Ritual
Marshmello: Ritual (feat. Wrabel)
Bowser admits he's never one to follow a guided plan. No matter how insistent and nagging Kamek became about maintaining a strict and tight schedule when Bowser officially became an adult—and no longer could use his age as an excuse; Bowser had scoffed at the thought.
A king following a schedule? He was king! The kingdom should bend the knee and bow to him. The naïveté and self-assurance he flaunted as a new adult ready to tackle the world makes Bowser flush brighter than his fiery mane out of embarrassment.
He had tossed the very idea of carrying around a physical planner—like some sort of soccer mom too into the sports she drives her kids to—literally out his window. He watched with a satisfied grin on his confident face as the lava consumed all of Kamek's hard work.
The mage furiously squawked out obscenities Bowser never thought Kamek even knew, pelting them at him until Kamek decided it wasn't enough and left with a giant sigh so massive he nearly brought the castle down with him.
Kamek is stubborn—the planner thing only made him more resilient—and he took a jackhammer to Bowser's head, drilling the very thought of perfect punctuatiality into it until—like a headache you can't ignore—Bowser slowly caved and got himself together. Kinda. If anyone asked on a scale from one to ten on how good he was at following his schedule, Bowser could only reply with a swaying hand—the universal sign of so-so.
This, though. This was something he stuck to. Something easy to morph into a nightly ritual since he enjoyed the little surprises every night.
Whereas filing paperwork until his hands cramped up, listening to unsolvable issues where neither party is ever satisfied, and maintaining his control over the border were stale chores—he'd even go as far as calling it mundane because nothing had changed much Kingdom wise since his eighteenth birthday over two years ago.
At first, Bowser figured space was a necessary concept to keep when it came to raising the children, but the longer their stay; the longer Bowser found he couldn't be a spectator anymore. Attached to them so quickly like an excitable child and their rambunctious new puppy, he found himself wishing them all sweet dreams every night even if half of them huffed and acted contemptuously.
It took a few months for the more stubborn children—specifically Roy, Iggy, and Wendy—to acknowledge Bowser at all. He remembers the day he started checking on them before bed; Iggy's threatening snarl warning him to not cross the line into his room and Roy's cool indifference barely vieling his irritation as he pretended to be too exhausted to care. Wendy chose the less inconspicuous option of pretending to already be asleep whenever he popped his head into her room.
Progress and patience go hand in hand—something Kamek preached to Bowser since he was small with a head too big for his body. Eventually, the reluctance from Wendy, Larry, and Morton disappeared, the awkward tension from Ludwig and Lemmy dispersed, and the acrimony from Bowser's biggest challenges lessened to something more along the lines of mock annoyance.
Junior is successfully asleep, snoozing safely in his crib as a music box—one of Ludwig's brilliant suggestions—chimes a sweet, twinkling melody. It had been Ludwig's polite way of telling Bowser without really telling him that his humming was physically hurting his musically sensitive ear holes and he needed to either get professional help or to stop all together.
The music box quickly became the savior for bedtime and naps and Junior preferred it to his father's horrible off-key and pitchy tunes. Bowser cannot deny even he feels a sense of serenity as the music box plays it's familiar tune.
With part one of Bowser's routine accomplished, he makes his way out the door. Briefly, his gaze strays to the baby monitor to ensure it's on. The small red light beams at him—yep, it's definitely on and waiting to broadcast his son's crying fit.
Satisfied, Bowser tiptoes away. Though his deplorable—if not humorous—attempts at making a silent getaway combust in his face. He may as well be a parade of tap dancers as his claws scrap against the cobblestone.
He winces sharply at each loud scratch he makes just to get as far from Junior's door as he can, deciding then he really needs to invest in some sort of carpeting or nail clippers if he wants to be stealthy with his retreats. Miraculously, Junior remains asleep as Bowser heads off in the opposite direction of his own bedroom towards the west wing.
The transformation of the cold and silent west wing rumored to be filled with ghosts of guests that never left—the Boos had a field day with those rumors—to the lively and oftentimes, headache inducing sounds is almost inconceivable.
