Prudent footsteps flitted to and fro from either side of a kitchen, the soles of school loafers pattering boisterously upon polished marble floor tiles. Cabinets were flung open haphazardly, the boy bustling about dismissing the thought to actually partake in closing them for the sake of protecting his (probably-not-for-long) undistorted mentality (as he had crashed into them more than once in his currently pressured state).
Well, actually, he hadn’t even considered doing such a thing---the thought had escaped him until now.
…What was he doing again…?
…Was he doing Lucas? No, they weren’t gay…yet…
…
…Maybe it is best to shut them, yeah.
Shrouded by the large stack of pans he balanced with unusual ease (especially for one such as himself, whom has countlessly stumbled over his own two feet whilst daydreaming of open blue skies and baseball fields), the youth filed through the large array of cooking utensils (not particularly favoring the lack of an electric mixer, decidedly making due with a two eggbeaters), plucking the ones of the rail he needed---supposedly as the book instructed (he hadn’t glanced at the text in quite a while, honestly…).
Just as he was going to bring his baking collection to the safety of his roommate’s unnecessarily large counter, said roommate chose to make an earlier-than-expected attendance to their abode. To accentuate the laboring boy’s unlucky karma, the new presence had brought a thundering slam of the door with him (the other did not typically do so, which more so concerned the chef), startling said into breaking his concentration of (he should have thought this over more… PSI could have held it up. He wasn’t Jeff, and Jeff didn’t even have PP, so shove any of your ‘common sense’ comments down Pokey’s throat) managing all previously mentioned items. They all fell to the floor in a flurried orchestra of ‘thunks’ and ‘thwonks’, quite obviously stunning him and the other occupant.
A few moments passed, where the capped (…where was his cap, anyways? Please don’t say it’s in the mix…) boy merely gazed at the pile of metals and nonsense as if it were his friend’s father (in which, his demeanor would be pretty neutral… statue-like, really, as he was once told by his Twoson-abiding acquaintance). Circular blue and purple wisps separated from the can, their lingering contact causing sparks upon the tinny surfaces. Unintentionally, the boy had released a spout of PSI---possibly a last resort of defense before the items barraged either him or the floor. (There weren’t any dents, were there? It’s not his floor…)
A pregnant pause it was not, as the sudden disruption did not cease the unwelcomed visitor (was he really a visitor? Well, in this case, he’s imposing, so whatever degrades him… though it really isn’t the kid’s fault… He does live here, after all) whirlwind of ‘fury’ (all in all, the boy was very calm and collected---and he, being the horrible pastry-cook, new the other’s anger was very short-lived or, well, boring. Don’t tell him that, though it’s uncertain of what kind of reaction a person would have if one told them their anger was boring) as he practically drop-kicked everything with waves of psionic energy. The kitchen-stray recognized it as frustration, but more so sadness, which involuntarily stimulated a stream of positive emotion to him to the other as means of vanquishing such unfortunate emotions.
(He never liked to see that boy frown---it was unbecoming of someone with such an attractive smile that list up the whole room, etc homosexual things he already mulled over.)
“Ness!” the shoulder-bag the impeding carried (he had stayed back for puzzle club. Frankly, who—other than the mentor’s self-proclaimed apprentice—even bothered with such a thing? The professor must be a charming man, indeed… or a pedophile. Well, used to, if Luke---the earlier mentioned “apprentice”---had not grown to college years. …Now that it’s cited, why is the blue-themed adult still in this high school anyways…?) was plopped casually next to the doorway, a unceremonious shaking of the house in its wake (why is his bag always so heavy…). “Not one person told me ‘happy birthday’!”
While it pained the steak-loving male to do this—seeing as the good was making WAS for the saddened blond FOR his birthday---, he urged the other boy out of the kitchen (despite how belated it was, it seemed Lucas was all-too involved with himself at the moment to care about his mess/that loud noise from before). Grabbing a hold of the red-and-yellow clad boy’s shoulders in a mock-position of kissing, Ness swerved the Tazmilian around and directed him out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
“Out, out! I can’t have you in here right now, sorry!” was all the teen could manage before duty overwhelmed his need to converse.
