My name is Angel, and i decided to create this blog to write Pokémon fics!
But not just any Pokémon fics!
Ones about the relationship that a *Pokémon and their trainer (the reader) has!
I've been apart of the Pokémon fandom ever since i was a kid, sitting on the carpet watching Indigo League, and as much as i loved battles i wanted to see more of what the day-to-day lives of Pokémon trainers who choose not to battle, and just live their lives with their Pokémon partners by their side! :)
Requests can include all kinds of things!
It can be the small moments, like giving them a bath, taking them on a walk, or visiting a café!
Have any Pokémon that you'd like to see me write about? Feel free to request!
It can even be a Pokémon that you own in-game! But if that's the case, it would make it easier for me to write up the request if you can give me your Pokémons (nick)name, personality etc - anything you'd like to see in the fic! :)
*obviously it's a platonic relationship/friendship between the Pokémon and it's trainer, please don't request anything weird or creepy
(note: none of these are shippy, I can make a shippy one)
"The Trewyn Show" by Quiet_Writes_Glark
- focus on Ingo and Emmet
- vibes like The Truman Show, WandaVision, and SCP Foundation
- existential horror
- ongoing
"Foxfall" series (written collaboratively)
- focus on Ingo, Volo, Akari, and Rei
- MASSIVE worldbuilding and lore expansion
- MASSIVE ensemble cast
- Arceus is unfathomably eldritch
- Giratina talks like a tumblr user
- ongoing, 3/5 fics complete
"Lucifer" by kuruk
- second-person Giratina backstory, events of Platinum, and Dawn
- written in 2011 and still fantastic
- I always cry at the end
- complete
"History Is Not Done With Us Yet, My Friend" series by UnsuspectingYandere
- immortal!Volo, non-specific PLA protagonist, and Cynthia
- Arceus really fucked up
- Volo redemption
- ongoing, 4/5 fics complete
"Please can I be colorful and free?" by Alienea, Juan_Pujol_Garcia
- villain Volo, naive eldritch Giratina, Emmet makes a deal with Arceus
- HEED THE WARNINGS
- eventual happy ending
- complete
"That's the Spirit!" by NullenVoid
- Danny Phantom meets Giratina, ends up in Alola
- singlehandedly ignited my Pokemon-PLA-Giratina fixation
- Danny gets the support and acceptance he DESERVES
- ongoing
"If That Sun Won't Rise On Our Horizon" series by Hramn_Thorne
- focus on Akari and Giratina
- no villain AU, good Giratina, manipulative Arceus
- Hisui and then Unova
- ongoing, 1/4 fics complete
"Arden's Sinnoh-matic Universe" series by Arden Caelum
- focus on Lucas and Dialga
- all the godlike pokemon have human forms
- set during DPPt but PLA is haunting the narrative
- ongoing, 1/3 fics complete
The Shinx playing with a string? Lady Sneasler playing with a string? precious
Worrying about what your Growlithe is eating? classic
Murkrow preening itself? they gotta
Akari's Shinx puts its butt always in her face and then it flops on its back and takes half of the bedding for itself. And the stretch in the morning plus the leg shake. It feeling lazy and lying in her way, causing her to stumble over it. Ten minutes of washing its face after a meal.
Shinx is adorable one moment and in the next it licks its butt.
ennui /ɒnˈwiː/ n. a gripping listlessness or melancholy caused by boredom; depression.
Anger did a lot to deaden a person to their surroundings. At least, that was Flint’s impression when he finally noticed where his pacing had taken him.
It said more about his current emotional state than he’d care to admit, that he’d wandered this way on reflex. His first impulse was to keep walking, let the fatigue gradually creep in until he no longer had the energy to feel.
Does this conversation have a point?
What are you doing here?
“The hell if I know,” Flint sighed, as he pushed open the door, and let himself in.
But he needed answers.
Personally, Flint had always liked the café, if for no other reason than how obnoxiously its rustic vibe clashed with the rest of Sunyshore’s aesthetic. The barrels and weathered floorboards wouldn’t have looked out of place somewhere pastoral—Solaceon came to mind—but the effect was jarring. He suspected the dissonance had been somewhat intentional.
The Houndoom lounging below the window barely reacted to Flint’s presence, beyond a cursory glance in his direction. Not all that surprising, given the gray streaks on his muzzle.
“It’s been a while, Dante.” The Houndoom dropped his chin back onto his paws, a cracked eye tracking Flint’s movements without any particular sense of urgency. “I don’t suppose your owner’s around?”
Dante yawned, and flicked his barbed tail in the direction of the kitchen.
Right on cue. The mahogany door swung on its hinges as a familiar figure stepped past, a stack of plates balanced (a bit precariously) in his arms. “We’re still eighty-six on the half-and-half,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just toss the heavy cream and milk in a pitcher for now. We can update the inventory later—”
“I’ll take a coffee, when you have a second,” Flint said.
The Proprietor’s head whipped around.
Flint leaned against the bar counter. “Glad to see the hairline’s still receding, old man.”
“‘Old man.’” The Proprietor let out a huff, as he strode behind the bar and began shelving the dishes. “I’m sixty-two, not dead, you insolent punk. They haven’t buried me yet.”
“Give it time.”
They held each other’s gaze.
The Proprietor was the first to cave. His lip twitched, before widening into a grin. “It’s good to see you, Flint.”
