The various women seem as disoriented as you are. Some, like Princess Peach and Robin, run over to familiar faces such Daisy and Lucina, checking on their friends. Others, like Samus, Bayonetta, and Min-Min, charge their cannons, cock their guns, or otherwise drop into a fighting stance, ready to face whatever **** may have stolen them away.
You, on the other hand, don’t do much of anything. Why would you? Obviously this was a dream, albeit probably the most lucid dream you’d ever had. Never mind the grass under your feet and the wind biting at you as close to the edge of the cliff as you were, the chill far more intense than you could’ve managed trying to pinch yourself awake. Never mind the clarity of what was around you, in front of you, even on you as you look down to see the clothes you’d been wearing exactly before you woke up here: jeans, and a Vault-Tec t-shirt complete with a stain from the sauce of the burger you had as takeout for lunch. That’s not weirdly intricate and detailed for a dream, right? It had to be within the realm of possibility, because otherwise possibility was being thrown out the window by the horde of fictional women standing in front of you.
Speaking of, it seems you’ve finally been noticed, at least by a few of them. Familiar as they are to you, you’re the odd one out on multiple fronts, which might explain why Samus’s arm-cannon was being pointed your way, or why Princess Zelda was regarding you with such a concerned expression. You swallow hard, and try to break the silence.
“Um, h-hi,” you start, but further words die in your throat as a howling wind passes over the clifftop, forcing you a step back. At first, you think the wind must have thrown some of the fighters off balance as well, as some of them stumble, or grab their head, or stiffen and freeze in place. Only, as the gale continues, you can’t help but notice something strange. The wind pushes on you, your sleeves and pants legs fluttering, but the same isn’t happening to the women. Not one frilly princess skirt, not one knightly cape, barely even a strand of hair is getting pushed out of place while you struggle not go flying off to the impossibly diverse landscape below. In the light of the setting sun, you might think that your eyes were playing tricks on you, but with every other impossible thing happening, you have to assume it means something when you see faint pink lights trace along every thread, stitch, and seam of the clothes of the women in front of you.
And then, all of a sudden, the wind stops. Desperately trying to fight into it, you fall forward in its absence, onto your hands and knees, looking up to find the fighters much more composed. Stock still. Unmoving. Then, at the head of the group, Princess Peach lifts her head. Her mouth is in a calm smile, but her eyes are glassy- gray irises, outlined with a pink glow. Daisy, to her right, looks up and it’s the same thing. Palutena to her left. Corrin and Byleth behind her. Wii Fit AND Pokemon Trainer. All of them. You’re huddled there for a moment, before Peach steps forward. You scramble to your feet but they’re already on top of you- Lucina’s Falchion strikes true against you, but while it hurts, it’s your shirt cleaved in two instead of your torso. Similarly, Zelda’s fire ball and Samus’s plasma shots burn away your jeans, leaving the flesh below exposed but unharmed. It would be reassuring, if not for the terror of the attacks themselves and the shame of the ‘injuries’. You quickly get pushed back to the edge of the cliff, falling backwards but not down; looking to your sides, you see massive demonic hands, pointer fingers and thumbs daintily clutching either side of your boxers. Bayonetta’s teasing attitude evidently survived whatever hypnosis was affecting her, as she gives you a wink with those hollow pink eyes, before something else pink takes up your entire vision; Princess Peach’s posterior aimed square against your head for a Peach Bomber, giving you a figurative taste of heaven before your body is launched similarly skyward, blasted free of your last remaining garment. As you hurtle into the sky, wind rushing past every inch of your exposed skin, you spy the fighters below each blink away in a flash of pink light, before the cliff top is left empty and your vision fades to black.
——
You wake up some time later; happy to have woken up at all after being launched miles into the sky, but dismayed to find that instead of being in your pajamas in your own apartment, you find yourself still quite naked, and still somewhere quite odd, but somehow familiar...
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