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my-head-is-an-animal · 2 years

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Come Home

Chapter 6

A few more sessions in the cryochamber and I would be completely healthy again. Sam had done well to learn about its mechanics and we were able to access some stored memories, the ones she was more interested in were the ones involving Lyssa when she was talking about improvements that needed to be made. I didn’t have the stomach to watch them, but they were useful to Sam and that’s what kept me watching, until Jack came to take me elsewhere.

I couldn’t explain it, something about Jack kept me grounded and more inclined to share things, he didn’t seem so interested in some of the things I could share involving technology, but he was more asking about me, about the things I liked to do. I told him, truthfully, war didn’t leave much time for recreation.

‘But you had some down time, right?’ He asked as he sat opposite me in the canteen, he’d gotten me some pie, which I had to admit, the taste of was divine compared to the rations I was used to. ‘I don’t know… reading? Music? Chess?’

‘Chess?’ I frowned, not being too familiar with the word.

‘Yeah, chess, it’s a strategy game.’ He tried to explain. ‘I could teach you, if you want?’

‘That would be nice, thank you.’ I smiled.

Jack seemed to be contemplating something in his mind and honestly I wished he would just say it aloud.

‘So, how are you feeling?’ He asked it with a degree of discomfort. ‘I know that this place probably isn’t what you’d hoped it would be, probably not much like home, but-‘

‘You seem to forget that my kind were here first.’ I said, teasingly, trying to steer the conversation away from how I felt. ‘To me, you’re the invader.’

Jack shrugged. ‘Fair. But I know if I lost everyone I ever knew… it would be hard.’

I swallowed the mouthful of pie I was chewing and tried hard not to look him directly in the eye. ‘Is that why you came to take me away from Sam’s work on my stored memories?’

‘I told her it might not have been the best idea to put you through anything that might… remind you too much of what you’ve lost.’ Jack was being sincere, that much was obvious. He was a kind man, a strong one, but kind.

‘I’m fine.’ I nodded, holding onto the grief inside me.

Jack seemed unsatisfied. ‘Look, I’m not going to make you do anything, but you told me you had a date with a man called Wylan. You don’t just get over that kind of thing, so if you need to talk about it… I’m here.’

I looked up at his dark eyes, he was right, I couldn’t hold onto the past so tightly and expect it not to affect me.

‘It was a long time ago,’ I started. ‘Wylan was the commander of one of the fleets, the war had just started really, it had already been going on for years, one day he just asked me outright if I wanted to get a drink with him…’ I felt a lump forming in my throat. ‘He never showed. The morning after, it was Lyssa who told me his fleet never came home.’ Jack inhaled deeply. ‘I was sent with a small team to investigate, but all we found was debris. The fleet had been destroyed.’ I took a stuttered breath. ‘It’s a memory that often catches me off guard.’

Jack looked down before speaking. ‘Why don’t you just store it?’

‘Because it’s the last memory I have of him.’ I shook my head. ‘There are just some memories we can’t give up, not for any reason.’

‘Yeah.’ Jack nodded, clearly he knew something of what I was talking about, but I was unsure whether to ask.

We sat for a while longer, we didn’t do much talking, but I somewhat liked that, it was comfortable and I hadn’t been very comfortable for a while.

Over the course of a few weeks, SG-1 continued to go off-world on missions, Carter, Daniel and I worked on some translations and integrating the cryostasis technology as best we could; Teal’c taught me everything he knew about the Goa’uld and General Hammond and Dr Fraiser were on hand to care for my physical needs as well as provide me with a room to stay in. But it was Jack who I felt more comfortable with, he didn’t want anything from me, just to know that I was okay and… happy, I supposed.

He knocked on my door one day and I couldn’t find it in myself to answer. I felt overwhelming sadness, knowing that I really was alone and my people were gone.

‘Ova?’ Jack knocked again. ‘It’s just me. I brought you some pie, last of the cherry, I know it’s your favourite.’ He was right, it was the flavour I had taken a liking to the most, but I was too sad to eat.

Something made me stand though. I wiped away my tears and tried to look as presentable as possible. I opened the door and made sure to stand a little in shadow to cover up the fact I’d been crying. Jack frowned immediately.

‘Hey.’ He said, his dark eyes scanning my face.

‘Hey.’ I repeated back, but there was a quiver in my voice that I was sure he caught.

‘Doc Fraiser says you’ve not eaten this morning,’ he said, by was of explanation at his arrival. ‘I assumed you were working with Carter, but she said you haven’t been down to the lab in a while… so I brought pie.’

I wasn’t sure how I could smile, but Jack seemed to bring it out of me. ‘Thank you.’ There were definite quivers in my voice as I took the plate from his outstretched hands.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked and I almost broke, breathing in a stuttered breath.

‘Fine.’ I said, entirely unconvinced.

Jack looked down at the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving me a look that said he didn’t believe me.

‘I’m not sure of your customs,’ I frowned, unsure on how to proceed. ‘But if you’d like to come in, the company would be nice.’

Jack’s eyebrows raised and I thought maybe I had said something out of turn, I was just about to tell him not to worry and take it back when he stopped me speaking.

‘Sure.’ He nodded and we awkwardly moved into my room.

I went to the table where a few of my notes were sitting, but there was nothing personal in the room really. I heard the door close as I sat down.

‘For future reference,’ Jack said, joining me. ‘There are two meanings behind the phrase “would you like to come in?”’ He handed me a fork and I had to admit, the smell of the pie was making me hungry.

‘What are they?’ I asked, taking the fork, feeling where it was warm from his own hand.

‘Well, one is the way you used it,’ he explained. ‘Where you invite a friend to talk or hang out or whatever.’

I nodded. ‘And the other way?’

Jack seemed a little awkward at that moment. ‘The other way is a little more… intimate.’

My eyes snapped up to his, but he couldn’t quite meet my gaze. ‘Our cultures aren’t so different then.’

‘Really?’

‘But in Lympian society, intimacy usually begins between people who have known each other a long time first.’ The pie was delicious and the first bite was always the one I enjoyed the most.

‘Why’s that?’

‘To see if you can trust them.’ I told him simply.

‘Not a very trusting people, are you?’ Jack joked, I was getting used to his tone of voice.

‘We’ve been betrayed many times, mostly by people we thought were friends.’ I hated the images that were coming to mind, I suddenly lost my appetite again and put the fork down. ‘But we’re also a stupid people, we have hope that some of those friends will come back to us one day… or at least we did.’ I felt the lump once again forming in my throat, but I refused to let it go.

‘We’re not so different.’ Jack’s dark eyes were planted on me once again. ‘So, that’s what you’ve been crying about? You miss your people.’

I swallowed hard again. ‘Yes.’ I breathed, I felt the tears stinging, trying to get out. ‘I keep wondering if some of them are still out there.’

‘Where would they be?’

‘There’s no real telling,’ I shook my head, quickly catching a tear before it hit my cheek. ‘They could be so far off course by now, they could be in a whole new galaxy and no one would ever know.’

Jack sat up, leaning on the table a little. ‘Is there any way to find them?’

I frowned, unsure of where he was going with his line of questioning. ‘Maybe, but I couldn’t do the calculations to find out.’

‘Carter can.’ He said, as if it were obvious.

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah, she’s smarter than pretty much everyone here put together.’ Jack nodded. ‘That is if you want to try?’

‘I would.’ I breathed, the chance to find anyone of my people was a chance I couldn’t pass up.

‘Okay then, we’ll talk to Carter and General Hammond and figure something out.’ Jack smiled and I thought I would cry again. If there was even a small chance that someone else was out there, then I had to know. ‘You know, if you’re not going to eat this…’ he said, picking up the fork and taking a bite.

I grimaced, I knew our cultures were a little different, but the fact that he’d just used the same fork I had used was clearly not something out of the ordinary here.

‘What?’ Jack frowned, he chewed a little slower.

‘It’s a tradition in Lympian weddings that the couple share a utensil for the first time.’ I told him, watching his eyes widen slightly.

There was suddenly an amused glint. ‘Does this mean we’re married now?’

I couldn’t help but laugh, Jack just had a way of getting to me like that. ‘No, not at all. It’s just a stupid tradition, I don’t even know what it means really.’

‘We have some stupid traditions as well, you know?’ Jack put the fork down.

‘Like what?’

‘Like… okay, I can’t think of any right now, but we do.’ He assured me, making me laugh again. ‘It’s good to see you laugh.’ I could tell he hadn’t quite meant to say it, but it still made me smile so whatever embarrassment he felt started to fade away.

‘Thank you for coming here, Jack.’ I said, keeping my voice steady. I then picked up the fork and took a bite of pie, making him laugh a little.

I was expecting him to have some witty retort to what I’d done, but Jack didn’t say anything at all. He just smiled and we shared the rest of the pie, he was happier that I’d eaten something and if that was all he wanted, then I would do it for him.

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#jack o'neill x reader #jack o'neill x ofc #jack o'neill fanfiction #jack o'neill

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snelbz · 3 years

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I'll Be Seeing You {4}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2429

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October 1940, The Autumn Court

Major Cassian Nazari was bored.

Nesta could sense it from where she was, back turned to him at the other end of the tent. It had also been a sign when she came in that morning and he was complaining, loudly, to Madja. I don’t see why I can’t get up and walk around. I’m fine. And bored shitless.

Madja, of course, had told him, Very well, Major. Do as you wish.

Cassian had taken two steps before a wave of nausea hit him from the pain, and he was throwing up his breakfast. After a dose of pain medicine, he had fallen asleep.

Now, he was awake, his pains were dulled, and he was loud.

Loud, and having a one-sided conversation with the unconscious soldier next to him about his favorite brands of whiskey.

He was just getting to the pros of living near a distillery, back in Velaris, when Nesta approached his cot. He glanced over to her and gave him a smile. A sleepy, drug-induced smile. “Nurse Nesta.”

“Major,” she replied, sitting next to his bed. “How are you feeling this afternoon?”

“Feeling great. Ready to get back out there.”

“Really now?” She asked, feeling his head for fever. He’d been warm after getting sick and she wanted to check and be sure they hadn’t missed some sign of infection setting in. His skin was cool as could be now. “So this morning was just a reaction to the breakfast porridge?”

He got quiet immediately and rolled his eyes.

“That’s what I thought.” She helped him sit up and checked the wounds on his back. They weren’t healing like she would have liked, but it was also likely he could have used stitches over a few of them. His burns were healing nicely though, even though she knew they still caused him quite a lot of pain. The broken arm and shoulder were the same.

Now that his shoulder was set correctly, it was all about keeping him still, which seemed to be a continual problem for him.

“I can’t sit here forever,” he claimed. “I’ll go insane.”

“You need something to occupy your mind,” Nesta said. “I’ll bring you some books.”

Cassian snorted. “Your romances? I’ll pass.”

Nesta huffed and shook her head. “Has anyone ever told you how difficult a man you are?”

“On many occasions,” Cassian noted. “Mostly women.”

Nesta sighed and helped him fall back against his pillows. “I’ll be back.”

“Good,” he muttered with a yawn as she walked away. After telling her fellow nurses she’ll be back in a moment, Nesta exited the tent and walked to the one just across the way from it, where the nurses slept. She strode to her tent in the far corner and grabbed an old western romance that he would surely read if bored enough, then pulled a suitcase from underneath her cot and popped it open.

The old, folded-up wooden chess board that sat inside had once belonged to her father. They used to play often, before the death of Nesta’s mother.

All the pieces were slightly dusty, but still in good shape. She picked up one of the ivory pawns, wiping it off with the apron tied around her waist, careful not to get any blood or antiseptic lotion on it. Without the dust coating it, the piece shined and she replaced it in its home before cleaning off each piece. She closed the suitcase, carrying it, the book, and a small, foldable tray back across the camp, and into the med tent.

As soon as Cassian saw her, he zeroed in on the case. “What’s that?”

“First,” she said, sitting down and holding the book out for him. “I brought you this.”

His face twisted with a twinge of pain as he reached out and took it, opening it and flipping through it. He paused on a random page and read a few lines. His eyes widened. “This is…explicit.”

Nesta’s cheeks reddened.

“It’s a romance,” he groaned.

“It’s an old western,” she defended. “It’s one of my favorites. It’s a very good book.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassian sat it on the side table, but pointed at the suitcase, which she had set down to unfold the tray. “And what’s that?” He repeated.

Nesta set it on the end of his cot and opened it. “Until I’m needed, we’ll play chess.”

Cassian stared at her for a moment before repeating, “Chess?”

She lifted a brow as she set up the board, on top of the tray. “You’re complaining about the forms of entertainment I offer?”

Cassian hesitated, and Nesta secretly liked that hesitation. For once, a comment made by her actually made him think. Usually, he was so quick on his feet. She liked it when he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he said, at last, clearing his throat. “But, it’s been a long time since I’ve played. You may have to refresh my memory.”

She suppressed her smile, moving the tray just next to his bed, so it would be within his reach. “I can do that.”

He nodded, grunting as he got himself into a sitting position. Nesta made a move toward him, but he held up a hand, letting him know he could do it on his own.

Even if it was just barely.

She laid out the pieces, almost reverently, but quickly and efficiently. She didn’t have to think about where the pieces went and before he knew it, the board was set in front of them. The white pieces sat on his side of the board, the black on her own. She gestured for him to make a move.

He reached for one of the pieces in the front, but then pulled his hand back. Twice, he repeated the movement, before clearing his throat and saying, “Ladies first.”

“That’s not how chess works, Major,” she chuckled. “White goes first, black second.”

He nodded and stared back down at the board. “Right.”

Picking up one of the pawns, Cassian moved it diagonally, as if it were a checker.

Nesta blinked, waiting for him to move it back or chuckle as if he were playing a joke. “That’s not how you move a pawn forward.”

His cheeks heated and she knew he was embarrassed. “Well not all of us grew up as well off as you were.”

Eyebrows raising, Nesta was unable to stop the surprised chuckle from bubbling from her lips. “Excuse you, sir?”

“I’m just saying, only spoiled, rich girls grew up playing chess.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t bring herself to be angry at his words. “You don’t know how to play chess, do you?”

“I told you I would need your help.” He wasn’t looking at her, just the board and pieces.

“When’s the last time you played chess?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Never.”

Nesta stared at him for a moment, waiting for an explanation. “Never?”

Cassian’s head fell back and he groaned. “Nurse, are you going to make me ask you to explain the rules to me or do I have to make a fool of myself any longer?”

Nesta pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Very well.”

She went on to explain the rules to him, then just to make sure she was not setting him up for failure, she explained the rules to him, again.

The pawn can move one square, unless it is the first time they move, then they can move two. It can’t move backwards. They can capture pieces on either space, diagonally, in front of them.

The knight moves in an L shape. Don’t ask why.

Bishop is a bit of a roamer. It can move in diagonally, as many squares as it wishes.

The rook can move both horizontally and vertically, as many squares as it wishes, as well.

The Queen is basically the best, most important piece. She can move however she wishes, wherever she wishes.

Cassian stared at the board thoughtfully. “Hmm. And the king, again?”

Nesta chuckled, quietly. “He can move only one square in any direction.”

“And he decides who wins the game?” Cassian asked, head cocked to the side as he stared at the board, trying to imagine it all.

“More or less, yes,” Nesta said, watching him study the board. “When a player attacks the other’s king, it’s called a check. A checkmate, or the win, is what happens when the opposing king can no longer make any legal moves.”

“So you must protect the king at all costs, then?” Cassian asked. “That’s the purpose of the other pieces?”

“It is,” Nesta nodded.

“And that’s why the queen is such an important piece?” he continued, meeting her gaze. “Why she has the most freedom? To protect her king?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Speaking like that, I cannot believe that you don’t admire a good romance novel.”

“I already told you, I don’t think women are meant to stay home and do nothing but become mothers,” he replied, reaching out and moving his own piece properly this time. “However, a boring book about two people falling in love? No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Falling in love isn’t boring,” she defended, moving her own piece.

He grunted in answer, making his move.

Nesta looked at him, gauging his non-reply. “Have you ever been in love, Major?”

“Now who’s asking the personal questions,” he muttered, waiting for her to take her turn. She did, silently waiting for him to answer. He picked up the piece, studying the board, though barely anything had been done to need strategy yet. “No. I haven’t.”

Nesta watched him for a moment before looking back down at the board. “Interesting.”

Cassian moved his piece at last. “Don’t worry, plenty of women have been in love with me, I just haven’t returned the feeling.”

Nesta couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “Of course you would think so.”

Cassian’s grin told her it was all just a joke, but Nesta had no doubt that Cassian had had his fair share of women throughout the years.

“What about you?” He asked. “I know about your ex, of course, but have you ever been in love?”

It was Nesta’s turn to be quiet, but she pretended to be thinking over a move. “Yes,” she finally admitted, moving one of her knights, which had finally been unblocked by her pawns. “At least, I think so, at least. Things with Tom were…complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t sound like it’s a good thing,” he replied, mirroring her own move.

She narrowed her eyes at him, finally catching on to how he’d been playing. She said nothing about the game though, and continued on. “There’s a reason we aren’t together anymore, if you recall.”

Nesta moved another piece and he asked, “Would you go back to him? If you found out he’d been waiting for you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, still staring at the board, if only to keep from having to look at him. “His family was much better off than mine, which was the reason for our engagement anyways. I came here to keep my sisters from having to do so.”

“That doesn’t sound like love,” Cassian murmured, taking his turn.

“And what makes you such an expert on the subject?” Nesta snapped.

Cassian slowly met her eyes once he set down his knight. He didn’t look offended by her tone. Instead, he remained quiet for a moment, then said, “I may not waste my time reading romance novels, and I may have never been in love, nurse, but I have plenty of experience in what love is not.”

She couldn’t place it, but she didn’t like why his voice became so…sad when he said it. “I didn’t mean to react in such a way,” she replied, not even paying attention to the moves she was making at this point. “I’m just not…accustomed to talking to anyone about these sorts of things. Especially a patient.”

He nodded. “I get it.”

Nesta nodded and broke his gaze as her eyes settled back on the board. After a moment, she moved her queen and said, “Check.”

Cassian blinked, eyes darting to the board, trying to find how his king was in jeopardy. Once he saw it, he tried to figure a way out of it, but after five minutes of thinking, he knocked his king down in surrender.

Nesta suppressed her smile as she outstretched her hand. “Good game, Major.”

He chuckled and shook her hand. “Nice lie, nurse.”

“Perhaps we can play again tomorrow,” Nesta asked, with a questioning tone.

Cassian met her eyes, and the edge in them softened as he said, quietly, “I would like that.”

She nodded and began putting it away as a few nurses entered the tent with big boxes in their arms. “Looks like we got some care packages from Velaris, gentlemen.”

Cassian’s brows rose, and Nesta chuckled at the excitement that flooded through the tent from those who were awake. In a war, it was the little things that made it all better.

Nesta placed the chessboard beneath Cassian’s cot and rose to help the nurses go through the boxes. With everything they pulled out, there was an announcement.

We’ve got candies!

Homemade breads and jams!

The funnies from the newspapers!

Tea!

Nesta reached into the box and pulled out a big carton and announced, “Cigarettes!”

That one got a round of applause, but nowhere near the number of cheers that the whiskey got. It went on for another few minutes, and then for the first time in quite some time, something that resembled joy could be felt in their little war camp.

As the goodies were dispersed, Nesta’s eyes kept trailing to Cassian.

She was surprised to find his eyes on her as well. Carrying one of the small bottles of the cheap whiskey that had been sent, she found herself standing beside his cot. She set the bottle down on the side table, along with a pack of cigarettes, and said, “Might not be the brand you prefer, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I’d drink anything right about now, brand doesn’t matter,” he chuckled. “If you could possibly get me some of that sweet bread and blackberry jam though, it might make it just a bit easier to go down.”

She shook her head, saying, “You’re unbelievable.” But she knew she would get it for him, she’d make sure of it.

Because his smile was the first thing that made her own appear without being forced in quite a while.

#i’ll be seeing you #snacmc ibsy #nessian ibsy #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #1940s au #period au

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

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do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

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completeoveranalysis · 3 years

Text

Warning! This post contains spoilers up to chapter 170 of Tsubasa (and Chapter 71 of xxxHolic). Please skip this if you have not read that far.

Please also make no comments about what happens after that point in either manga.

SO here is the other splash image that really stuck out to me:

This time not because of the Seresu arc but because of how the Infinity arc itself ends.

