#downhill fic

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic january 30 - uneven - 983words - cw: nsfw!, spanking, degradation

aka when a haircut gone wrong turns into bending ur husband over the kitchen counter and ****** his ***** until ******* and he ******** *** ***

“It’s uneven.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s uneven, James.”

“You– she’s just sitting improperly, her head bent at an angle,” his fiancée replies, in a there you have it way.

Regulus levels him with a flat look, “You’ve cut our daughter bangs and they’re uneven.”

“The hair kept falling into her eyes! It was bothering her,” James’ tone is defensive.

Regulus stares down at the picture on James’ phone, regarding the line of Harrie’s bangs as they fall crookedly over her small forehead, grin as wide and toothy as always, pigtails equally askew. She’s running around in kindergarten like that right now none the wiser.

When he looks up to raise an eyebrow at James this one snatches up his phone and pockets it with a huff, grumbling under his breath.

Behind them the electric kettle clicks, signaling that the water is boiled, so Regulus turns his back to face the shelves in search of a mug and tea bag.

“As if you would’ve done any better.”

An incredulous scoff rips from the back of Regulus’ throat.

It sounds like James is gnashing his teeth when he growls, “What?”

Regulus casually goes about preparing his tea. “Oh, miles, baby.”

James sounds closer when he speaks next, making Regulus shiver, “You’re a brat.”

“Your ego is too big,” Regulus spits back.

“Yeah, well, something’s gotta match the cock.”

There’s a second of still silence where they’re both not moving, disbelieving over if James just actually said that out loud.

Then Regulus head whips around and he fixes the other with a narrow glare. “Excuse me?”

He can see the moment something flips inside James and he decides, wether that be reasoned or not, to just fucking roll with it. “You heard me.”

Regulus feels his face pull into a sneer, “Yes and I’d actually rather impale my eardrums with a toothpick before it happens again.”

Now it’s James’ turn to scoff before he steps closer, “Yeah, like you didn’t moan about it last weekend on date night.”

James cages Regulus against the counter and all he can do is turn his back to him again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Warmth settles over Regulus’ back as James crowds his space, breath hot over the shell of his ear. “Fuck, Jamie,” he whines in imitation of Regulus, “So big, feels so good, ah- yes, yes! Please, harder, ’m gonna—”

Regulus knuckles are turning white against the counter. He’s not sure he’s still breathing.

James nuzzles Regulus’ curls with his nose, hips grazing the swell of his ass, “Begging for it like a slut.”

Regulus gasps sharply, “Merde– shut up.”

Soft lips come down on his neck, spit slick, and Regulus is trembling.

“I love when you’re good for me like that, Reg,” James murmurs breathily, “Don’t you wanna be good for me?”

He punctuates the questions by pressing his crotch directly into Regulus’ ass, the grey sweatpants doing nothing to hide the thick line of him.

A moan tumbles out of him involuntarily.

James gives a pleased hum before he sucks on that same spot on Regulus’ neck, “That’s it, baby.”

Mindlessly, Regulus pushes back, arousal shooting through him when James groans softly.

“C’mon, love, I know just how sweet you can be for me.”

It’s a wonder Regulus manages to shake his head.

“Yeah, you are,” James insists, “Doesn’t always have to be only once I fuck you stupid on my fat cock.”

Regulus grits his teeth, “You’re impossible.”

James sighs displeased, a mournful little thing that makes Regulus’ head dizzy, “Fine, the hard way then.”

In one swift movement he pulls Regulus back by the hips, yanks down his own black sweats and spanks him right across one ass cheek.

Regulus is helpless to do anything but cry out in pleasure, the sting seeping through the flesh and concentrating between his legs, making his cock twitch where it bobs heavy in the air.

“Try again,” James says, voice dangerously neutral and massaging his throbbing cheek.

Regulus bites down on his tongue, then presses out, “You’d be lucky to be considered average.”

A chuckle and then another swing, sharper than the first and the sound of it reverberating off their kitchen tiles.

Regulus whimpers a strangled noise which turns into a downright pitiful whine when James roughly spits on his exposed hole.

“Oh, you like that, huh, baby?” James taunts, hooking a thumb into his rim, breaching for a moment just to retreat again.

Traitorously, his hips push back on the finger.

“Aren’t you greedy?” James comments, “I want you to use your words though.”

