#nothing too see here kids

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

xB: Do you like my hole? It's a nice hole isn't?

Keralis: One of the bestest I would say!

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

[epickiya722]

I know what these last few chapters have taught me about BNHA...

Blocking people is useful! 😐

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[robotsandramblings]

i know we joke about Hunter adopting every child he comes across but i also 100% headcanon that he absolutely loves babies and instantly gets baby fever when he sees one

like he will make any and every excuse to hold a baby. the second a parent is indicating they might be tired/need a break, he's there faster than the speed of light, ready to take baby off their hands.

[archduke-enver-gortash]

mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

[titsthedamnseason]

something just clicked in my brain i have no idea why i can’t stop thinking of them suddenly but ttpd has major blackstairs implications

[daisyachain]

Restorative or Transformative?: Homoerotic Subtext, The Closet, and Ciphers in Pop Culture. The nature of commercial art is that it’s sometimes bad and inconsistent. Notably it’s also misogynistic. One way in which audiences try to reconcile massive plot holes or gaps in character motivation is by reading secrets or hidden information into a plot.

Commonly, male characters are interpreted as closeted gay or bisexual to reconcile the absence of women from commercial narratives with the generally stunted and poorly-written male characters that form the focus on said texts. This reading has become especially common among a non-heterosexual milieu. Rather than transforming the original text into some radically different new form, this closeted interpretation seeks to make the original text stand on its own as a story rather than a Swiss cheese of dumb writing decisions.

This interpretation only works for a specific type of pop, usually genre fiction. Any story in which tortured male leads eschew women in favour of male-male bonds (because female characters are constantly killed off, written sparsely, or written out, because the production team keeps casting their male buddies, because actors demand to keep having scenes with their bros, whatever) can become a sounder structure if you put one of them in a closet.

The gay interpretation is the natural consequence of shoddy misogynistic writing from ventures like Supernatural, Naruto, all the biggest hits. It’s also the natural consequence of more benignly misogynistic writing like The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes or The Lord of the Rings, where women aren’t necessarily rejected but are simply absent from the worlds of the protagonists. When the emotional crux of the story falls on male-male interactions, this reads as romantic because society at large priorities (definitively heterosexual) romance as the pinnacle of human connection. Two forces are in conflict, the primacy of heterosexuality (read as: romance) and the primacy of men.

Anyway. All that is to say that the typical gay or bisexual reading of male characters in pop fiction comes from a very real place. But, in some places, that’s the default interpretation. Angst, insecurity, secrets, double lives, fatigue, disappointment, restrained passion, stunted personal growth, anyone living in the closet can tell you that it impacts and defines your whole life to know that you live in a way fundamentally incompatible with The Proper Way that life is structured around down to tax law and superstore prices (which assume a heterosexual nuclear family unit). Characters in fiction also tend to have personal problems because that makes them interesting and tasty.

If you’ve grown up on stories with the specific type of misogyny that can be papered over with a closeted interpretation of the male leads, carrying this interpretation over to any male character will make sense more often than not. Even a bit of angst or insecurity? Well of course that makes sense if a character is closeted.

Except that’s hurt a normal part of fiction, and sometimes the closeted interpretation takes away from the point of a character. If a male character is on another axis of marginalization, the closeted interpretation imposed by the slash reading community downplays or trivializes the effects of that marginalization in the plot by overwriting it with another type of marginalization. Alternately, sometimes a character’s heterosexuality is a part of the story. There are some sorts of critiques or investigations of misogyny or masculinity that don’t work if the character has an ‘opt out’ of the cisheteropatriarchal perspective. Not that gay/bisexual men aren’t except from misogyny, but misogyny masculinity and heterosexuality are so tightly linked that it sort of defeats the point if you interpret that character outside of heterosexuality.

All that is to say—the closet interpretation is a quick and easy spice to apply to the weaker parts of action-adventure genre fiction to make it taste better. It draws from a large enough sample of art that it’s pretty widely applicable. Because of that, it’s part of some people’s [my] default interpretation package just because the semi-dull macho show at least gets less dull if you imagine there’s a reason for there to be no girls besides simple hatred. That then forms its own problem where the interpretation that works with your average genre work gets then blanket-applied to all genre works and obscures the places where the closet interpretation doesn’t fix the work, and actually makes it less interesting.

