#final fantasy vii fan fic

[bardic-tales]

I have been having my migraines a lot lately, so I thought I would write something out yesterday.

Rated: General since he's literally just helping ease a headache.

Pairing: Sephiroth x genderless reader

You're lying in bed. The world behind your closed eyelids a chaotic storm of pain and darkness. A migraine and the agony associated with it grips your head in its iron vice. Each heartbeat pounds mercilessly against your temples. Even the faintest light slipping through the cracks of the curtains feels like a dagger to yours senses. You shift. The movement only worsens the nausea curling your stomach. The bile rises up from the pit of your stomach like a geyser.

Then, you feel him.

The air shifts subtly. The distinct energy and rose and vanilla scent associated with Sephiroth's presence is calming yet commanding. You don't even need to open your eyes to know he's there. The soft rustle of his coat as he kneels on the bed is enough. As his knees sink into the mattress, your stomach rolls once again.

"My cherished one," he murmurs, his voice laces with concern: a nickname he has given you lately. "You should have called for me."

Your lips part to protest that you didn't want to be a burden to him, but even speaking feels to much. Instead, s soft whimper of pain escapes you: a sound that makes Sephiroth brush his hand against your forehead. The leather of his glove feels cool against your hot skin.

"I'll handle this," he says firmly, rising now. You hear the faint clink of metal as Masamune is set aside: an act that reminds you how serious he is about tending to you. He and the ōdachi rarely part.

A few moments later, the bed dips slightly as he returns. This time, you feel the soft, damp press of a cloth against your forehead. The scent of peppermint wafts faintly through the air, calming the ache in your senses. His fingers move expertly, massaging the base of your skull with a pressure that’s somehow precise yet gentle.

"It's the tension right here," he explains in a low voice, a soft husky whisper. "Your body carries more than it should."

The room remains silent save for the steady rhythm of his movements. Every stroke of his hands feels deliberate, unraveling the pain knot by knot, thread by thread. He shifts once, reaching for something, a a soft emerald glow breaks through the darkness behind your eyes, but your hearing picks up a soft melodic hum: like a delicate bell chiming. Your eyes are still closed.

The warmth washes over you, but the spell does not eliminate the pain completely rather it dulls its edges, making it more bearable.

"I won't let this consume you," he promises, and you can feel the weight of his words: the conviction in his voice.

When you finally dare to open your eyes, it's to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee crosses over the other. His cyan-colored eyes softens as he stares down at you. His feline-like pupils contracts with unspoken worry. He holds a steaming black cup in one hand -- herbal tea, its warmth promising some relief -- and offers it to you.

"You don't need to speak," he says when you hesitate. "Just know that I am here. I will always be here."

With trembling hands, you take the cup and sip. The warmth spreads through you, heating every inch of your body. Sephiroth stays close, a sentinel of silence, his presence grounding you in a moment that feels safe, despite the lingering ache.

[sapphirothcrescent]

Sapphire is not the stepmom. She's the mom that stepped up.

She already has experience taking care of another person in the form of her dad (giving up half her childhood to do so) An actual child is preferable! She gets rewarded with unconditional love, purrs and biscuit making, and cute drawings to put on the fridge. She only rarely gets spine chilling night terrors of a scary lady in a mako tank and visions of death and despair. Seems a good trade off to me!

[akatsuki-shin]

"YOUR FIRSTS, AND MINE" — #TsengRuWeek2024 Day 1: Firsts

1,5k words | 🔞

Before Crisis TsengRu

Being placed under house arrest doesn't stop Vice President Shinra from pursuing his other "target"

Featuring an illustration by @brilcrist

(link in the reply below)

[moment-live]

I can't beat the Buno D'rhad fight so nothing happened and everyone lived happily ever after as one big happy family

[holly-fixation]

I am asking out of curiosity. S& S seems to have two stories in it. The crisis core era and ff7 main game era. Why keep both stories in one fic, instead of using series? (Not judging just curious),

Seraphic and Sinister is a failed fix it (I don't know what else to call it). Sephiroth has the chance to leave Shinra, takes it, but the events of FF7 occur anyway. They key points do anyway.

1. "Seraphic" being the crisis core era with Sephiroth on the run and trying to live a normal life and "Sinister" bring the era of the original FF7 where he is already too far gone (but with some differences) and working towards the same goal was too perfect of a mirror to let alone.

2. Why pretend this is a fix it when we know it's not? I'm not trying to lead people into this fic as an attempt at happiness that leads to Sephiroth riding into the sunset. So why not see how this ending reflects on the main events of FF7? How it affects Cloud and the others? I see no reason to wait.

3. My own motivation. Personally, I bullet points out the events of the next chapter when finishing the previous one, but I have a smaller and separate list for the main plot points I want to hit. The two factors that usually lock my multi chapter fics are motivation and lack of plot continuance. (I'll let you guess which is which for the others). For Seraphic and Sinister, I have fully detailed scenes in all but full chapters ready to go at key points of both Crisis Core and FF7. I don't want to lose the motivation to write these scenes. By writing both times in one fic, I can get there faster. Thus...why this fic has consumed my upload schedule. I usually try to jump between stories, but by having two times I accidentally locked myself into one. ...Oops.

[the-bar-sinister]

We Could Be Heroes (3548 words) by thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 1/1 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, internal alternate universe, Background Poly, Backstory, Underage Drinking, Military, Biggs Wedge and Jessie join SOLDIER, POV Jessie, POV Wedge Summary: 1999: After having been ousted from the board of executives by young president Rufus Shinra, Scarlet and Heidegger returned to Midgar and took over the secret Deepground installation, inciting a mutiny against Shinra which resulted in a devastating attack on the city from within.   Jessie, Biggs and Wedge reunite in the wake of the devastation and make a decision together that will change all of their lives.

-

The city of Midgar was in a state of cautious recovery after the devastation. The so-called 'Deepground forces' had been driven out of Midgar through the efforts of public security, the Turks, and especially its heroes– SOLDIER's 1st class units. 

Deepground's attack had torn through Midgar, leaving everything from homes to businesses in shambles. Too many dead, and even more wounded— it was a tragedy that sat heavy in Jessie Rasberry's chest as she wandered the streets filled with rubble.

This was her home. Her family, thankfully, had survived. Her childhood home not so much. With enough time for the evacuation order they'd fled the suburbs, only to eventually return home to pock-marked walls and collapsed, flame singed roofs.

Some of her neighbors weren't so lucky. But now it was time to build again—recover, as best they all could.

With a heavy heart, Jessie had gone back to her job for the first time since the attacks. Loveless Avenue Theater with its great billboard flickering and shattered from the damage. It still showed her role in the female lead of Midgar's favorite play.

