#the bishops as the three kings too

[voidheartkisses]

Every once in a while, I remember when Narinder was the virgin mary

[g0dlyunsub]

red herring.

in which spencer can’t stop teasing you about how you constantly try to draw his attention away from your rather flawed board/card game skills.

pairing :: spencer x reader

warnings :: none? some [really slight] sexual tension but it’s mostly spencer being his witty self.

word count :: 1.3k

author’s note :: second post is now up! i’m a sucker for pure fluff that involves constant bickering, especially when it involves spencer’s ginormous brain. mention of his glasses like thrice. i also just realized i missed the opportunity to title this as reid herring, but i'm too lazy to change the cover :3

accompanying song :: show me by mac ayres and chris anderson

you let out a deep sigh before you can stop yourself, and you instantly try to fake cough to mask your disappointment. spencer’s quick to notice, however, and he flashes a smile at you. his glasses hitch up slightly as his nose lightly crinkles, and you can’t help but look and admire. in comparison, your smile is always turned downwards and you’ve never felt comfortable displaying a wide smile like his. 

you’d find his smile to be refreshing any other day, but right now, it’s more of a nuisance than anything. 

“what, can’t admit that you’ve lost the last seven games of chess?” spencer chuckles playfully and rests his chin on his hand. 

you huff in frustration and tap the table with your index finger. “you’ve been playing this game since like what, when you were a week old? your elo rating is probably well above candidate masters and-”

“so what else do you want to try? i’ve handicapped my queen, my bishop, do you want a rook gone next?” the rim of spencer’s glasses gleams under the lighting as he asks, and you hate how everything seems to be on his side. 

“no,” you pout, and tip over your king to surrender. “i want to play something different.” you fold your arms in front of your chest as you speak and lean back in your chair.

“you know, if it helps, i could explain the strategies i used to counter your plays. these seven- well eight games, we’ve played the italian defense three times, the caro-kann setup twice, the sicilian defense once, which is pretty impress-” you cut spencer short when you clear your throat and raise your eyebrows.

“can we not… talk about chess right now?” you pout once again, and push the chess board to the side of the table.

“well. is there anything else that you want to play?” spencer adjusts his glasses as you scratch the back of your head in contemplation.

“old maid. i’m a natural at that game,” you suggest, and you notice the corner of spencer’s lips tug into a smirk.

“oh, i bet you are. try me.” confidence oozes from his words and your heart beats just a little faster. he’s enjoying this a little too much.

“i’ll deal the cards.” you grab a deck of cards from the drawer of your desk and shuffle the cards in a swift and fluid manner.

“that’s right, in a classic two-player situation for a deck of 1 card to a deck of 51 cards, the latter of which is the standard for a game of old maid, the expected probabilities for the dealer winning are always higher than the non-dealer. if you’re really going for the win, i’d recommend playing with a smaller deck of cards, but the difference is really minimal. you’re looking at a simulated probability of 50.4 percent with 51 cards versus 51.8 percent with 23 cards.” spencer rolls the facts off his tongue like it’s common sense, and you blink rapidly in stunned confusion. he’s playing it off with a goofy smile again. ugh.

the next hour is filled mostly with intense silence, and you could swear a part of your brain was going to short circuit from mental exhaustion any minute. 

“is it… here? hm?” spencer observes your facial expressions for any note of change, but you wouldn’t give it to him. you remain unphased as his fingers trail between your cards and pull the rightmost card from your grip. 

your heart makes an ecstatic turn when he takes the old maid and it takes everything in you to suppress your smile. so much for being a profiler.

your excitement doesn’t last, however, when he slightly cocks his head to the side and starts to shuffle his cards. it’s endgame, and you might be able to come out of this with your first victory. 

you lean in ever so slightly, brushing your fingers atop each card and pausing in between. your eyes lock onto his hazel beads, and neither of you blink. 

“it’s not this card.” you move to the next card, and spencer raises an eyebrow.

“are you sure? you know, statistically speaking, when one shuffles their deck of-” your hand snakes under his cards and you lay a finger to his lips. 

“shh, i’m trying to concentrate,” you whisper, and everything goes silent. the tension between the two of you hangs suspended in the air and it’s increasingly harder for you to focus on the game. in fact, you’re thinking of everything but the cards in front of you. 

you draw in a deep breath and settle on the card that sits second to last in his right palm. when you turn the card over, a frown instantly overtakes your face. the old maid had instantly made its way back into your set of cards.

the rest of the game is torturous; each turn, spencer discards his pairs one by one, and your disappointment seeps through your loud sighs. 

you set the last card on top of the messy pile of pairs. it’s a loss, again. 

“spence, i’d beat you in any target game like darts.” you lift your head with an exhausted groan.

“you know, phil taylor, a 16-time world darts champion, is often cited to utilize geometry to his strategic advantage since he aims for the triple 20 section, which is one of the highest scoring areas of the board. it takes practice, of course, to nail the angle down, but an estimation of the dart's projectile motion offers great leverage to your precision.” he looks at you as you start to stack up the cards and stuff them back into their case.

after a pause, he continues: “can i not impress my favorite person once in a while?" he reaches for your hand to interlace his fingers with yours. 

his thumb rubs the cave between your thumb and index finger in a circular motion, and you feel your body relax under his touch. you suppress your excitement at the mention of the word favorite by pursing your lips.

“you always impress me, spence. wait – hey, is that a red herring, coming from you?” you question, pulling his hand towards you.

“perhaps. and i’ll actually address mine, unlike a certain someone…” a sly grin spreads across his face.

“but what about that one time you-” you start, raising your other hand to contest. 

“hm. interesting. that’s your first whataboutist reply in two days,” spencer cuts you off short. what an actual jerk.

he breaks into a small fit of laughter before he waves his hand to control himself. you, on the other hand, aren’t impressed. he stands, his figure towering over you as you remain seated.

“come on, let’s grab a cup of coffee before we head out for the weekend. i’ll walk you home.” spencer motions for you to get up, and you reluctantly follow suit. you’re glad you could spend more time with the witty doctor, but you hadn’t expected to accumulate even more stress after work was over. a cup of coffee is exactly what you need to get a moment of relaxation.

he hands you your cup of coffee and turns to face you while stirring his drink with a coffee stick.

“hey, uh, listen. it’s been really nice playing with you today, and if you wanted to play again sometime, talk about strategies, stuff like that…” he trails off, watching you as you take a sip of your hot drink.

“of course, if you’ll ever consider adopting me as your apprentice,” you jokingly respond, and a glimmer surfaces in his eyes. before he can respond, you lean in and embrace him. 

“i’m just kidding. invite me for a card game any time.” you look up so your forehead sits right under his chin. he’s surprised at your sudden move, but he sets his cup down and returns the hug.

“poker next?” 

“oh hell no. get out of here.” you laugh and take his hand as you walk out of the office while he desperately scrambles for his cup with his free hand. both of your laughs echo down the hallway and trail behind as the elevator doors close.

[nachrosas]

CHECKMATE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which an unexpected thunderstorm leads you and spencer a afternoon full of chess matches and childhood memories pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff word count: 1.6k a/n: hi! first time in a long time that i have written a fic over 1k words! this was also supposed to be posted yesterday, but my internet suddenly stopped working. hope you guys like it and feedback is always appreciated! till the next one!

The sound of the rain pounded incessantly against the windows of Spencer's small apartment, it was as if nature was determined to flood the whole world. In the corner of the room, the yellowish light of a lamp cast soft shadows on the various piles of books that seemed to have been strategically placed, something Spencer called “controlled organization”.

You were sitting on the shag carpet, watching Spencer who, with the sleeves of his dress shirt folded up to his elbows and his glasses slipping slightly down his nose, was completely focused on preparing the chessboard on the coffee table.

“You know, I'd say getting stuck here is pretty unlucky,” you commented, a playful smile on your lips. “But honestly, I think it's better than being stuck with an unsub.”

Spencer looked up at you, the corners of his mouth curving into a shy smile. “Technically, the probability of being hit by that storm was only 23%, so… we can say we were statistically surprised.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Of course you'd know that.”

He placed the last piece on the board and, with a casual gesture, indicated the place in front of you. “It's ready. But I warn you right now that I'm a tough opponent.”

“Ah, Reid.” you said, approaching and taking your seat. “I may not have memorized 50 chess moves, but I'm great at distractions.”

As the storm roared outside, the feeling of being cooped up was quickly replaced by the warmth of laughter, shared glances, and the certainty that that rainy afternoon would be unforgettable.

Spencer was completely focused on the board. His fingers hovered over the white knight, assessing all the possible moves before moving the piece. His expression was a mixture of absolute focus and slight satisfaction, as if he knew that victory was only a few moves away.

“Do you really think you can beat me so easily?” you asked, leaning forward, resting your chin on your hands.

“It's not a question of 'think'.” Spencer replied, moving his horse with surgical precision. “It's just logic. Three moves, and I put you in checkmate.”

“Three moves?” you repeated, widening your eyes in comic exaggeration. “That sounds like a threat.”

“It's not a threat, it's just an observation.” He gave a discreet smile, adjusting his glasses.

You crossed your arms and tilted your head, pretending to think deeply. “You know, it reminds me of the time I tried to teach my little cousin to play chess. In his words, the king was a 'super pawn' and he kept using it to capture all my pieces.”

Spencer stopped adjusting the bishop and looked at you, eyebrows raised. “A super-pawn? That goes against all the rules of the game!”

“Exactly!” you replied, with a mischievous grin. “But it was very amusing to see him shouting 'super champion on the attack!' before losing miserably.”

He let out an unexpected laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. He tried to regain his composure, but you could see that he had lost his train of thought.

“Oh, and there's more!” you continued, pointing to the board. “Did you know that his queen was having an 'affair' with my queen and was allied to my side? Because, according to him, 'she liked my team better'.”

Another laugh escaped Spencer, now louder, and he had to take off his glasses to wipe his eyes. “That's ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous or genius?” you said, nonchalantly moving a piece. “Maybe I should adopt the super champion strategy.”

He blinked, realizing too late that you had distracted him long enough to mount a counterattack. Looking at the board, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, but the smile still shone on his face.

“I can't believe you did that!” he admitted, lowering his head. “You stole my concentration!”

“Distraction is a legitimate strategy,” you replied, triumphantly. “And honestly, it was worth every second just to hear you laugh like that.”

Spencer laughed again, this time without resistance. “All right, but I warn you, next time I'll be prepared for your super pawn.”

After quick and funny chess matches, the chessboard had been put aside, and you were now sprawled on the sofa, warm cups of tea in hand. The storm outside was now a distant, almost comforting sound, while the conversation flowed like rain against the window.

“Okay, my turn,” you began, a smile playing on your lips. “When I was about ten, I had the brilliant idea of building a catapult in the backyard.”

Spencer arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A catapult? That sounds… a bit ambitious.”

“It was!” you said, laughing. ”I saw it in a cartoon and thought I knew exactly how to make it. I took a plank of wood, a spring from the old sofa we had in the garage, and a big spoon from the kitchen. My idea was to throw fruit in the air, like a mad scientist.”

Spencer was already smiling, but his gaze showed a mixture of genuine curiosity and amusement. “Did it work?”

“More or less,” you admitted, shaking your head. “I didn't calculate the strength of the spring properly, so the first thing I threw — an apple — went straight through the kitchen window. Mom showed up five seconds later, and I was holding the spoon like an unsub caught red-handed.”

Spencer laughed out loud, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And what happened then?”

“I was grounded for a week, but my mother kept the apple with the spoon mark on it as proof of my flawed genius.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Okay, I admit, it's an impressive story. But I think I can match it.”

You leaned towards him, interested. “Oh really? I want to hear it.”

“When I was eight, I was determined to learn origami,” he began, settling down on the sofa. ”I found a book in the library and decided that the best place to practice would be during lunchtime at school. So I took all the colored papers from the library and started folding them into various shapes. My idea was to create a giant swan.”

You blinked, trying to imagine. “All the colored papers? That's… too much, Spencer.”

He smiled slightly, continuing. “The problem was that I accidentally blocked the canteen's emergency exit by stacking the parts. When the shift inspector saw it here, she called the management, thinking I was sabotaging the school.”

You burst out laughing. “You were accused of sabotage for making origami?”

“Yes!” Spencer replied, his eyes sparkling with humor. “I spent the rest of the day trying to explain that it wasn't an act of vandalism, just an unsuccessful artistic experiment.”

Your laughter filled the room, light and genuine. When you finally calmed down, he looked at you with a soft smile.

“You know,” he said. “it's funny how our silliest flaws say so much about who we are.”

You nodded, smiling back. “And how they bring us closer together. It seems we were always meant to create creative chaos.”

He laughed again, agreeing. The sound of the rain continued outside, but inside that small space, everything seemed infinitely more welcoming.

The storm had died down considerably, and the sound of the rain blended softly with the noise of the cars that had returned to the streets. Spencer, now holding an open book in his hands, was lying next to him on the sofa, their voices alternating as they read aloud. The title was a classic that he always mentioned, and you felt grateful that he had shared that moment with you.

Spencer began to read a passage with his characteristic tone, where curiosity seemed to leap from his words as if he were living the story alongside the main characters. His soft, cadenced voice made the surroundings seem even more peaceful.

You followed along attentively, feeling the familiarity of the moment. There was no rush, no need for anything other than the warmth of mutual companionship and the comfort of the written word. Sometimes you would pause and, with a smile, ask him about details of the characters or what he thought of the plot, and he would always respond enthusiastically.

“What do you think, should it be more unpredictable or deeper?” you asked, leaning a little closer to him.

Spencer looked at you, the shy smile that always appeared in quiet moments like that. “The unpredictability is interesting, but the depth… that really stands out. When you feel you know the character as well as you know yourself.”

You smiled back, touching his hand lightly, the touch simple but meaningful. “I think that's what makes the moment when we're here on the sofa, reading together, so special. It's not about what happens in the book, it's about how you lose yourself in it.”

Spencer was silent for a moment, his expression soft and thoughtful. He turned another page and looked at the book, but then his attention turned to you.

“Yes.” he said with an almost imperceptible lightness. “The best moments are not the big events, but the small ones, when we are simply present.”

The silence between you became comfortable, only the turning of pages filled the space. Outside, the heavy storm had now turned into a light drizzle, but inside the apartment, the world seemed whole in every word you read, in every glance you exchanged.

The day was ending, but you knew that this would be one of the moments that would remain etched in your memory, like a quiet, constant point of light. And as you looked at Spencer, his eyes shining softly in the light of the lamp, you realized that perhaps these little moments, shared with someone special, were the real treasures of life.

[olrinarts]

there was presumably a time when all of the bishops actually liked each other, at which point i can only assume the three brothers were peak 'boys will be boys' [derogatory]

shamura choosing not to add the red, green, and blue crowns to the kill count is a sign of love

headcanon heights used here (leshy is not a child he's just a short king). drawing bishop narinder was fun as hell too

[cupcakeslushie]

Is there an arc in EW you’re looking forward too? Will Venus and Raph have their own arcs?