[failsquirrel]

from now on this account is going to be only just for posting art, funny posts/reblogs and oc lore stuff; not anything to do with my personal life and business. i have started to gain back a (small, but still) following online again for the first time since my furby days 4+ years ago, made new mutuals etc which is amazing and makes me so happy. but it also increases my reach and yesterday for some ungodly self-hating reason i looked at a k1w1farms thread (yeah yeah i know) and literally saw people i follow and reblog from, even a mutual of mine being posted about there. for that reason i don't think it's a great idea for me to be posting anything pertaining to my personal life here, only my art and story ideas. i believe very strongly in internet privacy and not having every account everyone makes online being connected to their real identity, and that place has a history of finding peoples personal details just for being a cringe furry or whatever. i may make a sideblog for that stuff if enough people gaf in the future

[hauntingblue]

Ace...?? they cloned my beautiful wife...

[squidkid15]

Monkey King - Please - It’s me-

[chloecherrysip]

Just Beyond My Reach, There's Someone Reaching Back For Me (speculative mario movie fic, mario & luigi centric, around 3600 words.)

[OK SO i literally could not stop thinking about this post in the mario movie tag from last week, which turned into me trying to write out my thoughts about how the scenario could unfold, which then turned into me writing a full-fledged fanfic that's over 3,000 words long??? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I've truly lost my common sense, but I just felt like I HAD to get this out before the movie arrives and their reunion is nothing like this in any way whatsoever.

This is a speculative fic of just one possible scenario out of millions, no actual spoilers; i'm working off info we've seen in the trailers/TV spots/promotions/etc, and all the characterization is based off those too, so it might ultimately be off-base. Please don't @ me after the movie comes out and get on my case about details being wrong! I AM IN THE PAST (and jealous of you in the future for having already seen it).

I present to you: A Version Of Mario & Luigi's Reunion in the Mario Movie That Would Cause Me Irreparable Psychic Damage.]

----

Mario hears him first. He would know that panicked yelp anywhere. 

By that point, he’s lost count of how many of Bowser’s minions he’s tried to interrogate as he fights his way through the airship. There’s so much shouting and clanging all around him, and his voice hurts from yelling loud enough to be heard over it, but he can’t stop. “Where do you keep prisoners? Have you seen someone who looks like me — but tall, skinny, and green? If you take me to him, I’ll go easy on ya, I swear—” 

it’s hard to tell if they’re just refusing to answer him, genuinely don’t know any useful information, or can’t actually communicate in a way he understands — probably some in each column. But he’s about to grab another angry Koopa by the shell and try again when there’s a commotion far off in the distance. The yell that echoes out to him is faint, but it tugs hard at Mario like a rope tied around his middle. Something from his memories, the nightmares he’s been having this whole adventure that he hasn’t told Peach and Toad about. Something instantly, certainly familiar to him in a way that few things are. 

His heart is suddenly lodged in his throat. He barrels his way past the troops and the Kongs fighting them, moving fast towards it.

The area of the airship he’s in starts to slope down further ahead, surrounding a huge open space that, judging by the flickering embers in the air and heavy heat that’s got him sweating through his shirt already, has a whole bunch of lava simmering at the bottom. On the other side of the chasm, there are a whole group of what look like angry blue penguins beating down some feisty stacks of Goombas with their bare flippers. There’s also what impossibly looks like a star, with a face and everything, beaming bright and doing twirling cartwheels in the air, giggling at the carnage underneath. And behind all that, he can see—

Mario reacts without having to think. He jolts forward against the railing, reaches a hand out, and yells as loud as he can. “LUIGI!” 

He can only see glimpses of his overalls and green hat at first amidst all the other chaos, but then pieces of the ongoing fight tumble further to either side, giving a clear view. Mario watches wide-eyed as his brother frantically swats away Goombas, shrieking and flailing his arm furiously when one snags some teeth through his sleeve until it comes loose. He looks terrified and a little queasy, but also very determined, even jumping in to help when one of the penguins gets pinned down. They seem to be working together. 

