#drudwrites

[druddigoon]

“I’m not going to fight you.” 

She wakes back at the shores of Santa Barbara, those same words bleeding into the air in a hopeless timbre. Sand digs into her palms, the water lapping freezing against her chest and her elbows, bent in tired angles. 

Ellie towers above her, red hair and red-stained clothes and red-hot misery. 

I can’t let you leave, the other woman’s bared teeth and gaunt fury say, but every inch of her posture, from her slumped shoulders down to her stilted steps, all cry defeat. When she slips the tip of her switchblade into the soft junction underneath Lev’s chin it's a forced, jerky motion, as if she has one against her own neck. As if she doesn’t want to do this, but, like Abby, what she wanted has never been a consideration.

-

question: what is drud doing now?

answer: suffering

#i cant write short stories anymore #free me #drudwrites #ellabs #snippet of something bigger i'm working on

[druddigoon]

bede and gloria; late night confessions

[it’s been a while since i worked on this, i tried to finish this to something ao3-worthy but the muse is just not comin ;_; didn’t quite get to the meat of your prompt tho it’s still at 1.5k words and full of drunk shenanigans!]

Bede doesn’t know how he got here. 

There’s something digging into his side, uncomfortable and wet (a log, some part of him helpfully supplies, before his thoughts sink into oblivion) as he half-squats, half-slumps onto the peat. Bioluminescent mushrooms pulse like strings of faerie lights at the edges of his periphery; he closes his eyes and feels the pleasant hum of television static against his bones, loose-limbed and sluggish. 

“Bede. Hey.” Someone’s standing him, shaking him. Glor-Gloria? What’s the champion doing here? She’d had more pressing obligations to take care of than visiting him, right? Unless she was…

He sits bolt upright. “Training.” 

“Hey. Bede no, you’re in no state to train.” She’s grabbing his shoulders, so irritably he shrugs her hands off. “Okay, fine. Haterenne, help me please?” 

“Hissssss.” 

“I know, it’s my fault, you can hate me for this later. Could you teleport him to Opal before he pukes on me?”

“I won’t puke on you.” He attempts to stand up, wobbles, and relocates onto the log, looking up at her like he only intended to shift his seat all along. “Just...don’t say a word of this to Opal, she doesn’t know I’m rende...rendezvu...meeting you for training at night.” 

Gloria makes a face like a goldeen, open-mouthed and slack-faced, before reeling herself in, blowing her bangs out of the way in exasperation. “What’re we going to do then?” 

“Train.” The log is awfully comfortable. 

She throws her hands up, stalking a ways away into the undergrowth. “Fine, you win. Hatterene, he’s yours now.” 

“Rene.” 

“This’ll wear off,” he insists after her. “Besides, we still have an entire night. It’s only--”

                                                                                     --Three in the morning. 

He knows this because it’s a routine ingrained into his internal body clock, reinforced by Sylveon sitting at his bedside and repeatedly probing him in the cheek. She dodges the togekiss sleep mask he flings at her, mewling incessantly from her safe space behind his rarely-used study desk as he fumbles the blanket off himself. 

Check surroundings. Judging by the iron klefki wards she hung in front of her door every night, Opal’s asleep across the hall; woman can sure sleep like the dead when she wants to. It’s quiet, empty. The portobellos growing on the kitchen walls ebb with the faint chartreuse of early morning. He pulls on his gear as quickly and quietly as possible, recalling Sylveon into her ball before climbing out his bedroom window. 

Despite most of the Ballonlea population being asleep, the Glimwood Tangle is teeming with activity: impidimps chittering from the trees, the echoing croons of hatterene in the distance, a male indeedee wandering around collecting swathes of amanita--most likely for some courtship ritual. He’s been gym leader for nearing six months now, and they no longer saw him as an intruder on their turf. The oranguru that always meditates underneath a wisteria-choked tree barely gives him the side eye as he passes. 

At the edge of the faerie ring, in their designated meeting location, he finds the Champion resting between the boughs of a tree. 

She’s already noticed him, of course--squirrelly, quick-eyed and observant, Challenger Bede had scribbled in his league-issue notepad, where he kept track of rivals and how to counter them--and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she made her way down, landing like it’s all she’s known, to fall and pick herself up. 

“The usual?” He prompts. 

“Nope.” Something clinks in her tired leather bag as she straightens herself. “I was thinking of having a battle today. Haven’t had one outside a boring league stadium in weeks.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat reserved for when the region’s champion calls million-dollar, painstakingly designed entertainment buildings “boring”. Then again, Gloria never cared much for the stark geometry of commercial buildings. 

“But first. I brought something.” After rifling through her bag, she produces a jar of clear fluid with more flourish than she ever showed in her league battles, handing it to him. 

He unscrews the lid for a whiff and immediately regrets it. “Don’t tell me you smuggled alcohol all the way from Wyndon.” 

“Aren't you legal?” 

“Yes, I am. You aren’t.” Hatterene take him if Opal caught him in a hangover the next morning. At least Gloria had her own condo. 

“It’s only illegal if they catch you.” She replies, and Bede would agree wholeheartedly on any other day, if not for his desperate need to retain the vestiges of self-control slipping through his fingertips. Before he could protest, she takes the jar, tips it back to take a sip, then returns it to him.

He supposes he’s not a stranger to alcohol. While Rose never greeted him in-person, Bede had attended fancy meet-ups with potential patrons on behalf of the man (Galar loves a good rags-to-riches story, Oleana always told him) and let himself enjoy a flute or two of champagne on corporate dime. 

One sip. Surely nothing would come of one sip. 

“Alright,” he relents, “I suppose it’ll take more than a--

                                                                                    --Couple swallows in and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, the tips of his fingers strangely numb like that one time he accidentally stuck them into Gardevoir’s moonblast. Damn Opal and her “fairy boot camp”, he could bet on his favorite soap opera that no other trainer got their leg tied to their pokemon and forced to three-leg a batt--

“Drink.” Gloria orders, pushing the empty mason jar she refilled with water up to his lips. It tasted slightly viscous when he drank and...how did she get this anyways? Was it from her golisopod? Was he drinking bug spit?

“Bede. About your. Uh.” 

“We’ve disgus...discussed this to death already. I didn’t mean. Anything with the finalist speech. It was the heat of the moment, I was focused, and you were all that was on my mind--” 

“--So you were thinking about me then?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Anyways,” she continues uneasily, “Could you recall Hatterene? She looks like she wants to tear me to shreds with her mind.” 

“Oh.” He glances back and, sure enough, Hatterene is right behind him, every strand of hair bristling with psychic energy. “Hattie, behave. You’re better than this.” 

Hatterene trains the brunt of her attention to him, and there’s the low before a tidal wave, thrumming in his skull like a shotgun blast before she presses her pokeball and enters it with a huff. 

He hears an audible exhale from Gloria in the ensuing silence. “I haven’t heard you call her ‘Hattie’ in a long time.” 

“Old habit.” She’s long outgrown it now, but he still remembers her as a hatenna small enough to fit within the cradle of his arms, the outlier of the batch Macro Cosmos had donated to his orphanage. Most likely a breeding reject--too smart for her own good, too ill-behaved and unruly to be championship material--because nobody liked a pawn that didn’t follow orders. He knew how it went. “My younger self’s nicknaming skills left much to be desired.” 

They’ve come a long way since then.

“That’s sweet,” she says, and normally Bede would bristle at a challenge to his dignity, but today his limbs are sluggish and the bottomless pit of hatred he’d often found himself visiting seemed strangely empty.

"You were friends since you were young," Gloria clarifies, "And she obviously cares for you a lot--I've heard most hatterenes are as misanthropic as psychics come. It's nice that you've managed to keep it strong through your gym challenge."

"Gloria..."

"What's done is done though. I'm Champion, he's a researcher, and you're drunk out of your mind." When Bede sputters in response, she tips the jar of water in his general direction. He's forced to catch it so she doesn't spill the entirety of the contents on his clothes.

Definitely bug spit. But if this is the fix to the pressure building behind his eyes then he may as well take it. Even if that damn taste--

                                                                                    --is not at all what he expected: medicine-grade and overpowering, a hyper beam to his sinuses so powerful it forces him to tears. If this thing is safe to drink, the only reason would be because no bacteria would bear to live in it. He manages to swallow purely by willpower, refusing to spit it out in front of Gloria; whatever face he saves is instantly destroyed when she bursts out laughing at his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. Bede stares intensely at a cluster of mushrooms metres away and prays it’s too dark to catch the blood rushing to his face. “I thought-I thought you’d take it better. Maybe I overestimated you.” 

“And should I be under the assumption you’re a heavyweight drinker?” 

Gloria shrugs in lieu of an answer. “Leon always brought some kind of new wine or liquor when he visited home, and shared some of it with Hop. Hop shared some of it with me.” 

Unbelievable. And to think Leon was lauded as a children’s role model. Bede resists the urge to rub away a phantom headache. 

#drudwrites #prompt fill #bederia #bede pokemon #gloria pokemon

[druddigoon]

SwSh Scraps

[leon&hop. an examination of the dysfunctional, adulation-based relationship of brothers, from the perspective of the older brother who’s always gone]

Leon was in a commercial shoot when his brother was born. 

