went thru the mega raichu x tag and got sorta bummed out by all the hate about the mega raichus? personally I love mega raichu x and when I first saw how it moves around via flight in battles I giggled like a mad person for a solid five minutes, 12/10 recommend, no notes
a lot of my autism masking is just making myself more palatable for other people and my therapist said "does spock make himself 'more palatable' for others?" and had me promise to keep unmasking like:
Just wanted to say, I love it so much when you draw Corbeau without his eyes behind the glasses. It makes him look like a mischievous little creature and I love that for him
This is based on the post that I made a day or two ago about Corbeau dating a librarian reader, and this also really relates to Corbeau’s backstory so minor character spoilers there! This honestly got really emotional lol, but I hope you like it.
Corbeau had been waiting for you to enter his office all day now. Impatiently looking up at the office door in between typing out emails and signing contracts, he was just itching to see you again. You two had been dating for about two months now, and he was planning on asking you to move in with him today. Sometimes he couldn’t really believe how quickly you had captured his heart, but even he couldn’t deny the truth anymore - he was completely and utterly whipped. Every afternoon you spent snuggled up on his couch together or out at a fancy restaurant, he couldn’t stop thinking about how lovely it would be to wake up next to you every day. To watch you lounge around in your comfiest clothes, taking his Pokemon on a walk with you, waking up to find you still cuddling together, admiring your bedhead and cute face as you slept in for once. Just thinking about it in his work office right now was starting to feel like torture. It was like his heart was physically trying to crawl out of his chest and find you. As his office door finally opened to reveal your sweet, smiling face, the relief that washed over him was palpable. You truly always came right on time, didn’t you?
He softened as soon as he saw you, an uncharacteristically affectionate smile on his face. Well, uncharacteristic to everybody but you, of course. Only you got to see him like this, and it was something you cherished greatly.
“There’s my favorite do-gooder.” He smiled, looking up at you from his desk. “And how was work today?”
“Busy, but still good.” You huffed out, shifting the large book bag off of your shoulders slightly. It looked heavy, so Corbeau gestured for you to set it down on the couch before he joined you. As you opened it, he saw quite a few books and audio cassettes piled up inside, to the point where he was surprised that you had managed to carry it in.
“I returned the books you finished as soon as I got in, and I picked out a couple more that I thought you might like!” You smiled adorably before handing him three of them. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I never do, sweetheart. You were thinking of me today?”
“I always think of you, Corbeau.” You smiled, almost as if you didn’t notice the sweetness of your own words. It made his stomach flip in an almost intoxicating way. You managed to make him swoon so effortlessly that even he couldn’t understand how.
“Same here.” He chuckled, trying to ignore his red cheeks, “Every hour without you feels like nine years. So, what has my darling brought me today?”
You very excitedly took some of the books and cassettes out of his hands to show him. A new strategy guide for poison type trainers, a cookbook that had that recipe he was thinking of trying out, and an audiobook that you thought he’d like to listen to while he worked. Corbeau could barely even read the titles or look at the cover art though, all of his attention captured by the shimmer of joy in your eyes. May Arceus help him.
Of course he thanked you for everything before Philippe walked in with your favorite snacks, and the two of you sat down on the couch together and just talked about your day. Corbeau complained about some new clients trying to sneak their way out of their debt, which obviously didn’t work, and he found himself smiling at how you agreed with him about how stupid that was. You two shared such different lives and yet loved each other so much. It felt like the kind of thing he only saw in rom-coms that they play in cafés sometimes. He was the head of the freaking Rust Syndicate, nothing but a criminal who was pulled up from the streets, and here you were next to him, an adorable librarian with the biggest heart of all. How did he ever get so lucky?
And as you finally started talking about your day, he seemed to lean back with an easy smile on his face - a rare sight for anybody but you! He could listen to you talk about anything for the next twelve years, but the way your eyes lit up like fireworks when you talked about your job had him in a trance. You could tell him about the most mundane things ever, like a random book you found interesting or how you helped an old lady fetch an audiobook for herself because she was having a hard time getting to it, but they never seemed mundane to him. Not when they came from you. He asked a few questions here and there, but mostly sat back and enjoyed watching you ramble, until a new thought popped into his head. One he was honestly surprised that he’d never thought to ask before.