“James.”

His husband tzks.

Regulus has to squeeze his eyes shut tightly, chin crinkling, lip wobbling, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Another hit when Regulus doesn’t give an answer fast enough, this on right on the crease of his thigh. More spitting, landing carelessly on the meat of his ass and slowly trickling between his cheeks.

It takes a moment for Regulus to realize the sound in the kitchen is his own whine. “More, please.”

James hums above him, leaning over him to kiss at his neck. “Just a little bit more specific, baby. I know you can do it.” He punctuates the demand by teasingly swiping two fingers through the spit and prodding at his entrance but not slipping them in.

Regulus grits out a harsh pant, thighs starting to tremble. His ass stings like a bitch and his cock is throbbing, hard and neglected and all he can think about is that he wants James’ teeth in the nape of his neck. The overwhelming desire to be good and pliant as he gets utterly annihilated.

“Breed me, Jamie.”

His husband curses, voice strangled, and then he proceeds to fuck him so hard Regulus doesn’t know up from down anymore.

They have to call Effie and Monty to pick Harrie up from kindergarten one and a half hours later.

[omezoku]

[chuluoyi]

Hear me out... Angst time

This is in alternate universe so it doesn't affect the og LE uni so anons don't come @ me • ᴖ • ｡

What if LE reader has some terminal illness ? Satoru's reaction to finding it out ? When do you think they figures out the illness ? What if she dies during labor ? Or may be when son gojo is in his teens ?

Please do this chu 🙏🏼🥺

…i’m heartbroken just reading this ask huwaa😭 i’m sooo incredibly sorry but i don’t think i’m capable of writing about terminal illness now🥹 but as of dying during labor… hmmm~

in some sick twist of fate, when the reader dies on the birthing table right in front of his eyes, gojo will absolutely go batshit afterwards🥺 he sees it all—you passing out trying to push his baby, and the heart machine morphs into a thin line, and just like that not even your baby is saved. that day, he lost 2 precious things at all once

he doesn’t even come back home—his son is in megumi’s care though, so no worries. he’s just out there going after curses, driving himself insane with regret and pain, and in the end, when he misses you so much—he may or may not end up cursing you too💁🏻‍♀️ because… suddenly you’re in front of him again, and his six eyes clearly recognize that it is you

[anachronistic-falsehood]

yeah, the amount of ccs unfollowing forever feels really damning. if philza fucking minecraft is unfollowing him and banning him in his chat, that says a lot to me. Sure, all of this was 8 years ago, but the way forever handled it yesterday wasn't great, his threats of suing the people who bring it up certainly aren't helping, and if the ccs closest to him are dropping him, that speaks volumes to me. i think the best thing for me to do would be to stop supporting him entirely. I might still talk about qforever on occasion because i do love this character, but it might be a while before i pick up any old qforever content or talk about his arcs even in relation to other characters.

i might take a small break from actively engaging in qsmp content and if i do it will only be with a select few streamers (mostly morning crew, bagi, and maybe cellbit if he comes back soon) (ofc i'm going to watch the qfitpac date if i can obvi) i'll reblog art and fics ofc but this might be a good chance for me to take a short break and stretch into my other fandoms for a little while. i'm not leaving, just going on vacation from the smp basically and i will be back <3

[laracrofted]

your back beneath the sun

synopsis: rhett never wears enough sunscreen. luckily, his girlfriend is there to take care of him.

pairings: rhett abbott x fem!reader (no y/n)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit smut (unprotected sex, slight slight overstimulation, oral), swearing, bad sunburns. please wear sunscreen and also condoms. (wc: 1.5K)

note: someone listened to preacher's daughter at the beach and thought about rhett abbott's shoulders all afternoon. i'm someone.

much love to @lewmagoo who fed the rhett abbott on the beach thoughts. and summoning a few people who might like: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @rhettabbotts @roosterbruiser

Rhett Abbott is a stubborn man. So damn stubborn.

You’d never understand what Rhett went through with Royal Abbott as a father and Perry Abbott as a brother, always asking him to shoulder the weight of burdens that weren’t his, always asking for more and more and more. You couldn’t fault him if Rhett had come out of the other side more hardened, more guarded.

Especially not when Rhett softened for you, looking at you with those blue eyes that held oceans and streams and all manner of wonderful and beautiful and wild things. You loved him because, not despite.