Phones weren’t allowed in the studio; Oleana, pin-straight and proper, stood sentinel outside with his in her hands. 

“Congratulations,” she had said, handing it to him. “you’re a brother.” 

Leon stared. On the screen was the puckered face of a newborn baby, swaddled in stark hospital linens. Dark hair, olive skin, little button nose--he would’ve thought it was one of those awkward baby pictures his mum hung around if not for the text on the bottom: You’re a big brother now, Lee!

He scrolled down his notifications. 5 missed calls. 

“Come on,” Oleana’s hand was choking on his back. “We need to fly you to a conference in five minutes. You can call later tonight.”

“Rose is a better father than you ever were!” a younger Leon screamed, voice cracking at the edges. Rose didn’t police his bedtime or judge his choice of breakfast foods, Rose bought him everything he wanted; Rose was the reason he was here instead of working a dead-end job in a backwater town, not her. 

“Lee?” Hop’s voice, deeper than he last remembered and cracking at the edges. It takes him a second to recognize it. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me?” 

“Hop. I’ve cleared my schedule for the weekend. Tell your mum I’ll be arriving in Wedgehurst on Saturday, in the afternoon, maybe later if the train runs late. I’m--”

I’m coming home.

-------------------

[piers&marnie. the second installment of the darkest day au, which i actually plan on returning to since it’s near and dear to my heart]

Spikemuth is a city of elegies. 

She wears them like anchors, the fading note of a once illustrious mining boom, now home to families with nowhere else to go; everyone carries a little bit of her burden, tragedies wormed under haggard skin, between rusted chain-link fences and across boarded up doors with holes for handles. Shared secrets too volatile to taste air. 

For Marnie, the tragedy is this: 

Piers never wanted to be a gym leader. 

She remembers her bro’s face inked across the headlines of the Daily Galar, a younger Piers wearing his uniform and a smile and short hair with no shadows beneath his eyes.

I’m very grateful to have the privilege of representing Spikemuth here, her bro was cited as saying, And I’m thankful for everyone there who has supported me through thick and thin. Especially my sister, Marnie. 

Finalist contender--she’d watched fraying tape records of the matches, up until his defeat at the hands of the champion. He still has his badges, golden plate propped up in a display case in his office, along with his league pictures; every year, he takes it out to polish. 

The gym challenge was popular, the crown jewel of the Galar region. And everyone loved the underdog, a contestant in battered hand-me-downs and legs too long for his body, who fought as if the crowd was his rhythm, who swept through the competition without a single dynamax. His notoriety gave Spikemuth a much needed boost, and companies began investing again, seeing promise in these run-down streets like they eyed the boy streaking through the circuit. 

 When her bro lost, he returned home a hero.

The thing about challenger fame is that it never lasts. The gym challenge resets every year, bringing in a fresh wave of contestants drawn by the distant possibility of glory, who will fight and hurt and lose to try and rise up on top. Soon enough, everyone fades into obscurity. 

And Spikemuth did too. Investment dried up. Infrastructure deteriorated. Nothing lasted forever, and back then, the city seemed to be nearing its twilight years. 

Marnie remembers the day Rose knocked on their door, remembers the towering man wielding showy words like “vacancy” and “opportunity” from her hiding spot behind her bro’s legs, how he presented the offer like gift but discussed terms like debt. 

Somewhere along their negotiations, her bro was crowned gym leader. 

They didn’t have a dynamax spot, couldn’t even afford a gym, but after her bro’s candidacy was announced everyone threw a huge potluck in his honor--pooled their savings for a new microphone stand and speaker system, after his old one wore down. 

When her bro sang, his music reverberated into the audience like hope. 

Once they’re alone again, Piers had slumped against a creaky chair, pulled out a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands. Marnie remembers yanking the package from his fingers, taking note of the brand--the same one their late father used. 

“Since when did you smoke?” She asked. 

Piers had smiled bitterly. “Not too frequently, though I’ve been gettin’ a habit lately. Sorry you have to see this, little sis.” 

He took a drag before exhaling. The smoke billowed out like miasma, rising into the darkened sky. Another followed, then another, until she couldn’t tell the difference between cloud and smoke.

“Bein’ a gym leader is no easy feat, and I doubt I have the stuff for it,” Her bro finished his cig, flicking it onto the streets, “But what else can I do? This old place needs somethin’.” 

He was Spikemuth’s hero, and Spikemuth was his burden. 

Marnie remembers lingering on the cig, watching embers unfurl against cold hard concrete, before they flickered out.  

When Marnie opens the door, she hardly recognizes her brother standing outside alone, soaked to the bone, hair slick against his head and looking like the wind would blow him over. To her, big bro was always the person who stood by her, who could lift the world for her on days when she’s too weak to stand, who could shelter her when she was nothing but dark clouds and rain. 

But part of growing up is realizing the people you look up to are not perfect, have their own chips and cracks in their armor. Big bro is the boy who used to throw her up in the air even when it hurt his arms, slip her candy when their parents weren’t looking; Big bro is also the teen who would be protective to the point of suffocation, the forlorn man beyond her steps with a plea in his eyes. 

"We only have each other," Piers murmurs.

Marnie closes her eyes. His hair is just like she remembers: soft and frizzy and just a little bit stiff from the hair products, the faint whiff of his favorite dollar store cologne he'd always had stocked up. Cold, clammy skin, but she can feel the press of his heartbeat amid the quiet rumble of his voice; and like modulation she's six again, curled up in the contour of her brother's arms as he sings her storms away.

She takes a deep breath. Steels herself. 

Then she pushes him, hard.

"Idiot!" Someone's yelling. Is it her? She recognizes her voice but not the raw, seething edges of her words, the staccato hitch at the ends. "Y-you've been leadin' a city since I was in primary, and when other people need you most the only thing you think about is us? Were those years, was-does this legacy you passed down to me mean anything to you?"

Piers manages to steel himself before his ass hit concrete (or maybe the push wasn't as hard as she thought, some sentimental part of her holding back). He's not mad. It's somehow worse. "Not all people need or want the same thing, achievable things, Marn. It means I've learned to pick my battles."

And the battle he fights is against me.

#drudwrites #leon pokemon #hop pokemon #marnie pokemon #piers pokemon #marnie and piers one actually has a pretty complex plot that's hard to summarize #so snippets taken out of context might sound weird #tl;dr they had a big fight #different priorities #different misunderstandings

[druddigoon]

Bederia Scraps

[au where darkest day never happens and bede becomes champion]

“Next up, two-time challenger Gloria Bauer has climbed through the finals to arrive at the top! For veteran’s of--”

The trainer at the other side of the stadium is a tiny silhouette amid a field of artificial green, rendered small and insignificant against the swell of the crowd. 

“--last year’s gym circuit, she had been a prime candidate for the championship, before being ousted by our current holder in the finals. Will--”

There’s something in her eyes. Looks familiar, somehow, but her face doesn’t spark a memory. A year’s worth of handshakes and the faces all blur together. The trainer might’ve been something, once. 

“--she have what it takes to avenge her loss? Or will--”

It doesn’t matter anymore. 

“--history repeat itself? Here he comes! Give--”

Chin up, back ramrod straight. Deep breaths, clothes tucked tight, makeup to cover the late night fatigue, not a thread or hair out of place. Appearance is everything here; the cameras are watching, the sponsors are watching, Rose is watching. 

“--it up for our current defending champion, Bede Cadieu!” 

Can’t fall now. 

---------------------

[a fic detailing bede’s soul-search after his disqualification, where he hitchhikes for several weeks alone]

1.

Good things never last. 

He’s known this long enough, frequently enough; should’ve learned by now too, but he was drawn towards promise like a moth to a flame, invincible with the sky in his wings until they were burning, burning, limestone shattered like graveyards at his feet. Too late, and he never learned. 

The first to leave was Rose. Oleana was the one that approached to take his possessions: league card, badge case, pockets full of wishing stones he’d been meaning to turn over to her, challenger’s outfit too if he hadn’t been wearing them under his coat. She stripped him of association, patting him down like she was searching for contraband. Would've taken his pokemon too, had he not bared his teeth in a desperate defiance when she reached for them, don’t she dare take his pokemon he will fight, they are all that I have left and I don’t care if there are witnesses they will not stop me, they are my everything I will fight. (Oleana’s hand retracts like whiplash, and she hurries after Rose’s departing figure.)

The second to leave was the scientist. She’d been poring over the monument, talking to anyone who cared to listen about the breakthrough in some sort of Galarian history. Important enough to send ripples through the scientific community, maybe, a paper published by a woman who’d been at the right place at the right time with no mention of the scapegoat. Collected her samples and left, eager to stake her claim.

The third to leave was Gloria. 

He didn't mean to remember her name, but it's stuck sometime between Hulbury and Galar Mine No 2, stuck hard and fast and never let go. Fitting, when she has been nothing but a burr to his side. Goliath, downed by a pebble of a no-name bug-catcher; he had everything to lose and she took this from him, took everything and still had the audacity to stand and look at him, something close to an apology in her eyes. Something almost like--

Sympathy. He hates the reprieve it makes him feel.

