Raindropcroptop
Youngster
- Location
- Las Vegas
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Here's a fic from last year that I went back and revised a little to post here. No content warnings, just sleepless at 3am.
Hilda looks at the fridge. She feels the chill of the air skirt around her bare feet, and grabs a singular piece of ham before devouring it right out of the bag. Yeah. She's doing this.
The world is a dark, icy thing at 3:30 in the morning. That’s what Hilda thinks when she turns in her covers, surrounded by the inky black of the night and her alarm clock’s glow in her room. Her window, normally a calm place of midnight meditation, lies obscured by a giant box. It’s a giant, overwhelmingly exciting, absolutely huge box with a bow on it the size of Twist Mountain, and it makes her heart race every living second she stares at it.
There’s an evil core that has taken the place of her chest with the lack of sleep. It feels sickening with the energy that staying in the world of the waking costs, and Hilda’s stretching proves absolutely fruitless in dismissing it. It’s just there now. Forever. She gets up anyway.
There’s absolutely no way anyone’s sleeping in this house. Not when there’s a giant, huge, gargantuan, championsized, mamoswine, humongous, practically exploding box on her desk.
But.
But her best friends are sleeping. Probably. Maybe. The hours they’ve spent in the chat prove otherwise again and again, but she’s going to believe that they’re better than her at sleeping. Despite Bianca’s clear anxiety disorder and Cheren’s tendency to stay up until Dragons know when studying, which he’s probably doing.
You know what-
Nope. Nope. Hilda yawns again in a futile attempt to dismiss her sleep before ultimately deciding that it’s going to do absolutely nothing. She will exist in sleep limbo today, this cursed existence beyond common sense and fully into the realm of instinct. It flies in the face of the common, practically yelling at fate to go absolutely eat it.
Speaking of eating it, sleep limbo demands sacrifice for being summoned in this way. The teen knows it as she silently scales the staircase to feed the beast. The fridge is relatively silent in the white noise of 3:30 in the morning that blares in her ears somehow louder than any noise known to man, and the weary, excited, inaccurate, hands of a teen who’s up this early find the handle of the appliance with terrifying efficiency for someone who feels like they’re going to pass out at any second.
And standing there, tall and proud, is that drink. That energy potion x-treme that she *was* saving for later, now called upon in her great hour of need. Limbs laden with the broken promise of sleep reach for the energy drink, and she cracks open the cold one with precision unmatched by those in the world of the living.
There are two more that they all decided Bianca’s dad would never know about, and two more that she retrieves from the fridge to set upon the counter. They stand tall, condensation watering around the icy beverages that say “approved by the league safety commission” in bold, hilariously terrible lettering.
Yeah. Yeah. She’s going to do this.
“Hey. There’s three fucking Pokemon in my house. Get down here.” She whispers as she types, her voice cracking as it recovers from such an ordeal. It’s fine. She’s fine. She takes another swig of the energy drink and coughs from the bitter aftertaste as it runs down her throat, eyes watering.
It’s fine. She’s fine.
The groupchat lights up with not one, but two “now typing…”. The sip she’s taking of the drink sloshes in the can, and somehow escapes containment to splash into her nose.
“But… but it’s not even four in the morning…” Bianca’s text hits first, and Hilda is filled with that numb kind of excitement that only 3:40 in the morning can provide. She scarfs down an offering of lunchmeat straight from the bag, in front of the open fridge, in spite of the Dragons and all they stand for. Next is a handful of shredded cheese, some of which is spilled on both her shirt and the floor.
A fantastic start to the rest of her life. Hilda is convinced that she is thriving, standing in her element, barefoot and eating stale popcorn.
“We’re doing this now, aren’t we.” Cheren’s text, followed by Bianca’s sob emoji that takes the place of a larger emoji by attaching itself to his message.
“We are absolutely doing this right now.” Hilda texts the both of them, unabashedly burping now that the hunger of life has been satiated by her midnight snacks. “I have the goods. Get down here.”
