#despite it being as short as her books tend to be | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adoregojo · 3 months

Text

secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #isagi x reader #bachira x reader #reo x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #reo mikage x reader

947 notes · View notes

milfs-milk · 3 months

Text

NO MATTER WHAT YOU ARE [18+]

CHAPTER ONE - ADORATION [MINORS DNI]

[PAIRING] Female!Trafalgar Law x Reader [SUMMARY] Turned into a woman only temporarily, Law still needs a proper wardrobe. You take your now girlfriend out on a shopping date, and despite her initial reluctance, you hope to help her enjoy the experience and her new body. [CONTENT + WARNINGS] Female Law, Genderbend, Reader is femme, Established Relationship, Fluff. This chapter isn't NSFW but the next will be, so minors DNI! [WORD COUNT] 5k

“This is ridiculous.”

Not for the first time, Law hesitates. Your partner, or more accurately, girlfriend for the time being, comes to a halt just before the entrance of the lingerie store. You can see her reconsidering the necessity of buying clothes for this new figure of hers, her sharp jaw tight and full lips slightly pursed—a scowl to most, yet a pout to you. Despite being in an entirely different body, her mannerisms stay familiar.

The change is temporary. It was neither expected nor asked for, a complete accident that doused her with feminization fruit. The Heart Pirates, responsive as ever, were quick to erupt into a chaotic blend of amusement and fawning, all while their irritated Captain demanded quiet as she rummaged through her medical books in search of a remedy. But the pages offered no immediate cure, only assuring that the effects will last a few weeks before naturally subsiding.

Which is short lived in your opinion, and entirely too long in Law’s.

She doesn’t seem to harbor the same appreciation you do for her new figure, seeing this change as an inconvenience more than anything. So you hoped to make it less so, however you could. In need of a new wardrobe, you tried swapping her now oversized shirts and jeans for some of your own clothing. The two of you didn’t have much luck. She seemed frustrated with it all, annoyed, sitting on the edge of the bed surrounded by all the clothes that might’ve fit. You sat with her.

“We can always go shopping,” you gently suggested, rubbing her back as she gave you a stubborn look of reluctance, but not entirely refusal. “It could be fun. Just think of it as a date, and we’ll get you something comfortable.”

And she agreed, as much as she didn’t want to.

You couldn’t blame her. Having spent her entire life in the body of a man, the abrupt transformation into something feminine left her with a certain sense of discomfort, and perhaps what could be considered mild embarrassment. There was no reason to feel shame; not in your opinion, at least, but given the circumstances, Law’s hesitance is only natural.

Still, as the two of you stand in front of the lingerie store, you try to make light of the situation.

“Cmon, hun. Have some fun with it.” You grab her wrist, encouraging her inside with playfulness to your voice. “Doesn’t every man wonder what it’s like to have boobs?”

“I’m not a pervert,” she firmly insists. Even so, she lets you guide her, her long legs begrudgingly following along.

You huff in amusement. Maybe it isn’t entirely apparent on the surface, but if your time with Law has taught you anything, it’s that she tends to feel more than she lets on. Her reserve comes with all emotions, vulnerable or not. Laughter is stifled into subtle smiles, distress leads to emotional withdrawal, care translates into gentle gestures and quiet support.

The same pattern can be seen with all things intimate. Attraction, affection, arousal… You had to admit, she did a good job suppressing what she could for as long as she could. The sheer lust she felt wasn’t exactly controlled, but rather hidden—until she finally got a taste of you.

Only then did it become apparent. The subtle hints in her behavior that you couldn’t quite place were suddenly given a reason. You found a name for those lingering eyes, that intense gaze, her tense body language—yearning, to the point of perversion. It was a deep desire, depraved from being deprived for so long, devolving into desperation.

Not a pervert? Debatable.

“Well…” you say, tone skeptical. She shoots you a look you expected, simultaneously daring you to keep talking and advising you to shut your mouth. You always thought she was fun to tease, and she always thought you were fun to discipline. You pretend to give in, a smile on your face with your hands raised in feigned apology.

“Alright, alright. Don’t…” You let out a chuckle before you can finish, and then another as you try again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“I already told you,” she’s quick to retort, but slows and hesitates to consider her wording. She never liked saying the P word. “I won’t be wearing… those.”

“I know, hun.” You let her have this one. Despite any teasing, above all, you want her to be comfortable. She knows that. Still, you place a hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle pat in a gesture of support. “We’ll find you the closest thing to boxers we can. Boyshorts are more comfortable, anyway.”

Technically, they’re still considered panties, but you don’t say that. You had to get her to wear them somehow.

The two of you stand inside the store, greeted with dim lighting and a pallet of pink and black decor, the air carrying a strong floral scent from the perfume shop next door. You’re already familiar, but Law takes a moment to scan the wide array of options—different colors, certain styles, sections of specific types of lingerie that she probably doesn't know the names of. You can tell what she’s thinking.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” you empathize. “But we’ll be quick, okay?”

She grunts in affirmation, following where you lead.

And really, you meant it. Initially, at least. It wasn’t your intention to spend longer than necessary browsing the selection of bras, but the more you thought about it, the more it became necessary. Law already insisted she wanted something simple, but this matter needs careful consideration. There’s push ups to sports bras, full coverage to strings and lace, pretty pinks and bold blues and gentle greens… She’d pull them all off, this much you know, but which would suit her best?

You glance at her chest, obscured by the oversized shirt she’s wearing. Still, your memory serves you well. You’re able to make a decent guess of her cup size after taking the opportunity to thoroughly examine her figure when she first tried on clothes. You called it studying, she called it ogling, and maybe she was right. In your defense, it was hard to resist. You sat on the bed behind her, a clear view of her front and backside as she stood before a mirror. Occasionally, she’d glance at you through the reflection between slipping on shirts and bras, but you often didn’t meet her eyes.

Your attention was fixated elsewhere, memorizing her new yet temporary features for safekeeping. Her chest wasn’t exactly flat, but wouldn’t be considered big either. She was endowed with slight handfuls that fit her slender figure, complemented with the framing of an inked heart. Long legs led to the gentle curve of her hips and pert swell of her ass, faint dimples resting right above on either side of her lower back, indents that were perfect for thumbs. Her defined back line trailed towards another familiar tattoo, up to sharp shoulder blades and shaggy, short black hair.

She didn’t stand at her usual 6’3 and a half, but she was still above average height. It was a combination of lankiness and toned athleticism. Muscle definition was apparent in the sculpted contours of her biceps, sinewy strength of her back and tightness of her stomach. Her proportions were long and lean, assets small and perky, movements fluid and poised. She always had an irresistible allure, captivating and mesmerizing, but in the form of something more feminine, you could only define her physicality as pure elegance.

“You said we’d be quick,” Law mumbles under her breath. You’re only momentarily interrupted from your thoughts of her figure, eyes meeting hers before falling back down.

“I know,” you hum leisurely. This matter can’t be rushed. You look at the two bras in your hands, and up to her chest again. “But I can’t decide if you’d look better in black or red.”

“Does it really matter?” she asks, voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She seems to find something entertaining in how much consideration you’re putting into this.

It takes just another thoughtful second before you come to a decision. “Well, if you insist,” you say, putting them in your hand held shopping basket, “we’ll just have to get both.”

“I said no lace.” She looks down at the lingerie in mild disapproval. Still, she doesn’t make an effort to stop you. They’re good choices, if you do say so yourself.

“Yeah, but you’d look really nice in—“

“Are you ladies finding everything okay?” An employee interjects with a friendly smile, all while Law promptly tugs at the brim of her hat, lowering it just enough to shroud her eyes. It’s a habitual gesture you’re familiar with, one she uses to shield herself when she feels too exposed, too vulnerable. You’ve seen it most when she smiles, but right now, it’s driven by embarrassment. She tries to deflect as much attention away from her as possible. You handle it.

“Just fine, thanks,” you respond. “Where are your dressing rooms?”

The woman guides you both, and Law follows in silence just behind you. The moment the employee is out of hearing range, Law’s quick to mumble a question, looking around to make sure every other person in the store is out of hearing range too. “You’re coming in with me?”

“Mmhm.” You don’t look up at her, taking a moment to organize the lingerie you’ve decided on. “Gotta make sure they fit, don’t I?”

“I think I’ll be able to tell.” She sees through your excuse, a thin veil poorly masking a desire to see her naked again.

“Well,” you say, not bothering to deny it. “It’s not every day I get to help you pick out lingerie. Better enjoy it while I can, hmm?”

You give her a cheeky smile, and still, she’s unimpressed. Holding all of her new lingerie, you open the dressing room’s curtain with your free hand and gesture her inside with exaggerated politeness.

“After you.”

Law doesn’t like to put on bras correctly. You watched her try to reach back and connect the hooks when the two of you first tried on clothes, but she quickly found another way. She said it was easier, just raising it above her head and slipping it on like a shirt, and didn’t seem to care when you said that’ll stretch it out. She does the same this time, looking unsatisfied with the result.

“It doesn’t fit.”

“Not when you put it on like that,” you say, looking up from her chest to meet her eyes through the mirror. “Remember what I told you?”

Law sighs, but listens. She seems to find something embarrassing in cupping her breasts and adjusting them into place, insisting it wasn’t necessary when you first told her it’s the only way to fit into a bra comfortably. Despite her stubbornness, it didn’t take long for her to learn you were right. With a slight forward lean, she scoops her breasts in better accordance with the bra cups, just the way you taught her.

“There you go.” You smile at the snug fit, giving full coverage and support. Even she seems a bit impressed with the cleavage it creates. “You fill it out nicely.”

She huffs at the compliment like it didn’t just make her blush, the color of her cheeks a growing tinge of red as she quickly averts her gaze from the mirror. With deft fingers, she starts pulling the bra off. Up and over her head, of course, not bothering with the hooks.

“Are we done here?” Law asks, masking bashfulness with impatience.

You nod towards the remaining lingerie hanging on the wall. “Try on the rest, hun.”

“Why? They’re all the same size.”

“Yeah, sizing is a scam. Every bra fits differently,” you tell her, taking your seat on a bench in the cramped dressing room. Eyes on her, you lean back.

“Go ahead.”

And she does. Law looks at the assortment of lingerie, hesitating for a moment before making a skeptical choice. She begins with the less intricate, going from boy shorts and sports bras before gradually making her way to the few matching sets of lace and pushups you convince her to at least try.

You evaluate each one, fully appreciating the array of colors and clothing you've never seen her in before. Each piece brings out something different in her—deep tones of scarlet and midnight blue intensifying the richness of her aura, simple yet bold black aligning with the harder side of her personality, delicate pastels tenderizing her usual toughness as the gentle hues bring out a subtle yet inherent softness. All harmonize with the ink of her tattoos, all compliment her figure, and all, in some sense, are distinctly and uniquely Law.

It’s hard for you to say no to a lot of them. She makes the decision easier by saying no herself, most options not appealing to her the same way they do to you. Still, she takes some of your input into consideration and entertains a few pieces she doesn’t directly admit she likes. Her choices, coupled with two of your own, sit to the side waiting to be bought.

“Don’t get used to this,” she makes sure to warn you when she slips on the last bra. “Once I’m back to normal, we’re burning these.”

“You say that.” Coming to a stand, your arms loosely wrap around her from behind. Wandering fingers draw attention to the set of lingerie she wears, and the two of you watch through the mirror as your nails trace along the lace in a mixture of examination and admiration. “…but they look nice, don’t they?”

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she almost agrees, the low mumble unenthusiastic like she doesn’t want to admit you’re right.

“…They’re not terrible.”

“Nothing ever is.” Your touch moves downward, fingertips grazing her tight stomach in a way that makes her suppress a shiver. You settle with placing your hands on her hips, your thumbs slowly caressing the silk lining of her panties. “Not on you.”

“You’re persistent.” The words may be muttered, exasperated, but as she leans back into your touch, you feel the appreciation and affection behind them. You give her a light squeeze before pulling away.

“I’m right,” you correct her. Picking up her clothes, you hand them to her and gather your things to leave. “I’ll show you. We’re not done.”

More casual clothes are next on the list—shoes and shirts and jeans that Law isn’t too excited to shop for. Not that she was thrilled with the lingerie either, but you like to think she ended up finding some enjoyment, at least as much as she could. A familiar, soft smile became increasingly apparent with each genuine compliment and playful comment you gave. There’s a subtle yet gradual shift, her initial reluctance giving way to something more comfortable.

It’s progress, but more still needs to be made.

Outside the privacy of the dressing room, Law’s demeanor tightens just as before. She grows quiet, walking alongside you throughout the shopping center with her gaze lingering on the displays of stores you pass by. It’s not the natural, easy silence that sometimes characterizes the space between you two, but rather something more reserved, more restrained. Through polished glass windows, she watches her feminine figure in the reflection.

Something’s on her mind. Something has been on her mind. You noticed a shift since the transformation, and at first, attributed what seemed to be unease to the adjustment period. While that may play a part, it’s apparent there’s something deeper beneath the surface. And though you like to think you’re attuned with your partner, always recognizing changes in behavior and always familiar with subtle cues, you can’t quite grasp the full extent of Law’s thoughts right now.

You don’t ask. You look towards her, her mind seemingly stuck somewhere else, and even as impulse urges you to, you don’t reach out to hold her hand. Knowing what does and doesn’t make her comfortable, you move at her pace, allowing room for Law to initiate if she feels to.

Still, indirectly, you do what you can to guide her back to the present with you.

Upon your suggestion, you both stop to eat after walking past a shop that’s closest to her favorite food you’re able to find. It’s a small gesture, but still helps—sitting together and sharing a meal, taking a break from the constant movement of shoppers in every direction, tuning out the chatter of voices atop voices… In environments and situations she doesn’t enjoy, Law adapts. She always does. Even so, you offer a moment of stillness. It’s simple enough to ease some tension in her shoulders.

