#child sephiroth

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Epilogue (2 of probably 4)

Summary: 11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

LISTEN I LIED OK. THERE ARE MORE THAN TWO PARTS TO THIS EPILOGUE I CAN'T HELP IT. a lot of people need to have their loose ends tied up and who am i to deny them? after this, there's a heavy one (mom needed her own entire chapter), and the fun one (for everyone else) will be last. i think. who knows, at this rate.

gratuitous sephiroth because he's beautiful

“You guys come from Nibelheim?” asked a shirtless, very suntanned teenaged boy, who had just carried in a crate of vegetables. “No? Oh, man, did you hear what happened over there? Earthquake opened up natural gas vents, blew Shinra Manor sky high. The Mt. Nibel reactor melted down, too. Town’s ok, but the reactor’s fucked. Lot of people out of jobs, now. They’ve been showing up here, all week.”

“Is that so?” replied the customer he was addressing; a tall, slender, extraordinarily handsome youth, with black hair and crimson eyes. “How unfortunate.”

“Know what I heard?” the first teenaged boy’s equally shirtless and suntanned brother piped up, as he carried in another vegetable crate. “I heard a bunch of those monsters they were making there broke loose, and that’s what did it. They say Shinra’s covering it all up, by claiming it was earthquakes and gas leaks and shit. But my best friend’s girlfriend is in the fourth infantry and she told him—”

“Alright you two, shut your yaps and get back to work,” a trim, middle-aged woman in an apron and sundress scolded, shooing away her gossiping sons, who rolled their eyes and stalked off, with their crates of vegetables. She beamed at the customer they’d been chatting to, as she unfolded a paper bag and filled it with the wrapped sandwiches he’d ordered. “That all for ya, honey?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the youth nodded. “Oh—and a chocolate chip cookie. Thank you, ma’am.”

The little blonde boy at his side reached for the oversized cookie, but the youth took it and put it into the bag, with the sandwiches.

“No more sweets till after lunch,” he admonished. “You can’t grow up tall and strong like me, on an all-cookie diet. Now give me your hand and don’t run off.”

The woman behind the counter smiled warmly, to see the older boy (brother she assumed, though they didn’t look much alike) taking such attentive care of the younger, and the little one minding him so well, holding his hand and doing as he was told, without fussing or making a scene.

Just then, the sound of a crash and two young, male voices arguing came from the back of the shop. She sighed, shaking her head. If only her two idiot sons were so well-behaved and thoughtful as those two. They must have a much better father.

Oblivious to the unfavorable comparison they’d created for the other two young men, the black-haired youth and the tiny blonde boy walked down the bustling street, hand-in-hand, till they reached one of the many nearly-identical stucco buildings, with terra cotta roof tiles, that were as common as sand, in this beach-resort town.

This particular one was a small house, that was rented to tourists by the week, and had the advantage of being almost directly on the beach and also close to the town center, where all the shops and dining were located.

“Ms. Strife, we’re back!” the older boy called out, as the two entered. “Take off your shoes, Cloud, we don’t want to track sand all over the place.”

“Boys, thank the goddess,” a young blonde woman said, from the kitchen table. She’d been sipping iced tea and flipping through a copy of Midgar Magazine, but as the two approached, she collapsed in her chair and flung her arm theatrically over her face, like a tragic heroine. “You’re just in time to snatch me from the jaws of starvation! Quick, quick, my roast-beef sandwich! Before I waste away to nothing but bones!”

“Mama’s being dramatic,” the little blonde boy informed the older one, pursing his lips. “Don’t give her any, till she says please and thank you. That’s the rules.”

“Ah, my cruel son,” his mother intoned, reaching over to capture him in her arms and tickle his ribs, while he giggled and kicked. “No use trying to escape, Cloudy boy! This is your punishment for betraying your poor, starving mother! Oh, thanks for picking up lunch, Seph. If you don’t mind getting your pa, I’d appreciate it. He hasn’t come out of his room, yet, and I don’t dare disturb him.”

“It’s alright. He hates the sun and he doesn’t eat, anyway,” Seph answered cheerfully, taking a seat at the table. “He’ll probably sleep till sunset.”

“Uh-huh. But he’s definitely not a vampire,” she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, as she set her wriggling son back on his feet.

“Vampires eat blood. People blood,” Cloud asserted, with a grimace. “Mr. Valentine can’t be a vampire.”

“Cloud is correct, my father doesn’t drink blood,” Seph confirmed, as he poured glasses of milk for himself and Cloud. “But he used to sleep in a coffin.”

“Disappointing,” Claudia lamented, through a bite of her sandwich. “I bet he doesn’t even turn into bats or explode in direct sunlight, either.”

Seph arched a black eyebrow. “Would you prefer he was a blood-drinking monster?”

“If he’d turn me into one, too. It’d be kinda cool to be a vampire.”

“Mama! Be good!” Cloud scolded, mortified by his mother’s laissez faire attitude toward joining the ranks of the undead.

“Tch, what’s the fun in that? Besides, if I was good all the time, you wouldn’t exist, my darlin’ little bossy-boots.”

Seph nearly choked on his sip of milk, and covered his mouth with a napkin, coughing and sputtering.

“What’s being good got to do with having a kid?” Cloud wanted to know.

“Nothing, baby, mama’s just being silly,” his mother replied breezily, ruffling his golden hair. “Alright, boys, I hope you dirtied up some laundry for me to wash, or I won’t have anything to do to earn my keep around here, before the boss wakes up.”

“You did laundry yesterday, Ms. Strife,” Seph pointed out. “We’re wearing the only clothes we’ve dirtied up.”

“What about your linens? Those must need a wash, right?”

Both boys shook their heads.

She slumped defeatedly. “Can’t one of you be a team player and wet the bed? Are you trying to make me obsolete?”

“My father doesn’t really expect you to be working, all the time. He mostly hired you so that I wouldn’t be lonely.”

“I know that, but…I’m just so grateful to him, for getting us outta that shithole town—”

“Mama!”

“Oops—I mean, that dirthole town. Anyway, I can’t ever repay your pa for giving us this opportunity. So I at least want to do everything I can to be useful.”

“You’re already doing more than enough, Ms. Strife,” Vincent’s deep voice said, from the archway, where he had appeared unnoticed by the group.

“Father!” Seph smiled, hopping up to throw his arms around him, as if they hadn’t seen one another in a week.

“Ah, well—ha ha. I just wish I could do more for y’all,” Claudia said awkwardly. “Seph looks after Cloudy all day, and aside from cooking dinners, I hardly have any housework to do. I feel like a regular bandit, taking what you’re paying me.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Strife, I have more money than my father and I will ever know what to do with,” Seph assured her. “If we can use it for something that helps you and Cloud, and makes us happy at the same time, why not do it?”

Claudia raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you mean your pa has money?”

“No, it all belongs to my son,” Vincent said serenely. “Since I have been legally declared dead and have no wish to be declared living again, Seph is the sole heir and legal possessor of the family assets.”

“That’s right,” Seph put in cheerfully. “Plus, I emptied Hojo’s account before Shinra froze it, so I have all of my fake father’s money, too.”

Vincent nodded approvingly and patted Seph on the shoulder.

“I’m guessing there’s more to that than I want to know about,” Claudia remarked. “I was just wondering, why us? I mean, Cloudy ain’t even close to your age and I’m a high-school dropout who’s never been outta Nibelheim. There’s gotta be better companions for a couple rich, educated gentlemen.”

“Ms. Strife, do you believe in omens?” Seph asked. “Or portentous dreams?”

“Uh. I’m as religious as the next person, I guess. You’re not saying you had a dream about us, are you?”

“I am saying just that,” Seph nodded earnestly. “That day we first met, in the bakery, I had the strongest feeling that there was some fate between us. Then that night, I had a dream. A messenger from the goddess came to me, and showed me…a lot of confusing things, about the future. But amidst all the chaos, the thing that stood out most clearly was little Cloud, here. He is deeply important to the Planet, and it’s my goddess-given duty to act as his guardian angel. To protect him and help him, any way I can.”

This was all news to Cloud, who was staring at the older boy, with eyes as wide and round and saucers. He’d even stopped eating his chocolate chip cookie.

“It’s so strange you’d say that about a dream,” Claudia said, with a glance at her son. “Because…well, you wanna tell ‘em about it, baby?”

Cloud frowned and drew into himself, shaking his head.

“Is something the matter?” Seph asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Cloudy had a dream that night, too. He came running into my room, screaming about the town was burning down, and we had to get out of the house. Scared the tar out of me.”

