antihibikase.txt -> talk tag, same as the main blog. “Announcements” and guides such as this post will be under this tag.
bw/bw2 rewrite -> anything that falls under my rewrite!
i see the truth. -> anything that falls under the Kuroshipping drabble series! This includes anything that would otherwise have been in other tags, such as Chapter 50 taking place in the rewrite.
bw3 -> anything that falls under the non-canonical BW3 timeskip!
others -> tag that I’ll be using for standalone fics and ones that predominantly take place in the verses of other people!
Arcs and AUs:
This is mainly for the rewrite, and as such, they won’t be tagged as fics or drabbles. Though, there will be other fics with their own “arc” tags, despite being considered spinoffs/AUs! Here are some examples;
bw arc -> the fics centered around the bw portion of the rewrite; Hilbert’s journey through the Major Arcana, Upright.
relic castle arc -> the drabbles centered around the rewrite’s arc after BW2, wherein Relic Castle rises from the sand and brings upon a plague around Unova.
burn heal -> the fics centered around burn heal, an arc of the bw/bw2 rewrite that takes place post-bw2; Cheren is unable to process Hilbert’s return, and realizes just how long two years is.
mutual rotting -> the drabbles centered around Mutual Rotting; Cheren Descante of spqpverse becomes NEO PRO’s CEO. As a gift, he’s given The Vessel- a version of Cheren Slater who lost half his heart, and was taken in by Team Plasma afterwards. Heavy content warnings for this AU.
numeron code -> the drabbles centered around Numeron Code, a Yu-Gi-OH AU featuring Cheren Piper of Pokemashe.
Others:
fic -> some of the more organized fics that’s under the main Pokemon tags in my main blog, like Struggle Bug, the untitled rewrite fics, etc.
drabble -> though drabbles traditionally mean fics that are exactly 100-words in length, this is the tag I’ll be using for the ficlets that are under my main blog’s talk tag, as well as ficlets that are written directly from my stream of conscience. All of “i see the truth” is under this category by default, and will not be tagged as such.
trade -> anything that I’ve written for someone else as part of an art trade!
request -> anything that I’ve written for someone who requested it!
Ship tags will be utilized, such as kuroshipping, shiroshipping, etc. Though these tags will only be utilized for fics/drabbles outside of “i see the truth.” which is Kuroshipping by default.
There are tags for certain duos that appear in collaborated AUs made with mutuals. Currently, there is mutualism ( Descante & Slater ), dualism ( Piper & Slater ), and parasitism ( Achroma & Nikolai).
Anything with content and/or trigger warnings will be tagged as [content /trigger] cw/tw. Feel free to ask to tag certain triggers that I may have missed.
I won’t be using the main tags and character tags as I have in my main for fics; I’m worried it might get a little spammy and it’s so far out of canon anyways.
🤍 "Some.. people say that you look older than your age, Giima."
🖤 "Hm, yeah. I guess so. Does that bother you, Cheri?"
🤍 "No, of course not.."
🖤 "Really? When your older brother looks like he can pass as your old man?"
🤍 "..they do say stress makes you look older."
🖤 "Yeah, that's true. You'd think I was a little older than the rest of the league, huh? ..that's what happens when you take on a lot of responsibilities."
🤍 "..do you regret it?"
🖤 "No, of course not."
🤍 "..do you think I'll ever grow to look like you?"
🖤 "Hah. Hopefully not."
Many of Grimsley's rivals in the past- fellow ace trainers, could not help but find themselves glued to the screen above them.
In their youth, he had been a troublemaker that none of them, save for Shauntal and Marshal, particularly liked- Alder had chosen him above the rest, and he repaid him with dishonor and shame, plus a complete lack of discipline.
It had left a bitter taste in their mouths when he rose through the ranks regardless, seated as one of Unova's youngest Elite Four members.
But a decade later, they find themselves gritting their teeth once more, nails digging into their fists- and trying to wipe away frustrated tears as Grimsley announces his retirement.
His battle alongside Gym Leader Cheren, against two of Hoenn's Battle Frontier heads, had been his last exhibition match as a member of the Elite Four; he was handing the torch to another ace trainer, a friend of Unova's current champion, the Hero of Static.
As both his old rivals and the audience begs for him to reconsider, Grimsley takes a good long look at each and every single one of them-
And grins, uncaring as always.
There was only one thing that mattered to him now; the same reason he was always tardy in his training days.
In an almost surprising show of strength, Grimsley picks up his battle partner into his arms-
And the scene reminds them of a winter day a decade ago, when Grimsley had delayed their training session with the excuse of picking up his brother from daycare.
"Wh-?! Giima, what are you doing?!"
"We'll be here all day if we entertain any more of their questions,"
Shedding the facade of Elite Four Grimsley, the frivolous gambler of Unova's League, he smiles.
"Let's get out of here- we're going to catch up with the old man too, remember?"
“You’ll be needing these ingredients; first, a day old fish-”
He can feel the texture of a net in his palms, his hair clinging to his skin, the taste of salt in his mouth.
His eyes sting when the ocean waves collide with his and Noland’s boat- and he recalls yelling at his father that he wants to go home, all while Noland berates him for giving up too easily.
“Some eggs,”
He hated fish, and he hated birds- both his father’s domesticated roosters he used for his cockfighting and the hens he acquired for their produce.
They’d scratch at his arms and peck at his face when he bent over to handle them- and Noland would scold him for handling his prized birds too roughly.
“And some Tamato berries.”
The heat had been getting to him- but it was nothing compared to the feeling of bugs crawling up his leg, nipping at his skin like they did with their crops.
When he realized that he had kicked the Wurmple a bit too roughly than intended, it was also when Noland angrily pointed out he had accidentally stomped on the plants in the process.
“You got it, bunso?”
“Kuya, are you alright?”
Little Cheri- no, Cheren, his baby sibling, much, much bigger than how he used to remember them, was more observant than he let on; or perhaps it was those big eyes of his, always so curious and bright.
