"forbidden bubbles," she whispers darkly, almost in awe, as the sweet-smelling foam tickles her skin. bubbles are popping in a constant, sounding fuzzy like static, and it makes her feel like she's under a blanket, warm inside and out. 

nomi's expression changes and parker arches one thick brow. tension is still knotted in her belly; her own hands had been too busy holding nomi safely in place to do anything about her own pleasure - which, to be quite frank, she doesn't give a shit about because hearing nomi cry her name is hotter than any shuddering ecstasy she could give herself.

but then nomi says she's hers and she says it like that and parker's knees knock on either side of the tub, hips tilting to meet nomi's delicate fingers. breathlessness forgotten, parker moans into nomi's mouth. hands that have only ever known how to take, to possess, to break, go to either side of the tub, fingers curling, knuckles white.

one whimper turns into a growl and she flexes her biceps. water sloshes off of her in a rush as she hauls herself up, body slathered in bubbles, but she doesn't care about the mess on the floor; her fingers are knotted in nomi's blue hair, drawing her in, demanding urgently, close as she is, "then have me. take me. eat me."

Naomi Sato

☉

public decency has never been parker's forte and as close to her neck as she is, nomi's heartbeat under her hands, still skipping errantly, laughing like she does - it very nearly makes her shove her hands unabashedly up nomi's plaid skirt. 

she doesn't, though, because the woman slips out of her grasp somehow and totters over to the railing to declare that they'll take it. 

"okay," she calls back up, a couple of beats later, sounding tired and also like maybe she'll only believe it when she sees it.

parker joins nomi on the landing, grabbing hands around her waist, and trails her tongue around her neck as she passes, monkeying by before nomi can get another word in edgewise. 

"good job, becky," she yells - "ya sold us!"

Naomi Sato

☉

poor gideon. sometimes parker forgets that civvies are so different. sure, hoenn's been through shit, but she's been in the fuckin' breakroom when other folks have talked about choking the life out of people. funny, she thinks, that there might've been a world in which she did bat an eye when someone casually mentions assassination.

parker stares at him when he stares at her. she frowns. he looks constipated again...

"parker," she says, even though that's like a big fucking no-no and everyone knows who nomi is now, but maybe she could have kept herself secret. maybe gideon won't talk though.

but honestly, she's past caring.

"and er, don't think 'bout it too hard. i see those wheels turnin' and i'm not being an ass when i say you're gonna hurt yourself." she winces as something presses and her hand goes to her side, slowly.

she unclips a pokeball and rolls it on his desk.

"it kinda feels like nostalgia, right? but nostalgia for a thing that don't exist. that you've never had." she scratches the back of her head. 

GIDEON GRAVES

☉

parker jones knows it's a privilege. parker jones knows she's the luckiest girl in the world. in this world, which is too calloused and too cruel and so very trying, no one is luckier than her because she's got someone worth fighting for. 

one hand solid on the small of her back to hold her, the other splayed dangerously over her midsection, feeling the knotting in her stomach, the twitches that guide her towards nomi's ecstasy. she shudders with a cry of parker's name and water sloshes as her humming rendition of girl worth fighting for is abandoned in lieu of a hungry growl, a greedy stretch of tongue to take all she's earned. 

breathless, a little lightheaded, she relaxes her arms a smidge, letting nomi slip down her chest and into the water. again, more of it pours out the sides of the tub. whatever.

"give me like, five minutes, babes. gotta catch my breath a bit. and, mmm, you're right. these bubbles smell delicious. i almost wanna eat 'em."

Naomi Sato

☉

six times. six fuckin' times. six hits to the face and that's all she needs to mash your eyeballs into their little caves, tuck them into the spaces in your cranium where the sun don't shine. 

she hits him in the stomach and it's like her elbow cracks against a godsdamned brick wall. holy shit. but she's gone against bigger and stupider and worse odds than this animorphs of a man if the animal in question was a monster truck and not an animal at all.

or, now that she thinks about it, he's kinda like a bigass ursaring. 

one she can definitely not let get his meaty hands on her. one grab, one toss, and he'll throw her like a sack of bricks. a suplex could probably snap her spine in half, but that part she's not so worried about, 'cause his spirit's not in it. 

he's not in the kill or be killed that's plagued her every fucking waking moment since selling off her soul. he hasn't beaten someone so close to dead, they're probably better off dead, and that's a line people don't cross all too easy.

she knows. she knows, she knows.

ceruledge is having similar problems. that ridiculously long stinger-mouth-thing lunges towards her; the flames in her eyes spark in surprise and then pain as it digs into her armor, scraping with a screech along her shoulder. her other arm comes up in a quick guard, batting away with some difficulty the next snap that comes her way, but she's on the defensive now, flames billowing hotly in frustration.

