Impromptu
Quick one-shot based on the body-swap concept by @elitadream because you guys know I had to write something. It was inevitable.
Also available on Ao3: X
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“Psst. Princess.”
Princess Peach was deep in thought when she heard someone call out to her from the nearby window. Despite the distinct familiarity of the voice, she couldn’t help but let out a little gasp, nearly dropping her tea as she turned to see Luigi clinging to the branches of the tree outside of her bedroom.
That tree, “The Mario Tree” she had taken to calling it, was tucked behind an old vine-covered wall in the inner courtyard, out of the way of anyone who wasn’t thoroughly familiar with the garden. Mario had climbed it to reach her window a number of times at her beckoning, so that they could speak for a moment in perfect privacy.
Strangely enough, she always felt safer with that window open and that tree in view.
But now, it was Luigi dangling from the branches, his arms and legs wrapped awkwardly around a drooping limb like his life depended on it. When he realized the Princess saw him he shuffled closer, and flung himself from the tree to the window sill like an unsteady kitten.
He seemed unusually clumsy tonight, weary and exhausted as Peach grabbed his shoulders to ensure gravity didn’t send him tumbling to the ground below. When Luigi's feet touched the floor of the bedroom he hunched over, clutching his knees as he breathed heavily.
“Thank you.”
Peach smiled, but felt little amusement. Luigi was trembling terribly, like something horrible had chased him up that tree.
Mario's little brother was not a particularly spontaneous individual. He knew he was welcome to use the front door, and would have done so gladly unless the situation prevented it. Princess Peach glanced around, looking for some hint as to what to blame for Luigi's current state, but seeing nothing she took him by the hand and made an effort to lead him to the small tea table near the bed.
“Come, sit down.”
But Luigi pulled away, opting instead to spin around and shut the curtains behind him.
“I can’t. I can’t be seen here… he…” he stuttered, “It’s Mario, but it’s not Mario… he’s not Mario.”
It was a message he needed to relay quickly– but he couldn't quite figure out how to explain it. What proof could he give to elevate his word above that of the most trusted man in The Mushroom Kingdom? What evidence could he provide that the doppelganger couldn't effectively explain away? That he hadn't explained away?
He stammered for a moment, getting out nothing but fragments of sentences, when he felt Peach's hand on his shoulder.
“…I know.”
Luigi froze, caught off guard by this reply.
“You know?”
“Well... I suspected." Peach corrected herself in a whisper, adopting Luigi’s hushed tone. "I’ve only seen him at a distance as of late, but he has been acting strange. I could sense something was wrong, but I couldn’t put a finger on what, and I could never get ahold of him to inquire about it.”
Indeed, Mario had been more ever-present, yet more avoidant than ever before. He seemed to drift in and out of locations like a ghost, wearing an expression that mimicked his old kindness like an ill-fitting mask.
Then, there had been strange goings-on in her castle; troops being shuffled about without her command, frequent miscommunications between guards, strange little incidents were never properly investigated, doors left open when they should’ve been shut…
Princess Peach was about to explain this, when she suddenly felt herself wrapped up in a hug, Luigi’s face pressing against shoulder. Surprised as she was, her heart ached at the sensation, the desperation in the gesture speaking volumes about what Luigi had been experiencing for the past few days. Peach was on the verge of returning the hug, when Luigi backed away as suddenly as he had embraced her, red with embarrassment, hands tucked to his chest.
“S-sorry. I’m sorry. That was out of line. It’s just, I… I thought nobody would believe me.”
His gaze drifted to the ground as he rubbed the back of his neck. This was a common tic of his, but as Peach took in the shy gesture her eyes widened.
There were dark bruises on his throat.
She had glimpsed them when he had first climbed through her window, but at that time she had assumed it was merely the shadow of the tree leaves in the light of sunset. Now, with the curtains shut and the lamps lit, there was no mistaking it.
She gingerly lifted a hand up and brushed her fingers against the injury. Luigi winced, but made no motion to stop her, tilting his chin a little as he felt the light tingle of healing magic, The Princess slowly fading the marks to nothing.