You could, however, fault him for this. 

“Did you put any sunscreen at all? I mean, Christ, Rhett.” 

Rhett had never been to a beach, not a real beach, not something other than the lake shores that land-locked states sometimes called beaches. He’d grown up with swimming holes and occasionally, hot springs. You’d grown up near beaches; learned to swim in the ocean.

You were so excited to show him your world; same as Rhett had shown you Yellowstone and Grand Teton a few months back.

You drove down to a rented cabin and for a whole week, rode horses and hiked through the wooded mountains in the afternoons and made love in the evenings beneath the biggest and most beautiful blanket of stars you’d ever seen in your whole life. It was surreal. 

And now, Rhett is here with you for a whole week in a beachside bungalow that cost more than a pretty penny. It's well worth it.  

You spent the whole day at the beach, breathing in the salt air; splashing around in the cool ocean waves that lapped at the shore; picking out the prettiest sea shells to bring home with you.

He was beautiful, relaxed beneath the sun, eyes squeezed shut as Rhett napped on the beach, stretched out like a barn cat. 

He didn’t have any worries here. It was only you two. 

You admired him, admired the length of his beautiful back and big arms, strong from hard work. He has a scar on his shoulder, faded and years old now, from when Rhett didn’t dodge a bull fast enough at the Amelia County Rodeo. You pressed your lips against the raised skin and traced the shape of your name between his shoulder blades with a light finger, careful not to wake him. 

He stirred, mumbling something unintelligible but unmistakably fond, and rolled over to pull you against his side. You slept the rest of the afternoon away, there in the sun.

You’d been diligent with your sunscreen, but apparently, Rhett hadn’t been so careful. 

“I put… some on,” Rhett grumbles, pulling a shirt on to hide the evidence from your questioning gaze and visibly wincing. He abandons the shirt and sits on the edge of bed, dressed in his unbuttoned jeans. He looks around the room, bottom lip jutted out in an almost pout. 

You think Rhett might be a little embarrassed but can’t actually tell because Rhett is already red all over. His shoulders are the worst. A painful cherry red that is warm to the touch. You press gently, and Rhett lets out a sound that is close to a whimper. 

“Hands’re cold.” Rhett mumbles, pressing his face against your middle, leaning in. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling through the strands in the way that Rhett likes. He hums. “Feels good. I’m so hot.”

He can be such a baby sometimes.

So different from the Hometown Hero Rhett Abbott, from the Abbott Ranch Rhett Abbott. He would never be so open, so vulnerable around anyone else. He is your Rhett here. 

His complaints are almost endearing, begrudgingly so. 

“I think I have some aloe.” 

You put the bottle in the fridge for a few minutes to get it as cool as possible and bring him an Advil. He doesn’t argue, placing the pill on his tongue and swallowing it dry. You retrieve the aloe from the fridge and gently push him down on the bed with a spread palm, running down his chest. 

“Turn over. Get on your stomach.” 

His grin is devilish. “Isn’t that my line, darlin’?” 

You bite back a smile. “Are you in pain or not, cowboy? Turn over.” 

He goes.

You kneel on either side of him, hovering above his back, and Rhett reaches back to run a finger over your bare calf, closing his hand around your ankle in a loose hold, stroking. Not to start anything. 

Rhett just wants to feel you, hold you. 

Affection pinches in your chest.

Aloe is cool on your palms, and Rhett lets out a low moan, near pornographic, at the cold sensation, the soothing press of your hands, always gentle against the warm skin. He sighs into the pillows, stroking the pad of his thumb across your ankle bone. 

You are thorough in your attention and gentle.  

He deserves gentleness. You do too.

You are both working on that together, learning that gentleness doesn’t need to be bought or earned, learning to accept gentleness and love and affection. It is a work in progress, but at least, Rhett will accept this. 

Rhett is so muscular, so solid beneath your hands. You are very thorough.

It is more of a massage now, but Rhett doesn’t seem to mind. 

He moans again, lifting his hips underneath you, pushing down into the mattress in a way that makes you wonder if Rhett is reacting to the aloe anymore or in the absence of the fading pain, is focused on your hands now, running over all of that bare skin and muscle.

