ANGELS MADE OF NEON AND GARBAGE

let fury have the hour anger can be power

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Patron Saint For Hopeless Cases || Skippy & Zinnia

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draconid:

              ✿ - Once she had made her offer, she watched as he seemed to have some debate within himself— ah, for surely he’d seen that Zinnia was no amateur to this game. She backed away slightly, not threatening to leave, but just enough to give him some space. While it would be entertaining to watch this other person just up and go, it would be more exciting to get into a real fight. The Lorekeeper itched for violence like this; call her demented, but there was something about fighting that made her blood burn hot and made her heart race.

              He didn’t appear to want to run. Her toothy smile grew even wider.

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For the first time, Skippy was actually overcome by disbelief when his punch landed. It was almost as if... she had let him hit her.

The woman’s head flew backwards, a few more strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail. She nearly fell, but didn’t lose her balance completely. Skippy watched as she staggered for a few seconds, then regained her steady stance. Despite her being the one losing her footing, he was the one who felt helpless.

It’s ‘er aura! he exclaims inwardly. She’s got somethin’ about her that’s puttin’ me off my game. Either that, or she truly is a fearsome opponent...

Blood trickled from the woman’s nose, running down past her mouth and chin. She merely swept up her raggedy brown cape and wiped it off – Skippy noted that there were similar dark brown stains lining its edges, perhaps from past fights – completely unfazed. Being smack in the middle of a brawl, it was hardly the time to be intrigued by someone, yet Skippy found the idea of a wandering vagabond fighter too fantastical to be true. That made this woman standing in front of him all the more special.

“Y-e-e-ah! Yeah-ha-ha! You punch real good, better than I was expecting! I can dig that, babe!”

Her cheeks pulled back in an almost malevolent grin, and she cracked her knuckles gleefully. The crystal clear sound of her action rang out through the bar – in that instant, Skippy could have sworn that a hush fell over the club.

“But tell me, can you handle—THIS?”

Skippy didn’t know what hit him next. One minute she was at the other end of the room, and next, her hands grabbed his shoulders, locking both of them in a vice grip that felt more like iron clamps than human hands. He had to consciously try not to wince as her fingers dug into his shoulder blades. But that wasn’t even the end of it. Something swung up into his torso, and the wind was completely knocked out of him. He staggered backwards, his back colliding with a nearby table. He managed to stretch his hands out just in time to steady himself against the table, narrowly avoiding an undignified crash. His chest was heaving – that was one kick he knows he will not recover from easily.

What is that woman made of?! Steel? Something bubbled up in his throat, and a stream of blood trickled down his lip. Aw, shite. Well, if it’s steel that the lass wants, it’s steel I’ll show ‘er!

He knew that he was taking the coward’s way out – nobody took Pokemon to a fist fight in the same way that nobody brought guns to a knife fight. Yet he was still winded from her kick, and in his inebriated state he saw no other way out of this situation. She wasn’t even fazed by his initial punch – the blood steadily running down her face clearly was no deterrent to her, nor did it seem to even register as an injury. Her sharp brown eyes were on him like a hawk’s. His next move probably wouldn’t surprise her, but it would at least buy him some time.

Reaching behind him, he pulled out a single Pokeball and threw it in her direction. It opened in midair, and a loud discordant screeching resounded throughout the entire bar, short-circuiting the DJ’s turntables and breaking a few strobe lights. His Skarmory let out its fearsome call, flapping its steel wings as it advanced on the woman.

What’re ya gonna do now?! he thinks. It was not a spiteful thought. In a way, he was almost looking forward to what would come next.

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You Couldn’t Do Much Better On The Beach || Skippy & Mallian

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deceit-is-art:

The day had been slow for Mallian. There were far to many people on the beach, and the scene kept changing. He was frustrated, to say the least. He shook his head, and stood. 

“Jen,” he addressed his smeargle, who was painting her own rendition of the ocean “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

She nodded, and kept to her painting. With that, he began his walk. The beach was full of people, just as he’d already noticed, but there seemed to be even more while he walked amongst them.

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In all honesty, the customer standing before Skippy is one of the last types of people he’d expect to see here at the Sinnoh Beach Resort.

