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Lady and the Tramp by hsin@招牌飯

※Permission to upload was given by the artist ※Please, support the artist by rating / bookmarking / retweeting  the original artwork ※Please, do not repost, edit or remove credits

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I liked him better in Sun and Moon……..

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BEST VILLAIN EVER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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gildinglillies:

The sight of the scars twisting up Guzma’s arms troubled Lillie, although she tried not to let the man notice her concern. Her mother hadn’t experienced such a reaction, but then again, the two had quite different encounters with the Ultra Beasts. And despite months of studying and progress towards mitigating the effect of the neurotoxins, Aether still didn’t fully understand exactly how they worked or the extent of the impact on their victims. Hopefully the medicine would still be able to provide some relief despite the difference in type of injury.

Lillie did her best to ignore Guzma’s harsh language, wanting to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but this meant that his push took her by completely by surprise. She hadn’t expected this conversation to be particularly pleasant, but she also hadn’t anticipated Guzma being so quick to resort to violence. As she flung out her arms to regain her balance, her grip on the bag of medicine slipped.

The package hit the ground with the sound of shattering glass, and a scent somewhere between alcohol and disinfectant filled the air as the vials began leaking their contents. Thousands of dollars worth of research and manufacturing stained the grass. The Aether Foundation was well funded, sure, but that didn’t mean it had money to waste replacing expensive gifts. The medicine in those vials could have lasted nearly a year, and it would take time to produce more. If Guzma hadn’t wanted them, she could have sent them to her mother.

She opened her mouth to rebuke him, but all that came out was a gasp as he wrenched on her arm. The fingers of her free hand twitched towards her Pokeballs, but she stopped before pulling one from her backpack. Her team would be there if she needed them, and while the chances of having a conversation with Guzma were dwindling fast (admittedly, they were practically zero), she still wanted to take the opportunity that was left.

“No one is going to force you into any kind of treatment.” Lillie tried to keep her tone even, but her voice was noticeably breathier and higher pitched than previously. “Aether has conducted extensive tests on the medicine, which you can review yourself if you’d like.” At Lillie’s insistence, the testing hadn’t involved any Pokemon. While it made the research take longer, she hadn’t wanted any more innocent creatures to suffer because of her mother. “We can even have another lab analyze the compounds, if you don’t trust Aether. After learning about the risks and benefits, you could make a reasonable decision about whether to start the recovery program.”

As if he could be counted on to act reasonably, if this was his response to someone merely approaching his front door. And she’d caught sight of the state of his house, the jumbled trash inside a glaring contrast to the pristine island wilds outside. For all the world, it seemed as if he wanted to stay miserable.

“That is, if you’re interested in trying to recover at all.”

The instant the words left her mouth, she began to regret them. For one thing, they were unfair, as she had heard that Hau’s grandfather was working with Guzma to help him improve. And for another, her arm was already sore from his crushing grip.

        Lillie dropped what she was holding the instant he seized her arm.  It shattered as it hit the ground, spilling its poison into the earth.  The girl struggled, and at the same time she tried to reach for the Poké Balls in her bag, as if one of her precious partners were any match for him.  Guzma saw through that feeble attempt and wrenched her arm away.

        He continued to pull, but that was when Lillie spoke up again.  Spewing more nonsense of Aether, how they were trying to help, how they tried to make a cure, how they totally weren’t fucking anyone over again!  Without a Nihilego of their own, they couldn’t do shit.  And yet she kissed their ass as if it were gold.  His grip tightened like a noose.  Lillie would strangle in her stupidity.  Yet she kept talking, as if her efforts would change his mind, as if what she had to say was relevant in any way.  Guzma pushed on, jaw set.

        “That is, if you’re interested in trying to recover at all.”

        She sounded just like her mother.  Guzma stopped in his tracks, jerking to a halt and thrusting Lillie ahead of him.  She looked at him with her big green eyes and all he could see was her with the same expression.  Over and over again she teased and sweet-talked him with purrs and visions of glory.  How her perfect lips frowned and turned her face ugly.  He’d hated to see her like that.  And Lillie—

        Guzma wasn’t a good man.  He was a thug, capital-A asshole, miscreant, big, bad Guzma.  He was lots of things but forgiving wasn’t one of them.  After everything that happened, Lillie went on being her stupid naïve self, giving no thought to what happened in the past.  She was cunning, to slip away with Cosmog and hide from her mother and his crew for all those months, but now he realized it was just dumb luck.  This little girl didn’t know the shit’s end of a cow.

