Just random shit in my head(ill figure out a patreon soon need that dough)

[Nephthys8079]

I woke to warmth.

Not the mechanical hum of a Rayshift chamber, not the sterile calm of a medical ward, not even the controlled quiet of a battlefield's aftermath.

Warmth.

A blanket someone tucked carefully to my chin.
The tiny weight of Fou curled on my chest, rising and falling with sleepy breaths.
Soft murmurs outside the room — not alarm, not urgency. Familiar voices. Alive.

…we really did make it.

I exhaled slowly, trying to remember how to breathe like a person who was allowed to rest. The ceiling above was simple plaster, not reinforced Chaldea paneling. There was no snowstorm raging beyond the walls — only the distant call of seagulls and a broken city waking up to survive another day.

Brockton Bay.

Of all worlds we could've ended up in, the Counter Force or whoever decides these cosmic jokes picked the one where hope is a rumor and kindness is a liability.

"Fou… fouuu…" Fou nuzzled my chin, as if hearing my thoughts.

"Yeah. I know." My voice sounded less tired today. Progress.

A knock at the door followed by Mash's soft voice. "Ritsuka? Breakfast is almost ready."

Not Master.
We retired that word the day Chaldea shut down and followed me anyway.

"I'm up," I called, even if I was still holding onto the warmth like a lifeline.

Fou hopped off and vanished into the hallway, probably to steal pastries or to bully Cu again. I sat up, stretched, and the room stretched with me — more space unfolding like a memory of command rooms and dorm halls. Da Vinci had gone a little overboard making the house bigger inside than outside.

A home for hundreds drowned in a two-bedroom footprint.
Impossible to explain to this world.
I didn't plan to.


---

The kitchen smelled like heaven and danger.

Astolfo was upside-down on the couch, legs in the air, humming while scrolling through a pamphlet titled "Local Capes and You: Surviving Parahuman America" with glitter stickers already stuck to it. EMIYA stood in front of the stove, orchestrating breakfast like a general preparing troops.

Artoria was teaching Mordred how to slice toast properly, which somehow involved the phrase "Knightly grace does not yield to breakfast."

Cu Chulainn was already shirtless, laughing with noisy, reckless delight as Medusa tried and failed to drag him away from poking Gilgamesh, who radiated offended royalty from a gold-trimmed bathrobe on the couch.

And then there was Olga Marie Animusphere — once director, once dead, now a Servant — stomping around the kitchen corner yelling at Da Vinci about maintenance budgets for a house that technically defied physics.

Nothing important.
Nothing catastrophic.
Nothing I needed to save.

Just life.

Mash saw me first, eyes lighting up like sunrise. "Good morning."

"Morning."

Her smile could split clouds. It used to break my heart; now it stitched me back together.

Da Vinci bounced over, goggles on her head, hair chaotic as always. "Sleep well? Dreams not full of cosmic angst? No apocalyptic visions? No returning Beast threats?"

"Just normal dreams."

The room paused like I'd said something strange.

Then Astolfo pumped a fist. "THAT'S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!"

EMIYA threw a towel at him. He dodged. Gilgamesh muttered something about "mongrels and noise."

I sat at the table. Someone — probably Mash — set tea in front of me already. Not Chaldea rations. Not camp coffee. Real tea. Warm, fragrant, gentle.

"You know," I said as everyone resumed their chaos, "every morning I expect this to disappear."

Artoria looked at me, eyes soft. "It won't."

I tried to believe it. I really did.


---

Outside, the city screamed.

A gunshot. A car alarm. Someone swearing about territory and payment. The metallic stench of fear and rust drifted through the walls.

Brockton Bay's welcome song.

Mash stiffened. Mordred's hand twitched toward Clarent. Even Gilgamesh lifted his eyes, ancient boredom sharpening imperceptibly.

I lifted my tea.

"We don't interfere unless it comes to us," I reminded quietly.

I wasn't here to fix another world. I wasn't a savior anymore. Just a tired human who wanted a life.

Artoria's gauntlet covered my hand, steady and resolute. "And if violence finds our doorstep?"

"Then we protect our peace," I said.

Protect.
Not crusade.
Not save the world again.

I'd fought enough.

Romani's memory didn't weigh heavy today. It sat beside me — a quiet presence, not a wound. I could almost hear his relieved laugh, telling me I'd finally earned rest.

I finished my tea.

Astolfo roller-skated past riding Fou like a tiny angry horse. Cu chased him with a frying pan. Da Vinci yelled about safety protocols. EMIYA yelled about his pan. Mash laughed. Artoria sighed with fond resignation.

And I—
I breathed.

Just a morning.
A simple morning.

The kind I fought Hell for.

The kind I died for, once.

Outside, the world demanded blood.
Inside, we buttered toast.

I wasn't saving the world today.

I was living in it.

And for now... that was enough.

---

I was halfway through my toast when reality decided it didn't give a damn about my boundaries.

It started subtle.
A faint hum — not mechanical, not magical. Tinker tech.
Followed by a flicker in the reinforced illusion over the house exterior. Da Vinci's work was flawless, but that didn't stop the world from poking at it.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG

Rapid pounding on the front door, not desperate, but official.

Mash and Artoria rose instantly. Cu grinned like someone just handed him a fun problem. Mordred muttered, "Bet it's the local idiots."

Da Vinci checked a holographic monitor that unfolded from thin air. Cameras outside — filtered street feed.

Two armored agents. PRT insignia.

Of course.

I swallowed. Peace lasted… what, eight minutes? New record.

"PRT," Da Vinci confirmed, voice low. "Scanning for more."

Mash turned to me. "We can turn them away. Or move the house."

"We are not teleporting a house just because someone knocked," EMIYA muttered, scraping eggs onto plates.