The man has dishevelled blonde hair and tiny, round-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose that remind Skippy of aristocrats from days long past, whose portraits hang in places like the Parfum Palace in Kalos. He could not be more different from Skippy himself – the only thing they have in common at first glance is the colour of their hair.

The man gives him an enigmatic smile, a few strands of hair falling over his left eye. Under the shade of the cart’s umbrella, his face is in shadow – looking at him is almost eerie. Skippy shakes his head discreetly, jolting himself back to the noisy reality of the beach resort grounds, with its screaming children and shrieking Wingulls wheeling overhead. It’s just a customer, ya bawheid. No need t’ get yerself all worked up just cause it’s yer last day.

Skippy gets to scooping immediately as his customer indicates his ice-cream of choice.

“Plain vanilla, if you have it? I’m a man of simple tastes.”

“No problem, sir; one cone comin’ right up.” The cold blast of air released from the sealed tub of vanilla briefly refreshes Skippy, allowing him to forget about the searing heat of the beach in summer. “Aight, enjoy.”

Skippy wonders if it is just his imagination, or if he detects a twinkle in his eye as he speaks next. Is ‘e a kindred spirit? Or is ‘e just a curious man?

“Where you from? Your accent’s pretty thick and you don’t seem too happy.”

It seems like an innocent enough question to Skippy. “I’m from th’ one n’ only Virbank City, all the way down in Unova. Not everyone there talks like this, though. I ken me accent’s a little thicker than most, but that’s just th’ way me family was. Arceus knows our habits rubbed off on each other ‘till everythin’ fell apart.”

Examining the man closely, Skippy notes a few flecks of a multicoloured on his clothing. Paintball? he thinks. Nah, he shouldnae have any o’ that shite on ‘is clothes if ‘e was at the resort’s arena. Nay, this one’s th’ artistic sort, methinks. His hunch is further proven by the sight of a small Smeargle not too far away from here, frantically painting a beautiful impressionist rendition of the Sinnoh horizon. It’s standin’ close enough for ‘im t’ ‘ave walked ‘ere without worryin’ ‘bout it bein’ an inconvenience. But what’s an artsy type doin’ at a beach resort in the peak o’ summer?

He gives the customer a knowing glance as he hands him the cone. “So, I see ye like t’ paint a bit. Where are you from, then? Surely comin’ t’ Sinnoh in the middle o’ summer is more irritatin’ than inspirin’, what wi’ all them screamin’ lads and lassies runnin’ aboot.”

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♝

♝ – Growing old

Och! Growin’ old n’ grey’s an inevitable fact o’ life, as much as I’d hate tae admit. That’s why I aim t’ live fast and t’ the best o’ my abilities. I intend t’ grow old surrounded by those few that I know n’ love; filled wi’ all the memories of when I was young n’ reckless n’ filled with ragin’ fire, ready t’ protect everything and everyone I’ve ever loved.

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♖

♖ – Their first friend

Apart from me own brother and mother, of course… me first friend was a wee lad I met in kindergarten on th’ first day there. I remember me goin’ up t’ him n’ tellin’ ‘im that ‘e ‘ad a funny-lookin’ hat. ‘E never took it off, not once.

We played t’gether fer days n’ weeks n’ months on end. Then one day ‘e just stopped showin’ up at school alt’gether. So I went round t’ ‘is place n’ ‘is mum opened the door… She remembered me name n’ everythin’. It took ‘er some time t’ get ‘er composure up before she could tell me that ‘e wasnae gonna be goin’ t’ school no longer.

She told me that the cancer had finally taken ‘im.

[lannasroleplaymemes]

Stages Of Life Headcanons

Send a symbol below to hear my Muse’s thoughts/opinions on….

