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stillchaoticlogic · 4 years

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Descent: Chapter 2

Pairing: Leon x Reader

Leon only thought he was the most powerful trainer in Galar...

He never battled you though.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: No Use Going Back to Yesterday

The sound of boots echo off the cement floor as you walk into the empty space. Leon follows close behind as he regards the large warehouse with intrigue and confusion.

“This is where we are training?” he asks as he looks around.

“The others will be here soon, you will refer to them as Knight and Ten.”

“Knight and Ten?”

“Yep those are code names, it’s how we protect our identity.”

“So what do you call me?”

“Ace,” you call over your shoulder as you move farther into the warehouse, “At the Battleground, you are the Ace of Spades. My Ace of Spades. Your current goal is to not be an Ace anymore.”

“So it’s just our position?” he asks as he readjusts his cap on his head.

“Pretty much…”

“Why?”

“It keeps it simple plus it establishes rank. You are an Ace, a one,” you regard the man in front of you. Vaguely you wonder about his need to be number one. Why the number means so much to him.

“What would you do if you weren’t doing this?” he asks as he follows you into the depths of the building still looking around with unrestrained awe.

“Never thought about it.”

“I don’t believe you,” he shoots back with a frown.

You turn and gaze steadily into his eyes, “This isn’t about me,” you say holding his gaze, “This is about you and your obsessive need to be the strongest. Perhaps it’s therapy that you need.”

He looks affronted by your words as if no one as ever dared to speak to him like that and honestly they probably haven’t. When you’re on top everyone wants you to like them. They want to be your best friend so they can ride your coattails to the top. They want all the glory with none of the work. The Underground is all work. And you won’t mince words for anyone especially an entitled ex-champion.

“Be ready Ace, this is about to be one of the hardest days of your life,” you say with a smirk as you turn to begin setting up the makeshift arena.

The duo arrives about twenty minutes later. Knight is a young man in his mid-twenties with jet black hair and steely grey eyes, as well as handsome and reliable and that crush you have on him is dangerous. He has a stoic and quiet demeanor much like the steel types that he favors. And did you mention that he’s your right hand and your most loyal teammate? You’ve been itching to put him in charge of one of the teams to be your ally, but you’ve been reluctant to let him go. You like him where he is and he likes where he is and as long as everyone is happy what does it matter? However, now there is danger and Clubs and Diamond have gotten more aggressive with you and you know the time has come.

In comparison, Ten is young and pretty much a prodigy with battling. She comes from the rougher part of the city and couldn’t afford to take the challenge. She’s just shy of seventeen and is a pervertible ray of sunshine. Her choice to train electric types is no surprise of yours. She has a Toxtricity of her own that almost rivals your own and you couldn’t be prouder. She will be a great Queen.

“We’re overthrowing Clubs and Diamond so that I can make you the new King and Queen,” you say as you start the meeting.

Both of them just blink at you in confusion.

“Wait… What??” questions Ten disbelief in her voice as she regards you like actual royalty.

Knight gazes off into the distance before he just nods, “I figured you to do as much. They have gotten dangerous lately and with the former champion on our team, we will be even more of a target.”

You nod your affirmation to your right hand, “I need you two to pick your successor. They need to be trustworthy and ready to fill your position not just in strength but in reliability.”

Knight nods as he regards you with his steely eyes, “I know who I would like as my successor.”

“Already?” you ask with a tilt of your head. You know he’s been considering this of course, and you know it will be Seven. He’s been paying attention to the young man, guiding him along the path. He has yet to choose a typing to specialize in, but you have a feeling it will be steel. Knight is highly revered among your team.

“Seven, he is capable and loyal.”

“To you.”

He looks up at you in surprise, “Groom him, you will need a good Knight after you have established your rule, in the meantime, Nine will be better suited to take your position.”

Nine is almost as large as Clubs and almost just as boisterous. He’s a lot more steady though lacking Clubs quick temper and conniving ways. He deals in Ground-types and is a powerhouse in his own right. You know he would already be your number 10 if he didn’t have a soft spot for Ten. He sees her as a younger sister and has come to her aid many times over.

“What about you Ten? Any thoughts on who will take over your position?”

She puts her hand up to her chin and sways from side to side as she thinks, “Five!”

“Five?” you ask in surprise, “That’s a low rank… How do you think you will get her where she needs to be?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, “She trains Psychic types, you know she will be fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question…” you trail off as you regard her and she just shrugs with an easy smile.

“Fine fine… start training her and you’re already close with Diamond’s Ten, he will make a good Knight for you.”

She blushes and avoids your gaze as you send her a knowing look.

“Should I tell him?” she asks hesitantly.

“No, this doesn’t leave the five of us and those you trust to take your place, and even then I don’t want them knowing just yet.”

They nod as you signal the meeting is over, “Time to train!”

The four of you start a rigorous training regime. You aren’t surprised when Five, Nine, and Seven show up, in that order. They all jump right in and you can’t help but be proud of your team. Once everyone has finished their exercises you pull Leon to the center of the ring.

“Stamina,” you announce as you all circle him.

