Just Doing The Best I Can

She/Her. 32. Training dogs by the day, writing by night (sometimes). Pfp and header done by the wonderful and silly @ena-the-eepy.

[littlesugarbug]

Writing Masterlist

Figured it's time to do something like this so that everything is organized. Bear with me, I'm still trying to figure out how to work this website despite having an account for YEARS (and I mean YEARS).

Ask/Request Guidelines: PLEASE READ BEFORE SUBMITTING As of 6/1/2026 Writing Asks/Requests are CLOSED

Pokemon (By Games)

Pokemon Red/Blue/Yellow & Gold/Silver/Crystal

Pokemon Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald

Pokemon Black(2)/White(2)

Pokemon X/Y

Pokemon Sword & Shield

Pokemon Sun & Moon

Pokemon Scarlet & Violet

Pokemon Legends: Arceus

Pokemon Legends: Z-A

Pokemon Legends: Z-A (Cont.)

READER x MULTI-PAIRING MASTERLIST

My Pokemon OCS

Resident Evil

Anime

Naruto

[littlesugarbug]

Bean and cheese enchiladas. Most of everything was homemade: the enchilada sauce, the refried beans (made from canned pinto beans), and homemade sweet-potato tortillas!

[freakcircusofhorrors]

I saw on a tik tok that the TFC day 3 will be released in June/July they confirmed it with google search. Is that real?

Mod Destiny here!

TikTok and a few other forums (even some blogs/youtubers) are CONSTANTLY spreading misinformation about the game, especially in regards to the release date or the character's being related by blood (they aren't). As of now, there is no set time for day3, but any updates will be found on Neko's Patreon or HERE first!

Please ONLY get your news from here, as this is the official site.

Don't listen to ANY TikTok that claims to have info about the game or connection to Neko: they're ALL lying.

[littlesugarbug]

Tried to give Mario Kart World another shot. I think I'm always going to prefer Mario Kart 8 Deluxe (and by extension, Mario Kart DD and Mario Kart 64).

[littlesugarbug]

Writing Update

Hey everyone! As of today I am no longer accepting anymore writing requests for the time being. I want to start seriously focusing on my original works, and also, I have like...49 requests in my inbox that I'd like to/should get through (not counting some of the commission trades I'm still working on).

You are still free to send things to share (artwork, screenshots of games, etc.), or just general things for me to yap about. I don't want any of you to feel like you can't send me asks, just no writing prompts/requests/ideas, please.

Thank you!

[littlesugarbug]

She’s eepy

She is me, and I am her XD

[littlesugarbug]

After watching Chilled’s last stream, my Kingdom Hearts obsession is creeping back up on me 😭😂😅

[kyrt4t]

chilledchaos and his retirement // do not stand at my grave and weep by mary elizabeth frye

[boxofnothing]

we interupt your regularly scheduled programming coz my comfort italian is retiring </3

[ladyignatius4]

It doesn't matter if you wrote 5,000 or 50 words today.

It doesn't matter if all you did was day-dream about your characters while staring at the ceiling.

You are still a writer and your progress is valid.

[littlesugarbug]

It’s okay to cut off family members if they’re toxic. I’m estranged from both my mom and older brother. And the two memories I’ll always remember from both of them, which, they both think I should “just get over” because time has passed is:

Mom: her way of motivating me to do well in school was telling me that no one wants to be friends with someone who made C’s and D’s. Context: I struggled real hard going from public to private school, starting in 6th grade.

Brother: At a moment when I needed him the most, because my relationship with my mom was terrible when it came to academics, told me “Mom is wasting money sending you to that school.”

You may not be able to choose your biological family (well, I’m adopted, so they’re not my biological family, but you get the point), but you can definitely choose who IS your family.

[littlesugarbug]

Something Chosen, Something Shared (Chapter 12)

Word Count: 3,125 CW: smut, nsfw, MDNI, minors do not interact, 18+ only

Taglist (if you would like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment so I can remember! My brain isn't the best sometimes, but I'll try my best to tag you in the future chapters!):

@vanillianbean @houndenny @clawshots @wegotfoodathome @bigguscheesius @hakuaclovers @little-bit@blossom-adventures @happinessismagicc @dianyx @probably-definitely-a-bard @anothernarutofanaccoun t @godserene @juuyeah @moon-heart22 @starrynightskyshine @reizamoon @misabelle717 @thepanweebgirl @potato-imouto @van1shiro@purpleelephantsflyatmidnight @butchered-cherry @rukieyuki

Your breathing came back to you first, uneven and heavy, your body still trembled faintly as the last waves passed through you.