When she reaches out a tentative hand, he shoved roughly past her, into the throng of a curious crowd.

He was done watching his own funeral. 

(Later that day, his league-issue card was declined by the hotel services. Inane folly, he thinks, to hope that bureaucratic sluggishness would allow him to cash a couple more nights in--Rose never responded to anything of his this quickly before.)

----------------

[next two are an attempt at slice of life where bede meets people/pokemon in gloria’s life]

There's a saying among pokemon professions that in order to properly court a pokemon trainer, a suitor would have to appeal to two families: their parents, and their pokemon team. 

For Bede, Gloria's mum was easy. She had snuck into her daughter's loft for a "surprise visit" at six in the morning, only to stumble upon Bede passed out on her couch. Technically, they had come back from official league duties, too late for the corvitaxis to still be operating. Technically, said official league duties involved dealing with dangerous dynamax dens that are still cropping up in the Wild Area, all done under wraps to avoid inciting public panic. 

However, technicalities faltered against her skeptical look when the phrase "midnight excursions" slipped out of Bede's mouth. Whatever embarrassment he felt was eclipsed when Gloria left her room, still in pyjamas, only to choke on her yawn when she saw her visitor.

He prepared for the mythical shovel-talk he'd heard were a staple of pursuing a romantic relationship. He prepared for a shouting match, intruder, stranger, you don't belong anywhere near my daughter. Instead, he felt a gentle pat on his head (strange--Gloria liked to touch his hair too) as she told her barely coherent daughter that it's rude to make guests sleep on the couch.

She has a sense of humour, he'll give her that. He wouldn't mind calling her Mum too. 

"No, go away," Bede says to the monster hovering near his heels. "Bad, nasty bug. Go away."

Durant gives no indication that it hears him except for the little tilt of its head. It gingerly noses his pant leg, then, with mandibles that can snap his entire calf, nibbles at his ankles. Bede blanches. 

"Gloria, get your metal death machine away from me."

"Hmm?" Gloria's head peeks out from behind a steaming curry pot. "Awww, he likes you! Durant always wants to be everybody's friend. He wouldn't harm anyone outside of battles."

"I've seen him--" Bede bites back a wince as Durant digs its claws into its leg, trying to haul itself up. "--bring back huge sticks, only to snap them clean in half, accidentally, and sit down to whine over them. He's a hazard."

"Face it, you're only bitter because he one-shots your entire team. Relax, I've been training him to better control his strength, so you shouldn't have any unfortunate accidents." She leaves her curry to simmer as she makes her way towards him, disentangling the ant pokemon from his pants to carry like a doll. Durant nibbles at her chin, and Bede has a split-second panic attack at how his partner's face is held between its shearing jaws.

"Gloria, I love you, but..."

"Here." She grasps his hand and guides it to Durant, holding it still as antennae feel around. With a trill, Durant lifts its head to expose its neck. "Scratch him here, on the junction between the head and thorax. It's his favorite spot."

He does.

 The "chin area" is sleek and strangely warm. Durant's abdomen shakes almost like a wagging tail as it leans into his palm. 

Hard to believe something that can so mercilessly tear down battles with iron head and rock slide would be coming back for scritches. Gloria's watching the two of them with a small smile on her face, and suddenly he understands. Like pokemon, like trainer.

--------------------------

[misc. drabble]

“We’re both challengers, and I’ve just given you my card.” Bede holds out his hand in open expectation. “It’s polite to extend the same courtesy.” 

“Hmm? Oh!” The challenger in the green beret--he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him--looked up from his card and delicately stowed it away in the side pockets of her bag. “I don’t even think I have any copies of mine. Didn’t think I’d be trading them. Here.” 

She drops a chunk of cardstock in his hands. It looks like it's been tossed into a Roar of Time: edges fraying, ink chipped off, and a suspicious dark blot on the lower left corner. No signature, no name. Bede carefully maneuvers his fingers so he isn't touching the stain. 

"Do you have anything...newer than this."

"No. Um. That's my first card, actually. You keep it--I've heard originals sell for loads, enough to cover your losses for this battle." 

Of all things...cheeky bastard. She seems to know this too; a couple seconds into his shocked silence she bursts out laughing, walking off.

He flips the card in his hands. Challenger 227. Haphazardly dressed. Looks like she walked out of bed and into the photo booth. 

He still doesn't know her name.

#drudwrites #bede pokemon #gloria pokemon #bederia #spring cleaning my wips

[druddigoon]

hi here’s some bederia scraps i’m dying 

ye be spoilers

-

> soulmate au that never came into fruition, where soulmates involuntarily shared each other’s memories through dreams

Bede had his first soul-dream when he was twelve. 

It was uncommon to get them that early, but not unusual; most came and went whenever they pleased, snippets of another’s life that flickered just beyond memory. Until you met your soulmate, you had no control over what got sent and what got received. All you could do was face it. 

He remembered it like this: sun-flecked meadows green at summer’s peak, soft breeze fresh with new discovery. There was someone else with him, whose face was blank but hands were warm and calloused as they enveloped his, who talked in a rumbling baritone so low it was like the earth itself was singing him a lullaby. He picked Bede up and swung him like a merry-go-round, and for once there was no fear, just weightless laughter tethered by clasped hands and belonging. 

When he woke on stiff orphanage mattresses, he woke with an aching deeper than anything he’d known for a while.

-

> self-indulgent gloria sketch about bede getting to know each of her pokemon. never finished

"No, go away," Bede says to the monster hovering near his heels. "Bad, nasty bug. Go away."

Durant gives no indication that it hears him except for the little tilt of its head. It gingerly noses his pant leg, then, with mandibles that can snap his entire calf, nibbles at his ankles. Bede blanches. 

"Gloria, get your metal death machine away from me."

"Hmm?" Gloria's head peeks out from behind a steaming curry pot. "Awww, he likes you! Durant always wants to be everybody's friend. He wouldn't harm anyone outside of battles."

"I've seen him--" Bede bites back a wince as Durant digs its claws into his leg, trying to haul itself up. "--bring back huge sticks, only to snap them clean in half, accidentally, and sit down to whine over them. He's a hazard."

"Face it, you're only bitter because he one-shots your entire team. Relax, I've been training him to better control his strength, so you shouldn't have any unfortunate accidents." She leaves her curry to simmer as she makes her way towards him, disentangling the ant pokemon from his pants to carry like a doll. Durant nibbles at her chin, and Bede has a split-second panic attack at how his partner's face is held between its shearing jaws.

"Gloria, I love you, but..."

"Here." She grasps his hand and guides it to Durant, holding it still as antennae feel around. With a trill, Durant lifts its head to expose its neck. "Scratch him here, on the junction between the head and thorax. It's his favorite spot."

He does.

 The "chin area" is sleek and strangely warm. Durant's abdomen shakes almost like a wagging tail as it leans into his palm. 

Hard to believe something that can so mercilessly tear down battles with iron head and rock slide would be coming back for scritches. Gloria's watching the two of them with a small smile on her face, and suddenly he understands. Like pokemon, like trainer.

-

> from silent storm, sundering -- brief description of bede’s battling style from gloria i liked, before i scrapped the scene and rewrote it in bede’s point of view 

Bede fights as if his pokemon are an extension of his mind and soul. You’ve encountered it before, the unpolished beginnings of his style in the mines and more recently in the Wyndon semifinals, but under Opal’s tutelage it’s been honed into something unspoken, innate in how his hatterene moves before he’s given the gesture, attacks mirroring the rise of his voice or the rhythm of his words in perfect synchrony.

-

> from keep them in your mason jars -- original idea was for bede to accompany gloria to postwick after her mother died from a heart attack. had to change it because the idea proved to be too much of a challenge for a simple, short prompt

“They said she had a heart attack. Young for her age, might’ve been prevented if they rushed her to the hospital in time.” Gloria dips her head, hiding her face out of view. “Except the nearest ER is a couple hours hike from here a-and they d-didn’t find her right away. She was g-g-gone before they got there.” 

He didn’t have anything to say to that, so he ended up sliding her mug full of chamomile across the table, where she cupped it with trembling hands. 

“I t-told her it was okay to rent an ap-apar—room in Wyndon. Had enough m-money now. But she didn’t want to. S-said she like this place b-better.” 

-

> from keep them in your mason jars -- starts right after gloria leaves, went off the deep end lmao rip

“What’s being gym leader like? I’ve never really followed the circuit until my Glory became champion.” 

Didn’t he rehearse something like this for his inauguration? He wracks his brain for the eloquent, well-written speech that moved a town, but the only thing he could remember was it being too cold outside for a ceremony. 

“Oh, it’s. It’s essentially leading a gym; Ballonlea is largely self-sufficient, but since the gym. Is part of a interregional circuit, part of my job there has become—”

“Mum!” 

A patter of footsteps can be heard before Gloria’s head pops out from another room. She’s holding a box, bound meticulously in ribbon and wrapping paper and still shiny despite the overall dustiness of the house. “Why was this in my room?” 