His calloused palms, scarred wrists, and aching heart- it was bleeding out of him, no matter how many times Grimsley insisted it didn’t bother him.
Lying was second nature to him though- it didn’t matter if he was bad at it.
He flashes him a charming smile- the same smile that the Unovan press couldn’t get enough of.
“I’m fine. Kuya’s strong.”
...
Gavino had refused to join for dinner again, opting to take baby Cielo out with him on a nightly stroll around Verdanturf; he reminded his father not to eat all of what he made, glaring at him as he left.
Noland sits at the table, with three empty chairs accompanying him; whether it was for his father and two brothers, or his late wife and distant children, he didn’t know.
The sarciado Gavino had cooked- it was better than what Noland had done in his age, when Kabu had asked him to do the same, gathering ingredients and all.
A mouthful of seawater, arms scarred with talon marks and burns, and a broken heart.
It was what made a man strong, Kabu had said. He would be thankful one day, he added.
Noland said the same to Gavino.
Only time would tell if he would treat Cielo the same.
He has long accepted that his life was not his own- no matter how hard he tried to fight fate.
The Gods above, who he had feared and worshipped all his life, the same Gods he cursed and questioned for his circumstances- no matter what, they were as fickle as mortals were, doing whatever they wished with no clear reason.
There was nothing to gain from trying to bargain with them- to beg for the other half of his heart back.
To beg for him to come back.
"You've always told me this- you've always told Hilbert this,"
Bianca's hands, cold and sweaty, clasped onto his own, her grip reminiscent of her father's.
The apple does not fall far from the tree. She was just as fussy and as protective as he was.
"Please, dragons- don't be reckless, okay?"
And as always, as the revered Heart, the boundary of truth and ideals,
He lies.
"I won't."
...
Her words were but a distant memory- as was Hilbert's promise that day, that they would never be apart for as long as they both shall live.
"But he didn't lie, did he? After all,"
His arms spread wide open, standing his ground.
"The Hero of Truth left his kingdom once The Heart died."
He could see his own breath as his body trembled in the cold- and at the mere presence of the dragon before him, a being of absence.
A dragon of ice and water.
The faint sound of a stringed instrument plays from outside the chasm walls. Heeled shoes click against the rock and ice, barely resembling a melody.
He'd grit his teeth and curse the Gods once more.
But there was nothing to gain from asking them why- why they would be content in allowing such a tragedy to happen again.
Instead of a prayer,
He sings a song.
...
He had once thought that if his heart was whole once more, it would bring him back home.
But perhaps that was the fleeting thought of a burdened heart, sunk into the depths of the sea.
Pure of heart, free of sin, his wish- not the heart's, but his own, brings a tear to a God worshipped only by a vessel.
He wants to believe in such a thing.
If that was the case,
He could die with no regrets.
...
Arceus recalls punishing a sinner from centuries ago, one whose selfish wish led to the ruin of their home- and the death of all those she knew.
But perhaps, in an act of mercy, touched by a mother's love,
He spares only one.
In a battlefield of frost and static, the spell of the scholar is rendered useless, the blade of the warrior shattered into pieces.
Instead of a prayer to spare his life, a reborn heart sings a song that moves the great God- and is reminded of the sinful witch and her child.
...
"Divine dragon, void of truth and ideals, I offer you my heart- so that you may grant him mercy."
Rouge leads the way, while Big Guy slithers around the walls, providing light wherever it goes.
“If this place gives you the creeps, you don’t have to come with me.”
Cheren rolls his eyes.
A year ago, yes, he would have been rattled to his core, fearing for his life and his heart if he were to find himself stepping foot into the castle that decided his fate.
But, a year later, after several encounters with ghosts- both metaphorical and literal,
“The only thing that scares me is the thought of this castle collapsing on us. Honestly, he was such a brute.”
Whether he was referring to Ghetsis or Hilbert, their respective dragons, Nate didn’t know.
Regardless, he shrugged.
“The league said something about having to eventually deal with the remains of this castle, didn’t they? Might as well rip the bandaid off now instead of letting it linger for too long.”
“Wha-?! Getting rid of this cool castle?! But, big bro, it could be a great site for tourists!”
Cheren glares at him.
“O-Or an amusement park?”
“Nathaniel.”
“Um, atrocities aside, of course-”
“Oh, Nate,”
He pulls on one of his sleeves, exposing his hand- one of the marks left by the legendary dragons rests on his palm, almost like stigmata.
He places his palm on the cold surface.
“Bianca told me something she learned about buildings- no matter what era they were made, or the materials used to build them,”
He could almost feel a pulse coming from behind the walls.
“They have eyes and ears- what happens here stays here. Plasma may be gone, but this had been their home- and for many,”
He bites his lip.
“This shall be their final resting place.”
He says it solemnly, paying his respects to those who have dedicated their lives to the construction of the castle, people and Pokemon alike- those that may have perished before its completion, those that perished as a result of accidents that no doubt happened during its construction.
But to Nate, Unovan league champion and hero of ideals,
Who was probably taught Hoennian tales and superstition
His face turns pale, the hairs on his skin standing up.
“Big bro! That’s scary! Ugh, you talk like mom sometimes!”
Cheren removes his palm from the wall, scoffing.
“Please. You act like you’ve never met a ghost before.”
He does not remember the life he has led before- nor does he think it is a life worth remembering.
In the darkness, all he could see were angry glares, faces contorted into ones of disgust or fear. The words that leave their lips are just as degrading, labeling him a creature of the night- surely, not one of the creations of "Old Sinnoh".
With his dying breath, he howls to the moon-a curse of his own, to the god above.
Arceus,
Creatures such as he, leading such cursed existences- what purpose did they serve, other than to be hated?
Why have you forsaken me?
He snarls; a shadowy figure manifests across him, face obscured by their parasol- the only thing he sees is the pendant she wears, shaped like a tear.
A dying dream, he thinks.
Even as their laughter rings in his ears, clear as a bell.
"Oh my, a Zoroark?"
…
He bites and claws the hand that feeds; but the hand does not strike back, merely curling into a fist, claws digging into their skin- and relaxing, offering an open palm to the beast.
