#You can tell I had the time of my life stylizing a new outfit for TC too. I really like the colors I chose in particular!
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Five Nights at Freddy's 2 saw its ninth anniversary just a couple of days ago, and to celebrate, I wanted to attempt a redesign of perhaps my favorite animatronic from the game (And one of my favorite animatronics overall)— Toy Chica! 💛✨🍕
#⭐ Star's Art ⭐#Five Nights at Freddy's#FNAF#Five Nights at Freddy's 2#FNAF 2#Toy Chica#Toy Chica FNAF#Toy Chica Fanart#Toy Cupcake#Redesign#Coolness#FNAF 2 is my favorite game in the series so of course I gotta show it some love...#... which naturally means I also gotta show my favorite character some love too 💞💞💞#It's been SEVERAL years (It's been so long some might say) since I've drawn Toy Chica last and let me tell you#It was a lot of fun drawing her again! I'd definitely like to redesign more of FNAF 2's cast in a similar vein to this piece#If I had to choose... I'd probably do a redesign of Withered Bonnie next as he's tied with Toy Chica for being my favorite in FNAF 2#You can tell I had the time of my life stylizing a new outfit for TC too. I really like the colors I chose in particular!#And of course I had to include the Toy Cupcake. Given how vicious Mr. Cupcake turned out to be in the FNAF movie...#... I thought it would be funny and cute to opt for a more 'No thoughts head empty' for its predecessor#I mean... that's how I'VE always seen it since 2014 XD
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i miss you (more than anything)
zhongli x gn!reader
- scenario; 2.4k words
- modern!au
- fluff
- jealousy
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zhongli isn’t one for jealousy— usually.
title from mitski - francis forever.
requested by anon.
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“an excellent choice, sir.”
again with the nicknames...
slender fingers pick up a considerably stylized box, the smooth white a stark contrast to dark, glove-adorned palms. zhongli turns the box over in his hands, inspecting the various fine print explanations splayed along the edges of the plastic. now this is...
BANG!
clink.
zhongli barely stifles a flinch at the sound of the door slamming, hinges squeaking and metal lock clicking into place with a whirlwind of motion. amber eyes flick up to the doorway, then back down to the polished counter.
five minutes late.
he sets the ice cube he’s handling into a wine glass after a brief pause, beginning to fashion up a flute of apple cider vinegar. the pattering of lively footsteps against tiled flooring rapidly grows nearer, clattering to a halt directly across the bar from where he stands.
“hey there, mister zhongli! looking just about as boring as ever!”
hu tao plops into the cushioned chair, swiveling back and forth on the seat and leaning forward to watch him pour the concoction.
(it’s designated for customers of course— though that’s only usually. she happens to claim, to his exasperation, that she has “owner privileges”; whatever that could possibly mean when the place itself is meant to serve the needs of customers: that would include the spacing and chairs they may potentially desire when they enter the premises. unfortunately, he’s given up on understanding on her whims.)
from his position across the counter, zhongli absentmindedly spies the edge of a bright-red butterfly wing from underneath her outfit’s loose, flowing sleeves, the simple pendant string looped twice around her wrist.
swallowtail.
it’s the name (”like the butterfly, zhongli! the butterfly!”) of the establishment he’s currently employed at and is “run” by the granddaughter of a distant relative (though the bar is legally owned by said relative’s family). due to his— well, rather particular (per say) spending habits and a lack of mindfulness regarding the matter of what they liked to call savings (why would there be a need for these “savings”? he’d like to protest he’s traversed life well enough without them), he’d been pushed into putting the multitude of experience from past jobs into this one.
and well, here he is now.
chop. chop.
two evenly-sliced apple slices tip over from against the blade of the knife and onto the wooden cutting board. fetching a sprig of mint from the small potted plant just below the rack of knives (growing lights and shelving did wonders in the spontaneous lighting of the nightclub), zhongli finished decorating the non-alcoholic drink of choice for the pseudo-proprietress. who knew what havoc she’d cheerfully throw herself into, archons forbid, if it were liquor. she’s already enough of a handful as it is.
he sighs in resignation and slides the beverage over. the ice tinkles in the glass confines. he does have a favor to ask today after all. hu tao gives the drink a sniff, then puffs her cheeks in mock anger.
“no alcohol? booooo, you’re such a rock.”
she takes a generous sip anyway.
“so, what did you call me here for? not very zhongli-like for you to ask something of lil’ ol’ me. archons, have you been replaced?”
she squints at him judgingly, then raises an eyebrow when he hesitates to answer.
“doesn’t look that way, old man.”
zhongli can feel the beginnings of a headache forming between his brows. he waves his hand dismissingly as if flicking away her babbling nonsense.
“i have a favor to ask of you.”
“oh-ho?”
hu tao smirks playfully and pushes the half-finished drink aside, craning her neck forward.
“what can i do for our esteemed mister zhongli, hm? hehe.”
zhongli clenches his fist under the edge of the woodwork in an effort to calm his raging annoyance.
(it doesn’t help.)
he should just ask, shouldn’t he..?
“..i’ve been pondering this for a number of days now, but nothing quite appropriate for the occasion has happened to come to mind... do you happen to have any gift ideas for...”
he looks to the side to avoid eye contact and trails off, but hu tao immediately gets the memo.
“ohhh..” her smile only grows wider, “this is for your daaaate—”
zhongli’s face flushes the slightest tinge of rosy pink and he hisses a sharp “shush!” through gritted teeth. and here he had thought she couldn’t get on his nerves beyond how she’d already acted thus far...
the cheshire grin on her face still continues to climb.
“well, you’ve definitely asked the right person! how about...”
some new polaroid film? is what she had proposed.
“it’s not some fancy-schmancy anniversary gift, no? just a date! a date! don’t worry yourself so much over it— no, don’t look at me like that. if you called me over to ask about it, you’re deeeefinitely losing hair over this— okay, okay, i got it! don’t kick me out! old man... sheesh. why don’t you get some more polaroid film and wrap it up all nice? useful and an excuse to take more pictures together! i know, i know, i’m a genius— mmph!”
he can still hear her voice bouncing around in his head (”can’t believe you’re getting rid of your boss, mister zhongli! didn’t take you for the rebellious type—”). zhongli brings his hand up to his temple and breathes out another sigh. it’s not like her idea was a terrible one; if anything, it were a wonderfully exquisite proposal— not that he would tell her.
“i’d like to purchase this, if you would.”
he hands the box over to the shopkeep, who scans the package and rings up the bill. indiscreetly, he feels up the pocket of his jacket. thank the archons he remembered his wallet today. it would certainly be embarrassing to put this particular item on your tab.
“sure thing, mister zhongli. i’m assuming this is a gift,” they eye him knowingly, “so would you like it wrapped up?”
deja vu, his brain mutters, this is very much deja vu. he shuts it up promptly.
“not this time, but you have my sincerest thanks for the offer. i’d like to wrap it myself.” he can feel his (generally..) expressionless face flaring up the faintest hint of pink and berates his mind once more. only when it comes to you...
acquiring the purchased item, zhongli dips his head in acknowledgement as he heads out. the plants hanging from baskets strung along the ceiling sway their leaves to and fro, nearly catching a wayward lock of his hair. he smooths the stray strand back.
“thank you once again, aether. let lumine know they can drop by for some tea again whenever they’d like for me, please.”
the bell hanging over the doorway tinkles when he pushes it open, and the bustle of the busy harbor seeps into the tranquility of the shop. aether nods and waves a hand at him in return, resting an arm on the cash register.
“come again.”
-
while he’d imagined many ways your planned outing could play out, this was certainly not one of them.
he’s approaching the meeting spot you two had decided on (right in front of the flowering quince tree near the park; its blooms resemble those of simpler, smaller silk flowers, and it happens to be quite the scenic location to wait) when he spies not only your stature, but another figure residing right besides you.
who...?
as he steps closer, he can hear your laughter, the kind that he knows bubbles out of your chest and escapes your lips unconsciously. your amusement isn’t lost on your companion apparently, because they smirk teasingly, letting out a full-blown laugh of their own.
“oh, zhongli, over here!”
your voice snaps him out of his meandering thoughts, and he stops fiddling with his earring (when did he start doing that?), continuing forward from where he’d paused in his observations of this newcomer. something starts to bloom in his chest, small and bittersweet. he’s not sure what to make of it.
following your beckoning, zhongli finally makes his way to your side, mentally taking note of your.. friend? he doesn’t remember you mentioning anyone like this before though. surely he would remember your friends, no?
his earring sways in the wind, white tassel fluttering cheerfully.
“zhongli, this is my friend kaeya. i met him when i made that trip to mondstadt awhile back, remember that? oh, and kaeya, this is my boyfriend zhongli.”
(the little dragon curled up in his heart preens at your introduction of him, small and sweet.)
ice blue meets molten gold when zhongli’s eyes dart up to make eye contact with this stranger. they squint at him, assessing, then dip into the makings of a playful twinkle. a hand reaches out for a handshake, which he returns in equal measure. interesting...
“he got a little lost touring liyue and i happened to see him here in the park. small world, huh? i know it was our day love, but do you mind if we take him around for today?”
zhongli smiles appeasingly, gentle and assuring as always. he can recognize the slightly nervous look on your face, one that’s a stark contrast to how energetic you’d looked just a few minutes ago. if kaeya’s company makes you happy and you’d like to take him around, then who is he to refuse your request? you two will have more time to spend with just the two of you later, he reasons with himself. accompanying your friend, and in turn his acquaintance, is nothing big.
(and no, it’s certainly not you calling him love that makes him cave.)
“of course we can.”
tugging at the string of his eyepatch, kaeya swiftly ties his hair back and adjusts the collar of his shirt. “so, where to first?”
zhongli takes your hand in his, squeezing softly. you squeeze back.
getting along together should come just fine.
-
he takes it back.
he takes it all back.
he’d accepted it at first because, well, this was your friend. he shouldn’t be controlling who you interact with nor who befriended you - that’s not up to him. it shouldn’t ever be. however— with every passing moment that kaeya inched closer to you, taking up the entirety of your attention and bringing that bright, bright grin to your face—
(this was supposed to be your date. just the two of you. he hasn’t seen you in a month; surely he can feel a bit selfish, right?)
the three of you turn the corner to an intricately-themed restaurant and pause, where even zhongli looks appreciatively at the beautifully grown bamboo stalks lining the edges of its front walls.
“wanmin restaurant,” kaeya reads, craning his neck up to gaze at the signboard. bold red calligraphy is sprawled across the rough-cut wood. “awfully simple name for such a stunning place, isn’t it?”
if he weren’t stewing in a pot of conflicted emotions, zhongli would surely inform him of how carefully selected this title was, how it represented more than just a name, how it hid at least several decades worth of effort and teachings— but as it is, he (really, of all people) has no patience for that at the moment.
first tugging on the hem of your outfit, zhongli then takes you by the elbow and hastily leads you forward to the glass doors of the establishment. he grasps your hand in his as usual, but something must be off, because you twitch a little and look at him curiously.
he turns his head away, lips pursed just the slightest.
“let us dine here for the time being. it is an appropriate time and place, after all.”
the sun shines brightly in the clear sky as if illuminating his words.
kaeya raises an eyebrow, singular eye looking on inquisitively and arms crossed, then moves further ahead of you both once more. the corner of his mouth dips in a clear show of mirth. bowing with one arm held at the waist, one not unalike a formality from a server, he looks straight into zhongli’s eyes and holds the door open for entrance.
“that sounds like an excellent idea. well, if you would.”
-
“thanks for the tour around you two.”
kaeya hums his thanks with a cheerful lilt to his voice as you all stand under the porchlight of zhongli’s house.
(it’s not the largest abode, but it’s cozy and sweet, and it’s definitely enough for the both of you whenever you decide to stay over. tonight is one of those nights, and they may as well become more frequent after the trip you took abroad.)
his car keys reflect the glow of the bulb, swinging around his finger in loops. they clink noisily, metal against metal, and he grabs them all at once, halfway through another turn. in his car sits a box of treasure-themed artifacts, likely old and had found its way into your hands somehow. zhongli knows you’d been meaning to give them to someone, but he hadn’t known it were kaeya— either way, the artifacts that’d been laying on his shelves for weeks were now handed off.
ruffling your hair, kaeya pulls you in for a brief hug; although zhongli can feel the bitter pang in his chest, he stays where he stands, keeps it still and small. he can wait.
that said, the moment kaeya drives off, he’s hauling you into the house and curling up on the couch, pulling you onto his lap and tugging you into his arms. the long thought over gift sits patiently on the counter. it’s waited the entirety of today; it can wait another.
right now, he needs you.
your body sinks against his, relaxing from the lively, though exhausting, day. slumped against his chest, he burrows his head in the crook of your shoulder and cuddles you, nuzzling into your neck. finally, you’re home. home with him.
it’s warm...
“..it was our day...”
you shift your head at his mumbling, lifting his chin to presumably look at his expression. your attention is his now. not kaeya’s. not anyone else’s. just his.
(his eyes are soft and droopy, smudged red making them look especially mellow in the dim lighting, and lips pushed into the slightest pout. he knows what you’re seeing when you gaze at him fondly, and you can almost see the puppy eyes he sports. how unusual of him.)
“someone’s a little jealous here, hmmm?”
you drag out the syllables teasingly, and from lips that are pressing kisses against your skin, he responds a little muffled—
“perhaps.”
#zhongli#genshin impact#fluff#jealousy#zhongli x gn!reader#zhongli x reader#genshin impact scenarios#genshin impact imagines#request#cecilia
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Swapping Styles For A Day
I know I said that I won't be posting anything new until Revin week came but I just had to share this new thing I just wrote. It's the two swapping closets, so basically Red's dressed like a geek and Kevin's dressed... Uh, something cool and nothing like Kevin wears bc I see Red as a girl with multiple fashion styles.
Another reason why I am putting this up is because I would love to see art of this. Like imagine Kevin with make- up and like black nail polish and a piercing. Maybe a skirt too? He doesn't put a skirt on here bc I don't see him being confident enough for it just yet.
Also, please don't judge the ending. I didn't know how to end it but I did my best. :/
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Kevin gulped as his girlfriend had a self- piercing gun in her hands, shaking as she got it ready on his right ear. "D- do we r-really have to do this, Red?"
Red raised a brow as she pulled the piercing device away from his ear, adjusting the glasses she had on. "No, we don't. But you kept on insisting we do this to me all day... So, what? Did you change your mind once we got to piercing your ears?"
"Well, did you have to get pierced ears, Red?! You know, you could have gone through your whole life without piercing your ears..." Kevin nervously rubbed one of his ears.
"I know that but I just... wanted to get my ears pierced. For funsies, I guess." Red shrugged, rubbing her own ears. "Alright, Kev... What's it gonna be? Like you said, you don't have to get it..."
He rubbed his ear some more as he bit his bottom lip before sighing. "I'm doing it! You have pierced ears, so I should get at least one of my ears pierced for tomorrow! Do it, Red! Just do it already!" The male grabs hold of her free hands and squeezes it tightly.
"Okay, if you say so... Great. Now, I'm nervous for you..." Red gulped a bit as she positioned the piercing gun onto his right ear again. "Alright then... One, two, three!" She pierces his right ear lobe once she finished counting.