A bit looser, the two of you continue throughout the shopping center.

“Let’s make this quick,” Law tells you upon entering the next store, keeping her insistence on getting this over with.

You pause almost immediately. Drawn to a display of mannequins, your eyes trail over their cardigans, down to skirts with matching tights and complimentary boots. Your gaze shifts onto Law, then back, and onto Law again, just to visualize her in the outfit. If she notices, she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind. Or, perhaps, she just doesn’t want to entertain it, walking past and expecting you to follow.

“I’ll try,” you say, and hope not to get too distracted.

Though just as with the lingerie, you can’t help but muse, spending a bit more time than strictly needed looking at potential options. You have suggestions, but you don’t give them. You already know what she’ll say no to, noticing the way she seems avoidant of the more revealing and feminine options.

Instead, Law focuses on simplicity. The casual clothes are tentative choices, her demeanor even more so when it comes time to try them on. Despite any doubt or hesitation, each piece proves to be flattering. You knew they would. With a body like that, every outfit is practically made for her—a slender waist sculpted to flaunt in form fitting shirts, her defined collarbones and slight cleavage meant for low necklines, her long legs perfect for a good pair of jeans.

You approve, but Law has her own thoughts.

“They’re too tight,” she grouses, looking in the dressing room’s full body mirror with skinny jeans practically painted onto her thighs.

“They’re supposed to be.” You watch her from behind, and step closer to lift her top just enough to adjust the low waistband. “As long as it’s not tight around the waist, it fits.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” She shifts, turning slightly to assess the fit.

“Does it really matter when they look that good?” you ask. Law stays quiet, not seeming to have any complaints about their appearance. You take it as slight satisfaction. Only subtly, you test her. “I can go get you a different size.”

“It’s fine,” Law tells you, suspiciously quick. When she meets your gaze, giving her a knowing smile that’s well aware of her fondness for the outfit, she defends herself. “I don’t want to wear it,” she clarifies, “but I’m not staying here longer than we have to.”

“Whatever you say, hun,” you tease lightly. Still, her words are half the truth—hours into the shopping trip with just a few more clothes to try on, Law seems eager to leave. There’s no need to draw it out by experimenting with different sizes. You sense her impatience, prompting you to hand her the next set of jeans to continue.

The checkout process doesn’t take long. As the two of you purchase a week’s worth of clothes, a persistent thought tugs at your mind. Though you know you shouldn’t, and though you know it’s unfair to her, you feel a slight bit of disappointment as the stubborn desire to see her in different styles shifts into longing.

It’s not that the choices she made were unsatisfying; far from it. Everything looks good on her. That’s exactly why there’s such an allure to more tempting options, skirts and fishnets and crop tops that are certain to enhance her features even more, but are a territory she’s not quite comfortable with. You try not to push it, letting your eyes linger on the earlier display of mannequins before looking away.

Only when you’re about to leave do you let some selfishness show.

“Law.”

You call for her attention, her name wrapped up in a wistful breath. You’re sure she’s already able to tell you’re not up to any good. From the corner of your eye, you see her turn towards you, watching with what must be a frown as you look at yet another piece of clothing. She speaks firmly.

“I’m not trying on more—“

She stops mid-sentence when you hold it out for her to see. It’s a dress, certainly nothing you can expect her to wear, but it still catches her attention. While Law may not be big on fashion, she has a sense of style. From the subtle intricacies of her earrings to the bold statements etched onto her skin as tattoos, it’s her way of expression. Even a tailored wardrobe captures her story, each piece a deliberate choice reflecting her crew, her past, and everything she values.

The dress isn’t custom made, no, but it might as well be. Slender, black and sleek, Law’s gaze lingers on the heart-shaped cutout adorning the front. It’s positioned on the center of the chest, aligned almost perfectly with her jolly roger tattooed in the same area.

There's a pause. The silent question of if she’ll entertain it lingers in the air, and for only a moment, she lets herself consider. As you watch her expectantly, you can see the contemplation in her eyes, a slight flicker of possibility. Her comfort zone has her quick to push it down. Tearing her focus away from the dress, Law forces an answer.

“No.”

But you know her better than that. That subtle softening in her gaze, you recognize it as openness. The dress may seem too feminine for her usual preference, but there’s something to it that appeals to her, embedded in both personal significance and aesthetic allure. It’s not that she dislikes it. Law’s receptive, but reluctant. All she needs is a bit of encouragement.

“Hun, this shit is practically made for you.” She already knows it, but you want her to hear it. You want her to see it, too. Lifting the dress just enough to outline her figure, you invite her to visualize it on herself. “It’s your size too. Should be long enough…”

As Law looks down at herself and the dress, another moment of uncertain consideration passes. Surely, she can see the appeal, but hesitance lingers. “We don’t have to buy it,” you reassure. “Just try it on, see how it looks.”

She’s wavering. There’s a slight shift in her expression, lines of reluctance turning inward. The furrow of her brows shows a tinge of irritation, but only because she knows she’s caving. When her eyes meet yours again, you give a gentle push that you know will tip the scales.

“For me?”

Law’s quick to snatch the dress from your hands. In a mixture of both frustration and determination, fueled by the stubborn desire to please you, she struts past and into the direction of the changing area. She doesn’t need to turn to know you’re following.

“We’re leaving after this,” Law tells you, disappearing into the confines of the fitting room before she can change her mind.

You wait. There’s a rustling of fabric behind the curtain, and the passing minutes make you wonder if you should’ve gone in with her to help zip up the back. She seems to manage, but not without apparent difficulty. Once her complicated movements settle, Law stands quiet for a few moments. You decide to speak up.

“You done in there?”

Another beat of silence passes before she responds. “…Yeah.”

“Come on out, then,” you encourage.

She’s slow to open the curtain. Law looks off to the side as she reveals herself, exposing curves she still seems to be adjusting to. They’re accentuated, the sleek dress hugging every dip and contour of her body, from slender hips to a pinched waist and up to the soft swell of her chest. You can see the sculpt of her muscles through the thin material, faintly outlining her tight stomach with wrist-long sleeves snug around her lean arms.

Only subtly, skin shows. There’s a slit opening extending from the bottom of the dress up to her lower right hip. It’s cheeky, alluring, offering a hint of her toned, shapely thighs, all while the heart-shaped cutout on the chest perfectly frames her jolly roger tattoo—just as you expected.

Law moves in the silence. Her fingers instinctively reach up to fidget with the short strands of her hair, an absentminded motion of subtle nervousness. She's quick to stop once she looks down and realizes what she’s doing, tucking the strands behind her ear in self-composure before lowering her hand. Lost in your own thoughts, you watch her, not noticing how quiet you are until she speaks.

“Well?” she huffs. In a frustrated search of your response, her gaze finally shifts towards you. You make an effort to snap yourself out of your enamored daze.

“Well,” you repeat. The right words are hard to find, but you suppose Law’s never been one for dramatics. You settle for a simple way to express her indescribable beauty. “You’re stunning.”

It’s straightforward, blunt, honest. Just the way she likes it. She’s flattered, you can tell, but she shouldn’t just take it from you. Walking towards her, you place your hands on her shoulders and turn her towards a nearby mirror to see for herself.

“What did I tell you?” you hum, a glint of pride in your eyes as Law’s gaze trails up and down her body. “You make everything look good.”

She knows. She has to—her demeanor may still be a bit tentative, but there’s a growing approval, rooted in satisfaction upon seeing how objectively flattering the dress is. For the first time since the change, she sees herself through your eyes, a vision of beauty and strength staring back at her. You hadn’t expected her to embrace the dress, or to fully grow accustomed to her new figure, and she doesn’t. But she’s beginning to tolerate it.

That’s good enough for you.

The moment is somewhat short lived. You’d admire her for hours if you could, but people around you seem to think similarly. Enthralled glances from onlookers become apparent, unwanted attention that Law promptly avoids. She tugs her hat down accordingly and turns away from prying eyes, redirecting her focus to the dressing room.

“We’re leaving now.”

That was the deal, after all. You don’t prolong it any more. Law changes back into her regular clothes, and the two of you soon find yourselves walking throughout the shopping center, straight into the direction of the island’s rocky ports. Home isn’t too far, the Polar Tang docked nearby. Despite Law’s eagerness to return, something catches her eye along the way.

An antique shop lies just ahead. Law’s gaze lingers, surely trying to peek through the glass windows for a glimpse of what the shop could offer. Her collection of commemorative coins is something you’re fond of, something endearing, a hobby she could spend hours rambling about if she let herself. Whenever the topic comes up, you always indulge her, but you feel encouraging her interests isn’t enough. She needs to be spoiled.

“I’ll buy you something,” you offer, already knowing she’ll want to see if there'd be anything to add to her collection.

“You’ve bought me everything.” Law glances at the bags of clothes you insisted on holding for her.

“I’ll buy you more.” Your assurance carries a subtle playfulness as you head towards the entrance, coaxing her to follow with the soft chime of the door’s bell.

Above all else, you want Law to enjoy herself. It’s only natural as her partner, prioritizing her happiness and comfort like it’s second nature. Still, you know she never wanted to spend her day clothes shopping. You feel as if this could help, inviting her to shop for something she wants to buy rather than has to.

Yet despite your continuous efforts to help her enjoy herself, and to perhaps ease her into the unfamiliarity of her changed body, there’s still an apparent weight lingering on her mind.

Even as Law becomes engrossed in an intricately crafted coin display, her focus soon shifts back to you. You can feel it. Pausing from across the shop, you meet her eyes with a questioning look. She simply blinks, breaking the momentary connection to redirect her attention back to the coins as if nothing is wrong.

You’d believe it and chalk her silent stare down to her usual introspective awkwardness, if not for the touch of vulnerability in the depth of her eyes. It was like an unsaid question, a stubborn thought part of her wants to voice, but can’t quite find the words to do so.

You hope to give her the opportunity. When the two of you continue back to the submarine, distancing yourselves from the island’s townscape and the eyes of its people, your affection turns more physical. The way your hand lingers on the small of her back offers a subtle sense of security. It expresses openness, reassures support, softly reminding her that you’re here.

She stays quiet throughout the walk, and you don’t mind. She doesn’t need to force it. Aware of how difficult it can be for her to express complicated emotions, you’re patient, staying by her side to listen when she’s ready. It’s unconditional, nonjudgmental, tender and genuine and devoted. All you want is for her to know that.

Maybe tonight, you can remind her exactly how much you love her.

#one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #trafalgar law smut #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #my writing

405 notes · View notes

targaryenluvs · 6 months

Note

Hii! I saw that you like au's so i ask if you can make a time travel au?

Where the modern reader goes to their time and meets simon, he falls in love and asks her to marry him but she gets weirded out bcs she is still so young and doesnt plan on having children.

Dark-ish plsss? 🥺

Totaly get it if you dont want to write it, up to you 🌹

Thank you

(this was pretty short but here!)

warnings: darkish simon? young reader (16ish since she’s young but nothing happens!! pushy and possessive simon, implied fem!reader and poc!reader MADE UP ROYAL NAMES IDK HOW IT WORKS

notes: (my writing usually tends to lean towards an indian reader i’m sorry i don’t even realise when i do it 😭) i’m going to make a part two and post it tomorrow since i actual love this idea!!! you’ll meet simon!

Infatuation

summary: the one where you somehow travelled into your favourite tv show along with your family. and as you debut in society, you catch the eye of a certain duke.

part ii

shonda rimes was nothing short of a goddess in your eyes for her casting abilities.

you’d been obsessed with the books ever since they came out and the second you’d heard of it being picked up by netflix you screamed so loud your family thought you’d died.

it was the release day of the first season and you had to meditate before watching since your heart was absolutely running hundreds of miles inside.

you’d settled into bed, had your favourite snacks to your side and your emotional support water bottle clutched in your arms as you pressed play.

you’d overestimated the power of meditation to calm you down, and underestimated the power of warm cocoa.

you’d dosed off after the second episode, and you were aware of it as it happened. the sounds of your favourite show lulled you to sleep and you’d never felt happier.

but after a while, you’d realised the sounds never really faded away, they became, stronger?

the sounds of the bickering bridgertons echoed through your head, preventing further sleep.

what the fuck?

as you opened your eyes, you felt, energised.

and as you rolled over you couldn’t believe your eyes.

daphne bridgerton by your side?

