#i personally find THAT the more interesting story
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Routine
Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost
A/N: Hi everyone! I told you that I had a hubby-treat for you, and it is finally here. I’m very excited to share this one with you as it is something that I’ve gotten a ton of requests for. You love the simplicity of domestic life, so here’s the life of Los Peñas after you’ve begged to see what their routine looks like.
Like always: A huge thanks to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for being a patient, sweet and talented beta-reader.
Summary: A day in the life of Javier Peña and his growing family.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader/You (No y/n)
Tags: +18, MDNI, hubby!javi’s POV and introspection, pregnant reader, pregnancy symptoms, family dynamics, domestic routines, tooth-rotting domestic bliss, siblings being siblings, married banter, heart-to-hearts, references to Reassess, family conflicts, casanova!javi turned oblivious!javi, javier with a baby needs a warning, handsy and inappropriate!javi, mention of javier’s mother, baby scan talk, hubby being a DAD!, couch cuddles (with and without kids), sex toys (not explicitly a rose but something along the lines, and while I know we are in the 00s, let’s pretend that sucking toys and cordless toys were a thing for the sake of the story), f masturbation, pregnancy sex, consent king javi, teasing, light dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, light verbal humiliation, nipple play, nipple orgasm, overstim, intense sex, multiple orgasms, m masturbation, wife is an insatiable brat and a screamer, slight dacryphilia, piv sex, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, slight subdrop, lots of praises and aftercare, baths and hair washing,
Word count: 17.2k (sorry)
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56355349
Routine
Javier’s alarm goes off at 6:30 AM each morning. He breathes deeply in through his nose as he is woken by the beeping sounds of his alarm clock, pulls his arm out from under the covers where it is wrapped around your waist, and moves it to the button on top of the device. He fumbles to find it for a moment, ending up smacking his hand into the plastic with a grunt.
You stir beside him when he falls back down on his back. He rubs his eyes until he sees fireworks behind his lids, moving the hand down to smooth his thumb and forefinger along his mustache.
“It’s 6:30,” he then tells you, reaching for your shoulder to shake you gently until you whine a no and cover your face with your arms. He smiles as your half-asleep state makes you no better than his only daughter, “Come on, mi amor (my love). Another day.”
“Thank God, it’s Friday,” you mumble, “One more wake-up routine and I might leave to start a new life as an actually interesting person, maybe a psychic woman.”
“Telling fortunes?” He muses with a goofy smile even if you cannot see him. He reaches to pull your arms away, “C’mon now.”
“Yes, maybe,” you give in and sit up, resting your folded hands on top of your pregnant belly, “The spirits are telling me that you are waking up the queen of this household. I’ll take Seb later.”
You are still on leave after giving birth to Sebastian but after Javier has started his new job, the both of you have discussed the idea of you being a stay-at-home mother for some time after the twins have been born too. You do most of your work on your computer anyway, and if you quit your job, there’ll be plenty of opportunities to do some freelance stuff for extra income. Javier isn’t over the moon about you playing the part of the cherry-pie-making housewife but you reason that you only get to experience the kids as kids once which he can’t argue with (especially not when he chose a different job for the exact same reason).
“You sure have a gift, all-seeing wife,” Javier nods in agreement and kisses your lips even as you say you have a terrible case of morning breath. Then, resting on his hands, he bends down to kiss your stomach too, “Anything else Mamá wants?”
“Can you make breakfast?” You blink prettily, “I’ll do school lunches and coffee.”
“Sure,” he leans over you and smirks when your noses bump together, “How do you want your eggs? Except fertilized, obviously.”
“Javi,” you scold but giggle and initiate a kiss anyway. He kisses you longingly because he hasn’t for eight long hours of sleep. When he pulls back, heat has risen to your cheek, “Just scrambled.”
“You got it,” he moves and gets out of the bed. It is 6:36 AM now and he calculates the time he’ll have to wake up Inés as well as make breakfast if he needs to get in the shower before leaving too. He doesn’t have to stress.
“And Javi?” You call from the bed.
He turns around in the doorway to the master bathroom, “Yes?”
“Good morning,” you beam.
“Good morning, baby,” he smiles.
He takes a quick moment to wash his face, leaving the door open so you can run back and forth to pee the million times that you need to each morning. He doesn’t say anything, just listens to you moving around as you brush your hair and put on soft sweatpants. He tries to imagine what you’ll be wearing when he sees you later because you always shower after sending him and the children out of the door. He hopes that you will wear your blue sundress now that it's warmer than ever.
When he emerges from the bathroom to plan what he is going to wear for the day, you are already gone and he can hear the radio playing music in the kitchen. He revises his material for today’s lecture about criminal behavior as he takes a white shirt off its hanger and reaches for a pair of dress pants, but he can barely concentrate when he cannot wait to see you downstairs.
Finishing up his little routine, he walks out of the bedroom and down the hallway upstairs. He knocks once on Lucas’ door before peeking into the room, “Let’s go, muchacho (young man).”
Lucas passes him a moment later, fully dressed and with his school bag over his shoulder. He looks so grown that Javier wants to topple over, “Morning, mijo (my son).”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m up,” he smiles.
Javier raises a brow, “I can see that. Thanks for making my life easier. I’ll go wake up la monita (the little monkey) then.”
He continues to Inés’ room. She has not woken up yet, deep asleep with the covers half on the floor. She is lying on her stomach with her arms above her head, her mouth agape as she snores gently, her hair an unruly mess, and her pajama top askew on her back.
He crouches down by her bed and runs a hand over her back, speaking softly as he wakes her up with the intention of not accidentally startling her, “Inés, mi niña (my girl), it’s time to wake up.”
It takes a whole minute for her to escape the land of the sleeping and release the clutch on her pillow. She furrows her brow, yawns animatedly, and rubs her eyes with her tiny fists in the same way he does every day.
“There she is,” he smiles, “It’s almost seven, we gotta get up for school.”
“I don’t wanna,” she complains with a pout and earns a gentle hand running over her hair. She buries her face further into the pillow and looks like she’s already about to turn to her weapon consisting of crocodile tears.
“I don’t want to either but Mom is already packing your lunch. Don’t you want to see Ava and Jacob?” He helps her sit up, trying to distract her from her tantrum.
“Ava says her mom is sad,” Inés shakes her head but the accidental opportunity to talk about her troubles makes Javier able to undress her without much fuss. He gives her a sympathetic look. Mira, Ava’s mother, is still divorcing her husband Jonathan, and it is the first time that Inés has been confronted with the idea that not all parents stay together. He nods in understanding, “But Ava says that her mom is the one who didn’t want to be with her daddy anymore.”
“Sometimes you can be sad even if it’s a choice you make yourself,” Javier explains as he gets her out of bed, kneeling in front of her on the floor to help her into her underwear and bottoms. He pulls them up over her hips, “Maybe she thought it was nicer to leave so she could not make him sad again.”
Inés listens to his explanation but just as she is about to nod, she frowns and shakes her head instead, “That’s stupid. Mommy says that you stay and talk about things when you are sad.”
Javier pauses with the blouse you chose for her yesterday in his hands, trying to find the correct way to explain why adults act the way they do to his daughter. It’s so early in the morning and she had barely been awake two minutes ago. He takes a deep breath before speaking, "Well sometimes grown-ups have disagreements or feelings that are hard to understand, and when those feelings become too strong, they might decide that it's best to be apart instead of being sad together."
Inés furrows her brow even more but raises her arms up in the air to let him pull the blouse over her head, “Is Ava sad too?"
Javier pulls her arms out of the sleeves and brushes her hair out of her concerned and skeptical face, "Ava might be feeling sad right now too but she has her friends, you for example, and her family to cheer her up, just like you have me and Mamá.”
Inés falls into him and hugs him, giggling as he picks her up and purposely turns her the wrong way around in his arms until she tells him off with a squeal. She throws her arms around his neck when she finally sits on his hip and kisses his cheek, "I'm glad I have you, Papá. I love you!"
Javier vows that he won’t cry from emotion so early in the morning. He is worse than you sometimes when it comes to these things, chest constricting as tears well up in his throat, “I wouldn’t know what to do without you, mi amor (my love). Let’s go get breakfast before we do your hair. How do you want it?”
“Pigtails,” she decides loudly as they leave the room.
Downstairs, Lucas has chosen cereal for himself and is reading the comic he got last month at the dining table. Inés says hello to him from her seat on Javier’s hip, and he waves back at her until she giggles and hides her face against her father’s shoulder.
Javier carries her to you as you cut carrot and cucumber slices for her lunchbox. You turn to them.
“Morning, Mamá!” She chirps happily and you give her a kiss.
“Hi, baby,” you reply and notice the faint traces of tears in the corner of Javier’s eyes. You raise your brows, “Did you give your dad any trouble?”
“We had a little chat about Mira and Jonathan,” he explains quickly and stuffs a carrot in Inés’ mouth before walking to plop her down on a dining chair. Inés chews and immediately gets enchanted by her older brother, looking at the pictures of Spiderman on the pages in front of them while asking him to explain.
“Are you okay?” You put a hand on his arm, rubbing affectionately all the way up to the back of his neck. He reaches to put his hand on top of yours and smiles reassuringly.
“Just got a love declaration of the ages,” he explains before letting go. He moves to open the fridge and calculates the amount of eggs he’ll need.
“Ahh, sentiment,” you say with a knowing smile. Without a word, you get a pan out for him and place it on the stove, working with him in a symbiotic manner that he grows more and more fond of with each passing morning you spend together as a family.
He cracks the eggs out into a bowl to make sure there are no shells and then starts scrambling them whilst you click the button on the coffee machine. Soon, the delicious smell of fresh coffee and breakfast fills up the room and you open a window to let the sound of chirping birds join the music on the radio.
“Eat up, we’re leaving in 45 minutes,” he places the plate in front of Inés and kisses her hair. She takes the fork you bring a second after and stabs the eggs with determination.
She chatters excitedly about the plans for her day between bites of eggs and looks outraged when Lucas occasionally steals a piece from her plate. He makes a peace offering by moving his chair closer to hers so he can hold the comic in front of them both.
Javier goes to pour coffee into his favorite mug whilst you have tea and you eat the rest of the scrambled eggs directly from the pan together with him. He admires you whilst you rest against the kitchen table, having a conversation with your kids whilst nourishing your twin babies.
As the comfortable morning routine proceeds, he catches your eyes from across the room and you smile so tenderly each time. Rays of sunlight are coming in from the window, dancing over the fabric of your comfortable clothes and making your already glowing skin glow even brighter as you hold the mug of tea in both hands. He knows how lucky he is to have this life with you after the chaotic years of his youth. Who knew that life could start when one thought it was over?
He recalls the very first time he laid eyes on you and how he knew he wanted to marry you by the end of the night (you still don’t believe this). He remembers thinking that he didn’t deserve a life with you and all the love you brought with you, remembers how you said that the only thing that mattered was whether he wanted it or not. He has never once wavered from this want since you allowed him to kiss you for the first time.
Lost in thought, he almost doesn’t realize that you have started to move around the kitchen to clear the table and stuff the lunchboxes into each respective school bag. He takes a brief moment more to longingly gaze after you.
You are so graceful in your fourth pregnancy even if you deny it each time he compliments you, your stomach a bump so round and plenty visible already. The both of you are nearly four months into what has been the biggest shock of your lives. All the time, he thinks back to how difficult it was to conceive the first two of his kids and feels a tug in his chest of endless gratitude for being a father.
He could never describe the flood of pride that had erupted in his heart when he went from being a father of three to suddenly being a father of almost five in a matter of a single second you spent together in an ob-gyn's office on a regular Tuesday morning. He remembers seeing your overwhelmed and tear-stained face when you had thrown yourself back into the examination chair with simultaneous happiness and panic flashing in your eyes. The babble of words was barely comprehensible but they made him kiss your eyelids until you gave him a smile.
He had called you his very best girl when the doctor had left to give you both a moment of privacy, held your trembling hand, and told you that he would be right there with you every step of the way, which seemed to calm you instantly. He is grateful that he has that effect on you just as you have the very same effect on him. He knows he can never feel what it’s like to bear children but he knows that every fiber of his body tells him that he will never allow you to be scared if he can help it.
These days, he won’t even allow you to be exhausted either which is why he picks up Inés from her seat again and carries her upstairs to the bathroom. When pregnant, you always pack the car with Lucas instead of walking around with your preschooler on your hip.
“Right,” he hooks a foot around the leg of the stool underneath the sink and drags it out so Inés can stand on it. She grabs the edge of the sink and makes a face in the mirror now that she’s tall enough to admire herself, “Pigtails, wasn’t it?”
Inés nods eagerly when Javier gets out the box of hair ties from underneath the cabinet next to the sink, “I want the Minnie Mouse bows.”
“Excellent choice,” Javier praises as he reaches for her hairbrush too. He combs her hair, starting at the bottom and gradually going upwards just like you have taught him the second that he became a father to a little girl. You had even made a hair boot camp, sitting on the couch and nursing Inés whilst he practiced a few different hairstyles that you would rate on a scale of one to ten.
He parts Inés’ hair down the middle and starts with the right pigtail, gathering all the hair in his hand with the help of the brush. His daughter grimaces at the slight tug but then her face lights up as she remembers something.
“Daddy! Mommy says I have to do my daily affirmations before school!” She beams at him in the mirror, excited because complimenting herself clearly makes her feel good. Javier cannot believe how fantastic of a mother you are because it would have never even occurred to him that this was the simplest way of teaching his children to be kind to themselves.
“Alright, let’s hear them, mija (my daughter),” he says and finishes the second pigtail. He takes a step back, holding his daughter’s head in place like you have taught him to make sure the hairstyle is symmetrical. Satisfied, he looks at the digital clock on top of the cabinet. He figures they can spare the two minutes it takes.
Inés looks herself in the eye when he has let go of her again. She straightens her back like she has seen cartoon characters do, admiring her reflection, and starts reciting with a big smile on her little face.
“I am smart.”
Yes, she is. Sometimes too smart for her own good. Javier smiles. There’s a pause.
“I am brave.”
The bravest.
“I have good ideas—“ she halts, turning around to look at him with a frown as if it wouldn’t have the same effect if she had simply sent him the look through the bathroom mirror, “Daddy, you have to say it too.”
She watches him expectantly and he cannot bear to let her down even if he feels slightly embarrassed to talk so highly about himself out loud. He takes a deep breath, a weird feeling in his chest as he meets his own gaze, “I am smart. I am brave. I have good ideas.”
“Good, Daddy!” Inés radiates joy and sports a big toothy grin. She says another one, “I can say no.”
Javier doesn’t catch on to the fact that he has to keep going. Inés turns around to him again with her hands in her sides, “Now you say it, Daddy!”
“Inés…” He chuckles and feels slightly apprehensive. Vulnerability isn’t something he is insecure about but the act of openly saying such nice sentiments to himself hits a nerve somewhere in his chest, imitating a feeling of performance anxiety that he only recognizes from the times he has gone to an exam.
“Mommy says it makes us feel good inside,” Inés doesn’t let it go, dragging out the minute that he has put aside for this. He knows there’s no way around this and he knows that you would tell him to lead by example. He pretends to cough in an attempt to hide his hesitation, knowing that his confidence and self-love will only fuel his children’s. What more could he want as a father?
“I can say no,” he tells his reflection.
“I can do hard things,” Inés continues. Javier repeats it.
“I am a good friend,” she proudly voices and he hugs her from behind to parrot each word, tightening his arms around her more and more until eventually, he tickles her when she has said her last sentence, “I am loved. There’s no one I would rather be than myself.”
She squeals with delight and slight panic, laughing in his arms in the loud and free manner that only a child can. He gets filled up with warmth and baby fever, trying his hardest to compose himself since they have to leave soon even if he just wants to keep going.
“Time to brush your teeth and pee before we leave, monita (little monkey),” he tells her and she follows through without any protest.
When he has told her to help you finish packing her bag, he gets his clothes from the bedroom and gets in for a quick shower. He washes his hair and body, scrubbing his beard with his fingers while revising his material one last time.
At last, he stands in front of the mirror, putting on his watch, buckling his belt, and fixing the collar of his crisp white shirt. He finishes with his cologne, shaking his sleeve upward on his arm after brushing his teeth to check the time. 7:37 AM.
“Do you have everything?” You ask when everyone is back in the kitchen again.
“I hate leaving you alone all day,” Javier mumbles as you hand over his bag along with Inés’ school bag. Despite Javier’s hands being full, you still place your palms on his chest and kiss him on the mouth.
“Then stop getting me pregnant,” you whisper against his mouth.
“But it’s just so fun,” he notes and kisses you a few times more when you try to pull away, “They should stop making it so fun. You should stop making me feel so good.”
“Dad,” Lucas interrupts you with a grimace, “We’re gonna be late.”
“Alright, out the door, all of you,” you scratch Javier’s chest briefly before walking out of the room to the front door. You hold it open and watch the three of them scuttling out of the house. Javier wants to count the hours before he gets to see you again.
“And remember, Daddy’s picking you up after school today!” You yell from the door and he turns to walk backwards to the car with a grin on his face. He hears Inés cheer at this fact and secretly, he wants to cheer himself because he never gets to do it. You have an appointment with your ob-gyn doctor later to check if everything is alright with the babies, something they have insisted on since they found out there were two. He’ll have to leave work early but it’ll give him more time with his children in the afternoon.
He checks each of their seat belts to make sure they’re secure, hesitating for just a second as he gets ready to close the car door, “Hands inside the car, c’mon.”
Inés throws her palms up and he pushes the car door shut with a smile before walking around the front, tapping the hood with his knuckles and waving at you one last time. You smile widely and mouth that you love him. You close the door, and he only starts the car when he sees you in the kitchen window.
—
The car ride to school is fairly short but it consists of Javier listening to a lot of happy chatter about nothing from Inés in the way only a four-year-old can do. In the ten minutes it takes, he manages to answer questions about why the sky is blue, why there’s no such thing as dragons in Texas, if there are twin ladybugs just like there are twins in your tummy, and if she can try driving the car later.
Lucas only joins in when she asks whether they can get a dog. He grabs at the back of his father’s seat and lifts himself as far forward as the seat belt will allow only to get told to sit back down.
“A dog is a big responsibility, you know,” Javier swings the car into a parking spot. He looks back over the seat after turning off the engine, “Mommy and I have you and Seb to take care of, and the twins eventually too.”
“Nunca vamos a tener un perro (we’re never gonna get a dog),” Lucas grumbles and throws himself back into the seat. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks out the window.
“Never?” Inés’ eyes widen.
“Oye, eso no es lo que dije (hey, that’s not what I said),” Javier replies, pocketing the car keys, “I’m just saying that we’ll have our hands full soon.”
“That’s not my fault and I didn’t even want more siblings,” Lucas says under his breath and Inés squirms in her seat at the tension in the tiny space.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I don’t want you saying things like that,” Javier says firmly.
Lucas huffs. For once, Inés is quiet.
“Look at me,” Javier tells him and his son reluctantly finds his gaze again, “We don’t talk about each other like that and we especially don’t make each other feel unwanted.”
There’s a painful mixture of shame, vulnerability, and frustration on the eight-year-old’s face, “I know, Dad, I’m sorry… it’s just that sometimes it feels like I’m the one who has to always give up what I want.”
Javier knows the irony of his previous statement as soon as he hears those words. Accompanied by the look he receives from his son, it’s enough to make him swallow thickly, “I’m sorry, mijo (my son). I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
There’s a pause. Lucas starts to open the door, “It’s okay. I know that you’re right and a dog won’t be happy if we don’t have time for it. That’s what Mom says anyway.”
He gets out and Inés finally pipes up when they’re alone. She frowns and looks out the window to watch Lucas stand with his hands clutching the straps of his bag, “Can’t we just have a little dog?”
“I have to talk to Mom about it,” he sighs, “Let’s get through this day first.”
The two of them finally get out of the car to join Lucas. Javier locks the car. He starts to lean down over his son, wants to press an affectionate kiss to his hair that’s so much like his own it hurts, but Lucas shakes him off.
“Dad,” the eight-year-old bites at him, his tone full of embarrassment. He suppresses a scowl even if it’s only a half-hearted one and instead looks around to see if anyone saw him.
Javier straightens again, trying to pretend the slight rejection didn’t sting too much. Lucas is turning nine soon but he hadn’t guessed that he’d be so much of a preteen already. He has no clue if he is doing okay with him but he vows to get a smile out of him before they part for the day.
“I’ll talk to Mom about it,” Javier eventually promises. It’s not untrue.
“Whatever, it’s fine,” Lucas replies with a fake smile and looks away.
“Lucas, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you,” he drops Inés’ bag and thinks fuck it. He crouches down to hold both his arms, rubbing them soothingly, and feels relief at not being rejected again, “I know you really want a dog but you gotta cut your Mom and me some slack here, okay? We’ve never had three kiddos at the same time. Just like you’ve never had two siblings before.”
“Four,” his son mutters.
“It’ll be okay,” he tells him with a smile. He is steadfast as he continues, “And I mean it, I will talk to Mom but her verdict is final. She’s the pregnant one.”
“Okay,” Lucas says with uncertainty.
“Okaaay,” he parrots to him in a silly voice with a gentle squeeze.
“Okay,” Lucas says with a little laugh.
“Okay,” Inés chimes in with excitement.
Lucas laughs genuinely this time and Javier feels his heart leap. He picks up the bag from the ground and stands once more, only to bend down and kiss his son’s hair, “School waits. Inés and I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Dad, bye, Inés,” he nods, “I love you.”
“I love you too!!!” Inés yells loudly and Javier takes her hand with the one not carrying her bag.
“Love you, mijo (my son).”
—
The next stop is Inés’ classroom. She runs a few meters in front of him the whole way there but because of her little legs, he never gets too far behind her. He feels so relieved that she’s always this excited for school but with the way that you tell him that she’s so much like him, he also knows that it’s just a matter of time before she grows tired of school during her teen years. Teen years. He shouldn’t think about that already since the thought of her growing is unbearable.
“Inés, slow down,” he says despite not needing to, wanting a bit of control, “I don’t want you falling and scraping your knees, mi amor (my love).”
When she doesn’t immediately follow orders, he holds out his hand for her to take, “Inés.”
She turns her head toward him as she runs down the hall, so close to her goal which is her classroom, and tumbles into a woman coming out of the room. Javier puts a hand on his head in shock, dropping his daughter’s bag and walking straight to them whilst apologizing profusely.
“It’s alright,” the woman says with a sweet smile in his direction and then in Inés’ direction. She’s tall and blonde, wearing a coat in this boiling weather which must mean she’s not used to Texas, “We’re both alright, aren’t we?”
“Sorry,” Inés says genuinely.
“Well, aren’t you well-behaved?” She is grinning now.
“Daddy, can I go inside and play with Ava?” Inés looks longingly towards the door.
He goes to pick up her bag, “Sí (yes), but take your backpack and I’ll talk to the nice lady.”
Inés does as she is told, standing perfectly still whilst he helps the bag onto her shoulders. He kisses the top of her head, “Ves a jugar (Go and play). I’ll pick you up later today.”
“They’re great at that age,” the woman says with a dreamy smile after Inés bounds into the classroom, “I dropped mine off a moment ago.”
“They in the same class?” He asks.
“As of last week. Oh, and it’s Emily, actually, not ‘nice lady’,” the stranger reveals, holding out her hand for a shake, “And you’re Javier, right?”
“That’s right,” he shakes her hand. Great, even she knows who he is and he prepares himself for the usual speech about him being known all over Laredo, doing everything in his power to not make his mouth a straight line.
However, she nods towards the door and surprises him by saying nothing of the sort. Instead, she makes it about herself which shouldn’t be nice but it is, “Inés’ father? My daughter has mentioned her a few times. We’re new here, moved from Upstate New York. Work. You know.”
“That explains the coat,” he says with a little smirk.
She reacts by putting her hand on her cheek and then her forehead, feeling a blush that’s not there. He is too oblivious to know that she’s fishing for a compliment on her appearance, “That obvious, huh? I probably look like a red crab. I’m boiling.”
“You look fine,” he reassures, “But hit up the AC in your car or at least take that thing off. Survival mode, you know, do it for the kids.”
Emily giggles. He smiles.
“We should arrange a playdate sometime. My daughter could use some friends. I think we both could. We could get some coffee if you know a place,” she suggests in an attempt at a flirtation but even if it’s so glaringly obvious, he just doesn’t pick up on it.
Instead, his mind circles back to you in the kitchen he built for you, “I’m busy most days but I’m sure my wife would be thrilled to set something up. Inés can’t just be playing with our friends’ daughter all the time.”
“Oh,” there’s a slight change in Emily’s demeanor after that. Her smile falters ever so slightly, and there's a fleeting look of disappointment in her eyes but he can't quite pinpoint the cause of her sudden change in mood. He brushes it off, "Well, I should probably let you get back to your day. I suppose your name and number are on the class’ contact list?”
He tries to keep up the upbeat tone of their conversation but she just smiles awkwardly, "Yes. Of course, Javier. I'll look forward to it."
As he turns to leave, he catches a glimpse of Emily's expression, and he can't shake the feeling that something is amiss. He furrows his brow, wondering all the way to the car what he did wrong and doesn’t know that if you had been there, you would have been laughing your ass off the second Emily had left.
He brushes it off the second the radio comes on in the car and heads to work afterward. The day feels easy; he gets to come home, gets to watch his kids grow up in front of his eyes and in the evening he will make love to his beautiful wife. Such a fact makes days at work pass like seconds, and he smiles all the way from his car when the bell rings for his first lesson.
—
Around two in the afternoon on the same day, Javier enters his house with his kids following right behind him. He comes home to you feeding Sebastian mashed avocado in his high chair, and in the meantime cutely imitating his babbling about nothing right back at the little green monster that used to be his son. He walks up to you after putting his bag down on a dining chair.
“Hey,” you say with avocado on your forehead.
Javier reaches up to rub it off, sucking it off his finger before pecking your lips, “Hola, mi amor (hello, my love). How’s your day been? Scan go okay?”
