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babypandawrites · 3 years

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Allies, Pt. 6

The Fortune Teller

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 4,530 Summary: Meeting Aunt Wu and getting your fortune told by her definitely does not make you come to any realizations at the end of the day. None at all.

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Sitting a bit away from the rest of the group, Y/n leaned her back against a rock settled on the lake shore. She held a small handmade leather bound journal in her hands, finger tips tracing along the cover. She hummed to herself, squinting at the cover. “Maybe just a small peak…” “Look!” Her head snapped up, looking at the others, then looking in the direction Katara had been pointing. She’d been pointing out to the water, where a green catfish jumped from the water before landing back in it. Y/n tucked the journal away. “He is taunting us… You are so going to be dinner!” As Sokka ran to get his fishing pole, she got up and joined the group. Sokka tried to cast the pole a few times, but nothing happened. “Hey! Where’s the fishing line.” “Oh, I didn’t think you would need it, Sokka.” Aang held up the fishing line, it had been twisted into something. “Aang, it’s all tangled!” “Not tangled- woven .” He airbended a gust of air to push him to his feet, and turned to Katara. “I made you a necklace, Katara. I thought since you lost your other one…” Trailing off, he smiled sheepishly and held out the homemade necklace to Katara. She took it from him. “Thanks, Aang. I love it.” Y/n got her bow from where it sat next to the tent, and pulled an arrow from the quiver before joining Sokka at the shore line. He had tossed his fishing pole into the water like a spear, only for it to disappear. “Stop taunting me!” She looked at him with an amused expression. “Sokka, I can catch-” Holding up his hand he cut her off. “No! No, I got this.” He drew out his knife, and lunged into the water, trying to catch the fish with it. Her and Aang both watched his antics in amusement. “So, how do I look?” Y/n turned back to look at Katara. The girl had put on the necklace Aang gave her, and while Y/n was pretty sure the question hadn’t been directed at her, she still gave her a thumbs up. “You mean all of you or just your neck? I mean, uh, both look great.” She raised her eyebrows at Aang. That kid was not very good at hiding his crush. Sokka got out of the lake, holding the fish he had caught as if about to kiss it. “Smoochie, smoochie, someone’s in love.” The fish flipped around in his hands, knocking him back into the lake and earning a laugh from Y/n. Aang rubbed at his head in an embarrassed manner. “I… well…” “Stop teasing him, Sokka.” Katara gave her brother an annoyed look. “Aang’s just a good friend. A sweet little guy- just like Momo.” “Thanks.” He was clearly put down by her words. Y/n rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, as a soaking wet Sokka approached the group. He was empty handed, and looked quite upset about it.

At a sound in the distance, Momo flew off in it’s direction. Aang used his airbending to join the lemur atop a large rock. He pointed to the source of the noise. “Someone’s being attacked by a platypus bear!” He jumped off the rock, presumably down to where the attack was taking place. Sokka and Katara ran off in the direction Aang pointed, as Y/n grabbed her quiver to put on her back, before quickly joining them. The three joined Aang, as a man calmly dodged attacks from the platypus bear. Aang, Katara and Sokka were trying to give advice to the man about how to evade the bear, but he brushed them off, claiming everything would be fine. Appa ended up scaring the platypus bear by roaring at it, not only making it run away but also making it drop an egg. Sokka went to pick up the egg. “Mmm! Lunch!” He sniffed the egg, before looking at the man. “Lucky for you we came along.” “Thanks, but everything was already under control. Not to worry, Aunt Wu predicted I’d have a safe journey.” The man put his hands together in a position of prayer and bowed slightly. “Aunt who?” Aang questioned. “No, Aunt Wu. She’s the fortune teller from my village. Awfully nice knowing your future.” Katara looked amazed. “Wow, it must be. That explains why you were so calm.” “But the fortune teller was wrong! You didn’t have a safe journey, you were almost killed.” “I think us showing up is what made it a safe journey actually, Sokka.” “The girl has a point. All right, have a good one!” The man gave a wave goodbye to the group, and began walking away, but he turned back again. “Oh, and Aunt Wu said if I met any travelers to give them this.” He handed Aang a long, thin wrapped object and walked away. “Maybe we should go see Aunt Wu and learn our fortunes. It could be fun.” Katara looked between her friends as she spoke her suggestion. Sokka waved off his sister's suggestion. “Oh come on, fortune telling is nonsense.” Glancing between the two siblings, Y/n offered a small shrug. “Even if it is nonsense, it could still be fun.” “See! Y/n gets it! Kinda.” “What do ya know, an umbrella!” The three looked over to Aang, who had unwrapped the wrapped up object, which was clearly an umbrella. The sky abruptly darkened as rain began to pour down. Katara smiled, and waterbended the rain into an arch above her head to avoid getting wet. “That proves it.” She ran to join Aang under the opened umbrella. Y/n found herself joining the two, trying to fit under the umbrella space as well. Sokka held the egg above his head. “No it doesn’t, you can’t really tell the future.” “I guess you’re not really getting wet then.”

The four walked down the road. Aang, Katara and Y/n were dry under the umbrella while Sokka was getting soaking again from walking in the rain. “Of course she predicted it was gonna rain. The sky’s been gray all day.” “Just admit you might be wrong and you can come under the umbrella.” Y/n nodded at Katara’s words. “The umbrella life is pretty nice, I really recommend it.” He looked at them blankly. “Look, I’m going to predict the future now.” Sokka made a bunch of funny movements and noises, before speaking in an exaggerated voice.. “It’s going to keep drizzling.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “See!” The rain instantly stopped, and the sun came out. “Not everyone has the gift, Sokka.” Aang closed the umbrella as he spoke. Appa came up on the group, passing Sokka, he shook out his fur causing the boy to be drenched more.

