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[trombonechurchill]

Watching the Credits - Chapter One

BuckTommy, Chapter One - 3,771 words, Rated T

Tommy waits for him to continue, ask for a selfie or an autograph but it never comes. The guy just keeps smiling. Tommy should say something. Anything. He's staring. "I'm Tommy," he blurts out, words foreign on his tongue and Tommy feels a kick at the feel of them in his mouth. He can't remember the last time he actually got to introduce himself to someone. The last time he was able to walk in anywhere without someone already knowing and assuming things about him. Tommy feels giddy and he knows he's probably got the strangest smile on his face, but if he's making the other guy uncomfortable he doesn't show it. "O-Okay. I'm Evan." --- Tommy's a famous action star, Buck is a pop culture black hole and has no idea. What could go wrong?

An Excerpt from Tommy Kinard's Comeback Interview with Taylor Kelly:

TAYLOR KELLY: So, Tommy, this is your first big feature after a year long break, how's it feel to be back on the horse, so to speak.

TOMMY KINARD: It was good to take a break, I really needed the chance to rest and recharge, you know? But I'm glad to be back and to be working on a new project with Bobby [Nash].

KELLY: So there's no concerns about taking such a long break from working? Not worried about being rusty or out of the loop?

KINARD: I mean, I imagine there's always a fear of that but sometimes you have to make decisions based on what's best for yourself, not just your career.

KELLY: So you do have some concerns then?

KINARD: I didn't say that-

KELLY: And what about your now ended relationship with Abby Clark? Was your break part of what was best for that?

KINARD: I'd rather not talk about my personal life right now-

KELLY: So you have no comments regarding Clark's new relationship or the timely announcement of your coming out and subsequent break from the industry?

KINARD: I think we're done here.

Read the rest on AO3

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

A Pair Made in the Pits

TFP Megatron x Reader

Summary: A soulmate au where near everyone has the first thing their soulmate says to them marked into their wrist. What a shame Y/n's is in some unknown language. Living with this for 7.5 years, she decides to settle down in Jasper, Nevada, not knowing that being the teacher in charge of the exchange student's overall academics and wellbeing in the school would lead her to being involved with giant robots and finding her soulmate in an unconventional method.

A/n: Sorry for the long summary! This is my first published transformers fic, so please be kind. If there are any inaccuracies, feel free to message me. I hope you enjoy my story!

WC: 2099

Chapter 1: Falling Behind Pt. 1

Chap 2, Chap 3

“Miko! Miko Nakadai!” The woman briskly walks down the hall, after the young exchange student who looked back and groaned in annoyance.

“I know. I know.” As the woman comes to a stop, Miko waves her off, “My grades need work. I need to pay attention in class. I can’t keep drawing on the desks. Can I go now?”

“Very funny, young lady-”

“You’re only ten years older than me- stop calling me that.” She crosses her arms and looks away.

“Miko, you know you were supposed to come by the office to pick up some papers for your host parents.” The woman places a hand on her hip, and raises a brow expectantly, “Any reason for you to skip out on me?”

“There’s a bike.”

“A… bike.”

“Outside!” She rolls her eyes again, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “I saw it from my last class, and I wanted to draw it. It’s gonna be gone if I go to the office and get the papers. You know the desk lady talks for, like, a million years.”

“Mrs. Albert does have a penchant for talking… tell you what- why don’t you go sit on the stairs of the school and draw that bike. I’ll grab the papers and bring them out to you. Just promise to stay on the entrance stairs. Ok?” 

The girl whoops and breaks out into a run, excited to be let off the hook of being subject to Mrs. Albert’s stories of her childhood. “Thank you, Y/n!!”

Y/n shakes her head, a soft smile on her lips as she watches after the Japanese girl then makes her way to the office, silently knowing she’ll now be listening to one of the aforementioned talks. The woman was sweet but goodness, she needs to join a bookclub, or something. 

“Ah. Y/n, dear! I thought Miko was supposed to be collecting these?” 

There, sitting behind the desk, is Mrs. Albert, smiling as brightly as the sun. Her curly gray hair frames her rounded, wrinkled face- giving her the vibe of a grandmother who is about to offer you either butterscotch or one of those little red candies wrapped in those strawberry wrappers. The older woman was just as sweet as she appeared, which made Y/n feel the slightest bit guilty when she would dread one of the long-winded stories, Mrs. Albert never fails to tell.

“Hello Mrs. Albert. I let Miko go off to draw something she saw outside. She was too excited to say no, I’m afraid.” Y/n gave an airy but clipped laugh. “I told her I would bring her the papers for her host parents.”

“You’re too easy on that girl.” Mrs. Albert teasingly chastises, “Though, I guess I can’t blame you. That girl is the first exchange student you’re in charge of, it’s no wonder you’re so lenient with her. It reminds me of how I treated my baby, Samuel. Did I ever tell you about Sammy? He was such a delightful boy. He was heartbroken when he never got his quote…” She teeters off, the solemn look now on her face doesn’t suit her. Y/n had heard this story before, but it isn’t often that it comes up, nor is it often for ‘Sammy’ to be brought up at all. Not that it isn’t understandable as to why.

Quotes- a subject Y/n always loathes hearing about. 

The thing about everyone’s quotes is that they link people to each other- your other half, according to many. Most people receive their quotes sometime at 18 years old, a few will get them younger, and even fewer never get them at all. Many times, if a person does not receive their quote, they don’t live for much longer- whether it be due to the societal pressures that they failed to meet, due to no fault of their own; or they have some kind of accident. Long story short, if you don’t get your mark by your 19th birthday, you spend the rest of that year mourning and wondering what will become of you. Not to say everyone without a quote dies, but they are a particularly rare find, that’s for sure.

On top of that source of dread, each quote comes in the native language of wherever your partner is from, so once people get their quote, they are either thrilled and/or they hit the books to understand their other half’s language. Meaning that with the gibberish printed on Y/n’s arm, she’s cursed with the unknown regarding some so-called soulmate. 

“I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t mention quotes. I know you don’t like talking about them.” Mrs. Albert looks at her, a level of pity swimming in those big, brown eyes behind those glasses she adorns. She pats Y/n’s hand comfortingly, looking at the long sleeves she wears, even in the midst of September in the middle of Jasper, Nevada.

“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Albert. I’ve been living with my quote for about 7 and a half years now. I’m ok.” Y/n smiles, knowing she didn’t mean any harm. “...About those papers?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Let me grab those for you, dear.” She jumps up and walks over to one of her filing cabinets and quickly snags one of the multiple files out and hands it over. How she keeps track of where all of those papers are is baffling, but Y/n supposes the years of practice have definitely helped. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Y/n keeps up her smile and nods at the older woman. “You have a great rest of your afternoon, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good night, Y/n. And be careful- I’ve heard that those street racers have been causing more trouble recently.” She calls out as the young woman leaves the office.

“I will!”

As she closes the door to the office, the smile on Y/n’s face slowly fades and she takes a deep breath, trying to brush off the snaring emotions surrounding her quote. After another breath, the woman rights herself and begins making her way down the hall, Y/n sifting through the papers in the manila folder, ensuring all of the papers are there. Her progress report and reviews from her teachers didn’t spell out anything good even so early into the year. All subjects but art, music, and english were less than adequate.

I’m going to have to talk to her about her grades again. 

“Alright, Miko, I have your papers fo- Miko?” Exiting the front doors, Y/n looks around for her student, only to find her running off down the sidewalk. “Miko!” She takes off after her, cursing herself for not working out more. 

This girl is gonna kill me.

Miko finally stops to peek around a corner, and the woman slows to a stop and leans against her own knees, heavy breathing covering up any sounds around her. After a moment of steadying her breath, she looks to the girl on her left, irritated, “Miko, I told you to stay on-”

“Shhh!!”

“You did not just shush me, young lady.” Miko gestures to whatever is so important that she ran over for, revealing a giant robot and a boy. A very familiar boy. “Jack Darby! You get away from that thing this instant!” Y/n yells, making both the teen and robot jump and look to her and Miko’s direction. She runs up to the boy, looking him over for any possible injuries, and pulls him behind her next to Miko.

“What?! He should totally go with!” Miko looks at Y/n, who keeps her eyes on the visibly bothered robot, like she’s crazy, and argues that he should do the opposite.

“Absolutely not! We don’t know what that thing even is!”

“Scrap.” The blue robot looks to Jack and then to the other two, standing up from her previously kneeling position when she had been speaking with the teenage boy, her tone obviously exasperated, “I have to bring all of you with me.”

“Excuse me? I am not going anywhere, and neither are these children. You wanna abduct someone for whatever wacky robot thing you have going on? You leave these children out of it.” Y/n crosses her arms, looking up at the blue and pink being before her, not willing to step down- much to the distaste of said robot.

“I don’t have time for this-” The bot raised her hand to the side of her head with quite possibly one of the most bothered expressions Y/n had ever seen on a human or anything else. “Bee, you need to come back… the kid is fine, but we’ve run into a couple of issues.”

“Did you not hear me? You can’t just-”

“Oh, I heard you, but I can and I will.” Apparently done with what Y/n can only assume was some kind of phone call- that or this was not only a giant robot but a crazy one at that. “I have orders and you’re now part of those orders because you were nosy.”

“We’ll act like we never saw you, not that anyone in their right mind would believe any of us if we told them we saw a giant robot lady that wanted to- what? Take us to some government facility and lock us away because of seeing whatever kind of prototype you are?” Y/n argues back, left hand on her hip and her right pointing up at the mech accusingly, to which the mechanical woman’s jaw falls agape before screwing up, insulted.