Luigi is here. He’s really here, alive and fighting and still in one piece. Mario isn’t too late. It feels like a 20 pound weight’s suddenly gone from his back that he hadn't even realized he was carrying around.

His yell is half-drowned out by the chaos, but Luigi’s head still snaps up, eyes wide and stricken and bright with recognition. “Mario?” He cries out, his voice cracking badly. He kicks another Goomba away and then starts spinning, searching the surrounding area with increasing desperation. “Mario!?” 

“Over here!” Mario wishes he had another raccoon powerup so he could just fly across the gap and reach him right then and there. He has to settle for taking off his cap and waving it in the air like a flag. “Luigi! Over here!” 

Finally, their eyes meet across the gorge. It’s not necessary at that point, but Luigi still tears off his own hat and starts flailing it around too overhead, as if just to make absolutely sure his brother knows where he is. “MARIO!” He shouts, his tired face instantly transforming into a relieved, overjoyed smile. 

“Are you okay!?” 

“Y-Yeah! I mean, define “okay,” but I, I'm not hurt or anything like — wait, how did you get here!? We’re way up in the air!”

Mario’s face already hurts from how wide he’s grinning. “Not anymore! And whaddya mean? What do ya think I’ve been doing all this time? Looking for you! You don’t think I could find you wherever you are, even if it’s a million miles in the air? Give your big bro some credit, eh?” 

A laugh bursts out of Luigi, surprised and shaky. Mario has missed that sound so much. “Right, right. I did think…I mean, I hoped, or…” His brother shakes his head, his voice failing him. He lets out a deep breath, so deep that it’s almost like he’s been holding it in ever since they were separated, still smiling like the sun. “I knew you would. Mario, you — look out!” 

Mario turns just as a hammer goes whizzing past his ear, tumbling down into the lava pit. He dodges the next one more capably and then catches the third one that comes his way. In one smooth, lightning-quick motion, he throws it back at the attacking Hammer Bro, nailing him in the face and knocking him out cold.

“Whoa!” He turns back to see Luigi staring with his mouth agape. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“It's kinda a long story!” There will be plenty of time to get into all the details about his adventure when he’s gotten Luigi safely out of an active warzone.  “What about you? I thought you were a prisoner here!” 

“I am! Or I was, I guess! We — me, and the penguins, and Lumalee,” he gestures wearily up overhead, where the blue star-thing is idly playing with a pinwheel that it somehow conjured out of thin air, “and the others — we broke out! We, ah, we’ve been trying to find a way outta here ever since, but this place is a maze and we need some kind of hot air balloon or one of those floating clown-car thingies to even get away in the first place, and—”

“Spinies at four o’clock!” One of the penguins shouts, at the same time that Mario yells “Luigi, on your left!”

Luigi jolts at the sight of the three spiky, spinning shells approaching fast. He jumps high enough to leapfrog right over them all, causing them to ricochet off the wall unexpectedly and careen off the side straight into the deep pit. 

“Nice, Weegie!” Mario cheers. “You always were the better jumper.” 

“Keep your head in the fight, soldier!” One specific penguin calls out to Luigi. He’s wearing a very fancy gold crown — probably their king? “We’re not done here yet!” 

“I know, I know, but look!” Luigi gestures excitedly across the chasm. “My brother’s here! He made it!”

“Good show! If he’s as brave as you said, he can help us beat back these dastardly troops once and for all! We’ll all see the light of day again soon!”

The rest of the penguins cheer, thrusting their flippers victoriously into the air, and then let out a wave of new, guttural battle cries. The Penguin King smiles over at Mario and salutes him before rejoining the fray. There are more of Bowser’s minions crowding the walkways on both sides, Mario realizes with a newfound wave of worry. He needs to get to Luigi now. 

“Stay right there!” He calls, starting to run alongside the railing. “Don’t move! I’m coming!”

“Are you kidding!? Wait!” Luigi starts running too, mirroring Mario. “I can meet you faster this way!” 

Mario laughs. “If you can keep up with me!” 

“You’re on!”