♔ - Their childhood ♕ - Their teen years ♖ - Their first friend ♗ - Their first relationship ♘- Their first kiss ♟- The first time they knew they were in love ♙ - Their first sexual experience ♚ - Their first experience with death ♛ - Marriage and Wedding Ceremonies ♜ - Having children and Parenthood ♝- Growing Old ♞ - Death

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Thread Tracker 19/08/15

Okay, because I’m actually really disorganised and I forgot who was supposed to write starters for me/who I was supposed to write starters for, if any, I’m gonna try and iron these out now:

I owe (existing threads):

draconid (I’m so sorry this is taking so long!!)

lookerticket

I am owed by (existing threads):

blueflamesx

ecruteakmystic

nekomusumeauthor

kantosupreme

grimmace

fightclubdove

I was plotting with: (( Now this is where the problem starts because I was plotting with several people and I don’t remember which ones I owe starters for and which ones I’m owed for... if you’re tagged here please inbox me about starter status I’m so so sorry ))

emeraldanalytics

d-incendie

deceit-is-art (still plotting, so that’s ok, you’re just in the tracker so I don’t lose track aha)

the-human-pyroar (you owe me a starter I’m pretty sure, but I can write it if you’ve got a lot on your plate!)

As always I’m willing to thread with anyone, whether it’s AUs or canon threads! Hit me up... my inbox is always waiting.

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◎ Have you ever done something that you regret to your brother?

Well… Nobody’s supposed t’ know this, but… it was me who set his Haunters out on some little kids playin’ in th’ Ecruteak streets when I came visitin’. Their parents got all angry and blamed it on Morty, and I kept quiet, and well… it kinda eats at me sometimes, the way I didnae own up. But it was also quite funny to see Morty all flustered, I s’pose…

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◎ do you love venice? if so, why?

One of the only things I’ll gladly admit tae is that I do indeed love Venice – she’s always there fer me when I need ‘er and even when I dinnae think I need anyone around she always makes things better. And she’s saved me life countless times… the only reason this ‘eart’s still beatin’ is cause o’ her.

[ask-scarlettrails-deactivated20]

Send a ◎ and a question and my muse must answer, even if it's a secret.

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2. Venice, Jackie, May

Marry – Venice, me one n’ only – I’d be nothin’ without that lass; I’d literally be dead if t’werenae for her! I owe her me life, and I’d gladly give her the rest o’ me ‘eart if she asked fer it...

Cuddle – That May seems like a nice lass. She’s a bit too childlike fer me tastes, but I wouldnae object if she needed a simple, innocent hug.

Sleep with – Jackie, me old frenemy! I’m willin’ t’ bet that in our past lives we were enemies n’ friends an equal number o’ times. There’s been a lot buildin’ up in me from all our past encounters – they say love yer neighbour, but I suppose t’wouldnae be a bad thing t’ love yer enemy either, eh?

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◎- JACKIE: SMASH OR PASS

I wouldnae readily admit this, especially not t’ a grey face like youse, but I’ve gotta say – I would smash that like an Abomasnow uses Hammer Arm!

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◎ - What do you really feel about your brother? Have you ever thought that you'd be better off without him?

Nay, nay, a million times nay! Morty’s always there t’ get me outta trouble – who else is gonna calm down that unruly wee Gengar of mine if it isnae him? In fact, sometimes I’m the one who wonders if he’d be better off if I wiznae around...

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You Couldn’t Do Much Better On The Beach || Skippy & ???

“One more day. One final twenty-four hour stretch, and this will all be over, n’ then ye’ll be sitting on a deckchair tomorrow just like everyone you’re gonna have t’ serve today.”

Skippy mutters the same words to himself over and over again, adjusting the tacky white visor strapped to his shorn blonde head as he readies himself to step out into the open for his final day at work. Through the tinted glass doors of the resort he can see the beach outside shimmering and shivering in the summer heat. Today is the last day he will not be able to lounge around and enjoy the sweet, sweet sunshine that never ever seemed to shine over his hometown of Virbank City. Today is the last day he will have to ring a small, tinny bell every five minutes to stick to the hotel’s ice-cream vending policy. Today is the last day of his summer job selling his own homemade ice-cream to stuck-up Sinnoh children. Then he is free, free, free!

Taking a deep breath, he musters up all his willpower before walking out of the automated glass doors, taking his place behind the tiny, white-and-pink striped cart that is nothing compared to the majestic ice-cream truck he’d left behind in Unova. He misses Virbank City already, even though it is gloomy, polluted and unsafe to walk around in even in broad daylight. At least it has character, he laments to himself. More character than this bloomin’ flimsy cart, anyway.

