ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* Angel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brokencode) wrote2016-08-22 05:17 am
brokencode) wrote2016-08-22 05:17 am
Entry tags:
IC Inbox [VR]
Oh -- No. Sorry. It's -- [She puts her hands up, waving the young man off. She... has literally done nothing wrong here, and yet she still feels guilty. Must be a day that ends in 'y.']
I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Your Pokemon most have dialed me by accident.
I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Your Pokemon most have dialed me by accident.
[Because he doesn't know what that word means, Razor stares blankly for another moment. Then he looks down, at what must be the Bunnelby, and appears to watch it scramble away.
Then it dawns on him.]
Oh... No! I am sorry. My Lunch... she is... misbehaving. A lot. Sugar Cloud, also.
[This ball of cotton candy has no shame at all. Look at the smirk on its face.]
Then it dawns on him.]
Oh... No! I am sorry. My Lunch... she is... misbehaving. A lot. Sugar Cloud, also.
[This ball of cotton candy has no shame at all. Look at the smirk on its face.]
[The alarm on Angel's face is almost immediate. Her eyes go wide and a hand lifts to her mouth.]
Your lunch?
Your lunch?
Yes.
[Holding the Gear (not particularly steadily), he makes for the other side of the room to stoop down and scoop the Bunnelby into his free arm. She appears content to go limp in his grasp, eyes closing in a smile. And the candyfloss dog somehow stays perfectly balanced on him the entire time.]
This is Lunch. She is naughty, but animals... don't know what is naughty. So... It is my fault, not hers.
[Holding the Gear (not particularly steadily), he makes for the other side of the room to stoop down and scoop the Bunnelby into his free arm. She appears content to go limp in his grasp, eyes closing in a smile. And the candyfloss dog somehow stays perfectly balanced on him the entire time.]
This is Lunch. She is naughty, but animals... don't know what is naughty. So... It is my fault, not hers.
As far as snowball fights go, it had been one that can only be described as epic. Snow had been flung, loving relationships had temporarily been set aside to conduct frosty warfare, pokemon had joined in -- frankly, no words can ever truly capture everything that had happened, which is why we are not even going to attempt!
Instead, we skip to the aftermath.
After what feels like half an hour of stamping, shaking and wriggling at the B&B's door to get all the snow off them, Armin and Angel finally make it to their room. Their outwear has been abandoned by the door, with a promise by the inn's keeper to put their hats, scarves and gloves by the fire so they can dry. Thankfully, the clothes they had been wearing underneath had (mostly) managed to stay dry, but now that the intense battle is over, Armin is starting to notice just how cold he is.
"I think I forgot just how cold snow gets."
They don't get much of it on the Islands after all.
Thankfully there is a small fireplace in their room -- or rather, there is something that looks like a fireplace, wooden blocks and all, but which had instead turned out to be faked and warmed by electricity which had fascinated Armin endlessly. Right now though, the only thing he is interested in is defrosting his fingers ASAP.
Holding his hands close to the heat with a grateful sigh, Armin rubs his sock-clad feet together for a moment, before glancing at Angel over his shoulder.
"Come here, your fingers must be frozen too."
Instead, we skip to the aftermath.
After what feels like half an hour of stamping, shaking and wriggling at the B&B's door to get all the snow off them, Armin and Angel finally make it to their room. Their outwear has been abandoned by the door, with a promise by the inn's keeper to put their hats, scarves and gloves by the fire so they can dry. Thankfully, the clothes they had been wearing underneath had (mostly) managed to stay dry, but now that the intense battle is over, Armin is starting to notice just how cold he is.
"I think I forgot just how cold snow gets."
They don't get much of it on the Islands after all.
Thankfully there is a small fireplace in their room -- or rather, there is something that looks like a fireplace, wooden blocks and all, but which had instead turned out to be faked and warmed by electricity which had fascinated Armin endlessly. Right now though, the only thing he is interested in is defrosting his fingers ASAP.
Holding his hands close to the heat with a grateful sigh, Armin rubs his sock-clad feet together for a moment, before glancing at Angel over his shoulder.
"Come here, your fingers must be frozen too."
