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dappledpaintbrush · 9 months ago

Note

wow, looks like you can do an essay about Dimentio.

What do you think of the other characters?

For me in "short"

Tippi: The protagonist of the story and got her happy ending, I came to miss her presence after the end.

Count Bleck: Definitely one of Mario's best written villains. I cry.

Nastasia: I was in her place, I empathized a lot with her and sometimes I wish she would return in other stories.

O'chunks: I was surprised by her story, I didn't expect that background, for me he is a himbo in a good way. A good guy.

Mimi: I can't say the same with Mimi, a little disappointed, but at least there are headcanons.

Mr. L: Definitely wasted potential, I would have liked to see more with the other minions. It's weird if I got a penny for every time Luigi is hypnotized into being an enemy I'd have two cents, which isn't much but it's weird that it happens twice.

Dimentio: It's thanks to him that I have an obsession with Jesters, he managed to do what Bowser couldn't with just a snap of his fingers. Terrifying, I hope one day we see it again.

OMG YAYAYAYAYAY IVE BEEN WANTING THIS ASK

Okay so. I’ll try not to make this unbearably long. But this game is my special interest so. I apologize in advance. (I turned off reblogs bc reblogging asks removes the read more) (and it’s gonna clog people’s feed) (this IS unbearably long) (I Failed)

Tippi:

Omg I miss Tippi too :( it feels so weird playing the game without her.

Tippi is so . so interesting. All of the characters are interesting, but I especially love the way she’s written. I love how they were able to nail that she’s gentle and caring, but also firm and not about to put up with anybody’s bullshit. To me, that’s hard to write without it feeling disengenuine, and they pulled it off with Tippi VERY well. A particular line of hers I really like is, “Perhaps...my life would have been more carefree without you, that is true,” in response to Blumiere’s, “But I have caused you so much suffering..." She didn’t immediately console him. She told him the truth, as harsh as it was. Idk, that scene had just always stuck out to me. It’s not a line I expected to be written.

I wish her unexplained teleportation powers were. Explained. But that doesn’t really mess up her character so it’s okay. However. I hate how she developed a crush on Mario. I’ve always hated it. I like to pretend it’s not real LMAO. But then again, it can be interpreted in a deeper way- that she didn’t actually have a crush on Mario and she was merely projecting onto him. Her memory was flooding back to her and she was in a very vulnerable situation after all. Projecting those feelings for an, at the time, unknown individual onto Mario makes sense.

I love Tippi dude she rocks she’s my favorite forever and ever and ever

Count Bleck:

where do I even begin on Count Bleck good lord. One of Nintendo’s best villains even outside of the Mario franchise. God he’s so fucking good.

I wish it was more clear whether or not he was planning on erasing Team Bleck from existence as well. Whether or not he was going to do that that impacts his character HEAVILY. Him wanting all worlds to end but sparing the people who cared about him really helps his “redemption” and helps us have more sympathy for him. Unfortunately it’s not directly touched on outside of that one thing Dimentio said, but. It’s Dimentio LMFAOOO we can’t trust him. I personally lean more towards Bleck was going to betray the team just given the evidence about it. I yapped a lot about my reasoning IN A POST I CANT FIND. It had a bunch of screenshots and stuff and I can’t. Fucking. Find it. Oh well I guess that’s just GONE ❤️

Despite this I feel like it’s important to address Bleck with nuance. I don’t think he intentionally planned on betraying his team. I think he genuinely loved them. But he was so caught up in the Dark Prognosticus and the Void and Timpani and ultimately BEING this Count Bleck character the book spoke of that he felt like there was no way out of it anymore. This is supported by the fact he tried to fight Mario in the final battle despite knowing Timpani was still alive. It’s clear Blumiere had completely lost himself, as if he forgot why he was doing this in the first place and let Count Bleck take over (note: I mean this in a symbolic/psychological sense; I don’t believe the book was controlling him). It’s only when he’s on his death bed that he realizes he does not have to do this.

I put redemption in quotation marks because. I don’t think he was redeemed. Granted he didn’t have enough time to do anything, but to be honest, I don’t think he or any other member of Team Bleck is redeemable (before anybody comes at me with the lament au/ajl, THE POINT IS THAT DIMENTIO IS NOT REDEEMABLE NO MATTER HOW HARD HE TRIES!! YOU CANNOT REDEEM THE EXTERMINATION OF LIFE ITSELF!!!)

Also he’s a goofy guy. He’s just a dad

Thoughts thoughts THOUGHTS THOUGHTS THOUGHTS

Nastasia:

NASTASIA COME BACK TO ME. God I wish they kept her emo hair strand.

Her character is so. so sad (I feel like I’ve said that sentence forty seven times, this game is MISERABLE). I love her so much. I love her confidence, I love how she doesn’t take bullshit from anyone, I love how much she loves. It makes me so fucking sad how depressed she remains long after Blumiere’s sacrifice. Like, we don’t know how much time passed between the ending of the game and Mario returning (when you boot up the save file again, Merlon states that it has been a while since he’s seen Mario). It explains why Mimi and O’Chunks seem fine (I’m sure they’re not fine, but I mean it explains why they were able to have a “normal” conversation with Mario and co.), but Nastasia is still so heartbroken.

Of course that is to be expected, and I’m glad Nintendo didn’t make everything all sunshine and rainbows ooo we’re all happy now etc, even IF a long time has passed. It makes total sense that there are repercussions to experiencing a traumatic event and Nastasia portrays it well (for a Mario game). In her epilogue dialogue, her hope for better days is shallow. It’s fake. She shows how she truly feels and immediately backtracks (“I guess I should be happy... I mean, I am, but, um...”). She still wants to put on that confident and secure exterior, but it’s not working. She will always love Blumiere, and she will always miss him. I hope she finds happiness one day, too. She deserves to live her own life.

O’Chunks:

O’CHUNKS IS SO UNDERRATED. FUCK

I know I’m contributing to this I barely post about him but lord he’s so interesting. I know the Japanese and English translation tell different versions of his backstory, but I really like the English version where Blumiere manipulated him in his extremely depressed state to join him. It gives more layers to Blumiere’s character- the lengths he was willing to go to get this job done, lengths that he would have never gone to before losing Timpani (and himself).

O’Chunks has one of the most unforgiving backstories in the whole games and it’s rarely talked about. He was a fucking COMMANDER OF AN ARMY and the whole game he’s just played off as some dumb brute/comic relief. I actually believe he suffered some kind of brain damage from that final battle, explaining his eyes, his struggle to speak properly, and his overall behavior. Also, the fact one of his most trusted advisors betrayed him mirrors his relationship with Dimentio. JUST. GOD . RIPS HAIR OUT. I wouldn’t blame him if he never trusted anybody again after the events of the game. But he clearly has a heart of gold beneath that rough exterior, so I doubt that mindset would come to pass

Also I know it’s not this deep like at All but . Regarding O’Chunks and his backstory, the last war fought in Scotland was the Battle of Culloden in 1746. The Scots lost that battle too, so it fits O’Chunks backstory. It’s funny to imagine he’s hundreds of years old and he just Stopped Aging once he joined the “Mario Dimension” for lack of a better term LMAO. Side note, I also believe Blumiere lost Timpani centuries ago- especially considering the Ancients are extinct by the time the game takes place (although I’ve heard it’s possible Blumiere murdered the entire Tribe of Darkness? but that’s ambiguous) (and my feelings on it would be another yapping session so I’ll shut up for now). It just took THAT long to get the criteria for the Void met. So it’s interesting to think of the concept that O’Chunks and Blumiere have known each other for THAT long. Probably why he sent O’Chunks out to fight the heroes first. He trusted him the most. But then again, I know the game did not intend for O’Chunks to be born in the 1700s lol. Like I said it’s just interesting for me :3

Mimi:

MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMI!!!! MY GIRL!!!!

I agree with you- her backstory is disappointing compared to characters like O’Chunks and Dimentio. But at the same time I enjoy the unknown. After all, she is the embodiment of mystery. Her whole shtick is mimicking. You never know if a character is truly themselves or it’s a copy (I mean, you do- her mannerisms are obvious- but still lmao)- hell, even SHE canonically loses herself sometimes in her mimics. But even then, I wish we knew more about her. AND I WISH THE CONCEPT OF HER BEING A FAILED PIXL WAS TALKED ABOUT MORE? WHAT??????? HELLO????? REMINDERRRR that you can’t just go about making Pixls. That was a practice for the Ancients, and the ONLY reason Merlon could do it is because he is a descendant of the Ancients with a shit ton of their books. How old is Mimi? How much has she seen? If she’s centuries or even thousands of years old- depending on how long ago you think the Ancients died out- what was she doing this whole time??? LIKE HELLO!!! MIMI!! SPEAK TO ME!!!!

I love love LOVE LOVE LOVE how she can be used as a parallel to the Pixl Queen in regards to Dimentio. Dimentio and Mimi have a sibling dynamic to me, and the story potential considering Dimentio’s biological sister got turned into a Pixl and. Yk. Mimi could possibly be a failed Pixl. Is INSANE and I WISH it was used more because holy shit it has so much potential.

I like to believe the Pixl Creator (aka Dimentio’s father imo) created Mimi even if there’s no evidence JUST LET ME HAVE THIS but I also made a post maybe a year ago that theorized Francis’ ancestors created Mimi. I don’t think it’s really recognized that Francis CREATED A PIXL WITHOUT MAGIC. Yk that spell that requires the magic of the Dark Prognosticus? Yeah just forget that shit I said earlier about Non-Ancients not being able to just go out and make a Pixl, because apparently this fuckass Redditor did it. Anyways. Tipton is a robot. Mimi is a robot. I rest my case (loud applause) (people throw roses at me)

I already made posts about Mr. L and Dimentio, so I won’t ramble anymore here :3 But in regards to what you said YEAH . Mr. L could’ve been so much more it’s genuinely painful. And Dimentio is fucking terrifying. I honestly like to believe he did genuinely nuke the protagonists and the game only said he merely teleported them because saying “Mario’s dead like for real” is probably something Nintendo didn’t want to put in their game. I mean come on- he used the explosion attack that causes actual damage in battle. They died LMOAOOAOA. I hope we see both of them again. I was hoping so BADLY for even a glimmer of Mr. L in the Mario movie-like a mask/bandana hanging out of a drawer cameo or something. BUT ITS OKAY GUYS 😁😁😁😁😁😁 (visibly shaking) (teeth chattering) (is missing patches of hair on my head) (rocking back and forth)

#spm #super paper mario

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strawbxrryneptune · 3 years ago

Text

Level one

Word count: 10k

Cw: pretty tame, just slight descriptions of a dick, play fighting, mentions of almost dying.

This fic and the fics following will contain monster fucking, cucking and threesomes!! If you are not comfortable, try out some of my other works, but if you wish to proceed, remember, sharing is caring.

@miggiisdumb

Next~♡

♡♡

Being a princess was always portrayed as this lush, lavish life. Spoiled rotten with goodies and suitors on you left and right. Everyone respects you, maybe even fears you, and you don't have to worry about a thing cause you have your guards and your secure little tower.

Only one of those things applied to you. The people of the Mushroom kingdom adored you, sending you gifts and bringing their cute little families to meet you. You had moved out of the actual palace ages ago, deciding to reside in a cute little cottage hidden deep in the woods.

You had some bodyguards, but you kind of doubted their abilities in warding off monsters. You didn't mind fighting by the side though, it built up your strength and courage.

You knew that you alone were pretty strong, and so were your guards, but it still confused you how you barely got bothered. Occasionally you would hear a growl or roar in the distance, but it was quickly cut off and you would go about your business.

You finally found out what was keeping the monsters at bay when you ventured out into the forest alone, not wanting to wake up your bodyguard since you were just getting berries.

You had managed to fill up your basket and make it halfway back before you felt a rush of air behind you, only getting a second to blink before you were sent flying, hot breath and saliva tickling your neck and cheek.

You kick and scream, arms flailing when the creature pushes your head down into the dirt.

You start to weaken as your vision swims, struggling to breathe. You go limp, letting out choked sobs when the creature is suddenly ripped off of you. You hear shuffling and roaring, and then the forest goes silent for a moment before coming back to life, birds chirping and wind blowing as you feel someone touch your arm gently.

You hear a smooth, low voice fussing over you, the stranger lifting you up and assisting you back to the cottage. You try to turn to see their face, but all you can make out is a bright red hat, dark red hair and pretty lips before they're turning you back around.

When you make it to the cottage, you try to once again turn to thank the person, but they're already gone. About to head back inside, you see a bright red object laying on the ground. When you get closer, you realize it's the strangers hat, soft and big with a K patched into it.

You gasped, realizing who exactly this man was.

You came from a long line of royalty, your mother being Queen Star and your sister being Princess Peach. When you were kids, your mother would tell you of an Italian family who were so kind and brave, always looking to serve and expecting nothing in return.

For your mother, it was a man named Papa Mario, and for Peach it was Mario Jr. And Luigi. Around the time you were born, they also were welcoming a baby into the world, and you have fuzzy memories of a little boy with sharp teeth and red hair vowing to protect you even when you were in diapers.

Snapping back to reality, you scurry back inside and throw on a more casual outfit, still in a dress but with more room to move, slipping on some boots and stuffing the hat in your bag.

You take the path down to town, chatting with the residents along the way until you arrive at the Mario Bros Tavern.

You step inside, greeting everyone and making your way over to the counter, seeing who you assume is the brother, dressed in all green. His name tag reads "Izuku", and you smile at him when he looks your way.

"Hi, Princess!! What brings you here?"

You dig in your bag and take out the plush hat, holding it in front of you.

"I- Uh…. I found this in the woods, I was jus' wondering if the owner of it was here?"

Izuku lets out a soft, 'oh', and holds a finger up to you to signal you to wait. He disappears into the back room and when he comes back you suddenly wish you were dressed better.

In the forest all you could see what that your "hero" was wearing overalls and red. You didn't pick up on the fact that he was probably almost 7 feet tall, buff and solid with pretty, full lips and a sharp smile, cute spiky hat hair which a deeper shade of red then his clothes, which fit him so perfect it was like he just stepped out of a clothes factory.

When you met eyes, the stranger gave you a sheepish smile, stepping up to the counter and gently taking the hat from your now trembling hands.

"Gee, thanks for bringing this back, Prn'cess. I hadn't even realized I lost it."

You search for words, feeling your cheeks heat up when his smile widens, big veiny hands reaching out to shut your mouth, which fell right back open at the feel of his hands on your face.

"I'm, uh, I'm also here to thank you for saving me today…"

"Kiri."

"Kiri. Thank you, Kiri."

He smiles a toothy smile, giving you a silly bow. You giggle, your heart swelling with affection as you realize you could get used to this.

"As a token of my appreciation, I'm taking you on a date in two days, up by the waterfalls."

The red head blinks in surprise before his smile returns, pink coloring his cheeks as he mods vigorously.

"I'll see you then, Princess!!"

♡♡

You trudged through the forest, cursing yourself for putting off your carriage repair. The trail was under construction, so you had to walk you way through the bushes towards the waterfall.

At least you weren't wearing a formal dress. You were just wearing a simple skirt and a top, some boots and a picnic basket in your hand.

As you stumble along, you start to hear the roaring of the waterfall, but laced within you hear growls and grunts, followed by a shout that sounded all too familiar.