Against his own will, he disgustedly rings the tiny golden bell hooked onto the cart’s umbrella pole. “Ice-cream, freezin’ cold ice-cream fer sale t’ cool ya down!” he cries plaintively. He hates every single thing about this job – he hates the clichéd, cookie-cutter ice-cream man role he has been told to fill. In Virbank he stood out precisely because he wasn’t just another man with a striped apron and a truck that could play a catchy jingle.

He was allowed to have charisma back home, for one. After he was caught flirting with a very attractive, very busty female swimmer, his manager had not let him hear the end of it. Now he managed every transaction with a straight face, trying not to look anyone in the eye for too long lest he be tempted to strike up a conversation.

Back home, he also dealt out ice-cream cones in a suit more often than not; another factor that really drew in customers who loved their curiosities. Here, he has to wear the hotel’s standard white polo shirt, along with a nondescript black apron, which makes him look like some sort of stuck-up barista instead of an ice-cream man. He is convinced that his shouts are going unheard amidst the throng of people enjoying their summer here anyway. Sighing, he just stops talking altogether, slumping against his ice-cream cart. It’s me last day anyway. What’re they gonna do, fire me?!

His assumptions are proven wrong when a shadow falls over the ice-cream cart, and he bursts into action. Putting on his best customer service smile, he nods at the possible customer. “Welcome to me humble ice-cream cart! I take it yer here for some frozen delights?”

He spreads his arms out, indicating the vast array of flavours available – all handcrafted by himself, of course. The hotel had hired him for the brand, not the person – another fact that makes him bitter beyond comprehension.

“Me own personal favourites are the pistachio, or th’ triple chocolate blend... although if yer watchin’ yer weight ye might want t’ lay off that one. I’ve got sherbets too, or maybe ya’d like the more unusual blend of me own tried n’ tested recipe, chilli vanilla? So, what’ll ya be ‘avin’?”

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On the Water, On the Way || Morty & Skippy

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ecruteakmystic:

Like any other day, Morty went through with his duties as a Gym Leader. Completing a bit of paperwork, personal training and accepting Gym battles from first time Pokemon trainers to seasoned veterans. All in all, it had been a good day. He had managed to go through a whole pile before he helped Spooks and Wisp improve their tag-team combination. After that, he faced 8 Trainers today, five of which managed to win the Fog Badge while he gave advice to those that lost. Once he closed the Gym for the day, Morty headed home, feeling tired yet satisfied.

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As soon as his Pokegear rebooted itself, Skippy saw that he had one missed call. He didn’t know whether to be surprised or sorry that he’d missed it.

After making the call to his brother from the Virbank industrial park, he’d realised that there was no point in hanging around any longer. The grunts he’d assigned to this case were those just starting out in the gang – anyone more capable was off on other assignments, doing hits or stakeouts all over Unova. So he’d called it a day and told everyone else to go home. He himself needed a break. It had been a long day, and all that shouting had probably raised his blood pressure significantly.

As soon as he’d come through his front door, he’d headed straight for his couch and flopped onto it face down, breathing in the stale odour of its upholstery and slowly drifting off to sleep. Yet something near his nether regions continuously bothered him, and no amount of squirming around on the couch or changing his position seemed to alleviate it.

Och, it’s shan that I cannae seem t’ get any rest ‘round ‘ere! He swore inwardly, pulling himself up into a sitting position so that he could determine the source of his discomfort. A bulge in his pants caught his attention, and he raised his eyebrows. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his Pokegear, long forgotten and completely out of battery since its battery had run out after calling his brother. Ah, so that was it. This bloody thing gives me too many problems, I swear... Why can’t I just get a Poketch that’ll stay on me arm n’ not get forgotten about down me pants?

He plugged the piece of equipment into its charger, waiting for it to reboot on its own. When it did, and his home screen finally flashed up onto its digital display surface, a message popped up soon after: Missed call - Morty.

“Oh, shit!” Skippy quickly navigated to voicemail, and the dulcet yet weary tones of his brother emanated from his Pokegear’s nearly busted speakers.

“Skippy, I’m in front of Virbank City’s Airport. If you want my help, you better come and pick me up or so help me I’ll get on the next flight back to Johto. Love you.”

