#Only Enough Room For One Calamity AU

[puppetmaster13u]

I Blame the SIkuna Server

Behold, the crack ship of SIkuna & Vincent (& Yes it's the Hold My Flower Meme)

[aureatchi]

⋆ ☽˚｡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ AND THAT DAY THAT WE’LL WATCH THE DEATH OF THE SUN . . . ft. FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

⟢ PRÉCIS. restless at an hour far too late to be awake, you take a quest to the personal library lit only by warm-toned ambient lamps and candles. however, you are greeted by one who chastises you to rest, and despite his pretty face you remain stubborn. in turn, he takes up a mission on his own; one that he alone will always win: to coax you to sleep.

◞ OR fyodor knows time is limited. if only you realized this was his labyrintian way of saying au revoir for now.

ᡴꪫ a/n. it’s always his lap. been thinking about this scenario for awhile + re-inspired by the friends who played with my hair this week hehe. it makes me feel so sleepy. started to cope with ch113. :’) i hope this is decent ᡣ𐭩

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. fluff; sweetly suggestive in one part…and then hit with a train of angst; i warned u. soft fyodor. comfort/hurt ↻. religious imagery. it’s u trying to get him to sleep too. both poetic and shakespeare ramblings. bsd manga chapter 113 + s5 finale spoilers. russian may be incorrect. ﾉ wc. 3.1k+

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?” 

Seated on the armchair across from yours, the ravenette took a sip of tea from his mug before setting it down. A bantering parley had taken place in between you two, filled with giggles and smiles, but in a moment without thought, you had brought up a more serious topic. 

“Actually, yes,” he responded. 

“A woman’s intuition.” You didn’t miss how his gaze slightly lowered. “The woman’s gut feeling is superior. If a man were to try manipulating her, she would know. No matter how naïve she was, the body would give her a single signal that could unravel his entire disposition at the fingertips.” 

You discreetly smiled, looking down at the mug. You knew Fyodor was referring to his experience with you. At one point in time, he tried to finesse you in schemes of calamity. But in response, you ruined him—he would dare not admit out loud that you had forcefully taken whatever mess his heart was and sewed it back together with the strings of your own soul. You did so without ever realizing either. After so many years on this earth, even he did not know how to mend himself. 

Now, he could only look at you as being the single thing that didn’t go wrong in the wasteland of the world. The ravenette almost considered you not of the world—you were as divine as the angels, after all. Perhaps it was his excuse to add along another duty the Father had commissioned to him—Fyodor would assure your safety and happiness through the rest of time—even once he got his hands on that book. 

Because if not plans that surged through his mind, it was his most cherished memories of you. 

…

Even though the room wasn’t too hot and the bed wasn’t uncomfortable, you could not go to sleep. You had tried counting sheep in your head for hours, but you still ended up awake well past midnight and had enough sheep for dozens of herds. 

You turned over in annoyance before you finally sat up. You didn’t understand why you felt such unease—maybe you drank your coffee too late in the day. A bad decision at that. 

You tapped the other side of the bed for a final check. Empty. Fyodor was still up. You would visit him in the office later, but for now, you’d give him the privilege of being unbothered. You decided on another place to visit—somewhere that would calm you down so perhaps you could finally catch slumber. 

The personal library. 

It was the coziest place, especially during the late hours of the evening, where the lights were warm and dim, not too hard on the eyes. Where the shelves were packed with literature and knowledge permeated the room with its philosophy. Fyodor annotated everything—so most books were scribbled in almost illegible cursive Russian. You always told yourself if you didn’t start to learn his lingo, you would be locked away from the library’s secrets forever. 

You tiptoed down the hallway until you reached the door at the end. You were thinking of picking up one of William Shakespeare’s tragedies and reading until either you fell asleep or the sun rose. You prayed it wasn’t the latter—though restless, you were exhausted too. And you didn’t want to suffer the consequences the next day. 

However, you were surprised to see the door already narrowly open. The lights were on and the candles were lit, too—was Fyodor not in his office? He seldom worked anywhere else and would always go to you as soon as he finished. 

You peeked through the slight crack in the door. He was indeed there—your lover’s back turned towards you, capturing all his charming enigma. How the man carried himself with the poise and elegance of a white dove, despite starting wars among nations. His mouth spoke of divinity while he ravaged the harmony of life with his hands. It was fitting; Fyodor was a juxtaposition in himself—you knew this, and so did he. 

“You can come in.” A second of pure silence passed before you opened the door to step inside. Not even a single noise was made, and yet, he recognized your presence. 

Almost shyly, you shuffled towards him. You did not plan for Fyodor to catch you—you were still in between deciding whether going inside was worth his lecture. 

Because although the handsome workaholic stayed up until absurd hours of the night, he did not want you following his ways. 

You circled the lounging area until you were in front of him, who closed the journal he was writing in. 

“Lyubov, why are you still awake?” he asked. 

Usually, you only stayed up out of anticipation in waiting for his return—whether from a mission or just to the bed. You were so stubborn that Fyodor would actually halt his work for a few days after being gone for awhile to sleep with you so that he was sure you were resting properly.

It was different this time. He had been home for the whole month, and despite being in his office for the majority of this week, you didn’t have any problem with going to bed without him until now. 

You shrugged with a quiet, “I’m not sure.” You eyed the unfamiliar journal. “Are you still working?” 

“Sort of,” Fyodor replied. “Would you like some chamomile tea? That will help.” 

You shook your head. “What do you mean ‘sort of?’ Last time I checked, you were either working or not.” 

“It’s not any more important than addressing the current problem at hand,” he calmly dejected the topic, leaving you confused. 

“What’s the current problem?” 

“You’re awake. You shouldn’t be at this hour.” 

“Well, now that I’ve found you here, I don’t think I can return to bed unless you come with me.” You dramatically yawned before stepping closer to him.

“Let’s go sleep, Fedya.” You tried dragging him up by the arm, but he stayed sat on the armchair, much to your disdain. 

“I cannot, I’m not done yet,” Fyodor replied. As you froze, he took your hand in his and brought you to his lap. 

“However, you must sleep.” He let you shift so that you were comfortable. “You came here to read?” 

“Yeah,” you replied as he handed you a book. What a mind reader Fyodor was—you were presented with The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. It would be the perfect reread. 

“Why this play?” you tested. 

“The pile of books you never put back on the shelves over there shows you’ve been reading a lot of tragedies lately,” he nodded towards the stack of books you read this week. “I thought you’d probably be in the mood for one by none other than the master of catastrophe.

“Plus, it’s fitting for you, too,” he added, voice a bit lower as he fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“Hey!” You pouted, moving away from him, pretending you were insulted. Though you knew too that further proved his point. 

“Maybe we should act it out,” you joked as you scanned through the pages to find a poem you were familiar with. “Act two, scene two.” 

“Hamlet’s letter to Ophelia,” Fyodor recalled. 

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

“doubt that the sun doth move; 

“doubt truth to be a liar; 

“but never doubt I love.” 

“Dlya neye, v iskrennosti,” you squinted, reading the little note by the quote you did not understand. The Russian laughed at your terrible pronunciation. 

“Some scholars say that Hamlet used his words toward Ophelia as a manipulation tactic,” he stated. “He had a larger strategy at hand, and he rarely mentioned her unless she was on stage, with the exception of her death. If he harbored such a profound love for her, would Shakespeare not make it more direct? What do you think?” 

You contemplated for a few seconds, eyes drifting amongst the shelves of books as you felt your lover behind you gently run his fingers through your hair. 

“I think Shakespeare didn’t give us clarity for a reason. I’d like to believe Hamlet did love Ophelia. The story does not revolve around romance, after all—it revolves around revenge. A man with ambitious plans would not have love at the forefront of his head. Or, he wouldn’t speak aloud about it, at the least. Perhaps he was more reserved about that aspect of his life, too—he could’ve been shy to speak about it in front of all aristocracy—like you, for example.”

You giggled with a shrug, expressing your last phrase as lighthearted, but you still earned a slight frown from him. It was amusing that the nationwide terrorist was timid in everything concerning his love life. 

“Obviously, it could be taken as manipulation, too,” you continued. “But again, it’s not stated upfront for a reason. Shakespeare mirrors the complexities of a person in real life. You never quite know the truth of other people, no matter how much you think you know them.” 

Fyodor nodded, satisfied with your interpretation. “I wholly agree. It is why Shakespeare is enticing to many—he creates characters that simulate life’s universal themes and relatable human emotions when reacting to those situations. I only disagree with one point you made.” 

“Which one? You being shy?” you asked. He shook his head with a smile. 

“Perhaps I will reward you with that knowledge if you sleep.” He chuckled when you groaned in disappointment. 

“How about you just do your work while I read? Then, when you finish, we can leave together.” 

“If it were that easy. You’re a distraction, milaya.” 

You rolled your eyes. “No, I promise! I originally came here to read anyway—I won’t distract you this time.” You moved to one side of Fyodor’s lap so he would have space to do what he wanted. 

He did not answer you, instead making a quiet “tsk” when his fingers caught on a tangle in your hair. Fyodor worked to gently separate the knot. The terrorist was a perfectionist, but the mindset further stemmed past reaching twisted goals to create a world without flaws. Three spoons of jam in his tea, faint scratches on a deck of cards, and ensuring he had the satisfaction of reaching the ends of your hair with his fingertips were a few details he keenly paid mind to. 

You took his silence as a comply, and started to play out the tragedy of the Danish prince in your head while your lover brushed through your locks. Eventually, he picked his journal back up and continued to write information you paid no mind to.

…

You did not know how much time passed before you felt your eyes grow heavy. The faint ticks of the clock on the wall combined with the warm candlelight’s glow drew you to slumber. You closed Hamlet and shifted positions until you ended up straddling Fyodor. You buried your face in the crook of his neck until you could see nothing but dark. 

“Sonnyy?” 

He started stroking his fingers through your hair again, relaxing you even more. 

“Lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. S toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy.” 

However, the sounds of seconds passing by and intimate lighting adorning the room could not compare to the persuasion of your lover’s voice in his mother tongue. Foreign words spilled from his lips as rich as velvet, as soothing as a lullaby. If his voice, in general could put you in a trance, here he harbored the garden serpent’s master of temptation itself. Even if you did not understand him. Worst of all, he knew this. You had fallen into his trap long ago.

“Ya boudou skucha—what are you doing?” 

You were drowsily planting kisses on his neck. You stopped once the room became silent and looked up, catching his half-lidded amethyst gaze. The conjurer’s expression was for once softened—or perhaps it had been the entire time you were with him. It was a gift only you were blessed with. 

You smiled, a tad smugness in your look, before sitting up and giving him a shy peck on his lips. 

For a few seconds, you were both frosted in that moment of time—his hands wrapped around your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as you straddled his own, your eyes fixated on his almost surprised, slightly flustered violet stare. The candles illuminated the room in such a way that made you think it was really only you two who existed in the world—your two souls someplace faraway where nothing else mattered but the sounds of your heartbeats and what you would do next after his mouth slightly parted. You were the most beautiful thing Fyodor had laid eyes on, throughout eras of people. 

You kissed him for the first time that night, and the ravenette kissed you back. It escalated to become sloppy—you were both too exhausted to care whether your lips were on his or if they instead trailed down to trace his jawline as sharp as those of the greek gods. Or when you were back on your lover’s neck—however, this time almost sucking, mesmerized by how easily you could bruise him. You did not need to wear lipstick to create deep red marks on Fyodor’s pale skin. 

“I told you that you’d end up being a distraction.” 

You shivered at cold fingertips dancing across your lower abdomen, though they were still quite far from anywhere you wished. You winced when Fyodor bounced you up in order to fix your position, but it offered a different effect. 

“Careful,” he warned. “That spot is visible to others.” 

Being the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead and member of organization Decay of Angels placed the Russian at a high status in the underground world. He always restricted the places you could leave visible traces of affection on him whenever he had a new operation in front of him—Fyodor was one to uphold modesty. 

You sighed softly before disconnecting your mouth from his neck, only to unbutton the top half of his shirt. 

Like his hands, the demon’s heart was cold. He bore at least some sense of insensitivity to death—he had to; granting silence was part of his duty. However, something about you ignited a fire in him out of nothing, out of no help amidst ice—you were not given a flame nor torch to aid you.

If he was the one to destroy the world to pay the price of ridding sin, you were the one who rebuilt creation from the ground and up. You were unfazed by the city ruins; you were unfazed by Fyodor Dostoevsky, the man most feared in the world. A duality: to them, his hands soaked in crimson blood, but to you, they clasped around yours in adoration.

And since he’d met you, his heart was filled with the foreign warmth of love. Accompanied were trust, vulnerability, and your sweet, honey-like kisses that you littered all over his broad shoulders and chest, because he deserved love everywhere. 

He whispered against your ear, promising he would indulge you more another day, when you weren’t so sleepy. When both he and the moon had a little more time in the sky, was what he didn’t say. At the same time, he took a free hand to slowly guide your eyes to close, hovering barely above your eyelashes. 

You complied, with no more complaints, as he kissed you on the forehead. 

…

As Fyodor carried you down the hallway to the bedroom bridal-style about half an hour later, you dozed into dazy consciousness once again. 

“You have…another mission, hm?” you whispered, recalling the preceding hints he had given you. 

“Yes,” he quietly replied, walking into the dark bedroom. He tucked you under the covers before getting in right beside you. 

