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farfromstrange · 4 months

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 27: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You fight for your life as the paramedics take you to the hospital. The first time, you wake up without Michael but in the presence of your best friend. The second time, Sarah has accepted defeat.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of injury, blood, mentions of violence, medical setting, flashback, descriptions of child abuse & abuse in general, fight or flight response, trauma triggers

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: I was hoping to get this done sooner, but then I got sick and swamped by uni work, so I only now got it done. The next chapter will be Michael's POV of this. I wanted to make that a separate part, so I focused on Reader's POV for this one, and then you guys will figure out what Michael was really up when he didn't pick up.

Your hands are wet. Slippery. They smell like citrus and rosemary, a mixture of scents you have never quite enjoyed. Why would your blood smell like chicken seasoning, anyway? And why would it foam clearly in your hands, almost as though it was mostly water?

You look up with your eyebrows furrowed. The walls are anything but dark. Ivory wallpaper without accents; you swore you would never paint the walls of your home the same color. It is utterly tryst and boring for a house that has harbored many horrors in your lifetime.

You’re standing before the sink, the dishes running through your hands like quicksand. And they’re so much smaller. Bruises litter your skin like a mosaic masterpiece. Purple and blue blend into green, which doesn’t make any sense; blue and green should not make purple, but the skin is somehow wired that way.

All you remember is the creaking of your floorboards, Dublin eerily quiet outside as your heart beat up to your throat, and then the light went out and someone—a stranger who had not anticipated your arrival—attacked you. The shards from your favorite vase were a weapon of opportunity. It felt like someone was draining the air from your lungs with a rough cut. He sliced you open without a care. You tried calling Michael and screaming for him, but it was all a gurgle. And then, you remember, the world went dark.

The streets of London’s suburbs are quiet. You’re not supposed to be here.

“This is wrong,” you murmur. “This is all wrong.”

Maybe you died and went to hell? Looking down at yourself, you don’t find any evidence of blood. Your skin remains undisturbed. The radio is playing an early 2000s ballad. You don’t remember hearing it in a while. A chill runs down your spine.

The volume is just loud enough to tune out the screaming from the room across the hall. The snapping of leather that cuts through the air like a lightning bolt and does not care about the sound barrier has always been so deafening. Your bruises sting when you listen closely, and the music moves into the background as it had too many times back then. You could still hear everything. Every cry for help, every one of his disgusting words against her because she never did the dishes right.

You should be washing the, going over it a million times until you can see your reflection in the porcelain, or you will be next. It’s then that the screaming stops. Your pulse spikes. The air in your lungs gets trapped by a thin rubber band. It’s straining, and your heart feels like it’s bleeding out. You can’t breathe.

He calls your name. Your hands are still wet. Slippery. You can’t turn to the sink fast enough.

Ever since you can remember, you have been looking for someone to blame other than yourself for the way he treated you. Your mother never even tried to protect you when he laid his hands on you, but you would hear her cries every night when he let whatever frustrations he had left out on her. Maya and Ellie were never planned, and it makes you sick to your stomach to think about it. There is a certain amount of guilt that comes with blaming someone who can’t be blamed because she, too, is only a victim. But she has never felt like a mother to you, to begin with; she has always resented you because, in a way, you will always remind her of him. She’s so deep in it, you could never pull her out. And maybe that is why, in your mind, you blame her for all the times he hurt you and she wasn’t there. But it wasn’t her fault.

Part of you wonders if she would be able to get better once he’s gone, but she has always refused to believe in him as the devil. Stockholm syndrome. He looks so innocent, but he holds a power your mother’s fragile mind has never been able to withstand, and unless she wants to leave him, you won’t be able to help her.

But oh, it is so easy to blame someone other than your father—to blame everyone around you who only stood by and watched and continues to trust him blindly even now.

You were never good enough because you dared to disagree, never living up to expectations. Maya hit the spot better than you ever could, and Ellie was just collateral damage. God, your heart burns. Everything about you is on fire. It has always been a game to him. If he can’t control and manipulate someone else, he will fall apart. And in trying to break the cycle, you inevitably put a target on everyone else’s back.

The echo of the belt whipping through the air is forever tattooed on your brain. He calls your name from the hallway, and the floorboards creak like they did in your apartment. His steps are heavy, always landing with the back first to make the most noise. And he’s wearing those steel boots again he was issued for work. They hurt the most when they fracture your ribs.

You grab the plate just as his face appears in the doorway. He’s distorted. Your mind refuses to let him in, knowing it will break you. The pictures caught him so clearly, but nothing does your memory justice. The way he used to look at you, as though he was dead inside.

Your hands are so slippery though. The porcelain falls, and before you can catch it, it shatters. The pain tears through your side. Your lungs are sucking in air, but it isn’t to sustain them; they are falling apart.

The soap turns crimson. Black holes start to dance in your vision. The air gets trapped in your skin, and soon enough, you’re falling again, through the wood and into the atmosphere.

“She’s comin’ back,” a strange voice sounds through the endless void.

You blink your eyes open against the harsh light trying to blind you. Blue and yellow and white. Hell looks a lot different than you expected. It doesn’t hurt though, it’s just heavy. A cloud settles over you, and this constant obnoxious beeping next to your ear pulls you out of the thick syrup you landed in.

The smell of antiseptic fills your nose next, harsh and unforgiving. It’s not citrus and rosemary. You can’t hear his voice anymore, but you didn’t dry your hands. They’re still wet, not slippery but sticky now. And they’re so heavy, you can’t move them. The world around you morphs into a pit of oil instead.

You try to move again, but your limbs feel like they’re encased in cement. Something is covering your face. Plastic. So much oxygen in your lungs, and they keep burning. Why is no one helping you? You’re breathing, and the air is so clear you might go into shock because no human is supposed to breathe air this clean, right? You don’t understand, and you don’t remember...

“Easy, easy,” the same voice says softly. You can’t make out her face. “You gave us quite a scare. Your lung collapsed, but you’re gonna be okay.”

You try to lift the mask from your face, but a gentle hand stops you. “You’ve gotta keep that on, dear,” she tells you. And then the light gets brighter as she shines it directly into your eyes. “It’s best if you don’t try to talk. We’re almost at the hospital. Can you give me a nod yes if you remember what happened to ya?”

It’s your responsibility, you think. You try to nod your head, but it’s so heavy.

“Alright, good girl. Do you remember your name?”

Again, you nod.

“That’s good. Perfect. Pupils equal and reactive. Breath sounds equal. And the patient is responsive,” she says toward you, but you know it’s not directed at you. Right now, she’s just a blotch of light in a world full of darkness.

You still lift the mask from your mouth because if you’re responsive, you have to respond. “Mi—” you cut yourself off. Your tongue hurts. He didn’t pick up when you called. Why do you want to say his name when he seems to be done with you?

Your lung collapsed and the first person you think of is him, but you don’t seem to be on his mind. And you can’t count on him. Not right now. Maybe not ever again, but that isn’t his fault. You walked out. If you die, at least he can’t blame himself. Or is it more of a question of when?

“Sarah,” you slur instead. Whatever pain medication they gave you, it’s working wonderfully; you’re as high as a kite.

The strange voice asks, “Sarah?”

She must think you’re not as lucid as she suspected. You shake your head, or maybe you’re nodding. “Call… Sarah,” you finally manage to say. And two words are better than none.

“Sarah,” the paramedic repeats, nodding as if to assure you she understands. You can see the halo moving. “Okay. We’ll call Sarah for ya. Just try to relax.”

You let the mask fall back into place, too exhausted to protest further. They’re calling Sarah. Because you don’t have anyone else. A pain spreads through your chest, but it is nowhere physical. It spreads through your soul like wildfire, and even through the fog, you can feel the tear slipping from your eye and down your cheek. The salt burns in the cut on your lip.

The angel is right there with you. As your vision becomes clearer, your body seems to thaw. You grunt. “Looks like you’re in pain,” she says. “I’ll give two more milligrams of morphine.”

Morphine. That’s what it is. Before the pain in your side can come back with a vengeance, it is stopped by the delicious liquid she administers to your infusion. The world grows instantly fuzzier again.

The ambulance rocks gently as it speeds towards the hospital, at least that is where you are starting to suspect you are, and the world outside the windows blurs into streaks of light. Hypnotizing streaks of light. Your eyes roll back into your skull.

The darkness engulfs you. You’re floating in a black sea full of nothing. The tide carries you for miles and miles and then some. You flail around helplessly until you eventually decide to give up. It’s of no use anyway. You float for a while, carried for an eternity more until the rushing of the ocean turns into the unmistakable sound of your own heart.

The first real thing you feel is a dull ache in your skull. Your nerve endings are desperately tearing at each other. The beeping gets louder, accompanied by a throbbing in your ribcage. It’s not your heart; the pain tears through your skin and the muscles below, and every time you try to take a conscious breath, you’re inhaling toxic smoke.

You open your eyes. The light is less bright here. It’s blurry, at first, but the world slowly comes to life again. You’re sore all over, but as far as you can tell, you’re alive and no longer high on opioids. How long have you been out? It must have been hours.

And then it hits you again—what happened. The intruder, the missing file, the broken vase, and his hands all over you. Your neck still aches. You can feel his fingers trying to squeeze the life out of you, but you wouldn’t budge. You remember contemplating how to take your life when you were just a child, but tonight, you chose to fight back. And it landed you here.

You have been in worse pain. The feeling of waking up alone has therefore become more than familiar over the years. Just you and the beeping monitors. You wonder if they can show a broken heart.

Lifting your tired arm, you reach for the cannulas in your nose. You can breathe fine; you don’t need them. You don’t even need to be here.

“Hey, don’t…” The blur turns into a person. You can’t quite believe your eyes.

Sarah crosses the room and stops your eager fingers in their tracks, and upon looking at her worry-stricken face you realize that you did not just wake up alone; they called her, after all. Like you asked them to. And you’re not alone.

The monitor picks up speed. “Sarah,” you whisper.

“It’s me,” she says. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital, but you’re okay.” From the sound of her voice, you can tell she’s been crying. Sarah never cries.

You smack your lips. “Uh, what… what happened?”

You know what happened, but you can’t see it. You can’t close your eyes and pull up a visual of the events because every time you do, you see nothing but darkness. Your memory isn’t working the way it should—nothing is.

She wipes her cheeks. Vulnerability seeps out of her pores like body odor. The pity in her eyes turns into knives to your chest. “Someone broke into your flat and… they attacked you,” she says. Her voice still has a certain edge to it. “Your lung collapsed, but they managed to put a needle in there and now you’re all better. You didn’t even need surgery, just a blood transfusion. I actually donated while I was waiting ‘cause it was killin’ me that it took them so long to fix you up.”

The needle would explain the pain in your lungs. You reach for her hand.

“When they called, I thought… God, I thought you were dead. I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“What were you thinking?” There it is, the anger. “You should’ve called the police.”

“I know, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah raises her voice, “I almost lost you tonight!”

The echo drills into your ears. You flinch. The guilt hadn’t already been eating you alive, it certainly would start now. The burning behind your eyes returns, and this time, you don’t stand a chance. You try to blink them away, but it’s futile.

“I know, and I’m… I didn’t mean to do this to you.” You swallow.

“Does this have anything to do with Michael? Did he get you into this? ‘Cause if he did, I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“No!” You try to sit up, but the sudden movement tears at the stitches in your side. Every nerve under your skin protests. You stretch, and it burns. With a grunt, you fall back against the mattress. “No,” you repeat. “He didn’t…”

This is what you were worried about. It crossed your mind before it happened that the person in your apartment might have been hired by the Kinsellas to steal the valuable information you collected; it was the only thing you had to fuel your agenda, and someone took it. You didn’t tell anyone but Michael, so it would make sense that his family had something to do with it, but after talking to Jimmy, you seriously doubt it. You almost died. If they wanted you dead, you would be dead. It’s a terrifyingly sober thought, but it’s the truth.

But if the Kinsellas aren’t behind it, someone else must have found out. Someone from your past, perhaps. And how do you tell the police that someone broke into your apartment not to steal money but to steal a mere paper file?

Sarah sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The police are going to want to talk to you,” she says, expertly changing the subject. “They said nothing seems to have been stolen, but they need your confirmation, and they’re hoping you can identify the man who did this to you.”

Again, you shake your head. “I didn’t see his face,” you admit.

“I figured, but I think they need to know who you’ve been associating yourself with.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who I’ve been–” you grunt again when you move against the clear protest of your wound. “Who’s side are you on?” you ask her.

She looks so guilty, afraid to even meet your eyes.

“Michael’s family has nothing to do with this. Don’t ask me how I know, I just… I just know.”

“Then where is he, huh?” Her voice takes on a slightly accusatory tone. You’re not sure if it’s directed at you or Michael, but you’re not in the mood to have this conversation.

You shake your head. The lump in your throat is stuck. You can’t speak.

Sarah utters your name, but it only sets fire to the gasoline. “You almost died and Michael isn’t here,” she says. “Who knows, maybe it was him? You can’t know if you didn’t see his face! I mean, why are you protecting him and his family when he couldn’t even be bothered to be here?”

It hurts to hear her say that. It hurts to even imagine that scenario to be true. You know it isn’t, but she believes it, and that breaks your already shattered heart beyond repair.

“I’m not,” you choke out. “He has nothing to do with this. I…” You find yourself unable to speak, too caught up in the pain that spreads through your body and your soul.

You can see his face when you close your eyes, and God, you miss him.

“Then where is he?” she asks again. It’s almost as though she believes she has the whole thing figured out just because she was so worried about you. But she doesn’t.

You grit your teeth. A tear makes its salty path south. “We broke up!” you snap, your voice echoing across the room like a sharp arrow penetrating the sound barrier. “We had a fight and then I left, and that’s probably why he didn’t pick up because he was just as hurt as me, but–” You have to cut yourself off to catch a strangled breath. Your lungs barely have the same capacity they had before.

Sarah’s jaw slacks at the revelation. The words take a second to sink in, but when they do, it dawns on her like a gigantic shadow. Instead of an ‘I told you so’, she exhales shakily, “Oh.” Nothing else seems to come to her mind at that moment.

Your heart drums against your ribcage. You inhale, sitting further up to ease the pressure on your wound and calm your racing pulse that is starting to upset the monitor beside your bed.

Another pained groan passes your lips. “My gut is telling me his family isn’t behind this because whoever broke into my apartment was an idiot, and the Kinsellas are not,” you tell her. “You want to blame Michael for not being here? Fine! But he would never hurt me. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You begin to see it again; the blood on the dark floorboards transferring to your phone as you tried to dial his number with the last of your strength, but he didn’t pick up. He was the only person you could think of when you thought you were going to die, and he wasn’t there. He didn’t even come.

Finally, the lump lodges free in a devastating sob, landing like a burning meteor from the depth of your chest.

Sarah wraps her arm around your shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t fight it; you bury your face in her chest, clinging to her instead of letting go. Pieces of drywall start coming off the borders around your heart. The sobs wreck your body with an intensity that could match the force of a landmine.

When you woke up, you were hoping, even if just for a second, Michael would be there to hold your hand. You would have given up your belief that the two of you were meant to be dysfunctional for a taste of the comfort you know only he can provide you. But it’s all just a fever dream, and he isn’t here.

You beg yourself to breathe through the inferno spreading from your wound to the remaining space of your chest cavity. This pain can’t easily be fixed by morphine or a high flow of oxygen. It’s a deep-rooted and emotional pain; everything around you becomes secondary.

The sobs wrack your body, but you can’t stop. You can't fight back against the avalanche heading for your town. You’ve lost everything. Trying to keep your head above water only pulled you further under. You can still feel the stranger's hands on your body, the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor. You were trying to steer off the inevitable like a fool, and in the process, you have made things a million times worse. Admitting defeat would lead to the demise of what you love, but what else can you do when the danger is no longer trying to hide, lying in wait?