“Stamina?” he asks looking back at you bewildered.

“You lack stamina. Ranks are based on how far you can get in the competition. Rank is established here with your teammates. We have two months until our next Ranking tournament. Your rank is where you fall in the team. Unfortunately, for you, after you won the cup and became champion you were automatically considered a finalist, so you’ve forgotten what it’s like to claw your way to the top. To victory. You’ve stood at the top of the mountain for too long so now you and your Pokemon have simply needed power, but power is nothing without stamina. That is why your Charizard fell so quickly. That is why you fell in battle after only three competitors despite your power. Those who are ranked higher have honed their ability to last longer in battle. We shall start there.”

He blinks at you in astonishment. You know he’s never had to face that many competitors in a row before. He’s so used to the same thing over and over again he’s compliant.

“That’s why?”

“Yes.”

He nods as he looks down a sense of determination radiating from him before he raises his head and regards his team.

“These are your competitors, but also your teammates. You compete among them for rank, but in battle royals, they are your greatest allies. Three months until a battle royal will take place and four for the Tournament. The Tournament is the only time a King or Queen can be overthrown. It is a winner take all battle and everyone has to bring their very best. Now show us what you’ve got.”

Leon falls after the second battle and you can feel the frustration radiating off of him.

“Tomorrow we are going on a field trip…” you mutter as you turn away from Leon, “That’s all for today, team! Excellent job! Seven and Nine will report to Knight for a personalized battle plan and Five will report to Ten.”

Everyone nods and you can see the disappointment on Leon’s face.

“Come on Ace… We’re going to get a drink…”

“I really shouldn’t…” he hesitates.

“Shouldn’t what? Have a drink? How tight of a leash did Rose have you on?” you throw over your shoulder as you head outside.

He winces at your question, “Uhh…”

Your voice softens as you realize just what kind of life he’s led, “Hey… Come on… One drink won’t hurt… I promise I won’t tell anyone that the great Leon had a beer.” You wink when you catch his gaze. He sends you a small smile and a nod. You can tell he’s still hesitant and he probably doesn’t trust you as far as he can throw you, but he follows along behind you anyway.

“So…” he begins as you head down the road to the car hidden in the bushes. Leon practically chokes when he sees what you drive.

“How?”

You glance innocently back at him, “What?” you ask before a Cheshire smile breaks out onto your face, “You don’t like it?”

The black Liepard A-Type gleams back at him as he gazes in awe at the car.

“How do you afford this?!”

You tilt your head at him as you send a secret smile and bring your finger to your lips before you get into the driver’s side. He slides in and starts inspecting the interior with the reverence of someone in a holy place.

“I don’t understand why you are excited, can’t you afford one of these?” you ask as you rev the engine, and Leon practically purrs back at it.

“Rose wouldn’t let me get one… He said that-”

“Who gives a shit what Rose thinks? He tried to destroy the world with his disillusioned idea and his obsession, not with clean energy but with infamy. He doesn’t own you anymore. Buy the damn car,” you bite.

Leon just blinks back at you in awe and you wonder just how much of his life and of himself has been nothing but a construct. A carefully curated persona for the public. A lifetime of ‘no’s’. No wonder he has no idea who he is outside of being champion, he’s spent the last decade being told what to do by everyone around him. His entire adult life has been meticulously maintained to project a certain image. The perfect image. The Unbeatable Champion. But what happens when the very core of your identity is being the unbeatable champion and then you are beaten? No one prepared him for the aftermath of loss.

“I will…” he says it softly as if he doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Good,” you say with satisfaction, “I’ll go with you. We can pick it out together.”

“Really?” he asks gazing at you like he doesn’t believe you.

“Of course! Invite your friends, I bet that dragon guy would love to help too.”

He looks out the window regarding the scenery as you fly down the road back towards the city.

“Yeah… I bet he would… He’s really busy with League business right now though. The new-” His gaze is unfocused as he thinks about his old life.

“Stop.”

He looks shocked when he glances over at you, but remains quiet.

“You aren’t part of that world anymore. You don’t live by that schedule. You have two months to gain rank and I have a couple more Aces to find. We’ve got some recruiting to do.”

“Recruiting?”

“What? You don’t think I just pick trainers out of the ether, do you? Let Lady Luck do her thing? Hell no. This is a war and you need the proper army.”

“I still fail to see how this is any different from the League that you all hate so much,” he grumbles as he regards you with his own kind of derision. He still looks like he would give you a hug at any moment so it’s lost on you.

“This is a way of life. A very beautifully choreographed dance if you will. Chance isn’t something that will favor you often. Loyalty. Reliability. Power. Cunning. That’s how you survive. That’s what you seek out. I didn’t become High Queen by trusting the first man to flirt with me, or the first woman to compliment my shoes. You shouldn’t either.”

He looks away, “I’m beginning to see what I’ve gotten myself into.”

“Just now?” you ask sarcastically, “Major himbo energy there big boy…”

He looks flabbergasted, not for the first time today, “Himbo? What? I’m not a himbo! And don’t call me big boy…”

You send him another sly smile, “You don’t like it when I call you Big Boy? What about studmuffin? Better?”

