Pokémon Welcome to the World of Pokemon! (Drabble Collection/Bingo)

[Spiteful Murkrow]

Heya, swinging by for some light reading and to chip away at my authorial hitlist while dinner’s cooking in the background. I didn’t realize that you had a drabble collection story, so that sounds like a thing worth checking out a couple installments of:

[Prompt 1]

Spoiler: Line-by-Line

Murderous screeching and yowling broke the humid night air, punctuated by furious hisses in between. If one listened enough, the noise almost sounded like a feral symphony, as if twenty wild pokemon were locked in combat, dancing around each other in concert.

In reality, only two pokemon fought.

The “punctuated by” already implies “in between” since it’s saying that it’s interrupting screeching and yowling. IMO, it’s a tad redundant.

Moonlight glinted off a Seviper's blade as it slashed at a Zangoose. Snarling, Zangoose danced backwards before launching himself at his opponent and swiping, claws fully extended. The tips grazed Seviper's scales. Zangoose caught a glimpse of Seviper's crimson eyes flashing with smug satisfaction as it twisted around the attack.

Wait, wait, wait. That thing can reflect light? I wasn’t under the impression that Seviper tails were metallic, though… .-.

Zangoose landed, sides heaving and limbs trembling. A few yards away, Seviper returned his body to a cautious coil, tongue flickering rapidly and his skin pulsing with each rapid heartbeat.

Make sure to keep your pronouns for Seviper consistent there.

Seviper's eyes narrowed and flicked its tail. "Time to leave, hairball."

"Did you get so turned around you've got things backwards?" Zangoose retorted, fur fluffing. "Clearly I won. Law of combat says you scram."

Seviper:

Though I see that Pokémon apparently have an internal culture such that they can settle things with a fight without things going to the point of “one side is flatly fainted on the grass”. Even if I doubt this’ll be the end of things here.

The Seviper's eyes nearly bulged from his head. "The match was mine, rodent."

Zangoose: “Rodent?! How dare you! I’m a cat!”

Seviper: “Not according to your Pokédex category, you’re not.”

Tension crackled to life. Zangoose's body became rigid and Seviper uncoiled slightly, taking on a posture as if ready to fight. Yet both combatants showed exhaustion, despite their attempts to mask it. As if it took great effort to do so, both relaxed slightly. Slightly.

"Let's settle this tomorrow-"


"We'll resolve this next time-"

Oh, so they have a relationship, huh? :V

Both spoke at nearly the same moment, voices overlapping. Instantly they flared up again. How dare the other suggest such a notion!

"Fine! Midnight," Seviper spat the words, stabbing his blade into the air for emphasis.

Zangoose's mouth contorted and he seemed to have trouble speaking, as he had to force himself to speak. To think he had to agree with this this... "Then you'll taste defeat. Midnight."

Though unless Zangoose is meant to be internally stuttering from frustration, you only want one “this” there.

The two lingered, neither willing to leave first, until with a maddened huff, they both whipped around and raced into the night.

They’re going to start things off next time arguing over which of the two left first, aren’t they? [loltias]

A new chorus of combat began at midnight the following night. In true form, the concert lasted well into the night, until both parties were truly exhausted, battered and worn. Yet neither backed down.

"Not bad. For a spineless reptile," Zangoose sneered.

Seviper chortled. "Never knew rats could put up a fight."

Well, if these two didn’t already have a relationship, they sure seem well on their way now given that they’ve moved onto begrudging respect for each other.

A hiss and howl came together, then slowly waned. "Next week. Noon," Zangoose spoke quickly. "I'll beat you again, just like tonight." Though he'd never admit it, he wasn't quite sure he'd be ready for a fight if they did it tomorrow.

Seviper: “Excuse me? I’m still standing here while you’re trying to catch your breath, and-”

Zangoose: “Look, I won, dammit!”

"Again?" Seviper rose up, fangs bared. "Don't lie to yourself. Tonight I won."

He paused. His gaze never showed it, but relief flickered through him. Two nights in a row left him winded. Not because his opponent was good of course. Only because he'd wanted to prove how much better he was, of course.

"But if you want to lose twice, be my guest."

IMO, this paragraph of description here is enough of a departure from both of Seviper’s lines of dialogue that you should consider splitting this paragraph up.

Once again, the two split with great reluctance, vowing defeat and humiliation on the other.

This is going to keep going on for a while, isn’t it? ^^;

"Not bad. For a belly crawling reptile," Zangoose hissed.

Seviper coiled into a smug circle, raising his head to look down upon Zangoose. "Who knew four legged mon could put up a fight? You might be able to beat a baby Seviper."

Yeah, I knew it. Though the fact that one or the other hasn’t just brought along buddies to make this a group beatdown seems to imply we’ve entered the “only I can defeat you” phase.

A pause. Anger permeated the air.

"Two nights from now. To prove once and for all who the winner is." Seviper declared.

Come on, buddy, with your batting average so far, we all know how this is going to turn out.

Zangoose's tail twitched, but he stilled it. He'd been about to suggest they fight again two nights from now, to show up the worm. Whatever. "It's your funeral."

Nah, the fact that you two are both backing down instead of turning this into a fight to the death is proof that you won’t go that far.

"Hah! I'm almost impressed," chortled Seviper. He smiled, a little mockingly, then his gaze turned serious and sneering.