I think im looking most forward to Donnie’s upcoming arc. And then Raph and Leo will have their arc for “season two” after that. Then Mikey and Donnie will have their’s based off the movie plot.

Raph will kinda have his own plot for “season three” with the Rat King and Splinter, but because the RK be working with Big Mama, Mikey and Venus will have their own storylines running as well!

And then, if we get past all that, I want to do some stories with Usagi, Tim, Kendra, Mona, and Rennet ect. Maybe a few villains too. Like Bishop.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Heist Society by Ally Carter

When Katarina Bishop was three, her parents took her on a trip to the Louvre…to case it. For her seventh birthday, Katarina and her Uncle Eddie traveled to Austria…to steal the crown jewels. When Kat turned fifteen, she planned a con of her own—scamming her way into the best boarding school in the country, determined to leave the family business behind. Unfortunately, leaving “the life” for a normal life proves harder than she’d expected.

Soon, Kat's friend and former co-conspirator, Hale, appears out of nowhere to bring Kat back into the world she tried so hard to escape. But he has a good reason: a powerful mobster has been robbed of his priceless art collection and wants to retrieve it. Only a master thief could have pulled this job, and Kat's father isn't just on the suspect list, he is the list. Caught between Interpol and a far more deadly enemy, Kat’s dad needs her help.

For Kat, there is only one solution: track down the paintings and steal them back. So what if it's a spectacularly impossible job? She's got two weeks, a teenage crew, and hopefully just enough talent to pull off the biggest heist in her family's history--and, with any luck, steal her life back along the way.

Amulet by Kazu Kibuishi

After the tragic death of their father, Emily and Navin move with their mother to the home of her deceased great-grandfather, but the strange house proves to be dangerous. Before long, a sinister creature lures the kids' mom through a door in the basement. Em and Navin, desperate not to lose her, follow her into an underground world inhabited by demons, robots, and talking animals.

Eventually, they enlist the help of a small mechanical rabbit named Miskit. Together with Miskit, they face the most terrifying monster of all, and Em finally has the chance to save someone she loves.

The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Ten-year-old Ada has never left her one-room apartment. Her mother is too humiliated by Ada’s twisted foot to let her outside. So when her little brother Jamie is shipped out of London to escape the war, Ada doesn’t waste a minute—she sneaks out to join him.   So begins a new adventure of Ada, and for Susan Smith, the woman who is forced to take the two kids in. As Ada teaches herself to ride a pony, learns to read, and watches for German spies, she begins to trust Susan—and Susan begins to love Ada and Jamie. But in the end, will their bond be enough to hold them together through wartime? Or will Ada and her brother fall back into the cruel hands of their mother?

Ascendance by Jennifer Nielsen

In a discontent kingdom, civil war is brewing. To unify the divided people, Conner, a nobleman of the court, devises a cunning plan to find an impersonator of the king's long-lost son and install him as a puppet prince. Four orphans are recruited to compete for the role, including a defiant boy named Sage. Sage knows that Conner's motives are more than questionable, yet his life balances on a sword's point—he must be chosen to play the prince or he will certainly be killed. But Sage's rivals have their own agendas as well.

As Sage moves from a rundown orphanage to Conner's sumptuous palace, layer upon layer of treachery and deceit unfold, until finally, a truth is revealed that, in the end, may very well prove more dangerous than all of the lies taken together.

The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi

An ocean voyage of unimaginable consequences... Not every thirteen-year-old girl is accused of murder, brought to trial, and found guilty. But I was just such a girl, and my story is worth relating even if it did happen years ago. Be warned, however: If strong ideas and action offend you, read no more. Find another companion to share your idle hours. For my part I intend to tell the truth as I lived it.

The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill

Every year, the people of the Protectorate leave a baby as an offering to the witch who lives in the forest. They hope this sacrifice will keep her from terrorizing their town. But the witch in the forest, Xan, is kind and gentle. She shares her home with a wise Swamp Monster named Glerk and a Perfectly Tiny Dragon, Fyrian. Xan rescues the abandoned children and deliver them to welcoming families on the other side of the forest, nourishing the babies with starlight on the journey. 

One year, Xan accidentally feeds a baby moonlight instead of starlight, filling the ordinary child with extraordinary magic. Xan decides she must raise this enmagicked girl, whom she calls Luna, as her own. To keep young Luna safe from her own unwieldy power, Xan locks her magic deep inside her. When Luna approaches her thirteenth birthday, her magic begins to emerge on schedule--but Xan is far away. Meanwhile, a young man from the Protectorate is determined to free his people by killing the witch. Soon, it is up to Luna to protect those who have protected her--even if it means the end of the loving, safe world she’s always known.

Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter

When orphaned, eleven-year-old Pollyanna comes to live with austere and wealthy Aunt Polly, her philosophy of gladness brings happiness to her aunt and other unhappy members of the community.

Paddington Bear by Michael Bond

Mr. and Mrs. Brown first met Paddington, a most endearing bear from Darkest Peru on a railway platform in London. A sign hanging around his neck said, "Please look after this bear. Thank you" So that is just what they did.

From the very first night when he attempted his first bath and ended up nearly flooding the house, Paddington was seldom far from imminent disaster. Jonathan and Judy were delighted with this havoc and even Mr. and Mrs. Brown had to admit that life seemed to be more filled with adventure when there was a bear in the house.

Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke

A dragon. A boy. A journey. Firedrake, a brave young dragon, his loyal brownie friend Sorrel and a lonely boy called Ben are united as if by destiny. Together, they embark on a magical journey to find the legendary place where silver dragons can live in peace for ever. With only a curious map and the whispered memories of an old dragon to guide them, they fly across moonlit lands and seas to reach the highest mountains in the world. Along the way, they discover extraordinary new friends in unlikely places and a courage they never knew they had. Just as well, for the greatest enemy of all is never far behind them - a heartless monster from the past who's been waiting a very long time to destroy the last dragons on earth.

Wings by Aprilynne Pike

Laurel was mesmerized, staring at the pale things with wide eyes. They were terrifyingly beautiful—too beautiful for words.

Laurel turned to the mirror again, her eyes on the hovering petals that floated beside her head. They looked almost like wings.

[thecomicsnexus]

TMNT: 40TH ANNIVERSARY COMICS CELEBRATION

July 2024

By Kevin Eastman, Edgar Alan Poe, Jim Lawson, Tristan Jones, Gary Carlson, Chris Allan, Erik Burnham, Lloyd Goldfine, Ciro Nieli, Andy Suriano, Tom Waltz, Ronda Pattison , Tom Napolitano, Steve Lavigne, Paul Harmon, Frank Fosco, Adam Guzowski, Sarah Myer, Luis Antonio Delgado, Shawn Lee, Khary Randolph, Emilio Lopez, Michael Dialynas, Pablo Tunica, Freddie E. Williams II, David Petersen, Ken Mitchroney, Aaron Hazouri, Dan Duncan, Sophie Campbell, Jodi Nishijima, Stan Sakai, and Emi Fujii.

Come and enjoy stories that will remind you of the 40 years of turtle history.

SCORE: 10 *

* Assuming you are familiar with these iterations.

This is a strange read, and curiously, there are three or four highlights for me, and they are not exactly the ones you would imagine.

Spoilers after the break...

The first story by Kevin Eastman is in the Mirage section of the book but... well... I'll leave at that... I wouldn't call it the Mirage we knew.

There is a story by Lawson and Lavigne with the Rat King that... it's fun. But, you know... I wouldn't even try to fit it in canon... the amount of continuity physics you need to bend to place this story is not worth the time. Just enjoy as a new story by these two iconic Mirage artists.

This other story by Tristan H. Jones and Paul Harmon requires more analysis. I'll revisit it on my gang wars video and try to give it more context... but unfortunately... it's just too vague. All I can say for sure is that it happens in the future of that incomplete saga, but the narrator just takes too many artistic choices to be taken at face value.

Also... I believe this is the first official (frontal) appearance of Agent Bishop (unless I got the character wrong, but Jones already tried to introduce him in this saga). I think he is still holding on to it, and I really hope he gets to tell his story. I wouldn't mind a mini-series... just saying!

The Volume 3 story was... not for me. The dialogue alone felt tired.

The Archie adventure was short, eventful, and funny... and it looks amazing too!

In just four pages a new character was introduced and... a new love story was implied! And it's not just a gratuitous cameo... this is a funny sequence.

The Saturday Morning Adventures (the de facto 87 story) looks amazing as usual, but I didn't find the story that interesting. However, it started a theme that would run across most of the stories in this special after this one: Master Splinter.

The 2003 story is a... loose canon?

Hun is Slash, and Shredder is back... so make of that what you want. All I'm going to say is that this felt a lot like watching the beginning of a 2003 episode, with the narration setting the tone.

The 2012 story was one of the least interesting in the previews, but I have to say... it was probably one of the best. It brought back a villain and it technically serves as an excuse to continue the series?

But to me the best thing about the story is the art. I am surprised Ciro Nieli didn't do more comic book work for the Turtles all these years. In fact, if they somehow decided to continue the 2012 universe in 2D in this style... I'm all in. Well, who am I kidding... I would be in anyway... but this looks amazing.

Andy Suriano did probably the most interesting story in the book. Now, I am not sure if his style doesn't translate well to static panels or what the problem is with the comic format... but it doesn't matter... this small story brought in a lot of things that ended on the editing floor after the show's second season was reduced to a few more episodes. There was a rumor about a female turtle, and not only it is here in all its glory, but there is also a brother?

And come on... it's so Lou Jitsu to die with a cliffhanger.

There are two IDW stories. One is another Splinter story, but the other one is perhaps one of the best in this book.

The Ronda Pattison story takes place just before the Armageddon game, and it shows the five turtles in full sibling dynamic (even Jennika). It was refreshing to see these turtles having fun for a change.

There are no stories by the new team, but... well... that's just starting.

[call-sign-shark]

Folie à Deux

Summary: The Darkling x OC (Grishaverse) || Amos x Heaven (PB)

Five short blurbs in the mental hospital, where none of these troubled souls thought they would find love. Part I here: Happiness Therapy.

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, fun, mention of self harm, mention of crimes, sexual innuendo for the last one.

1: The Chess Game

Alone in their usual corner, the tall darkness and the killer doll were gathered around a chessboard set on a wobbly little table.

“Let me guess,” Amos drawled, resting his chin on his hand as his eyes surveyed the board first and the seraphic white-haired woman after. “You’ve never played chess.”

Heaven shifted in her seat, her pale hair falling over her face as she did. A little growl escaped from her lips. “No,” she finally admitted, one hand sliding her white locks behind her ear while the other was busy moving her pawn forward hesitantly. “But how hard can it be, uh?”

“To be fair…” Amos smirked, amused by the childish pout on her face, which offered a striking contrast with all the cuts she had on her arms. “Very”. Contrary to her, his hands moved with easiness — long fingers sliding his pieces across the board. The white creature furrowed her brows further, her icy eyes squinting at the black and white tiles like they held the secrets of the universe. Or rather, as if the rules would appear on them and bring her some understanding.

“That’s a terrible move,” Amos said when she reached for a bishop.

“How do you know?” she shot back, her voice defiant and her little but surprisingly sharp canine teeth flashing at him. She was started to become slightly irked by his little teasing remarks — Of course she didn’t know how to play! It was some kind of rich kids and nepobabies game, she argued with herself.

Amos leaned back, his black iris gleaming with amusement and a bit of lust, for the danger she exuded never failed to make him weak. “Because I’m going to destroy you in three moves.” He still said bluntly, his little smirk deepening and charming crow feet appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” Heaven narrowed her eyes at him.

Amos grinned. “Oh, it’s a promise.”

Three moves later, her king was cornered and his prophecy was fulfilled. The killer doll groaned, collapsing back against her chair with a pout. “This game is stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Amos corrected. “Strategic.”

She glared at him but the little gleam that was twinkling in the frozen desert of her eyes was playful. “What’s the strategy? Annoy your opponent until they quit?”

“Exactly.” He retorted with a grin, resting his strong and warm hand softly on hers.

2: The Snowball Incident

The hospital courtyard was covered with a thick blanket of snow, frosty flakes still lazily swirling in the crisp air around them. Despite the freezing temperatures, patients were still allowed outside for fresh air with the supervision of nurses who looked both far too cold and tired to intervene in any mischief. Amos was standing beside the killer doll, watching her as she tilted her head back to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

“Childish,” he teased, stuffing his hands into his pockets. But his eyes, burning and piercing, remained fixed on the wet flesh of her tongue.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first,” she shot back, her diaphanous cheeks now pink from the cold.

Her reply only made the tall, dark-haired man scoffed. “I’m a man of sophistication. I don’t do things like—”

A snowball hit him square in the chest. A perfect shot with the precision of a sniper. Heaven froze, her eyes wide, clearly surprised at her own boldness.

Amos stared down at the snowy mark on his long black coat, then back at her, his lips twitching. “Did you just—”

Before he could finish, another snowball hit him at the exact same place. Then a second he managed to dodge before it hit his face.

“Alright, Lavey,” he said, and, not wasting time, the tall darkness crouched to scoop up his own handful of snow. “You want a war? You’ve got one.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of laughter, poorly aimed snowballs and challenging kisses. By the time the nurses called them back inside, Heaven’s long white hair was soaked and Amos’ coat too — which didn’t stop them from smiling brighter than they had in years.

3: Morning Rituals

Mornings were the worst, whether in isolation or in her casual bedroom. The bright lights and the endless monotony of routines always got on her nerves — so much she was certain it would be the death of her one day. Or the death of them, if she ended up snapping. However, Amos had a way of making them bearable.

Every morning, as they lined up for breakfast, he would greet her with some new absurdity. Some random, accurate but weird knowledge about something.

“Did you know,” he started one morning, leaning back against the wall as he usually did, “that penguins propose with rocks?”

At first Heaven didn’t know if it was another piece of informations or if, this time, his new meds were a tad bit too strong. “What?” She asked, blinking.

“It’s true,” he said, completely deadpan. “The male finds the smoothest rock he can and gives it to the female. If she accepts, they’re mates for life. Because they have one true love.” He added, making sure she knew his mind was clear.

“Why do you know this?” She asked, amused.

“I read it somewhere,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, if I ever find the right rock, I’ll let you know.”

She laughed and for the rest of the day, she couldn’t stop thinking about penguins.

The day he left, Amos slid something in her pocket. It was a smooth and polished stone.

4: Dangerous

The common room was usually quiet for most of the patients had learnt to keep their distance. Some of them nervously glanced at the twisted lovers, not daring go close to the couch as if it had been proclaimed their throne.

Amos was sprawled out, his long legs taking up most of the space, while Heaven sat cross-legged beside him, tracing lazy patterns on the back of his hand with her fingertips. The pleasant sensation sent shivers down his spine.

“You ever notice how they look at us?” He asked, his voice low and his foot nervously moving — he was clearly annoyed by something.

