Pokémon Talk About It More

[Rusting Knight]

Spoiler: Author's Note and Content Warning

the title is taken from 'emma' by jane austen. this story is completed; the second part will be posted on sunday next week. thank you to apollo32 for beta reading; any mistakes left are my own.
content warning: allusions to gender dysphoria

Part One: Cicada Husk​

[Below are the contents of a thick stack of worn, well-preserved postcards and letters, bound by a rubber band. All of them are written in the same loose, spiky hand.

The first postcard is from Oreburgh City, a glossy print of the coal mine, showing the sun gleaming on the conveyor belts arching over red ground. Yellow machinery crouches in the foreground, smeared with black grime. In the distance Mount Coronet rises, peak lost among a landscape of white clouds. Over the scene are the words: Oreburgh City: City of Energy. Below is a transcript of the accompanying letter.]

Dear Georgia,

Tonight is the most sleepless I’ve felt in my life, worse even than the night before I left for Route 203. Some of this is the streetlamp outside, brightening my room intolerably, sending watery yellow squares swaying across the bare walls. The tree leaning against my window is lit up electric green by that same lamp, its canopy’s depths thrown into starker darkness. Shadows waver on the uncarpeted floor, branches abstracted into loose lacework. When I hold my hands out in front of me, I can see them trembling. There’s dirt under my nails. Over the phone today I tried to tell you everything that I saw and felt, but the words came out misshapen, like overworked dough. It’s funny - I feel like I’ve gotten better at talking to people since I left Jubilife, but it seems to have come at the cost of us, our old double act. So, instead I’ve decided to write to you. I know how much you like getting things in the mail.

I don’t think I’ll ever be as happy as I felt today, standing in the disturbed dust of Oreburgh Gym. My first real, official battle, referee and all. It was different from a spat with a wild Starly, or a practice match at the Trainer’s School. It's different, fighting with eyes on you, judging your strategy, your performance. Bleachers ringed the field, with kids spread out in isolated clusters, waiting for their turn at the Coal Badge. As the sun fell, massive stadium lights came on, dwarfing Wisp, huddled there on the ground, isolating us. Adrenaline made my vision narrow until all I could see was her shivering frame, resolute before the bulk of Roark’s Onix. I’ve never felt happier, as if my body had dissolved into TV static and the tempo that Wisp and I moved to was all that remained.

It feels good to see a city other than Jubilife or Castelia, like a crack that opened when I left my mother’s house has widened. Smoke chokes the air in Oreburgh, thicker as you get closer to the mines. Energy hums throughout the streets, a busy, focused feeling that makes the city feel charged, like an Electric-type sparking with static. At night, the whole city turns on, just like Jubilife, but the lights are yellower, the cars sparser. From my window in the Pokémon Centre I can see the mine, for once motionless, conveyor belts dull by moonlight. When I go out people give me these soft, nostalgic smiles, seeing echoes of their own journey. Sleeping in a proper bed is such a luxury, after all those nights on the hard, cold ground of the campgrounds. Even if the Pokémon Centre’s pillows are a little flat.

But enough of that! It’s time for me to go to bed. And I’m running out of space on this paper.

Love,
L.

[The second postcard depicts the ancient statue of Dialga in a faux-vintage style, blocky black lines filled in with flat colours. An orange sunset washes over the scene, casting angular shadows under the elegantly tossed head and upraised hooves of the statue. At the pedestal’s base a bicycle is parked, gleaming in the late evening light. In the blank, warmly toned sky the words Eterna City: History Living is scrawled in an imitation of handwriting.

Attached to the card by a paperclip is a photo of a pale young girl with long black hair, dressed in a knee-length black skirt and a white tank top. In her arms is a Snorunt, blue eyes isolated in its dark face, huddled against her trainer’s shirt. Behind them is the ivy-covered facade of Eterna City’s gym, windows lit up against the colourless twilight.]

Dear Georgia,

I’m writing at the rickety chair set out on the balcony. All the lights of Eterna are burning around me: apartment windows, flickering TV screens seen through open balcony doors, convenience stores bathed in fluorescent white. Cars move in sluggish streams, crawling through a network of narrow roads. As people pass I can hear snatches of speech, voices without words, the click of shoes against pavement. My assigned roommate is snoring in his bed, his Glameow curled up by the radiator. He had the right idea, getting to sleep early. Wisp is shivering on my lap, happy in the cold night that has me huddling to a quilt. Right now it’s around ten o’clock, which means I am already up too late, given that I’m getting up at the actual crack of dawn tomorrow. No rest for a wannabe champion.

Yesterday, while I was waiting for my slot at the gym, I spent hours in the frigid Historical Museum, peering at leftovers from past times. It calmed me right down, after I’d worked myself up about the dangers of paralysis in battle, and fretted about not having enough Pokémon in my team. It can’t just be me and Wisp forever, not with Maylene next. But I’m not worried now; Wisp flew through that match, just like I told you she would. I mean, Ice against Grass is a pretty easy match-up. And there was that special feeling again, of moving to the same rhythm as her. It’s getting easier to slip into that flow, maybe because of how much I crave it.

The Forest badge is just as heavy as the Coal; I can feel its hard edges cut into my palm when I clench my fist around it. After our victory Wisp and I went wandering through the streets, giddy with released tension, admiring cracked cobblestones and old-fashioned brick houses with new, familiar affection. This is my favourite place in Sinnoh so far, I think. Better than Jubilife, though I loved it there, better than Oreburgh or Floaroma Town. Something about the heft of history in the cramped streets, all those preserved buildings flaunting the marks of wear on their pleasant, long faces. But something in me longs for the Routes, eating by firelight in the crowded campgrounds, watching Wisp play-fight with the other Pokémon.

Love,
L.

[The third postcard is taken up mostly by the words Greeting from Veilstone City: Hewn from Rock, which are filled in with drawings of the city skyline, depicted as a series of white and yellow rectangles. In the background are the craggy, steep mountains that the city was carved from, drawn in blocky reds. Once the card would have been glossy, but now the corners are frayed. There is a large crease in the middle, as if it was folded in half for a long time and carried around. A soda pop bottle cap is taped to the back.

Instead of the usual plain paper, a Flame Mail set was used. Folded inside the letter is a small photobooth strip showing L, a Snorunt in her arms and a Wingull perched on her shoulder. The series of photos gives the impression that taking two Pokémon into a cramped booth was a bad idea. On the back the spiky hand had scrawled: Meet my new friend, Sailor!]

Dear Georgia,

From my window I can see streets drenched in blue light, as if dusk sent a paint bucket spilling over the whole city. Yellow lamps glow behind the lacy curtains of the apartment block opposite my room. Above the skyscrapers clouds hunker down in one ragged mass, luminous lavender from light pollution. A light, early winter rain is falling in loose sheets outside, pattering against the windowpane. Drops, lit up golden by the floor lamp, roll down the glass. There are a lot of vacancies in the Pokémon Centre; for once I didn’t have to share a room. The room across from me is occupied. I can hear someone’s radio, playing Unovan jazz turned up loud. It makes me homesick; it’s the same music that my mum would play while she cooked.

The air here carries the salty stink of the sea and the constant gossiping of Sailor’s old friends. Cold seems to radiate from the mountains that the city was hacked out of, making everyone rug up as if they're on Mount Coronet. The weather is making Wisp cheerful, but the gloominess has sent me into a bit of a mood. It’s funny, I guess, that I’m getting so down in the dumps here of all places, when Veilstone is so big, full of so much cool stuff. To shake my bad mood, I went on a bit of a shopping binge. Stuff for Wisp and Sailor, mostly, but between you and me I couldn’t resist the urge to get fancy stationery for myself. Sailor is the best, though nobody seems to agree with me. So what if he’s a little less well-behaved even than most wild-caught Pokémon are? He won against Maylene for me, single-handedly. Though I’ll admit this win didn’t excite me as much as the others did; I’ll have to be careful not to get complacent.

Please pass on my thanks to your mother again, by the way. There is nothing I bought that keeps me warmer than her scarf. It’s good to hear that she has come around to letting you go on the contest circuit. Now that I’m drowning in the League, it is clearer than ever you’re not suited for battling.

Love,
L.

[The fourth and fifth postcards are dated four months after the first. On the first is an image of the Great Marsh, showing a shallow pond crowded with reeds, surrounded by tall trees with broad, closely gathered green leaves. Perched on a large rock is a Wooper, head tilted to watch the late evening play upon the stagnant water, dispersed into dappled patterns by the canopy. Over the image is plastered the slogan Pastoria City: The Marsh City.

Paper-clipped to the postcard is a photo of the same girl, bags under her eyes, smiling red lips almost hidden by a handmade white scarf, pasty under the fluorescent lights of a Pokémart. She is holding up a Croagunk by the armpits, so that it is level with the wooden statue on the counter carved to resemble its species. Scrawled on the back is: I have to keep moving, so I can’t write properly. But I’d like to introduce you to another new friend.

The second postcard is an image of the Super Contest Hall from a street-level perspective, shown in bright sunlight. A Drifloon floats before it, and people form a solid stream before its massive facade. Above the Hall’s dome, in faux-retro lettering, is written: Hearthome City: Warm & Kind. Another paper-clip attaches a Polaroid of a Snorunt, eating a Poképuff piled with cream, the faint shimmer of a Protect wall around her to shield her treat from a scavenging Wingull.]

Dear Georgia,

You’ll like it in Hearthome, when you come for the contest circuit. There really is something Warm & Kind about this city, maybe because of all the children playing in the streets. I can hear them now, sounds of their play drifting through my open window along with the smell of car exhaust. A Murkrow is perched on a powerline outside, fluttering its wings and cawing. I’m sorry that I haven’t written; calling from long-distance is useless, and words seem to be becoming more difficult for both of us. Besides, there are things that I can’t tell you with your mum listening in, that well-intentioned spy. I had my first cigarette, for one, and my first drink. I’ve been travelling with a trainer I met in Pastoria City. Her name is Sofia, she’s seventeen, born the same month as me, if you can believe it. Her partner's a Snorunt too; we met because both of our partners had wandered off to cluster together beneath a tree in Route 214. When I stalled trying to get past Crasher Wake with a Snorunt and a Wingull, she saved me. By that I mean she helped me get Gauze, the handsome gentleman I sent you the photo of. Not a Grass-type, like I said I would get, like Sofia and everyone else told me to get, but it was love at first sight. Though he does wake me up at night sweating, shaken from strange nightmares haunted by his ribbits. Who knew there was a sound more disturbing than Sailor demanding breakfast?

