#I forgot Luigi day

[snowwtrapped34]

HAPPY I FORGOT LUIGI DAY

Don’t forget to not forget Luigi 🥳🎉

[shartfinz]

dude I have no idea what possessed me

[levinsol]

Quick bowser day ship art lol

[drawingswatson-holmes]

Mauriioweeeie 🍎🍏

Pure Chaos

Drawn by Watson

[angelfoodscake]

pankopankopankopanko

[pixelatedbugs]

just saw mario movie and . well i am the type of guy who sees a movie and goes “that was a good movie” 99% of the time so i liked it. also bowser had bisexual lighting at one point

[luigiheritageposts]

Luigi Heritage Post

will never stop thinking about this actual thing that actually happened in the actual movie 

[faerygardenparty]

I really try not to be a conspiracy theorist but I’m seriously flip flopping on whether or not I believe Luigi Mangione actually did it, on one hand this guy’s digital footprint is too vast to not be a real person with real motive, but on the other hand the circumstances of how they caught him are so odd that it just doesn’t add up, like, he wore very nondescript clothing and a mask the day of the shooting, suggesting he doesn’t want to be identified, despite this they were somehow able to identify him at a hostel in different clothing without a mask, he not only fled the scene but allegedly fled New York with a fake ID that the police recovered, several days later they found him in Pennsylvania carrying around all of the evidence in his backpack, including a manifesto, gun, and fake ID, the police also claim he had somewhere between $8,000-$12,000 in his bag, yet when asked about it Luigi claims he had no idea where the money came from and suggests it was planted (which raises several more alarm bells because if this “evidence” was planted then what else could they have fabricated to “catch” this guy?)

this not mentioning the fact that I find it really odd that this guy didn’t digitally publish his manifesto and instead chose to carry a physical copy of it around for days

this all could mean that he wanted to get caught but if that’s the case why go to Pennsylvania at all? why not just stay in New York?

I will say, though, that I think some of this can also be explained by this comment on Reddit:

regardless, the circumstances are suspicious as hell

edit: I realized I forgot to mention this part but it’s also so suspicious how everyone, the police, the media, whatever, are all 100% certain that Luigi Mangione did it, I’ve seen so many high profile cases where cops do press conferences and say “this is America, the suspect is innocent until proven guilty!” yet they’re not even calling Luigi a suspect, they’re outright saying he is the shooter and that he did do it, that’s just weird to me

[scoutofmymind]

hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Without Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

Wc: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

[secretsofafangirll]

let's talk...

//

Now I know this is not what I usually post but I felt like it was my duty and responsibility to talk about this.

On Dec. 4, United Health Care CEO Brian Thompson was shot and killed in front of a Hilton hotel in Midtown Manhattan in New York. Just 5 days later, the suspect and alleged shooter Luigi Mangione was arrested at a McDonalds in Altoona, PA with everything the police needed for an arrest present (that's a little fishy but we can talk about that another time).

As of now, Mangione is being held in a jail in Brooklyn, NY and is awaiting trial. He has plead not guilty to federal charges of using a firearm to commit murder, stalking, and discharging a firearm with a silencer. He has also been slapped with terrorism charges.

Now, do I think anyone should kill anyone in cold blood? No. Do I 100% support Luigi Mangione and his choice to kill Brian Thompson, a greedy slime ball who killed thousands of more people than Luigi did? Yes. With that being said, Luigi Mangione is innocent until proven guilty and I think we all need to remember that. We cannot be the same people who go on Tik Tok and Tumblr calling him the hot CEO shooter and saying that his act of protest makes him even more attractive and also stand up to the DOJ and say that he is innocent and should be pardoned. Regardless of the reason why he allegedly killed Brian Thompson, he could still be charged federally and is facing the death penalty.

I understand that he is incredibly attractive. I'm not saying he's ugly and that we can't talk about it. I have saved hundreds of edits of him on Tik Tok and his name has been in my Tumblr and Wattpad search bars more than once. But that isn't all he's good for. His attractiveness is not important because we want to look at him and read fan fiction about him. His attractiveness is important because people are paying attention to him. If he was ugly or fat or, I'm going to be completely honest, though I hate to say it, a person of color, the masses would not be reacting this way. No one would be talking about the case or about the suspect like they are. His looks are making people tune in. His looks are getting people to pay attention to the story. But we CANNOT lose the plot.