While Armin gets cozy by the fire, Angel has crowded herself over to the nearest mirror. She inspects her skin with narrowed eyes. The last time she'd rolled around in the snow, after all, she'd wound up with a terrible rash that had lasted weeks. She knows now that it was an illness rather than anything else, but that doesn't keep her from scrutinizing herself until --
Her attention flicks over to Armin as he speaks. He's not wrong, her fingers feel absolutely frigid against the slightly warmer skin of her arms. Now that he's mentioned it, though, she finds herself shivering outright -- or maybe she had been the entire time.
Either way, she settles down beside him in front of the "fire." She brushes her fluffily clothed feet against Armin's before leaning her shoulder against his. Her own hands are held out toward the heat.
Well, one is, at least. The other wraps around Armin's, threading their frigid fingers together with a small smile. It doesn't help the shivering much.
"Mm, perhaps." She thumbs over the back of his hand. Her smile is almost devious. "What do you think?"
Her attention flicks over to Armin as he speaks. He's not wrong, her fingers feel absolutely frigid against the slightly warmer skin of her arms. Now that he's mentioned it, though, she finds herself shivering outright -- or maybe she had been the entire time.
Either way, she settles down beside him in front of the "fire." She brushes her fluffily clothed feet against Armin's before leaning her shoulder against his. Her own hands are held out toward the heat.
Well, one is, at least. The other wraps around Armin's, threading their frigid fingers together with a small smile. It doesn't help the shivering much.
"Mm, perhaps." She thumbs over the back of his hand. Her smile is almost devious. "What do you think?"
"They are like icicles."
Not that Armin's hands are any better off. If his feel warmer, it's just because they have had a bit more exposure to the 'fire'.
"Here." He gently tugs Angel down with him onto the little Mareep rug (no actual Mareeps have been harmed in the making of this rug), so they can both cosily fit in front of the heater. Once seated, he catches her hands between his own, starting to rub some warmth back into her fingers. "Here, this is what they taught us during training."
Not that Armin's hands are any better off. If his feel warmer, it's just because they have had a bit more exposure to the 'fire'.
"Here." He gently tugs Angel down with him onto the little Mareep rug (no actual Mareeps have been harmed in the making of this rug), so they can both cosily fit in front of the heater. Once seated, he catches her hands between his own, starting to rub some warmth back into her fingers. "Here, this is what they taught us during training."
It's almost funny, how these tender little motions seem to strike Angel so hard. Considering where they started, a best friend second only to Krieg, they've shared plenty of things with one another over the years. Sharing a space like this, and keeping one another warm might be a little more intimate, but it's hardly out of the question.
Yet there was a layer of intimacy to all of this, one that they'd yet to experience before. They'd shared a room and a bed previous to this, but this still feels incredibly... deliberate, in the end. They'd both chosen to go away together as part of a romantic venture. Which meant that romance seemed to cling to every little thing.
Her fingers twitch against his, involuntarily flexing. She tells herself that it's only because she's starting to get feeling back. She certainly doesn't want to reach out and touch his face, or wrap her arms around him, or anything like that.
If nothing else, at least her face is starting to feel warmer.
Yet there was a layer of intimacy to all of this, one that they'd yet to experience before. They'd shared a room and a bed previous to this, but this still feels incredibly... deliberate, in the end. They'd both chosen to go away together as part of a romantic venture. Which meant that romance seemed to cling to every little thing.
Her fingers twitch against his, involuntarily flexing. She tells herself that it's only because she's starting to get feeling back. She certainly doesn't want to reach out and touch his face, or wrap her arms around him, or anything like that.
If nothing else, at least her face is starting to feel warmer.
Armin doesn't notice the way her fingers twitch between his -- or perhaps he does and he chooses not to comment on it. Instead, he continues to slowly rub warmth back into Angel fingers, continuing long beyond what is necessary.
Angel's hands are... so delicate looking. Armin knows his own hands can hardly be called masculine, but even between his hands, Angel's are smaller still, her pale fingers fine and soft. Not that his are particularly calloused anymore either; life here has worn away the old rough edges. These days, the only thing he has to worry about are pen callouses and Armin thinks that is just fine. This sort of life suits him better.
Suddenly realising he's been staring at Angel's hands for what is probably an embarrassingly long time, he flushes. "Sorry. I was just-- I like your hands. They are beautiful."
