#final fantasy headcannons

[icycoldninja]

Fluffcember #7 (Sephiroth x reader)

Fluff headcannons

-Is essentially a sleepy old cat; loves to laze around on your lap whenever he has time. He doesn't get many days off, but when he does, hoo boy. Clear out your schedule and cancel all plans for the day--thou shalt be his living pillow.

-He drapes himself across your lap, often burying his face in your stomach or curls up in your lap like a cat and uses your chest as a headrest.

-Will actually purr if you scratch his head, especially if you get that spot right above his neck. He loves it. He also loves getting forehead kisses as he drifts off to sleep because they make him feel so relaxed.

-Besides cat-like behavior, Sephiroth enjoys spending time with you as a human. He'll put on a movie or TV show and lounge around on the couch with you curled up under his arm.

-Can't cook, but wants to enjoy dinner with you, unlike most of the time when he has to rush through his meals and race off to work. Either he'll assist you in the kitchen (and contribute as much as a 3 year old who really wants to help) or order takeout. Nevertheless, you two end up spending a quiet evening in.

-Another thing he likes to do is squash you with his giant frame and hold you tight; like a kid squeezing their stuffed animal. He loves to hold onto you, breathing in your scent, basking in your warmth, and generally enjoying your presence.

-Despite his tough exterior, Sephiroth is really a playful guy at heart--though he'll only ever reveal this side of him when he's around you, the person he trusts more than anyone else. (Except his mom)

-He'll play games with you, and not just video games. This grown-ass super soldier will 100% play dress up and/or tea party, as well as chase you around the house only to tackle you onto the couch and pin you there while smothering you in kisses.

-Occasionally you'll wake up and find yourself trapped under a strange, thin material that's too dark to be your sheets. Further investigation shows that Sephiroth has slid his nightshirt over your head at some point and has kept you like that for some time.

-On really rare occasions when he's feeling extra cheerful, he'll wake you up by gently slapping you with his wing before picking up a few fallen feathers and using them to tickle your feet. Adorable. ❤️

[breathinginyoursmoke]

The Look of Love (ft. The Rosfield brothers)

"The eyes, chico. They never lie."

-

Clive's gaze could swallow one whole. It's far from timid, yet, at an instant, it's intensity could be yanked as he swiftly pulls his eyes of you. He is a man who is able to control himself, hide in his own thoughts and memories. If complete isolation was the only solution to this problem, he would contemplate it. He's not a naive fool, he knows others could possibly notice the look in his eye whenever it wonders to you voice, to your figure, with absolute passion. You create storms in his heart. It fights with the realistic voice in his head who is screaming to put a stop to this foolishness.

One day, if he finally finds the strength to smite these growing flames, he will. For now, perhaps he's allowed to indulge this once, and find your own gaze.

Joshua's gaze could warm you even on the coldest nights. An almost boyish-like look that appears innocent enough to make even the sturdiest of walls crumble. He finds out a hint of your past, commenting on anything he finds interesting, asking...pondering. He worms his way into your brain and heart with the simplest of words, disguising them as trivial small talk. This isn't malicious, not in the slightest. He's simply aware of how closed off some people in this world are, knows the troubles. It may not look it, but the man's heart is fleeing with joy at the chance to converse with you, his eyes are practically sparkling.

Anyone, especially his elder brother, could tell he's most definitely embraced the arms of love, and wants to spread it to the one who has stolen his heart.

[theladyismyshepard]

Hi there I haven't requested anything here in almost 2 years now and I won't lie I miss it, so if it's alright can I ask for Astarion and shadowhearts separate reaction to the Reader who is a magic user coming from a different world where magic is seen as a disease and those who have control of it are marked with a lightning like mark on their cheek

(Similar to the bearer mark from FF16)

I actually have a dusty old draft that's been collecting 2 years worth of cobwebs and it's a WIP that haunts me every time I see it when I open my drafts... and that just so happened to be a request of yours @adryanscott... so for you? Anything at all. The outline seems a little different, but bear with me

Tags: Mentions of abuse, torment, descriptions of chronic illness, Bearer enslavement canon to FF universe

Will You Be My Final Fantasy?

You were but a child when the magic lying dormant beneath your skin burst forth, crackling at your fingertips and ready to be cast. You were but a child when you yourself was cast away by your own parents, your entire world shifting upside down when you were sold off to the highest bidder. Gaia did not feel too much like home anymore, not when the people you had come to know as family and friends looked upon you with such disdain. The neck-breaking pace of which you had gone from carefree to chained was a shellshock that you were forced to adapt quickly to lest you learn the lesson of just how expendable you really were to your own people. At first, it had cut you so deep down that it pierced your soul.

Once the branding tattoo had marked the flesh of your cheek to signify the power brewing underneath, you were scorned. The people of Gaia thought you to be diseased and more monster than human. They feared your power and what you might be capable of, so they had come up with the idea of the bearer mark. Not only did it act as a red flag to warn others that you possessed natural magic and that you were owned, it dulled your powers in a painful way that left you with a permanent uncomfortable itch just beneath your skin. No amount of scratching or tearing away at the skin of your cheek would bring you relief, and at first, your struggle provided a great source of amusement for your enslavers until you began slacking on the quality of your duties.

As the years gave way to decades, the fiery fury that fueled your desire to see another day had slowly begun dwindling. You felt as if you yourself was an upturned hourglass, and with each grain of sand that flowed with time, your hope for something better faded with it. All you were living for was an end… an end to your torment, an end to your captors, an end to your miserable existence. You weren’t sure if you’d call yourself lucky or not that your Masters demanded back-breaking physical labor from you rather than casting spells at their convenience. With each draw of your magic, you felt a stiffening in your bones that brought with it a deep chill that was impossible to ward off. Maybe you were diseased…

The day had started as any other had in the past couple decades, with you rising in time with the sun to get prepared for a gruesome day of withering yourself away to nothing. As you glanced up to the sky to watch the first peeks of sunlight bleeding into the blanket of night, you couldn’t help the furrow of your brow when you noticed a small tear. Your lips parted, but as you took a step forward for a closer look to assure yourself that you weren’t hallucinating, there was an audible ripping sound as the tear in the sky widened into a large hole. Before you could even feel fear chill the blood in your veins, there was a gigantic ship soaring through, and across the horizon. You had never seen such a horrific-looking vessel that had long, flowing tentacles such as the one overhead at the moment, and your flight instincts kicked you into overdrive as it veered in your direction.

There was no time to register the long, fluid shadow of the tentacle hovering over you before it struck, and all you could do was watch on in horror as your hands began to disintegrate. First, you lost feeling in your fingers before the cracks broke apart your wrists, leaving nothing in its wake. The disintegration process didn’t take long to travel along the lengths of your forearms and up your biceps, and no amount of harsh gasps of air could pull enough breath into your lungs. You were fading fast. As your arms disappeared, you began to choke on the tightness in your chest before ash peppered your tongue and lodged itself along the walls of your throat. With a final gurgle, your eyes disintegrated and darkness enveloped you until there was nothing left.When you had awoken, you discovered yourself in a world where nearly everyone wielded magic. It was a culture shock that left you reeling, and even though you witnessed open displays of magic, even from some of your own party members, with no repercussions involved, you didn’t feel safe enough to expose yourself for what you were.

Shadowheart –

Even as you found yourself drawn towards Shadowheart, and felt yourself relating to the air of mystery (you understood better than anyone the need to bury the past and never let anyone see), you were so traumatized and so used to being seen as an animal to be used until broken that you could not speak the words. You were too fearful of being cast away yet again.

When Shadowheart had kissed you after revealing some of her own memories, you had tasted the bitterness of both the wine and of your own backstory on your tongue. It was the perfect moment to open up to the cleric, especially when you had never seen her eyes look so soft as they did when they gazed upon you at that moment. She had even asked you about your Bearer’s mark…but panic had seized control over any inklings of rationality you had left, and you had mumbled something about “everyone else had one” and “giving into the peer pressure”… The romantic atmosphere didn’t go any further than that, and you were grateful because the tightness in your chest proved too distracting to properly worship Shadowheart’s body. As you learned more and more of Shadowheart and who she affiliated herself with, you gauged other people’s reactions and deduced that her magic was frowned upon by many.