Luigi's alleged selfless sacrifice is what we need to talk about. He did something nobody, up to this point, in our generation has had the guts to do. Everyday, thousands of innocent people are killed in cold blood and the police and the government don't give a single fuck. We don't help them. If anything, we make their lives harder. If one of us get's shot several times in the city by a man who had a gun with a silencer, it wouldn't be in the news. The man probably wouldn't have even been arrested. He wouldn't be facing federal charges. He'd probably just get a warning and let back onto the streets. But because a rich man who took the money and lives from the poor got what was coming to him and got killed, they needed our help to find the perpetrator and get the violent beast off the streets so that they can send him to the chair. Well, you know what, FUCK THAT!!

The Parkland Shooter killed 17. He was an adult. No death penalty.

The Sandy Hook shooter killed 28. He was an adult. No death penalty.

The El Paso shooter killed 23. He was an adult. No death penalty.

It is not my job to find you a hero to kill. It is not our job to protect the people who take our money and our lives away from us. But it is our job to protect Luigi Mangione and get him out of the courts.

Peaceful protests don't work; that's why they let us do them. Luigi Mangione knew this, and he allegedly did what he felt needed to be done. Now, we have to help him.

We cannot, and I can't emphasize this enough, let him be a trend. Everyone was talking about the Menendez Brothers for weeks when the Netflix show came out and now everyone forgot. I didn't, but a lot of people did and the lack of support now is making their lives harder. Luigi Mangione cannot be the white boy of the month who we forget about in a week. He is a public figure now and we have to help him. I'm begging all of you to do everything you can. Send letters, sign petitions, keep his name in the media, and most importantly...

Remember who the real enemy is.

[weasterberry]

Everyone on this website is all "we shouldn't say Luigi did it because due process and innocent until proven guilty" but like... am I the only one who just genuinely thinks he almost certainly did not do it?

Like... I feel like I'm being gaslit here. The police claimed they caught him 3 days later with the gun and a manifesto on him and just... the notion that you would go would to the trouble of carving "deny", "defend", "depose" on your bullet casings, and leave a fake backpack full of monopoly money in central park and then vanish... but also you have a manifesto that you just what? forgot to leave at the crime scene with your bullet casings? or to leave in the backpack specifically left for the police to find? What was the alleged plan? He was gonna go back to the scene of the crime 3 days later and just drop the manifesto off while nobody was looking? Ah shoot guys. I forgot to leave my manifesto where i call the cops nice people in my backpack. ah beans. I better go back to the crime scene and fix that up. OH. Can't forget to bring THE GUN I USED while doing so. And speaking of the gun? WHY WOULD HE STILL HAVE THE GUN? ON HIM? THREE DAYS LATER?? If I was gonna plan out and commit a crime like this. Disposing of the evidence would probably be in my "first 48 hours" timeline. Personally. Honestly, the fact that he had a gun on his person would make me LESS likely to think he was a murder trying to lie low.

Like, even if we take the cops at their word. Even if we accept that he had the specific gun used in the murder and a manifesto... I still wouldn't think it was him. I would think he (and possibly the mcdonalds employee who ratted him out) was an accomplice trying to cover for the real killer because the manifesto and gun thing are just so inconguous with the events we know of the night of the murder.

[lynzishell]

My 𝐓𝐨𝐩 24 30 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 from 2024🎉 (because rules were made to be broken)

TYSM for tagging me @herecirmsims, @elderwisp, and @changingplumbob 💖 As per usual, I went overboard... oops!

Before I forget -- I am going to tag @honeyjars-sims, @raiiny-bay, @havenroyals, @likelyamused, and @dandylion240 (ofc, feel free to ignore me if you've already done it, or if you just don't wanna)

JANUARY

We started the year in Sulani where Phoenix and Dawn got engaged! Let us all take a moment to remember the glory that was Phoenix with a tan 😍

I call this - My Love Affair with Brindleton Bay (Part 1)

I love them. This isn't even the greatest screenshot, but it will forever be one of my favorites. One day I will put together a collage of forehead kisses for these two.

