#idk some kind of bad au?

[asubakaa]

Like a father, like a son.

[raiiny-bay]

redhead :-)

[wazzappp]

I love thinking about how this would go down with them

[rust-bearer]

The prisoner screamed in their cell, as First Aid watched through the window. Their servo, previously their pride of trade, had been cut off right where the nerve endings started; it looked fairly painful, and judging by the screaming, it was.

First Aid made a note of it, typing on his keypad.

“Hey doc. Fancy seeing you here,” Vortex purred from First Aid’s left, standing obtrusively in the doorway. First Aid spared him a glance, then return to the prisoner.

“Standard response of sudden amputation. Patient underwent a below-the-wrist amputation following extensive ischemic damage and necrosis of the servo due to unintended infection…” First Aid looked up again at the ‘prisoner’, before returning to his notes, continuing to speak aloud as he typed. “Preoperative imaging revealed critical tissue loss, with no viable circulation distal to the wrist. Procedure was uncomplicated and patient is expected to make a full recovery.”

Vortex made an interested noise, deciding to lean into First Aid’s personal space. “Sounds like you had some fun without me.”

First Aid set the tablet down with a small noise of dissatisfaction. Then, he spoke into a microphone, directed to the diminutive medical drones, currently puttering around the operating room. “Physician consent obtained for patient termination.”

As one, the drones all jolted to life. The prisoner strapped to the operating table barely had time to scream before the drones began to gouge him apart. First Aid shook his head, and made yet another mental note to recalibrate the drones. Always so messy. Never enough time to fix it, though. Especially not with…

Well, Vortex. Vortex, who was currently staring in disbelief. “Yknow, I was joking when I said you should lighten up. Isn’t this a little extreme? I mean, Primus, Aid, aren’t you supposed to be a medic-”

“What is it you want, Vortex?” First Aid sighed. He shouldn’t be even indulging this. “I wouldn’t have to kill so many patients if you left me alone.”

“Me? What did I do!” Vortex looks wounded, and maybe it’s an act. “You’re the one who chopped off his wrist, then, well… the rest of him too. Say, doesn’t he look a lot like your old coworker?” Vortex flashes a deep grin, unobstructed by any mask.

First Aid ignores him. Looks back to his notes. “Attending physician visual disturbance noted. Accompanied by auditory disturbances as well. Patient log closed for the day.”

“Hallucination?” Vortex makes to snatch away the data pad, but his clawed servo goes through it. “Wh- hey! First Aid, what did you-”

“You’re DEAD, Vortex!” First Aid finally snaps. “We have this conversation every other day! You’re- not real, and I shouldn’t even be talking to you…” Inhale, exhale. “I’ve been awake too long. This always happens, and I keep telling myself not to let it happen, and it always happens…”

Muttering to himself, First Aid stands up and leaves the room. Vortex, or what thinks it’s Vortex, stands over the data pad. Watches the text scroll automatically until it reaches today’s date.

Fifty thousand years after the end of the War. After Vortex’s last, hazy memory of… something, and then nothing at all. The room dims; the room goes black.

Nothing but a pair of red optics, staring out of the dark.

[drones-of-innocence]

Traveled Half the World to Say, You Are My Muse...

What if in an alternate universe, Princess Peach was an exchange student studying art?

She might enjoy getting a daily coffee before classes, and particularly over the weekends where she planned to walk around the city in search of her muse.

Until, one day, she finds him.

Her muse appears to her in the form of a man at a coffee shop on a rainy day.

The dreary light from the windows catches the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen, and a frustrated hand combs back dark curls as he focuses on his laptop. A full cup of coffee sits, forgotten, by his elbow.

"Excuse me," she approached him before she can think twice, after blocking the doorway and apologizing to the incoming customers who stumbled into her. A childish sense of shame filled her, and she grasped at the straps of her messenger bag. He glanced up at her with those piercing eyes. Her throat went dry. "May—may I sketch you?"

She sees his eyes dart across her face, to the University's emblem on her shirt, to the messenger bag covered in bright patches. His mustache hides his mouth, so she can't tell what he's thinking behind that even stare.

The lack of a response compels nervous laughter. "I'm an art student. It'd just be really quick. I won't bother you; it's good practice, that's all." the explanation bubbled out of her through his silence. The other people sitting in the shop thankfully paid her no mind beyond a glance or two. She struggled not to force a harder smile.

His eyes narrowed for just a moment. She detected a touch of suspicion in his creased brow.

"Sure. Fine," he said, nodding to the seat in front of him before returning his attention to his laptop.

Relieved, Peach practically sank into the chair. "Oh, thank you. Don't mind me at all, it won't take long." she whipped out her sketchbook and pencil, trying to find a blank page to begin. He didn't answer, reviewing whatever was on his screen.

