#steel peony

[verblauen]

came around to finish this sketch I started last year reupload because the original had glaring rendering errors & I made poor Peony way too pale

[unbeatable-champ]

Ex Champion Peony is pretty cool (and hot)

Well, who would I be to deny that!

[motherofsephy]

I have gotten into decorating Chairman Rose-related Pokemon cards with stickers and it’s so therapeutic. I’m not putting the stickers directly on the cards, but on card sleeves, so don’t think I’m damaging the cards at all.

My next batch of decorating will be Rose’s Pokemon team. Arceus, I love that man!

Edit: I forgot my obligatory 🪑🧔🏾‍♂️🌹 emojis! ^_^

Edit 2: I just added his Steel Type team!!!

[moe-broey]

Don't Forget that the Asker sibs' Mom might actually have Powerful Blood within her and got married to help her 'Calm Down Time™' But it's uuuuuh, probably not working. (And also the devs are HUGE cowards for not letting her go berserk)

LITERALLY ACTUALLY HOW COULD I FORGET TO ADD THAT. IN MY ASKR FUCKED UP FAMILY POST. They are the LEAST NORMAL "Normal" family and it drives me INSANE LMFAO

And like another tag tangent I'm actually gonna put on blast inspired by this.

What are the implications of this!!!!!! For Alfonse and Sharena!!!!!!!!!!!!! LIKE. The implications could be VASTLY different for BOTH of them. Because. Sharena. Sharena might not even be. The Sharena that was born into the family with their blood. Does This Have Implications For Peony As Well Actually????????? And honestly I don't know what the implications would be for Alfonse (and Lif by extension????) since we don't even really know what this powerful blood of Henriette's IS. Like knowing Fire Emblem it's a coinflip maybe she's a dragon maybe not. But hey. Hey. What does that mean. For Her Children.

[exagides]

From @adventourer "It's interesting watching you. The way you carry yourself when you're in a battle." (Peony follows the various regions leagues closely & I think he'd like Wikstrom a lot. Steel type trainers gotta stick together)

party banter lines. @adventourer

Such a comment comes from one of two places, in Wikstrom’s experience — either a stranger is trying to ask him why he’s so archaic, or they truly see something of an equal in him for one reason or another.

Wikstrom gathers rather quickly that this man — he’s seen his face, he’s seen him, where has he seen him, again? his brain’s still running on battle-nerves after that match — is a part of the latter. 

“I thank you,” Wikstrom says, and out of politeness he offers a gesture of sincerity in a short half-bow, one hand to his chest. Beside him, Excalibur does a similar motion, though it’s with his shield pulled up close to his body. “I do try my very best to represent the Kalos League as best I can. Perhaps at some point we too shall meet in battle, Sir…?”

He allows the word to trail off. A name should jog the memory, right?

[amplexadversary]

Sigi would absolutely be the cool steel-type leader we deserve.

She'd have Bisharp, Doublade, Corviknight, Mega Aggron, Aegislash, and either Bronzong, Metagross, or Lucario.

If your OC was a Pokemon gym leader what type would they be???

INCREDIBLY RELEVANT TO MY INTERESTS PLEASE TELL ME

My girls:

Ara (twst): Poison/Dark Type with her main partner being a Crobat

Yuuri (twst): Normal/Flying with her main partner being a Pidgeot

Bly (om): Psychic/Ghost with her main partner being a Misdreavus

Blue (om): Dark with her main partner being an Umbreon

[askthedrunkanimator]

"Well, here we go I supp- JULIE GET OFF OF ME!!!"

WELCOME TO THE OFFICIAL FIONN FINNIGAN ASK BLOG!!

Where you can ask the one and only grumpy deadbeat puppet dad from the Real World AU any questions you’d like!!!

WHO IS HE THOUGH?