I made Sofia take me to see a contest every night, so I could tell you about them. It made me fight better against Fantina, seeing moves deployed with such creativity, freed from battling’s strictures. I had a long talk with Fantina, actually, after our fight, about the proper care for Ghost-types. It made me realise that I had been expecting Wisp to evolve into a Froslass, even named her in hope of it, without looking into anything about caring for her future form. Maybe because she felt bad for me, Fantina called me ‘the kind of girl who can’t survive without Pokémon.’ That’s true, I know, but something about it made me feel physically repulsed. I almost opened my mouth to correct her, though I don’t know what I meant to say.

Last night, there was a dual performance by a Ninjask and a Shedinja, their trainer sticking to the wings. At first, it was just confusion, dozens of illusory Ninjasks darting through sand it had kicked up into billowing clouds. Then, just as my eyes were beginning to ache, the movement stopped, the sand fell into a golden layer on the wooden stage. Through dim shafts of light, dancing with dust motes, a Shedinja rose, its white halo tinted purple by writhing shadowy energy. The audience seemed to be one whole, waiting creature. It hung there a long time, unmoving, until the curtains came down. For some reason I couldn't place, the sight of it rising from the sandstorm, its unexpected life, made me cry. It reminded me of seeing you, as a kid, crouched in front of the TV, explaining all the performances to me, your face illuminated by the screen’s wavering blue light.

Love,
L.

[The sixth postcard is dated a month later, and shows the pier of a port city on a rainy day. The ocean has been roused into restless movement; a wave is captured as it tosses up white spray against the pier’s posts. Ships dot the water, hunkering against the horizon and docked at the bustling waterfront. In the air a Pelipper is flying, its massive beak hanging open. Sprawled across the length of the postcard is the slogan: Canalave City: Cargo Port. On the back is written, in neater handwriting than normal, a short message: The sea air is doing me good. Sailor is happy to be by saltwater once more; Gauze is happy that he got to be in the spotlight again. I have been too busy to call lately, but there is nothing I miss more than talking to you. Paperclipped to the postcard is another photobooth strip, this one of L. and an attractive girl with long, blonde hair in a braid, scarves loose around their necks. They are laughing; in the last photo Sofia is kissing L’s cheek.

The seventh postcard is dated two months later, and is an illustration of Mount Coronet in watercolours, showing it rising snow-capped and enormous to meet an electric blue sky. At its feet is the dark green canopy of a sprawling forest, painted as a spiky mass. In the top left corner, in unobtrusive lettering, is written: Snowpoint City: City of Snow. A paperclip attaches a Polaroid of a smug Toxicroak, eating an obviously expensive Pokpéuff. There is no accompanying letter; below is transcribed the cramped message on the back.]

Dear Georgia,

What a dull slogan!

My team is useless against Candice. Though Gauze should be able to take care of her easily, especially after evolution, my power looks lazy before her skill. There is a chance that I am one of those trainers who just don’t have what it takes. What a drag! Sofia says to keep my chin up. It is hard to say anything good about Snowpoint; all I can notice about it is that it is white, and very, very cold. It’s as if a static that has been in my ears for a long time is growing louder. I find myself flinching away from people’s touches and compliments. The sound of my own name rings horribly false. At least Wisp is happy to be back home.

I would write more, but I have nothing nice to say - except congratulations on getting your first Pokémon. Electric-types are beautiful on the stage.

Love,
L.

[The eighth postcard is a retro-styled drawing of Vista Lighthouse from the sea, rendered a black silhouette on a fringe of jagged rocks. The sun hangs in the sky, low and enormous, veiled by skeins of white clouds, beating down upon the aquamarine waves. A steamer is coming into the bay; smoke trails behind it and disperses in a strong wind. In large, bright yellow letters is the slogan: Sunnyshore City: Solar Powered!

Accompanying the Space Mail stationery is the empty wrapper from a Seal package, and a Polaroid of a Froslass, eating another pricey Poképuff.]

Dear Georgia,

It’s been awhile since I wrote to you, though I know that is terrible. Over the last three months I have found myself humiliated, humbled and, finally, victorious. Under the barrage of Sofia’s cajoling, not to mention Mum’s well-intended encouragement, I turned tail and fled down the mountain to try my hand at the Beacon Badge. You’d think that after months of battering my head against Candice’s elegant strategies the traditionally final gym would be harder. It wasn’t. I beat it easily, even with Sailor benched. Funny, how these things work.

Of course, a lot of that win is owed to your mother’s generosity. Giving up a Dawn Stone for me, a preserved prize from her own journey, when it ought to have gone to you - I would like to extend my sincere thanks; I don’t know how to express it without formality. I hope that still means something to you. Or maybe that’s being unkind: I’m the one who stopped calling, who stopped answering your letters, who got caught up in embarrassment. I’ve talked to your mother more than I have you. Maybe now that you’ve left on your own journey, you’ll understand. You called me condescending; I apologise for that. It’s probably because you’re better than I’ll ever be. The Ele-Seal is for Volta. I hope that it will help you bring the routine you described to life.

For old times sake, I’ll tell you that Sunnyshore is beautiful. My window shows the elevated walkways, gleaming modern in chrome and glass. Something about them reminds me of the conveyor belts at Oreburgh Mine, constant, efficient movement. Sunnyshore is the kind of city I would dream up, lying up at night, eyes screwed shut so I could plan out my speedy victories at the Sinnoh League. Yesterday, after I beat Volkner, so that the little velvet gap in my badge case could be bracketed on both sides, I went up to Vista Lighthouse. From that height the sea seems like the only important thing on the earth. It extends from shore to beyond the thin line of the horizon, where cargo ships hide their bulk behind a blue veil. Waves whipped themselves up before the driving wind, only to collapse against the shore, desperately caressing the seaweed-strewn sand.

When night fell I went swimming, in the frigid winter water. Most of the time I floated on my back, shivering, so I could see Sailor circling in the sky above me, buoyed by the wind, crying out. Maybe you can choreograph a performance that will make the audience feel like I felt then, as if I had left behind my body and my ambitions. I just dissolved into the water, like a bar of soap worn to a sliver, until all that was left was some small, calm centre. There is something I realised then, but even now, writing to you, I think I’m too scared to admit it. Maybe you can guess.

Love,
L.

[The final letter comes on Snow Mail stationery, without any accompaniments.]

Dear Georgia,

Now that I have spent a month in Snowpoint, and intend to spend more, it has become a beautiful place to me, fondness leading to attraction just as it does with people. I have rented a tiny little apartment, close to the fringes of the city, with the last of my money, and taken up a job at the Mart. Most of my nights are spent at the counter there, looking at the dark street outside, knees aching from standing too long, bleached by the fluorescents. I’m not allowed to have my team out in the apartment, or in the store, so despite the cold I find myself spending a lot of time out in the open. I sit in the park by my apartment, feet frozen inside my new, unbroken cold weather boots, watching Sailor circle in the sky above, a white shape lost in the grey cloud cover. At first I found that park dreary, and so did Sailor. But Wisp didn’t; in the snow and ice she seems at home in a way that I thought she had lost with evolution. These days I find myself swayed over to her point of view. Have you ever seen proper snow? It’s falling now, the only thing visible past my dark windowpane, carpeting the still streets, piling up on red rooftops and frosting car windows. In the air, overpowering the usual city stinks, is the scent of pine trees, fresh even as the snow dirties and hardens during the day.

I have a name you might not expect, on the badge pinned to my uniform apron. After I beat Candice at last, she shook my hand, wishing me luck with the Elite Four, and I told her before I knew what I was saying that I wasn’t planning to challenge them. Sofia had already left me behind, uneasy once she realised I wasn’t the ace Trainer I’d put myself forth as. When I told Candice I wasn’t sure if I would go on, she laughed, then seemed to feel bad about it, and said that it didn’t surprise her. Not in a mean way, she clarified, though I could tell from her laugh that she had meant well. It was just she could tell I was the kind of Trainer who cared about Pokémon, but not battling. That’s true. I’ve spent a lot of time labouring over strategies that felt clunky, forced, the sort that Sofia improvised with a natural flair. Candice asked me, gently as she could, if I might not be better off going home and doing some reassessing.

But I couldn’t go home. Not to sit at my kitchen table, not to listen to Mum whistle along with the radio as she cooked my favourite dinner, looking up to see her veiled disappointment. After I completed my Badges, slotting the Icicle Badge into its custom-made place, I got about a week of relief. It felt good to give up, though I know it shouldn’t have, as if I had been heaving uselessly at a boulder set deep in the earth. But then the old feeling came in, moments of quiet emptiness interspersed with days or weeks of anxiety constant as the hum of Ninjasks, fraying my nerves until I felt sick. That sickness got worse, not a physical illness but a bitter, burning twist in my stomach. It got so I was barely eating, unable to extend kindness to anything but my own team, tracking men with my eyes. Men were the thing that made the feeling come on strongest, young, old, attractive or unattractive. I watched the way they moved, dressed, talked, and felt sick with envy. Being any kind of man, I thought, would be better than this. In the mirror my face looked abstracted, like it was only a shadow cast by some unseen person, not belonging to me. The cautious appreciation I had been getting for my new landscape waned.

That realisation that had come to me in Veilstone, which I had stifled with deliberate force, returned, seeping into my idle daydreams. Late at night, watching light from passing cars cast watery cells on my ceiling, I had felt out the possibility, slow going as walking in the Great Marsh. It felt so big, turning it over, the same electric potential that I felt when I held your mother’s Dawn Stone in my hand. I felt an echo of the same hope that I had seen in Wisp’s eyes as I presented her with it. One night, I called my mother crying, and told her the truth like I had told Candice I wasn’t planning on completing the League, not realising what I meant before the words were out of my mouth. She told me that she loved me.

