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peaches2217 · 3 months

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All the Gold in the World

This was my very first Mario fic, originally published June 22/23, 2023! As the original Tumblr publication was on a burner account, in celebration of its (belated) anniversary, I figured I'd give it its long-deserved place on my main blog. Please enjoy this throwback! And here's the AO3 link.

~~~

There it was again, that telltale sparkle in those big, blue, beautiful eyes. It was just as Peasley had hoped: an invitation to sneak away from the dreary duties of the palace in favor of strolling an upscale shopping pavilion arm-in-arm, a bit of light conversation about how worn his favorite tunic was becoming and won’t you help me choose a new one today, my love?, and a break for coffee that just happened to see them seated across from a display of some of the finest, most colorful, undoubtedly most expensive gowns in the kingdom, all efforts to disguise (and eventually expose) his true plan.

Seeing the awe in his Luigi’s eyes as he cast longer and longer glances at the display, watching the corners of his lips twitch beneath his mustache as the subtle spark of innuendo grew into a flame of yearning… he’d known it, oh, he’d known it all along!

Now, Peasley was very clever, and his consort had the loveliest of tastes, so how this knowledge had eluded him for so long, he was ashamed to say he wasn’t certain. But it didn’t matter now. The only question that mattered now was—

“Which of those gowns are you eyeing, my pet?”

Luigi sputtered so hard that a small mouthful of coffee forced its way past his lips.

“Wh— gowns? What gowns?” he stuttered, wiping the coffee dribbling from his chin with the back of his hand, a shamed blush overtaking him. “I don’t see any gowns!”

Peasley, unfazed, handed him a paper napkin. “I was thinking the deep green A-line with the bell sleeves, personally. The color’s a given, and the silhouette would compliment your form exquisitely. Perfect for the upcoming Edamame Extravaganza.”

Luigi hastily wiped his glove and the table clean, his mouth opening and closing in a way that wasn’t unlike a Cheep Cheep caught on dry land. Assorted sounds came out, but nothing coherent.

Peasley couldn’t help but chuckle. His Greenie had a number of interests he’d tried to hide, offering up such excuses as “It’s embarrassing!” and “It’s really nothing, just a dumb pastime, you know?” when he was inevitably discovered. Yet every last one of those interests enamored Peasley, and perhaps none more so than this. Oh, how proud he was of his own detective work.

“I— I-I just couldn’t pull off a dress that well,” Luigi finally managed, “you know?”

“Nonsense! You once pulled off a more stunning Peach than the real deal. You didn’t hear that from me, of course.”

Luigi simply hid behind his coffee, humming nervously. His Starbeans order was always the same: a medium-roast Hoolumbian with so much nutmeg that the air around them smelled like a winter market. Watching him sip and hum and blush, Peasley found himself craving pumpkin spice.

“But they’re so… expensive, right?” Luigi eventually said into his near-empty cup. “I-I could never! I’d never ask for something like that!”

Ah, of course! His Luigi had come from a commoner’s background, after all. Little had changed since he’d become Prince Consort of the Beanbean Kingdom. He was still more comfortable in cotton and denim than the tunics and robes of the palace, he still preferred tinkering with pipes and assorted machinery to sitting in committees or kissing babies as adoring citizens fawned over him, and, so it would seem, he still worried about money, as though an entire royal family’s wealth wasn’t his to partake in.

“You needn’t concern yourself with such matters!” Peasley’s right hand met Luigi’s left, their fingers lacing together. Luigi’s hands were larger, quite a bit so, and yet they fit Peasley’s like a lock and key. “I would never offer something I couldn’t afford to give.”

That statement wasn’t entirely true — he’d promise his love a five-course banquet if all he had was a single loaf of bread, and by the stars he’d make it happen — but he could most certainly afford this, and that was essential to reinforce. For weeks now, he had been privately swooning to thoughts of Luigi strolling through the lush gardens of the palace, clad in silk and velvet that swished at his feet with every step, a crown of matching roses in the place of his favorite hat. He was one step closer to bringing that image into reality, and that was worth all the gold in the world.

And yet the reassurance didn’t seem to quell any of Luigi’s worries — in fact, he only looked more stressed, more uncertain. He stared awfully hard at some spot on the table that Peasley couldn’t see, and his fingers had gone rigid in Peasley’s hold, and— was he… trembling?

Dread blossomed in Peasley’s gut. Had he done something wrong?

“Luigi.” His opposite hand reached out to touch his face, offer comfort, but he stopped himself. Right. He typically preferred not to be touched when he was like this. “Luigi, my darling, what’s wrong?”

For a long moment, Luigi didn’t respond. And so Peasley waited, patient, ready to offer whatever words of comfort he needed.

“I can’t wear a dress,” Luigi finally said. It wasn’t a bashful excuse. It was a lament.

Confusion clouded Peasley’s rationale. Normally, he would drop the topic, see to Luigi’s well-being, and then ask questions when his beloved was in comfortable night clothes with a mug of hot chocolate in the privacy of their chambers. But that deadly mix of confusion and curiosity compelled him to squeeze his hand and ask, “Whyever not?”

At that, Luigi shook his head. “It’s so silly.” He cast a rueful smile to the side, but he did squeeze Peasley’s hand back, so that was progress, at least.

“‘Silly,’” Peasley said, scooting his chair in as far as it would go without crushing his midsection, “is Desi showing up drunk to Chori’s beanceañera on last night’s episode of The Mung and the Restless. What’s not silly is anything that causes you distress.”

Luigi laughed at that, quietly, but genuinely, and his eyes briefly met Peasley’s. They still sparkled, but with something new, something much more melancholy.

“It’s… it’s kind of a holdover, I guess.” He looked back down as he turned Peasley’s hand over, gloved thumb tracing aimlessly over his palm. “From my old world.”