Soon, they came across a village sat atop a snowy mountain. When they entered through the gates of the village a herald dressed in black greeted them. “Aunt Wu is expecting you.” “Really?” Though it was something simple, it still seemed to amaze Katara in a way. The group followed the man as he led them to a building, closing the door once all four were inside. There were four sitting pillows placed on the ground. A young girl dressed in a pink kimono with her hair tied into large braids entered the room. “My name is Meng and I’m Aunt Wu’s assistant.” The girl seemed to take a quick interest in Aang. “Well hello there.” He rubbed his nose. “Hello.” Y/n took a seat on one of the pillows, Aang and Katara joining her. “Can I get you some tea, or some of Aunt Wu’s special bean curd puffs?” Sokka sat down as well. “I’ll try a curd puff.” “Just a second.” Meng bent down to address Aang. “So what’s your name?” “Aang.” “That rhymes with Meng! And you’ve got some pretty big ears, don’t you?” “Uh… I guess..” Aang seemed confused, rightfully so. “Oh, don’t be so modest. They’re huge!” Sokka spread out his arms wide. Y/n elbowed him in the side, as Aang looked at him angrily. “Well Aang, it is very nice to meet you. Very nice.” “Likewise.” Meng exited the room, leaving the four by themselves. “I can’t believe we’re here in the house of nonsense.” “Try to keep an open mind, Sokka. There are things in this world that just can’t be explained. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some insight into your future?” “It would be nice to have some bean curd puffs.” Katara seemed annoyed by her brother, and his disbelief. Y/n rested her chin in her hands, and looked over to her. “You really believe in this stuff don’t you, Katara?” “You don’t?” She offered a small shrug. “Not particularly. It’s just assumptions and intuition.” Katara looked at her with a blank expression. “You really agree with Sokka?” “I don’t think it’s nonsense.” “But, you don’t believe in it?” “I just don’t think it’s some magical ability, there’s logic set behind it that mostly consists of guesses.” As Katara rolled her eyes, a woman walked into the room. “Welcome young travelers.” This must be Aunt Wu. “Now, who’s next? Don’t be shy.” Aang, Y/n and Sokka all being disinterested, Katara stood up. “I guess that’s me.” She walked away following Aunt Wu into another room. Sokka was chowing down on the curd puffs they were given. “Not bad. Not bad. Mmmm!” He offered some to Aang, who declined. Y/n grabbed one from the tray when he offered them to her. Her nose wrinkled when he tried it, they weren’t really her cup of tea. Aang looked between the two. “So… what do you think they’re talking about back there?” “Boring stuff, I’m sure. Love. Who she’s going to marry. How many babies she’s gonna have.” Sokka shrugged as he spoke, eating another curd puff. “Yeah… dumb stuff like that…” Aang bit at his fingernails. “Well, I’ve gotta find a bathroom!” He jumped up and ran off. Y/n raised an eyebrow. “What’s his deal?” Sokka stretched out over Aang and Katara’s pillows. “Probably going to listen to my sisters dumb palm reading.” “Makes sense.”

After a few minutes Aang came back, clearly pleased by whatever he heard. “Looks like someone had a pretty good bathroom break.” “Yeah, when I was in there-” Sokka cut him off. “I don’t wanna know!” Aunt Wu and Katara walked back out. The woman looked between the three. “Who’s next?” “Okay, let’s get this over with.” Sokka pushed himself to his feet. “Your future is full of struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted.” “But, you didn’t read my palms or anything!” “I don’t need to- It’s written all over your face.” Y/n held back a laugh. “Um, I can go.” Aunt Wu looked over her for a short moment, before nodding. “Follow me.” She got up from her seat, and followed the woman off into the room Katara had been in prior. The two sat down across from each other. Aunt Wu carefully grabbed onto her hand, and looked over her palm. “Is there anything you’d like to know?” “Uh…” Y/n thought for a short moment. “I’m.. not sure?” “How about we take a look at your love line.” “Alright.” The woman traced her finger tip along her palm. “You will have a difficult and tragic love. Many things will go wrong, and there is no guarantee of reconciliation.” She grimaced. “That sounds…” “Horrible? It will be.” “Um… Is there anything else you're seeing..?” Aunt Wu hummed for a short moment. “I can see… where your soulmate is from. The Water Tribe.” “Wa-Water Tribe..? Southern or Northern?!” “That I don’t know. Though I can see you will care for several children in your future.” “Oh. Can you.. See anything about my future in general?” “Let’s see… Things will get worse, before they get better. Secrets will only harm you in the long run.” She gulped. “That is all.”