Kirishima.

You pick up speed and come to a clearing, stepping back slightly in shock.

In front of you is one of the legendary Bowser men, powerful and downright terrifying. They had a tendency to go after princesses, which was the main reason the Mario brothers protected your family.

This Bowser was the new heir, Bakugou. He didn't have red hair like his father, his was an ash blonde, and his shell was a slightly darker green. He was taller too, looked about 6'9 from where you were standing, but he towered over Kirishima so you figured he was over 7 feet. He was actually kind of attractive, which surprised you given how his dad looked.

Kirishima has him in a headlock, both of them grunting and growling and you would be lying if the sight wasn't hot, but you shook the feeling off and silently marched over to the two, wanting to "save" the red head like he had for you for the longest time.

Taking a deep breath, you launched yourself on the Blonde's shell with a shout, quickly realizing how stupid this "plan" was when you could barely hold on, being so small compared to him that when he stood up and reached behind him, he could just pluck you up like a bug, holding by the back of your shirt in a big hand.

"What happened Bakubro? Why'd you stop-y/n?"

"Well well well, wha d'we have here? Is this the pretty little prn'cess yer were telling me about, Kiri?"

You gulp harshly, not even out of fear anymore now that you realized that they were play fighting, and that they know each other.

No, you were nervous because Bakugou was hot. Sharp canines digging into his bottom as he watched you dangle in his palm, spiky hair leading down to a bushy mullet, bulging muscles and thick thighs hidden by a ratty loin cloth, blonde happy trail-did something just twitch?

You swiftly look back up, looking into knowing vermillion eyes as he licks his lips and shoots you a smirk, his eyes dark and cheeks slightly flushed. When you feel a slight breeze and begin to rock, you realize that hes still holding you. Up in the air. With one hand.

This is not doing anything good to your manhandling kink. You can already feel your panties start to get sticky as he gently sets you back down, standing straight back up.

You're now level with his veiny thighs, hands starting to tremble from how guilty and horny you feel. The guy you asked out on a date is right there!! Speaking of, you glance at Kiri and he's already looking at youz something dark gleaming within his eyes but quickly hidden when you meet gazes, rushing forward to trap you in a crushing hug, big hands running up your sides.

You blush as you pull back, about to ask if he wants to get going when he jogs back over to Bakugou, who's eyes haven't left you, and tackles him onto the ground, putting him in a chokehold.

You would be pissed, you planned a picnic and its getting dark, the bugs coming out and the air getting sticky but they look so good like that, muscle on muscle, and Bakugou keeps letting out snarls and growls that go straight to your cunt, slicking up your panties as you think about those big, clawed hands your skirt up and plugging you up with his big dick.

You stop mid thought as you remember what they taught you in Princess survival school, in the monster course. Bowsers can smell really really well. Which means Bakugou….could probably smell you right now.

You look up at him and let out a breath of relief when you see he's still distracted by the Kirishima, writhing to try and get away from the his grip on his neck. With a sharp movement from the blonde, his loin cloth flutters to the side momentarily and flashes you a peak of his really, really fat cock. You almost pass out from how fast blood rushes to your head when you see so many veins and bumps, and he's obviously not even hard.

All of a sudden, Bakugou takes a deep breath, preparing to let out a roar to startle Kirishima into letting him go, and chokes on air, gasp getting caught in his throat. Kiri is none the wiser, laughing and joking behind him about how hes strongest, but Bakugou isn't paying attention, eyes blown wide and rolled in his head as his tongue slightly lolls out of his mouth, as if to taste what he's smelling.

To taste you.

His head rolls to the side, eyes trained on the clench of your thighs and flush of your body, and it make his hips jump, red irises locking onto you as drool spills out of his open mouth.

Kirishima realized how quiet he is, and attempts to peak over and see if he's okay but Bakugou roughly shoulders him off and stomps away into the trees, leaving you dazed and Kirishima confused.

"That was weird."

#bakugo smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #bubbletalks #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #bakugou x reader #kirishima eijirou smut #bowser!bakugou #mario!kirishima #kirishima x reader #kirishima thirst #kiribaku #prettymiggi🪐

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ossy-p-art · 5 years ago

Text

cringe ass nae nae writing

writing some spm stuff based on an au I came up with forever ago about Luigi and Dimentio never unfusing and everything is terrible do not look me in the eyes

???

Something enters your space. A light tip-tap as it skitters across the floor is what first alerted you of its presence, but now even if it held still you’d know exactly where it was. You can smell the magic it emits, and even more damning, feel its presence within space and time. The divot it makes in the fabric of space, the border of its flesh- you could identify its location if it was pitch black and you were deaf.

Easy meal.

You lunge at it moving at not even half your top speed, and easily snap it up between your jaws without a second thought. You chew- and feel an odd nagging in the back of your skull. You slow… It feels like you should be focusing on something.

Well, the taste certainly isn’t nice. Sharp and bitter, coppery and cold. The texture is worse, the thing is cutting up your mouth quite a bit. Its making quite a racket in there, and you feel like the noise its making is….important. Its not just any random series of sounds, its… a voice? Its speaking a language… the tone is very harsh, very mean… it makes your eyebrows furrow. You know this voice… its demanding somethi

“DON’T YOU DARE SWALLOW ME YOU NITWIT!!“

LUIGI

You come to your senses and immediately hack up the creature that had been in your mouth, and it tumbles a few times before steadying itself on extended, spiderlike appendages. It seems disoriented, then furious, then disgusted.

"EeeEEW LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY DRESS YOU JERKS!”

Something seems comical about this tiny green creature disciplining you. Shes less than even a third of your size. You search your mind for a name. She’s… she’s….

“Do you even recognize me? Its me, Mimi! Hello???"

Your head lifts quickly. That’s the name! She seems pleased you’re showing recognition.

"Can I finally get a decent welcome now? I’ve been worried.”

Her face is washed over with a new expression- relief. You’re unsure why. She approaches you, boldly, and places a hand against yours.

"…You’re still alive in there, right, L?“

That name just about sent a shockwave through you. You back away quickly, only to begin stumbling over your long, flexible limbs. You don’t know if you’re fleeing from Mimi or the nonexistent embodiment of the information itself, but you crash into a heap in your distress.

"Wh- hey! I’m not even trying to scare you guys!”

Something deeply disturbs you about how she addresses you in a plural sense. You still feel like your sentience is escaping you, like you’re moments away from returning to the mental state of a wild animal.

You try hard to focus. You forgot you even had an identity. You had just been prowling around in the ruins of Castle Bleck for some time now, like a predator. Remembering your own name was a slap to the face, scaring the last animalistic tendencies right out of you. You scour your mind for context…you try to remember…

The chaos heart was inside you- more specifically in your chest. You could hazily see your brother hopping from platform to platform, trying to counter you, trying to win…but also trying not to hurt you.

He couldn’t choose both.

You remember looming over him. He went too easy on you. You had the upper hand. Your foot was raised to crush him.

And then you remember absolutely losing your mind.

The heart in your chest was subject to a sudden onslaught of emotional and magical violence that burst forth from you all at once. You remember forcing the chaos heart out of your chest and deep into the pit of your stomach, like most of your unpleasant emotions.

Down into your core, away from light, away from control, buried underneath the rest of your guilt and sadness you keep locked up inside.

And then you fainted.

Your name is Luigi.

You tentatively stand up. You can feel the chaos heart still deep inside your gut, though it feels different. Wounded almost…. changing? Its pulsing inside you, shifting. Its uncomfortable, to say the least. Bitterly cold.

You’re still in the monstrous form you were attacking your brother in. A horrifying half-you, half-jester abomination. Your neck a repulsively long stretch of black and white, with a ruff to cover the base. You pull your head closer to your body. You feel terrified of yourself. Mimi cocks her head as she approaches you.

"Hey, L, its ok.“

Her tiny hand rests on yours, and you feel a little more at ease.

"The others are alright, y’know. Nastasia is kinda rough around the edges, but things have been ok!"

She offers you a smile. You feel selfish for not worrying about the others- your main concern right now was yourself.

"Um, Mario has been just fine too. He was really upset about…all this. But hes healing really well!”

She must’ve seen you tense up in fear, because she pursed her lips and patted your hand a few more times.

“Nass says that you should have the power to change…"

You tilt your head.

"Like, y’know. Change outta this…gross ugly body.”

She gestures to you as a whole. You’re not exactly an adept magic user, and you’re scared of trying to channel the chaos heart’s magic for any reason… But apparently its not your choice, as someone else begins using it for you.

DIMENTIO

As soon as you catch wind that it is an option, you begin to shift out of this bulky, uncomfortable form. Your height shrinks, limbs grow shorter, and your neck becomes a reasonable length as you manipulate the heart resting inside you. The thing is in shambles from its harassment earlier- presumably yours.You didn’t think your manipulation was going to break the damn thing, but now for some reason its dysfunctional. You finally are able to stand on two feet without assistance of your arms like some kind of ape, and casually float a few inches off the ground. You examine your body, much to an ignored Mimi’s annoyance. You don’t really want to talk to her. Your head is killing you, and taking the time to contemplate and form dialogue would only make the pain spike. You instead examine your body as Mimi taps her foot impatiently.

Your poncho which once fit your bigger form decently now drapes over you like a dress. You have scars all over your exposed legs and arms. Gloved hands, a fancy little ruffle around your neck… with your tattered clothes and ruffled hair, you look like quite the train wreck. You absentmindedly tap your cheek before realizing in fear that it is completely exposed, along with the rest of your face.

You scan the ground in a panic before finding your prize- your mask. You slide it on, breathing a sigh of relief. It still fits perfectly. You feel a sense of comfort with it at home on your face. You cast a glance over at Mimi, who looks wholly irritated.

"Is that Dimmy now?“

You scoffed lightly, attempted to come up with a retort, but were unsuccessful in forming a single sentence. Your throat feels horribly damaged for some reason. Possibly magic burns. The pain causes you to fall to one knee, and Mimi quickly skitters over, despite her previous expression of distaste

LUIGI

Having a human-like body again fills you with so much relief it nearly blocks out the intense horror you felt when your arm moved against your own will to pick up Dimentio’s mask and place it over your face. The material was cold and uninviting, and shivers ran down your spine when it remained on your face despite there being no strap to speak of. You tried to gather your courage and stand back up, but just wobbled and collapsed on the ground. This is….ok, too, you guess. Mimi stared at you concerned.

"I’m gonna get Chunky to carry you outta here, ok? Its super cold and I dunno if its good for you in here. Its gonna be ok."

Mimi gave you a pat on your side, and as quickly as she came, the spiderling skittered off into the darkened ruins of Castle Bleck.

You remained on your side, waiting. Mostly alone. Making horrifying discoveries by accident. You had ran your tongue along your teeth only to realize they were razor sharp. You could bite your own tongue off if you wanted to. You tried to rub your eyes, only to feel that they were empty sockets, devoid of your once charming blue eyes. You have no idea how you’re still able to see, even if your vision is rather poor. You decide to stop moving completely, before you make another nightmarish discovery, like your ears being inside out or your hands being on backwards or something.

The worst part about being left alone is having to endure the activity inside your stomach with absolutely nothing to distract you. The chaos heart was like some kind of animal, chewing away at you and leaving you feel horribly drained. You hugged your stomach, as if that would help

DIMENTIO

You need…a compromise. Something else to occupy the chaos heart aside from your flesh. A power source maybe. If it had something else to gnaw on, it would likely be more easy to deal with. You moved your arms out of the vise-like grip they had over your stomach, and turned to lay flat on your back. You moved your hands under the fabric of your oversized poncho, letting them rest over your stomach. You noticed with a bit of distaste that it wasn’t as flat as before. Are chaos hearts fattening? Are they bad for you?? You ponder this for awhile as magic gently trickles through your fingers and into the flesh of your stomach. A mild pain relief spell, nothing too advanced, but enough to let you catch your breath. You breathe slowly, trying to ease away the panic that is flooding your nerves. Deep breath in, slow exhale out. You rest your eyes as you attempt to meditate, and for some reason you aren’t calmed in the slightest. This isn’t like you. Why is your heart racing like that? You don’t really know why Mimi is being so docile right now- you don’t really understand half of what she said. Why was she telling you about Mario of all people?? Do you look like you care? And another thing- clearly you must’ve lost the fight…so why are you still breathing?

And where did that green fool wander off to in all this?

#writing #spm #dimentio #luigi #spm mimi #pleas dont call me cringe #alliance au

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ionlydatesassyelves · 5 years ago

Text

sad bats

a snippet from the fic i never actually got around to. for context, abscuro had resurrected antasma among others to help him gather up pieces of the chaos heart. they had a messly falling out concerning the piece that luigi carries. this is shortly following that.

------

"Come with me."

Antasma's mind was reeling, every inch of him hurt. All he could hear was those three words--not the howling wind or the pouring rain soaking through his fur, not his own ragged breathing, just that desperate voice and three words. He still couldn't manage to process them.

"Come with me, please," Luigi tried again, raising his voice over the storm. He reached out for Antasma, and the bat recalled himself enough to flinch back, glancing between Luigi and his hand like he was expecting an attack.

Thunder rumbled in the clouds overhead.

Antasma glanced up, arms curling tighter around himself. Maybe Luigi would be merciful after all, and kill him before the Inklings could catch up.

"Antasma!" Luigi shouted. He took two steps towards the bat, and slipped a bit on the slick grass.

Antasma jumped when his back hit a tree, and his claws scrambled for purchase on wet wood. It didn't entirely dawn on him that Abscuro's elaborate red cloak wasn't doing much to shield him from the storm, and it may have been cold he was shaking with now. It was most likely nerves. He couldn't tell if it was wind or whispers following him, couldn't make out the shifting shadows in the trees and if they were lethal or not.

"They're coming for you," he told Luigi again, insisted desperately. "You haff to go-- please--"

Luigi returned his stare with wide, blue eyes--so bright in the dull haze of storm around them. Afraid and uncertain and shaking himself. Antasma thought of him staring up at Abscuro that way, thought of black vines stilling his thin form, and he couldn't bear it. "Luigi, leave - there isn't time, they're coming -"

"What about you?" the smaller man shouted.

Antasma felt his blood run cold, and couldn't imagine the look on his own face. "Vhat ABOUT me?!"

Luigi paused, glanced up to Antasma's left. At the gnarled mess that used to be his ear. "You're hurt," he said, like it was the only thing that mattered.

"YOU vill be hurt, you must go -" Antasma was begging, just shy of dropping to the ground and pleading with him. "Vhy do I haff to convince you to run now?!"

"Come with me!" Luigi tried again, and he reached out a hand once more. Didn't take a step closer, just let the rain fall into his empty palm.

Antasma stared.

He slowly managed to shake his head.

"Where are you going to go?" Luigi insisted, and came closer now. "Why are you so scared - what happened to you?"

What did you do?

My sweet little bat, what have you done?

Antasma chest seized, and he scrambled around the tree, away from Luigi. He didn't expect Luigi to chase him, didn't expect Luigi to gain too quickly on him. "Antasma, what happened? Who hurt you?"

Antasma tripped - a stray branch at his back, but he hit the ground instinctively when he thought it might be a vine reaching for him. He scrambled against the grass to back up from Luigi, shrunk down to a tiny bat and struggled against the rain to escape him.

Hands clasped around him.