He blushes and looks away, “Absolutely not!”

“Arceus I’m going to have so much fun with you…”

He sends you a glare, “Is this a game to you?”

“You need to lighten up Big Boy! When was the last time you had fun?”

He looks up at the ceiling clearly deep in thought and your eyes widen, “Oh… dear… you know what? Don’t answer that… I don’t think I want to know if you have to think that hard about it.”

He looks affronted and turns back to you, “It’s not been that long!”

“If you have to do math then it’s been too long.”

He deflates a little bit at your reply and just nods in agreement, “You’re right… I can’t even remember the last time I was able to go out for a drink or go on a date.”

“Yeah… we are so not jumping down that rabbit hole tonight…”

He looks away and you notice the blush on his cheeks out of the corner of your eye as he does so. You giggle as you reach over and ruffle his hair making him whip back around to face you looking annoyed until he sees your face.

“Live a little…” you say softly catching his eye before turning back to the road.

He gives a determined nod as you pull up in front of the bar, far from the beaten path where no one will care if ex-champion Leon walks in. Or maybe they will, but he’s with you and no one questions what you do in your own bar.

“Come on Big Boy… Drinks on me…” you say as you stop in front him and grasp his shirt before pulling him down until he’s eye level with you. He chokes at the tug and the close proximity of your faces, clearly uncomfortable. He blinks at you in shock before you just send him an innocent smile and pat his cheek softly before you let go and lead the way into the bar.

The man follows you like a lost puppy.

Notes: I know this was a little bit of a filler and way too informative but I liked the interaction between Leon and Reader. I hope you did too! I hope it sets a little more of their relationship up. Please tell me your thoughts and drop some love! You can buy my affection with Likes and Comments!

#pokemon leon #leon x reader #leon imagine #champion leon #champion leon x reader #pokemon leon x reader #pokemon #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon scenarios #descent #leon x you #reader insert #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield imagines

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samsonet · 4 years

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don't need a rainbow here (my world is black and white)

Piers shouldn't be with these Rainbow Rocket weirdos.

There has been a terrible mistake.

One minute, Piers was celebrating his sister’s victory at the champion cup, and the next, he’s... He doesn’t know. There was a light, and he was falling, and —

and then he ended up here.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t seem to be restrained, which is good. He’s not in a hospital, either, which is… probably good? Or it would be, if he had any idea what this place actually was.

It’s dark. There are red lights from the floor, the walls. It’s eerily quiet. Piers is reminded of one of the most boring clubs he’s ever been to — but at least this place smells alright. Small mercies.

“You’re awake.”

Oh, no.

Piers whips toward the voice, one hand going automatically to his belt for Obstagoon’s pokeball — but it’s not there. Of course. They must’ve taken his team while he was unconscious.

Well, if these bastards think he’ll be helpless without his Pokémon, they’re wrong. Piers may be scrawny and sick-looking, but he’s a dark-type specialist. He knows how to fight without brute force.

During this time, the other person in the room does not move to restrain him. In fact, all he does is give a quiet laugh.

Piers examines him. The other man is short, but he has an aura that fills the room. He’s wearing a suit with an R on the chest. He doesn’t seem like a corporate type — and Piers has seen more than his fair share of those — but rather like… a gang boss or something.

“Sorry if you were expecting a ransom,” Piers coughs out. “The league doesn’t care about the Spikemuth gym leader. They’ll tell you to keep me.”

But he’s not just the Spikemuth gym leader anymore, is he? He’s the champion’s brother. He knows Marnie would give anything to get him back safely.

“I must apologize. It seems we’ve started with a misunderstanding. You may call me Giovanni. And your name is…?”

Giovanni speaks with an accent similar to Kabu’s. Is he from one of the eastern regions? Stranger and stranger.

“...Piers.”

“Mr. Piers. I represent a coalition of certain people with… dark hearts, shall we say. We are working together for the time being. I believe you will fit in well with us.”

Piers blinks. What, is this an invitation to some interregional society of dark-type specialists? Which… would make a disturbing amount of sense with the kidnapping and all, but damn, what a stereotype.

“Yeah, mate, thanks but no thanks,” he says, standing up. “I don’t know how much ya heard from the news, but I can’t drop everything to join yer club. Nothing personal.”

Giovanni chuckles. “Come with me.”

Piers goes, partly because he’s curious, partly because it’s not like he can do anything else. He follows the man down a dark hallway, then through what seems to be a lobby, and then outside.

Outside is too hot. The sun is too bright. And the land… is not land.

It’s ocean, as far as the eye can see. In the distance, a flock of Wingull circle an island. Piers rubs his eyes, not quite believing what he’s seeing.

“As you may have noticed,” Giovanni says, “we are not in Galar at the moment.”

From there, Piers is more willing to listen. Giovanni gives him a tour, speaking vaguely about life in Kanto and the group’s current situation in Alola.

At the end, Piers is introduced to one young woman as something like his personal assistant.

“She speaks Galarian,” Giovanni explains. “Most of the other grunts don’t, so if you need something, come to her.”