“Once a friendly, thoughtful and hard working goofball with a heart of gold, Fionn worked as one of the Playfellow Company’s best employees, working his way from Apprentice to Head of Animation. Oh how he loved Welcome Home, it gave him a purpose in life, introduced him to the love of his life.. and unfortunately brought him so much pain he became an isolated shut away who refuses to recount the day Playfellow came crumbling down…

It is now 2007, that heart of gold now a heart of cold steel, Fionn lives alone. Every night spent smoking or drinking, no lover and a job he barely tolerates since it pays well. He laments about his past, yet he tries to forget…

But no matter what, his past always comes back to him, in the form of the 8 inky puppets he once knew and loved…”

BLOG BOUNDARIES

It’s primarily a Fionn ask blog, but I will bring in the puppets, his ex and love interest Cassidy and his niece Peony for some asks! Gotta mix it up a little!

Welcome Home DOES NOT belong to me, nor do the puppets! Fionn, Cassidy, Peony and the Real World AU belong to me, but we will follow Clown’s boundaries as well.

No NSFW questions, at all - Fionn and I may be of age, but minors are likely lurking or actively following the Real World AU, so refrain from such. Plus Peony costars in this blog, and she’s 6 soooo… none.

Absolutely NO proship, AppleCest, comship, or anything of the sort. You’re all disgusting.

There will/might be some triggering topics in this story, including (will continue to be updated):

Substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes)

Gore/Death

Disturbing imagery

Unreality

Some AUs may be brought up for fun (like crossover AUs, or such)

Do not RP with Fionn in the ask box

I will often doodle something for asks, but sometimes I will either just write it or I will answer it as the creator.

That's all for now, character references shall be belong, but I hope you lot enjoy!!!!

References:

FIONN

THE PUPPETS

CASSIDY (To be updated)

PEONY (To be updated)

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ YOU MAKE IT HOME ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 양정원 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: moving into a new apartment, ready for a new beginning, you find comfort in knowing that home can always be found amongst the gentle presence, the safe haven of your boyfriend, jungwon. and you’ll do everything you can (even subconsciously) to make him feel at home with you too

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jungwon x non-idol!reader, est. relationship, serious relationship

warnings: attempts at humour, hints of suggestiveness bcs it’s jungwon and i can’t help myself, pet names

[archive]

The rain that pattered against the glass windows made the already empty apartment seem more grey and lifeless. Cardboard boxes, yet to be unpacked, were piled around the living room, some opened, some still sealed. You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the room and the inevitable work it would take to organise everything, not to mention make it all pretty and cozy…

There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance, a subtle yet obvious hint that there was no way you’d be able to unpack some boxes and make it to your boyfriends apartment tonight without getting swamped with rain or stuck in traffic. The only option would be to unseal the carefully packed mattress in your soon-to-be bedroom and sleep here.

Perfect.

Brushing back your hair, you made your way to the kitchen counter and finished the last of your soda, the empty glass bottle clinking as it was placed back on the laminate surface.

And you got to work. Cutting through double or triple layers of tape, pulling out steel utensils, kitchen appliances, pots and pans, before carefully sorting them into the drawers and cabinets. You knew you’d pull them all out again in a week to resort and reorganise them anyway but regardless, the boxes needed the go. That musty smell was getting to you.

You’d managed to finish three when there was a strong knock at the door. Heavy and a bit daunting.

You froze, fingers twitching, ready to reach for something sharp.

more under cut !!

“Hey!”

Your shoulders dropped, relaxing in an instant at the familiar voice.

“Y/N it’s me! Let me in! My hands are kinda full.”

You jumped over a couple boxes, sliding in your socks as you reached the door and pulled it open to see Jungwon standing there, hands full with an umbrella, a shopping bag and a bouquet of flowers. Peonies. Your favourite.

“Happy new apartment day!” He smiled brightly, handing you the bouquet and leaning forward, his lips pressing softly against your forehead.

You held the flowers close to your chest, eyes shutting quickly to savour the sweetness of his presence. You whispered a soft “Thank you” before reaching for his now free hand and pulling him inside.

“What’d you buy?” You asked while taking the empty soda bottle and washing it a few times before filling it with water for the peonies.

Jungwon walked through the kitchen, smiling at your recent unpacking and organising, knowing full well it would not last a week. “Oh just a small house warming gift,” he shrugged.