Kevin screamed at the top of his lungs which makes Red scream at the top of hers. After a few seconds, they had calmed down and Red puts a simple black earring on his newly pierced ear.
"You know there are such things as clip on earrings, right?" Red calmed herself down while handing Kevin a mirror. "We could have just gotten those kinds of earrings for you instead of making ourselves scream there for piercing your ears..."
"Yeah, I do..." Kevin grabs the mirror and admired the new piercing he got. "But it wouldn't have felt authentic to what we have planned for tomorrow, I guess... I don't know. You did a pretty good job with it though. It looks good."
"Heh, thanks. I never even used anything like this before. I had my ears pierced by a professional, after all." She snickered as she looked at the piercing gun in her eyes. "And please, what you have planned for tomorrow... Remember, this is all your idea..." Red rolled her eyes, lying on her bed and putting her glasses on top of her head. "I have no idea where you got the idea of partners swapping closets but it is cute, not gonna lie. But also hard for us, seeing as I have such a wide style of clothes to chose from. I don't have just one aesthetic I regularly stick to. Meanwhile, you just have... Geek." She gestured to his current outfit before snickering again.
"Hey!" Kevin opened his mouth then quickly shut it, pouting as he got up to sit next to her. "Okay, maybe that's true... But like, that's why I let you dress me from time to time. I can see how my geek style can get a little redundant." He yelped when Red suddenly hugged him and made him lie next to her. "Umm, what's this for?"
"To tell you this right to your face, Mister. I may love dressing you and it's fun from time to time, I still like how you regularly dress the most. That's your unique style and one of the many reasons why I fell for you. You are one adorable geek, my Captain." She kisses his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark on it. "Though, for tomorrow, I guess that's gonna change, huh? So, how do you feel about putting on make-up for tomorrow?"
He gulped nervously, gesturing to her face. "Nothing like... This intense, right? Don't get me wrong! There is absolutely nothing wrong with males wearing make-up. But I am a little intimidated when it comes to more intense looks like yours..."
"Intense looks like mine?" She snickered before bursting out in laughter. "Please, it's Goth make-up that looks really intense. I am more diet goth in a way. I don't think any of those intense looks goth do will suit me, anyway. But you know, pretending to be a dark angel awoken something in me that day... It made me want to try some looks that don't border on straight up goth." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, my usual make-up look is just a bit of eyeliner, light blush and then dark colored lipstick so it'll pop out against my bright asshole red hair. That's it, pretty simple really."
"Hey! No!" Kevin pouted angrily at her, gently cupping her cheeks as he looks right into her eyes. "Your gorgeous red hair is one of the many things I love about you, Red. Do not just insult it like that."
"Hmm? Oh, Kevin, honey. I love you so much." She smiles softly as she gave him a few Eskimo kisses. "I just meant that as an expression, okay? You can't really deny that my hair is an overwhelmingly bright red color, right?"
"Mmm, I guess not... But still! No more insulting your hair like that!" His pout grew which makes Red kiss him on the lips. "Hey, I'm being serious here!"
Red smirked as she got up, putting her glasses back on properly. "Oh, were you now? I thought you were begging for a kiss there~" She teased, winking before opening up her closet. "I am very thankful to past me on buying the same shirts you have in my size! What with wanting to match every now and again" She giggles as she pulls out a bunch of geek t-shirts from her closet. "I know the whole thing is swapping closets but let's be real here... There is no way I am fitting in anything that isn't a jacket from your closet... Well, maybe a crop top fit but I don't really wanna freeze, tomorrow..."
"Hey! We're swapping closets tomorrow! Just what do you think you're doing, Red?!" He sat up as he gave her a serious expression, his arms crossed.
"I know, I know. Calm down, sweetie. I'm just picking out my options of clothes for tomorrow, okay? Because it would be much more quicker for us tomorrow if I just wear what I already picked out than going through my closet for the whole day, okay? Okay!" She beamed and smiled at him as she looked through her closet for something Kevin could wear tomorrow. "So, about the make-up, Kev... You didn't really give me a clear answer, you know."
"I didn't? Well, like I said, nothing too crazy. I'm fine with some lipstick and a bit of eyeliner. But that's about it, I guess. So, yes?" He shrugged then made a noise when Red threw a shirt at him.
"Alright! Good! And how about a skirt? Are you okay with wearing something like that tomorrow?" She threw a few bottom options at him. "Because if not, there are short shorts and ripped skinny jeans..."
"A skirt? I mean, I think guys should be allowed to wear skirts and stuff but I'm not really sure if it'll look good on someone like me..." He hummed. "So, if it's okay with you, I think I'll just stick with the ripped skinny jeans."
"Oh, Kev! Of course, I am! It's not like I always just wear a skirt, after all. I switch it up every now and again. And I get not having enough confidence to wear a skirt... It's not easy for guys who want to try it to just immediately wear it in public without being ridiculed. So, I'm not gonna force you to wear something you don't want to wear." She smiled before sighing, lying in bed again. "Okay, I know I said I wanna plan our outfits for tomorrow but I am beat... What else is there?"
"Hmm..." Kevin played with some of his hair which immediately gave him an idea. "Oh! I know! Since you have such an amazingly crazy hair color, I probably should have one too! But you know, more stylized... Something like..." He taps on his chin. "Luka from Miraculous Ladybug!"
"Oh my God, I always wanted to try out the way his hair is colored on you! But never found the right reason to!" She giggles as she plays with his hair. "Until now, I guess... I feel like we should work on that now because I know that will take a long time."
He nodded. "Alright, let's go shopping for the things we need!" He stands up then turns to face Red. "So, that's the last thing we will be doing to prepare for tomorrow, right? We have picked out the clothes we are going to wear tomorrow, haven't we?"
"We sure have! Now, come on! Let's go!" Red beamed, suddenly getting a burst of energy as she got up from her bed and pulls Kevin out her home.
*time skip to tomorrow because idk how to write them dying Kevin's hair...*
"I'm gonna be honest, Red... I didn't think my hair would end up looking good after dying it..." Kevin continued to admire the work his girlfriend had done with his hair in the bathroom mirror. He had been doing this ever since she finished.
"It's not the first time I dyed hair, Kev... It was way easier this time on someone other than myself." Red snickered as she adjusts her glasses before looking into the mirror. "God, it's weird to not be putting my contacts on when going out. Hell, this will be my first time going out with my prescription glasses..." She examines her reflection while putting her hair up in a simple ponytail.
Kevin finally exited the bathroom, unable to contain the blush and smile on his face as he hugged Red from behind. "Wow, Red... Despite dressing up like a geek, you sure still look so beautiful..."
"Hmm?" Red looked down to face him, blushing at his compliments. "Oh, uh... Thank you, Kev... And you... You sure look more damn handsome with what you're wearing right now."
"Oh? I do? Really? Thanks!" Kevin beamed up at her, giving her a dorky grin which makes her blush more.
"Yes, you really do... And uh, you're welcome. Fuck, I honestly didn't think make- up would make you look even more attractive! But here you are before me looking... Gorgeous! That's just the magic of make- up, I guess..." She covers half her face to hid her blushing.
"Right! The make-up! I mean, I felt you put it on me earlier but I don't even feel it on me right now! Like it feels natural almost." He giggles as he looks down on his nails. "My nails, too! You painting them black feels oddly natural too!"
Red pouts as she looks down at her clear nails. "You don't usually wear nail polish, so I feel weird without wearing nail polish for a day. But I was not gonna give up make- up. I need to put the lightest amount of make- up I could. What with my obvious imperfections in my face, after all."
"Well, with or without make- up, I think you are still the most beautiful girl in the world." Kevin gets on his tiptoes to kiss Red on the cheek, gasping when he left a mark on it and points at where he marked her. "Oh! Now, I marked you with lipstick!"
Red turns to look at the mark he left, giggling as she wiped it off. "Now, while it does compliment the look, I personally like it without this..." She pulls out a black beanie. "Then again, I don't want you getting cold..."
"You say that as I wear a slight crop top along with ripped skinny jeans..." He snickered. "But anyway, yeah. Let me have it. At least my head will be warm..." He grabs the hat from her hold and puts it on top of his head with Red adjusting it a bit.
"And there we are! Our completed swapped closet looks! Ready to go out and have people be staring at you, Kev?" Red asked him as she offered an arm out to him.
"Of course, I a- Wait, staring at me? Why would they be staring at me? You are the more attractive one between the two of us! And before you disagree, may I remind you just how many guys from our school, to this day, still say they have a crush on you?"
Red snickered, grabbing hold of his hand. "Well, you are wearing something very eye-catching... So, trust me when I say that people will be staring at my super hot boyfriend. I mean, I always knew he was hot from the start but this look just really elevates his hotness scale..." She kisses his cheek before walking out of her bedroom with him.
"I, uh... Same with you, I guess?" Kevin got completely flustered at her compliments. "But you know, I would prefer seeing you as very beautiful no matter what you wear."
She giggles as she looks at him before smirking as she saw people staring at them. "See? What did I say? You're the eye candy between the two of us for today..."
He gulped and shyly hides behind her. "I hate it whenever you're right, sometimes... How do you even deal with all these people staring at you, Red?"
She hummed before making him look into her eyes by putting a finger under his chin. "Simple, I remind myself that I have the most amazing person right next to me. Then my confidence just skyrockets..."
His attention wasn't at her words whatsoever as he blushed while looking back at her. "Even in the most geeky clothing, you manage to make me swoon..."
The redhead playfully rolls her eyes at him fawning over her, squeezing his hand that she was still holding. "Focus, Kev... Remember, I'm right here. No one else matters, okay? Just ignore all the staring and focus on me."
Kevin shook his head to stop himself from swooning, nodding with a brand new confident look on his face. "Okay, I got it. Thanks, Red. You gave me the perfect amount of confidence I need."
Red didn't say anything more, simply nodding back as they continued about their day. Not caring if people were staring because they found them attractive or if it was because they looked silly. All that mattered to them was each other.
#sp red tucker#red sp#red x kevin#red mcarthur#sp kevin#kevin stoley#kevin x red#sp red#red tucker#south park red#sp revin#revin#south park#south park ships#sp ships#oneshot
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Welcome Home - Part Four
todoroki shouto x mom!reader
warnings: vomit tw, fluff
word count: 3,062
a/n: so we back and better than evah with domestics for shouto and kaito!!!!! got some requests to do this, and finally after having this done since like august. its finally posted!!!!!! enjoy anons!!!! also can totally be read as a stand alone, but ill link the other parts too.
Part One Part Two Part Three
It was safe to say you were in pain.
It was currently week twenty of your second pregnancy. To say the least you are always exhausted, in pain, hormonal, sad, angry, elated, and swollen. Even at week twenty, you were not at all showing. It had helped you continue to be an active Pro-Hero until week fifteen. It was now nearing the holidays. Statistic speaking most villain activity spiked around that time. So when you almost fainted on the job, Shouto forced you into maternity leave.
With Kaito still being four and requiring you to be around, you couldn’t go back and teach at U.A.! So you were able to stay at home restless, unattended to, and alone.
You were now in your second trimester of pregnancy and you still had yet to tell Kaito. Hell! You still hadn’t seen the doctor outside of the pregnancy confirmation! As of lately, the paparazzi were interfering with your personal lives. You weren’t public with this pregnancy secret yet.
To be rather honest, it scared you to tell Kaito. The absolute thought of telling your sweet baby boy made you too nervous. It was to the point you were shivering and sweating thinking about it. You weren’t sure how he was going to react to this news. He would be turning five in a few weeks too. The night you had told Shouto you are pregnant again you promised something. You promised Shouto that the two of you would break the news before his birthday. But your fears were getting to you.
The last thing you wanted was for Kaito to feel that you were going to abandon him! He had bawled so much on the first day of preschool because he thought you and Shouto were leaving him! Yes, he is older than that first day of school, but he was still a mama’s boy! Even at five, Kaito demanded and loved the attention he got from the both of you! Babies were time and energy-consuming. Kaito already had less time with both of you working. Even with the above-average energy and stamina you and Shouto had, you were sure tire every day.
So there you sat at home. You were crying as you thought about your redheaded baby as you tried cleaning. The other sound besides your sobs was the TV. You were currently watching a LIVE interview with Pro-Hero Shouto.
Shouto was out on another island of Japan right now. He was finishing a national tour that his PR team made him go on. Given that your pregnancy was still unknown he agreed, as you two said no one could know until Kaito knew. But as you scrubbed the living room table, you wailed looking at Shouto. Your husband was looking way too attractive with his newest hero costume. On top of everything, this pregnancy was making you horny. And you couldn’t even do anything about it without Shouto there! Well, you could, but you ached so much! Most nights you almost always fell asleep the moment when your head hit the pillows. At least when Shouto wasn’t home that's what happened. Stupid baby hormones.
You turned your attention back to the TV screen. The interview so far had been about a recent villain attack Shouto had put down in world-record speeds. Shouto had captured twenty villains in two seconds because they froze when they saw him. None of which having an effective quirk to counter the ice trapping their bodies. After a commercial break, and a promise of learning more about the personal life of Shouto, they were back! You were curious about what was going to happen. Shouto, after all, was still missing a few situational cues even at the age of twenty-eight.
“So, Shouto!” The TV hostess chirped, pushing the wisps of her hair that fell out of her bun out of her face. “You and another amazing Pro-Hero: Y/h/n make a fantastic duo out there fighting villains! You two have amazing chemistry out on the field.”
You couldn’t help the laughs that escape your lips at that statement. Oh, if only Pro-Hero Shouto was the same as Provisional Licensed Shouto in dealing with the media. He would have been so confused with that statement. You watched Shouto’s composed face melt from his media face into one you recognize as one he uses when you talk to him. “Yes, Y/h/n is, in fact, a wonderful hero, and she is amazing to work with no matter the task.”
“I bet it helps she’s your wife, too, huh?” The hostess blushes as she giggles and shouts of approval and joy echo with the live audience.
Shouto chuckles as he nods his head, “It does help, yes.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes. You and Shouto were one of the first top-ranked Pro-Heroes to get married. The both of you had been the Number One Hero at some point within your so far ten-year career. It also seemed that no matter how many years of marriage went by. Or how many times the media mentioned it, everyone still giggled about your romance. As if you both were in denial.
“And of course, your beautiful baby, Kaito-kun!”
The screen behind them presents the single photo you and Shouto had shared of Kaito. It was the first day of school for him. Kaito was wearing the navy blue uniform of the school. The shorts ironed, crisped, and clean. The white-collar of his shirt peaked out over the blue blazer of his school. The crest printed over the right pocket. Kaito’s blazing red hair had a styled back into a 'comb-over'. It was fancy for school! But Kaito had insisted he wanted it stylized “like papa” as it was Shouto’s go-to for any fancy event.
Kaito's smile was large and wide. His eyes squinted because of the large grin. Despite the amount of excitement and enthusiasm in the picture, he clutched onto your leg. You remembered the tight grip he had on you. Because while he loved taking pictures, he was nervous about starting pre-school. You had been wearing a nice, modest outfit of yours in celebration of his new year. Stylized and with makeup on. You had a hand on Kaito, while the other held onto Shouto. A smile on your face.
Shouto was also dressed up in a navy blue suit. Kaito begged him to wear it in case he was the only one in a navy blue uniform.