After Aang’s reading, the group left. “Well, now you got to see for yourselves that fortunetelling is just a big, stupid hoax.” Katara rolled her eyes at her brother. “You’re just saying that because you’re going to make yourself unhappy your whole life.” “That woman is crazy! My life will be calm! And happy! And joyful!” Sokka got more upset with each word he spoke. He kicked a small rock off the ground, causing it to ricochet off a nearby sigh and hit him on the head knocking him back. “Ow! That doesn’t prove anything!” Y/n helped him off the ground. “If talking to that woman told me anything, it’s that she’s speaking nonsense.” “You just didn’t like what you were told.” She looked at Katara with a blank expression. “Clearly.” Her tone was sarcastic. “Well, I liked my predictions. Certain things are going to turn out very well.” Katara clasped her hands together. “They sure are.” “Why, what did she tell you?” Aang offered a smile to Katara. “Some stuff. You’ll find out.” They all approach a large crowd that’s gathered at the center of the village square. Most of the people in the crowd stood in silence, looking up at the sky. Katara looked up as well. “What’s with the sky?” “We are waiting for Aunt Wu to come and read the clouds to predict the fate of the whole village.” One of the men in the crowd offered the answer. “The whole village?” Y/n looked at the man oddly when he nodded. “Interesting…” Weird stuff. Aang pointed up. “That cloud looks like a fluffy bunny.” “You better hope that’s not a bunny- The fluffy bunny cloud forecast doom and destruction.” “Do you even hear yourself?” The man looked at Sokka with an annoyed expression. A woman from the crowd took a step towards them. “The cloud reading will tell us if Mount Makapu will remain dormant for another year or if it will erupt.” “We used to have a tradition once a year of going up the mountain to check the volcano ourselves, but ever since Aunt Wu moved to the village twenty years ago we have a tradition of not doing that.” Sokka’s expression twisted to a mix of confusion and outrage. “I can’t believe you would trust your lives to that crazy old woman’s superstition.” “Seriously…” Katara shushed the two. “She’s coming!” Aunt Wu walked down and through the crowd, getting up to the stage that had been set up. She gave out several predictions, all of which pleased the village members to hear, one of which included that the volcano would not erupt this year.” Scoffing, Sokka gently elbowed Y/n in the side. “You think she’s crazy too, right?” “Well,” Pausing, she turned her head to look at him. Your soulmate is from the Water Tribe. “Yeah, definitely. She’s talking nonsense.” She breathed out a nervous laugh. “I’m gonna go see what Katara is up to uh- See you later!” Y/n turned fast on her heel and rushed off.

Arms crossed over her chest, Y/n paced in the space in front of Appa. The bison was laying on the ground, just outside the village gates. He let out a grunt. She halted in her steps, looking over to him. “You’re right, I’m stressing out about this way too much. I mean, why am I even freaking out? Aunt Wu’s predictions are just nonsense, right? You think they’re nonsense too don’t you, Appa?” Her eyebrows furrowed together as he grunted. “No, they have to be nonsense. There’s no way that Sokka could be my soulmate, that’s ridiculous. Right?” Appa gave another grunt, she frowned. “You’re not making me feel better here, Appa.” Sighing, she began pacing again. “Maybe I should talk to her again? I know, I know, I said her prediction’s are nonsense, but in the case they aren’t … She didn’t tell me if my soulmate was from the Southern Water Tribe or the Northern Water Tribe, if I get another reading maybe she can pick that up…” The bison grunted again, causing Y/n to look at him with an offended expression. “You could at least pretend to agree with me! This is why I take my issues to Momo, he’s much better at this than you!” Pausing she reached a hand out and patted his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You’re definitely the better advice animal, Appa. You’re right, I’m just being crazy, it doesn’t matter. Thanks for the help Appa, I’m gonna go find the others now.” As she walked back into the village, Y/n scoffed. “I’m being crazy? Ridiculous, Appa is clearly the crazy one here…” Approaching Aunt Wu’s house, Y/n gave Aang a confused stare as he shouted something at a walking away Katara. “You good there bud?” Surprised by her sudden appearance, Aang jumped slightly. “Huh- Yeah. I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you okay, Y/n? You were acting kind of weird earlier.” “Wh-! I was not acting weird. I don’t act weird!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You’re acting weird!” “Uh-huh… You’re not here to get another reading, are you? Didn’t you say Aunt Wu was speaking nonsense?” Gulping, she looked to the side nervously. “I’m not! And she is!” As if on cue, the front door was opened, Aunt Wu standing on the other side. “I knew you would be coming back eventually.” Aang gave her a look. “Shut up.” Y/n turned quickly, and shuffled into the building. “You would like for your question from before to be answered, is that right?” Aunt Wu asked, as the two entered her fortune telling room. “Well uh-” Y/n breathed out a sigh, looking to the ground shamefully. “Yeah.” The woman led her over to an urn, it had been filled with bones. “Let’s try something else this time, pick one.” She motioned to the urn. Y/n looked at it for a moment, before picking one. They sat down, and she threw the bone into the fire when Aunt Wu instructed her too. The bone started to crack, small gaps forming in it. “Let’s see what it says.” Aunt Wu leaned closer to the fire, observing them. “The answer to your question, I’m still not seeing. But I can see that you will reunite with a family member soon.” “You’re sure? There’s nothing about it at all?” Another crack formed in the bone. “Ah… here it is. He will be from the Southern Tribe.” “The Southern Tribe…” Y/n was quick to push herself up to her feet. “I see well uh- thank you.” She bolted out of the house, uttering a quick apology to Katara when she shoved past her. Yeah, no. That woman was crazy! That couldn’t be true, there was no way- Y/n grunted, as she aggressively ran into somebody. She stumbled a bit, but was able to steady herself. “Ah- Sorry about t-” Realizing who she ran into, she’d cut herself off. “Oh wow, look at that, I have to go!” She turned and was ready to rush off, but a firm grip on her arm stopped her. “Woah- Wait! We need to find Katara and warn everyone. The volcano is going to erupt.” A very obvious wave of relief washed over her, as she turned to look at Sokka. “The volcano is going to erupt? So- Aunt Wu was wrong?” Aang and Sokka shared a look, before both offered a nod in confirmation. She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank spirits… I mean- Not about the volcano thing that’s really bad but the Aunt- You know what nevermind, we need to get going and warn everybody!” As she started to walk away, Aang leaned closer to Sokka. “You think she’s acting weird, right?” “Definitely.” “Are you two coming or not?!”

