#I have words about this fanfiction

[choccy-milky]

💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

[ennard-is-near]

>Be me

> Just moved to neighborhood in Hurricane, Utah

>At a welcome party thrown for me

>Party is fun

>party suddenly stops and neighbors say they have to tell me something

>what?

>they give me a heads up about Michael.

>I ask what the deal is

>he’s not dangerous, you’ll know him when you see him. He’s just Michael.

>confused.png

>Few months later

>see a literal decaying body walking down the street.

>it’s just Michael.

[valewritessss]

Can someone give me well written fluffy Percabeth fics I feel like I’ve read the majority of them already and I don’t want to open another tab to add on to the 107 tabs I have.

Edit: THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THOSE WHO GAVE ME RECS PEOPLE NEVER ACTUALLY ANSWER

[ablogcalledrevenge]

Breakfast Surprise

@steddiemicrofic prompt: birthday // WC: 529 // Rated G

For the amazing @steddieas-shegoes! Happy Birthday! This is only my second fic in the fandom but the prompt inspired me and I was bored at work, so here you go! I hope you like it!

He wakes up to the sound of Britney Spears, which all things considered, is not how he wants to wake up on his birthday. But then again, there was a time when Eddie didn’t think he’d reach his 21st birthday, let alone his 33rd. So he can deal with the Princess of Pop.

But that does raise the question; who is playing music this morning? The obvious answer is Steve, because duh, who else? But since it is Eddie’s birthday and since Steve did say he had a surprise, Eddie is inclined to act like a detective and give in to the silliness. He gets up out of bed, his hip twinging a little like it does on colder mornings, and makes his way towards the kitchen. The sound of Britney gets a little louder, as does the sound of talking and laughing. The visual he gets when he finally reaches the doorway of the kitchen makes him wish for a camera.

Steve is pouring pancake batter onto the griddle, glasses on and yellow pajama pants low on his hips. Livy is standing on a stepstool, dropping chocolate chips onto each pancake, her small hands dropping each one with intense concentration. She’s got her Cookie Monster nightgown on, the little ruffles swaying as she dances to the song playing. The morning sun is coming in through the window, bringing out the blonde in their hair, and the rays of light draw Eddie’s eyes towards an empty coffee mug on the table, with Robin’s usual lipstick stain. While he’d love her to be here too, Eddie knows she had to go in early for work.

Steve and Livy still haven’t noticed him, content to sing slightly off key and flip pancakes. He’s about to say something, maybe ask where-

“You’re supposed to be in bed.” A little voice pipes up behind him, causing Eddie to jump.

“Holy shi-sh-shhh! You scared me.” He flounders, looking down at Ellie who looks far too exasperated for her tender age of 4. It’s frankly adorable and the way Eddie’s heart expands at the sight of her scrunched up face honestly makes him worry a little. His heart’s been through a lot, could it handle the stress? Ellie reaches for his hand and pulls him fully into the kitchen.

“Daddy spoiled his surprise. He got out of bed.” She announces to the room. Livy jumps down from her stool and runs towards Eddie, extending her arms up. He gladly grabs her and spins them around, peppering her face with kisses.

“I couldn’t help it! I smelled breakfast cooking and knew I had to investigate!” He laughs as Steve sets the table with breakfast. Ellie pulls out a chair, standing on the seat to raise herself higher. Steve picks her up to make it even. The girls are very concerned with things being even right now, so both men would rather go along with it than cause a fight.

“Happy Birthday Eddie.” Steve says quietly, leaning over to give him a soft kiss. The girls in turn each kiss Eddie’s cheeks and Eddie can’t think of a better breakfast, a better morning, a better birthday.

[its-alittleobsessed]

Hobbies include: drawing a scale accurate floor plan of the house Dean winchester will move into in my new fanfic

[steddiehyperfixation]

it means "i love you" (steddie ficlet)

When Eddie was little, his mother used to hold his hand and squeeze it three times. "It means 'I love you'," she told him, demonstrating one squeeze for each word, "and if you want to, you can give four squeezes back to say 'I love you, too'." So little Eddie squeezed back, that time and every time.

It was something that was just theirs, a silent communication, a wordless comfort. Oftentimes it was spontaneous, just gentle, random reminders of affection whenever the feeling arose, but sometimes it was purposeful, meant to be felt deeply as an encouragement or a reassurance.

On Eddie's first day of preschool, he held his mother's hand as she coaxed him through the doors of the classroom. He hadn't wanted to leave her side, but she had smiled at him and squeezed his hand, and it was those three squeezes, sending the warmth and promise of her love through their hands, that had given him the courage to let go and bound fearlessly into the fray of the other children.