Outside, Lucas was still talking.
..That was good, he guessed.
Collecting his paraphernalia with the simplicity that telekinesis granted him, Ness plucked his batter-soiled Mr. Baseball Cap out of the cake batter and plopped it on his head, once again gathering the gall to complete Lucas’s birthday cake.
“Hey, can I take this thing off, yet?”
“No. Not until I get everything just right.”
“…Does it really matter, anyways? Making it look all nice, I mean.”
“Not really, I guess.”
“Then why won’t you take the blindfold off?! I can see right through it anyways!”
“…You cannot see through it. I’m not falling for that like Claus did, Lucas.”
“…PK Shit.”
It was almost dark by the time Ness actually commenced that actual birthday celebration, but Lucas paid no heed to that as he was more entranced by the fact that Ness could cook.
“…You can cook?!” He didn’t need to look so… surprised. Or almost looking like he wanted to tip the entire table in astonishment..
Ness did not mention that was his sixth cake. The rest were green.
“Shouldn’t you be more concerned over the fact I was the only one who did something for you?”
The blond looked all too desperate for a counter to that statement. “Well, actually, my brother and father did some things for me…”
“More underwear from your dad, and condoms from your brother?” A mocking grin played the obsidian-haired boy’s lips, his tresses somewhat more unruly than usual. (Ah, there was still dough in his hair?)
Lucas didn’t say anything, glaring at his clasped hands pointedly. Enough of an answer, Ness concluded. He couldn’t help the amused chuckle that escaped his lips.
The other boy actually had a pile of “gifts from family” down in the basement, all of which he either sold on Christmas for money or used (the condoms, obviously not. As a child, Claus preferred giving Lucas bugs or their mother’s lipsticks, then switched to the long list of sexual miscellanea to help in his brother’s nonexistent endeavors around fourteen. Neither of them could comprehend just how Ninten could stand the carrot top. Claus was probably great in bed…).
“Anyways, how about you make a wish?” Ness suggested whilst lighting the sixteen candles with the fire dotting each of his calloused fingertips.
The stick-warrior gave the bat-user an indignant look, as if to argue that fact that he is much too old for youngster traditions. Nonetheless, Lucas did so, the older male’s only reaction being a curt “you see?” coupled with his trademark beam. The cowlick-donning student looked almost embarrassed at that, huffily turning away, a light roseate dusting his distinguished cheekbones appealingly.
A short few moments ticked by as Ness stood where he was, seemingly doing something, before the grin turned to a sly smile and he approached the still-put-out young man. Placing a hand atop Lucas’s somewhat feminine shoulders (it was expected; even at sixteen, the poor boy had hardly passed 5’3”---Ness being a full-fledged 5’8” and growing), observing the start of the shorter male, and leaning down to the side of his face.
Lucas tensed up considerably at that point, and while it was somewhat unproven to Ness, it seemed he was also holding his breath.
“…What did you wish for?” The indigo optics of the speaking boy trailed to meet Lucas’s own, having to move his head forward as to meet the avoiding ceruleans of the dog trainer’s.
“If I told you, if wouldn’t come true.” Ah, the old cliché.
“Luc', I can read your mind.”
He received no answer, the one in question instead moving to cross his arms defensively.
“So… can I fulfill your wish?”
Ness didn’t gain an answer that time, either, but the younger didn’t move away.
So he kissed him.
And Lucas kissed back.
Hm. Maybe eight—uh, six cakes were worth it after all.
Later that night, Lucas spent the duration of his reading time bothering Ness about the condoms in his drawer and just why, oh why, they were in his drawer and not Ness’s own.
END
Old drabble request for Nesu.
Tragedy
"Paula," Ness began, voice thickened with emotion, eyes etched with a sort of misery that made the girl's heart dance to an agonizing song. "My balls haven't dropped yet."
"..."
Fluff
"Your hair feels all fluffy like Jeff's tush, Paula."