The three found Katara, waiting outside of Aunt Wu’s door, which wasn’t exactly a surprise to any of them. Aang offered her a small wave of greeting. “Hi, Katara.” “Can you believe she won’t let me in? And after all the business I’ve given her?” Y/n raised an eyebrow at the girl. “But, she doesn’t even charge.” “I know, but still.” “Well, we have other things to worry about. Aunt Wu was wrong about the volcano.” Sokka stepped into the conversation, causing Katara to look at him with an expression of annoyance and doubt. “Sokka, you tried to convince me she was wrong before. It’s going to take an awful lot to change my min-” She was cut off but the rumbling sound of the mountain erupting to life, smoke started to raise from the top of it. “Oh no!” The group rushed to the town square, to warn the villagers. They were able to get the villagers attention, and now stood with several people surrounding them. “Everyone! That volcano is gonna blow any second. Aunt Wu was wrong!” Sokka tried to warn the crowd, but they didn’t seem to be buying it. “Yeah, yeah, we know you don’t believe in Aunt Wu, ‘Mr, Science and Reason Lover’.” Y/n let out a groan. “This isn’t about belief! It’s about fact, and the fact is that volcano is going to blow!” “Yeah, we know you don’t believe in Aunt Wu either.” Slapping her palm to her forehead, she sighed. “These people are idiots.” “If you won’t listen to them, maybe you’ll listen to me. I want to believe Aunt Wu and her predictions as you do, but my brother and Aang saw the lava with their own eyes.” The villagers didn’t even listen to Katara’s warning and reason. “Well I heard Aunt Wu’s prediction with my own ears.” Aang airbended himself up onto the roof of Aunt Wu’s house. “Please listen to us! You are all in danger! And we have to get out of here. You can’t rely on Aunt Wu’s prediction. You have to take fate into your own hands.” An explosion came from the volcano, Sokka pointed in it’s direction. “Look! Can your fortune telling explain that?” “Can your science explain why it rains?” “Yes! Yes it can!” The crowd wasn’t convinced, and ended up dispersing back to their homes. Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose as they left, shaking her head. Katara breathed out a sigh. “They just won’t listen to reason.” “But they will listen to Aunt Wu.” Aang spoke up, landing back on the ground with them. Sokka’s eyebrows furrowed together. “I know, that’s the problem.” “Well, it’s about to become the solution. We’re taking fate in our own hands. First, I need to borrow Aunt Au’s cloud reading book.”

With the plan set, they each did their own part to make it happen. While Aang snuck into Aunt Wu’s house to get her cloud reading book, Y/n, Sokka and Katara stood watch. Once he had it, they split into pairs. Aang and Katara flew up on Appa to change the shape of the clouds, while Y/n and Sokka went to get Aunt Wu. “Aunt Wu! You’ll never believe it.” Y/n spoke, as the two guided her up to the stage from before. When they got to it, Sokka pointed at the sky. “Look! Something is happening to the clouds!” “That’s very strange. It shouldn’t…. Oh my!” One of the clouds had been shaped into a skull, to signal volcanic doom. Aang addressed the crowd of villagers when him and Katara got back. “We can still save the village if we act fast. Sokka has a plan.” “Lava is gonna flow downhill to this spot. If we can dig a deep enough trench we can channel all the lava away from the village to the river.” “If any of you are earthbenders come with me.” A twin raised his hand. “I’m an earthbender!” The other twin raised his hand as well. “I’m not!” “Everyone else grab a shovel-” Another explosion sounded, cutting Sokka off. “Come on, we’ve gotta hurry!” They all hurried to start digging out a trench, using the means of both manual work and earthbending. The volcano had started to spew lava, by the time the trench was finished and led into the river. “Everyone needs to evacuate! We’ll come for you when it’s safe!” At Aang’s direction, the villagers ran to safety. The group watched as lava started to race down the side of the volcano, engulfing the village gate and soon the cemetery. Once it reached the trench, it filled it rapidly. “It’s too much! It’s gonna overflow!” Katara shouted, as the lava filled to the top of the trench. Another explosion rocks the ground, burning rocks begin to rain down, along with ash. Y/n, Katara and Sokka began to run away, but stopped realizing Aang stood in place. He ran forward, launching himself into the air with his bending. As the lava begins to overflow, he blows the lava back to keep it from advancing from the village. He drew in a large breath before expelling it, using his airbending to cool the lava into stone. The three watched in awe. Y/n wiped at the sweat beading on her forehead. “Woah.” “Man, sometimes I forget what a powerful bender that kid is.” Katara looked over at her brother. “Wait, what did you just say?” “Nothing, just that Aang is one powerful bender.” “I suppose he is…”

After the volcano situation was successfully dealt with, everyone had gone back to the town square. Aang returned the cloud book back to Aunt Wu. “By the way, we kind of borrowed your book.” “So you messed with the clouds did you!” She snatched the book angrily from his grip, before beginning to laugh. “Very clever!” Turning his attention away from the two, Sokka addressed the villagers. “No offense, but I hope this taught everyone a lesson about not relying too much on fortune telling.” “But Aunt Wu predicted the village wouldn’t be destroyed, and it wasn’t. She was right, after all.” One of the men spoke up. Sokka got in his face. “I hate you.” Y/n looked between the two with an amused expression. “He has a point.” Pausing, her eyebrows furrowed together and her eyes widened. “Oh spirits, he has a point.” She dropped her head into her hands. Katara grabbed her brother by the shoulders. “It’s ok, Sokka. Everything’s gonna be alright.” Y/n held her head in her hands for a few moments, only looking up when someone nudged her in the shoulder. Ah, Sokka, great. “So,” Turning to face him, she raised a questioning eyebrow at the boy. “So?” “That was some pretty good trenching you did out there. You’re pretty strong.” Pausing, Sokka reached out and gently punched her in the arm. “For a girl.” He spoke in a joking tone, grinning wide. “Oh, uh, thanks. You’re pretty strong yourself.” Y/n punched him in the arm, but much harder than he’d done to her. “For a boy.” He winced, rubbing at the spot she hit. “Ow! I mean-” He cleared his throat. “That didn’t hurt.” She let out a laugh. “Sure it didn’t.” Climbing up on Appa as the group readied for their departure, she ignored the thought in her head that said Aunt Wu’s prediction might not be that bad.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar the last airbender x reader #atla x reader #reader insert #sokka x reader #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #team avatar #slowburn #book one allies

