Tuesday: AUs

[caz251.livejournal.com]

Hello, everyone. I’m caz251 and today's theme is AUs. Prompts today are all about alternate universes, have fun :)

Just a few rules:
No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
Use the character's full names and fandom's full name for ease adding to the Lonely Prompts spreadsheet.
If your prompt or fill contains anything that can be a trigger for the reader, please add a warning for that to give the reader the chance to decide if they want to read or not.
No spoilers in prompts for a month after airing. Use the spoiler cut option found here.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space, or use the above mentioned spoiler cut.

Prompts should be formatted as follows: [Use the character's full names and fandom's full name]
Fandom, Character +/ Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...
Any, Any, College AU
Chuck, Chuck (+ or /) Bryce, Met through online rpg
Harry Potter/Sherlock, Harry (+ or /) Mycroft, Marriage contract.


We are now using AO3 to bookmark filled prompts. If you fill a prompt and post it to AO3 please add it to the Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2015 collection. See further notes on this new option here.

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Check out the just created Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet. For more recent prompts to write, you can also use LJ’s advanced search options to limit keyword results to only comments in this community.

While the Lonely Prompts Spreadsheet and LJ's advanced search options are available, bookmarking the links of prompts you like might work better for searching for in the future.


tag= AUs

Comments

[dramatorama.livejournal.com]

Here's a bit:

Reeve and the board are locked to a standstill. The clock above his head is running on Junon summer time; despite the late hour, the sun still floats in a hazy red mess above the horizon. It's a prettier sight than the jowly old men he's butting his head against, so Reeve lets his mouth keep moving while his eyes watch the slow drop from yellow to orange to molten, lazy red; the colours are tinted dark and ominous through the smoked-glass windows.

His eyes still burn in bright light; he remembers looking out through the windows on the fortieth floor of the Shinra tower as the sky grew brighter and stranger and full of death, as one day became three, became five. As the people fled while the striplights stayed on from night to day to unchanging blinding night again, he didn't leave his office but turned his chair to face the window and stared, fixated, while his ears and eyes and mind were far, far to the north.

He remembers, at the end, being hurtled into space, being brought collapsed to safety, and seeing light and salvation from above, while in Midgar his body moved down stairs and through tunnels and arrived weeping, lost, in Kalm.

Reeve has not found himself. Reeve has been fighting for his city – his city! - since before Meteorfall, since before AVALANCHE, and he will not give up its future.

Most things are here (http://archiveofourown.org/users/dramatorama/works).

[creepy_shetan]

Whoo, Reeve~!

...Aww, Reeve... ;_;

Ahhhh, you're killing me. Slowly but surely.

[dramatorama.livejournal.com]

So like, I'm actually writing this (kinda late). Only 5k words in, but fuck it. Here's a bit, warts 'n' all. It's gonna be a 2-part thing, the first covering to AC-ish and the second picking up DoC-ish. #1 Turk!Vincent PoV (mostly), #2 Yuffie PoV. The canon divergence is basically at the ending of ff7:

Eighteen months ago Yuffie Kisaragi pulled the two biggest heists of her career - within twenty minutes of each other. What she got for her pains? A life on the run from the almighty wrath of the Shinra Corporation - and a Turk, of sorts, snapping at her heels.




Vincent's bare hand ran over his scalp, skimming over the grease and grit of three sleepless weeks running around South Edge after Kisaragi. His hair needed cutting. The first thing he'd done after Meteor - before sidling into the dimly-lit clothes market at the edge of Underseven and slipping the bald, ancient ragman fifty gil for a suit, shiny with age, that rode up at the wrists and ankles - was to take a knife to the matted length of it, twisted into a rope at the nape of his neck that he'd sawed through with gritted teeth. He hadn't noticed the weight until it lifted, until he raised his head to the spotted mirror in an anonymous inn bathroom to see a man thirty years dead, with both hands clutching the basin and a wide, feral grin.

His arms were longer now, that was the main difference. Vincent had been a gawky youth with the manners of a startled bird, who'd taken up murder as a consequence of his own lack of direction. Valentine - just Valentine - was a different proposition, a hawk in the night. He'd screamed when Hojo broke his legs, and then later, wide awake as the bolts and pegs turned and stretched, he'd felt the demon moving in his chest. They'd come to an agreeable accord, he and Chaos; the hunt for Hojo had sated the demon's thirst for blood, and turned its mind to vengeance.

Kisaragi had taken a shower before she left. There was condensation running merrily down the window. He saw the echoes of wide eyes, parted lips in the fog, where she'd traced her reflection with her fingertips. She'd been prone to that, he remembered; riding next to her in a crowded, steamy buggy, she'd leaned her forehead against the window. "Good for motion sickness," she'd said, pressing her palms to the glass and tracing out stick figures with tiny swords.