Behind you, Sycamore exhaled softly, his forehead dipping briefly against your shoulder as he steadied himself. One of his hands slid up your side, soothing, grounding, while the other remained at your hip.

In front of you, Lysandre’s touch gentled. His fingers moved through your hair in slow, deliberate strokes, smoothing it back from your face as though committing the sight of you to memory. His gaze lingered, still intent, but quieter now. Satisfied. 

Then, after a moment, his hand slipped from you, and he moved closer to Sycamore. Lysandre’s hand came up to Sycamore’s jaw, tilting his face toward him before their mouths met again. This kiss was slower, but no less intense. Lysandre pulled him in with quiet intent, his fingers tightening slightly in Sycamore’s hair as his mouth claimed his, not rushed, but not gentle either. Sycamore met him without hesitation, a soft, pleased sound slipping from him as he leaned into the contact, entirely at ease with the weight of Lysandre’s attention.

And behind you, Sycamore’s body moved again, subtle at first. A slow, absent grind of his hips into you. You let out a small, breathy sound, your arms trembling slightly as you tried to keep yourself upright, the lingering sensitivity making every movement feel heavier, deeper. One of Sycamore’s hands returned to your waist, steadying you without breaking the kiss, thumb brushing lightly along your side in quiet reassurance.

The two men parted only slightly, foreheads brushing as they exchanged a few low, murmured words—Kalosian, soft and fluid between them.

“On devrait faire une pause…” Sycamore murmured, breath still warm from the kiss. 

(We should take a short break…)

Lysandre’s lips curved faintly. “Sans doute.” 

(No doubt.)

Sycamore huffed a quiet, breathless laugh, glancing briefly toward you before leaning in again, his voice softer now.

“Tu peux t’occuper d’elle?” he asked. 

(Can you take care of her?)

There was a brief pause. Then, simply—

“Bien sûr.” 

(Of course.)

Lysandre’s gaze flicked toward you again, something measured passing through his expression before he leaned in once more, stealing a brief, lingering kiss from Sycamore. Then he moved off of the bed and left the room.

Behind you, Sycamore moved, withdrawing from you slowly, and carefully. The sensation drew a soft, tired sound from you, your body instinctively relaxing the moment he did, the effort of holding yourself up catching up all at once. You collapsed forward onto the bed, then rolled onto your side, limbs heavy, your whole body humming with the aftermath.

“Tired, ma chérie?” Sycamore murmured softly. He didn’t wait for an answer before moving with you, settling beside you, one arm draping loosely over your waist as his lips found your skin again, gentler and affectionate. He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The soft rise of your chest. Not hungry, nor demanding. Just warm and tender. His nose brushed along your neck as he nuzzled in, a quiet, content sound leaving him as he pressed another soft kiss beneath your ear.

“How are you?” he asked, voice low and genuine.

You let out a small breath, eyes half-lidded. “I’m good,” you murmured. “Just…a little tired.”

He chuckled softly against your skin. 

“Understandable.”

His hand slid along your side in slow, soothing strokes. “No pain?” he asked, a little more carefully this time.

You hesitated. “…Maybe a little sore.”

That earned another quiet laugh, fond, not dismissive, as he pressed a few more gentle kisses along your shoulder and neck. 

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” he murmured. “You did very well for your first time.” His hand lingered, thumb brushing slow circles into your hip. “We’ll take care of you,” he added softly.

There was something reassuring in the way he said it. Easy, certain. You let yourself relax into the mattress a little more. 

Then—

“Rest for a bit,” he continued, shifting slightly as he began to sit up. “We’re not quite finished yet.”

Your eyes opened more fully. “…Not finished?” you echoed, dumbly, blinking up at him.

But Sycamore was already moving, sliding off the bed with an easy stretch, not bothering to cover himself, as he headed toward the bathroom. 

He glanced back at you, that familiar, warm smile tugging at his lips. “I promise you’ll enjoy it,” he said lightly, and disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

You pushed yourself upright slowly, your body still heavy from the aftershocks, limbs reluctant to cooperate as you gathered yourself. The room felt quieter now, emptier in a way, without Sycamore’s warmth immediately at your back.

