#It was a risk for stars reputation in the underground and he TOOK it

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

Starlo's personality

I'm still confused about this man's 'true self,' gotta admit. How much of 'himself' IS there in 'North Star'?

What we know about real Star:

He's a nerd/geek obsessed with westerns; that's where he got the inspiration to build WE

He looks different than with the hat on and used to wear braces

Was shy in his teenage years around Ceroba (no idea how he acted normally) + couldn't confess to her

His mom (after killing him) says how he's never been the one to follow rules. I wonder what she meant by that. Rules, like, you're supposed to hate humans like everyone else or rules, like, no sneaking off to practice your shooting and lasso skills? Both?

Ed describes the 'old him' as a fearless leader and as a monster who could 'make his own fun in the little things' (you mean he used to be more humble but at the same time remained an ambitious risk-taker?)

Is insecure about where he comes from and what he looks like

We don't have enough info to know what he was like as a kid. I'm curious if absolutely everything about North Star is the opposite of Starlo (I don't think it is); both are kind and protective. Still, I can't help but wonder if the Starlo after Showdown, in both routes, is the real him or not. Maybe 50% yes and 50% no

Just from the end credits, the only thing I got about him was that he's kind and friendly and optimistic and charming (North Star is this way too, but more exaggerated). Nothing new

So maybe Starlo IS North Star, but more modest (aka not as exaggerated)

I'm curious about your thoughts guys.

Also I forgot to mention how he wanted to plan a PARTY for Kanako, in neutral says that the PARTY in the saloon was great (and the letter he sent was pretty charming), wants to accompany Ceroba in the Steamworks, is open about how he feels (immediately openly confronts Ceroba and calls her out; he's assertive), not afraid to get physical if it means protecting Clover & Martlet, can be pretty loud (like when he spotted Clover after sparing him in neutral, he was like "DEPUTY!!!"

I'm left wondering if all this is the real him or not. I think it is. Just maybe toned down a bit :) It's the only explanation for the fact he's been doing all this for a really long time and never showing signs of wanting to stop/that it exhausted him

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Phobia (one-shot)

Pairing: OC (female character) x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: suggestions of smut, violence, language, mentions of blood and gore

Genre: Mafia AU; Marriage AU

Word Count: 4K

Summary: He found her when she was nothing - disgraced by her family and cast aside as an outsider. Yet, Chan made her feel wanted for the first time in her life, in more ways than one, which leads to countless nights of passionate love...until their worst fears come to fruition. 

A/N: Chan, you will always be a perfect husband to me. Thank you for coming to my short Ted Talk.

This time when he came home, he was covered in blood...

I almost broke down in the foyer at the sight of him, but Chan was quick to reassure me, shaking me by the shoulders as he patiently explained that it wasn’t his blood - there was a shooting at their exchange, but neither Chan nor his men had been injured. Of course, it doesn’t stop me from leading him upstairs, drawing a warm bath in our shared en-suite while fussing over the state of Chan’s suit, or what was left of it. His pale skin was apparent behind the black fabric of his dress pants, and there were long tears in his shirt. 

Needless to say, I threw all of those blood-stained clothes away before urging him into the bathtub, carefully kneeling down onto my knees as I started dragging a soft cloth over his skin. Chan moaned in delight, throwing back his head against the shower tiles while he allowed me to fuss over him - to reassure myself that he was okay, and that the horrific image of my husband standing in front of me drenched in blood was nothing more than a terrible memory.

I softly ran my fingers through his blond-hair, working through the tangles while being mindful of his eyes, using my hand to move his head back when I used a pitcher to wash the shampoo out of his delicate curls. “Hey,” Chan said, voice hoarse from overuse as he watched me drag his hand out of the bath water, working on the dirt and grim under his fingernails. 

I paused when I fingered across his wedding band. “Don’t come home like that ever again.”

I could feel Chan looking at me, and there was a lot of regret in his eyes, but I didn’t feel any remorse over my sharp tone. “I’m sorry, babygirl,” he said. “They were shooting at Felix and I-”

“You don’t have to justify your work to me,” I interrupted him. “I know the risks, but I never want to see something like that when I���ve been waiting for you.”

Chan nodded, and I shifted back when he sat up in the bathtub, allowing sensual rivulets of water to climb down the toned expanse of his chest and stomach. Meanwhile, I used the towel holder to help myself stand up, grabbing a spare towel for Chan, and trying to ignore how red the water remained after my husband had climbed out to wrap the towel around his waist.

Afterward, I allowed Chan some privacy in the bathroom while I returned to our bedroom, crawling into bed while remaining mindful of my stomach - the evidence of life bloating the skin. I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands along the exposed flesh, and I knew that it was bad to feel any kind of stress while I was pregnant. Unfortunately, my husband’s chosen line of work never made things easier.

Eventually, Chan joined me on the bed, leaving the towel hanging loosely from his hips while he shot me a concerned glance. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, and his eyes immediately dropped.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said, and I looked over at him as Chan slid one hand around my waist, holding me and our unborn child protectively.

“You’re right about everything, baby girl,” he said. “I’ll never scare you like that again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I warned him, but Chan shook his head sternly, keeping me close before landing a soft kiss to the edge of my lips.

“I have a lot to clean-up tomorrow,” he said. “Work might take awhile.”

I sighed in return, looking up at the ceiling. “Wake me up before you go.”

Past

When Chan and I first met, his ledger wasn’t nearly as red. He actually served my family, taking on small cases with his friends, Jisung and Changbin, in service to my father. However, he had started to garner a reputation for being a quick hand and a good shot when it came to using guns, and Jisung and Changbin provided the perfect support for their little unit.

My father considered Chan to be one of his favorite apprentices, and he even approved of my early relationship with Chan. Despite my tendency to rebel against my father’s chosen favorites, I couldn’t resist Chan’s dark persona and contagious personality. He could probably talk the wealthiest man into giving away half of his fortune once he listened to Chan’s cunning words. 

On our first date, he showed me how to count cards in the Casino that my father owned, and after only three weeks of dating, he fucked me so hard in the backseat of his car that I saw stars after almost passing out from the pleasure.

We technically met in my father’s office because I had stormed in on one of their meetings unannounced, ready to confront my father because he had forced my youngest brother, Jeongin, to attend some lousy military school. Jeongin had cried for the entirety of the days leading up to his unwanted departure, and I had stood outside on the porch fuming as he was taken away from me.

But my father was really good at screwing over the members of his family, and I had finally had enough of his intervention. However, I also remembered hesitating when I saw Chan standing next to my father’s desk, freshly dyed hair glowing under the Chandelier. “Oh, it’s you,” my father grumbled. “What the hell do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said in return, maintaining eye-contact with Chan as I retreated from the office. 

Later that day, I asked my mother about Chan, and she told me that she didn’t know much about him, other than the fact that his parents had been killed in a raid - probably from my father’s doing - and he was serving our family. “Your father seems to like him,” my mother said, and it was only one of the very few times in her life that she had told the truth. 

Thereafter, I developed an unfavorable opinion of Chan since my father liked him, but it didn’t take Chan very long to change my mind and prove me wrong. He wasn’t blindly loyal to the man who destroyed his family - he was cold and methodical, and he told me how he planned to eventually break away from my father and form his own business with Jisung and Changbin. He spoke so passionately that it was hard not to fall in love with the burning look in his dark eyes. 

From then on, we became close to one another, sharing our deepest fears and desires, and we weren’t afraid to demonstrate our affection for one another. I was actually happy for once, which meant that something had to go wrong in my life. And it turned out that one of my father’s business partners was threatening our family because we owed them a lot of money, and my father planned to pay his debt by doing something rather despicable: selling me into their service.

It was humiliating, and I knew exactly what I would become working for a family that was notorious for its influence in the adult entertainment industry. I was enraged that my family would sentence me to that kind of life, but I wasn’t nearly as upset as Chan. We had been together for six months, and Chan had already started to include me in his future plans...the exchange was unacceptable.

So, on the night when my family planned to sell me to their rivals, Chan and I drove away in one of the cars that we stole from my father, bringing along Jisung and Changbin who fired off rounds of bullets from the windows as we escaped into the solitude of the night. Consequently, my family disowned me, snatching my last name and removing me from the family tree. But it never concerned me, especially when Chan offered me his last name instead, vowing his loyalty by exchanging intimate vows and marrying me on a warm, spring afternoon. When he fucked me that same night, he whispered sweet little nothings that contradicted the filthy way that his hips moved against mine, driving his cock deep inside.

After that, the two of us were inseparable - a dynamic duo that was ready to take the underground mafia world by storm...

Present

Before the sun had completely risen, Chan was stumbling out of bed with exhaustion written across his wearied countenance. I watched him move around the room, admiring the hard planes of his back as he dressed himself in the usual combination of black dress pants and a white button-up shirt. Chan claimed that it was important to look his best when it involved meeting with our rivals.

I closed my eyes when he neared my bedside, and I could feel him leaning down to press soft kisses to my forehead, fingers trailing across my stomach before he was leaving our bedroom with a heavy sigh. I swallowed hard against a sudden wave of emotions, remembering his appearance from the previous night, and the same restless anxiety managed to bleed its way around my heart.

Graciously, I managed to eventually fall back asleep, but it was only for a few hours because I was brought back to reality by the sound of the fire alarm blaring throughout the house. I groaned in complaint, throwing off the sheets before grabbing my dress robes and trudging downstairs. 

As I grew closer to the commotion, I could hear two men loudly arguing from one of the adjoining rooms, attempting to be heard over the sound of the annoying alarm. When I walked into the kitchen, I wrinkled my nose at the burning smell from the stove, waving my hand to clear the smoke. And standing at the center of the drama was Chan’s younger brother, Felix, as he engaged in a heated argument with my brother, Jeongin. “It’s your fault!” I heard Felix say. “You can’t cook bacon like that!”

“I told you to watch the pan!” Jeongin retaliated, and I rolled my eyes at their immature behavior.

“Hey!” I yelled, forcing both of them to pause. “Can you seriously not do this right now?”

Felix was the first to notice me, pointing an accusing finger at Jeongin. “Hey, he started it!”

I closed my eyes. “How old are you again?”

It was a surprise to me that they had both managed to live with us this long without engaging in more than just verbal altercations. After Chan and I rescued Jeongin from his cruel military academy, my husband invited him to join the organization. At first, I was hesitant of the decision, but Chan never invited Jeongin out on missions with them. Instead, he and Felix did most of the reconnaissance work from behind the scenes, and Jeongin was remarkably good with computers. Maybe he wasn’t on par with Felix’s hacking skills, but my younger brother continued to expand his skill set because she was determined to be the best.

Unfortunately, working in close proximity to one another on a regular basis inevitably led to numerous arguments. They were both strong-willed and stubborn, and neither Jeongin nor Felix was capable of flexibility, especially when it meant admitting that they were wrong. So, they often argued over trivial things, and I was usually left around to mend their bruised egos.

But a cooking dispute? At this hour? I shook my head because I didn’t have the patience to deal with them. “Leave the pan and go upstairs. I’ll take care of everything.”

Felix and Jeongin shot each other nasty glares as they obeyed, and I waited until they were gone before opening the windows in the kitchen and resetting the fire alarm. Finally, I turned my attention to the mess on the stove, cleaning with an exaggerated sigh. It was moments like this that made me long for the days when I used to accompany Chan on some of his missions...

Past

Chan only ever brought me along with him when he felt that a situation was incapable of turning violent, and he liked having me around to distract lesser men as he talked them into agreeing with anything that he said. I, of course, liked being helpful to my husband, and I always played my part well. For example, dressing in low-cut affairs that tended to produce insatiable responses from my husband who loved to drag me into his lap.

It made me feel powerful, arching my back as Chan ran one of his hands down my waist. “Look at your tits,” Chan said, stroking his fingers across the swell of my breasts. “Gorgeous.”

I beamed at his compliment, allowing him to handle as he liked while Chan turned to finally address the impatient man sitting across from us. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been waiting all night,” the man said with a challenging stare.

“My apologies,” Chan smirked. “I’ve been rather busy.”

“I can see that,” the man said, but his smirk suggested that he wasn’t entirely understanding of Chan’s delayed commitment. Apparently, Chan was trying to sign some kind of arms deal with him, and my husband was very greedy when it came to our money. 

“I have my price listed,” Chan said, shoving the contract at the other man. “You can sign at the bottom.”

“Isn’t this a bit cheap?” the man asked. “The cost of labor alone is barely covered by your...generous offering.”

“It’s my final compromise,” Chan said, feigning boredom as he tugged at the neckline of my dress. “What do you say?”

“How about one night with your whore?” the man asked, leaning in across the table to reveal two rows of slimy teeth.

Immediately, I could feel the way that Chan tensed from underneath me, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. “I hope you’re not referring to my wife.”

The man chuckled. “What difference does it make?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, and I saw a myriad of emotions reflected in his narrowed eyes. “Baby girl,” he eventually said while looking at me. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks?”

I nodded my head, scrambling to find my footing as I left the comfort of Chan’s lap to retrace my steps to the bar at the opposite end of the club. The bartender recognized me, sliding two beers in my direction with a smile before sending me on my way.

However, I suddenly paused when I started to approach our table, realizing that Chan had wanted to keep me away for a valid reason. He had also drawn a crowd of onlookers who watched as my husband smashed our target’s face into a pile of broken glass on the table. There was already so much blood, and Chan’s eyes were wild with his rage. He was also flanked by Jisung and Changbin whose fingers wrapped around the handles of their weapons. “You learned a lesson tonight, didn’t you?” Chan growled, grabbing the man by his collar to toss him into the floor. I winced when Chan’s heeled boot pressed down against the man’s throat, and his hands immediately wrapped themselves around my husband’s leg as he choked. 

There was every reason to feel horrified, watching my husband handle a man with so much violence while surrounded by blood and gore. But I didn’t feel scared. Instead, I smiled as I stood aside with our drinks, watching the action unfold with greedy eyes.

Present

It was late, and I could feel myself growing anxious. I passed the time by pacing the floor, resisting the urge to run into the other room and demand an update from Jeongin and Felix. They were playing a pivotal role in tonight’s mission, and they didn’t need my distraction.

But I could tell that something was wrong. The clock was ticking away loudly in the background, and every instinct was screaming at me to call my husband and demand his whereabouts. “Come on,” I muttered, hugging my arms around my stomach as I was prone to do these days.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Becaus my mind was a chaotic mess of restless thoughts and horrible scenarios flashing across my eyes. What if something bad happened to Chan?

I couldn’t stand it anymore. He had always promised me that he would come home, but it felt shallow on nights like this. Because life never promised any guarantees, especially when you put yourself in harms way on a regular basis.

I was approaching my wits end when Jeongin burst into my room with wide eyes. “What is it?” I snapped at him, allowing my frustration to boil over like a steaming kettle.

“We have to go to the hospital,” Jeongin said, and he somehow managed to catch me before I collapsed in the floor.

Past

But I suddenly couldn’t breathe, looking down at the seemingly mundane object in my hand. It was forecasting a fate that neither Chan nor myself had planned for our future. Something that could be dangerous in our world, and I already feared for my unborn child’s life.

However, it wasn’t something that I could hide - a secret to hold onto because it wouldn’t bear any consequences. This changed everything, and I had no idea how to tell Chan when I saw him later that evening. We had plans to have dinner together, and he looked divine as always, dressed impeccably with his hair slicked back, and perhaps to anyone else he would appear perfectly put together. But I knew better than most.

“How was work?” I asked, staring down at my dinner plate because I had lost my appetite.

“It was fine,” Chan said, shoveling another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth like it was his last meal on Earth. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“Not much,” I said, hesitating as I looked down at the pregnancy test in my lap. “Felix kept me entertained.”

“As long as he’s staying out of trouble,” Chan said, reclining back in his chair as he looked at me from over the table. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said, and my tone was quiet and uncertain, but Chan must’ve had a billion other thoughts on his mind because he didn’t comment on my mood.

“I’m not busy tomorrow,” Chan said. “We can do whatever you want.”

It made my heart swell with affection to hear him say that since I knew that he was either lying or exaggerating. Because Chan never had any free time. “Channie,” I started, “I have something to tell you.”

Chan adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his forearms. “What is it?”

I bit my tongue, wrapping my fingers around the pregnancy test as I carefully brought it onto the table. There were so many ways that I could tell him, but nothing seemed to sound correct inside my head, and I was fumbling with an explanation. However, when I met Chan’s sweet smile and kind eyes, I managed to latch onto an inkling of confidence, finding my voice the longer we continued to look at one another. “I’m pregnant,” I whispered to Chan, watching him carefully as he listened.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and I would’ve never noticed if I wasn’t paying such close attention. But then he noticed the test I had brought resting on top of the table. “It was positive,” he said, almost like an observation.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod, waiting with bated breath as he folded his arms across his chest - and it was a vulnerable position.

Eventually, Chan stood up from the table, and I shivered when I thought that he might leave the room, but he instead came to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “We’ll make it work, baby girl,” he said, holding me like I was something fragile that he needed to protect. There were tears in my eyes before I could hold them back, and Chan was kneeling on the floor and looking at me with so much love. “I’m gonna give you the world,” he promised, and it was a solemn declaration, sealed with a kiss to my shirt-covered stomach.

Present

Time was a social construct, and we can feel its effects most profoundly in the moments when it feels like it might run out before we can do anything to stop the inevitable. In desperation, we struggle to breach the surface of the water and take a much-needed deep breath - but there’s only so much that we can do for the things beyond our control. Yet, we still try to remedy them, and I found myself pacing anxiously outside of his hospital room, ignoring the suggestions from his other members to relax and sit down. Because my mind was incapable of settling down, and I could only chant the words, he can’t die, as they repeated over and over again inside my head, remembering how the doctor looked at me when I confronted him.

“We’ll do the best we can,” the doctor had told me, but it wasn’t good enough.

I was on the edge of total self-destruction, and maybe it was the first time that I finally realized just how affected I would be without Chan. Because the world would be so cold without him next to my side, and I couldn’t bear the thought of facing that oblivion of darkness.

He had to keep living for me...

“Mrs. Bang,” a nurse said, pulling my attention to the smiling woman approaching me. “You can see him now.”

I sniffled and nodded, following the nurse as she led me to Chan’s room, feeling my heart grow lighter with every step in the right direction. Until I was confronted with Chan’s familiar presence, watching me from his hospital bed, and I was on cloud nine as I rushed to him. Wrapping my arms around him as I cried softly into his shoulder. “Channie,” I whimpered, pulling back to press my lips against his for the necessary reassurance of his touch.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

I shook my head because the fear was still there - lingering at the edges of my subconscious, acting as a reminder of the utter dread that I had experienced when Jeongin first told me that Chan was somewhere I never wanted to see him. “I thought you were gone,” I whispered, grabbing his hands to ground myself in this reality with Chan, surviving the impossible for another day. “This is my worst fear, Chan,” I continued. “That you won’t come home, and our kid will grow up without their father.”

Chan sighed, and I noticed that his eyes were swollen around the rims, and there were unshed tears waiting to fall. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It can’t happen again,” I told him sternly, hoping I looked more fierce than I felt on the inside. Because Chan needed to be explicitly told these things in the only way that he would understand.

“I’ll always do my best for you,” he said, and I realized that his tone was thick with emotion and the unsaid words between us that we were both still too afraid to vocalize.

“I love you, Chan,” I said. “I know you like the work that you do, but I think it might be time to take on less responsibilities.”

“You’re right,” he said, looking up at me with a sad smile. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I just need you,” I said, allowing him to pull me onto the bed next to him, and we both savored the silence humming throughout the room and the familiar presence of the person who we needed more than anything else in this cruel world. 

[sevsnapeposts]

Snapetober Day 5: Apple orchard.

hello, this one was a bit hard t imagine, but it was oh so fun to write. i love interactions between severus and the other professors. please, feel free to read it over in ao3 if you'd like, and also if yoou'd be kind enough, go give me some kudos over there. thanks, hope you enjoy~.

Day 5 - Apple orchard.

--

Hogwarts was a college of the highest prestige, and as such it had a reputation to uphold. One could doubt its safety, the responsibility professors had in handing out certain punishments to students, and even the expertise of said professors themselves (people pointed to Remus Lupin, although honestly, Lockhart was the blackest sheep ever), but there was something that could never be reproached: The quality of the food.

From mashed potatoes to the most elaborate cake to all kinds of drinks, every meal at Hogwarts was a pleasure. Elves cooked everything to perfection, and if it weren't for a certain professor, everyone thoroughly enjoyed the cooking. Much of it was due to the quality of the products, all being the best of the best, natural and fresh. The elves gathered the very first harvest at the end of the summer holidays, leading to the Great Banquet, the best dinner of the year in the opinion of the vast majority.

And speaking of it, it was primordial to get things done. This year they would have Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as guests, and Hogwarts couldn’t disappoint.

Somewhere in the castle, Dumbledore had an idea.

"I seem unable to understand why we had to come".

Severus hated many things: teenagers, the smell of wet dog, physical contact, Potter, Potter's godfather, Potter's father, and lately Lucius for nagging him about going to see the Quidditch World Cup. But if there was one thing Severus hated more than all those things put together, it was the sun. Especially the summer sun. He had nothing against the nice hot, light-filled days of that time of year, as long as he could be tucked underground, in the sweet, cold shade, surrounded by water and silence and not a drop of sunlight.

Unfortunately for him, the poor man was walking along with all the other Heads of House, and Dumbledore of course, under the tireless and exhausting gaze of the major star. They were on their way to an apple orchard, the one that supplied Hogwarts and where the elves would appear in a few hours. It had occurred to Dumbledore that it would be a fun outing for the five of them, and Severus couldn't have disagreed more, but everyone else was largely ignoring him, determined to have some fun.

In any case, Severus felt his face hot, certain that his pale skin was quite flushed, which bothered him even more. He looked at his companions, for a second envying how fresh they all looked: Pomona was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, while Filius was wearing some sort of scout outfit that gave him an almost, almost , funny look; Minerva, on the other side, was wearing a dress that reached below the knee, white with small flowers of different colors that made her look much younger; even Dumbledore had changed his usual outfits that (in the young professor's eyes) looked like pajamas to a pair of shorts from which his slender legs peeked out, the long beard braided to keep it out of the way. The only one who had steadfastly refused to change was Severus, who wore his capes and capes of clothing black as the abyss, and thanks to which he was slowly dying of heat. Not even the cooling spell he had cast on himself could do much more than keep him from perspiring.

But he didn't care. He had a reputation to uphold, for fuck's sake.

“Because it's fun!”, Dumbledore exclaimed. Severus walked between him and Minerva, as usual, while Pomona and Filius walked a bit ahead, marveling like little children at every damn plant in the field. “Also, I know you love our summer vacation expeditions and activities”.

Severus didn't reply, but he shot him a cold, unamused look, as for the last time they'd been out on ‘summer vacation expeditions and activities’ he was almost eaten by a dragon.

"Come on Severus, chill", Minerva chimed in, pulling a hat from her enchanted purse. It was huge and colorful, clearly not one that she would ever wear herself. The woman looked at him with almost sadistic amusement. “Look what I got you! It should help you cool down a bit”.

"No thanks", said the young man, looking listlessly at the hat. He noticed that it also had a cleat that was attached into a bun at the back.

He didn't even want to imagine the teasing if word got out. If they had already been unbearable about Longbottom's grandmother’s outfit...

"Tsk, you're going to get a heatstroke at this rate, and neither of us are going to carry you", the professor reproached him, handing the hat to Dumbledore for examination. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think I have that much luck”.

With another annoyed snort, the group decided to ignore the miserable man again, opting instead to go ahead with the other two teachers. Severus noticed that Dumbledore had put on the hat he was wearing himself and barely had the strength to not snort.

A short time later they reached the top of the hill, where the orchard was. The orchard was somewhat visited, so the landowner had hired some workers to properly care for the people coming and going. At the moment, two young witches were waiting for them standing there, with shorts and shirts tied mid-torso, and thin, light-toned capes tangled around their shoulders and falling to the ground.

Severus was tempted to petrify one of them and change clothes.

The girls welcomed them, very animated, and provided a basket to each one, as well as a tablecloth so that they could sit and watch the sunset if they wanted to. Dumbledore thanked them kindly, and Severus finally put on Minerva's hat when he heard one of the witches comment that smoke was coming out of his head. Minerva laughed at him.

"Shut up".

What had started out as a simple and boring day picking apples ended up being a visceral competition to see who put more fruits in their respective basket after Dumbledore bet 5 galleons that he would be the one with the most. Severus had been in the middle of all the mess, watching as Filius sneakily enchanted apples to fly from Minerva's basket into his own while Dumbledore helped him by distracting the Transfiguration teacher; how Pomona ‘accidentally’ tripped over the headmaster's basket, and in the process of helping him pick them up she took a load of them with her; how Minerva would transform twigs into fake apples to add to her collection.

He hadn't participated in their affairs, of course, because he thought it was the stupidest thing in the world, but he didn't hesitate to gossip to others, starting an argument that ended in apples flying through the air and more than one trampled basket.

Now it was dusk, the ravaging sun being only a bright half disk out on the horizon, slowly fading away. The five teachers had already cleaned up their mess by then, and were sitting on the red and white checkered tablecloth, relaxing after their pitched battle. The only basket that was left intact and capable of carrying apples was Severus', so this had been placed in the center of the group so that anyone could reach out and grab one of the fruits. No one was surprised that Severus was the only one who didn't want to eat one, despite Minerva's scolding look.

But still, the man had already overcome his annoyance, although he wasn’t going to show it out of pure pride. He told himself it was because the damn heat was finally subsiding, which meant he was already able to take off the stupid hat; it had nothing to do with how hilarious he thought the professors' quarrel was, having so much fun with it that he often didn't even realize he was smiling, and that by the end of the day he didn't even remember that he was hot.

"What are we going to do? There are so many! I think if I eat one more I might as well explode”, Pomona complained, who by then had already eaten at least 5 apples. No one could blame her, as they were very sweet, firm without being too harsh, and so juicy that one ran the risk of getting both chin and chest dirty.

How Dumbledore didn’t get his beard dirty, nobody knew.

"The elves will take them to the castle when they come to collect the others. For now, we can leave them with those young ladies”, Dumbledore replied, biting his apple as he gazed at the horizon. Severus noticed how he shot him a sideways glance and braced himself for the worst. “By the way, Severus, I think you... caught the eye of one of them. The redhead, Lauren. Maybe you should go talk to her”.

Severus grimaced, trying to ignore the howl whistles the other teachers were making, as well as Minerva's elbow, which had dug into hir ribs as the woman taunted him.

He already had enough with being one person's crush.

"I think it’d be a better idea if you paid me the galleons you owe me", he replied, sitting upright. The other adults exchanged glances before making heated comments.

"And why would we give you something?".

"I wasn't serious about the bet...".

"You weren't even participating!".

"The way I see it", Severus said, raising his voice above the others, sure that he looked much more serious than the rest as he was the only one with enough dignity to still wear wizard clothes and not Muggle rags, "Dumbledore said whoever had the most apples in the basket was the winner, and the only basket I see is mine”.

"That's because you refused to participate!" Minerva growled, arms folded. Her eyes sparkled.

"I refused to cheat. I had fewer apples than you, but since they have to be in the basket and not in the memory… For instance, victory is mine”.

"That doesn't make any sense, Severus!", Pomona cried. The man waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

“If all players on a Quidditch team break their brooms over petty arguments during a match, would the opposing team be denied victory when only they are left in the air?”, he argued.

There was a heavy silence whilst the others, again, exchanged glances. And then, between reluctance and curses, his four companions searched their pockets and gave him the agreed galleons. Even Dumbledore looked dumbfounded. Severus didn't comment on it, but everyone noticed that his expression was much more smug than before when he reached out to finally eat an apple.

Minerva wasn’t about to be left with such a bitter loss.

"I bet Lauren would like to see that face on you”.

“Oh bloody hell Minerva, do shut up”.

[oasisspringstownie]

FAME: A Legacy Challenge

Sul sul simmers!

Like many of you, one of my favorite things to do in The Sims is play Legacy Challenges. They lead you to explore new aspects of gameplay, give you new imaginative ideas, and facilitate storytelling. So, a couple of nights ago I got the idea to create a new kind of legacy challenge revolving around different aspects of fame.

The goal isn’t exactly to become the most famous using said career/ skill, but to play around with different elements of the fame system in the game. You by no means need all the packs to play through this legacy. While the experience would be more complete and you will be missing careers and skills and stuff you can obviously adapt it to your need. Also, you are more than welcomed to use mods to enrich your gameplay. I myself can’t play without mods and look forward to see what kind of chaos mods can add to this challenge.

So without further a do below are the 10 generations I concocted like a fever dream at 2 am on a Saturday evening:

Gen 1: A Shaky Foundation

Traits: Cheerful, Ambitious, Self-Absorbed

Career: Acting, Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

You move to a new city full of hopes and dreams. You initially pursue your dream of becoming an actor. However, your career is cut short by the unexpected arrival of your first child. You retreat from the spotlight in order to raise your baby and put all of your energy into making sure they have the best future possible. The rest of the time you spend either working or trying to unwind from your demanding life. What will fate bring you and your descendants?

Goals:

Move into an empty lot with 1600 simoleons for the bare minimum.

Start in the Acting Career, but abandon it for the Style Influencer career once your first child is born. Remain in the Style Influencer Career and eventually choose the Trendsetter Branch.

Max out the Style Influencer Career.

Reach level 10 of the Parenting and Wellness Skills.

Be close friends with all of your children and make sure they each age up with at least 2 positive character attributes.

Gen 2: Get Your Head in the Game

Traits: Active, Music Lover, Outgoing

Career: Athlete, Entertainment (Musician Branch)

Your parent might have seemed very overbearing at the time, but they instilled a work ethic in you like no other. Your entire life you were split between your two passions: basketball and singing. Okay, fine, you're Troy Bolton. After succeeding in the sports world you still find yourself feeling somewhat unfulfilled. You enter the entertainment career later on in life to live out your dreams. Will this be the start of something new?

Goals:

Max out the Athlete Career and then switch to the Entertainment Career (Musician Branch).

Max out the Fitness and Singing Skills.

Be in the drama club in high school.

Gen 3: Going for the Stars

Traits: Clumsy, Loner, Genius

Career: Astronaut

Your parent always told you to shoot for the stars, you just took it a bit too seriously. This world was always a bit too pedestrian for you and you yearn to finally lay your eyes on the astronomical craters of Sixam. There's just one problem: you're terrible at it. It's not your fault, you're just a bit clumsy; but will your two left feet keep you from reaching your dreams?

Goals:

Work in the Astronaut Career your entire life. Get demoted and fired at least once in your lifetime.

Destroy and repair a rocket 3 times.

Live in a tiny home for your young adulthood and adulthood.

Have at least one set of twins. *You can cheat for this!*

Gen 4: The Finer Things in Life

Traits: Materialistic, Hates Children, Lazy

Career: None

You've seen all the generations before you work their little pixelated butts off for every simoleon, but you're not about that life. You were destined for the finer things in life.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Charisma and Mixology Skills.

Marry and survive 5 spouses. Take that wording however you want. Divorce is not allowed. You must be the last once standing. After all, spouses are like infinity stones. Meaningless.

Never have a job. Only make money from spouses, family, or children. If you get desperate enough you can ask a friend for a loan or steal, but no working of any kind.

Each child you decide to have with one of your rich spouses comes with a 20k trust fund. If they get taken away or die before coming of age, all the money has to be returned to the evil capitalist overlords. You can't get rid of them that easily.

Own at least 1 restaurant/ retail/ business with one of your spouses. Decorate it, assign the uniform, and hire everyone, but you never run it. Why would you go through the trouble?

Gen 5: My Precious

Traits: Art Lover, Kleptomaniac, Self-Assured

Career: Criminal

Your childhood was pretty hectic and you felt like you barely knew your parents. Who needs them? You've never needed anyone else anyway. On your 18th birthday, you receive your inheritance and use it to buy yourself an unfurnished apartment in the nicest building you can find and that's when your money runs out... literally. However, will a new job as a tough guy be the first of many great ideas or will it only be the beginning of the end for this famed family?

Goals

Once you become a young adult give yourself enough money to buy one of the apartments in the Uptown Neighborhood in San Myshuno. It must be unfurnished. After moving in set your money to 0 simoleons.

Complete the Criminal Career.

Reach level 10 of the Mischief and Dancing Skills.

Gain an atrocious reputation and spend the rest of your life trying to cover it up.

Steal 10 paintings from a museum and exhibit them proudly in your home. You are never allowed to sell them. As an adult, hide them in a secret attic nobody else has access to or knows about. They are your precious.

Gen 6: The Muses

Traits: Creative, Family Oriented, Insider

Career: Painter

You could have anything you wanted in the world thanks to your family's empire so you pursued your passion: painting. While you were never close to your other family members you were always very close to your art teacher. This led you to have very close ties to your friends, co-workers, and eventual children. Will your legacy remain for longer in the memory of strangers or your loved ones?

Goals

Complete the Painter Career

Reach level 10 of the Painting, Cooking and Baking Skills

Have a better relationship with your art teacher than anyone else in your family until you're a teen.

Move to a new world once you become a young adult and cut ties with your family.

Be the leader of one club for all your young adulthood and adulthood.

Be close friends with 3 co-workers and all of your children.

Prepare a meal at least once a week with the help of your children. *I know we don't have this in the game yet technically, but I'm hoping to have Cottage Living by the time I play with this generation*

Hang 5 paintings in a museum.

Retire from Painting Career to help care for your grandchildren.

Gen 7: Mole

Traits: Good, Perfectionist, Paranoid

Career: None

You always had a good relationship with your parents. You told each other everything... well, almost everything. You never understood why but one of your parents never talked about the rest of your family members. They explained that they simply never had a good relationship and would rather not talk about it. You respect this until their death when you return to their seemingly abandoned childhood home. While exploring the house you find a not-so-subtle bookcase door and a long forgotten attic filled with paintings. You take them in hopes of returning them but unbeknownst to you, you are being watched.

After an unfortunately unavailable nail-biting car chase, you shake off your attackers. You can't just lead them home to the rest of your family and what would the police do? They don't even arrest Vlad when he's trying to bite all of your sims!

Sorry, different rant.

So you do the only logical thing: you sell the paintings you just stole for some cash to buy an empty lot and skip town. A new life awaits you... just a bit underground.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Writing, Logic, and Handiness Skills.

Complete the Best Selling Author Aspiration.

After your parent dies, you visit Gen 5's main home and retrieve the paintings hidden in the attic generations ago. Sell them and use the money to buy an empty lot in a completely different world.

Use your remaining money to build a small underground bunker. You can now never leave your bunker or risk immediate death.

You make your income by writing books under your new name. Oh, didn't I mention that? You changed your name to avoid detection. Your children may carry this new fake last name or your partner's.

Gen 8: Part of Your World

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Outgoing, Geek

Career: Social Media

All you knew was the bunker and it's not that you hated it, you just wanted a bit more. You're basically the little mermaid, except you don't get to be a mermaid. You just get a bunker you can never leave and a desperate yearning to explore the outside world.

Your outlet is the internet. From a young age you loved using it to play video games and make friends. As a teen you began to make videos and fostered a community online. Will you finally take your place in the world or remain hidden underground?

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Media Production and Video Gaming Skills

Complete the Social Media Career.

You're never allowed to leave the underground bunker until you're a teen.

You aren't allowed to go to school. Instead you play video games and use your computer for outside interaction.

As a teen you start developing your online presence by posting on social media and making videos on the video station.

You are only allowed to move out of the household once your parent dies and you have enough money in reserves to buy a furnished home.

Gen 9: Natural Born Performer

Traits: Gloomy, Unflirty, Adventurous

Career: Entertainment (Comedy Branch)

Due to your parent's fame, it was always expected you would follow in their footsteps. While a bit more gloomy than most, you are happiest when you make others laugh. So you join the Entertainer Career where you flourish as a comedian. You're also a bit unlucky in love. Will the family name's fame and your own notoriety keep you from finding true love or are you destined to a lifetime of gold diggers and one night stands?

Goals

Complete the Entertainer Career (Comedy Branch).

Reach level 10 of the Comedy and Rock Climbing skills.

Complete Serial Romantic Aspiration

Have four children.

Die suddenly and *mysteriously* in your adulthood.

Gen 10: A Grand Finale

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Ambitious, Perfectionist

Career: Actor

After losing your parents at a very young age, you and your siblings were sent to live with some distant relatives you didn't even know about. While you and your siblings are all very different and you bicker plenty, you always stick together.

After learning you are a descendant of some of the most famous and infamous sims in history, you are determined to meet and surpass their achievements. Will you come out on top or have you flown too close to the sun?

Goals

Complete the Actor Career

Achieve level 10 of 10 skills of your choosing.

Become a Global Superstar.

Get a star on Starlight Boulevard.

Throughout your lifetime you must go on vacation to every house you lived in throughout all previous 9 generations. Oh, and your three other siblings need to come along too. Think of it as Narnia meets It. Also make sure to steal something from each of the houses as a souvenir and display it proudly in your own home.

After you've completed all the things above, get turned into a vampire and choose to end your mortal legacy here... or start a whole new type all together.

Thank you so much for indulging me in this insanity. While I haven't played through any of these generations myself as of yet, I look forward to see the chaos and cuteness possible in The Sims.

Happy simming!

