#Mario Grass Land

[radiantrookie]

Mushroom World's other Kingdoms

Grass Land (Which was taken over by Larry Koopa)

Desert Land (Which was taken over by Morton Koopa Jr and is also home to the Angry Sun)

Water Land (Which was taken over by Wendy O Koopa)

Giant Land (Which was taken over by Iggy Koopa)

Sky Land (Which was taken over by Roy Koopa)

Ice Land (Which was taken over by Lemmy Koopa)

Pipe Land (Which was taken over by Ludwig Von Koopa)

The Kings of these Lands

These Kingdoms are never seen again, however some people theorize that other Mario Worlds and some Mario Kart Tracks take place in these lands

[megahorous]

Mario meets a Wandering Hammer Bro. !

[leclerc-hs]

a lifetime of summers - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which every summer, at the villa your families rent together every year, gives you a version of charles OR you and charles are childhood best friends with a complicated history. warnings: angst, language, childhood friends with complicated history, smut, angst, yearning, etc... idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos or things that might not make sense), lots of back and forth, messy messy messy, also cute, jealousy jealousy, seriously lots of YEARNING, them being stupid also word count: ~8k author's note: this idea came to me a few days ago and i've spent as much time as possible working on it since (in between carlos version). y'know when the creativity just hits right and the words pour out of you?? that was me with this. i hope you guys like it!!!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Age 7.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

The villa smells of sun lotion and salty air.

Your dad’s playing music through some tiny old speaker he brought. And the adults are laughing too loud over their drinks.

The sun is beginning to sink, but it’s still hot. 

You’re sticky with juice, hair tangled, and bathing suit clinging awkwardly.

Charles is chasing you. A water balloon in his hands.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!” 

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out. 

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp. 

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly. 

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree. 

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

-

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him. 

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs. 

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

-

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet. 

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch. 

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it. 

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips. 

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his. 

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek. 

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

-

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom. 

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment. 

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

-

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. An more private are. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low. 

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

-

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again. 

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter. 

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

-

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach. 

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out. 

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough. 

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you. 

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

-

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter. 

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn’t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink. 

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

-

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. 

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is. 

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light. 

-

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine. 

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore. 

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing. 

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

-

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street. 

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in. 

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening. 

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute. 

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you. 

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

-

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier. 

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

-

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes. 

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal. 

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party. 

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

-

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you. 

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around. 

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him.  “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer. 

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched. 

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder. 

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

-

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on. 

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly. 

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin. 

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

-

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing. 

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry. 

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard. 

Trying to read him. 

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink. 

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet. 

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

-

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always. 

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer. 

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.” 

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

-

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first. 

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

-

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened. 

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

-

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment. 

Urgent. Focused. 

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you. 

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again. 

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. “You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.” 

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

-

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft. 

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

-

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late. 

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual. 

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard. 

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him. 

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him. 

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

taglist: @softtdaisy @zicosbitch @esmeextraa @evie-119 @teamnovalak @leclercmylove @skylyn-vais @tabisswag @annaswrites00 @chaconadine @sassy-persona @im-an-overthinker @ptrickbateman @angelique-rose-valentine @agmoon03 @whistlef0rthechoir @bvbyacid-666 @jenxjar @crazynyctophilia @theoriginalsfan124 xoxo love u all :)

[suppermariobroth]

Wake-up sound produced by an officially licensed 1992 Super Mario Bros. 3 alarm clock, consisting of a loop of the Grass Land map theme from the game alongside Mario repeating "Wake up, it's time to leave dream land!"

Main Blog | Patreon | Twitter | Bluesky | Small Findings | Source

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.���

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[dulcet-aurora]

video games . jason todd x reader. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ they say that the world was built for two. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ after half a decade of years of therapy, tears, and the seemingly never-ending loop of the five stages of grief, you've finally been able to claw your way past the death of your best friend. but one wish on a burning candle on a lonely, rainy night changes everything.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. mentions of blood, angst, dogshit writing. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚. @di-lucss. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 1.7k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. please make this pull a jason and blow up 🙏🙏 also take note that there's like three different years that jason was born in order for me to determine when he died so i had to spin around in the dark and throw a dart and a random year. said year was 1990 so he died in 2005. reader has a february birthday for plot reasons. don't like it? don't read.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"𝒘ithout music, life would be a blank to me. you're my music. happy sweet sixteen." read the inside of your old, worn copy of jane austen's emma. scrawled in black pen was a little, poorly drawn but albeit sweet doodle of toad and toadette from mario kart sitting on opposite ends of a cake. you'd dubbed him as toad when you were little due to his last name. underneath, in smaller script, "for my favorite parasite. enjoy. love, jason."

your eyes glistened with tears as you looked at the date— february 7th, 2005. when you had turned sixteen, you'd tackled your best friend so hard in a hug that he fell over and landed on the grass. his sixteenth wouldn't come until august, but you already had a book chosen out. what you didn't know is that that same book would still be lodged among your collection of books in four years, because in just over two months, he'd be beaten half to death and let an exploding warehouse finish the job.

jason always liked to go out with a bang.

of course, you hadn't known that. you hadn't known that he'd gone on patrol as batman's sidekick, like he had for years without you knowing. it wasn't until an older gentleman approached you at the funeral and pressed a sharp ended pin shaped like an 'R' into your palm.

you'd renovated after he died. in this economy, you couldn't afford a new apartment other than the one you lived in when you were younger. with your father out of the picture and your mother sent to rehab just barely a year after jason's death, you'd doubled down and redid the entire thing yourself, erasing every trace of your teenaged self from every nook, cranny, and crevice. there were too many memories of jason in the walls— the two broken coat hangers where he'd tried to do a pull-up, the two handprints in red and blue paint on the wall after your first playdate in second grade, and that old guitar with two missing strings that he carved your initials into. gone, gone, gone.

you'd never forgiven him. for lying. for being so reckless. for leaving you. leaving you alone underneath that weeping willow wondering why he hadn't showed.

you brushed your fingers against jason's five year old handwriting, the last trace you had of him. the warm glow of your candle stabbed into your cupcake illuminated the pages. today marked your fourth birthday without jason, four years of that fifty dollar, leather bound copy of pride and prejudice, the one that you spent five months of allowance saving up for. you've never read it, never touched a copy of pride and prejudice again because all you could hear was his voice reading the words.

i wish you were here, jay, you thought to yourself as a puff of air left your lips as you blew out the candle. wisps of smoke curled off the wick and brushed over the first pages of emma. tears brimmed in your eyes as you caught a glimpse of his messy script again. i miss you.

you curled your legs up to your chest and rested your chin on your knees. you let yourself cry, tears trickling down your cheeks.

just then, you heard the window open and your plate beneath your cupcake vibrated as heavy footsteps hit the floor. the groan of a man echoed through your apartment and the sound of something large hitting your wall.

you flinched, your palms pressed against the table. your lights were off and your candle was out, the spark on the wick fading quickly. you inhaled sharply then clamped a hand over your mouth. you stood up and grabbed the quickest weapon you could find— your old, faulty lighter. you walked silently towards the sound.

you heard another rustle and the sound of bottles knocking against each other. the sound was hollow and echoed through your apartment— it was the sound of metal bouncing off tile. your bathroom. your socks quieted your steps as you made your way there. the door is ajar, and you can hear labored breathing slipping through crack in the door. the noise and the bright alabaster light made it look like god himself was speaking to you in tongues.

you nudge the door with your lighter, the harsh light making your vision go fuzzy for a moment before your eyes adjust. your hand goes slack.

"oh my god."

there's blood on your bathtub, your first aid kit is scattered all over the place, and there are muddy boot prints all over your tiled floor a masked head looks up at you and you make dead eye contact with none other than red hood sitting on the edge of your bathtub, a hand stained as red as his suit clamped over his abdomen.

"hey," red hood said, entirely too calm for the fact that a) he had just broken into your home, and b) there was a hole in his stomach.

"hello," you blurted out.

a beat of silence passes, "i'm bleeding," the masked man offered.

"i... can see that," you said. you slowly reached for a bottle of hairspray, your trembling fingers clutching around the bottle as you subtly angled the end of the lighter to the nozzle of the hairspray can.

"please don't set me on fire," red hood said gruffly. you lowered your lighter slowly.

"why are you here?" you asked, voice thick with the disbelief that was still choking you. "how did you even—" you cut yourself off, your eyes shifting nervously to the window, the glass still open. your apartment was on the third floor. he had a stab wound. how had he gotten in?

"i'm really not in the mood for twenty questions," he muttered, sucking in a sharp breath as he shifted his weight.

in reality, jason remembered your exact address from his old life, his old life with you in it, where he would scramble up the rusted ladder and run along the ledges to reach your bathroom window. it was muscle memory for him to go to your apartment, he hadn't even considered that maybe other people lived hear or they'd taken down that old ladder because it was a hazard.

"can you just... do the thing where you help me before i bleed out all over your bathroom?" he asked, and you blinked.

"i... i'm not qualified," you said.

"of course you're not," he grumbled, and you stiffened. red hood motioned to his wound still gushing blood in between his fingers. "look, do i look qualified? no. am i still patching myself up? yes."

"i could care less if you lived or died," you said coldly.

he went silent. you couldn't see, but he bit his cheek and forced down the lump in his throat. he knew that you didn't know that he had died, that he was the one person that you cared about. the singular organism on this planet with a beating heart and flowing blood and breathing lungs that had let those three things shut down and allowed himself to leave you forever.

you cared about jason todd. not red hood. and the only thing for your birthday was for him to stumble through your window like he used to, his clothes smelling like nicotine and his monster energy breath wafting through your tiny apartment. something had climbed through your window that night, but it wasn't your best friend, your jason, your toad. because he was gone and no matter how hard you wished, he wasn't coming back.

