#silly swap au

[mushiemooon]

Silly swap au cyn!

- goes scavenging outside the colony with her brother N!

- N found her the hoodie while raiding a hot topic once and got it so it would “match” his

- Tinkers with the parts she finds scavenging to build rudimentary/advanced robots

- also builds weapons from the parts :]

- she really doesn’t like humans cause of them almost killing her parents

[eyelessfog]

Swap last life fairy fort. they sure the hell are some guys 👍

[doctorwhozzat]

more random doodles

[salemoleander]

SNIFFS. MAY I HEAR ABOUT YOUR CLOCK SCENE THOUGHTS?

YEAHHH

Okay so I haven't had time to run through it and decide bc there are 2 ideas and idk which I like more:

1. Follow the letter of the swap and it's Grian bribing Impulse w/ the clock. Grian is much more direct than Scar. He would ask Impulse what do you want to betray Bdubs and Impulse looks over and pauses and then says, eyes alighting on Bdubs' skin, I want a clock. And then it's not a direct attack- Impulse sets up a trap w/ the clock as bait.

2. Other option deviates slightly from the swap in that it is Grian giving still Bdubs the clock to try to bribe him, except Grian isn't very convincing and Bdubs isn't very subtle. And from there idk if it's

Impulse preemptively killing Bdubs shouting traitor, or

Bdubs wandering up to Impulse and asking what he wants to partner against Scar + Grian and Impulse looks at him and pulls out an axe and says I want a clock

[diviedrawn]

Nico the Stampede and Vash the Punisher

[lazysoftmilk]

The design might not like the original Au bc it's my style 😭 pic5:silly Au by me

Pic6: Purgatory Au by

@theamazingdigitalpurgatory

Pic1, 2,4: TADWonderland Au,

TTerribleDC Au, priest/devil TADC Au by

@obamerzslop

Pic3: swap TADC by

@laweonakenny

[iamsofuckinggay]

School things part 2

[dovewingkinnie]

i saw people drawing swap aus for pomni and caine so i wanted to join in pomni still keeps some of her personality and the need to escape the circus cause i think it would be interesting for an AI to want to leave with the others!! i think she'd drag caine around and be like: MY NEW FRIEND!! he can teach me all about how humans act!! cause i think she might act a little unintentionally frightening towards the others, so caine is the first one to not be all that afraid of her

[carouselunique]

They had a bit of a chance encounter on a day where Blueblood was dealing with something that was very difficult and was so caught up in his emotions he didn’t even care that he was in the garden getting grass stans on his coat and Ditzy, with her natural impulse to cheer ponies up, didn’t even notice or care that she was flying into the palace gardens when she saw someone sat in the rain.

At first he was definitely going to call the castle guards to come apprehend this strange filly with the odd eyes who was intruding when this was the last moment he’d want to entertain any desperate debutantes, however she surprised him by not fawning or anything, not even caring about his status, just putting one of her fluffy wings up and asking if he needed somepony to lend an ear.

“Don’t let my eyes fool you, my ears work just fine!”

She was incredibly disarming and while he didn’t reveal everything about why he was upset, he found himself talking about his feelings to her. And she made such cheerful remarks, and was very comforting. In the end, he felt better and she came to check on him the next day, even sharing a blueberry muffin with him. He remarked that he’d never seen her around before, and that he wouldn’t mind terribly seeing her more often.

The rest, as they say, is history.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[anamdreams69]

some small underswap concept ideas about temmies :3

[mushiemooon]

they are the Mabel and dipper of my au, to me

[eyelessfog]

Red Cookie King

Red king fic for my silly swap au :] take all the double life soulmates and swap them with themselves in every other season of the life series and you have the swaps!

——��

“Cleo,” BigB says seriously, voice heavy.

“BigB,” Cleo responds, matching his tone mockingly.

“No, no, no, Cleo, serious. We’re being serious now.”

Cleo squints at him. “Now I’m less sure about if I’m supposed to be serious or not.”

“Serious,” BigB says again.