V

[kirnet]

Of Course

Dorotea x Adam. 2k words

Dorotea was nothing if not honest.

She was almost famed for it around Wayhaven. If you wanted a second opinion or you wanted a dispute settled, you went to Detective Langford. Sure, you might not like the answer, but you could be assured it was the right one.

As much as she hated to admit it, she had a reputation to upkeep. She had been dancing around the truth for too long. She had to be honest with herself.

She had hit a wall. This damn investigation was going nowhere.

Dorotea leaned back in her armchair and rubbed her eyes, sending a few books piled precariously around her tumbling to the floor. The library was overflowing with stacks of tomes that she had ripped from the shelves in a desperate attempt to find any lead after her failed hours in the lab. To Dorotea’s frustration, there was hardly any evidence to work off of, just some contaminated blood samples and vague eyewitness accounts. It was making her pull her hair out, though she supposed she should be thankful that she hadn’t been kidnapped yet. 

“Tea? What happened to my study?”

Nate’s kind face appeared from behind one of the stacks, somehow still angelic despite his grimace. Slowly, he began to maneuver around the piles, quickly throwing his hands up to steady one when he knocked it with his hip. “I see we’re… redecorating.”

Dorotea sprang from her chair, knocking a few more books over. With a wince, she dropped to the floor and started gathering them up. “Shit. I’m sorry, Nate. The sample was coming up empty so I thought I’d find something here.” Nate was beside her, pressing into her shoulder as he fumbled with the remaining books. She leaned into his broad frame for a second before heaving herself off of the ground. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean this up.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t find anything in here either,” Nate mumbled as he unloaded the books on an empty shelf. “You tore this place up.”

“If you let me digitize the library we won’t have to tear it up.” Dorotea nudged him with her elbow. “Technology can be a good thing, old man.” He grumbled something she didn’t catch before going back for another stack. “I said I got this, Nate. It’s my mess.”

“Tea, no offense, you look like you need a break.” To emphasize his point, he lightly pushed her shoulder and quickly grabbed her arm when she started to fall over. “You’ve spent all day working on this. The least I can do is help clean up.” Mustering up her most menacing glare, Dorotea slowly bent down and picked up another book. Nate just smiled and took it from her hands. “Humans need sleep. I don’t.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Dorotea relented after a few seconds more of unsuccessful glaring. “Just a quick break, then I’ll help you finish up.” She gave Nate a quick hug before grabbing her keys and phone off the table. “And we are not done talking about digitizing.”

Nate lightly pushed her again, a smile on both of their faces. “Go. Rest.”

Now that Nate had mentioned it, she did feel burned out. Trying to brute force through the day certainly wasn’t helping the pressure building behind her eyes. She needed to clear her head.

Twirling her keys, Dorotea made for the front door to the Warehouse. A midnight drive with Dolly Parton blasting at a supersonic volume sounded like just the thing she needed. 

“Leaving already, Detective?��� 

She turned to see Adam leaning against the doorframe and lightly massaging his hands. He wiped the barely noticeable sheen of sweat off his forehead, his usual tee shirt straining around his thick arms. “I thought you were doing research.”

“Yeah, I hit a wall. Gonna go for a drive.” She looked him up and down. “Training?”

“Just finished. You’re going to go off by yourself when we have an unknown threat in the area?”

“Of course. What, are you new?” She chuckled at his sour reaction. “Want to tag along?”

With a dramatic sigh, Adam pushed himself off of the doorframe. “I suppose I have to, if you keep insisting on running headfirst into danger.”

Dorotea scoffed. “How many times do I have to tell y’all that I can handle myself.” She pursed her lips. “Though I suppose getting attacked again would speed up the investigation.”

“I was referring to that thing you call a vehicle. I am well aware of your personal capabilities.”

They exchanged a quick look as Adam easily fell into step beside her before settling into silence for the rest of the walk. A wave of pleasantly night cool air hit Dorotea as Adam opened the door for her. 

“I can’t believe you still drive this thing,” Adam stated with disgust as Dorotea unlocked the hatchback’s door. “It’s a safety risk.”

“You offering to give me a raise?” Dorotea deadpanned as she slid into the driver’s seat. “‘Cause that’s the only way I can afford to stop driving this ‘thing.’” She drew out the last word, poking an accusatory finger into Adam’s toned chest. “I take damn good care of her, thank you very much.” 

“I’ll be sure to remember that when ‘she’ breaks down on this-” He was silenced by a swat to the arm. 

“Oh, hush. You’re more than welcome to stay behind if you’re gonna complain so much.”

Adam buckled his seatbelt with a huff. 

“Good,” Dorotea said through her grin. “And we’re listening to Dolly. Nonnegotiable.”

The summer night sky was delightfully clear as Dorotea maneuvered the hatchback through the winding forest roads. The drive had mostly been spent in comfortable quiet, with Dorotea happily humming along to the country music and focusing on the road, and Adam pointedly looking at anything else that wasn’t her. Though he was having some difficulty, as the pitch black night that swallowed up the world around them wasn’t nearly as interesting to look at. 

He shook his head at the thought. “You haven’t actually told me where we’re going,” he said, sparing a glance at Dorotea.

“That’s because it was gonna be a surprise,” she chuckled, not taking her eyes off of the road. “But if you’re so worried: it’s an abandoned coal mine deep in the woods. Spent a lot of time exploring there in high school.” 

Adam blinked. “A coal mine?” 

Dorotea raised her hand before he could continue. “I know it doesn’t exactly cater to your expensive tastes, Adam, but it’s a nice spot. Great for stargazing, too.”

Adam fully turned to her at this. “Stargazing? Are you serious?”

“What?” Dorotea snorted. “It’s the one day of the summer that isn’t hot and sweaty as balls. I intend on taking full advantage of it.” Adam raised his eyebrow at the imagery that tactful statement conjured, but kept his mouth shut and turned back to watch the road. “Stop scowling. We’re almost there.”

Soon enough, they were turning off the main road and heading down a sigogglin dirt path, the passengers bouncing uncomfortably as the car lurched on every bump and wayward branch. A few minutes later, the tree branches stopped scraping against the roof as the path opened up into a large clearing. Dorotea parked and left the headlights on. “The pit’s over yonder.” She gestured vaguely to the side as she pulled herself out of the car. “There’s an underground entrance to the west, too, but we’re gonna stay right here.” She made her way to the back of the car, cursing when the trunk wouldn’t open.

“Ah! There we go,” she exclaimed after a swift kick popped the trunk open. She ignored Adam’s horrified look and pushed a bundle into his arms. “It’s a blanket. Go lay it down somewhere nice.” He rolled his eyes but followed the order without complaint, spreading the blanket down on a grassy part of the clearing as Dorotea turned off the headlights. 

“Would ya look at that.” Dorotea let out an appreciative whistle as she turned her head up to the sky, the entire tapestry of stars bright and visible against the darkness. “Isn’t it grand?” 

Adam could barely whisper a reply as he lost himself in the magnificent sight. How long had it been since he had looked up at the sky like this? How long had it been since he had simply allowed himself to appreciate something?

Someone?

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “It is.”

“Huh? Sorry, could you keep talking? I can’t see shit.”

“Of course,” Adam chuckled. “Over here, Detective.”

Slowly, with Adams' help, Dorotea made her way over to the blanket. Adam reached out and pulled her the last couple of steps until they were standing toe-to-toe, his hand wrapped loosely around her arm. He tried his best to ignore the flutter in Dorotea’s heartbeat.

“Uh, thank you, Adam,” she coughed as he pulled his hand away. She plopped herself down on the ground and lay back, stretching out languorously. When Adam didn’t follow suit, she pulled on his pant leg. “Hurry up, now. We don’t have all night.”

“I was under the impression that we did,” Adam grunted as he lay down beside her. “I didn’t know this was an urgent stargazing mission.”

Dorotea barked out a laugh. “Well, it is now. I promised Nate I’d help him clean up the study.” She winced. “Though I probably should have remembered that before driving all the way out here. Whoops.”

“I’m sure you’ll be forgiven,” Adam laughed quietly. “Though I wouldn’t make it a habit.”

The soft laughter faded away, leaving only the cacophony of the cicadas and the rustling of the trees in the breeze. Dorotea shifted closer to Adam’s warmth before pointing up at the sky. “That’s Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Polaris. That one’s Cassiopeia. I think.”

“What about that one?” Adam whispered.

Dorotea squinted. “I can’t see what you’re pointing at. We don’t all have vampire eyes, you know.” 

Her breath hitched as a strong, calloused hand closed around her own. Gently, Adam lifted both their hands up to the sky and aligned them with a bright star. “Here. That one.”

“That-” her mind hiccupped as Adam squeezed her hand. “That’s Saturn. And that-” she moved their hands over slightly and extended her pointer finger. Adam did the same, resting his flush against hers so that they both pointed together. “That should be Jupiter.”

“What else?”

“Well, there’s Sirius. I’m pretty sure that’s Sagittarius.” She traced the outline with their fingers. “I think it’s supposed to be a centaur.”

“I believe that you’re correct.” His voice was husky.

Dorotea swallowed thickly and pointed again. “That’s the moon. Obvious, but important.” The cool air did nothing to calm the burn in her cheeks. “I’m running out of things to impress you with.”

She turned her head towards Adam to share in the joke and almost jumped out of her skin when she felt his breath fan her lips. She could practically feel his eyes on her as she leaned forward a little, their noses just touching.

“Adam?”

“Yes, Tea?” She barely heard him. He started stroking her hand with his thumb.

“Could I kis-”

A flash of light cut her off as she startled. Adam immediately released her hand and stood up. Dorotea’s phone continued to vibrate next to her on the blanket. “You have got to be fucking kidding- Hello?” she barked, not bothering to look at the caller I.D.

“Dorotea?” Rebecca’s crisp voice came through the phone. “Nate just made a breakthrough. Where are you?”

“Oh, hi Rebecca.” Dorotea sighed and rubbed her eyes. “He did? That’s great. We went out for a drive but we’ll come right back.”

“We? Is Adam with you?” As if on cue, Adam tapped Dorotea’s shoulder and offered his hand, gently pulling her off the ground when she took it. She patted him on the back as a quick “thanks” before answering.

“Yeah, he is. We’ll be back in thirty.” She hung up before her mother could respond. Turning her phone flashlight on, she watched Adam finish folding up the blanket. “Did you catch all that?”

“Of course,” was his simple answer as he walked towards the car, leaving her standing by herself. With a groan, she stole one last look at the sky. Restful break, her ass.

“Coming, Detective?”

She pulled her keys out of her pocket and half-jogged to catch up to him. “Of course. As always.”

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

We’re The Bad Guys: Part 7

We’re the Bad Guys: Masterlist

Poe Dameron x Reader (eventually), First Order!Reader

Summary: From the day you were born, you were taught the rebels and their New Republic were the bad guys. But, after you crash land on a remote moon with only the Resistance’s poster boy for company, things begin the change.

Based off of this drabble and headcanon

A/N: Look at me having another part up within the next week instead of the next three months. Sorry, no Poe in this chapter either, but he will be back in Part 8, pinkie promise.  And as usual COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 2.0K

          Getting to Takodana was easier than one might expect for a member of The First Order.

          For troopers or lower ranking officials, landing anywhere closer than the outermost rim of the galaxy was near impossible without clearance.  But for a Commander, slipping in and out of First Order space did not take much imagination.  A switched ship here, a bribe there and one could get as close as the inner rim if they put their mind to it.  Of course, most officers took it as a chance to visit a pleasure planet or two without word of a scandal getting sent up the ranks.  For your purposes, however, you risked a lot more than personal embarrassment. 

          You had started by taking leave on a small base not far from Rakata Prime.  It was a place common for officers in search of some relief from the stress and monotony of space travel.  It also was the perfect jumping off point to the outer rim.  The security was notoriously lax if not outright corrupt.  The right amount of credits in the right hand could get you just about anywhere.  

          It didn’t take long for you to track down a cadet willing to recommend a lovely little spaceport on some planet you never heard of. Apparently it had some of the best underground gambling one could find this side of Hutt Space, which meant pilots, but more importantly, pilots in need of fast, no questions asked, credits.  

          The cadet dropped you with the promise to pick you up in three days.  There was no need for him to follow. What you did while on planet was your business. The fact you had even left the base was blackmail enough. No doubt he was going to factor that into your service fee for the trip back. 

          After that, it was easy.  Within a few hours you were able to track down another ship heading in the direction of Takodana. Like any pilot bordering the Unknown Region, you couldn’t be sure where exactly the captain’s loyalty’s lay.  It meant a small risk every time money exchanged hands, but it also ensured anonymity.  

          You haggled a place in the cargo hold and by the next morning, you were walking down the ramp onto the forest planet. 

          It was beautiful.  Any word less would be a disservice.  The lush greens of the forest and clear shimmering lake water served as another stark reminder of where you came from.  

          No polished blacks.  No filtered air.  Just green and life. 

          You were so caught up in the moment, you almost forgot why you had come. A hard push from one of the crew members snapped you back to reality. Your eyes followed his path to the infamous castle just off in the distance. There was no going back now. 

          Securing the cloth placed over your nose and mouth, you kept your head low and followed. 

          The bar was just as crowded as you had expected with an assortment of humans and aliens from every point in the galaxy.  You would give this to Maz Kanata, despite her castle’s reputation for being a safe haven for pirates and explorers, the place was shockingly bright and clean. Cluttered and eclectic, but open and generally lacking the layer of grim that seemed to stain all spaceports along the mid and outer rim.  It left the impression that one could keep their blaster securely in their holster and actually enjoy a drink without fear of being taken off guard.  Still, you knew better.  This was a neutral space for Resistance and First Order alike.   Any one of the patrons could be a spy for either side.

          Making sure not to make eye contact with anyone, you made your way to the bar. 

          “I’m looking for Maz Kanata,” you said, in a low tone.  “I need to speak with her.”

          The bartender, an Artiodac, rumbled something in their native language you couldn’t understand. But, the dismissive laughter that followed was universal. 

          “It’s urgent,” you insisted.  “Commander Dameron sent me.” 

          “What trouble has that boy gotten into now?” a voice asked. 

          You turned around and immediately had to look down. 

          A small orange alien of a species you couldn’t name stood before you. Their head was huge compared to their small frame, wrinkles for days and eyes enlarged by giant magnifying goggles. 

          “Maz Kanata?” you asked. 

          “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” she replied dryly. She then turned her attention to the Artiodac.  “Table five needs three more of the same.”

          The other alien nodded and quickly busied themselves with their task. 

          “Now,” Maz said.  “What trouble has Dameron brought to my door?”

          “No trouble,” you said. “I just need to get a message to him.”

          “Do you, now?” she asked, skeptically. 

          “Yes.”

          “And who are you, exactly?”

          “I’m a friend.” 

          “A friend who covers their face?” 

          Your hand went instinctively your mask.  Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea.  

          Maz gave a dry laugh. “Do you have a name at least?”

          You shifted uncomfortably. This was not going how you had pictured.  You had hoped to be half way off this planet by now. 

          “Not one he would know,” you admitted. 

          She raised an eyebrow. “Not much of a friend then.” 

          And with that she walked passed you out of the main room into the back. She must have assumed that meant an end to your conversation, but you hadn’t come all this way to be turned away now. She barely made it two paces before you followed after her. 

          “Fine, not much of a friend,” you said, “but certainly an ally.”

          “An ally?” she scoffed. “For what cause?”

          “To put an end to The First Order.”

          She paused. It wasn’t enough for her to turn to face you. She kept going about her task, moving a few crates, but you did get her attention. 

          “Bold words,” she said, “but why should I believe you?”

          “Because--”  You stopped.  

          Why should she believe you? Who were you, really?  A Commander for The First Order? A child solider? A pawn? Who were you to her? To The Resistance? To Dameron? 

          And that’s when you remembered. 

          “Because, I’m Pilot.”

          She turned to you, the surprise evident in her eyes. 

          “I’m Pilot,” you repeated, bolder this time. “The Pilot.”

          She stared more openly at you then, carefully examining your features.

          “Dameron’s Pilot?” she asked. 

          You shrugged, unsure how to feel about being called Poe Dameron’s anything. Still, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

          Maz nodded in understanding.  Setting down the crate she was carrying, she silently indicated for you to kneel. 

          You felt a tug of uncertainty in your gut, but knew better than to question her orders.  You sunk down to your knees conveniently landing at the alien’s eye level. 

          She stepped closer to your, peering directly into your eyes. 

          You didn’t dare blink as she performed her examination, even adjusting her goggles to a higher intensity until the eyes reflected in them took over her entire face. 

          For a long moment neither of you spoke.

          “I see why he likes you,” Maz said, warmly as a wide smile spread across her face. “You have stars in your eyes.”

          You frowned, unsure of what to make of her comment.  Nobody had ever called your eyes anything before, let alone filled with stars. It made you think of naive thinking and childish dreams, neither of which you had associated with yourself at any time of your life.  But for some reason, you didn’t think that was what she meant. 

          Maz stepped back, her expression once again all business.

          “What’s the message?”

          You blinked, allowing yourself a moment to come back to reality.  Reaching down, you pulled the data card from your pocket.  

          “This is everything I had access to,” you said, handing the card to her. “Tie patrols, base coordinates, supply lines, everything. Make sure this gets to Resistance and...tell Commander Dameron that we’re even.” 

          She took the card, frowning slightly.  “Why don’t you tell him yourself?” 

          “I’m not joining The Resistance.”

          Her brows furrowed. “But you are leaving The First Order.” 

          “Yes.”

          “So what are you planning to do?”

          You shrugged, rising to your feet. “I’m a pilot.  I’m sure I can find something.” 

          Maz Kanata said nothing, but it was clear from her expression she wanted to say a lot of things.

          “You disapprove,” you stated rather than asked.  

          “Let’s just say, I don’t think the smuggler’s life is for you,” she said, dryly.

          Your lip pressed into a fine line. “And what do you propose? I’ve spent my whole life fighting a cause that wasn’t my own.  You would ask me to do the same thing, but for the other side?” 

          “It’s not the same thing if you choose to fight it.”

          “And what if I’m tired of fighting?”

          She shook her head, chuckling lightly.  “No. You were born to fight.”

          A sudden flash of anger fired in your heart.  It was a familiar feeling. The same one you felt towards Dameron when he had made certain presumptions about your family.  Of course, he had been right.

          “It wasn’t my choice,” you said, tightly.

          Maz shook her head again.  “No Pilot. Even if you were raised by peaceful monks, you would find a way to fight.  Maybe not by hopping in an X-Wing and blowing things up, but still fight.  You’re fighting The First Order right now.”

          “I’m settling a debt.”

          “By fighting,” she insisted. “You said it yourself; you are an ally to put an end to The First Order.” 

          She held up the card, waving it for emphasis. “With this alone you’ve just saved countless lives and struck a harder blow against The First Order than the entire Republic Senate has done in a year.” 

          “And now I’m done.”

          Maz let out a sigh, her bright expression fading to one of disappointment. 

          “Then you still fight for The First Order.” 

          “I’m fighting for myself,” you snapped.  

          “If one knows there is evil in the world and does not oppose it, that does not make them neutral,” Maz said, calmly. “There is no neutral stance.  Indifference, selfishness, this is what allows The First Order and all others like them to prosper.”      

          “So is every person going about their lives as bad as The First Order.” you said, sardonically. 

          “No. Most don’t have the power, or the means to fight.  But you do.”

          You scoffed. “So, I still don’t have a choice.”

          “Of course you do.  Everybody had a choice. But, it’s important to keep in mind that no choice is still a choice, just not an obvious one.” 

          You let out a sigh. This was what it was about, wasn’t it? Having a choice? It was proving to be a lot more trouble than people let on. 

          “Why are you so insistent I join The Resistance?” you asked. “You don’t know me.”

          She smiled then.  It was a knowing smile, like she was in on a secret; not one she was trying to keep, but one she was dying to tell. 

          “Like I said, you have stars in your eyes. Clouded over, faded, but still there; begging to shine.” 

          For the second time that day, you didn’t know what to make of it. You knew better than to ask.  Maz Kanata seemed exactly the type of person to answer anything as cryptically as possible. 

          “Seems to me Pilot, you have three options,” she continued. “Number one, you go back out there and ask if anyone needs a co-pilot.  You go off into the Outer Rim and nobody hears from you again.  Number two, you take this back and deliver it to Commander Dameron yourself.”

          You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And number three?” 

          “You choose to fight in your own way.” 

          “By what? Freelancing as a fighter pilot?” 

          She shrugged. “As I said, there are more ways of fighting than hopping in an X-Wing and blowing things up.” She held up the data card with that same knowing smile.  “More effective ways.”

          You half expected her to hand the card back to you, but instead she tucked it into her vest and picked up the crate she had been carrying earlier.  

            “It’s your choice Pilot,” she said.  “It always has been.”

          And with that she left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your choices.  

[paulsmashedpotato]

Hey, could I request 11 and 13 from the song lyric phrase thing with Paul please? I'm in need of some ~ a n g s t~ thank you, and if you're too busy that's okay!

Additional: Aaah I just sent in the paul request, could you use the name paige? :> if not, then y/n is fine!!

I'm sorry this is lame ksksksks o(╥﹏╥)o

Note: I've written it in third-person, let me know if you want it edited to first or if I should just use "You" words instead and still with Paige as the name. :-))

Prompt List

Masterlist

Different Worlds

Part 1 | Part 2 (Otw)

Pairing: Paul McCartney x a named character/reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Noneeee

“Where are we going?” Paige asked, looking around nervously, checking if someone could see them although it was already dark out and there were barely people out this late at night. “Shh, just follow me.” Paul replied in a shushing voice, continuing to pull her to wherever he was planning to take them. “Did you sneak out your room again?” She wondered although she already knew the answer to that. “Doesn’t matter. I got out, didn’t I? And no one’s chasing me.” Paul replied in a proud voice, “Don’t worry, I’m sure the landlady won’t tell on me.”

“Paul, you know you’ll get in trouble for this.” Paige said in a serious tone.

Paul is a famous singer with a really, really strict manager. He just wishes he read his contract properly before signing. He wasn’t allowed to date anyone whom the manager thinks is ‘undeserving’. He’s been trying to sign Paul up with other celebrities to make him even more famous but he’s been denying all of them — which of course the manager hated but he did agree with Paul’s decision so long as he doesn’t date anyone else without the manager’s approval.

At least that’s what he thinks Paul is doing.

Paige met Paul at a bar eight months ago, she didn’t know it was him, he was dressed messily, chains and ripped jeans, a black cotton mask and a hat, he looked very different from how he’s portrayed usually — wearing a neat suit and tie. He came up to her and started making conversation, she doesn’t even remember how it went on through the night but it just started with “I like your Cobain shirt.”

How they decided to meet again the next day and him showing up in a clean polo shirt saying he was the one she was talking to last night and her trying her best not to panic and fangirl was history.

They were able to be friends and hang out a lot until rumours started going around saying Paul had a non-celebrity girlfriend and of course, the manager didn’t like that and he even confronted her, offering money and all that saying she should move out and he even promised her a nice flat in New York.

Paul was furious when he heard about this. She didn’t want to tell him but he’s been asking her every hour why she was being distant all of a sudden and she just had to give in.

“Close your eyes —“

“No, you need to go back, Paul.” She said in a stern voice. “Close your eyes, please, Paige.” Paul practically whined, hovering his hand over her eyes. She sighed before muttering ‘fine’ and closing her eyes.

Paul started pulling her carefully and after a moment, she felt him sit her down on a soft ground and she was about to open her eyes before Paul went screeching saying he’s not yet ready.

“Alright, open them now.” He grinned at her as her vision took a second to adjust after her eyes being tightly shut. Paige looked around, examining where they were, she peeked out the small tent, “Where are we?”

“Remember when I told you I sneaked out of my room in broad daylight and got caught? Well, I started running through the barricade we just went over at a while ago, and then I found this place. Very nice, peaceful and it has a good view as well.” He went on explaining how he had to trim the grass because it was full of overgrown weeds.

“Paul, we — you need to go home.” Paige said calmly. He frowned at her, “That’s what you’re going to say, really? Look around, it’s nice. I made us mashed potatoes, you said you liked it when I make it,” he giggled, “And — and, I bought your favourite soda, crisps, and I even bought you a stuffed animal, see, you said you liked (f/a) so I bought you one — just stuffed.”

Paige smiled sadly, “I really appreciate it Paul but I don’t want to get you in trouble. I might ruin your reputation and I don’t want that to happen.”

“No worries, I’ll talk to him, don’t worry. He won’t bother you again, I promise.” He said, pertaining to his manager, "And you won't ever ruin my whatever reputation it is you're talking about."

“You had a deal with him Paul —“

“I’ll cut it.”

“No —“ she sighed, “He’ll sue you. You’ll lose everything. That was a very expensive contract, Paul.”

“So? At least I'll still be with you.”

“That’s what’s wrong, Paul. You’re risking it for me — I can’t let you do that. Your career is more important, I could wait, I can wait, but right now, I want you to focus on your career.”

“You talked to him again, didn’t you?” He asked accusingly, though he was right. You did talk to his manager again. The guy was so hard to miss, he was at her work, he was at her flat, he was at the underground station waiting — how did he even know my schedule? She would wonder. “I did not.” She lied, “I was just thinking, it’s better if…”

She looked at his sad expression, waiting for her to finish what she was about to say, she smiled, “Nevermind. Let’s enjoy tonight. We’re here anyway.” She said, transferring beside Paul who seemed relieved and putting an arm around his waist, “What do you have planned for us tonight?”

“Just a date and a sleepover.” He said. “A sleepover?” She echoed, “We can’t do that. You’ll get into a lot of trouble if they see your room empty tomorrow.”

“What will they do? Ask me to cancel my tour? That’s good news, I’ll get to stay longer in this town with you.” He beamed, he raised his hand over Paige’s head and messed her hair playfully.

“Should we eat?” He asked, pointing at the food he prepared. “Sure.” She answered, sitting up properly.

The next hour was spent talking and eating, they even went outside and sat on the grass to gaze at the sky and just talk about dreams. Both of them just enjoying each other’s company, one knowing it’s the last and the other oblivious.

When they got back in the tent, she immediately lied down on the soft comforter with a heavy sigh, looking up at the starry sky through the mesh window.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked, lying beside her after he’s closed the tent flap. “F’course.” She smiled, “Better actually. This will be my favourite night.”

"You look sad." He mumbled, she cuddled up to him, an arm over his stomach and her face on the crook of his neck. "I'm not. I'm actually on cloud 9." She smiled, “You chose the best night to do this.” She said in a quiet voice. I just wish it could last. He pulled her in closer and hugged her, her face now on his chest.

“Soon we’ll be away from here.” She added, her voice a little muffled. “Why do you say that sadly? Like some type of goodbye.” He said, pushing her back gently so he could see her face. She slightly shook her head, “I’m just saying… we won’t have to worry about hiding and lying, we’ll be so, so far from where we are now.”

You’ll be far from where I’m putting you right now.

“I can’t wait for that to happen.” He said, wrapping her up in a hug again. “We should get some sleep.” She said. “You’ll be here when I wake up, yeah?” He asked, his chin buried lovingly on her hair.

“Of course.” She whispered, a single tear dripping out her eye. “Goodnight, Paul.”

“Goodnight, Paige.”

They did have a good night. She thought it might make up for her leaving him alone in the tent the next morning. She thought it might make up for her leaving him permanently.

Paul waking up the next day with just a trace of her scent on the sheets and a letter near the tent flap.

Dearest Paul,

I know you’ll hate me for this but that’s fine, I just want to do what’s best for you. I know you're thinking that I'm wrong but you're just not realizing it yet, and you won't ever realize what's best for you if I stay beside you.

Your career, that’s what I want you to worry about, Paul, not me, not us. Remember when I told you I want to see you succeed and perform in front of loads and loads of people? Getting in the way and causing you to be carefree to the point that you'd risk your dream for me is really contradicting.

You’re the best star I’ve ever seen and I would’ve loved to keep you if I could only reach you.

I’m sorry. I really am and I love you, please don’t ever think otherwise. I really do love you, Paul.

I know you'll understand me one day. I hope to cross paths with you again in the future, when time's right.

Yours forever,

Paige.

-end-

Here please let Paul McBeardy make up for it (个_个)

P.s - As always, I'll be adding keep reading next time when I've got a hold of a laptop.

[reylofanfictionanthology]

For one is love and both are one in love is now live!  

Authors will be revealed next week!  For now all fics are anonymous.  Treats can be posted through author reveals on 2/21.  We will post an updated masterpost at that time.

For one is love and both are one in love collection on AO3 |  Gift Fic Master Post Part One | Gift Fic Master Post Part Two

Treats Masterpost:

just want the devil to hate me for america_oreosandkitkats

Three years after he killed the past, Kylo Ren returns to the town where he was only ever Ben Solo. Nothing is even remotely healed, but maybe he can start.

Each Day is Valentine's Day for andabatae

Accidental Praise for andabatae

Ben likes his new roommate, Rey. She's smart and funny, and she's a good cook; she's fun to hang out with, although she seems to blush a lot. Maybe she's coming down with something? Anyway, when she has an interview and she needs some help selecting her outfit, Ben is there to help her out, any way he can.

Regeneration for bitterbones

She should have known it wouldn’t work. Not wanting to tell her friends because she knew she’d have gotten a you can’t be friends with benefits with your ex talk should have told her all she needed to know.

Gentle Sin for CeciliaSheplin

Rey is writing a new song, maybe Ben can help.

As Boundless as the Sea for crossingwinter

Padmé survives and raises her kids, but decades later her grandson meets the granddaughter of the man who took everything from her at a masquerade, and sparks fly. Upon realizing who the other is, the two must make an impossible choice: risk losing the love of their families, or risk losing the possibility of loving each other.

Within and Without for CwenPhy

When Rey brings Ben back to Ajan Kloss after he saves her, Finn objects to his presence and burgeoning relationship with Rey. However, he can't ignore their friends who observe something real between Rey and Ben.

Strays for dankobah

Rey rescues a mangy mutt from the site of a junkyard and brings the dog to the Solo Veterinarian Clinic. There she falls in love with the handsome son who's just really trying to save all animals.

The Gentleness That Comes for ilum

For the prompts: "1990s New York AU. Ben rejects his wealthy, reputable family (bonus points for !lawyer Leia) and decides to fend for himself. He ends up getting involved with an underground boxing community. One day, bloodied and bruised after a fight, he goes for a drink to the local bar he frequents. To his surprise, he finds a young, fresh-faced girl behind the bar instead of the usual bartender." And: "We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it." Richard Siken - "Snow and Dirty Rain."

Stay Safe for itsinthestars

Just one curse.  Just one simple curse and she’ll be gone.  Blasted off the face of the earth.  When had that idea become repellant to him?

and I'll come home to you for kuresoto

Ben and Rey both escape Exegol, and the past follows them. To protect the strange child they've found, they set up a school for Force-sensitives, but Ben can't shake the weight of his guilt.

False Positive for MissCoppelia

The health check Ben was given after he joined the Resistance didn't come back quite as clean as he expected, which causes Rey to feel rather guilty.

Tangentially for ninecrimes

After Exegol Rey goes through a period of deep mourning, escaping to the crowded towns of Corellia where no one knows who she is whenever she needs some time by herself. But one day, a stranger walks into the dingy bar where Rey is drinking some of her sadness away, a stranger that seems all too familiar and is wearing Ben Solo's face.

Killing Me Softly for PalenDrome

A short Mr and Mrs Smith Reylo AU treat. :-)

Conjugal Visit for persimonne

Being the last Jedi comes with a lot of perks. For example, nobody questions Rey when she brings a bag full of equipment to come visit her accidental husband in prison.

Unshakeable for politicalmamaduck

Rey is performing in another fucking musical and Ben goes to see it.

Ash and Blood for queenofcarrotflowers

Bloodthirsty warrior Kylo Ren is betrayed by his men and must flee. He is helped by a mysterious woman and her friends. He joins forces with them to get his revenge.

Spending Valentine's Day Solo for ReyloBrit and politicalmamaduck

She places his scent—woodsy and warm, like sandalwood and ginger—before she recognizes the large, gloved hand outreached to steady her or the sleeves of his black wool coat.“Rey,” he blurts out—is the pink on his cheeks from the chill outside, or is he blushing?“Ben! Hi!”She’s trying desperately to sound nonchalant, but at the rate her eyebrows continue to rise, they may end up past her hairline.“Wha… What are you doing here?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. 

White Silk for SaintHeretical

There is one person, however, in the office, who does not fill her with genuine joy. “Brides don’t want unembellished gowns, they want sparkles!” she’s yelling to the owner-designer-asshole who ruins her life and harshes her chill on a daily, and sometimes hourly basis. “Just last week, I had five brides who asked for more bling at a price point they—” “I don’t deal in ‘bling,’” Ben Solo is yelling back, behind his closed office door, but clearly loud enough that everyone can hear it. Everyone in the back office, thank God. Not the customers. She hopes. “I deal in couture,” he says. “I deal in design. I deal in elegance. Women want to feel elegant on their wedding day, not like a goddamn Vegas showgirl—” “Oh, oh, that’s rich, you, telling me what it is that women want?” Rey scoffs, almost laughs—she’s the only one brave or stupid enough to try this with him. “Wonderful. I am prepared to receive your insight, oh wise one.” — AKA the Say Yes to the Dress Omegaverse AU, for some reason?

I'm the Spy for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

Spy Rey is sent on a mission to figure out if Kylo Ren, tech mogul, is involved in leaking election secrets to a foreign government. She plans to seduce the information out of him. Too bad he seems completely oblivious to her advances.

Dibs for tmwillson3

Ben dibses the parking spot after it snows. If he’s going to spend almost an hour shoveling his car out of the snow, he gets to park his car there later. Too bad one of his neighbors thinks dibsing is unethical and keeps thwarting his parking plans. Dibs: A Chicago Winter Parking Enemies To Lovers AU.

Syrup for trasharama

The first time she shows up, it’s eight o’clock in the morning and she looks asleep on her feet. Her brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, her sweatshirt is sitting askew on her shoulders, and she blinks heavily up at the menu behind Ben’s head. He watches her purse her lips and immediately feels a soft fondness. “Small latte. Six pumps of vanilla.”

Lucky for walkingsaladshooter

Nothing makes Ben more happy than waking up with Rey in his arms. Also lazy morning sex happens. _______________ A small gift for walkingsaladshooter for the Valentine's RFFA: Reylo Fanfiction Exchange of 2020

Endings and Beginnings for  Xochiquetzl

Rey’s hand cradles Ben’s head before it can hit the stone floor. He’s ridiculously heavy, all dead weight, and Rey’s entire body cramps in horror before she sees the faint rise and fall of his chest. He’s not dead. He hasn’t left her. Yet. She cradles his face with both hands and sobs in relief.

[taylorroger-s]

𝔢𝔵 𝔫𝔦𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔬 // a six underground story

----- ｐｒｏｌｏｇｕｅ -----

a/n i don’t want to preface this too much but this isn’t really a fanfic? there’s no pairing at the focus, and it’s really just a story in the 6u world because there is no way i’m letting micheal bay waste the potential of 6u. I worked extremely hard on this and the later missions and i’m really proud of it! so i hope you enjoy, there is much more to come! so here’s my masterlist, and no warnings except for swearing. enjoy :)

‎

𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚖 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚖, 𝙽𝚈𝙲 ----------

‎

“nine, you have to get out of there.” one hisses into his headset, drawing the attention of the waiting driver. she rolls her eyes, anxiously scanning the block for any law enforcement or her team. 

“you think i don’t fucking know that? but y’all better get your asses over here. feds are swarming even on the other side of the park.” nine gritts her teeth at every police cruiser slithering by, their flashing lights only adding to her growing anxiety. 

“my hands are kinda full right now!” four shouts, breathing heavily into his microphone. things went south fast, and even their planned escape had been shaky at best. the mission failed and they need to get out of the city fast. 

“get over here, and i’ll get you out. remember, i’m on columbus and west 92nd in front of the party city. ten minutes. now make like ghosts and disappear.”

‎

𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑 & 𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚊 

‎

tires squealed against the beat-up asphalt as two early model corvettes shot down an empty stretch of highway 75. bitter cold nebraska winter winds cut through to the bone as the pair curved around a rough bend of road surrounded on both sides by sprawling fields. the sun hung low on the horizon, struggling to light up the endless farmland. the only sound within ten miles was the roar of combustion engines mingling with crickets chirping as they passed by. 

“cmon,” a woman muttered to her car, eyes narrowed as she scanned the makeshift racetrack. she couldn’t make out the taunt called out to her from the other driver, responding only with a raised middle finger and a sharp push on the accelerator. her car’s heavily modified engine purred under her touch, advancing on her opponent’s ride. 

a window of opportunity finally appeared before her. she was no more than a foot behind him, another bend visible in her peripheral vision. exhaling slowly, she brought her left foot from hovering over the clutch to the brake. the turn came closer, wrapping around a hill. she could just about hear the squeal of her opponent’s brakes, pressing on her brake at the same time. they hurtled around the bend at dangerous speeds. coming out of the turn, her opponent switched his right foot from the brake to the gas pedal to accelerate out of the turn. but her foot was already there, giving her just a fraction of a second edge over his car. her ride edged up on his, a devilish grin spreading across her lips. 

just as her dark red car was about to overtake his, the flash of distant headlights made them both freeze. she wanted to scream in frustration, but there was no time to think, lest she wanted to risk a head on collision. she very reluctantly pulled in behind his car, various scenarios for vengeance cycling through her head. their race was over. she had lost. 

the semi truck passed them by without a second look, and after a few minutes the pair pulled into a decades old rest stop. the woman ran her fingers across the smooth dashboard of her car, thumb brushing over a small mark right by the unused radio. they made it fifteen miles before their race was rudely interrupted. a sudden knock on the windshield stirred her from her thoughts. 