The two thumbs up she gets in reply are satisfying, and Hilda goes to prop her front door open to breathe in some of that crisp, cool, night air before it turns into a sweltering summer breeze. Dragons, it feels so damn good. She almost regrets everything as she sees two bodies come into view, the only two foolish enough to look sleep in the face and give it the middle finger with her. Her best friends.
“Hey guys. It’s time. Let’s fucking go.” Hilda rattles off before swaying in place. “I’ve got the goods.”
“Yeah, I know. You texted us that you indeed ‘have the goods.’” Cheren replies, with his snarky air quotes. “Why do you phrase it like that? It’s just a couple snacks and some drinks you got at the mart.”
“Cheren, you wouldn’t understand. The flavor. It’s the flavor.” She jokes, and Bianca nods along like she understands the flavor. (She doesn’t, but Hilda always lets her have this. Always.)
“Yeah, I know. Well, let’s do this thing, I suppose.” Cheren says, and his excitement even in his tired words is palpable.
“That’s the spirit, my dude.” Hilda dramatically ushers the two inside, and they partake of the energy drinks and off brand chips in a fantastic, astonishingly quiet display before practically running up the stairs. Truly, they’re taking destiny into their own hands with this one.
And the box, that amazing, horrible box. It stands in front of the three as the light of day just barely makes its way through the blinds of her window.
“How are we awake.” It’s said so tiredly that it’s not even a question anymore, and Bianca yawns before shaking off the feeling.
“The power of energy drinks and teenage will.” Hilda answers regardless, and Cheren nods along with her.
“Alright. So… who’s picking the pokemon?” Bianca says, blinking back what could be exhaustion or energy. Really, it’s probably not even known to her what it truly is.
“Hilda, it is your house. And you did supply refreshments.” Cheren watches as she practically jumps at the opportunity, ripping the package to shreds and revealing…
“The balls…” Hilda says, giggling. It’s 4 AM, and there are pokeballs.
“Indeed. The balls.” Cheren joins in.
“Those are some pokeballs.” Bianca adds, not wanting to be left behind.
“Alright. I choose… YOU!” Hilda whispers, and what could be considered the cutest, most adorable, gentlest creature in existence comes out of the pokeball. Oshawott yawns with the early awakening, blinking before lifting its little paws for uppies. Not to rob a little guy of uppies, Hilda quickly obliges the practical demand and holds it close.
“This is the best thing ever. I love this.” Hilda practically sobs, “I love him. Look at my little guy.”
“Aww….” Bianca pokes the little thing, and the three of them watch as it sneezes before leaning into the hug. “Oh… okay. My turn?” she asks bashfully, almost looking ashamed for doing so, and Cheren pats her shoulder before pointing at the box.
"Okay! If you say so!" She grins, and picks out a PokeBall quickly. "Come on out!"
Tepig, the little bastard, pops out and snorts proudly, sneezing with sparks that could theoretically light the entire house on fire. It grins up at her, smiling, and Bianca also provides the little thing with a hug as fast as she possibly can.
"What a friend! Welcome aboard!" Bianca laughs as Tepig licks her hand, nibbling on her fingertips, and Cheren takes the opportunity to meet Snivy.
The last of the pokemon emerges with little fanfare, but blinks up at Cheren with hopeful, graceful eyes. He smiles back, and kneels down to hold it tight in a sleepy hug.
"Could we… could we battle with them?" Hilda asks, and all three of the pokemon start to stare at each other excitedly, and it seems to answer the question for the group.
“I want to battle.” Bianca says quietly, and Cheren pats her shoulder once more to lead her to the other side of the room.
“Yep, just stand there like that,” Cheren says to her, Snivy happily humming on his shoulder. “Just tell Tepig what to do, and you’ll be just fine.”
“Alright! Hilda, it’s time!” She squeals, before letting Tepig run into the center of the room. Oshawott waddles into the makeshift battlefield tiredly, but clearly happy to do so.
“Hit me with your best shot!” Hilda screams, and points at her childhood friend with a fire in her eyes and bags underneath them.