“He hurt you.”
“No more than I’ve been hurt before. It’s Mario I’m worried about. The real one.” Luigi shrugged. “He said he’d kill him if I tried anything, but if Not-Mario is who I think he is… I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”
Peach nodded. Luigi did not need to elaborate, they were both thinking the same thing: if not The King of The Koopas himself, the imposter was no doubt someone working under his command.
At last, Luigi was calm enough to allow himself to be ushered to a nearby chair, where Princess Peach sat him down and searched him over for further injuries. She found nothing life threatening, mostly bruising, the worst of it being a large, swollen lump on the back of his head.
In most situations, she would have opted to mend the wounds traditionally rather than use healing magic, but there was more that needed to be healed here than simple physical injuries, and as Princess Peach gingerly undid every wound Luigi's shivering slowed, and his breath gained a gentle, steady rhythm.
“I’m going to go to The Darklands.” He said after a time, “If I don’t find Mario there, then maybe I’ll at least find answers.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tonight.”
“Good.”
Peach brushed off her skirt and rose to her feet, her hands cupped determinedly in front of her. “I’ll join you after I inform Toadsworth about what is happening. Wait for me at The Grasslands Outpost.”
Luigi stood up, appearing surprised and concerned in equal measure.
“Your Highness?”
“Toadsworth is clever, he should be able to cover for me and keep things in order until we get the real Mario back. Besides…” She reached out and gave Luigi's hand a reassuring squeeze, “… I’ll be a lot safer with you.”
Luigi was startled by the affirmation, looking down at the hand that gripped his like a lifeline. He nodded, lifting his free hand to give the brim of his hat a sharp, confident tug.
“Thanks. I… I won’t let you down!”
Princess Peach gestured for him to lower his voice, and Luigi let go of the hand to clamp his palms over his mouth.
They both stood perfectly still for a few seconds, examining the surrounding darkness, ears pricked for evidence of eavesdroppers. When they were both content that they were truly alone, Luigi crept back to the window and leapt to one of the branches. He climbed down as quietly as he could manage, not taking his eyes off the princess the entire way to the ground.
“Please be careful,” he called up in a whisper.
“You too, Luigi.” Peach called back quietly, and once she saw him disappear into surrounding garden she took hold of the shutters, looked around one more time for anything amiss, and cautiously clicked her bedroom window closed.
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*puts on my Professor glasses*
Macky really knows EXACTLY how to talk to Wukong, let's dissect it!
M: Looks like things are going smoothly.
W: I say, you've been here the whole time, haven't you?
M: FFM is your home, but it's also mine.
W: Did you find anything?
M: Still nothing, however. Now the Jade Emperor is no longer present. The Celestial Realm already gives me an unsettling feeling.
M: Wukong...that kid.
W: I understand.
M: You have to go and talk to him.
W: I know! But...he still isn't ready.
M: I see. You're the one who isn't ready, yet. How did you even become a teacher!
M: He has to be. We all have to be realistic.
W: He's just a kid. We can't let him...
M: Who says he's just a kid! Why is it him? When you chose him, did you know?
W: I didn't know, I really didn't know! I just followed...a feeling.
M: Are you not the least bit worried?! This child has all of your special powers, and he always runs into trouble. Have you never questioned this before? Not a single person knows where he came from. Is it not strange?!
M: We still have no clue as to whoever let out Azure Lion. All your old foes returned in one swoop. Are you not even a little-
W: Then what about you? You also suddenly came back.
M: Argh-
M: I say, someone must be manipulating us behind our backs. Especially Xiaotian. But they still haven't succeeded.
W: Then tell me. What about you?
M: Tell me do you want my help or not?! / W: Not long ago you were still against me! / M: I see, you're just a- / W: ...after I assume you'll teach me how to train my own disciples?
~ Xiaotian Interupts ~
M: Look. That kid has made you his idol. You're his one true hero, but you...
W: But I what?