He answers your unspoken question, reaching a hand back to grab ahold of your thigh, stroking a thumb under the hem of your dress, all the while humming absentmindedly into the mattress with closed eyes. 

His voice is a low, rasping rumble. A rough repetition. 

“So good, darlin’. Feels so good. So good.” 

You remember the morning, a moment in the quiet pre-dawn blue, and Rhett between your spread thighs, pinning you open with the same shoulders that are now red with sun, rutting down into the mattress. He came at the same time as you, untouched and overwhelmed with your taste and your sounds and – 

So good, Rhett. Feels so good. 

You lean down, brushing your lips across the warm shell of his ear, smoothing your cool hands across his shoulders. He shivers beneath you, between your parted knees. 

“Shame I won’t be able to ride you with your back all burned. Isn’t that your favorite position? Cowgirl?

You’re much less smug when seconds later, Rhett has you on your stomach, bent over a precarious stack of pillows, one large hand resting on the back of your neck and the other splayed across your stomach, guiding you back against him.

His second favorite position. 

“You’re still my pretty little cowgirl like this, right, darling?”

He rasps the words against your shoulder, breath warm, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, biting down and sucking on the sensitive skin. His broad, worn palm slides down your stomach, cupping the spot between your legs, holding you there. Nothing to do but close your eyes and – 

“Answer me.” 

You choke out the words. Moan them. 

“Yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” 

At the end, when Rhett is growing more desperate, more uneven, pulling out and pushing back in at a bruising pace, Rhett pulls you back against him, upright, and murmurs, “Come for me, pretty darlin’. Come for your cowboy.” 

He circles your clit with wet fingers. Bites down on your shoulder again, leaving a half-moon indent that’ll be visible in any sundress or bikini for the rest of the damn vacation. Loud as the words Rhett coaxed from your mouth. 

I’m yours, Rhett, I’m yours. 

You come with a high-pitched keen, muffled by the hand that Rhett puts over your mouth. He is unsatisfied, coaxing one more from you, limp with pleasure against him, unshed tears welling in your eyes, before Rhett follows you over the edge, spilling into you with one last thrust. 

After, Rhett brings you a damp rag and runs it between your thighs, cleaning the stickiness from your skin. He leans down and kisses you there, tongue darting out to taste you both, lavishing. You can’t do anything more than weakly spasm, still sensitive from the morning and now, even more so.

His chuckle vibrates against your core, but Rhett pulls back.

A clean cloth waits on the edge of the mattress, creating a damp spot on the sheets, and Rhett wipes the remnants of the aloe vera from your palms with the cloth. Presses a chaste kiss to each one. 

He crawls over you, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, damp with sweat, and with a nudge, tips your chin back to give you a gentle but thorough kiss. You are liquid against him, warm and tired from the sun. Content. 

It isn’t long before Rhett dozes off next to you, exhausted from the sunburn. You set an alarm to wake you both for your dinner reservation and curl up against his side. He is warm and solid. 

He might be stubborn, but Rhett is yours. 

end note: posting before i have a chance to be self-conscious. 🤠

[ashironie]

Anyone have good Mumbo-centric fics? Please? I’m begging you I need some. I’m gonna look on AO3 but that’s always a losing battle. The few fics that are tagged as Mumbo-centric are Mumbo-POV Grian-Centric (most of them, from my memory). Now I have to look through all Hermitcraft fics and look to see if Mumbo is the first character tag (or second or third, but if Grian is in the top three I almost don’t even look at the summary)

[aq2003]

pairing ten's "will just kind of let himself be used as a vessel for romance if someone makes the first move" trait with his "spent a whole season not catching that his codependence insanity bestie was in love with him" trait means that if martha had made like astrid or christina and confessed/kissed him outright i think they would have entered a 10x more nightmarish toxic relationship where ten would attempt to get on the comphet grind to ignore his ptsd and depression harder and martha would have to speedrun all the highlights of a loveless marriage with a 20th century war veteran that never learned what being aroace is. i think she would have to leave and never talk to him again

[kheyys-worms]

Plucking away at your happiness.

-

Another fic fanart, this time it's inspired by another @merakiui's masterpiece: His Blueberry Eyes 💙💙 Go check the fic out! But do read the warnings first cause, boy... ngl, this one's heavy--

[eskawrites]

next chapter of our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories is up now!