Kaito didn’t quite understand that everyone was going to be wearing the same uniform. Still, Shouto had dressed up the way Kaito demanded to ease his anxiety. Kaito believed no one could make fun of him if the Pro-Hero Shouto–his papa–dressed up that way! Shouto’s hair styled exactly like Kaito, and a gentle smile on his face. His arm wrapped around you as well. His other hand resting on top of your hand resting on top of Kaito’s shoulder.
Of course, after the photo was taken, you and Shouto walked Kaito to the classroom. Kaito bawled for quite a long time, and you cried with him too. Shouto had to hug you that entire morning because you had been so sad. When you and Shouto went to pick him up later that day Kaito was ecstatic to tell you about his day. Many of his classmates were in awe over who his parents were and so it helped him to create friends.
“What a beautiful family, I'm serious. I’m jealous!” The hostess sighed as there was another round of vocal agreement from the crowd.
“Yeah, Kaito and Y/n make me happier,” Shouto says softly as he continues looking at the photo of the three of you. “They are my world.”
The audience and you make an awing noise, but your tears crack your voice.
“Speaking of family,” The hostess slyly states, a cunning twinkle in her eye. “Can you give us any insight on why Y/h/n retired from the scene for a while? Don’t think we haven’t noticed her not appearing with you for the past few weeks!”
Shouto chuckles as he shifts in his seat, “Is she pregnant again?” The hostess questions, and your heart rate increases, and as Shouto’s mouth opens to lie, your alarm goes off. Cursing under your breath, you run to your phone, it was time to pick up Kaito from school.
“Mama! GueSS WHAT!” Kaito shrieked as he threw himself into your arms, and you groaned as his knee hit up against your sore stomach.
“Let me see, did your best friend finally get his quirk?”
“Well, he did it’s super cool, he can make food appear whenever he wants! I had so many chicken nuggets!” Kaito exclaims as you press a kiss to his temple, his once styled hair resembled close to a rats nest on his head. Oh, those Todoroki men just could never keep their hair tidy. “But that’s not it, silly mama!”
You hummed in thought. Kaito's waiting for your response as he waves goodbye to his fellow friends and strangers. “Did you find your missing sock? The one you weren’t wearing when I came to pick you up yesterday?” You asked tickling Kaito’s stomach.
“Well… I lied, I well... I accidentally burned it when I was showing off my quirk to my friend.” Kaito meekly stated and you laughed, he had already told you that yesterday. It seemed that he had already forgotten.
“Okay, well your mama is out of guesses, what happened today?” You asked as Kaito placed his head on your shoulder, his fingers playing with your hair.
“Midoriya-chan had a baby brother.” Kaito sighed as he placed your hair against his face, and you looked down at Kaito who stared back at yours. His y/e/c piercing through you, but he had no idea that he was. “Which means that Midoriya-ojii-san can’t come to babysit me anymore!”
You nod your head as you sighed. Typical Kaito forgetting that he had found that out a few weeks ago! You and Shouto had taken Kaito to the hospital to meet Midoriya's new baby too. You and all your female friends had by coincidence gotten pregnant around the same time. It seemed that it was still happening even now.
“We met baby Midoriya last week, remember?” You prod softly as you let Kaito down as he bounded up the door, “Didn’t you say you wanted to be a big brother to him?”
“I want to be a big brother!” Kaito agreed, his head nodding as you unlocked the door, “But only so that the baby can eat my asparagus!”
Laughter overtakes you, and quickly you began to cry as you locked the door behind you. After settling down you instruct Kaito to finish his homework as he was ready to do anything but that.
Later that night, you and Kaito sat at the table eating dinner while singing along to the songs on the radio. Kaito sighed rubbing his face, “Mama, when’s papa coming back? He’s been gone for so long! I miss him...”
Your face fell in the overwhelming love you had for your child and his love for his father. “I miss your papa, too. He’s supposed to be back tomorrow, baby. Remember he called us last night and told you?”
“Yeah, but he could’ve been lying! Like when he tells you he’s doing nothing when me and him get cookies! Okay, but don’t tell him I miss him!” Kaito grinned as he shoved white rice into his mouth.
“Why wouldn’t I tell your papa that?!” You gasp looking at Kaito with squinted eyes, he was such a brat sometimes.
“Easy! I wouldn’t want papa to be sad, and then make you mad because papa loves me more than he loves you!”
You roll your eyes at your red-headed child and sighed. “I can do that, as long as you promise not to tell your papa that he’s no longer my favorite!”
“HAHAHA PAPA ISN’T YOUR FAVORITE—hey, wait, maMA!!”
The sounds of Kaito and you shouting and laughing audible from down the street. The night seems to only begin as you and your son play fought around the dining room.
But it came to a quick end when you had to stop Kaito who was trying to climb up your leg. Your body felt completely nauseous, and the gag in your throat told you that you were about to throw up. So you ran to the bathroom, Kaito’s worried screams following after you.
Bile and vomit rose up your throat as your retched into the toilet. The bitter acid burning your mouth as you threw up for a solid minute. You felt like your body was on fire as you sank to the floor unable to stop your sobs.
“Are you okay, mama?! Please tell me you're okay, mama!” Kaito shook your shoulder, and you could hear the tears in his voice as you rose back up to throw up again.
“Kaito-chan, move please.” The smooth voice of your husband calls and you look up to see Shouto in the doorway, still donning his costume.
“Papa, mama is th-throwing up!” Kaito sobbed as Shouto stepped over to you. Placing his left hand on your back, and his right hand on your neck, your body felt better as soon as his quirk activates.
Your sobs slowly stopped. You felt your sickness ease while Shouto is careful while massaging your body. Kaito is now plugged by your side, his cheeks wet with tears, and you rub your fingers into his scalp. Your free hand moves to touch your beginning to swell belly as you looked up at Shouto. Your head nodding, and a nonverbal agreement came between the two of you. You were sure you had vomit in the corner of your mouth, but Shouto leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. It's an encouraging kiss, and you feel at ease. After flushing the toilet for you, Shouto sat down on the bathroom floor, handing you a cup of water that you swallow down in thanks.
The entire Todoroki family finally accounted for.
“I’m okay, baby,” You whisper, continuing to stroke Kaito's head, “I’m okay.”
“What’s wrong with you, mama?” Kaito asks, his eyes red and puffy as he stared into your face. His tiny hands coming to press themselves up against your cheeks. “You’re not dying, are you!?”
You watch as Shouto comes and places a hand on Kaito’s head, ruffling his hair softly. “We actually have a secret we need to tell you,” Shouto says as Kaito whips his head to stare at his father. “You have to promise to keep our little secret though.”
Kaito blinks a few times. He is unsure of what this secret could be, but he nods his head as he squirms in your arms until he’s sitting in your lap. “I can... I can do that.”
“You know how I asked you if you wanted to be a big brother earlier?” You say nuzzling Kaito’s soft hair with your nose. You feel Kaito’s head nod, he was still oblivious to what's coming.
“Your mama is pregnant, Kaito.” Shouto continues as the two of you study Kaito, who turns his attention towards you. His confusion on the word pregnant swimming in his eyes.
“You’re going to be a big brother, Kaito-chan.” You whisper, tears forming in your eyes.
Kaito stands up from your lap and sits on his knees, staring at your belly. You watch as your breath hitches as he gets rather close to your belly, and places his small hand on you. “Hi, little brother, or little sister, my name is Todoroki Kaito! I’m your big brother! I don’t really know what you do? Did my mama eat you? If so, I will tell her to poop you out because that’s mean of her! I’m mama AND papa’s favorite though, so don’t be jealous when you find out they love me more! Oh! Also! I have a lot of toys you can play with!”
You stared up at Shouto with tears flowing down your face. Your facial expressions changing from glee to utmost sadness. But your eyes gaze lovingly at your husband who also wipes a tear away as your son talks to your belly. You grabbed Shouto’s hands bringing him closer to you.
You kissed him gently, over and over.
“Welcome home, Shoucchan.” You sniffle as he continued pressing small pecks to your mouth.
“Papa is kissing mama, it’s pretty gross!! Papa takes all the kisses away from mama, and all the leftovers are for me, so don’t be sad if you don’t get any! We’ll just have to kick papa out of mama's kiss list!”
A snort escapes Shouto’s as he leans back rolling his eyes, “Damn kid,” He whispers and you laugh full of mirth.
“You know what, Kaito-chan?” You say as your son tears his one-sided conversation from your belly.
“What, mama?”
“Your papa does lie a lot, look he’s back today!”
there’s going to be one more part for this little unintentional series, but i think after that it may be time to retire kaito and co. only because i don’t want to bore you all. i hope you guys liked it! please comment and like if you did ;)
bonus!
“Alright, y/n-sama, and Todoroki-sama, and Kaito-chan! Let’s have a look at the baby!” The doctor smiles as she places the gel on your belly. A gasp escaping your lips from the coldness and sudden pressure of the ultrasound on your stomach.
“So my mama didn’t eat my baby? Are you sure?!” Kaito asks again as he holds onto your hand peering at your relatively small belly still. “She doesn’t look fat enough to have done that!”
“Kaito!” You and Shouto exclaim, staring at your son who decides to laugh as he plays with you hair.
“How many weeks are you again?” Your doctor asked, confusion coming across her face.
“Twenty-two.” You say glancing her way, you were nervous, why was that a major concern.
“Well, if you would like to look, here’s your first babies head.” The doctor states. Her finger pointing at a fuzzy circle. You were never good at seeing the baby through an ultrasound picture.
Wait did she say—
“First?!” Kaito says a horrified gasp on his face, “MY MAMA ATE TWO BABIES?!”
“Congrats Todoroki-san’s, you’re having twins! One girl and one boy!”
You looked over at Shouto who seemed just as shocked as you. “Oh my god…”
Tears flow out your eyes and you see the same for Shouto as he comes down to give you the gentlest of kisses.
“Papa, mama ate my baby brother and sister and you’re kissing her?! You must reaaallllyyyy love her!”
“I do really love your mama, Kaito-chan, don’t you?”
“Of course I do! BUT she ate my baby brother and baby sister. That's CRAZY!"
#todoroki shouto#todoroki shoto x reader#todoroki x reader#bnha writing blog#bnha#bnha x reader#bnha todoroki#bnha imagines#mha#mha imagines#mha x reader#mha todoroki#mha scenarios#bnha scenarios#mha imagine#bnha domestics#todoroki fluff#dad!shouto
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Can you make a video on anatomy for drawing pls? I'm suffering ;-; (also if you can do one for clothing folds that would be cool to)
Hey my dude. I don’t really think I’m any authority on this topic especially since I most of the time wing it and study references for complex poses....
Here some videos of creators I like on YouTube though of their tips and stuff:
Jazza a comic artist and all around funny content creator! He also has videos on testing various mediums of differing values so you can see about what you want to spend your money on!
Sycra a very very good creator who has a bunch of tutorial videos on their account! One of my favorites is their tutorial on foreshortening!
LavenderTowne who is honestly one of my favorite artists on YouTube. She has a cool series of redesigning characters but also has this little tips to help avoid some mistakes you often see in new artists for anatomy that are a often easily overlooked! (also helps to see anatomy in a stylized way rather than just closer to semi-realism)
and last but certainly not least, the man who helped shaped my entire basis for being an artist: Chris Hart . If that name rings a bell, think back to any how to draw anime book you ever had as a kid and it’s likely he was the author/artist who was credited.
As for clothing fold tutorials,
Mark Crilley ‘s video is a little old, but still good! Another well known name for the early how to draw manga books I was very much into!
Jazza comes up again and also has a wonderful video discussing this topic!
LavenderTowne is also here again as well! (If you couldn’t tell I do have a list of people i trust about talking about these sorts of things)
I’m also sure there’s tons of books and posts that can help detail how to draw these sorts of things, but I do understand that videos are often a big help compared to them! A big extra tip from yours truly??? ALWAYS KEEP PRACTICING!!!! Like, I cannot express how important that step is. I didn’t learn to draw anatomy or clothes over night! (also if you have the time to do so, draw based off of real life models! Google for a vague outfit you want and practice the anatomy from that pose and the clothing folds from the outfit!!!!)
#graedari answers#ask: anon#drawing resources#maybe one day#but like#i really dont think i could talk yall through how i visualize anatomy in my adhd brain
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I'm not mad for the three word prompts pls xx
“I’m not mad”, 3 word prompts
I couldn’t sleep last night and instead of writing the prompt that has an actual deadline and due in a few days, I decided to write this because @sothischickshe is so nice and keeps giving me internet kudos, and I wanted to answer their prompt. <3 This is kind of a weird, nonsensical conversation. I know I’m not selling it, but truly I wrote it at 3 in the morning. Also yes, there’s lot of endearments in this that haven’t yet been used this way in the show, don’t @ me.
On Ao3, too.
Set: One day in the future when Brio is an item.
-
Beth had made a mistake. She had started the bread late, off schedule.
The meet with their new contact was pushed back from a blithe afternoon meet and greet at Rio’s bar to eight in the evening semi-dinner that wasn’t incredibly tense but not really the kind of thing you actually wanted to eat at. But, regardless of business woes, she was still committed to making walnut bread whether she liked it or not. The parent group for Emma, Jane, and Marcus’s soccer team organized a bake sale for the team. Despite the ever-present shadiness of upper-middle-class, overly prideful parents, she had happily committed herself to three loaves - one for each of the children. It could be worse. At least she was no longer at a stage where all of her babies were elementary school-aged, and running ragged trying to room mother and volunteer at games.
Successful as the day was with their new connects, her whole bread-making schedule had been thrown off. By the time they had gotten home it was after eleven and she just had time to start the bulky second prove before she collapsed in exhaustion from the long day. Rio had tugged her zombie-like to bed.
But that was then and this was - now. Her over-disciplined mind had woken her up at an hour that still qualified as the middle of the night to shape the bread. Beth tried to undergo the mental gymnastics of which floorboards to avoid, to make it all the way to the kitchen without stirring Rio, but damn if she was still tired. He who must not be disturbed was snoring softly at her shoulder. Beth could already hear him, but she would just take it slow. She started first with one arm, and then the next. Limb by limb she freed herself from his all too enticing warmth and peeled away the blankets.
Slowly, she shifted her weight out of the bed, as a hand emerged out from under the piles of blankets to snag her own wrist.
Fuck. She moved two feet and she already got caught.
“Where you goin’?” Rio says it slow, rolling like molasses through his exhaustion and the fog of sleep. Rio always collapses into slumber, chronically under-rested. He took the luxury of rest where he could. It meant he slept heavy and he was always fussy to be interrupted. Beth leans back into the bed and kisses his temple, then his cheekbone.
She leans into his ear to whisper, “I need to go check on the dough.”
Beth strokes the scrunch of his brow, kisses the bridge if his nose. She’s pulling out all the stops.
“Go back to sleep, baby.”
He groans. The sound is loud in the darkness of their bedroom. Beth loves it, she loves him sleepy but holds her ground.
There’s a short pause, as she continues to stroke his temple. She’s hoping he decides to go back to sleep, he’s waiting for her to get back into their bed. For a moment, it’s a stalemate. Then, he gives.
Another groan - a purely theatrical protest, he certainly could answer a work text at any hour of the night. He runs his hands over his face trying to clear the sleep and then continues to make his little show by lumbering out of bed as if this asshole ever had an ungraceful day in his life. “I’m goin’ wit you.”