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

In the Company of Anne Sexton

PART THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: plentiful pop culture references, mentions of violence, a slow burn at its core

Word Count: 3K

Summary: After a fist-fight, Jess invites himself on a carriage ride with Ella during the Bracebridge Dinner.

Thumbing through one of her most beloved copies of Virginia Woolf, Ella sat on the steps of Stars Hollow High waiting anxiously for Lane to emerge. They walked out most every day, with Lane on her way home and Ella on her way to the diner, but Lane had informed her during lunch she would have to stop by the cheerleading coach’s room for some secret business. Ella didn’t bother asking any questions, having seen the rabid excitement in Lane’s eyes. She had a feeling she would get let in on whatever was going on soon enough. Maybe even that evening, as she, Rory, Lane, and Lorelai had their annual viewing of It’s A Wonderful Life planned. Then, possibly, Die Hard. Usually, though, they just ended up talking through Bruce Willis’ quest. Snow blanketed the ground, but had grayed in the two days since it had fallen. There had been no melt, and street sweepers had cast it off in large, rocky clumps. Ella wondered at how magical snow looked falling, and what a nuisance it became in its aftermath. Like the happiness of a new marriage and the pain of a divorce. She was just getting to one of her favorite passages in To the Lighthouse when she heard the roar of a crowd growing on the lawn before her.

Looking up with curious hazel eyes, she found a group circling two boys in the midst of a fist fight. She only needed a moment longer to identify Jess as the aggressor in the center of the swarm of teens, though the other boy was holding his own perfectly well. Without thinking, she shoved her book in her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and running over, careful not to slip on the icy patches in her black Doc Martens.

“Jess!” she called, pushing her way through the hoard of pubescent teens. Obviously, she got no response, but that wasn’t exactly the intent of the exclamation in the first place. Her feet carried her farther into the brawl before her mind could stop them, and soon enough she had Jess by the shoulders, pulling him away. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

He squirmed in her grasp, wondering who’d had the nerve to touch him. Eventually she took him around the waist and pried him away from his opponent, who was panting and bleeding from one lip. The crowd began to dissipate almost instantly, victims of a short attention span, though a few stragglers remained. Ella’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt a little sick to her stomach at the sight of the violence. Her veins buzzed with adrenaline, though she had only been involved in a small fraction of the action.

“Get off me!” Jess yelled, still not entirely sure who had grabbed him, but able to deduce it was a girl from the height and the feminine quality of the voice. When he fought though, the rest of the world usually became nothing more than a blur but the person in front of him.

When they were far enough away from the other guy and she felt mostly confident the incident was over, she finally released him, though he was larger than her and she had been hanging on by a thread anyway.

“Jesus, Jess!” she shouted when he finally turned around to look at her.

“Eleanor?” he asked, shocked to find her there.

A startling anger raged in his eyes. What concerned her more, though, was the bruise already blooming on the apple of his cheek and his bloodied knuckles. The dichotomy before her had her stomach doing flips. She’d heard plenty about this side of Jess, but had never had the misfortune of seeing it before. His hair was mussed up, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. The smirk she always found was gone, as was the joking air in his voice.

She went against her better judgement and took a step forward, eyes on his injuries.

“Back off!” Jess snapped immediately, beginning to leave. She recoiled at his volume.

But, her voice followed him up the road as he made his way for Luke’s. He hoped to sneak past his uncle without having to endure an interrogation. “I’m trying to help you, jackass! What the hell was that?!”

“Peter Smith’s an asshole, that’s what that was! Now, I suggest you run along!”

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, Jess, you don’t get to walk away from me! Rory just reamed you for that stunt you pulled at Doose’s! I thought you were gonna get it together for Luke!”

“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint!” Jess roared, winded but maintaining his fury.

As she swallowed down her irritation, the redness began to drain from her face. She knew it was no use to argue with him when he was in such a fiery state. For a minute, she debated leaving, going back to find Lane as she planned. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and spoke again in a calm, resigned tone.

“Jess, stop.”

He whipped around to face her again, pulling his arm back from her grasp, hiding a wince at the throbbing pain in his raw knuckles. “Don’t touch me right now!”

Ella held her hands up in surrender instantly, though she stood firm. “Okay. I’m sorry. But you’re not gonna get past Luke like this, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re gonna need to at least cool off a little first.”

Sighing through his nose, he stayed silent. At that moment, it was as good as a verbal concession or agreement. He was just beginning to catch his breath, his pulse thumping loudly in his ears.

“You wanna go get some ice? I’m sure the nurse has some,” she offered, and Jess felt his confusion growing at her kindness.

He shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets despite the pain. “No.”

“Alright. Look, I’ll go clock in. I’ll tell Luke you had some test to make up or something. Go fix yourself up somewhere and you might be able to fool him,” she suggested, working out the kinks inside her head. Luke was a good guy, but he wasn’t the most observant person she knew. She suspected if Jess could get the bleeding to stop he might get by unscathed. Though she was more doubtful about the bruise on his cheek, she decided it was better for Jess to be placated before he returned to work anyway.