He kisses Sebastian’s head too before turning his attention to you. You’re scraping the last bits of avocado onto the baby spoon before feeding it to your son.
“I’ll tell you about the scan later. I need to talk to you about it… but Seb and I have had such a good day, ain’t that right, baby?” You tickle Sebastian’s cheeks, not caring about being covered in green too. Sebastian giggles and clenches his fist around some of the avocado he has had in his hand for a while. Javier decides not to press any further since you don’t look worried, especially not as you watch Sebastian slam his fist into the plate in front of him afterward, “We tried sweet potatoes today, didn’t we? Y probamos fresas del mercado, pasta con un poco de queso (And we tried strawberries from the market, pasta with a bit of cheese)."
Javier grins at your excitement, watching you reach for a piece of paper towel to wipe off all the excess food from your child now that he has been allowed to eat more independently with just a bit of help, "Mi hijo es un foodie, ¿eh? (my son is a foodie, huh?)"
Lucas pops his head in through the kitchen door with Inés loyally following right behind, “Mom, did you say strawberries?”
You walk to the kitchen table and grab the cardboard basket of strawberries, holding it out for your eldest son. You shake it a little, “They’re really good.”
He takes one and hands it to Inés before he grabs one for himself afterward. He smiles contentedly after biting into it, happily chewing the sweet berry and looking down at his sister to see her reaction as well, “Good?”
You offer Javier a strawberry too. He eats a whole one, doesn’t even bother to pick off the green part, and earns a little crinkle of your nose. He winks at your reaction and the expression of disapproval turns into a smile that sets his heart into overdrive.
Inés lights up after finishing the berry, “Can I have one more?”
“Consider it your afternoon snack,” you say. You pull out a chair around the dining table, placing the basket of strawberries on the table, “Do you want a PB&J sandwich too?”
“Yes!” She runs across the room to crawl onto the seat, waiting patiently with her hands flat on the table until she cannot resist nearly smothering herself with another strawberry.
“Do you want one too, Luke?” You ask.
“Yes, please. Thank you, Mom,” he says politely and goes to sit down too. He taps a rhythm on the table that Inés fails at replicating. From his high chair, Sebastian joins in by slamming his palms into the table and the luckily empty baby platter.
“Javi, can you take Seb for his nap?” You ask while reaching for the jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. You cannot find it, frowning at the realization that you must have placed it somewhere else. Javier hears you mutter to yourself about your damn pregnancy brain.
He walks up behind you, a hand on the small of your back as he leans over you. You freeze but then relax into his touch. He reaches into the far back of the cupboard, feeling for the jar, and fetches it, “You told me to hide it, baby. You eat too much of it with just the lid off and a spoon.”
“I should stop denying the babies it if that’s what they want,” you giggle to hide your embarrassment at having forgotten and pat your pregnant belly. You look so pretty in your dress, the one he had hoped that you would wear; blue as the sky above with tiny yellow bees flying around on it.
He hands you the jar of peanut butter and cannot help but admire the gentle curve of your stomach, that certain glow making you radiant in the mundane setting of his kitchen. He can never help ogling you when you care for his children and it’s even worse when you carry them as well.
“You look so gorgeous right now, mi vida (my life),” he rubs the small of your back and slides his palm around you to your belly, breathing against your ear as he talks. You turn your head just a little to smile playfully at him and thank him in a soft whisper.
Javier looks back to see his kids chatting with each other, so he presses into you a little more.
“I got a bed with your name on it later,” he continues quietly as he still stands right behind you, letting his hand drop to your hip. You shove a little at him but it’s nowhere near enough to actually mean that you want him to stop. He lets his warm breath ghost over the soft shell of your ear until you let out a sigh that you only reserve for him. He continues until he can look at your neck and see your pulse throbbing under your skin, “I could just eat you up. Take you to our bedroom, lock the door… throw you on the bed, and take your clothes off with my teeth.”
“Pórtate bien (Behave),” you scold him with a bit more mischief than what he assumes is intended, “I have sandwiches to make and we’ll be sorry later if Seb misses his nap.”
He adds a finishing touch to his attempt at a flirtation by shielding you from his kids’ line of sight. The broad hand that has been resting on your hip slips further down. and Javier allows himself a grope to your backside. He jiggles the fleshiest part of it and you finally have enough, turning around quickly with a look of mock outrage.
“Thin ice, baby, thin ice,” you chide but he simply pecks you on the lips and turns towards his children again.
“Vamos, pequeño (let’s go, little one),” he says to Sebastian as he approaches him, lifting him out of his high chair and placing him on his hip. He feels your disapproving eyes as he walks out of the kitchen but just smirks to himself, heading for the stairs to go to the nursery.
In the room, he places Sebastian on the changing table and checks his diaper. He also removes as much clothing as possible, making sure he won’t overheat in the bassinet. His son grins up at him, not seeming tired at first but then starts blinking slowly as the nap ritual proceeds.
“Oh, you are tired, mijo (my son),” he whispers softly as he cradles him towards his chest afterward. He feels Sebastian resting his chubby cheek against his shoulder, breathing slowly as he starts falling asleep from being bounced in his father’s arms.
Javier hums, savoring the moment that he knows is fleeting with his son. He is reminded of needing to ask you about the doctor’s appointment again, excitement in his body as he thinks about two sets of tiny feet running across his living room floor at the same time. As a child, he never really understood why he couldn’t get a sibling but his understanding of what was happening to his mother only came a little later until he stopped asking altogether. He loves that his house is so full now.
When Sebastian is fully asleep, he lays him down on his back on the tiny mattress that belonged to Inés before. He runs his palm over the fine hairs on his head for a few moments, just staring down at his baby to commit it to memory. He tucks the blanket around him, turns on the baby monitor, grabs the other, and flicks off the lights.
When he returns to the kitchen ten minutes later, he finds you sitting by the dining table with a sandwich of your own. Lucas holds a pencil in his hand, your grocery list lying in front of him and his empty plate has been pushed away.
“I hate broccoli,” Inés says from her own seat, nose scrunched up. The jelly part of her sandwich seems more around her mouth than in her belly. She tries to look over at what her older brother is writing but he is hesitant in his spelling of the word.
“I hate it because I can’t spell it,” Lucas grumbles with concentration on his face, “B-R-O…”
“C-C-O-L-I,” Javier finishes, announcing his presence to them. You look up at him as he stops between Lucas’ and your chair, setting down the baby monitor on the table.
“Hey, he’s supposed to learn how to spell it by himself,” you tut gently but without any anger or annoyance. Javier kisses your jelly-tasting lips. You tap the list, “Lettuce.”
Lucas groans in complaint, “Mooom, all these words are hard.”
Inés giggles from her seat, “Lucas is bad at spelling!”
Lucas furrows his brow, looking to you for saving, “No, I’m not!”
You send your daughter a look, knowing you have the right thing to say to bring some justice into the world, “I don’t know why you’re laughing, Inés Peña. You have to practice your counting skills with Daddy.”
Javier snorts at the look of disgust on his daughter’s face. She comically throws herself back into her chair, arms crossed over her chest. He kisses her hair, “No angry faces, Princesa (princess). You’ll have plenty of time to play afterward.”
“Maybe I am bad at spelling,” Lucas says in defeat, heaving a big sigh.
“You’re doing great, sweetie. It’s all about practice,” you reassure and reach out to rub the back of his neck affectionately, “And I really appreciate you helping me with the grocery list. It’s a big job.”
“How about an easier word?” Javier suggests, silently eyeing your sandwich as he speaks, “Like tomatoes.”
Lucas smiles down at the paper, brightening at the praise you offer as consolation for his struggles. He writes down the newly suggested word with newfound confidence, “T-O-M-A-T-O-E-S.”
“Perfect,” you continue your praise.
Finally, Javier pulls out a chair to sit down with his family. He chooses the seat next to you but opposite Inés to keep her in line if she decides to have a tantrum. However, she just watches her brother scribble down word after word.
“What about ice cream?” She asks suddenly with her best pleading expression. She is more hesitant than usual, knowing full well that she overstepped the rules a moment ago.
“If Lucas can spell it,” you challenge with a sweet smile, raising a brow at your son.
Inés grabs at the edge of the dining table, moving to stand on her knees instead of sitting. She leans over the table to get a closer look, “You can do it, Lucas!”
“Challenge accepted,” he says with a grin, nearly breaking the tip of the pencil in his eagerness, especially now that his sister is cheering for him, “I-C-E-C-R-E-A-M.”
Both of them look to you expectantly, awaiting your verdict that’ll make or break the oncoming weekend. You nod, “That’s indeed how you spell ice cream.”
The both of them cheer. You laugh along with them, and Javier feels his knees go weak even as he sits down. He leans back in his seat with his shoulders completely relaxed, briefly recalling a time when his body being this calm was only a possibility when alcohol was in his bloodstream.
“What’s next on the list, muchacho (young man)?” He asks as the laughter dies down once again, casually reaching out for half of your sandwich. He earns a look of mock outrage from you, your hand reaching out to swat his arm.
“Get your own, Peña,” you scold playfully. He pulls away quickly and bites down into the corner. You roll your eyes, “You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“And you love it,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“Mom, what’s ‘insatiable’ mean?” Inés asks curiously.
You look at him with a smirk as you reply, “It means Daddy always wants more.”
“More what? More food?” Inés furrows her brow in confusion.
“Something like that,” Javier says with his heart beating loudly in his chest at the mere thought of you. He leans closer to you, lowering his voice just enough, “And more of Mommy, too.”
“And I think that’s it for snack time!” You announce quickly after, heat in your cheeks as you push yourself to stand. Javier is pleased with himself as you walk around in a flustered state, “Lucas, do you have any homework?”
“I finished math homework in school,” he announces proudly, “Is the grocery list finished?”
“Can you add chicken too? Then I think we’re done,” you walk back to the table to gather the plates, not letting Javier put down his sandwich again. He feels triumphant at having caused you to feel like this, a sucker for watching your warm face.
“C-H-I-K—“ Lucas spells out loud.
“C-K,” you correct as you put the dirty plates into the dishwasher.
“Oh,” he turns the pencil around and erases his mistake, “C-H-I-C-K-E-N.”
“There you go, baby, good job,” you praise.
Lucas beams.
—
The rest of the afternoon passes quickly. Lucas goes to his room to play on his Game Boy, its faint beeps echoing through the house from the open door, Inés, after getting her face thoroughly wiped down, falls asleep on the couch after refusing an afternoon nap, and you and Javier begin the usual ritual of preparing for dinner while Sebastian sleeps undisturbed in his bed.
“You wanted to talk to me about the scan today?” Javier starts a conversation as he chops vegetables alongside you, your hip occasionally bumping into his as you mix a dressing.
“Yeah, and before you start to worry; yes, the babies are fine,” you reply and absentmindedly run your palm across your belly.
“But?” Javier puts the knife down to look at you.
“But nothing. I just wanted to tell you that they know what we’re having and they want us to discuss if we wanna know,” you smile excitedly. You mirror him by putting down the spoon and stepping closer to let him embrace you.
“They can tell already?” He asks as he places his hands on your hips, rubbing up and down soothingly. He pecks your lips, heart feeling too big for his chest.
You nod and lean into another kiss, “And they said everything looks great too. Nothing to worry about, and the due date is so far down the road that we can’t wonder about the delivery yet.”
“Alright, yes. Okay,” he nods in return, an overwhelmed smile on his lips. He releases a small sigh, “But do we want to know? We’ve tried both but I think it’s up to you.”
“I mean,” you think out loud while Javier takes the opportunity to rub your stomach, “I like surprises but with the stress the delivery will probably bring, it might be nice to know. Just to appreciate it more than when I’m a mess. I don’t know.”
“Well, I guess we don’t have to decide now. We have five or so months, have a think,” he reassures you and presses a soft kiss to your neck. He can feel and hear you draw in a deep breath.
You are interrupted by Sebastian’s soft noises through the baby monitor, tiny sounds of complaint indicating that he is just about to cry. Javier releases you from his grasp, “You get him and I’ll finish up here. Dinner in twenty, don’t you think?”
“Sure, baby,” you say with a final peck to his lips. You leave the kitchen, ascending the stairs with a little noise, and when Javier glances out into the entry hall, he sees you walk upstairs with a hand on the small of your back. Sebastian has started to cry but you reassure him all the way through the house, “I’m coming, mijo (my son).”
Javier finishes up dinner. He faintly hears you tell Lucas to go set the table, and when your son starts taking plates out of the drawer, Inés enters the kitchen while rubbing her eyes, awakened by the noise.
“Hola, mi niña cansada (hello, my tired girl),” Javier says as she leans into his side. He turns the pan on the hob so that the handle doesn’t stick out from over the edge, then runs his hand over his daughter’s hair.
“No estoy cansada, papá (I’m not tired, Daddy),” she protests while fighting a yawn.
“¿Entonces tienes hambre (Are you hungry then)?” He asks with a hidden, amused smile.
“Sí (yes),” she wraps her arms around his waist.
"Si tienes hambre, ayuda a tu hermano a poner la mesa (If you’re hungry, help your brother with setting the table),” he runs his hand over her back, caressing her gently while stirring the chicken and vegetables.
“Okay, papá,” she says, her stomach probably growling since she’s not protesting hard labor.
Lucas has finished carrying plates, glasses, and cutlery to the dining table. He pulls out a chair for Inés to stand on, directing her thoroughly on where everything goes until you enter the kitchen again with Sebastian on your hip.
“It looks so good!” You praise with a big grin, genuinely proud to see both of your eldest kids cooperating so well, “And the cutlery on the right sides!”
Javier turns back to have a look, holding a hand up to give them both a high five. You send him a smile only reserved for him, walking to put Sebastian into his high chair afterward. You go to the living room to find a few toys he can play with until dinner is ready.
“Can I watch Nanalan after dinner?” Inés asks during dinner, mouth full of food.
“If you practice your counting first,” you compromise.
Without hesitation, Inés starts saying numbers out loud, “One, two, three, four, five, six…”
“Inés,” you say, a crease on your forehead.
“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Peña,” Javier teases, “But I think you walked right into that one.”
“Shush, you,” you tut and, out of spite, listen closely after any errors in your daughter’s count.
After dinner, you take on the job of clearing the table and filling up the dishwasher. Lucas gets a free pass from helping so he can go pop the Nanalan VHS tape into the TV, setting it up for you all to enjoy in just a moment.
Sebastian plays with a few toy cars as he sits in his high chair. He coos softly, making noises to match the tiny red vehicle.
Inés, still full of energy, practices counting backward with Javier while you wash up the pan in the sink. He can see you listening to them even with your back turned, knows that you are smiling without looking at your face.
“C’mon, baby. What comes after six?” He asks, having pulled her chair out to stand in front of her.
“Seven!” She answers confidently and it is technically not wrong.
He smiles with amusement, “We’re counting backward. Down from ten. Try again. Teeeen…”
“Ten… nine… eight…” she says loudly.
Javier waits patiently. He holds up the number of fingers equal to the numbers she is saying. She furrows her brows in concentration and continues, “Seven… six… five…”
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he encourages.
Inés grips the seat of her chair in excitement, “Three!”
“Are you sure?” He stops her briefly.
She looks up at him, hesitating for a moment and seeking reassurance, “Four.”
He nods, “You got this.”
She smiles brightly, “Three! Two! One!”
“Bien hecho, Princesa (well done, princess)!” He praises loudly and leans down over her to kiss the top of her head repeatedly, “Eres mi chica lista (you’re my clever girl).”
She stretches up her arms to which he responds by lifting her up from the chair with a groan. She is getting so big, he thinks as he places her on his hip, or maybe he is just getting old. He gets an idea, even if it’ll hurt the muscles in his back, “You know, baby, counting backward is very important. That’s what they do when they launch rockets into space. Try again, see what happens.”
Inés’ eyes light up as she starts counting again. She rushes through it, seeming to do well when something unknown comes afterward. When she gets to one, Javier lifts her high into the air and spins in the kitchen.
“Liftoff!” He announces, moving around in figure eights to imitate her flying and she squeals with laughter. The sound is one of those that bubble up in her chest, completely unrestrained and pure in its entirety, and Javier’s heart goes into overdrive when he knows that he is the one causing it. There’s nothing that can hurt him in these moments, nothing that can bring him down from the pride he takes in making his kids feel safe and happy.
“Oh no!” He continues his part, “Inés Peña, well-renowned astronaut, is attacked by aliens from el planeta rojo (the red planet)!”
“¡Papá, no (Daddy, no)!” She giggles and wiggles in his arms as he buries his nose in her cheek, “¡No permitas que me atrapen los alienígenas (Don’t let the aliens catch me)!”
“Too late!” He tells her before pretending to sink his teeth into her round cheek. He growls like only an alien attacker would and his daughter shrieks with laughter.
He stops to let her breathe, her little form shaking as she tries to regain her composure. She throws her arms around his neck, looking over at you in secret and lowering her voice to a whisper that’s way too loud.
“Do it to Mommy!” She demands.
You perk up at hearing your nickname and turn around with your hands covered in dish soap and water. You watch, like a deer in the headlights, as Javier places Inés down on her feet. He smirks like a devil and you step backwards but only bump into the kitchen counter. Your wet arms come up to screen your face as he approaches you, looking devilish with his arms out in front of him. He makes grabby hands in the air.
“You are not doing that to me!” You squeak. He leans into you, and the look behind your arms tells him that you know it is a fight that you have already lost. Still, you try to sidestep him but he just cages you with a quick sweep of his arms.
“I got you now. No hay manera de escapar, mi amor (there is no escaping, my love),” he moves your arms away without caring about getting wet himself and pulls you into a tight embrace. He bites into your cheek a mere moment later, growling like a dog whilst Inés laughs so loudly that your look says that you might let him give you five more children if he wants. The nibbles turn into several silly kisses, eventually turning into a long, deep kiss too. God, he is going to make love to you tonight.
Behind the two of you, Inés makes a noise of disgust, “Ew! Mushy Daddy!”
Javier pulls away from you and wipes his hands in his shirt. He ruffles Inés’ hair, “Well, you better run to your brother if you don’t want to see Mommy get another big kiss from Daddy.”
Inés dashes off towards the living room with uncontrollable giggles. Once she’s out of sight, Javier turns to see you drying your hands in a kitchen towel. He seeks you out and you meet his embrace by throwing your arms around his neck.
“Do you think I missed my calling as an alien invader?” He asks with his lips resting against your ear as you hug.
He can feel you shaking your head, “No, husband, I think you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“Mhm, wife,” he pulls back to kiss you again, and again and again and again.
“They’re waiting in the living room,” you stop him, a hand on his chest to reluctantly push him away, “I’ll take Seb.”
The five of you watch a few episodes together in a pile on the couch. Sebastian sits in your lap while Inés cuddles up into Javier’s side. Lucas mutes his video game but chooses it over the children’s show, repeatedly pressing buttons and trying not to make too loud noises when he wins or loses.
It ends with the usual bedtime routines an hour later. Teeth are brushed, all three children have no complaints during bathtime, bedtime stories are told and forehead kisses are given even if Inés is already out cold. Javier loves this the most, at least when it goes smoothly.
Eventually, the evening leaves your pile on the couch to only consist of the two of you.
“We put Inés to bed thirty minutes ago and we’re still watching Nanalan,” you note from your side of the couch, looking at Javier out of the corner of your eye and snickering before you reach the end of your sentence.
Javier tears his eyes from the screen, his body slumped into the corner of the couch and with the blanket draped over his body. He hides a smile, knowing he has the upper hand in this situation, “Well, get the remote then.”
You have your legs pulled up with them crossed underneath you. You grimace and pat your stomach, “Never gonna happen with this belly.”
He cracks a smile, tone serious in a joking manner which he knows always gets you, “Well then you sit there and keep quiet. I’m missing my show. I haven’t seen if Mona learns a lesson yet.”
With that, he fixes his gaze on the TV again. You throw your head back to laugh at his silliness and accidentally snort. You squirm and he knows you’re trying your best not to pee a little from the giggling. You cover your mouth but Javier’s head still whips around to stare at you again, looking like he should be a cartoon character with hearts in their eyes.
He starts moving, crawls further toward you, and drags the blanket with him to cover both of your bodies. You shove at him, “Get the remote, Peña.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” He scoffs, cuddling up next to you, halfway lying down and crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m not switching channels here. I like Nana. She’s wise.”
“She your favorite?” You smirk down at him, teasing him still.
“No, you’re my favorite, mi amor (my love),” he wiggles his brows, staring up at you with every intention of making you laugh, “Stop asking stupid questions.”
“Smooth,” you smile with a shake of your head. You purse your lips and he groans dramatically when he moves up to kiss you, pecking your mouth gently. You reach to ruffle his hair until it is untidy.
“You know, baby, my hair takes all night to style,” he sighs and starts to flatten the stray locks again, “You could be a little more considerate.”
“I’m pregnant,” you argue, “You try being considerate.”
“You’ve been pregnant for nearly two years straight,” his eyes wander back to Nana and Mona.
“And whose fault is that?” You start to watch too.
“Shut up.”
“I rest my case.”
The both of you watch Nanalan for a while. With a foot, Javier pulls the coffee table closer for you so you can stretch your legs and rest your feet on it. You seem less invested in whether Mona will learn how to take care of the baby bird in Nana’s garden than he is but it doesn’t matter because during the episode, your positions shift and suddenly you are resting against him instead. He feels like a teenager each time this happens, heart racing at having a pretty girl in close proximity, but unlike 16-year-old Javier Peña, he has already gotten the girl and is therefore without clammy hands.
He drapes his arm around your back until his hand rests on your waist, pulling your pregnant body against himself until you automatically lean your head on his shoulder. In the end, you doze off, having gotten into a habit of falling asleep in front of the television.
When the credits roll over the screen, he nudges you, “Let’s get you to bed.”
You whine so adorably and scoot further into his side, “I don’t want to go all the way upstairs.”
“If you don’t get up, I’ll do it again,” he says, intending to confuse you.
You pull back to look at him with furrowed brows, “Do what?”
Javier pokes the tip of his nose into your cheek and then imitates a series of bites to your face just like earlier. He makes the noise of a dinosaur this time, growling close to your ear and making you squeal from the tickling sensation it gives.
“No!” You shriek, “I’ll get up! I swear!”
“Are you sure?” Javier doesn’t stop, only nuzzles further into you and bites the flesh of your cheek for real this time. His whole body fills up with butterflies as you laugh at his torment.
When eventually showing you mercy, he throws the blanket to the side and pushes himself to stand up. You put your feet on the floor and take his hands when he holds them out for you. He hauls you to your feet.
After a quick shared shower, you moisturize your belly in the bedroom and pick out your sleepwear whilst he dresses in a new pair of briefs. It is a quiet and relaxing ritual where none of you speak a word, moving around each other in synchronous harmony.
It’s when you go to pee and change that he notices the little device on the nightstand, plugged in to charge, and he furrows his brow in confusion. The door is closed to the bathroom and he can hear the sound of your toothbrushing, so you won’t be barging in on him as he satisfies his curiosity.
With quick fingers, he pulls the cord out of the bottom and holds it closer to his face to examine the little pink thing. He hasn’t seen one of these before; staring down into the hole at the top and trying to make sense of what will happen when he presses the button.
The little thing whirs to life when he does and he can see the way the tip pulses erratically, sparking his interest and triggering the instinct to hold it against the palm of his hand. His brows nearly rise into his hair as he feels the way the vibrator suckles on his skin, so he taps his hand a few times to feel it let go and attach again. It’s when he realizes what it’s meant to do for you that he feels his cock move in his briefs. It happens again when he knows it means that you have used it today whilst being home alone.
He presses the button on the side again and feels the vibrations become more intense and he nearly throws the cute thing across the room when he tries to turn it off by pressing the button again and the buzzing only gets louder and louder and more and more intense.
“You two need a moment alone?” You ask from the doorway to the bathroom, smirking as he sheepishly finds your gaze. You have changed into a pair of way too tiny sleep shorts and one of his gray t-shirts, and it looks so naturally stunning on you that he nearly drops the toy. Why is he hard? Christ, he is possibly aching. He wants to throw you on the bed and pull those tiny shorts off and—
“Did you two already have a moment alone?” He asks when he has regained his composure.
“Maybe, and maybe it was pretty great,” you tease and make your way to him. When you stand in front of him on your side of the bed, your eyes wander downward until you stare at the bulge on the front of his briefs. Your tone is triumphant and sing-songy, “You’re hard.”
“You’re wearing my t-shirt,” he notes as if it’s the most logical explanation in the world. His gaze drops to the way the soft cotton fabric drapes over your tits, leaving just enough up to the imagination but clearly showing off the way your nipples have hardened at the conversation. He twirls the little sucking toy in his hands, wants to make you come with it attached to your nipple until he can see heat rising in your cheeks and then he’ll let the device do its job between your legs.
“Horndog,” you roll your eyes affectionately, “I can’t even wear clothes? I thought it would be not wearing any clothes that would get you.”
“Can I try this on you?” He decides to be straightforward and just asks while holding the vibrator up between the two of you, “You can guide me.”
“Now?” You raise a brow.
“Yes, now,” he huffs out a dark, little laugh and takes a step further toward you as if he is a predator caging his pretty prey. You don’t seem affected by it but your nipples might soon poke holes in your shirt, “I mean, I’m a little curious here, so if you’re up for it. I was gonna try to get laid anyway…”
“Charming,” you let yourself fall down into bed, sitting on the edge. Javier places the toy on the nightstand to grab underneath your knees, lifting your legs to help you scoot back onto the mattress.
“Is that a yes?” He awaits your green light.
“Yes. Don’t go overboard with it though. It’s pretty intense,” you reply and hook your fingers into the waistband of your shorts. You start to shimmy out of them and he helps you completely out of them when they sit around your knees. Then he bends your legs and spreads them apart.
“Tell me what to do,” he goes to grab the toy again, kneels between your legs, and awaits orders. He clicks the button and the little thing comes alive once again. You’re just about to reply when he cannot help but ask, “Does it work on your tits?”