She huffs. “I’m fine.”
“Nah, you want to do this now. So we’re gonna do it.”
“Go back to bed.” Beth sternly whispers, trying to keep her voice down. For who she isn’t sure. They’re alone, the kids at their respective parents for the week. Maybe she does it to maintain the decency of the hour.
“You go back to bed.”
His fingers reach out to her, curling under the top of her pajamas, and pulling her closer towards the mattress. Rio’s hands are warm and big against the softness of her skin there. She considers relenting, inviting his body to curl back around her, knows she could probably get an orgasm out of this. But, the children!
“Let’s just buy it tomorrow.”
A year ago she would have scoffed, offended. Now she just rolls her eyes at him the dark. Maybe he can’t quite see but she knows that he knows.
She catches his hands. Slaps him on the wrist.
“If you’re coming with me you have to behave.”
“No.”
“Christopher.”
“Fuck. You sound like my middle school math teacher, Mrs. Ramos-“
“Or like your mother.”
“Or like a really mean librarian. Mrs. Castillo-“
“Oh my god. Let’s go.”
-
Rio collapses on a chair at the island, blearily keeping an eye on her. Beth turns on one of the lights in the kitchen. Halfway through her checking unearthing the proved dough, he starts playing Animal Crossing on his phone. She recognizes the app jingle.
“The kids play that.”
“E’rybody plays it.”
“I mean kids do.”
“Sweetheart, it was on the GameCube in ‘01.”
Beth scrunches her face at him. It’s an ungodly hour, he’s pouting like her youngest, who is for the record an eight-year-old who plays Animal Crossing, and watering his fucking crops or fishing or whatever. She lets herself digress because certainly, she wouldn’t be the first to indulge in childish behavior. Also, the fucking GameCube? This guy. “How old are you again?”
“Four years younger than you.” This is a pattern they’ve fallen into, a refrain. The other day he finally showed her his license but then she reminded him, it could be fake for all she knew.
“No one our age played the GameCube.”
“Your age maybe. My age they did.”
Fuck him. She glowers.
“What, your old hubby never played Galaga? Or whatever the fuck boorish white dudes played in the 90s? Bet he was a Tetris guy.”
“First of all, Tetris is fine. I’ve seen you play Tetris! And white people play Animal Crossing.” She ends a touch snidely.
“Yeah. Like I said, everybody plays it. Nintendo is the shit.”
She would know. All of her children, and her pseudo-eldest, Annie, cannot remove themselves from whatever the Nintendo calls itself these days. All of Annie’s social media updates have been about her virtual island. And then Ruby had started using Sarah’s console, and joined Annie there - on that island. They took kind-of cute cartoon pictures wearing matching hot pink outfits with what they adamantly claimed was “juice” but was definitely a daiquiri. Beth was just feeling a little left out is all.
“I thought you said you didn’t like the phone game.”
“It’s not good like the Switch, but it’s a fix.”
“Uh huh.”
“Besides your sister is blowin’ shit way the fuck out of proportion on New Horizons. I already visited her damn tacky island three times this week. She bought a fuckin’ port-a-potty and put it in her house. It’s fuckin’ weird. She kept insisting we take screenshots by it-“
Beth stops listening, distracted as an image of a cartoon Rio drinking mimosas with Annie and Ruby on stylized furniture flashes in her mind's eye.
“Don’t pout, darlin’.”
She scoffs and then her lips purse a little more.
“It ain’t becoming’.”
The bowl she’s working with clatters a bit as her movements become more vigorous.
“Did you just tell me to ‘smile’ at four-thirty in the morning?”
He opens his mouth as if to answer her, shuts it, and pointedly continues tapping on his phone. After a minute he lowers the volume. All that can be heard is the jingle playing softly.
She continues shaping the bread. Rio migrates over to the living room and Beth hears him collapse on the couch. She stores the bread, tucking it back into it’s proving spot, and sets the timer so she can wake up and bake the dough later in the morning.
“Elizabeth.” It’s not lush, weighty like he usually says it. He lets sleep curl around it and soften the syllables. She comes to perch against the open entrance of the living room. Rio’s pulled a blanket down with him on the couch and is being purposefully charming. It works but god is it annoying.
“Sweetheart, c’mere.”
She stares at him.
“Don’t be that way.”
Beth lofts her head. “I’m not mad.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s go to bed.”
“C’mere, please.”
He lifts the blanket. She glimpses his hoodie-clad body underneath and she knows the toasty warmth of his body and she knows she’s mad for no reason, so she tries to get over it, and goes to lie with him on the couch.
They wrap themselves around each other. He kisses her forehead. “You just feel old because it’s five in the mornin’ and that makes everyone feel like shit.” He dips down to kiss the grooves under her eyes. “You interrupted our beauty sleep.”
His kisses travel the frame of her face and then he continues.
“Also, your girlfriends and I aren’t going to decide we all like each other better and un-invite you to the party.” He pecks her lips. “Besides your sister’s a freak and there’s no way she’s replacin’ you as my best friend. No way anyone is replacin’ you.”
“Not even Mick?”
She notices that he makes an uncommitted noise, but allows herself to melt further into their embrace, kisses his shoulder. She lets herself be soft.
“I love you.”
His hands dip lower to the swell of her ass. She can tell he’s eyeing the way her boobs swell up pressed against his chest.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Either say you love me back or go to sleep, Christopher.”
He chuckles and whispers a quick I-love-you into the shell of her ear and then a nip, “How much time we got before you check the bread again?”
Now she’s laughing. Fuck it. They’re up anyway. She kisses him, dips down to suck a mark into one of the wings at his neck.
“Plenty of time.”
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NOT Live Blogging RWBY Vol. 7
Guess who has two thumbs and finally finished watching RWBY Volume 7? This gal! So I decided I’d post my thoughts on the volume. I’m kind of disappointed I didn’t get to properly live blog it, but I guess right now this is the best I can do.
(So is…is tumblr still a thing? Or has whatever company that owns it now finally run the site completely into the ground. Maybe the question I should be asking is: does anyone still follow my blog?)
I think in the interest of not rambling too wildly I’m going to organize my thoughts into broad categories. So, here we go.
Visuals
If nothing else, this volume was a feast for the eyes. I’m impressed that RWBY continues to noticeably improve its visuals with each Volume. Honestly, at this point I don’t see the need for further improvement. The character models are appropriately stylized, the backgrounds are gorgeous, and the last of the kinks have (finally) been worked out of the animation.
What I’m less enthused about is the costume design. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad. It’s just not great. Penny’s new design works. Ruby’s outfit is virtually identical to her last one, so she gets a pass. Weiss’s is close, oh so close. I like the basic design, but I think the colors needed some more tweaking. Blake’s outfit is…. Well, I don’t know. I think I’m going to call it mildly nonsensical. I’m digging the haircut though. (Same goes for Jaune!) Yang and Neo’s new clothes are so-so at best, and Cinder’s are downright awful. Strangely enough, it’s Team JN_R that wins the best-dressed award in my book. They’re new outfits look far better than Weiss’s, Blake’s, and Yang’s by a mile.
I guess I should count my blessings. After Neo and Cinder’s new outfits debuted at the end of Volume 6 I was afraid that everyone might end up looking like lampshades. Or maybe fetishists not fully committing to the part.
Story
Up until about Episode 10 I was going to call this volume the good twin to Volume 4’s evil twin. A volume of RWBY that lacked the high-highs and the low-lows that are so endemic of the franchise. The difference between the two being that Volume 4 was painfully mediocre, while Volume 7 was pretty good. But it turns out I was wrong. The entirety of Volume 7 was, in my opinion, nothing more than a build-up to the big finale. And what a finale it was! But maybe I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.
The first episode really won brownie points with me for basically doing the bad part of Volume 6 (Team RWBY spitting in the face of authority) except doing it right. It turns out that authority figures aren’t always “whimsical” caricatures masquerading as antagonists. (Sorry, I really hated Caroline, and not in a good way.) It also turns out that sometimes the authorities aren’t utterly incompetent. In many ways the Ace-Ops arresting Team RWBY reminded me of a less extreme version of the ending of the fourth Hunger Games movie. Specifically the part where Katniss and company decide to storm the castle and utterly fail. You know, the part where the movie transformed from an uninspired parody of itself to the absolute highlight of the entire franchise?
And then a bunch of stuff happened, some of which I’ll discuss in the next section. And then there were some really great fights. Oh yes, and then Salem shows up. Bye-bye Atlas! You. Are. Outta here!
Honestly, the only thing I didn’t much care for story-wise was Penny becoming the new Winter Maiden. It’s not because I don’t like the concept; it’s because it feels like they didn’t put any thought into the idea other than “let’s make Penny the Winter Maiden”. I’ll withhold judgment for now. It’s only fair that I wait and see where they go with it.
Characters
Believe it or not, I don’t have much to say about Team RWBY themselves in this section. Development-wise this volume was almost exclusively focused on other characters. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, although it wouldn’t be my first choice if I had my druthers. Honestly, Weiss, Blake, and Yang’s character arcs have largely been concluded at this point. Only Ruby’s left with outstanding issues regarding her mother. So…yeah. Maybe that bodes poorly for the franchise’s future now that I think about it? Or at least my own personal enjoyment of it? Eh, I’ll worry about that later. I should talk about all the other characters!
Team JN_R – I was a bit surprised at the lack of Jaune-related content this volume. They didn’t even deign to make him suffer much. But with a cast as big as RWBY’s, it’s not the first time we’ve seen a character take a volume off as it were. The big news here is that they actually attempted to give Ren a character and bring him into conflict with Nora. I…. Well, I don’t really think they succeeded, to be honest. As is a common problem in RWBY, there really wasn’t enough time to let the idea be fully realized. But I appreciate the effort.
The Ace-Ops – Oh, I had these guys pegged as the volume’s final bosses from the get-go. And I was not disappointed. As one-off antagonists, they worked. I can’t remember any of their names though. Except for Clover’s, and I’ll talk about him and Qrow in the section below.
Penny – It’s about time she came back. We all knew that was going to happen, right? And while I’m on the subject, Pietro was a nice side character too.
Oscar – He was there.
Robyn – I’m not sure what to say about her, to be honest. She was a good enough character, and played her role in the story well. But I never felt like she rose above her role.
Neo – You know who my favorite RWBY character is? It’s Yang, obviously. And do you know who the most strongly characterized RWBY character is? It’s the late Roman Torchwick of course. But do you know who takes second place in both of those categories? Neo. Kind of ironic for that second one given that she doesn’t speak. Neo did not disappoint this volume. She never disappoints. And I’ve said it before, on this very blog I think. In terms of raw-skill, Neo is one of the most dangerous characters in the RWBY-verse. Team JN_R vs. Neo? No contest. Although I am amused that Jaune got the only real hit on her. I’m even more amused that it somehow felt appropriate.
Cinder – Again I continue to really like post-Volume 4 Cinder. No matter how hard she tries, the universe just won’t stop kicking her in the teeth. And it just fits her character so well. Bravo Rooster Teeth!
Winter – Winter’s battle might not have been the most fun. That goes to Neo vs. some bush leaguers. It might not have been the most creative. That goes to Team RWBY vs. the Ace-Ops. But by God, no one put in more effort than Winter. She has my utmost respect.
Weiss’s Mom – Hey, she exists! Nice!
Dr. Watts – So much smarm. So much arrogance. I should hate him, but I really don’t. He’s just great.
Ironwood – And the best for last. Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my. His arc this volume was absolutely perfect. It was given enough time to be believable, amazing for a show like RWBY, and every step along his journey made sense. He’s become my absolute favorite kind of antagonist, the kind that believes what they’re doing is right. And here’s the thing, I can’t say that Ironwood is wrong. I don’t think he’s right, but I can’t say that he’s wrong. Give me an Ironwood over a Tyrian any day of the week. Please give me an Ironwood over a Tyrian.
The Gay Agenda
*singing* Qrow has a boyfriend….
Er…. Qrow had a boyfriend. And then Clover got Bury Your Gays’d. I’m kind of disappointed, but I’m kind of not. After all, the universe has long since ordained that it is Qrow’s lot in life to suffer.
To tell the truth I’m deeply divided on how I feel about RWBY’s take on the gays. The homoromantic subtext between Yang and Blake has reached levels equivalent to Season 3 of Xena: Warrior Princess. And Qrow and Clover were about there too. On one hand, I’m happily drinking it all up. On the other hand, I want to call Rooster Teeth a bunch of cowards. It’s not 1999 anymore. You can make characters gay. RWBY has made (side) characters gay. At best I’m expecting them to pull a Legend of Korra and only make things “official” at the very end of the show, a resolution I found deeply unsatisfying. But if I were running the show, would I do things differently? Well, yes I would. But would it be the correct decision from a revenue perspective? I’m assuming that RWBY is a, let’s say, important show for Rooster Teeth. I base this assumption on the fact that they announced three RWBY-adjacent spin-offs just after Volume 7 finished. Perhaps they feel they can’t take any risks with something so popular? Perhaps they don’t particularly care. Again, I don’t know how to feel about it.
Conclusion
Homoromanticism aside, (Never!) is Volume 7 the best volume ever? It might be. Only Volumes 1 and 5 can contend with it for consistent high quality. If I had to declare one volume as the best overall, this would probably be it. That being said, I doubt anything will ever supplant the Yang and Blake vs. Adam fight in Volume 6 as my favorite part of RWBY. I still can’t believe they paid that off so well. Three years of anticipation and they fulfilled my every expectation.
Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah. Volume 7. It was good.
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March 2nd-March 8th, 2020 CTP Archive
The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from March 2nd, 2020 to March 8th, 2020. The chat focused on VALERIE by Rebecca Reynolds.
Featured Comment:
Chat:
Comic Tea Party
BOOK CLUB START!
Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on VALERIE by Rebecca Reynolds~! (https://valerie-comic.com/)
You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace until March 8th, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Discussions are freeform, but we do offer discussion prompts in the pins for those who’d like to have them. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic! Whether you finish the comic or can only read a few pages, everyone is welcome to join and chat with us!
DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 1
1. What did you like about the beginning of the comic?
2. What has been your favorite moment in the comic (so far)?
3. Who is your favorite character?
4. Which characters do like seeing interact the most?
5. What is something you like about the art? If you have a favorite illustration, please share it!
6. What is a theme you like that the comic explores?
7. What do you like about the comic’s story or overall related content?
8. Overall, what do you think the comic’s strengths are?
Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!
Eightfish (Puppeteer)
I've read this comic before and recommend it! I'm gonna go reread it and catch up on the latest pages before I comment, but I wanted to pop in and say that other people should read it too first!
eli [a winged tale]
This is a beautiful comic and I read it all in one go. 1. I thought it was spooky! Great atmosphere and the characters are spunky. Love the dialogue. 2. Favourite moment is Valerie talking about her past. I thought it was very poignant. 3. I love both Gab and Valerie. They both feel so real and relatable. 4. ? 5. I love the colours and lighting! I’ll get a link later :3 6. I love the theme about taking time to find out what you want in life. Especially in the current state life feels like a rush to get to the finish, I think it’s important to take a moment to reorient ourselves. 7. Loved the tone and mood of the overall story. Really polished. 8. The pacing, characters and story were all lovely. I followed the creator on my social media and I can’t wait to see more works from Rebecca.