She glanced up, her fingers pausing mid-pattern. “You mean like we’re about to snap and murder everyone?” Heaven suggested, one eyebrow raised.

“Hmm,” He nodded.

The crazy angel simply shrugged, “Well, you did disfigure someone and you are prone to ultra violent fits. And I… you know, the murder thing”

Her lack of compassion surprisingly managed to soothe his concerns and snatched a soft laugh from his lips before he leaned back on the couch and made a quick movement with his hand to silently tell Heaven to keep caressing him, “Fair point.”

She didn’t do as he wished. Instead, she grinned mischievously and lifted his hand to press it to her chest, right over her heart. “Feel that?”

Even surprised, his smirk deepened. “Your heartbeat?”

“Yeah,” she said, the hypnotizing lilt of her voice blending in a mix of playfulness and sincerity. “Totally normal. See? Not planning a murder right now.”

Amos chuckled but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he turned her hand over and gently pressed his smooth lips to her frail and bruised wrists, “Not quite normal. It started beating faster when you felt my lips…” He whispered, his void-black eyes locking onto hers. Her shivers were so intense he felt the goosebumps on her skin, “And what about me? Am I dangerous?”

Her heart skipped a beat: it wasn’t even a question, he was undoubtedly dangerous. Charming. Intense. Unpredictable. All these things that she only found in herself until now. Heaven tilted her head, pretending to consider.

“Yes you are. But I don’t think you’d hurt me.”

“Never,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper and the predatory gleam in his black iris turned into the purest form of affection and devotion.

5: Folie À Deux

Nightly visits were strictly forbidden but Amos had a knack for bending rules. When he entered the room, grinning like a kid sneaking into a candy store, she couldn’t believe it.

“They’ll kill us if they catch us,” she whispered, even though the slight curl of her lips fleshy betrayed her excitement.

“Correction,” Amos said, “They’ll kill me. You’re too charming for them to stay mad at.”

“You’re insane,” she muttered, her breath stopping for a moment when his hands found her waist in a firm grip.

“Yeah, and so you are. But you’re smiling, so I’d say it’s worth it.”

“Don’t be sill—“

“Do you want me to leave?” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. His smile faltered for a moment, his dark eyes looking at her with something different: raw and unfiltered emotions. He wasn’t joking anymore because he realized how madly in love with that crazy doll he was.

Heaven hesitated but only for a fleeting a moment before she shook her head. “No.”

That was all he needed. Right after, his lips found hers. Hesitantly at first, as if he was testing the waters — or still hesitating on giving in to her, knowing full well he'd give her the key to destroy him if. Knowing he was taking the risk of letting her break his heart. But when she melted into him, sinking in his arms with hers wrapped around his neck, the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or desperate like their torrid quick fuck, but slow, deliberate. Not only they were savoring every moment, but they swore a silent oath: no matter what will happen in this life or the others, it will always be him and her.

Amos guided her backward toward the small bed, his hands on her waist keeping her steady. Until the backs of her knees hit the edge, she let herself fall on the mattress, pulling him with her.

In this Folie a Deux, he wasn’t the Darkling and she wasn’t the White Devil. Just two broken souls learning to breathe again. And suddenly, both the shadows and the voices didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Peaky Blinders taglist: @justrainandcoffee @cillmequick @mischievouslittlecreature @evita-shelby @lunarubra @peakyswritings @jjovin3221 @shelbydelrey @zablife

Shadow and Bone taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader

[bookish-bogwitch]

Thank you @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @nausikaaa, @larkral,

@hushed-chorus, @alexalexinii, @monbons, @whatevertheweather, @run-for-chamo-miles,

@artsyunderstudy, @mooncello, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @forabeatofadrum, and @aristocratic-otter for the tags over the past few weeks. I've had a crazy month (90% in crazy a good way) and too frazzled to come up with my own WIP posts, but have enjoyed reading yours and being included.

Here are six ten moody little sentence from Chapter 11 of Basil Pitch's Diary. (In case you missed it, I posted Ch. 10, September, a few weeks ago, then fled the country.) Baz is hanging in in Niall and Dev's room:

The last time I was here with Niall, he’d told me to hold out for more than ear scritches and the occasional carrot. Now we sat on his bed with a chessboard between us. “Baz,” Niall said quietly. “What are you doing?”  “Beating you.” I moved my queen to menace his remaining bishop. “With Snow, I mean.” Niall did that thing where the rook and king hop around, which shouldn’t be allowed, and I realized he’d won. Again. Somewhere, in a parallel universe, there is a me who grew up with someone to play against, demolishing a Niall who never went to math camp.

Below the cut: musing, a posting plan, and more tags.

Musing: I've actually written a ton since the last chapter even though I've been AWOL, but for a while no matter what I wrote, Baz felt out of character. I'd write a scene, like it, and then think "but why is he doing this?" Then I'd rewrite with Baz behaving completely differently, and that also felt OOC.

I worried that I'd somehow doomed myself with inconsistent characterization, but then I figured it out: Baz at this point is deeply inconsistent. He presents himself to the world one way, he tells the reader / himself that he's something else, and deep down he's a secret third thing. And sometimes his masks slip.

To some extent this is every unreliable narrator. But boyo has REALLY tangled himself up at this point. Something's gotta give. Until it does--which it will, soon--I have to be very clear in my mind, even if Baz isn't, about which Baz is driving the Baz at any given moment.

A lot of you can do that sort of thing intuitively. I can't. So I've been building this out (showing you just the headers b/c spoilers):

This might stultify some (most?) of you. For me, though, it's freeing. When my brain isn't trying to keep track of everything, my imagination can unfurl.

"'Everything'?" you ask. "This isn't that plotty a fic." It's not, but it's already 2.5x longer than anything else I've written, which means developing skills I haven't needed before. Anyway, my BPD chart and I are having fun. We're very happy together.

Posting Plan

I pushed myself to get Ch. 10 up before leaving home for three weeks, because Ch. 9 had ended on such a wretched note. While I was happy to have gotten it up, I didn't love the self-imposed time crunch (though betas @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, and @thewholelemon were fuckin' heroes). Feeling rushed had me stressing and second-guessing choices that were probably fine.

My plan now is to pause updates until I have at least a very rough first draft of the final chapter, then post it all at regular intervals. I know a longish pause means some folks who'd been reading along will wait until it's complete, if they return at all. To those folks--sorry, and I get it, and thank you for reading in the first place, and I love you.

Tags and shy waves to @brendughh  @beastmonstertitan  @carryonsimoncarryonbaz  @carryonmylovelies  @creepyspice

@comesitintheclover @cows4247 @confused-bi-queer @artsyunderstudy@chen-chen-chen-again-chen

@chronicallyhomoerotic @drowninginships @dragoneggos @excalisbury @emeryhall

@erzbethluna @ebbpettier @fight-surrender @fatalfangirl @gay-at-ikea

@fiend-for-culture @forabeatofadrum @foolofabookwyrm-activated @arthurkko @j-nipper-95

@gekkoinapeartree @goblindad-emoshit @henreyettah @hertragedyconnoisseur @hushed-chorus

@icarus-n-flames @ineffable-grimm-pitch @ic3-que3n @ionlydrinkhotwater @iamamythologicalcreature

 @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @shrekgogurt @im-gettingby @youarenevertooold

@monbons @mooncello @raenestee @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @messofthejess

[unholyhelbig]

I have a request as I see they are open! I enjoyed the last Oversight AU! Could I request a one shot of Kate’s imitation / first meeting with Natasha? And maybe go into the specifics of the Eli situation? I love to see the badass protective side of Natasha!

Title: Dig Your Own Shallow Grave [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff (Technically, this is one part of a bigger story)

Summary: Kate Bishop is known as the ex-heiress that was welcomed into Natasha's fold long before you. You learn pieces about her everyday, but never the full story. Not until today.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): physical violence, handcuffs, thunderstorms, threats, mentions of death, mentions of jail, incarceration, cheating, toxic relationship dynamic, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, horrible grammar

[a/n: This one is different! I don't know anything about the Elijah that's portrayed in the MCU, just the Young Avengers Eli and I can't stand the dude.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The large leaden handcuffs seemed like an unnecessary and overzealous precaution to Natasha Romanoff. They rattled as if the young girl was nothing more than a ghost of Christmas past. They were sinched at her waist, both hands balled into fists until her knuckles were a sickly shade of white.

There was red around her eyes, making a charcoal gray hiss into something muddy and sad. There was a flash of confusion and then disgust that fell over her features when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large two-way mirror that stood parallel.

Natasha turned in her seat, made eye contact with the guard. They had a silent understanding. The cameras that were situated at the corners of the room had been shut off- technical difficulties, they would say.

She collapsed into the chair adjacent to Natasha, never taking her eyes away from the only other distraction in the room. The chain connecting her cuffs were bolted to a hook in the table, but her feet were left free. Unless she was an Olympic swimmer, which she wasn’t, that would be no problem.

The guard nodded before he left them in the room and locked the door behind him. The mechanism in the metal door was loud and sighed with age when turned. The light above them swung back and forth within its cage. A circle of yellow enveloped them both.

Her hair was unkempt, nearly feral. They must have kept her separate from the other prisoners but that didn’t ease her tossing and turning under the fluorescent lights. Natasha had been in holding cells, she’d been stripped of her clothes for testing, and her dignity for much less. Something inside of her broke for this girl. This heiress.

“Who are you?”

It was clear that her voice had gone unused for at least a day, maybe more. She shivered and shrunk into herself at the sound of it. Natasha’s features softened ,that break in her soul cracking just a little further. Her file said she was twenty-two, but the girl in front of her was nothing more than a scared child.

“The woman who is getting you out of here.”

“Please don’t talk in riddles,” She moved to press her fingers against her temples. Her hands were pulled back viciously by her binds. “That’s all my mother does. Did. She talks in circles until I’m too confused to find the start.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You’re Eleanors daughter. Katherine?”

“Kate, but yeah. I’m her daughter.”

It was said with so much bitterness. They weren’t being held at the same facility. Kate was in a deep blue shirt made out of something that was less like fabric and more like paper. She wore the pants to match, her clothes being tested for gunpowder residue.

Eleanor was in a large brick jail in an orange jumpsuit. Natasha had considered going to her but found much more interest in her daughter; the one brave enough to stand up against Wilson Fisk and his incredible size. Bishop took King and destroyed a good amount of property in her district in the process. She’d have to pay thousands to get the folded storefront fixed.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff.”

The sentence was simple and conjured fear. She could see the look in Kate’s face. The girl threw her back against the metal chair, and it screeched from the force. “Why are you here?”

“You smashed my window, and a few displays, and I’m pretty sure you set off an explosive.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“With what, Kate?”

She paled at this. It was apparent that not only had her assets been frozen, but her mother’s as well. They barely had enough to cover legal fees, much less cosmetics that suffered the aftershock of the blow. She sighed and stared at the cold metal table. It was too scratched to show her reflection.

“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad, Kate. Calling law enforcement on your own mother is a ballsy thing to do. It also makes you a snitch. If you get charged, if you get locked up, it’s not something you’ll make it out of.”

“I know that.” She whipped her head up, eyes hard with anger. They softened after just a moment, to something scared. “I know.”

A silence fell over them both, one that Natasha let settle heavily on her chest. Kate was a spitfire, she was a spoiled girl who had a moment of clarity and turned her mother into law enforcement. She was regretting that now, shivering into herself, having to wait until after the holidays until anything could move from the stone it was trapped in.

Natasha had influence with the guards, and with the chief of police in this district. They had an understanding, and she fully intended to walk out of here with Kate Bishop under her wing. Not for free, of course. Natasha was charitable, but even her good deeds stretched so far.

“I’ve already paid your bail and they’re more than happy to release you into my custody.”

She scoffed “Your custody? I’m an adult.”

“You might be an adult, but you’re one without money, without a home, and I’m guessing everyone that’s still alive and free in your life isn’t too keen on taking you in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay,” Natasha said in a breath, staring hard at the girl across from her. She looked so washed out under the harsh lights of the room. Despite her anger, her poisonous words, she reminded Natasha of a dog that broke free from her leash and had almost too much freedom to handle.

The woman stood, her chair sliding elegantly compared to the horrid noise that Kate’s had produced. Natasha moved to pull on her coat, covering the deceivingly hard muscles in her arms. Kate had pretended not to stare; but it was fruitless. All she could think about was what those hands had done, what they could do.

Of course, she felt some veil of safety with the cameras being here. Surely, someone would come in and pull Natasha back the second she started to advance on her, if she started to advance. The distance between them was closed and she sat on the edge of the table. Kate pushed herself flat against the back of the chair.

 Natasha didn’t do well with being told ‘no’. She also didn’t do well with expletives directed towards her instead of because of her. Natasha’s slender hand wrapped around the cold chain attached to Kate’s wrists, she pulled forward and Kate’s sore ribs collided with the edge of the table. She let out a dissatisfied grunt.

She grabbed the back of Kate’s head and slammed her cheek against the cold surface with a dull thud. Natasha didn’t’ let up on her weight, instead, she held her in the perfect position to maintain control.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Natasha knelt down, making eye contact with Kate. She pushed against the hold, but Natasha had the leverage. Kate flexed her fingers, still in chains. “You destroyed my storefront, and while I toyed with the idea of killing you for that alone, you’ve impressed me.”

“I’ve impressed you?”

Her words were smushed, drool pooling from her lips. It was almost comical, but Natasha pushed harder on the back of her neck, making her cry out. “I’m talking. When I’m talking, you’re not.”

She was met with silence and figured that was as good as she was going to get with this one. Her spit-fire reminded her a bit of Clint when he was younger. It made Natasha gravitate towards him, but this girl had a lot more to learn than her closest friend.

“You’re a spoiled little brat who crumbled one of the oldest clocktowers in the city. The habit didn’t’ seem to improve when your mother cut off your credit cards and that’s a dangerous thing. Getting the shit kicked out of you in jail might serve you well. So, by all means, you can try your luck, or you can follow me out of here so I can correct your behavior.”

Kate swallowed hard, but she didn’t’ say anything. Natasha’s first lesson seemed to be sinking in. After a few moments, she released the girl who sprang up like a jack in the box. She was giving Natasha the same look that she was used to, one of absolute fear. Her face was red and when she moved to wipe her chin of drool, she was stopped once again by her chains.

Natasha took pity on her, for just a moment, and used her thumb to ebb away the line of spit. Kate knew better than to pull back, instead she looked up at Natasha like a kicked puppy, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Anyone who stands up to Wilson Fisk is too valuable to kill for some property damage. But let me be clear, Kate, this is not a get-out of jail free card. You work for me. You belong to me. And we’re going to fix that attitude of yours.”

He had moved to the city during Kate’s senior year and wasn’t much for talking. Eli Bradley was as mysterious as they came. He was lanky and had deep brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black in color. Eli wore a gold hoop in one ear, and while Kate would usually find something like that off-putting, it worked on Eli.

