peaches2217
šLiterally Just 2,217 Peaches in a Trenchcoatš
26 || He/She || Bisexual, Bigender, and Bi-annually confident in my own abilities || Mildly Overzealous Mareach Enthusiast ||Please let me know if I need to tag anything!
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Phew! I canāt believe it. Two more days to get through, and then my very first (hopefully of many) GAC consult! Since I donāt actually know what all my insurance will cover and how much itāll even be with or without it to begin with, Iāve been super strict with my money this past weekā¦ which has been hell, because buying perfumes when Iām nervous is such good stress relief. š
On that note, Bath & Body Works better hurry up and have another $5 body mist sale soon, I need me a backup of Covered in Rosesā¦ which, by the way, HIGHLY recommend. Itās so tart and lovely, literally wearing it right now to bed (paired with New York Sparkle, the litchi in CiR helps tame Sparkleās delicious but sometimes overpowering sweetness) š„°
Hhhhhhhhh wish me luck these next couple of days! My therapist says itās okay to get my hopes up for something like this, but Iām still scared to jinx it.
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@bberetd someone ordered Peach and Luigi friendship?
I neeeeeed to do more...
š«
š« - Comforting hugs
I said I wanted to deliver more Peach and Luigi Friendship content and by God I meant it
Back Home
~~~
ā...But Weegee, the food! Iām almost tempted to call it quits and come home early just so I can eat something good again. I canāt even make anything good myself. Everything they eat is green! No carbs! No fat or oils or condiments! Thereās not even any fruit! In factā¦ and, uh, the next three paragraphs are just about how much he hates the food.ā
Peach giggled into the back of her glove. āThe poor thing. He must be starving!ā
āOh, Mario doesnāt starve, Princess,ā Luigi promised, scanning over his brotherās lengthy written rant once more. āHeāll eat anything! Heāll just act real grumpy the whole time if he doesnāt like it, like this.ā
He folded the letter briefly to offer a demonstration of Marioās Bad Food Face: arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, lips set in a sulking pout. He mimed bringing a fork to his mouth and chewing with that unwavering expression, and Peach giggled again.
āThen at the very least, we know to prepare a feast for him once he returns.ā
āHeās already counting on it! Mentions it at the very end.ā Luigi shook out the letter once more, skimmed past the extensive complaints, and continued translating:Ā
āI canāt say for sure yet, but it should only be another week or two before this is all wrapped up in a big, pretty bow. Iāll let you know if that changes. Otherwise, letās have all the pasta our bellies can stand in a week or twoās time! Hugs, kisses, and one more big hug, Mario.ā
Luigi smoothed the creases in the paper with his thumbs and handed it to Peach. She admired the handwriting, and with her index finger she traced the indents his pen had left in the paper. āHe writes differently in different languages,ā she noted. āHis penmanship is much more relaxed here. When he writes to me, each word looks careful and neat.ā
āWell, youāre really the only other person he writes to, you know.ā
āAh! That might explain it.ā Peach smiled down at the paper in her hands. āHis letters to me are the only time he actually writes in the common tongue, then! No wonder he spends so much time getting the penmanship perfect.ā
āMmhm,ā Luigi nodded, and he couldnāt help but tap his foot arrhythmically beneath the small table they shared. She almost got it. Almost. He thought to give her a nudge in the right direction, maybe reveal all the hours Mario spent hunched over his work bench forcing his hand to produce dainty curves and elegant lines because I write like a Conkdor with its head chopped off and a pen taped to its foot! Thatās not good enough for a princess, Weegee!...
But something in Peachās face made him take pause. She still smiled softly, but her eyes were unfocused, even as she continued observing the letter.
āDoes it everā¦ get any easier?ā She twirled a lock of hair around her finger absently as she spoke. āIs there ever a point where you donātā¦ you donāt worry for him so much that it makes you feel sick?ā
Luigiās throat felt suddenly tight. Worried. He thought he had recognized that look. He saw it on Marioās face every so often, the tight smile and hazy eyes that told Luigi he needed a listening ear and a heaping helping of homemade spaghetti. It looked much more foreign on the princessā face.
He knew she worried for his safety when he was gone. Did it keep her awake at night, he wondered, just as Mario would sometimes spend all night staring at the ceiling and praying for her wellbeing?
