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istadris · 3 months

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Working on a short fic that is basically "Super Mario Sunshine, but with Bowuigi sprinkled on it" (current working title: "Super Mario Moonlight" But I'm taking any suggestions).

Here's a little teasing !

o°o°o°o°o

Luigi was sprawling on the couch as much as his gangly limbs allowed it, phone stuck between his cheek and his shoulder while he adjusted his blanket, when something occurred to him.

"Wait, what about Junior ?"

"What about him ? He's here too, I told you I was bringing him here. Would seem weird if I went all on my own to a cool tropical island."

"But won't he get bored if we're busy on our own ? Or suspect something's up ?"

Bored or jealous, and Luigi wasn't sure what worried him the most. After all, Junior still didn't know the full extent of his dad's relationship with Luigi; until now, they had carefully planned their dates around the kid's schedule. What if he finally understood what was going on and got angry and Bowser sided with his baby boy and...

But Bowser only scoffed in amusement:

"Don't worry, Junior's been keeping himself pretty busy so far ! He only shows up at meals and then he's off again to play with his new toy...hey, by the way, thanks for putting me in touch with that old coot! You were right, he really got all sort of cool stuff ! Junior can't get enough of that magic paintbrush!"

"Oh, sweet! He's really helped me before, I'm glad he can make a living of his inventions!"

"Make a living?"

"...You paid for that paintbrush, right?"

There was a silence.

"Bowser...?"

"Errr hold up a second-!"

There wasn't a mute function on Bowser's phone, so he had to resort to cover the speaker with his hand, or so Luigi deduced from the muffled voice and the faint background noises on the other side of the line.

"Hey, you there! Did we pay that old coot with the weird hair for the paint- what do you mean you're just cleaning staff?? Then find someone from Budget and ask ! And if we didn't then-then send him money! I mean it's just one magic paintbrush, what would it cost, 10 000 coins ? Get to it NOW!"

#super mario bros #bowuigi #Ista writes #wip #it's a very silly fic and I love it already

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superthatguy62 · 6 months

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Random Idea:

A Bowser Jr. game where Bowser is turned into Dry Bowser and then has his bones scattered across the Mushroom Kingdom/the world, with gameplay split into two halves: A platforming half where Junior creates minions via the magic paintbrush to solve puzzles and more, and a shoot-em-up/Mecha half with the Junior Clown Car.

#Hire Me Nintendo #Shitposts for fun and (non)profit #Bowser Jr.#Bowser Junior #Bowser #Dry Bowser

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axewchao · 9 months

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"Take 'em down, kid! Show 'em what happens when you mess with the Koopa Kingdom!!"

Gonna take a stab at Koopa Week once more! And starting things off with the one, the only, the Koopa King!! Alongside Koopa!Dal because hey, it's been a while. And he was here the last time I did Koopa week, so why not? :3

This pic takes place in an AU where Koopa!Dal becomes one of Bowser's minions at an earlier point in his life. He never receives his magic paintbrush here, but still has his Shade Sprite and thus has access to dark magic. And he actually knows how to use it, thanks to being trained by either Kamek, Kammy, or some other magic user in Bowser's forces.

Dalex is the card up Bowser's nonexistent sleeve, often being sent in when things get too hectic for other Minions or there's a mess that Bowser wants cleaned up. Usually in the form of sending in shadow beasts to gather everyone up and evacuate the area, followed by Dalex showing himself and wreaking havoc with his magic, his fists, and in rarer occasions, his potent venom.

But Dally is still Dally at his core, meaning he heavily dislikes fighting and isn't on the front lines for this very reason. Instead, his Boom Boom strength is put to use in carrying things from Point A to Point B throughout the entire kingdom. Courier work, basically, and Dal has yet to complain about something like that.

He isn't considered a member of the Koopalings, and in all honesty, he's not that interested in being part of them. It's their clique, not his. Though Bowser did appoint him as an unspoken babysitter for some of the younger ones, as well as Junior.

...That bit him in the ass when Junior's first word ended up being "Dolly!" Sorry, Your Majesty... XD

#Super Mario #Koopa Week #Koopa Week 2023 #Bowser #Koopa!Dal #Dalex Rathmore #why's he got short hair here?#longer hair would get in the way during battle #plus... let's face it; working as one of Bowser's Minions would NOT give you much time for hair care #unless you were of a high rank. which Dal kinda... isn't?#or if he is he doesn't really throw that fact around o3o #axewchaoscribbles

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skippyin · 1 year

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Your lost in New York au is SO GOOD. AUGH 💕 💕 I have to wonder how long it would take for someone to realize where Jr. went! If people DO figure out Jr. ended up in Brooklyn, I can only imagine a very concerned Bowser would be tearing up the city streets trying to find his son🥺

AHHH THANKS SO MUCH!!