On those dark nights when Eddie's father would get a little too drunk, a little too loud, a little too angry, Eddie's hands and his mother's would find each other and squeeze. The gesture was grounding, protective, safe. Eddie could never be afraid as long as he was holding on to her love.

When Eddie's mother got sick, her health gradually deteriorating until she was bedridden and weak and could barely even speak, she still reached for her son's hand and spoke with those three squeezes. I love you. Eddie squeezed back four times. I love you, too. She held onto life as long as she did for him, he knew that, but she couldn't hold on forever. Her hand went cold and still in his and Eddie, only eight years old then, gave three last squeezes as the machines flatlined and the doctors rushed in and a nurse carried him from the room.

That was the last time he ever used that gesture to signal his love.

Over the next twelve years, Eddie found other sources of love and warmth and safety, found it in the bonds he formed with his friends and his uncle and the little lost sheep who wandered into his D&D club. These relationships did not lend to hand-holding, though, and he had since learned how to express his affection for the people he cared about through words and favors and casual, friendly touches instead, and so Eddie never shared the little language of hand squeezes with anyone else.

Until now. Until Steve.

Steve Harrington has become Eddie’s biggest and brightest source of love and warmth and safety. Through the craziness of Vecna and the Upside-Down, through the trauma of almost dying and the long process of recovery, Steve was by his side the entire time, and Eddie has grown to care for him deeply. He doesn’t just love him, he’s pretty sure he’s in love with him, actually.

They’re dating now, finally, after all the months of flirting and pining ultimately led to confessions and kissing, but it’s only been official for a few weeks. Surely it’s still too soon to be dropping the L word already. Not that Eddie would know - he’s never been in love before, never even really been in a proper romantic relationship before. He doesn’t know what the normal timeline is for this sort of thing. Steve is the one with all the relationship experience, he’s the one who’d know, and so Eddie is waiting for him to say it first.

It’s getting increasingly harder to keep it in, though. Sometimes all Eddie’s love just bubbles over, the emotion growing too big for his body and demanding to be expressed. Right now is one of those times. He can’t explain why - it’s not as if Steve is doing anything different or special; they’re just sitting across from each other in a small diner booth, knees bumping together under the table, Steve talking around a mouthful of cheeseburger as he tells a story about something stupid one of the kids did earlier - but Eddie can feel his heart expanding and his chest growing warm, and he feels like he might burst. He laughs at the story and makes a comment to continue the conversation as he catches Steve’s hand, holding it across the table and releasing his bursting affection with three quick squeezes. I love you.

Steve doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know the code or its intended response. He just smiles, squeezes back only once, and gently, idly, rubs his thumb across the back of Eddie’s hand. And that’s enough. Eddie doesn’t need Steve to know what it means, not yet. It's enough, for now, just to hold his hand, just to say it without saying it. 

Eddie starts doing this more often. Whenever his love threatens to overwhelm him, his hand finds Steve’s and squeezes three times. I love you. There’s no pattern to these moments, at least not one Eddie can predict, the feeling arising randomly and without warning at anytime, anywhere: on dates at diners or watching movies on the couch, during mundane tasks like cooking breakfast or cleaning up after hosting friends, in the middle of a kiss or in the bedroom, in the car with a gaggle of teenagers in the backseat or in the middle of Steve’s work. 

Steve still doesn’t know what it means. But Steve is smart, observant. Eddie can tell he’s starting to figure out that it means something, can see him piecing together the way those three squeezes are always accompanied by a softer smile or a deepened kiss or a gentler touch. 

It’s another few weeks until Steve one day returns Eddie’s squeezes with three of his own. ? ? ? The gesture is experimental, unsure, the meaning close but not quite there. Eddie’s breath catches anyways, his smile going soft and his cheeks flushing pink. He squeezes Steve’s hand four times. I love you, too. And Steve knows then; Eddie watches his eyes flash with understanding as it finally clicks in his brain. He doesn’t say anything, though, neither of them do. Steve just pulls Eddie closer and kisses him, soft and slow and deep, and Eddie melts into him.

Now the sun is rising, morning filtering through the window and casting streaks of light across Steve’s bed where the boys lay curled around each other. Steve is still asleep, snoring peacefully in Eddie’s arms, but Eddie is awake, quietly admiring how perfect Steve looks under the soft glow of dawn. The stripes of sunlight illuminate his bare skin with gold, highlighting the adorable little moles on his cheek and neck and shoulder. Eddie kind of wants to bite them. So he does. Because he can. 

