#technically the au since Lunar has his own body in that

[socksandbuttons]

Behold! My Sun!Lunar Au! + doodles Aka, this takes place in the Good Eclipse dimension. Well, A dimension since he’d never have met our shows Lunar here. Anyway, Eclipse tries to fix Sun by using a backup body to copy his code in, and then Eclipse add back in his OWN code as well, maybe it could reverse the process. (He does this in a back up because like if it don’t work, his Sun will still technically be okay.) Now they have a new brother! Eclipse is devastated. They name him Lunar. Anyway, a little more explanation to it-

So, in this AU he comes up with an idea of fixing Sun. By using Sun’s base code and putting his own code back into it (since Eclipse was pulled from Sun thus causing Sun’s comatose state), although this is more of a theory Eclipse is going on and doesn’t want to risk Sun any further, so he makes a back up body to test this out. New Moon basically does doubt the workings of this, but otherwise if it does work they can also fix him as well and helps when he can. However, it turns out this just makes a whole new Person. Something they weren’t actually counting on. At worst it just wouldn’t work and they’d try something else, scrapping the code project. Lunar comes to be, Eclipse isn’t very happy about the outcome. Although more for the fact he failed at trying to find a way to fix Sun and Moon. He’s not unhappy about Lunar existing just... disappointed it wasn’t Sun. But luckily, Lunar is here to help. So Eclipse reluctantly puts him in charge of daycare duties (a good idea considering New Moon’s glitching and functionality very... sporadic at best, Nice Eclipse being shown in the most recent episode literally having to make sure he stays put.) Now, since this was essentially just some back up body, Lunar’s not painted at first, basically like just some metallic base. He’s grey. Eclipse fitted him with a new battery, cause not obvious in the comic but without those wires he would not be running. Lunar does pick up that somethings wrong with Moon, not too long after their meeting actually. Eclipse had reason to be worried in the comic cause literally if it went any other way... Although it’s fine for now and Lunar learns to just let Eclipse handle Moon (although he finds it sad and unhealthy). Although, you will wonder about Lunar’s questions about being made, considering many factors here. Not fully painted, no battery, odd behaviour of BOTH Eclipse and Moon, Eclipse’s literal first words to Lunar. “It’s nice to see you again” has an... implication to it he questions about. The damn advertisements. The boy is gonna be confused, overwhelmed and very much mistakened as someone else for a good while. There’s likely more i could type but i’ll get to that later. However Sun!Lunar actively does get painted and an outfit later! However right now it’s just three bro’s trying to figure out the new circumstance. Identity issues galore! also some traditional doodles i had when i was first thinking it out. not shown was a previous version of what Lunar would look like later (I decided he’ll keep his rays, he still gets a hat tho!)

[seven-thewanderer]

Part 3 of the update!!

starting off here, I doodled Lunar’s first designs, since I shared the design which would be his current design

But here’s the first ones!

(sorry that it might be blurry, I’m not on the device where I drew it)

The one on the left, labeled L-v1, is Lunar when he still worked with Eclipse, and was evil gremlin

The one on the right meanwhile, labeled L-v2, is Lunar when they first got their own body (the nanomachine one)

Now, since the rest are different from this..

Since my Strayed!AU actually isn’t just bound to SAMS, LAES, OR MGAFS, but basically… all the shows!

So next, we have the ghost kids!!

In the (Roxanne Wolf and Gregory Show, or RWAGS) lore, they’re called Elizabeth/Lizzy and Evan, and Lizzy’s fine… I just don’t know about Evan

Like I did research and Evan might be the canon name, but like… really?

(No offense to people named Evan)

But for my AU, I might use one of the other name possibilities, like Chris, or Nelson, idk yet

Also here’s their ghost form that I totally didn’t almost forget to add :3

Next up…

I also did Funtime Freddy & Bonbon!!

Technically it’s a doodle too, but I colored it in more cleanly

but ye Funtime Freddy!! He looks very cuddly in my opinion, and honestly he’s just a silly lil (big) guy!!

So goofy though!!

I also colored in a doodle of Bonbon before this one, since apparently Bonbon has legs sometimes, so I doodled this one!

I tried to put little notes to explain it, but I’ll just re-explain it here:

The fur color of his legs & rest-of-body is different because he wasn’t really meant to have legs originally, so it’s a different fur color & material, since they were built for him with a different fabric material

Also, the lower half of the legs are just the endoskeleton since they probably ran out of fur…

But yeye that’s it!!