Antasma fought to scream, but he couldn't manage, he'd forgotten entirely how. His wings fought uselessly in Luigi's fingers, and he found himself being held against a wet, green shirt. The fabric clung to his fur, and his wings ached as he tried to wrench them out of Luigi's grasp.

He should change forms, he should be bigger than Luigi again, he should sink in his claws and teeth until he was free.

Luigi was running.

It dawned on Antasma he was coming along, like it or not. If he wasn't before, now he really began to panic. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight, wanted to cry, but it was such a struggle to even sit here and breathe now.

Stars, what did Luigi want with him?

----

Antasma had only known Kamek a short time, but he had never heard him raise his voice. Had never heard him scream and fight Luigi like he did that night, had never watched this carefully composed magician come totally unhinged.

He couldn't manage to do anything but sit there in Luigi's arms and shake, small and pitiful and fragile. He wondered if Kamek could crush him with one clawed hand at this size. He wished he would.

Eventually they stilled, and only the knowledge that they might wake up the entire inn halted the argument.

Kamek fumed silently across the room, stress in every inch of him.

Luigi talked to Antasma when he couldn’t get Kamek to speak up. Talked at him, asked him questions Antasma couldn’t form a response to if he held a form capable of speaking at the moment. Antasma felt gentle fingers begin to scratch along his back, and he shivered. Wondered if Luigi would tear his wings apart to keep him still. He tried desperately not to move.

It took an unearthly amount of time for Luigi and Kamek to try talking calmly. They decided to head for Evershade Valley, sent word to "the others" to meet them there. Couldn’t be sure if Luigi was the only one in danger. Better safe than sorry.

Whatever that meant.

----

Riding a train was nothing short of terrifying, especially as a tiny bat hidden in Luigi's arms.

He tried to sit quietly in Luigi's lap, tried to tune out the sound of Kamek and Luigi speaking to each other in hushed whispers, tried to not think about the fact they were probably trying to decide what to do with him and it wouldn't be anything good.

At some point on the trip, Luigi began to very gently pet him again, and he tried to hold still, tried to allow it. Luigi was spacing out, Antasma could taste colorful daydreams tickling the edge of his mind. Vivid and tempting and stars, he was so hungry. He'd been sick for days, it only just now dawned on him to want food, to miss the lovely nightmares the dungeons had overflowed with when Abscuro let him have his pick.

Abscuro.

Antasma tried not to whine, tried not to shake. He wondered if Abscuro really did miss him, wondered if the armies of Inklings would be after him too now.

Luigi kept petting him, and Antasma wished it was gentle claws again, wished he could hear Abscuro tell him sweetly one more time "Shh, shhhh, love. Everything's alright now, I forgive you."

He wondered very distantly if he could have had that. If he could have said yes two nights ago and brought the king a broken and damaged Luigi and their positions could have been reversed now.

He tried not to dwell on it.

--—

The mansion they managed to break into felt a lot more like home than anywhere Antasma had been so far. Dark and rickety and falling apart at the seems, a creepy feeling about the whole place. Luigi seemed oddly concerned at the lack of ghosts, at the lack of anything lurking in the valley, but he helped Kamek set up wards all over the house and Antasma hoped they hadn’t jinxed anything, that maybe no one would think to find them here.

Luigi wandered to the pillows stacked on an endtable he’d left Antasma sitting on from time to time. Kamek had wanted to lock him in the basement “just in case” but Luigi had loudly opposed it, and Antasma tried to sit still and quiet and show somehow that he was grateful for it.

He let Luigi pet him gently when he walked by (he may have flinched), tried to look up if he said something (he couldn’t remember the words a moment later), let Luigi’s fingers tilt his bad ear (bad he had a bad ear now) gently off his head to look at it. He shuddered once, and managed a pitiful little skree, and was sort of stunned that Luigi let him go.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said softly. Pet him once more and left the room. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Antasma stared at the door all night, waiting for him to come back and change his mind.

——

Three days went by, if Antasma hadn’t lost count, which he likely had. Luigi has gotten it into his head somehow that Antasma should not be left alone, and he began wearing a worn jacket around the mansion so he could keep Antasma tucked neatly into the hood.

Antasma bit him, once, when he very expressly did not want that to happen, but the look Kamek threw him across the room made him quickly reconsider.

Being with Luigi wasn’t completely horrible. The hood of the jacket was warm and soft, and he could feel the warmth of Luigi pressed so close to him. Luigi talked to him, made sure he was comfortable, offered him little slices of fruit to munch on. He tried to eat, he honestly wanted to, but as comfort and relief crept up on him, he kept hearing a silky sweet voice and seeing bright blue eyes staring at him in fear and suddenly he felt very sick.

He began to slowly feel sick for other reasons, but he tried to be thankful for the heat even if it made him dizzy, he was so tired of being cold. Luigi pet his head gently, and mumbled things he couldn’t make out, and left the bat alone on a table for a bit with a tiny bowl of ice.

It tickled his sharp teeth when he chewed it, but the cold felt so nice, and the water was cool and refreshing as it melted down his throat. He hadn’t realized it was so tight and rough until he couldn’t get enough, he felt like he’d been stranded for days in the desert.

Once the ice was melted and he was tired of drinking, Antasma curled into himself and managed to sleep for the first time in days.

——

Antasma startled dizzily awake to a burning sensation on his head. He shivered horribly and flicked his ears. It stopped briefly, and then it was back.

It dawned on him very abruptly that Luigi was holding his ear.

Antasma flipped off the table, actually flipped in a scrambling, frantic motion that ended in him being his full size across the room, backed into a corner and pressed against the rough walls. His breath came in ragged gasps, his ear felt like someone took a match to it, the room was spinning and his vision swam as Luigi cautiously came near him.

He was saying something.

Antasma couldn’t make it out, he watched Luigi’s lips move, tried so hard to piece together the garbled sounds in his head, but it was just a shrill ringing in both ears, nothing made any sense.

Luigi slowly sat on the floor in front of him, and held his hands up. He met Antasma’s stare, blue eyes shaking with uncertainty and clouded with concern. His lips started moving, he was talking again.

Listen when I’m speaking to you, love.

Antasma shuddered and blinked, like the room was swirling in front of him, like it was vines instead of curtains over the windows, like it was a lovely shadow instead of a startled plumber kneeling before him. He strained his ears again, ignored the sting of protest when his bad ear didn’t want to move, locked eyes with Luigi and tried to hear him this time.

“You’re okay,” he said, and he sounded like he was the one panicking. “It’s okay, it’s okay, Antasma, everything’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Antasma struggled for air, glanced down several times and wondered why Luigi was still several feet away, why vines hadn’t dragged him any closer, why Luigi wasn’t towering over him as he shook and gasped. His claws dug into the wall behind him, and he breathed. Waited. Let Luigi speak again.

Luigi looked around, glanced back towards the table. There were knocked over bottles where Antasma had been sleeping. “Your ear,” Luigi explained, holding his gaze and gesturing to his own ear. “I’m worried it’s infected.”

There was a beat, then Antasma felt his own face twist. He wasn’t entirely sure what Luigi meant. Yes, it’s infected, badly infected, red and swollen and hurt if he even twitched it, did he need the bat to say it aloud? Did he want him to admit that he was hurt, admit that he was weak?

“I think… we should try to clean it,” Luigi said slowly. He leaned back towards the table and took one of the bottles, took soft, white cotton balls in his hands, and sank gently back onto the floor. Antasma watched every movement. Luigi kept glancing up at him hesitantly as he drenched the cotton in the clear liquid, and Antasma could smell it across the room—strong and strange. It smelled like sharpness, like biting into iron. “Would that be okay?” The bat swallowed thickly. His ears twitched against his head. He nodded cautiously, unable to find his voice.

Luigi’s mouth twitched into a smile, and he scooted a little closer to the bat. “Okay, it, um… it’s going to sting a little…”

Antasma froze.

Oh.

Antasma stared up at Luigi with wide eyes, tried to move slowly as he unhooked his claws from the wall and folded his arms over himself. He tried to slouch over and make himself look smaller, but the room was still swaying a bit, and he was afraid to try shifting again. Luigi let him move, then propped up on his knees and very gently reached out for the ear. Antasma sunk his teeth in his lip, tried not to flinch, tried not to breathe.

It stung, it stung like sandpaper on an open wound.

Antasma’s chest shook with a gasp, it slipped, he couldn’t help it. Luigi started making that gentle shhing noise at him again, but it sounded very foggy and far away. Antasma’s heart was hammering. He wanted to bolt, wanted to shove Luigi backwards and climb out the window across the room before Kamek heard anything happen.

He held himself still, made his ear rest limply in Luigi’s hand and endure the burning sting. He deserved it, he told himself. After everything he’d done, to everyone that reached out to help him, no less. He didn’t deserve to be wanting Abscuro back, didn’t deserve to hope the thorns wouldn’t prick him this time, didn’t deserve to want anybody’s forgiveness. He deserved Luigi dragging him back across the room by his ear. The medicine was close enough.

Luigi paused.

Antasma’s head swam, and he could only make it out the third time Luigi asked “Are you okay?” It took him several seconds longer to process the words, and then he nodded mutely.

He waited for Luigi to keep going, but the pain never returned. Instead, Luigi sat back a little, and Antasma glanced up to meet his face. He unhooked his teeth subtly from his lip, tried to look calm, tried to be still and quiet and good. Luigi’s eyebrows pushed together, and he made the oddest sort of frown. Like he wanted to say something and had no idea what.

“Hey, it… it’s okay…” he said, slowly and uncertainly. He sat gently back down, until he was looking up at Antasma’s face, and the bat wasn’t sure at all what he wanted now. Luigi’s eyes met his own wavering gaze, his ear, every inch of his curled up body. “It’s… Antasma… please, don’t be scared…”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to inhale something magical on one of these shuddering breaths that made all this sickness and fear and anger and hatred melt out of him but he couldn’t, he couldn’t do anything but hold himself tighter and his claws felt like thorns when they sunk in and he wasn’t sure why it helped but it did.

Luigi glanced at his ear again, and stared at it three solid seconds before he looked sadly in Antasma’s eyes again.

“What happened to you?” he asked, in a hushed, broken sort of way.

Antasma choked, let out one stuttering sob.

Breathed.

And then he was crying.

#antasma #luigi #superstars #this au is the reason sometimes antasma is missing half his ear in my art

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ghostbustingreen · 5 years ago

Text

Unnecessary Detailed Dislikes

Tagged by: @goobuster ( ty! ) Tagging: @insepairable, @sternenteile, @puffywarrior, @nightmaresindreamland, @cosmcther, @drcamiipriince, @dreamybandee, @cartoonlonk & you!

Muse name: luigi. Least Favourite Nickname: anything along the lines of ‘green mario’, it reminds him of being nothing but mario’s shadow. Least Favourite Colour: that specific shade of purple that makes up king boo’s magic and eyes. Least Favourite Season: winter. Least Favourite - Hot or Cold: he doesn’t like extremes of either. Least Favourite Holiday: halloween. Least Favourite Food: meat & fish. he’s allergic to the latter but often forgets. Least Favourite Flavor: sour flavours. Least Favourite Drink: alcohol. Least Favourite Scent: mould filth and decay. basically how haunted old mansions and hotels smell. Least Favourite Sound: the sounds of his friends screaming/crying. Least Favourite TV show: haunted and true crime stuff, anything spooky! Least Favourite Area of School: when he was bullied at school. Least Favourite Aspect of their Jobs: everything in regards to ghostbusting, it’s terrifying! Least Favourite trait in Others: unnecessary cruelty and people who mistreat animals. Least Favourite Place: anywhere haunted! Least Favourite Thing to Talk About: his traumas, particularly the mr. l/chaos heart incident. Least Favourite thing about Themselves: his fragile self-confidence. Least Favourite Daily Chore: waking up, he loves his sleep. Least Favourite Type of Clothing: anything restrictive or totally impractical. Least Favourite Superpower: in general? he wouldn’t like to have immortality. one of his own? probably his green missile, since it’s hard to control when he’s nervous and misfires it a lot. Least Favourite Thing About Being In Love: he falls hard and fast, so he worries his love isn’t being reciprocated or he’s overwhelming his crush. Least Favourite Thing About Death: everything. it might separate him from someone he cares about one day.

#( ❝ I've’a practised but nobody will play with Luigi! Will you play with me? ❞ ⦙ Memes )

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thealpacalypse-archive · 6 years ago

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please give us all you non-binary matteo hcs. for science.

I’m SO glad you asked!!! Not to be dramatic or anything, but i would die for nonbinary Matteo. So be prepared for endless ramblings about what’s basically Matteo’s whole life story:

Matteo realizes he’s not cis when he’s 16. He had always been a little bit of a tomboy, as a kid he often tried to be ‘one of the boys’ and he was extremely confused that everyone seemed to think girls and boys were naturally different from each other - he never thought that was true.

When he’s 15, he briefly identifies as a lesbian. At this point, he’s friends with Jonas, but due to socialization and peer pressure, he’s also part of the friend group around Hanna, Leonie, and Sara. And Sara has a crush on him, and because Matteo is already kind of looking like a baby butch, she thinks there might be a slight chance Matteo is into girls as well, so she comes out to him and asks him if he’s a lesbian as well. Somehow, that feels right at the time, the realization that he’s probably not straight - but he realizes pretty quickly that he’s not into Sara, so he tells her that.

After this whole thing, Matteo really starts thinking though. He doesn’t feel straight, but he’s not into girls, and that really makes his head explode for quite some time, until he hangs out with Jonas and some boys one night, and Jonas plays the guitar, and Matteo’s heart kinda stumbles while the thought “wow I’m gay” crosses his mind and yeah. yeah that somehow feels right.

He googles around a bit, once the panic has settled over that new revelation. He finds words like “girlfag” (girls who are attracted to gay guys and label themselves as gay) and he shudders. He also finds words like “trans man” and yeah, that’s more like it, but not quite. Again, he wonders what the difference between boys and girls is anyway, because he’s never felt those distinct lines that everyone else seemed to see. It takes him a while until he finds words like “nonbinary” and “transmasculine”, but yeah, those feel like him, and even though it’s all still pretty vague to him what this whole gender thing means, it makes him feel more comfortable.