She refuses to give him her name, making excuses about how the grunts weren’t supposed to use them, but she does allow him to call her J.

J’s alright. She reminds him of his gym trainers, in her earnestness and weirdness. She only comes when he calls for her. Otherwise, Piers is left to do as he pleases.

Right now he’s fine just staying in his room, occasionally going out to raid their kitchen or get fresh air.

At least his Pokemon are alright. Giovanni gives them back a few hours after showing Piers the ocean. Most of his team seems to notice no difference between this place and Spikemuth, but Obstagoon does. It’s simply not meant for such a warm climate.

Piers brings this up to J, and she agrees to set his room’s temperature to something more normal for Galar.

He trains. He sleeps. He keeps up his vocal exercises. It’s fine.

What Piers learns, over the course of a week, is this:

The multiverse exists, and he has traveled through it. Somehow, and nobody will explain how, Giovanni summoned Piers from the own world and has trapped him in this one.

In this world, Leon is still the champion. The date is a few years before Piers sent Marnie on her gym challenge, so it seems he has time traveled as well.

He’s not the only guest here, either. Around the building, there are others — but not dark-type specialists.

No, these people are gang leaders.

Piers sees them in passing, recognizing them and quickly making his escapes. There’s Ghetsis, the Unovan cult leader who attacked the league and came this close to destroying their government. There’s Archie and Maxie, the eco-terrorists who didn’t seem to understand that the earth needed both land and water. There’s Cyrus, who… Piers can’t even start with him.

Of course, just because these men were all would-be villains in his world, it didn’t mean they were the same in their home universes.

He asks J what their stories are.

“Oh. Uh, Maxie’s a real passionate sorta guy, even though he doesn’t look like it. He tried to summon this Pokémon in Hoenn, I don’t remember the name of it, wanted to use it to shrink the oceans, make more land.”

The rest of her stories pretty much follow what Piers read in the news, but for one key detail: back in their home universes, all the men had succeeded.

“You mean that guy Archie drowned the world? Nobody stopped him?”

“I’m sure Team Aqua survived?” J offers.

Piers stares in open-mouthed amazement. When he finds his words again, he asks, “And your boss doesn’t mind having these people here?”

“No? He likes them, I think? They all fit the same pattern, you know. Guy with vision leads a band of outlaws to fulfill his goal… and the second they do, Rainbow Rocket picks ‘em up and brings ‘em here. Isn’t that what happened with you?”

“What happened to me? I’m not like them—” But as soon as he says it, he has to reconsider. The description she’s given is so vague, it could very well apply to him. If wanting his sister to be champion counted as a vision, then he did, technically, have a vision. Team Yell was, technically, a band of outlaws.

He purses his lips, not liking the conclusion he’s drawn.

J says, hesitantly, “I don’t know what you did back home. Whatever it was, I won’t judge ya. After all, you gotta be here for a reason, right?”

Piers thinks about that as he steps into the kitchen at 11:30 that night. He can’t begin to guess why he would be in this world, but he at least knows what his goal is at the moment.

It’s stereotypically Galarian of him, he knows, crawling out of bed for a spot of tea. That’s fine; it’s not like there’s anyone around to see him.

Then the door opens.

“...Piers?”

Even with one word, there is no mistaking the voice.

Chairman Rose stands in the doorway, frozen as though in shock. He’s wearing one of those grey suits he likes so much, though the shirt is wrinkled and the tie missing. He’d probably fallen asleep at his desk.

He doesn’t look like he fits here, in a group of dangerous men. Piers has to admit that he himself matches the aesthetic of the place; Rose does not.

Rose says, “What did you do?”

Piers says, “Why don’t I make us tea an’ we can talk about it.”

The chairman seems to agree to that, even getting out the teacups while Piers boils the water. This never would have happened in his home world, and yet it’s the most familiar interaction he’s had since he arrived.

When they’re sitting at the kitchen table with their tea, Piers begins: “In my world, I’m the leader of a group called Team Yell. My sister Marnie is the champion.”

“Oh?”

“We didn’t cheat.” He’s defensive, he knows, but it’s not like he and Rose had a trusting relationship before all of this. “She won fair and square, on her own talents.”

“I wasn’t saying otherwise.”

“An’ what about you, then? What did you do that got you thrown here — besides being a billionaire, I mean.”

In Piers’ world, using that tone of voice on that word would make the chairman bristle. Here, Rose looks more mournful than offended.

“Who did your Marnie fight for the championship title?”

“Leon…? Why, is somebody else champion in your world?”

“His brother Hop is champion now, but he battled Leon for the title. Or... he would have. I was impatient. I moved too quickly.”

Rose shifts in his seat, pulling out a pokeball. No, not just any ball — a master ball. The Pokémon inside looks like none Piers has ever seen: almost wormlike, spiny, glowing with a dim red light.

“You asked what I did to deserve being here,” Rose murmurs. “I’ll tell you. I forced Leon to fight a Pokémon more powerful than anything Galar had ever seen. He died bringing it to me.”

...Arceus.

It takes Piers only a moment to process this information and then decide he doesn’t want to hear any more of it.

