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Pokémon So Much For Light and Heat

Pen

the cat is mightier than the pen
Staff
Partners
  1. dratini
  2. dratini-pen
  3. dratini-pen2
So Much for Light and Heat

Flint’s here on business, not pleasure. Volkner’s just . . . not all here.
cw: discussion of self-harm and depression

a/n: this is an old but unpublished one-shot from 2018, when I did these kinds of canon character studies more frequently. Aaand already made some spanking new 2022 edits based on Blitz insta-feedback. You folks are the best.




Flint woke to a flood of light. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the bed-sheets. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

. . . His holophone was ringing.

Flint sat up hastily and swiveled around in search of a mirror. But the room, washed by light that tumbled in from the skylight, was bare except for the bed at its center. He rubbed the sleep dust from his eyes and double-checked that his shirt wasn’t rumpled. Then he leaned over the side of the bed and picked up his holophone.

Cynthia. Of course.

Flint climbed fully out of bed, angled the phone so that it would be facing a white wall, and opened the call. The champion’s face shimmered into view. She was in her training clothes, and from the slight flush on her cheeks, Flint figured she’d just wrapped up her morning session. Which meant it was already past 8:00 . . .

“Cynthia,” he said, trying to summon up his usual pep, “Hey!”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she said with a slight frown.

“No, no, so what’s up?”

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “I wanted to know if you’d had any luck.”

Right.

“I tried,” Flint began, which was at least honest, as long as she didn’t press him on just how far he had gotten before Volkner’s dead-eyed stare brought him to a stammering halt. “But it’s difficult. I need some more time.”

“The meeting is in five days,” Cynthia said. Her tone was matter of fact, but there was sympathy in her eyes. “Flint, it won’t be pleasant for any of us if this goes to a vote.”

Flint’s throat was dry. He really needed some breakfast. A glass of orange juice. Or maybe something stronger. “If it goes to a vote? I mean, you tell me. Is it going to?”

“If I don’t bring the motion . . . others will,” Cynthia said. “I think it would be better if it came from me.”

Others. That would be Byron and Crasher Wake, no doubt. Yes, it would be ugly, coming from them.

“And will you have the votes,” Flint asked, finding his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. What he had taken for a skylight wasn’t one, he realized. It was a rectangular panel, its electrical output tuned to match the spectrum of the sun.

Of course it was. Putting in an actual skylight would have been too simple. Flint fought the urge to smile, but Cynthia’s words brought him back to earth.

“I don’t know, Flint.” Even as an agglomeration of pixels Cynthia’s gaze was hard to meet. “Will I?”

“If it’s the only option,” he said, averting his eyes again. Would Volkner even speak to him afterwards? “But surely it won’t come down to me?”

“Removal takes nine votes. Fantina and Candice have already told me privately that they feel uncomfortable censuring a fellow gym leader. I understand that. Last month, Volkner dealt with a rotom that was troubling Gardenia’s citizens. She’s still very grateful. And Roark,” Cynthia smiled awkwardly, “well, lately it seems he’s been voting whichever way will most displease his father.”

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t set them straight,” Flint said, more sharply than he intended. The gym leaders, with Volkner the glaring exception, were unified in their adulation towards Cynthia.

“I don’t want to campaign—” Cynthia was at a rare loss for words. “Flint, you know this isn’t an easy decision for anyone, least of all me. Volkner’s not incompetent, he’s the strongest trainer on our gym circuit. If he would just start taking challenges seriously, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

“He’s taking them, at least. Isn’t that enough?”

“Opening his gym after midnight and closing before dawn? Sending his pokemon out to fight without being present himself? I know he’s your friend, Flint, but this behavior isn’t defensible.”

“And I’m not trying to defend it,” Flint said, making sure to keep his voice level. “He lost his spark. Reigniting it is going to take time.”

“It seems to me that Volkner has simply stopped trying. But if it's really as you say—if your theory is correct that the lack of challenging opponents has made him listless, well.” Cynthia took a breath. “Bertha is planning to retire soon. We could offer Volkner her place.”

“On the Elite Four?” With me? Flint blinked stupidly at Cynthia. “But Lucian would raise hell . . .”

Cynthia coughed. “Lucian would, of course, prefer an open selection contest, but he has agreed that moving Volkner into the Elite Four would be a sensible solution to a number of problems. It wouldn't raise any eyebrows—no one questions Volkner’s skill. The two of you get along well, and I'm sure in time the rest of us would learn to see the good qualities that have made you his staunch friend.”

