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Cloud and Tifa as vault kids (shut up I'm trying to fall asleep and it's not working) from anneapocalypse

WELP

anne don’t read this there are ff7 spoilers but fuck you now i just want to write a full-on au goddammit

===

Even in a vault as small as theirs, Cloud rarely spoke to Tifa. She was untouchable, the Overseer’s daughter, the most popular girl around. She had lots of friends, and Cloud was just the runt everybody picked on. The one whose father had left, years ago, and never returned, (Why would anyone leave the vault? Cloud never understood, and his mother wouldn’t say. They had everything they needed down here.)

But even if he never talked to Tifa, he paid attention to her. It was hard not to. She was pretty, and brave, and after her mother died she’d started taking martial arts lessons from Zangan, the oldest man in the vault, one of the few who remembered what the world was like before Meteor fell.

(Cloud wanted to learn, too, but his mother wouldn’t let him, and besides what was the point? They were never going to leave the vault. Tifa got to learn because her father was the Overseer, that was all.)

Tifa could take care of herself if she ever got in trouble. She didn’t need him. And yet Cloud wanted to get stronger for her sake. So he could protect her, if she ever needed it.

So he could protect everyone.


pattern recognition

Wrote this back in March 2012. It was originally going to be a full fic, but I’ve forgotten what else I was going to write, so now it’s a drabble.

The first time it happens, he isn’t surprised.

But it surprises Carolina, more than finding him here, more than the fact that he actually likes this, that he’s accepted his fate and is making the best of it. It’s the fact that Wash — not the forthright do-gooder she remembers but the quietly bitter man he is now — doesn’t try to cheer her up the way he used to talk to Connie, doesn’t flush at the sight of her in nothing but a tank top and shorts and stammer some excuse, he just goes over to the coffeepot and starts up a fresh batch without even asking why she’s up at three in the morning.

It’s a long time before Carolina realizes he never needed to ask.


(don’t) Leave me alone

anneapocalypse:

ichidou:

super-old drabble i found in my fic folder. enjoy.

the first time allison sees leonard church, she calls him a nerd. he looks the part.
he bristles, easily angered.
she laughs and he glowers.
but he remembers her.

the second time they meet, it’s by chance. he’s getting pantsed.
he expects her to laugh. she gives him a hand.
“i don’t like it when the weak get hurt.”
“i’m not weak.”
“prove it.”

he tries. he fails. he fails a lot, when it comes to her, but it’s the effort that impresses her most.

he asks her out in a fit of madness.
she doesn’t do dating, but she thinks he’s interesting.
they spend more time together. she listens to his ramblings, his wild imaginings, and they don’t even seem possible to her, but she can hear the conviction in his voice.

they drive out to the lake, through the desert. they’re alone. he kisses her.
she doesn’t kiss back.
he panics, tries to apologize, she interrupts him.
“you kiss like a sissy.”

his wallet is gone the next day.

they get older. they fight. they break up. they make up. rinse and repeat.
she knows he’ll come back. he always does.
she thinks it’s nice, to have that kind of constant.

she starts trusting him.
when he says i love you, she doesn’t respond.
another fight. another breakup. he worries this is it.
she comes back. he didn’t think she would.

the war starts.

allison has a purpose. she drops out of school, joins up. he hates it.
she’s off at basic training all summer. she never answers his calls.
but writes him, just once.

he finds out she slept around. they fight. he’s too vanilla for her. too loving. it’s not what she wants.
“i’ll be whatever you want.”
she realizes he really does love her. he’s not just saying it.

he goes to college. she starts getting drills in system. she’s training to be the best.
he wants to follow her once he gets his degree.
she is his life now.
(maybe she always was.)

she visits. fucks him in his dorm room. she’s been faithful this time.

his wallet is still missing afterwards.

Remember what I said yesterday about how Season 10 gave us the Allison it wanted rather than the Allison we’d reasonably imagine based on eight previous seasons?

This is the Allison I want.

God damn yes.

Yeah, by “super-old” I meant “before Allison actually showed up in Season 10” :’) I think this is from September 2012.


(don’t) Leave me alone

super-old drabble i found in my fic folder. enjoy.

the first time allison sees leonard church, she calls him a nerd. he looks the part.
he bristles, easily angered.
she laughs and he glowers.
but he remembers her.

the second time they meet, it’s by chance. he’s getting pantsed.
he expects her to laugh. she gives him a hand.
“i don’t like it when the weak get hurt.”
“i’m not weak.”
“prove it.”

he tries. he fails. he fails a lot, when it comes to her, but it’s the effort that impresses her most.

he asks her out in a fit of madness.
she doesn’t do dating, but she thinks he’s interesting.
they spend more time together. she listens to his ramblings, his wild imaginings, and they don’t even seem possible to her, but she can hear the conviction in his voice.

they drive out to the lake, through the desert. they’re alone. he kisses her.
she doesn’t kiss back.
he panics, tries to apologize. she interrupts him.
“you kiss like a sissy.”

