I frantically scanned my memories of the anime. He was definitely a boy. A dense, eternally-ten-year-old boy. So why did the person in this photo look so… feminine? Was my memory just that hazy? Or was this a case of a very androgynous-looking kid? Maybe it was just a bad angle?
Or…
The thought was a bolt of lightning to my core. Did the timeline reboot not just shuffle the deck but swap out a few of the face cards? Was I in some kind of gender-bent alternate universe where the protagonist was Ashley Ketchum? The implications of that were… staggering. And, my perverted brain couldn't help but add, intriguing.
Just as my gelatinous mind was about to melt from the sheer reality-breaking implications, Delia returned. The heavenly scent of bacon preceded her, and she entered the living room with a gentle, radiant smile, carrying a small tray.
"Here we are, little one," she said, her voice a warm melody. She knelt down and placed the tray on the floor in front of the sofa.
My gaze dropped from her face to the offering, and my existential crisis was immediately put on hold. It was a feast. A small ceramic bowl filled with what looked like brown, crunchy pellets—probably Pokémon Chow. Beside it, a small pile of colorful berries, an Oran and what looked like a Pecha. And there, placed reverently on a small napkin like a holy relic, was the prize.
A single, perfect, crispy strip of bacon.
My entire being quivered with desire. I had to restrain myself from just flopping off the couch and engulfing the entire tray. The cute, innocent blob persona had to be maintained. I looked from the food, to her, and back to the food, letting out a small, questioning "Diii?".
Her smile widened. "Go on, sweetie. It's all for you. You must be starving."
That was all the permission I needed. With painstaking control, I extended a small pseudopod, a delicate pink tendril, and carefully picked up the strip of bacon. I brought it to my "mouth" area and absorbed it.
The moment it made contact, my world exploded.
An explosion of salty, smoky, fatty perfection. It was a symphony of flavor, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated culinary bliss that crashed over my senses. It wasn't just food; it was a memory, a taste of a life I thought was gone forever. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, in this life or the last.
A familiar blue screen materialized in my vision, its clinical text a stark contrast to the religious experience I was having.
[User has consumed [Cooked Meat - BACON].]
[HP Restored: 5]
[Status Effect: [Ecstatic] - Morale +200! Duration: 1 hour.]
Five HP from one strip. That was leagues better than the riverweed. And the morale boost… I felt incredible. I could take on a goddamn Dragonite right now. Or at least, I felt like I could.
The bacon-induced euphoria was sublime, a warm, fuzzy blanket over my consciousness. For a few glorious moments, I was just a happy, well-fed blob. But the [Ecstatic] status effect couldn't hold back the tide of reality-shattering questions forever. The image of the red-capped girl—or boy, or whatever—was burned into my mind. I had to know. The fate of my future perverted musings depended on it.
I finished the last of the Pokémon Chow, giving a satisfied little jiggle for Delia's benefit, before turning my attention back to the side table. This required subtlety. A delicate touch.
I oozed my way across the sofa cushion until I was parallel with the table. Then, with the focus of a surgeon, I extended a single, slender pseudopod. It quivered in the air for a moment before gently, almost reverently, tapping the glass of the picture frame.
Tap. Tap.
Delia, who had been tidying up the tray, looked over, her brow furrowing in curiosity. "What is it, sweetie?"
I retracted the pseudopod slightly and then pointed it back at the frame, specifically at the face of the enigmatic child. I let out a series of carefully modulated sounds, trying to inject as much "what is this?" and "who is that?" into it as possible.
"Dii? Di-di-diii-ditto?"
My intonation was a masterpiece of non-verbal communication, a symphony of inquisitive gurgles.
Delia followed my wiggling pointer-limb, her gaze landing on the photograph. A wave of pure, maternal pride washed over her features, her smile softening into something nostalgic and deeply fond. She picked up the frame, her thumb gently brushing across the glass.
"Oh, you're looking at my Ashley," she said, her voice filled with a love so potent it was practically a physical force in the room.
My gelatinous form froze mid-wiggle.
Ashley.
Not Ash.
Ashley.
The name hit me like a Thunderbolt to the face. My Ditto-brain short-circuited, my cute, innocent blob facade momentarily shattered as my entire worldview was violently rearranged.
Ash is a girl.
Ash is a fucking girl.
Ashley Ketchum.
The implications were staggering. My perverted mind, already struggling to process the sheer hotness of Delia, now had to contend with the fact that the protagonist of the entire goddamn Pokémon universe was a girl. And not just any girl—Delia's daughter. Which meant that, given enough time, she might grow up to look just like her mother.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh YES.
My slimy body quivered with a dangerous mix of shock, excitement, and unbridled degeneracy.