“Okay! Tepig! Tackle attack!” Bianca slips on her feet and falls to the floor with how hard she yells, and watches with a gasp as the pokemon follows her order. The little pig charges with all of the ferocity imaginable, and boy, does Tepig’s attack hit true.
A critical hit. Right off the bat, slamming into Oshawott with a powerful blow that knocks the otter into the wall, scattering all of the items on Hilda’s desk.
“Oshawott! Tackle back!” Hilda points, and the small creature breathes before getting up to retaliate. It pushes a bookshelf over, the piece of furniture slamming to the ground with a giant noise, and the idea of them coming out of this unscathed becomes even more improbable.
In fact, Cheren turns to see movement at his side, and the glaring face of a very tired Hilda’s mom that makes his entire body jolt with terror. She blinks at the damage, and yet refuses to enter the room to stop it.
Oshawott’s tackle hits the mark, but it’s not nearly enough damage to get Tepig off of its feet, let alone stop it from attacking once more.
And it’s another. Critical. Hit.
Another one. Somehow, one right after the other. Tepig must be a natural, because Oshawott didn’t stand a chance despite the type advantage.
“I… I won?” Bianca sputters, before shrieking again at the appearance of Hilda’s mom just like Cheren did.
“You’re cleaning your room before you go. All of you.” The woman sighs, grabbing the bridge of her nose and exhaling with the words. She points at Bianca, who’s pale and practically hyperventilating, and sighs once more. “And be glad I hate your dad, because otherwise you two would be in so much trouble.”
“Thank you, Hilda’s mom!” Bianca sighs before faceplanting as the energy leaves her practically a corpse. At least the bed is in one piece, and broke her fall. Tepig is quick to curl around her sleeping arms, and the two of them blissfully become unaware of the world they left behind.
“She deserves the rest, honestly. She did win.” Cheren remarks, and Hilda hums her approval.
“Yeah, she does. Let’s get cleaning.” Hilda accepts her fate, picking up the first of many ripped pillows as Cheren lifts the spray bottle to the first of many footprints, and both of them find that they don’t mind a little bit of cleaning during such a wonderful morning.
Hilda looks at the fridge. She feels the chill of the air skirt around her bare feet, and grabs a singular piece of ham before devouring it right out of the bag. Yeah. She's doing this.
The world is a dark, icy thing at 3:30 in the morning. That’s what Hilda thinks when she turns in her covers, surrounded by the inky black of the night and her alarm clock’s glow in her room. Her window, normally a calm place of midnight meditation, lies obscured by a giant box. It’s a giant, overwhelmingly exciting, absolutely huge box with a bow on it the size of Twist Mountain, and it makes her heart race every living second she stares at it.
There’s an evil core that has taken the place of her chest with the lack of sleep. It feels sickening with the energy that staying in the world of the waking costs, and Hilda’s stretching proves absolutely fruitless in dismissing it. It’s just there now. Forever. She gets up anyway.
There’s absolutely no way anyone’s sleeping in this house. Not when there’s a giant, huge, gargantuan, championsized, mamoswine, humongous, practically exploding box on her desk.
But.
But her best friends are sleeping. Probably. Maybe. The hours they’ve spent in the chat prove otherwise again and again, but she’s going to believe that they’re better than her at sleeping. Despite Bianca’s clear anxiety disorder and Cheren’s tendency to stay up until Dragons know when studying, which he’s probably doing.
You know what-
Nope. Nope. Hilda yawns again in a futile attempt to dismiss her sleep before ultimately deciding that it’s going to do absolutely nothing. She will exist in sleep limbo today, this cursed existence beyond common sense and fully into the realm of instinct. It flies in the face of the common, practically yelling at fate to go absolutely eat it.
Speaking of eating it, sleep limbo demands sacrifice for being summoned in this way. The teen knows it as she silently scales the staircase to feed the beast. The fridge is relatively silent in the white noise of 3:30 in the morning that blares in her ears somehow louder than any noise known to man, and the weary, excited, inaccurate, hands of a teen who’s up this early find the handle of the appliance with terrifying efficiency for someone who feels like they’re going to pass out at any second.