“y/n, are you alright?” she questioned as she closed her book, giving her undivided attention towards you.

you reeled your shock back in as you cleared your throat, “uhm, yes, i’m alright. where are we?” daphne smiled at the question, “we’re at my home.”

you nodded as you took it in, you fell asleep last night in your own bed and woke up in your favourite book, great!

this was quite literally the epitome of all of your daydreams and you couldn’t believe it was happening. you took into account that if you were with daphne you were most likely good friends with the bridgertons, you looked down and saw your nightgown, definitely not the same pjs you wore to bed, your hair was in a braid, and-

“since you’re finally awake, let’s get ready. i’ll send the maids in! i’m so excited and nervous for today y/n/n. this is our day!” she gushed as she allowed the maids in.

our day? this most likely meant that this was starting of like the first episode. oh god, you were going to meet everyone. anthony, benedict, violet- oh god you loved violet.

the next hour was a blur, maids everywhere, millions of dresses, hair pieces, jewellery sets and so on. you’d settled on a (obviously) white dress, with a diamond like waist details, puffy sleeves, gold details/flecks around the sleeves, a tiara, bracelets and a sweet yet simple necklace. daphne had on a similar dress, but the details were different and she wore a feather in her hair.

gods, she looked amazing. the two of you stood in the middle of the mirror, clutching eachothers arms as maids touched up your hair. “you look phenomenal sister.” daphne spoke to you admirably. over the hour you realised many things, the two of you had been friends since kids despite your age gap, your mothers being the best of friends and the same for your fathers, and since hers passed the two of your families had only grown closer.

your own family were very well-known amongst the ton. your father, being marquess of anderton, lord y/f/n l/n and your mother, lady y/m/n l/n, and your brothers, eldest son, earl of anderton lord b/n, and lord b/n. then you, the youngest, lady y/n l/n.

your brothers were also best friends with the bridgerton brothers, your eldest and daphnes, your second with benedict and colin due to their shared/similar responsibilities as second/third sons. but they all got along, nothing happened in the bridgerton family without you knowing and nothing happened on yours vice versa.

you all usually visited eachother whenever, living not too far from eachother. your town home being larger than theirs, and anderton being an three hour ride from london, your country estate being much larger. you were wealthy as hell and you loved it. not that you weren’t back home, but obviously nothing like this.

you still couldn’t tell if this was a dream. usually in your dreams nothing seemed as realistic as this, and you had free reign of your body, you controlled your body, nothing odd had happened, no floating unicorns, no random nightmares, nothing. all realistic. and despite your age gap of of roughly four years, yourself and daphne got along well, she at first saw you as a younger sister and soon enough, her best friend.

even if it was a dream you’d take as long as you could here.

as the doors opened yourself and daphne stood proud and happy. the nerves dying down after you reassured one another.

your mother and lady bridgerton stood infront, teary eyed. “our girls! you look-” “breathtaking.” anthony cut his mother off as your families stood, shocked.

daphne squeezed your arm as you walked forwards, you were so relieved to see your family looking all the same, just a change in clothes, and it was odd. everyone looked so- regal! somehow your brothers had cleaned up.

“enough fussing! let’s get going now.” daphne spoke as you all made your way down. “are you going to marry a princes sisters?” hyacinth squealed as you and daphne laughed, “i wish! we do not know who we are marrying yet sweet hyacinth, that’s what the social season is for, to meet people, make friends and to meet the person you’ll marry. soon enough you’ll be in our position and you will have a line of suitors waiting for you.” you answered sweetly as she grinned from ear to ear before it was struck down by george.

“don’t lie to her! the men won’t be lining up to get to her they’ll be running to get away!” he joked as hyacinth gasped, “how dare you?!” she shouted as she chased him down the steps. for some reason this all felt, right. you felt like you belonged here. once you’d gotten past the initial shock everything just came to you so easily. the manner of speech, how to act, what to say etc.

maybe it was due to your constant daydreaming of being here but it was so easy.

“kids slow down please! you will hurt yourselves!” your mothers shouted at the same time. you were all one big family and you loved it. it was like double the love, and whilst the bridgertons may not have had their own father with them any longer, your father did his best. he spent time with the brothers and sisters, giving the support they needed, doing what he can for the children of his best friend, his family.

you had really underestimated the chaos of the bridgerton family.

you were surprised your own mother wasn’t greying in the hair at the constant bickering and fighting. but at the end of the day you knew everyone loved eachother. but right now you wanted to lunge across the carriage to strangle your eldest brother.

“it’s no big deal.”

“you’ll be fine stop fussing.”

“what’re you worrying for.”

as if this wasn’t one of the biggest days of your entire life. you had to make a good impression upon the queen, god knows the gossip in this town else wise would drive you into a hole.

“i am sorry sister, i should do well to remember the seriousness of today, i apologise.” he responded, reaching across to grab your glove-clad hand, squeezing in support.

“we should all remember the seriousness of today. but do not worry, our dear y/n will do well, i believe it wholeheartedly. you are sweet, confident, intelligent, understanding and so much more my daughter. you will find a good husband, someone whom you love preferably. but otherwise a good man, someone deserving of such an amazing woman as you and it doesn’t matter if you do not marry this season either. there is always the next. if you are not ready you should say so now.”

you’d never seen your father so absolutely understanding. you would’ve thought. especially in this day and age that he’d press you to marry but no.

“eloise has postponed her debut has she not? would it be alright for me to do the same? at ten and eight she will debut and so will i. i fear i am still to young, a lot of the others are older and know more than i.”

“no one knows more than you dear sister.” your other brother spoke up with a smile, “besides eloise of course.” he said as you all laughed, “very well then. we do not have to explain ourselves to anyone and i will send forth someone to relay the message to the queens servants and withdraw your announcement card. and i am not against the idea of keeping you caged up with us for another year. the dread!” your father joked as you all laughed.

the debut had gone better than you could’ve wished for. besides a fainting or two, and you having to endure prudences whining and complaining. the queen seemed to favour daphne and you could not have been more thrilled for her. the two of you chatted everyone’s ears of at dinner to the point where you were separated from sitting together, which did nothing as you both spoke from across the table!

at home you were restless.

your room was much larger than your own.

but you loved it nonetheless.

you couldn’t help but continue to think, you hadn’t woken up yet, you’d literally spent an entire day here, and you hadn’t awoken. you’d pinched and slapped yourself which earned you a few strange looks from the maid that you’d forgotten was in the room and nothing. you hadn’t woken up, annoyed at leaving the bridgerton world.

what you were most excited for was to meet more people if you woke up tomorrow. penelope slipped through your fingers due to lady featherington fussing over her, lady danbury hadn’t been seen, you hadn’t been able to visit madame delocroix nor anthony’s opera singer and perhaps the most disappointing of all,

simon.

you had the fattest crush on him, especially after seeing him in the show. if you woke up tomorrow, you were going to make sure to see everyone you’d missed.

and at the top of your list.

a certain duke.

and if you’d known what would happen once you met him you would’ve steered clear of him.

#bridgerton x reader #simon basset x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #duke of hastings

368 notes · View notes

basilf1res · 1 year

Text

Memento Mori - DPxDC

What was beyond death. Was there anything at all? Was there nothing?

That was what he always wondered.

When Clark was a child, he looked up to his fictional hero: Danny Phantom. A half-dead guy in a comic book series that led to the most bisexual awakenings in the century.

Clark liked to go back and reread the comic books from Issue #1 (they were fairly short, but all parts of an “episode”, almost like those ads on shows, but the wait time was every two weeks). He tended to read them all in one sitting, and yet oddly enough, never disturbed as he murmured the made-up summoning spell under his breath.

He could’ve sworn he had been going through them for over an hour and not twenty minutes.

It was Phantom who inspired him to continue being Superman in his darkest moments. He also considered himself physical proof that Danny’s palette swap was enough to hide his identity.

The glasses ARE enough.

When Clark found out he had a clone, he was ecstatic to be able to teach Conner anything everything, to answer any questions his little brother had.

Danielle “Dani” Phantom and her awaited return in “Issue #46 D-stabilized” caused him to become a mama bear to Conner out of the fear he would melt within a few weeks. But it wasn’t like anyone at the Watchtower had to know that small detail.

Getting married to Lois was the best day of his life, the day of Jon’s birth also fighting for that first place spot in his mind.

He had a clone brother, a wonderful wife, a beautiful son, and an amazing group of friends that work together to protect the planet he calls home.

But everything started to fall apart when a protest against metas took it too far, Jon’s powers started to develop and he was seen accidentally tripping, falling, and catching himself by hovering a few inches above the pavement.

Jon said he considered himself lucky nothing scarred. He laughed everything off when it came to the topic.

But it shook Clark, Lois, and Conner to the core.

Memento mori.

It reminded Superman that despite his impenetrable skin, Death can come at any moment. Even for him.

—————————

When Danny was a little boy, he dreamt of reaching the stars, he wanted to be able to touch the moon, explore Mars, and roam the galaxy he resides in and beyond.

He read these comic books of a league of heroes, a team with space cops, super powered humans, a man dressed in a bat suit that was more effective at capturing rogues and villains than some of the powered members, aliens, and so much more.

He flipped through the weekly published comics, learning to read better than most at a young age. He had two favorites, Superman and Martian Manhunter.

Danny wanted to explore the stars like his heroes. He wanted to be able to fight as well as the big Bat. He wanted superpowers. He wanted to help people. He wanted to fight his own set of supervillains. He wanted to be able to succeed and be loved.

Oh how he got everything he wanted but the last.

Tucker and Sam were the only reason he hadn’t broken yet, the reason he was still standing.

The anti-ecto acts, the GIW, Vlad, Pariah Dark, and his- Jack and Maddie’s sadistic comments about ghosts were the last straw.

The hero always wins… they don’t die to the evil they want to stop… right..?

Right..?

…

The sound of a scraping scalpel, the buzz of the lights, and the squeals of pleasure - as his ghostly heart was found again and again and prodded again and again - filled his ears for an unknown length of time.

His cries for help were never answered until a summoning pulled at his core, it was a personal calling, someone had managed to find his calling card.

The tears of relief stung his eyes as the dissection table with his body strapped down to it was sucked into a summons portal.

He was spat out in front of kids, most likely teenagers, due to the shrieks of horror and surprise.

Oh… oh how he prayed to the Ancients that he’d live to see another day as a tears slipped out of his eyes.

Memento mori.

——————————

Jon found out about his comic book collection and wanted to show Damian.

Clark hummed as he typed up an official report on a rogue attack to send to the Watchtower.

His blood ran cold when he heard his son scream from over in Gotham.

2K notes · View notes

slocumjoe · 1 year

Note

how would companions be at the beach? who gets sunburnt for a week? who tries drowning who?

Companions have a Beach Episode

Cait; is kicking ass and taking names at volley ball. Any who step up to the net are swiftly executed, either by shame of their devastation, or Cait spiking too hard and beaning them in the head. Being a ginger, this girlie is 2x vulnerable to sunburn. Doesn't put on sunscreen, thinks its dumb. Regrets this immensely. But before her skin starts peeling off of her like an onion, and in between claiming victims, she's throwing back fun beach cocktails. Doesn't drink water. On a hot, sunny day. When she's exerting herself. Also comes to regret this. This could have gone much worse if she didn't gorge herself at the BBQ. She wears baggy swim shorts and a loose tank top.

Codsworth; Hangs out at a gazebo with a makeshift kitchen/bar area. He's not risking sand getting in delicate places, absolutely not. No, Codsy stays nice and cozy, and makes those aforementioned cocktails, as well as other cold drinks and food. When he isn't serving something or cooking, indulges in some sort of activity, like a puzzle book, a normal novel, something like that. He enjoys the energy of the beach, the sand and sun and surf, but practically...he just really wants to take a broom to it, y'know? Just...just to see if he could...but that's rude to nature. So, it's best he keep to a more manageable area. One that doesn't give him cleaning itches.

Curie; Sets up a beach towel under an umbrella, and relaxes with a good book and iced drink. Despite not going out in the sun, puts on sunscreen to set an example. Periodically chases people down with a bottle if they've yet to apply it. You are not allowed to get skin cancer on her watch. When she isn't hunting Cait for sport, Curie is simply enjoying the beachy soundscape, warmth, and general chill vibes. Will get up and check on everyone, make sure they're drinking water, et cetera. Half of her time is spent relaxing, the other half Mama Hen-ing. These people lack self-preservation instincts and it kind of drives her crazy. Wears a pastel blue two-piece with ruffles.

Danse; is in his element. Warm weather, fishing, grilling, bright-colored, gaudy-patterned shirts. This is his happy place. Gets a cooler of beer, a pole, and sits by the shore, soaking up sun like a cat. Lives out his ideal life as an old beach bum and for once, has a good day. This is Danse at his peak. He shows up in knee-length khaki shorts, socks and sandals, and a borderline-neon floral button up. Anything he catches, he grills over at Codsworth's gazebo. Spends his day fishing, bbqing, and drinking, and shocks everyone with the fact that, yes, Danse is capable of basic joy and relaxation. Just...very sparingly.

Deacon; Redhead. Unlike Cait, knows the divine agony that is a bad sunburn, and lathers himself in sunscreen. Wears a speedo, crocs, and an obnoxious sunscreen streak on his nose. Participates in volley ball, wrist is sprained by a hard serve from the Red Menace herself. Afterwards, lets Piper and later, MacCready, use him as a sculpture base. Seeing as his day was spent underneath piles of sand, didn't do much. Had a lot of drinks, though, courtesy of Piper engineering a long curly straw for him. Has to be dug out for BBQ against his will, wanted to spend the rest of his life as a mermaid. When he emerges, is caked in sand and looks like a golumn. All that sunscreen turned against him. For the next week, greets people with "Hi, I have so much sand in my ass, how ya doin'?"

Gage; Tends to dislike casual, hang-out activities on principle. Whereas Danse doesn't like them due to his social anxiety and gets nervous around people. Gage doesn't like them because he doesn't like people period. The beach is one such activity, with the added bonus of causing him physical pain. Due to his half-blindness, prolonged exposure to brightness really strains the one eye, so he sticks to Codsworth's gazebo for shade. The ocean is basically a giant disco ball and that shit triggers migraines for him. Spends the day observing the others and chainsmoking. Keeps tally of Cait's various volley ball crimes. Plays catch with Dogmeat until the pooch collapses from exhaustion. Generally does what Gage is always doing—keeping tabs and making notes. Also, mooching off free food.

Hancock; the thing about Hancock, is that it's difficult to keep him in order. You're rarely going to see him in a group, doing group pre-ordained stuff. He sticks around the others for maybe ten minutes before he wanders off to see whatever he can find. Comes back a while later with his pockets full of rocks, shells, even bones. Codsworth empties a bucket for him to put his treasure in, and Hancock's back out on the hunt. Spends his day beachcombing. Brings back stuff for MerDeacon, gets a big clump of kelp for the hair, and seashells for modesty. Hancock just paces up and the down the beach, pondering shit, collecting shit. Basically this image;

MacCready; didn’t intend on sculpting a mermaid onto Deacon, but God presented him an opportunity. MacCready has based his entire life on taking opportunities given to him. Has so many fruity drinks as he crafts his masterpiece. Whereas Piper is more interested in forming the excavation site around the corpse of this behemoth sea monster, MacCready's more interested in giving the Deac very crude and childish features, such as breasts in the image of Deacon himself. But wait, aren't mermaids seals? Seals have multiple nipples, right? Guess we have to make more Deacon tits! This descent into madness might have something to do with the copious pina coladas he put away. Getting beaned in the head by Cait also probably didn't help. Wears gym shorts and a tank top.

