#she was so bitter and angry at the world and who can blame her?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

upat4amwiththemoon · 10 months ago

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hii i love your writing especially the wandnat fics 😭 can i request a pt. 3 or just something with “the blip” universe where r wakes up after spending the night at her moms and when she doesn’t find them in their room she starts panicking and it takes her back to when they blipped (but they find her and help her thru it)

The blip | 3

Summary: Broken families take time to heal.

Pairing: WandaNat x daughter!reader

Warnings: some angst, panic attack-ish

Word count: 1283

a/n: I added some things, hope you don’t mind! I think I’m going to make a 4th part too🫢

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2, part 3

The little while Y/N was supposed to stay with her moms turned into a week, then two more, a month, and another one. However, Wanda and Natasha have not minded it at all, they’re over the moon to spend more time with their daughter.

They don’t live at their old apartment anymore, having decided it’d be too overwhelming for Y/N to go back there. Instead, they live in a house further away from the city and the noise. It has three bedrooms, one for guests, one for Wanda and Natasha, and one for Y/N.

It’s perfect for the three of them.

Of course, Natasha and Wanda aren’t pressuring Y/N into moving in with them permanently, which is why she is still paying rent on her crappy apartment, but their hope is high.

Y/N paces around in the living room, wearing her best clothes, which weren’t that good with her minimal income as she refused to let her mothers use too much money on her.

“She’ll be here soon.” Wanda sets her hand on Y/N’s shoulder, giving her a comforting smile. “You don’t need to worry.”

“I know, I just-“ she takes a breath, “I haven’t seen her since that day.”

Natasha steps inside the room. “She won’t blame you for that. She’ll understand why.”

Staying quiet, Y/N stares out of the window, waiting for a car to drive into their road. Her hands are shaking, so she keeps playing with the rings on her fingers. Wanda keeps staring at the rings with a small smile, happy to see her daughter wearing her old rings, but missing the times she used to play with her hands when nervous.

A black car with tinted windows drives to the front of the house. Y/N’s breath hitches, seemingly unable to move before Natasha gives her a small nudge. “Go on.”

Y/N walks to the porch and down the few stairs on it, her moms behind her. Maria is standing by her car. “Hey, bug.” She has a smile on her face, but she looks afraid. Y/N is pretty sure she has never seen Maria afraid.

“Hi, aunt Maria.”

With that, Maria, who brides her ability to keep her emotions in check, starts crying.

Y/N’s eyes widen. It takes her a moment to react, but when she does so, she walks straight to Maria and hugs her. Her arms wrap around Maria’s neck, while the woman’s arms go around Y/N’s waist tightly.

They stare for a moment, both crying, before Maria pulls slightly away to wipe away the tears. “I’m so sorry, I really am.” She sniffles, moving her hands on Y/N’s cheeks to lift her head up to face her. “I’m sorry I left you alone in there.”

Y/N shakes her head, her lower lip quivering at her honorary aunt’s words. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

Maria smiles, appreciating the words though she doesn’t fully believe them. One of her hands moves to the side of Y/N’s head, petting her hair softly. “You’re so grown now. You’re not fourteen anymore.”

“I’m not fourteen anymore.”

“You don’t need your aunt to guide you anymore.” Her voice is soft, but it has bitterness in it. She’s angry at the world, and herself, for missing out on the rest of Y/N’s teenage years.

“I do.” Her words are quick. “I need you, just like I still need my moms.” The last words come out quieter than the rest, just so Wanda and Natasha can’t hear her. It was always easier to reveal certain things to Maria rather than her moms.

Maria glances at the two other women patiently waiting for them by the porch. She gives them a smile. “Let’s go inside, yeah? we have all the tome in the world now.” Her hand rests on Y/N’s shoulders as she starts leading her towards the house.

Maria stayed in the Maximoff-Romanoff household until four in the morning. They spent all the hours catching up, though Y/N wasn’t too keen on talking about her life alone too much, but she shared the important details.

The clock strikes 12:30 when Y/N finally manages to wake up, still tired from staying up so late. It takes her 20 minutes to actually get out of bed.

She stands up, stretching her whole body and yawning, which causes her to get a short dizzy spell. With tired movements, she walks into the empty kitchen.

Y/N frowns, usually her moms are already up and making breakfast at this time. Her heart gets a heavy feeling, but she pushes it away, making her way to the main bedroom. She knocks on the door. When there’s no answer, she knocks again, harder this time.

“Mom? Mama?” She’s not afraid to call Wanda mama anymore.

Once again, no answer.

Her breathing picks up. This isn’t the blip, this isn’t the blip. She says the sentence over and over in her mind, but it’s getting swallowed by her panic. She opens the door and steps inside the empty bedroom, her dread growing by the second.

“Mom!” Y/N starts walking in and out of all the room, checking every possible nook and cranny. “Mama!” She quickly makes her way to the living room. Her shaky hands grab the remote control and turn on the television. The channels change quickly as she searches for the news channel.

Before she can fully try to listen to the news anchor, the front door opens. Her moms walking in, both of them holding grocery bags.

“Where were you?” Y/N shaky words make the two women set the bags down, frowns on their faces as they see the disheveled state their daughter is in. “I- I thought you were gone again. Why would you leave like that? You can’t just-“ the words are coming out quickly.

“Hey, hey,” Wanda sits on the couch, pulling Y/N right next to her, “we’re here and we’re okay.”

Natasha walks into the kitchen, picking up a note they wrote from the floor. It was taped to the fridge so Y/N would see the written We’re grocery shopping, will be back soon! easily. “I’m sorry, kрошка.” She sets the paper on the counter before joining the two on the couch. “The note fell.”

Y/N sniffles, trying to keep her sobs at bay while she fully leans into her mothers’ embrace. “I thought you left me again.”

“No, no.” Natasha and Wanda sandwich Y/N in their embrace. “We will never ever leave you again, and I know-“ Natasha continues talking before Y/N can say anything, “I know it’s hard to keep that promise, and it’ll take you time to fully trust us again. That’s okay. You just have to know, that we’ll do everything in our power to keep you and us safe.”

Y/N sniffles, her head in the crook of Wanda’s neck and her hand holding onto Natasha’s hand tightly. “Okay,” her voice is quiet as a whisper, “you won’t leave without telling again?”

“No, baby.” Wanda kisses the top of her head, keeping her face there, taking comfort in her scent even though it’s not as familiar. “We won’t leave without making sure you know exactly where we are.”

Y/N nods. She pulls away and rubs her eyes, clearing them from the tears. “What’d you get from the store?” She changes the subject, feeling slightly embarrassed of her panicked state.

Her moms make no comment of it, they go right into telling Y/N about their plan of the day to cook and bake together.

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they-call-me-whiskey · 13 days ago

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All the bitter truths

pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader

summary: knowing the truth doesn’t make it hurt any less.

warnings: angst; probably some ooc; English is not my first language.

author's note: sorry not sorry. here's the link to the previous chapter.

Sirius has no idea how you found out about his initial intentions, and honestly, he doesn’t even care—all he wants is to fix things with you, but he doesn’t know how, and it’s driving him mad.

he tries to reach you that same day, but you lock yourself in your dormitory and refuse to come out. he considers asking one of your roommates—who is also your close friend—about you, but the moment she sees him, the first thing she says is, “what did you do?”

apparently, you haven’t spoken to anyone. all she knows is that you’d been happy that morning, gone on a date with Sirius, returned early—completely broken—and refused to talk.

Sirius knows that if he tells her the truth, she will never help him. in fact, she will do everything she can to keep him away from you. So he doesn’t.

the next day, he waits outside your classes, hoping to catch you alone. but you either never turn up, or you somehow find another way to slip past him. by lunchtime, it’s clear you’re actively avoiding him.

by dinner, you aren’t even sitting in your usual spot in the Great Hall.

the ache in Sirius’ chest grows heavier with every passing hour. he isn’t used to feeling helpless—he’s always the one who can talk his way out of anything. but none of his usual tricks will work here. you don’t need his charm or his grand gestures. you need the truth.

the problem is, he doesn’t know how to give it to you.

because, technically, you’re right.

at first, he pursued you with the sole intention of winding up his family. dating a Muggle-born, parading you around Hogwarts, making sure everyone saw how much he adored you—it had been an act of defiance, another way to prove that he was nothing like them.

but somewhere along the way, it stopped being about them.

he isn’t sure when it happened—maybe it was the first time you ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, or the time you hexed a Slytherin who insulted him, or the way you always saved him the last piece of toast at breakfast. maybe it was all of it.

all Sirius knows is that, before he even realises it, he has fallen in love with you.

and now he’s losing you.

he can’t let that happen.

so, that night, Sirius does the only thing he can think of.

he writes you a letter.

it’s messy, rushed, but it’s honest.

when he slips it under your dormitory door, he hesitates for a moment, fingers lingering against the wood. part of him wants to knock, to force you to face him, but he knows better.

so he steps back.

he doesn’t sleep that night.

every creak of the dormitory floorboards makes him lift his head, every shift of the wind outside makes his heart lurch. maybe you’re reading it. maybe you’ve already thrown it away.

but maybe—just maybe—it’ll be enough.

darling,

I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you burned this before reading it. but I need you to know the truth, even if you never speak to me again.

yes, in the beginning, I wanted to piss off my family. I was angry, reckless, and you were— Merlin, I don’t even have the words for what you were. brilliant. fearless. everything they hated. I wanted to shove it in their faces. to show them I could love someone they’d never accept.

but here’s the part I don’t know how to make you believe:

it stopped being about them a long time ago.

I fell in love with you. I didn’t plan to, didn’t expect to, but I did. and I know that doesn’t erase how we started. I know that if I’d been a better person back then, I would have seen you for who you are instead of what you represented. but I see you now. and I swear to you, there isn’t a single thing in this world I care about more than you.

I don’t expect you to forgive me. but if there’s even the smallest chance that you believe me, that you could maybe—not today, not tomorrow, but someday—let me prove that this was real… then I’ll wait.

forever, if I have to.

Sirius

the parchment crinkles in your hands as you finish reading. the words sit heavy in your chest, but all you can focus on is one thing.

“I know that if I’d been a better person back then, I would have seen you for who you are instead of what you represented.”

because that’s exactly it, isn’t it? if he hadn’t needed to rebel, he wouldn’t have looked at you twice. he can say he loves you now, but would he ever have loved you if not for them? if not for spite?

your throat burns as you fold the letter, setting it aside like it might hurt you if you hold it too long.

you don’t sleep that night.

your mind won’t let you. not with his words echoing over and over, not with the question you don’t know how to answer.

does it even matter?

the morning after, Sirius arrives at breakfast, hoping to see you. his eyes scan the Great Hall, searching for any sign of you, but you’re nowhere to be found. his chest tightens. did you even read the letter? did you toss it aside without a second thought?

the uneasy feeling follows him all the way to first period. then, just as he and the other Marauders head down the corridor, he spots you.

before he can think, he moves towards you, but Remus catches his arm.