She finds herself walking over to her in the bar before she can really think about it. Robin doesn’t seem all that surprised to see her. She just sighs and says, “Promise you won’t tell Max?” Nancy sits heavily across from her and holds her hand out expectantly. “Only if you’re sharing.” Robin slides her glass over, then flags down a waiter for a second one. They sit there together, drinking but never really talking, for the rest of the night.

[revasserium]

congratulations 2K followers may I request Victor from ikevil?Theme 17.number the stars.Thank you,have a nice day💕

number the stars

victor; 1,347 words; fluff, mostly -- kinda weird but victor is also kinda weird so i hope you don't mind nonny -- and thanks so much for sending something in!!!

“count the stars with me,” he says one night, his hair dark as the shade of a broken promise, his smile just as sweet. you purse your lips, looking up from the typewriter at your desk.

“i’m… sorry?” you ask, quirking your head as you lean back in your chair, wondering if you’d heard correctly.

victor’s smile is moon-sliver and cyanide, and you find yourself drawn inexplicably to it, like a comet towards the sun.

“come,” he says, offering you a hand, standing by your door, looking for all the world as if he were inviting you for tea. but you know better than that now — don’t you? you wonder.

you get up anyway, telling yourself that you’d been wanting to stretch your legs anyways and the gardens should be beautiful at this hour.

“it’s — it’s a full moon tonight,” you say, tilting your head back to admire the scattered light of the milky way, streaked across the sky. beside you, victor hums in agreement. you feel his eyes on you before you see him, the dull simmer and heat of his gaze as it grazes over your skin, soft as fingertips, strong as sin.

“how many do you think there are?” he asks, casually, turning when you catch him staring, unabashed even as your own cheeks flush with heat.

“what, the stars?” you ask, casting your eyes back up.

“yes.”

you purse your lips, unable to keep your curiosity from bubbling over.

“why?”

victor’s body shakes with his blue-bell laughter, “why not wonder such things?”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes. but of course — has victor ever really needed a reason? or a rhyme, for that matter?

“i don’t know… billions… more than billions, probably,” you say, thinking back to the various headlines you’d seen splashed across the front pages of the papers — scientific discovery this, neighboring galaxies that. you let out a soft sigh as victor turns his head back towards you.

“mm… strange, isn’t it? that we’re all so terribly insignificant and yet… here we are… struggling against our own insignificance every hour of every day…” he flicks a silken strand of hair from his shoulders, leading you towards the tiny pagoda where you’d all shared afternoon tea.

“strange? i… i don’t think so,” you sit down next to him, pressing your palms to the cool of the bench beneath you, “i mean… all the stars up there…” you wave your hand at the vast expanse of night sky, “they’re all just… burning themselves up, aren’t they? isn’t that… a struggle against insignificance too? isn’t that… it’s own kind of curse?”

victor opens his mouth, and then he blinks, pauses. no sound comes from him for a solid ten seconds before his entire body spills into a fit of near-silent laughter. you watch him, caught between confusion and bewilderment, wondering if you’d said something truly strange before he shakes his head and presses a large, warm palm to the top of your head.

“yes — yes that they are… just burning themselves up… all for us to call them beautiful — terrible, isn’t it? i can’t think of anything worse in the world than being a star…” he’s still chuckling when he finishes, pulling his hand away from your head to smile at you, a darkness twinkling behind his eyes that you’ve never quite had the courage to question.

“you’re making fun of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes and making to pull away, but victor shakes his head and pulls you back, humming happily as you topple easily into his chest.

“not in the slightest! i just… i just love the way you think, that’s all.”

you can’t help the shiver that chases its way down your spine at the softness of his words, at the closeness of his voice, brushing by your ear like a summer breeze. you swallow hard as his arm comes almost naturally to rest around your waist, and when you look up, it’s once again to find him watching you. you press your lips into a line and try not to stare at the beauty mark on his bottom lip but —

“ah… if you keep looking at me like that…” victor grins as he leans down, a finger tipping your chin up towards him, his voice thick with honey, warm as poison, “i can’t promise… i’ll be able to keep being such a gentleman…”

you lick your lips, watch as his eyes flicker down to track the movement. your breath flutters in your chest, hummingbird quick.

“i — i thought you asked me out here to c-count the stars…”

victor grins, “certainly i did… and i am… see? they’re right here…” he leans in, so close you’re almost nose to nose, so close you almost go cross-eyed to keep him in focus.