My new name is Luke; I’d like to reintroduce myself to you. I tried calling you twice, to tell you, but I guess after our fight you blocked my number. That’s okay. I’m better at keeping grudges than you. That’s my first bit of news. My second is that I’m gonna be staying in Snowpoint, though my mum was furious at me when I told her, and so was yours. I can’t stand to be home, not when I’ve thrown off not one but two identities, and am electric with both guilt and relief at what I’ve gained. Not when I know you’re there, but about to leave, furious at me. Besides, Wisp is happy here.

Anyway, good luck on your journey, and give my love to your companion.

Love,
Luke

 

[Rusting Knight]

Spoiler: Author’s Note and Content Warning

Apologies for the late upload; I put off doing final efforts until I decided to just publish as-is. Because of this, this chapter might not be as clean as the first.
Content Warnings: Mild profanity.

Part Two: Electric Dreams
​

[A loose stack of envelopes and assorted papers, kept preserved in a little wooden box with an engraving of Palkia on the lid, a souvenir from Eterna City.

The first envelope contains two pages, torn out of a sketchbook, and two sheets of lined paper. The first page consists of a sketch of the turbines at Valley Windworks in loose grey pencil, fluffy clouds floating above the rotating fans. A Drifbloon is crossing low to the ground, its strings dangling above a drowsing Glameow. The second sketch is a study of a Combee in flight, its wings done in fine detail, with a message on the back: Caught this guy just after I finished writing. On the back are a few loose studies of different flowers from Floaroma Meadow.]

Dear Luke,

I’m writing this camped out at yet another honey-smeared tree in the Valley Windworks, which is a poor substitute for my nice, warm bed in the Pokémon Centre. In the pale twilight, everything is bathed in clear light, so that the rustling leaves and slowly turning turbines seem like a steady hand has gone over them in ink. Lingering warmth weighs down the air, already heavy with pollen and the scent of flowers. I came here to try and catch a Combee, though as of writing this letter I’ve struck out three other times. Strange, the things we do. Tomorrow the annual Floaroma Town Contest will be held, on an open-air platform I could see them setting up yesterday. It’s not a formal contest, I’ll admit, but between me and you all I want is the prestige from winning it, not any special Ribbon. A couple of town Contests, along with legitimate Ribbons from the Hall, will be enough to start getting me bar gigs.

You never went to Floaroma Town on your journey, did you? Today I spent three hours out in the Meadow, waiting at my second honey-soaked tree, sweat staining my shirt, trying not to sneeze every two seconds. The Meadow is like an illustration in a children’s book, carpeted with the same soft, pastel colours that the bakery in Jubilife uses to ice their cakes. Even the grass here is vibrant, bright green against the electric blue sky, pale only in comparison to the flowers. It’s as if someone photoshopped the whole place to be unrelentingly oversaturated. I could hear insects humming in the depths of the greenery, the nameless animal life that crowds the world. No Pokémon in sight; definitely no Combee. There is something fake about the town itself, underneath its beauty. People are always trying to sell you things, berries or flowers, accessories, which tempts me out of proportion to my budget. But there’s no faking that cloying floral scent that floats on the wind. Before I left I allotted a carefully regulated amount for contest equipment, which does not cover impulse purchases from the Flower Shop. That E-Seal you sent me is the only thing that kept me from spending all my money. I can tell myself with an easy heart that there is nothing there that is more striking, more suited for Volta. For a little Joltik, that guy sure is vain already - though there are worse things than vanity in a contest Pokémon. In fact, I’m lucky that he pays so much attention to his appearance.

Right now, I can see him practising for the contest tomorrow, throwing out sparks before the embers of my campfire. Before evolution, Joltik can’t produce their characteristic charged webs, but the ways in which they release static electricity are strange, special. Lost amidst the grass, it's as if his dancing sparks are appearing from nowhere, glowing fairies fluttering through the air. There are a lot of Electric-types around; I can see a Shinx crouched in the tall grass, waiting to pounce on a Pachirisu. Something about all the energy in the air, I guess. I’m used to Volta drowsing, glued to the power socket in my bedroom.

You were right when you called Mum a spy, by the way. She told me that you got a job doing odd jobs, the sort that require powerful Pokémon like yours. Congratulations, though I know it isn’t what you were hoping for. There are a lot of ways to be around Pokémon - you’ll find yours. Until you do, or until you start returning my calls, I’m gonna keep on writing to you. It’s lonely, being on your own out on the Routes. I want someone to run my routines by, who’ll tell me when they are tacky. Next time I write, I’ll tell you about the one I developed for the Floaroma Contest.

This must seem like a banal letter to send, after we’ve talked maybe twice in six months. Especially given that this is my fault, holding onto a grudge just because you said I wouldn’t, like a Herdier worrying a dead rat. I told myself a lot of stupid excuses when I should have been there for you, entertained bitterness about silly slights. But if it’s my fault then it’s my obligation to repair this useless rift.

Love,
Georgia

[The second envelope contains a sheet of sketchbook paper and several sheets of paper, folded up together. The sketchbook page is covered in a landscape portrait of the Moss Rock in Eterna Forest, the trees and undergrowth done in vague outlines, so that the focus is on the play of light through the canopy above. On the back is a second sketch, of a Combee flying close to a Joltik in a manner that, through its proximity and the smiling larvae, suggests teasing. Folded within the sheets of paper is a glossy photo, showing a young girl with dark brown skin, in an expensive leather jacket and knee-length skirt beaming with pride as an official clips at Ribbon onto her lapel. Perched on her tightly braided hair is a Joltik, unadorned but sleekly groomed.]

Dear Luke,

In the depths of Eterna Forest, I have discovered that there is a feeling of unreality that comes from being entirely alone in an alien, isolated place. For one, in the gaps between the close-set trees, the sky is showing more stars than I’ve ever seen before. It’s as if a layer of grime has been cleared away, exposing the whole gaping rift of the Milky Way. Somewhere in the tall grass, Kricketots are chirping, holding a strange sort of religious service. Unseen Ninjasks harmonise, so that the night is alive with layers of low, monotonous music. In the darkness beneath their own canopy, trees glow in what moonlight slips through, their white trunks like the columns of an ancient ruin. My new friend, as you used to say, is well-acclimated now enough to be let loose. I can see her past the light of my weak campfire, a yellow blur lost amongst the thick undergrowth, her drone the only real evidence of her presence. Tomorrow, we’re off to Eterna City.

Now, as promised, a short description of my routine at the Floaroma Contest. It was just Volta and me up there, for our solo act. No battles in the town competitions. When I got up, I realised that in my fantasies I had forgotten to imagine the crowd, except for their applause. You were always my main audience, the reason I kept nurturing my ambitions. Performing for nobody is pathetic; performing for one person is special. In reality, there were so many upturned faces to put me off, young, old, bored or intent, lips parted from craning their heads. My nerves spread to Volta a bit, I think; he started giving off static like a high school science experiment. But after the initial strutting about, he slipped right into the routine we had practised. First, he strung webs from one end of the stage to the other, using Agility to make his movements dizzyingly fast. Then, he used a Thunder Wave to make the delicate design thrum with electricity, sparks scattering harmlessly over the audience’s heads, until the web broke under the strain. I wish you could have seen it, how wonderful the stage looked with those snapped threads dancing crazily in the late evening light. We won, of course. None of the other participants came close.

I hope that you and your team are well. Thank you for writing back to me.

Love,
Georgia

[The third envelope contains two sketchbook pages, one of which is covered in a careful copy of the inscription in the Solaceon Ruins, surrounded by a cloud of Unown, shaded with shaky cross-hatching. On the reverse side is a still life of a Joltik attached to a socket, its Pokeball and the remains of a fast food meal scattered on the floor around it. The second page is a study of the Pokémon Nursery’s yard, focused primarily on a sleeping Bastiodon in a patch of sunlight.]

Dear Luke,

Inside my room it’s dim, a blessed relief from the simmering heat outside. The shutters are lowered; golden bars of light lay across the floor, falling onto my hair, my hands, the rubbish I have scattered about. Every half an hour I troop down to the cafeteria to get another chilled soda bottle to hold against my temple, its condensation leaving my prickling skin damp. Sweat rolls down my neck, cooled by the ancient fan that I have shoved up against the desk. After taking part in the intermediate Contest at the Hearthome Hall, I found myself swinging back around to visit Solaceon Town. FIttingly, given its name, my stay here is defined by the sun, which seems to be determined to melt me down into a steaming puddle. Below my feet I can hear the activity of the Nurses, busy despite the sweltering day. Every now and then a wisp of their laughter floats up to me.

Around here there’s a lot of farmland, pastures brittle in the summer heat, rolling out in undulating waves until it strains the eye to follow them, monotonous under the cloudless sky. White shapes dot the landscape, Mareep drowsing in the midday. Hay bales disrupt the green, and the orange roofs of farmhouses. Maybe it seems strange to you that I decided to drop by here. There are no contests in Solaceon, and few other trainers come by. In the interest of honesty, I’ll tell you that I wanted a bit of a break. We won at Hearthome, which is to say that I got to debut Syrup with his first routine, but two wins in a row left me feeling jittery. After my third win, I’ll have enough qualifications to go out looking for gigs, which makes my stomach churn with impatience and anxiety. So I decided to beat a hasty retreat until I found myself sparking with static that had nowhere to go, like when Volta gets sick from glutting himself on electricity. Here it is too busy to be peaceful, which is its own kind of idle, seeing the hive-like working of the town and the surrounding ranches running smoothly along.

The lack of attractions has given me an opportunity to get to know the only other guest at the Centre too, an elderly retired Trainer named Helen. She’s like us, which is to say that she’s also trans. It’s been nice to talk to someone so much older about my experiences, and about hers. For the first time, I can imagine myself her age, happy, self-assured. Plus, I’ve gotten a lot of tips from her about raising Pokémon, particularly in looking after Syrup, who seems to like her better than me. She has a Bug-type too, a Dustox which likes to flutter lazily about, demanding Pokepuffs from whoever stops to stroke its head. At first, I thought that was her only companion, but when I mentioned that she laughed. Then she took me out to the Nursery, and led me to a massive, aged Bastiodon, asleep in the shade of an oak tree. It awed me a little, seeing something so powerful bend its head before that wrinkled woman, its slow movements broadcasting accumulated strength. I’ll be sad when I have to leave her behind, though she’s promised we can stay in touch. Maybe you’ll meet her someday. I’ve told her all about you.