The road ahead of him is pure chaos, filled with attacking enemies and whooping Kongs and weapons flying every which way, but Mario runs. He runs until his heart burns, dodging and weaving, almost tripping here and there because he can’t stop looking over the gap to make sure Luigi’s still there on the other side, stumbling his way through his own gauntlet. The two areas are winding closer together, slowly but surely. They must meet somewhere. He’ll find it. He has to.

“Hey, Luigi!” He yells, breathless and happy. “Remember when we were fixing Mrs. McGrady’s sink a couple weeks ago and talking about the future? Did you imagine it’d be anything like this?” 

“Whaddya think!?” Luigi shouts back jokingly. “I-I mean, I imagined people being mad at us, but those were customers. There was definitely a lot less lava, and magic, and crazy green pipes that send you to places from your literal nightmares!” He laughs, which swiftly turns into a yelp when he has to dodge away from a red Koopa. The next words come out thicker, almost strained. “Mario, you, you’re really here, you — I missed you, I…”

Even with the distance and the distracting noise and the heavy breathing, Mario can hear the familiar tearing in his brother’s voice, and it pushes him to run faster. Luigi is so much braver than many people in their life have given him credit for, but he has a breaking point, and Mario can recognize it like the back of his own hand. Heck, he could use a good cry right about now too. They're so close. Just a little further.

He’s never been the biggest hugger — that title belongs squarely to Luigi, who always holds on a little too long, especially when Mario protests, swinging him up into the air until Mario has to grab him in a headlock and wrestle him down, both of them laughing by then — but he genuinely doesn’t know how he’s ever going to let go of his brother again once he’s within arm’s reach. 

“I missed you too! Every day!” He calls out, and if his voice cracks, well, that’s okay. “Hold on! It’s gotta be just up ahead!” There’s a solid wall coming up where they won’t be able to see each other across the way any longer, but the sharp curve of it looks extremely promising. “I’ll meet you on the other side!” 

“Okay!” 

The wall comes between them. Mario's finally in the clear, having left all the attackers in the dust. His legs and chest hurt, but it doesn’t matter. He's about to get his brother back. He feels invincible, unstoppable.

“I told you, bro!” He can’t hear Luigi at all any longer, but he shouts anyway, hoping the words reach him.  “Even if it didn’t turn out like we thought, it’s all gonna be okay! This is crazy stuff, but as long as we're—” 

Mario turns the corner and skids to a sharp stop. The words die in his throat, turning to ash.

Bowser is in front of him. 

The King of the Koopas nearly fills the entire space wall-to-wall, hulking and monstrous, even bigger than what Mario imagined. He breathes out an angry, deep growl that prickles at Mario’s skin, star-bright embers scattering in the air, the smell of burning getting stronger and stronger. But none of that is what Mario is focusing on. He’s frozen in place at the sight of Luigi, wriggling in one of Bowser’s gripped hands. A thick, scaly finger is coiled tight over his brother’s mouth too, keeping him from making any noise besides a variety of muffled, panicked sounds. 

“Thought you didn’t know him, Greenie,” Bowser says in a low voice to Luigi. “Wasn’t that what you said? Boy, you wouldn’t like what I usually do to liars. It involves fire — a lot of it.” His rows of sharp teeth part, just enough for a big exhale, tinged with molten heat. Luigi cringes, turning his head away as far as he can manage. He’s trembling. “But lucky for you, turns out you’re not entirely useless.”

It takes a moment for Mario to come back into his body, remember how to move and think. But slowly, his hands ball into fists. A voice erupts out of him that barely sounds like his own, grave and angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life. 

“I’m only gonna say this once, ya overgrown turtle,” he says, shifting his footing into a fighting stance. “Let my brother go now.” 

Bowser looks down at him with a derisive sort of amusement for a long moment before laughing outright. "Give me a break, shortie! You’re even punier in person — 50 of you couldn't stop me. But that hasn’t stopped you from trying, has it? You and your little friends  — your pathetic excuse for an “army,” if that’s what you want to call it. But that all ends now.” 

As if on cue, Mario hears DK and a few other Kongs turn the corner, whooping and hollering, only to pause too at the sight of Bowser. “Let’s get ‘em! He can't take us all at once!” Someone says, and there’s a rush of new movement behind Mario. Bowser turns Luigi in his hand, holding him out a little closer to Mario with a shake of the wrist — a taunt. One of his claws pulls up just a little from the rest, the sharp tip arched and pressed lightly to his brother’s neck. The implication is clear. 

