This blog is my artistic outlet. I am adult with real life responsibilities (university). But I am a daydreamer, a fantasizer, which means I love me some fandoms and people to write about. If they seem out of character it's because I don't have time to hyperanalyze their behaviour patterns. Also these are all self-indulgent as fuck since most of them are from the plotlines of my daydreams.
name: cc
age: 22
stuck in europe while everything fun happens in la apparently
I love to chat, so don't be afraid to send me an ask <3. While this blog will probably be mainly about boyliife that does not mean I don't have any other interests.
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💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Masterlist · 2Hollis
Tie Me Up
synopsis: a songfic (does anyone even write them anymore?) about rigging. that's it.
Rommu
cardan greenbriar!rommulas x jude duarte!reader x locke!hollis masterlist
synopsis: after being stolen from the human world as a child, you have to navigate the high court of the faerie with a very cruel prince in it
word count: 5.3k
tags n warnings: cardan greenbriar!roman, jude duarte!reader, locke!hollis, SLOWBURN enemies to lovers, eventual smut, kidnapping, murder, violence, betrayal, reader is not a doormat!
a/n: this is a re-tell of a book called the cruel prince, which is like my favorite book series ever. it's a trilogy and in that cardan and jude don't get to the lovers part until like mid-third book. anyway, i'll see you guys next time!
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, you sat on the worn living room rug. The fish finger felt soggy in your grasp as you dipped them in the ketchup. On the couch behind you, your twin sister Taryn naps on the couch, bundled under the blanket. She has some ketchup still smeared on her face from the dinner. Beside her sits your older sister, Vivienne or Vivi as you and Taryn call her. Her cat-like eyes watch the TV as the cartoon mouse escapes whatever is chasing it.
Vivi was different from the other older sisters your friends had. Not only because of her split pupils or the slightly furred points of her ears, but there was a strange stillness to her and the way her skin tinted just slightly blue. But because of your identical twin sister, to you Vivi was not that much stranger than being a mirror image of someone else.
A knock sounds on your door, and you get up to answer it. You hope it’s one of the neighbourhood kids asking you out to play in the nearby playground or to come over at their house to play video games.
A tall man stands in the doorway as you answer it. He glares down at you. The man is wearing clothes made of brown leather despite it being hot outside. His shoes made of silver clank on the floorboards as he steps over the threshold. You look up to his shadowed face and shiver.
“Mom!” You yell. “Someone’s here!”
Your mom comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hand on the apron she dons. She had been making dinner. Your dad on the other hand, is working outside where he has a forge.
Her face goes pale as she takes a look at the man standing behind you. In a scary voice she tells you to go to your room. The man points at you.
“Whose child is that?” His voice is odd. “Yours? His?”
“She’s no one’s child.”
That wasn’t true though, you think. Everyone said that you and Taryn look just like your dad. You take couple steps into the stairs but the thought of not wanting to be alone in your room makes you back down. Vivi and Taryn, you think. Vivi will know that to do. She will know what’s going on.
“I have seen many impossible things but this? A dead woman living and a child born from nothing.” The man speaks.
“I doubted Balekin when he said I would find you here. The remains of an earthly woman on my estate were convincing. Do you know what’s it like to return from war only to find you wife dead and your only heir with her?”
Your mom takes a step back shaking her head as the man follows her. In the light of the hall you can see the green tint to his skin and how the lower teeth on his jaw look too big on his mouth, poking out over his top lip. The man’s eyes are split like Vivi’s.
“You made vows.” He growls.
“And then I renounced them.” Your mother answers.
The man’s gaze lands on you again. His eyes narrow. “What’s a promise of a mortal wife worth? I guess I have my answer.”
By the look your mother gives you, you dash into the living room where Taryn and Vivi still are. Taryn lifts her head drowsily.
“Who is at the door?” Vivienne asks you. “I heard voices.”
“A scary man.” You tell her. “Mom told us to go upstairs.”
Vivi sighs, taking Taryn’s hand a pulling her up from the couch. As you three walk towards the stairs, your father comes inside from the yard holding one of his axes.
It’s not unusual to see your father holding one, after all he makes different weapons as a hobby. What was strange how he holds this one like he’s about to-
The axe hits the wall beside the front door, just nearly missing the tall man.
The man responds by pulling out a blade inside his leather coat. A sword unlike you’ve ever seen. It looks like it’s come straight from one of the storybooks Vivi used to read to you and Taryn as bedtime stories.
Your father is trying to wrench the axe free, but he’s too slow as the tall man shoves his sword into your father’s stomach and pushes up. You can hear his ribs crack as he lets out a choked sound, crumbling down on the carpet where it’s turning deep crimson.
Your mom’s scream pierces the air, making Vivi and Taryn scream too. The man’s eyes snap at you three and he beckons Vivienne toward him.
“You, come here.”
“You monster-“Your mom gasps as she takes a step back into the kitchen. “He’s dead!”
“Do not run from me.” The tall man tells her. “After all you have done, if you run I swear- “
But your mom does run. She’s almost around the corner when the man’s blade hits her square in the back and she falls on the floor tile. The metallic smell of fresh blood floats in the air as the man stand in the middle of it all, like he’s quite sure he actually did that.
You run towards the man. Slam your tiny fists into his chest, kicking his legs on your own. You aren’t even scared, just angry. The tall man sinks down onto one knee, and traps your hands on your sides, so you can’t hit him anymore.
Then he looks away from you into Vivi’s eyes.
“You were stolen from me. I have come to take you to your true home in Elfhame beneath the hill. There you will be rich beyond measure and there you will be with your own kind.”
“No.” Vivi says, defiant. “I’m never going anywhere with you.”
The man’s eyes flash in anger. “I am your father, you are my heir and blood, and you will obey me in this as in all things.”
“I hate you!” Vivi’s voice is vicious, it makes you glad. You are not alone in your anger. “I will always hate you. I vow it.”
The tall man’s expression doesn’t change. “Nonetheless, you will come with me. Ready these little humans. Pack light, we ride before the dark.”
In faerie, there are no fish sticks, no ketchup, no television.