She played cello in the orchestra, first chair with pride, and he was modest with a viola. She made a point to make eye contact with him at least once a day, and eventually he started to return her small smiles. She thought the subtle way his lip quirked up at the corner was nothing but endearing.

In early October of that year, when the air was still crisp but not exactly cold, Kate had sat in the courtyard until the sun threatened to dip behind the horizon. She was avoiding going home to get ready for a party her mother was hosting and had worked it out so she could take the last bus uptown.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone? It’s getting dark.”

Kate frowned, but quickly retracted the expression when she made out the form of Eli Bradley and the silhouette of his viola case. It hung at his side like a briefcase filled with important papers. Instead, she hiked herself forward and leaned her elbows against her knees. He’d never spoken to her before.

“I’m a 9th degree red belt in Jiu Jitsu, and I have pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Impressive,” Eli grinned “I guess it would be pointless to walk you home then, Kate Bishop.”

“I think I can make an exception, Eli Bradley.”

Kate did find herself making exceptions for Eli Bradley over the next few months. She would let him order for her, even if she didn’t find the dish he chose at all appetizing. She had to gently remind him that she was, in fact, allergic to shellfish and if she ate the pasta he insisted on she’d need an epi-pen.

He made up for it by being a gentleman and opening the car door for her when they pulled up to said restaurant.

Kate stepped behind Eli one winter evening when it was the type of dark outside that breeds bad behavior. A woman in a hoodie stepped out from an alleyway, twitching and with a wild look in her eyes. Kate could have easily disarmed her, could have gotten her someplace warm. Eli had delivered a hit to the stomach and pulled Kate along. It was a blur. But she’d never felt fear- just regret.

He made up for it by holding her tight that night, his warmth and sturdiness eventually lulled her to sleep and convinced her that maybe she could live with herself. Maybe she could live with Eli.

Clint Barton glowered at her over his bowl of cereal. Natasha didn’t know if it was some sort of interrogation technique, but it even made her uncomfortable. It was much too early in the morning and Kate’s wrists were still an ugly purple from how tight her cuffs had been. Natasha may have pulled a bit too hard, aggravating the already raw area.

“Your cheerios are going to get soggy,” Yelena entered the kitchen in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, scratching the exposed skin of her stomach with a stifled yawn. She stopped for just a moment to regard Kate, who sat up with a rim-rod quickness. “You always dump them down the sink and it makes the drain smell.”

Clint looked towards Natasha for help. She shrugged, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had pulled the paper in this morning and was very careful to remove the front page story of Kate’s mother and her set trial date. She may be cruel in some aspects, but psychological torture was Yelena’s department.

“Who is this?” Yelena asked, voice muffled by the chill of the refrigerator.

“This is Kate. She’ll be here for a while, and if she behaves well enough, she’ll be here longer than that. I expect both of you to regard her well and teach her everything you know.” Natasha took a sip of her steaming black coffee. “Hand to hand combat should not be an issue, isn’t that right, Kate?”

Kate waited a moment, remembering the sting of the table against her cheek. Natasha had asked her a question so it was okay to answer, right? It must be. She had a tendency to not stop talking once she started but it was clear from the prying eyes in the room that she was expected to reply.

“Yes,” She found her voice easier than she had in the jail. “I’m advanced in Jiu Jitsu, hand-to-hand combat, fencing, sword fighting, archery, kick-boxing. Once I used a set of staves from this really nice woman named Bobbi…”

She trailed off when she realized Clint had stopped fishing for the last cheerio and Yelena had cracked open a bottle of juice like she was snapping the neck of a small animal. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and she averted her gaze.

Natasha smiled softly and took another long sip of her drink. The blonde woman, the one with the chiseled jaw and the striking green eyes, let out a hum. Her stare raked up and down Kate’s form, even while she was shrinking into herself.

“I will train her.”

“That’s not an option, Yel. I want to utilize her, not kill her.”

Kate’s head shot up at the word. She caught Clint’s stare, and he gave her a dejected shrug before pushing the little life-raft of a cheerio under the milk once more. He had no interest in eating it, just drowning it.

Yelena was smiling wolfishly, lilting her head to the side like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “Kill her? Sister, I would never. She’s clearly an asset. If you let Clint train her then she’ll be regressing.”

Kate watched the tension bounce back and forth between the two like a sadistic game of ping-pong. Yelena had just hit the little orange ball with enough force and trajectory to burn a hole directly through Natasha’s paddle.

She’d never dream of pushing Natasha in the slightest, much-less the way that Yelena did right now. Her body language was relaxed and quiet. The two of them stared at each other, and the newspaper was folded, discarded in favor of the stand-off.

“I will not kill her,” Yelena reassured, yet somehow, Kate hadn’t been assured the first time, nor the second time. “Give me a chance.”

Susan Bishop had a harder stare than Eleanor. She had inherited it from her, Kate was sure, but knew how to work it like a double-edged blade. Rarely would she look at Kate. Even rarer so was the two of them being in the same place for more than six minutes at a time.

Kate had her eyes downcast, pretending to read the same paragraph of the same book over and over again. Once she felt the sharp stare of her older sister on the side of her face, it shown brighter than the sun above them.

She’d been stretched out on a poolside chair, just enjoying the pungent scent of chlorine and the occasional low hum of a car passing their large home. It was too chilly for her to actually swim, but she had a fuchsia bathing suit under her long-sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.

Susan had settled into the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh as she typed quickly on her cellphone. Kate had cast her a sidelong glance, but quickly pretended to lose interest. They were going back and forth like this for a long, pregnant moment.

Eventually, Susan sighed and softly closed the book in Kate’s hand, not regarding the page that she was on. Kate didn’t mind much. Her older sister never did anything softly. Kate’s heart thrummed in her chest when their eyes met.

“Hi?” Kate cautioned.

“Hi. We need to talk.”

“What do you want?” There wasn’t anything Kate had that Susan didn’t. Hell- she could ask Eleanor for anything and would instantly get it. There were no rules for the eldest, responsible, child. All of that strangling focus was on Kate.

“I don’t want anything. I just want to talk. Sister to sister.”

“Right… sister to sister.”

“You need to break up with Eli.”

The statement through Kate back. It was like Susan had kicked her directly in the diaphragm. The oxygen in her lungs deflated and she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then in startled rage. What did right did Susan have to meddle in her relationship like this?

Kate wanted to tell her just that, but nothing came out except for the last squeeze of air that could be interpreted as a noise of discontent, but Susan never was good at reading signals and Kate needed a fleeting second to catch her train of thought after it had been so violently derailed.

“I get the appeal of the student athlete, I’ve had plenty of them myself, but Eli is not the man for you. You can do better.”

“Seriously? Is this mom speaking or you?”

“This is all me, sweetie.” She didn’t’ say it in a condescending way. In fact- Susan actually reached out and gently touched Kate’s bare arm. She tensed under her, but the hand wasn’t removed. Not even when dark grey eyes looked at her incredulously. “I don’t like the way he changes you.”

“Changes me? You think Eli changes me?”

“I think he makes you shrink and Bishop women are never meant to shrink.”

“That’s all mom has ever done.” Kate bit back venomously.

“Wrong. Mother has full control over Father, she just makes him think that he doesn’t. She’s the decision maker and if she has to keep a hand on his shoulder to do that, then so be it. The world listens to men, and looks at women. It’s how society is. But Eli? He’s binding your hands, not taking them.”

Kate shoved Susan’s hand from her arm and placed both feet on the ground. She didn’t have to listen to this… this practical stranger. Susan didn’t’ know what she was talking about, and neither did Eleanor. They were both ignorant to the way she felt about Eli and the way Eli felt about her. He wanted to the best for her.

Sometimes- she just had to remind him that she was allergic to shellfish.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She gritted before standing. She disregarded her book, not that interested anyway, and began walking to the patio doors. Tears had started to sting her eyes. First out of sadness, and then maybe a mix of malice.

“He’s cheating on you.”

Susan said it so softly that could pretend she hadn’t heard it. The water filter for the pool was loud enough to drown out the statement. But she’d stopped with one foot on the bottom step of the patio and the other planted firmly on solid cement. Her nails dug stinging half-crescents into palm.

“You’re wrong.”

“Ask him.”

“I won’t,” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Because I trust Eli. Maybe you could grant the same to me.”

Her childhood home held onto the darkness like a vice. A place that was once so maintained and bright was past falling into lawn decay. The pristine shrubbery had springing curls of foliage and the grass hadn’t been painted like her father insisted upon each year.

The structure stood strong, only a few months and some change abandoned. A small strip of tape on the mahogany door was the only indication that this had been an active crime scene at one point. The FBI had taped an order against it before they shattered the wood with a battering ram and raided the home.

Kate hadn’t been back since. She’d been living out of her Aunt Mira’s apartment and wearing her eccentric clothing. But the elder woman would be back soon and eventually she would need to get her own belongings back. If she didn’t, then squatters would when they realized just how vacant the home really was.

Yelena let out a low whistle as she peered up at the home, as if they didn’t live in one with the same amount of wealth. Even the tone she produced sent shivers down Kate’s spine. It had been four months since that day in the precinct.

Each day was spent from dawn to dusk in Yelena’s presence, and it never became easier for Kate. She was a bumbling and incompetent mess around the woman but had grown some kind of comfort in her presence. Kate no longer believed she was in danger at her hand specifically.

That didn’t’ mean that her body didn’t ache from the constant hell that Yelena had been putting her through to put her in ‘the peak performance state- Kate Bishop’. Yelena only said her first name and barked it at her if her pace lessened on one of their multiple-mile runs, or grueling weight training sessions.

Kate didn’t want to admit that she was entranced by the tone of Yelena’s muscles. She chalked it up to admiration, because that’s all it was. Admiration. And a bit of resentment. But Kate’s chest puffed out proudly when she noticed the way her own body began to change under Yelena’s tutelage. Enough that she was ready to go back to her old home for some closure, for some clothes.

Natasha shoved her keys into her pocket and fell in line on Kate’s right side. She peered up at the expertly crafted wood. It had begun to chip. Kate thought that was ironic; it had always been so pristine, but the more she thought about it, she’d often duck under a ladder to step into the foyer.

Bad luck all around, and a simple patch job that would crumble if not properly cared for.

“We can just buy you new clothes,” Natasha urged in that flittingly careful way that made Kate know she really did give a damn, but not if you asked. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“And add to the debt I already owe you for busting me out of jail?”

“I think she has to do this.” Yelena said firmly.

She was right. Kate had to do this. She was always handed everything in life so easily and it made her reckless, but far from undisciplined. It just took Natasha slamming her face against the cold metal of an unclean table for her to get some sense knocked back into her.

Kate had called the police on her mother. She’d done it after the knowledge of crimes committed festered and grew in her mind. It bred resentment in her mind until she came face to face with the fact that she wasn’t putting her mom away, she was putting a monster away.

Stepping through these doors would humanize her and it would cut Kate deep enough to draw blood. But then, she felt Yelena’s fingers on the small of her back. A light touch that was telling Kate that she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.

The door let out a whine of protest when she pushed it open. They were met with a stale scent and a soft glow that ruminated from what Kate knew best as the living area. There was a grand piano that was mostly untouched, and large oak bookshelves that had multiple editions of old encyclopedias bound in leather.

She and Susan used to flip through them and try to pronounce the words by phonic spelling. They’d trace their little fingers over the inked illustrations and giggle if they had found something even remotely obscene. She remembers the word ‘Dam’ making them laugh until they couldn’t breathe.

Natasha’s hand darted out and pressed against Kate’s mid-section. Her other one grabbed the gun from the back of her pants. She shot the girl a sideways glance. “You left that on?” she mouthed.

Kate shook her head, her fingers itching for her own weapon. She didn’t have one. While Kate was an expert at professional archery and her aim wasn’t in question by anyone in the room- her familiarity with handguns with the serial number scratched off was minute. Yelena had pulled her own weapon, jaw firm.

Maybe squatters had broken in, and if they had, she’d gladly allow them to have the place. She just needed to stuff a duffel bag full of items and the small sentimental necklace she had gotten from her father as a child, and then she would be on her merry way.

Natasha stepped around the corner and raised her gun, screaming something that was drowned out by the startled yells of another. Kate recognized that yell, that rasp. She frowned, letting the tension in her shoulders drop before she got a good look at the living room herself.

It was incredibly lived in and lit by a single lamp that had it’s shade discarded. It was blinding and left spots in her eyes, but not enough to disregard the box of white sticky rice that had spilled all over the floor like maggots.

There was a makeshift bed on the couch and a few of those encyclopedias strewn about as if they were bedtime reading. In the center of it all; Eli Bradley with his hands up and a fork between his lips. His mouth dropped open and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He was shirtless, in a pair of boxers that Kate was pretty sure was her fathers. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before this because the simple fact was enough to make her gag.

“Elijah?” She exclaimed.

“You know this guy?” Yelena asked, voice tight. She lowered her weapon, but Natasha kept hers in the same position it was before, trained right at his genitals and ready to shoot at a moments notice.

Kate wished with her entire body that she didn’t. His boxers held his athletic thighs, his deep brown eyes flashing to the guns aimed at him. Yelena was never a patient woman but somehow, in this moment, Kate knew deep down that she would be patient here. Her mouth was dry and her throat like sandpaper. It was incredibly hard to swallow.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Eli sounded out, his fingers twitching “I have a key.”

Yelena looked at Kate with pleading eyes, to which she received a nod in return. Kate supposed she hadn’t officially broken up with the man in front of her. The aimed weapons were lowered to the floor, but Natasha kept her hold. One false move and she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through his bare foot.

“Yel, idi soberi yey sumku.”

Kate didn’t understand a lick of Russian, but she knew that Natasha’s tone was not to be questioned. Yelena holstered her weapon and slinked up the stairs. She’d be able to guess which room was Kate’s. The trophies and medals and photos tacked up to bulletin boards. It was the only room Kate was allowed to personalize, and even then, it was meant to be spotless.

Natasha must have caught onto the tension in Kate’s stance. She shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched and eyes submissive. It wasn’t something she wanted to see in her young trainee.

It wasn’t at all the woman that sat across from her in an interrogation room. Not even with her face her neck in Natasha’s grip. Something was wrong, and it was something stronger than Kate being back in her childhood home. That warranted sadness. But compliance? Absolutely not.

“Katie, baby. Who is this?” Eli asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

When Kate opened her mouth to speak, Natasha held up a hand, instantly silencing her. The woman lilted her head to the side, unripe eyes taking in the scene in front of her; the discarded take-out containers, the balled-up socks in the corner of the room. The rain that had begun to pound against the roof and slather itself across windowpanes.

Natasha’s voice came out as a snarl “I’d love to introduce myself, but first, could you ask your little friend to come out from behind the curtains?”

Kate’s stare hardened and she whipped her head up accusingly. Still, she didn’t say a word. The wine-red Versailles fabric shifted; the view blocked by the grand piano but not enough for Natasha to ignore. Kate’s mother had spent hours looking over Swatches that would fit the room, and eventually chose the option that brought the room into a gothic elegance.