Here's the link to the original post the image is from if you'd like the full context, but the particular quote from that post I want to use as a reference is here:

"Syaoran also sits on the throne - which as far as I can tell, isn’t his. ... The only one ever wearing the crown they’re all wearing [on their clothes] is Sakura. Now, does it make sense that Syaoran has usurped her throne? Heck yeah! He’s stolen everything from her. He’s stolen her journey (they’re following him now, always a step behind), he’s stolen her feathers, and he’s stolen the person she’s in love with."

Where I was kind of on the right track but couldn't have possibly guessed what all the chess imagery was ultimately feeding into. Looking back now the initial liveblogs for all of these Chess-related splash images are such a big mix of different iconography, so it’s very fun reading through all my old guesses back then. I think I did a really good job of trying to decipher some of it, especially the Cinderella and Snow White imagery in Chapter 140, but the Chess was a bit trickier.

Which, like, understandable, because the chess game that was happening in the chapters was stressful as heck and did not end well, but there is a nice conclusion to it with this image which is easier to read now - especially in regards to Sakura. Because it's made very clear to the viewer that the symbol of the Queen piece is in reference to her; both in these splash images (where she wears the crown at one point, and every character wears the symbol in ways that reflect their allegiance to her) and in the plotline, where she functions as the Queen of the battles taking place. Here is another good example of the symbol being used for Sakura with it right there on her throne, and the two Syaoran's wearing the symbol in smaller ways to represent their relationship to her. But with that all in mind? I had no idea what it was really getting at with Syaoran on Sakura's throne here.

BUT NOW I DO.

If you go back to that example I just gave with Sakura sitting on her throne? It's a different throne! It still makes it very clear that she's undeniably the Queen piece, with the symbol in gold actually being a key part of the throne itself.

And the throne Syaoran sits on? It has the crown symbol as part of the decoration, but it's not representing him, it's just a small symbol to show that matches Sakura's throne. This throne is his own.

He's the King piece.

(And, important distinction; the throne is not Lava Lamp's, but our original plotline Syaoran who is now in Autopilot mode.)

This wouldn't have occurred to me the first time through because I was focused so much on what this might mean for Sakura, and how she related to everyone else, but the way the Infinity Arc ends really hammers this home. After all, Sakura is the mastermind in this arc - everything that happens is according to her plan. She's not playing chess just during the literal chess matches, but during the entire plotline, moving every character and circumstance into place to enact her final plan; to activate both Chi's at once, absorb both their feather's, and trigger Fai's curse - resulting in her pseudo (if purely physical) death. But like we see in the plotline, this isn't a loss - it's a win. It's exactly how she planned things to unfold, and it will lead her to winning the game.

Just in case anyone isn't familiar, in Chess the queen is the most powerful piece capable of the widest variety of moves - but the queen is not the endgame goal. You can lose the queen piece in any game and (besides losing a powerful piece) it's not the end of the world. You can still win the game without the queen piece. It's the King piece that's the Win/Loss condition. The King is the piece you have to keep safe at all costs, even if you lose other pieces in the process. The second the King dies, the match is over. You've lost.

And this matches exactly how Sakura played the series events. She was the Queen in control of every move, and Syaoran was the Win condition she was focused on. She foresaw Fai killing Syaoran in the future - which, for her, is the Losing Scenario. She planned everything to avoid this, and she succeeded! She lost the Queen piece (ie, her physical body) but won the ultimate goal of keeping the King safe. She won the 3D future chess game that she was playing by herself, and positioned herself in the place that would have the most benefit for the victory at the end. (Which I still haven't seen, but she was VERY confident about this having a better result than Fai killing Syaoran.)

I'm also super happy that this ties in really well with the fairy tale allusions I talked about back in Chapter 140, but in ways I wasn't aware of back then either.

I talked about Snow White and how the apple (that shows up in a lot of the splash images in Infinity) may have been referring to Sakura's tendency to sleep a lot. What I didn't realise was that Sakura was essentially about to pull the Big Brain Snow White maneuver on herself to ultimately win her chess game. While in Snow White the poison apple is a trap, here Sakura sprung the trap intentionally. Fai is the apple she bit into deliberately - she arranged it so that killed her body, breaking his own curse, and sent her to the World of Dreams (and thus, she is asleep) which also placed her in a Glass Coffin (aka The Jam Jar of Dreams - Im sorry I have no memory of what it's really called). So the Snow White metaphor is now complete.

But also Cinderella! In the image for 140 Sakura is trying on a glass slipper - so she's Cinderella figure as well. But at this point in the plot the clock hadn't struck midnight just yet - like Cinderella, Sakura knew the exact time limit she had to work with, and for her the timing had to be PRECISE. She spent all of Infinity stressed out of her mind about this plan she couldn't trust anyone else with, knowing full well that if she missed the window even slightly it would ruin absolutely everything and they would all lose. Which, funnily enough, makes Yuuko the fairy godmother, since she provided Sakura with the magic she needed to make her plan happen (via wishes). This also means that Fai stabbing her with the sword is the exact moment the clock struck twelve - and like the spell finishing, Sakura could finally drop the act and explain what she had done, even as all the magic disappeared (ie, her luck being traded away). There's even a detransformation sequence of a sort, with her body and soul going in two different directions. But either way, the Cinderella metaphor is also complete!

And with all that done the last part I want to talk about is back in the image of Syaoran on the throne. He's framed on either side with the curtains that portray the chess board, and they're tied back by chains with him in the very centre. He is visually chained to the board - which, like, of course he is. With his Autopilot programming in place he's essentially just a chess piece without any will of his own - a winning piece, for sure, but he's still being moved around without his choice. He's playing the game on auto, making the moves that will lead him to the winning gambit, but without his individual soul he has no choice but to keep playing until the game is over. The goal he's working towards isn't even his - it's Evil Wolverine's. So in the same way that everyone else was a chess piece in Sakura's strategy (if, sort of, willingly), including Sakura herself, Syaoran is a piece being moved around in Evil Wolverine's favour - though if he dies, it's game over for Sakura's side as well.

I'm unclear if Syaoran dying would be a game over scenario for Evil Wolverine, but at the very least it would end the game he is currently playing.

So, in the hyper future 3D chess game that Sakura was playing by herself she couldn't properly win the game for her side by taking out Syaoran because he's her king piece too. Syaoran is the piece at the centre of everything, and will be the key to winning the game for either side. We just have to wait and see if Sakura's gambit will pay off in the way she thinks it will.

#For the record I THINK IT WILL #I believe in her #This has been: a lot of imagery #Tsubasa Catch Up Chronicle #Catch up T144 #Catch up T145 #Catch up T140 #Tsubasa #Ok so Sakura is confirmed Chess Genius y/y?#Sakura #Syaoran #and CHESS

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chocoladieimagines · 3 years

Note

Mind if I request a Muichiro Tokito x black reader?- I would appreciate it tehehe

I don’t mind at all! Muichiro is interesting to me because I always thought he didn’t seem to care about things or just not observant but I learned much more about him~ Enjoy!

Muichiro Tokito x Black!Reader

- Muichiro Tokito and his identical older twin brother, Yuichiro Tokito, were born to a woodcutter and his wife.

- At ten years old, their mother caught bronchitis, an inflammation of the bronchi or the large airways in the lungs that causes coughing. It can either be acute or chronic, chronic being a respiratory disease marked by overproduction of mucus and mucins. After catching a cold it worsened into the illness, while their father had gone to fetch medicinal herbs for their mother during a storm. Their mother died from the condition and their father fell off a cliff during the storm to his death.

- The Tokito brothers became orphaned, surviving together as Muichiro developed an emotional and kind nature after his father and Yuichiro held a cold and impassive outlook on life—possibly telling the twins apart.

- That Spring, Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s wife, Amane Ubuyashiki, recruited the twin boys for the Demon Slayer corps. Yuichiro was distasteful of his brother’s excitement, blaming the death of their parents on their hardworking and selfless natures which froze his outward behavior into a cold demeanor. This way, he thought his tough love for his brother would keep them alive.

- At eleven years old, that Summer, a demon arrived at their cabin during the night and attacked them, resulting in Yuichiro losing an arm within the process—trying to protect Muichiro. Muichiro lost himself in a rage and destroyed the demon with all the tools at their disposal and wooden logs. While the fight lead outside, at dawn, the demon withered to ash and it was that morning that he found Yuichiro near death, motionless. Muichiro prayed if he could survive but only laid next to his brother, grasping his hand as he breathed in abnormal respirations; progressively deeper but some inhales became faster. Then he passed away.

- Amane and her daughters later arrived to heal a severely wounded Muichiro but while he recovered, she remarked to her husband that Muichiro may have suffered memory loss of what happened. “Some may think that it is a blessing for such traumatic events or episodes to be forgotten, especially when it is weighing on the shoulders of a child such as him—so young. But, our scars may also heal and make who we are as a person stronger. It may be through an eye opener or trauma that awakens this omnipresent power source underlying the ignition to your abilities.” Kagaya said. “He has been training fairly well; showing massive strength and highly extensive training. I’m afraid sometimes if he’ll overwork himself.” Amane said.

- “Yes, I do have faith that my children will become stronger if not more powerful than demons. But, they should have proper treatment and the caretaking for all they’re going through. They deserve it.” Kagaya stated. “Can you send him to the Mental Health subdivision where the L/Ns are? I believe if he were to fit treatment into his training, he will fully prosper in blossoming into a true demon slayer.”

- Over the years, The Demon Slayer Corps grew into a large organization, large enough to branch off into smaller subdivisions that were clinics. They were meant to treat demon slayers after they may have gone through trauma or be traumatized by an experience of losing loved ones and those who they care about. Twisted memories within others could lead to mental disorders; depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) otherwise insanity.

- Amane echoed the words of Kagaya to Muichiro, wondering if he was even listening to her. Thus, she gave him a piece of paper with a four digit address to your subdivision. “A mental health clinic? For what?” Yeah just as she thought. She deeply sighed but smiled, “It’s to help with your memory loss. We believe you developed Amnesia and would like proper evaluation of your condition so we know that you’ll be in the right hands and guidance.” “I don’t need to be babied by some doctor. It won’t help me with my training.” Muichiro refuted. “It will. This is not a negotiation matter. It is an order from Oyakata Sama.” With that, she bowed and left the boy to himself.

- On his way, he had the piece of paper in his hand but was more attentive to the clouds than he was of himself. He unknowingly let go of the paper as he went in a sense of direction. The subdivisions were connected to the organization by Guzei bridges adjoining to different properties. Each property looked like a huge lush ornate garden. There was varieties of trees; flowering cherry blossoms, azaleas, magnolias, camellias, Japanese maples, pines, cedars and cypresses. Ponds of Koi fish, algae and sheer waterfalls were featured with a peaceful auditory atmosphere of moving water. There was teahouses that also suited as an amenity along each property of the subdivisions. Demon slayers were welcomed into the establishments to chat and socialize while they were served tea and could look into the open view of their tranquil environment.

- Muichiro became so lost into the nature enshrining the place that the assigned task went in the back of his head. Luckily, Amane informed you that you would be having a patient that day by the name of Muichiro Tokito. A young man with long black hair about his back, fading into soft turquoise tips that approach his waist. He wore a gakuran jacket with loose, free hanging sleeves and baggy hakama pants over dark blue tabi socks in a pair of dark blue strapped zōri sandals. You giggled when you saw him staring off into the distance, as she also described to you that he always had a dreamy look on his face. You knew that memory loss could sometimes link with daily functioning since his mind was so easy to trail off from where he was supposed to go.

- “Come! Over here!” You spoke, beckoning to him when you caught the gaze of his minty green eyes. Seeing your kind persona, he slowly walked over to you. “Muichiro Tokito is it? Mist Hashira? It is an honor,” you bowed with the same smile graced on your face. “You were sent here so I could accompany you to hopefully regain your memories.” You thought that he looked fairly young to uphold a rank as high as one of the most elite warriors out of the Demon Slayer corps. But you were also young and was assigned to help other youngsters around your age or even younger. Your family believed that it could establish more of a empathetic bond if it was looked at from a perspective of a person that could easily put themselves in a kid’s shoes. As incredulous as it could be to others, you were a psychologist; identifying psychological, emotional, behavioral or organizational issues and diagnose disorders.

- “You’re a what?” Muichiro trailed off again. “A child’s psychologist. It means to study psychology, ya know—well you wouldn’t know—but studying the human mind and the behaviors that come along with it.” You explained. Muichiro wouldn’t hesitate to say that you were pretty to look at. He’s often fixated on the natural beauty of the world; whether it was the lacy white edged clouds rolling in over the blue sky, a formation of a flock of birds flying or observing the simplicity of a person’s natural looks. You had your hair in two afro puffs; the protuberant strands of your hair accessorized with Craspedia flowers as they were captured in place. There was a type of aura you generated, he couldn’t name it but it positively pervaded the air between you two. He liked the way you addressed him and treated him, as if he deserved the upmost respect since Hashiras have a pivotal role in the Demon Slayer corps.

- They exceeded the limits of an average being, reaching the peak of the human‘s athleticism and condition as they’ve exerted themselves through rigorous training. They were practically the construction of the organization; constantly putting themselves on the front lines and physically capable of going against the Twelve Kizuki or else Muzan Kibutsuji himself. That was the thought process of Muichiro as he sat in a room partitioned with shoji paper walls and lattice screens transmitting light through their translucent sheets. Then the room would be well lit by the rays that pour through the screen soft and muted, bright enough to illuminate the room yet dim enough for comfort. As you sat on cushions upon the tatami mats lining the floor—surrounding a coffee table, the yukimi shoji allowed a panoramic scene of the greenery outside. Bonsai trees were also inculcated as a way of bringing the natural world into your home.

- Yet, what he liked the most was the sound of your voice. While you peacefully presented yourself by the style of your hair and clad of a bright orange kimono with golden flower decals and a tightly bound obi, you gently spoke to him to exhibit your patience. As much as he thought it was babying him, it was a matter of speaking in friendly, congenial, and playful tones. It helped people respond better and learn better when in a hospitable environment. While you took notes of his behavior, you pointed out tips; encouraging him to continue his daily activities of training which would increase blood flow through the whole body including the brain. At least 150 minutes of moderate aerobic activity should be spread throughout the week.

- You gave him mental exercises which could stimulate his brain and keep his memories going. You introduced him to the game shogi: a two player strategy board game that is the Japanese variant of chess. Sudoku, which is a logic based, combinatorial, number-placement game. As well as crossword puzzles and Contract Bridge, a trick-taking card game using a standard of a 52-card deck. The game consists of a number of deals, cards are dealt to the players and the player “calls” or “bids” in an auction are sought to take the contract, specifying how many tricks the partnership receiving the contract (the declaring side) needs to take to receive points for the deal. You noticed that although he was impassive, and at times, obtuse the first time around, he began to show a willingness to learn.

- The way he looked when he was focused; his eyes centered on the shogi pieces on either side of the board, frowning in concentration each time he moved his ranging pieces: The Lance, bishop or rook. You were capable of analyzing his movements like there was an invisible string being pulled by the contraction of his muscles. You could tell every signal his brain sent by his body language; the silent gasps of air he took when he saw a move, the way he eagerly moved in the number of squares as if they were derived of a plan he had up his sleeve. You also amused the intensity in his gaze as he concentrated; propping his chin between his fingers to properly have a view of the pieces; currently seeing you moved a friendly piece adjacent to your king which meant he couldn’t move in that direction at all.

- He was gaining up on you though. Within the pattern of moving your pieces and capturing them by removing it from the board, you had fewer pieces left and had to think more strategically. When another moment of silence occurred, you took a glance at Muichiro’s features but this time he was looking up at you. With the sound effect of a piece snapping against the board, he said, “Checkmate.” At the same time, the sound caught your attention and he was right. Your king was in check, you could no longer make any legal moves to protect it.

- “Impressive. Fair play, Tokito.” You praised him. He was making more progress; there was something that had been added to him. Perhaps it could be his emotions or if he was friendlier. “You know, you should come watch me train some day,” He calmly proposed. “It’s like you’re cooped up in this place. But I can’t blame you, I purposely would be too if it meant getting away from the troubles of this world.” He was much more talkative too although it was a surprise to others. The Hashira were used to his usual laid back nature and obliviously wandering off in his thoughts as if he didn’t care about the situation or someone. Kagaya described that it was like you made him remember his emotions by feeling the introduction of love.

- You were surprised by his words and only shook your head. You were certain to sustain a professional relationship with a client in order for you to make an accurate diagnosis of their condition. He reasoned that “Without waging war, there was the nexus of love. The history of humanity is a bloody tale of genocide. The only survivors are our collective ancestors. The drive toward conformity is a preparation for war and is amped in power by comparison. Thus, in times of fear the proper leaders must have an upper brain capable of dominating their primitive drive and converting that amped power into solution finding over war strategy. Therefore, after our conflicted minds have been revealed to such a feeling such as passion—ardor, their reality has been expanded. Their outlook on the world is being changed to realize there are two of the complementary.”

- After listening, you looked to your shoulder to see Muichiro beautifully move with his katana. As he trained against another one of the Hashira, it was like watching a scene from a movie. Both of them moved with such speed that your eyes processed their movements in a delay, seeing them perform through accuracy as every turn they made resulted in their weapons clashing. It almost made blood roast under the constitute of your espresso cheeks by being able to watch two slayers train. Knowing these people were your protection, it felt promised by the combat proficiently owned by Muichiro. Afterwards, he was able to put their battle to an end after disarming his comrade. They both bowed in respect before the boy looked in your direction with his dolly green eyes.

- “That was great Tokito Muichiro. It is a privilege to know and see that we have our Hashira’s protection.” You inclined your body once again in his presence but he only raised you by your chin. “Y/N, just call me Muichiro.” He said softly. “It’s not like you have to treat me like I’m royalty or like I’m superior above everyone else.” “I-I mean, but you’re a Hashira. You’re...You’re practically the back bone of the Demon Slayer Corps.” You sheepishly said after he tipped your chin to look at him. “Still, it doesn’t give me the right to not have respect for others as well. It should be me kneeling for you. You’ve been by my side for a while now and it feels like I’ve changed. During every moment I’ve spent with you so far, I keep falling deeper and deeper.”

- Your family teased of how there was puppy love between you two. They’ve been seeing the way Muichiro looked at you at times; giving you big eyes while you talked to him—his famous dreamy look but the absence of paying attention to your words was subconsciously made by staring at your features. You would have to pull him back to his consciousness which he would wave off saying that he just liked to listen to you talk. But there were times opposite of the vacant look you were used to, which was when he actually expressed his emotions. His eyes were windows; allowing the transparency of his emotions to come together to form the art of his soul. It formed a picture you saw in an instant and comprehended with full depth. A reflection of his old self; a caring individual with a higher level of kindness and understanding than his demeanor as a demon slayer. Believing he should aim to do good for others if he wanted good to be done for him.

- “What do you mean Muichiro?” You questioned to be clear, although the heat bubbling under your skin had a feeling of what he meant. “I mean that I like you. I think you’re really smart, sweet and pretty. When I go to meet you every week, I wanted to change it to everyday. The place seems so peaceful, especially with caring people like you. Ive come to love the feeling of being cared for. Now I want to care for you.” He confessed with a soft smile, still holding your chin so he could see you process his words. “You...really mean that?” You questioned again. “Yes.” He nodded. “Would you like to have a kiss? Could that prove my feelings for you?”

- The way he innocently inquired it made you shift in place and your heart to sing a song out of melodic and rhythmic sounds. You weren’t sure what to think or what to say, only you went off of the instincts of your gut who spoke to your heart to spell out how you felt. So you slowly nodded, mentally bracing yourself as he raised one hand to cup your cheek and angularly tilted his face. Then, when he leaned in you closed your eyes and felt his lips land on yours. They were smooth to the touch as he gently connoted with his lips. The warmth was cut off when he brought his head back to test the waters, opening his eyes to see your pleasured face. But you wrapped your hand in his hair and pulled him back into you, feeling much more confidence from him when his hand felt on the curve of your hip. His progress has truly improved since he wasn’t necessarily your client anymore but something more.

Thank you for reading! Hope you all enjoyed! 🤎🍫

#demon slayer x poc!reader #kny x reader #muichiro tokito #muichiro fluff #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #anime x black!reader #hashira x reader #demon slayer x black reader #demon slayer x reader

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oscar-lettjohanssonloveme · 3 years

Text

A Woman Like You pt. 3 (Diane Sherman x socialphobist!reader)

as i promised, there is chapter 3 whoohoo

request: need another part to a woman like you 😌

warnings: social anxiety i guess

here is pt two: https://littlejeaniehugsbumblebees.tumblr.com/post/640358893165363200/a-woman-like-you-pt-2-diane-sherman-x-reader

google translate- :’)

To say Y / N hadn't socialized in college would have been a lie. There were 1 or 2 students with whom she got along well.