At this point, he’s already pretty masc presenting, so he doesn’t change much about his looks - this is the way he has always felt most comfortable. He cuts his hair a little (alone one night in front of the bathroom mirror), and after some google searching, he decides to buy a binder, but that’s pretty much all that changes

i’ve mentioned this before, but he doesn’t wear the binder a lot. the restrictive feeling of it doesn’t go well with his anxiety, so wearing the thing makes it hard for him to breathe and he panics easily. he gets bigger sweaters instead, and oversized shirts and layered looks that hide his chest, and most of the time, that works pretty well. these days, he only ever wears the binder to school, whenever it’s too hot to wear big sweaters or multiple layers.

he decides to change his name a bit later, and he chooses Matteo because that’s what his parents would have called him if he’d been a boy - he’s always liked that name.

he struggles with pronouns for a while longer. “She” is definitely not right for him anymore, but since he’s not a guy, he shies away from using “he” at first. But no matter how much he looks into the neutral options the German language offers (”it” or “xier” or “si_er” or using no pronouns at all), nothing feels good, so he begrudgingly opts for “he/him”. Only when people start using that for him, he realizes how damn right it feels, and how euphoric it makes him to be referred to like that.

it takes a while before he starts telling people though. he was out as a lesbian only to his closest friends (Sara, Hanna and Jonas) (which makes things between Jonas and him extra weird, now that Matteo has developed a crush on him), so it’s kind of weird to come out as gay, and kind of a guy, to everyone. he tells Sara first, that’s easy because Sara is sweet and open-minded and by now, she’s long over her crush on him and instead pining for Leonie (which is hilarious because Matteo is pining for Leonie’s boyfriend).

by the time he feels ready to tell Jonas and Hanna, the two of them are dating. He tells them one night on their vacation at Heidesee, and he only mentions the gender part, not the gay part, that feels too risky. because both Jonas and Hanna take it so incredibly well and start calling him Matteo immediately, it gives Matteo more confidence to come out to other people as well, and soon, all of his friends use that name and those pronouns for him

the boy squad also decides to nickname him “Luigi” at around that time, and that gives him some of that good, good gender euphoria as well, and Matteo realizes, that for a couple of straight cis dudes, those boys are pretty cool (he’s wrong though. the boy squad is neither cool nor is a single one of them straight)

it takes a lot of courage to tell his parents, because hey, his home life is already shitty enough, he doesn’t need to add to that with his own problems. When he finally tells them, his mother cries and hugs him, telling him he’s always going to be her kid no matter what. his father doesn’t say much of anything at all, and not much later, he buggers off back to Italy anyway, and Matteo feels betrayed both for himself and for his mother. Matteo decides he doesn’t need that in his life and breaks off all contact to the guy.

he moves into the flat soon after, and he feels like shit. sure, he loves his friends, sure, they love and accept him, but life is kind of terrifying when you’re a teen without a plan, without any ambitions, with an absent father and a mother who loves you but can’t support you because of her mental illness. and sure, he likes the flat and living there, but it’s so much responsibility to look after himself, and he doesn’t have the energy most of the time. and he likes Mia and Linn and Hans, but sometimes it’s so hard to share a space with people who barely know him, and sometimes he can’t stand the kind of questions Hans has - no matter if it’s “do you want me to set you up with this friend of mine?” or “so, have you thought about taking hormones or anything?”. Matteo doesn’t feel like dating random guys, and he sure as hell isn’t in the right mind space to make important, lasting decisions about his body like surgeries or hormones

sure, top surgery would make things easier for him but surgeries also scare him, and sure, going on t would be great, but it’s so much work to get there - finding a therapist, coming out to them, asking for hormones, getting the prescription, all that - and he’s currently not even sure if he’s gonna get through school, so all of that is off the table for now

he isn’t really part of any groups or communities either. Sara goes to a queer youth group once a week, and sometimes she asks him to come along, but most of the kids there are cis gays and lesbians, and while they’re nice, Matteo doesn’t really feel like he belongs there. He wishes he could make more trans and nonbinary friends, and he follows a few people on instagram, but he never knows how to reach out to them, so he just watches their lives on his phone screen, watches them get top surgeries and go on hormones and dye their hair and cuddle their pets and friends and partners... he watches them live their perfect looking lives and he craves for that connection, but he never knows how to make it.

so by the time he meets David, he’s desperate for something, craving everything. And even before he knows that David is trans, he feels like David truly gets him, he feels like they connect in a way he’s never connected with anyone before, and whenever David looks at him, Matteo’s insides turn into a mess and he has the powerful urge to open up to David and tell him his whole life story.

now please imagine his utter joy when he realizes that David is trans. Please imagine a coming out that is simple and low key and full of hugging and happy tears oh NO i’m about to make myself cry I better stop now

#druck #matteo florenzi #datteo #davenzi #yeah guys i went completely off the rails like always #but that's what you get for asking me (a nonbinary adhd kid) about Matteo (my fave nonbinary adhd kid)#so here we are #i'm barely sorry #my posts #silencedpumpkin

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nervigi-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Living here hasn’t been so bad. It’s only been something of a few weeks, maybe longer, but nothing about this city gave him any reason to hate his time spent here. Knowing he wasn’t alone had helped, but something about the mysteries of this place enticed him into venturing out to satiate his curiosities.

There were still many things he hadn’t grown used to yet; the currency, for one, being linked to a device instead of something physical. It had its perks, though there was no denying the joy of seeing the amount of coins one had saved up for something. Getting used to having strangers staying in the same living space sometimes led to some awkward moments whenever he’d forgotten about it.

As uncomfortable as some things may be, the knowledge that his elder brother was only a few minutes away and that the Princess was safe and sound meant he could enjoy whatever strange forced vacation this was... And with the closing in winter season, Luigi had decided to enjoy the last remnants of fall before the bitter cold and snowfall deterred him from roaming around during the day.

It’s safe to say that he was enjoying himself. Idly watching red and orange leaves whisked away by the wind, a cup of warm pumpkin spiced coffee he’d found himself enjoying after giving it a try from a nearby bakery, he basked in the steadily growing silence around him, letting nature sing it’s lovely tunes and - wait.

There should be birds singing... Shouldn’t there?

Maybe they’d flown elsewhere for the winter. That seemed the most logical reason for the absence of their wondrous songs. He tried to pass off his worries by focusing elsewhere... Yet instinct had him now fidgeting on the park bench. Struggling to keep his hands from shaking and spilling fresh coffee everywhere. Something was wrong. It felt like it, and his gut had (mostly) never been wrong.

Great. So much for relaxing. All because the birds hadn’t sung in a while and the wind didn’t seem to carry the same gentle whispers it naturally should.

Maybe he was too eager to grow accustomed to this place, and while he should be understanding of it, he still felt his spirits crushed with an overwhelming sense of defeat at even trying to ease his nerves in this place. A heavy sigh droops his shoulders down. The undeniable weight of tension made it hard for him to find motivation to move, yet after a small sip of his warm beverage, he scoots himself off of the park bench just in time for that ear-piercing shriek from what seemed like the worlds entire bundle of animals all crying out in unison.

The sound drowned out whatever pitiful squeal he made. The coffee cup was quickly thrown backwards - all instincts driving him to crouch down, pull his hat over his ears, and cower for the entirety of this horrific moment. Shivering greatly, it’s only until the “sirens” died and some moments after that he peeks from underneath his hat to see the world in his view unchanged.

Several thoughts lump needlessly together, but he finds himself only entertaining the worst ones. Was it a prank? Maybe someone had caught wind of his jumpy personality. It was worth a check.

Not that he was likely to do anything about it spare walking away, flustered and ashamed.

With slight tremors still overtaking him from head to toe, Luigi quickly peers over his head with the anticipation of a stranger’s pointed finger and wide smile... Come to find a whole different situation sending him into a panicked spiral.

“ No... No-no-no-no-no! But it was - everything was - how?! ”

Amidst the terrified rushing of crowds, the plumber found himself horrified facing a desecrated city, overtaken from what seemed like years worth of natural damage. A single step back is when he hears a small splash - notices the entire city flooded up to his ankles. Just his luck. Here he is... Stuck in what seemed to be a blood red moon... Soggy socks and heart palpitations... What’s next. Monsters? There really is no catching a break for him.

“ Ooooooh. Why is this-a ALWAYS happening to Luigi... ”

#drabble #E: Signal #{ now ONTO STARTERS }

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fibrielsolaer · 6 years ago

Photo

Smash Ultimate tier list based entirely on which characters I like and which I hate

BSP = Big Sexy Personality

FBNIS = Fun, But Not In Smash

MPATBUD = Mario Princesses Are Terrifying Blow-Up Dolls

S Tier

Kirby: absolutely the man, if you don’t love Kirby you’re probably the asshole who got this roster flooded with Marth World pricks

Pikachu: He quicc. He thicc. He’ll Thunderbolt you to hicc

Except it’s a she because I only ever play Librechu ;p

Bowser: BSP

Zelda: She is so cute, I can finally stand playing as her

Pichu: He is so cute, it almost makes up for how stupid he is

Ganondorf: He’s finally fucking cool. He uses the goddamn sword now

Lucario: What if Mewtwo was a Shaolin monk hunk

I only play purple Lucario for reasons you’re best not knowing

Toon Link: He’s the cartoon that Link and Young Link watched and modeled themselves on

Ridley: HOLY SHIT IT FEELS AWESOME TO PLAY RIDLEY

I love how the game designers know he’s way too small so when you fight him in Classic Mode as Samus he gets Giant modifier

K. Rool: BSP

Piranha Plant: The pain from the pipes, this disrespectful piece of shit is so stupid he wraps around to greatness, with his inclusion I’ve changed my mind and now say fuck it, add Bandana Waddle Dee, hell add a regular Waddle Dee if you want, I don’t even care anymore

A Tier

Luigi: Few people know that he and Mario are actually identical twins, his brother merely wears a fat suit (the weight of which has crushed his spine) so they can be told apart

Ness: I like the picture you get when you play for 20 hours

C. Falcon: This is the guy who beats up Incineroar. As the positive icon of the people he never shows any emotion except for “YUS!” and “SHOW ME”. All Might was probably based on this jackass

Jigglypuff: Like so many other Pokemon, its adorable facade is a veneer for an expansive and unfathomable eldritch demon. The difference is, despite how fucking many Pokemon like that there are, nobody has found Jigglypuff’s secret and lived to tell

Young Link: He’s actually Link’s son, who idolizes his father and wants to follow in his footsteps. His dad has strayed from the path but young blood here carries on the true faith. Also, FBNIS

Mewtwo: He was the original Damn Cool Pokemon. He jockeys with Lucario for that role now but all they ever do is sit there charging their neutral Bs talking about how the planet will explode in 5 minutes

Roy: He knows that the Marth World infestation is soon to be purged, because there are like five actual Marths including him, so he decided to become the best Marth World character so he alone will survive

Pit: The only cunt from his series besides Dark Pit who had the decency not to change voice and try to pretend it was the same fucking one. I never play as him ever but Sakurai sure cared more about making him fresh & fun post-Uprising than any of his other goddamn characters

Charizard: BSP

Dedede: BSP

Bowser Jr.: This rude little shit is the guy who you invite to a party and he brings his whole crew, excuse me no I didn’t invite Wendy and Horton and Lenny and all these bitches, but fuck it y’all cool

Simon: I like his funny walk and he looks like Conan the Barbarian

Richter: I like his funny walk and he looks like a dork

Isabelle: Do you know this literal bitch killed me with a fucking stop sign 3 times before I unlocked her, why isn’t that a reaction macro

Incineroar: He pretends to be a bad guy so that kids’ heroes will beat him up on TV and they will be happy. He is so sweet

B Tier (Everyone Is Meh)

Mario: Meh

Donkey Kong: Meh

Link: The dad who strayed from the path, I really don’t like the Breath of the Wild Link, FBNIS

Fox: Meh

Sheik: Meh

Dr. Meh: Mario

Falco: Hands off my meh

Mehrth: He’s kinda cool but Roy is way cooler

Mr. Game & Watch: What an annoying asshole

Wario: It’s not the cool Wario, it’s the stupid Wario Ware one, and he brings all his obnoxious waifu friends with him. It’s Wario after he retired from his teen Youtube star days at the age of 30 and he’s trying to stay young and cool-looking but his stoner friends keep fucking it up

Solid Snake: Meh, too indirect for me, FBNIS

Squirtle: Meh-est of the Pokemon Trainer trio, he just doesn’t provoke like any reaction from me at all unlike the other two

Diddy Kong: Meh

Olimeh: This is the most boring goddamn character, everything you do you have to pluck fucks

ROB: He barely animates

Villager: I kinda wish Animal Crossing let you be an animal too. The lone human character is really boring

Mega Meh: You got: FBNIS

Little Meh: I dunno I’ve just barely ever played him

Mehninja: Maybe I should actually try playing it once ever

Duck Hunt: If there was a B-and-a-half tier I’d put this one there because you can delay the side-B and set up Snake-level GOTCHA combos, otherwise the novelty wears off fast

Ryu: He is the 2nd-least likeable guy, what a turbo douche

Bayomehtta: She’s rule 63 Dante, her game was always just a DMC ripoff that relied on her tits & ass to differentiate from it

Inkling: I like the yellow hair girl one but I ABSOLUTELY HATE THE CRINGY-ASS ASSIST TROPHY AND WILL ABSOLUTELY UNFAIRLY BLAME THE CHARACTER FOR THIS.

C Tier

Samus: She is the most FBNIS character

Ice Climber: They’re really un-cute and I hate their desync thing

Metaknight: This guy was so much cooler before he talked, or rather, before he screamed AYAYGYGYAYGYAGA

Ike: Marth World has like 2,000 characters ranging from pegasus knights to barbarians to psychic dragon-girl dancers, and yet we keep getting these boring fucking swordsmen

Pokemon Trainer: Get absolutely the fuck out you twerp you don’t even do a goddamn thing and you die the second any one of your THREE fighters is KO’d so you don’t even incorporate the actual spirit of your original character unlike literally everybody else

Venusaur: If I evolved this ugly fucker I would delete my save

Lucas: If I had an Absolutely Gone Machine that could erase anything in the world and delete everyone’s memory that it ever existed so they would shut the fuck up about it, Mother 3 would be precisely the fourth thing I deleted

Robin: Least shitty post-Melee Marth World character but I just haven’t bothered to try it out to see if it’s actually good or not, probably because I’m just too allergic to Marth World by now

Dark Samus: Cool, but why

Daisy: MPATBUD, but this one has the closest thing to a personality. Unfortunately it is a fucking terrible and horrific personality

Zero Suit Samus: hey cool Samus is Barbie now

Ken: Remember how I said Ryu was the 2nd-least likeable? Well here’s Liquid Ryu to seize the coveted spot

Cloud: Yeah hey, let’s take the one Final Fantasy protagonist with like the least connection to Nintendo, no it’s fine, every goddamn Marth World game except the one that justified its worldwide presence has a character in but we’re not gonna use Cecil or Buttz or Terra

Corrin: Any hope this bitch had to go on my “Is a dragon so I like it” list was ruined by how absolutely infuriating it is to fight against Corrin especially that one Spirit match where he spams his INSTANT FINAL SMASH THAT HAS LIKE AN INFINITELY VERTICAL HITBOX fuck this goddamn digimon

D tier

Yoshi: I’ve hated this thing ever since it stopped going BAWONKA WONKA and started going blblblblblbl

add Birdo as an Echo and I might forgive you

Peach: MPATBUD, Peach is usually able to manifest either the behavior of a real person (Paper Mario) or the appearance of one (Smash), but sadly never both, she is doomed to blow-up-dollery forevermore

Sonic: Please add any other Sonic character, any at all, I’ll even take Charmy, I fucking hate Blue Bubsy

Wolf: The only reason he is not the furry-trashiest character in Smash is because Krystal is an AT, this cocksucker deadass awoos

Wii Fit Trainer: Next to her, Mario Princesses almost look human

Rozzalinda: MPATBUD and this one is the worst, far and away the worst Mario Princess, she is the creepiest fucking woman. WHY IS IT THAT NOBODY IN MARIO ACTS LIKE A HUMAN FUCKING BEING EXCEPT THE CHARACTERS WHO AREN’T FUCKING HUMAN. tl;dr the only people who say rosalina is their waifu collect people’s faces

Mii Fighters: you dress them up to make a parody of a character and then never once actually use said parody because they are stupid

Palutena: remember in Uprising how they could make fake Palutenas, this is one of them, they have a fake Viridi too, you know it is because starting in smash 4 it is clearly two different actresses trying way too hard to sound like the old ones and i can’t get over it sorry. (also she plays like shit)

Pac-Man: I only liked him when he was a pizza

Shulk: does he ever shut the fuck up

Lucina: add a red nose and it’s Marth: Tumblr Edition

Chrom: oh fuck off

Robin’s bitchass final smash still calls this clown

even if you use it on Chrom

he is so ashamed of his audacity he fucking fucks himself

#smash ultimate #tier list #tier #tiers #smash #ssbu #ssb

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ssbuniverse-blog · 5 years ago

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SUPER SMASH BROS. UNIVERSE Part 1, Chapter 7: Battle at the Mushroom Kingdom

AT SARASALAND…

A horde of lumas come down from the sky. Maybe fifty of them gather around the waddle dee army in front of the Chai Castle in order to prepare for the Battle at Mushroom Kingdom, or whatever’s left of it. Most of the fighter waddle dees carry warp stars which will send them to the Mushroom Kingdom. The bandana waddle dees will be launched through the sky by the lumas. They sharpen their spears and are ready for battle. The civilians look at the gigantic army and can’t help but be worried. Daisy comes out and speaks to the open forum.