Astolfo raised a hand. "We could pretend to be a very large cosplay commune!"

Gilgamesh scoffed. "And what? Declare ourselves a carnival attraction? We are above such farce."

"You literally called yourself the 'main attraction of humanity's history' once," I reminded him.

His smirk didn't deny it.

The pounding came again. Harder.

"Parahuman Response Team!" a voice shouted. "We have questions regarding new occupants and zoning anomalies!"

I resisted the urge to slam my face into the table. Zoning anomalies. Of course that's how Worm noticed us first. Not magic. Not chaos. Paperwork.

Artoria touched my shoulder. "Don't worry. Let us handle this."

"No." I stood. "We're not hiding. Not lying. Just… existing quietly."

I paused.

"…as quietly as possible when housing a small magical army."

Mash nodded, worried but trusting. It still hit me in the heart every time.

I opened the door.

Two PRT troopers stood there, faceless behind visors. Their posture was tense — this city didn't give them many calm calls.

"Good morning," I said, tired but polite, like I was just a normal citizen answering the door and not the guy responsible for humanity surviving gods, beasts, and cosmic nightmares.

"Sir," the lead trooper said, stiff. "We received reports of an… anomalous structure reading. This house wasn't on records yesterday. And we detected power signatures."

At power signatures, a crash came from inside as Cu and Mordred resumed arguing about who drank the last milk. The troopers flinched.

Mash appeared behind me, holding a tray of perfectly stacked pancakes like she intended to offer peace treaties with carbohydrates. Artoria stood like a silent guardian. EMIYA glared from the kitchen as if daring the government to criticize his breakfast.

The trooper stared past me into what looked, externally, like a modest home but clearly stretched far deeper.

"…How many occupants are in this residence?"

Hundreds.
Literal hundreds.
I answered without flinching.

"A few."

A scream echoed inside — Jeanne Alter arguing with Nursery Rhyme about bedtime being a bourgeois construct. Fou darted past my ankle like a tiny gremlin comet. Behind the troopers, a stray cat hissed and ran.

The second trooper's visor turned. "Sir… do you have any parahumans living here?"

Gilgamesh chose that moment to step into view, gold light haloing him unnecessarily as he sipped tea like royalty.

"I am insulted by the implication," he drawled. "Parahuman? Me? As if your little accident-born fireworks compare to my existence."

The air thickened.
The troopers' grips tightened on their stun batons.

I could feel the atmosphere collapsing toward confrontation.

No.
Not today.

I stepped forward just enough to break their line of sight, hands raised calmly. "We're just trying to rebuild our lives. Quietly. No trouble. No involvement in local conflicts."

A pause. Confusion twisted with suspicion in their stance.

"You're… a support group?" one asked slowly.

Behind me, Astolfo yelled, "BREAKFAST SUPPORT GROUP!" and someone immediately started clapping in approval.

I kept my face straight. "Exactly."

The troopers stared at me. Then at the house. Then at the growing sounds of increasingly chaotic domesticity behind me.

Finally, the lead trooper exhaled. "Fine. But we'll be monitoring this address."

I smiled gently. Not threatening. Not submissive.

"Of course. Have a good day."

Door closed.
Silence.

Then—

Gudao, you sweet summer idiot
You survived saving reality but you're losing your peace to zoning inspectors

Mash exhaled a breath she'd apparently been holding for two minutes. "That went well!"

Cu slung an arm around my shoulders. "Hey, they didn't shoot at us. That's basically a victory here, right?"

Mordred snorted. "Cowards sensed the power and backed off."

Gilgamesh smirked. "I allowed this outcome."

EMIYA pointed a spatula like a divine weapon. "And breakfast is getting cold."

I stared at them all.

This ridiculous, overwhelming, impossible family.

And I couldn't help it.

I laughed. Quiet. Warm. Real.

"We survived gods," I murmured. "We can survive paperwork."

Brockton Bay screamed again outside.
And inside, someone turned on a radio playing cheerful café music over Servant chaos.

I breathed in.

Home.

Not peace.
Not safety.
But home.

For the first time since Romani vanished into starlight, that felt enough.

 

[Nephthys8079]

I woke up to birdsong that wasn't birdsong.
Too melodic. Too… orchestrated. Like some composer in the sky decided even the Pidgey needed rhythm.

The smell hit next—damp grass and something sweet, almost like Pecha blossoms after rain. My pillow was a patch of soft clover. My blanket? The warm fur of an Arcanine who was looking down at me with the exact expression my cat used whenever I overslept: relief, then immediate judgment.

"…Arcy?" I whispered.
The big dog huffed, tail sweeping the ground hard enough to make the dirt puff.

I blinked at him, then the landscape around us—rolling green pastures, a white-painted ranch house in the distance, fences stretching toward a blue horizon, and somewhere far off, the glint of water. The sunlight was too bright, too clear, like it'd been polished.

I sat up slowly. "Okay," I said, tasting disbelief. "Either I'm dreaming, dead, or Nintendo finally perfected neural VR."

Arcanine barked once. Loudly.
It echoed.

No headset. No HUD. Just the wind and the smell of real, actual grass.

Then movement—a flash of red and silver from the nearby fence line. My Scizor stood there, wings twitching, eyes scanning the perimeter like an armed security drone in bug form. Next to him, a Togekiss floated lazily, cooing at the sunrise. A herd of Rapidash grazed by the lake, their manes flickering but somehow not burning the grass.

And that's when my brain decided to break properly.

"All of you?" I croaked.

Something chirped from behind. I turned—and the ground actually shook as my Garchomp rose from where it had been curled up like a sleeping shark. A dozen other shapes followed: Lucario, Roserade, Gardevoir, Incineroar, Noivern, even my Eevee—who jumped straight into my lap like it had been waiting for me to notice.

