rotatesmymindscape

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Nevermind

Heads up! I'm moving to a new blog. It will likely still use my current user name and this one's name will be swapped out then eventually deleted

[rotatesmymindscape]

Heads up! I'm moving to a new blog. It will likely still use my current user name and this one's name will be swapped out then eventually deleted

[rotatesmymindscape]

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here are some photos of me noticing a wasp nest

1st pic : lookin good

2nd pic: being artsy and looking away (looking at wasp nest)

3rd pic: fully understanding that there is indeed a wasp nest

4th pic: me being outtie 

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It must get rough some days

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Please Dont Skip 💔😭🍉

Hello, I am Nagham Qwaider from Gaza, speaking to you from the midst of genocide, famine and displacement. 💔💔I have been married for two years, and before the war we owned a beautiful 4-storey house and our own company for general trade, and our life was full of happiness, security and comfort. Now, after the war, unfortunately, we lost everything. I lost my house in the blink of an eye, our company was burned and my husband lost his source of income. 💔💔😭😭😭😭😭Now we are homeless, moneyless, comfortable, happy and safe. The hardest thing is that I spent my pregnancy with my first child in the war. 😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺I cannot describe to you how much I suffered at that time, as there was no healthy food. I wished to find some food that would support me in my pregnancy and make my child’s health better, 💔😭🥺😭😭😭but unfortunately I did not find anything. I became anemic and clean water was not available. I had to drink contaminated water and eat contaminated food and suffered from kidney problems and I still suffer to this day, 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭and there was no medical care to follow up on my pregnancy. Then, I gave birth in the middle of the night under the bombing, 💔💔💔💔💔with shrapnel flying over our heads and tanks everywhere. My baby came and I couldn’t provide clothes or milk for him. Now we live a life of helplessness, 😭😭😭😔😔🥹🥹oppression and despair that I spent a whole year under the bombing and fire in a canvas tent that did not protect us from the cold of winter or from the insects of strange seasons and dangerous diseases. 😔😔😔Please, I ask you not to turn away from our urgent appeal. A small donation of even $20 or $25 from each person will make a difference and save our lives and contribute to my treatment and provide clothes and food for my baby, together we can rebuild our lives and restore and shape a future full of hope and freedom. Thank you💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #308 )✅️

https://gofund.me/ddc8ad6d

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making progress on my fic!

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“We’ve never been apart this long”

YEAH NO KIDDING. You get stranded on an island and two minutes later you start hallucinating him

I LOVE THEM!!! ❤️ It’s really cute, but come on. It’s still funny how they have to stay within five meters of each other at all times 😭 Even when you're playing, if one is too far from the other, they’ll scream each other's names and stop what they’re doing to find each other LIKE ???? AAAA

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snoutlet told them to get a bigger umbrella but they were too busy playing in the Rainy Yellow Void

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Pass the Glohm 💥💥

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Luigi dressed as Peach has been living in my head rent free, so have Principessa Luigi!!

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luigi with gardening hobby

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ANOTHER SNIPPET OF MY POST-SPM LUIGI FIC!

Sorry, someone said they thought the fic would be good and I felt excited to share more (I wanted to share this for a while now but got shy and the fic isn't finished yet...)

This is right after this part! Slight timeskip

Warning: Descriptions of body horror, unintentional self-harm, picking on injuries, blood. (sorry it got dark so fast)

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There’s an itch that never stops.

It started at the top of his head, right where the Floro sprout had been. That one made sense at least.

When he felt the wilting thing still attached to his head not long after he returned to he and Mario’s shared home, he didn’t even bother to walk over to the nearest mirror before he yanked it out with enough force to tear it all out.

Unfortunately, this included the roots that had dug much, much deeper than he thought.

A crash from his bedroom and a frantic Mario carrying him all the way to the nearest Toad doctor later, he was mostly fine. He had gotten an earful from the doctor for it, and the blood took long enough to stop flowing that the nurse turned pale at the sight of it, but he was allowed to leave the hospital a few hours later with stitches on it and some mushrooms.

Mario spent a part of their walk back home trying to get a better look at it, but Luigi slapped his cap on as soon as he could, ignoring the sting from doing so. Mario got the message, and they both tried to stop paying attention to the torn part of his cap where the sprout had stabbed through.

Every now and again, the area around it would itch, and he’d do his best to pick and scratch at it only when Mario wasn’t looking. He didn’t need to know that a part of it reopened from his scratching every now and again.

But then, the itch reached his neck, his arms, his legs. Every part of his body it could reach, it did. When it was done spreading outwards, it went inwards, a buzzing sensation permeating his insides. No amount of medicine, food, or heavy scratching could make any of it go away.

The itch would have moments where it would disappear, but it would be replaced with the sensation of something pressing down on his body with almost enough pressure to break and stretch him apart. Some days, he wondered if his body felt like it was trapped in a form too small for itself as it longed to stretch in ways he physically could not.