“Cynthia . . . that would be wonderful. Why didn't you bring this up earlier?”

Cynthia’s mouth flattened out. “Because he really has to want this, Flint. It's one thing to have a scandal in the gyms: I will not tolerate an elite four member who neglects his duties.”

“Right,” Flint said, his drowsiness converted into adrenaline. “I got this, Cynthia. You can count on me.”

“I hope so, Flint.”

Cynthia gave him a slight nod and ended the call.

“Yeah,” Flint assured the empty room. “I got this.”

The door of the room opened onto a metallic hallway. Flint craned his head left and right. Five years, and he still couldn’t navigate the labyrinthine back corridors of Volkner’s gym.

“Chu?”

Flint heaved a sigh of relief as Volkner’s raichu rounded the corner. The electric mouse nuzzled against his leg and led him through the corridors, into—

No better term sprang to mind, so the room was Volkner’s kitchen. But in Flint's opinion, it lacked several defining qualities of a kitchen. There was no stove, only a single electric burner with a large black cable running across the floor like a tripwire. Flint had long suspected that Volkner possessed a fridge, but he had not yet discovered it. In place of a sink a box of wet wipes brooded on the square table in the center of the room.

Volkner wasn't there, so Flint seized the moment to examine the rice cooker that rested on the small counter next to the burner. The timer read four days and nine hours. Flint popped the lid and grimaced when the rancid smell of overcooked rice rose to meet him. Coughing, he shut the cooker quickly.

Maybe he could convince Volkner to accompany him out to breakfast. Conversation would be easier somewhere public, somewhere every inch of the living space didn't scream Volkner is here.

Or, rather: Volkner isn’t all here.

"I got you buns."

Volkner's voice made him jump. He was standing in the doorway, draped in his usual navy jacket, a white box held up in his hand.

“Thanks,” Flint said slowly. He looked inside the box and added, "Hey thanks," in a more enthused voice when the smell of fresh-baked bread hit his nose.

Volkner watched him eat over a mug of some steaming dark liquid that Flint hoped was nothing worse than especially bitter coffee. He didn't take a bun for himself.

When Flint had finished polishing off three buns, he paused to lick his fingers. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

"I've eaten."

"Not rice, I hope. Your rice is spoiled. Five days is too long to keep it warming in the cooker like that, you know. If you don't get through it by two, toss it."

Volkner said nothing. The pause was growing thick and uncomfortable, so Flint grabbed a fourth bun, even though he was mostly full now.

He took a small bite and then set it back down on the table.

"Am I keeping you?" he asked tightly. "You have morning challengers, don’t you?”

"Gym's closed today."

"Closed? Why?"

"You're here." Volkner didn't seem to think any further explanation was required. Something in his tone rankled Flint. Volkner could do what he liked, but Flint didn't want to be used as an excuse.

"Don't close on my account. You know I love watching you battle."

Volkner's lip curled. "Too bad, I guess."

"Yeah," Flint said, his heart sinking. "Too bad." He munched on his bun some more. "Challengers haven't improved, then?"

Volkner shook his head, his gaze caught in his dark mug.

Flint took a moment to steady himself. Talking to Volkner was so difficult lately. Every word came like pulling teeth. Volkner had always been a bit melancholy, but now just being near him now was like standing in a thick, cold fog.

You’ve got a solution, Flint reminded himself. Where was his optimism? Just fifteen minutes ago he’d been ready to jump up and down like a turbocharged pichu.

He took a breath. "What if I told you there was a chance you could fight a better class of trainer?"

“Is this another of your advertising schemes, because—”

Flint cut him off. "I mean you could join the Elite Four.”

Silence for a beat. Volkner’s lips curved slowly into an amused smile. "Okay, Flint. And neutrons could take on ionic charge if they really tried."

Flint didn't bother trying to parse the metaphor: the dismissal was clear enough. "I'm serious," he said. "Look, I've heard it from the top. Bertha's retiring. Cynthia’s prepared to offer you her place.”

The harsh sound of Volkner’s laughter made Flint wince. “She must be really desperate to avoid a scandal.”

“That's not—” Flint felt himself gaping. “Volkner, this is the perfect solution. You’d get to face a higher caliber of challengers. Just what you want.”

Volkner grimaced. “A pity offering. I'm not on Elite Four level.”

