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arenabreadandbiscuits · 5 months

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Solomon x Fem! Parent! Reader || It's Okay, I'm Right Here

Word Count: 3,081

Rating: Sfw, Mature matters

Includes: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff

Thank you for commissioning me! @eternallyanxiousandstressed I hope everything is to your liking and again I hope that the things going on right now that may be painful heal and get better but I wish you nothing but love and luck momma!

It's that day and to say the least you were hurting.

You knew it was happening, knew the time was coming but that didn't mean you ever enjoyed it..

You carefully watched as Solomon played with him, a chest of toys that the white haired man had even gotten for himself sat wide open as your son ran back and forth just to show off his favorite toys and things. You can see the look on his face, the smile you son gives him as he grins up at Solomon with that smile you've always loved.

Your heart is literally aching, feeling as though it's being torn apart.

Solomon was always so good with him. Ever since you both introduced the two your son had seemed interested in the man even if he was a little shy at first. You remembered the way Solomon smiled warmly at the boy who slightly hid his face and then with that flair that he always seemed to have… Solomon kneeled down on one knee to the child and with a short little chant and a sway of his fingers glitter and colorful swirls seem to form from his fingers before poof! A toy sat in his palm, one that he didn't exactly know the boy would enjoy but really hoped so.

Though Solomon isn't necessarily one who cares for the way people looked at him this was completely different. This was you and your son and after being with you for as long as he has now it only made the most since that he wanted to get along with the boy.

It seemed to have worked out quite well. You knew from the moment that Solomon had looked into your eyes that he was a good one, loving and understanding and when your son happily took the toy after a moment just to make sure it was actually alright to take. There's a moment where he looks up at Solomon, bright eyes twinkling at the sight of the gift and Solomon nods with a hum.

“It's alright, you can definitely have this.” Solomon reassured the boy, something else you had noticed the white haired male was quite good with over the timespan of your relationship.

You remembered looking at Solomon after, lifting a brow as if asking how he knew the young boy would like such a gift only to feel your cheeks warm up just a bit when he seemed to smile back knowingly.

Back then Solomon had given a little carefree shrug, a light chuckle coming from him thanks to that adorable look on your face that he always loved to see.

“He's a kid. There's not much else they usually enjoy aside from toys and candy last time I checked.”

He says with that smartass voice of his that you always seemed to love hearing and you huffed out a little laugh.

You smile carefully, looking at the scene just a few feet before you with so much love and affection whilst leaning against the doorframe. You loved catching them in these moments, seeing that carefree smile on your baby's face while he spent such important moments with Solomon who was basically the man that happily stepped up to help you raise the boy. You had caught them a few times in some rather cute moments; catching Solomon feeding the boy, guiding and teaching and correcting the boy whenever it seemed needed …like an actual father was supposed to…

Oh course you never wanted to stop your son from seeing his actual father but every time you looked at you child… his smiling little face that seemed to shined brighter than every other star in the sky, you couldn't help the clenching you felt in your heart. It wasn't that you necessarily hated or felt anything angry over your last partner and you knew that realistically your son should be allowed to see his father no matter what you and the man had gone through but as you watched these moments you couldn't help but simply wish it had been Solomon to actually be the boy's father. Though, you did love seeing that the white haired man treated your son like one anyway even without you having to ask or say anything.

Your baby deserved a father and you and Solomon had talked about it so many times, mainly because you couldn't help but feel scared… and just like the caring and adoring man he was, Solomon carefully reached his hands out to wrap around you and hold you close. Telling you that it'd be okay because whether the boy was his or not… he'd happily help take care and raise him. And that's exactly what Solomon has done since the two of you… three of you met.

The air of peace and tranquility pauses.

There's a knock at the door…

One that you all seem to notice at the very same time.

You're the closest to it and as the two look over at you, you let out a soft sigh before turning and going to the door. Solomon frowns a little, he simply can't help it because while he knows you had to do this didn't mean he had to be happy about it… He looks at your son before smiling softly and the boy seems to return the little look before Solomon gets to his feet.

“Stay right there okay?” Solomon says to the boy who shyly now seems to nod.

He follows you, your child hanging back for now, peeking around at the scene as you take your hand and unlock the knob before twisting it and just as expected he stood there… your past husband, the man you nor Solomon wanted to see but as you try to resist frowning Solomon takes his place at your side, reaching over to rub your shoulder in a way that seems to actually convince you to open the door.

You pull it open and there he stood, looking at you first as a little smile almost dares to taint his lips before falling completely at the sight of Solomon and your son who crept forward until he could grip at Solomon’s pants leg as if the sight of the boy clinging to the man was like pouring salt into an already infected wound.

