#wild. anyways i need to turn in this other paper now which is what i was SUPPOSED TO BE DOING before i checked my email. anyways thats wild | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainsboonie · 2 months

Text

Allergies

words: 3961

Warnings: Implied sexual content, hormones (oh god hormones!!!!!!!)

Additional tags: reader is a sergeant, a/b/o dynamics, pack dynamics, scenting, omega!reader, alpha!price, no y/n used, kneeling-aftercare not sex-aftercare, john price is a BIG man, reader is very sad and stressed but doesnt realize it :(, uncomfortable leather couches = best kneeling session ever, readers hormones go wild cuz of scent blockers

Summary: It was becoming such an issue that it interfered with your job and your abilities. You couldn’t do your paperwork if an Alpha had brought you the papers, as it would end in you having to evacuate the room to not disturb the other people working with your wheezing. If an Alpha had cleaned your gun in the weaponry, you couldn’t use it until it was fully cleaned and reassembled again by a Beta. It was getting worse and worse throughout the weeks, and honestly, it was stressing you out. You might lose your rank, or even your job, for this.

After suddenly getting very sensitive and reactive to scents, a lone Sergeant is in desperate need of help. Captain John Price, as it happens, had her on his list for possible recruits for the 141. Losing a possible member was not ideal to him - so he decides to help out.

notes: this literally took all my motivation thats ever existed. i dont know why. just eight pages of pure suffering is what this is (also havent i used a yellow color for the summary text before? or is it the same as the orange??? where'd yellow go). its 01:14 so if beta read is bad its just cause im tired

You’ve gotten allergic to certain scents.

Or, that’s the only reasonable explanation for your current suffering, anyway. That, or you accidentally breathed in or consumed some weird chemical on a mission that was fucking your sense of smell up. You doubted both former and latter, but at this point, you were desperate for answers.

Being an Omega wasn’t so bad. However, being an Omega while living in the same building as an uncountable amount of military Alphas, was worse. Everything about them stunk. Wherever you went, that musty smell of dominance coated everything: walls, tables, chairs, rugs, the toilet paper, and even the cutlery. Just raising a fork to your mouth was enough for your brain to short-circuit, making you drop the fork on the plate which was loud – so loud that everyone turned their heads towards you as you sneezed into the bend of your arm.

It was becoming such an issue that it interfered with your job and your abilities. You couldn’t do your paperwork if an Alpha had brought you the papers, as it would end in you having to evacuate the room to not disturb the other people working with your wheezing. If an Alpha had cleaned your gun in the weaponry, you couldn’t use it until it was fully cleaned and reassembled again by a Beta. It was getting worse and worse throughout the weeks, and honestly, it was stressing you out. You might lose your rank, or even your job, for this.

Management obviously noticed, and instead of firing you, put you on scent-blocker pills. Now you could at least eat and wipe without coughing your lungs up, having constant throat burn, or getting nosebleeds every time you sneeze due to the constant irritation of your airways. It got slightly better, good enough for you to be able to work, thankfully. You finally got your paperwork done, not reacting to the scent of the Alphas as if you inhaled pure black pepper. The constant stench was still annoying, but compared to the hell you’ve been through the past weeks, you considered it durable.

But suddenly, the pills decided to start a fucking war with your hormones. You felt like total shit; even the slightest inconvenience either set you off, or left you quietly sobbing in a corner. There was no inbetween for the two weeks that the pills were in effect. It got so bad that you growled at one of the Lieutenants, which ended in one of the Betas having to pull you away from said Lieutenant (which, unfortunately for you, turned out to be an Alpha) to prevent any unnecessary scuffles.

After that incident, which was witnessed by practically every soldier on base, a few others got involved. Remarkably, management tried to find other solutions after making you stop taking the pills. You thought that they would have fired you long ago, sparing themselves from the complications and total waste of their time. Normally, you wouldn’t be complaining about getting free food and housing, but your worsening condition prevented you from enjoying the luxuries. At this point, you would rather have them fire you than let you stay and suffer through the agonizing pain and distress.

Thankfully, some higher-ups found a fitting nurse on base that was willing to investigate your troubles. Well, basically every nurse in the infirmary was willing to, since Omegas weren't researched to the same extent that Alphas and Betas were. Getting the chance to investigate and witness a rare case as yours seemed to greatly attract the nurses.

The nurse visited your room barely three hours after you got the notice from management. She entered quickly, closing the door gently behind her as she introduced herself. The meeting turned out to be extremely short, to your surprise. After just a short physical examination and some questions, she was done.

“It’s stress.” The nurse concluded while taking off her sanitary gloves, which she had used to feel your scent glands only seconds earlier. Your eyebrows immediately scrunched slightly, eyes narrowing. As she threw the gloves in a nearby trash can, you started pondering. How was this caused by stress when you only felt stressed after this happened? Your eyes followed her as she walked around the room, packing her tools back into the bag she brought them in. She looked over at you, and tilted her head a little. “You look confused.”

“I mean… yeah,” You mumble, looking around the room to avoid eye contact. Had you caused all of this chaos just because you were stressed? You suddenly felt guilty. You had always been able to control the stressful environment at base and on missions – what had managed to go so wrong now? The nurse looked at you curiously while holding her bag, as though she was leaving. You ended up quietly muttering, afraid to accidentally make her feel insulted. “Sorry, but I don’t think that’s possible.”

“...Why wouldn’t that be possible, Sergeant?” She sighs, but the look in her eyes proves that she’s not tired of you. She looks at you with care – not with the usual sternness you’re used to from the Lieutenants. She puts the bag down on the floor, and goes to sit on the bed next to you. Her calming scent wafts through the air, making your previous guilt slowly fade, and muscles release their tension without your command – making you feel a little sleepy. That’s why most nurses are Betas; the natural ability to calm being almost essential. Your thoughts gather way faster now than before, the Beta’s scent doing wonders. You sigh, and look over at her on your left side. “I’m not stressed. I’ve never been too stressed, cause I would’ve noticed, right? I was perfectly fine until this happened. This is the thing that’s been stressing me out, but nothing before that.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” She smiles, and puts a warm hand on your left knee. She was extremely grounding, and you understood perfectly why management chose her specifically. “It’s not you, hun. It’s your Omega that’s stressed – that’s most likely why you haven’t felt it until it became real bad,” she pauses for a moment, ”tell me, have you done anything recently to calm it down?”

“Well… no. Not really. ” You murmur after a few moments, in thought, as you think back on the recent months. It’s first now that you notice the signs: you stopped getting the urges to nest only a few months after you first moved to this base, you started to rub your scent glands often, and eventually you even stopped scenting your own room. You have no pack, no mate, no bonds. How were you supposed to keep your omega content when you didn’t have someone to care for you? The nurse purses her lips and pats your knee softly to bring you out of your thoughts. “That’s what I suspected. You practically dozed off when you smelled my pheromones, you’re that sensitive. Plus, I can smell the scent of a stressed Omega, and I shouldn’t even be able to.” She’s right. Only Alphas and your pack should be able to identify that.

“I know that you’re confused, but I think I may have found a solution for you.” You look over at her from the corner of your eye, sighing. “Is there even a solution at this point? I’ve got nobody to calm it down.” You answer shortly, giving up hope. You had already tried to find packs, especially here on base, but none were too keen on taking in a stray. Your heats, which you fortunately only experienced twice per year, were solved by mere one-night stands with no aftercare. It left you broken, but it especially broke your Omega. It was hurt, and had nobody to seek help from. The nurse brings you out of your thoughts once more. “Don’t get all caught up in those depressive thoughts. You know that Lieutenant that you slightly …reacted towards?”

“...That’s a fancy way of saying it. But yes, I do. Why, what about him?” You cringe, cheeks turning vibrant as you think back. He’d taken the last protein bar. And you’d growled. You sigh and rub your forehead, and the nurse chuckles. “I didn’t mean to make you think back, since you seem to have taken it so hard. What happened wasn’t your fault.” She goes over to the bag, that’s still laying on the floor, and pulls out the notebook she had been using to write down your symptoms. She walks over to the bed while flipping to another page, sitting down and showing you the messy writing while explaining. “His Captain knows about you. You’d apparently been on his list of people he might interview for the 141, but when you started reacting this badly to scents, he decided to keep an eye on you. I contacted him before I got here and told him my suspicions, and he’s happy to help.”

You swear that your cheeks are going to ignite. All of this came to you as a shock – you’d been on his list, he kept an eye on you, he wanted to help you? The thoughts were rushing through your head all at once. The nurse visibly saw it on your face and put one of her hands on your shoulder gently. Her gaze was reaffirming, calming, as she spoke. “He’s a Captain, he knows what he’s doing. He’s been taking in strays since he joined the military – I can guarantee that he will take care of you.”

After some more conversing you found out that the nurse had already booked a meeting, on your behalf, with said Captain. She said that it was better for you to meet him as soon as possible, so she booked it for this evening. Sigh. You had no time to prepare yourself for what was about to happen, no time to gather your thoughts, as you decided to go to his office immediately. He’d apparently never said when this evening, so as you knocked on his door, you hoped you’d arrived at a suitable time. After an awkward second of waiting outside his door, the handle lowered. The high-pitched squeaking of the hinges slowly grew as the door opened wider, and revealed Captain Price.

He was a huge man, standing tall and wide in the doorway. His size was anticipated however, due to his secondary gender. Large muscles protruded faintly from his tight long-sleeve, cargo pants stretching tightly around his thighs. Jeez. Did this man even buy clothes his own size? His hair was ruffled slightly, some spiky ends pointing in all directions. His beard, however, was well groomed, showing off his lips as he smiled.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Come in.” He rumbles, quite literally. His voice was deep, tone commanding, as you stepped inside his office. As soon as you stepped over the threshold, his smell hit you like a shockwave. You were sure that you could smell coffee and leather, but there was just too much. It overwhelmed you, making you immediately cover the lower half of your face with the thick hoodie you’re wearing, to escape the odor. It worked to an extent, but it certainly wasn’t enough to block it out. Price noticed what was happening, and studied you as he walked over to his office chair. “Had some Betas in here for a while, thought that it would drown my scent out enough for you to be comfortable. Guess it didn’t work then, did it?”

“No, sir.” You mumble from underneath the hoodie, standing straight, muscles tense. You really didn’t want to be here, in a room all alone with someone who could overpower you within a few seconds. An Alpha that you’d never met before, your superior, that you barely knew the motives of. You had no idea how he acted – had no idea what he was like in general, and it made you nervous.

Price knew it too. The way the scent in the room was drastically changing from his own to one of chemicals proved an Omega in distress, but what gave it away was your tense shoulders and knees, as well as the way you wouldn’t make eye contact.

“You seem uncomfortable.” He says, looking at your eyes from across the office table. It was decorated with the usual office stuff: Pencils, ballpoint pens, a monitor, and a few small plastic plants.

“I… I don’t really know what to do,” you speak up after a few seconds, words once again muffled by your hoodie. You looked up at him, finding his gaze already set on you and observing you. He sighs, leans back in his chair, and spreads his legs slightly. “I know that we’re not pack, and that this may make you uncomfortable, but you have to try. Let’s just… get to know each other, yeah? Then we’ll take it from there.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was difficult not to trust Price, even with how tense you were. His gentle and caring demeanor helped you relax enough to be able to sit next to him in the uncomfortable leather couch that stood in a corner in his office. It was thoroughly used, cracks decorating the leather, branching out like lightning over the worn material. You wonder what had made it so appealing in the first place as you shift uncomfortably, your back feeling like you’d sat against a brick wall for hours on end. You both had managed to keep a steady conversation going since you first arrived, but your squirming interrupted the mood.

“...Uncomfortable?”

As he speaks, you swear that you could see a shiny glint of mischief in his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, promptly replaced by a neutral look that you couldn’t interpret. You sighed quietly, faking a smile and shaking your head. As you did, he smirked somewhat, looking away from you and shaking his head as the smirk grew. He could see right through you. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. We both know that’s not true, love.”

The nickname had, what you assumed was, the desired effect. Cheeks hot, you look up at him, puzzled. He looks back at you, his gentle eyes reassuring you once more. The eye contact is intense – and eventually, his scent gets more intense. You could feel the beginning of an itch in your throat, making you draw back and raise the collar of your hoodie above your nose. He looked slightly disappointed at your retreat, but gathered himself quickly. He cleared his throat, gaze diverting from you. “Let’s not circle around the elephant in the room any more than necessary. You need me to take care of you, correct?”

“...I mean, according to the nurse, yes.” You mutter out from underneath the hoodie, turning slightly grumpy at the thought. You’d been so invested in the conversation that you’d forgotten why you were here in the first place. He rumbles a singular hum at your wording, interested. “But not according to you, then?”

It was like he could open your skull, reading thought after thought as if you were a simple book. You supposed it was natural considering his position, but it still felt eerie. “No. I don’t feel stressed.”

“You’re out of your mind – straight nonsense, that is.” He chuckles, voice rumbling, almost reverberating inside his chest cavity. His lips were stretched thin as he genuinely smiled, looking up and in your eyes a short moment later. “The scent of stressed Omega is practically drowning me, inside my own office, Sergeant. Are you really so sure that you aren’t stressed?”

You huff at him and look away, eyebrows scrunching slightly as you close your eyes. He was good company at first, but now you just wanted to leave. He could most likely feel the scent of stress increasing, fighting his instincts to care, making him squeeze his eyes shut and lower his head. He let out a deep sigh. “Just let me try to help. If it doesn’t work, no harm done. If it does work, you’ll be able to live normally again.”

“So much for living normally in this line of work.” You shoot him a glare from the corner of your eye, much to his disappointment. He raises his eyebrows as he keeps a neutral expression. You huff once more, obviously not keen on his idea. “What are you even going to do? How are you going to help me?”

“Me? I’m not going to be doing so much.” His gravelly voice boomed cooly. You look over at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

He seemed oddly comfortable on the unbearable couch, gaze cool and steady. His body was wide, legs parted, taking up as much space as possible. He was so confident, and it somehow made you feel… safe? He slowly spoke again, calmly, as if he didn’t want to upset you with what he was about to say. “You’ll have to kneel for me, Sergeant.”

Kneeling. It was something you’d never done before. It was the ultimate act of trust between Omega and Alpha – explaining why you’d never experienced it. You had never had someone to trust enough to kneel for, especially not within the military. The thought of kneeling in front of Captain Price, someone you’d met just a few hours ago, was dizzying. Your eyebrows scrunched, not sure how to react to such a thing. “Kneel?”

“Yeah. Kneel. You know how it works.” Thing is, you don’t. How are you supposed to know when you’ve never done it before? You suspect that Price reads you once more as you glare over at him. His eyes widen – in remorse or something else, you don’t know – as he raises his chin slightly. He keeps his eyes on you, observing, but eventually lets out a sigh. “Guess it was stupid of me to assume. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through it – it’s as simple as it sounds.”

“It sounds sexual.” You sigh, as he grabs a soft pillow from the couch and puts it on the floor between his spread legs. He lets out a small chuckle, and looks up at you as he prepares. “Yeah. It’s going to look sexual too, love, but you’ll just have to trust me with this.”

He finishes quickly, somehow managing to find a comfortable position on the couch. His legs are spread wide, ready to accommodate you in between them. You blush once more, realizing that you’re basically going to have his crotch in your face.

You immediately try to stop your train of thought, eyes widening as you realize the scent in the room is changing. You can’t identify it, but Price sure can; pupils blown as he looks over at you from the corner of his eye. “Don’t do that if you don’t want this to have a completely different outcome.”

After stalling a few times, you finally dare to drop to your knees on the pillow. You were completely rigid, muscles filled to the brim with tension. Price immediately tries to get your attention. “Hey, look at me,” He orders, and as you obey, he rewards you, “there you go, just like that.”

The praise gave you goosebumps. You were now looking up at his eyes, pupils expanding as you soak up the praise. He smiles and nods once down at you, rewarding you for listening. “Good job. Now, I’m just going to do something real quick, and you’ll feel very good. Trust me.”

The position you were in made you trust him, made you obey his commands. You had no idea if it was instinctual or if you were just depraved, but at this point you didn’t care. It felt good to kneel for him, and the praise was just an extra bonus. You nodded slowly at his words, and after your confirmation, he started slowly moving his right hand towards the left side of your neck. As his fingers grazed your bare throat, you could feel his scent growing sweeter. Instead of bitter coffee, he now smelled like sweet chamomile tea – making you drowsy. You could feel a pressure that you didn’t know existed in your airways die down, and all of a sudden, you could breathe.

His palm was now gently laying on the left side of your neck, and your eyes slowly started closing. He was murmuring sweet praise constantly, telling you how good you were for him, and how everything was going to be okay. Suddenly, his hand moved slightly up to your scent gland, and pushed on it ever so slightly. The sensation left you speechless, only capable of releasing a relaxed sigh as you push your neck further into his palm. What you couldn’t currently see due to your closed eyes, was the proud smile Price was wearing. He knew that if you could purr, you definitely would. The expression on your face was just pure relaxation as you float – experiencing a heavenly, ethereal feeling that was unknown to you. Price continued murmuring those sweet words, and you couldn’t think straight anymore.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t know how much time has passed. You must’ve fallen asleep, since you woke up leaning on Price’s left thigh. You could feel a large and warm hand on your head, holding you steady against his thigh so you wouldn’t topple over. You gradually open your eyes, pupils trying to adjust to the harsh lightning as you do.

“G’morning.” Price’s voice affectionately murmurs down at you, starting to stroke your hair slowly as you adjust. “How’re you feeling?”

“...Tingly.” You respond quietly, almost in a whisper. The Captain chuckles, and you look up at him softly as he keeps stroking your head. His voice is intentionally soft, not wanting to accidentally startle you. “I wasn’t expecting an answer. Post-kneeling is always difficult for Omegas to describe.”

As you slowly woke up and regained your rational way of thinking, you noticed that you smelled entirely of Price. There wasn’t a single hint of your smell left, and you looked up at him, blushing. “Did… Did you scent me?”

His eyes widen and look down at you almost immediately. He scoffs, shakes his head, and looks away once more. “No, I absolutely would not scent you without your permission. You might smell like me after the kneeling, though.”

Price desperately tried to ignore his instincts. You, a stray Omega, definitely looking for a pack and a mate, smelling just like him. His Alpha took that as a sign that he’d claimed you, and Price tried, with all his might, to prevent himself from escalating the currently wholesome situation to something… not-so-wholesome.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were surprisingly content half-asleep between his legs, sometimes dozing off enough for you to almost fall over. But, all things have to come to an end, and sooner than later you were being escorted out of Price’s office by the man himself.

It was difficult to say goodbye. You two had just done something that you couldn’t undo, made an unbreakable bond, practically tying you two together with a short invisible string that couldn’t be cut. You both knew it – yet, there were no regrets.

As you step over the threshold after saying your goodbyes, Price’s hand stops you by grabbing your shoulder. You turn around curiously, looking up at him with wide, expecting eyes. “Meet me here at six, tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got good news for you.”