Whether it's the cacophony of fast steps and threatening shouts or the chimes of laughter mixed in with the classical music pouring from Ludwig's open bedroom; the west wing's atmosphere changes daily and the reluctance from his minions to visit the halls alone due to superstition was chased away by the children occupying it.
Bowser recalls a time when the somberness radiating off the children polluted the halls with air so depressive it threatened to swallow any unlucky servant whole.
The spooky rumors passed amongst his staff lost momentum, replaced with a combination of confusion and sympathy. Confusion at wondering where Bowser's head went when taking in a bunch of kids and sympathy for the young children losing their parents to tragedy.
The children were more secluded then. Never straying far from their rooms unless for food or Kamek's lessons. They whispered secrets, hid their cries in their tear-stained pillows, muffled their shouts from nightmares behind their hands like they were afraid of Bowser's reaction to being so broken.
Bowser cannot say he doesn't enjoy the chaos more. He prefers it over the rotting air of grievances gnawing on his insides—specifically at his heart and mind. He had feared it would plunge him into insanity if he suffocated in it any longer.
Oh, how far they've all come since their first few months here. Now, they're slowly approaching a year of living under his roof. They've celebrated three birthdays together, witnessed Wendy losing her first tooth, and cheered when Junior learned to walk.
In a couple months, Junior may start talking. He's on the brink of forming words, though it's still merely gibberish that sounds vaguely of something along the lines of English. Iggy and Lemmy are adamantly attempting to make Junior's first word either one of their own names or the more humorous choice of "boom!" before Junior learns how to pronounce the words "papa" or "dada."
Bowser doubts they'll win that race—he practices those specific words with his son in secret. He will win this undeclared challenge between him and those devious little demons. Though, if Junior's first word ends up being boom, Bowser can't deny that it would be totally hilarious and entirely too fitting for the disastrous family he's stuck with.
Bowser's first stop of the night before he heads to the comfort of his own bed is Ludwig. Unsurprisingly, the eldest is already neatly tucked in his luxurious bed, hair and teeth brushed, and an open book in his hands; always a conscientious child even for something as mundane as following bedtime protocol.
Bowser feels a quick nip of shame sink into his conscience, settling cozily amongst his other self-depreciation he pretends doesn't exist. He can't help but compare his lack of planning or retaining a basic schedule to that of a ten-year-old. He's being easily outdone by a child and Bowser's the adult here—shouldn't it be the opposite?
Ludwig's eyes snap towards his door as it releases a small squeak. Bowser steps partly inside, a hand on the door knowing the first child is his quickest stop and he isn't planning on hovering here for long. Ludwig offers him a brief flash of a smile before dropping his gaze back to the book.
"I'll go to bed as soon as I finish this chapter," he advises him almost sternly, turning the page loudly to signify its importance. He throws all his attention back into the book, acting as if it's detrimental to his mental health that he finishes this chapter tonight.
Although Ludwig promises he'll sleep, Bowser fondly remembers the last time the child read a particularly interesting mystery novel—a suggestion he received from one of the servants who frequented the library. Ludwig had spent all night reading the book just to finish it by morning.
The next day, he looked almost haunted, dragging himself to breakfast with a dead look in his eyes. Iggy's barrage of teasing and prodding failed to draw out any reaction from his eldest brother as he sat dismally in his seat, unmoving. It wasn't until Roy roughly questioned what was wrong with him while waving a frantic hand in his face that Ludwig returned to the land of the living.
Ludwig mumbled something about the story's unanswered ending and lack of explanation to the mystery; wondering aloud whether there was a sequel in the works or if the author thought the book was finished. He went on and on under his breath, repeating harsh diatribes, gaze glossed over and unfocused as he grasped desperately at his hair.
As soon as breakfast was set in front of Ludwig, he figured the pancakes looked as soft as pillows and proceeded to fall asleep on them. Drool replaced the syrup he had yet to dump onto his stack and his siblings laughed at their usually so put together big brother snoring on his breakfast.
"Okay, Ludwig. Just don't go too far. I don't want you passing out at breakfast again," Bowser reminds him, cheekily.