Jess nodded as Ella turned back to go find Lane. She felt slightly better, but still a little anxious about the possibility of a fight between Jess and Luke which still remained. It was one thing to work with them when they were at their usual level of bickering. She didn’t know if she could handle an entire shift of them screaming at each other.

“Thank you,” Jess muttered when she turned on her heel, only just loud enough for her to hear.

She sighed a little in relief, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

. . .

Ella licked the last bit of melted marshmallow from her thumb, having eaten more than a few of the s’mores they had prepared with skewers over the stove burner. Instead of Die Hard, they had elected for the 1950s version of A Christmas Carol. They were watching as the ghost of Christmas future showed Scrooge his own grave. Lorelai sat above her on the couch, french-braiding her hair, while Lane and Rory shared a bag of chips on the floor next to her. Ella loved the Gilmore house, with its homey decor and welcoming atmosphere. Many times, she envied Rory for the kind of mother she had. All times, Ella felt more love in the Gilmore house than in the Stevens house.

“What do you want written or your gravestone?” Lane asked, her eyes trained on the screen, the picture reflecting back on her glasses.

Humming thoughtfully, Ella went with the first idea that popped in her head: “Here lies Ella Stevens, soon to become the world’s best ghost.”

“An award-winning haunter,” Lorelai quipped.

“My biggest, most long-term ambition,” Ella agreed. Soon, her hair was done and Lorelai tied it off with a proud smile.

“Okay, Rapunzel, my work here is complete,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Well, now that that’s over with, let’s hear it,” Lane demanded, turning at a ninety degree angle to face Ella expectantly.

Ella furrowed her brows. “What?”

“What happened with Jess? You yelled at each other in the courtyard today, right?” Rory asked.

“Nothing happened,” she assured them. “I simply suggested he could wait for his knuckles to clot before he tried to fly under Luke’s radar. Unfortunately, it was an uphill battle. Once he saw his purple cheek, Luke dragged him up to the apartment by his collar. But, he was back down in one piece fifteen minutes later. Wasn’t too catastrophic.”

“That kid is bad news,” Lorelai groaned, shaking her head. “He’s got Sid Vicious written all over him.”

Scoffing, flopped down on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. “Really? I see him more as a Richard Hell type.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” Lorelai mocked. “I’m serious, Ella, that is a screwed-up, angry kid. The vandalism, the fighting. He touches a hair on your head, and I will personally organize a whole torches and pitchforks event.”

“We can make it like a parade,” Rory suggested cheerfully. “And then Dean can punch him as a big finale. They can’t stand each other.”

“You guys have gotta calm down. We work together, that’s all,” she reasoned. “I only helped him out to avoid a major migraine. The grunting I’ve gotten used to, but man when Luke gets going…”

“Tell me about it,” Lorelai grumbled. “Just promise me you won’t be wooed by that unwashed miscreant.”

Rolling her eyes at the dramatics, raising her right hand and holding down her pinky with her thumb. “Scout’s honor.”

. . .

Twirling her key ring around her finger once for good luck, Ella made her way up the path to the Independence Inn, Doc Martens crunching through the packed white snow. The storm had come and gone, but the damage was done all over New England. The fancy invitees for the annual Bracebridge Dinner were snowed in, so Ella had the pleasure of being invited in their place. She was almost excited, having the opportunity to dress up and her old junker out, since she usually walked everywhere. Opening the giant french doors, she was enveloped in the Inn’s warmth, and she could smell the extravagant dinner cooking already. It made her stomach growl. Her cheeks pinked up pleasantly, and she shed her peacoat almost immediately. She smoothed down the front of her simple black dress, stealthily looking at her patterned tights to make sure they hadn’t sustained any runs or rips since she’d donned them an hour earlier. So far, she’d been successful.

“Ella!” Rory greeted her cheerfully, her voice like a bell chiming in the busy noises around them.

“Ah, it’s been so long!” Ella joked, rushing up to Rory and Lorelai, giving them hugs.

“So, no plus ones I take it?” Lorelai asked, looking at the girl who stood with only the shoulder bag she used to carry school books and her jacket in one of her hands.

Ella smiled thinly, shaking her head. A bashful lilt came into her voice. “No, I invited them. My little brother actually was gonna come and then this afternoon...”

“Well, that just means no one will be hogging you tonight!” Lorelai cut in, sunshine in her voice. It made Ella’s smile grow wider and into one more genuine.

. . .

Descending the stairs after unpacking in her room, she caught sight of most everyone else arriving. She had the habit of being early to everything. Equipped with only her jacket in her arms, which included a volume of Anne Sexton poetry in one of the pockets, she felt a wave of anxiety. It wasn’t exactly shyness, only uneasiness. It seemed everyone in the room had a partner, but she’d come alone. There were two beds in her room, and one would remain entirely untouched. Not that bringing Adam along was the ideal situation anyway, her little brother had actually become kinda funny after entering middle school. He wouldn’t have been the worst possible company. In a crowd full of friends and family, she felt so utterly alone.

Lane arrived eventually, along with her mother. Mrs. Kim was not the biggest fan of Ella, what with her dark makeup and clothing, her unsavory homelife. Over the years, however, she’d earned a bit more credit with Lane’s mother due to her grades and time working at the diner. Ella marveled at the beautiful floral arrangements and mahogany adornments, wandering around mostly silent while Rory and Lorelai rushed around, finalizing things and greeting people. Her eyes roamed over the crowd, and she spotted Luke and Jess arriving at the door. Jess’s big brown eyes caught her own. He offered her a teasing wave, and she smirked in response, nodding a little. After a moment under his gaze, she let her eyes fall as her cheeks warmed, and she felt at the chain around her neck as a reflex.