It was a wreck. Far from the glorious theater she'd eagerly worked in. Bit parts in the beginning (The Streets of Midgar—her first role. The young salesgirl), giving rise rapidly to larger and larger roles. She was passionate—eager, made for the stage according to the theater directors.

She'd just gotten the role of Rosa when the fighting started.

People milled around, murmuring about reconstruction—salvage teams, Shinra redevelopment—but she was transfixed by her shattered visage on the tall electronic screen, and the rubble collapsed over the front door.

"Guess the show's cancelled," she murmured to herself.

It seemed that she wasn't the only one who'd come to check on the theater though. As she looked at the rubble over the front door she noticed a figure working to shift it out of the way of the entrance.

Jessie's eyes oriented on them, and she took a few steps forward with her arms folded behind her back. "Need a hand?" 

Wedge paused what he was doing, turning around to look up at her with his big, dark eyes as he wiped his brow. He was one of the stagehands– a set painter– who worked with the theater. He was young, solid, and rather round faced, with hair that was always flopping in his eyes. He'd only been working with the theater for the last six months or so, but he was dedicated and passionate. It looked like he'd been hard at work shifting the rubble for a while.

He smiled up at her. "Oh, Jessie! You're okay!"

Jessie paused to pull her hair back and tie it with a red ribbon so it didn't fall in her face, before she hurried over and gave him her best smile—as an actress, she could manage the best smile anyone could in a disaster like this.

Aside from Wedge, who's smile always lit up the room. She'd tried to goad him into taking a role sometime on the stage—it'd never worked. 

"Sure am, Wedge! Heh, it'll take more than some neon-obsessed freaks to take me down! I'm glad you're alright too!"

She bent down and tried to grab a rock to shift it out of the way—it was heavy, but she wasn't exactly weak. Dancing took more muscle than people thought. 

He nodded, and started back to work alongside her. "We got out pretty early, thankfully. It was scary to come back and see what happened though. Have you heard from Biggs at all? Was he at work when it happened?"

Unlike the two of them, Biggs—a close friend, one who provided the theater with prop weapons for their shows—had what Wedge's grandmother would have called 'a real job'. He was a machinist and repairman at one of the many weapon shops around Midgar, mostly repairing firearms and swords, which was how he got most of the stock he loaned to the theater.

"Yeah, he was at work when it all went down. He got out though. He's probably on his way over by now, he just said he had to check up on something in the Sector 5 slums."

It was probably the orphanage. 

Wedge nodded quietly, as he shifted a particularly large chunk of rubble from in front of the door to over beside it. They were almost far enough through to get the door open.

"Good. Oh! I climbed up the ladders a couple blocks away and looked– I think most of this rubble is from the building next door. There's a hole in the theater roof, but I couldn't tell how bad it was."

That was good—she was thinking a large part of the theater had caved in. But–maybe there was still enough to salvage if most of this was from next door.

"We'll just have to get inside and see, huh?"

Footfalls from behind them came before the low drawl of a very familiar voice. "Someone's hard at work. Room for one more?"

Biggs approached, bandanna around his forehead to keep his dark, windswept hair from his face. He was the oldest of them—but not by terribly much. "Orphanage is fine. Sector 5 Undercity lucked out." 

"Biggs!" Wedge's bright smile flashed again as he approached. Jessie knew that Wedge held the older boy in a high esteem, looking up to him, and definitely envying his independence. 

Jessie grinned at him as she hopped up, pointing to him. "You're late, mr. Thick of the Action! You were supposed to meet me at the train station!"

Biggs chuckled as he held his hands up. 

"Hey, hey. Blame those Deepground guys, they invaded the old man's store and cleared out our inventory before torching the place. Had to help him sift through the ashes before he let me off to check on the orphans."

He turned his grin to Wedge. "Glad to see you're doing good too, Wedge. Holding up alright? Home's ok?" 

Wedge nodded seriously. "For the most part. It's pretty crowded right now though. Grandma's agreed to put up some of our neighbors who weren't so lucky."

"Nice of her, but it's good of you to get out then," Biggs nodded as he helped shift the last of the rubble away. "Gets stifling being in a huge group like that."

Jessie nodded. Admittedly she had to agree. Her parents were currently housed up in one of the relief compounds, a series of temporary houses and tents meant for those who'd lost their homes while the rebuilding happened. It was crowded—chaotic, she was happy to leave out here to the relative calm of Loveless Ave.

She stood, dusting herself off and putting her hand on the door. "ready to see how bad it looks? 'Cause I'm gonna be honest guys, I dunno if we're going to make opening night." 

Wedge bit his lip and nodded, his soft eyes worried now. "We'll probably have to delay it. Although, if we put on a free dress rehearsal outside, it might lift people's spirits, right?"

Biggs rubbed his neck "if you can get most of the actors to agree to it, yeah." He glanced out at the street—the normally bustling avenue was mostly filled with construction crews and inspectors from Shinra's main office.

"I'd agree in a heartbeat—but I haven't heard from the director at all since this went down." Jessie mused as she tested the door handle. 

"Oh…"

The door opened. There was a hissing sound as loose sandy rubble escaped from somewhere, falling like sand as Jessie pushed carefully inside.

The hole in the roof was bigger than Wedge had hoped. About half of the audience area of the theater was covered in chunks of settled debris.

And then there was the stage.

The stage was a disaster—carefully crafted stage decorations, including the elaborate clockwork centerpiece had fallen into heaps of wood and iron, the stage was cracked down the middle from the force of a falling beam, the curtains in tatters.

It turned Jessie's stomach to see it—the place she'd pinned her hopes and dreams reduced to rubble by some bastards who crawled out of nowhere to wreck people's lives.

She was going to be an actress. 

Nobody would be acting here for a long , long time.

"Fuck," Biggs succinctly murmured, rubbing his neck. "...that whole stage is gonna have to be replaced—and just by looking I can say a lot of the structural supports are gone. This is…"

He trailed off, but Jessie knew what he probably meant to say.

This was a tragedy, on top of even greater tragedies. It was a twist of the knife. "Oh.." 

Wedge hung his head, his shoulders drooping, and his bandana hanging limp. "Aw man… I really hoped…. it would have been a little better than this."

She heard a little sniff from him– it was obvious he was trying not to cry.

Jessie reached over, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders for comfort, both her own, and his. She felt the hot sting of tears in her own eyes. 

"Me too, but looks like Deepground had other ideas. Heh. Must—must have been when they sent those weird airships on that bombing run."

"Tch,the bastards…" Biggs grimaced, before he placed his hand on top of Wedge's head. "Alright. Alright. Sitting here, lookin' at this and feeling bad isn't gonna help any of us. I got a plan." 

Wedge sniffled again, and rested a hand on each of them in return. He looked up, and nodded. "What's the plan, Biggs?"