“too slow once again darling.” the man cooed, poisonous edge to his words. that was the third race she’d lost to him in six weeks. it was starting to damage her reputation as a notorious street racer in an innocuous corner of small-town america. the mechanics shop she worked for was the not-so-clever front of their racing circle - essentially the only friends she had - wherein she was the best. at least until that start up showed his face in gretna, nebraska- of all places. 

“oh fuck off.” she grumbled, keeping her eyes trained on the last rays of the sun sinking below the horizon, plunging the rest stop into a chilling darkness. the sky was just beginning to show the shimmer of distant stars, rolling across the countryside in a thick blanket of night. constellations blinked into existence against the dark. a saying from her latin classes in college came to mind: natura non constristatur. nature doesn’t give a shit about you.  

“as you wish. same time next week?” her rival called, already waltzing back to his car, hood shimmering silver in the burgeoning moonlight, a small rosary and fuzzy dice hanging from his rear view mirror. it was about ten years newer than hers, but not nearly as slick. at least in her opinion. 

“one week and i’m gonna destroy your ass.” she responded, words almost drowned out by the subsequent start of his decades old engine. he loudly revved it a few times, overtaking any words she could possibly try to curse him with. there were a few choice latin phrases she had stored up.

“in your dreams!” he shouted, pulling onto the road and heading north, back to her hometown. and so she was left alone with her thoughts, only finding company in the infinite sky and hum of wildlife. the cold winter night started to pick away at her fading adrenaline, causing her teeth to quietly chatter as her eyes stayed focused on the heavens. what was she doing? she would never get out of nebraska, and her life would all be for nothing. but before she could fully spiral into existentialism, the allure of her bed came to mind; an area much more comfortable than the freezing drivers seat of her 1986 corvette. 

she tore her eyes away from the nighttime sky with a huff, hand drifting to the gearshift. she started the engine, slowly moving the car into reverse. she didn’t think to check in the rearview mirror until a shout rang out over the hum. she slammed her foot on the brake, just before hitting whoever decided to fucking walk behind a moving car. the anger slowly simmering below the skin after her loss decided to boil over. she hopped out of the car before she even turned off the engine to tell off the prick who decided to ruin her moping. 

"what the fuck man?” she was fuming so much the mystery figure could probably see the smoke pouring from her ears. she couldn’t quite make out their face since the only lamp within five miles lit them from behind. crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the trunk of the car, glaring at the intruder while she waited for an answer. 

“wasn’t expecting that reaction. hello-” okay so definitely a guy, she thought, squinting harder to try and make out his face. he brushed off his pants before looking up at her, face obscured by shadow and sunglasses. at night. the tone of his voice irked her; infuriatingly playful even in the weird circumstances. 

“what the hell are you doing out here?” she growled, bracing her hands on the burnished metal of her car. her nails tapped rhythmically against it, shifting her expression to appear as calm and intimidating as possible. there wasn’t another car visible in the parking lot as far as she could tell, and the man certainly didn’t appear to be a fallen angel. how and why was he there? but there was another, more concerning question picking at her mind: if he was there for her, how did he find her?

“is that how you always greet strangers?” the man quipped, still avoiding her question. a stranger was exactly what he was. general knowledge suggested to not talk to strangers, especially in an empty rest stop parking lot. in the middle of nowhere. fear crept up on her as the man smiled, whispering worries in her ear the longer he dodged her questions. 

“what do you want?” she gritted her teeth, fingers slowly curling into fists. her instincts kicked into high gear as he took a few steps closer. his hands were tucked into his back pockets, and he looked disturbingly nonchalant as he approached her. 

"heard about your racing. pretty good from what i’ve heard." now that threw her for a loop. why did he want to hear about her racing? however, logic was soon overshadowed by a wave of pride and she lifted her chin, looking straight into the man’s eyes through his sunglasses. it was too dark to glean anything from his expression, but she didn’t waver. she was better than pretty good. 

"the best. now who's asking?" she nearly spat the last words out through gritted teeth, pushing off the car and taking a step forward. the man smiled at her bravado, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"i have a job for you." she scoffed, shaking her head. it suddenly popped into her mind that he could be a criminal looking for a getaway driver or a scapegoat. but the seed of curiosity burrowing inside her brain won out. 

"so you mind going into specifics?" she questioned him with heavy doubt in her voice. 

"not here cupcake. but i need a driver.” the illegal path seemed more and more likely. ‘not here’ oh yeah, not suspicious at all. she was tempted to shut the conversation straight down and run, but there was nothing she could really lose by hearing more. worst case scenario, she gets frostbite and maybe put on a hit list. best case? there was no way of knowing.

"and why me?"

"like you said, you’re the best. and you have next to nothing tying you here. your skill is being wasted, but i can fix that. i can give you a cause to believe in. so how would you like a chance to actually change the world?" that stopped her. she hadn’t done anything worthwhile in a very, very long time. and believing in something? that was a distant memory. she didn’t believe in this man either. 

"aquila non capit muscas. i’m not here for your nonsense.” she was aware that quoting her latin professor would earn herself an eye roll from the mystery man, but she wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries nor dreamy exaggerations. she was starting to think he was insane. and yet, something in his words tugged at her heart. he sounded suddenly sincere. it was like he had read her mind. 

“okay shakespeare, there certainly is some nonsense in this offer, sure. but it’s your best shot to get out of here. i am offering you freedom from everything holding you back.” five seconds passed. ten. fifteen. thirty. she mulled over his words over and over again, quickly disregarding how horribly vague they were. there really was no reason to take him seriously, and he had provided no details into this “job” which was starting to sound more and more illegal. 

still. she turned to look at her car, scanning all its dents and imperfections. so many memories, so much history that had slowly made her jaded and cynical. so much to break free from. even though there was no evidence that this job was worth it, or that his promise of freedom rang true, she was tired of the bullshit. 

“i’m listening.” a sharp smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. 

"good. but there's one thing i need you to do before we get started. i need you to die"

-----

hey mary, and whoever else is reading. i guess this is goodbye. sorry you had to find out this way. 

it doesn’t matter what i once wanted to be. i didn’t get it. but this is what i want. i promise. i’m sorry to ghost you. but this is what’s right for me. see you on the flip side. 

faking her death was almost disturbingly simple. a burning car at the base of a ravine, suicide note found just outside the melted frame. no reason to pursue an investigation. attending her funeral was the most surreal part. until then, the weight of her decision hadn't felt real. she watched as her sister, her coworkers, and even her racing rival said their last goodbyes at what they thought was her final resting place. she couldn’t watch anymore when her sister began to sob, and the man, who had identified himself as one, dragged her away before she had a chance to break down

the night before she faked her death, she sat on her bedroom floor, chopping off locks of hair and silently contemplating what she was about to do. the rules that one gave her were simple in theory, but horribly complicated in reality. 

cities you have never been to. people you have never met. numbers instead of names. only talk to your fellow ghosts. plural. she was about to be thrown in with a band of hungry revolutionaries with similar shady pasts. at least, she assumed that's who she would find once one took her to the last home she would ever know. last home. she cycled through the pros and cons for the hundredth time, weighing them over and over.

no more taxes. no more criminal background. no crazy ex chasing her. no expectations to leave behind. pure freedom, if she followed the rules of course. the homegrown american girl she once was would die, and in her place: nine. 

cons? those were a little more iffy. her sister mary was a senior in highschool and just turned 18. mary was all she had left, and vice versa. even though mary was technically an adult and could fend for herself, she still felt guilty. more of her hair fluttered to the ground. if she was going to have a new name, she might as well get new hair. it was rough around the edges, horribly uneven, and made it look as though she had lost a fight with a weed whacker. fitting. 

not too long after, she was in a plane on her way to nowhere. she was completely alone in the cabin, one piloting from the cockpit. nine was mesmerized by the sprawling land thousands of feet below as they moved west. it was her first, but definitely not her last time on a plane. 

was it insane? yes. was it almost a certain ticket to an actual early grave? definitely. and yet, every time she finished looking through her list, there was only one outcome that came out of it all. a death with more meaning than her life would ever bring. she would miss her sister, and the few friends left behind, but for the first time in a long time, the apathy faded away. 

‎

𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚝 ----------

‎

“alright motherfuckers, i finally got our asses a driver.” one called out into the dark belly of the old aircraft, lit only by a few glowing screens. nine followed him in, holding tight to her small duffel bag full of the only possessions one let her take, the logo of her high school plastered on the side.

“wow, only took you six months.” one flipped on a light switch, turning on a few lightbulbs in the center of the room, illuminating six figures gathered around a rusted metal table. each one looked like they were from a completely different planet. 

“thank you for the attitude four, i hate it.” one cheerfully pointed to a chiseled blond man wearing a worn blue hoodie. she assumed rightly that he was four, and based on the accent, also british. she idly wondered how he ended up in the same place she was, or in the same place as the rest of one’s mismatched crew. a crew that she was now a part of. 

“six was already too fucking much. then seven. and now eight.” a slightly scary, tall blonde woman spoke, thick french accent coating her words. despite the venom, it almost looked like she had never moved her lips, an eerily blank expression stuck on her face. nine suddenly felt extraordinarily childish with her “gretna dragons” bag, the faded green fabric full of pulled strings and various stains. just the way she stood make nine feel in over her head. one took it all in stride. 

“well i don’t see you volunteering to give up your handguns and get in the driver's seat, and eventually you agreed to eight for the same reason, so shush.” nine looked between one and two, and their silent standoff. two rolled her eyes, essentially surrendering to nine’s presence. nine let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she had a feeling it would be a shit idea to be on that woman’s bad side. 

“this is nine. nine, this is two, three, four, five, seven, and eight.” one pointed to them each in turn: the tall blonde woman, a hispanic man with a full beard, the startlingly attractive blond man, a woman with aviator sunglasses hanging from her shirt, a tall dark-skinned man who seemed much less stony than the others, and a tall girl wearing an excessive amount of leather. but there was something else that worried her more than the mismatched group one presented. a number was skipped. 

“wait, could i get a quick rundown of who does what?” nine assumed there was a reason for each person to be there.

“i’m a billionaire and…”

“i’m blaine. that’s camille, javier, billy, amelia, and sofia” seven - blaine - cut one off. nine was caught off guard; it seemed one declined to mention that ‘numbers instead of names’ were more of a formality for the rest of the team. the rules she was told must have been one’s original vision.

“seven-” one tried to silence blaine, but was stopped with a glare. apparently one was equally against the names as seven was with numbers. it was intriguing, but nine wasn’t willing to dig further into his mind, nor was she okay with sharing her name. she wanted to leave everything behind. 

“nope, she’s part of the team now. numbers are for missions. what’s your name?” she seized up, eyes moving to each person to identify names with faces, something she had never been good at. numbers just seemed so much simpler. 

“no.” nine responded flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. seven froze, but held his hands up in surrender. one nodded approvingly to nine, and continued with his explanation of everyone’s roles. 

“she knows what’s up. now, two is the spy, three is the hitman, four is the skywalker…” though one’s titles didn’t give extraordinary detail, having ‘the skywalker’ as a job description was simply puzzling.

“the hell does that mean?” she asked, eyes flicking just for a moment over to four before returning to one. 

“he does parkour, five is the doctor, seven is the sniper, eight is the scout, and you are…” one continued without missing a breath, and nine suspected he predicted that question. four caught her eye and winked. 

“the driver?” the sly smiles suddenly slipped from the ghost’s faces as they exchanged guarded looks. nine had a sinking feeling as to why. 

“that was six, our last driver. let’s hope you avoid the same fate.” his grim words carried a little-too-lighthearted tone. well that’s reassuring, she thought. not worrying at all. one rubbed his hands together, walking over to one of the walls in their airplane shell meeting room. nine pieces of paper were on the wall, eight of them with roman numerals going up from two, and one with a photo of a man who had a giant red x on his face. his face tugged at nine’s memory. he must have been on the news. this operation might just be bigger than she expected. 

“gather around the fire, cleavers, target two. corporate mogul noah kenneth carpenter,” one took down the page labeled “ii” and behind it hung a photo of the titular capitalistic businessman. nine felt like she was about to hurl. she knew that face. any guilt for leaving faded away in one fell swoop; this was the vengeance she yearned for. her sister mourned her loss, but nine could now strike back stronger than the girl she was could ever dream of. 

“been accused of fraud, sexual harassment, shady international dealings, labor abuse. textbook scumbag, yet rich enough to keep himself in the clear. and we’re going to take him down. there are three simple steps, except there’s more than three and they’re not simple.” there was a beat of silence after that, which nine used to take a closer look at her new teammates. three had his feet propped up on the table, two standing behind his chair with her hand on his shoulder. four leaned forward on his elbows, green eyes focused on one. five had her arms crossed over her chest, and seven had his attention focused on one’s presentation, posture perfectly straight. 

“what’s the first of these not-so-simple steps?” eight asked, picking at the thin blade of a small knife in her hands. she was a step behind the others, on the other side of seven. no longer the newest on the team, but still separate from what nine could tell. she couldn’t help but feel for the other girl. 

“glad you asked kiddo,” one grinned, a dangerous edge to his expression. “nine, i’m assuming you heard of the major disruption of the peace in florence eight months ago, and the subsequent coup in turgistan?” there was something bordering pride in his voice. nine could see small, sharp smiles from the ghosts as they glanced to each other. 

“vaguely, not much international shit made its way to me.” that was true. local news stations only showed things like county fairs and local robberies on the rare occasions nine would turn on the tv, and she didn’t care enough to go in search of global issues that didn’t concern her. 

“well that was us, and this is about to be on a similar scale. except for the unstable geopolitical aftermath. probably.” nine raised her eyebrows. it was difficult to wrap her head around these six underground vigilantes rocking the boat with nothing but varying, potentially deadly, specializations. it made her even more curious as to what she could do with them, and what she could do to noah carpenter. 

“anyway, the mission. the ultimate goal is to get him locked away, preferably not dead so he can rot in federal prison, but you can never tell with two and three on the squad,” two and three glared at one in unison, three miming slitting someone’s throat, but one just smiled. nine was starting to catch on to the group dynamics. 

“but before kenny can get a messy prison tat, we have to dig up some major dirt on him. something to destroy his legacy, drag his company through the mud, take away everything he took from the people.” nine could feel a dark smile spreading across her lips. a cause to believe in indeed. 

“so, there’s a big tech meeting thing in new york next month, and we are going to be there, along with mister exploitation over here,” one gestured crudely to the photo of carpenter pinned roughly to the thin wall. the sneer on the businessman’s face made nine’s blood boil. she was already on board with whatever the plan was going to be, and couldn’t wait to lend her driving skills to take him down. 

“what skyscraper am i crawling up now?” four sounded uninterested, cocking his head to the side. 

“it’s the guggenheim, and you’re not exactly crawling, more like sneaking. step one is going to be infiltrating. i have gotten intel saying that some shady deal is going down between him and a foreign mogul guy. we need to hear it all. the following missions are a little more iffy, and if we don’t find any dirt or evidence… well this is gonna take longer than anticipated.” 

“this is almost as vague as our last plan.” three quipped, idly invested in the small pistol in his palm. he aimed it at various spots around the room with disinterest, to which everyone responded by ducking and dodging his aim. 

“and that’s how i like it. no logical order means no one will expect what is coming.” nine just blinked at one in astonishment. her fantasies of justice tilted towards the farfetched with one’s confident admission of having no foolproof evidence to jump off of. 

“doesn’t that make it harder for us?” nine asked, unsettled by how calm everyone else seemed to be. her initial worries about one’s offer being vague came back to the forefront of nine’s mind. her instincts on the night she met one might have been more accurate than she realized, but she was in much too deep to change her mind.  

“you get used to it,” two admitted. nine almost flinched when she heard the slightly scary blonde woman speak. the comfort caught nine off guard more than two’s words. 

“now here is what our first mission is gonna play out…” one pulled out blueprints from a box under the table. pens and sharpies in hand, he started to draw out how their mission would go. he was about to start talking when he looked over his shoulder to see nine still standing a few feet from the group. he flashed her a winning smile and beckoned nine forward. the rest of the group was facing her, softening towards their newest ghost. here goes nothing.

nine took a deep breath in, then out, and took a step forward, officially leaving the past behind and entering her new death. 

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

yaydyfyaydfyasoudfhasode it’s posted!!! I have the first chapter underway and way too many ideas for how this is going to go. but here’s some hints for the future: a sparring scene, city traffic, hiding in a castle and much tension to come! stay tuned :)

lmk if you want to be on the taglist!

[zigtheeortega]

day 24: loss | liam x mc (au)

title: disruption

pairing: liam x mc

@choicesfebruarychallenge | @bi-cookie ; @cxld-play

warnings: angst, smut, n*sfw, (18+)

word count: 5,764

song inspiration: if i ever feel better - phoenix

author’s note: first off, i’m not good at naming characters like at all, so elliott is just a placeholder bc i knew mc would look weird. second, i haven’t written an au choices fic yet, so i’m a lil nervous to post this! I’ve also never written liam before, much less smut for him, so i’m also nervous bc of that! this will probably be my only trr fic bc there are sooo many trr fics out there. lmao anyways, hope you enjoy this angsty smutty sad fic !

“We’re almost there, Elliott,” Bastien called to the backseat, startling her out of her sleep.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched, slipping her coat she’d been using as a blanket over her shoulders, zipping it up to her chin.

Lythikos had an intense frigidity to it, one that Elliott couldn’t forget. She only visited monthly for short periods of time, but the stinging sensation of the snow on her bare face never left her memory.

She checked her phone, her heart fluttering at the pseudonym that appeared on her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey. I’m finishing up my last obligation, but I shouldn’t be longer than an hour.” His voice warmed her heart. It was the first time in weeks she’d heard it over the phone, not on television in a rehearsed speech. 

“Okay. I brought some of my work with me if that’s alright with you. I’d love your feedback,” Elliott smiled to herself, treasuring her lover’s genuine interest in her new profession.

“Of course,” she could hear him beam through the phone. “I love you.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

He hung up, and she sighed. Sneaking around was getting so tiresome, but she’d do anything and everything for Liam.

After Elliott and her friends couldn’t locate Tariq, the wedding went on as scheduled. It took her months of hiding out in Cordonia with her best friends to get herself together. Hana stayed by her side consistently, consoling her until she figured out a game plan.

She thought she’d be able to find a solution and live out her fairytale, but she was too late. She’d never be able to fully have Liam like she wanted, but Madeleine offered her a compromise to keep everyone happy.

She’d brought it up to Elliott before everything went to shit, and Elliott rejected it. She saw being a ‘mistress’ as an insult, because she knew she could find a way out of the mess she was in.

Months later, Madeleine, Liam, and Elliott ran a tight ship with friends to keep the affair under wraps.

Elliott could only meet with Liam once a month, under the guise that he had important monthly meetings to attend at Olivia’s home. They could only meet for a weekend at best, and a few hours at worst.

They rarely contacted each other between their meetings. It was depressing, but necessary to keep them a secret. Liam had a burner phone, and Elliott had to save his number under an undetectable moniker. When they spoke, it was short and sweet, and they couldn’t use each other’s real names.

She flew to Cordonia monthly, usually having to go to great lengths to disguise herself from the paparazzi.

It was emotionally draining and everything leading up to the rendezvous was stressful and tense, but all worth it when she saw Liam’s face light up when he first saw her.

Bastien pulled into the driveway behind the castle, easing up next to a side entrance that Elliott was all too familiar with – she knew Olivia would be waiting behind the large door.

She fixed her wig, pulling her beanie over the top of it, and hid her purple-rimmed eyes behind huge square sunglasses.

“Olivia informed me that you can go to the door. I’ll bring your bags in later. There aren’t any paparazzi in sight, so you’ll be safe,” he smiled at her through the rearview mirror, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Thank you so much, Bastien. I could never repay you for what you’re doing for Liam and I,” she replied gratefully, apology laced through the tone in her voice.

“Anything you need, I’m here. Don’t feel guilty. The only time he’s happy is when he sees you, and I’d never get in the way of that.”

Her heart swelled at the thought. She waved to him, stepping out into the blizzard.

The door cracked open, and Elliott spotted the fiery hair before her expression.

“Come in, come in,” Olivia frowned at her messy disguise. “That wig’s a mess, Elliott. If you’re gonna opt for a cheap, frizzy wig, at least hide a pocket knife in it.”

Elliott shrugged, grinning at Olivia’s annoyance. “Why should I do that when I have my best friend here to protect me?”

Olivia scowled, a hint of a smile on her lips. “You’re lucky I’m your ally.” She turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway, leaving Elliott scurrying to catch up.

Elliott had gotten pretty familiar with the underground tunnels of Lythikos over the past year. Olivia secretly renovated an unused area to make an apartment-like cluster of rooms, so that Elliott could stay safely in the tunnels with everything she needed, and she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone.

It was an ingenious idea, and Elliott had no idea how to pay her back for her generosity. Honestly, Olivia probably did it to avoid controversy, like most every noble was doing. Elliott wasn’t sure if Olivia was doing it for the sake of Cordonia’s image or the sake of her friends’ sanity.

Olivia pulled out a skeleton key and unlocked the door, turning on the lights. “I added a more comfortable bed, some more decorations, and got Bastien to fully stock the fridge, so you can cook pretty much anything you want.”

She walked over to the living room area and pointed at the T.V. “I didn’t have to get a 60 inch flatscreen for you, but I know how much you love binging horror movies that I had to help scare you somehow.” She smirked, and pulled out a few drawers from the T.V. stand. “I ordered a hundred or so movies in case you get bored. I have no idea how long you’re gonna be here.”

Elliott shifted her weight, sighing. It was too painful to stay longer than a couple of days. “I was gonna leave on Sunday like I usually do –”

“How asinine. You’re taking a 9 hour flight on a Thursday night to get here by morning, and you take another 9 hour flight back on Sunday morning? You’re wearing yourself thin for no reason, Elliott,” she shook her head at Elliott, confusion lining her expression.

“Liam usually can’t spend more than 2 days at a time with me.”

“You have other friends in Cordonia, you know that right?” She narrowed her eyes at her, crossing her arms.

“After all that happened, I can’t show my face here. My reputation is tarnished, and even being seen here is a scandal waiting to happen. It gets riskier and riskier every time. I can’t risk any of my friend’s well-being for the sake of my secret relationship,” Elliott plopped onto the couch, defeated.

Remorse flashed through Olivia’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “None of this is your fault, Elliott. We know the truth.”

Elliott shook her head, a lump forming at the back of her throat. It didn’t matter that Justin and Adelaide were ousted as terrorists, and that Elliott’s friends were able to stop them from assassinating Liam and Madeleine. 

Tariq was never found, and King Constantine was killed before he could clear her name. No one would believe Bastien, and Penelope was too afraid to publicly admit her wrongdoing, so Elliott didn’t have enough evidence to be exonerated.

“Sometimes… I wish everything were different. Maybe if we’d split up and searched on our own… or if I tried a little harder…” She struggled, her throat burning, a sign of tears to come. She didn’t want to talk about this situation any more than she had to, which was every time she visited.

Her new life was pretty much an escape from the events of the past year, but she was forced to face her past trauma head on every time she stepped foot on Cordonian soil.

“Elliott…” Olivia trailed off, and reached towards her, but dropped her hand. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I guess I’m still seething over the whole ordeal. I’m pretty defensive since I know we’re right but no one else knows that.” She sat down, leaning back onto the couch, crossing her legs. “You shouldn’t feel like you’re risking our social standing or anything. All of us know exactly what we’re risking to help you and Liam, and we’re okay with it. You’re our…” She whispered the last word and Elliott couldn’t quite hear her.

“I’m your what?”

“...friend.” 

Elliott threw her arms around Olivia, relishing in the rare vulnerable moment. Olivia seldom showed her true feelings, but when she did, it was like watching a shooting star. It was beautiful, fleeting – a great memory nonetheless.

“Get off of me, you sap,” Olivia patted Elliott’s back with the tip of her fingers.

“Thank you for everything you’re doing. I seriously can’t thank you enough. If there’s ever anything I can do to repay you all, please tell me. I owe you a lifetime of favors.”

“Well, first, you can actually spend time with Hana, Drake, and Maxwell. They won’t shut up about you.” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“Deal. I never got to see Cordonia on my own time, so maybe you could give me a proper tour of Lythikos next time I’m here. You know, when I’m not banished to the cellar.” Elliott grinned.

Olivia laughed once, a delightful noise. “Sure, but you’ll need better snow gear. And take a self-defense class or two before you do so.”

Elliott quirked a brow at her friend, then shook her head. “I won’t even pretend to know what you have planned for me.”

Olivia stood up, and headed for the door. “You have no idea.” She opened it, and before leaving, she said, “Liam should be here soon. Let me know when he’s in the room so Bastien and I can keep watch.”

“Be careful, Liv.”

“Don’t call me that,” Olivia smirked, and closed the door.

----

Elliott spent the next hour working in her notebook, editing and rewriting paragraph after paragraph. An animated movie she’d seen a million times played in the background, prompting Elliott to hum along to her favorite song.

After another hour, she started to worry. She aimlessly flipped through the collection of DVD’s, not really paying attention to the titles.

Where’s Liam? She thought, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

After hour three, she read a little from a book she’d brought until her eyes started getting heavy.

She awoke to a sequence of 5 sharp raps on the door, followed by a pause, then 3 more.

Our secret knock, She thought. She shot up from the couch and ran to the door, happy tears already welling up on her bottom lids.

She fumbled with the lock, anticipation causing her to shakily rip open the door.

And there Liam stood, holding a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of champagne, and a neatly wrapped present. His perfectly tailored suit laid perfectly on his arms and torso, his muscles just barely concealed. He beamed, his eyes glistening as his eyes grazed over her face.

She grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him inside hastily. “Whoa,” he said, nearly losing balance.

Elliott blushed, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing his face close to hers. She pressed her lips softly on his, a picture perfect moment she snapshotted and tucked away in her favorite memories.

All of the anxiety she felt traveling in disguise melted away the moment she touched Liam.

“I missed you,” he murmured against her lips.

“I missed you more,” she breathed, snuggling into his neck.

After a sweet moment, she pulled back, and snatched the champagne from his hands. “What’re we celebrating, love?”

He grinned, and locked the door behind him. “It’s a momentous day, Elliott. It’s been a year to the day since we first met.”

Elliott looked at him lovingly, hugging the bottle to her chest. “A whole year?”

He nodded, setting the flowers and present on the table, and gathered Elliott in his arms, hugging her to his chest tightly. “A whole year. I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Elliott.”

He used a finger to tilt her chin to him, and he pressed a soft kiss on her bottom lip. “You’re everything to me.”

“I love you so much, Liam.” She giggled, shaking her head. “From waitress to mistress. Same suffix, different job title.”

His smile wavered, and he exhaled a long breath, obviously uncomfortable with the joke she’d told. “I wish you’d stop putting yourself down like that. Marriage is just a title. Madeleine and I are just business partners. You’re my soulmate, Elliott.”

She pulled back, fiddling with the top of the champagne. “I know. I just wish we didn’t have to be so secretive.”

He gently took the bottle from my hands and popped it open. “I’ve still got local historians and lawyers on my payroll, and they’ve been extensively researching Cordonian laws. I don’t know if they’ll find anything, but I’m determined to keep looking. I don’t want to lose hope.”

Elliott pressed her mouth into a line, then quirked it to the side, processing everything he’d said. “I want to be hopeful that we’ll get out of this eventually, but I’d rather just enjoy the time I have with you, baby. Stress free.”

He poured them two glasses of champagne, and handed one to her. “Of course. My apologies.”

They sat at the kitchen table, and Elliott picked up the flowers, taking a deep whiff of the bouquet. “You really outdid yourself this time, Liam.” 

The cluster of sunflowers, lavender, and white roses contrasted beautifully, and smelled even better. “They reminded me of you, so I had to pick them up.”

“Along with a gift?” She lifted a brow, challenging him.

He sipped his champagne, trying to hide a smile. “I think you’ll like it. Open it.”

She ripped off the wrapping paper to reveal a plain white box. She lifted the top off, revealing an assortment of toys on top of a lacy lingerie piece. Her cheeks heated, and she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I love it,” Elliott said, nibbling at the skin on her lip.

Liam eyed her lips, a playful look in his eye. “I thought we could try something new this weekend.”

The blush on her cheeks stayed, despite her eagerness to get in bed. “I like the sound of that.”

She gulped down the rest of her champagne and snatched the lacy piece, running to the bedroom.

“Hey!” Liam called, about to stand from the table.

“I’m trying on the lingerie! Stay where you are! It’s a surprise!” She yelled through the closed door.

Elliott emerged after a few minutes, peeking her head out of the door. “You ready?”

“Beyond ready, my love.”

She stepped out, and Liam’s breath hitched in his throat. She could plainly see him shift his legs, desperately trying to conceal his bulge.

“You look… stunning. Absolutely gorgeous, Elliott,” he said, his mouth agape, eyes hungrily roaming across her body.

The strappy lace piece fit like a bikini. The bottom was closer to a g-string than a thong, and the crotch was cut out, making it for easier access. The lace was sheer, barely covering her nipples and folds. She should’ve felt sexy, but was more out of place than anything.

“This is so corny, Liam. You bought me something that you’re just going to strip off of me, and I look absolutely ridiculous in it,” She said, crossing her legs to cover the lack of cloth around her opening.

He stood from his chair and crossed the room to touch her. He laced his fingers through her hair and draped his other hand across the small of her back. He tilted her head back, kissing her neck and nipping gently at her exposed skin.

“You’re right. I want to rip this off of you, but I can’t even begin to describe to you how arousing this outfit is. You never have to wear something that you’re not comfortable in, but I assure you it’s a pleasurable experience on my end,” he breathed into her ear, tightening his grip around her waist.

“Oh fuck,” She whispered, his bulge rubbing against her, causing her to gasp in repsonse. “Please, let’s talk later, and fuck now. I need you now, Liam.”

“Say no more, beautiful.” He swept her up and brought her to the bedroom, slamming the door behind them with his foot.

He dropped her onto the bed, and shimmied off his coat jacket, hanging it on the back of the wall.

“You’re so adorable, Liam. In the midst of a heated moment, you still have the mind to hang your coat up carefully so that it doesn’t crease before fucking my brains out,” she giggled.

Liam scrunched his nose up in confusion. “I can be reckless.” He threw his coat on the ground, but after a few seconds of eye contact with Elliott, where she could tell how absolutely tormented he was, he snatched it by the lapels.

Elliott howled with laughter as Liam hung it up carefully, brushing off the dirt.

“You always manage to be right, Elliott,” he softly smiled, unbuttoning his top buttons slowly. “But I don’t mind.” His arms flexed as he rolled his sleeves up. “As long as you don’t mind that I’m a little reckless in private, that’s all that matters.”

Her heart raced as he left the room and returned with the box of toys. Although she’d committed Liam’s body and their sexual encounters to memory, she still found herself enthralled with him like it was the first time they met.

He sat on the bed next to Elliott’s lace-clad body, and tucked a hair behind her ear. “Are you okay with me trying some of the toys out on you? I want to make sure you’re completely comfortable with it before trying anything.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yes.”

He pulled a small handheld vibrator out of the box, just small enough to fit on a finger. “First things first, I want to taste you.”

Her lower stomach clenched and ached as he grabbed her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed, parting her legs. Before she could throw out a sexy quip, he had taken advantage of the crotchless design by plunging his tongue into her folds, stroking relentlessly.

She moaned and dug her hands into his hair, tugging at his dark strands. He in turn rumbled against her clit, sending shockwaves through her body.

“Liam, please,” she breathed, feeling his hand on her stomach, holding her bucking hips in place.

He knew exactly what she wanted; he always read her cues perfectly. He slid a finger into her, curling it the way Elliott loved. He moved his hand and tongue in unison, the similar paces bringing her close to the edge.

Just as she was about to release, he pulled away, slipping the vibrator on his fingers. “Is it alright if I try this out on you now?”

She nodded, her body eager for his touch. He massaged her clit slowly with his fingers, keeping in time with the laggard pace of his other fingers pumping in and out of her.

The strong vibration mixed with the pressure of his fingers sent Elliot into another world. Her eyes rolled back, and she focused on the image of Liam’s naked physique, his head between her legs… 

Before she knew it, her legs were shaking. Liam kissed her softly, and reached into the box again, but she placed a hand on his wrist lightly. “We have all weekend to play with them. I need you in me now.”

His pupils dilated even further, and he nodded, standing up to slip off his clothes. Although she’d seen him bare numerous times, it never failed to amaze her that the man whose heart belonged to her was so breathtaking. His body looked as it was crafted by the gods themselves, chiseled to perfection, undoubtedly due to his strict fitness and diet regimen.

He grabbed a condom from the box of toys, but before he could tear it open, she stopped him. “Could we… go without one this time? I’m on birth control.”

She wanted so desperately to tell him the whole truth, but she decided she’d wait until the time was right. It would sound like an irrational decision to him, but she had thought it out nearly every day since she left Cordonia for the first time.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, but… I’ll pull out. Just in case.” He looked unsure, but lowered himself onto the bed next to her anyways.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just thought,” she shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“No, please continue. Don’t ever feel like you can’t be honest with me, Elliott.” He touched her cheek softly.

“The only time we had sex without protection was our first time in the garden, remember?” She smiled softly, reminiscing.

“Of course I remember, my love. It’s one of my favorite times that we’ve been together.”

“Oh, so you’re ranking them now?” She smirked.

“Definitely not. Every time is special, but that one was even more special to me.”

“I was thinking we could kind of recreate the night.”

His eyes twinkled, full of love for the woman he could never fully give himself to. It was depressing, but Elliott pushed those thoughts behind her horniness and flipped on top of him.

“I love when you take charge, El,” he said, his voice verging on a growl.

“You’ve never used that nickname. What gives?” She tried joking, but his bare shaft pressed between her legs was distracting to say the least.

“I don’t know, I thought it was cute,” he shrugged. “I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

“No, I love it,” she breathed, and began grinding her hips against his. His grip on her hips tightened, and she leaned forward, kissing him deeply.

He grabbed his dick and rubbed his tip against her opening, teasing her. “You’re a tease.”

He pressed his hips upwards, entering her. Her body shuddered with pleasure as her walls adjusted to his size.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, as her hips moved lazily against his.

“It’s so weird hearing you curse, King Liam,” she whispered in his ear, kissing his neck.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips. “I’ve never been aroused by a title before, but I have to say that ‘King Liam’ sounds delectable coming from your lips.”

He moved his hands to grip underneath her ass, lifting and lowering her the length of his shaft. She mewled in response, her legs tightening their grip around his middle. “I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you speed it up,” she purred.

He picked up the pace, deepening his thrusts. All of her worries of the future were a fading blip, her sole focus on pleasuring and being pleasured by Liam.

Before she knew it, he’d flipped her, raised her hips, and pounded into her from behind. “Oh,” she cried, her guttural moan muffled by the thick down pillow.

He sped up, his skin smacking against hers relentlessly, the sounds of ecstasy filling the room. She turned back to gaze at him through half lidded eyes, and was met with Liam’s sultry concentrating face. She’d seen it many times before, when discussing security issues with Bastien, but never in this context. 

She felt herself getting wetter and wetter at the sight of him getting off inside of her. She was the one pleasuring him behind the scenes. She was the one exploring parts of him the public would never see, much less Madeleine. She got to see a side of Liam that not a single soul would ever experience. It gave Elliott a new sense of security, despite the harrowing situation they were in.

He reached into the box again and grabbed a handheld vibrator she hadn’t seen before. “I’m close, my love, and I want to make sure you’re there with me,” he panted, before switching it on.

He tried handing it to her, but instead, she guided his hand between her legs. “Oh fuck, El,” he cursed, sweat trickling down his clean shaven chest.

He leaned over her, keeping his fast pace, and placed the quivering toy between her folds. She arched her back in response, pushing herself further into the pillow.

The sensation of the vibrator mixed with getting fucked brought her to the edge quickly, and she released, her body convulsing beneath Liam’s. She shrieked his name, clutching the sheets. “Oh, Liam, fuck.”

He quickly followed her, his pace becoming more jerky as he came with her. “Fuck, I love you, Elliott,” he shouted. The deep commanding bass of his voice reverberated off the stone walls.

When they could finally move, Liam plopped next to her, spooning her while peppering soft kisses across her neck and shoulders.

She couldn’t have imagined herself anywhere else in that moment but Liam’s arms.

----

After they cleaned up, Elliott threw on a robe and flopped onto the couch, turning on the TV to browse through channels.

He sat next to her shortly after, clad with sweats and a plain t-shirt. “This might be a terrible time, but we need to discuss something rather difficult.”

“That phrasing definitely scares me, but go ahead,” she joked, turning the TV off.

“We’re being pressured to pursue producing an heir,” Liam shook his head, pain and regret dripping off of his every syllable.