. . .

Sniffing slightly in the frigid air, Ella bit her lip as she ran her eyes over the familiar words of Sexton’s poetry, waiting as the many carriages of horses peeled away. Watching Rory squish into a carriage with Dean and his little sister had been entertaining, but she had felt some shameful envy nonetheless. The seat next to her just looked so empty. But she only sighed, turning back to her reading after marveling at the beauty of the sparkly, frozen nature around her. In all honesty, she had no interest in going on a pathetic carriage ride alone, but Rory and Lorelai had gone to so much trouble, who was she to deny the opportunity? She barely noticed when the horses began trotting along, the winter wonderland of Stars Hollow passing her slowly.

“Eleanor!” she heard, jumping slightly but rolling her eyes. There was pretty much only one person in Stars Hollow who called her by her full name. Before she could even look to see his face, Jess hopped in the carriage from the side, nearly stumbling but ending up impossibly smooth.

“What the hell, Jess?!” she exclaimed, marking her place in her book with an old receipt from Doose’s.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?” he drawled, cracking his usual crooked smirk.

Sighing, Ella mirrored his smile in spite of herself, running a nervous hand through the ends of her hair. “No, actually, I don’t think that’s a requirement.”

“Exactly. It’s one of many perks of associating with me.” Jess put on thick gray gloves as they spoke.

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m so honored, Mariano.”

“You should be.”

Ella chuckled breathily, clearing her throat as a pause stood between the two of them. Her eyes lingered on the bruise on his cheek, nearly invisible, having yellowed over the three days since he’d sustained it.

“Pretty, aren’t I?” he asked.

She blushed, looking away as her face dropped. “Sorry.”

Jess furrowed his brows, losing his teasing air. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Nodding, she sat up straighter and trained her view on the scenery.

“Look, I didn’t mean to scare you the other day,” he said, tilting his head to try to catch her eyes again.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t...you don’t scare me,” she assured him, forcing her tone to remain light. She felt as though they might be dancing around a forbidden subject, she just didn’t know what it was.

“Okay. Didn’t mean to be presumptuous,” he said, leaning back in the cushioned seat of the carriage. The clomping of the horses hooves offered a rhythmic undercurrent to their conversation, soft but constant.

Raising her eyebrows, she finally turned back to him. “Well, you didn’t mean to be presumptuous but you were still being presumptuous.”

“Alright, sorry,” he said, slightly huffy, eyes wide and gloved hands raised in surrender.

“Apology accepted.”

“I’m happy we sorted that out, then.” His tone was dejected but she didn’t let it rile her.

“Me too,” she breathed slowly, watching a white cloud form in the air with her words.

Regarding her as she turned away again, Jess tasted the crisp frost of the wind. One side of her hair was pinned back, the rest cascading down her shoulder. She wore dark eye makeup and something shiny on her lips. But still, she was bundled in her old black peacoat. It reminded him of the beatniks. All she needed were big square glasses. He noticed how thin her stockings were, how she lacked gloves or a scarf or a hat. Just looking at her made him unconsciously.

“Are you here by yourself?” he asked. “Anne Sexton keeping you company?”

“I am. And she is. Did Luke drag you along?”

Jess shrugged. “Sort of. It’s better than a night of scraping greasy plates at the diner.”

“What high standards you have,” she said. “Are you scraping plates over winter break or are you going back to New York?”

“My mom didn’t want me up there,” he said nonchalantly.

“She said that to you?” she asked, eyebrows raised angrily.

They were passing the town square, decorated with snowmans for the town competition. At night, to Ella, they looked like the blue ghosts in a Charles Dickens story.

“Luke told me it was his idea that I should stay. It wasn’t his idea.”

Humming in irritated acknowledgement, she crossed her arms tighter around herself. Her ears were going numb in the icy winter breeze. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be at work everyday the next two weeks, silently protesting everyone else’s holiday cheer. You’re welcome to join.”

Jess smiled. “Will there be complaints of all the noise, noise, noise?”

“Every year.” She nodded in commiseration, a sardonic twinkle in her eye.

“Looking forward to it.”

#jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano one shot #jess mariano #gilmore girls #jess #mariano #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano x original character #luke danes #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #lane kim #original character #original character stories

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kaiju-z · 4 years

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The adventuring party The Cultbusters has been through quite a bit.

They met through happenstance and joined forces to destroy a murder/suicide cult, bent on ending life on Seon before a worse fate befell those, living on the continent.

They transported the crystal ball that fortold of the disasters to come, from volcanic infernos, to devilish and demonic uprisings, to blood sacrifices and wars to come.

And they partook in the Spring Welcoming Festival of Crystalgate.

And all through that, they learned of each other. And got close. And got distant. And some opted to go their own way, finding their own road to walk, or their place to set roots.

But work is still to be done. And as the group begin and end one more party together, to warm their new house, they prepare for the work that is to come in the morning.

Because with one episode’s end, comes another’s beginning.

Seon Adventures Episode 30: The Lady And The Roadpath’s Man

So the party occurs. It’s hardy and wild. By the end a chandelier has gone and fallen over, surely the work of the Narahs, invited by Belli.

As things seem to begin winding down, Amelia and Nel prep to take their leave back home. One final hug is shared between the group and, having said all he could already, Luck casts Fly on Amelia, to give her a fun trip back to Nel’s mannor.

Before the ladies leave, Amelia reminds them to be sure to visit River in the morning, regarding her business offer, the reclamation of some magic item or another, as it were? River had already visited Amelia, to remind her, so she was now passing that information along to them.