You got the job that Price had originally put you on the list for, and soon after, you met the 141 for the first time. They all looked at you curiously – you smelled just like their Captain, after all. After sparing a glance over at said looming – seemingly protective – alpha, they managed to piece it together.

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doomsday-dj · 1 month

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Decorative Grapes Rizzoli & Isles Rating: T Words: 3157 (This isn't any of the things that I said I was working on but I hope you all like it anyway!)

“I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling. Everytime we see her at one of these she’s with that detective of hers and she’s practically stuck on her like a stamp. They’re always touching each other.”

“Honestly. It’s blatant. ‘This is my colleague,’ and ‘have you met my friend,’ as if anyone with eyes couldn’t tell she and that guard dog of a woman are intimately acquainted.”

“Mmm. Truthfully, I certainly wouldn’t object to being familiar with her ‘colleague.’ If it were me I’d let everyone know.”

“God, you’re truly beyond hope. Regardless, whether she wants it or not, everybody does know.”

Maura hears a heavy door open and close and the sound of fading laughter. A very welcome silence follows, a signal that she’s once again alone in the bathroom. Eyes closed, body trembling, she leans back against the smooth metal wall of the stall she’s been hiding in.

Ten minutes ago, Maura’s phone had pinged with an urgent email from the governor’s office and she’d excused herself from Jane’s company to find a quiet place to respond. She’d been tapping away in the bathroom when the women had entered, her presence silent enough that they clearly thought they were alone. Neither had needed the facilities for any of their traditional uses, leaving Maura with the devastating conclusion that their only reason for coming into the bathroom was to gossip about her.

Maura tries her best not to cry. She presses a cool hand first to her throat, then her cheek, trying to relieve some of the heat that has gathered beneath her skin. She’s absolutely burning up, flushed with embarrassment and shame at what she’d just overheard.

The conversation was such a cruel confirmation of what Maura has long been fearing. She already knew she relies too much on Jane’s company at these events, but thanks to those loudmouthed women she now also knows she’s been doing a terrible job of hiding her ever growing affection for Jane.

Maura breathes in for four seconds, holds her breath for seven, and then exhales for eight. She does it again as she exits the stall to wash her hands and again as she presses a piece of damp paper towel to her still-flushed chest and neck.

When the reflection in the mirror looks sufficiently calm, if still a bit ruddy, she exits the bathroom. As Maura anxiously scopes out the event space, she realizes that the worst part is she hasn’t the first idea about which two women were talking about her.

She zeros in on Jane lingering by where a dessert buffet has been set out on one side of the ballroom. She’s easy to spot: her height and her wild hair and her suit all readily mark her as different. It’s Jane’s nicest suit, which Maura appreciates, but with the caterers in tuxedos, Jane is unquestionably the least fancy person in the room. Maura loves that. She loves her. Jane diligently comes with her to every charity auction and gallery opening, unselfconsciously rubbing shoulders with her acquaintances and serving as her social interaction sounding board and shield, and all Maura has done to repay her is get her name dragged through the mud.

Maura makes her way over quickly. Jane seems to know on instinct when Maura is close and turns to face her just as Maura makes her final approach. Jane’s warm smile, usually so effective at making Maura feel at ease, causes a lurch of guilt in her stomach.

“Oh, hey,” Jane greets her. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party. Do you think these grapes are decorative?” Jane nods her head at the selection of desserts.

“I’m—sorry?” Maura trips around the prepared apology that had been on the tip of her tongue, rehearsed several times on her way across the ballroom.

“The grapes,” Jane says. “You think they’re for eating?”

Maura blinks twice and follows Jane’s gaze to where many bunches of grapes adorn the dessert table.

“I think they’re quite clearly real grapes, Jane,” Maura says slowly.

“Yeah, genius, I know that part.” The words themselves are a little harsh but Jane’s voice is filled with that affectionate teasing that seems to be reserved just for Maura, a tone that makes it very clear that when Jane says ‘genius’ she means it. She’s still carefully examining the arrangement of grapes. “But are they decorative. They’re not even on the plates, they’re just like all around the plates. Is that something rich people do? I don’t want to look like some idiot townie who can’t tell a dessert from a garnish.”

Maura’s mouth opens and closes a few times. She’d worked up quite a head of steam on her way over and now instead she’s being called on to give expert testimony on grapes. Maura looks at the table again and takes the task seriously.

“They’re probably intended mostly as decoration,” Maura admits.

Jane weighs Maura’s perspective heavily and then shakes her head. “That’s dumb, I’m still eating them.”

Decisive as always, Jane reaches down with slender fingers and plucks a small bunch of the darkest grapes, dusty blue-purple in colour, and plops them on her plate. She tosses one in her mouth and makes a deep, satisfied noise as she nods solemnly, visibly pleased with her choice.

“Anyway, what’s up with you?” Jane says. She glances over at Maura as she slips another grape in her mouth. Maura watches it disappear before looking back into Jane’s eyes with a hint of panic. “You look stressed and you walked over here in that tight little way you do when you’ve got a test result I’m going to hate.”

“What—I do not—tight?” Maura sputters.

“Yeah, like, pinched.” Jane lifts her shoulders into a tense shrug, demonstrating. “And you walk really fast with short little steps.”

Maura scoffs in offense but resists the urge to launch into a vigorous denial. While she’d very much like to defend her honour, or at least the length of her strides, she knows that if she gets into an argument with Jane she might never get to what she really needs to say. She sighs instead.

“Jane, I have to tell you something.”

Jane’s head dips at the weight of Maura’s voice, concern shading her features. She glances around, then takes Maura by the elbow and draws her away from the dessert table, moving to a more private spot off to the side of the ballroom.

“What’s up? What happened?” Jane’s deep brown eyes search Maura’s face, her hand still holding Maura’s arm. Maura chews her lower lip nervously. She’d figured out exactly how she wanted to say this when she was crossing the ballroom but now the only thing in her head is the different varietals of grapes that are on that stupid table. She’s just going to have to wing it.

“Jane, I overheard two women gossiping about us in the bathroom. I can’t apologize enough and if I’d had any idea that…well, I’m just very sorry. But unfortunately, everyone thinks you and I are together.”

Jane’s features, which had creased with concern when Maura began talking, smooth out in relief. “Well, sure.” Jane breathes out a sigh. “Of course they do.”

Maura blinks, first confused, then frustrated. She must not have said it right. Why can’t she be better at these things?

“No, Jane,” Maura says seriously. “I mean romantically. They think we’re dating.”

Jane stares at Maura. “Right, yeah. Obviously.”

Maura is dumbfounded. Obviously? Her expression must be broadcasting her bewilderment because Jane’s face crinkles with tender concern. It’s one of Maura’s favourites from the catalog of Jane’s expressions she’s learned to recognize. While plenty of people have looked at her with concern in her life, it has almost always been the pitying or morbid kind, and Jane’s feels like the sun. Maura basks in it.

“You don’t mind?” Maura asks, eyes wide with surprise and relief.

“Maur,” Jane starts softly. Her hand is still on Maura’s elbow and her thumb rubs a soothing circle against the soft skin of Maura’s upper arm. “I do mind that they’re talking about you behind your back. That’s rude as hell. But the fact that they think we’re a couple?” Jane shrugs. “What else are they gonna think? Every single time you’re at one of these things I’m with you. We show up together, we leave together, we spend most of our time together. It’s like…girlfriend or bodyguard, those are the options people are going to come up with.”

“That’s absurd.” Maura exclaims and, although she doesn’t want to be, she knows she’s probably coming off a little frantic. Her heart started racing when Jane said ‘girlfriend’ and hasn’t stopped. “Why isn’t ‘friend’ an option? Because that’s the truth, we’re friends.”

“I dunno, I think bodyguard is a little true, too,” Jane says wryly and lets go of Maura’s arm to pop another grape in her mouth. Maura shoots her a look.

“Jane, I’m serious. Just because two people…” Maura sighs. “So we spend a lot of time together, so what? They shouldn’t leap to conclusions like that.”

Jane makes a noncommittal noise in response. She sets her plate of grapes down and stares out onto the dance floor where couples have started swaying around to the jazzy house band that began playing after dinner. After a silent moment she looks back to Maura.

“You wanna dance?” Jane asks. Maura looks at her incredulously and Jane offers another shrug in return. “I mean, they’re gonna think it either way, so you might as well get to dance. You always say how you want to.” She holds out her hand, palm up, and Maura stares at it like she’s never seen one before in her life.

“I…okay,” Maura says dumbly. She places her hand in Jane’s and allows herself to be led out onto the dance floor. She feels immediately like every eye in the room is on them but when she glances around she finds that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Then she’s in Jane’s arms.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jane asks at the same time that her hand slides around to the small of Maura’s back, her other hand still clasping Maura’s and raising it up. Maura can’t pretend she isn’t shocked that Jane is this confident about dancing. She stares at Jane in a daze.

“Sure, yes.” Maura swallows with some difficulty and slides her hand up Jane’s arm until it winds over her shoulder. Jane’s eyebrow twitches just slightly and the smile on her face is not one that Maura can easily identify. She’s not sure she’s seen it before. Jane begins to sway them around the floor, sweeping her gaze around the room before settling it back on Maura.

“If there was a woman who came to all of these events, each time with the same man, and she spent all her time with him and they came and left in the same car and everything we do, what would you think?”

Maura looks up into Jane’s questioning face and presses her lips into a thin line. She blushes a bit. “I get what you’re trying to say, Jane, and you’re right, I’d think they were together. But all I’m taking away from that point is that one shouldn’t make assumptions about pairs of differing genders either.”

“That probably is the right lesson,” Jane says as she spins them slowly around. Maura thinks they might be pressed even closer together than when they started. No, she’s sure of it, actually, because she can no longer look Jane in the eye without craning her neck and Jane’s lips are startling close to Maura’s ear when she starts talking again. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes.” Maura really doesn’t mean for it to come out so huskily.

“Ignoring that lesson you just learned…if you had a friend, a male best friend, and he spent all his time with you and made you come to his dive bar with him and drove to your house every morning for fancy coffee before work even though he’d happily drink instant and has a well documented hatred for getting up earlier than he has to…”

It’s not exactly a subtle beginning on Jane’s part and Maura has already lost the ability to regulate her breathing. She’s trying not to dig her fingers into Jane’s neck but she’s not quite sure how to keep upright if she doesn’t hold onto something. She feels the arm around her waist tighten just slightly before Jane continues.

“...If, hypothetically, he’d run a marathon for you, pretend to be your lover to discourage a truly disgusting mechanic he definitely warned you about, and of course fill his nights with every charitable event in the Boston elite’s social calendar… What would you think?”

Maura can’t believe what she’s hearing. She especially can’t believe Jane Rizzoli just said lover.

“Jane,” Maura exhales quietly. She wants to lean back and look Jane in the eyes, verify that all of this is really happening, convince herself that she didn’t fall and hit her head in the bathroom prompting some very vivid auditory hallucinations, but Jane’s hand slides up to the middle of her back and holds her firmly in place.

“What would you think, Maura?” Jane’s voice is low and her breath is hot against Maura’s cheek. She shivers and grips the collar of Jane’s jacket so, so tight.

“I would think he wants me.” It’s barely louder than a whisper but Maura feels like she’s shouting.

“Hm,” Jane says, sounding sage, as if she’d just uncovered some difficult mathematical proof. “I think you’d probably be right.”

This time when Maura tries to lean back, Jane lets her, her hand returning to the small of Maura’s back except a little bit lower than it was before. Jane has that same mysterious smile from earlier and now Maura’s starting to get a sense of what this one means.

She has no less than a thousand questions about this revelation but it’s not difficult to pick out the most important one.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Maura carefully searches Jane’s expression, which turns bashful. Jane looks awkward and vulnerable and it’s painfully sweet. Maura can hardly fathom that Jane is still managing to dance them around the room.

“I tried to,” Jane says a bit helplessly. “Well—I tried to show you. I’m not very good with words. Unfortunately you’re not always so good without them. But I thought…you know, all that stuff you said about the signs of attraction, I thought you’d see my eyeballs having contractions and stuff.”

“Facial muscles,” Maura murmurs.

“Whatever,” Jane says, then clears her throat. They finally come to a stop but they don’t quite disengage, their clasped hands dropping to their sides while their other arms remain around each other. Jane’s eyes dart around uncomfortably. “Well anyway, now you know. I guess that’s also why I don’t really mind if everyone mistakenly thinks we’re dating.”

“Would you mind if they weren’t mistaken?” Maura asks, slipping her hand free. She can feel Jane’s fingers twitch at the loss.

“Of course not.” Jane frowns, offended at the implication. “If you want to clear things up with everyone, of course you should. Take an ad out in the next newsletter if you need to.”

“No, I don’t—that’s not what I meant.” Maura slides her hand from around Jane's shoulder to grasp one of the lapels on Jane’s blazer, her unoccupied hand coming up to take hold of the other. “I mean, what if—”

Maura wants to finish her sentence, she really does, but when she drops her gaze from Jane’s eyes to her mouth her fingers start tugging down on the collar of Jane’s jacket and she’s just going to have to show Jane instead, like Jane had tried to show her.

And she really had, hadn’t she? There will be time later to reflect on all the signs she missed but for now, Maura kisses Jane, lightly brushing their lips together once, twice, then tilting her head and slotting her mouth confidently against Jane’s. There’s the briefest moment of shock where Jane’s whole body goes rigid and then she melts into the contact and it sparks electricity up and down Maura’s spine. The hand that isn’t wrapped around Maura’s waist finds its place at the back of Maura’s neck, resting strong and possessive.

Jane tastes like grapes and their kiss is a relief and a thrill and a confirmation. When Jane makes a quiet, hungry sound deep in her throat it nearly extinguishes any consideration for social etiquette on Maura’s part. Despite the very public circumstances of their first kiss, Maura so badly wants to bite down on Jane’s tender lower lip, lick along the seam of Jane’s closed mouth and waste no time when she opens it. She wants to press herself against Jane’s strong thigh and goad Jane until she pushes Maura up against the nearest wall. More than anything, Maura wants to give those two women something to really talk about. She does none of those things, of course, if only because Constance Isles has many friends in this room and that’s not a phone call Maura is interested in having. She does, however, prolong the kiss as long as she reasonably can before breaking off with a sharp sigh, her eyes squeezed shut. For a moment everything is still.

“Hey,” Jane says carefully, nervously. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay.” Maura opens her eyes to find Jane’s looking the softest she’s ever seen them. She thinks her heart might burst. “I just… Well. While I’m obviously no longer worried about the spreading of false gossip, I’m still upset that they think I’m trying to hide it.”

Jane scrunches her face into a skeptical expression. “Oh, I really doubt they’re going to think that after you kissed me in the middle of the dance floor.”

Maura blushes and glances around and this time she does spot a few sets of eyes looking quickly away. She probably will be getting that phone call after all. She releases her grip on Jane’s jacket, smoothing the creases away with the palms of her hands before looking up into the open, caring face of her best friend. Part of her feels like she should be reeling from a seismic change in their relationship, but the whole thing just feels so overwhelmingly correct and Maura finds she can only think about one thing.

So she gives Jane’s shoulder a small shove.

“I don’t have a pinched walk, by the way.” Maura pouts.

“Oh my god, yes you do,” Jane says, reaching for Maura’s hand and winding their fingers together again. “You can’t help it, it’s how you were raised. Let’s go home and I’ll show you my impression.”

#rizzles #rizzoli and isles #femslash #f/f fanfic #f/f #f/f romance #maura isles #jane rizzoli #rizzles fanfic #rizzoli and isles fanfiction

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randomreadingtimewithtsuki · 16 days

Note

Idk I thought this idea might be cute:

Rin, Shima and any of the other cram school kids: their crush falls asleep on their shoulder while studying 🥺

🩵😺

Hello!

Thank you for requesting ad forgive for the delay! Ihave been extremily busy at work :c

Anyway! I hope you enjoy what i have to offer, please let me know what you think!

Tsuki's note: Reader is a exorcist here. Also i picked Ryuji. For Shima's i will let you run wild with whatever shennanigans you may think they went through.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rin

You often helped Rin study.

It didn't even need to be close to exam week for you to be with him, studying.

The boy was trying his best!

Doing his homework with you and stuff.

Today you were helping him with some extra work Yukio gave him - according to his little brother, Rin's grade were too bad and he needed extra lessons to fixate the subject.

you had explained it to him a couple of times and was just watching him do the quizzes.

You were exhausted. You had recently come back from a mission, but you insisted on helped Rin.

Yukio only gave two days to finish the regular work + extra, so...

You were peaking over his shoulder to take a look at his answers.

At time you would make him questions to confuse him on purpose - If he truly learned, then he would be able to correct you or question you.

Which he did fairly ok.

As he went on getting the quiz right you started to feel your heavy.

It didn't help he was really warm - like a fuzzy blanket.

You also felt safe, much so people dismay.

You soon fell asleep.

Rin notice your lack of replies as he asked you a question.

He turned his head to see you leaning on his shoulder.

Your cheek were pressed against the side of his arm and you were snoring lightly.

Rin chuckled to himself calling you a silly person for coming to help him even though you were so tired.

He also felt his face burn and reach 5 shades of red. But his stare at you was very kind and loving.

He thought a little bit what he should do - stay still or carry you to his bed?

He finally made his mind that allowing you to rest on his bed would be the best for your back and neck.

Rin gently lifted you on his arms and placed you as carefully as he could on his bed.

You showed signs of being kind of awake, but Rin soon soothed you while covering you with a blanket.

The boy admired you for a moment there then, in jolted , decided to try hard at his work for your sake!

By the time you woke up, Rin was fast asleep on his table, but all of his assignment were done. A bit wet from his drooling but done.

Your turn to place a blanket around him.

And so you went with Kuro to fetch something for you three to eat.

Shima ( Renzo)

You were helping him study to catch up on a pushiment that Yukio gave him - to a write a massive essay about a very rare and specific demon.

The boy could be a massive coward at times and have a terrible grade.

Other times he was oddly brave and clever, go figure.

Renzo was whinnying the whole time about how unfair this was - he wasn't the only involved in the incident, the other boys were there too!

You sighed and hit his head with rolled paper sheet - no use complaining now, what is done, is done.

You were helping read the books to gather info on this demon, but his attention wasn't that great, he often flirted with you.

He eventually complained you were being too cold with him by just giving the books some attention.

So you decided to sit next to him - shoulder touching shoulder.

This made him blush a bit and get his ears red.

The boy still played it cool, kinda of.

Being this close you pointed out things for him to take note about the demon.

It was a lengthy and tiring process.

Finally he had all the notes, just had to write in an essay shape!

While he was at it, Renzo would sometimes chitchat about something with you.

You were leaning your head on the palm of your hand and soon enough your eyes got heavy.

You ended up dozing off and your head slightly leaning on the boy's shoulder.

The sudden tough made him call for you.

No answer. No called again and looking to his side, only find you gently leaning on his shoulder sleeping.