You sit on a soft cushion stuffed with dandelion heads. There is an imp working behind you, she braids your hair away, her nimble fingers are long and nails unnaturally sharp, though who can say what’s natural anymore?
Her eyes are completely black as you meet then through the mirror of your vanity. “The tournament is still four nights away.” The imp says. Her name is Tatterfell and she has cared for you ever since you were a child. It was her who smeared the bad smelling-stinging ointment on your eyes the night Madoc brough you and your sisters to his estate, allowing you and your twin gain True Sight.
True Sight allows you to see through most of the faerie glamours, she also wrapped a necklace made of dried rowan berries around your neck, so you’d have a chance of resisting enchantments.
Tatterfell works for Madoc’s household, in the last ten years you’ve gathered that she is working off a debt that existed long before you and will exists long after your days are numbered.
“No matter how much you want it to, you can’t make the nights pass any faster. All you can do is to try to bring glory to the general’s household is by appearing as proper as I can make you tonight.”
You sigh, Tatterfell has never had much patience with you.
“It’s an honor to dance under the hill in the High King’s Court, not many are given it, much less mortals.” She continues.
The staff of Madoc’s estate often tell you how fortunate you are. After all you are a daughter of a faithless wife, who too was a human without a drop of faerie blood in her veins. They tell you and Taryn how fortunate you two are to be raised along side the Gentry’s own children, treated like a trueborn child of Faerie. To you it’s a terrifying honor, which you will never be worthy as they like to remind you.
“Yes.” You say, “It’s an honor.”
The faeries can’t lie, so they concentrate more on the actual words said rather than how they are said or the tone. Tatterfell nods at you approvingly.
“Maybe someone will ask your hand in marriage, and you’ll be made a permanent member of the High Court.”
There are two ways a mortal can become permanent members of the Court. You can either marry into it or having a great skill in something like music or smithing. You don’t see the point in reminding Tatterfell of how the marriage between your mother and Madoc went so instead you tell her, “I want to win my place in the Court.”
It makes her pause with a hair pin in hand, her black eyes zeroing on your face. You feel like she wants to prick you with the hair pin. “Don’t be stupid.”
You are not interested in marrying into the court, so you hope you will be talented enough for the second option. That’s why the Summer Tournament lurks in the edges of your mind and under your skin, no matter how much it annoys Tatterfell.
Tatterfell finishes braiding your hair, the style is fancy and elaborate. She has put in charms and jewellery that glints in the moonlight spilling in from the window. The dress Tatterfell brings from your closet is sapphire velvet. Yet when you look into the mirror, you know none of it actually disguises who you truly are, a human.
It was a strange thing at first to be attended by servants. Now though? It feels norma, usual. You had lived in Faerie for ten years. A long time for a human, a scratch in lifetime of fae. Long enough the unusual become the ordinary and the ordinary become unusual. Here you stick out with your blunt fingers and round ears.
After Madoc stole you and your sisters from the human world, he brought you to his estates on Insmire, the Isle of Might, where the High King of Elfhame kept his stronghold. There, he raised Vivi, Taryn, and you, not out of kindness, but out of obligation, honor, and whatever else faeries called duty when it suited them. You and Taryn were living proof of your mom’s betrayal, but by Faerie custom you were still his wife’s children, which made you his problem whether he liked it or not.
Madoc was the High King’s general, which meant he was gone often, fighting for the crown and returning like a storm. Even so, you were well cared for. You slept on mattresses stuffed with dandelion seed-heads. He taught you to fight with cutlass and dagger, falchion and fist. He played Nine Men’s Morris, Fidchell, and Fox and Geese with you before the fire, and sometimes he let you sit on his knee and eat from his plate.
Many nights you fell asleep to the rumble of his voice reading from books of battle strategy. And despite everything he was, despite what he had done, you came to love him.
It was not a comfortable sort of love.
“Nice hair.” Taryn says, rushing into your room.
She is dressed in crimson velvet, her hair loose around her shoulders in long curls that bounce behind her like a capelet. A few strands are braided with silver thread that catches the light. She hops onto the bed beside you and knocks your small pile of threadbare stuffed animals out of place. You cannot bear to throw any of them away, not even now.
You sit up and study yourself in the mirror, suddenly self-conscious. “I like them.”
“I’m having a premonition,” Taryn says, and that startles you into looking at her. “We’re going to have fun tonight.”
“Fun?” You had been imagining yourself peering at the Court from your usual bolt-hole, worrying over whether you would do well enough in the tournament to catch the eye of someone royal enough to grant you knighthood. Just thinking about it makes you restless, but you think about it all the time anyway. Your thumb brushes over the missing tip of your ring finger, that old nervous habit.
“Yes.” She pokes you in the side.
“Hey! Ow.” You scoot away. “What exactly does this plan entail?”
Mostly, when you went to Court, you hid. You watched interesting things from a distance. You listened. You learned. Taryn throws up her hands. “What do you mean, what does fun entail? It’s fun.”
You are getting older, and things are changing. You are changing. As eager as you are for it, fear follows close behind. Taryn pushes herself off the bed and holds out her arm as though she is escorting you to a dance. You let her guide you from the room, your hand going automatically to the knife strapped at your hip.
Madoc’s house is all whitewashed plaster and massive rough-cut beams. The windowpanes are stained grey as trapped smoke, and the light inside never seems quite natural. As you and Taryn go downstairs, you spot Vivi tucked into a little balcony, frowning over a comics zine stolen from the human world.
She grins at you. She is wearing jeans and a billowy shirt, which means she has no intention of joining the revel. Being Madoc’s legitimate daughter, she feels no pressure to please him. She does what she likes, including reading magazines that might have iron staples in the binding and not caring if they burn her fingers.
“Heading somewhere?” She asks softly from the shadows, making Taryn jump. Vivi knows perfectly well where you are going.
When you first came here, the three of you used to huddle in Vivi’s bed and talk about home. You would trade memories the way children trade marbles, polishing them smooth until they nearly stopped being real. Mom’s burned meals. Dad’s popcorn. The neighbors next door. The smell of the house. School. Holidays. Birthday cake icing. Television plots recited so many times they blurred into something soft and false.