What? Flint stared at him. “You're close enough.”

“I should take it, just for the suffering on Lucian’s face.”

“You mean you won't?”

“I won't.”

Flint had heard the words, but he didn’t believe them. “You won’t?” he repeated, sounding lost. “Come on, Volkner, you must not be thinking straight.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

“Well then . . .”

Flint couldn’t continue. Volkner had finally met his gaze. His face hadn’t really changed, but it was like a protective cover had fallen away. Nothing hid the rawness there.

“Flint,” he said with deliberate steadiness, “There is something fucked in my head.” Raichu let out a low whine and sprang into Volkner’s lap. He fell quiet for a moment, stroking her cheeks. “My pokemon are strong, but I’m not. The trainers that stop by my gym—my pokemon don’t need me to win. I wouldn’t be much help, even if I did go and stand there. During matches, I lose my concentration. My head just goes gray and I can’t think. Or I do think, but about the wrong things. Do you remember Cyrus?”

Flint felt like he was speaking from a long way away. Or that Volkner was, speaking from somewhere far-off and hazy. “The leader of Team Galactic?”

“He grew up here, in Sunnyshore. You didn't know that? I suppose you had already left by then. I met him at an engineering competition. He was brilliant, the only one worth talking to, and I was the only one who tried. A small, scraggly kid with cuts lined up on his arm like there was something he was trying to count. He said that humans are just imperfect machines that have tricked ourselves into thinking the world is beautiful. And since then, I’ve wondered—since everything that happened: what does it say about me, that Cyrus made more sense to me than anyone else ever has?”

The silence was thick and absolutely impenetrable, like tar. Flint tried to speak anyway. “Volkner, that’s—you’re nothing like Cyrus.”

“I’m nothing,” Volkner said flatly. “When you get down to it, we’re all just a series of electric impulses. There’s nothing wired into me that makes me Volkner. Whoever you think you’re talking to doesn’t really exist.”

“You exist,” Flint said firmly. “Volkner—” He had no idea where to begin. “It’s this shutting yourself up in here. It does things to your head. Let’s go to the beach. We can get some actual sunlight.”

Volkner’s head flopped down onto his hands. “Go ahead.”

“Volkner, let’s go to the beach.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

He wouldn’t, would he. He just planned to sit there, letting his head fill up with crap about Cyrus and not-existing. Flint realized his eyes were hot. He pushed the feeling back down, and said, in a voice that was almost steady, “Volkner, if you don’t come outside with me right now I am not going to talk to you ever again.”

In the subsequent silence, the hum and crackle of electricity was painfully loud.

Fuck, Flint thought. I’ve done it now. He looked away, down to the black cord snaking across the tile floor.

“Okay,” he heard Volker say slowly. “Not ever? At all? I mean, at league meetings, are you just going to pretend I’m not in the room, or . . ?”

Flint risked a glance up. Volkner was smiling. Smiling, somehow, his thin, wan smile.

“I don’t get you at all. That wasn’t a joke.”

“You mean that?”

He could still walk it back. Force a chuckle and say, Of course it was a joke. Drop the subject.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I do.”’

Volkner’s face had gone blank. He blinked slowly. “It’s just . . . I burnt all my beach towels.”

“You did what?!”

“It was an accident.” From his lap, Raichu snorted loudly. “Well, sort of an accident. The deliberate sort of accident. Flint, I don’t like the beach. It’s too hot and the sand is inefficient. I submitted a proposal to the Urban Planning Division to convert the beach into a solar panel, but they never got back to me.”

“Imagine that,” Flint said.

Volkner ignored him, his face scrunched into a frown. “The sun should be for producing energy, not for tanning. If I were a grass pokemon, then lying in the sun for hours would make sense. My body would convert the light into energy. But the flaw in this beach proposal is that I am not a grass pokemon.”

“Really? Because I’ve always seen you as a sunflora. You know, bright yellow hair, big beaming smile—”

“You aren’t funny. It’s sad how you think you’re funny, but you’re just not.”

“Actually,” Flint said, “I was voted Most Humorous in the inter-regional Elite Four competition.”

“Wow. You’re funnier than a ninja and a woman who spends all her time talking with ghosts. That really shows me. Consider me shown.”

Volkner’s eyes drifted up to meet Flint’s. As if coming to a silent agreement, they both began to laugh. When he caught his breath, Flint felt better than he had in a long time. It was good to laugh like this, to banter back and forth with Volkner, slipping into their old groove.