his wallet is gone the next day.

they get older. they fight. they break up. they make up. rinse and repeat.
she knows he’ll come back. he always does.
she thinks it’s nice, to have that kind of constant.

she starts trusting him.
when he says i love you, she doesn’t respond.
another fight. another breakup. he worries this is it.
she comes back. he didn’t think she would.

the war starts.

allison has a purpose. she drops out of school, joins up. he hates it.
she’s off at basic training all summer. she never answers his calls.
but writes him, just once.

he finds out she slept around. they fight. he’s too vanilla for her. too loving. it’s not what she wants.
“i’ll be whatever you want.”
she realizes he really does love her. he’s not just saying it.

he goes to college. she starts getting drills in system. she’s training to be the best.
he wants to follow her once he gets his degree.
she is his life now.
(maybe she always was.)

she visits. fucks him in his dorm room. she’s been faithful this time.

his wallet is still missing afterwards.


excerpt from soulflare, the second cid/vincent fic i’m writing for nanowrimo 2013.

Vincent slipped inside so quietly that Cid barely even heard the door open and shut. It was ridiculous how a guy wearing so much metal could be so silent. Red eyes studied him over the cowl, but they were anything but impassive. He swore he could feel concern leaking off Vincent’s aura from clear across the room. Eventually Vincent’s gaze settled on Cid’s still-packed bag. “Productive.”

"Yep." Cid wasn’t really in the mood to play word games. At least Vincent hadn’t asked if he was all right. Course, Vincent was usually smarter than to ask goddamn stupid questions like that.

Vincent hummed under his breath and poked his claw into the bag. Cid wasn’t sure what the hell he was fishing for, or why he was rummaging around in his bag to begin with, but he didn’t do anything but watch quizzically until his talons emerged with a lighter between them.

Cid frowned and patted his pocket. Then his other pocket. Then his other pocket. Vincent tossed the lighter and Cid caught it out of the air. “How’d you fuckin’ know?” Cid demanded.

"You don’t keep a lighter in that jacket."

Cid huffed and reached out to pull a cigarette out of the ever-present pack in his goggles. “You’re fuckin’ scary, Valentine, anyone ever tell you that?”

Vincent shrugged. “It’s come up.”

The gunman took up a familiar position against the opposite wall as Cid lit up. The familiar act of pulling out a cigarette, tucking it between his lips, flicking the lighter, all of it made him feel better immediately. Fucking Vincent. He’d spent way too much time with him.

Vincent didn’t say anything. Not that Cid expected him to. Or wanted him to, for that matter. Course, Cid wasn’t sure what he wanted right now, aside from the familiar burn of nicotine in his lungs. Planet, did that feel good right now. He took another drag.


Maine/Carolina (romance or friendship, up to you). Firefly-esque space western setting. Go. from anneapocalypse

ichidou:

Carolina knows those few unlucky souls who survive Reaver attacks never come out all that sane themselves. and maybe Maine isn’t quite the same anymore, but when she reaches up and pulls his face down to hers she doesn’t see madness anymore. She sees something fractured and broken, something she’s sworn to put back together, and even if she’s sometimes tempted to walk away and not look back, she knows she needs him as much as he needs her.

He’ll never speak again, not after his neck had been torn to shreds, but she’s never needed words to understand him.

HEY ANNE LOOK WHAT I FOUND


"S’alright. I just dunno what to do with him. He keeps fighting for control— he knows I won’t let him out on purpose, so it’s like he wants to be in control of my head, too." Cid shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "And if I try to block it out, my brain starts leaking out my ears."

Vincent folded his arms over his chest, pensive. “In that sense, he’s more like my demons. They constantly vie for power, but, knowing that I won’t bend to their will, they try to drain me in other ways. Eventually I have to let each of them out just for the quiet.”

"Like letting out a dog ‘cause it’s driving you nuts about wanting to run around in the backyard," Cid said.

I am no hound, dragoon!

Cid’s mind pulsed with pain, and he winced, rubbing his temple. “Shit, fine, I got it. You’re not a dog.”

the king of dragons is Not Amused.


punishandenslavesuckers replied to your post: excerpt from soulflare…

BUT CAN IT TAKE DOWN A SOLDIER? THAT IS THE REAL QUESTION HERE. IM LOOKING TO GET ONE DRUNK ENOUGH TO MAKE TERRIBLE DECISIONS… LIKE WORSE THAN THEIR REGULAR BAD DECISIONS.

To be fair getting drunk was all Cid’s idea.

Also, Cid is back home cooking a bear. No, seriously.

It was just past dusk when Vincent got back with the drinks. Cid hadn’t just kept himself busy in the meantime — he’d gone and cooked them up a goddamn feast. He ate dragon meat because he had to, but there was a decent amount of game in the nearby woods, and more so now that Vincent had killed off most of the local monster population when he went out to “exercise” his demons. Cid knew the gunman would bitch at him if he knew he was out hunting, but he felt as good as he was gonna feel and he wasn’t about to sit around and twiddle his damn thumbs while he waited for him to get back.