As she said this, a look of pain flickered across Seph’s face, so briefly that no one observed.

“I ran to the window to look, but everything was quiet, just like normal. I told him it was just a nightmare, but he kept saying it wasn’t a dream. He insisted that the town was gonna burn and the boy with the silver hair was gonna fly down and save us from the fire, cause…uh. Cause you’re an angel. With wings and everything.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Cloud muttered sullenly, without looking up. “I wasn’t even sleeping.”

“I thought nothing of it, but then the very next day, there was that huge explosion at the manor,” his mother went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Broke windows all over town and shook our whole house. Then all those helicopters started flying over and a lot of big trucks came roaring through. People running by said the manor went up like it was full of dynamite. Cloudy was trying to drag me out of the house, to go over there, but it was too dangerous, and the soldiers wouldn’t let anyone anywhere near it, anyway. It was plain eerie the way it happened right after his dream, and all. I mean, the town didn’t catch fire, but it was damn close. They say rubble got thrown all the way to the old Lawson cabin, in the outskirts.”

Seph nodded gravely. “I’m glad no one from the town was harmed. It seems the goddess truly was protecting you.”

“You and your father, as well. Unless you think it was just dumb luck that you weren’t there, when it happened.”

“I don’t believe in luck. But, in any case, that’s my reason for having you two with us. I want to protect Cloud and take care of him, no matter what it takes. If that means helping you establish yourselves in a better place, with more opportunities than Nibelheim, then that’s what I mean to do. But we can talk about all of that another day. If you don’t object, I was planning to take Cloud to look for shells and beach glass.”

“Sure,” Claudia smiled. “I mean, as long as the boss doesn’t mind.”

“Father?” Seph prompted, when it became clear Vincent wasn’t aware he was being deferred to.

Vincent looked startled. “Hm? I’m the boss? When did we decide that?”

“You’re my father and Ms. Strife works for you. You’re literally the boss, in that respect.”

“I see,” Vincent said, slumping gloomily. “Then my first act as the boss is to tell everyone to do whatever you like. But don’t keep Cloud out too late. And if you get the slightest whiff of trouble, you call me. Do not engage. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Seph said dutifully. “Come on, Cloud. Let’s go change into our swimsuits.”

“Leave your dirty clothes on the floor, this time!” Claudia called after them. “I need something to do!”

“My son is…very spiritual, Ms. Strife,” Vincent said, once the boys had gone. “I hope his ideas don’t trouble you. If so, I’ll ask him not to say such things, in your son’s presence.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all. The goddess speaks to everyone in different ways,” she said, as she began to clear the few lunch things from the table. “So, when were you planning on telling me the truth, about who you two are, and why you’re on the run from Shinra?”

A little while later, Cloud and Seph were headed to the beach, hand-in-hand, with plastic buckets hung over their arms. Cloud was wearing bright blue swim trunks, with a yellow starfish pattern, and Seph was in black surf shorts and a white v-neck t-shirt.

He’d pulled his shoulder-length hair back into a low ponytail, and with his outsized height and visible muscle tone, he looked much older than fourteen. Cloud, however, was small even for a boy his age, and so they made something of an odd pair, as they strolled along at the surf line, stopping, ever so often, to pick up shells and colorful bits of sand-tumbled glass.

“Why’s your hair and your eyes different now?” Cloud asked, as they crouched to paw about in the wet sand.

Seph smiled at him. “Did you like them better, before?”

Cloud nodded.

“I’m sorry I changed them, then. But people are looking for me, and they’d recognize my silver hair and mako eyes, right away. I have to disguise myself when we’re in public, for now.”

“What’s mako eyes?”

“I have been regularly treated with mako infusions, since I was a baby.” Seph dispelled the crimson illusion on his eyes, and Cloud leaned close, to inspect them. “My eyes are naturally light blue. That green in the center is from the mako.”

“Why aren’t the black parts round, like other people’s?”

“I was just born that way,” Seph said, with a rueful smile.

He preferred not to explain to the child that, despite his purification by Chaos, the effects of Jenova’s cells on his body couldn’t be reversed. The damage had already been done, as it were, and so the related traits were permanent. Among these, were his slit pupils and silver hair.  

“Do they look scary?” he asked Cloud. “Like monster eyes?”

Cloud shook his golden head. “They look like cat eyes. Cats are nice.”

“When we settle down somewhere less temporary, would you like to get a cat?”

“Yeah! Lots of cats!” Cloud said excitedly, then his face fell. “But what if your pa won’t let us?”

“Don’t worry, I happen to know that my father likes cats. Even if he didn’t, he’d let me have as many as I wanted. He has a lot of paternal guilt, and I’m afraid it manifests in over-indulging me.”

“What’s paternal guilt?”

“It’s when a father feels bad for not being a better father, or for his child having had an unhappy life. None of what happened to us was his fault, of course, but he still blames himself.”

“Is that why he’s sad all the time?”

“Yes, partly. He has suffered a lot. But I’m doing my best to take good care of him and make him happy.”

“But you’re not supposed to take care of him. Grown-ups are supposed to take care of kids,” Cloud asserted.

“Don’t you take care of your mother, too?”

“Mm. Yeah, I guess so.”

They dug around for a while in silence, but for the roar of the ocean and the plunk of shells and glass into their buckets. When there was nothing more to be scavenged, they moved on, in search of another spot.

“What people are looking for you?” Cloud asked.

“Shinra. They are not nice people. But it’s nothing you or your mother need to worry about. There’s no one in the world who can hurt you, if you’re with me and my father.”

Cloud made a dubious face. “Not even soldiers?”

“Not even soldiers.”

“What if they have guns?”

Seph’s eyes flashed with bloodthirsty intent. “If anyone dared to use a firearm in a manner that threatened you, they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.”

Cloud’s eyes went round and his mouth fell open. “You would kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Have you…killed anyone before?”

“Yes, I have,” Seph answered, matter-of-factly. “Does that frighten you?”

Cloud thought about this for a moment. “Well, why did you kill them? Were they bad?”

“Not all of them. I have killed and hurt people, who didn’t deserve it. I was very little, not much older than you are, now. When I couldn’t control my emotions, bad things happened, and people died. I didn’t know right from wrong, back then, because no one taught me. But I do now. Those bad things won’t happen again. Never. I’m going to protect people, not hurt them. I’m going to save everyone, this time.”

Cloud picked up a broken sand dollar and fiddled with it. “Did you didn’t save everyone before?”

There was an oddly mature pointedness to the question, that made the hairs prickle up on the back of Seph’s neck. “Cloud, do you ever…remember things that haven’t happened yet?”

The boy started to shake his head, then paused and turned it into a hesitant nod. “Mama says it’s dreams, but it’s not when I’m sleeping. And sometimes the things I remembered happen.”

“What kind of things do you remember?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Cloud, you can tell me anything. I promise, I will always believe you.”

“W—well, ok. I dreamed about…you, before I knew you. And then we saw you at the bakery. Mama already told you about the dream where you flew down to save us from the fire. But after that, I dreamed about you again. You didn’t look like you look, but I know it was you. You were big and tall, and you had a long jacket and long hair, all the way down to your butt. And you were burning everything and standing in the fire and…and I had to kill you.” Cloud burst out sobbing and threw his little arms around Seph’s waist, burying his face in his t-shirt. “I don’t want to kill you! I won’t do it! I won’t!”

Seph picked him up and cradled him tightly in his arms, rocking and soothing him, pressing kisses to his golden head. When the boy was calm again, he set him down on his feet, and crouched to be on his eye level. “I know what you saw was terrible, but it will never happen, I promise.”

“You believe me?” Cloud sniffled, wiping his pink-rimmed eyes.

“Of course I believe you. I saw the same thing.”

Cloud’s eyes went wide yet again. “You did?”

“I did. I think what we both saw was a memory of a different future, from before I changed everything. That was the future where I didn’t save everyone.”

“But it’s not gonna happen now?”

“No. The things we saw were real. Terribly real. But they’re not, anymore. I’ve broken the shackles of fate, from all of us. Now, we’re free to make our own destiny.”

Cloud gave a bewildered frown. “You talk weird.”

“I know,” Seph smiled.

“Your pa talks weird, too. Like he’s from a book.”

“Well, he’s an old man. He can’t help it. I’m just weird. Is that alright?”

“Mmm…yeah, it’s ok,” Cloud decided. “You sound smart, like a grown-up. But you don’t act all grumpy and bossy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Only, don’t get into the habit of assuming all grown-ups are smart. A lot of them are extremely stupid. Especially the grumpy and bossy ones.”