“Volkner—” he began.

But Volkner was already shaking his head, the frustration back in his voice as if the laughter had never happened. “I'm trying, okay? I know you think I'm not. But it's—I don't know how to explain. There are days when it’s fine. Then there are days when I don't get out of bed. There are days when just having a single conversation is too much. Sometimes I don't even want to see you.”

That stung. “Volkner—”

“Tell Cynthia she can keep her bribe. I don't want it. I-I've been thinking of going to Olivine.”

“Olivine?” Flint repeated in complete surprise. “In Johto?”

“Do you know a different Olivine?”

“No, but . . . Johto? You hardly leave Sunnyshore.”

You hardly leave your gym.

“You left,” Volkner said, in a tone that fell just short of accusation. “So it can’t be that hard. I want to get my head straight. If I can—then I'll win that Elite Four place myself. No one would be able to say I'm not worthy of standing next to you.”

“There's no one who would say that now,” Flint said quietly.

“There's me.”

Once more, Flint found himself speechless. “You—”

Volkner cut him off. “I don't want to go to the beach. Will you still speak to me?”

“I guess so,” Flint said after a moment.

Volkner’s answering smile was fond. “Knew it. Some kind of fire master you are. You're all flash and no burn.”

“Like electricity?”

“Sure,” Volkner said solemnly. “Almost as wonderful as that.”


*

The sun had set by the time Flint returned, but the interior of Volkner’s gym was unchanged. The electric lights burned cheerily, as if coming into their own without the sun to outshine them. Flint draped his beach towel over something oddly shaped and heat-emitting, hoping he wasn’t about to burn the place down. That would be one way to get him some fresh air, he thought, and chuckled, causing Raichu to shoot him a curious glance and Volkner to do nothing at all—only his feet and hands were visible as he toiled away under a massive pile of panels and circuitry.

The beach had been pleasant, and his pokemon had enjoyed the Sunnyshore sunlight, but Flint hadn’t been able to relax. Something from their conversation had niggled at him. He'd never dwelled on what it had meant that he had left Sunnyshore and Volkner had stayed. That had never felt important. He had always been sure that they were following paths that would inevitably coincide, the two best street fighters in Sunnyshore, together again at the top of the world.

"Why Olivine?" Flint asked finally, as Volkner twisted the end of a cable. As he spoke, it occurred to him that the question shouldn't have taken him three hours to ask.

Volkner’s hands stilled. His voice floated up a moment later. “Oldest light-house in the world there, did you know? They still don't use any technology, it's all just powered by flaffy and ampharos. I could help modernize it, Flint. I could help."

The enthusiasm in Volkner's voice startled Flint—how long had it been since he sounded like that? Flint couldn't remember. And for what? he thought, surprised by his own bitterness. All for some creaky old lighthouse out in the backwaters of Johto, when not three hours ago Flint had offered him a position on the Sinnoh Elite Four. Everything they had always dreamed about, in those solemn midnight talks along the beach-side when they just had a chimchar and a pikachu, and enough ambition to light the stars.

“What am I supposed to tell Cynthia?” he said, his voice gone harsh despite himself.

“Whatever you like. She won’t care.”

She would, actually, but Flint was sick and tired of contradicting Volkner. “Well, I care.”

This time, Volkner’s head popped up. Surprised, damn him.

“You could come, I guess. Don't know what Cynthia would think of that, though.”

“Would you . . . like me to?”

Why was he so hesitant? Almost twenty years they’d been friends, and yet today every word felt like a tremulous step on a tightrope suspended over a magma pit.

Volkner said nothing. Flint’s hands curled into fists. I need you to say something. I need a star to steer by. Some days you don't want to see me, huh? How many days is some? How am I supposed to know—

“I wouldn't mind.”

The words were mumbled, as Volkner shoved himself back under the wires.

I wouldn’t mind.

If that was the best Flint was going to get, should he take it? Tag along and—what? Abandon his duties to kick sand on the Olivine Beach? He was a member of the Sinnoh Elite Four, and that meant something. It meant late nights and early mornings, showing up at the monthly league meetings, even though they left him so bored he had to pinch himself every five minutes to avoid dozing off. And Flint did it. He knew that he dressed too loudly, that he ran his mouth too fast at official events and spouted off things that made the PR department work for their salaries. But he showed up, every damn time, and he was proud of that. It was a feeling he'd never put into words before. He was proud to be on the Elite Four.