The first time it happened, he jolted awake and instantly curled up, clenching his teeth to stop himself from screaming. His neck felt like someone had bent and pulled it right off his shoulders, his limbs were weak and noodle-like, and his jaw moved like it had hinges it could rip itself off of.

By the end of the week, he had sobbed loud enough for Mario to hear him. His brother had scolded him for not saying anything sooner, but his voice stayed soft as he listened to Luigi explain the sensation between sobs, his hand floating by his little brother’s shoulder. Luigi had shivered like crazy when he tried to hold him.

“What’s wrong with me?” Luigi whispered when the sensation passed after what felt like hours of crying, his body collapsing back into his bed.

Mario was pulling the sheets back up when he paused. The gears visibly spun in his head.

“Nothing that’s your fault.” He answered, fluffing up Luigi’s pillow.

“Mario…what happened?” His older brother doesn’t ask for clarification. He already knows what it means.

Mario had found him lost, confused, and scared in the Underwhere. While they wandered around the darkness, Luigi had filled him in on what he remembered, which was next to nothing. As Luigi described it, it was like he blinked and was suddenly in the afterlife.

The look on Mario’s face was inscrutable when he said that, and it only became less and less readable as he relayed what little he knew after they left Flipside. Something had happened, that much was clear, but how much of it that he was willing to explain to Luigi was an entirely different story.

That same indecipherable expression is on his brother’s face again, but the quick twitch of his mouth into a frown meant he wasn’t ready to budge on it just yet.

Mario slowly repeats, “Nothing that’s your fault.”

He finishes tucking his brother back to bed, wishes him goodnight, and promises to make him coffee just the way he likes it once he wakes again.

Luigi dreams about shattering hearts, blood spattered plants and endless voids.

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spm fans when they see spm art/fic

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SNIPPET FROM MY POST-SPM LUIGI FIC (TITLE PENDING)

Finally, context for this drawing

aka, Luigi doesn't 100% remember the events of spm and is Very Stressed About This

EDIT: Another snippet!

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Luigi is fine. Really, he is.

He’s fine and he’s poking a sweet cookie that was placed on his plate to remove a little weight from the dangerously-close-to-toppling tower of cookies it came from.

When Merlon said he had snacks prepared for them, he didn't think he meant this much. Plates of cookies, chocolate pasta, hot dogs, fried mushrooms, about three different kinds of cake and two kinds of tarts, parfaits, and pitchers of tea and syrup were all laid out for them to feast on. Luigi doubts they can finish even half of it, despite their party of eight.

“Eat as much as you please.” The lady – Saffron? He didn't get much time to meet anyone in the Flipside– says as she places a steaming hot bowl of spicy soup at the table’s center, “All of you must be starving after an adventure like that!”

Mario is already reaching over to grab another plateful of mushrooms but smiles back at her before continuing. Peach holds her slice of heartful cake and hums as she eats. Bowser shrugs before devouring half of a horsetail tart.

Bleck’s minions seemed to be doing the same, though O’Chunks and Mimi argued over a forkful of pasta even with the abundance of it. Nastasia was quiet, but she nodded, sipping her tea and relaxing afterwards.

On any other occasion, Luigi might have felt like he was having a nice family dinner night.

Merlon lets out a hearty laugh, “I'm sure they are, Saffron my dear. Isn't that right, Luigi?”

Luigi blinks.

He looks at Merlon, then slowly back at his cookie.

Gingerly, he picks it up, nibbling the corner of it. It’s buttery and not too sweet, crispy around the edges but still a little soft in the center. It’s perfect. He should be reveling in the flavor, he should be telling Saffron it’s the best cookie he’s ever had, he should be grabbing ten more and hauling another dozen home for him and Mario to share.

He places it back on his plate, which remained empty save for it.

“…maybe just a little.” He decides after a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence.

“Is it not to your liking?”

He shakes his head, “It’s good. I’m just…”

From Luigi’s perspective, the story goes something like this: He’s at home with Mario until he’s not; he’s at Bowser’s castle and at Bowser’s “wedding” until he isn’t; he’s in another castle trying to escape until he doesn’t; he’s presumably dead but whether that really happened or not is a mystery, and now all of reality is saved, two people go disappear forever, and everyone who remained is here eating snacks.

Okay, so there's a few things he blearily remembers in between, like their journey to the Overthere and his fight with Dimentio, but the rest is just about lost to the slurry of his addled mind.

From the way he’s been dragged around, it’s all lasted maybe a few days for him at most. For everyone else, it seemed closer to a month based on their discussions between forkfuls. That definitely knocked him off kilter.

And, well, he just doesn’t want to acknowledge that in those final moments, he was aware of being mind-controlled. He remembers being fused with the same heart he tried to destroy and a jester who just finished trying to kill him, and he remembers how it felt when he couldn’t control himself as he tried to hurt everyone else.

The worst part, really, is that he knows he hurt them. He knows something bad happened, that he became something willing to decimate everything in its path, but what exactly happened and what exactly he became was completely lost to him.

He was somehow aware and not at the same time, as if a part of him kept shutting off his memory right before the most important parts, leaving him with nothing but brief visions of his attempts to kill his companions.