“Hey (Y/N), what’s your favorite part of working at the library?”
A surprised look crossed your face before you sunk deep into thought, with Corbeau looking at you with smitten eyes the entire time. You looked like a confused Skwovet when you started pondering things, it was something he’d never get tired of seeing.
“Well the interactions with patrons are really fun, and it’s obviously nice to never run out of reading or movie material,” You laughed, “But I think my favorite part is how libraries help the community. Especially because we’re one of the few refuges for the homeless.”
Corbeau stopped still for a minute, as if all of time had just come to a screeching halt. He had never told you about his past as a street kid. Maybe that’s because it just never seemed to come up, but he also couldn’t work up the courage to tell you about it, especially since you’d only been together for two months or so. Did you somehow know? Did Philippe tell you? No, he wouldn’t, there’s no way that he could have. So were you really that passionate about this, even despite knowing his full story? You began to ramble about it, as you always did, and Corbeau was caught between his own thoughts and hanging onto your every word.
“One of the most annoying things about working at a library is when people act like it’s all just books.. but it isn’t, you know? We carry movies, audiobooks, cds, learning materials, free access to printers, almost everything. And I just feel so proud to work somewhere that offers so much to this community.”
Corbeau tried to direct all of his attention to you, but his mind kept swirling with memories that he had long since buried. Him, young and alone, petting Venipede in the back corner of the library to escape the harsh snow outside. Was that the same library you worked at now? How did he never think of that?
“I especially love how we help the homeless people here.” You continued with a thoughtful smile, “We provide shelter, free internet, computers, food and spare clothing, and even classes on career and housing issues to help them get back on their feet! It’s so important to me to help people like that. I can’t stand the idea of having to live like that with nobody offering you anything.”
As you trailed off, you looked over to see Corbeau staring at you, eyes wide but expression completely unreadable. It scared you a bit, honestly. He was always so smooth and confident, alluring in how put-together he was… so why did he seem to taken aback right now?
“Corbeau? Is everything okay? I-I just-”
“Yes.” He said a bit too quickly, cutting you off slightly before adjusting his posture and clearing his throat, “Everything is fine, love. It… it is.”
“Is it? You seem really… freaked out?”
Corbeau looked down at his feet for a bit before he took a deep, somewhat shaky breath, before he turned to you.
“Did I ever tell you that I used to be homeless?”
Your eyebrows shot up, eyes wide as you slowly shook your head, almost cautiously.
“Yeah. For basically my entire childhood, too. That’s how I first met Lysander… he was the first person to really help me. Picked me right off the street.”
Your heart sank, suddenly feeling like you had swallowed a lead weight that was working its way down your throat and into your stomach.
“Nobody had really cared for me like that, before him, I mean. Maybe I’d get taken in during a storm, but that was it. Nobody bothered enough to help, even though I was some dirty little kid on the sidewalk. I had nobody.”
The weight had reached your intestines, and you could feel tears pressing against the backs of your eyes. Corbeau looked up at you then, smiling faintly, weighed down by the bittersweetness of his own words.
“So to hear that Lumiose has someone like you, someone who’s so passionate about helping people like me.. it means a lot, doll. Even from where I am now, it still means a lot. The world is so lucky to have you, just like I am.”
Without even thinking, you threw your arms around Corbeau’s neck, almost tackling him into the arm of the couch as you buried your head in his shoulder. One of his hands flew back to steady himself, but the other wound its way around your back, his hand clutching the fabric of your jacket. Blinking a few times as he processed everything, Corbeau huffed out a small laugh before leaning his head against yours.
“You alright, sweetheart?”
“I..” You sniffled, immediately catching Corbeau’s attention, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
You shook a little as a small sob wracked through you, and Corbeau panicked a little bit in your arms.
“What for? It’s not like it’s your fault or anything. You’re the kind of person that I needed as a kid.”
Sniffling a little, you pulled back, your eyes glossy and cheeks a little red. You gently brought both of your hands up to cup his face, and Corbeau couldn’t help but melt a little into you. Your touch affected him in ways that he wasn’t even sure you knew about.
“I can’t stand the idea of you living like that.” You said shakily, “I love you so much, Corbeau, I don’t even want to imagine you having to go through that. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and neither have you, but… I’m still so sorry.”
