#stoneccentric

[sinnohchampioncynthia]

-squints- You're not up to anything, are you?

Steven, I am quite frankly shocked and appalled that you would suspect me of anything short of angelic behaviour. Of course I’m not up to anything, mother. It’s a Thursday night and I’ve got a dozen papers to sign off. You know. Normal, dull, run of the mill Champion things.  <3

[sinnohchampioncynthia]

💎

send me a 💎 and my muse will rate your muse’s physical appearance on a scale of 1-10

“Can you believe that in a magazine Steven stone was once voted a hotter Champion that me? Blasphemy. Besides, we all know that number one spot belongs to Diantha and Diantha alone!!

Ah, Oh my! Apologies.. I got distracted... 

Anyway, those that believe that I am inferior in looks to Steven obviously have never met Mr. Stone in person! He’s practically a pocket sized pichu! 

I’m partial to a tall, well-muscled, rugged gentleman myself and Steven Stone is... Hmmn... Well he has his own sort of appeal, I suppose. I mean he’s got lovely cheekbones and the whole businessman get-up has to work for some people. And I guess he’s hopelessly kind and well-mannered if you’re... Into that or whatever.

I’ll give him an 8 but I’ll add an extra .5 onto that score for each level of dishevelled his clothing becomes.

...What? You think i can’t appreciate a loosened tie and a half buttoned shirt? I’m only human you know!”

[sinnohchampioncynthia]

Sad

A Simple Summer Party (#12) 🌧- Sad

As the clock struck midnight Cynthia felt herself plummet from her high. Perhaps it was because she’d started too early? Perhaps she’d mixed her drinks? Perhaps she was simply emotional?

Either way, as Melanie very kindly began to wash up a few of the glasses Cynthia began to feel sad. 

The music had slowed to a lull, she wasn’t sure who was DJing anymore, and it all seemed a little dark and heavy. 

There would be a time when they may not get together like this, people would grow old, friends would grow apart. What was the point? Was this all a scheme to breath life into a repetitive lifestyle? If even a Champion’s job could warrant breaking-and-entering style parties to keep them interesting then was there any hope of finding meaning in the endless parade of day to day monotony? What had she achieved in the last 10 years??

Frowning, Cynthia picks up what’s left of her cocktail pitcher. It’s contents had betrayed her this night. 

[lux-vitae-blog1]

♬ : Does your muse sing well? Regardless of whether they sing well or not, do they enjoy singing? (for both!)

Random Headcanon Meme (not accepting)

♬ : Does your muse sing well? Regardless of whether they sing well or not, do they enjoy singing?

Sycamore: Loves to sing in the shower but despite outward appearances, is no professional singer. He’s not bad, just slightly above average?

Fontaine: Sings pretty well but does not open his mouth to do so very often as he always seems to draw the wrong crowd. 

[scrubs-and-cigs]

💝- A memory that made them feel loved

It’s over. It’s all gone. Rocket’s gone. Like that. Overnight. The only life he’d ever known. Gone.

There’s something about it that just feels permanent. Final. It’s the end. Rocket’s dead, the reaper’s come, the curtain falls. However anyone wanted to say it. Only a few days ago this uniform, this stupid uniform, it meant something. It meant power and dominance and strength, it meant that Petrel was a force to be reckoned with, and with the entirety of KohJoh’s organized crime in his pocket and backing him up, to boot. Now it was just rags, torn and dirty and grimy. A painful memory of a life that had been ripped out from under him.

It’s dark by the time he gets to Saffron. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out in the field, hasn’t had time to pay attention to the days rolling passed as he crawled through underbrush and scrambled through mountains and woods, doing his damndest to keep hidden. He had barely been able to sleep, was too anxious to eat—around every corner was fear. Deep, primal fear. They must have been hunting him. They must have been. Interpol was out there, Interpol was after them, and now, now Rocket was gone and Petrel didn’t have anyone to rely on, and he didn’t want to go back to jail, didn’t want to be held and starved, beaten, waterboarded, humiliated, whatever ‘enhanced interrogation’ they would have in store for someone like him to torture his fellow Executives’ hideaways out of him—

He drew nearer to the houses as he continued to run, and there was one that quickly took his attention above the rest. He knew that house. He recognized it. Maybe—maybe he still…. Swallowing hard, he pushed himself harder, feeling the fire in his muscles and pain in his joints and back, but he didn’t slow down, forced himself through it, and before he knew it he bounded up the porch steps and to the front door, where he raised one fist to quickly pound on it before slumping to the side to catch his breath in big, shuddering pants.