“Oh,” Cleo says. “Alright!” Then they make their face grave and dark and say, sombrely, “BigB.”

“Cleo,” BigB says again. He places his hands on her shoulders, and Cleo blinks at the intensity of his gaze. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Uh. Alright? What’s up?”

“Serious!” BigB reminds.

Cleo bristles. “I’m being serious! What’s up?!”

“Cleo,” BigB says, again. “I need you to kill me.”

And Cleo stops.

“…What?”

BigB steps back, an axe appearing in his hands. He offers it out to them.

“I need you to kill me. You’re still green, because you’re… You’re better at this than I am.”

Cleo waves her hand in a so-so motion, trying to ignore the heaviness in her stomach. “I just wasn’t close to the explosion when Tango set it off. It’s not your fault.”

BigB pushes the axe further towards them, and Cleo takes it, unsure.

“But we can use this, right?” BigB seems almost excited at the prospect, and Cleo’s brows furrow. “Grian’s on red, but because he’s been telling Scar to fight, Scar has been fighting! We can do that too! We don’t have to wait for them to come to us, we can-“

“BigB, you’re going to be red,” Cleo reminds softly. “Is that okay with you?”

BigB shrugs, but she can see the shake in his arms, and the tension in his jaw. “I’m going to die again soon, I know. There are reds. There are yellows that are almost there. I’m one of them, but we can make this tactical! We can use it to win! There’s two of them. We can have an army.”

Cleo tilts her head at him, feeling a burn of grief for a death that hasn’t even happened yet. She tries for a smile. “You’ve been talking to me too much. You didn’t used to think about stuff like this. That was my job.”

BigB manages a small laugh. “I think it’s worth it. If it means we get to be partners.”

Cleo nods slowly, assuring both him and themself. The axe weighs heavy in their hands. They run their hands up it’s wooden handle, and feel the notch of a name in the wood.

“…Why me?” Cleo asks. She laughs, sounding a little bitter. “I can’t tell if you’re making me do this because I’m too loyal or not loyal enough. Is this a test?”

“I’m asking you to do this because I know you’ll understand why you have to.” BigB smiles. “Like you said. I’ve been spending all this time with you. This is the kind of plan you would make.”

Cleo shuts her mouth, grinding her teeth together. She doesn’t like this plan. She doesn’t like that it is more like something that she would think of than something that he would.

“But you wouldn’t ask me to give up my life for you like this,” BigB says. “So I’ll do it for you.”

He throws his hands out wide, smiling and open and neck bared, and Cleo hates this.

“You can do it, Cleo. You don’t have to be loyal. You don’t have to be a traitor. This doesn’t say anything about you but that I trust you enough to do this for me. And that you trust me enough to let me die.”

Cleo laughs. It’s wet sounding with tears she hasn’t cried, but that’s alright. “That’s not how that works, B,” they say through the wheezing. “We trust each other, but that has nothing to do with you dying.”

BigB starts laughing too.

It dies down slowly, and the weight of the world falls back onto their shoulders.

BigB pauses. “Cleo, is this the right thing to do?”

Cleo sighs. “I don’t know.”

And then she swings the axe.

BigB tenses on the first swing, choking on his own blood as the axe imbeds itself in his neck.

Cleo feels sick.

They pull the axe back and swing again. It hits. He’s not dead yet. They have to swing the axe just one more time.

It goes straight through his neck and Cleo feels a bit like she’s going to throw up. His head falls and rolls, and she hates the thump. It’s awful.

bigbst4tz2 was slain by ZombieCleo using ***the red king rises***

The words flash across Cleo’s vision, a blessed break from the red on the floor and on their hands and the guilt rolling in their stomach.

And then the white fades from their vision, and the scene they’re presented with might be worse.

BigB is standing, but he doesn’t have a head. Blood is dripping from the stump of his neck and onto his shirt and it’s staining far too bright of a red to be natural. The blood on the floor is moving, gathering together under his feet. He reaches down for his head (wrong, wrong, wrong,) hands stiff and face still blank and dead.