There's a moment of silence and you can feel the weight of the air around you getting heavier. You were sure he was simply displeased at the sight of you raising your child with another man but Solomon stares him down, as if he's daring the other man to do something about it.

You managed to speak first, greeting the man who seems to huff in return before crossing his arms over his chest.

“I've come to pick up my son.” He says and it sends a spark of blistering rage through you because after everything the two of you have been through you thought he knew by now that if you could your son would be exactly just that, your son. You don't like that tone he uses either, the one he seemed to pull out as if he was better than you and had something to hold over your head and Solomon can practically taste the way it makes you feel.

He doesn't get angry often he'll admit but something about this ex-husband of yours could really pull Solomon into doing so. Especially when he can see that look on your face, the saddened expression that he dreaded seeing on your precious face. It's not just that either, as his eyes turn from you down to your son he can only feel more annoyed, upset at the fact that this man of all people has come just to ruin all of your day.

“Our son.” Solomon suddenly hums and the tension in the air suddenly seems to grow a lot heavier as if the air around you all had turned poisonous.

“You've come to pick up our son.” He says again and there's a moment where both you and your child perk up just from hearing Solomon say such a thing. It's not like he didn't say it often, with permission many months ago Solomon had spent hours holding you, kissing you until you cried and clung to him and felt comfortable with him being this close in your family and home and now as you savor the feeling of his hand gently squeezing your shoulder, you've never been more grateful. It calms you even while your ex seems to sneer at the man who calmly grins, smug in his stance. He knows he shouldn't pick a fight, you've told him not to before but oh does Solomon love seeing that stupid, angry look that washes over your ex's face.

If it weren't for the fact that Solomon was a sorcerer, a lesson that your ex husband was still stubbornly learning he probably would have never spent any time dealing with this man to begin with. Even resisting simply slamming the door in his face right now was rather difficult for Solomon…

You pat Solomon and without argument, without further distraction, he looks over and down at you and his smug grin falls quickly as he sees the look in your eyes, that saddened expression… it manages to shut him up for a moment all the while calming him even before Solomon allowed his own irritation over your ex to bring out the worst in himself.

“Ah, anyway..” Solomon says softly as he looks into your eyes with his own before slowly looking back at your ex who seemed even more annoyed at the sight than the blatant disrespect he was receiving. “I'll allow it, at least until I figure out just what to do with you exactly.” He finishes and there's meanings hidden behind those words, a threat spoken like the millions of spells Solomon's spoken before. All of the sudden the room feels colder, so much so that your ex seems to shiver even though he's not even standing in the house… the only one to shiver, matter of fact, considering Solomon only had the intent to affect him personally. Something else he's been working on for a while now.

“And..what's that supposed to mean?” Your ex asks now, his tone softer than he'd like it to be and Solomon smiles innocently.

“Oh nothing, just that I'm trusting you to be responsible so I don't have to correct you too harshly later on.” he hums and then silence falls over all of you, a few seconds passing just to let the words cook and simmer and then you let out a little laugh as if to lighten the overwhelming mood looking over to your son who moves closer to you, now hugging you leg as you gently run your hand through his hair. There's a soft smile that forms on his lips as he slowly looks up to you.

“He's just kidding, surely you're happy to spend time with your father right baby?” You ask softly, petting that head that you loved so much and while you do so the two men seem to glare harshly at each other, fists slowly balling up on each of them. You son looks over to his father who seems to huff lightly through his nose and Solomon follows the action in a much similar way before nodding carefully. Of course the boy always wanted to see his father. He just secretly wished… he could do so without these moments, without having to leave. Why couldn't the four of you just be together?

Sometimes he still didn't fully understand it all.

“Right, I'm only kidding.” Solomon repeats, giving another smile now as he keeps his eyes on the man before him to show that he actually wasn't ‘just kidding’, that the only reason he didn't strike him where he stood was because Solomon knew just how these things made you feel.

Silence falls over the four of you before you sigh and you say goodbye to your son, smiling at him and taking the time to kneel down and give him the biggest of hugs you could ever offer before he slowly pulls away even though it hurts both of you so much. He had to be a strong boy though, the brave and smart boy that you always found him to be. He seems to take a few steps forward to his father. The man looks at the boy before sighing, reaching out to offer his hand and your son slowly takes it, stepping out the door now.

It's a bittersweet moment, one that leaves an oily taste in your mouth as you look at your child one more time, waving bye as they go to leave but not without your baby returning the action, quickly waving his little hand like his life might have depended on it.

“Bye mommy! I'll see you and dada later, I love you!” He says like how he'd do if you were dropping him off at school or something, moments that always managed to feel like slow motion once they actually happened. Your son's words ring in your ears as you and Solomon wave goodbye though not without you yelling out to your ex to call or text if anything ever managed to happen in your absence. Begrudgingly he seems to accept your words, sighing again and you and Solomon watch at the door as the father of your child helps the young boy in before giving a wave to the both of you before pulling open the drivers door and climbing in.

