(no subject)
A couple of days ago I was going through a gallery of game caps from Dirge of Cerberus, when I noticed something. Turk!Vincent has red eyes, prior to being experimented on by Hojo. Which means that his eye color is natural. Wtf? Am I always the last one to clue in or did you though his red yes were Hojo's fault, too? *shakes head*
Still, I was so distracted by the prettiness that Turk!Vincent is - yes, I said pretty, because Vincent will never qualify as handsome - that I was caught unaware by a bunny, that managed to wrestle me into submission and made me write it out. So here it is.
Title: Bloody Valentine
Rating: PG
Pairing: ...uhm, er, surprise?
Vincent Valentine was very far from being a normal man, and he had never being one. Always, as far as he could remember, there had been something that had set him apart from everyone else, even before Hojo came.
He still remembered his childhood, spent either in his father's huge library while the man buried himself in his lab - rustles of old frail pages, smell of dust and disinfectant, tinkling of glass vials, greens lights - or hovering not far from Mother - scent of lilies, gentle smile, hugs and soft white hands stroking his hair - quietly watching her work and cook. He remembered the other children's sharp laughter and mocking his crimson eyes - freak, devil child, bloody valentine - the stones thrown at him and the punches and kicks on his weaker frame. He remembers Father's indifference and Mother's soothing - "They aren't bloody, darling, they are precious, like rubies, like your father's rare and very special materia orbs. They are so very beautiful, Vince, I really like your eyes". Labs, blood and summon materia. Life was so very, very ironic, sometimes.
He had never being normal, and he had learned a long time ago to accept he would never ever be.
He had accepted it, and when years later his fellow Turks had dubbed him Bloody Valentine, he hadn't protested, even if in a buried corner of his mind, he had very quietly wished for the echoes of mocking laughter and childish malice that once had matched that nickname instead of the taste of blood and gunpowder they had been replaced with. Ha had accepted the dirty jobs, he had accepted the fear and the hate and the scorn. He had accepted everything, even as something inside of him broke and died day after day until nothing was left but indifference.
And then, then Lucrecia had come, and after her the labs, and he had been stripped of whatever humanity he had left.
Now, after a lot of scars and torture, four demons inside of him, a malformed left arm and a body unable to age or die, his eyes seemed like such a small thing, but still they were the one thing people saw and feared. He still heard the same, old, overused whispers behind his back, and wondered tiredly why not even time could change how people saw his abnormality.
But in the end he'd come home to his lovers, their quiet understanding and warm affection. A playful wink from glowing blue eyes and a tilt of a blond head towards the living room, and he would find the last book he had been reading waiting for him on the couch together with a cup of his favourite green tea.
Then later, when his cup was empty and the book almost finished, there would be two strong arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind, a fall of silver tresses and a hand tilting his head around to meet his other lover's loving gaze. "I really like looking at your eyes," his lover would say, in a still too rare open display of his feelings. "They're so beautiful."
He would want to reply that no, blood red wasn't a good color for someone's eyes, or for anything else, that the purest mako-like green was much nicer, but his mouth would be already taken in a kiss. At that, he would be left with no other choice than kiss back, slow and deep, and stare into his lover's eyes through half-closed lids, the green so full of heat and unspoken promises it was almost enough to make his toes curl, and his answer wouldn’t really matter anymore, the words scattering forgotten somewhere in his mind.
No, Vincent Valentine was not a normal man, but he had come to realize that, clichéd as it sounded, normalcy wasn't really that important.
Still, I was so distracted by the prettiness that Turk!Vincent is - yes, I said pretty, because Vincent will never qualify as handsome - that I was caught unaware by a bunny, that managed to wrestle me into submission and made me write it out. So here it is.
Title: Bloody Valentine
Rating: PG
Pairing: ...uhm, er, surprise?
Vincent Valentine was very far from being a normal man, and he had never being one. Always, as far as he could remember, there had been something that had set him apart from everyone else, even before Hojo came.
He still remembered his childhood, spent either in his father's huge library while the man buried himself in his lab - rustles of old frail pages, smell of dust and disinfectant, tinkling of glass vials, greens lights - or hovering not far from Mother - scent of lilies, gentle smile, hugs and soft white hands stroking his hair - quietly watching her work and cook. He remembered the other children's sharp laughter and mocking his crimson eyes - freak, devil child, bloody valentine - the stones thrown at him and the punches and kicks on his weaker frame. He remembers Father's indifference and Mother's soothing - "They aren't bloody, darling, they are precious, like rubies, like your father's rare and very special materia orbs. They are so very beautiful, Vince, I really like your eyes". Labs, blood and summon materia. Life was so very, very ironic, sometimes.
He had never being normal, and he had learned a long time ago to accept he would never ever be.
He had accepted it, and when years later his fellow Turks had dubbed him Bloody Valentine, he hadn't protested, even if in a buried corner of his mind, he had very quietly wished for the echoes of mocking laughter and childish malice that once had matched that nickname instead of the taste of blood and gunpowder they had been replaced with. Ha had accepted the dirty jobs, he had accepted the fear and the hate and the scorn. He had accepted everything, even as something inside of him broke and died day after day until nothing was left but indifference.
And then, then Lucrecia had come, and after her the labs, and he had been stripped of whatever humanity he had left.
Now, after a lot of scars and torture, four demons inside of him, a malformed left arm and a body unable to age or die, his eyes seemed like such a small thing, but still they were the one thing people saw and feared. He still heard the same, old, overused whispers behind his back, and wondered tiredly why not even time could change how people saw his abnormality.
But in the end he'd come home to his lovers, their quiet understanding and warm affection. A playful wink from glowing blue eyes and a tilt of a blond head towards the living room, and he would find the last book he had been reading waiting for him on the couch together with a cup of his favourite green tea.
Then later, when his cup was empty and the book almost finished, there would be two strong arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind, a fall of silver tresses and a hand tilting his head around to meet his other lover's loving gaze. "I really like looking at your eyes," his lover would say, in a still too rare open display of his feelings. "They're so beautiful."
He would want to reply that no, blood red wasn't a good color for someone's eyes, or for anything else, that the purest mako-like green was much nicer, but his mouth would be already taken in a kiss. At that, he would be left with no other choice than kiss back, slow and deep, and stare into his lover's eyes through half-closed lids, the green so full of heat and unspoken promises it was almost enough to make his toes curl, and his answer wouldn’t really matter anymore, the words scattering forgotten somewhere in his mind.
No, Vincent Valentine was not a normal man, but he had come to realize that, clichéd as it sounded, normalcy wasn't really that important.