FEBRUARY

My Love Affair with Brindleton Bay (Part 2)

Mario, Luigi, and Yoshi were always happy to steal focus when I needed to blur things happening in the background... 😏

Atlas forever being the best uncle in the world... and fascinated with his niece having his eyes

MARCH

Me peeking through the foliage while Phoenix introduces his wife and child to his mom... the only way he knows how 🥺🤍

APRIL

😂 Ok so March and April are pretty sparse... I took a break in the Spring because I was going through a breakup and a move. I spent that time focusing on things that made me happy - like writing The Past arc for the boys and laughing at Dawn's ridiculous in-game expressions 😂

MAY

I'm so glad I took that break because I was able to come back and give Phoenix and Dawn the wedding they deserved! I also LOVE these last two shots... After the party ended, those three were goofing off and having so much fun... and then giving Phoenix the MOST thoughtful gift... it still makes me tear up! 🥹

JUNE

And so it begins... This nightmare sequence was so much fun to put together! And this shot is by far my favorite... it was totally by accident, but oh so perfect

The Past my beloved... I love this shot sm... the morning light, the fall colors, Ash and Lex being Ash and Lex while Atlas tags along behind them (he'd only known Ash for 24 hours and was already crushing... poor boy didn't stand a chance)

Oh yeah! Remember Chestnut Ridge?! The way I jumped around in this part istg... You're all incredible for putting up with me this summer 😂 Okay but I love this one because of how all the animals are turned to look at Danny... again, a total accident, but perfectly foreshadows what I have in mind for his future!

Back the The Past - What's perfect about this one is how the only thing in focus is where they are touching.

I’m acutely aware that his leg is resting against me now, and he’s rolling the fabric of my sleeve between his thumb and middle finger. Normally, I would have already scooted away from the sofa. Pivoted my body so the conversation could continue, but so that I could not be touched. But I don’t feel any need to do that. Not with him. His affection is so subtle and absent-minded; I can tell he’s just feeling comfortable with me. Something about that makes me feel comfortable with him too.

JULY

AHHHHHH!!! I still lose my mind over this moment!!! Like... the way physical touch plays such a big role throughout this arc, and getting to see Atlas evolve from someone who always kept his distance from people to being the affectionate teddy bear he is today... and the way Ash is so sweet and mindful and considerate through it all...

And then I look down, down to where I feel his hand come to rest on my leg, the heat of it warming my thigh. “Is that okay?” He asks, “Do you want me to move my hand?” I look up into his eyes and shake my head slightly, “No. No, it’s okay.”

THEIR FIRST KISS!!!!! The tippy toes pls!!! 😭 I'm not gonna lie.... I forgot the entire purpose of this post and am now lost to reminiscing... I already miss this arc so much!!!

Taking my time, I brush my lips lightly against his before kissing him softly. Holding myself back, not because I’m unsure, but because I’ve never been more certain of anything. I want to savor this moment, commit it to memory so I can revisit it tomorrow, and every day after.

A brief look into The Present as these two make plans for the future that I will inevitably ruin for them because I felt compelled to go into CAS and play around with genetics and rewrite the entire ending to this arc. Sorry not sorry boys!

aaaand back to The Past for our first peek at Ash's POV as he realizes he may be falling for Atlas

Y’know, my biggest fear is drowning, especially in the ocean, and yet, my favorite place is the beach near my parents’ house, sitting right at the water’s edge. Being with Atlas, it reminds me of this place. The bright blue of his eyes, the sandy color of his hair, and the dusting of freckles across his nose. And the way being near him makes me feel just a little nervous, like at any moment I could get swept away and lose myself completely.

AUGUST

Oh yeah! Chestnut Ridge and Joey's cliche dad-logic moment! Seriously guys... thank you for putting up with my nonsense... But OMG! Did you know you can set the horses to buck riders off every time they try to get on? 10/10 recommend if you need a laugh! I had so much fun with this scene... Phoenix, on the other hand, did not 🫣

This one. You have no idea. I struggled SO MUCH with trying to figure this scene out... and only those in our discord writing group will know how I lost my mind when these poses were released and gave me the inspiration I needed... I'm pretty sure I shot this scene a month before I even started this arc because I couldn't get it out of my head... I should also add that these two died in process of making it, and I fucked up this lot while trying to place all the lights and decos via TOOL and had to start all over in another save (which worked out because the Romance Festival spawned in the new one making it all so much better and more lively)... I went through a lot for this shot, and I will hold it near and dear to my heart forever as a result.