Delia, blissfully unaware of the crisis unfolding inside me, kept talking, her voice warm with motherly affection.
"That picture was taken years ago, when she was just ten," she said, her thumb brushing over the glass fondly. "She was so small back then! Always running around, getting into trouble, climbing trees like a little Mankey."
Ten.
Years ago.
Wait.
I did the mental math.
If that picture was taken years ago, and Ash—Ashley—was ten in it… then how old was she now?
In the original timeline, Ash started his journey at ten. But Delia was saying this was years ago. Which meant…
Ashley was older.
Much older.
My mind spiraled.
If she was ten years ago… and now it's been years… then she's…
A slow, wicked grin spread across my amorphous face.
She's a teenager.
Or older.
Which means—
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
She's not a flat-chested, eternally-ten-year-old twig anymore.
She's grown.
She's blossomed.
She's—
"Of course, she's all grown up now," Delia continued, sighing wistfully. "Started her Pokémon journey a few months ago. Can you believe it? My little girl, a trainer!"
Months ago.
So she's still new.
Still fresh.
But not a child.
Oh, this is perfect.
My perverted brain was already constructing elaborate fantasies. Ashley Ketchum, older, taller, curvier—
Delia's next words snapped me out of it.
"Though, between you and me," she said with a soft laugh, "she still hasn't figured out how to wear a proper bra for battles. Always complaining about how they 'get in the way.' I swear, that girl—"
BRA.
CHEST.
GET IN THE WAY.
My entire existence vibrated.
SHE HAS TITS.
ASHLEY KETCHUM HAS TITS.
BIG ENOUGH TO NEED A BRA.
AND THEY GET IN THE WAY.
BECAUSE THEY'RE BIG.
BIG.
BIG—
I was this close to shapeshifting into a humanoid form just to fan myself.
Delia kept rambling, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just sent me into a hormonal tailspin.
"And don't even get me started on her skirts!" she huffed, shaking her head. "The number of times I've had to scold her for hiking them up too high when she's climbing trees or battling—honestly!"
SKIRTS.
TOO HIGH.
BATTLING.
CLIMBING TREES.
OH MY GOD.
I was drowning in mental images. Ashley, mid-battle, skirt riding up—
Ashley, climbing a tree, giving the world a full view—
Ashley, bending over to pick up a Poké Ball—
I NEED TO MEET HER IMMEDIATELY.
But first, I had to survive this conversation without turning into a perverted puddle.
Delia sighed, setting the photo back down. "But I suppose that's just how she is. Always so energetic, never thinking about how she looks."
She doesn't even realize how lewd she's being.
Bless this woman.
I forced myself to focus. Okay, okay. Calm down. You're a Ditto. A cute, innocent blob. Not a degenerate shapeshifter with a MILF and her daughter on the brain.
I gave a soft, inquisitive "Diii?" and pointed at the photo again, trying to steer the conversation toward something less likely to make me combust.
Delia smiled. "You want to know more about her?"
YES.
EVERYTHING.
ESPECIALLY THE BRA PART.
I nodded eagerly.
Delia chuckled. "Well, she's out on her journey now. Left a few months ago with her Pikachu—such a feisty little thing, that one! Always shocking her when she least expects it."
Pikachu still exists.
Good.
Means the world hasn't changed too much.
"But," Delia continued, her expression softening, "she still writes to me every week. Tells me all about her adventures, the Pokémon she's caught, the friends she's made…"
She trailed off, her eyes misting over slightly.
Oh.
She misses her.
The realization hit me like a gentle splash of cold water, cooling my overheated perversion for a moment. Delia wasn't just a hot mom—she was a mother. A real one. One who loved her daughter, who worried about her, who missed her.
Damn.
I'm a piece of shit.
Here I was, fantasizing about her and her daughter, while she was just… being a good mom.
…Okay, fine. I'll dial it back.
Slightly.
Delia wiped her eyes quickly, shaking her head with a laugh. "Oh, listen to me, getting all emotional over a little Ditto!" She reached down, petting my head gently. "You're such a good listener, aren't you?"
DAMN RIGHT I AM.
TELL ME MORE ABOUT ASHLEY'S DEVELOPMENT.
But before she could continue, a loud ding came from the kitchen.
"Oh! The bread's done!" She stood up quickly. "Stay right there, sweetie. I'll be back in a moment."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Ashley Ketchum.
A girl.
Older.
Voluptuous.
Skirt problems.
BRA PROBLEMS.
And out there, right now, traveling the world.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my amorphous face.
I know where I'm going next.
But before that, I had a dinner to complete *Chomp Chomp*
___
Btw I am thinking of doing 3.5K+ chapters per week instead of daily update type of thing, as it really puts a different kinda pressure.
How does Monday to Monday sound?