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nartothelar · 9 months

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But for the vampire au, have you considered Emmet getting Severely Hurt™️ and Ingo turning him to keep his brother alive?

Or do they have an agreement to just let things happen?

“No.” Emmet responds simply, decisively.

The answer is expected and yet, the disappointment Ingo feels is an unwelcome heaviness, his constant frown turning genuine without it meaning to.

Ingo had asked the very same question thrice times now.

Once was when they were kids. It was casual inquiry that came with little prompting; he had asked out of curiosity more than anything. Ingo had asked Emmet after they had defeated a trio of challengers off hand. Emmet had laughed, light and airy, when he answered. They had gotten ice cream using their winnings after.

The second time had been following a much more harrowing experience. A safety check forgotten, a simple mistake by a depot agent newly hired, had resulted in a derailed train. Fortunately only a few were injured. Unfortunately, one of those few was Emmet.

Ingo had asked him with bags under his eyes, something quite silly since Ingo didn’t even need to sleep. (Was that makeup? Emmet had joked with an exhausted smile.)

Emmet, laying in that hospital bed, IV's in his arm and a cask around his left leg, had responded much the same, a chuckle rather than a laugh. Perhaps his headache had come back to manage much more than that. Ingo didn’t attempt to change his mind and offered him the chicken noodle soup Elesa had brought for him.

And the third time was right now: Ingo sitting across from Emmet in the dining room of their shared apartment. It was morning and even though the windows curtains were drawn, the room was illuminated with a soft glow. In front of his brother was a plate of eggs and toast, him nursing a cup of black coffee. In front of Ingo was just a cup of tea, untouched and cooling.

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

The way he asks shows his cards far to easily. Whoever had said Subway Boss Ingo was hard to read must have not tried at all.

His brother looks at him, assessing him, and then looks away.

Emmet is silent for a minute, simply gazing at the cup in front of him. His food was getting cold.

Most would think Emmet was being hesitant when answering, that this was a sign he didn’t want to answer at all. But Ingo knows him well. He knows he wants to go over what he will day and that he voices his thoughts properly.

Ingo is patient and waits. Finally, Emmet answers.

“I like the sun.” His brother says, looking at him. The color of his eyes haven’t dulled all these years. “It feels warm on my skin. It feels good.”

“I love eating. The taste, the action. Yup!" Emmet picks at his plate with a hum. "I want to eat what I like, when I like."

“I like my independence." Ingo's tea leaves an ashy taste as he sips it - a floral chamomile bag floats at the bottom of it. "I do not want to be dependent on others. I do not want to be dependent on things out of my control."

"I know that I will have to sometimes." Emmet really looks at him now. "And that is ok. But I still feel the same way.”

Ingo squeezes his mug, before he relaxes his grip. Emmet notices.

Emmet lays his palm on his chest, closing it into a fist near the middle.

“I like being human.” It sounds final, the words like a gavel to wood, the way it echoes in his mind. “I do not want to be a vampire.”

Ingo wants to argue. To convince him that the pros outweigh the insignificant cons, but he does not. No. Usually Ingo is more eloquent with his words, but the fear that rises up in his throat makes his usually well thought out words more brisk, more succinct, more honest as he says the obvious.

“But you are aging.” Ingo says. You are dying, Ingo tries, fails, and a refrains to add.

Ingo hands are smooth, his face without a wrinkle. He looks as the same as he as when he first became a subway boss. He has since he was sent to Hisui. Forever youthful. And Emmet.

Emmet's hands are calloused, wrinkled from years of maintenance at gear station. His hair is thinning and his temples were turning white. His stride not as brisk as it was years ago.

“I am.” Emmet replies. “And I will continue to age.”

Ingo knows Emmet. He is stubborn, just like himself. That is how he is. He knows he will not change his mind. And that makes him clench his jaw, look down at his cup with furrowed brow.

“Ingo.”

Ingo snaps his head up, fear turning to anger that makes him feel sick. He should not be angry, but he is.

“Then you plan to reach your final stop?” Emmet’s smile dims. Ingo continues anyway. “Leave this station?” Without me? Ingo clamps down before he utters the accusation.

“You....you will have me wait here for you to die? And do nothing?!”

And there it is. Ingo barring his greatest fear since he got turned. The thing that has plaguing his mind since he stood at the grave of his old clan leader in Hisui, at the cemetery where his other wardens were laid to rest. What he had realized as he saw time passes by, years of constant goodbyes and tearful farewells.

It was that, no matter how grand his ideals, the simple truth of the matter was that he was utterly powerless to the passage of time.

Ingo doesn't realize that he has stood up until he is already towering over Emmet's seated form. His fangs barred and he suspects his eyes are slits.

And despite that, Emmet looks calm. He looks...sad.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Ingo says softly, deflated as the anger leaves his body. To live on as those around him pass. To see enjoy his life without the people he cares most around him.

Ingo feels arms wrap around him and he wraps trembling arms around Emmet too, his head laying on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, simply holding each other, not letting go.

"I'm sorry I never gave you the choice." Emmet finally says. Ingo's hands grip at Emmet's shirt. "We were young. You were dying. And I was desperate. I did not want to lose you..."

Emmet pulls back after that, not all the way, but enough to look into Ingo's face. His fangs have retracted, his eyes normal again. "But those details do not matter now, do they?" Emmet sighs out, that sad smile still there.

"They matter. Of course they matter." Ingo protests, but he doesn't elaborate pass that.

Emmet looks at the floor, thinking about his words and looks at Ingo again before saying, "Everything reaches its final terminal."

"Not me." Ingo says. It comes out bitter.

"Everything does." Emmet repeats, shaking his head. He squeezes Ingo's forearm before he lets go. "I did not give you a choice. but you can choose for yourself now."

His brother’s crows feet, a result from decades worth of smiles, crinkle at the edges as he looks at him. "Just as I choose for myself."

Ingo dwells on those words, on what his brother is offering. A choice and a decision to make. Emmet looks at him and Ingo understands.

With a sigh (a concession, a compromise), Ingo nods and accepts Emmet's answer.

That heaviness Ingo feels is not fully gone from his mind, but it has lightened, the tension of the room dispersing like the morning fog.

Emmet notices, smiles, and sits back down to finish his breakfast. Ingo follows. And then the silence is filled anew with his brother's latest retelling of yet another dealing he had with a rude passenger yesterday.

Ingo listens and they both laugh and talk and all is right and as it should be that morning, in their shared moment of time.

Him and his brother were a two car train, always have been, no matter their differences. And no matter what, he was going to be there with him until his brother's final destination.

And then after that, once that engine has long gone cold, Ingo would decide when his last stop was too.

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cochineal-leviat · 3 months

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"After Kieran was defeated by the person he looked up the most in front of everyone, he fell into a darker spiral - willing to do everything to become powerful. But the events in the Underdepths of Area Zero shook him awake. Running on his last fumes, he and Carmine take a break from their studies. But, before the trip back to Kitakami, he waits a little longer on Unova's mainland to spend more time with Flore before feeling useless in his hometown. Flore invites him over to their dorm room to chat.

Naturally, Kieran wonders why the prodigal champion invited him over."

Eh, the comic is a bit rough; I did it quickly as a burst of inspiration hit. Maybe I will clean it up sometime later. Idk.

Heyo! I enjoyed the Indigo Disk immensely, and while the game still has issues - I still loved it. A Kieran has rapidly become my favourite character. He was already in the Teal Mask, but the second part skyrocketed him to first place. (Red Onion boy having a mental breakdown was both horrifying and hilarious to witness)

A bit of backstory: initially, I was going to write the MC as Florian since I chose his model while playing the game. But I realised in the middle of writing that I accidentally kept switching between they, she and he pronouns. I suppose I was also imagining Juliana in the MC's places, so I combined them. (Flore out catching genders like Pokemon) Unfortunately, I could not work Juliana's name into the MC's first name, so Juliana (or a variation) is their second name. Essentially, you can still picture Julliana and or Florian in Flore's place; it's your choice!

I tried writing Flore by incorporating headcanons and traits I have seen floating around the fandom for Scarvio's player characters. And my own experiences, of course. So, I hope I do them justice. Please enjoy!

Ps: if anyone wants to see more info or art about Flore, I would be happy to share more :p

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cheesus-doodles · 10 months

Text

Star-Crossed by Choice

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

Masterlist

‎

been a hot minute since i've posted, so please enjoy this brainrot that has been eating away at my brain - i know its not the usual TR but gotta get it out somehow. next on the menu would (finally) be A Friend in Me!

cw: use of female pronouns twice

The pokeballs hidden deep within the depths of your bag wriggled impatiently, and you giggled at the sensation against your back. You couldn’t blame them for wanting to escape from the confines of their balls, not with the hum of life that filled the air of the small town of Cortondo. But this was neither the right time or space. It had been some time since you dared to let them out for a breath of fresh air and to stretch their limbs after all, and you silently promised both them and yourself that you would the moment the opportunity arises.

The evening was a welcomed relief from the scorching heat of the afternoon that had left you drenched in sweat - the air was crisp and fresh, just dry enough to lift the sweat from your panting skin but not enough to suck all moisture away. A far cry from the humid day under the blistering sun; much unlike what your usual day would be like spent wandering and exploring new grounds, you instead had been forced to duck into the air-conditioned shops for a break. Strolling down cobbled pathways, the little colored flags that stretched from rooftop to rooftop waved invitingly at visitors from all corners of Paldea, the calls of shopkeepers adding to the general hustle and bustle as the town came alive once more, the sun sinking ever lower towards the horizon.