“Not…finished…?” you murmured under your breath, more to yourself than anything, still trying to process that.

The soft click of the door pulled your attention. 

Lysandre returned.

He moved with the same composed ease as before, now carrying a glass of chilled water in one hand, and a small plate in the other—berries, grapes, and a neatly arranged orange resting among them. He set them down within your reach before offering you the glass.

“Drink,” he said simply.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers curled around the cool surface, and you took a long, grateful sip, then another, not realizing just how thirsty you were until the water hit your tongue. The chill of it was refreshing, grounding, helping settle the lingering haze in your mind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, lowering the glass.

Lysandre inclined his head slightly, already reaching for a grape, rolling it briefly between his fingers before eating it. He watched you for a moment. Assessing. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

The same question. But from him, it landed differently. Less gentle, perhaps, but no less attentive.

You exhaled softly, reaching for a strawberry. “I’m good,” you said, echoing your earlier answer before adding, “Better than I thought I’d be.” You glanced at him, a faint, almost sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “For a first time, I mean.”

Lysandre’s gaze sharpened slightly at that. “You handled yourself well,” he said. 

Simple. Certain. Not flattery. But assessment.

“And,” he added after a brief pause, “you handled us well.”

There was weight to that. Recognition. Respect.

“I admire that.”

Heat crept faintly into your cheeks at the bluntness of it. You looked down briefly, turning a grape between your fingers before popping it into your mouth.

“It was a little…surreal,” you admitted after a moment. “At first.” Your gaze lifted again. “But the way you both handled things—handled me—helped.”

Another pause. Then, almost as an afterthought—

“…Though I’m still trying to process the whole ‘round two’ thing.”

That earned the faintest shift in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close.

“That,” Lysandre said calmly, reaching for another piece of fruit, “is why I brought these.” His gaze flicked briefly to the plate. “So that you have the energy.”

You blinked. Then huffed a small, quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as you reached toward the orange. “Of course it is.”

Lysandre’s hand closed lightly around your wrist. Not abrupt, but firm enough to stop you.

“Please, allow me.”

You paused, glancing up at him.

“…You don’t have to—”

“I insist.” The words were calm. Matter-of-fact. Not dismissive. Just…decided. 

His grip eased, but didn’t fully release until you let your hand fall back. Then, without another word, he picked up the orange. His fingers moved with quiet precision as he peeled the orange, the rind separating cleanly beneath his fingers. He took his time with it. No wasted motion, no haste, the citrus scent slowly blooming into the air between you, bright and fresh against the lingering warmth of the room.

You watched him. A little unsure. A little curious. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“It is not often,” he said, voice calm, measured, “that we find someone capable of… accommodating us both.” His eyes flicked up briefly, meeting yours before returning to the fruit in his hands. “We do not make a habit of this.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Because of you?” you asked, a hint of teasing curiosity slipping in.

That earned the faintest pause.

“Because of us,” he corrected.

The peel came away fully, and he began separating the segments with the same deliberate care.

“Most people,” he continued, “have a preference. They want one, or the other.” 

A section came free. He set it aside. 

“And even those who seek me out…” A slight shift in his tone—subtle, but there. “Often find that what they think they want is not what they can manage.”

You huffed a small laugh at that. “Too intimidating?” you offered lightly.

His gaze lifted again. “Too much,” he said simply.

Another segment separated cleanly in his hands.

“Or,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I find them not worth the investment.”

That made you pause, and your brow lifted slightly. 

“…That’s kinda harsh.”

“It is accurate.” There was no hesitation in it. No apology.

You shook your head a little, a quiet laugh slipping out despite yourself. “Well,” you said, leaning back slightly on your hands, “I’m not entirely sure what I did to earn that kind of praise or attention from the great Lysandre.” The teasing was light, but genuine.

Lysandre stilled for a moment. Then his eyes settled fully on you again. Whatever faint amusement had been there before shifted—sharpened. “I do not offer praise lightly,” he said. Each word was deliberate and measured. “I mean what I say.”

There was weight behind it, just certainty. And before you could respond, he lifted one of the orange slices and held it just in front of your lips. 

You hesitated only for a second. Then the memory flickered back to his cafe when he had fed you the last bite of his steak tartare with the same quiet insistence. Then, you parted your lips and took it, carefully, your lips brushing his fingers. 