Cloud laughed delightedly at this, as Seph took his hand, and the two walked on, to seek out another spot for gathering shells.

“Do you think my mama and your pa will get married?”

“To each other? I certainly hope not. Then we’d be brothers.”

“You don’t want to be brothers?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Cloud said quietly, lowering his head to look at the sand he was kicking.

Seph squeezed his hand. “Don’t be sad. It’s not because I don’t like you. I don’t want us to be brothers, because I want to marry you, one day.”

Cloud gave a start and jerked it away, his round cheeks turning bright pink. “You want to marry me??”

“Yes. Not for a long time, though. When we’re grown up.”

“B—but I’m a boy! Boys can’t marry boys!”

“I think it’s good we got you out of Nibelheim, sooner rather than later,” Seph remarked, making a distasteful face. “Those kind of backward ideas seem to be epidemic in small towns, like that.”

“What’s a backwards idea?”

“A backward idea is one that relies on ignorance, prejudice, or blind adherence to tradition, to make a moral judgement, about something with no inherent morality attached.”

“Uh…”

“For example, the idea that two men or two women can’t be married. People like to say it’s wrong, but what is actuallywrong about it? Is it bad for a woman to love another woman and want to be her wife? Is it bad for a man to want to build a life and a family with another man? If it’s not wrong for a man and woman to do those things, why is it wrong for two men or two women?”

Cloud thought for a moment, then his face lit up, like he’d had an epiphany. “It’s not! It’s the same!”

Seph gave an approving nod. “Exactly. When you hear moralizing statements like that, never just accept them. Interrogate the idea and form your own opinion.”

“What’s interrogate?”

“It means to honestly ask yourself what you really think. If you can’t decide, ask someone you trust. Seek out other perspectives and information. Never take a right or wrong statement at face value.”

“Ok. If I can’t decide, I’ll ask you.”

Seph blinked. “Wait, me? You mean…you trust me?”

“Uh-huh!” Cloud beamed. “You’re my guardian angel. Even if you don’t have wings.”

He had to swallow against the aching tightness in his throat, at the pure, guileless sweetness of this innocent child. A child he remembered as a young man, looking upon him with the bitterest animosity, as he drove a sword through his gut—after Sephiroth had done the same to him. But…that wasn’t truly them. They would never become the mortal enemies, who drew one another’s blood in madness and hatred. Destiny was defeated. Their fate was their own to write.

“Cloud, can I tell you a secret?” Sephiroth said, leaning down to speak softly in the boy’s ear. “I do have wings.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY we all deserved a beach episode i think

next chapter

[holly-fixation]

One White Wing

Summary: Accidentally ending up back in time using the Lifestream, Sephiroth makes it his mission to find Jenova immediately. Since he crawled out of a reactor core, the first place he checked was Shinra Tower, flying through the 68th floor windows with his massive black wing. 

What he found wasn't the body of Mother. He found himself, young, cowering, terrified, with a bloody wing out of his back. A white wing. 

Inspired by This art by @Waldein_forest on Twitter. 

Please enjoy!

…

Floating. Drifting. Resting along the tides of life, the blood of the planet. Building strength. Building again. No more failures. Not again. Fixing memories. Finding mistakes, all the way back to the beginning. Change it. Change it. 

Change it. 

* * * 

Who could do something like this?

Why?

How?

The report left too many unanswered questions. The few answers it managed to give only worried everyone more. It went somewhere, it escaped, and it’s too strong to stop. 

But the reactors were good. The energy they provided powered the entire city, upper plate, under plate, sector zero’s massive tower and all. Why would anyone attack one? Especially from the inside?

No one knew what it was. 

Video footage of the attack was glitched, discolored, and distorted as what looked to be a human with long white hair and long dark clothes climbing out of the mako at the bottom of the reactor core, dripping in the modified green essence of The Planet. Any attempt at identification through enhancing the image in resulted in crippling corruption, destroying the recording beyond even basic recognition. 

This creature, person, whatever it was, tore through every security measure in the core. Turrets, destroyed by long range magic, barely a bullet or beam fired at this unfathomable enemy. Sentinels, cut to pieces before they could even react to its falling limbs, left as nothing but cleanly cut scrap metal with sparks of failing batteries, hoping for a connection to finish the loop of crumbling energy. That was the most terrifying fact: all lasting damage was clean, all slices and slashes of the ineffable blade with perfect precision and accuracy. Utterly perfect, not a single wasted attack, always hitting its mark.

After decimating any attempt to take it down, only a single tilted camera remained to record the attacker, tilted and unseen. A massive black wing broke out of its back with ease before it shot into the air, a single flap leaving black feathers floating delicately down from the updraft. Only a few workers saw where this creature’s focus targeted after escaping. It flew straight for Shinra Tower. 

That creature was Sephiroth, after his second failure to Cloud Strife. After his remnants failed. After they cured his virus. After The Planet began healing again.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong. The moment he pulled himself out of the Lifestream, his connection to Mother wavered, held together like a string of gelatin, easily mailable, easily folded, easily broken, easily torn apart. He needed her, before he lost the tie completely. He searched for her without question, and after discovering his current location, he flew to the first place they moved her body after he learned his truth. 

Last time, they contained her body in the lab near the top floor. There’s no reason he couldn’t find her again by starting at the top. And the helicopter pad was all but an invitation to do so. The tower was still standing. Standing again. Midgar itself sustained and maintained its previous visage, all buildings perfect and all plates supported, no debris, no destruction, no pain. He didn’t even drop the sector seven plate, but he knew it happened. How was it all back? How was everything back in this city of despair? 

He took a single look at the wreckage of his escape, a single, massive sign the only proof he needed. 

There it stood, in white letters along the near collapsing wall, “01”. The first reactor Cloud and his meaningless friends destroyed, before they even knew he returned. 

He’d figure out ‘when’ he was later, as soon as he had Mother safe and sound. He couldn’t reach her through Reunion. He needed to find her physically, but this time was far beyond his goal, far beyond the day after Meteor struck the planet. He did not change his trajectory. His best and closest bet still remained atop that tower, landing exactly in front of the window behind the president’s desk. Without hesitation, he slashed the glass to nothing in a single beam that sliced the chair clean in half.

To his disappointment, the sitting president had already been escorted out of the building, or at least the office itself from his little attack at the reactor, so no satisfactory blood spilled on the way to Mother. Inconvenient, but nothing more. As he traveled down the building, nothing he saw determined the current year. He vaguely recognized the reactor from Cloud’s memories. Most of his consciousness, due to his years floating in the Lifestream after Meteor failed, left his own memories all but incinerated, vaguely recognizable as what they were before dissipating to ash at too great a touch. Though it didn’t matter. Only Mother mattered.

For now, he lost context. But he’d get it back with Her at his side.

No attempt at security succeeded. Lockdown doors cleanly opened. Monsters, machines, and personnel all met the same fate as the reactor as he continued through to the lab, carving through the building like warm butter. Unstoppable, in their eyes. Good, because at the very least, the personnel were smart enough to run with their lives intact.

He entered the lab.

And she wasn’t in the pod. There was no pod.

Was she in Nibelheim?

Then what the hell was he feeling? Because the moment he entered the lab, he felt something. Too unclear. Indecipherable over the alarms and pulsing red lights. At very least, if it connected to Reunion in any way, he could use it as a compass to find her. Or he’d make it one. Whatever it took. 

He pulled that connecting cord as he followed it to the back hallways near the examination rooms, all machines still pristine and primed for human experimentation. Without a thought, he broke the lock to the door only to prevent damaging whatever was inside, at least for now, and opened it.

Yet instead of the body he craved to see again, he saw a child, six or seven years old, shaking and trembling with a beginner’s short sword in its left hand. It tried to hide its fear and pain with an attempt at a threatening gaze. But its sky blue, snake-like eyes glowed with terror, its silver hair and pale gray medical gown stained with splashes of blood.

No matter how many memories he threw away, he couldn’t forget that boy.

Despite the sudden realization of who this child was, the only detail that claimed his attention was the bloody wing out of its back. Quivering. Wet. Bloody. 

White. 

* * * 

The little boy couldn’t stop trembling, no matter how hard he tried to will himself calm, no matter how much training he had. The alarms, the lights, the destruction, …the wing. Whatever was coming or going was too strong for him. He had no idea what to do, but if this thing found him, he needed to escape. He heard it tearing through the lab. It was coming closer. 