"I don't even want to begin a conversation on why you know how fluffy his butt is."
"He has no PP. I gave him sympathy."
"Go home, Ness."
UST (It all goes into the same place, anyways..)
"Stop denying my needs, woman. I can't stand it anymore."
"I can't stand it either!"
"Then shut up and bend over, already!"
"Ness, you realize I'm only dressed up as Paula to trick you, right?"
"Yes, Lucas, and that is okay with me."
Angst
"My dog is such a wuss..," Ness mumbled to himself, drawling circles in the ground as he leaned against the pencil-shaped rock that burned with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. "Was I really that bad of an owner?"
Paula shook her head. "No, you're a bad leader all together."
Ness frowned. "Thanks, galfran. That picked me right up."
She merely smiled.
Confusion
Ness walked over to Poo, whom appeared to be eating some delicacy of his country that, to him, looked like burnt turd. Normally, he would ask Jeff questions, but Jeff was being molested by Tony right now, so he went to Poo. Even if Poo has the lowest IQ of the group, he was a very wise Asian.
"Hey, Poo," Ness began, averting the prince's attention off his feces-thing to him. "Why does Paula make my pants feel like they're dancing?"
"Because she's a girl."
"Oh, that makes sense. Why do you have the lowest IQ again?"
"...I wasn't able to learn how to read with all you crackers' getting salt in my eyes."
Fourside (A.K.A. WHY NESS KNOWS HOW FLUFFY JEFF'S BUTT IS)
Jeff stared. Ness stared back. Paula just stayed kidnapped or whatever.
"Y'know...," the Chosen One began. "I always thought you were like a mini-James Bond. I find that attractive."
"I always thought you were the most handsome/gorgeous kid ever myself, Ness," Jeff replied, unnaturally not-shy like he is described on that statue in the first Smash Bros.
So then they did things, all whilst Paula was involved so this was Ness/Paula somehow. Maybe Ness's underwear was Paula's panties. Who knows.
Romance
Ness kissed Paula on the cheek. She could not handle the intense emotions that rolled off the handsome kid from Onett, so she short-circuited. The miracle only lasted for a few moments.
"KOKORO?"
Hippies
"For my birthday, I want a hippie."
Ness stared at Paula like she grew a second head. "Why?"
Paula got a blank look, as if accusing Ness of his stupidity for not knowing the answer already. "So I can rebel against all this non-psychedelic behavior that Giygas keeps rockin' to."
"..Can he give me disco lessons?"
PSI (Insert Favorite Thing Here)
"PSI MOTHER OMEGA!"
"Why does he like his mother so much? He can't fight in battle because of her, his favorite thing is her, his favorite food is something she makes..?" Jeff whispered to Paula as Ness SMMMAAAASSSHHHED some alien device Giygas pooped out to fight them.
Paula's voice sounded like she was going through puberty, "Let's just say his father wasn't really around to tell him how to be a man. Like, one who crushes after girls his own age.."
Jeff felt a little strange...
Time-Travel
"You know, Paula, that robot body of yours is hot. I want to feel it with my soul."
"Nice try, Ness."
Most likely never finishing this.
The pain of battle is something we the people of this world, from youth whom no longer can live independently, their only power lying in others, to those truly trained for such hardships, know all too well. We grow and live fearing the loss of family members and friends, homes and careers, for we cannot control the shadow that seemingly forever looms over this dynasty, clawing mercilessly at the innocent, spreading a flame that gnaws at soles of our feet, tearing into raw bone, as we try to continue searching for the light at the end of the tunnel. The once powerful, faithful, and reliable king and queen, alongside their newborn daughter, forced from the throne, having not been seen since then.
The new ruler, one unbefitting the crown of the Holy Land, slowly covered those few glimpses of hope with a plaguing darkness that swept out even the slightest memory of happiness among the dwindling crowds. His gaze penetrates the souls that attempt to rebel for their homeland, striking them in there place as pain erupts from their heart, and their sight, everything about them still etched with defiance, slowly fades. A laugh, one so maniacal and drenched with malice, echoes throughout the castle walls and rides the wind the drifts unto the citizens, erupts from the mouth of the self-proclaimed sovereign. Even his warriors, chosen specifically to represent strength and power alone, could not help the horrified shiver that shook them to the bone.