“I thought you wanted me to guide you,” you retort but in response to his question, you reach for the hem of your t-shirt and start to pull it up over your pregnant body. He stops you when it sits just above your tits, coming closer to you by spreading his thighs until you drape your own thighs over them.
“Shut it… and listen to this. It’s pretty loud,” he notes as he feels the little sucker on his palm again, tapping the heel of his hand with it.
“It’s quieter when it’s in place,” you say with heat in your cheeks, anticipation evident on your face, “So don’t worry about switching up the intensity when I get close.”
“Ah… but no going overboard,” he nods, grinning down at you. Sure. He drags out the testing on his palm to get you worked up even more, knowing it will only increase the pulse in your whole body until you might cuss him out when he actually goes to work on you. He loves your body when it is pregnant and sensitive, and while he would never let anyone in on what the two of you do behind closed doors, there’s a part of him that wants to brag to Steve about how you cream yourself from getting your breasts played with whenever you have a baby - this time babies - in your belly or your body is raging with postpartum hormones. Oh, he thinks to himself, what a privilege it is to get to see you like he will in just a moment.
“Javi,” you complain beneath him.
“Yeah yeah, chica impaciente (impatient girl),” he tuts and finally places the toy against the skin of your cleavage. You suck in a breath, reacting already more intensely than he thought you would. He supposes that it’s due to knowing how it’s going to feel, and he elicits a little moan from you as he drags the head of the toy across your chest.
“Don’t tease me,” you grumble, squeezing your thighs around his waist. When he looks down between your legs, he can see the way it makes your cunt clench too. You’re trying to stimulate yourself untouched.
“Christ, you’re a dirty little girl for this thing. What magic does it do for you?” He raises his brows and inches the toy closer to your right breast. He dances around the swell and you bite your lower lip.
“You don’t understand,” you say breathlessly.
“Humor me,” he demands.
“It feels… like when your teeth nip at my skin,” you explain with eyes that are already glazed over with desire, “It feels like when your mouth is just about to get where I wa— Fuck.”
Javier has covered your right nipple with the toy and between your legs, a damp spot has marked the white sheets. He moves the head of the little sucker around your gorgeous, perky nipple and your moan only increases in volume.
“Shh, los niños están dormidos (the children are asleep),” he whispers above you, removing the toy to lean down over you and get closer to your face, “Keep your little mouth shut or I’ll need to stop.”
You look desperately at him, shake your head, and whimper at the threat. He pecks your lips with a pleased smirk before you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. It gets even harder for you when he descends on you, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it drip down onto your played-with nipple in an obscene manner.
“Waterproof, I’m guessing?” He awaits your answer.
“Mhm,” you nod and then writhe as he covers the peak of your breast again. You let your hand push down into the mattress, making a noise in the back of your throat as he presses the button to turn up the intensity. You fight between throwing your head back and keeping your eyes fixed on what he is doing to you.
“Eyes on me,” he decides for you.
“Baby,” you whine and follow through, thighs tightening around his waist as you stare at him. You start thrusting against nothing, lifting your pelvis to squeeze your pussy in time with the still somewhat slow pulses to your chest.
Javier straightens fully again and your gaze follows obediently. He lifts his left hand to his mouth, sticking two fingers past his lips to wet them with his spit, and then he finds your other nipple. He rubs in soft circles for just a moment before he pinches it between the two digits, tugging at it slightly until he sees slick drip from your aching slit. He cannot help the soft noise he lets out as he watches the drip of your come hit the bed. He is so hard it hurts from just thinking about being inside of you as you continue flexing your pelvis like that.
How the fuck are you going to come from just this? Has he really spent so much time in bed with you that this is something he can force out of you? He is struck by fascination at your trembling body, letting you breathe, even if it’s just barely, by swirling the toy around your nipple.
“More,” you pant in frustration, swallowing down a frustrated moan to not piss him off, “Turn it up.”
“Hey, that’s not how we ask for things in this family. What’s the magic word?” He teases, finger hovering over the button. He pinches your nipple with the fingers on his other hand, forcing a cry past your lips. You don’t even get to the please.
Instead, your hand flies to your mouth but you manage to calm your noises again, sliding your fingers into your hair instead. Javier decides then to press the button twice before putting it back on you, watching those fingers yank at your own follicles. You nod and your hips are practically gyrating by now.
“Javi, fu— fuck,” you gasp out, “I—“
“I know, baby. I can see it on you,” he says, making a noise low in his throat at the way your head falls back into the mattress. Your eyes roll back into your skull, your bottom lip getting caught between your teeth again as you teeter on the edge of your first orgasm. He cannot believe your clit is still untouched because when he dares look down, it peeks out from underneath its hood as if he’s been giving it attention.
“I’m gonna come,” you announce with a strained voice, still very aware of your noise levels. Quickly, you reach down to cover your mouth with the whole of your palm and then, with furrowed brows, you’re off into ecstasy. It hits you like a shot of adrenaline, your body going rigid before writhing on the sheets. The hand on your mouth turns your moans into desperate whines that stir Javier’s desire even more. His heart races at the sight, his eyes watching hungrily as you come undone the first time of many.
“Jesus Christ, Mamá,” he removes his hands and turns off the toy when you go from enjoying the tingling of pleasure to shaking at the oversensitivity of your breasts.
The hand falls from your satisfied smile to lay beside your head. You giggle as excitement is flowing through your veins, “Gimme a second and you can go again.”
“Is it better than me?” He smiles at your cute laughter and wiggles his brow.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, “Not even close but it’s nice if you’re not available.”
“You know… I would come home during my break if you needed me,” he leaves the toy next to you so he can crawl over you and dip down for a long kiss.
“I’m sure you would,” you nod at his words, slipping your tongue past his lips.
He holds himself up with a forearm above you so he can use his free hand to push your shirt further up and over your head. You stretch your arms above your head to help him rid you of it completely, only breaking the kiss for the moment it takes.
“I’m ready for one more,” you say after a few minutes of just making out with him, arms slung around his neck in a desperate embrace and lips kissing him until they’re swollen. When he sits up on his knees again, he notices the way that his mustache has scratched you slightly and makes a mental note to trim it sometime tomorrow.
You look so radiant when you’re in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, and while he gets his pillow to place it underneath your hips, he admires the beauty of you underneath him like this. You have your hair tousled, your eyes are half-lidded, barely open from the way remnants of pleasure still hasn’t been washed away from them, and your velvety skin glistens with a sheen of sweat that’ll make you shiver if he doesn’t heat you up again. Javier wants to lick it off, wants to eat you up until he has devoured you. You’re beyond softer and sexier than any other time he gets to witness you.
“Javi,” you murmur softly when he’s too slow.
“What, mi amor (my love)?” He pretends not to hear your demanding voice hidden beneath your tired one.
“I wanna do it again,” you have a playful glint in your eye.
“Again?” He teases but his cock pulses, heavy between his legs at the knowledge that he will see you come undone once more in just a moment. He chooses the word moment because the little sucker knows what it is doing and if you respond so well to getting your nipples played with, a part of him is afraid that it’ll be over the second it touches your clit.
“Javi,” you drag out his name in further frustration.
Javier rubs your thigh soothingly, “You’re obsessed with this thing. How long have you had it?”
“Uhh, not long,” you reply, visibly clenching at just hearing the toy start buzzing again. You scoot further towards him, presenting your pussy for him.
“So directly? Or?” He reaches down between your legs, the toy hovering over your mound for a moment before he decides to let it suckle on the skin of your inner thigh where he has just touched you. You breathe deeply in through your nose, wanting to look down at what he is doing but your pregnant belly is already shielding it from view.
“Yes but the lowest setting,” you instruct. Your hand dips down between your thighs to spread your lips, giving him access to your hard clit, “I’m still sensitive.”
“And wet, ¡Dios mío (my God)!” He marvels with suppressed excitement and moves the toy inwards, trailing its tip until it sits right by your hand. You sigh at the attention, dripping even more from your slit in anticipation.
Your hips hitch up when he finally covers your clit with the hole of the toy, a quiet moan slipping from your mouth as it falls open. Your face goes slack in contrast to the tension in your pelvis, your body subconsciously moving around to seek the most sensation.
He guides it steadily up and down, barely rocking it but still moving it enough to create just a bit of a tug on your swollen nub. He sees you lose yourself in it and stares down at you while cupping the bulge on the front of his briefs to relieve some of the desperate pain. He moans low in his throat, “Mi chica bonita (my beautiful girl).”
You respond with a little louder noise, an orgasm already creeping up on you. He shushes you gently, “No noise, baby. Try breathing through your nose or I’ll have to cover your mouth.”
You clamp your mouth shut and make a muffled sound.
“Look at that pussy flutter for me,” he looks between your legs then smiles up at you, pleased with what he is doing to you. He turns up the power on the toy. Your head falls back against the bed. He sees your brows knit together and then he knows, “Come on, baby, that’s it.”
Your orgasm hits you like a lightning bolt. Javier watches with his hand gripping firmly around the outline of his cock and the toy held firmly against your core. You do a fantastic job of making as little noise as possible but the desire to make a racket is there beneath the surface, especially when your high peaks and there’s a moment where you hold your breath just before shivering with the pleasure in your cunt.
He gives you another break but you shake your head. He looks curiously down at you, uncertain if you mean it, “No? Again?”
“Make it hurt, please, Javi,” you beg and he thinks he might come untouched from those words. It’s so rare to have you like this when the house is still full. He doesn’t doubt whether it is a good idea though, just turns up the heat and sends you hurtling towards another orgasm.
You gasp towards the ceiling and slam your legs closed while you grab at the sheets. You look like you are possessed, eyes rolling back into your skull as you come a third time. It must be painful because you are whimpering like a wounded animal, nearly ripping the fabric underneath you and begging silently by only mouthing the words in a worse manner than he has ever experienced as a father of three - soon five - children.
“Keep going,” you demand almost angrily, concentration on your face as he presses the button to the next level of pulses.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You’re about to levitate into the air, aren’t you?”
“I’m gonna come,” you inform him breathlessly.
“Already?” Javier’s brows are nearly in his hair. He is stroking himself on top of his underwear now, itching to feel something when you are lying in a pool of tears, sweat, and your come. Seeing you like this, he has no idea how he is ever going to get anything practical done this weekend; he’ll be doing you every chance he gets until you can’t walk. So hard that he’ll have an excuse to stay home with you on Monday just so he can spear you on his aching cock over and over. Even if you scream, even if you drool, and even if you sob.
When your fourth orgasm of the night starts to gain up on you, he observes the way your legs start to twitch. He holds the toy steady, pushing it against your clit as you nearly go cross-eyed with pleasure. His eyes are wide, the concentration lost for just a second too long when your legs start shaking as you near your end. The toy slips just half an inch, losing its grip on your clit and the accident turns you feral. You reach for his hand, yanking the toy out of his palm, and settle it back into place.
And then you come. So hard that he has no idea what to say or do, watching a steady trickle of pearly white mess gush out of you as your pussy jumps along with your heartbeat. You try so desperately to keep quiet but the sensation seems to be so intense that you might draw blood from your lip if you don’t get to cry.
“One loud one, no, no, look at me. One,” he tells you calmly, knowing you are probably seeing spots, “Let me hear.”
You don’t hesitate, face scrunched up in ecstasy while you let out a wreaking sob that’s so close to you screaming that he almost (but not really) regrets allowing you to be noisy. You pant, kick, and scream, tears running down your face as you are lost to the world, leaving him with nothing to do but stare hungrily as he thanks the heavens that you have found a toy that makes you look so happy and beautiful. He’d be its lead promoter if someone wanted him to.
When it becomes too much, you don’t even turn off the thing. You simply just let it fall from your hands and slump into the bed, your thighs sticky with sweat and slick against Javier’s own. He listens for the sound of tiny footsteps down the hallway for a moment but there’s nothing, not even a squeak from the baby monitor.
“Get inside of me,” you half-beg, half-order with barely any breath in your chest. Javier doesn’t hesitate to step off the bed, slipping his briefs off, and stepping out of them when they pool around his feet. Your eyes watch, huge and wet, filled with desperation for being stretched out after only having your clit played with. He will never dream of denying you when you look like that. You nearly hiccup, “Please.”
“Shh, you’ll get it, mi vida (my life), you’ll get whatever you want,” he soothes softly but then continues the rough streak. He curls his hands around the back of your knees and yanks you off the pillow towards the edge of the bed, sliding your body through the mess you have created.
You are like a siren with the eyes you are sending him, making his cock stand in the air and at level with your empty cunt. He grabs at the base of his length, guiding the thick head through your folds for a few seconds to slick himself up. However, the need to be inside of you, to pound into you, is too much and he pushes into you not long after.
The feeling of filling you up has Javier’s heart pounding against his ribs, endorphins running through his system as his mind quiets down completely when he has you like this. Your warm and familiar walls engulf his touch-starved cock and the both of you breathe shakily in relief as you melt together. You even manage a mix between a breathless laugh and a quiet moan, a sound that makes him twitch inside of you as he regains his composure. When he starts fucking you, dragging you by your legs down onto his cock over and over again, he realizes that he doesn’t even need to be careful, your walls so wet and soft from how much you’ve been touched.
He repeatedly snaps his hips forward to cause an obscene smacking noise that bounces off the walls. You nod frantically at the way he moves inside of you, nose scrunching up with concentration on the sensation of his dick slamming into your front wall. Yet it seems as if you’ve become nearly impossible to please from coming so many times; your hands are placed on top of his, frustration evident on your face, “Harder.”
“Nena (baby girl),” he pants whilst fucking you, “I’m already going hard.”
“I need it harder,” you whine, writhing slightly, “Please.”
“What’s gotten into you tonight?” He asks playfully and earns a glare that you only seem to perfect when you are pregnant and not getting your way. He smooths his palms up and down your sweaty thighs, thrusts coming to a complete halt, “Crawl back.”
He pulls out his cock with a grunt, letting you gaze hungrily at it when you’ve seen it glistening with your wetness. He is the one getting impatient now, snapping his fingers to keep up the part he is playing for you, his role as the man in charge even if it’s hardly true, “Go on then. Back.”
You move with shaky limbs, your body exhausted from its continuous stimulus. You end up lying flat on your back with your legs wide open for him, holding out your arms with a tiny dissatisfied complaint of a whimper, “Javi.”
Javier finally kneels on the bed and moves forward until he is hovering above you. He grabs the still buzzing toy on the bed and reaches for your hand. He places the toy in your palm and closes your fingers around it, knowing what he wants, “I just need you to promise me that you’ll choke my dick when I fuck you with this joining the fun.”
You nod repeatedly and that’s good enough for him to go crazy for you, even wreck the bed if that’s what you want to do. Thank God that there’s no school tomorrow because you’d be hobbling around with how sore he is going to make - and has already made - you. He leans down and cages you underneath him, buries his face in your neck as he bottoms out inside you in one hard thrust. His pelvis touches yours, his chest, your sensitive tits, his body unable to get close enough.
When he rocks his hips this time, he starts really putting his back into it. You slide your free hand up his bicep to cling to his shoulder, saving yourself from being pushed across the mattress with how forcefully he drives his cock into your heat.
He breathes hard as he exhausts his body to give you what you need, knowing that you can take it even if it aches. He can feel drops of sweat slide down the length of his spine, gathering at the small of his back as he switches to harsh rolls of his hips.
The switch gives you room. He doesn’t have to actively listen for the muffling of the sucking toy’s buzz to know that you have started to hold it against your clit because your whole cunt jumps at the attention.
You press your mouth into his bare shoulder to muffle your screams, bravely taking on another round of obscene pleasure as his lower belly burns with the desire to come.
His head swims with the overtaxing use of his muscles, the strain on his thighs that has started to ache from how much he wants to make your head spin. He feels a tear fall from your eye and drop down on his skin, your whimpering voice trying to encourage him not to stop the torture of your cunt.
“Fuck,” he gasps as the sensations are becoming increasingly more intense. He turns his head to breathe heavily against your ear, breathing damp against the shell of it when he tries to speak while his lungs empty as small puffs of air. He wants to tell you how good it feels, and concentrates on whispering filthy things in your ear, “That’s it, you can— oh God, you can take it, baby.”
You sound like you’re trying to overcome your own body, fluctuating between whines and groans. He goes on, “No wonder you’re always carrying my babies. You take it so fucking well each time, amor (love). Made for it. Made for getting knocked up.”
You lock your legs around his ankles, clinging to him as he crashes into you repeatedly. He hears you desperately move the sucking toy back and forth, hears the intensity being turned up to a higher level than he has even dared. You sound pornographic even in your quietness - like one of those videos where they don’t want to get caught but just cannot keep all noise at bay - as you get fucked by him whilst it sends you through the gates of pleasure heaven simultaneously.
“Please,” you whisper.
“And if you weren’t made for it, I’d be sure to mold that little pussy into shape,” he growls quietly. You start to have that dazed look in your eye, have a grip around his cock that tells him exactly what is going to happen, “Oh, baby. You gonna come on my cock, huh?”
“Yeah,” you squeak.
“Yeah?” He mocks.
Javier enters the final sprint, fucking you open in a frantic rush that almost borders on being gross, greedy and animalistic. You mewl pathetically from the intensity, biting into his skin as he makes you come with pleasure slamming through your body roughly enough to make you start crying.
To soothe you, he pulls back his head to kiss you longingly even if it becomes nothing more than a messy crash of your mouths together. He does it to quieten down himself too, finding that his stomach is tightening and his balls are drawing up from being so close. You’ve tightened around him too because whereas you should remove the sucker from your clit, once again, you don’t, and the questionable choice has your walls clamping down on him in overstimulation, squeezing his dick so heavenly that his hips stutter. He comes inside of you when the smaller fit has him seeing stars, groaning into your mouth as he pulses into you.
The buzz of the toy becomes louder again but only because it slips from your hand, your body trembling with overwhelming excitement as you come down from your millionth orgasm in a fairly short period of time. You sob without being sad, curling in on yourself as soon as he pulls out of the dripping mess between your legs. He is on you instantaneously, pushing your hair out of your face, turning off the toy, and cooing gently.
“Oh, Nena (baby girl), you’re okay,” he tuts while you cry quietly, several teardrops rolling down your nose as your body tries to escape itself. He kisses your shoulder, blows a raspberry on it, “You did so good for me. You’re okay. We just went a little overboard.”
Javier rolls off of you but instead of following the instinct to rest his exhausted body by lying down, he sits up in your shared bed. He scoots close to you until he can coax you to drag yourself into his lap with a feeble whimper, wrapping his arms around you and rocking you back and forth like a newborn. He supposes you must feel rebirthed. You sob into his chest, cheek pressed into where his heart hammers, and still overwhelmed with the painful pleasure that you have just experienced.
“Shh,” he whispers with his lips pressed to the crown of your head. He kisses your hair, rubbing soothing circles into your sweaty back until your cries turn into tiny hiccups instead, “It’s alright. You’re alright.”
The way you cling to him tells him that you feel safe with him. He dares lift your chin, looking into your puffy, red eyes and rubbing a tear-streak away from your face. His voice is raspy from sex, “Are you okay, baby?”
“I’m okay,” you croak with a tired and tiny smile, shivering as the sweat starts to cool down. He holds you a little tighter. You relax in his arms even despite getting a bit of control back, “Scatterbrained.”
“Lo sé (I know),” he huffs out a chuckle with another kiss to your head. He cups your jaw and dips down for a kiss on the lips too, thumb rubbing affectionately along your cheekbone, “Pero eres tan hermosa (but you’re so pretty).”
“Thank you,” you cover his hand on your face with your own, “I’m ready to conk out.”
“Shower?” He asks and suggests at the same time.
“I won’t be able to stand upright for that long,” you run your hand over your forehead instead, laughing quietly.
“Alright, bath it is then,” he gently runs his fingers through your hair, “Ready?”
“You’re going to carry me?” You ask with a raised brow as he starts moving towards the edge of the bed with you, “I weigh a ton with this pregnant belly.”
“I do lifts with our daughter on the daily, you know,” he jokes, “Best workout method in years. Even if she talks a lot.”
You yelp with a laugh as he picks you up effortlessly and carries you through the bathroom, crossing the tiled floor with you in his arms bridal style, and sets you carefully on the edge of the bathtub. As he turns on the tap and lets the tub fill, he imagines the cool porcelain is nice against your sore thighs and cunt.
After testing the water, he gently helps you into the tub with a comfortable silence between you. The content look on your face is a reward in itself, even moreso the sigh that you let out as the water envelops you and turns your tired muscles to putty.
Javier washes your hair, leaning your head back and scooping water into his hand to rinse out the shampoo. He runs his fingers across your back and shoulders too, relieving some of the tension he has caused tonight.
“What about dinner tomorrow?” You ask out of the blue and he nearly wants to laugh because, of course, you’re already back to being a mother.
He puts conditioner in your hair, “I was just inside of you.”
“And that means that I can’t start planning your kids’ best lives?” You tease.
He rolls his eyes affectionately, “Fine. I think we should just do something easy.”
“Actually,” you say. Here we go, he thinks. You turn your head to look up at him, “The kids have been talking about a picnic in the backyard, and Lucas really wants to try out the new tent we bought.”
“Mhm,” he hums, not protesting. It does sound fun.
“And I checked the weather forecast earlier,” you add then clarify, “It won’t rain.”
“Baby,” he says with an affectionate smile as he rinses out the conditioner too, “You need to shut down that brain of yours. You do plenty enough to keep us happy.”
“It does shut down sometimes,” you reassure him with a little smile, rubbing your nose in a manner that he always finds adorable. You lean back to simply soak in the warm water, belly just poking out above the surface, “When you touch me.”
Javier lays a hand on your stomach, caressing you in slow circles. He feels playful when he knows you’re getting back into your normal self again, “Guess I’ll just have to keep touching you then.”
“I guess so,” you reply simply, eyes closed and a lazy smile on your face. Jesus Christ, he loves you and everything you have given him.
“I’ll let you sit here for a few more minutes, really let you cook,” he tells you, bending down to kiss your hair. He pushes himself to stand, “I’m gonna go plug your new friend in all over. I think we drained the battery.”
“Don’t pass out,” you say in a sing-song voice, “Love you.”
“Te amo tanto, mi amor (I love you so much, my love),” he replies and leaves you alone with a hand on your belly. He hears you talk to his unborn children, and it’s almost sad that the time it takes for him to wash the toy gently in the sink, plug it in, and head back to you isn’t long.
Finally, with his help, you finish the bath. He helps you to the seat of the toilet, hands you a towel, and drains water from the tub.
“I had the same old question today,” he small-talks while you are on the toilet to dry yourself. He steps over the edge of the newly-drained tub to stand in it, pulling the shower head off the wall to wash himself down from the remnants of what you have just done in bed. He’ll hurry up to finish before you so you don’t start changing the sheets in your pregnant condition.
“Yeah?” You decide against what you are doing and go, albeit shakily, to find a flannel. You soak it in lukewarm water and instantly sigh as you place it between your legs.
“Lucas wants that damn dog so badly,” he continues as he washes himself, “I told him it was a bad idea. He got pretty upset.”
“Is it? A bad idea, I mean?” You wash the flannel clean after using it and wring out the excess water before hanging it on the side of the laundry basket.
“I said yes but I also said it was you who had the final say in it. I’m not carrying a litter,” he huffs a small laugh and steps out onto the bath mat. He dries himself, “Two babies, a toddler, and a puppy seems like pushing it, baby, no matter how well-behaved.”
“I had a dog growing up. It was pretty great and made me feel less alone,” you muse. You turn around to lean against the bathroom counter to steady yourself, watching him with a smile in your naked state, “We could find one in a shelter. A grown one.”
God, you are pretty. He hangs up his towel and draws nearer, stopping only when he has you caged between the sink and himself. He leans in for a kiss and you cup his face whilst he talks, “You’re so good.”
“We could surprise him for his birthday. I don’t like those puppies spending time in those cages during August. It’s too hot. They should be running in the grass,” you scratch his cheeks with your nails, pouting slightly.
He kisses the pout off your face and puts a hand on your protruding belly, “You’ll look so beautiful during August.”
“This isn’t about me,” you note with a grin and pat his hand, “Focus on your son for a second.”
“We’ll never be able to top that birthday present,” he says with his eyes glazed over by love, “Just saying.”
“But he’ll remember it for the rest of his life,” you argue.
“Guess we’ll have to browse the local places then,” he gives in, sliding his hand around your waist.
“You’re a great dad,” you return the caress by laying your palm on his bare chest. His pulse is high when you look at him like that, saying those things.
“Don’t or I’ll have you right here again,” he threatens playfully.
Despite your previous state, you respond cockily by turning around so your ass is level with his dick. You lean forward slightly but only to grab your toothbrush for the second time tonight and disappoint him.
“Anything else happen today?” You ask as if nothing has happened whilst putting toothpaste on your brush. It matches his. You look at him through the mirror and he takes a moment to think, collecting his thoughts instead of getting hard again.
“Oh, right, uh,” he gives up and takes a step to the side, reaching for his own toothbrush. You hand over the tube of toothpaste to him. He puts it back in its holder when he is done using it, “Well, there’s a new kid in Inés’ class. I ran into her mom or rather… Inés ran into her.”
You raise a brow in the mirror.
“Anyway, she was real friendly,” he recalls the moment earlier and speaks around his toothbrush, “They’re new in town and she wanted someone to show her around. She actually invited us for coffee.”
You turn to him now, having stopped brushing your teeth. It looks like you are trying not to laugh at him, “Javi…”
“Yeah?” He turns to meet your gaze and furrows his brow. Oblivious.
“I’m sure she was super excited to invite you and your wife for coffee,” you chuckle, and a bit of toothpaste dribbles down your chin. You reach to wipe it off, “You’re so stupid.”
“Hey,” he clicks his tongue at you.
“Did you give her your number?” You ask casually.
“No… I told her that I would find her contact info on the class sheet,” he tells you and you laugh for real this time.
“Ever the romantic,” you snicker, “Oh, you broke her heart with that.”
“Fuck, do you think she was trying to come onto me?” Javier realizes the true meaning behind the interaction.
“Well, duh,” you start to brush your teeth again but cannot help giggling throughout the rest of cleaning them, “I bet she was batting her lashes at you.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. I thought she was just being friendly,” he continues his own brushing.