The door was locked. He wasn’t strong enough to break it open. Not right now. The sword on his wall, the training sword for adults, reflected the red lights with the only hope he had of defending himself. He struggled to wield it as he backed against the farthest corner from the door, the newly born wing stinging in protest at any and all physical contact. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. It drained everything he had when it broke its own opening through his skin, while he screamed and stomped and banged with everything he had to make it stop. 

Minutes old, completely fresh, and with this attack, the lab technicians didn’t test it. They didn’t find him. They didn’t help him.

Did they abandon him to whatever monster this was?

Was this a new test?

Or was he really going to die here?

He didn’t even hear Hojo anywhere nearby. Hojo would jump at the chance to test something new on him. Of course he didn’t want a new test, but with every shred of his body he did not want to be alone with whatever this attacker was. 

He shook his head to regain his important thoughts, his focus. He needed to be ready for a fight. He needed to destroy whatever was about to attack. 

He swore he saw the single blade slash through the lock he couldn’t break in a single instant before it opened.

He almost jumped to attack, but it hurt too much. His wing. His wing. This wing. It pulsed so much pain through him. He couldn’t strike first. 

Then he saw the attacker, and everything changed. 

A tall man, with a black wing, silver hair, and eyes just like his own, like looking in a distorted mirror. 

Like looking at… Did… did someone finally…?

“...I’m you, from the future,” His deep voice rumbled under the alarms, after a few seconds of observation. “And we’re leaving right now.”

…what?

He assumed this man was his father. That at least made some sense, some family finally coming to save him. But, himself? How much less likely could it get? This had to be a test. Another experiment. 

One he had absolutely no idea what the outcome should be. 

“Don’t give me that look,” the man spat. 

He guessed he showed more confusion than he thought.

“Do you really want to stay here?”

Well… this was the only thing he ever knew.

That didn’t mean he liked it. But he wasn’t stupid either. 

“...Tell me something no one else knows…” He struggled, nearly stuttering over his words. 

The man before him blinked once. “...No matter what you are told, you crave a mother with everything you have.”

No truer words cursed him beyond that moment. It was real. He was real. That was the feeling he never identified, but always hoped for. 

“...okay…”

A small part of him believed the odd tale because of their similarities. Hair. Eyes. Left handed. Those were the only three things he could confirm. Every other detail was too different, too aged for a little boy to recognize. 

He still didn’t want to put his sword down, but the weight of a single sheet of paper could push it to the floor in his current state. 

Sephiroth, the older one, held out a single hand in silence, staying exactly where he was in the doorway, while the young one hesitated, taking extremely timid, careful steps. But the moment the child placed a hand in his, he scooped him up instantly. 

“This will be quick,” was the only explanation the older one gave as he swiftly carried the boy out of the lab, smoothly traveling as if none of the security measures were in place.

The little boy didn’t know what to do. No one ever held him like this, even though this was just to blaze through the last of security to the nearest window, just to get him out of the way. It wasn’t caring, but it wasn’t harmful either. The moment they took flight, he even dropped his sword to cling tightly to his savior, praying he wouldn’t be dropped. Praying this wasn’t completely a dream as he hid his face from the remains of shattered glass and rapid wind, his eyes shut, his bangs protecting his face as the black winged flew flew like a comet out of the city.

He didn’t open them again until he was on solid ground.

* * * 

Sephiroth should have flown farther. He meant to. He tried to. But he knew from the moment he crawled out of the Lifestream something was wrong. And the boy only proved it. 

Jenova here wasn’t the same as she was in his time. 

The two of them landed in the planes beyond Kalm, only so he could focus on what was happening to him rather than a simple break like his young self assumed.

He was weaker. A few hours of flying with this wing should be enough to reach the southern tip of the continent. But they were far too north. Maybe about 12 hours by car away from Midgar. What was happening to him? Why was he…

…degrading…?

No.

No that couldn't be it. 

Unless the Mother of this boy…

The differences between the two…

Their wings…

Sephiroth forced his string of Reunion through the malformed connection to this world’s source. He felt one answer. One explanation. One instinctive feeling. That he converted to four simple words. 

I want my baby. 

The boy didn’t notice the drop in his posture at the simple command. 

His gaze followed whatever the boy was looking at, the sky and the empty planes, in more silent thought. He failed. He truly failed this time, and his one opportunity to strangle a success out of this asinine situation was to carry the boy to Nibelhiem, and show him the truth.

Yet for the first time in his life, Sephiroth hoped he had enough time left to do it. He was rotting from the inside out, and quickly, due to his incompatibility with this time’s Mother. He had no time to spare, but the boy was utterly entranced by the simple sight of the sky and the land.

The young Sephiroth let go of his counterpart’s hand slowly as he stared in awe. The sky. The sun. The world. He never saw it like this. He never saw it so big. On the lucky days they brought him out of the lab, nothing compared to this. The way the light fell in delicate rays, chopped by the perfectly sculpted, puffy clouds to the uneven land of green grass of rolling hills radiated inside him. Small gusts of wind swept through his hair, and his wing. This is what he wanted. This. The world. This was what he dreamed of.

What the little boy didn’t know, was that the direction of the falling sun, the direction he was facing, was exactly where Mother’s body remained.

A simple compass. 

“Let’s go,” The black wing one spoke calmly, swallowing his own apprehension. 

The little boy nodded slowly, shaking his head to rid himself of the distraction and holding his arms up to be lifted easily. He chose to trust his future self, purely for allowing him to see such an amazing sight.

Afterall, why wouldn't he trust himself?

* * * 

They didn’t make it to Nibelhiem. 

They were so close. Only a few hours by car away.

“No!” The boy shouted in fear as his older self fell to the ground upon landing, both of their wings trembling. But the boy’s trembling was only a window to his emotions, while the adult’s was painful, weak, and corroding. 

“No, please,” The child tried to lift the adult back to his knees. “You said it’s not much farther. We can make it!”

Sephiroth shook his head, a few small coughs bubbling through his weakened body. His wing was still perfectly black, but his skin was nearly gray. The shine from his silver hair dusted away, leaving nothing but a long white of fading life. Be it The Planet, this time’s Jenova, time itself, or a combination of all three, he was dying. He knew he used the last of his perseverance, unable to keep battling his failing body. “Go to the village…” His voice left his throat, raspy like sandpaper, nearly unrecognizable compared to his smooth, commanding one from before. “Find Her… Go to the reactor…” 

“Please don’t go!” He begged in denial. “Come with me! Please! Please don’t leave me alone again…” Tears fell down his cheeks in sudden rivers as he tried, tried, to find the wound, the cause of this.

“Find… her…” His last words. His final request to himself.

“Find who?!” The boy shouted between labored breaths.

He never explained, his focus captured on pushing his body to Nibelhiem rather than explanation. But no time remained. No cell. No remaining lifeforce in his being. With a strangled exhale, Sephiroth’s head fell. His body faded to dust as black as his wing, wisping away like the simplest spell of wind materia, quickly and silently rejected by the planet to drift along its surface along the breeze, and never enter the Lifestream again.

The boy he left behind didn’t know any of it. His white wing dissipated in the same wind as the man he begged to stay. 

“Find who?!” He yelled one last time to the nothing that remained, sobbing into his own hands. He didn’t know where he was, and now he was completely alone. What could he do? What should he do? The man that saved him gave him a message. He needed to go, stumbling in the vague direction of the town. He needed to get there, because that was the last request from himself. 

* * *

Sephiroth, a small, tiny, but not fragile child, made it to the small mountain village after so many hours. The townsfolk gave him weird looks, staring and pointing and whispering about him to each other. He didn’t like it, but he needed to keep going. He didn’t know where the reactor was, but it clearly wasn’t in the town. He kept walking towards the path past the large gated house, until he was stopped. 

Little did the dark haired man or the little boy know, but that simple decision protected him from the fate of his future self.

“Hey there, little buddy,” The man spoke kindly, cautiously, with a small wave as he slowly stepped into view. “Where are you going?”

“The reactor,” He spoke softly, still moving forward, eyes still forward. 

“Uh, no you’re not.” He put a hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder. “The mountains are way too dangerous for a boy your age. Where are your parents?”

That stopped him. He looked down. “I don’t know... But I need to go to the reactor. That’s what he said…”

The man only saw a lost boy separated from his parents, not the truth of what this odd child was. “It’s alright…” He spoke sympathetically before stating, “but the reactor isn’t safe. Come on, I’ll get you some food. How does that sound?”

The dark haired man coaxed him into the local inn for a warm meal, the promise of food ringing through the boy’s stomach with a loud growl. He ate so much so quickly, like he never tasted anything so good in his life. The boy, after finally giving them his name, kept repeating that he needed to go to the reactor, and that no one would believe why. 