Love,
Georgia

[The fourth envelope contains two sketches, one of a Combee hidden among the dresses hanging on a rack in a dressing room. The other is of the counter at a cafe, a study of the salt shaker, pepper grinder, sugar pot, and napkin holder. In the foreground is a plate holding the remnants of an omelette; in the background is a loose drawing of a hand setting down a cup of coffee. A photo is paper-clipped to the accompanying letter, showing Georgia with her Joltik clutched to her chest, beaming with pride as another Ribbon is pinned to her lapel.]

Dear Luke,

I’m writing this right after our call, sitting at the counter of the Café Cabin, angled awkwardly so I can see out the Route past the Cabin’s outdoor furniture. Fog is low over the ground, though it's the middle of summer, wreathing the long, brittle grasses in white. It seems impossibly solid, sprawled out over the ground, cloaking tree trunks and giving an earthy, damp smell to the muffled world. Through the diffuse white glow I can see the Trainers’ silhouettes, marked by flashes of light from practice battles and spats against wild Pokémon. Every now and then the bell above the door rings as someone comes stomping in, buried in layers of protective clothing. Inside I feel smug, safe in the warm, coffee-scented cafe, drinking glass after glass of Moomoo Milk. Volta is refreshing himself too, clinging to the power socket and gorging himself on electricity. After serving the customers, the two waitresses on shift lean against the counter and chat to each other, wisps of gossip that float across to me. It reminds me of the cafés we would go to after school, though the setting is a little different. These days, now that I have mostly conquered it, homesickness catches me off-guard.

For the past month I’ve been in Hearthome racking up my third Ribbon at the Hall, practicing routines more suited for the cramped confines of bars than open stages. I have a gig in a week, actually, at Veilstone Game Corner. It’s gonna take some hard traveling to make my way back there in time, after all my dawdling back at Solaceon. So much time spent waiting, training, jumping through hoops, for exactly this, is fraying my nerves more and more the closer I get to the actual day. For my first performance outside of a Contest, I think it’ll be Volta who’ll shine - because of his size, for one, and because it only feels right to honour my starter. First a casino, then a bar (probably), then another bar, then bar after bar - until I find my way back at the Contest Halls, this time for the real performances. At night, when I can’t sleep, I give up the reasonable, practical routines I prepare in the hot light of day and draft extravagant, wild plans for when I have my name up in lights. Whenever I go off the rails too much, I think of your letter from Veilstone - ‘make the audience feel like I felt’. It changed my thinking when I read that, shifted my mind off of beauty and gaudy displays, onto how my audiences should feel, watching my Pokémon. When I think about my most successful shows, I remember the ones where I caught a look on somebody’s face that was different, stranger, more than joy at a dazzling trick. Though that’s going a little too pretentious for the patrons at the Game Corner, who’ll probably give me only the corner of their eyes.

Love,
Georgia

[The fifth letter is folded within a sketchbook page depicting a bar just after closing, loose lines illustrating the bartender scrubbing the tables clean, a waitress hunched over a mop. Unlike the other drawings, this one has colour, shades of brown and yellow to show the dim, warm light. A newspaper clipping is pasted onto the back, depicting a small article on a rising star in the more artistic circles of Contest performances named Georgia O.]

Dear Luke,

You know, when I was stuck in Jubilife and you were out on the Gym circuit, I spent of a lot of time anxious for your letters, sickening at my own resentment, a see-saw of my pettier and kinder impulse that always tilted one way the longer it took between your replies. Now that my life is not spent running along the tracks between school, home and work, I find myself more sympathetic. My hours, which once dragged out dull and empty, now buzz with activity. I tried calling you just then, which is to say just before I started writing. This is going to be a little shorter than my other letters; I only have twenty before I’m on stage. Partially, I’m writing this to calm my nerves, though the other part is of a more generous nature. Not that I’m presuming anything, just that you said you were grateful that I wrote. And I guess I’ve always assumed other people like getting mail as much as I do.

In the corner, Volta is asleep, rather bigger than he used to be, and calmer before performances than when he was a Joltik. Now that he can produce proper electrified webs, my routines have been focused on shimmering, sparking networks of light, suspended over the heads of patrons, spinning around Volta’s insect bulk. There is something tinged with fear in the eyes of audiences that watch him, mingled with a touch of awe, like they are recalling the childish wonder they used to feel at the night sky, or the first time they saw a battle. I always think of my mother’s Pachirisu, the first time I saw her battle in a demonstration for the Trainer’s School. After my shows, I call her up, listen to stories about Static’s antics and neighbourhood dramas. There’s a new dynamic between us now though, one I don’t quite know how to handle, like my old image of her is slowly being scrubbed away, a layer of rust giving way to shiny metal. I think the same thing is happening to her; I can hear it in the odd note in her voice sometimes, like she’s talking to a stranger. Soon as the week is up, I’m gonna start making arrangements to visit her.

My biggest news is that I ended up giving Syrup away, to stay with Helen back in Solaceon; she liked the sun better there than the dim lamps and beery stenches of the bars I haunt these days. In a way it was a relief to hand her off, especially to such a capable trainer, so that I could focus just on Volta. Something between us never clicked - not on an emotional level, but on the stage. Besides, if I miss her it gives me an excuse to take a break and go back to visit Helen and the Nurses Joy at the Centre. These days my life seems to take place at night in Hearthome and at day in Solaceon, all my hours crammed full with performances, people, Volta.

I’m getting to love this city, as you said I would, all these open streets lined with tall, tidy houses. When I get sick of the jittery, sweaty atmosphere of the bars, I like to sit by the fountain, watching water sparkle in the sun. There’s good people watching by the fountain; there’s good people watching in my haunts, too. As you might expect, there is a thriving Contest scene in Hearthome, though the bar gigs and festival shows are only called ‘contests’ by affectionate nickname. A lot of my friends in the same line of work get a little up themselves about it, saying that what they do is art, and what goes on in the rounds and battles at the Hall are just beauty pageants. I disagree, though after a while I got sick of fighting about it, content to just sit and simmer. After all, most of them have the talent to back up what they’re saying, and the rest drop out after a few months. I’m not humble enough to say that I’m not one of the ones with talent. You know if you have talent or not - you, Luke, know that you have talent. Not for battling, maybe, but for dealing with Pokémon. Hanging out around Contest trainers and their hanger-ons has made me see that it is even rarer than I thought. Honestly, I’m getting sick of everything to do with Heatthome except the performances themselves. But being able to get up on a stage with Volta - any stage, no matter how dingy - is worth it.

Well, I gotta go, they’re calling for me.

Love,
Georgia

[The sixth envelope contains a letter, a photo and a card made out of thick watercolour paper. On it is drawn, in confident detail, the site of a view from an open ground floor window with flapping, ragged curtains. Outside are parked cars, shiny as beetle shells, shielded by neat rows of trees, painted with careful attention to the yellow-green of their leaves. In the window of the opposite house in a Glameow, watching the street with an alert tail. In the sky, just barely visible over the low roofs of suburban houses, is the antennae of the Jubilife TV station. The photo is of a Galvantula, asleep in a pet bed, with a Pachirisu curled up on its back.]

Dear Luke,

One way or another, this is going to be the last letter you get from me.

When I first got off the train at Jubilife Station, my stomach lurched with a feeling of unfamiliarity, like I had walked down a step that was no longer there. That same instant of shock came again when I saw my house, again when I saw the grocery store, over and over. My bedroom was vacuumed, tidy and smelling of the lavender that my mother had put on my nightstand, her preparations making it into a nicer space than it had ever been before. Have you ever seen a film set in Jubilife, and felt a strange jolt when you recognised a familiar place filled with actors, grainy on the cinema screen? It was like that in reverse, an unplaceable, uncomfortable twisting sensation. Maybe part of that was because you weren’t there. Some of the strangeness has got to do with how Mum talks to me now, cautious like the workers at the Nursery are with a newly evolved Pokémon, giving me soft, assessing glances when I do shit I used to make her do for me. Still, I’m glad to be home, away from all the dramas of Hearthome. Nothing matters to me quite the same way that Contests do, but I wish it didn’t come with all this extra bullshit sticking to it. And there is something nice about the changes. Just like Mum treats Volta with more respect than she did when he was a Joltik, she talks to me more openly, gives me more responsibility. Last night we sat out on the porch after dinner, watching the people walk down the grey streets, listening to Ninjasks and Starly weaving a gentle backdrop of noise. She gave me a beer; I told her about my forays into the dating scene at Hearthome. There was more understanding in her voice, when I talked about my routines, as if she saw them as more than idle fancies.

I want that with you. Something fresher, steadier than what we used to have. When I imagine you I don’t want to picture your old self, but I don’t know what to replace it with. So I think this’ll be the last letter I send to you - not even a letter, really. Just a heads up that I’ll be in Snowpoint City sometime next month, looking for you. I hope you’ll be waiting.

Love,
Georgia

[The final page in the little stack is another watercolour card, this one depicting snowfall on an empty shopping strip from a café window, done in blurry muted tones. Only the snow is bright, glittery as it passes beneath the shafts of light under streetlamps. At one end of the street is an empty phone booth, lit up fluorescent white. In the foreground, there is a steaming cup of coffee, and the detritus of painting tools. On the back is written a short message in cramped handwriting, transcribed below.]