I was actually thinking about maybe doing a fic because I do have a LOT of ideas for this!

To answer your question tho:

They don't figure out where Junior went right away. However, E. Gadd does wind up helping with that problem. Junior brought the Magic Paintbrush with him, and the Paintbrush is one of E. Gadd's inventions. Gadd puts a tracking chip in every single one of his inventions in case any of them get stolen/lost.

So when Bowser starts tearing up the Mushroom Kingdom looking for his son, Mario & Luigi have the idea to ask Gadd to try to track the Paintbrush.

Imagine their confusion when the signal comes back really weak, pointing to a single Warp Pipe.

Then imagine the bigger surprise when Mario goes to scout out the Pipe... And he sees Home on the other side.

#ask #sa-gt-tarrius #lost in new york au

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la-muerta · 3 years

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Zhang Zhehan’s transformations in 《动漫英雄春季版 (ACG Hero – Spring edition)》:

Ikkyu Sojun from the 1978 animation Ikkyu-san // Ma Liang from the 1955 animation The Magic Paintbrush // Kenshiro from the 1983 comic book Fist of the North Star // Madara Uchiha from Naruto // Spiderman // Li Lei from the “Junior English for China” textbooks // Wolverine

#zhang zhehan #SHL cast #wohdaily #动漫英雄春季版 #ACG Hero #flashy gif #张哲瀚 #I made a thing #in case you haven't noticed this series was on crack lol

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another-koopa-fan · 4 years

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And last but not least: Bowser Jr from my future AU!

As I've said before, Junior is now the ruler of the Koopa Kingdom. He still owns his Magic Paintbrush, but only uses it when necessary.

When it comes to family, he still keeps in touch with the Koopalings, since Junior considered them as siblings.

Two of them would assist Junior sometimes: Morton... and Ludwig. This would be the only case where the oldest of the Koopalings has to talk to one of his siblings, and it's difficult for him, since he doesn't want to see them ever again. Both give advice to Junior, but they seem to have different ideas every time.

He paints in his free time. The castle is full of paintings! And thanks to Morton, he would cook sometimes (he still has his meals served, however).

Hope you like it! :>

#bowser jr #((I have finished. Yay!!))#trash koopa fan draws

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blacknovelist · 3 years

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Half-Empty, Half-Full (FE3H Fic)

hey hi what’s up lads, so I like, 100% forgot I could post my piece for the @threehouseszine Beneath The Banner (also available on Twitter under the same name) and as such I’m like ten years late. :) But the zine has been sent out, and I finally noticed like the fool I am that others have posted their pieces, and thusly, I too will post mine! Because I can. And I want to.

My focus was on the Golden Deer post-skip, specifically in some nebulous point during the war. Being part of this zine was really, really cool -- I can’t wait for all the books and merch to arrive with everyone!

(will reblog with links because we all know tumblr likes to break things.)

A beat of something nice, amid the fragments of harder times.

In the spaces between war — between scattered supply checks and ration distribution, bandit skirmishes and long watch nights — Hilda finds the time she needs to breathe.

It came easier, back in the academy. She could simply step back and let the world move around her, steadfast in her belief that it would still be standing when she returned. Nowadays she steals the air in her lungs from glances at the sky and quick delivery walks, from the chip of chisel and steel against stone and wood, from the sensation of gems and petals inlaid on clothes, chains and hooks when she can afford to lay down her axe. Infrequency makes the beats between battles all the more precious.

With the professor around she can afford more pauses still, but Hilda watches herself. She knows, all too well, just how young she is. Claude lies at one year her junior and the professor, with their five year hiatus, sits at two. It wouldn't do for her stubborn leaders to find someone they can’t believe in among their ranks, now.

She’s on the run for errands when she spots a hint of not-plant green and wood not far off the beaten path, and she wastes no time following that tried and true Deer instinct to take a peek. Ignatz is there, as expected, easel propped on a patch of flat land, what she can see of the canvas a tasteful blend of browns and golds. He leans in, fingers dabbed in the same off-white his paintbrush dusts onto his scene.

Now, Hilda doesn’t paint, but she does understand the stress and struggle of art, different forms aside. Which is why she waits until he leans back before she steps forward and taps his shoulder.