He is alive and dead all at once, and Cleo wonders absently if this is what it would have been like to watch her come back to life the first time she was ever Zombie Cleo.

The blood rises up his back - and they’re noticing that there is too much of it, more than there should be, as if the blood is stretching or multiplying or some other strange and impossible feat. He pulls his head up, up, up, rising above his head. There’s weight in the action, unlike when Cleo pops her stitches just to joke about throwing her head around. BigB is still dead, and it shows on his face, as though he isn’t aware that he’s moving at all - and maybe he doesn’t know!

Maybe it’s all part of his respawn. Some awful twist that forces them to watch as he puts himself back together and turn red slowly, slowly, slowly.

BigB places his head atop his neck. Cleo thinks she can see the exact second everything lines up, like it’s a click or flinch as some sort of life comes back to his face. His eyes flutter closed, the dull gold-brown disappearing and leaving him looking almost like himself.

And then he opens his eyes again, and they are bright, bright red.

Cleo has seen reds before.

Grian, their enemy, is red. His clothes look like they were dipped in dried blood, but it wasn’t all that big of a change considering he always wore red anyway. Tango, from the flower valley, is red too, but his eyes have been red from the moment they’d met him, and his outfit hadn’t changed at all. Even Scott, who was generally a very blue themed person, wore red like a well fitting costume.

This isn’t the case for BigB. BigB is blue. He just is. But he isn’t now.

He has red eyes instead of brown, and red blood rolling down his neck, and a cape made of blood hanging from his shoulders, and his sweater is a deep maroon.

BigB is blue.

The Red King is red.

BigB shifts uncomfortably, touching at his neck.

“Ow,” he says. His voice is so comfortingly his.

Cleo laughs. “Sorry, B, but you asked for it.”

BigB laughs too. “I did do that! Still.” He rubs his neck. “Ow.”

Cleo pauses. Belatedly, they say, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine! It’s fine. It worked! I want to see what everyone is saying!” BigB pulls out his comm, a small smile on his face.

Cleo walks over, dropping the axe with a clatter. It’s so much easier to pretend that they’re just two friends making a joke for everyone else to react to. It’s easier to drop the axe and the blood at their feet and look over BigB’s shoulder as people type in their confusion and horror. It’s easier to look at the comm and not at him.

BigB laughs and Cleo snorts when Grian types in WHAT??? They can almost hear his shriek.

And then people stop typing, and the little bit of almost normalcy that they gained disappears, and BigB puts his comm down.

“Cleo,” BigB says seriously, voice heavy.

“BigB,” Cleo responds, matching his tone.

“Did I do the right thing?” BigB asks.

Cleo doesn’t look at him. They look off at the rising sun, chasing away the dark and beginning a new day.

New day. New fight.

New plan on the table.

“I don’t know,” Cleo says honestly. “I don’t know anymore.”

[voidzphere]

havent drawn in a hot minute so have berror !!1 whoa !!11 berror !!11 the goober !!!!11 blueberror belongz to loverofpiggies

[luckycloverforducks]

(Swap AU)

Slutty (ex)Mafia Spider Polka Pop

[forgettingcrowbin]

THE STAR SANSES!! KEEP READING FOR WING EXPLANATIONS :D

Time to rant here instead of the tags :)

Ink's design is a little bit different just to make up for the lack of wings he has most of the time. (Since he has no soul) If he concentrates his ink well enough he can create fake wings that usually mimic hawk wings. The only thing is the wings will have colored accents of whatever vials he had just taken. (Ink by Comyet)

Like most eastern bluebirds, blue is a harbinger of positivity :) He's the type to take care of other's wings really well since he's got the personality of Papyrus.

Dream has canary wings, trapped in a cage of his duties. They are most often hanging limply off his back when he isn’t around people because of how big they are. If he gets hurt or positivity in the multiverse begins to go downwards, he sheds his feathers and his wings slowly get smaller and smaller overtime. The amount of positive emotions corelates exactly to how big or small they are. (Dream by Joku)