Dear Luke,

I’ve made up my mind to give this to you no matter how badly our meeting goes. After all, I got here three whole hours early, so I’ve had nothing to do but paint and steel my nerves. The most comfort I have is the coffee, warming my chilled body, and the weight of Volta’s ball at my belt. Inside a cocoon of warmth, the snow is casting the same spell as it did when I first stepped foot out of the station. Right now, waiting for you, my only company is that of the boisterous waiter, talking with his hands braced on the table of a group of young men, clearly mates of his. Maybe you’ll sneer at me, having to catch the train to Snowpoint instead of journeying, when your job is hiking about the most dangerous parts of Mount Coronet, catching Pokémon for breeders and collecting herbs for Nurseries. But with only Volta, whose power is focused on looks over combat, I’d be easy prey for any Sneasel or Abomasnow who happened along.

But I’m not writing to tell you about that. The point of writing this is to let you know that even if you leave this meeting hating me, or thinking yourself distant from me, I love you. I even think I might love this city. I don’t think I have the guts to say that in person, so I’m saying in writing, which is, after all, how most of the important parts of our relationship have been negotiated these past years. If you come here angry, or disappointed, not wanting to keep our friendship up, not wanting what I want, then that's alright. Now I've gotten to perform before real, live people, I've realised there are other things to do than pursue art. Besides, I'll confess that I don’t want to have drifted together only to grow further apart again. If nothing else, it would make me dizzy.

Yours,
Georgia

[At the top of the stack there is no more envelopes, letters or cards, but a few torn-off corners of notebook pages, and receipts, and napkins scrawled over in spiky handwriting]

Sorry, I can’t stay to catch you after your show, I have a job interview. I just wanted to say that Volta was beautiful, and so were you. - L

Went out to give Gauze a walk + air out Sailor. Please don’t let dinner boil over again. - L

Don’t get the purple Pokéblocks for Wisp, she only likes the blue ones. - L

Your mother called, said that she had heard something about an opportunity for you at a festival in Jubilife. Call her back! - L

[Lying over the rubber band holding the collections together, one corner torn, is a photograph of Georgia and Luke together, in a dressing room of the Hearthome Super Contest Hall. It’s a candid shot of them sitting on the floor, fussing over a large Galvantula, their heads close. It’s a little blurry, because the photographer caught Luke in movement, turning his head to kiss Georgia’s temple.]

 

[WildBoots]

Hey Rusting Knight!

The epistolary format is a great choice for a character-driven story like this; we don't need to see each battle blow-by-blow because that's not the point. The point is seeing how L grows and changes, how he begins to see the place he came from differently, and what his relationship with Georgia is like. Another writer would've tried to squeeze a traditional journey fic from this, and it would've taken until chapter 40 to do what you achieved in less than 5k words.

You did a great job capturing what it feels like to be a young person traveling for the first time. He's excited, he's lonely, he misses Georgia, and he also recognizes the gap between who he's becoming and who he was at home. I also enjoyed the individual postcards. They're very believable as memorabilia of the pokemon world. However, it was unclear to me at first whether these were letters accompanied by postcards, which would be easy to clear up when the first one is described.

I thought the leadup to Luke's gender reveal was well-telegraphed. (Though the content warning also primed me to look for it, so.) I wasn't quite convinced by his reasons for not being ready to go home in the end, but maybe that's believable too. Most trans kids I know IRL are eager to leave home, hard reset, and maybe even cut the family off, even the ones who seem like they have a decent relationship with their parents. So maybe it's not something that's for me to understand.

Spoiler: Line by line

The first postcard is from Oreburgh City,

I know this is a framing device, but my first thought was that there's no way all that text would fit on a postcard. It would make more sense to me if it were a letter sent with a postcard enclosed.

Snorunt, blue eyes isolated in its dark face,

I'm not sure what it means for eyes to be isolated in a face. I could see them being pinpricks of blue, to emphasize that they're small, or even a shock of blue. Or is this a reference to snorunt not having a visible mouth?

Wisp is shivering on my lap,

At this stage I had no guess about what Wisp might be.

Wisp flew through that match, just like I told you she would. I mean, Ice against Grass is a pretty easy match-up.

Ah there it is. Okay, she's the snorunt. This confirmation came right at the limit for how long I could accept the uncertainty.

Also, oof, ice against rock is a bad matchup, too. Surprised that didn't come up in the first postcard.

I can feel its hard edges cut into my palm when I clench my fist around it.

This is nitpicky, but does L not have a badge case? I can't help but picture her walking around with a fistful of badges, careful not to drop them, lol.

which are filled in with drawings

I was having trouble picturing this one. There are words and something is filled in with drawing and then there's also another drawing in the background? It would help to simplify, and it also might help if the sentences were shorter.

Instead of the usual plain paper, a Flame Mail set was used.

Wait, so it IS a letter with a postcard enclosed? Now I'm a little confused.

The series of photos gives the impression that taking two Pokémon into a cramped booth was a bad idea.

Haha, appreciating the comedy of the understatement. However, this was a notable pivot away from the previously cool and clinical narrator, and I can't tell if it's on purpose (making the narrator a character with some skin in the game) or if it's a lapse that should be adjusted to preserve the sense that these are archival documents being held somewhere like a museum.

it’s the same music that my mum would play while she cooked.

Aww, this is a nice personal detail.

It’s funny, I guess, that I’m getting so down in the dumps here of all places, when Veilstone is so big, full of so much cool stuff.

That's definitely a traveling Mood.

Now that I’m drowning in the League, it is clearer than ever you’re not suited for battling.

Ouch. Damn, L.

She is holding up a Croagunk by the armpits, so that it is level with the wooden statue on the counter carved to resemble its species.

Aww, cute detail, though the wording is a little funky. A few things here: 1) the comma is not needed. 2) I don't think you need "on the counter" either. It's one descriptor too many in a sentence that's already got a lot of preposition phrases. 3) Suggestion: ... so that it's level with a wooden statue carved in its likeness.

the faint shimmer of a Protect wall around her to shield her treat from a scavenging Wingull.]

Another cute detail!

Besides, there are things that I can’t tell you with your mum listening in, that well-intentioned spy. I had my first cigarette, for one, and my first drink.

These sentences are a treasure trove of character info. Georgia's mom has a history of listening in on their conversations. An extremely teenage mood, both the secrecy and the whispered confession of trying transgressive new things. 👏

Though he does wake me up at night sweating, shaken from strange nightmares haunted by his ribbits.

"Ribbits" is so at odds with "nightmares" for me. It's so goofy. Croaking would feel more like the stuff of nightmares to me. It was also initially unclear to me whether it was the croagunk or L who was having the nightmares.

seeing moves deployed with such creativity, freed from battling’s strictures.

I like the idea that contests would inspire a renewed excitement for battles, but I'm not convinced that battles are more rigid than contests. It's a valid head canon, but we haven't seen enough of the battles onscreen to see what their "strictures" entail.

Ninjask and a Shedinja, their trainer sticking to the wings.

I had a hard time parsing this as the wings of the stage since ninjask also has wings.

Sailor is happy to be by saltwater once more

I believe that the noun is two words, salt water, because salt becomes an adjective modifying water. This is the adjective form, like in saltwater taffy.

They are laughing; in the last photo Sofia is kissing L’s cheek.

This is a place where I wish the narrator describing these postcards was a little more biased and reactive.

and is an illustration of Mount Coronet in watercolours, showing it rising snow-capped and enormous to meet an electric blue sky. At its feet is the dark green canopy of a sprawling forest, painted as a spiky mass.

A suggestion to cut back on wordiness: ...and is a watercolour illustration of Mount Coronet, rising snow-capped ... At its feet is a spiky mass of forest.

You've got a lot of great descriptions, but in a few places (like this one), you're burying your best stuff.

eating an obviously expensive Pokpéuff.

I don't know what an expensive one would look like! Sprinkles?

There is no accompanying letter;

Okay, so confirmed, the postcards are being accompanied by letters. It would help to clarify that at the very beginning.

my power looks lazy before her skill.

Hm, not sold on this phrasing, though I like the idea that Candice would be the final hurdle. Feels right for someone who started with an ice-type that can only evolve a certain way if it's female and is having some gender feelings of his own.

There is a chance that I am one of those trainers who just don’t have what it takes.

Ouch. A good world-building detail, though: it's hard out here, not just something any ten-year-old could do.

the empty wrapper from a Seal package,

It took me a long time to remember what seals were in the Sinnoh games. At first I was thinking of the animal, then trying to figure out if it was a typo for spheal (and what even would that mean?? lol). Calling it a pokeball seal package would clear it up immediately.

I hope that it will help you bring the routine you described to life.

Would read more clearly like this: I hope that it will help you bring to life the routine you described.

From that height the sea seems like the only important thing on the earth.

Great line!

When night fell I went swimming, in the frigid winter water.

The comma should go after fell, not after swimming.

Maybe you can choreograph a performance that will make the audience feel like I felt then, as if I had left behind my body and my ambitions.

This line made me really feel how much he respects what she does.

I just dissolved into the water, like a bar of soap worn to a sliver, until all that was left was some small, calm centre.

Another great line!

in the snow and ice she seems at home in a way that I thought she had lost with evolution.

Wait, why would she ever not have seemed at home in the snow?

swayed over to her point of view.

It would sound more natural to my ear to be swayed by her point of view.

Candice asked me, gently as she could, if I might not be better off going home and doing some reassessing.

Aww, Candice. She's being a good leader here.

I had felt out the possibility, slow going as walking in the Great Marsh. It felt so big, turning it over, the same electric potential that I felt when I held your mother’s Dawn Stone in my hand.

Great bit of in-universe figurative language!

but I guess after our fight you blocked my number.

Oh no! I wonder what they fought about.

I gotta say, if I didn't know there was a part 2, I'd be totally satisfied with that ending. I guess in part 2 we'll find out what they fought about and maybe get Georgia's opinions on some of this. Either way, looking forward to doubling back for part 2 later.

If you can forgive some self-promotion, I think you'd get a kick out of my fic Postcards. It has fewer literal postcards than this one, but it deals with similar highs and lows of traveling and training, feeling like you can never go home again. Nice to see folks playing with similar themes. You working on other fic projects?

