#i don't know what to call this au yet

[howlingmoon08]

A Sonic Au based off a Godzilla movie from me??? Crazy!!! anyway very loosely inspired by the mechagodzilla duology from the millenium and maybe pacific rim? I got to see Tokyo SOS in theaters a few months back and I couldn't resist. Fun Fact, Mecha Sonic is based off of Mecha Godzilla so, I'm suprised I lasted this long. Sonic is a mech pilot working in sync with Mecha's AI through a mind link helmet and they fight giant monsters together c:

[galaghiel]

pt 1

next>

[raiiny-bay]

summer '93

[shih-coulda-had-it]

the AU where Prime Torino time-travels to the Advent of Quirks era (a time period he did not study for) and picks up two street babies after recognizing one as a miniature AfO

context: Sorahiko's been in the past for less than year. He's been preventing AfO from picking up new Quirks for maybe two weeks, and has dropped off food for the twins a couple of times.

wc: ~1.1k

//

The children stared at Sorahiko with wary eyes, eerily alike for all that they differed in stature and eye color. He didn’t let himself move, save for a tip of his head. The bigger child, the one Sorahiko thought was a young All for One, mimicked him; the smaller boy said in a faltering voice, “Who are you?”

“Call me Torino,” he said. “How about you?”

The smaller boy bit his lip and gave his brother a nervous side-eye. Chibi-AFO ignored him; he only had an unblinking stare for Sorahiko, and truth be told, it was getting irritating. Don’t raise your voice, he heard Shimura chide. 

He sighed, then changed tack. “Did you like the food?” At the clear brightening of the smaller boy’s expression, Sorahiko lifted the plastic bag. The boys were younger than Kotarou, but he had vague memories of Shimura feeding her son soft foods before he turned a year old. Surely steamed vegetables and (slightly) overcooked rice was fine.

Chibi-AFO lurched forward without a sound, one hand outstretched, the other still holding tight to his brother’s wrist.

A curse slipped through Sorahiko’s filter; he dropped the bag and Jetted himself backwards, out of reach but not out of sight. The last thing he wanted was to be chased blindly by some murderous toddler.

The showing of his Quirk, however, sparked something in Chibi-AFO’s eyes. A different kind of hunger--one that apparently required both hands now, as he unceremoniously dropped his brother and doubled down on trying to grab Sorahiko. The smaller boy yelped as spikes burst from Chibi-AFO’s skin, and then showed an incredible lack of self-preservation by trying to intervene.

“No!” he cried. “No, don’t! He’s nice!”

Sorahiko dodged another lunge for his neck. Can I hit him now? he begged the Shimura on his shoulder. I’m justified in knocking him out for his own good, right? That’s how this works?

You can’t hit a baby! Shimura scolded. He doesn’t know any better!

Chibi-AFO, as if to refute Shimura’s sympathies, finally opened his mouth to screech, “GIVE!” He kept springing for Sorahiko with his tiny palms thrust outwards; the spikes on his body rushed unerringly for Sorahiko’s limbs. “GIVE IT!”

“Stop it! Stop!”

How much stamina could a toddler have? More importantly, how long did Sorahiko have until the civilians he’d ushered off the street rang the local police station? Sorahiko, out of sheer curiosity, started leading Chibi-AFO in a circle. It felt criminally easy to maintain a generous distance between himself and the toddler, even as Chibi-AFO grew more desperate and enraged at not having easy prey.

“IT’S MINE!” the toddler snarled, out of breath. “MINE! MINE!” 

Because Sorahiko wasn’t above taunting a baby, he upped the speed on his Jet. Chibi-AFO’s reliance on his spikes to propel him was the toddler’s downfall; as the chase continued, the production output and quality of the spikes diminished, until it was pure spite that powered Chibi-AFO’s bare feet.

The smaller boy had collapsed long ago by the food, gasping, but he seemed like he registered that Sorahiko wasn’t about to die, because he was now spectating with awe-struck eyes.

“Are you done?” said Sorahiko mildly, continuing to deny the toddler any hope of closing the gap. The boy’s face was getting redder, and scrunched-up, and then the funniest thing happened: Chibi-AFO tripped on his makeshift robe, face-planting into the asphalt.

Don’t laugh, Shimura said, in a long ago memory about Kotarou colliding into a glass door.

