#I MIGHT FINISH THIS. STRONG EMPHASIS ON MIGHT

[quotidianish]

Courtesy of @some-pers0n that audio KILLED me

WIP of an winter and narwhal father-son bonding time animation I might get around to finishing

[luveline]

would you ever consider writing poly!marauders? or even more of the luna reader with platonic (or romantic) marauders?

if u have more poly!m requests please send them (to clarify this is romantic) fem!reader tw cut

"You should be more careful," Remus says, "really, dove." 

You lean back against the kitchen counter and try not to wince as he finishes with the dressing on your arm. 

"I am careful," you say. 

He laughs softly. It's a rare sound, kind that has you smiling immediately. You wrap your arms around his neck, careful not to press down on your injury, and kiss his neck quickly. 

"Thanks for fixing me, handsome," you say. 

Remus pats your back. "That's never something you have to thank me for… You might like me less when the boys come home." 

You pull away. "You texted them?" you ask, already resigned to your fate. 

He looks gorgeous even when you're mad at him, pale skinned but dark in his way, dark eyes and dark brows and his amazingly handsome nose that makes you wanna lean over and kiss him. 

"Afraid so." Remus squeezes a path up your arm to your shoulder. "You know the lashing they'd give me if I didn't." 

"Well," you murmur, "I suppose you did patch me up." 

He kissed your forehead as the sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall. "That's the spirit." 

"Angel?" 

You relax. It's James, which means you aren't in for a loving telling off, just a loving. You stay by Remus' side until James is in view, a shock of green rugby uniform stark against brown skin. He sheds his bag and you practically throw yourself into his open arms, 'cause usually that's exactly what he wants. 

"Wait wait wait!" he says, holding out his hand, his wrist brace scratchy against your arm. "Don't hurt yourself worse! What happened?" 

You fight him, trying to hug him and laughing when he holds you back like you're nothing. He's strong. "James, come on. I cut it on the garden fence." 

He makes a sound like he feels super sorry for you and finally lets you hug him, your face in his solid chest, your hands at the small of his back. You settle in for as long as you want, James and you both suckers for a good hug, and sigh as his cheek kisses the top of your head. 

"You okay, Moons? You look tired." James voice rumbles through your hear, low and warm. 

"Fine. She just shocked me, running in the house with blood dripping down to her elbow." 

"Give us a hug." 

"I'll make tea." 

James turns his lips to your forehead, "How come he'll hug me when we're alone, and he'll hug you all day long when you're together, but he's totally allergic to affection when we're together?" 

"He's shy," you mumble, "ask him again in an hour and he'll say yes." 

The door opens a second time and you'd hide your face pretty much in James' armpit, laughing through the horror. "Hide me." 

"No, I don't think so." 

James works your face away from his chest, hands held over the soft slopes of your shoulders. He looks you in the eye, all melty brown and sweetness. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

You hum. He kisses your cheek. 

"Okay, I'm gonna go harass Remus for a hug then, before he boils the kettle and threatens me with a scalding. Love you." 

"I don't love you, you're leaving me for the wolves." 

"I'm hardly a wolf," comes Sirius' amused drawl. 

James raises his eyebrows at you in a silent gesture for Good luck, angel, and disappears around the corner to the kitchen. 

You sigh and spin on your heel, finding your arch nemesis (concerned boyfriend) propped against the wall. He's in casual work attire, which for Sirius is a smart pair of trousers and a dark button down with the sleeves rolled up. His tan seems to have waned in the winter, leaving him pale. Though he often claims in a joking manner that it's a consequence of loving you, he's always so worried it steals the colour from his skin. 

I like to worry, he'd assured you once. 

"You might not believe me, but you look very handsome today," you say. 

He raises a dark brow. "You say that every day." 

"Emphasis on 'very,'" you say. 

He pulls his weight off of the wall and holds out his hand as he approaches. You let him take your arm, let him assess the small dressing bandage Remus has applied over your cut. 

"It was deep," you admit, "but not very long." 

"Mm, Remus said," Sirius says, near murmuring as his thumb works into your wrist. He rubs over unbroken skin gently. "Does it hurt?" 

You shake your head vehemently. 

"Swear?" 

"Why would I lie?" you ask. You smile at him. "You really do look handsome. And you didn't need to come home from work." 

"It's my lunch break." 

"Oh, good! Let me make you something, while everybody's home." 

"Or I can make you something," he suggests. 

You enter into a stare off. He faces you with little expression, a blank slate. A pretty blank slate. His lashes don't so much as flicker, while you struggle to keep a straight face under so much seriousness. Your lips twitch with a laugh and something about it must break him, because he takes your face into his two hands and presses your noses together. 

"You make it very hard to be sensible about things," he says, and gives you a chaste kiss. 

His lips are a warmth you savour, and he steals them back much too swiftly for your liking. 

"Remus is the sensible one," you deny. "You're the overprotective one. And James is… James." You sigh, lovelorn. "And I'm the stupid one who cuts herself on chicken wire. You really didn't have to come home." 

"I wanted to." 

He leads you by the hand into the kitchen, where James and Remus stand in front of an unboiled kettle, Remus face smushed into James broad shoulder, a muscled arm locking him into place. He looks quite happy. 

"Sorry, I'm still making tea," he says into James' sleeve.

"No, I'm gonna make dinner," you say, yanking Sirius to the lovefest. 

You worm under James' other arm and Sirius strokes at the hair curling over Remus' forehead, mumbling, "Oh, god, she's killed you." 

"Worse ways to go," Remus says. 

[erinwantstowrite]

OH OH QUESTION:

Are you team Jason is riddled with scars or team Jason was healed of past injury by the laz pit

Ps. I AM OBSESSED WITH HOME I just finished chapter 33 (I’m always amazed at how much you can fit into each chapter like Lotor, the black lion, then Shiro figuring stuff out and it all just flows so well and is still so incredibly entertaining, I want to scream) I think Shiro seeing an outside perspective of his waking up scene might have actually ended me for real. AND BEFORE THAT the lance in the black lion scene had me freaking out along side him. Idk how you keep doing in Erin, it should be illegal to be this good at writing.

I'm team both because there's on one hand, Jason coming back and not looking anything like who he was because he's a giant, and he's covered in these scars,,, and like, him constantly having to see the proof that it happened to him? It being a fuel for the hurt?

(I have a fic concept where Bruce pieces together that it's Jason because of the scars, because he went over Jason's autopsy and he held Jay's body, and he memorized the hurt in his grief and guilt. And he sees the pieces together and everything stops when he realizes that's that's his baby? His boy? Littered in scars?)

But on the other hand,,, Jason losing the scars on his knees from falling as a kid. The little mark on his eyebrow where he was being silly playing with Catherine and he bumped his head and Catherine kissed the boo boo away? Jason not having the small marks of the kid he was? Jason not having the proof that It happened to him, when his mind got all twisted up and he didn't exactly know what was and wasn't real in the first place? Sometimes he thinks "what if that never happened and they lied to me or made me think it did, and Dad still loves me?" but then something happens that disproves that and it crushes Jay all over again?

And then a third option: where Jay came out of the pit with a fresh body and nothing of his past, feeling lost and confused and angry because his mind is all messed up. And in turn, being reckless and not caring what happens to him, and so he gets all new scars, all the time, even ones that were avoidable...

(I have such strong opinions about Jason)

Also AHHHHHH Home!!! The Lion Swap made me SOOOO MAD in canon and I could NOT do it in Home,,, had to put an emphasis on why it doesn't work,,, and Shiro seeing the outside POV god I wish canon did more with the Lions and their lore, I CRAVED it as a kid

[bby-blu-swirll]

sit on my lap while you do my eyeliner - bakugo x reader

i can't find it now, (i will tho if it kills me) but this is inspired by this tumblr post i saw on my pinterest that was like " 'let me do your eyeliner' gf and 'okay sit on my lap while you do it' bf" lol

pls enjoy xx

bakugo loves your makeup. (he loves your natural face just as much, but he also thinks you look drop dead gorgeous no matter what.)

his favorite days are when you pull out the eyeliner pen. when you look at him and your eyes are rimmed with black, bringing out the hue of your irises, he just folds honestly. subtly, because his pride is too strong to let anybody see him so weak for you, but you've definitely picked up on it.

he loves anything you do with it. a wing, big or small, a messy grungey outline, drawing hearts or stars, anything. he loves watching you do it with such attention to detail and even more loves seeing the finished product and how it might have changed the shape of your eyes. whether it's soft and cute and gives you little doe eyes, or sharp and cutting like a knife, pulling your eyes into dangerous (& admittedly sexy) slits, he adores it.

he doesn't show it much, though. he's not as bad as compliments as you thought he'd be, really, but this is just a bit different.

he can call you pretty, gorgeous, hot, whatever- all he wants. there was no problem there. especially, in front of other people. it was almost like bragging to him.

like once, in the middle of a conversation with the bakusquad, he caught your arm as you were walking by just to press a kiss to your cheek and tell you that you looked beautiful. of course he meant every word of it, but there was a silent emphasis on the fact that he was the one you got to tell you that, and that it was very true. it was like his way of being able to say, "suck it, extras, that beauty is my girlfriend," without sounding like the cocky douchebag he usually did. (bc he knows you don't like it when he's such a cocky douchebag <3)

but complimenting such a specific part of you was a bit more difficult, and he wasn't quite sure how to articulate it. he knew he liked it, but he wasn't sure why. he just thought you looked sexy and sweet like that.

like you did today.

it was one of those lazy saturdays for the both of you, where you slept in a little and kind of just floated through the day, maybe go out maybe not, maybe make out on your bed, who knows.

it was close to half past ten when you were finally up and at your vanity, doing your makeup for the day. your boyfriend was spread out and taking up most of your bed while he studied for the test you had on monday. you thought he was a bit of a nerd for spending one of his only mornings off on school, but you admired his dedication.

neither of you liked silence much, so soft music filled the quiet in your dorm, along with the occasional page turn from bakugo, usually followed by a sigh.

you capped your eyeliner pen with a huff. you had been looking at your face so long, it was hard to tell if it was even. "hey babe?" you turned your swivel chair to face him.

"yeah?" he didn't bother looking up from his book.

you pressed the closed pen to your cheek and blinked a few times. "does this look okay?"

he glanced up for a moment, doing a double take when he saw you. there was no concealer on your dark circles and your eyeliner was smudged underneath your eyes and your lips looked a bit cracked, and he could feel his stomach swell with butterflies the second he looked at you.

"yeah, its.. its perfect." he looked away and cleared his throat, hearing you chuckle slightly.

once you turned around in your chair, his eyes were glued to you. just watching you sort through your makeup tray, trying to find something. the way you knit your brows together, your bottom lip stuck out- his quickly averted his gaze back to his book when you turned to him. he could feel your eyes trained on him as he thumbed the corner the pages.

"hey katsuki?"

he hummed in response, still not looking at you.

you stood up and slowly sauntered towards him, smirking when his eyes flicked up to you every few seconds. you took his book and set it aside.

"the hell are you-" he clenched his jaw when you leaned close to him, still standing. he dropped his voice to a soft tone, just shy of a whisper. "what're you doing, huh?"

"can i do your eyeliner?"

he chuckled and smirked. "'course.."

you grinned and took a seat next to him, your face heating up as his hands found your waist. he lifted you up and set you on his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. his smirk grew as a blush crept up your cheeks.

"just as long as you sit... here." he pecked your lips, mindlessly stroking his thumb across the skin just above the waistband of your pants. "you can start whenever, babe, i'm not stopping you..."

you huffed and bit the inside of your cheek, internally rolling your eyes. his cocky smirk softened a little when your fingers delicately cradled his jaw, turning his head slightly.

"close your eyes..." you kept your voice low, watching his eyes flutter shut.

his skipped a beat when he felt your breath on his lips. he took deep breaths, just inhaling whatever lotion or perfume had you smelling so good.

you bit your lip and did your best to keep your hand steady. it was hard to keep the lines straight when he would squeeze your hips occasionally. but you prevailed nonetheless, keeping the ink close to the rim of his eyes. you were going for a sort of rodrick look.

"okay.." you clicked your tongue and capped your pen, setting it to the side. "you're done~"

he opened his eyes slowly, a playful look dancing across his features. "well? how do i look?"

your breath caught in your throat. his red eyes glowed, half lidded and staring right into you.

"hmmm..." you brought a hand to his chest, the other messing with the hair at the base of his neck. you traced small circles across his skin. "handsome."

"yeah?" he took your cheek in his hand, pulling you closer to him. "that all?"

you shrugged and chuckled a bit, watching his cocky grin return.

"hm, you think i'm hot. coulda just said so..." he pressed his lips against yours softly, which quickly changed to a rough, demanding kiss.

looks like you did end up making out on your bed,,

totally meant to upload this over a week ago,,, my bad lol i've been very busy, sorry this is so crap lol i'll probably rewrite it in the future <33

love you sm !! stay safe & sleep well 💗💗

[pokemonvillainadventures]

🖤🪲🎧☠️🖤🪲🎧☠️🖤🪲🎧☠️🖤🪲🎧☠️

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆

Current Pokemon team:

Sylveon, Gothitelle, Ribombee.