Flint stared down at Volkner's sock-feet, a mismatched yellow and black, feeling strangely lost. If Volkner asked him, he would go. Throw it all up, endure Cynthia's quiet disappointment, Lucian's snide remarks, and the newspapers' easy condemnation.

But Volkner wasn't asking.

It took a moment for the thought to truly sink in.

"Hey," Flint said quietly and let the word hang until Volkner looked up at him from his wiring. "I'll be here. I'll be here when you get back."

Volkner swallowed. "Might be gone a long time," he said in a careful voice.

"But you'll come back."

The pause persisted a little too long for comfort. Then Volkner said, "Yeah. I'll come back."

Flint exhaled. He felt lighter, suddenly, as if he'd untethered himself from a load he hadn't even known he carrying. He scratched Raichu once on the chin, then headed for the door without bothering with goodbyes—Volkner had already vanished back under the circuitry.

Outside the night was cold, but when Flint tipped back his head, the stars were very bright.
 
Last edited:

Persephone

Infinite Screms
Pronouns
her/hers
Partners
  1. mawile
  2. vulpix-alola
cw: discussion of self-harm and depression
Stop stealing from me, Pen. This is my beat.
. . . His holophone was ringing.
Should be Holocaster, the best named thing in any game ever.
sleep dust
Fic Sins: You would have to be asleep a very long time for dust to accumulate on your eyes. 0/10, absolute garbage.
“If I don’t bring the motion . . . others will,”
You know what there just isn’t enough of in fiction? Parliamentary procedure. I could read that shit for days and no one ever puts it in.
It's one thing to have a scandal in the gyms: I will not tolerate an elite four member who neglects his duties.
This characterizes Cynthia will for me. Formal and a hardass, even if she can be sympathetic.
It’s too hot and the sand is inefficient.
Sand is efficient at absorbing the impact of waves and providing a constantly shifting buffer. But it’s inefficient because it’s coarse, and rough, and it gets everywhere.

Noci could be friends with Volkner.

I liked the passage in general. Volkner not getting enjoyment on a basic level, or at least pretending like he doesn’t. And the description of dealing with a person with near-suicidal depression also feels real. Burnt food and untended living spaces track. He must spend time training his Pokémon, though, if they’re strong enough to make him the toughest gym leader without him commanding them. I suppose he wouldn’t be the first depressed person to put all their time into their pets.

The burner without a stove was worth noting but I forgot to quote it. Good characterization and imagery.

Nothing really happened in this fic. Volkner says he’s going to Olivine, Flint isn’t going, no minds were changed. I’m fine with that. It might be better than the alternative, where Volkner changes in a meaningful way from one conversation.

It isn’t relevant, but if there was a vote and Volkner attended I could see him voting to censure himself. Letting him get fired. Letting him have one less attachment.

So sad. Porygon, play Despacito.
 

Panoramic_Vacuum

Hoenn around
Partners
  1. aggron
  2. lairon
👀 Is this from around the same time as that Sidney character study, too? As you know by now, I can't get enough of canon characters from the poke-verse, so this is, of course, right up my alley. post more pls

Flint and Volkner have always been high on my bromance favorites list. There's something so great about the running theme of "opposites attract" when it comes to the way canon characters end up paired off with one another-- there's also an electromagnetism joke in there somewhere-- and Flint and Volkner are no exception. (Add another to the list of E4/Champion + 8th Gym Leader combo that is oh so prevalent.) Getting to see your take on them here is an absolute treat, even if it lands on the heavier side of their relationship.

I'm not as versed in Sinnoh, and to that extent the trainers who call that region home. I do recall, though, that Volkner seemed moody, eccentric, and really aloof. Flint being his polar opposite is outgoing, boisterous, and borderline obnoxious. (A match made in heaven.) I really like your portrayal of both of them here, with Flint showing his more serious and concerned side, and the withdrawn nature of Volkner to the absolute extreme, to the point of unhealthiness with both his social and personal needs.

The description of Volkner's kitchen sent shivers down my spine, because I can see it so clearly, the space and the reasoning behind it. Getting the tour from Flint's perspective is really smart because there's an undertone of humor through the whole thing. This passage in particular is just fantastic, from the line about the undiscovered fridge, and the use of the word "brooded" to describe the box of wipes. It's so spartan, so unsettling, but also so right:
No better term sprang to mind, so the room was Volkner’s kitchen. But in Flint's opinion, it lacked several defining qualities of a kitchen. There was no stove, only a single electric burner with a large black cable running across the floor like a tripwire. Flint had long suspected that Volkner possessed a fridge, but he had not yet discovered it. In place of a sink a box of wet wipes brooded on the square table in the center of the room.