Technically, there’s a lot more character concepts I did as well (Freddy, Glamrock Freddy, Glamrock Bonnie, Helpi, the Computer/Spaniard, Monty, Nebula, etc.), buuuut I grew too lazy to finish them XD so they’re just uncolored doodles

[usaigi]

Steven & Mr. Knight

Lunar sys au character cards | Read all chapters on ao3

‘Mate, I’m not gonna lie, everything time you tell me about what you do as Moon Knight I want to imminently text our therapist but I know everything you do is technically illegal and we would get sent straight to jail,’ Steven says, examining at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over all the newly acquired battle scars. Steven is starting to suspect that Khonshu is getting lazy with healing the body as a middle finger to Marc and himself. 

Mr. Knight had just finished giving Steven a download of everything he did, sparing no bloody details for ‘transparency sake.’ It was something Marc and Steven disagreed on; if Marc takes control of the body after Mr. Knight, he does not want to know about ‘any of Khonshu bullshit’ while Steven refuses to stay in the dark. 

‘Yes, well, protecting the travelers of the night does not conform well within the confines of the law,’ Mr. Knight states.  

‘What exactly is your justification? I thought you were all by the books and all,’ Steven asks, raising a brow at that comment.

‘I do adhere to pre-established set rules, however, those rules don’t always align with ‘the law.’ I am not opposed to bending rules if it's for the greater good,’ Steven sighs. This justification seemed to be the common response for all vigilantes. Despite what others may think, Steven isn’t naive. He knows that the system itself is corrupt, that racism and discrimination against the powerless have built the foundation of society, that money speaks louder than the truth. Steven didn’t even need to be a brown, Jewish, autistic man with mental illness to see it. So maybe an outsider is able to fill the gaps of injustice. 

But even since Steven found out they were back in Khonshu servitude, the ethics and morality of being a vigilante pondered in his head. It had been easy when he was roped into all the bullshit with Harrow and Ammit because of course genocide and eugenics are bad. Again, he didn’t need to be indigenous, Jewish, autistic, and mentally ill to come to that conclusion. But is he naive enough to believe that what they’re doing when they’re wearing that mask is for the great good? That Khonshu, being a god of justice, can fairly judge a human for their sins. Are they preventing further harm or are they just contributing to the endless cycle of violence? Are they even acting out of their own free will or has the bond to Khonshu been written in the stars?

‘Very utilitarianist of you,’ Steven groans. 

‘Are you opposed to my methods?’ 

‘Well, I don’t exactly appreciate that every time you return the body to us it feels like it’s gone through a meat grinder. Or that you stole my look. I guess my reservations are what your exact motives are. Are you really in it to protect people?’

‘It’s a benefit,’ a benefit? Steven stops, looks up to meet his reflection in the mirror. 

‘And your main drive is…?’

‘I enjoy it,’ Mr. Knight answers with a smile. 

[scripturienss]

Interstellar

Title: Interstellar on FF.net Rating: G Genre: Drama/Sci-fi Prompt: Fantasy & Sci-fi AU because two is better than one, or so goes the old adagio. Word Count: 2,201

You're so down to earth and I'm up in the stars, So show me the sea and I'll take you to Mars.

CS1: OK. The fuel is go; about 1 ½ g's; cabin pressure is just coming off the peg; the O2 is go; we have 26 amps.

CS2: Roger. Pitch 88, the trajectory is good.

CS3: Roger, looks good here.

CS1: OK, there. We're starting to pick up a little bit of the noise and vibration; not bad, though, at all. 50 secs., more vibration.

CS2: Whenever you're ready, de-pressurize the cabin and exit the vehicle. Your trajectory is marked, you only need to find the probe and change its solar panel.

MW0: Roger. Readings are good, pressure is OK. I'm making my way to the Rover.

CS3: I'm picking up some static on my line.

CS2: Roger. Mine too. Ishida, do you copy us?

MW0: Barely. You're breaking up a little - check the transmission engine and long range receptors.

CS1: It could have something to do with recent solar flares - the magnetic fields mess up reception sometime.

CS3: Roger. We're re-starting the system, don't be alarmed for a few minutes silence and don't lose visual.

MW0: Roger.