The sound of the doors closing, the sound of the engine starting and gears revving makes you hurt even more and just like that, they pull off carefully before driving off.

You don't even realize the wetness in your eyes until Solomon carefully reaches out to you. As he gently cups your cheek you look at him and as your eyes connect with his own all you can see if his care for you, his undying love for you that you worried one day might disappear even though Solomon continuously corrected you each time because he was going nowhere without you being by his side. The two of you have already gone through so much and continue to do so but Solomon was happy being there with you to go through it together. The look in his eyes are genuine, focused and bright as if you were the only thing that existed in his field of sight, as if nothing else for now mattered.

Before you can stop yourself you sniffle before quickly turning into him.

You wrap your arms around his torso before pressing your face into his chest, the tears falling just being able to be close to him in a moment like this and of course Solomon returns your gesture by slowly closing the door with one hand while the other moves around you to hold you back. You arm wraps around your shoulders, his hand carefully moving and petting your hair before he moves his other arm to wrap gently around your waist. He pulls you closer as you seem to let it out. It's not like you got like this everytime, not always but you did get sad one way or another and as much as it hurts, like tearing your heart into pieces, Solomon is here… holding you, caressing you while your tears seem to wet his shirt.

“I know you always hate these days but I promise you my love that it's okay…” he hums softly, his voice like a light in the darkness that leads you to a bit of clarity.

“He'll be fine, he'll be okay.. I can promise you that.” He breathes, taking the time to lower his head and press his nose into your hair, taking a deep breath and savoring your scent that he simply loved so much. “I gave him a talisman. If anything unexpected happens we'll know. I promise.. please don't stress yourself out, it's not good for your skin.” He says with a light chuckle and it does calm you down, his words and the way he's holding you as if he worried that letting go might just break you. Even with his teasing tone you know he's serious, that his words are genuine and even though your heart was aching you felt… so, so much better knowing that Solomon had even taken the time to give your son a seal of protection just in case somehow, someway, something managed to cause any malicious harm to your baby.

Which wouldn't because Solomon had promised to always help you keep him safe.

You can't help but cry harder, so grateful to have him here with you, holding you close while telling you that you were okay.. that your son was okay with him around. He's so caring, so loving, patient… gentle, always holding you as if you were the most prized jewel in his world.

“Thank… you..” you say with a shaky tone, clinging to him because you know he doesn't mind not one bit.

He moves his hands to slowly trail up you body, over you curves and dips leaving shivers running over your skin up until he reaches your cheeks and with so much care, he holds you. He kisses the top of your head, then you cheek, then back up to your forehead until he's left peppering to sweetest kisses against your skin and like a cat getting scratched behind your ears you seem to fall completely in his hold.

“There's no need to thank me my love and you know that, you know I adore you and that boy more than I've ever adored anything else. You know I'll always be here, yes?” Solomon says softly, his eyes gentle as his voice fills your ears and you hold his arms, nuzzling his chest.

“Yes..Yes of course I know that my dear, I-I just love you so much… I'm so grateful you're here..” you breathe, calmed down as you press against him like he's a life support and he holds you like he feared you pulling away.

“I’ll never let go of you…either one of you for I love you both just as much.” He hums as he continues to hold you, taking in your scent, kissing you…loving you like you always craved to be loved.

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doodlejoltik · 19 days

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grass knot

[~4.5k words, read it here or on Ao3. tagged with Volo and Lance since they appear as prominent characters; Rei-centric]

Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

Rei, caught in the stirrings of a new arc, tries to rise to its call, but trips over the past at every turn.

A full rewrite of that Mysterious Stones chapter where Volo first shows up, from Rei’s POV, plus a bit more. Written mostly before the Arceus Arc began.

(Setting expectations: a lot of this fic is just Rei Thinking About Stuff haha. Love getting into his head! His characterisation is a little bit different/more nuanced compared to the other Rei oneshot I wrote; hopefully you'll still be along for the ride if you've read that one!)

“Show me thy bond.” It echoes inside Rei’s skull, down to the very bone, the same as in his earliest memories. He nearly buckles under its weight, but it's a welcome feeling.

After so long without direction, this is a relief. Arceus has finally spoken.

The words fit perfectly with the half-remembered fragments Rei had received some weeks ago in the middle of the night. Why hadn't they been intelligible then? What makes now different? The sync stones ultimate are one factor, of course. Maybe Arceus draws power from them, which is strange to say of a deity, but from what he knows of the Plates, it might not be so far-fetched.