This happens more and more often. You are so deeply ingrained in his mind that his time as a casanova is so far behind him that he sometimes cannot pick up on these things anymore. He wants to say that it’s a conscious choice to be oblivious but it honestly is not. There’s just no one else but you.
“So are you gonna call her? Is it serious?” You taunt him after rinsing your toothbrushes together.
“You’re in for a smack to your ass if you continue,” Javier rolls his eyes in an attempt to hide the color of embarrassment in his cheeks. He hurries to go change the sheets before you start doing it.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you blink at him as you pass him to get your clothes from the bed before he has crumpled them up into the dirty sheets.
He smiles and gets dressed with you afterward, standing on each of your respective sides of the bed without saying much.
In bed, you kiss and say your ‘I love yous’. He falls asleep after a few minutes of listening to your slowed breathing. Just like he has done thousands of times before. It never gets old.
.
.
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It is so interesting that Louis uses Armand's supposed birth name during the bench scene.
Naming is such a significant part of Armand's life, moreso than any character. His maker named him Amadeo, the cult named him Armand and his birth parents probably named him Arun. Unlike Louis and Lestat and all the other vampires we've seen, Armand's identity pre-vampirism is not concrete. His human life was marked by trauma and memory loss and even parts of his undead life. He tells Louis his story through 3rd person, as if regaling someone else's tale.
His identity is a fluid thing decided by whatever structure he finds himself in, hence the different names he is given at different stages. He portrays himself as someone who is seemingly powerless despite his ancient aura and terrifying powers.
"Who am I?" he asks Louis in the museum. His great comfort is by sticking to the Great Laws which he does not believe in and rituals he does not care about because they offer a comforting routine he can cling to. That is why he easily breaks his own rules when it comes to Louis, because their romance offers him another purpose.
When Louis asserts his presence in Paris, he tells Armand to let go of the coven. Once Santiago runs it to the ground, then Armand can return and decide if he wants to be coven leader or not.
Louis offers him something different: choice. No one ever gave Armand a choice. Everything that ever happens to him as been someone else deciding for him. This is new territory because the concept of free will is so unique to Armand. Even Lestat's shake-up was not a choice, but more of a coup—Armand knew Lestat breaking up the coven was inevitable the moment they met.
By calling him Arun, Louis shows Armand he is acknowledging the vulnerability offered to him. He's telling Armand that whoever you are, I will accept, even the most fragile and scariest pieces you hide from everyone else. And Armand says "Yes, Maitre," because for once, someone is really teaching him how to live. Not forcing or commanding, but teaching.
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Thinking about "You know what? Fuck you. *un-ennobles your family background*" AUs, due to the "Naruto" I've been reading and "Bleach" I've been watching. Like, taking the main character of any given story and removing their secret and powerful family backgrounds.
I like Minato and Kushina fine as characters, but I also think "Naruto" could have been just as if not more interesting if Naruto had just been some nobody kid, as the story initially presents Naruto to be. What if the Fourth Hokage had sealed the Kyuubi into some random orphan? Honestly, I think Naruto's shitty upbringing makes way less sense if he's the previous Hokage's kid, because Minato and Kushina both have all of these personal connections who really should have done something more and I've never been fully persuaded by the excuses the story gives for why not.
Naruto meeting an undead Minato can still be compelling if they're not related! Naruto could have grown up directly idealizing Minato as his hero only to find out that the Fourth Hokage kind of ruined his life. Kakashi and Naruto can still have an interesting personal connection by Naruto being the random orphan that Kakashi's beloved "nice" sensei fucked over to save the village.
And Naruto being some nobody kid would work really well contrasted against Sasuke's fancy Uchiha pedigree trying to choke the life out of Sasuke at every turn. Itachi and Obito both got fucked over by being Uchiha. Their ancestor Madara is straight-up the one ruining lives and trying to destroy the village. Naruto and Sasuke could be a great example of how the shinobi system screws over both orphan nobodies and the shinobi equivalent of nobility.
Now, there's a lot of directions that you could go in with an AU like this, because honestly, it could barely change the story at all. You only need a few tweaks here and there to make Naruto some orphan nobody again as he seemed to be at the start of the story. But you could also pull a wild Canon Divergence to really delve into the themes and plot threads of being demonized and discarded that the main story kind of dropped in favor of making Naruto the son of the Fourth Hokage and also the last son of the super special Uzumaki Clan.
(You can also make really interesting plots by properly delving into Naruto being the son of the Fourth Hokage and destroyed Uzumaki Clan, yet being demonized and nearly discarded as a child by the Leaf Village anyway, of course, because I don't know if I'd say the story fully delivered on the potential of those canon backstories either. But I personally think it's more fun to delve into Naruto potentially having no fancy pedigree whatsoever.)
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As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part I
Series Masterlist
Chapter Summary: In which your story begins.
Chapter Warnings: Off screen parental death, implied alcoholism, financial ruin, Loki being vaguely menacing in a library.
Once upon a time, you had a family and you were happy.
Your father was a lord with a modest estate to his name. You had enough money to live comfortably and pay your servants well, but not so much that you lost all perspective. Your parents were good, kind people who were well-liked and well-respected, and they loved you very much. Though they had been married for many, many years, they still behaved as a couple newly and madly in love. Your mother’s eyes lit up when your father walked into the room and your father looked at your mother like she was the sun and moon and all the stars combined in one dizzying and glittering person who lit up his entire world.
In the darkest part of the night, when all your tears had been spent and your heart felt as though it would never stop breaking, you wondered if it would have been better had he loved her a little less, if that would have made things easier for him in the end. It’s the sort of thought that you feel guilty having, the sort of question that you know you’re not supposed to ask—after all, some stones are better left unturned.
Your bright and glittering mother burned too brightly for this world and it seemed rather bitterly poetic that she should be taken by a fever. Her eyes shone bright as new silver coins as the sickness burned through her, her fevered mind conjuring demons and shadowy figures from the flickering firelight in her chambers. The shadows in her mind made her weep and scream so loudly that you couldn’t help but hear it, even though your father tried to shield you from the worst of it. Worse, though, was when she went very still and quiet, her rattling cough the only sign that life still lingered in her too bright eyes.
She was only sick for a fortnight, but it felt like months of pressing cool cloths against her burning brow and waiting with bated breath for relief that did not come.
She died at sunrise, leaving you alone and taking a part of your father with her.
He tried, your father. He really did. He got up and got dressed every day. He still took you on rambling strolls through the city, still took an interest in your studies, still quizzed you on history at the dinner table, still told you he loved you. But his eyes never really regained their former sparkle and his face grew hollow and just a shade too thin. He drank more—always at night after he thought you’d gone to bed. Sometimes, you would find him staring empty-eyed into the fire, like if he looked hard enough, he might catch a glimpse of your glittering mother dancing in the flames just beyond his reach.
The worst part of it was when you tried to talk about it, he insisted he was fine, even as he began to neglect the house, even as he did not hire replacements for the servants who had begun to leave. You suspected—but could not say for certain—that if you were to look at the house’s accounts, you would find a good deal of red in the ledger. He grew weaker and thinner, like he was trying with all of his might to just disappear.
Your father died like your mother—in the quiet of the night before you could say goodbye.
But your problems were only just beginning.
You hadn’t expected them to bring you before the king’s steward, but that is where they take you when you arrive at the palace. The palace as a whole is light and airy and bright, but Fritjof’s office feels like a dungeon—largely because of the man himself. Fritjof is a thin and reedy man who would seem less imposing and severe if he were carved from granite. He sits at his desk as he looks you over, his mouth drawn into a thin hard line like you've already disappointed him.
“Do you know why you’re here, girl?” You don’t know it yet, but this greeting is a rather apt example of what your entire relationship with Fritjof will be: cold, distant, and abrupt.
You’re not sure if you should look him in the eye—he seems like the sort of man who would interpret a direct gaze as a sign of impertinence while simultaneously demanding it as a sign of respect. There is no winning with that sort of man—you’re young, but you know this.
Ultimately, though, you decide to look him in the eye. Not for him, but for yourself—it at least gives you the illusion that you’re somewhat in control. It’s a comforting illusion, even if it is a lie.
You clear your throat. “My father’s debts, sir.”
He sniffs slightly and it’s somehow dismissive, like you’d said the wrong thing and he’d expected that. “No.” He picks up a quill and makes a careful note on one of the papers sitting in front of him. “You are here,” he says as he writes, “because of the Allfather’s generosity.” He looks up, fixing you with a stern gaze. “You will do well to remember that.”
“Yes, sir,” you say.
He returns to his writing. “You are not of age and you have no family to take you in.”
This is a fact that you’ve become quite well acquainted with, but you are still surprised by how painful it is to hear Fritjof say.
“The Allfather has settled your father’s debts and you are now a ward in the employ of the crown. You will take no wage until such a time that your debt to the crown has been repaid. You have ceded all claims to your title and any property of significant value.”
He sets his quill down and looks up, his expression devoid of any warmth. “You are a servant, you are indebted to the crown, and you will remember your rightful place at all times. I do not tolerate foolishness, laziness, impertinence, or stupidity. Do I make myself clear?”
You swallow, your fingernails digging hard into the palms of your hands, any hope of finding kindness at the palace well and truly extinguished. “Yes, sir.”
Fritjof stares at you for a moment longer and you get the sense that he’s trying to decide whether you’re truly clever enough to have answered his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from squirming under his gaze. Finally, he clears his throat.
“You will work in the kitchens. Grete will see to your training. You are dismissed.”
You don’t really know where the kitchens are or who Grete is, but you exit as quickly as possible, desperate to leave Fritjof and his icy gaze well and far behind you.
Years pass and you come of age in the punishing pace of the palace kitchens.
You are an average worker, precise and methodical, but not exemplary or incompetent enough to draw much attention. You like it this way—the less conspicuous you are, the less likely that you’ll stumble into Fritjof’s crosshairs. While Fritjof spends very little time in the kitchens, his general presence in the palace has the same effect as an icy draft on a guttering fire. He doesn’t exactly seem to like anyone in particular, but it feels like he reserves a particular kind of disdain for you especially. You’re not entirely sure why—it’s not as if you’ve done anything other than simply exist in front of the man—but you try not to think on it much. At some point, you mention it to Grete and she laughs.
“That man has never smiled a day in his life,” she says. “His soul’s made of vinegar. Keep your head down and pay him no mind.”
You laugh, but you still can’t quite shake the feeling.
Grete is something like a friend, you suppose. She’s around your age and prone to gossip, but she’s pleasant enough. She makes an effort to include you in her small group of friends—Marit, Solvi, Lise, and Ylva. It’s not quite the same as your life before, but you have something that resembles a social life, which is more than you expected given Fritjof’s icy reception.
The head cook, Anja, also turns out to be something of a blessing. While the details of your current situation have left you feeling a little wary about trusting anyone, Anja proves to be the exception to that rule. She’s not exactly a warm person, but when she finds you crying in the pantry one night not long after you first arrive at the palace, she sits you down in front of the fire and fixes you a mug of warm milk.
“I’m not one much for sentiment,” she says gruffly as she hands you the mug.
You tense in anticipation of the lecture you’re certain is coming.
“But losing both your parents in such a short time, that’s a heartache I understand.”
You don’t really know what to say to that, so you nod and take a careful sip from your mug.
“I won’t tell you it gets easier,” she says, “but the pain dulls after a while. It’ll become an ache you can live with.”
Anja is quiet for a long time as you sip at your milk, but it’s not an uncomfortable quiet. “You’re a smart girl,” she says eventually. “This—” she gestures broadly at the kitchen, “—this is just a short season in your life. You won’t be a ward of the crown forever.”
It’s the first time that anyone has said anything like that to you, the first time that your debt has felt like anything other than an immovable and immutable obstacle. It’s a hope that feels practical and you feel something lighten in your spirit.
You blink away more tears and Anja pretends she doesn’t see. “Thank you,” you say.
Anja pats your shoulder as she stands. “Wash the cup before you go to bed.”
For the most part, you keep your head down and focus on your work, dreaming about the day your debt is repaid and you can leave the palace behind.
Though you’re curious about your outstanding balance, you decide that you cannot ask Fritjof about it for a while yet. While Fritjof’s general unpleasantness and seeming dislike of you is a motivating factor, the main reason is because the amount you owe is large enough that it doesn't seem particularly prudent to check until enough time has passed for your work to start to make a difference.
So, you wait and work.
It’s many years after your arrival that you finally drum up the courage to knock on Fritjof’s office door. Though you are now a woman grown, you can’t help but feel like you did on that first day: wide-eyed and terrified, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands in an effort to maintain your composure. Even though you’ve never asked him about this before, Fritjof still looks annoyed as he hauls out his ledger, licking his index finger as he flips through the pages.
Your knees are shaking when he finally slides the ledger across his desk for you to inspect. You suck in an uncertain breath while your eyes scan across the page until you find your name.
And there in Fritjof’s precise script is a horrible truth: your balance owed has barely moved at all.
You have worked until your body ached, forgone sleep and many other comforts, and it all amounts to a raindrop in the ocean. At this rate, you will be an old woman by the time it is paid off in full.
You have years of practice holding back tears, but this creeping sense of despair and the lump in your throat are both new. You feel as though you’ve lost something important and after a moment, it occurs to you that the feeling you’ve lost is hope.
“Will that be all?” Fritjof says gruffly.
You jolt. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”
You only allow yourself to weep later that evening under the cover of darkness.
But despite that loss, this is the year that everything begins to change, though you won’t know that until much later.
You spend the first week after Fritjof’s revelation walking around in a dazed fog. You eat little and sleep as soon as your work ends in the evening, clinging to what scant comfort your dreams are able to provide. But from that consuming fog of hopelessness emerges a strange kind of freedom. It’s not exactly apathy so much as it is perspective—suddenly, the little things that bothered you seem pointless, arbitrary rules that kept you in line feel less consequential. Does it truly matter if you sneak an extra pastry into the pocket of your apron when so many more years of backbreaking work lay ahead of you?
It’s this change in perspective that motivates you to begin visiting the palace library.
Reading is a pleasure that was taken from you when you came to the palace. You had managed to keep four favorites from your parents’ library, but you have read them so many times over that it is difficult to enjoy them in the same way that you had before. With all of your wages going toward your debt, you have no money to buy books of your own, not even the cheap paperbacks they sell in the marketplace. From time to time, you might be able to arrange a trade with one of the other servants—bartering an extra shift for a borrowed book—but your reading interests and theirs did not always align. A library is a luxury that you can barely even begin to imagine—and one day, it occurs to you that maybe you shouldn’t have to imagine it.
You’re not exactly breaking a specific rule. That is the story you intend to tell if you are ever caught. The library is open to the entire palace and no one has ever specifically said that servants are excluded. Granted, if you have to guess, you’re fairly certain that you’re not supposed to be there, but you’re prepared to play dumb if it comes down to that.
You are still careful, though. You only go very late at night during your free hours. You don’t stay long—maybe an hour at most, the clock chiming midnight always serving as your cue to exit. You never take anything with you—you read quietly standing in the stacks, your eyes straining in the dim lamplight.
You like this new rhythm to your days—it gives you something to look forward to, a glimmer of light in an otherwise exhausting existence. The only person who notices you coming and going at late hours is Grete, but she easily convinces herself that you’re sneaking about because you’ve taken a lover. You roll your eyes and tell her that you’ve simply grown fond of a late evening walk. She doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t try to stop you either, which is the only thing you care about.
It’s three weeks in when you’re caught. You expected this would happen at some point, but you didn’t think it would be so soon and you didn’t think that one of the princes would be the one to catch you.
Your stomach drops as you recognize the emerald gaze boring into you from across the room. You hadn’t seen him sitting there, hadn’t heard him come in, and there is no way to hide the open book in your hand. It’s not like you could pretend that you are here on urgent kitchen business, either. If Thor had been the one to find you, you might have had a hope of pleading your case, but Loki...well. Loki isn’t exactly known for being particularly merciful.
You meet his gaze dead on, your chin jutting out almost instinctively in quiet defiance. He looks at you, utterly unreadable, his gaze flitting briefly to the book in your hand. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips—something that could be a hint of amusement, though you can’t quite imagine him smiling in this moment.
He holds your gaze for a moment more and then his gaze drops back to his book.
You stare at him for a few seconds before retreating back into the shadows of the stacks, your heart beating wildly. You’re not entirely certain what this means. Perhaps he is biding his time; perhaps he will go straight from here to Fritjof’s office after he finishes his book. Perhaps he will wait until morning.
You consider this for a moment. If he intends to report you, your time in the library is surely limited; you’ll be back to rereading your own books and making bargains with the other servants. This could be your last chance to enjoy a new book for quite a while. You might as well make the most of it.
It’s not easy to bring your focus back to the text, but you manage, even though your heart is still thundering in your chest. Your legs are a little wobbly, but you convince yourself to stay until the clock chimes midnight.
Loki looks up as you are leaving the library. You keep your eyes on his, chin tilted up as you dip into a perfunctory curtsy. You’re not quite sure if it’s amusement or something darker that makes his eyes glitter like jewels, but it’s out of your hands now and you’re resigned to whatever fate has in store. You leave the library with your head held high, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling under the weight of Loki’s gaze.
When all is said and done, though, he doesn’t report you.
He’s there the next evening when you return and most of the ones after that. You seem to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement with him, though it baffles you. You are not entirely certain of his motivations—perhaps he sees you as an amusing curiosity, perhaps he does not care enough about rules and protocol to be much concerned when someone breaks them. Perhaps it’s simply the fact that you never seek to deprive him of the chair that he favors—the red one right by the window. Or perhaps he still intends to turn you over to Fritjof and he’s merely waiting for the right moment to do it. Whatever the reason, he seems content to allow you to go about your business and you decide that it’s a reprieve that’s best not questioned overly much.
Still, even with this silent truce between you, even with your vow not to think about all the ways this could go wrong, Loki gives you the same feeling you get when you discover a wasp trapped indoors: a slight sense of unease, the feeling that you must be aware of his presence at all times or risk some sort of danger.
Careful, you think.
Sometimes, you lock eyes and it’s hard to ignore how hard your heart beats in your throat, how difficult it is to hold your head high and not look away. It gives you a strange feeling, but not necessarily an unwelcome one.
He’s also rather absurdly handsome, which doesn’t help matters.
Careful.
Every year, the palace hosts a masquerade ball. It’s meant to be a celebration for all of Asgard—everyone is invited, even the servants. Inviting the servants is a nice gesture, but a slightly thoughtless one—a ball requires an enormous amount of work, especially from the kitchen staff. If everyone took the night off to attend, there would be no celebration at all.
Many years ago, Anja had implemented a solution to this problem. There would be a rotation—the full staff would work together the day of the ball, with one third being dismissed a few hours early to attend and the other two thirds remaining in the kitchens to work. The assignments would change every year so everyone got the chance to attend. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fair and no one could find any fault with fair.
The problem for you was that Fritjof was the one who actually arranged the staffing for this. And every single year, you are assigned to the group scheduled to work. You know that this is intentional on Fritjof’s part: it is the sort of pointless, petty revenge that he is fond of and it requires little effort for him to accomplish.
It doesn’t really occur to you to complain about it. You’re trying to keep your head down and complaining to Fritjof is not worth the trouble it would cause, even though you would very much like to go. So, every year you ignore the sympathetic looks from Grete and the other girls and try not to think about the dress you have tucked away in the trunk in your room as you work the night away in the kitchens.
Among the few belongings that you were permitted to take with you to the palace is a gown that once belonged to your mother. You wanted a bright, glittering reminder of her when she died and this dress was the brightest and most glittering one in her wardrobe. It is several seasons out of fashion, but it is beautifully elegant, all ivory silk and lace and hemmed with silvery embroidered leaves. The matching shoes are encrusted with blue and silver beads that glitter like glass when they catch the light. A matching mask of silver filigree accompanies it—your mother must have worn it to one of the masquerade balls many years ago.
It is an impractical dress to keep—you have never worn it anywhere outside of your own room—but it’s nice to put it on and pretend sometimes. If you ever get the chance to go, this would be the dress you would wear—everyone dressed a little outlandishly for the masquerade and a gown a few seasons out of fashion would draw no special attention.
It’s a silly, passing thought—just another daydream that makes your old life seem not quite as far away.
But in the year that everything changes, your absence from the ball is finally brought to Anja’s attention.
On the day of the masquerade, Anja summons you to the larder on the pretext of helping her with some pastries. The moment the door closes, she whirls on you, fixing you with a stern gaze. You tense and for a moment, you think she must have found out about your trips to the library.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been assigned to work during the masquerade every year since you’ve arrived?”
Your relief is immediate, accompanied by a dizzying rush of adrenaline that almost makes you want to laugh. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Of course it matters,” says Anja with a level of feeling that surprises you. “Everyone's meant to have a chance to go, not everyone except for one person. You should have said something to me.”
You know you’re speaking out of turn, but the indignation in Anja’s voice is oddly disarming. “I didn’t think Fritjof would allow it,” you say.
Anja’s shoulders sag slightly and there’s a flash of softness in her eyes that disappears almost as quickly as it appears. “I’ll thank you not to repeat this, but that man is too hard on you.”
You shrug, not really sure what to say.
“Luckily, he’s predictable,” she continues. “He’ll be in and out of the kitchens early on in the evening, so I can’t change your assignment without him noticing. Once desserts go out, though, he’s likely to stay in the ballroom. After the cakes are iced, I’ll send you to go get dressed. You won’t have more’n two hours in all, but it’s enough time to get cleaned up and dressed and have a dance or two before the unmasking at midnight.”
Your mouth hangs open. This was beyond what you had hoped for. “Really?”
“Don’t gape at me, girlie, it’s unbecoming,” she says, lightly tapping your cheek. There’s something warm growing and expanding in your chest and you realize there are tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t you cry on me either or I’ll change my mind,” says Anja gruffly, though there’s warmth there.
You nod, hastily wiping your eyes. “I just—I never thought...thank you, Anja.”
“It’s the decent thing to do,” she says, brushing you off. “Now look lively, there’s a lot of work to be done yet.”
You think of your bright and glittering mother and your kind father and the life that they wanted for you. It’s just a masquerade, but you can’t help the small, hopeful feeling that blooms in your chest.
Little do you know that this will be the start of something rather extraordinary.
(Next chapter) coming soon
#loki smut#loki x reader smut#loki x reader#loki x female reader#loki x female reader smut#loki fanfiction#loki laufeyson smut#as the clock strikes midnight
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Happy pride month and all!
I figured now was a good time to ask, but do you have any thoughts about the sexuality of the characters in your Sep AU?
Sorry if you’ve been asked already, and the answer can definitely be no, I’m just curious :)
Happy pride!! ✨
Here's the thing about headcanons about queer identities, I personally prefer to not get too stuck on specific labels. While there are exceptions, I generally try to remain flexible if that makes sense? As in I like having multiple different interpritation about characters' identities so deciding on One Particular Label can feel limiting to me.
I mentioned it before, but I do plan on making Capril an established relationship in the AU sooner or later, so April and Casey are definitely sapphic. But more specific than that? Are they lesbian or bi or pan or whatever?? I dunno!! It's not really relevant to the story so I might as well leave that up to interpretation.
My approach to creating stories is that I'll usually only decide on specific labels if it is plot relevant, Schrödingers Identity if you will, lol, it can be anything if you don't decide on it beforehand. Again, there are exceptions, Leo is gay 100% like duh I can't interpret him any other way XD. Splinter is a Bi-Icon and I will STAND BY THAT!
Raph, Donnie and Mikey? Man who knows, canon Donnie seems to be into girls at least so it's the same in the AU, but more specific than that I dunno, I'm not planning on the story really focusing on romance (aside from a little capril because every story needs sapphics that's like the law)
Actually, you know what I find fun? World building! I honestly tend to be more interested in how queer identities are viewed and treated in a story's world as a whole as opposed to induvidual character's identities. Human society in rottmnt seems to be mostly the same as our IRL society, but what about Yōkai society!? With how diverse yōkai are I think it'd be fun if people in The Hidden City just... didn't care about who you loved or what you identified as. As a result of that, I don't think yōkai would care that much about terminology and labels, you just kinda loved whoever you loved.
It'd be honestly be kinda interesting if Donnie and April used terminology that related to queer stuff and Raph, Leo and Mikey are just really confused. Like for example, April is complaining about one of her classmates who's homophobic and the The Drax Bros are just like "Home-phobic??? They're afraid of homes??" cuz the concept of discriminating against someone based on which gender they're attracted to is completely foreign to them. Actually, Leo might be more knowledgable about human queer culture considering he's interested in human cultures in general. He calls himself gay at one point and Draxum is all like "you're happy? good for you?" and he'd just be wondering why Leo is using such an old-timey word considering Leo doesn't exactly have the most advanced vocabulary.
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... Lucifer is how Christian Gray believed he is/jk
We already know Lucifer to be THAT guy but this is just a new whole layer and when combine with some info about him and his brothers, we got a pretty interesting case of why he might has a kink for dacryphilia, or how he might, 'allegedly', be a lowkey sadist (not surprising but still give me a gasp when I think about it).
The original source is here, credits to @shyanimeboi and their friend: https://x.com/shyanimeboi/status/1795183592961655077/video/3\
Warnings: Mentions of torture (info from chapter 5 in canon story), 1ncest, sexual content, and some depiction of violence. MNDI
I noticed how he been switching his way of addressing MC from Solomon, to Adam, and to Eve, throughout his chats. And it either a spontaneous things where he group the 3 humans he know the most together and just address MC with them on a whims or it could be something more personal.
The type of unicorn he is talking about is most commonly known in the western folklore, where unicorns are fierce and hostile, and become docile only in the presence of virgins. While occasionally fiction writers have invoked the principle that men can be virgins also (see, e.g. Poul Anderson’s “Honeymouth”), usually, “virgin” implies “girls or women,” and therefore only women who have never had intercourse can tame a unicorn, but it could be also for those that are utterly pure (of heart if not of mind).
