Pokemon ficlet
Another one for the Merry Month of Masturbation, except this one isn't explicit.
Title: Skin
Fandom: Pokemon Black/White
Character: N
Rating: PG-13
Summary: N doesn't like his human body.
Spoilers: Some for N's backstory.
Word Count: 264
Warnings: No age is given for N. He looks maybe nineteen to me, but he could be underage.
Lying in his bed at night, N thinks about who he is and who he should be. Growing up, he so seldom saw anyone that looked like him. His friends were the Pokemon who surrounded him. Even his books mostly portrayed Pokemon and their lives and friendships. But N isn't a Pokemon and he has always known this. He is human, and he has to accept that, even if it hurts.
Running his hand through his long hair, it occurs to him that he shouldn't even have these hands. He should have claws like an Excadrill, sharp daggers to keep the evils of humanity away. His hands are weak, ineffectual. No wonder people choose to let Pokemon do their fighting for them, but he will not.
Slowly, he runs his hands down his chest. He shouldn't have this thin worthless skin, either. He should have fur like an Audino, protecting him. Skin is much too vulnerable. And his friends should not have to shield his weakness.
Slowly, softly, he touches himself all over. If only he were fiery like a Darmanitan or cold like a Vanillite, he could keep everyone away. He would be just as good as his Pokemon friends, and they could all go someplace where human would never bother them. But he can't do that. He has to save them, protect them, as weak and worthless as he is.
N brushes his hand down his belly and begins to stroke himself. There is comfort here at least, and distraction. But he will never forget what he is, and what he lacks.
Title: Skin
Fandom: Pokemon Black/White
Character: N
Rating: PG-13
Summary: N doesn't like his human body.
Spoilers: Some for N's backstory.
Word Count: 264
Warnings: No age is given for N. He looks maybe nineteen to me, but he could be underage.
Lying in his bed at night, N thinks about who he is and who he should be. Growing up, he so seldom saw anyone that looked like him. His friends were the Pokemon who surrounded him. Even his books mostly portrayed Pokemon and their lives and friendships. But N isn't a Pokemon and he has always known this. He is human, and he has to accept that, even if it hurts.
Running his hand through his long hair, it occurs to him that he shouldn't even have these hands. He should have claws like an Excadrill, sharp daggers to keep the evils of humanity away. His hands are weak, ineffectual. No wonder people choose to let Pokemon do their fighting for them, but he will not.
Slowly, he runs his hands down his chest. He shouldn't have this thin worthless skin, either. He should have fur like an Audino, protecting him. Skin is much too vulnerable. And his friends should not have to shield his weakness.
Slowly, softly, he touches himself all over. If only he were fiery like a Darmanitan or cold like a Vanillite, he could keep everyone away. He would be just as good as his Pokemon friends, and they could all go someplace where human would never bother them. But he can't do that. He has to save them, protect them, as weak and worthless as he is.
N brushes his hand down his belly and begins to stroke himself. There is comfort here at least, and distraction. But he will never forget what he is, and what he lacks.