Zangoose stood, folding his arms. "The least pathetic display I've seen from a Seviper in awhile."

Yeah, I knew it, there.

Seviper's tail wound in slow circles. "Of course, I was going easy on you."

"I barely even tried," Zangoose replied snorting.

So… y’all are going to back up this huffing and puffing with an actual deathmatch sometime, or…?

Or, you know, you could admit that you like each other.

For a moment, neither moved, both seemingly relaxed. Then in near perfect sync, they brandished claw and blade, taking up combat stances.

Zangoose dropped to all fours, digging his claws into the dirt. "How about I show you how weak you really are. Dusk. Four nights from now, I'll destroy you."

I notice that these day intervals keep growing longer and longer here. Is there an in-character reason for these two to want them to? (e.x. Need time to recover, want extra time to practice, etc.) If so, it might make sense to reflect that in the narration a bit more explicitly.

Seviper smiled. "Did I hit you too hard on the head? I'm looking right at the only weak one here."

"Then you must be staring into a mirror!"

Seviper hissed, and Zangoose hissed back, feeling quite pleased with himself.

I’m honestly surprised that Zangoose didn’t bump up the schedule there to try and make a point to Seviper.

Two definitely sworn enemies faced each other, tired, angry and maybe a little impressed. They glared, gazes never wavering. Another tie. Though if you'd asked Zangoose, he would have insisted he'd won. Seviper would have said much the same.

I mean, the fact that you two are content to keep at this instead of raising the stakes sounds like on some level you’re aware this isn’t a clean win and okay with it, just saying.

"Tomorrow!" they growled in unison.

With matching huffs of annoyance, they once again turned away and stormed off. Thought, for a brief moment, both paused a few yards away and discreetly glanced back, only to catch the other doing the same. They shot each other dirty looks and left.

So… these two graduating onto becoming frenemies when?

"I have to say," Zangoose said, between pants. "I admire you." He took another breath. Dang. He'd still not managed to land a sound victory yet. This Seviper really was good. "Admire the way you love losing."

"And I'm impressed at the way you are so talented." Seviper stuck his tongue out at Zangoose. Of all the Zangoose he'd fought, this one was perhaps the most skilled. "Talented at lying to yourself.

Both paused.

Seriously, get a room already, you two. Though is this just what every relationship, platonic or otherwise, between Seviper and Zangoose starts out as? :V

"There's only one way to settle this then," Seviper said, continuing. He hoped the Zangoose was on the same page as him. Not that it mattered. He didn't care. At all.

"Another fight?" Zangoose said, smirking. Somewhere beneath, a real smile lingered.

"Only to prove once and for all." Seviper said, restraining the excitement from his tone.

On the one hand, I wonder if you really needed six fights to get these two to this point, on the other, this is entertaining, so I won’t knock it too much.

Any who lived or passed through that area of Hoenn's forests spoke of the constant cries of combat, of two pokemon who no doubt hated each other's guts and fought day and night to prove it. Two pokemon, determined to defeat the other. Researchers insisted that over months of observation, it was the same two pokemon, always fighting. A decades long territorial dispute, they theorized. Perhaps an ancient and fierce family rivalry.

If one was particularly observant however, they might note how this Zangoose and Seviper seemed to take delight in their sparring, as if it were a game. They would dance through combat ritualistically, neither giving ground, yet at the end of each fight, (which was always a tie), they seemed much more pleased then times when others of their species would fight each other.

See, I knew that they were forming a relationship/friendship with each other. Even if I’m sure that both sides would vehemently deny it.

One researcher posited a theory that the two had actually become friends through their fights, and met not to win, but to just hang out under the pretense of combat.

That researcher was immediately dismissed and written off as crazy.

Friends. As if.

Not least of all by the Zangoose and Seviper, I’m sure.

[Prompt 2]

Spoiler: Line-by-Line

When Trubbish came, my life stank. But how could I get rid of her? Apparently, my great aunt (whom I barely knew) put in a "special request". She was retiring and some of her Pokemon had requested to find other homes. And to my dismay, my great aunt had apparently never stopped raving about my job as a 'famous' gym trainer. (Thanks, Aunt.)

You have a duplicated word there. Though if the narrator’s life stank when Trubbish came into their life, does that mean that it stank worse afterwards, too? :^)

I wasn't even famous. I just happened to get a job there because me and Salandit were a good team. Sure, there's only two proficient Poison gyms in all of- well, anywhere. And yes, using a Salandit in battle was unusual, as was the rest of my team - a Swalot and a Haunter. But that doesn't mean I was looking to get saddled with a Trubbish.

Did you use this combination in one of your stories or something? Since this feels like a very specific species mix here.

'What's the big deal', you ask?

I'll tell you what the issue is.

There was no way I am letting a smelly trash hoarder in my house. My house is clean. And I prefer to keep it that way. What am I gonna do with a Trubbish who wants nothing but to probably eat tons of trash? And furthermore, what Trubbish would want to live in my home?

I mean, it would save you the effort of throwing out the bin every week, just saying.

Though “There’s” is ambiguous with “there is” (and the grammatically proper usage). You probably want to explicitly say “There was” here if this is a recalled event.

Yet Trubbish insisted it wanted to join me.

