Hey So What About The Fact That Maria Robotnik’s Last Words Probably Fuck Up Shadow For Life.

you ever get so drunk that you end up plotting out a 6+ season story arc for a “How I Met Your Mother” style sitcom starring Sonic the Hedgehog characters?

Because I’ve done it twice now and I’m starting to wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something…

Can't get over the thought of Link accidentally revealing his true feelings to Sidon because he hasn't gotten a hang of his new alien hand, compounded by the heightened emotions of learning Sidon is engaged.

PLEASE let me know if this is anything...

D’aww, thank you! Apparently, I love latching onto AUs and then writing drabbles based on AUs of the AU, so maybe something more will come to mind!

This idea came from my frustration learning that Kom is unsaveble… if in-universe Solana learned that, I know her ass would be trying to drag Nemmie through the wormhole to pull off the ultimate timeloop rescue mission extravaganza.

And maybe that plan eventually reaches a few more kids, until suddenly there’s a dozen transcended children running around the Stratospheric trying to save Nemmie’s brother’s life.

*I just want Nemmie to be happy and grow up still playing sportsball, is that too much to ask?!*

New hyperfixation means new tumblr post to inspire me to write something! @nordictwin's I was a Teenage Exocolonist Stratos Kid Time Loop AU got me thinking: why do the kids in the AU suddenly have the power to remember? And when I start thinking I start scheming... what if it wasn't an accident that they remember? What if our lovable little scamp Sol tried a few new things across the loops and may have *accidentally* transcended a bunch of their friends with our favorite Faceless + Wormhole wombo combo?

So anyway: here is a short writing dump about Sol and Anemone borrowing from one of the original loyalty scenes in the game. (Nemmie is my favorite so that's who you all get) - enjoy!

---

"The adults say we're not supposed t’ go outside the colony unless it's on expedition…" Anemone didn’t take her eyes off the teenage-shaped speck receding over the distant cliffside; wordlessly, she extended an open hand to the other and waited expectantly. The heft of her holoculars being returned to her is all the answer she needs before instinctively looping the device back around her neck. "And Dys just goes whenever he wants! What if he gets hurt? What if he dies?"

Or worse… Anemone wrinkled her nose, her mind filling in the pieces of just what worse could possibly entail. "What if he picks up a weird alien disease and comes back with three heads?"

Beside her, her lookout partner chuckled cheerfully – as if three-head-making alien diseases was a laughing matter –and Anemone’s cheeks flushed with the knee-jerk reaction that it’s her whose being laughed at. Maybe… maybe she’d didn’t know as much about what’s out there as the explorers – but hey, it hadn’t been proved there weren’t three-head-making alien viruses on Vertumna.

Anemone idly scratched her cheek, itching at the dry spot caused from her acne turned scales. “Ow,” she muttered instinctually; the jolt of pain snapped her back into the moment, where her eyes leapt up to the clifftop. No sign of Dys anymore. "I just… dunno what to do about it," Anemone admitted, "what do you think?"

They’re quiet for a moment: there’s a pause that’s full of uncertainty and hesitation, but when her friend spoke, the words are filled with something that Anemone couldn’t quite place.

"We should go after him."

It’s finally enough to take Anemone’s attention off the valley; she whipped her head towards Sol and couldn’t stop herself from staring at the other girl as if she had three heads.

"What?! Outside the colony? By ourselves?”

There was a glow in Sol’s eyes. Again, that sensation that Anemone just couldn’t place. Sol’s words were insanity – clearly meant to be a joke – but something in them looked… strangely… hopeful?

Anemone hadn’t really… Anemone didn’t leave the colony. Sure, she was 13 years old, and that meant she was old enough to join the expeditions team… but that’s not where she was meant to be. She liked watch duty. She was training to be like Kom and Rhett.

Exploring this weird alien planet – going out of her way to deal with its weird crazy animals and environment that wanted to kill them – she’d leave that stuff to those more suited for the task. Like Utopia and Uncle Tonin. Like Dys (as much as she hated to admit it). And… well, Sol.

Not her. Not Anemone.

“No way!” She shook her head profusely. And Sol laughed, but that little light twinkling in her eye had disappeared, so quickly dashed by Anemone’s words that she wondered whether it had ever been there at all. “Nuh uh!" Anemone repeated.

Sol teased her Nemmie some more, but somewhere deep inside, Anemone couldn’t help but wonder that her best friend seemed… disappointed?

---

“Nemmie… do you trust me?”

At the time, it had seemed like a silly question. Anemone’s response, “Of course I trust you,” had been immediate. Automatic. Trust was implicit between the two at this point in their lives.

By their late teens, Sol had done more for Anemone then… anyone. She was at her side defending against every attack; she helped the colony’s scientists cure the Shimmer, and its farmers stave off famine. Sol had even convinced her to break off her toxic relationship with Vace.

“I need you to do something for me.”

So yeah, Anemone figured she could trust Sol, her best friend since diapers, to not do or suggest anything that would betray that trust.

“Nemmie… I need you to sneak out with me during Glow season.”

What’s that feeling when you start experiencing *A Media* and you just… know.

Like you just know that the moment you finish it you’re going to consume every piece of content and fanfic vaguely related to the thing.

But you haven’t finished it yet? So you’re just vibrating with the excitement while finishing the thing so you can finally experience more of the thing through other people and let to hyperfixation finally overtake you.