She started by mapping out the general form of his torso and face. He was quite a short man, much shorter than her, but he had an incredibly sturdy build. He wore a modest sweater, but she could see a hint of definition in his shoulders and chest even through the draping red cloth. She wondered if he was very active. Or perhaps his job demanded a certain degree of fitness.

He seemed older than her, but not by much at all. Maybe he was a recent graduate? She focused a little more on his face, trying not to get distracted by his eyes, to sketch out an accurate shape.

His sharp jawline contrasted with his round cheeks. "You have a very impressive mustache," she said, trying to capture the angles just right. She had never seen such a remarkable mustache. It suited the shape of his face so well that she had a hard time imagining his face without it. He didn't respond except to glance at her, expression still unreadable.

She grazed her pencil over the paper, a ghost of a line indicating a suspected dimple in his cheek. She wouldn't know for sure unless he smiled.

"Your nose is so unique," she murmured, careful to capture the precise form. Such a striking round shape. At this, she noticed him let out a sharp sigh and keep a stern focus on his computer. She was nearly done, though, so she had to persist. Had to get this specimen on paper.

Her education had created an efficient artist out of her. Her lines gained more focus, nearly portraying an accurate likeness.

It was those eyes that had captured her attention in the first place. She traced the shape of his thick brows, framing his face with a soft intensity. Nothing in the cafe could draw her away. Not the constant ringing of the doorbell as people came and went, not the steady noise level from the dozens of conversations around them. Not even the rich scent of the coffee that she so adored. Instead, her nose was more keen toward the fresh, clean scent that she assumed was the man's cologne. Her cheeks grew a little warm.

She just managed to trace the shape of his irises, though her linework could not capture the way the color almost glowed. She had never felt such a spark inside as she did looking upon this man. "Your eyes are so beautiful," she said, looking between him and the page. "I don't think I've ever seen such a bright blue before..." she looked up, only to trail off as she realized he was glaring at her.

"That's enough." The man stood from his stool in a flash, shoving his laptop in a bag. Peach jumped. Eyes wide.

He stopped only long enough to give her a hard look, before he turned and marched out of the cafe.

A few customers turned to look as Peach watched him go. Her heart skipped a beat, an alarmed sting of confusion going through her veins. He disappeared quickly down the street.

She didn't understand. Maybe he was busy and didn't want her to bother him? But if that were the case, he simply could have refused to allow her to draw him, right? Swallowing hard, she looked down at her quick little rendering of the man. His features all together created a soft image, with kind and earnest eyes. But suddenly, all she could see was that icy glare.

The rain picked up outside. Peach slowly put away her book and decided not to explore the city that day after all.

In her morose bewilderment, she could hardly take out her sketchbook over the next couple of days. A few of her classmates noticed and tried to engage her in idle gossip, but she didn't have the heart to pay any real attention.

Her work on the sketch had been solid. When she did take out her book, she would take some time to look at the man, even though the memory of that harsh look twisted the perception of her art.

Where the city had been so colorful and vibrant, it all suddenly seemed so dull and gray.

"Your muse?" her roommate caught her one day going over the lines, and pressed her until she'd explained the situation. "Are you sure he's your muse? Don't you think you might just have a crush on him?"

The suggestion haunted her like his face did in her dreams.

The sun warmed her back when she made her way down the street the next weekend. She caught sight of the cafe, and thought a coffee might do her some good before her excursions for the day. Classes had been long that week anyway; she deserved a little treat.

The bell rang on the door as soon as she walked in. Many people looked up at her on impulse before returning to their own drinks.

Except for him.

In the exact same place she had spotted him before. Those bright blue eyes fixed right on her. Like blue jewels in the sunlight.

Peach froze for a moment before abruptly averting her eyes. Should she leave? This was embarrassing. But an indignance rose up in her chest to fight off the shame. She had just as much of a right to be here as he did. She wasn't going to turn tail just because of some guy.

So she raised her chin, gripped the strap of her bag, and hurried to the complete opposite side of the room as him.

It was only after she had sat down and arranged her books and materials around for her homework that she realized she had forgotten to go to the counter to order herself a coffee.

Well. She had just as much of a right to be here, but she did not currently have the nerve to get back up and show herself and do something crazy like risk making eye contact again. With a deep breath, and heat rising to her cheeks, she got to work scanning over the latest assignment.

The low music playing harmonized with the low hum of conversation in the cafe. Peach tried to make sense of the description of the assignment, but she couldn't quite focus on any of the words.

A cup of coffee and a pastry appeared at her elbow.