"clean up," you quipped, motioning at the mixture of crimson blood and mud caking onto your tile. "grab some food and go be on your merry way."

red hood gave you a thumbs up and you turned on your heel and went back to the kitchen table. your candle had melted. there was wax in your icing.

tears welled up in your eyes. you furiously wiped them away, the sleeve of your sweater burning the puffy skin around your eyes but you didn't care. while you didn't give two shits about red hood, he was still a dangerous individual and was bleeding out in your bathroom. you didn't want him thinking you were weak or see you crying over a copy of emma and potentially digging up things on your personal life.

you put your head down and feels like hours have passed before red hood comes out of the bathroom. you heard the refrigerator open and the sound of containers being rustled around before the door shut and you heard your window slide open.

words danced on the tip of jason's tongue, trapped between his lips and the mask. words like i'm sorry or it's me, jason or any of the thousand inside jokes that had been trapped in his mind and guarded by the lazarus pit that had been sure to engrave it in his brain. his memories of you were still muddled but were all the same, like the layers of a 3d movie or the text on the rosetta stone.

he noticed the cupcake. and the book. that book. emma.

the scent of smoke lingered in the air, slipping between the sweat building up in his hood and the scent of gasoline that clung to his uniform. "happy birthday," he said, one leg hanging out the window.

silence. "how'd you know?" you asked after a moment, your voice hollow.

"you wanted something, and didn't get it," he guessed. jason recognized your flushed cheeks and moodiness when something went wrong. when you were little, you'd throw tantrums.

"i'm not four." you retorted.

"yeah, so live a little," he said. "how often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!"

you'd heard that line before. "wait, did you just—"

the rest of your words came out as a breath as you looked behind you to see red hood gone, the only trace of his presence being the lingering scent of nicotine. your lips parted, hoping the rest of your sentence would spill out, but it didn't.

jane austen wrote that surprises are foolish things. the pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. as you cleaned your floor of red hood's boot prints and had to make an extra grocery run for the amount of food that he'd taken, you might've agreed with it.

but the red annotation on page 182 and the note on your bulletin board reminding you to do something spontaneous said otherwise.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Swirlypod

Debut: Super Mario Bros. Wonder

YIPPEE YAHOO! A brand swirlin' new snail fresh for 2023! It has been quite a long time now since we've gotten a new Mario snail, and even since I've posted about one, since I covered all the snailiest Mario snails a while ago. But lookie here! Snaily snaily snail for me to see and for you to view!

Swirlypod is so delightful! To get this out of the way first, yes, its eyes are not on the ends of stalks. Yes, this is good and okay. Some snails are like that! Especially freshwater snails. And that's the kind of snail that this snail seems to be! While sometimes seen on land, it is also seen emerging from (poisonous) swamps. It can breathe that!

Swirlypod's face is just so, so precious. Its big, innocent, curious eyes experiencing the world in the way only a snail could! Its big ol' bulbous antennae, more bulbous than they have any right being, more like a nudibranch's than a normal snail's! And its mouth! I think that's its mouth? It's like three scrumbly tentacles ready to scrumble down some delicious fungus!

Did you know that the salt marsh snail Littoraria irrorata is able to FARM fungus? They damage marsh grasses to create large wounds for fungus to grow in, and even use their own poop as fertilizer! Snails can FARM!

Yes, indeed, what a wonderful snail we have here! Thank you, Super Mario Bros. Wonder!

...Hey! That shell comes right off! Now it's all Pod, with no Swirly! Does this mean Lime is The Impostor? I may have just asked you, but that was rhetorical. Don't ask me, because I don't know! Removable shells are a common ability for cartoon snails, and of course, the turtles of this world also have removable shells. I think it doesn't really mean much at all! Though, the idea of a "hermit slug" is very amusing. A snail who can't be bothered to grow its own shell. Maybe it wants to switch shells for different styles sometimes. A slow victim of fast fashion!

Wonder is one of those games where Koopa Troopas retreat into their shells when stomped, so Swirlypod is sort of a way to have Beach Koopa in the same game as the more standardly-behaving Koopa! Once it gets back on its foot, it will try to squirm back into a shell, if one is available. You can give it back! Just drop it down at your feet, and Swirlypod will have a home once more!

Another thing that sets Swirlypods apart from Koopas is that they are sticky slimy and can slither up and down vertical surfaces! Just like in real life! They don't only climb on the left and right sides of surfaces, either. They can even go on the surface facing the screen! Not just anyone is allowed to do that!

I am saving what may be the best tidbit for last! There is a good chance Swirlypod's bulbous antennae look familiar to you. That's because they look just like Leucochloridium paradoxum, the green-banded broodsac, everyone's favorite snail parasite! The flatworm that inhabits a snail's eyestalks, making them look more like caterpillars to get a bird to eat them so they can continue their life cycle! Swirlypod definitely isn't supposed to be like, ACTUALLY infected by this funny worm, but I think the resemblance is very much intentional, between the shape and coloring. And that is so awesome to see! This isn't even meant to be a scary snail or anything, but they represented a freaky parasite anyway!

[peaches2217]