Her head never ducked beneath the weight of heated gazes sent her direction, and she never faltered at barbed words spat at her. You were in awe of how confident and self-assured she seemed in her worship, and you felt the connection between you two surpassing just your ability to relate. You admired Shadowheart to the point where you wanted to be more like her. You wanted to be free… But as you glanced between the woman you had come to care for and the shackled Nightsong, you couldn’t help thinking that Shadowheart was the true one in chains. To give blood, sweat, and tears your entire life and still have to fight through fire for any scraps of approval… it sounded too close to home for you. And if you yourself could never be free of the chains still holding you to Gaia, you would fight like hell to rid Shadowheart of hers.

You knew talking her down would prove challenging, but what you didn’t expect was how easily you had revealed your magic to the indignant woman. It was the accusation of you being clueless and ignorant spat so venomously at you that did you in. What do I know?! What do you know?! And it was the same moment your irritation boiled over that you remembered that she would never know if you refused to say something. Before she could turn her assault back onto the Nightsong, you sent a wave of your worst memories through your connection, and you were so overwhelmed yourself that you didn’t notice Shadowheart falter.

You can smell the leather of bootstraps as your bones snapped beneath heavy stomps. You can feel the sting of your open wounds rubbed with salts. You can hear the mocking laughter as your body writhes in a pool of your own blood. The stench of your boiled flesh was so pungent that you could almost taste it. There was a gnawing hunger that threatened to eat away at your stomach, and after a while, any thought of food would make you sick enough to dry heave. Through it all, there was the constant heartbeat in your cheek where the mark was tattooed. Sometimes you fear that the poison used in crafting the ink had seeped into your very pores and was burning you from the inside out. You were itchy, and so very stiff… And you couldn’t tell anyone. Keep your pain hidden. No one can help you. They’ll all hate you. You’ll be sent ba–

There were hands cradling your face, and the abrupt touch had you jolting out of your memories. Shadowheart was standing before you with tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Concern and anger had flared across your connection as she glanced you up and down, desperately searching you for any lingering wounds or scars. Her eyes stopped on the lightning-shaped mark on your cheek, and you felt her thumb trace the skin below it, too hesitant to cause you additional hurt. You hiccuped as you became emotional at finally revealing the extent of your torment to the woman you loved. Your hands were shaking as you reached up to loosely grasp at her wrists, and she curled one hand around the back of your neck to bring your foreheads together.

“Never again,” Shadowheart swore thickly past her own tears, “No one will ever harm you again, not for this, not for anything…”

Your shoulders shook as an impending panic attack loomed over you.

You were taught to be ashamed of who you were, that you were less of a being and deserved the world’s spite just for being alive. You had watched people just like you call upon their magic one time too many, and the stiffness in their bones overtook them and morphed them completely into stone before withering away to dust. You were afraid of yourself for a very long time, and here this woman stood before you with nothing but love and sorrow on her face. Sorrow for what you had gone through, sorrow that you felt forced to hide from her, sorrow for you thinking you were anything less than perfect. She leaned up to place the gentlest kiss you’ve ever felt on your mark, and butterflies filled your stomach as your heart started racing.

“You have always been magnificent… I love you,” Shadowheart insisted earnestly, both of her hands now holding you close by the back of your neck, “And magic or no magic could make me need you any less, I assure you… Could you ever hate me for my magic?”

“Wh- No!” You rush to insist, but your shoulders deflate as her point reaches you… Maybe it was time to finally let yourself believe that you were really out of that place, and you never had to go back.

“I know what it’s like when something is too hard to let yourself believe… but you’ve helped me to see that there just might be the sweetest of rewards in doing so,” Shadowheart said before capturing your lips in a kiss intended to banish all doubt, and when she pulled away, she finally turned back to the Nightsong with nothing but sympathy in her heart.

You watched on in amazement as Shadowheart broke three sets of chains all at the same time.

— — — — — — — —

Astarion —

Despite the fact that a vampire had threatened to kill you in self-defense and still joined your party, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully open up. Each time his silky smooth words were close enough to reach you, your chest would seize up, keeping any and all secrets trapped within. As the weeks turned into months, you and Astarion had grown closer along the dusty trail. You had helped him to feel safe enough to confide in you about Cazador and the torments he had endured by his Master’s hand. You had felt your own misery and pain bubbling within your vocal chords, just begging to be released and revealed to the vampire. If anyone could understand the years of enslavement you had gone through because of your magic, it would be Astarion.

But throughout decades of cruelty, punishment, and humiliation, the one thing you never learned how to endure was being looked at as if you were something to be treasured rather than exploited. You knew where to cover when the blows started coming, you knew how to disassociate when the hunger set in, you knew what it was like to be more dead on the inside than on the outside… But you didn’t know how to react to any display of affection. How were you supposed to respond? You never quite learned how to convey compassion or how to accept it, and all you could do was curse yourself when you’d notice his shoulders slump the tiniest bit before his signature smirk was back in place to hide his own vulnerability.

But you had seen the smallest glimmer of how truly broken Astarion was, and now that you did, there was no unseeing it. Every sugary drawl, every deflecting answer, every flirtatious banter, it was all a facade, one that always seemed two steps away from crumbling. You wanted to help him, to fill in every fissure of his cracked heart with your presence until the very idea of Cazador was gone from his being, but you still felt too diseased yourself. When your fingers itched to reach out and comfort him when you’d notice the foggy haze of the past clouding over his eyes, you’d instead lift them to scratch at your burning bearer’s mark.

And bless him, Astarion had asked you about the tattoo one night after you had let him feed from you. You two were lying side-by-side as you gazed up into the vast blanket of stars, and there was a comfortable silence between you two that had only been broken by the question. He made no immediate comment even though you knew he felt you tense up next to him and you greatly appreciated it, especially knowing his penchant for starting trouble and watching others flounder in it. Before you could even attempt to think quickly on your feet, his hand had snuck down between your bodies to grab yours, and you were the one linking your fingers, squeezing his grip as the tension left your body. Only when he felt you fully relaxed did he assure you that that sounded like a topic better suited for another time. Your clasped hands never let go, even as you two fell asleep.

When your travels had brought the party to Baldur’s Gate, it was a chaotic mess with people wedged into any and every crevice. There were murderous cultists, sneaky thieves, and Astarion’s “sibling” spawns lurking about. The vampire tried his hardest to appear unaffected by the warnings, and he was successful to those on the outside looking in, but the tadpole connection was a deeper rooted relationship that proved nearly impossible to withdraw from. His emotions were a waged war, going back and forth and back again, and you so badly wanted to reach out and grab his hand to comfort him just as he did for you, but you had the same suspicion that this was a topic better suited for another time.

But you felt it, boy did you feel it through your connection… The same haunting feeling that clung to your bones, the chronic illness that stiffened your joints and left you too restrained in your own body, the horrific notion that you would never really belong to yourself, not ever again. Astarion’s back was rigid the entire way to camp, all traces of his charismatic aura gone. He was on edge, and would remain so forever until his Master was defeated, releasing him from the invisible chains still binding him. The rest of the party knew well enough to give him space (though everyone pretty much had their own problems they were in the middle of overcoming), but you would not leave him to wallow in the burning itch to go forth and rip, tear, kill…

You had the sense to bump up the urgency of seeking out Cazador’s lair and striking him down in Astarion’s name… but if he was as powerful as led to believe, and if there would be a chance of losing each other, that night wouldn’t be for Cazador, it would be for you and your love for Astarion, for him and his love for you. If he required a night of distraction to get him to the impending final showdown the next day, you would offer whatever he needed; If he needed blood, if he needed words, if he needed your body… With each gentle kiss that you placed on his skin, he seemed a little less further away. And as you watched him cum and was immediately brought to your own peak as well, you knew then that you would do anything to free this beautiful man.

