hellooooooo my name is sky | she/her | main is fiercest-eigengrau-skies if you wanna hop over there | i make fire emblem heroes chibi-style sprite edits sometimes, but im v Nervous™
huh. didn't think id ever feel confident enough to make an art/writing blog, but here we are!
but, oh, lads and ladn'ts, im Nervous™ lmao
idk how often i'll actually use this blog, but might as well make a pinned.
mdni please and thank you. kids, please stay off my lawn.
my name is sky! pronouns she/her, please :>
i love volo and submas pokemon a whole lot, they've both taken over my life <3
a lot of my content is gonna be oc-centric and Extremely Niche AU shit, so if ur not into that, that's cool, but don't tell me what i can and can't do on my blog. this is my house and i can put my feet up on the counters if i want
i make fire emblem heroes style sprite edits and occasionally beat my writer's block with a stick and write, too
tag list!
#sky speaks: any regular posts i make that aren't things i've made
#sky sprites: any of my sprite edits
#sky writes: any of my writing
#sky wips: if i feel like giving y'all a treat, i'll post a wip once in a blue moon
i hope y'all enjoy being here! i'm excited to be here, to Really feel like im here instead of lurking and pining from afar and looking fondly at the cool fandom people. :>
i actually meant to post this like. a hot minute ago, actually. been thinking profusely about the idea of the protagonist being chased out into the icelands when banished after quelling the nobles
im working on a part 2 to this, so you might have to forgive me for the abrupt ending lol
also. can y'all tell i love me some angst
Commander Kamado of the Galaxy Team hadn’t intended for Skylar to survive.
He knew her capabilities, or had been theorized of them, if the swords at her hip were telling and how she had felled great Alphas with ease. How she had been able to clash her blades to Lord Kleavor’s axe-like limbs in a toe to toe match.
If she was a threat to his village, to his people, he would have to take care of it personally.
Skylar’s eyes had been wide, so shocked that she had barely missed the spear thrown in her direction as she was chased out of the Fieldlands and into areas beyond. Her towering Zoroark was a mighty silhouette behind her in the haze of red on the grand horizon. It bore its fangs, snarl crescendoing into a great roar at the members of the Galaxy Team, the people who she had only begun to trust following her fall from the sky, before gathering her in one of its long, gangly limbs and tearing off through the grasses.
---
Children of the Pearl Clan grow up hearing stories of the Baneful Fox.
It is a creature which resents everyone and everything with vigor, bloodying its own claws time and time again.
Volo could not, for the very life of him, move quickly enough.
For once, in this entire time, he wasn’t a step ahead of Skylar, yet he was on her trail all the same. She moved too quickly for his liking, as slippery as a Basculin.
Damn fools that the people of this land were, to blame the bloodied, crimson skies on her, after everything she’d done to aid them.
It is a fearsome, lonely creature, willing neither to reach for a hand nor to take one extended towards it.
Skylar had aided them with little hesitation, eyes surprisingly gentle and full of resolve. She had kindly ignored any aid for and questions from the village folks, however; she hadn’t ignored their hushed, volatile whispers of how she didn’t belong with them, no matter if she had the professor’s favor, no matter if even the stern, cold-eyed captain had her favor.
She didn’t belong and she knew this well, but she didn’t need reminders of such.
The Baneful Fox is notoriously difficult to get close to. However, once it considers you family, it will protect you as it would its own offspring.
She had attached to him surprisingly quickly, truthfully.
He hadn’t understood it, and still understood very little of her trust in him. He had asked her, once, why she trusted him so. She had continued to tend her little campfire, having grown quiet and mulling over his question. Her eyes, curious, had flecked up to him before returning to the fire before her.
She had told him that she thought he was like her. He didn’t belong, just as she hadn’t. It wasn’t difficult to see the curious looks and glances people would send his way, his fascination with the forgotten past and to so willingly mingle with Pokemon. He would be lying if he hadn’t heard such whispers, of how he was strange and dodged his work and prattled on and on about nothing of value.