It's a lot of the little things in this fic that I enjoy the most. Flint's conversation with Cynthia to show just how bad Volkner's situation has gotten. Dire enough that they're going to straight up kick him out of the League! Volkner's pokemon battling without him present (and winning) is probably the most Volkner thing I've ever heard. Totally believable that it's possible and that he'd let himself slip that far that it even was a solution he'd come up with. I like the details about the gym, like the skylight not actually being daylight, but electric light tuned to mimic the sky (and as a lighting nerd who has studied light, human health, and the link between non-visual pathways from the eye to the mood centers of the brain, this tickles me so). The trip to Olivine especially has me grinning because I always loved it when Jasmine showed up in Sunyshore. I can't remember who wrote it, but there's a fantastic fic about Volkner and Jasmine's relationship and how it highlights their own struggles and while they realize they're not alone in their plights, they're not in a place yet where they can support each other fully either. If you're interested, I can dig up a link.

I think the part that hit me the hardest was Volker thinking of Cyrus, recalling their interactions and not trying to separate the directions they went from their mutual starting point. It was scary to see Volkner musing about such things, that he did feel so empty that another's extremist ideology could take root in the void left behind. It's startling, and I'm glad Flint was there and able to be privy to that. He was already fighting for his friend, to bring him back from that terrible place, but now he knows what he's up against, truly.

It still might be a losing battle, but Flint isn't one to give up so easily. The ending conversation about joining Volkner to the trip to Olivine felt a little vague to me, and maybe that was the intent since Volkner is the king of non-committal answers, but I think it muddied the conclusion a bit. I know it's not so easy to button everything up at the end and say "look, Volkner's fixed, hooray!", but I was left wondering what Flint was feeling, since this was from his perspective. It seemed like it was a positive note, or at least as much of one as it could be, but the hesitation on my part here makes me think that maybe it could have been pushed a bit harder, since it's the last beat of the fic.

Either way, I love this take on these two characters and their friendship. Thanks so much for unearthing this one from the pile!
 
  • Quag
Reactions: Pen

kintsugi

golden scars | pfp by sun
Location
the warmth of summer in the songs you write
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. silvally-grass
  2. lapras
  3. golurk
  4. booper-kintsugi
  5. meloetta-kint-muse
  6. meloetta-kint-dancer
  7. murkrow
  8. yveltal
Mostly light on the prose edits since I think this is older work. No light on the shitposts because I can never restrain myself. So much for light because the pun is there.

I like your flex on canon characters here. Cynthia feels proud but resigned but still a badass who's trying to find what's best for everyone. Flint's got a lot of bite behind him, but he's tender and earnest. And Volkner is, oof, but it works really well. I think you capture this mix of manic/savage energy with a bunch of resignation--everyone in this fic feels tired in a way, but Volkner's feels so much more inevitable, in ways I can't quite pin. For me it stood out the most in how he was fixating on his this isn't okay, i'm not okay, it can't be okay--in the face of Cynthia and Flint trying to propose the middle-ground solution that they think will work, it works from a structure perspective to make for conflict in a story where, as Persephone points out, nothing technically happens, but it also isolates Volkner from the rest of the cast in a way that doesn't really need to be highlighted.

Cyrus as an inclusion felt a little weird at first, and I think ultimately it's a little bumpy--this might be from me not really understanding Volkner's backstory with respect to Cyrus's incredibly muddled motives; I see the through-lines between wanting to drain the emotion from the world and why Volkner would empathize with that, but I don't really have a grasp for what Cyrus tried to do in this version and why Flint doesn't make the connection that Volkner thinks is so obvious. If Cyrus plays out mostly as he did in canon, I sort of wanted to see that come back re: Volkner's decision to go to Johto, since the decision to yeet to a different country/world is another similarity they share, even if they end up doing it for different reasons.

The imagery here is solid as well, as to be expected. And there's food, and food as a metaphor for character stasis. It's striking but there's substance beneath the surface, and ultimately I like the direction this ends in, even if it's a little bleak. Running into the ocean to find yourself is a good answer to everything.

edit: Pen has pointed out that I don't understand Gen IV canon because I mostly get it piecemeal from various fanfics, and this is true.