Peach looked up. The man, the subject of her thoughts and dread the past week, took a careful step back to a respectful distance. Those pretty eyes focused on her with a hesitant guilt. He had his own coffee cup in his hand.

"I didn't know how you liked your coffee," he nodded to the cup on the table, where he had placed cream and sugar beside it. "But I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

Her throat went dry. Swallowing hard, Peach tried to figure out a normal way to sit without fidgeting. "E—excuse me?"

He nodded and took a deep breath. "I was rude to you last week. I believed you were, ah, trying to make fun of me. With all the things you said to me." He glanced at the floor before looking back at her again. "It was a mistake to assume the worst. You seem very kind. I am sorry for how I behaved to you." he tried to smile.

A new light dawned on Peach's understanding. "Oh. Oh, goodness, not at all!" She set her pencils and books aside. "I wasn't teasing you. I'm so sorry if I came across that way; I must have been distracted..."

The man waved her off. "No, please. It was nothing about you. I think you come across as very sweet, Miss. It was my fault."

Very sweet. He thought she was sweet. Peach tried to ignore the furious heat that rose up to her face. She pursed her lips and nodded her appreciation.

He gestured to the coffee and the pastry he had chosen for her. "Please," he said. "I will leave you now. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Miss��"

"Wait," Peach reached out. "Um, I just want you to know that I genuinely think that you are handsome. You have the prettiest eyes. And uh, I appreciate the apology. If you want, you could have the rest of your coffee with me?"

The man blinked at her when she moved to make a space for him to sit. She could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush with a little color. He didn't say anything.

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Peach. I'm an art student at the University. But you already knew that." she laughed nervously. "Um, what's your name?"

It occurred to her that he was just as flustered as she was. An excited, hopeful spark lit up her chest.

He reached out to shake her hand. "I'm Mario," he said, and moved to sit down.

O~o~O

[fowlblue]

… AF Infection AU.

[nocentis]

x

[goobus-central]

genuinely dont remember when i started making this au. it feels like its just always been the thing i maladaptive daydream about even though i logically know it isnt.

also, why is everything here batshit crazy. believe it or not the biblically accurate angel named fóvos that stalks callie and gives her catholic guilt is an actual Thing with some semblance of Lore Importance. where did he come from? half 'a wind in the door' - madeleine l'engle and half me being fucked up

[elvenchain]

OK yea I really really want to write a Master/Sword fic w Ghirahim and Link and I am gunna. Replay botw and totk. So I can get the lore Right

[taddymason]

I see your blog title and I bring you a fun question: If Jay and Kaida were in the Hollow Knight universe, what kind of little buggy lads would they be?

ohohohoh I love this ask, my two hyperfixations together:

Jay would be a firefly for me. I know that in Hollow Knight the version of fireflies are the Lumaflies, which also CAN use electricity, so Jay could easily be a larger species and with consciousness like the other bugs

and now with Kaida, a part of me wants to say that she would be a dragonfly because it fits her so well, but with her history and powers what would make the most sense is that she is some kind of discarded vessel that has escaped the abyss like the Little Ghost did and walks around aimlessly killing infected bugs and causing disaster. That is of course until she meets the idiot with lightning powers who adopts her.

like, her spirit powers are basically the same as the Little Ghost's soul powers, and can you imagine Jay adopting this hellspawn who goes around stabbing corpses with the dream nail, breaking signs, and ringing the bell of a station 800 times just to annoy him? and said hellspawn has to kill god and now he's dragged him along on the quest? it's perfect

[doctorwhoisadhd]

hmmm what if i connected thomas england and the trickster's brigade somehow. how would i do that

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

every time a fic has michael use he/they instead of he/it i wail loudly at the screen. like even if you make it human why are my pronouns not good enough for it. piss off (<- sad)

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

[notmoreflippingelves]

Krisnix - Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibilty AU, for the prompts, please? 😉🌹

"You do not suppose me capable of real feeling-- do you, Klavier? I will admit that I do not wear my heart upon my sleeve as you do, but you are wrong to assume that it does not beat and burn and long just as fiercely as your own does. I have known of Mr. Edgeworth's prior claim for months now, and for those months, I have thought of little else than Phoe--than Mr. Wright and the regard that I still hold for him. But the family needs my strength and my resolve--not least after your own romantic disappointment--so I remain ever the sense to counterbalance your own sensibility."

Klavier said nothing in reply but placed a steady hand on his brother's shoulder, until Kristoph covered the hand with one of his own.

Send me a prompt and I'll write a 4-5 sentence drabble about it

[un-pearable]

if i was a studio and could make a visions episode i would do everything in my power for a star wars take on jttw

[pyrriax]

one day i will stop being afraid of getting hounded for writing something that is less pretty and more just. raw.