Your heart wrenched, the pain in your chest sharp. Despite your urge to shrink away from the masses of people, all the eyes you could feel watching you, there was no denying that you missed this. You missed being free. Just being able to walk through town without a care in the world, without anyone hovering over you, one arm slung tightly around your shoulders. Not having to constantly worry about your Pokemon friends getting hurt because of something stupid that was your fault. You never thought you would have ever been able to get a second chance at freedom, to start all over again from scratch; that brazen escape you had risked your life and limbs on seemed to have paid off, though you had to turn your thoughts to the present to stop the tears from welling at the thought of everything and everyone you left behind.

Amidst the crowds of students all dressed in the same Uva Academy uniform as you, out and about and eager to discover when their own ‘Treasure Hunt’ leads them to, you felt secure. You felt like you blended in for once. Maybe it had been worth it, changing both your hairstyle and color, making sure to dress down and look down. Maybe you could be safe here.

“Hey!” A call of your name cut through the commotion of the crowd like a knife through butter. You jolted as one hand came flying down to smack you on your shoulder. Whirling round, you came face to face with those excited orange eyes framed by three signature green strands of hair. “I thought you’d never come!” The president of the student council was as enthusiastic and energetic as ever, not seeming to have noticed your startle, instead beginning to shake you by both shoulders as she all but shouted her questions at you. “Which gym have you defeated? How strong are your Pokemon? Do you want to battle?”

You opened your mouth, but as usual, no words seemed to come out. Perhaps it was the crowd, everyone else around the two of you that is. You had managed a few words to the friendly Nemona previously, back when you parted ways at Mesagoza; a rare and unusual occurrence, given how your throat usually opts to clam up in front of anyone but your parents, but it just goes to show you have come to trust the loudmouth girl. Your social anxiety didn’t quite show around her like it did everyone else.

Lifting both hands in a surrender and placating manner, it was beyond you how you manage to calm the other down, before reaching into your pocket to shyly show your friend the two badges that you had obtained so far in all the days you had been wandering. It wasn’t much you knew, and it wasn’t much on purpose. After all that had happened to you back in Galar, you were afraid to go down the League route again, let alone touch anything that had the word ‘Champion’ in it with a fifty-foot pole.

To your surprise, Nemona was elated. “WOW! You already got two? I knew you had potential!”

You blinked, confused. Wouldn’t she have expected more badges? Was she just hiding her disappointment? The Champion-ranked trainer didn’t give you even a minute to breathe though, hooking one arm through yours and starting to drag you towards the nearest restaurant. “I want to hear ALL about it, you understand?” There was no time to finish your thoughts as you had to scuttle to keep up with her incredibly quick walking pace, and the two of you disappeared from the streets and into the depths of some place you couldn’t catch the name of.

‎

Outside, a different story was unfurling, a pair of teal eyes was fixed firmly on the doorway that you had just disappeared through from beneath the shade of a hoodie, a frown pulling at his usually upturned lips. From across the street and with most of his deceptively lean self hidden behind a wall, there was no doubt in his mind that it was you. A restaurant was no place to cause a commotion, Raihan knew; who knows what you could resort to if cornered? You had escaped once, what was going to stop you from running again? He had waited and waited for this moment despite not being a patient man, but perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to let you enjoy your last hour of freedom. There would be the rest of eternity with you after all, and he didn’t intend on letting you run wild again.

One tanned hand reaching up to pull his hoodie further down his face, Raihan leaned back against the wall, bringing his cold drink up to his lips. Soon.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, with each second feeling more like years passing by. The crowds of students of varying ages, all clad similarly in that signature purple uniform, drifted past where he stood like a gentle wave, the town slowly clearing of people as the minutes ticked by. The sun that had once ruled the sky had now fully set, sinking past the distant mountain horizon with a grand burst of colors; the evening rays had been the herald for the star full of skies that now twinkled above. Yet the Galar Dragon gym leader kept waiting. Even if his eyes drifted away from the building, to gaze at the empty distance and wonder of the different Pokemon that wandered this region, or to scan the throngs of people for threats, there was no activity in or out of the restaurant that he missed. All the while, all Raihan could do was recall the night you had disappeared again and again in his head as he glared down at anyone who dared venture too near: the sheer horror of finding you missing from your room in the morning, your confiscated Pokeballs gone from their secured box. The feeling of his gut dropping straight out the bottom when he couldn’t find you after tearing the entire estate apart, his own Pokemon returning empty-handed after he had sent them out to track you down in a sheer moment of desperation.

Never again would he let himself feel that way. Never.

‎

You finally reappeared through the doorway long after his patience had worn out, but instead of the usual annoyance turned anger, the tanned man felt his breath hitch. You looked so very different yet at the same time, so very familiar. What a sight for sore eyes. The way you stood beside your new friend, huddled as close as you dared go, those doe eyes of yours fixed on a random spot on the ground. Small smile pulling at your lips as you fidgeted with the hem of the shirt of your school uniform, listening carefully to everything your energetic companion was spewing at you.

There was nothing you could change about yourself that would be able to hide you away from him: not changing your hairstyle, your hair color, the type of clothes you wear or even the color of your eyes.

But all his joy at seeing you once more was instantly wiped away when he had to witness you lifting your eyes to meet the other’s. And the anger that raged in his chest igniting once more at the sight of your lips moving - almost as if you were speaking. Sure there was no one else but the two of you lingering on the porch of the now-dark restaurant, but you never spoke to anyone but Hop. Not to him, not even to your Pokemon in the presence of another. Selectively mute, was what your all-too innocent mother had happily informed the gym leader when he had paid her a visit to collect some clothes from your house. Even Raihan himself never had the privilege of hearing your sweet voice in person.

So who was this bastard?

Watching as you stepped off the curb and back onto cobblestoned streets, there was no time like the present - with the dwindling masses and the shops closed or closing. Raihan pushed off the wall, both hands sliding into the front pockets of his jacket, each stride bringing closer and closer to your little duo. You never even noticed.

‎

The unease you had in your gut had been growing for a while. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what caused that feeling, but it certainly was shared by your Pokemon, their balls having wriggled restlessly all evening where you had hidden them in the depth of your bag. But being out with Nemona gave you a sense of security, and despite your better your judgment, you had pushed the nagging voice to the back of your head. It was probably nothing.

Until it wasn’t.

“So there you are, lil champ,” came that all too familiar drawl. You froze mid-step as a long shadow fell over you. You knew that voice, and you knew it too well for your own liking. The hairs on the back of your neck instantly stood on end as the smile fell from your face. “Never thought you’d go all the way back to school just to hide from me.”

There was no answer from you, but Raihan just kept speaking as if he didn’t notice. “Have to say you fit right in though. You do still have a lot to learn, don’t ya?” You didn’t have to turn to look to know who it was standing behind you, cold sweat already beading at your forehead as you stared down at the pavement, your eyes quavering. No way. There was no way he could have already found you. You thought- you thought you had made it far enough. You thought you were safe.

“You thought you were safe?” It was as if the man in the dragon hoodie towering over you could read your thoughts - no, in his presence, there was no doubt that your mind was like an open book. “That we would never be able to find you because you ran overseas?” Those deceivingly downturned eyes glared a hole into your back, his lazy smile deceptively kind. “Aren’t ya going to say anything?”

Your new friend seemed to have taken notice of the sudden fear that washed over your entire posture, and in an instant, you were pushed behind her back, Nemona’s gloved hand going almost threateningly to the Pokeballs that hung by her belt. “Excuse me, but who are you?” The usually bubbly voice you had come to know was suddenly firm, every bit of enthusiasm having faded away into this serious side you had only encountered once.

The Galar Dragon gym leader was hardly intimidated by those orange eyes, ignoring her as his dragon-like gaze continued to stare you down, the pressure alone from the fixation enough to force you to freeze. “Can’t even look at me, huh? Rude.” He knew you couldn’t. Raihan of all people knew better than most you couldn’t meet his gaze. The only response that left your lips was a whimper, your figure starting to quaver as the tears welled at the corner of your eyes.

But the annoying girl with the three strands of green hair butted in again, this time withdrawing a Pokeball to fully hold in her hand with the other arm wrapping comfortingly around your shoulders. “You are scaring my friend, and I do not appreciate that. Please leave.”

Raihan’s eyes finally slipped to the little insect, that razor-sharp gaze losing any and all interest. “And who are you?”

“Nemona, president of the Uva Academy student council and Champion-ranked trainer.” She announced, and the tanned man almost groaned out loud. Of all the places to possibly find you at, of course you had chosen the company of another champion.

‎‎‎

Though it was a third voice that finally shattered your heart and any hope of escape you had left. “Champion?” The voice rang out from the darkness of the unlit side street. “I thought you were done with champions.” The pounding of heavy footsteps, and that unmistakably mob of long purple hair emerged into the dull light of the overhead streetlight. Just when you thought your heart couldn’t sink any further, your poor beating organ simply opting to fall straight out from your chest. Leon.

If Leon was here...

Nemona’s grip on you only tightened. “Who are you?” She demanded again, putting herself directly between you and the two men. You wanted to thank her, to say something, to say anything, but all you could do was tremble, your feet rooted to the ground no matter how much you screamed at yourself to move. No way - no way. How did they find you? “What do you want?”

There was no escape. You were trapped.

Her question was answered by the whispers of the gathering stragglers that still wandered the otherwise quiet streets of Cortondo, though the growing number of eyeballs didn’t help you feel anymore at ease.

“Isn’t that… Leon and Raihan?”

“From Galar?”

“World number 1 and 7?! But what are they doing here?”

“Who’s that with Nemona?”

Your stomach churned, and you could feel the bile starting to rise through your throat. Leave. You wanted to leave. To run. To be anywhere but here.