“Huh?” You smiled over your shoulder, carefully arranging the pink flowers in the bottle and placing it in the middle of the open counter. “I thought these were the house warming gift.”

“Nope, they’re just a little something for you, but this,” Jungwon reached inside the shopping bag and pulled out a new lamp; it was a lovely little star shaped bulb, the wiring visible through the glass, giving it a vintage feel despite the modernist urban charm of the lamp itself. “This is for your new house. And also for your hoard.”

“My collection.”

“It’s a hoard.”

You smirked, your fingers glided over the smooth glass while you observed the new lamp you would be adding to your ever growing collecting — and yes, no matter what Jungwon said, it was a collection — an assortment of various lamps and night light and fairy light strings, little sources of brightness, the key to ambience and atmosphere in your opinion. Any excuse to not use the big lights.

You slid past your boyfriend, towards the living room’s power sockets. Usually they’d be used for a tv but given the circumstances, aside from charging your phone or laptop, you might as well use them to test out the lamp.

As soon as you pressed the switch, it was as if new life had been breathed into the space, the somber drear of the outside world wasn’t so overpowering anymore. You could actually appreciate the relaxing sound of the rain without having to feel bleak and bland.

The walls were bathed in orange and yellow, the shadows added dimensions to the currently bare walls, even in the blatantly empty room, filled only with half unpacked boxes and the presence of a young couple, it didn’t feel so empty.

“So?” Jungwon’s voice was soft, you hadn’t even noticed that he had crouched beside you, observing your reaction. “Do you like it?”

Your smile was answer enough, you pulled him closer by his arm, huddling with him around the lamp like it was some source of warmth. “I love it.” You gently kissed his cheek.

“Good.” He rested his head against yours for a few seconds before sighting and getting up, pulling you with him. “Okay. Let’s get to work. What can I do?”

After about forty five minutes to an hour of solid productive work, you and Jungwon had retired to the random couch cushions you’d found in one of the many boxes you’d unpacked. Cracking open two new bottles of soda, the two of you leaned against the wall, watching the rain get heavier and heavier.

“Babe, if we want to get to my place, we need to leave soon. As in now.” Jungwon set the bottle down, stretching a little.

You looked around at the room once more, some decent progress has been made, but you didn’t really want to leave just yet. “Actually, I was thinking I’d stay here tonight. Open the mattress and crash on that.”

“What? No. No, you’re coming with me.”

“But I’ve got cushions and blankets in the box inside the room. Plus all my skin care is in my bag anyway. And I don’t need to worry about food because I stocked up this afternoon from the convenience store a few blocks down.”

Jungwon furrowed his brows, admittedly remembering the sight of said convenience store while on his way to your apartment.

He took another sip of his drink, contemplating, before giving you a little pouted smile. “Fine, we’ll stay here tonight.”

“We?”

He scoffed, “Obviously? I’m not letting you sleep on some bare mattress on your own.”

Your eyes rolled involuntarily, a defence to hide the way your heart raced at his words. You stood up, gesturing for him to do the same. “Let’s set up now, before we make dinner.”

Jungwon hummed, following suit.

You felt a lightness in your chest as walked towards your new room. As unfinished as it may be, it was still your new room.

You knew this apartment would bring about new beginnings, new memories. And it excited you beyond words. And of course, the only person you really wanted to tell it all to was Jungwon.

“I can’t believe it took me this long to move,” you started. You knew he remembered the struggle of your old apartment, the distance between the two of you, as well as the achingly long commute to your campus and your job. All things considered, your old living situation wasn’t as good. It did the job, but this new place would only do it better.

Before you’d realised, the mattress had been unfurled, some blankets had been thrown over it like makeshift sheets, the couch cushions as your pillows, and Jungwon had gently guided you to sit down on the soft mattress while he went around the room, switching on a few of your other lamps.

The room’s atmosphere morphed into a mixed hue of muted pink and purple of a sunset lamp, blending into a lightly saturated orange of yet another sunset lamp, finally topped off with the watery wave-like reflection of an ocean lamp.

After all of that, he sat down beside you. Smiling at the energy with which you spoke, the clear excitement for new opportunities evident from the way your eyes shone.