So it pretty much confirm it, Lucifer either get freaky in the 0rgy they got going on in Heaven or he get freaky with his brothers, which is weird but compared that to the torture camps and experimental labs on devil children, the possiblities of unhinged millenia old angels banging each others is something I expected but wholely not interested in opening that can of worm.
I would call myself the weird one when I think of some 50 Shades of Gray when I look at this image since in the chat Lucifer seem like a Disney princess:
This part set apart Lucifer and his brothers in a subtle but clear way because unlike how Gabriel and Michael would get into a fight on whether who would get to kill a devil, how Michael would easily commit genocide on an entire race of dragons, and how Raphael would eat his fellow angels for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Lucifer can form a bond with another creature, who would be killed by the trio if he were to show the same attitude as he did with Lucifer. This also reflected how he became Gamigin and Jjok's brother. His normal open-minded aspect is so jarring that when compared to his brothers it stands out like a neon light.
And how he prefers action over words is probably what got him to care for Gamigin, Jjok, and the devils. Devils are honest by nature, and their feelings are worn on their sleeves, with a few exceptions (Leviathan, Orias, etc.), up until now, we rarely see a devil that doesn't commit to their promises or declarations (Satan does bring Minhyeok back from death, Mammon does own Hell's economy, Leviathan live his life perfectly every day for his friends, etc.), in some cases they might really lose limbs or even die for it (in Leraye's event, he broke pieces of his horn to turn them into bullets to protect the city). In a way, he also values genuine actions as proof of one’s character, loyalty, and intentions. Gamigin took him in when Lucifer was a fallen angel and nursed him back to health despite the danger of getting the devil's ire and how much Lucifer rejected his help (and was rude about it too), he persisted and he was consistent in his kindness. Jjok is scared of him, at first, but he still continues to visit and talk to him almost every day while he is in bed, and even begs Satan to not take his "family" away (I will cry again god-).
It also might be an instinct as an angel if he were to compare them to his love for God and how he might find it hard to correct his brothers' mania, where their only purpose in life is to love and worship God, no matter how terrible they become for him. This principle reflects a certain integrity and consistency in him. He expects others to demonstrate their worth through their actions and probably enjoys them trusting him, and he likely holds himself to the same standard (ie, how he becomes a devil and declares to protect Hell, feels guilty for the atrocities his brothers and Heaven have done, how he didn't shut it down and was a part of the problem, etc).
The horse from Hell he is talking about is probably a bicorn (a not very well-known folklore two-horned creature that is a fan of depraved people) or kelpie (a shape-changing aquatic spirit of Scottish legend known for tricking people into riding on them for some malevolent purpose) or just savage beasts of war that need no rider, the counterparts to the unicorn. So his methods of training the unicorn won't work on them.
Now to get back to my point on the switching of the address from Solomon, to Adam, and to Eve. It is just a theory but it could mean something like this:
"Daughter of Solomon": Used to express a personal or significant connection between them, possibly based on MC's predecessor's wisdom and who is known to be king of peace and someone who is loved by God and the devils.
"Daughter of Adam": Highlights common humanity (Adam represents humanity as the first human created according to biblical texts) while pointing out unique or odd characteristics.
"Daughter of Eve": Emphasizes femininity or human traits related to curiosity (Eve is tempted by the serpent to eat the forbidden fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge) or innocence (Genesis 2:25 states that "Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame," indicating their complete innocence and lack of self-consciousness or worldly concerns, which explain the "You are runaway, or have no sense of crisis").
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Um, chile anyway so-
Lucifer has that brat-taming, bondage, and dacryphilia things going on... So be proud and bratty y'all-
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As someone who is currently finishing my degree in history, with a huge interest in darker subjects such as genocide and dictators, I am embarrassed that it took until genocide itself before I finally paid attention to Palestine.
To make up for it, I’ve tried to read as much as I can. I’ve tried my best to put Palestinian authors first, but I have also found some non-Palestinians who have honored the injustice. For anyone interested, below will be all books I have read or plan on reading that are reviewed very well. They will be separated by Palestinian and non-Palestinian authors:
My Palestinian book recommendations:
I’m linking the lowest prices I can find for each book just because of the economy, but I do encourage buying new!
Palestinian authors:
- Men in the Sun by Ghassan Kanafani
Description: The story of three Palestinian refugees seeking to travel from their refugee camps in Iraq, where they cannot find work, to Kuwait where they hope to find work as laborers in the oil boom.
- The Iron Cage: The Story of the Palestinian Struggle for Statehood by Rashid Khali
Description: Explored the historical and political context of Palestinian efforts to achieve statehood. The book focuses on the context for current crisis in the region by focusing on the period of the British Mandate.
- Palestinian Identity: The Construction of Modern National Consciousness by Rashid Khalidi
Description: Rashid Khalidi reflecting on the significance of his work over the past decade and its relationship to the struggle for Palestinian nationhood. Khalidi also casts an eye to the future, noting the strength of Palestinian identity and social solidarity yet wondering whether current trends will lead to Palestinian statehood and independence.
- In Search of Fatima: A Palestinian Story by Ghada Karmi
Description: This memoir recounts the author’s experience of displacement from her home in Jerusalem in 1948 and her subsequent life in exile, blending personal narrative with historical context.
- Palestine: A Four Thousand Year History by Nur Masalha
Description: Traces Palestine's millennia-old heritage, uncovering cultures and societies of depth and complexity that stretch back to the very beginnings of its recorded history.
- Before Their Diaspora: A Photographic History of the Palestinians, 1876-1948 by Walid Khalidi
Description: Before Their Diaspora is a visual journey into Palestine before 1948. Every important aspect of Palestinian society comes to life in the nearly 500 photographs, carefully selected from thousands available in private and public collections throughout the world.
- All That Remains: The Palestinian Villages Occupied and Depopulated by Israel in 1948 by Walid Khalidi
Description: The culmination of nearly six years of research by more than thirty participants, this authoritative reference work describes in detail the more than 400 Palestinian villages that were destroyed or depopulated during the 1948 war
- A Child in Palestine: The Cartoons of Naji al-Ali
Description: Naji al-Ali grew up in the Palestinian refugee camp of Ain al-Hilweh in the south Lebanese city of Sidon. Through his most celebrated creation, the witness-child Handala, al-Ali criticized the brutality of Israeli occupation, the venality and corruption of the regimes in the region, and the suffering of the Palestinian people, earning him many powerful enemies and the soubriquet “the Palestinian Malcolm X.”
Non-Palestinian authors:
- The Palestinian People: A History by Baruch Kimmerling and Joel S. Migdal
Description: Baruch Kimmerling and Joel Migdal offer an account of the history of the Palestinian people from their modern origins to the failure of the Oslo peace process and beyond.
- Except for Palestine: The Limits of Progressive Politics by Marc Lamont-Hill and Mitchell Plitnick
Description: Explanation of how one-sided pro-Israel policies reflect the truth-bending grip of authoritarianism on both Israel and the United States. Except for Palestine argues that progressives and liberals must extend their core principles to the oppression of Palestinians.
- Dishonest Broker: The Role of the United States in Palestine and Israel by Naseer Hasan Aruri
Description: An analysis on the evolving relationship between the United States and Palestine and Israel. It argues that the U.S. rejectionist policy toward Palestinian participation and Palestinian rights has become a policy that focuses more on the process and than on peace. Aruri argues that the special relationship between the United States and Israel turned into a strategic alliance after the war in 1967.
- The Battle for Justice in Palestine by Ali Abunimah
Description: In this essential work, journalist Ali Abunimah takes a comprehensive look at the shifting tides of the politics of Palestine and the Israelis in a neoliberal worldand makes a compelling and surprising case for why the Palestine solidarity movement just might win.
- Palestine Hijacked: How Zionism Forged an Apartheid State from River to Sea by Thomas Suárez
Description: How terror was used by Zionist militias to transform Palestine into an apartheid settler state.
- A New Critical Approach to the History of Palestine, Palestine History and Heritage Project 1
Description: A New Critical Approach to the History of Palestine discusses prospects and methods for a comprehensive, evidence-based history of Palestine with a critical use of recent historical, archaeological and anthropological methods. This history is not an exclusive history but one that is ethnically and culturally inclusive, a history of and for all peoples who have lived in Palestine.
#free rafah#fundraiser#gaza#gofundme#mutual aid#palestine#rafah#donations#free gaza#palestine aid#palestine history#palestinian history#palestine resources#palestine books#palestinian books#books#history#palestine charity#charity#aid#humanitarian aid#financial aid#palestine fundraiser#fundraising#urgent#hands off palestine#palestine boycott#from the river to the sea palestine will be free#all eyes on rafah#hands off rafah
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`let's talk about caleb/xia yizhou
i've decided to complie a (sort of) categorised list of theories regarding caleb's character/identity (and his possible importance to the story of lnds in the future) from posts i've gathered from other players here on tumblr, reddit, and on twt, including some of my own personal theories/questions that i haven't seen anyone speak about yet (to my knowledge) and wanna share, feel free to tell me your thoughts too! :3 let's start off a little simple... ૮˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ♡
ᰔ caleb will return
as a caleb girlie i have ruthlessly hunted around for anything and everything that i can find to support this idea (of course) but let's begin with some small details that a lot of people have noticed.
he's the first character to have a phone call with the mc, as well as a text message conversation. only the love interests have these types of interactions with mc so far so it sets him apart from the usual side characters. infold are clearly doing as much as they can to intergrate caleb into the mc's life, further signifying how much of an important character he is to the mc and to the story.
there's also many visual scenes of his character model doing all sorts of animations, not even tara or any of the other male side characters like thomas or jeremiah have this many (or at all). and yeah, most of these animations are probably just default ones which may also be the exact ones used for the boys but even so, why would infold put a lot of time in animating him (and his multiple changing expressions) if they were truly just going to kill him off seconds later?
his design was made as carefully as xavier, zayne, and rafayel's designs were - the proof of this is his original outfit. not too sure why they decided to change it (maybe it was too 'dark'? it might've been too much of a in-your-face hint that caleb would return as a possible antagonist?) but it was clear that they went through the effort of changing it for a reason... personally i love his og outfit more, it makes his necklace stand out more and he just looks so itty bitty scrunkly wunkly.
there's some other things i want to add. we know that mc gave caleb the 'when u come back' necklace before he left for skyhaven and after the explosion, caleb sort of 'returns' it. and by returns i mean when the explosion happens caleb's necklace is found right in front of her. with the engraving, it sort of foreshadows him coming back. now, to analyse the explosion a bit more, it happens very suddenly - like as soon as caleb goes into the house and closes the door. of course this makes it seem like he was affected by the explosion but how come caleb's necklace was found in one piece right in front of her? he was wearing it after all, so for it to be the only thing (other than caleb's... remains) in front of her makes it seems like him 'dropping/leaving' the necklace was kind of intentional. we see caleb using his gravitational/telekenisis-like evol in a segment of chapter 4 when he takes the necklace from her, so it makes sense for him to use it again when he's giving it back to her, right? adding onto this little theory about caleb using his evol in the explosion, mc was pretty close to the house when it exploded but is quite far from it after the explosion. now obviously this is due to the explosion blasting her back, but i did see someone mention that caleb possibily used his evol to push her away so that the explosion wouldn't severly hurt her. this makes sense, seeing as she was only slightly injured from the explosion, nothing too serious. but then again, we don't know the true extent of caleb's evol, is he powerful enough to be able to do that? i wouldn't put it past him though, seeing as he is a deepspace pilot and i'm sure he uses his evol for work which means he must've been training with it. going back to my previous point about him using his evol to intefere with the explosion, if he really did push mc away then it's possible he managed to keep himself safe from the explosion using his evol too. but if he managed to get himself and mc to safety then what about grandma? with her condition it's probably not possible that she managed to escape on her own and we don't know whether during that time where caleb and mc were outside if she was still in the house or not. could she have been kidnapped? i'll add more about what i think about the relationship between grandma and caleb further down in another section...
and who exactly was that guy that injured mc in early chapter 4 before caleb found her? from what we can gather with such little info we have, he could've been sent by sylus/onychinus or maybe even caleb himself. the attacker/random guy makes a comment which gives off the sense that he knows mc and this is probably because whoever sent him ordered the attacker guy to be a diversion and lure mc out of the house, via the wanderer/energy fluctuations. if caleb was the one who 'sent' this guy, why would he make that quip about avenging mc for that guy hurting her? is he keeping up with some sort of false façade so mc doesn't question his motives? it seems unlikely though... i think he was genuinely upset over seeing her get hurt and how she proceeded to lie about it to him.
another thing to add, the explosion doesn't go off as soon as caleb and mc are out of sight, this means that the aim wasn't to kill just the grandma but caleb too seeing as it happens as soon as caleb enters the house. but with this theory, it means he had no idea about the attack. in a way this all adds up, meaning that him using his evol to push mc out of safety was out of impulse. we can assume that an important part of the explosion was to ensure mc was kept alive, and this futher implies that the explosion could've been the work of onychinus or more specifically sylus. they're interested in finding the aether core after all (from what’s implied), but if it really was them, how would they know mc has it? only a few people like zayne, dr.noah, and grandma/joesphine (and also maybe xavier, jeremiah, and rafayel? it's not too certain in this timeline...) know that mc's heart is infused with the aether core. i do have a feeling caleb knows as well, it just makes sense as he’s the ‘older brother’ figure so he must know certain ‘family matters’, but then again as caleb is so secretive we don’t have a concrete answer on what he does and doesn’t know which is what makes him suspicious. could he be the one who potentially/accidentally implied or informed sylus/onychinus about the aether core having to do something with mc? is that why he faked his death, so that they’d assume caleb and mc were the ones in the explosion and not caleb and grandma? i’ll also make a seperate post on sylus seeing as there's one month left until he will be officially introduced (i am so very excited) as he’s after the aether core (perhaps he was the one that put it into mc’s heart in the first place? or he created it?)
back to caleb, him 'losing' his necklace admist the explosion is almost like him letting go to his past self (?) is he going to use this explosion as some sort of... rebirth or character development? will he let go of his soft, puppy-like persona? it sounds like a bit of a stretch but i do think he has something shady going on. maybe letting go of the necklace is like letting go of the 'big brother' title so that he can return into mc's life as a love interest and not as an older sibling-like figure. i think caleb tries to show us that he's upset mc still see's him as a 'brother' just because they grew up together. comments are thrown around, like how she should just trust him now that they're grown up and how they're not little kids anymore - this all makes it seem like they don't have to keep seeing each other like they're siblings and that they're mature enough to articulate their feelings.
ᰔ caleb's 'arguement' with mc was forced/intentional
so there's a part in the beginning of chapter 4 where caleb informs grandma and mc that he submitted an application for a long-term care ward for grandma (did he do this to keep grandma out of the way? knowing that she could interfere?) mc is suprised about this, as is joesphine (grandma) and when mc asks him why he didn't say anything to her about it all he does is laugh and look away - brushing it off. later on, when mc decides to hide/lie about the fact that she got attacked by someone caleb gets quite defensive and hurt over her not telling him about it. in the moment, mc doesn't mention the fact that he has kept things from her too (such as the care ward thing) probably because it slipped her mind due to caleb reacting the way he did, or because if she did mention his hypocrisy, it would probably make things worse or end a little more bitterly than it did.
however, we know (from the phone call with caleb at end of chapter 1, as well as a part in chapter 4) that these two are aware that they both tend to keep things from each other. claiming it to be 'top-secret' or 'classified information', but then again this is to do with work related sort of stuff - getting hurt by some random dude on the street or submitting an application to a care ward isn't exactly associated with their positions as a hunter/pilot.
i think it's pretty obvious that the reason caleb joined mc when she left to search for wanderers wasn't because he needed to collect some groceries. if you want some visual proof - when he confronts mc he isn't holding any grocercy bags or anything, nor does he bother making a joke about how the store didn't have any of the things she requested or how he forgot to bring his card with him, and that's probably because he wasn't gonna bother keeping up that act seeing as mc had already caught onto it when she told him not to follow her. again, mc doesn't point out any of this and maybe it's because she's too caught up with the emotions in the conversation or maybe it’s because caleb’s reaction/behaviour is sorta making her feel guilty and in the wrong.
so why did caleb follow her? was it because he wanted to speak with her alone? it was clear he had something on his mind before he hesitated (more on that later) or was it because he needed to buy some time so that the 'bomb' could be placed and set off? anyway, the reason why i'm suggesting the 'arguement' was forced is because maybe caleb wanted mc to despise him so that she would be less hurt over his 'death'? or that when he returns she'd forgive him instantly because she would regret the way things ended before his 'death'... i'm not too sure on the reason, but the way he went about the situation was kiiinda suspect, like he was purposefully trying to rile up emotions.
ᰔ caleb the villain
do i think caleb will return as an antagonist? yep. and if you think about it, like reaaaally think about it, it makes a lot of sense because why would he need to fake his death in the first place if not for something shady. no deepspace pilot needs to be doing all of that. but if, for some reason, he stays dead (... guys c'mon he won't trust me) then he merely was just a civillian that fell victim to a wanderer-associated explosion. not a shred of evil in his soul. i’ll add more onto the idea of evil/dark caleb later but for now i'm going to expand more on this in the section below~
ᰔ caleb is (not) sylus?
i've seen a lot of players debate over the idea of the shadowy figure at the end of chapter 8 being either caleb or sylus... or both? personally, voice wise (english voiceover) ... i think they're pretty similar. i haven't compared both mysterious guy and caleb's voice in the other languages yet, but if all the other voiceovers had similar caleb's and sylus' i'd assume more people would've put more attention on that, as that would sort of be a little bit of confirmation that the similar sounding voices were intentional or something. but still, it wouldn't be enough. now appearance wise, i also think they look quite alike. yes, the hairstyles are different but if caleb really did fake his death then he'd change up his appearance and embody a sort of new persona, right? i mean he'd still be the same caleb we love and know, but i feel like there would just be a new aura to him. i saw another player saying that perhaps the chapter 8 guy probably is caleb but with his face surgically modified due to the explosion which sounds like a really good theory, seeing as these brightened photos of the mysterious guy just looks like a more sharper/defined version of caleb's puppy-like face.
a lot of other players also said that the mysterious guy might be thomas, as it would make sense for rafayel to be talking to thomas but i really think that's not the case. now do i think caleb is sylus? maybe. but truly, i think caleb is most likely just working closely with sylus/onychinus meaning that sylus and caleb are in fact two different people (perhaps they’re actually twins or related somehow??)
however, after chapter 8 came out and the devs made this post on weibo:
a lot of people took this in as confirmation that the mysterious guy from chapter 8 was not in fact sylus. so could it be caleb instead? but then that would go against the theory of caleb being sylus, seeing as this post says that sylus has not appeared yet... i'll go into more detail about all of this in my sylus post.
ᰔ the apple motif
a player pointed out that we're seeing some sort of re-telling of fairytales through the love interests, i.e. sleeping beauty, ice queen, the little mermaid, etc. and that caleb is the 'snow white' of this theory, you know, with the apple and all. i like this theory because it suggests mc being the knight in shining armour, having to save her boys. and i'm a little (very) curious on what sylus' fairytale would be too, or if he’ll be an iconic sort of villain/morally grey character like maleficent? i feel like we'll see more of these 'apples' throughout the story... even if caleb stays dead (he won't) also, kind of unrelated, but one of my favourite book series - which is sorta like a fairytale to begin with (it's called once upon a broken heart by stephanie garber, if you end up wanting to read it don't physically go and buy it/support the author... she's a z!onist, i can give you an epub file to the book so you can read it for free so that it doesn't give her any money lol) - has a character who's got a curse where his kisses are deadly, and if he kisses anyone who isn't his 'one true love' then they'll die. the thing is, he doesn't know who his 'one true love' is or if this person will even be someone he reciprocates feelings for. he surpresses his urges to kiss by eating these magical (?) apples and somehow it's enough for him to not go on a murdering spree. again, as this is off-topic and of course will most likely not happen, i'm mentioning this only because it'll be interesting to see if there's some sort of significance to why caleb likes apples so much? is it because mc likes them? we know that mc likes apples through a line she says to xavier in one of his memories:
but also when caleb steals the necklace mc got/made him and he mentions that it's in a style that she really likes. which is probably refering to the little apple pendant thingy? but yeah, maybe it has something to do with their childhood i'm not too sure. besides that, if you look closely in some scenes where mc is in her apartment you can see a framed picture/painting of an apple in her bedroom. did caleb give that to her? or was it commissioned?
ᰔ what's the beef between grandma and caleb?
so as far as we know, grandma took in mc and caleb. she was looking for mc and found her in an orphanage/foster home (?) and took her in because mc recognised her somehow despite all of the experiments she endured and the 'incident' (chronorift catastrophe) that happened in linkon city, i'm not too sure if we know how grandma found caleb (though if anyone knows where it may have been mentioned pls let me know), but for now let's assume they were taken in at around the same time or similar. if that were the case, then perhaps caleb was also a subject for the 'experiments' that joesphine and her colleagues were conducting. since mc has her memories wiped regarding that time, which was most likely due to her aether core or her evol, i think if caleb was truly a victim in these 'experiments' then maybe he might still have memory of this? though, why would he allow joesphine to take him in if he knew what she did/does? or maybe he was too young to understand anything and only later came to a realisation when he grew up - probably after finding some files/photos that tied joesphine to mc/himself before the 'incident'. we all know caleb is pretty secretive, so if he did find something out he would've not made it obvious. but then again, mc did tell zayne (i think, or maybe it was monologue) that there was barely any trace of joesphine's research/work around their (old) home. so if caleb did find something out, then it must've been from an outside source - and i get the feeling an outside source would be someone from the N109 zone.
whatever happened, i think grandma is weary of caleb, like she knows that he's been associating himself with the wrong kind of people or that he'll end up not being a constant in mc's life e.g. his sudden death (if it was planned/faked in the first place) which is why she entrusts mc to zayne instead of caleb. it seems that she really wants to match-make zayne and mc together - we know from her trying to get mc and zayne to have lunch together if she had to be placed into a hospital, and from her telling zayne to look after mc when she passes. maybe she actually knows more about zayne (and his past lives) than we think, which is why she's more reliant on leaving mc to zayne because she feels she knows more about him rather than caleb because as i said, she appears to be a bit skeptical of him. there's even a part in the 'world underneath' stories where she hesitates to say caleb's name, (maybe because that's not even his real name??) but that's to assume if she was even referring to caleb here:
ᰔ what was that flash of light that made caleb change his mind from explaining to mc?
i haven't seen anyone mention this i think but caleb seems to give up on what he was saying as soon as something flashes by. it's almost like he comes to a certain realisation as soon as this happens. he looks really sad and hurt, so what was he about to say? if you listen closely to chapter 4 segment 3 'within reach', the flash of light that passes by and is reflected on his face is acompanied by the sound of a car going past. he doesn't look at this car, but is he somehow reminded of zayne? as far as we know he's the only male love interest (other than rafayel, but caleb doesn't know rafayel... right?) that drives a car (he has multiple actually… rich daddy) and as well as this, doesn't zayne live close by to caleb's/mc's childhood home? (i'm not too sure on this, correct me if i'm wrong...) so it could actually be him. i assume that since lnds is set in the future - public transport would be much more advanced and faster than how it is now which is why many people would opt to use it more often rather than using personal vehicles, so it's possibile caleb could have recognised the sound/look of zayne's car? which is why he decided to put an end of the conversation there - being reminded of zayne and his position in mc’s life, probably thinking that zayne would be mc's first choice if she were to confide in someone. but of course, if that really was zayne we may never know. caleb sort of laughs/scoffs (?) to himself and looks down right after he pauses and the flash of light passes by. it's like he's coming to terms with something, maybe accepting the fact that in mc's eyes he'll always be seen as the 'brother' figure and he can't have what he really and truly wants. aaaand drumroll, this brings me to my next point...
ᰔ caleb and his relations with zayne
their designs are pretty similar, in fact they could even pass off as twins seeing as their hairstyles sort of just mirror each other. but no, i don't think they're actually related, though i do get the sense that there might be some sort of jealousy going on (?) maybe not so much from zayne's side but the way caleb says the line "even the world's busiest guy has to eat. i haven't seen him in a looong time. we should invite him over for dinner, right?" (in chapter 4 segment 1 'family') it sounds a bit... strange to me. the way he says it is like how one would challenge prey into enemy territory. but then again, i really think i'm just looking too far into it. caleb naturally has a spontaneous and joke-y way of talking anyway, so maybe it probably is nothing malicious, but give it a listen if you really want to.
we don't know caleb's exact age (yet) and i don't know if he'd be older or younger than zayne, but hopefully in the future there's more on what their relationship is like - seeing as they're almost like polar opposites, i feel like their dynamic would be fun to witness. i presume those two didn't keep in touch over text/call like how caleb does with mc, so it would be nice to see them finally interact after so long. even a flashback with mc, caleb, and zayne as kids would be good... i'm begging for anything at this point...
that's all i have for now, i'm probably missing a lot of potential lore that could help with these supposed theories because the only myth cards i've completed so far is zayne's foreseer myth. i think in the lumiere myth cards there was a bit about the 'incident/catastrophe' (?) but since i lost the 50/50 to raf i've been a bit pouty and haven't watched a reupload of it or anything (i really wanted his solar pair ok...) anywho, i'll perhaps edit/correct this as more of the story comes out or if you guys want me to add/change anything :3 thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed me rambling on about caleb. this is basically my manifestation post so that he comes home... we miss you xia yizhou. "૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა
#₊˚⊹ ᰔ mila's drabbles#₊˚⊹ ᰔ mila's theories#love and deepspace#caleb love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#lads#lnds#l&ds#love and deepspace caleb#love and deepspace zayne#love and deepspace xavier#love and deepspace rafayel#love and deepspace sylus#l&ds rafayel#l&ds zayne#l&ds xavier#l&ds sylus#l&ds caleb#lads zayne#lads rafayel#lads xavier#lads sylus#lads caleb#lnds xavier#lnds zayne#lnds rafayel#lnds mc
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Flying together in the sunset light 🌄✨
It's done at last! 😁 Here's my Kitsune and Tanooki story for all of you to enjoy! ✨
This fic was inspired by this beautiful piece by @cherryfennec, and even though it's taken me some time to finally have it ready, I really hope you'll like the result! Also, as I was talking about it with the wonderful @itsavee4117, he went and made this adorable drawing to which I hope to have done justice.