Chibi-AFO was trembling, every limb shaking. The smaller boy had shot up, renewed concern pushing him to his brother’s side and babbling something unintelligible. Sorahiko stifled the bark of laughter as Chibi-AFO gingerly lifted his head and goggled at the ground, like he couldn’t believe he’d fallen.

“Be nice,” the smaller boy pleaded, frantically patting Chibi-AFO’s shoulders. “Don’t, don’t, be nice.”

A tiny, minuscule drop of pity collected at the pit of his stomach. Sorahiko made the executive decision to sacrifice his cape, unpinning it from his suit and dropping the heavy fabric onto the boys before going to fetch the food. They startled at the sudden weight, but the smaller boy could only squeak and Chibi-AFO, thoroughly exhausted, could only twitch.

“Let’s try this again,” said Sorahiko dryly. He popped the plastic lids of the styrofoam containers and stuck spoons into two of them, situated both in front of the children, and took his own seat a full meter away. “I’m Torino. How’s the food?”

Huddled under his cape, the smaller boy looked bewilderedly from him to the food, and back again. “Um…!”

“Not hungry,” said Chibi-AFO.

“... Alright. You two have names?”

“No,” said Chibi-AFO, sullen. “Go ‘way.”

As tempting as it was, Sorahiko took a measured breath and let out a controlled exhale. “No. You’re hurting people being out here, and I can help you. Food, and a place to sleep. Do you understand me?”

The smaller boy fiddled with a handful of Sorahiko’s cape. Tentatively, he asked, “Safe?”

Chibi-AFO repeated, in the same tone as before, “No.”

At some point, Sorahiko thought, you really couldn’t justify letting a toddler steer the conversation. He considered his options, and responded to the smaller boy first. “Yes, it’s safe. I won’t hurt you, or him. I just can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

A small hum, and then: “Okay. We go.”

“No!” Chibi-AFO protested, and finally pushed himself up, wincing. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, but Sorahiko would place a bet that they were purely reflexive. “No, I’m safe! He’s bad! He hurt me!”

“You hurt you,” the smaller boy sniffed.

The murderous intent flashed on Chibi-AFO’s face again, and Sorahiko hastily stepped in before more blood was shed. He snapped his fingers in front of the toddler. A malformed spike, sloppy in execution and sluggish in timing, tried to pierce Sorahiko’s hand and dissipated before he could even recoil. Exhaustion! Finally! 

“Go ‘way,” the toddler demanded.

Sorahiko simply leaned his cheek against his fist, propping his elbow on his knee. Either Chibi-AFO would recover and try for a second time to steal Jet, or he would pass out. There wasn’t any point trying to reason with the brat.

The smaller boy patted Chibi-AFO’s shoulders, but he too went quiet. Eventually, Chibi-AFO slumped flat to the ground again, and his slurred orders dwindled to a faint burbling snore. That was Sorahiko’s cue to creak upright, crouch down, and ask the smaller boy in a serious tone, “Can I pick you up?”

The kid looked at the food.

“I have more at home.”

“... Okay,” he said softly, and in swift order, Sorahiko resituated his cape so it swaddled Chibi-AFO, took him up on one arm, and hoisted the smaller boy in his other arm. There was that squeak again, and a nervous clutching at his flight suit, but Sorahiko’s attention was on thinking about the route back to his apartment.

It would be easier on the kid’s nerves if he walked, but the Meta X gangs were too troublesome to bother with tonight.

“Hold tight,” Sorahiko muttered, and Jetted for the rooftops.

[softichill]

Playing around with ideas

[zetsubobu]

So what if I combined two mystery/angsty supernatural shows

So I handed lizzy a death note, let's see what she will do with it!

I honestly don't think she would use it unless it is to protect her loved ones and then after that it's mostly just her paranoid over getting potentially caught. Though I think it would lead to some good scenarios!

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday (Second, sillier part to follow Friday)

Poll Results: Trespasser Jak

Picking up from HERE, Jak and Daxter have been taken back to Spargus

The drive back to the city was not quiet. Every couple seconds, the kid with the amulet he shouldn't have had was pointing to something else, talking a mile a minute to the fuzzy orange thing. The red rock bluffs fascinated him. The crocadeer on the clifftops fascinated him. The frith-rotted cactus was interesting to this stranger.

Jak started to lean out of the seat again, trying to take in every speck of the horizon.

"Will you stop that?" Damas asked irritably, "You're going to fall out, and I'm not turning this car around to go get you. What are you so entranced by, huh?"

