Basis: Fire, fruit bat, partial butler/servant theme
Funnily enough, Blazerise’s name came before I decided to make it a butler type of pokemon. It is a complete coincidence that Blazerise has the word “blazer” in it(which it appears to be wearing one). I think design-wise, Blazerise is my personal favorite, which is unusual, because I usually favor grass or water types. Such elegance and grace! My favorite part of the design is the lil’ mustache and curly hair. I’m especially proud of the fire effects! The butler/ servant theme plays into the circle of the starters.
Those who came to know Nanase Haruka quickly realized that he wasn’t one for open displays of affection. Despite Nagisa’s attempts to sway him (which included many a surprise hug), he just wasn’t interested.
At least, Haru thought he wasn’t interested. Now, he wasn’t so sure. As he watched many female (and, admittedly, some male eyes) gaze appreciatively over his boyfriend’s gorgeous physique during their walk to class, he couldn’t help but want to grab him by the lapels of his shirt (which Haru had picked out for him) and publicly kiss him senseless. He wanted to show them all exactly who Makoto belonged with.
This was, by no means, and isolated incident. Haru had noticed the stares of his classmates during their time at Iwatobi High, but the amount of ogling had only increased since their move to Tokyo. After all, their university was much more densely populated and, unlike high school, students there weren’t aware of their status as an unofficial “married couple,” as they had been dubbed in Iwatobi.
The worst part was that his boyfriend was completely and utterly oblivious. As people pointed, gaped, and whispered around him, Makoto just kept walking forward, never noticing. Haru wished he could be so ignorant; maybe his blood would stop boiling every time they had to walk across campus. Since that was obviously impossible, he resigned himself to giving every set of curious eyes a frosty glare.
“Haru?” Makoto questioned, noticing the fierce look on boyfriend’s face. “Is something wrong?”
He sighed. “It’s nothing.”
Makoto looked nervous. “Well, if you’re sure…” He trailed off.
“We’re going to be late.” Haru said as he picked up his pace.
“H-Haru!” Makoto cried out. “Wait for me!”
They made it to class in record time.
Haru was livid. He had hoped that the blatant staring would die down a couple weeks into the semester, but his faith was quickly incinerated. If anything, the interest in his boyfriend had only increased. His ire flared in turn. It was reaching the point of ridiculousness, as some people were even beginning to take “stealthy” pictures with their phones. He had never felt so violent in his life.
Rather than act on his impulse to smash every camera in the vicinity, he tugged onto the strap of Makoto’s backpack and led him across campus like a dog on a leash. Makoto, being the sweetheart that he was, didn’t bother to question him. For that, Haru was most definitely thankful.
It was the fifth week since the start of the occurrence and Haru was about to snap. The courtyard was packed with spectators, as if Makoto were some sort of campus celebrity. Once again, Haru’s grip held firm to the fabric of Makoto’s backpack, and, of course, his boyfriend was still oblivious. He was chatting away about his latest phone call with Ren and Ran.
“… and then Ran said that she wanted to try swimming at the swim club! I told her that I thought it was a great idea! But, of course, Ren didn’t want to be left out, so he told me that he wants to join as well –which is interesting because he never took to the water as well as Ran did, but…”
Haru couldn’t concentrate. The eyes were everywhere and there was a prominent buzzing from all of the whispering. Fake shutter sounds went off every so often as they walked, and Haru’s grip tightened further as he tried to up their pace. But, unlike every other day, he was halted suddenly.
He looked back at his boyfriend, his eyes questioning Makoto’s actions. The taller man simply laughed at Haru’s (adorable) expression and leaned down to whisper softly in his ear. Haru found that he could finally ignore the cameras’ clicks.
“Nanase Haruka, if you pull on my bag strap one more time, I’m going to kiss you in public.” Makoto teased.
Well, that was an interesting thought. Haru looked him in the eye and met his challenge straight on.
“I’m not stopping then.” He said before giving the strap one more sharp tug, pulling Makoto closer in the process. His boyfriend’s cheeks lit up with a profound blush and he began stumbling over the syllables that tumbled from his perfect mouth. Haru effectively silenced him with a firm peck on the lips. He pulled away with a cheeky smirk, the crowd surrounding them long forgotten.
“Let’s get to class, Mako-chan.” He said in a tone that was much too sultry for school. “We wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He slipped away and began walking to their building, momentarily leaving a shell-shocked Makoto behind. He gave him a glance over his shoulder, and smiled as his boyfriend trotted after him, calling his name.
