#they're a pain if you're in a particularly narrow passage but like...

[pianokantzart]

I saw this one twitter and just wamted to bring it here

Blooper has generational hate for Luigi

Also, Mario and Peachs' reactions in the second pic

Maybe there's something about the color green they hate, like a bull seeing the color red.

Luckily, bloopers are the most nothing-burger item to be hit by, imo.

[qqueenofhades]

Heyy :)) I don't know if you still do prompts and if you do them for this ship but if yes could you please do 26. or 19. for Ivan x Fedyor? That'd be so lovely ♡ thanks a bunch and if not no worries!

Ivan has been staring at a pile of paperwork for almost three hours, the pain in his head feels like someone has driven a spike into his eye, and he really doesn't know why someone else couldn't do this. All right, they'd probably fuck it up and make him fix it anyway, they're not of sufficiently high rank to look at the Darkling's sensitive secrets and classified attack plans, and all other people are idiots etc. etc., but it still feels unfair for it to have fallen on him, particularly. They only got back from the latest Fjerdan campaign a few days ago, it went worse than expected, every strategy needs to be revisited and revised, and that has become, undoubtedly, Ivan's job, now that he's the unquestioned second-in-command of the entire Second Army, subordinate only to General Kirigan himself. He's not yet thirty.

He has just drawn a deep breath, angrily splashed the last of the kvas into his cup and taken a fortifying swig, and otherwise braced himself for another few hours of torture, when there's a knock on the antechamber door and -- barely waiting for an answer -- Fedyor Kaminsky rushes in. "Captain," he says, spotting Ivan and stopping to salute. "Good, you're here. You need to come with me at once."

"What?" Ivan jostles the desk, jumps to his feet, and looks around suspiciously, as if some malfeasant has breached the sancrosanct walls of the Little Palace and he needs to kill them immediately. "What is it?"

"You'll see." Fedyor tugs at him. "Hurry."

Ivan, swallowing his questions, abandons the paperwork without a backward glance and hurries out after Fedyor, already assessing the potential options. This seems bad, or at least urgent enough that it has to be handled with no delay. Has the tsar choked on a sweetmeat, or the tsaritsa stabbed herself with her embroidery needle, or some other pressing crisis that the fucking royal family feels the need to involve their pet Grisha in? Is it worse? Did something abruptly collapse from that underwhelming campaign? Did they decide that said underwhelming campaign was entirely Ivan's fault and throw him out of the order, thus to be packed back home to frigid Chernast in disgrace? Or maybe --

Apparently oblivious to Ivan's inner turmoil, Fedyor keeps up a brisk pace down the corridors, until they enter the library, ensure that the Apparat is not lurking moistly behind a nearby bookshelf, and hurry down the narrow rows to the end. Fedyor reaches around it, presses a hidden catch, and stands back as the shelf swings out, as smoothly as if it's on wheels. It reveals a narrow passage and set of twisting steps beyond, leading upward and out of sight, and Ivan frowns. "What's this? Is there someone up there? Is it a -- "

"Just shut up and go up there." Fedyor prods him in the back, a familiarity for which Ivan would definitely flay anyone else alive, but in the several years since he and Fedyor officially became a thing, he has grudgingly learned to accept. "Take a look."

Muttering, Ivan ducks under the low lintel and ascends the narrow, creaky steps, hands held vigilantly at the ready for anything that feels up to springing out of the darkness. There's nothing, though, and when he reaches the hidden nook at the top, lit only by a skylight somewhere high above, he turns in a circle and can't see any pressing emergency. "What's going on? Why did you -- "

He's cut off as Fedyor reaches the top, bounds into the small space after him, and seizes Ivan by the collar of his kefta, pushing him against the wall and kissing him thoroughly. Ivan splutters, makes a noise of extreme protest (okay, mild protest) and windmills his arms, but somehow manages not to break free or even push Fedyor away at all. He's still grumbling when Fedyor bites his lower lip, making him yelp, and then forced to focus on kissing him back. It's only when they've sunk to their knees on the floor, Ivan is mentally calculating how uncomfortable it really could be to lie on those floorboards, and still kissing in short, hungry bursts when he realizes the truth. "You little bastard, Fedya," he breathes. "You lied to me."

"Lied to you? About what?" Fedyor looks at him with that damn dark-eyed, dimpled smile for which Ivan is unbearably, ferociously weak. "I said you needed to come with me at once."

"For a military emergency! For -- I don't know, something! Not because you discovered an interesting door in the library and had a sudden urge to distract me!"

"Or. Counterpoint." Fedyor smirks, entirely unchastened. "I did, in fact, need to do exactly that. You're going to drive yourself crazy. Admit it, Vanya. You enjoyed this."

Ivan stares at him narrowly. Fedyor stares narrowly right back.

"Fine." Ivan wipes his mouth, bites a traitorous smile, and leans back in for another round. Whatever else it might be, life with Fedyor Kaminsky is never boring. "Maybe a very, very little."