#the crisis is coreing

[kaonarvna]

An Insecure Line

(written by kaonarvna)

This fanfiction short story contains the characters: Zack Fair; Sephiroth; Genesis Rhapsodos; Angeal Hewley.

Summary: Following the mass desertion that went with Rhapsodos, everyone in SOLDIER has been stretched too thin for Zack to be trained on his non-combat responsibilities as FIRST. When asked by a THIRD for training support, not knowing what to do, he goes upstairs to the 51st to ask Lazard for guidance. He finds Sephiroth there instead, glued to his PHS in one of his "moods".

There are no explicit ships intended, or shipping terms in use (though I'd call it sephesis-coded). There are no content warnings that I can think of that may apply here. This fic is the result of this poll, which I put up last month. This could be considered "hurt/no comfort", "light angst", or "emotional angst". It's been about five years since I've written fanfiction, so if there are any posting/tagging conventions I'm missing, don't hesitate to get in touch!

Excerpt below the cut! The full piece is easily accessible by the AO3 link.

An Insecure Line (Zack ; Sephiroth ; Genesis ; Angeal)

Brittle bird-bones crack and split as the tip of a standard-issue SOLDIER’s blade twists into the final staggered needlekiss’ fragile skull. Its screeches of disquiet cease, as do the struggling half-beats of wings pinned beneath heavy boots. He twists—as his father once showed him to do with fresh-caught fish—until every quivering reflex stops. The brain froths, scrambled beyond recognition inside its cracked open bone shell. It’s the quickest way, the most humane way, Zack thinks—the faster the better. Making sure every part of a dying creature is gone is the most compassionate way. Empathy for the fish, empathy for the beast that spears man and fish to feed itself, honour for the SOLDIER.

“Another one down—!” he laughs to himself, pulling his blade free and wiping off the perceived filth. The monster’s gore dissolves into the air, as does the warm Western Continent sun, the great trees that filtered its evening light into dancing crescents on the faux forest floor. It disappears procedurally—first the target, then the environmental hazards, the skybox, the light itself—a too-pleasant victory jingle returns the party to reality. Another simulation completed. Zack stands in that blue-grey room with the half-dozen perspiring SOLDIER in his company. They all smell of worn leather, droplets of sweat glistening in the overbearing fluorescent lights.

Thick black wool wicks away the beads of sweat dripping down from Fair’s hairline and underarms. “That was a good one!” He exclaims, laughing as he looks among his subordinates, stretching his arms up into the air and breathing without tension. Breathing, without worry for the too-real creatures poised to kill. The SECONDs, the THIRDs, they too ease, sighing and chattering amongst themselves. In a moment, the exercise’s outcomes project onto the wall, ranking SOLDIER beside SOLDIER for performance: harm dealt, harm received, weapon used, rank, improvement from the previous instance should they have run the sim before.

Zack is on top—FIRST, the only one in the room, surrounded by no-longer-peers and friends that have become inferiors. It’s strange. It shouldn’t be different, he thinks, but it is. It has only been a few weeks since the bittersweet promotion and the change is all too tangible. Yet, he stands just as everyone else does, watching the exercise information light up in the projection. He smiles at others’ progress and his own alike.

After pleasant congratulations and the one-armed hugs and shoulder-pats a good man exchanges with comrades, he steps out of the training facility into the forty-ninth’s open corridors. That corporate air conditioning hits his sticky skin with a revitalising chill, and he lingers, re-orienting himself.

“Hey—Zack?” A familiar voice peeps from behind, having caught the sim door before it closed. “Do you have two seconds?” The boy takes off his helmet—he recognises him, a THIRD, young and new.

Zack knows that he should know his name. It escapes him. “Yeah! Yeah? What’s up?” Turning to face the boy, he wipes the stickiness from his brow, though only smears it. He hardly notices. Leather gloves are not the most absorbent.

“I know you’ve only just got the promotion—and congrats, man! Sir! Really—” he begins, tucking that helmet between his arm and torso. “But—do you think you could put together a training regimen for me? Sorry if it’s inappropriate to ask—Genesis usually oversaw my cohort, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to Deusericus about it, and—” the words spill out of his mouth one after another, between half-exhausted breaths. Zack wonders how he might have fared against real and less predictable beasts.