“Wh… What?” She forced out. Her knees wobbled, the air knocked out of her lungs. She knew it was coming, but not this soon after the wedding.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Why? You just got married! I thought we’d have a couple years at least!” she said, her voice hiking up an octave.

“With Constantine passing away and the terrorist attacks, there’s still some uneasiness within the people and nobles. They’re not sure that we’re still stable as a country. It’s more for the benefit of our image than anything. Trust me, I’ve held off as long as I could.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Are you going to have to fuck her?” Elliott’s voice quivered, her breath unsteady. She didn’t know if she was ready for the answer.

His eyes widened. “No, Elliott, I would never. We don’t have feelings for each other like that. The public doesn’t need to know that we’re not having intercourse.”

Elliott’s chest loosened a bit, but she was still cautious as she waited for him to continue. “We’re either opting for adoption, or artificial insemination. There’s not a fertility issue with either of us, but we’re both not capable of sex with each other. It just can’t happen.” He held her gaze, pleading with her to understand.

“I–I can’t continue this if you’re going to have a child with her, Liam. I’d be a homewrecker. I can’t let you be that kind of dad to your kid,” Elliott shook her head, tears freely falling.

His jaw dropped, and he staggered back. “Elliott, my love, I–”

“I know you love me, and I know that I love you. I know that life is going to be so fucking hard without each other, but I can’t do this to your future kid,” she sobbed, sinking into the couch. “You and Madeleine may have consented to our relationship, but your child didn’t sign up for this. Imagine if they found out about us? He’d think so little of you. I can’t have that.”

Her shoulders shook, her breath heaving in and out of her lungs shakily. She was experiencing a loss like she’d never felt before. She could stay with the love of her life in order to satiate her desire to be with him, but at the expense of horrendous guilt, knowing she could possibly break a family up and warp Liam’s future child’s perception of him.

If they stayed together, and the public found out about them, he’d be painted as the bad guy, even though Madeleine encouraged the affair. She’d throw him to the wolves, and he’d be absolutely obliterated by the press.

There wasn’t a winning solution to this problem. They were going to have to do what was best for everyone else, instead of what they truly wanted.

“I’m so sorry, Liam, but I can’t do this. I love you, but I can’t do this anymore,” she repeated and the excruciating pain in her chest continued.

“Elliott, we can figure it out, I know we can–”

“We can’t, Liam! This is it! This is the last time you’re going to see me!” She shouted, her voice trembling and unstable.

“We can still be friends,” he said softly, kneeling next to her trembling form on the couch. “I still want you in my life no matter what, Elliott.”

Anger flashed through her disjointed train of thought. Before she could gather them together, she unleashed her momentary rage on him.

“You’re really that selfish, Liam? You’re that fucking selfish that you could want to maintain the picture perfect life and get everything you could ever want, while keeping me on a short leash? To be there for you emotionally, physically, sexually, but I get nothing in return?” She stood up, pushing an accusatory finger into his exposed chest.

“I have to work under a pen name because of everything that happened. You can’t even Google my government name without reading about how much of a whore I am. I risked my whole life and career to be with you, and you didn’t have the decency to publicly defend me. You just sided with everyone else except for the woman you supposedly ‘love’,” Elliott continued, pushing a tormented Liam closer and closer to the door.

“I have to fly back home when you’re done with me and leave all of my closest friends. This is my real home. I have people who love me and care for me here. I fell in love with Cordonia, its people, and you. But I’m pretty much a prisoner in a dungeon every time I come over,” she rolled her eyes, refusing to shut her mouth and let Liam speak. “All for sex. All for a quick fuck and less than 48 hours of your time before I’m shuttled off back to the cold, heartless city of New York.”

Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Elliott suddenly cackled, cutting off any attempt of him speaking.

“I forgot to tell you that I landed a book deal with a huge publishing company in the city. They want a few novels out of me. They loved my first rough draft of my book so much that they offered me a multi-book deal,” she smiled, shaking her head.

“That’s incredible, baby–”

“I was excited to tell you and instead all I can think about is how by the time I get my first book printed and released, you’ll have a kid. A family,” Elliott walked away from Liam, and sat at the kitchen table, taking a long swig from the champagne bottle.

After a long moment of silence between them, Liam finally spoke. “I know it seems like the universe is fighting us tooth and nail. I know that this situation is the worst we could be in. But Elliott,” he sat down across from her and lifted her chin up with his finger, “You’re the only woman I’ll ever love, and I won’t give up on this unless you tell me to leave you alone.”

“You know I don’t want to tell you to leave me alone. That’s the last fucking thing I want to do, but that’s how it has to be. You’re being selfish right now, Liam. You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes. This whole situation was selfish, but I guess it was okay since Madeleine okay-ed it,” she took another deep drink from the bottle. “But your child is completely innocent. They don’t deserve to be caught up in your selfish decisions.”

He flinched, and his form deflated. “I think… you might be right, El.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glistening. “I guess it was absurd to think this affair would last forever.”

She smiled sadly. “It was fun while it lasted.”

“I’ll always love you, El. I’ve always been truthful about that. You’re the only woman I’ll ever love.”

She leaned forward to cup his face in her palm. “I’ll never love anyone the way I love you, Liam.” She took another gulp of the alcohol. “I guess now that you’re confessing, I’ll have to confess, too.”

His brows furrowed as he waited for her to continue.

“I have an appointment with my OBGYN next week. I’ve always wanted one, but I’ve been seriously contemplating a hysterectomy for months now. Since you married Madeleine, really.”

“What? Why?” His eyes widened in surprise.

“I can’t see myself with children, but I can with you. You’re the only man I could ever picture having children with,” her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not a punishment to myself. I just know in my heart I’ll never want children again.”

His eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill. “I’m so sorry, Elliott.”

Her chin wobbled as the truth of the situation finally set in. She was no longer his, and he was no longer hers. The crown disrupted the fate of the lovers, and there was no amendment.

----

[damn-daemon]

Critical Mass - Prologue

(While I’m still writing this for NaNo, I have no self control - @chuck-hansens​ did this to me. This isn’t the final version, but please let me know what you think!)

Ring of Kafrene

It had once been a populous mining site, home to a multitude of cultures and corporations, but the collapse of the Empire lead to many of the mines being closed down – no more Death Stars to build after all – and the area fell into disrepair. The Hutts attempted to take control of the area, but their reach had dwindled over the past decade, leaving the station in the hands of local gangs. It had become a hotbed of illegal activity – not that things had been easygoing under Imperial rule – with a reputation that rivaled some of the Outer Rim worlds.

So, of course his person of interest would be holed up here. 

Poe Dameron sighed as he stepped into the space port, vaguely paying attention as the docking clamps ground into place. The old, two-seater freighter was a far cry from his T-70, but the point of the mission was to not draw attention to himself. Also to preferably not get his ship stolen. An X-Wing wouldn’t last more than an hour in this space port. He didn’t even think the freighter would, and that rusting block hadn’t seen active service since before the Clone Wars. 

BB-8 rolled up beside him, gently nudging his boot and whistling softly. 

“Yeah, buddy, I’m starting to think I should have left you home too,” he replied.

The air was stale and stank of grease, oil, and other things he’d rather not think about. Most of the equipment was retrofitted mining machinery with exposed wires and layers of rust. Something electrical was sparking on the far end of the docking bay, and there was a lone astromech lying on the ground. Occasionally it beeped, but no one seemed to care. 

Inside the station was bound to be interesting. 

“I wouldn’t linger, if I were you.”

Poe turned to the bay doors, finding them open and occupied by a dark green Rodian. He was tapping on a datapad. 

“This level’s got a faulty grid. Power tends to cut and then you’re off for a nice – if brief – space trip.”

Panicking, BB-8 cried, launching a cable into the nearest wall. 

Poe pat the poor droid before walking to the doors. Eventually, he heard the sound of his friend rolling behind him – and then rapidly in front of him. 

“What’s my docking fee?” he asked, feeling a small amount of relief when the doors closed behind him. 

“Hundred fifty credits first day. One hundred for every day after.”

“And what’s the fee if I don’t want my ship to go mysteriously missing?”

If Rodians were capable of smiling, the one before him would be grinning from ear to ear. 

“Add another fifty credits on top,” the Rodian replied, accepting his credit chit. “Here I thought you were another one of those Core pilots. Come to this heap looking for adventure, and they lose everything but the clothes on their backs. Sometimes, they lose those too.”

“I used to be,” Poe said, walking down the narrow corridor. He ignored the way the lights flickered as he walked by, as well as what could be described as whimpering on BB-8’s part. 

The doors at the end opened slowly, grinding on gears that were undoubtedly rusted as well, revealing an unusual world. 

The Ring of Kafrene was an outpost that connected two asteroids. There was no atmosphere, gravity, or vegetation. It was rock and metal, a self-contained unit that relied heavily on trade to keep running. Problem was, Kafrene didn’t lie on any well-traveled trade routes. Without the allure of a thriving mining community, most vessels moved on to safer, better known stops. 

Metal towers, conduits, and piping shot upward for as far as Poe could see. The air was thick with steam and other chemicals being churned into the atmosphere out of various vents, clouding the passageways so that there always appeared to be a fog. Everything was a shade of brown, and he doubted that it started that way. 

Outside the few windowpanes, ships drifted outside. As did garbage.

Aliens of every type shuffled around the area, some in piloting gear, others armed to the teeth, a few sat on the ground begging for spare credits. A bounty hunter dragged a shouting Dug through the crowd. No one reacted. Most just moved along, quiet and plodding. It was another day for them. 

“Maybe I still am,” he whispered. 

He wandered with the crowd for some time, actively keeping BB-8 in front of him – only three passersby attempted to interact with the droid, each met with the same number of volts – until he came across the cantina he was looking for. At least it smelled like something remotely edible over the same stale air. 

A young Twi’lek held her hand up as he entered the space, looking him over like she could smell the offworlder on him. 

“We don’t serve droids here.”

Poe looked down at BB-8, who looked up at him. They both looked at the droid working behind the bar, serving drinks and making programmed small talk. 

“Well, I’ve never seen a droid eat anything.”

Her eyes glazed over, pupils momentarily scraping the top of her head, before she sighed and moved on, handing drinks over to a rowdy table of miners. 

Poe shrugged, and sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools.

And there he waited. 

Time passed slowly, and Poe had to actively restrain himself from constantly checking the door. General Organa’s mission layout was simple: the contact would come to him. He wasn’t to move until then. 

Three days ago, C-3PO received an encoded message from one of his contacts – frankly, the idea that a protocol droid had an underground spy network at his proverbial fingertips was still strange to him – detailing a curious event that had occurred on Canto Bight. It alleged that a First Order operative had gone rogue. Leia had decided to err on the side of caution until yesterday when 3PO received a second transmission from this space port. 

It was potentially the largest lead on the First Order they had ever received – someone who was actually on the inside, and actively seeking a way out – yet Leia had still offered him a choice. It would be dangerous – and was possibly a trap – and if he felt the risk was too great, then they would leave it be. 

“It’s like you don’t know me, General,” he’d said with a smile. “I haven’t met a risk yet that wasn’t worth the effort.”

Her smile wasn’t quite there. “Sometimes, Dameron, I wish you had.”

He’d spent the entire trip mulling over those words. 

The Gran that had been occupying the bar since he arrived stood to leave, mumbling some obscenities as he shuffled toward the door. That left Poe alone at the bar – nearly alone in the cantina minus the miner party – and a little sullen at that. A crowded place was better for meeting. Here might have been downright suspicious. 

He chanced a glance at the door. 

“You humans never were good at being subtle.” 

Poe looked back to the droid behind the bar. It was a tall, thin thing, with one red sensor that watched him. Perhaps the only thing not rusting in the area, it still maintained a metallic sheen. Someone had jokingly tied a bow tie to what would have been its neck region. 

“Excuse me?” 

The entire time, the droid had been speaking in simple phrases, exhibiting a simple etiquette programming, but that appeared to have been a ruse on its part. 

“Your species fidgets too much. It has a low tolerance for sitting still. Imagine how little would get done if a droid acted the same way.”

Poe lowered his voice. “Are you…?”

He could have sworn the droid looked disappointed. “Were you expecting something organic?”

You know, he really didn’t have an answer for that. 

Poe waited as the droid continued cleaning the bar top, now acutely aware of how much movement his body was making. He continually caught his fingers tapping on the counter-top and would put his hands on his lap, only then his knee would start bouncing. BB-8 had grabbed his foot with a little claw to keep it still. 

“You’re not helping.”

The droid whistled shrilly.

Poe pointed a finger at him. “That was rude.”

Eventually, the bar droid placed a small cup in front of him without a word. Poe watched it briefly, but it no longer acknowledged him, chirping out a chipper greeting to a Talz that had just entered. 

Inside the cup was a small data drive.

Poe watched it a moment, wondering if he shouldn’t pretend to take a drink. Instead, he counted to one hundred, grabbed the drive, and made his way out of the cantina. 

The crowds had died down slightly, apparently having gone through a shift change when he first entered. Still, there was a steady current of aliens traveling down the narrow passageways. Poe let himself be directed by them, hoping to blend in as much as possible until he chanced upon a more private setting. 

They passed through a small market place, where the citizens of the station haggled over used equipment and fried food. The walk became suffocating as it was apparent that the stalls had not initially been considered as part of the station’s original layout, leaving the travelers packed shoulder to shoulder. 

A small fist fight broke out, knocking over a fruit stand. This led to several individuals grabbing the wayward Jogan fruit and making a run for it, leaving the owner cursing in what he thought was Huttese. 

Poe took the momentary chaos as an opportunity to stray from the beaten path, taking a narrow passageway that was lined with piping and probably served as more of a maintenance access. It widened out at the middle, opening up to a chamber that was filled with steam drifting from various vents rising up through dozens of levels. BB-8 just barely managed to roll through, leaving him somewhat confident that they would be alright for the time being. 

“Alright, buddy,” he said, taking a knee before BB-8 and handing out the drive. “Let’s see what you can make of this.”

BB-8 beep in acknowledgement, taking the drive. It only took a moment for his systems to process the data, producing a hologram of a still image – a young woman looking over her shoulder, face slightly blurred – and a few sentences of info. 

“Arrived on the station in an unauthorized Republic ship,” Poe mumbled, confused by how random the information seemed to be. “Logs wiped clean. Dock personnel unable to locate. Incident on level eighty-two involving half a dozen casualties potentially tied to her. I don’t know, this seems like a lot of loosely connected stuff. How do we know it’s her?”

His droid whistled and another image appeared, this one dated for the incident in Canto Bight. The projection wasn’t nearly as clear as the first, but Poe could tell it was clearly the same woman. 

“Alright,” Poe acknowledged, standing up at the holograms disappeared. “So, now we just have to find her…in the middle of all this. Yeah, no problem.”

The droid beeped.

“Yes, I know I said it would be worth it.”

Poe ran a hand over his face. It wouldn’t have been the first time he was wrong. 

“Is that a BB-series astromech?!” 

Startled by the sudden voice, Poe almost pulled the blaster hidden in his jacket, but was able to restrain himself long enough to get a good look at the boy that was now watching them from the opening. 

He couldn’t have been older than ten, staring at them with curious hazel eyes and a grin nearly too big for his face. His blonde hair stuck up in all directions, his clothes were covered in grease and grime, and in his hand, he held a single Jogan fruit, clearly having taken advantage of the tussle as well. 

BB-8 whistled, his head bobbing back and forth like a proud little shake. 

“How did you get one here?” the boy asked, darting out from the narrow passageway and fallen to his knees in front of the droid. “Last decent looking droid I saw got scrapped for parts within the hour.”

Ignoring the cries of panic from his friend, Poe actually smiled at the kid. At least someone around the area hadn’t had their spirits dampened yet. 

“Beebee-Ate isn’t about to go down with out a fight, and trust me, this guy’s got a lot of it in him,” he replied, patting the droid.

“Has he seen a lot of action?”

Poe shrugged. “A skirmish or two. Nothing he couldn’t handle.”

BB-8 was practically humming from the attention. 

The boy looked up at him. “So, you’re not from around here. Why come to this place? We’re not exactly near anything.”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?”

Poe felt his eyes narrowing. “What’s with all the questions, kid?”

The boy shrugged, taking a bite from the Jogan. “I have to ask them.”

“Why?”

“I needed to distract you somehow,” he replied, eyes landing on something that was definitely behind him. 

Poe didn’t even get the chance to reach for his blaster before something struck the back of his knee, hard, and his leg crumpled to the ground. The other leg followed suit as something struck it as well, except when it hit the ground, he felt a mass remain there, applying pressure to his calf. It felt like a knee. 

An arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing. The pressure wasn’t enough to render him unconscious, but warned that the outcome was possible if he didn’t comply. 

A shot fired, an electrical burst striking BB-8. The poor droid short-circuited, his components shooting out haphazardly before his systems automatically shut down to prevent further damage to his internal drives. 

“Hey! What are you-” Poe choked as the arm squeezed tighter, making his vision pulse. He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Okay.”

The boy frowned. “Sorry.”

He felt the attacker’s hand reach under his jacket, securing the blaster. 

“Can I have it?” the boy asked, face lighting up briefly before he assumed the attacker gave him a look. The frown returned. “Okay.”

“So, I take it you’re the fugitive from the First Order, right?” Poe asked, risking further damage to himself, but the arm did not squeeze again. “I mean, you have to be. You’re not asking for any credits.”

There was no response.

“You didn’t shoot me, which is nice. Means you don’t want me dead. And if you don’t want me dead, that means I have something you want, right?”

Still nothing. 

“You know, I’ve never been good at these guessing games. You’re gonna have to speak u-”

Their free hand slapped against his forehead, pulling his head back until he had a good – albeit upside down – view of their face. 

And there she was, the woman in the hologram. 

She was young, somewhere around his age, though the stern look on her face made her look older. Her dark hair was falling out of a bun, framing a bruised face – the incident wasn’t completely one sided then – and equally dark eyes. 

“Do all members of the Resistance talk this much?”

“No. Just me,” he mumbled. “I’ve been told it’s a problem.”

She sighed and shoved his head forward again.

“Get the droid,” she ordered. The boy dropped his fruit and immediately went to BB-8, pushing all his components back in place.

Poe watched it happen, slowly moving his free leg to the side. If he could just knock her off balance, he might have a chance. 

When the time felt right, he clasped her arm with both hands and pushed with his leg, careening them both to the side. Using his weight against her, Poe made her land on her back, the force of his shoulders striking her chest causing her arm to release him. 

He scrambled out of her grasp, rolling to the side, but the woman recovered fast. Poe felt her hands grasp the back of his jacket, halting his escape attempt and pulling him back. She swung her leg over his body, sitting on his chest, this time not bothering to ease the pressure. Breathing was difficult. 

She pointed a blaster at him. 

“Using the stun setting within two feet of a target causes irreparable damage to the nervous system,” the woman said, the words tumbling from her mouth without a single inflection, as if she was reciting it from a lesson. “You won’t be doing that again.”

Poe Dameron couldn’t help but wonder if General Organa wasn’t suddenly feeling smug at that moment.

@marvelousthronewars​ Look a present for youuuuu.

[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT Oneshot: Enough

I know I’ve said before no more fanfics buuuut my confidence in my original writing took a bit of a dive today, and I’ve had this scene in my head for forever so, here we go. Just to prove that I can still write something decent. Please like/reblog/comment if you can.

As the bright full moon rose towards its peak, a lone hunter made his way back to his underground sanctuary.

...Well, maybe ‘hunting’ was a bit generous. Really it was more like ‘dumpster diving grocery shopping’ with the occasional swipe from an unguarded truck. 

Even so, Splinter was satisfied with his haul. Lots of canned food, their dented containers thankfully unopened, as well a couple frozen pizzas and boxes of crackers that he managed to grab from a delivery van stopping at a nearby bodega. Yes, they would eat very well, at least until the next ‘shopping’ trip. They still had plenty of ramen cups and slightly stale bread from the last trip, but Splinter always took a special sort of pride in bringing his sons something truly yummy to eat.

And speaking of his sons... Tucking his spoils under an arm, picking whatever wouldn’t fit up with his long tail, he moved the makeshift door to the side with his other arm and walked into his humble home. “Oh boyyyyyys!” Splinter called out, just as he always did. He would make his return known, and his sons would rush him for hugs, usually sneaking a peek inside whatever bags and boxes their father brought home. 

This time however, there was no stampede of little turtle feet. Not even a reply to his call.

Splinter frowned. “Boys!” he said, a bit louder now. He had begun to worry when he heard his oldest finally reply. 

“Hey Pop! We’re in the living ro-” The snapper was quickly cut off by hollers and cheers from his brothers. 

“Huh...” Were they playing some game? Or maybe they found an interesting comic book floating through the murky tunnels. Curious, Splinter worked quickly to put their groceries away before making his way to the center of their home. “What are you four doing?” he asked as he poked his head through the doorway-

“HOT SOUUUUUUUP!”

Splinter froze.

...No. Not Splinter. Not in that moment, at least. Lou Jitsu froze. The small silhouettes of his boys were blurred, the warm light from the old machine and its all encompassing projection shining brightly on the stone wall. Lou could only stare as he watched his reflection - younger, taller and certainly more foolish - kick a couple extras off-screen, his grin as cocky as ever.

“Leo an’ me found it!” he heard Mikey explain, his usual bright grin (along with the occasional crayon or paint streak) present on his face despite his rat dad’s shocked silence, “An’ Donnie figured out how to make it work and how to put the movie wheel in and everything! And this one is about this guy named Lou Jitsu! Isn’t it cool?!”

“Actually it was Leo’s idea to mess with it, sooooo-” Donnie added, feigning innocence in case their father was angry with him for snooping through the boxes he kept in his corner of their home - the boxes he had grabbed from a storage unit several months ago, though hadn’t shared with the boys what was in them. 

This action also earned him an indignant squawk from his twin. “Nuh uh, you’re the one who wanted to see if you could make it work!” the slider argued. As the two began to argue and Raph stepped in to make sure the fight didn’t escalate, Lou just continued to stare at the screen.  

It was like looking through one of those time portal things from a Jupiter Jim movie he remembered watching long ago. Remembering... He remembered the hum of the cameras, the heat of the set lights, the undying praise of the film crew and nearby fans alike. He remembered how good and right it felt to be in his own body, his epic martial arts moves as familiar as breathing.

Lou clenched his fists tightly, a dull ache now in his furry chest. His head nearly felt numb, old memories continuing to swirl beside with bittersweet emotions like stirring cheap margarita mix with cough syrup. And yet, his eyes refused to look away from the screen. He wasn’t sure when his feet started moving on their own, his body close enough to cast a shadow over the film. Close enough to touch history. 

His double continued to fight and make cheesy one liners without a care in the world, his sunglasses catching the light perfectly. He seemed invincible, back then... Funny how life likes to prove you wrong in the most devastating ways. 

What had he been thinking back then? What had he been thinking when he had shot his last film, not knowing then that it WOULD be his last film? Lou wasn’t sure, though he could bet it was something about finishing the current scene as soon as possible so he could make it to some party or street race or a date with whatever beautiful starlet or hollywood hunk that was willing. 

Those times had been fun, really REALLY fun... But Lou still couldn’t help but resent his younger self for not appreciating those moments of movie magic more. If only he knew back then that he was actually going to end up missing those long days and seemingly endless retakes along with the premieres and the fame and the cheers.

But that life was gone, wasn’t it? Existing only in pictures and memories and old rolls of film...

“...Papa?”

A small voice finally pulled Lou out of his thoughts, his eyes blinking for the first time in what seemed like ages as he managed to look away from the movie, though the projected frames still danced across the side of his head, only stopping when it hit his shadow. 

Small eyes filled with innocent concern and half-framed with red met his gaze. “What’s wrong?” Leo asked, tilting his head a bit, “This is a good movie! A really good one! So, how come you look so sad?”

Lou felt himself take a small step back, another sort of ache hitting his chest. The eyes of not just his second youngest but all of his children continued to stay directly on him, curious and a bit confused. 

How come you look so sad?

Letting a moment pass, Lou swallowed... and then smiled as hard as he could. 

“Aha, Papa just- really REALLY likes this movie! It- It is one of my favorites, actually!” The rat then feigned a scowl. “And you would watch your father’s favorite movie without him? Shame on you all!”

“Aww, it’s okay, Pop! We can just start it over,” Raph told him, “and then we can all watch it together!” The snapper paused. “...We can start it over, right Donnie?”

“Uh huh, it’s easy!” Donnie nodded, allowing a bit of pride slip into his voice as he began moving towards the aging device.

His brothers grinned, nowhere near annoyed at having to sit through scenes again. “I wanna watch it again anyway,” Leo told them, “There’s this one part where the Lou Jitsu guy throws these two mean guys right into their bowls of soup!”

Despite himself, Lou let out a small chuckle. “Wow, sounds exciting. Well then, let’s get this show... rolling, hm?” he said as he gestured to the projector. Leo giggled while his other three sons groaned. 

Once the film was rewound and the credits began flashing across the stone wall, his boys didn’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him in his plush chair. Raph on his lap, Leo and Donnie by his sides, and Mikey sitting comfortably on top of his furry head, the only one of his children still small enough to do so.

“This is gonna be great!” Mikey grinned, nuzzling his father’s hair before cheering, “Hot souuuuuup!” 

“HOT SOUUUUUUP!” his brothers echoed. Lou - no, Splinter chuckled again, his yellow eyes now burning slightly, but his smile never faltering.

His movie star days were long behind him, there was no denying that.  No studio would hire a short, fat rat to star in a kung fu movie, and even if they did, Splinter wouldn’t risk it. After all, he had far more to lose these days, things more important than his reputation or a few handfuls of cash. Much, much more important...

The past would forever be the past, but he could still share it with his sons, even if he swore to himself to never let them know the full truth. And, as he listened to his children’s cheers and awe inspired comments as the opening fight scene played on, their small bodies snuggling closer to him as all five of them settled in, Splinter decided that that really was enough for him. 

“...I wanna be a cool an’ strong hero like Lou Jitsu,” he heard Raphael say as said hero leapt off his motorcycle and punched two on-coming enemies right in the jaw.

Splinter hummed. “Maybe... When you’re all grown up, of course.”

“Awwww.”

THE END

[v-thinks-on]

Generations - Part 2

First | Next

Kirk followed Commander Riker into a spacious conference room. The whole far wall was nothing but windows looking out on open space. Captain Picard was already seated at the table in front of them, deep in conversation with a woman on the viewscreen who must have been Admiral Brackett. He waved Kirk over to the chair next to him, Riker sat on the other side of the table, across from Picard, and Data, La Forge, and Worf filled in around the table.

“Doctor Crusher and Counselor Troi are busy with their patients. They said they’ll be here as soon as they can,” Riker reported, with a look that suggested he didn’t expect them to show at all.

 “Understood,” Picard said.

When that was taken care of, the admiral turned to Kirk with a smile. “Captain Kirk, on behalf of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said.

"We look forward to your arrival on Earth." Finally, she got around to the point - "Frankly, you've returned at just the right time. A lot of our fleet was recently destroyed by a new threat, the Borg. We've lost a lot of our best officers and could use a man with your experience at the helm. You would have your choice of ship-"

Kirk raised a hand for silence. "I'm honored, but I retired eighty years ago."

"Captain," she insisted, "Please reconsider. Think of the difference you could make.”

Kirk shot a glare at Picard - those were Kirk’s own words she was using against him; that was how Picard had convinced him to give up the illusion in the Nexus and return to fight Soran.

“Is there anything we could do to convince you?” the admiral pressed.

Kirk had no intention of coming out of retirement, as much as the idea of commanding another starship appealed to him, but he saw his opening and took it. “Can you arrange for Ambassador Spock to meet me on Earth?”

Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “Ambassador Spock?”

“He was my First Officer.”

“The situation with the ambassador is a little more complicated-” she attempted.

“Please, just let him know that I’m back - he’ll find a way.”

“With all due respect, it’s been a long time.” She hesitated. “He’s quite dedicated to his current mission.”

Kirk could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but still he insisted, “I don’t have to see him, just let him know I’m alive.”

“Admiral,” Data spoke up, “Captain Kirk may be able to convince Ambassador Spock to return to Earth. According to their records, they are married.”

The admiral turned to Kirk for confirmation and he nodded with a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” the admiral said at last, “Ambassador Spock has been out of contact for three years now.”

“Can I at least know what’s going on?” Kirk demanded.

The admiral nodded.

Picard volunteered - “I can fill him in.”

Kirk barely heard the rest of the meeting. Instead, he stared out the windows that made up the far wall, letting his mind wander through the stars as the others discussed the logistics of transferring an entire crew from one starship to another - it seemed an Enterprise-E was already under construction. He tried not to think about what could have happened to Spock.

Finally, the others filtered out of the conference room, leaving Kirk and Picard alone.

“Jim” - Picard hesitated - “Ambassador Spock is on Romulus.”

Kirk tore his eyes away from the windows and glanced at Picard. “I take it they haven’t become our allies in the past eighty years?”

“No, if anything our relations with the Romulans have gotten worse. They feel threatened by our alliance with the Klingons and have been doing everything in their power to put an end to it.”

Kirk braced himself for the worst and demanded, a little more sharply than necessary, “What happened to Spock?”

Picard sighed. “He’s been on Romulus for the past three years, attempting to educate the Romulan people in Vulcan ways and promote the reunification of Vulcan and Romulus. The assumption is that no news is good news - he’s well known as a Federation ambassador, and we assume the Romulans would make some noise if they had him, but the truth is we don’t know.”

Kirk just shook his head. Reunifying Vulcan and Romulus sounded like a crazy idea, even for Spock who had been in favor of peace with the Klingons before anyone else. But then again, there was a certain logic to it, not just trying to bring peace between Romulus and the Federation, but also trying to force the Vulcans to open up in the process. Either way, Kirk knew what he had to do.

“He’s not supposed to be there?” Kirk confirmed.

“No, in fact, at first we thought he might have defected to the Romulans” - Picard saw Kirk’s expression and clarified, “Not that we really believed he would defect, but he vanished one day, and was spotted on Romulus the next. Mr. Data and I were sent to sort it out and retrieve him.”

Kirk’s face lit up. “You met him?”

Picard smiled a little. “As a matter of fact, I did. He was remarkably stubborn.”

Kirk grinned and nodded in agreement. More seriously, he asked, “How was he?” He could only hope Spock wasn’t suffering from a broken bond.

“He seemed fine when I was there,” Picard answered, unsurprisingly oblivious to the real weight behind Kirk’s question, “But he hadn’t been on Romulus for very long. He was living underground, in a network of caves under a town, but I don’t think he stayed put. I doubt it’s gotten any easier since we left. He went when he did because he was invited by a friend of his, who he met at the Khitomer Conference, but it was a trap. We escaped - mostly thanks to Ambassador Spock.”

Kirk nodded. “He’s very efficient.”

“It’s easy to forget he was once a Starfleet captain, but he plainly hasn’t.”

“He was like that as a first officer too - the best one in the fleet.” Kirk couldn’t help but smile.

“His reputation as an ambassador is the same, and despite the troubles we encountered, he had amassed quite a following already. His students were quite devoted to him.”

“He has that effect on people.”

Picard looked unconvinced, but acknowledged, “He’s dedicated to his cause, I can give him that. I tried to convince him to return to the Federation, maybe I didn’t try hard enough, but he wouldn’t budge, even after being caught by the Romulan Security Forces.”

“He wouldn’t. I doubt I could convince him to leave...” Kirk trailed off.

After a moment’s pause, Picard carefully remarked, “When I saw him, he mentioned that he still feels responsible for the time you spent on Rura Penthe. He said he went to Romulus alone because he didn’t want to risk anyone else’s life.” He gave Kirk a pointed look, as though he could see through Kirk’s nascent plans.

Kirk shook his head. Of course Spock still felt guilty for it after all these years. “I’m to blame for worse.”

Picard hesitated. “Sometimes it feels like we give up too much in the name of duty.”

Kirk leaned back with a sigh. “I don’t know.” He still wanted so badly to be back in that chair, even for all it had cost him.

After a long silence, Picard spoke up, “Jim, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but if you and the ambassador are married, you should know; Sarek died not long after Ambassador Spock left for Romulus.”

“Does Spock know?”

“Yes, I had a chance to tell him while I was on Romulus.”

Kirk nodded. “I’m sure his death is a great loss to the Federation.”

Delicately, Picard attempted, “I know he and Ambassador Spock had a difficult relationship.”

“To say the least,” Kirk couldn’t help but add.

Picard hesitated. “I shared a small bond with Sarek. He cared for Spock, in his way.”

Kirk frowned. “Maybe, but that doesn’t make him a good father.”

“The last thing he said to me before I left - before he died - was that he wanted me to tell Spock that he loved him. I know they argued, but perhaps that was merely how they communicated.”

Kirk glanced away to look out on the stars. Finally, he returned his gaze to Picard, his mind made up. “Sarek married a human woman and then punished their son for being too emotional - too human. It took Spock’s death for Sarek to finally accept him.” Despite Kirk’s efforts to keep his voice even, it shook a little with emotion.

“He saw his son die,” Picard protested. “It almost destroyed him.”

Kirk’s eyes widened as he realized what Picard had seen. He cut off Picard with a shake of his head. “Sarek wasn’t there.”

“But I saw-”

Kirk shook his head again. “I melded with Sarek and showed him what happened.”

“That was…” Picard trailed off in realization. “Jim, I’m sorry.”

Kirk waved it off with a weak attempt at a smile. “It was a long time ago. Spock is fine now.”

“You wouldn’t know that he’s over a hundred by looking at him.”

Kirk’s smile grew a little stronger, though some dampness lingered under his eyes. “Thank you, Captain.” He forced himself to his feet.

Picard followed suit. “You can call me Jean-Luc.”

“Thank you, Jean-Luc,” Kirk corrected himself. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Picard hesitated. “If you want to talk, you’re more than welcome.”

Kirk nodded in understanding. “I have a lot of questions about the Enterprise-D, but we should save something to talk about for next time.”

“I can show you to your quarters,” Picard offered and led the way out of the conference room.

Kirk tossed and turned in a bed that was much too soft for a cot on a starship. He didn’t really want to get comfortable, there was too much on his mind, too much weighing on him. Finally, he threw off the sheets, changed into a clean uniform, and strode out into the hall. It was quieter now, though he still passed a few officers hurrying to and fro. Some attempted to greet him, but he waved them off. The computer terminal, that ran along the walls in a black band, guided him up to the observation deck at the top of the saucer.

The observation deck was thankfully empty - there were a lot more places on the ship where people could go to savor the experience of being in outer space. A whole wall and part of the ceiling were paned with transparent aluminum, through which he could see the stars shifting around him as they passed at warp.

He had glanced at a star chart, they weren’t too far from Romulan space. If he peered in the right direction, he may have even been able to see some of the stars in the Neutral Zone. All he needed was a ship to take him there, and the admiral had been all too willing to give him one. But he couldn’t risk a crew on a personal mission.

Maybe she would be willing to strike a deal; he would come out of retirement, but first he needed a small ship to take him to Romulus. He didn’t actually expect to return, they were both too stubborn - Spock wouldn’t leave and Kirk refused to leave him there alone. It wasn’t the cleanest way to get what he wanted, but he only had so many options.

“The famous Captain Kirk,” a woman declared from behind him, jarring him out of his thoughts. “You look like a man who has a lot on his mind. Want to talk about it?”

Kirk turned to face her - it was the woman from the bar in the brightly colored dress, with those piercing eyes. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he said with a smile.

“I’m Guinan,” she said, very matter-of-fact, almost like the Klingon. “The Enterprise-B rescued me from the Nexus when you fell in. I never got a chance to thank you for saving us - not that any of us were very grateful at the time.”

As much as she looked it, she couldn’t have been human if she’d really lived that long, but Kirk supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. “I just did what I could,” he deflected.

Guinan nodded sagely. “The Nexus is a dangerous place - I would know. But keeping it all cooped up inside you just makes it worse.”

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “I wasn’t there for very long - at least it didn’t feel like it. It didn’t leave much of an impression,” he said with a shrug.

“Really? Then there must be something else that has you staring out into space in the middle of the night,” she challenged, clearly skeptical.

He glanced back out at the stars. “Just thinking about an old friend.”

She stepped over to him, so they could look out the window side by side. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

Kirk smiled a little at that. He didn’t even know where to begin. At last, he said, “He’s stubborn and throws himself into danger without a thought for his own safety, but he would never let anyone else get hurt in his place.”

“It sounds like he gives his friends a lot to worry about.”

Kirk nodded.

“But you don’t seem like a man who would just sit around and worry. What’s the plan?” Guinan asked, almost conspiratorially.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Kirk evaded the question with a smile.

“You can’t just leave him in danger, can you?”

Kirk sighed. “I don’t know if he is in any immediate danger,” he admitted.

“And if he was, you’d be able to get him out of it all on your own,” Guinan said sarcastically.

“I’d figure something out,” Kirk insisted.

“And then what? You’d lock him away to protect him from everything else in the galaxy?”

Kirk glared at her. “At least I’d be there.”

Guinan answered with a look of disbelief, “You’ll just follow him around?”

“Why not? That’s what he did for me for ten years, maybe it’s my turn.” With that, Kirk turned back toward the window.

Guinan clearly wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue any further. Instead, she let Kirk ruminate in silence for a little while, though he didn’t get far, still tense from their debate and ready for a fight.