Angel's hands are... so delicate looking. Armin knows his own hands can hardly be called masculine, but even between his hands, Angel's are smaller still, her pale fingers fine and soft. Not that his are particularly calloused anymore either; life here has worn away the old rough edges. These days, the only thing he has to worry about are pen callouses and Armin thinks that is just fine. This sort of life suits him better.
Suddenly realising he's been staring at Angel's hands for what is probably an embarrassingly long time, he flushes. "Sorry. I was just-- I like your hands. They are beautiful."
Armin is quiet, but that's okay. Angel is content to enjoy the companionable silence, to have her hand be held. She knows, implicitly, that if she wasn't particularly enjoying it, she could have just as easily said to stop, or told him her hand was warm enough. That was one of the many things about Armin that she loved wholeheartedly. He might have been protective of her, but he also was capable of acknowledging her own strength and ability. He'd let her stand on her own, time and time again.
She blinks as Armin speaks. She doesn't need to look at her hand to know which one he's holding, obviously, but she does anyway. She watches how their bare fingers look beside one another. She glances to the left, down at the swirling blue waves of her tattoos, and then looks up to Armin's face.
"Not many people would hold that hand and say that, you know." Even here, there was a level of reverence for tattoos. It was strictly aesthetic, and generally Angel wasn't bothered by it. But some part of her, somewhere in the back of her mind, would always be mildly unnerved when it was the first (or only) thing people talked about.
Not Armin though. If he appreciated them, it was solely because it was a piece of the whole.
She lifts the other hand, laying it over Armin's own. She thumbs over the back of his hand, then allows her fingers to trace up his arm -- just a little. She likes how his skin feels against hers.
She blinks as Armin speaks. She doesn't need to look at her hand to know which one he's holding, obviously, but she does anyway. She watches how their bare fingers look beside one another. She glances to the left, down at the swirling blue waves of her tattoos, and then looks up to Armin's face.
"Not many people would hold that hand and say that, you know." Even here, there was a level of reverence for tattoos. It was strictly aesthetic, and generally Angel wasn't bothered by it. But some part of her, somewhere in the back of her mind, would always be mildly unnerved when it was the first (or only) thing people talked about.
Not Armin though. If he appreciated them, it was solely because it was a piece of the whole.
She lifts the other hand, laying it over Armin's own. She thumbs over the back of his hand, then allows her fingers to trace up his arm -- just a little. She likes how his skin feels against hers.
A small shiver runs down Armin's spine when Angel traces her fingers up his arm, though it doesn't have anything to do with the cold. "That's their loss."
He scoots a little closer, his legs parting so she ends up seated between them. One of his hands falls down to rest on her hip, the other combing the ends of her hair over her shoulders, so none of it can obscure what is visible of her tattoos. Which, in all fairness, isn't all that much; the wintery temperatures in Kanto necessitate covering a lot more skin than the balmy weather on the islands does. That said, even if Angel was dressed from head to toe, with not a sliver of skin showing, Armin has studied her tattoos often and long enough (well, the parts of them that she had allowed him to see) that he can picture them swirling across her skin without the visual reminder. "I think they are gorgeous. You are gorgeous."
Is he biased? Absolutely. He's still in that honeymoon stage of the relationship where everything Angel does, including the way she lightly snuffles in her sleep and drools just a bit, is downright enchanting to him.
He scoots a little closer, his legs parting so she ends up seated between them. One of his hands falls down to rest on her hip, the other combing the ends of her hair over her shoulders, so none of it can obscure what is visible of her tattoos. Which, in all fairness, isn't all that much; the wintery temperatures in Kanto necessitate covering a lot more skin than the balmy weather on the islands does. That said, even if Angel was dressed from head to toe, with not a sliver of skin showing, Armin has studied her tattoos often and long enough (well, the parts of them that she had allowed him to see) that he can picture them swirling across her skin without the visual reminder. "I think they are gorgeous. You are gorgeous."
Is he biased? Absolutely. He's still in that honeymoon stage of the relationship where everything Angel does, including the way she lightly snuffles in her sleep and drools just a bit, is downright enchanting to him.