“Hi,” Daisy greets the growing crowd of Sarasaland natives. “I’m sure you’re all wondering, why is there a giant army in the middle of the courtyard? Well…we are going to war.” The crowd gasps and whispers to themselves. “Don’t worry! It’s only King Dedede and his army fighting. Along with the Mario brothers and their friends. None of you have to participate.” The crowd cheers. Daisy can’t help but laugh to herself. “Our friends in the Mushroom Kingdom were overthrown by Bowser.” There are some groans from the audience. “I know right! So King Dedede and I decided to help them recover what they lost.” The doors of the Chai Castle open. “And here they are!”

Mario, Luigi, King Dedede, and Donkey Kong come out. Followed behind them are Peach, Captain Toad, and Toadette. The crowd cheers for the warriors. King Dedede steps to the front of the waddle dee army to address the crowd.

“Thank you! Thank you for the encouragement!” King Dedede boasts. “I’ll be excited to hear that when I come back.” He claims. “I think it’s important to maintain close relationships with your neighbors…” DK scoffs. “And helping the Mario brothers in their fight for their land with be the first step in maintaining a close relationship.” The crowd cheers for Dedede. “From this day on, you will treat them with the same respect that you do to me.” The crowd now cheers for the Mario brothers and the rest of the Mushroom Kingdom natives.

Mario can’t help but feel exhilarated. He is ready to get back to his home. Luigi is terrified. He has never fought in a war before! What will he do? How will he defend himself? Luigi will have to figure it out in the moment. Because of this Luigi has prepared himself. He wears a heavy metal helmet, a breast plate, and long black boots. DK is indifferent about fighting in this war. But he convinced himself to go along because of Peach.

King Dedede gets everyone in their positions. He sits on a warp star, the other fighter waddle dees follow him. The lumas turn into super star launchers. Suddenly, King Dedede blasts himself into the air. The fighter waddle dees follow and the bandana waddle dees plunge into the air. Peach, Daisy, and the toads watch as Luigi and Donkey Kong blast into the sky. Mario waits and looks at Peach, she runs up to kiss him. Mario lets her go and blasts through the sky. The queens watch as Mario and the rest of the army get smaller and smaller in the sky until they disappear completely.

IN THE KONGO JUNGLE…

Yoshi, Diddy, and Dixie Kong have been making good use of their time since the others have been gone. Every day they try to race each other up different trees. Today is the deadly fuzzy vine tree. If you touch the fuzzy vines then you will get a gross allergic reaction. Diddy Kong has won the last few races because he has been able to maneuver the trees with his climbing skills. Yoshi feels determined that he will win this time, the vines are everywhere and may prove to be difficult for Diddy.

The three start climbing up the fuzzy vine tree. Diddy and Dixie dodge the gross looking vines and propel themselves higher into the tree. Yoshi is able to make large jumps up the tree due to his great jumping ability. Dixie falls! She tried to avoid the poisonous vines. She clutches onto the bark of the tree that is breaking underneath her fingers and toes. Dixie finds a solid spot in the bark and hoists herself back up. Yoshi continues to jump across different branches. Yoshi can see sunlight under the canopy of trees and…he makes it to the top! He beat Diddy Kong and Dixie!

Shortly after Diddy and Dixie join him on top of the fuzzy vine tree canopy. They see something zoom past them in the sky. It looked like Donkey Kong! They cheer on their dad and the Mario brothers as they see them hurling through the sky. After a moment, they look at each other. DK and the others must be headed to the Mushroom Kingdom. Yoshi, Diddy, and Dixie now race across the canopy to meet them at Peach’s Castle.

AT THE MUSHROOM KINGDOM…

Bowser is sitting on his throne, throwing different obstacles for Lemmy to jump over. He throws a chain chomp at Lemmy, which the little koopa turns into a bouncy ball. Next Bowser spurts a fire ball at Lemmy who turns it into an even bigger fire ball. Bowser inhales deeply and lets out a cloud of flames. Lemmy turns the hot air into confetti. Bowser can’t help but be amused by the talents of his youngest son!

On the top of the castle, Roy and Larry are lounging around. Roy is trying to get a tan while Larry is doing whatever he can to annoy his brother. Larry will step in front of Roy to block his sun or spray Roy with lotion. Being stuck at the Mushroom Kingdom leaves the koopalings bored. Larry stops in his tracks; Roy gets his sun blocked, again!

“Larry quit blocking my…” Roy looks up at what Larry is mesmerized by. They see in the sky King Dedede and his army approaching the castle. “Take cover!” Some of the waddle dees smash into the roof with their warp stars. Their explosion make the roof break underneath them. Roy and Larry scurry to dodge the blast from the warp star and the crumbling roof.

Wendy and Ludwig watch on the ground floor just outside of the castle. Waddle dees are landing in the flooded mud in front of the castle. A large explosion happens right in front of them. It is King Dedede. Wendy and Ludwig scream and run into the castle. As they run into the castle to Bowser they have to dodge the falling pieces of the roof. The koopa troopas and goombas from Bowser’s Kingdom that came along with the clan are running towards the door to fight.

Luigi and Donkey Kong land on top of the rampart. Donkey Kong jumps down to join the action. Luigi gets ready to jump but…ooh, it is just too high! Mario lands next to his brother. Luigi looks at Mario terrified, his metal armor is shaking from fear. Mario smiles and then pushes Luigi off the rampart. Mario follows his brother with a triumphant scream!

Roy hugs one of the pillars on the roof. He climbs up it and then onto the flagpole. Larry can’t seem to dodge the impact from the warp stars. BAM! Larry gets hit. As he lays upside down the roof crumbles underneath him. Larry lands on the ground of the front hallway to the castle. Larry looks up and watches as more of the roof fall on top of him and crushes him.

In the great hall, Wendy and Ludwig enter screaming. “Bowser! King Bowser!”

“Is it the Mario brothers?” Bowser asks calmly.

“Yes! And they brought new friends with them too!” Wendy explains.

“Get ready kids,” Bowser. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.” Wendy readies her rings, Ludwig pulls out his magic wand, and Lemmy carries Roy’s cannonball gun. They prepare to defend their new home. “Fight for our home!”

Donkey Kong is joining the fighting waddle dees in knocking the koopa troopas out of the way. There is mud everywhere, making it hard for DK to get a good stance. Suddenly, a ring wizzes by, knocking some of the fighters out. Donkey Kong sees Wendy. The ring comes back to Wendy’s hand. “Give me a kiss, I dare you!” Wendy teases.

On the rooftop Roy is surrounded by bandana waddle dees. Roy rips off the flag pole from the roof and swings it at the waddle dees. His swings knock all of the minions off the roof. Suddenly, Lemmy appears. “Hey big bro, I thought you might be missing this!” Lemmy hands him the cannonball gun.

“Thanks Lemmy, now go help Wendy,” Roy instructs. Lemmy disappears. Roy watches as King Dedede flies on top of the roof. Roy readies the cannon. “Time to show ‘em who’s boss.” Roy shoots the canon, King Dedede destroys it with his hammer. The two stare at each other, they are evenly matched.

Luigi hides behind a group of bandana waddle dees. He watches as they poke at the goombas, hammer bros, and koopa troopas. There are moments when Luigi could’ve stepped in, but the waddle dees seem like they have it under control. Luigi hears something behind him…like a poof. He turns around and sees Ludwig smiling at him with those beady eyes! Luigi slaps Ludwig. Did he really just slap Ludwig?

Ludwig winds up his wand and shoots magic orbs at Luigi! The green machine jumps through the air to dodge the orbs and the waddle dees are caught in the line of fire. The waddle dees notice enemies are coming from both ends and scatter. Luigi runs through the muddy field as fast as he can and as far away from Ludwig as possible.

The doors to the great hall open, it’s Mario. Bowser has been waiting for him as everyone else is fighting. The floor is still flooded, but this time with warmer water that calms Mario. There is a rumble and some dust from the ceiling falls. Bowser gets angrier and steam erupts from his nostrils. Then the water around them starts to steam up. After Bowser has mustered all the energy he can he charges at Mario!

Bowser misses Mario and crashes into the side of the castle. Parts of the roof fall off onto the Koopa King. Bowser blasts a large flamethrower at Mario. The plumber hides behind a piece of roof that blocks the flames. The heat creeps around towards Mario, the roof is now burning! Mario slides with the water, giving him a little bit of protection on both ends, and runs from the flamethrower. Bowser stops. But the water around them is now boiling. Mario can’t stand to be in it anymore. A large part of the roof falls and nearly crushes Mario, he looks up and sees King Dedede and Roy fighting. Mario takes cover from the water on the roof.

On the roof Roy continues to fire cannons at King Dedede, who every time manages to knock them out of the way with his hammer. Roy feels discouraged by the cannonball gun and throws it off the roof. Roy tucks in his shell and charges at King Dedede who jumps out of the way. Roy pulls out his wand and starts to throw magic orbs at Dedede. Roy gets closer to Dedede, but the king smashes his hammer down and another chunk of the roof falls off, this time onto Bowser’s head. In fury, Bowser throws a flamethrower up at the roof. Dedede nearly misses the flames! Roy continues to make King Dedede dance with his magic orbs!

One of Wendy’s rings slices Donkey Kong in the back. He didn’t expect them to fly back so quickly. They must be infused with magic! Wendy sends more and more rings and DK, who flips over them. He twists around the ones that Wendy’s throws at him and ducks at them when they fly back to her. As DK is twisting her grabs hold of one of the rings that are flying back. DK reverts the motion of the ring and sends it towards Wendy! She gets hit by it in the face and then again when it comes back to DK! Wendy glares at DK as he holds her ring and smirks at her. Suddenly, Lemmy appears. Ugh, now Donkey Kong has to deal with the both of them!

Luigi is running. It’s all he knows how to do. He reaches the rampart and can’t go anywhere but up! However, he can’t climb the rampart with all of this gear on him. Luigi throws the metal helmet behind him and it hits Ludwig accidently! Luigi throws off the breast plate and again, it hits Ludwig! Luigi starts to climb, he hears Ludwig climbing after him. The magic orbs fly pass Luigi! One hits him in his butt and gives him a slight boost up the rampart. Luigi refuses to look down, he just keeps climbing. Eventually, he is at the top of the rampart. He looks down and instantly regrets it! He is dizzy and stumbles to the edge behind him.

“Woah now Luigi!” He mutters to himself. Luigi regains balance and starts running across the rampart with Ludwig chasing him. Luigi trips over himself and falls over the edge of the rampart. Ludwig now towers over Luigi.

On the roof, King Dedede is dodging Roy who keeps chasing after him in his shell. He sees Ludwig near the rampart. King Dedede dances around the rooftop to get Roy in the right direction. As Roy speeds to Dedede in his shell, the king winds up his hammer and slugs Roy across the field and straight into Ludwig. The two koopas fall into the Wedding Lake! Dedede watches Luigi climb back on top of the rampart. The king smirks, looks like they weren’t evenly matched after all!

Below, Bowser throws an angry flamethrower at Mario. The plumber just barely jumps over the flames and lands a punch on the Koopa King. Mario lands in the boiling water and gets to safety as quick as he can. Mario takes off his hat and clothes which have become increasingly warm, leaving him with only white polka dot underwear. Mario sees burns on some of his skin from the water.

Donkey Kong is dancing with Wendy and Lemmy’s attacks. He dodges the magical orbs and counters any of the rings that he can grab onto. Wendy and Lemmy are losing stamina but DK can keep dancing! Lemmy get hit one more time with the rings and falls in the mud. Wendy’s guard is down and DK sends another ring at her. Wendy is done with her rings and pulls out her magic wand. She starts throwing orbs at DK and creeps towards Lemmy to give him aid. Suddenly, Diddy Kong, Dixie Kong, and Yoshi appear. Diddy and Dixie shoot their banana guns and Yoshi throws his egg at the two koopas. The explosion knocks the two koopas out. DK is overjoyed to see his family! They Kongs hug and celebrate their victory.

King Dedede continues to break the roof on top of Bowser’s head. The Koopa King is furious and breathes out a gargantuan flamethrower in every direction possible. Bowser has been getting hit in every direction, so he thinks that if Bowser is hitting something it is better than it hitting him. But King Dedede notices that the whole castle is beginning to collapse due to Bowser’s flamethrower. He leaps off the roof and away from the castle.

King Dedede joins Luigi, Yoshi, and the Kongs as they watch the castle. Flames erupt from the castle in every direction. They see piece after piece of Peach’s Castle collapse. They watch as each tower collapses due to the heat and damage. Then the main central tower of Queen Peach’s castle collapses and the flames stop. Nothing is left standing of the castle. Dedede and the others run to the castle ruins. The water cools down from a boil but steam still erupts from it. Bowser is bruised, bloodied, and crushed under the ruins of the castle. There is a cough, Mario, who seemed to have avoided some of the damage stands up from the wreckage and walks towards the others. Luigi catches his brother as he collapses in his arms.

“Get the lumas! We need to get to Rosalina,” Luigi says clearly.

MOMENTS LATER AT THE SPACE OBSERVATORY…

Mario lays on a bed in Rosalina’s Office. He is exhausted from the fight, bruised from the ruin, and burned from the flames of Bowser. Rosalina did the best she could to heal his surface wounds, but she is reluctant to see Mario withstand the damage any longer. Luigi, the Toad Council, Yoshi, Donkey Kong, Diddy, Dixie, and King Dedede are all gathered around the office. Peach, Daisy, and the Toads just land at the Space Observatory. Peach goes into Rosalina’s Office, Luigi follows.

“Bowser was acting crazy,” Luigi explains. “Spitting flames everywhere and destroying the castle on top of him. Mario got caught in the wreck.”

“He was covered in bruises and burns,” Rosalina says. “I did the best I could to heal whatever I could get to, but…I don’t think he can survive his internal injuries.”

Peach kneels besides Mario and put her arm on his chest. “Can I be alone with him?”

“Sure thing Peach,” Luigi places his hand on Peach’s back for comfort, then takes Rosalina out of the room.