Rose looks like he’s about to start on one of his rambling speeches, so Piers quickly holds up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Let’s talk about somethin’ else.”

“Something else, as in…”

“Your first battle. Your latest charity project. Whatever.”

To his credit, Rose is skilled at conversation. He easily transitions to discussions of his university days, the music theory class he’d taken as an elective. It surprises Piers how much he knows… and yet he can’t say that the discussion isn’t interesting.

It’s the first time Piers has spoken to the league chairman without worrying about Spikemuth. It will not be the last.

Archie speaks just enough Galarian to make Piers feel like an idiot.

It’s not like he’s never thought about human influence on the environment — he lives in a smoke-filled city, after all — but to hear Archie talk of pollution and the Pokémon affected by it, Piers has to admit that awakening an ancient Pokémon isn’t the worst solution out there.

Archie doesn’t seem to know that Maxie is alive and well and in the castle. Piers doesn’t tell him.

One day J brings him a composition book and a small electric keyboard.

“Since you write music,” she says sheepishly. “Sorry I couldn’t get you a guitar or something. I went with the next best thing.”

She leaves him alone, and he writes down some lyrics for a new song.

It’s about a fictional lost romance, but the imagery is all about being trapped in paradise, about missing the gloom of his hometown.

Galar is going to love it. If he ever gets back, anyway.

He’d asked about his present universe counterpart once and received a tablet that was somehow connected to the internet. His other self is doing well, both as a gym leader and a musician. Piers thinks about reaching out, but in the end decides not to. He wouldn’t believe this story if someone tried telling it to him; his counterpart is likely no different.

Days pass.

Maxie speaks just enough Galarian to make Piers feel like an idiot.

It’s not like he’s never thought about land as a resource — Galar is technically an island, after all — but to hear Maxie speak of erosion and human life, Piers has to admit that the idea of awakening an ancient Pokémon could be reasonable.

Maxie doesn’t seem to know that Archie is here, too. Piers doesn’t tell him.

He runs into Cyrus one morning at breakfast.

Cyrus asks, “Are you the one I hear singing in Galarian?”

He looks dead inside as always, which, Piers thinks, is a mood.

“Tha’s me, yeah. M’ name’s Piers.”

“Your music is very… spirited,” Cyrus says.

“Thanks?”

“I would prefer not to hear it.”

“Ah.”

Piers spends a lot of time talking to Rose. It’s not what he would have expected or wanted, but Rose is the only other Galarian around.

Still, he’s isn’t bad company when the league isn’t involved. He’s fond of art and architecture and all those stereotypical rich people things, but he’s also well-versed in popular culture.

(“I didn’t take you for an Avengers fan.”

“Admittedly it was not something I sought out for myself. My son Bede—”

“Wait, you adopted Bede?”

“Of course. Didn’t my counterpart do the same?”)

That’s why, when his throat aches from practice and there’s nothing else to do, Piers goes looking for him.

Rose is in one of the conference rooms. He’s usually there; he’s said before that it’s comfortably familiar to him. It’s the man he’s talking to who grabs Piers’ attention, though.

Rose says, “Piers, allow me to introduce you to Lysandre. He is a friend in my world, and his counterpart is just as elegant and driven.”

Lysandre looks down at him, magnanimous and regal. It should make sense that he and Rose know each other. They’re rich philanthropists, captains of industry; even with their different regions, it makes sense they would know each other.

And yet.

Rose, for all his billionaire capitalist near-dystopian command of the region, did not come from money. At one point he was poor. At one point he worked in the mines, dirty work.

Lysandre is an aristocrat. Lysandre is one of those smarmy bastards who believes that a person’s value depends entirely on whether they’re productive. People like him say that Spikemuth is poor because they don’t try hard enough.

When Team Flare began their attempt at apocalypse, the power spots went wild. Piers spent the day helping in Hammerlocke and trying not to worry about little Marnie all alone in their flat.

It was only later that Piers learned something like the full story, from Galarian translations of Professor Sycamore’s explanations.

He didn’t like what he read.

“I’ve heard of you,” Piers says. “Yer the one who wanted to kill all the Pokemon, right?”

Rose frowns. “I assure you, no one loves Pokemon like Lysandre—”

“It had to be done,” Lysandre says.

His voice is deeper than Piers’ or Rose’s, and his words hang heavily in the air.

“Lysandre… what…”

“My apologies, Elijah. Where there is a scarce resource, there will be conflict. With conflict comes suffering. Pokemon are destined to be used by humans; the only way to prevent it was to remove them.” He sighs a world-weary sigh, then looks to Piers. “I cannot confirm if I was successful in my world, but that was my intention.”

Rose pales. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to — I must —”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. In a moment he’s rushing out the door, unsteady on his feet. Piers follows him. He finds him leaning against the wall, clutching his chest and sweating.

“Are you okay?” Shit, he’s not having a heart attack, is he?

“I'm fine. Physically,” Rose says. “It’s just — my Lysandre wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t talk like that.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate this place,” Rose says. “I hate everyone in it — except you.”

“Mhm.”