I buried my face in its fur, laughing and crying at the same time. "Okay, fine, universe. You win. This is either the best dream or the weirdest isekai ever."

The Eevee licked my nose. Definitely real.


---

The ranch house was stocked—neat, minimal, rustic. My name, Alice, was even written on a letter left on the kitchen table.

> Welcome home, Trainer.



That was it. No sender, no explanation. Just my name, a set of keys, and the faint scent of Oran-berry tea.

"Well that's not ominous at all," I muttered.

Arcanine trotted in through the door I hadn't realized was open. Togekiss followed, its wings brushing the ceiling. Somehow the place felt built for them—high beams, wide rooms, doors big enough for a Snorlax.

I ran my hand along the smooth wooden counter, half expecting it to flicker like a hologram. It didn't. I looked out the window—Garchomp was stretching, Lucario meditating, and Scizor was… bullying a tree stump for training purposes.

It hit me like a tidal wave.

These weren't code and polygons anymore. They were alive. My partners, every last one of them, breathing and moving and existing in a world that felt more vivid than anything I'd known.

And somehow, they were all looking to me for direction.

"Alright," I said, voice trembling but determined. "If this is real, then we'll live it. No freak-outs, no panicking. Just—explore, figure out where we are, and not break any laws of physics in the process."

Eevee barked supportively.


---

The first day blurred into motion.

We fixed the old corral fence. I found a shed full of neatly arranged Pokéfood ingredients. Lucario helped me carry water barrels, Arcanine kept unwanted wilds at bay, and Roserade turned every path into a perfumed walkway.

By afternoon, the sun painted everything gold. I sat on the porch with a cup of tea (bless whoever left that kettle), Eevee curled in my lap, and Togekiss floating lazily overhead.

"This doesn't make sense," I told the air. "Pokémon worlds aren't supposed to be real. But I can feel the warmth, the wind, the weight of my team."

Lucario's voice brushed my mind, soft but distinct: Reality is what you perceive, Alice. This world is no illusion.

I blinked at him. "Okay, you can talk now. That's… fine. Totally fine."

He tilted his head. You are afraid.

"Terrified," I admitted. "But I think I love it, too."

He smiled the faintest smile. Then it will be a good journey.


---

Evening came.

I decided to walk to the nearby ridge, hoping to spot civilization—or at least something familiar. Garchomp paced beside me, wings slicing through the orange glow of sunset.

From the top of the hill, the world unfurled. Fields, lakes, forests, and—far to the north—twin peaks wrapped in snow. Recognition sparked.

"Mt. Coronet," I whispered. "I'm in Sinnoh."

The realization sent a shiver through me. Sinnoh. The land of myths, of Dialga and Palkia, of stories older than memory.

Below, a dirt road wound through the valley. And there—figures moving along it.

A boy in a red cap and vest, a blue-haired girl with a white beanie, and a tall guy with spiky brown hair carrying a frying pan like it was holy relic.

I froze. My breath caught.

"No way," I murmured.

The boy pointed up the hill, clearly having noticed the silhouette of a Garchomp against the sunset. His voice carried faintly on the wind—bright, eager, unmistakable.

"Whoa! A Garchomp! Maybe it's a wild one!"

The girl shaded her eyes. "Ash, wait—look, there's someone with it!"

Three sets of eyes turned toward me as they approached, curiosity and excitement shining in the dusk.

Eevee perked up on my shoulder. Arcanine growled softly at my side, protective but calm.

And just like that, the world of TV screens and game cartridges stepped out of imagination and into my life.

I took a deep breath, heart hammering, and smiled faintly. "Guess it's time to introduce myself."

---

Ash was the first to reach the hilltop, as expected.
He didn't slow down until he was standing just a few paces away, looking up at Garchomp like he'd just found the world's coolest shiny Pokémon.

"Wow!" he breathed. "I've never seen a Garchomp this close before! You must be really strong—look at those fins!"

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or the dragon, but Garchomp rumbled with pride anyway.

Dawn caught up, panting lightly, while Brock trudged up behind her, calm and observant. For half a second, it felt like I'd stepped into a rerun that decided to become three-dimensional.

"Hey there!" Ash grinned, hands on his cap. "I'm Ash! This is Pikachu!"

"Pika!"

The little electric mouse chirped, tail flicking. I had to bite back the completely inappropriate urge to squeal. Pikachu looked even softer in person—like static and sunshine wrapped in fur.

Dawn smiled politely, brushing her bangs aside. "And I'm Dawn. You're… not from around here, are you?"

I blinked, then laughed softly. "You could say that. Name's Alice."

Brock nodded, his gaze flicking from my Lucario to my Arcanine to the Garchomp behind me. "Those are some impressive Pokémon, Alice. You a regional Champion or something?"

"Oh, I'm not that important," I said quickly. "Just… someone who really loves raising Pokémon. Got a ranch nearby."

Dawn's eyes widened. "You have a ranch? Like, an actual one?"

I gestured toward the valley. "Down that way, past the line of birch trees. Big white house, fences, lake. Kind of hard to miss."

Ash whistled. "That sounds awesome! You must take care of a ton of Pokémon!"

"Yeah," I said softly, smiling at the understatement. "You could say that."

Lucario stepped forward slightly, bowing his head. They are good-hearted, he murmured in my mind, and I relaxed.

"Would you like to come see it?" I offered. "You've been traveling all day, right? I've got extra rooms and plenty of food for both humans and Pokémon."

Brock's expression turned thoughtful. "That's generous of you. Are you sure it's no trouble?"

"None at all," I said. "It'll be nice to have company. The place feels a little too quiet sometimes."

Ash's grin lit up his whole face. "Then it's settled! Thanks, Alice!"

Pikachu gave a happy "Pika!" and leapt onto his shoulder again.