“Same.”
“What was it you said, a coffee?” He ducked below the counter. The telltale clink of ceramic was followed by him resurfacing a moment later, a mug in hand. “I’ve got a pot brewing in the back. Let me guess, the usual?” He didn’t bother waiting for a response as he retreated toward the kitchen. “Give me a second. Sit, pull up a chair. You know the drill.”
Flint waited until he disappeared into the back, before his smile wavered. The stool creaked as he sank onto it. Without the fear of an audience, Flint capitulated, and buried his face in his arms.
He was almost tempted to ask that he substitute the coffee for something stronger. Almost.
“Sorry for the wait.” Only when the sandwich and chips were slid across the counter did Flint grudgingly resurface. A carafe was unceremoniously plunked next to it, before the Proprietor wove around the counter.
“I didn’t forget about you.” Dante hauled himself up onto his haunches as a plate was set in front of him. “The brisket’s already seared, so don’t get any ideas. I’m not wasting another fire extinguisher because you like your meat charred.”
The Houndoom made a low, gravelly noise of assent, as he pulled the plate closer with his paws. The second the Proprietor had his back turned, he dipped his head, and exhaled a small jet of flame.
“Now, since you’re here”—he circled back behind the bar, and retrieved the carafe—“I’d appreciate a favor.” Thick wisps of steam curled above the mug as he poured. “If you’re going to be loitering in my establishment, then you’re volunteering as a test subject. I need a second opinion before I add it to the menu.”
“Not sure if I should be flattered, or offended.” In spite of himself, Flint peered at the foam with some interest. “What’s this poison called?”
“Komala roast,” he said. His glasses were starting to fog. “It’s an Alolan import, though for the life of me I can’t remember which island it was harvested from.”
“Maybe it’s the one with the Komalas on it.”
He slid the drink in front of him. “Less talking, more drinking.”
Flint picked up the mug, and squinted at its contents. “Do you think they roast the Komalas while they’re still alive, or do they—”
“Drink, or I’m throwing you out.”
He decided not to call his bluff. With a shrug, Flint lifted it to his face, and cautiously took a sip.
The Proprietor watched him with connoisseurial scrutiny. “And?” he prompted.
“Mellow, but not in a bad way,” said Flint. “There’s a lingering sweetness to it, if that makes any sense.” He went to take another sip.
“That would be the low acidity.” The Proprietor relocated the carafe to the back shelf. “The coffee beans lose some of the bitterness when they’re fermented in their intestines.”
Flint spat the drink back into his cup.
He could hear the Proprietor still laughing as he coughed over the edge of the counter. “Why’d you think they call it Komala coffee?”
It took a few seconds to compose himself, before Flint pushed the offending beverage out of his vicinity. “You know, I think I would have preferred if you actually poisoned me.” He glowered. “You’re going to lose customers if you add that to the menu.”
“Never underestimate the consumer’s love for novelty.” From somewhere on his person, he’d produced a rag, and begun polishing a glass. “Besides, I have your personal testimony. Mellow with a lingering sweetness. Sounds like a good sales pitch, don’t you think?”
“Please don’t quote me on that.”
“Fine, fine. Rob me of business.” He exchanged the glass for a tumbler. “Speaking of which, what brings you to Sunyshore?”
Did the League send you? Or did you volunteer?
The basket liner crinkled as Flint picked at a chip. “Why is it,” he asked, without looking up, “that I’m only just now hearing about these blackouts?”
“Ah.” The tumbler let out a dull thud as it was placed on the counter, and set aside. “I wondered when you would catch wind of them.”
The Proprietor cleared his throat.
“The first outage was pretty minor, all things considered. It only knocked out the Gym and a couple of nearby buildings. No one complained since the damage was negligible, and we figured it was an accident. Second one was a bit more inconvenient—everything within sixteen blocks of the Gym lost power. Annoying, sure, but the engineers had it fixed in two hours, so why fuss?” He snorted. “You know what people around here are like—they worship Volkner.”
It wasn’t as if Volkner had his reputation for nothing, although Flint kept that comment to himself. “What about now?”
“Now I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s pissed off half the city. Their tolerance is evaporating, and I can’t say I blame them.” His lips thinned. “The last outage caused some of the perishables in my walk-in to go bad. The only reason I didn’t lose more is because I triaged what was left, and cooked it before it could spoil.”
Flint opened his mouth to—what, apologize on his friend’s behalf?—only to stop, when he began to toy with that loose strand of logic. “How the hell did you cook if you had no power?”
To which the Proprietor jerked a thumb toward the corner, where his Houndoom was still demolishing the (now burnt) brisket. “Dante’s fire easily tops six hundred and fifty degrees. He’s a furnace with legs.”
Dante snorted, as he tore off another strip.
“None of this is adding up,” Flint muttered, half to himself. “This isn’t like Volkner.” His brow furrowed, as he studied the wood grains in the counter. Looking for a pattern that wasn't there. “Has he said anything when he comes by? Anything that seemed off?”
“Flint.” The Proprietor braced his arms against the counter, and leaned forward. “Volkner hasn’t been here in weeks.”
Flint jerked up. “What?”