"We're going to have a fucking drink. That's the plan." Biggs laughed sharply and rustled his hair, as Jessie looked up with a lopsided smile.

"You know, that's probably the only plan you coulda suggested that'd tear me away from this." She admitted. "Alright, alright. I assume you know a bar that's not leveled?"

"Never underestimate my nose for a good drink, Jes." Biggs slapped her on the back before he ushered them both out of the ruined theater. "Come on." 

-

Biggs was good on his word; he'd taken them down into the sector 5 undercity–, which as he'd mentioned earlier was remarkably intact.

While the damage was extensive most houses were still standing, and the bar was open and bustling. It only took a little nudging to get them a table in the corner, as Biggs went to grab a round of drinks from the counter.

Wedge looked around nervously, unwilling to admit that this was going to be his first time drinking, aside from a sip or two at cast parties with the theater. His grandmother frowned on drinking, and wasn't going to like it if he came home drunk or smelling like alcohol, but, well, he probably wasn't going to be coming back for a while, right?

Besides, if there was ever a time to start drinking, now was it.

He smiled a little at Jessie. "No surprise this place is busy with most everywhere out of commission, right?"

Jessie chuckled, leaning on her hands to give him that bright stage grin she liked to wear. "No surprise at all—hell, I'd say people need the drinks more than ever. Everyone else is up shit creek, but the bartenders are gonna make a killing." 

"Well, they'll deserve it, it's not like bartending's easy, right?" he leaned his chin in his hands, keeping his chair scooted close to Jessie's– both to make more room for the crowd around them, and also because it helped keep him from shaking to be close to someone else.

Nobody had thought that an army could attack Midgar from actually inside of it. Nobody had been ready for it. What kind of world was it that they were just living their lives one day, and then the next everything was in chaos?

Jessie sat up a little more, and her hand rested against his arm as she nodded/ 

"I'd say. It's hard work, especially if you're any good at it. Anyone can just slap some liquor together and call it a cocktail, but it takes a real expert to make something halfway decent."

She laughed. it was well known that Jessie had a tendency to… overindulge… during cast parties. Wedge knew that that was probably not great, especially with the way his Grandma railed against that kind of thing, but it was hard to complain seeing Jessie all bubbly and cuddly when she was drunk. He hoped it would cheer her up, now, too.

And he hoped maybe it would do the same for him. Seeing the theater in shambles like that had been a heavy blow. He hated to admit it, but he had been hanging a lot of his hopes that it would be easy to put back together, but now he was worried that they'd just have to abandon it.

He tried to push the thoughts away as he nodded along to what Jessie was saying. Not that he'd know a good cocktail from a bad one.

"Yeah, it's like its own kind of art form, right?"

Jessie flipped her hair over her shoulder with a laugh. "Exactly. LIke acting or painting, but only almost as great." she winked. "...but like, there's a world of difference between something like a Gold Cactuar and like—'The Plate'."

The plate, she'd shown him once, being just a housemade 'moonshine' with a single slice of lemon floating in it in the vague shape of one of Midgar's plates. It was a vile, acidic, burn your nosehairs kind of drink. 

Wedge had regretted even sipping it.

Speaking of which– he glanced over to where Biggs was bringing their drinks over.

"What are we having today, anyway?"

Biggs slammed the glasses down on the table with enough skill to keep a drop from spilling. Three of them in deep gold with a sprig of gysahl greens in each.

He chuckled. "Figured we could use something stiff. It's a Chocoblast. Don't worry, it don't actually taste like the greens, but it will knock your socks off."

Jessie took it, tilting it in her hand. "Huh, it's pretty, I'll give it that." 

"Prettier than The Plate anyway," Wedge murmured, picking up the glass and giving it a sniff. It smelled like paint thinner. 

This was going to be an experience.

Jessie raised her glass. "A toast! to…I dunno. Being alive, I guess."

Biggs raised his glass in turn. "I can do one better."

Wedge cocked his head. "Oh? What's your toast, Biggs?"

Just being alive was good, but maybe Biggs had something more.

Biggs chuckled under his breath before he flashed a sly grin at Wedge. "I'm gonna shoot for revenge."

Jessie had put her glass to her lips with a roll of her eyes, and very nearly spit out her first sip. "WHAT? What are you talking about, Biggs? Gonna go find the Deepground troops they drove out and yell 'this is for Midgar' and turn into alpine cheese?" 

The smell of the cocktail lingered in Wedge's nose as he held it to his lips. He let Biggs' surprising statement delay his first sip.

"Revenge?" It was an appealing thought. Those Deepground guys had hurt so many people. Derailed so many lives. They definitely deserved to be punished for it. "What kind of revenge, Biggs?"

Jessie pursed her lips thoughtfully, looking at Biggs with a raise of her eyebrow.

Biggs let them suffer in confusion for a moment more before he grinned "...I'm gonna join up with the military. The weapon shop's toast, and I know those deepground guys ain't done. They've been driven out—but they'll try striking again. No doubt about that." 

"Wow." Wedge bit his lip.

He knocked back his first mouthful of real, hard liquor, trying not to worry about how it would taste.

It was surprisingly sweet—it had an aftertaste of honey, and a bite of some hard alcohol masked by the sweetness. It had a slightly floral taste—herbal maybe, but mostly tasted of honey and a sharp burn of alcohol.

Jessie tilted it back to take a long and practiced sip. "...Join the army huh? What, like Pubsec? Or do you think you've got what it takes to be a SOLDIER?" 

"Huh… this is pretty good." Surprised, Wedge took another long drink, less hesitant this time, as he thought about it. "SOLDIER, those are the guys they're calling heroes, isn't it?"

According to the news it had been a team of first class SOLDIERs who had been the main strike force in putting an end to the deepground invasion. Sephiroth, Genesis, Angeal and Zack.

Biggs pointed his finger at Wedge with a grin. "Thought you'd like it! Hah!" 

He nodded, leaning on his elbow as he took a sip and continued. "Yeah, SOLDIER's the real deal. The heroes who helped push back against Deepground. I'm thinking of seeing if they'll take me— if not, Pubsec ain't a bad option either."

"I subscribe to one of the newsletters. Some girl was going around asking everyone to join up with the 'Genesis Girls' club, and I said why the hell not." Jessie sipped her drink again with a thoughtful hum. "...it'd be crazy to be one of those heroes for real, yeah? The best of the best." 

"A hero." Wedge licked his lips. His head was starting to swim, but he wasn't sure if it was from the drink, or just the heady idea. He took another drink, as if that would help him find out. "Do you think that we could?"

Wedge mostly painted backdrops, and daydreamed about being a character in plays. The kind of character that people called a hero. Brave and strong, the kind of person who meant something to people. Not that he could ever act on a stage– he was too shy.