The student council president was quick to realize that there was a lot more to you that she didn’t know, and that orange gaze, slowly but surely, turned on you. The reassuring grip she had on your shoulders never left, and Nemona gave you a tight squeeze. “What’s going on?” She whispered to you, but in the dead silence that suddenly fell over the night, everyone could hear her loud and clear. And what do these Master-Class trainers want with you? Was the unspoken question you heard loud and clear.

A single heartbeat of silence.

“Turn around, Galar Champion,” Leon ordered. There was no room in his tone for anything but absolute obedience, and against your will, you obeyed. Hesistantingly, shuffle by shuffle, you turned to face them, though your eyes remained firmly fixed on the ground, trembling hands gripped so tight that your knuckles were white.

Nemona’s eyebrows shot through the roof, and her voice pitched. “Galar Champion?!” And the growing crowd broke into a new round of frenzies whispers, every eyeball now on you, scanning you up and down in disbelief.

A little thing like you? Champion?

“Never told you huh?” Raihan crowed. “That she had an entire team of Pokemon that could run at Champion League levels?”

Leon only continued to study your form mutely as Raihan continued to taunt Nemona with his knowledge, those once-friendly yellow eyes now almost seeming to glow in the dare as they peered straight into your soul. Taking a single step in your direction, it was enough to have you shrink away, your eyes flying shut and your shoulders hitching up. Almost as if you were expecting to take a hit from the former Galar Champion.

“So you have our Champion, and we’ll like her back. Please.” Finished the tanned man. Baring those sharp teeth, the smile that pulled at those lips was anything but friendly, Raihan once more turning his gaze back on you.

“Are you ready to come home?”

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tunastime · 18 days

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Inbound, Outbound

The first submas fic I ever wrote! LOL I decided I needed one final thing for april fools so you get this fic from. about a month and a half ago! I think a lot has changed since I wrote this and I'd love to come back to the reuniting :3 maybe making it longer or what have you. but for now. here you go!

Sometimes when you wait for things, they come back to you. Sometimes they don't. Emmet continues life as normal as he can until the point in which the thing he's been waiting for the most finally does come back. Today just happens to be that day. (6745 words)

Ingo comes back on a winter day that Emmet would’ve otherwise forgotten.

It’s a pervasive winter in Nimbasa this year, the sky a white-blue, grey where it touches the edges of the buildings high above his morning train into the city center. Today is just as slow as usual, fifteen stretching into thirty, stretching in to forty-five minutes as people crush their way into the train car number eleven, Emmet’s favorite car on the six-in-the-morning inbound to Nimbasa commercial district. This train doesn’t go direct to Gear Station—it’s about four blocks from the city center. Which means that the train car is filled with grey and black suits, small children, and people in coats too thin or too bright for the weather. It’s his favorite car because if he looks over the few heads currently standing in front of him, he can see a poster with Elesa on it, advertising the Nimbasa Gym in bright, yellow and black letters. He doesn’t mind the length of the ride, really, even with the extra twenty minutes of walking. It gives him enough time to think, whether that be better or worse.

Emmet sniffles, pushing the scarf further up his nose, trying to keep in the heat. He can feel his face starting to red with the cold, and the subpar heat of the train car isn’t doing much help. He likes this car—he likes the whole system, because it runs so efficiently even with the stops, but he would like it a bit more if it were properly heated. He once bore Elesa to sleep talking about the rail system near their apartment complex in the city suburbs and art district, and after that he kind of kept it to himself and the engineers on shift.

The train car is still cold, and his scarf slips down his nose again as he adjusts his grip on the handle above him. Scrunching his face, he burrows into the collar of his coat and shrinks his shoulders to make space, shutting his eyes. He moves with the train car, as he does every morning, and sighs into the fabric of his coat. He files the cold away in the back of his mind. The train ride becomes routine, which means it fades into the background of his life, where everything rests mutely.

He might be somewhat of a celebrity, but the 6am is too crowded and too tired to notice him, or Ingo, or Elesa, for that matter. Elesa could live in the city center—running a gym is a lucrative business, and her clothing line, her brand deal, the posters with her face on them, even here in this train, raked in enough money to more than sustain on. Instead, Elesa lives two streets down from him (them) in a large apartment and she holds the crook of his arm on the train to keep steady. She didn’t this morning, though, which means Emmet has a little more stability where he stands, and a little less company. Not being recognized this morning means that he slips effortlessly from the train as the doors slide open, spilling out with other shoppers and business folk. He ducks through the exit as someone holds it open, and the smile on their face lingers a bit too long when they catch his eye. He thinks the words I’m sorry for your loss might come and hit him across the face, but they only nod. Emmet moves through the crowd alone again.

He makes his way carefully up the steps and onto the sidewalks of inner-Nimbasa, stepping with purpose as he stares down at his shoes. There’s a fine layer of ice and slush on the ground, but no snow. Anything that did fall just added to the grey slush on the side of the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he walked. The cold still bites at his face as he makes his way down the block and across the street. He can still feel his fingers, though, which is a good sign. A few more streets of cold and slushy snow and trying to block the wind with his coat and he would be in the relative warmth of Gear Station, all tan marble and smooth floors.

Winter. Of course the winter lingered. It was still winter when Emmet got off the train alone and it was still winter and cold and breezy and dark, now, as Emmet stood in his (their) office, watching the clock.

5:45pm. He realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as a hard pang stabs through his stomach. Emmet takes a breath. It’s easy to fall into routine when nothing else seems to fit. It’s what he tells himself. He finds a way to make the day go faster, maybe looking for something at the end that wasn’t just the next day. He never had this issue before, waiting for the day to pass only for it to bleed into the next, and the next, and the next, and for the weekend to stutter and pause that blissful continuing trend. Work, go home, sleep, repeat. It gave no time to think about anything else—especially not Ingo.

It took longer the first year. Everything constantly pressed hard on the wound still open. He still remembers when everything shut down around him. It wasn’t winter then. It was spring, where the air still twinged cool, but he wasn’t kicking snow off his shoes before he entered the engineer’s office and ducked down the hall and to his and Ingo’s space. It was an almost instant halt, like throwing the emergency break. Emmet’s whole life screeched and threw up smoke.

He remembers the first time someone questioned him that wasn’t the city police, staring up at him, mouth moving with words he didn’t understand. He stuttered, unable to form an answer to what do you think happened? How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to put pieces together when he felt like he had been smashed into star fragments?

The subway shut down for three months straight. He could barely pick himself out of bed, and when he did, he couldn’t make it out of the door. He remembers lying in the dark for far too long, turning off his phone so no calls came through. The day bled into night and into the next day, with no routine, no operating procedure. Everything in his life revolved around Ingo—and now there was a distinctly Ingo shaped hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. He remembers crawling his way out of the comforters and making it to the threshold of his bedroom door, sinking to the ground and staying there. It was only when Elesa made her way in that he moved, coaxed onto the couch to drink a glass of water. There were days where neither of them spoke. Elesa would set a duffel in the corner of Emmet’s room and a toothbrush in his bathroom and wordlessly, the space became hers too. Half asleep one night, she mumbled, very quietly, that it had been days since she’d had the energy to battle. The Nimbasa gym waitlist had grown to fifteen people. He said he was sorry. She laughed like she meant it. Tired. They were tired. Life moved on without them for a while. He held Elesa’s hand.

Every dark coat had been him, every set of stripes, every loud and hearty laugh. The space in their fridge, in their bathroom, on their couch, the spaces Elesa subconsciously left when she visited, all stayed like he might appear and fill them. At some point the spaces became memories, and the memories became a dull ache. The dull ache let him work, and the work became an ache instead. And then he started looking for answers. When he found none, he just kept looking.

He hangs up his white coat, noise from Gear Station trickling into the background. He puts his hat on the hook next to it.

He is Emmet. He feels okay today.

He combs his hair back with his fingers, stepping back to navigate around to his desk, shutting off the computer screen and moving through the familiar motions of packing away his day. Eelektross snuffs, sleeping curled around his chair, still nursing a singe from their last battle. The rest of his team are tucked away in pokeballs, neatly set into the bag still resting on the desk. He runs a hand over the scales on Eelektross’ head, listening to the snort turn into a purr, long and rumbly. At least someone’s enjoying themselves. He leans against his desk.

“Excellent job today, Eelektross,” he says. “Too good.”

Eelektross rumbles out an affirmative sound Emmet’s learned to recognize over the years. Tired and comfortable and thoroughly pleased. He’ll be sleeping under a huge eel weight tonight, most likely, which would be good for them both.

From the corner, Chandelure chirps. He glances up, watching her tilt lazily back and forth, flame flickering under the office’s lamplight. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at her.

“Ah—” he says. “I forgot, Chandelure. Is it time for the rounds, then?”

She chirps again, twirling in place. She nearly bumps the wall, moving out of the way as she remembers how much space she actually takes up. Emmet snorts, shaking his head. He rises from his leaning on the desk, shaking the feeling back into his right leg.

Gathering his coat and hat again, he pulls it over his shoulders, and opens the office door for Chandelure.

The two wander out into the filling-full train station. It’s busy now that so many are leaving work, Gear Station echoing with his footsteps and the tired laughter and voices of patrons filing in and out of the turnstiles. As he steps out, the noise is almost instant. Ah—he caught departing crowds at the wrong time, as the battle subway came to a close at the days end and people were busy reassigning themselves and marking their places for tomorrow. The energy in the station is bright and cheery. He lifts his hat, waving one hand, smiling with just his mouth. Chandelure spins, singing to herself. He offers a little bow as he departs, listening to cheers of his name until he manages to slip into the service stairs and away from the light and the noise.

