iruludavare

[iruludavare]

Relationship Types

Send one or more emojis ( + descriptions ) for the kind of ship/dynamic you’d like to write with my muse! ( for multimuses, please specify. )

ROMANTIC

❤️ committed, romantic relationship 💘 friends to lovers 💔 used to be together but broke up ❣️ skinny love 💗 slow burn 💌 one muse has a crush on the other muse 💕 mutual pining 💝 romantic relationship of convenience 🏫 highschool sweethearts 💒 arranged relationship ( dating, engagement, political, etc. ) 💋 one-sided romantic relationship ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🖤 lovers to enemies 🤍 enemies to lovers

SEXUAL

💖 a sexual relationship that could turn romantic 🧡 friends with benefits 👄 a sexual, non-romantic relationship 🏩 sexual relationship of convenience 🔥 unresolved sexual tension 💟 developing sexual relationship ( may include romance ) 💞 one muse approaches the other out of convenience ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🔪 enemies with sexual tension

FAMILIAL

👪 biological family 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 adopted family 🧑‍🤝‍🧑 family by choice/found family 👩‍👧 older/younger siblings 👭 twins 👥 cousins or extended family 👣 estranged family/feuding family 👨‍🏫 one muse is a teacher/mentor for the other muse ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🚸 coworkers like family 🟡 family out of circumstance ⚪ pretending to be family

PLATONIC

💜 friendship 💙 queerplatonic partners ( an intimate, non-romantic committed relationship ) 💚 friends like siblings 💛 childhood friends 💧 friends due to traumatic experiences 🤝 coworkers ⛔ reluctant friends ✅ enemies to friends 🌈 developing friendship ☀️ friends of circumstance 👔 strangers working together ☕ one muse works in service of the other ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🕴 partners in illegal activities 👯partners in crime trope ⚡ sparring partners 🩹 friends forced to work against each other 🟥 one muse makes a deal or contract with the other ( magic or non-magic. ) ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver )

ENEMIES

🦴 mortal enemies 💀 enemies ⚔️ rivalry 🗡️ one-sided rivalry/grudge ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🧠 enemies as narrative foils 💬 enemies because of conflicting ideologies 🤫 one muse is secretly an enemy/traitor to the other muse ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 😨 one muse is using the other muse for their benefit ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) ❌ guilty by association 🚫 friends to enemies 🪓 occupational enemies 🩸 enemies tolerating each other for a common goal ⚫ enemies using each other out of convenience ⬜ coworkers who hate each other

Original by lunarscaled, who is deactivated.

[iruludavare]

Miriam Miller, New York City Ballet, by Ken Browar and Deborah Ory

[iruludavare]

[iruludavare]

          "No—"

     The word tears itself free from the woman before his question could settle in her mind, quick and firm and simple. Like she speaks a truth so plain and universally known. Serena clears her throat, eyes quick to retreat to some place on the floor down and off to the side of him.

          "No, Adam, not at all."

     How weak she is. How laughable the situation. She, the Hero and Hope of Kalos. An undefeated champion. A hardened world-class ballerina. Both who stared in the face of death and injustice in defiance and dismantled them both. Now, reduced to nothing more than a mess, thoughts scrambling and fawning. Had Serena been a person with less composure, perhaps the heroine would sink into her seat, collect as a heap upon the ground so that the earth so far below could swallow her whole.

          "Sorry," She says under a sigh-like breath, "I cannot find my words."

     Silence falls over her with the softening of brows, the gentle curve at her lips. If only it were easy, to describe her thoughts. To strike a balance between them and not rendering herself a hopeless and pitiful fool in Adam’s eyes with poorly chosen words. He already gives her so much grace—too much, some part of her thinks. At what point would it turn to frustration?

     Hands keep their tension, palms pressing together, and for a moment does she draw her lips together in final contemplation.

          "...This is going to sound terribly selfish and pathetic, but..."

     She cannot look at him. Not with how he sits back in his chair, or that smile, or how Serena can feel his gaze upon her. Each attempt darting back to where the heroine finds herself unable to bring him into focus, the tightness at her chest cruel. Relentless.

          "I—... I want you to see me like that. The beautiful you described. Unlike any other."

Even if Adam were blind, it would be impossible to miss her slow rush of emotions. Like a charging Rhyhorn it was both impossible to stop and impossible to ignore. The way she seemed to tense and hunch as she assumes the worst (and why would she not?) until she hears more, and it sinks in, and she understands.