“wait, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Remus asks carefully.

Sirius shrugs him off. “I just want to talk.”

before anyone else can stop him, he’s running after you.

he catches up easily, reaching for your wrist, and you freeze at his touch.

“can we talk?” his voice is quiet, almost pleading.

you hesitate, your eyes darting to the students passing by. then, shaking your head, you pull away.

“I’ll be late for class.” the words are clipped, and before he can protest, you turn and leave.

Sirius stands there, stunned. he thought the letter would fix things—or at least help. instead, it feels like nothing has changed.

behind him, James places a hand on his shoulder. “give it time, mate.”

Remus sighs. “just… give her some space.”

Sirius doesn’t reply. he can’t.

but he doesn’t listen, either.

in class, he tries to catch your attention, but you keep your gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge him. when he leans closer, whispering your name, you sigh.

“fine,” you murmur. “after class.”

it’s not much, but it’s something.

the moment class ends, Sirius is at your side. “listen, I’m sorry, I—” he doesn’t waste time, doesn’t give you the chance to slip away again.

you glance around. “not here. let’s talk somewhere private.”

he nods immediately. “alright.”

you walk in silence until you find an empty corridor, away from prying eyes. the tension is thick, pressing against Sirius’ chest, and he hates it. he hates the distance, hates the way you’re looking at him like he’s someone you don’t quite recognise anymore.

“I wrote you a letter,” he says when you stop.

“I know. I read it,” you reply.

“I meant every word,” he rushes out, his voice urgent. “I love you. I—”

“I believe you.”

the words stun him into silence.

he expected resistance. doubt. maybe even anger.

but this?

“then why—”

“because that’s not the point.” you take a deep breath, looking at him like you’re waiting for him to understand. “you love me now. but if you didn’t need to prove a point—if you hadn’t needed an easy, convenient person to use—you would have never even looked at me.”

Sirius shakes his head. “that’s not—”

“think about it,” you cut in. “really think about it before you say anything.”

silence stretches between you.

and then, without another word, you turn and walk away.

Sirius watches you go, a sinking feeling settling deep in his chest.

because he does think about it.

and for the first time, he doesn’t like the answer.

#harry potter #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

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virginiaisforvampires · 6 months ago

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I think the fans should talk about Louis not saying "I love you" to Claudia even once especially as she was the one who felt unloved by him at times.

She did. So did Lestat. One doesn’t detract from the other, because they both hold important meaning for Louis’ story.

The tragedy is Louis did love Claudia too. However, S2 made a point in that none of it was ever truly about Claudia. As Armand correctly pointed out, Louis used Claudia for cover, but it always circled back to Lestat. That is the entire point.

Louis and Lestat are so obsessed with each other and so maniacally in love with each other. Claudia was the “roof shingle” that ended up being both an accessory to and casualty to their chaos, and neither of them realized it until it was too late.

The writer’s have talked about the “you and me” scene in 2x01 being left ambiguous on purpose, because you don’t truly know who Louis is meaning when he says it, because Lestat is there. Is he meaning Claudia? Is he meaning Lestat? Or both?

As the season progresses, we see Louis being clearly fed-up with Claudia the more she melds herself into the coven. For one, Louis feels bitter. He allowed her to uproot their lives in New Orleans. He allowed the plot to kill Lestat. He trekked across Europe with her for 5 years in dire conditions. He stayed in Paris and abided the coven for her. The minute she pointed out it wasn’t what she believed it was going to be and warned Louis about Armand, Louis didn’t waste time in throwing his bitterness back in her face. His attitude was very much after everything he’d done for her, which he did not want to do in the first place, and this is how she repays him? With more ungratefulness and dissatisfaction? Meanwhile he’s still carrying on an imaginary relationship with Lestat. That is Louis’ world at that point. He’s holding everyone at arms’ length while he lives in his make-believe bubble.

For another, he sits idly by while Armand and the coven degrade her and humiliate her. She looks to him for help in the theater, but he simply goes back to reading his book with his attitude being this is what you wanted so deal with it. Yet the minute Claudia attempts to break free from Louis and finds happiness with Madeleine, the first and only person to ever truly put her first and make her their priority, Louis is angry, because Claudia is leaving him behind. He begrudgingly turns Madeleine for her and then bleeds himself out, because he doesn’t want anyone else’s blood in his veins except for Lestat’s blood. Lestat is always there.

We have the scene in which Madeleine points out she can feel that Louis loves Claudia, but then she mistakenly believes she also feels Louis’ alleged love for Armand. She remarks to Louis why he doesn’t want “Armand” to know that he loves him, but as we saw earlier, Louis could easily and flippantly say “I love you” to Armand, which was mocked by DreamStat, exactly because it was not genuine. Lestat was always there.

Then we get to the trial and the revisits. Rolin said he picked those two moments — Claudia’s turning and the fight — to revisit during the trial due to what they meant for Louis’ story. If you look at how both scenes changed the narrative and further reiterated how Claudia had been an object to Louis — dragging her across the floor like a doll as Lestat warned what she would be (“you will love her and it will spiral beyond your reach!”) and using her as an excuse to finally take out his years-worth of pent up rage and blame on Lestat — the moment in which Claudia finally tells both her parents what she truly feels — “it’s never been about me!” and “one more round in the stormy romance of you two!” and “I was just the roof shingle!” — is the culmination of their family dynamic, and the moment in which Madeleine proudly proclaims “my coven is Claudia” is what Claudia had always needed and wanted to hear. As I said though, neither Louis or Lestat realized this until it was too late. Claudia was her own person. She had her own agency and neither Louis or Lestat really accounted for that when they made her to be their child.

Louis loved her. Lestat loved her. It just wasn’t enough, because it was never going to be what they are to each other, and that is part of the tragedy. I don’t think either of them will ever stop blaming themselves for her death, and the reunion scene was the one moment in which it was truly about Claudia. It was the two failed parents grieving the loss of their child and having to reconcile with that loss and the hand they played in it, and I do believe moving forward for them will show us Louis and Lestat finally acknowledging Claudia’s meaning and their mutual love for her and how she will always be a part of them.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #lestat de lioncourt #madeleine #iwtv season 1 #iwtv season 2

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leoruby-draws · 4 months ago

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Decided to drop some Vanessa drawings, l love drawing her a lot! It can be a challenge with the hair and wings but thats part of the fun for me!

This here drawing kinda feels like a valentine type of drawing, tho the only love interest Vanessa had was a boy she had a crush on (did they date? Can't remember lol) who had a crush on Wonder Woman herself. Think his name was Brian or Brad? Poor Vanessa, thats middle school romance for you I guess.

Vanessa has been shown with almost every hair color and texture in the comics,seriously she's been blonde, a red head, brunette, its been all over the place. So I've been sorta compromising on which colors/textures I liked best. What I wanted to do was have Vanessa have her curly brown hair as a little kid pre-Silver Swan, have her hair red/straight due to her unwanted transformation, than slowly it turns less red and more wavy as time goes on. I made it pink, since as I've said before I just really like pink hair (I blame anime lol). Maybe as she grows older It'll become more orange, resembling her introduction as Silver Swan from the comics.

This drawing is just a bit of a tease on the story of Jason meeting Vanessa, looks like she wasn't too receptive to any company at the time. I have an idea of how they meet and even kinda how Jason convinces her to join up with him, Rose and Eddie. I've just been a bit lazy on getting it started.

Another drawing, I draw Vanessa sad a lot huh? Well her story is really sad, can't be helped. She's not just sad tho, there's an intense bitterness in her as well, she's truly angry at what's happened to her. We don't get to see it that much in the comics, as they're more focused on Diana's feelings and horror at the situation (Vanessa is a supporting character tbf).

When I'm making all my doodles for my TrWh au, I like to try to make the characters lives more happier and easier, to better fit the more light-hearted world I want to do. But sometimes the backstory of a certain character won't really allow for that, so I can try to make it a little less awful but to change it completely would mean I would have to come up with an entirely different backstory. But that would mean changing Vanessa, and part of what appeals her to me is that bitterness and anger.

At least she has more friends with the Outlaws in this universe, case in point:

Hopefully they can help her have some fun in her life.

Anyways, hope you liked all that!

#DC Comics #Vanessa Kapatelis #Jason Todd #Lori Zechlin #Eddie Bloomberg #Koryak Curry #Owen Mercer #Training Wheels au #my art

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izloveshorses · 4 months ago