Steve yelps when Eddie’s teeth latch onto his shoulder, driving his elbow backwards into Eddie’s stomach to push him off. But Steve is used to occurrences like this by now, so his shove is light and his tone is affectionate as he rolls over to face Eddie and mumbles, “You’re a menace.” 

“Not my fault you look good enough to eat, Stevie.” Eddie grins at him before pouncing again, smothering his boyfriend with more bites and kisses. 

Steve laughs and his attempts to shove Eddie away lack any real effort, until he finally retaliates by finding the secret ticklish spot on Eddie’s side, sending the other boy falling off of him and into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. 

“No fair!” Eddie gasps through his laughter as Steve tackles him with tickles. He admits defeat fairly quickly, breathlessly insisting, “Okay, truce, truce!” 

Steve lets himself be pushed off and settles back onto his side beside Eddie. His chuckles fade into a sweet smile, his eyes bright and shining as he stares at Eddie with an expression of pure adoration. Eddie feels his heart bursting again, the feeling growing bigger and bigger with every second that Steve keeps looking at him like that. He wants nothing more than to reach for Steve’s hand and squeeze three times, but he’s a little afraid to now that he's sure Steve knows what it means.

“Hey, Eds?” Steve speaks after a few moments of silence. 

Eddie shifts onto his side to face him completely. They're barely a breath apart. “Yeah?”

Steve touches Eddie's arm, starting from his shoulder and trailing down. His fingertips are so light as they skim the soft skin of Eddie's forearm and the palm of his hand, Eddie very nearly shivers. Steve slides his fingers between Eddie’s, closes them around his hand. “I love you,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand as he speaks, one squeeze for each word.

Eddie is overflowing, heart filled to the brim with all the love he has for Steve and all the love he feels in return. His smile spreads so wide his face might just split in two. He moves their hands between them, twisting their arms so that he can press a kiss to the back of Steve's hand. “I love you, too,” Eddie says back, with one squeeze for each word.

It's something that's just theirs now, this little language of hand squeezes.

(also on ao3)

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[doodlejoltik]

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?)

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[justaz]

me: i hate cliches. theyre so predictable and overdone. i just want something new-

every fic ever: character A confidently/impulsively kisses character B who freezes under their touch causing character A to panic and begin to pull back just as character B remembers themself and kisses back with a passion

me, born to ascend, forced to act casual by societal norms:

[bekkachaos]

I just think it's fucking wild how novels, like published books, average between 70,000 and 120,000 words and there are fanfic authors out there posting regular 80k+ works for free, for the love of the thing (or in spite of the thing)

[labelma]

Men need to STOP bringing up Thrawn to me on a first date unprompted it’s making me crazy 😭

Most recent guy asked me who the blue guy is to test if I knew who he actually was??? And I had to refrain from being like “you should see my fucking Google docs”

[leavingautumn13]

maxieposting again. it's possible the canon divergence in this emerald fic i'm working on has somewhat escaped my control. i'm sure nothing will come of it.

[i have commissions open now]

[dragonfoods]

I went to look at the post of aaric and violet fan fiction that people are apparently bothering Rebecca enough about that she had to make an instagram story to tell people it isn’t real and reply to comments freaking out about it. Rebecca had to move because bizarre fans were scaring her kids. This is insane.

[secretsofthewilde]

There's something particularly frustrating about how academic fandom studies tend to talk about fandom spaces as being a place for inclusiveness and queer representation when there's still a very prominent misogyny problem throughout them. Even when these studies address issues of racism within fandom shipping dynamics, they still tend to perpetuate the idea that fandom is the rare place where queer ships tend to be more popular than straight ones, without really addressing the fact that this tends to only true when it comes to cis, white, m/m ships. If you want some kind of numerical evidence of this, you just need to look at the statistics on ao3 to see that f/f ships are the least popular kind of pairing on that site. And when you think of the stereotypical big name fandoms, most of them are well known for their m/m ships, with the f/f ships often being dismissed or treated as a joke.

I'm not of the opinion, nor trying to make an argument in support of the idea, that this is due to the stereotype of fangirls fetishising queer men. Instead, I think it's largely due to misogyny* - shocker, I know. I really do think that the stereotypical fangirl gravitates towards slash pairings due to both internalised misogyny and the general prominence of male oriented media over female oriented media (which will therefore have more male characters that are fleshed out with more engaging writing as opposed to their female supporting cast).