It's a strangely intimate position, the one they're in now. Even still, Angel can't bring herself to complain. She leans back against Armin, reveling in how -- despite his own diminutive stature -- he manages to envelop her so completely. He might have his doubts about himself at times, but there's never been any doubt in her mind that he could protect her.
Not that he needs to. Even with recent events, and the return of Jack, this world was a peaceful one. It's a peace they've both fought hard in their own respective worlds to earn.
Still, it's not a wholly innocent reaction, either. Even through fabric, the hand on her hip sends a faint thrill through her. It's foreign and electrifying, and she has to hope that the way she shivers is translated as a side-effect of the cold, rather than anything else.
With her free hand, Angel reaches up and over her shoulder. She knows without having to guess, really, where Armin is. Her fingers stroke gingerly over his cheek, then back into his hair. She combs her fingers through it as she lays her head back on his shoulder.
Not that he needs to. Even with recent events, and the return of Jack, this world was a peaceful one. It's a peace they've both fought hard in their own respective worlds to earn.
Still, it's not a wholly innocent reaction, either. Even through fabric, the hand on her hip sends a faint thrill through her. It's foreign and electrifying, and she has to hope that the way she shivers is translated as a side-effect of the cold, rather than anything else.
With her free hand, Angel reaches up and over her shoulder. She knows without having to guess, really, where Armin is. Her fingers stroke gingerly over his cheek, then back into his hair. She combs her fingers through it as she lays her head back on his shoulder.
[And all at once, the breath rushes out of Angel's lungs in a relieved sigh. It was probably poor manners on her part to make such an assumption of the child. On the other hand, it was a hell of a name to give a Pokemon.]
You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I can't imagine you've made a habit of caring for Pokemon before this. I am sure it will take time for you to adjust to the nuances of caring for this creatures.
You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I can't imagine you've made a habit of caring for Pokemon before this. I am sure it will take time for you to adjust to the nuances of caring for this creatures.
For a moment, Armin breathes in the scent of Angel's hair, a mixture of the shampoo she uses and something that is very uniquely Angel underneath. It's a scent he's grown to love, to the point of sometimes 'borrow-stealing' her shampoo to wash his own hair (a secret he will defend with his life), but with the way they are positioned, it's not the only thing he can pay attention too.
As it is, he can feel Angel's back press against his chest, the outside of her hips between his thighs. She is, thankfully, just seated far forward enough that he doesn't need to worry about his body (well, one particular part of his body, really) getting a mind of its own and turning everything very weird and embarrassing, but from this position, he can see the long, pale line of her neck and the way it slopes down towards her shoulder.
Dropping his other hand down to her hip as well, he lets his eyes slide, pressing his lips to her neck, just underneath her ear. The first brush of his lips is light, but as he moves down her neck, his lips grow bolder, searching and finding the thrum of Angel's pulse and latching on.
Well, unless she stops him, of course.
As it is, he can feel Angel's back press against his chest, the outside of her hips between his thighs. She is, thankfully, just seated far forward enough that he doesn't need to worry about his body (well, one particular part of his body, really) getting a mind of its own and turning everything very weird and embarrassing, but from this position, he can see the long, pale line of her neck and the way it slopes down towards her shoulder.
Dropping his other hand down to her hip as well, he lets his eyes slide, pressing his lips to her neck, just underneath her ear. The first brush of his lips is light, but as he moves down her neck, his lips grow bolder, searching and finding the thrum of Angel's pulse and latching on.
Well, unless she stops him, of course.
[That... is quite reasonable logic, and not something he'd necessarily have considered on his own. He doesn't spend a lot of time wondering why, he just accepts things as they are.]
No. Only... one moon ago, I came. [He sits back down, Lunch plopped over lazily in his lap and Sugar Cloud nestling deeper into his hair.] You have been here long?
No. Only... one moon ago, I came. [He sits back down, Lunch plopped over lazily in his lap and Sugar Cloud nestling deeper into his hair.] You have been here long?
This is entirely unfamiliar territory for her. Even before his lips touch her skin, Angel can feel her heartbeat picking up. There's an odd, fluttering sort of anticipation in her stomach. This, of course, is buried by a brief wave of nervousness. As always, there is a lingering fear that she might not be good enough, might make a fool of herself.