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Cowboy Like Me

ao3

Rated M, 5k, smut, western au 🤠

~~~

“Get me a whiskey, will ya?”

The sun was just starting to set through the windows, the cigarette smoke and the dust in the air making the beams of light thick and hazy, almost heavenly. Dmitry about laughed at the thought. As if this place wasn’t as far from heaven as it could get.

Dmitry poured the shot, the amber liquid catching in the light, and slid it to the man too drunk to sit upright. “Take it easy,” Dmitry said. “Last one, okay?”

The man grumbled something unintelligible but he probably wouldn’t remember this conversation tomorrow, so Dmitry didn’t take it personally.

Since things were slow, Dmitry took his time lighting a cigarette, inhaling slowly. Just one small breath of relief. It wasn’t like he had a bad life here. A rough one, sure, with the usual crowd he got, hungry and angry and bitter creatures they all were. And the saloon he owned, though filthy down to every crack in the wood, was, really, a fairly decent establishment.

But he couldn’t help but notice he was mildly miserable almost all the time. That he felt more like a ghost than a person. Aimless and hollow.

The doors swung open, squeaking loudly on their hinges. His eyes couldn’t help but trail up to the source of the noise and linger there. By the sudden silence without the piano going or the noisy chatter, Dmitry wasn’t the only one to stare.

And who could blame him? She was too pretty, too clean, for such a place. Her reddish blonde hair was neatly pinned into an updo, the fabric of her dress lacy and such a rich and deep shade of blue it was nearly black, her chin raised so high there was no doubting she came from a world of civilized refinement far from here. Most folks around here got their pride beaten out of them. But this young lady hadn’t a speck of dirt or hardship on her.

Her piercing blue eyes found his. Slowly the bar returned to its normal chatter, the piano picking up again. Dmitry started cleaning a glass as she made her way to order.

“What’ll it be, miss?” he asked without looking up.

“You stole something of mine last time I was here,” she said in a clear, commanding voice instead of ordering. “I came to demand you return it.”

He just raised an eyebrow at her. “Bold accusation. All I do is pour drinks.”

“I know it was you.”

“How do you know,” he tossed his towel over his shoulder and set the glass down, “that I didn’t pawn it off as soon as you left town? If you’re so sure I took whatever it is you’re looking for?”

She was still narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t think you would’ve done that.”

He rested his hands on the bar, leering over her. “If you want it so bad,” he smirked, “you should just go on and take it.”

They stared, daring the other to break first. Slowly she reached to steal the glass he had just cleaned, and then, like she owned the place, found the neck of a bottle of vodka, all without breaking eye contact. And she poured herself a shot, knocked it back, her pretty throat swallowing it all in one gulp. While she was still in his space she plucked his cigarette from his lips and backed away from the bar.

Dmitry, god help him, watched her amble up the stairs. When the chatter returned, he vaguely realized the whole saloon had fallen silent to watch the exchange. It wasn’t every day someone threatened the man who poured the drinks, after all.

“Hey, how come the lady can walk away without paying,” the drunk man at the bar whined, “but you’re charging me for every shot?”

Dmitry pulled the rag from his shoulder.

“What, if I give you a kiss and bat my eyelashes, I get a discount?”

Dmitry removed his apron. “Just don’t fall off your stool, Ivan.”

“Aw, fuck you!”

He stepped out back to find Vlad, snoring with his feet propped up on the wooden porch railing. Drunk as a skunk already. He kicked at his legs and Vlad startled awake. “Cover the bar for me, will you?” Vlad only grunted, still nursing the heartbreak from when his lady left him a few weeks ago, it seemed. But he pushed himself up and followed Dmitry inside. Vlad was in charge of the hospitality side of things at this saloon, only here to keep the few rooms upstairs in order and such, but, even in his depressive state, he was capable of pouring drinks in Dmitry’s absence. Maybe. Hopefully. Probably.

With his friend behind the bar and the saloon seemingly calm— at least for now— he made his way up the stairs, and had to force himself not to take two steps at a time, only because he knew the entire saloon was eyeing him. A part of him didn’t really care anymore. On the landing Marfa and her girls silently glared at him through their cigarette smoke, flicking ash to the floor, while he passed. Maybe because they knew they would never get business from him in particular.

He knocked twice at the usual door, then tried the knob. The sun cast long shadows in the room but his eyes still found her easily. She was seated at the rickety vanity, her hair unpinned and falling over her shoulders in golden curls, reading a book in one hand and holding her— his— cigarette in the other. He slowly pulled the door shut.

Her eyes flicked up at him, then back down at whatever she was reading. “Took you long enough.”

In spite of himself, he smirked, because damn, he couldn’t help it. “In case you forgot, some of us actually have to work around here.”

All she did was hum, unimpressed, and slowly rose to her feet after snuffling the cigarette in the ceramic ashtray. It had only been a few minutes, but the candles on the mantle were dripping wax.

“And you’re the one who was gone for…”

His retort died on his tongue when she let her gorgeous, spotless dress slip to the dusty floor.

All right then.

Dmitry didn’t take his eyes off of her but blindly kicked off his boots. She moved in a wide arc, slow but purposeful, her footsteps creaking the floor, smirking at him all the way. And, like the complete idiot he was, his smile widened. “What brings you to Saint Pete’s this time?” he asked when she sat at the edge of the bed. “Business or pleasure?”

Her blue eyes were light, playful. “Just passing through.”

He tsked, kneeling in front of her. “You’ll have to be careful,” he drawled, “there are some scoundrels in these roadside towns who’ll rob you dry.”

His hands slid down her ankles, unbuttoning her silk shoes one at a time. But her fingers tilted his chin up towards her so he would look at her. “I can handle myself,” she insisted.

He managed a soft “I know” just before she kissed him, and flashes of light sparked in his vision.

Dmitry didn’t know what to call it, this thing between them. ‘Arrangement’ was too detached a word. But it— whatever it was— started on an evening where she genuinely was passing through, all the way from New York to wherever it was she was going, he couldn’t remember, and by some stroke of luck her train had to stop here overnight instead. And when she ordered a drink at his saloon, alone and unaccompanied, well. He had to make sure she was all right. So he kept checking up on her, making small conversation. Even had a drink with her when she asked for the company after the bar died down.

And there was this… current, of something. Of want, maybe. Of recognition. Between them. Something he hadn’t felt before. So when she beckoned him to follow her up to her room after he closed the bar, and then proceeded to unbuckle his pants, he was surprised, of course, but not startled. Because nothing had ever felt right, like this.

Or maybe he was just really fucking lonely.

What is this? he had asked. Not because he wanted to stop, but. It seemed like the only reasonable question to ask when a stranger was actively pulling down your trousers.

Her blue eyes had met his. Whatever you want it to be.

So he had cupped her face and bent forward and kissed her, and that was the end of that discussion, as far as he was concerned.

The following morning she had resumed her journey, leaving him with nothing more than a kiss on the corner of his mouth when she thought he was still sleeping and the ghost of her smell on the ugly paisley sheets. And she stopped in on her way back a few days later, as if to prove she was not just some lucid hallucination, and then after another couple months she came in again, and… well. You see how the pattern formed.

They didn’t talk much beyond what was necessary. She told him to call her Anya, though he was pretty positive that wasn’t her real name. He didn’t blame her. It didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was that when she was here he wasn’t thinking about his dead father or the lawmen threatening to raid his saloon once a week or the patrons with guns and tempers who were sore losers at the poker table. All that mattered was her skin, her eyes, her sighs.

It was obvious she came from money. Sometimes she would babble something in French, which meant she was well educated. Maybe her father was some oil tycoon or something. Sometimes he thought about asking, insisting on a real answer as to why she ventured all the way out here. But if she wanted him to know she would’ve told him. And, then again, he didn’t exactly want her to know all the dark parts of himself he wasn’t so proud of, either.

So now, when she was letting him unlace her corset, he didn’t dare ask why. Or how. A lucky man at the poker table didn’t question his winning hand, didn’t ponder how the dealer possibly dealt him the perfect lineup of cards, didn’t ask if this was some fluke or trick. He just cashed in his chips and ordered another round of drinks before anyone got suspicious.

Unlacing and unbuttoning her garters and petticoats was Dmitry’s way of cashing in.

When she was here, he didn’t want to waste time on pondering such things, because if he did, there was a chance she would wake up and remember she had better things to do than romp about with some street rat who—

“Anything interesting happen today?” she asked as she peeled his shirt off of him, eager thing she was, and he couldn’t help but take some pride in how breathless she sounded.

He was too busy to answer at first, tired of chasing after her, his hand curling around the nape of her neck and tangling in her hair so he could kiss her proper, nipping at her lower lip. Hold still, goddammit. And for a second she did. Melting against him, angling her jaw open and sighing, his hand cradling her head. His knees were on either side of her, kneeling like a stupid religious beggar, with her arms looping around his neck.

Her hands traced down to his chest, always curious, and pushed him away slightly. “I asked you a question, sir.”

He snorted an exasperated laugh. “I’m getting there,” he insisted, angling her jaw with his thumb so he could kiss her throat. “Missed you too much. And you’re still in too many clothes.”

Her sigh was strained. “It hasn’t even been that long.”

“Three weeks and four days,” he huffed out. The shortest time they’d been apart since this started, sure, but still. Enough to make him feel pathetic and impatient now that she was within his reach again. He felt his fists close around the fabric of her slip at her side and back. “So forgive me for being a little…”

She bit back a smile. “Libidinous?” He didn’t know what that meant, and his confusion must’ve shown on his face because she let out an entirely unladylike giggle before he could puzzle out the word. This was always embarrassing, saying or doing something absolutely stupid in front of this beautiful, intelligent, remarkably educated young lady, revealing his hand that he really couldn’t keep up with her like he pretended he could. But instead of teasing him she lifted her arms so he could lift her slip off of her. And then, scarring his dignity even more, he actually let out a noise at the sight of her. He impatiently threw the garment away— off off off!— as she lowered herself to her back, hair fanning out around her on the mattress, pulling him down with her by his cheek and the scruff of his hair.

Once she was finally—finally— bare, he hovered over her, planting kisses on her soft skin. Sometimes they didn’t even bother taking their clothes off before getting started. Other times she would slip into something a little easier to remove, or, like tonight, she would make him earn it, one button at a time. He huffed as he nudged her legs apart with his knees. “You missed it,” he said into her sternum. “Poker game this afternoon ended in a big fight. Had to pull them apart and they dueled out front.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she said, fingers digging into his shoulder when he noses at her breast. “I thought I smelled gunsmoke when I got here.”

He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, the crowd tonight has really mellowed down.”

“I like it when they’re a little rowdy.”