He follows the familiar service corridor where it diverges from the central station, staring up into the rafters and eyes tracking across the windows high above him. Night trickles in, noise obscured by layers of stone and brick and marble. The stretch of granite towers above him, echoing the flicker of pride he feels swirling in his chest. Chandelure twirls ahead of him, leading him down to the closed lines as his eyes drag away from pidove in the rafters, cooing to themselves.

It’s important to walk the lines at night—mostly for the host of patrat and joltik and the occasional drilbur that liked to make the tunnels their home, but also to check that each car remained stationary, that light still flooded the dim tunnels, that someone wasn’t trapped. It wasn’t always his job—not with so many that staffed Gear Station, both above and below him. Maintenance often fell to him when it was needed, where he lingered in the office long after his scheduled shift end, when the last outbound train returned.

The stairs down are quieter and darker than the rush of energy and light and cold air above him in Gear Station.

Emmet starts his way toward the platform. Whatever he couldn’t find in the tunnels today, Eelektross would find later tomorrow morning, well before the first battle train. It was good he didn’t have to worry about the main tracks as often—not for checks and not for maintenance. He would mourn his sleep schedule much more than he already did if that were the case. Walking those initial tunnels would take him hours, knowing how far the service platform stretched.

Emmet doesn’t like this part of his job. It was always Ingo’s job. Everything seemed like it was Ingo’s job, now that it rested on his shoulders. When they’d first pitched the idea of the subway to the head of Gear Station at the time, it had been a risk Ingo automatically assumed. When he ran the night shift, safety checks were his duty, as much as they were Emmet’s in the morning. They’d assist with repair and management of the rest of the station as needed, falling into step alongside fellow engineers. There’s a small group in this tunnel now—voices echoing down the small corridor as he travels its length, a drilbur perched on their feet, warily inspecting a section of track. He supposed he considered himself lucky—any scheduled repairs to the Battle Subway could be completed shortly after the subway retired for the day, meaning he could be present if anything went wrong. This bit of maintenance was purely preventative—making sure nothing would be jostled loose by a rogue Earthquake.

Emmet ducks passed the group, nodding along as they toss bits of information his way, wishing him a good night.

Fetching the flashlight from his pocket, Emmet smacks it against his hand. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the tunnel in front of him far more than the stretch of yellow floodlights above his head. He sweeps the beam around the tunnel, listening for anything or anyone.

Emmet makes his way off the main platform and into the tunnel proper, along the service grate, eyes following the tracks. He stands at the edge of the platform for a moment, gazing into an empty car, light shining through. It reflects off the posters and signage inside, dull yellow where the lights inside don’t shine. He shivers. The air feels cold and charged, like a stray joltik had crawled up his neck and now rested in the collar of his coat. He turns the collar out, sweeping with one hand. No joltik. Rolling his shoulders back, Emmet steps back from the car and continues onward. A few feet ahead of him, Chandelure twirls idly, like she’s waiting for him to catch up. He waves the beam of the flashlight at her and she startles, chirring out, annoyed.

“You can check on your own if you don’t want to wait,” he tells her.

She warbles, waving her arms back and forth. He makes an affirmative noise.

“That’s what I thought.”

The large loop stretches further on to his left, where he can’t see, blocked by the stretch of railcar. He follows Chandelure through the space between the cars, ducking his head as they step onto the opposing platform, and continue their way back up. He pauses for a moment as they do, feeling his body go light as his head spins. He reaches out to the side wall, hand against the cold stone as he takes a long breath. Emmet blinks back spots for a moment, shaking his head gently. His stomach feels like its in knots, rolling over itself as he seems to settle from his moment of vertigo. No lunch will do that to you, he supposes.

Chandelure flickers. They’re almost done, which is good. It means he’ll be able to sit down for a second before he has to run to the train. They won’t need to check the two-team tunnel tonight—not only has Emmet not been able to run it, he checked it two weeks ago. He lingered a very long time in there, didn’t he? It had put a terrible ache in his chest enough to call Elesa to walk him home. Emmet frowns—Chandelure flickers again, dimming, brightening, dimming, brightening again. There’s that rush of dizziness again. He breathes out. He’s too far in his head, today, isn't he?

“Chandelure,” he says, in a way that almost reminds him of Ingo—a little out of breath from walking, but mostly just curious. “Is something wrong?”

She chimes, wobbling in place, eyes narrowing. It feels hesitant. Emmet shudders. After a beat, he reaches up, placing a hand on the near-glass surface of Chandelure’s body. She moves back toward him, chiming again.

“Right,” he says. “It’s different, right? Something’s changed.”

Another chirp.

Something tugs at his mind. Wasn’t there something he read about clairvoyance in pokemon? Future-telling, future-seeing, or whatever. But Chandelure’s behavior isn’t indicative of anything. That would just be odd. He can feel for just a moment the way his heart thumps a little faster against the line of his jaw. It couldn’t be that. It’s just what Elesa always said—he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Yyyyep-yep,” he says, mostly under his breath, voice thick. “But it should be fine, Chandelure. Let’s keep going, our track moves forward.”

She tilts back and forth, like a wave of a hand. Emmet snorts as they start forward.

“You know I’m always one for a battle,” he says plainly. She chirrs, moving around to his right side, putting herself between the train car and Emmet. He follows her movement only for a second as they walk up the tracks, eyes still fixed on the steps up to the station.

The city subway still rumbles through the ground and the walls around him, the noise soft and consistent as train cars move past. He pauses, listening in, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was late, now. He could feel a tired ache seeping into the creases of his elbows and right under his knees from standing all day. His head was starting to hurt, spinning as he stood completely still. He sighs roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly for just a moment. He’s lucky the pain didn’t extend to his feet—he would have to do quite the jog to catch the outbound train toward home, unless Elesa happened to be staying late again and could walk him back.

They start together toward the entrance as Emmet does his final scan of the furthest-out platform, satisfied nothing is out of place. The same cold air of the train tunnels permeates even here, despite the warm wash of yellow light across the walls and marble pillars. Emmet breathes in, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders as he stretches over his head, screwing up his face as his back pulls. He nearly complains—he feels much too old for this—but he can feel the sharp poke of Ingo’s voice in his mind—well, I’m two minutes older, so you can imagine how I feel—and it stops him pretty quickly. He’s not even thirty-five. What can he do but complain, right? Emmet fishes his keys from his pocket prematurely, ducking between the cars as he steps onto the loading platform.

Chandelure stops ahead of him. Her trill is quiet as Emmet reaches her side.

There is a man standing on the platform.

Emmet is very good at telling cosplayers from the real thing. You would think that would be some sort of a joke, but they really like to be authentic. Ingo and him never sold any merchandise of their coats or hats for fear of, well, that. This. Whatever this person was doing, standing on the closed platform in a ruined coat that looked like Ingo’s.

Emmet swallows. Looks like and not is, right? Looks like and not. Not. Certainly not. Not when he turns and catches his eye. The breath lodges itself in Emmet’s throat, burning hot. Certainly not. Because he is very good at telling illusions from real life, and there are no dark types in the tunnels that can use copycat, and copycat can’t extend the likeness of himself onto another person who looks. Like. Who looks like his brother. And isn’t. Emmet tries to breathe. The breath is sharp on his teeth. His hands are shaking when his vision blurs, and he smears tears across his face.

Ingo looks frightened for a moment. When he looks into Emmet’s eyes, the grey looks washed out. Emmet breathes out, feeling it catch as he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. There’s. It’s like nothing moves behind his eyes. Not a faint light of understanding. Not a spark of clarity. Ingo places a foot behind him. The line of Emmet’s spine goes cold all at once.

He stands still as he watches a slow realization pass over his brother’s face like a red flush, some flicker in his expression, before he sees his chest seize and breath stutter. Ingo blinks hard and fast, like it might be helping something, eyes flicking over Ingo’s face. He reaches forward, as if he’s expecting to push through Emmet and into air instead, and not the solid body he stands there with. It’s like his body moves before he realizes what’s actually happening. Emmet watches his movements, still calculated in the same way as they’ve always been. Emmet drags in a breath, sniffling hard.

The lines of Ingo’s face pull. Emmet reaches out to him, copying. It’s what he’s always done—what they’ve always done. He steps forward, lurching to meet him.

The mirror image of himself, his brother, his Ingo, collides with him hard. Emmet feels him crumple into his arms as he drags him forward, arms locking around his ribcage. He squeezes Ingo tight to him. They buckle, Ingo leaning into him for support as his body is wracked with sobs. Emmet struggles to breathe as he sinks to his knees, smearing dirt and dark grime over his white pant-knees and boots.

Ingo’s hands fist in his coat as they fall. He squeezes Emmet in his arms, fighting for breath as he presses his face into his shoulder. Emmet laughs and it morphs into sobs. He turns his face into the tattered collar of Ingo’s coat and squeezes his eyes shut. Ingo. Ingo. Always Ingo. The bony joints of his elbows digging into his ribs as a kid, crushing him with his weight when he lost a pokemon battle, standing in his bedroom door at night when he had a nightmare. Cooking beside him, picking up his coffee, watching him tie Emmet’s tie around his own neck before passing it back to him. His brother Ingo, breathing too shallowly under his hands as he holds him, shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. He can feel the bones of his spine and shoulderblades, sharp and protruding even through several layers of fabric. His face looked so pale and thin. But Ingo holds him tightly, much tighter than he ever remembers, and it’s not just fear or relief or grief holding him to that strength, either. Emmet wheezes out, word unforming in his throat.

It’s not a nightmare. It feels real and warm and solid, like Ingo, like the platform under his knees, like the cold breeze on the back of his neck. Ingo may look different, far too gaunt for Emmet’s liking (and he supposes, now, that it may be like looking in a mirror, and he wonders how many bones Ingo can feel under his coat) but it’s him. No illusion or actor would crumble like this. It couldn’t be some sick joke—right?