Jak's enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest. "After they took us to Haven- I thought there was nothing left out there but wasteland!"

"You're in the Wasteland," Damas reminded him.

"Nah."

Jak stood up despite the driver's protests and clung to the turret gun to watch a flock of birds.

"This place isn't wasted. It's alive."

"And you won't be if you don't sit down right now-!"

Damas’s headache only multiplied -- exponentially. once they had actually returned Spargus.

The stranger gawked at everything, sometimes lagging as many as ten behind to look at the most mundane things. Forges. The communication hub/post office. Leapers. A stray chickalope he tried to pick up-!

Getting him into the Gate District garrison building took five minutes longer than it should've, by which time Damas’s patience was almost completely gone. It was all he could do to keep some modicum of professionalism as he herded the boy and the talking spirit thing into a clean, well-lit room for interrogation. He left them with a stern warning to wait there until someone came to figure out who they were.

Then he left to make a very strong pot of coffee. He wasn't going back in there without it.

He quickly decided that needed another kind of drink when he returned ten minutes later only to find Jak, barefoot, sitting on top of the table like a moody teenaged gargoyle. That ratty blue winter tunic was tied around his waist now, and the loose scarf and oversized undershirt didn't quite cover a surprising amount of scars for someone his age -- or maybe not so surprising if he was an Heir, given the proclivity of Haven to put those through the wringer-

No. No jumping to conclusions.

Old burns on the soles of his feet that looked roughly six to seven years old -- a childhood accident or stubborn adventure, most likely -- were the most benign of them. Damas saw old, healed clawmarks, and strange fractal-like patterns not unlike those struck by lightning, crossing his upper arms, shoulders and chest. Here and there he saw raised lines -- the telltale sutures of do-it-yourself shrapnel removal. Regardless of whose blood flowed in his veins, this kid was a soldier. And it looked like he'd been a soldier for a depressingly long time.

Damas pushed the thoughts from his mind and took a seat in the chair the trespasser had ignored.

"Alright. Let's get this over with as quickly as we can, shall we? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Oh...kay...?" Jak gave him a puzzled, wary look and scooted back across the table to rest his back against the wall. "I mean, I can't answer everything, and half of what I do tell you won't sound believable, but that's honestly not my problem."

Patience, Damas. Inhale, slowly. You're just stressed. You can't kill him if he's related to you.

Damas took an exaggerated breath and folded his hands on the top of the table. "I don't much care about your activities in Haven. My agents deliver news regularly enough. No, I want to know how you opened a locked door with a Seal of Mar on it."

The kid looked surprised, and then intrigued.

"Mar? Wait, really? He made it out here too?" Jak looked almost impressed. "Huh! Guy got around!"

"Answer the question."

The orange one answered in the kid's stead.

"Jak here's got the distinct misfortune of being descended from the guy-"

*Allegedly," Jak interrupted. His voice was distinctly harder than before.

"What "allegedly"? Dragging me into the frickin nightmare tomb wasn't enough for ya?"

"Everything we know about that guy we got from Krew, or Samos," his companion argued, "And most of the Oracles didn't bother to warn us that Samos was lying to us our whole lives. So no, I'm not taking that on faith."

Clearly this was a sore spot for the young man.

It just so happened to also be a very sore spot for Damas.

They were just going to act like they so happened to "conveniently" let slip that this boy was supposed to be related to him? Did they think he was a fool?

"What are you playing at?" he snapped, startling them both. "Do you think I am so easily taken in?"

"What-?"

"Tell me, boy," Damas said, much more quietly, "What makes you either brave enough or stupid enough to try to pull that story with me?"

And Jak blinked at him with eyes that were a little too familiar. Wide. Full of shadows and pain and anger but still clinging to the vestiges of innocence. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Um. Who? Are you?"

If this was a con, the kid was a decent actor, Damas had to give him that.

"You're telling me you're a survivor of the House of Mar."

"No? I said other people told me I was related to that guy. People with a vested interest in controlling me."

Jak scoffed bitterly and spread his arms wide.

"Little "abandoned" orphan boy kept isolated to train as a soldier, so he wouldn't know what they planned for him. Wouldn't run. And then magically suddenly he's heir to the worst city on the planet? Give me a break. The guards in Praxis's lab came up with better lies than that."

Damas wanted to agree with the kid. He wanted so much to agree with him. Whatever else he might be, clearly Jak was not the kind of person who bought into delusions of grandeur. In fact, he sounded like he actively resented the thought. Damas could appreciate that. Rot, he could even sympathize with the kid.