        He wheeled on her then, both hands clasping on her frail shoulders.  Gripping her tight, fingers digging into her shoulderblades, he leaned forward, his voice a harsh whisper.  “Th’ fuck you trynna say?”  Guzma shook her ‘til she yelped.  “Ya think yer boy done chose t’ be like this?  Ya think he wanted yer sorry s’cuse fer a ma t’ screw him over?”  The words that’d been in his heart but had been repressed by his head finally slipped out. He hadn’t realized what he was saying until they were out, but now he didn’t want to stop.

        Guzma got right into the cowering girl’s face.  “Ya don’t know nothin’, do ya, Lils?  Mommy never told ya show she seduced yer boy.  Made him her li’l bitch an’ everythin’.”  He frowned, remembering just how easy it was for Lusamine to use him.  Part of him wanted it.  Wanted her.

        He gripped the girl tighter, hands trembling with months of repressed rage.  Giving her an icy glare, he wrestled the bag from her possession.  He held it away from where she could reach it.  “Ya don’t know shit.”  He shook the bag roughly and tossed it aside.  She wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

Consolation | Lillie & Guzma

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The mop is cranky today and he really just needs some cocoa and understanding.

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Here comes a Thought..

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lose yourself ✘ guzma & moon

       The meadow was a blossoming sunburst.  Yellow flowers covered its entire expanse, winding their way through trees, bushes, even on the rocky outcrops of the mountainside.  The fresh aroma of its nectar was sweet as honey.  Pokémon and people alike sought this place for its sereneness and for the cheerful Oricorio whose bright yellow feathers were gifted from the flowers themselves.  For Guzma, the meadow brought other feelings.  Memories he’d not lived in a long time.

       He meandered down the worn path, slouching, with his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie.  It was a position he was familiar with, and one he took when his thoughts took over all else.  The sun shone brilliantly down on the meadow below.  He basked in it briefly, allowing it to warm him, but soon he moved under the shade of a banyan tree and its warmth left him.  Several people stared at him as he passed.  He felt their hate with every step.  Guzma kept his head low and ignored them.  He continued until he was well away from the other visitors before stopping at the base of a thick rain tree.

       This was far enough.  Guzma took a moment to glance at the massive canopy.  Its branches reached across the meadow, greedy for the sunlight and the rains that followed.  The way it swayed in the breeze and overshadowed everything else reminded him of the woman president of Aether.  He shivered.  Guzma slumped against the rain tree, resting an arm on his raised knee, and pulled his thoughts from her.  He stared at the clearing nearest him with impassive eyes.

       A Pokémon chirped nearby.  Guzma thought about Metapod, his thoughts drifting off to that fateful encounter.  He’d been a child then, and tiny.  His black hair was thick and messy, and his clothing dirty, but his toothy grin negated all of that.  He couldn’t have been more different than he was today.  A Cutiefly landed on his arm and glowed cheerfully.  Guzma didn’t appear to notice.  He was walking now, entering through overgrown bushes and pretending he was a Pokémon Trainer.  He’d entered the forest due to a noise—and followed it into the clearing adult Guzma was dozing off in.

       It was his first experience with a wild Pokémon.  His father had never allowed him one, but he’d seen them, and he’d wanted them, and if he could just have five minutes, father, please, he wouldn’t ask again, he’d do all his chores without complaint, then he would be happy.  Guzma’s eyes closed.  Now he was on his belly before Metapod, watching it struggle with its metamorphosis.  It looked at him helplessly, and the child knew what he had to do.

       “Come on,” he encouraged it.  “I know ya can do it!”  His younger self repeated his chant, urging Metapod on.  It seemed grateful for his efforts.  Soon Guzma was on his feet, shouting at the open air, his arms spread wide under the sky blue skies.  “Go, Metapod!  Go!”  Child and Pokémon locked eyes, and for one moment time stopped.  Metapod shone, its thick green body enveloped with radiating light.  Out from its back burst the most beautiful Butterfree he’d ever seen.