He manages out words, and the first thing he chokes out through tears, voice warbling hard, is:

“Ingo—”

“Emmet,” Ingo grits out.

“I am Emmet—” Emmet says weakly. “You are Ingo. You are real.”

“I—” Ingo chokes. “I am. I’m real.”

Ingo certainly feels that way. The breath echoes in his lungs, damp and wobbly. Emmet can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. He feels so small in his arms but he shakes with the effort of keeping himself stable and with the effort of holding on. He can feel his shoulders move and the way his tears have started to soak through Emmet’s coat and shirt. He’s real.

Emmet laughs weakly, equally as wet.

“You are very strong,” he says softly, sniffling in, almost amused. “What happened to my brother?”

Ingo laughs. Emmet feels a new wave of tears bubble up in his chest and in his eyes. He presses his face into his shoulder a little more, like it were possible.

“Too much,” Ingo says, voice pitching. “Much too much.”

Emmet sighs into his shoulder, a sound he doesn’t think Ingo’s ever heard before. Ingo’s seen him cry a few times, especially when they were kids, but Ingo was always the more emotional of the two. This sound is such an odd mix of relief and grief and exhaustion pulled from his chest, like all the energy had trickled out of him.

Emmet holds tight to his brother in front of him, words not surfacing like they should. He only manages the weak sobs pressed into the collar of his coat. He screws his eyes shut again, clinging onto Ingo’s coat. The tile is cold and unyielding under his knees. Burning starts to prickle through his shins. Real feelings. Real sensations. Something to tether himself to. Ingo sniffles, coughing damply. He lets his body deflate a touch. Emmet’s chest twists and squeezes tight enough around his heart he feels it shove its way into his voice-box and beat there, pattering away.

“It’s you,” Emmet finally shudders out, voice breaking, sounding much more fragile than he wants to allow. Ingo burrows closer like it may do something. Emmet squeezes him. “Go-Go, please tell me this is real.”

“I promise,” Ingo manages. “I swear it.”

“You do?”

“You are Emmet,” he says slowly, sniffling. “I am your brother. I am real.”

“Good—” Emmet shudders. “Good.”

Ingo makes a pained noise, sighing out to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. Emmet shakes his head, stilted from where he rests it.

“Don’t be sorry. Just—” he trails off. Just. Don’t leave again. Yeah.

Ingo nods slowly. After a moment he says:

“You are real,” in a half questioning tone. Emmet nods.

“I am. I am not a dream,” he says, huffing out a wet laugh. “You can pinch me.”

Ingo snorts.

“That’s not how that works,” He argues, own voice damp and amused. Emmet thumps his back between his shoulderblades.

“Go-Go,” he complains. Ingo wheezes. This feels so familiar it hurts.

“Sorry,” Ingo says, but the tone that leaks into his voice sounds like he’s very much not sorry. “I’m sorry.”

Emmet huffs again, soft and brittle.

“Ingo, I missed you,” he manages. “I missed you so much. So very much.”

“I know,” Ingo says softly, relaxing his hands, splaying them out over Emmet’s coat. “And yet you kept the subway running in my absence—” he huffs, amused. “Bravo.”

Emmet laughs once, just a small little sound, before it turns back into sobs, muffled against Ingo’s tattered coat. He leans his weight back as much as he can, trying to pull Ingo further into his arms, as if it were possible. Light cascades around them as Chandelure floats over, chiming softly to herself. Ingo pats Emmet’s back, running a little line over his shoulderblades as they sit together. He feels Ingo shift, as if he’s turned his head toward his Chandelure. Warmth blossoms in his chest.

Ingo mumbles out something Emmet almost hears.

“She took your absence very hard,” Emmet says, trying to add to a conversation he hadn’t heard.

Ingo sighs, short and soft. They’re less holding on and more leaning, now.

“Oh,” he says softly. It’s all he says before he turns his head back into his shoulder. Emmet pats his back. He feels like someone’s taken toothpicks to his nerves. Why does it hurt? Why does Ingo sound so lost?

He leans back from Ingo, but he doesn’t let go. His hands find his shoulders, pulling away enough to see him properly. Emmet’s eyes scan his face. They’re the same grey as he’s always known them, but so much more tired, now, deep lines and dark circles around the bottom. He’s frowning, just a little, eyes still red-rimmed from crying, tears still falling haphazardly. Ingo sniffles. His hair lies the same, despite being unkept, and he’s got a terrible facial hair situation going on, like he’d forgotten how to use a razor. When Emmet studies him, Ingo’s face goes soft. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but shuts it when Emmet frowns.

“Ingo,” Emmet says, frown deepening, eyebrows furrowing. He sniffles. He prods at the hollow of his cheek, looking perplexed. “You look horrible, like someone’s shaken twenty pounds off you.”

“Ah,” Ingo says, looking away.

“You may be much stronger than you were, but you look like you may fall over if I let you go.”

Ingo swallows. His expression morphs a few times, until he shuts his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I might.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, holding to his shoulders a bit tighter. Ingo smiles, just the sides of his mouth lifting. It feels right. “Don’t.”

Ingo snorts.

“I’ll try.”

Emmet nods, mouth a fine line. Ingo’s eyes flick over his face, this time. Emmet feels like pokemon under a magnifying glass being scrutinized. Ingo watches as Emmet blinks tears away, watches them track over his face, and watches as he reaches up to wipe them. Emmet shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softening at the end unexpectedly. He swallows down a wave of cold guilt. Ingo’s hands clasp around his biceps.

“Emmet—” he starts.

“It’s okay,” Emmet manages out, expression cracking. He sniffles in, pulling in a fast breath as he does. He hears it catch, feels the shudder than comes with it. “You—it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Ingo says meekly, loosening his grip. Emmet’s wobbly smile falters, just for a moment.

“That’s good,” Emmet sighs. He blinks a few times, sniffs again, wipes at his face. Ingo’s hands fall away from his arms and into his own lap.

The frown lingers on Ingo’s face long after he’s dropped his hands. Emmet rises to a slow, shaky stand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, giving Ingo a watery smile. When Ingo looks up at him, Emmet feels something click into his chest, warm, full, and settling. He smiles wider, enough to feel his eyes start to squint shut, enough to watch Ingo copy him, and the smile looks so natural on his face. It’s good. This is good. This. Feels. Good. It feels good.

“I don’t think you should sit on the floor anymore, Ingo,” Emmet says. He extends his hand.

“I think I’m a bit too old for it,” Ingo tells him. Ingo takes it. He holds his warm hand, half palm and half wrist. Emotion tumbles in his chest, painfully tight, as he leads Ingo toward the tunnel entrance.

There’s something Ingo isn’t saying. Emmet knows it’s important. It’s not important enough to say now, that is, but he can feel it in the air of Ingo next to him as they duck into the empty station, back to the office, away from eyes that might say something before Emmet is ready to let the world know who showed up at his doorstep. It’s fine if Ingo doesn’t remember his pokemon, or the layout of Gear Station, or how he should feel, or where he’s been. He can’t ask him to. Not when there was a moment where Ingo couldn’t remember him, no matter how brief. He pushes fear deep into his chest and refuses to let it rise up.

He won’t let them diverge. He won’t let Ingo derail.

Whatever happens next, he’s not letting go of him.

The night comes easier than most.

It starts with Emmet sending a text—it’s last minute, which he despises, but he informs the head of the station that he isn’t feeling well and won’t be in at work for the next few days. He receives a spaced, but enthusiastic reply, and a reminder to use his sick time before he loses it. Probably better that he’s taking more days rather than less. Emmet feeds their pokemon, moving around the kitchen as he hears the shower running in the room across from his own. Busying himself with routine means he worries a little less about the question tugging at his mind, or the rush of anxiety and energy as he remembers everything, replaying it over and over again in his head. What if it isn’t Ingo that steps from the room? What if he looks completely different? What if—

Galvantula bumps his hand, nibbling at his sleeve. He’s still holding the bowl of food. He sets it on the floor as instructed, briefly pulled away from his thought.

Now, situated in the living room, a takeout bag rests on the coffee table, where Emmet is sitting next to the table, pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and a too-shaken can of soda. He’s been watching Ingo’s face for a good part of the evening, seeing as lines come and go, how the sharp shape worsens when he frowns. Now, in a thick, high collared sweater and pajamas, grime scrubbed away with a hot shower, Ingo looks very small, and very alive, and very cold. Emmet pokes him with a socked foot as Ingo takes another ravenous bite of his egg and cheese sandwich. He has egg yolk all over his hands and down his chin.

“I am Emmet,” he says, an awed smile lingering on his face. “And I am certain you are going to choke if you eat that fast.”

Ingo blinks, still chewing. Maybe two sandwiches was the right move after all. Emmet hasn’t touched the one he bought for himself yet. He’s been too busy making sure Ingo drinks a glass of water. Ingo flushes, though, as he realizes he’s made an runny-egg mess of the plate balanced on his knee. He looks sheepishly away, searching for something to wipe his hands with. When he can’t find anything, he sets the sandwich down, and wanders back to the kitchen.

“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Emmet remarks. His stomach flips a bit at the implication, wondering when the last time Ingo actually had a warm meal in his body. He realizes he doesn’t even know where he’s been. What could be wrong with him. What he’d seen. He seems dazed, a bit lost, a bit spacey. It had taken him a good thirty seconds to recognize Emmet on that platform—though, if Emmet’s honest with himself, and he often tries to be, he isn’t much better. He’d swallowed down confusion just as fast as he could, and that was only a moment before he’d thrown himself at his brother. Ingo’s shoulders are a tense line.

“I’ve eaten,” Ingo says.

“Good.”