But.

He had opened a sealed door.

And the river-weasel had just said something about a Tomb.

He really really didn't want to be right, but if they could give an accurate description of the Tomb at some point, that information would be pretty hard to fake.

"Why did they think they could pass you off as Haven's heir?" Damas asked bluntly.

"Because I can make old Precursor crap work, I guess? And the Oracles like me." Jak folded his arms and shrugged. "They're useless when it comes to actually protecting anyone, but at least they tried to help after the fact. More than most hu'mens did."

Oh. Alright, okay. Maybe he's a sage prodigy and he's never been trained. That would make sense-

"Pal, the Oracle called you a "chosen one". That's gotta mean something."

"Chosen for what? Time looped torture?" Jak's entire posture had become rigid. He was beyond agitated, but Damas couldn't quite pin down if it was anger or fear or something closer to grief.

"....I...sorry." The orange one looked down, clearly ashamed. "That's- fair point. I won't bring it up anymore."

Damas didn't want to hear another word of this. Not one. Without stopping to think lest he talk himself out of it, he drew a knife from the back of his belt. The boy tensed even further, looking like he might snap as he watched Damas pull a sheet of paper haphazardly from the notepad that came standard in all the interrogation rooms. Damas ignored him and placed the tip of the blade to the pad of his thumb, pushing until two large drops of blood dripped onto the paper. The boy's tension eased slightly, but he still looked vaguely alarmed.

Damas wiped the blade and, steeling himself, held it out hilt-first to Jak.

"Your turn."

Jak glared at him.

"Are you nuts?"

Damas remained stonefaced. "You want to prove those people wrong? Blood comparison. Computer will be able to identify if it matches old records or not."

"Then why'd you cut yourself?" Jak challenged.

"Control sample," Damas answered shortly, staring until the boy gave in and set the blade against the tip of his little finger.

He declined to specify whether he meant for or against.

Jak twisted his pinkie between his fingers and let a single drop of blood fall onto the paper. He narrowed his eyes at Damas.

"And this is supposed to take...how long?"

"Two months if they're not busy."

Jak unfolded his legs and slid off the tabletop. "Months?! What good does that do me? They'll probably have found a way to guilt me into going back to Haven by then!"

Hm.

Damas leaned back in his chair and studied the boy with a new perspective.

"You're a runaway. Aren't you?"

Jak scowled and folded his arms.

"I'm not! I'm just...there's something I have to do out here. And I can't go back yet."

Suspicion trickled in cold at the back of Damas’s mind. He folded the edge down over the bloodied paper and tucked it into his belt.

"And what," he asked warily, "is this "something" you intend to do?"

The boy's ears dropped, broadcasting uncertainty despite his belligerent posture.

"I...don't know yet. There's just...something was calling me. And I can't leave until I know what it is."

This boy was going to be a walking migraine trigger, wasn't he? But unfortunately there was a reasonably high probability that he was Damas’s kinsman, which meant that under no circumstances could he just toss the kid back to Haven and say "not my circus, not my moncaws".

Just get through this until the blood tests come back. Who knows, maybe the guy will find a place here in the meantime. Or he might decide to fight the squid and die horribly. One step at a time.

Damas opened the door and beckoned to one of the district guards down the hall. Commander Shui left her subordinates immediately to respond.

"Sir?"

Damas nodded back towards the trespasser.

"Have someone show him to the showers. Once he's cleaned up, see if you can't determine his age."

Shui glanced at Jak, but never lost her stoic expression. "Understood. Is he a candidate for the trials?"

Damas ignored the harsh whispering between the boy and the...okay that was called an ottsel apparently. Didn't have those out in the desert.

"I doubt even he knows. For the moment, we will proceed as though he is a refugee."

He sighed.

"I have matters to attend to. Inform me if he causes any problems."

Jak wasn't sure how to feel about this turn of events. Six days of maddening dreams of eco comets and a broken string of beads. Five days of something pulling on his eco core, or his soul, the way the Precursor Stone had.

He wasn't sorry for leaving Haven in the middle of the night. The Grand Council had been getting more and more vocal with their more...Praxian...views on his right to life and liberty, and Samos just kept telling him to focus on what was "more important", fighting metalheads and new Krimzon Deathbots.