Renzo laughed to himself, he thought you were so so cute for dozing off like that.

He tried to stay still to best of his powers!

Often times he would think about grabbing our other hand - it was in sight and not far.

Just imagining how nice it would be if he could actually hold your hand....

These thoughts made his ears go red and silly appear on his face.

He allowed you to stay there until you woke up.

By the time you did he, once more, tried a picked up line along of " i didn't know you felt THAT safe, maybe i am your knight in shinning armour"

Which you replied by going red, slapping his head and walking away.

Completely worth it, on his eyes. Your cute blushing face was the high point of the day.

Ryuji

Neither of you needed that much help studying.

You met Ryuji in the school's yard.

He said he had to study "in peace" which probably meant he wanted to be alone or away from Rin and Renzo.

You offered to make him some company!

He reluctantly agreed, to your surprise - as long as you stay quiet, that is.

You decided to read a book while he studied on the yard.

At first you were seated next to each other, but then with time you ended up leaning on his shoulder.

Ryuji was surprised by feeling you lean on his him so suddenly, to the point of complaining about it.

You giggled and explained your reasoning.

As a response you got a sigh from him and a red ear, even though you couldn't see it.

The shade of the trees and the breeze made you fall asleep.

At one point Ryuji called out to you, he wanted to stretch a bit.

You didn't reply.

He called again and look at you, only to find you slightly snoring sleeping.

He sighed again and just watched you for a moment.

His face heating up.

The boy finally decided to let you be.

His arm was tingling, but you looked awfully peaceful.

It took him a while to go back to studying - you were so distracting.

When you woke up, Ryuji teased you without taking his eyes out of the book - " hey, you up sleeping beauty?"

the reason why his eyes didn't raise from the book is because his face would burn at the sight of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!

I hope you have enjoyed!

#ao no exorcist x reader #ao no exorcist #okumura rin x reader #Shime renzo x reader #Suguro ryuji x reader #ane x reader #blue exorcist x reader

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lady-ashfade · 1 year

Text

The squirrel

Poly!Lockwood&co x Fem!reader

The reader is a pretty pink baby in this, also kinda dumb and innocent. So, she’s princess.

This is short but fluffy, and kinda on crack

Warnings: Non

“Put that down!” George shouted as he slapped a cookie out of lockwoods hand. “Ow, what’s your problem?” The boy groaned and rub his hand, lucy watched from the table with a amused smile at the boys. “They are only for our darling. Do you not remember how she gets when she’s not the first one to try them.” He reminded his boyfriend.

Anthony titled his head and remembered how pouty and annoyed you get, but the pout on your lips was the cutest. “What ever, she better get down here soon or they’re all mine.” He chuckled and sat down beside lucy at the table. Lucy laughed with him as they both watched Georges nose wrinkle up at the thought.

“You’ll have to deal with her tantrum.” He stated and turned around to make the tea. Lucy took Anthony hand in hers as she continued to read the paper looking for a new case. “Guys!” They jumped out of their skin as the kitchen door slammed open and almost made a dent in the wall.

“Watch the door!” Anthony shouted a bit but couldn’t help but smile at her, she was dressed in a pretty pink dress. Y/n looked at the door and back to them apologetically, but then her face went back to pure delight. “Okay, so there was this squirrel out the window and then it looked at me.” She rabble out quietly and they were surprised they understood.

“And I got closer and it didn’t even move, so I opened the window to see what it would do- Is that cookies?” She asked when she saw the pan full of cookies. “Yes, they are for you.” George smiled and handed her one which she took happily. “Awe thank you.” She kissed his cheek and began taking big bites. They watched as she got lost in her thoughts and zoned out while eating the cookie.

“Baby, you were telling us a story?” Lucy asked getting the girls attention. She snapped out of her thoughts and giggled, “Sorry, anyway so I opened the window and then it jumped in-” Lockwood cut her off by sitting up. “Is it still in the house?” He asked as she looked right at him.

She tried to stop herself from smiling but failed, she crosses her legs and tried to give him puppy eyes. “No…” she lied to him but they saw right through it, she was not a good lier. George put his arm around her waist, “Is there a rodent in the house?” The curly headed boy ask her. The girl looked at him and nodded.

“Yes, but don’t-” she saw lockwood get up and go towards the door. She rushed in front of him and smiled. “It’s so cute you can’t hurt it, it wouldn’t bother anything.” He looked down and saw her pout, he looked at her lips and the little expression on her face. He sighed and rolled his eyes, “You’re adorable,” he grabbed her chin and kissed her as she smiled thinking she had him.

“But there’s no chance that a squirrel is living here.” He carefully pushed her out of the way and went out the door. “But-” her mouth was covered and she looked back to see Lucy behind her. “Baby, it doesn’t belong in here. It needs to live out in the wild, he wouldn’t hurt it I promise.” She looked at her softly.

“Fine.” She huffed and crossed her arms and made the other girl coo at her. “Eat your breakfast, I’ll watch over lockwood.” Lucy kissed y/ns cheek and walked out the door. The girl looked at George and saw him already looking at her with his brows raised, she rolled her eyes as he began to speak.

“A squirrel? Really, pumpkin you need to think these things through.” He grabbed the plate he made for her and placed it on the table as she sat down. “It looked at me with these adorable eyes! I needed to pet it.” George couldn’t stay mad at her so he ruffled her hair.

“It wouldn’t even pay rent.” The girl looked at him and hit his arm as he continued to tease her. “Don’t make me put you in timeout-Ow!” She kicked him and laughed as he whined.

“Okay, you’ll get it now.” George smirks as he put his arm around her head and started to mess up her hair and she squirmed and screamed. She laughed but also fought against him to get free but he didn’t give up for a second.

#lockwood netflix #lockwood and co lucy carlyle #poly lockwood and co #poly lockwood & co #george karim x reader #George Karim #lucy carlyle #lucy carlyle x reader #lockwood x reader #Anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #lockwood and co george karim #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood & co x reader

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bokettochild · 6 months

Note

I'd love your commentary on this bit from Footsteps Across History:

“ Bud, ” the rancher emphasizes, but the smile says he knows just what Legend thought he heard. Wild wants to know, he really wants to know. Is it the reason Twilight’s eyes are gentle now when they turn to their brash team-mate?

Zelda, not having witnessed them any other way than here and now, is not so distracted, and instead whips around, eyes sparking even fiercer. “Yes! Please, don your items again!” And then she falters and coughs, “ah, for your own sake, of course.”

The vet smiles at her. Eyes glinting.

Despite himself, despite knowing this is Legend , not the captain, Wild feels the need to sidle just the slightest bit closer to his princess.

As requested though, rings are produced from the bag, and though the vet regards them with something doubtful, something furrowing his brows and tightening the lines of his mouth, no such conflicts arise in the rancher’s eyes. Dark hands scoop the bands up and slide them over gnarled fingers without hesitation, and the effect is near immediate. Color seeps back into the vet’s skin like fire licking across paper. Pale scars fade to highlight instead the generous smatter of freckles dusting across drawn cheeks and long ears. A heavy sigh escapes through lips that touch with color rather than grey and pale like they’d been but a moment later. Legend looks suddenly alive, and- and-

It’s like looking into the cosmos, like an explosion of a star, bright and warm in the room around them. The aura that was curled tight and flickering is suddenly warmth and light and color that spirals out, flowing around them and has sighs escaping from each of the rest of them, even as Zelda’s eyes glitter and her pen works against her notebook near feverishly. It’s a galaxy unfurling into the sky, a bright star shining, returning from the brink of a fiery falling to instead burn bright and strong once more.

Twilight touches a hand to his head, shaking it slightly.

Time stumbles back slightly, startled, but apparently not knowing why.

Wild’s own aura, green and rich and winding, sings in return, reaching out to twine itself close into the starlight that breaks across it. Vines reaching for cosmos and winds singing to endless skies.

The cosmos sings back, and Legend chuckles at him, eyes burning into his own before the guarded veil falls once more.

Ooh! This one was a challenge to write, but some fun too. Flora can be a fun character to play with and this was my first time using her again since.....oof, Whumptober 2021? Yeah, I needed to use her again, so I had fun with this, she also made a great character to help with exposition about some headcannons and stuff in this thing!

Anyways! That opening bit is Legend misheard Twilight the first time and thought he called him "bun" or "bunny" and thus outed him in front of everyone. Twilight is VERY aware of this, hence why he corrects himself, but he still finds it funny. Wild however is NOT aware of this and is thus pretty confused, because when did these two start having secret jokes/teasing methods/healthy chemistry? He wants the T, and the boys aren't spilling, which is just so unfair!

Of course, Zelly over here really has no clue that this isn't a normal sort of interaction between the rancher and the vet, so she doesn't really question it at all and is happy to just move on and ask Legend to use his things. she does care, of course, that he gets better, but the scientist in her also wants to see how this all works! She's a bit flustered, but Legend is just seeing a Zelda being passionate ad awkward and he's humored because she's kinda cute, but like in the way his sister is!

Wild does not realize that Legend is reminded of his sister, he just sees an attractive dude smiling at his princess. Granted, that's his brother, and granted he has context, but there's a part of him that is conscious of Legend's ability to seduce, a skill the vet has accidentally employed frequently and does not realize he possesses. So yeah, Wild's gettind a bit defensive of his grila nd making sure Legend is aware to keep his paws off (not that Legend ever would).

During that though, Twilight is just...not involved. Twilight is perfectly content to move on with the whole "making Legend get better" thing, as is Flora. The vet has some wariness because yes, he understands the fact that using his aids isn't bad (or at least he's starting to understand) but he also has a part of his brain going "we were assigned a task and doing this will complete us from completing the task". His inner programming of "take task, accomplish task, cross task off" is telling him that if he gives up his goal of lasting without his aids, he's thus leaving that task box unchecked forever! And he's not sure if he can handle that. Twilight takes the decision out of his hands though by acting for him, thus ending the internal debate.

Now, i wanna pause in my dissection of the characters' thoughts and actions to focus on one little thing that was in my head the whole bit I wrote this scene. if you've read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe you might remember the bit where Lucy, Susan and Aslan return to the witch's castle and Aslan restores the enchanted prisoners to living forms rather than stone The bit were C.S. Lewis describes the life returning to them always stuck with me; his comparison of fire catching and licking across a bit of newspaper, that's what was in my head here when Legend starts wearing the ring again.

I took the restoration bit as a chance to throw in some of my favorite appearance headcannons for Legend, especially the freckles, because those always make me happy! But I also wanted to focus on the fact that Legend's magical self is also being restored, and since Wild is a magical sensitive being I felt I could talk about the magic auras of the boys here. Was it because I was reading eldritch!Wild right before writing this? Yes.

Legend's magic is like the stars or a galaxy in my mind, meanwhile Wild's is like vines or a forest, all green and twisting and twining (maybe sort of like the Zonai magic appears in the TotK trailers?) I wanted to explore, briefly, the interplay of the two, the fact that they don't mesh, but they co-exist well, much like Legend and Wild, and they sort of complement each other through the fact taht theyre both nature based, but in vastly different, but equally awe inspiring realms of nature.

Legend and Wild are both aware of each others' magics, the fact that theirs are both reaching out, and the fact that the other is responding Flora is as well, but she's already too busy taking notes to express outward excitement. Twilight and Time however are caught off guard and don't fully comprehend the magical explosion happening around them they're magic agacent, but not nearly as magical as our boys, so they can sense it, but they don't know what they're feeling so much.

And that's it! Thanks for sending this one! I really enjoyed picking it apart and explaining things!

#ketto's commentaries #asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu wild #lu twilight #lu flora #ask game

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wmarximoff · 2 years

Text

skeleton in the closet | w. maximoff

|spooktober collection|

summary: life married to Wanda Maximoff is as simple as it gets, and everything is as it should be. but old skeletons in the closet comes to light in your hometown, where the two of you lived during your teenage years, when the body of Pietro Maximoff, Wanda's twin brother, is found after nearly twenty years of being missing.

warnings (18+): dark!reader, dark!Wanda, explicit description of stabbing, explicit description of blood, explicit description of dead body, manipulation, explicit description of physical violence, allusions to homophobia.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 8k

A/N: and we're finally on spooktober, guys! seriously, i'm really excited for the fics to come this month. so, to get a sense of what our vibe's gonna be like from now on, i think this story is a good starting point (but remember that if dark things aren't exactly your cup of tea, you don't need to read this)

|main masterlist| |spooktober masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

The autumnal chills made the lapels of your coat rustle against your chest. The transition to the cold climate began to gradually slip through the daily life, and the dark nights came to establish their veil into the beautiful celestial vault dazzles. Leaves taking on earthy tones fell from the trees like sand spilled over desert dunes. The birds returned south in flocks. It was October, as so many others had been and so many more would be. Soon it would be time to pick pumpkins and try to find god knows where a cloak for Billy's sorcerer costume.

As you unlocked the hardwood door dyed a deep pearly white color, entering your small family capsule, cloistered in the depths of a quiet neighborhood, turning with your right wrist clockwise twice at a broken one hundred and eighty degree angle, you found your nose greeted by an enticing aroma of food fresh from the oven, which in response had your stomach churning like a wild buffalo inside your abdomen.

The long rainy morning and the even lengthier gray afternoon had worn you down as a member of the working class, it’s true – your spine leaning against the hard back of the swivel chair, blinking slowly with your bright, demanding eyes, intent on your own words, wondering about your work displayed on the thin monitor sprinkled in its frame by notes on small yellow pieces of paper. Acting as if the internet and blogging hadn't incited an unrestrained crash in your job market.

That typical office job worthy of a big-city journalist's career (articles, write articles for the Daily Bugle, thank J. Jonah Jameson so the mustachioed bastard gives you a raise) that at the end of the day goes back to their residential neighborhood that didn't feel like it should exist in the bowels of New York, to sit in a leather armchair and open a cold beer with a hard click. But at that time of year, beer could well be switched for a steaming mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon swimming in the thickly sweetened brew.

You, however, still within your archetypal office journalist, only craved for a few silent minutes in your wife's arms in search of some comfort in your soul, because your marriage was not bankrupt as your profession made it seem as it was. Wanda still loved you as much as she had almost two decades ago, and you could only breathe if your wife gave you permission to do so. Everything seemed to be as it always should be.

You then hung your keys right next to the door, rotating both your shoulders out of the dark linen coat Wanda had told you once made you look like a stern, sexy college professor, playing with the authority worthy of a title you didn't really hold; it was your wife who did it, after all, and she allowed you to steal that coat tucked on her hanger because she said it looked better on you anyway – even though you only knew that something frugally possessive about Wanda liked to see you in her clothes, exhaling the soft floral effluvia of her perfume as if to mark her territory on your body.

Your breath still gave indications of warm, full-bodied coffee, a trace of that busy afternoon that needed some sort of stimulant—a drink from a plastic cup with your name written on the side in black marker pen; this one that, earlier that day, had been placed next to a framed picture of your family on your desk, next to a “Best Mom Ever” mug in bold letters with a handful of colored pens inside just to your left, close to your elbow.

With placid strides deferred to the wooden floor, imbued with an unpretentiousness when within the walls of your own house, you then set off with your wife's coat folded over the length of your right forearm raised to the height of your ribs, pressed against the length of your abdomen, hanging there as if to emulate the pose of a waiter in a suit at a fancy restaurant.

Upon entering the living room, however, seated on a light cream fabric sofa, you were faced with only the tops of two small heads that lavished thick locks of dark brown hair – a pair of little boys glazed over in artificial colors, your twin sons born ten years and eleven months ago.

They didn't agree on much with each other very often, from time to time fighting over toys as the ontology of having a sibling demands, but they were always close to each other's shoulders at the end of the day, just like they did inside the womb they shared for a whole nine months. A few feet in front of you, a thin television, securely screwed to the wall, flashed some action cartoon you were not very familiar with.

And you smiled with quiet lips and walked to the back of the sofa, where you lowered your spine and, without a word, placed a warm kiss on top of each of the two vanilla-scented chestnut-colored heads, receiving in response a series of dull whining – the protestor of the day, however, as it had always been, was Tommy and not Billy.

“Well, hello to you too, little dude.”

“Mom!” grumbled the little boy with eyes the same color as yours, in a slurred tone that actually sounded annoyed, craning his neck as if you'd stuck gum in his hair, “C’mon, I'm too old for this!”

"Oh, I'm sorry Tom, I almost forgot you're a big boy now that you're ten. My mistake, really,” you crooned in an air of laughter before smiling at the grumpy young boy, who squinted his eyes at you and frowned with his sparse dark brows.

“I am! I don't need to be treated like a baby all the time anymore!”

“‘Course you are, kid, I didn't say anything to the contrary. You're practically an adult now, what the heck.”

He had a fine chin and a gently upturned nose speckled with freckles like the stars spaced across the night sky. However, as boyish he was, his temper was just so solemnly contrary to his affable teddy bear with a bow tie appearance, an explosive den of undisputed bravery. Your gaze then decided to settle on the figure of Billy, always so much more serene and courteous when opposed to his energetic brother, who was offered a smart smile on your part, narrowing your eyes and raising both of your eyebrows towards him.

“And what about you, bud,” you questioned him without bothering to betray the mockery in your tone, “Are you too old to get a kiss on the head from your mom too?”

“I'm not,” he winked, scrunching a flash of skin over his little nose in a totally, genetically Wanda way, “I like it when you kiss me on the head, mom.”

“See, Tommy,” you turned your chin towards the other twin's freckles, “Billy is ten too and he still likes to get a kiss on the head. It doesn't hurt to like it, you know. You can be tough and still like your mom, just for a change.”

The other boy, in an embarrassed guinea pig squeak, traced the path between your face and Billy's before nurturing his twisted lips into a silly little pout; the stubborn Maximoff gene played out so much more in Tommy than it did in his brother, who hadn't gotten much more from your wife's family tree than the firm, sharp bone structure of his cheekbones and his soon to be smooth jawbone.

“Fine,” Thomas grumbled crookedly in a quick desistance, “You can still kiss me mom, geez.”

“Fine,” you said then, “Because I wasn't going to stop doing it anyway,” and Billy chuckled softly as it was that you turned your face to deposit a new, quick, wet little kiss on Tommy's rosy cheek, smacking your lips against his soft skin.

“Don't think you'll get rid of my kisses anytime soon, mister.”

Leaving the living room then with an impish smile well warped in the commission of your lips, you were directed by the smell of roast chicken that had covered the house like a sheet of flavors, and with slow steps, you let yourself walk across the matte floor in toward the kitchen, to the sacred source of the aroma of fresh-baked food.

You passed a spacious hallway with pale walls, whose faces, interspersed with casual, well-appointed furniture, held photographs of pivotal moments for that family of four (everyone sporting delightful, pearly-beautiful smiles with spasms of hearty glee, say cheese Tommy, look over here Billy, no Y/n, you can't take a picture grimacing for our Christmas card, a break for a round of lively laughter, stop it, Y/n!).