“Stop!” Mario shouts, half-strangled. He must sound serious enough that DK yells “hang on, hang on!” to his brethren, grabbing them with both arms and holding them back from attacking. On Bowser's other side, Mario can see the penguins watching what’s unfolding too with wide eyes. Even all the minions in the area have gone still, weapons lowered, waiting to see what Bowser does before making their next move. The space is suddenly quiet. 

The claw finally relaxes again. Luigi’s eyes are very wide, and there are tears on his face as he stares at Mario. He tries to say something, the sound of it hopelessly muffled against Bowser’s hand — an apology, or a plea, or simply Mario’s name. 

Mario is shaking. He grits his teeth hard, desperately tries to hold himself steady again. He hopes Bowser can’t see it — but there’s a gleam in the King’s eyes, and it couldn’t be any clearer that he does. 

“Do you know how long I worked on this plan?” Bowser says, his tone softer, more thoughtful all of a sudden.  “Orchestrating these invasions, gathering forces far and wide to serve me, taking the almighty power star for myself. I’ve wanted this for years!” His wide mouth curves up, plainly wicked and self-satisfied. “And now here I am, about to rule the world like I deserve, and a couple of useless, pipsqueak plumbers from who-knows-where think they’re just gonna waltz right in and ruin it for me.” Bowser chuckles to himself. It’s a dangerous, sharp-edged sound, echoing on and on. “Ain’t that a laugh, Mario?” 

Mario doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s breathing any longer. All he can do is glare.

Bowser shrugs. The large fingers on his occupied hand flex ever so slightly, a slow, malicious ripple of movement, all the scales glinting in a wave. “You’re less fun than I thought you’d be,” he says gruffly. "What does the princess even see in you? A tiny little killjoy who loves ruining things for others. Guess it’s only fair I ruin something of yours to make us even."

There’s no further warning or fanfare. In one brutal motion, Bowser crushes his grip tighter around Luigi. His brother’s mouth is still covered, but the way he cries out is starkly, unmistakably pained. 

Mario’s vision floods with red. Something inside of him, the patient, careful part that was still desperately clinging to one last scrap of self-control, snaps cleanly in two. He runs at Bowser full-speed, fist cocked back, teeth bared. 

“I said LET HIM GO!” 

He doesn’t make it there. Bowser, grinning outright, moves so much faster than Mario would have ever guessed he could. He spins, and his tail comes out of nowhere. The impact is like an oncoming train, catapulting Mario into the nearby wall with a sickening crack.

There’s a horrible ringing sound in his ears. His head hurts. He hears Bowser laugh, followed by a roar and a burst of fire breath, awful-smelling and close enough to singe. There’s a lot of shouting, and panic, and thunderous footsteps, moving in a hurry. He can’t think any longer. Why can’t he think? All that comes to mind is—

(They’re fifteen, hiding in their bedroom with some smuggled bandages and antibiotics from the medicine cabinet because if their mom finds out Mario punched out a kid behind the school, she will LITERALLY murder him. Luigi wraps each bruised knuckle carefully as Mario winces and complains about the stinging ointment. His brother looks angrier than he’s ever seen him before, though, and that makes him quiet again in a hurry.)

“You want him so bad?” Bowser is much further away, his voice a distant rumble over the flickering flames. Get up, Mario tells himself. He’s gasping, struggling to push himself back up with useless, trembling hands. His legs feel numb. Get up! “Then come and get ‘em already!”

(“You never stop and THINK first, y’know?” Luigi shakes his head, badly trying to hide the tears budding under his eyes. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s all my fault, and — and I don’t need you to do stuff like that for me! I can handle it, e-even if you think I can’t!”) 

“Mario!” That’s Luigi, terrified and wheezing, finally able to talk again. An intentional decision by Bowser, no doubt, just to be cruel. Mario can barely hear his brother at all, and the sound of his voice keeps growing fainter. “No! Let go! MARIO!” 