Piers walks down the hall to find his path blocked by that man in the snuggie.

“Mr. Piers, was it?” Ghetsis asks. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is—”

“I know who you are. Not interested.”

“Come now, what harm could I possibly do to you here? You lose nothing by listening for a few minutes.”

“If you’re going to give me that ‘humans and Pokemon should be separated’ bull, save your breath. Galar watched your stunt at the league. We know you don’t even believe it yourself.”

He tries to force his way past, but Ghetsis remains firm. He’s like Lysandre, much taller than any normal person has any right to be. He stands unmoving, but the smile on his face grows bigger and more unnerving by the second.

(Piers misses Raihan.)

“Of course not,” Ghetsis says. “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence like that. After all, a dark-type specialist like yourself is no doubt familiar with strategy. Especially in your league.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ghetsis chuckles. “You say you’ve seen my ‘stunt,’ as it were. I’ve seen yours, too. The league lets your town rot on purpose, and the only salvation they offer is for you to leave it? I know I would be angry, were I in your position.”

Deep breaths. He’s a manipulator; don’t let him get to you.

“And your champion — I’ve never seen someone so undeserving of what they were given—”

It’s only after Piers throws the punch that he realizes Ghetsis probably meant Leon and not Marnie.

Well, it’s no problem either way; Piers’ fist hits him square in the nose, making a satisfying sound as it connects. It seems Ghetsis is frailer than he looks. He stumbles back with a groan, giving Piers the chance to walk past him.

“Don’t talk to me again,” he calls over his shoulder.

Ghetsis only glares.

One day Piers opens a door to find a gigantic black Jellicent-woman hybrid on the other side.

“Ah,” J says when he stops screaming long enough to tell her what happened. “I see you’ve met the Motherbeast.”

He doesn’t dare ask what the story behind that is.

It says something that the emergency lights here are blue.

J rushes to him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him down the hall.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re moving from our shielded position to a VLFS. The structure is currently occupied, so it’s not as smooth as we’d like. But don’t worry about it, Giovanni has a plan.”

A plan. Isn’t that reassuring.

There are grunts running everywhere. Piers catches glimpses of people in white and gold — the current occupants? They’re fighting against the Rockets.

Piers should help them. He’s a gym leader, and gym leaders are supposed to help people, right? Innocent bystanders vs invading criminals. It should be an easy choice. Piers should turn around — right — now — and…

...and he doesn’t.

He goes back to his room like a child, pretending he doesn’t see what’s going on around him. Let this region’s champion handle it, if there is one.

By the end of the hour, the lights are back to red.

Rainbow Rocket’s occupation of Aether Paradise lasts for an hour before someone comes tearing through the grunts.

Piers considers going out to meet them, but he holds back. He doesn’t feel like getting into a fight.

Still, his curiosity grows. A few minutes in and he’s walking out.

In the main room, a man holds two grunts at arms’ length. He’s tall, somewhere between Ghetsis and Lysandre in height. He’s wearing a baggy hoodie with a skull design on the back. He’s not a suited corporate type at all.

Piers decides he likes him.

“‘Ey, you two.” He pokes both of the grunts on their backs, nudging them away. “I’ll take care of this guy, a’right? Now scram.”

The grunts obey.

The man doesn’t seem grateful, but that’s reasonable: he didn’t look like he needed rescuing, really. He circles Piers, cracking his knuckles.

“So you’re with these guys, are you? Where’d ya put the prez?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He holds up a hand, trying to ward off a potential fistfight. “‘M here ‘cause I train dark types an’ someone thought that makes a bad guy. M’ name’s Piers.”

The man puts his hands in his pockets, circling Piers. There’s something dark in his eyes; Piers sees it in the mirror every day.

At last the man says, “I’m Guzma, the boss of Team Skull. I like your shoes.”

His shoes, with the skulls on the heels. Punk recognizes punk.

Piers wonders if they’ve met before. He could have sworn, sometime during his stay here, that he’s heard the name.

Maybe Guzma’s counterpart is running around the castle somewhere.

“Who’s the prez you mentioned?”

“The prez. You know, the lady who owns this place? Lusamine. Tall white lady, hair like a cocoon down to her ankles?”

The Motherbeast. Or her counterpart, more likely.

“Haven’t seen her, sorry.”

“Hmph.” Guzma stomps to the wall and slumps against it. “Well, at least our champion’s here. She’ll beat you all down before long.”

Their champion. Piers pictures a muscular woman in her mid-twenties, a white cape flowing behind her.

“There she is! Hey, Moon! You find that Giovanni yet?”

In rushes a girl — no, two girls — both younger than Marnie. The dark-haired one looks up at Guzma and shakes her head.

“There’s one more room, Mr. Guzma,” her blonde partner says.

“Then go for it. Me an’ Piers here’ll make sure nobody goes after ya.”

The girls rush off. Guzma follows them with his eyes, and when they’re out of sight, he slumps back again.

“They’re good kids, Moon and Lillie. Didn’t have the best home lives, but they’re still holdin’ on… you gotta admire that, right?”