“Truly, why were you in the library?” you asked, getting out your final curiosity before you fell back to dream. 

“I did have a ‘sort-of’ job,” Fyodor replied. “Taking care of you. I was aware you’d show up.”  

“Please stay safe, Fedya.”

…

You knew something was off with the thunderstorm that came several weeks later. A vampire apocalypse—however fictitious that sounded—was happening back in Japan, but Fyodor kept you overseas at where you two stayed before departing. 

You didn’t ever touch his plans, but your mind finally processed how every event leading up until now seemed so wrong. The month-long stay—Fyodor had never done that before. The week you decided to read tragedies—you felt one even worse than those acted out in the theatre was coming. That night you stayed up—your gut was already screaming that he was about to depart again. 

And how this time would be different than before. Your intuition had warned you, yet you still fell asleep and let him leave. You stood before the journal the conjurer made sure caught your eye that night. With shaky hands and heavy rain beating down on the windows, you flipped through the pages. Confusion and tears formed in your eyes at the vague implication of what was written. 

Do not worry yourself with the death of all things that are seen and unseen by you. It is not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. 

Rodnaya, you asked what I did not agree with concerning your thoughts about Hamlet loving Ophelia. Have you ever considered a man having both love and ideals at the forefront of his mind? Isn’t love a dream itself? 

…

Fyodor swore this when he judged how all could go wrong in the next step of his plan. Prior to meeting you, the calculating, confident smirk he always had on his face was authentic, and he simply assumed he would never fall to a mistake. 

But now the plans were adjusted to work around you; the schemes all ended to benefit you, too. If he misjudged something, not only would it fail the perfect world God deemed it to be, but it would also affect you through and through. 

Perhaps that was why he only almost saw you as an angel no matter how much you resembled one—no, you were far more glorious than one. You were human—so human that instead of looking down at him from above, you came down onto tainted soil and blessed him with a piece of heaven. Real empathy that now made him think of you as he sat with a rod pierced through his torso in the escape helicopter, doomed to death. 

You truly did ruin him. 

…

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?” 

And Sigma wondered how such a man so immoral and cruel actually loved someone else. As he searched through the demon's memories, he realized he must go much further back in time to find any helpful information for the brunette ability-nullifier who assigned him. 

Because if it was not anything relating to his plans that showed up through his search, it was every memory of you.

translations: (please pardon me if they’re bad, :’) correct me if you are fluent and would like to!)

dlya neye, v iskrennost : for her, in sincerity

sonnyy : sleepy

lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. : i love you like an angel loves God, like a nightingale loves a dew.

s toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy. : with you, time stops, and i live only for moments next to you.

ya boudou skucha[t po tebe] : i will miss you.

i heard if you rb, fyodor will come back to life. :’) reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

someone should’ve warned me about hozier. only started listening to him last month and i…can’t stop.

© 2024 AUREATCHI. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + gradient line by benkeibear. animated line by benkeibear. manga header mine.

[channoticedmeuwu]

14:43 HRS | p — CHOI BEOMGYU × FEM!READER | g — crack, atsv!au, spiderman!gyu, spiderman!reader | w — minor character death (?), mention of drugs

🌐 https://www.urmom.com. . . . . ⁰🕸️ミ :::🤍)!!!

INSPIRED BY . . . SPIDERMAN : ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE !!

“hey, kid, loving the cosplay— but can you get out?”

you shot your wrist at the ceiling and pulled yourself upside down to dangle, so you lay hanging like some spider. you eyed someone— a kid, probably about your age and dressed in the masculine version of your (custom made!!!) suit, holding their hands up and facing the slimey monster you were fighting. “damn,” you chuckled, pulling your back up to crawl on the ceiling, “i didn't know you could summon my lookalikes, villain I wish I knew the name of.”

“me neither,” your arch nemesis of the week responded, a tang of confusion in their own slime muffled voice, “i just thought you cloned yourself.”

“do I look like— nevermind.”

you had crawled up close enough to sling yourself in between your clone and mr. worship-my-calamity-causing-asshole, placing your hands on your hips, “dude, does it look like this town is big enough for the both of us?”

the spiderman you were frowning behind your mask at just tilted their head and shrugged. “i don't think it speaks,” the monster chimed in, before you shot a web at its mouth without glancing at it. ripples of slimey goo echoed in the room, causing a shudder to pass through your spine. “yeah, looks like it.”

then, it scoffed. “you're on my earth, girl.”

“your earth?” you laughed, “dude. are you high? take the kiddy costume off and go home.”

“if this was your earth,” the spiderman just sighed, throwing a beeping device at the monster, “you'd know that the slime cannot be shut up with your webs.”

you scoffed, turning around to face mr slimey, who had your web mouth muffler sliding down it's chin. “dude, he's perfectly silent—” before he blew up in your face. you blinked, turning around to the spiderman with twitching eyes.

“did you just kill him?”

“yeah, not your earth.”

“what the hell, dude!”

the spiderman pulled off his mask to wipe the slime that was covering the eyes, and you thought to yourself, “what the fuck?”

the dude was a god.

you blinked, eyeing him up and down, tingles in your head as he bent below to pick something up, his loose, overgrown hair falling before his eyes. and you shuddered, making him look up towards you. “like I said,” he cracked his fingers, a scowl on his features.

“I'm beomgyu, this earth's one and only spiderman.”

txt — masterlist

A/N — sorry ik this sucks and its very radnom.... but spiderman!gyu 🥰🥰🥰🥰

[theamityelf]

I enjoy calamity and details too much so I have to ask RE: your Undead Hope’s Peak AU… do you think Makoto and Komaeda would suffer SOME sort of side effects to being constantly exposed to the zombie virus? At the very least I can’t imagine either of them were able to be as vigilant on caring for themselves as they could be, especially being surrounded and essentially drenched in blood, rot, and death. If the virus was ever reversed, I have to wonder if that wouldn’t be the greatest time for both Makoto and Komaeda’s bodies to tap out and get some rest whether either of them volunteered or not lmao. Also judging by how awful the reserve course is getting the brunt of things I can’t imagine vengeance isn’t close at hand for them. This could end up causing the reserve course despair attack without Junko’s influence.

To your first point, I can definitely see them at the very least getting sick pretty regularly. They try to keep the room and their classmates as clean as possible, but yeah, the amount of stuff they're exposed to and the amount of times they get bitten and maybe forget to bandage it until later or just are too busy for a while, at the very least some of those bites get super infected with just regular pathogens. These guys have unbandaged bites while bathing with a bunch of undead people; I think at the very least, they feel sick.

I'd say one plausible way that the undead virus could affect them is that they develop a higher tolerance for those blood and meat smells. By which I only mean their disgust instincts are decreased, but they will still have a physical reaction if they're exposed for too long. So being around all that decay will still make them physically ill, but they won't feel the disgust leading up to it, so they won't know to be as vigilant as they need to be.

The smell of rotten meat doesn't bother them all that much anymore, but they will still vomit if they're in the room with a lot of it for very long. And they will still get sick if they're handling something that carries disease.

Their immune systems are definitely in a bad place on the basis of exposure, diet, and not getting enough quality rest, so they'd also be getting regular colds and stuff pretty often.

(If we wanted to, we could definitely also say that the undead virus that they're immune to, the regular infection in the bites, and whatever regular cold or flu they might come down with, end up mixing together and create whole new cultures of disease.)

To your point about the reserve course, I think Hajime could even be the catalyst for that. Maybe the reserve course didn't know that any of the lucksters were setting traps for them, because those who found out were already caught in the traps and so never got to tell anyone before they got eaten. Maybe Hajime is the first to make it back to the others with news of having been caught in an actual human trap to be fed to the main course.

I'm thinking, before that point, they didn't feel slighted by anyone in particular; they just felt like they got caught up in a zombie apocalypse, like in the movies, and it's no one's fault; just bad luck. They felt the faculty had no choice but to lock them here, since the disease had spread so much, and now they just have to survive until there's a cure. Maybe it occurred to some of them that they were here to be food for the undead, but those people were treated as conspiracy theorists. Hope's Peak may have its faults, but they wouldn't feed students to anyone. They just weren't evacuated in time, and the school had to barricade the campus so none of the undead could get out and hurt way more people.

But then Hajime gets back with news that there are human main course students setting traps to feed the talentless to the Ultimates, and that even the nice luckster who protected Hajime from such a fate is just being used by the school to take care of the Ultimates, and that causes an uproar. They realize they're being sacrificed, and they want to fight back.

Maybe they want to attack the undead, but more likely they want to charge the barricades and escape. They refuse to be the school's disposable sacrifices, even if it means the undead are able to leave the campus and infect more people outside.

[whisperinggbreeze]

(Spoilers for pretty much all of TGCF)

Xie Lian was angry. He was angry. He was so angry. He was angry, he was angry, he was angry, he was—

He was not angry at Wu Ming, the boy who kept changing his life and was now either purposely torturing him or failing to remember.

He wasn’t even angry at White No-Face. Bai Wuxiang. He hated him, he hated him, but he was not angry at him.

Xie Lian had stopped being angry at anyone a long time ago. He felt nothing towards anyone.

(That couldn’t be true. He hated, he had always hated, ever since he had been reborn. He hated, he hated, he hated—)

White Flower Collecting Souls had nobody to blame but himself. He was angry. He was angry. But he had always been angry at himself. When he was young, he was angry at others. He was angry at Mu Qing for leaving him, angry at Feng Xin for listening to him and leaving in the end as well, angry at his father, angry at his mother, angry at his Guoshi, angry at the heavenly emperor, angry at the gods, angry at heaven.

Angry at the ghost who had torn down Xianle like a poorly constructed gold foil palace.

But that was many centuries ago. Xie Lian had grown out of his anger. He was only ever angry at himself, and that really couldn’t be considered anger at all.

Anger was foolish, nonsensical, unnecessary. It wasn’t a strong enough word. Xie Lian hated himself, despised himself—

Right, he’d gotten off track. He was thinking about Wu Ming. Hua Cheng.

“Oh dear,” Xie Lian sighed, just now taking in his surroundings and remembering how he’d been screaming and tearing up the room he stood in just a few minutes ago. His throat was raw. He did not feel it. He did not feel anything.

---

another extract for the calamity!xl / god!hc au! why did I start on chapter 2 before finishing chapter 1, you might ask? to that I say: please don't ask it'll make me sad :( (I do have the rest of chapter 1 vaguely planned out, so I might post another extract for that at some point)

as you can tell, the POV switches; currently I plan to switch every chapter but that might change depending on what POV fits the story better at that moment

i am slowly working my way through world building and story planning! ill be completely honest, this project was a spontaneous one so I kind of just jot down and incorporate ideas as they come lmao

[simplegenius042]

A very late WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @cassietrn

Tagging @strangefable @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy @minilev @wrathfulrook @josephslittledeputy @nightbloodbix @derelictheretic @deputyash @deputy-morgan-malone @inafieldofdaisies @ec-10 @ladyoriza @vampireninjabunnies-blog @voidika @onehornedbeast @thewanderer-000 @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano @henbased @neverthesameneveranother @chazz-anova and @strafethesesinners

Here are three WIPs, each from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and Life, Despair & Monsters. Read below the cut.

TW: Harsh and heavy cursing, mentioned/implied character and general death of NPCs (either it be a time loop or a cybernetic homicidal monster around nine or ten feet tall and very pissed off). Implied mentioned sexual content, mentions of abuse and fantastical racism (against ghouls, Jericho leave Gob alone!). Mentioned prostitution and fantasies of murder (illegal but understandable).

First WIP is for the time loop/"Groundhog Day" FC5 AU fic called You're Almost Like Family where the Seeds are stuck in a, well, time loop. And whenever Silva (or the Seeds themselves) die, well, the days are reset. Funniest part is, none of the Seeds know that they are all in a loop, just their individual selves. Snippet below:

[John] slammed the entrance to his chalet shut, causing the blonde figure sorting his papers in his lounge to jump. The documents slipped out of her hands as she stood up with a hand to a holster, only to calm down when she realized it was him.

Noticing that the reports laid scattered on the floor, Nadi gave him a stink eye, gesturing to the papers.

John would have been apologetic if he simply didn't have time for this. Ironic given the predicament he was stuck in.

Sooner or later, the Deputy is going to end up dead, and he'll be back at square one... again.

The thought reignited his frustration, but he reigned in enough to examine his number two.

Nadi was a loyal member of the project, more faithful than Jacob's hound, and while they did butt heads sometimes, he was grateful for her presence and for her strategic input. Admittedly, John knew that without her, the Deputy would have gotten to him sooner rather than later.

I would have preferred not to have to had died to appreciate it.

"Once you finish with those, come meet me upstairs in my bedroom. There's something I need to discuss with you," John ordered smoothly, making his way to the stairs.

He didn't notice the confusion etched on the blonde's face, for John was already making his way up the stairs to his room.

It's times like these I wish I could have a shot of tequila, he thought to himself, walking over to the open bedroom window and closing it shut, pulling the lock down.

Next, he grabbed a torch light and shined it at the closet. Hearing nothing, he walked towards it and opened the doors. Empty.

Finally, John turned off his torch, knelt down, and swiftly rolled it harshly under the bed. Hearing no grunts, he looked under.

She's not under there... good.

John exhaled a huff of air, and sat on the edge of his bed as he put his hands over his face.