The door swings open. A nurse steps in, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Heart rate and pulse ox are climbing,” you faintly hear her say. “She’s having a panic attack.”

You want to protest. You’re okay; you’re just crying, and they should take care of the ticking bomb next to your ear first. It beeps and beeps and beeps even louder. It takes you forever to notice that the bomb you’re hearing is actually your heart about to explode.

“Well, do something!” Sarah shrieks, her chest shaking under you. “She’s going to hurt herself.”

Someone calls your name, and they tell you something about a sedative, but your ears are under a thick stream of water. The sterile walls start to close in around you. You can feel your heart racing in your throat like you’re going to throw it up on a silver platter and everyone will see how damaged you truly are.

You thrash weakly, your lips moving without your mind’s approval. “No,” you sob. You don't want them to sedate you. “Please…” Your pleas meet an empty void.

The nurse swiftly prepares a syringe that, out of the corner of your eye looks almost like a loaded gun. You don't want to sleep. You can’t. You deserve this. “This will help you relax,” she says. “Just breathe, okay? We don't want your lung collapsing again.”

The needle doesn’t pierce your skin, but it might as well have. A sudden cool rush spreads through your veins. The world blurs at the edges, colors bleeding into each other until they turn black. Your sobs slow down. You try to scream, but every muscle in your body slacks against your will. The clock stops ticking. The wave catches up to you as you’re swimming away, and with jaws made of glass, the depths of the ocean finally take you under, eating you alive.

Someone whispers, “You’re going to be okay,” into the darkness, but the angel doesn’t have a face. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to hold on or keep floating. There is no beginning or end where you are. The ground is gone. It’s never going to end, you fear, drowning in your tears until you’re sucked into another black hole for the rest of your life.

You succumb to it. You let the current drag you down, and then, you drown.

You drown for the longest time, closing your eyes and accepting your fate. Until a hand dives into the water, searching for you. You blink, and you reach for it, not knowing who it belongs to but someone is trying to save you, so why not allow them to? An eerily familiar feeling fills you with warmth.

The closer you inch to the surface, the louder the real world around you gets. You hear the beeping again, steadier this time. Someone must have defused the bomb. And there is a soft touch against your forehead, fingertips grazing your burning skin. Your eyes flutter.

A soft baritone calls for you. It’s familiar, but the sensations around you are dulled to an extent you can barely feel your legs. You adjust to the light in the room, and the heaviness of your eyelids that seems to want to drag you back down. His silhouette is a blur, at first, but once you find those comforting brown eyes staring down at you with a river of tears inside, you recognize him, and you’re suddenly wide awake.

“Michael?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart contracts. Instead of conflict, all you feel is the sheer pleasure of relief when you see his face. His tired, beautiful face. And he’s real. He’s not a dream. You may not feel your body, but your mind is coming back to you, and you see him so clearly next to you, a sight for sore eyes and a balm for your broken heart.

He came.

A tear slides down his cheek, but he wipes it before you can comment on it. Your throat is dry. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bopping with the silence that engulfs you. The air crackles. You’re not sure how to react. Your entire body vibrates with a need you have never felt before, but how can you get over what happened? It’s right there between you; you can feel the tension that has spun a net between you, and it’s almost like your lungs are collapsing all over again.

But then Michael reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing your tear-stained cheek. “Yeah. I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, my love.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck with a broken exhale. He has never engulfed you faster, building a secure cocoon around you where nothing and no one can touch you. Your breaths are strangled. He wasn’t there before, but now he is, and it’s like you were never apart in the first place. Because you needed him like air, and he is the only one who knows how to make the pain go away because he knows you.

“You didn’t pick up,” you mutter against his sweater. I thought we were over, you want to say.

He nods, squeezing you tighter. Your stitches protest, but you ignore them. He can tear them open one by one if he pleases, as long as he just holds you. “I know,” he says, barely keeping it together. “I’m so sorry. I was… I was meetin’ with Jimmy, and… I turned it off. I turned it off.” His voice cracks. So much guilt can’t possibly fit into one person.

Your nails dig into his back. “It’s okay,” now you’re the one comforting him.

“No. If I’d known… Fuck! I thought… I thought I lost ya.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael pulls away, eyes boring into yours. He cups your face. “Don’t do tha’,” he growls. “Don’t do this to yerself. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”

You close your eyes. His gaze is so intense. He nudges you back to look at him. “Who did this to ya, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I didn’t… I didn’t see his face. But he, uh… he stole the… the file. On my sister. And when I tried to stop him, he… he…”

“Wha’?” The look on his face is nothing short of terrifying, even as it blurs through your tears. “Did he touch you?” When he gets angry, his eyes tend to black out. It usually sends a chill down your spine, but tonight, you need him to look at you like that. You need him to be angry because anger is the strongest motivator, and you are too weak to display the true intensity of your feelings.

You motion to your throat with shaky fingers. “He ch–” The word refuses to come out. “Mhh–” You try to regulate your breathing. “He ch–choked me.”

You have not yet looked into a mirror, but the soreness suggests quite a bit of bruising. Sarah didn’t say anything. You went through hell and the most obvious injury, the wound on your side, seems bad enough to think about. They probably swabbed under your fingernails already to get what little DNA evidence you tried to gather by fighting back, but you have little hope that the assailant is to be found in any database. And he wore gloves, that much you know. You can still taste the leather. Talking about it makes you eerily sick to your stomach.

Another sob bubbles up in your chest; you choke on it. “And then he stabbed me,” you cry. “He stabbed me, and my lung collapsed, and… I thought I was going to die.”

Michael growls, physically forcing your face back into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t leave me.”

You were the first to leave, and it was a mistake. You regret it with your entire bruised being to have ever let him go. You’re not entitled to his love, but if he left you now, you know you wouldn’t survive—because losing him is worse than dying.

He presses your face further into the crook of his neck. “I’m not leavin’,” he says. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna lay a hand on ya again.”

The words break the dam. “Please,” you beg, not knowing what for.

“Shhh,” he shushes you.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you ramble. “I was just sad and angry, and… we were both going through something. Hell, you told me about Anna and all I thought of doing was leave. I’m so fucking sorry, Michael. I don’t know how to make this up to you. I don’t…”

Michael tugs you back, seeing it as the only way you will listen to him. “Hey!” His fingers dig into your scalp. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m not angry. I… I thought I lost ya, and it almost killed me. I don’t care ‘bout one stupid fight. I don’t.” He chuckles softly, his eyes stained with tears again. “I care about you. I’m gonna fix this, you hear? Even if I have to kill the fuckin’ bastard who did this. God knows I want to. And I’m gonna get Anna back, too,” he says. “‘cause I’m still her father and I won’t let them take her from me. What I’m not gonna do is let you leave again without reason, so we’re gonna talk and we’re gonna find a way through this, alright? I promise you, so you have to promise me. Let me love you better. Please.”

Please. He breaks in your hand like wet sand struck by lightning. Though this time, you can’t pick up his broken pieces and glue him back together for it is his turn now to fix you. To love you better, as he said.

You wipe your cheek on the palm of his hand, and his thumb instantly darts out to take over. It’s so rough yet so gentle against your sensitive skin. “I promise,” you whisper then, only honesty on your cracked lips.

He lets go of your scalp to pull you back in. “That’s my girl,” Michael murmurs.

There is nothing quite as toxic as guilt, but you are each other’s antidote. You cling to him like a lifeline, and he clings to you. Where Sarah has gone, you’re not sure, but you also don’t care. She called him. She said horrible things about him, then saw your reaction, the sincere belief in his innocence and the love that is still very much there, and then she called him because there is no other way he could have found out. She called him because you didn’t need her; you needed Michael, and no drugs in the world could have changed that.

“C’mon, lie back.” You comply almost instantly with his demand, scooting aside to make space for him. The frame of the bed creaks in protest, but he seems to neither care about the hospital’s property nor his comfort as he urges you to rest against his chest. “The police are gonna ask questions,” he tells you, tugging the blanket further around your body. You only now realize that you’re freezing. “I told them you had to rest, so they’re gonna come by in the mornin’, but I assure ya, I’m gonna be there. And then Jimmy’s gonna take us home.”

You blink up at him. “Jimmy?” you ask. It’s the only thing that strikes you as odd. You suspected the police would come by, Sarah already told you the same thing, but Michael conspiring with his brother to get you out of here is a new development.

“Yeah. No one takes a shot at a Kinsella and gets away with it.”

“But I’m not–”

He cuts you off, “You are now.”

Your heart stops a beat in your chest before it starts racing a million miles per hour, so fast you can barely catch up.

It’s odd, all of it. His family expressed their disdain for you at great lengths just to retaliate back when your blood is shed, but instead of dread and overwhelming suspicion, you only feel terrifyingly content.

You’re a Kinsella now, Michael said, and what else can you do but embrace it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight @ebathory997

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #kin rte #kin amc #x reader #charlie cox #chaos theory #tw: abuse

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bingebuddie · 1 month

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Status Update: August 2024

Hi all,

Life has been crazy, and it has been a while since I have updated my writing journey.

I know it seems like I have been MIA, but as some point, I'm going to start uploading stuff and boom, you will be overwhelmed with content.

I got myself into a situation where I had too many projects in flight. As you will see below, I still do. I have stopped publishing anything new, (unless its complete) until I catch myself up.

Recently, I have started to push something's to the side and streamline my focus. I'm not fighting my muse, whatever she wants to work on is what I am working on.

Wit that said, lets share an update on the projects I have been working on.

From The Ashes –

Wes and Cole's novel is really coming along. I can’t wait to finish it! Then I need to figure out how to publish it...

Sideways

Act 6 Into the Unknown

This arc has both been a love affair and a nightmare.

It is the longest part of the story to date. Updates have been slow because I refuse to push out something until I am happy with it.

I need to nail a lot of details for this work the way I want it to.

6.5 deals with the hearing with the LAFD and is the longest single chapter in the entire series thus far. Although this chapter is complete, I still feel it is messy and too long. I have thought about breaking it into smaller chapters that would be easier to read. But at the same time, I want that part of the story over with and done. I am working on editing out some things to make it easier to read and flow better.

6.6 is done, dusted, and ready to roll. Welcome to NY!!!

6.7 is my baby. It is my favorite part of the story to date. I made myself cry. I love you, Wes! The final draft is done… just checking dates and ensuring things work how they are supposed to.

6.8-6.12 There is a lot of fun and fluff for our crew while they are on the cruise until the shit hits the fan.

6.8 Final Draft

6.9 Final Draft

6.10 is another chapter that I am excited about. But again, there are a lot of details I need to make sure work the right way.

6.11 Fluff until the shit show …

6.12 Shit show… and home to LA… before the cliffhanger that sets up Act 7. Again, the cliffhanger does not center around our boys.

Act 7 Strong

I have said this before: This arc is emotionally heavy for Eddie. Eddie will need his friends and family like never before. There are a few people who shine as support for Eddie in this Arc… Buck, Wes, Maddie, and Tyler… (insert evil smile) This chapter is inspired by Strong by Romy and Fred Again

In my mind, Buck is signing that to Eddie….

The outline for this is eight chapters… but that might go up… I have been working on part of this, and I have been working on smaller chapters to move faster… smaller chapters mean more total chapters but faster output…

Arc 8 Genesis …

Now for my other works…

Technical Foul -

In an effort to start to get past some of the awkwardness between them since the cemetery, Eddie invites Buck to the park with him and Christopher. A little basketball, some flirting, and an ill-timed visit from someone from the 118's past makes Buck's green start to show. Accidents happen, and Buck has some explaining to do.

Double Cross -

This fic is purely self-indulgent... Inspired by the video of Ryan sparing with one hand behind his back I had an idea of how that lead to Eddie telling Buck he could kick his ass with one arm tied behind his back and this was born. Fun, teasing, banter...

Shifted Part 1

Nevermore -

After the full moon reveals there is more to this world than some of them knew, the 118 face challenges they never saw coming. From lightning to Werewolves and all manner of things in between. Long-held secrets will come to light that could make or break one of the core relationships of the 118, that of Buck and Eddie. Is their friendship strong enough to survive? Will their relationship fall apart, or will they finally come together? The bonds and friendships of the 118 are about to be tested like never before. Can they put aside their differences and come together as a team and family, or will they fall victim to the mysterious being that is plaguing the streets of New York and eating the souls of their victims?

Chapter 1-20 posted. 21-30 coming soon. From a writing perspective, this is done… beta, editing all done. and I'm finally happy with it. I will post this after the summer is over. I have a solid idea for the sequel…

Would You Mind -

A four-day trip road trip to Vegas to celebrate Maddie and Chim's Bachelor and Bachelorette parties will alter Buck and Eddie's relationship for the rest of their lives. Featuring Drinking games, dancing, stripping, lap dances, couples' massages, poker games, and the highest stakes for our boys, their hearts…

Chapters 1-3 are posted, and the final chapter is done… Wedding in Vegas and drag brunch! Will get this uploaded sooner than later.

Like I said… Lap-dancing Eddie will return … In Sideways … Arc 7

I Don’t Want To Be Your Friend -

Eddie tries to figure out what is going on with Buck after the disastrous basketball game, while Buck tries to work through his feelings after Tommy kissed him. Both Buck and Eddie have some soul-searching to do to come to terms with their feelings once and for all.

I really want to get back to finishing this. I have it mostly completed, but I haven’t focused on it at all.

For more one shots of mine, you can go here.

WIPS

Future Shock

3 Part Series - Magic/BAMF/Mayhem/Found Family/Soul Mates/Redux/Ryan throw's the timeline into a blender and tada...

I have a lot of this plotted out… some chapters are written…, but I'm struggling to figure out what comes first. Do I show the future and then go back to the past and what led to it, or do I start in the past and then do the time jump…

As It Is

2030 and the 118 have been fractured since the lawsuit. When members of the team start to be picked off one by one, Hen, Chim, and Bobby have no one to turn to until friends and family return in their most desperate hour.

As It Was

Details what led to the fracturing of the 118. It is a retelling of Season 2 and part of Season 3.

As It Was Always Meant To Be

Now reunited, will the 118 be able to rally around each other, or will their painful past be too much to overcome?

This will be very large… I am unsure when I'll finish, but I have been spending time on it when I need a break from the other works.

DDD, aka Devastated and Destroyed Diaz…

This is my season 7 fix it …

I want to have this done before the fall premiere…

Part 1: With Every Heartbeat—

Eddie POV … Four simple words shatter Eddie's world. Eddie spirals after Buck comes out to him when the future he was sure he could never have suddenly become a possibility. 60% complete

Part 2 Stargazing –

Buck POV… Eddie’s gone… Well, he’s not gone; he’s taking some time to himself after Christopher flees to El Paso. Buck… he’s not dealing with it well… Harsh words are exchanged, and Buck and Eddie’s lives are changed forever. 70% complete

Part 3 Something To Hold On To –

Buck and Eddie POV’s … In the aftermath of a life-changing event, Buck and Eddie struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives… if only they had something to hold on to… each other. Outlined

Five By Five -

Buck and Eddie have been through a lot over the years. What if there was more to their relationship than anyone else knew about. AKA how Buck and Eddie fell into each other's arms after each trauma.

Relationship Goals—

In an effort to rebuild their friendship after their recent relationships crash and burn, Buck and Eddie join a local hockey team along with some of Buck's old seal friends. This was pure fan service to myself and a way to get Buck, Eddie, Wes, and Cole to play hockey and not have to do it on Sideways. This currently sits around 60 pages.

Stolen -

A stolen kiss changes everything between Buck and Eddie... This angst fest is somehow incredibly soft... This is about 35 pages right now...

The Ties That Bind - Buck breakdown fic... This might get scrapped and merged into DDD from above... Scrapped and merged into DDD

All I Want for Christmas—

Think Scrooged vs. It's a Wonderful Life vs. 911. This will not be posted until after the holidays.

There is also the Quarter Inch Killer fic and the Eddie Dexter fic. floating around in my mind...

Talk soon!