His mouth found her nipple, earning a broken exhale. She wouldn’t let him leave marks that would be visible in the morning— she was a lady, after all, wherever it was she came from and wherever she was going— but sometimes he nipped at spots only he would get to see. Like on her stomach or the inside of her thigh, or here, on the soft flesh of her breast. Just for him. “If they were rowdy,” he murmured, his voice husky and low, before hovering over her face, “I would still be stuck down there.”

As if on cue, roars of laughter erupted downstairs, loud enough to hear up here. The piano kept on with its ragtime tunes, muffled by distance and the wooden walls.

He thought she liked the idea of it, having a real cowboy from the Wild West all to herself, all rough and jagged with his rowdy saloon and bar fights and gunslingers obeying him, only tame for her. Little did she know he couldn’t shoot a gun to save his life and he was terrified of horses and bourbon gave him a stomach ache, so he made a pretty lousy cowboy at that. So maybe it was good they didn’t talk. Lest whatever illusion she had crafted for him gets ruined and she never comes back.

She cupped his cheeks. “You wouldn’t dare keep me waiting.” He had just enough time to smirk before she tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him. Her tongue slipping against the seam in his lips, his head tilting to part his mouth open for her and properly deepen the kiss, she tasted like the vodka he served, warm and sharp at the same time. Addictive. Making his stomach roll.

His fingers found their way between her legs, earning a muffled gasp into his mouth, a fist tightening around locks of his hair, the feeling so good he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second. He knew her well enough by now, all her tells, that he could coax her over the edge pretty quickly. The rhythm of it. The allure, the push and pull. The way her hips bucked eagerly into his hand. Needy. Always so needy for him.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Save some of that energy.”

She huffed, annoyed he was telling her what to do, probably. “Need more.”

His fingers curled inside her, thumb brushing over her. “You know I’ll always take care of you.” The words came out a little softer than he intended, laced with something tender. But he moved a little faster, even though he didn’t like being told what to do, either. Her arms looped around his neck to keep him close. In return he sucked kisses down her neck, following the path of goosebumps lighting up her skin, paving the way for him.

She really was gorgeous, writhing below him like this, so much that sometimes it made him forget to breathe. She was probably the most beautiful thing he would ever get to see. And sometimes he couldn’t help but marvel at it, his luck of the draw, that she let him even look at her, let alone brand kisses on her skin, trace constellations on her freckles, whisper prayers into her flesh to a god that may have existed only to have created someone like her.

When she came all over his hand, pulsing around his fingers, her nails dug into his shoulder blades so much it hurt. Let her mark him up. Let everyone know he was taken. If only for tonight.

She sleepily opened her eyes, offering him a dazzling smile that he couldn’t help but kiss. With her breasts brushing against his bare chest and her knees squeezing his waist and her pretty sighs in his mouth, his trousers were tight and uncomfortable. With one hand he propped himself up above her and with the other he undid his belt and shimmied out of his pants.

She pressed a foot against his hip bone until he was on his side, and then on his back. Dmitry had stopped bothering to ask how she would like to take him this time. She always told him what she wanted, or just took care of it herself. Like now, as she was straddling his hips and angling him against her entrance.

And then, god help him, he moaned when she sunk around him, her palms on his stomach, not one to waste time. She felt so good his vision went white for a few seconds. This was always good. Every time.

She wiggled her hips back and forth for a second, either to test the waters or just to torture him, he wasn’t sure. But he did moan out a “Fuck…” just the same.

She smirked, and then started moving for real.

She just. She was so perfect, Dmitry didn’t think he could ever be with anyone else. She ruined him. Ruined everyone that wasn’t her.

He wanted to sit up and kiss her, the sorry sap he was, but her hands were on his chest now, pinning him down. She was so small he could easily take control and have his way with her. But he liked seeing her like this, taking what she wanted from him, confident and needy. His fingers dug into her thighs, so hard that maybe he would leave bruises, and his hips snapped up to meet hers, needing to exert at least some of his frustrations of the day. That first night he had been so careful, fucking her slow and tender until the sun rose, but he learned pretty quickly that wasn’t what she came here for. She didn’t want gentle from him. So now he knew she could take it a little rough, a little mean, a little dirty.

She really did love his body, he could tell by the way she always caressed him like this. Obviously. She wouldn’t be the first. But he was dumb enough to think there was something more to it than that. Hope, maybe. There were moments where she would look at him with something affectionate and loving, would laugh with such fondness at things he said, that his heart would crack with want.

Sometimes he wondered if he could get her to his shitty house instead of staying in this shitty room, even if it wasn’t much better. But it was his own home, and he had his kitchen, and maybe he could make her breakfast in the morning…

She let out a little moan, his attention snapping back to the present. Her breasts bouncing, hair cascading over her shoulders, back arched… he didn’t want to miss a thing.

His hands slid up to hold her waist, hip bones digging into his palms, steadying her. She was close. “Doing so good, darling,” he encouraged. “Want you to feel good.”

She bit her lip, rolling her hips this way and that. “Fuck,” she swore, “don’t stop doing that.”

In spite of everything he smirked, but did as told, pistoning his hips at the angle she was clearly enjoying. The mattress groaned and creaked under them as she bounced faster on him.

Dmitry wasn’t an idiot; he could piece together the clues. She probably didn’t get to be this… unbridled… where she came from. Didn’t have the freedom to curse or get mouthy with a man without consequence. Didn’t get to ride whatever man she pleased without marrying him first. And Dmitry was probably nothing more than a means to find release from having to be so buttoned up all the time.

He didn’t know why she came here. Why she picked him. What kind of life she came from. But if she needed to cope with whatever darkness existed in her or her life— and, let’s face it, everyone on the fucking planet needed to cope with something— then he was sure as hell not gonna complain about it. He was happy to provide whatever distraction she wanted. Even if it left him ragged and gasping and ruined.

Her hand found his, locking them together, eyes holding his own. “Dima…”

She didn’t often use his name. Not this gently. And there was that feeling again. Like his heart— his soul— was trying to hammer its way out of his chest to get to hers. Like it recognized her.

“Anya, I—” he whimpered, cutting himself off. No need to tell her he loved her or something stupid.

He kept babbling, nearly growling, as he felt her reach her peak. That’s it, feel good on me. Feel good on me—

When his thumb brushed over her she shattered above him, completely wrecking him in the process. It took everything he had to thrust a few more times before he spilled himself inside her.

After she slumped on top of him, breathing hard, she curled against his side, and he kissed the top of her head. The sun had set by now so she was nothing more than shades of silver and blue in the evening light. This was always his favorite part. Where she let him hold her, dropping that mask of regality and haughtiness, where she was just a girl and he was just a boy. And he could pretend, at least until the second or even the third round, that he was hers and she was his, in this small way.

He was happy, here, like this. You could say that was probably just the sex talking, but. He felt safe with her. Felt wanted. For once.

“Do you have to go back downstairs?” Anya finally asked.

He shook his head. Vlad could handle it. Hopefully. Maybe. Regardless, Dmitry wasn’t sure if he could even walk himself out of bed just yet, anyway, his legs were still shaking.

Vlad probably wasn’t even aware of what Dmitry was up to right now, he wasn’t exactly lucid at the moment. Dmitry didn’t blame him. If Anya decided to never see him again he would probably be in the same state of misery, too.

At first, Dmitry thought Vlad wasn’t aware of what was going on between him and this young lady from the east coast. But last time, the morning after Anya had left, Dmitry was sweeping the floor when Vlad stopped him, helped him light a cigarette.

Is she paying you? Vlad had asked.

Dmitry’s fist tightened around the handle of the broom, exhaling a long drag. No. But he gave his answer quietly. Because it wasn’t like women hadn’t paid him for a night upstairs before.

Are you paying her?

Dmitry’s head snapped up. No!

Ah. I see. Vlad only nodded thoughtfully. Dmitry thought that would be the end of the discussion, so he continued his chore, but his friend rested a hand on his shoulder. She’ll break your heart.

At the time Dmitry had rolled his eyes. What did he know?

But now, his sorry heart felt so fragile he thought it could shatter at any moment.

Because happiness didn’t really exist for people like him, in this place. Because men like him were destined for nothing more than to drink themselves to sleep on the back porch and wake with wet eyes, or slump over on a barstool because he had nowhere else to go, or get shot in front of a saloon after a poker game.

“You sure you don’t want to go down and check?” she went on. Dmitry shook his head again and his fingers brushed up and down her spine. “We started earlier than usual.”

He smiled up at the ceiling, tilted his head down to look at her. “Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?”

“No,” she said. “It’s just… you like taking care of people, is all.”

He blinked at her, a little surprised. If this was just supposed to be a casual rendezvous here and there, how had she noticed this? How could she observe parts of himself even he wasn’t aware of?

Dmitry escaped the warmth of her arms and rolled to sit at the edge of the mattress. She whined in annoyance, but he only bent forward to collect his trousers and dig through one of the pockets. His fingers snagged on the chain and he held it aloft so she could see it, nearly laughing at her expression— relieved and incredulous how dare you at the same time. If she weren’t naked and lithe and irresistible on the bed he might’ve even called her adorable. When he brushed her hair away and secured the chain around her neck he kissed the bump in her spine where the clasp fell. The golden locket, studded with green gemstones, was resting on her sternum between her breasts, back where it belonged.

Anya’s fingers traced over the locket while she flattened herself onto her back. “So you did steal it.” He grinned and nodded as he got comfortable at her side again, arm draped over her middle, kissing her shoulder. It would’ve been so easy to swipe her jewelry or her purse from her every time she visited him. If it was anyone else, he might’ve gone and done it. But he didn’t dare with her. Not until last time, when he was watching her sleep, the locket sparkling in the moonlight. “Why?”

He swallowed, wet his lips. “Because I wanted you to come back.”

She wore it every time, never took it off. He figured this one would be important enough.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I always come back.”

But he never knew when she would come back. Or even if. If this would be the goodbye, this time. And, dammit, not even his spite could stop his heart from turning sentimental and sappy at the thought of losing her. Even though he knew she came from a world of gold lockets and pretty parasols and fancy garden parties and her pick of the litter of eligible suitors— hell, she could even be married for all he knew— he heard himself ask, “Why do you?”

She bit her lip, hesitating. Perhaps deciding if she should keep playing their little game or actually be honest. Her fingers picked up the locket, holding it up so they both could see. “This belonged to my grandmother,” she said quietly, popping it open to reveal not a photo but an inscription. He hadn’t opened it at all, felt too wrong and invasive, but she was showing him now. “I haven’t seen her since I was seven years old.”

Dmitry frowned, struggling to follow. “Dead?”

She shook her head. “She lives in Paris now.”

“Oh.” Paris. The complete opposite of this town, he was sure.