Summer Rain

AO3 link!

~~~

There’s nothing quite like falling ten feet to the ground and landing flat on one’s back to bring a person back into reality. When he came to, Mario’s first reaction was relief. Rest, finally. Everything burned. His throat, his lungs, his muscles, his stomach. His ears rang and his head spun and his vision created doubles of every last block and obstacle overhead, and at long last, he was free to simply lay in the grass and observe passively.

As with all good things, it didn't last.

Get up.

The all-too-familiar voice, maybe his own and maybe some divine call from the universe, repeated these words in his head, but he couldn’t make his muscles obey. He could hardly breathe; air returned to him in unsteady gasps, and with each one, his short-lived relief melted further and further into frustration.

Get up. Something gurgled in his throat that was neither air nor bile, and the taste of copper coated his tongue. Get up. How had he slipped? He’d run this training gauntlet hundreds of times, if not thousands, in the past weeks. Had he grown complacent? Get up. This was no time for complacency. No time for failure. Get up, get up, get up.

“Mario!” He registered the cry of his name the same way he registered the pain in his spine or the ache in his limbs or the muted yet near-constant growling of his gut: with little more than passing acknowledgement. He knew he was hurt. He knew he was hungry. He knew someone was calling out to him. He didn’t care. His only concern was get up, get up, get up, sit up, stand up, get back to training.

Get back to her.

“Mario?”

Just as soon as he’d pulled himself to his knees, dizziness overtook Mario, and he barely caught himself on his hands, his arms shaking from the effort to support his weight. Her voice. All it took was the ghost of her voice to sap his fight, drain the furor that fueled him, until he was empty, empty, empty.

She wasn’t— he knew she wasn’t— and yet she— she sounded so near—

“Oh, Mario,” Peach sighed, pressing a gloved hand to her cheek, “what am I going to do? If I have to sit through one more unproductive commission on import tax rates, I think I’m going to scream.”

Mario chuckled sympathetically. “So I’m guessing third time wasn’t the charm after all?”

“I thought surely the senators would be just as sick of all the arguing as I am by now. Sadly, I’m fairly certain they enjoy it.” Another sigh. “So a fourth commission has been scheduled for Thursday.”

Thursday. Mario wracked his head for upcoming happenings, possible excuses, any circumstance he could twist in her favor, and he found it in short order.

“Hmm… it sure is a shame you won’t be there for that meeting, Princess.”

Peach halted in her tracks, and Mario stopped alongside her, meeting her confusion with pointed nonchalance.

“I… won’t be?”

“You didn’t forget, did you? That play in Mushroom City you were invited to? That’s Thursday night, yeah?”

Peach shook her head. “Mario, I’d hardly call a letter written in crayon by a child begging me to attend their Kindergarten theatre production an ‘invitation.’ More of a… um…” A pause. The realization clicked into place, her bright eyes glowing ever brighter in the twilight, and she graced Mario with a sly, cheerful smile. “Well, how many children have the courage to write to the castle directly? It would be rude to turn such a thoughtful invitation down.”

“My thoughts exactly!” He nudged her side, winking up at her. “Now, I know you’d rather sit and listen to grouchy old Toads shout over each other all day, but we all have to make sacrifices sometimes, yeah?”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” A very un-regal giggle slipped her lips, juvenile in its conniving yet ethereal all the same, and Mario couldn’t help but feel especially proud of himself. “So we’ll meet at the carriage hold Thursday at dawn, then? Plenty enough time to escape before Toadsworth catches on.”

Her proposal didn’t surprise him; it had become customary, after all, to act as her guard any time she ventured beyond the palace walls. This made her invitation no less sacred to him. “You can count on me, Princess.”

Peach took a moment to breathe in the fresh spring evening, exhale her worries, and as their walk resumed, her hand found his, small and light but present and real and warm. “Oh, Mario,” she laughed, “you’re my hero!”

You’re my hero…

Another rush of oxygen hit his brain, and she was gone once more. Memories of golden hair in the waning light of sunset were washed out in smudges of green and brown and red — his fingers digging into the earth, damp from a recent summer rain, a trickle of blood dripping from his bottom lip onto the backs of his hands.

Some hero he was. 

A familiar pressure welled within his chest, and he huffed in relief. Anger. It made his heart pump harder and brought his surroundings back into focus and flooded him with unbearable energy, and he was finally able to clamor to his feet, spitting blood so he could breathe properly. Turning towards the gauntlet’s nearest springboard, he wiped his sleeve over his mouth and let that rage consume him once more, let himself believe again that it wasn’t rage at all, but hope. Hope in its rawest, most painful form.

She was counting on him. He would bring her home. He would have pleasant evening walks in the gardens with her again, he would laugh with her over tea and cakes, he would ensure no similar misfortune ever befell her again. Maybe he would even tell her that he loved her, just so he could say he no longer held any secrets from her. And until that day came, he would train and train and train until no force, earthly or cosmic, could stand in his way.

How could you let this happen?

That fragile illusion of hope burst into flames, its fire coursing through Mario’s veins, but now that he was on his feet again, he made no further effort to fool himself. With a final, sharp breath, he lunged forward—

“Basta così!”

Something caught his left wrist, and the unexpected intrusion snuffed Mario’s fire, like water tossed on a blazing bed of coals. He clenched his jaw and smoldered uselessly for a moment, quivering with unspent energy, giving his captor a chance to free him without provocation. The grasp ensnaring him only tightened.

“Lasciami andare, Lu.” He kept his voice as steady as possible, deathly quiet and low, because he knew it would shake if he raised it any louder, and he couldn’t afford to be perceived as weak.

“No.” Luigi’s voice was equally unwavering. “I’ve let this go on long enough. You’re coming home.”

Mario scoffed. Oh, now his timid little brother was choosing to stand his ground. Now, of all times, for all purposes—! He lurched forward to free himself. He didn’t have time for such games.

Luigi moved with him easily, and before Mario could reestablish his footing, he was yanked backwards by the arm so hard that his vision went blurry and his legs briefly gave out beneath him.

But he didn’t have time to collapse. Luigi powered ahead, and Mario was forced to twist his body in the same direction and stumble along behind him, and by the time his surroundings stopped shifting they were well past the athletic center’s gate and into the streets of Toad Town.

What in the Eight Realms was going on? His brother was strong, but he was stronger. It should have been easy to pull free or at least anchor himself and force an impasse, but he wouldn’t slow down.

“Let me go, Luigi,” he repeated in their mother tongue, half so the dozens of Toads craning their stubby necks as he was dragged past couldn’t eavesdrop and half because his grasp on the English language was one of the first things to go when he was upset. 

“You really think I’m that useless?” Luigi didn’t even look over his shoulder as he responded in the same tongue, yet his voice pierced through the ambiance of the streets. “I don’t need a missing friend and a dead brother.”

Another white-hot burst of fury flared within Mario, and he tried once again to break free (once again, to no avail). Useless? A “missing friend”? A princess — their Princess! — was abducted by a notoriously homicidal warlord who promised to kill her and seize her kingdom by force unless he was met with unconditional surrender, and all his brother cared about was how he was perceived? How these events affected him?

Mario was the only living person with any chance of bringing her home safely, or at least alive. He’d devoted himself to that cause wholeheartedly and without hesitation. Fought and trained and redefined himself over the past two months while waiting for royal spies to figure out where she was actually being held. He’d never thought Luigi to be so selfish, that he’d stand in his way. That he’d sooner trade Peach’s life for his. Did she really mean that little to him? The very thought nauseated him. Or maybe those were hunger pangs.

They arrived at their shared cottage in short order, and Mario spit one last mouthful of blood into the grass before he could be dragged onto the porch and through the door. This wasn’t just selfish. This was betrayal of the highest order. 

Luigi all but tossed him inside, and only then did he let go. Mario seethed at his green-and-blue-clad back as he shut and locked the door, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly, stimulating the once-restricted blood flow. Betrayed by the last person he would ever have suspected. The one person who should have been supporting him, who he’d thought already was supporting him before today. He held his internal fire close at bay, ready to make his disappointment and disapproval clear, and with a heavy sigh, Luigi turned to face him—

“This isn’t your fault, Mario.”

Mario’s belligerence fizzled out. Where there was once fire, there was now ice, still and cold.

“...What?”

“This isn’t your fault.” Luigi enunciated each word carefully as he approached his older brother. “N-no one blames you for this except for you. So you’re not proving anything to anyone by torturing yourself, bro, okay?”

For a long moment, all Mario could do was gape in bewilderment. Not once since the Princess’ abduction had a word been uttered about blame. There was no need, he'd just as quickly assumed: anyone with two functioning brain cells knew exactly who was to blame, and verbalizing accusations wouldn’t get her home any faster, so he bore his cross with a heavy heart and his head held high. 

Even Luigi had never spoken up on the matter. Mario just assumed that meant he agreed. Why bother kicking someone that’s already down?

“I-I…” Mario swallowed. No. No, he was lying. Reality was sinking in and he was lying in a last-ditch effort to defend what hadn’t already been lost. He knew just as well as Mario that… and yet he…

Selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“I’m her guard, Luigi,” he finally answered, and unpleasant but ever-familiar heat rose once more within him, making his face and ears tingle. “It’s my job to protect her! Literally my job!”

“Yeah, during the day! But you’re acting like she was nabbed under your watch! You’re acting like everyone expects you to be on guard twenty-four-seven!” He drew closer to lay a hand on Mario’s left shoulder; what should have been comfortable and familiar instead felt foreign and cumbersome. “The truth is, you were exactly where you were supposed to be when it happened: in bed, conked out.”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have hit as hard as those words.

Mario jerked away from his brother’s touch, nostrils flared, breath coming to him far too quickly now. If he grit his teeth any tighter, he was certain they’d crack. Yes, he’d been asleep that night. He’d protected his Princess like always during the day and left her to fend for herself at sundown and he’d never forgive himself for it. So much for not kicking someone while they’re down.

“Thanks,” he huffed. “Very helpful reminder.”

“Mario, that’s not what—” Luigi sagged backwards, his eyes rolling to the ceiling in exasperation, as if he was the one who’d been slighted, and he cursed beneath his breath before refocusing. “She was never your sole responsibility. Everyone knows that but you. And no one wants to see you run yourself into the ground like this. Th-they trust you! They love you! Seeing how much guilt you're drowning in, seeing how badly you’re hurting, that hurts them, and—”

A deep, shaking breath. Mario tapped his foot impatiently, his fists clenched.

“A-and it hurts me too!" Luigi finally confessed. "Mario, you’re not the only victim here! How do you think I’ve been handling all of this?”

“Forget about that!” Mario fired back. “Just imagine what she’s going through! Can you think about something other than yourself for once and look at the bigger picture?!”

Alarms sounded deep in the recesses of his brain, warning signals, crying a mantra of Too far, too far, too far. He didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care.

“She wouldn’t want this either! If she was here—”

That was the final straw. Putting words in the Princess’ mouth— what little patience or composure Mario still held, already stretched thin, snapped. 

“Well she’s not!” He stamped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum, grasping Luigi’s arm and forcing him to look directly into his eyes. “Don’t— don’t you dare tell me what she’d say or what she’d do! You don’t have that right! Because you’re not her, and she’s not…”

Mario blinked. Had… had Luigi always looked this tired? His eyes, normally so cheerful and blue, appeared dull and gray, wide with regret and brimming with unshed tears. And there were bags under those eyes too, and overgrown flyaways poking through his normally well-groomed mustache, and…

“...here.” All of his bravado, all of his energy, left him as he whispered that final word.

How long had it been since he’d fulfilled his role as the older brother? Peach was Luigi’s friend too. He was every bit as much Mario's responsibility as Peach was.

“I don’t need a missing friend and a dead brother.”

Only in the ensuing stillness did Mario realize how terribly he shook. He felt both weightless and impossibly leaden, cold and clammy, trembling not in outrage or determination, but something far meeker, far more pathetic: fear.

He was no hero. He was an idiot who’d failed someone he claimed to love and was desperate to make things right, no matter the personal cost. He was a useless brother that dealt with his own inadequacies by lashing out at those who cared for him most. He was nothing.

“Weegee…”

Luigi swallowed, taking a deep, slow breath before responding. “Martyring yourself isn’t the answer. I mean, think for a minute here. You can’t save her if you get yourself killed first.”

It overtook Mario again, a wave of unwelcome emotion, and his knees wobbled beneath him, threatening to buckle.

“Then… then what do you suggest I do? Huh? Clearly you have more answers than I do! So tell me what to do!”  He let go of Luigi’s arms to grasp his overall straps and pull him down, searching his face for those fabled answers. There was no spite in his words or his actions. He shouted at and shook his brother not in anger, but in pure helplessness. “Tell me what to do!”

The uncertainty etched into Luigi’s face didn’t go away completely, but he buried it beneath something harder, more determined. He braced his gloved hands against Mario’s shoulders, grounding and steady.

“I’ll tell you exactly what you’re going to do,” he said, his voice low yet firm. “You’re going to sit right there on that couch, or on the floor, or wherever you feel like, and you’re gonna cry and scream and get all of this pent-up anger out of your system. And then — look at me, Mario, listen!” He jostled the elder brother back, shaking his shoulders. “Then you’re going to eat something. Okay?” He smiled then, the strain of it contorting his face into some pitiful mimicry of humor. “We can’t have you wasting away when the Princess sees you again, yeah? What would she say?”

Mario’s breath hitched in his throat, suddenly swollen shut.

What would she say? Maybe she would rush forward and cup his cheeks, demanding to know what happened and if he was alright, as if he was the one who had been swept away in the dead of night. Maybe she would be so exhausted and so weakened that she didn’t notice; maybe she would only have the strength to smile as he took her battered body into his arms, her face pale but her eyes vibrant. Maybe her gaze would be glassy and there would be nothing left to hold but an empty shell that had once been his best friend, her fate sealed the moment she’d chosen to place her trust in him.

Or maybe he would die long before he reached her. If only he could trust anyone else to save her, he would have been perfectly fine with that outcome. It was the least he deserved. But that would be far too easy, wouldn’t it? What would become of her then? What would become of Luigi?

He would be free of his suffering, and it would fall directly onto their shoulders instead.

How could you let this happen?

The breath trapped in his throat forced its way back out, some mix between a cough and a hiccup, and finally his knees gave out. He held on tighter and sunk his face into his twin’s shirt collar, and he tried to apologize, he tried to beg forgiveness, but the only sound he could produce was a breathless, almost primal whine.

“Ecco.” Luigi’s voice cracked yet remained soft as he sank to the ground with him, cradling his head close. “Sfogati. Ti sono vicino, fratello.”

Mario’s intended response came out once more as a whine. Ti voglio bene. Ho paura. Aiutami. Ti prego aiutami. Each effort to speak proved increasingly futile until he gave up entirely, surrendering to the wordless screams and sobs and tears his overworked, underfed body forced from him. And Luigi just held him, his fingers brushing through his hair as he fell apart.

Thunder rumbled distantly outside, heralding another summer rain.