There is no more huddling now. No more trying to rebuild home from scraps. All your newer memories belong here, and Vivi has only a passing interest in them. She vowed to hate Madoc, and she kept that vow. When she was not remembering home, she was a terror. She broke things. She screamed. She raged. She pinched when the rest of you were content. Eventually she stopped, but you know better than to think the anger disappeared. Some part of her still resents the way you and Taryn adapted. The way you made this place livable. The way you made it your home.
“You should come.” You tell her. “Taryn’s in a weird mood.”
Vivi gives Taryn a thoughtful look, then shakes her head. “I’ve got other plans.”
That could mean she is sneaking into the mortal world for the evening, or it could mean she will spend the night on the balcony with her reading. Either way, if it annoys Madoc, it pleases Vivi.
Madoc is waiting in the hall with his second wife, Oriana. She is beautiful in a way that makes something in you shift uneasily. Her skin tints blue, and her hair looks like a fresh-fallen snow. Oriana reminds you of a ghost. They are both in green tonight, she wears golden ornaments to compliment her dress while Madoc has a sword on his hip. You know it’s not for only decorative purposes.
“You look well.” Madoc says, looking behind you to the stairs. “Is your sister ready soon?”
“I don’t know where Vivi is.” You lie, it’s easy here. You could do it all day and never get caught. “She probably forgot.”
Madoc looks disappointed but not surprised. He steps outside to talk to a hob holding the reins of faerie steeds. There is five of them, each of their manes braided to elegant knots, probably infused with magic. You think about the knots that Tatterfell braided to your hair, did she braid magic into them too? Nearby, you see one of Madoc’s spies, a strange looking creature with a wrinkled face, back hunched high past her head. Madoc takes a note from her and she disappears into the night as quickly as she came.
Oriana looks at you and Taryn. Her gaze washes over both of you like she is trying to find a flaw in you.
“Be careful tonight. Promise to me that neither of you will drink, eat or dance.” She says. “You think salt is enough to protect you, but you children are forgetful. Better not to indulge at all. What goes for dancing, once you mortals begin, you won’t be able to stop without one of us pulling you out.”
“We’ve been to court before.” You remind her. You are not forgetful.
Madoc married Oriana not long after he took you and your sisters. She soon gave him a son named Oak. He was weak and sickly boy, with little horns. Oriana endures you and Taryn for Madoc’s sake. It’s clear to that to her you are his favored hounds, poorly trained and likely to bite. The fact that Oak considers you his sisters, worries Oriana even though you’d never do anything to hurt Oak.
Oriana turs to you two one last time before walking out to the horses and says, “You two are under Madoc’s protection and he has the favor of the High King. I will not have Madoc made to look foolish because of your mistakes.”
Madoc has already mounted the largest of the horses, it has a scar under one of its eyes and its nostrils flare impatiently. You swing up to a pale green horse with a swampy smell, beside you Taryn digs her heels in and takes off like a shot. You follow, plunging into the night.
The faeries are twilight creatures. When the shadows grow long, they rise from their slumber and you with them. Bed calls to you before the first rays of dawn break the horizon. When you arrive to the Palace of Elfhame, it’s well past midnight. For one to get inside the palace, you must ride through between an oak and a thorn and straight into a stone wall.
You have done it hundreds of times, but yet every time your body tightens as you grip the reigns. You squeeze your eyes shut and when you open them again, you are inside the hill.
You ride on through a cavern between pillars of roots over packed earth. Dozens of the Folk crowd near the entrance to the great throne room where Court is being held—long-nosed pixies with ragged wings, elegant green-skinned ladies in trailing gowns with goblins lifting their hems, tricksy boggans, laughing foxkin, a boy in an owl mask and a golden headdress, an elderly woman with crows clinging to her shoulders, a cluster of girls with wild roses tangled in their hair, a bark-skinned boy with feathers at his neck, a knot of knights in scarab-green armor. Some you have seen before. A few you have spoken with. There are too many to take in at once, and still you cannot look away.
You never get tired of it. The pageantry, the spectacle, the terrible beauty of these creatures. Maybe Oriana is in the right to worry that one day you’ll get caught up in all of it and forget to be careful. You don’t blame the humans that surrender to the beautiful nightmare that the Court is and drown themselves in it.
You know you shouldn’t love it as much as you do. You were stolen from the mortal world, your parents murdered by your adoptive father. But still, you love it anyway.
Madoc swings down from his horse. Oriana and Taryn are already off theirs, handing the reins to grooms. It is you they are waiting for. Madoc reaches out a hand as if to help you, but you hop down on your own. Your leather slippers strike the ground with a sharp slap. You hope you look like a knight to him.
Oriana steps forward, probably to remind Taryn and you of all the things she does not want you doing tonight. You do not give her the chance. Instead, you hook your arm through Taryn’s and hurry inside. The room smells of burning rosemary and crushed herbs. The first thing you must do at Court is greet the king.
The High King Eldred sits on his throne in gray robes of state, a heavy golden oak-leaf crown pressed over his thin spun-gold hair. When you bow, he touches your head lightly with his knobby ringed hands, and then you rise.
His grandmother was Queen Mab of the House of the Greenbriar. She lived among the solitary fey before she began to conquer Faerie with her horned consort and his stag-riders. Because of him, each of Eldred’s six heirs is said to bear some animal trait, which is not unusual in Faerie but is unusual among the trooping Gentry of the Courts.
The eldest prince, Balekin, and his younger brother, Dain, stand nearby, drinking wine from wooden cups banded in silver. Thorns ridge his fingers at every knuckle and run up his arms beneath his sleeves, showing when he and Dain gesture Madoc closer.
Oriana curtsies to them. Though Dain and Balekin stand side by side, they are often at odds with each other and with their sister Elowyn, so often that the Court is said to divide itself into three warring circles of influence.
Prince Balekin’s set is known as the Circle of Grackles, for those who love revelry and scorn anything that gets in the way of it. They drink themselves sick and dull their senses with poisonous powders. His is the wildest circle, though he has always been perfectly composed and sober when speaking to you.
Princess Elowyn and her companions make up the Circle of Larks. They value art above all else. Several mortals have found favor there, but since you have no real talent with a lute or declamation, you have no chance of being among them.