A bit of context: this story takes place shortly after the Superstar scene from the movie, but before the brothers have moved to the Mushroom Kingdom. You'll see some hints of some of my personal headcanons for them, like Luigi playing the violin (a headcanon I share with the amazing @vulpixfairy1985) or Mario having dated Pauline in the past. And also mentions to some scenes from the movie.
The story is divided into two scenes. The first one revolves around the brothers, while the second one is focused mostly on Mareach, though you'll also see some more brotherly love scenes, as well as a bit of teasing. I really like the way both scenes turned out, so I truly and sincerely hope you'll enjoy them! 💖
Without further ado, here's the link to AO3, though you can also continue reading below the cut! ✨
TW: Slight panic attack, slight separation anxiety ⚠
@itsavee4117 @vulpixfairy1985 @peaches2217 @bberetd @pepperycar
@keakruiser @kelbreyworshipper @stripetkattelalala54-gf @doodleydoo101 and anybody else who'd like to read this: I really hope you enjoy! 💖 (If you're not interested feel free to ignore this tag 😅)
Flying together in the sunset light 🌄✨
When Mario hits the block, a brown leaf flies out from inside it. The block, formerly yellow, immediately turns brown, similar to a brick, and Luigi watches it for a few seconds in silence before daring to look up at the power-up it has ejected.
The brown leaf, with a round opening at the top left, flutters in the air, its silhouette trimmed against the orangey sky. Luigi swallows, unsure, as he realizes that, like so many other things in the Mushroom Kingdom, this leaf also has eyes. Black, small and elongated eyes, that seem to pierce him whenever they rest on him while their owner continues to float. It slowly descends between the two brothers, and Luigi almost feels Mario's gaze, in front of him, sink into him, full of expectation.
“You ready, Lu?”
Luigi turns to him, doubt painted on his face. His brother's voice, as well as his whole appearance, is impregnated with warmth and sweetness, just like every time he addresses him, even when they joke. Mario smiles directly at him, trying to convey confidence, and Luigi, just like every time he notices it, feels a warmth in his heart that manages to draw a smile on his lips.
If Mario is sure, then he can be sure too.
Even though he’s unable to completely hide his fear, he nods. Mario's grin widens in a way that shows his teeth and makes his cheeks appear fuller than usual, and he raises his arm in the direction of the leaf.
“Together,” he says, his blue eyes shining with excitement.
Luigi can't help but remember the time when they touched the superstar together, and before he knows it, he finds himself catching his brother's enthusiasm. That was dangerous, yes, but also exciting, thrilling, epic, and the connection he shared with Mario during those minutes he can't put into words. He only knows that he felt closer to him than ever, through a force impossible to explain that only strengthened the already solid bond that has existed between them even before they were born.
This moment, however, is calm. Relaxed. Serene. The forest they are in, near the Mushroom Kingdom, is beautiful, full of life, and it’s filled his heart with peace to walk through its trees and discover the fauna and flora that inhabit it. In addition, the princess and Toad, his new best friend, are also there with them, and both have been happy to answer all of Luigi's questions about the creatures and plants they have encountered. Peach seems to have in common with him the fascination for gardening, as she hasn’t hesitated to talk about her favorite flowers in great detail.
Now, both the princess and the little mushroom man are waiting attentively for the moment when both brothers will touch the Super Leaf.
It’ll be the second time for Mario. The first, in fact, was the one that saved Luigi's life. Mario was able to catch him thanks to the raccoon disguise that this power-up gave him, thus preventing Luigi from being devoured by the lava that had been stalking him for more than three days and towards which he was hopelessly rushing.
For Luigi, on the other hand, it's going to be a first.
He’s only used one power-up so far and is nervous at the prospect of trying a new one. However, he knows for sure that neither his brother nor his new friends would let anything bad happen to him. Moreover, as he has just remembered, it is thanks to this power-up that Luigi is still alive and well.
Nothing can hurt him as long as he’s with Mario.
So, with a new determination rising in him at the confidence these thoughts give him, Luigi nods in the direction of his twin and raises his arm as well.
The assurance on Mario's face grows to see him so resolute. In unison, they both reach out their hands and their fingers rub the soft brown leaf at the same time.
Immediately, the leaf vanishes in front of them as thick smoke surrounds both brothers, blinding them for a second. While covering his eyes with his hand, Luigi can't help but shrink in on himself with a slight cry due to surprise, as this is not what he had expected. Fortunately, the smoke soon begins to dissipate.
Soon, in front of him, he distinguishes the figure of Mario, again dressed in that outfit that makes him resemble a bear, with a red bandana around his neck that Luigi doesn't remember noticing the first time. Luigi smiles, unable to restrain himself; whatever Mario says about it being a raccoon, for him it’s still very similar to a bear. And very soft, too! He perfectly remembers the feel of Mario’s arms holding him tightly after saving him from the clutches of death, how warm and comfortable he felt not only for being back with his beloved brother, but also for the velvety softness of the suit that enveloped him. Luigi recalls the moment when Mario even lifted him into the air, which made his face sink a little deeper into the silky fur, and he’s sorely tempted to reach out and stroke his brother's costume again, a new joke on the tip of his tongue.
However, Mario's expression stops him.
At first, he was smiling with his arms on his hips, amused at Luigi’s scrutiny. However, after examining his brother up and down, Mario seems... puzzled. Not just surprised, but utterly confused, as if he didn't expect something that just happened. Luigi can't help but startle and shrink again, for the source of Mario's confusion is clearly him.
“W-what's wrong?” he asks, worried.
He immediately lowers his head to start looking at himself, wanting to find out what has caused his brother to stare at him that way, and freezes when he realizes that his disguise is not that of a brown bear like Mario's. No: his outfit is yellow. A slightly darker shade on his legs and a little lighter on his stomach. Luigi scans his arms and finds them to be the same ochre color, and as he feels his head with trembling hands, panic growing inside him, he realizes that his ears are very pointed, unlike Mario's, which are rounded. He jolts when he notices that something is waving behind his back and, turning around, he discovers a bushy, thick tail with a flaming tip that, like his belly, is a soft yellow, lighter than the rest of his body.
Luigi doesn't realize that he’s begun to hyperventilate until he feels Mario's hands smoothly resting on his arms. His brother acts tactfully, gently, but even so, Luigi becomes alarmed again, unable to control himself.
“It's all right, Lu.” His twin tries to calm him down, rubbing his arms softly.
“Mario! What's happening? Why am I... a wolf?”
“You're not a wolf, Luigi...", Mario replies, examining him, although he doesn't sound very convinced.
“And these ears? And this tail!? What else would I be? Why am I not a bear like you? What's going on!?”
Luigi is unable to control the rising pitch of his voice, which becomes higher and higher as panic takes over. Mario seems to want to tell him many things, but, given his little brother's shock, he settles for continuing to massage his arms as he slowly approaches him and shakes his head, a soft “Shhh” bursting between his lips. Luigi lies very still and closes his eyes, pressing his hands against his ears, and tries his best to calm himself, but despite having his brother by his side, he doesn't find it easy.
“It's all right, Lu,” Mario then whispers, his head near to his. “Breathe with me, okay? Inhale...”
Mario himself begins to take a breath to encourage Luigi to do the same, and he, although it's hard for him, obeys. The oxygen gradually enters his lungs and fills them, and Luigi holds his breath for a few seconds.
“Exhale,” Mario then tells him in a new murmur.
And, at the same slow pace at which he breathed in, Luigi begins to breathe out, and he hears his brother doing it too so that they breathe together. Then he notices Mario's forehead resting soothingly on his, and the contact is like a balm that instantly comforts him. Not even realizing it, he lowers his hands to rest them on Mario's shoulders, and his twin, not letting go nor separating from him, continues to help him stabilize his breathing.
Thanks to his brother's patience and affection, Luigi doesn’t take more than a few minutes to open his eyes again. He meets Mario's, bright with worry, but also overflowing with the infinite love he has for him. Luigi smiles, a little embarrassed that he just had a panic attack because his costume doesn't look like Mario's even though they’ve touched the same power-up in unison.
“Everything's fine, Lu,” Mario repeats, sounding livelier, and turns away from him to take a step back and examine him up and down, his hand still on Luigi's shoulder. “I think you are... You're a fox!” he concludes.
“A-a fox?”
Luigi examines himself again, puzzled. Don't foxes have orange fur?
“Are you sure I'm not a blond wolf? Or maybe... a cat?” he suggests.
Mario chuckles, and his laughter is echoed by Peach and Toad, who were standing a bit away to give them space.
“Believe me, Luigi,” the princess then intervenes, gazing at him with gentleness and, also, with a certain amusement shining in her blue eyes. “I’ve seen Mario using the Super Bell and his outfit, although similar, is different from yours.”
Luigi then remembers the story that Mario narrated during their first family dinner after their adventure in the Mushroom Kingdom. He recalls how he told them that the power-up he found during the fight against Donkey Kong made him turn into a cat and how everyone at the table, his uncles Tony and Arthur the first and loudest, burst out laughing when they heard it. That didn't stop Mario, however, and Luigi covers his mouth with his hand to try to contain the giggle that threatens to escape him. How he would’ve loved to witness the moment when his older brother turned into a cute little cat!
Mario, his arms folded, looks up to the sky with resignation, ignoring his brother's mocking expression, and turns to the princess, who observes them with her hands behind her back and a wide smile on her lips.
“So...?” Mario asks, raising a hand inquisitively.
“Luigi: you're a Kitsune,” Peach reveals with poise, her attention fixed on him.
“A what?” the brothers repeat in unison, looking at each other, their surprise reflected in each other's eyes.
Toad laughs, amused at their timing, and Peach lets out a soft giggle before continuing.
“The Super Leaf can transform whoever uses it into a Tanooki,” she explains. “That's what I become, and so do you, Mario, and Toad, and many others. But,” she adds, raising a finger to silence the questions the brothers were about to ask, “sometimes, when two people who share a very strong and deep bond use the Super Leaf at the same time, it is likely that one becomes a Tanooki and the other a Kitsune. This is because, according to legends, they are animals that often lived together, helped each other and came to behave and love each other like siblings. And proof of this” she adds, extending her hands towards both of them “are the bandanas that have appeared with your outfits.”
Luigi hadn't even noticed the bandana around his neck until he feels Peach slightly sliding a finger across it. Luigi grabs it and pulls the end carefully, and smiles when he sees that the garment is a soft green that reminds him of the color of the trees in summer. The princess' words keep echoing in his head, and he considers them as his eyes and fingers roam over the bandana almost absent-mindedly. Is it true, then? Has he turned into a Kitsune because of his bond with Mario? Is that the reason why, the first time he tried the power-up, his brother didn't wear a red bandana around his neck? Has it appeared... because of him? Because they grabbed the leaf together?
Fingers on his shoulder bring him back to the present. Turning his head, Luigi meets the warm smile of his twin, who, with his other hand, holds the red garment around his neck. Luigi's eyes open wide as he realizes that his theory is correct: indeed, using the power-up at the same time is what has caused both bandanas to appear, as a symbol of the bond that unites them. A pleased smile blossoms on his face. When his gaze meets Mario's, he feels it, right there: the bond, which has linked them since before they were even born, has continued to grow all these years, all their lives, and now, due to the magic of the power-up, it feels more solid and intense than ever. Luigi thinks he could almost touch it, even, if he were to lift his hand between his brother and himself.
But he doesn't need to. Sure, he can touch the bond he shares with his twin. He does it every time his hand finds Mario's. He does it every time his sibling embraces him with that impetus and effusiveness that characterize him, making him feel loved and protected and safe. He does so now, in fact, while Mario's fingers linger on his shoulder, brushing it affectionately.
They share a silent glance, smiling. They don't need words: their eyes speak for them. Both their faces gleam with emotion, and Luigi knows that Mario is feeling the same way he is. He knows they both notice how their connection, just like when they used the star, has been enhanced. Intensified. Strengthened.
Their bond is firm, never-ending and unbreakable.
Despite their mutual understanding, Luigi notices that, little by little, Mario's expression becomes naughty. His brother then begins to shake his raccoon tail and, after giving him a gentle and playful tap on the shoulder, he begins to soar into the air.
“Come on, Lu!” he says, inviting him with a wave of his hand. “Let's go for a ride!”
Although his brother's enthusiasm is contagious, Luigi vacillates, unsure. It's one thing to understand why his costume is different from Mario's, and quite another to actually use it. Hesitantly, he observes his back, where his flaming limb sways softly. Will it really be able to keep him in the air? Won't he fall into the ground?
Peach's slender fingers on his shoulder startle him a little.
“It's completely safe, Luigi,” she promises him, giving him a smile full of sweetness. “You can fly, I assure you.”
“Yes,” Toad exclaims, excited. “You'll do great, you'll see.”
“Lu?” Mario lands in front of him and looks at his twin with a raised eyebrow. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh! Uh... Y-yes,” Luigi mumbles, not wanting to worry him, nor the princess or Toad, and massages his head nervously. “I-I just don't quite know how to... How to...”
As he speaks, he glances again at his tail, which is still wagging of its own accord, and stares at it with a worried expression that reflects his insecurity. Luckily, Mario, his dear brother, knows him so well that he doesn't need Luigi to finish the sentence.
“Don't worry!” he exclaims, and grabs him firmly with both hands, wrapping his fingers around Luigi's wrist, their palms touching. “I'll guide you. I won't let you fall, Lu. I promise.”
Luigi didn't need Mario to promise him: he knows his sibling won't let him fall for anything in the world, no matter what. He ignores how his Kitsune power-up works, but his trust in Mario is so blind and deep that he nods before he realizes it, smiling at his twin’s energy. Mario tugs gently at him, beginning to rise again, and Luigi barely has time to swallow before his own tail, which definitely seems to be alive, begins to pull him away from the ground as well.
And suddenly, Luigi is flying.
Panic overtakes him again the second his brain registers this information. His limb flails on its own, yes, but Luigi can't help but start shaking his legs as he clutches Mario with both hands, desperate, a shriek of fright escaping his throat. His breathing is racing again, and he wonders, terrified, at what point did it occur to him that this would be a good idea.
“It's all right!” Mario hastens to reassure him, his grip around his wrist more resolute and solid than ever. “You can do it, Luigi! Trust the tail!”
“W-what?”
Luigi isn't sure he heard correctly: trust the tail? Out of inertia, Luigi looks over his shoulder to take a peek at it. The limb rotates on itself, functioning like a helicopter propeller, and a twinge of embarrassment overcomes Luigi when he notices that his lower part is a pinch higher than the rest of his body.
He can't deny that his new friend doesn't seem willing to let him fall.
“I know it's weird,” Mario continues, his voice sounding calm and soft, “but the tail knows what to do. You just have to focus on its movements, and you can learn to control it.”
“Control it?” Luigi repeats, turning to his brother. “Can you do that?”
“Yes!” Mario nods assuredly, giving him an encouraging smile. “You'll see: it's much easier than it looks! Just focus. Can you feel it spinning behind you?”
Clinging to Mario, whose tail moves confidently in the air, Luigi makes an effort to listen to his explanation and follow his instructions. Inadvertently, he frowns as he tries to understand how this power-up works. As Mario has told him, the tail seems to know what it needs to do to keep him in the air, but it's up to Luigi to learn how to manage it so he can move in any direction he pleases. Also, as Mario points out, with some practice he will reach great speed, and even though he doesn't mention it, Luigi immediately understands that he’s remembering the moment he saved him from being burned to death.
Had it not been for the celerity of his raccoon outfit, Mario wouldn’t have made it in time.
This certainty only strengthens Luigi's determination. He has to get the hang of his fox costume. What if something happens that causes Mario to be in danger? What if he's the one who needs Luigi to save him from certain death? Luigi doesn't want to imagine the worst, but of course he plans to be there for his brother at all times. This sudden fear is but one more motivation to encourage him to learn.
His brow is still furrowed. He doesn't notice, but his tongue pokes out from between his lips as he focuses on the sway of his tail, whose fur glistens, somewhat darker, in the sunset light. His fingers are still clamped around Mario's, who hasn't let go of his wrist for a second.
“That's it, Lu,” he says, satisfied with his effort. “You're almost there! I know it's not easy, but you can do it, little brother. I believe in you.”
At the passion in his brother's words, Luigi turns his face towards him. Mario, holding him, grins widely, his smile and his blue gaze full not only of affection, but of faith. An unshakable faith in him, in Luigi, that makes something stir inside him.
Luigi has never doubted that his brother believes in him. Mario has always done so, even the times when Luigi has most distrusted himself. He did so when Luigi started practicing violin, even though many of his classmates mocked him and undermined his self-esteem. He did it when Luigi competed in track and field in high school, something Luigi loved to do but, again, was insecure because of the laughter of the other students. He did it when Luigi began to learn the ins and outs of plumbing so he could work with Mario, even though Luigi felt clumsier than usual.
On all those occasions, Mario was there. Not only did he defend and protect his little brother from those who made fun of him and his skills, but he made sure to tell him over and over again how good he was at athletics, plumbing and playing the violin. He always spoke passionately about how exciting it was to watch Luigi run around the track or listen to him perform his favorite pieces, and he emphasized endlessly every little thing Luigi learned when they were preparing to be plumbers, praising him incessantly. Mario did it not just because he wanted to encourage his twin and make him feel better, but because he believed in him wholeheartedly.
He believes in him wholeheartedly.
And, of course, he still does now that he’s teaching Luigi how to use a power that is completely new to him.
Luigi realizes in that instant that this, the blind faith that Mario has always placed in him, is all he has needed throughout his life to progress, to grow, to improve.
To, in short, believe in himself.
If Mario believes in him, Luigi knows that he’s capable of doing whatever he sets his mind to.
And at this moment, Mario knows that Luigi can learn to handle his fox tail so that he can fly along with him.
So Luigi, struck by the intense love and trust he can read in his brother's eyes as clearly as if it were one of the novels he loves to devour, resumes his task, even more resolute to see it through. He observes his limb out of the corner of his eye again and fixes all his attention on it, on feeling it, on capturing the direction in which it moves and also the speed with which it moves. He doesn’t notice, as focused as he is, the smile that, little by little, lights up his brother's face when he sees his efforts.
Until, suddenly, he succeeds.
When the tail turns, Luigi feels that he’s the one in control. Due to surprise and excitement, he loses focus a bit and stops wagging it, causing his body to suddenly slide down, which makes him scream in fear.
But, of course, there's Mario. Holding him tightly and securely and smiling gleefully.
“That's it, Lu!” His eyes sparkle as he compliments him. “You've almost got it!”
Buoyed by his brother's encouragement, Luigi repeats the action and can't believe it when he sees that it’s worked again. He’s wagging his tail and his body, once again, is rising. Almost as a reflex, Luigi pulls one hand away from Mario’s and shakes it too, as if copying a bird, and imitates the movement with his legs without even realizing it.
“Mario!” he exclaims with laughter of pure joy, “Mario, I'm doing it!”
His brother responds with a loud guffaw.
“Of course you are!” he exclaims.
Luigi soon notices that Mario has begun to ascend, gently dragging him up, causing Luigi to rush up and grab him with both hands once more. Turning to Mario again, a cackle caught in his throat, Luigi is struck dumb for a moment, transfixed by the intense, pride-filled glance his older brother gives him.
He can't believe it. Is Mario really… proud? Proud of him? Proud of him for having learned to do something that took Mario only a few seconds to do? Luigi doesn't understand, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn't happy. That his heart is not filled with mirth. That a very pleasant warmth does not spread through his chest as a smile, at once overwhelmed and radiant, blooms on his lips.
Mario being proud of him is more than he could ask of life.
Then his twin tugs at him again, his smile mischievous once more. A laugh bursts at last from Luigi's throat as he feels his brother propel him upward, climbing higher and higher, into the thick canopies of the trees around them. And, before he can realize it, the two of them are flying, together, flitting among the branches and chuckling loudly, the golden light of the sunset bathing their faces, shining on their fur and matching bandanas and lighting their blissful expressions.
Mario doesn't take his fingers away from Luigi's hand even once. Their eyes constantly search each other's, laughter filling their chests every time they meet. Luigi takes pleasure in the lovely scenery of the Mushroom Kingdom, the beautiful, lush vegetation and the wonderful feeling of being able to look down on it from above. The place is absolutely gorgeous, and he’s suddenly struck by the question of what it’d be like to wake up and go to bed every day with such views.
Flying really is fantastic, incredible, a dream he didn't even know he wanted to fulfill, and he’s relishing in it to the fullest. Besides, the fox outfit, to his surprise, has not only molded to his body perfectly, making him feel almost the same warmth as when Mario embraced him dressed as a Tanooki, but it really seems made to stay in the air, as if that was his element. Luigi has only been wearing it for a few minutes, soaring through the orangey sky, but it already feels like a second skin.
Still, his favorite part of it all is being able to share it with his beloved brother.
Mario, who has been by his side since before he was born. Mario, who has accompanied and guided him through the hardest moments of his life. Mario, who has always believed in him. Mario, who has never let go of his hand.
Luigi feels blessed that his first time using this power-up is not only in the company of his twin, for whom he would give his life without hesitation, but more in tune than ever with him.
Suddenly, an unexpected courage floods Luigi's heart, even if he didn't know he was capable of feeling something like this at all. Guided by it, Luigi slowly separates one hand from Mario's and moves it away, describing an arc in the air until his arm is fully extended to his left, imitating, again, a hypothetical wing. With his eyes fixed on the horizon in the distance and his other hand protected by Mario's, Luigi feels completely safe despite being several meters above the ground.
And he wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.
Then he notices that Mario, also slowly, begins to withdraw one hand, the one that wrapped his own, and gazes at him somewhat shyly, as if asking for permission. Luigi smiles broadly and nods, encouraging him to copy his pose, and, emboldened, Mario also extends his arm to pretend to be a bird like him. His other hand is still firmly clutched in Luigi's, their fingers intertwined, as they belong together, and Luigi gives his twin a quick squeeze. When Mario turns to him, his smile is wide, gleaming and altogether plethoric, and Luigi returns the same gesture. In this instant, he knows that he and his brother are experiencing exactly the same feeling of fulfillment, cheerfulness and, of course, connection with each other.
They fly for a few more minutes, enjoying each other's company and the sensation of feeling the wind on their faces. From time to time they wave to Toad and the princess, who observe them from the ground, giggling, and then continue their flight for a while longer, their hands clasped together. Inside, Luigi feels like a child, like that little kid who spent hours and hours playing with his brother and having the time of his life. Tag-team, hide-and-seek, silly and sudden games they could think of on the spot, sleepovers where Mario would clown around to make Luigi laugh, his brother cracking up when Luigi imitated some of the characters from the cartoons they used to watch when they were kids.
Flying with Mario feels like going back to childhood.
Flying with Mario feels safe and fun.
Flying with Mario feels like being at home.
--------------------------------------
Mario has always been proud of his little brother.
He never doubts Luigi's abilities. Never in his life has he ever done so, and that's why he has always stood up to anyone who would try to put him down. That’s also the reason why he’s repeated to his sibling incessantly that he believes in him and that he can achieve anything he sets his mind to.
And he’s never wrong.
It took Luigi just a few minutes to get the hang of his new power-up. Mario couldn't have been happier and prouder when he saw him start to handle the tail, and that's why he then started the ascent without a second thought. His hands, of course, didn't let go of Luigi's once.
And what a good time he’s just had! Flitting through the forest with his little brother as the evening light enveloped them, highlighting the yellow and ochre tones of Luigi's outfit and the browns of Mario's, as well as the green and red of their matching bandanas!
Now, unfortunately, it’s getting late. The sun is about to set, and they must return to Brooklyn, for the next day they have to continue their work as plumbers. So, much to his regret, Mario doesn’t resist when Luigi, always the more responsible of the two, leads him to the ground with a gentle squeeze on the hand.
Even so, Mario still won't let go. He’s promised he wouldn’t, and he won't break his word again. He did it once before, when his brother needed him most, and he can never forgive himself for it.
So until Luigi's feet step on the ground, right next to his, Mario doesn't allow himself to relax. Nevertheless, he continues to keep his fingers firmly intertwined with those of his little brother, from whom he’s unable to take his eyes off. Nor can he wipe from his lips the smile of happiness that settled on his face as they took to the skies together.
Luigi's, excited, amused, charged with that spark of mischief they both retain from their shared happy childhood, makes Mario's heart glow and increase in size.
The two startle a little at Toad's shouts and Peach's applause, but they don't break contact and their smiles don't waver. Toad latches onto Luigi's leg, who wobbles a bit and inadvertently squeezes his twin’s hand, though he doesn't hesitate to pat the little mushroom man's head with his free hand as soon as he pulls himself together, letting out a somewhat hesitant chuckle. Mario laughs with all his might, delighted that his little brother has also gained a new best friend.
“You did great, Luigi!”
Mario feels his whole head suddenly reddening as soon as he hears the sweet and melodious voice of the beautiful princess, something that intensifies when his eyes fall on her beautiful visage. Peach gives a wide, satisfied smile to Luigi, to whom she claps her hands with elegance and passion, and Mario looks away immediately, shocked, while covering his cheek with his free palm to try to hide his blush. His heart fills with tenderness when he realizes that his sibling has also turned red, although for a different reason.
“Thank you, Peach,” Luigi replies, embarrassed, shyly massaging his head.
“Will you give me a ride next time?” asks Toad, still clinging to his leg.
Luigi giggles as he nods, but the princess is quick to intervene.
“Next time, we should all use the Super Leaf,” she suggests.
“That would be great!” Mario exclaims, unable to contain himself.
He immediately reprimands himself and instinctively squeezes Luigi's hand. Was it too obvious? Was his enthusiasm too evident? He doesn't know what's wrong with him, but he feels that anything the princess says or does is worthy of admiration and a tremendous ovation, and his innate impulsiveness leads him to show it before he can restrain himself.