Giovanni calls the whole thing off. Apparently the others in this Rainbow Rocket gang got sent back to their universes by this scientist working for Aether. That simultaneously encourages Piers and pisses him off, because if this was possible all this time, someone should’ve offered him a ride home.

Better late than never, he supposes.

Colress has him and Rose in the same room, “because your universes have a similar frequency, so I can send you both home at once.”

Rose nods. “So, Piers, it seems this is where we say goodbye.”

“Yeah.” A chuckle. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to fighting with you about power spots and stadiums again.”

A wry smile. “Well… I’d give a farewell speech, but I believe you wouldn’t care for it. So let me say this instead: I am thankful to have had you here.”

“You, too.”

“And if I may ask you a favor…” Rose takes Piers by the shoulder, pulling him close. He whispers in his ear: “If your Rose is anything like me, he does genuinely care for Leon. Tell him to act like it, while he has the chance.”

Piers’ face feels warm. His chest tightens, and he feels dizzy… and then he falls.

He falls, and he lands on his face, and Arceus is that Marnie’s voice.

“Where were you?” Her voice has that pitch she gets when she’s about to cry, and Piers hurries to hug her. They’re sitting in… Wyndon Stadium? There’s Marnie’s Liepard, and on the other side of the pitch, a kid in a challenger uniform and their Kommo-o.

“How long was I gone?”

“Six. Freaking. Months. I went looking for you! But nobody had any idea where you could’ve gone… Where were you?”

He pats her back. “I… got lost. It’s a long story. ‘M sorry for leaving you, Mar. I promise I’ll never do that to ya again.”

When Champion Moon visits Galar for the World Tournament, she is introduced to their gym leaders.

She gives Piers a thoughtful look, but never says why.

#piers pokemon #rainbow rocket #DNARHMWIBAW

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paradoxicalca · 5 years

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(OC) Dundon DIYs the Hurricanes (An Alternate Reality)