But maybe… what if he could do the real thing?

Joining the military, he'd have to get tough then, right? What if he could become a SOLDIER and protect people?

Jessie was clearly thinking something similar, her brow knitted under her chestnut hair as she ran her fingers through it with a soft 'hmm', before taking another sip.

"You're a repair guy at a weapon's shop, Biggs," she said slowly. "...and the hell if I'd be letting you go alone. You'd get yourself killed. Which means I'd have to join up at least too. And I'm an actress."

"And?? Who the hell knows what those SOLDIER guys were before they joined up. The way I hear it, they're all from the sticks. Probably farmers, or just kids living in the middle of nowhere. And look at 'em now! Midgar's greatest heroes. It doesn't matter where you come from, it matters what you do with it."

Biggs was passionate—excited, and he had pointed his glass to Jessie animatedly enough that the sprig fell to the table. 

Wedge finished his drink. He felt like he was glowing now, all his skin felt tingly , and there was a warmth in his chest.

"If you guys do it, I'm doing it too," he proclaimed boldly. He was too young to join by almost six months, but that didn't matter. He'd just lie about his age. Kids were always lying about their age to join the military in plays. "Heck, I might do it even if you two chicken out!"

Jesse looked at her mostly empty glass, before she downed it and grabbed Biggs' instead, and downed a long sip of that. 

"The hell I'd chicken out! The …the theater's done for, at least for a while. At least until that whole area gets refurbished. I've got fuck-else to do. If Biggs is dead set on being a hero, I'll be just as much of one!"

Biggs managed a "Hey, Jessie, that's my drink" before she thrust it partially emptied into his hand. Shaking his head with a low chuckle he held his hands up. "...who am I to stop ya. I was kind of hoping you'd join up with me. Even you, Wedge. Don't worry—I won't say a word." 

Wedge poked his finger into Bigg's chest. "You'd better not! You're gonna need me to watch your blindspot, right?"

"Damn right," Biggs grinned at him. "You know me, I can fly off the handle sometime. We need someone with a cool head around."

Jessie snorted softly, her smile starting to crawl across her face as she leaned on the table. 

"Two people to watch your back. Because hell knows you need it. You wanna be heroes? Let's be the greatest damn heroes Midgar ever saw. Better than Genesis, better than Angeal or Sephiroth—"

She raised her glass. 'If we're doing this, let's be the people they make fan clubs about! The people who's names are on everyone's lips! Let's save our world from anyone even like Deepground." 

Wedge raised his empty glass, shoulder to shoulder with Biggs and Jessie. As the warmth glowed within him, he could almost taste it. They'd be heroes together. 

"Cheers! To saving the world, together!"

"To saving the world together!" Biggs and Jessie answered as their glasses—emptied and partially emptied—clacked together in the crowded bar. 

[nightshadelemonade]

WIP of my newest Sefikura story.

[savage-sinister]

Gaia Incognita (8666 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/8 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Vincent Valentine/Veld, Lucrecia Crescent/Vincent Valentine, Ifalna/Veld (Compilation of FFVII), Lucrecia Crescent/Vincent Valentine/Veld, Lucrecia Crescent/Ifalna Additional Tags: Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Polyamory, Family Drama, Mystery, Drama, Drama & Romance, Romance, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Veld-Centric, its a romance story in the past and a mystery in the present

Summary: The past and present intertwine as Veld and Vincent try to discover what the horrible dreams of a darker Midgar have to do with the life and love that they built together in the aftermath of Hojo's mysterious and untimely demise.

-

1978

Veld was sipping coffee and reviewing security reports when he got the call from his partner to come down to the lab. He didn't like leaving the task undone, but he didn't like the anxious tone in his usually unflappable partner's voice, either.

So he straightened his tie and he headed down to the labs, hoping their boss wouldn't be too annoyed with late incident reports.

When he arrived at the lab he was welcomed by the sharp and metallic tang of blood in the air and the sound of Lucrecia attempting to catch her breath between sobs.

She was there, wrapped in Vincent's arms as he held her tight with a panicked look in his deep, dark eyes. Shaking and tear-streaked, she kept stammering about 'an accident'.

Veld didn't need a great deal of instinct to tell that something was very wrong, but somehow his intuition was screaming at him anyway, so much that it felt like the floor rocked under his feet when he saw Lucrecia there, tear-streaked in Vincent's embrace. It was like the fabric of the world had shifted.

He set his jaw, and addressed Vincent.

"What happened?"

Lucrecia twitched in Vincent's arms, trying to point towards the Shinra Manor's lab as she took another hiccuping breath.

Vincent held up his hand to calm her and answered instead with a sharp intake of breath. "Professor Hojo's dead. Take a look for yourself." 

That explained the smell of blood in the air. Veld could just about recognize the arm– the rest of the remains would need work to identify, though it was clear it was Hojo.

His jaw tightened further and his gaze flicked from his partner, to the young, frightened scientist. He knew that Vincent had feelings for her. He knew that she was pregnant. He knew that Hojo was at the very least apparently the father.

That was where his knowledge ended and his speculation began.

But Veld's speculation was not 'official record'. Only official record was official record. And the unofficial Turks procedure when you didn't like the facts, or where your speculation was going was you simply didn't record it.

"I see that he must have had a laboratory accident," Veld drawled for the official record.

"You can say that again." Vincent rested his hand atop Lucrecia's head, brushing her hair to try and soothe her as his eyes lingered on the scene.

Lucrecia took a shaking breath, before looking up at Veld. "I was feeling sick, morning sickness—so I wasn't in the lab with him, but I heard a great crash. I'd thought maybe something had happened with the Jenova project. When I managed to get over there…he was already like this."

Absolutely maimed. 

Like something had exploded and shredded him with the shrapnel.

"Whatever happened, it's a miracle no one was in the lab with him at the time," Veld announced, also for the official record. "One death is enough."

As the first on the scene, the narrative that Veld established would be the one on the record. His investigation would be the freshest one. His word the most trustworthy.

Maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn't an accident. 

Veld didn't want to know as he met Vincent's eyes. Not until all the official inquiries were finished.

"I'll need to take some pictures," Veld said. Vincent knew he would. "Then you can tell me the details when you're calmed down."

He met his partner's gaze.

Vincent so rarely looked shaken. A model professional, he was every inch what the Turks could and should be. But right now, with the scent of Hojo's blood in the air and the woman he loved crying in his arms, he seemed almost at a loss.

"Good idea, partner," he said slowly. "The last thing we want is a lack of evidence. We don't want the President drawing the wrong conclusions, right?" 

Veld put his hand on his partner's shoulder, and smiled at both him and Lucrecia. "I'll make sure the President understands the accident that happened here."

-

There was an extensive inquiry. 