"You and I are more alike than you think, dearest Zoroark,"
The smiling woman must be insane, he thinks.
But, seeing how her shadow stretches into something incoherent, a void that threatens to swallow him whole- he supposes she might be right; even if he himself was a mere Pokemon, and she herself was-
"Not one of His creations."
"How ironic, coming from you- you were persecuted for the same thing, were you not?"
He flinches.
"Oh, you silly little thing. Such abilities are not beyond the power of Giratina- of course I know what you are thinking about."
Her black dress drags on the blood stained grass, withering as the fabric brushes against the blades. Each step she takes, a trail of death follows; he could smell it.
"Poor creature. You have done so much good for the world- to be exiled from your pack because you chose to live with humans; and to be killed by the same humans you protected,"
She speaks of his pain as if it were her own- as if she understood.
"And to die cursing Arceus- I was the same."
Illuminated by the moon, her bronze eyes shine into a deep red.
"That is why I am here."
He has heard of tales of witches before- cursed humans who dabbled with life and death, often disguising themselves as healers among the land.
In particular, the rumors concern those of the Celestica bloodline; supposed fanatics of Arceus, who lived amongst themselves, secluded from the rest of human society.
In a way, they really were similar, weren't they?
"So, you know about the Celestica? Then surely, you must know,"
His ghastly white fur, written in books as a sign of bad omen- and her blonde hair, whispered among townsfolk as a curse.
"The suffering of my people- my ancestors and our descendants, just like you Zoroark."
She crouches to his level, lowering her parasol.
She holds the pendant up to him.
"I have given you a second chance at life, just as Giratina had with me- and just as Giratina is serving Arceus through me, you shall do the same."
That pleasant smile is nothing short of sinister, scarier than any other Zoroark's.
"Come with me- unless you want to be hunted again."
And really- he would have been a fool to refuse.
As his paw reaches out to shake her gloved hand, curled around the pendant, he finds himself asking,
"Who are you?"
Her red eye flickers back to brown.
"Please call me Lady Cogita."
…
The Zoroark of Kalos were different creatures- still feared and fabled, but their furs were dyed a deep black; and he noticed very quickly that they were not as prideful as Hisuian Zoroark.
Though he morphed into a smaller creature to avoid suspicion, trotting alongside Lady Cogita, the Zoroark that roamed the forest avoided them at all costs- as if they could see the dark auras granted to them by Giratina.
"We're here."
Parting through the leaves, he is welcomed into a village bathed in sunlight, hidden deep in a forest south of Snowbelle.
A Gallde that guards the entrance glares down at his smaller form, seeing through his disguise.
But, Lady Cogita places a soothing hand on its shoulder.
"As far as anyone is concerned, darling,"
She gestures to her smaller companion.
"This is an Eevee. No?"
His tail flicks, silver fur shimmering.
A convincing disguise to most- but an unsettling presence to very few.
He supposed that psychic types, as well as fellow Zoroark, could see through it with ease.
She could not understand what the Gallade says- but the Zoroark does, and bites back his tongue when the sentry of the village mutters something under its breath.
"He takes his duty very seriously." She simply says.
He rolls his eyes at that- and follows her as she leads him to the village, greeted by many others, donned in robes of white.
They look up at her with proud smiles, welcoming her return warmly and offering to throw a feast to celebrate her arrival. A loving display of community, something he had seen quite often in his home region- especially towards explorers who braved through Hisui's wilderness and returned home to their families.
They seemed to be unaware of her shadow, or her alliance with Giratina; but the red flowers do not seem to die in her wake as they did with those of Hisui.
"The flowers of eternity are blooming beautifully- that is enough celebration for me," She tells the village elder. "I am happy; surely, this was a blessing brought to us by Arceus."
The mention of Arceus makes him wince, something that does not escape Lady Cogita's gaze.
He scoffs- and she lightly nudges him with her foot to scold him.
"Truly. You were correct, miss Cogita- his birth was a gift from Arceus Himself."
"Of course- he is an angel sent to us, a little dove."
A little bird; funny, he himself used to hunt for those.
When he pokes his nose up at her, she simply smiles at him, and leads him deep into the village.
He takes it that she's some sort of authority around these parts; wild Pokemon feared her for her aura, while humans respected her for her knowledge, possibly unaware of her deal with the devil- or the beast that accompanied her.
He does not understand why she chose to bring him to life, other than for her own amusement.
But, as she leads him into a house bathed in sunlight, surrounded by Pokemon- he sees why.
"Acro, darling,"
A small child lifts their head from the book they were buried in, red petals on their blonde hair.
"I'm home- I have a surprise for you."
...
"There once was a time where humans feared Zoroark,"
N says, tone laced in sadness.
"Even until now, such a reputation follows them. They are frightening creatures, yes- but I do not think they deserve to be shunned."
Two of the shadows stay still- one assigned to the false king, the other assigned to the pair of goddesses.
The other shadow, with his golden eyes and red tips, white hair messier than the other two's- was assigned to the heirloom.
"What do you think, Doctor Colress?"
The doctor.
"I wonder if it is us who chose to shun them- or it was those creatures who chose to live separately from humans. Surely, they could make their own choices-"
He speaks just like his mother had, wise and direct,
"-and perhaps, they were correct in doing so. Humans are much more unpredictable; those who desire to kill hide their claws. If anything, it is Zoroark who fear them- and humans merely used that against them."
But scared.
Lady Cogita was never scared.
N takes his answer into account, smiles,
"You understand Pokemon very well, Doctor,"
And reaches out to pat his shoulder, in a show of comraderie.
From the corner of his eye, he sees the doctor flinch- but he balls his fists to his side, golden eyes flickering uncomfortably between his shadow and his doll, who remained in the corner of the room.
"You're a valuable asset to Team Plasma; it makes me relieved that you're part of our operations. Not all humans can unconditionally understand Pokemon like we can."
He means it with no malice- his aura says so.
But the doctor does not take his words as they are.