#buck x eddie #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck and eddie #911 abc #buckley diaz family #evan buckely diaz #911 buddie #911 fanfic #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction

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tillystealeaves · 1 year

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Y’all. On this day in history (1984), Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning” was released.

I… had some Eddie feels about it. I wrote this in an hour, so… hope y’all like it!

**************

July 27th, 1984

Eight weeks after Eddie Munson was supposed to graduate high school. He was supposed to have marched onto the stage, flipped off the faculty that hated him, and walked away- away from the school and the town and… away.

Eddie loved his Uncle Wayne and he knew that the older man never begrudged the fact that he’d had to make space in his small home and his quiet life for his nephew. But it was time, he knew. Time to give Wayne his space back. Time to go to a place where his surname didn’t make him universally disliked. A place where he wasn’t the biggest Freak most people had ever seen. A place where it was more understood and accepted that some people were different, were “freaks”, were metalheads… were queer.

He’d thought about Chicago a lot, dreaming of their music scene and their Pride Parades that had been held since 1970. But in the end, he’d settled on Indianapolis. Smaller, so Eddie wouldn’t get too overwhelmed with the jump from a tiny town. Closer, too, so he could visit Wayne more often.

But now none of that was happening, because Eddie had gone and failed high school. He was stuck in this awful town and Wayne was stuck with a kid he’d never planned to have- and a kid who turned out to be a failure at that.

Of course, Wayne hadn’t said that. He’d said the exact opposite, actually. That it wasn’t a big deal. That Eddie could go back next year and succeed- “and you’ll already know the answers to the pop quizzes, so that’ll help.” He’d bought Eddie a milkshake on what should have been graduation night and he’d mentioned more than once that it was nice to have an extra year of snow shoveler/ amateur chef (which was a generous way to say that Eddie had been known to experiment with how to keep the most affordable groceries taste more exciting)/ handyman’s assistant.

Still, Eddie felt guilty. His uncle had sacrificed so much for him and Eddie hadn’t managed to make anything of himself at all. Besides, he knew money was tight and him hanging around the trailer and going to high school full time yet again wouldn’t exactly make things easier for Wayne.

Not that Eddie brought much to the table during non-school months either. He’d tried to get a job around town, but most things that hire teens with no experience were customer service positions- waiters or retail- and he’d been told more than once that he’d be bad for business. He had also asked at all the local mechanic shops. Eddie loved cars and between his uncle’s friends and some old magazines had learned a decent amount about how to keep them in good working order. But apparently when your dad’s in jail for grand theft auto, people don’t want you around their cars. (Yet another thing that wouldn’t have been a problem in Indianapolis.)

Rick, the weird guy he bought weed from had offered him a job a few months back, but Eddie hadn’t given him an answer yet. Not that he had any moral stipulation against the use of certain substances, but Eddie had told himself from a young age that he would avoid the revolving prison door that was his father’s life. Besides, he couldn’t imagine how disappointed Wayne would be if he were charged with some kind of crime… so no. Not yet. He’d try to figure out something legit first.

But for now, he was stuck doing the same thing he’d done pretty much every day of this absolutely miserable summer. Get woken up by Wayne coming home, take a walk and chain-smoke until it got too hot, then sketch out future D&D campaigns until Wayne woke up and he could practice guitar.

Except when he got back to the trailer, Wayne had gone out. Tonight was Wayne’s night off, so Eddie assumed he’d gone out to run some errands after getting a few hours’ sleep. (Night Shift life sounded terrible, Eddie thought for the ten thousandth time since moving in with Wayne.) He shrugged and decided to take advantage of the extra guitar-appropriate time.

When Wayne did get back, Eddie hung his sweetheart on the wall and went to ask Wayne if he needed any help unloading anything. Wayne shook his head. “Just had to head over to the next town to grab a few things. Speaking of-“

He said it so casually, like an afterthought. Eddie had learned years ago that Wayne’s kindness was often like that. Unassuming. Eddie wondered if it had anything to do with how he’d acted when he first arrived at Wayne’s, how sure he’d been that kindness wasn’t something he should expect. Wayne had never directly addressed it; he just kept being kind anyway until Eddie finally learned that things were just going to be different at the trailer, and all in good ways.

Wayne tossed a small paper bag at Eddie. “Picked this up for you at that store you like.”

An electric chair floated in the middle of a blue background, with bolts of lightning descending from Metallica’s iconic logo to the chair. Eddie had seen the cover art before- it had been on a promo poster in that very same store that Eddie liked.

Today, July 27th, Metallica’s second studio album “Ride the Lightning” had released. And Eddie Munson had a copy in his hands.

He knew, of course, that Wayne hadn’t just picked it up during errands. To be sure to get it today, he had clearly preordered it. He’d known the date. Eddie didn’t think that he’d mentioned it- and even if he had said that Metallica had a new album coming out, he certainly wouldn’t have brought up the specific release date. If he was being honest with himself, he’d tried to forget it was coming out at all. He certainly couldn’t afford it and he absolutely wasn’t going to ask Wayne, who had given him everything and who he’d done nothing but let down.

But Wayne wasn’t looking at him at all like someone who felt let down. Wayne was smiling, clearly watching his nephew try not to bounce around with excitement. “Thank you!” Eddie exclaimed, running towards Wayne and hugging him while still not taking his eyes off the album. “Oh this is going to be so metal. I read that one song-“

And off he went, talking a mile a minute about something that Wayne only vaguely understood. But the older man smiled ever more brightly as he watched the never ending bundle of sparks that was his nephew light up his once-dreary home.

Hours later, Eddie sat in his room after listening to the entire album twice and was now trying to figure out the chord progression of “Creeping Death”. Wayne poked his head in the doorway and once again gave Eddie that smile that had made him feel so very safe over the years.

“So how long until you can play the whole thing?”

Eddie laughed. One day, he told himself, he’d get his degree and get far away from Hawkins. But this life that he had right here? This was more belonging and understanding than he would ever find in the most accepting city on the planet.

This was home.

#stranger things #eddie munson #wayne munson #Wayne is the best #metallica #Munson family life #gay eddie munson #Eddie’s being hard on himself #But Wayne’s love is absolute

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surlifen · 1 year

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guide to surlis sonas

aka an excuse to Poast Images and drone on because I love to do that!

current main sona I think and closest to a truesona: this otter guy who remains unnamed because all the names that are my name have already been used at this point LMAO

art by nepeteaa and by me! I'd honestly draw him more often if he weren't hard to draw? surli was easy because. Fox. (and Generic Thin whereas my body type is, while still pretty thin, specific in a way that's hard for me to draw) and honestly I enjoy drawing him more oTL.... otters are super hard to stylize cutely + in a way that looks Like Me... surli does not look Like Me teebeehaiche

surli fennec surlifen main sona of the past and still like... kind of me it's complicated

imbages by jilf and vhsdruid

i kinda ended up disconnecting from his Design as a Whole and the alt palette didn't really fix it but nonetheless he's never leaving my possession. it's weird cause my brain can really only connect fully to one character per Thing/Setting as a Sona who is Me so ever since splitting off into otter I don't feel FULLY connected to either the way I once did to surli :( but I am experimenting with having multiple sonas and maybe ill try that thing people do where they also do sonas for different Aspects of themselves so I don't just have an army of Normal Nice Blonds

pokesona: liam

art by me, cicadaghost, me

not much 2 say he is me pokemonned! he's much Smaller Cuter than I am and I really enjoy his simple design + imagining him in the pokemon world :3 like what berries he'd like best and what specific cities/landmarks he hangs out at... hiking in ilex forest and visiting the national park yk

lee: bunny....sona....?

art by me, purrker

he was a bit of an experiment in "CAN I have more than one fursona?" and also "CAN I make a sona who isn't Exactly Like Me?" i've always seen people whose sonas have Supernatural Elements and been like how can you do that. I respect it so much but if EYE am a normal human person how can I connect to something with strange abilities and qualities. and I still couldn't go so far as like... my friend whose sona is an honest to god several stories tall kaiju with a backstory and shit, but lee has supernatural luck and a connection to/control of storms/lightning because that's sick and awesome and cool. and also glows and has cool antlers when he wants. he's not as me as the others but he's there and he's not... NOT me?

fucking... willie dustice, silver city "self-insert" joke guy

unfortunately I DO love his stupid ass. you know how sometimes in a comic or animated show there'll be some obscure reference to one of the creators or someone on the team like as a gag that goes over most people's heads well he's supposed to be that. his appearance is me at my worst (needs haircut + shave) and he has the OP superpower of putting people in pocket dimensions of altered reality he controls entirely but he ONLY uses it to make stupid filler bottle episodes like They All Have To Play Softball or Beach Episode or whatever. represents my oft-abused ability as a creator to Put Those Guys in a Situation. he's not so much a sona (cause if I made a silver city sona it would be genuine not this greasy freak) but he sure is Representative of Me.

horse: horse

i was challenged to make a horsesona. I don't plan to do anything with him but kept him around because I liked his design. someday I might make a more natural horse sona for in case I ever joined some kind of equine rp setting or some shit equivalent but for now my sparklehorse

spinxynsona: coast

art by capricorne, me, me

coasty woasty... made for the nephfei world for the spinxyn closed species. first closed species sona ive ever had and i think hes neat! nephfei is such a well designed world that is really conducive to stories and characters influencing each other's arcs but coast is just some guy he's just there. he just lives there and minds his own business. (he has no gifts or curses so nothing really requiring a Story) but maybe i should get him some Friends at least maybe i can have a sona who has Story OC Friends from other people and still be like yes thats me if i was friends with everybody's ocs

dnd character who was based on me: august

art by me, thembodino

it was suggested since I have a very hard time being In Character (i get so self conscious) that I start with a character similar to myself! so august is incredibly Just Me FR. if i were to go on an adventure i would be bad at it and terrified. his campaign is suspended due to Life but i accidentally, due to knowing nothing, picked a pretty OP blend of stats that has made him bizarrely competent (not like. the best in the party or anything but he really can hold his own and once like critted twice and turned invisible and flew and killed a dragon) and honestly that's hilarious and I like it for him

that's it! the rest of my characters are just characters not sonas though I still love them dearly, some of them even more than some of my sonas i won't name names though ty if you made it this far. i love to Talk

#surli #liam #coast #lee #willie dustice #august

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onenicebugperday · 2 years

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@dragonwysper submitted: Gonna share some mites because I’m an Acari fanatic. I already know the families (and some genera) of these, so no need for ID! I just wanted to share some of what are objectively the Best Creatures ™. All of these are from the [[removed]]* area of Missouri!

*please redact

A Rhagidiidae I found under a log! Very speedy creechur. It was hard to get photos of him haha!

Balaustium sp.! Sidewalk mites! They’re very goofy. I’ve found that if you lightly touch them, they will zip away from you, while spinning to face whatever you’ve touched them with. I have no idea why they do this, though I’ve considered it may be related to a substance they’ve been found to secrete when distressed.

Big Trombidium sp. in a pill bottle (because that’s what I had at the time haha. The perks of being mentally ill…). I released this guy after taking some photos, and then was contacted by Ray Fisher (an American acarologist), who asked if I would be willing to send him over for study. I went back out to refind this guy (which, by the way, is ridiculously hard to do with a mite in a woodpile). I did find him again, and sent him over to Fisher! I still send him specimens from time to time, as he’s working on reorganizing the Trombidiform taxon! I have a potential opportunity to get to name a new species with this (since American mites are severely understudied and everything I’ve sent in is an undescribed species), and I’m overall just really excited to be working with him!

A Trombidium sp. on my hand! They’re so large for mites!

A Trombidiform of some kind in a log crevice! I really like this guy’s little white legs haha.

Same guy from above with a fellow Trombidiform (Trombidium sp.)!

Trombidium sp. belly!! I took a lot of photos of the ventral sides of these mites. They have two major openings (aside from the mouth): the genital plate and the anus. The genital plate is the little mitussy in the center of this guy’s belly, and the anus is at the end of his abdomen (right in the middle of his little mite cheeks)!

Trombidium sp. in the wild. It’s so fucking funny to me how BRIGHT they are. He looks so out of place in the grass, but he’s supposed to be here, and it’s just 😭😭

Fun story with this little Trombidium sp.! So I had a lightning bug in a container (for a miscellaneous mite project), and found a tiny little pupa in there after a couple days! I texted Fisher and was like “👀 what is he,” and he told me it was a Trombidium that had been parasitizing the lightning bug! So, with his instruction, I took the little guy out of the tank and put him in a separate pill bottle to wait for him to emerge. He did after about a week or two, into a smaller version of the mites I see outside! I’ve currently got him in a really tiny bioactive terrarium. I need to send him to Fisher, but I’m lazy and haven’t gotten around to it yet haha.

This little mite will routinely burrow down in the dirt and stay hidden in there for a couple weeks at a time, before randomly popping up to wander about on the surface. He’s made me worry he was dead more than once. But he always turns up! Absolute goober. I feel obligated to name him, but I haven’t gotten around to that either.

Image shows the lad on a carrot shaving, which is in there as food for the springtails and isopods!

And!! Last but not least, a young tick! I don’t actually know what kind of tick this guy is. He’s probably a Lone Star (Amblyomma americanum) because we have a lot of those around here, but I don’t know for sure haha. If you do, feel free to ID him for me!

So this guy is included because he is a mite! Ticks are usually separated from other mites based on an arbitrary categorization of shielded or thick-skinned vertebrate parasites versus everything else, but they are very much in the Acari subclass! They make up two families in the Parasitiform order, Ixodidae (hard ticks) and Argasidae (soft ticks). Ixodidae, a large order of about 17 genera, are what you see in North America and Europe, while Argasidae, made up of 5 accepted genera, are more common in South Asia.

Since they’re very much mites, they also deserve appreciation because they are wonderful and beautiful and fascinating.

…

Please let me know if you want me to send you more mite rambles, because Acari are my biggest hyperfixation at the moment and I love talking about them ❤️

MITE TIME!!!! Oh boy I love mites and they are severely underrated. This is an excellent collection of lads. I don’t wanna play favorites but that first dude has VERY silly legs and I love him deeply 🥺 But I also love the parasitic dude you found in the firefly container. I’ve definitely seen juvenile mites attached to bugs, so it’s fun to find one who had dropped off! Name suggestion: Goober.

PLEASE let me know if you get to name a species, that would be very exciting.

I agree ticks are wonderful and fascinating! Your little pal looks like Amblyomma sp., which would include the lone star tick so that’s more likely since they’re very common in your area. But there’s also the golf coast tick in the same genus that’s found in your area, too, and I wouldn’t know how to differentiate them as juveniles.

Feel free to share mite photos any time you like! Although I will say just a few photos per submission tends to be easier for people to read/reblog! Lots of people will block very long posts or not bother looking at them at all.

Btw dying at “mitussy” omg

#animals #bugs #arachnids #submission #mite #acari #acarology #rhagidiidae #trombidium #trombidiformes #velvet mite #balaustium #tick #long post #parasite

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sin-cognito · 4 months

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Rarepair New Year 2024 ch21: Papyrus/Coffee

SFW

Wordcount: 1666

Papyrus looks defeatedly at the dark skies outside. He was supposed to go train with Undyne this afternoon, but after a quick check to the weather forecast, the two have decided it'd be better to call off their session and report it to another day. It definitely was the right call to make, considering that barely ten minutes after their phone call ended the rain started pouring down like Papyrus has rarely seen.

READ ON AO3

It's now been two hours with no signs of the storm lightening up. Quite the opposite even, Papyrus can hear the wheezing winds and the rumbling of thunder while he's pacing around the living room aimlessly. He doesn't like having nothing to do, it makes him jittery.

If only there was someone else at home that could keep him company. Sans called earlier to say that he got stuck in traffic on his way home from work and might not be there for another hour or two, and Edge, Papyrus' other training partner, is out with Blue. The rest of the skeleton crew is also out, some at work, others on a vacation trip, or some on a date at the mall.