Female pronouns.

Guzma:

•Okay listen. . . When he first met you he really didn't know what to think, let alone say anything about you.

•That is not to say he wasn't curious about you.

•He's never met someone like you before, that's for sure, but for some reason he couldn't help but convince himself that you and him were complete opposites.

•He was also more concerned with beating you down then about what clothes you wore but thats besides the point.

•You and your poofy dress, with enough ribbons on it that you could probably tie a bow around the world and still have enough to complete your outfit. You didn't exactly look like a local.

•He had to laugh at the idea of you doing all these trials in this atire and here he thought he was bad for wearing a jacket in the Alolan heat.

•Well he shut up pretty fast when you almost destroyed his team with only three Pokemon to your belt.

•Emphasis on the almost.

•Yeah not the most well rounded team you still put up a decent fight with just your Sylveon, Gothitelle, and Ribombee.

•And here the "big bad boss of destruction" thought he was going to sweep the floor with you, but your ability to take him on and stand your ground brought something out in him.

•Guzma: *Tsk* I'll admit it you had me worried there for a bit. Your teams strong for being a bunch of "princess types", but not strong enough. If I see you around I might humor you for another battle kid.

•(Y/N): and what makes you so sure that I'm just a kid?

•Guzma: *Turning back around to face you*: Is that a serious question?! Have looked in the mirror today? Your doll costume isn't helping your case here dollface.

•As the grunts around him start snickering you couldn't help but bite back. You might dress in lolita fashion but mark your words you were not a doormat.

•(Y/N): . . . Oh . .oh I'm sorry. *you playful pull your hair back to hold your hand against your ear* Do I hear circus music?! Whats with the clown trying to lecture me on fashion or do I need to remind you that if it weren't for your MASSIVE ARMORED THING my beautiful Pokemon would have kicked your ass into next week!

•Guzma: Oh Ho HO! So the gal has some spunk in her? Listen princess your Pokemon would have never stood a chance no matter how much glitter you would have thrown at us. . *He leans in almost inches fron your face* so unless you're capable of showing what you bark out I suggest you's keep that pretty mouth shut. . . Although *he begins to walk past you* I will admit that it was an interesting fight for someone who dresses like a doll.

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆

•Over the following weeks you had gone back to Ula' Ula' Meadows to try and fight Guzma.

•Some days you were able to run into him but most of the time you resorted to fighting the grunts.

•They were no trouble considering a decent amount used dark types and sometimes their defeats would cause them to run back to their boss. If you waited and hour or two the boss man himself would appear to challenge you once again.

•Though the outcome was always the same given that a three on five Pokemon battle was hardly a fair fight.

•Guzma: Whats the deal huh? *Teasing* You got a crush on me or something?

•(Y/N): *Stern* Can it! You know why I'm here.

•Guzma: *Flustered* Well. . Shit Ha! I didn't except you to be the sensitive type.

•(Y/N): *Gritting teeth* I'm not sensitive. *sigh* I'm just trying to show you I'm not a doormat.

•Guzma: Never said you were.

•(Y/N): Well. .uh . hmmm. Do you want to keep fighting me or not? I mean if this is such a chore for you why do you bother humoring me? Don't you have a gang to run?

•Guzma: Woah woah woah! Easy this ain't an interview! Yeah I got my gang to run but getting the chance to beat you down does wonders on my image. Besides don't you have a trial to finish? Not that I'm encouraging that bullshit or anything.

•(Y/N): Whats it to you?

•Guzma: Tck. Fine don't answer.

•(Y/N): *dusting off some particles on your dress you tell him in a whisper* I quit alright.

•Guzma: *Whipping his head back to face you: Wait seriously?

•(Y/N): Whats the big deal? Isn't your crew of misfits made of nothing but quitters?

•Guzma: *playfully he holds a hand to his heart* Ouch! Thats low! And No! We ain't just quitters. . well. Ehh. Just whateve! We're quitters with a goal! A goal to take down that stupid Alola League and show everyone that these pansy traditions are nothing compared to pure strength. Whats your excuse?

•That wasn't easy to talk about. You barley knew the guy beyond battling and taunting. You weren't about to spill the beans on exactly why you quit.

•Guzma: Well?

•(Y/N): I . uh. Well. . shit. Um.  Look just not enough hard trainers is all.

•Not a complete lie. Most of the trainers were a cake walk especially that Kahunas kid and any of his friends he brought along the way.

•Guzma could tell you were holding something back but decided not to push his luck.

•Guzma: Mkay well *He nods his head as he walks closer to you*. I'm flattered that you felt the need to quit for me seeing as you must think I'm pretty tough to keep running back to.

•(Y/N): Ack!? *blushing as you punch his arm* don't phrase it like that!

•Guzma: Hahaha . . sure doll. Still Don't you have any friends? Like a group or a gal or someone to chat with besides whatever we have going on.

•The area got quiet as you took longer than usual to respond. Guzma sensed he struck an insecurity of yours.

•Guzma: . . Shit really. . . Shit REALLY?!?!

•You look up to glare at him while Guzma fumbles on his words.

•Guzma: No kidding? I mean why? It's not like your ugly or anything?

•(Y/N): *shocked you glare at him one last time as you try to walk away* Wow! WOW! Unreal. . *you shake your head*

•Guzma: Ahgh! Fuck wait shit. No I. . I didn't mean it like that!!

•(Y/N): Listen sorry for wasting your time. I won't be bothering you anymore.

•Guzma: No waitwaitwait! You listen. . you uh. Look! I didn't mean to hurt you like that let me make it up to you! Uh. Tapu Cocoa! Can't say no to that!

•(Y/N): Tapu Cocoa?

•Guzma: Yeah!

•(Y/N): Tapu Cocoa?!

•Guzma: ye yeah got a problem with it? Look you can get something else, but I ain't paying for it! I only offered the Tapu Cocoa!

•(Y/N): *whisper* Arceus. . . ughh you either have the worst pickup game or I am easy to please.

Guzma: Hmm, soooo is that a yes?

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆

•What are you doing here? I mean it's not like people staring at you was a new phenomenon but this. . yeah this was a new level of peeping.

•Guzma: Whats the matter sweetcheecks? Afraid to be seen with me?

•Oh great! Sweetcheecks! Add that to the list of colorful nicknames.

•(Y/N): I have a name! It doesn't hurt to ask for it.

•You sink in your booth trying to avoid the onlookers as you silently sip on your Tapu Cocoa.

•Guzma: Alright! Alright! Whats your name princess.

•(Y/N): (Y/N). It's (Y/N).

•Guzma: Cool cool cool. (Y/N). . Yeah. I like it!

•(Y/N): Hm yeah cool. Anyways you mind telling me why I'm here?

•Guzma: *exacerbated gasp* Oh well excuse me princess!

•(Y/N): *you glare at him*

•Guzma: Right! My bad! Anyways. Yeah! Weren't you the one in desperate need for some friends?

•(Y/N): Oh I see what this is. *sarcastically* Thank you my savior! I'm so glad you came down to offer support. Look I appreciate the gesture but I'm better off alone.

•Guzma: You sure? You seem to come to me too often for that to be true.

•Well there was no denying that. Even if you wanted to battle him for the challenge you did grow fond of his eccentric personality. Still though, you wouldn't put it past him to forget you in due time if you had stopped showing up. Though what were you supposed to do then? Go home? No. Not again. That's the last thing you felt like doing, unless you wanted to prove the family right. You just couldn't. It's already bad enough you bailed on this whole trial thing. Oh Arceus word probably got back to thrm right? Right?!! You weren't sure but the thought was making your stomach turn and their stupid smirks were forming in your mind. It was making you sick! Food. You needed food. The lone drink wasn't filling you up so you decide to get up and order something.

•Standing up you weren't expecting a tug on your arm as a worried look formed on Guzmas face.

•You didn't think he was expecting it either as he quickly let go while he tried to covering the blush forming on his face.

•(Y/N): . . . damn . and here I thought I was insecure.

•Your comment was enough to shake of his embarrassment as he started yelling from the booth.

•Guzma: Shut. sSHUT UP! . . I . ack. . man. .

•(Y/N): *you giggled lightly* Calm down. I ain't leaving you. If that was what you were thinking.

•Guzma turned away to face the wall as he messed with his hair.

•(Y/N): *You playfully pat his side* I'm just getting something to eat. . figured you want something too.

•Guzma started tapping on the table as he stared off into the distance, grumbling under his breath about how the food here was never good.

•(Y/N): Alright! Don't eat then. Just wanted to treat you since you treated me.

•Before you walked off you heard him ask you to get him a sandwich. . . with no mayo though, and that you better make sure there was no mayo because they always "fuck it up" when he asks.

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆

•Cashier: Alright! Your total today is ₽780.

•(Y/N): Uh yeah sure. Thanks! Oh! And you're sure there's no mayo on this sandwich right?

•Cashier: *she looked a bit flustered* There shouldn't be?

•You take the time to double check just in case. The lady looking a bit confused. You had to wonder if any of the other "normal" customers had any trouble with their food or if it only applied to gang leaders and their members.

•Feeling as if you checked every nook and cranny of this sandwich, even between the pickles you closed the bag and headed back to your seat, that was until you ran into a past problem and his annoying girlfriend.

•A males voice rang throughout the cafe: Well well well. If it isn't the princess of the Alola trials! We haven't seen your mug around in a while. *He steps closer to you as he starts to mockingly wave his hands at you with his girlfriend following suit* Oh I'm sorrrryy did I forget! We weren't supposed to stare! Gives you issues or whatever!

•You grip onto the bag of food like your life depended on it as your words come out harsh through gritted teeth.

•(Y/N): Its NOT the staring thats the issue. It's when I find out photos have been posted online without my permission is when I have ISSUES.

•The male trainer and his girlfriend were just one of many trainers that would stare, gossip, or overall judge while on your trial and was one of the many reasons why you felt the need to quit. This mans issue was when his girlfriend clearly took a photo of you and decided to post it to her socials that you felt the need to confront them and politely ask to delete which they gave you shit for.

•Male trainer: Holy ARCEUS! You're still bothered by that crap? Didn't your parents teach you that if you don't want attention then don't dress to attract it? My baby girl didn't do anything wrong so stop acting like a bitch already!

•Oh you really wanted to kick his ass again. You don't even know why he bothered picking a fight considering he lost horribly last time! Though the tense air and stares from onlookers were enough to keep your cool. The last thing you wanted was to start a fight within the cafe.

•(Y/N): Look I really have no interest fighting you at the moment. I'm just trying to enjoy my meal so leave me alone.

•Trying to walk past him he blocked your way.

•Male trainer: Yeah right, not until you apologize for making my girl feel bad for doing nothing.

•The nerve of this guy! Feeling backed into a corner your pokeball started shaking.

•No! No. No. No.

•You try settling down sylveon. She was always the feistiest of the bunch, but your efforts were in vain when she popped out ready to claw at this guy.

•Male trainer: Oh ho ho! Is soneone trying to pick a fight in public like this? Really? Where did your manners go?

•His smug mug started to crack when your sylveon started to lunge at him. Guess he was still frightened from the last beat down you gave him. All talk and no game! Of course this asshole would try to rial you up in public. The lady at the counter started to freak out as she threatened to kick you out had you not settled your sylveon.

•Trying, and failing, the guy and his girlfriend only watched with amusement as your embarrassing display was worrying the other patrons.

•Male trainer: Hahah oh man! What a performance! Arceus I wish I had a camera. Oh wait I do!

•Just as he began recording, the rest of the patrons around him go dead silent as his phone is promptly snatched from his hands. His girl lets out a yelp as she latches onto him causing the trainer to stumble.

•Male trainer: Aye yo what the fuck!? *turns to his girlfriend* get the hell off me! *he looks back as his face goes pale*

•Guzma: Sup? I think. . *he snaps the phone in half* someone's askin for a beat down wouldn't you agree (Y/N)?

•Guzma shoves the guy aside as he makes his way to help you back off the floor.

•Before he could say anything else the cashier yells at you both to get out. Apparently Guzmas presence was enough of a sign for this women to get the impression that a fight was going to break out.

•(Y/N): But we haven't done anything? He's just trying to help me!

•Cashier: I . I don't want to hear anymore! Leave!

•(Y/N): But.

•Chasier: GO!

•Guzma: Tsk. . always the same with you people. *He grabs your shoulders and guides you out the door, half yelling out to the staff* Your lucky the place serves the least shitiest tapu Cocoa! I'll be back next week. He said that last part a bit quieter not really giving a shit anymore about making a statement. He was more concerned about you, who seemed to be a mix of rage and sadness at the moment.

•Guzma: *sighing* alright. Walk with me.

•(Y/N): To where?

•Guzma: . . the beach.

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆

•Stumbling onto the beach you had ditched your frilly heels as your pink sparkly tights became dirtied by sand. You were unsure how to approach your feelings at the moment. Normally you'd huff off and scream out to the world but being accompanied by Guzma you didn't want him to be subjected to that. Instead you found some comfort in kicking up the sand while crumpling up different parts of your skirt and blouse. Occasionally fidgeting with your hair the more you thought about what happened at the cafe the harder you began to grip onto various parts of your outfit.