Finally, Guinan spoke up once more - to Kirk’s surprise, the prodding tone was gone, replaced by something more reflective - “You know, sometimes I get feelings about things, how they’re supposed to be, like if there’s been some change in the timeline. I get a feeling like that about you; I don’t think we were ever supposed to meet. You were supposed to die on that planet and that was to be the end of it. But I think this way is better. I don’t think much else has changed and I’m glad I got to meet you, Captain.”

Kirk wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he answered with a wry smile all the same, “I’m glad I got to meet you too.”

They shook hands and Guinan left him alone in the observation deck at last.

A chime sounded at the door to Kirk’s quarters. It slid open on his command to reveal Counselor Troi.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Sure,” Kirk welcomed her with a wave.

He was already seated at the desk and she brought over a chair to join him.

Once Troi was situated, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

He gave her a skeptical look and answered with a shrug - she could sense some purposeful evasion. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to see how you’re doing.” Carefully, Troi said, “I am aware that Ambassador Spock is on Romulus.”

All that elicited was a sharp nod.

She tried again, “I can sense that you are feeling determined. Is there something you intend to do?”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m always looking for an alternative solution.”

“Have you found one?”

“Aside from going to Romulus?”

It seemed she needed to take a more direct route. “I understand that you are in a very difficult situation, but avoiding your feelings is not the solution.”

Kirk reflected some of her irritation, though a bit of a smile remained to lighten the tone. “What do you want me to say? Of course I’m worried about him.” Before she could ask a follow-up question, he changed the topic entirely - “How precise are your empathic abilities?”

“I can tell you’re still trying to evade my questions.”

“It’s a useful ability, not just for counseling,” he pressed. “Can you sense the feelings of someone on another ship or on the surface of a planet?”

“Yes, it has come in handy in some diplomatic situations, but I am primarily a counselor.”

“I see that.”

She stopped herself short of sighing in exasperation. “I understand that you don’t want to talk about Ambassador Spock. What about your experience in the Nexus?”

“Fine, what do you want to know?” Kirk asked dismissively, but she could sense that his defenses had dropped a little.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s very distant, almost like a dream.” He paused for a moment to search his memory. “The first thing I remember was standing outside a cabin chopping wood. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, though I don’t know why I was doing it - I knew Spock wasn’t there. I don’t know how long I was at it.”

“What influence would your husband’s presence have had on the situation?” she asked for clarification.

Kirk gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. “It was too warm out for me to want a fire for myself, but he likes the dry heat - it makes it feel more like Vulcan.”

“I see,” she said with a smile of her own. “And you said you were in front of a cabin - was it familiar to you?”

He nodded. “It was my uncle’s. I ended up with it after he died, but I wasn’t on Earth enough to use it, so I sold it years ago.”

“So, then what happened in the Nexus?”

“I was still chopping wood when your Captain Picard walked up. And then, I think I smelled something burning and remembered I had left some eggs on the stove, which I was making for a woman who was sleeping upstairs - I think her name was Antonia.”

“Is she someone you know?”

“I don’t think so.” He hesitated. “The strange thing is, while I was there, I was convinced that I almost married her nine years ago, but that instead I left to go back to Starfleet.”

“Did something similar happen nine years ago?”

Kirk shook his head.

“Were you with anyone at the time?”

“Spock and I were already married and I don’t think there was anyone else. It was before our last mission…” He froze.

Very delicately, Troi asked, “What is it?”

“Nine years ago, that was right before Khan - before Spock died. I was still on Earth at the time, if I had stayed and hadn’t gone on that training mission, Khan would have had no reason to go after Spock...” He had almost forgotten anyone else was there.

Troi could feel Kirk’s anguish, it was real even though the ambassador was alive as far as anyone knew. “What happened?” she prompted quietly, as not to intrude on his thoughts.

“Khan wanted revenge,” Kirk answered automatically, lost in memories. “He almost destroyed us, but at the last minute, Spock sacrificed himself to save the ship. I was able to bring him back, but it took a while before he was himself again.”

“I’m sorry.” Troi gently rested a hand on his arm.

Kirk seemed to jolt back to the present. His eyes suddenly fixed on Troi, as they hadn’t through his explanation, as though searching her face for a reaction or some indication of how much he had revealed.

“I sense that you still feel a lot of guilt for what happened,” Troi attempted, but she could tell that his defenses had already returned.

“A captain is responsible for the lives of his crew,” he answered, though his voice was still rough.

“Sometimes even the best captain can’t avert a tragedy.”

He shook his head. “It’s still his responsibility. You’re a doctor, don’t you feel responsible for your patients?”

She held firm - “It is important for a doctor to understand that sometimes there are things outside their control.”

“You sound like a Vulcan,” he accused, but he was almost smiling.

“Their philosophy has its merits.”

He nodded in agreement. “What does Betazoid philosophy have to say on the matter?” he asked - his evasive banter had returned.

“Most Betazoids prefer to embrace their emotions, which is very freeing, but can have negative effects on others. Any philosophy can be harmful if it is taken to extremes.”

Kirk gave her a knowing smile. “You said you’re half-Betazoid?”

“Yes, my mother is a Betazoid, and my father was human.” Troi felt a wave of sympathy in response. She clarified, “I had the opportunity to experience the best of both worlds. What’s your background?” she turned the question back on him.

“All human. I was born in Iowa, but my father was in Starfleet, so I spent a lot of time in the colonies.” A trace of a bad memory seemed to flit through his mind, but it quickly dissipated.

“Tell me about your time in the colonies,” Troi suggested.

Kirk waved it off. “There isn’t much to tell.” His tone was light, but she could sense that his defensiveness had returned.

It didn’t seem immediate enough to pursue, so she returned to her original question, “I don’t think you finished telling me about what happened in the Nexus. You were chopping wood, then Captain Picard arrived, and you realized the eggs you were making for Antonia were burning…” She motioned for him to continue.

He nodded. It took him a moment to regain his train of thought. “It really was like a dream. I think I was standing in the kitchen of my uncle’s cabin with your captain when my old dog, Butler, came in through the front door - I haven’t seen him since I was a kid. And I think there was that clock that I gave to Bones years ago on the wall, and I had the reading glasses that he gave me” - Troi felt a flash of Kirk’s regret and grief over Spock’s death, and then it was gone.

“Jean-Luc was trying to explain what was going on,” Kirk continued as though nothing had happened, “But I wasn’t listening - I was too busy preparing breakfast for Antonia. I think I even heard her voice, but when I stepped into the bedroom, I suddenly found myself in my uncle’s barn. I took out one of the horses, I think I was going to meet Antonia, but I’m not sure. I rode down the trail that I usually take, jumped over the ravine, and I think that’s when I realized it wasn’t real - I wasn’t afraid of the jump. That’s where Jean-Luc caught up to me and finally convinced me to go with him and stop Soran.”

“Why do you think the Nexus showed you that in particular?”

He shrugged. "It's the perfect retirement," he said, but she could tell he didn't really believe it.

"Perfect for you?"

"Maybe there's no such thing.”

"Why did you retire?"

"It was time," he said, but there was a  lot of reluctance to it.

"You know, you're no older than Captain Picard.”

"Give or take eighty years,” he retorted.

“You don’t look over sixty to me.”

“You flatter me, doctor,” he said with a wry smile.

She gave him a look. More seriously, she said, “I think we made a lot of progress. Is it alright if I drop by again tomorrow?”

“Fine,” he said with a wave.

Kirk showed Counselor Troi to the door. It slid shut behind her and he was left alone in his quarters once more. He let out a sigh in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from the interview. The room suddenly seemed much too big for one man - it was bigger than his quarters had been on any of the ships he had commanded.

He glanced back at his desk - he could resume going over his plans for going to Romulus, but there was only so much that could be prepared in advance. Instead, he decided to follow the counselor’s example, and stepped out into the corridor himself. He ambled almost aimlessly, tracing his way through another unfamiliar starship - he had to remind himself that this one was not his.

He meandered down to the engines, passing officers and civilians alike, but no one that he recognized. Finally, he arrived in engineering and spotted Data standing at one of the terminals. Kirk strolled over to the android and peered at the screen over his shoulder, though he made sure to leave a comfortable distance between them.

Data turned to face him. “Is there something you require, Jim?”

Kirk smiled. “What are you working on there?”

“Monitoring the warp engine relay,” Data answered promptly.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Kirk asked. He attempted to decipher the schematic on the screen, but it made about as much sense as what Data had said.

“No, it is functioning within normal parameters. I am merely performing a routine check.”

“I don’t mean to distract you.”

“Very well,” Data said and returned to his work without a second glance.

Kirk grinned at the response. He waited for Data to notice he was still there.

“Captain Kirk!” La Forge exclaimed from the other end of the room, near the warp core. He strode over to join them.

“How are the engines?” Kirk asked.

“They ought to be at maximum efficiency with all the extra hands looking after them.”

“The engines’ efficiency is not correlated with the number of officers maintaining them,” Data corrected him.

“That’s the problem,” La Forge said. He turned to Kirk - “Is there anything we can help you with?”

Kirk shook his head. “Just distracting Mr. Data, here.”

“You said your intention was not to distract me,” Data protested, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“It’s a figure of speech, Data,” La Forge tried to explain. “People say it to be polite.”

“I see…” Data said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “However, Jim, if your intention is to distract me, I do have a question I have been meaning to ask you.”

“Ask away,” Kirk said with a wave.

“How can a human such as yourself engage in a romantic relationship with a Vulcan who rejects human emotion?”

La Forge made to protest, but Kirk held up a hand to stop him. A lot of people had asked him that question over the years, but rarely with such sincere curiosity.

However, before Kirk could answer, a young ensign interrupted, “Excuse me, sir.” She gestured at the terminal they were all crowded around.

“Come on,” La Forge said, “I know somewhere a little less crowded - you haven’t gotten a proper tour of the warp core yet.”

La Forge led the way to the tall glowing column at the end of the room that gave the ship the power to traverse the galaxy in days instead of years. From right next to it, if Kirk craned his neck, he could see a network of narrow walkways that wound around the warp core all the way to the top. La Forge led Kirk and Data up two metal staircases, bathed in the core’s blue glow.

“We should be out of the way up here,” La Forge said.

Kirk let his eyes fall shut so he could just listen to the whirring of the engines - it almost sounded like he was back on his own ship. Finally, he forced himself back to the present. “She’s lovely.”

La Forge grinned. “You should have seen the Enterprise.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Kirk said. Then, at last, he turned to Data’s question. “Spock doesn’t really reject emotion, he just tempers it with logic. Do you have your sights set on a particular Vulcan?”

“No,” Data replied, “I am not romantically interested in a Vulcan, if I interpret your question correctly. I ask because my previous attempt at engaging in a romantic relationship with a human did not go well because of my inability to experience human emotions. However, based on the duration of your marriage with Ambassador Spock, I assume your relationship was successful despite his choice to lead a Vulcan life.”

“You had some emotions,” La Forge insisted, “Even before you put in the emotion chip.”

“I could not experience happiness, sadness, or even anger. Therefore, I was unqualified to be in a human relationship,” Data explained as though it was perfectly logical.

Kirk sighed. “Why does it have to be human? Did you love her?”

“I was not capable of experiencing love,” Data replied.

“Then why enter into a relationship in the first place?” Kirk pressed.

“She expressed her interest in me and after consulting with several of my crewmates, I determined that it would be an informative experience. However I proved to be unequal to the task.” Data’s disappointment was clear.

“Did you care for her?”

“She was my friend. I appreciated her abilities and the time that I spent with her.”

Kirk nodded. “That sounds like something to me, maybe not love, but you clearly felt something for her. And the desire for love is very human - not that we’re the only ones.”

“Even if I felt some emotion for her, it was clearly not enough,” Data insisted.

Kirk hesitated. “I fell in love with an android once. She seemed very human on the surface, but she didn’t have her own goals or ideals - it was her creator that wanted her to be more human. And, like you, she was new to emotion. Her creator tried to teach her through experience, but the conflicting feelings were too much for her.”

“I do not understand what you are attempting to demonstrate.”

“I don’t think I can really answer your question,” Kirk admitted. “Being in a relationship with a Vulcan or an android may be more complicated, but all relationships are complicated.” He put a reassuring hand on Data’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll make it work.”

[elliemarchetti]

What if (part 4)

Finally I managed to find the time to finish this chapter, which is definitely longer than the others but also much more loaded with contents than I could actually expect; there were too many things to say, too many POVs not yet explored and that needed to be heard and I wanted to do everything well. @lilyharvord @chaoslaborantin hope you like this too and to everyone who’s new to this story, here you can find the previous chapters. Enjoy!

Plot: 320 NE, Coriane is Queen of Norta and mother of Cal and Maven

Word count: 5545

Monday 6, September 320 NE

Coriane waited with patience, wisely hidden, as only those who are used to crawl in the shadows to not be seen can do. At four in the morning, Mare left her room, heading for Maven's. When her second son opened the door, his pale face stood out in stark contrast to the darkness, the dark clothes, and big, deep dark circles that weighed down the pale blue eyes he had inherited from her. Despite almost no military training, Maven was a good strategist, but Coriane had kept secrets to her parents a long way before him, and knew every technique, every trick her son was trying to use.

A few minutes and they were out. They walked in the dark, yet another beginner's mistake: as they counted on the favor of the shadows not to be seen, even anyone who wanted to follow or attack them could do it.

The night began to dissolve, leaving space for a dark blue sky where the stars were rapidly fading. When he was young, when Tibe was not a king, they had spent a few nights lying in the garden, under the perennial and silent control of the sentries, watching the stars. It was something he had seen done to Julian and Sara when the court and Archeon were still only a distant and indefinite image in his mind, a possibility not to be taken into consideration either. They were lying, and he pointed to the constellations, the new names and the old ones, all notions absorbed by enormous tomes to which he alone could be interested in that house. She wondered if Julian and Sara still did it, even now that they had been married for so long. She and Tibe had certainly never had the chance. Or time. And maybe not even the desire. When they finally arrived in the large bedroom they shared, they fell asleep in each other's arms without even the strength to say goodnight, without the energies to whisper doubts and fears as they used to do once. This didn’t take anything away from the love she felt for him, only things had changed. Being sovereign would have changed anyone.

At that hour, the city sank into an unnatural stillness; even patrol officers were moving sleepily from one location to another. It was the perfect moment to do illicit acts under the nose of those who should’ve prevented it. Therefore, she wasn’t surprised when the Scarlet Guard’s captain appeared from the shadows.

"Where are the others?" asked Maven composed, professional. He didn’t even sound like her son.

"Well hidden in the drains, where they will remain." Coriane answered instead of the blond girl, coming out of her hiding place. She advanced silently like a cat but with the stride of a tiger. The years at court had taught her so much, but above all that a composed façade, even when you’re shaking inside, was everything. And she had several reasons to shake, with the girl's gun pointed at her head.

"Lower the gun, I have no intention of hurting you." she hissed, remembering a voice that even years later still populated her nightmares. It was a sibylline voice, which even when she was telling one of her rare compliments, actually hid a threat. The Red hesitated for a moment, then lowered the gun, but didn’t put it back in her holster, and never took her finger off the trigger. She was ready to shoot at any eventuality. It was good: they were all risking a lot to be out there with her.

"I think you should give me some explanations, but for those we will have time later, in the safety of my private rooms." she said, addressing her son and his betrothed. Both tried to avoid her inquiring look, but Coriane understood their reasons, or at least could try to guess them.

"You, instead," she finally said, looking straight at the Red, "call your men."

Something seemed to snap into the young woman's mind, and Coriane still feared she wanted to shoot her, that she would leave her body bleeding there on concrete, while neither Maven nor Mare would have the readiness, or the strength or courage, to help her. How much was he willing to sacrifice for a utopia? The power of his family, surely, but also its members? Even those who loved him more? From the hardness in his eyes, she couldn’t say.

“There will be no red dawn” she ended, recovering the façade of the queen who doesn’t bend, who fears nothing, not even death. To look powerful is to be powerful, or at least was what her worst enemy used to say. And she had crushed her, just as she would’ve done with the Scarlet Guard if they had come between her and her plans.

“At least for now.” she added, with a devious smile, before turning her back to the blonde girl. Mare and Maven followed her like ducklings with their mother, their gaze fixed on their feet. The only eyes she felt on her back were blue as ice, and she didn’t need to turn to know that they weren’t as full of resentment as they should’ve been.

 Wednesday 15, September 320 NE

Thomas was uncomfortable. He had been on the underground train that had led him from Naercey to Archeon, and was at that moment, deep in the royal palace’s library. Maven had already reassured him several times that no one, at that hour of the night, would dare set foot in that wing of the library, which moreover, with the help of his uncle, had been temporarily closed for restoration. Yet Thomas jerked at every crunch; if they had found him there, no one could have prevented the king from having him executed. Of course, Maven could have invented an excuse, weaving one of his canvases of lies, but in any case would have compromised himself, and Thomas wasn’t stupid enough to believe that the prince would jeopardize even a shred of his reputation for him.  So they both sat stiff, stretching out to peek at the pages of what seemed like a harmless little notebook, but containing the names of all those who could change the fate of Norta, making the Scarlet Guard a real threat to the crown and not just a pebble in the shoe.

"I think the first stage of the Coronation Tour should be Harbor Bay." Maven finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen on the library like a cloak. He spoke in a low voice, but didn’t try to whisper, confident in his uncle power.

"While most of the Silvers will be busy enjoying our show, you could sneak almost undisturbed to Coraunt, where you'll find the newblood Nix Marsten. He's a middle-aged man, so expect him to struggle to believe the possibility of being different, even if he should’ve known it all along."

Thomas listened, receptive, trying to memorize every word. He couldn’t take notes, if they caught him they would blow their only, real chance to change things in a reasonable time, and he would’ve condemned all those innocent people to death, but at the same time he couldn’t look away from Maven’s almost feminine lips. Many boys, most of those he knew, at least, didn’t have that kind of traits, and no one would ever call Maven nice, not with his brother's bright beauty to obscure him, yet Thomas preferred his traits to the throne’s heir’s, his eyes of an almost colorless blue to his brother's bronze’s. Maven's was a silent beauty, which often went unnoticed, but it could hit your heart when he smiled, or when he allowed himself to bite his lower lip to concentrate better. If you could get used to Cal's beauty, be bored of it, even, Maven’s was to be discovered, like those wooden dolls slipping into each other.

“In our stay in Harbor Bay, we will stay at Ocean Hill; it's my mother's favorite place and no one will be too suspicious if she wants to spend here more than necessary. Mare and I should be able to take care of the three newbloods living in Harbor Bay, even if reaching the one in the suburbs could prove to be more difficult than expected, given the attention that will be on us. "

Thomas had to admit that, up to that point, Maven's plan, or perhaps his mother's, wasn’t that bad, even if he barely tolerated the idea of Mare’s participation, partly because she was Shade's sister and he didn’t want to endanger her more than she already was in that den of vipers, partly because the idea that the prince could spent more time in the company of his betrothed caused him a bit of annoyance in the stomach. Tristan, of course, had wanted to talk about his reaction when Mare and Maven had taken their hands in the greenhouse at Summerton, but Thomas had tried to minimize it. As much as he tried, however, Thomas had never been a great liar or a good spy, so he was sure Tristan hadn’t believed a single word and talked about it with Farley. Perhaps that was the reason why the captain had entrusted this mission to him.

"The next stop will be Cancorda. There’s only one newblood there, so we won’t need the Guard's intervention, at least to recruit him. You’ll attack on our second day of stay, on the night that flows into the third, when the newblood is already safe and in journey to Naercey. Don’t waste your best men, this’ll be just a diversion, a way to force my parents to increase the number of sentinels in the various stages of the Tour and then leave Archeon free, but not even the unwary: none of us can hold back, if we’ll come to a fight, and to leave Archeon weakened the excellence of the Silvers will have to follow us in the Tour.”

Thomas nodded, the only sign of his understanding that he was able to deliver. They had attacked places of strategic importance, were even ready to take the capital with Mare and Maven’s help, but taking Archeon alone, counting only on the distance of the most important and powerful Houses, was almost too much.

"I know it can be scary," Maven said, reaching for his hand on the table, grabbing it firmly. Thomas stiffened slightly, but Maven didn’t let him go, allowing him to get used to his unusual warmth. “But if our plan succeed, a red dawn will rise on Norta sooner than expected.”

Thomas just smiled, nervous. He didn’t understand the boy's motivations, yet he wanted to believe him more than anything else in the world.

 Thursday 25, September 320 NE

When the sun broke free of the earth’s slavery and leaned on Norta, the dawn greeted a tangle of bodies that bled red and silver.

Many battles had taken place on that land, but that wasn’t like the others, and everyone, Silvers and Scarlet Guard’s members, felt it. Each Red and newblood soldier was aware that the clash would decide Norta’s fate, whether they were aware of the plans of the captain who led them.

Tristan knew the plan by heart, and for now it seemed to work: the queen had really managed to leave the city unguarded enough to allow the Scarlet Guard to fight on equal terms and the remaining Silvers seemed frightened, as if they perceived the sense of inevitability that had gripped the stomach to all those who had left for that mission. It was time to pay for their actions, and the Silvers knew it, but the Scarlet Guard’s members felt an even greater weight on their shoulders: if they won, that day would forever change Norta’s story, finally forcing the Silvers to listen to the Reds, to pay attention, to accept them as equals, as a threat to the great power they thought they deserved by birthright.

From his facilitated position, Tristan glanced at Rasha, who was fighting in the front line, opening the way for other soldiers, inciting her companions, convincing them that victory was possible. He was proud of her. His beloved warrior was able to inspire people without needing any rank badge on her jacket, without any kind of power or ability: she was a pure Red, someone who lost and was still able to make people smile, to put the weight of their fears on her shoulders.  The shadow of a smile lit up his pale, gaunt face: until she was alive, hope wouldn’t abandon the Scarlet Guard.

Evangeline waited for the king and the queen to ascend on the small stage, followed by Cal, her betrothed. The Coronation Tour was usually a joyous occasion, of those where lavish parties are given in honor of future rulers, but since the Scarlet Guard attacked their residence in Cancorda, security agents had increased dramatically and they were indeed forced to respect a curfew that prevented them from even wandering through this or that lord’s residence’s rooms. This, of course, had certainly not prevented Elane from visiting her, or Wren from attending Ptolemus's rooms more than they should, considering that the cousins Skonos were, in her opinion and probably also that of the guards, little more than a part of the servitude , but she had noticed a certain dissatisfaction on Cal and Mare’s face. Only a blind man wouldn’t have noticed that something was happening between those two, but Evangeline didn’t give that any importance: that he occupied his time as best he could, provided he was at safe distance from her and her encounters with Elane. Prince Maven had also changed, but Evangeline couldn’t have defined how: she had never paid too much attention to Tiberias’ second son, partly because she already knew she would never have to marry him, partly because he was younger than she, yet she could say with certainty that something had changed in him since they had left, as if he had left a part of himself at home. That he too had a lover? It would have been ironic, even though before the Tour it had seemed to her that there really was something between him and Mare. Not that the loving interweaving of the royal family were her main interest, but in fort Lencasser, before getting on a stage next to a betrothed for which she would never even have felt the slightest attraction, she didn’t have much else to keep her mind busy with.

Because of the small-sized stage, the members of House Samos, Haven and Skonos who had accompanied her on the Tour had to stay with the rest of the Silvers in the audience. Her brother wore a simple cut suit, all black, with silver trim, the colors of their House, which highlighted his white complexion and platinum blonde hair, matching perfectly with his eyes black like wells, just as hers. Beside him, Elane stretched her neck, hoping to see, at least in part, her figure. She'd helped her get dressed, like worthy sister-in-law should do, somebody would say, and Evangeline, to hear such a comment, would probably have to commit to holding back laughter. On Ptolemus’ left, Wren was waiting at an adequate and painful distance, which Evangeline knew too well. How hurtful she was to see Ptolemus and Elane be affectionate with each other in public, something she could never do, how much she suffered while knowing that it was all fiction, accepted by her brother only for her sake.

She wore an icy smile and climbed onto the stage. Some whispered to each other, and Evangeline couldn’t be more satisfied: she had spent more than two hours preparing, applying makeup with maniacal precision and anyone who had looked at her had to think that she resembled more a vengeful goddess than a young woman.

Immediately after Maven went up, the suit with a different cut from his brother’s, but with the same colors, those of House Calore, his expression a flurry of emotions. Something definitely wasn’t right in the prince and judging by his pallor, Evangeline hoped he wouldn’t throw up on her silver shoes.

The line was closed by Mareena, wearing a simple dark purple dress, supported by a very thin silver chain, which clung to her thin neck. She seemed uncomfortable too; that she and Maven had a fight? King Tiberias’ words prevented her from lingering further on that thought.

"The Coronation Tour is always a joyous event, even when only one marriage is celebrated." the crowd chuckled, but it was a false sound, which came wrong to her ears, issued only because it was the king who uttered that terrible joke. After all, perhaps, Cal had inherited something else, besides the appearance, from his father.

“As you have seen for yourself, the Queenstrial has given us more than a future queen, bringing us back the daughter of our beloved general Ethan Titanos, and restoring a family that we thought was definitely extinct. "

Despite her efforts, Evangeline stopped listening. She had heard Mareena’s story too many times to consider it still of some interest. She recovered only when Cal began his speech, which as always had to do with his being heir to the throne and with the immense privilege, but also duty, that this gave him. When he would close his mouth, it would finally be her turn. The speech she had prepared, however, never saw the light and wasn’t heard by anyone but those who had helped to write it. Cal was still babbling about the power and strength their union would bring to Norta when the screen on the other side of the square suddenly changed its image. If previously they had been reflected in it as if they were in front of a giant mirror, now there was a girl with blond hair, blue eyes piercing like ice blades, her face partly covered by a red bandana. She was the head of the Scarlet Guard, and she was airing live from Archeon.

His father's voice echoed strangely in Colonel Gliacon's home’ wide entrance. The storm that raged on Great Woods had reached them and they didn’t even have a storms in tow that could make the situation less embarrassing; Maven was sure that whoever was on the opposite side of the long table, compared to where his father had stood, wouldn’t hear a word, thanks to the incessant roar of rain on the roof and window panes. He wasn’t surprised to see that his uncle Julian and his wife had chosen that position.

Along with the storm's howl, the cold had also arrived, creating a strange contrast between the cold drafts that slipped under doors and windows and the temperature of the room, comparable to an oven thanks to his father’s fury.

"That Red viper gave us four days, not even enough to recall a third of the High Houses!" Tiberias exclaimed, his neck beginning to redden. Maven glanced at Larentia Viper, Volo Samos’ wife, who lovingly caressed the smooth, almost flat head of the snake that she had softly wrapped around her shoulders, like a shawl. If she had been somehow offended by his father's words, she didn’t show it. It was known that Evangeline and Ptolemus’ mother considered her animals much more important than Reds. Another folly that only the Silvers could conceive, another reason to side with the victory of the Scarlet Guard and its ideals.

“Admitted and not granted that those clowns have taken Archeon, nothing assures us that their threats aren’t just a bluff." Volo said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, something that would have horrified Lady Blonos and her lessons on good manners Not that Maven believed the farce of the relaxed lord in the middle of a gathering of people ready to kill each other; Volo Samos just wanted to give the impression of being among friends, in a place where he could talk freely and trust all, only to then use his own disappointment, the inevitable betrayal, to his advantage. Everybody knew the basics of the court schemes, in there.

"Those Reds could also have the support of the Lakelands, for all we know. They could be a diversion to invade us when we are weaker." he went on, gaining several consents. Even Stralian Haven nodded.

In spite of the icy silence, heat waves crashed on him from both his father and Cal. He had never seen him so taut, rigidly leaning on the high back of the chair, his mouth reduced to a thin line. Did he regard what the Scarlet Guard did as an improper gesture, which he despised, or was he just angry because the Reds had outsmarted him? Despite their mother's dislike of anything to do with the military career, it was no secret that Cal had been studying strategy since she was a child and advising their father about the war with the Lakelands for the past two years. The years had changed him and King Tiberias had weakened just enough to count on his heir for some issues that worried him too much. An information that the Scarlet Guard would never have had without his help but that alone was enough to make Coriane's plan accept. At least for now.

“I believe them.” his father said, and those words sounded very strange, in Maven's ears. He had conceived that speech, the whole part of the plan that played on his father and Cal’s weaknesses, and although Tiberias didn’t know, for his son it was as if he had finally congratulated him.

"Whether it's a trap or not, I see no other alternative than to accept their requests: three days is a period too short to call up an army and we don’t know how many Reds have joined the terrorists' cause, nor how many soldiers are actually present at Archeon. I won’t risk the lives of those who are dearest to me to resume the capital and if they really are in league with the Lakelands, we cannot afford to lose in a fight, not a single battle, nor a single life. Every drop of silver blood that this rebellion pours is a victory for our enemies. In addition, we don’t even know how many prisoners were made during the capture of the capital and we cannot risk their lives being in danger because of our recklessness. Strength is all in a world like ours, and only if exercised through power is different from that of beasts. However, wouldn’t we be beasts anyway if we didn’t know how to let go of power? I trust my son and he has shown repeatedly that he can be a great king, able to make difficult decisions but that must be taken anyway. And isn’t that what we most need in these hard times, where rats think they can fight lions? "

Maven frowned, puzzled. Those were beautiful words, a speech worthy of all those who had preceded it and that his father repeated for a long time in his private rooms. But those words should’ve come straight from his heart, be designed on the spot. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what was going to happen, and surely no one would have been able to advise him on such a speech without alerting him. Except ... Maven turned to look at his mother. She nodded, her eyes shining, as if moved, perhaps she had even quietly murmured her assent. How long had Coriane been waiting for that moment? What tremendous mechanism had they started, and when the Scarlet Guard and its ideals had become nothing but a cog?

Volo Samos’ voice was loud and angry, as unpleasant as the screeching of metal against other metal, a sound that Evangeline had forced them to hear for a long time, during their training sessions. He regretted that period: the court constraints, the meetings presided over by Arven, were a walk in the open air, compared to the reality of life that awaited them.

“You won’t take away from my daughter what is rightfully her!” exclaimed House Samos’ patriarch. Cal almost vomited at the idea that they were talking about him; he felt reduced to a useful but not precious object, something that everyone wanted to use for their own personal interest, but for which no one cared about the true value. Even now that he was really about to become king, he felt like a puppet, unable to take any kind of decision, obliged to follow his puppeteers’ instructions. Since he was a child, he had always wanted to make people happy. Growing up, however, the thing had become increasingly difficult: often, make her mother happy meant to be useless in his father’s but indulge the king meant to disappoint his mother and in both cases, Maven received no benefit from his actions. Anyone could’ve used his weakness against him, wanting it. He didn’t delude himself, at the court there were few who feared him, even though they should’ve done it only because of his status; no one had ever seen the shadow that hid in his mind, decided to focus only on the flame’s light and not on what made it so brilliant.

"I was present at your wedding: you swore that all your offspring would have to take wife through a Queenstrial. You had already been allowed to let Maven marry Ethan's daughter, it seemed right to everyone, but to rip from my daughter's hands what she worked so hard for is an insult I cannot bear."

The implications of what Lord Volo had just said were heavy, but Cal couldn’t think of it: to hear Mare’s cover mentioned, he had stiffened and had begun to think about what implications would have meant for her with what was about to happen. She would still marry Maven, that was sure; perhaps she could even get used to court life and all that pomp. But could she live in lies forever? Would she hold up, or would the weight of all those secrets break her? And what would have changed for them? Was there still something that could be called that way? He had to stop thinking about her, to force himself to remove the image of the girl he loved from his mind, so as not to risk it bursting. He couldn’t think of Mare, or himself, in a delicate moment like that. Once that situation was resolved, there would be time to be selfish, but that wasn’t the right place.

"So what do you suggest, Lord Volo?" he asked, finally taking the floor. Everyone in the room froze. Nobody expected a golden boy's intervention, let alone with an uncomfortable question like that.

"Contract peace: give Lakelanders the lands you have long fought for, secure a marriage between your progeny." he suggested.

"And if my offspring were to be only female? If Lady Evangeline couldn’t give me anything but daughters? Would I repudiate your daughter, or let a Lakelander be King of Norta at my death?" asked Cal, checking Evangeline’s reaction with the corner of his eyes. As expected, at the offspring’s issue’s mention, the girl shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

If she could tolerate the idea of pretending to love a man for her whole life, she couldn’t bear the possibility that a male being could profane her.

“No Lakelander will ever be King of Norta!” his father thundered, tearing Cal into a satisfied expression.

"King Orrec has two daughters, but I don’t think he will marry anybody with the future queen, so only the minor remains, Iris." his mother commented, with a composure that didn’t suit her. She seemed to be talking about the weather, while in her hands she not only had the lives of her sons but also the outcome of a war, a new beginning for two kingdoms that had always been intent on fighting each other.

"So it should be Maven who's marrying her! A second son for a second daughter." Volo said, but the credibility of his words was lowered by the fact that not even he had aimed at the second son of the king, but the heir, the firstborn.

"And Mareena? What would happen to her in this plan of yours?" Maven asked, speaking for the first time, a light pallor that extended from ears to cheeks. He was embarrassed, especially talking about the bond with his betrothed in front of so many people. Nobody expected that in such a short time they would start to get along so well, that they almost really liked each other. A twinge of pain hit Cal's chest at the thought. Mare wasn’t his, nor Maven’s; she belonged to herself. Yet he, selfishly, had wanted his share, betraying Maven so cruelly, when he had always been good and sincere with him.

When the brothers’ gaze crossed, in Maven's eyes were words that he couldn’t say aloud, a pardon that made a lump in Cal's throat and didn’t allow him to speak, to say that it didn’t matter because no king would ever marry his daughter to a second-born to end a war. If a position was what they would’ve exchanged to end the conflict, then it was the queen's one.

"What's going to happen to my daughter, if you’ll marry another woman?" asked Volo, looking directly at Cal. He had no idea. Would she return to the Rift with her tail between her legs, together with her whole family? But would Ptolemus ever leave his place as head of the city guard? Provided there was still a city to defend at the end of that meeting.

"She will marry my son Maven, as you yourself have said, a second son for a second daughter." the king suggested, going to his son's aid. Not that Cal really needed it, not if that was the outcome.

"But the people..." Maven began, without having the chance to finish. His mother had glared at him, as if they had an outstanding account.

"Our people are more inclined to accept an exchange between Silvers brothers than to lose the capital at the hands of the Reds." the king answered, looking first at Cal and then at Maven, then returning to his eldest. Did he know too? Was it so obvious what was happening with Mare?

"Besides, nobody will care too much about who will be queen, when the war will stop and they’ll have to pay more their servants for the work they do."

The shadow of a victorious smile painted on his mother's lips. It was what she had always wanted, what had built a wall between her and his father, despite mutual love. But how much did she have to do with this story? Or was it all just a fortuitous case?

"As for Mareena, the girl has already been very lucky to be recognized for the noble she is."

A lie.

"So she won’t have anything to object when we tell her she can come back to the Nolles, her mother's House, who had already kindly offered to host her and let her know the story of her ancestors."

Cal wanted to scream. Her ancestors were the same people they had oppressed, the same people who they still called rats and snakes, who didn’t even have a name in their eyes, who didn’t even deserve to be paid for the hard work they did every day. Some argued that the Reds should thank them not to be slaves, but Cal didn’t seen in their current condition something so different from that: they were slaves of jobs that didn’t pay enough to keep the whole family alive, slaves of a war that it no longer made sense, slaves of a mentality that didn’t see them as individuals but only as numbers, without a face and existence of their own. This should have taught the Nolles to Mare, or perhaps it was more what she would somehow manage to convey to them. But at what price? She had agreed to remain at court when there were no other choices, she had agreed to remain in a place where the four most important members of the royal family had sworn to take care of her, and now they were pushing her away, feeding her to relatives ready to tear her to pieces. For the Nolles, Mare was of some sort of interest as long as she was promised to Maven, but now? What did it mean for them if not an extra mouth to feed? They couldn’t even hope to make her marry a nobleman of high rank, since the most coveted claimants were already engaged. Mare would’ve been just a burden. And then, someone would also have to take care of her special needs, like makeup, which hid her skin’s rosy undertone, or ... He couldn’t think about it. Mare would have to do it alone: they had done everything possible, but the possibility of ending the war, of being the spark for the change that Norta needed was more important than her safeguard. If only Cal really believed it.

[kyloren]

Mileven post-S2 fanfiction recommendation list: PART IV

This is a continuation of my ever-growing Mileven Fanfiction Rec List (see instalments I, II, and III). If your fanfic isn’t featured, apologies. Message me and we’ll amend that grievance in the next rec list instalment. 

* marks the ongoing stories. 

canon: 

interludes by veausy: “They stood like that, dimly lit by the hallway lamp, until Hopper cleared his throat. “Mike,” she breathed.” 

+ its sequel: idylls by veausy: ““You should get a Mike,” El offered. Didn’t everyone have one?” 

snowbound by hannahberrie: “When El invites Mike to spend the day at the cabin, Hopper finds himself supervising a sleepover he didn’t sign up for.” 