Well, there is currently another skeleton in the house besides Papyrus, but Coffee has been cooped up in his room playing video games all afternoon. Papyrus usually leaves the shy skeleton to his own device as he knows that Coffee isn't always very comfortable with spending time with others, and often retreats to his room to play video games to relax. Papyrus has no issue with this, and even joins him from time to time when he's allowed in, but right now he honestly feels lonely with nothing to do and he finds it hard to respect Coffee's wishes to be left alone.

He sits on the couch to watch TV but barely five minutes in and he already wants to go back to pacing the room. He doesn't know if it's the storm that's making him so restless, all he knows is that he's going to lose his mind if he doesn't find a stimulating activity to keep him busy.

A particularly intense lightning bolt suddenly flashes outside the windows and immediatly after the lights go out. Papyrus gasps and freezes. He's not scared of the dark, but this took him by surprise and he needs a few seconds for his vision to get used to the dark.

He hears some noise upstairs and decides to go check up on Coffee, worried that the other skeleton might've hurt himself in the dark. He uses the flash of his phone to light the way and knocks on Coffee's bedroom door.

"Come in," the smaller skeleton's soft voice replies.

Papyrus finds him standing awkwardly in the middle of the absolute mess that is his room. He's surrounded by various gaming consoles, controllers, game cases, mangas, DVDs, and other nerdy accessories that he has accumulated over the years.

"COFFEE, ARE YOU OKAY?"

"Yes. The lights went out and I couldn't see anything and I don't know where my phone is so I have no source of light," he replies, looking around him for the device, but his room is worse than Sans' so it'd be surprising if he managed to find anything.

"YOU WANT ME TO GIVE YOU A CALL?" Papyrus suggests, but Coffee shakes his head.

"No thank you. Can you just help me get out of here with your light? I don't want to walk on my stuff."

Papyrus has to juggle between holding his phone at the right angle to light the floor, holding out a hand for Coffee to help him keep his balance, and gripping the doorframe so he doesn't fall face first into the mess, but he manages and in no time Coffee is out of the room, hugging Papyrus' arm tightly.

"ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE OKAY?" Papyrus asks again, noticing how Coffee is shivering slightly.

"Yes, I just don't like the dark very much," the smaller skeleton admits as he clutches on Papyrus' arm for dear life.

"OH, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT! AREN'T YOU ALWAYS PLAYING GAMES WIHTOUT THE LIGHTS ON, THOUGH? I OFTEN HEAR YOUR BROTHER PESTERING YOU ABOUT IT."

Coffee blushes an adorable lemon color.

"Yes but the light of the screen is enough to make it not scary."

Papyrus hums as he thinks of what to do to make his small friend comfortable despite the power outage. He doesn't want to keep his phone's flash up all evening, it will drain up the battery and they'll find themselves in the dark again in no time.

"I HAVE AN IDEA, COME WITH ME," he says as he readjusts Coffee's grip on his arm to a more convenient handhold, before leading the scared skeleton to the living room.

He makes Coffee sit on the couch and tells him to wait there.

"YOU WILL BE IN THE DARK FOR JUST A COUPLE MINUTES, I PROMISE," he reassures his friend the best he can.

He then hurries to his own bedroom and grabs everything he needs, starting with a box full of candles and some matches. It's tricky to balance those plus the blankets and sheets and pillows in his arms, but he manages to get everything back to the living room, where he lights a first candle.

Coffee is quick to pick up on the idea, so he takes over the task of lighting the candles while Papyrus works with the blankets.

Half an hour later and the two skeletons have created the perfect little cozy pillowfort with candles inside and outside to keep everything as well lit as possible. It's still more subdued than if the power was back, but honestly it adds to the charm of the fort, with soft, warm hues that give off a comfortable, almost romantic atmosphere.

Papyrus and Coffee sit on the pillows inside the fort, proud of their work.

Now there is still the question of what exactly to do, because making a pillowfort is nice and all, but it'd be better if they actually had something to do to pass the time.

Thankfully, Coffee's got that covered, as he makes a quick trip back to his bedroom with Papyrus' phone to grab a couple board games that can be played with only two people.

"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU LIKED BOARD GAMES," Papyrus points out. "YOU'RE ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT VIDEO GAMES, SO I THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T INTERESTED IN ANYTHING ELSE."

"I do like them, I just haven't had that many occasions to play with them since Wine isn't always available to play with me."

Papyrus nods thoughtfully. It's true that Wine is always very busy with his job, so he can see why Coffee has gotten more used to playing video games on his own.

"WELL, I WOULD LOVE TO PLAY WITH YOU," he tells Coffee with an encouraging smile. "AND NOT JUST RIGHT NOW BECAUSE OF THE POWER OUTAGE. WE USED TO HAVE BOARD GAMES NIGHT WITH MY BROTHER WHEN WE WERE KIDS, I LOVE BOARD GAMES AND WOULD LOVE TO PLAY WITH YOU ANY TIME YOU WANT!!"

Coffee's face brightens up immediately. He flaps his hands a little like he does when he's really excited about something, like when Wine buys him a new video game, and it puts a happy smile on Papyrus' face.

They spend a good hour playing Coffee's board games, the small skeleton explaining the rules first before they start playing. Some games Papyrus finds a little difficult, others he doesn't enjoy much because Coffee is simply unbeatable, but there are a couple that he finds so fantastic that he just want to keep playing them all evening.

The more they play together, the more comfortable and relaxed Coffee looks, which is a relief to Papyrus. He doesn't even seem to remember there's a power outage anymore, even though the storm is still very much raging outside. They get updates from the other skeletons here and there, which is reassuring too.

For dinner, they make do with the fruits that are lying around the kitchen, and then they decide to go to bed in their little pillowfort. They set it up with more pillows and more blankets, and even get the inflatable mattress they usually keep for guests. It's a narrow fit for two grown skeletons so they have to squish their bodies together. Papyrus makes sure to ask Coffee if he's not uncomfortable with that, knowing the smaller skeleton often has issues with physical contact, but Coffee shakes his skull.

"I'm fine with this because it's you," he says and Papyrus feels a warm pride bloom in his chest.

They blow some of the candles around them so they don't accidentally set anything on fire while the two fall asleep, but keep the rest alight while they chit chat.

"CAN I TELL YOU SOMETHING?" Papyrus asks at some point.

"Yes?"

"OUT OF ALL OUR FRIENDS, AND BESIDES MY BROTHER, I FEEL LIKE YOU'RE THE ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS ME THE MOST," he admits. He's always felt a special connection with Coffee, like he could understand Papyrus without the need to put his disorganized thoughts into words. Papyrus is aware not everyone is able to follow his train of thoughts all the time, but things are easier with Coffee in comparison. It just makes sense with him. "UNDYNE IS MY BEST FRIEND, AND SANS IS SANS, BUT I REALLY APPRECIATE SPENDING TIME WITH YOU."

Next to him, Coffee smiles brightly.

"Me too," he says, gripping Papyrus' arm again, snuggling it. "You're my favorite skeleton! Don't tell Wine I said that. I love him the most, but you're my favorite."

Papyrus beams at his small friend. He gets it.

They get comfortable and fall asleep like that, in the middle of the living room.

When he finally comes home a couple hours later, Sans blows out the candles and leaves a little kiss on both skeletons' foreheads before leaving them there to finish their night.

#Cognito fic #Rarepair New Year 2024 #Papyrus/Coffee #Papyrus #Coffee #FSG!Papyrus #SFW

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microwavetoaster-selfships · 10 days

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hi kane !! if u were in charge of writing the story for a cars 4 movie, what would u want it to be about ? 🤔 (@dmclr)

Ouughh. Ohhmgugish. I don't know why I'm like all "you're asking ME??🤧"

GENIUNELY NO ONE IS OBLIGATED TO READ THIS. I know the whole "I yap a lot" thing sometimes but this is geniunely like a rediculous length. I mean no one is obligated to read any of my posts but yknow.

I need like two read more bars for this post yall. I don't know why I'm yapping so much. In case it wasn't clear I had a lot to say here and thank you for asking me this(<- more thankfulness filled than I can properly express at the moment, so sorry). I didn't proof-read much of this I'm so sorry if it's like incoherent and has the punctuation of the "I'm eating, Grandma" vs "I'm eating Grandma" grammar tool.

Okay I'm like. Blaming the fact I messed up my sleep schedule and it's 11:27pm and I just woke up like an hour and a half ago and I side-tracked myself like absolutely crazy but keep side-tracking myself into different rants or tangents so it is just a forever increasing ramble, but TL;DR, I actually prefer media that is dead or left alone because I get so anxious when new stuff comes out cause I'm afraid of what they'll do to my faves or if they'll butcher them or add slap-stick love interests, etc., and when Cars on the Road came out(idk how aware people are that it exists), I spent the whole first watch through not really enjoying and savoring it cause I was so anxious over what was gonna happen that I spent the whole time making sure it was 'safe' and I wasn't going to have a pit in my stomach. Which, it turned out lovely and I actually have some things from it that I super love and adore, but I have actually unironically predicted my F/Os so strongly(among other listful factors) that I'd rather them finally put it to rest before it starts getting into beating a dead horse territory, cause I don't know if there's really much of anything left for them to expand on anyway.

My serious answer?: I'm not entirely sure, but I would enjoy seeing them just expand on some more smaller stuff, and I'd like it better if they didn't try to do 'revivals' of characters from past movies(ily Chick but Cars 3 was a bitttt of some injustice to you), I know they're supposed to be more action-y movies but I love slice of life stuff and I'd totally just watch an hour and forty minutes of Lightning just like playing around Radiator Springs or something(every Cars game ever). Though my ultimate ideal scenario is just none at all.

My slightly less serious answer that probabblyyy isn't gonna happen but the odds are never zero(he says humorously)?: They should spend the whole time doing documentary style movie about how it would've gone if I was in the previous movies +sketches/storyboards or reanimated scenes of small moments but I'm thrown in there. ALL IM SAYING IS Cars 2 would've been SO funny if I was in it okay. Would've been exhausted running around the entirety of Europe(+like US and Japan for a moment) nearly the entire time and someone watching would've been sick to their stomach cause the movie WOULD CONCLUDE with it all ending via the power love, and I'm not sorry. Would've had my 'Mary Sue' moment of like nearly every major(and some minor) cast role having SOME sort of feelings for me, most typically romantic. And it being reciprocated. You want an action movie?? There, now tell me THAT ain't action-packed. I refuse to believe the outcome of anything would be predictable. Every last interaction is gonna leave the viewers asking "what the HELL is going on and what will happen next". Pixar(and Disney) I am right here but it's okay if ur busy cause I'm busy too.

The stuff under the cut is basically the same thing I said here(mostly focused on my 'serious' answer bit), but veryy elaborated upon, so it's fairly lengthy. PUTTING MY PHONE DOWN AND HITTING POST NOW BEFORE I SOMEHOW ADD MORE. BUT THANK YOU THNAK YOU FOR ASKING THIS I DIDNT THINK I WOULD WRITE AN ACTUAL ESSAY I AM SO SORRY.

I don't know how much I really mention this, cause I think it a lot but I don't wanna like drive my blog viewers nuts if I say it so much over and over again, but I get like so anxious over whenever knew stuff or content of my F/Os come out believe it or not! There was only like.. one or two medias in the past where I was actually like.. excited whenever the person posted new stuff! Somehow I've had the luck of most things that I F/O from are dead upload-wise. I get so anxious that it'll go down hill(especially if the media has been going on for a while now, which.. Cars starting in 2006 I'd count that) cause I've watched some shows just go downhill or randomly butcher characters or add slap-stick romantic interests that it just makes me far too anxious!! Honestly, I thought Cars WAS finished and through with, but for whatever reason there was the release of Cars on the Road(don't know how many people know of that) and DONT GET ME WRONG I LOVED IT and I still do and think about it fairly often, I actually really really love and adore some of the qualities they expanded on with Mater and Lightning but that's a whole thing for another time probably-, but what I didn't enjoy was being so anxious over it that when it came out I practically spent my whole first watch through making sure that it was 'safe' and something wasn't going to happen that makes me feel like I swallowed a rock and my stomach sinks. Which thankfully didn't happen at all, I loved how it turned out and still rewatch it occasionally, I think they nailed it, but I didn't like the so nervous experience I had in the first place😅

I've heard some people talk about someone who did an interview with someone who supposedly works on the Cars stuff about how they still had stuff in mind they wanted to do with the characters, I'm HOPING I don't somehow jinx myself wildly but honestly I'd muchhh rather prefer it just gets dropped and they let Cars just be what it is for now. Sometimes I question if they just do this stuff because they milk a crazy amount of money out of how well the diecasts sell, which is why they have so many one-off diecasts like the off-roading ones or the glow in the dark ones, or just random sorts of themes. Which, entire tangent for another day, can't BELIEVE they put Jackson anywhere CLOSE do a dirt racing series even if it was just the diecast. But anyway.

TO ACTUALLY ANSWER YOU QUESTION... I'm not super sure!!! I've heard some people talk about seeing more stuff about how Cruz and Lightning race together would be interesting, I think I'd prefer something like that as opposed to a revisit of characters from previous movies or such(ily Chick but they tampered your voice in Cars 3 and I'd argue your personality a bit as well), truthfully I'm not super sure, I've never thought about it so much before!! They should include me in the movie(/hj). Truthfully, normally each movie has been sort of centered around Lightning having some sort of character development arc he has to go through, I'm not sure what else he could be put through! Don't get me wrong, he's absolutely not a perfect character, which is what makes characters so enjoyable in the first place, but he doesn't have as big of a staple thing to go through like he did in the first movie where he was a "I can do it all by myself" i-use-my-ego-to-hide-my-feelings rookie. I don't entirely like how the third movie took it truthfully, with the whole "McQueen is getting older..😢😥..how will he still race?!" Cause like one of the staple differences between F1 and NASCAR is that so many NASCAR racers(especially if they made it good) stay racing until they are like in their 60s+ or their hairs are graying(which, arguably could happen whenever but for the sake of my point, stereotypical age-related graying). And Lightning is like in his mid-30s in the third movie at the LATEST. So I don't know what any of that was about. I know there was the whole new gen of racers thing but he honestly wasn't doing too bad keeping up with them until things got into his head and he freaked himself out(on top of the crash, and the like. Literal depression he falls in to). And then there's the whole thing of he actually had it in him the win the last race in the movie at the Flordia 500 blah blah blah but he wanted to switch out with Cruz so she could have her moment, which, I'm not entirely ecstatic over how they paced Cruz's development, I wish they let it marinate a bit more but I get they had crunch-time in the movie.

#POV you try to ask a simple question to me but when the dam breaks then the dam breaks #my overflowing amount of Cars knowledge and love is just spilling out like a waste hazard #CACKLING cause like imagining yall scrolling like “oh wow :0 Kane said a lot” and THEN you reach the read-more bar #LIKE WHAT HAPPENED HERE BUDDY?!? WHAT WAS GOING ON #this is the actual boss-fight post to the previous ask post i just had done earlier today /half joking #do i even have to say i enjoyed this or thank you? cause i enjoyed this and thank you #i actually cracked myself up over my own half-serious answer i love it #but GENIUNELY no one feel forced to read all this cause yhis like qualifies for an actual short story #IM GOING TO STOP ADDING THINGS NOW. IM HITTING THE POST BUTTON NOW. GOODNIGHT KANE.#(im not going to bed at the moment that is just my closing sentance)#lightning❤️🧡💛

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 1 year

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material

Ch.One | Ch.Two

Chapter Three

Normally, Masters conducted training in a variety of disciplines, in the main courtyard, or in the smaller open air spaces of the Kamar-Taj complex, regardless of the weather--for sorcerers-in-training required preparation enough to utilize their skills in unpredictable or adverse conditions. Even during monsoon season, this policy was seldom suspended, with the occasional rare exception; and by long-standing tradition, outdoor sessions were canceled only at the discretion of The Ancient One. Since her loss, such a situation had not yet arisen—so it was inevitable that such should fall in a week where Stephen was in residence there, far from his place as Master of the New York Sanctum.