Skippy smiled as he took in the hesitant pause before that final, tentative “love you”. Just earlier this afternoon, he had been a man who didn’t believe in declarations of one’s feeling, especially when doing something as menial as leaving a voice message. However, hearing his brother say it alone seemed to have been enough to give him a change of heart. Clearly I’ve started some sorta trend, here, he thought to himself smugly. Well, if it’ll encourage the familial love I didnae feel while Da was still around, then by all means, I’ll keep it up.

Then the issue of how he was going to get to the Unovian airport within a reasonable time period rose into his head, and he began to panic once more. He looked out his window and did not like what he saw one bit. Virbank City was in gridlock once again, as it was on most evenings, when workers began to leave their offices or factories and return home to prepare themselves to face another soul-crushing day in twelve hours or less. Taking a taxi was clearly not an option. Neither was flying with Skarmory – he wasn’t going to be able to get Morty back that way, even if he made it to the airport fast.

Another thought occurred to him, and an almost malevolent grin appeared on his face. Grabbing a hemispherical dome off his coffee table, he burst out of his apartment once again and ran down to the garage, pressing on his remote for the communal carpark frantically in the hopes that it would make the old metal door rise faster. Then the lights automatically flickered on, and Skippy almost sighed out loud at the magnificent, lovely, awe-inspiring sight of his ice-cream van.

Ole faithful, he thought. I’d be nowhere without ‘er.

He unlocked the van and removed a small stepladder, climbing high enough so he could reach the roof of the van. Removing the sign that proclaimed ‘ICE-CREAM’ in huge curling letters, he fastened the red cylindrical dome into the slot where it had once been, then taps it into place before keeping the stepladder and returning to the driver’s seat. Skippy turned the key, revving the ignition. The engine wasn’t the only thing that started up, though – a loud, shrill siren erupted from the dome atop his truck, and he almost laughed at the irony of driving an ice-cream van with a stolen police siren stuck to its roof.

Desperate times call fer desperate measures, he thinks. And some trickery t’ boot.

Then he was off, tearing through the streets of Virbank like a madman driver in a high octane action movie. Skippy wouldn’t have swerved for anything toting a police siren in a million years. However, he belonged to the minority in Virbank – despite the city’s reputation, most of its people were good law-abiding citizens, which is why they needed people like him to uproot the corruption running rife in the institutions which held all the authority. These law-abiding citizens, being as courteous as they were, gave way for his so-called police truck at every opportunity, allowing Skippy to reach Unova International Airport in no time at all.

Pulling up by the curb, he rolled down his window and waved at his brother, who was toting two small suitcases and standing by the roadside forlornly. The siren was still wailing overhead – oh, how Skippy cherished the sound.

“Hello, brother!” His voice was like a child’s, all hopped up on the adrenalin and excitement one usually got when breaking the law in a fun kind of way. “Hop in. Plenty o’ space in the front. Oh, and if anyone asks, this is actually a police van, and I’m arrestin’ ya. Aight?”

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♪

Outfit || New Air

Whenever I really need to write, whether it’s boshing some replies out or working on my own personal writing projects, I love playing the entire album this song is on. It’s really really conducive and I always get loads done!

[nekomusumeauthor]

ace of wands || shauntal & skippy

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nekomusumeauthor:

Ace of Wands, keywords Upright: Inspiration, power, creation, beginnings, potential Reversed: Delays, lack of motivation, weighed down

Tarot readings were something that had a long history in Shauntal’s family. Or at the very least her mother’s side of the family. Many of the mediums or channelers in her family often practiced the art of tarot readings amongst other things as well. And while not everyone on her mother’s side could be considered a true medium, the readings were often very accurate. The stronger the channeler, the more accurate the readings of course. Her grandmother was said to have done a reading that predicted her mother’s marriage to her father and Shauntal’s eventual birth. (Her grandmother disregards this claim entirely but Shauntal likes to believe it’s true.) 

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Skippy isn’t the type of man who would normally believe in the occult. But with a Gengar on his team and a near-fatal possession under his belt of experience, he figures that it wouldn’t be unreasonable to acknowledge the existence of otherworldly forces.