Carefully, with all the tenderness in the world, you pressed your lips against him. Your touch felt almost reverent, like you were holding a trophy made of solid gold. The weight of your love for him seemed to take Corbeau’s breath away even more than the kiss did.
Even as you gently pulled away, Corbeau wrapped his arms around your back and pulled you towards him, kissing you hard until you had to part for air. As he panted against your lips, still holding you tightly, pressing you against him as softly as he could, he could only manage to say one thing:
When we hear about the professor from Arven, we’re told about a parent who’s insanely successful in their career field but couldn’t give two shits about their own child, and it sets up this expectation that the professor is cold, uncaring and selfish. This assumption is reinforced by remembering how every time a Titan quest is completed the professor calls you about the legendary but never asks about their son, and when they hear their son’s voice for the first time in years all they have to say is “hey can you run this errand for me lol k bye”
But this image of them is shattered when you find Arven’s childhood pictures on the whiteboard. When you find the journals talking about how much they treasure their newborn child, how desperate they are to create a paradise for their family. When you realize their son’s happiness became the foundation of their goal.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot. The professor’s partner walked out on them right after their child was born. Raising a child alone is fucking hard, and iirc I don’t think anyone was friendly with the professor except Clavell, and who knows how often they actually talked or spent time together. so in a weird and sad kind of irony the professor probably lived in as much solitude as their son did. They became obsessed with chasing happiness - their “paradise” - so they can see the unknown distant future/ancient past they’ve been obsessed with since childhood, so they can ease their own sadness and loneliness, and so they can share that happiness with their only remaining family(I assume).
But in chasing this obsession with making their son happy, they completely neglected him and ended up damaging him severely and permanently. Even if they never intended it, or weren’t aware it was happening, it was.
And again, it’s ironic.
The professor buries themselves in their work with thoughts of their son’s smile, thoughts of giving him a perfect and happy life. Meanwhile, a small child sleeps in a dark and dusty shack with nothing but a dog to keep him company. The professor dreams of exploring a beautiful, happier world with their beloved son, while a little boy learns how to make sandwiches from children’s books because no one’s there to cook him meals or teach him how. The professor looks fondly at old photos of their child that they keep in their office while they work, while a lonely boy stares at an empty, dusty photo frame. A lonely parent dreams of a perfect future with their child while that child sits alone, probably trying to figure out why his dad/mom would hate him enough to abandon him like this.
It’s a situation where no one wins.
The professor’s obsession ends in their own death. And even if they’d survived, the scars they gave their child would never go away. They’d end up realizing that reaching their goal was pointless in the end; that it didn’t make them happy, because now what remains of their family would be completely broken, and no matter how hard they’d try they’d never be able to fix it.
Arven never gets closure. Even if that robot has his dad’s/mom’s face, it’s not them. It never was them. The last time he ever saw his only parent was when they left with that Pokemon, and even if he shouts all his feelings at the robot with his parent’s face, he’ll never be able to tell them what he wants them to know. Even if the robot with his parent’s memories tell him that they love him, he’s never actually going to hear it from them. His actual dad/mom is a corpse rotting somewhere in Area Zero and he knows it.
It’s a story with no actual villain in it. A story where no one is evil. Just some sad, lonely, broken people.
if i worked at the pkmn company i would simply lock two different yet equally silly and aesthetically pleasing streamers behind the two versions of the games. like hello??? $$$ make them rivals! imagine the draMA the fanlore the fanart. pkmn company really dropped the ball with this one
hot game-locked professors??? naaaah this is where the real money’s at
Did baby beau think his poor eyesight was normal and just never bring it up to Lysander? If so, when did Lysander take him to get his eyes checked?
Bonus: was was baby beaus reaction to “no, your bad eyesight aint normal 😭🙌” KDJFJA
baby beau finally gets some glasses
- corbeau doesn’t like to ask for things as he already thinks he’s a burden on lysandre/thinks he’s taking advantage of his kindness
- corbeau pays close attention to how others react to him; he is always wary of angering lysandre (despite him never showing any signs of anger to him)
- corbeau speaks some (broken) kalosian but him and lysandre mainly speak in johtonian (as lysandre is fluent in multiple languages)
- corbeau is still wearing his old clothes (freshly washed tho) bc he can’t stand to part with them even when lysandre has already bought him new clothes <- not used to throwing things away if they are still useable
Dialogue:
Lysandre: Is the material too difficult?