When Ingo wanders back over, sitting in his same spot, Emmet pushes the glass of water toward him. Ingo nods, smiling a little as he picks it up and takes a long drink. After he’s finished and set the glass down, Emmet starts on his sandwich. Between his first bite of hashbrown and egg and the next, he says:

“Ingo,” followed by. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The two go quiet, even with the sound of foil and sandwiches. Ingo swallows, staring into his patterned plate. Emmet watches his face as much as he did prior. He can tell when a pause is calculated for drama, for intrigue, for embellishment, but this one is full of Ingo’s mind scrambling. Emmet can’t see it in action, but he can certainly imagine a million Ingo’s running around in his brain space, trying to compose an answer for Emmet that would satisfy him. Ingo takes another bite in the meantime.

Emmet stares into bits of potato in the foil on his lap. They’re not very interesting.

“What happened?” he asks softly, not looking up at him. He hears Ingo sigh, and sees him put the plate down in his peripheral.

“I—” Ingo starts, and the stutter of his voice is indicative of something very clear to Emmet.

“Ingo,” he says, looking up suddenly. “Don’t.”

Ingo swallows. His throat bobs. Emmet doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.

“I’ve forgotten everything,” Ingo says, in a way that is so un-Ingo-like. “Almost everything. It’s just—there. Right out of reach. Right out of my reach.”

The television casts color across Ingo’s face, obscuring his expression. Emmet fights to keep his expression cool and neutral, despite the way his heart begs to jump into his throat and throw a party. He has a sandwich to eat, not a heart. Silly heart. Silly Emmet. He supposes now that’s why Ingo’s reaction to Chandelure was so stunted. Or the way he skirted away from the station like it may reach out and pinch him like a dwebble. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.

“I don’t know why,” Ingo continues, picking at the seeds on top of his bagel. “I don’t know how, either. And I don’t think I can stomach the where and what, yet. I feel sick when I think too hard. Dizzy and sick.”

Emmet swallows roughly.

“It’s okay,” he says. Ingo shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Emmet watches his face warp, faltering as he holds back whatever emotion’s just bubbled up in his chest. He screws his eyes shut, new tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. “Go, listen—”

Emmet reaches. He brushes Ingo’s hand, and Ingo jerks back on instinct, recoiling. He looks at Emmet, expression blank, nervous, then cracking all at once. Emmet’s own face falters as they meet eyes. Emmet holds his hand over Ingo’s, waiting, still crouching in front of him. He tries for a smile, even as Ingo goes blurry.

“I’m glad you remembered me,” he warbles out. “We can keep going from there. Our tracks move forward.”

“I don’t believe my car in this two car train is very safe, Em,” Ingo sniffles. He takes Emmet’s hand, though, and Emmet curls his fingers over his, both hands around his one hand. He squeezes ever so.

“We’re known for our safety checks, brother,” Emmet says gently. “It’s just our standard operating procedure.”

Ingo laughs softly. The sound is damp, but real. Trying to be something positive. It’s all he can ask of him.

“Understood,” Ingo says. He nods, setting his face, despite the way tears still cloud his eyes, and his mouth still wobbles as he sniffles in. “We shall depart then.”

“We will!” Emmet says, squeezing his hands again. He drops them, then, patting Ingo’s knees like he were beating on the table. Ingo huffs out a laugh, shooing him away.

It doesn’t hurt any less, knowing how much might be absent. But it soothes it a bit to watch Ingo smile.

Later, sitting on the couch together, Ingo rests against Emmet, sandwiches eaten, chips picked through, water drank. His face has regained a touch of color, hands no longer shaking with exertion. He breathes slowly and softly as Emmet flips through television mindlessly, looking for anything. To his left, Eelektross snores, head resting on his knee. He runs a hand absently along the scales at the top of his head, listening to the drone of purr and the chatter of late night television.

“Brother,” Emmet says softly. “Ingo.”

Ingo makes no sound. His breath stays even and slow. Emmet snorts. Right. He supposes it’s payback—he can’t remember the amount of times he’d fallen asleep during movie night with Elesa.

Elesa.

Emmet startles.

Reaching for his phone, he hastily manages a message to Elesa. Something like: Come over ASAP. Good news. Very good. About Ingo.

But his message reads in all lowercase like a run-on sentence, so he hopes in the morning Elesa will decipher it.

Emmet leans back, Ingo’s sleeping weight falling to Emmet’s side as he lies down on the couch cushions. His brother only partially adjusts in his sleep, better tucking into one side, head on his shoulder. Warm with sleep and food, Emmet lets his eyes unfocus. There’s too much static resting right under his skin to let him sleep.

This is good, though. A moment of reprieve for him, and desperately needed for Ingo. Maybe in the morning they’ll talk about getting rid of that ridiculous beard of his.

Emmet hums softly to himself. He listens to the drone of the television for a moment, blissfully tired. There’s a moment of quiet just long enough to feel sleep tug at him.

Someone pounds on his door.

Ah. Well.

Miscalculation on his part, then.

#submas #subway master emmet #subway master ingo #pokemon black and white #pokemon fic #pokemon black and white fic #submas fic #it's very. this is very special to me #i think it could be longer! and a little more detailed! and i think i wanna come back to it at some point and post it on ao3 #it's kind of like this. oh well i've seen other executions i like just as much as what i decided #and it makes me wanna weave more in #i think i could eventually but not today LMAO #maybe once i post my other fic i'll rewrite this as the second chapter. big eyes.#yesyes.. that's what i'll do < shut up tuna

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yelansgirlfriend · 1 year

Note

Hey I’m not sure if you write for the new Pokémon characters but if you do then please may I ask for headcannons with Grusha and a s/o being stuck in the snow my mountains in a storm and searching for s/o?

a/n: I have not played the new game but I did do a fair bit of research for this. I apologize if this isn't accurate!

spoilers! (not really but kinda)

He gets worried quickly. You had left to go on a walk about 3 hours ago and you hadn't taken any of your Pokémon with you so he headed out to look for you. He sent out his Altaria to search for you from above while him and his beartic walked in the snow together. After a bit of looking, he heard his Altaria making a lot of noise trying to get his attention and trying to get him to follow it. He followed Altaria and it eventually led him to you. Beartic was able to move the rocks out of the so Grusha could get to you and as soon as he could he ran over to you taking his scarf off and wrapping it around you trying to warm you up. He set you on Altaria's back and he took you back to your shared house. He cuddled up with you for the rest of the afternoon and made sure you were warm enough and that you were alright. From that day forward he always insists you take your Pokémon with you when you go on walks.

#pokemon x y/n #pokemon x reader #pokemon fic #Grusha x reader #grusha fluff

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probably-not-a-skeleton · 23 days

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hello fellow horizons fans. i’ve deluded myself into believing amethio’s going to get a redemption arc, so i decided to write 4k words about it. im very okay.

#yeehaw i guess. live laugh love.#pokemon #pokemon horizons #pokemon anime #amethio #pokemon amethio #pokemon fic #pokemon liko #pokemon roy #pokemon dot #pokemon friede

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irlkisukeurahara · 28 days

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A little edit of PULT Arven's canon design -- Well, his design for when he joins the main cast permanently. He basically has his canon design with slight changes to his skin tone, nose shape, and jewelry until then. (They/he)

At the end of the Paldea Arc, Arven asks to join the group formally in their adventures across the world. They make the decision to drop out of Mesagoza to focus on culinary studies around the globe (also kinda freeloading with the group as one girl pays for everything) since they know with how low their grades are due to their extreme number of absences, it'll be many years repeating the same class over and over before they can graduate properly... So he decides to cut his losses and start over with his education, getting experience by cooking for the group for the second half of the PULT story.

His right eye was clawed out by Koraidon when he was little, and when Turo took him to the hospital and ordered a glass eye, he bought the wrong color. For a long time Arven put their hair over their eye out of embarrassment. But, they embrace their father's mistake as a part of them by the end of the Paldea Arc. His entire body is covered in scratches and scars from spending most of his time out in the wilderness.

Did not draw his bag because I know I never remember to draw the characters' bags but rest assured he has his bag. It's filled with kosher cooking knives, camping supplies, berry baskets, pots, pans, weed, hunting spears, and a bow and arrows. Non-kosher knives and frying pans end up getting added to that collection just due to how many times people wanted bacon. They're always willing to accommodate people's diets and wishes of course, but they're not going to taint their utensils bro....

The group helps them shop for this outfit. They didn't have any clothes outside of their uniform that fit them, since the last time they went clothes shopping was when they were like seven. His green jacket is a sports jacket. He does not watch or play sports. He just bought it because the team had a Mabosstiff mascot.

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teehee-vibes · 8 months

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Death by very big cat

This interaction didn’t get more than a sentence fragment but this is how it went

#pokemon xyz #clemont pokemon #serena pokemon #anipoke #pokemon fic #pokeani #pokemon xy #gym leader clemont #luxray #restarting at letter a #pokemon fanfiction #Clemont doesn’t help her #at least not at first #TV’s art

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alparlaboratories · 8 months

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*Unfathomed Force starts playing*

I said I'd draw some self-indulgent stuff, so here it is. Future Niss meeting Anabel in Hoenn while she and Looker are investigating a certain something, and being super giddy that one of her childhood icons is still alive and still just as amazing a trainer as ever.

And considering all of Niss' 'misgivings' with Cynthia and her feelings about her first trainer journey, I'm sure she'd appreciate a possible mentor who isn't so obsessed with brutal mastery and cares more about strategy and the art of battling itself.

I'd also imagine Anabel would miss being queen of the Battle Tower, memories or not, and would have a lot of fun playing the part again.