“You heard me.” There was an unmistakable frustration permeating his movements, as he returned to polishing the glassware. “Trying to get a hold of him has been like pulling teeth. I can’t just demand an audience with him at the Gym, and I work late hours as it is. I’ve tried calling, but—”
“He’s ignoring your calls,” Flint finished. If he’d had an appetite before, it was long gone.
The Proprietor’s cleaning lost some of its intensity. “Were you able to talk to him?”
“Briefly.” One of the privileges of his title, as a member of the Elite Four. One which Flint despised having to invoke. “Not that it was a productive conversation. He pretty much kicked me out.”
“Figures,” he said under his breath. “He’s avoiding us, you realize.”
He did. But it didn’t exactly assuage his concerns.
“This is ridiculous,” Flint said, when the gap in conversation began to stretch uncomfortably long. “First the blackouts, and now this? And his staff are on edge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that I walked in as they were about to stage a mutiny.”
To his surprise, the Proprietor scoffed. “Well, what did you expect? I’d be on edge too if my boss’s boss showed up at my job to inspect my workplace. Like it or not, you represent the League. They probably thought you were there to shut the place down for non-compliance, since the Gym hasn’t handed out a badge in over a month.”
A chill crept down his spine.
The stool protested as Flint sat back. “What do you mean,” he repeated, slowly, “that the Gym hasn’t been handing out badges?”
The Proprietor registered the shift in tone, and set the rag down, with a look of renewed consideration. “You didn’t hear?”
Flint shook his head.
“I don’t know all the details,” he began. “But word is, Volkner’s been destroying anyone that comes to fight him. I’ve had a few trainers swing by after their matches. It’s the same story, over and over.”
It was expected that some challengers wouldn’t succeed on their first try. But none?
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Flint said. “Is he not adjusting team line-ups between matches? He’s not pitting low-tier trainers against the roster he reserves for seventh- and eighth-badge fights, is he? Why would—”
The Proprietor held up his hands. “Like I said, I don’t know the details. That’s just what I’ve heard from gossip.”
Flint was quiet for a moment. “What else have you heard?”
“Well, I haven’t been able to verify it,” the Proprietor said, “but some folks have said that Volkner’s been hanging out at the lighthouse in his downtime. Apparently, he’s been going there to brood.”
Flint scowled. “Volkner doesn’t brood.”
The Proprietor silently peered over the rim of his shades, and Flint fought the impulse to shift under his stare. He wondered, a little distantly, if he hadn’t made that comment specifically to gauge how he would react.
The chair legs scraped over the floorboards, as Flint stood. “Thanks for lunch.”
While unsurprised, the Proprietor did frown in disapproval. “You didn’t even touch your food.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Just give it to Dante or something.”
At the sound of his name, Dante looked up from the bone he’d been gnawing on. He didn’t appear to object to the idea.
“What do I owe you for lunch?” he asked.
At that, the Proprietor barked a laugh. “Flint, you haven’t paid for so much as a ketchup packet in fifteen years. Don’t insult me by asking now.” He waved the question aside. “It’s on the house.”
Flint smiled, a bit humorlessly. “Thanks.”
The bell above the door chimed as it closed behind him.
Late afternoon sunlight gilded the boats and rocky spurs that jutted from the harbor. The view from the elevator had always been impressive, regardless of the time of day.
As the lift ascended, Flint found himself wishing he could have enjoyed it.
When he dismounted, he was relieved to find the gallery room empty. At least he wouldn’t have an audience for what was about to come.
The door slid on its tracks as Flint pushed it aside, and stepped out onto the deck.
The Proprietor’s sources weren’t mistaken, as much as Flint would have preferred otherwise. Volkner was leaning into the railing, his back turned. Either he didn’t notice—or more likely, didn’t care about—the intrusion. Flint cycled through several false starts as he approached, debating which would be the most effective—
Until he caught Volkner’s face.
“Since when do you smoke?” Volkner tilted his head at the question, enough to watch him out of his periphery. He didn’t answer, though. The smoke that billowed up around his face didn’t have time to linger, before the wind dispersed it.
Flint frowned. “I thought you hated those things.”
The tip glowed, and Volkner exhaled.
He folded his arms over his chest. “How did the two o’clock match go?” he asked instead.
Volkner shrugged. “Dull.”
“Out of curiosity”—the metal bar dug into his shoulder as Flint reclined against it, one hand loosely braced for support—“did you deny this trainer a badge, too?”
“I can’t deny a person something that they didn’t earn.” He tapped the cigarette against the railing. “They lost.”
“To you?” Flint asked. “Or to your Electivire?”
It was subtle, but Flint didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed. “To my mid-level team,” he answered. “I’m not gatekeeping my Gym badge, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“But you expect me to believe that every challenger, regardless of their badge count, keeps losing to you?”
The cigarette was becoming pinched in the middle where Volkner was holding it. “There’s nothing I can do about mediocre trainers. If you’re disappointed by the prospect of no League challengers next season, then get used to it.” He took a drag, and sighed. “I did.”
The stunned silence didn’t last long. His knuckles began to ache as Flint’s grip on the railing tightened. “I’m not disappointed by inadequate trainers.” He pushed away from it—and this time, Volkner watched. “I’m disappointed by you.”
Volkner’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you have any idea what kind of damage you could’ve caused?” Flint jabbed a finger at the harbor. “This lighthouse we’re standing in? It’s the only thing that keeps ships from hitting those rocks down there, and because of you, it didn’t work. You don’t get the right to endanger people just because you’re bored and don’t want to do your job!”