Corbeau: No
L: Then why are you glaring at it?
C: I’m not…It’s nothing.
L: Corbeau
C: I’m not lying. The words are just hard to read is all…
L: …
L: You have bad eyesight.
C: …Yeah.
L: You failed to mention that until now
C: Yeah…
L: Why
C: [indiscernible mumbling]
L: Speak clearly
C: It didn’t seem important. Yer’ helping me a lot already, with food and stuff. It doesn’t feel right to ask you fer’ more
L, internally: this child…
C: Are you upset I didn’t tell you?
L: No, but we will set up an appointment tomorrow for some glasses
Jay being a general sweetheart with any lady more or less twice his age, but a cheeky asshole trying to push all the buttons he can find with any man more or less twice his age will forever be funny.
Hello hello I hope your requests are open, may I request us asking them (za bois) would you still love if I was worm.
Thank you for request
Bye bye
I think I'm starting to get sick again...thanks to my boyfriend....weeeeeeeeeeee.
Corbeau
He didn’t answer right away.
Which—somehow—was more alarming than if he’d laughed.
Corbeau leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing like he was genuinely considering it, like you’d just asked him a question about strategy or ethics or which part of Quasartico’s security grid was the weakest.
Then his mouth quirked.
“You mean,” he said slowly, “like a weedle.”
You nodded seriously. “Yes.”
Corbeau’s gaze swept over you, indulgent and amused, and he sighed like you were the most inconveniently adorable thing he’d ever been forced to love.
“…Yes,” he said.
You brightened instantly. “Really?”
“Of course,” he replied, so smooth it almost sounded sincere. “I’d put you in a little glass terrarium.”
Your smile faltered. “Corbeau.”
He held up a hand. “No, no—listen.” His eyes glittered. “Fresh soil. Perfect humidity. I’d feed you premium compost. The good stuff.”
You stared at him.
Corbeau’s grin widened like he was thriving in your horror.
“And,” he added, leaning forward, voice dropping into something wickedly soft, “I’d visit you every day.”
“…To what. Taunt me?” you asked.
“To talk,” he corrected, mock-offended. “To admire you. To make sure no one else tried to steal you.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not love. That’s imprisonment.”
Corbeau clicked his tongue. “Wrong. That’s devotion.”
You made a sound of pure disbelief.
He reached across the table, tapped your chin lightly with one finger, and smiled like he’d already won.
“I’d still love you,” he murmured. “Even if you were a worm.”
Then, with a pause just long enough to be infuriating, he added:
“…But Iwould be insufferable about it.”
You groaned.
Corbeau looked delighted.
==========
Urbain
He blinked.
“…A Weedle?”
“Yes,” you said solemnly. “Like. Fully Weedle.”
Urbain stared at you, clearly recalibrating.
“That’s… okay. That’s different,” he said slowly. “Because Weedle are—well. They’re Pokémon. That helps.”
You smiled. “How does that help?”
“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, already deep in thought, “it means you’d still have instincts. Needs. Preferences.”
“You’re already planning.”
“I have to,” he said earnestly. “You’d need the right habitat. Probably somewhere grassy, but not too exposed. And I’d have to make sure you didn’t get stressed.”
“Stressed?”
“Yeah,” Urbain said, nodding. “Weedle get nervous. I’d want you somewhere safe. No birds. No kids running around.”
You laughed. “You’re taking this very seriously.”
He flushed. “I always take you seriously.”
That softened your chest immediately.
“So,” you pressed, “you’d still love me?”
Urbain didn’t hesitate this time.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “Of course I would.”
“Even if I couldn’t talk?”
“I’d learn to read your movements,” he said without missing a beat. “And if you evolved, I’d be there for that too.”
“…You’d evolve me?”
He looked at you like the answer was obvious. “Of course I would. You’d still be you.”
Your heart did a little flip.
“I’d be there for every stage,” Urbain continued, voice softening. “Weedle. Kakuna. And then Beedrill.”
