Pokémon Kink Meme pt. 1 [CLOSED FOR PROMPTS, OPEN FOR FILLS]
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the pokémon kink meme I
CLOSED FOR PROMPTS, OPEN FOR FILLS
FILLED PROMPTS (WIP)
1-SENTENCE FILLS
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At first, the boy wasn’t quite sure why anyone would want to return to the dingy little diner. After all, the sandwiches tasted like cardboard, and the service was awful. It was sort of convenient, being in the middle of Celadon City, but that was no reason to make it a daily routine.
So he really had no explanation for his recent habit of coming back every night, lounging against the patio walls, watching. Just watching.
Typically, there was nothing to watch in the empty night. But sometimes, if he was extremely lucky or just patient, a young woman in a pretty long dress would step up on the little pedestal in the corner and sing. He didn’t know if she worked there or what, but he did know that she had the voice of an angel and a face to match. The hair didn’t match, though, since angels didn’t have midnight blue hair that fell straight and long and silky…
It didn’t take him long to figure out the reason he kept coming back to that dingy little diner.
The first time she noticed him was when she fell off the stage by some misstep or by some gift of fate. He wasn’t sure either way, but he didn’t really care as she leaned on his shoulders to struggle to her feet.
With wide eyes, she said softly, “Thank you,” but before he could even manage a breath to respond, she slipped away, done with her song for the night.
Stunned and confused, he pushed his body backwards into a nearby chair (after all, there was no one else listening to her sing that evening). Then he noticed a sparkle on the ground. Curious, he bent over and picked up the thing.
An earring. The red gem matched her ruby gown for the night, but she’d already left, so what was he supposed to do? He slipped it delicately into his pocket, not wanting to mess up the little wire.
At the very least, this would give him something to speak to her about. He smiled. Somehow, this thought relieved him, more than any other thought could.
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He found her reading in the public gardens, sitting on a bench by a goldeen pond and a wall covered with trellises of ivy. Before he could do anything, though, his pokemon jumped onto the path and dashed toward her silhouette, bumping her leg like small children who can’t find their mummy and will make do with the next best thing.
To his intense fear and intimate delight, she didn’t push them away, patting the growlithe and tossing a pokeball for the raticate to play with. He watched how her eyes clouded over with happiness as they pulled her along with their fangs and their claws, wanting only to play for a few minutes.
When she fell over, they hovered with concern, but her eyes were sharp and she caught the small red symbol on the raticate’s paw.
She reached out to grab it and examine it more, but he (terrified and anticipatory, for some strange reason) darted out of nowhere and covered it, dusting the raticate off and exchanging a long, sad-and-yet-smiling glance with this girl who was quiet and yet sang more beautifully than a songbird.
“Hello,” she said, and he realized all of a sudden that maybe she wasn’t quiet, just when she was by herself reading by a goldeen pond. “You were at the diner last week, weren’t you?”
“…” he tried to speak, but it had been too long since the last time he’d spoken, and the air hit dry vocal chords. He tried again. “Yeah, I was there.”
“Well then. I have to thank you!” Her eyes darted downward, trying to decipher the symbol on his raticate, but he’d already pushed it away, and now it was playing a little ways off with his growlithe. “You helped me up. Do you have a name?”
Her voice was like fine champagne, even when she wasn’t singing, and it takes a minute to remember that, no, he doesn’t have a name any more. “Uh, no. Sorry, I can’t tell you that…”
She frowned, and he felt bad for making her sad, but it couldn’t be helped. “I guess I’ll have to think of a name for you…” she glanced away, then back with those ridiculously wide, friendly eyes. “I know! I’ll call you Prometheus.”
“Prometheus? Why?” His lips quirked upwards with amusement, but the sad lines stayed right above his eyes, right where they belonged.
“Because you’re the one… well…” Now she was the one flushing. “You’re the one who brought the fire back to my heart. The singing fire? The inspiration?”
Both of their faces looked like fire, and he replied, “That’s… that’s great, I mean…”
They chattered onward, and by the end of that conversation, he was reassured that she would want to see ‘Prometheus’ again.
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Finally, though, he decided to make his move. Walking up to her after she finished her shift, he carefully linked his arm with hers (afraid that she would break if he touched her) and led her down the street.
“We’re having a party at my work two days from now,” he told her, much more confidently than he’d said anything to her before. “Would you…”
He couldn’t finish, and she seemed to know it, because she giggled knowingly and nodded. “Of course,” she told him, smiling like the brightest sunrise.
He felt like his heart was on fire.
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She was beautiful, as usual, and together they hurried down the streets toward the festivities.
“Wow, this is… this is lovely!” she exclaimed, beacons examining the courtyard, admiring the many dancing couples and the tables upon tables of food. “It’s so elaborate.”
Neither of them saw the eyes under the veil of darkness, but at least one of them knew they were there.
He carefully led the girl - his date, he realized with a jolt - away from a scrupulously dressed lady with crimson hair and towards the center of the room. For a while they danced, but then she wanted to go and sing a little for the swaying crowd.
Though his gut told him no, he didn’t know how to tell her to be careful, and so he let go of her hand, and she disappeared. For just a little while, her voice enchanted the dancers.
Even though he wanted to let her mesmerize him the way she always did, he couldn’t let himself go. Instead, he scanned the crowd around him, and his heart sank when he saw a man with blue hair squinting back.
Where the man with blue hair went, his boss followed, and so he was never alone. And so she was never truly safe.