“We weren’t made by humans, and you are wasting my time. I have better things to do rather than argue with some woman who’s putting a hitch in today’s plans.”

“Oh, well I’m so-”

A yellow Urbana 500 with black racing stripes drives up behind Miko and Y/n and revs the engine, making the woman jump and the teen whirl around, excited to see yet another possible robot. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Y/n weighs her options. If she tries to take the children with her, it is possible these robots, while they may not have shown any aggressive or violent responses, it couldn’t be confirmed that they wouldn’t, if there was any opposition. The safest option was, unfortunately, to go with the kids and keep them as safe as possible. No matter how much she didn’t like this. 

“Ok… alright.” Another deep breath in and out. The kids are what’s important right now. “We’ll come with you, but these kids stay as safe as possible.”

“That was the plan.” The dead tone rings through the alleyway, continuing to irk the only other adult present, but before Y/n could say anything, the metal woman transformed into a motorcycle, having Jack move around her, reluctantly getting on and Miko enthusiastically hops on with absolutely no hesitation. “Get in Bee, and we’ll meet you back at base.”

And then they were gone, leaving Y/n frustrated and clenching her fists with the other vehicle behind her, probably another transforming thing- hopefully with less attitude. Grumbling about the behavior of not only the bot, but the reckless behavior of the children as well, she turns around and awkwardly half-smiles at the yellow and black car- all of the frustration draining out of her.

“I don’t suppose there’s a person in there whose, like, codename is Bee, is there?” The bright lights of the car flick on and off a couple of times before the right side backdoor opens, confirming her fear. Letting out a quiet groan, Y/n walks to the awkward door, hoping there is a human ‘at base’ to help explain what the hell is going on. Getting in, she looks at the empty driver’s seat, then notices hair sticking ever so slightly above the passenger seat. “Oh, thank god. Another person. What is going- How many children exactly are you lot abducting?!”

A series of beeping, whirring, and whistling is the only response Y/n receives from the car’s radio as said child shyly smiles up at her. “Hello. Bee says we aren’t being taken, but someone named Optimus needs to see us after what happened yesterday.”

A moment’s pause settles over the car before Y/n leans back in her seat, rubbing her hands across her face, the car finally beginning to move and quickly pick up speed, “What exactly happened yesterday?”

“Um…”

I would much rather be listening to one of Mrs. Albert’s stories right now.

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

I AM NOW THE PROUD OWNER OF A 400-PAGE LONG BOOK OF ACADEMIC ANALYSIS ABOUT MDZS (both the novel and CQL, as well as the wider danmei sphere, internet authorship, fan reactions in both CN and non-CN spheres, and so many more interesting things – there are photos of the contents list below) >:DDDD

I only got it this afternoon so have only read the (quite long?) excerpt available online and pages I came across while flipping through, but everything I've read so far is really interesting and well-written. If you're interested, it's promoted on the blog of @pumpkinpaix, where there are also chapter spotlights with comments from authors of each paper/chapter about them and about MDZS in general (which is how I found out about it, one came up in tumblr's 'based on this tag you follow...' recommendation), as well as FAQs (including where to buy it, though I did link that at the start). Alternatively, all posts about it are in the tag #catching chen qing ling!

I really recommend it, especially if content about MDZS interests you! and I promise I haven't been told to advertise this it's just something so so cool... a collection of academic work about MY FAVOURITE BOOK... and I know people do follow me for meta/analysis so this might be the sort of thing people looking at this blog will be interested in..?

[myers-meadow]

Sascha (oc) introduction

Name: Sascha Stanimirova

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: bisexual

Job: assassin, and has a successful OnlyFans & social media presence on the side. This man keeps busy.

Likes: the colour black, sex, gloomy weather, orgasms, pasta, showing a lil tummy, the woman he's obsessed with (she can do NO wrong in his eyes), red wine, porn, teddy bears, inflicting pain on others, knife play, city trips, being a slut, Wassily Kandinsky.

Dislikes: when his girl (its not his girl) has a new bf, grocery shopping by himself, short vibrator battery life, long flights, summer, politics, high fashion, cocaine, loud dogs, being touched or hugged, fruit flavoured sparkly water.

Backstory: An assassin first and foremost. Sascha's main targets are political ones, or rich ones. He is good, he is quiet and he enjoys what he does. He loves manipulating his appearance and personality to fit in with ease in any environment. Outside of his job, he hates pretending, so he is very unapologetically himself, whether that is crude, rash, or polite and friendly, he doesn't care.

His parents come from very different backgrounds; his mother is a visual artist (collage, painting, occassional art installations), and she met his father through travelling and seeking a model. His father was an assassin as well, Sascha learned from him. Thanks to his mother's education, he mixes well in higher society. She also instilled a passion for art in him.

His OnlyFans career started as a dare, and he has the audacity to do absolutely anything - so he did it. It caught on quick; he used his friend groups to promote himself, and moved to other social media platforms as a means of promotion later on. There's little this man won't do, and he is absolutely not anonymous online. Everyone attributes his weird lifestyle and high income to his porn career, so it provided him with a perfect alibi for his eccentricities.

Warning: His story features heavy themes of co-dependency, rape/non-con, coercion, blackmail, toxic relationships, honestly this man is a walking content warning tbh.

I'm very open to questions and comments regarding him! Pls be nice, this is my first time posting any writing, esp original work, in what may as well be years. It's a vulnerable thing, esp him/this story. Feels good to be back! And I haven't forgotten Mischa, don't worry hahaha :)).

Bonus moodboard summarising a few vibes and inspirations:

[the middle one is a shot from a movie, rest is Trent Reznor, Peter Steele & young Johnny Depp] [first moodboard credits; some I made into pngs myself, bleedingthroughteeth, s4dpngs, free-png, violetbudd]

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Arceus Forbid Women Do Anything

Chapter 2/3 | 7,558 words | Rated T

Commandment II: Gatekeep

The self-indulgent Volo Wins AU fic has turned into non-diagetic game mechanics timeloop existential struggle with failure fic. Who's surprised

When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure. She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again. As she approached the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time. Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

Read the full chapter on AO3 or under the cut:

BEFORE

The Champion of Hisui knew that something was wrong when she reached the temple’s remains.

Volo had been acting more strangely than usual in the past few weeks, as their search for the plates of Arceus drew closer to its end. Restless, lapsing into bouts of discomforting behavior that she’d struggled to explain. She’d always known there was something ironic about his friendly mercantile persona, and appreciated his genuine nature whenever it showed. Having worked retail herself in the previous world, she could never blame Volo for avoiding his job at the Ginkgo Guild, exploring ruins and attaching himself to her adventures instead. With time she had come to genuinely enjoy his company, smiling despite herself whenever he emerged to congratulate her for quelling yet another frenzied noble. And after her banishment, when he’d been the only person to truly care for her, she hadn’t hesitated to accept his comfort.

She didn’t know what exactly to call their relationship now, in the wake of her victory against Palkia and Dialga. By all intents and purposes, it felt like they were a partnership—officially as seekers of the plates of Arceus, but also as friends. He was the closest companion she had found in this world, and she’d grown to trust him near-implicitly. Volo had put himself at risk on her behalf far too many times for her to doubt his intentions now.

But, still. He was being weird. His lecture about Giratina had been pretty normal (for Volo), but the deranged laughter interrupting it? Definitely harder to explain—even for the champion, who usually delighted in Volo’s bizarre behaviors.

Of course, part of that was due to Volo himself, who was easily one of the most attractive people she had ever met. If someone else did half of the weird shit he did, she was pretty sure she’d find it annoying or even creepy. But with Volo, it was endearing. Not just because he was beautiful, or because he had a pleasant voice, or because he held himself with exceptional confidence. She was endeared because he was brilliant, and passionate about his interests, and clever in his humor, and so very sweet towards his pokémon. And he was hot.

She sometimes wondered if he felt the same way about her. But he was so focused on his studies, on the plates of Arceus, that she assumed that any kind of latent attraction would not be made a priority. Occasionally she felt the urge to just straight-up ask ‘what are we?’, but that seemed far too modern an approach. And besides, did she even want her relationship with Volo to be physical, or even explicitly romantic, outside the realm of fantasy?

She didn’t know if she could stand to lose his friendship. Volo, more than anyone else in Hisui, felt real. He was more than a sycophant, a worshiper, someone who idolized her unquestioningly for her gifts. He’d praised her successes, of course, but she’d never been ignorant to the double meanings in his words, the slight contempt of someone who wished for a life they could not have. A life she did have, thanks to the Almighty Arceus plucking her from her original time and place.

From others, praise felt shallow and meaningless. She’d saved them from misfortune, and they’d thanked her because they could continue living as they always had. But from the lonely and mysterious Volo, praise felt meaningful and true. Through his resentment he saw the many facets of her—she was not a flawless hero—and as a result, hadn’t rejected her when she appeared to have failed. He hadn’t abandoned her after she’d saved the region, either, once she’d served her great purpose. And while he was absolutely using her to find the plates, she knew that she was using him too. And that, somehow, was a greater comfort than any other connection she’d forged in this unfamiliar world.

Of course, things weren’t entirely cynical between them. Volo had shown the champion genuine moments of support, even when it had served him no purpose to do so. He’d comforted her during her banishment, blaming the people of Jubilife for their cruelty rather than telling her what she could have done differently to appease them. He had never once encouraged her to apologize. He’d given her a safe haven with Cogita and dedicated himself to assisting her with the Red Chain. All the while, he’d shown no shame about his continued association with the traitor who supposedly doomed them all.