It was exhausting. Though John knew by the end of today, or the next two if he was lucky, the Deputy would be killed by something or another and he would be back at square one, he really needed to figure out how to reach out to her, without being shot.

Going to her too early leaves her shooting first and questioning the morality of it never, and trying to go to her late only ends up with her being killed by whoever it is she seems to have evoked the wrath of. Not that he thinks she doesn't entirely deserve it.

He needed guidance, and from his last conversation with Joseph, his brother seemed content with sitting by and letting God do his work.

And he tried. To wait it out. To let God do His work. But if the sign that John seemed to be getting was that leaving the Deputy to her own accord only leads to her death, and back to the morning of Joseph's arrest.

And it wasn't like Jacob, or worse, Faith, were going to be helpful.

John had figured out quickly that his intervention was needed for the Deputy to even get through another day. And while the Father may not have understood what he told him, John deduced that this was a test from God.

A test against his sloth. A test towards his patience. A test meant to prove that John was worthy of entering Eden. And what better way than to save the life and soul of another? Especially one as sinful and wrathful as the Deputy?

Which is why he waits for the only other faithful member of the project, his trustworthy second-in-command.

A knock on the door shifted his thoughts to the matter at hand, and he made his way to the door.

Opening it, Nadi stood there, the blond looking at him with expecting brown eyes.

John pulled her inside, earning a yelp from the young woman, and closed the door behind her.

Here's a WIP for a collection of short fics from different character perspectives throughout my Fallout fic series A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. It is still under heavy editing, but I've got a good grasp on where to take it. Snippet below:

In the five of the twenty four hours she's been awake, Nova had expected more-or-less the same day as before.

Walking around and offering her body to anyone who came into the saloon had not been a life she pictured for herself as a little girl, but it was one that paid well.

Well, it would have been if Moriarty didn't continue to take a cut of her and Gob's pay any time a customer gave them a generous donation.

That and the amount of times Moriarty had utilized her services with no intention of paying her, but she supposed it was a better alternative to being kicked out of Megaton. Given Moriarty still had that power.

She drew in the smoke from her cigarette, and surveyed from her post as Gob gave another orange bottle of whiskey to Jericho, the ex-raider sneering at the ghoul, his disgust evident all over his face.

Thankfully he didn't make a scene, slamming the small bag of caps on the counter as he left through the door.

Gob stared at the bag, string noose tied tightly around the bag, not immediately grabbing it. Nova could take a guess that Gob was lamenting over the debts that he owed Moriarty. Debts both the prostitute and the ghoul bartender wordlessly knew their boss was unlikely to pay.

Gob snapped out of it though, giving a miserable sigh, and dragging the bag away from the counter for Moriarty to pocket later, turning his attention to the damn radio that never seemed to play at the right time.

It pained Nova to see Gob like this. He was a real sweetheart with shitty luck, and she knew that the only upsides in his life were the hope of one day paying off his debts, however unlikely that was, and the Gravity News Radio host screaming out "fighting the good fight", whatever that entailed.

She was also painfully well aware of his crush on her.

Though she never had minded his appearance to the point she'd hang out with him in public, given how much she knows the ghoul is actually a decent guy, she had her limits, which was rare given her current standing under Moriarty.

She hoped he could find some semblance of happiness, whether that be with a person or a life long after Moriarty was rotting in the ground. But it wouldn't be with her.

If things were different though...

Nova looked away from Gob, shaking the thought away. It didn't matter on the what ifs, right now she had a job to perform.

She could ponder a different time.

Just as Gob began to smack the radio, a risky action given Moriarty's repeated threats on treating his property harshly, the saloon door creaked open, and Nova spotted two teens enter. One male, the other female. Both wearing what appeared to be blue jumpsuits with the numbers "101" imprinted in yellow on their backs.

Nova eyed them both. The young man was of average build, short auburn hair cut neatly with a few strands springing out from the harshness of the wasteland most likely, and light brown eyes on the lookout for anyone and anything.

The young woman on the other hand had dark hair tied in a pony tail, was a little chubbier than her counterpart, and her hazel eyes were more focused, trying to narrow down a specific person.

They glanced back to the door, whispering amongst themselves, though not too quiet that she couldn't catch their words.

Amongst the harsh gravel Gob spat out at the poor radio, and the chatter amongst the patrons, Nova could decipher the words "here" "back outside" and "think she'll stay?" in hushed voices.

And finally Jennifer putting murder on her mind to the back burner as she remembers to drop, duck and cover my WIP of Sonya's Push. Snippet below:

Breathing heavily as she pushed her way through the audience as they gazed upon the newest arena fight between beasties, the bruises formed from her fight with Malvolio's bitch protesting against her movements.

The blonde looked back to the closed elevator door on the other side, paranoid that Malvolio's Beastie would burst through at any moment.

The speed of it had been abnormal, disappearing in a blink and being nothing more than a flicker of movement when it had slid down to the hall. The movement of its tail daggers swift and deadly, like her own claws. The red in its one eye, more robotic than flesh.

Why had Dicko approved such a thing? It barely counted as a beastie with the mass of metal it was made of! Jennifer huffed, and around the arena, looking pass the patrons in search of Dicko.

Her blue eyes spotted the Englishman on a lower circle, himself seated down on his VIP sofa that she once shared with him, disheveled but celebrating his escape with a glass of disgusting champagne, like the pig hadn't just left her to die to that one-eyed mech of a beast. As if the reason it was free in the first place wasn't because he allowed his creep of a "buddy" onto his premises, or the fact Sir Enigma might be a fucking alien in addition to a Darwinist with no care for the fact "handing control" did not mean "releasing the Beastie from its brainwashing bullshit".

She felt the razor claws pushing through her fingertips as she glared at the man from across the arena, anger and betrayal clouding her mind.

Those fantasies of killing him while in his bed resurfaced, and she oh so wanted to enact them now, with the sofa as an acceptable exception.

She wanted to get her claws through his throat before the Beastie could make its way down to the arena. She tried to move pass the cheering audience, making her way around to the other side to get to the stairs.

However much she tried though, a block of people just refused to move aside, and she was tempted to slice her way through if it weren't for the guards.

Ding!

...Or the faint noise of the elevator door that echoed throughout the arena, deaf to everyone but her.

Frozen in place as she looked back, trying to get a glimpse of the beast that would no doubt tear them apart.

She pushed people aside to get a solid look. Enough people disbanded to show the doors opening to reveal the empty box of the elevator.

Jennifer's face scrunched in confusion, mouth gaping open and shut, lips stinging as the cut on her upper lip made contact with her bottom one. She desperately searched for any sign of the beast, the monster made of steel, the relentless creature that stalked and hunted her not moments ago.

Upon still seeing nothing, she let out a mirthless laugh as she turned her back to the elevator, shaking her head as she focused her attention on Dicko once more, the man a ring below talking with one of his guards.

It was with this focus that she noticed a... shift on the stone barriers that kept the audience at bay.

Large spots on the stone cracked, small dusts of powder dropping down as an unseen pressure was placed on the stone. She saw more of this dust from the next ring up, and then the next, and the next.

Up and up and further up until it stopped at the final ring. Then dust slowly dropped down from the roof, unbeknownst to the audience too invested on the violence happening between the two wild beasties below them. Not that the fight between those Beasties were anything special unlike what she saw from her hunter mere hours ago.

Jennifer felt some familiarity with this, words exchanged to her by the madman who released the Apex from its prison, a far too fond explanation on how the creature could "rush so fast it would be merely a flicker to the human eye!"

"...Or match its environment to disappear right before you," Malvolio explained, grinning at her with all his teeth.

Jennifer's eyes widened as she barely registered the outline of the beast that had adjusted its steel to uncloak itself while hanging from dark and dank ceiling. Red optic looking down to the cheers in the rings and the Beasties fighting under it.

She saw the tail split in three, and immediately followed her gut by making distance from the open space of the barriers.

She had just dropped flat onto the floor to curl up and cover her head when the she heard the wind and patron's necks crack in one simultaneous whoosh.

[mehoymalloy]

I’ve been thinking about sending you an anon for awhile! I wanted to say that when I first say your Otohan/Imogen fics i was really confused on why- but then one night I was bored so I began reading them and absolutely fell in love with your writing. The way you write Otohan to begin with and the relationship you’ve conjured up is kind of insane in a really good way. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m very happy I gave a ship I was very against a shot because you are very incredible.

I’m looking forward to more information on the judicator au! I know you’re working on it with someone else (I’m pretty sure I remember seeing that) so I wish you both the best with it. And cant wait for any updates you have on… like… anything. (No but seriously I really am stoked for the judicator au anything you say about it I will eat up like someone starved in the desert please feel free to share more- :) if you want to ofc)

Wow, talk about making my morning (day, week, month, year)! I honestly cannot thank you enough for not only giving my writing and this ship a chance, but also taking the time to send me such a kind and wonderful message to let me know. Messages like this seriously mean the world to me, so genuinely, thank you so much.

The one thing about planning a fic in full like this before publishing it is that every snippet I could share feels like a spoiler. So instead, please accept these random scraps of worldbuilding details and tidbits!

First and foremost, I truly would not be writing this AU without @inomakani. She encouraged me to go wild in our DMs talking about it, helped me solidify a lot of the plot details, and offered her own ideas whenever I got stuck deep-diving into the nitty gritty details (as I so often do). For example, she helped conceptualize Imogen's pseudo-permanent dorm room with a very cool and cozy layout. Here's just a tiny piece of the amazing floorplan she made that she'll likely post in full when the fic is published.

To further emphasize how awesome this whole project of hers was (because she really did plan ALL of Imogen's room; I simply gave the final 'ok'), here's my far simpler layout of the Aydinlan Seminary's campus:

Furthermore, Ino has contributed immensely to the wider worldbuilding (something she truly excels at). As a sort of silly but no less brilliant example, here's one of the cantrips she came up with for the in-universe encyclopedia of kink, Mistress' Magical Manual of Kink (mentioned in this snippet of how Imogen finds the book to begin with):

Conceptus Interruptus Level:: Cantrip Casting Time:: 1 Action Range/Area:: Touch Components:: S Duration:: 7 days School:: Abjuration Attack/Save:: CON Save Source:: Apocryphal Reproduced In:: Maya's Magic, Maladies, and Medicine Reproduced In:: Mistress' Magical Manual of Kink Reproduced In:: Wizard Sex-Ed at the Aydinlan Seminary A spell seemingly as old as time itself, this cantrip has no confirmed source. Rumors abound that it originated in the days before the calamity in the once-great city of Aeor, but nearly as many claim it came from the earliest days of the plane-hopping elven city of Syngorn. Considered to be a crucial part of any sex-education course, it is taught to magic practitioners as a matter of practice. Similarly, magical items with the spell cast on them can be found in most self-respecting magic shops. The spell subtly changes the recipient's physiology to destroy gametes in the body for the duration of the spell. This makes it an effective form of period protection as well, though this was not discovered until the sexual health work done by Maya Ayad in Maya's Magic, Maladies, and Medicine. The spell may be dismissed by the caster at any time, but gametes must subsequently be regenerated by the body, which may take up to a month.

I would also absolutely be remiss if I didn't give Imogen glasses in the "Imogen is a Huge Nerd AU" (they're round, bronze-colored, and wire-framed, attached to a matching chain she wears around her neck because the bridge is just a little too wide and frequently slips down her nose; Professor Kai gave her his old pair when her and Liliana first arrived at the Seminary, and at this point it's a sentimental quirk Imogen can't bring herself to fix). The frames and temples are etched with teeny glyphs that provide Darkvision as well as the ability to magnify (and yes, please imagine that Imogen's eyeballs appear comically large when that spell is activated lol).

And finally, while I can't share much about Otohan themself and all the theorizing we've done on judicators in general, I can share this little detail about one of the more passive abilities they have, since it's mentioned in the opening of the fic.

Again, thanks so much for sending me such a kind message! I hope this absolute overload of random headcanons can feed you while we work on the main course!

[violentvalerian]

The Best Bad News (WuWa AU Rover x Calcharo) // Part 1/3 // A Little Calamity

“This day fucking sucks!”

Aalto walked to the door of the living room and peeked around the corner into the hallway. There stood his roommate, drenched from head to toe and dripping water onto the hardwood floor. And looking massively annoyed.

“Lemme guess,” Aalto said, throwing his pale hair back, “You got into a fight with a sprinkler and lost.”

“Yes, Aalto, that’s exactly what happened,” the dark-haired man in the hall grumbled with an eyeroll and peeled his soaked black denim jacket off his slender form, hanging it up to dry, “It’s raining cats and dogs outside.”

His words were accentuated by a clap of thunder that made both young men jump.

“Oh really?” Aalto asked with a grin, “Thanks for letting me know, Ro. Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Ro said, kicking off his sneakers that hit the ground with a wet splat. A flash of lightning lit up the otherwise dim apartment.

“You hungry or something?” Aalto asked, “I could order us something.”

“I can’t afford to get takeout every day,” Ro complained, “Don’t we have anything to pop into the oven or something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Aalto graciously said and placed his hand on his chest, “It’s on me tonight.”

“Really?” Ro asked and looked at him with wide eyes, “You’re actually serious? Never thought I’d ever see you so generous.”

“What?” Aalto exclaimed, “I’m always generous! Just not when it comes to monetary things. Whatever! What do you want?”