There's static on his line and suddenly, there's only silence. It has been 163 days since Ishida Yamato arrived at the International Space Station, roughly at the same time the H-II Transfer Vehicle Kōnotori, and this is his first time walking the moon's surface.

CS1: Ishida, I reconnected to check in on you. It'll be half an hour at least before we can make contact again.

CS1: Do you copy?

MW0: Roger. I'm sorry, the view ... it's really something else.

CS1: [chuckles] Roger. Don't stray from course, you're doing fine.

Space is terrifying. It's vast, unimaginably so, and darker than anything Yamato has ever seen. Working outside the station is always a humbling and terrifying experience, being tethered to something solid only through a limited band, but walking over the moon is an entirely different sort of scary. He can see the maria in the distance, the tides preserved by what was once volcanic lava. His breath hitches and it sounds incredibly loud in his over-sensitized ears.

It's dark, his path illuminated only by the hi-tech lantern on his helmet, the Rover he occupies and the stars above.

Yamato speaks into his recorder:

"Ishida Yamato, hour 14:06 Earth-time. I'm on my way South of the Earth's moon. I have been assigned to recharge and repair the Moon Impact Probe. We anticipate SELENE's Kaguya will orbit around the same time and have arranged for a possible check-up. Communication with the Space Station is down. The silence is ... " A twinkle catches his eye and he pauses, blinking fast. "Overwhelming."

.

.

15:22 Earth-time.

"It's been little under an hour and a half and Command hasn't checked in. Transmission is grainy at best, interference is impossible to deal with. Mission's course remains true."

He can hear himself talk, like a recorder, and it feels like a caricature of sorts. The technical details of his expedition are important but so is the overwhelming terror of being utterly alone. He can hear himself breathe, clear and loud and when he's thinking about this, he is deafened by the sound of his own pulse. Rationally, he understands that this is routinary and that many others have done it before him; the risks are too low to be considered a real liability. Fear isn't rational though, and Yamato has to pause for a moment before continuing his slow trek.

.

.

17:49 Earth-time.

"It has been three hours and forty-three minutes since Command's last communication. I arrived safely at Lunar Station 00, data is downloading for revision on the ISS and reparations for the solar panels should be done in little over an hour. It's grown darker but there are sporadic bursts of bright light. I suspect solar flare activity is picking up and remain wary of exposure. Must've been what damaged the panels..."

He turns off the microphone and looks outside the window. The Lunar Station 00 is a small laboratory facility installed upon the moon's surface as a safe-house for astronauts on repair or reconnaissance missions. It also collects all data pertaining lunar activity and is continuously feeding both the International Space Station and several other international agencies back on Earth. It is not a manned post and as such, it is not equipped to harbour guests for more than a few hours of hard work. There are emergency supplies, batteries, oxygen tanks and a special command button that can only be accessed through individual codes in case of a red alert. Yamato needs only to plug in his coordinates and update the travel log. He's almost done when he sees it.

In the horizon, a sharp beam of light flashes and then disappears. He stands abruptly and immediately takes his equipment, double-checks the seals on his suits and the vaccum entry and emerges into the inhospitable surface once more. The low gravity is tenuous at best and moving as easily as he did on Earth is difficult but Yamato is very quick. As he steps in behind a boulder and in front of the source, blinking fast, he holds up one hand and on the other, a laser heat gun.

"What the..."

The thing shines brightly, contained in unspecific, ever-changing shapes but he cannot determine an exact source. There hasn't been anything like this in any of the logs, nothing indicating any sort of sentient activity. Yamato stops, riled at the invasive thought of sentient life. He takes a deep breath, willing his heart-rate down because he can't hear anything and there's a strange sort of ringing in his ears, like wind-chimes in a spring breeze. Yamato's teeth are grinding hard and his jaw feels sore and tense.

The ringing in his ears intensifies and it sounds like—,

—laughter.

.

.

18:25 Earth-time.

"I'm going to approach the object for samples."

The sounds are jarring at times, like an out-of-tune old radio transmitter and the source of light appears to be solid and then liquid. When he steps outside the boulder, the ringing stops and he swears he hears a gasp. He approaches the source of light slowly but firmly and when he's close enough, the sight stuns him.

It's a woman, or something that looks vaguely like one. Yamato's voice fails him and he can only gape, mute, as the creature rises from the crater-like surface with surprising ease. Her body is made of what appears to be pure light, shimmery and insubstantial. There is no depth to its proportions, he can see right through it as it—she, approaches.