Nick; Curie had the right idea. Only, Nick improves on it by moving his spot much, much farther down the beach. Takes a radio, wine coolers, and various books that he goes through over the day. Reads shlock romance pulp fiction, because he felt it more thematically appropriate to the beach. Has a few towels down for cushy-ness, being an old man. Needs his back supported. He wears shorts and a long, thin-material cardigan, almost like a robe. Wouldn't look out of place telling an officer he most definitely didn't kill his husband. Nick appears later at lunch/dinner/dinch, but until then, he's sequestering himself under an umbrella and he's having a moment of peace. Considered participating in whatever the others were doing at one point. Decided against it when he saw whatever the hell was happening with Deacon.

Piper; was almost a victim of Cait, dipped when a volley ball went past her head and it sounded like an actual bullet. Wisely moved out of the firing zone and began construction of a sandcastle. She blinked, and there was Deacon, and six nipple-Deacons. Doesn’t know how it happened. Didn't question it. Turned her castle into the excavation site of a prehistoric sea creature, washed ashore and buried beneath the sand. It pays to be adaptable like that. Piper spends a good chunk of the day pissing, as she's the type to need so much water when its hot out. She doesn't start slinging back fun cocktails until its lunch/dinner/dinch. Then, it's a cocktail for every hotdog, burger, serving of fish...and Piper can put away bbq. Wears a red halter one-piece.

Preston; is the only one to consistently survive Cait's bloodbath, so he keeps her busy, so as to let the others escape her rubbery death blows. Basically just plays ball with her until she gets tired, same as Gage with Dogmeat. Preston takes some breaks, and drinks water, but its a matter of attrition. Its an endurance test. He passes by the skin of his teeth. The game ends once Cait is lured away by bbq and alcohol. At that point, Preston is better considered a husk than a man. Drops an ice pack on the ground and lays face-down on it, and takes a nap like that.

X6-88; shows up in his usual black trench coat and not a single bead of sweat forms. Haunts the gazebo for sugary drinks and treats. Everyone tries to ignore him because they get second-hand heat stroke just looking at him. He's loathe to get near the water and loathe to get sand in his clothing. Becoming the Phantom of the George Foreman Grill was the only outcome for him. Backseat sous chef, constantly questioning Danse and Codsworth's methods or choices. Codsworth politely takes the criticism, and ignores it. Danse just chucks candy into the bushes to lure him away.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #nick valentine #piper wright #x6-88 #robert joseph maccready #companions react #Codsworth #porter gage

247 notes · View notes

decayedgloria · 7 months

Text

obey me characters and their visions

Or what I think are their visions idk it’s 3 am and I just found out I failed my pathology exam so here’s a crossover of two games that provides me an escape from this putrid reality 😁

also just trying to get rid of drafts rn

Tags: sfw, pure crack speculation, I’m going insane, obey me demon brothers and undateables and luke, genshin impact visions, everything here is MY OPINION and should not be taken seriously, feel free to disagree with me

Lucifer

-He strikes me as the type to either have a hydro vision or a geo vision

-more leaning towards hydro

-hydro vision holders tend to be dedicated to their work and uphold their own view of justice, more often than not being protectors of some sort i.e Candace and Aaru village, Ayato with the Kamisato Clan

-I draw parallels between him and Ayato because they both have gone through hell and back for their families (often literally) and have had to salvage tarnished reputations in order to protect said family

-also very rich and elegant men who have a “dark side” that most aren’t aware of

-It’s also just every hydro character being really sophisticated and elegant tbh he fits the vibe I think (minus Childe but he has his moments)

-Geo because, well… look at him. He’s prime geo vision material. Like a rock solid wall holding up the HOL but like he’s also hanging by a thread lol.

Mammon

-Geo Vision, Hear me out on this.

-Not only does it suit his color palette, but if you think about it, Mammon places a lot of responsibility on himself to be a good older brother to his siblings (despite falling short most times), we see this especially during Nightbringer

-Geo’s thing is literally responsibility. Every geo user has some sort of responsibility that they themselves have chosen to undertake, whether or not they can handle it

-They’re all also quite stubborn. Once they’re dead set on something they will never let it go, and on top of that they also protect either someone or something

-Every geo user has a goal relating to something to do with material or status: Ningguang and the Tianqiu, Noelle wanting to be in the KOF, Zhongli wanting to retire (lmfao). Mammon wanting to be rich (and wanting him and his brothers to be at the top of the Devildom in Nightbringer) literally fits.

-Mammon, despite being a goofy character, fits into geo so perfectly it’s actually insane.

-Mammon and Itto are the same person. I’m not elaborating.

Levi

-Electro vision all the way.

-It’s no surprise. Canonically he’s seen as a weirdo, even by his brothers (not me tho I love my men a little pathetic) and he doesn’t spend much time mingling with others, so of course he’s gonna be singled out

-almost every single electro vision holder is outcasted by at least one society; Beidou being cast out of her village, Fischl being thought of as eccentric because of her personality, the literal electro archon becoming a shut-in

-He would absolutely get the vision probably in like the early part of Nightbringer when we got stuck in the TSL universe and he had to make a decision

-(if you’re wondering why I keep bringing up Nightbringer it’s bc it’s the one I’m currently playing ok)

-Levi also passes the “I have a scary animal that helps me fight” thing. Henry’s quite formidable when he’s back to normal size :)

Satan

-Hm, thinking about it and at first I’d say dendro is the obvious answer but there’s also quite a few other contenders actually.

-Pyro is one of them, and when drawing parallels Diluc comes to mind (obvs grumpy men stick together always.) As the avatar of wrath, he’s like mad 80% of the time and I can imagine him raining hellfire upon everything (and he has, best believe).

-But also he’d fit the “passionate” description, he’s so passionate about books and magic that he’d literally kill for a book that he wanted (and did I’m pretty sure). He’d also be considered passionate for hating Lucifer so much I think

-he also has quite the past to fit with a pyro user, especially during Nightbringer when he’s still coming into terms about being basically a baby demon and learning to confront his brothers and finally accept them

-Dendro is quite obvious for him. He craves knowledge from books, and I’m sure if he were in Teyvat he’d find his way in the Akademiya just to get into the House of Daena’s restricted section

-I think either or could be his vision, depends on which Satan you’re talking about (Nightbringer Satan and main timeline Satan are two vastly different individuals)

-if you really wanna get into it tho, cryo/electro's pretty... fitting. Especially for nightbringer Satan. Even if his brothers try not to make him feel like it, he will always be different from them; the fact that he basically was made to replace Lillith in a sense, and he distances himself away from them because he just doesn't fit in.

-all in all he's so versatile realistically he could have like 4/7 visions since his character is so dynamic between the two games

Asmodeus

-Now this was harder to come up with, but after giving it some thought I think he’d have an Anemo vision

-think of it this way. In Nightbringer take a shot everytime I bring that game up his whole arc in the beginning was learning to let go of the celestial realm and accepting the fact that he was a demon now, effectively granting himself the freedom to love himself once more

-Anemo is the element of freedom right? He fought himself and his inner demons for freedom like that, which happens to a lot of those who are granted this vision (Wanderer and Xiao moment)

-Thats really all I have for him. Tbh, the only other vision I could see him wielding his pyro, but I couldn’t think of anything else I can say that hasn’t already been said

-another short anemo king go figure (he and heizou would get along I think)

Beelzebub

-another one I had to really think of, but upon further deliberation with myself I'm thinking pyro again (the default vision lmfao)

-Yes. Passion for food, he'd get along with Xiangling quite well (too well, imagine her in the devildom holy shit)

-Also pretty passionate about working out and protecting his brothers, so there's that lol

-I am stumped on him bc he's like lowkey just there bro like

-how would he even get his vision idk man

-but imo pyro is the default vision so he gets it (feel free to disagree with me)

Belphegor

-If you think this guy does not have an anemo vision you are wrong

-like dead mf wrong he is anemo all the goddamn way

-he lost his sister and still blames himself for it, but he also wants to be free with his brothers in the devildom

-the other vision i would give him is electro because he does tend to like, shut himself off or whatever so there's that

-but he's 100% anemo I don't make the rules sorry

-first tall male anemo user?? (surprisingly he's 5'10 guys it's probably all that sleep he does lmfao)

Diavolo

-hmmmm, such a hard decision I wonder what vision I would give to the literal prince of hell- pyro.

-jk jk let me explain

-Pyro, because as I've stated before, it is both the default vision imo and also the vision for those who are passionate IMO (I cannot stress this enough)

-Diavolo is very passionate about RAD, and the whole "demons getting along with other species" concept is something he has been working very hard on (man is trying to end specieism in the obey me verse)

-on top of his outgoing and friendly personality, pyro really does fit him like a glove. I could make an argument for geo because he shoulders a fuck ton of responsibility for the devildom (esp in nightbringer) but like

-he is warm and friendly and strong, perfect pyro material

Barbatos

-I needed to think about this one for a bit, but after further deliberation with the screams that echo in my head, I am confident in saying that this man has an anemo vision

-if he were in the genshin universe he'd def be one of the shady people from celestia (bro is literally istaroth but i digress)

-as much as anemo fits him aesthetically, I also want to point out that he just... gives people freedom? Like the first half of nightbringer was him finally fulfilling someone's wish to go to heaven to see their lover

-he also just parallels a lot with venti, idk i just see him being very fitting with an anemo vision

-like, he's immortal yet does not look it (Scara, Xiao, Venti), downplays his power to appear "normal" in a sense that he won't be an immediate threat to those perceiving him (Venti), saw a pyro kid and decided to adopt them and begrudgingly take care of them no matter how annoying they are (Xiao and Hu Tao though I may be reaching)

Luke

-bro does not have a vision yet (jk its cryo)

-I feel like he'd be given a hydro vision solely for the fact that he is changing his, quite frankly specie-ist, ways lol (like eula hello?)

-he is quite shy when mc first met him, the only reason why he didn't immediately get mad at them is because they weren't a demon and that's saying something

-he tends to be very guarded around said demons, often becoming aggressive when interacting with them but he's warming up. It's like a wall of ice slowly melting through the mc and simeon's guidance

-he also reminds me of mika for some reason

Solomon

-he has an electro vision and yes, it's exactly the same situation as Lisa

-though he doesn't need one (none of them do tbh), I feel like he wanted one just for shits and giggles like I definitely see him being a descender on Teyvat

-he's literally the most powerful human in the obey me verse, of course he's going to be viewed differently from others even though he "tries" to not be too overt about it (very, very big emphasis on tries. I think he only does it for mc atp)

-I feel like he'd get along well with the electro ladies as well, particularly Miko and Lisa (Gorou and Luke need to hide like asap)

-in all seriousness though, he just fits into electro so well given all the character traits present in electro wielders

-another vision I could see him having is dendro, partly because he's always down to have more knowledge about magic that he doesn't know yet and is in constant pursuit of creating pacts with the demon brothers

Simeon

-another hydro wielder :)

-calm, collected, elegant, sticks to their principles- classic hydro archetype tbh I love him so much

-again, very similar to Lucifer's reasoning but he leans more towards hydro wielders like Nilou and Candace I think, who are quite relaxed but won't hesitate to protect what they love and fight for what they deem is right

-spoiler warning: he literally got cast out of heaven for the mc.

-as I've said before, there really isn't anything I can add that I haven't said before, other than the fact that Simeon would definitely enjoy Xinqiu's company and possibly get along with Furina when discussing acting and the arts

-other than hydro, I don't think any other vision suits him tbh (big maybe on anemo but like, it doesn't really fit tbh)

I am so fucking bad at character analysis but here you guys go

the labor of my sleepless night while i gather more motivation to write the second chapter of madame neuvillette

also i am so very tempted to start writing for other fandoms but this blog is enough for now tbh

88 notes · View notes

the-director · 4 months

Text

My Tav Calder! He is a half drow bard.

Bonus info specifically: (contain spoilers for the endings and epilogues.)

Gale: when I started playing Calder (he is my second playthrough) I had the intention of romancing Gale. So I pursued him hard. And then... oh and then karlach came onto me. And I fell. Hard. Had to break up with gale. I think that. In the story of this playthrough, this breakup is the reason why I wasn't able to convince him to give up the crown.

Lae'zel: despite being a bard, Calder does enjoy a good fight as I picked college of swords for him. But that is not the reason why they are friends, they are friends because they relate to their pasts. Calder does have a noble background, but he was also sold into slavery (long story short he is in a bit of a zuko situation. But instead of finding the avatar, he got sold and is told to "work to earn his place among his family") so. They both understand the weight of high expectations. But also I like their dynamic due to what lae'zel says to you in the epilogue if she goes with Orpheus. That you taught her diplomacy, and I think that's very fitting for her and Calder (or rlly with her and a bard/high charisma/pacifist tav)

Shadowheart: honestly I feel like shadowheart is so... older sister? The way that she tries to be above everyone, the way she is so sparky to you, but also becomes loyal and trusting of you. Idk it reminds me of older sisters in like early 2000s movies. As a result, when I'm not romancing her. I tend to view her and my tav as feeling a kinship to eachother. I think this is also because of both of them being half elves.

Wyll: I actually have a lot of thoughts about Calder and wyll, specifically because of Calder growing up in this rich upperclass family, they probably met eachother while they were younger, or at least both of them are aware of their families (I'm still deciding how old I want Calder to be, and how long he was a slave) so there's like. Both of them know eachothers childhoods, but then both have to wonder "what happened to you for you to wind up here" I imagine they have a heart to heart with wyll talking about the pact and getting sent away by his father, and Calder talking about his wild magic that got him rejected by his family and then further being betrayed by them.