It took a lot of coaxing, and a lot of days at the inn, before a dark haired woman with red eyes offered to bring him on her way to work.

What they found was horrible. Monsters made from mako energy, kept in pods at the back of the reactor. Sephiroth didn’t understand why his future self told him to see this. Simply, no one knew his mother’s name was carved in the marque above the sealed door. He had no idea, and he just shook his head to try to make the weird headaches go away. 

Beyond that, they made no discoveries.  

Sephiroth lived at the inn for a few more weeks, the entire village learning about him and his terrifying past. They quickly learned of his power, his strength, his skill with materia. He didn’t want to fight, but he knew how. He showed them what he could do because that’s all the board ever wanted from him. The village children and teenagers swarmed him at first, asking myriad questions that made him cringe and hide. After a few ‘talking to’s, they carefully approached him one at a time. 

Slowly, very slowly, he started making friends. 

By the time Shinra finally located him through the security footage of the reactor, the village protected him, hiding him as necessary and denying his existence entirely. The company would sooner burn the place to the ground before attempting to negotiate with these backwater people, but Professor Hojo stopped them. 

If Sephiroth was truly in the village, and they risked or gods forbid succeeded in killing him due to barbaric solutions, then he would sooner burn the entire science division to the ground. This was his project, and they would not harm him without his say. During the attack on Reactor 01, Hojo believed the creature to be somehow connected to Jenova, by the appearance and power alone. He took that risk before, and the only solace he had in this hillbilly town was the knowledge they absolutely kept his son alive.

Shinra soon considered negotiations a lost cause, and focused its efforts of the SOLDIER program into Project G.

Sephiroth grew up in the village happily, despite his natural abilities and differences. At ten years old, he aided in monster regulation, learning to kill creatures for the sake of the town. But he learned from the support of true mentors rather than survival instincts. He was so happy.

When he turned thirteen, some Wutaians asked the village for aid against the war with Shinra. They understood completely that their great ask may not be met, but they traveled to prove their devotion to their country.

Their devotion to protect.

Sephiroth, with no idea of what war was truly like, stepped forward. And after victory, the country hailed him as the Angel of Wutai. A far cry of what he once was. A far cry from the black wing of the future.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! 

Author’s note: Finally starting to get through some of these. This fic certainly changed a lot from when I initially asked for permission from the artist, but I believe this version fits the personality and motivation of, well… Sephiroth and Sephiroth, more. I genuinely apologize for the angst on this one, but I wanted at least one final scene of interaction before filling in the time gap. I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks for reading!

[hollow-vergil]

[myfandomrealitea]

“Proshippers are dangerous to children!”

Me, reading “immoral” books since age 11, 16 now, yet to have killed, raped, or tortured anyone:

Children are not put in danger simply by exposure to specific things. In fact, for many things, the sooner we learn them the better. I know a lot of people are going to interpret this in bad faith and the worst possible way, but;

Children actually need to be exposed to things in order to actually understand them and properly learn about them in a safe manner that will set the groundwork for the rest of their life.

I'll use an example that has absolutely nothing to do with sex or anything 'proship.'

The good old 'the dog went to live on a farm' analogy. When I was younger and my pets died my parents always told me that my pets had gone to live with other families who needed hem more. That pets were like Nanny McPhee; they went where they were needed.

This devastated me.

I spent years wondering what I'd done wrong. Why I wasn't good enough. Why my beloved pets had decided I didn't need or love them anymore. Where had they gone? Why had they gone? Did they love their new families more than me?

Literal years spent plagued with torment until I hit a new school year and we learned properly about death in biology. Then I spent weeks feeling betrayed, ridiculed and stupid because my pets hadn't abandoned me for a more deserving family. They'd up and died.

And death is sad, yes. I would've been sad for weeks. Months, maybe. I'd miss them forever. But I understood death. I would've understood and accepted death far quicker than I did the notion that the pets I loved so much had simply up and decided to fuck off one day.

If my parents had been honest with me they could've used my pets' deaths as opportunities for literally so many things. How to understand and deal with grief. How to understand and accept death. How to mourn. How to reminisce. How to manage and process and understand and accept my emotions. How to ask for comfort and self-soothe.

Instead all they taught me was that they thought I was too stupid to understand things and that I could've trust a word they said anymore.

Honestly the overbearing safety net we trap children in only robs them of opportunities to be healthy, functioning, developed adults. Children do not need to be sheltered from the entire world until we suddenly drop-kick them into it at 16 or 18.

I'm not saying we need to start hounding eight year olds about pornography and fictional shipping. But what we do need to do is safely introduce them to the world they live in and give them the tools needed to live in it.

[slightly-gay-pogohammer]

My best and favorite memory of Kingdom Hearts was me dominating the Coliseum until I got to that secret last fight in it. You know the one with Sephiroth.

I never heard of Final Fantasy at all when I played it I only bought the game cause Donald and Goofy were my friends. I was only 8 and all of a sudden the most threatening music kid me ever heard comes on as he completely decimates me.

NO FELT FELT FELT THAT'S THE SEPHIROTH EXPERIENCE

you ultra win all cups

you go there

you listen to the first 3 notes of one winged angel

you die

I LITERALLY MANAGED TO DEFEAT HIM JUST TWO YEARS AGO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[schrobrm]

gotta be your own miracle

[rottenpumpkin13]

Inspired by this post

‎

[babyb1ues]

I just realized…. if you like cloud you like xavier if you like sephiroth you probably like sylus

[mikussabbath]

Imagine Sephiroth in various reality TV shows.

He’s on To Catch a Predator and Chris Hansen is grilling him for chatting up trooper Cloud online.

Dr. Now is yelling at him on My 600 Pound Life to lose the weight or he’ll die, except his bones are all very dense and he’s pure muscle, so he’s 600 pounds because he is a freak of nature.

90 Day Fiancé where he has mail order-brided Cloud from Nibelheim. Lots of cuts to Cloud speaking in Nibel because he hardly knows common and going on and on about how stupid Sephiroth is because he thinks they can have children even though Cloud keeps telling him he’s a man. Cloud is just there for that sweet sweet SOLDIER paycheck. He didn’t sign up for this!

[altocat]

More cringe memes. Lucrecia Edition.

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Epilogue (3 of 4)

The long-foretold Lucrecia chapter.

Rating: general

It was a completely insignificant day in late spring, one year, and the sun rode high above the rocky hills and weather-worn karsts of the Nibel region. The wind, up here, was colloquially called ‘the breath of the world’, and one could almost feel the planet’s living vitality in its brisk and spirited gusts, as they strove to toss you right off the mountain. This was perfectly usual, of course, and also much of the reason no one ventured out into this goddess-forsaken waste.

What was different about this day, was that a pair of booted footsteps had joined the wind, in whispering amongst the knee-high sedge grasses, knocking wisps of pollen into the air, and collecting bits of fluff on tall, black shin guards. These were not the meandering steps of a leisure hiker, nor the hurried footfalls of one who’d got lost from the trail, and was in haste to find it again. These steps were deliberate, following some prearranged path, though there was none to be seen, amid the tumbled rocks and windswept brush.

At length, the boots made their way to their apparent destination. It was a secluded mountain lake, crystal blue and nearly perfectly round—no doubt formed in the caldera of some long dormant volcano—that lay at the center of a green and tranquil oasis, hidden away in the inhospitable highlands, like a fairyland in a children’s tale.

At the northwestern end of the small lake, the thunder of the tributary falls rumbled down, from the high ridge. The waterfall was more energetic than usual, today, due to heavy snowpack in the mountains above, this past winter, so misty spray billowed and white foam roiled riotously, in the deep-blue basin below.

When the black boots came to the falls, they continued, undaunted, sure-footed as a mountain goat on the slippery rocks, as the cold spray beaded on well-polished leather, and rolled down in heavy drops, like dew.

At a wave of the hand from the owner of those boots, the waterfall, despite being swollen with snowmelt and rather proud of itself at the moment, stood meekly aside, to let the visitor pass through. There were some, after all, for whom even nature itself had no power to bar the way.

Perfectly concealed behind this glimmering curtain of living glass, was a narrow crevice, hardly wider than a single person. The boots proceeded, turning sidewise, to squeeze through, and vanish into the dark.

Deep inside the mountain ridge, this narrow crevice widened into a traversable path. Deeper still, the path opened up into a glittering cave, of tremendous size, in which the terrific heat and pressure of ancient volcanic activity had caused mass-crystallization of liquefied minerals. This had created the hundreds of strange stalactite and stalagmite columns, which stood like an eerie forest of stone, spanning from the floor to the ceiling of the cave, as far as the eye could see.