However, it's one thing for the abundance of male driven stories to generate more fan works exploring said characters, and another entirely for those same fans to then ignore when we do have media that gives us well written and enjoyable female characters. I think it's in part due to our internalised misogyny that fangirls have a tendency to gravitate towards their familiar male orientated shows and then fixate on the same familiar character types, rather than exploring and celebrating the breadth of female-centric media we have finally been getting produced in recent years. And this inability to allow ourselves to enjoy female characters the same way we do with male ones is what leads to an abundance of slash pairings being celebrated in fandom spaces, while femslash ones struggle to get recognition**. The fact that there's a common joke in fandom spaces about popular pairings developing between two characters who never interacted (or for only a brief scene) is all very well and good fun, but this is almost always referring to a m/m pairing.

As fans we should really reflect on why we might celebrate a male character for doing morally grey things, but then hate a female character for exhibiting those exact same traits. It's fine to genuinely not enjoy the writing of a female character (especially when sexist writing is often to blame), but we should consider how much more willing we seem to be to forgive poor writing when it comes to male characters than we are with female characters. If we can make a million headcanons and claim to love a poorly written male character, who is now viewed as something so far removed from the canon of the media he appears in its practically a different character entirely, why do so many of us seem unwilling to do the same for female characters?

We should be doing the same with our female characters - we should be putting more female characters into our favourite dynamics and tropes. I want to see more enemies to lovers headcanons with femslash pairings; I want nbc hannibal levels of art and meta posts about toxic femslash couples; I want johnlock levels of delusion posts about a femslash couple the story writers are claiming they didn't write the subtext for. I would just really love to log into tumblr and see a femslash pairings tag is trending more than once in a blue moon.

*note: obviously misogny is not the only contributing factor, and this initial argument I'm raising doesn't address the issues surrounding racial, gender-queer identities, and other inequalities within fandom. Please do not think I'm ignoring or downplaying them.

**Theres also an argument to be made here about fangirls projecting themselves onto male characters in order to explore queer relationships, without having to challenge their own internalised misogyny/homophobia, but I'll come back to that later (and this in general) and expand on it some other time I think.

[roomwithanopenfire]

Six Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday Everyone!! Thanks to @monbons for tagging me, so excited for the next chapter of your fic!

I've been having a really good week, I finished up all my finals and all my papers, and I moved all my stuff out of my dorm room—meaning I'm back home now and ready for summer! I have two weeks before my main summer job starts, so that means a lot of time for writing! And I've already gotten a start by having a super productive week writing-wise this week as well (finally got some solid work in on my COBB fic, turns out getting some vampire name inspo from @fiend-for-culture and seeing the first peek of the artwork really brought back all my excitement for this wip!!!)

I'm posting the newest chapter of Proof of Life tomorrow, which is one that I'm super excited to share. Unfortunately, this is the last chapter in my backlog, so I'll have take a small posting break after this, but that just means that if you haven't had a chance to start reading yet, you have time to catch up 🙃

But even more exciting news! I realized that I missed the 2 year anniversary of the first fanfic I wrote for this fandom! After reading all three Carry On books, I absolutely devoured fanfiction for probably around 6 months before ever writing my own. And the only reason I wrote anything was because I had a scene absolutely stuck in my head, and no one else had written it yet. So honor of being a month late to it's birthday, here are 6ish sentences from the first fanfic I wrote: Tense Silence (under the cut because this is already getting long):

“You’re a vampire.” says Simon. His voice came from above me. “You really are.”

I look up to see Simon standing, staring down at me. He has the Sword of Mages in one hand and the silver cross dangling in the other. It is very close to my face. I turn my head away. He moves the cross closer. I close my eyes as I smell the metal hanging merely centimetres away from me. 

“You tried to bite me.” He says. “You really tried to drink my blood.”

As you can see, I started out the fandom almost exactly where I ended up—writing angsty vampire Baz fics. While there's some things that I would do differently now and a few noticeable mistakes (Simon's cross is gold not silver, Past Lily, get it right!), I'm still really proud of this fic. I remember spending weeks working on it and being very nervous to post this 6k fic, so it's definitely kind of crazy to look back it and see how much I've grown as a writer, and how many friends I've made in fandom since then.

Tags & Hellos!

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee @artsyunderstudy

@onepintobean @prettygoododds @noblecorgi @hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16

@thewholelemon @shrekgogurt @brendughh @a-maisie-ng @hertragedyconnoisseur

@beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs

@fiend-for-culture @rimeswithpurple @cutestkilla @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife

@arthurkko @rbkzz