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ciciciron · 6 months

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Random Gen 4 Character Hcs cuz I'm Too Sick to Write Anything Good

Ya boy's got strep, gonna do every Gym Leader and the E4, some characters will have more cuz I'm autism but I'll write something for everyone

Roark;

He's the second youngest Gym Leader, like, 18 - 22 at most

That doesn't mean he's inexperienced, no, it's honestly based upon the timeline of whatever I'm writing but I think he's been a Gym Leader for a good few years

I get the vibe that he's just like really nice, like just a good, reliable dude who needs a break and is fortunately likable enough to escape his father's shadow

Gardenia;

She's afraid of like everything, beyond just ghosts, my girl is a coward

She's pretty close with every other Gym Leader because of this, got em all on speed dial to come get the Spinarak out of her house and all that

Such a cringe fail lesbian

Honestly I see her as such a Kobeni (csm) type character, she knows what you are

Maylene;

Girl is 9 get her out of here

My reasoning for that age is because in pokespe it's mentioned that she's younger than Platinum, who is like 12

She's not weak but like someone help this poor girl she don't know what's going on

Crasher Wake;

Bros like, really good with kids, great at entertaining them, they just think he's cool af

He's not very helpful but he definitely tries, like if you cried he would recommend petting Quagsire, which would probably help tbh

He just gives the vibe like he's the type of guy you'd call uncle your whole life only to learn later on he's just a friend of your dads and not at all related to you

Fantina;

She isn't actually French- I know, who would willingly act French? She would, her real name is Heather because I came up with all of this when I was going through my musical theatre phase

She's Jupiter's older sister, naturally they don't talk much anymore

She isn't very lucky when it comes to love, swears after the end of every bad relationship that she's going to give up and become a nun, she is not religious nor does she ever stick to her word

Byron;

Sometimes he just forgets he's a dad, not like- forgets who Roark is, just that if he got called to come bail him out of jail he'd be confused why he was the one getting the call

Himbo energy, not a thought behind those eyes

Wildly irresponsible but on accident

Candice;

Girl's an influencer, she's the only one of them who knows how to properly work Tiktok, she will send you Tiktoks that remind her of you and you WILL receive those links through Instagram DMs because she forgot to save your phone number or just doesn't have it

Adding onto that- she will post fit checks regardless of what is happening in the background, she doesn't care that that man is drowning, this ain't about him

She is really good at remembering things about her coworkers though, she's in charge of every birthday party, if you forget your birthday don't worry she remembered and she is in your house don't ask how she got in

Volkner;

I don't care if he's canonically just some skinny twink he's big to ME. Like- 6'4", at least 200 pounds, guy is just huge and bulky and built like a brick wall, tons of practical strength because,,,

This is more about his Luxray but his name is Oscar and he's massive, think an Alpha Luxray in Legends Arceus, that cat is huge, Volkner is only even slightly strong just to be able to lift him off of his bed at night when he's trying to sleep

Wildly irresponsible but on purpose, he thinks it's funny to endanger himself, no he won't seek help he doesn't believe in therapy because he wasn't properly helped when he was younger

He does care about Sunyshore though, spent a week fixing that black out that stopped you from visiting the city at first in DPPT, he claims it's Team Galactic's fault but like no one believes him

Sorry to give Volkner 5 I mean what to expect from the guy who named himself Volkner but he's related to like every Electric Type Gym Leader and also whoever I see fit. It's a very large family. He makes frequent trips to Unova to visit his only respected similarly aged cousin Elesa so they can trash talk their not respected similarly aged cousin Colress (Long story). Also yes I do believe Palmer is his dad and Barry is his younger brother and I'm deciding today that they all have a good relationship. (Also I want to elaborate on this all so much like smh I didn't even bring up the Shinx based ceremony but that's gonna have to be a different post)

I don't have biases what are you talking about anyways E4 time.

Aaron;

He may or may not be distantly related to this fellow green hair and prong having man named Ghetsis but that's more lore to unpack on my end and I don't want to explain my real life friendships that make Ghetsis relevant here.

