The Last to Comment Wins

JayMark

JayMark

It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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The grease-stained overalls hung loose on Mario’s frame as he slumped onto the barstool, elbows sticking to the varnished wood. He didn’t even like this place—too many neon signs buzzing like faulty wiring, too many strangers laughing too loud. But the plumbing job under the Koopa Troopa Bridge had drained him, and the thought of going home to an empty apartment made his chest ache.

Pikachu’s fur crackled with static as it—no, *he*—hopped onto the stool beside Mario, cheeks rosy from cheap sake. "You look like a man who’s lost a fight with a Dry Bones," Pikachu said, tail flicking against Mario’s thigh. The contact sent a jolt up Mario’s spine, unexpected but not unwelcome. He opened his mouth to reply when the door slammed open, hinges protesting. Sonic stood there, quills glistening under the bar’s flickering sign, a grin stretching his muzzle. "Either of you losers know how to party, or am I gonna have to teach you that too?"

Mario’s pulse stuttered—Sonic’s confidence was a live wire, reckless and magnetic. The hedgehog slid into the seat opposite them, fingers drumming the sticky tabletop. The scent of ozone and chili dogs clung to him, mingling with Pikachu’s sweet-sharp electricity. Mario’s throat went dry. He traced the rim of his beer glass, watching condensation slide down like sweat.

Pikachu’s tail curled around Mario’s wrist, deliberate this time. "He’s got a point," the Pokémon murmured, voice low enough that Sonic leaned in to catch it. "You’ve been wound tighter than a Boo’s coil since we got here." Sonic’s laugh was a warm puff against Mario’s cheek. "Yeah, dude. Live a little." His glove brushed Mario’s knuckles, a tease of leather and speed-calloused skin.

The lights dimmed—some drunk must’ve hit the switch—and Mario’s world narrowed to the heat of them pressed close, the way Sonic’s knee knocked against his under the table. Pikachu nipped at Mario’s ear, blunt teeth and crackling charge.
 
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JayMark

JayMark

It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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Moo!


Then the door exploded inward.

Splinters rained onto the beer-slick floor as Luigi stood framed in the wreckage, his usually timid frame rigid beneath flowing crimson robes stitched with golden crosses. A hat resembling a bishop’s mitre sat askew on his head, his eyes manic behind round spectacles. "HERETICS!" he shrieked, brandishing a gavel carved from a Bullet Bill’s casing. Behind him, two Shy Guys in papier-mâché armor dragged in a wooden confessional booth, its curtains already singed.

"Wha—Luigi?!" Mario choked, half-standing, but Pikachu’s tail yanked him back down. Sonic’s quills bristled—not with fear, but something sharper, darker. "Oh-ho-ho, *this* is new," he purred, fingers twitching toward the ring of throwing stars hidden in his glove.

Luigi brought the gavel down with a crack that sent a tremor through the floorboards. "Article *five*, Section *three* of the Mushroom Kingdom Ecclesiastical Code!" he screeched, voice fraying at the edges like old parchment. "Lewd acts between *species* constitute *cosmic impurity*!" The Shy Guys dropped the confessional with a thud, one of them scrambling to light the incense burner swinging from its roof. Smoke coiled, thick and cloying, smelling of burnt honey and judgment.

Pikachu's ears flattened. "Dude, what the *hell*—"
"*Exactly*!" Luigi's finger jabbed upward, the mitre slipping further. "You *summoned* him!" He whirled on Sonic, robes flapping like bat wings. "And *you*—hedonistic *speed demon*—dragging my brother into your *filth*—" His voice broke, spittle flying. Mario had never seen Luigi’s hands shake like this, not even facing Bowser.

The confessional’s incense smoke curled around Sonic’s ankles like spectral fingers. He kicked at it, grinning. "Y’know, for a Holy Man, you’re *real* interested in our bedroom habits." Luigi’s scream was pure static. The Shy Guys lunged—one snagged Pikachu’s tail, only to convulse as volts ripped through its papier-mâché chest. Sonic blurred, reappearing atop the splintered doorframe, balancing on one foot. "Catch me if you—*oof*!" A rosary chain, weighted with what looked like mini Chain Chomp links, wrapped around his ankle.

Mario grabbed Luigi’s wrist mid-swing. "Bro, *basta*! They got you brainwashed or somethin’—" Luigi’s eyes were wet, red-rimmed. "You *left*," he hissed. "After Mom’s funeral, you *left*. And now you’re—you’re *this*?" Mario flinched. The confession booth creaked ominously, its singed curtains fluttering despite the absence of wind.