From June through early September, Kathmandu saw rain daily, with intermittent evening thunderstorms. Steven Strange felt every day of that rain as a heightened ache in nearly every joint of his hands. He hadn’t needed to check Doppler radar online to know that a doozey of a storm was headed their way; he’d felt the drop in barometric pressure several hours in advance, and the damp in the air announced itself spectacularly in a persistent, bone-deep throb that did it’s best to distract him from every task he set himself to. Adding insult to injury, his tremors had intensified to the point of equaling those of the beginning months of his recovery. Meditation helped to some extent, but the discomfort remained a constant, like white noise in the background as he moved throughout his day. He kept to himself most of the day, focusing in the later hours on preparing himself to meet with Teyla for their first “lesson”, scheduled after the evening meal.

The winds lashed the rain against his back, while he crossed a courtyard lit by the flash of lightning, the peal of thunder distant enough to inform him that the worst of the storm had finally passed overhead.

She was waiting for him in the library, as they’d arranged, engrossed in a text he recognized from his own early studies, and scribbling notes in a hand that would rival the worst of any doctors’ that he’d known.

Stephen cleared his throat to announce his arrival, but Teyla’s eyes remained cast upon the book in front of her. “Come here often?” he quipped, vying for her attention, swiftly realizing she probably wouldn’t get the humor of that old, banal pick-up line. He set his rucksack on the table, then took the seat opposite her.

She looked up with a start, then smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Doctor Strange—I got a little lost doing the translation here.” She slid the book across the table to him. “It’s the third passage down. I can’t tell if it’s require or recommend.”

He read the passage through, recalling the difficulties for Novices, of translating Sanskrit on sight—made doubly hard, he reckoned, as she might need to translate it first to English, and then into Hadeethan. “It’s ‘pay no heed to’,” he told her, pointing to several words proceeding it, “You need to look at it in context to get the true meaning.” He slid the book back to her.

“Oh—of course! Now it makes sense.” She crossed the incorrect word off her notes, than laid her pencil down, “Thank you, Doctor. I have been stuck a while, trying to work it out.”

Strange reached into his rucksack and pulled his tablet out. “I’ve found this indispensable for translating ancient languages—saves a helluva lot of time.” He handed it to Teyla, who looked immediately perplexed by the device. “I don’t suppose you’ve got one of these,” he asked. She shook her head solemnly. “Okayyyyy—well how about I leave this with you for the evening? It’ll make the hours ahead much more productive for you.”

“That is very kind of you, Doctor Strange, although…well…I have no idea how this thing…”

“This tablet,” he told her.

“Oh. This…tablet. I have no skill with such a tool.” She offered it back to him.

“Well, this one isn’t difficult at all. Let me run through its functions for you, and I’ll bet you’ll be breezing through it in no time.”

Stephen went over the basics, and then showed her how to access various websites pertinent to her studies, including a translation site that he had relied on to get him through his early training. Once she got over her initial distrust of the technology as a sufficient aid for study, Teyla adapted readily, and proved to have a defter hand with it than he had anticipated

Next, he removed several books from his pack and set two of them in front of her. “Now, these texts provide an introduction to clairvoyance and divination. I want you to take some time over the next couple of days, read them through.” Teyla picked one up, and then the other, running her fingers across the titles embossed on the covers. “I’ve bookmarked some sections that I think have a direct bearing on what we’re trying to accomplish here,” he told her, “And if you feel ready, I encourage you to try what exercises you find worth your efforts.”

“I will do my best,” she nodded, “Master Salma said I will be mapping unchartered territory.” She looked down, quietly admitting, “I find it all…very…intimidating.”

“No one will be judging you, Teyla.” She met his eyes at that, searching for assurances. “I promise,” he added, “And if we’re lucky, Kamar-Taj will learn as much from you, and you from us.”

Relief dawned first in her eyes, and then spread softly across her face, “I must admit my mentors on Hadeeth were frustrated when they could not provide teaching enough for me to harness and refine my raw ability for divination. I pray that your efforts to guide me will not be a waste of your valuable time.”

“No effort to teach is wasted when the student is sincere in their desire to learn,” he assured her, his voice low and persuasive, “And that is something I’ve learned as both a student and a teacher myself—and not just of the mystics arts. My medical training was more than a decade long process.”

Strange pulled a plain, leather bound book and pen from the side pocket of his rucksack, “One of the simplest things you can do is keep a record of your dreams. The texts advise you do so nightly—or at least as often as you are able to recall your dreams upon awakening.” He slid the items across the table to her. “Whatever details you can remember without concentrating too hard—otherwise your waking mind will try to add definition to things that don’t make sense…”

Teyla nodded, growing excited, “Why yes—immediately record the images and the events of my dreams. How have I not thought of this myself! To keep a…a dream…”

“…journal,” they finished together. She grinned at him, “Your wisdom has already surpassed that of my Hadeethan teachers.”

He chuckled, “As much as I’d like to, I can’t take credit for the idea, Teyla; it’s a basic beginning in most of these texts. Keep in mind, your best results will come from writing down your first thoughts, no matter how confusing or jumbled they may be. Don’t give your mind a chance to filter or rearrange them in a search for meaning.”

“Yes, yes,” she murmured, “I understand…”

“And your feelings, Teyla. How you felt throughout the dream—and how you feel upon awakening. Even if you wake mid-dream, or in the middle of the night,” he stressed, “Write it down. This should help us see patterns in your dreaming, and eventually enable you to distinguish normal dreams from the prophetic ones.”

And there it was: that light in her eyes and upon her face that reminded him of the simple joy of having an avenue of learning open up before him. As exacting as his medical studies had been, there had always been the deep satisfaction of just knowing he was on the path to knowledge meant for him. And again as he began his studies at Kamar-Taj. As a physician, Stephen had seen that light from time to time, in his best student interns—and had forgotten it could be equally satisfying to the teacher who invoked it in their charges. From a task he’d initially dreaded, he was suddenly glad the situation had forced him to become Teyla’s mentor.

Pleased that he had actually given Teyla something concrete in the way of guidance, Stephen asked how she was faring in her other training. Though she maintained that she would have no need for the physical defensive skills when she returned to Hadeeth, she admitted she was impressed watching the Masters of those disciplines at work—and that she felt every moment of her own workouts in the aching muscles that followed in the aftermath.

“Oh yes, they can hurt like hell the first week or so,” he laughed, “But I guarantee you’ll feel fitter than you have in your whole life by the end of the second.”

Eventually, their conversation made its way back to the subject of her studies with Stephen. “The texts I’ve read so far--I have to admit that they’ve left me curious, Teyla. Would you mind telling me what it’s like?”

“The…the dreams?” She seemed surprised he had asked so plainly.

“Yes. How do they work, exactly?”

Her face scrunched and her eyes took on a faraway look as she considered how to answer. “The dreams have always been with me, as…as far back as my memory goes. As a child, I had no idea they were any different from the dreams of others—and so I found no need to speak of them aloud.”

Quietly, Stephen prompted her, “So when did you realize that they were different?”

Teyla’s voice and manner grew solemn as her recollection came to life. “I was…hmmm…seven years of age. Seven Earth years. And I had dreamed a dream for three nights straight—of my closest friend, Meandra. It was a simple dream, and I had no inclination to question it.” She closed her eyes, enrapt in the pictures her mind created. “Meandra slept beneath a midnight, moonlit sky. Fast asleep; she lay upon a bed of moss beside a small creek.” Her mouth drew into a small, fleeting smile. “My child’s mind believed the dream arose from anticipation of a nature walk our teacher had promised to us. I would never have guessed it was a dream of warning.”

“Teyla,” he murmured, “Whatever happened, I’m sure you shouldn’t have blamed yourself.”

She sighed and looked back to him. “Child that I was, it could not be helped. When Meandra wandered away from the group, nobody noticed until we prepared to leave the forest. The adults searched well into the night, but found no sign of her. We all feared that she was lost to us.”

Stephen remained silent, considering the weight of guilt she may have borne, and at so tender an age. Seeing his concern, Teyla shook her head, “No, good Doctor, it was not a fatal loss—though if I had been less afraid, I might have ended everyone’s woes all the sooner.” She shrugged, and cast her eyes away shamefully, “Through a bitter night, I struggled with my fear that a simple word of warning might have spared Meandra losing her way. And even worse, I fretted that through my dreams, I had worked some sort of dark magic as I slept, which might have cost my friend her life.”

Compelled by sympathy, Stephen took her hand—gingerly, for the continuing discomfort in his own. “You were just a girl; surely no one could expect more of you,” he reminded her, “I hope someone was wise enough to tell you so.”

“Indeed,” she nodded, “With the dawn, I sought my mother out, and revealed my dreadful secret. She bid me wait but a little, so that she could give the searchers a description of where Meandra might be found—and when she returned to me, she gave me only love and comfort.” Teyla’s pretty eyes were soft with that memory. “Meandra was not too worse for wear, and was swiftly reunited with her family. And after I had rested a while—still afraid to sleep, lest I might dream dreadfully—Mother explained the nature of my gift. She called it a blessing, and told me it promised a noble destiny if I could learn to use it for the good of my people.”

Resisting the urge to tell Teyla that laying such a charge on a seven year old was extremely poor parenting, Stephen ventured a guess, “I suppose she feels you’ve come of age to fulfill that destiny?”

“Even so,” she admitted, “But know, good Doctor, that this is my hope as well.”

“Of course,” he told her, “I would expect no less.” Strange withdrew his hand from hers, beginning to gather up the few materials which he now judged too elementary for Teyla to find of use. He winced as he lifted one of the heavier volumes, cursing under his breath as he lost his grip and it landed on the table; the thud echoed through the quiet of the library.

Teyla met his eyes for only seconds, but he read her clear understanding in that brief moment, before she looked to his hands. There was no hiding the tremor in them, but he tried to make light of the moment; sighing with feigned exasperation, “I need to remember this sort of heavy reading requires both hands to be effective.” His self-deprecation fell short of lightening the moment.

“It is the rain, is it not,” she asked cautiously, although Stephen was sure she knew the answer already. Teyla’s eyes lingered once again upon his hands, as though committing the network of scars to memory.

“Yes,” he shrugged, downplaying the degree of his discomfort, “Nature’s little way of keeping me humble.”

“Yet the magic you have worked with them is already legend among the students here.” She smiled at his surprise, “Did you not know?”

Stephen clucked his tongue, “Yeah…well…legends are usually half exaggeration anyway. At least here on Earth. You should take those stories with a grain of salt, Teyla.”

“As you wish, Doctor Strange—but their unstinting admiration of your deeds is genuine.” Demurely, she cast her eyes away and added, “A true hero I have heard you called; one who single-handedly battled one of the darkest forces in the multi-verse.”

Stephen waved her praise off (the simple movement enough to set the joints in that hand throbbing again), “Honestly, Teyla—I only did what any Master here would do if faced with such a catastrophic threat.”

The tilt of her head and her sympathetic little smile spoke her response well enough, leaving Strange feeling a bit self-conscious. Standing up to leave, he would have changed the subject, but that she asked after his hands again. Irritated at her dogged attention to his private pain, he tried his best to answer impassively, “I appreciate your concern, Teyla of Hadeeth, but this is a topic I’d rather not discuss.”

“Forgive me please, Doctor Strange. I would not, for all the world, bring you further pain in this regard.” Teyla bit her lip, looking uncertain for several moments. “Please, do not be angry—but as we have discussed my dreams—and as I am under your tutelage in this regard--there is something I must share with you.”

Between the fresh flare of pain in both his hands—and Teyla’s seeming obsession with his wounds—Stephen’s patience was nearly frayed; he inhaled sharply, “What must you share, that cannot wait for another day?”

The young woman from another world blinked several times, her eyes misted over with unshed tears. “It is only that…that…”

“Yes,” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I have dreamt of your hands, Doctor. And not only since I arrived at Kamar-Taj.” Visibly trembling, Teyla rose from her seat, to face him squarely across the cold distance between them, “I have dreamt your hands many times over, from the day I came to Earth to live with my father…and in the ten Earth years since.”

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banannabethchase · 8 months

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I'm Sure I Can Pretend to Be a Gentleman - also on AO3

Matt decides he wants to try the roleplay thing, and Adam's willing to give it a shot.

Title from Inside of You by Hoobastank. Note: The roleplay concept in this fic is that they are two wrestlers trying to get the same new position in the company. Everything is consensual and there are no power dynamics at play.

“I think it’s time for the role play idea,” Matt says, putting the dishes away. They’re in the wrong place, but Adam will let that slide because he’s got a decent view of Matt’s butt like this.

“What role play?” Adam asks. He hangs up the mop. “Also, I like how putting away dishes is what reminds you of that. Are you ever not thinking of sex?”

“Occasionally,” Matt says. He slides the mixing bowl into the shelf on his tiptoes, and, truly, it’s an even better view. “But we have that Dynamite coming up in a new venue, and I think we’ll have to find an empty, unused conference room.” He turns around an blows hair out of his eyes. “What?”

“You’re out of your mind,” Adam sighs. “Get over here. I love you so much.”

Matt grins into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Adam’s waist. “But,” he pulls back, like they haven’t stopped talking, “the idea is, basically, we’re two wrestlers who both want the job and we’re waiting in the conference room to get the interview.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “We’re competition. We’re not supposed to like each other, but we do.”

“Isn’t that just how, like, half of how wrestling relationships start?”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. Hey, can you help me with that box of plates?” He nods over to the living room, which is still doubling as storage for an obscene amount of kitchenware shipped from Matt’s. The new couch looks nice in the living room, but Matt’s been antsy about the extra clutter. “Maybe bend over a little and wiggle your butt while you do it?”

“You,” Adam says, sure to yank his shirt up a little before leaning over and making a show of it, “are fucking shameless.”

“Sorry,” Matt calls, “can’t hear you over the sound of your butt looking great in those jeans.”

“Thank you again for going early to the venue.” Adam can hear Tony on the phone from where he’s pulling on his street clothes. It’s still sunrise orange outside as they get ready, hours before they usually dress to go to the venue, but the anticipation is better than caffeine. “All you have to do is scope it out, guide the staff to set up the locker rooms. Maybe mingle with some of the venue-specific crew to see if there’s anything we can do to make things go more smoothly, since it’s a new place.”

“Of course, Tony,” Matt says, his annoying professional voice turned up to eleven, “you can always count on us to make good use of our extra time at the venue.” He winks at Adam, and Adam thinks there has never been anyone less subtle.

“You’re lucky that was a call and not a FaceTime,” Adam says once Matt’s hung up. He slings his gym bag over his shoulder, heavier than usual. “You were so obvious.”

“Was not!” Matt says. “I was professional. A dedicated EVP, you could say.”

“Dedicated to getting railed, maybe.”

Matt rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss Adam, his hair still damp. “Let’s get coffee and then head over. They’ll let us in when we get there, if we ask for Maritza, and then we have the whole place to ourselves.”

“And we have to make sure we do what Tony asked us to do,” Adam says. He adjusts his bag on his shoulder. Hopefully the suit doesn’t get to wrinkled in there.

Matt rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, we have plenty of time to do everything we want to do.” He looks Adam up and down. “It’s so annoying you look that good with a mustache.”

“I could say the same about your dumb goatee,” Adam says. “And yet here I am, still planning to fuck you stupid.” Sighing, he wraps an arm around Matt’s waist and hauls him in to kiss him, blazing and fierce.

The venue is unique, smaller than others but a maze of rooms to navigate. Maritza is a delightful woman with the personality of a lightning bolt, speaking at speeds Adam can hardly keep up with. Matt’s firing back with equal pace though as they sip their identical coffees, and Adam wonders if they’ll stop talking long enough for Adam and Matt to pull off the reason they’re actually here.