M: He has to understand, he doesn't need to carry these burdens. You have to do better.
You can really tell whose the chatty one in this relationship XD Wukong might be a lil annoyed, but he's tolerant. And Macky is a little playful turd as always. Where Wukong gets gloomy and concerned, Mac swaps between teasing and serious in a blink. Then things get a lot more strained and tense, but unlike their previous fights, it never escalates into violence. Never a growl, never a raised fist. They're right at the edge, and they drop it. I'm very much interested in the psychology of arguments and when it comes to people latching onto (1) thing a person says and relating it slightly off topic to avoid talking about that other thing, like Wukong is doing here. It's so cool seeing how physical they are in trying to visibly control their emotions around each other, and how they keep trying to hold themselves back from tearing in further, always pausing and halting, and switching to another thing. They're TRYING. Ugh. I think Mac was trying to give a comforting smile at the end, but it's kinda warped by the whole ~ everything else. ~
Anyhow, I like how this starts with Wukong establishing, or rather cementing to Macaque that he believes MK is a kid. And while Macaque argues against that, he did also say before that Wukong should talk to him. And they have their squabble, with Mac pushing Wukong's buttons to get him to say something, BUT the fact this gets resolved with he needs to understand he doesn't need to carry these burdens. YOU HAVE TO DO BETTER. Like of all things Mac could have chosen. He's playing right into what Wukong himself believes, that will overwrite the "MK isn't ready" thing. Because let's face it. Mac is right when he says Wukong also isn't ready for that talk yet. He's so down throughout all this, Wukong probably feels himself that he needs to be better. AND by appealing to the fact MK is a kid, without explicitly stating that, just a statement that cannot be denied, BUT is a subject that undoubtedly, even Wukong cannot avoid. Because he wants better for MK. For him to not walk down the same path as him. Macaque has basically nudged Wukong into having that talk he wanted with MK by reframing it differently from what Wukong wasn't ready for.
Thoughts? Critique?
*squishes you* anon…anon, you’re telling me..that this was the actual dialogue between SWK and Macky in 5x01. that what i just read is the translated version of the Mandarin dub. correct?
ok ok cool. i’m cool. gucci. feeling fantastic lemme just
WHAT THE FUCK LMK
ok so i ranted in the tags but realized i forgot to say more things (also i was worried i’d exceed the tag limit bc that is a real thing what do you know!)
so, anon, you said Macky knows how to talk to Wukong and yeah agreed but for me it’s for of the sense of “Macky knows how to get his words under Wukong’s skin”
he knows how to let his words sink in and fester in Wukong’s mind, making him reconsider things or another to help speed up certain decisions or choices Wukong is hesitating on. and ain’t it fascinating how despite how long it’s been since either character have talked or interacted with each other, they still know the ins and outs of their behavior and thoughts.
Macky knows Wukong needs to talk to MK but is holding back. Macky after one answer from Wukong realizes that it’s Wukong who isn’t ready for that conversation and switches tactics to try and breach that mental block
Wukong, in a need to avoid the conversation, brings up the questions surrounding Macky’s reason for even being alive again because that is information neither have talked about and oh hey! Macky is avoiding that conversation too! and it’s an important one to have so he pushes for it, but Macky knows it’s being pushed to avoid their original discussion and is annoyed bc “classic Wukong, never wanting to delve too deep into topics where he’ll need to be vulnerable for” (especially when said vulnerability is with his newly re-allied ex friend Macaroni himself)
god i love them
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It’s 3pm on a rainy Wednesday, and Hob is sleepily grading student papers, when Death of the Endless appears in his flat, lies quietly down on the couch, and rests her head in his lap.
Hob stares down at her for a long moment, hands aloft in indecision, because this is not... something they do. By now he can say he calls Death a friend, and they get drinks together sometimes and chat, but this...
“Everything alright, love?” he asks, finally resting a hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t mean to disturb your peace,” Death says quietly. The TV Hob’s left on as background noise—some silly cooking show—nearly drowns out her voice entirely.