One of them was Wylan Montgomery.

Wylan was a tall, slender man with sandy hair. Y / N couldn't tell if she thought he was pretty with his pale skin, but what she did know was, that she didn't find him attractive. But she liked him. Wylan didn't speak much as he was also more of an introvert and lived in his own world. Often Y / N and Wylan studied together in the library, checked each other's homework or discussed books. Nothing special, actually, but there was one thing that Y / N really appreciated about her friendship with Wylan: the weekly chess game.

Y / N loved chess. It was a strategy game, that wasn't about communication with the opponent at all. A game, that could be played in complete silence and the only important thing was concentration.

Wylan and Y / N had a tradition of meeting in the library every Thursday afternoon to play chess together.

Their game could take hours and it was not uncommon for Wylan and Y / N to be the last in the library by the end of the evening.

And when Y / N and Wylan were sitting in the library in the back corner by the window on this rainy Thursday and had been playing for an hour, Y / N couldn't have imagined how this afternoon would end.

"Damn it," Wylan muttered quietly as he stared strained at the chess board. Y / N, who was just as focused as he was studying the board, lifted her eyes to meet the blond boy in the face.

His green eyes literally jumped over the board as he nervously chewed his lower lip, as he always did when they were playing.

It was Wylan's turn and he'd been sitting there for 3 minutes without having done anything. Just like Y / N, he considered every step he took, not just in chess, but in real life as well.

Y / N looked back at the chess board and let her eyes wander over the black wooden figures she was playing with today.

She heard Wylan exhale loudly as he reached out to put his white pawn on E4.

How predictable, thought Y / N. She leaned forward to take the time to consider her next move. Wylan was a good player, but transparent as he often used the same strategy and the game was also relatively early on.

"Mister Montgomery?" Suddenly called a female voice that made Y / N flinch. Both students immediately raised their heads to look at the woman, who owned the voice. Professor Sherman came running out from behind a bookcase.

"I've been looking for you for 20 minutes .. Your roommate told me you were probably here," she explained with relief when she recognized Wylan at the table.

"Professor Wright sent me, he's been waiting for you for an hour."

Y/N looked confused away from Diane, who was ignoring her, to look at Wylan's face. The blond man seemed just as confused as she was when suddenly his eyes widened and he let out a quiet "fuck".

"Do you know where he's waiting for me?" He asked, turning to Diane, who shrugged.

"His office, I assume."

"Uhm okay, thank you".

Wylan stood up and gave Y / N a pleading look.

"M'sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," Y / N replied and looked back at the chess board.

"I also have a lot to do."

He smiled wryly before turning and jogging out of the library.

Y / N looked back at the chessboard and started packing up while trying to ignore the fact, that Diane was still relatively lost across the table.

"Do you really still have a lot to do?", The professor suddenly asked and Y / N immediately raised her head to look at her confused.

"Excuse me?"

"If you want, I'll play with you-"

With narrowed eyes, Y / N looked into Diane's face and watched the professor chew on her lower lip.

"Is that pity?" Y / N asked skeptically and Diane quickly shook her head.

"Oh no," she said. "It was just an idea."

"Well, I've already started cleaning up, I-"

"So far you have only taken the rook off the field, it was on B5", Diane interrupted her and looked at the rook in Y / N's hand.

"But the game has already started", Y / N tried to get rid of her professor. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't because Y / N didn't want to, on the contrary, she would have loved to play with her. But Diane was a stranger and to Y / N all strangers were her enemies.

In her mind she ran through all sorts of scenarios of how it would all work out.

Y / N's hand would probably tremble so much when placing the figures that she would knock over the other ones.

Maybe she was sneezing or something like that, maybe she would accidentally touch Diane. Maybe Diane was the kind of person, who talked a lot while playing and stared hard at Y / N while concentrating. On the other hand, chess was a game, that required a lot of concentration and nobody could blame Y / N if she kept silent while playing. And even though Y / N was afraid, that she might breathe too loudly, she knew, that she would regret it, if she would reject Diane.

"All right," Y / N finally uttered with a sigh and immediately regretted it. Damn it.

Diane smiled at Y / N's words before taking a seat across from Y / N at the table.

"Great," she muttered and Y / N put the black rook back on B5.

And then they started playing.

The next 3 hours were filled with a pleasant silence and concentration, for which Y / N was very grateful. So Diane wasn't the kind of person who talked a lot while playing. And that nobody spoke was not at all uncomfortable. Even so, Y / N tried to imagine that Wylan was sitting across from her and not her literature professor. But it was impossible; Diane's fingers were much slimmer than Wylan's. Then there was the cinnamon scent of her perfume, which replaced Wylan's aftershave, and at last there were the reddish-brown hair tips that slid onto the chessboard every time the professor leaned over to grab the figures.

Y / N didn't even look at the clock during the entire time and didn't even notice that the whole game lasted 3 hours. She hadn't noticed either, that it was already dark when she finally put Diane in check and she muttered:

"check

For the first time since they started playing, Y / N carefully raised her eyes to Diane to take in the expression on her face.

The woman frowned at the game board while her chin rested on her palm. Y / N noticed, that she was wearing the dark blue cardigan, as she often did in her seminars, and for whatever reason, Y / N liked this cardigan.

"Shit," said Diane finally, leaning back in her chair.

"You actually won."

"Well then, checkmate", Y / N muttered before reaching for her bishop to knock over the white king.

Meanwhile, the professor's brown eyes were still running over the field to analyze the entire game again.

"It's crazy," she finally said, leaning forward again to lean over the board.

"I've never met someone, who plays as subtly as you do."

Y / N lifted her gaze from the king to look straight into Diane's eyes.

Bad idea. Eye contact was disgusting and Y / N immediately blushed before glancing quickly at the lamp on the table.

"To be honest, I assumed you would win," she explained, staring into the bright light. Diane must have turned it on when it got dark.

"Why did you think, I would win?" Diane asked confused and Y / N could feel her gaze on her.

"I don't know," she replied and shrugged her shoulders.

"I played black-"

"Oh come on, you can't be serious"

"It was just a premonition, one of us had to win anyway and I just assumed you would be the one," Y / N tried desperately to justify herself before looking back at Diane, who was slightly confused and shook his head with a smile.

"You're weird," she muttered and Y / N felt a small sting in her chest. She hated it, when she was called that. As a social phobist, her greatest fear was, that people would perceive her that way. All she wanted was to be seen as normal, not as a weirdo.

For a few seconds she involuntarily lost herself in Diane's brown eyes and in these seconds her head was completely free of all anxious thoughts. To be honest, there was nothing left in her head. She could just stare. Diane finally cleared her throat and Y / N immediately averted her gaze in shame.

"I should go now, it's late and I have to go home," explained Diane as she got up.

"I have to go too," said Y / N quickly as she started clearing the board.

"Uhm, thank you, Miss Y / L / N," Diane said sincerely and smiled gently.

"It was great fun."

Y / N only nodded briefly and continued to collect the pieces from the board while listening to Professor Sherman's footsteps moving further and further away.

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

It's like that with social phobia (at least for me): When I meet people and I'm very nervous in this situation qnd the meeting can be as relaxed as possible, but in the end only the things that stick in my memories is that, that were not perfect . Please don't get me wrong, shortly afterwards I am always very relieved, because all of my bad fears (like that I'm breathing too loudly) have not come true, but the more I think about this situation and how well everything went, I notice that it was still not perfect. There are little things that bother me: a confused look, a long moment of silence, the fear, of having laughed too loudly or the fact, that I accidentally touched the person I met while running.

I just want to do everything right and in no case overreact or do too much. And these little things that I mentioned above make me feel, that what I've done was too much and I decide to do less next time. Saying less, laughing less, just less.

And in the end, I really only have the things, that bothered me and after a while that's all I can remember.

That's why Y / N could only remember the moment, when Diane called her "weird". It was actually nothing, but Y / N feared nothing more, than the judgment of strangers and Diane's testimony hadn't really helped her, on the contrary, Y/N hated her literature professor now and had decided to skip the next seminar with the excuse, that she was sick.

And somehow she felt sick too. Y / N was of the opinion, that no one could understand her better than herself. She knew exactly what she had experienced. She knew, why she was the way she was and just the thought of talking to someone about it, made her tired. And when Diane called her weird, she realized again, that people can't help but judge. Advantages and clichés change our view of things so much and Y / N knows that, because she was not better.

To make matters worse, she had had to stare into her professor's eyes for a few seconds too long. Diane had to hate her, even though she'd said thank you for the game at the end. But as I said, over time that faded and the only thing that Y / N left of the afternoon was the moment, Diane called her weird and the brown color of her eyes, in which Y / N had lost itself a little too long.

Those were the things that were "too much". And at night Y / N lay with her head buried in the pillow, repeating this mantra in her head, which she always said to herself, when she had spent the day outside of her comfort zone:

"I hate people. I hate people. I hate people."

Sometimes Y / N's comfort zone was only the radius of her bed and then she hated getting up early. There was also her annoying roommate Andrea, who often dragged strangers into her room during the day and Y / N hated people. However, Andrea was also one of those people, who preferred to spend their nights in strange beds rather than their own, which is why Y / N was often alone at night.

It was Monday afternoon and Y / N had been in bed all day reading some stupid book. Probably no one had noticed, that she was missing from Diane's seminar today, she was practically invisible.

And when there was a knock on the door that afternoon, Y / N assumed, that it was Andrea who had forgotten her key again.

Y / N was wearing leggings and sweather and still she felt naked when she climbed out of bed to open the door, which was because she wasn't made up. When she opened the door of her room and saw who was standing there, she wanted to slam the door again.

"P-professor Sherman," she stuttered awkwardly, staring into Diane's slightly smiling face.

"What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, I just wanted to see if everything is okay with you," replied Diane with crossed arms. Y / N frowned.

"Do you visit all of your students, who are sick to see if they are okay?"

"I uh- No".

Diane shook her head.

"May I come in?"

Y / N's eyes widened slightly.

"That's not a good idea," she said quickly.

"It'll only take a moment, so please."

Y / N took a second to think about it. She hated Diane, this woman had destroyed Y / N's comfort zone and didn't have to do much to get it. Y / N was so emotional and so vulnerable that a little "weird" was enough to make her insecure.

"Okay," she finally said, nodding before turning to let the woman in.

Now she noticed, how chaotic the whole room was and she was immediately ashamed when she pushed Andrea's shirt aside with her foot, before she sat on the edge of her bed. Diane had closed the door behind her and crossed the room to take the chair at Y / N's desk, which was next to the bed.

"So, how are you?" Asked Diane, sounding a little uninterested, if Y / N could tell.

"I'm okay."

Y / N shrugged.

"I'll be honest," Diane began, staring lost at the chess board, that was on Y /N's desk.

"When I found out today, that you called in sick, I was initially concerned, that it was because of our chess game."

Y / N's eyes narrowed. Damn it.

"Why should I call in sick about it? It was nothing," she lied and Diane nodded quickly.

"I know," she muttered, pensively lifting a black pawn off the board to turn it between her fingers.

"That was, to be honest, the best chess game I've ever played with anyone."

Y / N snorted and shook her head.

"Then it seems like, you've never played with good players, I'm actually really bad," she said with a wry smile.

"It doesn't really matter," muttered Diane.

"I was just afraid, you'd called in sick, because you might find it strange to play chess with me, as your professor."

"And you thought the situation would improve, if you just visit me, as your student, in my room?", Y / N replied confused and Diane just shrugged her shoulders.

"I guess- Uhm, it would be nice if you go now", Y / N explained and got up, because she wanted to go to the door to open it, but when she made the first step, Diane suddenly grabbed her wrist and Y / N immediately whirled around to face her. She stared into Diane's eyes, which looked up at her with concern.

"Are you depressed?" She asked quietly and Y / N decided to hate her even more. Diane found her weird at first and now depressed. Then there was her tight grip on Y / N's wrist, Y / N hated body contact.

"What the hell, no," she hissed and pulled her arm free from Diane's grip. With quick steps she ran to the door to open it again.

"I think you should really go now, I don't want anyone to see me in the dorm with you."

Diane stared at Y / N for a few seconds, before finally getting up and walking to the door as well.

"I'm sorry, that I bothered you," she muttered without looking at Y / N.

"Get well soon, Miss Y / L / N."

With that she stepped out of the room and Y / N immediately locked the door behind her when she felt tears sting her eyes.

I hate people.

#diane sherman x reader #diane sherman #diane sherman imagine #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagine

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jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 3 years

Text

Exit Strategy (S2, E10)

My time-stamped thoughts for this episode are below. As always I reference Malcolm’s mental health. A lot. So if that’s going to be a trigger for you, don’t keep reading.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

0:40 - Oh it’s Capshaw’s dream. Well. That’s upsetting.

1:10 - .....she was performing surgery on herself?!!? WTF?

1:37 - The fact that Jessica broke into her adult child’s home to steal Martin memorabilia is hilarious to me. Also deeply upsetting. Because - dysfunctional.

1:40 - “In my loft? Where I live?” hahahahahahaha sassy!Malcolm for the win! Also - there is something so so cute about the way Tom delivers this line. <3 It’s precious.

1:46 - “I don’t always wake up screaming.” ....so historically we know this is true. Malcolm didn’t wake up screaming at the beginning of 1x15 when Eve was in his loft....but still... Malcolm’s mental health has been in tatters. I find it highly unlikely that he wouldn’t be waking up screaming. Especially since he was hallucinating last episode!!!!

1:55 - The Never. Ever. Room?!?!?! I’m shook. I’m amused. I’m horrified. I can’t believe that Jessica would let Malcolm keep that stuff in his loft. Why isn’t it locked up in a storage container or something? Jessica let Malcolm - the boy that Martin traumatized - sleep in the same building as all of Martin’s belongings?!?! Nah. Jessica is so overbearing .... I just don’t buy it.

2:21 - “I am ignoring the Surgeon altogether.” Awww look at how proud Malcolm is to tell Jessica about his serial killer cleanse. He’s like, “I finally have news that will make Mom happy!!” <3 <3 Precious.

2:36 - “He’s been calling. Non-stop.” annnnnnnd there’s are sad profiler. He’s putting on a good act for Jessica but he’s still clearly in a lot of emotional pain.

3:15 - Really? The writers have Jessica riding the Brightwell train now? For real? I’m here for it but it feels kind of fast? Forced? Out of left field? I mean Jessica’s totally the type of mom who meddles in her kid’s love life (remember Eve?) but in the middle of the whole Ainsley-Endicott fiasco? Jessica should be more concerned about Malcolm’s mental state and less concerned with his relationship status.

3:17 - Did Malcolm really just admit (sort of abstractly, but still) that he’s interested in Dani romantically? Doesn’t he realize that Jessica will try to interfere?!? He’s basically given her his blessing!!!

3:25 - awwwww....the pic of baby!Malcolm and baby!Ainsley is so cute. <3

3:40 - UGH. I want to know more about that key and what it unlocks so badly!!!

3:46 - “Oh great. Detective Mom.” <3 I love it when he calls Jessica “Mom” instead of “Mother”. <3

4:36 - ......Mr.David and Martin have such an interesting dynamic. Martin listens to Mr. David without showing any signs of anger, resentment, or his usual psychopathic manipulation. Mr. David controls Martin much the way a parent controls their well-behaved child. I just find it so fascinating that Martin treats Mr. David with respect. That’s not Martin’s usual reaction when things don’t go his way.

5:00 - I’m so happy we keep getting more screen time with Hector. <3 This dude’s great.

6:05 - soooo the fact that Jessica stabbed Daryl in the neck is probably going to inhibit Daryl’s ability to speak right? Making Daryl a useless source of information regarding the breakout?

6:24 - I love everything about this scene with Gil’s new car. I love that Malcolm’s “wow, the Coronet’s looking good.” is said with this little smile. As though Malcolm doesn’t really care about the car, but he knows mentioning it will make Gil happy. I love Gil’s rant about “No more Whitly’s around my car.” and Gil’s glare when JT asks about Tarmel’s around the car. I love Dani’s “boys and toys” line. UGh. It was just the little dose of found family that I craved. <3 BUT I do have one small complaint/concern. Gil. He said, “No more Whitly’s around my car.” Whitly’s. Why did he refer to Malcolm as a Whitly?

6:54 - “Some major Japan-y vibes.”.....I’m sorry the word you’re looking for is “Japanese”?!?! Anyone else get super distracted by this line?!?

7:56 - “Old people” HA. OMG. I love this so much. <3 <3

9:11 - As someone with severe social and general anxiety that has at times bordered on a form agoraphobia - Dani’s dismissive tone when she says “he’s afraid to leave the house.” hurts. Especially since it feels really out of character for Dani. She doesn’t usually dismiss people so quickly. Maybe there’s a story there? She had an agoraphobic family member?

10:14 - “NYPD. Adjacent.” Why isn’t Malcolm a member of the NYPD yet? He trained with the FBI. He’s clearly capable of being employed as a detective for the NYPD. Is it because he doesn’t want to carry a gun? Is it because Gil doesn’t want Malcolm to carry a gun? Is it bureaucracy (probably)?

10:44 - Malcolm explaining why the antique pistol won’t fire is adorable.

10:57 - This dude hasn’t left the house since March of 1997. Martin was arrested in 1998. Is this supposed to have some sort of double meaning? Like maybe Malcolm discovered that Martin was killing people in 1997 but the chloroform confused him for a while and he didn’t call the cops until 98′? Is this supposed to be a metaphor for the fact that Malcolm hasn’t been truly alive since 1997? He’s just been in survival mode - he hasn’t been living.

11:22 - “I’m not too good around people.” This dude is Malcolm. Malcolm lives in a state of constant fear and anxiety. Malcolm isn’t so good with relationships or casual human interactions.

11:30 - It makes perfect sense to me that Dani is the detective that Malcolm brings in to talk to Gerald. Forget the Brightwell agenda. Gerald is a scared old man. JT and Gil are authoritative men (they’re teddy bears but they can also be scary). Dani is a woman. Women are typically seen as less of a threat. Though Dani could totally kick just about anyone’s ass. But it makes sense to me that a scared witness would feel more comfortable around the smaller female detective than the large male ones.

12:03 - Ugh. I feel so bad for Gerald. The dude is clearly experiencing some sensory overload on top of his anxiety. :(

12:15 - hahahaha the absolute best part of this little Brightwell moment is Gerald’s reaction. This old man just connected the dots and you can see it ALL over his face. ....but also, it’s a really cute moment. <3

12:38 - “Too late if you ask me.” Is it just me or does Gerald seem protective of Rosalie here? Almost paternal?

13:03 - “You still think like a grand master” Is this supposed to be an illusion to the way that Malcolm thinks about cases? He thinks like the killer in order to solve the case?

13:13 - WHY DOES MALCOLM KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT A CHESS LEGEND FROM THE 70s and 80s?!? Did baby!Malcolm have a chess phase? I want details.

13:22 - I love Gerald. He’s such a cute little old man. He’s scared but you can tell that he has a good heart and that he’s extremely smart. Look at how impressed he is with Malcolm. <3 He’s a lot like Malcolm.

13:27 -”Memory was always my gift.” Memory is Gerald’s gift but it’s been Malcolm’s curse.

15:04 - Malcolm is so close to snapping. Look at this poor boy. He’s at the end of his rope. :(

15:14 - “Looks like you got some sleep.” Awwww proud!Gil <3

15:40 - “Agoraphobia often comes from trauma.” Yep. Malcolm identifies with Gerald. I wonder if Malcolm ever went through a period of agoraphobia? Maybe as a teen?

15:48 - .....is this foreshadowing? When the truth about Endicott comes out is Malcolm going to be deemed an ‘unreliable witness’? Or maybe that’s how Ainsley is going to try and pin the murder on Malcolm?

15:58 - annnnnd we finally got a good shot of concerned!Gil. There’s no way that Gil isn’t reading between the lines here. He knows Malcolm identifies with Gerald and he knows Malcolm is having issues with his mental health, identity, and self-worth. SOMEONE CONFRONT HIM. WHERE IS THE MALCOLM INTERVENTION?!!?