“I’m really happy for you, Y/N.” Jungwon wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“I haven’t even told you the best stuff.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“The convenience store? It has your favourite ice cream! I talked to the guy at the register, apparently the shop owner loves it too so it’s always in stock.”

Jungwon chuckled, opening his mouth to respond but you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, indicating that you had more to tell.

“Another thing, there’s a park not too far from here, it’s dog friendly. Dog friendly!! I double checked the signs and everything. There’s so many cute dogs running around, it’s good space, perfect for Maeumi!”

Your hands moved in an endearing yet animated fashion, demonstrating just how big the park was, completely unaware of Jungwon’s dazed expression, the way he was drinking in your radiance.

You were too busy explaining more of the wonders you’d found: “And, and, just wait because I can’t wait to show your mum the antique store I found in this small corner of the neighbourhood. She’s gonna love it!”

“I love you.” Jungwon breathed out his words, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Hm? I love you too, baby.”

“No, like, I love you. You’re here starting a new chapter of your life, in a new place, something that should be for yourself. And you still found ways to make it feel like home for me.”

Frowning slightly, you wondered why he felt so shocked by this. He did the same for you — keeping your favourite chocolate in his pantry, calling you every time he went to the bookstore near his place in case you wanted something, always having a pack of your favourite brand of sanitary pads in his bathroom in case the need arises — he made his world feel like home for you.

“You do this all the time though? The least I can do is reciprocate.”

He tucked away the pieces of hair framing your face, “Only you would think something so thoughtful and special was inherently normal.”

You felt your eyes shut as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered, tilting his head to kiss you. He tasted of soda and spearmint, an odd combination but it made your head spin.

You pulled away slightly, taking in a couple of breaths to regulate your heartbeat. “You’d probably run out of ice cream,” you muttered.

His smirk quirked up on one side, your stomach fluttering at the sight. “Wow, you’re so funny, I wanna be just like you when I grow up.”

You scoffed, “No ice cream for you.” With a quick push, he fell back against the mattress, seeming totally unfazed.

“That’s fine by me.” He pulled you down next to him.

a.n: fourth instalment of the kiss me, don’t say no series !! not only is it JUNGWON DAY !!! but i’m glad his instalment was number four as in 04 as in the year he (and me) were born !!! happy jungwon day everyone <333 hope you liked this one xx

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[sterifels-blog]

keegan p russ x reader

The first time Keegan darkened the door of your flower shop, it had been an accident. A gruff man dressed in heavy leather, his broad shoulders beaded with raindrops, boots tracked with road grit. He had looked so entirely out of place in your sunlit haven.

You were surrounded by cascades of daisies and lilies, roses blushing in tight little bundles, and bursts of carnations peeking from glass jars along the countertops. Everything smelled alive, fresh, verdant—a quiet rebellion against the steel and asphalt world just beyond your frosted windowpanes.

He hadn’t meant to stay longer than necessary. He came for a bouquet, small and simple, to bring to the grave of an old friend—a ritual made heavier by the weight of memory on his back.

But then, he saw you.

You stood behind the counter, delicate as the peonies at your elbows, your hands brushing pollen dust from your apron. A stray curl framed your face, the warmth of your smile so unguarded, so incandescent, it knocked the breath from his chest. For a moment, he didn’t hear the rain anymore. Didn’t feel the wet chill soaking into his collar. It was just you, tilting your head at him with that sweet, quizzical look, like you couldn’t quite believe this storm-weathered man was there at all.

“Hi there! What can I help you with?” you’d asked, voice like sunlight filtering through trees, and he’d been lost. Truly, hopelessly, lost.

Keegan kept telling himself it was coincidence the second time. And the third. And the fifth. But the truth was, every time he passed through town, every time the engine of his motorcycle growled to life, your flower shop was an inevitable destination. He never admitted it aloud—not even to himself—but he craved the sanctuary of your little haven, a bright corner of the world where nothing smelled like oil and gunpowder, where life bloomed in a thousand colors instead of bleeding out in shades of grey.