Those who desire to kill hide their claws, as he said- something he applied to all he would come into contact with, wary like a Zoroark.
The doctor pats N's hand with his own- and slides it off of him.
"Do not compare me to the likes of you," was what he wanted to spit out.
But, he says something else.
"If you excuse me, my king, I have work to attend to."
He glances at his shadow once more.
"Tres. Carry my materials to the laboratory."
Their eyes meet- and the pendant under his clothes beats like the heart he once had.
"To follow my dove to the edges of the world, in darkness and in light-"
The original draft for Cheren Piper's part in Cheren Slater's birthday drabble.
Today was his friend's special day- that had been the reason his brother had taken him to the famed gallery, brand new lace handkerchief in hand.
Surely, Slater got more than what he bargained for when he stepped foot into the abyss- a new adventure, a new friend, a new life.
It was the perfect gift anyone could ask for- Piper knew it in his heart, even if Slater left those words unsaid.
He had spent his birthday playing games that the gallery had set out for him, traversing through the colored rooms, making friends with the paintings and sculptures, tasting the food they offered, accepting their gifts-
And by the end of it all, he was tired, limp in Piper's arms- he supposed that his sniveling over that teacher being driven to madness was too much for his frail body to handle.
It would do him no good to stay in the doll room with Antoniou, and he hadn't prepared a bed for him in his Sketchbook- instead, he takes him to a secret part of his father's gallery, bathed in an inky black.
Tucking him into the diamond-shaped bed, Piper pulls the sheets over his new friend, brushing his hair out of his face- and taking the wilting rose from his hands, crossed over his chest.
He looked like he belonged here already, the perfect piece of the Final Stage.
"I won't leave you- I promised you that," Piper whispers. "So become like me, okay? Become one of my father's creations-"
An imitation of a tear rolls down his cheek, as his fingers wrap around the rose petals, ripping them off one by one. "-and stay with me."
The original draft for Grimsley Slater's part in Cheren Slater's birthday drabble.
For a gambler, Grimsley doesn't take much risks with his brother- it's easily explained when asked. Naturally, the dark type specialist is willing to bet it all on his career and the image he puts out for the world to see.
But he's never willing to risk something as delicate as his brother- or, to be more precise, his bond with his brother.
"I'm not delicate, Giima." He's told with a roll of the eyes, letter clutched into his hands- bigger than the ones he used to hold. "I mean, in a physical sense, maybe, but-"
He truly did grow up to be someone Grimsley barely recognized.
And he couldn't be more thankful, to see him having grown into someone that fate or destiny couldn't touch, a force that deviated from luck and the stars- even if it meant straying far from the image of his mother, the one he wanted to see the most.
"I know what you mean, kid,"
There's a habit of hesitation around Cheren that he has trouble shaking off- his hand hovers in the air with uncertainty, before he throws caution to the wind and rests it on his younger brother's fluffy head of hair.
"Giima," It's a whine, but he makes no effort to slap him away. "I just brushed my hair!"
Grimsley was wrong- Little Cheri didn't disappear when he had left them in the care of their neighbors over a decade ago, they were still here, even with the change of name and attitude.
For once, Grimsley was truly thankful to have taken Shauntal's advice, to put words into paper when he himself choked up on them- and he hopes that they would remain in his soul forever, even once he was gone.
It speaks to him in a language so old, he was sure N would not be able to understand it.
No, he was positive that N would not be able to, no matter how hard he tried.
N had not been able to understand the droning noises of his Beheeyem after all, pondering to himself the origins of such a mysterious entity.
Deep in the Relic Castle, N must have seen the truth- just as much as Nikolai was confronted with the reality before him, psychic energy swirling from his feet.
“It’s you again, isn’t it?”
In place of a mask, the face he had worn when he was alive, the ghost of The False Prophet carries a choker with an amulet shaped like a tear- Nikolai remembered receiving such a gift from his mother when he was young.
Perhaps it was the tears of not only his mother, but his village.
“You traitor,”
Their grief and sorrow- The False Prophet had promised him long ago that he would take them away, offering a hand to Nikolai to start a new life, almost back to a state of innocence.
Nikolai had been foolish enough to fall into sin, despite his village’s warnings.
For that, he had paid the ultimate price.
“You left me to die.”
He covers the side of his head with his hands.
The energy swirling around him swallows everything whole, the cries of those in the present mingling with the screams of those in the past.
“Do not try to sway me again. I know who you are, I know what you want, you-”
He clutches onto his chest. A pathetic sob rips out of his throat.
“You had promised to take care of me. You had promised me a better life. I gave you everything I had,”
He hears his name (not his name, never his name) being called.
He digs his fingernails into his skin, but the sound of his body cracking does nothing to drown out the voices.
“You were just like them. You were just like them, how did I think-”
Why did I think-
“-that any of you would have understood?”
That the world outside of the forest would be anything but cruel?
His name is called again- the name he went by, the name all his sins were tied to.
The name he had picked specifically because-
“Mother, I-”
He would have forgotten otherwise; about his village, about her.
“I want to go home.”
The False Prophet has an imposing presence, a Yamask much larger than others.
Even as Nikolai tries to stand his ground, he couldn’t help but crumble to his knees, hiding himself from the rest of the world- just as it was meant to be.
“Nikolai!”
“Acro, my little dove, promise me something.”
Something- someone, cuts through the vortex of psychic energy.
“Whatever happens-”
He’s pulled into a tight embrace, his head nestled under someone’s chin.
“Houndoom, don’t let him get away!”
“-do not leave the forest, okay?”
“Pursuit!”
He buries his face on Grimsley’s shoulder, eyes shut tight as the screams of the False Prophet ring in his ears.
Distorting, warping- it was almost familiar, something out of hell itself.
And, in an instant-
“It’s gone.”
An amulet clatters to the floor, the last of Cogita’s tears.
Hi! I’m not so sure if you do requests in terms of writing but, can you write about Cilan x Cheren? Maybe it can be about that Cheren asks Cilan out on a date? :)
If you don’t do requests then that is perfectly okay! Have a good rest of your day/night! :D
Hello! I take short requests in terms of my verse; that being said, Blight/Blur has temporary Cilan/Cheren (along with Cress/Cheren and Chili/Cheren), so I'll be willing to write this for you.