Another component of this relationship is the "karlach protection squad" I feel like it's basically canon that wyll and karlach, whether or not they romance eachother, will be very close and have a friendship together. And so especially with karlachs infernal engine, they both feel this need to protect her, to find a way to save her life. Which is just. So neat yknow? This strong durable character who is yet so vulnerable due to this replacement for a heart she has, something imposed against her. That she tried to make work for her, and it did, for a bit. Until when she finally thinks she can get her life back. She instead finds she's a dead girl walking.

Anyways. Both wyll and Calder are devoted to her in this way. And so even though they're kind of in that space of "so similar to eachother that we hate eachother since we can see every fault and flaw that we hate about ourselves in the other" they put aside their similarities and work towards this goal.

Astarion: Calder is, ngl, highly morally dubious. He is. Incredibly two-faced, or more precisely 6 faced. He's very much a people pleaser, a liar one may call him. He breaks every law for his own gain. Which astarion can get behind. Calder reads astarion like a book moreso than anyone else, which is why Calder trusts him. Astarion may be seen as "untrustworthy" but Calder trusts because he knows what he does, he can rely on that. I'm thinking this is especially in the early game. Where Calder might not have been too sure about the other ones and their true intentions.

I think, perhaps this trust is also due to their shared background. Of course I made calders backstory specifically so that it could parallel everyone else's and deal with the similar themes of "lack of autonomy" and "authority" and so on. But I think other than wyll, calders background is the most like astarions. And so since he is familiar to this. Desperation and fear for safety that astarion feels all the time. That is why he *knows*

Halsin: Remember how there was that glitch where gales approval was super easy to get, and as a result he would hit on every single tav regardless of how much you talked to him and as a result he came off as a huge creep and people hated him? That's how I feel about halsin.

Jaheira: similar to shadowheart, but in this one I JUST. LOOK AT JAHEIRA AND I HEAR MY MIND GO. "PLEASE ADOPT ME" if she adopted me everything would be right with the world (it wouldn't but) my mommy issues. Just. (I have three moms, which one would think would mean I have no mommy issues. No I just have three different types of mommy issues)

Anyways. Seriously. I think that at first Calder would kind of have the karlach fangirl moment, he wouldn't externalize it. But it would definitely happen. Overtime though they develop the bond of cub and crow. And I think. The definitive good ending for Calder is one where he joins the harpers. (I'm just now realizing that then he would be Chris pines character in dnd and karlach would be that one barbarian lady)

Karlach: she snuck into my heart, and I think she snuck her way into calders too. I think at first, it starts with passion, it starts with warmth and comfort in eeachothers arms. Then it evolves into late-night talks around the campfire. Of him singing her favorite songs, telling her favorite tales. Maybe they do it together. Him on his lute and just her singing. Or them acting scenes together. I imagine them fighting together, him inspiring her, healing her maybe, her defending him and beating anything that hurts him into a pulp. I imagine them entering the city together. He took the tadpole, she is so worried for him. She tries not to let it show. His ego is bruised. He's hurting inside. They open up though, they find solace in eachothers arms again. That one scene happens, they talk about the future they'll never get. The cabin, with the goat. Oh how he wished he could perform for her forever.

I finished the game before patch 5, before going to hell meant finding a cure. And even then, I think Calder wouldn't force her to go. I think Calder always gets wyll out of the contract and wyll decides to be Duke. And so she dies. On the docks.

And Calder is ruined.

But he develops a plan. Undo timeline.

#calder the bard #tav #bg3 #karlach #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #astarion #halsin #gale dekarios #jaheira #im including their names because. idk i feel like maybe the slight character analysis is interesting.

40 notes · View notes

msc-ddv-ss · 4 months

Text

DDLV Friendship Headcanons : Rapunzel & Quasimodo ---------------------------------------

These two would be the bestest of friends… and there's literally no doubt in my mind that anything can change that…

Although… it would actually take them a while to have their first interaction… Both of them are slightly scared of talking to the other at first, and don’t know how or if they should approach them.

Quasimodo has no idea how to interact with anybody in the Valley (Hell, neither of them do.), but it is especially hard due to all the different faces, and types of people living here. There are some regular people, but there are also Talking Animals, Royalty, God’s, Demi-Gods, Anthropomorphic Talking Animals, and even things that he has never heard of, such as “Robots”... and this leads to him instinctively avoiding certain people in the valley, scared that he sticks out even more now.

Rapunzel is a bit more determined to make friends than Qusimodo, despite her anxieties. But although she doesn’t mean to be… she is actually quite fearful of Quasimodo at first. The way Quasimodo looks reminds her of the way Mother Gothel described people in the outside world, and even though she knows that Gothel was wrong about everything she said, she can’t help but be uneasy.

But after being introduced to each other by The Player… They would just immediately click…

Both of them would instantly apologise to each other after their mischaracterizing of one another, both of them feeling somewhat guilty about it… But the guilt is short lived, as they promptly start to bond in their similarities.

They both relate to each other, as both of them were trapped in a tower for their whole lives, and had to find and learn whatever they could about the outside world from… quite possibly the worst sources…

This leads to a tendency where both of them tend to rant to the other about something that they learnt about recently.

They are now “Learning-Buddies!”

Even though they are still both anxious about social interactions with certain villagers, They both love learning new things from them. This usually causes the two of them to meet up, and trade some of the new things they have learnt.

But whenever the information they trade is wrong, or contradictory to what another one of the villagers told them, they both work together to find out the facts. (This usually ends with them talking to the Player)

But if they are not talking about their new findings, they tend to show the other everything they learnt to do while growing up in their respective towers.

This leads to the two of them frequently talking about books, art, food, sewing, knitting, handcrafting, puzzles, and even the intricacies of maintaining and cleaning bells.

They probably both started a project with some of the other villagers to make a handcrafted replica of the whole valley, with little figures of the villagers to boot, for the inside of Qusimodo’s House.

Not only helping them become even better friends, but also helping each other become more social, and out of their shells.

Overall:

10 / 10

#ddlv community #disney #disney dreamlight valley #ddlv #headcanons #my headcanons #rapunzel #quasimodo #tangled #the hunchback of notre dame

40 notes · View notes

the-banana-splits-blog · 4 days

Text

1 banana

Introducing the leader of this zany bunch, Fleegle J. Howells

Any post with the tag #the guitar playing leader (Fleegle) will contain posts with Fleegle on it.

Below is his info post for this blog.

Fleegle is the leader of the club and band, he also tends to deem himself the smartest banana. This beagle has a love for sweets and machinery, you can always find him getting a secret little sweet snack or working on a crazy new invention (though, he has only has 3 successful inventions so far..)

Since retiring from the show, he has continued to work on making new inventions and always calls one of his friends to test it out to see if it works. He still lives among his fellow band mates in their “club house”. As the leader, he claimed the master bedroom in the upper bit of the club house. Fleegle has a side hobby of being a magician, he is pretty good at it and pretty much just preforms in secret (his band mates tend to watch him in the door way and they all think it’s pretty swell and he should take it out on the road, but Fleegle says he ain’t good enough for that)

They still go out and preform from time to time, just because they don’t do the show, doesn’t mean they’ll stop playing their music.

Fleegle is currently 29 years old and engaged to Drooper for the time being.

Personality:

A bookworm, a neat freak, tired a lot.. tends to get tired of his friends shenanigans, mostly Bingo.. sometimes has a short temper (not as bad as Snorky), tends to get lost in his own thoughts, also gets sidetracked very easily.

Little facts:

Fleegle is part teacup beagle, which is why he is a shorty

He will never admit to it, but he loves dog toys, this pooch will get so excited (but he does get embarrassed once the excitement passes)

His go to sweet, is anything that has chocolate.. absolutely loves Snorky’s triple chocolate cake. (But also enjoys hard candy too)

Fleegle wears dark makeup around his eyes, since apparently without it, he looks like he did as a child

His iconic red bow tie was a gift from his Uncle Ralphy, he gave Fleeg the bow tie when they had their first big performance

Fleegle has quite a few scars, though none are visible as they are really small.. most are from dealing with his inventions and random metal scraps flying at him.

Fleegle has a fear of loud noises, tends to hide when thunder or fireworks come around. (Does wear ear protection from time to time.)

Relationships with the gang:

Bingo- he is the closest to Bingo compared to the others, somewhat considers him a brother from another banana as he says.. they met in grade school and became good friends despite being polar opposites. They still are good friends to this day, but boy does Fleegle get tired of Bingo’s shenanigans.. but he wouldn’t have that funky gorillatan any other way.

Drooper- he met Drooper a few years after Bingo, he was rather fond of the tall lion when he showed up at his mother’s place with one of his and Bingo’s handmade filers to come join their band. He had always had a fondness of Drooper, but never really acknowledged it till he was in his late teens. They started dating a year before they got approved to do their show and got engaged shortly after their show ended.. they haven’t talked much about a wedding as the two just wanna take things slow for now.

Snorky- He has a ok friendship with Snorky, he can tolerate him more since he isn’t as dumb as Bingo or as slow as Drooper. They aren’t really that close, but are friends to put it short.

Family:

Fleegle is an only child, but he has many many cousins.

His mother is Jenna Howells, a kind hearted beagle that can get a bit feisty when she wants to be (Fleegle gets most of his personality from her) like her son, you can find her nose is a book, her and Fleegle will do get togethers sometimes and talk about the newest books (Fleegle looks forward to it every month) Fleegle is also 100% a mamas boy.

And his father, Henry Howells (formerly Henry Biscuit) is a monotone teacup beagle. Fleegle was never really close to his father due to this, but Henry tried his best, even tried to force a smile for certain occasions but stopped when it did no good. He can’t really help it due to his head injury, but he loves his son and has always been proud of him. While he can’t show how he feels in his face or voice, his tail sure speaks for him.

#The guitar playing leader (Fleegle)

13 notes · View notes

finalgirleddiemunson · 2 years

Text

When I Write, Will You Answer? Part II (Dream x Reader)

summary: you believe you have been very foolish. Dream endeavors to prove you wrong. the sequel to When I Write, Will You Answer? (wc 4.4k)

warnings: some self-depreciating thoughts, kissing, let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: thank you to all the love on part one! put the confession scene in this side-by-side to the proposal scene in jane eyre and play spot the difference.

masterlist

-----

Lucienne finds Dream of the Endless in the library.

“Lord Morpheus, there is a Messenger for you.”

Dream is up, moving faster than any human eye could follow, books swiftly discarded on the table. His soul screams Messenger.

Lucienne stops him, a flash as she injects herself into his path. He has only a moment to feel his old rage, his old wrath at being obstructed or disobeyed in his own kingdom before he remembers himself. Before he sees the gravity of the situation etched in Lucienne’s countenance.

“A Messenger, my lord. Not Messenger,” Lucienne finishes, her stare piercing over the tops of her glasses. Not our Messenger hangs unspoken in the air.

The King of Dreams has no response. He studies Lucienne for a moment, all of his senses recalibrating with this news.

“Then I shall see this Messenger,” he finally settles on, sweeping past Lucienne without another word.

It is odd to see another in your place.

Your siblings all carry the same messenger bag. Old magic spills from the golden stitching and the weave of the fabric, letting all who come near it know that it is from the Messengers and protected as such.

A boy stands at attention at the end of his throne room, a youthfulness in the curve of his features despite the eons Dream is well aware this Messenger has lived. The stiffness of the boy’s spine reminds Dream of the first time you entered The Dreaming- the way you had held yourself so still, nothing short of perfection in your stance as you did your duty.

But then, oh but then, you had smiled. And consciously or not, you handled the letter gifted to you with the care of a newborn thing, delicately tucking it into your bag. Declared your happiness so openly at going to visit his sister’s domain.

And somewhere in the universe, the Fates laughed. Dream should have known then.

The new Messenger bows deeply at his entrance, and magic sends a small stack of papers from the Messenger’s hands. He lets them float in front of the Dream Lord, waiting for delivery.

“Your sibling has tended to all messages to and from this realm for many years,” Dream states. The boy looks startled, head snapping up, not prepared to be addressed by the Endless before him.

Dream himself is not prepared for the way the boy then straightens his spine and meets his gaze openly.

Dream only has a moment to wonder if all Messengers are as stubborn as you and if your brother is the proof before he responds, “That is true, Your Grace. My sister has tended to many of the Endless.”

“And where is she now? Will she not return to her post?” Dream does not raise his voice, but the earth of the Dreaming gives a low rumble of warning.

“She still continues her work. She has sent me in her stead, and I will now be the Messenger of this realm, Your Grace.” The new Messenger holds himself perfectly- there’s only the slight edge of steel in his voice that gives him away.

Dream studies him for a moment. He admires your brother’s bravery, to speak to him in such a way. If it were not for the matter at hand, Dream might even find himself amused by it.

If you were here, Dream would cast you a look and you would know without words that he was thinking I understand now that all the Messengers were forged in fire and carry it with them.

But you’re not here.

“I see,” Dream says after a moment. The steel melts from the boy’s spine as he nods to the Endless. He shifts his weight, beginning to move, ready to flee from the Dreaming.

“You have not completed your duty, Messenger,” Dream rumbles, stopping the boy in his tracks. A frost bites in the air. The title solely addressed to you for so long feels bitter in Dream’s mouth when given to another. It clogs the back of his throat, spills poison across his tongue.

The boy returns to attention, eyeing the Endless wearily, “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Dream does not acknowledge the request of forgiveness, now focused solely on another task. In his chambers, a letter placed carefully on his desk disappears, turning to grains of sand. The letter reappears in a swirl of sand in Dream’s palm. The black envelope is sealed with his sigil, and the wax holds a miniscule galaxy that swirls beneath the image.