Adam waits - hesitant himself, but as relaxed as he can be considering the circumstances. He watches her mind work things over, formulating exactly how to respond to him - though whether to let him down or not, the man couldn't know.

The blush tells him a lot, though. It tells him everything, really.

"I do." He replies gently, with a faint, shy smile of his own. "I simply had no idea how to voice it without it seeming... well, shallow."

He clears his throat and settles back in his chair for a long moment.

"But considering the circumstances? I thought it best to be upfront and honest. Anything less would have felt wrong."

It was true. How could they have possibly proceeded if he had attempted to keep anything of how he felt from her? If what he said didn't match how he acted? Or, perhaps worse, were put together in a way he did not intend at all by her?

He falls quiet then, unsure of how to voice what he wants to say next. It is a fairly simple statement, really, but everything right now is anything but simple. Adam chews his lip and looks back to her.

"I hope this does not-- negatively impact anything between us?"

Stupid and banal, perhaps, but he needed to know.

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. Real ones remember the menace that was toxic stall florges before scvi took the move away from the line 😔

The amount of times Acacia's build has stalled out entire teams of normal and hacked legendary pokemon in online XY/ORAS battles is insane }

[iruludavare]

so burn, rising from the depths of the abyss! / private champion green of the pokémon series, as remembered by ray.

[iruludavare]

Pokedexy Challenge Day 14: Favourite Poison Type

Dragalge

[iruludavare]

     She did not know what to expect. Not in the silence he fell into, however understandable, nor the way an odd look of confusion tugging at his brow melts away into thought, not in the exhale before he begins talking. The start of his response, one that sends hands finding one another atop the woman’s lap. A snap to attention at the first word. A weight, horrific and nauseating, pushing down upon her stomach. She knows where this will go, mentions of context, mention of upbringing. Fingers twist among themselves knots, bloodless and bent around one another enough to curl toes, to seize the heart. Of course it is as she feared, Serena tells herself. He is, at the end of the day, inexorably bound to the doctrine—a man who stood loyal and unwavering at the side of Lysandre and his dreams. No normal person, but one whose eyes are clouded with false notions of beauty and perfection and giving, whose veins course thick with their sweet poisons.

     But she cannot take her own stare off of him. He falls silent again—shorter, worse for the spirit. And she holds back the down turning of lips, the knitting of her eyebrows so that they surface only as the faintest twitches. A momentary lapse, before reigned back into that pleasant and composed mask. Adam goes to speak, hands squeeze. Her ears brace to hear lifetimes of that she has feared him to say in a matter of seconds.

     And it is anything but.

     Never before has there been such ease at hearing a description of beauty. Though it makes the woman’s heart race and threaten to burst from her chest, for hands to hold themselves a little tighter with each word, she stays transfixed on him. His interest, known since the last they saw of one another. But this? He speaks of her as though she might be the world, or the highest gift it has to offer. Delicate, but with awe and respect. That same diamond as opposed to glass shards—like always. She thought herself a fool—to have fallen for his charms and witty remarks and gentle gestures too quickly. Solitary and unequal in their feelings. Him, in some capacity, entertaining her to stroke his own ego. So he might brag to some other men and women donning white and blood orange suits of his own world how he made some little hero who stood against their goals in another fall to her knees and hang on to his every word.

     Perhaps she had been mistaken this entire time.

          “That’s…”

     Serena scolds herself in the way that the word falls from her tongue, how it fades into nothingness and snatches with it a fraying and second to final thread of what holds the heroine together. Eyes flee to the side—to the hallway door, then to where the woman knows the entrance to be. She cannot just sit there in silence, looking at him with wide eyes and that soft, bewildered expression. His vulnerability, his emotions, nothing to toy with—nothing to gawk at; not when he holds out before her his own heart to be judged and weighed against her own. But she is both wordless and drowning in them. Mind spiralling, nails pressing into the flesh of palms. A wish to hear more, selfish though it may be. And how every fibre of her being yearns to believe his words—to internalise them, immortalise each and every part within her so that perhaps she could be as he describes. Beautiful, kind, caring, intelligent. Incredibly attractive—to him and him alone. Her face burns.

     She forces her gaze back to Adam's features, and though they quiver with the desire to escape once more and rest on no part in particular for too long, finally does something fall from her lips.