Arceus, meanwhile, had transported its champion to Hisui with only a smartphone as a tether, offering little support beyond a mission and a vague promise upon its completion. At least when Volo was negging her, he did it to her face. With effort. While being hot about it. When he’d asked the champion for her help with the plates, taking her away from the village so they could travel the world together, it had been a no-brainer to say yes. She didn’t even really know what the plates did—just that Volo cared about finding them, and so she did too.

But, still. Something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong, ever since their last conversation with Cogita. Volo was lying to her, and after everything they’d been through she had no idea why he would. She already knew that he was more misanthropic than he acted and negligent in his merchant duties, which were the things he seemed most invested in concealing. He obviously had secrets—she knew very little of his past, for example—but those missing truths had never threatened the dynamic they’d created together. This truth, whatever it was, just felt wrong. She would not be able to proceed until it was revealed.

The champion took a deep breath, more nervous about this confrontation than any that had come before, and entered the temple ruins.

─────────────────

NOW

The challenger returned to Mount Coronet for what would surely be their final attempt at victory.

They only knew what Arceus had told them: they’d returned countless times throughout their life to battle the Champion of Hisui, and each time they had lost. Lost the battle and their memory, returning to the wilds to train the pokémon they wielded. They knew that they were nearing the end of their life, and soon enough would not be able to ascend Mount Coronet at all—yet the voice of Arceus still urged them forwards, and so they climbed.

They understood now that the Champion of Hisui was a faithless traitor, who they would need to defeat in order to earn an audience with the detested false Lord. In their younger years Arceus had not provided this information, simply requesting that she be dispatched. After several losses, though, Arceus had eventually disclosed the entire truth. Ever since that disclosure, the challenger’s mood approaching Spear Pillar was always the same: overwhelming anger towards the fallen hero who had enabled the old world’s destruction.

The challenger reached the temple again.

“Welcome back,” greeted the Champion of Hisui, motioning to a bench at the edge of Spear Pillar. “Please, take a seat.”

─────────────────

BEFORE

She thought it was rather dramatic, the way he stood at the edge of the ruins. The sky around them was vast and pink, dotted by Hisui’s seemingly eternal clouds as the sun slowly set. Volo did not face the champion and the feeling of wrongness only increased.

“The temple lies in ruins now,” said Volo, still refusing to turn around. His voice was light, distant, a kind of detached calm that she had rarely heard from the passionate researcher. “Columns cracked and broken... like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens.”

The champion raised an eyebrow, stopping just before the stairs leading up to the viewing platform. But she said nothing.

Volo turned around then, wearing his winning merchant’s smile. “Well,” he sighed, “I detect a distinct lack of Giratina.”

The champion couldn’t help but smirk at that. It had always amused her, the way he acted like life was a comedy of errors and they had no choice but to play along. The way he’d spoken in the Celestica Ruins had been different, though—he’d been dead-serious about his own suffering and the suffering of others, deranged laughter aside.

And here was that humor again. It should have been a comforting return to form. But this time, the champion could not shake the chilling feeling that Volo was in on the joke.

“Hm?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand. His tone was unmistakably condescending. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in months, not since they’d grown to understand each other as more than merchant and hero. “Is something bothering you?”

The champion nodded stiffly. For all of her trust and confidence in their friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder—

“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” said Volo, having traded his smile for a chillingly neutral expression. “I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!”

He didn’t sound like himself. He put a hand on his hip.

“I daresay you deserve to know what I’m really after by now,” he told the champion, and her heart sunk.

She found herself stepping backwards, filled with incomprehensible dread. It didn’t matter what it was, it only mattered that she hadn’t possessed the sense to avoid this situation altogether. And now she had no choice but to accept that she was wrong about the only person in this world who’d ever felt right.

Volo chuckled darkly, his one visible eye noticeably changed. He looked… manic, was the only word for it. She’d seen hints of this before, but had chalked it up to passion. It had even been sweet, in small doses. But this was concerning. She wanted to reach out to him, and she wanted to leave this place before she learned exactly how foolish she had been.

The conflict left her rooted where she stood. The conflict, and the fear.

He seemed to sense that fear, his expression shifting back to an easy smile. He spoke clearly, thoughtfully, just as he had during countless discussions of history and ruins and oh, Arceus, this man might actually be insane.

“Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist,” said Volo, “there has been one question that consumed my thoughts: How can I meet such a being myself?”

The champion struggled to understand the implications of his words. All things considered, that was a perfectly normal Volo thing to say, so why did everything feel so—

"It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time,” Volo told the champion. “After all, Giratina wished to stand against Arceus.”

She blinked.

He…

He’d brought her here.

She was here, because of him.

And when she’d been banished…

“But that didn't do the trick,” Volo continued, still smiling. “So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed.”

He had her.

He’d had her.

Volo closed his eyes and lifted his head to the heavens, eerily peaceful in his confession. “Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity. You hold in your hands seventeen of them. So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?“

He opened his eyes and removed something from his apron. A purple plate, shaped exactly like the others. “Why, it’s right here!”

That was not a customer service smile, it was a smirk. She’d seen it last when he’d playfully challenged her to battle, but nothing was playful about this challenge.

The champion stood, slack-jawed, as Volo reached for the shoulder of his Ginkgo Guild uniform. In one smooth motion he removed the jumpsuit and his hat, revealing…

Oh, he was definitely insane.

"Now hand over the plates you gathered!” Volo commanded, dressed in the most bizarre outfit the champion had ever seen in her life. He wore a chiton-shirt with a cold shoulder, a pendant with a teardrop-shaped stone, gladiator sandals, and green capri pants. Had he assembled this look in the dark?

And the hair. He had done something with his hair. His beautiful hair that the champion had always longed to see at its full length, gelled up in a deranged imitation of God itself.

It was too much. All of this was too much.

Volo’s gaze burned into her, his visible pupil having grown noticeably smaller. “I will be the one to bring them all together!"

The champion gripped the strap of her satchel. How dare he make commands, when he was the reason Arceus had brought her here? He should be begging for her forgiveness!

Volo was ranting now, seemingly to himself more than the person he’d just betrayed. "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I must know what it is!"

When the champion was banished for Volo’s actions, he had comforted her. He had cared for her. Why would he have done that? Why would he have done any of this?

He stopped smiling. He spoke to her now, although part of her wished he wouldn’t. "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power. And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world!"

His words at the Celestica Ruins echoed through the champion’s head:

Ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking, I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

The champion was pretty sure she was currently going through something like that.

“Of course,” Volo continued, “if I create a brand-new world, then the Hisui region that we currently exist in will be undone and returned to nothing. You, everyone you know, and all the Pokémon living here will vanish in an instant, as if you'd never been."

He’d brought her to this world, and now he wanted to destroy it.

Destroy her.

The champion wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at Volo’s chest and demand that he admit that their connection was real, that she wasn’t a fool, that he regretted what he’d done to put her in harm’s way. She wanted him to be cured of this divine madness and come to his senses. She wanted him to be the person she’d grown to love—because of course she’d grown to love him, of all the people in this stupid world, instead of someone normal and unremarkable and disinterested in becoming a god.

Because that was what Volo wanted, right? To become a god? To subjugate God, and take its place?

And then he would destroy everything. This entire reality, gone. The people and pokémon within it, gone. Her, gone.

Did he really care for her so little, that he would erase her along with the rest of them?

And how deranged was she, to be more upset by the loss of his friendship than the loss of everything and everyone else?

Volo crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the champion as if he saw right through her. As if she wasn’t a person at all, but an obstacle in his way. The final barrier between him and Arceus, between his destiny and desires, in which she would have no part to play.

She would have given him the damn plates, if he had just apologized and explained. After all, it had been Arceus—not Volo—to bring her to this godforsaken place.

"If you want to keep this world from disappearing,” challenged Volo, “then face me in battle!”

She would not be giving him the plates. He didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve to be God any more than God itself deserved to be God. Arceus and Volo—a deity and its unfashionable imitation. Honestly, in that moment, the champion despised them both.

“Not that you have a choice,” Volo taunted, grinning widely because he was insane. “Even if you don't wish to battle me, I'm not above using force to take those plates from you."

He held up a pokéball and stared down at the champion. With the slightest of nods, she removed her samurott from her satchel.

She had Arceus’s blessing and Volo clearly did not. She was going to defeat him, just as she’d defeated every other enemy in her path. Only once she’d sufficiently humiliated him in front of his god would she allow herself to process everything she’d learned.

Volo tossed out his first pokémon with a knowing smirk, his form surprisingly confident and precise. For all of his intellectual strengths, the champion had never known him to be a particularly skilled trainer.

A spiritomb emerged from his pokéball.

Clearly there were many things the champion did not know about Volo.

─────────────────

NOW

“Please,” the champion repeated, motioning to the bench beneath the heavens. “I really think you should sit down.”

The challenger scowled at her, crossing their arms over their chest. “You know why I’m here.”

She rolled her eyes. The outsider had no memory of meeting her before, but her behaviors felt familiar all the same. “Yes,” the champion sighed, “I know that you’re here to fight me.”

“And then Lord Volo.”

She smirked at that. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Her attitude enraged the challenger. A wicked traitor to the god that had chosen her—unfathomable, really, in her irreverence.

“Seriously,” said the champion, looking the challenger up and down. “Sit down.”

“Why?” the challenger said, suspecting a trap.

“You look exhausted from your climb.”

She was uncomfortably earnest in her explanation. And she was correct.

“How old are you now, anyway?” the champion asked as the challenger sat. To their surprise, she sat down beside them immediately.