“I am doing my job!” The venom caught Flint off-guard. “I’ve been doing it. For years, in fact, meeting every fucking expectation the League ever had for me. If you have an issue with how I run my Gym, Flint—”
Volkner closed the distance between them.
“—then do something about it.”
He blew a cloud of smoke in his face.
The adrenaline hit a second before Flint’s thoughts caught up to him. Volkner grunted as Flint slammed him against the lighthouse wall, a hand fisted in his shirt collar.
The other man didn’t struggle. If anything, the hand that had reflexively grabbed his own wrist slackened. Volkner winced, but managed to meet Flint’s eyes. The anger in them was gone, as if it had never been there.
“If you’re going to hit me,” he said, quietly, “then get it over with.”
Volkner dropped like a dead weight as Flint released him.
He didn’t stop to check if he was okay. Flint spun on his heel, and left, not once looking back.
ennui /ɒnˈwiː/ n. a gripping listlessness or melancholy caused by boredom; depression.
Somewhere overhead, a Wingull cried.
Flocks of the small white birds circled above, visible in the gaps of sky that Flint could glimpse from below the walkways.
He would have denied the accusation, once, but Flint suspected that he was becoming sentimental. Not that he couldn’t appreciate the rest of Sinnoh’s beaches—all glittering water and long, uninterrupted stretches of sand—but Sunyshore’s geography really was a sight unparalleled. The tidepools and stark, jagged rocks that dominated the southeastern coasts were rather breathtaking.
Bone-breaking, too. Flint paused to watch as another wave slammed into the cliffs, sending up a spray of brine.
The area was signposted, although that did little to deter the locals from training here. The hospital and Pokémon Center were something of a revolving door for the idiots that persisted.
Flint still had the scars to prove it.
Another patch of shadow fell over him as he passed under the skywalk. The bulk of the foot traffic was confined to the actual modules, since the infrastructure was nearly as much of a tourist attraction as the lighthouse and markets were. Any other time, he would have taken the paths on the upper level.
Flint lingered under the bridge, waiting until the group above him passed, before he resumed.
Avoiding crowds was something of a necessity this time around. Regrettably, his presence also counted as a tourist attraction, and anonymity was hard to come by.
Not that he was complaining, but…
As Flint neared one of the support columns, he came to a stop.
…he had a job to do.
The technicians repairing the module hadn’t noticed him yet. They were preoccupied with installing the new panel into the frame, as a Machoke steadied it for them. Another crew member was doing something with the inverter mounted to the column—rewiring, by the looks of it. Flint had never been tech savvy, and he wasn’t about to start pretending now.
It would have been an otherwise mundane sight, if he didn’t have context for it.
“Routine maintenance?” The technician glanced up as Flint approached.
“I wish.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “It’d be easier if we gutted it and just replaced the whole thing, but management wants us to try and salvage it first.”
“How bad is the damage?”
The technician scowled at the inverter. “Bad enough that I’m going to be at this for the next five hours.”
Flint leaned against the column. “The solar grid can’t handle a blackout?” he asked.
“It can. There are redundancies in place for that sort of thing.” The technician popped open another panel, and peered at the cables running through it. “But repeated stress wears the entire system down. It wasn’t built with consecutive power failures in mind.”
“‘Consecutive’?” Flint straightened. “I thought it was just one outage.”
“You must be from outta town.” The technician didn’t bother looking his way. “That’s the third blackout this month.”
Flint would have been lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, as he stood before the Gym doors.
Outwardly, the building looked no different than it did since his last visit. Nothing to suggest that it had been the culprit behind the power failure.
One of several power failures, apparently.
Not for the first time, he would have appreciated a hint. Something, at least, to help make sense of what he was walking into. The better part of his flight yesterday had been spent perseverating over a reason, and after nine hours, he’d ruled out everything practical. Flint finally gave up around the time sleep deprivation was starting to kick in, and he’d begun entertaining the idea of elaborate Rube Goldberg machines, or enthusiastic raves.
Flint sighed.
He was stalling, and he knew it.
With little enthusiasm, he moved past the sliding doors, and stepped inside.
His first, incorrect impression—as the doors shut behind him, and he froze on the lobby threshold—was that he’d entered the wrong building.
It was still, for all intents and purposes, a Gym. But not one he recognized. The reception area looked like it had been given a recent facelift. “Expensive-looking” was the first thought that came to mind, but “upgraded” was probably more accurate.
Volkner’s handiwork, no doubt.
The receptionist glanced up from the monitor as he neared the desk. “Good afternoon, and welcome to the Sunyshore Gym.”
“Afternoon.” Flint inclined his head. “I’m here to see Leader Volkner.”
“Do you have an appointment scheduled with him today?”
“Last-second visit, I’m afraid.”
The receptionist furrowed her brow. “I’m very sorry, sir, but any meetings or battles with the Gym leader are through prior booking.”
New hire, if Flint had to assume. Usually his reputation preceded him with most Gym crowds.
“That won’t be a problem.” He reached into his back pocket, and held out his license. The receptionist accepted it with an expression that looked no less skeptical than it had a second ago. “I try not to drop in unannounced, but it’s a long flight between here and the League.”