.. ._.. ___ …_ . _.__ ___ .._ (i love you) by AriaCessair: “El wants to learn about kisses, but the end result is much more than she expected.” 

anything short of a miracle by youheldyourbreath: “Mike has spent the last year in abject agony over losing Eleven. And then, he gets her back.” 

the 436 kiss by youheldyourbreath: “Mike and El have 435 kisses that are short, sweet and perfunctory. Kiss 436 is not that kind of embrace.” 

we were just kids when by DarkBeauty_890: “Hopper arches a brow, giving Mike a once over. He sucks in another puff of his cigarette, before stubbing it out and scratching his nose, “Elle’s not here. She and Red went out to go see a movie about an hour ago.” Mike clears his throat and doesn’t break their locked gaze, “I’m actually here because I wanted to talk to you.”” 

the invasion* by ValBirch: “Hawkins, 1985. On the day of her first birthday in Hawkins, El starts having nosebleeds, even when she’s not using her powers. That night, Will’s nightmares return, but they’re different this time. Everything is different this time.” 

winter, spring, summer, fall* by returntosaturn: “A collection of first experiences for El during her first year in Hawkins, outside of the lab.” 

radio static* by Archer of Ecclesia : ““Mike,” El had scarcely noticed her seizure of the radio. Garble filled her ears. Her grip around the radio tightened as she quickly switched it off, breathing shallowly. She almost threw the device across the room when the garble continued, and worsened, more severe than ever. Or, a new creature lurks in Hawkins, Indiana, this time, closer to home than ever.” 

to find you again* by MuffinLove03: “Finding her was only the beginning. In a town still vulnerable to inter-dimensional threats and sketchy government agents, it's going to take a lot to keep her safe and bring her home. But he was prepared to do whatever it took. He promised.” 

the artemis institute* by Arnarkusaga: “Starting from the night the gate was closed and detailing the events that follow, including unexpected doings at the Hawkin’s Lab, and a mysterious underground resistance movement.” 

kissing cousins by pathvain_aelien: “Mr. Clarke at the Snow Ball.” 

+ its sequel: eleven’s story* by pathvain_aelien. 

snowed in by luxuriousvoyage11: “A bad snow storm makes for an unexpected sleepover at the Byers.” 

only this by Val_Creative: “Eleven and Mike and their relationship through Hopper’s eyes.” 

a ghostly encounter* by PlaidDino: “The boys (and Max) go Trick-Or-Treating on Halloween, but these Ghostbusters find themselves being followed by someone in a ghost costume.” 

the best night of your life by wheezy: “Her lips are parted in an almost smile and Mike sends a prayer he won’t have to wait 353 days to kiss them ever again.” 

funny business by rainingcatsandkisses: ““On one condition” Hopper had said when El had asked if Mike could walk her home instead. “You come straight home. I’ll be waiting at the turn by Pinewood. And,” he’d added darkly, staring at Mike, “No funny business from you, Mr. Wheeler. I will know.”” 

i think we’re alone now by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““Listen, I’m no t supposed to leave you two alone here. Hopper will have my head if he finds out, so just… behave, okay?”” 

day two hundred and five by Someone_else_before: “In which Mike has a birthday, El has a daydream, and Hopper says, “Soon.”” 

eleven, mike, and the flu by loti_miko: “She quickly put the blindfold over her eyes, her surroundings going dark, and in an instant she was at Mike’s. He had his eyes closed; his cheeks flushed bright pink, a colour quite distinguishable even in the darkness of The Void.” 

el byers and the secret crush by Someone_else_before: “Eleven moves in with the Byers’, learns to adapt to ordinary Hawkins life, and tries to figure out why Mike has been acting so oddly since their kiss in the cafeteria.” [post S1] 

+ its sequel: dustin henderson and the secret crush by Someone_else_before: “Dustin is head over heels for a girl in his class, and he asks Eleven to use her powers to help him in his quest to win her over.” 

stay in the dark by ceruleanstorm: “Mike’s waited 23 days to see Eleven again after she saved the damn world. But there’s a big reason El isn’t as excited to see him.” 

pretty scary, pretty good by nonoma: “His girl’s going to be the scariest girl at Hawkins High.” 

behind enemy lines by therealfarklenation: “He was stepping behind enemy lines, praying he wouldn’t get caught. She welcomed the risk with opened arms, praying that he wouldn’t stop.” 

the first summer* by Kiddo7: “It’s the gang’s first summer all together, and Mike can’t wait to show El all that it has to offer.” 

prepping for high school* by DarknessFallsLikeFeathers: “Mike is excited to be able to go see El at the cabin and help her with her studies. However, summer break is around the corner and a new challenge shows up on their doorstep.” [I, personally, am on the fence about how I feel about this fic: it’s interesting, but it also is featuring an OC quite prominently, so…*shrugs* take that as you will.] 

green-eyed eleven by Brown Eyes Parker: “Eleven experiences her first bout of jealousy when a new girl moves to town.” [from a post-S2 hindsight, this is really funny. it’s funny cause it’s true.]  

not knowing what it was by 27vampyresinhermind: “We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was.” 

you feel it too* by Maiasaura: “Mike and Eleven were more alike than they knew. Mike had been broken for years, and Eleven broken her whole life. The events of November, 1983 only fully destroyed them both, and a year apart only further drove the wedge.” [beware: this one is super depressing. like, all the content warnings apply.] 

alternative universe: 

roller coaster day by SmoothFluffle: “She was beginning to doubt herself as she listened to the anxious boy in a cap list the most atrocious accidents that happened to people while being on the metal ride. Suddenly, she wondered if this roller coaster thing was such a good idea.” No Supernatural AU. 

cigarettes, eggos, and the secrets between us* by salavibes: “Popular, high-school bad-boy, Mike Wheeler finds himself falling for the shy and nerdy new girl who’s hiding a deep secret. Will they ever set aside their strikingly different personalities and pursue a relationship? Also what happens when they begin to both change each other in ways they never expected?” bad-boy!Mike AU. 

crossover: 

may the force be with you* by serendipitous_rambles: “El has always dreamt of seeing the galaxy but simply can’t leave Tatooine. But she has powers she doesn’t even know she has. Yet plans have been discovered of a Death Star that could result in the deaths of millions. Along the way she meets a smuggler called Mike, and some trusty resistance pilots Will and Lucas, along with their engineering best friend Dustin (who just can’t get his droid Steve to shut up). An adventure in a galaxy far far away with rebellion, hope (and a disgruntled old Jedi Hopper).” Stranger Things x Star Wars AU. 

the second coming* by TheDevotchka: “In 1983, the so-called ‘Loser’s Club’ defeated It, a monster who had plagued the town of Derry for millennia. In 1984, the new Librarian of the Hawkins Public Library makes a series of phone-calls after the suspicious and unpleasantly familiar disappearances of three children. Seasoned monster hunters, the Loser’s Club teams up with another group of unlikely heroes — Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will.” Stranger Things x It Crossover. [okay, so I lied. This one isn’t really Mileven…so far.] 

+ bonus: Wherein Mileven are not quite Pure™: 

sex ed by Phantasmoplast: “El hears a new word for the first time, and decides to ask Mike what it means.” 

+ its smutty outtakes: sex ed chapter 5: shower and sex ed chapter 8: homework. 

dessert by wynniethecat: “When El teases Mike under the dinner table, he decides he needs to teach her a lesson about proper table etiquette.” 

+ you know, if you want aged-up!Mileven smut, just go check out wynniethecat’s profile. She has tons of it. 

+ bonus 2: Wherein The Party is prominently featured: 

you fight like a baby(sitter) by nicefacepotter: “With his reputation ruined, Steve’s main source of social interaction is a group of middle schoolers. Now that group of nerds wanted him in their D&D campaign. What did he get himself into?” 

in the aftermath it is quiet (as we wait for everything to begin again) by Dontfloatthe100: ““So,” Steve says as he scrapes the last of the eggs off his plate, “you must be Eleven.” El nods as she finishes up her own. “Hmm. I thought you would be taller.””  

fun with jim and jane* by clarabelle: ““Mouth breather, huh? Another new word you picked up?” “No,” El says, and she sounds almost wistful. Probably thinking about that Wheeler kid again.” 

time and time again by sporadicallyceaseless: “Five times Chief Hopper gets called into the school because his kid is a goddamn menace.” 

20 questions by liadan14: “A few questions Eleven asked before she turned eighteen, and one she didn’t.” 

+ its sequel: just can’t face myself alone again by liadan14: “Dustin and his friends grow up in fits and starts. These are a few of them.” 

don’t lock her in by SmoothFluffle: “El gets locked in inside a school closet.” 

.

.

imma gonna be making these till i’m old and grey, aren’t i?

UPDATE: part V is out.

[quentinsquill]

The Magicians: “Midway Between Gods and Beasts” (Fic)

Midway Between Gods and Beasts

Author: Lexalicious70 (all-hale-eliot)

Fandom: The Magicians

Genre: AU, some canon events included

Word Count: 20,868

Warnings: Possible triggers for mental health treatment, some mention of sexual assault

Summary: Successful hedge witch Eliot Waugh finds his comfortable life in Chelsea with his best friend Margo unexpectedly interrupted when young, untrained magician Quentin Coldwater comes into his life, pursued by those who believe he is mentally ill and by a terrible beast from another world who wants to use Quentin as an unwilling pawn in its takeover of a magical world.

Author’s Notes: This is for the Welter’s Challenge Trials Big Bang, Tier 2! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun and to pass the time until my next therapy session. Thanks to @kings-of-fillory, @justcallmeasmodeus, and @highqueenbambiwaugh for advice and inspiration!  Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Midway Between Gods and Beasts

By Lexalicious70

 CHAPTER ONE

 Spring in Chelsea didn’t arrive all at once.

 It wasn’t like the arrival of winter, which often came with the suddenness of a busload of tourists tumbling off a trendy, double-decker Gray Line. Spring was an ambling, wayward urban explorer more intent on finding hidden architectural gems than visiting tired tourist traps. As the last piles of dirty snow retreated under shade trees, park benches, and store alleyways, where they finally melted away, sun-warm breezes made their way into the neighborhood that promised its trees, shrubs, and flower boxes would be rioting by May, now only four weeks away.

 They were, in fact, the kind of breezes that almost made one not as sorry he had ever been conceived.

 “Christ, Eliot, close that window! It’s April, not July!”

 Eliot glanced up from the window seat and the cigarette he was enjoying to see his roommate and best friend Margo standing in front of her bedroom door in a sunflower-yellow robe, her long brown hair damp and tousled. She put her hands on her hips.

 “Come on, seriously, I just took a shower and that air feels freezing!”

 “So use a warming spell or dry your hair. You know I don’t like to smoke in here with the windows closed.” Eliot replied. His fellow hedge witch narrowed her dark eyes for a moment before crossing the high-gloss hardwood floors of the loft they shared. A slim metal carafe sat on the counter in the roomy kitchenette, and Margo filled a mug with the blonde roast they both preferred.

 “You’re lucky you’re the only person on this whole planet I can stand to be around for more than five seconds.” She groused, sipping the coffee before adding a packet of natural sweetener.

 “I’m so very flattered.”

 “You should be.” Margo took her coffee into the living room and sat on the couch, her feet tucked up under her thighs as she reached for a leather-bound notebook. Inside, dates and names were inscribed in Eliot’s slanted, elegant scrawl. “Are we seeing anyone today?”

 “Mmmh.” Eliot nodded as he crushed out his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window and into a ceramic urn that sat on the fire escape. “Two hedges from Soho. Low level and looking for introductory thermogenic spells.” He got to his feet and stretched, his tall, thin frame elegant instead of gangly, as many tall men appear to be. A glance at the window dropped it closed, but not before a final warm breeze ruffled Eliot’s dark, curly hair. He went to the kitchen and took a coffee mug down, the hem of his open satin robe flapping around the black silk lounge pants he wore. His chest was bare, but he and Margo had lived together for more than two years now, and he knew it would bother her no more than occasional glimpses of her bare breasts or panty-clad ass disturbed him.

 “Thermogenic spells.” Margo sipped her coffee. “Are we sure we want to sell those to newbies? They might accidentally set themselves on fire.”

 “You know our disclaimer. Magic is likely to maim or kill you, cast at your own risk, et cetera. We’re here to provide a service, not wet nurse a bunch of inexperienced hedges.”

 “Hey, we used to be inexperienced hedges.”

 Eliot tapped a bit of sweetener into his coffee and frowned at her.

 “Correction, Margo darling. We chose to be inexperienced hedges. One semester at Brakebills was enough to show us that learning magic formally is bullshit and that it’s much more profitable and fun to discover spells and hone our skills on our own.” He went to sit next to her and she leaned against him.

 “The cottage was all right.” She allowed, and Eliot nodded.

 “Though not terribly private.”

 “El, you entertained a different guy every night.” Margo pointed out, and Eliot glanced down at her.

 “So did you. Sometimes we both entertained the same one on the same night.” Eliot sipped his coffee. “I used to hate it when they’d gone to you first . . . smelling your perfume on them always made me flaccid.” He ducked the throw pillow Margo swung at him almost before he finished speaking, covering the rim of his mug with one hand so it didn’t spill. Margo narrowed her eyes at him.

 “A, you better go get ready to meet these hedges and B, eat me!”

 “Oh, Bambi.” Eliot sighed as he got to his feet and dropped an affectionate kiss on top of her head. “I won’t even look at sliced cold cuts at the 8th Avenue Gourmet Deli.”

 The throw pillow connected solidly with his ass as he walked toward his room and he gave a token yelp of protest before hopping up the four steps that led to his room, which was quartered off from the rest of the loft with hand-painted flexible wooden panels. The door was connected to a curved archway and featured ten rectangular frosted panels, etched with delicate Japanese cherry blossoms. Eliot shut the door behind him and shed his robe before slipping out of his lounge pants. He was under the hot spray of the glassed-in shower a moment later, letting the water and goat’s milk sandalwood soap wash away the smell of tobacco and the musk of deep sleep.

 Of course, Margo hadn’t been wrong in her estimation of how many young men he’d entertained in his room at Brakebills, the school for magical pedagogy, during their time there. His telekinesis and ability to throw a party had made him popular on campus, but as far as Eliot was concerned, he’d had his fill of rigidity and rules growing up in rural Indiana under the thumb of his father, a religious fanatic who had no patience for a son who was nothing like him.

 When Eliot’s telekinetic ability announced itself by allowing him to force-push his bully in front of an oncoming bus at the age of fourteen, his mother had packed him off to a cousin in Ohio, where he’d attended high school. A month after graduation, a dressing room in a local department store had opened up into the world of Brakebills, where he’d passed the introductory exam easily and met Margo. While they were both highly adept at learning magic, the formality of the school had urged them to strike out on their own as self-taught casters, which formally-trained magicians called hedge witches.

 Now, two years later, he and Margo were both successful, high-level hedges, and their talents were sought out by others like them, as well as Brakebills students who wanted spells that were forbidden to them by the school. Eliot’s loft, which was on the top floor of a building inhabited entirely by magical adepts under the watchful eye of their stern landlord, Henry Fogg, was the young hedge’s domain and he held meetings the way a king might hold sway over his court. He was unforgiving when he had to be, fiercely protective of Margo, and feared in the underground magical community for his power and reputation, mostly spread by those who had crossed or severely annoyed him.

 Learning what magic is and isn’t on your own has taught me more than I ever could have learned at Brakebills, Eliot thought to himself as he rinsed his hair and turned off the shower. A wall of mirrored cabinets faced the shower door, and Eliot glanced at himself as he reached for a towel. The insides of his long arms were covered with star-shaped tattoos, and each of them contained a number in its center. The ink ambled up his skin in clusters, petered out at the elbow, then regrouped on the back of his neck and shoulders. The final tattoo, resting between Eliot’s shoulder blades, was slightly larger than the rest and read a single number in stylized, wine-colored ink:

 300

 “Top bitch in Chelsea—maybe even the whole city. Why anyone would waste their time at Brakebills, I’ll never know.” Eliot murmured to himself as he went to his closet to choose an outfit. Outside the door, he could hear the soft babble of voices as Margo let the Soho hedge witches in. He dressed quickly and straightened his paisley tangerine tie. New hedges meant spending the afternoon drinking good wine, a stimulating barter session, and money in his pocket.

 All in all, it wasn’t bad way for a Brakebills dropout and a former farmer’s son to pass the time.

 CHAPTER TWO

 Dolborough Mental Health Facility

Queens Village, Queens, N.Y.

 “Quentin? Quentin, are you listening to me?”

 Quentin Coldwater glanced up across the wide wooden expanse of the desk his doctor sat behind. The pudgy man, who had thinning blond hair and wore steel-rimmed glasses, frowned at him.

 “You know deflecting my questions and trying to deliberately sabotage these therapy sessions with silence won’t help you.”

 “I do know that.” Quentin nodded, pushing back his lank, tawny hair with one hand. The roots were dark with oil—he hadn’t bothered showering that morning. Or the morning before that. “Because nothing you’ve done in the nine fucking months I’ve been here has helped me at all.”

 “Quentin, you’re eighteen. You’re quite brilliant, from what your father tells us, and you could have a happy and productive life outside these walls, but you have to want it!”

 “Happy?” Quentin’s fingers slipped into the kangaroo pocket of his grey hoodie, which was almost two sizes too big for his skinny frame. “Do you want to define that for me? Is it a set of objectives everyone should work toward, or is happiness for me different than happiness for you? And if that’s so, then how can you define what it is or isn’t for me? I think happiness is the illusion and how I feel every day, that’s the reality, Dr. Beekman.”

 “That’s the reality if you choose it to be!” Dr. Beekman pulled a prescription bottle from his desk drawer. “Now. We’re going to start you on these this evening, since the previous medications we’ve tried haven’t been very successful. They should start to elevate your mood. Once we accomplish that, these therapy sessions should become more effective.”

 Quentin gazed at the transparent orange bottle, the inside stuffed with pink and grey capsules.

 “I don’t want to take them.”

 “Quentin, your father is quite concerned that you haven’t made much progress since you’ve been here. I’m concerned as well.”

 “You should be concerned about how the meds are for shit . . . and they won’t keep Him away forever.”

 “Him—your father?”

 “No.” Quentin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Capital Him.”

 Silence spun out for a few moments and Dr. Beekman folded his hands on the desk’s faded blotter.

 “I thought we agreed that He didn’t exist.”

 “No. I told you He did and you decided He didn’t. I think the drugs have made it harder for Him to track me, but He’s going to find me. Soon.”

 “That’s the medication working, Quentin. The more you allow us to help you, the less He will be a presence in your psyche!” The doctor’s pale blue eyes dropped to Quentin’s wrists, which became briefly visible as Quentin shifted in the chair. Vertical scars ran from the base of his palms to just past his wrists. “You will come to understand that this—this—”

 “Beast.” Quentin supplied, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie back down until only the tips of his fingers showed.

 “That this Beast you believe is pursuing you is a hallucination, brought on by anxiety, paranoia, and depression! Once you embrace your treatment fully, you may able to transition to outpatient status. Until then, it’s time for you to return to your room. I’ll inform the night nurse about the addition of the new medication.” The doctor rose and opened the door. “Gordon will escort you back.”

 Quentin stood as he eyed the long shadow of the orderly who stood just outside the door. He came into view as Dr. Beekman spoke, a beefy twentysomething with a football player’s neck and squinty green eyes. He wore a military crewcut but the front had been left slightly longer and spiked with gel, making his carrot-colored hair look like the teeth of a rusty saw. Quentin stepped into the hall and the taller man wrapped his hand around Quentin’s left bicep.

 “Come along then, Quenny.” The orderly cajoled him, and Quentin scowled without looking at him.

 “It’s Quentin.”

 “See you soon, Quentin!” Dr. Beekman called as if they’d been having tea, and the office to his door swung shut. Pain radiated up Quentin’s arm as Gordon Kozak tightened his grip.

 “Your name is what I say it is, you little sack of shit.” The orderly murmured through clenched teeth, nodding at doctors and nurses as he passed them. “Maybe you need another reminder?”

 Quentin looked away from the sweaty-smelling orderly to glance into patient rooms as they passed by. Some were open and contained a single human, either confined to a bed or drooling in a wheelchair. Others, Quentin knew, were locked all the time, like his own door. Kozak marched him into the elevator at the end of the hallway and jabbed the up button with a thick finger. The doors parted, and they stepped into together. The moment the doors slid closed, Kozak’s hand moved from Quentin’s upper arm to the back of his neck, where it squeezed until Quentin gasped.

 “What’s your name? Huh? Answer me, Pisswater!”

 “Quenny.” Quentin ground out as the man’s big fingers dug into the sides of his neck. Kozak rounded him, his hand slipping around to grip Quentin’s throat. Quentin kept his eyes on the elevator’s floor indicator lights, counting them off as the elevator rose to the 25th floor.

 4, 5, 6 . . .

 “Wrong!” Kozak’s other hand dropped down between Quentin’s legs, where it gripped him. Quentin tried to bring his legs together.

 12, 13 14 . . .

 “Try again!” Both hands tightened. Quentin could feel his Adam’s apple bob against Kozak’s big hand.

 “My name is whatever you say it is.” Quentin murmured, and the hands fell away.

 “That’s a good boy.” Kozak nodded, leaning in toward Quentin. A moment later Quentin found himself losing half his air as Kozak shoved him against the back of the elevator wall. It jerked to a stop, and Kozak yanked him forward and out. The hallway was deserted and the orderly half-dragged Quentin down to room 2505, unlocked the door, and shoved him inside. Quentin stumbled and caught himself on the metal footrest of his bed as he looked over his shoulder to see whether Kozak was going to come after him. The big man filled the doorway, his expression filled with disgust.

 “Take a fucking shower, Pisswater. You stink.”

 The door slammed shut and Kozak’s keys jingled briefly as he locked Quentin in. Relief flooded through Quentin; sometimes Kozak locked the door from the other side and gave Quentin one of his lessons, the kind that left his knees bruised and his jaw aching. He gave the door a single, sullen look, pushing down his disgust and anger as he crawled into bed and pulled the rough grey wool blanket over his head, ignoring the stale odor of his unwashed skin. The flat, thin mattress, spartan bathroom, barred windows, and the room’s single decorative item, a tattered poster of a sunrise framed with flexible material and shatter-proof plexiglass inscribed with the caption, “EVERY DAY IS A NEW BEGINNING,” were a far cry from the comfortable home he’d shared with his father since he was nine and his parents had divorced, and light years away from Yale with his best friends James and Julia, where he should be sharing a dorm room with James and squabbling boyishly over wall outlets and closet space and the best lighting.

 Instead I’m here, Quentin thought as he brought his knees to his chest.

 It had started with the dreams. At first, they seemed like common nightmares where Quentin was pursued down a garden path by a monster he couldn’t see, yet knew was there. From there, they became night terrors, and Quentin would scream himself and his father awake, thrashing in his sheets, his lap a sodden mess of hot urine. Ted Coldwater, who had always been a bit puzzled by his introverted but brilliant son, took him to a therapist. Quentin and his father left the office ninety minutes later with a Prazosin prescription and on the way home, Ted spoke up after ten minutes of silence.

 “It was the divorce, wasn’t it.”

 “The divorce?”

 “That made you this way. That caused your—your strangeness.”

 “You think I’m strange?” Quentin asked, and Ted shook his head a little.

 “I don’t know what else to call it. You’re seventeen, but you’ve never had a girlfriend or even shown an interest, you never picked up a sport, you’re obsessed with magic tricks and those damn Fillory books—and don’t think I don’t know that you still play pretend when you vanish for hours on the weekends! Imagining you’re Martin Chatwand and I don’t know what else!”

 “It’s Chatwin. And—and there’s nothing wrong with imagination, dad. It helps me cope.”

 “If you ask me, it’s hurting more than it’s helping, and it’s high time you stopped. Or do you want to go into Yale with the mindset of a schoolboy?”

 So Quentin had stopped—at least when it came to reading Fillory books in front of his father or sneaking off to cosplay with Julia, when he could talk her into it. For him, the land of Fillory and its questing, magical Chatwin children that had ruled the land and protected its magical creatures in a series of five books, had always felt more real to him than his own life in Brooklyn. Quentin’s own urban quests were mostly the last of his boyish urges to wander, but in the back of his mind, he was always hoping he’d find a way to Fillory, just as the Chatwin children did in each of the books. Then one day, while Quentin was out on his own, he’d followed a path into a community garden that led him into thick foliage and where the slant of sunlight seemed to change. A single moth, electric blue and larger than any Quentin had ever seen, appeared out of the foliage, and then another and another until the air was thick with them. A man had stepped onto the path then, his face obscured by more of the fluttering moths, their scent musty, like old clothes that had been stored away unwashed.

 “Quentin Coldwater.” This creature, this beast, had purred. “There you are!”

 Quentin had stood frozen, his throat thick with the awful smell, and a strong hand with multiple, seeking fingers had closed over his mouth, making him breathe through his nose in panicked snorts. What might have happened if a nearby factory whistle hadn’t gone off down the block and startled the thing into retreating, Quentin didn’t know, but since that day, he had felt the thing’s presence close by, malicious and deadly. It pursued him through his dreams and he caught glimpses of it wherever he went. When Quentin had tried to escape on a more permanent basis by opening up his wrists with a razor blade, mental health services had convinced his father that Dolborough was the best place for him.

 Except He’s going to find me here, sooner or later, and I won’t be able to get away from Him if He does, Quentin thought to himself. I have to find a way to get out of here.

 A muffled thump out in the hallway caught Quentin’s attention and he emerged from his blanket burrow to sit up. Footsteps sounded back and forth past his door and he crept over to peek out through the thick mesh of the small window. Orderlies were carrying large cardboard boxes and stacking them at the end of the hallway, next to Quentin’s door. He could see that they were filled with coils of computer cable, old, dusty monitors, clunky-looking 90’s-era keyboards, and hard drive towers. Some of the boxes were overstuffed and hung open, and others had been shut with their flaps folded. Quentin knew there was a storage room at the opposite end of the hallway, and the orderlies must have been recruited to clean it out.

 They’re stacking that stuff by the elevator, which means it’s probably all getting donated or chucked out. Quentin plucked at his lower lip with a thumb and forefinger for a few moments before he turned back toward his bed. A large button printed with the outline of a nurse’s cap hung from a white cord, and he thumbed it several times before throwing himself onto the floor in front of the bed. He heard the door unlock and swing open a few moments later as the young floor nurse, a pretty brunette named Monica, came to answer the call button.

 “Mr. Cold—” Quentin heard her stop just a few inches away as he began to fake a seizure, letting his limbs flail and spit run out of the corner of his mouth. Her hand touched his chest, then his face, before Quentin heard her footsteps rapping away down the hall as she went for help. Quentin knew the duty desk was out of sight of his door and that he only had a minute at best to escape. He cracked an eye open and then crept to the open door before bolting for the abandoned pile of computer equipment near the elevator. One of the boxes was larger than a coffin and about four feet deep. It contained an old monitor and a pile of cables, but the other side was empty. Quentin dove into it, hastily shoving the monitor aside before he pulled the flaps shut. He curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, his heart hammering in his ears. The elevator dinged a moment later and Quentin held his breath as the two disgruntled orderlies stacked the boxes inside.

 “Fuckall, some of these are heavy!” One of them groused, and Quentin squeezed his eyes shut as he heard footsteps approach in a hurried way from the other end of the hall. The elevator doors rumbled shut, and Quentin gave a tiny sigh of relief as he felt himself carried away from the 25th floor. It was impossible to tell how far down they were traveling, but when the car bumped to a stop and the doors opened, Quentin heard the muffled sounds of street traffic. The steady, pulsing beep of a large truck backing up rang out a moment later, and one of the orderlies spoke.

 “All of this is going to the Bowery Mission!”

 The box shook and Quentin tried not to grunt as the monitor thumped and banged against his back. The thick scent of truck exhaust filtered into the box for a moment before it settled, and then a door slammed shut. The truck lurched briefly before pulling out of the alley and Quentin clapped both hands over his mouth as he felt it carry him away from Dolborough. Tears spurted from his eyes.

 Away. I’m away!

 As the truck headed away from Queens, the motion lulled Quentin into a doze where he plunged through a darkness filled with the white noise of a thousand musty, fluttering wings.

 CHAPTER THREE

 Eliot used his telekinesis to yank down the wooden grate of his building’s converted freight elevator, a bag full of trash dangling from each hand. He rode the elevator down to the ground floor and carried the bags down the short hallway, where he hip-bumped the rear door open. A steady rain darkened the pavement and pattered against the large dumpster the residents of his building used. He hunched his shoulders against the fat drops of rain as he tossed the bags into the open side of the deep unit, where they tumbled down inside. Wine bottles clinked together, the chiming muffled, and as they settled, Eliot heard another sound, almost like the mewl of a newborn animal. He paused, his head cocked to one side, and the sound floated up from the inside of the dumpster again.

 “Oh, what fresh hell is this?” Eliot sighed to himself. The alley was a private one, so Eliot cast a spell that allowed him to levitate above the unit. Another murmured spell caused light to spill from his fingertips, and he pointed them downward.

 From the innards of the dumpster, empty all but for two discarded pizza boxes and the two bags he’d just tossed inside, a skinny teenager peered up at him in mild awe. The grey hoodie and checkered lounge pants he wore were smeared with muck and grease, his ankles dark with dirt. Worn leather slippers covered his feet. The kid pressed himself into the corner, his dark eyes hollow and hunted. Eliot used his telekinesis to open the opposite lid and close the other so he could crouch on it and look down at the kid at the same time.

 “Hello.” He said at last. The kid brought his knees to his chest as rain started to pelt into the dumpster, but he didn’t respond. Eliot frowned. “You do realize this is a private trash receptacle?”

 “M’sorry.” The kid murmured at last, and in the grey light of the rainy morning, Eliot could see that he was shaking. “Saw the pizza boxes. Climbed in but then couldn’t get out.”

 Eliot sighed. It was Tuesday, which meant it was trash day and the trucks would come to empty the dumpster no matter what was in it. And pizza boxes? Was the kid going to eat out of the dumpster? Eliot’s stomach lurched at the thought. Two blocks over, a garbage truck’s engine droned and the boom of a dumpster being lifted and emptied echoed in the alley. Eliot could almost sense tiny devil and angel versions of himself appear on each shoulder as it began to rain harder.

 Leave the kid where he is. It’s not your business or your fault he’s down there.

 You could be where he is if not for a few strokes of luck and good fortune. Give the kid a hand.

 “Karma better pay me back for this in spades.” Eliot muttered after a moment as he gazed at the kid and lifted him out of the dumpster with his telekinesis. The kid didn’t seem surprised that he was rising into the air and when Eliot set him on his feet, his legs folded under him like a wounded deer and he thumped down onto the concrete. Eliot judged that he was maybe two or three years his junior. He was also thin, filthy, and obviously a drug addict.

 “Thank you.” The kid said in a raw, croaky whisper, and Eliot nodded.

 “Sure. You better move along now, though.” He said, although he made no move to turn back toward the building’s back door. Rain dripped off the ends of the kid’s hair, which looked like it had been washed back around last Halloween or so. “You can, can’t you?”

 “If I could just sit in your doorway a minute? Then I’ll go, I swear.”

 “All right.” Eliot allowed. The kid managed to get to his feet, but even taking the few steps to the doorway seemed to exhaust him. He sat down and pulled up the filthy hood of his pullover hoodie. Eliot stepped around him. “Take care.”

 The kid sniffled in reply and Eliot let the door shut behind him. He got halfway down the hall when muffled sobbing made him pause. He shook his head, took three more steps, then stopped again.

 “You’re going to regret this. You know you will. Idiot!” He said to himself before turning back to the rear door. He opened it to the sight of the kid’s shoulders shaking, the grey hoodie dark with rain.

 “Hey.” Eliot said, and the boy’s head jerked around, the dark eyes startled.

 “I—I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’ll go.” He struggled to his feet and Eliot held the door open wider.

 “Wait. I thought maybe you might be hungry. I have plenty of leftovers . . . I cook as sort of a hobby, you see. I could heat something up for you.” He rolled his eyes as the kid’s gaze turned wary. “Please. If I wanted to harm you, I would have done so when I pulled you out of that dumpster. Well?” He asked after a moment of silence. “I’m not going to stand here all day.”

 The kid stood with difficulty and mopped his face with his sleeve. It did nothing to improve his appearance.

 “Thanks.” He murmured as Eliot ushered him into the hallway and walked him down to the elevator. The kid walked like a drunk with a serious case of DTs and he reeked like month-old pot roast, but there was something about how he had trusted Eliot when he’d freed him from the dumpster that roused curiosity in the hedge witch. Most people would have run screaming at such a display of magic, but the kid didn’t seem to be afraid of him.

 And Eliot was used to being feared.

 “Where are we?” The kid asked as Eliot pulled the elevator door down and it began to rise.

 “The building doesn’t have a name, but we are almost precisely in the center of Chelsea, on the west side of the glorious borough of Manhattan.”

 “What day is it?”

 “Tuesday. April 9thth.” Eliot added as an afterthought. The elevator reached his floor and Eliot opened the door as he pulled his key out. Magical wards protected the apartment, but Eliot preferred the security of a solid steel deadbolt as well. He unlocked the door and crooked a finger at the kid.

 “Come in. What’s your name?”

 “Oh. Uhm—Martin. It’s Martin.”

 “I’m Eliot.”

 “Hi.” Martin’s eyes darted around the loft. “This is yours?”

 “Mmm.” Eliot nodded, wondering if it would to do spread a towel over one of the kitchen nook chairs to keep the damp, dirty seat of Martin’s lounge pants from soiling it. His pants weren’t the only issue, though. Margo’s bathroom had a tub, maybe—

 Sure. Then you can comb out his hair and watch him shake himself off to sleep. And if Margo catches you at this, you’ll be the one taking a bath—in the toilet, when she dunks your head in it for bringing a junkie into the house!

 A thump brought Eliot out of his thoughts to see that Martin had fallen again. He looked up at Eliot as he got to his hands and knees.

 “I’m sorry. I—I haven’t eaten in a long time. I’m sorry.” He barely got the last word out before he passed out at Eliot’s feet, his cheek pressed against the hardwood floor.

 Eliot closed his eyes a moment as he weighed his growing empathy for this kid against the odds of death by Margo.

 “She can only kill me once, right?” Eliot muttered to himself as he visualized the bathtub taps turning. As the tub began to fill, Eliot force-tugged Martin to his feet and floated him toward Margo’s room. He cast a spell to mask the sound of his movements and held his breath as they passed Margo, asleep on the other side of the room. The tub was nearly full and Eliot used a simple tutting spell to strip the kid’s filthy clothes off him before settling him into the water. The jut of his ribs was visible under pale skin as Eliot propped him up. Thick scars on his wrists stood out under the bathroom’s lights.

 Kid looks like a refrigerated turkey carcass, Eliot thought to himself as he rolled up his sleeves and set down a folded towel next to the tub to kneel on. Using a bar of soap he’d collected from one of his many hotel stays, Eliot lathered up a sponge glove and washed the unconscious teen the best he could, staying well above the waist. As he lifted Martin’s right arm, Eliot noticed a sturdy white plastic bracelet on his skinny, scarred wrist, the kind you wore during a hospital stay. Eliot lifted Martin’s arm to examine it more closely. It contained three typed lines, in all caps, with a bar code underneath:

 DOLBOROUGH M.H.F.

COLDWATER, QUENTIN  SEX: M

DOB: 07/20/92

 “Dolborough?” Eliot looked down at the boy. “And not Martin, either. Kid, what the hell have you—”

 “A-HEM!”

 Eliot flinched at the sound and looked over his shoulder to see Margo in the doorway, wearing her yellow satin pajama set and fuzzy pink slippers. Her small stature made her gaze no less imperious. Eliot gave her what he thought of as his most charming smile.

 “Good morning . . .?”

 Margo put her hands on her hips as her dark eyes narrowed. Eliot read the promise of hellfire there.

 “Rub-a-dub-duck, what the actual fuck!”

 CHAPTER FOUR

 “You need to get rid of him.”

 Eliot focused on the cranberry spritzer he was making at the kitchen bar, which ran along a cherry wood counter on the far side of the sink. Bottles gleamed in a glassed-in cabinet above the shelf, and an open cabinet filled with tumblers and built-in wine glass holders sat below it.

 “Eliot!”

 “Mmm?”

 Margo’s eyes narrowed.

 “Now!” She commanded, pointing one lacquer-tipped nail at the kid sleeping on the couch. He was cleaner now, his hair more dark blond than brown once Eliot had shampooed it several times. He wore a tee shirt that Eliot found in the back of his closet, one of those garish “I ♥ New York” souvenirs, left at the apartment by one of Eliot’s guests. It had a red wine stain at the hem but it fit the kid otherwise. The sweats were much too big on him, as he was about nine inches shorter than Eliot himself, but Eliot had burned those awful lounge pants and gross slippers to ashes out on the fire escape.

 “Margo, be reasonable. It’s pouring outside and he’s obviously starved. I know we’re supposed to be arch and haughty and look down on most people, but there’s not much sport in doing that to something this pathetic!”

 “You can’t start taking in strays!” Margo glanced over at the kid. “Even if they might be somewhat reasonably cute. I don’t want the responsibility, and if word gets out, we’re going to have them on our doorstep every day! Not only that, but what do you plan to do with him? Did you even think about that before you brought him up here?”