SEPTEMBER

Just them. Holding hands. In The Present. 🥹 I just like this one a lot... it's actually the desktop background on my PC lol

A hazy dream in neon pink

Don't worry... they're JUST FRIENDS (who are clearly in love with each other and on mdma and suddenly can't keep their hands off each other)

As he backs himself against the wall, pulling me into him, I finally understand. “Is this okay?” he asks. I lean in so fast that I practically breathe the answer into his mouth, “Yeah,” and before I know it, we’re making out again. But this time is far more intense, our kisses deeper, our breathing ragged, our hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and clothing and clawing at skin as though our desire for each other has grown into some kind of wild animal. Finally free from its cage, there’s no going back now.

💛🩵💛🩵 What am I doing again? I think I've lost the plot...

OCTOBER

Oh yeah... fave screenshots of 2024! We're so back! San Myshuno my beloved

The Proposal 😭 Spoiler alert... they were never "just friends" ajsdkakljs Also, I had to exit and go back in game three times to keep those bright red/orange skies for this scene... worth it!

NOVEMBER

A glimpse of The Future... and bb is confused af

DECEMBER

Things are different now in ways they don't quite understand, but they have each other 🥹🩵💛

For the rest of our lives, we're in this together.

[not-handsome-enough]

Day 3: Horror Movie Crossover!

Kinda!! There’s mixed reviews some say Repo is a horror rock opera others say gothic rock opera idk. It’s my best shot I do not watch horror 😭😭

Character assignment and prompt underneath

Zydrate comes in a little glass vial

It’s been a while so I’m assigning mostly off of memory

Graverobber : Nathan

Shilo: Toki

Repo man / dad : Charles

Roti: Salacia

Luigi : Murderface

Pavi: Pickles ( wearing seths face cause that would be so cool )

Amber: Skwisgaar ( honestly he could also be Pavi but idk what face he’d wear + ambers so obsessed with music afaik so )

Blind Mag : Either Magnus or Abigail both would work in my mind for various reasons but I can’t commit to it

And then I’m missing someone. I forgot who. Crap

Prompt below

[meckyjpg]

Genovember

Day 8: Easter egg

My brother told me that the new Mario & Luigi game was coming out today, BUT HE FORGOT THAT IT WAS YESTERDAY AND NOT TODAY! AND I DIDN'T DEDICATE A DRAWING! Anyway, happy and late release of the new Mario & Luigi Brothership!

(I hope everyone knows the reference...)

[kakusu-shipping]

Boss lady Daisy with wario and waluigi is just so correct and now I immediately want so many soinoff comics about the B plot shenanigans they get up to while mario and lou do their thing

SAME!!!!!!

I thought of it the other day while messing with a Side Plot to another project where someone in Sarasaland hired Wario and Waluigi to kidnap Daisy for them, she proceeds to kick their ass, and then took them as her own little hench people.

My main take on Wario and Waluigi is they're like. Actors who keep getting cast together, and eventually started hanging out outside of work, and for some reason adding Daisy to that mix as their Boss Lady felt really fitting to me.

I now have this headcanon that Sarasaland is like Hollywood, producing big budget movies and TV. I also headcanon most of Warioware to take place there, as either movies or television, so everything in those games are sets and props and actors.

So she's the monarch and they're her famous actor buddies, but I also imagine she dabbles in directing and got them the gigs that jump started their acting careers.

[batneko]

A couple people suggested an Arranged Marriage AU when I was asking for bowuigi ideas, but it took me this long to come up with a plot (sorry (not sorry) in advance if this one also gets really long).

Mario and Peach finally tied the knot, and Bowser is fine. Really. He doesn't care. He just doesn't feel like moving or leaving his room or eating anything but junk food. He's FINE.

And then one day a bunch of little pea people pop out of one of the caves and tell him they've got a prophecy that states their champion needs to marry the strongest ruler in the land in order to save the world at some unspecified future date. If he was a little less depressed Bowser would probably call bullshit, but right now he doesn't care enough to protest and the idea of marrying some random pea at least sounds better than being alone.

So he follows them into the caves and meets his "bride" (or groom? It's hard to tell under the giant veil) who seems startled to see him but doesn't say anything. Then Bowser has to go through a bunch of weird trials to prove he's the strongest, while the peas and their champion watch.

At least the champion is bigger than the rest of the pea people. That would have been awkward.

Bowser passes the trials easily and is shoved into a room with the champion to wait while the wedding is prepared. (Again, if he was thinking clearly Bowser would probably notice how much this screams "trap," but he isn't.) He does notice that the champion is staying as far away from him as physically possible in the small room, so Bowser tells them they've got nothing to fear from him.