When she was done, she popped out from around the corner like she was trying to surprise him, and he wiped the worried grimace from his face. She didn’t need to know about the man with blue hair or his boss or the lady in red. “Did you miss me?” she asked, and they sat down with a couple of glasses of wine, trying to just enjoy the evening and pretend that everything was alright.
When it was over, he was glad that the lights on her street were out. That way, she couldn’t see the look of trepidation on his face, or the way he refused to meet her in the eye.
“I’ll see you later, won’t I, Prometheus?”
He smiled and nodded, looking away because he didn’t know what would happen, but he had a strong, sneaking suspicion.
After all, you just didn’t call attention to yourself when Team Rocket was around.
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He walked straight up to her little pedestal, that evil glint in his eye and smirk on face. He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her toward the door, jagged pull by jagged pull, fairy white skin against rough hands. He ignored her panicked protests, her lashing limbs and wide child-like eyes.
She pulled at her arm in return, anything to be free of a madman. Pulled, tugged - she was stronger than she looked - but he’d honed his grip on choking insolent grunts who didn’t know their places.
A blur of movement out of the corner of her eye. A yelp, like a wounded dog. She looked to the ground, then eyes widened in panic - it was him, the only boy in the world, her Prometheus - but he wasn’t moving.
Giovanni just pulled his lips across his teeth in pure disdain. Disgust. And then he pulled his newest songbird out into the night.
The boy struggled to his feet, wincing where Giovanni had cuffed him. A blue-haired man sitting in a nearby booth gestured to him, giving him the one-fingered beckon. “What you did was right,” the man said. “Feelings like the ones you have are natural, but they’re also foolish.”
He smiled and nodded - after all, Archer wasn’t a man to be crossed either - but at the same time, he felt a lump of hot acid burn a hole in the bottom of his stomach.
He could not forgive himself for this. Not until he could make it better.
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Giovanni wasn’t the one who fed her, though; a lady with bright red hair did that. She called herself Ariana, and the others looked at her as though she were a queen. But the little singer girl, injured and frightened as she was, couldn’t keep the disgust out of her eyes when she looked at the woman.
When Ariana noticed, she slapped her, hard, across the face. Neither of them knew that he, ‘Prometheus’, was watching from the wall.
Ariana saw him after a minute, though, hand still fresh from striking the singer down, and rushed over. “Congratulations on your promotion,” she said, nearly crushing him with a hug, and no slap could have hurt the girl on the floor more than seeing her Prometheus - the only good boy in the world - decked out in the Team Rocket uniform, an executive’s badge on his shirt.
Meanwhile, the boy had stopped going to the dingy diner. They’d hired a new singer, and her voice (angelic, lovely) just couldn’t measure up.
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Then he realized that between the glares, they only exchanged worried glances and soft words. It wasn’t hatred they shared; what was it?
The next day, Archer showed the singer girl the bodies in the alleyway. “Once you’ve got the red mark,” he said, “you’re his, no matter what happens.” His hands folded over his chest, he looked away. “They didn’t listen.”
She didn’t have the red mark yet. She wasn’t sure what this had to do with anything.
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Somehow, it had gotten caught at the bottom of his pocket. The wire, torn and bent out of shape, poked through into his flesh, and he almost didn’t bother pulling it back out. He deserved it. He’d ruined her, so it was only right that this earring would ruin him.
“Are you going to do anything?”
He looked up, but no one was there. He twisted around in confusion, but there was only…
A mirror.
He stared back at himself - sallow face, black hair and bangs over his face - and saw something new. Something in those sad, silent eyes that told him that there was something better out there than this sad, lonely existence. Something better out there than this secrecy and this fear and these stupid red symbols on his clothes and his flesh and his pokemon.
And he started running, because nothing gives you more adrenaline than realizing that you can make something right and save someone who deserves better.
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Just then, she remembered the raticate’s paw, the sad look in her boy’s eye when he knew something bad was going to happen, and suddenly -
“Hey!”
It was the only thing he knew to say (after all they’d been through, he still didn’t know her name) but it got her attention and Archer’s, but for whatever reason, his fellow executive didn’t seem upset.
Her eyes were still wide and untrusting, but something in her seemed willing to listen. “I’ll take you and run from here!” he shouted. For once, he didn’t let his fear of death and his fear of Giovanni (or were they the same thing) hold him back. “I don’t care what it takes, but I care for you. I’ll stick with you, even if it means hollowness and emptiness and dry sleepless nights…” he gasped for breath and held out his hand. “That’s what it means to protect you…”
Archer watched them go sadly. For him, this was farewell, but Giovanni didn’t believe in happy endings.
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It was a broken fairytale, though, and this prince wasn’t the kind that could give his princess the world.
They lasted three days together. Three glorious days and two dry, sleepless nights, chasing the place where the dusk met the horizon. For once, he told her everything, how his real name was Maroon and he’d come from a little bitty town on the border of Kanto and how he’d never really wanted to join Team Rocket, but by the time he’d figured out what he was getting himself into, he already had a red symbol dyed onto his forehead and it was too late.
For those three days, he was smiling without those sad lines around his eyes, and she was singing, not just because she had to, but because she could.
He was still smiling and she was still singing when a bullet tore the world apart.
It was later, when she was sobbing in her hotel bathroom and washing blood off her only dress, that she remembered the rest of Prometheus’ story. How he’d been chained to a mountain forever because he dared give fire to the world.
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She raised her son Red in a place called Pallet Town, where the sky did a mesmerizing dance with the rise and fall of the sun.
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He tugged his shirt up, just enough for ... her to see the red symbol on his hip, matching a red spark in his eye.
This is why, kiddos, you should edit your stuff before you submit it.
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