Those doubts are thrown from her mind with that first kiss. It's like a bolt of electricity runs through her. With each beat of her heart, the butterflies in her stomach flutter all the more, sending odd rushes down between her legs.
All in all, it's... intoxicating. The lower he dips, the harder she shudders. She can't tilt her head back anymore, but she might have if she could. There's a sudden urge in her head to bear every bit of skin she possibly can for Armin, if only it meant having his attention on it. In a way, it's no different than how she normally feels with him. There's an implicit trust, and she's eager to show him just how boundless it was.
Her free hand settles, finally, resting on the outside of his thigh. She circles her thumb against it, hoping it might assure him of his actions. She doesn't trust herself to speak, fears whatever noises may bubble out, but she still wants him to know how much she's enjoying herself.
Those doubts are thrown from her mind with that first kiss. It's like a bolt of electricity runs through her. With each beat of her heart, the butterflies in her stomach flutter all the more, sending odd rushes down between her legs.
All in all, it's... intoxicating. The lower he dips, the harder she shudders. She can't tilt her head back anymore, but she might have if she could. There's a sudden urge in her head to bear every bit of skin she possibly can for Armin, if only it meant having his attention on it. In a way, it's no different than how she normally feels with him. There's an implicit trust, and she's eager to show him just how boundless it was.
Her free hand settles, finally, resting on the outside of his thigh. She circles her thumb against it, hoping it might assure him of his actions. She doesn't trust herself to speak, fears whatever noises may bubble out, but she still wants him to know how much she's enjoying herself.
[Angel looks a little relieved. The young man hadn't fought against her point. With luck, he'd actually taken it to heart.]
That isn't long at all. [She nods to his second question.] Quite a long time, yes... I believe last fall would have been the end of my fourth year here. Though I will admit, there were several months that I wasn't here, as well.
I'm Angel, by the way.
That isn't long at all. [She nods to his second question.] Quite a long time, yes... I believe last fall would have been the end of my fourth year here. Though I will admit, there were several months that I wasn't here, as well.
I'm Angel, by the way.
It is, at the very least, a fear they share. Armin has no idea what he is doing. Or rather, he's gleaned a rough picture of how these things are supposed to happen -- from books, from bragging conversations many other trainees would have in the evening in the dorms, and from one enormously awkward conversation with Jean. But he also knows that of those various sources, only Jean can be somewhat depended on.
He is, as they say, flying fucking blind and he really hopes there are no trees ahead.
Armin's fingers dig a bit further into Angel's hips -- not painfully, not harshly, just a little more tightly. It's honestly a little intoxicating to be here like this, bathed in the warm glow of the heater, his mouth dragging along Angel's skin, while he can feel ever little shiver and shudder of her body. And spurred on by the way she is leaning into him --she wouldn't do that if she wasn't enjoying this, right?-- he takes it a little further, his kisses becoming more heated, his lips fasting down on her skin and giving it an experimental suck just like he had read described in countless of books.
He is, as they say, flying fucking blind and he really hopes there are no trees ahead.
Armin's fingers dig a bit further into Angel's hips -- not painfully, not harshly, just a little more tightly. It's honestly a little intoxicating to be here like this, bathed in the warm glow of the heater, his mouth dragging along Angel's skin, while he can feel ever little shiver and shudder of her body. And spurred on by the way she is leaning into him --she wouldn't do that if she wasn't enjoying this, right?-- he takes it a little further, his kisses becoming more heated, his lips fasting down on her skin and giving it an experimental suck just like he had read described in countless of books.
[A few days after her birthday, Angel will get a belated birthday card with a shocked Pikachu on the front and a P2000 bill tucked inside.]
Armin said this was okay to send. Hope you had a good day.
—S
Armin said this was okay to send. Hope you had a good day.
—S
[Steven will get a text not too long after she opens the letter!]
:O
You're kind, Steven.
Thank you.
I hope you're well.
:O
You're kind, Steven.
Thank you.
I hope you're well.
I am on the whole! Though I ought to warn you that if you ever try Cecil's Aurora League gym, remember to read up on something called 'inverse battles' first. Trust me.
[He did not and it was very embarrassing.]
(And thank you. I try to be.)
[He did not and it was very embarrassing.]
(And thank you. I try to be.)