He thinks, this is how I die, but his body reacts quicker than his mind.

"State your purpose and origin," he hears himself say, despite the absolute improbability of the situation. The light that comes from within this being burns bright enough to force his eyes shut and when he opens them, it is already gone.

There is no evidence whatsoever of what he believes he saw. The camera shows nothing but blank space and dust and his microphone picks up no signal but his own voice. He knows he can't delay his return to the station and so he returns to the base and finishes the work he was sent to do. He flexes his fingers consciously in an effort to will some warmth back into them.

"It's the silence," he reasons. "It's driving me crazy."

The trek back is quiet, as quick as he dares to move away from this lonely, inhospitable place. He can see already the ship and releases a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

.

.

There is a crack in the static and the light turns green.

CS1: Commander Ishida, do you copy? I repeat, Commander Ishida, do you copy?

MW0: Roger. This is Commander Ishida.

CS1: Oh, thank fuck. Sorry there, MS Young.

CS2: Mind your language, MS Hughes. Commander, what's your status?

MW0: Stable, on route back to the capsule. I should be back at the space station within two hours.

CS1: Roger. Any novelty at the base?

MW0: [pause]

MW0: Nothing to report, sir.

CS2: We'll fill you in on your way back, Commander. Good job.

MW0: Roger, I look forward to it.

CS1: Roger. We'll see you soon, lucky dog.

Yamato wonders at that expression as he listlessly follows the procedure and way back into the ship that will take him to the station. His colleagues are at a loss for an explanation on why the devices failed and so all exploratory missions are halted until they reach a satisfactory answer.

Lucky, he thinks.

.

.

Some nights, he dreams about a being made of light with eyes as fierce as the sun. Some nights he comes to her in his dreams, so close he can touch her shimmery hair and bathe in the tinkling sound of her laughter. Once, he swore their lips touched. Most nights though, he only watches her from afar and when the song is over, he shakes his head and in the nanoseconds it takes him to realize he wants to see her up close, she has already disappeared.

Tonight is one of such nights, at least until his eyes fly open and he is met with a look of pure, molten gold.

"What are you doing here?"

You were calling for me.

"I was?"

In your sleep.

Yamato shifts, sitting on his bed with his arm dangling just off his knee. He peers curiously at her, wary as his hand darts out to touch her.

"Just what are you?"

She is proud, he learns, and a little vain. Up close she looks more like a woman than ever, or an echo of one with gleaming, translucent skin. The light she casts is paler now, hurts less to see her and he wonders briefly if this is for his sake. But she moves swiftly, just out of his fingers' reach and her laughter is all around him once again.

What am I? I am ... light. Stardust and cosmic energy.

.

.

Yamato isn't an unreasonable person. He knows he needs to address the issue of his hallucinations sooner rather than later and briefly considers looking for counseling when he goes back home. He is almost at the end of his mission and the thought of returning to Earth looms dauntingly in the back of his mind.

He lies on the floor, the cold material against his over-heated, over-sensitized skin keeps him grounded. She hovers above him, a mirror of his position though her expression seems to be amused and teasing. His eyes travel involuntarily (or perhaps less so) down her translucent body, lower than her waist where ribbons of light form what he can only think of as a long gown or a fish's tail.

"What is your name?"

Men have called me many things before. It's all the same to me.

He has never been a particularly keen conversationalist and his approach is objective and precise. She answers both freely and lavishly and seems to be more curious of his questions rather than him, as she so very rarely asks.

"Do you know my name?"

I have glimpsed it.

"Can you say it?"

Here, she hesitates.

I don't know how.

It seems only natural to kiss her. He reaches towards her, supporting himself on his forearms and elbows and she doesn't react at first, so he continues until his lips touch hers. He had expected everything but the soft sensation of lips, something warm and wet and soft. Yamato feels his chest swell and when he draws back, her eyes, clearer now, are wide open.

"It's Yamato," he says.

And for the first time, like a song dispelled, she murmurs, "Yamato."

.

.

He wakes up on his own bed, alone. His memory of last night's dream is blurry, too bright in some places and completely dark in others. He shifts as he prepares for his last day on this mission. He will be boarding the Soyuz within hours with two other colleagues and within four orbits, will land somewhere in the grassy plains of Kazakhstan. It'll be a few more days before he's cleared to leave to Japan, too.