The words registered at the same time she read the name printed on the card. Her eyes widened a fraction, before darting back up to him.
He smiled, not without a hint of amusement. “Any chance I could have a chat with him?”
Strangely, the request seemed to put her on edge. She returned his license, but didn’t quite meet his gaze. “Of course.” She stepped out from behind the desk. “If you’ll follow me…”
It wasn’t a particularly long walk, but it was informative. The overall layout of the building was still familiar, but as Flint was lead down the hall, he spotted more evidence of renovations. Machinery, for the most part. A classroom with its door ajar held something that resembled a scaled-down version of a PC terminal. Elsewhere, they passed a room which emitted a soft, ambient hum.
If the change in scenery was unsettling, it paled next to the reception from the Gym staff. Flint recognized a handful of the resident trainers, though when he waved, they didn’t return the gesture. The tension was palpable, and it followed in his wake.
He wasn’t left with much time to dwell on that particular development, before the receptionist halted at the end of the corridor.
“He’s in here.” Again, she refused to look his way. “I’ll be at the front desk if you need anything.”
“It’s appreciated.”
The receptionist hesitated. She opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something else, before clearly deciding against it. Her footsteps echoed as she hurried back toward the reception area.
Well. No point in waiting.
Gingerly, he turned the handle, and let himself in.
It was a space that Flint was acquainted with, though—judging by the scattered tools—it looked like it had seen an uptick in recent use. Volkner’s workshop was something of a glorified janitor’s closet that he had commandeered shortly after his promotion to leader. No one had ever protested, since his side hobbies generally benefitted the Gym.
Though going by his staff’s newfound jumpiness, Flint wondered if that hadn’t changed.
It took a second to actually spot Volkner. Half of Volkner, technically. His torso was obscured beneath a rather menacing-looking generator.
“Jordan, pass me the solder.” His Raichu pawed through the toolkit as a burst of orange light illuminated the underside. “The silver-tin alloy, not the zinc.”
His pronged tail flicked in response.
Jordan emerged with the spool clutched in his paws. He went to hand it off to his trainer, only to freeze when he caught sight of Flint.
His eyes lit up, and his back legs braced.
With a muffled grunt Flint managed to catch him, before he could properly tackle him to the floor. The Raichu let out a soft, pleased noise as he tried to burrow his face into his shoulder.
At least someone was happy to see him.
Careful not to dislodge him (it was cute and all, but Jordan wasn’t a thirteen-pound Pikachu anymore), Flint plucked the solder from his hand, and crouched next to the generator. Evidently none the wiser, Volkner took the spool when Flint held it out.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Flint.
There was a satisfying bang as Volkner smacked his head.
Something scuffed against the floor tile. Flint moved out of the way as the wheeled platform rolled back, and Volkner surfaced from underneath. He was sans his signature jacket and down to the black, sleeveless undershirt. It was impossible to make out his face beneath the welding mask, though by the way he scrubbed at his forehead, Flint could take a guess.
“Flint?” Volkner set the blowtorch down next to him. “What are you doing here?”
He rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you, too.”
Flint didn’t miss the huff under his breath. His hands skated up the back of his neck, as he undid the clasps, and slid the visor from his face.
If Flint felt tired, then Volkner looked exhausted.
There was a dark, discolored quality to his face, not helped in the least by how much thinner it was. His expression wavered between several different emotions—they passed too quickly for Flint to accurately gauge them—before settling on impassive.
Jordan squirmed in his arms, and Flint obligingly lowered him to the ground. He shoved his now-vacant hands in his pockets. “I see you’ve been redecorating.”
Volkner didn’t comment. Merely watched him through half-lidded eyes.
Flint nodded to the generator behind him. “Something extremely dangerous, I hope?”
That managed to elicit a reaction from him (even if it was mild exasperation). Volkner shucked off his welding gloves on a nearby cart, and stood. “Close,” he said. “It’s a docking station, of sorts. The prototype, at any rate.”
“What's it supposed to charge?”
“Electric-types.” Jordan’s ears folded back as Volkner rested a hand on his head, and lightly scratched. “Most species that are electrogenic aren’t actually immune to incoming charges. Only a handful of Pokémon can safely absorb them—Jolteon, Electivire…” He frowned. “I was trying to figure out how to replicate the effect, so it could be applied to other species. It could have possible electrotherapeutic benefits, too, but…” Volkner combed a hand through his hair. “Repairing this is going to take a while. It got fried during the power outage.”
“So I heard,” Flint said.
Volkner stiffened.
“I also heard that you were responsible for them. All three of them.” Some of the anger crept back into his voice, as Flint’s stare hardened. “You mind telling me what that’s about?”
Volkner seemed to be struggling for an immediate response. Eventually, his jaw snapped shut, and he bent to retrieve his tools. “I take it this isn’t a social visit.”
“Would you actually care if it was?” Flint asked. “I’d find that hard to believe, since you haven’t answered your damn phone in weeks.”
Jordan dutifully pitched in and began returning equipment to its rightful place. Volkner didn’t lift his head, as he continued to reorganize the toolkit. “Did the League send you? Or did you volunteer?”
It might have sounded accusatory, were it not for the flat tone.
“That’s not the point.” Flint watched as Volkner inspected a wire brush, and thumbed over the bristles. Flakes of rust drifted to the floor. He made a displeased sound in the back of his throat, before placing it in the container. “Your Gym knocked out the entire network.”