~~~

“I’m sorry.”

By the time Mario was able to speak, he still didn’t have much to show for it; his voice was too hoarse to do anything but whisper, and the pounding ache in his head prevented him from doing even that very well.

Luigi shushed him, readjusting his head in his lap. “Just relax.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish,” he continued anyway, curling into himself tighter, soaking in as much of his brother’s body heat as he could. “Or useless.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t have any right to go off on you like that.”

“In your shoes, I doubt I’d be handling things much better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I forgive you. Now we’re even.”

This remark wasn’t quite enough to make Mario smile, but it did make him feel lighter, if only a bit. From his spot on the floor, he watched the rain patter against the living room window, dark and dreary and soothing. With the rain outside and Luigi’s fingers still combing through his curls, he felt properly sleepy for the first time in ages, a feeling far more pleasant than the exhaustion that had plagued him for eight, coming up on nine weeks.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d slept in his own bed? Most nights he’d find the nearest wall to slump against or a decent patch of grass to crash in when he couldn’t make his body cooperate any longer. And when was the last time he’d had a proper meal? Luigi had forced him to sit down and eat a packet of crackers a day or two ago, Toad brought him soup sometime last week and refused to leave until he downed at least half of it, but…

“Weegee?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

The hand in his hair stilled, and the response came after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“Well duh. Of course you are.” His voice wavered, yet Mario could tell he was smiling. “What’d’ya want? We’ve got plenty enough to make anything. Don’t hold back.”

Mario hummed, closing his eyes. Making that choice on his own was a mental process he didn’t have the resources for. “Surprise me.”

Luigi vocalized his approval, but he didn’t move to stand quite yet. Instead, the hand in Mario’s hair found his own hand, and he gladly took it, permitting himself that comfort at least.

“Hey Mario? Can you… promise me something first?”

Mario nodded, a small and rapid movement of his head. He knew what was coming: Promise me you’ll eat everything I put in front of you. Promise me you’ll take a bath. Promise me you’ll get into clean clothes and sleep on a bed tonight. He was all too ready to agree. It was the least he owed his long-suffering brother.

“When you save the Princess… promise me you’ll come home too. Okay?”

Mario’s eyes snapped back open. The rain still fell against the window before him, steady and unending.

Easy enough to promise, at least in theory. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to make more pleasant memories with his friends, with his love, with his brother especially. There were so many adventures he still wanted to go on. So many things he wanted to see and do. But if worst came to worst, and he had to lay his life down to save Peach’s… he’d already made up his mind.

“This isn’t your fault.”

He took in a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaled it slowly through his lips. Luigi was strong and selfless. He’d had the strength to lie just so he could ease Mario’s woes. The least Mario could do was offer up a comforting lie of his own.

“Yeah.” He nodded again, and if maybe he held Luigi’s hand a bit too tightly, that was okay. “Yeah, I think I can promise that.”

[megamagimugi]

The Cruel Fate of the Left-Behind Toad

M&L: Brothership spoilers below!

I need to talk about something that happened to me during my first playthrough of the game, because it still haunts me to this day. And I don't think it's a very common experience among the players. This is going to be a long post, so please bear with me.

You know the sidequest called "The Left-Behind Toad"? You fish and find a note in a bottle that goes like this:

"How long's it been since I was sent flying to this island? It's a small island, that's for sure. There's almost nothing on it. Just pipes. That's it. Pipes. I'm bored! Nothing to eat but grass. Only clouds for companions! Now my cap is drying out. I have little hope that I'll be rescued. But maybe throwing this message out to the sea will do something. Whoever you are, if you're reading these words, PLEASE HELP."

There's also a crumpled page saying:

"Oh, Mario and Luigi, I hope you're both doing well. Please, Princess Peach, forgive me. I won't be returning for a while."

Of course, with a message like this and the very name of the sidequest, I felt bad for that poor soul and naturally wanted to help him as soon as I could. I imagine it must be the same for most people. So I did what the game suggested and immediately went to see those adventuring brothers from Allsand. They showed me the islet in question on the ocean map. The only problem? After that interaction, I lost the way. I don't know how. I just couldn't find that darn Inphant Islet. When I tried again on my replay after beating the game, it was so easy, it was RIGHT THERE and I have no idea why I couldn't find it on the map the first time. Guess I must have gotten distracted by other sidequests and the main story soon after. I never completely forgot, though.

After an embarrassingly long time, I finally discovered that stupid islet. But it was too late and the sidequest had expired. I launched Mario and Luigi to Inphant anyway. What I found shocked me. The poor Toad had been glohmed! I still wanted to do what I could, and found my way to him through the maze of warp pipes. Sure, the fact that there was also treasure to find gave me extra motivation, but I really still wanted to help that Toad. But as one might expect, when I tried talking to him he responded in the same way all glohmed characters did. He wanted to be left alone, and there was nothing we could do. It was honestly quite heartbreaking. I didn't want to leave him there. I wanted to bring him back to Shipshape, cure him and then bring him home to the Mushroom Kingdom. But the game didn't give me any way to do that from that point onwards.

Honestly, I wish they had let us carry Toad like an object even against his will and force him to come with us. Heck, it could have even been quite a funny little scene as Toad would try to resist and protest all the time as we carry him through the pipes and then to the cannon. But alas, no such luck. The game let us know we failed and we were forced to come back with nothing except for the treasure.

Too bad I didn't take any pictures or videos of that moment. I suppose I was simply too shocked. I just couldn't believe there was nothing I could do. If the same thing happened to anyone else who does have some footage/screenshots, I'd appreciate it if you shared them in a reblog!

Think about the implications of this failure, guys. That Toad was already in a bad physical and mental state when he was writing the letter. How much time did he spend on that little island before I found him all glohmed? And then once I was forced to leave him there, the game never gave me another opportunity to rescue him. Sure, once we beat Reclusa and saved Concordia, the Glohm was gone, but then what? The islets were never part of the main land of Concordia. He was still left all alone on Inphant. Really, I'd say that his best chance of survival were those two Allsand brothers who might discover him there - but will they make it in time before he dies there?

And as I found out today when I was playing some of Brothership again using my old save files, it gets even WORSE. I swear the little dude can't catch a break.

I used a save file from the time when Reclusa has already been reborn and trapped a lot of people in those strange VR headset flowers. I deciced to visit that Toad since, even though I've already rescued him on my second try during my replay of that part, sometimes I still think about this particular timeline. And guess what! Of course that poor Toad who had already spent who knows how much time all alone on that islet was caught too! Guess the game really wanted to let me know I had royally scewed up.

This time, I have footage, so you can see for yourself what happened. Watch with the sound on and until the end.

The noise he makes at the end after I'm done talking to him? He mutters to himself like this all the time when we're on this islet, even farther away from him. His distorted voice sounds scary, too. And look at what he's saying, what he's dreaming about. I think all of this means the poor fellow lost his mind, stranded among nothing but pipes that kept confusing him. His biggest dream at this point is simply finding his way through them with ease. So, not only is he most likely going to die here, he couldn't even keep his sanity. This Toad did NOT deserve this fate. I'm so sorry for failing you, little guy :(

For me, it was hands down THE darkest part of this entire game. Even though technically it shouldn't have happened. It's definitely very dark for a Mario game. What's more, Mariowiki says:

Clearly, this is not the case. The Toad is present alright, at least in body... Or at least he was during my playthrough, heh (if nobody says it happened to them too I'm totally starting an "every copy of Brothership is personalized" rumor xD).

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you. I needed to share this with the world and would love to hear your thoughts. Here's a little rough doodle I drew before writing this post.

...Yeah. I'm sorry, little buddy. At least there's a timeline where I did save you <3

[pinkcreamypeach]

"Please don't let me be alone...”

(TW: Panic attacks, mentions of kidnappings, and Burn injury.

Sorry to all the Bowser lovers, but this is just for my AU. My princess peach has a very bad relationship with him. Oh, and I'm writing Peach with trauma for this story, so sorry, Peach lovers. (I’m a Peach lover myself.) Anyways, it’s heavy on the angst but has a happy ending.

In a realm bathed in eternal sunshine, Princess Peach lay on a soft, golden blanket, her hand reaching towards the brilliant blue sky. The clouds above her lazily shifted into whimsical shapes playful creatures, a Yoshi surrounded by eggs that made her laugh with pure joy. Around her, the land was filled with life, and her beloved toads played happily, weaving crowns of vibrant flowers. Their laughter was like music, echoing through the meadows.Toadette, her cheeks flushed with excitement, bounded over to Peach, holding up a flower crown for her. The little toad’s eyes sparkled with joy. Peach smiled, giggling as she lowered her head to let the tiny one crown her.

“What a beautiful crown... Thank you, my little sweet,” Peach said, pressing a soft kiss to Toadette’s forehead. The toad beamed, her blush deepening as she scampered off to join the others in their playful game. Peach’s heart swelled with happiness, her smile brighter than the sun above.

But suddenly, a flash of red caught her eye. A familiar red cap Mario’s cap. She reached out to touch it, her fingers brushing the soft fabric. She could smell the sweet scent of mango on it, a scent she had come to associate with him. A soft blush spread across her cheeks as she held it close, feeling the warmth of his presence. Her fingers traced the stitching of the M, and for a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, feeling the soft fabric against her chest, a sense of peace settling in her heart.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Mario walking away, his figure disappearing into the depths of Mushroom Forest. The path ahead was obscured by towering tree mushrooms, their thick trunks rising like giants.