(Previous parts of this series include: Re-Chiarelling the Oilers, Moneyballing the Sens, Covertly Tanking the Wild, and Frenchifying the Canadiens.)Part I"Okay losers listen up!"This wasn't the first time team owner Tom Dundon had greeted the Carolina Hurricanes' analytics department this way, but they did not know that this was the first time he had gotten the office number right on his first try. After a long season the marketing department and janitors were no longer taken aback by these frequent interruptions."I've just had a brilliant idea. No doubt we had a good season last year, couple sell outs, good shit all around. But we gotta bring it to the next level okay? Now answer this question: what sells in sports?"One brave analyst answered: "Winning?" "Superstars?" offered another.Dundon shook his head in disbelief. "What? No, sex, you nerds, ever have it? Sex sells. We've got eyeballs on these games now but to get people really caring about this team we need to get a full roster of real dimes. Handsome motherfuckers. What do hockey players call attractive people?"A pause."Sir, none of us have actually played hockey before.""I think the guys on Letterkenny call them rockets?"Dundon clapped and pointed at him. "Alright, there we go, we need more rockets in our locker room than fucking NASA." Then he turned around, kicked over a garbage can, and disappeared through the door.The analytics department wasted no time in devising algorithms and stats to quantify player attractiveness. Very quickly a vicious divide emerged between two measurements: the Cool or Rugged Sexiness Indicator (CORSI) and the Foxiness-Expressing Number which Indexes Cute Kings (FENWICK). It all came down to type and preference: CORSI adherents argued for strong, bearded, often Canadian players, while FENWICK fanatics extolled the virtues of prettier players, usually non-threatening Scandinavians. It was eventually acknowledged that these met at the Strapping, Handsome and Rather Pretty (SHARP) intersection, but nonetheless conflict still raged. After a day of furious debate it was decided that they would deliver Dundon a roster split between the three categories:Filip Forsberg (+6.5 FENWICK) - Tyler Seguin (+3.5 SHARP) - Brock Boeser (+4.7 SHARP) Gabriel Landeskog (+8.5 FENWICK) - Adam Henrique (+3.7 CORSI) - Leon Draisaitl (+5.6 SHARP) Tom Wilson (+4.3 CORSI) - Alex Wennberg (+7.5 FENWICK) - Blake Wheeler (+3.8 CORSI) Marcus Foligno (+3.4 CORSI) - Elias Lindholm (+5.6 FENWICK) - Andre Burakovsky (+3.4 FENWICK) Roman Josi (+7.4 FENWICK) - Erik Karlsson (+6.8 FENWICK) Shea Weber (+4.5 CORSI) - Kris Letang (+7.2 SHARP) Brady Skjei (+4.6 SHARP) - Erik Gudbranson (+3.9 CORSI) Henrik Lundqvist (+8.2 SHARP) Braden Holtby (+3.6 CORSI) Proud of themselves, but feeling somewhat uncomfortable, the analytics team printed out this list and called Dundon to come back and retrieve it.When he arrived he looked at it and smiled "Great work, alright, and this algorithm is all loaded on the computer over there?""Yes sir""Okay great, thanks guys, you're fired, best wishes"As each of the analysts grumpily gathered their laptops and Funko Pops into cardboard boxes and left PNC Arena, Dundon folded the list into a paper airplane and yelled "Hey Don! You still work for me?"The veteran manager walked into the office. "Yes, Tom, I still do."Dundon fired the paper airplane directly at Waddell's forehead and it fell to the floor. "This is a list of players, I'm gonna need you to trade for these guys ASAP, got it?"Waddell muttered through gritted teeth something like "...never in Atlanta...""Oh yeah you turtle-looking motherfucker? Well why don't you go and work for them then? You're fired, fuckface."By the end of the day, Dundon had fired everyone he could find in the building. Then he sat down at the computer that had the handsomeness algorithm loaded onto it. Google Chrome was open. These fuckers had been using the internet at work? He wished he could fire them again. But he noticed the website on the screen."What the hell is HFBoards?"_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Part IIThis site was incredible - Dundon didn't realize there were so many hockey fans. But here they all were, speculating on rumours, constructing rosters, and, most incredibly, proposing trades. He had been paying out the ass all year for front office staff and yet there were thousands of people on this website coming up with trades for free. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning - receiving gifts without having to give anything to anyone else. He completely forgot about the handsomeness list he'd asked for just a few hours before.Just then a social media intern who had been in the washroom when he dismissed the rest of her department poked her head into the room. Dundon immediately tried to fire her (he knew how to use Twitter, why was he paying someone to do it?) but it turned out she actually wasn't getting paid anything. So he recruited her to a new project."I need you to record every trade proposal our fans have made on this website this summer."And she did.1. Justin Faulk for Antti Raanta 2. James Riemer for Martin Jones (1 million retained) 3. Warren Foegele and a 2nd for Nikita Gusev "That's it? Alright well hold on, I'll get these done quick then."But when he called that lanky dork in Arizona whose name he couldn't remember and offered him the first deal, he was hung up on immediately. The same thing happened twice more."What the hell is going on?""Well," the intern started, "it seems like our fans might overvalue our players a bit.""We made the fucking third round, all our players should have value out the ass! How am I supposed to know how much I can get for these guys?""Well, there's a kind of thread on this forum called 'Value Of:' where you name a player and people tell you what they'd be willing to trade for them.""Perfect, make one of those and I'll start hitting the phones."Edmonton Oilers @OilersNHLTRADE ALERT: The #Oil acquire D Dougie Hamilton from the #Canes in exchange for Jesse Puljujarvi and Kris RussellToronto Maple Leafs @MapleLeafs#Sportschek Transaction Alert: Maple Leafs have acquired D Brett Pesce, RW Teuvo Teravainen, and C Martin Necas from the Hurricanes in exchange for RW Mitch Marner"This is so easy, no one's even trying to negotiate with me! I can't believe I kept that old fuck around for so long."Montreal Canadiens @CanadiensMTLWELCOME TO MONTREAL @SebastianAho!#Habs receive C @SebastianAho in exchange for C Max Domi, D Cale Fleury, and a 2020 1st.Les #Habs reçoivent Sebastian Aho en échange de Max Domi, Cale Fleury et un choix de 1er ronde.Vancouver Canucks @sabresWE HAVE A TRADE TO ANNOUNCE #GoCanucksGoCanucks have acquired RW Andrei Svechnikov from @NHLCanes in exchange for D Chris Tanev and a 2020 2nd round pickBuffalo Sabres @sabresSabres have acquired D Jaccob Slavin from CAR for RW Sam ReinhartPittsburgh Penguins @penguinsThe Penguins have acquired D Trevor van Riemsdyk for D Jack Johnson #letsgopensEpilogueThat fall, the fans at PNC Arena thought they were buying tickets to hockey games, but what they got was even more impressive: a one-man show. They would hear Tom Dundon announce the starting lineups ("Why am I playing some asshole to read a script?") and sing the national anthem. ("This isn't a fucking talent show, and people say I have a great voice.") They'd see him run up and down the aisles serving popcorn and drinks, and even interact with children as the new mascot ("Look kid, you want a fuckin' high five or not? Okay, quit hugging me you fuckin' perv."). Long after the games were done, an exhausted Dundon could be found sweeping up trash. It almost wasn't worth it. But at the end of the night, when he looked at the balance sheet and the single employee expense - the NHL had refused his request to drive the Zamboni himself - he was filled with a quiet comfort.As the team tumbled down the standings, Dundon barely noticed. He didn't have much time to watch the games anyway, and he only looked at the scoreboard when one of the pixels went out and he had to fix it. But there came a point, with the season finally done, when he realized that he had barely had a second of free time all year. His hair was turning white from a lack of sleep. Worst of all, there hadn't been anyone to fire in months. But then he realized something else. As he walked into the bathroom with a mop, he stared at his gaunt face in the mirror, took a deep breath and whispered"You're fired"He suddenly felt an exhilarating freedom wash over him. Then he put down his mop, walked outside, breathed in fresh air for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, and just began to walk. He was never seen again.Next time: Jim Rutherford decides to deal with his Tom Wilson problem once and for all. (OC) Dundon DIYs the Hurricanes (An Alternate Reality) Source

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