16:20 - “Are you alright? Don’t answer that.”.....because Martin doesn’t actually care about Malcolm’s mental or physical health. Martin is a narcissist who has a story to tell.

16:27 - “No. Me first.” I’m. So. Proud. Of. Malcolm. <3 <3

16:56 - “That felt good.” :) Awwww... <3 I’m proud of Malcolm for this but Martin is totally going to hold it against him in later episodes. It’s going to fuel some sort of anger. Just wait for it.

17:05 - Again. Mr. David acts like Martin’s dad. If Martin were 8 years old.

17:40 - Chrisitan Brole is a treasure. His acting is incredible. Friar Pete is creepy, likeable, funny, and terrifying. Honestly. Give him an Emmy.

20:00 - “*sigh* kid.” This breaks my heart. You can see Gil’s doubt and concern all over his face. He’s doubting Malcolm’s ability to make an accurate profile of Gerald because he knows how much Malcolm identifies and sympathizes with Gerald. He’s concerned about Malcolm because....I mean have you seen him lately? The boy is spiralling and it hurts to watch. But Gil is scared for Malcolm right now. Gil is now worried that the cases aren’t enough to distract Malcolm. That Malcolm can’t work on cases anymore. That Malcolm’s mental health has compromised his ability to work effectively.

20:50 - “We’re friends. Partners” Listen to the longing in Malcolm’s voice when he says “partners”. He wants to be romantic partners with Dani - not just work partners. It’s obvious. This boy is an open book when it comes to how he feels about Dani.

21:08 - “And she never will.” there is something about the way Tom delivers this line. How he sort of trips over the words. I can’t tell if it’s intentional or not but it works. It somehow makes it more raw and emotional. Malcolm wants so so badly to tell Dani how he feels but he’s convinced that he’s a monster. That she deserves someone more stable than him. Someone with less trauma. Malcolm is convinced that he’s not safe for anyone to love. Malcolm is convinced he’s going to snap and become Martin.

21:17 - “Sounds lonely.” I love the way Malcolm immediately dismisses this as ‘tactical empathy’. Malcolm has accepted that he will be alone forever. He’s convinced himself he deserves it. I’m willing to bet that Malcolm rarely (if ever) actually feels lonely. Between coping mechanisms, hallucinations, and trauma - I doubt his mind is ever quiet enough for him to notice loneliness.

21:27 - “You’ve spent your life mastering a game. I’ve spent mine mastering how people think.” .....ok but chess is basically about predicting your opponents moves and then Gerald graduated to people watching soooooo they’re really not that different.

22:06 - I love this. I love how Malcolm turns on Gerald only for Gerald to emphatically explain how he lives through that window. Because - isn’t Malcolm the same? How many people have accused Malcolm of being a murderer when really he’s just a man who only feels alive when he’s solving murders and putting away killers?

22:50 - Rosalie helped Gerald much like Dani helps Malcolm. But Gerald couldn’t help Rosalie because he was trapped in his trauma. .....sooooo what’s going to happen to Dani? Or is this just supposed to be a reference to the fact that Dani can’t trust Malcolm because he’s keeping Endicott a secret and she knows something is up?

22:51 - ummmmm 60bpm??!?!? That’s a borderline athletic resting heart rate for a man in his 50s. There’s no way Martin’s in that great of shape. He’s trapped in his cell most of the day.

24:28 - oooookkkkkayyyy so maybe Capshaw isn’t as smart as I thought she was. Martin is playing her like a fiddle. Although that dream sequence from the intro did make it seem like she was only interested in Martin because she craved medical power and respect.

25:22 - Martin didn’t call Jessica his wife to screw with Capshaw. He genuinely still thinks of Jessica as his wife.....this is not good for the future. This tracks with the dreams Martin’s had throughout this season of going back home to his family.

25:44 - Oh yeah. Jessica knows that woman is into Martin.

26:41 - “Isn’t it obvious? It’s the key to my heart.” LMAO holy shit.

26:56 - “I can tell when you’re lying.” “Not historically.”......Martin has a point.

28:27 - This counts as my “someone confronts Malcolm about his mental health” bingo square for the episode right?

28:35 - Look at Gil. He knows Malcolm is lying through his teeth and he’s so so tired of it. He looks so sad and annoyed. Gil loves Malcolm so much and he’s clearly concerned about Malcolm but I honestly think Gil just feels helpless right now. Malcolm is spiralling and Gil can’t help because Malcolm won’t open up.

29:15 - “When she didn’t give up Clayton he killed her. Brave girl.”.....does this mean there’s going to be an attempt on someone’s life this season? Maybe Martin tries to kill Ainsley because she’s going to pin Endicott’s murder on Malcolm? Or Malcolm tries to kill Ainsley because she doesn’t give up Martin’s location? Or Ainsley/Martin try to kill Malcolm because he tries to come clean about everything?

29:26 - “If anyone can get through to this guy it’s you.” THANK YOU. Malcolm really needed that assurance. This dude is so full of negative emotions, self doubt, and pain. Every moment he feels supported, believed in, or loved is immensely treasured.

30:26 - Oh Capshaw. You dumb dumb dumb woman. Look at Martin’s face. Capshaw has freed a monster. That’s Martin’s “I’m a raging serial killer” expression.

30:29 - Holy shit. Look at how quickly Martin put the “I’m a harmless doctor” mask. In the span of about 1 second he went from killer to angel. Michael Sheen is incredible.

31:04 - “You don’t have to be trapped in here.” It breaks my heart to hear Malcolm encourage Gerald to break free from his trauma when Malcolm is still a prisoner to his own.

31:10 - “This is your next move” “No. It’s not”. THIS. This sums up anxiety disorders. Everyone tells you to ‘move on’ or ‘take a deep breath’. They all tell you that ‘everything will be fine’. They ask you ‘what’s the worst thing that could happen.” The problem: most people with anxiety disorders know the majority of their fears (or at least the severity of them) is irrational. Most people with anxiety disorders have tried therapy, drugs, coping mechanisms, breathing techniques, ect. Anxiety doesn’t go away because you want it to. Telling someone to move on - just makes it worse. Especially someone who has lived with severe anxiety so long that it feels like a crucial part of their personality. I’ve had a severe anxiety disorder for as long as I can remember - I don’t want to heal. I don’t know who I’d be without severe anxiety. I’m scared to find out.

32:10 - “Family comes first”........soooo is Martin escaping to groom Ainsley for the family business (murder)? For Malcolm (to save him from Ainsley)? To protect Malcolm from a new Surgeon related skeleton (akin to Endicott)? WHY?

32:33 - ahhhh Papa!Gil. I’ve missed you.

33:25 - I have this headcannon that baby!Malcolm had pet rats at some point (he’d had snakes so I feel like rats would be in his wheelhouse). One day while Malcolm was at school the rats escaped from their cage and scared the crap out of Jessica. Jessica demands that the rats be removed from the home. That’s it. That’s the scene that plays in my head.

33:39 -.....Jessica is wearing a ring on her left ring finger. Why?

34:03 - “Jess it’s good to hear from you but -” They’re dating again now. Right? <3

34:06 - “What?!” Fear and confusion. That’s the look on Gil’s face. We love to see it.

34:25 - “Martin is escaping.” Look at Gil’s face. He’s terrified. He’s staying calm and acting like he’s in control but this dude is terrified that the people he loves most in the world (Jessica and Malcolm) are in serious and immediate danger.

34:50 - .....last I checked Malcolm was claustrophobic with specific closet-related trauma......

35:40 - “There’s only one play for a pawn.”.....does this mean Malcolm considers himself a pawn in Martin’s game? Disposable. Limited options. Replaceable. Of little worth? :(

35:57 - “What would you know about it Judas.” Huh. Pete is pissed at Martin. Is it because Pete views Martin’s nasty relationship with Capshaw as a betrayal akin to Judas’ betrayal of Jesus?

36:36 - Jessica using her heels as a weapon is honestly such a mood. hahaha

36:54 - Poor Jessica. The moment she realizes that she’s trapped with a killer who not only hates Martin but also has an hallucinatory friend is haunting. This woman goes from terrified to petrified. But look at her poker face. She’s brave. She tries to talk her way out of it. She tries to think her way out of it. She’s like Malcolm.

37:42 - Jessica firmly telling Daryl not to take another step right before she stabs him in the neck with a high heel is everything. Listen to her terrified screaming. She can’t believe she just stabbed the man (even if it was self-defence). This woman did the impossible while scared to death. She is a badass. She’s my hero. I love her.

38:12 - “All she had to do was tell me where my brother was. Except they were in love”.....does this mean Ainsley or Martin is going to try and kill Dani?

39:32 - “Don’t you think that’s what Rosalie would’ve wanted for you? This time make the right choice.” Wow. Malcolm is really metaphorically berating himself. What I heard was “Don’t you think Dani would want you to live without fear and guilt? This time - tell her your secret. Come clean. You’ll feel better.”

40:12 - ....so did Dani steal Gil’s keys or did he give them to her? Can we see how mad Gil is about this? Please? .....also the not-so-subtle “Dani is going to be a part of the Whitly family because she hurt Gil’s car” is not lost on me. I’m just more interested in Gil’s reaction to Dani hurting his baby.

40:21 - “I see why you like her.” hahaha Gerald is all of us. Whether or not you ship Brightwell, you can’t deny that Dani is a badass and a good friend to Malcolm. That’s reason enough for Malcolm to like her - not necessarily in a romantic way.

40:30 - Where the hell did Daryl go? If Jessica was trapped where did the man with a high heel in his neck go?!!?!

40:33 - “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” <3 <3 The whump whore in me is in love. Forget Gillica. I’ll listen to Gil comforting a traumatized member of the team or Jessica any time, any day. <3

40:50 - I have so many questions about this escape. Are the guys sticking together? If not - do they know where the other guys plan to go/do? Where will they be getting the post-escape change of clothes (you know the ones that aren’t property of Claremont)?

40:55 - I’ll be honest, I’m shocked. They’ve been teasing Martin’s escape all season but I really thought he wasn’t going to escape until the finale. Now I’m so excited for the finale. If it’s not a Martin-Ainsley-Malcolm showdown or a Gil-Martin showdown I’m going to be sad.

41:13. - Martin and Gerald both just took their first breath of fresh air as ‘free’ men after 23-24 years. The symmetry of this episode’s two main plot lines is more obvious than usual.

41:44 - Look at Gerald being Malcolm’s wingman. hahaha it’s so cute. He’s self-appointed himself as Malcolm’s grandpa and I’m here for it.

41:51 - REALLY MALCOLM?!!? YOU CHOOSE TO LISTEN TO A VOICEMAIL FROM THE SURGEON NOW?!?! #MORON

42:29 - Martin’s entire message for Malcolm is haunting. Even now, he’s trying to manipulate Malcolm. “I’m not the man I used to be”. I’ll promise you right now - Martin will be killing at least one person in the next 3 episodes. He’s addicted to killing. End of story.

“I’m doing this for you” ....Is Martin going after Ainsley? I’m genuinely concerned that Martin thinks Ainsley is going to try and kill Malcolm or pin the Endicott murder on Malcolm. I think Martin caught wind of it and is planning on ‘taking care of the problem’ (Ainsley).

42:35 - Look at Dani. She’s terrified. For Malcolm. For Gil. For New York. For herself. She knows how bad this is and she’s scared.

42:44 - “You fath-. The Surgeon.” THIS. Dani realized that Malcolm doesn’t need to be reminded that his father is a serial killer. Dani realized that family is more than blood. The Surgeon escaped. Malcolm is in danger. But Malcolm’s father didn’t escape. Malcolm’s father has been dead since 1997/1998 when Malcolm found out he was a serial killer.

42:55 - Malcolm. :( Look at our baby. :( He’s done. Absolute horror and terror. He looks like he’s going into shock. I honestly thought (*cough* hoped *cough*) he was going to pass out. THIS is what’s going to remove Malcolm as a suspect for ‘aiding/knowing that Martin was planning on escaping’. Same with Jessica. Ainsley doesn’t have a terror driven alibi though. At least - not that we’ve seen.

AHHHHHHHH this was such an intense episode. I can’t wait for Tuesday. <3

If Malcolm doesn’t have a full on mental breakdown soon I’m going to have a stress-induced breakdown for him. Seriously.

Thanks for hanging out.

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 7)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2438