You let that thought guide you as Astarion was forced under Cazador’s influence once more. The sight of him entrapped in the red beacon of his Master’s control had petrified you. To reach his full Ascension, Cazador had to absorb the special spawns’ life source, reducing them to a pile of ash, and you were paranoid with each attack he unleashed, each time he opened his mouth, that he would utter the spell to take Astarion away from you. When you could no longer withstand the mental torment, you raised your hand, and watched the magic crackle to life at your fingertips. Your cheek was burning, and you could see from your peripheral that your lightning-shaped mark was glowing, but you didn’t let it dissuade you. You were on a mission to save your lover, and you would use everything in your arsenal to do it, including your magic, even if it crystalized you in the process.

Your party members were thoroughly surprised to see you casting spells, but you couldn’t focus on that, not when Cazador was staggering on bended knee before attempting to rush back to his coffin. As Astarion dropped to the ground, he wasted no time in chasing after to peel the lid away before Cazador could begin healing himself. A weight lifted from your own chest when Astarion drove a dagger through his biggest nightmare over and over until his own sobbing pain began bleeding dry. He was free… and you will be, too…

As you stiffly knelt at Cazador’s dead body, right beside Astarion– always beside Astarion– you cupped his cheek with one hand, and grabbed the back of his neck with the other before bringing him into the sweetest of kisses. You scratched at the hairs at the base of his neck and before you could talk yourself out of it, you released all of your memories through your connection. You felt his gasp on your lips, but you pressed on, he deserved to know your biggest secret considering he shared his with you. He needed to know that you saw him… far deeper that he originally knew. You could taste his tears even after he pulled away.

“Oh darling…” Astarion whispered, his throat raw from screaming himself hoarse while boiling over, “I hate that you understand a little more than others… and I hate that such a beautiful soul like yourself has been bruised so heavily.”

You sagged into him before hugging him tightly. He began petting your hair and cooing praises into your ear, pressing an occasional kiss to your forehead every so often. You eventually craned your neck and caught his lips into a kiss, and if he couldn’t sense the love through it, you made sure to spread the warmth through your tadpole connection. His lips curled into a smile wide enough to break the kiss before he collected himself enough to pepper a handful of quick kisses onto your own bashfully grinning mouth.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me–well…” His eyes momentarily cut down to Cazador’s body before meeting yours unwaveringly. “And I would continue to love you lifetimes after you were gone, only hoping you would return to me again someday.”

He dropped a reverent kiss to the back of your hand, brought you into one last searing kiss, and moved to stand, helping you up as he went. Astarion had a way of making you feel so safe and loved, even when exposing yourself, your body and your secrets. He would always assure you that he has his own skeletons in his closet… but at least they were finely dressed might he add.

[apologrim]

Sora's family in my own headcanon FF8 Squall ( Leonhart ) is the older brother. He's the wolf energy of the 4, calm collected and quite stoic, He's married to Zell. Policeman FF5 Bartz Klauser , The second brother. He has this cheerful almost femenine energy to him. More like a Pomeranian energy. The Bouncer (Call me old LOL) SION BARZAHD, 3rd brother. Between stoic and charming and quite a troublemaker. Loves fighting on the streets and rumor says he is part of a gang. AND SORA, The youngest of the 4. Cute little ray of sun !!! Dating Riku or Roxas depending on my mood HAHAHA Soon to come the Darkness family .... GOSH they all look like different artists drew them and it was me QWQ you can tell i put extra love to bartz <3

[kenziewrites14]

AGSZC their favorite singer/band.

based on what I think is their favorite singer or band!

Angeal: Bon Jovi. His favorite song is Livin' on a Prayer because it makes him get through his day (band).

Genesis: Lady Gaga. His favorite album is The Fame Monster and his favorite song Monster or Alejandro. He blasts her songs through his cheap wire earphones at 7 in the morning (singer).

Sephiroth: Rob Zombie. I have no idea why but I think he would listen to Rob Zombie. Angeal probably recommended him to listen to bands and the first song he listened to was Dragula. He became obsessed with Rob Zombie after that (band).

Zack: Guns N' Roses. Went to a festival with Angeal, and after that immediately knew Guns N' Roses is his favorite band. He loves the song Welcome to the Jungle and dressed up as Slash once for Halloween (band).

Cloud: Hozier. He thinks Hozier his music is beautiful, and started listening to him when he heard Take me to Church. His favorite song is Would That I, it reminds him of Aerith and Nibelheim (singer).

All of these bands and singers are based on my favorite music artists :)

[kadajsbitch]

How they deal with you when you’re emotional:

Final Fantasy VII

Warnings: Language, 18+, talking about mental health

A/n: This is my first time writing for this blog so bear with me. Idk if it’s going to be an active blog, but I got so much FF7 stuff I made and haven’t posted so I’m just going to drop it here lol 💀 hope you enjoy.

Also gifs aren’t mine.

Yazoo:

His answer to seeing you emotional will always be space.

It pisses him off to see you upset but not in a, "Oh my poor baby" way, but more of a "I don't want their ass being moody because that kills my mood, and it's annoying that they can't even calm the fuck down to tell me what's wrong right now." Way… 💀

So in a way he cares... but overall, he just wants things to be “normal” so he can continue on with his usual ways of life peacefully.

Once you calm the hell down, he'll come to you with maybe a tissue and a glass of water (so that your not snorting your own snot every thirty seconds) and he'll ask you what happened.

If your having an emotional outburst due to something like someone pissing you off, or your in physical pain and/or mental pain, he'll go into action to make sure its immediately taken care of ether that be dragging you to a doctor, or taking care of who bothered you.

If it's something having to do with something minor like a movie or book making you cry, then he very much will not be comforting you. You not being able to handle something fictional or even something based on real life (true crime, etc) is your own fault.

Maybe if said book is a work of Non-fiction and it was genuinely fucked up, he might add two cents and validate you on why your pissed but don't expecting him to cuddle and love you, and wipe your tears.

If it has to do with family stuff however, his reactions vary depending on the type of family situation, but he'll definitely try to be more comforting in the sense of not outright leaving you immediately despite it making him uncomfortable.

Kadaj:

Unlike Yazoo who walks away because he's not in the mood to deal with you in your upset state, he walks away because he knows how he gets when he's like this.

The last thing he would want was someone to see him at his lowest, and he feels it'll make you less prone to getting in this state if you don't have someone constantly comforting you.

Doesn't mean he isn't concerned however.

He'll find you after awhile and ask for a detailed explanation as to why you were so upset and like Yazoo, he goes into action.

If it's more on mental or physical side of an issue, he may offer some advice as to what he knows instead of wordlessly getting things set up for you, like Yazoo would.

If it's something minor, he's definitely annoyed but feels better knowing it's not something threatening.

"Why would you watch/read something like that when it clearly states in the description that it's that sort of (movie/show/book, etc)?" He’ll ask, probably rolling his eyes as he does so.

"Don't get anymore of this if your not going to be able to control your emotions."

Again, his reactions would vary depending on the family situations, because he does have some knowledge and experience when it comes to that, but he'd definitely be more comforting.

Loz:

Unlike either of his brothers, he immediately is standing up, looking at you like “what the fuck happened?"

Considering he could give less of a fuck about where and who he gets emotional with, you being upset in front of him doesn't phase him. It's just he wants to know what and/or who made this way.

In a way, he also wants to be there with you while you're in this state because he feels like he's the one who's constantly over emotional in front you, and so to him, it's like an "even" thing when it finally happens.

Not so much even, but he feels more comfortable being emotional when you are considering his brothers are far from emotional unless it's anger they’re displaying.

Surprisingly, he gives good mental advice if it has to do with mental health. Physical is something he'd have to get a second opinion on if that was the case, but regardless he's trying to help.

Uncomfortable with straight up cuddling (as are his brothers 💀), but he'll sit with you in either silence or try to talk to you to help you calm down.