After the first day I was ready to call it quits. For both our sakes. Sal, Rumble and Spectra were all ok with how I liked to keep my house. This Trubbish, however didn't seem at ease in at all. She would wander about the house, looking uneasy, and I would follow. Mostly to make sure she didn't mess anything up. My meticulously organized bookshelf, my spice cabinet, or my perfectly cleaned floors.

Yeah, I can see why the trainer at first was resistant to the idea of training a Trubbish. Though again, let Trubbish clear out your bins.

I let her explore a bit. Then we did some training, which she seemed to enjoy. She was tough, and eager to give it her all. During her practice match against Sal she showed off all her moves, in some creative ways. Maybe she wanted to impress me? But battle skill or not, I wasn't sure what I was supposed do with her. My house was perfect. What could I possibly give her?

I mean, if their Swalot just eats all their food scraps… yeah, that might be some slim pickings for that Trubbish there.

At lunch, she barely ate. I tried to prepare her different pokemon foods and berries, but she only picked at them. I tried every flavor I could think of too, but she just seemed listless. I was aware that many poison and grass types synthesized energy differently than say, a fire-type, so they didn't eat as often. But she couldn't possibly eat nothing. And I was sure she had to be at least a little hungry.

I offered to try and make her other foods but she declined, so I decided to give her space. Maybe she needed to settle in. Although she emitted a faint musky odor, which meant she didn't trust me and she wasn't happy. But what on earth was I supposed to do? I wasn't going to turn my house into a dump.

Some small typos here.

That night, I began my usual routine of preparing dinner. As I did, I mulled over my issue. Trubbish still looked like she felt uncomfortable. A odor lingered in the air around her, though she'd gone outside to play with Sal for a bit (To my relief). How could I get her to be happy though? We just weren't a good match.

I’m honestly surprised that Trubbish didn’t attempt to eat the trainer’s trash on day one. Since you’d think that would instantly set off the proverbial lightbulb of realization.

If Trubbish stayed, she would no doubt be miserable. Maybe it would be best to make her leave now, even if it would disappoint her. The thoughts continued to plague my mind as I opened my fridge to get out some Tamato berry sauce.

Wow, Narrator, just wow.

Mind still running, I opened one of the drawers to discover a head of lettuce that I bought over two weeks ago. Muttering under my breath, I plucked out the moldy lump.

Now, there's many things I am extremely good at. Apparently remembering to use up the lettuce wasn't one of them. I couldn't help myself. I always mean to use it, I do! But then I just forgot. Everything else I kept perfect. My entire fridge was beautifully organized and cleaned. But I would always forget that head of lettuce, tucked in the crisper at the bottom of my fridge.

Reminder that if this is a recollected event from some time after the fact, that you want to keep the verb tenses here firmly in past tense and not in present tense.

With a grimace, I turned to throw it into the trash, then stopped. A spiderweb of realizations wrapped around my brain, and I took the lettuce outside to where Trubbish was. She was staring off into the sky, looking rather contemplative.

"Hey."

Trubbish perked up and turned around at the sound of my voice. I kept the lettuce hidden behind my back for the moment, despite how squeamish it made me feel. "I..."

I paused, trying to compose my thoughts for what I was about to say.The words stuck in my throat for a second, but I knew I needed to say them. "Ruby, I owe you an apology."

This last paragraph IMO works better as two, but that might just be stylistic nitpicking on my end. Though the narrator’s Swalot must be a pickier eater than I thought, since the Pokédex fluff suggests that they’ll eat just about anything.

It was the first time I dared speak her name. I hadn't wanted to, I hadn't want to give her false hope she could stay.

Ruby trilled softly, the odd ear-like tufts on her head twitching.

"I was afraid to have you on my team. I like my house, I like things to stay the way they are. When you arrived..." I glanced around. "I guess I assumed every Trubbish was the same. That every Trubbish liked messy environments."

That actually makes me wonder how the narrator is caring for Ruby. Like have they been keeping Ruby in their Pokéball constantly in the hopes that the simu-environment would keep Ruby happy? Or were they always looking for an excuse to bin (har har) her?

I chuckled. "Truth is, I was sure that a Trubbish could only get along with someone messy, and I didn't see how you could enjoy being here."

I withdrew the gross lettuce head from behind my back and set it down. Despite how serious I was, the idea of a moldy lettuce as a peace offering was funny.

Oh, so that’s what those realizations were. Though I wonder if they should’ve been described a bit more explicitly instead of keeping things vague with “a spiderweb of realizations” where even the general topic isn’t touched on.

"But I think the messiness isn't the issue, is it?" I watched her carefully. An eager twinkle sparkled in her eyes and she nodded slowly. "I just assumed I knew everything about you. If you're okay with how I like to keep my house, I think I can let you have my lettuce heads, how’s that sound?"

Again, bub. Just feed Ruby straight out of your trash bin. It’ll make garbage day easier for you, too.

Trubbish picked up the moldy lettuce, examined it, then churred happily. She began to eat it in several surprisingly dainty yet eager bites. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I watched her polish off the last piece and smile.

A faint scent, like lavender and warm vanilla, drifted through the air.

Huh. Wouldn’t have expected that from a Trubbish, but you know what, it’s cute so I’ll just roll with it.

[Prompt 3]

Spoiler: Line-by-Line

"So, who will it be?"