A moment later a light turns on inside, and the lock clicks. He sticks his head outside the door–it’s him. It’s him. Petrel wants to greet him, but can only wheeze, and his eyes are drawn to the side, widen upon seeing him. “P-Petrel!” he says, and frowns, brows knitting.

“Mathew,” he finally manages to wheeze out, sides and shoulders heaving with the effort. There’s something up. Mathew is looking at him oddly. Did he know? Did… did he know what happened? Or maybe he’s just… hungry? Sleepy? He gives up on trying to determine Mathew’s expression; it’s a lost cause in this state.

Mathew continues to stare, and they’re quiet for a long, long moment. He… looks like he might want to shut the door? But instead he opens it wider, steps back. Petrel takes that as an invitation, and supporting himself on the wall, shuffles inside.

Mathew lets him use the shower, and Petrel takes his time scrubbing the layers of filth off his skin until it’s almost like the passed few days hadn’t even happened. When he came out there was a fluffy towel waiting for him. Warm, like it had just come out of a drier. And a change of clothes, too–his uniform was nowhere to be found, but the fresh underwear, t-shirt, and flannel pants were warm, too. Petrel paused as he fingered the material, then slowly, leaned to press his nose to the fabric before taking in a deep whiff. It… smelled like him. These were Mathew’s. Something about the fact touched Petrel, stirred something in his chest. An ache. A longing.

When he was finally dry and dressed, he found Mathew back out in the living room arranging sheets on the couch. He watched him quietly for a moment, but Mathew soon noticed he was there, and their eyes met. “I thought you might have wanted to stay for the night,” Mathew said.

“Um… thanks,” Petrel replied awkwardly. Mathew nodded.

“There’s water bottles in the fridge,” he continued, “if you need them. Some leftovers, too. I don’t know if you’re…. if you’re hungry. B-but if you need anything, just… just let me know, alright? I–I have work in the morning, so I need to sleep, but….” Petrel shuffled out of the way as Mathew made to move back passed him, eyes glancing from the couch to his retreating form.

“W-wait!” Petrel suddenly said, and Mathew paused and turned back to him. “I… I don’t…. Can I sleep in your room?” His eyes widened. Petrel hastened to clarify. “On the floor, not–not in your bed, I just—I don’t—I don’t want to be alone. Not right now. Please? Mathew?”

Silence. Staring. More of this. Petrel felt the heat rising to his ears, knew he should have kept his mouth shut. Slowly, he began to turn so he could lay down on the couch and forget he even asked, but before he could, Mathew stretched one hand out to him. Petrel swallowed hard. Was this… good? He reached out to take Mathew’s hand in his own.

“Come on, Mr. Petrel,” Mathew said quietly, “just for tonight, okay?”

Petrel slept more soundly that night than he could ever remember, a warm glow in his chest lulling him easily to sleep. This, he thought to himself, bundled tight in soft blankets, was certainly love.

[ecruteakmystic]

💞! Let's see some of those pick up lines. :D

“Are you a HM? Because I can’t get you out of my mind,” Morty says with a light laugh, flashing Mathew a bright smile.

“I bought you an Everstone because I like you just the way you are,” Riley says to Steven with a smile. “It’s cheesy but I mean it.”

[ecruteakmystic]

☼ : Does your muse like daytime or nighttime more? (for all three!)

Morty prefers nighttime more. It’s the calming atmosphere that he likes. Everything slows to a standstill, the temperature is cool and there’s just something enchantingly beautiful at the sight of a usually busy street devoid of life. Of course, it’s also the time where spirits and Ghost-types alike are out and about.

Riley prefers daytime. It’s a time where he could focus his time and energy into his aura training. With the natural light from the sun, he wouldn’t have to expand more focus beyond the task at hand

Aarune prefers daytime. It’s the perfect time to go on adventures under some natural light. It lessens the dangers of going through jungles and what not. Seeing what’s in front of him is also quite nice.

[etcile-archive-blog]

✿ - laugh (for both!)

Send me symbol and I’ll describe my muse’s (accepting)

✿ - Laugh

Sycamore: His laughter is a singsong and slightly high-pitched heeheehee, He laughs a lot. Seriously, even at the smallest of things. It’s what keeps him going and the thoughts at bay.

Fontaine: Surprisingly for his features and personality, his laugh is rather deep and rich. That being said, it is rare that you will catch a genuine laugh from him in public.