#y'all failed lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrs-luigi-vargas · 7 months

Text

Um. Hi. So I was reading @theangelofangst's newest work and it gave me Blorbo Thoughts. Unfortunately my blorbo is Kamek, so uhh…yeah.

Anyway, I wrote a thing based on it! Sorry if the lore/timeline (or the cipher) is wrong; I started writing this after Chapter 3 came out and then Chapter 4 came out as I entered the editing phase, lmao.

Also if you haven't read Speechless Symphony yet, you really really should! It's a delight of a story and the ending is very good :D

~~~

Sivsocavoup & Sitvusevoup

[AO3 Link]

Sitting in a cage in a pitiful excuse for a dungeon really gives you a lot of time to think.

A lot of time for your mind to wander, bored with staring at golden bars, white walls, the glint of metal spears meant to poke you if you’re out of line, the closed door denying you freedom. Nothing to stop thoughts and memories from surfacing, and of course those thoughts and memories can't do you the decency of being any semblance of pleasant.

No, the memories that float beneath your eyelids and repeat ad nauseam are those having to do with how you had ended up here to begin with. That plan, that infiltration, that confrontation. That oh-so-satisfying spray of blood, those delectable cries of fear. That green human’s face flipping to pure rage at a speed that could have put even King Bowser to shame.

That lucky throw.

That throw that shouldn't have been of any note, as the object flung through the air had been just a small stone. But it hadn’t been until the flames King Bowser had been gathering abruptly died out and he'd begun clawing at his own throat that you’d realized something was wrong. But you had barely been able to raise your wand to do anything about the way his face had twisted in pain before the green one struck, with a blow to the head that cast your world dark.

And then you had woken up here.

You spend the first hours after reorienting yourself fuming about the indignity of it all. Swearing vengeance for being treated like this, cursing those blasted humans who had landed you here, vowing to break out with King Bowser and —

The panic that had been blooming in your King’s eyes flashes in your mind, then. If you were an optimist, then you would next hope that whatever had been wrong with him had somehow resolved itself, and that he was waiting somewhere in the wings with a grand plan to break you, his esteemed second-in-command, out of this dreadful place. But you know exactly what had been wrong with King Bowser, and you haven't gotten this far in life with anything as worthless as optimism.

So you flick your wrist when the guards aren't looking, pulling up that monitoring charm you’d attached to your King back when he’d been a trouble-making prince, one you’d never bothered to remove as he’d aged. It stares back at you, fuzzy and buzzing with static as if it had never been anchored to him at all. You allow yourself one tremulous breath, paired with a single overlong blink. You’re behind enemy lines, after all.

...

...He’d been a great king.

For the next few days, you comfort yourself with the fact that the Mushroom Kingdom’s hero, at least, had been injured enough that he likely hadn’t survived that encounter, either. But even that solace is denied to you, as you overhear the guards standing near your cage chatter about Mario. About Mario’s recovery —

You struggle to keep your magic under control. They'd taken your wand away when they’d locked you up, in the assumption you were powerless without it; there’s no need for them to have evidence to the contrary. Still, you seethe over the meager, tasteless prison food they’d given you. You should have known the lack of funeral bells was a sign something wasn't right. Not only does that green hero get to walk away a murderer, he gets to have his brother with him, safe and sound. A duo of goody-two-shoes, prancing about as if they hadn't destabilized an entire kingdom in one fell swoop. As if they hadn't —

Again, you wrestle your magic down. It still simmers beneath your skin, eager for an outlet. And you're eager to give it one, one that ended in those brothers suffering a thousand times the amount King Bowser had, as he’d burned from the inside out. Yes, they would rue the day they crawled out of whatever wretched hole they’d surfaced from, so long as you still lived.

---

For a while, you entertain more...outlandish forms of revenge. A curse to cause unending nightmares as it puts them to sleep for good; an “accident” that leaves them both blind and deaf and crippled for life; the red hero held down, helpless to watch as you break every one of his brother’s bones one by one by one.

But those ideas, while satisfying, still aren't enough. You haven’t gotten this far in life without a reliable and fine-tuned cruel streak, and in that fine-tuning you’ve learned cruelty is a dish best served cold. So you let those short-sighted scenarios pass you by, sorting through the chaff for the perfect one.

You also know cruelty is a dish best made to the servee’s tastes, and for that, you need intel. You haven't needed a wand to cast simple spells since you’d learned to walk, so it’s trivial to attach little eavesdropping charms to the food trays and cutlery those fungal peons bring to you at mealtimes. Emphasis on little, because while you have been doing magic longer than any of these imbeciles had been alive, you know the Princess, at least, isn't as much of an idiot as the rest of them regarding magical matters, and you haven't gotten this far in life without a healthy dose of caution.