“Old enough to finally defeat you,” said the challenger, avoiding her searching gaze.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.” And then, thoughtfully: “It’s been quite some time since we last met. I was beginning to wonder if Arceus had decided against sending a senior citizen in its stead.”

The challenger, naturally, took offense at the insult. “How old are you, then? I assume that your lack of humanity implies a lack of mortality as well.”

She nodded with a face that appeared far too young for the person wearing it. “I do not age conventionally, that is true.”

“Can you die at all?”

“Not by natural means,” the champion said. “Although I suppose I am still flesh and blood, just like you. But you are old and frail, while my youth has been preserved. Your remaining time in this world is incredibly limited, and yet you’ve come here again—do you not have other things to do? Interests, passions? Family? Does your entire life revolve around your mission from God?”

“Does your life not revolve around your Lord?” the challenger deflected. “According to Arceus, you chose him over the entire world.”

“In a manner of speaking, I did,” admitted the champion. “Though I don’t expect Arceus to ever fully understand my decision.”

“Decision? You lost.”

Something flashed behind the champion’s eyes. It felt good to drag her down from the heavens.

“It was once said,” she told the challenger through gritted teeth, “that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.”

It was an odd response. The challenger did not care to understand its purpose. They were indeed old and frail, and this was their final chance.

“Today,” they told the champion, “I will win.”

“Very well,” the champion said, withdrawing an ancient-looking pokéball from her fine silks. She stood up and offered her challenger a hand. They glared at it. The champion sighed, withdrew her hand, and watched as the challenger struggled to their feet.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Her final pokémon was on low health when she finally defeated Volo’s Togekiss. She had refused to speak a word during the fight, despite his taunting smiles and various confident poses. In addition to being insane, Volo was apparently also an incredibly skilled trainer. Not quite as skilled as the champion, though, as his final and most beloved pokémon returned to her ball.

Volo shook his head, still wearing that deranged smile, as he returned the pokéball to some unseen pocket in his ridiculous Arceus outfit. The champion sighed with relief, grateful that this would be over soon. He’d abandon the temple in defeat, and she would mourn his betrayal in peace. Short of physically attacking her, he had no other way to take the plates by force—and she still could not believe that Volo was capable of such brutality, when his entire goal was to create a better, fairer world.

(Honestly, if he hadn’t hurt her so profoundly in the process of achieving that goal, she thought she might admire him for his idealism.)

She shook her head. He was a hypocrite and out of his right mind. The last thing he deserved was admiration, or even an attempt at understanding. She would return to the village and forget all about him, and try her best to find someone else in this world who made sense. Maybe if Arceus saw her success, it would even return her to her world. Defeating Volo had been her ultimate mission, right?

Which…

If Arceus had sent her to correct Volo’s disturbance of the natural order, it had always known about Volo’s hidden intentions. This entire time, it had watched its chosen champion find comfort in her destined enemy, without so much as a word of caution.

It must have been intentional, then, for Arceus to keep her in the dark. But why?

“Why?” Volo demanded, now despondent in his defeat. “Why you?! Why do you have the blessing of Arceus?”

She didn’t know. He knew that she didn’t know.

“I’ve devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other!” Volo ranted, seemingly towards the heavens themselves. “I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest and study! All the time I’ve spent poring over the legends.. Everything that I’ve done—!”

The champion had served Arceus’s mission dutifully since her arrival in Hisui. Although reluctant at times, she had quelled the nobles and assembled the Red Chain. She had immediately opposed Volo, who sought to destroy the world Arceus created. This mission was her entire life—her job, her hobby, her singular purpose upon being transported to Hisui without her consent.

“You outsider!” Volo hissed, now glaring directly at the champion. “It’s almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!”

She felt a lump rise in her throat.

Volo had been the one thing, here, that she’d chosen for herself. To her, their friendship had been disconnected from her holy mission or crushing responsibilities—in fact, it had been a much-needed relief.

But the entire time, he had only viewed her as Arceus’s chosen hero. And he despised her for it.

Silent tears ran down the champion’s cheeks. He seemed not to notice, or not to care.

“No,” Volo told himself, “no, this isn’t finished yet.”

Please, she almost begged, but didn’t. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. But she couldn’t leave, either, not when he still posed a threat, not when she deserved answers but couldn’t yet bring herself to ask—

Volo grinned again, his derangement reaching its apparent peak. “Can’t you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?”

She felt something, as dark shadows began to appear behind Volo. A massive void, from which a large creature began to emerge. It screeched as Volo began to laugh, its wings unfolding and its body taking material form. The champion recognized Giratina at once, well-primed by Volo’s lecture in the Celestica Ruins.

Volo regarded her in the throes of his mania, unwilling and unable to recognize her as anything but his enemy. Perhaps that was too charitable an interpretation, but—

“GIRATINA!” Volo shouted, clenching his hands as if they already held the plates of Arceus. “STRIKE HER DOWN!”

He laughed again, his eyes wide and his body hunched, as Giratina roared.

The champion released her final available pokémon, which only possessed a quarter of its health. She then turned on her heel, summoned Wyrdeer, and headed for the temple exit, using the ill-fated battle as a brief distraction. She ignored the sound of her fainting pokémon and Volo’s confused yelling as she pulled her Arcphone from her satchel and held it to her ear.

“You have to stop him,” the champion demanded as she entered the passageway beneath the peak of Mount Coronet. The cave was cool and blessedly quiet, and she only stopped moving when she received her response.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

─────────────────

NOW

As always, the challenger had put up a very good fight.

“Will this be the last time I see you?” the champion asked, almost bored in her victory. The challenger just glared at her, returning their fainted pokémon to their pocket.

“One can hope,” they said, and revealed their knife. If repetition with the expectation of different result was insanity, then they were no longer insane. Because this approach, this last-ditch effort, was entirely unprecedented—even to Arceus itself.

Using their last reserves of energy and strength, the challenger seized the woman. Short of stature and physically softened by ages of casual godhood, she could show little resistance to even the oldest of heroes. And, of course, there was the matter of the blade held to her throat.

“He will lower himself from the heavens and face me,” the challenger said between gritted teeth. The champion swallowed.

“Arceus has driven you to this,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Lord Volo has driven me to this. Arceus has only ever encouraged me to be better.”

“Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.”

The challenger’s eyed widened. “How do you…?”

The champion sighed. “I heard it too. Every single time.” She was infuriatingly unfazed by the threat to her life. “How relieving it must be,” she said, “to lose the memory of each of your losses.”

“I find it rather inconvenient, actually,” shot back the challenger, holding the blade closer to her throat.

The champion smiled sadly and shook her head.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Eventually, she found herself trying to lose.

The fight with Volo had become like second nature to the champion, who since her first attempt had assembled the ideal team to counter his specific pokémon and fighting habits. Arceus knew she had been given enough attempts to observe him, some of which ended before Giratina even appeared. Volo was undeniably skilled, and dedicated to his own victory in a way that consistently astounded the champion. But while each new battle seemed to be Volo’s first, his memory struck of previous victories and defeats, the champion remembered everything.

At this point, she knew Volo almost entirely as the man she’d truly met atop Mount Coronet. Memories of their previous friendship lingered in small instances, but she had lost much of her attachment to his formerly comforting presence. This made it easier for her, as Arceus’s champion, to study and practice and try again and again and again.

She was confident, now, that she could defeat him. Him and Giratina, and then she would finally witness the world after such events transpired. Would he give up immediately, or try to harm her further? Would they finally speak as their true selves, or would he just disappear? If he did disappear, would he be gone forever?

The champion was still far from completing the the Pokédex and meeting Arceus, who only potentially could send her home. In the meantime, she would still be stuck in Hisui, alone. Almost certainly without him.

The outfit was not… irredeemably ill-conceived. With some modifications, she could understand the vision. And it would be easy for Volo to take down the Arceus style, allowing his hair to flow naturally. When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure.

She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again.

As she approach the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

There had been a few close calls, where she’d almost won. Especially against Giratina, she often stood a very good chance. But then she would remind herself that this was not fair in the slightest, because she had been given infinite chances to practice and strategize. Yes, Volo had technically cheated as well, but abusing Arceus’s blessing in such a manner simply felt cheap.

That was what she told herself. Eventually, someday, she would see an opportunity for victory that she could truly call fair, and she would take it. But until then, she would just have to lose.

And he would still be here. Insane, but here.

Insane.

She was going insane.

“I think I’m going insane,” she told Arceus after yet another loss.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“I know I’m going insane.”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“Why don’t you try, for once?” the champion challenged, gripping the phone tightly.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

And then, she thought it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity of repetition, she finally thought something new:

“Why can’t I lose?” the champion asked, her voice shaking as tears ran down her cheeks. She did not understand what she was asking, exactly—she could not lose because Arceus had blessed her, that much was already obvious. The world, this world, worked in her favor in some unearned and unwanted way. Yes, she could retreat from the mountain at any time to train her team, but that still left Volo up in the temple, nearly indistinguishable from the person she had grown to love. He would not follow her, would not attempt to seize the plates by any other means, seemingly frozen in time and place by divine circumstance. She would never have her former friend back, and if she moved forward, Arceus would never allow her to befriend him as he was now.

And she—

She would just keep going, in Volo’s absence. If not this battle, she would be fighting another. Again and again and again, until Arceus deemed her worthy. Arceus, who had lied to her, manipulated her, taken her from her home without her knowledge or consent. Who had created this world and its mysterious mechanics, blessing—no, cursing—her to endure.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

God’s champion hung up the phone.