If the reason for your emotional outburst has to do with something media like, he'll probably watch/read it to see if it'll give him that reaction too but most likely not. In that case he’ll probably shrug, a small smirk coming on his face because he can’t help but to feel in a sense more emotionally mature for once, but he’ll refrain from rubbing it in until your calm enough to handle his teasing.

If it's family, then he'll definitely listen and even end up throwing a situation that he's went through that's similar, once you finish and validate you on how your feeling. Overall, out of the three, he’s probably the best choice to talk to.

Bonus:

Sephiroth:

For the sake of this, I’ll be using C.C/Reunion Sephiroth. The remnants are still fairly new, and are adapting which is why I feel like they wouldn’t be out right evil in how they handle people they are acquainted with or have a more personal relationship with’s, emotional outburst.

Sephiroth is tricky when it comes to others having emotional outburst… as a war general, he’s used to seeing the effects of and after battle take toll on people and how they may become mentally vulnerable from it, and because of that he can be very indifferent and can come off a little harsh when he’s “comforting” those around him.

“Control yourself. This won’t be the first time you face obstacles such as these, so there’s no use in crying.”

If this is a situation outside of his usual work element however, he’d definitely feel conflicted on how to proceed.

Like his two other counterparts, I feel he’d separate himself from them due to randomly being thrown in this position. More so to keep himself calm.

I mean if we look back at C.C, he seemed fairly uncomfortable with Zack getting upset about the situation at hand, despite it being a dire one. So he’d definitely be further unraveled by someone having an outburst about something he may view as minuscule.

If it’s something having to do with someone bothering you, he’d have a quick reaction.

“Consider it taken care of.” He’d say stiffly, before hightailing it away from you to deal with whoever it was, hoping by the time he returned to brief you on what happened, you’d be more stable.

If it was mental or physical, like Kadaj he’d offer some advice on what he knew, but would ultimately do the more rational thing and suggest you speak to a doctor and/or therapist for your problems.

Again, going off from what we saw, C.C Sephiroth isn’t someone who really likes to be touched (despite him being so handsy in the remake 💀) so don’t be expecting a hug or for him to hold you or anything.

One time, a cadet was upset and he tried to force himself to do something other than stiffly telling them to get over it… he awkwardly held his hand out, and patted them… on the head.

While it did stop them from crying, the looks he got from those around him definitely made him reconsider ever offering physical comfort again. (He was trying though 😭)

If it’s something having to do with media, whether it be fictional or not, he’d simply shrug and tell you not read/watch those things if you couldn’t stomach it.

Family isn’t something he really has a grasp on, but he knows it’s important, and for your sake will try to listen and give his thoughts as best as he can for the sake of comfort.

[andywinter16]

Random headcannons for FFXV in general, because I would love to know more about it, and there is not enough info for my gremlin brain.

Galadh:

- I kinda see clan Lazarus like those who deal with foreign policy. Also lot of Lazaruses married non-galadhian, they just loves other cultures. (They are still loyal to Galadh)

- Galadh is in my opinion similiar to the Greek islands. Mainly few big ones and then lot of small ones. There is a definitively volcano. 

- Galadh is also known for its natural hot springs. Glaives definitively were chilling there.

- Galadh officially worships Astrals, Ramuh and Leviathan are the main protectors. There is also a very strong bond with the ancestors.

- Clans have totem animals. (Ulrics have coeurl, Arras have sabertusk, Ostiums have kujata, ...)  

- A beautiful legend is attached to it´s origin. Once upon a time, during a great disaster, there were a few animals that went to help humans to survive it. But in the process they have died themselves. Their human friends wheeped to Astrals about this woe. They heard their plea and united the man with the animal.

Random:

- Regis remembers all names and faces of his employes 

- Clarus hair fell out during stress from both of his idiots. The idiots in question are Regis and Cor

- Cor and Titus are actually good friends who are little shits together  (Glaives and guards are dreading those days when two of them are together)

- There is annual boot camp where glaives and guards measure their forces 

- Luche either doesn´t sleep at all or is having short power naps during day. He´s got nightmares about Galadh and his fallen comrades.

- Nyx hair and beard grows super fast, he needs to shave it at least every three days. He tries to shave it when deployed, but Nyx just gave up after that.

- Tredd´s got younger brother who is still in Galadh. Their relationship is sadly very complicated. But Tredd always sends him a birthday card nonethless.

- Axis is great at bargaining prices at the market, also always picks the juiciest vegetables/fruits. (I believe this is some kind of superpower)

- Sonitus has sharp teeth (they looks like shark ones), he can open cans with it or beers. 

- Pelna plays exceptionaly guitar and ukulele. Sometimes brings it to Yamachang for a spin.

- Libertus is suprisingly good singer when he gets little bit of alcohol into his system. Everyone always shut up and listens when Lib starts to sing. (Usually galadh tunes)

- Crowe loves to go on night ride with her motorcycle. Has favourite spot where she can see whole Insomnia. Usually sends gang a random photos she took on the way.

- Titus favourite place to relax is at top of Citadel at night. The night sky is breathtaking. He usually brings some alcohol to drink his sorrows and regrets away.

[cypreus-and-willow]

I forgot I had this. Holy moly.

Was just digging thru my sketchbook. I have heaps of Final Fantasy drawings but they're all on paper.

[lightparty-fullparty]

There's two NPC's I think Zenos would have formed something of an actual friendship with if he had the opportunity to meet/fight them:

1. Estinien Wrymblood - He's the Azura Dragoon, and honestly, enough of a broody, stabby bastard that I think the two would have entire silent conversations where they just nod a few times. Also, Estinien is depicted several times post heavensward as being WoL levels of strong. Please remember when he exploded those Castrums all by himself with just a pointy stick.

2. Sadu Dothral - Honestly, all of the Dothral and a good chunk of the other Xaela tribes too. They have such similar philosophies about battle and life. I really think Sadu would a) hold her own against him and b) help to add nuance and deeper meaning to Zenos's view on chasing that one transendant moment at the very peak of battle.

Anyways I've been replaying Stormblood on an alt and it's really stuck out to me just how common the "find meaning and joy in tough fights" philosophy is through the game. Ishgard has it too, what with Halone being the War Goddess and all. It's just a bit more shrouded in French Catholicism where the Dothral get to have a who manefesto speech when you meet them first.

[icycoldninja]

Dating Sephiroth headcannons

-Sephiroth is the kind of person to ignore you completely at times, and at other times, scoop you into his arms and just hold you there without saying anything.

-He can be very cold and doesn't always tell you he loves you, but he does. Inside, he's the most devoted man on earth and will do absolutely anything for you, before and after his mental breakdown.

-Though he'll never say it outright, he loves you with all his heart; you are the dearest person in the world to him, the only woman he loves more is Jenova. If you asked him to kill for you, he most certainly would. You two but especially you are his goddesses.

-Takes the time to visit you multiple times a day, every day, even if nothing interesting happens. To him, nothing is more important than spending time with his beloved.

-Nicknames (which are rarely used) for you are: Princess, baby, darling, little dove, my love, and fluffpuff.

-Concerning the origin of "fluffpuff", it all began when he purchased a huge, extrmely fluffy baby chocobo onesie for you. Once you put it on, you might as well have been a walking blanket. It was so adorable, his heart melted and the nickname "fluffpuff" was born.

-Loves to do beauty days with you, especially after a long day at work. He's a big strong soldier man, but at the same time, a cute soft boy. He needs some pampering in his life, give it to him.

-Cuddling you is one of his favorite ways to de-stress. He loves to curl himself up around you and just sit there in silence, enjoying your company and relaxing. He also likes lying on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, while you play with his hair.

-Poor boy gets frequent night terrors and needs a lot of comforting kisses after waking up in a terrified, cold sweat. He does get a bit cold and bristly after such events, so do be gentle. Wrap him up in your arms, kiss his cheeks, forehead, lips, all over, just make him feel loved.

-Sephiroth's like a scared cat most of the time; you need to be gentle and coax him out of his shell. Then he'll start opening up to you and confide in you--some of his secrets can be very dark, but getting them off his chest is a huge help to his mental health.