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

~~~~~~~~~~~

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

The next morning, you were about to meet Hank after the routine you’d set up when you saw Charles make his way towards the alcohol in the study.

“No,” you said sternly, following him in and taking the bottle from him. “No alcohol before noon.”

“I beg your pardon? This is my house. You are a guest here, and if I want to drink from sun up to sun down I bloody will,” he said, anger clear in his tone and frown as his eyes raked your form.

“Just until noon,” you repeated calmly. “Surely your serum will hold out until then? Why don’t you go set up a game of chess and I’ll be in the library to meet you shortly.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to distract me,” he noted, his face a mask of humor.

“Good thing you don’t know any better,” you teased with a tight smile. “Please? I know it’s a passion of yours and I’ve always wanted to play.”

“Wait, you’ve never played chess?”

You shook your head, innocence wrapping your face and gesture. “No.”

“Why not? Hasn’t everyone?”

“I was much more of a gin rummy kind of girl,” you explained.

“Ah, I see. Not in my wheelhouse but I could give that a go,” he offered.

“I’d love to show you… So, uh, off to the library then?” you asked.

He smiled and laughed. “Yes, I suppose we are meeting in there. Five minutes?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said with a smile.

He swept around you and as soon as he was out of sight you broke out into a sprint to find Hank.

“Hey, where’d you disappear to? I’ve started on extracting the--”

“I can’t help. Not this morning.”

“What? Why not?”

“Charles was going to start drinking and the only thing I could think of to divert his attention was a game of chess so… we’re playing chess.”

His eyebrows shot up. “So while I’m in here, you’re going to be playing a game?”

“I know, I’m sorry, but you want him to get better right? Maybe it’s best he has some company with humans rather than with a glass and a needle.”

Hank’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, Hank, I know you’re doing the best you can. I just… We need to keep him focused and away from the alcohol. Think you can work on this without me?”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” he said, a touch of disappointment in his tone.

“Thanks, you’re the best. I’ll try to be back as fast as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he sadly replied. “Just… go keep him company.”

An expression of sad sympathy colored your face. All you did was nod before dashing off to the library. Charles was sitting on the right side, a small table set up with chess as he sat there staring at the board.

You were surprised at how your heart felt every time you laid eyes on him. Even in his worst state, this man made you feel… grounded. It was as if you were walking around half-empty, then you got close to him and everything felt right with the world. Even if he was drug and alcohol dependent and a bit of an asshole, just being in his presence, everything was okay.

You walked in and sat down across from him, honestly a little nervous. Knowing this man through a screen was one thing, but sitting down across from him, it was an entirely different feeling. A different dynamic, especially since it had been a year since you’d even spoken.

How much had he changed? How had you changed? Talking every day with one person, you knew what to expect. He was in grad school, you were in residency. He was working towards teaching, you were dealing with patients. It was a no brainer. You swapped stories of graduations, accolades, promotions, and victories. What stories would you swap now? How his adopted sibling had abandoned him, his spine neglecting his ability to walk, his school ripped away from him, not a friend in the world except the two people in this mansion with him. What kind of stories would those be?

“Alright,” you started cheerily, “how do we play?”

“So you’ve really never played?” he asked with a bemused grin.

“No. I started to learn the rules once, from my uncle, but the idea of losing pieces just to win an endgame... “You shook your head. “It seems barbaric.”

He laughed gently. “There’s nothing barbaric about it. It’s a highly intellectual game that involves strategy and knowing your opponent.”

You looked up through your lashes as you glanced down at the board. “And you think you know me?”

“I’d like to think I do, after ten years.”

You made a noise of contemplation. “Hmm, I was under the impression you didn’t remember a thing about me.”

“Wanting to forget you and forgetting you are two vastly different things, Y/N.”

You smiled.

“You’ve never said my name before,” you noted quietly, your heart fluttering and warming. He might not think it was important, or nice at all, but you’d waited a very long time to hear this.

You were on a very different side of this romance. It appeared Charles wasn’t ready for it, but you were very much prepared to jump right in. Every little sentimental action he did, every little way he tilted his mouth, the way his eyes penetrated your very soul, the way his accent fell off his lips -- it was practically intoxicating. Here you were, swimming like a school girl like the night you found out you had a soulmate; yet it seemed for Charles you were just a guest to interact with, to mildly entertain.

It tore your heart asunder.

“I’m slowly learning to right some of my wrongs,” he said in a soft voice. “Alright, let’s see, so you have the pawn and the pawn can move like this, see?” he began and he took about ten minutes explaining the game to you, being very patient.

“You ready to begin?”

“Sure.”

So the two of you sat, playing chess, not saying a word for about twenty minutes, only halfway through the game.

“So, did you play this when you had your powers?” you inquired cautiously.

“Actually,” he began, making his move, taking your rook, “I did.”

“Did you use them?”

“I tried not to,” he explained, “but it’s like music playing in the background. You can pick up on things people are thinking if it’s loud, distinct, or stands out. So sometimes I would hear what they were thinking, sometimes I didn’t. I tried to ignore it.”

“How did you learn to control them?”

“Practice. Quieting them was...is… the hardest part. Once that’s done, I can do the rest easily.”

“And all the other… facets, like accessing memories, how did you learn how to do that? On a girlfriend or?”

He laughed, his eyes never leaving the board as you studied your moves as well. “Are you trying to probe to see if I had a girlfriend previous to our… relationship?”

You gave a quick half smile, filled with amusement. “I wasn’t consciously, but I suppose it slipped out. You’re avoiding the question, should I assume I’m right?”

“You know, Dr. Y/L/N, not everything or everyone has to be psychoanalyzed,” he countered teasingly.

“I know, I know. I just… I’m curious about that part of your life, that’s all.”

“For your information, I didn’t test on my girlfriend. I actually used my step-brother. When he bullied me, afterwards, I’d probe his mind. I realized I could access memories, get into his head, and learned in there. At first, it was an accident, and I couldn’t break the link… but then when we went to sleep, it broke. Later, I purposely tried to connect, disconnect, and read thoughts. Until his father died, and they moved out that is…”

“Did Raven ever meet Cain?”

“No. No, Raven came to us a few months after Cain’s father died and he moved away to live with his aunt.”

“I see. So you practiced on your abusive step brother?”

“It was all I had. Doing that to my mother felt wrong, Raven asked that I never do it to her, and with the kids at school I couldn’t tell if I was reading memories or fantasies. Your move by the way.”

“Oh, yes, right,” you said, snapping out of your sympathy induced trance. You made an arbitrary move before getting back to the conversation. “So no girlfriend?”

“Like a dog with a bone,” he muttered.

“I prefer the term persistent.”

“No, no girlfriend in the picture. Not for some time. I dated briefly, just after Harvard.”

“So… when you were seventeen?”

“Mhm. She was an undergrad. She wasn’t very mature though, so it was over before it began. I knew I wouldn’t find anyone on my level. I couldn’t even legally buy cigarettes but I had graduated college, so… the odds of me finding anyone worthy of my time were slim. Of course, that was before your scribbling showed up on my arm.”

“That wasn’t scribbling,” you accused with a laugh, fake offense in your tone. “I put a lot of time, thought, and effort into that, thank you.”

“If that’s your example of a lot of time and effort then maybe I still haven’t met my intellectual match, hmm?” he joked.

You narrowed your eyes before taking his bishop.

“Maybe you spoke too soon,” you challenged as he glanced up at you and you raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps I did. And you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you have a highschool sweetheart before you knew about me?”

“Oh, well… I don’t really see how it’s relevant--”

“Double standard, Y/N. That isn’t very nice. I was probed about my entire romantic career but I can’t get so much as a--”

“Fine. Yes. I dated. Two guys in high school. One lasted about eight months from January of sophomore year to the beginning of junior year.”

“And the second?”

“Four months of junior year.”

“No one dazzled you senior year?”

“Just you,” you hummed, not thinking before you answered.

“Oh, just me?” he asked, catching your little slip up.

Your cheeks heated before you smiled. “Yes, if I’m being totally honest.”

He was looking at you, curiosity and merriment burning in his face. He’d only glanced at you three times during this whole game. In a way, you were thankful. When he gave you a direct look you felt like you always had to overshare. When he was looking down at the board you could focus on answering carefully, filtering. When he was staring at you, it was like truth serum.

“So what happened with the other two?” he questioned as his attention drifted back down to the board.

“One was determined that I follow him, you know, go to the college he had his eye on, despite what I wanted. So we parted ways.” You made a move. “And the other liked a friend of mine more so we mutually ended things.”

“Sounds like you haven’t had any bad luck with men, so that’s good.”

“Sounds like you haven't had any luck with women. One woman throughout your whole life? You’re thirty-two.”

“Yes, so?”

“Well, if you only dated at seventeen--”

“Y/N, I met you, my soulmate, at twenty-one. I didn’t date after that, so, most of my life, has been with you… Romantically, that is, if that’s what you want to call this.”

“You swore off dating for me?”

“Of course,” he said as if it were obvious, “didn’t you do the same for me?”

“Yeah without question.”

“So why do you find it odd that I did the same?”

“Well,” you started, nervously wringing your hands, “you’re you, you know? Handsome, accomplished, driven, confident.”

“And you’re just a wet rag? Or what am I missing? You’re all those things as well, except handsome. I’d choose a different word.”

“And what word might that be?”

“Nothing short of stunning.”

His words made you blush quickly and smile to yourself.

“So tell me, why did you commit to us but were worried I didn’t?” he wondered.

“You just have so much more going for you than I do.”

“That’s not true. I know quite a bit about you and you’re quite the catch. Not to mention, I’m not like that. I was dedicated to you the moment we encountered each other.”

“I’m glad to know you felt the same about this.”

“Of course,” he concurred before the two of you finished the game, with him beating you easily.

“Ugh, see that’s why I don’t like that vile game.”

He chuckled. “It’s a fantastic game. You did quite well for your first time. I bet you’ll beat me next time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, loudly. “Not likely.”

“You should believe in yourself more.”

“I believe in myself plenty, except when it comes to strategy games.”

“But you play gin rummy?”

“Well that’s entirely different,” you assured with a smile as the two of you cleared the chess game.

“Is it now? Well let’s just see. I’ve got some cards in my desk drawer there. Show me how to play and we’ll see if it’s all that different.”

“Okay, sure. You got to show your prowess, I’ll show you mine.”

“There’s that feistiness I missed,” he cheered as you got up and got the cards, his words making you stop for half a second.

So he did miss you...

“Okay, so the game is easy, especially compared to that mini war game we just played,” you joked and he smiled. Knowing you could do that to him lit you up inside.

You explained the game, all the rules and played. He caught on quickly, which didn’t surprise you - he was practically a genius. What did surprise you however, was that he beat you at your own game.

“How the hell did you--?” you started, flabbergasted, staring down at the table.

“All strategy games are the same, Y/N. I’ve been playing them for a while.”

“But this is my game and you, you just beat me.”

“Oh, don’t be a sore loser. You’ll do fine next time.”

“I should’ve done fine this time,” you mumbled. “Well I need to get dinner made, so I’ll be off. See you for dinner?”

He nodded and smiled and you left, reflecting on the good bit of information you’d learned that day. And focusing on how this might not be as bad as you thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@essie1876

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please

@superwholocked527

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Charles Xavier

@bohemianrhapsody86

@lenawiinchester

TSMU

@tilltheendwilliwrite

#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange fic #stephen strange #hank mccoy

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moonlightheretic · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday: Two Queens (working title)

Well it seems I have risen from the dead. I am actually posting on Wip Wednesday for once in like 7 months. There is some possible lore deviation here but what is fanfiction if not an expansion upon canon material? This is still in its rough stage so please bear with me.

CW Gore and murderous thoughts.

I untangled each bundle of braids and snipped them at the base while Solas went back to resting his eyes, still sleepy from our previous activities.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and freed more hair from his head.

The course braids slid to the floor hissing like serpents.

I checked the mirror to see his eyes still closed and Dal’nim unsuccessfully attempting to disassemble one of his braids on her own. She glanced up at me with a coy smile and finger pressed to her lips.

I grimaced and caught my own reflection in the polished shears. They were sharp enough to do the job, they could slice more than just hair.

His neck was exposed, and his eyes were shut.

"You asked me earlier when we played chess ...if I joined the Evanuris in their deleterious game.”

I jumped, startled, and nearly took off my own finger.

He watched me curiously with a brow held in question.

I nodded slowly.

"I was one of the Pawns...then I became a Knight...then a King and then...something more."

"You were a slave?" I asked as gently as I could, trying to recover from my surprise, my tongue coiled around the last word hesitantly.

"Not exactly," Solas explained and finished with a sorrow drenched whisper, "She asked me to fight."

"Mythal?"

Snip.

"Yes." He answered after a pause.

"...so, you had to prove yourself."

"Not to her. Them." He hissed, as if referring to them at all was akin to a heated knife slicing through flesh.

"You became something more? Did Mythal elevate you?" I probed, genuinely interested.

Snip.

"I ascended as a general to lead her armies against them. To give orders, strategies, plans that ensured success. Victory canonized me as a god...as one of them."

Snip.

The memory that his imagery conjured struck a chord in an already fracturing symphonic resolve.

“Pawns, although simple can accomplish great things.”

In that moment he wasn’t referring to me. He was talking about himself.

Remorse settled into my chest, even though it had no right to. Every time an opportunity arose to kill this man, my own hand hesitated. As if it had a will of its own, its own beating heart, mind and soul. Instead of relishing in the self-serving redemption of ridding this world of its greatest threat, my heart rejected the thought of him drowning in a pool of his own blood.

I would have to convince it otherwise and I was running out of time.

Snip.

I counted all the areas of his body that would be lethal to these sheers.

Snip.

There would be four, I could run them through his eyes, slash his jugular, stab them through his heart, or jab them through his mouth. I had killed others in similar ways, would the Dread Wolf be different?

I warred with myself, my inner voice screaming at me from the abyss of my mind. “You asked for this! Coward!”

I kept waiting for someone, anyone to come in and take Dal'nim away... Even Talek would be acceptable I was desperate, and I would be willing to faint surprise if I had to. Moments past and I delayed time as much as I could.

I bore into his head, devoid of most hair, visions of Dal’nim’s face bathed in his blood haunted me.

It would be now or never.

"Why are you hesitating?"

I nearly choked on my own saliva and I inhaled sharply and met his eyes in the mirror.

His inquisitive gaze climbed down my face and torso to land on my hands, shifting languidly from left to right. A question followed soon after.

“Why are you spinning the shears?"

I caught myself, wrists still rotating as if I was holding my decorated daggers and ready to strike.

The door creaked open with a moan that split the silence. The Inquisition double agent peered in, eyes wide as he took sight of me with the sheers.

I lowered my shaking hand with the sheers, placing them on the table next to the chair.

Opportunity lost.

#solasgetshishaircut #theheretic #twoqueens #solas angst #solas romance #solas is fen'harel #agentsoffen'harel #post trespasser #tension #daific #solasfic #WIP Wednesday

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calwrites · 4 years

Text

The Masked Singer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: The team has become obsessed with The Masked Singer, an extremely silly singing competition about trying to guess what celebrity is singing behind a mask. Imagine Spencer’s surprise when he hears a familiar voice.

Warnings: none (unless you count bad writing lol)

Word Count: 6.2k

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

Spencer wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but it had. The team was obsessed with The Masked Singer. One morning, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia had been talking about it before they had to brief a new case. Apparently they had found the first season online after they had too many glasses of wine and had made it through half the episodes in one night.

“It’s just trying to guess what famous person is singing while wearing a mask?” Morgan had asked. “That doesn’t sound very hard.”

“Yeah it should be obvious, but it’s not and that’s what makes it so addicting. They disguise their voices when they talk and they give you these cryptic clues about who they are.”

Emily nodded along to Penelope’s point. “Plus the judges’ guesses are everywhere, which doesn’t help.”

“Maybe you should watch, Morgan. Put those profiling skills to use,” JJ teased.

Derek was opening his mouth to respond when Hotch walked into the room. “Unfortunately, we have a case that needs our profiling skills.”

Spencer thought that would be the last of it. They spent the next few days tracking down another serial killer, and he was looking forward to relaxing on the jet on the way home. Maybe he’d read for a bit if no one wanted to play chess with him. What he wanted more than anything, though, was to be able to go home to Y/N. But he couldn’t.

His thoughts of you were interrupted by Penelope popping up on a screen. “I have a wonderful surprise for my favorite crime fighters.”

“Well don’t just tease us, baby girl,” Derek prompted when Garcia paused for dramatic effect. Instead of answering, Garcia started playing something on another screen.

“Oh there was a new episode on last night,” Emily said excitedly. “No one looked up who was unmasked, right?” After getting verbal confirmation that no one had looked up who was unmasked the previous night, Emily and JJ gave the rest of the team a short rundown of who had already been sent home.

“And people actually agree to do this?” Rossi asked in disbelief when they were done. The girls ignored him, focusing instead on the show. Rossi and Morgan shrugged at each other, but Spencer could tell that they were both a little curious about the show.

“I know Donny Osmond, and that is definitely Donny Osmond,” Rossi yelled approximately twenty minutes later. “Just look at how he walks.”

“I think it should be cheating for Rossi to guess when he might actually know some of these people,” Derek complained. Emily and JJ both nodded in agreement, so Derek turned to Hotch. “Hotch?”

“It’s cheating.” Hotch was trying to seem like he wasn’t also paying too much attention to the show, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. Rossi threw his hands up and started arguing his case, but JJ shushed him as the clues for the next performer started.

And just like that, the team had a new tradition. Garcia would play any episodes they missed when they were on the jet on the way home from a case. If they were without a case when there was a new episode, they would get together at someone’s house, usually Rossi’s, to watch it as it aired.

Emily and Derek were probably the best at guessing correctly, but Rossi sometimes had the advantage of actually knowing the celebrity behind the mask. Hotch and JJ blamed their incorrect guesses on not having time to stay up to date on celebrities because of their kids. Most of the time, Spencer didn’t even bother guessing. He had no idea who most of the celebrities were, but he enjoyed watching as the rest of the team got into trying to figure it out. Garcia had been banned from guessing after the team found out she was doing her own research. She had tried to argue that if they could use their super profiling powers, she could use her internet sleuthing powers, but the others weren’t having it.

Spencer had mentioned the show to you when you two were on the phone chatting before he went over to Rossi’s for the season 2 premiere. Curious about the show that managed to captivate and puzzle actual FBI profilers, you had decided to start watching on your own. Now, you and Spencer discussed the show whenever you had both watched the new episodes. It was nice having something new besides work to talk about. Of course, you, like Rossi, had the advantage of actually knowing some of the celebrities.

“How did you know it was Sherri Shepherd?” Spencer asked you after he got back from Rossi’s one night. “You said you knew it was her from the first time you heard her sing.”

You laughed at the frustration in your boyfriend’s voice. More than anything, you wanted to be cuddled up with him on the couch. But you were on opposite coasts, so imagining his furrowed brow would have to do. “I’ve met Sherri Shepherd. I’ve been on The View. Or did you not watch that interview?”

You were just teasing him. You knew that Spencer watched every interview you did. He was the most supportive boyfriend ever, even though you knew that some of the answers you had to give in interviews hurt him. Every time you were asked about dating, you had to give an answer like ‘No one special,’ ‘Not looking for anything right now,’ ‘Too busy to start anything.’ Truthfully, you were too busy to start a new relationship. You were constantly filming a new movie, doing press for a new movie, or getting ready for a new movie. Plus, you already had a boyfriend. Why would you want another one?

It was hard being away from Spencer so much, but you both knew that it was what was best for your career right now. You had met Spencer when you were a struggling actor who had just finished filming your first major movie. Now, you were an Oscar winner who was constantly getting offers. Spencer had told you that you needed to take advantage of those offers to really cement your place in Hollywood. You had both decided that the best way to keep each other safe, from both the media and psychopaths with grudges, was not to go public with your relationship.

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

It was over three years ago. You had just finished filming in DC. Most of the cast and crew had already gone back to LA or wherever they called home, but you had decided to stay in DC for a few more days to unwind before going back to your empty apartment in New York. It was probably about time to accept the fact that you should move out to LA, but you preferred the East Coast to the West.

You wandered through a park, when a cluster of chess tables caught your eye. More specifically, one man sitting at the chess tables. He looked to be about your age, but what made you watch him was the way he was playing three games at once. And winning them all. When the games were over, his opponents all grumbled as they walked away, leaving the man looking at the boards almost sadly.

You knew how to play chess, but you wouldn’t say that you were great. Still, you had to talk to this guy. So you sat down across from him, startling him as he replaced all of the pieces to their starting positions. He blinked at you in surprise instead of saying anything, so you took the lead, moving a pawn out first.

The two of you played in silence for a few turns. You smiled every time you caught him looking at you, and he blushed every time he was caught. He was cute. You quickly realized that you had no chance of winning, so you abandoned any sort of strategy and began moving pieces at random. You watched as he became more and more confused at your moves.

“It’s going to be a tie,” he said finally. His voice was lovely. “I mean, I could still win, but looking at our moves throughout the game, it seems most likely that it’s going to be a tie.”

“Is there any way I could win?” Truthfully, you hadn’t even been expecting a tie, but you wanted him to keep talking.

He shook his head. “No. You actually had a decent chance of winning until I took your rook four turns ago. If you had moved your queen instead, then I would have had to move my knight, leaving my king open to check.”

You blinked at the man for a moment. “Do you remember every move we made?”

He nodded shyly. “I have an eidetic memory.” You had no idea what that was, but it sounded impressive. At your blank look, he launched into an explanation of an eidetic memory and how it was different from a photographic memory. You weren’t really sure what he was saying, but you liked listening to him.

“So, it’s probably going to be a draw,” he finished shyly, painfully aware that he had just spent way too long explaining something to you that he hadn’t asked him to explain. To his surprise, you grinned at him, taking his breath away.

“Well, I was going to say that if I win you have to tell me your name, and if you win I have to tell you my name. Since it’s a draw, I guess we’ll both have to tell each other our names. I’m Y/N.” You stuck out your hand, but he looked at it awkwardly.

“Considering how many pathogens are passed during a handshake, it’s actually safer to kiss. I’m Spencer,” he continued quickly as a blush spread across your cheeks.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Spencer. Honestly, I feel a little bit like I cheated. I started moving pieces randomly after about three turns.” Spencer looked shocked at your admission before he started laughing. “To make it up to you, can I buy you dinner tonight?” You were a little shocked at your own confidence, but thankfully Spencer seemed to like it.

“Only if I can buy you a coffee now.” You had agreed, obviously. The two of you spent the rest of the day together, getting to know each other. By dinner, it was like you had known each other forever. You had stayed in touch when you had to go back to New York. Spencer didn’t have a lot of free time, but you didn’t have any jobs at the moment, so you went down to DC whenever possible.

You and Spencer had only been officially dating for two weeks when your movie premiered. You weren’t ready for the media to scrutinize you two, and Spencer wasn’t ready for his coworkers to profile you, so you had agreed to keep your relationship on the down low.

Then you name blew up. The reviews for your movie, and your performance in particular, were glowing. People started suggesting an Oscar nomination for you. You started getting offers for roles your couldn’t refuse. So you packed up your life in New York and moved out to LA. You and Spencer talked all the time. He had even started texting you. Plus, you flew to DC whenever possible to be with him, even if it was just for a few hours. But it was still hard for you two to be apart for so long.

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

The season premiere of Masked Singer is tonight. Maybe you guys can watch it on the plane.

Spencer read your message and smiled. You knew it had been a tough case without him even having to say it. Sometimes he thought you could read his mind. You had a way of always knowing what he needed, even when he didn’t know.

A new season of their favorite show was just what the team needed. Spencer sent a quick text to Penelope to ask if it was possible for them to watch the show on the jet as it aired. She had responded not to underestimate her, which worried Spencer slightly.

The team sat in silence for a few minutes, the engine the only sound, until the screens came to life and the opening for The Masked Singer appeared. “I forgot this was coming back tonight,” JJ sighed in relief as the rest of the team smiled at the show. They settled in, ready to start trying to profile the celebrities in wacky costumes.

“And now, our very own royal contestant: The Queen,” the host said as a new clue package began to play. Spencer stiffened as The Queen began to talk. Despite the voice modification, Spencer could recognize the way you spoke. Your word choice. Your cadence. Even the way you walked onto the stage. Everything screamed Y/N. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the mask you had chosen. It was like the top of the queen chess piece. Not the mention the tight white costume looked great on you. What would really confirm Spencer’s theory was your singing, so he waited with baited breath and hoped no one on the plane would notice his sudden heightened interest.

“If I should stay, I would only be in your way.” Spencer’s breath caught.

“Aww. Whitney,” Derek exclaimed. The rest of the team joined in with similar comments of surprise and joy as the music joined your voice on screen, but Spencer was too focused on you to notice them.