For years, many have tried to overcome his ludicrous strength and regain peace; countless have fallen, unable to so much as scratch this man—his abilities otherworldly, much as the glint in his eyes. Soon, they withdrew all together, unable to withstand the overbearing presence of this man, succumbing to his will. The population fluctuated, their nation not once ever regaining their full beauty in this time. Supplies were scarce, jobs and careers so low the entire once prestigious society eroded to the ground alongside its well-cared for architecture, overwhelmed with the sudden influx of slums.
The tranquil times were over, and for fourteen years, Sarkatia was gradually celled in by order of the king. Those few whom actually were able to escape not once let their history in this isolated land leave through the sound of word, their symptoms of depression and fear not truly obliterated from their persona even with the bordering nations’ assistance. Those whom still thought of the former leaders prayed endlessly for their return, for they knew their spirits, although weak and not at all proud, could not have left the world—Sarkatia’s people—in such a time.
And, finally, the search for the refugee King, Midas Sarkatia of the Golden Ages, and his Queen, Marta-Elise Sarkatia, ended.
This is unintentionally gay. Whoops.
His tone fluctuated from strong to overly-tense, and he knew this was because he was trying too hard, and never had to deal with such awkward weakness before. He was always strong—even considered the epitome of strength among some, constantly saving and protecting in his own way—and independent at heart, but forever accepting of others’ assistance because he knew that in the long run, doing it alone is just fatalist attitude.
And, apparently, he was also the epitome of truth (important because he knows lying around possible scrutiny from Link without hinting towards what needs to spoken is like stepping into a mine field. His father always told him this quality made him a good man, but it just seemed like bad karma to him…) seeing how his blunt nature always seems to take over when yearned for honesty. Sure, he did have to deal with somewhat similar situations before, but it just seems different this time. It was unneeded drama like some cliché performance, pretty much.
That didn’t help at all. To quell the sudden influx of thoughts, he merely stood there patiently, attempting to hold the barrage at bay until--
Finally, sound: bed sheets ruffling, the mattress whining as pressure was eased. Had his ear been pressed up against the door, he could even probably even confirm the resonance of floorboards creaking under footsteps, an indication of their, and the door’s, aged conduct. A few moments later, Link managed to drag his feet to the single decent entrance to his quarters, opening the door only slightly for a peek at the person whom bothered him at such a time.
No more than a second had passed before he fully recognized the visitor, the normally green-clad hero swung the door open with a loud ‘creek’. Apparently, this was only one of few times Link didn’t feel the obligation to be considerate to other Smashers as they slept, and this conjured up a tinge of guilt from the sole person whom caused this.
Though he knew the consequences of burdening the Hylian of all people, the need to latch onto someone else for once, to not be the leader, was just too overwhelming of a feeling and drove his actions to where he stood now. Maybe it was his rebellious nature that caused these certain thoughts to swell, seeing as no one else ever seemed to care, but…
“Ike,” Link spoke his name slowly, tentatively, his entire countenance changing from tired irritation to concern at the sight of his friend, whom hadn’t even removed his armor in the six hours he’d been supposedly sleeping. “What’s wrong?”
That one question was all it took for Ike to suddenly envelope Link into a hug and crash onto his knees, ergo hauling his victim down with him. The mercenary commander paid no heed to their location, both now available for public viewing, nor did he care that something on the floor boards was jabbing uncomfortably into the knee that landed directly under the entryway.
Their askance isn’t important, Ike thought to himself. It’s none of their business.
Link was surprised and even more apprehensive all at once, but he did not protest nor resist the assault (having already returned the uncharacteristic outreach for human contact), despite it having knocked the air out of his lungs. It wasn’t much like his friend to randomly display affection. While it was something of Ike’s nature to behave impulsively, Ike had considerably relaxed during them mutual embrace, as if relieved of something he already measured.