“Mario! Mario!” Peach called, holding his cap tightly in one hand, the other lifting her ballgown as she hurried after him. With each step, she got closer, but he always seemed to move farther away. The soft, green grass beneath her heels gave way to a growing sense of unease. The air around her shifted, a strange, acrid smell starting to fill her nose. As she ran, the sky above her darkened, the once cheerful blue now streaked with deep reds and oranges. Smoke began to swirl around her, and the world seemed to tilt, spinning into something unfamiliar.

Peach’s breath quickened, her heart racing as she tried to catch up. The air turned thick and choking, the smoke blinding her, and the sweet scent of the forest gave way to a burning sting in her lungs. Panic gripped her chest. She stumbled over a root, falling hard to the ground. Her ankle was ensnared by a thick vine, her hair tangled with grass and petals. The flower crown she had been so proud of, was now wilting, the flowers decaying in her hair.

Her breath was ragged, her body trembling as distant screams reached her ears. She lifted her head and saw the impossible a nightmarish vision unfolding before her eyes. Her kingdom, once peaceful and serene, was now engulfed in flames. The toads, her people, were trapped in cages, their cries of fear and anguish cutting through the air. The sky had turned a fiery red, the clouds now swirling in ominous, black masses.

Her heart ached. No... not her people! Not her kingdom!

She rushed forward, her dress flying behind her, her hands reaching for the cages. She grasped the cold metal bars with all her might, her voice breaking as she cried out, “NO! Let them go! Let them go!”

But her hands burned as the metal grew unbearably hot, the flames of destruction licking at her skin. She could feel the heat searing through her palms, her flesh blistering, but still, she gripped the bars, unwilling to let go. Toadette’s tear-streaked face pressed against her hand, desperately begging for her to save them. Peach’s vision blurred with tears, her heart thundering in her chest as she held on, enduring the pain, unable to stop the inevitable.

The cage began to rise, pulling the toads higher and higher, and Peach’s strength began to fail her. Her grip loosened, her hands shaking violently. The pain was unbearable, her nerves fried by the heat. With a final, heart-wrenching scream, she fell backward, her body crashing to the ground. The wind howled as Mario’s cap was tossed from her grasp, tumbling away just beyond her reach. Desperation clawed at her heart. She tried to run, to reach for it, but her hands burned, useless could not obey. Her body betrayed her as she stumbled and fell into a cage of her own, the bars slamming shut with a deafening clang.

Tears streamed down her face as she lay on the cold floor of the cage, her body broken and her spirit shattered. She lifted her head, her hair falling around her face like a veil, and looked down at her hands. The burns had faded, but now, there were white gloves on her hands, and the familiar feeling of her wedding dress, white as snow, clung to her. A white veil hung loosely from her head, the fabric rippling in the still, smoky air. She was no longer the carefree princess in the fields. She was a prisoner of a nightmare.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she gazed into the darkness around her. There, standing in the shadow, was Bowser. His eyes glowed like burning embers, his jagged teeth gleaming as he stepped closer. His monstrous size loomed over her, a terrifying presence that made her feel small and insignificant.

“You’re finally mine… my Koopa Queen,” Bowser’s voice rumbled, a cruel grin twisting his face.

Peach recoiled, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She shook her head, the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to scream for Mario, for help, but no sound came.

“Mario... H-he…” she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Bowser’s laugh echoed in the air, and he spat out the charred remains of Mario’s cap, the tattered fabric, and the blackened bones of her love landing before her. Peach’s eyes widened in horror as she looked at the remains. Her body trembled as she reached for them, cradling the bones against her chest. Tears fell from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, mingling with the ashes and soot. Her fingers brushed the cold, brittle bones, and her heart shattered.

The world around her seemed to close in, suffocating her. Bowser’s laughter echoed in her ears, cruel and mocking, as her own sobs drowned out any hope of escape. Her body was on fire with grief, her soul consumed by the crushing weight of loss.

“No... No… NOOO! MARIO!!” She screamed.

━━━━━━◇❖◇━━━━━━━━━━◇❖◇━━━━━━━

Peach jerked awake, her heart racing as if it had been ripped from her chest. She sat up violently, gasping for air, her body slick with sweat. Her disheveled hair clung to her face, and her eyes were swollen and teary, her skin flushed from the panic that gripped her. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, and her chest felt tight like it was caving in on itself. The sound of her breathing echoed in her ears, growing louder and harder to ignore. Each breath felt as though it could be her last, and the rawness of her voice barely broke through her shaky sobs.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as they gripped the sheets, her pink nightgown sticking to her damp skin. She could feel the tears running down her face, but there was nothing she could do to stop them. Her nose was stuffy, clogged from her panicked sobs, and the air seemed to grow heavier by the second. Her entire body was a tense, shuddering mess, struggling to hold it together. Her bangs hung in front of her eyes, a veil that only intensified her feeling of disorientation.

Her breaths became more frantic, her chest rising and falling with each strained inhale, the air too thick to breathe in fully. She curled into herself, wrapping her trembling body in the blankets, trying to find comfort, though her heart still pounded against her ribcage like a drum. She couldn't make the sobs stop each one a broken plea for help, a sound that felt so foreign in her own throat.

Her eyes turned toward the balcony as the curtains fluttered softly in the breeze, the moonlight spilling in like a cool, distant reminder that the world was still spinning, even if her own had stopped. The rhythmic flow of the curtains was the only thing that seemed steady in the chaos of her mind. She shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to calm down. She just needed to breathe, to hold herself together, to make it through the night.

Please, not right now, she begged silently. Please, just let it stop...

Suddenly, a soft, familiar voice broke through the noise in her mind.

“Principessa...?”

Her heart nearly stopped at the sound. Her body went stiff, the sobs catching in her throat as her gaze snapped toward the source of the voice. Mario. It was Mario.

Her breath hitched, and she coughed violently, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat. She was trembling so badly now, but somehow, hearing his voice was both the worst and the best thing she could have hoped for. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to push down the wave of nausea that followed. Slowly, she lifted her head from the covers, still struggling to find her bearings.

“M... Mario… is that… you?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, cracking as she tried to wipe away the remnants of her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown. She sniffled, her voice hoarse, and her chest tight with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Mario immediately recognized the unease in her behavior how her body was still shaking, how she was trying to pull herself together but struggling. His heart clenched with concern as he took a step closer, his gaze softening as he saw the tears still staining her cheeks, her nose red and stuffy. He could feel her discomfort, the distance between them, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. So, he paused, standing a few steps away, letting her take the lead when she was ready.

“Principessa, are you okay?” His voice was gentle, and careful, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm. He gave her the space she needed, not wanting to make things worse. Instead, he went to work, preparing a warm cup of chamomile tea and grabbing a box of tissues. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could think of to help.

For what felt like an eternity, Peach sat there, trying to calm her breathing, to bring herself back from the edge. Her heart still beat erratically in her chest, but she focused on the simple task of breathing in and out, slow and steady, as the minutes passed. After what seemed like ages, she finally looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with the remnants of her tears. The tightness in her chest had lessened, and her breaths had become less desperate, though the exhaustion was still heavy in her bones.

She didn’t have to say anything; Mario could see the relief in her eyes, even as they remained soft with lingering pain. He handed her the warm tea and a tissue, his presence a calm that began to steady the storm inside her.

Peach took the tea from him with trembling hands, offering him a weak but grateful smile. She sipped slowly, the warmth of the drink soothing her raw throat, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a faint sense of peace settle over her. She wasn’t alone. Mario was here. And for now, that was enough.

“...Having the same nightmares again?”

Mario’s voice was gentle, as he settled into his seat, allowing Peach the space she needed. He watched as she quietly blew on her tea before taking a small sip, the warmth grounding her. It always took a while, minutes of silence, deep breaths, the occasional fidgeting but eventually, the fear would fade just enough for her to speak.

She finally looked at him.Her tired, baggy eyes told him everything before she even opened her mouth. Her thick lashes, damp from earlier tears, trembled as she blinked. The exhaustion, the lingering remnants of a panic attack iit was all there, written on her delicate features.

“...Yes,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I know I should be over it. You always save me… I shouldn’t still be having these… stupid nightmares.”

Her grip on the teacup tightened, her fingers trembling slightly. She frowned, scrunching up her nose in frustration at herself.

Mario reached out, his warm hand rubbing gentle circles on her shoulder. The touch startled her out of her self-loathing, grounding her in the present. His brown eyes, filled with concern, shimmered under the soft light.

“These nightmares aren’t stupid,” He reassured her, his voice steady, certain. “You suffered, Peach. Just because you weren’t physically hurt doesn’t mean what you went through wasn’t real. Trauma doesn’t have to leave scars to be painful… Bowser hurt you.”

His voice darkened slightly at the mention of that name. There was no mistaking the quiet resentment there.

Peach bit her lip.

“But he hurt you and Luigi worse than me…” Her voice wavered, heavy with emotion. “All I do is get kidnapped. You have to fight your way to me. You get burned, frozen, drowned you go through so much… all because of me.”

The weight of guilt pressed into her chest, making her curl into herself, hugging the empty teacup like it could somehow protect her from the shame clawing at her heart.

And then, warmth.

Mario wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his chin resting against her shoulder. Peach sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden contact, but then she melted into him. She clung to him, burying her face in his hair, the scent of mango wrapping around her like a lullaby.

Mario made everything feel lighter.He made everything feel safer.They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until a soft growl broke the silence.

Peach blinked, realizing it was her own stomach that had betrayed her. Mario pulled back slightly, a knowing smile playing at his lips. But as soon as he moved, she instinctively tightened her arms around him, reluctant to let go.

He chuckled, cheeks dusting pink, but he didn’t pull away.

“I should make you something to eat,” He murmured.

“Please don't leave me alone…”

It was barely audible, but the way she gripped his hands so tight, as if he might disappear made his heart ache. Her blue eyes shimmered with unspoken fear, the fear of waking up alone, of being taken away, of losing him.Mario squeezed her hands gently, a quiet promise in the way his fingers brushed over hers.

“I would never… Mio caro.”His voice was warm, like the first rays of sunrise after a storm.