-Speaking of mental health, as we know, he's not exactly in his right mind. He can be unstable and a little violent, though he would never hurt you. He'd throw things, he'd break things, he'd yell and scream, but he'd never actually hurt you--a sign of how much he loves you.

-If you can mange to calm him down during his tantrums, he'll love you all the more. You are the most precious thing to him; anything you do for him is viewed as a blessing. ❤️

[4ngelickisses]

Tending their injuries

Noctis Lucis Caelum

Hissing in pain, NOCTIS could only think about how stupid he probably looks right now. Just your nagging is making his head throb more. Shaking his head, he told you that he was okay and you didn't need to worry about him. But secretly, he enjoys your attention.

Prompto Argentum

Chuckling, PROMPTO nervously avert his eyes. Not wanting you to scold him for being careless, he pecked your lips before catching up with his friends. Thinking about how thankful that he has you as his S/O.

[holly-fixation]

One Winged Feathers are EVERYWHERE

Sephiroth's wing appears before the events of Crisis Core and Degradation. Meaning this workaholic is confused, he is frustrated, he has MORE PROBLEMS, and so help him if he sees another feather…

Please Enjoy! 

A lot of weird things happened to him throughout his life. He certainly wasn’t normal, his appearance, his strength, his natural abilities, his trained abilities. He was special, in some way. He always knew his was a special existence. He wasn’t raised the same as others, not even his closest friends. He didn't have time for pointless hobbies, and barely made any time anymore to read and relax. When was the last time he relaxed? Even after Wutai surrendered, there was far too much work to be done to waste his time at parties and celebrations with the people of this company, and his only friends were still dealing with the stragglers of the war.

Of course, even now, he didn't have a solid answer on when he last did something for him. Angeal had his new apprentice and always had a knack for teaching others, which was the only reason he seemed to be stationed nearby. Genesis went to multiple showings of Loveless with multiple different men and women, and various other activities with said men and women when he wasn’t filling out reports or on more straggler missions in Wutai. Gods help the people he forced to listen to his editorials on Loveless. 

Sephiroth spent his time at his desk, going through multiple reports and assessments and assignments and anything requiring completion. What else was he supposed to do with the time to himself? There was always more work to be done. And he swore to himself that once he finished everything, and he literally meant everything, he would take a break. The higher-ups loved it, the speed and efficiency with which he returned necessary paperwork. It kept everything running smoothly.

But how long could he keep this up? 

Well, his body decided that for him. 

He shot up at the angry buzzing of his phone and immediately turned off his alarm. Even after so many years, the slightest sound shocked him out of bed. He couldn’t waste a moment of the day. He flopped down and groaned, his groggy brain still swimming to the surface of the waking world. He slowly slid his arm from under the pillow and tried to remove the remaining sheet from the previous night, except it was nowhere to be found. That was odd. And he slept on his stomach? His eyes fluttered heavily before he rubbed them and tried to get a grip on his surroundings. He only woke up on his stomach when he had nightmares. Not every time, but enough to notice a pattern. 

It was zero-five-hundred. The closed curtains of his window only blocked the green glow of the mako reactors and the tiny shining lights of the city below, no morning sun to compete with. The mischievous weak beam between the incomplete connection of the cloth did very little to illuminate the room, even with his supernatural eyes. With one frustrated inhale, he forced himself to the side of the bed, placing his feet on the ground before he turned on the light. 

What the hell…?

The room was littered in these large black feathers he never saw before. On the floor, on his sheets, on his nightstand, stuck on the curtains, sticking out of the lamp, cluttered by an air duct, a few floating along the stream of the vent, lining the doors of his closet, bathroom, and hallway.  Did someone break in? Did some thing break in? Was this another prank by Genesis that Angeal couldn’t talk him out of? That idea quickly quieted as he caught a glimpse of something dark over his right shoulder and immediately turned his torso to follow it, but it moved, and stayed at the same angle. Then he slowly turned his head, his brows completely crossed in confusion at the sight before him. 

It was a massive black wing. Its joint was at least half a foot above his head, and it nearly arched around him completely to the ground, every inch of it covered in feathers organized from smallest at the joint and largest at the end. 

At first, he tried to take it off like a uniform accessory, convinced it was a prank and maybe some really good glue. But he felt the grab, exactly where it was along the limb. The same way he would feel a hand on his arm. He tried to tug, and felt the pull from within his shoulder, reaching down the back of multiple ribs. 

…This can’t be happening. Was this really happening? 

This didn’t make any sense. If this was something he always had, Hojo would’ve ripped it out of him. If this was something the bastard implanted before Sephiroth could remember, he would at least have some memory of being forced to use it. Was this a curse? Some weird magic at play? An attack? A second puberty? These were the explanations he came up with that didn’t lead him to his darkest thoughts… Was he always this… monster…?

No. This didn’t make him a monster, but he still couldn’t believe this. And he obviously shouldn’t be seen while this situation was happening. For now, he grabbed his phone and canceled his reservation at the training room that morning. He needed to deal with this. He pushed himself off the bed, the large flight feathers brushing the sheet softly as he took his first stride. 

Pushing the bathroom door open and flicking the light without thinking, Sephiroth’s new limb smacked into something and he stumbled back in response. Glancing up, he saw the offending object. The doorway. Good to know how difficult this was going to be today. Hopefully only today. He placed his hands on the counter and stared into his new reflection. With the new angle, he clearly saw what he was plagued with. Despite all of his rapid thoughts, his darkest internal turmoil, it looked… nice. Almost. If he had two white wings instead of one black, would he be an angel? How many white wings did it take to be an angel?

He shook away the thought and glared into the offending mirror, his body tense with sharp thought and analysis. And the wing acted as the rest of him did, the end feathers curling and spreading like claws with only the joint tightening, tilted and threatening, all but puffing like a cornered animal. Noticing this, he forced himself to relax, or at very least his body to relax, releasing the tension in his glare and his grip. Thus the wing followed, delicately resting behind him with ebony feathers caressed and layered. Then he took a step back and quickly extended his arms in a basic stretch. 

Bad idea. The wing expanded to its full length with the same speed and slammed into the doorway again. He felt the impact, and jerked back, although he didn’t feel any pain. When he tensed subconsciously in surprise, which forced the feathery limb back behind him, he saw the dent and deformity that the wing just jammed into the molding of the entrance, loose feathers crushed and implanted to the damage.

He added that to the list of things he’d be fixing when he got rid of this thing.

…or maybe got control of it. Whichever came first. 

So it really was a part of him. 

Sephiroth sighed. Of all the things he needed to do today, this was not on the agenda, neither was the maintenance that came with it. He realized this as an inch-long feather-down slowly floated in front of his face, its form soft and delicate rather than the sturdy feathers of the end of the wing. This would be a lot easier if the wing was not proportional to his body. He’d deal with a stupid tiny wing if he could hide it under his jacket, rather than this massive appendage that stuck out like a piece of dark chocolate in a bowl of rice. 

Holding his head in his hands, he groaned, before glancing at the silver shower head. Maybe if it was washed, it wouldn’t shed so much. His room was already a mess, and he preferred containing them rather than plucking them out of his kitchen and living room. Though he couldn’t recall the last time he used either of them. ‘Peacetime’ did not mean less work for this soldier. 

He turned on the water with a twist of a valve and removed his clothes as he waited for the water to heat. Thankfully, he only slept in pants and underwear, otherwise this wing may have torn a hole through whatever shirt was on his back. At least that explained why his sheet was nowhere to be found when he woke up this morning. He stepped into the shower, ducking under the sliding doorway to allow the wing safe passage. Though the water did not reach the tip of the wing, he decided to at least wash up, since he was already here, and worry about it in a minute. But as he washed his hair, he crossed his brows at the avian limb. 