─────────────────

NOW

Much to the challenger’s surprise, Lord Volo had not immediately arrived to save his champion.

“He can see this, right?” they demanded, as their arms grew increasingly tired around her.

She scoffed. “Of course he can.”

“So why isn’t he coming? Perhaps he cares less for you than you believed.”

The champion met the challenger’s gaze. “He knows that you would never actually murder me. That is not becoming of the world he designed.”

The challenger narrowed their eyes. This had always been a possibility. “Fine,” they said. “But would your Lord stand by while you are in pain?”

For the first time, the champion looked afraid. “I—”

The challenger plunged their knife into her fine white silks.

─────────────────

BEFORE

The champion surrendered.

It was not a victory, nor was it any sort of defeat she had experienced before. Instead of intentionally losing the fight, she had refused to even allow its commencement. She had approached Volo where he stood, suspended in space and time, and offered him her satchel containing the plates of Arceus.

He stared at it, pupils shrunken and hungry. A smile crept onto his face. “How precious,” he said, almost tenderly. “You only needed a moment to think, before deciding to see things my way.”

The champion scowled. To him, it had been only a moment.

“You’re insane,” she said, showing no resistance when he began to take the satchel from her. He paused, though, upon hearing her first words towards his true self.

“Did you not listen in the ruins?” he asked, slight irritability piercing through his mania. “My reasoning is entirely rational. If God did not want to run the risk of its power falling into our hands, it should not have created its plates on our mortal plane. It is my right to seize them, and use that power to create a better world.”

“You could make this world a better place.”

Volo shook his head, smiling sadly. “Can’t be done. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You made it better for me.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was so, so tired.

Volo narrowed his eyes, pupils still tiny but slightly more focused. “Whatever could you mean by that, hero?”

“You know my name,” said the champion, cursing her voice for cracking at the last word.

Volo looked properly confused, now. Especially as the champion began to shake. “What are you—”

“Just take it,” the champion said, feeling that lump in her throat again. She had felt so strong, when she’d hung up the ArcPhone in the cave. Self-assured, energized by the notion of ending this vicious cycle. It had seemed, if only for a moment, that she had found a way to truly win.

This did not feel like winning.

“Just fucking take it,” the champion repeated, shoving the satchel towards Volo. He did without further comment, but did not immediately dig inside. He only watched her, still far from sane but seemingly calmer at least.

Volo furrowed his brow. “You said I made the world better, for you. But I was using you. I am the reason for your existence here. You should hate me.”

The champion shook her head as a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

She winced.

Volo studied her carefully. “What,” he said, “do you think your god would say of this?”

The champion shut her eyes. “Arceus doesn’t care about me.”

“Of course it does. It has chosen you to receive its blessings. It loves you, as it will never love—” Volo cut himself off, though of course she understood how the sentence would have ended.

The champion felt pathetic as she met his eyes. “I love you.”

He blinked. “How?”

“I just do.”

Volo began to pace, shifting into a paranoid state. “A trick from Arceus,” he muttered to himself, clutching the satchel close to his chest. “A test? No, a safeguard—a temptation…”

A temptation?

“This is all by design,” Volo continued to ramble, “If I allow for this endearment, for this enduring desire—”

Enduring desire?

“I must be strong. There must be a better world. I must not allow myself to—”

“Was any of it real?” the champion asked, point-blank.

“Yes,” Volo said at once.

“Which parts were fake?”

“The parts that mattered.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand. Volo sighed.

“The parts vital to my mission,” he clarified, “were false. The merchant charade, the search for the plates.”

“And that’s what mattered?”

Volo avoided her eyes. “Nothing else can matter in this world,” he told the champion. “Nothing else will remain.”

He looked haggard, as if this was a truth he’d refused to admit to himself before having it forced from his lips.

“It has never been my intention to carry over unwilling parties,” Volo reluctantly explained. “Involuntary acquiescence has no place in my better world.”

“What about lying and manipulation?” the champion asked. “And erasing everyone and everything that came before it?”

Exhausted, Volo gave his response: “I said ‘better.’ Not perfect.”

After a moment, the champion replied. “It mattered,” she said quietly. “To me.”

“Your mission?”

“Us.”

Volo regarded her as if for the very first time. “Us.”

She stepped forward slightly, reaching for his hand. He allowed her to take it, using the other to clutch her satchel.

“Do you want them to remain, in your new world?” the champion asked, looking into Volo’s wide exposed eye. “The parts that were real?”

He gave the slightest of nods.

She could not have him in this world. She could either continue this endless loop of suffering, or defeat him and likely never see him again. And it wasn’t just Volo who mattered, but the champion herself—with Arceus as her god, she knew that she would never truly be free.

“Is this the right decision?” she asked Volo, squeezing his hand tightly. He gently leaned down to place her satchel on the temple floor, then used his other hand to stroke her face.

“Must there always be a right decision and a wrong decision?”

“I should be ashamed.”

“I disagree.”

“What if I’m insane?”

“I would say that you are just as sane as I am,” Volo reasoned, “if you wish to remain by my side.”

The champion frowned. “That is not a reassuring statement.”

“It is all I can offer,” Volo said, holding her hand to his heart. Then, with a small smile: “That, and—”

He kissed her on the lips. When he pulled back, his eyes were almost back to normal.

“So?” Volo asked, eager and curious just as the champion had remembered him. Her heart ached with the comfort of familiarity—lost in the cycle of repetition, she hadn’t even realized how much she missed her former friend.

“It’s not perfect,” she said, “but it’s better.” She allowed herself to finally relax as Volo held her close.

Keeping one arm around his champion’s waist, Volo leaned down to retrieve the satchel once again. Despite her divine mission, the champion did not intervene.

“Very good,” Volo praised. His voice was warm and earnest, lacking the condescension one would usually associate with such a statement. “Now, rest. You’ve done more than enough already.”

And with that, at least, the champion could wholeheartedly agree.

─────────────────

NOW

Lord Volo appeared at once.

The challenger stepped away from the champion, their hands shaking as the knife clattered to the temple floor. Violence was a rare occurrence in this world, and murder was almost entirely unheard of—yet here they were, resorting to the former and possibly the latter as a desperate final effort.

“This was my mission,” the challenger prayed to Arceus as a figure descended from a shimmery stairway to the heavens. “Now please, give me strength...”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“No, I haven’t! I’ve won—look, he’s coming now!”

Lord Volo was a tall man, appearing much as he’d been depicted in historical records and famous works of art: blonde, pale, draped in white silks resembling those of his champion. He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the world he had created, barely giving the challenger a glance as he walked right by.

Thou hast been defeated in battle, the voice of Arceus said. Thou shalt try again.

But the challenger was not beaten yet.

They reached for the knife, even as their joints ached. Lord Volo disappeared the weapon with a flick of his wrist. He then took his champion in his arms and placed her onto the bench, speaking words that the challenger could not hear.

She seemed to be speaking, as well. Alive. Despite everything, the challenger felt relief at that.

There was a sort of peace, in knowing that this was the challenger’s final try. Their pokémon were fainted, their god had seemingly abandoned them, they had compromised their own values out of desperation after a lifetime of repeated failures. Now, Lord Volo would disappear them just as he had the knife.

At least in oblivion, the challenger would finally be able to rest.

The champion muttered something more to her god, who then turned to face the challenger. He did not look happy, but seemed to be exercising some kind of restraint.

He looked back at the champion, who nodded. Lord Volo sighed.

“Very well,” he said, and flicked his wrist again. The challenger inhaled sharply, and then they

─────────────────

In the heavens, he saw to her healing.

“I’m sorry,” Volo said for what felt like the millionth time, although it would never truly be enough. He held a hand over his champion’s wound, glowing gold with healing light. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the champion said, kissing the side of his other hand. “The rosiness had begun to return to her skin, her deific attire now clean of the blood that had stained it. “I understood the risks of going down there undisguised.”

“That isn’t supposed to happen, though,” Volo said, trying to mind his temper as he channelled healing towards the champion’s wound. “Violence and murder, they’re not—not a part of our world.”

“Neither is the voice of Arceus,” the champion countered. “But even from within its containment, it still finds a way to haunt its champion.”

She glanced pointedly towards the pokéball on Volo’s hip. He had wielded its power to destroy the old world and create this one anew, to grant himself and his partner endless life and a home in the heavens above. He supposed it made sense that if Arceus’s power still existed in this world, its voice could never truly disappear.

“What will happen now?” Volo asked, shifting slightly against the headboard of their bed. “Will there be another challenger?”

“Probably,” said the champion. “Eventually.”

“But the one who…?

“I think they’re safe. An infant without memory of their past life, reborn free of Arceus’s influence. Of all the people in this world, why would it choose them again?”

Volo frowned, thinking of the recent confrontation. “I wanted to destroy them, for what they did.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” teased the champion, “to make sure you don’t repeat old patterns.”

He smiled fondly, thinking of the many way they’d helped each other create this new world from the ashes of its predecessor. Not only was his champion beautiful, but she was also brilliant—always had been, although he’d been rather slow on the uptake. In Volo’s defense, he’d very much written her off as a loss before her surrender on Mount Coronet. It had been a matter of strategy, to avoid considering her inner life.

“Can I ask you something?” said Volo, watching his champion with endless interest. She nodded. “What changed your mind, in the cave?”

She looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“On the day that the old world fell, you initially ran away,” Volo recalled. “Disappeared into the passageway for only a moment, then emerged again to hand over the plates. Why?”

The champion appeared conflicted, which was not the desired outcome of Volo’s questioning. He had his suspicions, based on previous reactions around the subject, that this was not a memory she often wished to revisit.