 

[SparklingEspeon]

Hi! This got recc'd in the discord a few days back, so I thought I would check it out for this review blitz! True to the inspiration, I can definitely see Jane Austen shining through the prose here :P

This is a nice little fic! It is published in two parts, but it reminds me a lot of the shorter novels and stories authors, especially late 19th or 20th century ones, would publish in between their larger works. I think that's pretty thematically fitting, given your inspiration and the content. I haven't read that many letter-fics (epistolary?) before, but this one definitely deserves to be in letters and makes the most of the format. I think there's a lot of value in leaving what remains between the letters unseen - since one of the fic's main themes seems to how people slowly grow apart with time, and can change in large ways without you even noticing (the two main characters, L/uke and Georgia, obviously change in major ways, but I liked Georgia's note at the end of how her pokemon changed too, and eventually she had to update her view of them, and in some cases even let them go). Another clever thing I noticed was that while all the letters in the first part are from Luke, all the ones in the second half are from Georgia - kind of like the two halves of the story are mirroring each other in a way!

Obviously the one thing that doesn't really fade or change, even though it wavers, is the relationship between the two of them, but it feels like a nice constant in a fic where the theme is about how life changes people over time. I guess, admittedly, it wasn't really clear to me whether they were just really close friends, or whether they were completely conscious of having a romantic relationship even from the start. Their letters definitely read like like lovers, but then Jane Austen writes literally everything like that so who's to say.

Admittedly I felt this got too wordy and wandering for me at times, and I found myself skimming a lot. There's a lot of description typical of 19th century novels that felt like it got too purple and cluttered out the story. That said, I have always harboured an intense dislike of Jane Austen's wordiness (Jane Eyre is one of the most hated books of my childhood), so my hate should probably be taken as compliments to your imitation :P

With that said, though, another trait of that style is attention to detail, and you do that very well! I liked in particular the comments about "mum being a spy", and especially how that came back in Georgia's letters, then the character gets mentioned again when she goes back and finds that everything about her house is unfamiliar. It helps to breathe life both into the themes of the story and the letters being written; rather than just being blocks of endless description, there's mention of all sorts of little pieces that help sell the image of a living, moving world that slowly changes in the background even while staying constant. (I thought Cicada Husk being the title of the first chapter was a really nice detail - both to L transitioning to Luke, and to the general theme of characters coming out of their husks ) I also really liked the postcards you used as a framing mechanism, the descriptions were fun to read and I think sealed off the story quite nicely. They worked well as transitions.

ome of the strangeness has got to do with how Mum talks to me now, cautious like the workers at the Nursery are with a newly evolved Pokémon, giving me soft, assessing glances when I do shit I used to make her do for me

I do admit the random "shit" thrown in among all this fancy, Victorian writing made me giggle

Overall, a very fun little story! I think you did a lovely job here, and I'd be interested to read more in the future!

 

[Rusting Knight]

Spoiler: Wildboots

The epistolary format is a great choice for a character-driven story like this; we don't need to see each battle blow-by-blow because that's not the point. The point is seeing how L grows and changes, how he begins to see the place he came from differently, and what his relationship with Georgia is like. Another writer would've tried to squeeze a traditional journey fic from this, and it would've taken until chapter 40 to do what you achieved in less than 5k words.

Thank you! Originally, this story was a lot longer, with a proper dramatic plot about, of all things, Deoxys - and then I realised I’d never be able to pull it off so I settled for a pretty simple coming-of-age narrative. I'll also admit that I found all of those things you mentioned (battles, gyms, ect) incredibly boring, so the epistolary format was mostly an excuse to dodge that. I'm glad that it worked for the most part.

You did a great job capturing what it feels like to be a young person traveling for the first time. He's excited, he's lonely, he misses Georgia, and he also recognizes the gap between who he's becoming and who he was at home. I also enjoyed the individual postcards. They're very believable as memorabilia of the pokemon world. However, it was unclear to me at first whether these were letters accompanied by postcards, which would be easy to clear up when the first one is described.

I'm glad that all of that seemed realistic/a believable emotional reaction - I've never travelled alone or as an adult, so I was drawing primarily on experiences of people I know, and on fiction dealing with similar topics. Thank you form pointing out the confusion around the postcards too - I appreciate all of your line-by-line feedback, and soon (hopefully) I'll go through a clarify things/fix my typos.

I thought the leadup to Luke's gender reveal was well-telegraphed. (Though the content warning also primed me to look for it, so.) I wasn't quite convinced by his reasons for not being ready to go home in the end, but maybe that's believable too. Most trans kids I know IRL are eager to leave home, hard reset, and maybe even cut the family off, even the ones who seem like they have a decent relationship with their parents. So maybe it's not something that's for me to understand.

Honestly, if I had my time again, I'd have Luke go back to Jubilife at the end, which would make more sense for the ending of the second party anyway, so I'm glad it was even an edge case of believeability. It was mostly drawing on my own (not uncommon I think) fantasy of getting to travel away, transition and then come home, but that sort of thing doesn't make for realistic writing. Oh well! I'm happy that Luke's transition was foreshadowed sufficiently; it was onlu halfway through the story that I realised I was writing a story about being trans, and in going through the stuff I'd already written I was worried that it would come across as clunky.

Haha, appreciating the comedy of the understatement. However, this was a notable pivot away from the previously cool and clinical narrator, and I can't tell if it's on purpose (making the narrator a character with some skin in the game) or if it's a lapse that should be adjusted to preserve the sense that these are archival documents being held somewhere like a museum.

Yeah, it was a lapse; there was a couple of these sorts of biased statements, but I couldn't figure out a way to keep the sense that there was a deliberate narrative voice (Georgia's) or an archival sense of distance.

Ouch. Damn, L.

One of the moments meant to foreshadow he can be a kinda shitty friend, even if he doesn't really intend it. Should have sprinkled in more tbh.

If you can forgive some self-promotion, I think you'd get a kick out of my fic Postcards. It has fewer literal postcards than this one, but it deals with similar highs and lows of traveling and training, feeling like you can never go home again. Nice to see folks playing with similar themes. You working on other fic projects?

I loved your fic! It was cool to see a different take on similar themes. Hopefully I'll get around to checking out your other fics sometime soon - Spring looks really cool. Right I'm not working on any other fics - I'm between high school and a creative writing degree, so I'm trying to focus on orginal writing.

Thank you for reviewing!

Spoiler: SparklingEspeon

Hi! This got recc'd in the discord a few days back, so I thought I would check it out for this review blitz! True to the inspiration, I can definitely see Jane Austen shining through the prose here :P

Thank you for the review! Honestly it's kinda surprising to hear that my prose reminded you of Jane Austen's; I've only read Emma, and that was awhile ago. I'll take the compliment though lol.

This is a nice little fic! It is published in two parts, but it reminds me a lot of the shorter novels and stories authors, especially late 19th or 20th century ones, would publish in between their larger works. I think that's pretty thematically fitting, given your inspiration and the content. I haven't read that many letter-fics (epistolary?) before, but this one definitely deserves to be in letters and makes the most of the format. I think there's a lot of value in leaving what remains between the letters unseen - since one of the fic's main themes seems to how people slowly grow apart with time, and can change in large ways without you even noticing (the two main characters, L/uke and Georgia, obviously change in major ways, but I liked Georgia's note at the end of how her pokemon changed too, and eventually she had to update her view of them, and in some cases even let them go). Another clever thing I noticed was that while all the letters in the first part are from Luke, all the ones in the second half are from Georgia - kind of like the two halves of the story are mirroring each other in a way!

Thank you again! I'm glad that the format and the two halves worked out for you, and that my intended themes came through - particularly I'm glad that the Pokémon didn't seem like entirely arbitary characters. (I've also been reading a lot of 19th & 20th century authors lately, like Thomas Hardy & George Eliot, so ig that's where the influence comes from.

Obviously the one thing that doesn't really fade or change, even though it wavers, is the relationship between the two of them, but it feels like a nice constant in a fic where the theme is about how life changes people over time. I guess, admittedly, it wasn't really clear to me whether they were just really close friends, or whether they were completely conscious of having a romantic relationship even from the start. Their letters definitely read like like lovers, but then Jane Austen writes literally everything like that so who's to say.

My intention was for them to come across as close friends with some unacknowledged mutual attraction that neither were quite ready to admit to - the intimacy in the letters does make that a bit ambigous though, which is maybe something I could have moderated more.

Admittedly I felt this got too wordy and wandering for me at times, and I found myself skimming a lot. There's a lot of description typical of 19th century novels that felt like it got too purple and cluttered out the story. That said, I have always harboured an intense dislike of Jane Austen's wordiness (Jane Eyre is one of the most hated books of my childhood), so my hate should probably be taken as compliments to your imitation :P

Definitely feedback I need to hear lol; one of my biggest weaknesses is a reluctance to cut lines that I think are pretty but don't really add anything. It's good to get a reminder that anyone reading the stoy has to actually, you know, read all that. In terms of the 19th century vibe - the 'shit' you pointed out was an attempt to lessen that effect a little bit, though clearly too late in the game. At least it came across as funny lol.

With that said, though, another trait of that style is attention to detail, and you do that very well! I liked in particular the comments about "mum being a spy", and especially how that came back in Georgia's letters, then the character gets mentioned again when she goes back and finds that everything about her house is unfamiliar. It helps to breathe life both into the themes of the story and the letters being written; rather than just being blocks of endless description, there's mention of all sorts of little pieces that help sell the image of a living, moving world that slowly changes in the background even while staying constant. (I thought Cicada Husk being the title of the first chapter was a really nice detail - both to L transitioning to Luke, and to the general theme of characters coming out of their husks ) I also really liked the postcards you used as a framing mechanism, the descriptions were fun to read and I think sealed off the story quite nicely. They worked well as transitions.

Thank you again! I really appreciate you taking the time to leave a review.

 

[Negrek]

Hey, Rusting Knight! I wanted to check out some of your work, and I'm glad I picked this story up. The epistolary format works so well for covering a trainer's journey--of course they'd be writing letters (or texting, sending e-mails, whatever) to loved ones while out on the road, and you can choose to both hit only the highlights and have a lot of fun with what you DON'T show as you go along.