Instinctively, he touches his lips and isn't entirely surprised when his fingers are coated by a thin film of fine, glittery dust. On Earth, she will be an old, blurry memory, a cold lump of rock that once carried the secrets of stars.

"Wait for me, Mimi-san."

Notes: I was a little stuck and then got very busy, but I have every intention of finishing this small collection. A few things to consider about this one:

1. The dialogue is actually at least partially faithful. I was inspired after reading some transcripts for the Apollo Mission disasters.

2. Did you know there aren't very many stories about space mermaids? It was the original concept.

3. I'm tempted to actually write this story but for the purposes of this collection, this was a good place to stop.

[restekova]

hi amelia! i read your story about norarosa and the wolf on the moon very long ago but i loved it and its still been in my head all this time. i know this is a lot to ask but i would really really like to read it again. is there any way you could post it again? thank you very much for reading 💗

thank YOU for reading, anon! how sweet! 💗  you’re right-- i took the story down temporarily so that i could use it as part of an ARG event i was doing for school, which is over now, and i don’t think the story is up anywhere right now, so here it is again for you! i’m so happy that you read one of my stories and liked it so much you thought about it later... thank you for this message!!!

Norarosa demolished her cottage on the moon from the outside in. 

She had against her only one-sixth of the Earth's gravity, and as allies a long-nurtured fantasy, and a sledgehammer with a handle that fit well in her hands. She was doing it as close to the way she had always wanted to as reality would allow. The bare lunar trees that twined gray trunks round the exterior of the house grew little eyes to watch. First she destroyed the window on the front door. The glass shattered in on the very first swing, as feeble as it had been the day she came. Changing angle she swung again and again, cracking and battering, until the door sagged on its hinges like something unconscious and left her room through which to walk. She stepped over the window shards and heard them crunch, heard them grind into powder against the black hardwood. Here there was an end table with a crystal bowl full of potpourri. She hefted back on one leg and swung in a low, slow arc, the orbit of a heavenly body. The framed print of Starry Night was gone next. New craters in the cream wall. Long strides over the wreckage into the kitchen, catch the sink by its dilated faucet and wrench it out from the counter, smash the plastic cabinets and hear all the decorated plates fall to the floor and break. Cave in the oven door, wreck the range stovetop, metal into bramble, shatter the porcelain rooster stained with pink watercolor on its gobble and beak, the teapots, the hanging plants. Norarosa-Norarosa, she turned on her saddle-shoe heel, took two long strides into the living room, tossed the sledgehammer in the air, and caught it in her other hand. She went first for the mantle with the picture of Andersen the white borzoi who couldn't breathe moon air and would now be long dead, then the tiffany tea service, then the photo album with the paisley cloth cover on the coffee table, the watercolor of the Bengal tigers, the old-inherited ashtray with the mother-of-pearl handle, the brass radio, the TV set with its insectoid antennae, the glass case of formaldehyde butterflies, and she did not realize that she was crying until she got to the sewing kit, although in fact she had been crying since the tigers.

Twenty years later, on Earth, she would be sitting alone at a round little table nearest the bay window in Spyglass Coffee with the potted succulents on the inner sill, where one could easily see the crooked, torn-up sidewalk outside with the small houses on different levels of terrain with the violets in their front gardens, and she would be drinking cafe au lait from a white ceramic cup with blue detail on the rim, holding a notebook and a pencil. She would be thinking about her own writing. An unrelated and sensitive high school girl with long brown hair down to her waist would buy a regular coffee with no milk and for a moment she would see Norarosa sitting there, but she would think nothing of it. The truth was, even though the two events had no logical connection, due to a real or imagined type of butterfly effect, if the unrelated girl had thought of Norarosa at any point later in time, even just to— for no apparent reason— spontaneously remember the young woman with an oddly calligraphic silhouette who sat in the coffee shop staring into space with her chin on the heel of her hand, the sort of sudden image recollection that has no meaning, then, another five years later, the Bear Mountain Day Care would not have caught its tragic fire. But even though it was technically preventable in this way no one could be said to blame, because it wasn’t a reasonable thing to expect of anybody, who would think of it later, a girl absently chewing on the eraser of her pencil in a coffee shop, thinking about her own bad habits regarding revision.