When the Call took him down that ancient eco mine, it had felt like an escape. He'd told himself he'd go back after he found what was at the end of the tunnel. And he'd meant to, if only because he thought he had nowhere else to go. After all, Daxter had built a life in Haven. He had a mentor. A girlfriend. A whole business!

But regardless of all the pretty lies Samos and Onin and Ashelin filled his ears with, Haven was not Jak's home. He would not take responsibility for their evil. And even if he was descended from their founder, they all let Praxis kill whatever blood relatives he might've had! They decided the line of Mar had no say in government, so who was Jak to contradict them?

It was strange -- almost unfathomable -- how his perspective could have changed with a rebalancing of eco. The Oracle down in that desert temple, it had pushed through old scars, given him access to light eco, when he'd thought the substance didn't exist anymore. The constant aches that ruled his every waking moment when it was even slightly cold out, the irritability, the burning in his core, it was gone.

How had he become so accustomed to at least low levels of pain as a daily companion? Jak hadn't realized how bad his condition had been until it was gone. And his mind felt clearer than it had in months. Maybe even years. Home was far behind them now. Sandover was forever lost to them, along with all remains of Jak's innocence. Because of Onin. And because of Samos.

Without his thoughts dulled by pain and lack of sleep, Jak thought of his heartfelt thanks to the manipulative old sage and wanted to be sick.

And now he was on an island, eighty nautical miles from Haven. A wild, living, sanctuary of Wastelanders and open wilderness. They called it "wasteland", but Jak couldn't understand why when it was so beautiful.

That Call still pulled at his heart, told him he wasn't done here yet. And he was relieved, because the longer he spent under clear, blue, sky, the more he hated the thought of returning to that corrupted city.

Just because he'd told Ashelin it was worth saving didn't mean he belonged to it.

Damas -- the angry man he'd startled when they came up out of the catacombs -- left, and a well-built woman about his height entered the interrogation room.

"Holy crap, a lady Sig!" Daxter hissed in his ear.

The Wastelander did have a prosthetic eye -- her left, not her right -- of the same make, but that was really the only similarity. She carried herself like Ashelin -- someone in command, used to cooperation if not obedience -- and that alone put Jak on-edge. He met her searching gaze with a hard stare, determined not to be the first to flinch.

"Hm." The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I see what he means. When's the last time you washed?"

"Do pools of water count?" Jak asked. If there was sarcasm in the tone, so what? "Expendables don't get time to wash."

"Eesh." The woman curled her lip. "Well that's not going to fly in my garrison."

She turned to shout down the hall, "Strom! Get the rookie to the showers before the flies move in!"

"Oh rot you!"

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Fish, 7 (For your prompts! ❤️)

Hi, anon!! Thank you for the prompt, you were the very first one to send one in! 7 was, again, the wildcard, so I randomly generated a different number to land on Yue Qingyuan (from Scum Villain)! I have no choice but to dedicate this to @bytedykes, because I told her about this prompt and she said “yqy pet fish mental health speedrun” and we went, uh, a little insane about it. Enjoy some yuefang, folks!!!!

“Mu-xiong,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you available?”

“Yue-xiong is never a bother,” Mu Qingfang says warmly. “And I am, actually, yes. Is everything okay, Yue-xiong?”

“I think I need help.” A bit dramatic, perhaps, and Yue Qingyuan hates to trouble Mu Qingfang on a rare day off, but Yue Qingyuan and impulse have never been the best combination, and he would appreciate a second opinion.

Mu Qingfang’s voice turns hard. “Where are you? I'll come right away.”

“What—?” Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone like the blank call screen will tell him why Mu Qingfang suddenly sounds so serious. “I'm at home, but—”

“I'll be right there,” Mu Qingfang says, and hangs up.

Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone for another second, then lifts his gaze to his sparkling new aquarium. His new betta, white and black and resplendent of fin, stares back. Was his crisis of faith about his viability as a fish owner really so deserving of such urgency…?

—

“So,” Mu Qingfang says. “This was your emergency?” He looks about as unimpressed by the betta as it does by the two of them.

Yue Qingyuan feels obscurely like he’s being scolded. Mu Qingfang is one of the nicest men he knows, but that just means that his censure takes the form of a blunt instrument of mass disappointment.

“In my defense,” he points out meekly, “I didn’t say there was an emergency. Mu-xiong just assumed.”