The following day, Haru noticed that the once packed courtyard was essentially empty. He grabbed Makoto’s hand and laced their fingers together, fully content to share the peaceful moment with his loving boyfriend.
I have no doubt the angst of last night’s episode will one day (theoretically soon) be overcome and righted.
This does not mean, however, that I’m not currently a raging ball of bitterness over the treatment of my poor, darling Killian Jones.
This horrible drabble is how I’ve elected to cope with my frustration. It’s AU-ishly placed somewhere between the confrontation in the boathouse and the scene at Neal’s grave.
The fury burning in his chest was not unfamiliar. In the several long centuries he’d lived, more time was spent in the company of fury than any other companion.
The catalyst and course of this wrath, however, was rather unique.
He had never once been so enraged, so blindingly and boldly angry, with someone he loved before.
But, by the Gods, was he ever furious with Emma Swan right now.
The maddening, insufferable, remarkable woman.
He was certainly not a perfect man. The majority of his days he would not bother to contest the accusation that he was not even a decent man most of the time.
But in this one area, in regards to her, his heart was unfailingly, unflinchingly true. Even the witch’s curse which could muddy his love, could not shake it. So begrudge him his failures, fine. But to revoke all trust, to so question his intentions? It hurt bone-deep, and left him breathless. The ache was instant and agonizing, from the moment her eyes dimmed as she studied him, from the way the Prince so vehemently echoed such base accusations. The knowledge that all they had endured together, from Neverland to now, meant so little to them, to the way they saw the man behind the hook… it wounded him.
The only way he’d ever found to survive that kind of hurt was to push by it into anger.
And the slight pixie seated before him as he raged seemed to understand that, even if her countenance was not particularly sympathetic.
“Pirate or not, you really shouldn’t be drinking so much. Becoming a sloppy drunk will only prove Emma right about you.”
Hook paused in his pacing to look at her pointedly as he took another sizable swig from his flask.
Tink rolled her eyes in a way that conveyed an abundance of attitude, yet also a general tiredness in regards to the man before her. With the Charmings suddenly suspicious, then immediately distant and distrusting, she was one of his few remaining allies in Storybrooke, and probably the only even remotely willing to endure his current tantrum. But he’d been spitting out obscenities and oaths for the better part of an hour, pacing around the shattered remains of a glass tumbler, the truest victim of his outburst, and now her willingness was waning.
Their long and complicated history secured a certain amount of fondness for the Captain, but not a tremendous amount of patience. She was a fairy, after all; not a saint.
“Emma has no interest in proof, love. I’ve already been convicted; all evidence in my favor was eagerly dismissed at the first opportunity to re-assume the worst of me.”
The petite blonde shook her head at his dramatics, her bored tone still stern enough to remove all room for argument. “Stop speaking as if you are giving up on her. You are pouting now, certainly, but as soon as the need arises you’ll be back at her side.”
“Of course I will,” he snapped. “Doesn’t mean I have to bloody well be happy about it.”
“You know, Hook – and I am not only saying this because I would very much like to go about the rest of my day without the less-than-fresh smell of rum-soaked angst and leather following me – you might find that talking to Emma about your problems with Emma, might actually be more beneficial than talking to me about them.”
Given the flippant nature of her remark, Tinkerbelle expected a sharp reply. Instead, Hook stilled, his features drawn together suddenly in contemplation.
“Perhaps it might.” He whispered, more to himself than to her, and in great contrast to the booming rants he’d been giving.
Watching him curiously as his earlier energy stalled completely, she nearly jumped when, after a moment more of pause, he sprung back into frantic action, reaching behind her abruptly to grab his coat from the back of her chair and pulling another gulp from his flask as he strode across the room and out the door without another word.
Sighing, Tinkerbelle reached across his table for one of his remaining bottles of rum and mused that perhaps one of the reasons pirates drank so much was due to frequent interactions with other pirates. They were a tiresome lot.
Across town, despite the dusting of snow, Emma sat on the weathered wooden structure that was once her son’s castle and refuge, brows drawn low and eyes narrowed as her mind reviewed the day she’d been having.
How was it that the way things kept continuing to worsen still managed to surprise her?
With Henry understandably playing catch up with Regina, her parents exhausted from what their newly restored memories had revealed, and herself consumed by an avalanche of information – most of which was bad news, claiming some alone time was Emma’s only hope at maintaining a hint of sanity, and for reasons she would not name, heading back to Granny’s was not an option right now.