---

We walked together as the last light faded. Dawn and I fell into step beside each other while the guys trailed behind, chatting about training routines. She was curious but polite, the way I remembered her from the show—bubbly but considerate.

"So, where are you from?" she asked. "You don't sound like you're from Sinnoh."

I hesitated. "A long way away. Different world, you could say."

She laughed, assuming it was a joke. "Oh, like Johto?"

"Something like that," I said with a smile.

She nodded and went on about contests and her current traveling plans, the rhythm of her voice soothing in its normalcy. For a while, I could almost forget how impossible everything around me was.

Then we crested the final hill, and the ranch came into view—glowing warm under the lanterns I'd lit earlier. Togekiss circled lazily overhead, Roserade tending to the flower beds, and Scizor standing sentry at the gate.

Dawn gasped. "It's beautiful."

"Whoa," Ash said, stopping in his tracks. "You weren't kidding, Alice! This place is huge!"

Brock looked genuinely impressed. "You maintain all this yourself?"

"With a little help," I said, as Lucario and Arcanine flanked me like silent proof.

Pikachu and Eevee eyed each other curiously, then started sniffing noses before playfully batting at each other's tails. The sight made something in my chest loosen.

Maybe this world wasn't a dream. Maybe it was home now.

---

Dinner was surprisingly normal—instant curry mix from Brock's supplies and a few added ingredients from my kitchen. The Pokémon gathered outside the house in little clusters, watching the stars come out.

Ash talked about his latest Gym Battle with Maylene, excitement in every word. Dawn chimed in with her contest plans for Hearthome City, while Brock made careful notes about new ingredients and flavor combinations he wanted to try.

I mostly listened, smiling, soaking it all in—the cadence of their voices, the laughter, the easy camaraderie.

"So what about you?" Ash asked suddenly. "What's your goal as a Trainer, Alice?"

I froze. No one had ever asked me that before. Not even back home.

"I…" I glanced toward the window, where my Garchomp and Togekiss were quietly watching the night sky together. "I guess I just want to see it all. The world, the people, every wild place I can find. I want to understand what it means to live alongside Pokémon instead of just training them."

Brock nodded approvingly. "That's a noble goal."

Dawn smiled. "You sound like a real adventurer."

Ash leaned forward, grinning. "That's awesome! Maybe we can travel together sometime—you've got so many cool Pokémon!"

I laughed. "Maybe. But for now, you should all get some rest. I'll show you around the ranch in the morning."

---

Later that night, after everyone had turned in—Ash snoring softly on the couch, Dawn curled under a borrowed quilt, Brock already out cold—I stood on the porch, watching the stars scatter like spilled glitter.

Lucario stood beside me, silent sentinel as always.

You are content, he observed.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "For the first time in a long while."

Then rest, he said. Tomorrow, your journey begins anew.

I smiled faintly, glancing back at the sleeping forms inside and the peaceful shapes of my Pokémon outside.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Tomorrow."

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of dawn-to-come.

 

[Nephthys8079]

Lucario stayed with me long after the stars thickened and the night air grew cold. The house behind us was quiet except for the faint creak of old wood and the rhythmic, familiar sound of someone snoring—Ash, without question. Fireflies drifted low across the pasture, their glow sliding over the still shapes of sleeping Pokémon scattered across the fields. Even Garchomp's silhouette, restless by nature, looked peaceful under the moonlight.

I leaned against the porch post, arms wrapped around myself. "You know, I never thought I'd see this for real. A place like this. The world I used to just… watch."

Lucario's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. You belong more easily than you think, he murmured, voice brushing against my thoughts like a calm tide.

I smiled faintly. "I hope so."

When I finally went inside, Ash had half-rolled off the couch, Pikachu sprawled across his chest. Dawn was curled by the hearth with Piplup tucked beneath her arm. Brock, in the recliner, still held a pen and a half-finished recipe note. I pulled a spare blanket over him before heading to my room.

Sleep came quickly.

Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains in honeyed lines. For a few seconds I didn't remember where I was, until a low, rumbling roar from outside—Garchomp stretching—set the walls trembling.

Eevee bounded onto my bed, tail wagging hard enough to thump my ribs.

"Good morning to you too," I laughed as it licked my cheek.

The smell of eggs and Sitrus fruit drifted through the air. In the kitchen Brock was already at the stove, humming cheerfully.

"Morning, Alice," he greeted without turning. "Hope you don't mind. Figured I'd start breakfast."

"Mind? I might never let you leave."

He chuckled, flipping a pan with impossible grace. "I've cooked in worse kitchens. You've got great ventilation, by the way."

Out the window I spotted Ash and Pikachu doing sprints between fence posts. Dawn brushed her hair on the porch steps, muttering about humidity and Piplup's sense of humor.

I joined them outside, coffee mug warming my hands.

"Morning!" Ash called. "Your ranch is awesome! Pikachu and I ran laps around the lake—there's wild Pokémon everywhere!"

"Just make sure not to scare the locals," I warned, nodding toward a few Bidoof peeking from the tall grass.

"Got it!" He grinned, hair sticking every which way.

Dawn stretched, sunlight catching the pink highlights in her hair. "This place feels so calm. Like it's somewhere Pokémon just want to be."

"That's the idea," I said. "It's their home as much as mine."

Brock appeared in the doorway with a tray of plates. "Breakfast's ready!"

Chaos followed. Ash inhaled food faster than I thought safe; Dawn scolded him; Pikachu and Eevee ended up sharing a bowl; Brock laughed and kept refilling everyone's portions. My heart felt impossibly full watching them.

Afterward I took the dishes down to the stream with Lucario's help. Dawn tagged along, curiosity bright in her eyes.

"You really live here alone?" she asked, rinsing a plate in the cold water.

"Until last night, yeah."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

"Sometimes," I admitted. "But maybe not anymore."