“And the life my family wants for me…” she brushed her fingers over the inscription— something written in French, he now recognized— and closed the locket, set it over her heart. “It’s not enough.”

Dmitry swallowed. But this still didn’t explain anything. “Anya…” he whispered. That may not have been her real name, but she responded to it like it was, her blue eyes flicking to his. “Why do you keep coming back here?”

She looked so vulnerable, so small, like one wrong word from him would cleave her in half. But she took a breath. “Hope,” she finally answered. “That maybe this time you’ll ask me to stay.”

Now it was Dmitry’s turn to be confused. “Who are you running from?” he asked, because that was the only reasonable explanation as to why anyone would want to stay in this dump, to stay with him of all people.

But she just shook her head, her smile so fond he started to doubt. “Running to,” she corrected.

Oh. He wanted to argue, to say no one in their right mind would choose this, that he— a nearly illiterate orphan with hardly a penny to his name— couldn’t give her the life she deserved, the lifestyle she was used to. Nothing about him or his life had happiness on the horizon. But. but. She was looking at him like she already was happy. Like he had the answer to what she was looking for. He didn’t know what to do with it.

And, well. If happiness existed for him, here she was, in person form.

He maneuvered so that he was hovering over her and dropped a single kiss to her neck. “You’ll have to work,” he drawled. Her face lit up with relief. “Everyone around here has to earn their keep.”

Even her laugh was pretty. “Of course.” Her knee slid up his side, until her calf was hooking over his hip. “I’m a hard worker.”

“Pretty thing like you?” He found her hand, smooth as porcelain, a hand that hadn’t seen a day’s labor. But she was strong. He knew that. She was brave for coming all the way out here on her own so many times. She had to know how to fend for herself, how to take care of things. And she was smart as a whip. Not porcelain, then. Polished and beautiful, yes, but not brittle. Made of stone. His lips twitched into a smirk before he kissed her knuckle. “Think you can handle it?”

Her hand dragged up to cup his face. “I’ll have you know,” she started, “where I come from, I am the fastest sharpshooter in the county.” To prove her point, she took her thumb and forefinger and angled her hand at him, closing one eye, like she was aiming a revolver. “I’ll protect you.”

His smile grew. Well, then. He kissed her mouth, slow and soft and sweet, like she deserved. Maybe one day he could see himself deserving the same tenderness, too. “Stay.”

#dimya #fanfiction #my writing #anastasia broadway #anastasia #me? posting Two fics in the same week? it's more likely than u think!#also i think this is the first time i'm sharing my smut here lol oops #enjoy i guess #yeehaw i should say #i may or may not write a sequel to this #it's in my head #but we'll see #i should not promise anything bc i can't write on command ahlsjdfk #smutty saturday

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ninyard · 8 months ago

Note

6, 12, 13, and 23 for the aftg ask game!

- @you-know-i-get-itt

Already answered 6!

12. Favourite narrative foil?

I don’t know if I have this right I haven’t studied English/literature stuff in…like 8 years and I’m kind of stupid academically so. Forgive me if this analysis is absolutely wrong and not what that means but

I think Andrew/Renee, maybe. Renee who went through a bunch of the same things Andrew went through, becoming kind through her pain. Seeing how ugly and terrible and bad the world can get and just… being so determined to not be that person anymore. She acknowledges the horrible things she’s done with regret and doesn’t feel proud of her actions, she hates the person she used to be, she found light and meaning in life and turned her hatred of the world into smiles and positivity and spreading love like it’s her life’s mission.

And Andrew became bitter. Andrew became angry, and resentful, and lost any blatant outward kindness that he might’ve had. Andrew became violent and hateful and intolerant to bullshit and unkind people. The lessons Andrew learned from his trauma was not that he was the victim of terrible people, but that if terrible people wanted something from him, they would just take it. Renee sees the bad day someone might’ve had, while Andrew sees an asshole who has wronged him. Renee fought back against her abusers when Andrew never could. Andrew took Renee’s knives from her. They’re not true foils of each other, I know that really, but I just love seeing the different responses to the same kinds of trauma. How they started on this path that looked the same and both ended up two totally opposite kinds of people. IDK! that’s not a great analysis rly but yeah!!!

(Neither of their reactions to their trauma is wrong or right btw - just because Andrew’s sounds more insulting and negative, it doesn’t make it a bad response. Renee deserves to be angry and bitter and resentful too. They both rightfully deserve to be pissed at the life they were given. Renee just decided not to outwardly be that way.)

13. Favourite narrative symbolism?

(Was it intentional that number of this q was 13??) The number 13 and the keys I think!!

23. Something you are very sure will happen in TSC2

Kevin and Jean facing off on the court. The jerejean pottery class of course. An argument with Jeremy’s family. MAYBE Jean having the water boarding conversation with someone:

(Things I would like to see that are not so certain: Lukas blaming Jean for Graysons inevitable death, Jeremy losing his cool, Jean gets a sex toy, Ichirou cameo, the Ravens implode from the inside)

#and the shawn anderson cameo but we’ll see

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 10 days ago

Text

Kafni | Faith Over Blood | Platonic

Following the Messiah brings forth division when you lose more than just your sister.

Requested by Lizzy

“Are you ready to go?”

Your hollow eyes find John’s as the innocent question reaches your ears. Still, it makes you want to snap at him. Your expression is crestfallen as you regard him with nothing but silence and an empty glance. Of course you aren’t ready to go; you doubt that you ever would be. He sighs at the look on your face and reaches out his hand.

“Come,” he says instead, not awaiting another answer, and you take it to allow him to help you up. He leads you to the cart where Ramah lies in off-white linen and a dark blanket, her fragile body wrapped up and making her appear tinier than you had ever seen her as.

Your heart rests like a heavy stone inside your stomach, shattered into a million pieces when you find the man who would have been brother-in-law if things hadn’t gone the way they did. John squeezes your shoulder as he releases you, leaving the two of you be with your grief.

“I can’t believe this,” Thomas whimpers as his forehead rests against her covered one, “How could this happen? I looked away for one second. One second!”

“Don’t blame yourself for this, Thomas,” you whisper, realising a second too late that his bitterness was directed elsewhere. You knew that the former vintner is enraged with Jesus, blaming Him for not healing her as she bled to death on the dirty ground in Capernaum, dark red saturating her gown as her face paled, and honestly, you cannot hold that against him.

Ramah had been everything to you, too. Growing up together, you had always looked up to her, admiring her diligence and sweet nature, hoping to be like her one day. You had seen the way she and Thomas looked at one another back when they didn’t realise that they were in love yet. Your heart is just as broken as the one of the man in front of you, even though you have a different way of showing it.

Unlike him, you do not blame Jesus for what happened nor that He didn’t revive her from this state. When Jesus says it is not the time, you want to trust Him. Even though it is difficult to do so, you are well aware that Him saying no does not take away from His divinity. Ramah loved Jesus, so you refused to do otherwise. After all, you weren’t the one ripped away from life itself way too soon. She whispered her wish for you to follow Him in her dying breath, and so, you would honour that.

The hand you rest on Thomas’ shoulder blades is met with tense muscles. “We need to go,” you croak, your eyes burning with unshed tears. The vintner sniffles and releases your older sister, turning to you with dejected eyes.

“What will you tell your father?”

“The truth,” you whisper in honesty.

“You know how he will take it.”

You nod meekly in reply. “But it is the way of things. Being dishonest about it will not soften the loss.”

“But it might harden his heart.”

You bite your lip, letting your gaze go to Jesus as He stands with a few other Disciples, discussing the journey towards Tel Dor to deliver the remains of your sister for burial. “I know,” you say softly, “But I will let Him figure it out.”

“I don’t know how I feel about Jesus figuring anything out for us right now.” Thomas bitterly confesses through gritted teeth. The words make your chest burn.

“I know you are grieving. I am, too.”

“I don’t understand why you aren’t angry.”

Your brow furrows. “I am angry, Thomas. I am enraged at how unfair and broken and full of sin this world is! But it is why we need Him!” Towards the end of your sentence, your voice has increased in volume, and by the time you point at Jesus to put power behind your words, tears roll down your cheeks unannounced.

Thomas’ throat moves visibly as he swallows. “You know what He can do! You know that Jesus is the Son of God! Could we not have expected of Him to heal Ramah? Did she deserve this, with a faith like hers?!”

“Jesus owes us nothing!” you sob, “We cannot decide for God to whom He does and does not heal! It is not how things are! If anything, we all deserve death! His ways are not our ways—”

“I do not need you to rationalise it for me, (Y/n)!” Thomas hisses.

The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before you avert your gaze. “I know. I’m sorry. We deal with this in our own way. If you need me, you know where to find me, but I’m not looking to argue in a futile attempt to find a reason that both of us will understand. Because neither of us will.”

Thomas’ gaze softens in apology. “I didn’t mean to yell, either. I suppose we’re both exhausted.”

You close your eyes and sigh. “Right,” you say, “We should go, yeah? My father is already on his way.” The former vintner nods, and the group sets out on their trip towards your hometown to meet Kafni somewhere in the middle.

You choose to travel without someone next to you, needing the space to sort out your thoughts. Mary and Tamar seem to understand the sentiment, allowing you the distance.

As you wordlessly walk in front of the humbly decorated bier, your mind drifts to your father. You feel your chest tighten in agony as you picture the anger and grief on his face. Ramah had told you that Kafni was not a believer in Jesus yet, and you have always remained hopeful alongside her. Every night before bed, your older sister and you would pray together that your father may come to Christ. This event, however, makes you way less confident that it would happen one day.

Your gaze is fixed on the back of Jesus’ head. He leads the group, walking with Big James and Simon Zee, eyes upon the horizon. The sun stings your skin. You had imagined your ministry otherwise.

How much hatred would your father spew upon seeing the Messiah Who he would ultimately blame for Ramah’s passing? You pitied his shallow view, had known of his skepticism, and even though it had been your older sister’s greatest wish that Kafni would believe in Him, you are well aware that your father will forever use it as the reason to not believe.

It’s human nature after all, as it is to try and find a scapegoat to explain a lack of righteousness in this world. It’s an instinctual thing, you remind yourself. The last thing your father needs right now is for you to calmly explain why this happened, even if you would have known the answer.

Dust blooms in the distance, a cluster of people headed your way at a rapid pace. The bier creaks behind you as John and Thomas dutifully push Ramah towards the arms of her loving father. For a moment, Jesus looks over His shoulder to look at you, giving you a small nod, which you mirror. Nervously, you hug your bag a bit tighter to your body.

Kafni can barely keep up with how fast he wants to go. He has called a handful of men from the village to come with him to fetch Ramah, and they leg towards you with purpose. The group halts, Zee releasing the rope he had been using the pull the bier forward. Behind you, you can sense your brother-in-law tensing.

“Thomas,” Simon the former Zealot mutters, “I’ll talk to them.” For a moment, his gaze goes to you in question, but you shake your head.

“You stay back, we will take care of it,” suggests Peter.

“No,” Thomas says, “This is ours to do.” You give him a small nod. “I can’t let you shield us from this.”