Tears start to swell in Peach’s eyes. She looks at Mario, he fought the hardest he could, he did whatever he could to get the Mushroom Kingdom back. “Mario, in the time being King Adjutant, you created an alliance with King Dedede of Sarasaland and fought till your death to keep the Mushroom Kingdom in our name. I would say, as the Queen of the Mushroom Kingdom, that those actions deem you to rightfully rule the Mushroom Kingdom as King.” Peach places a kiss on his cheek. She gets up and leaves the office knowing now, that she can be the Queen the Mushroom Kingdom deserves.

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#super smash bros universe #seven #mario #luigi #peach #yoshi #donkey kong #bowser

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iamspok · 7 years ago

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Top 10 Video Game Sidekicks

Modern day gaming is a much more collaborative experience, geared towards often fast-paced, multiplayer or co-operative gameplay, whether you like it or not the days of the story mode is in it’s twilight with many of the bigger developers now opting to either forego the traditional single player experience or incorporating it into an overall online mode (see Destiny, Titanfall, Star Wars Battlefront) and while gamers have pushed back, there is no doubting that the further into the future we get, the more integrated we are.

But for many years, there have been characters who were designed to help you on your path and simulate that collaborative experience, some of which became beloved heroes of the gaming community and some, well, not so much (I personally still have nightmares about Natalya from Goldeneye and her casual stroll through a hail of AK-47 gunfire)

This article is dedicated to the characters that made the game a better experience, whether it be for gameplay or purely for the story, they live on with the legacy of each game on the list.

Dogmeat (Fallout)

The idea that dog is man’s best friend always seems to have been prevalent in everyday life but never has it been more important than in the post-apocalyptic world of Fallout.

Dogmeat would do anything to protect you, he would attack anyone or anything at anytime, he sniffs out valuable items that aid your survival in this unforgiving world, he will follow a scent for miles and he is your only remaining family, if that’s not enough to earn this dog a place on this list, then you obviously aren’t a dog person.

Cortana (Halo)

Cortana is the first blockbuster sidekick on this list that was introduced to the world in the incredibly successful Halo.

The supercomputer would assist you by hacking rogue alien systems, providing tactical assistance and decoding transmissions essential to your mission and gives Master Chief his only human link (ironic) in the entire game.

To put into perspective how successful this sidekick would become, she now resides on tens of millions of PC’s around the world as a virtual assistant that helps operate the Windows system, if that’s not a sign that you’ve been important, I don’t know what is.

Otacon (Metal Gear Solid)

‘’Snake, you of course know the saying ‘one for all, all for one’. It’s from ‘The Three Musketeers’ - the book, not the candy bar’’

In one of the most intense gaming series of all time, often with cut-scenes that were obscenely longer and more detailed than anything that had come before it or since, Otacon brought a lighter tone to the world of Metal Gear Solid.

With his often ill-timed explanations of totally random subjects (see pre-ripped jeans, daylight savings, Chinese proverbs) he became a cult favorite amongst hardcore MGS players, the fact that he used to help Snake through various missions with his codec updates is only an added bonus that gets him on this list.

Weighted Companion Cube (Portal)

‘‘It’s just an object..it doesn’t even do anything’’ said absolutely no one who has ever played Portal. This little cube was pretty much your only ally in the entire game, starting out as just a lump that you would use to hit switches or complete a puzzle it eventually became a friend (yes, I said a friend) and as the game presented more challenging obstacles it became invaluable.

Then came the incinerator, I struggle to think of anything else in pop culture that felt as crushing a blow for the loss of something that was not even alive in the first place (maybe Wilson from Castaway)

Godspeed trusted companion cube, we will meet again.

Yoshi (Super Mario World)

Step aside Luigi, because Yoshi is the one true sidekick to Mario.

First introduced in 1990, Yoshi first came about simply as a mode of transportation for the famous brothers but soon became very useful on their adventures. You could ride him (which was cool as hell anyway) you could sacrifice him to get over obstacles or just throw him away when he wasn’t needed, he would help you take care of those pesky enemies and I defy you to name any other sidekick that pooped out power-up’s at the rate he did.

He’s stuck with the series over the years and has even managed to get a few game’s of his own (Yoshi’s Island, Yoshi’s Story, Yoshi’s Wooly World to name a few) which is something that only one other character on this list has managed to accomplish, impressive.

Claptrap (Borderlands II)

Let's be honest, usually when you have a sidekick whose main purpose is to provide comic relief it falls flat on its face, but in the world of Borderlands, it is exactly what you expect and what you need.

Despite the fact he raised an army and tried to kill you at the end of Borderlands, by the time you come across him in Borderlands II all is forgiven after a few minutes, mainly acting as a guide through the wastelands of Pandora, the game quite literally would not have been the same without him. Not just satisfied to be the life and soul of the party, Claptrap will also open doors for you and help you open those magical loot chests that you lust after.

Leonardo Da Vinci (Assassins Creed 2)

Assassins Creed 2 was an excellent game, ranking as either many gamers favorite of the franchise or most important, it overhauled the game mechanics from the original which had been hailed as a storytelling master stroke, but showcased cumbersome climbing and fighting physics that often made the game feel like a chore, it’s hard to put into words just how much this installment lit a fire under the series that has since become a juggernaut, reaching as far as Hollywood.

Among the riveting missions, the outlandish, often villainous supporting characters and mysterious storyline set in the various visually stunning cities of Italy, you had the chance to meet the one and only Leonardo Da Vinci.

At first you’re excited about how he fits into the narrative of the story but when you realize that he’s building you item’s that the game hasn’t presented to you before, the real fun starts. First, there was the hidden blade, he then introduced you to some new fighting techniques, which in a game like Assassins Creed is very important to keep things fresh, along with the ability to poison enemies (honestly, is there anything more satisfying than poisoning just one guard in a group and seeing him go crazy? no) but this all lead up to arguably the best mission of the game in sequence 8...WHERE YOU FLY OVER THE ROOFTOPS OF VENICE IN A GIANT DAMN WOODEN BIRD!

Tails (Sonic Series)

There may be no more important entry into this list than Tails. In 1992 when the beloved character was first introduced, gaming culture was still in its relative infancy on the mass market and was about to take a big upward swing over the next few years and Sonic The Hedgehog would play a major role in its development.

Sonic would become one of the most popular games on the Sega mega drive and its marquee title, with its addictive side scrolling action and it’s fast-paced boss fights, it was in the rarefied atmosphere only shared by Super Mario Bros at the absolute crux of the gaming community, but where Mario had his trusty Luigi, Tails would be a more useful sidekick to Sonic, his power of flight would occasionally be invaluable for successfully completing a level and without him, there would be no biplane to take down Dr. Eggman’s wing fortress.

I’m sure anyone reading this article who had a younger sibling and had to share a mega drive would also agree, Tails is the best!

Ellie (Last Of Us)

Although being a playable character later on in the game and spawning a spin off (Left Behind) there could have been no list without the incomparable Ellie from The Last Of Us.

This is widely regarded now as the greatest video game of all time and the character of Ellie provides a huge reason for this, as you navigate the post-apocalyptic world following an outbreak that ravages the United States, you lose your family and your hope for a new humanity until you are introduced to Ellie, the 14-year old girl who could potentially hold the fate of humanity inside her.

A connection with any character in a video game this intense is incredibly rare as she becomes increasingly important, not just to the story but to you as the player and explains the mixed emotions at the end when Joel would essentially rather see the human race die then have Ellie taken away from him, totally fair in my books.

Elizabeth (Bioshock Infinite)

The best AI sidekick of all time? I would say so.

Bioshock has always been an immersive story-driven experience, through the underwater steampunk world of Rapture featured in the first 2 installments, gamer’s were presented an extremely dark, often terrifying experience as we learned to deal with the psychopathic enemies that lurked in the shadows, by the time Bioshock:Infinite was released, we were ready to ascend to the clouds of Columbia.

Often times, ’escort’ missions in video games are incredibly tedious so if I were to tell you that Infinite is basically one, long escort mission, many would simply not bother playing it but Elizabeth proves to be the most helpful and one of the most interesting sidekicks in video game history.

She keeps herself out of the way of danger, she tosses you supplies and ammunition when it’s needed most, she can find money and open locked doors and if you played the game on the hardest difficulty like me, she is absolutely necessary.

I can still say to this day that the feeling of accomplishment I had upon completing Infinite is unparalleled and Elizabeth is the very definition of what a video game sidekick should be.

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digital-arts-etc · 7 years ago

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Last summer, early in the morning, I stood out in the main square of Florence to watch the tourists come in. It was quiet. A Zamboni-like street cleaner drove its rounds, leaving wet circles on the paving stones. A vendor unpacked tarp-wrapped souvenirs from the back of his white van. When the crowds began to arrive — tour groups from Japan, China, Germany, Spain — they seemed less like people than like weather. They surged into the square, pooling and drifting. They clicked selfies in front of the statues. A small herd of Segways rolled past, one rider singing fake opera at the top of his lungs. I watched a tour group from Arizona (clearly identifiable by their neck badges) approach the white figure of Michelangelo’s David, towering on a pedestal in front of City Hall. One of the tourists pointed to it and said, in a tone of amused contempt: “It’s the most famous statue in the world, and they just leave it outside. No big deal — just hose off the pigeon crap.”

The implication was clear: Italy was a backward country, incapable of protecting its cultural treasures. To be fair, the tourist was not the first person to make this accusation. In his history “The Italians,” Luigi Barzini writes that one of the basic pleasures Italy reliably provides for visitors is “that of feeling morally superior to the natives.” I sometimes felt this pleasure myself. The inefficiency of the Italian bureaucracy, whether selling you a postage stamp or fixing a street, was often marvelous to behold. And indeed, the statue the man was pointing at had obviously suffered from standing outside: The marble was striped with dirt.

But the tourist was, in one very important respect, wrong.

He was pointing not at the actual David but at a full-scale marble replica. Michelangelo’s real statue did once stand in this spot, but it was moved, for its own protection, 143 years ago. The original is now in a museum across town, shielded from the elements, perfectly safe.

Or at least that’s how we like to think of it. We are conditioned to believe that art is safe, beyond the reach of the grimy world. We don’t hang the Mona Lisa next to an archery range. We put her in a fortress: walls, checkpoints, lasers, guards, bulletproof glass. There are scholars, textbooks, posters — a whole collective mythology suggesting that the work will live forever. But safety is largely an illusion, and permanence a fiction. Empires hemorrhage wealth, bombs fall on cities, religious radicals decimate ancient temples. Destruction happens in any number of ways, for any number of reasons, at any number of speeds — and it will happen, and no amount of reverence will stop it.

Few humans on earth know this melancholy truth better than the citizens of Florence. They are born into a profound intimacy with decay. The city was the epicenter of the Renaissance — home to such art-history superheroes as Giotto, Brunelleschi, Donatello, Cellini and Leonardo da Vinci — and the relics of that period have been under siege, more or less constantly, ever since. In 1497, the fanatical monk Savonarola sent his followers door to door to gather the city’s nonreligious art, books, clothing, musical instruments, then piled it all 50 feet high in the central square and set it on fire: the infamous Bonfire of the Vanities. (The spectacle was such a success that he repeated it the following year.) In 1895, earthquakes shook Florence so hard that citizens, fearing aftershocks, spent the night sleeping out in the streets. The 20th century brought Nazis and Mafia car bombs. This November will mark the 50th anniversary of the great Florentine flood of 1966, an inundation that overtook much of the city center, killing dozens of people and destroying old masterpieces.

Today, the perpetual engine of Florentine destruction seems only to be getting bolder. Its latest target is its most ambitious yet: the mascot of the Renaissance, shining ideal of the human form, one of the most celebrated artworks in this or any other city — Michelangelo’s David.

The trouble is the David’s ankles. They are cracked. Italians first discovered this weakness back in the 19th century, and modern scientists have mapped the cracks extensively, but until recently no one claimed to know just how enfeebled the ankles might be. This changed in 2014, when a team of Italian geoscientists published a paper called “Modeling the Failure Mechanisms of Michelangelo’s David Through Small-Scale Centrifuge Experiments.” That dry title concealed a terrifying story. The paper describes an experiment designed to measure, in a novel way, the weakness in the David’s ankles: by creating a small army of tiny David replicas and spinning them in a centrifuge, at various angles, to simulate different levels of real-world stress. What the researchers found was grim. If the David were to be tilted 15 degrees, his ankles would fail.

The seed of the problem is a tiny imperfection in the statue’s design. The center of gravity in the base doesn’t align with the center of gravity in the figure itself; when the base is level, in other words, the David’s body is slightly off-balance. There is, as the article nicely puts it, “an eccentricity of the loads.” This places extra pressure on the David’s narrowest part: his ankles. As long as the statue is perfectly upright, the eccentricity of the loads is tolerable. But there is very little margin for error. If you tilt the base even slightly, the stress on the ankles sharply increases.

Now it just so happens that, for a very long time, before he was moved into his protective museum, the David was leaning slightly. No one is sure exactly why. He stood, for more than 300 years, in the spot where I saw the tourist from Arizona scoff at the dirty replica. Popular legend says the lean was caused by a thunderclap in 1511, part of a violent storm that Florentines interpreted as a bad political omen, but more likely it was a result of the ground shifting slightly, for regular ground-shifting reasons — something like the force that tilts the famous tower of Pisa or the one that sucks constantly at the city of Venice.

For several hundred years, the David leaned at an angle of several degrees. That doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re dealing with six tons bearing down every second of every minute of every day of every year of every century, it is plenty. Hairline fractures worked their way slowly through the stone. The right leg is significantly worse than the left. As the tilt of the statue increases, the stress will move higher and higher up that leg, until — at the moment of failure — it will break off just below the knee.

But what would make the David tilt? The big fear is tremors, tremors of all kinds: traffic rumbling, the nearby construction of a high-speed train tunnel, the steady concussion of tourists’ feet and — most of all — earthquakes. Florence sits near several active fault lines, and every so often the city takes a seismic hit. In December 2014, a rash of 250 earthquakes rattled the countryside around Florence. Most were minor, and none hit the city directly, but still — Florentines could feel the motion.

My mind could not stop imagining it. An earthquake hits the center of Florence. Liquid waves roll under the rigid city: The church bells ring out of time, terra cotta tiles rain down from the Renaissance rooftops, priceless paintings rattle off the walls of the Uffizi. Meanwhile, inside the Accademia Gallery, the David’s pedestal begins to tilt. Slightly at first, just enough to shift the statue’s gaze, so that he looks not at his old enemy anymore — the implied Goliath off in the distance — but at a new one: the floor he’s been standing on for 134 years.

As the ground continues to roll, the David’s tilt accelerates. Five degrees, six degrees, seven, eight, nine. Gravity begins to act not just on the top of the David’s head but on his back, pushing him forward. Ten degrees, 11, 12.

Finally, the compromised ankles reach their angle of maximum stress. They begin to slide along the old microfracture faults — an earthquake within the earthquake — and the David’s legs and ankles are crushed by the weight of the body above. He begins to truly fall.

The first thing to hit the floor is his bent left elbow, the arm that holds the heroic sling, and it bursts along the lines of its previous breaks, old scars left over from an incident in the 16th century involving an unruly mob and a bench. Then the rest of the marble will meet the floor, and the physics from there will be fast and simple: force, resistance, the brittleness of calcite crystals, the shearing of microscopic grains along the axes on which they align. Michelangelo’s David will explode.