Inertia Matsumodo gazed at the assortment of pokemon before her. Espurr, Reuniclus, Drowzee, Abra, and even a Munna and Ralts. A Chingling in the back, along with a Gothita. There was even a single Sigilyph among the group, which was surprising. Her parents had really gone all out. All pokemon who agreed to come, to join her. All psychic type. It was only proper after all, her parents had said. As a psychic herself, they'd explained how there would come a time for her to have her own companion. And she'd been so excited to finally find on a companion of her own.

Wait, wait, wait, what kind of parent names their kid ‘Inertia’? .-.

Inertia: “Hey, if people can go around named ‘Natural’, I can be named ‘Inertia’. Sod off.” >_>;

Her mother smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. "Well, Inertia? Gothita here is quite powerful, she's the granddaughter of one of Sabrina's Alakazam you know."

Lady either’s got connections or she must’ve coughed up a lot dough to make that happen.

"Uh huh," Inertia muttered.

She let her gaze drift over the assembled pokemon once more, and they all stared back, waiting. She let her mind brush briefly against theirs, in a sort of mental 'hello', to which she received various sorts of replies. A sigh escaped her lips. From the corner of her eye she saw her father frown and felt disapproval rumble through his thoughts.

"I just need time," she muttered.

She let her thoughts recede, walling her mind off. None of the pokemon here really caught her attention, not that she wanted to tell her parents that. They'd worked hard to search all around for psychic types, who could often be particularly picky.

"Can I take a break?"

These paragraphs IMO should be broken up a bit more than they presently are. Though I’m beginning to understand why Pokémon Professors specifically only offer three choices to pick between normally.

Her parents shared a knowing glance, and she didn't need to use any of her psychic powers to understand that one. She held back a groan.

"Very well."

As fast as she could, she hurried out of the room and out the door. Her steps led her out of her house and towards the rocky hills of her favorite spot, Route 9. To most, the Route seemed like nothing but a rough path. A jagged series of canyons and rocky outcroppings just outside Ambrette Town. But to her, they felt like a solace.

Kalosian detected.

In no time at all, she found herself wandering amongst the hills, her feet walking mostly on instinct through paths known only to her. She hadn't gone far before a presence, or rather a group of presences, rattled at the edge of her senses. She frowned. Most of the pokemon here she knew, and knew her, but these minds felt unfamiliar. Chaotic. They buzzed and rumbled, their minds filled with fleeting busts of anger. Her steps slowed and she took a more cautious approach.

As she started up a slope, she began to hear sharp screeches and shrieks, like they were coming from a great group of pokemon.

What on earth was out here making this much noise? When she reached the top she paused and took in the situation. A writhing mass of cream colored fur whirled about several yards below, half obscured by dust.

Oh, well that’s a positive sign, I’m sure.

After a moment, she recognized them. A massive colony of Mankey, at least fifty strong, judging by how many consciousnesses she felt. That explained the ruckus. Mankey were notoriously temperamental pokemon. They seemed to all be scampering about, wrestling and fighting one another. The pleasant buzz of their angry minds drew Inertia in, so she found herself a comfortable spot and sat down to watch.

Um… Inertia, this feels like a really, really bad idea when you haven’t even chosen one Pokémon of your own to train yet.

The minutes slipped by as she watched them tussle, a delightful distraction compared to what lay waiting for her back home. She hadn't been watching for long when she felt a presence rapidly draw near. Her heart rate spiked and she spun to her right just in time to see a Mankey charging towards her, eyes blazing and fur puffed out.

It lunged at her, a wild shriek echoing from its mouth.

Yeah, I knew it. Though I can already tell it’s not going to be just one Mankey that goes after her.

On instinct she scrambled back stretched out with her mind, pushing back with a wave of psychic energy that sent the Mankey tumbling back a few feet. It stood, then shook itself, eyes still glinting like hot coals. She could feel his mind easily, thanks to its proximity. Anger buzzed through his thoughts, mixed with notes of curiosity. For several seconds, he didn't move.

Wait, Inertia can do that? A part of me wonders if this should’ve been foreshadowed at all, since it’s definitely a very particular headcanon on display here. But it’s a drabble, so I won’t knock it too hard.

She stared back, taking him in. He had the usual cream coloration of a Mankey, save for darker streaks of fur around his eyes, and the fur around his arms and legs being a slight shade darker. Behind his anger and beneath his curiosity, she sensed something else. Confusion.

Maybe…

At first I thought that this was a Shiny or something, but nope, those are green-tinted, so I’m not sure what’s going on with Mankey here.

'Hey. Sorry if I disturbed you guys, but I don't want to fight.'

He blinked. 'You must.' There was a definitive sense to his thoughts, as if he were stating a simple fact, such as the color of the sky.

'What do you mean, I must?'

Mankey gestured to her with a sharp jab. 'Isn't it obvious? When you're angry, you fight. Then you feel better.'

Yeah, this was a really good time for Inertia to not already have a Pokémon with her. /s

Inertia frowned and tilted her head. 'I'm not angry. And why would I fight even if I was?'

'That's why we fight.' He pointed to the valley below, still full of fighting Mankey and a few Primeape, although now they seemed to be calming slightly. 'I fight brother Mankeys when I'm angry, and then I don't feel angry. I felt anger up here, so I thought you wanted to fight.'

Waaaait, is this Mankey somehow Psychic here?

Now that was a new one. 'What do you mean you felt anger?' She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands.

'You're angry' came his planitive reply. 'I can literally feel it. I guess I can tell better than most other pokemon, since a lot of us spend a lot of time irritated. You feel mad about something, so I came up here to fight you. Then you'll feel better.'