Prince Lear disperses the murmuring crowd; so, the audience all heard it too, not just those on the arena floor. Professor Bellis congratulates Bettie. Cynthia, Lance and Steven whisper among themselves. And his mind still whirls with new theories as they gather together.

What does Arceus want?

‘Seek out all Pokemon’ had meant completing the Pokedex. At least, that’s what he’d assumed. Now, this time, Arceus likely means for them to showcase bonds with their Pokemon, given the context. But what does that actually entail?

Cynthia’s words cut above everyone else's. “Rei. Was that voice…?”

All eyes are on him. He breathes deeply, steeling himself, as the familiar weight of it settles in. Things are moving, now.

“Yes. I'm certain. That was —”

“Indeed! That was a message from Arceus!”

His words catch in his throat. Off-balance, suddenly, as all his thoughts fall away, replaced by a swooping feeling he can't quite identify —

He whirls around.

Volo is here.

He takes a few steps back, an involuntary half-stumble, before remembering himself.

Those flashes of movement he's been seeing, the feeling of being watched, a Togepi, unattended: they’re all now terrifyingly validated. He'd half thought them a product of his overactive mind.

“Excuse-moi, pardon me… but who are you?” Professor Bellis ventures.

“I'm Volo — a humble merchant who loves history and mythology!” With that, he flashes a winning smile. Rei could laugh at the sheer audacity of it all, but his thoughts are still strewn across the dusty ground, scattered, and they slip from his grasp as he tries to gather them up. Whatever sense of gravity he’d felt upon hearing Arceus’ voice has completely lifted.

“But more importantly!” Volo continues. “When the arena shone brightly, I also heard that voice.” He brings his hand up to point at the air with enthusiastic emphasis, a gesture still so terribly familiar. Rei clenches his fists, feeling the nails dig into his skin. Not really out of anger. More as a reminder.

The last time he’d seen Volo had been. Well. Memorable. But that isn’t the image that smiles back at him now, tripping him up. He's in Gingko uniform again, complete with ridiculous oversized backpack, which Rei had thought discarded, up there on the peak. Apparently not. Had Volo returned later, still seething, to collect his things? The concept is strangely hilarious.

“I wonder… these sync stones ultimate… might they be some sort of test from Arceus? If we could show him that ‘bond’ he desires —”

“Sorry, test? Arceus?” Cynthia interrupts with a frown, holding a hand out. “What makes you say that?”

“Why, it's quite simple. Arceus' presence was summoned by these stones, in this exhibition, and he requests us to further show our bond. What else could he desire?” Volo says, gesturing widely.

Rei finally pulls himself upright — scrapes his thoughts together into something resembling coherence. The initial shock has drained away, settling into a distant sort of apprehension. He watches silently. Volo’s not really saying anything too unreasonable, but where is this leading?

There’s so much he doesn’t know. What has Volo been doing, all this time? How long has he been on Pasio? What does he hope to gain, approaching them like this?

He’ll let Volo continue, then. It's an opportunity for some of those questions to be answered.

(And it gives Rei time to think of what to say.)

“Well, put that way, that does make sense,” Steven nods along. “Should we organise for more trainers to try the stones, then?”

“Oui, I would love to gather more data!” Professor Bellis answers. “However, the stones are still quite volatile. There is progress on this, yes, but for now, I would like to limit their use, capisci?”

At this, Bettie speaks up. “Yeah, it was weird.” She runs a hand through her Pikachu’s fur, the mouse curled up lazily in her arms. Nobody in Hisui was quite that affectionate with their Pokemon. Certainly not Akari, though she'd grown closer with her own Pikachu over time. As for himself, Decidueye had been standoffish, averse to being carried even as a baby Rowlet. Well, actually — as his distracted mind digs deeper into memory, he recalls — there had been Volo and his Togepi.

He casts that errant thought away, buries it deep once again. Bettie is still speaking.

“And it was like nothing was there, at first, and Pikachu and I had to concentrate really hard. And then — whoosh! Wow! Overwhelming,” she shifts Pikachu’s weight to one arm to gesture with emphasis, “and all at once.”

“And this is when Arceus spoke,” Lance asks.

Bettie nods, now subdued. “It was a rush! I think you guys could handle it, but I dunno if everyone could.”

“If I may,” and all attention returns to Volo. “It seems the stones can currently be used by trainers with particularly powerful convictions, and bonds with their Pokemon,” he gestures with a smile to Bettie. She blushes.

At the casual flattery, Rei can't help the small frown that twists onto his face. It seems innocent enough, but compliments and niceties can so easily mask true intent.

Especially with Volo.

Volo continues. “Perhaps we might solve this by way of a tournament, of sorts. Allowing Arceus to witness our talent and dedication, with the victor bestowed the honour of using the stones! Of course, the winner of such a competition would have the fortitude necessary to handle such power.”