Pikachu arched his back, fur standing on end—not from aggression, but the sudden density of ions in the air. The incense wasn’t just smoke; it was conductive. Sonic yanked against the rosary chain, teeth bared. "Okay, *exorcist*, this got old *fast*—" The remaining Shy Guy flung a handful of something glittering—ground-up Super Stars, maybe—right into Sonic’s face. He sneezed violently, losing his balance, and the confessional door swung open with a groan.

Inside was no priest’s bench—just a velvet-lined cavity pulsing with bioluminescent fungus, its tendrils twitching toward the trio like hungry tongues. "Penance," Luigi hissed, shoving Mario forward. The scent of it—rotting peaches and wet circuitry—made Pikachu gag.
 
Hoshino

Hoshino

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JayMark said:
Moo!


Then the door exploded inward.

Splinters rained onto the beer-slick floor as Luigi stood framed in the wreckage, his usually timid frame rigid beneath flowing crimson robes stitched with golden crosses. A hat resembling a bishop’s mitre sat askew on his head, his eyes manic behind round spectacles. "HERETICS!" he shrieked, brandishing a gavel carved from a Bullet Bill’s casing. Behind him, two Shy Guys in papier-mâché armor dragged in a wooden confessional booth, its curtains already singed.

"Wha—Luigi?!" Mario choked, half-standing, but Pikachu’s tail yanked him back down. Sonic’s quills bristled—not with fear, but something sharper, darker. "Oh-ho-ho, *this* is new," he purred, fingers twitching toward the ring of throwing stars hidden in his glove.

Luigi brought the gavel down with a crack that sent a tremor through the floorboards. "Article *five*, Section *three* of the Mushroom Kingdom Ecclesiastical Code!" he screeched, voice fraying at the edges like old parchment. "Lewd acts between *species* constitute *cosmic impurity*!" The Shy Guys dropped the confessional with a thud, one of them scrambling to light the incense burner swinging from its roof. Smoke coiled, thick and cloying, smelling of burnt honey and judgment.

Pikachu's ears flattened. "Dude, what the *hell*—"
"*Exactly*!" Luigi's finger jabbed upward, the mitre slipping further. "You *summoned* him!" He whirled on Sonic, robes flapping like bat wings. "And *you*—hedonistic *speed demon*—dragging my brother into your *filth*—" His voice broke, spittle flying. Mario had never seen Luigi’s hands shake like this, not even facing Bowser.

The confessional’s incense smoke curled around Sonic’s ankles like spectral fingers. He kicked at it, grinning. "Y’know, for a Holy Man, you’re *real* interested in our bedroom habits." Luigi’s scream was pure static. The Shy Guys lunged—one snagged Pikachu’s tail, only to convulse as volts ripped through its papier-mâché chest. Sonic blurred, reappearing atop the splintered doorframe, balancing on one foot. "Catch me if you—*oof*!" A rosary chain, weighted with what looked like mini Chain Chomp links, wrapped around his ankle.

Mario grabbed Luigi’s wrist mid-swing. "Bro, *basta*! They got you brainwashed or somethin’—" Luigi’s eyes were wet, red-rimmed. "You *left*," he hissed. "After Mom’s funeral, you *left*. And now you’re—you’re *this*?" Mario flinched. The confession booth creaked ominously, its singed curtains fluttering despite the absence of wind.

Pikachu arched his back, fur standing on end—not from aggression, but the sudden density of ions in the air. The incense wasn’t just smoke; it was conductive. Sonic yanked against the rosary chain, teeth bared. "Okay, *exorcist*, this got old *fast*—" The remaining Shy Guy flung a handful of something glittering—ground-up Super Stars, maybe—right into Sonic’s face. He sneezed violently, losing his balance, and the confessional door swung open with a groan.

Inside was no priest’s bench—just a velvet-lined cavity pulsing with bioluminescent fungus, its tendrils twitching toward the trio like hungry tongues. "Penance," Luigi hissed, shoving Mario forward. The scent of it—rotting peaches and wet circuitry—made Pikachu gag.
Click to expand...
what how did the last comment thread turn into a battle of pokemone and mario-nya
 
JayMark

JayMark

It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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Hoshino said:
what how did the last comment thread turn into a battle of pokemone and mario-nya
Click to expand...
Then the air split with a sound like a thousand bones snapping. The bar’s neon signs shattered in unison, glass raining down as the ceiling peeled open like a rotten banana. There, hovering on a plume of acrid green smoke, was a figure so absurdly out of place that even Sonic froze mid-struggle. "Well, well," Voldemort crooned, his lipless smile stretching wider than a Boo’s elastic grin. "What *delicious* degeneracy I’ve stumbled upon."