“Oh, I—” She fumbles with the kettle and hisses quietly as the steel burns her hand. 

“Mum!” Before Bede could even react, Gloria has already dropped the box and is crouched beside her mother, cradling her burnt hand. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m-I’m..”

“Nonsense, you didn’t do anything. I got too jumpy after spending a few months all by myself.” Gloria’s mother smiled, sliding her hands out of Gloria’s grasp and running them under the tap water. “That was a present for your seventeenth birthday I’d saved as compensation, since you were away for your birthday. As a surprise. Didn’t expect you to find it so quickly; silly of me to plan it as a big reveal and set it on your bed. Sorry for ruining the surprise Glory, happy very late birthday.” 

Gloria wordlessly reaches out, and the two meet in an awkward hug. 

The kettle, knocked on its side on the counter, spills boiling water onto the tiled floor below.

Piles of plastic bags bursting with second-hand toys, more than he’s held in his life. A tiny hatenna, who’d opened her eyes and telepathically asked Bede where her trainer was. His parents had swept him up in a hug, told him stay inside go to sleep on time eat all your food in the fridge yes even the gross ones, before they fled the region and left him for law enforcement to find. 

His fists are clenched tight underneath the table, nails digging hard into the meat of his palm. 

This is normal. Expected of a healthy family. He should be happy for Gloria, should be happy he’s part of this, please don’t ruin this please don’t ruin this—

You always ruin everything, don’t you? 

(His parents were fine until he came along.)

“Excuse me,” he says, chokes out with the last breath of air left in his chest, as his chair wails a banshee screech when he stands up. The outside greets him in a shuddering lungful of cool forest air. Rapidash, grazing in the pastures, raises his head as he passes. 

The gate clicks shut behind him with a click.  It’s Gloria who finds him, sitting on moss-worn drystack and watching Rapidash sniff the wooloo. He hears the scuff of her feet on loose gravel—knows it’s her without looking, with a resolve that has him wondering when he’s learned—as the silence echoes like an oncoming storm. 

"I'll book a ticket back to Motostoke today," he says, "Doubt your mum would let me inside her house after what I did."

“At least apologize to her, she deserves that much. She’s worried that she’s made a bad impression on you. After you left, she kept talking about her clumsiness scared the guest away.” 

He scuffs his feet on the stones, avoiding her gaze. She takes his lack of answer as an invitation, hefting herself onto the drystack beside him with the ease of honed muscle memory, balanced, arms outstretched. 

#drudwrites

[druddigoon]

prompt fill #1

@shame-cubed: bede and gloria in a raid together

this was supposed to be a simple one but then i decided to add 3 more people and a metric fuckton of tension and it kinda blew up. word count: don’t worry about it

————————-

“Where’s the dynamax pokemon?” 

He eyes you with a mask of disdain, attention briefly flitting to the vikavolt you have buzzing over your shoulder. “Not an issue, no thanks to you.” 

“There’s been reports of energy flares in almost every gym, so it took a bit of time to get here.” You pause to catch your breath, removing your beret to run a hand through your windblown hair after a harrowing flight over the Tangled Woods. Dangling under a vikavolt fifty metres off the ground doesn’t do well for vertigo. “I’m here to help. There’re other people coming, just show us where the pokemon’s at and we’ll calm it down.” 

There’s muffled banging at the main entrance, a drawn-out holler cut off with a sharp rebuttal. Hop and Piers. Bede’s voice ices over. “Then go play hero for the other towns. We don’t need you here.” 

The nerve of him. “I don’t know if you’ve stuck your head out of your little me-bubble yet, but people are trying to save the region from collapsing, and maybe if you stop babying your ego for just one second you’d accept help when help is offered—” 

“I believe Bede is suggesting he’s already dealt with the issue.” Opal cuts in, stepping out from under the shadow of the backroom. She looks the same since your gym challenge—angular face drowning amid her ample ruff, deceptively leaning on her umbrella-cane like she isn’t capable of throwing it away in a heartbeat—but it’s the way Bede stands straighter and draws closer to her presence that has you thrown. 

This is not the Bede in Galar Mines, not the Bede in Hammerlocke, tired and disgraced; this is not the Bede at Wyndon semifinals, desperate for redemption. This is the Bede who’s found his home, confident and grounded when you’ve had the rug swept from under your feet. 

The gym challenge changes people, they say. 

(You’ve never felt more alone.)

“Miss Opal! We’re here to help you with the dynma—” Hop skids to a stop once he notices Bede, and the way they size each other up reminds you of fights between wild pokemon. 

Coming here was a mistake. 

“Evenin’, ma’am.” Piers brings up the rear, eyes glued to his rotom-phone, unheeding toward the palpable tension in the room. “Dynamax readin’s gone, I reckon you’ve got it taken care of then.” 

“Why yes, my protégé handled the rogue shiinotic brilliantly a little while before you came.” 

Bede smirks at her praise; you lay a hand on Hop's shoulder to stop him from pulling anything, only to have him roughly shrug it off and stalk out of the building. 

“I wouldn’t bother with him,” Bede says as you stare at the still-swinging doors, something close to shame prickling deep in your throat. “Someone who thinks he's entitled special treatment because his brother’s the champion doesn’t deserve to take his spot.” 

Deep breaths. Opal watches you with hawk’s eyes, and for a second you feel more bone than flesh, surrounded. Think of secret summer grottos, ponds with water so clear the remoraid’s scales gleam as they swim through, think of how happy Crustle was when his crabapple tree bloomed, maybe wiping that smarmy expression off Bede’s face even though you can’t throw a punch to save your life. 

When you dare to speak again, your voice comes out lowed like a hiss from a boiling kettle. “If you’re so good at dealing with dynamax pokemon, I’d like to see you handle the rest of this problem.“ 

“I fail to see how the rest of the gyms fall under my jurisdiction. We’ve dawdled for long enough, it’s time—” 

“He’ll do it.” 

“—for you to...what?” 

You’d savour the look of disbelief on Bede’s face if the implication of Opal’s comment didn’t sink in. She regains control of the situation with a smile, too pleasant for the gravity of her words. “It must be difficult for the three of you to handle all of this on your own. These bones are too old to hitch a ride on unlicensed fliers, but Bede here can accompany you while I guard the gym.” 

Bede runs a hand through his hair, considering. 

“Fine,” he bites out, releasing his gardevoir before striding out the entrance. You quickly jog after him, hoping to reach Hop before he does. “Let’s go.” 

“—very keen on addin’ fuel to the fire.” Piers comments far behind you.

“They’ll sort it out,” Opal replies, “Sometimes all it takes is getting a little burnt.” 

————————-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hop gapes at the skulking figure of Bede from his perch atop his corviknight, an imposing bird outlined in scintillating angles against the dead of night. “Glor, please tell me you’re joking.” 

“He wanted to come. You...we need all the help we can get, and having him just means we can get this done faster and safer. Please. This is for the greater good.” 

“Are you siding with him now? Is this what it is? This is a bloody insult to injury, Glor. Do you remember what he’s done to you? Do you remember what he’s done to me?” 

“I’m not taking anyone’s side! You can choose to never see Bede again after this is over, Hop, it’s just that we have a bigger issue at hand and everyone’ll need to put aside their difference until we can stabilize the region.” 

“I know, but I'm a hundred percent sure that we. Don’t. Need. Him.” He punctuates every word with a jab of his finger in Bede’s direction. “We were fine in Turrfield. We were fine in Hulbury. We were fine in Motostoke, we were fine in Stow-On-Side. We’re almost done, we’d just finish everything with more peace of mind if he buggers off.” 

Bede crosses his arms. “Flattered you think so highly of me. Honestly, Hop, you’re desperation is showing. Worried that I’ll steal your thunder?” 

“Guys, please—” 

Hop’s corviknight lets out an ear-piercing screech, rearing up and flapping its wings in a way that forces the rest of you to back up. Bede’s gardevoir steps in front of him, her horn glowing with the beginnings of psychic energy. 

“ENOUGH!” A dark shape, too fast to make out, cleaves between the two boys, the acrid smell of something sour lingering behind. 

Piers steps out, followed closely by his obstagoon, the vestiges of a night slash still roiling off its foreclaws. “This isn’t what I was expectin’ from a finalist and a gym leader, and you two ought be ashamed of yourselves for this kind of behavior.” He sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “I need a smoke break. Gloria, come with me.” 

————————-

“Marnie told me you lot were good kids.” Piers takes a slow drag of his cigarette. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, sneaking peeks at the clearing even though neither of the boys are in sight. “So imagine my surprise when I end up babysittin’ two kids who look one second away from tearin’ each other’s throat out, with you actin’ like you’re the reason they want to.” 

“I am.” The floodgates burst all too easily; you never expected to pour your heart out to a near-stranger, fraying dye job illuminated in the harsh glare of the street lamp and wreathed in a halo of cigarette smoke, but lately all your friends have been worse than strangers and Piers. Piers sits still and listens. “I-I never wanted to do...this. The championship is always Hop’s dream, and I promised to help him get it like a friend before pulling it out from under him. Could’ve supported him after Bede broke his spirit—he said he was a disgrace to Leon’s name, even though he isn’t even relevant—but instead I decided to hammer it in by battling him and winning.” 