The President was not at all happy that his pet scientist had gone and turned himself into a cherry smoothie. Both Vincent and Lucrecia gave their accounts, and Veld backed them up.

By the time they were finished a week later, the President was still unhappy, but he was satisfied that the event was the inevitable result of Hojo's methods, and that Lucrecia, if she took over her superior's former position, would not be the type to make the same mistakes.

Even Veld was almost convinced it had really been an accident. Maybe it had been. All he knew was he wasn't going to be crying himself to sleep at night because Hojo was gone.

Their first night back in Nibelheim, Veld pulled Vincent aside for a drink in private. The first time they'd had a chance to speak privately since the inquiry started.

Vincent had his whiskey in hand, arms folded in front of himself as he tipped it back and forth with a wan smile. "That was a hell of a few days. Never seen the president so pissed." 

Veld raised his glass to him. "Hope to never see it again, if I'm lucky. Probably the only one who was truly sorry to see Hojo go."

"None of the interns certainly. Not me, neither." Vincent scoffed quietly, raising his glass before he tipped it back in a long sip. "Lucrecia, possibly. I know they'd gotten close after—" he paused for a moment.

Veld gave him a look as he paused, waiting to see what he'd say. 

"After we had that argument— where I asked her about my father." Vincent's fingers flexed against the glass in his hands. "She pushed me away after that, I thought she was happy with Hojo. Even with the way he talked about her when he thought nobody was looking." 

Veld grimaced. Everybody knew about the relationship between Lucrecia and Hojo, and everybody knew the way he talked about her behind her back. Veld didn't like any of it.

He had avoided asking Vincent or Lucrecia any direct questions about their feelings about Hojo, or about their relationship over the span of the investigation. But that was done with.

"It's been about a week now," Veld said. "And I know you've spent some time with her. Did you two resolve things?"

Vincent's cheeks flushed slightly, his sharp red eyes averting down to his whiskey with a slight smile. 

"We've talked. Quite a bit. She– she said she was sorry again. About the accident that took my father. That she pushed me away because of it. She said she felt guilty—that she couldn't look me in the eyes without reliving the accident for a while."

"Makes sense to me. The investigation's over, Vincent. how do you think she feels about Hojo?"

He looked him in the eye. He wanted to tell him, 'I don't care if you killed the bastard, or she did, but I am curious which one it was'.

Vincent looked up to meet his eyes.

"Hurt. She found out the things he'd been saying—what he planned for her child, too. Some mad experiment. She told me…she said she felt sick that she ever loved him. That she'd ever even thought about going along with it." He took a sip of his whiskey, before he sighed. "She told me that he—he wasn't the man he pretended to be. She was upset with the accident, sure—but…"

But she clearly was making quite the recovery.

Veld nodded and drained the rest of his whiskey. Thinking about it, that was what he had expected to hear. Vincent was a gentleman, maybe enough of a gentleman to be a pushover sometimes. The tragic truth of it was Veld was pretty sure that Vincent would have let Lucrecia be if he thought she was happy. He'd basically said as much.

Well. Lucrecia hadn't been happy, that much was clear.

He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up, offering it to Veld. "Seems like she'll tough it out. She's got a baby on the way to take care of. I'm sure that'll help shake her out of whatever leftover feelings she's got from the accident."

Vincent gladly took a cigarette. He put it to his lips with a subtle smile

"We can hope. I promised her I was going to do what I could to help. Stay by her side, you know? That made her smile. I missed that smile the last few months." As he lit up the cigarette he glanced at Veld. "...though, one thing, partner."

Veld lit his own cigarette, and nodded. "What's that, partner?"

"I know you're thinking about it," Vincent took a drag off his cigarette. "...but I'm not the one who did Hojo in. Don't think it was Lucrecia, either." 

"I was never going to ask." It was an admission that that's exactly what he was thinking. "As far as I'm concerned the official story is the only story. But I'll admit, I'm curious about how confident you are."

Vincent blew smoke towards the ornate ceiling. 

"Fairly confident. Even with the distance she wanted to put between us for a while—I was still her bodyguard, wasn't I?" His brow furrowed. "....I'd seen her, nowhere near the labs, not long before. Long enough that I can say she didn't have time to set up some kind of trap unless it was set up much earlier, in which I would have been sure Hojo woulda noticed, or at least been caught in it sooner given how much he loved his machines." 

Veld nodded. It was something that had come up in the inquiries. Lucrecia had been probably far away from the scene when it was determined to have occurred.

"That was the biggest thing that made me think it wasn't her, admittedly." And for a while, he'd assumed it was Vincent. But Vincent wouldn't lie to him.

Vincent hesitated a moment before he smiled thinly at his partner through the haze of smoke. "Dunno—maybe fate finally decided to intervene in our favor? Something in that stream of lights that's looking out for us for once."

"First time for everything." Veld took a long puff of his cigarette. "But maybe it did. If you say it was fate, that's what I'll believe, partner. Can't say I don't think things are looking up for you and Lucrecia after this."

Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, the cigarette hanging from his lip.

"I'd say ...she seemed so sad, you know?" He closed his eyes. "Before, when we'd rest under the tree overlooking the manor together, I'd really hoped that we'd get closer. Even if it wasn't strictly professional—I was enraptured with her."

"It's not like the rest of the department stays very professional," Veld drawled. "Or the company. What was it I told you back then? That you should go for it if you were into her."

Vincent laughed, running his hand through his dark hair. 

"And I intended to—she even seemed to feel the same. Only after that incident, she barely agreed to even talk to me. But now that it's behind us, well." He brushed his thumb over the glass in thought. "She spent the night with me last night, Veld." 

Veld's smile widened. "Well damn. You have a good time?"

Vincent chuckled under his breath.

"I was pretty surprised. Knock on my door, and opening it who do I see? Girl of my dreams, asking to stay the night." He leaned on his hand. "...we talked a long while. And after that—yeah, you can say we had a pretty great time." 

"Cheers then," Veld chuckled. "Let me know if you two get serious and you need to stop spending the night at my place."

The smile Veld flashed him was intentionally sly, but he meant it. 

He liked what the two of them had going on, but he wasn't going to get in the way of a serious relationship if Vincent wanted to pursue one, and he'd seemed head over puppydog heels for Lucrecia since the beginning.

Vincent's face turned a deeper red than expected, his smile lopsided. "I'll let you know, partner. But—well. She seems to be rather adventurous. That might not even be necessary." 

"Adventurous, huh? Well then. You got the whole package on the hook, my friend." 

Veld stood and grabbed the whisky bottle again, topping them both up.

Vincent raised his glass with a wry smile. 