Luke's personality comes through quite strongly in his letters, and it's an unusual one! It's a very particular sort of person who uses the word "intolerably," heh. Georgia's writing is actually more similar to Luke's than I would have expected; she's a little less formal and less prone to metaphor than Luke, I think, but both of them like to indulge in a lot of detailed descriptions of their surroundings and their pokémon. Which is not a bad thing--I think the lush writing and specific details lend the story a lot of its charm! The way Luke describes the appeal with the ninjask and shedinja and Georgia writing about the big bastiodon sunning itself in the garden were a couple standout moments to me. Despite this being a brief story overall and told through a small number of snapshots in time, you nevertheless managed to get across a sense of a larger world, and one in which people actually live. I loved things like Luke going on to a non-training career that involved using his team, Gloria picking up bar gigs to supplement her "real" contest performances, Luke spending a lot of time outside because he's not allowed to have his pokémon out indoors: all such great touches of daily life made fantastic by the presence of pokémon.

It is also SO COOL to see a fic with an actual coordinator character and which engages with contests and how they might compare to a training career! The descriptions of pokémon appeals were A+, too. The efficiency of this fic is one of its strongest aspects, but I would 100% read a fic elaborating Gloria's story out into like 80k words, lol.

I find it interesting that the big fight that both characters allude to is left as a noodle incident. It makes sense to leave it out, I think, since in the end what it was actually about doesn't seem like it matters--it presumably was over something relatively small and probably a proxy for feelings of neglect or being condescended to on Georgia's part, so it's easy for them to forgive and forget in the end. I'm super curious nonetheless, lol. I do think you do a good job of showing how such a fight might arise, probably as a result of Luke saying something he shouldn't have. The part where he suggests it's good Georgia's doing contests because she isn't cut out for battling, or teasing her about not being able to hold a grudge, oof.

Minor detail, but the pokémon is "drifloon," not "drifbloon," although honestly I think the latter is cuter. :P

I was a bit confused about the timeline after reading Georgia's letters. The first two reference some kind of fight/Luke not writing back to her, which made me place them somewhere between Luke's sixth and eighth letters. But they're both addressed to Luke, and Luke doesn't tell Georgia his new name until letter #9, so that doesn't seem like it can be the case. The tone of Georgia's initial letters just seems odd coming after Luke's big revelation in Snowpoint, that's all.

Only minor complaints, though, really. This is a great little fic, and I'm glad you decided to share it with us. Thanks for the read!

 

[WildBoots]

A reply ... reply. :)

Spoiler: boop

I appreciate all of your line-by-line feedback,

Always love to hear it, haha.

It was mostly drawing on my own (not uncommon I think) fantasy of getting to travel away, transition and then come home, but that sort of thing doesn't make for realistic writing.

Oh! I think this could've been said explicitly somewhere, if not here then maybe in Georgia's section as she unpacks their fight. Because, having read ahead, we know she would have some feelings about that. After all, she didn't really get to do that.

but I couldn't figure out a way to keep the sense that there was a deliberate narrative voice (Georgia's) or an archival sense of distance.

My preference would be for it to be Georgia and to lean into it with more biased comments and asides.

I loved your fic! It was cool to see a different take on similar themes. Hopefully I'll get around to checking out your other fics sometime soon - Spring looks really cool. Right I'm not working on any other fics - I'm between high school and a creative writing degree, so I'm trying to focus on orginal writing.

I appreciate it! I'll respond to your review soon. :) You'll probably enjoy Spring, though it's a little different from Postcards.

And I totally hear you about original writing! I've been bouncing back and forth between the two. They just scratch different itches for me, and it feels good to finish (or get closer to finishing) an existing project. Good luck with your original stuff though! 🎉

 

[WildBoots]

Back again. :)

I liked all the little drawings. Seems like Georgia is a creator in general, not just a contest coordinator.

(I wondered if she ever wrote back to him and sent him drawings on the road? It seems like it would be easy enough for her to send something ahead to the next town on his list, and if he somehow missed one she could phone that center and ask them to forward the letter to the right one. I know that's a little beyond the scope of your setup, but it's a detail that would've helped build a sense not just of Luke's personality but of their relationship.)

I struggled with Georgia's arc in a way I didn't with Luke's. I didn't mind that his chapter built slowly because there was no urgency--he's just writing home at the beginning of his journey. By the time we get to Georgia, though, some major bombs have been dropped: Luke is trans. He's not coming home, at least not anytime soon. They've had a fight so bad she won't answer his calls. So I was surprised by the very chill way her chapter opens, almost as if nothing has happened.

I'd hoped to see a few things from her:

1a) some kind of apology about the fight, especially since she says at the end of her first letter that she thinks she's at fault. (It doesn’t matter if that how Luke sees it or if it’s objectively true.)

1b) I did also expect to learn what exactly they'd fought about, since it would reveal a lot about both of them and make the ending feel more hard-won.

2) Some kind of reaction to Luke's announcement that he's trans. At first I was imagining an overly cheery response, working way too hard to show how Fine With This ™️ she is. Then we learn, oh hey, she's trans too, but I still wanted her to say something to him about it? Was she happy for him? Pleased that he trusted her enough to share his full self with her? Hurt that he didn't tell her sooner? Smug that she called it years ago? Whatever it is, she should have some kind of reaction--it was big news for him and so difficult for him to say!

I was also taken aback by her sudden decision to go to Snowpoint. I didn't get a strong sense of her being lonely or missing him, despite the letters, especially since it didn't seem like they'd talked in much detail for most of her chapter. It's hard to shake the impression that she's operating on her memory of how he was more than she's responding to their current relationship--she's just lucky it worked out anyway. It's a sharp contrast to Luke's chapter, where his dysphoria and coming out were clearly telegraphed.

Here's one idea that might help with the foreshadowing while also providing an opportunity to develop both of them more. The nature writing is lovely and is probably one of the strongest areas of this chapter, but a lot of it also feels like content that Luke could've written. What if instead she recounted stories of their friendship Before? Almost like she’s trying to convince him (or herself!) that it’s worth making up from their fight. The details she highlights and the pieces she forgets would both reveal something about her, what they've already been through together, and what she imagines for their future. (Especially if it mirrors some of the sweet, mundane updates we get in Luke's handwriting in the end.) You could get so much mileage out of comparing her contest journey to their past together!

Sorry to come off so negative. Luke's chapter was just so satisfying, and I want justice for Georgia!

All that said, the heart of this is very sweet. I am, of course, happy that everything worked out for them! With an epistolary story, some details will inevitably fall between the gaps, so we're always going to be missing some of the specifics. That can be a strength, and you do take advantage of it. I think the last few notes from Luke showcase it well: we don't need every detail to know that they're living together, shopping and paying their bills as a team, and things seem to be working out. <3

Spoiler: Line by line

kept preserved

A redundancy here. Preserved is enough.

A couple of town Contests, along with legitimate Ribbons from the Hall, will be enough to start getting me bar gigs.

Oof, being a trainer doesn't readily lead to a lot of career options, huh? It's not totally clear to me if this is just a gig to support her contest work or if it's somehow related to her contest skills. Like, is she doing the pokemon contest equivalent of burlesque shows? (LOL.)

And later passages seem to confirm: more or less!! Haha. Amazing. That's a fun way to bring pokemon training and contests into the adult world. Of course there'd be coordinators entertaining in bars in this setting.

against the electric blue sky,

Oops, this is a phrase you used in chapter one. I think it would matter less in a longer work, but it jumped out at me here.

There is something fake about the town itself, underneath its beauty. People are always trying to sell you things, berries or flowers, accessories,

I dig this characterization of Floaroma Town. This feels absolutely correct.

She told me that you got a job doing odd jobs,

To avoid the awkward repetition, I suggest, "She told me that you found work doing odd jobs."

There are a lot of ways to be around Pokémon - you’ll find yours. Until you do, or until you start returning my calls, I’m gonna keep on writing to you.

Aww, a nice sentiment. However, this threw me off a little. Before, she wasn't returning his calls. So have they not successfully talked since then? If that's the case, I'm astonished she's being so chill. No apology? No pleas to answer her calls?

Kricketots are chirping, holding a strange sort of religious service.

I wasn't sure how literally to take this, but I'll observe that, huh, kricketune do have little praying mantis claws, don't they?

Performing for nobody is pathetic; performing for one person is special.

This says a lot to me about their history together.

lips parted from craning their heads.

I don't think the relationship between these two ideas makes sense. I'd pick one or the other.

Then, he used a Thunder Wave to make the delicate design thrum with electricity, sparks scattering harmlessly over the audience’s heads, until the web broke under the strain.

Pretty--I guess that would look a lot like Christmas lights.

focused primarily on a sleeping Bastiodon in a patch of sunlight.

Yeah, sensible--a sleeping pokemon would be much easier to draw! Haha.

Every half an hour I troop down to the cafeteria to get another chilled soda bottle to hold against my temple, its condensation leaving my prickling skin damp. Sweat rolls down my neck, cooled by the ancient fan that I have shoved up against the desk.

Vivid.

FIttingly,

A rogue capital I here.

I can hear the activity of the Nurses,

Nurses is a common noun and shouldn't be capitalized.

She’s like us, which is to say that she’s also trans.

OH. WELL. That feels like information that could've been relevant earlier!

For the first time, I can imagine myself her age, happy, self-assured.

Aww, important.

racking up my third Ribbon

I'm not sure you can rack up a single ribbon, though you could rack up untold quantities of ribbons, plural.

wisps of gossip

Oops, this is another frequently used word. You had wisps of laughter earlier. Maybe she has Wisp the froslass on her mind, I guess? (Though, unless you lampshade it, I'm not sure there's enough here to support that.)

A newspaper clipping is pasted onto the back, depicting

I'd cut depicting entirely. A newspaper clipping doesn't depict an article, it just is one.

Georgia O

NGL, my first thought was O'Keefe.

when I was stuck in Jubilife and you were out on the Gym circuit,

Wait, why was that? The explanation feels thin and like it comes a little late.

Heatthome

Typo.

When I first got off the train at Jubilife Station, my stomach lurched with a feeling of unfamiliarity

This passage is perhaps the strongest bit in this chapter. It builds nicely on some of the themes in the previous chapter, but the twist is that Georgia does go home and Luke never did. It seems like this passage mostly serves to confirm that Luke was right not to want to go home (though it's a little odd that this almost seems to answer my question about why he was so sure he couldn't return home, even though this was her experience and not his).