You shut your eyes, grind the heel of your palms hard onto them until you’re seeing stars. “I saw Bede’s disqualification. I was there to see the hope go out of him when Rose told him he no longer worked for them, was there and did nothing. I’ve done nothing but shirk and shirk, and now i’m supposed to stabilize Galar’s dynamax outbreak when I can’t even lift a finger for the people closest to me.” Bitter smile. “Some champion I am.” 

Piers huffs. He drops the cigarette, crushing its embers under the heel of his boot, before looking up and speaking. “I don’t know enough to say it’s not your fault, but you’re takin’ your mistakes out of proportion.” 

“Spikemuth’s never been my dream; most people don’t end up doin’ the thing they want, believe it or not. This may not be yours and yet you’re tryin’, and you’ve got heart. I doubt a bad champion would be risking her life travelin’ from town to town confrontin’ rampagin’ pokemon like you are now.” 

“That...still doesn’t make me a good champion.” 

“No, it doesn’t.” He stands, brushing off lingering ash. “But Galar doesn’t have a ‘good champion’. It has you. And even if you can’t redeem yourself in the eyes of your friends, you can redefine yourself in everyone else. Come, let’s head back.” 

You return to the same silent standstill you left. Hop can’t meet your eyes, face buried in the feathers around his corviknight’s neck. Bede only stares back; a challenge. 

“Which cities do you have left?” he asks. 

Piers checks. “Only Circhester and Hammerlocke, it looks like.” 

“We’ll split up, then,” Hop interjects, not even looking up. “Piers and I’ll go to Circhester, while Gloria and Bede go to Hammerlocke.” 

“That’s fine,” you concede after a moment’s pause. He’s trying to distance himself from you, but can you blame him?

(You can’t, not really. This must be a nightmare situation for him—losing to the false heirs, failing to catch them, fighting alongside his former-friend-now-champion knowing he could’ve been the one in her place, watching her strike the final blow as his cinderace heals on the sidelines. Every reminder is driving a nail in the coffin, and Bede’s arrival is simply the stake that split it at the seams.)

“Best of luck to you, then.”

“Good luck to you too.”

————————-

“Everything you’ve said to Hop applies to you, y’know.” 

“Are we really going over this now?” The Hammerlocke gym halls are far too empty for comfort, deep rumbles echoing against your skull as you catch flashes of light past stadium doors. You stalk onward, eager to get the situation over with and return to Ballonlea. Damn Opal. “We have a bigger issue at hand.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Gloria puff out her cheeks. If someone were to back you into the corner of an alley with a knife pressed to your throat, you’d admit you do respect her; becoming the Champion is no easy feat, and nobody expected it from a quiet girl with a team full of bugs, the beginner’s route fodder others grind to train their battlers. It’s her altruism that irritates you, a relentless selflessness that will get her bitten, somewhere down the line. “Can’t you accept help without fighting it?” 

You fall silent. 

Oleana’s voice, ice against your ear. “Is this how you’ll treat the man who found you, back when you were all alone?” 

(More wishing stars. Always more wishing stars.)

A rattling roar resounds ahead. Sensing she’s needed, Hattie coalesces by your side with a chiming noise, and you continue on, pushing past reinforced double doors. “The last person who offered me help was Rose.” 

And look where it got me.

The dynamaxed haxorus is huge; its scythe-like tusks crest above the open roof of the arena, claws as large as longswords carving deep furrows into the turf, an excess of power and energy given a corporeal form while the haxorus’s original body is tucked away behind layers of shields. An entire section of bleachers had been razed to the ground, steel gouged with millions of tiny lacerations that fractal in draconid energy. Gloria finally shut her mouth, calling out her crustle as you start putting distance between you and her.  The flash of light catches the haxorus’s attention. 

Its eyes are impossibly wide—a deerling in headlights, more prey than predator—and when it roars, it's a pained cry pitched like a plea.

The raid begins. 

Gloria fights like battling is innate to her, instinct ingrained through bone in a way no amount of textbook memorization or controlled-environment training can hold a candle to. Bugs are notoriously more id than superego; rather than suppressing it, hers seem to have tailored their natural behavior towards battling, where her commands are less commands than they are suggestions, tips, and warnings, a coach to her players. She trusts her pokemon, and they make it worthwhile. It makes her incredibly hard to read, as most of the time she isn’t even giving instructions.

Helpful in a singles matchup, not so much in a tag-team battle.

You hear her call out from the other end of the stadium, and her crustle withdraws into its shell just fast enough to dodge the brunt of Hattie’s dazzling gleam. In the split second when the haxorus is sent reeling, it pulls off a shell smash, darting out of its shell in a blur of orange to land a stone edge that shatters the haxorus’s shields. 

It keeps up the distraction long enough for Hattie, slow as she is, to charge up another dazzling gleam. The stadium lights up in a brilliant light display as it explodes against the haxorus’s side, sending it reeling. Crustle is also sent flying a couple metres back before getting back on its feet, the exoskeleton of its claws warped from where it used to to block the worst of the attack. 

“Stop hitting me!” Gloria calls. 

“Then dodge out of the way! Hattie can’t avoid you without compromising her output!” 

Haxorus finally notices you, letting out a bellow as its tail warps into something steel-tipped, sharp with metallic ridges gleaming crimson in the dynamax light, before swinging the entire thing towards you. 

Of course. Bloody thing knows steelspike. 

Your back collides with the stadium walls before you realize there’s nowhere to run. Damn Opal. Couldn’t make do with just the shiinotic. Hattie matches the haxorus with her own war cry, energy streaming through her coat in a last-ditch attempt at damage. 

In the span of a split second, something orange collides with the tail, knocking it off track. 

Then the world flashes white. 

When you finally regain your vision, the haxorus is back to its regular size and barely conscious, keeling over onto the ground. Hattie twirls, unscathed save for shards of steel tangled in her hair. 

You could hardly recognize it without its boulder shell, but buried in the sand beside her was the fainted body of Gloria’s crustle, who’d taken the brunt of the steelspike. 

“What was that?” You ask Gloria, who had recalled the fallen haxorus into its gym-issued pokeball. 

She crouched next to her crustle, checking it for injuries before withdrawing it as well. “Crustle blocked its attack. Don’t worry about him; he’s tough, and I’ll reward him with extra fertiliser to his favorite tree after this.” 

“Hattie could’ve take—” You stop, because no, she wouldn’t, before amending “It’s unnecessary. Crustle could’ve utilized the chance to get its last hits in.” 

“He might’ve missed. This gave us the best chances of winning, and he wanted that. Wouldn’t have followed my order if he didn’t. Also...Hattie?” 

“Stop changing the topic. You’d let it throw itself into the path of danger for a chance?” 

“Yes.” 

She looks a little dejected, but doesn’t push like he expects her to. Nobody gives charity for free; he’s learned this through his multiple orphanage relocations, Rose’s too-large watch, Opal’s quest for an heir. His mind is quick to point fingers at pity, just like the others, but he can smell pity a mile off and Gloria’s never been the type for it, not to him. 

Why?

“Isn’t this a betrayal to Hop?” 

Her face steels over. “He doesn’t have to like anything I do. He’s not here, and this isn’t about him.” It’s a far cry from Stow-On-Side, her fury on Hop’s behalf. You’ve noticed the two seem more distant lately. The gym challenge changes people, they say. 

The outside air is cool on your face. Gloria’s vikavolt has its claws latched onto her backpack, carrying her in what you’d describe as the most dangerous method of flying and you still don’t understand, why why why why why? 

“Gloria?” 

She glances back at you, head tilted slightly to the side. Your question dies in your throat. 

“Stay safe.” 

She looks at you strangely. “T-thanks. Stay safe too.” 

You watch until her figure becomes a dark speck on the horizon before heading home, alone.

#bede: why would she do this #gloria: because i care? #bede: truly a mystery #drudwrites #june prompt fills

[druddigoon]

so i’m supposed to be working on scholarship applications but instead of writing 500 words on why i should receive money (bc i’m poor) i typed out 1.4k words of bederia smh

anyways cheeky au where bede feels feelings

--------------------------

> Nervousness, worry; something heavy building up in the heart, weighed down like a lagging tail; the bearer of bad news. Guilt. 

Bede lifts his arm up the second Gloria makes a move to get up from the couch. 

“Leaving?” he says. 

“Yeah.” It’s little more than an act nowadays, less for his benefit than Gloria’s. “It’s going to take at least a week to travel to and back from the dynamax sightings they want me to investigate, and I’d rather arrive back in time to catch the tail end of that fair you’re helping set up.” 

She’s wading her way around the coffee table when he grabs her hand. 

> Guilt, stronger now. Concern, rolling off in waves; can’t take deep breaths when the water line’s over your head. Resolve, don’t look back. No fear. 