Well, taking that to its logical end… Volo wants to win, and be granted this ‘honour’ he so conveniently proposed. But why go to all this trouble? The stones appear out in the streets quite often — apparently, found even by preschoolers. Volo should have no trouble obtaining them.

Does he know something they don't?

“Bettie here led the first winning PML team, did she not?” At this, the girl in question smiles Mareepishly. “And that is why she was the one to demonstrate the stones, I presume,” Volo inclines his head towards the Champions.

Informed guess, or something more? He thinks back on half-seen, furtive movements, and wonders.

“That's right,” Steven confirms. “Bettie is a shining example to us: a leader of the next generation. We decided there was no better choice.”

“So you suggest we hold another tournament,” Lance says thoughtfully. “Well, there is precedent. Prince Lear,” he turns to the Prince, whom Rei had honestly half forgotten was there. “What do you think?”

Before Lear can reply, Volo reinserts himself into the conversation. “It would be a grand tournament, truly fitting of Pasio's reputation. Why, perhaps, the deity Arceus might even be compelled to descend —”

Ah. So that’s what he intends. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself there?” Rei interrupts. He means to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more incredulous. Not at the idea itself, but at how brazenly it’s admitted.

“Perhaps,” Volo says with a careless shrug. He doesn’t acknowledge Rei any differently than the others, still maintaining their inadvertently shared ruse. “It's only speculation, of course, but it is exciting to think about!”

“Hmph! I believe I was the one being addressed,” Prince Lear declares, arms crossed. His red shades flash dangerously, eyes hidden under their glint. Directed at him, it's almost like the full glare of an Alpha Pokemon.

Rei’s face flushes with heat to the tips of his ears. Great time he picked to enter the discussion. He quietly ducks his head down; the Prince is in charge, here, after all. He'd rather not test his patience.

Meanwhile, Volo just smiles, seemingly unfazed.

There's a part of him that really wants to know how Volo does that. It's just — he's so confident. How can he be so sure that everything will work out in his favour?

“A grand tournament,” Prince Lear ponders, tapping his foot. “And what could be grander than the second Pokemon Masters League?”

“Indeed!” Volo beams. “I'm sure the audience would love to see the clash between a king and a deity, would they not?”

Lear's tapping stills. His guarded stance loosens; he's taken aback. Volo emphasised king, and oh, Lear's official title is Prince. Hm.

There's something more deliberate about it beyond just casual flattery.

Lear uncrosses his arms and seems at a loss, for a moment, on where to put them before straightening up with his hands on hips. “Is that so?” He laughs. “I like the sound of that!” A pause, unnecessarily dramatic. Nobody breaks the silence, not even Volo.

The Prince looks around with some satisfaction and continues. “Very well, then. The winning team of the second PML will be granted the honour of using the sync stones ultimate.” He grins, sharply, red shades flashing once again. “Which will include me, of course. Hahahahaha!”

“You have a real gift for making quick decisions!” Volo says cheerfully. The tension breaks. Chuckles arise from the rest of the group, and Rei can only stare in disbelief. That — that has to be mockery, right? But everyone else seems to take it as light teasing, even the quick-tempered Prince himself.

Against his better judgement, his gaze catches Volo’s.

He doesn't know what he expects to see: amusement? Satisfaction? Triumph? And there's some of that, but it's a wry, knowing sort of look, like a joke shared only between the two of them.

Already the others are starting to animatedly discuss between themselves. Bettie makes a teasing comment to Lear, who scoffs. Professor Bellis says something about checking in on the sync stone technology. Cynthia, Lance and Steven form their own little group again, speaking in low tones, and he can't quite follow their discussion.

It seems like he's the only one who notices Volo quietly slipping away, and he's got half a mind to do the same.

Would it be incredibly ill-advised to follow him? Probably. But he still has questions. And it’s possible that Volo will let his guard down when they're alone.

(Even to him, that seems incredibly optimistic. But there’s things between them that he himself would rather only unearth in private. Maybe Volo feels the same way. And even if not, perhaps he'll gloat, or tease playfully, and let on something of use hidden in the thorned barbs.)

It's not like he has much left to contribute here. Tournaments and competitions and organised displays are foreign to him. The Neo Champion Stadium had felt so different from the kind of battles he’s used to… which, in part, could be why he lost.

He needs to train. If everything rests on the result of this tournament, he has to be ready.

The group seems to be naturally dispersing, at least — Professor Bellis just excused herself — so he won't be missed. With some quick words, he, too, turns to leave. They can handle this part, and Rei will do his.