Ludwig's cheeks flush, seemingly glowing under the dim light on his night stand. He raises the book slightly higher to hide his face.
"T-that was only one time," he uncharacteristically sputters like he's gasping for air. He clears his throat. "I-it won't ever happen again."
Bowser laughs, bids him 'good night' then heads down to Ludwig's neighbor's door.
Next is Lemmy. The door, Bowser notes, is purposely cracked open and his light is still on, filtering rays into the hallway. Bowser knows it's an unspoken invitation for any of his siblings to seek him out if need be because he's always ready to entertain or offer comfort whenever someone needs it.
Bowser peeks in to find Lemmy sprawled out on his bed, completely passed out.
Bowser smiles, slowly approaching the bed with small steps. He lifts the practically weightless child, cradling him in one arm as he pulls open the covers. He settles Lemmy onto the silk sheets, his tiny head resting firmly on his pillow. The child momentarily squirms, gripping his pillow and drawing it to him then stills.
Bowser's eyes catch something peculiar as he grabs for the comforter; there's a purple bruise on Lemmy's leg. With someone as energetic as Lemmy there's numerous ways he could have received one as large of this.
Bowser's eyes worriedly flicker over the rest of his small body, accessing for more possible damage. He spots a few more tiny splotches of fading purple turning into yellowish dots on the child's legs, but nothing as extreme as the one below his right knee.
Part of Bowser wants to run to Kamek and immediately soothe the kid's wound, but he knows Lemmy is the type of kid to grin and bear it. He acts as if they're battle scars and proudly brandishes them with a smile on his face and a story to tell behind it.
Bowser should ask him how he got this one—maybe from cartwheeling around outside or from practicing balancing on the ball he recently got from him. Bowser mentally adds it to his list of things to do tomorrow.
Bowser pulls the comforter over Lemmy's small body and flicks off the light switch. He casts the child a fleeting glance, chest inexplicably warm. Cliché nothings he'd never recite aloud drift through his mind as he watches Lemmy sleep peacefully.
Bowser wonders why he grows so sentimental at night like he's a poet writing sonnets shrouded under the dim glow of the moonlight, quill furiously scribbling away at the parchment. He snorts at the glorified simile, then presses on.
Roy, Bowser finds, is already in bed like Ludwig, resting his back against the headboard. Although he's not alone and Morton is snuggled beside him already passed out for the night, snoring lightly.
Bowser cannot help the grin from pulling on the corners of his mouth as Roy sulks, angrily staring down at his brother like the intensity alone will wake him up and scare him off.
"Stuck with Morton tonight?" Bowser inquires teasingly. Roy groans, falling into his pillows and jostling Morton who pays the motion no mind at all.
"Yeah," Roy mopes, furiously crossing his arms over his chest, glaring hard at the ceiling above him. "When do you think he'll finally sleep in his own bed? This ain't cute anymore."
Bowser chuckles. "He slept by himself three days in a row this week; give him some credit. Baby steps, Roy. We'll get there eventually."
"You only say that because you're not the one sharing the bed," Roy retorts without any real fire behind his words. They're merely cinders in a dying campfire doomed to burn out eventually—most of Roy's voiced complaints are.
"I can carry him back to his room," Bowser offers, more than happy to oblige. Though he already knows the answer before Roy says it.
Roy may act like it's an inconvenience, but that's further from the case because on numerous occasions Bowser's found Roy's arms wrapped securely around Morton whenever Bowser experiences these random bouts of urges to check up on them in the middle of the night when his mind is restless.
Roy grips Morton so close and tightly, it's as if he hopes it'll shield Morton from falling victim to his nightmares. It's endearing to witness Roy's unguarded side of him.
"No, it's whatever." Roy grabs his blanket, pulling it over his face like he's donning a mask of irritation, relenting to his brother's clingy habits with a sigh. A hand snakes from under the covers and clicks off the light. "Night, Bowser."
Just as Bowser predicted; Morton remains with his protective big brother. He shuts the door with a soft click then presses on.