How did people clean wings? Or feathers in general? Would shampoo or conditioner work? Should he use bar soap instead? He used to have a veterinarian book on all types of avian creatures when he was very young, but most of the lessons faded from his mind over a decade ago. If he was lucky, maybe he’d still have it? Or he could just use the Shintranet, the obvious path of least resistance. For now, knowing nothing for the care of neither birds nor feathers, he only ruffled the pattern of his wing with his hands and soaked it under the water, trying to expose and remove as many of the weak willed plumes as possible. It seemed to be working, the feather down of the plums along the movable joint small enough to wash down the drain, while the large rigid feathers collected around the drain. Because of course they would collect on the drain instead of making his life any easier. Especially because his only option to rinse the entire wing required kneeling in the running water. He guessed it could be worse. It just felt odd, his knees on wet feathers and the tail of the limb brushing the puddles on the floor. 

Finally, no more feathers seemed to fall out of the wing. He sighed in relief before turning off the water and grabbing his towel. He heard another thunk and felt another impact. The shower head. With a frustrated sigh, he dried himself off, and dabbed the wing dry to the best of his ability, before hanging up the cloth, and glaring at the spots of black fuzz attached to it. So the shower either barely worked, or these were just the last few stragglers. He hoped for the latter. 

Now he could get back and clean his room. He'd deal with the drain later, right now his absolute bird's nest of a room was at the top of his apartment restoration list. Though it was short for now, he could only envision it growing with more and more inconveniences caused by this sudden appearance.

* * * 

It’s zero-seven-thirty. He can’t lie to himself anymore. He can’t leave this apartment until he either gets control of or rid of this wing. He just finished cleaning the feathers in his room, his kitchen garbage completely full of the offending black quills. And even now, he’s finding new ones falling loosely from the wing. He hadn’t even touched his drain yet. Gods, he did not want to do this, but this sudden limb gave him no choice. 

He took out his tablet from his nightstand, and opened up his email app. His bright sky-blue eyes glared at his own reflection on the screen, the dark bags and pale skin of exhaustion increasingly visible. The shower did nothing to assuage the frustrating development of increased exhaustion. 

Now he sat there on his bed and stared at the new email box he had yet to write in, the only filled out section being who the composition would be sent to. If he played his cards wrong, R&D would be at his door in fifteen minutes. If he ignored them, he had no doubt Hojo would materialize in his apartment like a damned ghost without the slightest inkling of respect for his personal space. So sickness was absolutely the incorrect description of what was happening to him. Whatever his excuse, mentioning any kind of physical ailment was out of the question. 

So what about mental? Hojo sure as hell did not care about his psychological health. What was the name of those days people used to leave for long periods of time? Leave? No, leave was a military request for this kind of break. Vacation? Vacation days. Nope, that wasn’t exactly the term he was thinking of but it was close enough to the desired goal. It wasn’t an extended duration away from work, it was only a little. As he wrote the email requesting the day off, it finally hit him. Angeal always told him to take a 'mental health day', and Lazard was always on board with the idea, even if he himself was completely against the idea of taking an unscheduled day to himself, leaving his work behind and possibly delaying someone else’s as a result. But now, desperate times called for desperate measures. He sent the email and laid back on the covers, hoping for relief and staring at the pure white ceiling in silent thought. Then, surprisingly, he heard a bloop from the tablet. With a silent groan, he sat back up and looked at the message. 

Sephiroth,

You were logged into your work account until 0130 for the past week. Are you insane? Of course you can have a mental health day. In fact, take 3. You’re a week ahead of your expected workload and if I see you log in from any device, I will kick you out on my end. Understood, soldier?

Get some rest, 

Director Lazard 

Damn it. He only needed a day to get this under control. Hopefully. He couldn’t touch his work without his account or, at the very most, his desk. But right now, he needed to focus on getting control of this magically appearing limb. He glanced back at it in frustration before looking ahead to the door, and spotting one, single, delicate feather descend with all the grace in the world, gliding back and forth like a pendulum until it landed on the bed of the room he just cleaned. 

He never wanted to set anything on fire more than these infuriating feathers even if it meant burning this entire building in the flames of the Phoenix right now. 

He left the room and ducked under the doorway to prevent another impact as he made his way to his small kitchen. He knew he needed to eat at some point today and took a protein shake out of the fridge. At very least, it lessened the danger of cooking on the stove and having this new limb fry. He honestly wouldn’t mind the wing, without the feathers, if he could control it. 

After finishing his quick meal, he went to his living room and proceeded to move all of the furniture to the walls. He pushed the couch against the window, flipped the cushioned chair over to fit against the couch in an upside-down L shape, turned the coffee table on its side and placed it against the wall. The only thing he couldn't move was the fan above him. So he moved his kitchen table and chairs against the windows as well to give himself as much space as possible. Finally, he grabbed the Masamune off its mount on the wall. Now he only needed to use the space. 

He needed control of his wing. 

* * * 

Four hours later, he determined the connection between the avian limb and his emotions. Though he was nearly a master of concealing the outward responses to his feelings, this wing clearly did not care. In frustration, it curled its joint forward and end feathers extended behind him like a shield over his arm. However, that extension was prone to hitting literally anything on a table behind him. When he grew to silent anger, it grew, extended like a cornered beast, intimidating its enemy. His second determination, and quite honestly the only good thing about this limb, was its instinctual and perfect adaptation to battle. Going through his old training regimen, running the basics of swordplay defenses and offenses, the wing had an unnatural ability of incredible adaptation. It adjusted his center of gravity for better balance with more complicated maneuvers, it curled around him in protection of an oncoming attack, it seemed to extend and contract in perfect harmony with his movements, and amazingly it avoided every obstacle around it. 

Only in battle. Everything else he tested was all but a nightmare. He made multiple new dents in the ceiling and one in the wall. By the grace of the gods, he missed the fan and the light bulbs it held. Not to mention the ever growing pile of black feathers along the walls and carpet. The dents had to come first. They would be a decent break from the diminishing returns of his makeshift training area. 

He found the spackle in the very back of his cleaning cabinet under the kitchen sink and got to work, spreading the rough filler into every dent in the walls, ceiling, and even some of the doorways caused by this new limb, including the dents he caused as he was going around filling them. He figured, since he finally took the tools out, he should fill the nail holes in his room as well, which used to hold various awards for his efforts on the battlefield, but he honestly wanted it plane again, feeling as though the honors were a relic of the past already. Like everything, he flattened the compound to perfection, with the fewest accidental scrapes he could manage. This also meant it took time. Diligent, dedicated, detailed time. 

When he finally filled the last hole in his living room, he sighed in what should have been relief, but felt like exhaustion. What time was it? It had to be somewhere around early afternoon. He tried to glance at the clock, but he couldn’t read it from his current angle, working to take a step forward when his vision was slowly blocked with…black feathers, and quickly full darkness as the fluffy limb entrapped him completely. He didn’t even know it was large enough to do that, bend this far in front of him and let alone cross his body, twice, completely curling around him. Wasn’t it supposed to stay behind him? He found nearly his entire body covered with the delicate pressure of the peaceful feathers into a blanket like wrapping.

It felt so…so nice. 

And comforting, and warm, and soft, and safe. The wing soothed him like a siren’s song, holding him deep in its embrace, tightening with the gentleness of a weighted blanket. He felt another exhale leave his lips as his lashes began falling closed, his mouth remaining parted as his body following suit by relaxing on its own. His shoulders fell, a small slouch as his posture gave in to the kind feeling, every muscle in his body relaxing. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to stay like this. He was so wrong, this was by far the best trait of this wing. It felt so serene, so tranquil. His entire being began loosening entirely, instinctually. Even his knees felt amazingly weak, nearly buckling and dropping his body to finally succumb to this beautiful sleepiness. 

…sleepiness?

Only when the putty knife of the spackle slipped out of his completely slacken hand did he realize what was happening. This newly born limb was trying to put him to sleep, like a child, pacifying him with the rest he refused to indulge at such an early time of day. How rude. Usually such a phrase would be reserved for his red headed friend, but that was honestly how he felt about this limb’s insistence. He still had things to do. Hell, he’d make something to do if it made this wing wasted day have some efficient purpose. He understood rest was important, to an extent, even if he did not practice as such. He heard enough of it from his raven haired friend, who honestly acted with such overwhelming responsibility in every situation. 