“right here… i think i can see the entire sky in your eyes…”

a tiny whine works it’s way out of your throat and victor tuts, shaking his head.

“i’ve been waiting to use that line for quite some time but…” he makes to pull away, only for you to pull him back with your fingers fisting in the thick silk and velvet of his clothes.

your throat feels dry, but you swallow passed the desert blooming at the base of your tongue as your search his face for a sign — any sign —

“h-how many are there?” you ask, your voice softer than you remember.

victor’s eyebrows twitch, “how many… what?” but the curve of his lips tells you another story.

“how many stars did you count?”

fire licks its way up your stomach into your chest as you feel his fingers tighten around your waist.

“i… i’ll admit that i’ve lost count — i’ve been distracted, you see —” victor’s grin tilts like a planet on it’s axis, and you feel your world shift along with it, degree by degree. like this, you can almost taste the weight of his words, the sound of his breathing, the liquid of his smile — like this, you want to sink your fingers into the fine gossamer of his hair and tug —

he is kissing you before you realize, severing your thoughts with the silver scissor precision of his mouth and you’re left untethered, clutching at him with the tips of your fingers, feeling him pulling you close, close, closer — a thick moan winds its way from his throat and you lean in further, push your mouth to his to take it in, to take it all in —

“please…”

his voice is shaking when he pulls away, his lips the perfect shade of treason.

you don’t feel your own trembling until he pulls you closer, buries his face in the crook of your neck and breathes.

“gods…” he says, wrapping both arms around you, his voice a wreck of barely contained emotions, of barely restrained desires, “by all the stars…”

you find yourself smiling as you let yourself be held, let yourself sink into the tremor and shake of this thing — held between the negative space of your bodies — whatever it is, at least you know it’s precious. at least you know it’s the most sacred kind of burning.

“all of them?” you ask, in what you hope is a light, playful kind of voice, even as victor lets you pull away, to reach up to brush a few fallen strands of hair from his face with your fingers, “we don’t even know how many there are.”

victor’s smile is indulgent and full of surrender.

“no… we don’t,” he reaches up to trail his fingers through your hair, thumbing at the ends as he shakes his head, “but… i think with you… i’d like to try.”

“try… what?”

“why… counting all the stars of the sky, of course.”

requests are open! <3

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

heres some pretty clocks i found while im looking for a thing that im starting to think might not be a clock

[weirdcursedvaultkid]

since merula likes thoughtful gifts I’d like to share my hc that merulas develops a lil baby crush on mc ever since the Christmas sq where mc gifts she the song book

[peaches2217]

🥰 Saying 'I love you' without saying it (Brotherly Mario and Luigi moment!)

YEEEEEEEEEEES! BROTHERLY LOVE LET'S GO!