“I felt defeated,” the champion said, “so I tried something new.”

Volo couldn’t help but think of the challenger, who his champion had always seemed to care for despite the annoyance they caused. Even after their unfathomable act of violence, she had insisted that Volo reincarnate them rather than destroy them entirely.

“Something new?” he asked the champion, as he felt her pain ease beneath his fingertips. “Had there been… something before?”

She nodded. “Over and over again. And I remembered everything.”

A chill ran down Volo’s spine. With this revelation, the champion’s requests to borrow his spiritomb while facing Arceus’s challenger made an entirely new sort of sense.

“You never told me,” he said.

“In a way, I did,” she replied with a soft smile. “When you suggested that we were both insane, I didn’t disagree.”

Still so very cryptic. Volo kissed the champion’s forehead, vowing to someday learn every secret within it.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked as the stab wound faded entirely from her skin. Good as new.

His champion regarded him knowingly, lovingly, shamelessly.

“I feel better.”

[ruvviks]

– Beginnings.

Characters >> Lily Castellanos, Nathan Dixon (oc), Sebastian Castellanos Total >> 3.5k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention Context >> The first chapter of my own TEW3, taking place some months after the conclusion of the in-game events of TEW2! You can read more about it all here!

It snowed in Krimson City.

The sky had been the same dull gray color since sunrise, snowflakes slowly cascading down and covering the street in a thick blanket of snow. A heavy fog held the city tightly in its grasp– an eerie atmosphere hanging in the thin afternoon air and low-hanging clouds swallowing entire buildings whole– and with only limited visibility on the road, traffic was forced to crawl by in slow motion.

While not an unseen phenomenon, it was far from a common sight for early January, only days after Nathan’s birthday. He had spent that day snowed in in his little apartment, had celebrated it alone; not as if it mattered much, he doubted Kid even knew and besides his ex-colleague from MOBIUS he severely lacked other friends to hang out with those days.

He stood motionless at the fence of the small playground located in Krimson City’s public park, gloved hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long, black coat with the collar popped up to shield the lower half of his face from the occasional sharp gust of wind. He had not moved in a while, shoulders and tousled black hair covered in a thin layer of fine white powder, frost nipping away at the tip of his nose as his eyes followed a group of kids excitedly running around.

It did not take a genius to notice Lily was significantly older than the others there, but none of the kids seemed to mind. It came as no surprise to Nathan to see her there– she had not once lost her playfulness even after everything MOBIUS had put her through, and without a proper outlet for it in all her years trapped in the shadow organization it only made sense for her to want to have a chance at spending the remainder of her childhood like she had always been supposed to.

He watched in silence as she scooped up some snow in her pink and orange mittens, wincing when one of the other kids threw a snowball directly at her face; she was smiling, though, and quickly pressed the snow together to then hurl it back, the surprisingly well-aimed attempt hitting someone else on the back of their coat.

‘You’re startin’ to freak out the other parents, standing there like that.’

The corners of Nathan’s mouth lightly curled up upon hearing the familiar, low voice, not needing to turn his head to know who joined him on the other side of the fence.

‘Was starting to wonder how long it’d take for you to notice me,’ he said, his own voice a little rougher than usual on account of the cold, and his severe lack of proper rest in the past few weeks. ‘Was gonna give you another five minutes before I’d walk over to introduce myself. You’re getting slow.’

‘I’m getting comfortable,’ Sebastian Castellanos corrected him with a scoff, returning Lily’s little wave as she ran by the both of them– Nathan merely greeted her with a single nod of his head– before quickly shoving his hand back in the pocket of his green jacket.

‘No need to keep my eyes up anymore, Nate. Threat’s gone, MOBIUS’ gone. Life’s improving day by day.’

‘Good.’

Nathan wished he shared Sebastian’s sentiment.

If anything, life had turned rather sour for him after they had successfully gotten rid of a large chunk of MOBIUS several months ago. He had never expected to walk away from it alive to begin with– and now, without the steady income the organization had provided him with for years, he found himself struggling to get by.

He glanced to his right, gaze briefly meeting that of the ex-detective before he quickly averted his eyes and let them wander back to the playground, trailing over the various snow-covered playground sets.

Sebastian looked good, healthy– much better than the state he’d been in when Nathan had last seen him all those months ago. Part of him regretted not reaching out sooner, the sudden reconnection now an obvious sign that something was wrong; though the wiser part of him knew that had he stuck around the Castellanos family they would not have been able to move on and heal, which was the last thing he would have wanted to be responsible for.

‘What about you?’ Sebastian quietly asked, as if he’d been able to sense Nathan’s melancholy. ‘You look like you haven’t slept in days.’

Nathan scoffed, slightly tilting his head to look at his feet and he absently kicked some snow off his boots. ‘That obvious? Sure feels like it.’

He had teamed up with Juli Kidman to deal with the remainder of MOBIUS, after the Union incident. Of course the destruction of the STEM environment hadn’t led to the fall of the whole organization– it would’ve been stupid of them to link all of their employees directly to the mainframe of a single STEM device, despite the Superiors’ obvious lack of knowledge concerning the technology– and while MOBIUS had suffered massive losses, it would only be a matter of time before they would regroup.

But he was not there to talk to Sebastian about how their hunt was going.

Something else had come up.

Nathan’s silence did not go unnoticed and Sebastian turned toward him, leaning sideways against the fence with a concerned look in his eyes. He did not need to say anything– and neither did Nathan, as he slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets and removed one of his black, leather gloves.

The pale top of his left hand had a burned appearance, as if fire had scorched away skin and flesh– the wound only partially healed leaving it broken and torn clinging closely to his veins and bones. Though despite how recent he had received the scar, its appearance instead implied years long possession, and despite its severity it did not hurt at all.

He could tell by the look on Sebastian’s face the scar reminded him of someone.

‘Now, I know what you’re gonna say–’ Nathan started, but Sebastian cut him off.

‘I can’t do this, Nathan. I have a daughter–’

‘–I know.’

His voice came out a lot sharper than he had meant for.

‘I’m not asking anything of you,’ he said, his heartbeat pounding in the back of his throat.

‘Not this time.’

It had started as police radio chatter.

Late in the afternoon, Nathan had already been getting ready to go home. Kid had picked up a mention of Beacon– its doors long closed for the public yet the building remained in the heart of Krimson City, left to rot and wither away– supposed ghostly activity reported within its decaying walls, and she had wanted to investigate.

Nathan sharply exhaled and put his glove back on, exposed fingers growing numb in the freezing winter air. He leaned forward with his arms on the fence, to move a little closer to Sebastian; as if he was afraid someone would overhear them, as if they could make sense out of any of it to begin with.

‘He’s back, Sebastian,’ he defeatedly stated, and the other man lowered his gaze. ‘I saw him. He did this to me.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Wish it was.’

Despite hearing many tales, and having worked on his project for years as developer within the MOBIUS branch he had been part of, Nathan had never seen or met Ruvik face to face. The brilliant mind behind the STEM technology had always remained in the shadows; up until his death, after which his brain had become the core of MOBIUS’ very first STEM device.

Naturally so, when Nathan had run into the man while wandering the abandoned hallways of Beacon, his first assumption had been that he was asleep– followed by a brief moment of panic in which he had believed he was dead, or somehow back in STEM.

But Ruvik had touched him– had forcefully grabbed his hand to make him drop his gun and had left a burn similar to his own scars– and had then vanished the second Kidman had yelled out Nathan’s name, the old and presumed broken STEM device in the room next door whirring and humming as if it had never been deactivated in the first place.

‘I’m here to warn you,’ Nathan softly continued, eyes fixed on a random spot in the bright snow covering the playground and thumb absently running over the gloved back of his scarred hand.

‘We don’t know yet what exactly he’s here for, what exactly he’s tryin’ to do. Investigating as we speak, but– shit’s looking serious. Somehow reverse engineered the STEM signal to reach outward, expand into reality. Push itself out rather than draw people in.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Similar to the wireless connection that pulled you into STEM the first time round, but– without being pulled in.’ Nathan had to bite his tongue to stop himself from getting too technical. ‘An– An active environment in our world, if you follow, rather than on the device’s mainframe. Signal seems to be inactive still, but we’re gettin’ the readings. No idea how he’s planning to activate it yet.’

They had moved the device to their own headquarters, on the outskirts of town. Had needed to connect it to the second prototype– the device that had supported the Union environment, which they had taken from MOBIUS’ headquarters after wiping out its agents– in order to gain access to the mainframe, get any data extracted from it in the first place.

Their initial hope had been that it was nothing more than echoes– malfunctions in the STEM device caused by neglect promptly activating the wireless signal allowing shades from within to wander the Beacon hallways– anything but Ruvik’s actual return, however that was even possible–

‘Daddy!’

Nathan blinked, drawn out of his thoughts by Lily’s voice. He watched her run over to the two of them– the front of her coat, face, and hair completely covered in snow and a bright smile on her face as she attempted to wipe some of it from her forehead, but if anything her mittens just further spread it out.

‘I’m getting cold,’ she said, squinting when Sebastian reached out to help her with the snow. ‘Can we go back home soon?’

‘Of course honey,’ he replied, barely able to mask the exhaustion in his voice now that Nathan had explained the situation to him– and for a brief moment it was as if they were back in Union, radioing back to Kidman from the momentary safety of one of their established safehouses. ‘Don’t want you catching a cold.’