Lysandre didn’t pull away immediately. His gaze remained fixed on you as you bit down and chewed, the juice sharp and sweet against your tongue. And something in his expression shifted again. Approval. Satisfaction. And desire.

You chewed thoughtfully, the sweetness of the orange lingering on your tongue as Lysandre reached for a segment of his own, lifting it with the same quiet precision. For a moment, the two of you simply ate in silence—the atmosphere no longer as charged as before, but far from neutral.

You glanced at him, watching the way he moved, the way he carried himself even in something as simple as eating. Then, almost without thinking—

“What drew you to him—to Augustine?”

Lysandre paused, just slightly. The segment hovered briefly between his fingers before he finished the motion, bringing it to his lips. He chewed once, twice—unhurried—before his gaze shifted back to you. It wasn’t annoyance, or deflection. Just consideration.

“You’re curious,” he noted.

You shrugged lightly, a small, sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

“Maybe a little.”

A beat passed.

And then he indulged you.

“Augustine is…” He paused, as though selecting the correct word. “Exceptional.” A simple answer but the way he said it carried weight. “He is not only a beautiful man, but a beautiful person.”

Another piece of orange was separated cleanly in his hands.

“His affection for Pokémon. His view of the world. The way he chooses to see things…” A faint shift in his expression—something quieter, almost reflective. “It is…rare…to see in this world.”

You listened, quietly.

“He represents what this world is capable of being,” Lysandre said. “What it should be.” There was something deeper beneath that now. Something firmer. “And that,” he added, more quietly, “is worth preserving.”

The word lingered, but you didn’t fully unpack it. Not yet. Lysandre continued as if nothing had shifted.  

“And,” he added, almost more lightly, “he is one of the few who can tolerate me.”

That drew a soft huff of amusement from you.

“Tolerate you?”

Lysandre’s gaze flicked back to you. “I am aware,” he said evenly, “that I am not…easy.”  There was no insecurity in it. Just fact. “Intense. Demanding. At times…overwhelming.”

A small pause.

“Intimidating, to some.”

You nodded slowly.

“…Yeah, you are,” you admitted. “At first.”

That caught his attention. “Only at first?” he asked. There was the faintest edge of curiosity there now.

You shifted slightly, reaching for another piece of fruit, rolling it between your fingers as you thought. “It’s like handling certain Pokémon,” you said after a moment. “The stronger, dominant, ones. The ones with a lot of…presence and ambition.”

His gaze didn’t leave you.

“You can’t overthink it,” you continued. “And you shouldn’t try to change it.” Your fingers stilled. “You have to just…adjust to it. Learn how to meet it where it is.” A small breath. “Temper it a little. Work with it.”

You glanced up at him.

“Not endure it.”

Something in Lysandre’s expression changed. Subtle—but immediate.

Your attention dipped back to the fruit in your hand. “And once you do that,” you added lightly, “it’s not overwhelming anymore. It just…is.” Without thinking, you lifted the orange slice toward him. The gesture was easy. Innocent. Your fingers brushing just slightly against his lower lip as you offered it.

For a split second, nothing happened. Then—his hand closed around your wrist. You barely had time to register the shift before he suddenly pulled you forward, and his mouth claimed yours. Hot and demanding.

You tasted it immediately: the faint citrus of the orange still lingering on his tongue, sharp and sweet beneath the heat of the kiss. It made everything feel more vivid, more immediate, your senses catching on it as his lips moved against yours with unmistakable intent. This wasn’t like before. There was no careful restraint now. No distance.

Lysandre pressed forward, and you went with him.

Your back met the bed in a smooth, controlled motion, his hand still at your wrist guiding you down as his body followed, settling between your legs with purpose. The shift drew a soft sound from you—half surprise, half something else—as you felt him there, solid and warm, already beginning to harden against you.

For a split second, you froze. Caught off guard by the sudden intensity. But then, you responded. Your hands came up instinctively, finding him, his shoulders, his arms, as you matched him, meeting the kiss with your own growing urgency, your body already reacting, already opening to him.

Lysandre seemed to approve of that. The shift in you. Because the kiss changed. Deepened. Then broke. Not away. Just lower. His mouth dragged from your lips to your jaw, then down along your neck, each kiss deliberate, heated, leaving a trail that made your breath catch as he moved. He didn’t rush it, but there was nothing gentle in the way his lips pressed to your skin, the way his teeth grazed, then nipped—just enough to make you gasp.

