#maxskulline

when two excellent and favorite female oc’s rpers interacted with my nsfw post

👀 If you’re curious...

❝A-ah, miss Max...? Well, intriguing. I love her hair and for some reason I feel like it smells like hibiscus- quite a pretty flower. I haven’t really had the chance to meet her in depth, which only makes me yearn for interactions between us if I ever have the chance to return to Alola.

For some other reason she feels like a home I’ve never been at before. A strange -but good- comfort comes to my mind when I think of her. There’s cuteness and innocence that hides something else— or maybe not. Maybe she is that pure and I’m prejudicing her...

(( YEAH A ONESIE WOULD HAVE BEEN GOOD TOO... Gio even drew Guzma in a Golisopod suit a while back (I think it was for an event in a server??) and that looked! Great!! I would have preferred pretty much everything Except Pallet Swapped Guzma.

also.

@maxskulline

Aaaaaaa maybe Maxy's Rockruff? :D (He misses his front right leg)

Send Me a symbol for how you feel ✥ I have roleplayed with you and it was great ✦ I like seeing you on my dash ✪ You seem like a cool person ♥ *Your choice what to write*

   Guzma stumbles to a halt around her, barely co-ordinated from all the booze still flooding his system. It’s honest liquid courage for him this time. Every step forward Max takes, he plants a step of his own in the way of her until she’s got no other choice but to face him---to please just fucking hear him out. He’s used his big body as a blockade plenty other times before so he knows exactly how to keep it in her way. He’s given up many times, but this time, he won’t. He can’t. He’s sick of harbouring all these fuck-ups and regrets on stupid pieces of paper. He’s sick of staring at the wall. He wants to make things right. Damn, though. She looks good.

                He ain’t even found his balance yet and it’s already throwin’ him off.

   Guzma opens his mouth to speak but only bites his lip ‘cause Max is way ahead of him, and he lets himself take everything she’s got, picking at the scruff of his chin around to the back of his head---anything he can to keep his hands busy and temper the tremors. He’s a changed man .  .  . at least, he thinks he is. There’s so much he’s learned, but she don’t know that. To Max, he’s still the same old big bad scumbag that ruined her. The poisons of the past pour out in her every word and for once, Guzma is defenseless. He hangs his head low and allows himself to be defenseless, a far cry from how things used to be. He breathes in her smoke, tastes the ashes he left, and for once he understands what it is to be a second-hand---wait.

              She’s giving him a chance? He’d be stumped if he wasn’t so---what is it? 

   It’s like stage fright. It feels like her eyes bear on him with the pressure of an entire fucking audience. He feels their judgement. Feels her judgement, and the visible drop of sweat across his brow burns hotter just like his collar. Can she just---can she fucking stop that?! No. It ain’t her. It’s his perception making him all stupid. Pull yourself together, Guzma, comes that same tired song ‘n dance. You never been so afraid of speakin’ up before. He spits on the ground.

   “First of all, there ain’t much I can say without soundin’ like I’m tryna spin it that way, but this---it ain’t about my redemption, yeah? I know there’s no comin’ back from the shit I pulled. You think I give a fuck about any of that shit, Max?” No, no. Deep breaths.

   “I-It’s just---this life’s the only one we get .  .  . and I blew it.” Arceus, he needs another drink. “For not just myself but you. For all’a you. And for Rosie, too.” This chance she’s giving him is all he’s got, and his voice is straining not to blow this, too. “Your boy, Guzma,” he mocks himself, “has fuckin’ blown it to pieces chasin’ after some vision of a life I was too far fuckin’ gone to realise I already had with y’all. Shit, I blew that too. Ya know what they say ‘bout that, ah? That you never know what you got ‘til it’s lost to you? It’s somethin’ I read while I was in---ah, forget it.” Those lost deserved better. Skull couldn’t recover from their own personal tragedies beneath the reign of Guzma’s fucked-up influence, his selfish ambition---that included Max. She was trapped; he had trapped her. Had her little heart laid out nice ‘n pretty in the palm of his hand and swore he wouldn’t break it right before he closed his fist and dumped the pulsating little remains in the trash. Lot of fucking good that’s done for ‘em now. Maybe his tyranny wasn’t much different from Lusamine after all. 

             Birds of a feather and all that stupid shit.

   His restless hand grips the front of his shirt, squeezing, wrinkling the fabric. “I don’t know what you want to hear right now.” I’m tryna pour my fucking heart out to you and you aren’t reacting just fucking say something. He is not the boss of her anymore. She ain’t his to push around anymore. She never was. He finally understands now, and has for quite some time.

   “There’s no one in the world like you. I ruined a fuckin' beautiful thing---you know? You the best I ever had, baby girl,” his brows pinch tight before he can continue speaking. Calling her that again comes by instinct, and it sucks. “And if there’s any apology I could give to you---it’s that, Max,” he corrects himself. There’s a pause; he’s grimacing, throat’s tightening as it aches to force the word out. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the same for you.” 

            .  .  . Ah. Haha. Hahaha, fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

   Wasn’t that exactly what she didn’t wanna hear? Did he just mess this up? Guzma forces his hands back down when they rise up, shoves ‘em back down deep into his trouser pockets before they could start tearing out hair. No use hanging around long enough to find out. 

   “That’s---th-that’s it.” He avoids looking at her now and turns his back, not wanting to see what’s gotta be written all over her face. This just proves it; he's exactly what Max don't need.