#(made another au)

[especiallyqhere]

The popular kid and the jock...

[otaku553]

Turning around an idea in my head recently :)

Lost Shepherd (Time Travel) AU

In which Truthless Recluse doesn’t experience rebirth and awakening upon shattering his soul jam, but the explosion of his and Shadow Milk Cookie’s combined power in a twisted space where all time coexists as one sends him back in time to his childhood.

When Pure Vanilla Cookie searches for his lost sheep, he finds a lost shepherd to take home as well.

[illustraice]

someone save alphonse elric and may chang from a very long suffering year

[starry-bi-sky]

bruce and danny being fuckign nerds together,,,, they are being the BIGGEST nerds. geeks. if you will

these losers are color-coding the most inane bullshit. they are making diagrams for things you've never even thought of. they are having the time of their lives

"what are you two doing?"

Danny, sitting criss-cross on a table, hunched over a spread of papers and a bunch of different jello cups, his back is gonna hurt SO much: color-coding jello

Bruce, sitting in a nearby chair, also criss-cross, scribbling on a graph paper: hm [agreeing]

Alfred, already exasperated and SO fond: may i ask why? and on what parameters?

Danny: we're basing it off which flavors are the most mentally stimulating and for which subjects :}

Alfred, SO fond: ah. i see.

Danny, snapping his head over to Bruce and leaning over: wh- no-- no. Buzz, I told you: lemon-flavored jello stays strictly in the 'smelling salts' category--

Bruce, still writing on the graph paper: mn. no.

Danny, nearly sprawled across his back, faux-outraged: strawberry is NOT good for math-- you fucken HEATHEN--! Give me that pen!

Bruce, did that solely to rile up Danny, now trying not to smile: hnm.

[that1notetaker]

TWICE the turtle! And it only costs getting time and space ripped apart in efforts to save your doomed universe!

[k4ppasta]

the argument pt15

previous

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first

[magicpiano]

So a lot of Danny Phantom fics use the idea that at least some ghosts are kind-of-personifications of concepts, like time.

I purpose a DCXDP AU where Gotham gains a new ghost, Robin. Not the ghost of Jason, or Stephanie, or Damian or anyone else who died, but the personification of Gotham City's residents' perception of the hero. He is very much his own person, yet also a mix of all of them, but with some civilian opinions tossed in for spice.

Now Bruce has to adopt another child but this one is somehow much more complicated. He won't ever grow up, he can't really go to school or live a normal life. Crime fighting is literally his entire reason for existing. In the beginning he struggles with being his own person.

And he doesn't see Bruce as his father, no that title falls to Batman. Yes, Robin is aware Bruce is Batman, but to him Bruce is the persona, no matter how many times people try to explain that this isn't true. The same can be said for the others. Dick isn't his brother, Nightwing is.

[morspritt]

Can I interest you in some AU JonGerryMichael?

(They need a new name, STAT.)

[pidgydraws]

🖋️ sleepover 🖋️

"...to further encourage the bearing of our souls and the telling of our most appalling secrets."

[aradidnt]

stargazing with you. <33333333

[deikshen]

My feverish brain skidded into a Hualian in the SVSSS universe while Binghe is a disciple

Just hear me out: Shen Qingqiu and his little white lotus Binghe go out on a night hunt... And they meet this exceptional and strong man! He doesn't even need a sword and gets rid of the monster in a couple of blows. But, he doesn't kill it! Inherently kind, he speaks to the fact that the beast is surely a mother protecting her cubs' territory that has been invaded by curious onlookers.

Shen Qingqiu sees the strong man who doesn't need a sword, sees the sixteen-year-old Binghe who will soon fall into the Abyss, turns around and says, "Daozhang, don't you want a job at my peak?"

And the kind daozhang is called Xie Lian, he accepts the job a little surprised by the insistence, and is soon being relocated to Qing Jing Peak. Shen Qingqiu makes sure the man has comfortable rooms, clean, new clothes, and a designated monthly budget to prepare for his classes.

