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ATTENTION!
I’m finally taking the plunge - I’m moving to a main blog! Same url - now find me at @thebrawlboys! I’ll be refollowing there, I haven’t gone anywhere, and this blog remains up as an archive! Any asks I have currently in my inbox will be answered over there, so please keep that in mind. :)
Troublesome Identity | Scales & Shorty
Literally Me:
“I don’t suppose you have any ideas…” Shorty responded, scuffing his shoe against a stone in the path. Icy eyes were downcast, seeming hardly aware of his surroundings despite the danger. It wasn’t that he was being unobservant - he was keeping his PSI searching for any kind of life, trying to sense any soul he could. The Puppets’ souls were strange - the blonde could detect their life-force, but it felt muted, diluted…
Returning to the issue at hand, he sighed. “Our name doesn’t lend itself super well to nicknames, all you can really get from it is some variation of Luc. Plus, even if we used that, I would still probably subconsciously respond to it…We definitely need something different.” Looking over again at the one who could almost be his reflection, he tried not to flinch again, but failed. “S-sorry. I know the outfit is practical, but it brings me back to Thunder Tower…I’ll get used to it.” Shorty mumbled out the apology. It seemed he rambled when nervous. “At least it helps us not get attacked.”
There’s a moment of pause, but he eventually hangs his head, helmet clinging tightly to it. Of course it’d be a snug fit. “…Guess not.” A few things do come to mind in terms of nicknames. But most would be either be too confusing or just act as a painful reminder for the both of them. That, or they were just plain silly. Sure, humour could occasionally be used to their advantage ( as if his dressing Boney up as a human back during main adventure wasn’t enough of a testament to that ), but a situation like this unfortunately requires a much more serious touch than back then. They’re personally wanted by practically every fighter, and then some. Both gods’ armies were against them. The boy shoots a glance at his double through dark lenses, eyes bright with stress. A twinge of pity hits him like he’d been struck with lightning all over again (which he realizes isn’t the greatest comparison considering his disguise at the moment).
It’s a funny feeling, really, feeling pity towards a copy of himself. He nods in solemn agreement, allowing Shorty to go on with his awkward rambling. But his mind doesn’t take long to wander into fearful territories in the meantime. The Masked Man… It was strange to think he was carrying the soul of a version of Claus, let alone physically dressed like him. Was it even helpful like they’d assumed? Or would the other puppets see right through him by pure sense alone? Then again, it’s not as if he’d know how to act or what to say (if anything) around them anyways. Maybe a group of puppets were watching them right now. But surely he would’ve noticed something- Then again, he also somehow doubts puppets have thoughts of their own.
Lucas brings himself back to reality just in time to catch Shorty’s gaze. He felt the same, though it also reminds him of his time in the labs. Minus the helmet, of course, which is surprisingly comfortable. “Ah’ mean, Ah’ know the feelin’…” It’s not as if they hadn’t had nearly the same experiences, after all. …Experiences? Yes! That was one thing he could nickname himself after, especially when he had quite a good feeling that this was one particular thing he did not share with his double. What were the chances of that? He imagines they’re quite low.
“Scales?” He suggested. “As a nickname for me, Ah’ mean.”
Scales.
A strange choice, but Shorty can hardly disapprove. It has a nice alliteration to his own nickname. Shorty and Scales...yes, he can get used to that. “That’s a nice choice.” He replied slowly, nodding as they walked. “A tribute to the Dark Dragon. It’s...well, definitely fitting. I like it.” At least, he was assuming it was for that reason - somehow, Shorty strongly doubted the other shared his secret.
Enough seemed different between the two. He had noticed at once that Scales made no effort to conceal his (their?) accent. It was startling to hear an unfiltered version of his voice after Shorty had spent so long trying to drop his. The townspeople had called him a hick for it, and though he resisted their pressure in many ways, there were some things that just wore on you too much. It had become a subconscious thing, really.
The other seemed different in some of his mannerisms, as well. The aura he extruded was far more confident than ever-quiet Shorty. And their was the strange detail of the instrument...while he periodically heard his own acoustic guitar from both of them, Scales’s had an underlying tone, something that made his heart ache for someone he’d never see again. A sitar.
Snapping out of his thoughts yet again, he paused. There was one thing that seemed strange to him from the moment he had seen this more mature version of himself. “Scales? How old are you? I know it’s weird to ask, but...I don’t know. The world is upside down, I’m literally talking to myself, everyone wants us dead...so why this question, I don’t know. Heaven knows there’s more important things, but I want to know how different we are. I’m thirteen,” He hastily added at the end of his sentence.