Eightfish (Puppeteer)
Oh, the comic finished since the last time I read it!
So refreshing and satisfying to read a completed, cohesive short story like this
4. Well, Gab and Val were the majority of the comic. So, them. Seeing someone just talk to a ghost like a normal person was very cool. Love that dynamic- a supernatural encounter that's not anything to be scared of.(edited)
5. The backgrounds look structured and solid, which makes the characters stand out because they're drawn so softly. They look 'blobby,' in a good way. They look light and airy.
This page with the glass and the mirrors made me stop for a second and go, 'damn that's cool'
https://valerie-comic.com/post/182899830167
I like how Valerie's outfit looks outdated.
I wonder if Valerie disappearing on that one page means that she passed on in that moment?
On critique is that I found it a bit strange that the font size got smaller when the characters got farther away. I had to keep zooming in and out
RebelVampire
I like the color choices in the beginning of the comic. They provide a great atmospheric backdrop for the conversation. Plus, I kind of like that the story starts off with a transition from day to night, as it kind of gives off that feeling like you know something is about to change and really gives you expectations for something significant is gonna happen to Gab. As for favorite overall moment, I probably like the end where Gab and Valerie have to say good bye. There's just some beautiful emotional expressions in that scene and you can taste Gab's reluctance to leave. And I just love how that scene had the emotional weight that was needed. As for favorite character, probably Valerie. I like how, despite the circumstances, Valerie just kind of accepts them to a degree and makes the most of it in her own way. And I really admire characters who are able to do that since its a good showcase you dont have to let dire circumstances bring you down. In regards to characters interacting, I mean, I think for most it's gonna be Gab and Valerie. They do get the most screentime. And their relationship is pretty beautiful in the sense that even though it's fleeting, you can see how they help each other have a moment of respite and gain insight into themselves.
Something I like about the art is how its simultaneously clean and loose. Like the lines themselves are very clean, perfect for details and just general stylization. And yet, they aren't perfect. Like some lines don't connect, etc. I think it's just a nice style that suits the tone of the comic. I like that the comic explores the idea of finding out what you want to do with your life while also exploring the idea that what we think we want to do sometimes winds up not being that. I think it's kind of something important thing to talk about - that plans change. And that things we like can stop bringing up happiness sometimes and that committing to one thing for your entire life is hard. So I really like that this comic shows this side of things, since I feel contemporary works are pretty saturated with characters who know exactly what they want to do. What I like about the comic's overall story is just kind of the healing aspect of it. Like this is the perfect kind of story to read when feeling lost, cause it shows that sometimes all you need to do is talk to someone. Even if it only helps a little, it still helps. For strengths, I actually think it's the the overall story structure. Short stories can be deceptively hard since you have limited space and time to convey something. But I think the story here is structured perfectly with its simplicity. Interesting, but not overly complicated where you need tons of exposition pages. It's just the right length that it comes off as a tight and strong story that gets its messages in and leaves you with a strong impact since this is the entirety of it, if that makes sense.
Eightfish (Puppeteer)
i agree with your thought about the comic capturing that feeling of a momentary meaningful interaction with a stranger you'll never see again
Comic Tea Party
DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 2
9. Why do you think Valerie is anchored to the mall and hasn’t passed on (assuming that’s possible)? What do you think will happen to Valerie if and when the mall is torn down?
10. Why do you think Gab of all people was able to see Valerie? How do you think both characters have changed from their brief encounter, if at all?
11. Do you think Gab will pursue photography after meeting Valerie, or will another path call Gab? Overall, what do you think the comic teaches us about career pursuits and how to find what makes us happy?
12. Thematically speaking, what role did Feebs and Casper play in Gab’s story in your opinion? How do you think these characters will be affected by the experience at the mall?
Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!
Eightfish (Puppeteer)
9. maybe she just needed a chance to tell her story. She felt when she was alive that she wasn't living genuinely, right?
snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)
This was a fun, short read! I'm very interested by the parallels between Gab and Valerie. Like, Valerie was pushed into a career she didn't want to, then ran away and ended up killed. So... what does that tell us about Gab? She was pursuing photography, but ran away. But, it seems like something she was really passionate about and pushed out of, rather something she was dispassionate about and was pushed into. So... what does Gab learn from this experience? It's very interesting.
eli [a winged tale]
I agree with Eightfish. Valerie mentioned only a select few can see her. I think she wanted to share her story and feel like there was a purpose for her being there
RebelVampire
@snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights) I really like the differences between Gab and Valerie, as I think you're right. Their experiences with their career are quite a bit different, even if it resulted in the same feeling of being lost.
I think Valeria is anchored to the mall, cause ya know, murder. Most ghost lore holds that it's people with extremely regrets and/or people who met extremely horrific ends. And I'm pretty sure Valerie hits both of those. I'd like to believe Valerie will move on once the mall is torn down, but ghost lore so...she'll probably get to haunt whatever is built on top of it. Hopefully it'll be a starbucks. As for why Gab was able to see Valerie, I think it has to do with the fact they both have similar emotional circumstances of being lost. And I think that emotional connection bridged the afterlife to living gap. Gab might have also just been more open to the experience, as people who tend to be skeptical of the supernatural don't often see it. As for how they changed, I think Gab definitely got some insight into how to continue forward. Whereas I think Valerie was probably given some hope that even as a ghost, there can be purpose. Something like that.
I think Gab will eventually pursue photography, but I also feel like Gab might try other things first. Like take some pottery classes. Cause even if she aims for photography, trying new things helps ppl out of creative ruts which I'm willing to guess Gab is in. As for the overall message here, I think the comic shows that being happy is hard, careers are hard, everyone is lost on the inside, and that as we age, things we used to like we might no longer like.
Eightfish (Puppeteer)
Can I just say that I really liked the names in this comic
Eightfish (Puppeteer)
"Valerie Williams"
It sounds so rhythmic, like a celebrity's name
keii’ii (Heart of Keol)
That was a really good read. My takeaway message is, "you're not alone, even if those around you (like the two friends) don't seem to get you." Maybe your friends understand more than they seem, or maybe you'll find your connection in an unexpected time and place like Gab and Valerie did.
Comic Tea Party
DISCUSSION PROMPTS – PART 3
13. What are you most looking forward to seeing in regards to the comic?
14. Any final words of encouragement for the comic?
Don’t feel inspired by the prompts? Feel free to discuss anything else that interested you!
RebelVampire
So I needed extra time to consider Feebs and Caspar's role, and I think that thematically that sort of represent a disconnect. Like of coruse Gab still likes them and they're her friends. But sometimes we can't talk to the ppl close to us about certain things. Sometimes because they wouldn't understand, or sometimes just because it's embarassing. However, I think at the same time at the end that they help ground Gab back to reality and give Gab a sort of safe space to continue to work on her new insights. As for how they'll be effected...probably not at all cause I think the point is how they effect Gab. Anyway, all in all this was a well-structured short story with a very tight narrative, very nice art, and just really I have nothing bad to say about it.
Comic Tea Party
BOOK CLUB END!
Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about VALERIE this week! Please also give a special thank you to Rebecca Reynolds for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked VALERIE, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!
Read and Comment: https://valerie-comic.com/%3E
Rebecca’s Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/brobexx
Rebecca’s Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/rebeccareynolds
Rebecca’s Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/ie/shop/brobexx
Rebecca’s Gumborad Page: https://gumroad.com/rebeccareynolds
Rebecca’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/brobexx
#ctparchive#comics#webcomics#indie comics#comic chat#comic discussion#book club#bookclub#webcomic book club#webcomic bookclub#comic tea party#ctp#valerie#rebecca reynolds
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Robin Hood
Robin Hood is directed by Otto Bathurst and it’s a reimagining of the Robin Hood stories. I say reimagining, because this film has barely anything to do with the time period or the actual historical tales, and yet somehow it’s still one of the better adaptations out there.
This film positions itself as an origin of sorts; we start with Robin of Loxley played by Taron Egerton being called into the Saxon army to join the Crusades, except here the army seems to be English(?) and lead not by King Richard Lionheart, but the actual sheriff of Nottingham played by Ben Mendelsohn. After four years of fighting Robin tries to intervene in the execution of a Saracen soldier, the son of John (I know he has a full name, but he’s not credited as such and I don’t remember how to spell it, played by Jamie Foxx), and failing that, he is returned to England. There he finds his property seized by the Sheriff, Maid Marion gone (who in this version is neither a Lady nor a wood smith's daughter, but a thief played by Eve Hewson), and the Sheriff proclaiming him dead. At the behest of John, Robin starts training to become a master thief, the Hood, who will take down the Sheriff from the inside.
I love Robin Hood. I grew up on the stories, and I had an illustrated version that collected all the most famous tales and as such I am familiar with the source material. I have hated every single Robin Hood adaptation Hollywood has shat out, with the exception of the Disney version which is fine, if a bit simplistic and Men in Tights, which is both the closest in tone and execution. This version is at once excellent and batshit insane; I had a lot of fun watching it, and I do recommend it, but it’s not a good film. It has some major problems, and how much you will enjoy this depends solely on how forgiving you are of them for the sake of action and style.
Stylization (Automatic Ballistas? In my movie?):
The stylization of this film is intense and very ridiculous. What I feel like it was going for was Moulin Rouge/Great Gatsby, but what it actually ended up as, is the Matthew MacFadyen Three Musketeers.
Nothing in this film is of the time period; the clothing, the scenery, the castes, the weapons, the way people act and speak. We are introduced to Maid Marian in the first scene of the film, wearing a headscarf while she has on a dress with a cleavage so deep and so pronounced it would be considered raunchy by today’s standards, nevermind the 1300’s! And this is her ‘thieving outfit’.... Right. The moment where Robin tells her she’s stunning I was like… well, her boobs sure are. Robin himself wears regular modern day shirts, leather jackets, and let's not even touch on what everyone is wearing at the party for the cardinal.
The scene where they show the Crusades is so insane I genuinely thought we started watching a different film. It’s shot like a war movie, with lots of tight, worm’s eye perspective shots, and everyone is wearing armor that looks like modern day kevlar vests. There is a ballista which fires arrows like a machine gun and the way people are shooting arrows and crossbows in narrow corridors is like something out of a video game. In fact this whole sequence feels like Call of Duty and Assassin’s Creed had a child and it was a good indicator as to the rest of the film. I didn’t mind the stylization as much, but there were times, mostly with Robin and Marian’s outfits which made me go “what am I watching??”
Tone (Zero Dark Loxley):
Let me go through just a few scenes as an example of just how wildly inconsistent and fluctuating it really is. The first scene is the meeting between Marian and Robin; it’s supposed to be romantic, something akin (ahem, a copy) to The Princess Bride. But it’s shot so weirdly, and the blocking is stiff and unnatural and the dialogue is just so full of quippy one liners that I felt like I was watching a porno!
Then, Robin gets drafted and the next scene is literary The Hurt Locker, but with arrows and catapults instead of bombs. There is even a fellow soldier Robin is trying to rescue, and like I said, it’s shot exactly like a war film. It was by far the best and tensest part of the whole film, and the action was creative and well shot and edited for the most part, especially the fight between John and Robin.
The scene after that is absolutely brutal and honestly almost too dark for this film. It shows the English torturing the captured Arabian soldiers and has two executions which are brutal. But then, we cut right back to Robin Hood shenanigans with Tuck, and I swear I got whiplash. This happens throughout the film; we have a scene of funny, quippy dialogue between Robin and Tuck or Robin and John, and then bam, the next scene is torture, or a riot.
Plot (Nobody Expects the English Inquisition):
The tone isn’t helped by the fact that the plot of this film is completely ludicrous. It is essentially several heists that culminate in a massive riot/heist, but the plan of the villains makes everything that much more crazy. Warning SPOILERS, but trust me, you want to know the plan.
The Sheriff of Nottingham is working with a Cardinal to finance the Arabian army during the Crusades, so they can beat the English, and presumably win the war, so then I guess the Cardinal can say whoever is King in this (neither Richard nor John are mentioned once) is unworthy of the crown and install The Sheriff as the new King… what? Do the Arabian soldiers know they are being paid by the English? Does the Sheriff’s death squad? Because they seemed all too happy to execute Arabian soldiers and lost a lot of their men in the skirmish. Also, do the cardinal and the Arabs have a deal that after they win they won’t just invade England? Cause that sure seems like something they’d want to do. Also England wasn’t the only country (well it wasn’t even England, but we’ll ignore that for now) fighting in the Crusades. There was Normandy, Lombardy, the Holy Roman Empire…. Are they also in on this plan?
Another thing; the whole bit with the Sheriff wanting to imprison or kill all his subjects who had no money to pay in the mines; who are you going to rule over if your populace is dead? No. Sense.
Characters (Ben Mendelsohn Makes Everything 300 Times Better):
Speaking of the Sheriff let’s talk about his backstory.
Ben Mendelsohn is an excellent actor, and he elevates material that is usually far beneath him to good, even great standards. And he is clearly having the time here; he has several monologues, many scenes of shouting or overacting, and he has really good chemistry with both Egerton and Fox. The scene where he is threatening John is probably the best acting in the film, and I wish the two had more time to spar.
However, this character’s backstory and the way he delivers it is insane. I have to put a SPOILER warning, but trust me, you want me to tell you what it is. The Sheriff apparently was an orphan, raised in a church orphanage, where every night the Lords and Cardinals would come to beat and possibly, heavily implied, sexually assault the children, including him. He has a long monologue about this, where he goes in graphic detail, of which I will spare you here, and he tells all of this to Robin of Loxley who he has, at this point known for a few days at most. Honestly the pure confusion and terror on Egerton’s face during this scene was what I was feeling the whole time. The film makes you remember this backstory, brings it up in both every scene Egerton and Mendelsohn have after this and even have Robin callback to it at the very end in a pretty callous manner, unbefitting of the film’s protagonist. And I have to ask, why? Was the Sheriff being a greedy, immoral man not enough, now he has to be the victim of child abuse and sexual assault too?
Speaking of bad idea characters, Will Scarlet is in this and boy did I hate him. Jamie Dornan is finally allowed to be Irish in this which is refreshing, but by God, he has nothing to work with. His whole character is just set up for a sequel and in this film he just exists so Marian has a reason not to immediately reconcile with Robin. Why filmmakers always feel the need to have Will’s character be some kind of a twist, instead of just playing him straight is beyond me.
Marion, if we ignore the ridiculous outfits she’s forced to wear is fine as a character, but she just doesn’t fit with the fabric of this world. First off, how was she living with Robin (and everyone knew this) without being married to him? And how is she living with Will now without being married to him? Also, how is she allowed to question and attack the Sherrif without being 50 kinds of executed after the first time she dared to speak? She was also a lot more proactive in the whole going against the Sheriff business than Robin, so why he was leader at the end and not her is also beyond me, but what do I know. At least she wasn’t a damsel in distress.
Tuck and John were both fine. I liked them both equally, though John gets a lot more screen time. Jamie Foxx kills every scene he’s in, and I liked that he had his own mini storyline with the Sheriff and his son’s death. I don’t understand why they felt the need to combine the role of Little John and the Saracen character (who in my version of the stories was called Salim), but he was still a great character. Tuck was comic relief, but he was a welcome change from the rest of the film, and he resembled his story counterpart the closest.