Prince Lear had mentioned a winning team, and Pasio battles are generally three on three, from what he's seen. Who could he ask? There's Akari, of course. And the clan leaders, but it would feel strange to team up with only one and not the other. A little bit too reminiscent of another time.

His steps carry him nearly to the edge of the arena.

Besides, he's getting ahead of himself. He still has to… well, he should explain everything to them. About Volo.

Even all these months later, it still aches. He had buried it all, hoping to let it rot away, to be free of that thorny mass of contradictory feelings that arose every time he dwelled on it.

But the longer he waits, the more impossible it seems to explain — to explain not only the events of that fateful day, but also his own, confusing silence on the matter. Though he’s tried to plough the field, turn it all over and start anew, it still lies just beyond the surface, and a single misstep is all it takes to snarl him all over again. Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

(Akari is unquestionably the one person he's closest to. But there was a time when that singular title wasn't so clear cut.)

There’s a sort of tunnel that leads out of the stadium, a long darkened archway that passes under the audience stands. He's about halfway through when he hears footsteps from behind, swift and purposeful strides.

His breath catches, for a moment. But Volo left first, and the arena had been flat and wide, with no corners to lurk in. Besides, it's too loud. Clearly telegraphed.

Cynthia, maybe?

He turns. The face that greets Rei is slightly less familiar. “Lance,” he acknowledges the Champion.

“Rei,” Lance greets in turn, stopping a few paces away. Arms crossed, silhouetted against the light of the arena and framed by the tunnel’s dark, arching walls, his tall figure is — intimidating.

He can’t help but wonder whether that's deliberate.

“You left before I could ask,” Lance says, and there's a pause. “As someone who has prior experience with Arceus, what do you think of all this?”

A fair enough question. But the way it's said… sounds a little too carefully worded. Casual, but purposefully so.

What sort of answer does Lance expect?

“It sounds reasonable enough,” he decides to say. As much as he hates to lend credence to Volo’s proposal, he can't think of anything better. It somehow seems to suit their needs perfectly, which he's sure is no accident. “Back in Hisui, I was told to seek out all Pokemon, so I helped with the Pokedex. In the same way, I guess this could help fulfil Arceus' new request.”

Lance nods along, but his brows furrow. “You sounded more sceptical, earlier,” he points out.

Ah. Not really his intent, but… “That was about the more…” he casts about for the right word, “speculative part of it. I don't know if it would really call Arceus down, or anything like that.” Though honestly, he doesn't know that it won't.

“What do you think will happen, then?” Lance asks, with clear curiosity, and, well. He doesn't really have a good answer to that.

“... I don't know,” he admits. “I never actually completed the Pokedex, so I'm not sure what happens after Arceus’ request is fulfilled.” He had been close, but there had still been so many minor tasks that needed finishing, things to busy himself with, to arrange and get in order before he had to face Giratina again.

He hadn't been ready, yet. Maybe Arceus had grown impatient, and brought him here to confront his problems directly. Maybe it cared. Maybe it didn't.

(Seeing Giratina with Cynthia had felt a little like he was the punchline of some divine comedy.)

Lance purses his lips and looks off into the distance, out of the stadium, past Rei. He wishes he could read the man’s expressions better; as it is, the set of his brows calls to mind Kamado, and everything else tangled up with it.

Finally, Lance’s gaze turns directly to Rei once again, and he speaks. “That Volo… you two know each other.”

It’s not a question, but even then, the expression of unguarded surprise he can’t hold back might be answer enough.

Lance has one hand on his hip, the other, at rest, is framed by the drape of his cape. He looks down at Rei as he states plainly, “His clothes aren’t of modern make, so the logical assumption would be that he’s from Hisui. Cynthia confirmed my suspicion. And, historically, Hisuian communities were few and quite tightly knit. It’s more likely than not.”

He tries to keep his expression carefully neutral, as logic digs deeper, dangerously close to things unexplainable. And the earth is already recently disturbed, soft, friable. He can’t offer much resistance. “I've seen him around,” he concedes.

“But why did neither of you acknowledge the other?” Lance looks confused; frustrated, even. “Even a passing acquaintance would be notable, with both of you being here in the future.”

And here — this is familiar. The accusations. The questions he can’t answer. But it’s different; it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers. He just can’t seem to put them in an order that would make sense, to anyone else.

(Does he really understand, himself?)

But eyes are on him, and he needs to explain, in whatever unsatisfactory way he can. “Volo and I… it's complicated,” he laughs weakly, tugging at his scarf. “He genuinely does love history and mythology, you know. I guess I wouldn't be that surprised if he was right about Arceus.” All those times they’d pored over ruins together, Volo excitedly babbling on about whatever legend this one related to — there had to have been the seed of something real, something genuine, in that.