First, he forced his hands to respond by clenching his fingers, breaking the spell with each curve of a digit. He could do this, he told himself as he fought his eyes open and trudged through the welcoming cloudiness that amplified in his mind. Nothing would tell him when to rest. Forcing his stance to tighten, he tensed every part of his body, trying to get it to copy and move behind him as it did in the mirror. No luck, however. It remained completely still, suddenly strong against his will. Then he moved his arms and began pushing the black limb, trying to pry it open to at least let light return to his eyes. But it only adjusted in response, tightening slightly as it brushed even more of his body with its accursed, alleviating plumes. 

Oh, this was a battle he wasn’t going to win, wasn’t it? 

He felt his eyes roll back from the tempting tranquility, his lids fluttering, his hands and arms threatening to rest at his sides. He shook his head to rid himself of the sensation, and tried again, tried to fight this stupid situation. But it was like pushing against his own arm, or leg, battling the only person on this planet that could overpower him. 

Himself. Apparently. Overpowering himself was another damn problem of this wing. He shoved again, but this time his hands slipped, gliding down the inside feathers that blocked his vision with the last of his control, refusing to resurface. Was this damn thing casting a sleep spell on him? Could this limb even do that? That wouldn’t work anyway. His resistance to Sealing magic was far too high. Yet he had to admit he wasn’t going to win this. At very least, his body didn’t have the power to resist much longer. With the last of his will, he slowly lowered his tired body, aiming for the couch but only getting a thunk and soft impact to the unfeeling limb in return. The chair, he realized as he laid on what could only be the floor, yet he could only feel the wing, blocked him from landing on the cushions. 

Though, now completely at the mercy of the wing, he couldn’t deny how it drained his stubbornness. He was so…so tired. He could not repel the comfort given by this new limb, even though he logically knew he was laying on the floor. It adjusted him again, this time giving him a place to rest his head like a pillow. The feathers and embrace submerged him in the most comfort he ever felt in his life. The finest mattress with silken sheets of fifty-thousand threads and a blanket of feather down from the mythical golden chocobo were powerless among this single ebony wing. 

Perfect… he thought as his sky blue eyes finally gave way to the welcoming darkness of rest, sleep flooding his mind and body as his dam of resistance finally broke. Somewhere in the very back of his mind did he realize his body had literally chosen this necessary rest for him, as he failed to fend off the ever present embrace of the warm wing. Maybe if he indulged its request, it would go back to where it came from. But that final thought was nothing more than a breathy whisper as he fell to the whims of the demanding wing. 

…

It was peaceful, the small movement of his body accompanied by a soft exhale as he stirred. He subconsciously tried to adjust the covers, to pull what he thought was a blanket tighter around him, but he couldn’t find the edge of the fabric, his hand wrapping around an individual lock of… hair? No… a plume of feathers. It all hit him at once, the memory of the wing and the problems it caused behind his closed eyes. Though he had to accept, this was the best rest he’d gotten in a very long time. Before he even dared move again, he felt the wing unwrap, slowly revealing the cold air of his apartment, yet his body remained on the feathers. His eyes opened sluggishly, but after a few blinks to clear his vision, he felt lighter, so much lighter, despite the dark room around him, only illuminated by the mako green glow of the city’s reactors from the ceiling to floor windows. 

What time was it? 

He turned from the wing, that spread across the floor as a mat, to his back. Thankfully, since the wing didn’t respond to any pain, he only felt the flight discomfort of the joint pressing into his back and shoulder. He pushed himself up and brushed off the small feathers that remained, though not nearly as much as he expected from being wrapped in it. Now finally on his feet again, he looked at the clock on the microwave. 

Zero-four-thirty. 4:30am. 

He slept. For at least. Sixteen hours. 

Oh he bit down the groan that threatened to come forth, lucky a headache didn’t immediately follow, but the wing flared in his silent anger. That’s it. He wasted an entire day. He was supposed to have more control over this limb by now but all he knew was its usefulness in battle, it reacted to every one of his emotions, it’s too strong to his own detriment, wrapping it around him is the perfect position for sleep, and it sheds way too much. 

No more nonsense. He needed control. He needed it gone. He’d spend the entirety of his remaining days off if he must. If he felt diminishing returns, he would clean the feathers until his mind was clear again. He was well rested, thanks to it, and now it was time he returned the favor. 

* * * 

Knock knock knock. 

He jumped to battle stance at the sound as he glared at his front door. Who the hell was that? Did Lazard rat him out to R&D? If he saw a single lab coat, he’d take his chances out one of his windows. 

“Sephiroth?” the voice of his raven haired friend demanded from behind the door, breaking him out of his desperate train of thoughts. “Sephiroth, what happened? Are you alright?”

How the hell did he find out? How did he know to come here?! They were supposed to have work! They didn’t even have the same days off! He was panicking, his breathing already increased in speed. He absolutely could not let them inside. He dashed to the door, moving with the silence of a cat, forcing his wing to curl over his shoulder and press against the entrance as a barricade. 

“Lazard told us you were 'staying in and getting some rest',” his redheaded friend mocked in the Director’s tone and pattern of speaking. So that’s how. They asked Lazard directly. “We know that’s a lie. What happened?”

Crap. They were onto him. How was he supposed to respond? He couldn’t explain the wing. He didn’t understand it himself. Gods, he knew he was bad at this, but his only option was to play dumb. He forced his tone back to its normal lack of emotion, and tried to drown the panic in his veins, the wing spreading along the door like a shield. “Nothing. I heeded Angeal's advice and took a day to myself. Why-”

“That’s bullshit,” Genesis countered, and he tensed in response. “When have you ever taken Angeal's advice?”

“Hey,” Angeal warned the redhead. Good, their attention was off of himself, he could think of a better excuse with the time. “He takes my advice. Just not about taking a break.”

Not as much time as he hoped, so he doubled down. “Well,” this technically didn’t need to be a lie, “you always warned me if I did not take a break, my body would take one for me.”

He heard both of their breaths hitch. 

“Sephiroth, open the door right now,” Genesis spat in one breath, taking a step back from the door in preparation. A battle stance.

Well, that did not alleviate their concern in the slightest. 

“What the-?” He heard slight shuffling and something light drag under the entrance- oh gods not another-

“...where did that feather come from?” Angeal nearly mumbled. 

But Genesis was now more concerned and locked on target. “Sephiroth, open the door or I will break it down.” He was serious. He was so serious, Sephiroth saw the red glow of fire magic under the doorway. 

“Genesis, do not burn my door down.”

“Open it,” He challenged immediately. 

“Genesis,” Sephiroth called in a softer tone. “I am fine, and I’m perfectly healthy-”

“You wouldn’t take two days off unless you were physically dying.”

Fair point. Again, he found himself telling a half truth, “I slept sixteen hours yesterday.” That fact still embarrassed him, the slightest sliver of guilt slipped through his tone. “So I stopped ignoring my body, and took another day.”

A skeptical silence passed between them. 

“Even if we did believe that,” Angeal started, accusation dripping from his tone, “What’s with the feathers under your door?”

Oh gods, was there more than one?! “I…” He tried to find an excuse, stumbling through his mind for any possible explanation and the only thing that sprung forth fast enough was- “I got a black chocobo chick…?”

…

Sephiroth winced at the pause and felt his traitorous tongue continue, “As an 'emotional support animal'...?”

Silence.

He wanted to face palm. That was the worst excuse he’d ever had. Even Angeal’s juvenile apprentice had better lies than that. He wanted them to call him out, to berate him for his lies. But they didn’t. They made him sit there in his own thoughts, a much worse fate than their words. There was no choice but to surrender his act, for the sake of himself, his friends, and his door. “Alright…” no more 'bullshit', as Genesis put it. “I’m opening the door. Slowly.” He already felt the tension in their conversation lessen, and his wing turned down in surrender. “Do not say anything until I close the door behind you. Understood?”

“Yes,” Genesis practically spat, releasing the ball of flames, which dimmed the light below the door. 