       It chittered at him, and his younger self giggled and laughed and ran after it as it flew for the first time.  Yellow petals danced in the air around them in a whirlwind of color.  He chased it until the sky turned dark and the surroundings gloomy.  Frozen, twisting trees of crystal took the place of towering palms.  The ground was obsidian instead of dirt.  Butterfree flew on without him, and fear knotted in his stomach.  Light refracted off the trees in a rainbow gloom, and though he ran to keep up with Butterfree, his footsteps made no sound.

       A man stood in the center of the clearing.  And where Guzma expected to find the Butterfree, he found Pinchy.  In the man’s hands was a Poké Ball, shiny and red.  Guzma’s face turned the color of curdled milk.  He knew what came next.  “N-no,” he whimpered, coming closer even though he wanted to run, run, run as far away as he could.  His father towered over him, big and mean and angry.

       His father shouted words he cannot remember.  His voice boomed in the void.  Pinchy stared at him with loving eyes.  “Not Pinchy,” Guzma cried, his words thick with emotion.  And as he watched, his father hurled the Poké Ball at the unsuspecting Grubbin, and he was too late to stop him, to protect Pinchy, to save him—

       The Pokémon exploded in a cloud of dust.  A woman cackled.  Her voice was a nightmare, echoing through the night and its crystalline trees.  Lusamine leered at him, all gold and emerald, her million poké smile flashing behind a terrifying laugh.  He was small, too small, a child.  Defenseless.  She reached out at him with nails like claws.  “No, no, no,” he moaned.

       Her claws transformed before his eyes.  He blanched as her arms lost their bones and thrashed at incomplete angles, her fingers elongating and resembling tentacles… And then her arms flashed and he was blinded by its light.  A soft and menacing buzzing enveloped him.  When he opened his eyes, he was staring into the bulbous bell of Nihilego.  “NO!” Guzma shouted, his body twisting in real life.  Hundreds of tentacles grabbed him, burned him, ensnared him in their electric embrace.  It was too late to scream.

       Guzma awoke in a flurry of flailing limbs, his heart pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest.  “Shit.  Shit.”  The nightmare was too real; remnants of Ultra Space lingered in his bones, cold and dark and horrible.  He was shaking like a scared little girl.  This wasn’t him.  Guzma ran nervous hands through his messy white hair.

       He felt someone’s eyes on him.  Someone he knew, and had fought tooth and nail to destroy.  Someone who should have hated him but instead looked at him like he was just some regular schmuck.  Guzma shot Moon an iron glare and rose to his feet, putting on his old swagger like he was the king again.  How much did the kid see?

       “Look who decided t’ show her pretty li’l face,” Guzma said, grinning widely.  He didn’t feel it, but Moon didn’t need to know that.  Kid didn’t need to know anything.  His frown faded, replaced by a black look.  A frown formed deep into his features.  “Come t’ check on yer boy?  See if he ain’t up t’ no good?  Beat it, kid.  I ain’t got time t’ babysit.”

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nobody in team skull has one (1) ounce of chill 

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He missed me and I missed him but no matter how hard we tried, things couldn’t be that simple.

Emmerson Grin, excerpt from Poisoned Ink (via written-in-pen)

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royalmask:

It was hard to watch as Guzma struggled to process his response. Kukui didn’t want to cause him any more conflict than he was already dealing with, but he’d thought it would be reaffirming to hear. Apparently it hadn’t made things any easier. It was just further proof that he didn’t really know Guzma anymore—if he ever had. The thought was almost physically painful. What else about his friend hadn’t he noticed? He’d always thought they could tell each other anything. What had he done that made Guzma feel like he couldn’t say anything?

Kukui didn’t know what else to say as Guzma paced and glared at him, getting more aggressive and avoidant with each step. This wasn’t going in a good direction; Kukui wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what would help and what would hurt.

It didn’t take long for the tension to burst again. Kukui didn’t cringe at the outburst, but only out of concentrated effort. He understood why Guzma didn’t want to talk about his feelings. Vulnerability of any kind wasn’t his thing, and nothing opened you up to being hurt like baring your emotions. It wasn’t easy for anyone, and with a situation this complicated Kukui knew that Guzma probably hadn’t untangled all those feelings even inside his own heart. But Kukui did believe that talking would help.