It’s not really an answer. Lance can obviously tell, because he crosses his arms.

“Is he bad news?” he asks bluntly.

There’s no twisting his way out of this one.

Some of the panic he’s feeling must bubble up onto his face, because Lance’s expression softens, just a bit. The man sighs. “Look, Rei, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but us Champions need to have all the relevant information. This tournament, the stones,” he gestures around them, “affect everyone here on Pasio. So I’m sorry about involving myself in your business, but it's necessary. Should we be keeping an eye on Volo?”

It’s obvious what the correct answer is. And every second he delays responding makes him seem all the more untrustworthy. He questions, a little hysterically, why this of all things is what he stubbornly roots himself for, risking this place he’s made for himself in another unfamiliar land.

But his jaw works, and all that slips out of his throat, past the thorny tangle, is a “Maybe.” The most ground he can concede. “Volo’s… passionate about Arceus.” Which is perhaps the biggest understatement of both this century and the last.

There's an expectant pause. He almost leaves it at that, but it seems it's too unfinished a sentiment for Lance. “He wants to be seen by it.”

“The same way you are?” Lance says sharply. Arceus, he picked up on that fast. Rei hopes he leaves it at that. A rivalry fallen apart, twisted into bitterness and jealousy, nothing more.

Nothing world-ending.

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Cynthia, and by extension the other Champions. It’s just… he can deal with it himself. It’s what he was probably brought here to do, anyway. The thought of someone else turning him over, and finding him lacking — fighting his battles for him — makes him uneasy.

“Yeah, something like that,” he answers, with a painful swallow.

Besides, he hopes he can resolve this peacefully. He’d beaten Volo before, even after he’d flipped the rules of battle on their head. And this time Volo can’t upend the script; one good thing about tournaments, he supposes, is that the rules are rigorously upheld. A different sort of battleground.

He wants to laugh at that. Suppositions and wildly optimistic thoughts are his only foundation, and yet it’s enough for him to reject all possibility of outside help.

Then again, if he can’t even bring himself to tell Akari, what chance does he have of breaking that self-imposed silence, here, on less familiar ground?

Lance hums, assessing this. He uncrosses his arms. “If that friend of yours does anything drastic, tell us, alright?” he says. It’s said warmly, but there's something serious to it. An undertone. “Our job is to help out wherever we can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Rei tries for a smile. “Understood.”

Lance nods, and looks Rei up and down, though it's only a subtle flicker of his eyes. His gaze lingers on the scarf at Rei’s neck, which Rei realises he’s been fidgeting with unconsciously. He lets go with faint embarrassment, feeling caught out.

The other man sighs. “You can go, you know?” There’s resignation in his voice. Maybe even something apologetic. In that moment, he seems more like Kamado than ever.

Rei doesn’t want to turn his back to him, but he wants to be here even less. So he nods, stiffly, and turns himself around, continuing the dark walk through the tunnel and out the stadium at a steady pace.

He doesn’t run.

(But his hand hovers by his satchel, where Decidueye's Pokeball rests.)

It’s only when he’s walked for a good while, out into the harsh sunlight, through the town outskirts and to a more forested spot, that the tension drains from him. He sits at the base of a large tree, feeling a little lightheaded.

That was… an interrogation, to put it bluntly. And he can’t really fault Lance for it. To anyone, he's sure, his actions are confusing at best.

Unfortunately, he’s found that he’s less than clear headed when it comes to Volo. He turns over Lance’s final words. That friend of yours. It’s not surprising Lance phrased it that way; everything Rei had said had been carefully woven to lead him to that conclusion.

Except it hadn’t been misdirection, not fully. He does still think of Volo as his friend, despite everything.

He slumps backwards, against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark dig against the base of his skull.

What is he supposed to do with that?

Apparently, one of the worst days of his life isn’t enough to uproot over a year of growing camaraderie and budding friendship. Too many memories knot together, a stubborn tangle impossible to pick apart. He’s tried not to think about them too hard, but they tighten their hold once again, from where they lay dormant and buried.

Many of them have been forcibly recontextualised. He’s second guessed every helpful gift, every directly admiring word, every coincidental and fortunate appearance, as something deliberate and cultivated. But some of it, it seems, doesn't fit so neatly with that singular goal.

One day, they’d watched Togepi use Metronome for an hour, ostensibly for Rei’s surveying purposes. Important documentation of a seemingly random phenomenon, and all that. In actuality, they laughed the entire time, with no useful or coherent records to speak of, as the results became all the more improbable.

They’d camped together, those last months, as the search for the Plates got wilder and more exciting. He knows Volo’s favoured way to build a camp-fire, and how he wakes up unreasonably early in the morning, and that he prefers sweet foods over savoury, unlike Rei himself. A hundred mundane familiarities shared, taking root in fallow ground.