•Guzma had been observing you the whole time and having one too many outbursts himself he could tell you were on the verge of exploding. Walking towards you he tried to think back to what Plumeria would do for him when he got upset.

•Guzma: He.. Hey don't be doing none of that now. . Uh your gonna mess yyour dress If.f.f you keep that up.

•Fuck he was so shit at comforting others. How Plumeria was able to talk sense into him and calm him down was beyond him. Still, he did actually care about your feelings. He was probably the only person who was able to understand exactly what you were going through.

•Looking up at him, although terrible Guzma may be at encouraging people, you found it sweet that he was willing to try for you.

•Feeling a bit more relaxed you started to think about the right words to say to him. Luckily you didn't have to think long as you began to absentmindedly speak about your experiences with dressing alternatively.

•(Y/N): *sigh* shit. . it's like. . i don't know. . look. .uh okay so . uh. mmm this is gonna sound whiny . or okay so maybe not whiny but more just dumb if you don't get into this whole fashion thing. . like so. *sigh*

•Guzma: . its cool . . take your time

•(Y/N): *you smile lightly* thanks. . anyways back to what I was trying to say. . When I was younger, and I had discovered the Internet for the first time, I managed to stumble upon a world full of pastel pinks and blues. Frilly skirts and bloomers. Goth styled dolls. Dresses and cute school girl type outfits. Not only that, I had found a community of beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes that I so desperately wanted to be a part of. For hours on end I would spend my free time just scrolling through forums and posts all about this style of fashion. All without my parents really knowing... not that I was trying to hide it or anything! I just wasn't sure if they would even like that sort of stuff.

•Guzma was listening to every word you were saying as if it was the most important conversation in his life.

•(Y/N): Well when I had gotten older, and could make my own money, I began buying and creating outfits of my own and man I had never been happier! Even still it wasn't enough, especially when my parents got involved. Well, I was right about them not being happy about the fashion. My mom kept calling me childish for wearing "girl doll clothes". She began freaking out about me "finding a real job and partner" some day. As if me wearing fashion in my free time effects my work performance or ability to find love! My dad took it the worst. . Arceus, it makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about his opinion. . . for some fucked up reason, and I don't know how he got it in his head, but for some reason he was adamant on believing that this was all . .some sort of . . kink thing.

•Guzmas eyes grew a wide at the thought of your father speaking to you like that. Damn, guess this worlds full of shitty dads after all.

•(Y/N): *Looking at Guzma you took his expression as a response* I know right! It's fucking gross that he'd assume that frilly girly clothes on a woman means fetish! I tried explaining over and over again that this is nothing more than Kantonian street fashion but he kept brushing it off. At that point there was no convincing them . . or so I had thought. *sighing* I don't know what compelled me to do this but I had convinced myself in my own right too, thinking that if I joined the trials while wearing this stuff and I became someone special. . someone important, than I could prove my parents wrong.

•Standing in silence for what felt like forever you began to speak again. Only this time you couldn't stop the tears from forming.

•Guzma was now completely by your side, hushed and focused on your every expression and word, not wanting to butt in and fuck up the moment. Though, he couldn't help but silently hold your hand and stroke your fingers hoping it would stop you from crying.

•(Y/N): *sniffing* welp as you can fucking see it didn't turn out so well. . *hick* fucking stupid. . so fucking stupid. *sniff* it's like .. why the fuck did I even bother. .. heh guess they were right. . yeah?. *hick* guess they were right. . because here I am crying on the beach currently not participating in the stupid challenges because I couldn't actually handle people looking at me weird. . so yeah. . how stupid of me to believe I could change their opinion . . they probably already know. .wouldn't put it past them to find out. . fuckers always find out. . I can see their dumb smug faces laughing already. . should have never been so invested in this stupid style. .

•Guzma: Its not STUPID!

•Looking up at him you weren't expecting him to shout.

•Guzma: It's not stupid okay!? And you shouldn't have to change for no one.

•Feeling his hand on yours he pulled you into a gentle embrace. Your face smushed up against his chest as he began softly and slowly petting your back.

•Guzma: Look or . .okay listen.. Yeah listen. . I don't exactly get this whole "style thing" either. Trust me you wouldn't even begin to understand how long it took for me to process what I was starting at when I first saw you . . but it for sure wasn't me thinking about it as some . . fucking kink thing?

•He said that last part with such disgust you could almost taste the bitterness of his words.

•Guzma: Alright . . I admit. . this thing may not be my thing but I for sure ain't gonna make you change for me okay! And no one should make you feel as if you should. . fuck your parents, and fuck that asshole and his side chick for making you feel like shit for the some clothes. . because your right 'bout that (Y/N). . dollface. . *he lifts your face up so that your gazing into his eyes* . . all it is is clothes.. and they don't look bad on you at all.

•You could tell he wasn't expecting to say that last part as he quickly tried to push your face back into his chest, trying to stop you from seeing his beat red face.

•Pulling yourself off of him, Guzma was still trying to look into the opposite direction, but he still hadn't let go of you entirely. His arm was still wrapped around your side as his hand snaked its way to the top of your head to ruffle with your hair for a bit.

•Guzma: *fake coughing* So . . tsk. Uh. I'm still hungry . . and uh if you want .

•He got cut off by the sound of you rummaging through the crumbled bag of cafe food. The sandwich you had ordered for him was beyond smushed and your mini sliders had fallen apart.

•Guzma huffed as he snatched the bag out from your grasp and threw the damn thing into the ocean.

•(Y/N): AUcK! GUZMA! *hmph*

•Guzma: What? Told you that cafe only serves shit food.

•(Y/N): Well it WAS better looking when it was fresh and that's besides the point! You . . you . ugghhh!!

•Guzma began to laugh at your little outburst.

•*You playfully punch his side* He could have at least taken the contents out of the bag before littering all over the beach! Now you had to get the paper bag back to make sure those poor slowpokes don't mistake it for food.

•Stomping off to get the bag, mad at the idea that your socks were going to get soaked too, Guzma was watching you the whole time.

•Guzma: Hehe . . cute. . . wait.

•Shaking any thoughts from his head the sound of his stomach growling grew louder as called you over.

•Guzma: Look I know your hungry too and if you want. . uh.. you can come over to my place. . I'm not gonna lie I make a mean grilled cheese!

•(Y/N): You mean the old dilapidated mansion?

•Guzma: *monotone* yes that one. . and man screw you *he said so playfully* that "old mansion* keeps us dry and has a lot of charm to it.

•Walking up to him, Guzma was the one to playfully punch your arm this time.

•(Y/N): *Blushing* Hahaha alright. . alright! You care about the shack. I get it. . and about that grilled cheese.

•Guzma: tsk . you gonna make fun of that too girly?

•(Y/N): No no. It actually sounds nice. . I'd love it actually.

•And so the two of you walk in tandem back to Po Town talking about new things and interests, knowing that you had found the one individual that made you feel like a person for once made your heart beat ever so harder. Little did you know that the bug boss himself had been feeling the same way. Eating that grilled cheese with him on his worn bed in that old spray painted house was one of the best moments in your life. A moment you'd remember forever.

✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹⋆ ✩ ✿ ⁺ 🎀‧₊˚🩹

END OF PART ONE.

BONUS:

The two of you laying on his bed

•(Y/N): Wow. This is actually really good grilled cheese.

•Guzma: Oh! Uh thanks? . yeah I think if I had to choose one food to eat it would be grilled cheese. I could eat it for every meal. Or just constantly without stopping.

•(Y/N): *giggling* but then you'd get fat.

•Guzma: No, why would I get fat?

•(Y/N): because bread makes you fat.

•Guzma: Bread makes you fat!?

sorry i had too. :3

🖤🪲🎧☠️🖤🪲🎧☠️🖤🪲🎧☠️🖤🪲🎧☠️

[oldtvandcomics]

Compound Fracture is a Book About History and Legacy

Finally finished Compound Fracture by Andrew Joseph White. There is A LOT that this book has got going for it, but what sticks out the most to me is just how heavy it is with history.

It's something that you see a lot in Black fiction, this emphasis on ancestry and family heritage. Black Panther (2018), to name the example that everyone knows, or if we are at queer horror novels, Virginia Black's Consecrated Ground. Both a very much about family, about the land the family has ties to, and about the new generation's responsibilities to carry on this legacy. I haven't really seen it in white fiction before, at least not US American white fiction.

I especially have not seen it in queer fiction before.

Queer fiction deals a lot with alienation from the family. Characters either get kicked out, leave on their own free will, or have this strong feeling of alienation hanging over their heads. There is no connection to the past. Even the ones who are on good terms with their families, like the movie Runs In The Family (2023), which is genuinely one of the best father-son relationships I have ever seen ANYWHERE, are very much stuck in the present. You can be on good terms with a parent, or sibling, or grandparent, even your extended family, but the previous generations remain silent. The ones who manage to find queer role models within their family do so within someone who is still alive.

And, well, that's all of us, isn't it, doing whatever research into queer history we can however we can (word of mouth on the Internet, mostly), looking for people who might have been like us, but it's still so uncertain, and also, given the nature of the Internet, the names we find are from some random corner of the world that is pretty much never ours. It's Silas in The Spirit Bares Its Teeth latching on to James Barry, because who else is there?

Compound Fracture is all about legacy, and that legacy goes back four generations. It is no wonder that Miles' main Special Interest is history, it's the major theme of the book: How systems of power and oppression get passed down from one generation to the other, how everyone is basically a child caught in the sins of their parents, doomed to repeat it, over and over again. How the ones in power have the possibility to rewrite history, and use it to erase people they don't like, or simply don't care about, and how it takes conscious work and effort to preserve their memory.

And in the middle of it all, a revolutionary, a true role model, not from some random other place, but from Miles' own family. A figure he can look up to, a figure he can admire, a figure whose life and deeds still influence his everyday reality a hundred years later.

A figure he has pretty solid proof to have been a gay trans man.

Silas in The Spirit Bares Its Teeth already had this connection over time with Barry, but that was still quite distant, in that it was completely parasocial. Silas may have seen himself in many ways as Barry's spiritual successor, and he may have even been right, but there was no direct connection between them. If James Barry's consciousness still exists in that world, as a ghost or whatever, then he is pretty guaranteed not to know of Silas' existence. Like, why would he. But with Miles and Compound Fracture, Andrew Joseph White goes this one step further. There IS a direct link between him and Saint Abernathy. Saint Abernathy DOES exist in this book in the form of a ghost, and he DOES care about Miles, and he DOES make it abundantly clear that he is proud of him. Looking further, at the symbolism, it becomes clear that Miles is Saint's heir, and that he is worthy of that role.

I'm pretty sure that every queer person has dreamt of a similar situation regarding members of their own family before. Just knowing that there was someone would be amazing. But to have the founder of your family share your exact identity? To have a sign that they would be proud of you??

Yeah.

As I said, Compound Fracture is a very good book with many strong themes and consequently many reasons why it will appeal to a reader. But this weight of history and legacy are definitely going to be one of the major reasons. I think that we are all secretly STARVED for this kind of queer story.

[broodparasitism]

Everything I've Learned About Querying from Talking to Agents (And Traditionally Published Authors)

Disclaimer: I'm UK based, as was everyone I spoke to. I didn't include any country specific advice, just what I think is applicable regardless of where you live, put it might be useful to know this is from a UK lens.

As part of my course I was able to go to a lot of talks with literary agents (a mixture of literary, genre and nonfiction) and I picked up a lot of useful information - a lot of it not quite so bleak as I feared! - and thought it might be helpful to compile it for anyone looking to query agents in the future, so, here goes, under the readmore:

Querying

Remember that agents want to find and publish new authors. They're not at odds with/out to get aspiring authors. They want to work with us. This is someone you're working with, so don't pick an agent you won't get along with.

Manuscripts should be queried when they are as close to finished you are able to manage. There are a few agents that are open to incomplete manuscripts, yes, but many more that flat-out refuse unfinished work. Manuscripts generally go through about ~15 rounds of edits before landing an agent.

Send query letters in batches - around five or six at a time. There is no limit to how many agents you can contact, but you can't contact more than one agent from the same agency, so make sure you've selected the most suitable one from each.

In most cases you can't submit the same manuscript to the same agent twice - so having it be as finished as possible is all the more vital.

Some of them will take a long time to respond. Some never respond at all. If it's been three months of nothing, it's safe to assume that's a rejection.

One agent said she took on about two new authors a year, which likely isn't true for them all but is probably a reasonable average. For all of them, the amount of queries they get can be in the three digits a week. I can't emphasis enough just how many they get. I take a lot of authors to mean that means it's a 0.001% chance and despair, but that assumes each manuscript has an equal chance, and they don't. Correct spelling and grammar, writing in a genre that appeals to the agent, quality sample chapters and respecting the submission guidelines (more on this later) improve the odds by a significiant amount.