Eventually, the densely packed columns gave way to an open area, like a natural amphitheater, where the cave ceiling domed up and the floor smoothed out. At the center of this area, lay a circular pool, of faintly glowing water, which surrounded a much different mineral formation.

It was a pillar, formed of gigantic spars of some naturally luminous crystal, clear and slightly turquoise tinted, like enchanted ice. This pillar and the smaller crystal structures that had grown out from it, acted as the light source in the cave, illuminating the surrounding environment with a dreamy, otherworldly glow.

The light was not the most remarkable feature of this crystal pillar, however. Most remarkable was that, within the main column of transparent crystal, could be seen the figure of a young woman. She was dressed in white, and her lovely and delicate-featured face wore an expression of peaceful repose. Her eyes were closed, and her head slightly bowed, with her hands clasped on her chest, in a posture of prayer.

It was unclear, whether this was the true body of a woman, suspended in the luminous, mako-saturated crystal, or merely a visual remnant, graven into it by the life force of the planet, but the distinction was immaterial, to the one who observed her, now. This was her final resting place. That was all that mattered.

The black boots slowed their pace, crunching over the crystal gravel at a heavy, almost funerary cadence, until at long last, they arrived before the limpid pool, and the woman in her crystalline reliquary. There they stood, for a long time. And for a long time, there was no sound, but the little plashes of dripping water, afar off, in the dark recesses of the cavern.

Finally, a voice spoke softly, into the echoing silence. “So, we meet at last…mother.”

The crystal pillar’s fairie-light shone pale and glimmering on a cascade of silver hair, and illuminated the face of a young man, very like to that of the woman in the crystal. His was a sharper, harder beauty than hers, especially about the brow and catlike blue-green eyes, but his mouth and chin particularly, belonged entirely to her. Seeing their faces together, there could be no mistaking their close relation.

“In the likely case that you don’t recognize me, I am your son, Sephiroth,” the silver-haired man continued. He caught himself reflexively placing a hand over his heart and tucked it behind his back, instead. “I’ve come to…to pay my respects, I suppose. I hope you will forgive me for not coming sooner. My father has gently urged me to visit you for many years, but somehow, I could never bring myself to do it.”

The woman in the crystal remained serene and silent.

“He doesn’t know I’m here today. In fact, I’ve told no one what I intended to do. I couldn’t bear to feel the pressure of their thoughts, on the subject. This…is between you and me.”

Heedless of the glowing, ankle-deep water, he strode directly across the circular pool and stepped onto the disc of stone that formed the base of the crystal pillar. The woman’s figure was suspended a couple of feet above the base, but she was rather petite, and thus he, being nearly seven feet tall, stood almost at eye-level with her.

“You look different, from your photograph,” he remarked, without emotion. “A bit older. Thinner. Of course, when you came here, you were burdened by cares that did not yet weigh upon you, when that picture was taken.”

He reached out his gloved hand, as if to touch the crystal, where her face was, then withdrew it again, straightening up proudly.

“But I’ve not come here to talk about you. I have come to tell you who I am. I am the son of Vincent Valentine. I am now the most powerful single entity on this planet, aside from my father. In my early life, I was raised by various scientists and handlers, in Shinra Manor, to be the first SOLDIER—the flagship of Shinra’s genetically enhanced military. A professional war criminal. But…that never came to be. In the end, I never fought a single battle on Shinra’s behalf.

“When I was fourteen years old, I burned the manor to the ground and escaped with my father. We spent the following years working against Shinra from the shadows; subverting their people, embedding our own in their system, growing inside them like a virus. And when the time came to strike, it was far too late for them to fight us. We neutralized the host and took over, with…minimal bloodshed.

“What you knew as the Shinra Electric Power Company, is now called the World Regenesis Organization. It is still the greatest socioeconomic and political force, in the world, but under the guidance of our people, it is steadily being restructured; from a parasitic behemoth, draining the planet of its life force, to a benevolent, non-profit enterprise, actively fostering the harmonious existence of humans with the natural world.

“It has been…slow going, to be perfectly honest. Most of our work, so far, has been dedicated to undoing the decades of damage done by Shinra, in its previous incarnation. It will take centuries for those wounds to fully heal. But now, at least, there is hope. They even tell me that flowers are returning to Midgar. That is how things currently stand, with me. Of course, we must address the elephant in the room, sooner or later, so let us have it out, and be done with it, shall we?”

He stopped and took a long breath, letting it out slowly, and somewhat relaxing his heretofore stiff, formal posture.  

“First things first, it is only right to tell you that my father forgave you, for everything. He never really blamed you, despite my attempts to convince him he should. And I did attempt to convince him he should. Because…I blamed you. That is the whole truth.

“I won’t paint a falsely pretty picture of the catastrophe you left in your wake, to spare your feelings. Your troubles are over. The lives that you left behind—mine and my father’s—have continued on. Sometimes in misery and desolation, sometimes in sorrow and regret, but mostly…in hope. And in joy. You see, the terrible fate you foresaw—the destruction of the planet in a hell of fire, and me as a the angel of death—will never come to pass. But, perhaps I should begin at the beginning.

“Your apocalyptic visions did come true, once. In another future. But in that future, that version of myself found a way to free himself from fate. When his body died, he broke the chains of destiny, and bent the will of the lifestream to his purpose. Freed from his physical form, he traveled backward, through the timeline, gathering each version of us, from each crucial turning point, and brought them to me, to show me the way.

“With their help, I freed my father from Shinra’s slavery, and killed that old monster who tortured us. Yes, I killed Hojo, with my own hands. He has been dead for…seventeen years, now. Hardly time to even begin to undo all the evil he caused. May his houseless spirit wander the netherworld, with neither rest nor comfort, till all his wrongs have been erased from the memory of time.

“But where was I? Ah, yes. After I rid the world of Hojo, and Chaos rid the world of Jenova’s corruption, we began to create our vision, for the future. Since then, I have accomplished everything my other selves died to make possible. I have made all the things right, that went so wrong, in their futures. I have killed those who should have been killed and saved all those who should have been saved—”

He broke off and lowered his head, with an expression of pain.

“I should say…I have saved all but one. My father. I can’t save him. There is nothing I can do, to release him from the fate that you, willing or no, have damned him to. Because of the method you used to preserve his life, he has become one with Chaos. He no longer has a human soul, and can no longer merge with the lifestream.”

He looked up at her again, with his teeth bared and fire in his eyes.

“Do you understand what that means? It means he can never die. People say that I am immortal, but they have no idea what true immortality is. I am only ageless. I can live as long as I wish to, and I can also die. My father will never have that choice. He is truly immortal.

“That is the full horror of the curse you have laid upon him. When the sun burns out and this planet is nothing but a lifeless rock, hurtling aimlessly through the void, he will still exist, in that indestructible demonic form. And there is nothing…nothing I can do, to spare him the torment of aeons, that lies in his future.”

He paused and turned away, cupping his forehead in his hand, and clearing his throat, to regain control of his wavering voice. When he turned back, he appeared perfectly tranquil, again, but for the hint of pink that rimmed his eyes.

“For so many years, whenever I confronted the infinite tragedy that will be my father’s existence, I blamed you. I hated you. I cursed you bitterly. But…that was a child’s reaction, to a blurred and oversimplified understanding of reality. Despite all the knowledge I gained from my future selves, it seems that only experience, earned in the true passing of years, brings wisdom. And with wisdom comes reflection. And regret.”

Reaching into his long, black coat, he withdrew an old, dog-eared, faded and weather-stained book. Some of the yellowed pages had come loose and had been carefully tucked back in, held in place with paper clips.

“I’m sure you recognize this book. This is your journal. Not your research notes. This is the private diary, that you kept hidden from everyone. After your disappearance, it was mailed anonymously to Valentine Manor, of all things, where it lay in the library for many years, disregarded. It was recently discovered by an archivist, and brought to me, after its authentication. I beg your pardon for reading it, without your permission, but you understand.”

Smiling wistfully, he touched the battered leather cover of the book with his fingertips, tracing its surface gently, as if it were the face of a loved one. Then his brow furrowed and he swallowed hard, as if against some tautness in his throat.

“It has been…painful, to read this tale, knowing the end already. To witness, in real time, as it were, the hope and optimism of a young woman, her heartbreak and disillusionment, and her eventual decline into despair.