Marks. 

Intentional.

Claiming.

Your fingers tightened slightly where they rested against him as he continued, his mouth working lower, the heat of his breath following the path he carved along your throat.

He reached your chest and unclasped the lingerie bra, freeing your breasts, and then paused, but only for a second. Then his mouth was on you.

The first contact drew a sharp inhale from you as he closed around your nipple, not tentative, not teasing, but immediate, and consuming. His tongue flicked against you, firm, deliberate, before his lips sealed, pulling, tugging, the sensation intense enough to make your back arch slightly beneath him.

“Ah—” The sound slipped out before you could stop it.

And that only seemed to encourage him.

His hand came up to steady you, fingers pressing into your side as his mouth worked—tongue, teeth, pressure—every movement purposeful, every shift designed to pull more from you, to build, to push. Your body responded instantly. Heat pooled low again, faster this time, your breath growing uneven as your fingers slid into his hair, gripping lightly without thinking.

“Lysandre—” His name came out breathless and unsteady.

He released you just enough to drag his mouth across your skin, a final, lingering pull before moving back up—back to your throat, your jaw, your lips. And then he kissed you again. Hard. Hungry.

Any restraint that had been there before now sharpened into something focused, something consuming as he took your mouth again, his hand coming up to your jaw to hold you there, to keep you with him as your bodies moved together, your breath, your sounds, your reactions feeding into his own.

“Well,” came Sycamore’s voice from across the room, warm and unmistakably amused, “I see you two didn’t waste any time.”

Lysandre broke the kiss. His mouth lingered close to yours, breath still warm against your lips before he finally pulled back, slowly, and deliberately, his hand remaining at your jaw as his gaze shifted past you toward the doorway.

You turned your head slightly.

Sycamore stood there, one hand braced casually against the doorframe, hair still slightly damp, completely naked and entirely entertained. His eyes flicked between the two of you, taking in the sight, the position, the flushed skin, the marks already beginning to form, and his smile widened just a touch.

“I leave for a few minutes,” he continued lightly, “and you’ve already started without me.” There was no accusation in it. Only humor, and interest.

Lysandre’s thumb brushed once along your jaw before his hand slipped away, though he didn’t move far—still between your legs, still close. 

“You were taking too long,” he replied evenly.

Sycamore huffed a quiet laugh at that, pushing himself off the doorframe as he stepped fully back into the room.

“Is that so?”

His gaze settled on you then, softer, checking in even as that familiar warmth returned to his expression. “Well,” he added, voice dipping just slightly as he approached, “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer.”

Lysandre turned back to you, lowering his face to yours and brushed his nose lightly against your cheek in a brief, grounding nuzzle as he murmured to you. 

“Impatiente…” The word was low, almost teasing, meant more for you than anyone else.

Then he moved, smoothly, composed once more. He slipped off of you, the sudden absence of his weight noticeable as he reached for the tray and glass, lifting them from the bed with practiced ease. The shift gave you space to breathe, to feel the lingering heat he’d left behind.

Without another word, Lysandre turned and made his way toward the bathroom.

As he passed Sycamore, there was the briefest glance between them. Something silent, and understood, before Lysandre disappeared inside, the door closing softly behind him.

[littlesugarbug]

Dirtbath

Word Count: 1,139 Character/Pairing: Griselle x female reader Summary: Griselle hasn't forgotten the tomato incident and decides to have you help her with her Talonflame's dirt bath...

The Sinnoh-mud bags were heavier than they looked, but you’d been hauling garden compost for seasons now; your muscles flexed with a quiet, reliable strength that Griselle’s sharp blue gaze couldn’t help but linger on, even as she pretended to be unimpressed. Wild Zone 8 baked under the late morning sun, the sand shimmering as you carried the last of the bags from the zone entrance, arms flexing naturally under the heavy weight. Griselle trailed behind, arms folded, her ponytail bobbing, glasses perched on her nose and her lips pursed in a quintessentially unimpressed line.

“Remind me,” you called over your shoulder, “why am I carrying these? You could’ve just driven the Café Nouveau truck right up into here.

Griselle rolled her eyes, voice dry. “And waste gas? In this economy? Please. Besides, I thought you liked a challenge.”