 Eliot began to reply when a rapid pounding sounded out on the other side of the apartment’s main door. He sighed, sipped his drink, and pulled the door open to reveal the perpetually scowling face of his downstairs neighbor, Penny Adiyodi. Eliot groaned inwardly. Penny was young, handsome, and reminded Eliot of a rebel monk turned punk, but he was also touchier than a badger with punctured scrotum. He was a talented magical adept, like most people in Eliot’s building, and his ability to read minds, astral project, and travel would have made him highly attractive to Eliot if he wasn’t so Goddamned pissy all the time. And straight. And had a temperamental girlfriend who specialized in battle magic.

 “Yes, Penny?” He asked the scowling psychic, who shouldered his way into the room. “Won’t you come in?” Eliot drawled, trying not to spill his drink. Penny turned.

 “You do realize that I can hear everything you say when you start arguing like that? I don’t even have to read your minds.”

 “That’s fucking rude.” Margo pointed out.

 “What’s rude is ignoring the rules Mr. Fogg set for us when he opened this building to give magical adepts a safe place to live! You’re going to get us all kicked out!” He glanced around. “So where is it? Because if you’re not gonna get rid of it, I will!”

 “Where’s what?”

 “Don’t give me that Jack Tripper shit! I heard you! You brought a stray animal in here! It’s against the rules and I’m not gonna get kicked out because of some bleeding heart hedge! Now I’m gonna ask you one more time before I start punching you in the throat! Where is it?”

 Eliot lifted one shoulder and gestured behind Penny’s shoulder to the couch. Penny turned and his scowl melted into confusion.

 “The fuck . . . that’s a kid!”

 “Well spotted, Inspector Lestrade.”

 “Just—the way you were talking, it sounded like you were hiding some starving dog up here or something.”

 “Not that it’s any of your business, but he was trapped in the downstairs dumpster.”

 Penny watched Quentin shake in his sleep.

 “Kid’s an addict. He’s gonna rob you blind.”

 “And how would he hold us up, exactly, seeing as how he can’t even hold up his own head?”

 Penny fell silent before his usual scowl showed itself again.

 “Whatever, man.” He stared at the kid for a minute and then backed off, his eyes widening. “Whoever he is, he’s got some fucked up dreams. Shit.” Penny headed for the door. Eliot sipped his spritzer.

 “Always a pleasure!” He called as Penny left without shutting the door. Eliot stepped over to pull it closed. “Twat.”

 “Twat or not, he’s not exactly wrong about this kid being an addict, El.” Margo folded her arms across her chest. “We can’t have him here.”

 “Wait—just let me show you something.” Eliot picked up the hospital bracelet from where he’d left in on the counter. “I found this on him.”

 “Quentin Coldwater? My God, with a name like that, I’d take drugs too.”

 “When I got him out of the dumpster, he told me his name was Martin. Do you know what the Dolborough facility is?”

 “Yeah. It’s a mental health place in Queens. Mostly inpatients who have gone permanently off the deep end. What about it?”

 “That’s where this kid was, and I have a hunch that they don’t know he’s gone. Why else would he give me a fake name?”

 “Um—because he’s a nut job?” Margo replied, sounding out her words slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. Eliot frowned and went over to a glassed-in bookshelf, crooking his fingers and muttering a spell to unlock the wards that protected it. The five shelves were filled with spellbooks, and Eliot ran his fingers over the spine of each until he pulled one out. “What are you doing now, when you should be tossing this kid out?”

 “I’m pretty sure whatever he’s addicted to, it’s prescription. Dolborough is known for its use of serious psychotropic drugs.” Eliot’s long fingers flipped pages.

 “So what are you looking for?”

 “A spell that will heal him . . . get all that negative shit out of his system.”

 “In case you’ve forgotten? We make a living off casting and selling spells. And we didn’t get to where we are now by doing it for free.” Margo tapped her fingers on the countertop.

 “I haven’t forgotten any of that. But, well . . . sometimes you have to work pro bono.”

 “I’ve known you for almost four years and I’ve never seen you do anything pro bono.”

 “Excuse you!”

 “Okay, fine.” Margo held up a hand in supplication. “Almost nothing. My point is, Eliot, why do you care about some dorky-looking kid who probably ran away from home or cut himself when daddy took away his X-Box?”

 Eliot flipped another page and tapped it before glancing up at Margo.

 “For one thing, I think he’s a magical adept.”

 Margo blinked over at the skinny kid, still fast asleep and sweating under the blanket Eliot had thrown over him.

 “You think—that?” She pointed. “Is like us?”

 “I do. Except he might not know it.” Eliot went to the cabinet where he and Margo kept their spell ingredients.

 “Exactly how do you know this? And even if he is, didn’t you say just the other day that it’s not our job to wet nurse newbie hedges?”

 “He’s not a hedge, Margo. He’s not anything, he’s like—like a spell with one ingredient missing.” He held up a glass jar with a handful of dried herbs in it. “And the telekinesis gives me kind of a sixth sense about other people’s magical abilities. It’s like . . . well, almost like a shiver. And I feel it with this kid. He’s capable of something, but he’s missing one thing that makes magic work.” He sat down next to the kid with an armload of ingredients. “Are you going to help me?”

 “No. I have to go scrub out my tub for the next eight weeks for which, by the way, you. So. Owe. Me.” Margo replied.

 “Put it on my tab.” Eliot bent over the spellbook and Margo stormed back toward her room, muttering about putting tabs where they usually didn’t go and how she was going to insert them sideways. Already focused on his task, Eliot placed one big, elegant hand on Quentin’s thin chest and began to cast.

 CHAPTER FIVE

 The first thing that lured Quentin toward consciousness was the smell of frying bacon.

 It was an insistent scent, growing stronger with every passing moment, and Quentin used it as an anchor as he crawled up from a darkness that was blessedly free from dreams. He forced his eyelids open and they felt sticky, like they’d been closed with a weak glue. The surface underneath him was soft, and a high ceiling with vaulted beams met his muddled gaze.

 Not Dolborough, He thought to himself. His memory of the four days since he’d escaped the facility were fragmented, like a jigsaw puzzle with some sections missing. He’d hid much of the time after sneaking out of the truck at the Bowery Mission, fearful they would send people to look for him. Begging for change had netted him about $1.50, which bought him a plain burger at the local McDonalds the same day he’d escaped. He remembered wandering, being hungry, an empty dumpster, and—

 Quentin sat up all at once, ignoring how it caused his head to spin. The smell of bacon made his stomach clench with a powerful hunger pang. He turned his head to see someone he thought he’d dreamed: the tall stranger with the wild, dark curls and eyes like sunlit amber. He was plating the bacon next to a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs that made Quentin struggle not to drool.

 Eliot. That’s what he said his name was.

 The taller boy glanced up as the couch creaked. Quentin met his eyes for the space of a heartbeat and then lowered them to stare at his hands more out of habit than actual shyness—meeting anyone’s gaze at Dolborough was usually perceived as a challenge.

 “Well, you’re awake.” Eliot brought the plate over, along with a cup of something steaming that smelled rich and sweet. “How do you feel?”

 “Uhm . . .”

 “Weak? A little washed out?”

 “Yeah. How did you know?”

 “I’ll explain that in a moment.” He set the plate in Quentin’s lap. “Try to eat some of that.”

 Quentin stared down at the food. The bacon was delicately crisped and the eggs had tiny cubes of fresh tomato mixed in. It was light years away from what he’d been eating at Dolborough, which was mostly powdered eggs, tough biscuits, and lumpy, bland oatmeal. He picked up a slice of the bacon and took a bite, and his stomach responded with an eager gurgle. Under another circumstance Quentin might have been embarrassed, but the bacon was filling his senses and before he knew it, he was eating two and three pieces at a time.

 “Hey! Easy . . . I don’t want to have clean vomit off my suede couch!” Eliot offered the mug, and Quentin sipped from it. Caramel, whipped into something frothy and topped with cinnamon. Bliss.

 “Do you remember me?” Eliot asked as he offered Quentin a napkin. Quentin took it and wiped bacon grease from lips and chin.

 “I think so. Eliot, right?”

 “That’s right. And this is my place. Which, by the way, you passed out in the middle of almost exactly 24 hours ago.”

 “I—I’ve been asleep for a day?” Quentin asked, and Eliot reached one hand toward the kitchen. A second steaming mug of latte floated into his hand and he sipped it.

 “Asleep, unconscious . . . whichever you’d prefer. Do you remember me getting you out of that dumpster?”

 Quentin took a few bites of egg.

 “Yeah.”

 “You didn’t seem frightened.”

 “I guess I was pretty out of it, but—can I ask you something?”

 “As long as it’s not personal or professional.” Eliot replied. “That’s a joke.” He added when Quentin avoided eye contact for over thirty seconds.

 “Oh. So—are you a hedge witch?” He asked, and Eliot drew back a bit.

 “I am. And how did you know that?”

 Quentin looked down at his plate.

 “I know this is going to sound stupid, but . . . I’m really into, uhm, magic. Or I used to be. I taught myself card and coin tricks, and there’s lots of magic shops in Brooklyn—that’s where I’m from—and I used to hear things. Rumors about real magic and people who knew real spells. That’s what I heard them called. Hedge witches.”

 “Before you went into Dolborough?” Eliot asked, and this time it was Quentin’s turn to flinch.

 “Dolborough?”

 Eliot opened his hand and Quentin’s ID bracelet fluttered into it. Quentin frowned.

 “Where did you get—”

 “Off your right wrist when I cleaned you up . . . Quentin Coldwater.”

 “Oh. Oh shit.”

 Eliot waved a dismissive hand.

 “Relax. I haven’t called the police, no men in white coats are on their way here. What were you in for?”

 “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 “Kid, you’d be surprised at what I’d believe.” He watched Quentin lick bacon grease off his fingers and handed him another napkin. Quentin set the empty plate aside.

 “This is pretty crazy, even for what a hedge witch might believe.”

 “Try me.” Eliot replied, and Quentin closed his eyes a moment before he opened them again to look out the window, where rain was still falling in a steady mid-April patter.

 “I used to be normal. I mean . . . as normal as a sixth grader who had to have his math classes outsourced to the local college could be. They always told me I was smart, but I never really felt smart, if that makes sense. My best friend Julia and I never really cared that much about all the academic things. We mostly hid out in the park or at her house and read the Fillory and Further books. I don’t know if you know them.” Quentin said, the tips of his ears going red. Eliot nodded.

 “From a very long time ago.”

 “I started studying magic because of them. Not real magic, I didn’t know it actually existed. But card and coin tricks, like I told you. Julia got over the books by the time we started high school, but I never really did. They always felt so real to me, so tangible. And they helped me cope during high school.” He pushed a lock of tawny hair behind one ear. “I know how stupid this must all sound to you.”

 “People cope with their shit in different ways.” Eliot lifted a shoulder. “Go on?”

 “I started having dreams last year. Bad dreams. At first I thought they were just stress dreams . . . you know, like the ones you have about being naked in school or having to take a test on a subject you know nothing about. But in them, something was chasing me. I never saw it, but I could feel how bad it was. Then, one day when I was—I was out walking, something happened.” As much as Quentin wanted to trust the man who had probably saved his life, there was no way he could admit that he’d been cosplaying alone as Martin Chatwin that day. “I followed this path into a community garden a few blocks from my house. I don’t know what happened. It was like the path just got longer and longer and then I saw—” Quentin paused and wiped a hand over his mouth. Eliot waited.

 “I don’t even know what I saw, really.” Quentin continued. “It was some kind of—well—monster, I guess. Like a man, but his face was obscured by these huge moths. They were blue and bigger than my hand, and they had this musty smell. But this thing, he called me by my name and put a hand over my mouth, like he wanted to smother me or maybe even break my neck. One of the warehouse whistles went off and it must have startled him because he bolted and vanished back down the path.” Quentin looked away from the window to Eliot to find the hedge listening, no trace of amusement or disbelief on his face. He paused. “You believe me.”

 “This is one world among many, Quentin. Just because people don’t or can’t believe that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. What happened after?”

 “I ran home. I didn’t tell my dad . . . I couldn’t. My mom left us when I was nine and after the divorce, he worried about me all the time. But I felt this thing’s presence all the time after that. My dreams got worse, and it was like that smell followed me wherever I went. It got really bad one night . . . I was alone in the house, uhm . . . my dad had gone to his bowling league. But it was like this thing—this Beast, it was all around me.” Quentin slid his hands up under his arms. “I tried to get away the only way I could think of.”

 Eliot thought of the thick scars he’d seen on Quentin’s wrists when he’d bathed him.

 “You tried to kill yourself.” He said, and Quentin nodded.

 “And that’s how I ended up at Dolborough. It’s funny . . . if my dad hadn’t forgotten his bowling shoes and come back for them, I’d be six feet under.” Quentin’s gaze slid away from Eliot’s again. “I’m still not sure I’m better off.”

 “How long were you at Dolborough?” Eliot asked.

 “Almost ten months. I managed to escape by getting out of my room and hiding in a cardboard box stacked with a bunch of old computer equipment that they were donating to the Bowery Mission.”

 “Clever!” Eliot nodded as he rose and gathered the empty plate and cup. “But once you got out, you had a hard time finding food, I’d assume.” He set the plates in the sink and waved a hand at them. The sink turned on and Quentin watched, round-eyed, as the dishes washed and stacked themselves in the nearby drainer.

 “Uhm, y-yeah, pretty much. The drugs they gave me at Dolborough, I think they threw the Beast off track for awhile, but He was going to find me there and I would’ve been trapped! I had to get away.”

 Eliot crossed the room to his bookshelf and pulled down two spellbooks, which he brought to the couch.

 “I performed a detox cleansing spell on you—you were coming down too hard. But don’t worry, this building is well warded, and there’s no way this Beast can get in without me knowing. Now . . . you know what I told you before, about there being more than world out there?”

 “Sure.”

 “Sometimes we open doors to them without even realizing it. You said the Fillory books always felt more real to you than your own reality and that everyone thought you were crazy because of it. But I don’t think you’re crazy at all, kid. I think you might be a magical adept and opened a door to a world that was making itself visible to you.”

 “What—what are you saying . . . that Fillory is real? And that’s where this Beast is from?”

 “Some mythical worlds have their basis in fact.” Eliot opened one of the books.

 “Fact, but—wait, did you say I’m a magical adept? What does that mean?”

 “It means you might have natural magical ability, and that’s why this creature is pursuing you. If it’s crossed over, it might be looking to gather power from whoever it can. Most of us protect ourselves with magical wards, but if you’re not aware of what you can do, you’re vulnerable.” Eliot’s long finger traced down a page and then tapped an ink sketch as he showed it to Quentin. “Look.”

 Quentin leaned over to look at the drawing and his heart leapt into his throat, where it crouched and trembled for the pace of half a dozen heartbeats before he swallowed hard. The drawing of the electric blue moth was too realistic, like it might leap off the page and flutter into his face, filling his senses with that dead, dry scent. He pointed.

 “That . . . that’s what I saw. The moths that cover the Beast’s face! Does it say what it is?” Quentin glanced at the text below and frowned when he discovered it wasn’t in English. “Does it say what this thing is or why it’s after me?”

 “It’s not like an instruction manual, Quentin. It doesn’t offer specific details.” Eliot turned a page. “You mentioned how much you love the Fillory books . . . have you collected any original memorabilia?”

 “A few things. A couple of posters, I have a collection of first edition books, and a button I bought from this guy near my favorite magic shop. He’s a homeless guy, I think, and he’s got this cart full of odds and ends. He knows how much I like Fillory and told me it was the same button that the seafaring rabbits gave Jane Chatwin so she could travel to Fillory whenever she wanted to.”

 “Did you believe that?”

 “No, of course not, but I felt sorry for the guy. I gave him fifty bucks for it.”

 “When did you buy it?”

 “About two weeks before what happened in the garden.”

 “Where is it now?” Eliot asked he closed the book.

 “It’s hidden in my room. I put away all my Fillory things because of my dad.”

 “So it’s still in your house?”

 “Yeah . . . unless my dad found it all and tossed it out.”

 “Right.” Eliot crooked a finger at him. “Come on, can you get up?”

 Quentin threw the blanket aside and got to his feet, one hand hitching at Eliot’s too-big sweats.

 “Yeah, I feel stronger. Where are we going?”

 “To play a hunch.”

 “Where?”

 “At your house. Either that button you bought was a very expensive piece of plastic, or the man you bought it from is working for whatever is chasing you.”

 “You mean, he wanted me to have it?”

 “Precisely. I think Fillory could be very real, and that this button is the key to its door.”

 CHAPTER SIX

 “So. Quentin Coldwater, hmm?” Margo watched from her bedroom doorway as Quentin tugged on the hunter-green sweater Eliot had bought him from the discount clothing store on the corner. It was no fashion statement, but better than the stained tee. “He’s not that cute.”

 “Shh!” Eliot hushed her as he tugged her back into her room and closed the door to give Quentin privacy: he’d bought a pair of serviceable jeans, a pair of clean boxers, and sneakers to go along with the sweater so the kid—who it turned out was only two years his junior, wouldn’t have to go out in those droopy sweats. “Christ, he’ll hear you!”

 “I thought you wanted me to be down with this?” Margo asked, her dark eyes tipping up to Eliot’s, the corners of her mouth quirking up. Eliot sighed; the introduction between Margo and Quentin had gone better than he’d expected, but he’d forgotten how damn perceptive her natural abilities made her.

 “I do want you to be—down—” Eliot frowned at the expression. “Because I need your help with this and so does Quentin. But you don’t have to get into my head, all right?”

 Margo reached out and squeezed his hand.

 “Don’t worry, El. Your secret is safe with me.”

 Eliot cleared his throat as he turned from the doorway to check his appearance in Margo’s full-length mirror.

 “There is no secret. So I find him attractive. So what? It means nothing.” He adjusted his shirt collar. “Are you going to help us?”

 “God knows someone has to come along on this fucking quest-cum-break in.” Margo rolled her eyes.

 “Quentin lives there, Margo! How do you break into your own home?”

 “He hasn’t lived there for almost a year. You do realize you could get arrested?”

 “I’m trying to help him. This Beast is real and it’s after him for some reason! I need to get a look at this button.”

 “Fine. But if you get us arrested, I’m making you my prison wife!”

 “That’s my Bambi.” Eliot bent down to kiss her cheek. “Always thinking about my welfare. Come on.”

 _______________________________

 The Coldwater home turned out to be a modest but stately three-story affair in a suburb about thirty minutes from downtown Brooklyn. The low-trimmed yew hedges were starting to green, dripping with rain, and Quentin stood between Eliot and Margo as they loitered on the opposite corner, looking up at the house.

 “I can make a portal. Or if you know away around back, I can float up to your bedroom window and we can get in that way. We could also use a teleportation spell, but it’s cooperative and—” Eliot broke off as he realized Margo was tugging at his sleeve and that Quentin was no longer standing next to him.

 “Where—?”

 Margo jerked her chin at the house, where Quentin was jogging up the front walk. He stopped at the front door, bent down, and retrieved a spare key from under a realistic-looking rock nestled in a nearby flowerbed. He unlocked the front door and looked over his shoulder as Margo and Eliot caught up with him.

 “You guys better stay out here. I know where everything is and I can grab it all quick, all right? Try to stay out of sight, we have a neighborhood watch here.” Quentin slipped inside before Eliot could protest. Margo glanced down the street.

 “There’s a bus stop shelter at the corner, we can watch from there. Come on.” She took Eliot’s arm and hurried him away as Eliot looked over his shoulder.

 “Are you sure we should have let him go in there alone?”

 “It’s his house, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing! Come on, we need to look inconspicuous.”

 Inside the silent house, Quentin climbed the stairs to his room. He felt like time had slipped backwards and he’d been doing nothing more than whiling away a few hours at the downtown library. He paused at his father’s closed bedroom door a moment: his father would be at work, editing the latest issue of some district textbook. He moved down the hall and opened the door diagonal from his father’s.

 The room looked like it hadn’t been touched in the nearly ten months since Quentin had been away. His bed was made, the blue quilt he’d had for years pulled up over the pillows. The closet door was closed but Quentin knew his father probably hadn’t gotten rid of anything, hoping his son could be cured enough to return home. A few high school pennants were still tacked over his bed, and a shelf across from the bed contained an impressive collection of academic trophies and ribbons. Quentin barely glanced at them as he crossed the room and moved aside an end table to reveal a small door. It was locked with a hook-and-eye combo, which Quentin pried open before he yanked the rectangular door open to reveal a crawl space. Inside were his rolled-up Fillory posters, his vintage messenger bag (identical to the one Martin Chatwin carried to Fillory with him in The World in the Walls,) his first editions of the Fillory books, carefully bagged, and the small velvet bag containing the button the homeless vendor had sold him. Quentin slipped the button into the messenger bag, along with all his Fillory books, then opened the closet to add a few shirts and several pairs of jeans in as well. He tugged open his bedroom window and lowered the bag as much as he could, dropping it into the bushes below. It shimmered and vanished a moment later—Eliot’s handiwork—and Quentin grinned.

 If Eliot is right and I am a magical adept, he can teach me what he knows! Magic . . . real magic, just like I always—

 “Hello, Curly-Q.”

 Quentin turned, his heart giving a startled thwack at the words. His father stood in the bedroom doorway, his expression somehow sad and angry at the same time.

 “Dad.”

 “I knew you’d come back here eventually.” Ted Coldwater stepped into the room. Quentin glanced around, sudden anxiety crowding his chest.

 “You—you’re supposed to—I mean, I thought you’d be at work.”

 “I took some time off when you went missing from Dolborough.” He held up both hands and approached Quentin. “Don’t you worry, son. Everything’s going to be all right. You don’t need to be scared . . . no one’s angry that you left the hospital. We’ve all been worried, that’s all. Very worried.”

 “We?”

 “Yes, son. Myself, Dr. Beekman, everyone at Dolborough. But you don’t need to worry. Once we get you back there, we’re going to try some new treatments that—”

 “No! I’m not going back there! Ever! I’m eighteen now dad, and—and I met people after I left there! Friends who are going to help me!”

 “Quentin. Ever since you harmed yourself, I’ve had power of attorney. You can’t make decisions on your own, you have no idea what’s best for you!”

 Outside, from the other end of the block, sirens began to sound. The wails grew closer, and Quentin stared at his father.

 “What did you do?”

 “What’s best for you, Curly-Q. I called them the moment I saw you downstairs. They’re here to help you and so am I—”

 Quentin bolted, pushing his father aside as he raced out the door and down the hallway. He took the steps two at a time, hit the landing, and yanked open the door to find Dr. Beekman and half a dozen policeman standing there. Dr. Beekman smiled, but it never touched the man’s eyes.

 “Quentin. We’re very glad to see you safe, very glad indeed.” He nodded to the policemen, who seized Quentin by the front of his sweater and dragged him from the doorway. Quentin fought them as they carried him bodily over to the ambulance, followed by Dr. Beekman and Quentin’s father.

 “Please, don’t hurt him, not if you can help it, he doesn’t understand what he’s doing!” Ted said, and Quentin looked around wildly.

 “Eliot!” He cried.

 At the end of the block, Margo had Quentin’s messenger bag slung across her chest as she used both hands to hang onto Eliot’s arm. Eliot was struggling in her grip as he watched the cops heft Quentin off his feet and carry him to the ambulance.

 “Eliot, don’t! You can’t just charge over there tossing battle magic around and you know that! Not only will that get you arrested, it might possibly get you dissected at the nearest government facility once they see what you can do! Damn it, El, stop!” Margo felt her grip slipping.

 “Kinnimear, a’thane azu!” She chanted it three times, in rapid succession, and felt the magic shudder down her arms and through her fingertips, freezing Eliot where he stood. Only his eyes moved, and she rounded him so he could see her. Despite his locked expression, she could see the fury there.

 “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me, El, but I’m not letting you get arrested and God knows what else because of some kid you’ve known two days! We can help him, but not like this!” Margo said, hardening her heart as Quentin called Eliot’s name, then hers.

 “Let me go! Get off me! Eliot! Margo!” Quentin shrieked as the cops hauled him into the ambulance and many strong hands buckled him into a stretcher. Thick leather restraints snaked around his wrists and ankles and he lifted his head to see his father standing by the open doors, watching. Tears stood on his unshaven cheeks.

 “It’s gonna be all right, Curly-Q. They’ll take care of you. I’ll come see you when they say I can.”

 “No! Dad please, don’t let them do this! He’ll find me there, we need to open the door before He does, you don’t understand! You have to let me—owwwww, no, please!” Quentin cried as Dr. Beekman rucked up his sweater sleeve and slipped a needle tip into his inner elbow. Quentin felt the warm sensation of liquid sedative entering his vein there and it spread rapidly, making his extremities numb and his thoughts lose their cohesion. He tried to speak, but his lips felt like as useless as those of a dying fish, gasping out its last pointless breaths at the bottom of a trawler. The sound of the siren chased him down into unconsciousness as the ambulance pulled away from the curb and headed east, toward Queens.

 CHAPTER SEVEN

 “It seems that Quentin’s issues go far beyond depression and hallucinations, Ted.”

 The words echoed in a bubbly quality that Quentin almost couldn’t make out. The faces of his father and Dr. Beekman seemed to float high above him, like untethered helium balloons. He could sense that his wrists and ankles were restrained to the bed, the same one he’d slept in for the past ten months.

 Since being returned to Dolborough, Dr. Beekman ordered that Quentin be kept moderately sedated and under physical restraint. In the 24 hours since, Quentin had done his best to keep Eliot’s face in his mind. Despite his efforts, the drugs made it fade and blur, and with every moment he didn’t show, Quentin’s certainty that he’d been abandoned by his new friend grew.

 “Is there anything that can be done?” Ted asked as he looked down at his addled son, and Dr. Beekman nodded.

 “I believe the answer is an anterior cingulotomy.”

 “What does that involve?”

 “It’s a psychosurgical treatment for schizophrenia, depression, and certain types of OCD. We place bilateral lesions in the anterior cingulate, which slows or stops certain impulses to the cingulum bundle. It should eliminate Quentin’s hallucinations about this Beast creature and ease most of his depression symptoms.”

 “What are the risks?”

 “Possible hemorrhaging, seizures . . . but those are usually rare. He might experience headaches, nausea, some vision problems, but those should fade with time. Ted . . . I know that brain surgery isn’t what you wanted for your son, but I believe it’s the best option for him. We have a surgeon over at John Hopkins that works with our facility that could perform the procedure—Quentin would be in good hands.”

 Ted reached down and touched Quentin’s face.

 “If you really think it’s the only answer.”

 “I do. Come with me to my office. I’ll make some calls and have you sign some papers.” Dr. Beekman led Ted out the door, leaving Quentin to struggle with his opium-soaked thoughts.

 Gonna crack open my skull, he realized as he moved through a fading consciousness that was filled with shifting lights and the slow mental thunder of cognitive impairment. Can’t stop them. Eliot, where . . .

 Darkness rushed up to envelop him, and Quentin fell headlong into its embrace.

 ________________________________

 “Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

 Eliot glanced up from the bar, where he was mixing a drink with more force than was probably necessary. Margo watched him from the couch, her feet tucked up under her thighs.

 “Eliot. Come on. I know what I did was wrong—”

 “Wrong?” Eliot slammed the lid down on his stainless steel ice bucket. “It was more than wrong, Margo! You used restraint magic on me! In the three and a half years we’ve known each other, you’ve never cast on me like that!”

 “I know.” Margo stood up and went to him. His slender frame stiffened but he didn’t retreat, as he’d been doing since she’d released him from the spell at the bus stop near Quentin’s house. “Because up until yesterday, I didn’t have to. You know damn well what would have happened if I’d let you go over there and blast the cops with battle magic! They would have shot you into so much big eye swiss cheese and then played Operation with your corpse at the nearest morgue! It wasn’t the answer, and the only one who would have been regretting it is me, because you’d be way too fucking dead to reconsider your poor choice!”

 “He was calling for us and we just stood there and let it happen. We let those bastards take Quentin back to that hell hole of a psycho ward! Do you know what he must be thinking, if they’re letting him think at all?” Eliot glared at her. “Do you even care about him?”

 “He’s your pet project! I didn’t realize I was required to care!”

 “You—” Eliot began in a sharp, rising tone when a knock on the front door interrupted him. His amber eyes flashed. “If it’s that menu boy from Pei Wei again, I’m going to turn him into a fucking human potsticker!” He yanked the door back. Penny stood there, along with his lover Kady, a temperamental high-level hedge with flashing eyes and wild brunette curls. Eliot scowled. “Oh, marvelous. Punch and Judgey. What?” He asked, and Penny returned the scowl in equal measure.

 “For one thing, your mental wards need serious repair. And for another? We can hear you right through the fucking ceiling! Will you just fuck or kill each other or whatever the problem is so Kady and I can get some peace?”

 “And will you mind your own business for once?”

 “Who’s this Quentin?” Kady asked, shouldering her way into the apartment. Penny followed her and Eliot’s fists clenched at the intrusion. Margo sighed.

 “Just tell her, Eliot.” Her gaze slid over to Penny. “Maybe they can help us.”

 “And why would they do that?”

 “Look.” Penny interrupted. “If what you said is true and that skinny nerd you had here really is like us, we can’t let a bunch of head peepers keep him locked up. Way too many of our kind are dying because no one helps them understand what they are, and those that do find out end up smoking themselves trying spells they aren’t ready for!”

 “That’s not the only issue. Quentin unlocked a door to another world and now some kind of Beast is chasing him. It’s how he ended up at Dolborough in the first place, because no one believes him! They think he’s hallucinating.” Eliot adjusted the collar of his shirt. “If you really want to help one of our own, then help Margo and me break Quentin out of that place before it’s too late.”

 Penny and Kady traded glances and Eliot could almost see the silent, telepathic conversation that took place before Penny nodded.

 “Fine. You’ve got a deal, Schmendrick . . . if you make me a drink before we talk about it.”

 __________________________________________

  “This sounds like a bunch of nerdy fanboy shit.”

 Eliot rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers as Penny leaned over the spellbook and peered at the image of the moth Quentin had identified. They were four whiskey sours into their meeting, and Eliot had gone over Quentin’s story twice now.

 “I know what it sounds like, but you know as well as we do that what Quentin saw was real. But no one at the hospital is going to believe it, and now that he escaped, they might Randle McMurphy him to make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble!”

 “That’s their answer for anything they can’t explain away.” Margo sipped her drink. “And the kid doesn’t deserve this . . . he’s eighteen and he hasn’t even had the chance to become a magician.”

 “The only way we’re going to get into Dolborough is by acting like we belong there.” Eliot said, and Kady shook back her curls.

 “You mean pose as patients?”

 “No. According to their website, Dolborough partners with a few medical universities in the city, and it’s a teaching hospital twice a week. With some scrubs and illusion work, we can pose as medical students and get to Quentin that way. We find his floor, Penny travels into his room to unlock it from the inside, and we portal our asses out before anyone knows we’re even there!”

 Penny knocked back the rest of his drink and grimaced at the excited light in Eliot’s amber eyes.

 “I’m gonna hate this.”

 CHAPTER EIGHT

 “Right this way, move along please, follow me.”

 Eliot, Kady, and Margo marched along with the two dozen or so other med students from Queens University, led by an attending physician and dressed in blue scrubs and dark shoes like the rest of them. The hedges each wore a lanyard with a laminated ID card clipped to it; Eliot had picked them up at a souvenir stand near Central Park and had changed the photos of the Statue of Liberty into student IDs with a bit of illusion work. They had left Penny in the lobby, shielded from sight with an invisibility spell, until they could find Quentin’s room number. It had been simple enough to slip into the crowd of students as they had gathered in the lobby: in their identical scrubs, they blended in, and the attending physician had barely glanced back since gathering them.

 “Did you bring it?” Margo asked Eliot from the corner of her mouth as they were led along, and Eliot nodded as he slipped one hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around Quentin’s plastic ID bracelet.

 “We need to get to a nurse’s station where we can scan it.” He replied quietly as the attending slid his ID card through a security pad and opened the doors to a restricted area.

 “Move quickly now!” He barked, and Eliot straightened his spine as he scanned the area beyond the door. There was a small lobby, two vending machines, and diagonal from that, a semi-circular nurse’s station. Two older women stood behind the counter, glancing at charts and murmuring to each other. Eliot cut a glance at Margo and Kady.

 “That’s where I need to be.” He hissed. “Create a diversion!”

 “What do we—”

 Crack! Kady’s open palm snapped against Margo’s cheek, cutting off her words and making the shorter hedge stagger back a few steps. Eliot stared at Kady, his mouth falling open. Kady’s green eyes glittered with challenge, and Margo recovered.

 “You bitch!” She was on Kady a moment later, her hands twisted into Kady’s curls, and the two of them went to the floor in a barrage of curses and flashing, painted nails. The other students, the attending, and the station nurses rushed over to separate them, and Eliot ducked down to slip past them and behind the counter. A scanner sat to one side of the station monitor, and Eliot pulled the bracelet from his pocket. A red light reflected against the shiny plastic, and the small readout spat back Quentin’s information at him.

 “Room 2505.” Eliot murmured as he risked a peek over the counter. Margo and Kady were still in the middle of the knot of shouting, staring crowd as the nurses and attending tried to break the girls up. Eliot dropped his mental wards and let Penny in.

 2505. I’ll meet you there in five minutes!

 Eliot hurried toward the nearest elevator, knowing Margo and Kady could extract themselves from the melee and make themselves scarce before the others realized they wouldn’t be able to say for sure who had started the fight.

 ______________________________________

 Penny felt the familiar shiver in his nerves as he traveled from the lobby to Quentin’s room. He took a moment to glance around at the surroundings: a dresser, barred windows, and a metal-frame bed. The kid Penny had come to think of as the Nerdling was strapped to the bed with thick leather buckles, both hands and feet, and it roused a sick, angry feeling in the traveler. No one of his kind deserved this, even a dork like this. He dropped the invisibility shield and leaned over to pat the kid’s cheek.

 “Hey! Hey, come on, look at me! Yo! Nerdling! Snap out of it!”

 Quentin’s eyelids twitched and then blinked open. His dark gaze was muddled, his irises blown wide with prescription dope. Penny began to work the heavy buckles open.

 “I don’t wanna have to carry your skinny ass, so come on!” He slapped Quentin smartly on one cheek, and Quentin stared up at him.

 “The hell.” He mumbled, and Penny got his hands free.

 “Hell is what these people are gonna put you in unless you try and focus on what I’m saying!” He freed Quentin’s bare feet and shoved them into a pair of sneakers from the dresser. He pulled Quentin into a sitting position when a distorted chiming sound began behind him. Penny turned, his stomach clenching as the air wavered with dark magic. A hand stretched out from the tattered framed poster on the wall, one with many extra fingers. It gestured, stretching the frame into the size of a full-length mirror, as if it was made of taffy. A figure stepped out as the plexiglass wavered like a pool of still water that had been disturbed.  The creature, dressed in a natty grey suit and polished dress shoes, was whistling. His entire face was obscured by fluttering moths. The doorknob to the room rattled and Eliot’s voice rang in Penny’s head.

 Let me in!

 “Ah ah!” The Beast chided Penny as he stepped closer to the bed. “I believe that’s mine!” He shot a hand out, deformed with many extra fingers, and Penny gasped in pain and surprise as he was flung against the opposite wall. His head struck the dresser and dark spots bloomed in front of his eyes. Agony wracked his senses a moment later and he gave a breathless gasp as he turned his head toward the door. Eliot’s shadow loomed in the small square mesh-lined window.

 Penny! Open the fucking door!

 Penny lifted a hand toward it, but the spell died on his lips as the syllables fell into a meaningless jumble within his addled consciousness. The sound of the doorknob rattling took on an echoing quality as the Beast tugged Quentin from the bed by his arms and pulled him across the room. Quentin turned his head and stared at Penny, wide-eyed and helpless, as the creature whistled a happy little tune, dragged the teen through the poster frame, and vanished.

  Part Two: One World Among Many

 CHAPTER NINE

 “He’s dead, Margo.”

 Margo glanced up from the loft’s bar at Eliot’s words. Kady sat with Penny on the couch, dabbing at a swollen, red lump on the back of his head with a damp cloth. Margo brought them each a glass of brandy and frowned when she had to push the tumbler into Eliot’s hands before he would grip it.

 “We don’t know that. Yes, the Beast took him, but it has to be for a reason! If he’d wanted to kill Quentin, he would have painted that room with his brains with the flick of his hand!”

 Eliot closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the Eames chair. The four exhausted hedges had managed to portal themselves out of Dolborough before security reached Quentin’s room, with Kady and Eliot having to almost carry Penny. The traveler was stunned and had only just begun to come around as they’d regrouped at Eliot’s loft.

 “She’s right.” Penny nodded, his voice a bit stronger than it had been a half hour ago. “The Beast said, ‘I believe that’s mine’ right before he—fuck!” Penny flinched as Kady pressed a square of gauze to his head wound. “Right before he dragged your buddy off. How the hell did he find us, anyway?”

 “Quentin told me the drugs they were giving him at Dolbrough made it hard for the Beast to track him, but it was only a matter of time before the bastard found him! I warded him when he was with me, but once they took him back to Dolborough, he was vulnerable.” Eliot pushed his dark hair back with one hand. “The door Quentin opened had to be to Fillory. It’s the only thing that makes sense! Once he had that button, Fillory presented itself to him, only the Beast was guarding the entrance. Guarding it, and waiting for him.” Eliot rubbed a hand over his chin. “He told me it happened right in his own neighborhood, in Brooklyn, but I don’t know the exact location, and there’s no guarantee that the door will open for us, even if we find it.” He drained half the brandy from his glass. “We have to find another way.”