Prince Dain, the third-born, leads the Circle of Falcons. Knights, warriors, and strategists are in his favor. Madoc obviously belongs there. They speak of honor, but what they truly care about is power. You are good enough with a blade, knowledgeable enough in strategy. All you need is a chance to prove yourself.
“Go enjoy yourselves,” Madoc tells you. With a glance back at the princes, you and Taryn head into the throng.
The palace of the King of Elfhame has many secret alcoves and hidden corridors, perfect for trysts or assassins or for staying out of the way and being very dull at parties. When you and Taryn were little, you used to hide under the long banquet tables. But after she decided you were elegant ladies too old to crawl around on the floor and dirty your dresses, you had to find a better spot. Just beyond the second landing of stone steps is a place where a great mass of shimmering rock juts out to form a ledge. Normally, that is where you settle yourselves to listen to the music and watch all the fun you are not supposed to be having.
Tonight, though, Taryn has a different idea. She walks past the steps and grabs food from a silver tray—a green apple and a wedge of blue-veined cheese. Ignoring salt, she takes a bite of each and then holds out the apple for you. Oriana thinks you cannot tell the difference between regular fruit and faerie fruit, which blooms a deep gold. Its flesh is red and dense, and its cloying scent fills the forests at harvest time.
The apple is crisp and cold in your mouth. You pass it back and forth, sharing down to the core, which you eat in two bites.
Near where you stand, a tiny faerie girl with hair white as a clock of dandelion fluff and a little knife cuts the strap of an ogre’s belt. The work is deft. A moment later, his sword and pouch are gone, and she is already melting into the crowd. You can almost believe it never happened. Then she glances back at you. She winks.
A heartbeat later, the ogre realizes he has been robbed.
“I smell a thief!” he shouts, turning in circles, knocking over a tankard of dark brown beer, his warty nose twitching as he sniffs the air. Nearby, a candle suddenly flares blue and crackling, sparking loudly enough to distract even him. By the time it settles, the white-haired thief is long gone.
With a half smile, you turn back to Taryn. She is watching the dancers with longing, oblivious to everything else.
“We could take turns.” She says. “If you can’t stop, I’ll pull you out. Then you can do the same for me.”
Your heartbeat quickens at the thought. You look at the revelers and try to summon the daring of someone who would steal from an ogre right under his nose.
Princess Elowyn whirls at the center of a circle of Larks. Beside her, a human boy plays the fiddle. Two more mortals accompany him less skillfully but with more joy on ukuleles. Elowyn’s younger sister Caelia spins nearby, her corn-silk hair like her father’s and a crown of flowers set among it.
A new ballad begins, and the words drift up to you. “Of all the sons King William had, Prince Jamie was the worst,” they sing. “And what made the sorrow even greater, Prince Jamie was the first.”
You have never much liked that song because it reminds you of someone else. Someone who, along with Princess Rhyia, does not seem to be in attendance tonight.
But then... oh no. You see him.
Prince Roman, sixth-born to the High King Eldred and the absolute worst, strides across the floor toward you and Taryn.
Valerian, Nicasia and Hollis. His three meanest, fanciest and most loyal friends follow behind him. The crowd parts for him, bowing as they pass. Roman wears his usual scowl. He has eyeliner beneath his eyes, a golden circlet in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with a high jagged collar, stitched all over with constellations. Valerian is dressed in deep red, cabochon rubies glittering on his cuffs like drops of frozen blood. Nicasia’s hair is ocean blue-green, crowned with a diadem of pearls, a glittering cobweb net binding her braids. Hollis brings up the rear, looking bored, his hair the exact color of an arctic fox.
“They are so ridiculous.” You say to Taryn, who has followed your gaze to them.
You can’t deny that they are also beautiful, of course they are. They are faerie lords and ladies, just like the ones that have songs written of them. If you didn’t have to take lesson alongside them, if you didn’t know firsthand what kind of suffering they caused to the people that displeased them, you would have been just as in love with them as everyone else seemed to be.
Taryn leans close to your ear and whispers, “Vivi says that Roman has a tail. She saw it while swimming in the lake with him and princess Rhyia.”
“A tail?” You repeat. What an unimaginable thought, Roman laughing and splashing away in the lake. Having fun without someone’s misery. Your frown deepens as you realize this must have happened a while ago but Vivi hadn’t bothered to tell you that herself. Three sisters is an odd arrangement. There is always one on the outside.
Taryn giggles as she continues, “ It has a tuft of fur in the end, Roman keeps it coiled under his clothes and unfurls it like a whip. Vivi says she wishes she had one too.”
“I’m glad she doesn’t.” You say, which is stupid because you have nothing against tails. You have something against just one specific tail and even more the fae attached to it.
Roman and his companions are now too close to you and Taryn for you two to speak freely about them. You look at the floor, sinking to one knee, bowing your head. You hate it, gritting your teeth, you watch out of the corner of your eye as Taryn does something similar. You desperately pray to some god that Roman doesn’t pay attention to you two, don’t look at you. But yet-
As Valerian passes he grabs onto your hair. “Did you think I didn’t see you there? You and your sister stand out in any crowd,” he says. His breath carries honey wine. Your hand tightens into a fist at your side, and you are painfully aware of the knife at your hip. Still, you keep your eyes down. “No other hair so dull, no other face so plain.”
“Valerian,” Prince Roman calls, already glowering. Then he sees you and his expression sharpens further. Valerian gives your braid a hard tug. You wince, fury coursing uselessly in your veins. He laughs and moves on. The fury curdles into shame. You wish you had slapped his hand away, even though it would have only made everything worse.
Taryn catches the change in your face. “What did he say to you?”
You shake your head.
Roman has stopped beside a boy with long copper hair and a pair of small moth wings, a boy who is not bowing. The boy laughs, and Roman lunges. In the span of a blink, the prince’s clenched fist slams into the boy’s jaw and sends him sprawling. As he falls, Roman grabs one of the wings and tears it like paper. The boy’s scream is thin and reedy. He curls around himself on the ground, agony plain in every line of his face. You wonder whether faerie wings grow back. You know butterflies that lose a wing never fly again.