- looks up at title -

Wait, is that how Anger Point works in your setting, or…?

Inertia snorted, a sharp laugh erupting from her. I can believe that you might be able to sense it better than other pokemon but. She shrugged. 'I'm just not angry.'

'Liar'

"Excuse me!?" she snapped. Blinking, she looked down to see she'd clenched her fists. As if realizing what she'd done, she paused and sat back.

I’ll admit, that I didn’t really get a vibe of Inertia being upset earlier when being forced to pick out a Pokémon if that’s what this is meant to be pointing at. You probably want to play that up a bit earlier in the narration.

Hah! I was right, You are angry. If you never let your anger out you're gonna die. Or go blind. Hm. Or maybe attack your friends in a wild frenzy. I know, I saw one of the Primeapes do it once. Never fought, never sparred, one day she just up and died. He paused. Or maybe it was because she was old, I don't know. Anyways, are you ready to fight me now?

Inertia:

The Mankey's words rattled in her head for several seconds. She wasn't angry, she was sure of it. Yeah, her parents sometimes frustrated her, but they only wanted what was best. And maybe she didn't like that they kept pressuring her to find a psychic type partner. Just because she was a psychic didn't mean she should be forced to find a partner who was. But she also didn't want to hurt their feelings by telling them she felt like they were forcing her down a path she'd never wanted. And sure, every time they brought the topic up she felt ticked off, agitated. But it was fine, she was fine.

Oh, so this is basically Inertia right now, huh?:

After all, it was just a matter of finding a Pokemon she connected with. Who cared if the fact that they only wanted her to find a psychic type positively drove her up the wall? If being in the same room with her parents left her agitated, and she always took the soonest opportunity to leave? Just because she felt like she was cornered and silenced to go down a path she didn't even want didn't mean anything. She was just a little miffed. And a little annoyed. Maybe frustrated. It was just so infuriating!

Her thoughts ground to a halt. Darn it.

That Mankey was right.

I… admittedly did not get this vibe at all in the opening scene or the immediate aftermath. It probably would’ve been worth to play up Inertia being obviously annoyed / relieved to be away from her parents, since this is kinda an informed attribute up until the past couple paragraphs.

You... might have a point. She relayed the thought with great reluctance.

Mankey snorted. Duh. You still wanna have a fight then?

Inertia: “Uh… is it even possible for me to do that without dying horribly?”

She chuckled and shook her head. No, not right now. Besides, I think you'd win. But maybe there's someone else I need to fight.

Suit yourself. Later then. And with that, the Mankey barreled down the hill to rejoin the group.

Honestly surprised that the Mankey just let her off there, but guess we’re about to have a shouting match with mom and dad.

I did it.

Once again, I sat on the hill outside my town, watching the group of Mankey. The same one as before sat next to me, picking away at a berry. The sun was just beginning to set and the Mankey had mostly settled, collapsed on one another in little heaps all around the valley, exhausted after a day sparring.

You fought your birthgivers? Did you beat em?

Parents, I corrected. And it wasn't like that. I mean. I accidentally yelled a little. And my mom did too. But I told them how I was angry, and why. How I did didn't want to be forced to train a certain kind of pokemon.

I’ll admit, I’m of two minds as to whether or not this would’ve worked better actually being depicted or not. Though this is going to build up to Inertia training Mankey, huh?

Mankey took another bite of the berry, then seemed to consider it for a moment before cramming the rest into his mouth and chewing.

But did you win?

I smiled, the memory of last night's 'discussion' still fresh in my thoughts. Yeah, I guess so.

I felt better now, to say the least. It took awhile but... I think they don't mind now. I guess they never really considered training other types of pokemon, and honestly I never told them. They just wanted to make sure I could have any psychic type I wanted was all.

Now what?

IMO, your second-to-last paragraph works better cut up here. Though I like how Mankey’s immediate reaction to hearing that Inertia got into a fight with her parents is “... So you won, right?”. Talk about priorities there.

"I guess I get to choose whoever I want..." I mused out loud, gazing at the last fading ways of the sun.

Sweet. Can I come?

My mouth dropped and I turned to stare at him. What?

[ ]


Might be fun to join a trainer. He narrowed his eyes. If you let me battle a lot. You ain't gonna torchic out on me right? I hear that pokemon who join trainers get super tough. Saw it happen to one of my squadmates. Came back as a giant Primeape who would beat most of us with once punch.

IMO, this would’ve bene a moment that would’ve made sense to show off Mankey’s reaction more.

For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. I considered carefully for a few moments. If I took my journey and became a trainer like I wanted, there'd be plenty of battles. And I really really liked the company of this Mankey. I owed him a thanks. A wry grin spread across my face. A psychic, training a fighting type. Who ever heard of such a notion?

I accept.

Yeeeeeah, I knew it.

Well that was a fun little set of drabbles. I liked the way that you gave little glimpses into how life in the Pokémon World might be both from human and Pokémon perspectives in them, and for the most part, they felt pretty convincing. I also thought that the Pokémon that you rolled for the different drabbles were thematically well-spread out since each installment felt pretty different from the other, so good job there.