It’s not much, but whatever is there for him to recall is gut churning enough that he’s been avoiding making any effort to interact with any of them.

He tries his best to ignore the way Bowser only uses one arm to eat everything, vaguely recalling the way he fell when a homing attack hit him while he scaled the floating blocks, arms flailing as he tried to protect the rest of his body from further injury.

He can’t look Peach in the eye when she glances at him, her normally clean dress ripped to shreds in some spots, revealing a few hastily bandaged cuts from when the small yet sharp spinning blocks sliced through her.

And he certainly does not want to think about how heavily bruised Mario’s face is on one side, which came from his new form connecting its fist with his brother. The left side of his face was nothing but an angry red that made Luigi wince just thinking about it.

If things had gone just a bit wrong, a lot of people, especially some of the ones he loves most in the world, could be long dead.

The cookie slips from his hand and falls back to his plate with a clink!

Forget being a little hungry, he’s not hungry at all.

They all turn to look at him as he pushes his chair back with enough force to make it screech like fingers across a chalkboard. He grits his teeth from it.

“Is everything alright, Luigi?” Peach asks, placing her plate back on the table, eyebrows furrowed.

He could barely process the way his hands shook and his body stayed ramrod straight. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“…Yeah. O-Okey-dokey.” He feels sweat beginning to form on his face, “I’m not hungry. So, I’m…I’ll go for a walk instead.”

Merlon, even with his beard and hood covering most of his, is able to mimic Peach's look of concern, “Are you sure? I assume you haven’t eaten much these past few days.”

Luigi nods, but it feels more like his head just shook up and down violently, “I, ah, feel a little dizzy from…all of everything. Fresh air sounds good.”

He can’t think of more excuses to make, so he hurries out the door before anyone can protest.

When the door closes (slams) behind him, he lets out a sigh. Not the most elegant exit, but it will do. He suddenly feels like he’s gone and drank too much coffee, all jittery and nervous like he’s moments away from a caffeine crash. He needs to burn it off, take a few breaths, and avoid eye contact until he feels less inclined to run away.

His memory fails to supply the reason as to why he’s so riled up. While hurting the people he cares for is enough to make him faint from horror, something about his reaction was…even worse. He was forgetting more important incidents that made his nerves taut and his throat shut.

There were a few unexplained injuries on himself that might clue him in on those incidents. A minor electrical burn and a laceration on his hand that he, distantly, knew once had a few glass shards embedded in it were on their way to healing. A couple of rusty screws and a broken screwdriver were in his pocket when he woke up in the Underwhere, so he might have been tinkering with something electric?

There’s also the burns here and there on his body, all still too fresh to not be less than a day old. He can’t even begin to guess where those came from.

And his head ached much more than some of the worse migraines he’s ever had. It was like someone grabbed a hammer, hit him with it, and only made sure to stop short of cracking it open.

To top it all off, his legs faintly felt like there were pins and needles, too.

He’s been tired before. Exhausted, even. But whatever happened in that barely remembered month has left his system in all kinds of wack. He dreads to think about what could have happened to him.

His moment of stress-filled contemplation is broken by the sound of Saffron’s door opening. He already knows who it is, and as relieved as he is to know he’s okay, he really doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

Mario is quiet as he pushes the door shut, a bag full of cookies held in one hand. He offers Luigi a small smile.

“For you.” Mario says, waving the bag in front of Luigi, “You can go on your walk, but I’m sure you’ll be hungry.”

Luigi shakes his head, “No need, bro. I’m really not.”

His older brother frowns, and Luigi feels the guilt make his chest twinge, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Beats me.” Luigi answers almost instantly. With how little he remembers, he couldn’t tell if he ever ate during any of it. He grimaces when he sees Mario’s frown deepen. That was definitely not the answer his brother was hoping to hear.

“Maybe I should ask Saffron to make something other than snacks…” Mario contemplates.

Luigi reaches for Mario’s arm, maybe to push the bag back to him or to hang it, but his second of contact makes Mario retract his arm so quickly that Luigi flinches.

Mario lightly rests his free arm on top of his other arm, snapping his eyes shut as he hisses in pain.

Something cracks, another murky memory resurfaces - darkness, a heavy swing, a violent crack - and then something horrific clicks.

Luigi holds back the urge to scream it out loud.

The bruises aren’t just on his face. The hit connected with Mario's entire body.

Now much closer to each other, he can’t stop thinking about how uncomfortable it must be for Mario to smile at him when most of his face and body must be aching something fierce.

He should be fussing over Mario and making sure he’s okay, Luigi thinks to himself, just like Mario would for him.

He takes a step back, and then another, and then another one. Mario opens his eyes and Grambi he looks so worried.

Luigi’s voice breaks, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

“Luigi, it’s–”

Luigi turns around, and runs away.

The bag of cookies, now on the ground, was left forgotten.

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Let's dance! 💐

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bros in dresses!

(didn't realize mario's dress color almost matches peach's dress! she's also of course delighted to see their outfits)