“You don’t know nothin’. Ya think ya got all th’ answers, don’t you, professor? But ya don’t. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Guzma wasn’t holding back, and each word cut straight to Kukui’s heart. He did look at him. He stared Guzma hard in the eye and tried to keep himself from falling into anger even as he slipped down the slope of it. How… how resentful could you be? What a bitter, self-centeredass. He clenched his fists. Harsh words wouldn’t make this situation any better and he didn’t really want to hurt Guzma, even if what he was saying hurt him. Still, a traitorous part of him felt a rush of antagonism. Throwing ‘professor’ in his face like it was something dirty and contemptible—as if he hadn’t worked his ass off for it! Or maybe that was the problem. Tryingwasn’t cool. Better to be like Guzma, bullying everyone around you to make yourself look tougher, hiding behind some facade of toughness because without it—without it…

Kukui watched Guzma pull his hair again, that wild look back in his eyes. It was the most on-edge he’d been so far, but even that quickly dissipated in a defeated slump.

“I ain’t hurt, see?”

Could it be more obvious that he was very, very deeply hurt? Kukui wanted to keep being mad, but as Guzma hung his head and all the fight went out of him once more, he just felt sad. Just a kid. Yeah… A kid who’d been pushing away all the pain in his life for so long that he had no idea how to deal with it now, and no one around to help.

Kukui stood up, pushing himself upright in a slow, deliberate motion. He hadn’t had any idea what he was getting into earlier, but as awful as this was, it was a necessary conversation. If it hadn’t meant anything to Guzma, this wouldn’t be happening. Guzma was all those things Kukui had thought of him. But he was also hurting, and that hurt… it turned people ugly. Kukui didn’t have to like that person, but he could help him get better.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Just a kid. A kid who shoulda had people lookin’ out for him.” He sighed. He didn’t want to highlight everything that had gone wrong in Guzma’s life. There was nothing anyone could do about it now, and if he thought about it any more right now the guilt was going to make him useless. “I know I don’t have all the answers. I—” Kukui breathed deeply, trying not to think about too much of what Guzma had said about him lest he get angry over it again. “You don’t have to talk about your feelings.” Would that really be the worst thing in the world, though? It wasn’t weak to feel things, anyone who tried to reinforce that line of thinking deserved— Ugh. Kukui took another long breath.

“You can act like you don’t have them. You can do whatever you want. That’s a choice. If you feel tricked and lied to and hurt by everyone else, no one’s gonna blame you.” If they knew what Kukui knew now, they might even be sympathetic. “What they do blame you for is how you’re choosing to act. If you’re angry—be angry! Be mad! It’s not wrong to be upset about things. Sometimes we can’t control how we feel. But you can always control what you say and do. It’s easy to give in and say awful things and lash out and make everyone around you feel as small and shitty as you do. But…” Kukui shook his head, turning away until his back was to Guzma.

You think you have all the answers. What was he doing but proving Guzma’s point? There were no magic words that would make it all better. Talking at Guzma wasn’t going to make him suddenly change for the better. But if that was true, Kukui was useless here. Guzma was so closed off and defensive, Kukui didn’t know how to help and Guzma thought he’d look weak if he admitted to needing it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re right. I… don’t know.”

      In the middle of an Alolan afternoon, right when their conversation reached its zenith, Guzma’s mind shut down.  He was gone now, transported to another time when he was young and small and scared of the big, bad father who beat him down and beat him down and never let up.  Sniveling pathetically with big, heavy gasps, Guzma wiped his streaming nose on the back of his arm.  He cocooned himself further into his sleeping bag.  In the middle of the night, in his tent surrounded by his two closest friends, he was alone.  No one would hear him cry.

      Stupid, stupid!  How could he let a stupid f-fucking phone call turn him into such a baby?  Guzma pounded his fists against his head.  Pulled a handful of his shaggy black hair until his scalp screamed.  And tried, tried, tried not to cry anymore. He kept it together in front of Cukes, but as soon as his friend left to talk with his folks behind the bushes, Guzma’s grin faltered.

      The phone calls between Kukui and his parents seemed like a rite of passage, of a boy becoming a man, of independence asserted and childhood left long behind.  Though he joked his frustrations out of these check-ups, the boy reveled in it.  Looked forward to them.  Guzma knew because he saw, and he watched, and was envious of it. He’d heard the laughter and the subtle “I love yous” from his friend, and saw the humor in his eyes when he returned, rejuvenated in ways their special bond never did.  Guzma always hid behind the fire.  The darkness hid the truth from his eyes.