That said, there were definitely some rough edges that I noticed here and there. I don’t know if you’ll ever opt to go back to tighten things up, but I figured that I’d point them out just in case. The first, and low-hanging fruit issue is that you have some small typos scattered about these drabbles. They weren’t anything too distracting, but you still want to smooth them out at some point. I also noticed that Prompt 2 had some verb tense errors. Pick one of whether the story about Trubbish is being narrated in live-time or as a recollected event and keep the verb tense consistent. I also found myself asking “... why are you not letting Ruby just eat your garbage?” with the way Ruby was being dealt with since you’d think that’s still accommodatable for a neat freak trainer. It might have made sense to give some mention in passing as to why that had to be taken off the board as an option (e.x. Trubbish can’t literally eat any old garbage, the trainer refused to let Ruby get trash everywhere while eating, etc.). Also, you kinda acknowledged it in your attached author’s notes, but Prompt 3 is definitely the weak link of this bunch. For what it’s worth, I feel that the general thrust of what you were going for wasn’t bad. The main issue that I had with it was that Inertia being quietly upset and resentful with her parents didn’t feel like it was played up sufficiently, to the point where when she gets told she’s angry, I basically had a “wait, she is?” reaction. I’m also not really sure whether or not skipping over the entire part where she puts Mankey’s recommendation to “fight” with her parents into action benefitted the story or not since it feels like something that would’ve been interesting to see play out.

Though altogether, I thought that these were fun and breezy reads @Flyg0n . Hope the feedback was helpful, and best of luck with the rest of Review Blitz. ^^

 

[Flyg0n]

After the incident	Changing wound dressings	"I should have been there"
Electrocution	Extreme temperature	Trapped in a cave
Bruised and Broken	Asphyxiation	Things left unsaid

Wrote two drabble this year, with the second counting for both Asphyxiation and Things Left Unsaid, because its pretty hard to say things when you're running out of air!

Fair warning I did these in one session and I consider them fun exercises, not my best writing. For these entries I'm not especially interested in any crit beyond basic stuff like spelling or grammar, but feel free to let me know if you enjoyed them!

 

[Flyg0n]

Spoiler: AN & CWs

CW: Assault, violence, mention of blood and implied abuse.

As I mentioned in the post above, I mostly wrote this for fun. It ties in in some way to BiTTP, so if you like that, read this, and vice versa. Probably canon.

I kindly request only crit about basic stuff like spelling and grammar. This was written in one fell swoop and is not my best, heh.

---

Marcel lurched awake as another peal of thunder rattled the walls of his apartment. Stupid cheap insulation. He’d dozed off on his sofa at some point, watching TV, except now the TV was off. Porygon’s doing, he supposed.

But what-

Thunder boomed again, followed by lightning and an even larger thunderclap, and- slam. Not a thunderclap.

Marcel lurched to his feet.

That was what had woken him, he realized. In the silence that followed another peal of thunder, more frantic thumping sounded from his front door. Half his rational instincts screamed 'caution!'; while some deep gut instinct screamed that something was wrong.

Gut instinct won.

One hand on his weapon, he crossed the room and cracked the door open. A dark, sopping wet figure stood on his third floor walkway. The figure abruptly lurched. Marcel started to reach for his weapon and somewhere behind, Loaf snarled.

In a split second, lightning lit the sky like daytime as the figure crumpled forward, and Marcel caught a glimpse of a pale face and dark hair before an armful of a soaking wet deadweight pitched into his arms.

What the-?

He staggered back under the weight, barely catching himself, then stumbled back into his apartment, dragging them with him. With one hand he slapped the wall until he hit the light switch, then half dropped half slid the stranger onto his floor before they slipped out of his grip entirely.

Marcel gasped, Loaf’s snarl changed into a confused whine, and his stomach flipped. He dropped to his knees. “Drake?” he breathed.

Drake was almost unrecognizable. Black and blue swollen skin marred an entire half of his face, one eye swelled completely shut and the other cheek red and puffy. Blood streaked his face and oozed from from his nose and mouth and cuts on his cheek and head.

With trembling hands, Marcel propped him up, working him out of his jacket as fast as he dared.

Drake moaned. His lips moved and he shuddered. Then his remaining good eye twitched and cracked open. His gaze was glassy and unfocused. “ ‘M messed.... Up. Sorry...” His words slurred incoherently.

“Easy,” Marcel whispered, steadying his own voice with a level of confidence and calmness that didn’t match the revulsion eating at him. All thoughts of what happened were pushed to the back of Marcel’s mind as he tried his best to assess him.

At the sight of the rest of his body, another wave of nausea twisted Marcel’s stomach.

Red stained the remains of a soaking, tattered shirt. Marcel lost count in a few seconds of the splotches of ugly blue and black bruises. Water dripped and pooled on the floor, mixing with swirls of blood. Yellow tinted several bruises along his torso. Not all the wounds were fresh.

Drake's lips moved, but sound didn't come at first. “... -eally... fucked up... my fault, I...” his words slurred and his body twitched with a shiver. An incoherent babble slipped out and he groaned again, trying to shift away.

Marcel gently tried to put a hand on Drake’s shoulder to hold him back, but he flinched, then winced from the pain of flinching. “No, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he murmured. "It's not your fault." Nobody deserved this.

Drake’s eye started to drift close. It was hard to tell if he’d even heard Marcel's reassurance. He mumbled another apology, and then, “sorry... didn’t... didn’t know... where else to go...” Then his body went limp.