He can't be in the same room with Gardenia for too long because she gets freaked out just knowing Vespiquen is there, they have to be cycled out intermittently at every League meeting

He's been in the E4 the 3rd longest despite the fact he's only slightly older than Flint and Lucian, everyone who doubts Bug Types is amazed

Bertha;

She's been here before Cynthia was Champion and was actually the Champion before the guy who came before Cynthia, there's no getting rid of her

The hair makes it obvious but she's related to Agatha of the Kanto Elite Four, sometimes they meet for tea and to trash talk every challenger they've faced as well as their coworkers

She's excellent at comforting people without even realizing what she said half the time, you'll thank her for the advice and she'll accept that without knowing what she told you to do, she was completely out of it

Flint;

He was the Oreburgh Gym Leader before Roark, however many years before depends on the timeline, but he was second choice to join after Volkner declined for reasons I don't actually have outside of my main au

He acts exactly like one of those straight boys pretending to be gay to make fun of gay people expect it isn't acting and everyone can tell aside from him (i.e. jokingly being incredibly affectionate with Volkner)

He's probably the most reliable friend one could have and is like always ready to throw hands, he has too much energy and just wants to punch someone in the face, please ask him to punch someone in the face he will happily do it he's begging you

Lucian;

Guys a fucking ass, like, he's just very rude. That's not because I hate him he just seems kind of stuck up. (I'm mad that he tells me about how much he reads whenever I talk to him in Pokemas because I can't read large paragraphs without my vision blurring and it feels like he's bragging, and also a specific decision I made for my general lore)

He's genuinely psychic, like, telekinesis style, it comes in handy at sorting books and throwing things at people because that guy ain't got an arm on him to save his life

I think that psychic power could be totally nullified by putting a hat on him. Battle tactic.

Cynthia;

Her father was Champion before her, she's a nepobaby, she would get upset if you called her that though because she worked real hard for her position and is tired of people devaluing her

Her slug is named Sharon and she hates men, specifically blonde ones. If you are near that Gastrodon as a blonde man you are about to be hydropumped. You can't out run Sharon don't even think about it just accept your fate.

Meanwhile her Garchomp is named Joan and she's just a large scaley puppy.

She definitely needs glasses but she's very stubborn

She also can't drive. Don't let her do it. She is going to hit another mythical Pokemon.

Cynthia is also incredibly shocked whenever she learns someone doesn't care about history as much as her. She's just like- in awe, she forgot people could have other interests and it's throwing her for a loop, she'll just kind of stand there with her mouth agape until you speak again and even then she'll never look at you the same again

Okay that's...everyone for today, I would do Team Galactic but at that point I'd feel like I have to write something for every single character in the game and I'm neglecting my homework too hard for that.

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edelwoodsouls · 3 years

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maybe in another universe - ch. 1 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 2,707 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 2,

chapter one: the train to everywhere

As the train leaves the station, Jon doesn't look back.

The corridors outside his carriage are filled with other kids, craning their necks out of the windows to wave at their parents, tears streaming down their faces. It's a mess of loud noise and emotion that makes Jon wholly uncomfortable.

There's no one for him to look back to, no one to share tears with. No one to yell at him, you'll be home before you know it! and have fun, dear! it's okay!

He curls his arms around his suitcase and stares out the opposite window, at the vanishing buildings. Smoke shimmers over the horizon, mixing with the clouds, and Jon tries to imagine the view from above. When the planes fly overhead, do they recognise the smothered lights flickering below? Do they spare a thought for the bodies on the other side of the flames?

The corners of his suitcase begin to dig painfully into his skin.

Before he can spiral any further, the door to the compartment rattles open with a sudden gunshot sound that sets every nerve in his body alight.

He flinches and turns to see a girl roughly his own age, head swathed in a dark blue hijab, pressing her lips in an apologetic line.

"Sorry," she shrugs noncommittally, inclining her head. "Is that seat taken?"

"Uh, no."

"So I can take it?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She shoulders her way into the room, heaving her own suitcase up onto the rack above their heads with an easy movement. Jon grips his own sheepishly - several blows to the head have taught him that he is nowhere near strong enough to haul it up that high.