“I also like efficiency,” you snorted, dropping the bag where the others were, shoulders gleaming with sweat. “And don’t act like you’d be wasting gas. It’s only a few blocks away.”

She made a show of inspecting her nails. “Just open and dump it where I said. And make sure it’s even.”

You let out a huff, then called out your Vaporeon and Greninja, who appeared with gleaming eyes, alert and ready. Greninja immediately took up a silent watch, eyes scanning the dunes for trouble, while Vaporeon padded over to nuzzle your knee, tail flicking. One by one, you tore open the bags and dumped them, clouds of dust blooming as the dirt poured out. 

A few bags in, sweat glistening on your forehead, you paused, wiping your brow. “You’re not still mad about the tomato thing, are you?”

She didn’t answer, but the flat set of her mouth and the glint in her gaze said it all. You groaned, rolling your neck before throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Aw, c’mon, Griselle! I already apologized.”

She arched an eyebrow, her tone sing-song sharp. “Should’ve thought of that before you decided to get that disgusting vegetable on me.”

“It’s actually a fruit.”

Her eyes narrowed as her lips pursed. “Whatever. Get to work. I’m not paying you to stand around and complain.”

You shot her a dirty look before tearing open another bag, the earthy scent of Sinnoh mud wafting up, rich and peaty. “You’re not paying me at all,” you muttered under your breath. You dumped the dirt, savoring the stretch and flex in your arms, and caught her watching you, eyes narrowed, gaze trailing over your biceps. Hiding a grin, you hefted another bag, making sure to exaggerate the motion, feeling your muscles tense beneath your skin. “Why do you even need all this dirt, anyway?”

She flipped her ponytail, not meeting your eyes. “It’s for Talonflame.”

You blinked, pausing mid-pour. “Your Talonflame needs—” You scrutinized the bag. “—imported dirt?”

Griselle’s lips twisted with annoyance. “Yes. For her dirt bath.”

You shook the now empty bag before tossing it aside. “And why…does your Talonflame need dirt? And why Sinnoh mud, specifically?” You peered at the bag again. “From Route 212… I thought that was the marsh...”

She ground her teeth, exasperation flaring. “It’s mineral-rich. Supposed to help with feather health. The mud’s got properties—look, it’s a thing, okay?”

You walked over and reached for another bag. “Why doesn’t she just bathe like a normal bird? There’s a lake, or even the canal—”

“She doesn’t like water baths anymore,” Griselle’s voice softened just a fraction, “Had an accident with a Hydro Pump back in my Team Flare days—left her skittish. She’s avoided water baths ever since. Even if it’s raining outside. But sometimes, if it’s just drizzling, she’ll step out and fluff her feathers, but anything more than that and she’ll freak. Dirt baths are the only ways to keep her feathers somewhat clean and healthy”

You listened, genuinely, hearing the note of protectiveness beneath her usual snark. “That’s very sweet of you, Griselle. But why make me do the heavy lifting?”

She snapped back to her usual bite, “You squirted a tomato on me! You’re lucky I didn’t make you carry these from Sinnoh yourself.”

“You sure you didn’t just want to ogle my arms?”

That caught her off guard. She jerked her gaze away, cheeks tinged with pink under her glasses. “Keep dreaming. You’re not that impressive.”

You grinned, hoisting another bag and flexing deliberately. “If you’re going to ogle, at least admit it. Look, you’re drooling.”

She sputtered, hand flying to her mouth, cheeks flushing. “I am not! Ugh, you’re so annoying, I swear!”

Laughing, you finished your task, Vaporeon and Greninja flanking you, both keeping the wild Gible and Sandile at bay with patient, practiced ease. Griselle finally released Talonflame from her Poké Ball—a brilliant flash of red and gold, wings flaring against the sun. The bird strutted over, eyed the newly dumped mound with a pleased chirp, then immediately dove in, flapping and rolling, sending clouds of Sinnoh dust swirling.

You watched, arms folded, amused as Talonflame reveled in the dirt. Vaporeon padded over, sluicing cool water over your arms and hands, the gentle Pokémon humming contentedly as she cleaned away the mud and sweat. Greninja gave a silent approving nod, his tongue-scarf flicking in the breeze.