Robin Hood himself was a mixed bag. Like Foxx, Taron Egerton is a trooper and he give Robin a lot of charm and life, which this version of the character desperately needs. There are several scenes where he is absolutely frightened, emotional or suffering from PTSD, end Egerton sells it. He is great at the action scenes, has the physique for the part, and brings a charm and a sexiness to the role that really works for the scene where he’s the Lord Loxley.
What doesn’t work (at least not always) is the actual character. Bless his heart, but he has no chemistry with Eve Hewson, no matter how much he tries. He has much more chemistry with both Foxx and Mendelsohn, but the issue is that Marian is his entire motivation. The film resorts to numerous cheezy flashbacks of their romance, scenes of them kissing or longingly looking at each other and it just comes off as ridiculous and forced. If they were going for a Princess Bride vibe, that film worked because a) Cary Elwes and Robin Wright had chemistry b) the film established their love and didn’t rely on flashbacks to convince us they were in love, we just knew it.
I did like that Robin was a bit selfish, and seemed to be doing things just to win Marian back, even though technically that’s not faithful to the stories; it was was a good starting point for the character to grow from. I’m just not sure he grew much at all; at the end of the film he’s still a bit selfish and a bit petty. Things like his PTSD are also never really addressed and explored and though again, it makes sense that Robin being in the wars would suffer from it, I’m not sure Robin Hood is the place to tell it.
Conclusion?
All in all this film was very fun. It doesn’t quite know what it wants to be, and as such it tried to be everything and excels at nothing. However the good acting, fun action scenes and truly bizarre style of the film more than make up for it, and I implore you to go see it, both so you can experience the madness yourself, and so it makes enough money for a sequel.
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Imagine Life Without A Beard Now Slap Yourself T-Shirt
Imagine Life Without A Beard Now Slap Yourself T-Shirt, Hoodie, And Sweater
I can be honest, without a doubt, that my favorite fashion features are written for Father’s Day. Looking back on the highlights of my life, I really can’t remember how many times I’ve had problems and challenges in my father’s life when I had a bad time to be safe. iron and encourage. In fact, most Americans cherish their journey of learning, love, and laughter with their fathers for the rest of their lives. Considering the challenges we are facing in this spring/summer 2020, I have realized more than ever how strong the strength of being a father in a family unit means to live. also of the family! and Imagine Life Without A Beard Now Slap Yourself T-Shirt. A small gesture of Cha Cha seems to capture the moment with the goal of winning and going a long way in the future.
Imagine Life Without A Beard Now Slap Yourself T-Shirt
Hairstylist Love What You Do Sunflower Leopard T Shirt
June Girl I Am Who I Am Your Approval Isn't Needed Whisper Words Of Wisdom Lip T Shirt
Peace Love Dispatch T Shirt
Fruit Vagitarian
Fruit Vagitarian
Listen I Know I Have A Vagina But I'M Gonna Need You To Suck My Fking Dick T Shirt
Vertraue Nur Deinem Arsch Denn Der Steht Immer Hinter Dir T Shirt
My Brain Has Too Many Tabs Open T Shirt
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Our world is in a very confusing place. However, it is important that we continue to keep our spirits and develop new skills during this transition. In general, Father Lan looked at this time as a difficult and more opportunity. In short, being isolated simply means you have more time to be a better person and show your best. Lastly, Father’s Day gives us the opportunity to express our appreciation and gratitude. We are stronger together and as a family unit, we will overcome this. To understand the economic era, I chose the best technology polo at a wide price to fit all the kind fathers across this wonderful country. This polo shirt is the best gift of Father’s Day because it is a classic that Dad can wear all year round! and Imagine Life Without A Beard Now Slap Yourself T-Shirt. The shirt has unique details: pre-washed cotton makes the yarn softer and more resistant, while its double seams add elegance, comfort, and sophistication. Price $ 375.00
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Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl Who Really Loves Knitting And Dogs It Was Me The End Heart T Shirt
Yesterday was a Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl Who Really Loves Knitting And Dogs It Was Me The End Heart T Shirt busy day of meetings and airplane travel for peter and connor but last night peter took some time to share his thoughts on the passing of the great christopher lee christopher lee was the tallest actor I ever knew he was also by far the most literate when we first met in a los angeles studio where he was recording his lines as king haggard in the last unicorn he had just recorded haggard’s speech about his first sight of unicorns and I mentioned that it was probably my favorite speech in the book he immediately wanted to know well did I do it properly we can always redo it right here of course he’d handled the lines perfectly but writers and writers’ opinions about their work mattered intensely to christopher that same afternoon we discovered that between the two of us we we could call to mind just about all the lines of g k chesterton’s poem the rolling english road we also discovered a mutual need to hit the men’s room and my son dan in his mid teens at the time still has a very clear memory of christopher simultaneously peeing while declaiming in that voice which no one could ever keep from imitating after fifteen minutes with him before the roman came to rye or out to severn strode the rolling english drunkard made the rolling english road a reeling road a rolling road that rambled round the shire and after him the parson ran the sexton and the squire I leave it to the reader to imagine that voice in the tiled acoustics of a hollywood bathroom we met a second time in munich where the last unicorn was being dubbed into german most of my memories of that time and of chris lee have to do with books and authors he had known both j r r tolkien and a writer who mattered more to me t h white we had a long ongoing argument in munich about a chapter of the sword in the stone that appears in the english edition of the book but not in the american one he turned out to be right he usually was he never failed to mention the last unicorn as one of his very favorite books and as one of the movies he was most proud of having made indeed he left my whopperjawed as mark twain would have put it when we were being interviewed together on austrian television and he announced oh yes I simply couldn’t resist a chance to play king haggard one more time even in another language after all and he looked straight into the camera it’s the closest they’ll ever let me get to playing king lear the camera swung toward me to catch my stunned reaction and chris looked across the studio at me and winked but my most vivid memory chilling as it remains to this day has to do with the day that I and michael chase walker associate producer of the last unicorn and the one who really got the film made in the first place somehow found our way out to dachau I can’t now recall how we managed it considering that neither one of us spoke german and that you had to take both a subway and a bus to get there from the hotel where the crew were staying but we got there somehow and spent a good half of the day roaming with other tourists around a legendary concentration camp peering blindly into the huge crematoriums but staring with equal horror and fascination at the endless rows of filing cabinets containing every record of every human being who was ever imprisoned starved gassed or simply worked to death in this place michael and I grew quieter and quieter that afternoon until by the time we started back to munich we weren’t speaking at all I think we both felt that we might say anything in words again the first person we met in the hotel lobby was christopher he took one look at us and announced you’ve been to dachau we nodded without answering chris strode toward us looked all the way down from his six foot five inch altitude lowered his voice and inquired still smells doesn’t it with the end of world war ii christopher as a member of the special forces and whose five or six languages included fluent german had been assigned to hunt down and interrogate nazi war crminals and had been present at the liberation of dachau and yes the smell of death had undoubtedly faded somewhat since 1945 but it was still as real as michael and me wandering dazedly between the ovens and the filing system we just didn’t know what it was but christopher did and i’d know it again I never saw him again after munich though we spoke on the telephone a few times on the last occasion when I had called to wish him a happy 90th birthday I remember him assuring me that if by the time you come to make your live action version of your movie I have passed on do not let it concern you I have risen from the dead several times I know how it’s done he worked almost to the last as the real artists of every kind do they work to be working because that’s what they do and they die when they stop I always regarded him as the last of the great 19th century actors that bravura larger than life style went with him no modern rada trained performer would ever attempt it today nor should they it would inevitably come out parody however earnestly meant yet there was always more to christopher lee as an actor than dracula or the mummy or saruman or sherlock holmes for that matter though he was very proud of having played not only both holmes and watson but sherlock’s brother mycroft as well lord summerisle of the original the wicker man probably his favorite of his own movies is most likely closer to chris’s dark benignity than any other role he ever inhabited I believe this because lord summerisle sings a surprising amount in that movie and chris passionately loved singing if there is any such thing as an afterlife or reincarnation I truly hope no believe that christopher lee will return as a wagnerian opera singer if he hadn’t been considered too old in his 30s to be accepted for formal vocal training he might have been in his own eyes at least a happier more fulfilled man but we would have been deeply poorer for it and never have known. Wild horses have lived in the kisatchie national forest and fort polk for over 150 years now however despite public outcry and ongoing litigation the u s army is removing horses from fort polk with many of them ending up in a kill pen you can help save these historic horses by signing a petition below and by making a donation to our friends at the pegasus equine guardian association to fund its rescue fostering adoption efforts at. She needs the best emcee baby do you want me please say yes you do come tidy up my crib I can tell you wanna peace to jane fonda let’s play like honda trucks peace to you for makin big bucks time is upon us you’re the star I like it you rule my world like the vikings u were at the corner store paparottzi made a sighting finer than pizza and cool like lightening so stop hiding come inside baby im wating for you your so true wrote that in 4 mins what you think bro
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Seriously loving my new touch of nude lipstick I normally hate brown tones on me but this is the Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl Who Really Loves Knitting And Dogs It Was Me The End Heart T Shirt perfect nude brown that I think will now become my new go to can’t go wrong shade so moisturizing too but not too creamy where it’s slides around on your lips. In response to last week s tatoosday post we got so many tattoos from last unicorn fans around the world that it will take months to showcase all of them to help make things go slightly faster than that and because it s neat to compare and contrast we re going to make today a two tattoosday post take a look at these very different approaches to showing the human and unicorn versions of peter s classic character in one image ashley knight schroeder s tattoo is beautifully stylized I just got this done on saturday the last unicorn has touched my life and helped me through many a rough patch even my sons will watch with me and sing talk along to the movie rippy s tattoos did the work I have no idea who did the original design I saw it and feel in love would love to find the original artist brittni lynn martin and her artist phil meyers from california opted for classic heartfelt look this movie has been my favorite since I was little and is now my favorite book and I have a 3 year old daughter who also loves it and we watch it together so it’s been a huge part of my life so beautiful both of these. If your events calendar or feed is full of baby showers anxiety this is for you life is busy but gifting a new mom baby should be easy with our collection of cute coordinating outfit sets multi packs stress less shop bundles baby place
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Hey so I understand you have a disdain for reboot Rotor's design. I'd love to hear about your views on the Freedom Fighters' redesigns (or at least Rotor if time allows it). You've enlightened me on some of the reboot's crap design before, so I'd love to hear about it again.
There’s nothing really complicated to it. It goes as follows:
-Rotor gaining a more conventional bodyshape just infuriates me at my core on a number of reasons, as I have gone over ad-nausea over the last several days. Taken purely on the design front, even excluding my personal dislike of the rationale behind it, I still dislike it heavily due to the fact that it makes Rotor look LESS Distinct as a character- making him top heavy in this manner just makes him look like any other ‘big guy’ in with similar body types, past and present. It also has the effect that, if you were to remove his tusks, you wouldn’t really be able to tell that he’s meant to be a walrus of any sort. The latter detail is one of the most damning effects of the Sonic Style in that it can rob critters of distinction in the name of stylization, and that’s what was in effect here. All in all it just felt rather unnecessary.
-In the case of Sally Acorn? I miss the cheek fuzz and feel that, again, her looking more like everyone else isn’t really a good move. I’m increasingly in the minority about that one, and frankly at the end of the day it’s not really all that much of a super dealbreaker. The back strip she gained was a really nice touch, though.
Her outfit on the other hand I felt was too streamlined and too much like sportswear, given the kind of life she’d led and the fact that she was frequently in danger against fighting against Eggman’s robots. I’ve come to accept it due to the fact that it does better reflect the nature of the setting post-reboot, but at the same time it never really clicked with me as well as it should have. Ironically I felt the outfit she had in flashbacks, the one that looked more ‘outdoorsy’? Would have been a more appropriate design for her.
This however is all subjective, and I can’t say that there is anything I find anything objectively awful about her design.
-Nicole’s new outfit was kind of generic and indistinct compared to what she had worn before, but otherwise I got no real super insights into it beyond feeling that, so that’s probably more on me than the actual design itself.
-Antoine’s design was okay, but I feel that having him ditch the fancy coat was one of the bigger mistakes with regards to him. It was one of his more defining visual traits and helped to distinguish him from the others in that he is the most clothed of the FF’s. It was a nice short hand to show off the kind of guy he was, and it really felt like a waste to get rid it. In this regard, I kinda wish he’d kept the beret he was shown to be wearing in the flashback scenes. It was far more distinct compared to his present self.
On the plus side, the new design that was going to be implemented for Antoine before the cancellation, the one with the mantle? That was kickass, and I bitterly regret that the book died before it had a chance to be implemented.
-Bunnie Rabbot I’ve got the fewest complaints about. At worst I feel her bionics are under-detailed when they don’t need to be and that sometimes her ‘hair’ resembles a lady-mullet, but other than that I got nothing really harsh to say.
So yeah, the re-occuring thread is that I feel that a lot of the Post-Reboot redesigns kinda lean generic as un-adventurous applications of the Sonic Style, which can very easily suck the life of out of things given how susceptible it is to Cookie Cutter syndrome. It doesn’t NEED to be that way, mind you, but it has that impact a lot of the time all the same. I felt like a lot of the designs from the backstory were more visually interesting and unique compared to the ‘present’ time, but that’s just me.
Honestly the only one I regard as flat out awful is Rotor, and that’s purely on the basis of his new body shape.
Hope that explains things for you.
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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
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Before there was Kylie Jenner, there was Kat Von D. Nearly a decade ago, the tattoo artist famous for a career in reality television and a string of tabloid-fodder relationships took her notoriety and turned it into a global beauty empire. Today, Kat Von D Beauty is one of Sephora’s most successful brands, with products that sell out in a matter of weeks and rack up tens of thousands of glowing reviews and live events that attract hundreds of fans.
Like Kylie, Kat has an instantly recognizable, highly-stylized aesthetic. It’s a combination of punk, goth, and good old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll, featuring lots of black (and lately, head-to-toe red) outfits in faux leather and kooky avant-garde shapes. Jet-black hair, red lipstick, and predilection for mismatched eye makeup have become her signatures. But she doesn’t want an army of Kat clones.
“My biggest nightmare would be if somebody came to Sephora, saw my brand, and said, ‘Oh, I want to look like her, so I’ll buy this makeup,’” Kat Von D proclaimed to an audience of beauty world professionals at the WWD Beauty Summit this summer, her first-ever appearance at a major industry event. “I think that model may work for Kylie or whoever else bases their career on vanity or some kind of superficial thing. It’s quite a gamble because that can be very fleeting a lot of times.” Despite the similarities, Kat doesn’t appreciate Kylie comparisons.
After Kat’s session at the summit was over, she mingled a bit with the suit-wearing masses and then walked downstairs in towering platform shoes, gently guided by a member of her team. “I’m very impressed by Kat Von D!” a gray-haired man said admiringly to a younger woman standing beside him.
“She’s not bound by any rules,” the woman replied.
“I wanted to get a tattoo afterward,” he said.