“We’ll just ask them what they want and report back, okay?”

Jesus joins the conversation. “It’s alright, Zee. Thomas, (Y/n), I’ll go with you. We will face them together.”

The three of you head for your seething father, Jesus holding a hand on both your and Thomas’ shoulders, and you feel your feet heavily thump in the sand with every step as your gaze finds Kafni’s face, almost feeling too overwhelmed to look at him.

“Where is she?” is the first thing that your father mutters, his bad leg barely allowing him to walk in a straight line as he leans onto his walking stick. “Where is my daughter?!”

He comes to a halt and looks between you, where the bier with Ramah’s wrapped body stands.

After a beat of silence, Kafni pushes his way between Jesus and Thomas, completely ignoring your presence alongside them. “Abba!” you try, but the plea is in vain as he hurries to his oldest. Out of breath, he cradles her face and removes the covering from her head, staggering back at the pale greyness of her lips. Ramah looks oddly peaceful. The defeat slips into his shoulders as Kafni leans back over her, starting to break down as he holds her and cries bitter tears.

Quietly, the men from the village approach just as he pulls the covering back over her face. You don’t dare to turn to him, feeling his gaze prickle on both Jesus and yourself. The men take the poles of the bier to start pushing it towards Tel Dor. There are no words exchanged, nor is there resistance as Ramah is taken away.

Your father watches the cart go past and takes a breath. “(Y/n). Come.” He doesn’t even look at you.

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“You will come home with me to Tel Dor.”

Feeling your throat run dry, you straighten your back. “No.”

He sharply turns, now finally regarding your presence for the first time ever since walking up to the group. “What do you mean, ‘no’? It isn’t a suggestion.” Kafni steps forward and takes your wrist with more force than he intended. You flinch a little, an almost apologetic look flashing through his gaze before it hardens again. “I am not going to lose you, too.” Behind his words, more heartbreak lingers.

“Abba,” you whisper, “This is not your choice.”

“You are all that I have left now.” Kafni pleads, “Please, if you ended up the same, it would be my undoing.”

You give a small shake of your head. “No, abba, I will not come with you. Ramah would not have wanted me to stop following Jesus.”

“Ramah is dead!” your father spits, “Because of your Preacher!”

“It is not His fault—”

“—If He is such a wonderful Miracle Worker, I have yet to see it! You and your sister may have fallen for this— This blasphemous farce, but I will not let you follow this nonsense any longer!”

Biting your lip, you fight the tears blurring your vision. They fall regardless, rolling down your cheeks. “We prayed for you every single night,” you tell him, “That you would join us one day—”

“—And look where that brought your sister!” he hisses bitterly. “You will come with me, home, and we will—”

“No,” you once again refuse, “Ramah is dead because of a Roman soldier, not because of Jesus.”

“If the two of you hadn’t gotten the idea to follow some rogue, wayward Preacher—”

“—Ramah’s last words were a plea to stay with Him.”

Kafni’s eyebrows knit together. “I can verify that,” Thomas whispers.

“Of course you can,” your father scoffs. Brief silence as he looks you up and down, pondering over his next words.

“You will either come with me,” he says, “Or I will go home alone and mourn your passing, too.”

Your heart rears as the weight of his words settles in.

You’d be dead to him.

Instead of verbally responding, however, you maintain eye-contact for a few long beats of silence, until the message is loud and clear; you will stay right where you are. Your father gives you a disappointed look as he lets out a noise of disapproval and turns on his heel to follow the men to get your older sister back to Tel Dor.

Thomas attempts to follow Kafni, but is forced to a halt when your father sharply turns. “Thomas, stop! You will proceed no further.” His gaze goes to Jesus. “You are forbidden to enter this town.”

“Kafni,” Jesus reassures him, “We are in mourning with you. We grieve, but we are not dangerous.”

“Then why,” your father bites, “Is my daughter dead?”

Thomas lets out a sob.

“Dead?!” your father repeats.

“I’m so sorry— I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve already killed me, Thomas.” Kafni taunts, “And you, (Y/n). Then you went and killed her.”

Kafni’s gaze goes between you and your brother-in-law. “You did this.”

“I blame myself.” Thomas whispers, “I’m sorry, I failed in my promise.”

“Thomas loved Ramah dearly, Kafni.” Jesus adds. “And she loved him.”

You nod. “And Ramah loved Jesus until her dying breath.”

The man from Tel Dor won’t hear it, directing his anger towards Jesus. “What are Your words worth?! You are a fraud and a devil! Deceptive sorcerer…!” He pauses, then turns to look at you from the corner of his eye. “The biggest disappointment in my life is that I didn’t teach my daughters better… Both of them. They had brilliant minds until You cast a spell on her.”

“As (Y/n) just mentioned,” Thomas says with sudden confidence, “Ramah was murdered by a Roman, Kafni. And you don’t speak for her. She loved Jesus, just as your other daughter said. She felt her calling was an honour. And she wanted everyone to know that, including you! Maybe you should have listened better to both your children!”

In an attempt to calm him down, Peter puts his hands on Thomas’ shoulders to lead him away from Kafni. Crying softly, the former vintner allows himself to be pulled back. The group turns to head back to Capernaum, but Jesus, Big James and Zee remain with you for a few more moments.

“Let’s go,” Jesus announces, turning away to give you a moment with your father. Perhaps for the last time, you think to yourself as tears streak down your face. Instead of a heartfelt goodbye, however, your father spews his disdain as well as dark promise.

“I curse You,” Kafni utters, causing the three men to momentarily turn. “And Your followers.”

Big James gently leads Jesus away. “We grieve with you,” he calmly responds, the only reasonable reaction to such hate.

Your father’s shoulder hits yours rather painfully as he storms past you, legging after Jesus. “I will spread the word far and wide, as long as blood runs in my veins, I will move mountains to expose You, Jesus of Nazareth!”

There is immense mourning in Jesus’ eyes as He momentarily looks over His shoulder, snapping you out of your dazed state, and you quickly follow them as your father rants and raves on.

“I will make sure the world knows You are a liar and a murderer!”

“You have made your feelings clear,” Simon Zee speaks up, “We will leave you in peace.”

“You will see me again,” Kafni threatens, “And when you do, it will be the last thing you see!”

Zee halts and paces back towards your father, pointing a finger at the man. “I said no more.” His eyes find you. “Come on, (Y/n).” You say nothing whilst you join him. Feeling Kafni stare at the back of your head, you walk towards Jesus and the rest of the group, whom have started to withdraw back to where you came from.

“(Y/n)!” he exclaims, “Turn back to me now or suffer the eternal consequences!”

You want to tell him off, to say that he will be the one suffering for eternity instead if he chooses to reject the Messiah like this, but you know that it would not help. Instead, you cannot fight the sob that leaves your lungs, and beside you, Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder, Thomas walking on your other side.

“Let it all out,” Jesus allows you to cry, “It is not easy losing family, let alone two people in such a short span of time so quickly.”

“Ramah knew the cost,” you sniffle, “And so do I.”

Jesus gently squeezes your shoulder. “I know it doesn’t make it any easier. Give yourself time, now. You have a different Father to turn to. Allow yourself to mourn.”

For a moment, you glance over your shoulder again, seeing your abba’s dejected form stand in the middle of the road, the bier carrying Ramah a dot at the horizon.

A heavenly Father, yes. One Who is not tied to Earthly boundaries and death itself. You cast your gaze upwards, praying silently for comfort, as you proclaim your faith with every step away from Tel Dor.

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #platonic #kafni x reader #the chosen kafni

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justabigoldnerd · 6 months ago

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Hey y'all, in just two days it'll be Grief Month, so I've decided to compile a list of things that people who haven't experienced the loss of a close loved one might not think about when writing grief in fiction.

*eye twitches*

This is definitely a healthy way to cope probably

ANYWAY (below the cut because TW for death and grief)

Absence. You notice what's *not* there anymore, and you notice it *loudly*. This is the big one that I don't see in a lot of media. The space just feels empty. Devoid. For a real life example, I had a beloved cat who would literally scream for attention because he didn't understand how to come up and ask for it. When he disappeared, I couldn't stop thinking about how quiet it was. Something was very obviously missing. So, make your characters notice the lack of the person they're mourning. A lag in conversation where they would've added a quip, the kitchen being silent when it was always bustling, a character who always left the TV or radio on passes and suddenly there is no show or song playing quietly in the background. The quiet, the absence, it's oppressive. It makes you want to cover your ears. Oddly enough, sometimes that helps. A song that covers this well is "Through Me (The Flood)" by Hozier.

Memories. This one seems obvious, but it's not just crying in bed to a photo of them. It's *avoiding* photos of them, reminders of them, rooms they've been in, places they've frequented. Everything that reminds you of them feels like it's tearing your body in two with rusty shears. I once locked myself in the middle bathroom of my house because being in any other room reminded me too much of my dog who had passed suddenly at 9 months and I had a panic attack fueled by memories of her. I couldn't even sing or dance anymore for a long time because that's what I was doing with her just the week before she passed. I've only recently been able to look at photos or videos of her again.

Time. In mid September, it will have been two years since my best friend, that 9 month old pup passed. I am still reeling with grief. Your body is a clock and it *will* remember when your loved one passed, even if your mind doesn't. You'll start to think of them more often, you'll start going through the cycle of grief again and you won't know why, until it hits you. It's that time of year again.

Blame. Irrational blame, specifically. You'll blame yourself, others, "if only I had been quicker", "if I had known", "if they'd have just locked the door like I kept telling them to", "if they paid closer attention", and even "If they'd have *cared* this wouldn't have happened." It's wrong, it's bitter, it's hurtful, but it's a part of that grief.

Keepsakes. Not your father's watch or your grandmother's blanket (which are still perfectly lovely and valid!), but the pants with holes in the ankles from my late dog's teeth, or the glasses with a crack splitting one of the lenses from where she grabbed them and took off. I was so angry at her for it at the time. Now they're some of my most prized possessions. I could never get rid of them. They still have her marks. In that same vein is the amount of stray hairs of hers I would find. I kept them all. Sometimes I would just sit on the floor and pick up her fur. The day I realized her fur had stopped showing up on my clothes, I sobbed.

Love. We all know the quote. "What is grief if not love persevering?" As beautiful as it is, I call bullshit. Grief is selfish. It takes all the love you have inside of you and covers it in cement because if it can't have it, no one can. It prevents you from loving. In fact, it made me hate one of my dogs, Petunia, for a long time. It wasn't her fault. She is a beautiful, sweet, sensitive little flower and I do love her now. But grief made me look at her and feel so much rage. Because that was supposed to be *my* pup, not this new thing. I still can't love in the same capacity that I loved Giz (my 9 month old pup, my best friend, my world). I love my dog, the dog that chose *me*, Laika, in a different way. She wormed her way past the walls that grief had built up and made a home in my heart. But Giz lives there too. Laika is my girl, but she'll never be my Giz.

That's all I can think of right now. I might add more as the month wears on and I remember things. Hope this was at all helpful and not just. Idk. Sad.

#mawce likes to write #grief