“From Bruck-Len?” Peasley confirmed, watching Luigi’s thumb travel its idle path. “Did something happen there?”

Luigi set his lips into a thin line, and a short but not uncomfortable silence fell over them while he gathered the words he needed. “Nothing one-off, it was more… In Brooklyn, you couldn’t… guys really couldn’t wear those sorts of clothes, you know? If you do, you get made fun of, called names, roughed around, ‘cause you’re not, you know, not a real man.”

Peasley blinked, looking back up. Luigi didn’t meet his gaze.

The quality of one’s character based on the fabric they clad themselves in. The notion made little sense to Peasley.

“Well, what constitutes a ‘real man’?” he wondered aloud. Surely it wasn’t really something so inane as what clothes a man might wear. He, for example, was about as manly a man as they came — he was powerful, intelligent, skilled in combat, exceedingly good-looking — and yet he wore tunics while attending to political affairs or missions and Luigi’s oversized shirts at night, all dresses in all but name.

Yes, he knew well the typical fashion norms and how they differed between men, women, and those who lay in another plane of identity altogether, but never had he heard of such controversy in response to those norms being altered.

Luigi, his beautiful and equally manly Luigi, shrugged in response. “Someone more… rugged, I guess? Definitely not someone who wears a dress. And real simple clothes aren't enough either, oh no. Gotta be macho, hot-headed, tough, athletic, ready to throw down at the drop of a hat…”

“...perhaps with unkempt hair, lighter overalls, a red shirt, maybe?” Peasley guessed, half-joking. And to his delight, that got another laugh out of Luigi, a much lighter, heartfelt laugh.

“Oh, no,” he said, “even Mario wasn’t man enough half the time!”

“Really? But he fits your description perfectly!”

“Yeah, but he had one liiiiiitle tiny problem: he supported me.” Luigi’s smile diminished again, not into a full frown, but his eyes seemed distant, wistful. “He was the only one I could really be comfortable around, you know? He hates shopping, but he’d always take me to the mall during sales because he knew I didn’t have the nerve to go without him. Sometimes he’d buy whatever I bought in his size and wear it out with me, and then he’d act like a goof so everyone stared at him and not me. Those were the only times I ever got to feel… well, good about wearing girly clothes.”

A feeling like warm nostalgia creeped into Peasley’s chest. Yes, he could picture it well: a shorter, smoother-faced Luigi, in the light fashions of city youth, perhaps a simple skirt and blouse. His matching elder twin, striding alongside him with twice the confidence and none of the elegance, going out of his way to make his gait as clumsy as possible with the biggest smile on his face.

Luigi smiling too, a younger and shyer smile, a boy becoming comfortable in his own skin, in the clothes he felt suited him best.

How could anyone envision such a sight, much less witness it for themselves, and not be besotted? How could anyone see that and mock him?

Peasley’s left hand moved to his opposite side, and he realized with a start that he was instinctively going for his rapier. But his rapier was back at the castle, and the threats which his beloved recounted were all in the past, unchallengeable, unchangeable. Something about that thought left a bitter taste in his throat.

“But I… still got the worst of it,” Luigi continued, and a heavy emotion like woe dimmed his features. “Mario, no one really cared what he did. He was a normal kid where I wasn’t involved. But me? No, I had enough going against me! You take a boy that likes other boys and wearing dresses, and you get…” He cleared his throat. “You get Mario getting grounded a lot. I think he’d beat up like, six different kids by the time we got out of high school?”

The bitterness in Peasley’s throat eased, and he washed the last of it away with a swig of his chuckoccino. He would have to give his gratitude to the elder brother next they met. He hoped little had remained of those vile perpetrators when he was done with them.

Luigi sighed heavily, leaning his cheek into his free hand. “Sooooo… yeah. Wearing dresses still scares me I guess. It shouldn’t, not anymore, I know that, but…”

But you’ve been scared your whole life, haven’t you?

An ache resonated deeply within Peasley, a hurt the likes he hadn’t felt since his favorite character’s untimely death in Days of Our Limas.

“Oh, my love…” He finally gave in; he couldn’t help reaching forward to stroke Luigi’s face where his hand didn’t obscure it, and the ache lifted slightly when Luigi relaxed against his touch. His sad eyes grew warm, and Peasley could feel the blood rising beneath his skin. So warm, and so responsive… “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring up such distressing memories.”

Luigi lifted his head, just enough so that Peasley could cup his cheek. He graced Peasley with a smile so gentle and trusting and grateful that Peasley was sure he could drop dead on the spot from the crushing weight of affection alone.

“Honestly? It felt kinda nice to talk about it. Finally off my chest, you know?” Luigi’s right hand pressed Peasley’s palm deeper against his skin, and for a moment, he said nothing else. But his gaze caught some grounded nothing, and the corners of his mustache twitched, and was he blushing? Yes, he was absolutely blushing, a gorgeous scarlet growing in intensity against Peasley’s touch. “Kinda makes me feel like, uh... l-like it's... time to try again?” he finally found the nerve to say, quietly, but steadily.

Peasley, sagacious as he was, knew that this was his cue. Oh, his brave darling! He would gladly meet such bravery halfway.

“Then— then will you accompany me to that boutique across the street?” His eyes flickered briefly to their conjoined hands as he laced their fingers together once more, his right and Luigi’s left. This whole time, in one form or another, they’d remained connected. Truly like lock and key. “Will you choose a lovely gown and wear it for me, my dear?”

That luminescent shade of red burned hotter still, and as much as Peasley normally enjoyed such a sight, he considered backing down this time, truly considered it. But Luigi nodded, pulling Peasley’s hand towards himself. “As you wish,” he said, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Peasley could feel his lips curl into the smallest of grins. “Mio principe.”