Wanda cherished them with all her heart, as for while she herself was just a lonely child, the walls of the house she lived in were all foreboding and empty, like an excruciating scream in a dark room.

There were no ugly itchy Christmas sweaters or big, fed up Thanksgiving dinners in the family album of Erik Lehnsherr, a high-profile political figure in a well-buttoned jacket and an golden watch screwed to his firm wrist, and Magda Maximoff, a dreary housewife soaked in wine and draped in expensive pearls, a couple married for sheer convenience — no pictures of their own set of twin children, none of the gritty boy or even the always so quiet little girl unwrapping some of their birthday presents by the fireplace, toys bought carelessly with unimportant cash deducted from an unlimited credit card.

But already in the life of an adult, married woman, a mother, that household you two formed together was like a being of its own, as alive as it could be.

A being of pipe bones, brick skin and a happy family heart, who breathed through impromptu Saturday breakfasts and old movie nights snuggled on the couch surrounded by buttered popcorn and cups of iced cinnamon apple tea. The kind of home that is familiar without any hesitation. A generally imposing house, but not enough to be challenging.

So, as you entered the airy white-walled kitchen, an cozy countenance expressed itself through the soberly relaxed muscles of your face, and you couldn't help but evoke a tender smile at what you saw before you – after all it was her, it would always be her.

Wanda had her back to you, her long fire-flaming hair falling over her porcelain shoulders and halfway up her spine like a high forest fire, ready to incinerate you too. It gave off a lovely scent of wild strawberries interspersed with glossy locks that you were fond of sticking your nose in and sniffing that eclectic scent every night before bed.

“Yes, I…I understand. I do, I swear I do.”

It wasn't until the sound of her low voice, in a watery tone that pretends she's not about to burst into tears, that you realized that Wanda's phone was being pressed against the shell of her right ear, a distant green gaze scrutinizing the wet dark of the sink drain. A curious brow of yours rose to your forehead as she faced the raw words in an uncharacteristically Wanda tone, afforded with her deck of cards congruent with dreary answers fitting only in very unfortunate situations.

“I'll try to get there as soon as possible. I'll– I'll talk to Y/n. We'll be there early in the morning. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow,” Wanda turned on her heel, shimmering with emerald eyes at you, who was caught in her sight like a deer in the bright headlights of a car on the dark road – she frowned, her rosy lips curled intemperately.

Ah, there you are, Wanda said with her eyes in a dull green like the slime that grows on a tiny rock in front of a profuse lake. Something happened and I need you here with me.

“No, I– I know this is a priority,” she sighed a breath of warm air, deflating her chest from under a fresh-blood-colored cashmere cardigan, “I know. I do. I'll be there as soon as possible, father. Don't worry.”

Silence engulfed all four walls of the kitchen as the call then came to an end, though neither of the two parties has properly bid farewell to the other. It was an emergency, your startled senses heightened. Erik would never call if it wasn't an emergency.

A tremor along the length of your spine from the back of your neck alerted you that something was wrong. Saliva choked in Wanda's throat, and she lowered her smartphone to then laid it facedown against the stone kitchen island. She looked at you. You looked at her.

The blood flowing through your veins cooled down at the incognito facet that expressed itself through the dull face of your so gorgeous wife, who had her brown eyebrows curled in a calliginous way and an opaque veil clouding her jade-colored gaze, gauging pale shades of awestruck green to her hollow irises – terror climbing the length of your esophagus, her hands fluttering through the auburn length of her long hair before initiating the fidget act with her own pale fingertips, the two of you sharing a brooding pose, which exhaled a scent of anguish through the kitchen environment.

“Wanda,” there was an exchange of apprehensive looks between you and her, “Wanda, honey, what's wrong? What’s going on? Did... did something happen...? Erik... is your father all right?”

“Y/n...”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out and so Wanda tried to collapse her peach lips again, to swallow the lump tied to her vocal cords. One look was enough for you to know that in Wanda's chest was an atrocious disease known as dread.

And your first instinct in the face of your wife's frightened figure was to slash through the kitchen like lightning, to shelter her haggard body against your own welcoming torso when her muscles chose to disassemble, like an ancient millenary structure that comes to the ground. It was like catching a rag doll in a free fall.

“Hey, hey, it's alright, sweetheart,” you whispered against her red hair, “Alright, alright, I'm here. I’m here with you, Wanda,” and then, a long kiss was bestowed on the pale skin of her right temple, near the last strand of a dark eyebrow.

“Y/n, they found it,” she sobbed in a whimpering murmur against the warm skin of your neck, her hands crawling like a pair of spiders up the fabric on the back of your blouse, “T-they, they found it...”

“They found what, Wanda?” you asked her mutely against her earlobe, “Who found what, baby? What’s going on?”

“A hiker in the woods,” your wife mussed in a thread of a pleading voice, “The police, they… they found Pietro's body... they found him... they found him...”

There was something eerie about Wanda's choked speech – something ominous, not of this world. And something in you flickered – your jawbone knocked, your sharp gaze blazing a stubborn roar of hopeless fear as your stomach dropped. Pietro, of course. Pietro’s body.

Pietro Maximoff, the prodigy athlete, the golden boy on the football team, the apple of his father's eye. The better twin. The missing twin, now earning the title of the twin found underground, the dead twin, the murdered twin.

The glow that always, always so unjustly overshadowed Wanda's charms. The boy this bitter couple had planned to have, the only child they could brag about, while Wanda had slipped out of the womb clinging to Pietro's neck, a particularly uninvited outsider to Erik who never stopped being more than that; more than the thing who came clinging to the boy he wanted to have, a nasty bonus.

Both your palms were sweaty against the back of her cardigan when you held Wanda tighter, the soft clothing leaving a feeling as rough as sandpaper against the tips of your so cautious fingers. You had to be there for her. You had to pull yourself together at that moment. Even if that shouldn't happen. Even if that's not how things were supposed to be.

“I–it's gonna be okay,” your voice no longer sounded like your own, it curled in an irresolute tone, your throat wavering in haste – and you masticated at your lower lip, your heart thudding against your ribcage in distress and the shrillest sensation of fear.

“It's gonna be okay, honey. It's gonna be okay. I’m here. Everything's gonna be okay.”

You kissed her strawberry head cork, your lips dry and your back sweating inside your thick blouse. Your skin turned cold against the warm of Wanda's hot tears. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not seventeen years later. Within that profuse forest, deep in the woods that surrounded the small town frame, no one should ever find anything in that unfathomable grave that you covered with pounds of soft earth when you were just eighteen years old.

ᗢ

“Why do we have to visit grandpa anyways?” whimpered Tommy, in that typical slurred intonation of a tantrum child who is frustrated at being annoyed, “It's not even Christmas yet!”

You were speechless for a few seconds, cluttering with the crimped bone of your jaw, holding up a tightly folded red shirt that you intended to stuff into Billy's blue backpack, through the open zipper like a hungry mouth for changes of clean clothes, so he could get dressed for the weekend.

It was a second taken to think of a wide range of explanations that there was no elucidation to be said in a way that a childish cognition could fully digest, understanding all the nuances carried in its broad meanings.

A second passed, almost taking up the shape of full minutes, until you turned your gaze towards the scowling little boy that was Tommy, who, with an observant ember sparking through the intrinsic color of his clever, harmless irises, stared at you in expectant anticipation for the resolution of his sly doubt.

He, after all, was your son, one of them. A boy to whom you owed explanations of the greatest mysteries that made up the universe just because a few years ago you and Wanda both wanted him to exist.

“Well, honey, you see, it's...” but the words, the correct ones, didn't come out of your mouth, which was left open like a big black hole lacking light, “It's... it's very important to your mama that we're going there tomorrow, Tommy. She needs it.”

“But why?” as his brother lulled him, however, it was Billy's turn to express the doubts that were hovering in his little head, who was in charge of the mission of folding a handful of pants and shirts.

“Yeah mom, why?” claimed Tommy one more time.

“Grandpa's house is weird,” Billy sustained, “It’s so big and smells like a dentist's office and old people. I don't like it there.”

“Well,” you made an unnatural sound that was a mockery of laughter, like a low battery toy, “Your grandpa is old, isn't he…? Don't ever tell him I said that.”

It was the extremes of the moderate hour of eight-thirty at night when you, with your twin children dressed in pajamas at your heels, found yourself in the softness of the boys' shared room – because they, always so united as in a only entity, would never be able to fall asleep in separate rooms, alone and dispersed in two dark corners, which was why there were then two empty guest rooms gathering dust within your house.

Clothed in their cotton pajamas strewn with tiny prints of colorful dinosaurs (red, green and blue too), the pair of little boys were by your side while you took care to pack their bags, willingly volunteering to do so when in front of Wanda's swollen, exhausted eyes, who had retreated to the master bedroom after a lifeless dinner that had surely troubled the two children's spirits.

Two pairs of little eyes then flickered towards your damp face. Just two curious children (your curious children) looking for an answer to their question before Wanda's only relative of whom they had empirical knowledge, the only one alive and yet so far away, whom they had not seen for a certain period of time, but that had sent them new toys the month before this one, on their birthday. You came out on a lame sigh, the coming headache brushing hot on a hard muscle at the back of your neck.

“Look, guys, I'm gonna be honest with you,” you uttered, tucking your knees into your comfy cotton sweatpants to sit on the edge of Billy's bed, putting the folded shirt aside.

“I know it can be a little… um, uncomfortable… to go to grandpa's house sometimes. Trust me, I... I really do. But we need to go there because... well, something serious has happened, and that's why grandpa needs mama there. You guys remember what I told you about mama's brother, right? Her twin brother, just like you two are.”

“Uncle P?” Tommy took the lead in the round of questions, taking a comfortable seat right next to your right elbow, “He left when you and mama were in high school. She said he’s far away from here. That makes her sad sometimes.”

“Yes, he… he's gone,” you bowed your head in a mechanical, hard motion, the words rancid against the face of your tongue, “Your uncle was… he was indeed far away from here, you know? But it turns out... that he was found recently. The cops found him, but… it wasn't in a good way, boys.”

“What happened to him, mom?”

Billy's eyes pointed upward towards your gloomy face, as a complement to his doubt; the little dark brow furrowed in demand for a congruent resolution to his brooding inquiry. You turned your chin at an angle towards your left collarbone to answer him.

“Well, Bill, your uncle, he…” there was a pause on your part, a long silence held in your throat, “He's not alive anymore, kid. Do you understand what that means? He... he's not coming back. Pietro will never come back.”

The boys looked at each other and, with a rehearsed action, cast a sorrowful glare on you – a look that didn't quite understand the real implications of what you'd said to them, but did it well enough to get the idea that it was something bad, something sad enough to mobilize the adults who always seemed to be in control of everything. To make mama cry even when she was the one who nursed them on blue days, brushing the tears away from their cheeks with her thumbs.

“And mama,” Billy said in a tiny voice, so befitting his sad little eyes, “Is she sad?”

“She is,” you cordially splayed your left hand on the small expanse of his knee, where your fingers began a series of affable, unconscious caresses.

“She's very sad, Bill. So we need to do this for her. We need to stand by her side in this moment of sadness and take good care of her when she needs us to. Because now she has to say goodbye to him. For real this time. And goodbyes are big, sad feelings that are very difficult to deal with, even if it's someone as strong as mama. Even more a goodbye like that. Can you do this for her, boys? She’ll be so much happier if you guys do this for her.”

“We can,” Tommy stated, ever so sure of his own words, “We can do this for mama.”

“Yes,” Billy supported his brother, “We gonna do it, mom.”

“Right,” you smiled small, just lifting the corner of your lips, “Thanks, guys, really. This will mean a lot to her. Now come here, come here,” when you offered each boy an arm, the two soon tried to snuggle against your chest, their ears brushing against both of your collarbones.

“It's gonna be okay, did you hear me? We'll get through this. We’ll get through this as a family, as we always do.”

At least, that's what you hoped would happen. As if everything wasn't absolutely out of control. As if you weren't an asshole for lying to your own kids.

ᗢ

Had flown across the sky only a few sluggish minutes since the dawn of the opaque day, enveloping the longitudinal expanses of the outskirts of Westview, then, in a vague aura of homely appearance – thus offering, to the parochial naked eye, a shifting nuance between pastel shades of salmon colors that were soon taken over by the autumnal gray of the heavy clouds, which served as the prelude to a frosty October morning (the first signs of a coming cold temperature already settling, like a disease, through the crooked bowels of the ominous city). Wanda made sure Billy and Tommy were dressed up in thick coats in the backseat.

The sun was clumsy in the midst of the gloomy sky, like a silvery child hiding behind its mother's skirt, and at the foundation of the sky's vault, a long magenta band of sun spread to the horizon, hoisting towards the day, even though it was a particularly gloomy morning.

You had just left New York State behind, and so the reddish-hued family car found itself wandering through the conglomeration of roads that made up New Jersey, just a handful of miles from the nondescript town of Westview.

“Are we there yet? I’m hungry,” asked Tommy from the backseat, his voice coming over your shoulder.

“We're almost there, baby,” Wanda replied in a slightly dry voice, her gaze always looking straight ahead, at the road that unfolded in front of the fender of the car, “Just hang in there a little longer, okay?”

“Okay…”

You looked at her sideways for half a second of bottled oxygen in your throat. Your right hand then wandered over the derailleur that stood between the two seats at the front of the car, to give a cordial squeeze on your wife's left thigh, which was tucked into dark jeans. In grim silence, Wanda held your fingers extensions between her palms – her wedding band felt cool against your skin.

Out of the corner of your sharp eye, your left hand screwed into the outline of the steering wheel, you captured the smudged image of a rudimentary green-painted board made from logs; population 3,892, “WELCOME TO WESTVIEW – HOME: IS WHERE YOU MAKE IT”. You once spray-painted that sign because you were a stupid teenager who had a stupid idea. Nobody ever knew that you did it.

Little Westview was still the same as before, always so classic and timeless. But there was something there, like an ominous specter lurking around corners and behind the fogged up windows, that had made your heart crumple inside your anxious chest and your body curl up like a tortoise does in its shell, unconsciously going further into the faux leather seat.

It was as if every component structure of the city looked into the moving car, as if everything there knew what you had done. How guilty you were; your sin leaking from your pores, bristling your veins.

As the concrete and pylons of the gray, wet asphalt citadel burst before your eyes, magically trapped in an eternal vortex of the sixties, with its empty houses and dismal colonial-style shops surrounded by leafy trees of essence green taking on shades of orange, damp and dark, and its old-fashioned cinema that in its facade of red and blue in bright neon, announced the rerun of a horror movie in black and white.

The Halloween decorations began to appear more and more as the vehicle approached the center of town – a wicked witch in a purple dress flying on top of a broom, a bedsheet made into a ghost with two open holes for the eyes and one for the mouth, a handful of pumpkins with carved pointy teeth.

You clenched your jaw, a streak of sunlight barely crossing your forearm raised to brush a strand of hair out of your eye. It didn't take more than minutes for you to park your car in front of Wanda's old childhood home – the town was tiny, and the house stood triumphantly wider and larger than the other residences.

The cream-colored little house just around the corner caught your eye like a beacon in the dark, however; before your parents moved out of the country after you finished college, this is where you had lived with your family – the window of your old room always facing the street outside.

It was about a ten-minute drive straight down Ellis Avenue (Tommy already fidgeting to get out of the car, Billy saying he was sleepy, Wanda holding back so she wouldn't explode, you just wishing you'd get there soon). Still so early in the morning, the figure of Erik Lehnsherr, once the mayor of Westview, could already be found on his front porch – gray-striped jacket and cropped white hair, bordering on the pearly tone of old age. You turned off the car ignition.

“It's gonna be okay, Wands,” was a whisper on your part into a pair of dark green eyes that weren't quite staring at you, “I'm here with you. I’ll always be here for you, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed back, before taking her right hand to the doorknob and then opening the car door, “I know, baby. Thank you.”

Erik tucked both of his hands into the pockets of his linen pants, piercing eyes burning into your silhouette beneath a pair of bushy dark brows as you helped Billy to get out of the vehicle through the left door that opened like a long red wing towards the street. Sapphire irises, the grandfather of your children.

Clean, wealthy and downright cruel. A frown stripped away from his thin dead lips, which made him looked like a comic book villain – a puff of cocky unpleasantness. Bitter aroma of pompous whiskey on the lapels of his jacket. Your wife crossed the sidewalk, that green, well-trimmed lawn that carpeted the entrance to the house, and approached her own father with her head down.

“Good morning, father,” Wanda greeted him then in a tiny voice, a grim air leaking from her mouth, and she had been bringing Tommy's hand along with hers. With Billy you followed after them, stopping behind her right shoulder encircled by her dark coat.

“Wanda,” said the man in a scolding tone, always so sharp, which prompted a jolt of muscle memory from your wife, who shivered like a shy bunny inside her coat, “Boys.”

“H-hello, grandpa,” Billy tried first, his grip pressing hard against your hand that he held.

“Hi, grandpa,” came Tommy's voice then, though Erik's blue gaze wasn't aimed at the boy; but it did towards you. You swallowed the saliva behind your tongue in a long, sullen blink.

“G-good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr,” you whispered in a strained voice, performing a vaguely welcoming act, “How are you, sir?”

A second of icy silence pierced the front porch of the house, your coat rustling over your body. You brought Billy closer to your hip, his temple pressing against your ribcage in an attempt to warm the boy in front of the zephyrs that traversed the porch of the house stained in icy white paint. A car passed on the street. A dog started barking. The older man just turned his back on you, without offering you any syllables at all.

“Come in,” said Erik then, in a tone that in no way emulated a host, already walking his body back inside the open door, ever so used to giving orders and not receiving them, “It's cold out here.”

It took you a long time to find any answers to the inhospitalities uttered by the father of your beloved redhaired wife. Wanda realized that there had been more than one (or even two) attempts on your part to speak out over the course of a few long, drawn-out seconds. Your eyes then migrated to the troubled look of the silent woman standing beside you, who nodded in agreement with the slightest movement of her head. Silently, always behind Wanda, you only entered the residence after your wife did.

ᗢ

The hallways of Westview High School were still the same ones you remembered in your memory, seeming preserved in time since the last time you set foot on that comfortable linoleum floor, in a teenage memory cloistered within the walls of your own cranium.

But you were an adult now, a self-assured, stable woman with a solid career and an established family. You wouldn't allow a pompous boy who exuded arrogance, that same troglodyte who always bumped his strong shoulder against yours, to trouble your spirits again.

The gym’s basketball court (a rectangular floor with baskets at each end) had been willingly granted by Monica Rambeau, the then-current principal of the school, always so efficient as she did since she was a young girl, to play a crucial role in the location where Pietro Maximoff’s memorial would be held – as in a ritual religious, a cult of an numinous god, as if one were about to light a candle and sacrifice a chicken on an altar to bring him back to the realm of the living beings.