          “You really think that way…? About me…?”

The fact that this is not something Serena does is not too terribly surprising - how many out there would seek her for her status, or her position? The use they might get out of her? And that assumes it has even gotten beyond the loss of her prior partner.

He has never taken Serena for anything other than someone with high standards. Not because she was any sort of elitist, but because she had insulated herself from being hurt again. From losing again. From baring herself in such a vulnerable position and being mistreated.

So in some ways, he struggled to understand what he had done differently. It is visible upon his face; a mote of innocent confusion that asked what exactly he had done right.

But it is also flattering. Incredibly so.

The next question, however, freezes the blood cold in his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, over Serena's right shoulder, he can see Iva eagerly lean further over the arm of the couch as if eager to drink as much gossip in as possible. Elina bops her on the top of the head with a paw, making the Salazzle hiss softly in irritation and sink back.

Adam nods, regardless. She is right, and she is right to ask. She deserves to know where he - and so she - stands. He is non-the-less quiet for a time, gathering his thoughts.

"I-..." He exhales. "I understand that, by the nature of my affiliation and even my upbringing, certain parts of what I may be about to say are things you have perhaps heard before in a different context. I can only say that I speak for myself here. Not for any wider ideal. But neither can I pretend that what I am about to say has not been - in some ways - colored by my own experiences."

A lengthy preamble, but one he feels is a neccesity.

"Physically, Serena, you are - by my own measure - incredibly beautiful and attractive. But that is only a fraction of what I mean when I call you beautiful. You are thoughtful, kind, considerate and caring for everyone and everything around you in a way I find inspiring and comforting. You are intelligent, with boundless talent and the drive to see it through."

Adam pauses, saved from wringing his hands together only by the fact he is still holding his knife and fork.

"And I find those things incredibly beautiful, too. You, as the person you are, are unlike any I have met before."

[iruludavare]

Aromatisse!!

[iruludavare]

     So he was after all.

     Eyes upon him, she sees as all that he is softens—words, shoulders, smile, voice, all. A delicate and gentle dance between accepting her words, holding them close to his heart, and yet still laying out before her what both know needs to be said. A reminder, for her, as though Adam might fear that amongst lingering touches, stolen glances and niceties that she might have forgotten what parts of him unnerve her so. That they are two young adults, enthralled by and interested in the other, but also one who guided the hand that wiped his world of life, and she the hero who had put a stop to it in her own. As though he is trying to expose what might repulse her before she could dig it up from his soul and ask him to explain it.

     Serena should find his smile—warm and genuine– sickly and repulsive. Fake; insincere. But she does not. Can no longer.

     She laughs a short and whispering sort, eyes fluttering close for its duration. Then, a hum of faux-thought muffles against her lips, the corners quirking upwards as focus returns to him.

          “Well,” She says, muse-like and punctuated by nails drumming along her chin, “I’m still here— despite the connotations that come with you. And you’re still here, despite mine. You've managed to get me to come to your home. I... I never do this, Adam. I never have.”

     Shoulders lift for a moment.

          “So, you must be doing something right.”

     What it is, the woman could not hope to describe, and perhaps she does not understand it in its entirety herself. All that is clear, all makes sense, the way he has so quickly intruded into heart and mind. The way the world stops in his presence, and how a strange sense of emptiness is left in its absence. The safety the heroine feels when she ought to feel none. But something else presses at her mind in direr need of an answer—brought up by his own explanation.

          “…I do have a question, though,” Serena continues, voice lower, and finally does that hand poised at her jaw lower down to the table, sliding back into the depths below the table and onto silk. A waver ripples across her smile, and perhaps both know what is about to leave the heroine’s lips before she voices it. “You’ve called me beautiful a few times. We both know it can mean two, very different things. Things we might not find the same comfort in.”

     The dull thud of a heart rises up through her chest, a pulsing sensation that fills her ears, each beat a deafening roar. A scream, a plea, to not ask it. That the answer is better off not known, and she should live in blissful ignorance. That he sees and believes her to be beautiful, not beautiful.

          “I—I need to know… When you’ve called me that…”

     Her stare locks onto his own, and the air grows still.

          “Adam, what kind of beauty do you see when you look at me?”

Adam was worried for a brief moment that his attempted nudging of one topic into another had fallen flat - but no, it seems she had at least gotten an inkling that he was gently laying out things he might assume she would judge him for later. And how, in his eyes, could she not? So many of his choices led back to Flare that hearing him sit and talk about them must draw a line back to that singular, all-consuming fact.