#pokemon #pokemon fic #child of thorns #trainer dawn #salon maiden anabel #art #I always found it weird that her title is salon maiden instead of tower queen but oh well

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waywardstation · 6 months

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The Haunter leered hungrily, its detached hand pinning Emmet in place and sharp nails digging into the sides of his neck. Darkness ate the edges of Emmet’s vision, and he tried to wheeze out a plea, but the Haunter was only interested in its next meal, which it seemed to have decided he would make a fine late-night snack.

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A wonderful commission I had the complete pleasure of doing for @kaeshidamashii , for Chapter 22 of @yautjan ‘s fic In Tandem ! One of my favorite PLA fics ever!!!! Such an honor to do this, thank you for commissioning me!!

#happy Halloween!!! :)#submas #emmet #subway boss emmet #subway master emmet #haunter #chandelure #old chateau #pokemon #pokemon fic #pokemon fanfic #waywardstationart

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cochineal-leviat · 3 months

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"Drayton and Kieran battle. However, Drayton being Drayton - stokes the fires more than he should. Can the dragon tamer handle a Dragon's wrath?"

Heyo! I'm continuing this one shot because of the amazing comments I received and, of course, because it is fun to write and make art for. Thank you all so much for the support, and please enjoy!

I drew the battle poses in its entirety to get the anatomy right. If you want to see the full-body poses, please tell me. I think they're neat.

More of an art explanation under keep reading

The VS splash screen is based on Black and White 2's champion match against Iris. Originally, I was going more for the VS screen from gen 5 from the Gym leaders, but since Iris and Drayton are related - this fits more. (that and I couldn't find a good reference of the VS screens)

Also, my absolute favouritism of Unova and Black and White is shining through. To be fair, Blueberry Academy is set in Unova, and the Toaist dragons work perfectly well here symbolically. (I used Black and White 2's colour palette, which technically references Zekrom in Black 2 instead of the other Black, but let's pretend the blue on Drayton's side is from Reshiram's eye and vice versa on Kieran's side. I just wanted the cold colours to be on Drayton's side, whereas Kieran is supposed to be so flushed with anger)

Also, Rotom

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cheesus-doodles · 9 months

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Star-Crossed by Choice: Chapter 2

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

<< Chapter 1

Masterlist

Home. It used to mean something to you - you still vaguely recalled a warm, loving house back in the quiet backwoods of Postwick, a place to which you could once retreat away from the world. Somewhere where the weight of expectations on your shoulders didn’t exist, where there were no prying eyes watching your every move, waiting to pounce on a moment of weakness. Somewhere you felt safe, where the creak of a door opening didn’t send you straight into a panic attack. The word had lost all meaning to you after Raihan and Leon, no matter how much the two tried to convince you that you had one with them.

No, you didn’t have a home, was the sole thought that raced through your head again and again, almost as if a desperate prayer to uncaring higher beings. But it didn't matter what you thought or what you felt, even if your voice worked like everyone else’s. Raihan’s question had been entirely rhetorical as they always were, and no one knew that better than you.

Yet even outside of your turbulent thoughts spiraling out of your control in your mind, the panic was taking a physical toll on your body. Every breath you took felt heavier and heavier, and you started to heave under the pressure - it was too much. Everything was too much. The noise, the eyes, their eyes; your world was collapsing around you. Your ears throbbed, the bustle of the growing crowd, eager for a taste of excitement in the usually sleepy town, mixing and mashing into a white noise over which you could only hear the pounding of your heart. The pressure of gazes, uncaring and distant and hungry for nothing more than the entertainment you provided. Your chest tightened. You couldn’t breathe.

There was nowhere left for you to go except back to a past you couldn’t run from.

‎

Nemona glanced back at you worriedly. For all the months that she had known you, spent together both in and outside of classes, she had never once seen you in such a wretched state. Your chest heaving with the exertion of taking a simple breath, it was obvious to anyone with working eyes that you weren’t reacting well to the arrival of the two men for reasons that were currently beyond her. The healthy flush of color that graced your skin just a few minutes previously throughout the course of dinner had now faded, giving way to a shade of ashen gray that she had only previously seen on a Greavard.

A crunch of gravel, a single step in your direction, and the switch in the student council president’s attention was immediate, orange eyes whirling back forward to land on an unbothered Raihan, the man not looking the slightest bit concerned despite your paling complexion. Of course it was a shock to learn more about your past, and there was still too much she didn’t know, but now was definitely not the time to pry for answers. “Don’t come any closer,” the Champion-ranked trainer warned, finally retrieving one of six Pokeballs hanging from her belt and tossing it to the ground. She would not stand for any further boundaries being crossed - and if it took a defeat in battle to have these two leave, then so be it. With a guttural cry, Pawmot materialized and seemingly grasping the situation at hand, instantly put itself between its trainer and Raihan, both paws raised.

The uproar of the crowd faded away, giving way to nervous glances shot between bystanders as they realized what was unfolding, the town once more returning to an uncomfortable silence: a battle right here? In the middle of town? This was way too close for comfort for both watchers and the buildings around, and Nemona was well aware. Any missed or misdirected attacks could easily cause untold levels of hurt and damage, but did she really have any other choice?

Yet despite having her Pawmot out, neither Raihan nor Leon seemed the slightest bit phased, simply opting to ignore her issued challenge, though the purple-haired former champion at least paused to glimpse at the newly introduced Pokemon. Pawmot soon lost its aggressive posturing, turning to look at its trainer confused: without an opponent to fight, what now? But neither Nemona nor the silent world had any answer, and the agonizing tranquility only continued. Without the usual rustle of flags or the shifting of dirt beneath their feet, every second seemed to stretch into eternity, and all those orange eyes could do was watch the Dragon Gym leader stroll closer with every stride, his eyes fixed solely on you, the rocks stumbling and tossing behind his feet an ominous foreboding of what was to come.

It took but a single heartbeat for everything to turn on its head. Taking her eyes off the approaching man for a moment to check on you was enough for Raihan to breeze past her outstretched arm. “Wha-” Whirling around only to be faced with the sight of his back, the sudden change left Nemona reeling back at the surprising speed, and she unconsciously staggered back a step. What had just happened? But despite her worries, all the prohibitively tall man did was sweep you straight into a hug, letting out the breath that he had been holding as he ran one hand through your hair, pressing your face firmly yet ever so caringly into his hoodie as if to hide you away from the world - the plain relief washing over his expression a far cry from the previous sharpness of his gaze.

Then those crystal blue eyes turned on her, and for that instant, Nemona felt like she was staring straight into the wild eyes of a Salamence. “Aww come on, what kind of fun is that?” Raihan broke into a full grin, letting out a chuckle as he reached out to playfully poke Nemona in the shoulder, the ferocious look disappearing as if it had never been there. The heavy tension that had blanketed the area lifted, and as if on cue, the wind started up once more, a refreshing gale that brought a breath of fresh air down from the mountains and through the dusty streets. “Don’t look so serious, it’s not a good look to have ya know.”

Leon chuckled, his posture visibly relaxing as he ran one hand through his purple locks. Shaking his head fondly as he rested one hand on his hip, the former champion turned to the quiet crowd. “Sorry about that, folks. Didn’t mean to disturb you in the middle of your lovely evening.”

A pause, the uneasy mob glancing around at each other briefly before the mumbles started up.

“I’ve been to Galar and I still have your league card, Leon! Could I get your signature please?” Someone called out from the midst of the people, and whatever was left of the serious situation evaporated into the rapidly darkening sky, the gathered mass slowly but surely dispersing of their own accord. Nemosa was left, standing alone and staring stunned at what had unfurled in front of her. What on Arceus’ green earth was going on?

‎‎

You looked so small next to him, Raihan mused, watching your hair parting and falling back into place as his fingers ran through. Then again, you always had looked tiny next to his lean, lanky form, even more so when you didn't have all this fabric covering you up. Looping his arm under yours to better support your limp figure against his own, the sight of your eyes dilated and trembling was enough to bring a sense of adoration rushing through his system, his heart soaring - it was you. Against all odds, it really was you. His little lover, his precious gem. He had found you again. The last of the sun rays danced across the orange sky as the sun sank beneath the horizon, the pastel colored clouds a fleeting memory of an eventful day, to which the tanned man let out a hum, turning his face up to bathe in the dying light. It truly had been a beautiful day; the same kind of gorgeous dusk it had been when Leon had been toppled from his throne by a little dark horse, the same kind of looming night when Raihan had first brought you home with him. Today would be a new memory made, he supposed.

A slight twitch, and his attention was back down and focused on you once more, watching as you begin to stir awake from the little vacation you took from reality and from him. Releasing the hand he had resting on the back of your head, the Galar gym leader allowed you to pull away from ever so slightly, your disorientation reminding him of the moments right after you awoke. “Are you alright?” Came his quiet whisper, long slender fingers moving to fiddle with your earlobe, though the gleeful grin plastered across his face told a different story, a glimpse into his unspoken thoughts. “Crowd’s gone now.”

But much to his chagrin, it seemed that his voice alone wasn’t enough to have you return fully to reality, and you simply nodded along with whatever Raihan was saying without acknowledging that it was him, the confusion still clear in your doe eyes; he had no doubt had it been Leon, you would have already jerked straight to attention.

The ugly jealousy reared its head once more, those nagging little voices that he never had quite managed to suppress whispering from the back of his head, all agreeing with what Raihan had always suspected: that you preferred Leon over him. The same emotion had once driven him to strive so hard to beat the unbeatable Champion flared up, stirring in his chest, yet it was a feeling that was so unbecoming of a lover. All he craved was your attention, the return of the little gestures of love you once showed him : the plate of delicious curry you had offered when he chanced upon your camp in the Wild Area, the little sandwiches you packed to pass him when you visited the vault in Hammerlocke after his complaint about not having the time to grab a bite. To one day hear his name mumbled by those heavenly lips. Yet you only ever gave the time of day to Leon.