Peach’s lips trembled, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness it was from the small, delicate smile that began to form. Mario held her hand with such care, as if she were something precious, something irreplaceable. Slowly, he began to walk backward, still holding onto her, their eyes locked. Peach found herself smiling more and more, her heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Then—THUD!

Mario bumped into the door.Peach giggled, and Mario, a little flustered, laughed with her. The sound was soft, sweet, and full of something unspoken yet deeply felt.

And at that moment, Peach knew.

No matter how many nightmares came, no matter how heavy the past weighed on her, she would always have this

HIM ❤️

And that made everything feel just a little bit lighter.

@keylovesstuff @bberetd @peaches2217 @silenzahra

[nintendometro]

Grass Land 'Super Mario Bros. 3' NES Koji Kondo

[hannahssimblr]

Once, years ago now, Aunt Maureen took me to visit her eldest daughter, Karina. In the midday heat, beneath the shade of a fig tree we sat in a Venice restaurant, where bougainvillaea draped over the front of flat roofed houses and fragrant blooms edged the terrace. 

I loved Los Angeles. The food was always better, the people happier, the streets more colourful and picturesque than in Albuquerque, where everything was brown and beige, blending with the dust land. Karina laughed when I said this, sitting back in her chair in her oval sunglasses, a cigarette balanced between long slender fingers. 

“You should see where I live downtown, then I’ll ask you again how much you love it here.”

I didn’t know what she meant. I was thinking about those cool guys I’d seen on a basketball court earlier with their hats on backwards, the loud, bass heavy music they played from a speaker, and the skaters who dropped lazily into concrete basins on their boards. I wanted to be one of them, though I knew Maureen would never buy me something dangerous like a skateboard. I played things a bit fast and loose at the best of times and once almost rollerbladed clean off a pier, so she’d developed a fear that I might one day die of pure stupidity. Maybe when I was older and she wasn’t watching me from the kitchen window anymore I would move to LA, get myself a board and skate around on it without wearing a shirt, and get muscles and a deep tan like everyone else here. 

These were the kinds of thoughts I lost myself in as Maureen and Karina had conversations that either weren’t interesting or which I was unable to understand, but I was content sipping on my Fanta with ice, lurid orange, and so fizzy that it stung the back of my throat and thinking about being a grown up in LA while Maureen had her white wine and Karina her cigarettes. Soon they would order a plate of oysters that looked too much like boogers for me to sample and speak more about things happening, things that had already happened, and plans they’d made for the summer. 

“What’s your favourite time of year?” Karina said to me suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. I knew this is the sort of question you ask a seven year old when you don’t know how to speak to children, but I thought hard about it anyway to make sure I gave her the best answer I could. She was my cool, mature cousin, and I always wanted so badly to impress her. November and December, I told her, because I got presents on my birthday, then time off school on Thanksgiving and both these things on Christmas. I was still reeling from the PlayStation console that Maureen and her husband Mario had bought me last Christmas, slotted perfectly within its square, silver box, which I still had, stored carefully beneath my bed just in case I ever needed to pack it away and move it. 

“What about you, mom?” She said, and Maureen didn’t have to think. 

“The spring,” she said, “I just love to be out in my garden then, with all the flowers and that lovely sun, it’s not too hot. It feels like everything is just on the brink of bursting to life.”

I thought about that later as we passed the canal, all the beautiful spring flowers that erupted from the banks, and of home too, where by now, in the hazy days of mid May, the desert was blanketed with spring grasses, with violets and golden poppies and bluebonnets, burning a trail of vibrant indigo all the way to the mountains. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Ty to @scrapplesims for suffering living in LA once upon a time and for answering my weirdly specific questions about what it was like

[toadtowngazette]

Every Country in the Mario Universe (so far)

I wanted to make a "little" compilation of all the different Kingdoms, Lands, and other countries within the Super Mario franchise that have been shown or mentioned, so here is is! This is mainly meant to be an informational post for anyone researching Mario stuff. Only the video game locations will be mentioned, as well as only things canonically within the Mario universe, meaning I will not include crossover material or real life locations, although some of the names of locations may originate from external material, and is only added for clarity. Anyways, here we go!

Countries

In order of introduction:

Metro Kingdom (Donkey Kong) - Mushroom Kingdom (Super Mario Bros.) - Subcon (Super Mario Bros. 2), Grass Land, Desert Land, Water Land, Giant Land, Sky Land, Ice Land, Pipe Land, Dark Land (Super Mario Bros. 3) - Sarasaland which contains: Birabuto Kingdom, Muda Kingdom, Easton Kingdom, Chai Kingdom (Super Mario Land) - Mario Land (Super Mario Land 2) - Jewelry Land (Yoshi's Safari) - Dinosaur Land (Super Mario World) - Jungle Kingdom (Donkey Kong Country) - Koopa Kingdom (Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island) - Lethal Lava Land, Shifting Sand Land, Water Land (painting world), Snowman's Land, Tiny People Country/Giant People Country (Super Mario 64) - Nimbus Land (Super Mario RPG) - Sherbet Land (Mario Kart 64) - Banana Fairy Kingdom (Donkey Kong 64) Pirate Land, Western Land, Space Land, Mystery Land, Horror Land, Bowser Land (Mario Party 2) - Dry Dry Kingdom (Paper Mario) - Cheese Land, Snow Land (Mario Kart: Super Circuit) - Cookie Land (Mario Kart: Double Dash!!) - Beanbean Kingdom (Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga) - Waffle Kingdom (Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door) -

Banana Kingdom, Orange Kingdom, Watermelon Kingdom, Apple Kingdom, Strawberry Kingdom, Pineapple Kingdom, Lemon Kingdom, Grape Kingdom, Cherry Kingdom, Peach Kingdom, Melon Kingdom, Durian Kingdom, Pear Kingdom, Lychee Kingdom, Chili Pepper Kingdom, Star Fruit Kingdom (Donkey Kong Jungle Beat) - Squirpia, Flora Kingdom, Sammer's Kingdom (Super Paper Mario) Honeyhive Kingdom (Super Mario Galaxy) - Baseball Kingdom (Mario Super Sluggers) - Pi'illo Kingdom (Mario & Luigi: Dream Team) - Sprixie Kingdom (Super Mario 3D World) - Item Castle Land (Mario Party: Island Tour) - Sweet Sweet Kingdom (Mario Kart 8) - Cap Kingdom, Cascade Kingdom, Sand Kingdom, Lake Kingdom, Wooded Kingdom, Cloud Kingdom, Lost Kingdom, Snow Kingdom, Seaside Kingdom, Luncheon Kingdom, Ruined Kingdom, Bowser's Kingdom, Moon Kingdom, Dark Side, Darker Side (Super Mario Odyssey) - Kingdom of Bask (Mario Tennis Aces) - Remote Kingdom, Boost Kingdom (Mario Kart Live: Home Circuit) - Cat Kingdom (Super Mario 3D World + Bowser's Fury) - Flower Kingdom (Super Mario Bros. Wonder) - Concordia (Mario & Luigi: Brothership)

I'm pretty sure that's all of them, but if you think I missed any, drop a message in the submissions box!

Notes

Bowser seems to have at least 4 distinct kingdoms in the games: Dark Land, Koopa Kingdom, Bowser Land and Bowser's Kingdom. I will still count these as separate countries since nothing in-game states they are part of the same domain, despite being ruled by the same individual.

Although there are many "king" characters in the Mario series, many are not shown to have their own kingdoms in-game, so none of those were included, as it is merely speculative.

Some locations listed are depicted as small areas within spin-off games (Mario Kart courses and Mario Party boards), and may not be actual countries in-universe. I listed them anyways because it is still technically possible, and the names of these locations in other languages use the terms "country" and "kingdom" as well.

The "Cat Kingdom" is the Korean name of Lake Lapcat in Bowser's Fury, so that was included as well as "Tiny People Country, Giant People Country" as they are the Chinese name for Tiny Huge Island from Super Mario 64. Additionally, "Water Land" is used as the name of World 3 in Super Mario Bros. 3 as well as the Japanese name of Dire, Dire Docks, and the painting worlds are stated to be separate from the regular world in the Mario series, so I listed both as distinct countries.

The "Jungle Kingdom" was the name given to Donkey Kong's domain in the Super Mario Bros. Movie. While the film is not canon, I included the name as the term for his region, as Donkey Kong is known as "King of the Jungle" in multiple games.

Credit goes to Nintendo and all affiliated parties, and to the Super Mario Wiki for most of this information.

[trashyswitch]

Luigi's Secret

Chapter 23: Weegee's Knee-d for Comfort

Luigi slides out of the pipe, but hurts his knees (and his pride) in the process. So Mario takes the time to tend to his physical and psychological needs.

Then Luigi gets an update that rocks his internet world...

HAPPY MAR10 DAY to my long-lost childhood imaginary friend. Mario will always have a special place in my heart.

The boys popped out of the tube and landed in the long grass. Mario naturally popped out first, flying through the air with pure joy on his face and making sure he had his feet ready for the landing. He touched down perfectly onto the grass and slid in an almost heroic fashion before standing up with a proud look on his face. He was finally getting the hang of how to create a good landing! 

“Luigi, did you-” Mario turned around and snickered as he widened his eyes. 

Luigi looked like he had eaten dirt upon landing. His legs flopped onto the ground as he slowly got himself up, covered in a mix of grass stains and dirt. But despite all that, Luigi threw his thumb up in the air and mumbled something like “I’m okay!”.  

Mario couldn’t stop himself from laughing at his brother. He always was, and always will be, the more clumsy out of the two of them. Mario walked up to him and patted his back. “You’ll get there eventually.” Mario told him. 

Luigi sighed as he got up onto his feet. “Ow…” Luigi grumbled as he got up and dusted himself off. 

Mario bit his lip. “Knees?” He asked. 