She smiled softly. "Then we'll make sure it doesn't."

We walked back through grass still damp with dew. Several of my Pokémon were stirring near the stables—Roserade tending the flower beds, Arcanine shaking its mane, and a cluster of Riolu chasing each other around the pond. Flygon glided overhead, wings humming against the breeze.

Ash's shout pulled our attention toward the corral. "Whoa, is that a Tyranitar?! That's awesome!"

Sure enough, my Tyranitar was helping move hay bales with gentle precision, watched by a group of curious Staravia.

"Yup," I said. "He's the gentle giant type."

Ash's grin widened. "You've gotta battle me! Pikachu versus anyone you want!"

Brock coughed. "Ash, maybe start smaller than that."

Ash rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Okay, maybe not Tyranitar."

I chuckled. "Maybe later. Let's see if your reflexes survived those laps first."

He brightened instantly. "Deal!"

For the next hour, the ranch hummed with easy activity. Dawn and Roserade replanted some overgrown bulbs. Brock knelt beside my berry plots, lecturing a fascinated Leafeon about soil acidity. Ash and I set up a simple ring near the lake using rope and fence posts. Lucario observed quietly while Pikachu stretched and limbered up.

The morning sun rose higher, painting everything gold. I called out to a nearby field where a sleek Infernape was warming up with deliberate punches. "You up for a friendly match?"

Infernape turned, eyes blazing with enthusiasm, and gave a sharp nod.

Ash whooped. "Yes! That's perfect!"

"Remember," I warned, "we're keeping this clean—no full power, no major burns."

Ash grinned, already crouched in anticipation. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Lucario stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed. Try not to burn down your new friendships, he said dryly.

"No promises," I muttered, and Ash laughed as if he'd heard.

Pikachu's cheeks crackled with restrained electricity. Infernape's flames flared at its wrists, bright but controlled.

"Ready?" Brock called, stepping into the referee role instinctively.

"Ready!" Ash shouted.

"Let's make it a good one," I said.

Brock raised his arm. "Battle begin!"

The moment Brock's hand dropped, Pikachu darted forward in a flash of gold. His feet barely touched the ground, movement smooth and precise—Ash's years of training distilled into instinct.

"Infernape, Mach Punch!"

My partner lunged, fist igniting in a crimson blur. The impact cracked through the air like thunder when the two met mid-charge—Pikachu deflecting with Iron Tail, sparks scattering like molten stars.

The ground quivered under their combined strength. I could feel the vibration through my boots.

"Don't let up! Thunderbolt, go!"

Ash's voice rang sharp, commanding. Pikachu flipped back and unleashed a bolt so bright it burned through the morning sun.

"Infernape, Flame Wheel!"

He spun into a blazing sphere, the electricity arcing across his flames as he rolled through the attack. The collision sent shockwaves rippling through the grass. Heat brushed my face, tinged with the metallic bite of ozone.

"Whoa," I breathed.

Lucario's voice hummed at the edge of my thoughts. They're well matched. This will not stay simple for long.

"Good," I whispered. "Let's make it interesting."

Ash called again—"Quick Attack, now!"—and Pikachu blurred sideways, trying to flank. But Infernape anticipated the move, pivoting mid-roll and slamming a fist into the ground. Dust exploded upward in a fiery curtain.

Pikachu burst through it, singed but grinning. "Pika!"

Infernape's answering grin was pure mischief. He swept his arm in a wide arc, scattering embers that sizzled harmlessly across the ring.

"Keep your guard up!" I warned.

Ash pointed. "Iron Tail again, aim low!"

Pikachu ducked under the next swing, tail glowing white-hot as it struck Infernape's ankle. The hit was clean—enough to knock him slightly off balance.

I clenched my jaw. "Counter with Close Combat!"

Infernape roared, flames flaring as he launched into a dizzying series of punches and kicks. Pikachu dodged and weaved, impossibly agile, but one glancing blow connected, sending him tumbling backward through the grass.

"Pikachu!"

Ash's shout cut through the haze. Pikachu landed on all fours, sparks still dancing off his fur. His eyes burned with determination, tail twitching.

"Not bad," I murmured, heart pounding. "You two really don't back down."

Lucario's presence flickered again—amusement this time. You sound surprised.

"I'm not. Just impressed."

Ash clenched his fist. "Okay, buddy—let's finish this with Volt Tackle!"

Electricity surged around Pikachu, golden and wild.

"Infernape—Blast Burn, but hold it until he's close!"

Both of them launched forward. Pikachu became a streak of lightning; Infernape, a comet of flame.

When they collided, the world went white.

The explosion rolled across the lake like a living roar. I threw my arm up to shield my eyes as wind and heat tore through the clearing. The fenceposts rattled, birds scattered from the trees, and somewhere behind me, Tyranitar grumbled disapprovingly.

As the dust began to settle, I could just make out two shapes—both crouched low, panting, but smiling.

Then Pikachu fell back with a little "chu…" and Infernape dropped to one knee, chest heaving.

Brock raised an arm. "Both Pokémon unable to continue! It's a draw!"

The air was thick with silence for a moment, broken only by the chirp of a distant Starly.

Then Ash laughed—loud, joyful, unguarded. "That was awesome!"

I exhaled, relief flooding through me. "Yeah," I said softly. "It really was."

I jogged over as Pikachu climbed weakly onto Ash's shoulder. He rubbed its cheek affectionately. "You did great, buddy."

Infernape met my gaze, eyes still burning faintly with pride. I knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You were amazing, too."

He gave a tired but satisfied huff, flames dimming to embers.

Brock and Dawn joined us, both smiling. "That was one for the books," Brock said. "I don't think I've seen a friendlier slugfest in years."

Dawn crouched by Pikachu and Infernape, offering each a berry from her pouch. "You two are incredible," she said. "I couldn't even see half those moves."