They were gonna get shitfaced, goddammit, and they were gonna eat well while they did it.

Cid hadn’t actually skinned up a bear since his days with AVALANCHE, but that wasn’t the kind of thing you forgot. He’d done it when he was younger, anyway, and went out camping. He’d been the kind of kid who spent the week inside reading and then wanted to go hiking and climb a goddamn mountain for the weekend. Still wasn’t sure how his parents had put up with him. It’d been a damn good thing he’d joined up with that motley bunch when he did, it turned out, because between the other eight only Tifa could cook worth a damn. Cid was of the opinion that not knowing how to cook was a goddamn crime, but his attempts at teaching the others had been… an experience. He was pretty sure he still had the scars from Yuffie’s attempt at eggs. Least he thought it was eggs. Sure as hell didn’t look like them after the shit she put them through.

Anyway, the point was that by the time Vincent got back, Cid had bear meat cooking over a fire out in the yard. It was a good thing the guy had gone all Chaos on the grass that time, ‘cause otherwise Cid wasn’t sure where the hell he would’ve cooked anything. The “appliances” in the kitchen were about fifty years old, give or take, and he was lucky to find a set of pans and utensils that were clean enough to cook with. (Not that he hadn’t scrubbed them off in the sink anyway. He didn’t trust anything in this damn house.)


excerpt from soulflare, the second cid/vincent fic i’m writing for nanowrimo 2013.

in this excerpt, vincent is on a sidequest to find alcohol strong enough to affect those with mako constitutions, which leads him to a most unlikely destination. or: i have way too much fun worldbuilding post-meteorfall.

It turned out that a box of Corel mulled wine cost as much as a week’s worth of provisions, if Vincent actually needed to eat. After flying all that way, though, he wasn’t about to leave empty-handed, and forked over the money with a glare at the shopkeeper. Upon closer inspection he wasn’t so sure that it was going to be that strong, which meant he was going to have to get something else on top of it.

With the sun high over his head and the day bleeding into afternoon, that left only the Gold Saucer.

It wasn’t actually an amusement park anymore, at least not the way it used to be. The lack of mako power had set it back for years, but apparently they’d tapped into an oil reserve under the desert in the past year. The place was more of a resort now, something of a family-friendly alternative to Costa del Sol and a place the people could go for some relaxation in this embattled world of theirs.

It was more hideously gaudy than ever before.

His lifetime pass was still valid, though, and even if it hadn’t been Vincent wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He went straight to the hotel bar once he made it past the entrance, scowling behind his cloak when she saw that the ridiculous tubes were still the only method of transportation around the place, and gave the man behind the bar a venomous glare.

"What’s the strongest thing you have?" he asked. Planet, after coming here he was going to need it.

"Uh, well, we have some tequila—"

"Aside from that."

The bartender shrank under the look Vincent was giving him. “We just got some stuff in from Wutai last week,” he said. “I, uh, I’m not sure what it is, really—”

"Is it enough to take down a SOLDIER?" Vincent said. He was through beating around the bush.

"No question! It’s— um, let me see—" He scrambled behind the bar and came out with a tall bottle. "Uh, it’s about 95 proof, sir."

"I’ll take it. The whole thing."

"Y-Yes, sir. That’s 60 GP—"

Gil,” Vincent growled. He’d always hated the proprietary currency the Golden Saucer used, not to mention the ridiculous games they had to do to get it. It wasn’t like they hadn’t purchased the merchandise elsewhere in the world for regular gil.

"I— well— okay."

Vincent gave the label a passing glance before he tucked it in his bag. He’d never heard of vodka before, but he hoped it was strong.


Aside from the history lesson, most of the book dealt with the known espers and their abilities. At first, Cid read with interest, hoping to find something he didn’t already know, but it wasn’t long before he was scowling at the book. Sure, bits and pieces of it were right — Choco-Mog was a wind spirit of the plains, and summoned a chocobo and a moogle, imagine that — but the devil was in the details, and there weren’t any. Hell, Cid could have written a better book than the one he was reading just from the shit he’d seen from his time with AVALANCHE. He’d seen every last esper summoned himself, seen what they could do to the meanest of enemies, and lived to tell the tale.

Whoever wrote this book, on the other hand, couldn’t even spell Kjata. (Who the hell ever called it Kujata? Nobody Cid knew, that was for goddamn sure.) Never mind that they didn’t even know what half the espers could do, or how powerful they were. Only someone who hadn’t seen Alexander decimate a group of SOLDIERs in a single blow could call it one of the lesser espers. Fuckin’ moron.

i am a sucker for stupid gameplay jokes in fics and if you thought i wasn’t going to write some into mine you were wrong