She hadn’t visited this spot since the return to Storybrooke, she’d had no reason to without Henry’s memories and with a distracting witch on the loose. But there was a certain comfort in being there now. Somehow this place managed to be a reminder of all the good she’d gained since the Henry showed her his book and started this journey, even if things presently were an indisputable mess.
A mess she couldn’t begin to make her way out of at the moment with a mind so preoccupied with worries, and also, if she was being honest, the sting of betrayal.
She didn’t want to waste time thinking of Hook and his secrets and his curse and his actions, but her brain seemingly refused to think of anything but. He’d always had a way of knowing what she wanted and needed, until it mattered most. The memory of Zelena’s callous voice speaking of his failing, the sight of Henry gripped by those wretched green hands, tore at Emma. She could count on so few to start with, and to lose him from the list in such a way, with Henry on the line, made her dizzy and desperate. And sad.
She wanted to think about something else, anything else – though preferably something useful for the dangerous matters at hand – but it was like Hook was permanently branded to her mind’s eye.
So much so that she almost didn’t notice him approaching before her very eyes until he was standing just feet away.
It took her longer still to notice the hard set of his jaw and the way he was practically vibrating with emotion.
Though momentarily stunned by his appearance, she quickly recovered her own frustration and began to open her mouth to send him away with harsh words and an unforgiving scowl, but he spoke over her with a forcefulness she’d never before witnessed from him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it made it easier to reconcile the man she knew with the legendary villain.
“It was my curse, Emma. Mine.” He began with a growl as if they were already in the middle of an argument. His eyes were somehow brighter and darker at the same time and his voice shook, not with weakness but with force. “And while my actions may have indicated that I would willingly follow you to the ends of this earth or any other, you seem to have forgotten that I am a man, not a dog. You should have made the call to protect Henry? What about the call to protect you? It was my curse, my lips, and my choice how to best resist letting it be the ruin of everything.”
At the mention of Henry’s name she felt her ire flare again, but he overpowered her intended interruption once more, stepping even closer to her as she slipped from her seat to take a fighting stance on the ground below.
“What would you have done, Emma? Allowed me to kiss you to undermine the witch’s threat? Without your magic there is no way to beat her, and Henry’d still be a victim beside everyone else if she enacts her plans. You are already doing everything in your power to be prepared, to hone your magic and devise a plan. If not to lose your powers, what else could you have done with this information that you are not already doing? Was I to add to your burden, your concern and your fear, for no benefit? Henry is your top priority, but you are mine. Even if it means protecting you from me, or from yourself.”
Taking yet another step closer, she could almost feel the heat of him through the chilled air and his voice dropped lower still, “And if you honestly think that I would not do anything, give anything, in order to keep you and your boy safe, than I fear for us all with so daft a savior.”
Emma swallowed, feeling her eyes blink heavily with surprise, before shaking her head slightly, trying to form words and failing.
Not that he really allowed her time to use them.
“You don’t have to trust me. I’m here because of how I feel for you, not because of how I wish you felt for me. Just know that I’m not leaving, and I won’t stop doing whatever I think will keep you safe, no matter how you may hate me for it.”
He stared at her, hard, for a moment more, as his chest rose and fell from the exertion of speaking and feeling each and every one of his words. Then he turned abruptly and began to walk away, his coat pulling out behind him in the wind. He took several steps before calling over his shoulder, “And tell your father he’s a bloody ungrateful arse.”
And while, in that moment, she still did not know exactly what to think or how to feel about the man now striding from view, she felt her lips lift into the barest of smiles.
Maybe she wouldn’t be making any changes to the list of whom she could count on today after all.
Since it is Wednesday and my birthday is tomorrow I have plucked up the courage to ask if you could do a drabble for the Werewolf AU of when Astrid sees Hiccup in his wolf form for the first time?
See this message confuses me, cause in my head I’m like oh it’s lil hey girl what it’s your birthday yeah babe i’ll write you wolfy stuff and we’ve been bros for months. But then you talk about plucking up courage and I’m like woah wait what are we not bros? oh yeah we’ve never traded an actual conversation. So basically bottom line if you’re a mutual– and actually lots of people who aren’t mutuals but I see in my notes a lot– you’re my bro. You may not know you’re my bro but you’re my bro. I see you. I see you.