sonja hadn’t expected anything when she made it her mission to bring capsize back from the dead- properly this time. nothing good comes out of trying to play god, martha had told her so many times, ianites already tried, she's gone for good.
to be completely honest, there was a point sonja had started to wonder if she was right. if pouring over thaumian texts for countless restless nights, experimenting with necromancy in hiding, if none of it would be worth it in the end.
however, she never could have expected that in the time of the two getting reacquainted with one another when she finally was successful, that she would find herself, washed in the pastel pinks, oranges and subtle blues of twilight with the pirate captain's sweet lips pressed against hers, the setting sun through the pillars of mianite's temple glowing softly on them.
it was a feeling of home she couldn't quite describe, but it was one she knows she hadn't felt in a long time.
Happy Post-canon for @mcyt-yuri-week Day 2 :D Just a little snippet from my mianite post-canon Gays on a Boat, the interlude sequences from post-Isles and pre-Aitheaca that focuses on character healing, the meaning of love and themes of home within a plot centering about the multiverse <3
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🌷. song: This is Home by Cavetown with CadeSibling!Reader?
yes cult leader whatever you say cult leader
also i had no ideas for this…so like…ignore this if jt seems lazy that is not who i amdeep down trust.
some called you the weird kid. you never knew why—you just wanted to express who you felt you truly were.
“look at your hair! what? it’s funny!”
“you’re wearing that? …again?”
“do you even know how to talk?”
hearing a repeat of that throughout your childhood and through some of your teenage years—you tended to shut yourself in.
you never expressed yourself like that again to anyone. well, expect to your brother, johnny. he was the one and only acceptation.
he never made fun of you, he always understood where you were coming from weither you were right or wrong.
johnny always rubbed your back as you tugged at the ends of your hair, sighing.
he always promised to get the two of you out of there. he always did.
“soon, you won’t have to worry ‘bout that, y/n. i’ll get us outta ‘ere. when have i ever lied to you?”
he’d always mumble, a small grin on his face. johnny always had that greaser-fire to him before his face was covered in scars.
sometimes you were the one comforting him—saying that you’d be the one to get you guys outta there.
you could never tell if he did believe you.
and the minute you knew he didn’t was when he laid on his deathbed, 3rd degree scars all over his body. the only thing you could do as he slipped in and out of consciousness was hold his hand.
you and johnny were the only cades to ever enter that room and you were the only one to walk out.
he promised to get you out. he did. johnny never lied. your johnny, your brother, would never lie to you about what he really felt.
especially after he’d defend you day and night.
“guys, jus’ give ‘em some space.”
he’d tell his friends who’d tease you when they came across you. you never were too fond of them—but they were friendly enough for you to be civil.
the johnny who fixed your hair would never leave you alone in this. he’d promised that you’d never sleep alone in that lot—ever.
why? why did he break his promise now?
the question kept ringing in your mind as you sat beside him on his hospital bed. you wanted to ask him why—but you couldn’t.
you couldn’t communicate even if you tried.
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