"just go home," she snarls, trying for a one-two punch at his sides. "and take your big, red dog - hey! hey, put her down!" she snaps, blue eyes darting behind the leaguer and at the buzzwole that's got her struggling ceruledge in its boxing glove-sized hands.

Beau Fontaine

+ 50 MP have your character's Pokemon symbolize or represent in some way, the condition of your character.

☉

there's no good to be done, no good to be had. nothing like that for the jones sisters. all they've got, amidst the muck and the grime, is each other. that's always been enough. it'll always be enough. 

right?

after his little meatballs are squished and he's done whimpering, parker gets the rest out of him. and there's something relaxing about the steady THUNK, THUNK, THUNK as one of the only sounds in the room, amidst sweat and rough, rasping breaths, and tears. 

avery jones

☉

does he look...does he actually look disappointed? parker gets a little sidetracked, moving her mean mug glare from their poor shmuck in the chair and to her partner (literally) in crime. oh, noooo. he's into it, isn't he? it's not an act? 

he really wants to stick whatever's in that needle in the guy's neck and parker doesn't think it's mountain dew. 

and homie doesn't get the picture. he doesn't get the godsdamned fucking picture! they never do! they never do! words? they don't work. action works. pain hurts. 'cause pain is real. the promise of pain? that ain't gonna do shit.

"alright, fuck this noise," she says, lurches upright, and clocks him in the side of the face (away from the injector).

Rhys Collins

hit

☉

parker has never seen a revaroomba or whatever it is melody asked her to help find. at first, she thought the idol was reaching out to her to help her find a fucking vacuum out in the wild. 

she still kinda thinks that honestly.

could she have looked up what it is on her phone? or asked nomi? yes, to both, but life is more fun when you don't know what's coming to you, be it a vacuum or otherwise. 

amulius is out, keeping a respectable distance, more than happy to walk and just enjoy the warm day. the heaping mounds of ash are annoying, though, and pretty soon his feathers are dirtied, and he is not too happy about that. 

Melody Miro

☉

parker bounces from heel to heel, snickering at the joke. and then after a beat, what he said really hits her and she barks out a full-blown laugh 'cause fuck, that's good. like, the world is falling apart around them and they're on the brink of (no, parker, not on the brink of - in the midst of) total warfare. 

he looks around her, assessing the environment, looking at the situation. yeah, yeah. i can't let ya pass. ya, you're bad news bears. he's big, but his buzzwole's even bigger - heh, there's a joke there somewhere - and ain't no way is she gonna let him get a pass and go wreck nomi's shit. 

"i'm always coming," she fires back with force, grinning like she'd just said The cleverest clapback in the world, but then her brain catches up and, "wait, no - " 

ceruledge, on the other hand, does not care much for witty banter, superhero one-liners ('cause they're the heroes of the story, right? that's what nomi always says?), or parker's whole shtick, which is fine, because she gets to tango while parker dukes it out old skool stylez. 

the sword-for-arms knight emerges from the buzzwole's shadow, blades raking against its hard red carapace. her eyes flicker, gaze darting to her trainer, wishing she cared more about training where it mattered. 

ceruledge is out of her depth against ultra beasts.

parker, blind to her pokemon's realization, holds a hand out palm first, turns it, and folds her fingers back in quick succession. 

"c'mon, bro. you wanna go? let's fucking go." despite her invitation, she's the first one to move, boots crunching against gravel as she closes the distance and hits him like a grease fire.

Beau Fontaine

+ 50 MP have an antagonistic exchange of dialogue between your character and another writer's character or NPC.

☉

it is not a stunning realization for parker. she'd known, before the kiss in the crater, before their first official date, somewhere, sometime, when nomi looked upon her and thought, i want you, and parker knew but didn't know, felt but feared being mistaken, that love is what was waiting beneath time, excavated with minutes and hours and days spent by her side. 

some deep part of her had known she would kill herself for this woman, if it came down to it. 

and she says that, with each wayward kiss, each press of her fingers into nomi's warmth. if there is a god out there like nomi says there is, she does not care for them. they have never loved her as nomi has, and that is why she kneels in worship, wordless prayers made with the shape of her lips, ichor on her tongue. 

and then yowza, that's hot!

nomi fiddles with the bath and parker swoons, heady under her spell, love-drunk eyes darting to foam. she barely feels the burn (FLESH ON FIRE, SKIN DRIPPING, HEAT AND SMOKE, AND AWFUL, TERRIBLE NIGHTMARES) and dark thoughts are shattered with a growl.

water pools over the bath's sides. she grabs for nomi's waist. 

"water's too hot, cupcake. guess you gotta sit on my face."

Naomi Sato

☉