“Hey, Ignatz.”

Ignatz yelps, almost drops his brush and earns himself a stripe on his palm for his troubles. “Hilda! Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

“Don't worry about it.” She clasps her hands together. “What’re you painting?"

"I wanted to capture the cathedral, while it's still under repair." He gestures to his piece — the white forms the glint of sunlight off patches of rubble, steel and glass, along with the robes of monks and priests as they shift and sweep aside what debris they can. "A lot of artists depict places in their prime, or utterly destroyed, or after they've been restored to their former glory. I thought it would be nice to show the in-between for once. People from every background imaginable, coming together to rebuild for the future. A little different from what I usually paint, but sometimes a little variety is nice."

"And you're doing it all the way out here because…"

"I didn't want to be in anyone's way, and I come out here a lot. I've got plenty of references with me, so it's not a problem." Ignatz shifts and Hilda catches sight of a stack of sketchbooks, some more worn than others, half-spilled from a bag. The top one gets plucked up and held between them as he flips from page to page. Statue busts, the altar and rows of pews among pillars rendered in charcoal and sleek pigment lines. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of green and blue and other colors, or shapes that don't quite match the church art he focuses on, but Ignatz flips too fast for her to see.

Or, almost. "Go back two pages," Hilda says. A grin tugs at her lips. "Was that Claude?"

"Oh! Uh, yes." Though Ignatz learned to leave embarrassment and nerves about his art behind, something in his chest still squirms, just a bit. An image of their leader in the library, face cast in candlelight and more at peace than he ever is during daylight, stares up at the duo. "It's easier when I’m with a person, but sometimes I'll do studies on my own. Practice makes perfect, after all."

"It's beautiful." She reaches out, pauses. "May I…?"

He passes it over. "Here. You can look at the others, too. I don't mind." Then he turns back to the easel and reaches for his paint. "Anyway, I thought this was as good a spot to work as any. There's a field down that way you can see best in the spring, and I like the view of everything from here."

"You'll have to show me when it's in season."

Her eyes flicker over thick paper. Statues. Flowers, trees, forest paths. Distance shots of people, strolling towards town. Swirls of filigree and patterns fill whole pages in patches, tiny stylized animals and the occasional dragon tucked into the empty space. Silhouettes crowd around the pews, and even if she recognizes clothes, many of these smaller figures are faceless.

But she finds a loose sketch, hair popping blond against black ink, of Raphael and a young girl with the same square jaw and broad shoulders. Claude himself appears once more, this time in wireframe form, ordinary steel bow drawn all the way back and arrow pointed to the left. When she plucks one of his other books from the stack it follows a similar trend — renderings of the cathedral, inside and out, stuck in among horse-drawn carriages and sunlit grass patches and clothes and people, both familiar and unfamiliar, faceless and defined. A few drawings are from the past few months: Sylvain in his armor, Baltie with his open-chested shirt, Leonie and her long hair, the monastery scaffolding.

Most of his drawings are from the academy days.

Lindhardt, leaned against a tree, the shadow of leaves mottled on his lap. Herself and Marianne seated in the dining hall. Lysithea, with a book in one hand and a swirl of magic in the other. Claude and Lorenz mid-argument. Felix as he trains blade blurred and bent as he lunges. Dimitri and Dedue bent over a table in their classroom. Edelgard as she strides across the courtyard, Hubert one step behind. Busts of the professor and Jeralt, side by side, the faintest quirk in their lips.

Hilda looks up and pauses. Ignatz presses so close to the canvas he’s peering over the wire frames of his glasses rather than through, brow furrowed and jaw set. She shuts an eye as the sun slips out from behind what’s left of Garreg Mach’s spires. Greyscale flowers peer up from the pages, a reflection of the few asters scattered around their feet. Mountain monastery air goes down sweet and full in her lungs.

"I gotta say, Ignatz,” she says, the edge of her thumb smudged in stray charcoal. "These are amazing. How long have you been doing art?"

"Since I was little." He leans back, considers his work, then leans in again. "My parents are merchants, so we delivered paintings and statuettes to a lot of noble houses in the Alliance. One day I found some extra supplies lying around so I just… picked it up and gave it a shot."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Even these plain sketches look much nicer than anything I could do, and don't even get me started on painting. No offense, Ignatz, but no thank you. Definitely not my wheelhouse."

Ignatz pauses. "None taken, and thank you. You draw?”

"Not much." She waves a hand. "My talents lie in accessories. I like to plan before I start working, figure out how it should come together and doodle in the margins a little sometimes, that's all."