Dream studies the envelope for a moment, recalls the words he agonized over. And then remembers his company and presents the boy with the letter.

The new Messenger looks startled for only a moment before he schools his expression once more, taking the paper from the Dream Lord.

“See that delivered,” Dream orders, authority spilling from him, finally ready to dismiss the boy.

The Messenger stares down at the envelope. As he looks up at the Dream Lord, there’s a hesitance in the way he opens and closes his mouth.

The boy at last settles on, “To whom, My Lord?”

Outside the palace, the air of the Dreaming crackles with electricity. A storm brews along the edges of the plane.

The twin stars in Dream’s eyes flare. “I should think that would be obvious.”

The new Messenger leaves without further delay, a black envelope tucked safely in his bag.

—

“You’re reminding me very much of someone else right now,” Death says, her figure blocking out the sun and your view of the park.

You try not to glower. “I’m in the middle of something very important.”

“No, you’re not,” Death chirps amiably before plopping down beside you.

“No, I’m not,” you sigh. You lean against the back of the bench, resuming your people-watching and trying to ignore the burn of Death’s stare.

“What are you doing here, Messenger?” Death asks. There’s a certain knowing, a wisdom to her tone that almost makes your lip quiver.

Instead you breathe in sharply, pushing the feeling back. You scan the crowd of families playing games, couples lounging on picnic blankets, friends gathering in circles under the sunshine. You nod to a young girl, wisps of her red hair escaping her braids as she giggles happily, chasing after a butterfly.

“Her name is Amelia,” You start, not returning your attention to Death, but knowing that she’s listening all the same. “She turns ten in the winter. Every year, she writes a letter to Father Christmas and places it on her windowsill. One year she asked for a puppy. The next year she asked for a baby brother.”

The butterfly lands in the grass for a moment and Amelia is quick to throw herself on the ground next to it, eyes wide as she studies the vibrant colors. You can’t help the little smile that the action brings.

“Isn’t there some high and mighty code about sharing other people’s letters?” Death asks.

“Well, the Messengers don’t technically tend to humans anymore.”

Death nudges her shoulder against yours. “Softie.”

You lightly nudge her back. “Amelia’s letters seemed very important,” You hum.

The truth is, you’ll always have a special place in your heart for humanity. The touches of inspiration given from the Messengers to humanity over the years resulted in advancements that were wonderful and necessary for humans, but it made you treasure the small insights you had into humans even more now.

“I saw my brother recently.”

Ah, there it is.

“Have you?” You say, playing for equal parts of innocence and naivety. Judging by the look Death levels at you, you only vaguely hit the target.

“He said one of your brothers has been tending to his realm since his return.” Death’s voice is quiet. You hate that she has known you for so long, and can no doubt read the tenseness in your body. You force your fingers to unfurl, feeling the crack and pop of the delicate bones.

“Well, it felt like the right thing to do.” Liar, your mind screams. It had felt like exactly the wrong thing to do, every cell had protested the thought. When you asked the favor of your sibling you knew yourself to be a coward, but could find no better solution. You continue, “I am surely no longer welcome in the Dreaming.”

“You know that’s not true!” Death is quick to take your hand in hers. “I don’t know what happened, Messenger, but it pains me to see both of you this way.”

“Both,” You scoff. A bit of fire licks up your spine as you turn to the Endless. “You know, I actually have heard from your brother.”

Death squeezes your hand, a silent request for you to continue. “He sent me a letter. Through my sibling.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asks. Her thumb runs along the back of your hand, ever flowing patience and kindness in the gesture. It drains the anger from you- you were never even angry to begin with. The rage was just easier to feel than the hollow echo.

You rest your head against her shoulder, allowing yourself the comfort of being near your friend. At least you can still call Death by that title.

You swallow thickly. Choke out the words, “He sent me a formal invitation to return to my duties in the Dreaming.” The invitation bore no acknowledgement of having read your letters, no hint to his own thoughts. It was only exactly as its function intended- an invitation.

“Well that’s because he’s an idiot,” Death remarks without hesitation. It startles a giggle from you, quickly smothering it into Death’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m serious. What an absolute idiot. I told him he was worse than Desire, and all he does is go and prove it.”

You laugh freer now. Death’s shoulder moves under you as she shakes her head with a disappointed sigh.

You revel in the comfortable silence for a moment, looking back out to the park. Amelia has managed to coax the butterfly to land on her finger, and she sits perfectly still so that she doesn’t scare it away. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, catch every flutter of the delicate wings.

“Go see Dream,” Death says. She leans her head on top of yours. “I’ve got a letter for him that I would trust no other Messenger with.”

You squeeze her hand. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” She agrees. “But I could have one if it would make you feel better.”

“It’s alright.” The butterfly on Amelia’s finger takes flight and she lets out a shriek of delight as it dances around her before taking to the sky. “I suppose I would have to face it all eventually. Eternity is a long time.”

Despite your words, you make no move to leave. Death lets you lean against her for a while longer, even though you know she has her own job to get back to. You appreciate the silent strength of your friend and let her warmth revive you.

“Yes,” Death replies. “Longer still with no one to share it with.”

You press your lips together, a physical reminder to keep your secrets your own.

That, alongside the formal invitation penned by Dream, there was also a small flower in the envelope.

Delicate and lovely, and very much like the ones that grow in Fiddler’s Green.

—

The Dreaming is being repaired. Slowly.

The realm already looks better from the last time you entered, debris cleared away and lost structures reforming. But, it’s clear that there is still much to heal.

You enter through the gates. You will not be slacking in formalities now- will give no misstep to further exacerbate the Ruler of the Dreaming.

A shaking in your hands persists. You wrap them around the strap of your bag, tugging it tight to your body.

The last time you made this trek across the bridge, you carried a letter written in your hand.

Today you carry a small flower, lovingly placed so as not to be crushed inside your bag.

The palace looks resplendent once more, the high arches no longer marred by holes and the glass of the windows restored. You can’t help the feeling of warmth, to see the place you love so ardently no longer suffering.

How many times had you wished that you could see Dream of the Endless again? Now you can think of no greater torment in the universe.

You stop before you enter the throne room. No doubt the King of the Dreaming has already sensed your presence in his realm, can feel your hesitation, yet you cannot help your lingering pause.

A coward no longer, you remind yourself, trying to fan the sparks of your sorrow into fire. The most you can hope for is Dream’s indifference- you cannot stand the thought that perhaps he has only invited you to remind you of the foolishness of your feelings. How ignorant you were to even consider the two of you anything other than acquaintances.

Certainly not friends. Certainly not more.

You straighten your spine and prepare to see Dream.

The curved staircase to his throne winds up, up, up and- there.

His dark coat flows elegantly behind him as he stands.

“Messenger,” The low tone of his voice rumbles in your ear as though he were beside you and not across the room.

A century without him. He looks just as you remembered.

Well, not exactly.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You would know him- his form, his presence, him- without sight. Lifetimes have been spent memorizing the shape of his hand, the curve of his face, the length of his gait. Lucienne spoke true all that time ago- something has indeed shifted in the Dream Lord. Something lingers in his gaze, there’s a certain softness in the set of his shoulders now.

You ache to reach out, to touch him. To confirm that he’s real.

You remember your place first and how to breathe second.

You bow low, the picture of elegance.

“Will you not greet me as you have in the past?” Dream asks. He does not walk so much as glide down the steps. You catch a glimpse of the never-ending night sky in the lining of his coat.

You examine him, searching for a trace of mockery or a hint of anger.

Have you read my words, Dream Lord? You want to scream. I spilled my heart into the pages. Did you take care of it?

You say none of that. “I apologize for my delay. I received your notice to return to my post. What would you have me deliver, Your Grace?”

His head tilts slightly. “A notice? Is that what my writing was received as- an order?”

You try to not make your confusion overly apparent. “Was it not an invitation to return to my job here in this realm?”

“It was an invitation, yes,” Dream says. You wish it did not feel as though you were being slowly peeled open and examined under his careful gaze. “But intended as an invitation to welcome you back to the Dreaming.”

You nod, “So that I might continue my work for the Dreaming.”

“So that I might see you again.”

Hope is a foolish thing. It grows wings, beats at your ribcage, searching for escape.

“I…” Centuries by his side, talking and conversing, vanish in a second. You search for the words and they slip through your grasp. Finally, you settle on the only truth that you can force from yourself, “It is good to see you. To know that you are well. I was… We were all very distraught by your disappearance.”

“I did not stay away by choice. I was held captive.” The Dream Lord’s eyes shine as he recalls the last century.

Captive. The word is a punch to your sternum- it forces the air from your lungs.

You had guessed as much, in your many years of searching. Heard the whispers when he returned. You knew without any doubt that he would never abandon his realm- it had left few other explanations. The confirmation still stings like an open wound.

“I’m very sorry. There are no words,” You say, gazing at the being you once considered a friend and blinking back a traitorous sting in your eyes.

Your shoulders drop, a tenseness escaping them as you look at Dream. How silly of you, how childish, to only consider yourself. The repercussions to your own person. The Dream Lord has faced much more in the past century than you can even consider, and you dare to wonder if he read letters that you never should have written in the first place? Dream of the Endless has far larger and more important things to consider than you.

You are glad for the reminder. There is comfort in your insignificance.

You know Dream can sense the change in you- the way you finally settle into yourself as you remember your duty. Blue eyes study you, seeking to understand, tracking your movements.

“Is there anything I can do for you now?” You ask, breaking his gaze to flip open your bag. Ready to receive his message and flit off to the next realm.

After you leave the Dreaming today you will be sure to find that secret place where you once locked away your feelings. You will remind yourself that this King does not consider you, could never consider you as anything besides your function. And you will be content with that- you would not spoil the lifetimes you have spent by his side with your own irresponsibility.

Your feet shift beneath you, the cells of your being already prepared to take you to your next destination once you’ve received your orders.

“Be still for a moment, Messenger.” It’s not a command, but a request. Perhaps that is why it freezes you. Dream’s steps do not echo throughout the throne room as he draws closer to you, but they ring in your ears all the same.

“You wrote to me all of those years, did you not?” Dream asks, voice soft and low.

You’re ready to rip the fabric of the universe apart, dig your nails into the marrow of star stuff and pull if it will allow you to leave now and never return.

The floor becomes your sole subject of intense study.

“In your absence, I forgot myself. I must humbly request your forgiveness.” You blink hard. “I understand if your forgiveness is not granted, and I will, of course, abjure from your realm for good. I shall oversee that a more capable Messenger is sent in my place.”

His shoes and the edges of his coat brushing against the floor come into focus.

“You would be so quick to tear yourself from me…to sever the ties that bind us,” Dream says. You must imagine the low note of hurt in his voice.

“I would not force myself where I am not wanted. I have imposed myself for far too long.”

The Dream Lord drifts even closer.

“Will you not even look at me, my Messenger?”

You have to force your gaze upwards to meet his eyes. You cannot hold it for long, your attention sliding to somewhere over his shoulder. You didn’t need to write him any letters at all- you know that under his eyes you are an open book. You bleed golden ink that spills and spells out your every thought. No matter how hard you try, you cannot stop it.

“Lucienne informed me of your return to the Dreaming after my arrival.” Dream’s statement sends a bolt of shock through you, that your friend has so easily told him of your whereabouts. “I tell you this not as a reflection of Lucienne, but to offer an explanation. Once I was free, I went to retrieve my tools. My sand, my helm, my ruby.”

Your skin crawls, begging you to flee. You're sure he sees this as a kindness, his explanation. To tell you exactly why he has and always will see you as a Messenger and nothing more. Why would he have sought you out when far more important matters were at hand?

“I needed them to repair the Dreaming and restore my power. But my motivations were even more selfish. I did not want you to see me as I was…Weakened. I could not have you behold me as anything less than what you deserve.”

You do not cry with the intention of being heard. The tear that escapes you does so without your acknowledgement and against your will. “Why do you cry, Messenger?” Dream asks.

Another tear. It lands without grace onto the front of your shirt. “Because you are here. And you are whole. And that is more than I could have hoped for over the decades you were gone. And because I am very foolish indeed.” You spin away from him, palms scrubbing over your cheeks.

“You have never been foolish in my eyes.”

“No?” You laugh without humor. Brace a hand against your rampaging heart. “I have to leave.”

The pressure of his hand between your shoulder blades burns you. It is agony to be near him.

“Why must you leave?” His fingers curl around your shoulders, even as you curve in on yourself.

“Because of the letters!” You rip yourself from his touch, needing the space. Your tongue runs away as the fire reignites, blazing deep within you. “Because now you know! I can’t fashion a denial against them, they are mine. They are from me. And though I hoped without reason that one day I would see you again, I never stopped to consider the damage my words would do. I cannot stay here and be your Messenger. It hurts too deeply.” You take in a gasping breath, one arm curling protectively around yourself.

He cuts the distance in a single step, bending the rules of his realm to step through the space. He stands before you, dark hair falling in front of his eyes as he looks at you. A newfound urgency possesses him.

His hand cups your jaw, keeping your gazes locked. “I do not ask you to be my Messenger.” His thumb smooths a line across the tear tracks on your face. “I offer you my soul, my love- everything that I am and have.”

When was the last time the King of Dreams offered anything? Your lip quivers, brows furrowing. “Do you mock me?”

“And I would ask of you nothing in return, save one thing.” His other hand frames your face. Outside, the world is still. Silent. “You once wrote my name in your letters to call on me. Will you not say it now?”

“Morpheus,” Your voice is a breath. The name is a knife, lodged between your ribs. The name is an offering, given up at an altar. His lashes flutter closed.

He whispers your name in return. The truest name you have to give, not linked to your title. A name only said once before, when you gave it to him in a moment of friendship.

It is not friendship that colors Morpheus’ tone as he whispers your name now.