"I wouldn't say that—maybe I'm the one she's got on the hook, Veld." He chuckled. "but damn if I'm going to complain. I love her, and if old Hojo's miserable death can make us all happy—I'm going to raise a toast to the experiment tank that did him in." 

"Cheers to that, partner."

—

These days the Shinra Manor wasn't quite as bustling as it used to be. Lab techs no longer lingered playing music, or discussing findings in the halls. Shinra kept tabs—of course Shinra kept tabs on one of its most important external labs—but it had slowly turned into a quiet and relaxing place of respite as Lucrecia worked on experiments in the lab while pregnant with her son and Veld and Vincent watched over her.

That was why it was surprising, after he'd gotten the invitation to meet her in the drawing room, that Veld heard the sound of the mostly dormant piano ringing out through the bottom floor.

Locals had called the manor 'haunted' long before Shinra had taken up residence, and Veld suspected that their occupancy would only increase those rumors. That was what sent the thought through him that the piano might be played by some errant ghost. But of course he banished the ridiculous thought. 

Plenty of living people there to play the piano, and he didn't think such a thing was how a ghost of the man who had so recently died there would spend his eternity.

Veld poked his head into the drawing room to look.

He saw Lucrecia there, her fingers dancing carefully over the keys as the tune filled the comfortable and candlelit room. It was a quiet, but hopeful little tune that sang through the air as she smiled to herself.

However, she paused and glanced over her shoulder with a playfulness in her smile. "You can come in, you know." 

"Far be it from me to interrupt you," he murmured, coming into the room anyway, and lingering near the piano. "I didn't know that you played."

She turned. Her hair with its yellow ribbon fell over her shoulder as she smiled. Veld could easily see why Vincent was so enchanted with her. 

"I picked it up a while back— I was inspired by an old friend. I'm a little rusty though." Lucrecia seemed to look him over for a moment, one hand still on the keys as she tapped a chord with her fingertips. "Now I'm curious though." 

Veld cocked his head, looking her over again. It was a little surprising that Vincent wasn't here, come to think of it. He was almost always hovering over her these days.

"Curious, hm? Well, consider me curious about your curiosity, doctor."

Lucrecia tucked her hand under her chin, propped up on her knee as she leaned forward with a grin. "Do you play? We've been here all this time and I've never heard you tickle the ivories."

She wasn't dressed like she usually was, not in her usual lab coat and dress, though he saw the coat hanging on a nearby peg. A shortened skirt, a partially unbuttoned blue blouse that left little to the imagination—Vincent being missing wasn't the only thing unusual about the scene. 

Vincent's words from the couple of months prior echoed in his head. She's adventurous.

He wondered what sort of adventure she was keen on today.

Still he answered the question. "Do I play? Ah, badly, I'm afraid. I had a few lessons in my youth and that's about it."

"You can't be worse than me!" She laughed as she scooted over on the bench and pat beside her. "Here, come on. Give me a demonstration!" 

"Are you sure?" He chuckled, and glanced at her again. "I wouldn't want to offend your baby, if nothing else, hm? Might start crying before he even gets born."

But he sat down on the bench beside her, a respectful amount of distance between them.

Lucrecia laughed, tucking her hair over her ear with a wink. 

"I think Sephiroth can handle it, Veld. A little terrible piano isn't going to make him fuss—and maybe it'll give him an appreciation when he meets friends who can actually play, hmm? He'll go 'oh thank gaia, they're better than Uncle Veld'."

Sephiroth. That was what she'd been calling the baby for the last month or so. Not exactly a traditional name, but he wasn't about to criticize a mother.

She closed some of the distance—and bumped her shoulder against his.

He laughed, a little surprised by the sudden contact, and smiled at her. "Uncle Veld, hm? Can't say I mind being pinned with it."

She was close enough now that he could smell the perfume she was wearing, a sweet scent of vanilla and subtle florals mingled with cinnamon that tingled his nose. Her bright stare glanced sidelong at him—seeming to size him up again. One of her arms rested around her waist, and the other lingering on the keys near his hand.

"I was hoping you wouldn't. I have a feeling Sephiroth could use a couple of stable figures in his life. And I can't think of a more stable figure than you, Veld. Mr. Clockwork." Her tone was teasing—but not unpleasantly so.

"Mr. Clockwork." He chuckled again. "I'm hardly a tin man. Though I suppose I'm the more organized between me and Vincent. We're not much of an odd couple though, admittedly. We've always gotten along."

Lucrecia tapped another note on the piano, letting it ring through the room with a fondness in her smile. 

"You two do have a lot in common, don't you? And…" Her shoulder leaned more firmly against him. "Odd or not, you're still a couple, hm?"

Veld felt himself flush. He knew from her tone how she meant it. More than just partners in the Turks, Vincent and Veld were a 'couple', though they'd never exactly used those words. It had never exactly been decided, just a long series of small moments that had all added up into an easy and comfortable, and yes, decidedly romantic in its own way, relationship between them.

"I suppose we are, yes." Veld rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that Vincent had said that Lucrecia wouldn't mind, and he wasn't particularly jealous; rather he was happy to see his partner having such a nice time– but there was still that friction there. Maybe because Vincent and Lucrecia were a man and a woman expecting a baby, and Vincent and Veld were two men who had never even used the word 'date'.

Lucrecia held her hands up with a bright smile. 

"It doesn't bother me at all, just so you know! In fact, I think it's pretty fantastic! You should hear the way he talks about you!" She leaned on the piano again and urged him to play a chord by playing its complement on the higher side of the piano. "I'll admit, it got me interested, especially since you've always been very kind to me."

Veld took the hint, and rested his fingers on the piano keys, playing a few notes from a simple song that he remembered. 

So… she was sizing him up, it seemed. But what her expectations were, were anyone's guess. He felt himself flushing around the collar. 

"Well, I'm not usually an open book, but Vincent's absolutely smitten with you, you know. So I'm happy to shuffle a few pages for you if you want a look."

She played rather well, answering his side of the simple tune on her side of the piano as she smiled a little wider. 

"I'm known to be a voracious reader, Veld. I figured I should at least warn you." 

He craned his neck to glance at her, his fingers stumbling over the keys as he took his attention away from them. 

"Warn me?"

She flicked a key, eliciting a small ping as she smiled a little wider. 

"I said I was a voracious reader, didn't I? So if you give me a peek, well—" She gestured towards him with one hand, lacquered nails catching the light. "I'll be compelled to read the whole book. Top to bottom." 

Ah. 

Adventurous indeed.

The flush around Veld's collar spread quite quickly all the way up to his ears, and he chuckled.

"Why, Doctor Crescent, are you trying to seduce me?"

"That obvious, am I?" She asked, her coy, almost catlike smile belying that she knew exactly how obvious it was. 

A laugh escaped Veld's lips, and he moved his hand from the piano keys over to rest on top of her hand instead– gingerly, but not hesitantly.