"I'm not expecting anything. I won't make you DO anything. I just want somebody to stand by my side. If you can promise me that, there's just about nothing in the world I won't give you."

The champion calms down after that, and soon the wedding begins.

It's not a ceremony Bowser is familiar with, but he says yes in the right places, and the champion does too (is that voice a little familiar?) and at the end when Bowser lifts off the veil he sees a face that is pretty damn close to the last one he wanted to see right now.

Luigi is not entirely sure how he ended up in this position. He met the pea people some time ago and helped them with a small issue that had them granting him honorary membership into their community. He forgot about it after that until a group of them came and said they needed a champion, and asked him to attempt some trials. He wanted to refuse, but he's been feeling pretty lonely now that Mario is married. He could still drop in to visit, but it feels like intruding. And Mario hasn't been coming by very often at all.

So he did the trials and the pea people were overjoyed and he was starting to feel better until they said he needed to marry a king. Luigi DID refuse then, but the pea people showed him the prophecy carved into the cave walls, and he's been involved in enough destiny BS to not dismiss it out of hand. Maybe it won't be so bad?

Until he saw Bowser. Who... kind of looked like shit, actually. Even when doing more of those dumb trials (funny how they seem to be catered precisely to what Luigi and Bowser are both best at) Bowser looked like his heart wasn't in it. When Luigi heard that speech about just wanting someone to stand by his side, Luigi realized Bowser must be even more lonely than he is right now. HE actually DID lose someone he loved to that wedding.

So Luigi can't bring himself to tell the truth and break his heart. He goes through with the wedding and is already thinking about the logistics of moving in together when Bowser sees him and flips the fuck out.

Luckily(?) it turns out the wedding was, in fact, a trap, so when Bowser rips up the altar and throws it at a wall, it makes the pea people think he's onto them. The fight that ensues is enough that Bowser snaps back into something like his usual self, and Luigi is able to cover for how confused he is.

Luigi feels betrayed, Bowser feels humiliated, but at the moment they are very much united against the ones who used them.

Bowser starts picking guys up and threatening to eat them (he wouldn't, he hates vegetables), until somebody confesses that the prophecy is real... but the threat the champion and the king were supposed to defeat was the pea people themselves. They were planning to take over the world, and the wedding was supposed to be a distraction so they could eliminate them both at once.

Luigi leads Bowser to the carvings on the wall he'd seen before. Sure enough, there's one of what looks very much like the wedding ceremony they just had. The terrified pea person translates the inscription, which says the union will uproot all but the smallest peas.

"So you KNEW getting us together would ruin your plans, but you did it anyway? I'm starting to feel dumb for getting fooled by complete idiots."

There are still two problems. One: Bowser didn't make a secret of the fact he was leaving to get married, so when he goes back home he's going to have to explain why he's still... not. And two: the prophecy hasn't actually been fulfilled yet, there's still more pea people out there with megalomaniacal ambitions.

Luigi proposes a solution to both: why doesn't he just go with him? Stay by his side, just like he promised?

"You're crazy," Bowser says. "I know," Luigi says. "But think about how funny it will be to tell my brother." "...That will be funny."

It is.

Luigi settles in surprisingly easily. He gets his own room, a new wardrobe, and, once Bowser learns he likes to tinker, a workshop. The people don't mind him (a fair number don't seem to recognize him as Mario's brother, which hurts a little but saves trouble). He even gets along with Junior. Once he brings his dog over he's practically the kid's favorite person.

It's pretty much exactly what Bowser wanted. Luigi is devoted to his duties as "prince consort," always appearing next to Bowser in public and giving the illusion of a united front. If he actually argues with Bowser about a lot of his policy in private, nobody needs to know. Somehow, Bowser doesn't mind.

But it's torture, too, because Bowser has never HAD a real partner like this. Someone who supports him but can still disagree with him. There's a period of about a week where Bowser thinks this is working and will last and he can be happy.

Then they're talking about whether or not to have a traditional koopa wedding as well, and Luigi cracks a joke about how he sure hopes the pea people didn't have that rule where a marriage isn't real until you consummate it, because then they might actually have trouble when the prophecy kicks in.

And Bowser realizes he really really would like to consummate this marriage.

Shit.