He leans his forehead against yours, and you catch the end of his own shaky exhale that he does not need.

“Morpheus,” you whisper again, just because you can.

Because that thing with wings in your chest has made her exit and she soars high above you.

Hope. Love.

He kisses you and you taste lightning and ice, the last moments of a dying star, petrichor and honey. He rebuilds your existence in a touch. He is not hard or demanding, but wraps you in a gentle embrace. Morpheus holds you softly, as though you are a breakable and fragile thing.

He pulls back enough and breaths your name- your name- against your lips. You steal it back from him by closing the miniscule distance between you once more.

The length of his body finds a home against yours. Kissing Morpheus is as natural as traversing the stars that you have called home for so long.

When you finally pull away to look at him, half in awe and not a little amazed, you can’t help but laugh. Pure joy spills from you. You have the vague thought that you can see the entire universe in his eyes.

“You are amused, my Messenger?” Morpheus’ hands rest against your hips, the touch sears you through your layers of clothing. He guides you until your back presses against a pillar. You card a hand through his hair, tangle your fingers there in the soft strands at the nape of his neck. You’re still cautious and slow with your movements as you shake your head. You try to smother your wry smile.

“I am happy,” You correct. “Though, I must make one request of you before I give you my oath in return.”

“Anything,” He murmurs, his lips pressing along your cheekbone, then to your temple, the shell of your ear. It distracts you for a moment, drunk off his affection.

“You have to get rid of my letters. I don’t like the thought that you can reread my pining whenever you wish.”

He hums low in your ear, “I will if you demand it, but I ask you to reconsider. They are a part of you, and I am not keen on removing anything of your creation from this realm.”

You sigh as though this is a great burden. Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. “Well, when you say it so sweetly-”

Your words are gone with another kiss, more desperate than the last. As though the seconds apart were too much for him to bear any longer. You return it eagerly, open for him delicately and without hesitation. Your heart feels like it’s floating far above the two of you.

You break from him, stuttering in a ragged breath before reaching into your bag. Your fingers close around the small flower, drawing it out and holding it between the two of you. You guide Morpheus’ hand to open and place the flower in his palm, closing his fingers around it.

You lean forward, your lips press against his knuckles. Sealing your vow. “I offer you all that I am and all that I have to give- though you have been in possession of my heart for far longer than now.”

Morpheus tangles your hands together. You let yourself hold him and be held by him.

In the middle of your joined hands, the flower rests.

#dream x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #the final girl writes #not st babes

319 notes · View notes

indepthpokemonheadcanons · 1 year

Text

Grusha Headcanons

Grusha avoids social and networking events as far as possible. Even though his role as Gym Leader demands a certain degree of public engagement, he finds it exceedingly difficult to sustain conversations, and often comes across as aloof and rude without meaning to. Rather than risk saying something tactless, he engages as little as possible.

He joined the League a few months before Ryme did, but he has taken much longer to settle into his role. Despite being relatively new to the professional battle scene, critics rank him as one of the strongest Gym Leaders in Paldea, with the makings to become an Elite in future. Geeta has dropped similar hints during his annual performance reviews. But the praise does not always register; he doubts his ability and dwells on defeats, which often leads to him avoiding more challenging opponents.

Grusha did not have great interest in pokémon battles when he was younger. Neither of his parents were trainers, but they pressed him to try an array of sports and other pursuits throughout childhood, both battling and coordinating among them. Of the countless activities he dabbled in, snowboarding was the only one that truly seized his interest, but now that this path has closed to him, he has fallen back on alternative pursuits. Competitive battle still does not wholly engage him - but it is, at the very least, something he can feel good at.

His battle style is notable for how he manipulates visibility during matches. His signature technique utilises tailwinds combined with hailstorms and haze, which makes it exceedingly difficult for opposing trainers and their pokémon to see what is happening on the battlefield. His own team, all trained to rely on senses other than sight, are well adapted to fighting in such conditions. The technique is highly effective, but League officials have gently (but firmly) discouraged him from using it in more public matches, because low visibility hurts spectator enjoyment.

When he was younger, Grusha kept his hair short. It was only during the long, listless year after his injury that he grew it out, largely because he couldn’t summon the energy to book a haircut. He has since decided that he prefers it that way. Occasionally, he experiments with his appearance in other ways, such as with nail polish and makeup, but he is intensely private about it, especially now he is back in the public eye.

He does not tend to keep his pokémon in pokéballs unless he has to, as they are adjusted to roaming alone on Glaseado mountain. His weavile is especially reluctant to be contained. While Grusha has good control of his team on the battlefield, he is lax in domestic settings - he lets his pokémon sleep where they please, and even feeds them food from his own plate.

Grusha did some occasional modelling as a child, largely due to his mother’s insistence and fashion connections. He has taken on similar work as an adult, but he feels more self-conscious in front of a camera than he used to, uncertain of how to stand and hold himself.

Due to how recently he entered his role, he is not especially close to anyone in the League. At the few social functions he attends, Rika is one of the few to always strike up a conversation with him, but he assumes she is only being polite. Her blatant attempts to flirt are also taken as politeness.

Before his altaria evolved, she liked to settle in his hair and sleep on his head. She still attempts to do it now, even though she is rather too heavy for it.

#tl;dr grusha has former gifted kid syndrome #grusha #pokémon #pokémon headcanons #gen 9 #scarlet and violet #sv #paldea #pkmn sv #indepth pokémon headcanons #i love grusha #if you see me projecting quarter life crises on helpless pokemon characters no you don't #poor guy. when u devote your teens and early 20s entirely to snowboarding and then you reach 25 and u have no idea who you are #i don't think anything would happen between him and rika but i had to entertain that they shoot their shot #allow me this indulgence #my gnc duo...my girl king and my boy queen #pokemon

231 notes · View notes

ray-the-ginger-queen · 1 year

Text

De Rolo Children Headcanons

Vesper- Vesper gained the intellectual side of both of her parents. She has an incredible knack for languages and speaks 5 by the time she’s 20. She’s got her fathers quick wit and her mothers intuition. She, like Vex, is smart with money. She’s devastating in a debate. In her free time she prefers more low stake activities though, usually reading or painting. She’s very close with Gwen despite the age difference and loves doing her hair and later her makeup.

Leona- Leona is her fathers child. She’s the one that gets Percy’s tinkering gene and love of science. She loves chemistry and making things. She’s much more of a tomboy than her two sisters and sometimes gets jealous of Gwen and Vespers relationship. She’s also the most stubborn and headstrong of the kids and it shows. She’s a bit of a hellion in her teen years. Oldest of the twins by a couple minutes and won’t let Wolfe forget it. Leona and Wolfe are close but not like Vex & Vax. They constantly bicker and play pranks on each other, but it’s a “no one picks on my twin but ME” kinda thing.

Wolfe- Acts much more like a Proper NobleTM than Leona. He’s much better at remembering all the little rules than her and tend to tease her at social events. Despite this he like hunting with his mother a lot and excels at archery. He’s very athletic in general but he sometimes struggles with his studies and gets insecure about not being as smart as his family.

Vax’ildan- His family calls him “Danny” for short. He’s the quietest of his siblings. He’s very intuitive and can usually get straight to the route of anything bothering his siblings and even his parents sometimes. He loves going out into the woods but he doesn’t really like killing the animals and actually ends up deciding to be a vegetarian, which his parents are understanding and happy to oblige. He and Vesper like to read book series together.

Gwendolyn- The sweetheart of the family, but not without her tricky side. She loves playing hide and seek in her siblings rooms and surprising them. She also loves playing dress up with Vespers things and having Vesper give her makeovers. She loves reading and plants and gets very excited when Auntie Keyleth visits. She’s more sensitive than her older siblings especially when it comes to her appearance or being “different” than the rest of her family. Percy and Vex are always quick to remind her she’s just as much their child as any of her siblings and absolutely beautiful. Even her siblings have agreed her being a teifling is off limits for teasing. Everyone in the family is a little extra protective of Gwen, which isn’t hard given she’s the youngest sibling by a lot. The age difference between her and Vesper is 11 years and 5 years between her and Danny.

#de rolo family #de rolo siblings #percy de rolo #vox machina #critical role #the legend of vox machina #percy de blorbo #vex'ahlia #dad Percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii

147 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 1 year

Note

Asking both you and your followers: what fanfic(s) would you consider the greatest fanfics you've ever read? I've been in fandom for over a decade now, bouncing from IP to IP, and I've gathered a short list I that I carry around in my head at all times. This includes, in no particular order:

A Year Like None Other by aspeninthesunlight (Harry Potter)

Cheer Up by CourierNew (LISA: The Painful)

open season by pukner (Our Flag Means Death)

Childhood's End by pabbeyrene (Bloodborne)

Pancakes (an orphaned fic, so I cannot credit the author, but it's a Game Grumps RPF)

Memento Mori by GwendolynStacy (MCU)

Slumber Party Summons by JoyAndOtherStories (Good Omens)

Descent of the Holy Mother by tadakatsu14 (Silent Hill)

How about you?

Hmm... Absurdly Simple, An Ideal Husband, and ...Could Fill a Book by Plaid Adder spring to mind.

In addition to just plain being well-written, that middle one actually does something with Violet Hunter for once. (Holmes adaptations, why do none of you rise to this level???)

Dejla's Miami Vice fic about OFCs is uniformly excellent.

I particularly like Jordan Connelly who shows up earlier in a Pros fic and after in another MV novel zine, but Dark Side of the Moon is the only fic up online AFAIK. It's an adventure story set in 80s Miami that's probably fairly readable even if you don't know anything about the fandom.

I like astolat's work in general, but in particular, I like her Witcher fic despite—because of?—not having played the game.

What was that one Methos fic where he's taking over his new body and is sawing off a boob?

And obviously, the best fic ever is The Energy of Youth(s) by Laylah.

I don't really keep mental lists like this because I rarely reread and I don't tend to rank stories against each other. But some things do stick with me more than others all the same.

93 notes · View notes

destiny-smasher · 24 days

Text

JuliNemo Week - Day 4: Rest

The only thing I have to share for this event is an excerpt I've written from an unposted fic featuring Nemona and Scarlet Koito (PokeSpe manga) remixed into SV's game plot. I think it fits the theme well enough... Though my take on this ship is a little complicated... ^_^;;

Enjoy this excerpt/preview from Operation: Comet Punch!

-- (Author's note: the following scene is a flashback directly based on a scene from the book きみと雨上がりを ['After the Rain With You'] by Ayano Takeda, remixed for the purposes of this narrative.) --

The air was chilled by the falling rain, and Nemona's skin was clammy and damp. Her clothes were heavy, stuck to her skin—the added weight was making each step more difficult. Her waning strength was pitiable, and she was already out of breath after only a few minutes of wandering in the rainstorm, desperate to find her crestfallen friend... her crestfallen future Rival, she hoped.

The visage from earlier that afternoon of Scarlet's face when they'd lost to Larry... it was affixed to the back of Nemona's vision. Seeing Scarlet so shaken, so disappointed, so frustrated... That image was even heavier on Nemona than all of this Arcdamn rainfall. It had been the first time Nemona had seen Scarlet actually lose. And they'd been so pumped to get their fifth Gym Badge, too... Nemona, in truth, hadn't lost against any of the Gym Leaders in her rise to the top. She'd cared too much about looking cool to come to any of them unprepared. Maaybe-... Maybe this was her fault? Maybe she'd pushed Scarlet too quickly, made the Gym Challenge too pressing, rushed them to complete it... Nemona knew she could be a little reckless sometimes... Maybe her advice, her eagerness, was instilling a hasty nature in Scarlet?

And now, Scarlet wasn't answering Nemona's calls, wasn't texting back... even though they'd said they would after they'd fought Larry. It made Nemona's stomach sick—a real possibility with how cold she was in this rain. Stupid, stupid... forgetting an umbrella on a trip across Paldea. But Nemona didn't think ahead if it wasn't a Pokemon battle; she only focused on the present. And right that moment, the very pressing, suffocating present was screaming at her like a flustered Noibat: 'Your friend is hurting, your friend is in pain, they need you, they're alone and cold and damp and probably really down on themself!'

So Nemona kept pushing on, despite her pounding heart, despite her aching feet, her burning thighs, her trembling hands, and the steadily crushing weight of the rain against her being... Her Pawmi had rounded a corner, meeting up with her after scanning a few blocks in the time it took her to cover one. She could tell the little guy was getting impatient and a bit confused by her gasping and whimpering in this rainfall. His ears were flopped downward, letting the rain roll off, and the tuft of fur on his head was soaked flat against his skull.

He made a concerned chittering noise as Nemona trudged to him, wiping rain out of her eyebrows. Her ponytail slapped against her back when she rolled to a stop, its water weight stretching at the skin on her scalp.

“Y-...You-... Oh, Arc...” She gasped, needing to take a second to catch her breath. Sniffing and wiping rain off her upper lip, she asked him between huffs, “You... see them... anywhere...?”

Her Pawmi shook his head, flinching when a heavy water drop plopped right onto his head. He shivered, and Nemona sighed. Poor guy had run practically the whole length of the town by now, he'd done his part and then some.

“H-Here...” she croaked, her breath still short as she pulled out Pawmi's pokeball. “Take a break, I'm... I'm sure I'll find her, Bud...” She wiped at her mouth with a groan, uttering out, “Thanks... for looking...”

Pawmi gaped at her with some concern. He could tell this situation was really getting to her. She lamented than she'd spent time brushing and tending to his fur just a half hour prior, only to have that work ruined by this storm. The same could be said for her own hair... But just because something got messed up over and over didn't mean you gave up on ever cleaning it. It was why you had to be vigilant in tending to things.