As he watched, it was like the cape on your shoulders turned into the blanket he kept on his couch that you had wrapped around yourself. The microphone became a spatula that you held to you mouth instead of using it to flip the pancakes, belting this very song much to his neighbors’ annoyance. It was a scene he was used to, having seen it many times.

“That was amazing. There’s no way you’re not winning this season. But I have no idea who you are,” one judge said when you were done. The other judges echoed similar thoughts before they all started throwing around some possible names. Spencer smiled to himself as his teammates were similarly confused. No one mentioned your name. And they probably never would.

You were very insecure about your singing voice, though Spencer often told you that you shouldn’t be. However, you never even mentioned singing in any interviews, and you didn’t sing in front of anyone that wasn’t Spencer.

“So what brought you onto The Masked Singer?” one judge asked.

“I’m actually a big fan of the show, but the real reason was because it’s my boyfriend’s favorite show. I wanted to surprise him.” Your voice shook nervously as you spoke. Spencer couldn’t tell if it was because you had stage fright or because you had publicly announced that you had a boyfriend for the first time. Not that anyone knew it was you. You and Spencer had been talking about going public with your relationship for a few months now, but you had both always found reasons to keep putting it off. Spencer knew what you were doing. Once you were unmasked, you would have to acknowledge that you had a boyfriend.

Of course, some part of Spencer’s mind reminded him that all of this was filmed in advance. There were people somewhere who knew that you were The Queen and that you had a boyfriend. Spencer just hoped that the NDAs that they had signed were enough to keep that from getting out before the episode aired. Not that he had time to worry about that. You were still talking to the judges.

“Do you think he’s going to be surprised when you’re unmasked eventually? Not that that’s going to happen any time soon.”

“Definitely not. He probably knew it was me the minute I walked on the stage. Plus, he has to hear me sing all the time when I’m home.” It made Spencer’s heart soar hearing you refer to his little apartment as home. You spent more time in your Beverly Hills house than his apartment, but whenever you talked about going home, Spencer knew you were talking about getting back to DC. Getting back to him.

As the rest of the team continued to discuss guesses about your identity, Spencer pulled out his phone to text you.

The Queen sounded amazing.

Spencer knew that, wherever you were, you would smile when you read that text.

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

Pretty soon, the new episodes of The Masked Singer were the highlight of Spencer’s week. He was always antsy when they couldn’t watch an episode when it aired, desperate to make sure that you hadn’t been eliminated yet. He loved watching as your confidence in your voice and you stage presence grew.

Surprisingly, it was after you did a cover of Heart of Glass by Blondie that the switch flipped. Spencer could pinpoint the moment it happened. Your performance became electric and there seemed to be a pull, even in the jet, that drew everyone to you.

Spencer had seen it happen before. About a year after you had started dating, you and Spencer had met up in New York for a weekend. Spencer was in awe of the way you managed to seem completely normal, allowing the eyes of all the tourists to slide right over you, despite the fact that your face was on a billboard in Times Square.

The two of you were eating lunch in a pizza restaurant. Spencer had wanted to do research to find the best place to eat, but you had pulled him into a random place. Although he hated to admit it, the pizza was really good.

It was easy to hear the conversation of the two girls, high school students if Spencer had to guess, in the nearly empty restaurant. Spencer saw the look of joy on your face when you realized that the girls were talking about your movie. You both had to smile that they were now talking about how obsessed they were with you when they had walked past you a minute ago without even realizing it.

You looked at your boyfriend with an unspoken question in your eye. Spencer nodded his head at the girls, letting you know that he didn’t mind if you went over to talk to them. As you stood up, it was like the air around you changed. There was no difference in the way you held yourself. If Spencer believed in things like vibes, he would have said that you just started giving off a different vibe. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on you.

You spoke to the girls for a few minutes before taking some pictures with them and returning to your table. You seemed unaware of the effect you had on everyone, but Spencer couldn’t shake a strange feeling. It was like for the first time he had seen Y/N Y/L/N instead of his girlfriend Y/N. When you finally got Spencer to tell you what was bothering him later that night, you had confided in him that you often felt intimidated when he talked about his job.

The two of you had grown past that as your relationship went on, but it was strange seeing the effect that you had on his friends.

The closest he got to spilling your secret was the next week. As you got closer to the finale, the competition began heating up. In an effort to prove that you were more than just a good voice, you had chosen 1,2 Step, complete with your own twist on the iconic, according to you since Spencer didn’t really know, choreography from the music video.

“She has some serious stamina,” Emily commented as you got through the rap flawlessly despite all of the dancing you were doing. Spencer knew all about your stamina.

“And look at how her body moves. She can dance.” Spencer’s fist clenched at Derek’s comment. He knew that Derek didn’t mean anything by it. Your body moved fluidly through the dance. It was easy to see in the tight costume you wore. But something seemed to burn inside Spencer as he watched Derek watch you. He wanted nothing more than to tell Derek that last weekend he had used his stamina to keep you up until the early hours of the morning.

But Spencer stopped himself. You had said that you had a plan for telling people about your relationship. He just had to wait for you to put that plan into motion.

The judges were still clueless about your true identity, though Spencer still thought that all of the clues should have made it extremely obvious. Still, it was amusing listening to their guesses.

“I think-no, I know who this is.” Spencer settled in, ready to hear Ken Jeong’s latest wild guess. Last week he had been sure that you were Leona Lewis and the week before it was Mariah Carey. “This is Y/N Y/L/N.”

Spencer tried not to react as everyone in the jet, and on the screen, shook their heads at Ken’s guess.

“Y/N doesn’t sing,” one judge told Ken as another said, “Y/N’s not a singer. No way.”

“But Y/N won an Oscar for her role as a queen. Plus, and stay with me here, in the clue package we’ve seen things about agents. She has an agent, who gets her roles and probably got her on this show, so welcome to the show Y/N Y/L/N.”

“The Queen is in a long term relationship, and Y/N isn’t dating anyone,” one judge pointed out. The other two judges nodded along, so Ken gave up his fight. Spencer realized that, if anything, Ken guessing it was you would convince people that it couldn’t possibly be you.

“Hey, Spence, didn’t you have a little celebrity crush on Y/N Y/L/N?” JJ asked as the commercials started. The rest of the team turned to look at him. Spencer tried to hide his blush, but the smirk on Derek’s face told him it wasn’t working.

“Yeah,” Emily continued, “You go to see all of her movies. Multiple times.”

Spencer tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I just think Y/N is a good actor.” Luckily, the team soon lost interest in teasing Spencer, so he could focus on texting you about your performance.

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

“Thank goodness we finished in time to catch it.” Everyone nodded in agreement to Emily’s statement. They had just finished another case earlier that day and had made it to the jet in time to watch the finale as it aired. The team settled into their seats and quickly began sorting out their bets about who was who and who would win.

“Reid, you want in?” Rossi asked. So far, Spencer had abstained from all of the betting about the show they did. But now he wanted to have a little fun with his team.

“I think The Queen will win.” Most people nodded. That was a popular opinion. “And I think The Queen is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Oh c’mon, kid. You’re just as bad as Ken,” Derek complained, but he was smiling. Spencer felt slightly guilty. He knew that he was at least partially right. He had been tempted to ask you whether you win, but held himself back. There was no doubt that you signed some NDAs, so you really weren’t supposed to tell him.

Spencer had a hard time caring about the other performances. He was looking forward to hearing you again and to seeing the faces of his friends when he was right about your identity. Finally, the other two finalists had gone and it was your turn. Unsurprisingly, your performance was amazing. The best of the night in Spencer’s slightly biased opinion.

Spencer was so relieved when third place was announced and it wasn’t you. Some celebrity he didn’t know took their mask off. There was some exchanging of money among his friends. But then it was time to announce the winner.

“And so, the winner of this season of The Masked Singer, who will go home today with The Golden Mask trophy is,” the host paused for dramatic effect. Spencer had to remind himself to breathe. “The Queen!”

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief as he watched you jump up and down onstage before being ushered to a throne where you would watch the runner up take off their mask. It was another celebrity Spencer didn’t know and didn’t care about.

“I guessed Miley Cyrus when you sang Jolene a few episodes ago. I don’t think that’s right, but it’s the best guess I have, so I’ll go with Miley,” one judge said when it was time for their final guesses. This was it. You were about to be unmasked. Spencer wasn’t quite sure why he was so nervous. You had won! And he already knew that it was you under the mask.

The other three judges threw out their final guesses, but no one was very sure of themselves. Except Ken, who confidently said, “It’s gotta be Michelle Obama,” earning lots of laughs from everyone watching.

“Well, let’s see who it is. Take it off. Take it off.” The host started the chant, which the audience and judges quickly took off as you pretended to struggle to take off your mask. Spencer found himself joining in with the rest of the team as they chanted too.

And finally, you removed your mask and Spencer could see your beautiful face. As great as you looked standing on the stage with your hair and makeup perfectly done, Spencer couldn’t wait until you were back home in a week and he could see you huddled on the couch wearing pajamas.

Chaos erupted, both on the screen and on the plane. It seemed like no one could believe that it was you. The rest of the team was too busy yelling in shock that they didn’t notice the look of absolute adoration Spencer was giving you.

“This might have been the most shocking reveal in Masked Singer history,” the host said into his microphone as the judges and audience began to calm down. “I mean, no one even knew you sing, Y/N. Why did you decide to come on The Masked Singer?”

You laughed uneasily into the microphone. Spencer could tell that you were feeling equal amounts of joy and nervousness. It was understandable, he thought. You had just won a singing competition despite having never sang in public before.

“I’ve always loved to sing, but I’ve never had much confidence in my voice. I’d love more than anything to be in a big movie musical. I guess I was hoping that this would be a good place to build my confidence.”

“You have an absolutely amazing voice,” one judge said. You ducked your head shyly, smiling slightly at the ground before looking back up at the judges. “I think after people see your performances you’ll have no problem doing a musical. I mean, you tackled so many different genres, and you sounded amazing doing all of them.”

You thanked the judge before turning to the others. A smile remained on your lips as they all congratulated you, but Spencer could tell from the way you kept shifting your weight that you were uncomfortable with all of the attention.

“Wait so you said that one reason you did this show was that it’s your boyfriend’s favorite show?” Spencer’s heart fluttered as he watched your smile grow at the mention of him. “That really threw me. I didn’t know you were dating anyone.” The other judges agreed.

“Yeah my boyfriend and I have been together for over two years. We’ve just kept it a secret.”

“Well the secret is out now.”

“You still don’t know who he is though,” you pointed out. The judges laughed and agreed.

“Whoever is dating her is a lucky man,” Rossi commented as the show wrapped up. Spencer tried not to let his heart skip a beat. What would his team think when they found out about you two?

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

“I still can’t believe that The Queen was Y/N Y/L/N,” JJ sighed. The team was in the elevator on the way up to their floor. They all needed to drop some stuff off, but Hotch had told them that no one was allowed to stay late tonight. They needed to get home and relax.

“I can’t believe she managed to have a secret boyfriend for over two years without the media finding out,” Emily added. “You know Garcia is probably already trying to uncover the mystery man.”

The team laughed as the elevator doors opened. Spencer made a mental note to warn you about Garcia. He had already texted you to congratulate you, but he missed you. You were supposed to finish filming in a few days and then you’d be back home in about a week. Still, Spencer was a little bummed that you would miss your third anniversary, which was actually tomorrow.

“Hey, Pretty Boy, who’s at your desk?” Derek asked.

It took Spencer a moment to really understand what he was seeing. It didn’t quite make sense in his brain. Every time you got home, you would immediately shower (to wash off the airplane germs), throw on one of Spencer’s old sweaters and some leggings, and curl up on the couch with whatever book Spencer had left laying around until he got home. And now here you were, wet hair and all, sitting at his desk. He barely had time to admire the look of concentration on your face as you tapped at your phone, probably texting your agent.

“Wait, is that-” But Spencer didn’t let Emily finish.

“Y/N!” he called as he pushed through the doors into the bullpen.

Your head shot up at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, a huge smile growing on your face. You dropped your phone onto the desk (your agent could wait) and rushed over to him. Completely ignoring the fact that his team was a few steps behind him, you threw your arms around Spencer, wrapping your legs around him too when he picked you up. He began to spin you around, causing you to shriek in glee.

Finally, he put you down. You started to move away, but he surprised you by putting his hands on either side of your face and connecting your lips. You smiled into the kiss, so happy to finally be back with your boyfriend.

“Does anyone else feel like they’re missing something?” You two broke apart at the sound his coworker’s voice. You smiled shyly at the man who had just spoke, Rossi you assumed, based on Spencer’s stories about his team.

“Everyone, I’d like you meet Y/N. My girlfriend.” The team looked between Spencer, who was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, and you. You could feel the blush on your face, but that didn’t stop your own goofy love-struck grin.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you guys,” you finally said. “I’ve heard so much about you all.”

“We can’t say the same,” the blonde, JJ, slowly replied. You could feel Spencer shift uncomfortably beside you, before he pulled you even closer to his side.

“That’s my fault,” you said before Spencer could say anything. “I wanted to keep our relationship a secret so it didn’t get out to the media.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Spencer corrected you quickly. “I wanted to make sure that Y/N didn’t get targeted by anyone because of my job. She didn’t want anyone targeting me because of her job. It was a mutual decision.”

“And you couldn’t even tell us?” JJ asked. You could tell, even without knowing her, that she was hurt. You knew that she was Spencer’s best friend, so it was understandable. In fact, every face was looking at the two of you with some mixture of confusion, surprise, and hurt.

“I didn’t want to risk it,” Spencer said uncomfortably. “I figured that the more people who knew, the more likely it would be to get out. Y/N already had to tell some people, so I didn’t want to add to the list.”

“I only told my agent, my assistant, and my security team. And I only told my security team because they thought they caught Spencer trying to break into my house one day.”

Spencer’s face went bright red as he remembered that failed surprise. “I think we need to hear that story sometime.” The rest of the team quickly agreed with Prentiss. It seemed, for now at least, they would let the whole secret thing go.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer asked suddenly. “Not that I’m not happy to see you. I am. You’re supposed to be in LA filming.”

You grinned mischievously at him. “I managed to get the filming schedule rearranged a bit, so I could finish early. I shot my last scene this morning, then went straight to the airport. I wanted to surprise you, so we could finally spend an anniversary together.”

“When do you leave again?” The softness of Spencer’s voice broke your heart. He was preparing himself for you usual answer. You’d be here for a week or two and then have to leave again. But not this time.

“Not for months.” A smile of disbelief spread across Spencer’s face. “I’ll have to go to LA and New York for a few days here and there, but nothing long term. I want to be here with you.”

The two of you had, once again, forgotten that Spencer’s team was standing in front of you. It was so easy to get wrapped up in one another when you were both used to being alone together.

“Did I hear something about an anniversary?” Rossi asked, shaking the two of you out of your little bubble.

“It’ll be three years tomorrow.” You grinned up at your boyfriend. It was the first anniversary you would get to spend together.

“Let me host a dinner for you,” Rossi offered. “I’ll make one of my famous meals. We can break out some nice wine that I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

Spencer began to shake his head, but you grabbed his arm and gasped. “Spencer please,” you begged. “You know I’ve always wanted to go to a dinner at Rossi’s place. You only talk about them all the time. Please. Please. Please.” Spencer finally gave in to your pleading, nodding reluctantly.

You hugged him in excitement before moving to properly introduce yourself to his friends. As you chatted with them, you could hear the clicking of approaching heels.

“My favorite crime fighters will be unhappy to know that I haven’t been able to find anything about Y/N Y/L/N’s secret boyfriend.” You looked up at the brightly dressed woman, definitely Garcia, who had just walked into the bullpen.

“Actually, baby girl, I think we figured that one out ourselves.” Garcia looked up from her phone at Derek’s words. Her eyes widened as she saw you standing among her coworkers.

“Wha-? Who? How? What?” she stammered. In response, you grabbed Spencer’s hand, pulling him closer to you. He wrapped an arm around you, grinning apologetically at Garcia. “Spencer Reid, I would be so mad at you if I wasn’t so happy about meeting Y/N.” Without wasting another second, she rushed over and hugged you. You laughed at the look of jealously on Spencer’s face as you were taken from his arms. This would take some getting used to.

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

You smiled happily, watching Spencer’s friends laugh at a story you had just finished. “I think this was a much better anniversary than burning dinner and then ordering takeout would have been,” you whispered to your boyfriend. Rossi’s food had not disappointed. Nor had his wine. You were feeling comfortably warm as you cuddled up with your boyfriend.

“It’s what we would have done after dinner that I was looking forward to.” You tried not to shiver at Spencer’s words.

“There will be plenty of time for that,” you reminded him. “I’m glad I’m getting to know your friends. They’re so important to you.”

“I’m glad they’re getting to know you. I think you all will be friends. That might not be good for me though.” You laughed at the embarrassed look on your boyfriend’s face. His friends had plenty of embarrassing stories about him, so you had been swapping stories all night.

It was easy for the team to see how absolutely in love the two of you were. Even if they hadn’t been profilers, the looks you two shared were so obvious. What had surprised them was how open Spencer was to your touch. In fact, he was the one initiating most your contact. You had been prepared to control yourself for the sake of Spencer’s professionalism, but he didn’t seem to have the same thought. Any time he could, he would grab your hand or wrap his arms around you.

That was how you had gotten to be cuddled up next to him. After dinner, the party had moved outside. You had been heading for a seat in between Emily and Penelope when Spencer’s hand had reached out and grabbed yours, pulling you onto the outdoor sofa beside him. Not that you were complaining. So you had stayed like that the rest of the night, leaning comfortably into your boyfriend’s side.

A couple weeks later, you posted a picture that Penelope had taken of the two of like that onto your social medias. It was time to introduce the world to your boyfriend.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg fic #spencer reid x you #calwrites #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Note

first of all I LOVE your writing!

What about a prompt with Beth borrowing Benny’s clothes? (could be a little spicy but doesn’t need to be)

Thanks!

Strategies for the Advanced Player

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1336

Summary: "No woman can compete with Benny's love for himself." - Cleo, The Queen's Gambit Benny leaves his things lying around. There has to be something there that'll make him look at Beth the way she wants him to.

She can’t take it any longer.

She thought, when she agreed to this arrangement, that they both understood it for what it was: a ruse. Was Benny’s impressive mental archive of match history something she could benefit from? Yes. Was Beth able to recognize him as a valuable resource? Yes. Was the training he offered, despite those acknowledgements, also just an easy façade for an inevitably carnal relationship? She fucking figured!

Two weeks he’s had her suffering. Two of the five before Paris. Staying in his apartment, drinking his coffee, and sleeping where? On an air mattress that smells like mildew and makes trying to get comfortable enough to sleep an experience equivalent to a child learning to ride a bike (not that anyone ever taught her)—just way too much wobbling side to side.

Maybe Benny does want to keep this professional. Maybe he thinks that much of himself, his stature in the chess world, his imperviousness to her beauty and charisma, his purity as a man truly devoted to chess and coaching a chosen protégé to victory. Bastard. He just might. Except that he can’t be that obtuse, Beth’s certain. She made him aware of her attraction to him and how does he respond? By wearing that fucking robe. Or sometimes no robe! No shirt! Yeah, it kinda brings back memories of her mom dressing way, way down around the house when her fickle husband was still jerking her (them, really, though Beth never felt like more than an observer of the situation or him) around, but that was different. Alma was at sea, depressed, unable to locate even the thinnest straw to grasp. Benny’s flaunting his partial nudity, Beth swears he is. It’s not about relaxing in his own home; it’s about torturing her.

She glares at his back every night he gives her that look and shuts himself in his bedroom. Privacy is a luxury in this dismal apartment and he heightens its appeal by colouring it coquettish. Every morning he emerges, sits across from her at the chessboard, adjusts his pieces—black or white, they alternate, the way the game should be played—with hovering hands and delicate shifts. Making Beth tense. Making Beth want to scream.

Benny’s home is like a vault within a vault. The awkward entry, the narrow trash-lined corridor. The heavy door, the bleak interior. Finally, the bedroom. She’s not sure if it’s her arrival that causes him to draw items of importance close to himself or if that’s how he’s always behaved, but week two cascades into week three and a pounding headache yields to the realization that he’s quit squirreling things away. Away in his room, away from her. Specific things. Copies of books he lectures her about and has always carried back to some secret shelf at the end of the day are suddenly left on the table. One night, Beth expresses an interest in taking a long, solitary walk soon and the next day, she wakes to hear Benny in the shower and find that he’s left her his key on the kitchen counter where she prepares her breakfast. The books and the key have made a transition and become pieces of their communal space. Is this trust? If not for him screwing with her vis-à-vis the robe, Beth would soften at the gesture. Too late.

He leaves his jacket and hat in the living room. The next morning, early, she slips the jacket on over her pink pajamas and slaps the hat onto her head. Clothes are identity—hers are, and so are his. Her mother embroidered a dress with her name and though she saw Mrs. Deardorff take it away to be burned, Beth never saw the fire. It might’ve been beautiful. For years, she wore lusterless browns and bruised blues, nothing ever new, everything the former garment of another orphan. Those were the colours and fabrics of loneliness. Since then, Beth’s only worn another person’s clothes for a particular reason: to feel close to Alma after her death. She dons Benny’s apparel with an eerie mix of that same solemnity and the helium-high humour of a clown. What can she say? The sexual tension’s got her slightly unhinged.

She remembers the interview. The implication of madness. She sits in Benny’s seat, facing his bedroom and wearing his clothes, and props her face delicately against the back of the fingers of both hands, like she does during some matches. Her fingernails touch, making a V below her chin. Unfortunately, her head’s drooping with sleepiness when Benny emerges, but she thinks he still gets the effect.

Halting the morning momentum that always propels him straight across the room to begin making coffee, he stares. He’s still doing it when Beth ceases yawning and blinking. Shirtless. Asshole.

“You want to explain what you’re doing?” he asks.

She glances down at herself. It’s really uncomfortable, sitting with so much jacket bunched up against her lower back. Why would he do this?

“Besides the obvious?” she checks. Benny’s expression says he’s ready to be amused, but he’s not there yet. She’ll need to lead him. “I’m trying a new strategy.”

“Osmosis?”

“Please don’t. I hope I’m not absorbing anything through this jacket. I’m just taking things a step further than reading your book.”

“The fact that you say that like it’s a logical progression worries me.”

Beth laughs, then remembers something.

“Oh!” she says, and holds up a finger before ducking her head and affixing the fake mustache. She raises her head. “Can’t believe I almost forgot.”

Now, Benny laughs.

“What… what is…?” he wheezes.

“I cut a couple strands off your broom. I’ll buy you a new one.”

She adjusts her straw mustache immediately because uttering the promise tilts it. The only glue she could find is very weak, still slick on her upper lip as she presses the straw against her skin.

“Don’t bother. I barely use it.”

Beth sneezes massively; her mustache is dusty.

“I can tell,” she says.

“Take that off,” he instructs, smiling and shaking his head fondly.

She peels the mustache away with a diluted sense of defeat and wipes the dab of glue off with a used napkin as Benny walks over to her. It’s the closest they’ve been—him standing next to the chair as she twists to look up at him. What she anticipates, when his arm twitches forward, is the eternal, fraternal shoulder squeeze. No. He cups her chin.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” she counters.

Gripping the chairback, he bends and kisses her. When he doesn’t hurry to withdraw, Beth slides her hands around his ribs, pressing her fingers to his back. He plucks the hat from her head while their eyes are closed.

“Take that off,” he mumbles against her mouth, then sneaks his tongue inside. The kissing grows heated and she stands, body curving readily with his, hands grasping the back of his neck.

“Is it because I’m dressed like you?” she asks the second his lips break away from hers. She opens her eyes to scrutinize his. “You are pretty obsessed with yourself.”

Benny smiles and watches her. He smooths her hair, then drops his hand to her shoulder. Pointedly, he looks down.

“Take that off.”

Beth huffs and lets go of his neck, pushing at the lapels of his leather jacket to slip back out of it, but Benny reaches for her hand. More than that; stills it, covers it, captures it.

“Ah,” he says, a guttural noise of correction. She hates that noise. He makes it when she gets sick of re-enacting historic matches and plays an original move instead. The sound is both stubborn and apologetic—Benny knows when he’s holding her back.

He lowers Beth’s hand to her side and leaves it hanging there. His come up to her chest, not to remove the jacket, but to undo the top button on her pajamas.

“The jacket—” she starts.

“—can wait,” he finishes.

#thanks Anon!#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

A Familiar Face

Despite their looks when they return to Narnia the second time, the Pevensie siblings have all grown up once before and Peter had even been married. Upon returning he is not happy to see that an idiot of a prince has not only stolen his crown, but also the face of his lover.

Narnia Prince Caspian rewrite, but then make it gay

On AO3.

Ships: Peter/OMC that is also Caspian, Peter/Caspian

Warnings: homophobia mentioned, Peter is grieving and angry. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag somethine