He would be a liar to say he hadn’t heard volatile whispers in his direction, about meandering about with the one who fell from the sky, how being chosen by a Zorua was surely a bad omen for her, perhaps for the village itself.
What pain does it harbor to hate the world so?
The Icelands were colder than usual, the snowstorms more fierce.
Perhaps it was her own exhaustion catching up to her, being on the run from the Galaxy Team and being condemned for a crime she had no part in.
She collapsed to her knees, half buried in the deep snow. Typhon, sweet, sweet, Typhon, breaks from her Pokeball and crawls close to her trainer, the ghost-flamed Pokemon using her own body heat to warm her emotionally ravaged trainer.
Ferris gathered close, too, eyes sullen, but gentle. She crouched close, head pressed gently into her weeping trainer’s cheek. Neither Baneful Fox understood, and could only ask.
Why?
How does one even begin to earn the trust of such a being?
From the haze of red and the blur of snow as furious as Skylar herself came a great bestial figure. It was smaller than Ferris was, but mirrored in movements and the familiar wily hunch of its back.
Another Baneful Fox.
Perhaps it requires resonation?
Ferris bares her fangs, but Skylar gently rests her hand on her towering Zoroark’s muzzle. She carefully recalls both of her partners and mindfully adjusts the mask on her face, which mirrors both her now-recalled partner and the ghastly figure before her.
Why was it here?
Then again, she had a feeling she already knew the answer.
The same feeling of resentment?
The Baneful Fox takes a step forward, the snow crunching under its mighty clawed paws, and reaches out a clawed paw.
Skylar extends her own hand, mindfully crawling forth on her knees.
---
Children of the Pearl Clan grow up hearing stories of the Baneful Fox.
We’ve all been looking for her for quite some time now. The sky is still as red as the day she left us.
Volo hated the Alabaster Icelands.
He hated them with such a deep, resentful passion. The frost and snow ate at his flesh, his very bones, even through the thick, insulating material of his Guild-granted uniform.
However, as everyone else argued and deliberated amongst themselves on what to do, with the skies still a deep, bleeding red, there was still much to be done.
Much to find, discover. Understand.
To this day, we are still trying.
Volo couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Warden Ingo so enraged. He could still hear the guttural growl of rage in his yell as he raised his voice to the Galaxy Team Commander, voicing what everyone else had been thinking:
After everything she’d done, for the region and its people?
Why?
But that was two weeks ago.
Now, precariously climbing through the Icelands’ cliffs, with vastly important knowledge of a blur of a person in Bonechill Wastes with a pack of Zoroarks, there were things to do. As much as he wasn’t one to be on the frontlines of history– he was one to pull strings from the backgrounds, it was much easier to pull a front that way– he felt as though he had a renewed purpose.
Such things were strange, though; the sky would remain a bleeding red until Skylar would be able to set things into motion once more. Until then, he was no closer to his goal, to his prayers answered alas.
However, the deep shadow at his back that had come to him practically demanding assistance, as he’d supposedly been the only one trusted enough to aid on such things, he was full of purpose.
He would get his starlight back. No matter the cost.
first bit of writing on here! first part of my submas reunion longfic. there are lots of ocs in this, including oc/canon ocs, but it's not an Extremely major part of the fic
prologue.
tw: (implied) major character death
“I can’t call to mind all the words if I try, I find to pocket them will keep them all alive.”
It has been two months since the trainwreck, if one could call it that.
The situation was a tragedy, no matter how it was looked at. The Nimbasa City Subway ran like a well-oiled machine, in every aspect. Every safety standard was held to a tee and above, debris in the many tunnels were always cleaned up quicker than a passenger could voice a complaint. Even as the train rattled along her tracks, it didn’t just blatantly derail; the Battle Subway trains were built to last, made to sustain all manner of roadblock, handle all manner of Pokemon attacks both inside and outside their walls. Things like this didn’t just happen.
But it did— and now, the shining star of the Unova region was grieving one of its own stars.