Iggy's door is open wide, light bleeding into the hallway like a lighthouse guiding ships towards its shores and Bowser follows. Then, unexpectedly, he stops outside the door, standing in the middle of the hallway, watching the child's figure sitting at his desk.
Despite their friendly interactions and budding friendship, Bowser is afraid one day all that will disappear and Iggy will shut down again. He shares those same fears when it comes to Roy, but not as predominant. He understands Roy better than he understands Iggy. It's like comparing a light novel to a glorified textbook.
A Goomba soldier scurries by dragging Bowser away from his thoughts. The soldier mumbles an apology as he slips past his king's large mass and down the hall, footsteps tiny taps on the stone. Bowser decides he's wasting time out here as a silent barricade to his busy nighttime staff. He steps bravely into the light.
Iggy sits at his desk, screwdriver in hand as he turns a monster truck toy in the other examining it attentively. The remote control of the truck sits on the desk right under the nifty desk lamp he snatched from the library months ago, various wires strewn about like colorful balls of twine are set next to the controller, and—what Bowser assumes are new—is a set of batteries patiently waiting to be of use as they lay beside the lamp to keep them from rolling off the flat surface.
The floor creaks under Bowser's weight and he curses this dingy old castle's need to announce his presence whenever he wishes to go unnoticed. Iggy's deep concentration snaps—Bowser can hear it louder than the groaning floorboards. Iggy pauses momentarily, blinks, then returns to his task.
"Hey, Bowser," Iggy greets, not looking up from his work to verify if his guess is correct. He already knows the answer. "Come to read me a story and tuck me in?"
The unexplainable hesitation that overwhelmed Bowser moments ago outside his room vanishes with Iggy's sarcastic remark. He wants to play a round of their word game it seems. Well, Bowser's never backed down from a challenge.
Bowser puckers his lips. "No, I came to kiss you good night."
Iggy makes a face, directing his disgust at Bowser though his recovery time is impeccable. A smug grin quickly takes its place. "Pass on the kiss. I think it'd have the reverse effect. I can't guarantee I won't throw up."
"Damn," Bowser dramatically utters, running his hand through his hair and gazing up at the ceiling like he's watching all his disappointment collecting up there. "And I just stole some bubblegum lip gloss from Wendy too."
Iggy snorts, causing a puff of smoke to disperse from his nostrils. "She'd kill you."
They both laugh, an unspoken truce is made and a calm silence fills the room. Iggy continues to turn the truck in his hand, screwdriver confidently plunging into the wired mess it's underbelly has become. Bowser takes another step closer, examining Iggy's work.
The poor truck has seen better days, dented in various places and in desperate need of a new paint job. If he recalls, this is Wendy's favorite remote control monster truck out of the bunch.
"Whadda working on now? Fixing another toy because of Larry?" he asks.
Iggy loudly sets down the monster truck. It draws out a barely perceptible wince from Bowser. Iggy's fixation on playing the resident mechanic is replaced by exasperation only a sibling at their breaking point could display. He frowns deeply, gripping his screwdriver hard.
"Larry's so destructive when he plays with his toys. You'd think they insulted him or something, but—this time—it was your brat." Iggy spins in his chair to face him head on, accusingly pointing the tip of the screwdriver at Bowser like he's blaming him for having such a sprightly kid. Iggy throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Junior nearly tore Wendy's monster truck in half. Now I gotta fix it. Again."
Bowser shrugs pathetically, his smile the very definition of apologetic. He's unable to respond under Iggy's glowering because Junior's catastrophic behavior is somewhat his fault. They share the same genetics and from the stories Kamek's told them at the dinner table as Bowser begged him to stop airing out his dirty laundry in front of the children; he was a little nightmare too.
Iggy sighs, sifting a hand through his rainbow hair and adjusts his glasses falling down his nose. He swivels back towards the metallic red truck decorated with blue flames, spins the screwdriver in his hands for fun—where did he learn that trick from?—then returns to his work.
"Larry and Junior are gonna tire me out. I should start charging them a fee," Iggy jeers as he pops off the shell of the truck, exposing the tangled wires in disarray inside. He casts a glance over to Bowser. "And since they're too young to make any money; I'll send the bill to you."