“Y’know,” you offered, scrubbing and washing the dirt off of your hands, “you could get her a mister. One of those portable ones, with a little pump and a fine spray? If the drizzle’s the only water she’ll tolerate, it might help without waiting for the weather to cooperate. Might even make her less skittish about water, if she gets used to it on her own terms.”

Griselle’s gaze flicked to you, skepticism and interest warring in her blue eyes. “A mister,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. “What, like she’s some prize rosebush?”

You shrugged, flashing her a smile. “She’s rare, clearly high-maintenance, and you dote on her. Seems appropriate.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes, but you saw her considering it, a thoughtful tilt to her head. “I’ll look into it. If she likes it, maybe you’ll get out of dirt duty next time.” She turned her attention back to Talonflame, letting out a sigh, something softer than her usual exasperation. “She’ll be at it for a while.” Quieter, she added, “Thank you.”

You grinned, flicking the water off of your hands before drying them on your pants. “Anytime. Besides, you clearly needed the view.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, and you caught a rare, genuine smile hiding at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t push your luck.”

You tipped her a wink, letting the warmth of the late sun and the gentle, easy company settle between you. For a moment, all was well—just you, Griselle, your Pokémon, and the bright, contented raptor dust-bathing in a patch of perfect, imported Sinnoh mud.

[writingdose]

“I want to write a fic about this but I don’t think anybody will be interested in it” ummm hello excuse me ma’am what do you mean you don’t think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other people’s.

[littlesugarbug]

Tomatoes

Word Count: 1,240 Characters: Griselle, Grisham Summary: You're harvesting some crops from Lumiose's community rooftop gardens for the soup kitchen you all volunteer for since their supplies are low. When you find out that Griselle absolutely hates tomatoes, well...you decide to be a menace to her.

This is part of my fruit-series for Griselle XD

The rooftop gardens were a riot of color, sunlight glancing off the glass and steel of Lumiose’s skyline while the three of you threaded through a jungle of tomatoes, peppers, and sprawling squash vines. The city below shimmered in the heat, but up here, the little pockets of green felt like a world apart—your world, coaxed from stubborn rooftop soil, wild Pokémon, and the stubbornness of someone who refused to believe Lumiose couldn’t have countryside pleasures.

The air buzzed with the scent of ripe tomatoes, waxy leaves, and the faint sweetness of basil baking in the heat. You knelt in the soft soil of Hotel Z’s rooftop garden, hands sticky with tomato resin, a woven basket already half-full of glossy red and yellow fruit. Grisham stood a row over, his flame-colored hair cinched into its tidy ponytail, glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he delicately pinched sprigs of thyme and parsley, a second basket already brimming with tea leaves. 

Griselle, who was closer to you, looked distinctly out of place among the tangled squash vines, her neat ponytail bobbing with every exasperated huff. She picked peppers with the air of someone performing a community service against her will, muttering under her breath about the indignity of hard labor. Her sigh was so theatrical it nearly wilted the basil. “You know,” she called, snapping a pepper off its stem, “if you’d just ordered enough from the shelter’s supplier, we wouldn’t be out here risking heatstroke for a bunch of vegetables.”

“We’re short because the shelter’s demand increased,” Grisham replied, voice calm and annoyingly reasonable. “And this is hardly extra work. It’s for a good cause.” He gently placed a bushel of parsley leaves he snipped into his basket. “And you’re the one who insisted on fresh, Griselle.”

She shot him a withering glare. “I meant fresh from the market, Gris, not from the gardens where it’s hot like Pyroar’s breath.”

Grisham didn’t look up from the neat bunch of thyme he was snipping. “You know what the gardens mean to the folks out here.” His voice was patient, a slight smile playing on his lips. “After all, we started Cafe Nouveau for those who can’t afford the high prices of the cafes. What better way to provide for the people than community gardens?”

You looked up from the tomatoes, feeling the heat on your cheeks as you wiped the sweat off your brow. “I think the rooftop gardens might be the best project I’ve ever forced the city into.” You grinned, popping a cherry tomato into your mouth and savoring the burst of tangy-sweet juice. “They’ve been doing so well up here. I think it’s because of our arrangement with the local wild Pokémon. They keep the pests down, help tend the plants, and only take what they need. It’s a win-win.”