One agent said he rejected about half of his submissions from the first page due to spelling and grammar mistakes and cliches, for perspective.

You'll need to pitch your book. If your book cannot be pitched in three sentences, that's a sign it has too much going on and you'll need to do some pruning.

Please don't panic if you cannot come up with an accurate pitch for your book on the fly - you're not supposed to be able to do that. A pitch takes many edits and drafts just like a manuscript.

Send your first three chapters and a synopsis (this should be a page, or two pages double spaced. It should not include every single plot point though, again, if major things end up not there at all, question if they're necessary for the manuscript).

Three chapters is the standard - as in, if the agent web page doesn't specify how many, that's what to opt for. If they say anything else, for the love of God listen. If there was a single piece of advice that the agents emphasised above all else, it was to just follow each submission requirement to a T.

There needs to be a strong hook in these chapters. If your manuscript is a bit of a slow burn, that's fine, but you can cheat a bit with a 'prologue' that's actually a very hook-y scene from later on.

Read the agent's bio page throughly and make a note of what they like, who they represent, and what they're looking for, and highlight this in the query letter.

Your query letter has to say a little about you. It doesn't have to be really personal information (but say if you're under 40, because that's rare for authors and they like that), and keep it professional but not stiff, they say. If you have any writing credentials, such as awards won or creative writing degrees, include them, as with any real life experiences that pertains to the content of your book. But no one will be rejected on the basis of not having had an interesting enough life.

Apparently one of the biggest mistakes for debut authors tend to be too many filler scenes.

In terms of looking for comparative titles, think about where you want your book to 'sit'. Often literally - go into bookstores and visualise where on the displays you could see it. It's really helpful if you can identify a specific marketing niche. Though you want to choose comparisons that sell well, but going for really obvious choices looks lazy. A TV or film comparison is fine - as long as it genuinely can be compared.

Do not call yourself the next Donna Tartt. Or JK Rowling. They are sick of this.

Don't trust agents who request exclusive submission.

Or any with a fee. Agents take a percentage of your advance/royalties - you never pay them directly.

In terms of trends (crowd booing), there's been a boom in uplifting, optimistic fiction, but more recently dark fiction has been rising in popularity and looks to have its moment. Fantasy and Gothic are both huge right now. Publishers also love what's called upmarket/book club fiction - books that toe the line between genre and literary.

But publishers aren't clairvoyant and writing to trends is a futile effort, so don't let them shape what you want to write. Some writing advice I got that I loved was to not even THINK about marketability until draft three or four.

If any agent requests your full manuscript - this is crucial - email every other agent you're waiting to hear back from and let them know. This will take your manuscript from the slush pile to the top, and you are more likely to get more offers of representation.

The agent that flatters you the most isn't necessarily the best. Be sure to ask them what their plan for the book is, and what publishers they're planning to send it to - you want them to have a precise vision. It might be that their vision misses the mark on what kind of book you wanted to write, and if so, they aren't the right agent for you.

Research like hell! A good place to start is finding out who represents authors you love (the acknowledgements pages are really helpful here). if you can, getting access to The Writer's and Artist's Yearbook is very helpful, as is The Bookseller, the lattr for checking up on specific agents. (I was warned the website search engine is awful, so google "[name] the Bookseller" to see what they've sold. That said, only the huge deals get reported, so it's not indicative of everyone they take on.

I also want to add Juliet Mushen's article on what makes a good query. I owe a lot to it, and I feel like it's a useful template!

Once Agented

Agents send a manuscript to about 18-25 publishers, typically. Most books will end up having more than one publisher interested.

It can be hard to move genres after publishing a debut novel, especially for book two, not only because it means it takes longer for you to establish yourself, but the agent that may be perfect for dealing with manuscripts for book one might not have the skills for book two.

Ask the agency/publisher about their translation rights, their rights to the US market, and film and TV rights. Ask also what time of year the book is going to come out, if being published.

It's less the book agents are interested in than it is you as an author. You will be asked what you're going to write next, so have an answer. Just an answer - you don't need another manuscript ready to go. One author said she flat-out made up a book idea on the spot, and she got away with it - just have an answer. (This is also useful to put on the query letter.)

Caveat that this is, of course, not a foolproof guide to getting a book deal, nor is it in any way unconditional endorsement of how the industry works - I just thought it would be useful to know.

[mischasbongwater]

farkas x reader

warning: intense sex, vaguely fem-bodied reader but only if you squint

authors note: this is most certainly not my best work, just practice if anything but im still glad i finished it (emphasis on finished) and i wanted to share it and this felt like a good place to do it

(also for context this takes place after his transformation in the crypt that first time)

You slip into Farkas’s room as quickly and quietly as you can, out of worry that one of the other Companions might get suspicious. You carefully close the door, turn around—

—And Farkas is standing at the foot of his bed, in nothing but a loincloth.

“OH!” You yelp, throwing your hands up in front of your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s fine, open your eyes. I don’t care.”

You falter. “Wh- seriously?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Slowly, you lower your hands and look at him. He’s sat down on his bed now, arms folded. Somehow he still looks just as big and intimidating as when he’s wearing armor. You can so clearly see his muscles rippling beneath his olive skin, but you try not to look anywhere other than his face — or arms.

You catch the inquisitive look on his face and snap yourself back to reality. “So,” you begin. “Werewolf.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It is a gift given only to those in the Circle. Should you want to share the beastblood, you’ll have to prove your honor.”

“Right.” You cannot stop looking at him.

“Truth be told, if you want a more technical history, you should talk to Kodlak or Vilkas. I don’t usually put much thought into it beyond the gift itself. But- are you okay?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You smell different.” He stands up.

“That- is so weird,” you respond, momentarily distracted by bewilderment. “What do I smell like?”

“Normally? Just you. But now…” He steps closer until he’s barely a foot away from you. It feels like his bare chest is looking you straight in the eyes. “It’s different. Stronger. Sweeter.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, feeling something you’ve never quite felt before. Dread and thrill both building up in your stomach, like white-hot balls of metal expanding through your abdomen. Sharp bursts of adrenaline spiking through your body.

“Are you interested in me, new blood?” His deep, gritty voice had a strange new cadence to it, like warm honey pouring into your ears.

You inhale shakily. “I- don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Can I answer it for you?”

You don’t even know if the word “yes” had left your mouth yet before you were in Farkas’s grasp. One hand is gently gripping the back of your neck, and the other is caressing the top of your head, weaving fingers through your hair. His rough, salty lips are pressed against yours, hard. You reach out and place your hands on his hips, closing the gap between you. He quivers under your touch, then melts into it, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

After a few heated moments, he pulls back, much to your disappointment.

“Do you want this?” He asks, his voice sounding much darker now.

You look at him, confused. “Wh-“

“The beast-spirit inside of me. He wants you. Bad.” He fidgets with his hands, showing the first glimpse of true uncertainty and nervousness you’ve ever seen from him. “I don’t know if I can keep being gentle like this. I don’t want to-”

“Farkas.” You take his hands. “I don’t care. I’m yours.”

A lustful spark appears in his eyes. He grabs you by your waist, picks you up with ease, and pins you to his bed, desperately grabbing at your clothes and trying to pull them off.

He seems as stocky and strong as a tree trunk, every part of him laying over you like this. He reaches down and pulls his loincloth off, then lowers himself down, almost completely immobilizing you.

His hands wander up to your face, lazily at first, then grabbing you roughly and once more pushing his lips against yours. His hips begin to thrust slowly against yours, and you feel his hardening cock sliding up and down against your stomach.

“Mmm… you smell so good.” His hands travel across your body, greedily touching every part he can reach. Your own hand begins to drift downward, but he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head.

“You had your chance to lead,” he growls. “It’s my turn now.” He pins up your other hand and buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting, forcing high, breathy moans out of your mouth. His movement slowly grows more desperate, and you feel the same.

“Farkas…” you say pleadingly. He lets out a deep purr and snaps his hips against you in approval. He raises his head above yours. You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, perfectly mirroring the burning passion you feel. His soft raven hair hangs down perfectly around his broad, rugged face. He leans down and whispers into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin and sending tingles down your back. “I’m going to make you mine.”

Without any more warning than that, he grabs your hips so hard you think he might leave handprints, and he pushes his tip inside of you. You let out a shuddering gasp, your hands shooting up and grabbing onto his biceps for dear life.

He begins to push further into you, his thick shaft throbbing and stretching you out. The pain felt so good. A keening moan escapes from your mouth. Farkas closes his eyes, and you can see the muscles feathering along his tightly-clenched jaw as he sinks deeper and deeper into you.

“Farkas,” you breathe out. “Farkas-” you yelp as he forcefully thrusts his full length into you. “Y-you’re so big…” you manage to stammer out. “Fu-uuck. Please, Farkas.”

He opens his eyes and smirks. He smirks at you.

“Please what, darling?”

“Fuck me,” you heave desperately, your nails digging into his skin. “Fuck me, Farkas, please, I-”

You’re cut off by his strong, meaty hand pressing over your mouth, covering half your face. He gives a firm but gentle squeeze. “Sshhh, shh-shh.” He purrs. “Can’t have you waking up the others.” He starts slowly thrusting again. “Or is that what you want? Does the new blood want all of Jorrvaskr to hear them whining like a dog?”

You can do nothing but squeeze your eyes shut, your whole body pulsating with the feeling of him inside of you. That white-hot feeling is back, even more intensely now, like a sun planted in your stomach.

“That’s right,” he groans, starting to speed up. “Good.” He squeezes your face tighter, his eyes closing again and his head tilting back in pleasure. His movements grow almost animalistic, shoving himself further and further inside of you over and over. Your body tenses up, vibrating with heat and ecstasy, his cock filling you up so deep you think you might pass out. Your moans are uncontrollable and muffled by his hand, while your own are nearly drawing blood from their death grip on his arms. He keeps pounding into you, grunting and moaning huskily, holding you solidly in place. Your hips snap back up in rhythm with his, your body twitching from the pleasure and strain. If not for him muzzling you, you would be crying out, screaming his name, moaning and keening in primal euphoria.

The ball in your stomach expands like molten metal, spreading through your body until it feels as if Farkas has filled every last inch of you. It builds and builds and builds-

Until he stops, hilt-deep inside of you. You squirm and cry out, frantic with lust and just on the edge of overstimulation from his huge cock. He hums smugly at your struggle, his face inches away from yours. “Look at you. Such a desperate little thing. You like being used like this?”

You nod, aggressively and pathetically. Farkas chuckles, and the deep, raspy sound of his subtle laughter is almost enough to send you over the edge right there. He shifts, taking his other hand and grasping both sides of your face, pushing his thumbs into your mouth.

“Stay quiet,” he growls, before continuing his merciless thrusts at the same pace he left off at. Without even meaning to, you clamp down on his thumbs between your teeth, letting out a flood of sharp, cut-off moans as he fucks you with reckless abandon. You almost can’t stand the speed and girth hammering into you, sending you into a state of complete, mindless hunger.

Through your feral haze, you see his bottom lip caught under his teeth, his eyes tightly closed, and his eyebrows knitted together. Then his mouth hangs open, and a small whimper escapes into the air.

The molten ball inside of you explodes, coating his length and squirting onto his thighs and stomach. You lay completely silent, convulsing and arching beneath him, consumed with bliss. You scratch helplessly at his shoulders, wordlessly begging, and Farkas complies, thrusting more sensually yet somehow rougher into you now. He covers your mouth again, and you allow the torrent of wild moans to erupt from within you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, every vein and ridge on his cock hitting you in all the right places.

Just when you think you might finally go unconscious, he pulls out and a thick ribbon of cum streams out onto your stomach. He looks to be reared back like a horse, holding tight onto your hips to keep from falling, head swung back as he shudders through his own orgasm.

Panting, he collapses onto you, practically forcing the air out of your lungs with his weight. You wrestle your arms out from under him and wrap them around his torso — or at least, as far around as they can reach.

“Fuck,” Farkas whispers hoarsely, enveloping you in his arms now and turning you both to your sides. You make a noise of agreement muffled by his chest.

“Are- are you gonna stay here?” He asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice. You make another noise, this one of more serene agreement. He exhales deeply and goes limp, pulling you closer to him. You were both far too hot and sweaty for his blankets, but not for your own skin against the other’s. Filled with contentment and… other stuff… you relish in his scent and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. You catch a glimpse of the moon from outside his window.

Who cares if he’s a werewolf, you think to yourself. Nothing could make me rethink this.

[fancifulplaguerat]

Time to put Daniil back on the vivisection table because I am not done with him. I’ve been thinking recently about Daniil’s reaction to Aglaya’s ‘betrayal,’ because honestly I feel like people don’t talk enough about how much it affects him, or how much it influences his decision in the Cathedral. When I finished the Haruspex Route, I was kind of surprised by how central Aglaya’s death was to Daniil’s arguments in favor of the utopian ending—when Daniil tries to convince Artemy to save the Polyhedron, one of his main points is that in doing so, Aglaya will die. I also remember being struck on Day 12 of the Bachelor Route by that lengthy dialogue with Artemy, where he defends Aglaya and Daniil insists upon her betrayal. In the Bachelor Route, this breach of Daniil’s trust is a fundamental aspect of what informs his final decision, and is arguably centred more than the Polyhedron or Kains’ miracles. 