Freak

AO3 link!

~~~

Somewhere in Brooklyn, sometime ago...

Mario was a mess.

He held his head high, and the spark behind his one good eye told Luigi he considered himself victorious, but he hadn't come out of that fight cleanly in the slightest. His knuckles were split open in three places. His shirt was torn and the collar was stretched beyond what a good washing could save. Thankfully, all of his teeth were accounted for, but he still spit blood every few minutes thanks to a split lip and what was probably a nasty bite to the inside of his cheek.

The further he tended to those wounds, the more Luigi panicked.

"Oh man. Mom's gonna freak." He wiped his brother’s bloodied hands clean as gently as possible; Mario was careful not to show any signs of pain, but he couldn’t hide the trembling in his hands. “Wh— what are we gonna tell her?”

Mario didn’t answer right away. He kept his jaw tightly clenched until Luigi decided his skin was clean enough, easing up only when the younger twin reached for the bandages he’d purchased in haste from the nearest convenience store.

“We’ll tell her the truth,” he said. “Some low-life decided to pick on the wrong guy and I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it.”

He clenched his jaw again as Luigi went back to work, wrapping broken skin in cheap gauze. He wouldn’t have much use of his hands until their mother could patch him up more expertly, but that was okay for now, he decided.

With any luck, she wouldn’t pry. All she’d care about was lecturing him — Mario, mio figlio irascibile, use your words, not your fists! — and then grounding him for the next month or two. That would be ideal. She didn’t need to know the reasoning behind his latest (and, to date, most violent) scuffle. He wasn’t ready for her to know.

Staring down at Mario’s hands, comically stiff from an overabundance of wrappings, Luigi felt a telltale stinging behind his eyes. “You fight for the dumbest things sometimes.”

“I don’t think someone spreading rumors about you is a dumb thing to fight about.”

The stinging became uncomfortably pronounced. Luigi bit his lip and fished through the plastic bag by his side once more, grabbing the water bottle hidden beneath rubbing alcohol and ointment and bloodied tissues.

“...It’s not just a rumor, is it?”

Luigi’s breath hitched. It had been phrased as a question, yet Mario’s voice lacked curiosity or incredulity, laced with a strong but not harsh I knew it sort of tone. Suddenly he didn’t have the nerve to look at him. He simply handed the bottle over to him and wiped the condensation off on his shorts, doing his best not to give into the desire to curl up into a ball and roll away.

It was his own fault. Like many other pre-teens, Luigi had a diary. Most of what he wrote within its pages was common knowledge, or just his own attempts at working through his thoughts. Most of what was inside, Mario already knew. The one secret he kept from his twin brother was tucked into its faux-leather covers. He’d stupidly believed it would be safe there.

An hour after realizing it was missing from his school bag, that secret was plastered on the library bulletin. By lunchtime it was on everyone’s lips: Oh my God, that Luigi kid’s gay! Always knew there was something wrong with him.

And three minutes after the final bell, the one who outed him was pinned to the ground in the courtyard receiving the beating of a lifetime. Had Luigi not found the strength to pry him off, he was almost convinced Mario would have killed the guy.

“You’re a freak!” the battered bully had shouted at Mario, Luigi’s diary splayed open and speckled with blood beside him. “Just like that fucking queer you call a brother!”

Mario was hurt, and he was going to be in massive trouble, and it was all Luigi’s fault. All because he was too chicken to keep it internalized, all because he was the weakling that always needed his brother, all because he was a fucking queer and any and every other derogatory accusation that had been thrown his way today. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly and focused all of his energy on not crying, not here, not now.

“Weegee… why didn’t you tell me?” Mario’s voice was oddly soft. Was he upset? Was he sympathetic? He had no reason to be sympathetic. Luigi sniffed.

“Guess I didn’t want you thinking I was a freak, too,” he confessed. Mario and Luigi against the big, wide world. It had always been that way. He couldn’t stomach the thought of that changing, of Mario seeing him differently, of losing him for it. He would have kept this under wraps his whole life if it ensured that never came to pass.

An arm wrapped around him suddenly, and Mario pulled him in, jostling him almost painfully.

“Oh, give me a break, Lu,” he said. “You know who’s a real freak? Mrs. Loriey. She’s got a whole shrine set up to Robert De Niro in her supply closet! Photoshops herself into pictures with him! She’s probably shopped his face onto pictures of naked guys, let’s be real.”

“Mario!” The thought was shocking yet plausible enough that Luigi couldn’t help but laugh. Mario made a victorious noise and jostled him again.

“Or literally anyone who gets a kick out of putting other people down,” he continued, his voice getting lower as he spoke. “You know how desperate for attention people like that have to be? Imagine always thinking ‘How can I ruin some schmuck’s day so I can feel all high ‘n’ mighty?’ People like that aren’t just freaks, they’re losers, plain and simple.”

Luigi nodded, and though the first of his tears began escaping, his smile stayed strong. “So you don’t… think I’m a freak?” He chanced a glance sideways, where he found Mario smiling at him. The skin around his black eye was pale and wet where he’d held the water bottle to it and his split lip made his smile look awkward and crooked, but he knew well enough that it was genuine.

“Nah. But you know what you are?” he asked, squeezing Luigi’s shoulder. “You’re my bro. And I’ll always have your back, okay?”

He reached his other arm around to pull Luigi into a proper hug, and Luigi returned it without hesitation, sniffling and willing his tears to slow.

It had always been them against the world, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. As far as bad days went, he decided that this one wasn’t so bad after all.

[tragicotps]

Masriel + laughing with their daughter 💙 

[geddy-leesbian]

hey new childhood friends chapter

❝Sweetheart, 'less bad than the time I had to crack my own chest open' is definitely not the glowing endorsement that you seem to think it is.❞