Cilan is actually the one who asks Cheren out- as well as mostly everyone else who became Cheren's partner; mainly because Blight/Blur verse Cheren has .. some things going on (missing someone so badly it's killing him) and as a result, he's unable to .. completely commit to a relationship, especially if he feels like they like an idealized version of him. He gets better eventually. <3
Post-BW, pre-BW2; takes place before Cheren becomes a gym leader. Dynamic name for Cilan/Cheren (BlightBlur) is pending, so I'll add that eventually.
As he slipped the ribbon under his collar, delicately tying it into a bow, Cheren found himself choking- and it wasn't from how tight the ribbon was, nor was it from how high the buttons of his polo were.
He hears Cilan inside the condo; Grimsley had dropped by, and had offered to stay the rest of the day with his brother- completely oblivious to the fact Cheren had found himself a date.
No doubt Grimsley was grilling onto Cilan now about his intentions- if not for Cress and Chili, who were also in the condo, grilling onto Grimsley for only being present now.
"What do you like about him?" Was what his big brother asked his date.
"I like him for who he is," Cilan reassures. "That's the truth."
And Cheren was certain he was being honest.
But the thing is,
Cheren didn't know who he was; or if it was him at all.
He's not sure who was the Cheren that Cilan fell for, or who was the Cheren that he asked out on a date.
Surely, it wasn't the Cheren that was shaking in his bedroom, meticulously fixing his destiny knot- one that tied him to his grave.
But, Cilan was here, Cilan was here with his brothers and with Grimsley, Grimsley who also came here to look out for Cheren- a Cheren that had died over half a year ago, a Cheren he yearned to come back home to; but couldn't.
He might as well be polite.
Slipping on a soft cardigan, adjusting the sleeves so it hid his hands, Cheren opens the door and forces a smile on his face, choking on his guilt as Cilan offers him a hand- and all he could do is place the paw of his sleeve atop it, the fabric in between their skin.
Hello! As you may have noticed, the blog is currently undergoing a bit of cleanup; while I will keep many non-BlightBlur fics and drabbles here, I am currently in the middle of privating and deleting certain ones.
Without giving too much away; there are certain fics and drabbles here I no longer want to be associated with, or, at the very least, am no longer comfortable having in my blog.
I'll be posting other fics and drabbles of non-BlightBlur nature, such as shared AUs and crossverse dynamics (Mutualism, Dualism, Parasitism, etc.) in my (new) main, @antihibikase.
Dr. Colress realizes he's been staring at Shauntal a little too long when she makes her way towards him from across the room, playfully tilts her head, and puts her hands behind her back, a cat-like smile on her face.
"Hm? Have I done anything to displease you, doctor?"
Of course not; he himself could acknowledge that, out of everyone in the league, Shauntal had all of his respect- surely, it was not easy to be both a doctor and an accomplished writer, a public figure, a member of the league, and a priestess of Mt. Pyre back in her home region of Hoenn.
But, he could not help himself from glancing over her shoulder- and, shamefully, Shauntal had noticed.
That smile on her face grew bigger, however.
"Oh, you don't need to worry,"
She would give him a pat on the shoulder- but she knows Dr. Colress is not fond of being touched.
"I'm not interested in him. Like, at all."
If it were anyone else, he'd let out an indignant huff at such assumptions.
But for Shauntal, who had earned his respect- his admiration, even, all that came out of his lips was an uncertain "Are you sure?"
She doesn't laugh at him.
"Yup! I promise you,"
She puts a pinky up- a childish gesture.
"We've been friends since we were kids- but there's nothing going on, I guess? Besides the hauntings, but well," Now she laughs- out of amusement of her own jokes. "He's scared of ghosts."
Dr. Colress glances again over her shoulder, seeing him guide his brother out of the ballroom and into the balcony- the younger of the two seemed to be getting suffocated by the crowd.
He links his pinky with her's- something he briefly remembers doing with his mother a long time ago.
"I trust you."
...
"I loved him, you know?"
"I know."
Still, there's no venom in her tone when she applies the lacquer, nor is there disdain in her expression as she carefully pieces Dr. Colress- Doctor Nikolai Colress, back together.
He remains in Grimsley's arms, unmoving like a doll- unwanted like one too.
"If- If I had known, that he was involved, that he was the reason for Cheren's suffering-"
"It'd make me naive to say it's not his fault- but it would make me reckless to completely agree with you, even if you are my best friend."
For how whimsical she was compared to the rest of her colleagues, Shauntal sounded uncharacteristically serious.
She and Grimsley had many disagreements over the past, over matters both big and small. From what Nikolai knew, Shauntal never took most of them to heart- and Grimsley never tried pushing harder, to see if he had a winning chance.
Grimsley was the same as ever- but Shauntal was different today.
"The wandering doctor- another character forgotten by all, who disappeared from the narrative as soon as the shared heart of the princes was cured from his poison,"
When she speaks, she commands authority- when she places a careful hand on Nikolai's cheek, she reminds him of someone from a simpler time.
"If they themselves were trapped in this cycle, doomed to repeat- who is to say that Dr. Colress here is not the same?"
Even after all that he's done, his sins bare for the world to see, she still found herself addressing him with nothing but respect.
...
"He no longer loves me."
"False,"
The tables have been turned- he, the league doctor, found himself relying on someone else to tend to his needs; he thinks, if not for the stroke of luck that led to Shauntal and Caitlin's friendship, and therefore, their knowledge of his predicament, he would have been long dead in the Plasma Frigate.
They could have chosen to leave him to rot in a cell, but-
"It wasn't only me, but it was Grimsley who made sure you would be kept somewhere- well, comfortable isn't really the best word to describe it, but,"
The lacquer on his arms was a soothing baby blue; a shimmering river.
"You know, despite what many people think- he's a good guy."
Nikolai was not stupid.