“But, through the words written here, I have come to know her. I have come to know Lucrecia. A passionate scholar and brilliant scientist, and sometimes, a rather silly and idealistic young woman. I have come to know her hopes and dreams. Her triumphs and disappointments. The fears and doubts she never dared speak aloud.

“I have come to know my mother. Not the lofty ideal I had constructed in my mind, as a child. Not the scapegoat for all my misery, that I made you into, as an adolescent. But the living, flesh and blood woman that you were. The unvarnished truth of you, in all its human ugliness and beauty.

“I know now that you truly did love my grandfather, though you never admitted it, in so many words. The way you wrote of him, in such starry-eyed hyperbole, was both comically trite and infinitely endearing. I know also that you cared deeply for my father. I know the way your guilt gnawed at you, with every word you spoke to one another. The way Grimoire seemed to be looking at you, from his son’s eyes.

“I have come to know also of your love for…for me. You must understand that I had always thought of my conception as the calculated act of a scientific mind, that did not care for the eventual human cost, when there were groundbreaking experimental results to be had. I know, now, how I—how I wronged you, in thinking of you that way.”

He broke off yet again, taking a shaky breath, to steady himself.

“Through your journal, I was by your side, when you made that impulsive decision to create a child, with my father’s genetic material. I felt your horror and grief, at his death, counterpoised with your anxious excitement, as the new life grew in your body. I felt your mind turn, from justification, to hesitation, to abhorrence of the things that you had done to me. I experienced your abject agony, when you awoke from the cesarean operation to find your infant gone, and yourself trapped and powerless to go to him. I heard you weep and beg and plead, over and over, to be allowed to see your son, and I watched those pleas fall on deaf ears. I know now that you never abandoned me and that you loved me, desperately. That you never even held me in your arms, and still you longed for me with every fiber of your being, just as I longed for you.”

A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, which he quickly brushed away.

“You know, Hojo once told me I never had a name, and that Sephiroth was only a project designation. But I learned from your journal that you had chosen that name, for your future child, long before the project existed. Long before you even met the old serpent.”

He lowered his eyes and touched the cover of the book again, smiling softly, to himself.  

“Rather eccentric, and perhaps a bit pretentious, to name your unborn child a collective noun, for the channels of the divine creative force, in the tree of life. But you were young and full of grand ideas. You can be forgiven for such a flight of fancy. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve always liked my name. It sounds enigmatic and imposing, and it is unique in the world. Or—it was, anyway. So many babies are christened Sephiroth every year, now, that the census bureau has become sick to death of it, and lay the blame squarely at my feet.

“But I’ve strayed from my topic. I understand, now, that you were not to blame for the evil that befell us all. Yes, you made choices that led to terrible suffering, but without that malevolent man to perpetrate his atrocities, no choice of yours could have caused things to happen as they did. You made mistakes, mother, but you always intended to do good. He always intended to do evil. That is the great difference between you and him.

“You were deceived and used, then isolated and tormented, by that old viper, just as we were. He preyed upon your ambition, used your hopes and dreams to blind you, and slowly closed the walls around you. Then, he made certain you would blame your own foolishness and weakness, for the results. Finally, when you could bear the guilt and misery no longer, he allowed you to run away, to die alone in the wilderness. He never even sent anyone to search for you.

“I told you that with wisdom comes reflection and regret, and I have tasted this cup to its dregs. My regret has weighed heavily upon me, these past several years. I regret the injustice I’ve done you, by blaming and hating you, for the horror of my life. I regret wasting so many years in bitterness and anger, directed at you, because I couldn’t contend with the real source of all my pain: that for all my power—all my strength of will—there are still those things over which I have no control.

“Mother, I…I’m sorry.” His voice, smooth and steady till now, wavered and broke. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he made no move to conceal or wipe away the tears, that overflowed and spilled freely down his face. “I’m sorry for taking so long to grow up. I’m sorry for not even trying to understand you. I’m sorry for wanting your love so desperately, that a boy’s unrequited yearning metastasized into a man’s bitter resentment.

“The truth is, I only ever hated you for not being there. For not loving me enough to live. I know that is illogical and selfish, but I was a child. All I knew was my own pain. My own need for a mother. I grew so fixated on it, that I became unstable and destructive. That was when the old monster gave me the locket with your photo, and told me your name was Jenova.

“That little thing soothed me more than any of the tranquilizing drugs they tried on me. When I was still very small, I used to open my locket and whisper to your picture, at night, telling you of the things I’d accomplished, so that you’d be proud of me. I used to imagine that the smile in that photograph was meant for me.

“As I grew older, and more hardened by the ugly brutality of my life, I taught myself that such behavior was childish and shameful. I stopped talking to you. I stopped smiling back, when I looked at your picture. But the pain of your absence didn’t heal. It deepened and festered, in the darkness of my loneliness and grief, while the old monster tormented me, in the name of making me strong.

“Then one day…Vincent came. He was brought to me, to be a handler and bodyguard. I’m sorry to state it so bluntly, but he fully usurped your place in my heart, within hours of our meeting. It was not so terribly fickle, as it sounds, though. I knew he was my father, the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Not consciously, of course. I didn’t dare to admit that glimmer of heart-piercing hope into my world of darkness. And yet I knew it. My blood and my bones knew it—that he belonged to me, and I to him. Can I be blamed for transferring all of my childish longing and love, from the mother who was nothing but a picture in a locket, to the father who was solid and tangible, and right in front of me?

“Vincent dawned upon my world like a new sun, and transformed everything I knew, from drab monochrome to brilliant color. He taught me about spaghetti and birthdays, and watched movies with me. He was the first person who hugged me, and he was…he was the first person who ever said they loved me.

“To say that I returned his love would be a gross understatement. I was obsessed with him. Fixated on him. I wanted to bind him to me forever, and never let him escape. I would have burned the world for him, if I thought he wanted it. But, as it turned out, he was a good man. So I became good, too.

“As good as I can be, at least. I am still a man who loves to such excess, that I would unhesitatingly destroy the lives and happiness of anyone who dared stand between me and my loved ones.” He gave a rueful smile. “Our family really is given to romantic melodrama, are we not?

“But despite the grasping, jealous, needy way I loved him, my father never pushed me away. Never told me I was wrong. Never rejected me. Since the day we destroyed the monsters who authored all of our grief, and broke free of the yoke of Shinra, we have never been separated. I don’t mean physically, of course. We are grown men, we can’t be attached at the hip, all the time. But, no matter how far apart we are, we are always together.  

“You see, he gave me his heart. That is not a figure of speech, it’s here in my chest, beside my own.”

This time, he did lay a hand on his heart, and from his chest, a pale light shone, between his fingers. “You must remember this. It is the heart you gave him, mother. That he then gave to me, your son. Poetic, no? What did I say about our family and romantic melodrama?

“Speaking of family, what would my grandfather have thought, if he’d known about me? Did he ever imagine that you loved him enough to give birth to his son’s son, just to preserve a piece of him in the world? I wonder.”

He sighed and the light receded back into his chest.

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. He must have been a captivating man, to so deeply ensnare a heart like yours, whose first love was always science. For all of the heartache it caused, I hope he at least reciprocated your feelings, to some degree. All the evidence suggests that he did. As did his son. Two generations of Valentine men have died for you, and because of you, one will never die. A heavy burden for even a woman’s soul to bear.”

He smiled wryly at the beautiful face in the crystal, then looked away, clearing his throat.

“That’s…a joke you have no way of understanding. There is a certain person of my acquaintance—a Cetra seer, who reads auras and such things. She told me I had a woman’s soul. I should take it as a compliment, she said, because women’s souls are by far the stronger.

“There are many reasons my soul should seem abnormal, to a seer, but I would like to think that I carry a piece of your soul with me, mother. And that it was part of you, she saw in me. Because the more I am like you, the less I am like that thing. That dead abomination, behind the glass, in the mako tank. Its face haunts me, even to this day, and my body, though purified of its corruption, still bears its marks.”

He placed his gloved hands on his own cheeks, then ran them back through his silver hair, his eyes unfocused, darting back and forth. After a moment, though, he shook himself, and the spell seemed to pass.

“That is the secret I can never tell, mother,” he resumed, looking up at her. “I was born to be a monster. It is only by constant and conscious effort of will, that I have not become one. Not my will, alone, though. I would have given in, long ago. It is the love of my father, and those close to me, that has kept me on the right path. That has stopped me straying into darkness.

“So many suffered and died needlessly, in the other future, who now live happy and free from that terrible fate. They will never know the monster I could have become. But I will never not know. No matter how many I save, how much I change, how much of myself I give to this world, I can never erase the knowledge, that if my steps had faltered but a little, along the path, I would have destroyed the planet, and killed them all.