“I don’t care, you decide,” Ro said and quickly disappeared into the bathroom to avoid any further questions. He was notoriously bad at making decisions, no matter the subject.

He tore off all his clothes that were sodden with cold water. The rain had totally caught him off-guard on the way back from the library where he’d worked on some assignments for his history studies. First he’d been drowning in work, and then almost drowning in the literal sense with how heavy the storm was.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, cursing when the ice cold stream hit him, colder even than the rain. For some reason, Aalto liked to take freezing showers, and no matter how many times Ro begged him to at least turn the tap back into a neutral position, he never remembered to do so. At least it didn’t take forever to warm up today, and soon he was wrapped in a misty cocoon of warm steam and water that relaxed his tense shoulders and smoothed the goosebumps that had risen on his skin from the cold.

Feeling like a completely reborn person, Ro emerged from the bathroom and went into his room to change. It was small, barely large enough for his bed and his desk. Since he’d only moved in a few short months ago when he started studying in Jinzhou, the walls were still bare, and in a corner there was a tower of not unpacked moving boxes whose structural integrity seemed worryingly precarious.

Ro threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and  returned to the living room to see Aalto lounging on the couch in front of the TV, ignoring some sports game while scrolling on his phone, as he always did. Despite only knowing each other for two months, Ro and Aalto had already grown to be close friends, albeit with rather different interests and personalities.

“Feeling better?” Aalto asked, noticing Ro’s presence, “I ordered pizza by the way.”

“Much better,” Ro replied and pushed his legs off the couch to take a seat, “Hope you didn’t get tuna for me again.”

“Nah, you don’t like fish, I get it. There was a two for one deal on something with four cheeses.”

“So you’re not paying for me after all,” Ro grinned.

“Yes I am!” Aalto insisted, “I bought a pizza just for you and just so happened to get one for free myself.”

“Sure, sure,” Ro laughed and pulled out his phone. When he opened Echoline, the most popular social media in Huanglong and beyond, his face fell. “Oh… my… god,” he breathed, pronouncing every word as if it were a full sentence, “No fucking way!”

“What?” Aalto asked, “What is it now?”

“No way!” Ro repeated and flew to his feet, staring at his phone in disbelief.

“What?!” Aalto asked, pushing himself into a more upright position, “Tell me! The suspense is killing me.”

Ro furiously tapped and swiped on his phone. “My favorite band is going on tour for their second album, and they’re playing a show here! In Jinzhou! And… oh my god… It’s on my birthday! Oh my god, I have to be there!”

“Oh hell yeah, congrats,” Aalto said, but he’d lost interest. He knew Ro’s taste in music differed from his own greatly. Aalto liked all kinds of sounds that came out of computers, the less real instruments, the better, as long as the bassline was heavy enough to shake the ground. Ro, on the other hand, liked classic rock and alt punk. Music was one of the things they’d never agree on.

“Ah!” Ro now shrieked in horror, “No! No, that can’t be true!”

“What is it now?” Aalto sighed.

Ro sobbed. “It’s already sold out?! How is that possible? They only went on sale a few hours ago!”

“Damn, those guys must be pretty popular for that to happen.”

“Yeah,” Ro said sadly, “They’re from the New Fed, and this is their first international tour. Fans have been begging for one for years. And now they’re gonna be here, but I won’t be. I’m gonna cry. This is the worst day of my life!”

“From the New Federation?” Aalto asked, “Think I might know them?”

He’d moved to Huanglong from the New Federation a year ago to study business at Jinzhou’s Huaxu Academy that was famous for its excellent courses. And its insultingly low acceptance rate.

“Pfft!” Ro scoffed, “They don’t do your stinky robot music. They got real guitars and drums and vocals that haven’t been fried by ten different filters and overlays.”

“Stinky?!” Aalto asked in offense, “Don’t insult my modern taste like that just ‘cause you’re still stuck in the eighties!”

But Ro wasn’t even listening anymore. “Ahh, the lead singer…” He sighed, “He’s got a voice sent from the heavens, I swear, and he’s just dreamy. They’re all really good, but Cal is just on another level.”

Aalto perked up, grabbing his roommate by the shoulders. “What did you say?”

“That the lead singer is on another level?” Ro asked in confusion.

“No, what did you call him?” Aalto asked and almost shook him, “Cal?”

“Yes,” Ro slowly said, looking at Aalto like he was crazy, “Calcharo. He’s the lead singer of the Ghost Hounds, my favorite band.”

“Holy shit!” Aalto exclaimed and let out a hearty laugh, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Ghost Hounds fan sooner?!”

“You know them?” Ro asked in surprise and tilted his head, “Didn’t think that’d be something you’re into.”

Aalto laughed again. “Their music be damned, of course I know them!”

“Huh?” Ro was utterly confused.

Aalto beamed at him when he dropped the mother of all bombshells. “Calcharo is my brother!”

Ro’s jaw dropped and he coughed up an incomprehensible bouquet of word fragments, sputtering and gasping for air. “Wh- B- You… He… B- brother?!”

“Yeah, my big bro!” Aalto confirmed, nodding rapidly, “No way you like his stuff!”

“His stuff is the best stuff ever!” Ro called out, “Between Me and the Devil is my favorite song of all time! I can’t fucking believe you’re Calcharo’s brother! You are, right?! You’re not bullshitting me right now, right?!”

“Hell no!” Aalto denied and pulled out his phone, quickly digging through his gallery and producing a photo he held under Ro’s nose. It was a capture of an older, physical photograph from an album. On it were two boys with the same light hair, both carrying large backpacks. One was significantly taller than the other and showed only a faint smile while his shorter counterpart grinned between both ears and revealed countless gaps in his teeth.  “Look, Dad sent this the other day because he was going through our family albums. It’s my first day of school! Here is me, and there’s Cal. He’s four years older than me.”

Ro’s jaw dropped again. Despite the kid in the picture looking far, far younger - around ten or eleven - it was undoubtedly Calcharo, lead singer of the Ghost Hounds, with his naturally white hair and those pale blue eyes. Looking at Aalto again, the resemblance suddenly hit him. It was almost uncanny. He had the same hair, even styled it similarly with the bangs hanging around the side of his face and the rest of it always combed back, and their face shape was really similar as well, only Aalto’s jaw wasn’t as pronounced as Calcharo’s. And their eyes were different. But despite that, Ro totally bought it.

“That’s crazy!” Ro screeched. “Crazy! Insane!”

“I’m gonna call him,” Aalto said, holding up his phone with his arm stretched out, “and ask him if he can do my bestie a favor and drop some tix.”

Ro gasped, nearly hyperventilating. “No way! You’d do that for me?!”

“Duh!” Aalto said and flicked his forehead, “Means I don’t have to worry about a birthday present for you. Easy win!”

“You rat!” Ro said with a grin, “I’ll love you for the rest of my days if you make that happen.”

“Leave it to me!” Aalto said eagerly, “I’ll call him right now.”

Unfortunately for him, right now was also the moment the doorbell rang incessantly.

“Ooh!” Aalto whistled, “Dinner time!”

He zipped into the hall to accept the food. Ro, meanwhile, held his hand against his mouth so Aalto wouldn’t hear his squeals of joy as he kicked his feet in excitement. This was the best day ever!

A couple days later, Aalto waltzed into Ro’s room unannounced, totally unnoticed by the aforementioned.

Ro was sitting at his desk over the fattest book Aalto had ever seen, headphones over his ears and bobbing his head in the rhythm of his song. Aalto hesitated for a moment and listened in, giggling when he very faintly made out his brother’s voice. Perfect timing.

He tapped Ro’s shoulder, making him let out a startled gasp and whip around.

“Jesus, Aalto!” Ro complained, “You scared me!”

“I got something for you!” Aalto said in a sing-song voice and revealed a nondescript envelope from behind his back.

“For me?” Ro asked and accepted the envelope, opening it as Aalto watched him eagerly.

“It’s something really special. A VIP ticket for the Ghost Hounds gig!”

Ro shrieked and launched himself out of his chair to throw himself into Aalto’s arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He said and hugged him so tightly that the other almost couldn’t breathe, “You’re the best friend ever, Aalto! I love you!”

Aalto let out a nervous chuckle and patted his back. “No problemo. Just played some of my connections. Easy peasy.”

Ro continued hugging and praising him to high heaven, almost making Aalto blush uncomfortably until he could free himself.

“I got a second ticket, actually,” Aalto revealed, “You can have it if there’s someone specific you want to go with, but if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you.”

“Sure! It’s gonna be a ton of fun!” Ro cheered and clasped his hands together but then realized, “Wait, you don’t like the music though.”

“It’s not like I hate it,” Aalto said with a shrug, “Besides, I rarely get to see Cal now that I moved away and he’s always on the road anyway. Gotta hunt him down for a second of his time. Besides…” He showed a sneaky grin. “If I'm there and Cal knows that I'm there, it's only right I introduce you to him and vice versa.”

Ro stared at him like he was a Messiah, then spun and jumped on the spot, cheering, “You are literally the best, Aalto!”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he laughed and watched Ron's victory dance. How endearing that sight was…

That same day, Ro went to his favorite neighborhood stationary store to buy an archaic paper calendar (with motivational quotes and pictures of kittens) for the explicit purpose to mark the date of the concert and his birthday. ‘Ghost Hounds!!!’ The calendar now proudly announced. He counted how many days he'd have to wait. Sixty-nine. Two months and three weeks and a few more days.

The calendar was the first thing to decorate the walls of his room, right next to the window under which his bed stood. A Ghost Hounds poster soon found its spot next to it, the cover art of A Little Calamity, the album his favorite song was on. A second poster followed, this one showing the three band members posing for the camera. Calcharo in front with his bass slung around his shoulders, Encore, who looked laughably short next to him, on his left with her signature red and pink electric guitar, and then a little bit behind them was Mortefi sitting by his drum set. Ro dared to hope that he'd get the poster signed by all three of them. It would be a dream come true.

Every day upon going to sleep, Ro crossed off another day, watching the concert come closer and closer. Two months became six weeks, then four, then two, one week, three days, and finally! The day was there.

It was a Saturday, and despite his immeasurable excitement, Ro had been able to sleep in in preparation for his long night. It was almost noon when Aalto knocked on his door.

“Rise and shine, birthday boy!” He said with a wide grin.

Ro tiredly lifted his head out of his sheets and blinked at him. His hair was a mess, the black strands thoroughly disheveled. He looked like he had about zero idea of where or who he was.

Aalto walked to the bed and crouched next to it to get on eye level with him.

“Gotcha something,” he said and presented a cupcake on his palm, “I didn’t know what you like so I went for red velvet, the classic.”

“Hm?” Ro groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Cake? For me?”

“Of course!” Aalto said, “Again, it’s your birthday. You know what that means.”

“Birthday,” Ro muttered and turned over to look at his calendar. There were no more days left to cross off. Today was the day. The day marked in red and circled thrice over. ‘Ghost Hounds!!!’

“Holy fuck!” Ro suddenly exploded and pushed his blanket away, practically falling out of his bed, “It’s the day! The day is here! Ghost Hounds!”

“Easy there,” Aalto placated him, “Cake first. Everything else later.”

He presented his cupcake again and Ro smiled, accepting the small pastry. “You’re right. Let’s share.”

“I already had breakfast,” Aalto waved him off and sat in Ro’s desk chair, watching him peel away the paper from the cake and taking a hearty bite, “Good?”

“Sho good,” Ro said with a full mouth, closing his eyes in delight, “Thanks Aalto.”

“You’re welcome.” Aalto grinned and pulled out his phone. “Cal texted me earlier, they made it to Jinzhou and are setting up. What’s the location called again?”

“Dragon’s Nest,” Ro said without hesitation, “Small club downtown. Why did they pick such a small venue, anyway?”

“Cal said they didn’t expect that kinda interest,” Aalto said with a shrug, “Ghost Hounds are almost more famous in Huanglong than in the New Fed.”

“Huh,” Ro said in thought, “Who would’ve guessed.”

“Anything you wanna do on your special day?” Aalto asked, aimlessly spinning in circles on his chair.

Ro shook his head. “I have to mentally prepare. I still can’t believe I’m actually going to see the Ghost Hounds live.”

“Not just see,” Aalto corrected him, “Meet. Thanks to your super special best friend and his premium network.”

Ro squealed.

The two continued casually chatting while Ro answered some happy birthday texts.

“Hey, what are you wearing later?” Ro asked at some point.

Aalto looked down on himself. Blue jeans, plain white t-shirt. “This?” He asked.

“Fair.” Ro nodded and eyed his closet. “Can you help me pick something?”

Aalto sighed, “Sure.”

Ro sent him out of his room and went to shower, then picked out an outfit he always felt comfortable in. Dark blue suit pants and a white button-down. However, when he went into the living room to show off, Aalto only briefly looked up from his phone and said, “Too formal.”

Ro grumbled and went to change. Cargo pants and a way oversized shirt with a graphic print.

“Too casual,” Aalto judged.

“Bruh,” Ro complained, but went back to the drawing board regardless. Next on the list was a pair of shorts and a bright yellow crew neck long sleeve.

“Hmm,” Aalto hesitated for a moment, “That’s gonna make you stand out for sure, but don’t wear shorts to a concert.”

“Why not?” Ro asked, confused.

“I dunno,” Aalto said with a shrug, “Just don’t.”