“That’ll teach me,” Mu Qingfang huffs, but at least he looks amused. “Yue-xiong should get used to asking for help more so this gege doesn’t have to panic every time he does ask.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth almost drops open. He can only hope his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Er—well, I asked this time, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mu Qingfang allows, looking something horribly close to fond. Yue Qingyuan swallows and tries to hurry on.

“So—not an emergency, but I do want your opinion,” he coughs out. “I’m having… doubts. About the fish.” Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows contract. Yue Qingyuan rushes it out. “Do you think I should keep it?”

“Yue-xiong…” Mu Qingfang looks politely incredulous. “Why does my opinion matter? The fish is already yours, isn’t it? If you don’t think maintaining its upkeep will be feasible, that’s one thing, but… Surely Yue-xiong did the research before getting it?”

He doesn’t sound judgemental, but Yue Qingyuan feels his cheeks warm. “I did, but I wasn’t planning on getting a fish; I was only admiring the tanks. There was a salesperson who was… very insistent.”

Mu Qingfang regards him doubtfully, which is fair. Yue Qingyuan towers over most people he meets, and his bulk only further adds to the impression of immovability. It’s only when he opens his mouth that it becomes clear how spineless he actually is.

Yue Qingyuan falters. “I had thought… I thought it might be nice.” The bettas had seemed so majestic in their tanks, iridescent monarchs of false grass and plastic coves, and Yue Qingyuan had thought, wildly, that one might be rewarding to keep, might breathe a touch of life into his immaculately sleek living room. The whole affair hadn’t even been expensive by his shiny new standards, forget difficult to physically arrange. It was only when installation and set-up for his new aquarium had finished and he was left to watch that jewel-bright being swim disaffectedly through its new home that doubt had seized him, all-consuming and black. He had, admittedly, panicked a little after that.

(Yue Qingyuan’s apartment is very large, and very clean, and very empty. It holds the barest amount of decoration and muss to qualify as lived-in rather than a snapshot from a magazine ad. The fish may, in fact, be the only thing in the entire place which really qualifies as his. No wonder Yue Qingyuan wanted to jettison it from his life as soon as he got it.)

Mu Qingfang’s expression hovers between concern and simple confusion. “I’m sure Yue-xiong will be a more than adequate caretaker,” he says, more gently than Yue Qingyuan and all his neuroses probably deserve. “What’s this really about, Yue-xiong?”

Ah. There it is. Being the mildest person of Yue Qingyuan’s admittedly sharp-tongued social circle doesn’t preclude Mu Qingfang’s wit from being as keen as the scalpels he works with.

“I don’t…” Yue Qingyuan falters. How to express to Mu Qingfang how manifestly unfit Yue Qingyuan is to care for any living creature at all? He changes tack. “I think he hates me,” he admits dolefully.

Mu Qingfang stares at him for a long time, long enough to imply that he’s reevaluating certain opinions about Yue Qingyuan’s intelligence. “Yue-xiong, with all due respect to your new pet—it’s a fish.”

“Fish have emotions!” Yue Qingyuan argues. He flushes at the volume at which it comes out, and at the way Mu Qingfang’s eyes go wide-eyed in startlement. But the salesperson had been very insistent about that, as well. “Bettas are intelligent animals. They dislike certain colors, apparently, and they’re very sensitive—ah, to environmental disruptions, that is. And—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows are still high, but his face has relaxed into a smile. “It sounds to me like you like it quite a bit already. Isn’t that reason enough to keep it?” His tone curls with sudden mischief. “Have heart, Yue-xiong—you’ve hardly known each other for a day! Give it time to adjust to you, and I’m sure you’ll win it over as surely as you do everyone else.” And he grins, sure and easy in his trust that Yue Qingyuan won’t fumble and shatter something so small and monumental as a life that he could cup in his palms.

While Yue Qingyuan is still dazed by that, Mu Qingfang’s eyes alight with interest. “Ah, Yue-xiong—what have you named it?”

“...”

Mu Qingfang’s face falls as devastatingly as it had lit up. “Yue-xiong…”

“Mu-xiong is aware that I was unsure of whether or not I’d keep him!” Yue Qingyuan is terribly aware that his ears are now heating up to match his cheeks. Mu Qingfang’s ensuing laughter does not help with that matter.

Yue Qingyuan is not very good at holding onto things. More often than not, he makes a mess of whatever he’s set his clumsy hands to, lets it fall right through his scarred fingers. But Mu Qingfang’s words ring through his head: Isn’t that reason enough to keep it? And, well, isn’t it? Surely Yue Qingyuan is adult enough to follow through on this. Maybe happiness can be look like his new betta swimming up to the tank to observe the new colorful form moving in front of it, can come as easy as Mu Qingfang quipping that his knowledge about fish is clearly lacking and vowing casually to read up on bettas to be a better fish uncle.