When I first saw the David in person, the only word that came to mind was “perfect.” Why hadn’t anyone ever told me he was perfect? I was 20 years old, exhausted, unwashed, traveling for the first time ever, ignorant of almost everything worth knowing. “Perfect,” I know now, is not a terribly original response to the statue, nor a very precise one, but in that moment it filled my mind. It felt like a revolution — urgent, deep, vital, true.

Standing in front of the David was, by far, the most powerful experience I had ever had with a work of art. The statue is gigantic: 17 feet tall, three times the size of an actual man, the height of a mature giraffe — another fact that no one had ever told me. I had always assumed, based on the images, that the David was life-size. To find otherwise seemed like a category error, like arriving at the Taj Mahal to discover that it is actually the size of a walnut. There was an existential snap in my brain, a sudden adjustment of the relative values and proportions of every other object in the world, including me.

He towered over me in his iconic pose: back foot flat, front foot tipped, shoulders cocked, left arm raised to hold the sling, huge right hand hanging down by his side, head turned fiercely toward the glorious future. He was a giant marble god, except he wasn’t a god; he was a man, but then of course he wasn’t really a man either; he was white stone — but the stone looked somehow soft, like flesh, and the hard-soft marble curved and rippled into muscles and veins, tiny and large, subtle and blunt, each feature easing inevitably into the next, all the way around. My eye kept roaming, looking for imperfections, not finding any. My mind ran in silly loops. The only word it would settle on, again and again, was “perfect.”

I stood there in my filthy Birkenstocks feeling a sense of religious transcendental soaring: the promise that my true self was not bound by the constraints of my childhood — by freeway exits, office parks, after-school programs, coin-operated laundry rooms at dingy apartment complexes, vineyards plowed under and converted into Walmarts, instability, change, dead dogs, divorce. No. The David suggested that my true self existed most fully in some interstellar superhistorical realm in which all the ideal things of the universe commingled in a perpetual ecstasy of harmonizing trumpet blasts. If such perfection could exist in the world, I felt, then so many other things were suddenly possible: to live a perfect life creating perfect things, to find an ideal way to be. What was the point of anything less?

Again, I was 20. My girlfriend and I were in the middle of a six-week, shoestring-budget grand tour of Europe. We slept every night in teeming hostels, ate meat with our hands in public parks, frightened people with our terrible German. But it was all worth it for moments like this — moments in which I could truly believe that perfection was real, as real as a train station a few hours away, and that my life was heading toward it.

A huge crowd swarmed around the David, gawking and chatting, but I hardly noticed them. My girlfriend and I stood in the museum for an extremely long time, until the crowds began to thin. Eventually we left and moved on to another museum, another city, and then we went home and — as the years rolled up their sleeves and marched Americanly by — we got married, had children, found jobs. I fantasized about perfection while crashing, again and again, into what I discovered were the extremely solid walls of my own limitations. Just on the other side of those walls, I knew, stood the David on his special pedestal: an impossible destination that I was nevertheless determined to reach. But the meeting between my head and that wall began to take up more and more of my attention, and after a while I started to wonder if the perfection on the other side actually existed, if there had ever really been anything there to begin with.

The David began, in 1464, with a mistake. Several mistakes, actually. In fact, so many mistakes, and such serious ones, that the whole project seemed to be ruined from the start. The source and precise extent of the mistakes have been disputed over the centuries, but what we know for sure is that none of the mistakes were Michelangelo’s fault, because he wasn’t born yet. The block that would become the David was cut out of the mountains 11 years before its eventual sculptor’s birth.

The first mistake was the stone itself. The marble-cutting community in and around Carrara was, and remains today, practically a sovereign nation, with its own dialect and politics and lore and hierarchies of technical expertise. Michelangelo was a native of the quarrying world, fluent in its ways, but the sculptor who chose the block, Agostino di Duccio, was largely ignorant of them. He had been selected by one of Florence’s most influential groups, the Wool Guild, to carve a monumental marble statue of the biblical David. It would sit high on the edge of the city’s great cathedral, the Duomo, to serve as a show of strength, an artistic boast and a warning to the city’s enemies.

But Agostino was in over his head. He had no experience carving marble on this scale — nobody alive did. The block he chose was huge but flawed. The power of marble, after all, is supposed to be in its perfection: a pure white chunk cut, at almost impossible expense, out of the dirty, ragged mountains. But this slab was marred by little holes, discolored by veins.

It was not only Agostino di Duccio who was overmatched — the quarriers were, too. The block was 18 feet tall and something like 25,000 pounds. No one had harvested a stone this large in close to 1,000 years. The whole process was one ordeal after another. Because statuary marble tends to form up near the tops of mountains, it took months of labor to get it down to the quarry floor. The trip from Carrara to Florence — an 80-mile journey that takes around two hours in a modern car — took two more arduous years. There were teams of men, teams of oxen, big ocean ships, flat river barges, inclement weather, monthslong delays. At one point, the giant block fell into a muddy ditch and had to be laboriously extracted. One scholar has speculated that this accident caused the cracks that now plague the ankles.

When the block finally arrived in Florence, it was greeted as a wonder. Its size, to the public, would have been more apparent than its imperfections. It was deposited in a courtyard behind the cathedral — a huge white apparition in the middle of the small brown city. People came from all over just to stare.

City leaders went to inspect the block, and they were dismayed. It had not only been badly chosen; it had also been badly carved. Agostino, as was traditional, had “roughed out” the block at the quarry — a quick whittling down to leave only what was necessary for the eventual statue. In doing so, however, he had compounded his previous mistake. The block had been strangely narrow to begin with, and Agostino had made it even narrower. He created an awkward hole in its middle. It was hard to see how this stone was ever going to become a plausible human form. Some believed that it was ruined, that the city’s investment was already lost.

Agostino was fired. The block was abandoned. It sat there, on its side, getting rained on, hailed on, fouled by birds, for more than 30 years. After a while, it became a fixed part of the landscape of Florence. People and buildings changed all around it, regimes rose and fell, but the monumental block never moved. Residents began to call it, with some mixture of respect and mockery, “the Giant.”

I didn’t get back to Florence, after my initial visit, for nearly 20 years. When I did finally return, it was as an adult man on the brink of middle age. I was not quite 40 but felt, in many ways, older. My hair, once as heroically thick as the David’s, had begun to thin visibly, and I felt sad about this, and I also considered my sadness to be its own failure, because I wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t care about superficial, middle-age things. Every morning, when I stepped out of bed, my joints hurt, especially my ankles, which a doctor had recently diagnosed with arthritis — they were 20 years older than the rest of me, he said.

My youthful pursuit of David-like perfection had gone, shall we say, not terribly well. I had turned out to be a strange person, not anything like an ideal. My life was littered with awkwardnesses, estrangements, mutual disillusionments, abandoned projects. Recently, I had begun to notice an odd tic in my interpersonal style — a problem with my gaze. I would be speaking with someone, a friend or a shopkeeper, all very normally (how are you good thanks how are you how’s your summer), and then, for no discernible reason, my eyes would dart away from my interlocutor, urgently, right over one of his or her shoulders, and the shift would be so sudden that the person would whip his or her head around to see what on earth I was looking at — a policeman or an exotic bird or a runaway train — but it would turn out that there was nothing there at all. My gaze had been flicked away by a little spasm of social discomfort. And so the person would look back at me, confused, and I would manage to hold his or her gaze for another few seconds until the social energy built back up between us to an intolerable level, at which point I would suddenly break the circuit again by looking away — and the person would look, one more time, back over his or her shoulder to confirm that nothing was there, and then our relationship would be altered forever.

Perfection, it turns out, is no way to try to live. It is a child’s idea, a cartoon — this desire not to be merely good, not to do merely well, but to be faultless, to transcend everything, including the limits of yourself. It is less heroic than neurotic, and it doesn’t take much analysis to get to its ugly side: a lust for control, pseudofascist purity, self-destruction. Perfection makes you flinch at yourself, flinch at the world, flinch at any contact between the two. Soon what you want, above all, is escape: to be gone, elsewhere, annihilated.

By the time I returned to Florence, I had grown accustomed to spending solid weeks in a state of high anxiety — my hands would turn freezing, like a corpse, and I would sit at my desk wishing I could cry, and my wife would tell me, with increasing urgency, that she was afraid I was going to have a heart attack. Eventually, after many years of this, I was prescribed a daily pill intended to stabilize an imbalance in my brain chemistry, and this solution has worked, more or less. Yet I am still plagued by this eccentricity of the loads: an impossible tension between the fantasies in my head and the realities on the ground.

And so, on my bad ankles and with my broken gaze, I returned to see the David. Things in Florence seemed essentially the same. Crowds still waited for hours in the brutal heat to enter the churchlike museum. Inside, the David stood exactly as I last saw him. I experienced the same moment of revelation: the sudden improbability of his size, his excellence. He still dominated the space, still held the light on his impossibly subtle musculature. In fact, he was looking better than ever, because in the intervening years he had been cleaned, millimeter by millimeter, at great expense and with some controversy — the grit and dust of 500 years scrubbed off. The marble seemed to glow. Once again, my brain reached for the word “perfect.”

But “perfect” no longer seemed adequate. Although I couldn’t see the cracks inside the David’s ankles and legs, I knew they were there. I knew other things too: that the marble of his face was pocked with holes, for instance, which restorers had filled in, and that he was missing a small chip of stone from one of his lower eyelids, and that his right little toe had been lost multiple times, and that a crazy man had taken a hammer to his left foot in 1991. Although the David’s maladies were mostly patched up over the centuries, you could still see all the scars.

In the year 1501, amid fresh political spasms, the leaders of Florence decided to rehabilitate the Giant. But who could possibly save it? There was some talk of giving the project to Leonardo da Vinci, the city’s (and Europe’s) reigning genius. But Leonardo was an intellectual, nearly 50 years old, who openly disdained the process of sculpture — that sweaty blunt hacking at stone. In the end, the commission went to a less famous Florentine, Michelangelo Buonarroti, a 26-year-old eccentric who had just made his reputation in Rome by carving a marble Pietà for St. Peter’s — a statue of astonishing grace and maturity and polish. Michelangelo hurried home to take the commission.

The first step had been to stand the Giant up. This, in itself, was a production. Once again, all of Florence came out to watch. The block had been sitting there for 35 years, almost the entire life expectancy of a 16th-century human, and it was now in worse shape than ever. Marble is best to carve when it is freshly cut from the mountain. The longer it sits out, the more brittle it becomes. The Giant was now thoroughly “cooked,” in the local parlance — dried out by decades of sun. Some people said it was beyond salvaging. Many wanted to attach extra marble blocks to it. They said it would be impossible to get a proper figure out of the misshapen mess that was left. This would become one of the feats that would elevate Michelangelo to mythic status: that he not only salvaged the ruined block but also turned it into a masterpiece. As the Renaissance art historian Giorgio Vasari put it: “And truly it was a miracle on the part of Michelangelo to restore to life a thing that was dead.”

The miracle took some time. First, Michelangelo decided that he needed to carve the David in private, so workers came and built a roofless shed around the Giant. For many months, inside his shed, Michelangelo toiled away unseen, using a series of finer and finer chisels in an attempt to rescue every centimeter of the stone. He was a savant of marble, so he would have understood everything about the block, all of its grains and flaws and possibilities. The figure of the David began to emerge little by little, as A. Victor Coonin puts it in his definitive recent history of the statue, “From Marble to Flesh,” “like a person being slowly revealed as water drains from a bath.”

When the shed was finally opened for a public viewing, in the summer of 1503, the David really must have seemed like a miracle. The dirty old cooked Giant had become a smooth, enormous, naked man, paused just on the brink of heroic motion. The young sculptor had not run from the odd dimensions of the block; he embraced them, turning them into his figure’s signature elements. The block’s narrowness yielded the lean, twisting body (as opposed to an overmuscled superman), with its huge head and hands. Michelangelo gave the David a grotesquely furrowed brow — a shelf of a forehead closer to a Neanderthal’s than a modern human’s — because he knew that anything more “realistic” would fail to scan for a viewer on the ground. The figure was unreal but real, stylized but natural. It would come to define the city.

A debate raged over where to put the David. The statue was so powerful, so impressive, that it seemed a waste (and perhaps even impossible, engineeringwise) to install it in its intended destination, way up on the cathedral. Instead, after rounds of conferences among the Florentine intelligentsia, it was decided that the sculpture would be installed in the city’s central square, the Piazza della Signoria, where everyone could see it. A special machine had to be invented to move it: a huge wooden frame inside of which the David was suspended in a net of ropes, rocking gently, as a crew of men rolled it across the city on greased beams. At night, it had to be protected by armed guards from rowdy kids who were throwing rocks at it.

The David’s journey took four days, at the end of which it was installed, to much fanfare, out in the public square. It would stand in that same spot for the next 369 years, a period during which it would be shaken by thunder, hit by carts and smeared with bird feces. In 1527, a riotous mob tried to storm City Hall, and another mob, in defense of the public order, threw heavy objects out the windows: stones, tiles, furniture. A bench hit the David, breaking his left arm in half.

Michelangelo went off to Rome, where he painted the Sistine Chapel; designed the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, at the time the largest in the history of the world; and eventually died, wealthy and famous beyond measure, at age 88. He would never see his David again.

The Giant continued its slow decline. Although the broken arm was eventually mended and reattached, the statue remained outside, exposed to rain, ice, hail, wind and vandals. Its surface began to visibly degrade. In the 19th century, the statue’s restorers tended only to make things worse — they used wax, which discolored the marble, and acid, which ate at its surface. Before long, the David needed restoring from his restoration. A broken rain gutter on the Palazzo Vecchio poured torrents of water directly onto the statue. Concerned citizens began to agitate for him to be moved indoors. They built a protective wooden shed over him, isolating him in a bubble of safety. This brought the public life of the David full circle. He was carved in a shed; he was hidden in a shed.

Eventually, the statue’s protectors were able to move him, on train tracks laid laboriously across Florence, to a custom-built room in the Accademia. But the room still wasn’t finished, so the David sat inside a crate for years, growing colonies of microorganisms like a huge piece of cheese.

The Accademia attracts well over a million visitors a year, and they all end up in one room: the David’s rotunda. I stood there, in the summer of 2015, watching the crowd watch the David.

The air in the room was perfectly still. The tourists fanned themselves with maps of Florence. Guides, speaking directly into their followers’ ears via head-mounted microphones, led large groups into the center of the crowd like battalions into battle. I watched a woman take a short nap while leaning against a stone column. A couple from Holland sat down next to me and fired streams of Dutch at each other, the only word of which I could make out was the English “six-pack.”

Most of all, people took pictures. For almost its entire history, the Accademia has been a strict no-camera zone, but the rise of smartphones made that impossible, and now the phones have taken over. Tourists spend their time in front of the three-dimensional David poking a two-dimensional version of him on their touch screens. I witnessed the execution of many, many selfies: the jockeying for a proper angle, the sudden dead-eyed smile, the brisk walk away. (There always seemed to be something furtive, something almost criminal, about a selfie.) Often, through a trick of perspective, the selfie-taker’s own head would appear on the screen twice as big as the David.