The shop was small, unassuming. A little bell jingled overhead whenever he pushed open the glass door. Inside, the air was always warm, humming with the gentle hum of a fan in the corner, the faint rustle of leaves brushing against one another. There was a permanent smell of damp earth and petals—heady, sweet, and grounding. Tiny pots of violets lined the windowsills. Shelves stacked with watering cans, shears, and delicate floral books stood along the walls. It was quiet but not silent; there was always soft music playing in the background, something light and romantic, the sort of thing that felt like it belonged in a movie.

And there you were. Always. Behind the counter or kneeling on the floor, tending to some new arrangement. You wore mismatched earrings some days and bright scarves others, your hair pinned back or loose in soft waves. You moved like the petals around you: with purpose, with grace. Sometimes you hummed to yourself, completely unaware of how it made Keegan freeze, just for a moment, to watch you.

The dichotomy was laughable. Him, all scarred knuckles and broad scowls, smelling faintly of the road and whatever diner he’d last stopped at. You, all softness and quiet energy, a whirlwind of color and fragrance in this little shop that couldn’t have been more out of his world.

“Back again?” you teased one afternoon, the dimple in your cheek betraying how much you enjoyed the sight of him stomping the mud from his boots at the door.

He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his pulse picked up just from you looking at him. “Yeah. Thought I’d grab something for… my mom.” The lie was flimsy, but you didn’t question it. Didn’t need to. Instead, you led him to the bouquets you’d just finished arranging, explaining in that soft, sing-song tone what each flower meant.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—that he kept coming back, kept buying flowers that would inevitably wilt and die. But it wasn’t about the flowers. It was about you. The way your fingers brushed his palm when you handed him the change. The way your smile lingered in his head long after he left. The way you’d once slipped a sprig of lavender into his jacket pocket without saying a word, and he found it hours later, pressed between his fingers like something fragile and irreplaceable.

Now, it was a habit. An addiction, almost. He didn’t know if you noticed how often he came—how his visits stretched longer with every trip. But he noticed. He noticed how the rough edges of his life felt just a little softer after walking out of your shop, a paper-wrapped bundle of flowers balanced carefully in his hand.

“Next time, you could stay for tea,” you’d suggested one day, half-joking, but not entirely. Keegan’s chest tightened, a strange warmth spreading behind his ribs. He didn’t know if he deserved tea with someone like you, in a place like this. But maybe— just maybe, he’d try.

Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was this: that little flower shop, with its mismatched pots and cheerful music and the person standing at its heart, was the brightest place he’d ever known.

[verblauen]

I haven’t been able to draw something for gifting season, but here’s a sketch of the steel flower brothers on delibird day I plan on finishing in the new year

[pokemonshelterstories]

CHARLIE, I AM SO JEALOUS OF YOU.

You're friends with ex-Champion Peony?!?

How did you two meet, anyway? There's gotta be a story there.

it's not that exciting lol. we're in a discord server together and i emailed him some questions about steel type pokemon, and we've kept chatting since.

honestly, that's one of the coolest things about working toward being a pokemon professor for me. there's SO much to learn about pokemon, and i've made a lot of friends just by reaching out to ask people about their knowledge and experience with pokemon! pokemon have an incredible way of bringing people from all over together. i've met professors, contest coordinators, ex-team members, athletes, gym leaders and champions...all because of these awesome critters! it makes me so thankful to share our world with them.

[blueorchid-95]

so I was going through Book IV for my theory post a while back and. Holy crap the foreshadowing goes Hard in this Book

In chapter 2 part 1, the party initially notices the summoner’s absence:

And then Peony says this in response:

Funnily enough, that’s exactly what happened. As of right now, the summoner is trapped in a dream. And what’s this part called again?

This is a completely accurate statement. The summoner is indeed lost in a dream, just not in the way that the party or the players expect.

Let’s skip on up to chapter 5. In part one, everyone “wakes up” to an Askr flooded with nightmares… and besides Alfonse, no one seems to recognize the summoner.