“No no! It’s cool, it’s cool, don’t apologise,” Zack laughs, popping a hand on the boy’s padded shoulder. He’s probably the same age as when Zack started out, he thinks. “I’m flattered! And ah—don’t call me ‘sir’, I’ll...I don’t know how that’s supposed to go—”

“That’s okay, that’s okay! Sorry if it’s a bad time, sir—Zack—I know everyone’s spread thin because, you know, and now you’re FIRST now that there’s, well—"

It stings, connecting the recent waves of desertion to his promotion, but Zack keeps smiling. “I’ll talk to Lazard and see what I can do! Don’t worry about it, it’s cool—” he reassures, watching as the other bodies begin exiting the training room. They exude a mix of pride and complaints, as always. The swarm wanders towards the showers, that click-click of strap buckles getting undone just as loud as their footsteps and laughter. The THIRD glances over his shoulder at them, and Zack nods in their direction. “I’ll take care of it.”

Smiling wearily, the kid thanks him before turning to join his peers, half-jogging a few steps and calling out before being absorbed into their bubble. Fair lets out a held breath, decompressing, watching them go. He pulls out his PHS—19:30. That was the last training run of the day. “He’s usually still here...” he mutters to himself, “Might be able to catch him.”

The lift always takes too long, and the cool stairwell air is a treat after a full day training inside. He takes the steps three at a time, despite the weakness in his quads. Legs are important, he reminds himself, he can never skip an opportunity to work legs.

Emerging on the fifty-first after scanning his keycard, the space is black, lit only by the faint green glow of the emergency exit lamps. It’s lifeless. Zack waves with both arms towards the ceiling, waiting for the automatic lights to flicker on. With a chirp and a whine, they slowly warm. The floor has always felt too sparse for its own good—the few comfy chairs; extra-long sofas for lounging away from the rest of SOLDIER; the small library with Genesis’ work still scattered across the tables and couch in a “productive mess” he’s not allowed to touch; the couple of pristine PCs set aside for admin work; and Lazard’s office. “Please be in, please be in...” he begs aloud, speed walking towards those heavy doors.

He knocks. Silence.

He knocks again. Silence.

The door gives when he nudges it forward.

Pushing them open, he’s not surprised to see the big lights are off. The golden glow from the director’s plant-lights illuminates the shuttered window blinds, the desk, and the comfy chair that often gets dragged between the workstation and desk. It all confirms that the director is out. Not even the display screen on the wall or the green lights lining the floor are on.

“That’s okay!” he quietly reassures himself, “I’ll try again tomorrow, and—” Zack pivots to leave, before spotting a pair of green dots peering at him from a shadow obscuring the overgrown palm beside the wall. The way it gleans, the same way a cat’s does when you catch it in a dark alley—he knows it well. “Oh! Hey—!” he joins Sephiroth in the room. Lights flicker on once he steps beyond the threshold. “How long have you been in here? In the dark?”

Sephiroth says nothing, raising a gloved finger to his lips, shushing. His other hands pins the PHS to his face, obscuring almost all of its light.

(read the rest here!)

[holly-fixation]

[korychka]

first class💘

[mmediocreman]

if the church had a boombox im sure theyd be dancing all the time

[deathberi]

young sephiroth and young angeal!

[cloudstuffs]

THESE GUYS

[pink-nubes]

Sephi

[emeraldblonde]

Zack shooting his shot in CCR

Bonus:

[sherbet-requiem]

[rocketbirdie]

sorry kunsel i'm afraid this one's a little outside of their brain cell budget

[uekiodiny]

Hey yo!

A beautiful day!

Aerith and Zack

Wedding

[ovegakart]

but is he okay though? a tiny idea that turned into TEN PAGES because angeal had to throw out the saddest statement that they all acted weird about and didnt bring up again. this is an idea ive had for a while of zack trying to cheer sephiroth up with pizza. everyone likes pizza

[blurryzip]

a very blue Sephiroth I finished on procreate

[argiphon]

Puzzle

Even when there’s no promised tomorrow,

I will still return to where you have once stood.

[jojo-the-dogg0]

Zack appreciation post