No fear? Fear and concern usually go hand in hand. If she’s worried about running into a dangerous situation, why isn’t she scared about it? 

It takes him a while to realize she’s worried over him. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he blurts out, “This is your job, you’re the only one qualified enough to handle dens over five stars, and you’re doing it so Galar can be safe. I’d be an idiot to get mad at that.” 

“I know, I just wish it doesn’t have to be--” Gloria cuts herself off in the middle of her sentence. 

Doesn’t have to be like this. There were a lot of things that didn't have to be: Bede’s disqualification, the Eternatus incident, Gloria’s stepping down a year into her championship. Wistful ideations did not rewrite the stars. Both knew it very well. 

> Melancholy. Guilt loses its edge, dips down into resignation. 

She’s staring at the cluster of mushrooms starting to grow from the ceiling, glowing gentle hues of pink, blue, and green. For the umpteenth time, Bede wishes he could read thoughts instead of emotions. Doesn’t have to be like this. 

He sighs, lets go of her hand. “Come on. I’ll come to see you off at Hammerlocke.” 

--------------------------

Rule Number One: Never talk about your ability. 

Rule Number Two: Avoid touching anyone unless absolutely necessary.

Those were the two fundamental laws Bede set for himself during his time in the orphanage. Stories too grotesque to be put into words, stark terror and raw emotion. They blurred together to the point where he stopped caring--stopped reaching out, beat or intimidated anyone who tried to him. He withdrew. 

Compassion fatigue, he’d heard the social workers discuss, after his main caretaker quit. Emotional exhaustion leading to a decreased ability to feel empathy for others. The cost of care. He often wondered if he had that too, how others’ emotions were often so strong it had washed away his own, the dull ringing in his ears after he lost contact. Or maybe he’d always been like this. 

The first rule was broken when he accused his foster father of cheating, when he gave him a slap on the back after coming home from “work”. A day later he was picked up by Oleana, and told he’d shake hands with Macro Cosmos’s pawns during meetings. 

The second rule spiralled downwards when he accidentally bumped into a challenger, back in Galar Mine No 1. 

It’s such a hassle. So much easier to hate someone when he doesn’t know them. Rose is a man brimming with hope for the future, too bright to hold in a handshake for long. Oleana, once her obsessiveness and exhaustion and contempt for Bede has been whittled away from the manicured fingernails digging into his shoulder, is a woman who adores her saviour ever since the day he took her off the streets. He remembers the pity officers doled against his skin when they had to restrain him to be brought back to the orphanage, the desperation of a slipping boy when Hop’s knuckles bit into his lip. 

So much easier to hate when they weren’t all so human. 

--------------------------

In Ballonlea, where the sun fails to filter through the thick canopy of trees, time loses its grip. There is no such thing as a day and night cycle when all light comes from bioluminescent mushrooms, shining here before you were born and after you leave. 

Hammerlocke, in contrast, seems to be bathed in the light of the sun. Dying rays outline castle walls against a wash of red and gold, and shadows stretch over corners, gothic. The air is warm; he’d read somewhere that the obsidian masonry was designed to absorb heat during the day and release it at night, which saves them from temperature fluctuations as a mainland city near the wild area. Save for a few stragglers, the streets are empty. 

Bede is the first to arrive at the pokemon centre, teleported by his hatterene. 

Gloria wouldn’t arrive in a few minutes--she always liked taking the corvitaxi, watching the region pass by beneath her. Bede would accompany her if he didn’t have motion sickness. The last time they rode together had been...messy. 

He’s flipping through a curry catalogue in the lobby when she bursts in, windblown hair and old leather bag and all. 

“Sorry, I had to take a detour to get my stuff. Completely forgot about that, or I’d have brought them to your house.”  Golisopod lumbers in after, bags comically hanging on its upturned scutes. “Hope you didn’t wait long?” 

Bede checks his rotom-phone. Half an hour, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Yes, a whole fucking two minutes. I thought you were fine spending a month in the woods wearing the same clothes, eating berries and roots like a neanderthal.” 

“Oh, I hope Sylveon pukes on your pillow tonight.” The jab didn’t have much force to it, and he doesn’t need to touch her to see her stress; they’ve been around each other long enough for him to notice the incessant tic of her right foot, how she keeps running one hand over another as a soothing gesture, in the absence of his. 

(It’s endearing. He usually looks down at people who fail to disguise their fears, sees them as weak of will, but this is Gloria. She’s the girl who’d faced and captured gods, the girl known to take on the most unstable regions of the wild area and come out alive; she’s also the girl who released them after making sure they wouldn’t cause harm, the girl fretting not because she might be risking her life, but because Bede will miss her. It’s cute.) 

He sees her off at the Hammerlocke gates. Gloria has her back to him, checking maps, while her golisopod is already making its way down the stairs. The gap between them seems to be growing wider, and he wants nothing more than to reach for her shoulder. 

That would be crossing a boundary. They’d talked extensively about his ability, and she’d said yes, it’s okay to touch her, she had nothing to hide from him. But just because he has her consent doesn’t mean he’s privy to her feelings at the moment. 

Gloria closes her map, taking one step down the stairs.

Another step. Stops. 

She looks back. 

Whatever she sees on Bede’s face makes her turn around and run towards him. He doesn’t get a single word in before she throws her arms around him, almost barreling him over. 

> Courage, the strength to keep walking even though each step is a battle; confidence, the rain that washes away all doubt; hope, the fiercest of them all, a steady mantra of We’ll be okay.

He grips her tight, wishes for once he could speak his emotions like she’s speaking hers. Settles for balling all his conviction into a whisper. “You’re going to do phenomenal, you’re going to pummel whatever that dynamax pokemon is without breaking a sweat, and I’ll wake up a week from now with a million messages of how you kicked their ass. Don’t worry about me.” 

He can feel her smile from the shift of her cheek. “And I’m going to come back to Ballonlea’s first town fair sensationalised on the headlines of every media site, and finally get to ride on a ferris wheel that isn’t always ‘out of order’ like Wyndon’s is, because you did a great job bossing people and pokemon around. Don’t worry about me.” 

They let go. 

Gloria heads down the stairs to her golisopod. His skin burns warm as he watches them meet up, as they round the corner, until they are gone. 

#drudwrites #bederia #bede #gloria #fuck tumblr formatting

[druddigoon]

bederia week day 2 prompt that lost steam 3/4 of the way through and ended up never being posted. gonna post as a scrap here, i guess

klara is all of us shippers

When Bede thought about the duties of being a gym leader, he never expected so much of it to be just waiting. 

After the scandal with Eternatus and Rose’s arrest, the league was able to pull some strings to quell public unrest and ensure there’d be a gym challenge the next year. Mostly due to the fact that the new champion was the one to save the day, and that two major league gyms were succeeded by people who had played roles in dismantling his regime (because hey, he’ll take credit where credit is due). Now they were on the last dregs of the circuit, when most of the challengers had either advanced to gyms higher in the circuit or were picked off by lower ones. 

Bede swung his legs idly against the stage. He’d received an rotom-mail stating that there were three challengers headed his way, but either they were lost in Ballonlea or decided to drop out, because he’d been here since early morning and there was no sign of anyone. 

“Might as well just take the rest of the day off,” he muttered to his mawile, currently occupied with nibbling the stage equipment.

Mawile didn’t seem to be paying attention, too busy looking far off into the distance. Suddenly her larger mouth stiffened, her eyes widened, and with a cry that hurt Bede’s eardrums she hopped off the stage and ran out of the room. 

Bede found himself with no choice but to follow. 

She must’ve heard Gloria arrive at the gym, he thinks. They had planned to meet to train in the Tangle earlier this afternoon, but she had yet to show her face. 

He pushed up the heavy double doors leading to the lobby. “About time you came, Glori—”

Wait. 

That wasn’t Gloria. 

His mawile (traitor) was currently munching pecha berries from a certain trainer he’d hoped to never see outside of league meetings. Her dustox was hovering overhead, shedding a trail of poisonous dust as it investigated the ceiling lights.

“This your mawile?” Klara pets the jaw pokemon, still happily chomping down on her pecha, “Super sweet little gal.” 

“Yes. Mawile, you know better than to eat from strangers. Get back here.” 

“Let her enjoy her treat! She must be knackered out from alllll the battles you’ve been doing at your gym.” 

Bede refused to humor her. “Why are you here?”  

“Aww, don’t be like that,” she spoke in a sickenly sweet voice, “Can’t a girl visit her favorite little brother?” 

“For the last time, no one is forcibly adopting me.” 

“No one except Opal, of course.” 

“Look,” Klara said when he didn’t respond, “Minor league doesn’t have half as many duties as you guys do. We don’t have a gym to manage, we don’t have challengers to take care of, all we do is twiddle our thumbs at meetings or train for a shot next year at major! And both are soooo booooring~” 

“And that is my problem because…?” 

“Consider this payback for ousting my toxtricity in the tournament. You’re stuck with me, fairy boy.” 

Before he can retort with I’m not afraid to high horsepower you just like i did your giant lizard, there was a loud slam coming from the entrance, door rattling on its hinges. 