This makes sense to me, because I don’t think Daniil has such a strong reaction to anything else in Patho, not even Simon’s death—even though there’s much customary Dankovsky rage in his reaction, it seems underlined by genuine hurt. For instance, when he asks, “Aglaya, how could you do this? This is an honest to God betrayal. I trusted you...” It even feels a little childish, for want of a better word, how he says “I don’t want to talk to you. I despise you.” It’s also ridiculously hypocritical how he lashes out at Aglaya, telling her that revenge is a poor companion for someone like her, while simultaneously saying shit like “I do not want to take revenge on the Powers That Be anymore. I want to take revenge on you, Aglaya,” or “Watch me sign your death sentence.”

Returning to that dialogue with Artemy, I enjoy how his defense of Aglaya sort of picks apart this reaction: 

Haruspex: You're just holding a grudge, oynon, nothing more. You only feel betrayed because you've entrusted yourself to her—but that was your own choice. It's unwise to brand someone a savior beforehand and then denounce them when they fail to live up to your expectations—even though they didn't know you had them.

> She knew. That's the difference. She knew and exploited my hopes.

[...] 

Haruspex: The feeling that hinders you now is rage, oynon. You feel deceived because you put too much hope in those who have been guiding you all this time. Consider the fact that Aglaya has been guiding you according to her own truth. She is a servant of the Law.

> It doesn't matter—she has deceived and betrayed me. She treated me like a pawn, and I won't ever forgive her for that.

I feel Aremy’s emphasis on how Daniil feels hurt because he put too much hope and trust in Aglaya gestures to that Daniil seems pretty trusting by nature. I think how he acts in the Haruspex Route in particular suggests that he might not give out his trust completely right away, but he still strikes me as quite a social and collaborative person, despite everything. Just in how he quickly refers to Aglaya and Block as his best friends, or works amicably with Rubin and Artemy, or refers to his relationship with characters like Saburov as friendship, rather than an alliance or something similar. And it seems that Daniil truly did trust Aglaya, because when Clara first tells him about her plot, he shoots back, “You liar. Aglaya is my best friend and the most reliable ally I have.” So again, I think there’s an undertone of personal hurt here that goes beyond anger at being a pawn or made to tell lies (though in my opinion, they weren’t *really* lies).   

In this vein, I want to mention that Daniil already seems to associate lies with deception and a breach of trust, given this dialogue: 

Herb Bride: Do you really never tell lies?

> I hate lies. 

> Nothing is more villainous than deceit.* 

Herb Bride: Why? I didn't say 'deceit'. Telling a lie doesn't equal deceit.

> All my life those who pretended that black was white prohibited me from winning. Every deceit hides someone's dark intentions.

Herb Bride: What makes you think they have to be dark?

> Because they replace the true state of affairs with a false one to profit from someone else's suffering.

> It's in their nature.

The exchange provides some interesting insight into why Daniil despises lies so much—they have been used to fool him before, and prevented him from accomplishing his goals. I doubt this is his singular reason, but he seems to see lies as inherently manipulative and exploitative, which probably added salt to wound in the Aglaya situation. Daniil likely assumed that she had the worst intentions and took it as a personal attack against his victory, when really, Aglaya’s deceit was in their mutual interest in terms of getting back at The Powers That Be. After all, they wanted the Town unchanged, so to destroy part of it would indeed allow Daniil and Aglaya revenge. 

A final thing I want to mention is in an opening dialogue, when an Executor tells Daniil that “He who trusts everyone is asking to be deceived.” One of Daniil’s replies is, “Yet he who trusts no one is deluded. I know that from experience.” Which potentially makes this even more depressing, if Daniil was previously rather guarded. I could see how Daniil could  fall into considering himself his only ally, as he has rather outlandish goals that many people likely wouldn’t take seriously. Or perhaps it was from a place of ‘I know better than everyone else,’ which drove him to not take others seriously. Either way, the dialogue implies that Daniil was initially not as trusting as he seems in the game proper.  

I like that Daniil is trusting and hopeful; I personally dislike the idea that that is somehow more naïve than being guarded or pessimistic. I consider it one of his strengths, which allows him to work with others (even if he can be exceedingly ornery sometimes) and is an important foundation for his ideals. It’s all just sad to me how Daniil’s own virtues end up being used against him, but it makes an interesting case study of his character 

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Some 1996 (ITV) Mr Knightley (Mark Strong) propaganda, because my poor man is going to need it, whoever it is that he goes against.

People have objections about this version of the character. I understand them. I'm gonna try to add some perspective to them, and then go for actual pros that I think should be considered!

First, the two lines of horrors about baby Emma. My only defense, I plead at the jury, is... should be blame character and actor for screenplay writer Andrew Davies' crimes?

Second, this Mr Knightley is too angry/forceful. Well, Mark Strong agrees with you! in The Making of Jane Austen's Emma, he says that "At this point I worried that, because I was always having a go at Emma, the audience might not see the love behind it". He also thinks that a lot of that emotionality is driven by Knightley starting to feel things he'd never felt before, and not knowing how to deal with them: "He’s probably going home in the evening and thinking, 'Why on Earth did I do that? What is happening?’"

From there to the beloved scene of 2020 Mr Knightley arriving home and throwing himself on the floor, there isn't a step, even. In that way, this version of Knightley was very influential for both adaptations that came after; 2009 takes from it the emphasis on the aspect of Knightley being an engaged administrator of his estate, rather blunt at times, but always kind to those that depend on him.

Besides all this, you must acknowledge his exasperated delivery of the "His aunt is in the way. His aunt dies!!!" speech is hilarious :P

On with the pros!

This Knightley takes an interest on the servants' lives, knows them by name and always greets them when he arrives at Hartfield.

The way he says "excuse me, sir" to Mr Elton after he snubbed Harriet is glorious:

He has some moments of subtle acting that I love, like this exchange of glances with Emma about Mrs Elton:

(in general I feel he has great chemistry with Emma whenever they are having A MomentTM, but YMMV). He has this way of dissolving a stern face into a lovely smile when he sees her:

The way his voice breaks when he finishes delivering the "badly done" speech after Box Hill

His reactions DURING the Box Hill scene:

His smile at Miss Bates' self deprecating joke!

His disappointment at Emma's hurtful comment!

His concern for Miss Bates!

He has merits! And lovely green eyes.

Sorry but I adore you and your true dedication to the cause - I have added this to the Mark Strong Mr Knightley Propaganda under his poll but will post the full ask here too!

Mr Knightley (1996) Vs Mr Bingley (2005)

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette inspected her various flowers one more time. Even as a florist, she probably put too much focus on checking and rechecking her garden, but she adored the process or making things look beautiful. It wasn't dissimilar to her fashion hobby in how it took effort but paid off in the end as long as one knew what they were doing.

Satisfied with her work, she left the greenhouse area and went to the front of the store behind the counter. Placing her hands on the edge, she arched her back, taking a deep breath to inhale the pleasant scent of flowers permeating her whole shop. She was fairly certain the scent had even overpowered her perfume, making her wonder if it was worth using in the first place.

As she was steeping a cup of tea to prepare for another day of work, the bell at her door chimed to indicate that someone had come in. She looked up, wearing her usual smile specifically for customers, but it faltered when she took in the customer in question.

It was a young man, sporting black hair that turned blue at the tips. The hair alone wasn't strange - either people had it naturally or others dyed theirs to imitate it - but it was that he had flowers in it with no sign of what was attaching them.

Marinette knew her flowers as well as her fashion enough to tell that they were not only real flowers, but they didn't seem attached by any sort of hair clip. In fact, she'd never even heard of anyone using real flowers as a form of fashion statement unless it was extremely temporary, whereas the mystery man walked like he was used to it.

"Hi," he greeted casually, stepping up to the counter.

She snapped out of her stunned state, just enough to reply, "O-oh! Hello! How can I help you?" She pointed, giggling sheepishly and adding, "N-normally, I'd ask what kind of flowers you want, but I think you have enough!"

She'd said it to distract from her being distracted, but winced when she considered that it could come off as an insult. Luckily, the man took it in stride, even letting out a chuckle.

"I do, but I'm still here to talk about flowers." He put a hand on the counter and leaned against it, running his fingers through his hair with his other hand.

Marinette watched in silent awe at how his touch didn't disturb the flowers at all. She kept waiting for them to fall out, but they truly seemed stuck there. She could only nod, curious about what he was going to talk about.

"I'll get to the chorus right away," he began. "My family's descended from flower nymphs. The genes aren't that strong, so they might skip a few generations, but some of us wind up with..." He gestured to his hair for emphasis.

She'd heard of flower nymphs before, but never actually met one. Anyone outside the realm of "normal humans" tended to have their own places to go, simply because they preferred living in different areas or having different lives, but she supposed that anyone who only had a few traits passed down could live a "normal" life amongst other non-magical humans.

"S-so those are real?" she asked, then corrected since she'd already known that, "I mean, they're a part of you?"

"Yeah."

Unconsciously, Marinette reached up, almost needing to see for herself. Her fingers slipped into his hair and through the lavender flowers growing out of it. The feeling wasn't unlike normal hair, though somewhat damp as if it had almost finished drying from a shower. She suspected that the flowers still needed moisture in the way that they did from soil.

As she felt, she noted a sensation under her hand and froze. In real time, she saw a bud form between her middle and ring fingers, blooming into what she recognized as a violet. Her lips parted in amazement and she looked down at the man's face, wondering if he'd done it on purpose.

What she ended up seeing instead was a hint of a blush on his face, his gaze averted to the wall. Her eyes darted from the violet, to his face, and then back to the violet again, somewhere in her mind registering shyness.

She pulled her hand back, blushing deeper as what she'd done registered. The experience had reminded her that flower meanings didn't merely come from nowhere - they were often based on whatever flower nymphs were feeling in the moment of growing whichever flower - but she'd also just embarrassed herself and invaded his personal space, so it wasn't ideal.

"S-sorry." She looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. "I get kind of excited when it comes to this stuff."

"It's alright." He cleared his throat, the smile in his voice returning. "My sister already told me what you'd be like, and I don't mind."

"Your sister?" She peeked at him, mulling over who he could possibly be talking about.

He placed a hand to his chest, explaining, "I'm Luka. Luka Couffaine."

"Couf—ah!" Recognition hit immediately, Marinette smacking the counter with a hand. Pointing at him, she blurted out in surprise, "You're Juleka's older brother!"

He beamed, nodding to confirm. She'd heard about him quite a few times, but had never gotten the chance to properly meet him. Juleka herself had also conveniently left out the whole, "by the way, my brother grows flowers out of his hair," thing. The worst part was that she couldn't be sure if Juleka had left it out innocently, perhaps from having grown up with and thus no longer having thought anything about it, or if it was out of a mischievous sense of humor.

She could believe either, but perhaps it was her own fault. While Luka looked nothing like Juleka in terms of physical traits, they had similar ways of dressing. It was almost strange on him with the combination of torn clothing and jewelry, yet paired with a calm expression and a built-in flower crown, but she didn't dislike it.

Luka, apparently having already recovered from the event, tapped an idle melody on the counter and continued, "She told me you used to help her with her hair. I wanted to ask if you could help me too."

Marinette eyed his hair again, but focused on its length this time. It wasn't long by any means, unlike Juleka's.

"I know it's not much to work with," he clarified, "but people get uncomfortable around me when they see these grow." He tugged gently at the petals of the violet. "I can't cover them with a hat or I get uncomfortable, so I thought I could get an expert to take care of it."

She put her hands to her chest, horrified by the mere thought. "You want me to cut off your flowers? That's crazy! People are stupid for being uncomfortable over something like that!"

Even though she'd said it, she couldn't say she was surprised either. In all aspects, she was a "normal" human without an ounce of magic, yet people had looked at her funny ever since she was a kid.

"Thanks." Luka grinned at her, though added in a semi-teasing tone, "I could've guessed that you liked them, but it's still nice hearing you say it."

Marinette blushed, pouting at him, but it was hard to complain about him taking her touches in stride. Maybe he even approved somehow, and she hadn't just ruined the first impression she'd given to her friend's older brother.

He raised his hands up in a show of peace. "Sorry. I don't want to say anything to make you uneasy, or make you do anything you don't want to. Cutting my flowers can stop any more from growing for a while, but if you could figure out a way to hide them instead, that'd work too."

She pressed her lips together, considering the suggestion. Of course, she had so much more to ask him - "Could you get overwatered? Can you swim without worrying about that?" "Do you like to relax in the sun? Maybe you could tell me if my flowers like the greenhouse." "Has anyone ever tried to pick flowers off you before? Or have you ever picked petals off yourself to make decisions?" - but she knew she could ask those sorts of things if they ever got closer.

It only occurred to her then that she hadn't yet said anything about his request. Straightening up, she gave him a reassuring smile and replied, "I'd love to help you if I can. Maybe you can visit after closing time and we can talk a little more?"