Ah, now Bowser sees where this is going. He really fell into a trap here. If he wore pants; his pockets would feel lighter, coins whimpering.
"How much we talkin' here?" he questions with slight hesitation, fearing the answer. With Iggy, he isn't certain if this is a joke or if he's being serious.
He supposes that's the problem with Iggy's nonchalance and inability to take any situation sincerely without tossing in a bit of sarcasm to watch the world burn.
Iggy taps his screwdriver against his chin, pondering. "A huge slice of double chocolate cake with a scoop of ice cream."
Bowser nods, easily accepting the terms Iggy's presented to him in. "You got it."
He supposes now is the perfect opportunity to make a break for it before Iggy reels more promises out of him that Bowser will feel he's inclined to keep. He can hear his stash of coins crying in his mind, pleading with him to retreat now since he got lucky this time.
Bowser heeds their advice and scurries away, stopping outside the door and turning around.
"Don't stay up too late," he warns. "Pancakes aren't made to be used as pillows and I don't want you joining that club with Ludwig."
Iggy snorts loudly, not expecting Bowser's joke garnished with a dash of sincerity to really send it home. Iggy swallows his snickers and rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm almost done." Iggy frantically waves a hand at him like he hopes the draft will blow Bowser right out of the room, shooing him away. "You should worry about yourself instead, old man. It's way past your bedtime."
With that Bowser takes his leave, closing the door behind him. His next stop is Wendy. This one takes up a bit more time than the others. With that in mind, he picks up the pace.
He opens her door to find her sitting on her bed, a familiar book in her hands. Her ribbon is neatly placed on her vanity beside her growing collection of accessories. Which is partially—all—his fault.
Whenever Bowser's out, wandering the bustling castle town just to get out of his stuffy castle and check up on his citizens, something always catches his eye in the window, and he stops debating internally whether Wendy would like it or not.
He's heard window shopping is a hobby a lot of people fall victim to, but the whole point of such a time consuming hobby is to admire and daydream of what you can't have. Bowser, on the other hand, punts that stodgy thought off the closest figurative cliff, and rushes inside the store to buy it.
His compulsive spending is starting to warrant frigid glares of disappointment from Kamek—he expects a speech from his advisor on the importance of money any day now.
But how can Bowser say no to those cute little smiles of delight whenever Wendy opens the bag to her newest accessory?
When Wendy sees him enter her room; she beams, eagerly scooting over on her bed and patting the spot next to her. He grins knowingly back, taking his usual seat beside her.
She coaxes the book into his hands without a word and he opens it up to the page they left off on last night. He clears his throat loudly, feigning a huge coughing fit to draw out some giggles from her then begins to read.
She grabs his arm as he reads, her soft cheek rubbing against his scales as she peers down at the dark font, lips moving as she sounds out the words. She's following along to the best of her abilities while admiring the pretty drawings. Her reading is getting remarkably better and better with the combined effort of Kamek and Ludwig.
Still, she prefers someone else to do the reading for her. It's easier for her to close her eyes and daydream the scenarios in her head or ask questions when she doesn't understand the hero's motives because she's at the age where morals are still a two-sided coin with no middle ground. To her, there's only good or evil and the world is simply sorted into those two categories.
Bowser doesn't mind becoming her own personal story teller. Unfortunately, he's never been one to sprinkle in the bright spark she craves from listening to bedtime stories. Unlike Lemmy, who's cheerful tenor is crafted specifically for stories; Bowser's deep timbre and natural guttural growl attached to his every word isn't as appealing to listen to.
Wendy is persistent, not deterred by his inexperience. There are times when she grows frustrated with him, pouting and defiantly crossing her arms as she speaks her mind. Though, the irritation never lasts long and she chooses to coach Bowser into getting it right instead of denying all his efforts. So far, none of her plans have worked much in her favor.
Bowser admits part of the reason he's showing little improvement is because he's embarrassed at the thought of being caught using silly voices by someone like Kamek or one of his high-ranking soldiers. His face grows hot at the mere thought.