“I defied destiny, mother. I wiped the slate clean and created a new future, a new fate, and yet…I am still alone. A demon walking among the innocent. A wolf among the sheep. I can wear their hide and speak their tongues, but I can never be one of them.

“That was the real price I paid, to rewrite fate. It wasn’t the death of my physical body, at each inflection point. It was the sacrifice of my innocence, to return innocence to this world. I have paid dearly, for the lives and freedom of all its children. I have paid with my soul.

“My hands are clean, and yet my shoulders bear the weight of ten-thousand sins. How can a soul so blameless in deed, be so blackened in essence? How can I atone for sins I will never commit? How can I heal scars that have never felt a wound? Can I be forgiven, for what I have not done?”

He laid his hands on the luminous pillar and leaned his forehead upon it.

“If you knew me, as I am now, would you love me, nonetheless? Would you ever be proud to call me your son?”

Though he knew it was only childish wishfulness, he could almost swear he felt a faint warmth and pressure, on his skin, as if gentle arms reached out to embrace him, with infinite tenderness and unfathomable love. With that, the gates were flung wide, and the depths of his heart poured forth, a wordless hymn of sorrow and joy, as vast as the heavens and as deep as the abyss.

Borne down by the weight of it, he sunk to his knees, clinging to the crystal pillar, as shuddering sobs racked his invincible body, and tears poured down like snowmelt in spring, splashing onto the crystal-strewn floor at his mother's feet. Even when he had wept himself hoarse, till he had no tears left, he still clung to the pillar, gasping out wet, stuttering breaths, that fogged its glassy surface.

At long last, he grew calm again, and rose to his feet, wiping his face with his gloved hand. Then, peeling off the gloves, he laid his palms on the pillar and let his forehead rest against it, inches from his mother’s lips, whose kiss he would never feel. So close, and yet separated by an impassable divide.

“I’m getting married, mother,” he said hoarsely, after a while. “To my other half, my soul mate, my fated one…I don’t even know what to call him, for I have loved him in so many lifetimes. But in this life, I can finally say I have earned his love.

“I wish that you could know him. That you could see how good he is to me, and how good he is for me. How shall I tell you about him, in a credible way, when to me, he is perfection in human form? He has golden hair and bright blue eyes, like the sky and sea, and lovely little freckles, though he likes to deny they exist. He is small, for a man, but he isn’t the least bit soft or submissive, and his tongue is as sharp as his sword.

“I love him madly, even more when he scolds me. I would do anything for him. I have done everything for him. For my beloved, I have reshaped the fate of this world, with my own hands. For him, I have built this gentle kingdom, ringed in spears, so that he may live in peace, and without fear for the future.

“Back when we were children, walking on the beach together, collecting shells and sea glass, and talking about our hopes and dreams, I did tell him I intended to marry him, one day. But I never attempted to hold him, in my hand. I never attempted to bind him to me, lest I break his wings and suffocate him, with my love.

“Though it cost me deep anxiety and tremendous pain, I let my little bird fly as free as he wished. But he always came back to me, on his own. He loves me, mother. He knows the whole truth of me—everything, even the monstrous things my other selves did in their futures—and still, he loves me. Of all the people in this world, he chose me, to spend his life with.

“I had planned to wait until he turned twenty-one, to formally propose marriage, but when it came to it, he proposed to me, before I got the chance. Of course, he took Knight Fair’s suggestion and did it at a shareholders meeting, in the presence of all our friends and associates. And the Turks, who were there pretending to provide extra security, but really came to see the show.

“It was profoundly embarrassing. And…it was the most joyous moment of my life. To know once and for all, that I was chosen. That I was sought after and desired. That he loved me, as I loved him, and that he wanted to declare it before the world.

“For I always doubt, mother. No matter how I am reassured, I always doubt that I am truly loved or wanted. I feel…alien. As if those around me know I don’t belong, and are only awaiting the slightest pretext to cast me out from among them.

“My psychiatrist—my current psychiatrist, that is, my previous few have suddenly relocated or given up the profession—calls it social anxiety, related to an autism spectrum disorder. I suppose she knows her business, but it seems unfair that my superior brain can suffer from human dysfunction, and yet due to that very superiority, they have yet to find a medication that has any effect on me.

“Before I stray off topic and forget, I should tell you that my father is engaged to be married, as well. To someone my age, no less, the old villain. But everyone thinks they’re a perfect match, and no one is scandalized by it in the least, because despite his advanced age, my father looks as if he’s the younger of the pair. So it goes. I, too, will look younger than my beloved, one day. It will be in the far, far future, since he has been enhanced, but he will grow old. The day will come when he will leave me and return to the lifestream.

“As for my father…even I can’t say what his future holds. I only know I must find a way to save him. I can’t bear to think of him, bereft of everyone and everything he ever knew and loved, facing eternity alone. But even if I can’t alter his fate, I can at least not allow him to face it alone. He does not know, but I have already decided that I will not die, until he does.

“Somehow, I will save him, from the terrible curse of immortality, and only when he leaves this existence, will I consent to leave it, with him. That is my vow, before heaven and earth. My father and I will cross into the afterlife together, or not at all.” He lowered his head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I am sorry to disappoint you, mother, but it seems I will not be the one to break the family curse of romantic melodrama. But, with a name like Sephiroth, can you really be surprised?”

In the end, he loitered in that place for many hours, pouring out the minutiae of his life to his silent mother, in the way very young children will do, only all at once and in a torrential flood, since there were three decades of such anecdotes to get through. When he did depart, at long last, he smiled and pressed a kiss to the cold surface of the crystal pillar, where her forehead was.

“I love you, mother. You don’t have to worry about me, anymore. I will be alright. Rest now, and be at peace.”

As he left the cavern, Sephiroth paused and took a last, lingering look at his mother’s beautiful face, before he turned away, again, and the echo of his footsteps faded away, into the darkness.

Had he remained, a moment longer, he may have seen what appeared to be a single tear, roll down the pale cheek, within the luminous crystal. Perhaps a remnant of the young woman’s spirit still clung to her form, and was moved by her son’s love, to this final expression of emotion. Or perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

Several days later, WRO seismologists reported a massive seismic event, in the Nibel region, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in geological ages. When it was investigated, it was found that the quake had been caused by the sudden, catastrophic collapse of half a mountain range, which had been sitting atop a network of huge, volcanic caves, making the entire structure unsupportable. They considered it miraculous that the range had stood as long as it had.

The good news, however, was that there were no casualties, since those highlands were uninhabitable, and no loss of property. That is to say, nearly no loss of property. The tremors were felt all the way in Nibelheim, where multiple cats were startled out of naps, and half a dozen vases were shaken off shelves, to meet their untimely demise on Nibelheim’s famously tough wood floors.

As for a small, volcanic lake, high in the rocky hills, which was swallowed in the collapse; only a few geologists and intrepid mountaineers ever knew it existed, so no one lamented its loss.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY the fun one is next! tons of cameos, ahoy!! hooray tying up loose ends!!!

[getvalentined]

[trialnumbergamma]

I've seen peoples interpretations for a Sephiroth date but may I present something arguable funnier

does Midgar even have wifi?

[princeof-flowers]

Thinking about Vincent having to hold Sephiroth for the first time, and it's because Sephiroth breaking down. And this is not child Sephiroth.

This is adult Sephiroth. Giant, 205cm/6'8-9 broad shouldered and chested Sephiroth.

It hurts.

[myfandomrealitea]

rpf of real children is bad, and ao3 openly endorses it. they fired someone for being pro-palestine but not for fic of a real minor (at the time. he had also said he was uncomfortable with RPF) being raped as a BABY by one of his deceased friends. what possible defense is there for that? just make ocs if the fantasy is what does it for you, why do you have to bring real living children into it?

There's your defence.

AO3 is an archive. I can assure you there is a vast array of the most sordid, twisted, messed up literature you could've ever imaged on there. AO3 cannot, by its own principle, pick and choose what is and is not allowed in terms of actual content.

(Hence why AO3's content policies are based more upon qualities like category, rather than content.)

Do I read sexual literature about real minors? No. But as a user and supporter of AO3 and I likewise cannot try to dictate what does and does not fall under the protection of its archival status. There is no such thing as "a little censorship."

There are many reasons why someone might write something like that. But as long as it solely remains as art and not action, it has nothing to do with me.

AO3 gives me more opportunities not to see it than literally any other website.

[fatedroses]

heh, short.