      He no longer wished for his own calls.  Those days were long since passed.  He wasn’t smart but he wasn’t an idiot; his mother’s lies fooled no one.  She knew what was happening and did nothing about it.  He loved his mother but it made him so angry that she just—just sat there!  And his eyes would fill with traitorous tears and he’d head back to his tent.  When he dreamed, his father loomed over him, an inescapable force, the heart of hatred and loathing entertwined.  The lessons that man taught were nothing less than cruel, but Guzma wouldn’t be privy to this knowledge as a boy.  It launched upon him, a predator he killed without mercy and without shedding a single tear.

      Guzma became a man in a shower of blood.

      He opened his eyes before Kukui now, his heart a writhing hornet’s nest.  Emotions coiled and tightened its embrace, venom pulsing toxic life into his veins. He unclenched his fists.  His friend—if that’s what they were in the past, they certainly weren’t now, or if they were, Guzma didn’t know, his crew in Skull were his subordinates; there were no friendships in gangs—tried to explain. Comfort him, with words that sounded like a scolding mother’s and blamed him for his emotions.

      “It’s easy to give in and say awful things and lash out and make everyone around you feel as small and shitty as you do.  But…”

      A muscle in his jaw twitched.  A rush of poison surged through his heart.  Kukui had gone on for long enough.  Let the guy talk, Guzma thought.  Let the guy finish and find out just how unimportant his lessons were. None of this was going to make any difference.  Nanu didn’t lecture him with this shit.  Neither did Hala—but that old man knew better.  His moldy old traditions could rot for all Guzma cared.

“       You’re right.  I… don’t know.”

      Despite it all, there was a small part of him that did care.  Nihilego had forced that part out of him, made him relive his past and broken bones, made him see just how much Kukui played an integral of his life and made him part of the man he was today.  He’d seen it all—and more.  Guzma had never admitted to being afraid of anything.  But he feared it then.  And now…

      Kukui was trying very hard to help him.  Make things right, or whatever.  Guzma didn’t know.  He didn’t know anything, not anymore, and that seemed fine.  For a while.  Kukui turned his back away from him, his shoulders sagging.  Felt as if he’d given up.  Back in Malie Garden, where they’d met for the first time in years, hearing Kukui admit to not knowing everything would have thrilled him. Guzma would’ve laughed and rubbed metaphorical dog shit all over his face, force him to his knees, where he’d be down off his fucking pedestal.

      That was then.  Now hearing those words sent dread trickling down his spine.  “Fuckin’…” Guzma started, words jumbling in his throat, getting caught in his Adam’s apple before being swallowed.  “Shit.”  Guzma took a step forward, his scars burning at the betrayal.  He was a pace behind Kukui, could have reached out and touched him if he tried, but he kept his distance.  They guy had always been more emotional than he, but seeing him now, like this, wasn’t right.

      When did he get so soft?  He must be more fucked up in the head than he thought.  Kukui was—… but the thought turned into nothing.  Nanu would have grinned, then.  Smug old man.  Thought he knew everything.  Guzma frowned.  Cursed under his breath.

      “Cut the crap, Cukes.”  He glared at the back of Kukui’s head stonily, his jaw set.  To preserve his dignity or some shit, or whatever the hell remained of it.  “We both know I ain’t cut out fer this touchy-feely bullshit.”

Amendment ║ Guzma & Kukui

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I gotta get back to original designs and all.

Last Guzma (at least on this blog) for a bit.

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Some more doodles.

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After Team Skull disbands, Guzma returns to Melemele Island for training.

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Rumor has it you have a crush on a certain professor.

Hold up.  This ain’t gonna fly.  Crushin’ on Kukui?

“Th’ fuck ya trynna say?  That yer boy’s some kinda fag?”  Guzma’s anger flared into life, rising to fever peak in an instant.  He rose to his fullest height.  Squared his shoulders back.  And fucking grabbed the little nerd’s scrawny neck like it weren’t nothin’.

“Th’ on’y thing yer boy crushes on is fuckers like you.”  Not some macho, shirtless move maniac.  Guzma released Maxie with a hard shove.  “’Sides, I got no need t’ crush on anyone.  Yer boy gets pussy off th’ chainwax, feel me?”