You laughed quietly. “That’s…a lot.”
He smiled, sheepish but sincere. “So are you.”
Then, gentler now, “I’d still talk to you,” he added. “Even if you couldn’t answer the same way. I’d know when you were listening.”
You reached for his hand. He squeezed it, warm and steady—like a promise.
“So yeah,” Urbain said softly. “Even if you were a Weedle.”
Then, after a beat—
“…But I’d absolutely panic every time you went near a Pidgey.”
You laughed.
He laughed too—relieved, fond, completely sincere.
==========
Grisham
He didn’t react right away.
Not because he was confused—but because he was thinking.
“…A Weedle,” he repeated, tone neutral.
You nodded. “Yes.”
Grisham studied your face like he was checking for a punchline. When he didn’t find one, he exhaled slowly.
“Alright,” he said. “Then, we adjust.”
You blinked. “That’s it?”
“What else would there be?” he asked calmly. “You’re still you. Your form changing doesn’t negate that.”
“You wouldn’t…freak out?”
“I’d be concerned,” he corrected. “About your safety.”
You blinked.
“Weedle are vulnerable,” Grisham continued. “Predators. Weather. Human interference. I’d relocate you somewhere controlled. Quiet. Secure.”
“So…you’d hide me.”
“I’d protect you,” he said evenly. “There’s a difference.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“What if I evolved?”
He nodded once. “I’d prepare for it. Kakuna are immobile. You’d need stability. Monitoring.”
“And if I became a Beedrill?”
A pause.
Then, almost imperceptibly, his mouth curved.
“Then,” Grisham said calmly, “I’d make sure everyone understood the risks of underestimating you.”
You raised a brow.
“Beedrill don’t need babysitting,” he continued. “They need space and respect.”
Your smile widened.
He met your gaze again. “I wouldn’t interfere. I’d stand back and let you handle yourself.”
Your heart did a little jump.
“But you’d still love me,” you pressed.
Grisham met your gaze, steady and sure. “Yes.”
No flourish. No hesitation. Just fact.
“You don’t stop being someone I care about because your body changes,” he added quietly. “That’s not how loyalty works.”
You leaned into him.
After a moment, he added, dryly, “I would appreciate advance notice before any Poison Sting incidents.”
You laughed.
He didn’t, but his arm settled more firmly around you.
==========
Ivor
He laughed at first. Not mockingly—just reflexively.
“Okay, that’s—”
Then he saw your face.
“Oh,” he said, stopping short. “You’re serious.”
You nodded.
Ivor immediately looked down. “…I’d be so scared,” he admitted.
“Of what?”
“Of stepping on you,” he said instantly. “Or sitting down. Or—oh my god, what if I rolled over in my sleep?”
You smiled despite yourself.
“I’d have to watch where I walk all the time,” he continued, already spiraling. “I’d probably start sweeping rooms before I enter them. Very gently.”
“You’d sweep for me.”
“I would sweep for you,” he said firmly. “With, a soft brush.”
You laughed.
“But,” he added quickly, looking back up at you, “yes. Obviously, I’d still love you.”
“Even if I was tiny?”
“Especially if you were tiny,” he said, earnest and a little distressed. “I’d be extra careful. I’d make sure you were safe. Warm. Fed.”
“And if I evolved?” you teased.
He froze. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“…Okay, if you became a Beedrill, I’d be less worried about me hurting you,” he admitted. “But I’d still worry about everyone else.”
You nudged him. “You don’t think I could handle myself?”
He smiled, soft and fond. “I know you could. I’d just…hover.”
“That tracks.”
He sighed, then reached for your hand like grounding himself. “You’re still you,” he said quietly. “Weedle. Kakuna. Beedrill.”
A beat.
“I’d just really like to not accidentally squish you,” he added.
You laughed. He smiled, relieved.
==========
Philippe
He paused.
Not because he was confused—but because he wanted to be sure he answered you properly.
“…A Weedle,” he said thoughtfully.
You nodded. “Yes.”
Philippe smiled—soft, fond, entirely unmocking.
“Then I would be very careful,” he said.
“That’s it?” you asked.
He chuckled quietly. “That’s only the beginning.”
He paused, then added, almost absently, “I would also need to have a conversation with Skarmory.”