Once, Volo had been his only friend in the entire world.

Is it surprising, then, that he can’t lay this friendship to rest so easily?

He wonders what it means, that the hand offered to him at his lowest point was the same one that always meant to drag him back down. And what it means that he still wants to reach for it.

Had any real feelings been sowed there, on Volo’s part? Or was the entire thing a carefully constructed weaving, an intricate field of grass knots laid around Rei, ready to catch him in their snare?

He can’t quite strangle the hope that something of their friendship still exists, even if neglected and overgrown. And that’s the part that scares him.

He has Akari, and Adaman, and Irida. He has Professor Laventon and the Captain, though they’re far away. Then there’s the Wardens, more friendly faces: Mai, Sabi, Ingo, and all the others; there's Zisu and Pesselle and Beauregard and everyone else in Jubilife. New friends here on Pasio, too.

He pulls out Decidueye’s Pokeball from his satchel, and rolls it around in his right hand. He has his beloved Starter.

He has friends. He has bonds.

Why can’t that be enough?

The Pokeball he’s holding isn't the original. He'd had to break that well-loved possession in two, and recapture Decidueye in this modern device. It's a distant echo of its predecessor, wooden grooves and clunky iron replaced by smooth metal and near imperceptible seams. The weight of it is all wrong.

But despite that, it's still his partner, and that's what matters.

(The two broken halves sit in his satchel, too, carried on his person at all times. It's yet another thing he can't bring himself to let go of.)

He sighs, tracing formless shapes in the dirt. His hand finds one of the sparse clumps of grass that grow here, directly under this wide and mighty tree. Deprived of proper sun, it’s a miracle that there’s any at all.

It seems more and more likely that he’ll end up looking for Volo on his own. To get answers: not only about the stones, and the tournament, and Volo’s intentions with Arceus, but also for his own ends.

Maybe there’s still something there. A single glimpse of life in this scorched earth between them.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

Where he sits, what little grass there is has grown long and ragged, as their leaves stretch and reach for the sun. He sets Decidueye’s ball down and plucks two long blades. With a few simple loops and twists, they’re deftly woven together into a knot. He considers it, looping it around his fingers; tightens it, pulling on both ends, until he can feel the entire construct threaten to snap from the force. He stops.

The thing is, no matter if it was never meant to be real, deliberately sowed, intended ultimately for harvest — it’s all the same, to Rei. He wants to keep it alive. He’s hopeful. Naive. Selfish.

For a single, impossible moment, he wonders whether this is what Arceus meant by bonds all along.

The knot goes in his satchel, where it will turn dry and brittle with time. But kept safe, unbroken, regardless. Maybe his future self will laugh at his sentimentality. Maybe, he won't remember why it’s there.

Wouldn't that be for the best?

He tucks Decidueye’s ball away, with care, then hauls himself up, both hands braced against the dusty ground. There’s dirt under his fingernails. From under the tree’s darkened canopy, he squints into the afternoon sunlight.

There’s a lot that needs to be done. He needs to train for this tournament, for one. Learn more about modern battling. Pull together a team. With that, ask Akari, and perhaps Adaman or Irida. Confront Volo, somewhere in all of this.

After that? Only Arceus knows.

One step at a time.

He finds his footing, around gnarled roots. The grass crunches underfoot. And he steps into the light.

(So maybe I was just snared by the grass knots you laid in my path. But if I wove my own, would you fall for it too?)

#finally posted this thing! further rambles and commentary in the tags #trainer rei #rei pokemon #pokemas #pokemon masters #legends arceus #volo #champion lance #pokemon volo #pokemon fanfiction #rei #lance #// tikposting #// tikart #// fanfic #// tikwrites #backstrikeduo #i've been mulling it over a while since rei's canonical pokemas characterisation Intrigues me #not telling people about Volo is sort of an objectively not smart thing to do but it makes sense !!!#rei both wanting to be friends with volo again and also not really trusting others (but especially authority) that much #rei going through his “i can fix him” era (maybe he'll end up being right! who knows! arceus maybe)#they WILL be friends (again?). whether Volo likes it or not.#experimented with metaphors; hope they didn't get too abstract or confusing #also can't believe that bits of my lance and rei convo ended up echoed in the canon cynthia and rei convo #when Rei says that Volo genuinely loves history and myths…#that was in my draft! SMH Pokemas writers have been peeking into my Google Docs XDD #spot the references to PLA! some more obvious than others #gosh can you tell this guy lives in my head rent free XDDD #feel free to ramble to me about your thoughts on them and the way the story is developing in pokemas i'm all ears #behold also my sort of insane multi hour painting that i did for my fic that isn't even 5k words long

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