Yue Qingyuan buries a smile and walks over to let Mu Qingfang know that bettas can be trained to follow fingers around. The betta’s clear preference for Mu Qingfang over Yue Qingyuan is as good a marker of intelligence as any fun fact the pet shop worker could have given him. Yes, Yue Qingyuan thinks with a smile—he thinks he’ll be keeping this after all.

[still-living-like-im-trying]

Some Nimona Drawings & Sketches I made for different AU ideas I had.

---

Nimona/Big Hero 6 AU

---

Golden Sparrow AU

Obsidian Gold AU (unfinished sketches)

[i3utterflyeffect]

Chat my ear off, do it :gun:

going to assume this is abt the au i've been mentioning lol

so basically i do think that if King found Vic first (which is admittedly a little while back i'd imagine, you don't really just immediately become head of a company that kills animators and artists in a year-long span or whatever) it would have gone very differently.

like, let's say that Vic crash-landed in the outernet about a year--maybe 2-- before king sees the avm short, assuming that it was playing around the time of its release. which is apparently 8-9 years ago. ridiculous btw why is time allowed to pass like that.

obv when King sees this ill-adjusted hollowhead who probably barely even talks, considering their situation, and who also looks like they're stressed out by the mere presence of their surroundings he's not exactly going to leave them there to go through whatever the hell they'd go through out here

which it's also worth mentioning that the most infamous hollowheads are-- again-- Chosen and Dark, which would not be great for Vic when starting out since a lot of people would have suspicions about them based off of that

so basically King just takes them in and lets them stay in his house while they kind of just get adjusted to life in the outernet

when the original AVM happens and King puts up a wanted poster, Vic notices SC and decides they need to talk to whoever this stranger is, so they tell King that they'll help him since they both have something they can earn from finding these people. ofc they still need Purple's help to find them so it's basically just. bonus child

it would make it a little longer and victim WOULD still threaten people probably and also try to wreak a little more havoc on Alan's computer but mostly the same with a little more Silly Antics

[fazedlight]

Just finished writing up my outline for a multichapter after my current WIP 👀 This might be the longest outline I've had?

EDIT 9/15: This is about The Ambassador's Sister

[itstimeforstarwars]

Loving everyone in the comments of the leverage fic giving their opinions on what species the gang should be it is very fun and it is giving me Ideas.

[thecomet-and-themeteor]

I don't know how much sense this makes but I need a Langelique Cinderella AU, I think it'd work pretty well

[caitlin-snow-leopard]

Shapeshifter Six AU 1/6: Catalina Trastamara (Catherine of Aragon) -African lioness

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Bridge is Crossed (rambling)

It's almost 3am and I'm having Feelings™ about the line "Wildly my mind beats against you (you resist) // yet the soul obeys!" from Wandering Child in Phantom of the Opera. Like on its own it's a great fuckin line anyway and delivered with so much feeling, but in the Nieyao context of my 3zun Phantom AU??????

I NEED FEWER WIPS SO I CAN HAVE THE BRAIN SPACE TO WRITE THIS FIC!!!

I just UGH

The fucking. The post-divorce Nieyao energy!!!

"Angel o speak, what endless longings // echo in this whisper"

"Wildly my mind beats against you (you resist) // yet the soul obeys!"

"Angel of music I denied you, turning from true beauty // Angel of music my protector (do not shirk me), come to me strange Angel!"

It's the doubting everything you've ever known about yourself and the love that you desire. It's about leaving the (albeit dubious) safety of your home and your very safe and righteous lover keeping watch outside your door to instead put yourself in the hands of a man whose devotion to you you know is absolute, to the point of endangering everyone who may come into contact with you and get in his way. It's about being afraid of what all of this will mean in the end, but still giving into the way you crave that obsession, and letting your soul take what it wants without concern (for the moment) for what's Right and what's Proper.

It's the rapturous joy of giving into something sharp-edged and buried deep in your soul and finding yourself welcomed into it with open arms, because where else would this man ever be but by your side when you know he'll do any right or wrong thing under the sun to make sure that's always so?

[morethanwords229]

story titles are either right there from the start or nowhere to be found until the very end, there is no in between