"Well, Doctor, remember I am a Turk," he teased back. "Part of my job is to figure people out."

Lucrecia laughed with him, and her thumb brushed up and against the side of his hand. 

"And you've already proven yourself to be pretty damned good at it—I shouldn't keep secrets, then." Her voice dropped into a low purr. "Yes. I'm trying to seduce you—and yes, Vincent already knows." 

"Well, you answered my next question already then." He stroked his fingers over hers in return, feeling the softness of her slim hand. "I'd offer you a drink, but we shouldn't get little Sephiroth started on the habit so early."

She laughed pleasantly.

"Probably not. It's one vice of his mother's I hope he won't take to. Not too badly, at least!" She rested her head against his shoulder, her long hair draped down his back. "How about a rain check? After he's born—I'll go out for a drink with you. Sound nice? The Inn's got a pretty nice bar for a sleepy little village." 

"Sounds nice to me. You'll need some relaxation time after all that motherhood, or so I've heard." He brushed his hair out of his face, and smiled back at her. "In the meantime, if you'd like to have a meal or watch a film– I'm sure we can find an excuse to get to know one another a little better."

She looked up at him, that cat's smile still written on her face. It was easy to see what Vincent saw in her in the candlelight. "I was hoping you'd say that. It's a date, got it? A date~. After all…the lover of my lover and all."

"Well, now that you say that I'm going to have to take Vincent out on an official date as well. We've never technically been."

Charming. Lucrecia was very charming. Easy to talk to, intelligent, beautiful of course but that was secondary to the rest. Veld could easily see how he'd fallen for her, and probably changed the course of all their lives somehow.

"Never, hm? Now that's a shame!" Lucrecia played a little tune with one hand, winking his way. "After you do that—maybe the three of us can enjoy one together, too. I know I wouldn't complain—not with the company of two handsome Turks." 

"All three of us, hmm?" The idea had a strong appeal. "In that case no one would be bored."

Lucricia's delicate fingers intertwined with his—and he was soon all too aware of the warmth of her body and the scent of her perfume as she leaned in close. 

"No, I think we could find all sorts of wonderful ways to entertain one another, Veld. That's a promise." 

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I reckon Cloud gets so lost looking at the stars sometimes. He spent endless nights as a kid up on the water tower, staring up at the sky and just admiring. No thoughts, no words. Just staring at the endless expanse of dots and waves of colour until his mother would finally call him in.

He’d taken it for granted. Went years without seeing any stars while living in Midgar and then years more without seeing anything. He’d missed it something fierce but never realised until that first night out in Kalm.

He’d looked up after his talk with Tifa and suddenly became stuck. It wasn’t the same stars and constellations on this continent, but there were just as many this far out from the city and all its pollution. There were no waves of colour and moving blinks of light but there were vague sort of hints at them.

Something in him ached at the sight of it all regardless. Fuzzed memories that didn’t hurt like usual echoing in the back of his mind, a cheery voice relaying the constellations they could see. Warmth enveloping him from behind and breath ghosting over his ear. He can’t remember who it was though. Can’t even remember seeing the sky then either.

But he feels like it might’ve looked like this and that makes his heart feel achingly full and dreadfully empty all at once. Like he’s missing something to plug the hole that’s draining him out.

He ends up staying on that roof most the night. Staring at the stars and the vague waves of colours. Going so long between blinks that the image of them becomes burned into the backs of his eyelids, so he’s carrying entire galaxies and nebulae right there with him when he finally trudges his way back to bed.

[phoenixcatch7]

The problem I'm having with one of my stories is that it is compelling - but not clicking.

It's a sephiroth gets reincarnated into mdzs. Straightforward. I've got several branching paths: lwj, jc, nmj (my personal fave) and the jade twins (one mind in two bodies). All five of them have great potential, but for some reason my heart is set on sephiroth!lwj, because the aesthetic is sublime.

But! It's! Not! Working!

My main problems are a) despite similar surfaces, sephiroth has fundamentally different morals and life experiences to lwj and lwjs morals are a huge part of his and wwx's stories. B) I can't NOT have wangxian. I don't ship often at all, but when I do I'm pretty set on it lol. I don't want to deny soulmates. Unfortunately I HATE writing romance. C) I do not think sephiroth should be in any sort of romantic relationship at all nor can I see him wanting one. I've read tons of fics where he is in relationships (healthy or otherwise) and they're amazing, yes, but... Under my pen it's just not in the cards. And I do feel pairing him with wwx would just amplify wwx's worst traits, which is the opposite of what lwj does for him.

Everything's in conflict, but the lure of sephiroths second childhood in strict gusu and his complicated feelings about it, wwx being a perfect mix of all his important people with a spine of steel and righteousness that they all lost as everything fell apart, the relationship between sephiroth and his new mother, and how he'd inexplicably lose her too, the white on white aesthetic, the older identical brother, the cruel angels aesthetic with the benevolent demon, the angst of wwx's defection and death, his relationship with qi as a planet's overflowing life force, the tragedy of the mourning angel, monster x monster.... It calls to me.

But there's also the way wwx becoming a demonic cultivator was so vital to winning the war, and the way that affected things, gave him a legitimacy. Involve the silver soldier, and well. Everything else becomes a little extraneous lol. And sephiroth himself is such a big mover and shaker, I don't know what I could do to manage that without wiping out 80% of the remaining jianghu after the burial mounds siege with sephiroth appointing himself king lmao. He's not the kind of person to make small ripples, you know?

And I'd love a twin jades au to sort of turn the chaos inwards a bit (nmj and jgy would be Excellent foils) but again, I can't separate wangxian and imagining scenes feels a bit too close to incest for my tastes, even when it's ONE PERSON in identical bodies!

It's frustrating, wanting to write a non romance fic set in a love story lol. I just. I hate writing romance. But wangxian just don't want to be parted.

But the image of lwj in the xuanwu cave secretly covering a feverish wwx with his wing, only to notice a handful of white feathers pushing through the black as he unknowingly becomes a better person through showing care for other people, shaking his own deep belief that he is a horrible irredeemable creature incapable of love. Caught in an act of love. Hnggh.

Any ideas?!

[stupidgenius]

The ang/gen/seph tag is so dead compared to all my other fandoms but I literally don't care, I'm having the time of my life here, here's a sneak peak of Enlightenment chapter 3 because I'm excited:

***

“I was with the professor. I’m fine.” He explains. Somewhere, deep inside, he feels badly that they stayed up worrying. They didn’t have to. Maybe he should have told them he would be unavailable all day before he left.

“Seph,” Angeal doesn’t touch. He moves aside, a clear order to get out of the elevator. “You’re shaking.”