"I'd love that." A hint of tension released from his shoulders as he exhaled. Reaching a hand out to shake on the agreement, he admitted, "Honestly, I'm happy. You're one of the only ones I've met who actually likes these."

"One of?" she echoed, not hesitating to accept the handshake.

"Bees."

"Oh." She wasn't sure whether to snort in amusement or be concerned, but he at least seemed casual about it. Would the honey taste like the actual flowers they come from, or would he have his own brand? What would Luka-brand honey even taste like?

"I really want to know what you're thinking about right now," Luka confessed, curious yet respectful, "but we can talk about it later if you want."

"Ah—okay!" Right, they were still mid-handshake and she'd just zoned out in the middle of it. No doubt he could tell that she was thinking about him.

She hurried to let go, certain that however long she'd been in her own head had been too long, but was met with resistance. She raised a brow at him, puzzled, and noticed his free hand going up to his hair. It was hard to see from the angle, but she noticed a white flower bloom, then detach from his hair. She'd presumed that he couldn't pluck the flowers himself or he wouldn't be here, yet there must've been some rule the flowers adhered to in order to come off painlessly.

Just another on the list of questions she wanted to ask him.

Luka smiled softly, breaking the handshake itself but still keeping hold of her hand. With his other hand, he settled the white flower inside and closed her fingers around it.

"It was nice meeting you, Marinette," he uttered, the warmth of his hands leaving her as he pulled back. With one last, fleeting look at her, he turned away and exited the building, his form disappearing as he headed down the sidewalk.

Marinette blinked, still standing stupidly in place. She'd could count on one hand how many flowers males and females alike had given her over her life, regardless of their meanings, but it was the first time someone had given her one they had literally grown themself.

Staring down at her hand, she uncurled her fingers to reveal the mystery flower: a daisy. New beginnings, her brain provided, though one sip of her tea later, she was already second-guessing herself. Or... was it love?

She blushed, unsure but not daring to dwell further on it at risk of zoning out for her entire workday. Regardless of its meaning, she was looking forward to getting to know him and that was that.

Ending her thoughts on it for the time being, she brought the daisy up to her lips and whispered against the petals, "...Nice meeting you too, Luka."

[beguines]

Union activities and correspondence from 1930 until 1933 clearly suggest that union leaders did not want to commit themselves to new organizing, especially in the South. They felt that anti-​union repression was so strong and labor market conditions so deplorable that it would be a waste of the dwindling resources of the union to make such an attempt. In 1930, as southern miners, particularly in Alabama, began to hold meetings and organize, District 20 (Alabama) director George Hargrove and President Lewis agreed that there would be no "bread wagon" (i.e., financial support) from the UMWA and no help for those discharged in such campaigns. They also agreed that organizing would have no positive effect at this time and would only result in discharges. As Lewis wrote to John Lillich of Carbon Hill, Alabama, "Under present circumstances the International Union is disinclined to spend any money in Alabama." Instead, union leaders' strategy in the early 1930s was to put their efforts into lobbying for support of the Davis-​Kelly coal bill, which they believed might make organizing coal miners easier. In attempting to mobilize such support, they also made appeals, and exposed the highly repressive conditions, to other AFL unions, which generally supported, at least on paper, the UMWA's legislative efforts. Lewis's lobbying emphasis switched, first in late 1932, to strengthening the labor provisions of the Black Bill, then to including 7(a) in the NIRA.

But a strange thing happened while the UMWA leaders were lobbying for their provisions. Miners throughout the country began to organize and form vibrant locals on their own. On May 27, 1933, Lewis appointed his loyal follower Van Bittner as the new president of District 17 (West Virginia), as well as other new districts in West Virginia, Virginia, and Maryland. Lewis regularly informed Bittner of the progress of the NIRA and occasionally asked, almost incidentally, how things were going. At one point, Bittner replies that the miners have been organizing on their own, and there are no organizers to help and service them. Lewis telegrams back to say that he is reassigning organizers and that money is on the way. Van Bittner replies that miners have already organized a local in Ethel, the "heart of Logan County" (the most notoriously repressive of West Virginia counties). While Lewis was telling his officials that they would be in good stead to organize once the NIRA and 7(a) passed, the miners had already organized. Bittner describes this process in a report to Lewis on June 17. By June 22, 1933, Bittner writes to Lewis: "As I have reported to you heretofore, the work of organizing the miners in West Virginia is progressing more rapidly than I had ever dreamed of. The entire Northern field, as well as the New River, Winding Gulf, Kanawha field, Mingo and Logan are all completely organized. We will finish up in McDowell, Mercer and Wyoming counties this week." The same was true for Maryland and Virginia. "I feel that by the end of the week we can report a complete organization of these fields."

Michael Goldfield, The Southern Key: Class, Race, and Radicalism in the 1930s and 1940s

[rivalsforlife]

hello!!! sorry for the long text (and for possible mistakes in this) in advance!!

in december last year i stumbled upon your fic "the catch up game". i decided to read it and honestly that was the best decision of my LIFE. that is the best fanfic ive ever read. this changed my life actually. i remember being impressed at how amazing the characterization was and how everything felt so canon. i was awake until 4 am reading because i couldnt sleep without knowing what would happen next. i started to cry while reading, not because of sadness, but because EVERYTHING was SO GOOD that i wasnt able to express my emotions properly and all i was able to do was CRY.

recently, after months have passed, i've decided to read your fanfic again, and everything was even better than before. i felt all the emotions again, and i was awake until late to read again, and i cried because it was great AGAIN. after i finished reading, i decided to read your other works and EVERYTHING is so well written!!!!

i should say that i LOVE the way you interpret narumitsu as a ship but more importantly as individual characters. i love the way you interpret the other ace attorney characters as well, they all feel so,,, alive? idk how i should put this (im horrible with words, sorry sgdugshs).

all i wanted to do telling you all this is: thank you. thank you for sharing your writing with us. know that when you write again (if you want to, of course!) i will be there to support you!!! i deeply admire your work and you deserve ALL the kudos.

well. i think thats it. i hope you have a good day/night <3 <3 <3!!

🥺 this is such a sweet ask, thanks so much for reaching out!! I'm so glad to hear that my writing had such a strong effect on you and that you enjoyed my works!

ace attorney is always so much fun to write because they're all fantastic characters on their own, but the games have all these great relationships between the characters and such a strong emphasis on platonic relationships as well (which might not be the thing to bring up while talking about a narumitsu fic, but it's always something I want to pay special attention to). Especially with the catch-up game which I intended to be more of a Phoenix characterization study/exercise I wanted to pay at least a little bit of attention to all of his important relationships!

I remember hearing writing advice once that you should have a general idea of what every character in a scene has going on in their own life, like where they came from before this scene, what they're doing after, what's the pressing issues on their mind, etc, so it doesn't feel so much like "and Maya stands off screen until she comes back in to talk about Phoenix and Edgeworth's relationship". So I'm always super happy to hear when people notice things like that because it means I'm doing it at least a little bit correctly!!

Anyways all that is to say that I really appreciate this ask and it definitely brightened my day. I know I haven't posted anything in a while (school + unemployment hell year + more school and now work??? have done a number on me). I have been writing, but I always want to wait until things are done before I post, and I think I've officially hit the year and a half mark on this project as of today, but I have no idea how much longer I'll be able to stand it before I decide it's too much work to wrangle this thing into something I like - and it's not ace attorney anyways and writing characters for the first time and figuring out how they sound is always a bit terrifying. (There's like 2/3 longfics that are the first things I wrote for ace attorney that I've abandoned.)

Maybe replaying aai2 when the official version comes out will motivate me to write more AA, because I do have one good narumitsu idea in my head that I hope I'll be able to write? But either way I'm glad that even my work from four years ago (!!!) is still having an effect on people. Catch-Up Game is still my favorite thing that I've written and I'm always happy to hear people liked it!!

This got more rambly than I intended sorry about that. Thanks again for the very sweet ask. I hope you have a good day/night as well!!

[aortaobservatory]

Hello! I've been following your blog for a while and I saw your classpecting questionnaire. I also saw someone else submit their own answers to get a classpect, if that's okay.

1. What is most important to you? - I want to live the life that I want/makes me happy, and I want to create something really good, good enough that people talk about it and it gets remembered after I die.

2. Why is this important to you? - I think the first part is obvious, but also I don't feel like I have a lot of control in my life already and as far as I know I only have one, I don't want to waste it. As for the second part, it's half related to what I just said and half because I feel like art, especially writing, is my calling in life.

3. Why do you do what you do? - I honestly don't feel like I really do much on a day-to-day basis. I'd like to do more, but I don't feel like I have a lot of opportunities, or friends to do stuff with (see below question about flaws)

4. What frustrates or upsets you most? - In general I get frustrated or upset pretty easily, mostly because in general I feel my emotions very strongly (especially negative ones). What frustrates/upsets me the most is people telling me what to feel/think/believe, or telling me that what I'm thinking/feeling/believing is wrong. Doubly so if I'm disagreeing with them on something and they just can't comprehend the idea that they might be wrong about anything.

5. What is in your way? What are your flaws? How do you overcome this? - I'm good at coming up with ideas and starting projects, but I'm bad at finishing them. I'm also shy and (usually) avoid confrontation, and neither like nor know how to initiate conversations. If I knew how to overcome this, I would've done it already.

6. Are you okay with that? - I'm not sure what "that" is referring to. Answers 1, 2 and 4, sure. Answers 3 and 5, no.

(freedom -> Breath), (to mean something -> Light? legacy, to be remembered, to leave an impact -> Doom, Rage, Knight-Page)

(little control -> Prince-Maid), (Hope-Rage), (Space)

lack of Blood, (acquire friends as a form of freedom?), (stuck, desire to do more -> Doom-Life, Space-Time), (lack of control, little opportunities -> Prince-Maid)

Hope-Rage, (inverse -> Hope), (Sylph-Maid, Knight-Page)

(Space, inverse -> Time, good with ideas, bad with commitment? -> Rage, inverse -> Hope), (Sylph-Maid), (Breath, inverse -> Blood)

(unclear -> Maid?), emphasis on freedom, holding strong to the self's own truth

A desire to live the life you want, a life that makes you happy, means you are not currently living that life, and that is visible to you to the point of upset frustration. You hate being told what to believe by others and you're unsure how to move forward, but you lack opportunities and you lack control. Your answers spoke to me as a very frustrated, confused Maid/Page seeking answers.

I have been attempting to pin down a classpect for you from these answers, but there is no one thing that uniquely stands out to me other than you most likely being a passive class within the Sylph-Maid (Enhancers) and Knight-Page (Utilizers) classes.

There are really quite a lot of interesting elements in your answers here. They could combine in any number of ways. I believe you may be Rage-bound, but you could just as likely be Breath-bound or Space-bound, as you have elements of inverses for each, and none overpower any of the others.

I'm still not entirely sure of your aspect; I could make an equal case for each of the three I pointed out. I almost feel as though I was not told something, so, I will leave the decision of your aspect entirely up to you. Your class took me a long time to narrow down, but I am convinced that if you are not a Maid, you may very likely be a Page instead.

For your consideration:

Maid of Breath

Maid of Rage

Maid of Space

Maids start off pushed around by others' view of their aspect, but eventually allow their aspect to heal, restore, and enhance themselves, making them into an entirely new person and purifying their aspect to themselves. They start out relying on others for their aspect or being told by others how to interact with their aspect. Their challenge is to listen to themselves instead of others, and to not let others opinions dilute their aspect as they restore it for themselves and allow it to make them into a new person.

Page of Breath

Page of Rage

Page of Space

Pages start unskilled in their aspect, learning how it works and how to use it to its full potential over time. In their many attempts to master their aspect, they teach others the value of their aspect, becoming an unintentional source of inspiration. Their challenge is to keep at it, learn from failure, and eventually master their aspect, being able to confidently provide their aspect to others.

I do apologize for the wait; I've been horribly sick and am only just now recovering enough to post this for you. Speaking of, if you'd like to follow up with me on this, you're more than welcome to! I'm certain with a bit more information I can point you in a more concrete direction than this, and I can't deny I'm intrigued by all the possibility you have. However, in the end, only you decide what fits.

[diddyshadow]

WINGS OF FIRE: REIMAGINED (Part One: SkyWings)

Okay heyyyy guys ik I disappeared off the face of the Earth for like a solid 3 months but I finally remembered this blog exists and I promised y'all a rewrite...so here goes nothing!

Tonight I've cooked up some basic ideas for how I imagine the Skywing Kingdom to appear in my reimagining. I WILL be doing the other tribes so don't worry!! Also these ideas are nowhere near finished cooking but uh oh well

sO without further ado, I present...

SKYWINGS

Armistal (Skywing capital) 

“Mining Country”

War prisoner gladiator style arena 

Violent games held to entertain the Queen 

High in the mountains and cliff sides

Cities and homes carved into sides of mountains and valleys 

Armistal is surrounded by a range of jagged mountains  

A professional, dangerous army filled with trainees who have practiced since they came out of the egg (reasoning: in the OG series Queen Scarlet mentions a breeding program, and if there’s a breeding program, why not a military one too?)