~~~~~~~~~

The Pevensie siblings had been quite confused to hear about love between a man and a man or a woman and a woman when they had first started their reign. But in Narnia love is love and with their young minds this was a simple truth to accept.

For the first few years none of them really thought about it, until Peter was saved on the battlefield by a young dashing soldier, who had hauled him up with a grin and a bow.

Peter had stared after him dumbfound for a second, before his attention was pulled back to the battle by an ax nearly hitting his head.

Over the next few weeks, he couldn't get the young man out of his head. He’d tried to shake it off and didn’t want to believe it. It was only okay for others to feel like that, not him, not High King Peter. What about heirs?

No, Peter could not be like that.

However, the thoughts stayed and he found himself wanting to give in. He knew he couldn't, he had avoided finding out in which squadron the boy was so it wouldn't cloud his judgment when coming up with a strategy. But his mind did long for it.

Peter grew over it though and only saw it fit to mention it to his siblings when it had happened again. This time it had been a young knight, who had bested him during a tournament.

When he returned to the others later, after he had talked to the knight, who was called Darian. He softly said: “It is good that we came here, for I might be able to marry out of love in these lands.”

He swallowed thickly as he waited for what they would respond. He knew they were accepting of their subjects, but how would they feel about their own brother?

“Oh, oh my.” Susan replied with wide eyes, before her face softened and she smiled as she said: “Well, then I am also glad that we came here.”

Lucy engulfed him in a big hug, nearly the same height as he was now, as she said: “Oh, Peter, how wonderful for you!”

Edmund waited until the hug was over, before he knowingly smirked: “Any reason you’re telling us this now, brother? Perhaps a fellow swordsman?”

He had always been too observant for his own good and Peter could feel the blush creeping over his face as he looked away quickly. Susan and Lucy quickly caught on and soon he was pushed down on the couch as they tried to drag all the details out of him.

Later he would be grateful to them for pushing him to talk more with Darian, but now he grumbled embarrassed as he was.

Darian was kind and funny and an amazing sword fighter.

Everyday Peter fell harder and he couldn't be more overjoyed that his feelings were returned with Darian claiming he never made the best decisions when it came to love with a smirk and a wink after Peter had asked him if he didn’t mind Peter being the High King.

Susan once commented to Lucy and Edmund that she had never seen Peter happier than when he was with Darian. Something they agreed with wholeheartedly.

Peter and Darian married in the fifteenth year of their reign when Peter was twenty-seven and Darian twenty-nine. It had been a logistical nightmare to prepare the law for it to work out seamlessly, but the ceremony had been beautiful.

Both had worn white tunics and at the end their cheeks had hurt from smiling and their feet from dancing.

Three years later the four siblings disappeared chasing a white stag that was said to be able to grant any wish. Peter would never tell his siblings how he had intended to wish he and Darian could’ve had children of their own.

Darian would try and pick up the reign in their absence, but die in from heartbreak soon after his love had vanished. Leaving Cair Paraval vulnerable to attack.

Meanwhile Peter had suddenly been pushed back into the body of a child, just twelve-years-old, with the mind of an adult and the grief of a widower.

Susan had tried to broach the subject with him, but he had snapped and yelled, only breaking down to cry when she had fled the room for his outburst. He wanted to go home, he wanted to see his husband and have him hug him and tell him it was alright.

He ruined his hands trying to break the back of that goddamned wardrobe trying to return to his love to no avail.

They were stuck here and it didn’t look like they were going back as life went on.

Their mother had no clue what to do with the serious and far away eyes her children now wore and had send them away once more, this time to a boarding school.

Peter remained silent throughout almost the all years. Sure, he would talk with the others about the Beavers, Mr. Tumnus and all the other things they had left behind, but he would become withdrawn and silent whenever Darian was mentioned.

The first time he mentioned the name himself was after he’d been beaten up on a train station for the so many-th time. Susan asked: “What was it this time.”

“He bumped me.” Peter answered shortly.

“So you hit him?” Susan exclaimed.

“No, okay, that’s not the reason- just, nevermind.” Peter turned away from her, fists clenched.

“Then what was it, Peter? Just talk to me.” Susan said, trying to get through to her brother for once after all this time. They used to be so close, now it was just this.

Peter took a deep breath, then he turned around and looked her in the eye: “He looked like Darian, okay. I ran up to the guy because for a split second I thought I saw him and then it was just a stupid guy, who asked me what the fuck my problem was, so yeah, I hit him.”

“Oh, Peter.” Susan sighed as the other two gave him a look of pity.

He snapped: “Don’t ‘oh, Peter,’ me, okay, just don’t. I’m just tried of being treated as a kid.”

“We are kids.” Edmund said and sometimes Peter hated how the little shit was always right. It was annoying.

“Well, I wasn’t always.” he moped as he slumped down on the bench, “It’s been a few years and I just want to go home. How long does he expect us to wait?”

Susan gave him a sad look and softly said: “I think it’s time to accept that we live here. It’s no use pretending any different.”

She looked over to the platform and got big eyes, but before she could say something else Lucy shot up with a shriek. So, she hissed: “Quiet, Lu.”

“Something pinched me.” she exclaimed, looking around.

Peter was about to look who it had been when someone tugged on his hair from behind, Ed, the fucker. He got up and yelled: “Stop pulling.”

“Not touching you.” Edmund frowned at him.

Susan looked at the train starting to pass and asked: “What is that?”

“It feels like magic.” Lucy replied.

“Quick hold hands!” Susan told them.

Beside Peter Edmund complained, but Peter didn’t really listen and grabbed his hand. They were going home, he was going to see Darian again.

The train station turned into a cave and soon they were running on the beach and into the water while yelling a having fun. Their return was interrupted by Edmund, who asked: “Where do you suppose we are?”

“Well, where do you think?” Peter couldn't believe Edmund hadn’t realized where they were, they had ruled these lands for eighteen years, even Edmund couldn't forget that in a few years of being back in their original world.

“Well, I don’t remember there being any ruins in Narnia.” Edmund said.

That got Peters attention and he looked up. They had to rebuild their land from scratch and every ruin had been a reminder of what had been lost to the White Witch, so they had made sure none were left, but Edmund was right, again, and also annoying, again.

There was a ruin on top of a familiar hill.

A pit started to form in Peter stomach as they all hurried to put their shoes back on so that they could explore these mysterious ruins.

Lucy frowned, probably desperate not to believe, and asked: “I wonder who lived here.”

Susan picked something up from the ground and confirmed their worst fears: “I think we did.”

“Hey, that’s mine.” Edmund pulled it from her hand, “From my chess set.”

“Which chess set?” Peter asked, still hoping it all isn’t true.

Edmund didn’t care or didn’t notice as he replied: “Well, I didn’t have a solid gold chess set in Finchley, did I?”

Peter was about to break down and cry, his home, his husband to which he wanted to return so badly was ripped from him, even if he was here once more, when Lucy pulled him away from the edge with a: “It can’t be.”

Then she ran off and Peter would always be the big brother that ran after her, while he yelled: “Lucy!”

“Don’t you see?” she asked, standing on a ruined platform.

Peter desperately didn’t want to see, but still asked: “What?” hoping the answer wouldn't be what he thought it was.

“Imagine walls, and columns there and a glass roof.” Lucy sounded excited about it as she pointed and made the other look at their former home.

Before his eyes the walls rebuilt themselves in his memory along with stolen moments and good times. He confirmed: “Cair Paravel.”

They explored the ruins of Cair Paravel as they wondered what could have possibly happened and how long they had been gone.

“Catapults.” Edmund suddenly said, looking down.

“What?” Peter choked, immediately all kinds of scenarios started to whirl in his head as Darian died a thousand horrible deaths in his minds eye.

“This didn’t just happen, Cair Paravel was attacked.” Edmund explained, taking his upset for confusion.

If there was a siege, perhaps their stuff from when they were young would have been taken as well, and Peter didn’t want tot think about what certain things could to in the wrong hands. He followed old routes easily and soon he and Edmund were clearing the way to the treasury room.

There was a bit of levity as Edmund tried to cheer him up with the flash-light. Peter smiled at his brother, he appreciated the gesture, but there was still a heaviness in his heart.

“I can’t believe it. It’s all still here.” he said, glad their weapons hadn’t been taken by whoever had done this as he approached his chest, while the others rushed to theirs as well.

Lucy pulled out a dress and exclaimed: “I was so tall!”

“Well, you were older then.” Susan replied.

“As opposed to hundreds of years later. When you are younger.” Edmund added and Peter felt a stab of pain go through his heart once more. He had returned, but he was too late. His lover was dead, his home was destroyed and he hadn’t seen any of his people.

In the background the others chattered on while Peter slowly drew his sword. It felt balanced in his hand as it had always done and he read the inscription out loud to himself: “When Aslan bears his teeth, winter meets its death.”

“And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.” Lucy finished, then the realization of what it all meant sank in on her as she said: “Everyone we knew: Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers, they’re all gone.”

“I think it’s time we found out what’s going on.” Peter said, before he fell to his knees to rummage around in his chest, hoping to find some clues or at least some better clothes to wear.

He ignored the wedding tunic in his chest as he blinked away the tears, he knew that they had saved a few clothes from their youth at the bottom and he assumed that with everything as they left it, those must be there was well.

With no new clues there, they set out to find someone they could talk to in the hope that a person could tell them more about what had happened, both to Narnia and Darian. Although Peter was privately more interested in one of the two.

They meet a dwarf, Trumpkin, who was only slightly helpful even after Edmund beat him in a duel and he believed they were who they said they were. Although they did get the clue that Telmarines had invaded their country and they had been called by their Prince, Caspian.

“They used to dance.” Lucy lamented once they were in the boat.

Trumpkin gave her a look and explained: “It wasn’t long after you left that the Telmarines invaded. Those that survived retreated so deeply to the woods. And the trees have retreated so deeply into themselves that no one has heard from them since.”

“I don’t understand. How could Aslan have let this happen?” Lucy exclaimed, before Peter could ask about Darian.

“Alsan?” Trumpkin said, “I thought he abandoned us after you lot did.”

“Who took our places. Was it Darian?” Peter asked.

“Who’s Darian?” Trumpkin asked in return, stomping on the last bit of hope Peter had as the chasm in his chest opened further.

“No one.” Peter said, ignoring the looks from his siblings as he told Trumpkin: “We didn’t mean to leave, you know.”

“Doesn’t make much of a difference now, does it.” Trumpkin told him and Peter was honestly starting to get annoyed at the dwarf.

“Get us to the Narnians and it will.” Peter said determinedly. Fighting he could do, just turn off his mind and ignore the loss until it was over. Aslan must have returned them with a reason, he could figure out what had happened to Darian on his own.

None of them had realized how bad it had truly gotten until their encounter with the bear. It was all wrong, this wasn’t their Narnia, not anymore.

They walked through overgrown lands, without structures that could point them in the right way. Peter was not in the best frame of mind, but he kept pushing onward, perhaps letting his bad mood flow out in harsh comments to his siblings and the newly acquired ‘DLF’.

His siblings seemed to understand and didn’t push him. He tried to ignore the guilt at his own words, but it was easy to allow himself to wallow in the feeling. Better guilt than that ever crushing heartbreak and grief.

He just needed to find Aslan, once they found him, he could tell the Lion about everything and plead for his love to return to him.

But then Lucy saw him, but they didn’t and a small part of Peter began to doubt if Aslan would even come, even care.

However, Lucy kept on believing, which wasn’t really discouraged with how they got over the gorge. Already annoyed Peter followed her as she walked away from their camp on her own and almost got herself killed.

Peter signaled her to be quiet as he walked up to the minotaur, but before he arrived someone else came out of nowhere and clashed swords with him.

The new person left Peter unbalanced and in shock. He looked so much like Darian that it was almost unnatural, he was also just as good with a sword and after a few years without practice, Peter was on his back before he knew it.

“Prince Caspian?” he asked, starting to put together who they must’ve ran into.

“Yes.” he answered, with a slight foreign accent, “And who are you?”

Right at that moment Susan came running, calling out his name along with Edmund and Trumpkin right behind her. With the name Caspian looked at the sword as his eyes grew wide: “High King Peter?”

Peter had gotten up and replied: “I believe you called.”

“Well, yes, but I thought you’d be older.” Caspian told him.

So did I, Peter thought, getting irrationally irritated at the boy who had stolen his lovers face. He answered: “Well, if you’d like, we can come back in a few years.”

“No! No, that’s alright.” Caspian came back on his words, “You’re just- you’re just not exactly what I had expected.”

“Neither are you.” Edmund told him, looking at the minotaur and Peter was glad he was here to talk to this prince.

“A common enemy unites even the oldest of foes.” a badger said and they all hadn’t been more glad to see a talking animal.

A mouse walked up to Peter and bowed, before pledging his service. There was a slight miscommunication when Lucy couldn't help but comment on the apparent cuteness of the mouse, but Peter was glad he was here.

“Well, at least we know some of you can handle a blade.” he told the mouse.

He was even more glad when the mouse told him about the weapons they were gathering and told him as much: “Good, because we’re going to need every sword we can get.”

“Well, then, you’ll probably be wanting yours back.” Caspian offered him back his sword, the same expression on his face Darian would get whenever he had beaten Peter in combat. Wordlessly he snatched it back, before walking off. He did not want to be near this Caspian.

They were led to Aslans How and Caspian let them go in first. He apologized for the lack of luxury, but was ignored as Susan yelled: “Peter, you might want to see this.”

He ran up to her to see a carvings on the wall depicting the four of them. She looked at him and said: “It’s us.”

Next to him Lucy turned to Caspian and asked: “What is this place?”

“You don’t know?” Caspian asked with a frown and Peter kind of wanted to hit him, because of course they didn’t know, they had been away for so long that everything they did know had disappeared.

Still, he followed the prince as he showed them through the How to Aslans table. Peter silently hated seeing his face again after he pulled them back without giving him a chance to see his husband again.

Lucy saw his look and assured him: “He must know what he’s doing.”

“I think it’s up to us now.” Peter told her, not wanting to ruin her connection with Aslan, but also not in the mood to like the Lion or believe in him.

In the days after, he spent hours looking at the carvings. He still showed enough interest in all the other stuff to avoid suspicion from everyone that weren’t his siblings. But they knew who he was looking for on the walls.

There was nothing.

No clues, no tales, not even a mention. He knew this was about the four of them and Darian had only officially been part of the royal family for three years, but he couldn't imagine something so important being omitted.

Of course, there was also the option of the How being built by Darian in honor of their memory after he had left him behind, but that hurt too much to think off.

He only saw Caspian whenever he needed to do something about the war.

Peter didn’t know how he felt about that. On one hand, he was glad that he didn’t have to see that face without the person and the love he knew behind it, but on the other, he was desperate to imprint it in his mind while he still could.

Most of the time he was more glad. It was irrational to be mad at someone for not being the person you want them to be, but Peter still got angry whenever that accented voice spoke, instead of the kind teasing voice he knew.

So, he mostly ignored him and was glad of that fact.

Now, however he had to see it. Caspian had allowed him to speak, which had already irritated him, but he pushed it away to propose his plan: “Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us.”

“But that’s crazy, no one has ever taken that castle.” Caspian protested, too young to see the How for what really was.

“There is always a first time.” Peter told him, trying not to get irritated.

“We’ll have the element of surprise.” Trumpkin said, Peter was starting to like him more.

“But we have the advantage here.” Caspian argued.

“If we dig in, we could hold them off indefinitely.” Susan agreed with Caspian, making something flare up in Peters chest that he quickly pushed down.

“I for one feel safer underground.” the badger said.

Peter ignored the badger and turned to Caspian as he explained: “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done, but this isn’t a fortress, it’s a tomb.”

He had led enough sieges to know what starvation could do to people and with his own paintings on the walls it had never felt more like a final resting place, especially once you knew what had happened on that table.

“Yes, if the Telmarines are smart, they’ll starve us out.” Edmund agreed with Peter, he had always been a good right-hand man with a smart head on his shoulders and Peter was glad to have him on his side.

There was a bit of squabbling between the mouse, Reepicheep, and an squirrel, which Peter ignored in favor of asking Glenstorm: “If I can get your troops in, can you handle the guards?”

“Or die trying, my liege.” the centaur promised.

Peter was about to thank him when Lucy cut in: “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“What?” Peter asked, he appreciated Lucy’s input. He hadn’t forgotten how she had charged into battle alongside him and Edmund even if her body was too young to do so now.

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options: Dying here or dying there.” she said and Peter would really like to know what else she thought they could do, because in his eyes the situation was dire enough for a suicide mission and if he could save his men, he would.

Still, that third option was hard to believe and Peter already had a hard time believing these days, so he said: “I’m not sure, you’ve really been listening, Lu.”

“No, you’re not listening. Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch.” she gestured to the Aslan mural on the wall.

He wanted to sigh. He knew Lucy had always had the most faith out of all of them, but couldn’t she see that Aslan had abandoned them? He did not care for this world or he would have never kicked them out, make him leave Darian behind.

It hadn’t even been Aslan who had pulled them back, just a harsh reminder that took the shape of a prince. Alsan wasn’t here anymore, it was up to them now.

“I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough.” he told her, not missing the hurt look in her eyes, but he couldn't believe, not now, not after everything.

Peter had a plan to make, it had to be perfect or they were all doomed. He had to make sure this suicide run wasn’t for nothing.

When he finally realized he shouldn’t have given Caspian such an important roll, it was too late. He had allowed the face to make him over-calculate Caspians skills and now he was running off and ruining everything.

Getting to Miraz room and he was already there, ruining the plan by waking him. Caspian should have been ruthless. He was outnumbered, he couldn't afford to be dramatic, didn’t he see that? Beside all that, he wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Caspian, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be at the gatehouse.” Peter was going to kill him once they got out of here. What were their troops going to do now?

The prince ignored him as the situation got more and more out of hand.

By the time they got out the bells were already ringing and all the surprise they had on their side was gone, but Peter wasn’t about to abandoned ship like that, he wasn’t like Aslan. So he ran down a different hallway as he yelled at Susan: “Our army is just outside.

Then he was yelling at Edmund, loyal Edmund, who was where he was supposed to be: “Now, Ed, now! Signal the troops.”

Edmund yelled something back, but he couldn't hear it, since he was too busy with opening the gates.

“Peter, it’s too late. We have to call it off while we still can.” Susan was next to him, but she wasn’t helping.

“No, I can still do this. Help me.” Peter told her desperately, he could still do this, he could still save Narnia, he could still make up for what he had done to his people, to Darian. Didn’t Susan see that they had to make it right again?

She started helping him along with Caspian, who should’ve been here already. As they were opening the gate, she asked him: “Just who exactly are you doing this for, Peter?”

“You know who.” he mumbled to her, but then the gate was opened and their troops ran in, so he screamed: “For Narnia.”

Then all around them there was the all too familiar chaos of battle. People were falling left and right from both sides, but they had to make it through.

“Get that gate closed.” he heard from above and soon enough the gate started to close.

Asterius was holding open the gates and it was too late. They had failed in seizing the castle. He yelled: “Fall back! Retreat!”

Glenstorm charged past, swinging Susan onto his back as she screamed at him: “Caspian.”

Peter looked around to see the idiot prince missing and he yelled back: “I’ll find him.”

Frantically he looked around for the missing Caspian. He’d hated him, still hated him, but he couldn't fail him. He was too much like Darian and he did not need to know how his husband would’ve looked like once he was dead.

A wave of relief crashed over him when he saw Caspian on horseback with an older man, presumably the professor he had wanted to free.

With that solved he set to retreating himself as well. Right as he was through the gate, Asterius collapsed and he looked back to the troops trapped inside with horror. They were going to get slaughtered.