Kate didn’t need to wait to know who it was. Cassie Lang. Best friend, confidant, and exactly who Kate caught in bed with Elijah weeks before. But this was different. This was her home. It had already been violated by law enforcement. Torn apart just for two of her friends, people she trusted and loved, to take advantage of its vacancy.

“That’s better,” Natasha purred. Cassie was shaking because of the cold, wearing only a silk robe that belonged to Kate’s sister. “Now, let’s all have a chat.”

 “Kate, Katie, it’s not what it looks like. Just… tell your friends to leave and I’ll explain everything.”

Eli attempted to step towards her, hands no longer raised in caution but reaching towards Kate. Natasha felt a surge of anger lick against her skin. She stepped between them, splaying her hand out on his chest before shoving him recklessly onto the center of the couch.

He sprung back onto his feet, voice dripping in venom “Back off lady! I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend here!”

Natasha let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her gaze to Kate. Something about this situation was juvenile, but so important. Though she only had the girl under her care for a few weeks now, she felt nothing but warmth towards her.

She’d mislabeled her as a rich, undisciplined trust fund baby. Natasha didn’t’ often admit her mistakes but that had been one that weighed heavily on her. Sure, Katherine Bishop had a bit of an incorrigible sass to her, but it wasn’t unwarranted. Her boasting was backed up by actions true to her words. Strong, determined, actions.

Natasha hated how she was shrinking. Hated how this man had chipped away at her until she was hugging her mid-section to stop the thrumming pain of betrayal. She couldn’t’ find the words, they were lodged in her throat. There was the strong suspicion that if she hadn’t sent Yelena away, they’d be scrubbing blood from an imported carpet.

Something tole Natasha that Kate never got a choice in this relationship, and she wasn’t about to continue the toxic pattern that had led to her demure state.

 “Ketrin,” Natasha’s voice was soaked with her native tongue “Would you like me to take care of this?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, almost like a fish. Words escaped her. Natasha’s soft exhale brought her back to the room. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and reminded her of the first time she had pushed herself too hard in competition. She never lost consciousness but came close to it.

Yelena had successfully pilfered a duffel bag, having removed the sabers that resided there and filled it with whatever clothes she could find. Kate felt her stomach flip at the naive idea that the Russian woman had gone through her underwear drawer.

She flicked her eyes back to Eli, his chest heaving up and down as he eyed the gun still in Natasha’s grasp. Cassie was still like a statue, rubbing her palms on the silk fabric of her robe. She had the decency to look guilty.

“Take care of it.”

The words were barely more than a hurt whisper. She didn’t trust herself right now, not with the sharp pain that coursed through her veins. Tears had stung her eyes in the back of the detective’s car, but she didn’t know if that was on account of Eli or Eleanor.

Kate silently excused herself as the silence that settled over the room became thicker, palpable. Yelena’s deep stare was on Kate in a way that made her squirm. But she remained at the head of the stairs, even stepping to the side when Kate began to trek to a room that had already been rifled through. There was an unspoken agreement. Natasha would take care of it.

 “What’s your name?” she asked, directing the question towards the girl.

“Cassie.” Elijah answered.

Natasha held her hand up to him again, fingers barely ghosting his shoulder. He shivered at the near touch but snapped his mouth shut. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her. Sweetie?”

“It’s Cassie… Cassie Lang.”

“Okay, Cassie.” She kept her voice soft, cajoling. “I want you to go home and get some rest. And under no circumstance are you going to call law enforcement. I’ll be informed immediately if you do so. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, keeping her head down as she moved to smooth past Natasha. The woman grabbed her sleeve, holding her in place for just a moment. She was so close she could smell the sex on her, see the sweat against her brow and the fear in her stare.

“Sweetheart. I suggest you learn to keep better company.”

Cassie let out a squeak that almost bled into a whine before taking advantage of Natasha’s loose hold. She darted with a quickness unseen, the door slamming behind her, the roar of the rain hissing to a muffled stop.

“And you?”

“What about me?” Elijah asked in a nauseatingly confident way.  

Natasha let out a long sigh and studied him. Everything from the way he stood to the faux dog tags that hung against his chest bled fury. This was exactly the type of man that would attract someone like Kate with a level of badger-like charm before clamping his jaw down on her throat.

Thankfully, Kate’s mother had fantastic taste in artwork. A bronze Clyde Ball piece lingered by the entryway. While he was known for his extensive statue work and abstract designs, Natasha liked that he used a heavier metal, one with a base that was easily grasped.

With a sly swing of the hand she connected the corner of the object with Eli’s temple. A flash of blood instantly stained his skin and splayed against the floor when he collapsed. Natasha dropped the artwork next to him. She let out a hum, figuring that a Clyde Ball may be worth purchasing after all.  

His truck had kicked up a rut in the normally spotless lawn. Eli had barely missed the mailbox with his erratic driving- which was bold considering the amount of unmarked and marked police vehicles that encircled Kate’s property.

Kate was sitting on the front steps, the concrete cold and unwelcome against the small of her back. They’d handcuffed her and her fingers were numb. Still, she flexed them when the commotion caught her attention. They didn’t’ bother with police tape, but a man in a wrinkled suit stopped Eli.

It took her a few long moments to realize that Cassie was in the passenger seat of the truck. She made eye contact with Kate, a look of sorrow forcing her to glance away. She was wearing Eli’s lettered jacket and naively, Kate convinced herself for a fleeting moment it had something to do with the busted heating vents in the old vehicle.

She knew better.

She’d smelled Eli’s specific spicy brand of cologne and deodorant on Cassie the last time they embraced. His lips tasted of the bubblegum ChapStick that Cassie had worn everyday since the six grade when Kate landed on her during a game of spin the bottle. Admittedly, she felt more during that kiss than anything she’d ever shared with Eli.

Kate adjusted her shoulder against the hold of the cuffs. They were uncomfortable, digging into her wrists. Even if she wanted to break out of them, she couldn’t. She was a nervous fidgeter and Elijah was using some degree of charm to weasel his way past the officer blocking him. Just as he’d weaseled his way into Cassie’s pants.

“Oh my god, Katie.” He rushed out when he got to her, kneeling down on the damp sidewalk. It was unnaturally cold and they hadn’t let Kate pull on a jacket over the tank top she wore for her morning run. His hands ran down her thighs and squeezed her knees. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kate’s stare brushed past Elijah blankly and to the fogging up window of his truck. If Cassie hadn’t already been wearing his jacket, she was sure he’d offer it to her, an offer she would vehemently deny. All of his charm, his commanding power, had been washed away with her mothers as she ducked her head and settled into the back of a squad car. One that probably had heat.

“Jesus, I heard that this place was swarming with cops. What did you do?”

“What did you?”

“I don’t… Katie, babe, come on.” He glanced back at the car and when he turned to face Kate once more, their eyes locked. He didn’t’ need to say anything and neither did she. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Kate felt the warmth of Detective Brigid O’Reilly behind her. She wasn’t a stranger to Kate, but she acted like one when she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. Temporary informant or not, Kate was still a Bishop and they weren’t trusted in this town.

“Miss Bishop. It’s time to go.”

Her forearm was gripped and she was pulled to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were numb, needles rushing through them. Part of her was grateful for being dragged away. The other part was terrified, sad, hurt and angry. They’d all betrayed her.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Fifteenth precinct. Don’t waste your breath, kid. She’ll be indisposed for a few hours. Take your little girlfriend home.”

He winced at the detective’s words and averted his stare to the ground. Kate let herself get let to the unmarked Lincoln town car. At least she’d save the humiliation as the whole lights and sirens routine.  

Most of the time, they didn’t wake up screaming, but Elijah did. His senses were overwhelmed, and his body instantly registered the cold and the slickness of muck beneath him. Even over the brutal beating of falling rain, he could hear the cars that swept past on the highway.

His head was pounding, and the headlights of vehicles passing over the highpoint of evergreens only served as something more disorienting. It was only when a crack of lightening flashed across the sky did he notice the woman standing over him, a shovel slung over her shoulder.

So, he screamed, and he swore she smiled at the sound.

He turned over on his stomach and coughed into the mud, his toes not finding purchase in the mud. Natasha’s boot came down on the center of his back and he found himself sprawling, tasting a mix of metal and dirt. He realized that he underestimated the situation Kate had gotten herself into.

“Good morning, Elijah.” She crowed, dropping the shovel next to his face, barely missing his brow. He flinched and shrunk into himself. “I have a job for you.”

She used the tip of her shoe to flip him over onto his back. The falling rain that had gotten through the pine needles above him hit his face in a cooling effect. He saw another set of headlights, eyes darting towards the road. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, all of this would be over.

“I need you to dig a hole.”

“What?” He panted out, his breath leaking out in puffs of condensation. “a hole?”

“Mm, glad I didn’t rupture an eardrum. It needs to be a big hole. How tall are you?”

“I don’t… What?”

Natasha knelt next to him, a sadistic smile falling from her lips. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Almost as if a flip was switched. Her deep red hair was adhered to her forehead from the rain, her jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I don’t know you, Elijah. But, I know Kate and that girl has been through hell and back. She’s guarded and hides behind her humor to deflect the pain that she’s experiencing. And to me… it seems like you’re a big catalyst here.”

His breathing had become shuddered. Natasha grabbed the shovel before standing and delivering a swift kick to his side. His ribs instantly ached and a cry escaped him. She wanted him to right himself and to safe another deadly spark of pain, he complied.

She had, in fact, started a small divot where she expected him to dig. Tears were running down his face, small sobs muffled by his determination to put on a front. She didn’t’ find any admiration in his sniveling. Instead, she let him scoop out three frothy loads of dirt before she continued, circling like a lion.

His hands had started to bleed.

“She believed in you enough to trust you and you turn around and fuck her best friend?” Natasha got close, yelled over the rain. He stuttered in his movements, clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t stop digging! Was she not enough for you?”

Elijah stuck the tip of the shovel back into the soup of rainwater and mud. It was a black slush at this point, something he could drown in if he laid facedown for long enough. “She was… she was.”

“Then why did you do it, huh? You took everything she was and whittled her down to nothing before discarding her for someone else you could break. Is that it? Did that make you feel more like a man?”

He didn’t’ respond, instead, moving another round of slop to the side of a hole that was starting to look more and more like a grave. He was up to his knees in cold, unforgiving water. His toes flexed in the icy earth.

“Answer me!” She yelled with enough anger to split earth. However, Natasha didn’t give him the chance. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoved him forward into the muck. He could taste dirt, words bubbling.

Elijah groaned and brought himself to his knees. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his throat. He was crying loudly now, sitting back on his heels. Natasha was above him, standing on the edge of the grave he had just dug. Headlights flashed over her cold stare.

“If you’re feeling helpless, Elijah, so was she. Kate needed you, and you weren’t there for her. She was suffocating, and everyone could see it, but you kept her just out of reach, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes,” He groaned out, digging his fingers into the soft earth. “Fuck, yes. I hurt her, I know that.”

“Lay down.”

“What?” His voice broke.

“You’re going to lay here until morning.” She knelt down “You’re not going to move a muscle.”

“I’ll drown,”

“You might.” She growled, taking account of the heaviness of the rain, the way the tires of passing vehicles sloshed around in the collected puddles. “But at least you’d understand how Kate felt.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[homestuckreplay]

PRESENTING: SKAIAN CHESS

So, in Homestuck p.424, the chessboard stage of Skaia expands from a 3x3 grid into a 12x12 grid, filled with pieces both recognizable and foreign. Chess is a very old game and while there have been a lot of variants created, including 12x12 board variants, people have been playing with roughly the same rules for way too long, and I'm glad Sburb is doing something about this.

Here's my pitch for some additional chess pieces and their movesets. (Note: I don't play chess). With a 12x12 board, there must be four additional pieces on each side. As I've designed them in the green board up top, these come in three brand new ariants: the Mage (purple hat), the Consort (red mask) and the Jester (you know).

Each player has two Mages, which appear between Rooks and Knights. As King Arthur proved long ago, any good knight would do well with a mage by his side.

A Mage can move to any empty square that would leave it adjacent to a knight of its own color (any of the 8 surrounding spaces).

A Mage cannot make a move that would leave it adjacent to a bishop of the opposite color, as the church opposes magic.

The Mage's long range blasts are easily defected, but they can cast a close range fireball - they can only capture a piece in an adjacent square, which takes the player's full turn, but the Mage doesn't move when doing so.

Each player has one Queen’s Consort, which appears between the Queen and her Bishop.

The Consort has the same move pattern as the queen, but can’t capture other pieces in the usual way.

Once per game, the Queen can sacrifice her Consort from the board to immediately remove one of the other player’s pieces, which can’t be a King, Queen or Consort. This takes the player's full turn.

Each player has one King’s Jester, which appears between the King and his Bishop.

The Jester can move to any square of its own color, but can’t capture pieces.

If the Jester moves to a square already occupied by any other piece, that piece must move to an adjacent square, which potentially displaces other pieces to adjacent squares too. However, the other player gets to choose which adjacent square any and all affected pieces move to.

All other rules of chess apply as normal.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Kidnapped Part 3

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: third and final part of the requested fic about Sihtric’s wife being kidnapped by Heasten while expecting a child. My warmest thanks for requesting this. I genuinely enjoyed writing it and I hope very much that you will like it.

Warnings: angst, despair and losing hope mixed with a great portion of heart-warming fluff

Word Count: 4,119

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @namelesslosers

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“Heastens camp is located at Beamfleot, near the river. He has amassed some ten ships there, and they are preparing to march," Rypere continued his account once the commotions after the fuss regarding Sihtric’s family news and him being a father of two children had calmed down. Sihtric sat at the table, his face wearing a dreamy expression as he got lost in his thoughts.

“Our plan remains unchanged, but we must act swiftly. I expect all of you to gather in the tavern for the next three days, pretending to be drunk and spreading the word to anyone who will listen that Edward, under pressure from his mother and the bishop, has once again banished me. Spread the news that I have grown weary of the Wessex kings' ingratitude, and we are setting off for Northumbria to reclaim Bebbanburg," Uhtred responded.

"Sihtric! Hey, Sihtric! Are you listening to me?" Uhtred's voice jolted Sihtric from his reverie, and he looked up in surprise at his Lord.

“Yes, Lord! No, Lord! What did you say?” Sihtric stammered.

"You will be pretending to be drunk," Uhtred emphasized the word 'pretending' unmistakably. "Is that clear? Finan, Osferth, keep a close eye on our newmade father." Sihtric blushed in embarrassment but did not protest.

Everybody stood up and started leaving the hall.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred called his friend to stay behind, “Your mind is filled with myriad thoughts, I can see it. Sihtric, no reckless rescue ideas on your own. If I were you, the first thing I would want to do after leaving this room is to run to the horses and ride to her. Don’t do that! Stick to the plan!”

Sihtric looked up at Uhtred surprise evident in his eyes at how well he understood the wild turmoil of emotions consuming him, and simply nodded in agreement.