He was still there, more alive now than dead than he had ever been before. It was like your own augur spirit slithering behind your shoulders, a past always ready to haunt you, to rip your soul out of your eyes if need be. Little by little, the small town seemed inclined to accept the unpalatable fact that the golden boy had indeed died, even though almost two decades had passed and the youth of today didn't even care about the name of the late teenage athlete who studied with their parents so many years ago.

It was easy to bring back the time that had been spent there, and everything you had ever experienced in that environment – the tin lockers were still bluish and you still remembered your own combination of numbers off the top of your head (turn to the side once, turn to the other twice, then turn to the other three times and the door magically opens, but needs a slam to open it fully).

Wanda had memorized that combination when you two started dating only to sneak there cute little notes in between classes.

Near a small stage set up in front of the sloping seats of the polished wooden bleachers, with a platform at its center as in a presidential campaign, was a huge glossy photograph of a young Pietro smiling sideways, forever preserved at that stage in his life, a broken chuckle at the corner of his fifties Hollywood heartthrob's lips, a cheap performance by a small-town James Dean, just another naughty bad boy.

It was, that photograph, taken just before he disappeared, because the boy had dyed his brown hair a platinum blonde just a month before he disappeared for good. The sight of him there depressed you to the extreme, even though the tight lump in the nerve endings of your stomach further pointed to the bitter taste of fear rising in your gut; it had been a while since that boy had stopped bothering you altogether, and bringing that guilt-ridden nervousness back was not doing your health any good.

You'd abandoned your demons and didn't want to worry about them, even though Pietro's sapphire-colored irises looked like two security cameras following you around the room, his lips seeming to twitch in horror-movie words only you could hear: I'll tell them, Y/n. I'll tell them all what you did to me. The autumn air felt heavyweight and dense when enclosed in such a spacious environment, and an icy thread was rising in your throat.

Groups swarmed the walls of the gym like a flock of flies, former classmates of yours, faces dizzyingly familiar, the entire battalion of retired teachers who used to hang out with you in your everyday life at that school, and half a dozen other of Erik's stuck-up acquaintances al dresses in wealthy coats so similar to his own. You shook a few hands and offered some unsympathetic smiles – always the same questions and always the same answers, after all, you were now part of the victim's family.

“Yes, yeah, I married Wanda”, “Yeah, his twin sister”, “Wanda is sad but we're doing our best to make it okay”, “No, I wasn't that close to him back then”, “He was a great guy, wasn't he?”. No, he wasn't.

Citizens in their late forties, all expressing sad faces, as if they were rehearsing for a play; the main role would win whoever convinced everybody that they were sadder than the others at the death of a boy that everyone pretended to like at the time because his father was the mayor. You watched it all so secluded, so far away, that play worthy of social etiquette to tragedy unfolding right under your eyelashes, while Wanda was with Erik and more people talking on the platform. Black always looked good on her.

You kept your eyes on the twin boys circling near the coffee table, a donut dusted with an icing sugar crust to each, just to keep their childish palates entertained, avoiding Pietro's gaze in that photo, preferring to pounce like a cat and sneaking between people's ankles, letting yourself fall into abandon, as long as you didn't see anyone and no one else could see you either.

“Man, that's really sad,” a voice had said over your right shoulder, and Darcy Lewis, a former classmate of you, always with long dark hair and round glasses, came to meet you carrying a disposable cup of warm coffee in her right hand.

She was always full of ghastly puns and some occasional movie reference exchanged between the times you paired up in sophomore chemistry class.

“Yeah, it's really sad,” you muttered in an artificial tone, “It's sad as fuck.”

“I mean, I always thought that the guy was a fucking idiot. He was an asshole, everybody knew he was an asshole,” she continued, just after taking a long swig from the steaming cup of coffee that she held at her jaw height.

“At the time I was even glad he was gone, I'm not gonna do like these hypocritical suckers here and pretend that I liked him because I truly didn’t. But I don't know, after all this time... he was just a kid, you know?”

The walls of your stomach clenched and ached in an icy brush. He was just a boy, really. In the end, he was just a boy. Something you discarded for the earth to digest and take away, but which in a run of bad luck, just came back to haunt you so many years later.

“I just… I thought he had run off with some girl when he realized he had no chance of getting into college or whatever. He looked like the kind of guy who would try his hand at life in L.A and then come back home old and crying. But damn, being actually murdered? What the fuck. That’s sick.”

She used a tone of indignant surprise to accentuate the last word you couldn't quite digest in your stomach, acrimony bile and distressing dread climbing up the muscles of your slimy mucus-covered throat. Nothing in you was intent on looking at the woman in the thick coat standing beside you, but your gaze even less yearned for Pietro's piercing irises.

“Just… this isn't one of those TV shows that always has a small-town mystery or some shit like that. This is real life, man. These things are not supposed to happen around here.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to swallow a gulp of icy air. Crossing the crowd, next to her big-handed father in expensive pants, Wanda's earnest gaze sought you out. And you didn't notice something opaque distorting the green of her irises, as far away as she was from you. But your former classmate noticed the exchange of glances with your wife, and another sip of coffee came for her to speak again.

“Damn, sorry,” Darcy mussed then, “You married his sister, didn't you? Shit, I completely forgot about that, Y/n. I'm sorry. I know this must be a difficult time for your family. For you, even.”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged into your own coat, “He and I weren't very close in high school, anyway,” and then, you finally looked at her, “But I know it’s just sad that he’s gone. I’m trying to keep it together for Wanda and our boys, but… it’s tough. Everything in this situation just sucks.”

“Right?” she scrutinized at you with her piercing, pale blue eyes under her glasses frame, looking at you with pity in her gaze, as if you weren’t just a guilty liar.

“He was an asshole, sure, but he... he was just a kid. I realize this now that I’ve grown up. It’s not fair, man, it’s not fair to him that it was like this. I wonder how scared he was at the end. Nobody… nobody deserves to die like this.”

It was like the last shovel of dirt in your own coffin. It was too much, just being there was too much for you. Your stomach dropped as you vomited a sweaty smile out of your lips. So you accepted, you just did – a pompous boy who exuded airs of arrogance still troubled your spirit, after all.

Because what you had done to him (your hands stained with still-warm blood and wet earth, your skin itching against the dewy tall grass in the middle of the night, the smell of iron and musky trees in the air) had scarred your carcass for the rest of your life. The latent guiltiness would never let your bones rest again in your life.

ᗢ

You hugged your thick coat made of black fabric to your body, even though you didn't feel the autumn chill at all. But you only knew that you had done it so that you could hide from the morbid eyes of the trees in the cemetery. The atmosphere of that place was horrible. The white headstone was beautiful, and that was just despondent. There was something sadistic about the fact that a funeral was such a beautiful thing – even more so when you were the reason that corpse lost its heartbeat.

Everything in a cemetery was miserable, of course, the stench of human putrefaction was intrinsic in the still life of that sacred ground; just a bunch of dead people and memories buried to the bottom, but the fact that this tombstone was so expensive and so exceedingly beautiful was the most distressing part of it all.

It meant that Erik wanted to give the best treatment to this thing that would be a memorial to his beloved son even in death. Your cloudy irises descended to that cluster of flowers placed on top of the closed casket of dark varnished wood, whose interior held only a handful of bones worn down by exposure to time and the animals of the forest. They were burying a bag of bones because of you.

Amidst a sea of bowed heads, hazy faces tucked into dark garments, all with shoulders pressed together like a wall founded in mourning, the deceased's father was the one who spoke the parting words, while Wanda stood beside you, each of you holding the hand of one of the twin boys the two of you had had. When she noticed the stress simmering up inside you, almost leaking out of your mouth, your brow furrowed, a hand of hers soon tried to reach for your fingers.

“Pietro was a good boy,” the heartbroken father had said then, “He really was. And someday he would be a great man, I know he would. I... I'm glad my beloved Magda isn't here to witness this. She wouldn't deserve to see our boy like that. See what they did to him.”

You thought you were going to throw up as memories began to pour through the blood coursing through your pallid veins, a den of unsettling affliction teasing you into a frenzy of unease. Between bushes and rocks, into the beech woods of the forest, swallowed up by the enormities of the shadows of the scrupulous pines, placed in wide profligate rows, you set out carrying those bones that were still wrapped in a capsule of flesh, veins, muscles and sinews.

The twigs on the forest floor twisted the flesh at her ankles and calves, but the vibrating epinephrine in your veins inhibited the burning sensation of a handful of tiny cuts slashing open in your skin. But still, you groaned in pain. But the pain you felt had not come from the abrasions and fissures denoted here or there in your epidermis – it had been the broken heart, which had begun to weaken you, chilling your bones and viscera.

Flowing reality flooded your bronchial tubes; there was fear emanating from the tears dispersed down the length of your face. Fear of losing your beloved Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, your support, your muse, your martyrdom, your passion. Lyrical, but somewhat tragic, like a Homeric tale. A famine that was supplied to you; an abstruse epic romance born of the core of two girls devoid of a primordial love. What would you do without her, and what wouldn't you do for her? Heaven and hell weren't extreme thresholds that would keep you from searching for the girl you were dating.

You dug a grave, the deepest of them, a hell hole. You dropped Pietro's inert body into that eternal darkness. And then you threw dirt on him until you couldn't see his platinum hair anymore. Your yelps echoing off trees, rocks, and tall grass. The sky was overcast and the weather tasted of blood and bitterness. And when you let go of the shovel you turned back to the young Wanda standing right behind you, her eyes empty, her clothes still smeared with the blood that spurted from her own twin's jugular.

“It's gonna be okay, baby,” you reassured her, your girlfriend, your future wife, the future mother of your kids, “It's gonna be okay, Wands. I'm here with you. No one will know. They’ll never know.”

“Promise me, Y/n?” she hummed through the trees, a shy, measured voice. Dark hair curled with streaks of heavy blood starting to clot at the ends. Your dirt-smeared right thumb stroked the sharp of her cheekbone.

“I promise, Wanda. I'll always protect you, okay? No one will ever know what you did, honey. Never.”

“I love you, Y/n," she confessed, eyes shining in a sparkle that shouldn't have been there, “I want you to be by my side my whole life. I want you to keep this secret with me. Just you and me. We'll be together forever, and no one will ever know what we did.”

“No one will ever know,” you huffed back, leaning in to kiss her in front of her brother's makeshift grave.

No one would ever know that Pietro came home one night when Erik was out and found you and Wanda exchanging some teenage kisses on the kitchen counter – her sitting there, you standing between her legs, your finger going south, almost touching what hadn't been touched yet.

Or how he looked a lot like a rabid animal when he knocked you to the ground, making you hit the back of your head with a hard thud. As on the floor, slumped like a rag doll, you turned your hips dorsally so that you were facing your attacker – your own legs unusable once he had sat on them with his full weight. The boy's stiff hands bound your wrists just above your head, his hot breath brushing your hairline, just to the top of your forehead.

His psychotic dim face was thin and rampant, shades of blue flickering across his homicidal irises, his animalistic mouth hooded by strands of an oncoming dark beard that would someday show on his firm chin. And then masculine fingers, experienced, strong from gripping heavy basketballs every day, pressed against the throbbing muscle in your throat.

“You,” Pietro yawned, but, on the whole, didn't seem to be full of his mental faculties to the point that he could speak without being haunted by occasional tantrums of shaking, “You’re fucking my sister?! You fucking weirdo! I’ll fucking kill you!”

You squinted your eyes, your vision slowly dimming as your brain was deprived of oxygen. And then a cavernous growl resounded through the gray walls of the amorphous kitchen, followed by a heavy thud. You opened your eyes. With both his legs tangled up in your own, Pietro was slumped to the left, oozing from an open wound in his neck, a pool of warm blood that only grew. Like a mouse, he agonized over rambling words, before being lulled by the coldness of death.

His strong chin was soaked in the thick reddish blood seeping out of his nostrils, out of his mouth, and out of that gaping gash in the skin, from within an artery, thick and dark, almost the color of wine. Blood that trickled down the boy's viripotent chin, then dripped in a sinuous red line across your puffy face beneath him. The collar of your shirt was soaked in the color of tomato sauce.

The sound of metal hitting the floor reached your ears. Wanda dropped the knife she had stuck inside her twin brother's neck. She fell to her knees, bare by the little black dress she wore. And, pushing Pietro's body off you, you just crawled up to her like a bloody animal after a violent slaughter. And you held her against your body. You just held her.

“Y/n,” she whispered under her breath, “Y/n... I... I'm... I'm scared, Y/n... I'm scared...”

Blood all over the kitchen floor, showing and where it shouldn't be – on the sleeves of your shirt and in Wanda's long dark hair, “No one will know,” you uttered against the shell of her ear, “Don't worry, honey, no one will ever know. I won't lose you, Wanda. No one will ever tear us apart.”

You might have thought differently in the years that followed if you had seen the smile she hid against your collarbone. If you only knew how much she disliked having her ankle chained to Pietro's glory even though she always passed for the sweet passive twin (after all, what kid would even want to be second choice?). If you only knew she hadn't just forgotten that her brother was coming home earlier that night.

If you only knew that years later, when you were finally there giving a dignified funeral for the body you two buried together, Wanda smiled the same way she did that night. After all, you were her wife now. You were the mother of her children. And you were the keeper of the biggest secret in her life, the only person who knew about the skeleton in her closet. It wouldn't make any difference to get rid of Pietro if she got you for life.

“I love you, I love you so, so much,” Wanda whispered in your ear then, that night when you slept in her father's guestroom, “And I'll never lose you, Y/n. Never. Thanks for making sure of that for me, baby.”

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eggtartz · 1 year

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Hi can you do hcs about being izana sister/dating kakucho

a/n : *slams fist on the table* i love this sm thankyou anon for requesting and enjoy 🫶🏻

masterlist

- surprisingly you didn't meet kakucho during gang fights or such considering how your brother, izana is a deliquent

- you two met at dinner when izana invited his whole gang to stay at his house (you awkwardly ate with them that night)

- when izana turned on the projector that played a movie, you finally get to escape into your room but you needed to settle the dishes first

- "do you need help with that y/n?" you heard the man, you know as kakucho asked you. you only heard of him from your brother's stories but this was the first time you seen him. you were scared st first because his scar looked intimidating but izana had always told you that his scar is his biggest insecurity do never be afraid of him

- "oh no kakucho, it's okay. there's not much to do either way i'll bring some snacks so you could eat it while watching the movie if you want?"

- "you're not gonna watch it with us?" he tilted his head

- "uh no?" but you learned from day onwards that your brother's friends would come at random times. sometimes not appropriate at all. after months of adjusting your lifestyle to theirs (which is very wild), you've learned that ran and rindou would come at dinner

- mochi would bring shion at evening to take a nap then go out again

- mucho would bring a lot of desserts from the bakery store, storing them in the fridge and be out at the morning

- meanwhile kakucho and izana would stay home all day. sometimes not going out for a week straight.

- as you were used to them, you always ignored their bickerings and usually prepare food, clean a bit then go to your room to rest. but one day, the house was oddly empty. izana was at the couch eating popcorns

- "anikii? where's the others?"

- "huh? i don't know" you frowned but passed by him to go in your room anyways and took a quick shower

meanwhile

- "oi quick she's gonna come out!" izana said to shion that bought a humongous bouquet of flowers to the doorstep of your room and struggled to knock on it "uh madarame san?! what's with the big flowers wait i can't even see your face madarame san!" you took the flower from shion to see him heavy breathing, the flower too heavy and too fragrant (he lowkey regretted doing this)

- "they're for you y/n chan! from a secret admirer!" he tugged at one of the petals and pulled a paper from it. "here! there's a note!" you took the paper and there was written "mucho at the kitchen has a message for you!" you smiled and went running to the kitchen to see mucho who was not there before, sitting on one of the stools and pushed a piece of cake at you "sit down y/n chan, the thing you're looking for is in there"

- you ate the cake quickly and stopped when you bit into something hard and took it out from your mouth. it was a small ball that could be opened and there was a note in it "the haitani's at the garden!"

- you said thankyou to mucho who was sipping his tea and ran downstairs to the garden to see the brother's beaming a smile at you. "y/n chan! we are expecting you!" ran said while gesturing you to sit down. "now y/n chan this is very important." rindou said seriously all of sudden.

- "what's your type in men?" they both looked at you while you were puzzled "uh why you asked?"

- "no questions allowed y/n we're the only one questioning!" the two brothers bombarded you with lots of questions where you actually forgot about the secret admirer untuk ran gave you a note

- "here y/n chan! good luck!" he said and walked away with rindou. the note said to keep walking until you found a trail of flowers on the garden ground and when the trail ended, you saw the scarred man waiting for there.

- kakucho has prepared a whole speech to why he likes you, why he wants to be your boyfriend but you already launched yourself on him and hugged him tightly (he sees that as a yes)

- meanwhile the others were looking (totally not spying) on you two, izana smiled. glad that one of them at least found love.

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sturnwrld · 3 months

Text

Study date🫶

Warnings: smutt, use of princess and y/n. a bit of fluff at the end.

a/n: heyy babes, so this is my first fic. (requested) Please give me tips so i can improve. Also English isn't my first language so sorry if there are some spelling or grammar mistakes. Please don't be to harsh I'm soo fucking insecure about thiss bc I'm still getting comfortable with smut. anyways hope you enjoy and please give me feedback on what should i change in the future.<33

You have always been good at school, on top of your class. People usually come up to you and ask you for help with math or whatever it is. You were always shy and introverted, never went to parties which is why you probably didn't have a boyfriend. It's not that you didn't want one, you just never met the right one.

You have been tutoring Chris for a few months now, his grades have been getting better. You two are total opposites. He's social, has a lot of friends, always with a different girl.... But you, you weren't like that. You weren't sure about tutoring him at first, but now you two have even become friends.

Today was like any other, Chris came over for our usual study date ‘’so what don’t you understand here?'' i asked him ''literally nothing y/n.'' he said ''okay... well first-'' he interrupted me ''hey y/n, can I ask you something?'' ''yeah of course'' I mumbled looking up from the paper. ''are you a virgin?'' he said looking into my eyes. ''um.. yeah, why?'' I replied a little embarrassed, I could feel my cheeks turning red. I liked him for a while now, but honestly, I though I didn't have a shot, I mean why would he like me? ''but why, why don't you do it?'' his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ''I don't know, I guess I didn't have anyone to do it with.'' I said quietly, looking down. ''you're joking y/n, any guy would be lucky to have you, you're so smart, and so pretty.. I just don't get it..'' ''you think I'm pretty?'' my head shot up, I was surprised. I mean I knew I wasn't ugly, I'd say I was an average nerd who happened to look good from time to time.

''yes I do. you drive me crazy y/n.'' he started leaning in. I stopped him ''um.. Chris I-'' he backed off ''I'm so sorry y/n, I don't know what I was thinking.'' he said covering his eyes with his hands. ''no, no, it's okay. I want to, just I-I haven't done this before either.'' he hesitated for a moment before he said ''that's okay, don't worry.'' he said before attaching his lips onto mine.