“Huh! I think I’m starting to get a hang of this reading thing!”
“Is that so?” Leaf settled next to Pit, peering over his shoulder. “You know, you should be careful.” Pausing a moment, the trainer raised an eyebrow mischievously.
“Reading is the first step to becoming a total nerd. It’s a lifestyle, I’m telling you.” Gesturing at her own, heavy textbook in her lap, she looked more than slightly amused at her own words. “Trust me. I’m the biggest nerd you’ll ever meet. Careful, or you’ll end up on that path too!”
It’s hard to tell if her words are an encouragement or a threat. Knowing Leaf? It could plausibly be either.
“...Mother...I hope you’re proud of your son. I miss you every day. Moushi wake arimasen deshita...”
Marth had never initially gotten to grieve Liza’s death in the heat of war...but this day always serves as a bitter reminder that he can’t save everyone. And yet still, he can’t help the silent tears on his face.
Don't forget to call your moms, guys.
He flashes the “on a call” sign. He and Leaf are talking to Delia right now.
“Oh, shoot! I knew I forgot to do something!”
“I went and visited Mother today at the cemetery. The sunflowers are starting to bloom again in the field below...I hope she likes it.”
“...” Marth doesn’t speak, but it seems he did the same as Lucas. He’s turned away so his face can’t be seen.
As Ness sleeps, an alien presence invades his dreams. He is dragged through space at impossible speeds, finally coming to an abrupt halt at a point at which there is nothing but the void ahead. While nothing is visible, the presence emanates a power not unlike that of Giygas. It creates a simple picture- the alien Giegue, transforming into the monster known as Giygas. It probes at his mind inquisitively, asking a wordless question...
Short, ragged breaths are drawn from Ness, thrashing in his covers. In his dreams, he’s cowering from the shadows, staring into darkness so dark he can’t tell where it begins or where it ends - if it does. He has no doubt one could lose themselves forever in that abyss, should they not have an unfaltering will.
He closes his eyes, though it changes nothing. He can feel the sickeningly familiar presence all around him, making it hard to breathe. “Leave.” He manages, choking the word out with a hacking cough. He tries to ignore the question, though it’s like trying to avoid a speeding truck as a deer caught in the headlights. Ness doesn’t stand a chance.
His hands are trembling - even in the waking world, they’re violently shaking, gripping his sheets as though he can pull himself out of the vision. “What do you want from me?” He tries to scream, but with his heart pounding in his throat, it comes out as a pathetic whisper.
No matter how far Ness comes, he’s distantly aware he’ll be fighting this battle forever. Night after night, he’s vulnerable...
When twins are separated, their spirits steal away to find the other.
An aesthetic of Red and Leaf!
{Please do NOT tag as Burningleafshipping/Ship!}
Hey Leaf, have you ever heard of a world where humans didn't exist and there were only Pokemon? Or maybe people who were turned *into* Pokemon? Excluding Pokemon disguised as humans, obviously.
“Alright, so first thing I have to say is that the answer to this question differs radically from two perspectives.” Leaf begins thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her waist. “Speaking strictly as a scientist, it seems almost plausible, but unlikely. We know humans evolved from Pokemon. There are legends dating way back to thousands of years of people who had characteristics of Pokemon, or people who could shift between two forms, but that’s dubious. So why would there be a world where humans didn’t eventually spring up? Especially with the “human-like” egg-group, which we’re most closely related to. You know, they estimate we share about 25 percent of our DNA with Jynxes.”
“Now, speaking as a theologian... I could see it being far more likely.” Leaf admits, furrowing her brow. “We have account after account of Arceus being wrathful towards humans for overstepping nature’s boundaries. The legends of the Swords of Justice in Unova makes it seem like Arceus specifically created them to punish us for our destruction. So...it seems plausible that there might be a world, filled with Pokemon but free from us. I wonder what it’s like...” She seems almost wistful.
(Friendly reminder to please not bring drama anywhere near me. I'm chronically ill and use Rping as a means to cope and distract myself. I'm not comfortable hearing vents about other users and I'm just here to Rp.)