The girl settles into the seat opposite him, retrieves a book from the recesses of her thick navy trench coat. It's a weathered copy of The Iliad, well-thumbed and annotated.

He's leaning forward curiously before he can help himself.

The girl looks up with raised eyebrows. "Nosy much?"

"Sorry," he shrinks back behind the large bulk in his lap. "I just- I used to have that same copy. Before..."

The girl's face softens, infinitessimly. "It's one of my favourites," she offers, almost apologetically. "I started keeping all my books in the shelter a few months ago. It's the only reason this survived."

Jon says nothing - there's nothing he can really say. In this moment, they are just two strangers, sharing a burning world.

"I'm Basira," the girl says, with a decisive look. "I'm from Finchley, being evacuated to Dorset. You?"

"Uh- same," Jon blinks, surprised. "I'm Jon. I've- I've never seen you before?"

"I mean, I imagine you go to the boys' school."

"Not until last year."

"Oh."

Jon glances down at his hands, hoping Basira can't see the way his fingers are white-knuckled against his suitcase.

"Well, I was new before-" she waves her arms vaguely, "all this. Home-schooled. So not really surprising."

"Oh." Slowly, one by one, Jon allows his muscles to relax. "That must've been nice. Quiet."

"That's one word for it," Basira mutters in a way that implies a hundred other meanings than nice. "I was really looking forward to actually getting to know people, y'know? New people, my own age."

"Well, you know me now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Jon tries for a smile, but it comes out as something more of a grimace. All the same, Basira seems to get the sentiment, and returns it.

~/~/~/~

Martin hates trains.

In theory, they're the perfect vessel. Hours of uninterrupted time, the world moving beneath your feet as you curl into a seat with a hot cup of tea and your favourite paperback.

But he hasn't been on a train since his mother sent him away to London, and that sort of memory tends to leave one with a distaste by association.

Now here he is, only a few years later, being sent away again.

He's just glad his mother refused to take him in. He's not sure he could bear going back to that house, potentially indefintiely.

All the same, he's trying to make the best out of the journey that he can. He's heard horror stories of other evacuees, forced to work on farms or taken in only to be used for their ration cards. If that's the sort of fate he's headed for, he'll take the luxury of a nice cuppa and the drafting of a few poems whilst it's still there.

And he really is in the perfect place for it. The smouldering London skyline behind him, the fathomless countryside ahead. A world in flux and chaos, defined in fire and water.

He notes that down in his journal.

"Any good thoughts?" Melanie asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

Martin blinks up at the girl sharing his compartment, an embodiment of chaos if ever he's seen one. She's lying across the seats opposite him, her suitcase open and contents strewn everywhere - she'd been digging through it to find something inane which turned out to be in her pocket the whole time, and hasn't bothered to pack it up again.

Martin's hands itch to tidy the space - instead he grips his pen a little too hard and settles for a quzzical smile.

"Your writing," she points with the corner of her sandwich. "You look very deep in concentration and dramatic. Any good thoughts?"

"I suppose," he shrugs, retreating somewhat under Melanie's energetic gaze. "Something about dichotomies. Peace and war, fire and water. City and country."

"Men and women, nurse and soldier. Alive and dead."

Martin raises an eyebrow. "I guess."

"Hey- if there's any time to be morbid, it's during a war, dontcha think?"

"True. Do you write?"

"Nope. I do photography, though."

Martin can feel himself getting interested despite himself. "Really? Do you have a camera?"

Melanie nudges at the pile of clothes somehow still heaped in the boundaries of her suitcase, revealing the packaging of a beautiful, sleek camera piece that makes Martin fall a little in love with this stranger instantly.

"Is that a Retina I?" he asks, unable to quite keep the awe out of his voice.

"You really know your tech," Melanie says approvingly. "Yeah, it is. I'm going to be a supernaturalist."

"A what?"

"A supernaturalist, Martin. I'm going to be the first person to prove that ghosts exist. I'm going to get one on film."

"Huh."

Martin deliberately avoids Melanie's eyes. To believe in the supernatural is not generally approved of, let alone to talk about it with the sudden reverence and conviction that have crept into Melanie's voice.