He’s mid yawn, halfway through his coffee, when Maritza sighs. “Well, I’ll have to be at the box office the rest of the morning.” She claps her hands together and sends her electric smile to both of them. “You two call me if you need anything.”

“We will,” Matt says, and he’s so sugar-sweet it’s ridiculous. “Thank you so much for the opportunity to come in early, Maritza. We really appreciate it.”

She beams. “We appreciate the help.” She waves as she walks away, and Matt’s excitement is hard to place.

“Are you all pink because you’re excited to do corporate stuff, or because of our plan?”

Matt shrugs and glances up and down the hallway, then pulls Adam in for the kind of kiss that makes him understand poetry a little better. When Matt leans back, Adam’s brain has flown south for the winter along with all the blood in his body.

“I’m good to start,” Adam says. “If, uh, you still want to.”

Matt scoffs. “If. Sure. Like there’s ever anything but a yes in that.” He raises an eyebrow. “But, also, because, like, that whole thing where you get to –”

“Focus on one new thing at a time, baby,” Adam murmurs. He pulls Matt in and kisses his forehead. “Looks like the rest of the place is empty. We start now, we got, like, hours before anybody else gets here.”

Matt nods, burying his face in Adam’s chest. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I start in the room.”

Adam nods. “But first we have to get all dressed up.”

He’d gotten a brand new suit for this whole thing, dark grey and bespoke, and he can feel Matt’s eyes on him the whole time.

“You like it?” Adam asks, spinning. “Got it new and tailored for this.”

Matt nods, looking delectable in his own navy suit. “I – okay. Go wait outside and count to four.”

“To four?”

“Ten. Five. Whatever. My brain isn’t working right now.” Matt shakes his head and Adam wants to do nothing more but pull him in and screw the roleplay, but he knows Matt really wants it.

He steps out the door and counts to four, then to ten, then to five, and knocks. “This where we go to wait for the interviews?” he asks. He nods to Matt. “I think I know you. You’re Matt Jackson, right?”

Matt nods. “And you are?”

Adam grins. “Adam Page.” He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Matt shakes his hand. “Likewise.” His eyes flicker down to Adam’s mouth, and what happens next cannot be considered Adam’s fault. He pulls Matt in by the hand and kisses him, slow and soft, hands on his hips. Matt sighs into it, hands on Adam’s lapel, before he pushes back rather suddenly.

Adam smiles at him, feeling kind of dopey. “Hi.”

“No, no,” Matt says, shaking his head furiously. “No being cute. Get out. We’re starting over. You can’t kiss me at the beginning of the whole thing. You’re supposed to wait until I say I’m unfamiliar with your talent, and then you say you’ll show me your talent.”

“That’s still the cheesiest line,” Adam says, letting Matt shove him out the door. “You know that, right?”

“It doesn’t have to be poetry, Adam,” Matt says, and Adam’s honestly impressed with how snippy he looks. “It’s a means to an end.”

“It’s a means to get into your end,” Adam quips.

“Watch it or I won’t let you eff me,” Matt says, deadpan. And he slams the door in Adam’s face.

With a glance up and down the hallway, still kind of expecting somebody to walk into this wing and make this incredibly awkward, Adam adjusts.

“Okay,” he mutters. “I can do this. Acting. I’m trying to get the job and Matt’s the competition for the position.” He bounces a little, like right before he gets in the ring.

And he knocks.

The door pulls open, and Matt’s back in character. “Hi. Are you here for the job opening too?”

"Mr. Jackson,” Adam says, trying to get back into the character. He can start over. He can do this. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Matt adjusts his jacket and, fuck, that mustache really is unforgivable. “Mr. Page, is it?”

Adam fights his grin as Matt steps aside to let him into the room. “Yeah man,” he confirms. “Seen your work before. Heard you’re going for the opening in the company.”

He can see the second Matt snaps out of the persona. “Opening?” Matt giggles. “You’re making a sex joke during this?”

“You are completely ruining the moment,” Adam says. “I’m trying to be the hot young upstart trying to throw you off your game for your interview, and you're talking about openings!”

“You’re the one who made the sex joke!” Matt says. His pout looks even more ridiculous with the mustache. “You’re terrible at roleplay.”

“I am not!” Adam says. “You can’t hold it together when you make a sex joke in your head. That’s not my fault.”

Matt grins at him. “It sort of is,” he says. “You’re the one who made the sex joke.”

“I did not make a sex joke!”

“Get in here,” Matt says, wrapping one hand around Adam’s tie and the other around his collar.

“Okay, Mr. Jackson,” Adam murmurs. “How do you know you’d be better for the position than I would be?”

“Oh, now you get it,” Matt grumbles, but he still lets Adam shove the jacket off his shoulders.

“Maybe from now on leave the experiments to me,” Adam suggests. He bites at Matt’s neck, earning a sweet little mewl.

“You – oh – you seem to have liked my other experiments.” Matt bares his throat a little more, letting Adam work a bruise or two into his skin. When Adam pulls away, Matt hops up on the conference table. It’s the exact right height. Adam’s brain short circuits for a second before snapping back into it. “You didn’t complain when you and Mox were fucking me at the same time.”

“Fuck, baby,” Adam murmurs. He gets his hands on Matt’s belt, one of the fancy ones Nick had gotten him for Christmas a few years back, and yanks it out. He grins as he tosses it across the room, Matt’s eyes wide. “I didn’t complain. And I sure as hell won’t complain now.” He cups Matt’s hard dick through the dress pants. “You gonna complain?”

Matt shakes his head rapidly. “No,” he says, breathy. “No, I – please?”

“Please what?” Adam asks. Matt’s eyes follow every movement of his fingers, and Adam decides to tease a little. He doesn’t go for his own belt, instead slides his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure you got everything you could want.”

Matt’s eyes go dark. “Not everything,” he breathes.

“You gotta tell me.” He gets it now. This part of the roleplay is kind of fun. “I’m new to this, you know. I need help getting the lay of the land.” He winks at lay.

Matt’s breathing is shaky. “You need – you’re acting like you did when we first met.” He presses his lips together and looks at Adam with blown-black eyes. “Back when you were all shy and scruffy and were scared around me.”

“Yeah,” Adam chuckles, “because I thought all y’all were hot and I got nervous about it.”

Matt nods, licking his lips. “Remember when we first got together.”

“I do,” Adam says. He steps closer, in between Matt’s legs. His hands go to the waistband of Matt’s pants, slowly tapping toward the zipper. “Couldn’t help but embarrass myself, could I? Curse of being in my mid-twenties.”

“Curse?” Matt laughs. “You had the biggest dick on the roster and none of us knew because you’d always change by yourself!”

“Yeah, because I was, like, constantly horny around you.” Adam slides his hands up Matt’s shirt, starts unbuttoning slowly. “That one night, after the pay per view – I can’t remember which one.”

Matt’s cheeks are pink as his shirt flutters open. “Neither can I,” he murmurs. He links his legs around the small of Adam’s back and yanks him in closer. “All I remember is walking into the showers and seeing – seeing you with…” Matt trails off as he watches Adam shove his pants down his hips. Adam wraps his hand around his dick. “Well, seeing you like that.”

“You remember what I said?” Adam asks. He couldn’t forget. It was the beginning of the best part of his life: being with Matt.

Matt nods, eyes locked. “You said,” he says, breathy, “You asked, ‘You trying to get in on this, baby?’ with this voice…” He trails off. “Okay, you need to get inside me. I’m done. Screw the roleplay, it’s hotter to remember how long we’ve been together.”

“Yeah?” Adam pauses before he grabs the lube. “You thinking about us when we were younger?” He grabs Matt’s legs and hauls him close, grinning at his yelp. “Remembering how we used to pull off quickies in the shitty bathrooms.” He leans down, kissing the life out of Matt for just long enough to get him whimpering. “How you used to beg me to fuck you when both of us knew we didn’t have the time or the privacy?”

“Now you’re doing it on purpose.” Matt flops back on the conference table. “The whole point of this is for you to rail me in a suit. This is purely for my own benefit and you’re making me think.”

“You made me come up with a whole character!” Adam yanks down Matt’s dress pants and throws them somewhere in the room. Adam pulls Matt’s legs around his waist so he’s at the right angle to dribble lube down from the tip of his dick, down his balls, down into his crease. Matt shivers so hard the table wobbles.

“Okay,” Matt says. “I – don’t care. Just like when we were younger. I’m begging now.”

“Except,” Adam says, and he leans down to kiss Matt slowly, languidly, unrelentingly. Matt squirms against his face. “Except this time, we have plenty of time for me to wreck you.”

Matt whines. “I really – Adam, I hate that mustache.”

“Sucks for you,” Adam murmurs. "Also, I think you're lying."

Adam opens Matt up as quickly as he can, with how whimpery and insistent he is.

“I love you,” Matt says. “I – I don’t think I like role plays. I like you. I want you. But I like it when you call me Mr. Jackson, if that makes any sense.”

“I don’t think anything we do makes sense, but if it gets you going I'm about it,” Adam says, and with the way Matt is gripping at the edge of the conference table, it tells Adam he’s ready. “You good?”

Matt nods, eyes screwed shut. “I just really want to get laid on a conference room table.”

“You are so weird,” Adam sighs, and he gets himself situated. “I ever tell you I’m madly in love with you?”

Matt props himself up on his elbows so he can watch Adam, eyes dark. “You do,” he whispers. He pulls his eyes up to meet Adam’s. “Have I ever told you?”

“Always,” Adam says. “God, I – are you ready? Is it –”

“Yes,” Matt hisses. “Please. I want – please.”

Adam guides his dick into Matt, carefully as he can. The wood on Matt’s lower back can’t be comfortable, so he adjusts so Matt is laying down, hair fanned out. “Jesus,” he whispers.

It’s slower than usual. Adam is gentle, and careful, and soft. Part of him worries that the wooden table won't hold, that it'll be too stiff for Matt's bad back, that he'll get overenthusiastic and slam his hips into the edge of the table. Matt’s eyes are locked in on him, a little smile on his face, as he rolls to meet Adam’s thrusts. It feels perfect. It feels like Adam doesn’t deserve to have this forever. He takes a shaky breath.

“Hey,” Matt says. “Come back. I don’t know where you went, but come back here.”

Adam shakes his head and snaps back into the moment. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “Got a little stuck in my head.”

“I know,” Matt says, and he digs his heels into the small of Adam’s back to draw him in. His soft smile and warm eyes anchor him to the present and Adam feels so goddamned lucky to be here he almost falls over. He leans in and kisses Matt, trying to say with his lips what he can’t with words. Matt kisses him back and slides a hand between the two of them to touch himself. It's the best thing Adam's ever seen. Adam adjusts his grip on Matt’s thighs and his angle so Matt is making high pitched, desperate little noises.

“I know,” Adam murmurs, “I know, baby, you’re close. Come whenever you want, okay?” He pulls back to kiss Matt’s forehead. “We fucked up this role play thing so hard, didn’t we.”

Matt laughs, music. “We did, but I’m okay with it. I – please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Adam promises. “I won’t. Never.”

The world dissolves until it’s just the two of them, pretense and worry and reality gone, until Adam’s whispering Matt’s name and they come just about at the same time. Adam feels changed with it, shifted, and he wonders how many times he can fuck Matt before it stops rearranging his atoms.

“Matty,” Adam murmurs, peppering kisses across his face. “I don’t think I like roleplay. I think – I think I only like it when it’s you.”

Matt sighs and smiles up at Adam. “I think I know that now.” He tucks a curl behind Adam’s ear. “I always knew you were a big softie."

Adam laughs. “Yeah, fair.” He pulls out of Matt gently and grabs a towel from the bag they’d dropped in the corner. “You okay?”

“It’s weird you ask me that every time you get all gooey and romantic about me,” Matt says. He takes the towel and cleans himself. “What, like you expect me to be stressed or freaked out because you’re in love with me and get all sappy?” He shoots Adam a grin. “I’m always feeling great after.”

Adam shrugs. “I like to check.”

“We didn’t even do anything that merits checking,” Matt says. He wrinkles his nose as he wraps the towel up tightly and shoves it in a plastic bag.

Adam resists the urge to tell Matt, once again, anything could merit checking which is why he does it. “Still gonna do it.” Adam leans in and kisses Matt’s forehead. “Let’s go find the EVP locker room and showers. My boxers are all sticky.”

“Oh, your boxers,” Matt says, rolling his eyes with a smile. “What a shame for you.”

Adam licks his lips. “What,” he says, “you want me to mention you’re gonna feel my come leaking out of you all night?”

Matt flames red. “Effing – oh my god, Adam.” He pulls the jacket on. “You can’t just say things like that without warning.”

“Sure I can,” Adam says. He grabs the pack of Clorox wipes they’d picked up at Target and wipes down the conference table as best he can. “I can say it all night, if you want me to.”

“Now you’re understanding the whole any-time-you-want-me thing,” Matt says. “I like it.” He leans in and kisses Adam on the cheek. “Let’s go get the place ready for everybody else so maybe we get extra time and I can blow you behind the commentary table.”

“Yeah, if nobody gets thrown on it tonight.” Adam tosses Matt his bag. “Would hate for, like, Joe to chuck Trent or somebody on top of the desk and have you squished underneath it.”

“Okay, fair. That would suck.”

They check each other’s hair and clothes to make sure nothing is out of place and make their way out of the conference room. They run into a kind looking woman frowning at signs.

“Oh, hello!” she says, smile bright. “You must be Mr. Jackson and Mr. Page.”

It takes everything in Adam’s body to keep from laughing.

Mini Playlist: Ms. Jackson - Panic! at the Disco Inside of You - Hoobastank Whatever You Like - Anya Marina Numbers - The Cab

#Matt Experiments #HangMatt #Matt Jackson #Hangman Adam Page #Matt Attrackson #wtf i like wrestling now???#in which sara writes #anxious millennial dreamboat #Look words!!!!!

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mizjoely · 1 year

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I wrote a bit of a start to a possible Arthurian Legend Sherlolly fic.

Yes, yes, I’m playing fast and loose with Arthurian legend. So sue me.

They meet for the first time when he’s 18, angry and bitter about having an unwanted destiny forced upon him, hurling the hated sword into the placid waters of the first lake his horse stops to drink from.

The sword never touches the water; a hand rises from beneath the silvery surface, a woman’s hand, pale and slender, grasping the hilt and holding it upright as lightly as if it weighed nothing.

(It weighs several pounds, unwieldy in its nearly four foot length, and only the stoutest of mortal women could have hefted it with such ease. But then, the likelihood of the hand his startled eyes are seeing belonging to a mortal woman are exactly nil, so the calculations flicker into nothing almost as quickly as they form in the lightning-swiftness of his mind.)

As suddenly as the hand appears, it vanishes, slipping back beneath the water’s surface with nary a ripple, until all he sees is the blade, and then only its tip, and then nothing. He waits warily; when nothing happens, he shrugs and turns back to his steed, whose only reaction to all of this has been to drink eagerly. Barbarossa isn’t pleased to have his head raised and body turned back toward the moor; he lets out a disgruntled nicker, jerks his head beneath Sherlock’s hand, and its then that he hears her voice.

“The sword Excalibur,” she says, not smoothly but with hesitant pauses between words, “is yours, King William. You drew it from the stone -”

“Anvil,” he corrects her shortly, then turns to look at her.

He sums her up with the flick of an eyelash. She’s as far from the romantic notions of a water spirit as he is from anyone’s idea of a king - least of all, he thinks sourly, his own. Legends and fairy tales say she should be tall and stately (she’s tiny, barely coming to his chin), slender, with regal bearing (she’s slender, yes, but stands awkwardly, still holding Excalibur - nice to know the sword has a name, he supposes - its tip now trailing in the water). Her eyes should be blue (they’re brown, overlarge in her heart-shaped face, bringing attention to her snubbed nose and making her mouth appear smaller than it actually is) and her features perfect (they’re decidedly imperfect but not unattractive even as her smile wavers under his gaze or possibly his interruption of her little speech).