“Of course. Whatever you need,” Angeal spoke kindly. 

He took a deep breath and tried to curl the wing behind the door, crouching behind it in order to do so. He didn’t want to do this, but he needed all his walls intact right now. He needed to hide. He needed to disappear until he handled this. Slowly, the handle of the door turned.

To the other Firsts, it was like a ghost opened the door, Sephiroth nowhere to be seen but his apartment an absolute disaster. All of his furniture was shoved to the walls, there were holes and dents in the ceiling, black feathers were absolutely everywhere. Maybe he did buy a chocobo chick. Still, they obeyed his wish and said nothing as they entered, except for Genesis’s slight mumble that was absolutely 'what in the hell…?'

Then Sephiroth closed the door, and at the sound of the click and slam, locked both of their eyes on him. His snake-like eyes refused to meet theirs, refused to see their reactions as he stared at the ground, his bangs blocking their gazes. He didn’t know what they were thinking. He didn’t want to know what they were doing. He hated this. He hated his fear and vulnerability. He felt stupid. He felt fragile. He felt like glass.

Then there was more burning silence as their eyes burned holes into him. He tensed, raising his shoulders ever so slightly in fear and loss of control, but the wing again betrayed his true emotions and wrapped around his body like a shield. It wasn’t the same as his sleep. He could still see his friends, if they even still had that title for him, and his face and shoulders were still exposed. He didn't want to move. He wanted to crawl into a hole until this entire situation left him. 

Then footsteps clacked against the floor, but he still refused to look toward them. Only when he felt a hand on the wing did his cowering finally lessen, and he instinctively looked up at the person like an injured puppy. 

And Genesis met his gaze, his soft expression unreadable as it moved between his friend and trailing the edge of the new black limb. Then he locked eyes with the other First and spoke calmly, “Did it hurt…?”

It surprised him. Of everything he expected to hear from them, that wasn’t on his list. But there was something hidden in that sentence, maybe not intentional at first but absolutely there. He forced the slightest suspicious squint at the older man, whose mouth twitched with a hidden smirk. Oh gods what was he thinking?

“...When you fell from Heaven?” Genesis couldn’t even make it through the fake question without a mischievous grin claiming his face, his eyes squinting with a genuine smile. He stared at his friend in challenge, extremely curious as to how he would respond. 

Then it was silent again as they processed his words, Angeal mumbling in the softest, annoyed tone, “Oh my gods…”

And Sephiroth, to everyone’s surprise, closed his eyes, turned away to hide under his bangs, and laughed. Laughed hard. The real, infectious laugh that spread like a plague through the apartment. How Genesis, of all people, knew how to completely shatter the tension in the room was completely beyond them. Sephiroth held his sides; he was laughing so hard, and that only made it worse for the rest of them. Angeal had his head in his palm in disappointment but he was also contributing to the noise whether he liked it or not. Genesis was all but howling with laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. He couldn’t resist. It was too perfect a set up. They stayed like that until the spell finally wore off, their collective sighs claiming the room, and the wing released Sephiroth and rested comfortably at his back. 

For Sephiroth, that stupid joke of a pickup line was all he needed to hear to know they didn’t reject him for this. They wouldn’t leave. They wouldn’t attack. He was human. He was still like them. 

“Seriously, though,” Genesis finally regained his self control and a caring expression claimed his face, to the best of his ability through his previous joy. “Did it hurt? Does it hurt? Because last I checked, this,” He gripped some of the flight feathers of the wing, “was not here last I checked.”

Sephiroth wiped his eyes, (Holy crap, did he cry laugh?) from the outburst and answered honestly, “No. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“When did it…” Angeal gestured vaguely at the limb, respectfully, but considering the situation it was more than enough, “...grow?”

Sephiroth explained everything he could and answered every one of their questions. The wing just appeared in the middle of the night. It didn’t feel any pain. It responded to his emotions. It made him sleep for sixteen hours. It put multiple holes in his walls. And it was the reason he had his chair perpendicular to the window, the couch parallel to the window and against the chair, and the resulting rectangle was overflowing with feathers of all sizes. 

“Question!” Genesis cut him off, gaining both of their attention. “How the hell are there no feathers in your hair?!” He wasn’t angry, but the genuine and frustrated surprise glowed in his tone. 

Sephiroth blinked at him dumbly, unable to draw a single memory with that specific phenomenon, because he honestly had No. Fucking. Idea. 

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! 

Part 2>>

Author's note: I hope this makes up for being busy for all of Aeriseph week. Behold: comedic Sephiroth content. I don't ship any of these three together and I don't in this work either, but the MOMENT I thought of that STUPID PICK UP LINE, I could not resist. This was supposed to be a OneShot, but this work got very long for me, and I thought it was a good place to stop. So, this will be a TWO-Shot. See you for the next one!

[jangmo-othewarrior]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dion Lesage/Terence, Dion Lesage & Terence Characters: Dion Lesage, Bahamut (Final Fantasy XVI), and a lot of OCs, Terence (Final Fantasy XVI) Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Childhood Friends, Dragons, hell yeah, Best Friends, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, well not yet they're kids, but they'll get there eventually, Fight Scenes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, just a bit, no beta we die like olivier, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Symbolism, if u know u know Summary:

They say, that day, a second sun rose near Oriflamme.

- Or -

Before it all, the Dominant must awaken to the Eikon, to their power. Moments of high stress bring out the power within, and there have been countless stories passed down from generation to generation. This is one such story.

[muffin-artz3]

I have this random headcannon that Rufus not only discovers Evan is his half-brother but that Evan has a twin sister. He then slowly becomes involved in their lives.

In the On a Way to a Smile: the Kids are Alright, both Rufus and Evan were raised as single children. They dont know how to act around a sibling. I think it would be fun for Rufus to see how his younger siblings interact while getting a sense of sibling love, rather than the malice and distain he got from his other half siblings trying to get an inheritance from Shinra. And also good for Evan so he's not alone. Poor dude is a nervous reck.

Him watching Evan and his sister be like be: "and this why you're adopted!" "We're TWINS!"

The twins fighting, then hugging it out, brings up that childhood want of having a family for Rufus, which he strongly tries to deny it. Until they get into trouble and Rufus tries to bail them out despite him saying he wouldn't get involved.

[kenziewrites14]

Introducing me!

My name is Kenzie, I write things about final fantasy (mainly ff7). Here I post my headcannons, drambles and other things that pop up into my silly brain.

Things about me:

✰ I love cosplaying! My current cosplays are: Aerith Gainsborough (ff7) and Raiden Shogun (Genshin Impact). I am planning to cosplay Aerith, but then her Crisis Core dress.

✰ I play Final Fantasy 7 Crisis Core on Nintendo, and my favorite characters are: Sephiroth, Angeal and Zack!

✰ My favorite music is probably rock music (metal, rock...). My favorite bands are: Rob Zombie, Bon Jovi, Rammstein and Queen. But my music taste is REALLY different, I also love: The Oh Hellos, Hozier, Of Monsters and Men, Radical Face, The Wellermen and Lana Del Rey.

✰ I love reading! I mostly read fantasy, my favorites are: Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, Narnia and The Hobbit.

✰ This is kinda based on my taste in books, but my favorite series and films are: The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (including The Hobbit), Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, Narnia, The Vampire Diaries, Castlevania, Disenchantment and Castlevania Nocturne.

✰ My first language isn't English! I'm from the Netherlands.

Things I will not include (or write about) in my blog:

✰ NSFW: this is just a big no go, which I will not write at all.

✰ Things related to gore.

✰ About ships I dislike (I DESPISE Sefikura).

If you're interested, please follow me! I really appreciate it :)

(my requests are open!)

[always-a-doughnut]

Since my friend is going crazy over ff16, I decided to dig into my past and draw some final fantasy 3 fanart of my original obviously cannon otp of Arc and Prince Alus.

I had to replay their cute cutscene like 30 times my first playthrough to get to a boss that kept killing my party, but these two are just adorable together I can't help it.