"You're always wearing beautiful jewelry, but I didn't realize you made them yourself." A smile breaks out across his face. "That's amazing, Hilda!"

A blush rolls across her cheeks and she can't stop the tug of her lips into a matching grin. "Oh, stop it. Really?"

"Of course! The colors and shapes you use match your hair, complexion, and the clothes you tend to wear quite beautifully." His brush plunges into a cup of water by the foot of his easel and faces her fully. "When did you start?"

"A long time ago, now – I'm not even sure exactly how long, anymore. I used to make flower crowns and necklaces with my big brother, and it just spun out from there." The book lies closed in her hands now. Her finger runs up and down the paper, feels the grooves between unaligned pages. "I could make them as pretty or ugly as I wanted, so long as I was happy in the end. No one ever expected anything more or less. Not that I ever made something ugly, mind you."

Ignatz hummed. "Have you ever considered selling them?"

"Not really.” Hilda tilts her head. “Do you think it'd be a good idea?"

"Absolutely! You should consider it, once the war is over. I bet people would love them."

She taps her chin. “I’ll give it some thought. What about you, Ignatz? What do you plan on doing once this whole mess is behind us?”

“Well… Ideally, I’ll keep painting,” he says. “Even if I have to do it between my duties as a knight. It might make it hard to find a household to serve, but I don’t want to just stop.”

“Why are you aiming to be a knight? How come you’re not just going off to be an artist or something like you want to?”

“My parents sent me to the academy since my brother’s taking over the business. They didn’t really approve of the whole artist thing.” Ignatz shrugs. “I don’t really think I’m all that cut out for it, to be honest. Fighting’s never been my strong suit.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Hilda says. “Have you ever spoken to them about it?”

He shook his head. "Not much recently, at least."

“You should. Maybe you can convince them, after all this. And if you can’t, then just come to House Goneril, okay? I’ll let you paint as much as you want.”

“That would be nice.” He smiles, then bends to reach for his bag. “Thank you, Hilda.”

“Any time.” She holds the sketchbook out. Ignatz takes it, tucks it gently alongside the others. Before he can put his brush away, he pauses.

“If you have time,” he starts. "Would you like to join me out here again tomorrow? We could work on our projects together, if you have any."

Hilda smiles. "I'd love to, but I'm on stock duty tomorrow. No shuffling off the responsibility for that."

"I see. That's too bad. Maybe next time?"

"... Sure. I'd like that."

#Fire Emblem Three Houses #FE3H #FE3h Fic #FE3H Zine #Beneath The Banner zine #Blacknovelist Writes #long post #(in case readmore breaks tho it shouldn't really)

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bartycrouchjunior · 4 years

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24 Hours

Dated: 9 April, 1979 Location: Various

5am.

An alarm bell sounded from the end of a wand, Barty silencing it after a beat with a short wave. Tremblay Manor was quiet, the only interruption the steady singing of a bird outside. The sun was still sleeping as Barty made his way to the pitch, body moving automatically, each movement filled not with passion but instead structure and order as he began to run. When he showered he didn’t shy away from the icy stream of water, allowing it to numb his skin.

6am.

Sitting at his desk by a window with a strong cup of coffee in hand, the sun began to rise in the window. It was beautiful but Barty didn’t notice. On the desk were several orderly stacks of notes and at the front of the spotless surface an organized itinerary for his day, each hour carefully noted and accounted for. To the side, an ancient tomb older than the rest lay open, borrowed earlier that week from the library that Marceaux had showed him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a spider, spindly legs making their way across the windowsill. With a flick of his wand the creature froze and then began to contort in pain, each movement at the whim of the wizard. He took another sip of coffee, enjoying the game for another few seconds before growing bored. The spider didn’t move again.

8am.

Barty walked into the Great Hall just as mail was beginning to be delivered. He didn’t raise his eyes or look for his owl— he wasn’t expecting anything from home. Instead he passed by the Slytherin table first to drop off a book that Narcissa had left at the Manor the other evening, lingering just long enough to earn a sharp glance from Rosalind that he matched with a quip. When he returned to the opposite side of the hall he took a seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table alone, notes for tomorrow’s debate in hand. His lips moved silently over the argument, meal in front of him barely touched. When a group of students from Slug Club passed they called out his name and Barty lifted his chin with a short wave, manifesting a smile on his lips like a clown with a paintbrush. Fucking idiots.

9am.