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hellsbellssinclub · 3 months ago

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Laura Kinney- Talon.

AU under the drop

An AU where Synch dies early in the Vault and there is no relationship:

Laura is left alone. For years and years after the death of her comrades and friends. She is bitter, angry and alone. She stays sane by remembering her family, her little sisters, her big brother (whom she is now older than) her father (who she too now has grown older than in ways that she did not want to think about) and those she called friends.

She hates she did not get to explore those feelings that were starting to grow in her for Synch, as absences does not make the heart fonder when she is fighting for her life alone. She hates that the world outside this place turns on and on without her.

She almost gives up hope that she would ever leave when she is finally saved. Saved and returned home. To her little sister. To their little house. To safety and peace.

Only, she finds her home empty. No little sister to greet her. No pet wolverine eating her furniture. Her brother is away. Her father awkward and avoiding her.

And a woman with her face and memories left to her explain what had happened while she was trapped alone.

The woman, her clone. Her replacement. He perfect copy.

She had been born from the Five. When she, the real (is she real? Now that there is a copy of her) Laura and her team failed to meet their check in the worst was assumed and they were brought back, the way all dead are here on this paradise island. This Laura before her has all of Laura’s memories before the Vault. All of her horrors and best qualities. Everything that has ever made her, her.

Laura cannot blame the young Laura for living her life, while she was trapped in that hell. The whole protocol was in place for a reason. She (this young Laura) was supposed to be here.

Laura herself was now an oddity in the world. Not the oddest thing to ever happen, but it does not matter in the end. She is happy to have two of herself, in the end. She has grown so, so much in her time in the vault. Having so much time on her hands have her the chance to grow past her traumas. To heal from them. Absence does not make the heart fonder but it does make it easier to forget what had been done with her.

All she really wants is her family together again.

The copy, the young Laura whose green eyes were pinched in pain, explains why the house was empty.

Gabby was dead. Murdered while is the supposed safety of their little island. She may heal, but even those who can heal like their family can die.

And that is what happened to Gabby. And unlike everyone else, Gabby was a clone. And Clones were not allowed to come back. The Five refused to create a precedent where clones are be brought back, least the likes of Jean Greys clone comes back.

Jonathan the wolverine was no longer in their home, he spent all his time at the location where Gabby died. Guarding the area as there was no body to be buried. The Five had cremated her. So that Sinister could not use her body material to do whatever evil science he does.

Her heart is hardened. It was a broken little thing that she had been slowly healing before she had gone into the vault. Gabby had been the reason she had been healing. She was a light in the darkness that was the life of Laura Kinney.

The young Laura breaks down in her arms, telling her even more bad news. Bellona was missing, presumed dead. There was a mass breakout in the shield holding cells where Bellona was being kept. The area of Bellona’s cell was had been destroyed, her blood was on the floor but no body had been recovered.

Laura had been trying ever since Bellona had been arrested to have her released. To have her sister returned to her. Tried and failed time and time again. There was always a reason as to why they could not release her. Or exonerated her. And the X-Men and Council would not allow her to risk their nation for a Clone, even her own.

She-Hulk had taken the case for her but had been road blocked time and time again. She was supposed to go and see her, after finishing this mission in the vault. So they could come up with a new plan.

And now it seems that everything she has done has failed. Her little sisters are dead or presumed dead. Her brother is in the wind, on a mission she is told, lied to. Her father will not meet her eyes.

And her little copy, her little Laura, is offering to kill herself so that she does not have to deal with having a useless clone around.

With a heavy heart and anger mixed darkly with love, Laura takes her little clones hands and vowed to protect her. Names her the real Laura. Says that the name gifted to her, to them by their mother is no longer she holds close to her heart.

She names herself Talon. And she begins to plan.

There were other ways to bring people back from the dead, than what the Five can do.

Zelda. Gabby. That girl in Paris, who Gabby would never tell her the name of.

She would bring them back.

She will find a way.

And Bellona? Well, missing and presumed dead does not mean dead.

Talon will find her sister. And if she was dead, truely dead, then she will be brought back too.

Akihiro… she will track down what had happen to him and get him on board with her plans too. He will help. Or he will keep out of her way.

Her little Laura looked like she could use a mission to keep her mind focused. She was happy that her little copy had found a friend in Jublee, like she had once upon a time. But she knew herself, a mission, one that meant something would make her feel better.

(She would ignore her father for now. There was much she needed to speak to him about but those she has sent years thinking of it she does not know if she is ready to say it)

Talon was a hunter. She will hunt down a way to bring back her sisters.

She did not paradise. She just wanted her family.

And Talon had vowed to herself, while in the loneliness of the vault, that she will never deny herself what she wants.

Art made with pencil, fine liner on paper

#laura kinney #talon #wolverine #art with fic #hellsbells wrote something!!!#hellsbells art #my art #the two wolves represent the younger Laura and Gabby and the moon is Bellona #I wish they did more with Talons character #the whole arch could have been cool and awesome #but instead she was just synchs girlfriend #maybe I will write this fic myself #if I can between my other fics 😂

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a-couple-of-notes · 1 year ago

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parallels and quests in stray gods

So a couple of people have pointed out that the Asterion/Hecate quest in Stray Gods is meant to parallel Freddie's character arc...and yeah, it absolutely is. An awkward but charming and devoted person secretly in love with their best friend, who they live with? The entire quest predicated on the idea that it's better if you confess your feelings rather than keeping them bottled up? Of course it's a parallel.

But also...all the quests are meant to parallel the LI's character arcs.

I'll start with Pan, since he's the biggest stretch; his parallel is Medusa's den. It's the only quest he shows up for, if you're playing it that way. In it, Grace confronts Medusa, who has been ostracized and suspected by the other Idols, who has done some bad things but not everything she's been blamed for, who's working on some form of redemption. Depending on how you play your relationship, this can parallel Pan's character, as your influence inspires him to try to be a better person.

Aphrodite's party is Apollo's parallel quest. Apollo and Aphrodite are similarly depressed, stuck in the past, and deeply fixated on a person they've lost and wronged (Calliope and Hephaestus, respectively.) Just like Aphrodite believes the only way to deal with her trauma is to pass her eidolon onto Venus and retreat from the world for a while, Apollo believes he must hide away, mourning Calliope and protecting Grace from himself. It's even implied that the Apollo before Lucas wanted to give up his eidolon entirely, having found peace in death (a self-explanatory parallel to Aphrodite's ritual). Through your explorations of and responses to Aphrodite's worldview/ritual, you're determining your own stance on Apollo's very parallel worldview: can you find the joy in living?

And the journey to the Underworld is Persephone's parallel quest. Like Persephone, Orpheus is hurt, angry, and holding a grudge. They've both been wronged by Hades and are relying on the throne to give them some semblance of what they really want (Eurydice for Orpheus, Calliope and peace for Persephone). The quest to get Persephone's throne and confront Orpheus is really, like all the others, helping Persephone face herself and move past it.

Incidentally, this is why (even though there's technically no canonical version of the songs) I think some of them work narratively better than others. I have to let Freddie intervene in "Cast a Spell" because it's a step on her journey to confessing to Grace (whether Grace reciprocates or not). I have to urge Aphrodite to live in "The Ritual," because Apollo's parallel character arc is all about finding the joy in life again. I need to make Persephone reconcile with Orpheus in "The Throne" because that's the culmination of Persephone reconciling with the darkest, most bitter parts of herself (bonus points if she gives up the throne, too).

Anyway, Stray Gods is a good game with some good love interests.

#stray gods

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los-ninos-tortugas · 1 year ago

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I wanna give this motherfucker the Peepaw treatment soooo badly and I don’t even know why

Maybe it’s cuz he doesn’t have the same self blaming, “it’s all my fault” hang ups that tends to get assigned to Rise F!Leo. No, all his bitterness is directed outwards. He felt like Donny abandoned them. He watched his father give his life to save him and his brothers only for that sacrifice to drive them all apart. He watched his brothers grow into (arguably) the worst possible versions of themselves.

And then that’s all gone, suddenly. How he gets back to the past or survives the fight with the Shredder, I have no idea. But everyone seems to have collectively Decided that Rise F!Leo can survive a laser blast that literally disintegrates him on screen and still end up back in the past anyway so I think anything goes really. The fact of the matter is he’s there, in a past that maybe doesn’t belong to him.

And it must be so strange because maybe he feels like he should be glad to have survived, to have been given this second chance but… I feel like he’d also feel so far removed from it all. He got so used to the way things were in his universe that he forgot how they used to be. Seeing Leo and Raph now, who still argue, yes, but who still have that brotherly bond, he must wonder if it will truly last. Donatello, maybe not his, but still as young as his last memory of him, who is the only other one who knows the world he came from, but Donatello only spent a short time there and was scarred by the experience. He can’t bring himself to let those thirty years weigh on his brother’s shoulders too. He was so angry when he first saw Donny again back in his world, but in the here and now all of that just bleeds out of him. This Donatello is still just a kid, like his brother when he disappeared, still just a kid. And his younger self, his younger self. Still so vibrant and optimistic, he doesn’t know how to be that anymore, he gave it up a long time ago because he had to. I almost wonder if they would be somewhat afraid to face each other. Young Mikey, afraid of the kind of person he could grow to be without his brothers, Michelangelo afraid to face what could have been, if maybe he’d just held onto hope a little longer.

Not even to mention seeing his father alive again, maybe wondering “is he proud of me? Is he proud of the ninja I became, even at such a terrible cost?” But he can never ask the question, he just can’t.

Seeing April and Casey again. Knowing that April will get to grow into her old age not as a hardened soldier but happy and free, as she always should have been, Casey by her side and he actually gets to grow old instead of dying young.

Everything is as it should have been, the life he wished he had gotten to be a part of, and now he’s here but… he’s different, because nothing went right for him. So how does he learn to live again? I wanna know.

#03 mikey #03 michelangelo #03 tmnt #tmnt 03 #2003 teenage mutant ninja turtles #same as it never was #tmnt sainw #tmnt au #writing ideas #03 donnie #03 donatello #03 raph #03 leonardo #03 master splinter #03 april o'neil #03 Casey Jones #katnip talks

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poipoigurl · 14 days ago

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The Nine Days of Valenwind by Sailor Poipoi