Brief, frantic panic surged through Marcel and he instinctively reached for Drake’s neck to check his pulse, then stopped short. Among the blood, dirt and jacket hiding it, he hadn’t noticed it before.

Deep purple bruises ringed his neck, forming an undeniable shape of a hand.

Marcel’s free hand curled into a fist. With his other, he gently pressed two fingers to his neck, barely able to stop himself trembling with rage. A pulse was there, thankfully. Not strong, but strong enough to ease his fears.

Equal parts ill, enraged, and scared for Drake’s life, Marcel checked the rest of him over for more injuries. By some sick spin of gratitude, he didn’t see anything life threatening. Below the neck, that was. No telling if there was some kind of internal brain injuries. Drake was breathing at least, albeit roughly and shivering.

Some gashes, but whoever had done it had clearly simply used either their hands or a blunt weapon... There were bruises on his back shaping out to look like bootprints.

Who had done this? With gentle movements, he lifted Drake and laid him on the sofa. He reached quickly for Coda’s pokeball. She was exhausted after this week and the battles they’d gotten into, but he didn’t have a choice and she’d be furious not to be brought out.

The Chimecho emerged, blinking sleepily before snapping to full alertness at the sight of the body on the sofa. She chimed in alarm and hovered over him.

“Help him,” he said, his voice shaking. His chest felt tighter than he remembered, and it was hard to swallow. “Please.”

-

A healing pokemon’s capabilities on a human were limited, he knew. First a pokemon needed specialized training, a grasp on how humans worked. They weren’t like pokemon, you couldn’t just fill them with energy and make them okay again, like pokemon after a tough battle. You had to be precise. Skilled.

Coda was excellent of course, but even this was a lot even for her.

Lacerations and cuts were easier, it was a matter of simply helping the skin knit back together. A broken bone? Tricky but if it was set right, the process could be accelerated. But every injury required focus and effort and there were... so many.

Several of his ribs were either cracked or broken, and it was a miracle that one hadn’t punctured his lung. Or, he thought darkly, whoever had done this knew what they were doing. And then Coda’s examination revealed his right arm was broken, a hairline fracture on his humerus. The break was accompanied by a boot-shaped bruise.

The rest of him was just a mess. Even Coda looked lost. She’d healed the more minor wounds and done her best with his ribs, the effort of which left her panting and ringing dully with exhaustion. Everything else would be... beyond. Even the best trained Chansey or Audino at a hospital struggled with blunt force trauma. To many microscopic injuries and problems.

Still, at least when Coda was done mending the worst of the damage to his ribs, Drake seemed to relax slightly, some of the tension leaving his limbs and face. Seeing him like this only made Marcel more painfully aware of his age. Barely eighteen.

Gut churning, Marcel busied himself acquiring towels and trying to make Drake more comfortable. He had just finished doing his best to dry him and cover him in warm blankets when he looked over to see one eye cracked open, staring dully back at him. His detective side longs to grasp for answers. What happened? Who did this to you? But he bit the words back. Drake was barely conscious, much less lucid.

For a moment, Drake held his gaze, but Marcel couldn’t read him. His eye began to drift shut again. Slowly, Marcel started to move away. He needed to give Drake time to rest...

As he started to turn, he felt something grip his hand and looked down to see Drake’s hand, clutching his own. It was ironclad, and some emotion glimmered through the delerion in his eyes. A second later, Drake’s hand slipped away and went limp.

Wordlessly, Marcel walked to his hall closet, dragging out more blankets and a spare pillow. He laid out a makeshift bed on the floor next to the sofa, and did his best to get comfortable.

It was going to be a long night, and he had no intention of going anywhere.

 

[Flyg0n]

Spoiler: AN & CWs

CW: Well, asphyxiation for starters lol. I guess torture?

This prompt is for both asphyxiation and unsaid. As mentioned, please keep crit to a minimum, this isn't really for that since it was written all at once. But I would love to hear if you enjoyed it!

Same verse as Blood is Thicker Than Poison. Probably canon.

---

There’s no such thing as a simple case. It was something one of Marcel’s old instructors used to say, and Marcel never agreed with it more than he did now.

It had started simple enough of course. Infiltrate a fancy party at some upscale snobs mansion, stop an illegal deal for laced exp drugs. It was the kind of stuff he did all the time.

Technically was about to end in a very simple way too, he guessed. With him and Drake dead. Suffocated. Asphyxiated, technically.

Somewhere in between those two points was where it had gotten complicated. Factors beyond their control, bad luck, whatever. Marcel didn't really care.

Not when he had only a few more minutes left to live.

Four faintly opaque translucent walls blocked them in on all sides, formed by two unnaturally strong looking Mr. Mime. The box was hardly bigger than a cubicle.

And it was, as Marcel was realizing, airtight.

Outside the walls, a lone man watched with a leering, almost gengar-like grin. Their captor. A fence and distributor known as Selvin, and the owner of the mansion they'd infiltrated.

“Well?” The barrier distorted and muffled his voice somewhat, but it was audible. “Feel like talking yet?”

“Lick a muk,” Drake snarled. “Or come in here instead of prattling on from behind a wall, coward.”

Marcel gritted his teeth and held out a warning hand to Drake. He was wasting oxygen.

Still glowering, Drake took a step back from the barrier.

Selvin somehow smiled wider. “Well my mimes and I have plenty of time to wait. And I am a very patient man.”