The kiss was soft, his hand was cupping my cheek and the other one was on my waist. after a few seconds his tongue grazed my bottom lip, as I sign for me to open my mouth. Our tongues were in sync, he started kissing me hungrily. I needed him. I started puling slightly on the bottom of his shirt, he took the hint and took his shirt of. God he was hot. After a while I started taking of my clothes too.

He was on top of me in just his boxers, he went to reach to unclip my bra before he said ''we don't have to, if you don't want to y/n it's totally fine.'' looking into my eyes ''I do, I do, just please be gentle.'' and with now my full consent he kissed me and unclipped my bra with a swift motion ’’you’re so beautiful y/n’’. ''touch me Chris, please.'' I said whining, my dripping core was desperate for him. He dragged his hand to the waistband of my panties after pushing his hand further down gently ''so wet for me princess'' he said while nibbling on my neck earning a small moan from me. he was rubbing my clit when he slipped one finger in, I gasped to the feeling. ''oh god-so tight baby'' he started kissing down my body looking at me the whole time, he was driving me wild. he took of my panties and started kissing and licking the inside of my thighs, he licked a long stripe from the bottom to the top of my dripping pussy. He this time pushed two fingers inside of me, curling them hitting my g-spot. he came back up to kiss me I could feel his bulge on my stomach. ''f-fuck me c-chris pleasee, oh fuck'' I could barely spit it out. ''so needy princess'' and with that he takes off his boxers and aligns himself with my entrance slowly pushing in.

I dig my nails in his back to the feeling of him stretching me out. he lets out a groan ''fuck..'' he mumbled under his breath. After he's all the way in he stops and lets me adjust to his size, he looks at me for permission to move ''you can move'' the pain turned to pleasure in seconds. ’’oh fuckk yes’’ I was a moaning mess under him while he was whimpering and whispering things in my ear and constantly checking if I was okay. I could feel myself getting close ''chris i-i'm gonna cum''. ''let go all over my cock princess, come on'' his words sent me over the edge. Few seconds after I could feel him release inside of me.

He rolled over and we were both out of breath. ''are you okay, did you like it?'' he asked ''I loved it, it was amazing Chris, thank you'' I kissed him softly. he put his arm around me and kissed my forehead ''I wanted to do this for so long'' he chuckled. ''me too'' I said snuggling into him. ''would you maybe wanna go on like a real date, like without studying..'' he asked looking down at me making me smile. ''I would love to'' I said not being able to hide the smile from my face. after that we feel asleep cuddling. I couldn't imagine the better person to do this with.

#sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris x reader #sturniolo triplets #first fic #smut #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #send requests

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saigethearies · 1 year

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Help me babe. I’m having a rare Kiba moment. Ur the innocent nerd girl who has to tutor badboy!Kiba…. imagine how he’d act one day when you have to tutor someone new and he gets so jealous… so before his big game he… he-

“i’m having a rare kiba moment” 😭 pls

ANYWAYS CHERRY AHSHAHA

badboy!kiba…getting jealous??

bye I’m gonna pass out, anyways thots below the cut

minors dni | mentions of daddy kink and violence

he’s not used to sharing you, like at all.

many people on campus gloss over you, not because you’re unattractive, goodness no! more because you’re on the quieter side, not saying much, preferring to blend into the background and just focus on your studies.

but kiba didn’t.

he was intrigued by the quiet, studious girl in his biology lecture that sat a few rows in front of him. so pretty and polite, ever the kind one to him despite his reputation as a total delinquent.

it wasn’t long before he convinced you to help tutor him. while your influence did actually improve his grades some, there was more than just homework getting done at these study sessions.

light jokes turned into fleeting glances, which turned into wandering hands, which turned into you panting and whining and whispering, “more, kiba, more please.”

it wasn’t even that he was chasing your cherry, either. kiba had genuinely took a liking to the cute little nerd from his class. all the girls he used to hit up for hookups were swiftly unadded from his snapchat, the only pussy he wanted pet now being yours.

and when you finally stared up at him with your bright doe eyes and heated cheeks, asking- no, begging- for him to finally take your innocence, he had to pinch himself.

it’s yours, kiba, all yours. please take it, i need you.

in the brunette’s eyes, you were undoubtedly his.

unfortunately, not everyone had gotten the memo.

“who the actual fuck is oikawa,” kiba barked as he looked at the notification displayed on your phone screen.

you lifted your head off his bare chest, holding the sheets to yours as you also checked your cell. “oh, that’s a guy from my english class.”

“why is he texting you asking when you want to meet up?”

“because he needs my help with a paper or else he fails our class.”

the green monster began to swirl in kiba’s gut immediately. you were going to tutor someone else?

considering the person you usually tutor (him) now fucks you into their mattress on a regular basis, kiba did not like the idea of you assisting someone else. at all. this dumb oikawa guy could eat shit for all he cares, he didn’t want this guy to be anywhere near you.

he knew he couldn’t talk you out of it (kiba loved how sweet of a girl you were but hated it at the same time) so he opted to sulk for the rest of the week instead, taking his frustration out on the lacrosse field and in a few fights here at there.

it was the day of a big game when you met him outside of the men’s locker room, a frown on your face. “why am i hearing that you’ve beat up three different people this week?”

“damn, rumor mill running wild.”

“one of them lives down the hall from me, kiba, and i can see his black eye.”

the inuzka scoffed. “thought you would be too busy with your other little boytoy to notice what the hell i’m doing.”

“would you stop with the petty jealousy!”

you had closed the distance between the two of you amidst your little outburst, and the close proximity combined with the angry energy between the two of you had kiba’s cock twitching in his shorts.

five minutes later, you found yourself pressed against a locker in the empty room, kiba biting along your throat as he ground his pelvis against yours.

the friction felt so good, especially when the tip of his hard cock would bump your clit through the layers of clothing.

you mewled out, tangling your fingers into his wild brown hair as he continued to dry hump you, sucking hickies into your skin.

“kiba-“

“wrong name.”

you gulped, still a little shy about the most recent fantasy you unveiled to him.

“daddy, i need you.”

“oh, do you, now? has shittykawa not been fucking you well enough?”

“i’ve never let him touch me, i’m yours only, daddy, i promise!”

kiba reached under your skirt, pushing your panties to the side and thrusting two fingers into your pussy. “yeah? say it again.”

“i’m yours, only yours!”

“good girl,” the brunette praised, drinking in your little moans as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.

as he rid himself of his shorts, it occurred to kiba that you saying “i’ve never let him touch me”’ meant that the idiot oikawa has definitely tried something on you.

he’d beat the volleyball playing dickwad later, though, for as he pushed inside of you and got to hear your sigh of “thank you, daddy, feels so good”, kiba figured he had much more important matters to tend to at the moment <3

#kiba inuzuka #kiba x reader #kiba x you #kiba x y/n #saige and pals

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whosyourcreepyunclenow · 11 months

Text

alright, for some reason this exists. not quite aware about your boundaries, so I'm obligated to warn: this content may not be suitable for some readers

warnings: smut, ust, non-conish dub-con(?), toxic crap, sad silly nonsense, probably weird english

was written to a nice song though

(it's pov Michael but I can only write in second person, so imagine yourself a depressed middle-aged man and go ahead)

It’s supposed to be a fucking jinx, doesn’t it? Just how you missed the old times few crazy weeks ago, so much you hate ‘em now. And of course, hate yourself for missing ‘em, like it somehow brought back that wild crap right into your present day. What a joke.

Memories should remain memories. To indulge yourself in a good old shitty nostalgia, to dive headlong into that abyss again and get off scot-free. Your personal paradise of fun where the heart trembles, the night's still young, and the bullet in your shoulder doesn’t bother like a real one. No bruises from recoil, no shortness of breath. You’re the sharpest shooter, Mikey, the clearest mind, you always make the right decisions.

Such a calming little lie to fool yourself you could be better than this. Not just a drunk old loser, feeling sorry for himself, but a drunk old loser with history, which you wisely choose to left behind and move forward. You were a terrible person, you still are. However even a terrible person needs something to be proud of.

And there must be no way for that special something to become more than just a back door to escape reality. No fucking way.

The old days taste like nauseating warm beer and smell like piss. Stained with blood, sweat and cum, sound like annoyingly loud swearing and crunch of broken glass. It was a lot easier to forget their true colors, so you gladly forgot, leaving the only ones suitable for a proper melancholic reminiscence. You know, ain’t nothing wrong with romanticizing the past. The trouble begins when you're starting regret things. Oh man, you should never trust your memories, they’re such fabulists…

Another bottle became a pile of trash for Patricia to clean up. Not sure how obvious but you kinda hate her for no reason, just along for the ride. She could tidy up this rubbish dump for days, it’ll never get clean. She could call him good, kind, mature or whatever, he’ll never stop being himself. And neither will you.

Trying to steady the swaying room, you stabilize its dirty walls with your hands, occasionally grabbing a poster girl’s ass, she doesn’t get offended. The next one even deserved a slight slap, as if you weren’t already horny enough – to even feel the seductive warmth of skin through the faded paper and sincerely enjoy that little illusion of touch. Same 'bout an illusion of privacy behind the flimsy folding door you keep closed anyway.

At least he doesn’t mind. Being asleep and completely wasted, the only thing his doped body’s still capable of is snoring. Lying on his back, with his arms and legs spread out, in that smelly stretched briefs, he’s utterly disgusting and sexy at the same time.

Well, in the old days you wouldn’t think twice. But it ain’t the old days.

So you just carelessly shoved him aside and fell down with your face in the pillow, warm and wet from his oily hair. Took a deep breath. Fucking awful as always. He murmured something unintelligible, then turned on his stomach too, but faced to the other side. You don’t look at him either.

“Forget any idea ‘bout molesting me, pork chop. Or I’ll get sober and shove a grenade into your butt, you hear me?”

Feels like you’d blow up his butt right now, without any other tools except your own. Why the hell.

“You really flatter yourself, T. Like… greatly.”

Still somehow managed to keep your voice smooth, though the stupid nervous smirk makes it a bit softer. You swallowed hard, throwing the fuck out of your mind that nostalgic bullshit ‘bout using your saliva in a more efficient way. There was times when your fingers woulda been doing their job already, now they simply clenched into a fist, crumpling a checkered blanket. Those times have passed long ago.

“We both know you ain’t too picky.”

Is he taunting or just mocking you? Any mistake could be unreasonably costly in a lot of senses.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The catch is you ain’t even confident about yourself anymore, face it. Desire is enormous, the foretaste drives you crazy – hey, when was the last time you felt so aroused by someone? Or just aroused without any fucking reason, like in your twenties, but still aroused as fuck? Though it doesn’t mean that need can be satisfied, since any little bullshit’s enough to ruin the feeling and turn you off like a broken switch. So you hate yourself again and hate your body, hate your deceptive mind, hate your everything.

Guess getting old is a great excuse for losing interest, yeah? At least it works for Amanda and your other whores who demand from you much more than you're capable of. But the truth is you haven’t ever lost interest, you’ve just become more… picky? Or egoistic. Or less randomly horny for pretty things or simply tired from imitating it – that’s what they usually call sexual problems.

Resumed snoring let you know that T’s asleep again. So alright, you can continue feeling pity for yourself until the morning. The only thing you can do as long as you want.

Or there’s another option. Weirdly compromise, still crazy. Hence exciting.

You cautiously turned on your back and glanced at him to check, as if the obvious sound was not enough. Part of you treacherously want him to wake up at the worst moment possible, but clearly not yet. Man, what the fuck are you doing…

Quietly unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants, suddenly worrying. Years ago it was his thing to masturbate on you sleeping, what always felt confusing when you caught him doing that. As if you were jealous of him to himself and somehow got offended, what a dumbass. Didn’t realize that every opportunity to touch someone you wanna touch is a treasure.

And now you’re casually squeezing your cock, remembering his. You jerked him half-ass mechanically, roughly, without giving a single fuck about his pleasure, the only one that really mattered was your own. Of course you tried to make it less obvious, but it was obvious – you were awful. And he loved you awful. More than anyone.

“Fuck, Trevor…”

Can’t help but whispering, not expecting to be heard. Your handjob is a lot better when you’re staring at his sweaty back, fighting the urge to remove these shitty briefs. Ain’t no even need to screw, you may climax just from looking at his naked ass.

It's almost perfect time for him to wake up and punch you. Almost.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Even when you’ve finally lost your damn mind and pull off his underwear, then predicably realized you need more than looking. And holy fuck… this was your last meaningful conclusion.

Quite unable to mess around, you got to the point, eagerly lubing up your cock with saliva and pushing apart his buttocks, barely maintaining a sense of reality… With all these toys he regularly shoves in himself, you thought it would be easier, but his hole just doesn’t let you in. So you spat on your fingers once more and smeared on his tight entrance, then tried again. He’s already disturbed enough to start moaning and lazily fidget, but not fully awake yet.

“Hey, T… You wanted the old me? You’ll get him.”

Finally, he howled when you pushed yourself inside, probably too fast. Ain’t exactly how things should be done, you was merely trying to avoid that awkward pause between “I wanna fuck you” and “I’m actually fucking you” stages. Just can’t deal with that clarifying relationships shit, not fucking now…

“FUCK!”

Alright, he woke up. And he’s trying to shove you out, if only you hadn’t held his bottom like a fucking lifeline.

“Am I shitting? Feels like a big turd’s stuck in my butt… Not so big, actually.”

“Hi to you too, Trevor.”

It’s so tense here like he’s trying to bit off your manhood with his anus and chew it. And maybe a little dry, yet not enough for him to lament.

“Remember what I said ‘bout molesting me, sugar?”

You spread out his cheeks slightly, conciliatory massaging them to appease, but he keeps struggling. It’s easier to lay down and put your weight upon him, bury yourself even deeper, softly mutter into his neck.

“C'mon, T, let me love you…”

He smells attractively horrible, alluring your lips to fondle his skin with short kisses. He tastes salty.

“It’s not fucking LOVE, you dick! It’s taking advantage!”

“Call it whatever you like.”

You thrust in him slowly, knead his hips with all tender affection you can muster, what the fuck else does he want? Alright, it ain’t really convenient now but lift him a bit to play with his boy too, and this time do it right… Oh please, just make sure to do it right.

God, he’s hard. He’s hard and hot like hell, goddammit…

“No! Just, NO I said! And pull your junk outta me!”

So this moron just slapped your hand, shoved it away and wriggled out from under your body, making you both highly unpleasant. Fucking great!

He got up, swaying and shaking, put up his briefs back on and somehow fixed his boner. Still doesn’t look at your face, though he’s not the only who hesitates. After all, you have no damn idea what went wrong or what he wanted you to do. From your perspective it felt as good as it could be, unspeakably good.

“Oh seriously, what’s the problem?”

Crap, he clearly didn’t like the question.

“What’s the problem?! WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM you asking?!”

“Yes, what’s the fucking problem!”

Fuck it. He finally turned and faced you, with so much desperate hate in his eyes that you went numb. Like everything what happened was so terribly wrong he could never forgive. Like you hurt him in ways you can’t even imagine.

“Listen… Right now, I’m making incredible efforts to not kill you, Michael,” his voice got menacingly quiet, yet notes of deeply rising anger strive to break through. “If that ain’t A PROBLEM to you, guess what I’d be doing with your corpse!”

Shit, he’s so fucking fine when he’s mad. Scary to realize, you’d probably rape him, if only he wasn’t a lot stronger, even with a such hangover. Or perhaps what you��ve already done can be as well considered as a sexual violence – of course, how else. So you’re a rapist now. Congratulations, pal.

“A-right, I got it,” but you’re still a human, who has his goddamn feelings too. “Go fuck yourself then.”

That treacherous, suicidal part of you expected him to react – in any way. He could punch you, slam you against the wall, chock you, shove a fucking grenade into your ass, rape you in revenge. You want him to do fucking anything, you just want him. Desperately.

Hastily zipping up your pants, slide open the door and leave. Patricia’s asleep on the coach or pretending being asleep. Who cares.

When harrowing horniness finally let you go, thirst hit. So bad you’d dry up the Alamo Sea despite its saltiness and ask for more. You bursted into a bathroom, opened the tap at full and drunk greedily from your palms until you felt sick, but couldn’t bring yourself to vomit. The water was muddy, rusty and smelled like sewer, lovely taste of a childhood. Lastly, you washed your face and turned to the broken mirror.

Of course, you’re miserable. Fat old fool with shadows under his eyes, saggy skin and smoky teeth. So what goddamn hopes you had for yourself? He might like that perfect old you, young and handsome, everyone’s blue-eyed boy. Oh, you were hot back in the day, admit it.

You were something to jerk on. Now you ain’t even someone to drunkenly fuck.

So go outside, get in the car. Find yourself the ugliest, the dopest hooker and blow your load into her stretched ass to chill out. Kill some strangers, if doesn’t help, trash someone’s car, rob a store. No other entertainment in this fucking nowhere.

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marjorie189 · 4 months

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🌸 V Party games (truth or dare etc) - with Sam Winchester🥰🥰

Thank you for the request anon!

I've been wanting to write for someone new in a really long time! So, here it goes hope you enjoy!

Y/N’s POV:

There had been a couple of unexplainable back to back deaths in a small town in Louisiana.

It sparked our attention when, all the papers could come up with was “a small town mystery.” After the same exact incident happened various times.

“So we know that in all four times the deaths occurred at night, with these kids all around the same age, and their bodies have all been nearly torn apart like animal attacks…” I spoke aloud the facts and what we know so far to Sam.

“Which is near impossible because it all happened while they were asleep. It’s not like a wild life animal could go into a house, specifically into their rooms without being noticed,” Sam responded.

I then say, “And once any sort of noise would cause someone to think there was something in the house, it would be too late because they were already dead.” We reinform, to one another.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Sam huffed, letting his head fall down into his hands. Rummaging his fingers through his hair.

“Maybe a vengeful spirit?” I spit out.

“But who is the question, if that is the case?” Sam asks, clearly at the edge of his seat. “All four victims have had it the same. Why would it start? Who would want to hurt them? It doesn’t make sense…” Sam trailed.

“Well let’s take a break. Let’s see what Dean comes back with and then we’ll all play back again. Sound like a deal?” I say. Closing our journals/books and putting away the crime scene photos that clearly showcased the puncture wounds on the neck and deep clear stroken tears all over the victims chests.

“Yeah, okay, let’s clear our heads.” Sam said, closing his laptop.

Sam leaned back against his chair and I could feel myself under his gaze.

“How about we play a game?” Sam smiled.

“Ok, like what?” I let out a giggle.

“Truth or dare.” He declared.

“What, like we’re a group of kids sitting around a campfire?” I smile, letting out a laugh.

I look at his brown orbs and our laughter sync together.

“But go on, I’m waiting,” I swiftly move my hand, indicating for him to start.

“Truth or Dare.” He asks the infamous questions.

“Hm. Truth,” I announce, waiting patiently for his response.

“If you would have to choose one hunter to be partners with for the rest of your life, who would you choose? Me or Dean?” Sam questioned, always curious.