Eventually, Bowser hopes to rid himself of that stupid burn of shame because he should be able to read the kid a damn story without feeling like he should be ashamed of acting like—well, a father. Maybe Wendy's plans will help hammer away at Bowser's pride. When his son is at her age, he hopes to be a storytelling pro his son can be proud of.
Wendy's newest idea forcefully involves Bowser reading a few pages every night. When he's finished, she dumps her coarse constructive criticism on him like buckets of ice water until he finally gets the knack for exciting bedtime stories. Kids at her age are brutally honest—if not too honest.
"How was that?" he asks after reading the six pages promised to her. He slips the bookmark inside and closes it with bravado. For some reason, he's feeling a bit cocky tonight.
His princess voice is still scratchy and his princely tone could use more work, but it's better than what they were stuck with a week ago; a stuttering, monotonous mess.
Wendy hums, taping a finger to her chin much like Iggy does to stall for time. Although whether her purpose is to collect her thoughts or to create some sort of suspense, Bowser cannot say with certainty.
With Iggy, his thoughts are always quick and he's ready to relentlessly fire back snark. The delays and lulls he creates in conversations are unnecessary—he enjoys watching others squirm in the festering silence as the unlucky party prepares for the inevitable. Bowser dreads the thought of Wendy inheriting such a cunning habit from her older brother.
"It's better," she says at last. She wrinkles her nose like it itches. "But it's still bad. You have to put your heart into it like Lemmy does."
Bowser snorts. "I don't think anyone can compete with your brother; he could read the ingredients list for pizza and make it sound interesting."
"Practice makes perfect." Her tone is light and sugary like the first bite of a chocolate bar, but coated with a layer of mockery. Her voice is almost sweet enough for Bowser to forget he's receiving a pep-talk/scolding from a five-year-old. He laughs at his own inabilities and shortcomings, patting her head affectionately.
"Maybe tomorrow I'll get it right."
She nods furiously, crawling under the blankets as Bowser gets up to set the book on her tiny bookshelf overflowing with her assortment of fantasy stories. She smiles her unvoiced appreciation at him while he adjusts the blanket on her bed for her.
Then her smile drops, her bottom lip juts out while her beautiful blue eyes stare meekly up at him. The gentle orange glow of her light shifting in those eyes only enhances the charm.
"I heard you promised Iggy cake; does that mean I get a slice too?" She taps her perfectly pink claws together, playing the cute card. And Bowser falls for it because being around this little girl awakened some overwhelming paternal desire inside him to protect her from the outside world.
"Of course, we can't have the self-proclaimed Princess of Sugar eating lame vegetables all the time." Bowser pokes her round cheeks a few times like Roy always does to pull a smile out of her.
She giggles, nodding enthusiastically in agreement, lightly pushing his hand away.
It's hard to believe how far he's come with Wendy. If Roy and Iggy were a challenging hurdle to jump then Wendy was a tricky walk to climb. He never knew what ledge to jump to next and sometimes he'd end up back at the bottom with a sore rear end, staring at the top of the cliff just out of his reach.
Bowser's lack of understanding came from the fact he never knew how to approach her. He had never dealt with the complexity of raising a little girl before. She teetered between enjoying being treated like one of the boys to exclaiming boldly she hated being the only sister in the pack and throwing tantrums because of it.
It didn't help that Roy and Iggy made sure Bowser kept himself five feet apart from her in the beginning because they were just that protective over her well-being.
Bowser's faced Roy's wrath on numerous occasions so it was expected when Bowser attempted to warm up to them, but he had never witnessed Iggy display his brotherly instincts so severely and upfront before until Bowser attempted to ask Wendy a simple question about her favorite color.
Unlike the other two brothers—who were forward with their dislike; Wendy preferred to pretend Bowser didn't exist unless she needed something from him.
If Bowser asked her a question, she would turn her head to one of her big brothers always towering behind her seeking permission before she answered back with a bite to her tone matching the same hostility levels as Roy and Iggy.
Like every impressionable child, Wendy's attitude problem was never the case when she was in the presence of Lemmy or Ludwig—who's acceptance of Bowser butting into their personal lives rubbed off on her.