He ignores the pucker between her eyebrows in order to continue his summation of her features. Hair that should be trailing in the water, long and flowing like a waterfall to the edges of her kirtle (which should be silk but appears instead to be simple blue homespun, as if she were a peasant and not a magical being) instead ends somewhere in the middle of her back. It should also, he notes critically, be the reddish-gold of a newly minted coin instead of mousy brown. Nor should it be plastered to her head, with what look like strands of duckweed tangled within it as if she were the mere country wench her clothing declares her to be, caught in the midst of a morning swim.

A peasant girl who’d somehow managed to catch his sword as he flung it towards the murky depths of this lonely body of water, intending that it never be found again, by him or anyone else.

He gave a mental snort. No, he thought bitterly, Fate or the Devil or whoever had cursed him onto this path would never allow such a thing.

Spirit or mere mortal, the girl blinks at the interruption, then continues doggedly on, as if reciting a memorized speech she’s being forced to give against her will. “You drew it from the anvil, which was set atop the stone with Excalibur through both, and that means you’re the true King of the British Isles.”

She stops abruptly, thrusting the sword at him as if impatient for him to be on with it and leave her to her watery world. “Take it,” she says, impatiently, but with a hint of desperation in her voice that piques his curiosity more than any question as to her potential otherworldly antecedents.

“What if I don’t?” he asks, folding his arms - awkward to do in armor, but he manages.

She gives him what can only be described as an annoyed look, once again allowing the tip of the sword to droop toward the water. “Then I have to keep it until you die and the next True King of the British Isles is born and reaches manhood and finds his way here to claim it.”

She sounds…he’s not sure. He expected defeat or despair as she recited what sounded to him like a curse that had been laid upon her, but what he hears sounds closer to resignation.

Or is it possibly - indifference?

“And what happens if I take the sword?” he demands, various possibilities passing fleetingly through the back of his mind as he awaits her answer.

She gives him a sad smile. “Then you become the True King and I go back to watching fish and turtles and bugs live their busy underwater lives until they eventually die and sink to the muck at the bottom, leaving nothing but bones and shells and other bits and pieces of themselves behind.”

“It sounds fascinating,” he replies, surprised by his own sincerity.

Her eyes light up and she takes an eager step forward, the sword dangling almost forgotten in her hand. “Do you think so, truly? Because it really is fascinating! I mean, I’ve seen animals die but never really had the chance to study what was left behind - well, I lived on a farm and everything that died was generally eaten afterwards and the bones added to the midden or used for soup stock and my mother thought it was morbid that I wanted to know what happened when animals died, and forbade me to speak to the gravediggers or the village priest about whether human bodies decomposed in the same way, not that he would have answered me - Father Tomas, I mean; the gravediggers might have been willing…”

She stumbles to a halt as he stares at her, bemused and intrigued by her words. “So you were mortal, once?” She nods dumbly. Yes, a peasant wench, that certainly fits with his surmises. “And cursed to this existence?” She nods again. “By whom?”

Her face clouds, and she drags the sword upward, clutching to her chest in a protective gesture. “By my betrothed,” she whispers, edging back away from him. Instinctively he moves toward her, splashing into the shallows, hearing his horse return to its interrupted drinking of the murky water.

TBC?

#sherlolly #mizjoely writes #mizjoely's fics

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boy-above · 1 year

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What r ur ocs like!

OHHHHH boy the problem with my ocs is that the story i have for them is really big and unnecessarily complicated so it makes it hard to talk about them rip. ive actually been planning on trying to update their designs (since i haven't drawn most of them in years) and explain the story more yknow. i actually do have recent drawings of my two favorite ocs that i haven't shared yet though so i suppose now is the time to do it

this is wyatt! he is definitely my favorite oc. he's 25, saudi, and a cis gnc gay man. he's 5'2 and is incredibly cute. he's the epitome of the >:3 face and can be mean at times, but is very soft with his boyfriend. he has a tragique past with an abusive father and has some pretty gnarly ptsd. he died once (he's okay now though) by drowning so he's afraid of water. he can see dead people which is fun. his role in the story is a bit of reverse grim reaper, he has the power to bring people back to life, although maintains the reaper aesthetic. he has a big knife and if he pierces a dead person they'll be revived, but if it pierces a living person they'll dissolve into dust and not even their spirit remains. he has powers like being able to float, go through walls, teleport short distances etc. some danny phantom shit.

this is hayden, wyatt's boyfriend. he's a gay trans man, 26 years old, 6'0, indian. he's an engineer and kind of a genius, taught himself calculus kinda shit. he has electric-adjacent powers (purple lightning!) and his role is that of an electrical engineer, performing maintenance on the power structures to keep everyone's powers working. he's also an inventor and has a steampunk-esque workshop where he builds a bunch of cool shit. he used to have an identical twin sister but she kiiiinda died when they were 14 and he has conflicting feelings about it because she wasn't exactly the best person to him. everyone in this story can shapeshift (albeit slowly over time) so he had a nice easy time transitioning. he lifts weight to cope with depression (and so he can pick up his boyfriend, the most importantest reason)

he and wyatt met when they were 15 and 16 and theyre very much in love. maybe a little codependent but shhhhh it's okay the environment they're in kinda calls for it. when wyatt was young he would see the fairytales where a princess would be rescued by a knight or prince and he wished one would save him from his abuse as well (alongside wishing that boys could be princesses, his journey from growing up in an extremely toxically (is that a word even??) house to accepting that he's allowed to like boys and be feminine was a hard one) and hayden was kinda like that dream come true! it was also fun bc hayden was able to give wyatt all his girl stuff from before he transitioned to give it a spin. hayden also really enjoys having a boyfriend thats smaller and daintier than him, makes him feel more masculine. over all they are incredibly in love and i'm obsessed with them and they occupy my thoughts a lot. i'm so sad bc i don't have a recent drawing of them, the last finished drawing i have of them together is from 2019 wtf 😭

#my ocs #bloodwood circus #(thats the title of the story. that i have not written.)#martshals

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originemesis · 2 months

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@danger-tits-lute xxx

Was that his way of calling her small?! She wasn’t that small! As far as Heavenborn go she was on the smaller side but most of the Winners were her height or even smaller than her… and she was small compared him, she guessed, but all the exorcists were and she certainly wasn’t the smallest exorcist! She was overthinking. She was used to his teasing enough by now to know he’d say anything to get a rise out of her. “I’m. Fine.” She wouldn’t give it to him, she kept her voice flat and unbothered. She gathered the least wrinkled and messy looking robe she could find and ignored him all the way to his bathroom that, thankfully, did not look too much like a war zone. She looked at herself in his mirror; she looked ridiculous! She was never this unkempt, especially around him. It was so embarrassing. To her side there was a small hand towel, seemingly untouched from the last time it was put there, only Father knows how long ago. She removed it and used it to dry her hair, folding it and sliding it back into its holder when she was done. Her typically pin straight locks were taking on a wavy and frizzed quality as they dried, which wouldn’t have bothered her alone in her house, but she felt self conscious of now. Looking at the robe in her hand she suddenly realized that in order to change into it she’d have to remove her own clothes. Revolutionary thought, but that would mean she’d be naked, in his house, for even a split second. Naked… in Adam’s… her boss’… house. She rethought squeezing herself into the dryer, if only to kill herself. He was never going to let her live this down. She was going to have to live through “Remember when I had you naked in my house babe? That was a good time. Would’ve been better if you stayed that way…” For the rest of eternity. She shivered again; she was chilled to the bone. She would have to bite the bullet now, it wouldn’t be any better if she did get sick. With a sigh, she peeled each article of clothing off her body one by one and blushed as she slid his robe over her. His house, his bathroom, his clothes… This was some kind of nightmare sent from hell to fluster her. When she was fully changed a little whimper of realization escaped her pursed lips. She was small. His robes were so large on her she might as well had taken a blanket instead. The arms of it covered her hands and the length dragged on the floor. It was extremely comfortable though, and most importantly, warm. She paused, she so did not want to go back out there. After a dragging minute, Lute took a deep breath as she turned the handle and stepped out, holding her pile of wet clothes to throw in the dryer so that she could change back into them as soon as heavenly possible. Along with his oversized garments, she wore a scowl and a bright golden blush across her face.

Noting the lack of reaction to the popped chip bag, he disappointedly shovels a handful of sour cream scented shards against his mask, the inevitable crumbs cascading onto various points of the floor for her bare feet to find later if she ever composed herself enough to claw out of her soaked through garments.

"Oh~kaaaaay, whatever you say, Danger Tits. 'Fine' isn't exactly what conclusion I'd jump to, but hey... if it helps you dodge the 'Adam got me really wet tonight' joke, by all means- be fine~" Well, that one got her to fuck right off quick like to the bathroom, he notes with an amused twirl of his wrist. She really was quite the delight to derail, but he wasn't that overindulgent in harassing her for his shits and giggles that he wouldn't give her a minute to collect herself for round two of his tireless tweets.

Wandering back through the hallway (though not without dragging his talons casually along the side of the wall he knew she hunkered behind) he eventually peels off and into the near black of the living room that blossoms gray with each flash of lightning stealing in through half nudged curtains. Supposing he'd make his company more cozy, he racked his memories with chin taps...now what did chicks look for in a cozy apartment experience again? Oh yeah! Candles. Well he doesn't have any of those. But a bowl he subsequently fills with a crumbled up fast food bag that he then lights on fire with an ignition spark generated between the snap of his talons works just as well. There. All homey!

Satisfied with his bare minimum effort reached, he takes a load off to slouch on the sofa and get back to what he really had been up to until she showed up dripping on his doorstep. With another wink of lightning, he conjured his own flash that deposited his guitar on his stomach as dotingly clasped as a scallop by a river otter. Storms really were the best time to tinker with tunes since the boom of his inner amp could settle in the wake of thunder rattled walls with much little effort exerted on his part. Of course, that meant the pace has to follow the slow crawl of a fading storm's serenade. And the notes he begins to pluck certainly reflect that diversion of his usual soul booster slaughter slams. After another wave of wall rattling courtesy of the sky's rumbling, he muses along with the streams of lazy light following the tip of his pick like the tumultuous tail of a kite.

"... you're toothpicks sliding under finger nails." He croons at the fireball of a candle- it's scent...likely taco bell. "Don't you need a breath of air? 'Cause you're biting-" The jaws of lightning snap down with a ripping crackle outside, and he purrs along with the resounding rumble. "at my head... like starving great whites feeding in the deep e~nd."

#//mmm burnt fast food bag smell #//ultra chad things #//and yeee there's what i made :) in the link #danger-tits-lute #verse ; // the crusades #long post #suggestive cw

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kirfuffel · 7 days

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Fire's Edge

4,223 words Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto (Anime & Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Uchiha Shisui, Nibi | Two-tails | Matatabi, Killer Bee (Naruto), Omoi (Naruto), Karui (Naruto) Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary: The Third Ninja War is waning and Shisui— a battlefield created jinchuriki— finds himself working as arms for hire to keep himself fed as a MIA shinobi. But no matter how good he is at what he does, this latest mission’s stakes are higher than he thinks.

0-0-0

This was going to be a tough one.

Not because Shisui was worried about getting his catch. He’d done that already. He’d found his target pretty easily, while the man had been making a run for the border of the Land of Lightning. He had the man tied up and ready to go— alive, as per instructions. And thank god, because he was twice Shisui’s size and Shisui did not have the fortitude right now to drag a dead body all the way to the drop off point.

I’m stating my position on this again, Shisui-kun, Matatabi chided. Taking this mission was a mistake. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll back out now.

We’re almost there. Besides, the pay is good for a fast catch. Things are a bit tight right now, we could use the money.

Hm.

Shisui chuckled. Come on. Don’t you want to see how your old village is doing?

No.

Okay, okay. I’m sorry.

Matatabi huffed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

With that, her consciousness settled somewhere warm in the back of Shisui’s mind. Shisui pressed his lips together, but decided to let it go. He scooted a little closer to the fire, the warmth making him shiver. He looked over to where his prisoner was sleeping, bound at the wrists and ankles.

The bounty listed this as a low-ranking missing-nin, someone who couldn’t cut it as a shinobi and decided to make a run for it instead of serving their time. Shisui had heard about the Hidden Cloud’s mandatory service before, but to spend their money on catching AWOL genin seemed a little pointless— especially during the death throes of this awful war. He supposed that was why they weren’t paying their own hunter-nin to go after him.

Which meant the Hidden Cloud must be paying their hunter-nin good money, because Shisui was no cheap labor himself— not usually, at least. The war was at its end, after all (theoretically.) With the threat of peace coming for their livelihood, more and more bounty hunters were popping up out of the smaller villages as they surrendered or their militaries were assimilated into the Five Great Nations. Shisui was a cut above any of these small town thugs and could take on big time jobs, but he had to balance his success with his anonymity. He had to avoid making too much of a name for himself. Word traveled fast even across enemy lines and Shisui was still a wanted man.

And unlike his current target, Shisui was not wanted alive.

By any side.

Despite how lightly he teased her, Matatabi had a point. The Hidden Cloud was likely livid they lost one of their tailed-beasts in the midst of battle. Shisui hadn’t met Matatabi’s old jinchuriki and she did not talk about her often, but he could tell by the sound of Matatabi’s voice and the warmth that radiated in his stomach when she talked about her that the Two-Tails had possessed a… fondness for her old partner.

A deep itch started on Shisui’s shoulder and radiated all the way down his back. He gave a small frustrated grunt, scratching at the seal that was imprinted on his back. It had been a hack job, done by an inexperienced medic-nin in an effort to get the Two-Tails while it was still weak enough to seal alone. Shisui had been the only one around. It was him or letting the Two-Tails go, to be captured by enemy shinobi or worse, allowed to return to full strength and wreak havoc yet again— this time too close to the Hidden Leaf for Shisui to stand for.

Shisui missed home, sometimes. But he knew in his heart that returning a jinchuriki would mean turning over a weapon of mass destruction to the Uchiha and— no matter how much it hurt him— he could not give his clan any more leverage to go through with their foolish coup. He just had to hope that someday, the talks of peace would make their way inside the Hidden Leaf and encourage them to look inward for justice.

Shisui sighed. There was no point in getting all fussed about it again. He’d made his choice. Now he was living with it. It was going to be a long, sleepless night, but in the morning, he’d be in the Hidden Cloud. He’d turn in his target, get paid his bounty, and get out of dodge before anyone suspected a thing.

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

Shisui approached the red, looming gates leading up into the mountains — the entrance to the Hidden Cloud. As he stepped up, however, he was suddenly stopped by two… children.

“Hold it right there!” One of them shouted at him. She was half his size, with fiery red-hair and golden eyes. She pointed a short sword at him, snapping, “State your business! Now!”

Shisui held back a laugh, holding up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. I’m here on business. I’ve got a delivery to make to the Council of the Hidden Cloud. Maybe you could—“

“What kind of delivery!”

Shisui pointed behind him.

The little girl peered around him. She narrowed her eyes and looked back at Shisui. “And?”

“I was asked to bring him here. So I am.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Shisui waved the question off. “Nothing. He’s just under a little genjutsu, that’s all. It’s easier than convincing him to come back on his own, right?”

The other child came up behind her, looking over her shoulder. He was a young boy with blond hair and what appeared to be a lollipop hanging from the side of his mouth. He frowned.

“Prove you’re not lying!” The little girl shouted, advancing on him.

“Whoa, hey now. How am I supposed to do that?”

“You tell me! You’re the intruder!”

“Hey, hey! What’s all this, what’s all the noise? All this yelling, my concentration destroys! Yea, yea!”

Shisui’s eyes snapped up, as a hulking man came swinging down off the mountain side. He swung over the red gates like monkey bars, landing right next to the little kids with a thud! “What’s the dealio, kiddie-os?”

The little girl pointed at Shisui with her sword. “This guy says he’s gotta deliver this other guy to the Council or something! But he won’t prove it!”