He wasn't like others- he knew very well that the image of a hedonist, a frivolous gambler who lived life to the fullest, was nothing but a farce.
"Some say he's being too lenient on you- but, really, what will your suffering bring to him? It certainly would not explain what's going on with Cheren now, nor would it bring his heart back."
"He said he loved me."
"He still does."
"But in the frigate-"
She laughs again.
"Oh, come on, Doctor Colress. You of all people should know that people say things they don't mean when they're under a lot of stress- and he was still level-headed enough to understand you needed immediate help at the time."
He wants to disagree.
But, he clings onto this childish feeling of hope- hope that, despite everything,
"I do not reciprocate his feelings in that manner."
"He knows."
Shauntal finishes tending to his palms- the cracks were more obvious on his fingers.
"That doesn't mean he can't care for you, you know?"
She squeezes his hand.
"And that doesn't mean you can't like it either."
...
He remembers the feeling of sand brushing against his skin, the sound of screams overwhelming his senses as he's approached by the false prophet- the devil that tempted him and forever corrupted him, rendering him impure; unworthy of Arceus', or anyone else's, love.
It was never Beam's fault- he understood that Pokemon merely reacted to the wishes and emotions of their trainers, their bonds a vital piece to the puzzle that was their true potential.
Still, even as Beam summoned pink spheres of energy, directing them at the members of the league he was trapped with in this building,
That foolish gambler still ran towards him.
With a tight embrace, he felt himself calming down, curling into his arms like a scared child.
"Houndoom,"
Grimsley hugs his head close to his chest, roaring out an order.
"Don't let him get away! Pursuit!"
The sound of something shatters, accompanied by a ghostly scream.
His amulet clatters to the floor, immediately picked up by-
"Shauntal!"
"Oh dragons, he's breaking apart."
She's back to work as always- as if she hadn't been tossed around by a Beheeyem, slammed down against a desk, and even thrown against her other co-workers.
She lifts up her cracked glasses, squinting as she assesses the damage done to Nikolai's head.
She could have sworn that she saw a tear slide down his face- but whether she or Grimsley noticed, neither of them said a word.
...
He was near silent as he watched a path to the heavens open, the spirits of Relic Castle finally finding peace.
Fingers pressed against the glass, he wondered if he would ever be granted the same mercy.
Shauntal wasn't used to others seeing the spirits she had grown accustomed to all her life- still, she smacks Grimsley on the back as if to clue him in on the situation, snapping him out of his frozen state.
"They're benevolent spirits, Giima- and they're leaving anyway," She says quickly, voice barely above a whisper. "What are you waiting for? Go to him, he needs you."
He's flustered for a moment, stumbling over his words- but he thanks her, making his way to Nikolai.
...
He thinks that, for the remainder of his time as the Unova League's prisoner, he has made a friend or two.
He knows this because Grimsley's pain becomes his own; a feeling he realizes only two decades later.
He remains by the doorway of the chapel, afraid and unsure; Grimsley sobs over a white coffin, barely held up by his father who stands by his side.
It is difficult to not feel partially, if not wholly, responsible for the early death of Cheren Slater- but he supposes he should thank Arceus for giving the child a fulfilling life, even if he led the remainder of his days without a heart.
"He passed in his sleep peacefully, and he was surrounded by the people who loved him,"
Shauntal appears with the flowers she was asked to gather- the white jasmines in her basket clash with the black dress she was wearing; yet again another reminder.
"I think he was happy."
He would have been happier if he lived longer.
"He was far too young,"
Nikolai lowers his head.
"If I could have given him my lifespan, I would."
He would have done anything to retribute for his sins.
"Ah, but you'd just be pawning off your curse to him, no? If you don't like immortal life, I don't think Cheren would have either. It's going to crush him if he has to watch Nate grow old and die before he does."
"Just like it is with Giima now."
She bites her lip for a moment- but as always, she never looks at Nikolai with anything other than maybe pity.
A sense of understanding.
"It was something we've discussed even a couple of years back- Cheren knew, his chances at a normal life after the thing with Kyurem was,"
She thinks of a word.
"Slim."
And yet,
He was able to reclaim his rightful place as the gym leader of Aspertia.
He was able to teach new generations of trainers year after year.
He was able to nurture the career of Unova's reigning champion- the Hero of Ideals.
He was able to rekindle his relationship with his father and brother- and even with the Hero of Truth.
The thought of "What have I done for myself and for others, in the past hundred years?" passes in his head.
"He's happy, I know this. There's a reason he chose to resign from his position just a year ago."
She glances at Nikolai.
"I don't think he blames you."
I know for a fact, but she chooses not to say.
Not when the spirit of Cheren Slater sits atop his own coffin, a ghostly hand running through the hair of his brother.
...
He's long believed he was undeserving of love the moment he stepped out of his village.
He's become rotten and dirty, impure and sinful. Something Arceus would never accept in His kingdom.
But, as everyone parts ways in the funeral, Grimsley gingerly takes Nikolai's hand and leads him to his home.
In this timeline, they could never have that normal, simple life they desperately wanted for themselves- not when both of them found themselves in situations where they couldn't be anything but themselves.
At the very least, however, Nikolai is quietly thankful to not be abandoned once more- and Grimsley, still in grief, is thankful to still have someone to live for.
...
Other members of the league pass as the years do; it was no surprise when Grimsley eventually does as well.
Yet, as Nikolai weeps in the chapel, kimono wrapped around his shaking form, Shauntal crouches next to him- wearing almost the same dress she had worn many years ago to Cheren's funeral.
"Have you eaten yet?"
He shakes his head frantically, wiping his tears with the sleeves of the kimono. He's tempted to lash out at her like a child would, cheeks flushed red and tears streaming down his face.
"You should, you know,"
She's never lost that bright personality of her's- but as years passed, she's started to sound more and more like his mother.
"Giima would get worried if you weren't taking care of yourself."
Grimsley- Giima, who he once thought foolish, yet endearing.
Giima, who could have left him to rot and spent the rest of his days living happily alongside his family.