Militaristic

One of the wealthiest kingdoms

War profiteers!

Incredible blacksmiths and jewelers (lightweight durable armor, beautiful necklaces, etc.)

A large portion of the community surrounding Armistal works as stonecutters

The Skywings sound like a formidable and dangerous tribe with a strong emphasis on military might and combat prowess. They also seem to have a rich culture of blacksmithing and jewelry-making, which adds to their overall allure. It would be interesting to explore their society and the social dynamics within the tribe, particularly among the fighters and other groups such as the blacksmiths and jewelers. I imagine there is a GREAT disparity between the stonecutter class and the military upper class

Aqueducts?

It would also be fascinating to explore how the Skywings' military might have affected their relationships with other tribes and the political landscape of the world. Do their neighbors fear them, or do they see them as valuable allies? How has their wealth and influence shaped their relationships with other kingdoms?

The farther away from the central kingdom, the less focused on stone cutting and mining dragons probably are

ALSO ALSO ALSO what are your guys' thoughts on feathery/avian Skywings because I've been wanting fluffy sky dragons for so long like pls hear me out imagine a fluffy Peril (IMAGINE THE PHOENIX IMAGERY/MYTHOLOGY WE COULD GET INTO WITH HER)

[hexusproductions]

GioGhet/TerribleDadShipping - Jealousy

Summary: "Giovanni and Ghetsis being flirty with each other, while the Rocket Executives are jealous and possessive of Giovanni." Author's Note: A commission for @janayuga (posted with permission). I originally finished this back in November, but real life commitments kept me busy from posting it.

Team Rocket was an organisation that had faced plenty of opposition, but had always found a way to persevere. Having relocated to their newest secret hideout, operations were able to continue smoothly. Numerous Rocket Grunts skittered throughout the multi-level structure, busy with one task or another. However, many of them turned their heads or their general attention, however subtly, to two figures that made their way through the hideout. One was unquestionably Giovanni, their leader, but the other was a stranger that many of the Grunts only recognised by word of mouth and worldwide news. Ghetsis of Team Plasma.

Ghetsis knew he was likely to be noticed, even in a place like this. Ever since his attempt to liberate every pokemon in Unova had failed, he had been looking over his shoulder to ensure no-one was trying to apprehend him. Even after Giovanni had invited him to travel to Johto, oceans away from his home region, Ghetsis didn’t lose that caution.

His footfalls came in three, each step followed by the tap of the cane in his hand, embellished with the symbol of Team Plasma. Ghetsis’ gaze flicked here and there, noticing the Rocket Grunts that stopped to murmur to each other about his presence. A few others ran off at the very sight of him, although he wasn’t sure whether their alarm was because of him, or because of Giovanni. It wasn’t often that their leader ventured out in the open to receive a guest, much less give said guest a personal tour.

Giovanni seemed to notice the quiet chatter as well, his gaze roaming for a second before returning forward. He didn’t change pace, one hand resting in the pocket of his slacks as he walked.

“Pay them no mind.” Giovanni rumbled. “They’ll remember their duties quickly.”

“There’s an army’s worth of them here. I can’t help but feel outnumbered.” Ghetsis returned. Giovanni’s head cocked ever so slightly.

“Then remember who you stand with.”

Ghetsis chuckled, giving Giovanni a knowing glance. Still, he remembered the Rocket Grunts who had taken off. Giovanni’s level of command was strong, and he was counting on that.

Footsteps approached quickly. At first, Ghetsis thought it might have been the Grunts returning, but as he and Giovanni came to a stop, he saw the two individuals that approached them were wearing slightly different uniforms.

“Sir! We heard reports of an intruder inside the building.” One of them spoke; he sported sea green hair underneath a cap pulled low over his brow, adding further emphasis to his already downturned expression. The two higher ranking members of Team Rocket both turned their attention towards Ghetsis, hands already on the pokeballs on their belts.

“Is this him? Just say the word!” The other added, his wide eyes narrowed. His hair had been shaved into something of a fluffy purple mohawk.

“That’s enough.” Giovanni told them, not aggressively, but still firm. “Ghetsis is not to be harmed while he is here. He is my personal guest. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir.” Both Admins confirmed.

“Good.”

The admins withdrew their hands. A moment of silence passed as they glanced towards each other. The Admin wearing the cap kept his demeanour tense, in a way Ghetsis supposed was meant to be intimidating, while the other with purple hair scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh. Welcome?” Petrel tried, obviously scrambling for the first thing that came to mind. Ghetsis raised an eyebrow before turning his head to Giovanni.

“Not one for many personal guests, are you?” Ghetsis questioned. Giovanni leant in closer to him.

“This is a special case. I thought you would appreciate my making things easier for you.” He said. Ghetsis chuckled, turning his head to Giovanni.

“Oh I do, Giovanni. But remember I’m not completely helpless. I’m very capable.” His eyes narrowed in challenge, a growl in his voice that could have seemed aggressive, but was something else entirely. Giovanni’s hand brushed Ghetsis’ mid-back, lingering there for a moment before leaving.

“I look forward to seeing as much while you’re here.” Proton’s grim look had returned, and Petrel’s eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Giovanni added quietly. “Make yourself at home.” Giovanni left, continuing his stride to resume the business he’d had before Ghetsis’ arrival. It left Ghetsis alone in the presence of the two Admins, who were still looking at him with suspicion that became palpable in the air once no longer hidden for Giovanni’s sake.

“Hello.” Ghetsis addressed the two of them, head half-turned away in a display of caution. He noticed Proton’s hand slink back towards his belt.

“Why would Giovanni allow someone like you inside of the Team Rocket headquarters?” Proton questioned. His eyes flicked over Ghetsis, returning to bore into Ghetsis’ own eyes like a steel drill. “You’d better not be here to interfere.”

“Someone like me.” Ghetsis echoed.

“An outsider.” Petrel chimed in. Unlike Proton’s steady growl, his tone was animated and accusatory. “A dangerous one.” Ghetsis opened his mouth to assure them that he meant no ill will (if only to placate them and perhaps gain their trust), but Proton spoke over him, stepping closer.

“You’re from a completely different organisation, with your own goals. And ulterior motives. You’re not a good fit for our great leader.”

“...I see.” Ghetsis said simply. He looked between the two Admins, any desire for even false allyship snuffing out like a light. “If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped around them, walking away to continue his tour of the headquarters on his own. As he left, the Admins stared after him.

“I don’t like this.” Petrel remarked, expression twisted into a scowl. Proton grumbled in agreement.

“Neither do I.” He didn’t trust Ghetsis for a second, and he didn’t feel comfortable letting the so-called ‘guest’ have free reign of the place. He especially didn’t like how Ghetsis and their leader had interacted with each other. Proton shared a look with Petrel, and he gathered from Petrel’s hunched posture that he felt the same way. They both hoped that whatever was going on, Ghetsis’ visit wouldn’t be for long.

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Ghetsis’ visit was, in fact, long. It seemed like he was always around, and getting in the way even when he didn’t intend to. When he wasn’t spotted hanging around the base, he was spending a lot of time around Giovanni, having close conversations, sharing looks only they understood the meaning of. Although the other members of Team Rocket had adjusted to their guest, his behaviour was grating on the four Admins’ collective nerves.

Information passed quickly between the small group. Petrel and Proton had recounted their interaction with Ghetsis to Ariana and Archer, with a great amount of emphasis on the suspicious behaviour of their great leader.

Archer walked down the halls towards Giovanni’s office. He had a tablet tucked against his folded elbow, holding a record of everything that had been stolen in a recent heist. His pace was quick, purposeful, but not with any sense of urgency. That was until he approached the door to the office, and could hear muffled voices on the other side. Archer hesitated, listening intently.

“Do you really think I’ll just let you take the lead like that?”

“This is my organisation. By all means, you’re welcome to try and stop me…”

Archer fumbled for his keycard, swiping it in the scanner and pushing inside the moment the lock released. Entering Giovanni’s office, Archer made it two steps before coming to a sudden stop, his eyes widening.

Before him was the familiar sight of Giovanni’s desk. Ghetsis was pressed back against the edge of it. He was boxed in by the arm of Giovanni himself, leaning against the desk and pinning Ghetsis to it in the process. Ghetsis’s hand was clutching the collar of the other man’s jacket, pulling him even closer, until their faces were barely apart.

Both of them turned their heads at the sound of the door being opened, startled by the sudden interruption. Archer’s free hand clutched the tablet tightly, barely lacking enough force to crack the screen. His eyes narrowed as Giovanni turned to face him, his expression twisting into something Archer had rarely ever been on the receiving end of. Open irritation.

“What is it?” Giovanni questioned.

“Giovanni, sir.” The acknowledgement felt strangled in his throat. Anger and jealousy roiled in his chest as his gaze unconsciously drifted to Ghetsis, who had yet to say a word. How dare he act like he didn’t have anything to explain, like he had any right to act this way? Archer had served Giovanni for years, he had kept Team Rocket alive during Giovanni’s absence, Archer knew him far better than Ghetsis could. Keeping his tone even, Archer resumed speaking. “It’s business. The latest raid. I have the ledger of everything successfully brought back. You asked to see it.” His eyes wandered to Ghetsis again. “It’s important.” A moment passed. Giovanni stepped away from Ghetsis, and straightened his jacket.

“Right.” Giovanni drawled. The displeasure hadn’t left his demeanour, though it faded slightly. Archer supposed, with fondness, that it was out of either Giovanni’s masterful self-control or his professionalism. Archer noticed Ghetsis was looking similarly annoyed, but Giovanni shifted his weight to direct his next words to the guest. “Would you excuse us for a moment? This won’t take long. We can continue our conversation afterwards.” The briefest flicker of emotion Archer had caught on Ghetsis’ face was washed over by an air of being completely unbothered, and Ghetsis answered with a smile in his tone that wasn’t quite reflected on his lips.

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Ghetsis walked out of the office, ignoring Archer completely as he left. He could hear the beginnings of a new conversation ebb behind him as he closed the door, stepping out into a hallway that felt yawning and empty. Now outside of the office, Ghetsis continued walking, but a growl of frustration twisted his lip to expose the teeth underneath. He realised with almost immediate dread as he turned a corner, that this section of the hallway was occupied; By the other Admins. Their presence may have been excused by simple coincidence, but with how their eyes moved to him and their posture snapped straighter, Ghetsis had a feeling they’d been expecting him.

“Can I help you?” Ghetsis asked, coming to a stop. Proton turned from whatever conversation he had been having with Ariana. Obviously, he and Petrel (who was leaning back against the opposite wall) had passed along the details of theirs and Ghetsis’ earlier interaction.

“Just making sure you’re comfortable as our guest.” Ariana smiled, sounding more amused than polite.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Boss.” Petrel added. He immediately winced when the other Admins shot him a look. Despite himself, Ghetsis chuckled. The sound of it was hollow, even to his own ears.

“So that’s what this is about.” He cast his gaze over each of them in turn, a slow sweep as his head tilted slightly to one side. “I know you all have your reservations about me. You’ve made it increasingly clear. But I mean no harm to your leader, and our current arrangement is for mutual benefit. Please, trust that Giovanni knows what he’s doing.” Although it was too quiet for a crowd, Ghetsis thought his words had the familiar qualities of a speech; Clear in delivery, while still keeping them away from his personal feelings.

He saw Petrel scowl, and Proton’s hands clenched into fists. Ariana shifted, one hand on her hip, the other resting on her chest. She made a low hum as she stepped forward. Ghetsis’ shoulders tensed as she spoke.

“I’m sure Giovanni must have seen some sort of value in you if he gave you an invitation to be here.” The smile that curled across her lips made bile rise in Ghetsis’ throat. “But there’s something you have to understand. Giovanni appreciates loyalty over everything else. And I’m sorry, but in comparison to us, I don’t think Giovanni knows you at all. I’d be remiss if I let you go on thinking that you mean anything more to him than a business arrangement.” Ghetsis looked at Ariana, unblinking. His fingers twitched, clenching around an emblemed cane that wasn’t currently in his possession. He had had enough of being treated like an intruder, of being disrespected by Giovanni’s underlings!

“You’d do well to keep your ‘remissions’ to yourself.” He snapped. Ariana blinked, seeming surprised by the sudden bite in his demeanour that had gone unseen until now. “I’ll continue to stay close to Giovanni, regardless of your interruptions or incessant prying.” Before any of them could speak again, he pushed past them all, continuing quickly down the hallways of the base. He didn’t care for any further comments, or the glares he could feel burning into his back as he walked away. His intentions with Giovanni were his own. He wouldn’t be dissuaded.

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Giovanni’s office was spacious. The colour scheme of the interior was an elegant red and black, almost gothic in the lattice-work across each small window in the room, allowing natural light in but ensuring privacy. A long rug extended from the entrance to Giovanni’s desk, which itself was wide and made of a similar dark wood, the surface cleared save for a landline phone and a computer. Every seat in Giovanni’s office was made of a similar high-quality leather; One behind the desk, one in the corner left-hand from the entrance (sat beside a small table housing a crystal tray of berries and a half-empty bottle of semi-opaque golden liquid), and one on the immediate right from the entrance, sitting parallel to a large screen on the wall for when members of Team Rocket requested an audience via video. The only other piece of furniture was a comfortably-padded round pet bed in the far right-hand corner, where Giovanni’s Persian currently dozed.