“Mhm.” He replied. “Imagine being 25 and having bad knees already.” Luigi said with a chuckle, before dropping his smile. “Couldn’t be me…” He started to mumble with slight annoyance. 

Mario tensed his lips, feeling remorse for Luigi. The bad knees were the reason they had decided to strike out on their own. Luigi began to really struggle with catching up, and Spike never bothered to wait for him despite Mario’s protests. Things hit a head when Mario watched Luigi attempt to get up onto his feet after kneeling to fix a sink…and then he fell back down and further damaged his knees. 

Mario readied his hands. “Fall into my arms, Lu.” Mario told him. 

Luigi tilted his head. “Like a trust fall?” He asked. 

“Yeah! Backwards this time. Not forward like last time.” Mario reminded him. 

Luigi nodded and threw his arms out, before falling with his back towards Mario’s hands. Mario caught Luigi perfectly, and picked up his brother bridal-style almost effortlessly. “There.” Mario said. “Reach for the toolkit.” Mario told him. Luigi nodded and picked up the toolkit, carrying it on his lap in Mario’s grip. “Ready!” Luigi cheered. 

“Alright!” Mario carried his brother towards the house. “Off to Neverland!” Mario sang as he jokingly started spinning Luigi in a circle. “OHGOD MARIO!” Luigi yelped and held onto Mario for dear life, terrified of being dropped. “S-STOP!” Luigi begged. “You really think I would drop you?” Mario asked, stopping his spinning.  

“Y-You did once.” Luigi reminded him, resting his head on Mario’s shoulder. 

“Yeah…when I was 9 and an idiot.” Mario told him. “I would never drop you now.” He reminded him. 

Mario started to jump across the different bricks with Luigi still in his arms. Okay…As much as he used to tease Mario about being acrobatic, he had to admit just how impressive Mario can be. Despite getting older, Mario never once lost his athletic skills. 

Mario walked to the door. “Can you open the door for me?” Mario asked. 

Luigi nodded and grabbed out the key. He put the key into the lock, twisted the key and then opened the door with another twist of the doorknob. 

Mario turned Luigi so his feet were first. “Now give it a kick!” Mario ordered. 

Luigi smiled and kicked the door open in spite of his knees. 

“Yeah! Good one, Lu!” Mario reacted, walking into the house. 

Luigi chuckled. “Thanks.” He said, twirling his mustache. 

Mario let Luigi put the toolkit down, before taking his brother to the couch. Mario placed Luigi onto the couch very softly, and placed a pillow behind Luigi’s back and head. “There.” Mario grabbed a blanket from the chair nearby. “Blanket?” Mario asked. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Luigi replied. 

Mario nodded and put the blanket back. He headed to their bedroom, and grabbed a squeeze bottle of ointment specifically for aching joints. He headed back to the kitchen and put a heating pad into the microwave. While it heated up, Mario walked out to the living room with the bottle. “Roll up your pants, Luigi.” Mario told him. Luigi nodded in response and rolled up the right one first. Mario started to open the bottle, but heard his brother clear his throat. Mario looked at Luigi, and saw his arm out. “I can do it.” Luigi told him. 

Mario hummed with a smile and handed him the bottle. “Fine.” He replied. 

“Microwave went off.” Luigi said, pointing to the kitchen. 

“On it.” Mario said, walking to the kitchen. He grabbed the heating pad from the microwave and placed it aside. Luigi put the ointment onto his right knee first. He rubbed it around the front, the side and the back of the knee joint because all of it seemed to be hurting. Luigi rolled up his left leg and put the same ointment onto that knee. On the right knee, Luigi could feel the cooling sensation that came with the ointment. It felt like someone was blowing icy cold air onto his knee. It honestly felt really good and it always did the trick for him. 

After covering his other knee with the ointment, Luigi rubbed the stuff into his own hands before putting the cap on and placing it aside. With that done, Luigi put the heating pad onto both his knees. It was a long one, which meant both knees could be covered in heat at once. Luigi leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling relaxed and content. The heat felt amazing. As much as he hated the knee pain, he loved the feeling of the ointment and the heat. It’s like a massage. You hate feeling the neck and back pain, but you love the feeling of getting those massages. 

*tweak* 

“WaAH-” Luigi jumped, feeling his knee twitch. “What-” 

“This still gets you?” Mario asked, wrapping his middle finger and thumb around the outside of his knee, and tweaking it. 

“YE-Yes. Ihit does.” Luigi admitted. 

Mario chuckled. “Bad timing?” Mario asked. 

Luigi shook his head. “No.” He replied. “But…Still unsure about that tickle spot.” Luigi admitted. 

Mario made the finger movement with his index finger and thumb. “This one?” Mario asked. 

Luigi nodded. “Part of me likes the playfulness, but…” Luigi bit his lip. “The other part of me doesn’t like the feeling.” Luigi admitted awkwardly. 

“Hm…” Mario mumbled. 

“Like, I have good memories of Dad and Uncle Arthur doing it to us when we were kids.” Luigi admitted. 

“But the feeling itself…doesn't feel the same?” Mario asked. 

“Yeah…” Luigi clarified. 

Mario sat down on the other side of the couch. “I get that.” He admitted. “You know I’ve never been a fan of people touching my back.” Mario reminded him. 

Luigi nodded. “Yeah.” 

Mario cleared his throat slightly. “It’s because it’s really sensitive. And not ticklish…just sensitive.” Mario replied. 

“Like…itchy?” Luigi clarified. Mario scrunched up his face, unsure. “...Kkkindaaa?” He thought for a moment. “It doesn’t tickle enough to make me laugh.” Mario explained. “It just tickles enough to make me jump.” 

Luigi nodded and thought for a moment. “So…Yeah. Sensitive should be the right word for that.” Luigi replied. 

Mario nodded. “I know.” 

Luigi scratched the back of his head. “The community sorta uses the words ‘sensitive’ and ‘ticklish’ interchangeably.” Luigi explained. 

“Because the word ‘ticklish’ is too hard to say?” Mario asked with a laugh. Luigi shrugged his shoulders. “P-Pretty much, yeah.” 

Mario giggled. “What mood are you in right now?” Mario asked. 

Luigi began to think for a moment. That’s a…good question. What kind of mood WAS he in right now?! Luigi had no idea! “Uhhhh…” He said to give himself a bit more time. Cause…he was talking about tickle game almost like he was in a switch mood, but…Talking about it honestly made him lean in towards a lee mood. But not a strong enough lee mood that he’ll go insane if he’s not wrecked…but kind of a casual lee mood that he can cover up in a moment’s notice. So… “I think…I’m mostly in a lee mood, but…” He looked at Mario. “But it’s not overwhelming.” He admitted, looking back down. 

“So you want more playfulness than tickles right now?” Mario asked. 

Luigi looked up at Mario with a bright smile. “Y-Yeah, actually!” Luigi admitted. 

Mario giggled and laughed at his brother’s sudden excitement. “Well then! Okay!” He replied. “But I think we should focus on looking after your knees first.” Mario told him. 

Luigi threw the heating pad off and stood up. “I’m fine!” Luigi declared. 

“LuigiWAI-” 

But Luigi gasped and squeezed his eyes shut the moment he felt the achy, weak pain filling his knees again. Too much movement, way too fast. He grunted and slowly brought himself down onto the couch again, grunting and whining as he laid himself down again. “Stupid knees…” Luigi mumbled, clearly ticked off. 

Mario put the heating pad back onto Luigi’s knees again. “Alright. Move over.”  Mario said, scooting Luigi over a little bit. “Hm? Why?” Luigi asked. 

“I’m getting in beside you.” Mario told him, sitting down on the couch super close to his brother. “Duhude. There’s barely any room!” Luigi tried to tell him. “Then move your butt!” Mario reacted, forcing himself in. 

“Ihi literally CAN’T!” Luigi reacted, showing Mario the back of the couch and how much he was currently squished against it. 

Mario stopped moving and wrapped his arm around his brother’s side. “Come here.” He said, before squeezing both of Luigi’s sides. 

“NahAHA! MARIOHOHOhoho!” Luigi laughed, leaning against Mario. 

“Whaaat? I’m right here.” Mario teased, moving to his lower ribs. 

“Ihihi cahahan’t gohohoho anywhehehere!” Luigi told him. 

“But isn’t that what you want? To be stuck in one place, only able to laugh and maybe squirm as you’re destroyed almost mercilessly?” Mario asked. 

“Ihihihihi-”

“You can’t lie to me now, Lu. You made the dreadful mistake of telling me about it earlier.” Mario told him. 

Luigi shook his head. “Ihihi dihihid nohot!” Luigi argued. 

Mario smiled and blew some gentle air onto Luigi’s right ear. 

“Mario-MariodohohOHOHON’T!”  Luigi yelled.

“Who needs fingers when you can use the air?” Mario teased before blowing more air onto his right ear. 

Luigi curled his neck in, attempting to cover up his right ear but to no avail. Plus: when Luigi covered up his right ear, then his left ear became super vulnerable! So naturally, Mario blew some air onto his left ear. This made Luigi burst out laughing and lean his head back against Mario’s right shoulder. “HAHAHAHA- WHYHY THEHEHERE?” Luigi asked. 

“Because if it wasn’t obvious already, your ears are one of my favorite spots to tickle.” Mario told him, tickling his left ear lightly. 

“Hehehehe- Ihihi dihidn’t knohohow.” Luigi admitted. 

“You didn’t?!” Mario stopped. “A reminder that everytime I tickled you, I would target one specific tickle spot.” Mario told him. 

“T-Truhue…” Luigi mumbled. He had to admit…he had a really good point.  

“And let’s not forget your belly button.” Mario teased as he brought his fingers down and poked Luigi’s belly button. “That’s another one of my favorite tickle spots on you.” Mario told him. 

Luigi threw his head back and cackled his heart out, bringing his belly in slightly to try and get his finger away. But Mario’s finger only followed his belly. And with nowhere to go, Luigi just HAD to let it happen! “eeEEHEHEHEHEHEEE! NAAAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHI- IHIHI’M GOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIEEHEHEHEHEHE!” Luigi shouted. 