The reverels around you gape and titter, but only for a moment. Then they go back to dancing and singing, and the revel carries on. That is how they are. Someone gets in Roman’s way, and they are punished instantly and brutally, driven from lessons, sometimes from Court itself. Hurt. Broken.
As Roman walks on, apparently done with the boy, you are grateful he has five other brothers and sisters worth worrying about. It is almost certain he will never sit the throne. You do not want to think of him with any more power than he already has.
Even Nicasia and Valerian exchange a weighted glance. Then Valerian shrugs and follows after Roman. But Hollis pauses beside the boy and bends to help him to his feet.
The boy’s friends come to lead him away, and at that moment, improbably, Hollis lifts his gaze. His tawny fox eyes meet yours and widen in surprise. You freeze, your heart suddenly racing. You brace yourself for more scorn, but one corner of his mouth lifts instead. He winks, as if acknowledging that you have caught him. As if the two of you share a secret. As if he thinks you are not loathly, as if he does not find your mortality contagious.
“Stop staring at him,” Taryn demands. “Don’t give them any more reason to bother you than they already have!” she hisses.
Her intensity surprises you so much that you snatch back your hand. Angry red half moons mark where she held you. You glance back toward where Hollis had been, but the crowd has already swallowed him up.
pokemontrainer!hollis x pokemontrainer!reader masterlist
synopsis: after losing a gym battle you hear a weird rumor in the waiting room of a pokémon center
word count: 4.5k
tags n warnings: pokemon au, strangers-to-rivals-to-lovers, adventure, hollis is a little weird, nothing scandalous
a/n: i opened a white flare elite trainer box and found this at the bottom of it. reshiram one day you will be mine. i got an emulator for the pokémon black and i've been re-living my childhood. anyway, just a silly au. there will be more. enjoy, and i will catch you guys in the next one!
The Audino moves behind the Pokémon Center’s reception desk as you sit in the waiting room. You’ve already been there for at least thirty minutes. The pokémon let’s out a small noise of comfort as it sees your discomfort. It’s late afternoon and the setting sun bounces from the shining floor tiles into your eyes. You sigh, mentally cursing yourself, Nimbasa City’s Elesa had just basically wiped the floor of her gym with you.
“You’re strong. But when the rhythm changes, you try to force it back instead of moving with it.”
Her words ring through your head. Your team is good, you know that. You don’t need some hotshot gym leader to tell you that. The team you run, Delphox, Lucario and Corviknight, they are all methodical and disciplined. Elesa’s team was everything but that. The two Emolgas caused chaos as best they could and the Zebstrika forced Lucario to focus on not getting run over.
Clearly Elesa’s battle is focused on making her opponent to react fast and lose tempo. It punishes hesitation and prediction. No wonder the prize is called the Bolt Badge.
As you wait your knocked out pokémon to receive care, your ears catch a conversation coming from behind you. Two trainers sit on a sofa, deep in conversation. Both are wearing a pokémon ball baseball caps as they discuss the abandoned warehouse and construction site just east from the Nimbasa City.
“I heard he was seen there again couple nights ago.” The girl says to the guy next to her.
“Hilda, just drop it. The guy is like a urban legend, last I heard he was somewhere up in the north Unova.”
Hilda looks annoyed as her partner dismisses her words. “Hilbert please, I want to battle him. The infamous ghost-trainer.”
The curiosity gets the better of you, and you slowly rise from your seat to walk over to them.
“Who are you guys talking about?”
Hilbert and Hilda turn to look at you. Hilbert raises an eyebrow and gives you a once-over, like he’s trying to decide if you are serious or just nosy. Clearly he doesn’t appreciate on you eavesdropping.
Hilda on the other hand lights up like a kid on a Christmas morning. “You haven’t heard?”
You shake your head, wrapping arms around yourself as Hilbert still appraises you.
“There is this trainer people keep talking about. Hollis.”
“If that’s even his real name.” Hilbert leans back, crossing his arms.
“A trainer?” You repeat, raising an eyebrow.
Hilda nods quickly. “Yeah, or at least that’s what people say. He shows up in the weirdest places at night. Like old warehouses, construction sites, abandoned routes, you get the gist. Basically, the places where no one really goes.”
Hilbert gives a small shrug. “And whenever someone claims they saw him, the story changes. Some say he battles with ghost-types. Others say he disappears before they can get close enough.”
“A ghost trainer?” You say sceptically. Hilbert is right, it seems like a bullshit story. Something people like to gossip about while waiting for the next Pokémon League.
Hilda grins. “A ghost trainer, that’s what people on the street are calling him, the infamous ghost trainer.”
That draws a snort from Hilbert. “More like an excuse people made up because they couldn’t prove he existed.” Hilda elbows him. “You are such a killjoy.”
“I’m being realistic.”
You glance between the two bickering trainers, rolling your eyes in amusement. “So, no one actually knows who he is then?”
“Not really,” Hilda says. “But that makes him even more exciting, right? I bet he’s handsome too. Imagine battling a trainer like that.”
Hilbert shakes his head. “Or imagine wasting your time chasing some rumour.”
Hilda ignores his comment and looks back at you with obvious interest. “What about you? You interested?”
The question catches you a little off guard. The only thing in your mind has been the Bolt Badge and moving on to the next city. But since you just lost it clearly looks like you must stay here a little bit longer, maybe this could take your mind off it for a little.
You glance towards the healing machines, and then back at her. “Maybe.”
Hilda smiles like she has already decided she likes you. “It’s settled then, you should go and look for him.”
Hilbert on the other hand rolls his eyes and mutters, “Great. Now there’s two of you.”
The two trainers keep you company a little longer. An Audino brings out their pokémons and they bid you goodbyes. You are left alone in the lobby again. The rumour about this ghost trainer named Hollis swirls in your head, you can’t deny that he has definitely piqued your interest. The fight with Elesa still gnaws at you though.
Maybe you should consider adding a new pokémon onto your team. You could temporarily bench Corviknight and maybe find an Abra or something, countering Elesa’s ruthless team with something psychic.
The light above the medical doors of the Pokémon Center blink as Nurse Joy pushes a cart carrying your pokémon out. You rise to meet her halfway and collect the pokéballs.