Lucario stepped forward, placing a paw on Infernape's back, and a faint glow spread across both of them—gentle healing aura.

I smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

He inclined his head. You push them hard, but with care. They respect that.

"Guess that means I'm doing something right."

Ash looked at me, his grin softer now. "You really know how to handle your Pokémon. You've got trust between you—that's rare."

"Coming from you, that means a lot," I admitted.

The afternoon light shifted golden across the ranch, the earlier tension dissolving into easy warmth. Around us, my Pokémon had gathered—watching, murmuring, some clapping their paws or tails in approval. Even Garchomp rumbled low, a sound that might've been laughter.

I turned back toward the lake, wind brushing through the reeds. For the first time since waking up in this world, I didn't just feel like I was part of it. I was.

Ash stretched his arms over his head. "So, Alice, what's next?"

I smiled. "Lunch first. Then… maybe we take a walk. I've got a whole world to show you."

Dawn brightened. "Exploring? Count me in!"

Brock laughed. "Only if I get to pack snacks."

As they followed me back toward the house, Lucario fell into step beside me. You enjoyed that more than you expected.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It reminded me why I wanted to be here in the first place."

He tilted his head. To battle?

"No," I said, smiling as I watched the sunlight glint off the lake. "To live."

---

Lunch smelled like summer—herbs, roasted vegetables, and the faint sweetness of Oran-berry glaze Brock had somehow improvised out of my pantry. By the time we were done, even Garchomp looked half-asleep in the shade.

Ash leaned back against the porch rail, patting his stomach. "You could open a café, Brock."

"Already taken under consideration," Brock said with mock solemnity, packing away the dishes. "But first I need to find a place with an oven that doesn't hiss at me."

"That's just Rotom," I said. "He gets jealous when someone else uses the stove."

From inside, a light electrical crackle answered me. Everyone laughed.

When the sun started dipping past noon, I whistled sharply, and the air around the ranch stirred. Dozens of shapes answered—wings, tails, soft pads on grass. Not all nine hundred, of course; many stayed scattered across the hills or dozing in the barns. But enough came to make the ground hum with quiet life.

"Who's coming exploring?" I called.

Instantly, hands—or claws—shot up. Lucario, of course. Eevee leapt onto my shoulder before I could blink. Roserade waved a vine lazily, and Flygon swooped overhead with a cheerful trill. From the far fence, a pair of Riolu scampered over, chattering with excitement. Behind them lumbered Torterra, whose back garden rustled as a sleepy Combee colony buzzed awake.

Ash grinned. "This is gonna be awesome."

We took the east path that wound toward the forest ridge, the air warm and fragrant with blooming clover. Pikachu rode on Ash's shoulder; Dawn walked beside me, fingers brushing the tops of the grass. Brock brought up the rear with a small field kit slung over his shoulder.

The forest greeted us with the cool hush of shade and the earthy scent of moss. Light filtered through the canopy in shifting golds and greens. I'd been here before, briefly, but it felt different now—with voices, footsteps, laughter echoing off the trees.

Eevee perked up suddenly and jumped from my shoulder to the ground, sniffing the air. "Find something?" I asked.

A soft yip, then she darted forward. We followed until the trees opened into a clearing ringed by wildflowers. A small stream cut through the middle, and at the edge, a family of Buneary watched us warily.

Dawn gasped. "They're adorable!"

"Easy," I murmured. Roserade stepped forward, kneeling to offer a gentle scent from one of her blooms. The Buneary hesitated, then hopped closer, curiosity overcoming fear. Within minutes, Piplup and the Riolu were playing tag with them through the flowers.

Ash laughed. "You've got a natural talent for this, Alice."

"I cheat," I said. "They trust the others first."

Lucario tilted his head. Trust spreads faster than scent, if it's genuine.

"Is that your version of a compliment?" I asked. He didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

We stayed there for a while, just existing—watching sunlight dance on water, listening to soft laughter and the rustle of Pokémon moving through the underbrush. It was the kind of moment that didn't need words.

Then a sharp cry split the calm.

Flygon swooped low, wings beating hard. "Flygon!"

I turned instantly. "What is it?"

He circled once, gesturing toward the far trees. I caught a faint shimmer of light through the leaves—unnatural, flickering.

Ash's grin faltered. "That didn't look like sunlight."

We moved cautiously toward it. The deeper we went, the thicker the air felt—charged, like before a storm. Lucario's aura sensors twitched.

"It's… not dangerous," he said slowly, "but strong."

When we stepped into another clearing, we found the source. A wild Metagross lay half-submerged in the riverbank, one leg twisted awkwardly beneath it. The metallic sheen of its body was marred with scorch marks.

"Oh, no," Dawn whispered. "It's hurt."

I dropped to my knees beside it, hands brushing the cool metal. Its single red eye flickered weakly. "Hey, easy. We've got you."

Lucario knelt opposite me, eyes closed, aura flowing gently over the wounded Pokémon. Severe strain. Burn from an electrical discharge… recently.

"Maybe a territorial fight," Brock guessed, already pulling out salve and bandages suited for Steel-types. "Or a lightning strike."

Ash crouched down, frowning. "We can help, right?"

"Yeah," I said firmly. "We're not leaving it like this."

Between Brock's skill and Lucario's healing focus, the damage stabilized. The river water hissed softly as it cooled the still-warm metal. Slowly, the red light behind Metagross's eyes brightened again.

It lifted its head slightly, regarding us in silence. Then, with visible effort, it pushed itself upright. The ground trembled faintly under its weight.

"You're safe," I said quietly. "Take your time."

Metagross gave a low, rumbling tone—less a growl, more a statement—and looked directly at me. Something in that gaze felt… recognizing. Not familiarity, exactly, but connection.