Mario quickly stopped his fingers, a worried expression on his face. “Do you need me to stop?” he asked. “Cause this spot tends to kill you.” Mario admitted. 

Luigi’s hysterical laughter quickly began to calm down. “HEHEhehehe…Yeheheah…” He muttered. The man was growing steadily tired from all the tickles…not to mention the long work day they had just worked. But boy…Luigi felt so much better. Even his knees felt like they were getting a lot better! Luigi pulled out his phone and noticed that there was a reply to his message! Wait…was this the message from the other night?! 

[I've been in a ler mood lately, yet my brothers asleep, and I don't want to wake him, so I need an awake person, guess you'll a have to do. -🧢] 

[Aww...that sucks...Well, good thing I normally stay up late! 

*opens arms* Go for it! Destroy me!

~Pocket]

“Did you send that Pocket person another message?” Mario asked beside him. 

Luigi widened his eyes and looked towards Mario. “U-Uh…” He looked at his phone, and back at Mario. “Y…Yeah…” Luigi muttered awkwardly. 

“Let me see.” Mario told him. 

Luigi handed Mario his phone, and watched as Mario read the message and the person’s response. Luigi felt a little bit bad for sending this message late that night. He was desperate at the time, and needed an outlet. But…Now Mario knows about it.  

Mario looked at Luigi. “Was it really that bad that you had to tell them about it?” Mario asked. 

Luigi looked down a little bit and nodded his head. “Y-Yeah…It was.” Luigi admitted. 

Mario chuckled and crossed his arms. “I wanna see how this one goes down.” Mario told him. 

Luigi widened his eyes. “Wait, really?!” He reacted. 

Mario shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah! Show me how you do ler moods online.” Mario told him. 

Luigi nodded. “Okay.” He opened the person’s profile, and clicked the button [Prompts OPEN! & No FNAF plz!!]. It brought up the profile name above the message area, with the words [Ask Anonymously] on the bottom of the message board with a switch to turn it on or off. Luigi turned it on, and clicked off the pop-up that showed up. Then, Luigi thought for a moment. Now what to write…He fiddled with a few things, before slowly coming up with a proper new message. 

[ (Weeg) 

Oh Pocket~

Heheh. *Looks at you evilly*] 

He clicked the [Ask] button before closing his phone. “Then I wait for Pocket to reply.” Luigi told him. “Why did you write that specific sentence in star keys?” Mario asked. 

“Words surrounded by a star key are supposed to be actions.” Luigi pulled up his brother’s contact on his phone. “For example: *hugs you*. *makes you a cup of tea*.” Luigi wrote out.

Mario pulled out his phone and chuckled. “Really?” He asked. 

“I needed a visual explanation.” Luigi admitted. 

Mario thought for a moment. “...*puts a bagel in the toaster*. *hits you with a cardboard roll*.” Mario said out loud. 

Luigi laughed as the messages came in. Luigi sent him something back. 

L: [*dropkicks you to the moon*] 

Mario wheezed and laughed at that one. “Dropkicks me- Luigi!” Mario reacted. 

“Whahat?! It’s funny!” Luigi reacted. 

Mario smirked and quickly typed something back. M: [*Tickles you*]

Luigi widened his eyes and blushed a bit. “Mario whyyyy…” Luigi whined. 

Mario bursted out laughing and elbowed his brother. “You started it.” Mario teased. 

“No I didn’t! You hit me with the cardboard roll first!” Luigi reacted. 

“So that means you’re allowed to dropkick me to the freaking moon?!” Mario asked. 

“Yes!” Luigi replied. 

Mario laughed. “You’re such a dork.” he teased. 

“I know, I know…” Luigi replied. “Oh! You know what’s another great one?” He asked suddenly. 

“What?” Mario asked. 

Luigi typed into his phone, while Mario pulled up his phone to read it. 

L: [*slaps you with a dictionary*]

Mario laughed and sent one back to him. 

M: [*whacks you with a bible*] 

Luigi bursted out in a long fit of cackles with a couple snorts mixed in. “Gohoho- Gohohood one, Mario.” Luigi reacted. 

Mario laughed as well before coming up with another. 

M: [*Turns you into Flat Stanley*] 

Luigi laughed and sent one back. 

L: [*slaps you with a plate of whipped cream*] 

Mario widened his eyes and giggled. “Wow…Pulling out the whipped cream now, are we?” Mario teased. 

Luigi nodded. “You bet.” 

Mario smiled and sent Luigi another action. 

M: [*Whacks you with a frying pan Rapunzel-style*] 

Luigi laughed. “Wooow!” Luigi reacted. 

“And a small reminder: That thing was a cast-iron skillet! Not only is she ridiculously strong, but Flynn Rider should be DEAD!” Mario reminded him. 

Luigi gasped. “I forgot about that…” Luigi muttered. “Okay, okay. One more.” He typed something into the messages, and sent it. 

L: [*Blows up a hospital Joker-style*] 

Mario laughed. “Have it fail for a moment? Then you turn around and wave your arms in confusion, only for it to explode and make you turn around again?” Mario joked. “Yes. Exactly that.” Luigi replied. 

Mario put on his beat joker impression. “Ya wanna know how I got these scars~?” Mario teased. 

Luigi laughed. “Yehehes!” He cheered. 

Mario continued to say every word of dialogue from that movie with almost perfect accuracy. Luigi listened to all of it, loving every second of it. By the end, Luigi was thoroughly impressed that Mario remembered that whole dialogue moment! It was…really cool, actually. It was one of the very things that made Mario an awesome brother. And no matter what happened, nothing would ever be able to change how cool he was. 

[10:46pm] 

“Hello, Super Mario Brothers? Oh, hello! Oh, that’s alright. Would you like to reschedule? Okay. We are free…”

[12:01am]

Luigi pulled the covers off himself, and walked up to Mario’s bed. He was holding his phone in his hand, visibly sad for an unknown reason. He held his phone close to himself, the phone screen still on. He wanted to reach out and touch his brother, but he feared scaring him awake. 

“Mario…” Luigi softly whispered. 

He waited a moment, hoping he would say something, or shift his body slightly. But, he was met with nothing. 

“Maaarioo?” Luigi called in a soft, sing-song voice. 

Mario shifted slightly. Seeing this, Luigi widened his eyes and gently touched his brother’s shoulder. “Maaariooo?” Luigi called. 

Mario groaned softly, slowly opening his eyes. “Hm?” He hummed, confused. 

“S-Sorry to wake you, b-but…” Luigi bit his lip, too tired and awkward in the moment. 

Mario sat up a bit and turned on the lamp. “What’s up?” He asked. 

“S-So…” Luigi sat himself down and showed Mario the post TrashySwitch had put up. 

Mario blinked a few times and adjusted his eyes to the message: 

[Dear Pocket, This is Nico from a friend's account, I'm writing to let you know my old account has been deleted, and this was because I didn't want to post on tumblr anymore, please take care and you were one of the greatest friends here on the platform, goodbye.

-Nico, Tickle Goddess] 

Mario widened his eyes slightly and looked up at Luigi. “You…you mentioned the name ‘Nico’ earlier…” Mario muttered. 

Luigi nodded his head, holding his arms close to himself. “The tumblr profile is gone…” 

Mario softened his expression. “Oh Lu…” He put down the phone and opened his arms. “Come here.” 

Luigi snuggled into his brother’s arms, letting Mario hold him. “I don’t have any other way to get in contact with them…” Luigi admitted. “They’re gone…” Luigi mumbled. 

Mario tightened his hug slightly. “Oh Lu…” Mario closed his eyes. “I don’t know much about them…but…” Mario rubbed his back. “But I can safely assume it’s like you lost a friend…” Mario said. 

Luigi squeezed his eyes shut with a few nods. 

Mario sighed and closed his eyes. “you’re allowed to be upset. Be upset for as long as you need.” He told his brother. 

Luigi let out a shaky breath. “Bye Nico…Please check in soon.” 

This fanfic is dedicated to one of my dearest Tumblr friends, Nico. Thank you so much for all the support and love you've provided me. I'll miss you so much...

[suppermariobroth]

In Mario Kart Wii, the ramps in front of the bouncy mushrooms on the Mushroom Gorge track have a special property that locks the racer's speed between touching them and landing on solid ground again after bouncing off a mushroom.

This is implemented to make sure that the racer's speed is consistent while bouncing on several mushrooms in a row, making it easier to judge where the vehicle will land.

However, if the ramp is taken while turned backwards from the mushrooms, as shown in the footage, the speed locking will persist on solid ground. This allows the racer to go off-road without being slowed down by the grass.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: gmdblue

[danger-high-voltage]

My Idea for a Bowser Game

The game would be a beat em up in the style of Streets of Rage, Final Fight, and the Scott Pilgrim game. The game would have four player cooperative multiplayer. The game would show Bowser invading the Mushroom Kingdom from his kingdom. You start with only Bowser, Bowser Jr., Boom Boom, and Kamek as playable characters. You unlock the Koopalings and Pom Pom throughout the game. The idea is that they've been sent ahead to seize the castles of the various lands and are able to join Bowser's assault after he helps them take each castle. Here is a brief description of the four initial playable characters.

The game levels are meant to feel like playing a Mario game in reverse order. So in each stage you start on the right and proceed left. The themes of the stages also reflect this with you starting in a lava world as the first stage and ending the game in a grass world. The final level would be Mushroom Castle and the final bosses would be Mario and Luigi. The game ends with Bowser kidnapping Peach and returning to his castle.

Beating the game unlocks a whole new game story with mirrored levels and a time limit to beat each one. It has Mario, Luigi, Toad, and Toadette as playable characters as they fight to save Peach. Beating that second story then unlocks Peach as a playable character. Even though there would be no more new levels left the game would have a free play mode where you can play as any character in any level.