. . . His holophone was ringing.
this is single-handedly the best improvement in the fic
What he had taken for a skylight wasn’t one, he realized. It was a rectangular panel, its electrical output tuned to match the spectrum of the sun.
You have strong images across this piece but I liked this image the most. It's a fake sun, no light, no heat. It's a bit on the nose for Volkner's laments about mechanical imitations of the real thing, but I think it works.
“Opening his gym after midnight and closing before dawn? Sending his pokemon out to fight without being present himself? I know he’s your friend, Flint, but this behavior isn’t defensible.”
lmao this is great
"Okay, Flint. And neutrons could take on ionic charge if they really tried."
fOrMuLAs!!?!
my pokemon don’t need me to win. I wouldn’t be much help, even if I did go and stand there.
okay but if a trainer isn't shouting DODGE then how would the pokemon know to avoid things
He said that humans are just imperfect machines that have tricked ourselves into thinking the world is beautiful.
Reading it in this context reminds me that Cyrus's philosophy really does fit better in the mouth of a teenage child.
Flint, I don’t like the beach. It’s too hot and the sand is inefficient.
SHE SAID THE THING SHE SAID THE THING.
Tell Cynthia she can keep her bribe.
I spent like five minutes trying to figure out why this line sounds familiar, and I realize, it's Hilda!
 
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Hello!

What a delightful read. Is it bad that I now have the urge to slam Flint into the nearest wall? Because, urgh!!! how can someone be so insensible. He clearly knows that Volkner is ill. It's almost like he deliberately makes all the wrong decisions. To be fair, if I was Volkner in this, Flint would probably not have found me back at home after he had left for the beach. A better explanation of my thoughts is in the quotes. And yeah, I get that it is focused on how Flint is feeling and how he's dealing with this situation. And that it's never just one person suffering, they'll inevitably pull their surroundings down with them. But, god! At one point, even Flint has to put his precious ego aside for a moment.

As to the overall theme of the one-shot, I highly appreciate it. Love seeing that other people have the same experience like I do, even if they're just fictional. It's just sad that this time, they didn't get the help they needed. It's anti-whump in this regard.

Anyways, thanks for the read and see you around <3

this is an old but unpublished one-shot from 2018, when I did these kinds of canon character studies more frequently.
Plz do more of them again 🥺
She was in her training clothes, and from the slight flush on her cheeks, Flint figured she’d just wrapped up her morning session. Which meant it was already past 8:00 . . .
Oh god, she is one of those elusive morning persons. Can't relate
What he had taken for a skylight wasn’t one, he realized. It was a rectangular panel, its electrical output tuned to match the spectrum of the sun.

Of course it was. Putting in an actual skylight would have been too simple. Flint fought the urge to smile, but Cynthia’s words brought him back to earth.
Oh, how sweet! He is at Volkner's apartment!
The two of you get along well, and I'm sure in time the rest of us would learn to see the good qualities that have made you his staunch friend.
It's nice to imagine the E4 being so close and them relying on a good team dynamic.
No better term sprang to mind, so the room was Volkner’s kitchen. But in Flint's opinion, it lacked several defining qualities of a kitchen. There was no stove, only a single electric burner with a large black cable running across the floor like a tripwire. Flint had long suspected that Volkner possessed a fridge, but he had not yet discovered it. In place of a sink a box of wet wipes brooded on the square table in the center of the room.
That is depressing.
Flint took a moment to steady himself. Talking to Volkner was so difficult lately. Every word came like pulling teeth. Volkner had always been a bit melancholy, but now just being near him now was like standing in a thick, cold fog
Can relate. Have probably been there, too.
“Come on, Volkner, you must not be thinking straight.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”
Argh! I hate Flint here. In his phonecall to Cynthia, his inner thoughts seem to allude that it's more than the lack of challenge that is bringing Volkner down. And both him and Volkner know why he is here. This is an intervention, and both know it. But Flint aggressively avoids bringing anything of the following up:
  • "Hey, I've seen you've been down lately. Wanna talk about it?"
  • "How about I stay with you for a while? I can do the dishes and stuff, and you are less lonely that way."
  • "Want me to take over the Gym for a month or so? That takes off this pesky responsibility from your shoulders and you got some time to rewire yourself."
  • "You seem depressed. I know a good doctor who can get you set up with something."
  • "If you don't think you can handle this yourself, go to a hospital. I'll accompany you, if you want me to, so you don't have to worry about anything. You don't have to care about the paper-work, I'll sort that out"
Does he even realise how desperate Volkner is to bring possibly having depression up himself? There can't be a clearer cry for help than this. Normally, people don't even realise that they are depressed until their first attempt. And Flint just continues to ignore all warning signs, gives totally insulting solutions and makes it all about himself. He is not a good friend. Not at all
“He grew up here, in Sunnyshore. You didn't know that? I suppose you had already left by then. I met him at an engineering competition. He was brilliant, the only one worth talking to, and I was the only one who tried. A small, scraggly kid with cuts lined up on his arm like there was something he was trying to count. He said that humans are just imperfect machines that have tricked ourselves into thinking the world is beautiful. And since then, I’ve wondered—since everything that happened: what does it say about me, that Cyrus made more sense to me than anyone else ever has?”