He turned away to examine the rumpled bed again. Empty.

Chaos' low muttering in his head became a roar. Too late, he heard a latch swinging shut. The knapsack that had been resting by the window was gone, a breath of cool air in its wake. She'd been waiting, then, for him to slip. The grin surfaced. This was the closest he'd been in days, and the hunt was on.

He put on his gloves before opening the window and sliding out onto the fire escape. Chaos could smell her, this close, this soon. North, it seemed to say, north. Towards old Midgar. He started running. Reno was waiting with the hoverbikes two streets over.


-------

[dramatorama.livejournal.com]

"Yo, Valentine. Got a lead on your girl."

"You have?"

"Yeah. Six o'clock, at the Hand and Flowers."

The Hand and Flowers was the kind of place that Vincent, in his younger days, would have gone out of his way to avoid. Old-fashioned without being picturesque, rustic without the charm. A relic of one of the nameless villages buried under the Plate years before. A few hanging baskets survived, improbably, clinging to the stray sunlight from the hole in the sky. Reno was alone in the saloon bar upstairs, nursing a half-pint of something murky amid a nightmarish backdrop of floral wallpaper and dining-room furniture. He nodded to the open window when Vincent walked in. "Across the road."

Vincent looked out. The view was less than picturesque: trash cans, a dog pawing through the litter. Directly opposite, though, there was a guns-and-ammo place, Grundy's. If it was the same Grundy as Before, he had to be pushing eighty.

Grundy had been an old boxer gone to seed; he'd been blacklisted by the Shinra networks when Vincent was still a boy. He'd never seen Grundy fight until Strand - the OLD old boss - had sent Vincent, him and Veld, to do a pickup. (Eugene Verdot, as he was then, before the remorseless teasing about Vincent's accent had driven Veld to take Vincent's mangled version of his name as a badge of honour.) Reno tapped his EMR against the edge of the table, uncharacteristically quiet.

Grundy hadn't come quietly. He'd been one of the barroom revolutionaries that Shinra delighted in cowing; in the end Veld had slugged him in the temple with a nightstick to get him into the van.

Vincent turned away from the window, and Reno kept tapping, eyes on his beer. "You got Rude to thank for this one, yo." Vincent shrugged. "He still keeps an eye out for Lockhart." Reno sucked his teeth. Clearly he didn't care much for Tifa. "They been comin' here around six for weeks. Not every day. But Rude saw Lockheart close up the bar last night-"

"She didn't go to the bank." Rude's voice was a low rumble from the other end of the room. Vincent turned and saw him emerging from the gents', zipping his fly. He leaned against the doorjamb, donning his gloves one finger at a time. "She always deposits the cash right away, unless she's heading over to Grundy's." Rude splayed his fingers out, made fists, and then, satisfied with the fit, shoved his hands back into the pockets of his shapeless pants. Vincent wondered idly just how many hours of AVALANCHE-watching Rufus Shinra was paying for; decided he didn't really care. He rubbed at his wrist, where the metal under the skin was beginning to ache from the long drive over.

A clock on the wall chimed twice. Reno glanced at it. "Half-five, old man. Want a beer?" Vincent shook his head, eying the clock. It sounded exhausted, each tick a little slower than the last. He imagined the cogs inside turning, worn teeth struggling to grip and turn.

"What is this to you, anyway, yo?" Reno had never been able to keep his mouth shut for long; Vincent didn't answer. "Figures Shinra'd want her. Take her, he has Wutai. Why's it mean so much to you? You still cut up over her double-cross back in that shithole?"

Vincent chose his words carefully. "The girl took- something very important - to me. In Wutai. Worthless to anyone else. A memento." The Turks, if they knew, would be on him like dogs. They knew about materia, and they knew about materia that was supposedly worthless. After the Forgotten City. After Tseng.

Time for a little misdirection. “She got away before I could retrieve it at Midgar. It'll be long gone by now, if I know her at all. But I want her to pay.”

Reno leered. “What'd she take, your balls?” Then his face grew serious. “Shinra won't have you touching her, y'know. He will have your balls. If Tseng don't get 'em first, yo.” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles. He probably thought it looked intimidating. A reminder of whose side he was on, or whose he wasn't.

Vincent folded his arms. “I won't leave any marks. He'll get his princess. I just want to have-” he closed his eyes against the red sparks Chaos shot into his vision; it didn't work. “A talk with her, before we take her to Rufus.”