When Iggy and Roy's anger began to wane, Wendy's all but faded from existence. What took its place was a little girl uncertain on how to react to Bowser without outside influences pointing her in the right direction. She found her way eventually, choosing to give Bowser a chance before deciding for herself.
Now, Wendy is asking Bowser for bedtime stories and spilling every dirty little secret she knows about her brothers—he wouldn't have it any other way.
Wendy yawns widely, rubbing her face against her clean sheets smelling vaguely of their rose-scented laundry detergent. She hugs her pillow, sparing him a sleepy glance.
"Night, Bowser."
"Good night, Wendy."
He pulls the cord of her light off, stumbles through the dark and to the door. He closes her door quietly, promising himself he'll do better at story time tomorrow if only to appease her.
Bowser's final stop of the night is one of his favorite nightly visits. He won't admit his favoritism out loud—unless he plans to start a revolt amongst the children and see where it goes. He rolls his eyes at the immoral thought because now his twisted brain is deciding the winner to his made-up scenario.
Unconsciously, his steps quicken and he passes by Morton's dark and unoccupied room. He reaches the end of the hall just before the bathroom, skipping to a halt,
The door of the final room is sealed shut and eerily creaks as Bowser opens it. He peers inside to find the air chillingly still and the room empty. Or so he thinks. He searches behind the door for the littlest child, then in the armoire since he's found the sneaky little Koopa inside there before.
Bowser scans the room; the curtains are drawn shut but lag too flat against the wall to be hiding a child. His eyes settle on the neatly made bed, strangely untouched. He ponders whether the lumps under the covers are pillows or the child in question. He slowly approaches it, prepared to pull them back when a tiny hand grabs at his ankle from under the bed.
Bowser won't admit he shrieks insanely loud. He places a claw over his beating heart, waiting for it to fall into its usual rhythm. He shoves down his embarrassment with the red flush threatening to overtake his face. He hopes none of the other children heard him.
Larry giggles, wiggling out from under the bed. He latches onto Bowser's leg like a vice and Bowser immediately picks him up, forgiving his devious behavior the moment his eyes meet Larry's.
"Got you again," Larry sing-songs, poking Bowser's nose with his little claw. It's a gesture his siblings do to get the other to laugh and it has the same effect on Bowser. He chuckles despite himself.
"Yeah, you got me."
"Bowser is bad at hide and seek," Larry mercilessly mocks, then his words devolve into more giggles when Bowser tickles his sides just to wipe that smug expression off the toddler's face.
"You almost gave me a heart attack," he scolds playfully, unrelenting with his tickling until Larry begs him to stop with tears in his eyes. He does stop his onslaught, satisfied by his act of revenge.
A few more snickers bubble past Larry's lips, then all his energy deflates with a huge exhale. He sinks into Bowser's warm embrace, tiny arms wrap around his neck. The child's hair is still damp from his bath and he smells faintly of lavender soap and mint.
Bowser knows he shouldn't be picking favorites—he cares for each child equally—but Larry is too damn cute to not spoil or shower with affection sometimes. He knows when Junior is this age, Bowser is doomed to repeat history.
"Ready for bed?" he asks, bouncing the toddler in his arms.
"Yep." Larry yawns exaggeratingly, then burrows his face into the crook of Bower's neck, smearing his wet hair across Bowser's right cheek. "Very sleepy."
Bowser grins, patting his shell. "Alright, let's get you tucked in then."
He repeats the same process as he did for Lemmy; yanking away the covers and ruining the maid's hard work for the day. Larry is set down on his sheets, staring up at Bowser with drooping eyelids.
Bowser makes tucking Larry into bed an entertaining affair. He pretends to struggle with the heavy weight of the child's blankets, trying to pull them over Larry with animated facial expressions and loud huffs.
Larry giggles, assisting him with covering him and sinks into the warmth. When the deed is done and Larry is successfully cocooned, Bowser pretends to wipe away the imaginary sweat off his forehead and thanks Larry for his help with a mock salute.