Before he could think up a reassuring answer, he blurted out an entirely inappropriate question, the very question he would present to Mario in the same situation: āNeed a hug?ā
Peach blinked up from the paper in her hand. Luigi was the sort who would squirm and shudder and run away as fast as his legs could carry him if anyone except Mario tried to touch him. She was just as surprised by his offer as he was. But before he could apologize and take it back and explain his slip-upā
āIād greatly appreciate that, actually.ā
Luigi gulped. Wellā¦ a friend in need and all of that, right?
He stood from his seat, and she followed suit. He held his arms out to either side of his body. What next? Was he supposed to step forward? Pull her in? That didnāt feel right. Mercifully, she closed their distance before he could make a wrong move.
She reached her arms beneath his and placed her small hands on his back, drawing closer and resting her cheek against the side of his head. She wasnāt much taller than him, maybe a few inches, but he suddenly felt tiny in comparison. A whole person and all of her fears, contained right here in his arms. It was almost too much.
Hesitantly, he returned her embrace, patting her back softly. āMarioāsā¦ kinda like a cat,ā he offered, eventually. He fixed his eyes on a distant shrub so he had something to focus on other than the overwhelming smell of strawberries encompassing him, and that at least helped him find his words better. āHe keeps running off and getting pulled into who-knows-what, but in the end he always comes back home. You never really stop worrying for him. But you do get used to it. You realize he can take care of himself and you welcome him when he comes back and thatās really all there is to it, you know?ā
Peach nodded. Her hair tickled Luigiās face, fine and smooth. He wanted to sneeze.
He was relieved when she pulled away, taking a deep breath of clean air, but she still had that look, and that needed to change. He stepped forward again and placed his hands on her shoulders. More comfortable, still physical, maybe helpful? He hoped it was helpful. āLoving Mario feels like a full-time job sometimes,ā he joked, ābut I wouldnāt worry yourself sick. Nothing could stop him from coming back home.ā
Color rose into Peachās cheeks ā oh, she was definitely hung up on āloving Mario,ā that was rich ā and finally, she graced him with a sincere, full-hearted smile. āThank you, Luigi,ā she said, and he squeezed her shoulders in response.
Tension that he hadnāt realized heād been holding in his body released when he sat back down, and he melted into his chair. That was enough physical contact for one day, or maybe a week or six.
āPerhaps we can discuss the details of his Welcome Home feast,ā Peach suggested, grinning playfully as she held Marioās letter out to him. Luigi grinned right back. He certainly preferred to see the princess in good spirits.
āOr maybe we should have something good for dinner ourselves.ā He took the letter and held it to his chest with all the mock-sadness he could muster. āIn his honor.ā
āYouāre right. Itās what he would want for both of us.ā
āWe should have all of his favorites, to celebrate his selflessness.ā
āHeās going to hate us.ā
āWorth it.ā
Peach laughed as she rose once more and ushered for Luigi to follow her, presumably to the palace kitchens. He carefully tucked Marioās letter back into his pocket and followed after her.
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Yeeeeeeees! This is one of my favorites!!
The Mario series is still number one in my heart. As is Luigi. I love him. The little green dude is Prince Peasley my fav obscure Mario RPG dude. For anyone who actually knows the RPGs, theyāre in Mushrise Park and Wakeport because I at one point was writing a fic set there.
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Unused animation of Luigi either struggling or throwing a tantrum, found in the files of Luigi's Mansion.
Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source
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TW: Suggestive content (nothing explicit)
Companion Piece
~~~
Mario never much cared for floral scents. Not that there was anything wrong with them, not really, they just werenāt to his taste ā too light and airy, the olfactory equivalent of taking a swig of room-temperature sparkling water when you were expecting a cold, strong lemon-lime soda.
He was the sort whose senses sought to be tantalized. In middle school, he routinely doused himself in convenience store aftershave and strutted about proudly, applauding his own masculinity (because to a young teenager, nothing is manlier than reeking of cheap sandalwood diluted in rubbing alcohol); even after maturing and discovering the wonders of deodorant and regular showers, he preferred scrubbing off at the end of a long day with soaps that were rugged and spicy or leathery in scent.
But these days, he often went to bed and woke up the next morning smelling like an oversized celebratory bouquet, a development heād never anticipated would bring him such joy. Peachās favorite perfumes and bath products were much like her: light, sweet, fresh, and distinctly feminine. Whenever notes of peony and jasmine with a touch of strawberry hit his nose, whatever stressors he held onto slipped from his grasp, and instantly he felt ten times lighter. Those scents meant love. They meant peace and happiness. They meant her.