Raihan got to you first, fair and square. You were his. You were supposed to be only his. So why? Hasn’t he given enough? Didn’t he treat you right? Didn’t he care for you so much better than that bastard ever did? So why didn't you give him what he craved?

Downturned eyes narrowing, his grin falling slightly as that cursed mob of purple-haired popped into view from the corner of his eye, his arms tightening around you protectively. Oh how he hated his wretched rival. The one man he had to share your attention and affection with. The one man Raihan had never been able to beat. Yet it was you who put both of them in their places, a dark horse that took Galar by storm. And it was truly unfortunate that without either’s cooperation, neither would have been able to have you within their grasp once more.

His patience with your lack of reaction had worn out. A single light tug of the strap of your backpack had you reacting instantly, and the toothy grin was once more back on Raihan’s face as your back stiffened along with the rest of your figure when you finally realized the predicament you were in. That was more like it. “Welcome back, lil champ. You had your little friend all flustered and worried, you know?”

‎

Leon jogged over to the trio left standing in the middle of the road right as you stirred back to life. It had taken a good while to clear off the masses, though nowhere as long as it usually took back in Galar. He didn’t usually mind the fame and adoring fans; they did come in useful from time to time, but this was one of those times that the usually friendly man had to physically bite down his frustration and his unusually short-fused temper. After all, you were right there.

The sun to his Earth, just a stone’s throw away, the light that brightened his life and gave him a reason to keep going. Months of worry, thinking about you, wondering what you were up to away from him, fretting if you were safe out in the dangerous world all alone. The dread he had to endure night after night without knowing where you were, without you in his arms, having to trudge on with his duties to the people of Galar directionless in the lonely darkness. It had been absolute hell, and being forced to watch Raihan plastering his filthy hands all over you from a distance while he worked - Leon wasn’t sure how long more he was going to last.

The Dragon Gym Leader had always been his rival long before you had ever stepped foot near the Gym Challenge, and Leon had always welcomed the challenge - Raihan by and large had been the only person who could force him to his last Pokemon, his partner Charizard. Being unbeatable was boring, and having strong rivals to battle at the end of the Champion’s Cup had been what the purple-haired man looked forward to the most. Yet now, all Raihan was was an eyesore and a pain - an irritant in what could be a smooth-sailing life where Leon had you all to himself. After all, he was the one that saw your potential first, the first friendly face that had guided you along your journey into the world of Pokemon battles, the sole anchor in your life who had been watching out for you since the beginning.

There used to be nothing that Leon chased more than the high of battle - the pure exhilaration, the adrenaline rush of being pushed to the edge. There was nothing more addictive. Being Champion was all well and good, but with no one capable of beating him, the thrill died off quicker and quicker each time the Champion Cup ended with him and Raihan; it was no fun to know your opponent never stood a chance. Yet the first time you had lifted that shy gaze to meet his in a Pokemon battle, the hair on the back of his neck instantly stood on end. The intensity that raged through your eyes, it wasn’t anything he had seen in a while, your potential, breathtaking. And his hunch had been right, Leon overcame with tears when he was finally defeated, his heart beating out of his chest.

It had always been you. You were all he craved. You, the only one to see through the celebrity Champion persona he wore like a second skin, to offer your smile to him as if he was just another person. The only one at the end of the tunnel. The purple-haired man had never asked for much in return for his devotion: just to know your voice as well as his little ungrateful brother Hop did, to earn your love like he earned his badges and scars, to be pampered once more.

So why Raihan? Why did you give two shits what he wanted? Why did you always pick him over Leon? What did you see in that constant loser that the unbeatable Champion lacked?

No doubt you would be made to pay for your sins once Leon had you back where he could have you, body and mind, all to himself. But for now, his work was far from done, the usual celebrity smile still pulling at his lips as his steps came to a slowing stop near the self-proclaimed “Champion-ranked trainer”, whatever that was supposed to mean; even after the last fan had left, sated with the newest selfie and signature they obtained of the formerly unbeatable Galar Champion to add to their collection, there was still one more obstacle standing between you and him to deal with.

He couldn’t quite afford to drop his public persona just yet - it would be idiotic to show such a…personal side of himself that he reserved only for you to anyone else, and so he persevered. “Nemona, was it? Leon.” Sticking out his hand, Leon relaxed his face muscles as much as he could, though it was clear to you that his deceptively friendly eyes held anything but disdain for the other behind the cover. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

Your new friend simply let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a snort of disbelief and a whine of confusion, though she still took the offered hand in a firm shake.

The town had returned to a peaceful normalcy, the streets once more emptying as the night grew late, dim lights spilling out from between the shutters of closed windows and from tired streetlamps just barely illuminating the cobblestone paths. The dropping temperature only brought with it colder winds that swept down from the surrounding mountains, the dust being kicked up and blown about in every direction a mild irritant to the souls still braving the worn roads.

Reaching into his pocket, your flinching at the usually innocent gesture that Leon caught from the corner of his eye drew a genuine grin out of him, though all the purple-haired man retrieved from his pocket this time was one of many copies of his league card. “I know this is not Galar, but would you like my league card?”

‎

Regret. That single emotion was all you could feel in the moment, bile rising at the back of your throat and flooding the cavity of your chest, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. They were here, Leon and Raihan. They had found you. You shouldn’t have given it your all to win. You never should have caved to Hop’s persistence to join the Gym Challenge as his rival. You shouldn’t have agreed to meet Leon.

After all the risks, all the heartache, all the effort it had taken for you to steal away, to break free; you were back at square one again. Right back in their grasp.

The frigid wind tearing through Cortondo, the same gale you had once enjoyed as it teased your hair and whispered unknowable secrets in your ear, felt especially uncaring this night, you noted bitterly, your gaze still turned downwards the ground, hot tears trailing painful paths down reddened cheeks, your limp body simply propped up against Raihan’s. Dully noting that Nemona’s continued presence despite her current distraction courtesy of Leon, you could only wonder what outcome your friend was hoping for by sticking around. You didn’t want to see her hurt - not the first friend that you had in a long while that you had found your voice to speak to. And if you could still speak, you were sure that you would have told her to run. That these two men were dangerous, that they shouldn’t be trusted, that she should just leave you and save herself. Alas in the presence of your worst nightmares, even your own voice seemed to have abandoned you.

“Your fans have been all worked up about you, lil champ,” Raihan’s Rotom phone popped out from the pocket of his pants, the screen flashing as he navigated to his social media page. A quick scroll to the latest post some five months ago was all it took to reveal the hundreds of questions and concerns that had poured in day and night. “Look how worried they are.” Strangers who knew you only by the images and videos of the life you lived on the platform flooding both the comment section and the Galar gym leader’s direct messages, clamoring for news on the popular gym leader and of course you, their beloved Champion: older comments enquiring the unusual silence of the account and the lack of posts, and newer ones simply wishing both you and Raihan well.

But you knew it was just pretense - what they were truly missing was the entertainment that was your life. The constant stream of posts, the tantalizing updates of the ongoings of your life carefully curated by the influencer and massively popular gym leader. Your “fans” never cared for you any further than the entertainment that you brought; they never did. All you were to them was a break from their boring reality at the cost of your own. “Come on, let’s take a selfie!”

Resisting the command, your attempt to pull away was for naught. He knew you hated it, being in the spotlight of any kind. You had never been one for the limelight, preferring to pass unnoticed, but all the more he was going to make you do it. It was a punishment for defying him, for denying him - that sharp gaze and sharper mind definitely picked up on the few words you had managed to mutter to Nemona earlier. And it was just the beginning. Yet standing no chance against his strength, Raihan pinned you into place, his Rotom getting into that all too-familiar position, ready for a new post, a new update to your adoring fans eager to hear about their Champion. “Smile!”

How could you explain that the all-star life that you lived wasn’t what it looked like? That your every move was controlled as if you were nothing more than a doll on strings, destined to be paraded around as if a trophy and passed between the two puppet masters that ruled every second of your life? The punishments that awaited not only you but your friends and your beloved Pokemon if you disobeyed, the constant new marks and bruises that littered every inch of your skin as Raihan and Leon fought for ownership, both seeking to mark you with the hope the other would back off? No, you knew the answer long before you tried to get help - no one would believe you. Not over Raihan, and certainly not over Leon.

You couldn’t. You tried, the corner of your mouth shaking with the effort as the muscles tried to haul themselves upwards. But you couldn’t, your lips refusing to pull up into even a painful grimace, instead slacking and giving way from the trembles. The flashes of the hellish life under the two men that you had left behind in Galar, long repressed memories that haunted you on bad nights roaring straight back to the front of your mind; you thought you would have found confidence as a Champion. You thought you would have found your voice. All you found at the end of the tunnel were a waiting pair of dragon and lion.

Raihan’s signature lazy, toothy grin dropped entirely from his face, the weight of his glare on you as heavy as his tone. “I said, smile.”

‎‎

‎

A shrill cry was the sole warning they received, your Cinderace burst forth from its ball unprompted in response to your distress reaching its limits, forcing Raihan to release you from his grasp as it materialized between you and him. Fortunately for you, the crowd had long dissipated, tired souls having retreated to the safety and comfort of their homes - the spectacle would have only been bigger with the appearance of a non-native Pokemon like Cinderace on the streets of Cortondo of all places. Without the support of tanned arms, you slumped to the ground, the distinct clank of metal ringing out through lifeless streets as the bottom of your bag impacted the stone-lined streets beneath, the familiar sound drawing Leon's attention as well: more Pokeballs. You had more of your Pokemon on you.

The remnants of Raihan’s public mask shattered.

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