 Margo got to her feet and left the room. Kady taped the gauze to Penny’s head and squeezed his hand, and he allowed her to touch her forehead to his before resuming his usual stoic expression. Margo returned, Quentin’s messenger bag in one hand.

 “Fuck me if I didn’t forget we brought this from Quentin’s house the day they took him back to Dolborough!”

 “And what good will that do, exactly?” Eliot sighed. “I already looked inside, there’s nothing but clothes and those Fillory books.”

 Margo opened the bag’s clasp and up-ended it over the couch. The Fillory books slid out, each one encased in a protective plastic sheath, along with a small assortment of clothing. She frowned and pulled the bag open wide, dipping one hand in and feeling around. Her fingers slid along a thin mouth of fabric, and she tugged on it. A Velcro pocket opened and Margo smiled as she pulled out a small black velvet bag.

 “Oh yeah, smart guy? What do you call this?” She pulled the drawstring open and shook a clear plastic octagonal white box into her hand. It was about the size of a half dollar and contained an eggshell-white button. Eliot and the others stared at it.

 “Is that . . .?” Eliot asked, and Margo set the case on the table before popping the lid open. Penny leaned close.

 “Fuck me! Can you feel that? Like it’s practically leaking magic!”

 Kady reached out with both hands, her slim hands working in the air above the button.

 “Wherever that kid got this from, it’s the real deal.”

 “Quentin told me he bought it from a homeless vendor in his neighborhood. Whoever that was or is must have been working for the Beast . . . He wanted Quentin to be able to open that door.”

 “But if he didn’t know he has any magical ability, what good would that have done either of them?” Penny frowned. “That’s like giving someone a key to a car that has a fucked-up motor.”

 “Except that Quentin isn’t fucked up.” Eliot’s stomach turned as his quick mind began to make connections. “He’s untapped—what’s inside him is pure, and that’s what the Beast is after. For whatever reason, He’s taken Quentin to Fillory to gain access to Quentin’s magic.” His hand tightened around the forgotten tumbler in his hand. “To drain him.”

 __________________________________

 “Wakey Wakey!”

 Quentin struggled to consciousness at the sound of that voice, the one that had filled his dreams with terror and his bed with rank fear sweat and urine for months. He forced his eyes open and a pained, surprised whimper of pain escaped his throat as he realized tough steel manacles encircled his wrists, paired with thick iron chains that suspended him from a cold stone wall. He kicked his bare feet, only to find that they were secured as well. A cold, fetid dampness against his skin made him shiver, and he realized as he came fully conscious that he was naked—the blue-checked hospital gown he’d been wearing when the Beast claimed him was laying in a nearby corner in a sad heap. The Beast himself stood in front of him, his face still obscured with the large moths. Panic gnawed at Quentin’s nerves as that musty, dry smell assaulted his nostrils.

 “Quentin Coldwater.” The voice purred, laced with a posh British accent. “I’m so pleased to have you in my company! It’s been much too long since we last met, wouldn’t you agree?”

 “Who are you? How do you know my name?” Quentin asked, trying to arch his back away from the damp stone. It was impossible to see the man’s face, but amusement laced his tone.

 “Why, I’ve known it for years!” One multi-fingered hand reached out to stroke Quentin’s cheek. “My poor lad . . . you really have no idea who you are, do you.”

 “I’m—I’m just Quentin. Please, whoever you are, you’re making a terrible mistake!”

 “There’s no mistake, dear boy. The prophecy is at hand . . . the events that are destined to bring my reign and my life to an end!” The Beast’s voice rose in pitch, cracking with anger.

 “Your reign? Fillory . . .” Quentin glanced around the cold stone room. A Fillorian crest, faded but visible, covered much of the space on the wall opposite him. “Fillory is real.” He murmured, and the Beast chuckled.

 “Of course Fillory is real! And you’ve known it your whole life, Quentin. Even as you played your silly questing games with Julia, you always looked for a way in that went far beyond fantasy. The truth slept deep within you, and now it’s awake, but it slumbered too long, it seems! I was a wily fox, you see, and I gave you a way to unlock the door, only I was waiting there to trap you, at last!”

 “The button.” Quentin yanked at the manacles that pinched and rubbed against his skin. “Eliot was right! You gave that button to the vendor to sell to me!”

 The Beast’s open palm cracked across Quentin’s cheek.

 “He can’t help you, and he can’t help Fillory! The prophecy is at an end, my sweet boy, and once I drain you of your magic and make a tasty meal of your flesh, every door into Fillory will be mine to command!” A hand with extra, seeking fingers wrapped around his throat. “I’m going to devour you, and when your would-be magician king sees what I will leave of your corpse, it will drive him mad!”

 Quentin swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the creature’s hand.

 “I don’t understand.” He said in a strained voice. “Who are you?”

 “I rule all of Fillory, past, present, and now, the future!” The hand fell away from Quentin’s throat and he screamed in terror and sense memory as the moths engulfed him, their wings landing dust-filled kisses against every inch of his skin.

 CHAPTER TEN

 A late-April shower was moving through Chelsea, drenching empty sidewalks and dripping off storefront awnings in a steady patter. Thick rivulets of rain scrawled down the glass of Eliot’s loft windows, making shadows on its occupants’ faces like tribal tattoos. Eliot, Margo, Penny, and Kady stood in a circle around the coffee table, their hands joined. The button sat in its case there, the lid open.

 “So . . . if anyone wants to bow out of this little field trip, speak now and forever reveal your cowardice.” Eliot said as he slipped one of Quentin’s Fillory books into the pocket of his camel coat, his gaze flicking to each member of the party, one by one. Penny’s eyes narrowed.

 “Fuck you, like you’re not shitting dry peach pits?”

 “Have your pissing contest later, boys.” Margo squeezed Eliot’s hand. “I don’t think Quentin has the time.” She glanced at the book. “What’s that for?”

 “It has maps in it. I was thinking that might be of help to us.”

 “Are you sure this is even going to work? If Quentin had the button all this time, why didn’t it take him to Fillory when he touched it?” Kady asked.

 “Because he hasn’t accessed his magical abilities yet. He’s untapped . . . the button might have sensed his innate powers but couldn’t make the connection with him.” Eliot looked down at the button. “Are we ready?”

 “Ready.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Just fucking touch the stupid thing!”

 Eliot opened the hand that gripped Margo’s just enough to float the button into his palm. When he closed his fingers around it, the air in the loft seemed to implode with the sound of a pile of wet laundry hitting a tile floor. Eliot felt himself being drawn inward, as if he was turning liquid and being sucked up through a very long straw. He struggled to hang onto his consciousness as his inner ear spun like a risky carnival ride. His form then solidified again and he tumbled through crisp, sweet air before falling with a heavy splash into chilly water. He fought his way to the surface, gasping like a landed fish. The others popped up all around him, struggling to get air in their lungs as well, and Eliot realized they’d fallen into the waters of an ornate fountain. A granite statue of a centaur, three times Eliot’s height, graced the center of the round fountain, and water spurted from its mouth and from the tip of the gilded spear it held. Eliot half-paddled to the fountain’s edge, climbed out, and then pocketed the button before he helped Margo onto dry land as she coughed and shuddered.

 “Fuck!”

 “Are you okay, Bambi?” Eliot asked, pushing her sodden hair from her face, and she thumped him on the chest twice with her small fists.

 “No, I’m not okay! That fucking button turned me into a human enema and squirted me up the multiverse’s motherfucking colon!” She hit him again. “You dick!”

 “All right, okay!” He took hold of her wrists. “I know it wasn’t exactly first class on Jet Blue, but it worked. It’s pretty clear we aren’t on earth anymore.” He looked up at the fountain. Kady pushed her curls back and wrung water from them.

 “How can we be sure we’re in Fillory?”

 “Children of earth!”

 The party turned as one as the deep voice spoke. A towering male centaur, his coat a mix of silver and white, stood watching them. He held a spear in one hand. His curly hair, the same color as his coat and tail, fell well past his bare shoulders. His eyes were the color of wet slate. The group stared at him as he gave a graceful bow.

 “I welcome you all to Fillory.”

 Eliot cleared his throat as his heart tried to climb up into his trachea.

 “I think that’s a pretty telling clue.”

__________________________________________

 The centaur’s name was Clabbercloud. He worked as a sentry for the Northern Meadows clan, who worked mostly in weaving and textiles. As children of earth, Eliot and the others were welcomed with solemn but sincere respect by the clan and given dry clothing, hot black currant tea, and delicate oat cakes in Clabbercloud’s rangy tent. The interior ceiling was draped with gauzy silk squares of material in varying shades of red, giving the space an Arabian Nights pastiche.

 “Long have we awaited more children of Earth to visit Fillory. Many had given up hope you would ever arrive, and we would be forever ruled by the Many-Fingered King.”

 “The Many-Fingered King?” Penny frowned. “Hang on . . . that thing I saw in Quentin’s room at the hospital! It had a bunch of extra fingers! That’s the king of Fillory?”

 Clabbercloud snorted.

 “He is more a ruthless dictator than a king. We live in fear of him! But it was not always so . . . when he came to Fillory as a boy, he and his siblings ruled wisely, but over time, our king’s quest for power grew so that he began to study the dark magic, spells that twisted his heart and mind. He learned of the prophecy of the Light Bringer, and since then, he has worked to destroy the one who would dethrone him.”

 “Wait, hold up.” Margo held up a hand. “What’s the Light Bringer, what prophecy, and who was this Squidward-looking asshole before he was a king?”

 Clabbercloud moved over to a wooden chest filled with books, their covers thick and ornate. He chose one from the pile and brought it to the group, opening it to a marked page.

 “Look upon this.”

 Eliot took the book and settled it across his knees. The others leaned over his shoulders to see. The left page featured scrawled Fillorian text, and the other, which was torn away at the upper right corner so about a quarter of the page was missing, featured two figures ascending from a fountain. One was radiating with light and reaching for an open jade crown of many colors, which was surrounded by a cloud of what appeared to be butterflies or moths, but the other figure was mostly missing from the torn page. Only the legs and feet were visible.

 “The Light Bringer.” Kady glanced up at Clabbercloud. “And who’s this?” She pointed at the incomplete figure.

 The centaur shook himself.

 “There are many who believe he is little more than a guide. Others think he is something of a page to the Light Bringer.”

 “So where is this place?” Penny asked pointing to the drawing, and Clabbercloud cocked a hind leg as he worked through a plate of oat cakes.

 “The fountain is said to be the same that can be found at Coronation Beach, where all Fillorian rulers are crowned. It lies twenty miles south of our village.”

 “When I saw the Beast, he wasn’t wearing that crown.” Penny nodded to the drawing.

 “The Many-Fingered King wears no crown, Traveler. It is power and submission, not fame and attention, that he desires most. The crown lies in a chest at Coronation Beach, and none but the Light Bringer can open it.”

 “So you believe this Light Bringer is your next king?” Margo asked, and the centaur nodded.

 “Only Children of Earth can rule here.” He replied, and Margo glanced at Eliot.

 “So technically . . . any one of you boys—you or Penny or even Quentin—could be the king they’ve been waiting for.”

 “But we don’t know where Quentin is.” Eliot said, his fingers tightening around the cup he held. Clabbercloud turned his head to reply when another sentry approached the open tent flap, his spear jabbing at the back of what looked like an oversized ferret. The thing was walking on its hind legs and it had one deformed eye that made it bulge from its socket like an infected boil. It carried a miniature version of Quentin’s messenger bag and wore a red and black leather jerkin, but nothing else. The sentry goaded the creature inside.

 “This intruder says it has a message for the children of earth!”

 Eliot rose to his feet. Although the ferret barely came to his knees, the creature didn’t cower. It withdrew a velvet bag from its jerkin.

 “The High King of Fillory and Lord of All He Surveys and Beyond offers parley for the life of the human called Quentin Coldwater! He sends this, in the hopes that it will spur you to bargain quickly.”

 Eliot took the bag, pulled the top open and shook it out. A pinky finger tumbled out into his hand and he jerked back, color draining from his cheeks. While the digit bore no identifying marks, Eliot’s heightened senses and his familiarity with Quentin’s aura told him that it belonged to the younger magical adept. The skin and meat around the first knuckle had been gnawed. Cold arrows of dread punched into Eliot’s gut and spread before the tips burst into flame and replaced it with fury. His long fingers curled around the severed thing as Margo, Penny, and Kady stared with varying expressions of shock and disgust. The ferret bared its sharp teeth.

 “His Highness will bring Quentin Coldwater to Coronation Beach at sunrise and offer you his bargain there. If you refuse or do not show . . .” The ferret licked its lips suggestively. Eliot took a deep breath and turned his back on the creature.

 “Are you supposed to return to His Majesty with my answer?”

 “No, magician. Your presence or lack of it at sunrise tomorrow is your answer!”

 “Excellent.” Eliot spat the word out before he turned and shot out his left hand, the air around it shimmering with magic. The force push knocked the ferret off its feet, drove it through the air, and impaled it on the sentry’s spear by the back of its head. The force of the push popped the deformed eye from its socket, leaving it to drip thickly off the tip while the creature twitched the last of its life out on the shaft.

 “You literally killed the messenger.” Margo said after a few moments of silence, and Eliot slipped Quentin’s finger back into the velvet bag.

 “Pity it didn’t live long enough to appreciate the irony of the message I gave it in return. The bastard used Quentin’s finger as a fucking teething toy.” Eliot said as the sentry shook his spear and sent the dead mammal flopping to the ground. “Clabbercloud, which way is it to Coronation Beach?”

 “My sentries can take you as far as the Rainbow Bridge, but we cannot venture any further. Beyond our borders, child of earth, you and your companions must face the Many-Fingered King alone.”

 CHAPTER ELEVEN

 Coronation Beach was a stark study in negative contrast: soft black sand stretched for nearly ten miles against seawaters that were foamy white instead of blue. Dawn approached, wrapped in thick swatches of fog as Eliot and his companions reached the beach and stood near the fountain Clabbercloud had mentioned. In the center of the pool, a granite king stood with his sword at the ready. Eliot squinted into the near-darkness and frowned.

 “I wonder if the sun rises in the east here. Wasn’t there something in the books about a daily eclipse?” He paused and pulled the Fillory book from his coat to flip through it. “Quentin would know.” He said, almost to himself, and Margo peered off into the horizon.

 “We can’t even be sure Fillory operates the way it does in the books. At least I don’t remember a psycho moth man in any of them.”

 “Flattery will get you nowhere, dear girl!”

 Eliot turned at the words, his heart volleying up into his throat. The Beast was approaching from the opposite direction, dressed in the same fine suit Quentin had seen him in previously. He walked with a skip in his step, the moths swirling around his face in a noxious cloud. He dragged Quentin along behind him on a length of enchanted chain, the other end clipped to a black collar that seemed to writhe and shift against his skin like an agitated snake. Quentin stumbled across the sand, dressed in a pair of ragged linen breeches and nothing else. His right hand and arm were painted with blood, and in the low light, Eliot could see the ragged stump of the pinky finger. The Beast halted a few feet from the group and glanced at the rising sun.

 “How considerate of you to be punctual!”

 “Fuck your faux manners.” Eliot replied in conversational tone. “The talking rat you sent told me you wanted to meet here.”

 “My loyal servant, who you killed in cold blood. He was unarmed. Quite cowardly of you!”

 “About as cowardly as abusing a kid you gaslighted into a mental ward!” Margo snapped, and Eliot gave her an approving glance before he stepped forward.

 “And speaking of cowards, why don’t you show me your face before we make a deal? I’d like to know who I’m speaking to.” He flicked a glance at Quentin, whose wordless plea was clear.

 Be careful.

 “Very well. I don’t suppose I have any reason to conceal myself anymore, do I?” The Beast waved a hand and the moths dispersed, seeming to dissolve as they moved away from his face. Behind his living mask, Eliot saw a man with a rather bored countenance, a man with graying hair and a weak chin—a man you wouldn’t look twice at if you passed him on the street. Only his eyes gave a clue to his power, and they glittered as he met Eliot’s gaze.

 “Dude looks like a life insurance salesman.” Penny muttered, and the Beast chucked.

 “You clueless children. You have no idea who I truly am . . . although perhaps our dear Quentin here might tell you. I’m the once and future High King of Fillory, the missing sibling of a group of children who ruled here long ago. One who found a way to remain here always, to remain and rule, as I was always destined to!”

 Quentin stared at him.

 “Martin Chatwin.” He murmured, and the Beast nodded.

 “Precisely. Now.” He turned back toward Eliot. “As to the terms of my bargain. You give me back my button, agree to forsake the prophecy, and leave Fillory forever. In return, I will allow all of you to live.”

 Eliot tipped his eyes up to the dawning sky as he considered the terms. He thought of Clabbercloud, the story of the Beast’s complete rule over Fillory, his cruelty, and the good he and the others could bring to Fillory—if he could defeat the powerful magician in one-on-one battle.

 I learned magic for my own purposes and gain, Eliot thought to himself. But if what the centaur told us is true, I may have a destiny here. And what good is having all this power if I can’t outwit and out-cast this asshole? Top bitch in Chelsea . . . time to prove that to yourself and to everyone else.

 “Here’s my counter offer.” Eliot said, removing his long camel coat and undoing the buttons on the linen shirt the centaurs had loaned him. It was ill-fitting across his shoulders and down his arms, so he stripped it off, exposing his hedge tattoos. “We battle, one on one, for the crown. The winner gets control of Fillory, and the loser goes six feet under.”

 “Eliot, no!” Quentin spoke up, and the Beast yanked on the length of chain, choking off any further complaints. He stroked his goatee.

 “An interesting wager!” He eyed Eliot’s tattoos. “I see you’re a hedge witch . . .” He led Quentin to a nearby boulder and used magic to weld the end of the chain into it, trapping him there like a disobedient dog. “Isn’t it ironic that I learned magic in much the same way!” He glanced at Margo and the others. “You realize, of course, if you lose this battle, the lives of your friends, including this delicious little dish—” He nodded to Quentin— “are all forfeit as well.”

 “Then bring it.” Penny challenged, eliciting a nod from Kady. Marg scoffed.

 “If El goes down, which I doubt, then it’s three against one, Beast Boy.”

 “You’d battle me for table scraps?” The Beast asked, glancing at Quentin. “Courageous but idiotic.”

 “Do you agree to my offer or not?” Eliot asked, and the Beast nodded, looking almost jovial.

 “Agreed—let’s end this, shall we?” The older magician raised his hands before he finished speaking, a magic missile blasting from his palm. Eliot cursed and strengthened his wards with one move of his hand. The blast rocked him backward and he murmured in Arabic. A blue glowing rope of pure energy flowed from his fingertips and entangled the Beast. Eliot jerked the rope, adding a dose of telekinetic energy to it, and yanked his enemy’s face into his closed right fist. The Beast grunted as the cartilage in his nose shattered under the impact. Eliot then force-pushed him into the air and sent him flying across the beach, where he bounced off a cluster of rocks before swaying to his feet, bleeding from his nose and chuckling.

 “Impressive, hedge witch! Now let me show you what true power is!” He raised one hand, spread his thumb and index finger apart, then began to pinch them together slowly. Eliot gasped in surprise as his air supply was cut off, and he struggled to counter it. His lungs burned in panic and he fought the sensation, using his fading energy to summon his telekinesis. He envisioned the Beast’s fingers smoking, then glowing like banked embers, before bursting into flame. The ruling king of Fillory screamed in agony as those two fingers imploded in a flash of bright orange flame and then fell to the ground in ashes. Margo pumped a fist.

 “Yes!” She hissed, and Eliot took three gulps of air before moving his right hand in rapid circles, the fingers moving precisely in repetitive motions until glowing runes flowed from them. They hissed and crackled and Eliot drew that hand toward his chest before flinging the runes outward. They slammed into the Beast, burning away some of his suit and leaving deep, bleeding groves in his chest and arms. The older magician fell to his knees, stunned, and Eliot advanced on him, gearing up for another volley.

 Take him apart piece by piece if I need to . . .

 “It seems . . . I underestimated your abilities, hedge witch!” The Beast said, deep, glowing gashes visible in his torso, the edges charred. “But Fillory is mine, and who lives or dies is at my command! Perhaps you need proof!” He turned toward Quentin and raised both hands. A white-hot whip, made of pure energy, grew from both palms and twisted into a thick braid. Quentin watched, chained to the rock and helpless. The whip hissed and writhed like downed power line, and Eliot whispered a speed spell with his ebbing magical energy. He felt his wards flicker and fail as the spell allowed him to move at five times his normal speed. He reached Quentin, shielding the boy with his body, his bare arms stretched wide, and Quentin screamed as the whip sliced into Eliot’s left shoulder and cut diagonally across his body, opening him like a flayed trout. Quentin screamed as blood sprayed upward in a crimson arc.

 “ELIOT!”

 “EL!” Margo’s cry of agony echoed Quentin’s as Eliot dropped to his knees, his expression filled with the knowledge of his death but quietly triumphant as well. He fell to one side, his amber eyes half-open, blood staining the sand in a wide, spreading pool. The Beast watched, laughing.

 “The king is dead!” He shouted in a wounded but jovial tone. “Long live the king!” He threw his arms in the air. “And now . . .” He turned to Margo, doubled over as sobs wracked her frame. Penny dropped into a defensive crouch as he and Kady moved in front of her. The Beast grinned. “Oh children . . . you mustn’t even try, there’s no point in it, it will only make your deaths more painful!” He took two steps toward the group, his hands raised, when thunder rumbled over the water. The Beast looked up, frowning, as roiling black clouds, lined with lodes of molten gold, raced over the sky. They cast the beach into near darkness, eating up the dawn, before one of the glowing molten lines split open the clouds. Rays of pure white light shot out, lined with gossamer sheets of flickering, shifting colors. They engulfed Quentin and he stiffened, his dark eyes wide, his mouth dropping open in a sudden fit of awe and ecstasy. The enchanted chain and collar melted away like warm taffy and Quentin flung his arms outward as the rays lifted him into the air.

 The others watched, stunned, as Quentin’s injured hand seemed to light up from the inside and his pinky finger reformed before the rays turned him and another of the golden lines reached out from the clouds, more delicate than a jellyfish tentacle, and vanished into his bare back. Quentin stiffened, his lean form jerking, and then golden lines began to fill up his skin. The lines formed, then connected, until they formed a hedge star. The gold filament withdrew, but not before it formed a stylized Q in the center of the star. A kind of serenity filled Quentin’s expression, replacing his usual timid, anxious countenance, as the rays faded and he dropped to his feet on the beach. He faced the Beast, who scoffed.

 “How very dramatic, that! Pity it’s come too late!” The Beast raised both hands, firing off red bolts of energy from both palms. Quentin raised his own hands, batting the bolts away as if they were spitballs as he walked toward the Fillorian king. The Beast paused, scowled, then used his remaining fingers to squeeze the air from the young hedge. He watched, his expression shifting from triumph to disbelief as Quentin kept on approaching, his dark eyes ringed with molten gold. He seized the Beast’s hand as if to give it a vigorous shake and twisted the appendage off his wrist as if opening a stubborn pickle jar. The Beast gave a high-pitched, breathy scream of agony as Quentin tossed the hand over one shoulder and buried his right hand into the man’s hair, forcing him to his knees. The Beast stared up at him.

 “Quentin. Quentin, my dear boy, listen to me, please . . .”

 “I’m done listening to you. I’m done being afraid, and I’m done running.” His eyes blazed down at the king. “You killed Eliot. You killed the only person in the whole world—any world—who ever gave a shit about me.”

 “But you have no idea what I could offer you! Power, fortune . . . allow me to rule you, and you could have all that you ever dreamed of!” The Beast countered, and Quentin closed his eyes a moment.

 “I had what I dreamed of. I had someone who was like me. Someone who could have taught me who I really am . . . who might have loved me.” Quentin gave the Beast a somber stare. “You took that away.”

 “Quen—”

 The dark magician’s words were interrupted by the cracking of his own spinal cord as Quentin twisted his head around in a complete circle, then kept twisting until the Beast’s head separated from his body. A cloud of moths roiled from the neck’s stump and fell to the sand one by one, like a musty cloudburst, until the Beast’s headless body fell backward and landed, motionless, among the insects’ twitching corpses. Quentin threw the head in the dead man’s lap and raised one hand, casting a fire spell as if he’d been doing it for years. The head and body burst into flames and burned to ashes within moments. Quentin stared at the ashes, and then Penny approached him. Quentin turned, that gold glow in his eyes fading but still noticeable. Penny raised both hands slowly, palms out.

 “Yo. I’m on your side, remember?”

 Quentin nodded and Penny flicked a glance at the pile of ashes.

 “So what the fuck happened? What unlocked your magic, and why is it so crazy strong?”

 Quentin turned his head to look at Eliot, laying motionless on his side.

 “Eliot.” He murmured, padding across the sand. As Penny, Kady, and Margo gathered around them, Quentin sat cross-legged by the body and lifted Eliot’s head into his lap. Margo wiped a shaking hand across her mouth.

 “He stepped right in front of you. I felt his wards fail . . . he must have known what would happen.” She said, and Penny nodded.

 “He knew.” He said. “But protecting Quentin was all that mattered to him.”

 “You used my real name.” Quentin said, glancing up at Penny.

 “Yeah, well. Figure I owe you one for killing that asshole Beast.”

 “How did you even do that?” Kady asked. Quentin shook his head.

 “I don’t know.” He stroked Eliot’s face. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, it’s all for nothing, it’s all for nothing!” He cried, the last words hitching on tears as he bent over and kissed Eliot’s rapidly-cooling lips. Several tears dripped onto Eliot’s long, pale throat and slid into the top of the terrible wound the Beast had made. A low thrumming sound bloomed from the gash, and it began to glow gold before a glittering sheer curtain of humming energy covered the open flesh. Quentin watched: the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once and contained an entire symphony of tiny chimes, all at different keys, as the gauzy netting of magic undulated over Eliot’s wound and left Eliot’s bare chest whole and unmarred.

 “Look.” Kady murmured after a few moments, pointing to Eliot’s face. Color was blooming back into the hedge witch’s high cheekbones and turning his pale blue lips pink. The chimes grew louder and then both Quentin and Eliot were rising into the air, ascending over the fountain.  Eliot’s eyes opened, his expression almost comically surprised. Out in the sea, the water began to bubble and hiss before a jade crown surfaced, its surface flashing in the sun. Golden shafts of light erupted from Quentin’s fingers, bathing Eliot in a radiant glow as the crown floated into his hands as if it belonged there. Margo, Penny, and Kady watched as the two magicians circled each other in midair before their lips met in a long, explorative kiss. They descended together a moment later, the crown in Eliot’s left hand.

 “Fuck.” Margo breathed. “The prophecy had it wrong the whole fucking time! The future king of Fillory isn’t the Light Bringer at all.”

 “Nope.” Penny sighed. “It’s Quentin.”

 CHAPTER TWELVE

 “So what Clabbercloud showed us in that old book didn’t tell us the whole story.”

 Penny paced around the area where Eliot had faced the Beast less than an hour earlier as he spoke.

 “The story of the prophecy was handed down orally. All the people had to go on was what they had been told, and that drawing.” Eliot replied. Since being resurrected, Quentin had helped him clean himself up in the water and brought him his coat. He wore it over bare skin, the centaur shirt having gone out with the tide. He stood flanked by Margo on one side and Quentin on the other, and the sensation was so comfortable he wanted to wear their presence like a second skin for the rest of his life.

 “They were wrong about the future king being the Light Bringer. And it wasn’t the crowning that unlocked Quentin’s magic . . . it was Eliot’s sacrifice.” Margo looked up at him and then he was doubling over as she elbowed him in the gut. “And that, by the way, is for getting your asshole self killed right in front of me!”

 “Noted!” Eliot wheezed, and Margo threw her arms around him.

 “You cock!” She whispered fiercely, and Eliot recovered enough to put his arms around her.

 “If you’re jealous, know that I would’ve done the same thing for you.” He said, lifting her chin and wiping away an errant tear from her left cheek. “Bambi.”

 “I don’t think you’d be standing here if you had.” She glanced over at Quentin. “Hey . . . Droopy.” She said, and Quentin glanced up, not quite meeting her imperious gaze, but then her features softened. “You did good.”

 “Thanks, Margo.” Quentin replied with a shy smile.

 “There’s still some shit that isn’t clear to me.” Penny said. “Like the Beast must have thought that Eliot was the Light Bringer, otherwise he would have killed Quentin a hell of a lot sooner. If he was so powerful, how did he get that wrong?”

 “He didn’t. He knew all along.”

 The group turned as one as the new voice spoke. By the edge of the fountain stood a young girl in what looked like a, English schoolgirl’s pinafore and skirt. A blue beret sat perched on her head. Quentin stared.

 “Holy shit.” He said, his voice cracking. “You’re . . .?”

 “Jane Chatwin.” The girl nodded. “And just as you always felt deep within your heart, Quentin, Fillory is very real and has existed for centuries.”

 “What do you mean, the Beast had it right the whole time?” Penny demanded, and Jane came closer.

 “My siblings and I once ruled Fillory. We understood that other children of earth would come eventually . . . all but Martin. That’s why he began to study dark magic. He wanted to live forever, and to rule forever. So when the seers of Whitespire foretold of the coming of a new king, it sent him into a paranoid rage. He made it his quest to find The Light Bringer and destroy him. It was my brother who ripped the page from the seer’s book.” She glanced at Eliot. “The book you carry in your coat . . . may I see it?”

“Book—oh! Forgot I had it.” He pulled the first edition book out and gave Quentin an apologetic glance. “If it’s damaged, I’ll buy you a new one. We thought it might come in handy.”

 “It’s okay.” Quentin nodded, watching as Jane opened the book. On the inside of the first page was an identical drawing of what the group had seen at Clabbercloud’s tent. Jane murmured a few words in Arabic and then teased the page open further, where it unfolded into a complete image of what they’d been unable to see before. The other figure was no page or guide—shafts of light were streaming from his fingers, surrounding the other in an ethereal glow.

 “Most people in Fillory knew about the prophecy, but thought the future king would be the one to bring the light. What they didn’t know is that the king would be brought to Fillory because of his love for the one my brother would steal from him.”

 “If your brother knew Quentin was The Light Bringer, why didn’t he just smoke him back at the looney bin?” Penny asked, and Jane smiled and shook her head.

 “My brother always had more than a touch of the theatrical to him. He loved cat-and-mouse games. He simply couldn’t resist playing one last time.” She glanced over at the pile of ash. “I always said it would be the death of him. Now . . . I think it’s time to crown the new kings and queen of Fillory.” She nodded as an ornate wood chest appeared at her feet and popped open, revealing two more crowns.

 “I call High Queen!” Margo announced, and Eliot gave her a warm, approving grin. Quentin took the crown from Eliot’s hand.

 “Kneel, Eliot Waugh.” He said, and Eliot’s smile widened. Quentin felt heat rise to his own cheeks.

 “Come on, it’ll just take a minute.”

 Eliot bowed his head. “As you wish, Light Bringer.” He said in a somber tone, but his amber eyes gleamed with humor. He knelt on the black sand, and Quentin stepped forward with the crown in his hands.

 “I know all of this was supposed to be spelled out in some kind of prophecy . . . but I think that destiny is bullshit when you’re a magician. Our futures, the kind of people we are, or turn out to be . . . it’s in our hands, no matter what the storybooks about us say.” His dark eyes filled with tears as he spoke, meeting Eliot’s bright gaze. “And I know that you are going to be a really, really good king. More than good. So—I, Quentin Coldwater, the Light Bringer, crown you High King Eliot, the Spectacular.” He placed the circlet of jade on Eliot’s head, and Eliot’s long dark lashes swept down in an expression that was close to ecstasy.

 “Thank you, Quentin.” He said after a moment. “I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” He offered his hands, and Quentin took them as he helped Eliot to his feet. Their gazes remained locked, and then Eliot leaned over to kiss the younger magician’s cheeks, then his lips. Surprise mixed with joy lit up Quentin’s face as Eliot pulled away. Margo glanced at Kady and Penny and shook her head, and Eliot grinned at them. “It’s good to be the king!” He turned to the chest and picked up a delicate crown made of gilded gold leaves. “Margo?”

 Margo went to him, her dark eyes tipping up to him.

 “I’m not kneeling.” She said in a jovial half-challenge, and Eliot nodded.

 “And I don’t expect you to.” He raised the crown and gently placed it on her head. “I hereby crown you High Queen Margo, the Destroyer.” He bent forward and cupped her face with his large, elegant hands. “I’ve known your worth since the day we met, Margo Hanson . . . and I wouldn’t want to rule Fillory without you by my side.” He said before kissing her cheeks, then her lips, as he had with Quentin, and Margo looked up at him.

 “We’re going to be legendary.” She said, and Eliot nodded.

 “And I thought being top bitch in Chelsea was a lofty position.” He picked up the last crown, silver shot through with delicate veins of gold, and turned to Quentin.

 “Kneel down, my Light Bringer.” He said, and Quentin went to one knee before him. “You bested the Beast, Quentin, but even before that, you were much braver than you ever believed, and you deserve to shape your own destiny. So, that being said, I hereby crown you King Quentin, the Courageous.” He set the crown on Quentin’s head and helped him stand. Quentin smiled.

 “No one’s ever called me courageous before.”

 “Except that you are. And not just because of what you did. You’ve been brave your whole life, Q . . . anyone else who lived the way you did without knowing they were a magician would have been dead a long time ago.”

 “Maybe.” Quentin looked up at the High King. “And if you’d allow me to be brave for a moment longer, I—I want to tell you that—uhm, I care about you, El. And you’re the only one who’s ever cared about me.” Quentin’s glance skittered away from Eliot’s as he finished speaking, and Eliot reached out to touch his chin with his thumb and index finger, stroking Quentin’s skin until the younger man looked up at him again. Eliot then claimed his lips as well as his gaze, their crowns creating a shining halo around them as their heads touched and the Fillorian sun bowed on the horizon for their joining.

 Epilogue

 Castle Whitespire

Six months later

 “Oh, My God . . . are you two at it again?”

 Eliot glanced up from the bed he, Quentin, and Margo shared. The mattress, stuffed with pegasi feathers, tilted as Quentin’s tousled head emerged from a mountain of blankets. His full, curved lips were shiny.

 “Oh! Uhmm—hey, Margo!”

 Margo sighed and put her hands on her hips.

 “The High King and the Bi King.” She drawled. Quentin sat up.

 “I guess I’m still getting used to this whole polyamorous marriage thing.” He admitted, and a small smile quirked up the corners of Margo’s mouth.

 “It’s fine, Q. I’ve actually admired your efforts over the past few months.” She took a few running steps and jumped into the roomy bed with them. Quentin slipped an arm around her as she leaned against Eliot’s shoulder, and Eliot smiled down at them both as the muted sounds of life at Whitespire went on as usual outside the walls of their castle sanctuary.

 In the months since the Beast’s defeat, Fillory had transformed from a fear-filled and dreary world to one of plenty and burgeoning joy. Eliot, Quentin, and Margo all ruled equally, and at Eliot’s suggestion, the three of them entered into a polyamorous trio that only strengthened the people’s trust in them. While Eliot and Margo remained close as ever, Eliot left the physical aspect of their relationship up to their husband, who was eager to explore his newfound sexuality with both his partners.

 “Any word from Kady and Penny today?” Eliot asked, and Margo settled in between them.

 “They’ve found over half a dozen doors into Fillory so far, not counting being able to travel with the button.” Margo glanced over at a nearby glassed-in shelf, protected with multiple wards, that held their magic button. “Kady is more than happy to act as our general and gatekeeper, just to make sure no nasties get in. She and Penny are still living at their loft, but they asked about maybe keeping a room here at the castle, too.”

 “Life with Penny. Just what I always wanted.” Quentin groaned, and Eliot chuckled as he reached over to stroke Quentin’s hair, which he was growing out.

 “Don’t worry, Q. As king, you can always decree that he not speak while he’s in the castle!”

 “Something tells me he’d find other ways to annoy me.” He slipped from the bed and pulled on a red and gold silk robe before going to the window. Outside, Fillorians bustled around the nearby village and along the roads, trading, working, building. Structures the Beast had destroyed were being rebuilt, and the stain of his terrible rule was slowly being wiped clean.

 “Q?” Eliot asked after a few moments. “What is it?”

 “I was just thinking about where I was six months ago . . . and where I am now. It’s everything I wanted, but nothing like I imagined. You know?” He asked, turning back to his partners, and Eliot nodded as he got out of bed and put on a robe.

 “It’s a far cry from Chelsea, but I don’t really miss it.” He went to Quentin and touched his face with both hands before slipping an arm around Margo as she followed him to the window. “For better or worse, Fillory is my home now. There’s a lot of good we can do here—at least as good as hedge witches can be.” Eliot picked up his crown from the purple velvet pillow it rested on while he slept and put it on, artfully arranging his dark curls around the glittering points of jade. As a few of Fillory’s residents spied Margo at the window and began to cheer, Eliot looked down at Quentin.

 “My Light Bringer.” He whispered, and leaned in to capture Quentin’s lips in a long, loving kiss. As the people outside continued to chant and cheer, Quentin pulled back and let all his fears, worries, and terrible memories of the past fall away into the promise in Eliot’s bright amber eyes as he reached up to touch his face.

 “Long live the king.”

 FIN