More than once Mario had been caught leaning dreamily against the edge of the tub, swirling her favorite bath oil into the water and sighing to himself. And he didnāt mind, because Peach would simply giggle and kneel beside him, kiss his cheek, maybe rub his shoulders or pull him into an embrace. There was no better remedy for long days apart.
Some nights they would undress each other, slowly and reverently, peppering fluttery kisses over newly-exposed skin. Other nights, the allure of a good soak would be far too tantalizing to Marioās sore muscles, and he would metamorphose into a useless puddle of plumber well before Peach could even unlace her corset, lazily urging her to hurry up and join him ā āThe waterās fine! But itāll be steaminā hot the second you get in, so be careful.ā She always giggled when he spouted off some corny line like that, as if she hadnāt heard it a thousand times before.
Day in and day out, he worked with pipes and wood and bricks, handled and grappled with stubborn materials through sturdy leather gloves. So he always cherished the petal-soft glide of her skin beneath his cracked palms, the way she closed her eyes and hummed softly as he lathered her in her favorite soap, how thoroughly at ease she always looked beneath his touch. Sometimes he would overestimate just how much soap he needed, and Peach would scrape the excess bubbles from her body and pile them on his head or blow them into his face, where theyād stick to his mustache so stubbornly that he could still taste soap hours later. He of course handled this like any true gentleman would: by blowing them right back, at which point they would spend the next thirty seconds flinging bubbles at one another with reckless abandon and spilling bath water all over the tiles.
As much fun as waging all-out war could be, his favorite part of the process was washing her back. Some nights she would turn from him and lean over the edge of the tub so he could access it more easily. Innocence would drip from her voice like honey, but there was always mischief in her eyes whenever she glanced back at him. Sheād arch her spine so he could claim a good view of her breasts in profile and sway her hips as if daring him to grab handfuls of her rump, and who was Mario to deny his princess? Other nights she was simply too relieved to be in the safety of their private haven, too tired from the strain of keeping up appearances day in and day out, and she would slump into him, their chests flush. On those nights she would sigh into his hair as his sudsy hands roamed the plain of her back, safe and comfortable in his arms, exactly where he liked her most.
Peach was equally attentive in her ministrations when she returned the favor. Her small hands worked the soap into his skin until he felt fresh and clean as a springtime tulip, stopping only to indulgently run her fingers through the hair on his chest or stomach or arms. She was deeply fond of his hair, wherever it happened to grow; he would dutifully duck his head as she poured water over him, and the way her manicured nails scratched his scalp as she shampooed his curls nearly put him to sleep every single time. Sometimes he really would doze off, content to let himself be pampered for once as the water grew tepid around them.
As for Peachās hair, it always remained in a bun high atop her head during their baths. There was so much of it, long and luscious and thick, that she preferred to leave the washing for nights where she could devote her full attention to the task. Only when they stepped out to towel each other down would she let it fall over her shoulders and down her back again. Drowsy and warm, Mario could never help staring, admiring the way her blonde waves puffed up in the humid bathroom air, wondering to himself how such a masterwork of art could have fallen for him just as hard as heād fallen for her.
Inevitably, heād curl a tendril of that hair around his index finger and draw her close, and sheād giggle and blush as he kissed a trail along her collarbones. Some nights he would dip his head lower, then lower, until either she stopped him so they could relocate or he was on his knees before her. But most nights he was content to rest his head against her bosom and hold her for a while, enjoying the lingering remnants of heat and breathing in their shared scent.Ā
Peonies and jasmine and a touch of strawberry. Mario never felt more like a man than he did when enveloped in that delicate aroma.
The scent would linger well into the morning, and he would roll up his sleeves and press his nose into his skin to catch its parting silage as it faded, until at midday he smelled of nothing once more. It took a few such afternoons to figure out why this filled him with a brief but poignant sadness. Pragmatically speaking, it was for the best, heād reasoned with himself. Why would he want to go around smelling flowery all day long? He had, after all, never been a fan of floral scents.
Then again, he had never been so deeply devoted, either. He had never loved and been loved in return with such intensity that his knees felt weak and his heart stuttered in his chest at the mere hint of his belovedās presence ā her voice echoing in a distant hall, the imprints in the grass where sheād tread during her daily walks, the familiar sweet aroma that filled the air around her.
He would proudly wear her scent on his skin, on his clothes, anywhere he could keep it close to him. And if that made him a floral guy after all, well then, he would wear that proudly as well.