The next two days were an agonizing torment, the hardest Sihtric had ever faced. The weight of uncertainty had already been unbearable while waiting in Winchester, but now, knowing your location and that you had given birth to his children only to be left alone in a Danish camp, it was as if his heart had been torn apart, leaving him on the brink of losing all composure. He tried to hold on, to stay strong for the plan they had painstakingly crafted and discussed with Uhtred countless times, but the agony of fear of what might be happening to you were almost overwhelming.

The nights were the cruellest as he lay in bed, restlessly tossing and turning, dreading to fall asleep. While awake, he managed, with enormous effort of will, to keep his emotions and anxiety under control, but he couldn't control his dreams. Each time he closed his eyes and sleep finally overtook him, he was haunted by the same dreadful dream. In the dream, he was always searching for you amidst the ruins of a devastated and half-burned camp. Torn tents and overthrown wagons surrounded him. Among the debris and lifeless bodies, he called out your name in despair, but there was no answer—only silence and the suffocating realization that he had come too late, that he had failed to reach you in time. The weight of his failure and helplessness consumed him, and he would wake up a scream clawing its way from his throat, his heart pounding in his chest, and his forehead drenched in sweat.

Sihtric was a warrior and no stranger to death. He had faced it time and again on the battlefield. He had killed men, seen the life drain from their eyes, and heard the chilling sounds of war echoing in his mind. He had endured nightmares, especially after the battles, when the sounds of swords and axes clashing, the battering of shields, and the cries of the wounded still echoed in his mind. Yet, nothing had ever filled him with such deep fear and despair as this. The pain of not knowing your fate, the torment of feeling powerless to protect you, this was an anguish unlike any other. It filled him with a sense of angst and despair that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

Finally, the day of departure came. Uhtred had gathered all his men in the bustling marketplace, strategically choosing this location so that as many people as possible could witness them leaving. He hoped that among the curious crowd there might be spies from Heasten’s camp who would deliver a message confirming that they were leaving Winchester and Wessex. Uhtred casted a worried glance at Sihtric, who sat in the saddle with a pale and tense face, dark rings around his eyes. He knew Sihtric was keeping himself up in the saddle with the last remnants of his strength. Finan and Osfert had positioned their horses on both sides of their friend ready to offer support and keep their fiend steady. And so, they set off.

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The camp had suddenly erupted into a state of frenzy, resembling a startled anthill. There was a palpable anxiety in the air, but no one bothered to inform you of what was happening. Preoccupied with your two babies, you had resigned yourself to the fate of being a prisoner. Escape had never been an option, not when you were pregnant, and certainly not now with two infants in your arms. You had your children; they were healthy and strong, and this was all that mattered at the moment. There was nothing more important than to take care of them and wait for Sihtric to find you. That was something you never once doubted. You firmly believed that nothing in the world could prevent your husband from finding you. So, you waited.

“There she is. Not the youngest anymore, but still pretty. She was a whore. Must have been a damn good one, as one of her clients married her,” the tent flaps were suddenly thrust open, and there stood Heasten, accompanied by another man.

“I don’t want money for the pups, consider them as a bonus. You can never know whether they will survive,” he continued, and your eyes grew wide as you suddenly understood what was going on.

“You, heartless bastard! You are not selling me!” you shouted at him, your voice filled with a potent mix of fury and fear.

“Of course, I am. What did you think?” Heasten callously replied, “We are marching to battle, and you are nothing but a burden. I would have sold you before, but no one is willing to pay for a slave who might die in childbirth within a couple of weeks,” Heasten’s narrow eyes gleamed with malicious light while his words only fuelled your desperation, and in a moment of rage, you lunged at him, attempting to scratch out his eyes with your nails. However, Heasten effortlessly overpowered you, seizing both your hands and ruthlessly throwing you to the ground.

“Look at the little bitch, how strong and fierce she is. She will last long,” he taunted, addressing the other man and pointing his finger at you, lying on the ground, suffocating with tears.

“Please don’t do it!” you begged, tiers rolling down your cheeks. “I am begging you, please have mercy. You don’t have to take us with you. Just leave us here in the woods.”

“And lose silver this man is ready to pay for you?” Heasten smirked, turning away. Both men left your tent, leaving you crying on the ground. A suffocating mix of helplessness, anger and fear overwhelmed you, curling in your stomach and spreading throughout your body. Your hands trembled as you pulled your hair and screamed, releasing all your despair. “Sihtric,” you whimpered through your sobs, “Where are you? Why haven’t you found us?”

A terrifying thought washed over you instantly. “Is he still alive?” You had never doubted it for a single moment before. You were so certain that nothing would prevent your husband from finding and rescuing you, whatever the cost, except for one single thing - his own death. The horrifying feeling that had found its way into your heart grew stronger with each moment you dwelled on it. More than half a year had passed since you last heard from Sihtric before you left to visit your sister, and another two months had gone by in Heasten's camp. What if you were never to see him again? What if the only person in this lonely world whom you loved more than your own life was gone?

It felt as if the light had been withdrawn from the world around you, leaving you in a cold, dark, eternal night. Shadows crept from the corners of the tent, enveloping you, embracing you, and swallowing you from all sides.

"No!" you screamed, tears streaming down your face. "It is not true! I would have felt it! The bond between us is too strong; if he were to die, I would have felt it," you shouted at yourself, refusing to believe the horrifying thought that had taken hold of you, but shadows seemed to tighten their grip, making it hard for you to shake off the dreadful fear that had engulfed your heart. You remained crouched on the ground, crying out your helplessness.

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

They had ridden the whole night and the following day with maddening speed, pushing both horses and riders to the verge of exhaustion. The previous day, one of the boys spying in Heasten's camp had brought the devastating news that Heasten was almost ready to march and that a message had been sent to Beamfleot, inviting slavers to the camp. As the grim reality settled upon them, the men gathered around the flickering flames exchanged worried glances, their eyes eventually turning to Sihtric. Without a word spoken, he rose to his feet with a resolute look in his eyes and began packing his belongings. In that moment, there was no chaos or panic, not even a haste or commotion in his actions, only a steeliness and a firm determination.

The mere thought that his wife and children were about to be sold as slaves sent a sharp, physical pain coursing through Sihtric's body. It was unbearable. You had already endured enough suffering before he took you away from your life as a whore in a tavern. All Sihtric had ever wanted was to cherish and protect you, to surround you with a shield of his love and care like a soft, comforting blanket, helping you forget your painful past. To him, you were his missing piece, the one who completed him and gave a new purpose to his life. Thoughts of you, your image in his mind, were what fuelled him to survive battle after battle, fighting like a madman, all driven by the one single desire – to return home to you and sink into your arms, knowing that you loved and accepted him unconditionally, just as he loved and accepted you.

He had promised you that he would never let you suffer again, and yet he found himself unable to keep that promise. The weight of this failure, shame and embarrassment had consumed Sihtric’s mind all this time, but now in this very moment there was no room for such emotions, neither for the anxiety nor the fear that had haunted him in the past days. They were all gone, replaced by pure, seething anger that coursed through his vanes, bringing a frightening calmness and composure to him. It was a feeling he knew so well, one that came to him so often amid a battle, when chaos engulfed everything around him. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only one singular purpose in his mind—to fight, to survive. Only this time, there was another driving force propelling him, yet the empowering sensation of being capable of anything, of being unstoppable, remained unchanged.

No one attempted to speak to him or dissuade him. Words were unnecessary; everyone understood that if the captives at Heasten's camp were to be sold as slaves, the chances of ever finding them again would be close to non-existent. Determination etched on his face, Sihtric mounted his horse and cast one last look at the camp, searching for Uhtred with his eyes He didn't want a permission to leave; nothing Uhtred could say or do would stop him. He only hoped for a reassuring glance or nod from his Lord, signalling that the rest of the men would follow the plan as intended. To his astonishment, he saw ten mounted warriors ready to depart, their expressions mirroring his own stern determination.

“Lord?” Sihtric’s voice was hoarse as he looked at Uhtred, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Did you really think we’d let you leave without us?” Uhtred responded with a smirk, spurring his horse.

With not enough horses for everyone, the other men would follow on foot, without rest. This was a desperate race against time. They knew they would be tired and hungry when they reached Heasten's camp, likely unfit for battle. The only advantage they could hope for was the element of surprise if the news of Uhtred's pretended departure to Bebbanburg had reached Heasten. Despite the odds stacked against them, not a single man objected to the mad plan.

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

As the evening started approaching, you were packed onto wagons with other women and children, bound for a clearing somewhere between the camp and the next city, rumoured to be Beamfleot, as you had overheard from the conversations of other women in the camp. It took a few hours before reaching the clearing, where you were forced to leave the wagons and herded into a small paddock. In the distance, you could see wagons with metal cages, an ominous sight that sent a chill down your spine.

The captives around you were mostly women and children from nearby villages, taken by the Danes during the latest raids. A kind young woman offered to help you carry one of your children and reluctantly you agreed. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you had no more tears left to cry. You were ready to embrace the unknown fate whatever it will bring with a stern determination not to allow it to break you. You will survive, and you will endure. Your children depended on you, and you were determined to be strong for them. There was no room left for self-pity. As you looked around at the other girls, children and women torn away from their homes and families, your heart ached for them. Some were crying, while others wore a stoic, indifferent expression, concealing their inner terror. The atmosphere was heavy with fear and uncertainty as everyone grappled with the terrifying prospect of what awaited them. And deep inside you knew that you were better prepared for this ordeal than any of them.

You watched as several men arrived with Heasten, engaged in a heated argument. Their wild gestures and animated discussions pointed towards the paddock, and it became clear they were bargaining over the captives. After a short moment Heasten nodded to his warriors, and the wooden gate creaked open. The captives were dragged out one by one, forced before the slavers, and then herded towards the waiting wagons. The scene was a nightmare of angst and desperation, with women and children crying, some attempting to resist, only to be met with merciless force and being knocked to the ground and dragged further, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a mixture of fury and helplessness, witnessing the depths of human cruelty and being unable to do anything about it. You felt sick and dizzy, reduced to a mere commodity, traded and sold as an object.

“Don’t hit them in the face, you idiots!” one of the slavers shouted. “I will not pay for a single bitch with a broken nose!”

The warrior, who had just knocked down a screaming and crying mess of a young woman, casted an annoyed look at the slaver, seized her by her hair and began to drag her along the ground. He managed to do just a few steps before he suddenly froze with a look of complete bewilderment in his eyes that instantly changed to a grimace of pure fear as he released the woman’s hair, fell to his knees, and collapsed face-first into the mud, an axe protruding from his back. The woman sensing the grip on her hair loosen scrambled to her feet, letting out a piercing scream of terror at the sight of the dead warrior behind her.

In that very moment an absolute chaos engulfed the scene. Women and children cried out in fear, slavers run to their wagons and tried to jump onto them, frantic commands filling the air. Heasten and his warriors yelled at each other, attempting to form a makeshift shield wall to protect themselves from the sudden threat that had appeared out of nowhere. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to make sense of the unbelievable scene unfolding before your eyes. Who were these attackers? Was it the long-awaited rescue you had desperately hoped for? The thought filled you with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Your gaze darted around, searching for familiar faces in this chaotic turmoil.

Your eyes widened in a mix of hope and disbelief as you recognized Uhtred and Finan charging into the fray. With swords drawn, they, along with a handful of other men, smashed into the small shield wall that Heasten's warriors had desperately attempted to build. They broke through it with little effort. The suddenness of the assault had left Heasten and his men stunned and almost paralyzed, catching them off guard, with waves of fear rippling through their ranks.

As the battle raged around you, your heart pounded in your chest, and your breath came in shallow gasps. You frantically scanned the clearing, desperately searching for the one man you wanted to see most, the man who meant everything to you. Your heart almost froze in your breast as you couldn’t find him and you felt the dark shadows of doubt seizing you with their cold hands, threatening to suffocate you. All those evil whispers that had found their way into your thoughts this morning and that you had tried to ban, were back again, taunting you, telling you that your hopes were in vain, that he was gone, that he couldn't possibly be there to rescue you. The weight of uncertainty threatened to overwhelm you, and you felt your strength faltering. You sank to your knees, holding your child close, feeling the world collapsing around you and then you saw him. You saw Sihtric – your husband, your love – amidst the chaos and the battle. Relief washed over you like a tidal wave, and tears of joy streamed down your cheeks as you realized that he was alive, and he had come for you. In that moment, everything else faded away. The battle still raged around you, but all that mattered was the sight of your husband, the man who had promised to protect you, who had vowed to be by your side always. He was here, and nothing else in the world could compare to the overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude that filled your heart.

Your eyes remained fixed on Sihtric, and what you saw left you breathless. His face contorted with primal fury, he screamed incomprehensibly as he moved with a deadly precision, swinging his battle axe like a force of nature, leaping from one warrior to another. It seemed as if the god of war himself had descended upon that small clearing, delighting in each death he dealt to those who dared to challenge him and threaten what he cherished most.

The efficiency of his movements was awe-inspiring, driven by a mixture of raw power and madness that you had never witnessed before. You had always known that Sihtric was a warrior, that he was killing people if it came to a battle, but this had always been far away from you. It was just a distant knowledge with no real substance. Now, it was all too real, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from the terrifying, yet captivating sight of your husband in his element. His eyes glinted with the thrill of killing, a side of him you had never experienced, that you had never known it even existed.

As the battle gradually subsided, Uhtred's men swiftly seized the few surviving and surrendering warriors, including Heasten himself.

With a loud groan, Sihtric yanked his axe free from the fallen enemy's back. His gaze swept the area, searching for any remaining threat. Sihtric's breath were ragged and uneven, his body tense with adrenaline as he stood amidst the aftermath of the short battle, blood and mud covering his handsome face, his hair matted and dishevelled. His hands, gripping the handle of his war axe, trembled slightly, the knuckles turning white from the strain. In this very moment he was a predator seeking for his next prey, his eyes shining with anticipation and deadly precision, but there was nobody left in the small clearing, so his war axe remained lowered near his side as his eyes finally found you on your knees in the paddock pressing your daughter to your chest, while the woman holding your son stood next to you with absolute terror in her gaze.

As his eyes fell upon you, everything shifted. Sihtric’s face turned pale as he instantly recognised you. The layers of battle-hardened resolve melted away, revealing the raw emotion of a man who had feared the worst and now found the love of his life before him. The mad enraged look in his eyes faded instantly and turned into painful mixture of fear, anxiety, unending love and tenderness, his hands letting loose the handle of his war axe as he run towards you. His eyes never leaving you, he rushed to your side and dropped to his knees, taking hold of your face in his trembling hands and lifting your head to meet his eyes, his dirt-covered hand gently caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears that had mingled with the dirt on your face. Cupping your face gently, he showered you with tender kisses, tracing every inch of your cheeks, nose, and forehead as if reassuring himself that you were real and unharmed.

"I found you, my love, I finally found you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, “I am so sorry that you had to endure this. I was so afraid that I have lost you. I …” his voice broke and for a moment he was unable to say anything, emotions overwhelming him and tears welling up in his eyes as he looked down at the small bundle in your hands.