Now, this event is clearly spurred on by a nightmare. Alfonse sees it as his own fear:

But check out the way he phrases it. The fear of losing somebody isn’t exactly one-to-one with what’s happening here. Anna and Sharena are acting like the Summoner never existed. If it was Alfonse’s fear of loss that had taken over, the others would be aware of Kiran’s identity and a nightmare summoner would be preying on that terror. But that’s not happening—because this isn’t Alfonse’s fear.

Instead, it reads more as a fear of loneliness—no one knowing who you are, no one remembering everything you’ve done together…. It fits with the Summoner’s personality, too: they’re always working and working, showing kindness to everybody unconditionally, and yet barely taking a moment to relax. They want to have friends so badly that the very idea of being forgotten and abandoned terrifies them to their very core… but that fear doesn’t affect Alfonse, and the Summoner knows that, so he just ends up confused.

Oh, and on top of all that, what’s this part called?

This title hits so hard once you know the twist because it applies to BOTH Alfonse and Kiran’s perspectives. Alfonse is remembering the name of someone else, while Kiran is remembering their own name. And, frankly, I doubt many people read the part titles anyway. It’s so easily looked over and yet it’s so incredibly obvious once you first spot it. I should know—I almost missed it myself!

In Part 6’s final bit, Memory of a Friend, Veronica asks Alfonse to tell her about Zacharias, at which point Alfonse reveals his memory issues. Pay attention to the specific wording he uses here:

Fog, huh? Take a look at this!

When Alfonse dreams of the World of Steel, it’s covered in fog… just like his memories. The world is obscured, empty and cold, and it’s excruciatingly unfamiliar to him. In the Midpoint Movie, however, he encounters one other person when he’s in the fogbound city:

The summoner, aggressively charging towards him with hands outstretched. You know what happens immediately after this daydream? The party clashes with the mind-controlled summoner, and the Summoner finally realizes who they are and reclaims their identity.

When you think of foreshadowing in this Book, you most likely think of the squirrel conversation (unrelated: I had Ratatoskr in my party when I was getting these screenshots and I just think that was funny) in 11-5:

Immediately after Anna says all this, Alfonse begins showing obvious discomfort as he comes to a realization.

Alfonse and the Identity Crisis! Look at him go! This could also be a potential interpretation of the Summoner v. Alfonse scene in the movie: the dreamt-up personality coming into conflict with the actual one.

This tells the player that this may not be the real Alfonse… but it doesn’t tell them WHO. And so, they’re still on their toes when the big reveal comes around—which makes the truth of Alfonse’s real identity hit so much harder.

TLDR: Book IV had some of the most amazing foreshadowing I’ve ever seen in a video game and I wanted to talk about it some

[j-trow-95]

Six Some Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday folks! I've been plugging away at ASR again this week (but also thinking a lot about Trails at the moment, so hoping I can jump back into edits for that soon!), and thought I'd kick off some tags for this week.

I think I'm going to keep cataloguing the amount of words written each week of the month in these posts (I've seen @nausikaaa doing this and I think it's a great way to 1. hold myself accountable where word count is concerned, and 2. to keep me motivated to keep working on this behemoth of a project); that being said, here's how the end of December/whole of January has played out so far.

30 Dec - 5 Jan: 0 words

6-12 Jan: 4,531 words

13-19 Jan: 5,389 words

20-26 Jan: 2,297 words

So far this week has been pretty slow where word count is concerned, but I'm still overall really pleased. I finished the first act rewrite, managed a short between act's chapter, and started act 2, so it's actually been quite productive!

That being said, here are a few of those words! This is from Vanessa's POV, where she and a few other agents have gone to interrogate the main villain.

“While this is all very touching,” drawls a voice over the agents’ shoulders, “it is cutting into my alone time.” Nicholas and Edward both spin to face the steel door, rifles halfway raised and fingers primed to pull the trigger. I look up into a piercing grey stare on the other side of the reinforced glass. Brambilla smirks, his gaze languidly shifting between the three of us before he takes in the rest of the cell block. “My my, it seems we are all a little bit … on edge, as you say.” He leans against the wall, hands clasped behind his back, the embodiment of calm and menacing. “Two weeks in solitary confinement, and this is the moment you decide you actually want to engage with us?” I ask, tilting my chin up. “The key phrase there, I believe, is ‘solitary confinement’. Hard to have a conversation when there’s no one to converse with.” “Except every agent we’ve sent to talk to you.” He shrugs. “Dust is a better conversationalist.” “You seem happy to talk now. I can’t help but feel special.” “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Everyone's sass level has gone through the roof in this rewrite, I swear!