When he looks down at his hands, he finds that they are, indeed. Fine tremors, but shaking none the less. Another pair of hands comes into his field of view – longer fingers than his, but more slender. The polish on one of the nails is chipped, and it always is, because he takes his gloves off with his teeth and he always bites it on accident.

“May I?” Genesis asks.

[bardic-tales]

Sephiroth xReader: A brief respite

So, I have been either laid up in bed or on my computer watching cat videos and the like since I have been diagnosis with RSV days ago. Last night was the first day I felt well-enough to interact with anyone, but being stuck in bed is boring. So, I wrote this.

Please excuse any typos or tense changes, as my temp was like 101.8F when I wrote this: from a fevered dream I had and a scribbled note on it in my dream journal. Setting is some time during SOLDIER. Reader (who is me lol) is his love interest and sick as a dog. But it can work for anyone. I try to leave it genderless and raceless so everyone who is or might be sick can feel some sense of comfort. If you ignore the mention of my actual illness in the first paragraph, I am sure it could work with a cold or flu?

Rated: General. There are mentions of illness

Pairing: Sephiroth x genderless reader

The faint glow of the bedside lamp illuminates the room, casting soft shadows across the wall and resembled monsters with endless wings. You lie there: bored and sore. Your chest is tight and throat raw. Your breath comes in shallow, labored wheezes. The oppressive weight of RSV - Respiratory Syncytial Virus - lingers in your lungs and every movement feels like a monumental effort.

Sephiroth sits nearby in a simple wooden chair. His long silvery-grey hair cascades over his shoulders and down his back, pooling off the furniture. The dim light catches the metallic sheen of his pauldrons, and the faint reflection of green materia - healing materia - glimmers on his belt. His bright cyan eyes are focused entirely on you. Their cat-like pupils narrowed slightly with concern and a bit of frustration.

You have refused to let him heal you with his magic: or even take the edge of the pain. You view it as abnormal and wanted a more natural way of healing. So, you lay there. Sweat covered your body in a fine sheen.

"You need to drink more water," he says. His voice is calm and steady with the usual softness that he used with those he cared about. He reached out, offering you a cool glass of water.

You nod -- a weak nod as the simple act of sipping is exhausting -- but it was a nod, non-the-less. He watches you closely, your silent sentinel. The professional he's known for in SOLDIER is tempered here by something more tender, and dare you think more personal.

"I made something for you while you were asleep," Sephiroth says after a moment. He stands. His coat flows behind him as he crosses the small space to the table under the window. When he returns, he's holding a steaming bowl.

Pumpkin soup.

The rich orange color is inviting. As the aroma wafts towards you. It was comforting and familiar. He never really explains to you the reason he loved this type of soup. He only mentions that it had something to do with his mother, but you are always so curious of him and never press him beyond that.

Sephiroth's expression remains stoic, but you know him well enough to see the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes: a desire to help ease your symptoms. He kneels beside the bed, cradling the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"It's too thick," you rasp, managing a faint smile as your back ached from the movement. Coughing created tight, painful bands of agony across the middle of your back. Each movement felt like your back was on fire.

For a moment, he looks almost sheepish and boyish -- a rare sight, indeed. "I can thin it out," he says. This time his voice is quiet and resolute. But instead of leaving immediately, he sets the bowl aside and reaches out. His fingers brushed against your cheek.

"You're warm," he continues. His hand lingers for a moment before he stands, returning to the kitchen area to adjust the soup.

As he works, you watch him: the strong lines of his back, the fluidity of his movements. It's hard to reconcile the man in front of you with the stories you heard of his exploits in SOLDIER. He's so much more than warrior and the Living Legend the world sees. To you, he's Sephiroth: the man who makes pumpkin soup when you're sick, the man who sits by your bedside, refusing missions that his other 1st comrades are going on, and will not leave until you are feeling better.

When he returns, the soup is thinner and more manageable. He offers a spoonful. Even here, his movements careful and precise. You take a small sip, the warmth spreading through you and your system like a comfortable embrace.

"It's good," you whisper. However, you can barely manage more than a taste.

He doesn't respond immediately, but you could see a subtle shift in his expression: a flicker of relief. He sets the bowl aside again. this time, he is content to just sit by your side.

As the night wore on, your breathing remains strained, but Sephiroth is a constant presence. He reads quietly from a book, the soft timbre of his voice soothing, even if you are too tired to catch all of the words. Every so often, he reaches out to adjust your blanket -- a silver and black blanket with the Shinra emblem stitched in the corner -- or offer you a drink of the cool water.

Eventually, he stands. You hear the soft clink of his pauldrons as he removes them, setting them on the nearby dresser. Opening your eyes slightly, you see him standing there with his long coat brushing the floor as he slips out of it and drapes it over the back of the chair. He is left standing in his black trousers, the leather pad with the Shinra emblem over his stomach, and, of course, the crossed suspenders over his chest.

Sephiroth climbs into bed beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. His arms encircles you gently, pulling you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a balm against the fever ravaging your body and the discomfort that still lingers.

"You'll feel better soon," he murmurs. His breath stirs tiny wisps of your hair. "I'll make sure of it."

His warmth surrounds you: a steady and unyielding presence against the disease that threatens you. You let yourself relax into the safety of his embrace. Despite the heaviness in your lungs, you feel a small spark of comfort being with this man, knowing that no matter how difficult the night becomes, Sephiroth will be there, holding you close until the morning light.

[leeus-writing]

Thank you for the tag @local-flower-girl ❤️❤️

Rules

Post the names of the files of your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you asks with the title that most intrigued them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it. If you want, tag as many people as you have WIPS.

~ ~

I have alot!

I won't include my requests but I will include my plans

Current fics

Union - Sephiroth x Aerith fic

Meteor falls - a Reno X OC fic (Will have more than one "book")

Dynamics - a Reno X Reader fic

Plans

Sephiroth x f reader (soldiers are Vampires)

Out of Ff7 fic not sure what it will be yet but it'll be DC based

Rufus X Turk fic

Another Sephiroth x Aerith fic (ABO dynamics)

Reno X Reader (Pirate themed arrrrrr )

Tags

@okarawrites

@milliebeeweasel

@thedarkcoven

[akatsuki-shin]

"RELIANCE" — #TsengRuWeek2024 Day 7: Free Day (Geostigma)

1,6k words | PG

Takes place at the beginning of Advent Children, before Tseng departs for his mission with Elena to the Northern Crater

(link in the reply below)

[burnyourpagoda]

Ooops. Oh well - party hard.

I'm guessing I'm not the only one.....

[oingourboingo]

Hey guys, I’ve been in a bit of an art block so I’ve turned to writing as a scape goat. I wrote the first part in the summer and just now picked it back up. So if you want some angsty cloud x Reno stuff. I would check it out.