Giima, who still loved him, despite everything.
And Nikolai, who felt the same- even if he didn't deserve it.
...
Shautal is not an exception to her own mortality, despite her wisdom and connection to spirits.
She was the last of the league- the one he had grown accustomed to anyway, to pass; and the past few years had been entertaining for her, playing up rumors of her supposed immortality when all her co-workers had come and go, and she herself was the last one standing.
Nikolai holds tightly onto the Odd Keystone as he crouches by her urn- she had requested for a cremation, and soon, her ashes would be taken back to her home in Hoenn.
"I will be moving to Route 10- the forest that has grown there would make a perfect home for me."
Even if the league- Grimsley especially, had arranged for Nikolai to live a comfortable existence after their passing, it felt wrong to stay in a place they would no longer visit.
"I am uncertain as to who will treat me now,"
Partially a lie- Nikolai himself was more than capable of tending to his own worn body.
But really, how could he- after all this?
"But I will be alright."
He's not sure if she appreciates wild berries, herbs, or the dandelions he's picked up on the way- he's still very much poor with handling money, and he's absolutely refused to touch any of what was left for him by Grimsley.
But he thinks he knows her well enough to know that she appreciates his little gifts over store-brought flowers.
As he leaves her, and by extension, the rest of the world as he knew it, Beam accompanies him as it always had, hand in hand.
Nikolai wonders if Cheren had waited for Grimsley when his time had come- and he wonders if Grimsley, in turn, waited for Shauntal.
He hopes it wouldn't be presumptuous of him; but, he childishly wishes, that when the time comes and Arceus grants him mercy, they would wait for him all the same.
Head cocked to the side, face pressed on his palm, an arrogant smirk with one leg crossed over the other- the perfect recipe for a photoshoot.
The shutters of the cameras were as dazzling as the city lights of Castelia- but they were far too bright, too blinding for a trainer of the dark like him.
(At least, that was what he was supposed to say in the script Shauntal had written for him.)
Regardless, he plays his part, as do the rest of the league- until he spots a familiar head of hair in the crowd, poorly attempting to catch a glance.
His instincts flare up- and now, he was no longer Elite Four Grimsley, the prodigal gambler and dark type specialist.
As he stands from his carefully curated throne of cards and makes his way to the crowd, parting them with just his presence alone, he morphs into something different.
"Giima!"
Now, he was Gavino- or Giima, the older brother of Cielo- or, as he would like to be called, Cheren.
Giima called him something else though- as most big brothers did with their little siblings.
"Cheri," He checks the crowd- far too big than expected. "Cheri, what are you doing here, this is dangerous-"
"Dangerous? It's a controlled crowd, Giima," Cheren huffs. "And my end of the photoshoot ended early."
"It did?"
"Yes, and it was mostly with Nate anyway- student and teacher, champion and gym leader,"
He crosses his arms, lips turning into a pout.
"..I was hoping we could get lunch together."
"Oh! That's-"
"Grimsley, take two!"
He glances back in annoyance- but when he turns to Cheren, there is nothing but a smile on his face, fond and loving.
"..I'll wrap this up real quick first, kid. Then I'll treat you to something, yeah?"
Cheren beams. "Okay. I would like that."
"I spoil you too much, don't I?"
When he turns away to continue the photoshoot, the mask slips back on almost seamlessly- but as Cheren watches from the back, eyes shining with a hint of admiration, the crown atop his head felt a little less heavy.
He snorts, guiding his little sibling's arms as gently as he could. The Pidove in between their small palms was petrified; he supposed that was for the best.
"You're barely home in the first place- I'd be surprised if they recognize you at all. Not to mention the name you gave them.."
"Hoy."
"What? It's true-"
Flap! Flap!
"Weeeh!"
Little Cheri tosses up the Pidove in the air, tears welling in the corners of their eyes. Noland immediately catches the Pidove before it flies off, holding it firmly between his hands.
"Oh, Cheri!"
The older sibling smiles down worriedly, wiping their tears- and snot, away with a towel.
"A Pidove is not ideal for this, kuya," Noland grumbles. "Let me get one of the Torchic."
"What?! No, you're crazy! They're around little Cheri's size, they'll peck their eyes out!"
"You're being overdramatic! I got pecked when I was little, I turned out fine!"
"Fine?!"
"Waaahhh! Waaaahhhh!"
The Pidove in Noland's hand somehow escapes, flapping around little Cheri- who tries to hide themselves in their older brother's coat, only to be heckled further by the agitated Pidove, which was trying to peck them through the fabric.
"Hoy! I'm going to cook you for dinner, you little-"
"Pa, that Pidove isn't ours to cook! It's uncle Cedric's!"
"Juniper's?! Why would he lend you such an ill-behaved bird?!"
"In his defense-"
He tries to swat away the Pidove, Noland barely managing to keep it in his hands again before it inevitably slips out of his grip.
"I, well, I told him that I was teaching Cheri how to interact with Pokemon-"
"Oh, so you're a liar now too?"
"Well, he won't lend me a Pokemon otherwise! Especially if he finds out we're using it for-"
"Waaaahhhhhhh!"
He cuts himself off, and his father does the same, looking down at little Cheri clinging onto their brother's leg.
The two of them looked at each other in a rare moment of mutual understanding, at the angered Pidove that Noland was still holding, and let out a sigh.
"..I think it's too early for them to get into cockfighting."
"Nonsense," Noland shakes his head. "Your grandfather took me to my first cockfight when I was five, and I took you when you were three."
Lolo Kabu's youngest son also doesn't talk to him because he took them to a cockfight at the same age and scarred him for life.
"Yeah, well,"
He lifts his coat; he can't tell if the sight of little Cheri's big wet eyes and trembling lips made him feel bad for them or for himself.
The Pidove makes an angry noise, like a thinly veiled threat at the toddler- and Noland's grip on the bird tightens, as if he was going through with his promise to cook it into a stew.
"..maybe when they're older. And we can try in Hoenn, with lolo's Torchic or the local Tailow."
"Unbelievable. You're going to spoil them at this rate, Gavino."