Pikachu’s cheeks sparked uselessly—the conductive incense had turned the air into a living Faraday cage, his electricity grounding harmlessly into the floor. Luigi stumbled back, mitre tumbling off as he gaped at the Dark Lord. "Y-you’re not from the diocese," he stammered. Voldemort’s laughter was the scrape of a coffin lid. "*No*, little zealot. But I *do* know what to do with… *unclean* things." His wand twitched, and Mario’s overalls constricted violently, seams popping as the fabric coiled around him like a python.

Sonic’s rosary chain went molten, links glowing cherry-red before dissolving into eldritch steam. He hit the floor rolling, quills singed, but Voldemort was already levitating the confessional—bioluminescent fungus and all—like a rancid offering. "Let’s see how *pure* you are when I strip you down to the *bone*," he hissed, and the fungus lashed out, tendrils splitting into skeletal fingers tipped with needle-fine spores.

Pikachu lunged, fangs bared—not at Voldemort, but at Luigi, knocking the gavel from his trembling grip. "Snap out of it!" The Pokémon’s voice was raw, static fizzling uselessly in the charged air. Luigi blinked, sweat-slick bangs sticking to his forehead, his pupils dilating as if surfacing from a nightmare. The Shy Guys collapsed like discarded puppets, papier-mâché armor crumbling to reveal hollow insides stuffed with dried-up Super Leaves.

Voldemort’s nostrils flared at the scent of decay. "Pathetic," he murmured, wand tracing a lazy arc toward the bioluminescent fungus. It pulsed in response, tendrils spasming as they elongated into grotesque parodies of human limbs—fingers with too many joints, wrists that bent backward. One brushed Sonic’s ankle, and the hedgehog yelped as spores burrowed into his fur, sprouting minute, wriggling filaments. "The *fuck*—" He kicked wildly, but the infection spread faster, veins under his skin fluorescing neon green.
 
Hoshino

Hoshino

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JayMark said:
Then the air split with a sound like a thousand bones snapping. The bar’s neon signs shattered in unison, glass raining down as the ceiling peeled open like a rotten banana. There, hovering on a plume of acrid green smoke, was a figure so absurdly out of place that even Sonic froze mid-struggle. "Well, well," Voldemort crooned, his lipless smile stretching wider than a Boo’s elastic grin. "What *delicious* degeneracy I’ve stumbled upon."

Pikachu’s cheeks sparked uselessly—the conductive incense had turned the air into a living Faraday cage, his electricity grounding harmlessly into the floor. Luigi stumbled back, mitre tumbling off as he gaped at the Dark Lord. "Y-you’re not from the diocese," he stammered. Voldemort’s laughter was the scrape of a coffin lid. "*No*, little zealot. But I *do* know what to do with… *unclean* things." His wand twitched, and Mario’s overalls constricted violently, seams popping as the fabric coiled around him like a python.

Sonic’s rosary chain went molten, links glowing cherry-red before dissolving into eldritch steam. He hit the floor rolling, quills singed, but Voldemort was already levitating the confessional—bioluminescent fungus and all—like a rancid offering. "Let’s see how *pure* you are when I strip you down to the *bone*," he hissed, and the fungus lashed out, tendrils splitting into skeletal fingers tipped with needle-fine spores.

Pikachu lunged, fangs bared—not at Voldemort, but at Luigi, knocking the gavel from his trembling grip. "Snap out of it!" The Pokémon’s voice was raw, static fizzling uselessly in the charged air. Luigi blinked, sweat-slick bangs sticking to his forehead, his pupils dilating as if surfacing from a nightmare. The Shy Guys collapsed like discarded puppets, papier-mâché armor crumbling to reveal hollow insides stuffed with dried-up Super Leaves.

Voldemort’s nostrils flared at the scent of decay. "Pathetic," he murmured, wand tracing a lazy arc toward the bioluminescent fungus. It pulsed in response, tendrils spasming as they elongated into grotesque parodies of human limbs—fingers with too many joints, wrists that bent backward. One brushed Sonic’s ankle, and the hedgehog yelped as spores burrowed into his fur, sprouting minute, wriggling filaments. "The *fuck*—" He kicked wildly, but the infection spread faster, veins under his skin fluorescing neon green.
Click to expand...
its turning into more of a fever dream-nya
 
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