Larry's laughter dies down and Bowser leans over him with a smile he rarely displays in public. He keeps such gentle acts hidden for only worthy Koopas to witness like his son and these children he's fond of. He pinches a pudgy cheek, unable to resist and the rewarding grin he gets makes it all worthwhile.
"Good night, Larry."
Half-lidded blue eyes peek up at Bowser, dancing in the soft glow like a beacon, pulling any sorry sap in. If he asked Bowser for the key to the kingdom Bowser wouldn't have the mental capacity to say no. His heart swells, clenching tightly at the adorable sight. This kid is too damn much.
"Good night, Papa Bowser. Love you."
Bowser freezes like he physically had been struck by those six words, hand lingering on the light switch. Body half-chilled and half-warmed by the loving name; it's such a strange combination to experience, he doesn't know whether to shiver or wipe away the sweat gathering between his pulled brows.
Bowser stores away the guilt crashing against him because it's the only thing he can do. Reprimanding the child or correcting him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because what are the long-term ramifications if he chooses to deny the child this sort of affection?
Larry won't ever receive this type of parental love from his siblings and he won't remember what little he experienced from his actual parents. It's such a morbid and inescapable reminder to the child's past. It crushes down on Bowser's heavy heart like it hopes to suffocate him to death.
Yet, the unforeseeable consequences of allowing this to continue could ruin the relationships Bowser has forged from the ashes of a burned house.
His gut churns; Roy and Iggy's resentment would return in full force and Ludwig may take their side in this debate and join them. If those three were to grow hostile then Wendy would follow and poor Morton would be dragged along. Lemmy—Bowser cannot begin to guess how he'd take it—is the only wild card in place; his reaction could go either way.
Bowser would be outnumbered, despised by more than half of them while they glared at their little brother's betrayal like a traitor caught redhanded by the court.
Though, the only time Larry addresses Bowser as such is in this room, tucked away from the judgmental eyes of his siblings—their private sanctuary where no one else can hear Larry's sentimental proclamation out loud.
Despite his age and ignorance, he's never called Bowser this in the presence of his siblings like he knows the storm it'd bring with it. The torrential downpour of disapproval and resentment following his slip-up would drown them, tearing them at the seams Bowser's worked so hard to mend.
Yet, Larry has never told Bowser he loved him. No one has uttered those words and meant it besides Kamek and his mother. Bowser swallows the thickness building in his throat, loosening the tension in his body with a noisy exhale.
A gentle red gaze falls to Larry expectedly looking at him with hopeful eyes, awaiting his response. Bowser reaches over to run a hand through his little blue mop of hair, reminding Bowser briefly of Ludwig. He surmises Ludwig was probably as cute as this at Larry's age.
Bowser clears his throat, taking the plunge into the cold, uncharted waters he's never dived into before.
"Love ya too, kiddo."
And he realizes he means it. Wholeheartedly. The light flickers off and Larry's nightlight quickly gets to work. Dark blue like his eldest brother's shell cascades it's deep hue over the room and Bowser hears the bed squeak while Larry gets more comfortable.
Bowser walks to the door, leaving it up a crack just in case he has to make another visit. With everyone accounted for and checked on, Bowser makes the long trudge back up the hallway, walking past each bedroom.
He notices Iggy's room is now dark. No light seeps under the door and he's happy to find Ludwig's room in a similar state. Hopefully this means they both have taken his advice and there won't be any incidents at breakfast due to exhaustion.
Bowser hides a yawn behind a giant hand, excited by the prospect of joining them all in dreamland. Still, his mind whispers of his betrayal tonight, but he chooses to pointedly ignore the guilt swirling in his addled brain.
He can figure this all out in the morning.
Wait, you mean to tell me I updated in less than a month? Unheard of. I needed a break. I needed fluff and family garbage so I wrote this in less than two days. Of course I gotta throw something bittersweet at the end because I am incapable of writing 100% fluff.
Oh, and thanks to the people who recommended both of my fanfics on the TVTropes page for Mario. I didn't know the site really existed until someone brought it to my attention.
And thank you for the favs, follows, and reviews. I really appreciate the reviews.