The most popular target for photographers was the David’s genitals. People were obsessed with them. I watched a very American man (Tommy Hilfiger shirt, Oakley sunglasses, BMW baseball hat) pretend to cup the statue’s testicles while his wife took his picture — and then his wife pretended to cup the David’s testicles while he took her picture. Two women posed for a photo pretending to hold the David’s penis simultaneously, as if it were a trophy fish. A serious man touch-focused his iPhone camera, with delicate precision, on the David’s foreskin.

At the back of the crowd, I found the David’s security guard. He sat sideways on a folding chair, chin in hand, a model of relaxed uninterest; he seemed to watch the room without even looking. When he spoke, his mustache moved over a mouth that was missing several teeth. He was a native Florentine, and he told me stories about crazy tourists (weeping, thongs) and about the great flood of 1966, in which his family’s house was underwater up to the second floor.

I asked him if, after all this time, he had any personal feeling of awe left for the David. He said he did not.

“If you eat chocolate every day for 20 years,” he said, “you will get bored of it.”

If looking at Michelangelo’s David is the equivalent of eating chocolate, then walking the streets of Florence is like drowning in Willy Wonka’s gushing chocolate river. The image of the David is everywhere. There are bookmarks, mouse pads, T-shirts, posters, watches, key chains, mugs, ballpoint pens, commemorative plates, pie servers, snow globes, sugar spoons, USB sticks and Christmas ornaments. There are leather shops and pizzerias and even parking garages named after him. Tourists can buy aprons that make them look as if they have the David’s body: the lean, muscular torso, the naked little penis.

And then there are the statuettes: a vast army of miniature imitation Davids that stand in shop windows and on hawkers’ carts in all the famous piazzas. Near the Accademia I found a store called, in English, “David Shop.” It was a David-replica bonanza, more Davids than I have ever seen in one place before. The smallest was the size of my pinkie, the biggest slightly taller than an average Italian woman. I bought a postcard that was also a jigsaw puzzle featuring the David’s penis wearing sunglasses and saying “Ciao!”

Next to the Duomo, for an exorbitant price, I bought a bobblehead David; his giant head, attached by a spring, waggled ridiculously as I walked. He waggled past many other versions of himself — hundreds, thousands, infinity Davids. From a distance, many of the replicas looked acceptably David-like, but up close most of them were laughably bad. The replicas are like a systematic exploration of all the possible ways to distort Michelangelo’s design. Their faces are squashed, their heads are flat, their noses are pointed, they look like goblins. Some of them seem to have breasts. Others have rib cages jutting out in high relief, like cartoons of shipwreck survivors. One shop-window David stood several feet tall and cost more than $200 — a serious investment that would have taken up major space in any buyer’s home. Its face looked like a bug-eyed, emaciated elf’s. Its muscles were lumpy and gnarled. Its feet were long and bony, like the feet of an ancient witch in a fairy tale. Its hair looked like a pile of spaghetti. It seemed more a parody of the David than a tribute.

In the Accademia gift shop, I bought a sticker that read, simply, “DAVID MANIA.” This, I decided, was the epitome of David souvenirs — a tribute not to the actual David but to our mass enthusiasm for him.

Sometimes, when I found myself fed up with Florence and its crowds, overwhelmed by the kitsch, the heat, the vendors, the constant eruptions of Renaissance cosplay, my walks took me across the river, away from the old bridge, toward a plain yellow building with a stationery shop on its ground floor. Twenty feet up, where no one ever seemed to look, was a small historical plaque identifying it as the temporary home of the great Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky. This is where he agonized over the writing of his novel “The Idiot,” which I was rereading. Dostoyevsky was, in many ways, the anti-David: ugly, short, hairy, awkward, nervous, ill, angry, a prophet of spite and self-sabotage. I found him incredibly inspiring. He spoke to me beyond the kitsch, above the crowds, from the other side of my old simplistic understanding of the David. He gestured toward something more complex, more inclusive, more sustainable.

Dostoyevsky moved to Florence with his wife in 1868, during a miserable swing through Europe, and he detested the city at times with a degree of comic loathing that only he could have mustered for such a beautiful place. He complained about the humidity, the rain, the crowds, the heat. He never learned Italian, preferring to sit in his room, alone, wrestling with his novel. He stayed, for nearly a year, only because he was too poor to leave — he had compulsively blown much of his money at the roulette tables of Europe.

As I looked at the David, I thought about “The Idiot,” and as I read “The Idiot,” I thought about the David. They existed at opposite poles, and yet they also spoke deeply to each other. “The Idiot” was Dostoyevsky’s attempt to create an ideal man, a modern Christ — what he called “a completely beautiful human being.” He was forced to try to write this perfect book, however, in humiliatingly imperfect conditions: isolated far from home, in intense poverty and grief — the Dostoyevskys’ young daughter had died just months earlier — and delayed by fits of epilepsy. Up in his cramped apartment above the paper store, Dostoyevsky flogged his unruly book. “The Idiot” is full of wild crowds bursting into rooms out of nowhere. Its plot is strange, lurching, unbalanced. Its hero is seen by everyone as a fool, and his presence seems to cause trouble wherever he goes. The book is, in both theme and execution, one of the great artistic statements of the impossibility of human perfection. Rereading it during the visit to Florence made me feel, somehow, spiritually itchy.

Unlike Michelangelo, Dostoyevsky was missing from the official lore of the city — you couldn’t buy postcards bearing his image or visit a museum devoted to his life and work. This made him even more of a refuge, a small secret I shared with no one.

One afternoon I walked into a part of the Accademia that most people never see, down a labyrinth of staircases and hallways, to a small office tucked into the very back of the building. This belonged to Angelo Tartuferi, director of the museum — the official protector of the David. The walls were hung with medieval paintings. Tartuferi wore a green Umbro polo shirt. He was relaxed, animated, candid; he spoke in long streams of Italian punctuated occasionally by roars of laughter.

We talked about the David’s cracked ankles, a topic with which Tartuferi was very familiar.

I asked him about the geoscientists’ terrifying paper. He rolled his eyes. It was, he said, mainly a publicity grab: We have known about these cracks for more than 100 years, he pointed out, and they aren’t getting any worse. The David is now perfectly upright, and he is one of the most closely monitored artworks in the world. There are maps not only of the cracks themselves but also of every stain and blemish on the surface of the marble, of every repair that has ever been made, even of the patterns in which dust tends to fall. Visitors to the Accademia will notice a large, inelegant plastic brick mounted behind the David to monitor all of its vital signs: temperature, motion, angle of inclination. It is labeled “SMARTBRICK. New. Fast. Easy. Smart.”

artuferi conceded, however, that he was still worried about an earthquake. Sometimes he had bad dreams. All of that high-tech monitoring can only warn us — it can’t protect anything. And while it seems to be true that the cracks aren’t getting worse, they are not getting better either. As long as they exist, the David will be vulnerable.

What, then, is to be done? In fact, a relatively simple solution to the ankle problem already exists. Although we can’t fix the cracks, we can mitigate the stress that makes them dangerous. There is a special kind of antiseismic base that allows a marble statue to move along with any tectonic disturbance. It’s similar to the kind of technology you’d find under buildings in San Francisco. Many less illustrious statues in earthquake zones are already protected by such bases. They are not terribly complex and, considering the potential consequences of leaving it undone, not terribly expensive: about 250,000 euros, according to Tartuferi, a tiny fraction of the revenues the David earns the museum in a single year.

In 2014, after the earthquakes rocked the countryside around Florence, after the global media fretted about the possible destruction of the David, Italy’s minister of culture said that an antiseismic base would be installed under the statue within a year. But a year passed, and nothing happened. When I arrived in the summer of 2015 — six months after that statement — I half-expected to find men in hard hats working around the David’s pedestal. Instead, there were only the usual tourists. The David, meanwhile, stood there in his old precarious rigidity, vulnerable as ever to the tremors.

I asked Tartuferi what was happening with the antiseismic base.

The delay was only bureaucratic, he said. He had met, long ago, with a company that did this sort of stabilizing work. Tartuferi had told the Italian press that the job was underway. The base could, hypothetically, go in at any moment.

But the Italian government, Tartuferi said, refused to allow him to install the base. The nation was in the middle of an elaborate restructuring of its museum system, and it was planning to put new leaders — some of whom would be known as “supermanagers” — into Florence’s highest-profile (and therefore most lucrative) museums. This made Tartuferi a lame-duck director, and the Italian government was not going to allow him, on his way out the door, to execute a project as important as saving the David. Italy, in the midst of its own economic collapse, wanted to be the hero that stepped forward to save the David from collapsing.

The problem was that no one could say exactly when this power transfer might occur, and — even after it did — if and when the base would be installed. When Tartuferi departed, he told me, he was planning to pass the project of the antiseismic base off to his successor. This, he said, is what the new director would have to deal with first.

Meanwhile, every day, the David would remain at risk. In fact, Tartuferi told me, the high-tech monitoring device on the back of the David’s pedestal, the smart brick, had recently been turned off. There was no point in monitoring anymore, he said — everyone knew what needed to be done. Now they just needed to do it.

Tartuferi was not the only one who told me a story like this. I met with a woman named Contessa Simonetta Brandolini d’Adda, one of the most powerful figures in Florence’s art world. Eighteen years ago, the contessa founded a nonprofit organization called Friends of Florence, which has financed and overseen the restoration of many of the city’s endangered masterpieces, from sculptures in the central square to Botticelli oil paintings in the Uffizi to 15th-century Mannerist frescoes in a popular local church. The organization fills a crucial lack in Italy, helping to make up for the increasingly cash-strapped government’s inability to take proper care of its decaying cultural heritage. In 2004, Friends of Florence raised half a million dollars to help fund the cleaning and restoration of the David, and they continue to pay for the statue’s regular monitoring and upkeep. A family of spiders, Brandolini told me, had been discovered living in the giant caverns of the David’s hair. Every few months they covered his body with dusty webs that needed to be vacuumed off.

Friends of Florence would dearly love to raise the funds to pay for the David’s antiseismic base. But the Italian government, again and again, has insisted that the state will take care of it. It seemed they believed that an outside organization rescuing the David would be improper. She was an even-keeled and practical woman, but while relating this to me, she grew visibly frustrated. There was simply nothing she could do against the overwhelming force of official Italian national pride.

Destruction takes many forms, not just the sudden apocalyptic crash or the long-term degradation of rain and ice and wind. There is death by inaction, death by neglect. There is also death by reverence, death by ubiquity, death by subtle retail-shop humiliation. The David’s superfame struck me as another eccentricity of the loads: the tension between the actual statue — the original physical thing, unique in the world — and the statue’s ubiquitous image. The thing itself was hopelessly outnumbered by its own reproductions. We knew the David so well, and our own knowledge of our knowledge of that image, that we could hardly see the David at all.

There was a part of me — a part I never mentioned to the museum directors or the contessa or anyone else in Florence — that was titillated by the possibility of the David falling over. It was a perverse, adolescent, iconoclastic streak, a dark troll that lived under the otherwise more-or-less serviceable bridge of my conscious mind. It was something like what Freud called the death drive: an urge toward failure and collapse, especially of the things we want most in life. If perfection in life truly isn’t possible, croaked my troll — and it isn’t! It isn’t! — then perhaps we should move on to the relative perfection of destruction.

My inner troll worshiped not the David but the cracks in the David’s ankles. They were, as a fatal flaw, so deliciously humiliating — such a perfectly ironic undercutting of the statue’s otherwise heroic stature. The David’s destiny, said my troll, was not to stand but to break.

This put me in mind, once again, of Dostoyevsky — the grumpy outcast seething in Florence, the anti-David. My troll could easily have been one of his characters. It could have been the splenetic narrator of “Notes From Underground,” who recoils against the notion of rational utopia, of the perfectibility of mankind: “Two times two is four is no longer life, gentlemen, but the beginning of death.”

The real power of Dostoyevsky’s work, though, is that despite all the misery his characters endure, his vision is not actually miserable. It is redemptive, celebratory, powerfully totalizing. Humans are compulsive, irrational and petty, yes, but they are also selfless, intelligent and idealistic. In Dostoyevsky, there is a radical acceptance that strikes me as, in its own way, a new, more perfect vision of perfection: an envelope of understanding that can hold the entire universe.

I began to think of the David not as a traditional hero but as a Dostoyevsky character. Like the Idiot, he was an ideal man with no real place in the world — misunderstood, assaulted by crowds, drawn into all sorts of unheroic shenanigans. There was, God knows, much that was insane about our relationship to the statue: the compulsive selfies, the inertia of the Italian bureaucracy, the DAVID MANIA. But as a character in “The Idiot” puts it: “To attain perfection, one must first of all be able not to understand many things.”

As I walked around Florence, I was exposed to hundreds and thousands of horrible David replicas. At a certain point, I began to actually love them. They were so awkward, so bad and so numerous, that they were, in the aggregate, somehow good — a perfect tribute to Michelangelo’s strange genius, and to the gnarled history of the statue itself. They were, themselves, little trolls: the David’s imperfections made flesh, sprung fully formed out of the cracks in his ankles and set loose upon the world.

At home, on my mantle, I keep a small crowd of them: a green one, the bobblehead, a white one that looks like an elf. One of them, a tiny keychain, recently fell over and broke — his head cracked clean off. I keep its pieces there with the rest.

A month after I met with him, Angelo Tartuferi was removed from his position as director of the Accademia. The antiseismic-base project, needless to say, had not yet commenced. Tartuferi’s replacement was one of Florence’s new so-called supermanagers, a medieval scholar from Germany named Cecilie Hollberg. I met her in June, at a lush hotel bar overlooking the Arno River. I had expected someone stern and formal, but Hollberg was, in fact, relaxed and unpretentious and congenial, with a sly humor that rushed into all the gaps in our conversation. She seemed perpetually amused to have been plucked out of her small German town and imported to watch over the most famous statue in the world. She referred to the David, jokingly, as her husband. We drank spritzes and had a wonderful time.

I asked Hollberg about her husband’s ankles. Had there been any progress, under her watch, on the David’s antiseismic base? This was six months after Hollberg took charge and a year and a half after the culture minister’s initial promise to place the David on the base.

There had not been any progress. Hollberg, in fact, seemed surprisingly calm. After all, an earthquake was still hypothetical, and she had inherited plenty of other, more pressing problems. There were holes in the museum’s roof that let rainwater through. There were illegal vendors who hassled the tourists while they waited outside in line. There was the problem of finding space, in the clotted center of Florence, to expand the undersized museum.

After her arrival, Hollberg said, people emerged from everywhere to tell her how to save the David. Everyone claimed to be an expert. Everyone seemed to have something to sell. But Hollberg wanted to take her time, to consider all the options. She wanted the right solution, not just the fastest or easiest. At some point in the future, she said, she would probably travel to Los Angeles to consult experts at the Getty Center about how they protect their statues.

In the meantime, Hollberg said, if a major earthquake were to hit Florence directly, every museum in the city would endure some destruction, not just the Accademia. I found this, somehow, not comforting at all. For now, and for the foreseeable future, we would just have to trust the David to keep standing.

from “David’s Ankles” by Sam Anderson

https://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/21/magazine/davids-ankles-how-imperfections-could-bring-down-the-worlds-most-perfect-statue.html?_r=0

#dostoyevsky #fyodor #David #Michelangelo’s David #Michelangelo

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