Marcel's brain was running running running, as it had been since they'd first gotten stuck in here. But he didn't see a way out. They had no pokemon, and his weapon wouldn't be enough to break the barrier. He was doing his best to stay calm, but he could feel his heart thumping, feel every breath he drew.

Earlier outburst aside, he was impressed to see Drake looking... Calm. Well, not calm, he was clearly furious, but he didn't look like he was panicking either.

Steady. Slow. Pace himself. The passage of time blurred as Marcel focused on his breaths and ignored Selvin, watching from outside. Backup could come in time, if they could hold out. Radio blockers made communication from inside the mansion impossible but they'd coordinated a check in time with his unit hidden a safe distance away. Once he missed it they would enter.

Marcel drew another controlled breath. It was getting harder. Thinner. Like sucking through a straw. He dug a hand into his leg, forced himself to keep an even, slow breathing, shallow.

Too shallow. His pulse throbbed in his skull. A vise formed around his chest.

Looking over, he noticed Drake looking pained and unsteady. A faint flicker of panic shone in his gaze, and for a second he met Marcel's eyes. He thought he saw a look there, like a child pleading for his parents to fix something, before it was replaced by his usual irate scowl.

“Can't believe I have to die next to a damn cop.” Drake wheezed the words, venom lacing them. He seemed to sway for a moment, then sat down.

“Screw you,” Marcel hissed, grasping for anger to bury his rising fear. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, steadying himself against one of the walls as the world around him swayed. His pulse throbbed harder.

Drake leaned back against the opposite wall, and drew a shuddering breath. He looked pissed and irritable as ever, and pale.

Marcel envied him. Hated him. Admired him. Wasn't he afraid? It felt like every moment here his fear might swallow him whole, sending him panicking and screaming. If not for barely being able to draw a breath he probably would have done that.

Dark and bright spots began to dance around his vision, and he found himself sitting down. His heart was racing faster now, and he hated himself for it. Every breath now was barely a sip of air, and his limbs tingled and lungs throbbed.

At some point he realized he'd slumped over, face resting against the barrier. It was cold and hard. That's how they'd find him, when he arrived. Dead. Cold. His mind wanted to panic but his body couldn't obey.

The rest of him was beginning to feel sort of cold too, and his thoughts churned sluggishly. Dimly, he was aware of Selvin crouching near the barrier, saying something.

“Last chance.”

Marcel choked out a swear and spat it at him. His gaze roved slowly over to Drake. Maybe he should find better last words to tell the thief. An apology. Or that he thought he had potential. Maybe a thank you, for those times Drake had saved him.

Dull alarm flooded him at the sight of Drake, slumped against the wall, eyes closed. He thought he saw Drake’s chest rise and fall, but his vision kept shifting and pulsing, bright and dark.

Until he tried to draw a breath, tried to reach for a tiny bit of air, and found nothing.

He never remembered hitting the floor.

-

Through half-lidded eyes, Drake saw Marcel slide slowly to the ground and go limp. His heart fluttered, even as he struggled to breathe.

This really was it. He kept hoping Marcel would come up with a last resort. Useless. Thinking the word word felt traitorous. But anger was a good distraction from the pain his chest, the throbbing, pulsing feeling in his body and the fuzzy prickling under his skin.

It was getting harder to see straight, harder to think. Screw this. Screw the mission, damn that Selvin and his stupid mimes.

A ragged, choked scream of rage came from somewhere. No, from him. It devolved into a hacking, gasping cough. He slammed a fist weakly against the barrier, then another, even as his body spasmed against his will and his lungs heaved, gasping for air that was no longer there.

His limbs went numb and he was faintly aware, for a moment, that he was lying on his back now, that his limbs weren't moving and everything was growing darker and more distant.

That was fine, he supposed. Somehow, the darkness was less suffocating. A warm, final embrace. He could handle that.

Though in hindsight he wished he'd told Marcel that there were much worse cops to die beside. As far as things went, he was a decent guy. Maybe even a good one. Probably wouldn't have hurt to thank him, just a little, for looking out for him.

Too bad.

At least the darkness was nice. No more fighting, no more struggling.

Yeah, that was fine.

-

Air. Fresh air.

Marcel coughed, and then gasped, and gasped again, choking in fresh air as waves of nausea and dizziness crashed over him. His chest felt tight and he felt like he couldn't get enough air but... Air. There was air.

As awareness of the outside world trickled in, he realized he was on his side, supported by someone, as he choked in air.

The world began to swim back into focus, and along with it, sounds. Other officers, moving about. Selvin's snake-ish voice, spitting curses. Two Mr Mime that lay unconscious several feet away.

An Audino.

And Drake's unmoving body.

He lurched toward him, only for the officer holding him to pull him back.

“Easy. Lay still, keep breathing.” It was their team medic, Kevin. “He's alive. Better than we found you, actually. The teleporters are going to take you to the hospital but Audino says he'll be okay. We got here in time.”

Backup...they had arrived in time after all.

As he watched, Drake stirred, cracking one eye open. He raised one trembling hand to give a weak thumbs up.

Still nauseous and woozy, it took Marcel a few seconds to raise his own hand and return the gesture.

As Marcel drew deep, satisfying breaths, his heart finally stopped racing and his thoughts stopped swirling enough for him to pack away the fear and panic he'd felt dying. Lock it away, where it wouldn't bother him.

Everything was fine now.