“Nothing peaceful about trying to find nice ways to tell my students they can’t write for shit,” Hob says, pushing his papers away. He can’t see Death’s face well like this, but he doesn’t like the uneven sound of her voice, not when she’s usually so level. “Disturb away.”
After a long moment in which they both just listen to the TV program host blather on about crumpets, Death says, “I am not affected by deaths.”
“…Alright,” Hob says, though he’s not convinced.
“I am…” Death continues, but trails off on a breath like a whistle of cold wind. “May I... stay here awhile?”
“‘Course.” Hob carefully pets at her head, strokes her hair. Worry is building, but he doesn’t think Death needs him to pull her words out of her the way he sometimes has to with Dream. She will speak when she’s ready. “Do you want to hear some truly fascinating attempts at historical analysis? Or is peace and quiet what you’re looking for?”
“You can speak if you wish,” Death says, still in that quiet tone.
So Hob tells her about some of his students, the ones who truly seem to have some promise in the field, and the others who he’s pretty sure are just mangling their papers together from sentences out of one of those AI things, if the originality is anything to go by. It’s disappointing but does make for humorous reading. Though really, Hob’s not sure whether to laugh or despair when he has to read lines like War has negative effects on people in an actual university academic paper. Wow, you don’t say.
He does manage to get a few chuckles out of his friend, but none with her usual humor and enthusiasm, and eventually he trails off, and they listen quietly to the background noise of the TV.
“Is there anything I can do?” Hob asks quietly.
“Can you control the future, Hob?” Death asks, a rhetorical question without any of her usual lightheartedness.
“Can’t even control the present,” Hob says. He just keeps his hands on her, one on her shoulder, one on the top of her head. Grounding, he hopes. And he thinks on what she’d said.
Hob knows that Destiny is the only Endless that operates in the future, but he has wondered, now that he understands them a bit better, if Death may not have a foot in that direction as well. She must know, some way, how to be where she must when she must.
Death has never seemed overly burdened by the past, even though history is a tower of bones a hundred miles high. Hob had asked, once — do all those terrible things ever bother you? you were there for them all —and all she had said was, “It has already happened,” with neither pleasure nor pain, just acceptance.
The future is another matter entirely.
“Is something going to happen?” he asks.
“I will not burden you with knowledge that is not yours to carry,” Death says.
So, that’s a yes.
“Maybe I could do something about it,” Hob suggests, though he suspects where that query will lead.
“You could not.”
“What about you, then?”
“That is not my place,” she says, though she sounds less certain about it than she usually is when discussing her function.
“You sure?” Hob asks.
“Were I to change fates for some, what excuse would I have for not doing so for all? Unfair things happen hourly, and always will. If I upend the balance, there is no telling how things would tip out of control down the road.”
It must be hard, Hob thinks, to be so powerful and yet so powerless.
“You did spare me,” he points out.
Death huffs, almost a laugh. “In truth, I shouldn’t have done that. Although I suspect Destiny had it written in his book for other purposes entirely.”
Huh. Well, that’s probably something Hob shouldn’t think on too hard for the sake of his own sanity.
“Well, I’m certainly not complaining about it,” Hob says, and Death chuckles.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, when they’ve been sitting for another few minutes in silence.
“I… do not have many friends,” Death says. Common family trait, then, Hob thinks. Not that it’s really so surprising. Death is very personable, but most of her interactions with people are, well… fleeting. And it can’t be easy to make normal friends, when you’re as expansive a being as one of the Endless.
“Stay for a while then,” Hob says. He pulls a blanket over her and tucks it around her shoulders. “Until you have to go.”
“Thank you, Hob,” says Death, still sounding incredibly weighed down by her function, but given a slight reprieve, perhaps.
Hob rubs her shoulder and thinks about these endless creatures he’s chosen to love. Do they have anyone else to worry about them? He doesn’t think so. It’s just Hob, and he doesn’t think that’s anywhere close to enough, but he’ll just have to do his best.
“Any time, love,” he tells her, and means it.
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