“They were pretty beaten up.” Nurse Joy smiles. “Nothing we can’t fix though.”
You nod, feeling a little guilty how badly beaten up your beloved pokémon had ended up. Nurse Joy wishes you safe travels as you push out into the fallen night.
You treat your team with a dinner composed of their favourite foods and treats. Lucario stays close to you almost like apologizing for his performance, but you brush his worries away. Delphox sulks in a corner, it always gets like this after a loss.
After licking your wounds for couple days, you put your plan into motion. The locals have told you about Abras that inhabit a near field, and you have decided to take up on the offer. The only issue, you must pass through the abandoned warehouse and a construction site.
The rumour you heard of that ghost trainer did stick around a little but it quickly was pushed aside when you heard about the Abras.
“What the fuck am I doing?” You mutter to yourself, as you and Delphox walk through the barely lit construction site. Half of the lights on the site aren’t working and the light coming from the warehouse in front of you flickers. The most consistent light source is Delphox’s wand that it so graciously holds out.
Delphox makes a small noise. You turn to look at it. “No, we aren’t going to the warehouse, it’s creepy enough as it is outside.” You point to the field peeking between the trees. “We are going there, remember? We are going to catch an Abra.”
Delphox groans impatiently as it points its wand toward the warehouse. You squint your eyes at it.
“What? You interested in the ghost rumour now?”
It tilts its head at you and takes a step towards the flickering lights. You sigh, giving in. “Just so you know, if we get caught in the city’s property because of this? I am blaming you.”
Delphox gives you a look that is far too smug for a Pokémon that is technically not the one making the bad decisions. It turns on its heel and starts toward the warehouse before you can protest further.
“Oh, wow. So now you’re in charge?” You mutter, following after it with a sigh.
The closer you get, the stranger the place feels. The warehouse sits half-swallowed by shadow, its broken windows washed in weak orange light from inside. Every so often, a flicker runs through the building and spills across the cracked pavement, making the whole thing seem like it’s breathing.
Delphox’s wand glows brighter as you step closer to the warehouse door. You slow your steps down. The front entrance hangs slightly open. From inside, you can hear movement. Not footsteps. The sharp crack of an attack. Then another.
You exchange a glance with Delphox, and this time neither of you says anything. Your hand tightens into a fist as you creep forward and peek through the opening.
Inside, the warehouse is enormous and dim, lit only by a few hanging work lights that flicker overhead. Dust hangs in the air like smoke. Old crates are stacked near the walls, rusted equipment lies forgotten in the corners, and in the center of the space,
A Mimikyu slams into the concrete floor.
You freeze.
An Zoroark circles it immediately, moving fast, almost taunting. It’s not a normal Zoroark either, how the hell is there a Hisuian Zoroark here?
Your eyes drift upward, following the line of the Zoroark’s movement, and then you see him. A boy stands in the middle distance, half in shadow, hands in his pockets, watching the fight with an expression so calm it almost looks blank. He doesn’t call out commands. He doesn’t need to.
His pokémon move like they already know what he wants.
One lunges. The other dodges.
A pulse of dark energy cuts through the air and crashes into the opponent with enough force to make the lights above you flicker violently. Your breath catches. He isn’t even looking at the attack anymore. He’s already watching the next move.
Delphox makes a small sound beside you, low in its throat.
The boy’s head turns. Not fully. Just enough. And suddenly you realize he knows you’re there. Your pulse jumps. His gaze settles on the crack in the doorway where you’re standing, hidden badly enough that it’s almost embarrassing.
For a second, nobody moves.
Then the pokémon on the floor scrambles up and the battle resumes, but the boy doesn’t look away from the doorway.
You swallow. He can’t possibly see you that clearly from here. And yet it feels like he’s looking straight at you.
Delphox shifts closer to your side, wand still lit, but the light suddenly feels too bright, too obvious. You should step back. You should leave. You should pretend you were never here.
Instead, you keep watching.
The trainer in the warehouse finally turns fully toward the door. The light catches his face for just a moment, enough to show sharp features, a calm expression, and eyes that seem almost unnervingly steady in the dark.
Then the flickering light cuts out for half a second, when it comes back, he’s still staring at you. A faint chill runs down your spine.
He says something to his pokémon, voice too low to hear, and one of them immediately backs off the other, ending the sparring match with a hard, deliberate shove. The pokémon scurry into the shadows, only an Umbreon remains by his side The whole thing has the rhythm of training rather than cruelty, but that doesn’t make it any less unsettling.
Delphox lowers its wand a little, ears twitching.
You barely notice, because the boy is walking toward the door now. Not fast. Not threatening. Just directly. Each step makes the floor groan beneath him, and the warehouse lights flicker once more as he passes under them.
You should move. You do not move.
He stops just a few feet away from the doorway, close enough that you can see the dark outline of his hoodie and the quiet, unreadable set of his mouth.
For a long moment, he says nothing.
Then, at last,
“You shouldn’t be here.”
His voice is calm. Not cold. Not loud. Just certain.
Delphox steps in front of you without being asked. The boy’s eyes flick briefly to it, and for the first time, something in his expression shifts, small, almost invisible, but there.
Interest. Or maybe recognition.
You draw yourself up a little, trying very hard not to sound like you’ve just been caught trespassing in a place you had no business entering.
“Were you talking to me?”
A pause.
Then his gaze returns to you.
“You’re standing in front of my warehouse.”
Your mouth opens. Closes. “Your warehouse?”
His expression doesn’t change. “For now.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think to yourself. That makes absolutely no sense, which is somehow worse than if it had.
Before you can think of a reply, the pokémon behind him in the shadows shift again, restless now that the battle has stopped. One lets out a low, irritated sound, and the boy glances back at them before looking at you once more.
“If you’re here for the Abra field, take the path around the site. This way is blocked.”
You blink. Delphox tilts its head too, clearly suspicious.
The boy notices neither of you reacting the way he probably expected, because his attention has already drifted back to the warehouse interior, as if your presence is only one small interruption in a much larger routine.
That somehow makes him more unsettling.
You hesitate, then ask the only thing that makes sense.
“Who are you?”
He looks back at you. The flickering lights catch his face again, briefly sharpening every line of it. A beat passes. Then he answers, simple and quiet,
“Hollis.”