Tagging for this week:

@artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @blackberrysummerblog @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla

@confused-bi-queer @emeryhall @erzbethluna @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature

@ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @letraspal @martsonmars

@mooncello @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersworld @orange-peony @shrekgogurt

@skeedelvee @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @you-remind-me-of-the-babe 

[dvchvnde]

You woke to the muted sound of a hunting knife sliding across a whetstone. The metallic, hollow grind pulling you from your slumber instead of the usual murmur of a song you've yet to unravel. Johnny barely looked up from the table when you called out his name. 

“Leavin’,” he grunted, taking his hand off the stone to dig the heel of his palm sharply into his eye socket. Grinding hard into his bones. “Gotta hunt.” 

He caught a big caribou the other day that have up enough meat to last a few months. Still. You hold your tongue, and let him leave with nothing more than an okay spilling from your lips. 

It'll be fine. He just needs to clear his head, escape for a few hours—

But the minutes drag on. 

The raven caws in his absence, pecking for food just outside your window. He lingers in the mid-morning fog, when the sky yawns with soft peony lips, and a lavender tongue. Blinking golden flecks of sleep from its eyes that rain down in ochre smears across steel blue. 

You pick at the bannock Johnny left. Sip from the glass of still water. 

He'll be back. 

The raven’s caw is mocking today. She laughs at you from her perch, beady eyes drilling holes into the side of your head. You try to ignore her, but she's all you have for company today. Her—

And this rot inside of your head. This poison.

The cabin is quieter when he's gone. An unnatural stillness lingers in the old wood, in the corners that feel bigger without his presence to fill them. You feel it in the air, too—an oppressive weight subsumes from the rotting wood, leaking out in the absence, the vacancy, he leaves behind. 

Without him here, everything has a moment to breathe. 

It slinks out into the hush, spurned on by the silence. Thoughts rear. Ones that are easily pushed back into the gaping recess of your mind when he places his hand on your jaw, thumbing away the knot of anxiety bubbling in your chest. 

It blooms now. The soundlessness entices it to sneak from the place he tucks it into, keeping it prisoner. This awful knot shifts itself into a burning restlessness that itches under your skin, festering. Your joints ache. Your leg trembles. 

It'll be fine, it says, full of succor even as it throws your loss of agency in your face. Makes you resentful of the lack of freedom you have, angry. 

Shame pools in the gaps of your ribs when you lean back in the bed to stifle the surge of panic that beads up as the hours drag by. Without him—

No.

He'll be back soon. 

He has to be. Has to. You'll die here if he doesn't come home. If something happens to him out there. You'll—

Outside, the raven trills again. 

“Shut up,” you hiss, words daggered at nothing. “Shut up, shut up—”

[weliveinapokemonworld]

What's In A Cape

A Pokemon Sword and Shield fanfic. Some cussing.

--

“Wait, what?” Piers sits up abruptly and sets his Bloody Mary onto the counter.

“That cape wasn’t just a PR gag and an excuse to cover you in sponsors?”

Leon snorts and sips at his - second - driver's cocktail. He has to remember to ask for the name. It tastes proper good, like the other one.

The pub's a quiet one, conversations so low that he can easily listen, and talk and be heard. Nobody has given either Piers or him a second glance after entering, even though he's wearing the mentioned 'loud' cape. He might come here more often, to faff around to relax, or grab some nosh if it's as good as the drinks are.

“Sure was. It was just a lot bigger than metaphorically crowning me as the new Champion. Did you know I was once a student under Master Mustard?”

“I might have heard something,” Piers drawls waspishly as his painted nails wrap around his glass. He speaks as if the thinks it's a load of tosh. “Like in some glaringly loud pamphlet or documentary ‘bout your life. Or several.”