There was a subtle shift in his posture; a tightness that coiled in his spine. “That wasn’t intentional.”
“I’m sure that’s a real comfort to everyone who lost power.”
Volkner had the audacity to shrug.
An unpleasant burning sensation lodged itself firmly in his gut. Flint pressed a palm to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing it to subside. The accompanying exhale didn’t help much. “If it were a one-off thing,” he muttered, “fine. But after a certain point, you must have realized there was a correlation. And that maybe it was time to call it quits.” Flint narrowed his eyes. “Since when are you this careless?”
Pride had always been one of Volkner’s touchier subjects. At minimum, Flint expected that comment to annoy him.
Volkner didn’t even react.
There was a chisel near his foot. Jordan went to reach for it, only to skitter backward as Flint stepped on it with his sandal. He scooped up the errant tool, inspecting it. “Is any of this actually necessary?” he asked.
His hands slowed. “…It’s useful,” he conceded.
“More useful than a working solar grid?”
Volkner’s reply was blunt. “Does this conversation have a point?”
Flint’s fingers dug into the chisel. He was half tempted to throw it at him. “You tell me.”
The floorspace had been marshaled back into some semblance of order. Nearly, anyway, Volkner was just now realizing, as he scanned the toolkit, and then the surrounding tiles. At last he glanced back over his shoulder, only to blink at the chisel still in Flint’s grip.
He stood, and held out a hand.
Flint absently continued to study it. “Improvements are nice and all, but they shouldn’t be coming at the expense of everything else. Surely, there’s a better way for you to be doing this.” He arched a brow, with an air of deliberate nonchalance. “Though for the life of me, I can’t figure out where you’re finding the free time to be doing all of these projects. You’d think being Gym leader would keep you busy.”
The silence was deafening.
A sudden, nagging suspicion began to creep in. Flint met his gaze, searching. “Volkner,” he said. “When was the last time you—”
“Excuse me? Volkner?”
The receptionist stood in the doorway, a clipboard tucked under her arm. Every word looked like it was being forcibly dragged out of her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but—you have a battle scheduled with a challenger at three o’clock. You need to start getting ready.”
Volkner shut his eyes. “Did they clear their preliminary match?”
“They’re currently getting set up. Preston should be finished shortly.”
“Fine.” Volkner sighed. Though he directed his words at her, his eyes never once left Flint. “We’re done here, anyway. Have them meet me in the main arena in fifteen minutes.”
“Of course.”
The receptionist fled as quickly as professionalism would allow.
Volkner didn’t budge. He continued to regard Flint expectantly, the hand still hovering between them. His eyes narrowed.
With slightly more force than necessary, Flint slapped the chisel into his palm.
Volkner tossed it over his shoulder into the open toolkit, and left without another word.
Jordan started to bound after him, only to stop, and hover in the doorway. The Raichu’s tail curled around his back legs as his head sank between his shoulders. He fixed Flint with wet, black eyes, before—rather dejectedly—following on the heels of his trainer.
It took a minute before he finally forced himself to move. Stiffly, Flint exited the room, and headed back toward the lobby.
It was the first time he’d ever seen resignation on Volkner’s face.
ennui /ɒnˈwiː/ n. a gripping listlessness or melancholy caused by boredom; depression.
“You wanted to see me?”
Lily of the Valley Island wasn’t a secluded place by any means. Even in the lull between tournament seasons, the city was regularly inundated by locals and tourists. Not to the same claustrophobic degree as the actual competition, but enough that the more paranoid folks tended to keep a close eye on their wallet, lest it vanish amidst a crowd.
Of course, that could have been Flint’s childhood bias talking. The instinctive wariness of pickpockets had never quite faded with age.
Cynthia didn’t acknowledge him as he approached, though at the question, she redirected her gaze from the escarpment below. Dense swaths of foliage lined the cliffs where they descended toward the city, and beyond, the bleach-white sand. If Flint squinted, he could just barely make out the shapes of people and Pokémon milling about the streets.
“I did.” She waited until Flint moved to her side before she continued: “I’m sorry for the abruptness. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”
Flint shrugged. “A spar with Aaron, but that can be rescheduled.” It might have been less inconvenient if she had requested they meet in her office, rather than some remote trail an hour’s hike from the city. But tact (and the knowledge that she signed his paychecks) waylaid that particular comment. Flint settled on a more diplomatic reply. “I don’t mind. It’s a nice day.”
There was a look in Cynthia’s eyes, a shrewdness he was a bit too familiar with. “It is a nice day,” she agreed, in a vague, pleasant sort of tone. A pause, before she gestured with her hand. “Would you take a walk with me?”
Flint recognized the invitation for the tacit order that it was; one which he was smart enough not to decline. “As you like.”
Cynthia’s smile widened a fraction. Her hair fanned out behind her as she turned and set off down the footpath at an easy stroll, not waiting to see if he’d follow. Flint did, of course, falling in step beside her a moment later.
The humidity was oppressive. Not that Flint was particularly bothered by it—heat was sort of an occupational hazard when you trained Fire-types—but he could feel the combined weight of heat and water vapor starting to seep into his collar. If Cynthia minded, it didn’t show on her face. The gradual downturn of her lips, as she studied the path with a faraway expression—that he did notice.