So you do what you do best — you listen, and you learn. Those brothers visit the castle often, and thus you find the red one hadn't actually escaped King Bowser’s final attack unscathed; apparently, his voice box is forfeit. The world forever spared of that idiot’s worthless blathering...for the first time since waking up imprisoned, a ghost of a smile curls up on your face. Even in death, your King’s vicious nature still prevails. You’d taught him well.

And, in a lucky break, you manage to eavesdrop on your King’s murderer well enough to catch the guilt in his voice when talking about the state of his brother. You take a risk and upgrade the charm to give you visuals, and you see with your own eyes the self-condemnation lining his shoulders. The sight is enough for the second grin of your prison stay. But it isn’t enough to satisfy you completely; you need it to hurt more. Nonetheless, you could still use this; the only reason King Bowser’s blow had landed — besides his unrivaled combat prowess — was because his initial target had been too busy cowering in fear to see the strike coming.

Without access to your spellbooks, it takes a while for the perfect idea to manifest. But that’s fine; you haven’t gotten this far in life without a wealth of patience. You mentally flip through them, one by one, for the perfect spell to make those humans pay, as you bide your time for an opportunity to escape.

And the perfect inspiration comes months later; after months of awful prison food and taunting from the guards and absolutely no privacy, you sit next to the light of the moon, thinking about your late King. Not in a moment of weakness, as someone soft-hearted would assume, but of the power vacuum he’d left in his wake. To be filled by whatever schmuck made a big enough power play, by the circumstances. You frown imagining it, a headache half-budding in your temples. If you were a lesser man, this would be when you would wish to do anything to have King Bowser back to take his rightful place once again. But you are greater, so you merely cast that thought aside; when you return to the Darklands you’ll find some poor saps to use as fodder for whatever revival ritual you’ll perform to get King Bowser back to his glorious, living self.

But...you do know someone lesser. Many people, in fact. One person in particular, however, would be perfect to cast in a certain role. And there’s another who would be an excellent fit for the tragic hero of this upcoming tale. And you won't even have to hatch another escape plan to direct it!

Originally, the spell you’re thinking of was something to cast on oneself in a saccharine moment of self-sacrifice for a loved one, but you know better. So you spend the next week or so keeping to yourself, those pathetic excuses for guards long since bored of you, recalling the exact shape of the incantation you need, building your magic reserves as much as you can to cast the spell itself the way you want to, knowing your slight magical atrophy and the lack of magical focus would make things marginally difficult. Or rather, it would have made things marginally difficult, if you weren't the greatest wizard alive.

As such, soon enough, with the moon sitting high yet hidden in the night sky and almost a year to the day since King Bowser was killed, you deem yourself ready.

In the darkness, you kneel on the metal floor of your cage. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and focus your attention inward. You think of your King, that look on his face, the last look you had seen on him while he was still alive. The look he probably died wearing. Surprised. Agonized. Frightened.

The vowels and consonants of your native language fall from your lips easily; low, whispered, with the barest of shaking as you concentrate. You feel the spell reach out to you, wanting you to pay your price. You feel it reach out beyond you, toward the Darklands, wanting to restore what was lost in exchange.

But you aren't a lesser man, so you don't give it the chance. You gather your magic and push it away, away out of the room, towards the magical signature you want it to latch on to instead. While the act of doing so is simple, it still costs a fair bit of energy, and without your wand you’re left panting from the effort of avoiding becoming ensnared by the spell yourself. You’d chosen it for a reason, a reason that was rather deadly. It wouldn't do to fail now.

The moon sits high in the sky and the rest of the world is asleep, so you shift to a better sitting position and lean back against the bars of your cage. You feel the traces of magic stretch out toward where you sent the spell, winding down pathways and weaving between buildings, to a little house in a town, to a certain murderer’s sleeping form. They’ll figure out what you’ve done sooner rather than later, you know. And with the spell you’ve cast banned in every country and scrubbed from every text published in the last century, they will have to come to you to learn how to break it. Not that you’ll tell them, of course.

So now, all there’s left to do is wait. Wait for them to come with their distress and their anger and their paltry threats. Wait for their tears, their denial, their attempts to bargain with you. And as the only one with answers, you’ll be free to give the ones that would only send them further into despair.

As your magical exhaustion ushers you to sleep, a cold smile dances on your face. You haven't gotten this far in life without patience and cruelty, after all. And it looks like both are about to pay off.

You can hardly wait for it.

#again sorry not sorry i have the wrong blorbo lmao #y'all keep giving kamek the most awesome plans only to have them fail at the last second #it's very sad :(#(i jest)#(keep being awesome y'all <3)#mlv.fic #smb #kamek

11 notes · View notes