“It was an honest question,” Leon drawls back. “First, you’ve never showed any interest in the League’s history out of your protest against Rose. Second, I’ve pointed out that I'm proper bad at guessing what people do or don’t know. I rather ask to be certain than assume. Some people still feel insulted either way, it seems.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean offense. I know ‘bout the Mustard thing.” Holding up his hands, Piers looks and sounds contrite enough. He never lies to spare somebody’s feelings.

“You couldn’t really escape hearing anything about you, back in the days. But that was Rose’s fault, not yours.” He rubs his neck. “So, uh, I apologize for my tone. Didn’t intend to be another person on your list of people who doesn’t take you seriously.”

A sigh leaves Leon. He slumps on his bar stool. “These last days have been draining. So many people simply won’t stop questioning me.”

“That sounds awful. How about we leave that heavy topic, and go back to your silly cape?”

“You will respect the Cape. It's snazzy, not silly.” Grinning, Leon flips his hair over his shoulders. He’s looking forward to Piers’ reaction. “While it’s not that old, it’s got history.”

His friend looks at him suspiciously.

“The cape… and Mustard? The man who’s a legend in Galar even compared to you? The Great King Mustard?”

“Yup.” His grin widens.

“Stop that, you’re too bright. I love the lighting in this pub and you’re ruining the atmosphere.” Piers grumbles, miffed. “And you're plotting something. Out with it. What’s there next to you studying under the man once?”

This is one of Leon’s favorite parts- when people know about Master Mustard but not the specifics. With practiced ease, he pulls the card out of his pocket and flips it with a flourish to present it to Piers. He squints down.

“It won’t bite, I promise!” He laughs as he waves the laminated paper. “This is Master Mustard’s rare league card. The photo’s been out of circulation for 20 years, being phased out in favor of pictures of the more recent Champions like Steel Peony, me, or Victor.”

Piers finally pinches the card between his fingers. He murmurs something that sounds a lot like, “you nerd”. Drawing it out of Leon’s grasp, his eyes scan across the photograph.

“Mustard’s looking proper young in this,” he murmurs. His eyebrows scrunch. “He couldn’t have been much older than either of us are now. Something like twenty? Or even younger.”

“That’s correct. This picture was taken fifty years ago, during that fateful battle against Opal. He won the match and the crown.” A chuckle. “Master Mustard used to be proud man. He was assured of his victory and wanted it to show to the entire region. Look at his back.”

After another suspicious look at him, Piers’ gaze falls back onto the picture. He’s content to watch him figure it out, sipping more of his cocktail.

He doesn't have to wait for long until his right eye begins ticking. And his white cheeks going red like his drink.

“You’re bloody shitting me.”

His guess is right! There it is! This kind of reaction never gets old.

Pineapple juice, orange juice, strawberry syrup and cream nearly spew out of his nostrils. Swallowing down, he thankfully doesn’t break his glass as he nearly slams it onto the counter. He has more than enough quid to pay the bill if he did damage something. But he does NOT want to get on the bad side of the bartender or the proprietor for accidentally acting like a tosser. The bartender is already giving him a look.

But he does break into laughter that he quickly smothers. The look of disgust on Piers’ face is proper hilarious.

“Stop laughing, you arsehole!” He throws up his arms, careful of their glasses, with his whisper-shout. He looks like he’s praying for patience.

“I can’t believe Rose suggested that idea! I can’t believe the League thought it was a good idea! You’d barely been Champion for two years, and you emulated The Great King Mustard on live TV. Do you understand how much the fuddy-duddies in Spikemuth got into a right kerfuffle when you appeared on the telly?! I knew bugger all why they were arguing their heads off until now!”

“I’m slowly getting the idea.”

“You planned this, didn’t you? You’ve done this to some poor other bloke before and knew how I’d react-”

He winds up for a longer rant. Leon is unable to talk anymore. Keeping his laughter quiet takes up his entire breath. Piers seems to forgive him well enough when he pays for his martini - "compensation for my headache," Piers says - on Leon's next round.