“What?! What kind of question is that? Both of you bring unique qualities to this hunting life and I wouldn’t be able to pick between one or the other. Like who would be out there speaking to families, while we’re here doing research, if I only had to choose one of you guys? Well, it would probably be one of us if it was a two-man job, but that would mean more work for a duo. So my answer would be both of you guys, because we have a system that works for us,” I manage to explain.

“Ok, I’ll accept that offer. Makes sense. Now your turn,” Sam smiles.

“How do you feel now that I’ve joined you Winchesters? Do you like it? Pros? Cons? Do you hate it? Because I can leave if one of you doesn't like it,” I ask curiously.

“Well, you didn’t even ask ‘truth or dare’” Sam teased.

I instantly feel my cheeks warming up and a shy smile forming.

Sam let out a laugh, as I softly kicked him under the table.

“I was going to pick truth anyway.” He chuckled.

“I think you’re a great fit for us because sometimes Dean and I need someone apart from him and I to talk to and spend time with because we’ve spent our whole lives together. And let's just say we can get on each other's nerves sometimes. Your personality also goes really well with ours because you can easily slide into our conversations and understand our humor. Or when things are getting too deep or serious you know how to meddle your way to help us. You just know us so well. It’s not like with a stranger or with someone we don’t feel comfortable with, we’d tend to keep to ourselves or be someone we’re not. With you we can be us and we don’t have to hide. I don’t think we’d be able to do another hunt without you anymore. You’re great with book research, hands on research, and combat. You’re not just an extra set of hands, you’re family!” Sam sweetly ended his answer.

“Aww, You’re going to make me cry.” I say, slightly tearing up.

“Oh and that! You balance us out because you’re a woman. Well you already know we grew up in a household of men, so we never got female treatment throughout our lives. So that’s nice. Talks about crying and being sensitive. Dean is more open to that now that you’ve been here. Also the cooking is amazing! Or when we’re sick, you somehow know what to do. It’s nice to have that because we always grew up without any of it. So thank you. Also just to reiterate, women aren’t just that, you’ve brought much more than that but having a woman in our circle has been healing in a way I never thought we needed!” Sam expressed.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of help,” I grin, knowing how appreciative they were.

“Ok, truth or dare?” Sam asks.

“I'll choose dare, to switch it up a little,” I smile.

“Yes! Ok, perfect. When we go out to eat later with Dean, I dare you to add hot sauce under his pie!” Sam smirks.

My mouth opened wide once I heard the dare.

“Do you want him to kill me?!” I yell from across the motel’s small table.

Sam laughs loudly.

“Oh I hate you!” I say rolling my eyes. “We’re not playing this game anymore!” I grunted.

“Ok fine, I’m ok with that. As long as you do the dare I’m happy!” Sam jokes.

“We can play another game. Kiss, Marry, Kill!” I say.

“Ok, Leonardo DiCaprio, Henry Cavill, or Pedro Pascal,” Sam inquired.

“I’ll kiss 90’s Leo, kill Pedro, and marry Henry!” I easily answered. “Your turn, Shakira, Anne Hathaway, and Emma Watson,”

“Oh, that’s hard! That’s a tough one.” Sam remarks, deep in thought when the phone rang.

I answered Dean’s phone call, while Sam decided on an answer.

I put him on speaker.

“Hey Dean, how did it go?”

“Ok I was talking to one of the families and they mentioned the name Dana Wilson. Apparently it was one of their friends that died in a woods accident. I talked to one of the friends that are still alive and it turns out they left Dana in the woods as a joke and she got attacked by wolves or bears. They kids weren’t sure, so they left the body.” Dean exclaimed.

“Vengeful spirit!” Both Sam and I said as we looked at each other.

I really enjoyed writing for Supernatural! I'd love to write more for this fandom!

Don't forget to like and follow!

I'd love for you to request! Thank you <3

taglist: @annab-nana @hoodpankow @alaynahope714 @jeyramarie @lemur46 @taylathornton @hoelesslyt

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester imagine #sam wichester oneshot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester one shot #sam and dean winchester

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gorogues · 6 months

Text

Fictober 2023

Prompt number #22 Fanfiction Fandom: Flash Rogues Rating: T – Teen and up Warnings: A creepy guy.

Day Twenty-Two: “Who takes care of you?”

The neighbour knocked at the door with some hesitation. She didn’t know the man who lived there, after all, but he did have a reputation for being strange and rude. She’d only seen him twice before, and one of those times he’d leered at her.

But she was a social worker, and she thought it good to help the people around her whenever possible. Maybe the man was just misunderstood.

The door swung open, and Alvin grinned when he saw who it was. “Yeah?” he greeted her, scratching his rear end for an uncomfortably long time.

“Hi, I’m your neighbour Deborah, and I thought it’d be nice to get to know each other,” she said politely, offering a hand to shake despite the scratching. Alvin laughed delightedly.

“Sure, come right in. I’m Doctor Albert Desmond, scientist-at-large.”

Unfortunately, Deborah didn’t know him well enough to realize that he’d given the name of his unlucky twin, as he so often did. She smiled and stepped inside, though the smile became strained once she saw what a mess the place was.

“Siddown and I’ll get you a beer!” Alvin chortled, heading into the kitchen to grab a few cans. She grimaced when she saw a large pile of dirty magazines on the coffee table, but decided it wasn’t her place to judge.

She sat down on the couch and noticed some underwear wedged between the cushions, though she couldn't tell whether it was clean or not. But Alvin then tossed himself onto the seat next to her and offered a can of cheap lager, which at least was still fully sealed.

“So, you said you’re a scientist? What do you do?” she asked kindly.

“Eh, I’m a jack of all trades, really. I work for people who’re willing to pay cash, and do my own research on the side. I’m trying to develop a vaccine for crabs!” he said with great enthusiasm.

The look on his face suggested that he wasn’t trying to save marine life, but the work would probably help people and for that she was glad. Besides, at least he wasn’t cooking drugs, and he seemed far too slovenly to become any kind of so-called “supervillain”. She’d met a few of those in her line of work, one of whom had lived in her last building before it was destroyed in a battle with the Justice League.

She might have had some quibbles with supervillains.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“Oh, I dunno. I think they forgot I’m here, `cause they don’t charge me rent. Or maybe that’s because I turned the super’s desk into salt a while back!” He laughed so hard at this that she frowned with concern; he didn’t seem stable, or to have much grasp on reality. Maybe she and her colleagues really would need to intervene.

“Who takes care of you, Albert? Do you have anyone in your life to check on you, and make sure you’re okay?”

He seemed puzzled. “Whaddya mean? I'm a bachelor, living a wild swinging single-guy life! Nobody tells me what to do!”

“So, um, I’m going to give you the number of somebody who can help, and he’ll come over to talk to you later this week,” she said evenly as she scribbled a phone number on a piece of paper. He took it and stared.

“Is this some kind of therapy thing? Because I don’t do therapy anymore.”

“We just want to make sure you’re all right.”

He sighed, and looked genuinely regretful.

“So, this is gonna end in one of two ways: I give you lots of gold to make you scram, or I threaten you and/or actually turn you into salt to make you gone. So I guess that’s really one of three ways, sorry. Which is it gonna be?”

“Albert, I…”

He pulled the Philosopher’s Stone from his pocket, and suddenly the cheap wooden coffee table became sodium. Then it was tungsten. Then it was transformed into pure helium, quickly dissipating into the atmosphere.

“Crap, now I need another table,” he muttered under his breath. “Anyway, the point is, I can do it and I mean it. I think you’re hot, so I’m giving you a choice most people don’t get. What’s it gonna be?”

“…I’ll take the gold, and I’m going to move out right away. You won’t hear from me again.”

She absolutely meant it.

“That’s my girl!” he grinned, and clapped his hands triumphantly. “You made the right call, and I’ll give ya all the gold you can carry. But just between you and me, d’you have any interest in the ol’ slap n’ tickle?”

She tried very intently to keep her face neutral lest he take offence. “Um, no thank you.”

“Too bad, you’re a total babe. Well, a deal’s a deal.”

Alvin searched for the remnants of his half-eaten lunch and turned them into solid gold, and he grabbed a few of his least-favourite magazines and subjected them to the same fate.

“They’ll melt down as well as any gold bar,” he shrugged when she gave him a funny look. But right now she didn’t care about all the weirdness anymore, and hurried to the exit with her heavy gleaming burden.

“You know where I am if you change your mind about the tickles!” he called as she speed-walked to her apartment and slammed the door behind her.

She took a deep breath once she felt (mostly) safe. She was going to pack a few things, head to a motel, and hire movers to take the rest of her possessions away as soon as possible. The gold would pay for a new start in life, and it was time to leave the city of Keystone and its madness far behind.

#fictober23 #Dr Alchemy #fanfic

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lollytea · 2 years

Note

I wish we could see how Lilith and Hunter’s relationship would change after everything. Lilith would never admit that she held a grudge to a child and Hunter would definitely not know how to address her outside of the coven system (what was exactly the hierarchy there?). But then one she finds him reading one of her papers and then he has actual interesting feedback. And she loves hooty but it’s nice to have someone who can hold a conversation and not just stare mindlessly as she rambles. And Hunter loves his friends and doing stupid teenager shit, but every once in a wild he needs space to be a boring grandpa. Anyway what I am trying to say is that I think that they would be academic colleagues and see them as the research team responsible for rediscovering the lost history of the boiling isles and wild magic, after centuries of lies.

This is SO cute and also very correct.

"Boring grandpa" abdjnk he literally IS Lilith's (great (x20)) grandpa.

But yeah I want to see them have an interaction now that they've both broken free of Belos's influence. And like. If they're gonna go to the effort of establishing that Lilith hates Hunter, why not give some sort of conclusion of that. One interaction season 3 I beg of you. Like how would they even address each other after everything?

I feel like they'd be pretty awkward around each other at first. The reasons Lilith couldn't stand Hunter were all related to Coven Stuff and immature jealousy over the "Special Treatment" he received. Lilith was a very petty childish women.

Well at this point she's done some soul searching and has recognized how psychologically warped she is because of the Emperor's Coven and that it does not remotely define her worth as a person. So really, what is there for her to hold a grudge against Hunter about? She's aware that he turned his back on the Coven, on all his "Special Treatment" because he realized how corrupt Belos was. Just like Lilith did. This would probably open her eyes to the realization that she and Hunter are just two victims of the same system. He's been under Belos's thumb since birth. Meanwhile Lilith was around his age when she joined the Coven and it was basically her entire world since then. I don't think anyone in the Emperor’s Coven was more thoroughly brainwashed than Lilith and Hunter.

But like. Would she feel guilty? Probably. Would she know how to address it? Probably not. I could honestly see Lilith just attempting to make painfully awkward smalltalk with Hunter or win his favour in her painfully awkward Lilth way. More than anything this would probably confuse the fuck out of Hunter, but he's just as awkward in return.

Judging from that one Dana art, while they were both in the Coven together, Hunter was pretty much walking on eggshells around Lilith. He knew she hated him and was trying to avoid doing anything that would make her hate him even more. But now that they no longer have the favour of Belos drawing a wedge between them and she's being weirdly nice to him, he has no idea how to react. What's her angle here? Why has she suddenly dropped the "Golden Brat" nickname? This is weird and he doesn't trust it. Yes he always wished Lilith would be nicer to him but now it just feels unnatural. Freaks him out.

At some point Lilith is presenting her very own exhibit at the museum and, since the two are running in the same social circles now, Hunter attends along with Luz and Eda. He really does want to support her. But at the same time, he does everything in his power to not interact with her. He dodges her at every turn, as she converses with all the other museum patrons and history enthusiasts. Eventually she's close to noticing him and Hunter ducks into the first room he finds, which just so happens to be Lilith's office.

Now does Hunter know that it's not morally right to snoop around in your ex colleague's office? Yes. Would he do it anyway? Probably. He's just has this insatiable curiosity, what else can he do? Plus he really does want to come to some understanding about Lilith. In all the years he's known her, she's always been wearing one mask or another. Whether chilly or uncomfortable pleasant. This is how he stumbles upon one of her papers.

Hunter gets sucked in by the topic, the enthusiasm, the expert research, the precision, and he wonders if she's always been this passionate about history. He never really knew any of her interests while they were in the castle. She never told him. It feels weird to read. The way Lilith writes reminds Hunter of the way his brain goes really fast when he's thinking about a topic that's set his interest ablaze. He never would have figured that they had anything in common besides that good ol' Coven Trauma.

That's when Lilith walks in and Hunter is quick to blurt out an apology. Lilith hurriedly waves him off and pretty much offers him anything in the room if he wants. Does he like the desk?? It's all his!!

However Hunter then holds up the paper and tentatively asks if Lilith wrote it. Lilith nods, flustered and apologises for all the inksplots and the sloppy handwriting and--

Hunter reads a paragraph aloud, rambles out a few impassioned comments and then asks if she could please elaborate on this one part here. It's super interesting the way she talks about it.

Lilith's suck-up persona drops instantaneously. She completely forgets about it in that moment. Nobody has ever asked her to elaborate on her work before. People usually find them boring. She's so ecstatic she nearly tears up. She crashes down in the seat next to Hunter, the awkwardness between them evaporating and the two talk for hours. She's so excited that she forgets about her own exhibit.

And oh my god YEAH. I never thought about that potential future before but I could absolutely see Hunter researching lost history alongside Lilith. That's actually so cool to think about. They would make such good geek friends.

#i remember before the hunter and darius dynamic was introduced a lot of people wanted lilith to adopt hunter #i was never a fan. not because of their antagonistic relationship #but the fact that lilith is NOT maternal in the slightest #but i am HUGE on them being nerd buddies together #cool aunt lilith. she cannot parent to save her life but she can share so many fun facts

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shy-peacock · 2 years

Note

YO YO YO!! Idk f you're taking prompts atm but please write doggy shenanigans with your Rayaari children and TukTuk I BEG YOU PLEASE

Here you gooooo- no proof (we die like the idiots we are)

Rated G for goodness.

Saturdays always had the tendency of producing the most random situations in their household.

Maybe Chau would become fixated on a certain project that had him coming to them for clarity again and again, maybe Linh would want to go to the library to “research” something she had learned at school. Both kids’ minds running wild- seeking out their parents in an effort to find clarity.

Playing games that turned into all out war between the two of them, shenanigans that got them both in trouble. Or- more typically, one of their friends or family dropping by to see them. Depending on who it was could send them into a variety of situations.

This weekend’s focus was Tuk Tuk.

The kids had career day this week at school. Parents from a wide range of professions entered the school to tell the children about their career. One that had particularly stuck with the kids was the Police officer. More specifically, the K-9 unit.

When Namaari picked them up from school, both kids rattled on and on about the “Police Lady’s Dog” and how they had so many tricks and cool things they did to help the community. An excitement that was not out of the norm for either child, talking excitedly about their school day with Namaari until they were home and they were set free to play until supper. Neither child bringing up the whole “cool police dog” again for the rest of the week.

Until now that is.

Namaari found the pair out back with their old pet. Linh with a clipboard in her hand and a blank paper attached, a pen that she tucked behind her ear. Chau, on the ground next to Tuk Tuk, with his hands and knees. Talking to the dog as if he understood a thing he was saying.

“Tuk, look!” Chau commanded, “you gotta go really fast like this!”

Namaari watched as their son bolted across the yard on all fours, showing the pooch how quick he should be walking. Tuk Tuk watching him go, yet making no indication to move.

Linh shook her head, taking the pen from behind her ear and clicking it once before bringing it to the paper.

“Speed-…needs work.” She sighed.

“What are you two doing?” Namaari asked, arriving on the scene. Her children glancing up at her, all smiles and excitement.

“We’re enrolling Tuk Tuk in the K-9 unit!” Linh announced, cheerfully, “we’re putting him through a series of tests first to see if he can make the cut.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna wear a badge!” Chau shouted, jumping up to his feet.

Namaari smirked, glancing down at Tuk Tuk as he looked up at her. Forcing back a laugh as the old boy looked hardly capable of walking the length from the yard to the house- let alone joining some elite unit on the police force. But, not wanting to crush her children’s eagerness, Namaari played along anyways.

“So, what is he being graded on?”

Linh, the most articulate of them all, made a point of taking the lead here. Pen raised as she, quite eloquently, explained their plan.

“Well-!” She said, dramatically, a look of utmost dignity on her face, “We decided that to be in the K-9 unit, Tuk Tuk has to pass the test of Reaction, Sense, Willpower and Speed-!”

Chau nodded, grimacing somewhat.

“He’s sort of failing speed though…” he admitted, patting the dog on his head, “he doesn’t want to move!”

Namaari knelt down, also petting the dog as she spoke.

“Well, speed isn’t everything-…maybe he’s the sort of dog that takes his time so he doesn’t make a mistake.” She countered, smiling when Tuk Tuk leaned into her touch, as if he were grateful she found a positive spin on his snail’s pace.

Linh tapped her pen to her head, putting on the most ridiculous “thinking face” Namaari had ever seen.

“Well-…okay!” She sighed, “but you have to ace your other tests Tuk Tuk if you plan on being a police dog!”

The next test was “Sense”, which the kids explained to Namaari (as if she didn’t know) that they would be testing him on his ability to “sniff out the bad guys” as the Officer at their school had put. Taking the dog around their house to see if he could find the “missing items” they had stashed somewhere.

Problem was, he couldn’t find them and neither could the kids. Both forgetting what the items were and where they had hidden them. The task of hiding mostly up to Chau who had hastily thrown them about the house, while Linh had neglected to make a list of the items beforehand. Both distracted with setting up the other tasks.

Hopefully- it was nothing that would rot or smell in time.

Knowing their kids- it most likely was.

Namaari tried not to think of the dread she’d be facing later at finding the unknown items and focused on the next test of willpower, which had the kids each taking a handful of cheerios and setting them before Tuk Tuk. Each hoping that by doing so the dog would ‘resist’ the treat he usually got for training purposes.

Tuk Tuk resisted the Cheerios, to even Namaari’s surprise, until he waddled over to the couch and stuck his head between the cushions. Digging, searching for something that none of them knew what it was until his head pulled free and a long piece of what looked to be deli meat was taken from the couch.

One of the items the kids had hidden.

“Oops…”Chau said, wincing at Namaari’s disapproving look. “I guess he passed the sense test-…?”

“But not the willpower…” Linh sighed, marking it down on her paper awkwardly.

They took a break to look for the remaining items. Now realizing it had indeed been food, finding at least nine pieces of turkey slices throughout the house. One discussion on “not wasting food” later, they were on their final test. Reaction time, which Namaari knew he would fail.

Still- the kids tried it. They threw his favorite toys and, slow and steady, the dog went at his own pace to retrieve them once they had urged him enough times that he must have gotten sick of them harping about it. Waddling across the yard, sniffing the toy, only to plop down on the grass lazily. Enjoying the heat of the sun on his old bones.