“Fine,” Ro groaned, and this time he dug deep in his closet to find the clothes he rarely wore and wouldn’t show himself in anywhere. Either because he lacked an occasion or wasn’t comfortable enough to flaunt them. But if not today, then when would he ever?

He walked into the living room again, provocatively asking, “What do you have to say about this, huh?”

Aalto looked him up and down, blinked, looked some more, and finally said, “That’s the one. Damn, Ro.”

Ro did a little spin, smiling timidly. He was donning a sleeveless cotton top with a high collar, black and tight. Not obnoxiously so, but it did show off his figure flatteringly. As did his black jeans, ripped at the knees and thighs, washed out and a bit rugged.

“Glad that that’s settled,” Ro sighed, satisfied.

“Wanna head out?” Aalto asked, “It’s sill a bit early, but we could grab a bite before the show.”

“Sure,” Ro agreed. At this point he was glad for any distraction from the excitement churning his stomach. It felt like his intestines were a bunch of writhing knots and coils, and he felt so incredibly nervous. The only thing that helped was to not think about the gig later, but it was hard, no, impossible not to think about it. He was a mess. An excited, giddy mess.

Aalto tried to make some sort of sensible conversation, but there was no getting through to him. While they ate Panhua’s signature ramen, all Ro could talk about was the concert. What songs would they play? In which order? Aalto knew barely any of their songs so he couldn’t contribute much. Would he laugh at Ro if he sang along out of tune? He promised not to. Would he tell Calcharo how obsessed he was with him? No, of course not. Aalto didn’t want to embarrass his friend. What was Calcharo like, anyway? He’d see, Aalto told him, getting mildly annoyed.

Soon enough it was time to head to the venue. The Dragon’s Nest was a small club with only two floors and a bar in the corner. It often hosted concerts of lesser known bands that weren’t popular enough to fill stadiums, hence the vibe was more personal, intimate, almost.

With their VIP passes, Aalto and Ro could skip the long line in front of the entrance to the club, and they were corralled into an area right in front of the stage, literally the best seats in the house. Except there were no seats. It was standing only. The venue wasn’t packed, but it certainly was more comfortable in the VIP area where they didn’t have to stand shoulder to shoulder with their neighbors. Ro continuously shifted his weight from one foot to the other and kept telling Aalto how crazy this all was and that he couldn’t believe that they were here and it was less than half an hour before the concert was set to begin.

Having enough of his fangirling, Aalto excused himself under the guise of getting drinks for them both, which he actually did, but in reality he just wanted to catch a short break.

Aalto returned just as the lights in the room dimmed, and he almost didn’t find his way back if it weren’t for Ro squealing and raving.

“It’s starting!” He roared and absentmindedly chugged half of the whiskey coke Aalto handed him in one go, “It’s really starting!”

The room was fully dark now, and the crowd grew silent. Then, the first sounds of drums, a light on the left of the stage, and Mortefi, the drummer, under it, already giving his all. Another light, this one on the right-hand side, tracking Encore who gave the crowd a double thumbs up before strumming the first riff on her guitar, and it was one Ro would’ve recognized anywhere.

“That’s Between Me and the Devil!” Ro screamed, grabbing onto Aalto’s arm so hard it hurt, “That’s my favorite song!”

“Wow!” Aalto shouted back, “They’re opening with your favorite song? What a surprise!”

Ro was oblivious to his sarcasm, he was too busy biting on his lips, waiting for the vocals to kick in. Calcharo was still nowhere to be seen, though he already played the bassline, but then…

“Hey! I don’t know where I’m goin’...”

The first line. Ro heard his voice and was ready to faint.

“But you know where I’ve been…”

The central lights finally flared up, shining down on pure white hair and a shiny, ultra-violet bass played by nimble fingers belonging to the revered lead singer.

Aalto noticed Ro grow completely silent by his side and looked over to find him stare upwards, following every single one of Calcharo’s motions, utterly awestruck.

Calcharo finished the first verse, and into an instrumental break said, “Hello Jinzhou!”

The crowd roared.

“How are you doing?”

The crowd screamed.

“Hell yeah!” Calcharo called out, “I know you’ve been waiting for us, and we’re going to make this a night you won't forget! You ready?!”

The crowd thunderously sounded out their approval, and Calcharo took it as a sign to pick up his bass again and pour out his heart into the chorus, with Encore delivering powerful backup vocals and Mortefi going wild on his drums.

Ro’s eyes were swimming in tears of helpless euphoria, and his heart beat to the song that was so special to him. He was pulled into the rapture that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced as he watched the musicians perform their passion turned music. It was an eternity but just a blink at the same time, so much in so few minutes, but still the better part of two hours passed, filled with song after song. For some, Calcharo took a backseat and let Encore have the lead, and she shredded her guitar like no tomorrow, delivering vocals that were so powerful that no one could have guessed they’d come from this pink-haired girl with the small stature.

Mortefi had his chance to shine during the numerous drum solos, and Ro realized they were different from all the recordings he knew. Mortefi was improvising, freestyling live, whipping up new rhythms and tunes on the spot. The chemistry between the band members was impeccable, they complemented each other perfectly, an entirely new whole growing from them as parts.

After playing all songs from First Last Time, the album this tour was meant to honor, as well as many of their fan’s favorites, Calcharo signaled a break and leaned onto the stand of his microphone.

“I know it’s the last thing you want to hear,” he began, his voice slightly hoarse from his extortion, “but we’re through with our planned line-up.”

Sad crowd noises ensued.

“But!” Calcharo sparked hope, “There’s still one thing we gotta do.” He cast his eyes over his eager onlookers that hung to his every word. “A little birdie told me that we have a special guest tonight. Someone here has completed another trip ‘round the sun, and that deserves a celebration, don’t you think?”

Despite barely knowing what he was going on about, the crowd cheered. Ro raised his eyebrows and glanced at Aalto who was trying hard to keep his grinning in check.

“We wanted to keep it a secret for a while longer, but we’re already hard at work on our next album, and you’re the first ever people to get an exclusive first listen of our newest song, Bad News.” Calcharo found Aalto in the first row, then looked over, met Ro’s eyes and pointed at him. And everything else faded away when he said,  “Ro, this one’s for you!”

Ro stopped feeling the ground beneath his feet, stopped smelling the sweat of so many bodies moving as one, stopped hearing the crowd going absolutely wild for the last time. He  could only perceive the beat of Mortefi’s drums, the hum of Calcharo’s bass, and the tune Encore strummed on her guitar. And he only saw him.

“You’ve heard the rumors

I know they’re pretty bad

The only thing worse than the rumors

Are the cold heart facts

I ain’t no angel

But maybe you like it like that…”

Maybe Calcharo wasn’t an angel, but he looked like one, surrounded by the colorful flood lights reflecting off his hair, painting a halo around him. And Ro did like it like that. It was one of the best sights of his life.

“Mama told me

I always was a problem child

But Lord knows I never had a problem getting wild

I know some back roads, baby

If you wanna get lost for a while…”

Ro did want to get lost. Or maybe he already was. Lost in the performance, lost in the rush of watching Calcharo and his band go all out for a final time this night. He almost forgot to take notice of the song that was fast-paced and energetic like all Ghost Hounds songs but still felt like a different flavor, a new spin on everything their fans loved most.

“I'm bad news

I bet you heard about that

Yeah, I'm bad news and bad news travels fast

Hey!”

The Chorus shook the ground, or maybe it was the jumps of the crowd moving in sync, encouraged by Calcharo who raised his arms and walked around on stage, hopping and dancing with way more energy than he should have had left over after two hours of exerting himself like that.

Ro stood still through it all, wholly in disbelief that this was supposedly for him, out of all these people. This global premiere was dedicated to him, and it made tears stream down his face while he grinned from ear to ear. This was the best night of his life. Period.

The Ghost Hounds delivered the rest of the song and ended it to thunderous applause.

“Thank you, Jinzhou!” Calcharo called and bowed, “You were fucking amazing! We’ll be back for sure, but for now, take care, get home safe, and always, always keep your fangs sharp!”

Under more cheers and roars, the stage went dark, and when the lights in the room came back on, Calcharo, Mortefi, and Encore were gone.

---

All lyrics and song titles are from the real life band Ghost Hounds. Go listen to them if you like what you read here.

AO3 link to the whole fic

[zeldaelmo]

First off, CONGRATULATIONS! I’m always so happy whenever one of any of my fav Zelink writers gets more followers! 🥹So happy for you! Second off, Hercules AU (Disney movie) with Link and Zelda? 🥺👉👈 My boy Link sometimes gives off a BFH energy (Big Friendly Himbo), and I do like AUs with Zelda being a bit sus in her intentions. Use BOTW, SS, ST, idc, go crazy! You’ve earned it! Congratulations again!

Ah, thank you so much for your sweet words, Anon!

So, I couldn't make this a real crossover for the life of me because I can fit only so much into three sentences, so this one is ✨vibes only✨. Hope you enjoy it anyway, I at least had fun with it!

Link took a firm stand at the entrance of the sanctum, making sure the setting sun illuminated him just right, raised his sword high into the air until it glowed, and cocked his hip a little more for an extra heroic look, then he cleared his throat and shouted into the echoing room, "Calamity Ganon, thy days are counted — at the order of her father, I —Link, the Hero of Hyrule, Lynel-slayer, and conqueror of the four Divine Beasts— have come to combat thou and save the beautiful maiden, Princess Zelda, from her centennial prison!"

The earth shook and the ugly beast roared, but before Link could push his chest out into the next practiced hero pose, the golden light within exploded into one blinding beam that forced him to cower behind his shield and listen to the beautiful voice for which he had done all his deeds, alas…she didn’t seem too impressed: "Link, you doofus, I don't need to be saved for heaven's sake; I just need you to weaken him enough that I can seal him away for good!"

That was…unexpected, but of course, Link did as he was told, slaying the beast had been his plan anyway — ok, maybe he got a hit or two when he flexed his biceps before releasing one of the light arrows — but then Zelda finally stood before him in glowing rays of gold, so he sheepishly rubbed his neck, muttering, “Uh, someone also told me you’re in love with me?” and before he could blink, he was knocked over into the soft grass and Zelda towered over him with flashing eyes and parted lips, breathing, “Now, there might be a bit more substance to that claim.”

[plum-pitt]

Brief bit of context before jumping in, i wrote this lil guy years ago with intents of making a oneshot or brief multi chapter fic of it, and it never got past the planning stage. It doesn’t contain any totk lore for obvious reasons, mainly that it was conceptualized damn near 3 yrs ago. I found it while looking thru my notes earlier today and decided i’d clean it up a bit and post it on my tumblr like a sad little orphan baby with the rest of my deranged ramblings. Its a Breath of the Wild AU that borrows the everything’s great and everyone’s alive concept from Age of Calamity(if only to ruthlessly tear it to shreds), but not much else, so don’t worry about spoilers or confusion with that game’s lore or anything. With all that said, enjoy

So i suppose this is for anyone who thought Age of Calamity went just a *little* bit too well. So, hear me out, a what if scenario where AoC was all just a wish fulfillment fantasy created from Links fragmented subconscious being affected by Ganon’s Malice, in a last ditch attempt to pacify the hero and slowly kill him from the inside? And in order to break free Zelda uses what little remained of her power to manipulate the illusion just enough to give his subconscious a chance at fighting back? Well dear reader, i bring you (the vague conceptal ramblings of) a harrowing tale of this poor boy living the life he always(?) wanted, having to watch it crumble all around him, trying to fight reality every step of the way, and finally coming to accept the harsh truths of his reality and finding hope in its future.

We open in the castle sanctum with Zelda and Link standing in the center of the room. Zelda hands him the sheikah slate with an almost apologetic look on her face, only for Link to discover a peculiar set of photos, the very same photos Link used in the failed future to rediscover his memories of the past. She then tells him that he must head to the Great Plateau and investigate, explaining she has reason to believe the visual data is linked to that location and that her duties with rebuilding do not allow her to do so herself. Link, of course, agrees and sets off immediately, but as he leaves the room, the scene focuses in on Zelda’s face in the final moments, twisted with guilt before fading out.

The scene cuts back to the present with Link back at the plateau, except, something is… off. Structures from all corners of Hyrule are scattered haphazardly across the terrain, mixed in with decimated ruins completely overtaken by nature. The time of day and the weather fluctuate erratically as he wanders, and thick, hazy fog that his legs refuse to carry him through envelops countless areas, paired with an ever present feeling of eyes boring into his back. Eventually he finds the ceremonial grounds that should have been in Hyrule field, now half destroyed and covered with moss and decaying guardian shells, also the site of the first photo on the slate. In a flash he finds himself experiencing the subdued ceremony memory, where he is appointed as Zelda’s knight, except, this isn’t his memory. It isn’t right. Just like that he is thrown back into his body, and the ceremonial grounds that were once in front of him had vanished completely.

After such a rattling experience, despite the job he was given he finds himself looking for the place he entered, only to find it too had vanished, leaving him no choice but to keep looking for the other locations in the photos. Each time he encounters a new memory location, he has another vision, and with each one, the land further warps and distorts itself around him. Vaguely familiar faces begin to fade in and out of the spreading fog like phantoms, almost taunting him as he progresses, while the feeling of eyes watching him only grows more and more intense. These strange visions don’t line up with his memories at all, yet the foreboding and heavy feeling in his gut leaves him feeling more anxious and confused with each passing moment. Eventually, after he sees them all lose, sees himself die in Zelda’s arms, sees her go to the castle to face Ganon alone, he finally arrives at the entrance to the Shrine of Resurrection. There he sees himself, mutilated and deathly still, laying in the chamber, and collapses to his knees, the yawning feeling of dread and emptiness hitting him full force.