He's a mix between a martial arts and a hand-to-hand combat master! Shen Qingqiu had never seen techniques like his before! Besides, Xie Lian doesn't even use his qi to fight! Luo Binghe will definitely learn a lot from him.

Soon, Xie Lian wins the affection of all the young ducklings. He doesn't just tutor Luo Binghe—even though Shen Qingqiu hired him to do that—he actually tutors all of his disciples as well. Disciples say "Xie-laoshi!" with the same admiration and adoration as they say "Shizun!"

... Except for Luo Binghe.

Well, Shen Qingqiu guesses that it must be difficult for his young disciple to adapt to the changes. And the fact that his new laoshi is always correcting him and teaching him more carefully at his request!! Shen Qingqiu spends entire afternoons with his new friend Xie Lian, listening to the disciples' progress. Xie Lian likes to talk—and is interesting to listen to! Shen Qingqiu can hear from the many adventures of the immortal rogue cultivator with the same fascination as when he talks about monsters. He is a good, interesting and friendly friend!!

Luo Binghe doesn't seem to like him.

Shen Qingqiu can't do much— I mean, Xie Lian is his friend, even if he's a very harsh master to you Binghe! Behave yourself! But Luo Binghe doesn't improve his attitude, dragging his feet, putting down the trays just a little too loudly, fighting with his laoshi as if he has something personal against him. Mmm...

Well, Shen Qingqiu can see that Xie Lian is handsome. Pretty. Gorgeous. Perhaps Luo Binghe is jealous of the competition? Ha! As if anyone could be as handsome as the Protagonist! Besides, after an afternoon of drinking a little wine, Xie Lian simply says about his ascetic cultivation and... Well, Binghe, you won't have to worry about this beautiful man stealing flowers from your garden!

Shen Qingqiu is quite happy about having found an exceptional teacher for his favorite disciple. Binghe has improved by leaps and bounds! He will definitely talk about raising Xie-laoshi's salary.

... And on the other hand, Ming Fan is out on a night hunt with his Ning-shimei. However, damn! The beast has caused a nasty red rain to fall that looks like blood, and ewww. They take refuge as best they can in a small temple, paying respects for invading the territory in this way. It's only when they've lit incense and left some of the provisions at the foot of the stone statue that Ming Fan sees its face, barely illuminated by a silver butterfly perched on the stone cheek, and...

"Shimei... That's... Isn't that Xie-laoshi's face?"

Ning Yingying narrows her eyes. Then, she gasps, astonished.

"Da-shixiong is right!! His face looks just like Xie-laoshi's!! Could Xie-laoshi have been the model?"

Ming Fan wrinkles his nose.

"Didn't Shizun meet him on a night hunt? He let a beast live. I don't think Xie-laoshi be a model. Besides, as a model noble, he'd make such a great fighter?"

The rain of blood behind them stops abruptly. There are no sounds of a struggle with the beast either.

Ming Fan and Ning Yingying let the night hunt continue. They find the beast dead and soaked in blood. Well, less hunting and more paperwork. Ugh.

A silver butterfly follows them back to Cang Qiong without either of them noticing.

Shen Qingqiu (the original goods) is not used to taking outside disciples. It was the normal route: taking a child and raising him as a cultivator from infancy. And while it made sense—it was difficult for a teenager to develop the beginnings of a proper spiritual core optimal for cultivation and subsequent ascension—the new Shen Qingqiu said to himself: well, damn, I hired a teacher, I can get a new disciple!!