Lucario's voice brushed my thoughts. It senses your intent. It may wish to stay.

I blinked. "Stay? Here?"

The Steel-type let out a soft metallic click, as if confirming it.

Ash beamed. "Looks like you just made another friend!"

I couldn't help smiling. "Guess I did."

We walked back to the ranch under the lengthening shadows of evening. Metagross followed at a measured pace, steps thudding quietly on the dirt path. The Riolu took turns peeking from behind Lucario's legs, half-in awe.

When the ranch came into view again, the sunset had set the fields aflame with orange light. The Pokémon who'd stayed behind perked up instantly at the sight of the newcomer. Garchomp rumbled a greeting from across the pasture, and Metagross answered with a low hum that vibrated through the air.

Ash stretched, hands behind his head. "Not bad for a first day."

"Not bad at all," I agreed.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I looked out across the valley—at the silhouettes of my Pokémon, at my friends laughing on the porch, at the faint spark of starlight beginning to bloom overhead.

For once, I didn't feel like someone who'd fallen into another world.
I felt like someone who'd finally arrived.

Lucario glanced toward me. Satisfied?

"For today," I said, smiling. "But tomorrow's just getting started."

 

[Nephthys8079]

Taylor Hebert wasn't supposed to be awake. Not at this hour, not in this season, and definitely not dragging herself through Brockton Bay's fog like some ghost that hadn't realized it was dead yet.

Morning clung to everything like wet wool—heavy, gray, slightly sour. The kind of air that made you wish you'd stayed in bed, except her house wasn't really a place you rested, not anymore. Not with all that empty space her dad didn't quite know how to fill.

She took the long route toward the boardwalk. Habit more than intention. Her brain liked predictable paths even when her life didn't.

Then—warmth.

Not emotional warmth. Not the comforting kind. This was sharp and quick and utterly out of place, like someone flicked a lighter inside her shoes.

Taylor froze. "What…?"

A second pulse hit, crawling up from her heels to her calves—a hot, electric ripple that made her knees nearly give out. Not pain. Just heat with purpose, which might've been worse.

Before she could even swear properly, the world kicked.

A burst—small, violent, shockingly bright—erupted from beneath her feet.

And Taylor flew.

Actually flew, though "flailed like a collapsing scarecrow" would've been a more accurate description. She landed several feet back with a thud that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs.

For a few seconds she just lay there, staring at the foggy sky, trying to decide if this counted as a hallucination or some new brand of catastrophe.

The smell reached her first: burnt rubber. Her boots had two ugly, charred holes near the heels, edges still smoking.

"Oh, come on," she groaned, pushing herself upright. "Really? My shoes?"

Her legs buzzed—no, hummed—with leftover heat. Energy. Something alive and restless. She pressed her palm to her ankle and jerked at how warm her own skin was.

This wasn't normal.
This wasn't even Cape-normal.

She should run. Or scream. Or… something smarter than just standing there looking confused.

But instead—maybe because she was tired of feeling powerless, or maybe because she'd hit her limit on weird for the year—she thought, What happens if I try it again?

The answer arrived instantly.

Her body tightened, muscles coiling on instinct she didn't know she had, and then—

FWUMP.

Fire—thin, blue-tinted, impossibly controlled—blasted downward from her heels, propelling her up in a sharp arc that sent her heart slamming into her ribs.

She landed crooked, skidding across damp boards, swallowing a startled laugh that came out more like a messy cough.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Okay. That… happened."

Taylor stared at her feet. At the faint wisps of heat rising from her ruined boots. At her trembling hands, which couldn't decide if they were terrified or thrilled.

Whatever this was, it hadn't been a fluke.

A spark had taken root in her.
A dangerous, impossible spark.

And for the first time in months—maybe longer—something in her chest flickered with it.

Not hope exactly.
Just… motion.

Like the universe had shoved her forward and whispered, Move.

And hell, maybe she would.

For a minute—maybe two, maybe ten; time got slippery—Taylor just stood there on the warped boardwalk, hunched slightly, waiting for the heat to fade or the adrenaline to crash or for someone to step out of the mist and tell her she'd imagined all of it.

Nothing happened.

Brockton Bay, in its usual uncaring fashion, simply breathed around her: distant traffic muttering, gulls shrieking like they were arguing over trash, one rusted lamppost buzzing with that sickly yellow flicker. The world stayed normal. She was the part that wasn't.

Her heel twitched. A small, involuntary jump of muscle. Not dangerous—just enough movement to send a faint, warm pulse through her calf.

It felt like… pressure. Or potential. Like the moment right before a sneeze, except somehow in her bones.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "We're not doing that again."
A lie. She could hear it in her own voice.

Her hands hovered awkwardly in front of her, fingers trembling. She had no idea where to put them. What to guard. What to expect.

This wasn't how powers were supposed to start, right?
She'd read the PHO stories—everyone had—but she wasn't supposed to be one of those kids. Trigger events were big, catastrophic, horrifying. Life-or-death stuff. Not… random mornings on the boardwalk while she was avoiding her house and her own reflection.

But then again, nothing in her life had gone the "supposed to" route.

Heat curled around her ankles again, subtle this time. Almost gentle. Like a warning breath before a wildfire.

Taylor bit down on the urge to panic. Hard. "Stop it," she muttered at her own legs, because apparently that was the level she'd reached now—arguing with body parts. "I am not launching myself into the bay."

Her foot twitched again.

"Oh, come on—"

She hopped back instinctively, but the motion fed whatever energy simmered inside her. A sharp spark cracked the air—tiny, but real enough to make her gasp and nearly trip over herself.

It wasn't a blast this time. Just a small surge, like a match flaring then dying. Still enough to confirm one awful truth:

This wasn't going away.