This particular thought doesn’t occur to him immediately on what will turn out to be a very fateful day. As he walks into his neighbourhood café of choice, he does not notice the woman sitting by the window, with an ornately-knit blanket spread over her table. Nor does he notice the friendly Litwick cooing quietly atop the blanket, reaching its stubby arms out for one of the numerous glowing crystals spread out on the tabletop. He normally visits this café on lazy days, when ice-cream sales have been slow and there is no impending gang work for the evening ahead. All he wants to do now is have an espresso or ten, drink himself into a caffeine stupor, and go home to his shitty apartment to fall asleep on his couch with no sense of purpose left in him whatsoever.

His Gengar, by contrast, is incredibly peppy today. It screeches and bounces about by his table, clearly eager to do something, although the nature of that thing escapes Skippy completely in his fatigued daze. He blindly orders his first espresso from the fairly attractive waitress who, like him, always seems to be around. She flashes him a dazzling smile as she flounces off to put in his order, but he is not feeling flirtatious today. As soon as she isn’t looking, he slumps down onto the table and rests his head on his arms, yawning loudly.

Eventually the pokes and prods from his mischievous Gengar cease altogether, and Skippy smiles stupidly to himself. Ah, some peace at last! Shoulda gone walkin’ wi’ Croagunk today instead – at least that frog knows how t’ behave itself in public...

His eyes drift lazily across the café, coming to rest on his Gengar a few metres away, creeping up on the Litwick with pinched fingers as if planning to extinguish the blue flame on its head. Aight, Gengar, he thinks to himself sleepily. You go ahead n’ play wi’ your new friend... nay, hold up a wee second. GENGAR?!

He pushes himself upright with a start, his chair nearly toppling over behind him. “Oi, Gengar, oi!” he whispers, trying not to catch the attention of any other customers in the café lest they ban him for life for having such an ill-behaved Pokemon. “C’mon now, lass, y’ve had lotsa fun today already! You got t’ play those pranks on those Pokemon at the park; y’ nearly scared that poor Pachirisu t’ death, too! Now c’mon, old gal, time t’ sit quietly with me...”

Too late. The woman looks up at him, and Skippy gives a start as he recognises none other than Shauntal, one of the esteemed members of the Unovian Elite Four. He quickly grabs his Gengar by the spikes on its back and shoves it behind him, briefly feeling his soul slowly dislocate from his body as he comes into contact with its purple ectoplasmic body. She doesn’t seem to have noticed his Gengar’s indiscretion, though. In fact, she gives him the friendliest smile he has seen in some time and threads her fingers together, like a maternal professor of sorts.

“So how may I help you my dear? Do you feel as if destiny pulled you here for a reading or are you simply curious? I serve both types.”

“I, uh, I...” Skippy fumbles with his words as he seeks an answer that will not seem rude or outright dumb. He cannot tell her about his Pokemon’s intended prank, but now he's technically approached her table he would feel bad if he walked away without patronising her little station of the occult. “Well, I wouldnae mind gettin’ meself a reading. I amnae gonna lie, I’m a bit of a skeptic ‘bout things like these. But really – I’ve had a slow day, borderin’ on bad, and what harm could some cards do me?”

He sticks a warning finger in his Gengar’s face, and it just chuckles to itself like it has another backup prank up its nonexistent sleeves. Then he turns back to Shauntal, smiling apologetically and feeling for all the world like a tired father.

“So, uh, how exactly does this work? Ya draw some cards n’ tell me my future, or somethin’?” He sighs wearily. “I hope they’ve got somethin’ good t’ say ‘bout me... Arceus knows I need it!”

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adopt, be adopted by, marry the Pokemon on Skippy's team

Adopt – Croagunk! That frog knows how t’ behave itself, s’like a daughter t’ me already.

Be adopted by – Gengar. As much as it loves makin’ mischief, and as much as it frustrates me sometimes, I love it t’ bits, n’ it takes after me so much that it could probably care fer me if I asked it tae.

Marry – Skarmory. Me one n’ only; the first Pokemon I ever caught. There isnae anyone else fer me. Except maybe Venice me smokin’ hot girlfriend