Giovanni’s office was coordinated; Everything had a place, and everything served a purpose. In that way, the space was reminiscent of the man himself. And knowing Giovanni could interpret someone else sitting in his desk chair as an intrusion, Ghetsis chose to occupy the armchair off to the left side instead.

One other door was in this office apart from the main entrance. It was within arm’s reach of the armchair Ghetsis sat in, but remained firmly closed. Though he couldn’t be sure if it was locked without physically trying the doorknob, the door somehow gave the air of being much more than a storage closet. Something that Giovanni didn’t let just anyone into.

Ghetsis faltered at that thought. He felt he had been given more allowances than anyone. And yet, he didn’t know how far those allowances reached.

He wasn’t accustomed to uncertainty. He had spent decades worth of time placing every perfect piece together, in order to realise his greatest desire for an ideal world. Now, his greatest desire lay scattered to the wind. He knew some things he wanted, but he had no idea how they would play out long-term. The lack of control was almost terrifying.

But then came Giovanni, a man as familiar with control and plans as Ghetsis was. He had earned Ghetsis’ respect, his admiration, and eventually his affection. Although Ghetsis felt he himself had earned the same from Giovanni, he didn’t know how deep those feelings ran. The Admins, despite their noseying, had made a point about whether Giovanni’s affection would last once Ghetsis was no longer useful. If that were the case, Ghetsis couldn’t fault the man; he would do the same if the positions were reversed. But it invoked the rare feeling of worry, roiling uncomfortably in his chest.

The front entrance clicked open, and Ghetsis was pleased to see it was Giovanni who entered.

“Finally.” Giovanni said, not with a tone of annoyance, but more with the satisfaction of crossing off an item from a to-do list. “I trust you’ve been making yourself comfortable without me.”

“As comfortable as I can be.” Ghetsis answered. Giovanni took a wide path to scratch Persian behind the scruff on his way past. The pokemon cooed approvingly before returning to its dozing. As Giovanni rounded his desk, Ghetsis fixed him with a specific look, brow creased and a smile playing on his lips. “I’ve got a feeling some of your people may not like me.” Giovanni joined Ghetsis on the couch, slotting into the space beside him. The couch was a little snug for two people, but Giovanni didn’t seem to mind the close proximity.

“Yes…there’s been some chatter since your arrival about what you’re really doing here.” Giovanni laid an arm across the back of the couch. He chuckled. “I wouldn’t get too caught up in rumours.” Ghetsis’ head tilted a fraction, in something like a nod of agreement considering his usually stiff body language. His left hand moved to rest on Giovanni’s knee, and his smile grew into something more genuine.

“Perhaps you should remind them to avoid unnecessary gossip. They’ll listen to their precious leader without question.” Ghetsis said. He reclined into Giovanni’s hold, shortening the distance between them. “You have a certain power over people.” Another chuckle rumbled in Giovanni’s throat, and he turned his head to look at Ghetsis directly.

“But not over people like you.” Giovanni answered. Ghetsis’ mirth dimmed at that. Giovanni’s answer reminded him of Executive Proton’s earlier derision; ‘Someone like him’. He didn’t think it was intentional, as Giovanni wasn’t a man who liked to sneak barbs into his amicable words, but it still stung Ghetsis in an unpleasant way.

While Ghetsis mulled over the unfortunate choice of words, he realised Giovanni was watching him. He focused his attention back on the man beside him. Giovanni’s gaze was easy, taking in what lay before him, and a soft smile was drawn across his lips.

“What is it?” Ghetsis prompted. Giovanni blinked slowly, as if roused from his own thoughts.

“Nothing.” Giovanni’s chest rose and fell in a deep exhale through the nose. “I’m merely enjoying your presence.” The remark was as honest as a man like Giovanni could be. It wasn’t the answer Ghetsis had been expecting, and he went quiet.

“Pah. You’re only just doing so now? What have I been until now, a parasite?” His tone was low, more-so in volume than in pitch, a grumble that barely directed itself towards Giovanni. He glanced towards Giovanni’s free hand, which had settled over his own, brushing a thumb carefully over the skin.

“When you build yourself an empire, it’s important to take the time to admire the beauty you’ve surrounded yourself with.” Giovanni answered, and there was that smile again, unimpeded and unashamed of itself. Any further words stuck in Ghetsis’ throat. He stared at Giovanni for a long moment, and then he rolled his eyes and turned his head away from the other man.

“You bastard…” Ghetsis tried to ignore any possible fluster from Giovanni’s words, as well as the arm formerly resting on top of the couch, moving to loop around his back as Giovanni laughed, amused and satisfied with himself. Sometimes it was a wonder Ghetsis put up with his behaviour. Then again, Giovanni was a wonder of a man.

A knock came at the door, followed by the beep of an accepted security keycard. Both of the room’s occupants turned their heads, the intimate moment interrupted. Executive Archer entered the room, tucking his keycard into a pocket of his uniform. Ghetsis frowned, any good spirits he’d formerly experienced strangled by the presence of Archer in his company. He noticed Giovanni didn’t remove his arm from around Ghetsis, and didn’t seem bothered by his underling seeing it there.

“It’s urgent business sir. It needs your attention at once.” Archer stood before Giovanni’s desk, as he usually did. Pausing, he made an awkward turn to face the couch, tucking his arms behind his back.

“Again?” He heard Ghetsis mutter, barely not quiet enough to avoid being heard in the quiet space. Archer shot him a look.

“Yes.” Archer affirmed, flashing a smile with too much teeth.

“Are you sure this requires my personal attention?” Giovanni asked. He was watching Archer intently, barely blinking. Archer suppressed the urge to swallow, instead clenching his hands hidden behind his back. He knew Giovanni was observant, and skilled at both deception and recognising deception from others. Having used this excuse once before, Archer couldn’t afford to show any sign of a ruse. He was of course confident in his own abilities to do so, given his status within Team Rocket’s ranks.

“Absolutely.” Archer answered the question, wondering how long a pause had followed between it and his response. “The selected group is ready to leave to infiltrate Kalos. Your reach has done so much to ensure success, I thought you’d like to approve the final preparations.” Giovanni didn’t say anything at first. Archer didn’t risk thinking that he had slipped up somewhere in his explanation. But then, Giovanni nodded.

“Very well.” He agreed. Archer smiled, and directed the pleased look towards Ghetsis with a turn-up of his nose. Ghetsis remained statuesque, with an expression Archer found irritatingly impossible to read.

“If you’ll step outside. Team Rocket’s matters are private, remember?”

“I think I’d like to stay.” Ghetsis stated. The simple statement caused Archer to resist grinding his teeth. “Your leader has agreed to work with me, I would be remiss if I weren’t present to provide help where I can. Unless you have any objections, of course…” He directed his final question towards Giovanni.

“None whatsoever.” He answered. Ghetsis looked to Archer, and he smiled, appearing completely innocent and unassuming. Archer’s already clenched fists tightened further, nails digging into the skin of his palms.

“Yes sir.” Archer agreed.

Archer gave his report. He and Giovanni discussed the details of the Kalos infiltration, reviewing what was already in place and any last-minute variables that could affect the plan. All the while, Archer would cast subtle but pointed glances in Ghetsis’ direction; although for the most part, all Ghetsis did was sit quietly, only chiming in when asked or if he had something to contribute. By the time Archer left, the man was practically fuming, his self control keeping it contained to an occasional tremor throughout his body.

Once the door had snapped shut behind the Admin, Giovanni rose from the couch. He heard Ghetsis muffle a laugh behind him, but when he turned back and arched an eyebrow, Ghetsis let it free into the office space.

“He did an incredible job of controlling himself.” Ghetsis noted. He leant back against the plushness of the couch, allowed a little more vacancy because of Giovanni’s departure.

“He’s devoted, above all else.” Giovanni agreed. Despite himself, a smile played on the corners of his lips. He silently commended Archer on not losing his temper, even if he had been able to see through the Admin’s attempt at calm.

Giovanni turned, looking back to Ghetsis. Although amusement lingered, there was a shift in Ghetsis’ demeanour, a grim intensity in his gaze unintentionally directed towards the couch’s arm. “What is it?”

“Mm, nothing.” Ghetsis waved away the issue with his hand. Giovanni raised an eyebrow at the dismissal, and took a single, deliberate step back towards the other man.

“Tell me.” He instructed. He didn’t know what the issue was, but if it affected Ghetsis, it affected him as well. Although the other man was prone to brooding, Giovanni didn’t enjoy seeing him disturbed.

Ghetsis met Giovanni’s gaze, looking at him for a long, silent moment. Giovanni could see the doubt in his eyes, the mulling over whether to answer truthfully, and the stubbornness to fix his own problems that Giovanni greatly admired. Finally, Ghetsis made a displeased sound and sat up.

“This isn’t the first time your lackeys have tried to meddle, I’m afraid. I’ve been hounded more than once about my intentions, and they’ve tried to claim that ‘someone like me’ isn’t a good fit for you.” He attempted to chuckle, but it sounded thin and unconvincing. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were jealous.”

“I see…” It was all Giovanni said at first, his thoughts preoccupied with processing Ghetsis’ explanation. Any amusement he had previously found in the situation had been snuffed out, replaced with a deep, low-burning anger. He rarely lost his temper, and he wasn’t going to now, but this new information was…frustrating.

Ghetsis’ gaze didn’t leave Giovanni’s, unblinking. Somehow it was more of a condemnation than if Ghetsis had shied away instead.

“Don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t aware how far they’d gone to try and protect what they see as theirs. If it continues further, I’ll deal with them personally.” Giovanni rested the fingertips of one hand on the edge of the desk. His voice got a little quieter. “You could have told me about this.”

“I just did.” Ghetsis snipped back. “I wasn’t certain how much of what they said was true.” Giovanni sighed, and glanced back over his shoulder towards Persian. The cat opened one eye, meowed, and closed it again.

“They’ve overstepped their bounds.” Giovanni answered. He crossed the distance between the two of them and extended a hand to Ghetsis. “They don’t have any say in my private matters. Come on.” Ghetsis eyed him, frowning at the hand offered, but he slowly took Giovanni’s hand and allowed himself to be led. Giovanni guided the other man to his feet and towards the side door. Opening it easily, he stepped inside and pulled Ghetsis after him.

Giovanni had seen this room a hundred times, but in his peripheral vision, he saw Ghetsis’s eyes sweep over the interior quickly, taking in his surroundings as fast and as fully as possible. The architecture was much the same as his office; black and red colour scheme, lattice-worked windows and comfortable leather furniture. The notable difference was a bed against the far wall, simple but spacious, without a single crease in the bedding.

He glanced towards Ghetsis, waiting for the surprise to wear off. He cleared his throat, drawing attention back towards himself.

“Much better for privacy.” Giovanni took a step closer, breaching Ghetsis’ personal space. “If you have any doubts about your ‘worthiness’, Ghetsis, let me end them for you. I chose you. It’s never been a competition.” Ghetsis didn’t meet the other man’s gaze, scowling as if to himself.

“I know that.”

“You’d better.” Giovanni smirked. Ghetsis looked away for another moment, and then he laughed, a quick huff of self-mocking amusement.

“You might have less control of your people than you thought.”

“And there’ll be consequences later. Stop worrying about them and start worrying about the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.” Giovanni took yet another step forward, his chest brushing against Ghetsis’ own as he took hold of Ghetsis’ face. Ghetsis looked puzzled.

“What predicament is that?” He asked, his left hand coming up to rest around Giovanni’s arm.

“Capturing the adoration of the leader of Team Rocket.” Giovanni purred. Ghetsis stared at Giovanni, taken off-guard by the remark. Giovanni expected him to become flustered, and perhaps defiant, as he had earlier in the office. But while colour did faintly spread on Ghetsis’ face, instead of cutting back with some retort, his gaze warmed.

“I don’t think I’ll stop that.” There was a softness in Ghetsis’ voice, one which Giovanni had rarely been able to witness. Not the simmering intensity that it usually had, but much lighter and almost…sweet. It nearly caused a flutter in Giovanni’s blackened heart.

Giovanni reached forward, his other hand tracing Ghetsis’ right shoulder. He passed along Ghetsis’ arm, and although the other man hesitated, he allowed the cape he was wearing to open wider and Giovanni to bring his right hand free from it. The hand was darkened with scar tissue past the elbow, the remnants of a long-ago injury that left the limb safer hidden within the cloth. Giovanni cupped the damaged hand with his own, the hold unbearably gentle.

“Good. Because there’s nothing about you that would change my mind.”

He could see Ghetsis try to keep his composure, but that didn’t stop a smile from spreading across Ghetsis’ face, acceptant and more relaxed than he’d been since his arrival to Team Rocket’s headquarters.

“And you either.” He replied.