And standing there, tall and proud, is that drink. That energy potion x-treme that she *was* saving for later, now called upon in her great hour of need. Limbs laden with the broken promise of sleep reach for the energy drink, and she cracks open the cold one with precision unmatched by those in the world of the living.
There are two more that they all decided Bianca’s dad would never know about, and two more that she retrieves from the fridge to set upon the counter. They stand tall, condensation watering around the icy beverages that say “approved by the league safety commission” in bold, hilariously terrible lettering.
Yeah. Yeah. She’s going to do this.
“Hey. There’s three fucking Pokemon in my house. Get down here.” She whispers as she types, her voice cracking as it recovers from such an ordeal. It’s fine. She’s fine. She takes another swig of the energy drink and coughs from the bitter aftertaste as it runs down her throat, eyes watering.
It’s fine. She’s fine.
The groupchat lights up with not one, but two “now typing…”. The sip she’s taking of the drink sloshes in the can, and somehow escapes containment to splash into her nose.
“But… but it’s not even four in the morning…” Bianca’s text hits first, and Hilda is filled with that numb kind of excitement that only 3:40 in the morning can provide. She scarfs down an offering of lunchmeat straight from the bag, in front of the open fridge, in spite of the Dragons and all they stand for. Next is a handful of shredded cheese, some of which is spilled on both her shirt and the floor.
A fantastic start to the rest of her life. Hilda is convinced that she is thriving, standing in her element, barefoot and eating stale popcorn.
“We’re doing this now, aren’t we.” Cheren’s text, followed by Bianca’s sob emoji that takes the place of a larger emoji by attaching itself to his message.
“We are absolutely doing this right now.” Hilda texts the both of them, unabashedly burping now that the hunger of life has been satiated by her midnight snacks. “I have the goods. Get down here.”
The two thumbs up she gets in reply are satisfying, and Hilda goes to prop her front door open to breathe in some of that crisp, cool, night air before it turns into a sweltering summer breeze. Dragons, it feels so damn good. She almost regrets everything as she sees two bodies come into view, the only two foolish enough to look sleep in the face and give it the middle finger with her. Her best friends.
“Hey guys. It’s time. Let’s fucking go.” Hilda rattles off before swaying in place. “I’ve got the goods.”
“Yeah, I know. You texted us that you indeed ‘have the goods.’” Cheren replies, with his snarky air quotes. “Why do you phrase it like that? It’s just a couple snacks and some drinks you got at the mart.”
“Cheren, you wouldn’t understand. The flavor. It’s the flavor.” She jokes, and Bianca nods along like she understands the flavor. (She doesn’t, but Hilda always lets her have this. Always.)
“Yeah, I know. Well, let’s do this thing, I suppose.” Cheren says, and his excitement even in his tired words is palpable.
“That’s the spirit, my dude.” Hilda dramatically ushers the two inside, and they partake of the energy drinks and off brand chips in a fantastic, astonishingly quiet display before practically running up the stairs. Truly, they’re taking destiny into their own hands with this one.
And the box, that amazing, horrible box. It stands in front of the three as the light of day just barely makes its way through the blinds of her window.
“How are we awake.” It’s said so tiredly that it’s not even a question anymore, and Bianca yawns before shaking off the feeling.
“The power of energy drinks and teenage will.” Hilda answers regardless, and Cheren nods along with her.
“Alright. So… who’s picking the pokemon?” Bianca says, blinking back what could be exhaustion or energy. Really, it’s probably not even known to her what it truly is.
“Hilda, it is your house. And you did supply refreshments.” Cheren watches as she practically jumps at the opportunity, ripping the package to shreds and revealing…
“The balls…” Hilda says, giggling. It’s 4 AM, and there are pokeballs.
“Indeed. The balls.” Cheren joins in.
“Those are some pokeballs.” Bianca adds, not wanting to be left behind.