Within the walls of Gear Station itself, there was a notable tension between every agent employed. The wreck wasn’t an ordinary trainwreck; not long after the initial impact was even reported to the Chief of Operations, the International Police had gotten involved on their own accord. Nearly a full sixty days after the situation, the tunnel was still out of order and the wreckage of the train had yet to be cleared out, claimed to still be under investigation.
And, both the most horrifying and grievous thing about the situation?
Subway Boss Ingo Trevethick’s body was never found.
From the office of the Nimbasa branch of incident reporting and station maintenance, Treyn Trevethick pored over their share of paperwork, forcibly taken from the desk of their stubborn and just-as-shell-shocked younger brother, now the only Subway Boss.
—
Treyn snatched the portfolio of paperwork off of Emmet’s desk, the formerly dreary man clad in white now very much awake. The elder Trevethick’s mouth was angled into a southbound diagonal line, sharp silver eyes scanning the lines of small print. The younger’s smile coiled into something closer to a grimace as he looked up at his older sibling, matching pools of liquid mercury forcing an extra sharpness. He studied his older sibling, watching them flip through the stapled pack with deft, meticulous fingers and such a sharp, narrowed gaze. “Emmet,” they quipped, the brother in question straightening in his seat. “Which agent left these on your desk? These are all maintenance reports and complaints and should have been handed to me.”
Emmet glanced aside. “I do not know.” He paused. “I intended to deliver them to you, but my train has been slow today. You have also not been in one station for long today, either.”
Treyn’s sharp gaze softened with an even softer sigh. “I am never too busy for my brother, Emmet.” They tapped the folder of paperwork on their brother’s hat, each word accentuated with a tap as if to gently beat it into his head. “I am, however, too busy for incompetence and impudence.” They paused, leaning into the side of his desk chair. “Ingo may have become uncoupled with us, but we’re still riding this train. Together.”
Emmet didn’t respond, not right away, a gloved finger tracing some of the exposed wood grain of the desk. His voice was small. “They are saying he is dead.”
Treyn sighed, their free hand giving their brother’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll believe he’s dead when I see his body myself.”
Emmet turned to them. “You don’t believe them.”
Treyn scoffed. “As if I should. You don’t, I know.” At the shake of his head, they nodded. “Exactly. Interpol hasn’t left. Whatever they have– or haven’t– found is what they’re not telling us.” They glowered at the report in their hand. “Everyone else who was on that train has already had their bodies surrendered to their families for a funeral. Except Ingo.”
Emmet glowered at the wood grain he’d been tracing. “Except Ingo.” His hand stopped. “They would have told us they had found him.” He turned back to his older sibling. “Right…?”
Treyn held the file in their hand a little tighter, their hand on his shoulder a little tighter, too. As if they’d lose both of their brothers if they let go. “I can hope so.”
—
Treyn scrutinized over the latest request from the International Police to halt any sort of maintenance for the still-closed tunnel where the wreck had occurred, for the sixth week in a row. This was getting out of hand. Other trains were running behind schedule and it would take weeks longer to even try to reroute the tracks for optimal timing. They growled, pinching the bridge of their nose at the migraine pounding to the beat of their pulse. They fetched the approval stamp from a drawer in their desk before approving the latest notice. What else could they do? Deny them and watch things go to hell? The Sharpedo that called themselves “journalists” were already up both theirs and Emmet’s backs for possible interference with the train that wrecked, which wouldn’t have been possible to begin with, but there would be no reasoning with such foul, bloodthirsty beasts.
Thumbing through a thick file of paperwork in a locked drawer in their desk, they found their personal file for the wreck. They remembered the blaring alarms that had gone off, the signal of a collision. But there hadn’t been anything found to cause such a collision, Interpol had been generous enough to tell them that, at least. There hadn’t been uncleaned debris, not a Pokemon, nothing. It’s as if the train ran into some sort of invisible wall, which shouldn’t have been possible.
It shouldn’t have been possible.
Yet, here they were, at their desk, forcibly neglecting to fill out incident reports about a major trainwreck– which involved their brother, whose body had yet to be disclosed both to the public and to his family– and forced to explain that to the Chief of Operations via email. At the delightfully prime hour of four thirty-three in the morning.