“Gods, … is it true? Is it … ?,” he managed to whisper, “May I? …Would you let me? Please…” his words were a fragile plea, his voice trembling in anticipation and fear you might refuse him, deny him this simple happiness of holding his child. You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man before you, as you gently extended your arms toward him, giving your silent consent and placing the fragile frame of your daughter into Sihtric’s arms. His eyes lit up with an indescribable happiness, his trembling hands carefully accepting the small bundle, cradling your daughter against his chest as if she were the most precious treasure in the world.

“Gods… I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathed barely audible looking into your eyes. There was no need for words, as his eyes were speaking for themselves. The fear of losing you, the happiness of being allowed to hold his new-born child in his arms, the endless love and tenderness, the uncertainly of the future and the silent plea for forgiveness mixed with pure bliss, an overwhelming sense of gratitude and wonder at this moment all mirrored in his gaze as you leaned in to kiss him, dismissing all his doubts, all his fears and insecurities. Your kiss gently brushed against his lips like a fresh breath of the wind, it conveyed more than words ever could—a profound reassurance that you loved him unconditionally, and that he was deserving of your love and all the happiness in this world.

“I love you so much,” Sihtric whispered, holding your daughter tightly, every breath in his body radiating a promise to protect and cherish you, knowing that he had found his true purpose in life—to love and be loved by you.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By India McTaggart and Tracey Kandohla

21 April 2024

The first statue of Queen Elizabeth II since her death has been unveiled to the approving barks of nearly 50 corgis.

The permanent memorial to Britain’s longest-reigning monarch – complete with her own immortalised dogs – has been hailed as a fitting tribute for the “mother of our nation.”

The eye-catching 7ft bronze statue went on display on what would have been the late monarch’s 98th birthday, with a group of her favourite dogs stealing the show.

It takes pride of place outside the library in the market town of Oakham, in Rutland, Britain’s smallest county.

It depicts a youthful Queen Elizabeth – who stood at just 5ft 4in – standing at 7ft in regal robes with three loyal corgi companions at her feet, one peeking out from the creases.

It serves as a permanent reminder of her 70-year reign and her enduring affection for the Pembroke Welsh breed.

Sculptor Hywel Pratley believes the memorial will become a hit not only with royal fans, but that it will attract social media users wanting a selfie beside the late monarch and her dogs.

Speaking before the unveiling in front of a 400-person crowd and with a host of local dignitaries attending, he said:

“The plinth is designed to be sat on and I can see the statue becoming popular with the Instagram generation, and why not?

It will make a perfect backdrop for pictures and people will be able to reach up and pat a dog or if small enough even sit in its back.”

Mr Pratley, 51, who is half Welsh and lives in Chelmsford, Essex, told how he chose to add the corgis for a “bit of fun and to tap into the late Queen’s humanity and address her friendliness.”

He explained he made the statue larger than life because a “life-size Queen Elizabeth is too small. She deserves more.”

The £125,000 statue was commissioned by Dr Sarah Furness, the Lord-Lieutenant of Rutland, following the Queen’s death in September 2022.

Addressing the crowds in the spring sunshine, she said:

“We are witnessing a piece of history today with the first statue of Queen Elizabeth to be commissioned since her death and who gave us 70 years of exemplary service.

Rutland may be a small county, but the response to this had been huge with contributions from local businesses and individuals of varying sizes.”

As she spoke, barks from 46 dogs from the Welsh Corgi League rang out, and she said, smiling: “You can hear them!”

She added: “The statue is for everyone.”

Before his cancer battle had been known and made public, King Charles III had been invited to unveil the statue.

It is not known if Palace officials had agreed to the request.

Instead, the honour fell to Alicia Kearns, the Tory MP for Rutland and Melton, before being blessed by Debbie Sellins, the Bishop of Peterborough.

One resident, Hilda Townsend, said: “It is just wonderful. We are the tiniest county, but the first to honour the late majesty in such a big way. It is a very fitting tribute.”

Her husband, John, added: “It is absolutely amazing and, as Rutlanders, makes us extremely proud.”

The unveiling of two of the three bronze corgis was given to two young children who had won a local school art competition.

In an emotional speech, Ms Kearns, 31, said:

“It is an incredible statue of our beloved Queen, who showed unwavering commitment.

We hope we can reflect on her legacy of compassion, strength and leadership. The statue was no mean feat and is for all of Rutland and all of our country, and to come together in joy. Rutland leads and others will follow.”

The MP revealed that the King would be visiting the statue.

Crowds of local residents mingled with visitors from further afield, some waving Union flags, with children sporting gold paper crowns on their heads.

She told spectators: “I am proud to play my very small part in helping to celebrate her reign,” pointing to the statue and saying: “She belongs to all of you.”

Following the unveiling, a lone bagpiper played a lament to the late Queen and the National Anthem was played, with crowds joining in.

Dozens of corgis, some wearing red, white and blue, then posed beside the new monument with their owners and officials before parading along the packed streets to Oakham Castle for a meet-and-greet session with the public.

Among the corgi owners was Katrina Emptage from Lincoln, with her two-year-old pet, Mable.

She said: “The statue is absolutely amazing and I’m delighted to be here to see it and be part of the corgi parade. It is very special.”

The late Queen held a life-long, deep affection for the breed after she fell in love with the dogs as a child.

She owned more than 30 over the years, many of which were direct descendants of the first, Susan, which was given to her as an 18th birthday present by her parents in 1944.

Speaking of his inspiration, Mr Pratley said:

“I very quickly thought that I would like to have a corgi nestling in her robes by her feet because what a great symbol it is, artistically, of her being mother of a nation.”

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

More Important Than You Think.

A/N: Another Benny story coming up! I adore him and I found this in my drafts, fixed it up all nice and here she is! ❤️