The ghost story. The rumor. The trainer in abandoned places. The thing people whisper about like he might vanish if spoken of too clearly. Delphox stiffens at your side, and you realize, with a strange jolt, that it knows exactly how serious this just became.
Hollis says nothing else.
He just watches you standing there in the doorway, the two of you suspended in the half-light between a rumor and a real person.
He doesn’t look like a rumor. Not ghostly, not unreal—just… there. Standing across from you in the dim, flickering light of the abandoned power station, one hand resting loosely at his side, the other half-hidden in his sleeve. No dramatic stance.
If you squint hard enough, he’s actually quite handsome. The long bleached hair is slightly wavy and the black eyeliner is smudged just right.
“Battle?” You blurt out, because the silence is stretching too long and apparently you have been blinded his beauty or something. If you had any sense left in you, you would have turned around a long time ago.
Hollis’ gaze lifts to meet yours. There’s a pause, like he’s deciding something you can’t see. Then, a small nod. No words. That’s enough.
Hollis steps aside from the entrance, gesturing to the other end of the warehouse as he takes his original spot where he first stood at.
You step forward, grounding yourself. “Alright. Don’t disappear on me halfway through.”
No reaction to the joke. If Hollis even heard it, he doesn’t show it. You exhale, steadying your nerves, “Delphox, let’s go!”
Light bursts forward, it’s warm, controlled, familiar as Delphox slides from behind, landing cleanly in front of you, wand already forming in its grasp, eyes sharp and focused.
For a second, nothing happens, then, a shadow detaches from the darkness behind him.
It stretches, distorts and becomes a Gengar. It doesn’t step forward. It slips forward, grin already wide, eyes locked onto Delphox like it knows something you don’t. No command is given.
“Delphox, Flamethrower!”
You don’t hesitate. Fire erupts instantly, a clean, bright stream cutting through the dark but Gengar is already gone. The flames hit empty space.
Your chest tightens, how did the Gengar know? Delphox seems confused too. The you spot it, mid-air, “Behind-” You try to warn Delphox
Too late. A pulse of shadow slams into Delphox’s back, Shadow Ball, fast and close-range. Delphox stumbles forward, catching itself just before hitting the ground.
You grit your teeth. Fast. Way too fast. It reminds you of Elesa’s fight and your pulse picks up.
“Reset, keep distance!” Delphox pivots, wand raised, eyes scanning, but Gengar isn’t where it should be.
It’s not anywhere. The lights above flicker. For a split second, the entire room dips into darkness and when it comes back, there are three Gengars.
Your pulse spikes. Illusion? Double Team? Something else? You glance at Hollis. He hasn’t moved. No commands. No signals. Just watching.
Like he’s waiting for you to figure it out.
“Fine.” You mutter under your breath. “We’ll play it your way.”
You inhale, forcing yourself to slow down. “Delphox. Close your eyes.”
There’s the slightest shift in Hollis’ expression, barely anything, but it’s there. Interest again.
Delphox obeys instantly, eyes shutting as it steadies its stance, flame dimming to a controlled flicker at the tip of its wand.
The fake Gengars twitch. The real one moves.
“Now! Psychic!”
Delphox’s eyes snap open, wand flaring bright. The air distorts. One of the Gengars is caught mid-motion, lifted, revealed, its body locking as the illusion shatters around it. For the first time, his Gengar looks surprised.
You feel it, just a little surge of victory. “Don’t let up! Mystical Fire!”
The flames spiral this time, tighter, more precise, striking true as Gengar is forced back, its grin faltering for half a second. It lands, sliding slightly across the concrete.
Silence.
Then, it starts laughing. Not out loud, but you can see it, shoulders shaking, eyes sharp again, wider than before.
And this time, Hollis moves. Just a small shift of his hand.
Gengar vanishes again, but not into shadow, into the light.
The flickering overhead bulbs flare and suddenly the entire space feels wrong. Angles off. Shadows misplaced.
Your focus slips for just a second and that’s all it takes. Gengar reappears right in front of Delphox.
“Dodge!”
Too late. Another Shadow Ball detonates, stronger this time, sending Delphox skidding back across the floor. It struggles to stand.
You take a step forward without thinking. “Delphox-”
It steadies itself, breathing heavier now, but still standing. Still ready. You know it doesn’t have much fight left in it, Gengar has hit it at least three times where you have barely one in on Gengar.
Across from you, Gengar crouches low, grinning but waiting. Not finishing the battle. Like it’s giving you space. Or testing you.
You look up at Hollis again.
This time, Hollis is already looking at you. Not distant. Not unreadable. Focused. Present. Like you’ve finally earned his attention.
Your grip tightens. Delphox look at you, the flame on its wand burning bright and true. It’s all the confirmation you need.
“Again,” you say quietly. “We’re not done.”
“Okay.” Hollis answers.
Gengar doesn’t rush in again. It waits. And somehow, that’s worse.
You can feel it now, this isn’t just a battle. It’s like you’ve stepped into something you don’t fully understand yet, and he’s letting you move inside it… just to see what you’ll do.
Your heart’s still racing, but your voice comes out steadier this time.
“Delphox… we stay sharp. No guessing.” Move with it, you think back to Elesa’s words. Don’t force the rhythm back, instead move with it. Delphox nods, tightening its grip on its wand. The flame steadies, smaller now, but hotter, more focused.
No wasted movement.
Across from you, Gengar tilts its head. Then disappears again.
“Left!” You react instantly this time. “Fire Spin!”
Flames burst outward in a controlled spiral, cutting off space instead of chasing shadows. The fire licks across the ground, forcing Gengar to reappear mid-step. Caught him, you think.
“Now, Psychic!”
The air locks around it again, distortion tightening, holding it in place. You feel it, that same moment as before. That opening.
“Finish it!”
Delphox raises its wand, and then-
The lights go out. Completely. No flicker. No warning. Just darkness. Your breath catches.
“Delphox-, don’t!”
A whisper of movement. Not in front of you. Not behind but above. The lights snap back on. Gengar drops straight down out of the darkness, already mid-attack.
“Shadow Ba-” The impact cuts you off.
