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teamflareTitle: Dream Eater
Fandom: Pokémon Legends: Arceus, Pokémon ORAS
Pairing: Wally & Professor Rowan, Beni/Kamado (implied)
Rating: T
Summary: It takes until long after his gallade has evolved for Wally to meet Professor Rowan.
Notes: Written for the prompt "remembering past lives." what if your great great great great great great great great grandpa was a killer ninja and also gay.doc
AO3 Link: Here.
It takes until long after his gallade has evolved for Wally to meet Professor Rowan. They have no reason to run into each other, after all, each hailing from a different region, and for the longest time, Wally couldn't even imagine traveling outside of Hoenn at all. It's May, Brendan's friend, who precipitates their meeting, urging him to meet her father's colleague when he comes over while they're both passing by Littleroot.
He's a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver-white hair and an impressively bushy mustache. His austere aura is intimidating, at first, but he does smile once May introduces them, and his expertise when it comes to pokémon evolution fascinates Wally, who's well-versed in using items to strengthen his pokémons in other ways.
The first dream comes to him that night. It starts out too hazy, blurry images he can barely piece together: a sunny beach he doesn't recognize, a sense of foreboding when he spots a pokémon he's never seen before in the grass, an overpowering sweet scent that makes his mouth water even in sleep. He doesn't linger on it, because he has no reason to. He has better things to concern himself with than dreams.
A few nights later, he wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where he is holding someone's throat between his pale hands and squeezing. There's nothing vague about that dream. His hands feel warm, and, all morning, the taste of blood sticks to his tongue. He tries to shake it off, to forget it's even happened, but he can't help but dread sleep when he seeks it again.
He dreams of killing people with his bare hands, their faces blank and indecipherable. He dreams of holding someone else by the hand, a child, at first, and then a boy his age, and then a man. He dreams of sneaking through the darkness, of learning to carry himself as if nothing is amiss, of knowing that if he so much as slips, it will be the end of his life.
Staying focused during the day becomes difficult, if not impossible. He tries to keep up appearances, but his pokémons can tell, and he's sure the humans can, too. He tells them he's just tired, and suffers the weight of their worried gazes, the murmurs that he knows are all about him being sickly, about him being weak, about him working his body past its limits just to prove a point.
The man he is in his dreams has nothing to prove. He's precise in his aim and steadfast in his loyalty. He knows where to cut to ensure his targets die before they've even realized what's happening. After a while, the gruesome imagery becomes almost mundane, though they still interfere with Wally getting any rest.
Slowly, something else fades in. The other man, his broad figure dark yet warm, starts appearing more. Feelings bleed past the carefully cultivated facade of the killer whose eyes he's seeing through. The curve of a mouth that yearns for a kiss. The marks left by big hands gripping pale skin. The weight of someone else's body over his own.
He's a teenage boy, he knows what wet dreams are – but they've never been this intense. He doesn't feel aroused when he wakes up, only vaguely nauseous and disoriented, like he's not where he's supposed to be, like he's missing someone he can't quite remember.
His gallade tries his best to soothe him, attuned as he is to his trainer's changes in moods. He works twice as hard in battle, to compensate for when Wally's too out-of-sorts to pay attention, and brings him trinkets and berries throughout the rest of the time they spend together, humming softly. It helps.
The whole thing culminates on the night he has the worst of his nightmares. He wakes up in the dream to everything around him burning, eye-searing flames surrounding him, dark smoke seeping into his lungs and making him cough. His heart beats so fast it feels like he's going to spit it out. He can hear screaming, hurried footsteps, someone crying out for help. All of his senses are begging for him to get out of there, to wake up, but the man he is in his sleep is focused on something else.
Some of Wally's dread clears out when he finds him. The other man is miraculously uninjured, only stumbling slightly, yet the look on his face is heart-wrenching. They speak, Wally thinks, though he can't hear it.
He wakes up when they embrace.
Professor Rowan looks surprised upon seeing him again. It's the day before he's set to go back home, and Wally struggles to catch his breath from rushing to get to Professor Birch's lab in time. Everyone's looking at him; for once, he doesn't care, doesn't even try to see if they're worried about him.
He opens his mouth to speak, to explain. What comes out is, "Master–"
His cheeks burn with shame as he stammers. Professor Rowan chuckles, his friendly laughter only serving to worsen Wally's mortified state.
"No need for that," he says, like it's just a joke. "'Professor' will be quite enough, thank you."
Somehow, the tension leaves Wally's body all at once. He breathes in and finds within himself the strength to smile, pretend that he was there to see him off and ask a few questions about battling in Sinnoh.
That night, at long last, he dreams of things that have nothing to do with death, or fires – or broad men he's sworn to care for.
