. You're in pain. There's so much rage. So much hatred, in you. I think…I think you hate me.”

“You’re wrong.” 

“About what?”

“You’re not the one I hate.” Cloud held his hand out. “Take my hand and don’t let go. Let’s not lose each other again.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY 

next chap

ao3

[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...

[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

[alevens]

"Let me take care of him for now!"

Chapter 487 - "The Insatiable Akainu! Lava Fists Pummel Luffy!"

[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?