Case Study: Cid Motherf&ckin’ Highwind

Cid Highwind is the man that flies the airship, the pilot who has been to the stars and back in a world that once only dreamed of space travel. He’s a spittin’, cussin’, rough-rider man who has experience under his belt and whoops ass with a spear. He loves the skies, and he loves Shera.

However, in fanfiction, that seems not to be the case.

Cid Highwind has turned into an atrocity beyond any pervert’s dreams. Modern day sexual predators can have no way of competing with the abomination that is Cid Highwind’s apparently sex-deprived persona. He hits on every single thing that moves, wants sex more than anything except cigarettes. Too bad he can’t actually get anything!

‘Cause guess what! Cid’s an icky old man. No one ever thinks Cid is attractive, not even Shera because actually, he doesn’t love Shera, and Shera doesn’t love him because he beats her, did you know that? He regularly abuses her and drinks lots of whiskey and totally makes her have sex with him when she doesn’t want to because Cid is a rapist!

Every other word Cid spits out that isn’t a come on is some type of filthy curse—oh, pardon me, he doesn’t curse. Actually, most of his speech consists of symbols. If he’s not spewing ampersands and dollar signs or asking for sex, it’s the next best thing—verbally abusing Shera or women in general or simply asking for alcohol and cigarettes. Oh, joy of joys, he’s a character that everyone can identify with!

Case In Point:

“Hey, baby,” Cid said to Tifa as several buttons on her shirt popped from the pressure of her massive breasts, “wanna ride the Cid-o-Coaster? Best time o’ yer life, guar-un-teed.”

Tifa swung her chest around haughtily, accidentally catching him in the face and leaving him with a bruise that would no doubt last for weeks. Shera would want to know where he got such an injury, since she always cared for him no matter how much abuse he heaped on her, but he would just smash another beer bottle over her skull and prop his muddy boots on the newly cleaned table, as usual. Ah, the good life. A concussed woman to lie stiffly in bed and a lukewarm beer in one hand. At the same time.

“Cid, you know I only want Cloud because only he understands my needs,” she sneered at him.

“Well, #&( &() & ()(&( )(&()(&)&. That’s a Q((&#(()# shame, that is. You dunno what’cher missin’, babe.”

Just then, Yuffie walked by. Cid hocked a loogie in front of her feet and gave her what he approximated to be a sexy smile. She screamed “GROSSNESS” and ran away as fast as she could. Running his tongue along his brown, nicotine-rotted teeth in a way that he knew was irresistible, he leaned back in his pilot’s chair and said to himself, “Oh, yeah. They !#IR&#()&Q &# (# want me.”

What Cid didn’t notice was that a few of his beer cans weren’t completely empty, so when he sat his muddy boots on the control panel like every smart pilot does, he knocked a few of them over. Beer spilled onto the console, shorting all the electrical workings of the panel.

The Highwind crashed and everyone died, except Cid, who crawled out of the wreckage, lit up a cigarette, then walked home to kick Shera in the jaw a few times and then force himself on her. Maybe if he kicked her enough times, she’d cook him a nice meal.