I still find it funny how Team Dark’s G.U.N. base raid is retroactively acknowledged as unnecessary, harmful to trust, etc. which doesn’t make the writing better, it makes it worse. Because you KNEW it made no sense but wrote it anyway. “Need climactic action sequence, f* logic.”

Color theory: there are several colors

I have been obsessing about @skippyin's Lost in New York AU. So much so that I made a short 1-hour writing dump about Luigi trying to find and rescue Bowser Junior from Brooklyn. Thought I'd share!

(Definitely not head-cannoning Luigi as Junior's surrogate second parent. Dear god what has the Bowuigi done to me 🥲).

---

Luigi was sweating. It was that cold, clammy sweat that clung to the skin and made him feel sick. Or was that just the sinking feeling in his gut, screaming at him that something was irreparably wrong?

He didn’t have the precious seconds to waste on determining which.

“Junior!” The young koopaling’s name launched from his lips, only to be drowned out by cars rolling down the overpass overhead. It was so loud – too loud. Nothing like the plumber’s peaceful life in the Mushroom Kingdom.

But Luigi came back for a purpose – da Dio he would accomplish it.

“Junior!”

He was going to bring the kid back. Kicking and screaming – most likely – but he’d get Junior out of here and back to his father, regardless of the young prince’s desires. An uncharacteristic confidence had overtaken the plumber. Luigi’s resolve was unshaken as he trekked through his old hometown, scouring the shadows which wrapped the streets in the ephemeral glow of dusk.

Luigi paid no mind to the rickety old apartment complex at the edge of the block, where he and Mario had made many a house call, back in a time when he had called this foreign place home. He didn’t think about the greasy pizza place on the corner where two broke bachelors could find a cheap meal; the old high school a couple streets down hardly registered.

“Junior!” No, the only thought in Luigi’s mind was to find the little koopaling. Find him quickly, before he was lost entirely, disappearing into the big city; find him fast, before anything else could happen.

…

…

…

But by the time he did, it was already too late.

Luigi had nearly passed the alleyway when he heard it. Sniffling. The earnest attempt of a child holding back his tears. The human leaped to attention as his eyes tracked the sound to their source, spotting a figure curled up in a black hoodie.

“Junior!” Luigi scrambled into the alley, to the aid of the young koopaling. The sniveling and shaking body hardly seemed to notice him; bright red eyes bristling with tears as Junior tried to bury his face into his sleeves. Acting on instinct, the plumber reached out to comfort the child, only for Junior to flinch away from him.

Luigi retreated his hand. With a frown etched across his face, he carefully looked over the young prince. He didn’t look injured, per se, but there was certainly plenty of evidence to some sort of scrap: the backpack he was wearing to cover his shell looked battered, with a few spikes poking out from its holes. His yellow shorts were stained with dirt at the knees. And…

…and his signature paintbrush lay, snapped in two, at the koopaling’s feet.

“Aye…” Luigi’s heart shattered in his chest. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of laughter, coming from a group of teenagers. But all the plumber’s focus was on the young child in front of him. “Mio bambino…” Unable to touch the crying koopaling, Luigi’s own vision began to fog.

“Can we just…” Junior spoke between sobs as his little act began to burst. “I don’t like it here,” he cried loudly. Luigi could do nothing but watch as the tears flowed freely down the prince’s face, the koopaling clamping his jaw tight to hold back anymore cries.

There it was.

There was the Brooklyn Luigi remembered.

The city that chewed up and spat out its inhabitants; that made people feel small and powerless. Just because it could. Just because it wanted to.

The Brooklyn Luigi had never wanted to return to.

The Brooklyn Luigi had so desperately wanted to keep Junior safe from.

“Sì mio figlio,” he extended his arms out to the young prince; Junior leaped into the plumber’s embrace as the tears continued to pour. A wet snout smeared against his overalls as Luigi picked up the turtle-shelled child to hold in his arms, hardly noticing the sharp spikes scratching against his wrists through the fabric of the bag.

“Let’s go home.”

haunting the narrative, but like, in a literal sense.

Torturing the author and existing in the spaces between pages. Breaking the forth wall to call them a cuck for trying to kill me.

Is that anything

This is a callout post to disorganized and sleepy bitches (me)

Delete those random alarm times from your phone. You aren’t gonna need to reuse that alarm for 2:37pm anytime soon. I promise

crabapples - 0/10 - Disgusting!!!

apple varieties ranked by if they would keep the same name in the isat universe (under the assumption that these are "modern" apple varieties named after the color draining wish)

red delicious - 0/10 - there is no way. try again

golden delicious - 4/10 - gold is a metal as well as a color so it's not out of the question but golden delicious apples are very mild that i do not think anybody would associate them with gold as a metal instead of a color

granny smith - 10/10 - in every universe these little bitches are called granny smiths

honeycrisp - 7/10 - they don't really taste honey-ish but on the other hand they don't look honey-ish in color either

jazz - 6/10 - what's jazz about them? but i'm sure the concept exists in vaugarde regardless

cosmic crisp - 10/10 but they give you a headache

pink lady - 0/10 - pink, moving on

fuji - 1/10 - mt fuji does not exist but it gets a point in case there's an apple farmer named fuji out there

opals - 8/10 - opals are a gemstone so it's possible but points are docked because there's nothing visually about opal apples that makes me think about an opal

queen - 10/10 BUT they are renamed after vaugarde's freezing

ambrosia - 4/10 - could be named this but i don't know if isat has the equivalent of a greek pantheon anywhere or if ambrosia as a concept has any specific cultural meaning

crispin - 10/10 - fuck man they sure are