#the anon that inspired this specifically requested non-sexual intimacy#I couldn't help but put a bit of spiciness in there but I tried keeping it overall tame by the end#I hope it's satisfactory in its delivery!#super mario bros#smb#mario#princess peach#mario x peach#mareach#peaches' fancy fics#tw sexual content
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TW: Suggestive content (nothing explicit)
Companion Piece
~~~
Luigi had always been a fan of floral scents. One of the very first purchases he ever made with his own money was a rose-scented body mist, bought in secret after being discovered sneaking his motherās perfume from her medicine cabinet one too many times. That cheap mist still lingered in his olfactory memory well into adulthood; how could he possibly forget? Its sharp artificial twang surrounded him as he stared himself down in the bathroom mirror at age fourteen, an ill-fitting pale green dress hanging from his gangly figure and the fledgling shadow of a mustache on his upper lip, feeling for the first time that he was actually looking at himself. All of him.Ā
His love for florals in general and roses in particular only intensified in adulthood. Every time he caught the abnormally strong fragrance of the royal golden roses as he idled through the palace gardens, he remembered looking into those deep brown eyes for the first time on Hoohoo Mountain, the gift of a single thornless stem heavy in his hand, and realizing that maybe his hopeless romantic of a brother hadnāt been making things up; maybe love at first sight really did exist. From there, what was once a guilty pleasure quickly became among his greatest comforts by way of association.
Indeed, he could drown in the overpowering fragrance of rose petals and never once come up for air, because their scent meant familiarity. They meant peace and joy and laughter, the sort that makes your lungs burn and your sides heave. They meant him.
It was only natural that Peasley, intent on presenting the best version of himself to his public each day, indulged in luxurious baths three or four or five times a week. And it was only natural that Luigi, the one being whose beauty he claimed surpassed his own, joined him each time. Luigi was never quite sure which of them enjoyed those shared baths most; though being tended to on such an intimate level had taken a fair deal of getting used to, he was unashamed to admit he thrived under that attention. For Peasley, it meant far more than indulgent loversā touches. He was well accustomed to being waited on hand and foot. To service rather than merely being serviced was simply too lovely a pleasure to resist.
The oils and soaps and shampoos he bathed in were all handcrafted from the very roses that grew in the palace gardens, commissioned with royal money ā he extolled the quality of Beanish-made beauty products above all others, because no one in all the Eight Realms could cater to Beanish skin and hair like a Beanish artisan. Luigi certainly couldnāt deny the quality. The bathwater always felt silken as he swirled it, and until he climbed in, his hand would be much softer than the rest of him.
Hair was always first on the list (something about shampoo residue being bad for the skin, though given they were more or less the same products, Luigi didnāt really get the hype). Peasley would saturate Luigiās dark, wavy hair in their luxurious water before lathering shampoo between his hands and working it in with his fingertips. Being a good deal taller, Luigi would have to stoop until it was time to rinse the shampoo out, but the soothing pressure of Peasleyās fingers against his scalp made the temporary back and neck soreness worth it.
This was a favor he didnāt get to return often, as Beanish hair wasā¦ strange, not quite like any hair he was familiar with. Peasley needed a shampooing only once a month. So he would take his time on those days, giving each silken strand the attention it deserved until Peasley finally convinced him that heād succeeded in his task, or fell asleep. The latter was especially rewarding.
Once that was done, Peasley (occasionally rubbing sleep from his eyes) would massage each perfumed gel and oil into Luigiās skin with slow, smooth movements, his features focused but relaxed. He was perhaps more entranced with his productsā effects on Luigi than Luigi himself. Even after the last remnants of soap had been rinsed away, he would stroke and prod at Luigiās arms and chest and neck, now velvety soft, features alight in curiosity as if he was touching him for the very first time. Luigi would do his best to stay still and enjoy it. But Peasleyās ministrations were always so dainty and light, sensations far more tolerable on his scalp than on his everything else; inevitably, heād jerk about in ticklishness, and Peasley would tut in playful disapproval.
āOh, sit still, you,ā he would tease as Luigi laughed and lurched beneath his touch. āI could make this so much worse.ā Sometimes he followed through on that threat, straddling Luigi to hold him in place while he nipped at his neck and jawline and ghosted skilled fingertips over sensitive spots, until either heād had his fill of humored shrieking and backed off or he decided he wanted more. If ever it came to that, then his kisses would quickly grow more deliberate, his touches decisive, until their sighs drowned out the last echoes of laughter.