Curiosity was beginning to overtake his sense of apprehension. Flint fisted his hands in his pockets, and let out a low whoosh of air. “So. What is it that you don’t want anyone to overhear?”
The smile briefly flickered across her face, if a little subdued. “I am sorry for the inconvenience,” she said, at last. “I wouldn’t waste your time on something that wasn’t important.”
“Figured. Wouldn’t call this a waste of my time, either.” Flint rolled his shoulder. “Off-the-books isn’t usually your style.”
Cynthia regarded him out of her periphery. “Under normal circumstances, no. But I’d prefer to handle this informally, not through official channels.”
Flint suppressed a snort. “Less paperwork to file?”
Cynthia’s pace slowed. “Less a chance of damaging someone’s career,” she murmured.
He raised a brow, but didn’t comment.
“It’s a little sudden,” she said, as she brushed a strand of hair from her face, “but I’d like you to conduct an investigation for me, regarding one of the Gyms. Ideally within the next day or two, but the sooner you’re able to depart, the better.”
That piqued his interest.
“Not that I’m objecting”—not that Flint really could; contractual obligations and such—“but isn’t that the sort of thing you usually send Lucian to handle?”
Cynthia lapsed into momentary silence. He got the impression that she was choosing her words rather carefully. “And if I sent Lucian, he would handle the matter as he usually does, would he not?”
Flint winced. “Right,” he muttered. “Off-the-books.”
Cynthia nodded. “Right now, I need discretion.” Her eyes slid shut. “Not that I would blame Lucian, given the circumstances.”
Cryptic wasn’t really her style, either, and it was starting to chafe his patience.
“If things were different,” Cynthia continued, very pointedly cutting him across before he could interrupt, “I would go myself. But I think your presence is needed over mine.”
“Can I at least know where you’re sending me?” Flint asked.
Abruptly, Cynthia stopped and turned to face him. She held his gaze, unbothered by the glare he leveled at her.
“Sunyshore,” she said.
The reply shocked him into silence.
It took longer than Flint would’ve liked to remember how to string words together. When he finally did, they were halting. “Is something wrong with Volkner?”
By way of explanation, Cynthia reached into the folds of her black coat. “Two days ago, there was a massive city-wide blackout. As I understand it, the overload not only took out the grid, but it disabled the city’s backup generator. It took six hours for the engineers to get it under control.” Flint was unresisting as she passed him the tablet, and his eyes darted over the screen. Assessment of PV System Activity. “When they eventually isolated the source, it was the Sunyshore Gym. Since then, twelve different residents have filed complaints with the League.”
—due to sudden, significant drop in voltage. Electric-type Pokémon were temporarily dispatched to supplement power to critical systems, until tie-line with another network was established—
Reluctantly, Flint pulled his attention away from the report. “How many people in the League know about this?”
“Two.” Cynthia folded her arms behind her back. “And both of them are standing right here.”
His frown deepened. “How has the committee not found out?”
“I was able to intercept the complaints. For now, I’d like to keep it that way. As for your other question…” Cynthia sighed. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Only when his fingers started to hurt did Flint register his grip on the tablet. He glanced back down at the screen, as if it could somehow provide him the clarity he lacked. “Why would his Gym be draining that much power?”
“That’s what I'd like you to find out.” The sea breeze whipped her hair as she faced the cliffside. “Sunyshore supplies electricity to every city east of Mount Coronet. If another outage like this happens, half the region could go dark.” She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “When was the last time you spoke to Volkner?”
She had an uncanny talent for making someone feel like she was dissecting them with her gaze. If nothing else, it made him all the more vividly aware of the shirt now sticking to his back. “Four months ago, give or take. I was visiting some family back home, and we decided to catch up. Grab lunch.”
Cynthia made a noncommittal noise. “Nothing seemed out of the ordinary?”
“Not that I could tell,” he admitted. If she was disappointed by that answer, she gave no indication of it. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls recently, but I chalked that up to him being busy.”
A deep, uncomfortable silence descended between them.
“Volkner has held his position for years,” Cynthia said, almost to herself. “Nearly a decade without an incident. If I hadn’t read the report with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
It was irrational, and Flint knew she would never, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that Cynthia was somehow blaming him for whatever this was. A small, mutinous part of him wondered if he wasn’t projecting.
His jaw tightened, as he forced out a breath that did nothing to put him at ease. “What do you need me to do?”
“Talk to him. Find out why this happened.” Her eyes narrowed against the wind. “Incidents like this are seldom accidents. Nor are they isolated. This can’t become a pattern.”
Flint gave a sharp nod.
“I can keep this hushed for now, but not indefinitely. The committee will eventually notice if there are more severe outages. More complaints. They won’t take kindly to a trainer—let alone a member of the League—causing damage on this scale.” She turned the full weight of her stare onto him. “You understand what I’m saying, Flint.”
License revocation.
Flint tried not to dwell on the unpleasant thoughts those words conjured. “I do.”
“Good.” She accepted the tablet as he handed it back to her. “Since this is rather time sensitive, I’d like you to leave as soon as you can. Flying would be the fastest option. You’re welcome to borrow my Togekiss.”
“Give me an hour to pack, and I’ll take you up on it.” He went to move away, only to still when Cynthia rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I know you’re upset.” Her expression softened. “And I know he’s your friend. Keep me posted, and I’ll do what I can.”