Tattooing is where it all began for Kat, who was born Katherine von Drachenberg. The 35-year-old is a professional tattoo artist by trade and is known for her elaborate, life-like grayscale portraits. She’s tattooed a ton of musicians and celebrities, including Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga, and Harry Styles. She’s inked everything from the Mona Lisa to images of beloved pets on people’s bodies. It’s still something she does when she’s home in LA, though she tries to “limit it to one a day,” whereas a normal workday in her previous life would have had her seeing five clients one after another. Kat has a years-long wait list and is no longer taking appointments, in order to catch up. She recently said in a YouTube video that she doesn’t charge for tattoos anymore, preferring to do it for art’s sake.
“I feel like my name works against me sometimes, you know? People think, ‘Kat Von D, oh it's somebody that was on TV or somebody that dated somebody.’”
Kat’s own body is covered with tattoos, which you can see in zoomed-in detail in her New York Times bestselling book High Voltage Tattoo. (She has published two other books since.) In it, she models in a bikini and describes the origin of each batch of ink. She’s perhaps best recognized for the spray of stars around her eyes, a motif which shows up frequently in her beauty products. At first, she only had one star on each temple. While Kat lore has long held that the Motley Crue song “Starry Eyes” inspired at least the first few stars, in her book she says she added to them because her ex-husband and fellow tattoo artist Oliver Peck once told her to stop tattooing her face. She even has stars tattooed on one eyelid. One of her best-selling products, a liquid eyeliner, is called Tattoo Liner.
Kat was born in Mexico; she’s fluent in Spanish and identifies as Latina. Her parents are from Argentina and her father’s family originally hails from Germany. Her father is a doctor and she grew up with a conservative background as a member of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, where her parents were missionaries. She credits her paternal grandmother with instilling in her a love of art and music. (Kat’s a classically trained pianist and has a huge portrait of Beethoven tattooed on her thigh.) She says her father used to catch her on the floor drawing underneath the pews at church.
Kat moved to Colton, California, when she was four years old with her parents, brother, and sister. Her parents divorced years later and her mother moved back to Mexico. At 14, Kat discovered punk rock and started dating a boy named James, who was two years older and had a mohawk and tattoos. She got her first tattoo, an old English “J,” on her ankle at that time. Expanding on her interest in drawing, she started experimenting with tattooing, practicing on her friends. By 16, she had dropped out of high school and moved to Georgia with James. After three months, she moved back to California without him and started looking for jobs in tattoo shops. She secured a position at a shop near a San Bernardino jailhouse before moving to LA, where she landed a new gig every year or so and built up her reputation as a tattoo artist.
Kat didn’t become a public figure until she was cast in Miami Ink, a TLC series which documented a group of tattoo artists, their work, and the usual reality-show conflict and drama. She moved to Miami for the show, going home to LA on weekends. Kat appeared on the series from 2005 to 2007, until Ami James, the owner of the 305 Ink tattoo shop featured on the show, unceremoniously fired her. She was then promptly offered a spinoff called LA Ink, which ran from 2007 to 2011. Prior to its debut, she opened her own shop, High Voltage Tattoo, located in West Hollywood. Fans began to focus on her love life and some of the notorious men in it, like Motley Crue’s Nikki Sixx, Jesse James (best known for being Sandra Bullock’s ex and wearing Nazi uniforms), and Steve-O of Jackass fame. She became a bit of a gossip column mainstay.
“I feel like my name works against me sometimes, you know?” Kat says at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel in June. She’s there for the relaunch of two perfumes, Saint and Sinner, which she’d previously released in 2009 as limited-edition products. “People think, ‘Kat Von D, oh it's somebody that was on TV or somebody that dated somebody.’ And to me as an artist, it's kind of soul crushing. It's like, oh wow, what about all my hard work and what I would love to be known for?"
Kat says she knew that people would initially focus on her brand because it belongs to “that tattoo chick.” She really wanted it to evolve to the point where the product got attention rather than the founder. It might finally be getting there. She tells a story about a young woman who approached her on an airplane and said, “Hey, aren’t you that makeup artist?” Kat corrected her, because she isn’t a makeup artist, but was happy that this fan knew her from her work in the beauty world and not from reality TV.
Kat still has her rabid tattoo fans, though. One late September afternoon at High Voltage, Ashton Williams, the shop’s merchandise manager, is wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Who the fuck is Kat Von D?,” an homage to the “Who the fuck is Mick Jagger?” shirt Keith Richards famously wore on a Rolling Stones tour in the ’70s. There are sweatshirts and tees hanging all over the shop, many featuring a red and yellow High Voltage logo, skull motif, and Kat’s name. But exactly how many people are coming in for Kat merch?
“Tons. We have tour buses that let out in front of the shop all the time. People are obsessed with her. It’s crazy,” says Williams. “We have everyone from grandmothers from England to punk rockers. Nothing surprises me anymore. Literally, you’ll have a grandmother coming in who’s 70-something years old getting tattooed and she’s like, ‘I never really liked tattoos until I saw Kat.’ We have the broadest mix of people.”
People line up at the front windows of the shop and peer in when Kat is in the shop tattooing. She tattoos in plain sight on one of the tables that’s set up in the open-plan shop. They also run around to the back parking lot, Williams says, which features a building-sized mural of Kat and the shop’s other artists, to try to catch her as she’s getting into her car.
The look of the shop — moody red tapestry wallpaper, dark wood, dripping candles, crucifixes, “heartagrams” (a pentagram with a heart shape at the top), paintings in heavy gilt frames — is cohesive with the design of the beauty brand. Kat Von D products come in black boxes featuring gothic lettering and Kat’s original artwork. Shiny black studded tubes house her lipsticks. Religious iconography appears in the packaging and is echoed in the shade names, like her limited edition Saint and Sinner palette, which looks like a stained-glass cathedral window and includes colors like Sacred Heart, Worship, and Vestment. Her brand is everything that so-called millennial beauty lines are not. There’s no soft pink, no sans serif — everything is full coverage and ultra-pigmented. To compare her to Emily Weiss, another brand founder with a reality TV background, Kat Von D is the aesthetic sinner to Glossier’s saint.
Kat has always been a makeup person. She’s worn it since she was a kid and comparesbuying beauty products to “candy shopping.” Makeup has long been another artistic medium for her and she has said the process of applying it is therapeutic. She used to collect lipsticks, telling the LA Times that she’s tried every shade of red ever made, from CoverGirl to Chanel. Though it’s unclear whether or not she ever actively aspired to create her own makeup line, Kat did tell the paper, “I went through all my favorites and said, ‘If this was mine I'd add more purple, use a different finish.’” She has a tattoo on her abdomen that spells out “Hollywood” written in red lipstick, though it’s an homage to the New York Dolls’ logo rather than an ode to that particular beauty product.
Back in 2008, Kat got a call from a Sephora executive who told her people had been inundating sales associates with questions about the red lipstick “that tattoo girl” always wore on Miami Ink. So Sephora, which at the time was producing some of its own house brands, brought Kat up to its American headquarters in San Francisco for a meeting. She told the team there that she was bored (“so fucking bored,” actually) with things she saw in stores. The brand originally launched with four red lipsticks, which almost immediately sold out. This success led to an expanded line inspired by the inks and pigments Kat uses at High Voltage.
“My goal with the makeup line was to create something with a formulation you couldn't argue with. Whether you liked me or not, the product was good.”
“Let's create high-performance, bold, highly-pigmented, long-wear shit that no one else is really doing,” Kat says she suggested to the Sephora team. “I don't think any of us really knew that it could grow into something bigger. My goal with the makeup line was to create something with a formulation you couldn't argue with. Whether you liked me or not, the product was good.”
By all accounts, it is good. Kat Von D Beauty now has over 350 products including lipsticks, brushes, and eyeshadow and contour palettes. The brand sells the products on the Kat Von D Beauty website (international shipping has been available since September) and in stores in 34 countries, 18 of which debuted in the last 12 months. It’s almost exclusively sold at Sephora. In countries where there are no Sephora locations, like the UK and Ireland, it’s available at Debenhams. While brands like MAC, Make Up For Ever, and Urban Decay were already making richly pigmented products, Kat Von D was one of the earliest beauty brands to introduce matte liquid lipsticks, called the Everlasting Liquid Lipstick, back in 2013. Again, she did it long before Kylie introduced her Lip Kits, which, yes, feature longwear matte liquid lipstick.
Sephora does not share sales statistics, but at one point, Lolita Studded Kiss was apparently the retailer’s best-selling lipstick. The dusky rose color is now available in several formulations and is one of the brand’s signature shades. You can even buy a $104 “obsession” kit that includes the original Lolita Studded Kiss lipstick, an eyeshadow, three slightly different Lolita lip liners, and two versions of the shade in the Everlasting Liquid Lipstick formula. Kat originally named the shade after the Japanese street style movement, but later dedicated it to the actress Denise Richards’s daughter Lola, according to a Kendo representative. (The two met when Richards went to get her “Charlie” tattoo — inspired by ex-husband Charlie Sheen — covered up by Kat in 2008.) It is not named for Lolita, the titular underage object of lust in Vladimir Nabokov's controversial classic.
“The color Lolita is a perfect everyday color. I literally wear it every day,” says 15-year-old Samantha, who owns three $20 Lolita tubes. A friend gave her one as a birthday gift and her mom bought her another. “Then I just came to buy another one because it’s so perfect and I love it so much.”
Samantha’s friend, Valentina, also 15, adds solemnly, “It’s a holy grail.” (Holy grail, or HG, is a common designation in the makeup community, meaning it’s a product that works best for one person’s individual needs.)
Samantha and Valentina are at the Sephora at Hollywood and Highland, the same store where Kat herself shopped for red lipstick during her LA Ink days. It’s a bit messy and disheveled, much like the crowded, touristy neighborhood in which it resides. The Kat Von D Beauty section is in a highly trafficked area at the center of the store, with tester pans worn down to the bottom and caps missing from lipsticks.
Samantha first heard about Kat Von D Beauty on Instagram, where fans frequently tag its handle; the brand has 4 million followers and Kat’s personal account has 6.4 million. Kat launched the brand on Instagram herself back in 2015, after a marketing employee (who is no longer at Kendo) scoffed that it wasn’t worth it. The account gained a million followers in one month and Kat is still intimately involved with the imagery that’s posted there, though she now has a dedicated social team.
In January of this year, Kat Von D Beauty had its highest earned media value (or EMV) ever at $42.8 million, according to Tribe Dynamics. EMV is an indirect measure based on mentions and engagement, but it does have some correlation with actual market share and revenue. Since 2015, Kat Von D Beauty has shown up regularly on Tribe’s top ten EMV beauty list, along with social-media heavy hitters like Anastasia Beverly Hills and Too Faced.
“It’s a holy grail.”
“When we think about patterns of successful brands, the thing that they tend to do really well is make great products. The large majority of this content is organic and people aren't going to give you editorial content if they don't love your product,” says Tribe’s Brit McCorquodale. She notes that in the second quarter of this year, over 4,000 influencers were talking about the Kat Von D brand online, but the majority of them were micro-influencers, with under 100,000 followers. “The fact that Kat Von D has performed so well within the influencer community speaks really highly of the products that they're creating, which is something Kendo does very well across their brands.”
Ah yes, Kendo. While Kat provides the ideas and creativity and is the very public face of the brand, Kendo is the entity behind the scenes that quietly brings her visions to life. The company is also the reason that Sephora maintains exclusivity when it comes to Kat Von D Beauty. David Suliteanu, then-CEO of Sephora Americas, started Kendo as a “private label development arm for Sephora” in San Francisco in 2010. In 2014, Suliteanu became the CEO of Kendo, which split off from Sephora as a freestanding entity; it now identifies itself as a brand incubator and credits Kat Von D as being the “seed brand” that launched it.
The luxury conglomerate LVMH is the parent company of both Sephora and Kendo. Kendo owns lip brand Bite Beauty and skincare brand Ole Henriksen, both brands it acquired. It developed Marc Jacobs Beauty, Rihanna’s just-launched Fenty Beauty, and Kat Von D Beauty. It also developed the now-defunct Sephora nail brand Formula X (a rare failure for the company), as well as Elizabeth and James fragrances, the Olsen twins’ brand, which is now under the auspices of Butterfly Beauty.
Kendo does not like to share information about its inner workings nor give any insight into its product development process, although Nancy McGuire, the vice president of product development for Kat Von D Beauty and Ole Henriksen, does sometimes share sneak peeks of products on her Instagram page. Kendo declined to make anyone from the company available for interviews for this story. Instead, they sent email responses which included information taken verbatim from Kendo’s site and the review section of Sephora’s site. A representative did share that “Kat Von D Beauty is among the top-selling brands in all of our retailers, and our products consistently rank as top performers in each category.”
Social media definitely catapulted Kat Von D Beauty into the stratosphere, but its steady success happened in parallel with Sephora’s. It’s impossible to dissect the causality: Did Sephora help Kat Von D or did Kat Von D help Sephora? Yes and yes. Sephora, since it shares a corporate parent with Kat Von D Beauty, naturally seeks to heavily promote the brand, a situation non-LVMH brands are not too pleased about. And as Kat Von D Beauty becomes more ubiquitous on social media, there’s only one place a fan can walk in and try it: Sephora.
Sephora is the number one global beauty retailer, and number two in the US after Ulta. In 2009, it had over 1,000 stores worldwide. Today it has 2,300. According to a recent New York Timesstory, Sephora has doubled its revenue since 2011; a Fung Global Retail & Tech research reportestimates the retailer made between $4.4 billion and $4.9 billion in the US last year alone. That’s a lot of potential Lolita sales. As people are turning away from department stores for beauty, they’re turning to specialty stores like Sephora instead. Sephora also has a reputation as a kingmaker, as Business of Fashion noted in 2013, and brands (especially indie brands) that sell there say they enjoy more perceived legitimacy from customers.
Kat Von D Beauty anticipated making about $2 million its first year and instead made an estimated $12 million.
According to WWD, Kat Von D Beauty anticipated making about $2 million its first year and instead made an estimated $12 million. That momentum has apparently not slowed. The brand’s success is the result of a combination of Sephora’s support and Kendo’s uncanny knack for releasing the right products at the right time, presumably thanks in part to access to Sephora customer sales data. Take the holographic Alchemist Palette, which Kat says took seven years to develop. It debuted (and sold out) right as the unicorn makeup craze was at its apex. Kat Von D Beauty’s success also hinges on Kat Von D the person’s enduring star power.
Since LA Ink ended in 2011, Kat has attended countless Sephora store openings and launches for her brand, traipsing the globe to places like Dubai, Australia, Spain, and the UK for photo ops with fans. From the beginning, she’s maintained a steady line of communication with her fans via Facebook and YouTube; in 2013, a Stylophane report named Kat Von D the most engaged beauty brand on Facebook and she still makes frequent appearances on the brand’s YouTube channel. She has stayed in the public eye in other ways too, releasing her third book in 2013, accompanied by a tour. She also showed up on the Grammys red carpet that year with then-boyfriend Deadmau5. Now, she continues to be most available to fans via her wildly popular personal Instagram and in real life at Kat Von D Beauty events.
Kat is undeniably charismatic in person. Her deep, raspy voice is mesmerizing. She is a hugger. She is beloved by people in her orbit, and they are fiercely loyal to her. Williams, the High Voltage merch manager, credits Kat with convincing him to move to LA, telling him he would “blossom.” Kevin Lewis, a tattoo artist who’s been at High Voltage since LA Ink was still shooting says, “One of the biggest things for me is that, for someone who has made so much for themselves, she’s so grounded. She’s not cocky. She’s not arrogant. She’s not a celebrity.”