Lily looked up at Nathan and smiled at him– but she was a smart kid, and he watched her expression change as she looked back up at her father, head slightly tilting before she shook it to get some strands of her ink black hair out of her face, the single white strand in her bangs– matching Nathan’s own– a grim and constant reminder of her mother’s fate.

‘Is everything alright?’ she asked, and Nathan couldn’t help but wonder if she still associated him with MOBIUS, if she still associated him with the tests and experiments they put her through and if she still associated him with the STEM device, meeting one another within in some facility in the Marrow where he was forced to watch over her like a vulture at all times, all to keep the system stable.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he simply answered her, unsure if she would fall for his lie, but knowing it would give her infinitely more comfort than the truth ever could. ‘Just came to say hi.’

The breeze picked up, howling loudly in Nathan’s ears as if the whole city softly cried for him; the cold boring its way through his clothes and eating away at his skin, exposed or not, freezing him all the way down to the bone. He lowered his head– a futile attempt at shielding his face from the biting wind and snow, individual snowflakes cutting like knives across his forehead and cheekbones.

He watched Lily smile at both him and Sebastian again before running off to get back to the snowball fight for just a bit longer, diving behind the slide to get cover. His gaze was pulled back toward Sebastian– but said man appeared deep in thought, eyes pointedly fixed on something in the distance, head anywhere but in the present.

‘I gotta go back in,’ Nathan quietly continued; an unnecessary statement, the gravity of the situation like static in the air between the two of them, though to put it into words was to accept the harsh reality of it all– acknowledgement of what had to happen, what was going to happen, something he had not been able to do before.

‘It’s nothing like Union,’ Sebastian bluntly replied with a shake of his head, turning his back to the playground and resting heavily with his elbows on the fence. ‘He’s nothing like Stefano– nothing like Theodore. He doesn’t need a weapon or a core to draw his powers from, you get too close and it’s over. You understand?’

Nathan didn’t know what else to say.

He had never thought he’d have to go back into STEM after Union. He’d be alone this time round– no Sebastian by his side, no Kidman to radio back to. They had reconnected some old friends– Joseph, Yukiko, Esmeralda– but had no idea whether or not their consciousnesses would still be somewhere within STEM, and for all Nathan knew he would be diving into a world entirely of Ruvik’s creation, with the same horrifying creatures haunting it as last time, if not worse.

Of course he was terrified. All it took was one encounter with Anima and he would never see the light of day ever again.

‘You should go,’ Nathan said, pushing himself up from the fence and stuffing his hands back in the pockets of his coat, ‘get out of town while you still can. Grab a bag or two, grab Lily, take her on a– on a road trip up north or something, while we figure this out. Just in case he–’

He couldn’t finish his sentence. The thought of Ruvik succeeding and trapping the world in a constant state of STEM was something he would rather not think about.

‘–you know.’

An uncomfortable silence followed. And rightfully so– what else was there to say? The whole situation was ridiculous to begin with, and for Nathan to show up only now instead of at any other point in time, months of radio silence after nearly dying together in a simulation of reality lingering between real life and a dream–

He carefully watched as Sebastian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, able to study his face for longer now that the other man refused to make eye contact with him. He truly did look a lot better; Nathan could only assume the man had stopped drinking, and had been getting a much better night’s sleep.

Though despite the improvement in his appearance there was still that lingering sense of dread, the dark shadow that had washed over his face the second he had laid eyes on Nathan’s scarring and had realized what he had come to him for.

Nathan couldn’t blame him. But he’d had to let Sebastian know.

He licked his lips and nodded to no one in particular, ending the conversation himself by taking a small step back and turning back around to return to his car, drive home, drink himself blind and pass out to hopefully get some sleep in before he would have to dive back into his worst nightmare–

‘Hey.’

Sebastian’s hand on his upper arm was unexpected and Nathan hated how he could not stop himself from flinching, a reflex more than anything else, and he hated how it made Sebastian pull his hand away as if he’d touched fire, the tips of his fingers on Nathan’s body despite the layers he wore the first physical contact he had experienced in months.

‘Who is “we”?’ Sebastian quietly asked, briefly glancing behind him to see if Lily was still far enough away. A surprising question; though not out of character for the ex-detective, his curiosity piqued just enough for him to try and get a little more information out of Nathan before they would say goodbye and possibly never see each other again.

‘Me,’ Nathan plainly answered, ‘Juli. Used to be just us two but we gathered a team of old STEM developers to help us with this. They got moved on to other projects while we were working on Union– they removed their chips, came back for us.’

‘So all MOBIUS.’

Not even a question, simply a statement.

Nathan bit the inside of his cheek. ‘Ex MOBIUS.’

The atmosphere changed, a sharp tension bouncing between the two of them as Nathan straightened his back and lightly tilted up his chin. He couldn’t exactly place the look on the other man’s face, though by then knew him well enough to know his hesitation wasn’t caused by uncertainty, but moreso distrust.

‘Thought the program was meant to kill them all,’ Sebastian said, a somewhat hostile undertone in his voice that had not been there before.

‘Just our branch.’ Nathan paused, watching as Sebastian slowly nodded and mouthed a soundless “right”– not entirely sure what his reaction was supposed to mean, but he decided not to ask. ‘Already told you it runs a lot deeper than you thought.’

Myra's sacrifice had put an end to the Administrator's reign of terror– had destroyed his legacy, and all research and findings on the STEM system as designed by Ruvik and improved by MOBIUS. Whichever branches remained did not nearly have enough resources or knowledge to pull off something even remotely similar; and whatever scraps of code they could have gotten their hands on before Kidman and Nathan had wiped their systems clean would prove insufficient to provide them with a stable environment.

And even if they would make it that far– provided they’d be able to recreate the STEM device from written instructions alone, Ruvik's original blueprints lost to time and MOBIUS' own burned to a crisp in the aftermath of the Union incident's conclusion– the mental erosion Union's residents had suffered from and the Anima manifestations that had happened as a result had never been resolved, leaving any future STEM residents with the all but comforting promise of a similar fate.

'I'm diving in tomorrow,' Nathan said, knowing there was nothing else left to say. The breeze in the park was picking up again, sweeping snowflakes that were starting to feel more like hail than anything else into Nathan’s face with a lot more force than before, melting on collision and dripping into the collar of his shirt. 'First thing in the morning. Can’t waste any more time. In case you wanna come say goodbye–'

He reached into the pocket of his pants, then held out a note to Sebastian; handwritten, containing an address located on an abandoned warehouse site, not too far from Nathan's own home.

'–our headquarters.' He waited for Sebastian to take the note from him. 'No pressure, of course.'

No pressure.

The note was almost a blatant sign that Nathan wanted him to be there. He could not ask it of him directly– but gave him the option anyway, leaving the decision up to Sebastian instead.

But deep down Nathan knew that Sebastian knew that he really did not want to go back in alone– and if it had been up to him they had recruited Sebastian a week ago already, when things had first started to go wrong.

‘Do you have backup?’ Sebastian softly asked, as if he could look directly into Nathan’s head– asking the one question he had hoped for, with an answer to it that could easily enough change Sebastian’s mind about letting Nathan walk away if only he would play his cards right–

But despite how often he had practiced the entire conversation alone in his car, despite going over all the different things he could say at least a million times, just to get Sebastian to feel sorry for him– as selfish as it fucking was– Nathan found himself unable to speak.

He simply shook his head instead.

The other children and their parents were leaving, now. It was getting late, and colder, and Lily slowly wandered back to Sebastian to start dragging him back to the car if he were to take any longer than he already had.

Nathan looked up at the sky, eyes fluttering shut as he allowed more snow to drift down onto his ice cold skin, and he breathed in and out deeply before turning back to Sebastian.

‘They’re expecting more snowfall tonight,’ he said, locking eyes for only a split second and shooting a smile in his direction, as he began walking backwards into the direction of his car. ‘Don’t wait up. And– Drive safe, okay?’

Sebastian did not answer him.

It snowed in Krimson City, accompanied by a deafening silence weighing it down and choking it out, as if the whole city was expectantly holding its breath.

Nathan left.

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[ominous-faechild]

MODERN EXISTENCE

CHAPTER 1: MORE OF THE SAME

CHARACTERS: ✦ Beck Molleur ✦ Dahlia Molleur

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

(if it's possible for you to read and listen to lyrical music at the same time, please listen to the music provided ❤️)

NOTE: this story is centered on two characters in a codependent, toxic marriage. Exact content warnings about the relationship will not be given for plot reasons, so if you have ANY possible worries about that subject matter, I beg of you to be cautious before reading this story. Thank you.

Most topics are implied—haunting the narrative rather than being displayed openly—and this story depicts how one can be trapped in that sort of relationship. It has portrayals of depression, self-hatred, and implied abuse... although I would still like and encourage you to read it.

Countless images flashed through Beck's mind.

Flooded streets, loose wreckage of destroyed buildings, and rows and rows of suffering people.

It was always like this. Beck was constantly tormented by these kinds of visions. Visions of pain, destruction, and death. Anything and everything going wrong around the world was stuck in his mind, constantly playing again and again and again.

Whether he closed his eyes or had them open, tried going about his day normally or not, he was tormented by visions of misery.

Still, Beck now had his eyes closed, cheek pressed up against the back of a couch, and noise-cancelling headphones over his ears playing soft, calming music.

With his senses stifled, it was easier to focus on the visions. It was easier to see what he shouldn’t be able to see, hear what he shouldn’t be able to hear, and move what he shouldn’t be able to reach.

The soft music coming from his headphones calmed Beck. He’d seen so much suffering in his life that he’d long-since grown almost numb to it, but… that didn’t mean he was okay with it.