The silence was thick and absolutely impenetrable, like tar. Flint tried to speak anyway. “Volkner, that’s—you’re nothing like Cyrus.”

“I’m nothing,” Volkner said flatly. “When you get down to it, we’re all just a series of electric impulses. There’s nothing wired into me that makes me Volkner. Whoever you think you’re talking to doesn’t really exist.”
Yep. Being able to identify with the sociopath more than you are with "normal" people. Definitely been there. And the feeling that you don't exist at all and are not real? Bro, too close to home.
“You exist,” Flint said firmly. “Volkner—” He had no idea where to begin. “It’s this shutting yourself up in here. It does things to your head. Let’s go to the beach. We can get some actual sunlight.”
Yes. Go to the beach. Or take a walk through the forest. 11/10, best depression tips you can get from inspirationalquotes and your boomer grandparents.
Flint, I don’t like the beach. It’s too hot and the sand is inefficient. I submitted a proposal to the Urban Planning Division to convert the beach into a solar panel, but they never got back to me.”
I don't like sand. It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere. Kinda like Flint in this.
Also, that is some galaxeon thinking on Volkner's part. Very in character. Good to see that he got his will by the time Platinum dropped.
My body would convert the light into energy. But the flaw in this beach proposal is that I am not a grass pokemon.
Brah. Vitamin D is a thing.
Sometimes I don't even want to see you.”

That stung.
Cue the world's smallest violin. Poor fucking Flint, who is clearly the one having it worse off here.
Outside the night was cold, but when Flint tipped back his head, the stars were very bright.
Wait, is that supposed to be a happy ending? He just greenlit his depressive friend to go to a place where he has no safety net that can catch him when his brain-chemistry inevitably catches up with him? Are you kidding me?!?!
 
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This was pretty good! I was not expecting to like Sinnoh gym leaders, but turns out I'm very down for character study shipfic. I enjoyed how they're not quite talking to each other.
A small, scraggly kid with cuts lined up on his arm like there was something he was trying to count. He said that humans are just imperfect machines that have tricked ourselves into thinking the world is beautiful.

I really like this description of Cyrus and also can I just say having recently been playing Platinum I appreciate your coherent dialogue so much.

Honestly, coming off what they say, I think Volkner's kind of doomed.
Volkner’s hands stilled. His voice floated up a moment later. “Oldest light-house in the world there, did you know? They still don't use any technology, it's all just powered by flaffy and ampharos. I could help modernize it, Flint. I could help."
Like, the same way he modernized his gym and cut off the electricity grid and all foot traffic to Sunyshore? Olivine sure will need the guy who did that for fun.

My pokemon are strong, but I’m not. The trainers that stop by my gym—my pokemon don’t need me to win. I wouldn’t be much help, even if I did go and stand there.
Volkner grimaced. “A pity offering. I'm not on Elite Four level.”

And Volkner's baseline self hatred and detached lack of passion makes me think that

“I wouldn't mind.”

The words were mumbled, as Volkner shoved himself back under the wires.

this is about as close to an enthusiastic yes as he can get to. Which, unfortunately, is not what Flint needs!

I wouldn't say nothing happened. That's missing the point. I'm pretty sure in a non-pokemon fandom this would be called plotty.
Sand is efficient at absorbing the impact of waves and providing a constantly shifting buffer. But it’s inefficient because it’s coarse, and rough, and it gets everywhere.
ughhh fuck you i knew someone was going to make that joke
 
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