“Simmer down, Karui, let the MC get a looksie.” The man stepped up to Shisui, leaning down to meet his eyes. The sunlight glimmered in his sunglasses, right above the tattoos of bullhorns on his cheek.

That’s Killer B— the Raikage’s brother. Matatabi informed him. You best be careful. He comes off foolish, but his strength is nothing to snicker at. He is the host of the Eight-Tails, Gyuuki.

Shisui’s stomach dropped, but he stood his ground.

Killer B took a look around Shisui at the man tied up behind him. He snapped his fingers. “Oh shit! Yeah, I know this face! You got his ass, record pace, oh yeah!”

Shisui let his breath go subtly. “I’m glad to be satisfactory! Now, I was told I’d be able to find someone here to guide me to the Council. Is that… you?”

Killer B grimaced and waved his hand in a vague circle. “Yeah… I guess. I don’t want to go through the whole song and dance, I don’t even wanna give those stuffy hacks a chance to—“

Killer B’s face brightened. He grabbed Shisui around the shoulders. “I got an idea! How about you let me take this guy off your hands, and then my two best protégés will take you right to the Council?”

“I… don’t know about that. I was told to make the delivery in person—“

“No worries, no worries, mate! I’ll just write a little note, put my name on it, and it’ll all be good!" B whipped out a small notebook and a pencil, scribbling something down. "Besides, my kids’ll vouch for you, won’t you, kids?”

Karui huffed, snatching the note from B. She sheathed her sword and crossed her arms.

The little boy didn’t say anything.

Shisui quickly looked between Karui and B. “I really would rather—“

“That’s the spirit!” Killer B snatched the rope out of Shisui’s hands and slapped him on the back. “Go on ahead, I got this from here! Just follow these kids up the mountain, no fear!”

“I—!”

But before Shisui could protest any more, Killer B hoisted their missing-nin up onto his shoulder and bounded back off up into the mountains. He tried not to let out a groan of frustration. He might have just gotten kill-snatched.

I think you should take this as a sign and quit while you’re ahead, Shisui-kun.

C’mon. We’ve gotten this far.

Hm.

Look, these kids are harmless. If I get into any trouble, I’ll pop them under a little genjutsu and we’ll skedaddle. Easy does it.

Don’t be so sure. These mountains are treacherous to outsiders and crawling with Hidden Cloud shinobi. It will only get worse the closer you get to the village.

Don’t worry about me. My Body Flicker technique is faster than anyone’s. I’ll be fine.

It’s not you I’m worried about—

“Hey!”

Shisui snapped back to the present when a pair of fingers were snapped in front of him.

“Lemme guess,” Karui jabbed. “You can’t use chakra to walk up walls?”

Of course he could but he had… obscured a bit on his background when taking this job. He shrugged with a smile. “Sorry— Karui, was it?”

“That’s Karui-san to you.”

“Yes ma’am, Karui-san.”

She jerked her head. “Come on then. It’s a long walk for civilians.”

Shisui followed these two kids as they began their trek up the mountains. Karui had not been lying. It was definitely a long walk up many steep stairs. The longer they walked, the thinner the air became and the denser the clouds became around them, until it began to look like they were in a fog. Karui trekked on ahead of them, however, kicking a rock up the stairs. The boy hung back behind her, almost walking beside him.

Shisui bent down a little. “So is she always so intense?”

The boy looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t respond.

Shisui laughed a little. “Not much for conversation, huh?”

The boy shook his head. If Shisui had to guess, the boy had to be around five years old— way too young to be guarding the village gates. The girl was probably older, but not by much. The Hidden Cloud must have been strapped for shinobi—

Don’t underestimate B. Matatabi warned. If you had tried anything, you’d be dangling by your neck off these cliff sides.

So lemme guess. You know these kids?

Matatabi didn’t answer.

After what seemed like forever, they broke through the clouds and the stairs finally plateaued, announcing their arrival into the Hidden Cloud proper. The many plazas and beautiful glass buildings built into the mountain side were all connected with stone walkways and steel bridges. However, the clouds obscured how far the village really went— making it look like some of the bridges walked right into the ether.

“Come on, keep up!” Karui yelled. She turned around with a sneer. “If you get lost, you might walk right off the edge of a cliff.”

“Oh yikes. We better keep up then, right—?” Shisui lead, but the boy did not take the bait. Shisui cleared his throat. “Y’know, I had a friend who had a brother about your age.”

The boy didn’t respond.

“He was a lot more talkative than you. You couldn’t stop him from talking, actually.”

“What, kinda like you?” Karui snapped.

“Something like that!” Shisui laughed. “How much longer, Karui-san?”

“Why? Are your legs getting tired?”

“A little bit, yeah. It was a long walk here.”

“Well lucky you, the council building is right over there.” Karui pointed to the building looming in the clouds to their right. “So stop whinging, we’re practically there.”

And so they were. Karui lead them all inside and up yet another few flights of stairs, until they reached a long hallway leading to an impressive set of doors with the kanji for “Clouds” written upon them in gold paint.

“You stay here.” Karui commanded, pointing at a bench. “I’ll go in and tell them what’s going on.”

Shisui gave her a salute. “Tell them Suishi sent you.”

“Yeah, yeah, Sushi sent me. Omoi, you watch this guy and make sure he doesn’t try anything funny.” With that, Karui grabbed the door handle and — using her whole body weight— swung it open just enough to get through. She heaved it shut behind her.

This left Shisui and the younger boy alone together.

Shisui tapped his fingers against the wall. “So. Omoi, is it?”

The boy looked up at him.

Shisui forced a little laugh. “‘Karui’ and ‘Omoi’, huh? You two must’ve been a package deal at the baby store, huh?”

Omoi frowned. He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Oh, so you can talk! No, no. I’m not from around here. But it’s a nice place, maybe I’ll—“

“I need to ask you a question and you need to answer it fast.”

“Uh, sure. Shoot.”

“What did you do to Yugito?”

“Who-gito?”

The doors burst open and dozens of shinobi spilled out— from the hallways on either side, from the ceiling, from the walls. They swarmed Shisui like attacking dogs, brandishing knives, swords, sealing scrolls. Shisui had a breath to form a single hand seal.

But that’s all he needed.

Body Flicker!

Shisui vanished from the onslaught, feeling the rush as blades passed over his head and clashed against each other. He ran, flitting in and out around ninja as they came at him. As he dodged through a hissing maze of wires bursting from a sealing scroll, he flashed another set of hand seals.

Doppelganger Technique!

In a puff of white smoke, dozens of shadows of Shisui burst onto the battlefield and scattered, all running for the only exit Shisui knew of. As he flickered through these mere shadows, he saw a shinobi running in the opposite direction— holding Omoi. Shinobi were parting around the fleeing ninja like water and they were pulling far ahead. So Shisui switched tactics, sending his clones far out away from him and following closely behind Omoi’s savior in short bursts— just enough to keep inside the hole behind them, but not close enough they could feel him.

But then bolts of lightning shot through the hallway in front of him, shattering the thick windows around him and halting him in his tracks. He jumped back and turned to face the horde behind him— but they were no longer advancing. The wall of shinobi stood behind him, all still poised to attack, but… they were standing still.

Shisui whipped back around.

In front of him stood a hulking man, skin dark and ruddy, blonde hair pushed back behind his forehead protector. Wisps of lightning still crackled across his boulder muscles, even as he straightened up.

Shisui-kun! Jump!

What?!

Jump! I’ll catch you!

Shisui made a dash for the shattered window, his feet clattering against the broken glass. Then the hair stood up on the back of his neck and he flung himself to the side, just narrowly avoiding the devastating blow that zapped past his ear. He scrabbled back, his Sharingan flickering around the battlefield. Then— in a breath’s moment— he saw the man, coated in a veil of lightning, come charging at him fist drawn back.

Even his Body Flicker would be too slow.

S-Susanoo!

With a burst of bright green chakra, a skeletal rib cage burst from the ground around Shisui, rushing up to defend him— but not fast enough. With a crack like a splitting tree, the tip of Susanoo’s rib snapped.

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

The ringing in his ears grew closer and closer, until it seemed to fill his head. The world slowly came back into focus around him and his body seemed to settle back down into reality. Shisui’s entire body ached, like he’d been thrown down a cliffside. His limbs were still tingling, full of a dull static from the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his toes. Whatever lightning-style he’d been hit with, it had been extraordinary. He was lucky he wasn’t dead— perhaps calculatedly so.

Shisui struggled to sit up. His arms felt like they were on a delay and slightly off from the rest of his body. He swayed to catch his balance as he fully sat up. He took a look at his arm and he saw bright pink lines scribbling down his pale, clammy skin.

They’re lightning scars. They’ll fade.

Shisui jolted with relief. Matatabi! You’re still here!

Of course I am. You’d be dead if I weren’t.

I thought for sure you’d be—

I know. I am as surprised as you, Shisui-kun.

Shisui sighed. I really messed up, Matatabi. I’m sorry I came back here.

Don’t be too hard on yourself. It… could have been worse.

What happened?

You met A— the current Raikage. You were never going to be a match for him. You are very, very lucky. If he wanted you dead, you would be.

Then why am I…

Shisui looked around him. He was trapped, that much was certain. The grey stone around him was cold. The bars in front of him were thick and solid. There was a damp smell in the air and it was humid. There was the sound of running water, echoing somewhere in the distance.

You… wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?

If I had to guess, we’re in a sealing temple within the Hidden Cloud. There are several, meant to hold a tailed beast if their jinchuriki fails. I could not say which one.

That’s more than I know. Any chance you’ve got enough chakra left to bust us out of here? I think I’m tapped out.

I’m afraid not. Something must be siphoning off my chakra.

“Hey, hey! Look who’s awake!”

Shisui winced as the voice echoed loudly through his cell. He looked over and saw Killer B waving from the other side.

“Welcome back, kid!” B turned around and crossed his legs. He slapped his thighs. “I bet you’ve got questions, yeah?”

“I… a couple, I guess.” His voice was hoarse. He tried to get up, but didn’t make it very far. He sat back down hard.

“I’d keep your backside rock-side, if I were you. My brother’s Lightning Straight ain’t something most bounce back from. Wish I’d been there to see how you managed that one.”

“Mm-hm…” Shisui rubbed his eyes. “Where am I?”

“Jail, my guy! You’ve made yourself a right mess, no try! You’ve got balls up the walls to come back here!”

“I… ugh…”

“Hey, hey, don’t get too down. We’d have tracked you down anyway, you saved us a lot of time, ‘ey. Not many people could’ve gone toe-to-toe with Yugito, much less taken her out. You’ve pissed off a lot of people.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb now, boy. You’ve already fucked up.”

“I…”

Yugito was my former jinchuriki. She was taken out by a man with yellow hair and a long coat. I don’t know how, but I didn’t see him coming. She was gone before I knew what had hit us.

Shisui’s stomach dropped.

“Talking with the Two-Tails, boy?”

“I… y-yes. How did you—”

“So you’re at least on speaking terms, that’s good to hear.” B leaned forward. “So. If it wasn’t you, then who?”

“We… we don’t know. They hit her from behind. Somehow.” Shisui tried again to get up, but failed. “What…what’s going to happen now?”

“Now? Now we’re at a bit of an impasse, a bit of a block. Where we go from here is on you, so let’s talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Welp, there’s a few things you gotta know, a couple things to get you up to speed. We got you on lock, but there’s a way to get freed! But not without a catch.” B tapped his shoulder, where there was a dark black tattoo of the kanji for ‘Iron’. “You see this seal? It’s better than yours, y’feel me? We’ve gotten your seal modded up, so it’s attached to yours truly!”

“Wh… huh?”

“Listen up, listen up, I’m telling you, son! You and I, fit and fly, are linked now, yea! Where I go, you go, day by day, hey!”

“Wh… wh…” Shisui shook his head. “Wait, so… we’re tied together now? By our seals?”

“By your seal, yeah. So if you try anything funny or tricky, yours will pop right off real sicky. Gonna be a helluva bad end for you then, friend.”

Can they do that?

I don’t know, but I would not put it past them. I would not test it just yet.

“So… how far is the tether?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out, kiddo.” B waved his hand around. “But that ain’t the only thing you gotta do, the only catch, I’m telling you. There’s more to the deal, y’feel?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re a jinchuriki now, of the Two-Tailed Beast. The Hidden Cloud’s Beast, of which we’d like to keep. So you and me, we’re a lot alike, because I’m the Eight-Tails host, no trick, no syke!”

“The Eight-Tails…” Shisui said, like he didn’t already know.

“Hey, hey, surely Two-Tails has said something about me by now, yea? I’m the Killer B, we go way back, me and she!”

“She’s mentioned you, yes.” Shisui pressed his lips together. Then he said, “I… I can’t be loyal to the Hidden Cloud.”

“We ain’t asking that. But until we’ve got a better way to pry that kitty cat out of you, you ain’t going nowhere fast. So you might as well sit back and re-lax.”

“So… I just sit here? Or do we just sit here?”

“Neither, kiddo! We ain’t savages! If you’re gonna be our Two-Tails host, you’ll need some establishes! Something nicer than this!”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s find out, yeah?” B stood up, picking up the familiar bag by his side. He shoved a hand in his pocket and dug around, fishing out a key and jamming it into the lock on the door. He kicked it open with a screech.

Shisui tried again to stand up, his legs finally feeling steadier beneath him. He wobbled back to his feet, only to be nearly knocked back off them when B tossed the bag into his hands.

“All your stuff is still there, you’ll find, plus your mission payment, in kind. Your mission was a success, your target was met, so the Cloud paid their debt!”

“Oh… that’s… nice. I guess.”

“For sure! Now you good to talk, but you good to walk?”

“I… I think so.”

“For sure, for sure. Let’s get a move on then!”

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“Here we go, here we are! Your new digs, kid.”

Shisui looked around. The room had definitely been recently repurposed— a lot of miscellaneous items and furniture had been pushed to the walls to make room for a fluffy looking futon and a bedside lamp. Pretty bare-bones, but definitely more than Shisui had had some nights.

”It ain’t no five-star resort, but I wasn’t expecting guests.” B nudged him with a cheeky smile. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

Shisui forced a smile. “You don’t have to do that. This is fine.”

“Nicer than jail, huh?”

Shisui nodded.

B patted him on the back. “Don’t you worry about that anymore. Besides. My bro is paying for your upgrades, so you can have whatever you want.”

“Thank you, that’s… nice of him.”

“Yeah, don’t get too used to it. Brother’s a hard-ass most of the time. You’ll find that out once you start training to get your tailed beast form under control.”

Little do they know.

And the littler they know the better, Shisui-kun.

“Anyway. You can put your bag down wherevs, bathroom’s down the hall across from the kids, and I’ll see you at dinner in 40 minner.”

“Thank you, B-sama—“ Shisui stopped, then asked, “Kids? You have children?”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t sound so surprised! I may look youthful in my age, but I’m responsible, yey! You met my fun-sized protégés, you bet, but I guess I ain’t introduced you all formal yet.” B turned over his shoulder, shouting, “Yo! Karui! Omoi! Get in here!”

After a brief moment of silence, the two kids appeared in the doorway, Karui standing directly in front of Omoi.

B pointed to each of them, stating, “This one’s Karui, this one’s Omoi. They’re my kids, one girl, one boy!”

Shisui smiled tightly. “We… we have met, haven’t we? I’m… I’m Shisui. I hope we can all get along.”

Karui scoffed. “Fat chance.”

B nudged her with his knee. “Hey, hey, watch it, mini-me. We’ve gotta work together all harmoniously.”

Karui rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Come on, Omoi. We are going to go pick up dinner.”

Omoi didn’t say anything. Karui grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him behind her as she stomped off.

This… might not go well.

Give them time. This is a new change for them too. You’re a big boy, Shisui-kun. Be patient.

I will.

#naruto #shisui #shisui uchiha #killer b #karui #omoi #this was my first time writing shisui and it was really fun #so i hope it came out alright

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