He still wanted to help.

So, when he could, when things were “a little too bad”, Beck made an effort to use his powers for good. He’d make small changes where he could—fill in a pothole that’d been untouched for years, trip up someone on the attack, make a stray noise to draw someone’s attention near danger, or manipulate information that could otherwise destroy people’s lives—and try to help people.

… for once in his life.

“Sometimes I for-get… the world doesn’t want me…”

A whole roof had been torn off its building by the vicious winds of a hurricane. It tore through the air, flying toward another home—and suddenly steered away, crashing into the street instead.

“And I won-der where… all of my friends are…”

Hundreds of miles away, cars were bottlenecked at an aging bridge… one that had long-since been shut down for repairs. Not that it’d ever been repaired—but still. It was supposed to be closed.

People were desperate to escape the hurricane, though.

They risked the bridge, and if it hadn’t been for Beck watching over it? It would’ve cracked under the weight of their cars, plunging them all into the hungry waters below.

“But then I remember… I’d pushed them all a-way…”

So much destruction, so much panic, so much chaos—and Beck did his best to help everyone he could in small ways.

To avoid detection.

For plausible deniability.

Few people believed in magic, so what else were they going to believe? That a god walking among them—one they’d otherwise blame for their misfortune—was looking out for them? Or that the wind moved just in time? That the bridge was just a little sturdier than the architects and scientists believed? That Their God, whichever one or ones they believed in, was looking out for them?

Yes. Far better for people to assume those than the truth.

They’d all agreed on that thousands of years ago.

“So where am I? Who am I?” the song continued, melancholic.

“And what will I do… when I don’t ev-en have me?”

The couch shifted under Beck, tilting him to the side, as something landed on his shoulder.

Beck flinched, mind abruptly returning to his body.

Snapping his eyes open, Beck quickly turned to look at what had disturbed him—

A pair of bright green eyes—on the most beautiful face he’d ever seen—met his.

Despite her soft smile, Dahlia's eyebrows were furrowed slightly in concern as she stared at him expectantly.

“Who will I be?” the song continued.

Dahlia was a woman Beck knew well, though her face had changed countless times over the years. Now, she wore one of a brown woman with angular features and a mane of long, curly brown hair. She sat against the couch with one knee, her hand still on his shoulder, and the scent of her lilac perfume washing over him.

Beck swallowed, then cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked away to stare down at the cushion creased under Dahlia's knee. Every fabric of his being screamed against it, but Beck hesitantly grabbed the earpads of his headphones to slowly take them off.

“Where will I g—?” the song lamented, before getting cut off for overpowering silence.

“Beck?” Dahlia's voice interrupted, warm and gentle. “Everything okay?”

A wave of relief flooded over him.

Relaxing and smiling weakly, Beck hesitantly looked back up to meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly, “just… was working on some stuff.”

Dahlia's soft smile grew faintly teasing. Then, she shifted to sit in his lap, her knees propped up against the cushions outside of his legs. Her hand moved from Beck's shoulder to his cheek as the other went to the backrest over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” Dahlia asked, her tease leaking into her voice. “Like what?”

Beck felt his face flush as he pressed his cheek into her hand.

Letting out a slow, shaky breath, he turned his face away as he placed his headphones to the side and awkwardly wrapped his arm around her. It pulled her close as he stared hard at the headphones, still faintly emitting sound.

“Just… helping out around the hurricane,” Beck said, his voice subtly thick. “You know… without making it too obvious.”

He let out a small, pained laugh, then closed his eyes as he sank his cheek completely into her hand.

Beck's exhaustion leaked into his voice as he added: “not that anyone would question it, anyways. They just thank whatever god they believe in… or consider it ‘miraculous’ and move on…”

The entire couch shifted as Dahlia moved.

Beck tensed slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly opened his eyes and turned his head to once again look at Dahlia.

His wife shifted to fully sit in his lap, leaning her forearms into his chest, cupping her hands around his cheeks, and meeting his eyes with a warm, loving smile.

“Awe, that’s sweet of you, Beck,” she said, voice slightly teasing still.

Then her eyes closed, and she leaned forward.

Beck took a deep breath before following her example.

Dahlia's hands dropped from his cheeks to rub against his chest as she kissed him gently, then slowly deepened it.

Beck struggled to breathe, but carefully kissed her back. Wrapping his arms around her lower back, he lifted her just enough to cross his legs under her and pull her close.

Dahlia paused the kiss—and Beck opened his eyes, though hers remained shut—to speak lightly against his lips.

“Did you know that?” she asked.

He swallowed awkwardly, looking down, not knowing how to answer.

She didn’t give him the time to figure it out. Instead, she quickly went back to kissing him, moving her hands up his chest and to his cheeks, where she rubbed his jaw with her thumbs.

Taking a slow, unsteady breath through his nose, Beck pulled her even closer and tried to just enjoy the kiss.

I love you, Ver, he wanted to say.

But he bit it back, giving her the moment to do whatever she wanted.

Instead, Dahlia pulled away after kissing him for a few more seconds. Her hands moved from his cheeks to his chest again as he met his eyes with another warm smile.

Beck was too caught up in watching every subtle shift in her expression to recognize his own relief.

“I reserved a restaurant for us to eat at tonight,” Dahlia said, a slight, sly smile on her lips. “Bistro Minuit is your favorite, right?”

Face flushing again—hotter this time—Beck hesitantly tore his eyes from hers to stare at the floor, past her hip. At the same time, he moved a hand from her lower back to place it over one of hers on his chest.

“Yeah,” Beck said awkwardly, his voice thick.

Then he gave a weak, dry chuckle, closing his eyes.

“It’s still open?” he asked, his voice weakly amused. “With how fast time goes by—”

“Uxi,” Dahlia interrupted gently. One of her hands—the one not trapped under his—moved to cup itself around his cheek again.

Beck froze, his breath catching in his throat as he quickly returned his eyes to hers.

But Dahlia still had her warm, slightly-teasing smile on her lips.

Her tease leaked into her voice as she answered: “of course it’s still open. I just told you I made reservations, didn’t I?”

Beck's heart twisted, but Dahlia's face was still soft, easygoing.

“—And, besides, I make sure of these things, you know that,” she finished warmly.

She seems fine. Nothing to worry about.

Beck forced a weak smile in return, but then sighed heavily as he closed his eyes and sank his cheek into her hand again. At the same time, he moved his hand from the one on his chest to cup it over hers on his cheek, lovingly sandwiching it between his cheek and hand.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice thick, but level. “You’re right. Sorry, I’d… I’d like that.”

Feel free to share your thoughts below, regardless of what they are.

Unless, yknow, they're "wtf are you writing; stfu". Or "men can't be abused." Keep that kinda shit out.

This is a very heavy story, and will touch on heavy topics... even if only through implication.

(Also to those of you who recognize their names... 🙂)

story intro moodboard table of contents < last chapter next chapter >

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@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter @mythicalmagical-monkeyman @corinneglass @friedmiu

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@homeforinsomniacs

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divider by @cafekitsune

[void-ranger-vger]

fic idea

A vessel emerges from the wormhole. Within its battered but sturdy hull rides a small group of researchers eager to document encounters with the Dominion’s newest member species.

Steve Irwin

pilots his way through the Alpha Quadrant accompanied by a film crew and his partner/pet, a Vorta who… came out a bit more crittery than usual. They are tireless and inescapable and soon word spreads and fear grows, because at any moment, any Cardassian—ANY Cardassian—could find themselves suddenly tackled by a hyperactive and joyfully deranged man who will wrestle them to the ground and submit them to some bizarre form of medical inspection whilst yelling loudly to a camera about the details of their surroundings, their personal effects, and insights about their personalities and occupations which fall into one or the other of two categories:

-this guy is UNCANNILY, TERRIFYINGLY accurate on every account, his knowledge puts the Obsidian Order to SHAME, or

-everything he says is WILDLY incomprehensible, bizarre to a degree that would be comedic if the experience were not otherwise so violent and impersonal—because no, he never acknowledges anybody’s attempts to communicate, even though they can all clearly understand *him*. Maybe the Vorta sometimes does though. Rarely. He doesn’t say much.

[aromanticasterisms]

the epic highs and lows of rereading your own writing to seek out parts you disliked and analyze Why you disliked them to do better in the future

[skierisa]

for those who are waiting for my dead n' living fic, here's a wip of the translation for the prologue

[v-thinks-on]

Wei Wuxian wasted no time peeling off his outer and inner robes to take full advantage of the cool, fresh water. However, Lan Wangji was unmoved, still wearing the same long, deathly white robes he wore when he was released from the ice.

“How have you not fainted from the heat dressed like that?” Wei Wuxian needled, but predictably, Lan Wangji ignored him.

They stood at the edge of the river for what was ostensibly a waterbending lesson, Wei Wuxian already in the water up to his calves, and Lan Wangji standing primly on the shore, having not even discarded his shoes.

Wei Wuxian tisked in exaggerated disappointment. “Too stiff. To waterbend you have to be loose, flexible like the water itself.”

He rolled his shoulders for emphasis, but Lan Wangji just stared pointedly ahead.

(Read More on AO3)

[nonbinaryaubrey]

i really dont like the manga sorry .

[fairytwles]

i have been working on this damn yellowjackets oc introduction for fucking days now

[agathasvidal]

Summary:

Agatha Harkness is a reclaimed Neurosurgeon, untouchable and unbreakable. But the new Head of Paediatrics seems intent on tearing her apart.

[shsl-box-worshipper]

This chapter in a nutshell