Charms: Advanced Behavioral Charms. Barty sat at the front of the classroom. He knew the spells they were covering but his hand took notes automatically, brow narrowed in concentration. He rolled his eyes at the sound of a witch murmuring to another classmate about their plans for that night, eyes lifting expectantly as if waiting for the professor to call them out. He gripped his quill in muted annoyance. Of course Flitwick didn’t notice. He imagined squeezing her throat until she stopped and this brought the first genuine smile of the day to his lips.

11am.

Defensive Magic: Curses, Jinxes, & Hexes. Barty turned to his partner, forcing himself to remain silent as he watched the wizard’s sloppy wand-work. The man continued to ramble on lightheartedly about the last Puddlemere match and Barty laughed as if it came easily to him. The wizard’s mother worked alongside his father in the Council of Magical Law and he felt the weight of those invisible eyes heavy on the back of his neck. Barty adjusted his grip on his wand, using the quick movement to silently adjust the incorrect marks on the paper they were set to turn in together. Better.

1pm.

While the school rushed to the Great Hall for their lunch hour, Barty waited outside of Flitwick’s office with a mock schedule in hand for his proposed courses the following year. In his mind the meeting was merely a formality, more for the professor’s sake than his own. Barty had planned out the majority of his three years at Hogwarts while he was still at Cambridge. He remembered sitting next to Pandora in the study at his home, mapping out each year while she played piano, light and sweet. It felt like a lifetime ago.

2pm.

Barty found Frank Longbottom in the library with a fabricated expression of friendly surprise. He knew he would be here: he had memorized the other wizard’s schedule carefully. Positioning himself at the former Head Boy’s side, Barty began to work on an essay, not unusual for the pair. When he shared his pot of ink with the older wizard he offered a smile that he had seen the wizard give him hundreds of times before. It was carefully rehearsed and unassuming, nearly perfect by now. He felt a muted swell of satisfaction and continued on with his work, idly wondering what it would take to strip the other man of that grin.

3pm.

Charms Club. Barty had long-since bored of the club and Gawain Robards’ voice. As a second year now they had taken to pairing him with some of the newer members and his patience was steadily growing thin. He was better than this club— better than this school. His knee bounced in his seat and he counted the seconds as they dragged on.

4pm.

Dressed neatly in his uniform Barty stood at the edge of the pitch, watching as his team members slowly arrived. Hollie was late – again. There was a weight to his limbs that he refused to acknowledge. Eyes narrowed he scanned the group of girls, counting that they were all in attendance before raising his voice. Practice always started with a measured number of stretches. He wouldn’t risk any injuries if he could help it. There was nothing that would throw them off from their path to the Quidditch Cup faster than being down a member and losing wasn’t an option.

6pm.

Barty stilled as he passed by Wimbourne House on his way home, eyes lifting to the top of the hill by habit now. He wondered if Vivian was inside, glancing to the window as if waiting to see her silhouette there. Barty’s gaze dropped as the Head Girl existed the house instead and the wizard quickly plastered on the same false smile from before with a short wave. It came with more difficulty this time.

7pm.

Dinner with the Warlocks Junior Chapter. He had begun to wonder if Lucius’ hair products had started to effect his brain. An older wizard turned to Barty with a question and his smile lifted before stilling just as quickly on his face. A request for his father. Of course. His jaw hardened and he continued on unaffected. Allowing to drift his gaze across the table in search for a distraction he locked eyes with Aiden, holding the glance for a beat too long for anyone who might have been looking. Later, maybe.

9pm.

His arm shook as he cast spell after spell, back straight and form calculated and precise. Despite the late hour the valley was illuminated by the full moon overhead, allowing the wizard a clear view of the targets he had set up for himself. Reciting a spell, Barty’s wand arm was still raised when an unearthly sound shattered the silence, long, tortured and pained. He felt himself still, head snapping to the side and squinting up at the strange shack on the top of the hill. On any other day it might have been written off as heavy wind or an animal in the woods but tonight the Spring breeze was still, cool and silent. If Rabastan were here he might have continued towards the noise, walking in the direction of the hill or out even further towards the edge of the forest like it were the most natural thing in the world. But Rabastan wasn’t here. Barty straightened his arm, eyes narrowing with forced focus as he fired off another round of spells. He was taking the weekend off for his cousin’s wedding and needed to complete this set. Everything was on the schedule. There was a plan. Just ten more minutes.

#self para #sleepingddrabble #rnott #nblack #amclaggen #ralestrange #flongbottom #hhopkirk #lmalfoy #planchance #vtravers #tw: animal abuse #cw animal abuse #for the bb spider

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