Luckily, Peach, as sweet and kind as ever, smiles at him excitedly, her hands clasped together at chest level. She doesn't seem at all bothered by his outburst, and Mario feels his heart slowly relax. Not completely, though. With her in front of him, it's impossible.
By now, he has come to understand that his heart will never be entirely at rest as long as she’s around. He has no idea what he should do about it, but he tells himself that at least accepting it is a first step. Peach makes him nervous, in a good way, and awakens a million sensations that make his soul flutter. It's been a long time since Mario dated Pauline, but he doesn't think he's ever felt this way. And he loved Pauline very much.
At that moment, Luigi squeezes him again, bringing him back to the present, and Mario turns to him almost by inertia. He’s startled, however, when he notices Luigi's narrowed eyes and the sly, almost wicked smile he gives him. Mario raises his eyebrows, puzzled, and is about to ask a question when his brother steps forward.
“You know what, Toad?” he says, still staring at Mario, and turns to the little mushroom man before continuing, “How about I give you that ride now?”
“Now?” Toad repeats excitedly, his little black eyes glistening at the suggestion.
“Sure! We have to get home, after all,” Luigi resolves, shrugging. “So I'll take you back to the castle. And, Mario,” he adds casually, again turning to his brother, “maybe you could take the princess, right? That is, if she agrees.”
He adds the latter while giving Peach a shy smile, but she hardly notices, as her sapphire gaze is fixed on Mario. He feels his heart skips a beat as soon as he glimpses the pinkness that has covered her beautiful and delicate cheeks, and it starts racing at the way she, upon noticing it, ducks her head demurely.
“I'd love to,” Peach replies quietly, her eyes wandering everywhere, but avoiding dropping on Mario.
“That's great!” Luigi exclaims. “We'll see you at the castle!”
Luigi's hand gives Mario a final squeeze that makes him turn towards his twin, but before Mario can find the words to stop it all, or to curse his dear little brother, Luigi throws his arms around his neck in farewell.
“See you soon, big bro!”
Luigi intends to pull away, but Mario finally manages to react: he lifts his arms and closes his fingers tightly around the soft orange fur that covers his sibling. Luigi’s embrace feels warm and cozy, but the nervousness that has overcome Mario prevents him from fully enjoying the experience. A jittery chuckle emerges from his throat as, gritting his teeth, he manages to mumble in Luigi's ear:
“I'm going to kill you.”
He tries to croon it, so it won't be too obvious, especially if Toad or Peach hear it, but Luigi, of course, catches it perfectly.
“You'll thank me for this,” he whispers back, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement, and before the hug is over, Mario feels his brother's lips quickly touch his cheekbone.
“Oh, you piece of…”
Mario falls silent, his heart galloping in his chest and melting in equal parts, his face burning as if a raging fire had broken out in him. His sibling knows him too well and knows that he can't spend too much time being angry with him, especially not when he shows his affection for him in a physical way. Luigi, well aware of this, gives him a quick, mischievous wink before turning away from him completely.
Despite everything, Mario feels empty when his brother's fingers move away from his shoulders. It's something he hasn't failed to notice since he was reunited with Luigi after catching him before the lava took him away from him forever. He sees that he can't let his twin out of his sight again, that he requires Luigi's fingers to always be intertwined with his, that he needs physical contact with him more than he’s ever needed it. They’ve always been prone to hugging each other, to showing their affection teasingly: Mario often hits Luigi’s hat to pull it down to his eyes, and Luigi is used to tickling his belly all the time, not to mention their secret greeting and the many times they hold each other's hands amidst laughter and jokes.
But, after having been several days without hearing from Luigi, after having been in a state of anguish not knowing his whereabouts or even if he was well, after having been on the verge of losing him... Mario feels that being away from Luigi is like having half of his heart ripped out of his chest. It may still beat, but it doesn't pulsate as full of life and joy.
Still, Mario knows that there’s no danger. That he and his brother can be separated, voluntarily and for short periods of time, and that they’ll both be fine. Nothing is going to happen to Luigi as he flies with Toad to the Mushroom Kingdom castle, not after he’s learned to fly almost immediately with his flaming Kitsune tail. And besides, should anything happen, his sibling is quite capable of fending for himself, no matter how much Mario's instincts scream at him that he must protect him. Luigi may be his little brother, but, in the end, the difference between the two is only a few minutes. They’re twins, after all. And Luigi is as strong and brave as the next guy. He already proved it by saving Mario from Bowser's fire.
Yes, Mario is well aware that his brother will know what to do if things turn bad again.
Pride comes over him again as he recalls the moment when he opened his eyes, bruised and exhausted, thinking he was going to burn to death, and discovered his beloved little brother standing there, protecting him with a manhole cover, not caring if he got burned in the process. Mario smiles, excited, as he witnesses the moment when Luigi bends down so that Toad can jump to his back, which the cheerful mushroom man doesn't hesitate to do in one leap. There he is: his other half, learning the ins and outs of that world they discovered by chance and flying on his own.
Literally! Luigi, also smiling, gives Mario a quick wave and a warm smile to the princess before taking off, all traces of doubt and insecurity completely gone. Mario follows him with his eyes as Luigi, with his little friend on his back, flies away, arms outstretched, his posture confident and determined.
Mario's heart could burst with pride.
He stares as they fly off into the distance, as the reddish light of the setting sun envelops them, as Luigi flies back and forth playfully, and as Toad cackles loudly, raising his arms to the sky. A hearty chuckle escapes Mario's lips, and he shakes his head in amusement.
A movement that he detects out of the corner of his eye brings him back to earth and makes him suddenly realize that he has just been left alone with the princess.
His breath catches almost instantly, and he must muster all his willpower to appear natural as he turns to her. He composes a smile so shaky that he doubts if it hasn't become a grimace and curses himself. Peach and he are friends. He doesn't quite understand where these silly feelings have come from that are making him perceive himself as extremely awkward every time he interacts with her.
And yet, there it is again: the nervousness that assaults him with her mere presence, the accelerated beating of his heart, the redness that begins to color his cheeks. Mario puts his hands behind his back and looks at the princess, who smiles warmly at him, while a high-pitched laugh rises from his throat.
“Well,” he mumbles, shrugging his shoulders.
“Well,” replies Peach, slightly blushing.
Mario curses himself again for his eloquence. Increasingly uneasy, he begins to turn everywhere but towards the young woman as, in his mind, he frantically searches for the right words he should address to her to offer to take her back home. Should he do it as a friend, with a certain familiarity? Or should he perhaps keep his distance given that she is a princess? Should he... bow? And, should she agree, how should he... transport her? He can't carry her on his back like Luigi has done with Toad. Nor would it be right to sustain her by her hands alone, as it could be uncomfortable for both, and her dress might blow away in the wind.
So...?
Mario gives a little gasp and swallows when his brain comes up with the solution. Will he... be able to do it? Will she agree to let him do it? Oh, how he'd love to do it - he'd feel like the most fortunate man in the entire world! Of course, maybe it's too intimate, too... physical. And maybe she doesn't want him to...
Noticing that Peach has also started to let her eyes wander and is massaging her arm with some embarrassment, Mario makes up his mind. There’s only one way to resolve all the doubts swarming around his restless head.
He straightens up and smiles, resolved. Placing one arm across his stomach and the other behind his back, Mario begins to perform a bow that, he hopes, is befitting royalty.
“May I offer to take you back to the castle, princess?” he asks, hoping his voice sounds confident and gentle at the same time.
He hears a soft chuckle, amused and shy at the same time, which is music to his ears. He dares to raise his head and finds the young woman demurely covering her mouth with her hand. There’s no trace of mockery in her gestures or in her face, nor in her voice when she speaks.
“I would love to, my brave hero.”
Mario's jaw drops when she bends as well: she grabs the skirt of her dress with both hands as she genuflects briefly and bows her head. A warmth spreads through Mario's chest as he realizes that Peach has just played along and is more than happy to do so, but what his addled brain refuses to process is that she has just called him “my brave hero.”
“My hero.”
... “Her” hero? Him? A simple plumber from Brooklyn?
Before Mario has time to take it in, however, Peach does something that causes his heart to skip a beat and his mind to panic: after straightening up and smoothing down the skirt of her dress, the young woman approaches him without hesitation, stands beside him and places her arms around his neck, draping them over his red bandana. Her cheeks have reddened, but her expression is assured and firm.
Mario, on the other hand, feels that his brain has stopped working.
For a few seconds, he remains still, very stiff, with Peach's hands on his shoulders and her body very close to his. Mario's arms remain in tension, slightly separated from his body, his fingers contracted, as if he had suffered a spasm.
Until his eyes meet Peach's.
Her deep blue irises radiate sweetness. They radiate peace. They radiate trust.
Trust... in him.
Mario stands breathless, gazing at her as if he were in front of the most rapturous work of art he has ever seen. Although Peach's flush betrays her coyness, she holds his gaze tenderly, placidly, not turning away for a moment.
And Mario finds himself unable to stop sinking into those shiny blue eyes as if they enclosed the very ocean within them.
Before he can realize it, he finds himself giving her the widest, most ardent of smiles. He feels his face burning, and notices out of the corner of his eye how her blush increases, at which she puts a hand to her mouth to hide a new giggle, although her look continues without straying from his. Hypnotizing him. Trapping him. Spellbinding him.
When Peach takes her hand back to Mario's shoulder, he finally manages to react: with a little gasp, he lets out a nervous laugh and forces his arms to move at once. With some hesitation, he places one hand on the princess's slender waist and bends down to slip his other arm under her legs. He clutches her firmly, wanting to secure her in the same way he did his brother minutes before, and rises gradually so that she has time to get used to the fact that her dainty feet no longer touch the ground. Despite this, a soft cry of surprise escapes Peach's throat, which, however, soon turns into another chuckle.
Mario's concern at having rushed to his feet disappears as soon as that delightful sound reaches his ears. Relieved, he laughs too, ecstatic at Peach's proximity and relishing in the intimate moment he’s sharing with her. Never in his best dreams would he have dreamed of having the chance to carry the beautiful princess in such a chivalrous way, and yet there she is: clinging to his neck confidently and steadily as he holds her in his arms. She’s graceful and light as a feather, and smells like peaches, as if honoring her name, and Mario tells himself that he could carry her for the rest of his life and be thankful for it.
After spending a few seconds too long securing her in his arms, Mario finally decides to take flight. He sets his raccoon tail in motion and begins to soar, but, although he does so slowly, Peach can't help but gasp and squeeze against him a little, fearful of falling. Mario's heart flutters in his chest, but he tries his best to keep the limb moving so as not to scare her any further. Peach, embarrassed, turns her head away.
“I'm sorry,” she apologizes, bashful.
“No!” exclaims Mario, perhaps too quickly, “No, Princess, really, it's all right, I—I'm sorry, I should have been more careful...”
“Oh, no, don't worry,” replies Peach. “You are being very careful and... I appreciate it, Mario.”
She gives him a warm smile, just for him, and Mario feels like he could melt right there. He smiles at her too, enraptured, and is surprised when he sees her lower her head timidly.
“By the way,” she adds, not looking up, “you can call me Peach.”
Mario is so shocked that his grip on her body tightens unintentionally.
“Really?” he mumbles, incredulous.
“I'd love it,” she admits, turning her radiant gaze to him.
Mario watches her silently for a moment, barely aware that his tail is still lifting them into the air. Then, bit by bit, a smile blooms on his lips that, he hopes, will give Peach the same warmth that her sea-colored eyes exude.
“Okay,” he agrees, then adds with some hesitation, “Peach.”
He palates each letter on his tongue as if it were the delicious fruit they refer to when put together, and he likes, no, he loves, how good the beautiful princess's name sounds in his mouth. How good that short, precious word feels being born from his throat. Like it fills him up inside. As if it completed him.
Hearing it, her expression seems to light up, like a sparkling star in the darkest night, and her chest fills. Mario delights in that beautiful gesture, and in the laugh that the young woman emits next, joyful and uninhibited, without a trace of shyness. Everything in her beautiful visage radiates mirth, and Mario wonders if he’s the cause. Has he really managed to make her so happy with just a simple word?
Should he... repeat it?
“Peach,” he says again, more confident this time.
And she chuckles again, only this time she hugs him tighter, so that their faces are very near, their cheeks almost touching, and Mario feels like he's going to have a heart attack. He has to force his raccoon tail to keep going or else they’ll both plunge into the ground. Overwhelmed and painfully aware of the proximity of the young woman and her graceful, slender body in contact with his, he tries to focus on the flight and not on the intoxicating sensation that comes over him as he feels her so close. Her hair tickles his cheek, her peach and pineapple perfume floods his nose, and he feels as if her delicate hands, gracefully perched on his left shoulder, are already part of him.
He wonders if it will hurt when he has to part from her.
Luckily, the journey continues, and Peach keeps her eyes fixed on the horizon. In the distance, bathed in the rays of the setting sun, her castle, which Luigi and Toad must have reached by now, is beginning to come into view. Mario focuses on it to continue flying, although he can't stop his eyes from wandering over the magnificent landscape of the Mushroom Kingdom, full of tall trees with dense canopies and, also, the mushroom forest that welcomed him the first time he arrived in that new world.
A world that has become almost a second home to him.
As they move forward, he feels Peach taking a deep breath, clinging to him, and, as he gives her a quick sidelong gaze, Mario sees that she has closed her eyes to better revel in the sensation of being in the air. It's certainly a wonderful thing, something he still can't believe he can do. It would be totally unthinkable in Brooklyn, and yet in Peach and Toad's world, it’s quite normal.
Then, the princess pulls the same arm away again and extends it in the air as the other continues to be wrapped around his neck, her smile even more expansive and radiant if possible. She begins to wave her arm up and down, and laughter bursts from within her with the same force as waves crashing against the rocks.
And that vision, the beauty of her face, illuminated both by the golden light of the sunset and by the purest bliss, together with the crystalline sound of her gleeful laughter, causes Mario to giggle without realizing it, his heart swelling and warming in his chest, beating wildly at the thousand sensations that the mere presence of the princess makes him experience, increased by her happiness and her closeness. Without even realizing that he’s doing so, Mario once again takes her around her waist a little tighter, in an almost possessive way that he doesn't even know where it comes from, but that he’s unable to control.
And Peach, feeling the grip of his fingers, turns to him, still smiling, her arm still swaying gracefully in the wind. However, she stops it gradually, her eyes tangled in Mario's, who, not knowing how, finds himself once again caught by the intensity of the young woman's sapphire look. Their smiles, though wide and sincere, start to fade, and Mario almost gasps as he feels Peach's hand return to its place on his shoulder, her fingers lightly settling on his body.
Mario cannot blink. He doesn't know what the magic of the princess's glance is, but it exerts a captivating power over him that makes him never want to take his attention away from it.
And suddenly, he notices them closer.
Closer and closer, and they begin to narrow, and Mario gasps unreservedly this time. Is it really happening or is it just his impression? His heart is racing so fast that he feels like it's going to jump out of his chest at any moment, and his eyelids begin to droop as he feels Peach's breath intermingle with his own.
Before his eyes shut completely, however, they come alive and lower, just for an instant, to the princess's beautiful pink lips, which he finds so tempting and suggestive. They look so soft and full, and they’re getting nearer, yes, they’re actually approaching his, and Mario only manages to squeeze Peach's body against him out of instinct, to which she responds by tightening her grip around his neck.
And, at last, their lips meet.
At first, Mario stands still, paralyzed, hardly daring to breathe or move a single muscle. Is it really happening or is it just a dream? Are the princess's lips resting on his or is he experiencing the most vivid of his fantasies? Will it all burst like a bubble if he makes the slightest motion? How can he know...?
Then Peach, somewhat unsure, slowly moves her lips against his and Mario's heart begins to gallop in his chest at such a speed that he feels his pulse hammering in his temples. He feels like laughing and crying and shouting and dancing, all the while never taking the slightest step away from the woman he’s so madly and deeply in love with that he’s been unable to accept it to himself until he’s seen his most secret and hidden desire to kiss her fulfilled.
Yes: he’s in love with Peach and wants to shout it from the rooftops.
Avid, he hastens to reciprocate the princess and delights in the velvety touch of her lips on his. Peach's mouth is even more exquisite than he could have imagined, and tastier, and more intoxicating, and Mario moves smoothly against her to savor her better, fascinated by her softness and by the sweetness that invades him and threatens to drive him completely mad.
He pulls her a little tighter when he feels the woman's delicate fingers softly place themselves on his cheek, cradling his face with devotion. Mario is unable to contain the moan that escapes his throat and feels Peach smile against his mouth at the sound. The princess then half-opens her lips in a mute invitation, and Mario, with a certain shyness, begins to explore the interior haltingly, carefully, not wanting to overstep even though he’s dying to devour her. This time it is Peach who moans at his gentleness and presses her fingers on the back of his neck to push him against her, which makes Mario moan again. He doesn’t vacillate to deepen the kiss, and unhesitatingly opens his mouth so that, this time, it is he who offers himself to her. Peach, not holding back, yields to his incitement and proceeds gently, with relish, but also with tenderness, wanting, like him, to revel in his taste.
The delicacy with which she acts and the sweetness that permeates his tongue threaten to cause Mario to faint mid-flight.
To say he’s happy would be an understatement. He’s ecstatic, exhilarated, elated, on cloud nine, he feels like the most fortunate man in the world and believes, knows, that if he were to explode from sheer joy and die at that very moment, he’d do so while being the happiest person in all universes.
After one last exchange, the two separate unhurriedly, reluctantly. Mario would like to continue kissing her for the rest of his life, if possible, but he wouldn’t change the knowing expression, full of tenderness and passion, that the woman gives him. They both pant, and Mario is convinced that the princess's heart beats as fast as his own. Her face, flushed and aflame, is like a vision for him, a vision he could never tire of contemplating. He doesn't realize he’s begun to smile until she does too, and they giggle in unison, feeling connected at the wondrous, almost divine experience they’ve just had together.
A sudden gust of air makes both Peach's dress skirt and her beautiful, abundant blonde hair flutter, and catches them so unexpectedly that Mario risks being thrown off balance. A small cry of surprise escapes him as he instinctively clutches the princess more tightly, and his heart stops briefly as he realizes that she’s done exactly the same thing, her fingers sinking into his bandana and the fur of his shoulder more tightly. They stare at each other for a second, blushing, and laugh again at the same time, in a mutual understanding that fills Mario's heart with warmth.
His eyes drift for a moment to the princess's castle, already closer, but also... lower? Mario gives a small gasp as he turns to the majestic building again, and Peach mimics him as she notices his bewilderment. They both seem to realize at the same time that, not quite knowing how it happened, they’re now higher, as if their goal was to touch the few clouds scattered across the sky, which are now just a few meters above their heads. The setting sun is so low at their feet that Mario and Peach might seem larger in size.
Mario feels his whole head burning violently as soon as he realizes that the kiss of the beautiful princess has so enchanted and enraptured him that it’s lifted him, without him even realizing it, far above the forest from which they’ve emerged. Embarrassed, he lets out a low giggle, unable to look Peach in the eyes, and begins to descend. He can't stop cursing himself - does his infatuation have to be so obvious?
Fortunately, Peach chuckles too, and she doesn't do it mockingly. Her voice sounds jovial and her visage gleams, amused, when Mario dares to observe her again. She brings her gloved hand to her mouth, her gaze fixed on his, and, to his surprise, she lays her fingers on his cheek before pressing her lips to his one last time. It’s a quick and fleeting graze, but full of as much affection and tenderness as the passionate kiss they shared minutes before, and it’s more than enough to make Mario's heart race again and to make his face, without his permission, bloom a rapture so evident that it makes the princess giggle again.
Then Peach, while still wrapping her graceful arms around Mario's neck, rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, releasing a soft sigh at the softness and warmth of his Tanooki suit. Mario's eyes widen almost wildly, and he feels himself melting completely inside. If he still had any doubts about whether or not he was the luckiest man in the world, this is his confirmation: his beloved princess feels comfortable and safe enough with him to lean against his body and relax, proof that she trusts her “hero” blindly. Mario smiles helplessly - is it possible to burst with happiness?
The gentle evening breeze accompanies them and plays with the young girl's dress and long hair, until they finally reach the castle gardens. Mario immediately spots Toad and Luigi, who seem to be scanning the skies with a restless expression on their faces. Mario wouldn't trade the intense minutes he just spent with Peach for anything in the world (was it just a few minutes? Really?), but he can't help but curse himself once more for worrying his dear brother and his best friend. Both of their faces light up, however, as soon as they catch a glimpse of them, and Peach starts waving her arm at them, laughing gleefully.
Mario's feet land in the gardens before Luigi and Toad reach them. Mario crouches down so that Peach can also step on the ground, and, as he straightens up, he notices the knowing, and somewhat mischievous, glance exchanged between his brother and his friend. Mario's eyes narrow in suspicion. What are they up to?
The princess, however, demands his full attention, for, as he soon realizes, they’re about to separate after having kissed for the first time - on high, no less! Will something change between them now? Mario doesn't know if he wants it to be that way or if he wants them to continue as they’ve always been, but what he does know is that, as he suspected, he feels an almost physical pain at the thought of being away from Peach. When he looks at her again, he reads in her deep blue eyes that she feels as reluctant as he does to leave his side. Mario's hand still lingers on her waist, and Peach, extremely slowly, slides her hand down from his shoulder as she also begins to remove the arm she had around his neck.
Watching her, Mario feels clumsy. Inelegant. Unworthy, even. He feels that his smile is barely a crooked grimace that betrays the bundle of nerves he has become. He feels that his face is a burning flame that will cause his whole body to catch fire at any moment. He feels those beautiful sapphire eyes pierce him with intensity and sweetness and... desire? Is that desire or is it nothing more than his heated imagination?
Suddenly, to his surprise, Peach begins to lean towards him, and Mario's heart skips a beat as he thinks she's going to kiss him again. And, yes, indeed, Peach does kiss him, but not on the lips this time, but on his fiery red cheek. Peach's mouth presses delicately on Mario's skin and lingers there for a few seconds too long, prolonging the gesture, something Mario certainly won't complain about. He doesn't realize that he’s closed his eyes until she finally pulls away, and he opens them and can only gaze at her with rapture and tenderness when she gives him a warm, sweet smile.
Unhurriedly, as if she didn’t want their eyes to lose contact, the princess starts to turn around to make her way back to her castle. Mario doesn’t lose sight of her for a moment while she, as graceful and elegant as ever, moves to where Luigi and Toad are, and, after patting Toad’s head affectionately, she grabs the skirt of her dress to bow to Luigi, who, surprised, hastens to return her gesture a bit awkwardly. Peach smiles warmly at them before resuming her walk, and, after taking a few steps away, she turns and fixes her attention on him directly.
Mario jumps back, caught off guard, making Peach giggle. Embarrassed, he copies her, unsure, and barely manages to return her greeting when she waves her hand in his direction. He doesn’t notice that his other hand, having fallen from the princess's slender waist, now hangs limp at the side of his body, nor the loud sigh that rises from deep inside him.
He only has eyes for the beautiful and delicate silhouette of the young woman walking away through the gardens, her blonde hair shining even more in the light of the sunset.
Until something, all of a sudden, intervenes in his vision.
Mario blinks, trying to return to reality, and meets Luigi's enthused and excited glance, accompanied, a little further down, by Toad's, equally or even more eager. Mario unintentionally recoils a little, but he can't help but be amused by the questioning and curious expressions of both of them, especially by the way they clench their fists under their faces. Their blue and black eyes sparkle with expectation.
“Have you kissed?” Luigi asks bluntly, his tone of voice a little sharper than usual due to the excitement. Toad nods frantically, his smile widening even more.
Mario reddens violently and steps back again out of instinct. His first impulse is to deny it, to pretend that his brother and his friend are imagining it all. Him, kissing the princess? The beautiful, ravishing young woman he has inadvertently and hopelessly fallen in love with? How can they think that?
Yet he’s so happy that he’s floating on a cloud. He feels so blissful and lucky that he wonders... what would be wrong with admitting his feelings? Why should he get defensive? What good would it do him? Besides, what the hell, this is his little brother, the person he loves most in all worlds, and his new and enthusiastic best friend. What reason would he have to hide anything from them? In fact, who else is he going to share his happiness with if not them?
So, relaxing his shoulders, Mario slowly draws a smile from ear to ear and, despite knowing he's still blushing, nods just once.
That's more than enough: Luigi throws his arms to the sky as a piercing squeal of excitement rises from his throat, and Toad starts clapping and shouting, just as happy. Mario is a little astonished at such enthusiasm, but laughs, touched by their mirth. Luigi then throws his arms around Mario’s neck and starts jumping up and down while hugging him with all his might, causing Mario, infected by his rapture, to also end up jumping up and down while embracing his adored brother.
“Finally!” Luigi squeals, maybe even merrier than Mario himself, “I knew it! I knew it would happen! I knew it!” He shouts again, thrilled, and Mario is unable to contain the cackle that bursts from inside him. “You don't know how happy I am for you, Mario! You deserve it!”
Luigi presses his cheek against his and Mario shuts his right eye, although his left one is directed towards his brother. His heart beats so intensely, so warmly, that he thinks it could burst out of his chest and it’d be on fire, overwhelmed not only by his first kiss with Peach, but by the clear affection in his brother's reaction to know that, at last, Mario and the princess have taken the step they’ve postponed for so long. An infinite tenderness has begun to flood him and spread to every corner of his body, born from Luigi's sincere elation for him, and he lets himself be cuddled by his little brother while he holds him close, happier, more grateful and blessed every day for having him by his side since before he was born.
Little by little, Luigi stops jumping to give himself completely to the embrace, squishing Mario with energy and vigor and giggling with emotion. Their faces, peeking out from their Tanooki and Kitsune costumes, press against each other's, their cheeks still squashed, but their smiles wider and more radiant than ever.