Grisham nodded, the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at his mouth, as he straightened and brushed dirt off his knees. “Your idea to broker peace with the wild pokemon two summers ago was a brilliant solution. I’ll admit, I was skeptical, but the results speak for themselves.” He nodded toward a pair of wild Fletchling pecking delicately at a patch berries, their feathers gleaming in the light. “Shared labor, shared bounty.”

That made your smile widen, and you started filling another basket with tomatoes, fingers flying over the vines. “You know what? I think I’ll make some gazpacho too. Something cool to go with the ratatouille. We have so many tomatoes, it’d be a crime not to.” You looked pointedly at Griselle, who was glaring at a row of peppers like they’d personally offended her. “Hey Griselle, could you grab a few more peppers? And maybe a few cucumbers?”

Griselle’s ponytail bounced as she jerked her head up to look at you. “Cucumbers? Why? Isn’t the ratatouille enough work?”

“I need it for gazpacho,” you replied, filling your palm with sun-warmed tomatoes. “And there’s plenty to go around.” You reached for another cluster of cherry tomatoes, singling out one and popping it into your mouth, savoring its umami and sweetness.

Griselle grumbled but moved off toward the next row, her movements quick and irritated. She shot you a sidelong look as you snacked, wrinkling her nose. “How can you eat those things raw?”

Grisham, busy with his tea leaves, didn’t look up. “Let her enjoy herself, Griselle.”

You licked juice from your thumb, grinning. “I adore tomatoes. Grew up with tomato sandwiches—just thick slices, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, a little mayo, and nothing else. Sometimes I’d eat them like apples.”

Griselle blanched, her blue eyes going wide behind her glasses. “That’s disgusting. Seriously, who does that? Raw tomatoes are the single worst thing to ever happen to food. They’re slimy, they’re seedy, and they ruin everything they touch. I don’t know how you stomach them.”

You shrugged, popping another cherry tomato into your mouth, letting the juice burst across your tongue. “You’re missing out. Tomatoes are summer in fruit form.”

She made a face, muttering under her breath about “tomato freaks” and “culinary crimes,” but kept picking. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

The next time Griselle stomped by, basket full of peppers and newly picked cucumbers, you caught her eye, and selected a particularly plump cherry tomato. Then, making sure she was just close enough, popped it between your teeth, biting down with a flourish so the juice squirted straight at her, splattering across her white tank top.

Griselle shrieked, dropping her basket, peppers and cucumbers tumbling, hands flying to her shirt. “You fucking bitch!” She frantically looked around for something to wipe it off with, spotting some towels on a table nearby. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ewwwwww!!!”

Grisham walked up to your side with his baskets, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “Was that really necessary?”

You grinned at him, licking tomato juice from your lips. “Absolutely.” 

He regarded you with that inscrutable, almost amused look, then glanced at Griselle, who was busy swearing under her breath and trying to blot her shirt with a towel.

“You realize she won’t speak to you for a week now,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Probably won’t even acknowledge your existence.” 

You shrugged, before moving to collect the fallen vegetables. “You mean a week of peace and quiet without someone grumbling and complaining? Oh, whatever will I do?” You gathered and placed the vegetables in the abandoned basket. As you straightened you ginned and stretched in the sun, the prospect of a Griselle-free week tantalizing. “What about you, Grisham? Will you ignore me too?”

He considered, lips quirking in a rare smile. “Tempting. It might be restful, just for a bit.”

You pouted, batting your lashes. “Yeah, right. We both know you wouldn’t last a few minutes without putting your hands on me, knowing Griselle would be out of the picture for a bit.”

He laughed, low and warm, shaking his head. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t, but I’m willing to risk it for the novelty.”

Griselle, tank top ruined, stalked off down the row, muttering dire threats under her breath. You and Grisham watched her go, then shared a look—a silent agreement that, for once, you were both on the same side. The sun blazed, the gardens thrived, and the promise of cooking ratatouille and gazpacho for dozens with laughter, friendship, and just the right amount of chaos.

[littlesugarbug]

I named them after my dogs lol

Which is funny cause the Jolteon is named after Sabrina and the Arcanine is named after Lily but IRL Sabrina is slightly bigger/taller than Lily lol

That's hilarious! I love that, though.

[littlesugarbug]

Where is a Emma legends Z-A x Male Reader fanfic!!?

*I shout softly cause am very shy*

Wow, you're so right! I can't find any Emma x male reader fanfics.

Perhaps you should be the one to start that trend!!! ^_^