You blinked. “About what?”
“So, she doesn’t try to eat you,” he said simply.
You burst out laughing.
“I’m serious,” Philippe continued, completely earnest. “I’d make sure it understood you were… off-limits. Permanently.”
Your heart melted a little.
“And I’d keep you somewhere safe,” he went on. “Warm. Sheltered. I’d check on you often—perhaps more than necessary.”
“You’d worry,” you said gently.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t resent it.”
A beat.
“And if you evolved,” Philippe added, eyes brightening, “then Skarmory would learn to give you plenty of space.”
You smiled.
“A Beedrill is pretty intense,” you teased.
“I would admire that,” he said softly. “Your strength would simply be more visible.”
You reached for his hand. He took it, warm and steady.
“So yes,” Philippe said, meeting your gaze. “I would still love you.”
Then, after a moment—
“I would just… prefer to keep you away from sharp beaks.”
You laughed. He smiled.
==========
Vinnie
He didn’t even blink.
“Yes.”
You paused. “That was fast.”
Vinnie exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ve answered this before.”
“…You have?”
“My daughter,” he said simply. “She asked me this exact same question months ago. Phase lasted three weeks.”
You stared. “What kind of phase—”
“Would I still love her if she was a Weedle. A Caterpie. A rock. A puddle.” He adjusted his sunglasses. “Once, it was a chair.”
You blinked. “Oh, wow.”
“So no,” he continued, glancing at you now, “I wouldn’t mind. I’d do the same thing I always do.”
“Which is?”
“Make sure you were safe,” Vinnie said. “Fed. Not stepped on. Talked to.”
“You’d still talk to me?” you asked, sending him a touched look.
“Of course,” he said, like the answer was obvious. “You don’t stop being someone I care about because you’re smaller.”
You smiled. “And if I evolved?” you pressed.
Vinnie nodded once. “Then I’d adjust.”
“To what?”
“To whatever you needed,” he said. “That’s how it works.”
There was a pause—then his mouth twitched.
“…I would ask you not to poison our food,” he added.
You laughed. He shook his head, fond and resigned.
==========
L
The coffee truck was parked where it always was, humming softly, the smell of espresso and sugar thick in the air.
L sat perched on the edge of the bench, cup balanced precariously between his fingers, eyes already half-lidded in thought. You leaned against the counter beside him, stirring your drink, watching people pass.
You said it casually.
“Would you still love me if I was a Weedle?”
L stopped stirring.
He looked at you—not surprised, exactly, but alert, like you’d just nudged a loose thread in his mind.
“…A Weedle,” he repeated.
You nodded, lips twitching. “Be honest.”
He shifted into a crouch on the bench, coffee forgotten, elbows on his knees. “That depends,” he said slowly.
You raised a brow. “Wow.”
“On whether you are asking emotionally,” he continued, “or hypothetically.”
You snorted. “I’m sitting next to you at a coffee truck. What do you think?”
That earned you a faint hum of amusement.
“If you were a Weedle,” L said, thoughtful now, “your physical limitations would increase. Your vulnerability would increase. The margin for error would become… unacceptable.”
You tilted your head. “You sound stressed already.”
“I am,” he said plainly. “But not because of affection.”
You took a sip of your coffee, watching him. “Go on.”
“It wouldn’t change who you are,” L continued. “Only how carefully the world would need to be navigated around you.”
You smiled, softer now. “You’d watch me.”
“Yes,” he said. “More closely than usual.”
“Creepy.”
“Protective,” he corrected.
You laughed under your breath.
“And if I evolved?” you asked. “Kakuna. Beedrill.”
L’s eyes flickered with interest. “Then the imbalance would correct itself. You would regain agency. Force. Presence.”
You smirked. “So you’d be less worried.”
“About your safety,” he agreed. “Not about you.”
You let that sit for a moment.
“So,” you said, nudging his knee with yours, “you’d still love me.”
L reached for his coffee again, finally taking a sip.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Even if you were a Weedle.”
Then, after a beat, he added, deadpan—
“I would, however, insist you stay off the ground near heavy foot traffic.”
You laughed, bright and real.
L watched you over the rim of his cup, expression settling into something content—like the answer had been obvious all along, and the question had simply confirmed it.