Returning to their file, they had also lost communication with several of the train cars for the Single Battle Line, primarily with Ingo’s boss car and several others. The others that lost communication, too, notably didn’t have any passengers. How did those cars lose communication before the collision? They couldn’t be… missing, could they? They shouldn’t be possible, either. Then again, they’re discovering a lot of things are possible that shouldn’t be these days.
Regardless, Interpol might not be giving them any answers, but they had connections, and connections got a person a lot farther these days than without them. They would find a way. Snatching their phone from its charger, the little Klinklang charm dangling at their ear, Treyn decided to phone a friend.
“Hello? Asha? Forgive me the late hour in Johto for your conference, but I’m afraid my tracks have led me here. I need a favor.”
I noticed something really REALLY cool about Legends arceus while looking up references, and it's so little, I don't know how many other folks have noticed it!!
The pokedex you get at the beginning of your journey;
Perfect, crisp and brand new! So many pages to fill! Untouched by anyone ever, the first to ever exist! The original pokedex.
But at the end, with a completed pokedex;
The title of the book is all ripped and damaged! It's been through so many surveys and treks out in hisui's wilderness! The edges of the blue cover are faded and dulling, maybe got wet a few times with run ins with outbreaks, being jostled around in a pack exploring around the region. The black binder holding it together after all this time is equally as banged up, probably barely keeping the stuffed pages inside safe and tucked away, but still doing its job.
This is the first ever pokedex, this is the one that began the understanding of pokemon as we know it, bringing humans and pokemon together as friends in the distant future. Before technology advanced and made the pokedex we were first introduced to in Kanto so many years ago.
It's falling apart and has been waterlogged a few times, it's recorded so much and survived raging lords, hordes or pokemon, alphas, an exile, gods of time and space, a banished deity, and faced almighty sinnoh.
And it was written, filled out, carried and protected all this time, by a kid who did their best to help the professor who first met them in Hisui.
I SPENT. 3 WEEKS ON THIS BEAST. IT WAS HELL. Lore time!!!!
[Small TW for non-consensual possession and somewhat graphic imagery]
Prophet
Prophet is what happens when a pompous god decides to exert his will over a natural born heretic - that being Jeremy, Vessel of Dialga.
Upon proving himself 'worthy', he experiences a rather chilling metamorphosis. Arceus smiles upon him, and calls it a blessing, but he's terrified. He doesn't want this; he thinks of what might become of a human when a god's power proves too much, he thinks of the man who might misconstrue his personal hell, he thinks of a 'god', he doesn't want this.
But the original one is oblivious to his torment, delighting in human fragility as his bones shift and splinter to make way for divine energy. Prophet tends to wear a plastic smile - he wants to appear friendly to his people - and lacks any and all self-awareness. Of course, it doesn't help that he is constantly fighting to stay in control, leading him to become incredibly short-tempered with anyone not expressing their utmost reverance.
Dialga isn't exactly pleased with the arrangement either, he is also a god, so it's unnatural for him to be denied anything. His rage festers, and he's sympathising with Giratina more and more by the day.
I wonder what might happen if Prophet and Volo were to meet..? Would he be ecstatic to meet his god, or repulsed by the tax on Jeremy? It would be a lie to say he wasn't fond of the lone person in Hisui who shared his beliefs, if a little outspoken on his disdain for Arceus. I suppose it depends on the point in the story, ehe ><
little guy cannot see new pictures of his oc right this minute bc he actually has to create the pictures himself, 100 billion injured 10000 morbillion died forever
Happy new year! Disappointed I didn't get this one out on time, but, oh well. I wound up getting sick on New Year's Day, so I've been sort of incapacitated from that.
your prayers have fallen on deaf ears
and another has answered the call
god, i was. so proud of this when i first made this. esp the glow up from my original redo of volo's wielder outfit (the daylight side) to the new version (the nighttime side). im still v proud of how this turned out.
your honor, he is so cool and tragic and i think it would've been the coolest thing ever if he got a dramatic glow-up on his fit when giratina appeared in his fight. im just saying.