He looks up once more and finds himself in an empty, eerie lost woods with an unresponsive deku tree and nary a korok to be found. His eyes catch immediately on the master sword, decrepit and broken like everything else in that place, sat lifelessly in the pedestal he had just pulled it from not a month earlier. The feeling of being watched increased tenfold, making him turn around only to see the cloaked form of… himself. But, no! This couldn’t be him. This person had countless burn scars the same ones as the corpse in the shrine marring nearly every inch of him, long unkempt hair spilling out of his oversized hood, and a wild undead glint in his eyes. Link is given barely a moment to take in the appearance of his stalking shadow before the figure’s weapon is drawn and he’s flinging himself at him.

Imagine an epic, symbolic ahh fight scene where these mfs duke it out, that i’m too lazy to describe. The dynamic i’m imagining is that our POV Link is a manifestation of the Malice’s temptation. The one who wants to stay in the happy dream provided to him by the Malice invading his mind, pacified by the fake memory. The Link he’s fighting (let’s just call him Wild cuz LU brain and also it makes shit easier) is the part of his brain that wants to move forward, accept his true past, and face the future. Each time Wild lands a blow on POV Link, he’s bombarded with more memories that bring him closer to true clarity and acceptance, knocking down his resistance to the truth. Conversely, every time POV Link lands a blow, his resolve to fight the temptations of this fake happy ending weaken. The fight stretches on, and for a moment it looks like POV Link might win, but Wild being a shifty fuck manages to turn the tide and land a killing blow.

In that moment, our POV Link finally feels clarity, enough to accept what he knew in his gut all along. That none of this was real, and that the one he’s been fighting all this time was none other than himself. Still, he can’t help but feel mournful over this happy dream, even as it literally falls apart all around him. In this moment of weakness he looks up at Wild, the grief written across his eyes drawing a look of sympathy from his other half, before the cloaked figure spoke in a gravely timbre

“We can’t run from the truth anymore.”

“…Why not? Can’t we just have this? Don’t we deserve a happy ending? After everything?”

“We do, and we can find it outside this place. But only if you have the will to get us there.”

“….Okay.”

With that exchange, our POV Link finds himself fading away with a small, hopeful smile as he metaphorically rejoins with his other half. Leaving just one, reunited Link left in the clearing, smiling up at the sky as the illusion begins to completely break down and collapse under his wholehearted resolve to escape. From one of the fissures in the sky, he hears Zelda’s echoing voice call out to him, and he takes a moment to thank her for the wake up call and apologize for the wait. Ending it off by saying he’d be there soon, before he too fades away. The golden light where he once stood, gently floating upwards toward the fissure in the sky.

Was this any good? Fuck if i know dawg I wrote this my junior year of highschool and just cleaned it up for shits n giggles. But hey! Let me know your thoughts on this strange blend between outline of a oneshot and actual oneshot. Or if you’d wanna flesh it out more and write it for yourself, then by all means do so! Just uh, credit me ig? Oh and send me a link cuz i wanna read the hell out of it.

[finalfantasyfics]

FFVII: Time Range 1.2

Summary: Time travel AU. An alternate Nibelheim breakout.

Ships: Zack & Cloud, Vincent & Cloud

Originally posted here.

XxX

Waking up in a mako tank was never a pleasant experience, even less so when the memories of the past (present?) poured into him and informed him exactly where he was.

When he was told he'd be sent back in time, he wasn't expecting this. He'd hoped, foolishly, it would be years earlier, in time to save his mother, and Sephiroth, and many others.

He hadn't expected it to be soon after Hojo had given up on him, declaring him a failed specimen and leaving.

Him and Zack.

Breaking out was hard, even though he had been sent back as he would be and not as he was, the extra strength from his dips in the Lifestream still within him. Harder, perhaps, because he kept being distracted by memories.

His own memories, clear and whole. He had double vision type ones where his and Zack's overlapped, he had unexpected ones of missions with Turks or other SOLDIERs he hadn't gotten from Zack's copied memories. Two years of Midgar that Tifa could never give him that he wanted to cling to and relive, wanted to exalt in until he knew every little detail.

But he couldn't, not yet. He had to save Zack.

"Get up, Chaos, you asshole, we've got a Calamity to stop," he shouted into the coffin room, figuring the entity would know what Cloud was, if not have memories of him.

But when the lid flew back and Vincent sat up, he was staring at him. "Cloud?"

His own response caught in his throat as he realized this was Vincent, his Vincent, and who was more perfect to have here with him than the other person who knew first hand not only what it was like to be one of Hojo's experiments, but also the constant fear of having himself subsumed by another, foreign presence within him.

"Vincent, we need to get out of here. I've got Zack, he's recovering but it's sooner than it was before, he's still out of it."

Without needing to say another word, Vincent assisted with taking out the security they needed to worry about while Cloud fetched clothing for him and Zack. His hands hovered over the SOLDIER uniforms for a long moment, before he reluctantly dug around for civilian gear, instead. The uniforms hadn't saved them before and he'd take anonymity over the slight protection of the armored pieces for now.

He did still pack two in the bags he found for their supplies, though. Vincent didn't comment on the show of nostalgia (he knew he had no room to, not with that cape of his making it through so many years).

Zack was awake enough to walk as they set out, bundled in the best winter gear despite his protests about Cloud's well being.

"This is nothing, jungle boy," Cloud joked, though he knew he'd be suffering if he weren't so augmented.

Sometimes, when he caught Vincent watching from the shadows, he could feel the weight of his opinion: that they should find a safe place to stash Zack and go on their own, that a normal SOLDIER like Zack would slow them down. Cloud pretended he didn't understand and Vincent let him.

Three nights out and Zack, pressed against Cloud to share warmth, brushed his lips against his ear and whispered, "There's someone following us."

For a moment, Cloud almost panicked, and then he realized that was impossible--yes, people could find them, but to follow them when Vincent was the one keeping watch?

Except Zack hadn't seen Vincent, yet.

"Vincent," Cloud called in the direction he could feel Chaos and moments later he was there, causing Zack to pull away and go for the Buster Sword, putting himself between them. "It's fine, Zack, he's a friend. He was...he was there, too, in the labs." Technically true, which Reno would claim is the best sort of truth.

That relaxed Zack only a little. "And he's been following us this whole time?"

"He's been with us. You've just been out of it, so we thought it better if he didn't come too close."

Zack shifted so he could see both of them, frowning. "When did you have time to get so buddy-buddy?"

Cloud met Vincent's eyes and they had a silent conversation over a few seconds before turning their attention back to Zack. "A lot of weird shit happens when scientists mess around with alien parasites and demons, Vincent and I already knew each other before I broke out and got him."

"Alien what?"

Distracted by a thorough explanation of what Jenova was and a far less thorough explanation of what Hojo had done to Cloud, Zack didn't pry for more details about Vincent.

They decided to leave Zack in Cosmo Canyon (with Nanaki, where he could hopefully protect him if necessary) and promised to bring Aerith to him--he was former First Class, more recognizable, Cloud reasoned with him, whereas Cloud could pull off being some nobody Third if it came down to it.

When Zack pointed out that Vincent looked like the villain in some off-Loveless play, Vincent had simply said, "On Loveless Ave, surely," and made Zack jump because he hadn't realized he was there, proving their point.

Then they started towards Midgar in truth, working through what must currently be happening and what they needed to change. It wasn't the best case scenario, Jenova and Sephiroth would still be out there, Deepground was too far along not to be an issue, but it was better than what they'd had.

They'd make sure of that.

[ordon-shield]

Whumpril 2023 Masterpost

Link & Sheik

Link Makes Bad Decisions

Four Becomes One

Malice Infection AU

Shades of the Calamity

Runaway AU

Retrieved Communication Logs

F-1: Link? You’re near Lanayru-5 still, right?

L-1: Currently orbiting while the solar cells recharge, why?”

F-1: We’ve picked up a distress call from near its moon, and you’re the closest ship with the capacity to help.

-

Recovered communication logs between Central engineer Zelda Hyrule with her F-1 Class experimental fighter ship, and an L-1 Class scout ship (pilot unknown).

Sorely Needing Rest

Link just needed a horse, not an argument.

A Meeting in the Desert

Link gets left in the Haunted Wasteland to die.

-

His pale skin was already far past red, already peeling under the heat of the sun, and if he stayed out much longer he’d be willing to hand over the Master Sword to Ganondorf himself in exchange for a drink of water.

Blood and Stitches

Carelessly stepping into the next room, he found himself tripping over his own feet as his ears caught the whirl of one of the many traps found throughout the old mineshafts.

-

Link gets injured in the Cave of Flames and Ezlo helps him deal with it.

Minds and Malice

As it grew closer, Link realised what it was — a Hylian. He’d never seen a living one before, although he had a good idea of what they were like based on his resemblance to them. He knew he wasn’t one though— the word the monsters he’d met had used to describe meant something more like ‘harbinger’ or ‘herald’ from what he could understand.

Painless Potion

“Link, please just listen to me. I went to talk to that couple who runs the potion shop at the bazaar. They said you’re coming in near-daily for heart potions. They assumed you were just picking them up for the Academy, but I checked our stores and they’re the same as they’ve always been. Why do you need those potions Link?”

Under His Skin

Link is fine. The blood staining the front of his tunic might look bad, but the potion he took was able to heal the wound over once he was able to get to it, leaving only a thick scar across his chest. He was still cursing himself internally for making the mistake of forgetting to keep track of his injuries while using the painkilling potion.

Hope in Your Heart

Steeling herself, she stepped forward, calling upon her inherited magic, which took form in her hand as a bright orb of light.

“Vaati. Why have you come here?”

They turned to face her directly and smiled, the sides of their mouth stretching too far as they did so.

“Don’t worry Princess, I have no interest in you anymore.”

Evening Ambush

Link wasn’t panicking, not at all. He was just frozen in fear under the Yiga assassin who had found him while he was sleeping, and had pinned him down with their knee on his chest, waking him up with the feeling of something heavy constricting his breath, with the sharp blade of their sickle to his throat.

Snowpeak Snowboarding

Link is bad at snowboarding.

Dreams of Past Lives

The place he’s in now is… odd. He stands on a thin layer of water in a realm that seems to be nothing more than a bright summers day, light shining down through the sparse white clouds without a sun in sight.

The Malice of a Stranger

As they got closer he realised they were moving oddly, injured perhaps? It was when they were nearing the end of the bridge, close enough for him to seen more clearly, that he saw familiar blond hair falling out from under their hood.

Below the Clouds

“Master Link, I would advise returning to the sky before your illness becomes any worse.”

Death in the Castle

She let out a sigh of relief when they reached the castle infirmary. She knew it wouldn’t be able to help much, but it made her feel better to know that Link was somewhere safe.

One Hundred Years Later

“I… I don’t think this is something you can help with. Ever since I woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection things have just been… different for me.”

Shades of Family

Oh. He remembered her now, fragments of memory forcing their way into the front of his mind. He remembers playing with her as a child, how she begged him not to leave after he drew the sword, how he’d brought her gifts from the different regions he travelled to alongside the princess.

Almost Giving Up

“What if I… what if I feel like I don’t want to exist anymore Fi?”

Unexpected Imprisonment

Link knew it was his fault. It had to be. Sheik could have escaped capture if only Link hadn’t been there, slowing him down.

Alone With A Shadow

He might not know how long it had been, his cell without any windows to see the passing of time through, but the dark stone of the walls that surrounded him gave him a clue — he was trapped in Ganondorf’s castle, that floating fortress that had terrified him so much when he first stepped back out of the Temple of Time with the Master Sword on his back.

No Longer Alone

He could feel his mind breaking apart bit by bit as time went on. He found himself forgetting names, forgetting faces. He screamed sometimes, as futile as it was, as if someone could come and save him.

Scars

Link has a body covered in scars.

Things Lost in the Desert

The ruins around him were clearly much older than the ruins of the Calamity, and it seemed as if a great city had once stood against the highlands but was destroyed or simply abandoned at some point in the distant past.

when the fires of battle still smoulder

“So,” said Link, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head where his hair poured out from under his helm, “do you need something to change into?”

Father and Son?

“Link, what have you done?!”

Thoughts of a Hero

Sometimes he wished he could just run away from it all… except he could, he realised with a start. He could just leave. Could they stop him?

A Hero in the Wild

He’d been wandering Hyrule for a few months now, mostly avoiding more populated areas. As far as the villages he passed through occasionally were concerned, he was just a travelling hunter, who had some talent with a blade.

A Captured Hero

He scowled up at the men holding him captive, his arms tied behind his back and held there by another one of the small group. He recognised their armour if not their faces — Hylian soldiers.

Sleeping in Malice

Each time he slept, it would come back, shouting at him and cursing at the other presence in his mind. He knew that one’s name now at least — Ganon, the one the monsters knew only as the King.

Hero’s Downfall

Link thought his plan had been flawed from the start. If Zelda hadn’t shown up after his capture, now months in the past, she never would. Ganondorf seemed to have realised the same thing, choosing to force Link into working for him rather than holding out for Zelda to reveal herself in a rescue attempt.