Gloria hobbled in out of breath, leaning heavily on the wall. She looked like she’d been through hell: face red, hair askew, and that dumb green beret she always wore nowhere to be found. “Sorry,” she managed, “league...business...took...longer than I thought.” 

Did she run all the way to Ballonlea? 

Bede sighed and massaged his temples. “I can’t believe you—no, don’t talk back at me, conserve your breath. There’s an empty couch right next to you. I'll go get some water.” 

Gloria accepted the water sheepishly. “Sorry about this. I had an interview with a film crew right before when we planned to meet, which was just part of a documentary they were making on the history of Stow-on-Side’s monument. They just wanted my eyewitness account of what happened. Don’t worry, I didn’t go into detail about your disqualification.” 

With how often he embarrassed himself in the media (and on live television, during the championship tournament) Bede doubted it would matter.

“But you know I get nervous talking in front of people. When they say it takes ‘one hour tops’, it apparently doesn’t take into account the amount of retakes I needed to do just to get a clip where I don't mumble.” She leaned over to give Mawile a pat on the head. “I was really late by then so I ended just...running. Didn’t realise until I was halfway in Glimwood Tangle that I left my bag at the filming site.”

He settled in the seat next to Gloria’s. “You shouldn’t be having these problems. Take some time for yourself, our meetings aren’t really important and can be moved to a later date. Make sure to factor for commute time and things like this.” 

“Ugh, I know. Hop says I’m ‘pants with schedules’. I just...can’t decline. I’m the champion, this is part of my duty.” 

Klara cleared her throat, making Bede’s ears burn. He’d completely forgotten they weren’t alone. “You didn’t offer to get me water.” 

“Get it yourself,” he snapped back. 

“Oh.” Gloria blinked, finally noticing Klara. “I didn’t see you there. You are…?” 

“Klara.” She strode closer, extending her hand for a fistbump. “Minor league gym leader, number 881. Poison-type specialist. 

“Nice you meet you, I’m—” She paused to glance at the outstretched fist in confusion. Bede bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snickering. “I’m Gloria. I’ve been meaning to meet with the minor league leaders, actually, so it’s really nice to see you here! Beautiful dustox, by the way. Haven't seen many of its line around Galar."

If Klara took offense to Gloria's (lack of a) fistbump, it was immediately forgotten when Dustox was mentioned. She brightened. "Thanks! Got him from a breeder in Hoenn, and with the laxer species protection laws I was finally able to bring him here."

“Can I see him? Frosmoth has trouble flying in humid weather, and I’ve been wondering how something so bulky like dustox adapted to its environment—d’oh! I should probably call a corvitaxi to get my bag before someone decides to steal it. ” 

“No need.” Bede fished out a pokeball and pressed it into her hands. “It’s near the mural, right? My reuniclus remembers how to teleport there. I need to handle some challengers today, so it’s best that we cancel our training. Retrieve your stuff, then go home and rest. You can return my pokemon next time we meet.” 

After Gloria left, he turned back to Klara. "You should leave too. I have things to do."

"What, 'handle some challengers'? I don't need a psychic type to know you don't have any."

"I still need to close up. Leave."

“The champion visits you in your gym. For 'training', you say.” Klara rested her chin delicately on her hand. “Ah, young love.” 

Bede sputtered halfway into locking the stage doors, catching his thumb in the process. "There is nothing romantic between Gloria and I! We both needed more training, and I was the best gym leader to tutor her."

"Suuuuure you are. And the Battle Tower doesn't exist." She grinned, all predator. "Let's not beat around the bush here. Champ likes you enough to make you her training partner, you care about Champ enough to fuss over her like a mother corviknight. Now, be a good brother and tell Big Sis the details."

Hissing from the pain, he fumbled around before releasing his hatterene. "Fuck you. Hattie, teleport me back to my house."

"Wait! No! Stay with me and I'll make it worth your while! I know the best tricks to woo a girl—"

Bede was gone before she could finish her sentence.

Several days later, he was walking through the streets of Hammerlocke. 

There it was, a couple blocks away from the gym: a looming fortress of ebony brick and wreathed ivy with the words Hammerlocke City Vault emblazoned above wooden double doors. He’d been notified that he was to attend a private league conference in one of its side office buildings just yesterday, which was a little unusual since they usually give it at least a week prior. Bureaucracy has done worse, he supposes. 

In the lobby, underneath a vivid painting of Galar’s Darkest Day (recently revised to include Zacian and Zamazenta now), sat Gloria, dozing on his reuniclus. 

“Bede?” she mumbled, sitting up with a jolt when the pokemon slid out from under her to greet his trainer. “Didn’t know you had business here too.” 

“Ditto to you.” Reuniclus chirruped, headbutting his shoulder. He gave him a couple rubs on its head. “Maybe we’re in the same one? Mine’s at ten in room thirty-four.” 

“Huh.” Gloria tossed him his pokeball, which he caught and withdrew Reuniclus with. “Same, but...I’m meeting with my PR team, and I’m pretty sure they specifically asked for me. Are you sure yours is today?” 

“Give me some credit Gloria, I’m don’t just mix up dates. Let me pull up the email...” He took out his rotom-phone, scrolled down and...yep, there it was: same date, room, and time. The invitation was formal, the same mass-email format he’d received from them a thousand times, and to check he glanced at the sender’s address and—

Sent by Klara. 

Arceus fucking help him now, he was going to send his rapidash after her. 

“Anything now?” Gloria prompted as Bede shut his rotom-phone with more force than necessary. He noticed she was more subdued lately, didn’t fire quips at him or engage in the back and forth banter that became the norm in their relationship. 

He wanted to ask her if she was well, if she actually went home to rest like he told her to. Wanted to see the smile she wore when she played with her pokemon, back when she didn’t look like she was running herself into the ground. Bede had never been the one to concern himself over other people, but there was something he couldn’t stand about watching this quiet candle of a girl get snuffed in the panache of publicity. 

“...Guess I did get the date wrong,” he lied. “Do you mind if I join your meeting? Might as well, since I cleared my entire schedule out for this damn trip.” 

“Well, I’m alright with it.” She got up, and he didn’t miss the steadying hand she placed on the wall. “I don’t know about the people I’m meeting with…”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the champion, they should follow what you decide to do.” If his past taught him anything, it was to assert himself or risk getting trampled over. By the way Gloria averted her eyes, he assumed she had not. 

They walked into the conference together. When the PR team arrived, Gloria dismissed their confusion with a wave. “I brought Bede along. He won’t be part of the meeting, so just pretend he isn’t here.” 

He huffed, crossing his arms, but his indignation melted away when she shot him a weak smile.

#drudwrites #bederia week #bederia #bede x gloria #klara

[druddigoon]

BUSTIN THRU THE WALL OF UR ASK BOX CAN I GET ME SOME OF THAT GOOD, GOOD "BEDE RUNS FACEFIRST INTO GLORIA'S HOME LIFE" SHIT?? bede adjusting to gloria's mom, bede coming to understand or at least acknowledge the difficulty of farm existence, gloria's own absent dad problems & bede's feelings about that, etc. i want bede to have to step out of his comfort zone and involve himself in someone else's life. mmmm thats the stuff

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737037

@hello-pyroxene TWO MONTHS i have finally made it out with ur prompt fill. it’s terrible pls don’t read

scraps coming soon

#drudwrites

[druddigoon]

When Bede finally returns to Stow-On-Side, he finds they’ve cleaned up the mural. 

The clearing is smooth (copperjah footprints, stamping trenches into the earth), the walls paved (iron head, he says, and stone weeps like an open wound) until they almost gleam. Stow-On-Side’s prime tourist site has only gotten more popular over the weeks; the press had effusively covered its reveal while swallowing every finer detail. 

The statue simmers under sweltering canyon heat. Two men. Two dogs-wolves-beasts, sword and shield clasped in bronze maws. 

If he closes his eyes and digs deep, he can picture jagged pieces of rock, strewn like nameless gravestones. Digs deeper still and he tastes the tang of blood and sweat, skin split on shrapnel. Take out the keystone, and the rest of the foundation cannot stand. 

The ancient Galarian heroes, the newly minted sign reads, fabled to have stopped the first Darkest Day with two mythical pokemon. Until its excavation, it was thought that the hero was a single man. No names, no mentions. Excavation. 

In fine print, along the edge: This sign was generously donated by the Macro Cosmos corporation.

And where did all my wishing stones go?

(Only the winner gets to tell their tale.) 

What a sorry sight. Bede balls his shame at the tip of his tongue and spits it out onto the dirt.

Fuck the heroes. 

#drudwrites #rival bede #bede swsh #pokemon swsh fanfiction #pokemon fanfiction #overworked and undercared for myself so i've been fucking high-strung all day #have a more neurotic drabble than usual #might reuse for darkest day trilogy. dunno yet #wrote this in 1 hr and not gonna lie it's more therapeutic than stress art

[druddigoon]

for the ask meme; H I (hi!!) oh and also V

!!!two!!!

H: How would you describe your style?