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

~~~~~

“Yes, put him through.” We heard from over the phone, “You all there? I’ll put her on.”

I smile, draping my arm over Benny’s left shoulder, resting my chin on right, all while side hugging Harry with my free arm. For how long I’ve been stand here, I’m surprised my legs ain’t give out yet.

“Hello?”

“If he goes for the knight, hit him with a king rook pawn.”

“Benny?”

“If he goes for the bishop, do the same thing, but open up your queen file.”

“How do you know?” Beth said whilst laugh, still skeptical.

“It’s in the Times. It’s 7 a.m. here, but we’ve been working on it for three hours.”

“We?” Benny hands the phone to Harry, “Hi, Beth.”

“Hi, Harry.” She said, with a soft chuckle. “Hey, what about me?” I grab the phone, and put it up to my ear. “Hey, B.”

“(Y/N)..” She said, most likely on the verge of tears.

“I’m not that good at chess, but I am good at making snacks, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, whilst helping the boys.” I said, handing the phone off to Harry, putting a hand on Benny’s shoulder, before walking over to his kitchen area, making a little charcuterie board.

“It’s really nice to hear your voices.”

“Oh, well, hang on.” Harry holds up the phone so Matt, Mike, Hilton and Arthur yelled into the phone, telling her they’re proud of her amongst other things.

It truly almost made me want to cry as I brought, the board to the table, gently setting it near the chess board. Benny’s up in seconds, a gentle hand to my lower back. “What’s wrong? You okay?” I nod.

“Just happy you’re all doing this is all.” I said, with a bit of a sniffle.

“You’re? You are helping too. You said so yourself.” I shake my head.

“I did, but I suck at chess, I only offer snacks and emotional support.” I said, pointing to the board, I just set up on the table.

“Okay, come here.” Benny grabs my hand, bringing me into his room, before closing the door. “That? Whatever you told me out there is bullshit. That is not all you do, and is know for.”

“You’re not just that, you’re a best friend, you’re a singer, a musician..my girlfriend? You’re all that and more. Does none of those things mean anything to you?” I nod stating that, ‘it does,’ in fact mean something to me, wiping my runny nose.

“Come on.” He hugs me tight, rubbing my back, before bringing me back into the living area of his place. “You okay? You alright?” Matt and Mike asked at the same time. I smile and nod, standing behind Benny, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’m fine.”

After listening to them, give Beth all the different combos and variations of how the match with Borgov could go, for a bit, Benny stood up at some point light himself a cigarette.

I backed up from the guys, and stood next to him. “You think this’ll work?”

“It’s gotta work, if not then all those hours looking over all of his old matches, would be for nothing.” I nod, watching him take another drag of his cigarette, watching the end of it become red as it turned to ash and fell to the floor.

I don’t know what came over me, but once Benny took it out of his mouth, I gently plucked it from out his fingers, and held in between my lips. “I thought you, said you didn’t smoke.” He said, as the smoke left his body through both his mouth and nose.

“I don’t. Curiosity, I guess.” I take a drag and almost immediately start coughing, “And that’s why smoking’s for grownups.”

He took the cigarette back, putting it in between his own lips, patting my back with his free hand, I just responded with a death glare, but he stared ahead at the group running up his phone bill.

“You’re very clingy, you know that?” He admitted.

“Well, shit. Thanks for pointing it out. I’ll be outta your hair then.” I start to leave, but Benny grabbed my arm, pulling me back into his chest.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, rook.”

“Oh, but of course. You want everyone to know, just who I got to bed with every night.”

“Damn, right.” He pulled me into a kiss, breathing into it cause the cigarette smoke he was holding in, into my mouth and out my nose.

“But if I catch you smoking again, you and I will have problems.”

Benny laughed, finishing smoking his cigarette, before putting it out, “Yes, ma’am.”

[companion-showdown]

Who is the best companion to get intoxicated with?

this tournament was suggested anonymously

GRAND FINAL

Ace McShane vs Donna Noble

SEMI FINALS

Ace McShane vs Wilfred Mott

Jack Harkness vs Donna Noble

QUARTERFINALS

Ace McShane vs Jamie McCrimmon

Wilfred Mott vs Bill Potts

Jack Harkness vs Jo Grant

Donna Noble vs Iris Wildthyme

previous rounds under the cut

ROUND 4

Ace McShane vs K9

Ruby Sunday vs Jamie McCrimmon

Wilfred Mott vs Liz Shaw

Dan Lewis vs Bill Potts

Jack Harkness vs Irving Braxiatel

Madam Vastra vs Jo Grant

Donna Noble vs Missy

Iris Wildthyme vs The TARDIS

ROUND 3

Ace McShane vs River Song

Charley Pollard vs K9

Ruby Sunday vs Dodo Chaplet

Rose Tyler vs Jamie McCrimmon

Delgado!Master vs Wilfred Mott

Romana II vs Liz Shaw

Barbara Wright vs Dan Lewis

Frobisher vs Bill Potts

Jack Harkness vs Martha Jones

Polly Wright vs Irving Braxiatel

Madam Vastra vs Koschei

Sarah-Jane Smith vs Jo Grant

Donna Noble vs Bernice Summerfield

Clara Oswald vs Missy

Iris Wildthyme vs Romana I

The TARDIS vs Tegan Jovanka

ROUND 2

Day 2

Jack Harkness vs Liv Chenka

Martha Jones vs Alan Turing

Polly Wright vs Mel Bush

Chris Cwej vs Irving Braxiatel

Madam Vastra vs Jason Kane

Koschei vs McQueen!Master

Sarah-Jane Smith vs Narvin

Ruth Leonidus vs Jo Grant

Donna Noble vs Vislor Turlough

Bernice Summerfield vs Steven Taylor

Wolsey vs Clara Oswald

Clarence the Angel vs Missy

Iris Wildthyme vs Karra

Romana I vs Romana III

Compassion vs The TARDIS

Hebe Harrison vs Tegan Jovanka

Day 1

Ace McShane vs God the Computer

Evelyn Smythe vs River Song

Sabalom Glitz vs Charley Pollard

Miranda Who vs K9

Ruby Sunday vs Hex Schofield

Dodo Chaplet vs Panna

Vicki Pallister vs Rose Tyler

Peri Brown vs Jamie McCrimmon

Delgado!Master vs Fitz Kreiner

Wilfred Mott vs Leela

The Brigadier vs Romana II

Liz Shaw vs The Black Dalek Leader

Barbara Wright vs Nyssa

Lucie Miller vs Dan Lewis

Father Kreiner vs Frobisher

Amy Pond vs Bill Potts

ROUND 1

(too many links for the post to work but all matches under the tag intoxication: round 1)

Day 1

Ace McShane vs Adric

Tegan Jovanka vs Victoria Waterfield

Delgado!Master vs Aris

Jo Grant vs Sutekh

Jamie McCrimmon vs Kamelion

Barbara Wright vs Harry Sullivan

The Black Dalek Leader vs Mother Francesca

Irving Braxiatel vs Elspeth (Where Angels Fear)

Iris Wildthym vs Peter Summerfield

C'rizz vs God the Computer

Romana III vs Carmen Yeh

McQueen!Master vs Mr Crofton

Wolsey vs Sam Bishop

Jack Harkness vs Rory Williams

Bill Potts vs Mickey Smith

Donna Noble vs Ryan Sinclair

Day 2

K9 vs Grace Holloway

Sabalom Glitz vs Sara Kingdom

Polly Wright vs Mike Yates

The Brigadier vs Morbius

Panna vs Varsh

Vicki Pallister vs Karuna

Father Kreiner vs Cousin Anastasia

Alan Turing vs Captain Magenta

Compassion vs Jack McSpringheel

Evelyn Smythe vs Renée Thalia

Frobisher vs Sabbath Dei

Narvin vs Lola Denison

Ruby Sunday vs Ianto Jones

Missy vs Yasmin Khan

Madam Vastra vs Sally Sparrow

Dan Lewis vs Graham O'Brien

Day 3

Steven Taylor vs Ben Jackson

Sarah-Jane Smith vs Zoe Heriot

Leela vs Ian Chesterton

Soldeed vs Vislor Turlough

Tremas vs Peri Brown

Dodo Chaplet vs Duggan

Bernice Summerfield vs Pandora

Koschei vs Valarie Lockwood

Lucie Miller vs The War King

Charley Pollard vs Joseph (The Doomsday Manuscript)

Miranda Who vs Eliza

Chris Cwej vs Adrian Wall

Death's Head vs Hebe Harrison

Jane Austen vs Amy Pond

River Song vs Gwen Cooper

The TARDIS vs Beep the Meep

Day 4

Romana II vs Chang Lee

The Three Who Rule vs Liz Shaw

The Kandyman vs Nyssa

Sergeant Benton vs Karra

Mel Bush vs Susan Foreman

Romana I vs Erato

Jason Kane vs V.M.McCrimmon

Clarence the Angel vs Scarlette

Hex Schofield vs Cousin Justine

John (Another Girl, Another Planet) vs Liv Chenka

Ruth Leonidus vs D'Eon

Fitz Kreiner vs The Original Golden Dalek Emperor

Martha Jones vs Bannakaffalatta

Wilfred Mott vs Toshiko Sato

Rose Tyler vs Vincent van Gogh

Clara Oswald vs Nardole

links to previous tournaments

[busybeeblogs]

Go With Your Gut

Description: Written purely to fulfill my fantasy of Arthur getting the rare opportunity to sit down to a proper meal. Also I KNOW in my heart Marie wouldn’t have let him leave without pulling out the special granny move “tasty homemade food.”

Fandom: Malevolent (Podcast)

Characters: Arthur Lester, John Doe, Marie Pilon

CW: Hunger, wounds and scars mentioned, non-nsfw nudity, descriptions of a malnourished body, descriptions of neglecting one’s needs.

Canon compliant: Takes place a few hours after Chapter 39 and before Arthur leaves for Red Hook with Noel.

Word Count: 3.1k

“She’s staring you down, Arthur. She knows you’re outnumbered. It’s your rook and bishop versus her queen, rook and knight. If we can back her into a corner we’ll have a way to get her in checkmate, but to do that…”

“…I’d have to stop defending my King.” Arthur murmured aloud as John outlined the stakes.

“…You’re going to have to make a move at some point, Parker.”

Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll go with my gut on this one then.” Arthur moved his bishop to take Marie’s knight, and after a moment’s grief, she simply moved her rook across the board.

“Checkmate.”

“What?” Arthur scanned the board, as if he had any way of seeing what she did.

John verified the move for him: “Oh. Her rook and queen have you Arthur, I think she was waiting for you to take her knight so she could move her rook.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Language, Parker.” Marie scolded, glancing over at the grandfather clock as it began to chime. Arthur counted: one, two, three, four.

“Four o’ clock already? Gracious, I best get to making dinner.” Marie said with a start, hoisting herself out of her seat as Arthur began to gather up the chess pieces. “You said your evening plans aren’t until later on, yes?”

“Not until a quarter to nine.”

“Well, in that case I’ll make enough for the both of us.” She insisted.

Arthur blinked, closing the embellished box the chess pieces went in and setting it back on the shelf. “Marie, there’s really no need for that, I couldn’t possibly impose on a meal-“ Marie’s face suddenly turned quite serious, and she cut him off by jabbing a finger into his chest. She hit bone.

“Something about you has irked me since the moment you set foot in my home, Parker…” Arthur held his breath. “You look as if you’ve gone far too long without a proper meal. Now I called off my dinner plans, but dinner still must be had. And as my houseguest and companion for the evening, I expect you to eat with me. Am I clear?” Arthur nodded, and Marie took her hand back after repeatedly jabbing it into his sternum. Arthur let out his breath and rubbed the sore spot she left.

“You ought to listen to your gut when it comes to food, not chess dear. I could hear your tummy rumbling during our game.” She noted before shuffling off towards the kitchen. Arthur flushed.

“Oh. My apologies, I-“

“Parker.” Arthur’s head swiveled towards the sound of her voice. “Do wash up before coming to the table.”

“Yes, Marie.” Arthur sighed, and as soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, he sunk back into his chair.

“She’s right, you know.” John chimed in suddenly, causing Arthur to chuckle.

“About which part? Needing a meal or needing a wash?”

“Both, I’m sure.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “But I know you haven’t eaten in quite some time. Your stomach was making a lot of noise.”

As if responding to John’s mention of it, Arthur’s stomach grumbled, and he winced as he slid his hand from his chest to rest idly on his belly.

“I was hoping you two were ignoring it…” He murmured sourly, as if his being hungry had been a secret he didn’t want to get out. “But I suppose I’ve been ignoring it enough my own. God, when did I last eat?”

John thought for a moment. “I think it must have been in Poughkeepsie. You stopped at that pizzeria.”

“Yes! Oh, that pizza was divine.” His stomach rumbled again under his palm, the talk of food stirring his appetite. “And I was planning to eat dinner on the train to the city, but then, the Butcher…”

“…Yes.” John ended the thought, not allowing it to go further than that. “That was two days ago, Arthur.”

“Was it really?” Arthur suddenly sat upright from his slouch. “With everything that happened, it feels like it’s been a week.”

“A very long week.” John agreed. “You really should try to eat more often, Arthur. I know you’ve moved on to Larson and The Order but, you’re still weak from The Pits.”

Arthur shuddered and stood up suddenly, starting towards the stairs.

“I’ve been trying to-”

“Left.”

Arthur turned, finding the railing and using it to support himself as he climbed up the steps.

“Thank you. As I was saying,” Arthur was already winded. “I’ve been trying to eat more often, but it feels like whenever we’re in the thick of something like this, it’s always the last thing on my mind.” Arthur paused for a moment at the top landing, but didn’t dare let himself linger for more than a moment before he shoved off into the bathroom. “Perhaps that’s why I enjoyed our time traveling so much, albeit brief.”

“What do you mean?” John questioned as Arthur shut the bathroom door and ran the shower, undoing his tie as he waited for the water to heat up.

“Well… I suppose it was just the first time since all this began where I had the chance to, pay attention to my needs.” Arthur’s voice echoed pleasantly off the bathroom tiles. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and John’s hand sprung to help him. “I’ve been fighting and running for months, and as soon as I wasn’t entirely consumed with fear or rage or grief, so after we left Addison, really… I had the chance to feel everything else. How hungry I was, how tired I was, how badly I wanted a shower.” He chuckled, testing a hand in the water before slipping his undergarments off and stepping under the stream.

“It just felt nice to be able to take care of myself.” Arthur began scrubbing vigorously at his skin with a bar of soap. “And I hope after all this business with the order is over I can… Return to some sort of normal routine.”

Arthur sighed with relief as he stepped under the warm water to wash the soap off, positively relishing the feeling. “And call me spoiled all you want, but I truly miss having my own bath.”

As Arthur lowered his head to wet his hair under the water, John took the opportunity to survey his body. John was responsible for every one of the wounds he could see; every single scar, the fresh bullet wound in his shoulder, the pinky he was missing. He was well aware of just how much Arthur had been hurt in their time together: He’d been there with him for all of it. It almost seemed like he couldn’t go a day without a brush with death, and all of those encounters had left a mark, be it physical or mental. But John was often guilty of overlooking just how much everything else had been hurting Arthur this entire time. His lack of sleep, proper hygiene, and perhaps most glaringly upon looking at his body: His lack of a proper diet.

Arthur was thin. That in and of itself wan’t new, Arthur had been thin since John first laid eyes on him, hence why he was so hesitant to believe the man actually had the capability to physically intimidate someone like he had earlier today. And as much as Arthur didn’t like thinking about it, the effect of three months of starvation was just as evident on his body as his scars. He was pale, and his paper-thin skin was stretched taut over bones and a frankly pathetic layer of muscle. His knees were knobby, his arms were twiggy, his stomach was nearly caved in. Sometimes John wondered how Arthur even had the energy to get through the hurdles they’d overcome, because he was consistently running on so little.

And that was John’s fault too.

“I’m… Sorry, Arthur.” Arthur tilted his head as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair.

“Sorry for what?” Arthur asked, closing his eyes as he stuck his face in the water.

“For…” John sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. “Not properly taking your needs into account.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he reached out to shut the water off. “John, if you’re trying to apologize for how long it’s been since I’ve had a proper shower-“

“No, it’s not that, though you do complain about it a lot…” John rumbled. “I just… It’s hard for me to grasp, the constant attention you pay to things like hygiene and eating and sleeping-“

“Well it’s because I need to do all those things to survive, John.” Arthur said matter-of-factly, throwing a towel over his head and scrubbing his hair dry. “And it’s not exactly fun for me to, be without.”

“I know, I know.” John held his tongue. He wasn’t going to snap at Arthur right now. “I know it hurts you, but I don’t, know what you’re feeling exactly. I’ve never been hungry, or tired-“

“No need to brag about it.” Arthur grumbled as he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower to tame his hair.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say.” John huffed. “I know you bear the brunt of, the adversity we face. This is your body after all, and after millennia of never having to stop to sleep or eat or even consider the concept of bathing myself, I have trouble adjusting to, living life at a human pace. I know you have to stop to regain your energy but in that time, I have to stop too. And it can be… frustrating, because I still fail to conceptualize what being hungry or sleep-deprived is like, and therefore it is hard for me to grasp your need to stop for food or rest.” John was rambling. He had to get to his point before he inevitably dug himself some sort of hole. “What I’m trying to say is, I can see the toll it all takes on you. The starvation, the sleepless nights. You shouldn’t be as, deprived as you are, and it’s partly my fault. I know we’re in the middle of something far bigger than both of us right now, and we’re both focused on it. But I should still be making sure you’re, taking care of yourself. We shouldn’t both be neglecting what your body needs.”

Arthur blinked, and set his comb down on the edge of the sink. And, leaning forward, he looked into his own eyes in the mirror: Even though he was blind, it was as if he was looking directly at John, and John was staring right back at his face.

“When I was in college, I had a massive paper due in two days.” Not the response John had expected. “I hadn’t started it at all. It was a research paper, I needed sources, it had to be thirty pages: It was an absolute monster of an assignment and I had a weekend to do it. So, I buckled down. I locked myself in my room and only came out to make myself coffee. Getting up and making the coffee as opposed to the coffee itself is probably what kept me awake that entire time. Though I was still quite jittery…” Arthur chuckled. “Anyways, I stayed up the entire weekend to write that paper. I refused to eat, sleep or speak to anyone. My head stayed completely in the books. But I remember being so tired I kept falling asleep at my desk and smacking my head on the table, I could barely keep my eyes open for some of it and when I could, I just felt like I was in a haze… Every part of me just felt so, heavy. Everything was telling me to crawl into bed but I just didn’t let myself. I did find that being that hungry does have a way of keeping you awake, but only because it’s incredibly difficult to sleep on an empty stomach. When you’re that hungry, and doing work that requires all of your brainpower, it felt like whenever I stopped thinking about the task at hand I was thinking about food. And that’s to say nothing of how much my stomach was aching, or how dizzy I was whenever I stood up. Compared to what we’ve been through since it seems quite tame really… But, I do have a habit of pushing my needs to the wayside when something needs to get done. I get a sort of, tunnel vision, as you know.”

“I’m well aware.” John confirmed. “But, why did you tell me that story?”

“To help you better conceptualize what it’s like. All the human things you’re not used to.” Arthur paused. “And because you’re right. If I’m to get us both around we can’t both ignore my body. If it gives out, I think we’re just about screwed.”

John chuckled, relief flooding through him as he did so. Arthur wasn’t mad. “I’m glad you agree. I can’t say I envy your position… Did you finish your paper?”

“Yes, but as soon as I was done I ate the biggest breakfast I’d ever had and passed out for fourteen hours, completely missing the deadline to turn it in.”

John laughed, fully this time. It was loud and long and filled Arthur’s entire head. “Well, I think you’re long overdue for something to eat by now. Finish washing up for dinner.”

“Right, right.” Arthur said excitedly, scrambling to get his clothes back on. “I do promise it’s not all bad though. I understand your point of being frustrated with having to stop, hence my story.” Arthur slipped his belt on. John had helped him poke extra holes in it. “But, some of the best sleep is had after an especially tiring day; and they say hunger is the best seasoning. Taking care of oneself doesn’t just mean it needs to get done, it should also be enjoyed. Warm baths, proper meals, one cannot live on bread alone.”

“I understand. You really are spoiled.” John said pointedly. “Your tie is crooked.”

“Oh, shut up.” Arthur rolled his eyes and adjusted his tie. “You’re just jealous I’m about to enjoy a delicious meal and talk to someone other than you for awhile.”

“Perhaps.” John said flatly as Arthur exited the bathroom and made his way back down the steps. The smell of cooking had filled the entire downstairs, and in an instant, Arthur’s appetite roared to life like a rekindled fire. He was sure didn’t need to explain to John how hungry he was at the moment: He certainly heard his stomach grumbling.

“I hope you’re hungry, Parker.” Marie called from the dining room, where she was laying out table settings for the both of them. Arthur followed her voice into the room and nodded.

“You have no idea.” She didn’t really.

“Well then. I’ve made my roasted chicken, potatoes and greens. One of Albert’s favorites. Take a seat, it’ll be out of the oven in a moment.”

“You don’t need any help?” Arthur asked, polite as always.

“No no dear, I have it covered.” Marie waved him off as she disappeared back into the kitchen to retrieve the food.

“Sit down.” John demanded. “Take it easy while you can, Arthur.”

“Well now, you adapt quickly.” Arthur sat.

“We have a big night ahead. You deserve all the rest you can get.”

“If you insist. Y’know, I think I can get used to this kind of treatment…” Arthur snickered as he folded his napkin in his lap.

“Don’t push it.”

“Here we are.” Marie proclaimed as she set the serving dish in the center of the table. Arthur wished he could see it, because it certainly smelled good. John got the hint.

“Arthur, she’s brought out a heap of well-seasoned red potatoes mixed with roasted chicken and greens.” John then blanked, unsure of how to describe the food further than what it was. He didn’t know what it tasted like, or what the texture was like.

But his brief description seemed to be enough to stir Arthur into immediately reaching for the serving spoon as soon as Marie was sat down. She got to it before he did, and picked it up to whack his hand away.

“Ow!”

“We say grace in this household, Parker.”

“Oh… My apologies.” John’s hand rubbed Arthur’s, but quickly folded together and came to rest on the table as Marie bowed her head.

“Bless us oh Lord, for health and food, for love and friends, for everything thy goodness sends. Amen.”

“Amen.” Arthur muttered after a short pause, loosely making the sign of the cross and letting Marie take her serving first. He let John scoop a heaping serving onto his plate, and he dug in as soon as his fork was in his hand.

Arthur moaned around his first bite, going in for a second before he was even through chewing the first. Once he was a couple bites in and had the good sense to breathe, John spoke up.

“Describe it to me.”

“What?” Arthur whispered, taking another bite.

“Describe how it tastes. How it smells. I’m curious, you have two senses that I have no experience with, and I’d like to know how one goes about describing food.”

“But, I- Marie…”

“Yes?” Marie questioned from across the table, hearing her name. Arthur sighed.

“Marie.” He addressed her clearly, setting his fork down. “This food is… Outstanding. The chicken is tender and chewy, the potatoes are crispy and tasty on the outside, and soft on the inside… The greens are seasoned perfectly. All of it is, the garlic and herbs bring everything together wonderfully. I knew I was in for a treat as soon as I came downstairs and smelled this, savory medley…” Both John and Marie were listening to Arthur closely. His voice was quiet, sounding almost on the verge of breaking. Arthur managed to keep it steady. “This is truly one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. Thank you so much, for having me.”

There was silence for a moment. Arthur heard Marie set her own fork down.

“She’s smiling, Arthur.”

“It’s a pleasure to be able to cook for someone who enjoys it so much.” Arthur smiled back. “I’ve found that good food can heal most woes, especially when paired with good company. So thank you Parker.”

“No really, thank you Marie, you have no idea how much I-“

“Clear your plate, Parker.” She interrupted before he could get carried away.

“Right.” He responded, looking back down and diving back into his food.

And for the first time, both Arthur and John enjoyed a good meal.