A very out-of-place figure casually approaches Lucas- A huge, walking skeleton at least 8 feet tall, it's bones rattling ominously as it approaches. Just as it seems to be in range for a fight, however... it waves! "Hey, kiddo! Been a bit, huh? Say, you look a. bit different... did you cut your hair?" The skeleton leans down, holding its chin inquisitively... -💀 (Skeleton Anon)
Despite the casual approach of the skeleton, Lucas is on guard at once, crouching slightly and holding his stick defensively in front of him. He had long since learned to anticipate trouble from anyone who approached - humans and nonhumans alike.
However, the creature speaking as though it...knew him...stops him before he can make the first attack. “I...I beg your pardon?” He tilts his head, blue eyes shadowed with confusion. The tone the skeleton spoke in didn’t seem particularly threatening...(But alas, weren’t looks deceiving?)
“I don’t know you.” He speaks warily, keeping a defensive posture, but lowering his weapon. “I can safely say I’ve never met you in my life.”
*dumps ice down the back of Leaf's shirt*
Leaf freezes, every fiber of her very being seizing up as the horrible sensation touches her back- ice, freezing cold, against her skin. For a moment, she's nine again, her world blurring into a dark haze as Blue screams for help...
"No, no, I don't want to die, please-" She mouths, eyes glazing over before she suddenly snaps out of it. Tears leaking out, she suddenly flings forward, trying to get the ice out of her shirt.
"I'll KILL YOU!" She screams, sobbing hysterically. "G-get lost. GET LOST!'
I will fight the universe itself and everything in it to remain by your side.
LOOK AT HIM SMILE KFKTRKRL POKÉMON MASTERS FEEDING ME SO WELL;;; RED’S SMILE;; PRECIOUS!!
do it, fucker
It's not a far trek to the cemetery, a path Lucas could walk with his eyes closed. Up the hill, he's drawn ever closer to the two graves, side by side, forlorn and serene against the eternal blue sky.
A nod to his mother is first, a beautiful sunflower and a loaf of bread laid before it like offerings before an altar. He traces over the grave's letters lightly, their indentations practically written into his skin from such familiarity. He lowers his head for just a moment, before turning to the other grave. He doesn't need to say anything to Mother today. Lucas knows she understands.
Faltering before Claus's stone, Lucas kneels, but finds his legs betray him as he ends up sitting against the cool rock. These letters are not as familiar, but they still haunt his dreams at night.
Claus Joshua Lock
Beloved son of Flint and Hinawa
Twin of Lucas
May he rest eternally.
A blessing, carved into the stone. Claus deserves to rest for eternity. But yet Lucas can't help but come back and speak to him.
"Hi, Claus." Already his voice is choked, and he closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see his surroundings. "It's been a while." There's no response but the wind, rusting through the flower fields.
"I hope you're doing fine." He continues. "I'm...well, I'm managing. As much as I can. I never was as strong as you." A shakey laugh escapes him, a desperate attempt at keeping his calm. "I'm pretty tired, I guess I can say that. Though I've been sleeping the day away a lot. You used to always get so mad at that..."
Used to. Because Lucas hadn't seen Claus in three years before his death.
The words he was going to speak run dry, and he finds himself freezing.
The Claus that died in his arms was practically a stranger to him. Those mismatched, tired eyes weren't the same verdant green, always brimming with life. His hair had been uncared for rather than tenderly brushed. He had been pale and grim - and he looked so old. It spoiled that notion in his head of eternal youth that his brother's ten year old self, living on in his memories, embodied, and suddenly Lucas is uncomfortable.
He is speaking to a stranger.
"...I wish I could have known you." He whispers out. "But then again, I wish for a lot of things."
He's quiet now. There's nothing more he could say.
Platonic Requests for Affection
“I’m so tired… ”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“My hands are shaking.”
“Don’t get up. I’m comfortable like this.”
“Please stay. I’d like some company.”
“Could I get a hug?”
“Would you pet my hair?”
“Will you sing something for me?”
“I just want to be close to someone for a little bit. Is that okay?”
“Can I lay my head in your lap?”
“You can touch my hair but don’t mess it up!”
“Here, lay down in my lap.”
“You know, you’re pretty comfy.”
“Come here, ya big lug/small fry.”
“Just take my hand. It’ll be better, I promise.”
“I’m not letting go.”
“I’ll hold you as long as you need.”
“It’s okay to stay, you know.”
“I’m so happy you’re here with me.”
“Your hugs are warm. We should do this more often.”
All I can do is 𝑏𝑒𝑔 as hard as I can, but the N I G H T M A R E S keep on 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 me.