Fandom: Pokémon Legends: Arceus, Pokémon ORAS
Pairing: Wally & Professor Rowan, Beni/Kamado (implied)
Rating: T
Summary: It takes until long after his gallade has evolved for Wally to meet Professor Rowan.
Notes: Written for the prompt "remembering past lives." what if your great great great great great great great great grandpa was a killer ninja and also gay.doc
AO3 Link: Here.
It takes until long after his gallade has evolved for Wally to meet Professor Rowan. They have no reason to run into each other, after all, each hailing from a different region, and for the longest time, Wally couldn't even imagine traveling outside of Hoenn at all. It's May, Brendan's friend, who precipitates their meeting, urging him to meet her father's colleague when he comes over while they're both passing by Littleroot.
He's a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver-white hair and an impressively bushy mustache. His austere aura is intimidating, at first, but he does smile once May introduces them, and his expertise when it comes to pokémon evolution fascinates Wally, who's well-versed in using items to strengthen his pokémons in other ways.
The first dream comes to him that night. It starts out too hazy, blurry images he can barely piece together: a sunny beach he doesn't recognize, a sense of foreboding when he spots a pokémon he's never seen before in the grass, an overpowering sweet scent that makes his mouth water even in sleep. He doesn't linger on it, because he has no reason to. He has better things to concern himself with than dreams.
A few nights later, he wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where he is holding someone's throat between his pale hands and squeezing. There's nothing vague about that dream. His hands feel warm, and, all morning, the taste of blood sticks to his tongue. He tries to shake it off, to forget it's even happened, but he can't help but dread sleep when he seeks it again.
He dreams of killing people with his bare hands, their faces blank and indecipherable. He dreams of holding someone else by the hand, a child, at first, and then a boy his age, and then a man. He dreams of sneaking through the darkness, of learning to carry himself as if nothing is amiss, of knowing that if he so much as slips, it will be the end of his life.
Staying focused during the day becomes difficult, if not impossible. He tries to keep up appearances, but his pokémons can tell, and he's sure the humans can, too. He tells them he's just tired, and suffers the weight of their worried gazes, the murmurs that he knows are all about him being sickly, about him being weak, about him working his body past its limits just to prove a point.
The man he is in his dreams has nothing to prove. He's precise in his aim and steadfast in his loyalty. He knows where to cut to ensure his targets die before they've even realized what's happening. After a while, the gruesome imagery becomes almost mundane, though they still interfere with Wally getting any rest.
Slowly, something else fades in. The other man, his broad figure dark yet warm, starts appearing more. Feelings bleed past the carefully cultivated facade of the killer whose eyes he's seeing through. The curve of a mouth that yearns for a kiss. The marks left by big hands gripping pale skin. The weight of someone else's body over his own.
He's a teenage boy, he knows what wet dreams are – but they've never been this intense. He doesn't feel aroused when he wakes up, only vaguely nauseous and disoriented, like he's not where he's supposed to be, like he's missing someone he can't quite remember.
His gallade tries his best to soothe him, attuned as he is to his trainer's changes in moods. He works twice as hard in battle, to compensate for when Wally's too out-of-sorts to pay attention, and brings him trinkets and berries throughout the rest of the time they spend together, humming softly. It helps.
The whole thing culminates on the night he has the worst of his nightmares. He wakes up in the dream to everything around him burning, eye-searing flames surrounding him, dark smoke seeping into his lungs and making him cough. His heart beats so fast it feels like he's going to spit it out. He can hear screaming, hurried footsteps, someone crying out for help. All of his senses are begging for him to get out of there, to wake up, but the man he is in his sleep is focused on something else.
Some of Wally's dread clears out when he finds him. The other man is miraculously uninjured, only stumbling slightly, yet the look on his face is heart-wrenching. They speak, Wally thinks, though he can't hear it.
He wakes up when they embrace.
Professor Rowan looks surprised upon seeing him again. It's the day before he's set to go back home, and Wally struggles to catch his breath from rushing to get to Professor Birch's lab in time. Everyone's looking at him; for once, he doesn't care, doesn't even try to see if they're worried about him.
He opens his mouth to speak, to explain. What comes out is, "Master–"
His cheeks burn with shame as he stammers. Professor Rowan chuckles, his friendly laughter only serving to worsen Wally's mortified state.
"No need for that," he says, like it's just a joke. "'Professor' will be quite enough, thank you."
Somehow, the tension leaves Wally's body all at once. He breathes in and finds within himself the strength to smile, pretend that he was there to see him off and ask a few questions about battling in Sinnoh.
That night, at long last, he dreams of things that have nothing to do with death, or fires – or broad men he's sworn to care for.