He's gotten very used to pretending he's never seen anything out of the ordinary. The smoke that follows him around like a shadow, the spiders that seem to understand him just a little too intelligently - they all have mundane explanations.

He's never met someone so open about such things.

He lasts a matter of seconds before his tongue gets the better of him. "What've you seen?"

Melanie grins, as if she's been waiting from the moment they met just for him to ask. "I got shot by a ghost."

Martin almost knocks over his tea. "I'm sorry?"

"I got shot by a ghost."

"Yeah, you said that already. What I meant to say was, what the fuck?"

Melanie looks delighted to have his attention. She reaches down and rolls her sock to her ankle, revealing a garish red scar screaming across her leg. "London's full of ghosts, if you hadn't noticed. They just love the chaos that's going on right now, always wandering all over the place when the streets are empty and everyone's hidden in their shelters."

"I'm guessing you're not one for shelters," Martin says dryly, attempting to smother the sheer confusion and excitement doing battle in his brain.

"Of course not," Melanie scoffs. "They won't let me enlist because I'm a girl, but, I mean, have you seen some of the boys in charge of Finchley's bomb clearance?"

"A lot of them were in the year above me at school," Martin nods. He could say far more bitter things, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"They're kids, just like us," Melanie nods, a furious look in her eyes. "I wouldn't trust them to protect me from a particularly vicious duck, let alone the end of days raining from the sky."

Martin grins in agreement. Despite initial perceptions, he's starting to like Melanie a lot.

A shame they'll only get to know each other for this one train ride, likely never to hear from each other again. Unless Melanie does actually become famous for photographing ghosts, and he becomes famous for his poetry, and maybe they'll meet at a gala sixty years from now and not recognise each other at all.

Martin mentally kicks himself out of that particular spiral. He's always had a problem with melancholy, and the world being on fire has hardly done anything to improve him.

He's convinced it's what makes him a good poet.

"Hey," he says, to distract himself. "Where are you being sent to?"

"Some professor," Melanie shrugs. "Probably a stuffy old bat who'll put you to work if she finds a single fingerprint in the dust. Academics are all the same, from what I've seen."

Martin looks down at his own tag, brown paper tied with fraying string, looped around his neck by a disinterested attendant at the posting office. He hasn't actually had the nerve to read the name yet.

His heart picks up. "Melanie... it's not Professor Gertrude Robinson, is it?"

~/~/~/~/~

"...But Patroclus called to his comrades with a loud shout: “Myrmidons, ye comrades of Achilles, son of Peleus, be men, my friends, and bethink you of furious valour, to the end that we may win honour for the son of Peleus, that is far the best of the Argives by the ships, himself and his squires that fight in close combat; and that the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, may know his blindness in that he honoured not at all the best of the Achaeans-"

"Achilles is such an idiot," Basira interrupts, rolling her eyes and flipping the coin in her palm in absent, distracted movements.

Jon raises an eyebrow and lowers the book. "I can stop, if you'd prefer."

"No, no, you're okay. You've got a surprisingly good voice for this stuff. I'm glad you suggested it."

They've been taking turns reading aloud, switching out every few pages to pass the time, since Jon has no books of his own. But Basira seems to have quickly decided that Jon is a born narrator and delegated all further reading to him.

He's been glowing faintly from the praise ever since.

The journey has flown by - as time often does when Jon's hyperfixations make an appearance - but for once he doesn't feel guilty about indulging it. Basira seems just as fascinated, somehow, and he greatly enjoys her interruptions.

"You don't think Achilles is an idiot?" she asks, crossing her legs and leaning forward intently.

"No, I definitely do- he sends his boyfriend out to fight a war he isn't prepared for just because of a grudge and then throws a tantrum when that hubris gets him killed. He's definitely an idiot."

"Oh good," Basira says, visibly relieved. "For a moment there I thought we were going to have to argue."