(“What are you even saying? That’s not why I did it at all!” Mario insists, using his uninjured hand to flick Luigi’s nose with a few fingers. His affronted expression at that makes Mario laugh, and the motion quickly turns into them trying to be the first one to swat each other in the face without getting blocked. At least the tears are forgotten, which is what he wanted from the start. “Don’t ya get it? I know you can take care of yourself. But if anyone wants to hurt you, they’re gonna have to go through me first. I’M the big bro, and that’s just how it is forever.”) 

Luigi! 

He’s standing again, even as his body protests every pull and push of the way, even as he’s still struggling to open his eyes. Someone strong and furry offers some extra support on his right side. 

“You okay, man?” Donkey Kong asks. “Geez, that looked like it hurt. Hey, anyone have an extra mushroom?” 

Stars are flashing across his vision, but finally they fade away. There’s a line of fire in front of them like a makeshift barrier, slowly but steadily dying out. Sure enough, Bowser and Luigi are gone. Mario’s heart lurches hard against his ribs.

“Setting a devious trap for sure,” The Penguin King grouses from further away. “Using one’s own flesh and blood! Does that dastardly Koopa’s depravity know no limits?” 

“I’m fine. Never better,” Mario groans. He points past the fire. “He went that way, right?” 

DK blinks, looking a little uneasy. “Uh, yeah, but we should probably regroup first and — hey! Wait a second, you idiot!”

Mario’s already charged full-speed ahead, jumping over the flames. Others yell after him too, saying it's too dangerous, but he’s running anyway, chasing the smell of molten heat, the faint, far-off echoes of yelling that feel like pinpricks in his lungs. 

He knows it’s a trap. He knows. He just doesn’t care.

He already let Luigi literally slip through his hands once before. Heck, he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for that alone. No matter where he has to go, who he has to fight, how much abuse he has to take, he's getting Luigi back right now, and he's gonna pound that overgrown bully's face until he regrets every life decision that led to him daring to hurt Mario's little brother.

It can't be too late. He can't have screwed this up again. He'll do anything. Even if...

The feeling of something on his cap startles him out of the thought — the softest boop-boop-boop, like someone very small is bouncing on it. He assumes he’s just imagining things until the blue star-thing (Lumalee?) floats down further, easily keeping up with his top speed, humming what sounds like a lullaby. Mario gawks in its direction. 

“The biggest sacrifices are often the ones that burn the brightest, out in space,” it says, bright and sing-song. “Did you know that?”

“What are you even talking about!?” Mario yells. “Sorry, but I’m a little busy here!” 

It’s unbothered by that, twirling close enough to give his mustache a little, playful poke. “Not existing any longer is natural, inevitable. We all go into the light someday.” The way it’s staring at Mario is unnerving, as though this little, creepy star knows exactly what he was just thinking about. “You look scared of that. Are you?” 

Mario swallows thickly. 

“No,” he says. “If that’s the only way, then…” His eyes are burning at the edges, just a little. “If the people I love are safe, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

Lumalee smiles a dreamy, thoughtful smile.

“Oh,” it sighs, little more than a breath. “This is going to be so much fun.” 

And then it floats away. 

Mario doesn’t have time to stop and wonder what that was all about. He throws himself deeper and deeper into the airship, even when a heavy metal gate slams down behind him to separate him from the others, even when the slabs of rock under his feet sink down into the lava from the weight and don’t resurface, erasing any way out. Mario thinks of his training, of Princess Peach and Toad cheering him on, of the exhilaration and hope he felt looking out over the Rainbow Road, of Luigi smiling in the warp zone right before they were ripped apart. He steels himself for what’s coming next.

Further ahead, he hears his brother call out for him.

Mario runs.

[the-busy-ghost]

So terrible to be forced to choose between writing my essay and looking at the full moon light up the sea

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[technicallyaminecraftsimp]

Guys how the hell am I supposed to explain to other people why I love the Antenna Galaxies so fucking much without the “this too is yuri” meme

[bluebudgie]

Alright gw2 peeps, here's one for all of you with a lot of alts:

All your characters of the same class (e.g. all your rangers) are stuck together in an escape room.

Which of your "class groups" is off the worst and who gets the job done with no problem?