He wanted to go back, go help them. As High King he should go back for them, he couldn't abandon his troops, but they also couldn't loose him. Then Caspian would be in charge and they would never survive with him.

Hot rage burned through his veins as he fled. Better rage than grieve and loss, he told himself, just push it down, don’t think about it.

They returned to the How lesser in number with no victory under their belts. Peter had ignored Caspian and Susan on the way back along with most of the troops that hadn’t been wounded.

“What happened?” Lucy asked, face horrified.

“Ask him.” Peter spat, nodding to Caspian.

“Peter.” Susan chided, and of course she did. She never took his side in this sort of thing, just like during the fight when she had insisted Caspian could still get to the gate in time. Like that had gone over so great.

“Me?” Caspian sounded indignant, “You could have called it off. There was still time.”

“No, there wasn’t thanks to you.” Peter shouted at him, “You’re too emotional and inexperienced for battle. You might as well have killed them with your own hands. If you’d stuck to the plan, those soldiers would still be alive right now.”

“And, if you’d just stayed here like I suggested, they definitely would be.” Caspian yelled back, like Peter hadn’t explained to him why they couldn't stay there.

“You called us, remember. You called us, because you couldn't handle it on you own.” Peter spat at him.

“My first mistake.” Caspian bit back.

“No, your first mistake was thinking you could lead these people.” Peter told him coldly, “You abandoned them in the middle of the fight when they needed you most, for a personal vendetta, great leadership.”

“Hey! You abandoned Narina first, in case you have forgotten.” Caspian yelled back, the words cutting through Peter like a knife.

“You think I abandoned my home? Think I left my life behind on purpose?” Peters stare was ice, “I was forced out. Stuck. Back into the body of child. Left in a world that wasn’t my own anymore, tossed to the side, like my people here, who got invaded by your people, in case YOU have forgotten. You have no more right to it than Miraz does. You, him, your father. Narnia is better off without the lot of you.”

Caspian had no response to that and just yelled as he drew his blade. Peter didn’t mind, he was mostly back in shape and he would love to beat the others face in, no matter how much it would hurt. He had seen his love bleeding on the battlefield before, he could bear it.

They were stopped by Edmund, before anything could really happened and when Trumpkin was healed, Peter stormed off. He needed to be alone right now.

He had been planning to yell at Aslans mural when he saw Caspian, hand outstretched to the White Witch as she beckoned him close. His eyes grew wide as a hand squeezed his heart tighter. He ran towards Caspian, Edmund and Trumpkin on his heels, and yelled: “Stop.”

There was a fight, but he heard the White Witch call Caspian and he couldn't let it happen, not again, not her.

He pushed Caspian away, another person echoing through his mind, as he yelled at her: “Get away from him.”

But then he was stood in front on her and she gave him such a pitying look as she said: “Peter, dear, I have missed you. Come on, just a drop. You know you can’t do it alone.”

Peter tried to fight her and although he wasn’t moving away, he also wasn’t giving in. She reached for him and whispered: “I can get him back for you. Darian was such a darling.”

A shock went through his body as a bit more fight drained out of him and he hesitated before lowering his sword. He wanted to give in so badly, to be able to return to the arms of his lover, have him by his side again, smiling and making him laugh with a stupid joke.

Then the wall shattered and the White Witch disappeared, leaving only Edmund standing there, looking as kingly as Peter remembered him to be.

If it had been anyone but Edmund he would have gotten mad, now he just looked defeated as his little brother told him: “I know. You had it sorted.”

Edmund left and now it was just Caspian and Peter along with the remnants of the ice where the White Witch had stood. Caspian sagged to the ground and buried his head in his head as he took a few shaky breaths.

He looked so unlike Darian, whom he had only known as self assured and happy, and after that Peter could hardly blame him for almost giving in. So, he sat down next to him and looked at the carving of Aslan with him.

“She offered me my uncles head on a platter.” Caspian softly confessed after a few minutes of silence, “It seemed so easy, just shake her hand this would all be over.”

“I know how that feels, Edmund knows it too. Happens to the best of us.” Peter comforted him.

“Edmund?” Caspian asked.

“Not my tale to tell.” Peter answered.

“Oh.” it was quiet for a few seconds, then Caspian asked: “What did she offer you?”

For a moment Peter considered not telling him, but the prince had told him and he needed his trust if their last stance against Miraz was going to be a success. So he said: “She offered me help, for all this. And,” he hesitated, “and a chance to see my husband again.”

“Your husband?” Caspian exclaimed surprised.

“I know we don’t look it, but when we left Narnia I was thirty. Lucy was already twenty-seven, if you can believe that.” he told him, “When we returned to our world we were the same age as when we entered. It has just been a few years for us there, not centuries.”

“That explains some things, I am sorry.” Caspian said, “I did not know you had been married.”

“No need to apologize. It seems like no one remembers him.” Peter said sadly, then he sighed: “I just wish to know what happened to him.”

It was silent again, then Caspian asked: “What was his name. What was he like?”

That was the first time someone had asked him that. All his siblings had known Darian and no one back in their world knew of him, nor anyone here.

A bit of happiness floated up in his chest that he could talk to someone about him, without getting a pitying look.

“His name was Darian,” Peter smiled softly, “He was amazing. He was kind and funny and good with a sword, beat me the first time we met at a tournament. We were married for three years before I disappeared. He looked a lot like you actually, but different accent. Perhaps I put some of my grief about him on you, for that I apologize.”

Caspian thought over his words, before he replied: “He sounds like a lovely person. I can understand how being thorn from your word and pushed back with healing scars and no explanation can leave one irritated. I do not hold it against you.”

“And for that I thank you.” Peter told him.

“No need to thank me.” Caspian said, “This might not be anything, but all I have learned about Narnia came from professor Cornelius, I can ask him if he know something about what happened to your husband.”

“If you did so, I would forever be in your debt.” Peter smiled.

“Like I can ever repay you for helping me, High King Peter.” Caspian replied.

“Call me, Peter.” Peter told him, “It looks like you’re going to be my equal if we make it out, might as well start acting like it.”

“Alright then, Peter.” Caspian said, smiling as well.

They leaned back against the table and Caspian asked: “Can you tell me more about back then? About the Golden Age? I hear so much, but know so little. I wish to know more about this land if I am to rule it one day.”

“It will be my pleasure.” Peter told him as he started telling Caspian about the rebuilding of their home, the wars, the feasts, the treaties and the small moments of peace.

Late at night after many tales from back then, Caspian thanked him once more, before he retreated for the night. Peter stayed there in front of Aslan as he wondered if he would ever return to them and if he could do what the White Witch had promised.

He was still sitting there the next day when Lucy sat down next to him and looked up at Aslan as well.

“You’re lucky, you know that.” Peter broke the silence.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“To have seen him. I wish he’d just give me some kind of proof.” Peter sighed, “All I have is a too small army and no clue how Darian died.”

Tears sprung in his eyes and Lucy threw one arm over his shoulders as she said: “Maybe we’re the ones who need to prove ourselves to him.”

He looked at her and could see the smart woman she had been, who had kept hope in the hearts of their men and themselves. Lucy always had the most faith, if she still believed it would be alright, it had to be.

Maybe he couldn't believe in Aslan right now, but he could believe in Lucy.

Before he could reply to her, however, Edmund stormed in. He looked tense as he said: “Pete, you better come quickly.”

Then he hurried away again as Peter and Lucy rushed after him. Outside the Telmarine troops marched. The waiting time was over, they needed a plan and quick.

Luckily, the faith he had placed in Lucy wasn’t for nothing and she had a plan. Now they just needed to hold Miraz off for as long as they could.

“Cakes and kettledrums! That’s your next big plan? Sending a little girl into the darkest parts of the forest alone?” Trumpkin wasn’t happy with Lucys plan it seemed.

“You forget she is Queen Lucy the Valiant, my friend.” Peter said, “It’s our only hope and I trust her to come through.”

“And she won’t be alone.” Susan added.

“Haven’t enough died already.” Trumpkin was certain this plan was doomed.

At least the badger, Trufflehunter, was there to calm him: “Nikabrik was my friend too, but he lost hope. Queen Lucy hasn’t and neither have I.”

He seemed to have the right idea Peter thought approvingly. Reepicheep chanted: “For Aslan.”

And a bear echoed, with that settled Peter turned to the next point, keeping Miraz troops away from the forest. Behind him he heard Trumpkin say: “I’m coming with you.”

“No, we need you here.” Lucy told him, she knew war well enough to know each and every soldier counted.

“We need to hold them off until Lucy and Susan get back.” he said, looking over the map and calculating their numbers, knowing they didn’t have enough.

“If I may?” Caspian stepped forwards.

Peter would have shut him down by now before, but he knew Caspian was trying to win, trying to be a leader worthy of Narnia. And he had the same pleading eyes Darian had had, which he never had been able to refuse.

So he allowed him to speak.

“Miraz might be a tyrant and a murderer, but as King, he is subject to the traditions and expectations of his people. There is one particular thing that may buy us some time.” Caspian said as he began to explain his plan.

Grinning Peter told Edmund to start writing a duel challenge, his brother had a way with words, so he only gave the order: “Make it sting.”

Edmund grinned in return and before Peter knew it they were anxiously awaiting his little brothers return. Beside him Caspian asked: “Is he going to be alright?”

Peter glanced over and saw genuine concern. He smiled and assured Caspian: “Ed is always alright in these sort of things. I once witnessed him insult the entire royal house of the Lonely Islands, before he convinced them to surrender to us, without them even noticing.”

“Really?” Caspian asked with big eyes.

“Jup, really.” Peter confirmed with a proud grin.

In the How behind them Trumpkin was making sure Lucy and Susan would be on their way safely, before joining Peter and Caspian just in time for Edmunds return.

Peter got ready for his fight, knowing that Glenstorm was keeping an eye on the forest to make sure his sisters would be safe. He knew they were deadly on their own, but the big brother instinct stopped him from leaving them unguarded.

In front of him Miraz said: “There is still time to surrender.”

“Well, feel free.” Peter had won enough fights not to be intimidated by a man with a metal beard on his helmet.

“How many more must die for the throne?” Miraz asked him, trying to get a rise out of him.

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes as he replied: “Just one.”

Then the fight started for real, swords swinging through the air as they clashed. He and Miraz were dancing around each other, looking for any weak spots. Muscle memory took over for the most part, but his body wasn’t the same as the last time he’d been here.

He made a wrong step and was on his back, tripping over Miraz feet. He kept rolling to break his fall, but Miraz stepped on his shield and his arm twisted, making him cry out in pain.

Trying to get away, he kept on blocking, but it wasn’t looking good. It was a stroke of luck he managed to trip up Miraz as well.

Both got up quickly and he saw Glenstorm riding with Susan on his back. Caspain gave him a short nod, before rushing towards them, giving him a thumbs up, but Peters attention was already back on Miraz, who asked: “Does his highness need a respite?”

“Five minutes.” he needed to know what happened to Lucy.

“Three.” Miraz said and Peter was willing to take that.

They limped back to their respective sides and slumped in their seats. With fear in his eyes he asked: “Lucy?”

“She got through, with a little help.” Susan told him, nodding to Glenstorm.

“Thank you.”

Glenstorm bowed his head: “It was my honor and duty, but your sister oversells it, they did not need much help.”

Peter turned back to Susan and nodded to the How: “Better get up there, just in case. I don’t expect the Telmarines will keep their word.”

Susan quickly hugged him, making him wince in pain. She let go if burned and softly apologized, he waved it away and assured her he was alright.

“Take care.” she told him.

“Keep smiling.” Edmund said next to him, signaling to him that he was being watched and shouldn’t show weakness.

“I think it’s dislocated.” he told Edmund, then he a sudden thought came up in him “What do you think happens back home if you die here? Would I go to the same afterlife as- …You know, you’ve always been there, after Darian. I never really-”

His thank you and maybe farewell speech was cut off by Edmund, who relocated his shoulder and sternly said: “Save it for later.”

It wasn’t the first time they gave each others words that might become their last, but Edmund knew Peter could survive this and he wasn’t about to listen while the other talked himself into a spiral that could effect his performance.

And with that the fight started again. It was harsh and it hurt, but Peter was managing this time around. He had been able to study how his opponent fought and was ready with some new strategies to try.

He practically had Miraz when the man yelled: “Respite! Respite!”

“Now is not the time for chivalry, Pete.” Edmund shouted from behind and Peter knew this. Still, he hesitated. He was High King Peter the Magnificent, it would be wrong to kill a man unarmed, he had won.

Edmund might be Just, but he could be a cold blooded judge and had always fared better in backroom backstabbing than duels, which said a lot seeing that he was already an amazing duelist.

Peter lowered his sword and walked away. The moment his back was turned Edmund began to shout: “Look out!”

He dodged just in time and cursed himself, how many times did he have to learn to listen to Edmund before that lesson stuck? His little brother had proved himself to be wise beyond Peter many times and still he forgot.

But, Miraz was weakened and Peter was not intending to stop right now. With a few blows he had the self-proclaimed King on his knees before him.

“What’s the matter boy? Too cowardly to take a life?” he asked tauntingly, not realizing that the boy in front of him was way more than he seemed.

Looking back Peter was every inch the High King he claimed to be as he said: “I am not cowardly and I have taken many lives on many different battlefields. I just know when a life is not mine to take.”

He offered Caspian the sword, who took it with determination. He had earned this kill, if he wanted it, it was his for the taking. He raised the sword slowly as his uncle told him: “Perhaps I was wrong. It seems you have the making of a good Telmarine King after all.”

Caspian screamed and plunged the sword into the soil. There was fury in his eyes as he said: “Not one like you. Keep your life, but I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom.”

As he walked back to them everyone cheered, but Peter and Edmund exchange looks. They had just seen how treacherous a Telmarine could be with your backed turned to them and they did not trust them to keep theirs turned.

Soon they were proven right as Miraz died at the hands of one of his own men and the troops were called to arms anyway.

Peter quickly found Caspians eyes and the prince nodded at him self assured, before he rode back into the How, while Peters heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t seen Darians eyes this time, but still there was that reaction as he started to count.

The fight was brutal and Peter was keeping a strong face because he had to, because he couldn't fail once more. He couldn't disappoint Lucy or Caspian or Edmund or Susan or any of the men under his care, he needed to keep them safe for Aslans sake.

With no Lucy in sight, however, there was no other choice. He called out: “Back to the How,” he wouldn't make the same mistake twice, they were retreating. Now.

But their escape was cut off as the How collapsed and there was no other choice than turn back to face the Telmarines once more. With Edmund by his side and Caspian on the other of the battlefield they charged again.

Then the battlefield was filled with trees and Peter smiled to himself, not all hope was lost. He rushed over to where he had seen Caspian last and pulled him up with a grin that was returned. Looking back to the fight he shouted: “For Aslan!”

And they charged again, making the Telmarines retreat back to the river, where they were intercepted by what could only be Aslan and Lucy.

With the Telmarines dealt with, the three of them and Caspian knelt before Aslan as they waited for him to speak: “Rise, Kings and Queens of Narnia.”

Everyone except Caspian rose, surprising Peter, but also making a wave of pride surge through him when Caspian responded to Aslan with: “I do no think I am ready.”

And he could not agree more with the Lion as he said: “It’s for that very reason that I know you are.”

After that they got interrupted by Reepicheep and his friends, while Peter threw an arm around Caspians shoulders and smiled at him, getting one in return, before he let go.

Then the four of them were busy helping Caspian set up and make everything go more smoothly. He at least had the luck that there was already a system in place that he could mold to fit the current situation instead of having to start anew, but it was still a lot of work.

Peter and Caspian were almost constantly together and Peter had grown very fond of the pri- uhm, King.

With very fond, he meant he had fallen for him and he had fallen hard, but he did not want to burden the young man with it, for it felt he was projecting Darian onto him, which would be unfair to him.

Still that did not stop his eyes from lingering and his lips from smiling as he found himself seeking out Caspians company more often. Finding he had a bigger sense of humor than the dire situation they had met in, had allowed.

He still missed Darian so much, but it felt like the salt was removed from the wound and he could start to heal now. He had asked Aslan about him, but the Lion had only responded: “He died peacefully in bed, trying to care for Narnia the best he could.”

“Can you bring him back?” he had asked as well.

“Maybe if you look he is already here.” Aslan had said mysteriously, “All will be revealed later, do not worry, Peter.”

And with that he had left Peter to his own.

Now he and Susan were walking through the courtyard and she commented lightly: “So you and Caspian have grown close.”

He blushed and replied: “I have become quite fond of him, I must confess. But I fear I might only see him as replacement and I cannot do that to him, he deserves better.”

“You really have a magnificent heart.” she teased him, but there was truth in her statement.

“And you are too gentle, Su.” he told her.

Before she could say something else, they were interrupted by Caspian, who called out: “We are ready. Everyone has assembled.”

They hurried to the tree where Caspian addressed his people: “Narnia belongs to the Narnians just as it does to man. Any Telmarines who want to stay and live in peace are welcome to. And for any of you who wish, Aslan will return you to the home of our forefathers.”

One of the Lords called out: “It has been generations since we left Telmar.”

“We are not referring to Telmar.” Aslan took over, “Your ancestors were sea-faring brigands, pirates run aground on an island. There they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world, the same world as our Kings and Queens. It is to that island I can return you. It is a good place for any who wish to make a new start.”

It was quiet for a moment, then Gozelle stated: “I’ll go. I will accept the offer.”

Next to him Prunaprisma stepped forwards as well with her child and said: “So will we.”

“Because you have spoken first, your future in that world will be good.” Aslan told them as the tree unwrapped into a portal through which they disappeared.

“How do we know he is not leading us to our deaths?” someone from the crowd called out.

“Sire, if my example can be of any service, I will take eleven mice through with no delay.” Reepicheep said with a bow to Aslan.

“I can go.” Peter offered.

He got looks from his siblings and Lucy frowned: “Why Peter? You love it here, this is your home, do you want to leave? Go back to where they hate you for nothing?”

Peter gave her a sad look: “I do love it here and I do not want to go, but these people need to be assured and I leave this place in good hands. Beside, there is a lot of hurt for me here too, I do not even know where my husband is buried, Lu.”

“So you have not figured it out yet.” Aslan asked.

“I tried, Aslan, I did. I searched high and low, but there is no headstone here.” Peter told him.

“What is he talking about, Peter?” Susan asked.

“He told me Darian is already here, but I cannot find him and the search is hurting. I want to believe, but I do not wish to chase false fantasies and keep opening up a wound that should be healing.” Peter explained.

“My dear boy.” Aslan said, “In my land people can choose to stay there if they wish or be reborn to find their true love again.”

Peters eyes grew wide as the meaning of what had just been revealed to him sunk in. It was no miracle he had been brought back now, that the person he met with a duel wore the face of his lover and reminded him so terribly of Darian.

He turned to Caspian is shock, who wore the same expression on his face as he too, realized what had just been said.

“Is that really true?” Caspian asked Aslan, “Was I Darian in a former life?”

Aslan nodded and Peter started crying. Unsure of what to do Caspian approached and softly said: “If you cannot love me back that is okay and I shall let you return to the world you came from without protest.”

“Love you back?” Peter asked, hope building up in his chest.

Caspian blushed and it was even prettier than he remembered as he admitted: “Well, I never claimed I make the best decisions when it comes to love.”

He could not know how achingly similar it was to the last time he had confessed and more tears flowed out of Peters eyes as he embraced Caspian. He quietly asked: “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

Nodding Caspian pulled back and allowed Peter to bring their lips together as they kissed softly, a thousand words hidden in a kiss.

When they pulled back people cheered and Peter saw his siblings smile at him. Both of them blushed scarlet, but could stop the big grins from taking over their features as they stuck close together, hands fitting perfectly in one another.

Aslan turned to the crowd and said: “I myself shall walk through the portal. After I am through, it shall remain open for a day, then it shall close forever. Think wisely of whether you go and what you bring with you.”

Then he turned to the siblings and said: “I was truly an honor to have met you. You shall help the new King greatly. Till we meet again.”

Lucy embraced him in a big hug, tears falling down her face as she clutched his manes tightly and said: “Thank you, Aslan. Goodbye.”

The others also said goodbye to the Lion, before he roared to his people and walked through the portal without looking back. He was not needed for now, he had left his kingdom in the right hands and he could only look forward to a better future.

#RR writing #narnia #peter pevensie #peter pevensie x caspian #peter pevensie x caspian x #caspian x #prince caspian #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #aslan #narnia prince caspian

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