He watches her gaze trail out to Armand's flame, where the Charizard is enjoying the cool night air. He wonders what she thinks, then, if she takes the indifference of the psuedo-dragon and the lion as some sort of dismissal or distrust. In reality, of course, it is anything but - if they did not feel comfortable, or did not trust Serena, they would not be allowing themselves to relax.

The same is true of Lucille, but Serena has no reason to know the extent of the training he has put into her in regards to shaping her ability to sense danger as a measure for judging those she meets for him.

"You are right, of course." He agrees quietly. "But there are also connotations for me that are not typically there for others. When I speak on something being beautiful, or that I appreciate the aesthetics of it - well, I draw a through-line. I simply did not wish you to get the wrong impression."

Or, perhap, right impression - but not for Adam as he was now. Time had hardened his belief, but spending every waking hour around his Pokemon had given him a true and genuine love for them. And an incredibly high tolerance for heat - a bonus, he supposed.

He shakes his head slowly then, his own voice a gentle hand upon hers.

"You have nothing to apologise for. Truly. The fact you are comfortable in opening yourself up to me the way you do means more than I can express." He smiles, his voice soft. "And it is always good to hear your views on such things, regardless, because you are speaking nothing but sense. But-- no, I must admit I cannot agree that I see what you did as selfish."

He can very vividly imagine her five years earlier, a fresh-faced trainer holding a Fennekin to her chest as her mind swirls with the reality of having effectively run away from home. How she could not possibly imagine what she would get wrapped up in.

It is also sad, in a way. How different would her life have been if not for Flare? Would she have still been pushed to the same heights? From feeling like a stranger in Kalos to being one of the cultural figureheads? He cannot say, and he doubt she could either. What-ifs and hypotheticals on such a scale were not possible. The irony, of course, is that each of them are hypotheticals to the other that come from entirely different worlds - literally.

Her words of praise are enough to make his chest tighten. How effortlessly she can have that effect on him. But far from the panic of earlier, there is a strange comfort in it.

"Thank you, for your kind words. Hearing you say them makes all the difference." He smiles warmly. "Especially when I am hoping to get things right."

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. Not to vague on main but real peace is blocking that one spam blog who has flooded every serena tag with the "AMOURSHIPPING IS DEAD SERENA DOESN'T LOVE ASH ANYMORE 🤮" + serena posing in front of ash's grave posts }

[iruludavare]

     What a strange change of subject. From his work, to the how and why the specialisation of his Pokemon came to be. Little can be done in the way her head straightens and lifts, barely perched upon curled fingers. Perhaps it is something he has held on to for quite some time, and without ears he feels comfortable enough to confess it to. Whatever the reason, unfathomable and lurking just beneath the surface, Serena is not one to brush the topic aside. He has confided in her for a reason, regardless of how aware either might be of it. The curve of her lips lessens, from the bright grin to something lesser but no smaller significance. To some waning crescent seen so far above in the night sky, argent and yet easily missed.

          “…Personally, I do not think you need a big or noble reason behind whether you specialise in a type or not,” She says, “Most who say they do… I think they are trying to convince themselves. To hide an insecurity, to feel better about their choices.”

     A glance throws itself to the window—to what she can make out of the Charizard’s tail in the darkness, that great flame unbothered by the night’s frigid air. She knows them not, save for Elina. That darling Vulpix whose coat shines and runs so soft Serena found herself many times having to check if her own fingers were running through anything at all. Who feels comfortable enough to give the man grief and subject him to her own kind of wordless and playful banter. That her fingers, upon the pulse of vulpine veins, could feel nothing but vitality and power course through. His past actions and distorted moral compass aside, if the care Elina receives is anything close to equal among them all, one thing is clear—Adam loves them genuinely. Deeply.

     Perhaps he spoke from a place of guilt. One far too familiar to the heroine. An unconscious seeking of her counsel.

          “Maybe it all started as a tie to aesthetics and maybe it started all as a front, but…Everyone is guilty of that—at least, a little,” Serena shrugs her shoulders, swift and nonchalant, as though to cast off the notion of innocence in its entirety. That she speaks of a fact so plain. “We are visual creatures, after all. And that extends to all of the ways we can express ourselves.”