Just a heads up that I’ll be in Snowpoint City sometime next month, looking for you. I hope you’ll be waiting.

Woah, that was abrupt!

my only company is that of the boisterous waiter,

my only company is the boisterous ...

whose power is focused on looks over combat,

Odd wording. Suggestion: who's all looks, no fighting ability at all.

[At the top of the stack there is no more envelopes, letters or cards, but a few torn-off corners of notebook pages, and receipts, and napkins scrawled over in spiky handwriting]

The wording here is a little funky, too. Instead, I'd suggest listing each one individually. For example: Next in the stack is a receipt for [name of coffee shop]. On the back, a message has been written in spiky letters: [ur pretty and so is spider fren.] Etc.

Despite my critiques, I enjoyed this small story! I love fics that ask questions about growing up and finding your place in the adult world through the lens of pokemon, and this one does exactly that. I enjoyed the setting with all its lovingly crafted details. I also enjoyed that both characters went off the beaten path (in several ways) but still managed to find places to belong. And not just because they belong with each other--in their careers, for themselves. I didn't get the impression that either has things totally figured out, but they've eliminated some possibilities and started moving in a direction that feels right to them. I also enjoyed the small, subtle ways they each shifted their perspective because of something the other one said.

I also think you used your format well, especially in the first chapter. It's just the right length!

Thanks for sharing.

 

[Inyssa]

This pair of chapters works quite well on a reread I think, knowing a bit more about both Luke and Georgia and getting used to their writing styles in letters and the little differences between those. I'll admit I found the letter prose a bit too strangely complex for someone on their trainer journey, but then I remembered that letters aren't like sending a text and you'll most likely spend a lot of time putting your thoughts down before sending it. It's very descriptive, but I came to like the format more and more as I kept reading and got invested in the characters.

I liked the decision of only reading one side of every one of these exchanges, that it feels like someone speaking into nothingness, but between the lines you can see some of the unavailable responses, the growing distance between them and the resentment. I'll admit, I had the same thought as Georgia when I read some of Luke's lines, that he was a bit too condescending, so it was nice to see that validated lol. I think you give just enough away that I got a good impression of what was going on in the other side without it needing to be made explicit.

And though I slightly preferred Georgia's letters, both halves of this story work great together. The two coming to a similar understanding regarding their dreams and what they want out of life, with Luke eventually realizing that his heart isn't really in it for training and Georgia finding a sort of balance between her career and the life she wants alongside her old friend.

I was positive on this story as I read, but I don't think I would've ended up loving it this much without the ending, which is sweet and a bit corny as you described, but in a good way. You decided to commit, and it makes me very glad. It's a perfect bow on these two's relationship.

I had a really good time reading, and I'm glad I stuck throughout to the end. Great job!

 

[Rusting Knight]

Spoiler: WildBoots

Back again. :)

I liked all the little drawings. Seems like Georgia is a creator in general, not just a contest coordinator.

(I wondered if she ever wrote back to him and sent him drawings on the road? It seems like it would be easy enough for her to send something ahead to the next town on his list, and if he somehow missed one she could phone that center and ask them to forward the letter to the right one. I know that's a little beyond the scope of your setup, but it's a detail that would've helped build a sense not just of Luke's personality but of their relationship.)

Thank you for coming back to review the second half! Sorry it took me awhile to get around to replying. Still haven't gotten around to the line-by-line edits, but thank you again for your suggestions!

I like your idea of Georgia sending Luke drawings on the road - it would have given a bit more idea of her character in the first half.

I struggled with Georgia's arc in a way I didn't with Luke's. I didn't mind that his chapter built slowly because there was no urgency--he's just writing home at the beginning of his journey. By the time we get to Georgia, though, some major bombs have been dropped: Luke is trans. He's not coming home, at least not anytime soon. They've had a fight so bad she won't answer his calls. So I was surprised by the very chill way her chapter opens, almost as if nothing has happened.

I think overall this chapter is a lot, lot weaker than the first because of those reasons (and the critiques you go into below), mostly because I dealt with not really knowing how to deal with those bombs, so I resorted to trying to use the epistolary format to wriggle out of it. Not my finest writing moment lol.

I'd hoped to see a few things from her:

1a) some kind of apology about the fight, especially since she says at the end of her first letter that she thinks she's at fault. (It doesn’t matter if that how Luke sees it or if it’s objectively true.)

1b) I did also expect to learn what exactly they'd fought about, since it would reveal a lot about both of them and make the ending feel more hard-won.

2) Some kind of reaction to Luke's announcement that he's trans. At first I was imagining an overly cheery response, working way too hard to show how Fine With This ™️ she is. Then we learn, oh hey, she's trans too, but I still wanted her to say something to him about it? Was she happy for him? Pleased that he trusted her enough to share his full self with her? Hurt that he didn't tell her sooner? Smug that she called it years ago? Whatever it is, she should have some kind of reaction--it was big news for him and so difficult for him to say!

I was also taken aback by her sudden decision to go to Snowpoint. I didn't get a strong sense of her being lonely or missing him, despite the letters, especially since it didn't seem like they'd talked in much detail for most of her chapter. It's hard to shake the impression that she's operating on her memory of how he was more than she's responding to their current relationship--she's just lucky it worked out anyway. It's a sharp contrast to Luke's chapter, where his dysphoria and coming out were clearly telegraphed.

I think, given my time again, I would include several pre-Georgia's journey letters, between her in Jubilife and Luke in Snowpoint, covering the transition to petty meaness to the level of reconciliation that they're at the current chapter, including more in-depth conversations about their fight, including showing them being mean to each other, and of course their own experiences with being trans. Plus, I'd make it so that Luke's stay in Snowpoint is a lot more temporary, so that he comes to Jubilife before she leaves, and that their end-of-fic meeting occurs at Jubilife. The ending was tacked on pretty last minute; this is the longest fiction work I've ever written, and honestly I just lost motivation/energy for it by the end because I found I'd written myself into a bit of corner. Overall this fic was a great learning experience for me - for one, next time I'll outline.

Here's one idea that might help with the foreshadowing while also providing an opportunity to develop both of them more. The nature writing is lovely and is probably one of the strongest areas of this chapter, but a lot of it also feels like content that Luke could've written. What if instead she recounted stories of their friendship Before? Almost like she’s trying to convince him (or herself!) that it’s worth making up from their fight. The details she highlights and the pieces she forgets would both reveal something about her, what they've already been through together, and what she imagines for their future. (Especially if it mirrors some of the sweet, mundane updates we get in Luke's handwriting in the end.) You could get so much mileage out of comparing her contest journey to their past together!

I love this idea! It's given me a lot to think of re: using unusual formats to the best effect.

Sorry to come off so negative. Luke's chapter was just so satisfying, and I want justice for Georgia!

All that said, the heart of this is very sweet. I am, of course, happy that everything worked out for them! With an epistolary story, some details will inevitably fall between the gaps, so we're always going to be missing some of the specifics. That can be a strength, and you do take advantage of it. I think the last few notes from Luke showcase it well: we don't need every detail to know that they're living together, shopping and paying their bills as a team, and things seem to be working out. <3

Don't worry about negativity; I really, genuinely appreciate how thoughtful and detailed your feedback is. It means a lot to me that you took the time to let me know your reactions to my writing. I'm glad you like the ending, also!

Despite my critiques, I enjoyed this small story! I love fics that ask questions about growing up and finding your place in the adult world through the lens of pokemon, and this one does exactly that. I enjoyed the setting with all its lovingly crafted details. I also enjoyed that both characters went off the beaten path (in several ways) but still managed to find places to belong. And not just because they belong with each other--in their careers, for themselves. I didn't get the impression that either has things totally figured out, but they've eliminated some possibilities and started moving in a direction that feels right to them. I also enjoyed the small, subtle ways they each shifted their perspective because of something the other one said.

I also think you used your format well, especially in the first chapter. It's just the right length!

Thanks for sharing.

Thank you for reviewing, and the kind words! I haven't gotten around to writing a proper review, but I read the first couple of chapters of Spring, and loved them :) I'd love to chat about fic sometime, if you'd like.

Spoiler: Inyssa

This pair of chapters works quite well on a reread I think, knowing a bit more about both Luke and Georgia and getting used to their writing styles in letters and the little differences between those. I'll admit I found the letter prose a bit too strangely complex for someone on their trainer journey, but then I remembered that letters aren't like sending a text and you'll most likely spend a lot of time putting your thoughts down before sending it. It's very descriptive, but I came to like the format more and more as I kept reading and got invested in the characters.

Thank you for the review, and for the kind words! I'm glad that the prose style ended up working for you; I'll admit that it's probably a bit too wordy for busy teenagers lol.

I liked the decision of only reading one side of every one of these exchanges, that it feels like someone speaking into nothingness, but between the lines you can see some of the unavailable responses, the growing distance between them and the resentment. I'll admit, I had the same thought as Georgia when I read some of Luke's lines, that he was a bit too condescending, so it was nice to see that validated lol. I think you give just enough away that I got a good impression of what was going on in the other side without it needing to be made explicit.

It's nice to hear that the format didn't end up eliding too many details of their relationship - that was something I struggled with. And yeah, Luke is definitely a bit of a jerk sometimes.

And though I slightly preferred Georgia's letters, both halves of this story work great together. The two coming to a similar understanding regarding their dreams and what they want out of life, with Luke eventually realizing that his heart isn't really in it for training and Georgia finding a sort of balance between her career and the life she wants alongside her old friend.

I was positive on this story as I read, but I don't think I would've ended up loving it this much without the ending, which is sweet and a bit corny as you described, but in a good way. You decided to commit, and it makes me very glad. It's a perfect bow on these two's relationship.

I had a really good time reading, and I'm glad I stuck throughout to the end. Great job!

Thank you again for reviewing; it's cool to see that the characters' arcs came through clearly, and that you liked Georgia's letters, and the ending. I always say go big or go home when it comes to romances. <3