“Alright. I choose… YOU!” Hilda whispers, and what could be considered the cutest, most adorable, gentlest creature in existence comes out of the pokeball. Oshawott yawns with the early awakening, blinking before lifting its little paws for uppies. Not to rob a little guy of uppies, Hilda quickly obliges the practical demand and holds it close.
“This is the best thing ever. I love this.” Hilda practically sobs, “I love him. Look at my little guy.”
“Aww….” Bianca pokes the little thing, and the three of them watch as it sneezes before leaning into the hug. “Oh… okay. My turn?” she asks bashfully, almost looking ashamed for doing so, and Cheren pats her shoulder before pointing at the box.
"Okay! If you say so!" She grins, and picks out a PokeBall quickly. "Come on out!"
Tepig, the little bastard, pops out and snorts proudly, sneezing with sparks that could theoretically light the entire house on fire. It grins up at her, smiling, and Bianca also provides the little thing with a hug as fast as she possibly can.
"What a friend! Welcome aboard!" Bianca laughs as Tepig licks her hand, nibbling on her fingertips, and Cheren takes the opportunity to meet Snivy.
The last of the pokemon emerges with little fanfare, but blinks up at Cheren with hopeful, graceful eyes. He smiles back, and kneels down to hold it tight in a sleepy hug.
"Could we… could we battle with them?" Hilda asks, and all three of the pokemon start to stare at each other excitedly, and it seems to answer the question for the group.
“I want to battle.” Bianca says quietly, and Cheren pats her shoulder once more to lead her to the other side of the room.
“Yep, just stand there like that,” Cheren says to her, Snivy happily humming on his shoulder. “Just tell Tepig what to do, and you’ll be just fine.”
“Alright! Hilda, it’s time!” She squeals, before letting Tepig run into the center of the room. Oshawott waddles into the makeshift battlefield tiredly, but clearly happy to do so.
“Hit me with your best shot!” Hilda screams, and points at her childhood friend with a fire in her eyes and bags underneath them.
“Okay! Tepig! Tackle attack!” Bianca slips on her feet and falls to the floor with how hard she yells, and watches with a gasp as the pokemon follows her order. The little pig charges with all of the ferocity imaginable, and boy, does Tepig’s attack hit true.
A critical hit. Right off the bat, slamming into Oshawott with a powerful blow that knocks the otter into the wall, scattering all of the items on Hilda’s desk.
“Oshawott! Tackle back!” Hilda points, and the small creature breathes before getting up to retaliate. It pushes a bookshelf over, the piece of furniture slamming to the ground with a giant noise, and the idea of them coming out of this unscathed becomes even more improbable.
In fact, Cheren turns to see movement at his side, and the glaring face of a very tired Hilda’s mom that makes his entire body jolt with terror. She blinks at the damage, and yet refuses to enter the room to stop it.
Oshawott’s tackle hits the mark, but it’s not nearly enough damage to get Tepig off of its feet, let alone stop it from attacking once more.
And it’s another. Critical. Hit.
Another one. Somehow, one right after the other. Tepig must be a natural, because Oshawott didn’t stand a chance despite the type advantage.
“I… I won?” Bianca sputters, before shrieking again at the appearance of Hilda’s mom just like Cheren did.
“You’re cleaning your room before you go. All of you.” The woman sighs, grabbing the bridge of her nose and exhaling with the words. She points at Bianca, who’s pale and practically hyperventilating, and sighs once more. “And be glad I hate your dad, because otherwise you two would be in so much trouble.”
“Thank you, Hilda’s mom!” Bianca sighs before faceplanting as the energy leaves her practically a corpse. At least the bed is in one piece, and broke her fall. Tepig is quick to curl around her sleeping arms, and the two of them blissfully become unaware of the world they left behind.
“She deserves the rest, honestly. She did win.” Cheren remarks, and Hilda hums her approval.
“Yeah, she does. Let’s get cleaning.” Hilda accepts her fate, picking up the first of many ripped pillows as Cheren lifts the spray bottle to the first of many footprints, and both of them find that they don’t mind a little bit of cleaning during such a wonderful morning.