Most nights, however, he was content to kiss Luigiās cheek and grant him reprieve. No matter how loudly his nerves buzzed from overstimulation, he could never help but feel sad to lose Peasleyās touch.
He couldnāt fault his prince for his fascination. The human body was just as strange and wonderful to Peasley as Beanish bodies were to him.
As for Peasley, his cool skin turned from pear to a bright chartreuse as it absorbed the heat and steam from the water, and that steam in turn gave his cheeks (both sets, Luigi couldnāt help but notice) an even rounder, healthier appearance than ever. His waxy skin felt like the plump leaves of a succulent beneath Luigiās hands. How could he not indulge himself? His thumbs traced divots and ridges as his sudsy hands worked over Peasleyās body: the dips of his thighbones, the uniform scars beneath each pec, the hollows of his clavicle.
When he reached his face, Peasley always turned his cheek to kiss Luigiās palm, sometimes with words of thanks, oftentimes with nothing more than a look of pure adoration. And just as often, Luigi would gaze back and remember once more the first time he looked into those eyes on Hoohoo Mountain. Though the dewy authentic rose that hung in the air choked out the memory of dollar store perfume, he remembered feeling that day the same way heād felt discovering himself as a boy in the bathroom mirror: like heād been reunited with a piece of himself that he hadnāt even known was missing.
Roses and princes and big, fluffy towels, being carried from the bath to the bed in shockingly strong arms amidst a flurry of giggles and sighs. How this had become his new normal Luigi wasnāt sure. But whether the air around them grew hot with electricity or cooled as the last droplets of bath water evaporated, the aroma of golden roses hung heavy on and around them, and he knew he was exactly where he belonged.
Whether in a palace or a cottage, whether a consort or a mere plumber, so long as his Peasley and their beloved roses were near, he knew he was home.
#phew! I'm rusty when it comes to these two. forgive me#but this at the very least got me back into the right headspace for writing them! just gotta practice more.#super mario bros#smb#luigi#prince peasley#luisley#luigi x peasley#m&l rpgs#superstar saga#peaches' fancy fics#tw sexual content
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THIS is the GOOD STUFF šš»šš»šš»šš»šš»
Nintendo needs to give us more of them š¤š¾
Mario and Daisy coming soon ;)
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"Ah, Princess, what a beautiful evening! š„°"
Your (second) daily Mario gif.
#this is my favorite opening to a mario game of all time#the graphics! the colors! the music! the sheer fun and chaos in such a short timespan!#and of course... mario and peach flirting in the beginning šš»šš»#this entire opening embodies and demonstrates everything I love about this series in just a minute and a half and that's hella impressive
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AISUU SAVED ME
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save me AiSuu...
AiSuu...
Aisuu save me...
#I need to make a post introducing my mario followers (which is like... 98% of my followers and 99% of my moots) to my fave vocalsynths#aisuu is in fact saving me at this moment#or at least this cover#oh my fuck she is. LITERALLY the perfect bank#peaches screams into the void
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"Don't use Libby because it costs libraries too much, pirate instead" is such a weird, anti-patron, anti-author take that somehow manages to also be anti-library, in my professional librarian-ass opinion.
It's well documented that pirating books negatively affects authors directly* in a way that pirating movies or TV shows doesn't affect actors or writers, so I will likely always be anti-book piracy unless there's absolutely, positively no other option (i.e. the book simply doesn't exist outside of online archives at all, or in a particular language).
Also, yeah, Libby and Hoopla licenses are really expensive, but libraries buy them SO THAT PATRONS CAN USE THEM. If you're gonna be pissed at anybody about this shitty state of affairs, be pissed at publishing companies and continue to use Libby or Hoopla at your library so we can continue to justify having it to our funding bodies.
One of the best ways to support your library having services you like is to USE THOSE SERVICES. Yes, even if they are expensive.
*Yes, this is a blog post, but it's a blog post filled with links to news articles. If you can click one link, you can click another.
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best way I have found to comfort people who are endlessly apologetic of things outside their control (often as a result of shitty relationships) is the jokingly hyperbolic accusation of [gasp] "so you're behind it all!"
like someone giving me directions who starts apologizing profusely when I miss a light as if it's their fault--[gasp] "it was you who petitioned city council to build this intersection in 1893!!" because it snaps them out of it and they laugh like. oh yeah. that's a ridiculous thing to blame someone for. I'm not that guy. you're not that guy. it works.
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