They tried other ways to make him react. From more toys being thrown, gasping dramatically and pretending their was an emergency, to the kids pretending to get into a fight that turned into a real fight where Namaari had to physically pull them apart. Tuk Tuk rolling onto his back then, without a care in the world.

Defeated, the kids sat then in the back yard. Linh scribbling her test results on the paper while Chau fixated on a blade of grass. Both pouting, trying to figure out some way to get Tuk Tuk to pass the tests they had set out for him. Namaari sitting along with them, noting their soured mood.

“You know-…” she began, “it’s okay if Tuk Tuk doesn’t make the cut-“

“But he has to!” Linh whined, turning her attention onto her Mother then instead of the pad of paper. “We want him to be a K-9!”

“Yeah, so he can protect us and stuff.” Chau added, “like the police dog does.”

“But Tuk Tuk does protect us?” Namaari said, voice humored. Especially when both kids looked from the dog to her, basically saying ‘really-..?’ with their eyes. “He may not be fast or young anymore, but he does all the same.”

“How?” Chau asked, genuinely curious.

“Well-…like right now.” She began, “he’s been with you all day.”

“Yeah, sleeping.” Linh stated.

“But he’s there, regardless.” Namaari continued, “in fact Tuk Tuk hasn’t left either of your sides since the day we brought you home from the hospital.”

“He used to sit by your cribs at night, used to come wake me or your Mom if he heard either of you crying.” She mentioned, both kids seeming surprised by this, “he followed you around as you played- still does actually, maybe not as quickly as he used to..but he does so because he wants to make sure you two are okay.”

“When you’re sleeping and he comes to lay with you in bed.” She began, “he’s there to comfort you from your bad dreams..-and he watches over you at night when you sleep.”. She motioned towards the dog, continuing on. “He sits with you when you cry and listens to you when your upset,” she added, “Tuk Tuk is old and his body is more tired now than it used to be-…but he does his best to help in his own way- protecting us in ways that are different than just being tough or fast, like how he protects our hearts from feeling lonely or sad.”

Both kids thought on that, quietly acknowledging the dog from afar. Seeing him in a different light. Namaari humored then as she realized something as well.

“Plus-…I do think one of your tests wasn’t accurate.” She joked.

“How?!” Linh huffed, defensive at being told she was “wrong”.

“Yeah- our tests were really good!” Chau added, equally offended.

“Cause both of you judged his reaction time on you two fighting-“ Namaari laughed, “you two bicker all the time- he knows you wouldn’t actually hurt each other.”

Linh and Chau paused, considering it.

“Huh-…I guess that’s tru-“ Chau began, laughing.

Humored, that is, until Linh wound back and decked him hard against his head. The boy crumpling to the ground, stunned at first, then shrieking as the pain clearly found him.

“AUGH MOM?!?!!” Chau sobbed, covering the spot Linh had hit him at. “LINH HIT ME!?!” He yelled, as if Namaari didn’t just witness it.

“Linh!” Namaari scolded, shocked by her actions-

But not really.

Linh once again wore an offended expression on her face, an attitude that was all Raya in a single look.

“What-?” She whined, “you said Tuk Tuk wouldn’t react if I didn’t actually hit him?!”

“That’s not what I meant, Linh!” She sighed as she stood, helping Chau to his feet. “And- I didn’t say that either.”

Linh pouted, realizing she was in trouble now, until her attention moved to across the yard. At the dog, which was waddling quickly towards them, barking at the pair of them. At Linh, as if he was saying “cut that out!”

His movements ‘speedy’, his ‘reaction’ strong, ‘sensing’ something new and yet bad had occurred between the two siblings. His ‘willpower’ to get to them urging him to walk the space across the yard despite his sore bones.

All of them, even Chau who had stopped crying, glancing at the dog. All of them seeing it, but the kids reacting to him happily.

“Yay, it worked!” Linh squealed in delight, “good job, Tuk Tuk!”

Chau began jumping on his toes, his sore head forgotten.

“Way to go,” he beamed, “I knew you could pass-!”

Namaari watched as the kids ran around the confused dog, Tuk Tuk looking at the two as they happily ran around. Looking then to Namaari as if he were to say, “what is going on?”. Namaari giving him a shrug back, sighing at the pair of them but still smiling. Happy to see them celebrate their family member that definitely deserved it.

~~~~~~~

The kids moved on from their new obsession with the K-9 unit by the end of that afternoon. Both playing together or off on their own, having Namaari wonder if they had gotten the point of her talk or not. Wanting them to appreciate him, to respect him for everything he’s done, showing a kindness to the elderly creature.

She couldn’t be a hundred percent certain it stuck, not until the evening arrived and each of the kids were sitting on the couch with Tuk Tuk. Chau giving his head tiny kisses every now and then, petting him softly while Linh leaned against him affectionately. Namaari putting them to bed shortly after where Linh made the comment-

“I love Tuk Tuk the way he is.”

Namaari smirked, tucking her in.

“Changed your mind I see?”

“No- I always liked him a lot,” Linh mentioned, “I just like him more now and I think it’s better he’s not a police dog.”. She settled in, yawning. “He’d be at work all the time and I’d miss him.” She added, sounding exhausted.

Namaari kissed her forehead, “me too.”

A welcomed silence came then as Namaari went to turn off the lights. Nearly to the door when-

“So, maybe since I learned a lot today, and maybe since I am going to bed so well and not even crying about it at all-“ Linh stated, “maybe I can not be grounded?”

Namaari swallowed her laugh.

“Nice try, still grounded.” She mentioned, shaking her head as he daughter tried very hard not to roll her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll prepare some notes tomorrow for my case.” She said, sounding much too like an adult then in a tiny kids body. “Let’s meet at the table once you’ve had your coffee.”

Negotiating already?

God- they were in trouble.

~~~~BONUS SCENE~~~~

Linh: (pushing her chalkboard into the living room with the words “why I shouldn’t be grounded “ on them)

Namaari and Raya: (sitting on the couch, watching Linh get set up with her notes)

Linh: Good morning ladies and-…ladies. I would like to begin by-

Raya: you’re still grounded Linh-

Linh: WHAT?! I don’t even get to plead my case?! I’m innocent until proven guilty!

Namaari: Linh, you punched your brother right in front of me-

Linh: but everyone has a right to a fair trial! Im hoping to plead insanity-

Raya: okay…no more daytime court tv for you…

#Raya was at work the whole time XD #rayamaari #rayaari #raymaari #ratld #raya and the last dragon #oc:chau #oc:linh #surviving kumandra city #skc universe #tuk tuk

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years

Text

Read Between the Lines (Cont’d)

This is the rest of Read Between the Lines; unlike the first part, it’s far less cohesive. It also doesn’t get anywhere near a resolution.

Though the title has nothing to do with the Tom Cardy song of the same name, I joked to myself that one of these parts could be titled “Alright, Legend (You’re Going to Die)”

---

Emmet was certain of two things.

First, nothing had emerged from the strange, dark field they’d been guarding. Not even for a moment. He’d taken his eyes off of it once, and by then, it was a moot point.

Second, something within the field had taken his brother. He didn’t know how, but he was sure of that much; though it had stayed perfectly [contained], there had been a sense of something reaching out, and when he’d turned to follow the sensation, Ingo had taken a step backwards, as if struck from the front.

After that, things happened too quickly to say [for certain], even months after the fact. He knew that, all of the sudden, his brother was so much closer to the [w/e], even though he’d never moved; he was relatively sure he’d reached out, trying to pull him away, and that Ingo had reached back. Though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, he knew that he’d seen true, unfettered terror in his twin’s eyes before he was torn away.

He thought that, maybe, just maybe, Ingo had let go before vanishing, trying to protect him one more time.

But what exactly happened when the field dissipated, rending the car in half and taking his brother with it, Emmet couldn’t say.

After arriving in Jubilife Village, there was one more fact to add to Emmet’s list of certainties:

Whatever had taken his brother had not just done so physically.

[examples]

Mostly, however, it was the rare smile he was favored with. The shallow [smile] after a challenger made it through the Path of Solitude, Emmet could permit; the people here almost certainly wouldn’t take kindly to Ingo’s minimalistic [expressions], so it was understandable that he might have found a way to adapt. It was, however, the exact same when turned upon Emmet, which was simply unacceptable.

It likely came from a place of genuine [happiness], but that didn’t make much of a difference. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Nothing did, actually.

There was a light that had gone out-- that had been stolen-- so even now, Emmet still had work to do.

---

The book was enlightening in some ways, puzzling in others. Emmet didn’t have any frame of reference for what, exactly, the map and corresponding Pokemon icons stood for, nor was he familiar with the ingredients listed in the translated recipes, but he was very sure of one thing:

His brother had been putting together a plan of attack, and the fact that Dialga had been his target stated his intentions quite clearly. There was no post-battle synopsis on paper, of course, but the memory of his own interaction with Dialga-- the way the Dragon of Time looked him up and down, considered the full team at his belt and backed off-- told him what he wanted to hear: Ingo had gotten the better of it with three unevolved Pokemon and a wild partner.

Even without any of the specifics, Emmet was very proud.

The doubles planning could use some work, but, for now, he would graciously chalk it up to regional-and-or-temporal restrictions. It was a problem that didn’t need to be fixed, anyway, as combination [planning] was already in Emmet’s wheelhouse, and they would not be separated again.

---

Akari had something clutched in her hands. She looked down at it, and then back at them-- to Ingo, specifically.

“When the Pearl Clan found you, were you near their encampment? In the Icelands?”

He gave a shallow nod, “That I was.”

“Like, to the south? Around Avalugg’s Legacy or Heart’s Crag?”

There was a negative hum, “To the west, halfway up the cliffs by the falls.”

Her eyes dropped to the paper in her hands again, scanning it intently, “...by Lake Acuity.”

“Near enough, I suppose; it was a stop between the settlement and the Glacier Terrace.”

“Okay,” Akari breathed, “Okay. That’s bad, but… in a good way? I think I know what happened to you.”

She peeked out from behind the weathered sheet and flinched under Emmet’s stare; by comparison, Ingo’s expression was much less intense, but there was a clear interest that shone through. Akari turned it over to them and, in unison, each of them held one edge and leaned in to read it together.

‘O, lake in alabaster lands of ice, lake brimming o’er with rich acuity…

How many seek the Pokemon that shows itself there, out to answer its words true and earn its boon through ingenuity?

But should they fail to understand its words and let its questions meet with reply, their minds will be wiped clean of memory…

O, lake in the alabaster lands of ice, depths where rich acuity goes to sink.’

Emmet was first to look up from the page. He glanced immediately to his twin-- who, it seemed, was starting again, from the top-- and then to Akari. “What Pokemon lives in Lake Acuity?”

There was an absentminded, “Gyarados, mostly,” from his left, which he felt was reasonable to ignore. It had been an automatic response, and he was familiar enough with Gyarados to know that their only avenue of altering memories was blunt force trauma.

“It’s called Uxie,” Akari said, reaching into her satchel and turning an ultra ball over in her hands, “I… caught it awhile ago, actually-- do you remember it?”

Ingo’s attention flicked up from the paper, “Yes; it’s a psychic type with high defenses. Reliant on non-physical attacks and sleep, both as an offensive and defensive measure. I believe I matched it against Zoroark?”

“You got me,” She sighed, “What I wanna know is how you countered it your first try.”

She seemed [unsurprised] by the [helpless] shrug that followed, which was likely why Emmet’s blunt, “He cold read you.” took her by surprise.

“It’s an important skill in professional battling. That is not why we’re having this conversation. Uxie is the Pokemon that can steal memories?”

“Yeah. It’s-- it’s a little weird, honestly? It can… not talk for real, but talk inside your head. If I’d known,” She gestured vaguely to the paper, “that, I might’ve been a little more worried about it, but I guess we’re kinda past that.”

Ingo hummed sympathetically and handed the poem back over, “So long as safety measures are put into place for the future.”

Akari was suspiciously silent as she tucked it away.

[…]

Akari flicked her wrist, putting the force into upward momentum rather than distance, and the ultra ball released its contents.

Without meaning to, Emmet found himself grabbing his twin’s hand.

Ingo said nothing, intent on the Pokemon before them, but gave it an answering squeeze.

Uxie was small, two-tailed, and mostly grey with a yellow crest on its head. Emmet vaguely recognized it as something that wasn’t allowed on the railways-- not that they’d had anyone try with this one, to his knowledge. Though it didn’t open its eyes, it seemed to survey the both of them.

“Has this one filled his task?” It asked, after a moment passed and it wasn’t met with an opponent.

There was a tense, collective silence as they processed the question’s implications-- but before it could stretch into something suspicious, Akari said, “Yes.”

“It will be pleased.”

---

The silence drew on. Concerned, he turned to make sure nothing had gone awry.

As he did, Ingo reached out and rested a hand along the side of his face, favoring him with that too-empty-all-wrong smile, “It’s wonderful to see you again, Emmet. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d missed you.”

It was patently incorrect. He still didn’t know, really-- not with such an understated reaction-- but Emmet couldn’t turn it down when his brother’s arm wrapped around his back and drew him nearer.

[…]

Emmet wouldn’t begrudge his twin the detached intrigue each new [???] incited. Ingo wasn’t at fault here-- he was the biggest victim in this-- and Emmet’s goal, first and foremost, was to bring him back to his station. This was fantastic progress in that sense.

It didn’t stop Emmet from wanting to track Akari down and demand a battle against Uxie. Ingo had said it was a psychic type; that was perfect. He could sick Chandelure on it and let her vent her frustrations, too.

Ultimately, his hand was stilled by the fact that he was needed here, for a much more important reason.

[...]

Somehow, it was harder to watch him now. His belief that this was what he’d been, unaware that there was still a large swath of his being missing-- it hurt. He was so much more than a series of lived experiences, but because he’d been without any sense of his former self, the enormity of this one [factor] must have been overwhelming.

---

He nodded along, brows furrowed as he considered Emmet’s version of events.

“It felt like-- a Gravity attack, centered on the distortion instead of the ground. You caught my hand, but were unable to [idk] under the force of the [pull] and started to lose ground, yourself. I couldn’t pull you down with me, so I let go.”

Emmet took a deep breath and held it for several seconds. He’d imagined as much, but [???]

[…]

“There was a Pokemon. Its name still escapes me, but I feel I was aware of it, though unfamiliar with its [properties] in any significant sense. I can tell you with some certainty that it was quadrupedal, and quite tall, with white fur and gold [???]. Saying it asked me to assist it would be too [kind]; it was rather demanding.”

[what did it want/seek out pokemon]

Akari’s breath caught in her throat. Emmet spared her a sideways look.

“I… got the same [message]. You’re right, it wasn’t really a request. At all.”

“It may have become more [demanding], and if so, that could very well be my fault. I told it in no uncertain terms that wouldn’t be happening; I wasn’t going to abandon my family and duty to the city.” / “It wasn’t pleased. I awoke next in the shell of one of the multi-cars, far from any tracks they could have derailed from. With some time, I learned where and when Hisui was, and of Dialga’s theoretical presence; that was when I set my course.”

“Right,” Akari said, eyes dropping to the book. Wordlessly, [who?] handed it over and she flipped to the excerpt on Dialga’s statistics. “But Dialga was just a myth until recently. It was ‘Almighty Sinnoh’. How could you know all of this?”

Impatient, Emmet waved the question off. “Such Pokemon are disallowed on the Battle Subway. We do not expect passengers to attempt to enter the bracket with them. We do screen entries and know what to look for.” He eyed the page without moving, already well aware of the information it displayed, and added, “I have a very similar analysis back home.”

“We’ll have to compare notes, then.” Ingo said, focusing on some unknown point in the distance.

“I have a very similar analysis back home.” Emmet repeated. “Dialga is still a Pokemon of legend. There is not that much information available. Please continue.”

“Ah. Lady Sneasler noticed the disturbance in her territory, of course, and saw fit to accompany me for a time, though she steered clear of the settlements where I procured information or supplies. The Gligar I befriended agreed to assist, and I actively sought out Machop to maximize on Dialga’s weak spots-- Tangela was a surprise, however. We spent several weeks training, and when they rested, I would attempt to create items that might solidify our odds. It seemed unlikely that a clumsily made Pokeball would be able to catch Dialga, but if it was the only way to make it cooperate, it was best to be prepared.”

“So… your Pokemon were still wild then, the way the Clans partner with them.” / “They’re the same Pokemon you have now, right? Why’d you change your mind on Pokeballs?”

“I didn’t want to tear them away from their homes. If I was just a displaced passenger, I had no right to ask them to board a one-way track with me.” One of the capsules on the braided coil of his belt [shifted], and with a fondly exasperated not-smile, he moved to release its occupant. He rested a hand on Gliscor’s head as it appeared, ruffling the bristly fur there, “Yes, I was talking about you. Were those ever-so-sensitive ears of yours burning?”

Gliscor rumbled [fondly] and clambered into his lap, laying its head on his shoulder.

“They were all fantastic learners, very eager to participate-- and after Machoke evolved, Lady Sneasler seemed to take an interest, too. It took some coaxing, but she did eventually agree to battle him; while she’d never been as closed off as I’ve since heard people claim, she did become much more personable after that. She visited the crash site much more frequently, and liked to wake me by raking her claws against the sides of the cars.” / “I was incredibly grateful when, in the days leading up to [?], she indicated that she would assist me.”

[…]

“It was a very difficult battle, I won’t rob Dialga of that. We led with Tangela’s Stun Spore to try to mitigate whatever attacks we could and reduce its agility, then, when she was too tired to continue, fell back upon Machoke’s Bulk Up and Mach Punch. In hindsight, access to agile and strong style attacks would have been a boon, but I hadn’t done enough socializing with the locals to be made aware of them, and to have remedied that fact would have cut into time spent training.” Gliscor made a disgruntled noise. Ingo absently patted it between the wings. “Patience, please. Between Machoke and Lady Sneasler’s efforts, we did begin to wear Dialga down. The final phase of our strategy was to send Gligar out under the effects of an Aux Evasion, and simply out-maneuver Dialga with repeated use of Mud Bomb until its energy was spent.”

“And… did it work?”

“It did.” Emmet said in his brother’s stead; he was aware of the [idk] edge his grin adopted, and didn’t see any reason to hold it back, “Dialga recognized me when I approached it. It didn’t immediately concede. But it wavered.” But obviously winning hadn’t meant anything when Ingo had still remained in Hisui. Curious. “It refused to cooperate?”

There was an answering hum-- not agreement, but consideration of how to proceed.

“It agreed to try. It warned me in advance that its creator likely wouldn’t allow its interference.” / “And it was entirely correct. The Pokemon that transported me to Hisui was incredibly displeased with the both of us. I’m unsure what Dialga was met with, but I was told, again, to obey the Pokemon’s orders. When it recognized that I had no intention of doing so, it dropped me in the Alabaster Icelands to be met with what I now know as Uxie and its compatriots.”

Akari’s eyes darted to where the pastures lay, beyond the wooden walls, “Mesprit and Azelf. If Uxie could undo what it did to your memory, they should be able to help, too.”

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #writing scraps

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