Ashley Sherengo, the 24-year-old Kat plucked off Twitter to run the brand’s social media says of their first real-life meeting, “I didn’t expect for her to be so open and kind. I felt like we were just friends who had gone a long time without talking.” Even Amber Rose, who showed up at the Saint and Sinner party after having Kat on her podcast, gushes, “I’ve always been a huge fan and I just kind of took a chance and I went up to her and told her that I love her and she was so gracious and sweet to me.”
None are quite as loyal, though, as the group of four official Kat Von D Beauty makeup artists, dubbed the Artistry Collective.
In a nondescript conference room at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, hours before the Saint and Sinner party, party greeters in black-and-white latex dresses get their makeup done and drag queens from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence cover their facial hair with purple glitter and put on their habits. Kat Von D makeup palettes are scattered everywhere. Steffanie Strazzere, whose taxi-cab-yellow hair, Barbie-pink lips, and aqua eyeshadow fit right into the colorful scene, is helping get everyone ready. She credits Kat with being her “fairy godmother of makeup.”
Kat hired Steffanie, along with Leah Carmichael, Tara Buenrostro, and Kelseyanna Fitzpatrick to be surrogates for her as the Kat Von D Beauty brand grows globally. She discovered all of them (except Leah, who she’s been friends with for years) on Instagram. As faces of the brand, they create content on YouTube and Instagram, do Kat’s makeup, represent the brand at stores and trainings, and help out with product testing. They’re all trained and talented makeup artists. The common thread between them is their artistic vision for what makeup should be, which is, well, uncommon. Kelseyanna, in particular, creates otherworldly, occasionally terrifying, looks.
“I get a lot of people sending messages thanking us for being ourselves and saying that it's pushed them to take more risks with their makeup,” Kelseyanna says. “Someone thanked me last night for doing ugly makeup, like, not caring about being pretty. That's the real stuff, and that really motivates me to keep creating.”
“Everybody's kinda like, ‘What the hell is going on?’ And then they're like, ‘Oh. Kat and the Kittens.’"
Steffanie worked at MAC for more than a decade but left because of animal testing, since the brand sells in China. “From a work standpoint,” she says, “I feel really safe because I know Kat has the best interests of the brand, animals, and us in mind, so it’s a very safe place.”
Kat is an outspoken vegan, and her brand is vegan (meaning the products don’t contain any animal byproducts) and cruelty-free (meaning they aren’t tested on animals nor are they sold in mainland China, which requiresforeign brands to test on animals before they sell their products there). There’s a gray area when it comes to the cruelty-free designation, though. Kat Von D Beauty and all the other Kendo brands do not test on animals or sell in China. However, Kendo parent company LVMH owns beauty brands like Benefit, Givenchy, Make Up For Ever, and Fresh, which do sell in China. In the cruelty-free community, this is a point of contention that comes up whenever an indie brand that doesn’t test on animals sells to a large company. But it’s a big part of the brand’s identity and one, according to NPD Group beauty analyst Larissa Jensen, that is an asset. “The brand’s cruelty-free positioning,” she writes in an email, “enables it to connect with consumers on a value- and emotional-based level.”
Kat has tattooed Steffanie twice, once on each calf. One tattoo is an image of her fluffy white cat Baby Ghost and the other is a portrait of Lydia Deetz, Winona Ryder’s character from Beetlejuice. “I just feel so lucky,” she says. “My legs are the most valuable part of my body now.”
The foursome has become famous among makeup fans in their own right. They’ve each experienced huge jumps in followers on their Instagrams and fans regularly recognize them in real life. Tara carries around products to give out to people who come up and talk to her. She says that when the group and Kat are all together in the airport, it causes a lot of commotion: “It's just a sea of black and a ton of suitcases, and everybody's kinda like, ‘What the hell is going on?’ And then they're like, ‘Oh. Kat and the Kittens.’"
“I feel like her bodyguard, a protective shield, constantly looking around and making sure she's okay,” Leah says. “People obviously recognize her, especially when she's decked out in a full red outfit. She'll never be the bad guy, she'll never say no, so I think that's where we have to step in sometimes. She's so kind and gracious with every single fan.”
Fans know that Kat handpicked the Collective, and Tara considers the group “a little extension” of her. Fans consider them the next best thing to Kat herself.
The Artistry Collective has garnered criticism, though. As one commenter noted on an early Instagram shot of the group of light-skinned artists, “would be cool to see more ethnic diversity represented in the artistry team!” Some fans thought Kat’s response seemed defensive. She replied in the comments: “Diversity? We have American, Canadian, Dutch, Mexican, Australian, and Argentinian? Not sure what is lacking in ‘diversity’ here. And as for true diversity, I have put together an artistry team that is diverse in each artist's approach to makeup. This group’s experience, talent and hard work in the beauty world speaks for itself and covers the entire spectrum of style and technique.”
When the commenter wrote back, “There are also amazing makeup artists with deeper skin tones out there too and it'd be awesome to see them included in the future,” Kat’s response was, “I'm sorry, but I don't judge or hire people based off of their skin tone. I don't care if you’re black white or neon green - I select my crew by what's on the inside…”
The reality is that beauty companies do need to consider skin tone, because makeup goes on skin.
Kat Von D Beauty has 32 foundation shades and its social media channels sometimes show swatches on different skin tones and repost pictures of women of color using the makeup. But Kat discounting her fans’ desire to see more people they relate to wearing her makeup is shortsighted on a community level, but on a business one too.
Take Rihanna’s Fenty Beauty — Kat Von D’s sister brand at Kendo, let’s not forget — which launched with 40 foundation shades and a public commitment to people of all skin tones. The darker tones sold out, and the media was pretty unanimous in its praise. Kendo’s CEO David Suliteanu has given very few interviews over the years, with the exception of one giddy quote to WWD about how Fenty Beauty would be a “beauty rocket ship that will appeal to a huge and diverse global audience.” He was right. The reality is that beauty companies do need to consider skin tone, because makeup goes on skin.
It should be obvious that Kat is as outspoken as Kendo is opaque, a quality for which she is unapologetic. As befits someone who is trying to sell a saint-and-sinner duality, Kat can be acerbic. “I've just never been afraid of speaking my mind,” she says. This has gotten her into trouble in the reality show of our modern times: social media. Since her brand has launched, she’s found herself embroiled in her fair share of controversies and she’s picked a few fights along the way. But it seems to be working. At the end of last year, L2 credited Kat Von D’s ever-growing digital IQ, a measure of how well a company utilizes technology, to “her uncensored personality and opinions, a successful cocktail no parent company should alter.”
In 2013, Sephora stopped selling a Kat Von D lipstick called “Celebutard” after receiving customer complaints. The most shocking thing might be that the name got past a marketing team in the first place. Kat allegedly tweeted that it was “just a fucking lipstick.” This seems to be one of the last times Sephora or Kendo publicly inserted itself into Kat’s kerfuffles, letting her fight her own fights.
Two years later, there was more outrage over a lipstick shade called “Underage Red,” which had been in the collection in some form since the very beginning. “To go back to the Underage Red or any of the controversial names that I've named some of my products,” Kat says, “it is laughable to me. There is the PC police out there and a lot of times those people just want to be heard in whatever way. I don't really coddle that. Initially, when I named that shade, it was inspired by a specific shade of red that I wore to a concert that I couldn't get into because I was underage.” She ended up writing a defiant Facebook post and Sephora did not pull the shade.
Then there was the great beauty beef of summer 2016, in which Kat called out Jeffree Star, a YouTube and Instagram beauty guru who also used to appear on LA Ink and who Kat had befriended after tattooing him frequently through the years. In a now-deleted Instagram post and then on YouTube, she accused him of bullying, racism, promoting drug use (Kat has been sober for 10 years), and not paying an artist he had used for his beauty line. The accusations of racism prompted some outlets to dig up an old TMZ allegation that, back in 2008, Kat had sent a headshot of herself to her Miami Ink boss Ami James that included a swastika and referred to him as a “Jewbag.” She vehemently denied sending it, calling it a forgery and noting that she had always been “an advocate for tolerance of all races, religions and ways of life.” TLC supported her. Jeffree responded with his own video, calling Kat a liar, and the beauty world buzzed about it for a few weeks.
Kat has also publicly called out other brands like MAC for years because they sell in China, and she targeted Nars on Instagram this summer by posting graphic photos of bloody rabbits after the brand announced it would start selling in the country. “That was just a personal heartbreak,” Kat says. “I'd been a huge fan of Nars for a really long time. It was disheartening. If you're going to choose money over compassion, then that comes with a price as well.”
“There is the PC police out there and a lot of times those people just want to be heard in whatever way. I don't really coddle that.”
She hasn’t been afraid to call out other brands for taking a bit too much inspiration from her products, either. In March, she went after lower-end UK brand Makeup Revolution for copyingher popular $48 Shade and Light Eye Contour palette, from the shades right down to the arrangement of the colors. Even the name was reminiscent of the Kat Von D Beauty product: Makeup Revolution called their iteration the Ultra Eye Contour Light & Shade Palette. She got some backlash from people who couldn’t afford her $50 palette. They perceived Kat as being unsupportive of cheaper brands. She says she can appreciate dupes, but explains, “I'm not for plagiarism and I think that there's a big difference.”
Kat’s biggest controversy to date, however, resulted in her becoming a target of the alt-right and Milo Yiannopoulos. Both Fox News and the Washington Post covered the scandal. It was all because of the Saint and Sinner perfume launch party.
The party was basically goth prom. The night included nuns in drag, pole dancers, a confessional booth, dry ice swirling on the bars, a Nine Inch Nails-heavy soundtrack, Amber Rose and her entourage, and tons and tons of people in extreme makeup with appliques stuck to their faces. The founders of other cruelty-free beauty brands, like Too Faced, Sugarpill, and Melt Cosmetics, were also in attendance. It took a bit of convincing, but Kat’s team allowed her to fulfill her vision and let her invite who she wanted to (rather than simply invite the standard beauty influencers with millions of followers).
“Kendo is really great, and I know that they're obviously putting a lot of marketing dollars into it so I want to respect that. But to them, they want the safe things,” Kat said before the party. “Influencers have a lot of followers. I don't think half of those influencers are on-brand. We don't repost them. I don't really relate to them. I'd rather pick people with smaller follower counts that I actually admire and that are cool and that are different, you know?”
So Kat won. “Of course I won. I will never back up something I don't believe in and they know that. And I think what helps them feel comfortable is that when I am excited about something, it has never failed. When I have doubts is usually when it gets scary.”
She also addressed the huge amount of marketing money that can get sucked into paying influencers. “I see it with other brands and how much gifting they do and the crazy events they throw for people to go on goddamn cruises and shit. To me, it’s just so insincere and fake. We don’t pay anybody,” she says. Then a pause. “I think there’s another influencer event happening right now with actual real, huge influencers. But none of those people were on our list anyway. Not to say that they're not great at what they do, but when you free yourself of all those things then you are left to be able to make cool shit.”
That other event turned out to be the launch of Kim Kardashian’s KKW Beauty line, which Kim had been teasing for weeks. She invited a few editors and some huge influencers to her actual home across the city in Bel Air. Kim’s outfits and the rooms in which she met her guests were all the same muted colors, once again highlighting the difference between Kat and the rest of the beauty world at this particular moment in time.
There was some drama behind the scenes at the Saint and Sinner party, though, which didn’t come to light until a month later. Kat Von D Beauty had run a contest challenging fans to submit their best saint/sinner makeup looks to win an all-expenses-paid trip to LA for the party. The brand announced the winner, Gypsy Freeman, on its Instagram. But then fans noticed the Trump “Make America Great Again” image Freeman had posted months earlier and started flooding the Kat Von D page with comments.
“Like, if you support Hitler I don't want you to wear my lipstick, to be honest, you know?”
In hindsight, Kat was probably alluding to this incident before the party when asked about politics: “I think everybody has the right to vote for whoever they want. To me, I definitely draw a line in the sand in real life. Like, we can't be friends if you support somebody who's anti-immigration, anti-climate change, anti-women.” When asked if people unfollow her for her stance, she said, “For sure, and I'm glad they do, in the sense that I'm not going to invest energy into converting somebody. You can't shake hands with a fist. People think that it's dumb business-wise, but I would feel the same way about Hitler. Like, if you support Hitler I don't want you to wear my lipstick, to be honest, you know?”
A month after the party, the Wichita Eagle broke the story that Kat had disqualified Freeman from the contest because she was a Trump supporter. The Kat Von D social team has wiped all evidence of the contest from the Facebook page. Freeman sent screenshots to the paper of a direct message conversation that she had with Kat. Freeman’s response to Kat was, “We would love to be there, of course, but I sincerely do understand if you decide to replace us with someone who supports the candidate you support.” The photographer who took the pictures of Freeman’s model did go to the party. Kat later insisted on Instagram, in a comment that appears to have since been deleted, that she did not disqualify her and that Freeman chose not to attend.
Places like The Donald subreddit picked up the story. “I talked to my team because there was a heightened sense of concern,” she says. “We were getting a lot of backlash on that, but I'm like, ’Yeah, fuck, I don't care if Fox News talks shit, fuck them.’ I'm very open about my stance on Trump and if you don't agree with me, that's totally up to you. It's a free country and I actually celebrate true democracy.”
Kat has a lot going on in the coming year. She’s going to launch a self-funded vegan shoe line called Von D Shoes which she says includes 28 different styles. One of the boots will feature a compartment that will fit a lipstick. The line is being produced in Italy using high-tech leather alternatives and with the help of Rebecca Mink, who has her own vegan shoe line. “I'm not interested in looking at cheap plastics,” says Kat. “We're looking at all these innovative, different leather substitutes that are made out of mushroom and pineapple and they're actually great for the environment and look equal to, if not better than leather.”
Kat is also releasing an album and planning a tour. Then, of course, there’s Kat Von D Beauty. She collaborated on an upcoming smudgy guyliner with her friend, Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, and has created a palette dedicated to Divine, the late drag queen who frequently collaborated with filmmaker John Waters. Several times, Kat has mentioned wanting to open a store in LA, though nothing is technically in the works yet. She is also in the process of designing a collection for the brand’s tenth anniversary next year.
While Kat and her brand are now a known entity, it cannot be overstated how much of a trailblazer she really is. Reality stars have come and gone with flash-in-the-pan beauty launchesthroughout the years (see: Snooki and any number of Real Housewives and Basketball Wives cast members). But Kat has a unique and unreproducible authenticity, a quality that all beauty brands are now chasing, that is undeniable regardless of how you feel about her personal aesthetic or opinions. Her unabashed love of a full face of makeup and her brand’s use of ultra-pigmented products before it was popular outside of pro brands presaged the moment we’re in now: a moment where more is more when it comes to makeup. She’s also exhibit A for the argument that celebrities should have a strong controlling hand in their brands, as opposed to simply slapping a name on a product for a short-lived sales burst.
As Kat declared when detailing one of her many controversies, “If you don't like it, don't fucking buy it. This is my art and my message to give to the world.”
Cheryl Wischhover is a senior beauty reporter at Racked.
Editor: Julia Rubin
Copy editor: Laura Bullard
source> https://www.racked.com/2017/12/12/16763338/kat-von-d-beauty-sephora
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