(sorry for this being a lil long. The days are not all in chronological order)

Day three Bitter

The group Avalanche, they all had something to feel bitter about. For some, it helped bring them together, while others made becoming friends harder. The more obvious friendships formed are between Cid, Vincent, and Cait Sith. This later extended to Reeve. The three had bitterness over things that happened in their lives, and a good deal of that was Shinra-related.

Reeve, and by extension, Cait Sith, found his way past his bitterness by forming the WRO. He used his skills to help the world heal without leaving people in the lurch. Cid got his trip to space and has since moved on. Vincent, though, is the master of keeping himself miserable.

Vincent used to be more open with his heart, even if it was to a small select group. Then that fateful mission with Lucrecia and Hojo happened. He doesn't blame her for rejecting his heart. She was under no obligation to return his love. Nor was it her fault Hojo would shoot him in the chest and his heart-stopping. He still was left bitter, once he was able to become aware of his situation. Vincent was listed as MIA and spent some years in a catatonic state. He was also bitter about what was done to him by Hojo, who didn't even have the excuse of trying to save his life. Not till the Deepground incident did he fully learn who did what.

There is new bitterness that started the moment she got aboard the Shera and heard the crew talking about Cid's wife. The news did shock him. In the past, the idea of her being Cid's wife would have openly disgusted the blond. So the news was both baffling and a punch to his gut. Though he can't be fully angry with the Commander. There have been long periods between visits and even Cid Highwind needs love in his life. As tough as Cid is, he is merely a mortal man with needs. Though Vincent does hope he lives a long life; he hopes that Cid is happy with Shera.

So Vincent kept busy, trying to ignore that bitterness and focus on Deepground, only to be faced with one last act from Hojo, who almost doomed them all to a mass soul migration. All he cherished would be reborn on the other side, but they would no longer be the friends he knows. Vincent doesn't even know how he would end up. Would he forget them as well? Or just live a long life on a new planet. So stopping Omega was important to the former Turk. Lucrecia helped give him the focus to stop Omega. When it's all done, he decides to stay in the cave with Lucrecia for a while.

He finds some peace offered by her cave, seeking to deal with the fact he does love the Captain. The bitterness was never at Cid, but himself. Instead of pursuing his heart, things were left unsaid just for too long. Vincent wants Cid to have kids and be happy. Unlike Lucrecia, Cid did choose a great partner. Shera is at the right levels of smart and patient. He couldn't even hate her as he hated Hojo. The patient woman accepted him into their home every time he came by. No, he's only bitter with himself.

After three months, Lucrecia makes it known he has overstayed his visit. Kindly, firmly pushing him back into the world. Vincent thinks he's once again ready to accept it. Even if he can't be Cid's heart, he can be his friend. He will watch over his found family, guarding them through their lives and guarding any children made. Marlene and Denzel will have a secret godparent. Nanaki won't need to fear losing himself to the lonely long life. He let go of the guilt he felt for Lucrecia and the hate he felt for Hojo. Vincent steps out to be greeted by Shelke as Shera lifts into view not too far away. Is Cid showing off his skills?

After Vincent boards the Shera, he finds himself getting met in the halls by Cid. Since he could feel the airship lifting, Vincent assumed that one of the other pilots take the helm. Though he is taken by surprise that Cid left the helm to meet him , walking with such a determine stride. Wondering if Cid was angry that he was quiet for three months. Cid strides to him like a man on a mission.

Instead of getting fussed at, a very shameless blond pulls the taller man closer. His grip on the cloak was strong, yet his other hand was gentle as Cid cupped his cheek and he gently laid a kiss onto those lips. Vincent returns the kiss, at first, till he feels father angry for Shera's sake. Cid knows he already gone down the road of loving a married woman. So he pulls back and accuses Cid, “ How dare you! “ Cid just blinks back in confusion, “ I know you can be an ass but this... To risk shattering your wife's heart and trust. I been went down the road of loving someone who's married. This belittles us both!“ Wants to storm off, but Cid still has a steel grip on his cloak.

Cid then loudly asks, “ What the hell are ya talking about?! “ Letting the tall man go.

Vincent, feels heat on his cheeks “ You forget you are married?! “

Cid looks at him rather confused, but then he starts to realize what the issue is. Pulls his goggles off with an exasperated sigh, “ I ain't married to Shera! “ The rage in Vincent has a turn to feel confused, “ Oh for fuck sake! ” Tosses his hands in the air. One hand gripping his goggles. “ That why you been avoiding me? We didn't even have a wedding ceremony. Trust me, when I marry, I'm gonna make sure we're all there for it Make it a proper party! Shit, Shera wants to give me away to ya like I gave her away to her husband. “

This was not what Vincent expected to hear and he is struck rather dumb. Cid was not married and, most importantly, will never marry Shera. The bitterness is now replaced with the taste Cid's mouth as the pilot used the silence to kiss him again. “ I love, Vincent. When Omega was in the air, I told myself I wouldn't tell ya my feelings. Then ya vanished for three months. “ There is a heat in his face and the fluttering of a once-dead heart.

“ But... the crew called her your wife.” All he could say.

Cid chuckles, “ It's a joke. They like to call her my work wife just cause she nags me like a one! She's like a sister to me and I ain't that redneck! So listen now, ya loony turk! I love you! I want to spend my life loving ya. I know I can't always be with you forever... but “ Cid takes a deep breath, combing his free hand through his hair. “ I love you, Vincent Valentine! You are my heart! “ Vincent gently pulls his pilot in for a long desired kiss. His heart felt lighter and filled with hope.

To the delight of his demons, this is also when Vincent learns Cid doesn't mind their love being a little rough.

#cid highwind #vincent valentine #ff7 #valenwind #9 days of valenwind

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three-two-six · 2 years ago

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120 SINF facts I collected while rereading the series

Behold, my magnum opus.

Josh likes Shrek

Dee has The X-Files theme song as his ringtone

Scatty doesn’t blink. Ever.

Dee gave Mary Shelley the idea for Frankenstein

Scatty can’t enter your room if you don’t invite her in

Scatty is a vegetarian

Perry needed to teach Nicholas English at some point because he forgot it

Ghosts love bathrooms

Josh is 5 cm taller than Sophie

Dee has always been fascinated by the idea of flying

Josh hates snakes, spiders, rats, and scorpions

Scatty hates rain, and it is one of the reasons she left Ireland

Scatty is allergic to feathers and fur

Scatty easily burns in the sun

According to the Codex, apples are poisonous and frogs can turn into princes, both of which Zephaniah confirms are incorrect claims

Zephaniah tried to marry off Scatty to king Nabukodonosor when she was 15

Dee prefers living in bigger cities

Scatty gets sick from using leygates

Josh is incredibly susceptible to seasickness

Nicholas helped create the French sign language

Machiavelli desecrated Nicholas’ and Perenelle’s graves more than three centuries ago and broke their gravestone. The Flamels saw everything

Zephaniah is an Elvis Presley fan

Sophie thinks European chocolate is too bitter

Scatty hates flying

Scatty speaks 6-7 HUNDRED languages

Machiavelli is the type of guy to punch a hole in the wall when he’s angry

Francis speaks ALL languages. ALL of them.

Scatty bites her nails when she’s nervous

Vampyres don’t sweat (this includes Scatty and Aoife)

Francis is terrible at tending to plants

Nicholas pulled off the first blood transfusion in history

Joan is also a vegetarian

Dee has a habit of cutting the phone call before the other person just so that his word can be last. Machiavelli is the most prominent victim of this

Dee doesn’t like flying

The Sphynx is afraid of dark

The pyramids in Egypt were built for the Danu Talis survivors

Josh collects fossilized feces

Joan loves cooking and grows spices on her rooftop

Machiavelli has manicured nails

Dagon often has nightmares about the fall of Danu Talis

Machiavelli knows how to program in five different programming languages

Machiavelli's one of the few world experts on quantum physics

Aerop-Enap tends to sleep off large chunks of human history

Sophie can run really fast

Machiavelli is a vegetarian

Machiavelli has stamina problems

Gilgamesh doesn't have an aura

Perry's aura doesn't have a smell

William cooks when he's nervous

Bastet can tolerate iron better than most Elders

Both Josh and Mars carry swords in their left hand

Machiavelli was the brain behind Napoleon

Francis is the only known person in the SINF universe that was born with the ability to see where leygates are

Scatty was told that she'd die in an exotic place

Billy speaks French

The Flamels worked on the first atomic bomb ever

Gilgamesh once requested to have the world’s first atomic bomb be detonated right above him. The Flamels placed him in a mental institution for 10 years because of it

Sophie doesn't like onions

Francis taught Aoife how to see leygates

Machiavelli thinks about his death unusually often

Niten is the only humani who defeated Scatty in a one-on-one fight

Virginia has a very expensive taste

Virginia lives in a tent

Canonically the reason Machiavelli and Dee keep underestimating Perenelle is that they're misogynists (at least according to Virginia Dare)

Niten collects classic cars

Dee is terrible at tending to plants

Aoife once crashed a vimana and blamed it on Scatty

Odin sacrificed his eye to an Archon in exchange for eldritch knowledge

Abraham has an extra finger on each hand

Krakens are actually only about an inch large. Apparently, sailors overestimated their size a little…

The Morrigan’s tears turn into small feathers

Dee is very susceptible to seasicknes

Nereus is responsible for the Bermuda Triangle dissappearances

Scatty and Aoife were the first of the Next Generation

The Codex has twenty-one pages

Hel imprisoned Joan in her shadowrealm once

Virginia and her flute are bonded

Billy has cold hands

Virginia doesn’t speak Latin, and neither does Billy

Mars has a coal black tongue

Sophie is afraid of spiders

Aten is a history nerd

Isis is older than Osiris

Virginia Dare is a Vegetarian

Virginia didn’t know how to speak until she was ten or eleven

Billy read Machiavelli’s The Prince

Josh looks up to Billy as a legend

Black Hawk dislikes spicy food

It’s possible to summon Elders by praying to them

Virginia was besties with Albert Einstein and her tales about shadowrealms inspired his theory of relativity

Prometheus is the self-proclaimed finest vimana flier in Danu Talis

Will abhors weapons and has never fired a gun in his life

The first humani created by Prometheus all had his facial features

Perenelle hates coffee

Tsagaglalal has no fingerprints

Josh suffers from claustrophobia

Perenelle once knocked out one of Quetzalcoatl’s back molars

Prometheus hates parrots

Prometheus read Niten’s book

Mars disagrees with just about everything in Niten’s book

There are rumors that Leonardo da Vinci was immortal

Hel loves raw pork

The only place in the world Dee hasn’t been to is Denmark

Aoife considers Khutulun, a prominent immortal warrior and niece of Kublai Khan as the “daughter she always wanted”. She is currently breeding horses in Kentucky

Isis and Osiris paint their nails black

Quetzalcoatl is a loner

Quetzalcoatl is responsible for The great Northeast blackout

Billy and Black Hawk are Star Trek fans

Machiavelli is a Star Wars fan

Machiavelli actually liked Napoleon

Tor Ri in which lives Abraham has exactly 248 steps

Marethyu doesn’t breathe or have a heartbeat

Isis and Osiris have dark purple tongues

One of the reasons Elders don’t like congregating in the same place is the risk that their auras could cause a natural disaster

Zephaniah is allergic to cats

Cookie-dough ice cream gives Virginia a rash

Dee’s favorite ice cream flavor is cookie-dough

Billy loves eating crab legs

Scathach and Aoife were trained by Tsagaglalal

Prometheus doesn’t have a pulse

#sinf #sotinf #not gonna lie i mostly made this list for myself #i think of it as a useful reference sheet

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