~~~

It took a week, several trips to a handful of the kingdom’s finest shops, and many hours of compliments and sugary-sweet assurances, but by the time the Edamame Extravaganza rolled around and two very important guests arrived at the palace, Luigi stepped out to greet his brother clad in gentle slopes of deep green and gold, a simple but elegant gown that only served to make the handsome prince that much lovelier still.

Mario’s first reaction was shock, followed by what Peasley could best assign as glee. The words the twins exchanged in their native tongue flew by too quickly for him to catch anything of substance (he was, though he would never admit it, a bit slow in learning the language), but the gestures and laughter and the way Mario clapped as Luigi twirled to demonstrate the gown’s billowing skirt told him everything he needed to know: the elder sibling’s taste wasn’t as benighted as he’d feared it might be.

But most importantly, Luigi, his Luigi, was beaming. He was no towering monolith of self-confidence, but he held his head a little higher, and he walked with a sort of grace Peasley hadn’t seen from him before, and the golden embellishments of his attire looked comparatively dull next to the sheer joy that radiated from his countenance.

How much more brightly would he beam tonight, Peasley wondered, when he revealed he’d purchased every single gown Luigi had tried on during their venture, all thirty-seven of them? Surely he would outshine the sun itself.

“You’re going to send him to the hospital,” Peach sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as they stepped away to let the brothers chat. “If he was worried about how expensive a single dress is…”

“I already assured him I wouldn’t do anything I couldn’t afford.”

“I’m surprised you could afford that.”

Peasley tapped his temple in response. “Pragmatism, dear,” he teased. The humble Mushroom Queen was above using her title and benevolent reputation to obtain favors from her citizens. Peasley was not.

Peach shook her head and sighed again, but she couldn’t disguise the fond grin that found its way onto her face.

Turning to watch the brothers once more, Peasley followed suit.

Luigi was the rare sort who possessed no unflattering angles; he looked just as good in a gown as he did in overalls as he did in nothing at all. But he was most beautiful, Peasley decided, when he was unabashedly himself, when he lost sight of the eyes that followed him and simply let himself be, with no pretense — in those rare instances, he could finally see himself the way Peasley saw him.

Showering him in fine clothing and helping him overcome an old emotional wound wouldn’t miraculously dissolve all of his insecurities. But if it helped even the slightest bit, then that was worth all the gold in the world.

#I love writing peasley's pov because it gives me the excuse to be as flowery and excessive as I like #and y'all know I love being excessive!#I'd spent a good year writing ares/lucas fics for rf5 before writing this one so that perspective came easily #because lucas has the same mannerisms and speech patterns and - it was MEANT to be!#so I. REALLY should do that again sometime. peasley pov is so fun oh my God #super mario bros #smb #luigi #prince peasley #luigi x peasley #luisley #mario and luigi #m&l rpgs #superstar saga #peaches' fancy fics

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