The sudden touch of tiny arms closing around his legs causes Mario's eyes to widen with a gasp, but the corners of his mouth rise again as soon as he realizes it's Toad, who is hugging him to join in his bliss as well. Laughing warmly, Mario reaches down with one arm to pat the mushroom man’s head, also feeling very grateful that he’s there with him, and squeezes his twin tightly with his free arm. Luigi, not letting go for a second, embraces him tighter, his face still scrunched against Mario's, who laughs in delight.
His brother hugging him with all his love and glee, his friend showing him his support, a delicious and deep kiss shared with the beautiful princess he’s so madly in love with...
What more could he ask for?
#flying together in the sunset light#super mario fanfic#super mario bros#super mario#brotherly love#mario and luigi#mario brothers#mario#luigi#toad#princess peach#mareach#mario x peach#my fics#my fanfics#my writing#silenzahra
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I wanted to ask you this because I adore your Tav and how you write Raphael. Seriously I can’t get enough of them together. ♥️
We all talk about finding Raphael’s diary, but what if he found Tav’s? Tav who’s all prideful and teases him, acts like they’re not interested in him. Keeps their guard up, ya know? But he snatches up their diary and uncovers that they are anything but uninterested…
Basically just constant gushing, all of those embarrassing, obsessed, horny thoughts written down that Tav would rather die than admit to. ESPECIALLY to Raphael.
Thank you so much for the kind words! I love to write em mutually obsessed in the worst way. down so bad. 24/7 gross about each other.
here's a little something
--
Tav is out.
She's traipsing about with her companions (far less interesting than she; nuisances toward whom Raphael simply can't help his indifference) around the city, so it's a perfect time to do a bit of reconnaissance. Normally he'd demand this of Korrilla, but he is quite fond of Tav.
And sending Korrilla into Tav's private rooms at the Elfsong won't be quite enough this time. Some clients require a more personal touch -- more exclusive scrutiny.
(And, if he happens to find a delicious little morsel during his perusal through Tav's personal items, perhaps all the better.)
...Also helpful to have his little warlock downstairs to keep watch, just in case his target returns unexpectedly.
So: yes, Tav is out, and Raphael is in. He's poofed into her little bedroom, surveyed her meager possessions, and found...
...what has he found? Not much. Some emptied bottles and a wine glass that ought to be washed, a few books here and there in various states of being read, some dirtied laundry (but in a literal sense, not really what he's looking for).
There is, however, a small leather-bound volume on Tav's nightstand. Unassuming. Perhaps a journal.
He flips open to the most recent page, half-full of Tav's blocky print, and he discovers he's correct. Her writing is smudged inelegantly where he presumes she's rested the heel of her hand against the paper as she moves along. It's poor penmanship. Raphael tuts in disappointment.
But then he takes in the actual content of the page, and...
It's quite the discovery.
Oh, there's no mention of illithids anywhere. No reference to the Astral Plane, or their travels along the Sword Coast beyond a few landscape details. Not even a single acknowledgement of the long-awaited death of Ketheric Thorm.
No, it's something else entirely.
Her language is tentative and blushing at first, but grows more and more lewd as the paragraphs wind on. Such a hard-headed woman -- it's not a compliment -- headstrong and obstinate, keen and incisive...and she might as well have written a name in looping cursive surrounded by hearts all over these pages.
But what name? A lover from her past? Surely not one of her little friends.
Who is this man, who's clearly enchanted her so thoroughly? Tav writes of warm brown eyes and curls she'd like to touch and oh she knows he's absolutely fucking packing under those ugly-ass trousers --
Positively troglodytic language from his favorite little mouse. Raphael scoffs. How curious he is now to uncover the source of her more basal fantasies (aspersions cast on attire clearly notwithstanding). He flips another page, and scans the contents he finds.
Something tells me that man likes the sound of his own name more than anything. I'd say it all he wanted if I could have his mouth on me.
Raphael tastes iron and brimstone as he bites down on his tongue. His piercing gaze darts to the opposite page.
Would hate to stifle his sinful voice, though, even with it between my legs. Wonder if he'd sound the same with his cock buried so far in me he'd cum out my damn nose -- "Little mouse", he'd groan for me --
...
The devil blinks.
Well, well, well.
So it's he whom the hero of the story fancies so intensely, is it, now? Usually so quick to brush him off, to turn up her nose at his delivery...but ah, how her writing contradicts her demeanor. What a find. What a delight. Raphael's shit-eating grin nearly rivals his erection in size. (Also, yes, he's obviously packing; the little mouse is entirely correct. As if he'd glamour himself a small human cock.)
But he's not able to bask in this delicious revelation for long, as he feels the press of Korrilla's signature sending spell at the edge of his mind, signaling Tav's return to the inn. Much as he'd love to read more -- perhaps alongside a glass of wine, a hot bath, and the willing, pliant flesh of his pretty incubus (in the form of the Archduchess tonight, he thinks, as his cock aches) -- it's time to vacate the premises.
Carefully he replaces the leather-bound volume on Tav's bedside table exactly as he'd found it, snaps his fingers, and he's gone in a puff of smoke and glittering sparks. As if he'd never been there at all.
--
It's not a week later when he sees her again at the Caress, come to ask another question and draw out her inevitable agreement to his terms once again.
(He's in no hurry. He's not the one with a ticking time bomb in his pretty mortal head.)
It's not until she gets up to leave, her little friends in tow --
"See you later, Raphael."
-- that he makes his move. Stands with them as is polite, sweeps around elegantly to Tav's side as she follows her companions to the door.
Raphael places a hand delicately at the small of her back, giving her pause. Leans in close to her ear, pitching his voice low:
"How I do love the sound of my name more than almost anything else, little mouse. Particularly when it comes from your mouth."
Fingertips drift down further, tracing the line of Tav's hip to a point between decent and indecent -- the lightest of touches; almost-but-not-quite a caress. Raphael watches a flush travel from the apples of the mouse's cheeks down her neck, its trail further hidden by the unfortunately high line of her leather armor.
He thinks he's got her, but then she looks up to meet his eyes, and there's laughter behind her gaze as she delivers her line and exits stage left.
"The quilting on your trousers is ugly as all the Hells."
The devil is left bereft of words as Tav skips off to join the vampling and the Selunite at the door, casting one last (heated? mocking? both?) glance back at him. A wink in exchange for the sneering curl of his lip -- a rose for his thorns; a thorn for his roses.
But his scorn melts into a smirk when she disappears from sight. If it's more than a bit fond, who's to say?
He does love it when his clients put up a fight.
Perhaps he'll bring her to her knees in more ways than one. Give her an eyeful of the expensive quilting she seems to despise so passionately.
#laura's writing#raphael bg3#raphael x tav#bg3 raphael#baldur's gate 3#bg3#anon ask#prompt request#thank you for the ask!#had half a mind to write him panty-snatching but that's not very lawful evil of him is it
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i agree with the sentiment that solomon would really do anything for mc (my (mc's) love :') ♡). yes he definitely is the kind of person to find sensible means to solve any problem until the end, only after which he will resort to extreme means (alooot more readily for mc though). even though he IS friendly with everyone, he's so much closer to mc on such a fundamental and inherent level that i feel like it would be nearly incomparable and that level of closeness would be very difficult for others in that group to achieve with him (not like anyone's actively trying to either lol). even with asmo who he relatively is the closest with - if it comes down to it, he'd choose/side with mc hands down no questions asked. we've seen that in nb when asmo loses control and calls mc a nuisance, and i feel like he would give the same intensely irritated reaction to even an og asmo who is under a spell and would never say such things to mc under normal circumstances (ik nb asmo wasn't exactly "under a spell"). even though he COULD try to be sympathetic and be like "oh he didn't mean that" i still feel like he'd be pissed off like "now THAT'S too far biotch". ya get me? im sorry i am just so fascinated by this man it's genuinely not even funny.
Yesss. Listen I absolutely love Barbatos, he is my number one forever and ever, but I really really love Solomon too. I'm so in love with him, it's ridiculous.
Anyway, I think in canon, Solomon is much closer to MC than he is to anyone else.
I do sometimes think about what it'd be like if we could spend a little bit more time with Purgatory Hall boys, though.
In that I think Solomon and Simeon, due to living together for all that time, are probably closer than what we see in the story.
And of course Solomon is close with Asmo and Barbatos, but he's also friends with Satan and Levi.
He's been shown spending time with all of these characters and sharing interests (or pacts) with them. And while I think it's likely that his relationships with them are probably deeper than what we get to see, the fact is that very little of this is shown in canon. So we could speculate about his friendships with everybody else all day, but the one thing canon makes perfectly clear is how Solomon feels about MC.
Remember when he saved MC from Belphie? That line that made all of us Solobesties go crazy? Yeah. I think he'd be just as willing to do the same thing if it had been any of the other characters, even Asmo.
I just think Solomon is dedicated to MC in a way he isn't with anyone else. And that's why I always think of him as being hopelessly in love with MC. Because he doesn't treat the characters who are his friends that way, so that must mean his feelings for MC are more intense, right?
Well, that's just how I see it lol!
#I just also love his magical aesthetic#like yes a funky wizard guy that is right up my alley thank you#obey me#obey me nightbringer#obey me solomon#anon asks#misc answers
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so like, obviously i dislike egregiously physically abusive drakes & find their actual canon dynamic with tim much more nuanced and interesting to me personally.
but, while i firmly don't think that jack ever got physical with tim in canon. he. hm. his brand of 90s parenting & propensity towards outbursts of physical anger (ripping the tv off the wall, shouting and getting in tim's face). well...i don't think it's completely off the mark to want to imagine or explore a jack who did hit tim and examine the fallout. like i'm always thinking that it could be done interestingly. to me. and i'll put the rest under a cut bc y'know. discussions of abuse and whatnot.
so like. thinking of what i would want to see in a story that explores this. like, i was thinking of where i would put the Incident & i think i've settled on after tim runs back to gotham from keystone that jack would lose his temper and strike tim across the face.
i think this is a good spot *because* it already is a spot where jack gets angry with tim in robin #66--now obviously the situation in canon gets resolved with a joyous "i hate keystone too" from jack bc jack listens to tim but if you wanted to transform him worse, you could pull in the refusal to hear tim out from the tv ripping incident & have him lose his temper and strike tim. like idk. i think there's room to explore his propensity for explosive anger.
before dinner jack does try to apologize but also he does kind of blame tim at the same time.
of course he would immediately feel bad about this & dana would probably intervene with a "jack!" and he would also kind of be shocked where he hit his son. he calms down and agrees they should stay in gotham. tim cannot believe his dad just hit him. dana feels awkward so excessively tries to smooth things over between them. they go out to eat. it is silent and awkward.
(if you're at all wondering why dana doesn't immediately leave jack: let's make one think clear, dana in canon has a high tolerance and acceptance of jack's bullshit so i actually genuinely don't think that jack hitting tim once in anger would be a dealbreaker for her--she'd be uncomfortable and scold him but also she prioritizes her relationship to jack moreso than her one to tim and tries to stay out of what she perceives as jack's lane of parenting tim so she'd probably be "excessive but not my kid" especially if she only perceived it as a one time mistake he was regretful about. also. adults sometimes don't perceive violence against teenagers for disrespect as as much of a bad thing as they should.)
and tim just does not know *what to think*. he kind of does his whole identity crisis thing where like. tim kind of deserved it, it was tim who got hit by his dad. robin would never. he would probably spend a lot of time minimizing his dad's fault to himself and Not Dealing With It.
and he doesn't want to deal with it because thank god, batman called them in to no man's land. so it's a relief to run away and not *have* to deal with it. he meets up with dick to sneak into NML and dick immediately clocks the facial bruise but also since i love terrible things i would like it if dick assumed initially that tim got it from a goon and was like "yeesh, you hide that from your dad okay" which makes tim stiffen up because he does NOT want to admit to dick that his dad is the one who did it and he brushes it off but of course dick can tell something strange is going on & files that away for later.
and then they're in no man's land and separated--tim goes with bruce and dick to infiltrate blackgate. before they leave dick tries to probe a little more but tim just doesn't want to admit it. so that's fun.
and bruce also asks about the bruise but tim's like whatever and bruce is busy so he's just like "hm" but also he's busy and they all get busy and the bruise fades and it gets put on the backburner but it does still bother dick but he's sick and then tim is sick and there's no chance to talk about it. but also tim wants to tell bruce & dick but at the same time he doesn't want to tell them at all. there's a lot of flitting around and almost broaching the subject here.
i imagine there's an angsty scene when tim is sick where bruce goes to wipe his forehead and tim flinches away and mutters something in his sleep which makes bruce a little concerned. and when he's better alfred is trying to be like you should tell your dad and tim keeps blowing it off and not wanting to because he doesn't want to have to think about it. so people are starting to notice he's being strange about something with his dad. there's discussions behind his back.
jack meanwhile thinks tim has run away because jack hit him and is worried about that. & finally tim reluctantly calls under bruce's stern eyes and says he ran away to no man's land. which sets off jack's temper again and jack yells at him & tim does Not look at bruce while he's busy trying to compartmentalize. anyways jack calls politicians to get his son out & sets off an immediately media firestorm & tim does not want to go and deal with it
at this point dick Knows something is up with tim and is really trying to badger it out of him. and when jack drake goes on national television to apologize to his son and says he knows he made Mistakes and he just wants tim to come home safely and tim has to finally tell everyone that he dad hit him. dick gets pissed, bruce gets pissed, tim tries to make excuses for his dad. we get a dick hug methinks.
of course, there is the matter of jack wants tim extracted. now, this doesn't make anyone happy--dick is firm that tim should stay with them. bruce doesn't want tim to go back but...y'know...gotham needs the media spotlight of his rescue.
this pisses off dick. i think we should transform canon further and pretend that alfred brought in the robin suit case just so dick can punch bruce into it for even considering sending tim back.
at this point i think tim would insist on going back himself. dick doesn't like it but since tim says he will he won't fight it. things are very tense as they prepare to send tim back but tim says he'll be fine. after all, they know now. dick makes him promise a million times that if jack tries anything at all, he's going to call them immediately.
so tim returns home & jack feels awful for lots of reasons & tim firmly tells him that it won't happen again. dana assures him it won't, and jack also says it won't. is he telling the truth. who knows. but jack's way of dealing with this is also deciding to send tim to boarding school.l because that solves the problem doesn't it. also he and dana spend more time doing things to try and keep him & tim separate so he doesn't explode on him. which at least makes it easy for tim to sneak back into NML to help out with end stuff.
tim gets mother henned a bit and dick is relieved tim is going to boarding school if it means he'll be away from jack. and bruce starts a file on that man. he's watching now. always watching. or something. i don't actually have a good ending for this.
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I'm thinking about "What if the main character did not have a secret, powerful family background and was just some random person?" AUs for different stories, because I personally find that situation more compelling most of the time and I think it introduces more interesting struggles. While thinking about a bunch of other stories, I ended up thinking about Aragorn in "Lord of the Rings".
Now, Aragorn is a special case because 1) I wouldn't really call him THE main character and the "noble" members of the Fellowship are well-contrasted by the hobbits. The hobbits may be mostly Shire gentry (except for Sam), but on the grand stage of Middle Earth, they're still unimpressive nobodies. Frodo is already our ordinary hero. 2) Aragorn's road to kingship comes with him struggling with his ancestor's failures and accepting the heavy burdens that come with being Isildur's heir. This is specifically an arc of a character struggling with their family history. I am absolutely not saying that Aragorn being royalty makes LOTR a bad story and that it would be better if he was just some random guy. I think this is a well-written character storyline that is a key feature of the overall story.
But I do think it would be really funny to write fanfiction where Aragorn wasn't Arathorn's son. (There is the issue of the heritage that makes Aragorn age slowly, but maybe you could wiggle that so that Aragorn has that kind of heritage from a different source?) Like, the line of Isildur has died out, and let's say that Aragorn's mother takes shelter in Rivendell with her son, and kid Aragorn ends up wandering around to the broken sword and picking up the handle. And either Aragorn's mother lies to Elrond about Aragorn being Arathorn's son or Elrond happens across kid Aragorn with the broken sword and thinks... "Hey, what if we just... lied about it?"
Now, this could end really badly! As I vaguely understand it, the Silmarillion (which I have not read) contains a bunch of examples where lying did not go well, so maybe this lie is how Middle Earth falls into chaos in this AU. Whoops.
But even though this breaks some plotlines, I'm a sucker for adoption storylines. I love adoption being treated as important. It's compelling to imagine Elrond and Aragorn's mother carefully explaining the situation with the sword to him, and then this child just... stubbornly deciding that he's going to become Isildur's heir. Maybe Aragorn's determination falters at some point, he gives up on the idea, and he later has to return to Elrond as an adult and persuade him that no, he means it this time, mankind isn't just about bloodlines, he's going to pick up this burden on behalf of all of humanity. I think that there's something powerful in a person deciding that no, I'm not of Isildur's blood, but I have his same potential for success and for failure, and I'm here. I'm fighting. I picked up the broken sword and that's good enough, isn't it? Who are you to say I'm not his heir? I'm HERE.
I think there's powerful magic in that too. (Also, Arathorn is dead and getting adopted as a father by some random kid. Sure. Okay. I think that's just funny.)
(Also, oh my, there is SO MUCH tragedy if Aragorn being Isildur's heir is a lie and Boromir died believing it. The GUILT. The GUILT that Aragorn would feel when Boromir says, "I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king." Like, oh man, now you HAVE TO make it true.)
Now, maybe Aragorn doesn't become King of Gondor in this AU or maybe he does. Maybe Faramir becomes king instead. Maybe it becomes well known by the end of the journey that Aragorn isn't a blood descendant of Isildur and maybe it's a secret known only to the Fellowship. I'd like to think that he still marries Arwen. I like the idea of Arwen happily and knowingly marrying some nobody lying about his heritage and Elrond internally being like, "This is kind of on me."
The most important thing here is that it would be so fucking funny if Aragorn (and Elrond and Gandalf and Galadriel) successfully lied to Sauron the Deceiver. Sauron's like, "Oh? A secret heir come out of hiding to fight against me? Sounds legit." And at some point near the end, just before some hobbits chuck a ring into a volcano behind his back, Sauron is looking at Aragorn like, "Wait a minute, what the fuck, you lying little SHIT."
(Or Sauron finds out via Pippin that Aragorn is lying and feels SO SMUG about how he's going to crush a false king, which just adds to Aragorn's whole "made you look!" distraction keeping Sauron from noticing the hobbits sneaking into Mount Doom.)
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I'm going to write a longish post on this, but yeah.
Also, if you're not down for vague dooming, don't read this lmao
For me, The Bear is a Hallmark movie with more swearing and more teeth. It'll end in the same spot as a Hallmark movie. Carmy will find balance and either be on his way to healing those open wounds from his childhood or will have healed them. He'll be self satisfied. Balanced. Home is Where the Heart Is type shit with a dash of All the Answers I was Searching for was Here all Along!
The question of romance on the show for me was about which romance trope was being used.
Was it going to be Carmy reconnecting with an old flame from his past? Or was it Carmy meets a person who changes his life for the better, but they're quirky/awkward and even though she drives him crazy, she drives him crazy.
I've seen the BTS from S4. I'm of two minds on this. Either Storer and co decided to resolve the romance aspect of the show a season early (weird, but I kind of like that?? That's certainly not as common these days) and it's about other things in s4 pertaining to the suspicions some of us have about Syd's job prospects. And then s4 is about either getting her back or a rivalry or just connecting on a personal level again. There are more options I'm sure, but those are the ones I'm thinking about currently.
Or, Claire is really just the cold prep as @chefkids and @thoughtfulchaos773 and others have more eloquently said, and Carmy will realize he wants Syd at the end of the series and breaks up with Claire.
The part of me who loves interesting stories and unexpected turns wants the romance part to be resolved because that's fun to me. But the black woman that I am who is so fucking sick and tired of seeing black characters support and lift up white characters is like, over it.
Another way I can see this going on the romance part is really what Joanna Calo said about Syd and Carmy: they really are just platonic and messy! So Carmy gets the best of two women. Cool. 🤢
Anyway!
I like to keep in mind that The Bear is a story about Chris, Gillian and his sister. The show is biographical in nature and when I think about SydCarmy not happening, it's more because Chris is like ew, Syd represents my sister and that's gross and less I don't value the stories of black women.
Like, Claire is a doctor and I kinda hate that her position in Carmy's life is so on the nose and I want for men to fucking stop treating the women in their lives like their therapists and parents/bangmaids Jesus fucking Christ. But Storer is a man, and a white man at that, so. 🙃 Like, Carmy has real issues that need a professional. No pussy is gonna cure that, not even Syd's!
If Carmy is the literal worst in s3 and nukes all his relationships because he refuses to get therapy and deal with his issues, I hope he and Claire end up together and stay together because damn, Syd deserves more than that dysfunction because she really is already too good for him.
But he hasn't done anything that's not salvageable. Yet.
Anyway, thanks for attending my Ted Talk!
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Hello! Your OC Axel is gorgeous! I love the way you drew him with such soft eyes. If you feel comfortable sharing, may I ask about his story or lore? No pressure, of course! Feel free to ignore; I know OCs can be extremely personal, and I don't want you to feel obligated to share if you'd prefer not to. 🩵🩵🩵
Oh my, I never expected that anyone would be interested in Axel! Thank you so much! I'd love to tell more about him.
Axel is a relatively young clone, a commander of the 225th squad. He was pretty close with some of his brothers who were under Krell's command, what made him very suspicious about Jedi. But when he got under command of his own Jedi general he changed his mind. Axel has never experienced injustice towards himself just because he is a clone what made him very platonically attached to his general and the whole 225th.
However, when the Order 66 was executed he did not hesitate to complete the order. His brothers reported their general dead and he believed it until he found her lightsaber in scrapper's belongings.
After that his attachment turned into an obsession to find his general. Empire forces did not like his new reckless and obsessed demeanor.
So, he basically a wanderer with one mission - to find his general.
And maybe sometimes he sits and remembers something good about her. Maybe he just misses her. But well... Chip does it's thing anyways.
ah yeah and he's charismatic, sometimes rude and overall just sweet
Thanks again
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Personally, I don't see the appeal of Shoko.
Please convince me why I should. I'm curious.
ANONNNNN YOU’RE MISSING OUTTTT WHAT THE HELL 😔😔😔😔 okay i’ll give you a pass because her character writing is very subtle. but she’s just…… so interesting!!!!!!
honestly i have a Lot of things i like abt shoko…… getting the obvious out of the way; she’s Gorgeous. most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. look at her!!!!!!!!!! :((((((((((
bUT THAT ASIDE . to me, the most interesting thing about shoko is her grief. and her connection to satosugu, obviously, but those go hand in hand!! i’ll die on the hill that she’s extremely similar to the both of them. she was also born with the burden of an ability she didn’t ask for, and she also became a weapon for the jujutsu society to wield. the irony is that she’s a weapon who Heals as opposed to satoru and suguru, but that’s arguably a worse thing to go through. in one of her phanpara voicelines, she mentions that it might be better to be out on the front lines than to stay back not knowing if the others will return in one piece…..
she’s just . stuck in such an awful situation. i think she’s seen far more death and suffering than either satoru or suguru . there’s a good chance she’s had to dissect her dying friends since she was fifteen. no wonder she comes across as so detached!!!!! no wonder she covers everything up with apathy or humour. she’s lost so many friends throughout the years. and she’s had to touch their corpses. i can’t imagine how much that messes you up.
but. yeah . her grief is just so, so silent. it’s almost always either subtextual or shown through visual imagery (usually her cigarettes)… it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking but it’s so obvious she’s suffering when you look at that subtext. her calling suguru childish for thinking nobody would understand him (implying she did), walking out of the room during jjk 0 when yaga declares war on him. picking up smoking again after gojo gets sealed, and she finds out that kenjaku had taken over geto’s body. (which is partially her fault!!! she was supposed to have disposed of it, but gojo tried to show compassion by not forcing her to. and that’s why kenjaku could take over.) the amount of cigarettes she’s smoking when she’s watching gojo fight sukuna….. etc etc . it’s all there. her grief is very silent and compliant and sad. but it’s so obvious that she loved them both.
basically; shoko is flawed, traumatized, desensitized, and kind despite that. just like satoru and suguru. she isn’t able to open her heart to anyone, isn’t able to be honest about how she feels, and she’s resigned herself to her role as a weapon. but she cares. she sticks around and keeps healing and never complains. i think she cares so much that she has to force herself into a state of apathy. she wouldn’t be able to keep going otherwise.
all of this is just my own take on her, but . imo it’s a take that the manga supports!!! we haven’t gotten any glimpses into her headspace aside from chapter 220, but we have more than enough subtext and interactions to analyze her character…. overall, i just think shoko is interesting. and wellwritten, in a subtle way. i hope akutami gives her the spotlight she deserves in future chapters because she has such a silent and unique role in the story…. it’s really hard not to fall in love with her!!!!! :’3 she’s just so cool…
anyway i said i had three reasons for loving shoko and her gorgeous gorgeous face + character writing are two of them . so i’ll end this by mentioning the final thing!!!!!! ….. which is that she’s super funny .
like. she’s a healer . but the first time we see her in the morgue she’s cutting curses open with a chainsaw. she’s disappointed when yuji turns out to be alive because she won’t get to dissect him. the students hesitate calling her for help with their injuries at night because they never know if she’s sober or not. in the light novel she takes gojo to a bar and calls him a big kid. in phanpara she complains when you put her on your team because she doesn’t want to do any work. she cheated her way through med school. she wore sunglasses during her best friend’s unsealing party. she made nanami and haibara give her a shoulder massage after they lost against her and gojo at an arcade game. she then forced a very grumpy suguru into taking a selfie with her. she’s so fucking funny and i love her <333333
#i’m extremely late to this ask ignore that pls 🙏#i hope this made you see the light my dearest anon <33#shoko is such an interesting character and i love her on her own + with satosugu so so much :((((((((#they really are so similar… one of my fandom pet peeves is when ppl act like she was the most rational one of the three. she was Not.#they’re ALL losers . actual wrecks. absolute assholes too. they’re the only ones who can stand each other and i think thats beautiful#TYSM FOR THIS ASK ANONNNNN i’ve been wanting to talk abt her for a while!! she means a whole lot to me <333#ask tag ✩
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