     And the blonde wagers they would know this better than others. He, who designs for the eyes of wearer and observers alike. And she, trained for most of her life to hold any and every part of herself in pleasant lines to an audience, no matter the discomfort nor how unnatural.

          “I love ballet, and there is nothing else I would rather do. But it would be a lie to say that part of my love for it, especially when I was little, was not partially tied to how beautiful it was. The aesthetic of it.” Her voice grows kinder, quieter. Tender—some verbal equivalent of resting a hand upon his. “I also love Daphne with all of my heart, but how cute she was did ultimately play a minor role in why I chose her. And choosing her in the first place was… I know you said before that it wasn’t selfish, but… to me, the reason was. To run away from a place that I wasn’t going to pretend was home.”

     She comes to a pause. One the woman uses to allow her free hand to balance the fork atop the plate, reach for her glass, and bring the water to her lips.

          “…Sorry. I think what I’m trying to say is, what we both said is true—you can tell a lot about someone by the Pokemon they raise, and how they treat those their work caters to. I look at them, I look at what you have done in this world... And I can see that you love your Pokemon. I can also see that you love fashion and helping others have the opportunity to express themselves.”

     Her faint little smile grows.

          “That is what matters. You found things that you love, and you dedicate yourself to them entirely. How any of that came to be isn’t relevant. Not to me.”

"Some of the designs, I must admit, border on fantasy - or stray beyond what I could feasibly create myself. But sometimes it is fun to allow my imagination to run wild."

In truth? Serena was right - Adam was used to being repressed, or having his passions stripped back and focussed. What time did he have for clothing when the fate of the world was at stake? That being said, Adam sorely wished to kill whomever it was Lysandre had designing Flare's uniforms.

They were practically a crime against Arceus.

He catches her mild concern, but the look is gone too quickly for him to not put it down to a trick of the light, or perhaps her recalling something else entirely. What he does take in, however, is slight smile and gentle dismissal of his own silent apology. Its enough to make his cheeks darken slightly.

"As I have said before, I simply enjoy allowing personal expression in both people and Pokemon. The vast majority of my team have no interest in clothing - but Lucille does, so I have made things to suit her bodyplan."

Namely her tail. She has a little place to pop it through the fabric. She was perhaps the easiest, being she was bipedal and roughly Adam's height (unusually tall for a Lopunny, admittedly).

Again, Serena's comments make him lapse into silence. Not out of shame, but rather out of shyness. He was not used to being so honestly complimented, and certainly not by someone who's opinion mattered.

"... You flatter me." He murmurs quietly, smiling. "I do care. Despite having originally been set up as a front, it does matter to me that I can provide what I do to those who might otherwise be priced out. Individuality and expression are so, so important. Especially in the world as it stands today."

Adam once again glances over to his Pokemon.

"It is often said you can tell a lot about someone by what Pokemon they decide to raise, in that regard. Believe it or not, beyond the happenstance of both Fleur and Elina being my first two Pokemon? I had no special attachment to Fire types. I mostly chose to specialise because I could focus only on one set of needs. And, I suppose, the aesthetics."

[iruludavare]

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Fire from A Journal of Love: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin, 1934-1937

[iruludavare]

“What you got there?”

“A knife!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO”

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. Something something i will never stop thinking about how serena, from a first glance, would seem very intimidating and unapproachable in how put together she is... but the moment you talk to her, she's genuinely one of the kindest people you've met. All deadpan and distant expressions until you talk to her and it melts into smiles that always reach her eyes and genuine interest in the person talking to her. Like yes!! She dresses up! Yes!! Her hair always immaculate, her nails are done, and her outfits are on point. She makes an effort to be that way, simply because doing that stuff makes serena feel good about herself. She looks like she would be distant and borederline judgemental from a first glance, but in reality she really is anything but and it's so 😭}

[iruludavare]

Art by @hiddengriefs​!

[iruludavare]

          "That is true, but you know what I meant by it,"

          "I just did not think that someone who can also wield it needs to hear the same rant about the issues inexperienced and egotistical trainers wanting to get their hands on it raise. Goodness knows we've heard it a hundred times over from our own minds or others... It'd be patronising."

@iruludavare replied to your post “❝ IF my pokémon wants to mega evolve, WE DO IT....”:

"It /is/ as simple as that, almost... but unfortunately there is a very vocal minority who let entitlement get in the way and disregard it."

​❝ that goes for ANYTHING that's ever existed. ❞