Taylor crouched, bracing her palms on her thighs as she tried to breathe through the panic swelling in her chest.
She counted her breaths.
It didn't help.

Her thoughts pinballed wildly—Dad's going to notice, I can't walk home like this, my boots are ruined, what if it happens in public, what if someone sees, what if the Protectorate shows up, what if—what if—

A sudden gust from the bay rolled over her, cool and salty, grounding her just enough to think.

She needed a mirror. Or a quiet space. Or—no, not the house. She couldn't handle the look on her dad's face if something else "went wrong."

Behind the boardwalk, a narrow service alley branched off toward the warehouse district—mostly abandoned this early, forgotten by everyone but raccoons and taggers. The kind of place you could disappear for a few minutes.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Just… walk. Don't think. Just walk."

She stepped carefully, testing her weight, half expecting another burst.

Nothing.
Another step.
Still nothing.

Her pulse eased the tiniest amount—enough to feel foolish for hoping—but then she reached the end of the boardwalk, stepped off the last plank—

And a flash of heat flickered under her heel, a warning spark—

"Not here," she hissed, clenching her fists. "Not—here—"

She pulled her leg in, held her breath, and somehow—barely—suppressed the surge. The heat receded like a frustrated wave.

Taylor sagged forward, exhaling shakily. "Okay. So I can control it. Maybe. Kind of."

It wasn't much. But it was something.

Still trembling, she ducked into the alley, its cold concrete and peeling graffiti swallowing her up like she'd stepped backstage from her own life.

There, finally out of sight, she pressed her back against the wall, slid down until she was sitting, and let herself really feel the truth:

She had powers.
Not bugs. Not anything she'd heard rumors about.
Something hot and volatile and entirely her own.

And God help her—she didn't know if she was more terrified of what it meant…

…or what it might let her do.

 

[Nephthys8079]

The room smelled like someone had tried to cover vomit with bleach and given up halfway. The stink clung to the back of Taylor's throat, thick and sour. The plastic mattress squeaked every time he breathed. The sheet was damp with old sweat and stuck to his legs.

One fluorescent tube overhead flickered and buzzed, throwing a sickly white light that made everything look dirty. The heart monitor beeped too loud, too fast. The IV line in the back of his left hand itched under the tape.

He hurt everywhere, but the worst was the line of stitches low across his stomach. Every breath pulled at them. When he shifted, something warm and wet spread under the thick gauze pad.

His legs moved under the sheet. Something heavy rolled against his left thigh and kept rolling, thick and long even soft, the weight settling against his knee. The hospital pants were pulled so tight the waistband cut into his hips. He stared at the ridge under the thin blanket and felt his face go hot.

Locker. Hands shoving. Door slamming. Darkness. The smell. The pain. Then a voice—not his—flat and tired:
"Fine. One more world."

Then nothing until now.

He closed his eyes and reached for… something. Anything.

Blackness poured out of his skin. Cool, weightless, like smoke that didn't need air. It slid across the sheet, pooled around his hips, wrapped his wrist when he thought about it wrapping. It moved before he finished the thought.

The door opened without a sound.

She stepped in barefoot. Tall. Long golden-blonde hair hanging straight to her waist, catching the flickering light. Pointed ears. Skin perfect. Blue eyes locked on him immediately. She wore the same paper gown, sleeves rolled up, hem riding high on her thighs.

The shadows surged toward her and curled around her ankles like they belonged there.

She shut the door. Click.

Then she bowed—deep, smooth, hair spilling forward.

"Lord Shadow," she said, voice quiet, certain. "You've returned."

Taylor's heart slammed against his ribs. The monitor screamed.

He ripped the clip off his finger. Silence crashed down.

He stared at her. Mouth dry.

She straightened. Waited.

"I'm Taylor Hebert," he rasped. "I don't know you. I don't know what that is." He nodded at the shadows still crawling over the bed. "I was in a locker. They locked me in a locker full of… stuff. I passed out. I woke up like this."

Alpha's expression didn't change. Just a small, patient nod.

"You traded the memories for a new beginning," she said softly. "The power stayed. The oath stayed. We stayed."

Taylor laughed once—short, cracked, disbelieving. "Power? Nobody gets powers from… from that. That's not how it works. People get hit by cars or whatever and wake up heroes. Not—" He gestured weakly at the black smoke coiling around his arm and then down at the impossible bulge straining the pants. "Not this."

Alpha stepped closer. The shadows climbed her legs, affectionate.

"The world lies," she said simply. "You know that already."

Taylor's hand pressed the bandage. Fresh blood seeped between his fingers, warm and sticky.

"I'm bleeding," he muttered. "I'm fifteen. I'm nobody."

"You're bleeding because the vessel was reforged," she answered. "Stronger. You're fifteen because this world starts you young. And you're never nobody again."

She was right beside the bed now. Close enough he could smell faint rain and steel in her hair.

Taylor looked up at her—at the absolute certainty in those blue eyes—and felt something inside him waver.

"I can't even stand," he said.

Alpha slid under his arm without asking. Strong. Warm. She took his weight like he weighed nothing.

"First step," she murmured. "Then clothes. Then we leave."

Taylor leaned on her because his legs shook. Bare feet hit cold linoleum. The heavy weight between his legs swung forward and smacked his shin. He hissed.

Alpha steadied him.

Outside in the hallway, a nurse's sneakers squeaked past, slow and tired.

Inside the room, the shadows thickened, cool and quiet, hiding the blood and the fear.

Taylor took one shaky step toward the door.

One step was enough for now.

(This seem any better?)

 

[Jerrylothy]

Taylor Hebert wasn't supposed to be awake. Not at this hour, not in this season, and definitely not dragging herself through Brockton Bay's fog like some ghost that hadn't realized it was dead yet.

Click to shrink...

Oh boy! It's adolla time!