For a brief second, Angel forgets how to breathe, swallow, think, or virtually anything aside from reel at the feeling of that mouth against her skin. Even if everything about this situation is new, that particular sensation manages to be so novel that it completely shorts out her brain.
It feels good. She wants it to keep feeling good. But as her brain starts to regain it's function, she becomes quickly aware of just how one-sided this has become. The idea of facing Armin might be on the humiliating side, but she still wants to be able to return at least some of the favors being offered to her.
Gently shifting within his grip, Angel allows herself to turn around. She does her best not to drift too far from Armin's waiting hands, lest she give him the idea that she's no longer comfortable with what they're doing. That couldn't be further from the truth.
"Armin." From this new vantage point, it's easier for her to read his face, and to be read in kind. Her skin is flushed, naturally, but there's also a smile on her lips, too.
Feeling bold, she slips one leg around his waist, then the other, so that she's straddling his lap. Her hands come to rest against his chest.
"Is this okay?"
It feels good. She wants it to keep feeling good. But as her brain starts to regain it's function, she becomes quickly aware of just how one-sided this has become. The idea of facing Armin might be on the humiliating side, but she still wants to be able to return at least some of the favors being offered to her.
Gently shifting within his grip, Angel allows herself to turn around. She does her best not to drift too far from Armin's waiting hands, lest she give him the idea that she's no longer comfortable with what they're doing. That couldn't be further from the truth.
"Armin." From this new vantage point, it's easier for her to read his face, and to be read in kind. Her skin is flushed, naturally, but there's also a smile on her lips, too.
Feeling bold, she slips one leg around his waist, then the other, so that she's straddling his lap. Her hands come to rest against his chest.
"Is this okay?"
... What's an inverse battle?
[Steven, please. She barely knows how a regular battle works!]
[Steven, please. She barely knows how a regular battle works!]
Ones where the type weaknesses are reversed, done in gyms that have been set up especially for them. A week ago, I did not know about them. I learned the hard way.
But speaking of gym challenges and pokemon journeys, I heard that Armin was giving you a special friend to take on yours. How do you like them?
[Armin and Angel are very cute together and he wishes them all the happiness.]
But speaking of gym challenges and pokemon journeys, I heard that Armin was giving you a special friend to take on yours. How do you like them?
[Armin and Angel are very cute together and he wishes them all the happiness.]
Armin swallows hard when Angel turns around to slide onto his laugh. Her question almost makes him laugh. Is this okay, she asks, as if having Angel on his lap, having her thighs press against his own, is something he could ever mind; as if it isn't something he's dreamt of for ages.
He doesn't laugh though. His throat is far too dry for it, even as he swallows to wet it. His face feels like it is on fire, and he's certain that by now, the flush on it extends all the way to the tip of his ears and the top of his collar bones.
"Y-yeah." It's a little different, having to just slightly tilt his head upwards to look at Angel, but it is far from unpleasant. His hands find her hips again, resting there, one of his thumbs stroking in idle, absent strokes against her shirt.
And he knows this sort of position is incredibly dangerous, at least in terms of his body --well, a certain part of it, at the very least-- soon betraying him and turning this whole thing into a big embarrassment, but he also doesn't want it to end, his entire body feeling like it is buzzing with an excess of energy.
So instead he does the only sensible thing to do; stretching up, he kisses Angel, his tongue teasing rather bottom lip in a way that is very far from chaste. At least that part of something they have some level of experience in.
He doesn't laugh though. His throat is far too dry for it, even as he swallows to wet it. His face feels like it is on fire, and he's certain that by now, the flush on it extends all the way to the tip of his ears and the top of his collar bones.
"Y-yeah." It's a little different, having to just slightly tilt his head upwards to look at Angel, but it is far from unpleasant. His hands find her hips again, resting there, one of his thumbs stroking in idle, absent strokes against her shirt.
And he knows this sort of position is incredibly dangerous, at least in terms of his body --well, a certain part of it, at the very least-- soon betraying him and turning this whole thing into a big embarrassment, but he also doesn't want it to end, his entire body feeling like it is buzzing with an excess of energy.
So instead he does the only sensible thing to do; stretching up, he kisses Angel, his tongue teasing rather bottom lip in a way that is very far from chaste. At least that part of something they have some level of experience in.
Page 24 of 27