90% flavored angst and 10% substance lmao

real talk though i’ve always been fascinated with perspective--specifically how someone’s life, childhood, etc etc shape their beliefs--for a long time, and it’s something i try to actively impart into my fics...to a limited degree of success lmao. what is bede’s inner dialogue before he does something he regrets, what parts of his past have their handprints in his actions? how does the tragedy that is her gym challenge affect gloria, in what way does it change who she is now vs who she is before? it’s been very fun taking what i’ve been given for characters and extrapolating the fuck out of it in both directions

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? 

likewise, i love stories that make me hard reconsider my perspective or shed light on other people’s perspectives. unreliable narrators are probably my guilty pleasure, i go wild for my morally grey unreliable narrators with troubled pasts. 

other than that i have a soft spot for well thought out and detailed worldbuilding, one character noticing tiny tics in the other character’s behavior that’s a product of them knowing each other well, and tragedy fics that are too painful to read but i read anyways. my guilty pleasure in writing would probably be putting symbolism in everything, because good lord i put a lot. 

V: A secondary (or underrated) character you want to see more of in fic?

gonna twist the question a bit and say i really, really want some more piers&marnie sibling relationship fics and how they’re handing themselves. i would sell my soul to see another one not written by me ngl

#drudwrites #hiiiii #pls give be more piers and marnie fics that aren't smut fandom

[druddigoon]

Day 3 | Traveling Together

When Bede offered to accompany Gloria on her trip to the Crown Tundra, he didn’t expect to be given a crash course on how to survive extreme wild area weather.

#drudwrites #bedera #bede x gloria #dressedinpinkshipping #bederia week #me one day later: oh yeah i should post this #welp #and they were cavemates (oh god they were cavemates)

[druddigoon]

nanu adopts silver au drabbles that were the brainchild of a series of shower thoughts, with a bit a lot of clumsy exploration on the heredity of abuse

might come back to finish this at a later time

---

Despite the advent of online news sites, Nanu still pays for the Ula’ula Times newspapers to be delivered to his house every morning. There’s something to be said about the rustle of paper read at the thin break of dawn, meowth purring in lap, that tamps down the horror of current events. 

Today’s headline is larger than usual, KANTONIAN YAKUZA BOSS APPREHENDED splayed across the page like a verdict. He huffs in amusement when the paper attributes Giovanni Romano’s arrest to a nameless, twelve-year-old boy. You’d think the region with a more organized police force would be more competent than a preteen. 

His humor dies as he reads on. Following the seizure of his house, authorities found among hoards of stolen pokemon and illegal money a young boy, assumed to be Giovanni’s son. The boy has been taken into custody, away from his father. “What custody? His father’s being torn apart by a nation, and he’s going to be prodded like a lab animal for testimonials,” Nanu mutters. 

He’s the head of police here; he knows evidence when he sees one.

(“You better shut your fat mouth, or someone will overhear and tell the police. You want the police to take you away? You want the police to beat you?”)

The meowth in his lap tumbles off with an indignant yowl as he stands up. She turns her nose up at his apology pets and stalks off into the undergrowth. He’ll give her an extra treat later. 

But for now, Nanu heads for his phone. He has calls to make. 

---

Silver sets his jaw, juts his chin in the most domineering stance he’s seen him do, too much desperation and bravado for it to not be a learned behavior. His hands ball into steely fists. “Just because you’re a cop doesn’t mean you have to stick your nose into everything I get into! I’ve been cooped up in this motherfucking cat-infested shack for months now, I can’t believe you’re on my ass because I tried to rob the Thrifty Megamart.” 

“Robbery today, organized crime tomorrow. I gave you free reign of the island because I thought you were better than this, but you’re just like your father,” Nanu snaps back. 

He realizes too late what he said. The boy’s eyes widen to whites before Nanu’s knocked to the ground, skull cracking hard on rock. Silver’s straddling him--he’s bigger and stronger than his old man now, he thinks--blindly punching. One glances off his cheek. Another finds its mark in the furrow of his eye, the side of his jaw, a brutal beat of bone-against-bone lit up by flares of firework pain. 

“You take that back!” Silver screams, ��You fucking take that back!” 

Nanu licks the blood off his teeth and stays silent. 

The next day Silver approaches him, knuckles still split and weeping pink. “I don’t forgive you.” he says. 

Nanu lets out a weary sigh. “I don’t expect you to,” he replies, “Just show me your hands so I can patch up those cuts.” 

#drudwrites #trainer silver #officer nanu #tw child abuse #just in case #tumblr formatting is fucking horrible i hate it so much

[druddigoon]

“Hop moves like he always does: eyes on the road, marching forward with singular intent, while you lag behind and linger in the tall grass.”

Hop and Gloria, a deconstruction in reverse.

#drudwrites #fun fact: this was actually started before bederia week was announced #took way too long to write #and it probably doesn't flow well but whatever #industrial grade angst

[druddigoon]

Here’s the tragedy of it all. The tragedy is that for all the power you had in the world, you couldn’t save what mattered to you. . . Things go a little bit differently: Bede collects more wishing stones, the wolves never appear, Eternatus is in pain, and you are powerless to stop it. Everything goes downhill from there.

#I typed nonstop on my phone for 5 days for this dumb ass fic #Also ao3 coding is hell and my fingers are numb from copypasting italics code all over the place #cries #cries some more #drudwrites #is foxfire coming back? we just dont know #pokemon fanfiction #bederia #dressedinpinkshipping #bede x gloria

[druddigoon]

Excerpt from fic I’m working on

Summary: 

Opal presses the pokeball into Bede’s arms, all disapproval and no-nonsense. ‘This eevee’s got some spunk in him still, and he needs a true trainer to help him grow into it. Show me your ability to bring pokemon beyond their full potential, and I will make you gym leader.’

He takes it; the scratches on it bite into his skin like a pact, and he shoots her a cocky smile through the pain. “I promise to exceed your expectations, ma’am.” 

Based off this post.

Bede enjoys Opal’s company. He really does. Opal actually remembers his name--even if she insists on calling him ‘child’ more often than not--and she usually gives a clear outline of what she expects from him: keep your own room clean, take out the trash, feed and play with your pokemon daily, don’t be kidnapped by anyone other than her. Her training methods range from sensible to did-you-ask-Alcremie-to-Sweet-Kiss-you-and-then-write-down-ideas-you-told-me-you-did-this-once-and-I’ve-never-trusted-you-again. 

No, it was the way she acted like she was more than Bede’s mentor. Like the day she bought him a pile of new clothes that somehow all fit, or that one time she fussed over him when he got a cold, or all those pats on his shoulder and hugs like she’s his grandmother. Like family. 

She’s also taken to complimenting him for doing menial tasks, like his pokeball throw (he literally just tosses it) or that one time he did all the laundry without her asking. He doesn’t know whether to feel insulted she has such a shallow view of him, or wary in case she’s buttering him up as the perfect grandson. After all, he’s learned from experience that nobody would be nice to a guy like him, not without interior motives. 

After living for months on the move, he had expected sedentary life to be boring. But it isn't. 

He doesn't miss the exhausting treks between towns, always on the move in case a wild pokemon decided to wipe them out. He doesn't miss waking up wach morning worried about if he'd be able to afford his next meal (besides Rose's endorsement, he didn't provide much else). Here, he has tasted routine and security and stuck around.

Routine and security is also what he'll focus on in the first stage of bonding with eevee. When Opal was out in a meeting, Bede locked himself in his room and gently released Eevee.

He materializes on the bed, curled into a ball and snoring softly. 

Bede studies him. Eevee's fur is matted and his claws overgrown, but otherwise he isn’t weak, just lacks talent. As much as Bede prided himself on being the best trainer, even he couldn’t do miracles. With Eevee, he can still make Opal proud.

He didn't notice Eevee was awake until the pokemon let out a surprised squeak, twisting under the bed. Bede's ears warm. He probably scared the eevee when it woke up to a huge face staring at him. 

"Hey it's okay, you're safe here." Bede cooed, extending his hand. Years of training Hatterene have made him a master at calming agitated pokemon. Eevee gives a wary sniff, before darting back under the shadows of the bed.

"Here, I brought you something tasty." He rolls a pecha berry under the bed. Untouched. "Not a fan? How about this?" A cheri berry bounces to a stop beside it.

A face appears, it large, soulful eyes staring straight at Bede. Eevee takes a tentative bite of the cheri, then another, immune to the spicy taste that would’ve driven many pokemon away. As he ate, Bede reaches out and scratches the soft down on the back of his ears, and is surprised to feel him purring quietly. 

As if he was reading Bede’s mind, Eevee lurches around with a horrified expression, and the fairy-type trainer couldn’t get his hand away fast enough. 

“Ow!” Bede swears quietly as he clutches his bitten hand, blood blooming dark on pale skin. Eevee is long gone, the half-eaten cheri berry staining the floor with juice. He yanks out a pokeball and returns him. 

“Stingy little bastard.”

#drudwrites #I know I haven't written anything in awhile and I'm trying to get back into the habit #It's an uphill battle and I hope I can finish this fic without getting burnout #bc I'm super excited abt it #bede #bede swsh #rival bede