"Better than how you raised me,"
He lifts his little brother into his arms, gently patting them on the back and quietly promising to take them to a toy store later.
"Ugh, and for the last time, can you at least call me Grimsley while in public? It's embarrassing."
He cradled him in his arms just as he did the day he was born. A small bundle, wrapped in the softest of fleece- it made no difference now, he thinks, as he brings him close to himself in an effort to warm him, fingers running through the fur of his cardigan.
His eyes were shut tight as they were back then. It was all too similar, the anticipation that came with waiting for them to open. Big bright eyes would have greeted him before, full of wonder and innocence. Now, if they were to open at all, even with the slightest tinge of life- it would be a miracle.
His skin, once pink and cheeks flushed red like apples- now it was deathly pale, almost undistinguishable from the Light Stone clasped into his hands. There was no movement from his chest or a breath of air from his lips; he was completely still, like one of the dolls he was given as a child.
At eleven years old, Grimsley had held his newborn sibling for the first time, snarking at his father for the choice of name- now, at twenty seven, he found himself muttering that name like a prayer, as if he hadn't turned his back to the gods a long time ago.
"Please, please, Cheren- Cheri, Cielo-"
He brings his head close to his chest, lips brushing against his forehead.
Knelt in the entrance of the Giant Chasm, atop a stone pedestal surrounded by ice, it was no different from when Grimsley had carried his sibling by himself in the lonely winter his mother had died, begging for his father to come back.
Except, he knew this time there would be nothing to wait for.
The village was not thrown into a state of panic as she had feared.
They opt to stay in their homes, tending to their crops, playing with their Pokemon- carrying on as usual.
When Lady Cogita begs the elder for his forgiveness, all he could do is kindly smile down at her; and point his cane at the chapel, telling her to seek their lord for guidance.
She doubts her prayers will be heard; but she is nothing but devoted.
...
Lady Cogita grovels to her feet, forehead pressed against the steps of the chapel.
She thanks Arceus that her sisters, older and younger, are not here to witness the miserable middle child wallow in her guilt, admitting to her sins.
Perhaps that was why they were blessed with happiness, while she was denied that same chance.
"Arceus,"
That name felt heavy on her tongue. Giratina's claws sunk deeper into her skin.
"Forgive me for my arrogance."
The royal family was built on blood, yes- but who was she to carry out their judgement?
To curse them and their descendants for all of eternity?
To allow this senseless war to continue?
"To have taken it upon myself to be their judgement, to turn my back on you-"
Giratina may have saved her from breathing her last- but who was to say that was not Arceus' will as well?
"Punish me if you must, but-"
She feels the change in the wind- and the Gardevoir by her side teleports away, to where the rest of the villagers were.
"-please. Spare my little dove."
...
Orange light spills through the stained-glass windows.
It reminded Lady Cogita of the kingdom, of the villagers that feared her, of the soldiers that captured her, of the royal family that had once taken her talents in as a blessing- only to label them as a curse as soon as she was worth nothing.
It reminded Lady Cogita of the fire that surrounded her; ones she narrowly escaped with the aid of the devil itself.
The chapel doors open- and Lady Cogita finds a lone figure praying by the pews.
Head lowered and hands clasped together, her little dove prays for the safety of his village, of the villagers, of the Pokemon-
"Please, have mercy on my mother."
"Acro."
He lifts his head.
He had always smiled when he was a child- perhaps his stoicism was inherited from his mother, and the rest of her sisters who shared the same demeanor.
Lady Cogita missed it when he smiled- but she would not hate him for anything in the world.
"Mother."
She could promise him a thousand things, hold onto his hand and never let him go.
But all that she touched would succumb to the darkness; and Acro deserved more than that.
Wordlessly, she drapes her cloak over his body, adjusting his robes,
She chokes on a sob as she sees the pendant she had given him when he was younger.
Shaped like a tear, just like her own.
She tilts his chin up with gloved hands, just as she had before when she was teaching him in the village's clinic.
"My little dove, please do one last favor for your mother."
"Yes?"
"I want you to live."
...
He runs.
He's unable to take much more than what he already has.
Beam flies alongside him, creating lights that lead him out of the woods.
He barely dodges the onslaught of wild Zoroark; but the village sentries ensure his safety.
He trips, he falls, he gets a mouthful of dirt, his white robes stained and impure-
He could no longer go back.
Wiping the dirt and tears off his face, he picks himself up with the aid of his Beheyeem, and continues running.
...
His cloak had flown off at some point.
Initially, Lady Cogita worries.
She worries and fusses if he was able to escape; but the village elder tells her not to worry. Her Gallade would never abandon its duty; even if it cost it its life.
She thanks him- and apologizes, as the kingdom's army marches into the village, armed with Pokemon and weapons.
Powerful as she was, she would not be able to protect them all.
She worries if she could protect them at all.
"Regardless if we die or live,"
He places a hand on her shoulder.
"As long as Acro lives, it would be worth it."
...
"An eye for an eye, you vile witch."
...
"Unova has a favor to ask-"
"What a coincidence! So does Kalos!"
Alder would heartily laugh alongside Wulfric on the other end of the line- but he finds it disrespectful to do so.
Especially when Nikolai sits in the other room, hugging his Beheeyem close to his chest.
"You can tell me of your favors later. This is important."
"I feel they are related anyway, my old friend."
"Perhaps."
He flips through the pages of an opened book on his table.
Benga enters the room with several more, but he barely spends another second in the room as soon as he feels that Beheeyem's gaze on him.
"Is there a village south of Snowbelle?"
"Oh, there was-"
His eyes light up.
"-but it was hundreds of years ago, my friend. The village is no more but a home for Pokemon. It is overgrown with grass and flowers, and-"
He could see Nikolai's shoulders start to tremble.
"-the chapel doors are shut tight."
"I see."
"Will that be all?"
"Yes, I-"
He hears a sob.
"-Wulfric, I need to go. I promise I'll get to your favors later."
"Not to worry, not to worry. I know you have your hands full."