Because the young disciple who comes to him is... Exceptional. A teenager—perhaps Binghe's age? Sixteen, close to his seventeen?—with shrewd eyes and a sharp tongue, he demonstrates the knowledge to be welcomed into Qing Jing and the martial and spiritual skill to be welcomed into the sect. He introduces himself kindly and sweetly as Xiao Hua and when Shen Qingqiu allows him to serve him tea and accepts him as a temporary disciple until he demonstrates the totality of his knowledge by passing his exams, Xiao Hua smiles a kind of smile that would give Shen Qingqiu a bad feeling. But oh well!!! He's just another NPC, isn't he?! Why had the System been so quiet anyway?

Xiao Hua shows an impressive amount of knowledge; he is vague with his answers about where he learned it from. Yet he unfolds in music and painting as if it were as easy as breathing, handles weapons as if they were part of him. If it weren't for his disastrous handwriting (A damage to his eyes! Illegible! Chaotic! Full of energy cruel to the eyes!) Shen Qingqiu would have doubts whether the boy had run away from another sect instead of home.

His new teacher, Xie Lian, seems willing to take on the hard work of getting Xiao Hua to write. Shen Qingqiu watches them spend hours and hours practicing without Xiao Hua's calligraphy improve at all. Who would have thought Xie-laoshi would have so much patience anyway! Shen Qingqiu would have given up on that.

Also, with the arrival of Xiao Hua, Luo Binghe seems more... calm? Shen Qingqiu watches him spend a lot of time with the boy, sharing drawings and notes, even if he can't see what they are in the distance. They train together! They whisper between classes!! They sneak away to take books and gossip! Shen Qingqiu is bursting with pride. His sweet white lotus has made a best friend!!! He no longer seems wary of Xie-laoshi, even if his training classes are shorter due to the longer duration of Xiao Hua's calligraphy classes.

Still, there are days when a master just has to relax. Shen Qingqiu keeps inviting Xie Lian to his bamboo house, and they chat randomly— it's fun! Xie Lian's company is a pleasant breath of fresh air! And if Shen Qingqiu is actively ignoring the two disciples spying on them chatting in the distance, well, he assumes these two new best friends have found their own place to enjoy leisure time. And those silver butterflies that usually swarm around Xie Lian? Ah, Xie Lian considers them a pleasant blessing and allows them to linger in his hair while they talk about monsters and history.

Shen Qingqiu is glad to have a friend too! Perhaps, when he finally has to push Binghe into the Abyss... Perhaps he can count on his support, if he tells him the truth—or at least, as much of the truth as he can give.

[bc-dc-vibing]

Weird looking cats

The wretched beasts from the itty bitty au by @jube-art @salparadiselost and @spookyprime

i think they're so neat

drawings referenced for jason and tim

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction. 

[tordoise-x3]

I love you so much birkin sorry i made you more horrific

[kitcat22]

In a world in which Fox died saving the republic from Palpatine, the newly reformed government, maybe out of gratitude maybe out of a publicity stunt, decide Fox should have his own monument.

The corrie guard commanders are initially opposed to this ‘cause they know fox would despise the idea, and they don’t want to remember fox as some martyr, he was a person with thoughts and feelings not a symbol.

After a while though, the want for Fox to be remembered for what he did wins over. They are also promised a large amount of creative influence, unfortunately they have to agree to share this with Fox’s batchmates.

There is, understandably, a lot of friction and arguments during the design process. The Corrie Commanders despise Fox’s batchmates for what they perceive as Fox’s abandonment, they dont think the others have any claim on Fox. The command batch on the other hand are immensely guilt ridden and are torn between doubting their right to be involved and hating the idea that they don’t have a right.

They do come together eventually, after a lot of blood and tears. They may never fully like each other but Little Gods did they love Fox. They really cant help but see little fragments of their lost brother in each other and together they really do manage to capture Fox’s essence and create something even he would struggle to hate.

The monument they settle on is a slightly larger than life statue of Fox, showing him with a rather feral look in his eye and a grin as he flips the middle finger, which they position to face the senate building.

It sends the senators into fits but the Clones adore it and many bring their kids to see it over the years.

[zu-is-here]

no point in fighting the tides

Ink by comyet