Returning the Favour

She’d done the same for him once, over a hundred years ago, so he supposed it was just returning the favour.

[ghirahimbo]

What do you think of the title: "Passing Glances"?

Last one! I like it a lot, actually :D

This one's gonna be... revalink, Zelda+Link+Champions Succeed AU, gay runaway with me trope :D Everyone lives, Zelda's powers unlock just in time, Calamity Ganon is defeated. There's all the hubbub of success—feasts, celebrations, processions—and though Revali drinks it all in, he keeps a close eye on Link through it all, allegedly out of spite. Link doesn't seem to be enjoying any of it—looks more shell-shocked than anything—and Revali becomes gradually convinced that Link is trying to catch his eye, even if he only has the same blank stare he's ever had.

A couple weeks later, the news is made public: the princess and the hero are engaged. Zelda seems happy enough, even if Link’s expression when they're together is the same blank face he always wears—but without quite understanding why himself, Revali reacts resentfully. Refuses to meet Link’s eye now each time Link tries.

He can't keep from watching when Link isn't looking, though, and finds Link growing more wooden by the day. The night before the wedding, Revali’s walking through the Champions' quarters (they've all been invited, of course), and overhears Zelda crying in Mipha's room. She's certain that Link doesn't want this and feels like she's trapping Link, but her father won't be persuaded otherwise, and Link himself will never go against the king. Mipha, sad herself, is comforting Zelda... but Revali goes stalking off towards Link's room.

Sure enough, when Revali bursts through his door, Link is curled up in the corner all alone, panicking. Revali confronts him—accuses him of going through with a marriage he doesnt want, and asks why he's been trying to catch Revali’s eye. Caught with nothing to lose, Link reluctantly speaks. He doesn't have a problem with Zelda—he likes her just fine now, actually—but he felt like a trap was closing shut. From then on, he'll always be on display, always beneath the public's eye. Revali asks why he's still going to follow some old man's whims, reminds him that he's already (helped) save Hyrule, asks if Link doesn't deserve something after all that... but Link is resolute. Then Revali asks again why Link has been trying to catch his eye, and when Link looks him in the eye again... Revali understands. Realizes he reciprocates.

So the accusations become an invitation. Revali opens the window, offers to carry him away. Rito Village is out of the way, or Lurelin. They could even leave Hyrule entirely. Link protests that neither of them will be able to return once they're found out. Revali doesn't care to ever come back... does Link? Link, weakly: "you don't even like me." Revali, leaning in closer, nuzzling his beak along Link’s neck: "You're absolutely right. In fact, give me a chance to show you just how much I don't like you." Link is, in the end, convinced. He gets on Revali's back, Revali summons his Gale, and they fly off into the night.

[pastelsandpining]

zelink in october | week three | haunted setting | 1.7k words

week one | week two | week four

masterlist | ao3 | prompt list

this is like a week late but i’ve accepted that i simply will be dropping the October fics not in October

this is my little poe!link au! warnings for death mention and guilt complexes

huge shout out to my beta ladyhoneydee <3

<><><><><><>

It was ironic: when the temperature of the air around her dropped a good twenty or so degrees, all Zelda felt was warmth blooming across her chest.

It was midnight this time, though there was very little evidence to that when the new moon blended so well with the night sky. She could only guess what time it really was, but she’d been reading by candlelight since dusk, and her candle had but a mere few inches left of its life.

It was just her luck that with the drop in temperature came a new source of light.

Zelda lowered her book, a smile curling the corners of her lips. Admittedly, her room was far too big for the blue flame to light much more than where the lantern hovered, but it was enough to make shadows dance on the stone walls in a soft, sky hue. It was enough to make a presence known to her—one that she knew all too well.

Hyrule Castle was old, and its namesake even older. Things that no one could really explain crawled across the surface of the land and had been doing so for eons. The bony creatures hiding in every crevice, both natural and man-made, were old as time. It was no wonder that a place with so many ruins and so much tragedy in its extensive history would be home to things beyond the realm of the living. The princess, just as she had her own skeletons, had her own ghostly visitors as well.

“Hide not, my dear knight,” Zelda called out, setting her book aside. “You are always welcome here.”

From the shadows he crept.

His dull blue eyes always seemed to light up when he saw her, and his hair was as wild and tousled as ever–colored a pale shade of blond that would make plenty of maidens jealous. He never aged, never looked a day older than the boy on the brink of adulthood that he’d been when…

She didn’t like to think about it.

“Princess,” he answered with a low bow. “You waited up for me.” It was like he still couldn’t believe she stayed up to see him.

“Of course,” she replied with a tilt of her head. “I always do.”

A smile, shy and bashful, answered her in return. She wanted nothing more than to cross the room and take his face into her hands, trace the shape of that smile with the pad of her thumb—but time had proven again and again that she could not.

Zelda gestured to the seat beside hers; before he complied, he moved the blanket from the back of her chair to around her shoulders, just as he always did. He brought a chill with him, but he never went a night without ensuring her comfort.

“Ever a gentleman,” she sighed, curling up beneath the blanket.

“I live to serve my princess.”

Her heart ached at such a sentiment. He did not live at all.

“I missed you.” Zelda turned to face him and leaned her head against the seat. She pretended the warm cushion on her cheek was Link’s hand. That was the only thing that gave her the courage to ask, “Where do you go when you’re not here?”

Link’s expression softened into something sweet. Something sad.

“I’m still looking for the sword.”

Before their official introductions, Zelda had caught glimpses of him. She would see brief flickers of his silhouette standing amongst the ranks of soldiers, or turning a corner in the hall, or walking the courtyard at night. She always thought it was just her tired eyes playing tricks. Never did he appear without that lantern, either.

He was a hero of old; a Link to the Zelda just prior to her, and the Great Calamity had killed him. He could either find where the ancient sheikah had placed his body, or he could find the sacred blade tethered to his fate and put both to rest. Link had long since told her which he intended to do; she’d promised him back then, before she’d so helplessly tangled herself in this net, that she would help him.

And Zelda had done a very awful, very selfish thing.

“I take it you’ve had no luck?” she said, and it took plenty to keep her eyes fixated on him instead of on the grand double doors of her wardrobe. She knew what was stashed away, just behind the tangle of skirts and sleeves.

Link shook his head.

“No.” A gentle smile, harboring all the warmth of the living, crossed his lips. “But I’m in no rush.”

His hand rested on the armrest. She could see the rich red through his ever slightly transparent skin. She knew should she reach out and touch him, she would freeze. Her fingers would slip right through.

She felt immensely guilty. Zelda did not deserve that warm smile. She’d been selfish and cruel, and she knew what she had to do to fix it, but that did not make it any easier. Truth be told, she was irrevocably in love with him, silly as it might’ve been. He was a ghost, an uneasy soul searching for rest, and because she did not want to lose him, she was keeping that peace from him.

“Good” she said, nuzzling further into her chair. His smile spread like butter. “I’ve no idea what I’ll do with myself when you’ve gone.”

“Say the word and I will stay.”

That was the worst part of it all, she thought. He would answer anything she asked of him without question, but how horrible of a thing that would be to request. Was this not easier, she asked herself–if only to justify her own actions–so that he did not have to choose?

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You could ask anything of me.”

Zelda huffed out a weak laugh and shrugged her shoulders, raising her eyes to meet his. He looked so serene, so sincere in the light of her lantern. Even in death, he was devoted to her. But she was not where his devotion truly lied, and such feelings manifested in a sad smile.

“You know I am not your Zelda,” she told him, dropping her gaze to her hands. They fidgeted in her lap, picking at the seam on the blanket. It would come undone if she did not stop, but that was alright. The castle was rich in blankets. The only thing that made this one special was that Link’s hands had cradled it–but he could touch another, too.

One of his hands entered her field of view–one, because if he let go of his lantern, he would be far too transparent to see. Her skin felt like ice where his fingers gripped hers, but she would withstand years’ worth of frostbite if it meant that she could feel him like this.

“No,” he agreed. There was a pressure, like he was squeezing her hands with all of the strength he could muster. “You know I don’t want you to be.”

“You loved her. You must want to see her again.”

His hand did not stay still. She felt that ice touch her cheek, spread over her ear and down to her neck where it settled. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and she was trembling, but she begged to the gods above that he wouldn’t pull back.

“One day I will, but right now, I see you. I see you, and I love all that I see,” he whispered, though none were awake to hear them at such an hour no matter how loudly they spoke.

Zelda wanted to kiss him. He was so close that, had he been able to breathe, she would’ve felt his exhale on her lips. This was not the first time they’d come so close to intimacy, but it was the first time that she was the one to halt the advance with a quiet interruption.

“Link, I…”

“...can’t kiss a poe?” he asked, voice quiet and wry as he echoed the same thing he said each time their intimacy ended on his account. A half smile tugged at Zelda’s lips.

“Not without frostbite.”

Link’s thumb and all of the ice coating it brushed over the space just below her ear before he withdrew entirely. The burn of his touch still lingered; it was all she could do to tug the blanket tighter around herself. Perhaps he loved her now, but what would he think when he found the sword? What would he say of her then?

Was it so wrong of her to not want to lose him?

“It’s late,” he told her. It was the same thing he always said when he was thinking of leaving. Their visits were never long; they couldn’t be. A poe could only manifest as solidly as he was for so long. “You should really be getting some sleep.”

“Tell me a story first,” she pleaded, reaching for his hand. The moment her arm left the safety of the blanket, she was trembling again. “Please?”

His smile grew and his sigh was playful more than anything.

“You’ve heard them all.”

“Tell me again.”

Link lifted her hand, her hand that was pale and tinting blue, and when he pressed his chilly lips against her knuckles, she shuddered.

“As my princess wishes.”

He told her of the Hero of Winds, arguably one of the happier tales in all the tragedy that followed the title of hero, and she wished she could say that his smooth voice soothed her worries. Yet the more he spoke, the more time went on. Her candle burned out; the stars outside her window hid themselves away behind clouds; the amount of time he could stay a visible figure was waning. She always hated to see the way he would flicker in and out, the way his voice would grow quieter because of the energy he was using to be with her.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise,” he told her, but she couldn’t feel the touch of his lips to her head. She couldn’t even feel the ice of his presence. He was so sweet to her, so kind even in death.

The weight of the guilt on her chest was so much that she gripped her blanket and choked out,

“Wait, I have the sword. Gods, you’ll hate me; I have the sword.”

She didn’t want him to leave. He needed to know; he needed to hear what she had done, but by then, Link had already gone. His lantern was no longer anywhere to be found.

[voxofthevoid]

Ask and ye shall receive @laughing-sock

I'm putting this under a cut because this is, more or less, the full story outline for this AU. Usually, details change when I write, but the chances of me getting to this are literally 1 in 50 (or is it 52 now?). Also, fair warning these are coming straight out of my for-my-eyes-only outline with just some cleanup for grammar and coherence.

Background/characterization:

Yuuji’s backstory a mix of the canon myth of Sukuna and Angra Mainyu from Fate: survivor of a human kodoku ritual, used by Kenjaku (who remains mum of the year) as a receptacle for evil, eventual corruption/insanity, more curse than human by the time he died (hence the physical mutations), exorcism failed so they sealed his fingers. Less a willful calamity like Sukuna than a harbinger of misfortune and destruction through circumstances. He retains his sense of self despite all that and pursues his goals (even if it's something as simple as a life without strings) single-mindedly once incarnated.

Sukuna’s a born/clanless sorcerer, same CT as canon, but it’s in its nascency. Like the potential of the 10 Shadows versus how Megumi has used it so far. Swallows the first finger when he and Megumi encounter a bunch of grade ones while retrieving it? Doesn’t die the way Yuuji did later, but he still makes a binding vow in exchange for access to Yuuji’s CE. Conditions: (a) Yuuji gets his body for half an hour but won’t do anything that would cause lasting damage to Sukuna—if he breaks something, he’ll heal it; (b) Sukuna won’t remember what Yuuji does during that time.

Basement training still happens because the first time Sukuna goes all out with Yuuji’s CE, he wrecks his body and also everything in the vicinity. Gojou nabs him to teach him control and hopefully self-restraint before turning him loose on the rest of the students.

Plot points:

Basement training era: Gojou waking to “Sukuna” sneaking into his room the night after the encounter with Jogo, revealed to not be Sukuna. Yuuji pretty genial and curious. Personal space whomst—climbs into Gojou’s bed probably, and Gojou lets him because why the fuck not, he’s insane. Infinity active, and Yuuji’s fascinated by that too. Question of how Yuuji’s taken Sukuna over when what made Sukuna the ideal vessel is that he can suppress him; Yuuji corrects that what makes Sukuna the ideal vessel is that they share blood. Mother’s been busy. Structure the dialogue so Gojou’s confused (for now) but readers can put two and two together. Yuuji explains the binding vow, points out Sukuna’s self-interest: Is this really the guy you want being a…special-grade sorcerer? Nothing Gojou doesn’t know, nothing he isn’t already concerned about. Yuuji bowing out with some cryptic line about power corrupting? Gojou’s left with an unconscious teenager passed out on him. Briefly considers just killing him. Doesn’t.