It hits harder than before—closer, sharper, like it was waiting for that exact moment. The Psychic hold shatters instantly, the remaining flames scatter, and Delphox is driven straight into the ground.
The sound echoes. For a second, everything is still. Then Delphox tries to push itself up-
Its arm trembles. Falls.
Your chest tightens. “Delphox…?” It doesn’t get back up.
The flame at the tip of its wand flickers once and goes out. Silence settles over the room again, heavier now. Gengar lands lightly, straightening, its grin easing into something quieter. Not mocking. Not cruel.
Just… finished.
You don’t say anything at first. You already know. Still, your voice comes out softer than you expect. “Delphox is unable to battle.” The words feel strange in your mouth.
Across from you, Gengar drifts back, the shadows around it settling like nothing ever happened. And Hollis? He doesn’t celebrate. Doesn’t move forward. He just watches you.
You return Delphox slowly, the click of the pokéball louder than it should be in the empty space. Your mind is racing, trying to piece it together, the timing, the darkness, the way he controlled the entire field without saying a word.
You lost. But it wasn’t overwhelming. It wasn’t impossible. That’s what sticks. You look up at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“Not much of a ghost, are you?” The words come out before you can stop them.
A beat of silence.
Then, just barely, the corner of his mouth shifts. Not quite a smile, but close.
“No,” he says.
Before you can respond, he turns, already stepping back into the shadows he came from. And just like that Hollis is gone. This time, though? It doesn’t feel like the end of something. It feels like the start.
You take Hollis’ instruction to go around the site toward the Abra field. On the way, the goal of capturing one feels secondary. Hollis was nothing like you had expected. The way Hilda and Hilbert spoke of him made Hollis seems this weird and creepy guy.
Clearly, the rumors might have some wind under them because Hollis was just, quiet and eerily calm. He wasn’t hostile, or rude. Definitely guarded and impossible to read. First, it seemed like he was upset that you had intruded on him training his pokémon, but then he had agreed to battle you without any questions.
You let Delphox out once you reach the field, it seems unusually thoughtful too. It surprises you because you had fully expected it to sulk again and you would have had to pull Lucario out to help you with the Abra.
Delphox stands beside you in the tall grass, wand glowing softly in the dim light filtering through the trees. The field is quieter than the city behind you, but your thoughts are not. Your mind keeps drifting back to the warehouse, to the flicker of broken lights, to the way Hollis had looked at you like he already knew exactly who you were and what you were doing there.
You shake your head and force yourself to focus.
“Alright.” You mutter, scanning the field. “Abra. We are here for Abra. Not mystery-boy in the warehouse.”
Delphox gives a low sound that feels suspiciously like judgment. You glare at it. “Don’t start. You know this matters.”
It does matter. You need an Abra. Elesa’s gym had already made that painfully clear. Her Emolgas and Zebstrika had danced around your team too fast, too slippery, and every time you tried to force the fight back under your control, it had slipped away from you. An Abra, with teleport and psychic intuition, would at least give you another angle. Another chance.
That is what you are supposed to be thinking about.
Not Hollis. Not the way his voice sounded when he told you where to go. Not the way he had looked at Delphox like he was trying to figure something out.
You sigh and crouch low, parting a few blades of grass. The field stretches out in front of you, full of rustling movement and patches of moonlit shadow. It should be exciting. It should feel like the beginning of a plan. Instead, you feel distracted.
Delphox’s ears twitch. It turns its head slightly, staring past you and deeper into the trees.
“What?” you whisper. It does not answer, only tightens its grip on the wand.
You look around, suddenly aware of how quiet the field has become. The air feels still in that uncomfortable way that comes right before something shifts. Somewhere far off, a night Pokémon calls once and then falls silent again.
You straighten a little, trying to ignore the uneasy prickling at the back of your neck. “Come on.” You tell yourself. “Just find the Abra and get out.”
You take a few steps forward, scanning the field more carefully now. A flicker of movement catches your eye near the grassline, and your shoulders tense, but it is only a wild Pokémon ducking out of sight. You let out a breath you did not realize you were holding. Then Delphox makes another sound, lower this time.
You turn toward it. “What is it now?”
It lifts its wand, not toward the field, but toward the side where the trees grow thickest along the edge of the clearing. You follow the gesture. For a second, you see nothing.
Then, a twig cracks. The sound is small, but in the stillness, it lands like a gunshot. Your head snaps toward the noise.
At the edge of the trees, just for a moment, you catch a glimpse of movement, tall, sleek, white curly fur slipping backward into the forest between the trunks. A Hisuian Zoroark.
The shape is gone almost as soon as you see it, swallowed by shadow and leaves, but the impression it leaves behind is immediate and unmistakable.
Someone was there. Watching. Your pulse spikes. You take a step forward before you can stop yourself. “Whose there?”
No answer. The forest stays silent. But Delphox is staring into the trees now, wand raised, posture sharp and alert. Not scared. Not startled. Aware.
The realization settles over you slowly, then all at once. Hollis had not just pointed you in the right direction and walked away. He had stayed close. Maybe not close enough to be seen, but close enough to keep tabs on you. Close enough to watch whether you actually listened. Close enough to know where you were headed.
A strange mix of irritation and surprise twists in your chest. “Seriously?” you mutter. “You go from creepy rumor to helpful guide to forest stalker?”
Delphox huffs softly, though whether it is amused or annoyed, you cannot tell. You look back toward the trees, but the place where the Zoroark had vanished is empty now. No movement. No glow. Nothing but dark trunks and layered leaves stirring faintly in the night breeze.
Still, the feeling of being watched does not leave. If anything, it gets stronger.
You swallow and turn back to the field, but your concentration is shot now. The Abra search that had already been slipping from your mind feels even more distant. Every rustle in the grass makes you look up. Every shadow between the trees makes you wonder if Hollis is still out there, silent and unseen.
Maybe he had not been lying when he said this route was blocked. Maybe he had been warning you for a reason. Or maybe he just liked knowing more than he said.
Either way, you are left standing in the clearing with a stubborn ache in your chest, an unfinished goal, and the uncomfortable certainty that Hollis is no longer just a rumor someone told in a Pokémon Center.