Jon laughs, and the sound comes easier than it has in a while. This realisation crawls under his skin, cutting the sound short. He looks out of the window for some semblance of escape-

"Hey! Look!" He points out at the approaching train station, a quaint thing, barely more than a slab of stone emerging from a field. But the sign, rusted as it is, reads the same as the looping handwriting on the label around his neck does.

"Oh joy," Basira sighs. "Countryside air and a new family who'll probably hate me."

"Where are you being sent?" Jon asks, more hopeful than he's willing to admit. "Maybe we'll be neighbours."

"The household of Professor Gertrude Robinson," she reads from her own label.

"So am I!" Jon's heart leaps high in his chest despite himself. "You know, if we're with a professor, she might- I mean, she probably isn't a rough work kind of person- so maybe... this won't be so awful after all?"

Of course, Jon has always had a habit of speaking too soon.

~/~/~/~/~

Gathering Melanie's discarded belongings is a predictably chaotic affair, but she executes it with the practiced air of someone who lives that way every day.

Martin can't decide whether he's excited or dreading living with this girl.

As soon as they sprawl out onto the platform with seconds to spare, Martin realises that Melanie's mess is the least of his worries.

Because perched on the station's only bench, face knitted into his iconic perpetual frown, eyes squinting against the sun, is Jonathan fucking Sims.

Next to his suitcase, and wearing a knitted jumper several sizes too big, he looks tiny. The tall hijabi girl standing on top of the bench, looking searchingly into the distant fields, only serves to exaggerate this.

Melanie notices the sudden drain in his skin immediately, and follows his gaze. "For fucks sake."

"You know him?" Martin asks faintly, resisting the urge to brush his hands through his hair, or smooth his clothes. Jon doesn't care what he looks like, doesn't care about him. He should've learnt back in primary school that being rivals isn't something to be romanticised.

But his heart doesn't seem to get the message as a stray gust of wind dances in Jon's dark hair, and it skips a beat.

"Do I know Jonathan fucking Sims?" Melanie grits out, heaving her suitcase roughly over one shoulder. "That guy is such a wanker. 'Ghosts are for idiots, Melanie. Just a romantic ideal made up by delusional people afraid of the dark.'"

"He's not that bad," Martin begins to protest before he can stop himself, "he's just been through a lot."

"Doesn't excuse him being a dick," Melanie grumbles. "Not to mention he used to date my girlfriend. Always having a disaster and blazing back into her life. What I wouldn't give for five minutes one on one, I'd teach him..."

Melanie goes on muttering under her breath, but Martin barely hears, because Jon has just met his eyes and nothing else in the world matters. There's surprise, then panic, before his expression settles back into a frown.

Martin sighs. It's not as if he should've expected anything else.

"Come on," he says to Melanie, picking up his suitcase. "We'd better get it over with."

The walk to close their distance seems to take hours, and somehow no time at all.

"Martin," Jon greets him with a clipped, emotionless tone.

"Hey, Jon," Martin smiles, refusing to let the other boy's walls get him down. "And you are?"

"Basira," the girl nods, still standing high above them and glancing distractedly towards the dirt path, likely looking for whoever will be along to pick up evacuees. "I guess you guys already know each other?"

"They go to school together," Melanie brushes off the explanation, before introducing herself, too. "Now we're all acquainted, how long before we never have to see each other again?"

Basira's eyes flick silently between the three of them, clearly noting the tension, but saying nothing.

"We're in the same house," Jon says stiffly. "I don't know about you two. I'm sure there are other benches you can loiter at."

"Well we're in the same house," Melanie shoots back, linking her arm with Martin and holding tight. She's a lot stronger than she looks.

An awful thought dawns on Martin, quickly encompassing and eclipsing anything else. "Where..." he swallows around his dry throat, "who are you guys with?"

Martin watches as Jon's eyes widen. Glance down at his own label, across at theirs, and back.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Martin wants to burrow into the ground and hide somewhere his blushing cheeks could never be seen. He shouldn't be surprised, really. This summer was already looking down, being far from London, living with strangers, adjusting to pretending to be whatever fit in most.

Living with the crush who hates his guts is somehow the only escalation that makes sense.

#the magnus archives #fanfiction #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #narnia au #own work #morgan writes

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