Several different things occurred to him that he could say, none of them remotely helpful or reassuring.
When words eventually failed him, Flint shut his jaw with an audible click of teeth. The best he could manage was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as he politely extricated himself from her touch. Not waiting to see her reaction, he turned on his heel and started to backtrack as quickly as the uneven terrain would allow.
“I’m here to pick you up,” The man said somewhat shyly as he revealed the flowers. She smiled and tenderly picked them up only for her Jumpluff to latch onto them. “Ah, Hope, no!” He winced, watching her snuggle into the bouquet.
Y/N could only laugh at her partner and gently coaxed her away. “At least let us leave before you demolish them,” She teased. “Don’t mind her. She does this with every flower she sees.”
Her Yellow Florges glided over, humming happily as she handed them over. “Just make sure Hope doesn’t ruin them at least til tomorrow.”
“Flor,” The Pokemon chuckled at her trainer.
“You two behave, alright? I’ll be going now.” She followed the man out, smiling big as she looked up at him. She giggled at the saddened look on his face. “Hass, please don’t be sad.”
“I wanted you to enjoy them more.” He sighed as tears threatened to prickle at his eyes.
She hugged onto his arm, making him blush as he looked down at her. “Don’t fret. I’m a grass trainer. The fact that you brought flowers makes all of us happy.”
Hassel smiled and nodded. “I suppose it does come with the territory. Let’s go then. You said you haven’t been to Seafood Fresco, right? Their smoked filet is incredible!”
The dinner itself was uneventful, mostly just catching up with how busy they’d been with Y/N’s flower shop and Hassel’s classes, on top of the new student who recently challenged the league.
On the walk back, he blinked when she’d suddenly beamed up at him and asked, “Could we actually walk around outside of the city? The South Province is usually very beautiful on nights like this.”
“Oh? How would you know that?” She looked away nervously. “Have you been going out to get flowers at night?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you at least brought your partners along?” He teased, making her laugh as she nodded.
As he led her out, he didn’t expect the sudden gasp she let out before quickly grabbing her Pokeball. He looked over and smiled when he saw a pink Deerling minding its own business as it ate grass.
“I am going to catch it,” She whispered excitedly at him before crouching down and dipping into the grass to sneak up on it.
Hassel smiled as he watched her. This woman, who he only met because Brassius insisted that her flowers were the only ones good enough for preservation for art pieces, was astounding to him…and being targetted by a Scyther.
“Scy!” The Pokemon shouted as it jumped up as Y/N threw the Pokeball at the Deerling.
It was all too quick. “Use Icicle Crash, Baxcalibur!” Hassel ordered as he called out his partner.
The Scyther was quickly defeated as the Deerling was registered in Y/N’s RotomPhone. She cheered and snatched up the Pokeball, jumping happily before turning to Hassel. She blinked when she saw the twitching Scyther and Baxcalibur before blushing.
“Was…Was I about to be targeted?”
He nodded and started weeping with joy. “I’m s-so glab! You’re o-okay!” He sobbed, wiping his face.
Y/N smiled and patted Baxcalibur’s shoulder. “Thanks for the save,” She whispered to it. It huffed with a smirk as she approached the man. “Hass, look at me.”
He looked up, freezing when her lips met his. The kiss was sweet and slow, enough to calm his sobs as he cupped her face. “Thank you, my brave knight.”
He snorted a laugh and leaned in closely, lips brushing hers. “I will always protect you, my princess.”
–
“A new friend?” Brassius asked as he stepped in, watching the Deerling follow Florges with a pot on her back.
“Yep! Meet MJ, short for Mary Jane. What can I get you today?”
“My friend. I assume you got him at home.” Y/N’s blush made him smirk. “I’m joking…but I’m glad the date went well.”
“Thanks for introducing us.”
“Just remember, Applin’s means he’s serious.”
“Huh?”
. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .
Tabby: I LOVE THIS MAN. I wasn’t here for him. I was all Larry. But then his ANIMATION (the gif above) and JFLDJFLSK
Hi, I'm Tabby. I just really like writing horny fanfic. I write spicy and sweet content for the following:
MASTER LISTS BELOW (Check out my Archives to easily go through every post ever I've done!):
Baldur's Gate 3 Master List
Genshin Master ListZelda Master List (Part 2)
Pokemon master ListMonster Den master List
Random Fandom
(others might appear in the future so check back for more lists.)
If you wanna send in a request, please do when they're open!
I am nonbinary so my pronouns are They/Them but I write for AFAB readers mostly. Please don't be afraid to request something not on my list as I'm always looking for new content to consume!
What im NOT gonna write:
Bodily fluids like scat or piss. will do blood though!
Story Key:
🔞 = nsft
🧿= nc/dubcon
🌶️= spicy (may not get fully into it basically)
🌸= sfw content (this is a catch all for just in general things that are pretty safe)
✍🏻 = full fic
🗡️ = dark fic (could be yandere, could involve death. varies. read tags)
🏮 = monster stories
🍃 = intoxication
📖 = series in works
📕 = completed series
(Updated 1/28/2024)
Note: I don't do tag lists. No hate against them but I had done that once upon a time on a blog long ago and the tag lists broke my posts, unfortunately. Slight bit traumatized by them now.