With Pawmi back safe in his pokeball, Nemona assessed her situation. Maybe... Scarlet had just left? But... they'd agreed to meet up for the fireworks that evening. So they had to still be around, right? They wouldn't just... ditch Nemona, would they? They were becoming best friends so quickly and everything, or so Nemona had thought... For the first time since she'd met Scarlet, Nemona found herself questioning if she was getting ahead of herself, fated to drive yet another potential friend away... It was an eerie and familiar fear that gripped at her heart, but she was eager to cast the doubt aside.

Nemona shook the feeling off for the time being and pressed on, advancing to the last few blocks of the town she presumed were unexplored. After a couple minutes of rain-drenched drudgery, she saw irregular movement out of the corner of her eye, coming from an alleyway. The spindly legs of a familiar Spidops were gesturing at her, sending her childhood born fight-or-flight response off... But she suppressed her instincts, as she often did when bug Pokemon appeared unexpectedly. The Spidops' other two legs were weaving at... some kind of net? Or-...?

Oh! It was Scarlet! Their Spidops was tending to a makeshift 'tarp' between two wall of the alleyway Scarlet was sitting at the edge of – an attempt to protect them from the rain. Scarlet was pitched against the alleyway wall, barely visible from outside due to the setting sun. They looked... asleep? With a book in their lap.

“Leh-... Letty!” Nemona coughed out, using the appointed nickname she'd given her weeks-old friend. She hustled to the alleyway and cautiously scooted herself beneath the cover Spidops was providing, making sure to not let it detect any semblance of fear from her. It seemed to recognize her presence despite her soaked state and welcomed her beneath its webbing, a bit of rainwater trickling off and nearly splashing into her.

“Letty,” Nemona pressed again, her voice a bit lowered as she knelt above her no-doubt disappointed companion. “Hey...”

“Mmrgh...” Scarlet moaned, coming to fairly quick. Their sunken, dull eyes stared up at Nemona like piercing daggers, rusted over by their loss that afternoon. “Nemona? The hell're you doing here...?”

“H-Hah, I could... I could ask you that!” Nemona chuckled nervously, suddenly self aware of her wet clothes stuck to her body, and her soaked bangs clinging to the side of her face. She probably looked extremely un-cool... Good thing Scarlet was the only Academy student around to see her like this.

“Damnit,” Scarlet sighed, closing the book in their lap and pulling their Rotomphone out of their pocket. “Must've conked out,” they grumbled with a “Tch,” shaking their head. “Missed call from you. Sorry 'bout that. Didn't miss the fireworks, though, right? Nah, 'nother half hour... What, uh-...” Now Scarlet was looking confused, having noticed the messy state their new 'Bestie' was in. “Somethin' happen?”

Nemona's brows raised as she blinked dumbly. Scarlet... actually seemed less fazed than Nemona had anticipated. Part of her was actually a little disappointed—she couldn't be a shoulder to cry on if... no one was crying, after all. She realized in that moment how weird it was that she'd been looking forward to being a shoulder to cry on...

“Wh-... I, uh...” Nemona untied her ponytail, and the cascade of dripping jet blackness slid down her shoulders and back. She flicked her head a little, shoving it all behind her shoulders. That was something you were supposed to do in a situation like this, right? All wet, hair down... You showed that off a bit, tried to make it look, like, 'attractive', or whatever, instead of lame. Yeah? That was totally what her Big Sister would've advised she do...

Scarlet didn't seem impressed by the gesture too much, though.

“You look like crap,” they cited flatly, reaching for their pack. “Heh, I feel like it, too,” Nemona eked out, unsure if the remark was teasing or discouraging... Scarlet pulled out a small towel and chucked it over without another word.

“Gosh, thanks,” Nemona cooed, a nervous giggle spilling out.

Scarlet had made a kind gesture! For her! A smooth act of kindness! Ahhh~!

Nemona tried to contain herself as she dried her hair off. Before she could think of what to say, Scarlet explained what had happened—though it wasn't new info to Nemona.

“Oh, erh... Tried my luck against that doofy Gym Leader.” Scarlet snorted a laugh. “Larry? Man. Just a... guy. Love it. Tch. Anyway-... ” They ran a hand over their forehead, brushing some stray raindrop-laden bangs off their skin. “Got my ass handed to me, so...” Letty fluttered their lips in a disparaging sigh, gazing downward.

“A-Actually, I saw,” Nemona revealed, her voice muffled a bit by towel. Shaking the tips of her ponytail off, she specified, “Isn't he great?” She recalled how Larry was actually a member of the Elite Four, on top of a Gym Leader, but didn't want to spoil the surprise. “He's, um... He's tougher than he looks,” she added cheekily, eyes squinting with a smirk.“I've got a sparring match with him tomorrow, jeje. You rolled up right after I'd sealed the deal, and so, well... I just had to spectate!”

“Ugh, you watched that match? Seriously?” Scarlet's gaze drifted sideways, flat and dull as usual as they hugged their knees. “Total shit show. Can't believe I lost...”

Nemona didn't know how to process Scarlet's phrasing. Swear words were so not her thing, too 'unbecoming' or whatever, like Big Sis would say.

Holding a rain-dampened towel in her hands, Nemona awkwardly offered, “I'll, um... get this washed, and return it to you!”

Scarlet's lower lip propped out as they shook their head indifferently, reaching an arm out for it.

“Nah, 's fine.” They took the towel back and shoved into into a wrinkled up grocery bag inside their pack, tying it up tight. As they stuffed the tome they'd been reading into the bag, as well, they asked, “So... Why're you here? Anyway?”

“W-Well, I saw how badly you lost,” Nemona spat out, instantly regretting her phrasing. ('Thank Palkia, they don't seem to mind...') Nemona began fiddling with her largest, green bang, its wet texture slick against her fingertip. “You, erh, looked pretty down on yourself when your left, and... and then you didn't return my call? So, I, umm...-”

“Thought I was upset, or somethin'?” Scarlet said, brow raised. “Tch. As if. Sure, got lil' pissed off when it happened, but, like... Enh.” They shrugged, glancing away from Nemona's intent staring. It made Nemona self conscious that she was looking too hard... Scarlet went on, “Just needed to cool off. Gotta get used to losing at some point, yeah? A loss is still a win, long as ya learn somethin'.” They looked back at Nemona, crossing their legs and crossing their arms. “Now? I've got info on what team he uses. I'll come prepared next time.” The pair of them shared a knowing smirk for a fleeting moment.

Nemona's heart soared at their conclusion. And they'd arrived at it all on their own! Yes, yes! This was exactly the kind of mentality she'd been looking for in a prospective Rival!

Clasping her hands together abreast, Nemona nodded, bobbing up and down once on her toes.

“Totally~! You so get it! Aw, man, just-... Yes. I could-! I could help, y'know? I'm fighting him tomorrow! Haven't had a match with him in like a year or so, but I could analyze his strategy when we battle, and-... and I could so put together a list of ideas to counter him. We could meet up for dinner, maybe? Go over my findings? Put together a plan of attack and stuff!” She pumped her fists. “Augh, Arceus, I'll make sure you destroy him the next time you battle!” She shadowboxed a little in her anticipation. “Like, just, wipe the floor with him!”

By the time Nemona let her over-excited ass come back up for air, she noticed Scarlet was staring, slack-jawed a bit, eyes narrow as ever. She couldn't tell if Scarlet was... interested in this plan, or not...

'Shoot! I'm doing it again, huh...?'

“Tomorrow?” Scarlet replied after a silence that made Nemona feel queasy. “'Mona, we're hanging out today. Met up yesterday, too, for ice cream and stuff? I got... things to do, y'know? Besides the Gym Challenge. Gotta make cash to pay my way n' stuff. Tomorrow, meetin' up with Arven. Gotta help him hunt down the next Titan Pokemon.”

“O-Oh, sure.” Nemona tapped at her cheek, gazing sideways as she made a sheepish offer, desperate to come off as casual. “Tsh, yeah, y'know, I wouldn't mind lending a hand, if you think-” “Nah, we're good. Got it handled.” Oof. Had been worth a shot, anyway...

“Hah. That's my Rival-In-The-Making, for ya.” Nemona swiped a hook at thin air. “Takin' on giant, crazed Pokemon like it's... no big deal.”

“It's kinda not. You'd think it would be, but... Engh,” Scarlet shrugged, trailing off. “And, erh. Between all this Gym training crap, it's... kinda nice to just... spend some time in nature. And whatever.”

“Oh, for sure! Paldea's got so much to offer, doesn't it?” Nemona pumped her elbows down to her hips, trying to keep the mood up.

“It-...” Scarlet blinked off to the side, then back to Nemona. “I mean. 'S got a lotta... hiking trails, I guess... Not even well kept ones, to be honest. With how much money rolls through some o' these towns, you'd think they could at least keep the damn roads functional...” At Scarlet's blunt critique, Nemona felt herself shrink a little bit. She supposed it was easier to see the flaws when you hadn't grown up here. Scarlet kept ranting, “Big surprise, there, not like I couldn't find miles of hiking trails where I came from... Tons of open space, sure, but... nothing much to do in Paldea, huh?” Nemona was feeling dragged down by Scarlet's mood, here, and opted to keep maintaining the optimistic approach.

“Wh-?! Sure, there is! You can battle to your heart's content, for a start!”

“Rrrright. Pick fights with strangers just moping around in the middle of nowhere? I'll pass. Mainly, though, just need to keep finding as much treasure as I can. Don't really care where it comes from. But the stronger my team is, the easier it'll be to find more. So. Yeah.” Scarlet bobbed their head sideways and pinched some water drops from the little tuft of bangs they had.

“Of course!” Nemona encouraged. “So you can graduate some day—fulfill the Treasure Hunt and everything?”

“Uh... Sure.” Something about the way they'd said it made Nemona suspect something else was up. When it came to the Treasure Hunt, they'd get real cagey, though Nemona couldn't figure out what kind of secret they had to hide about it. She knew better than to pry—she'd hate it if Letty was prying into her personal life, after all...

Nemona tried to push things onward, this was giving her such a bad vibe... She felt like something was off but was too scared to draw attention to it. It stung a little, knowing that Scarlet, brand new to Paldea, was already making all these friends and stuff, going off on trips and whatever? Meanwhile, Nemona was so wrapped up with keeping up her grades, maintaining her reputation, handling Student Council business, and training up her multiple teams... She just didn't have, like... people? Individual, specific people, that she wanted to spend time with?

Why and how did Scarlet become this exception to the rule? She just needed to keep spending time with them, regardless. That was all that mattered, really. She wouldn't bother putting much thought into it until she needed to. The excitement, the buzz, that was all she could focus on for now.

“What about the day after tomorrow?” Nemona offered. “To meet up and dish Larry strats. I mean.”

Scarlet's eyes did a weird, uncertain thing, looking at Nemona as if some unspoken rule had been broken somehow. Then Letty shrugged, glancing out at the dissipating rainstorm, not making eye contact.

“Uh, look, Nemona, I'm not sure how long this trek with Arven's gonna take, so... Why don't I just... call you?” They finally looked back with a small smirk. “When I'm ready to rethink Operation: Kick Larry's Normal Ass?”

Nemona burst out a giddy giggle. She loved Scarlet's little 'operation: etc.' bit. Sounded like they'd picked it up from this Cassiopeia person—who Nemona was still way suspicious of... She wished she could insert herself into that mess, help bring Team Star down, and make sure Scarlet didn't get in over their head... But, then again, their loss to Larry besides, Letty was holding their own super well, here, all things considered. Which, naturally, was all the more promising regarding their prospects as a future Rival. “Sounds, uh, sounds good!” Nemona complied, ready to re-tie her hair into a ponytail. Pumping her fists with resolution, she assured, “I'll write up a detailed plan for us to go over when you're ready!”

“Cool,” Scarlet said with a simple nod. Nice! Yes! Nemona was so looking forward to it. People never wanted to dish detailed plans or strats with her...! UGH, this was just the best. Oh, yeah, and the fireworks were about to happen soon! That was a total bonding moment opportunity!

“Can't wait,” Nemona put out there, unable to contain herself. Fluffing out her still drying hair, she wondered, “So, uh... Any word on the fireworks show? You think it's still on?”

“Oh. Good question.” Scarlet checked their Rotomphone. Nemona was in suspense for a few moments. She desperately wanted to experience fireworks together with Letty. It was something special she'd never gotten to share with anyone outside of her family... Letty replied casually, “Huh. Yep, still on.”

“Nice!” Nemona cheered quietly. “It's gonna be awesome, just you wait.”

As Nemona bobbed on her toes with anticipation, Scarlet tucked their phone back away and gazed up at Nemona with a slightly amused, quizzical look.

“Gettin' hungry,” Scarlet said, rubbing their stomach a little as they shoved themselves up. Strapping their pack back on, they summoned their Spidops back into its ball. “Gonna go grab something. Uh... Wanna come with?”

“I'd love to,” Nemona belted out, having hoped they'd offer. “I know you're strapped for cash, so let me cover you!”

“Enh, but you did yesterday when we had lunch...” “It's so not a problem, seriously. 'Sides, you had a rough battle, you deserve a treat to cheer you up!”

Nemona knelt over and extended a hand down to Scarlet.

“Heh...” Scarlet smirked in this timid way at Nemona, a way that Nemona had only ever seen reserved for her. A softness, a vulnerability, was briefly revealed from beneath those rusted shields for irises. Their eye contact lasted just long enough to make them both flustered, until Scarlet at last replied, “Yeah, all right...” Scarlet reached up and gripped Nemona's arm bracer tightly, and Nemona pulled Scarlet up, beaming with giddy warmth. “C'mon, Letty. Let's go!” "Guh-...! Slow... Slow the hell down...!"

#julinemo week #scarnemo #julinemo week 2024 #julinemo #pokemon nemona #pokemon scarlet #scarlet koito #pokemon special #pokespe #fanfic #pokemon fanfiction

16 notes · View notes