More conversations, Yuuji engaging in something that’s not…anything as subtle as seduction. His interest is blatantly obvious and not particularly graceful. Gojou’s amused. Kinda into it. Their personalities and chemistry are still there, and the curiosity about what Yuuji was kind of adds to it. Gojou isn’t, however, stupid enough to climb into bed with the King of Curses. Sexual tension galore. Bring up why Yuuji seems to be using his allotted half-hour to either woo or stalk Gojou, and the answer is that Yuuji wanted that time to just see what it’s like to live again. This continues even after the Goodwill Event—Gojou knows Yuuji better than he knows Sukuna by this point.

Work up to the sex scene. Gojou can make bad decisions, as a treat. Gojou keeps Infinity up the whole time because, again, he's not actually an idiot. It doesn’t, however, protect him from Yuuji biting off his (Sukuna’s) tongue and forcing it down Gojou’s throat while they’re kissing in the middle of fucking. Explain later that Yuuji grew it back immediately to avoid breaking the “lasting damage” clause. Gojou coming at the feeling of Yuuji’s CE aggressively burrowing into him; on top of him, Sukuna’s passed out—distinctly free of Yuuji’s CE. Gojou warps Sukuna to his dorm room and dumps him in bed and then checks his own face in a mirror; one of the eye slits opens to wink at him.

Confrontation in Gojou's mind/soul: Yuuji doesn’t want to stay in Sukuna because that boy’s going to become a curse worse than Yuuji ever was, regardless of whether he’s Yuuji host, and he’d hate to see what their mother has planned for them. He’d hate to see their mother at all actually, but that might be inevitable. Gojou can kill him here, but Yuuji will just regenerate. Even if they feed the remaining fingers to Sukuna, Yuuji can choose his host. Gojou pissed about being outmaneuvered, a little charmed at how Yuuji went about it, a lot charmed at how Yuuji’s still looking at him like he’d like to eat Gojou alive, and frankly confused by Yuuji’s promise that he doesn’t want to take Gojou over; he just wants to live and not be used. And the strongest sorcerer in the world doesn’t need his power, does he?

There's going to a metric ton of sex between this and the next bit.

Final scene: Yuuji taking over when Gojou freezes at the sight of Getou-Kenjaku to get the fuck away from the Prison Realm. Kenjaku, who didn’t know about the host switching, is not happy. Yuuji is also not happy about seeing his parent again. Gojou isn't happy at the realization Yuuji can essentially possess him. Three-way conversation from hell.

do any of your 50 (?) wips have....... king of curses gojo and vessel yuuji..... by chance......or the reverse...... also congratulations on having so many wips and having this much fun at writing !! it's really cool

*puts on my clown wig*

Make that 61!

Number 46 in that list is your guy. Kind of! Role swap of Sukuna and Yuuji, with King of Curses!Yuuji and vessel!Sukuna but with Gojou/Yuuji as the pairing (trust me, it'll work).

A good chunk of my outline for this is reworking canon so that King of Curses!Yuuji makes sense (Kenjaku my beloved). The rest is goyuu getting their freak on. That's all I can say without going into the plot twists, though if you want a spoiler-heavy rundown of the whole story, just let me know.

And thank you!! I haven't been this inspired in quite a while, and it's nice to lose my entire mind recreationally. You're sweet 💖

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Walburga Comes for Dinner (one shot)

Regulus Black AU

Summary:  Walburga comes for dinner and sees her children for the first time in a very long time. (goes with the Dinner with the Dursleys and Tuesday night dinner one shot...see below for links)

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: T

Dinner with the Dursleys 

Tuesday Night Dinners 

_______

This will be interesting…

That was the thought that went through your mind when Regulus stepped through the front door after a long day at work. Joanna immediately waddled over to her father, hopping up and down screaming “daddy” until he was able to get his coat off and pay attention to the child.

“Good, Joanna. Get him buttered up.”

You thought as Regulus came into the kitchen snuggling his face against Joanna’s head.

“You look pretty, darling.’’

Regulus commented, looking you over. He was ready for nothing more than a quiet Thursday night. By quiet this meant having dinner, giving Joanna a bath, getting the child in bed without her needing twenty hugs while making Regulus look for a random spider under her bed that she was convinced would eat her toes, and alone time with you. People at the Ministry were driving him batty and Regulus didn’t have the patience for any calamities that night.

“I’m pretty too.”

Joanna said in an extra sassy tone that earned a smile from Regulus.

“Of course you are love. You’re the prettiest little girl ever. Why don’t you go play with your dollhouse?”

Joanna, appeased with Regulus’ comment, didn't fuss when he put her down. She toddled off. Regulus waited until Joanna was quietly amused before wrapping his arms around you.

“Now, as I was saying, you look beyond pretty...absolutely ravishing is more like it.”

You relaxed in Regulus’ arms enjoying the moment of quiet uninterrupted alone time. As much as you didn’t want to, you knew that you had to break the news to him.

“Guess who is coming to dinner?”

“Merlin, I don’t feel like entertaining.”

Regulus groaned. You had expected this reaction. Things were only about to get more interesting.

“It’s your mother.”

Regulus’ mouth dropped. He hadn’t seen his mother in ages. She wasn’t there when Joanna was born or through your pregnancy. Walburga had sworn that she would never speak to Regulus as long as he was married to “that mudblood girl.” Regulus was just fine with his mother’s promise. He had no use for the woman if she was going to insult his wife. All Regulus needed to be happy was Joanna and yourself. Walburga no longer fit into the equation of his life. When Regulus stopped believing in the “Black family way” he realized how messed up everything truly was.

“Why?”

Regulus said, crossing his arms over his chest. You put down the bowl that you were holding. To say that you were looking forward to meeting Walburga was a far stretch. You would much rather it be your mother and father coming for dinner.

“She wants to see you. I suppose she’s feeling guilty about not seeing Joanna yet. Maybe she even feels a bit guilty because she is getting old and has no son to look after her now that your father is dead.”

Regulus mumbled something under his breath before going off to search for the bottle of fire whiskey. He needed some liquid motivation if his mother was going to be stepping foot inside of his home.

“She can go to a home for the elderly. I am not looking after her. I was the good son long enough.”

Regulus commented before smiling coldly.

“Watch this.”

He said before picking up the muggle telephone and calling Sirius. You had picked up your teacup and were keeping an eye on your husband. He was up to something and you had a sneaking suspicion on what he was going to do

“Hey, it's me. Want to come over for dinner?I know you never wait for an invitation. See you at six.”

Regulus hung up the phone before grinning at you.

“He can’t wait to see his mother.”

You shook your head. Now things were about to be a shit show.

An hour later there was a knock at the door. Regulus stood up knowing who that was. Walburga fucking Black was back to ruin his life and cause problems.

“I’ll get it, love.”

He commented before going to the door. Walburga stood on the other side with her usual snobby expression. She forced a smile as she looked at her youngest son. Regulus was handsome and well put together as always.

“Regulus.”

“Mother.”

Regulus kept his tone cold and icy. Walburga expected Regulus’ off-putting and unfriendly attitude. She assumed that he was still angry over her calling you mudblood. In Walburga’s mind, she was correct. Her “darling boy” married a less than desirable woman and this seemed to wedge between the two.

“Come in.”

Regulus said, keeping his eyes locked Walburga’s unfriendly face. He reached out and stopped her before she was able to get too far inside.

“I’m warning you now. If you are the least bit rude to my family, I will not hesitate to throw you out.”

Walburga glared at him. She wanted nothing more than to throw a few nasty mudblood comments out but decided if she didn’t want to die alone it would be in her best interest to be decent.

“I understand.”

Walburga looked around the homey living room. The house was very nice. Clearly, Regulus was doing well for his family.

“Daddy, come play with me.”

Walburga’s head snapped up the moment she heard the little voice that she had been wanting to hear for some time. She would never admit it but she had wanted to see her granddaughter from the time that the birth announcement came in the mail. Walburga had sent Joanna an “add-a-pearl” necklace as a way to say “welcome to the world” and that was that.

Regulus never took the time to send Walburga a photo or anything. Now before her stood the most lovely child that she had ever seen (with the exception of Regulus, of course).

Walburga watched as Regulus bent down to pick the little girl up. Joanna’s raven curls wildly fell down her back as she pressed her face into her father’s cheek. It wasn’t until Joanna pulled away from cuddling Regulus did she notice the new face in the room. She looked at Walburga carefully. Clearly, the little girl was well versed in “not talking to strangers.”

“Joanna, this is your grandma.”

Walbruga forced a small smile as Joanna put her head on Regulus’ shoulder.

She’s shy...just like he used to be.

Watching Regulus with Joanna, made Walburga’s heartache. Had she really lost so much time with her own son? While Walburga had wanted no part of being a mother originally, after losing Sirius then Regulus walking away for a muggle-born she realized how much that she actually loved her children.

“You can sit down, mother. I’m going to check on Y/n.”

Walburga immediately did as her son said as Regulus sat Joanna down.

“Keep grandma company.”

Regulus said softly. Part of him was screaming about leaving his darling baby alone with the hateful old woman but he knew Joanna would cause Walburga more annoyance. That in itself would be amusing enough. Besides, from his place in the kitchen door, Regulus could see the two perfectly.

You had just pulled the ham out of the oven when Regulus stepped into the room.

“Everything okay?”

You questioned. Regulus shrugged.

“She just walked in the door and I already feel like the love has been sucked out of me.”

You put the oven mitts down and wrapped your arms around Regulus’ shoulders. Kissing him softly, you chose to ignore Walburga who was watching the whole thing.

“I’ll suck something else out of you later.”

You said in a low suggestive tone. Regulus slightly blushed to know exactly what you meant and he would argue.

“That sounds tempting. We can throw her out, put the baby in bed, and have all evening alone.”

Before you could respond the back door opened and closed. Sirius stepped into the kitchen and smirked looking at Regulus and yourself.

“It's a wonder I only have one niece. The way you two snog there should be three or four kids running around here.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“One is enough. What about your love life?”

Sirius’ amused expression faded.

“Moony can’t get pregnant.”

Regulus put a hand over his face while you quietly laughed.

“How are we related?”

Regulus questioned as Sirius moved to go into the living room to see what his precious little niece was up to. He froze the moment that he saw the biggest demon from hell parked on his little brother’s couch talking to Joanna.

“Oh hell no.”

Sirius snapped before turning to make a line for the door but was stopped when Regulus brought him to the ground.

“If I’m stuck with her then you should be too.”

Sirius fought the urge to scream.

“You’re just evil!”

“Is everything alright in here?”

Both Sirius and Regulus got off of the kitchen floor as Walburga came in. Her cold grey eyes locked on her eldest son. The disappointment returned in full force as she looked between both Sirius and Regulus. While Regulus was dressed in a nice suit, Sirius looked like he had just gotten out of bed in tight clothing that he had worn for a few days.

“Sirius.”

“Walburga.”

Sirius decided not to call her “mum” to antagonize her. Regulus fought the urge to put a hand over his face as he remembered you standing beside him.

“Mum, this is my Y/n.”

Walburga’s vulture-like gaze turned to you.

So this is the girl that stole my baby from me.

Walburga thought before muttering a quiet and unfriendly hello. You only nodded. It was probably best that you kept your mouth shut. You were afraid that you would start going off on the woman for the way that she did both of her sons.

“Uncle Siri!”

Sirius had to tear himself away from watching you plot evilly as Joanna came running to him holding her hands out. He quickly reached down and scooped Joanna up, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Jojo, where have you been all of my life?”

“In the living room. Did you bring me my pony?”

Sirius laughed as Regulus immediately started shaking his head.

“Do you want your daddy to kill me?”

“No, daddy wouldn't notice it if you stuck it in the back garden and tied it to a bush.”

Joanna commented, adding a sneaky little blink. Sirius laughed again.

“First things first, sugar, your daddy is standing right over there and can hear. Let's get you ready to eat.”

Dinner started off smoothly. You tried to speak quietly to Walburga but were only getting one or two-word responses. If you needed any more proof that your mother-in-law didn’t like you...this was it. You could feel Regulus tense beside you.

“It's okay, love.”

You whispered quietly as Sirius leaned back in his chair. He gave you an eyebrow wiggle before speaking.

“So, mum, what got you out of the stone-cold manor? Did you get that steak out of your heart finally? You have surely missed a lot of Joanna’s life...although she doesn't look very concerned.”

Joanna was happily ignoring everyone and nibbling on her little plate of noodles. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned with anything that was going on around her.

“That’s very amusing, Sirius. I thought that the two of you should know that I am remarrying.”

Both Regulus and Sirius dropped their forks as your eyes rolled up, clearly shocked.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Regulus questioned. Sirius started laughing so hard that he had to put his head down.

“Is the guy desperate or already on the verge of death? Did you meet him on evil witch weekly’s personal page?”

Walburga frowned. This was clearly not the reaction that she expected. She had planned on Regulus being a little more supportive than her elder son.

“You’re not funny, Sirius. I decided to meet someone who enjoys my company?”

Sirius snorted.

“Does he enjoy you smacking him around or just ignoring him like you did dad?”

Walburga put her fork down.

“Regulus, do you have anything to say?”

Regulus chuckled. This whole situation was completely ludicrous.

“I thought that you only loved yourself.”

Walburga stood up and threw her napkin down on the table.

“I thought that I would get some support from my son. I didn’t come here to be made a fool.”

Walburga turned and stormed from the house without another word. Joanna was the next to speak.

“Granny needs a nap.”

Sirius nodded and stood up to take his plate to the sink.

“Sure does, Jojo, a nice nap in a big wooden box...six feet under. Who wants cake?”

_________

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