With the promise of another go at T-Rex adventures, for both Amelia AND Morgan, they part ways, anew.

And in the morning assess the damage. As the tieflings’ beds have been thoroughly wrecked by the actions of Belli’s siblings. How each feels about this situation, they react in their own way, be it vocally or to themselves. But regardless. Talks are had and an agreement is made to head off for River’s office.

Arriving at the dungeons, after a good knock and re-introductions, River lets the quartet + Morgan inside, where she regails them of the work that she had in mind for them, greatful for their dilligence.

Before noting Amelia’s status of “missing among them”, River mentions the possibility of bringing along a Bounty Hunter, interested in the job as a means of changing pace and scenery.

She would be somewhere in the South-Western corner of the outside, well, side of Crystalgate. Congregating in the “Ebri’s Home” club. A den of debauchery and sick ass tunes. River had gone there, herself once before. It’s a lot for someone, not used to experiencing that much.Very intense there, lots of Ebriosius worshippers, ya know. Not that there’s anything, well, wrong with that???

The person we’re looking for goes by “June”. She has a very big... personality, as River alludes to. And many a boob jokes are made. The classics.

But back to the business at hand!

As mentioned, it was a retrieval mission, of sorts. A very hush-hush sort of, closed doors, kind of job. The particulars about it are the search, aquisition and delivery of a weapon called “The Kingsblade”. A sword of certain length, located somewhere, in a temple within Gulorum. The country Gulorum.

Somewhere, central east of the border, on Gulorum ‘s side of things, within a temple, the blade could be found.

It’s an ancient artifact for their people. The first wielder was a slain tiefling king. It drives the warrior’s spirit of kings, which… Sounds hinky. But it’s powerful and people up top would like to have it.

It’s more, what could happen if someone gets their hands on it. The war did end 5 years ago. Tippy-top secret, job, ya know. The last king was a Dragonborn, it’s hard to say what happened, it’s energy and stuff. And this is where Luck gets a little lost, not being a native to the continent, having only been around for 3 years. In a secluded town up north from the capitol.

(as the party suggests, Luck needs a fanny pack and a Hawaiian shirt.)

For Luck’s convenience, River gives a bit of an explanation: At the end of the war there, there was an incident. The dwarven and specifically Dragonborn populace of the region took a heavy blow, which is why you don’t see many, who aren’t old.

And luck immediatelly thought of his new friend, Dragon dad, Edmond.

It’s a case of, you know, population loses and they aren’t willing to give it up. The group wonder if she, June’d be willing to accompany the Cultbusters on a de-tour beforehand. Whatever the case may be, River recommends we have her tag along.

As a reminder, which gets the rich kids’ attention, the reward for the delivery of the Kingsblade equates to 5,000 Platinum for each member of the team.

When asked about it’s appearance, the sword, River mentions that The Kingsblade is a blade made of black glass. Purple hilt with silver trim. Luck feels the temptation to keep it for himself. For the aesthetic.

One more time, River repeats the details, adding the name of the temple in question: “The Temple of the Fallen King: . It’s got a name, so people’ll know where to find it. Lots of scavengers are there, so be careful.”

If the CB bring this back, the Elder Council would like to meet the party. They’ve had their eyes oin it for a while. For cultural reasons, for a while.

“ One more thing. If you decide to give up your search, you should let me know so I could find replacements. Don’t worry if your friend stops breathing in the night. KBYEEEEEEEEE! “ And before any answers could be brought out from River on why that was, the party were sent out.

With the mission at hand, the party now had to find the certain location.

What little knowledge the others had on the subject would be swept back as Luck would mention that he, himself, knew of the particular location. As he had been working the past couple of weeks, before the tournament, to get materials for his new armor.

So with most of the party thinking that Luck had been constantly visiting the place, as opposed to having gone past it at some point, the hidden Tiefling would lead the journey over to the Soth-Western part of Crystalgate’s outskirts. And eventually to a location, where the Silence spell appears to be in effect.

The curiosity of this effects leads the group to a pair of double doors that lead to a downward path and, without hesitation, Luck just heads on down, followed by Mournimar, Malak and Belli.

Down there, they are immediatelly able to speak again. And are met with an Ogre bouncer, who reaches a hand over, palm up.

Belli gives him the five finger clap and he exclaims in approval. As that is the secret handshake to get in.

And thus. We get in.

Bombarded by sounds and sights and smells, some of which some of the party know all too well and some that require Belli to cover her eyes as the minor of the group.

Protection circle around the youngest among them, the group walk around and search for their target, which eventually leads them through a crowd that would occasionally glance at the Keemis priest that was walking among them.

And they’d stop at the bar counter, where a dark haired woman, seemingly human, of a lighter complexion, in a dark dress, was cupping a drunk man’s face. According to the description they had received from River, she fit it well. Very well.

Turning her attention to themselves, she protests the participation of a minor, at first believing they are customers, seeking her services. Which gives the group an extra idea on what she does.

Between clarifications and gentlemanly actions from Luck, she does note that Mournimar reminds her of someone she’s met before. It’s strange, really.

She asks if he has family in Sa Doma. Which leads to a small realization for those, in the know, of where she was going with that question.

As the particular job is expanded upon, she agrees to follow them back to their mannor, where they could discuss the details of their work, without extra eyes on them, Luck offering a hand to guide her.

On the way back and to the house, June meets the party’s pets. Or some of them, in any case. Morgan ,the dog and Orion, in all his bodeness. Certainly an interesting way start off relations with her new colleagues, if one dared say so.

Once at the house, Malak asks if he could use Zone of Truth upon her, just to be sure truths are being said and nothing is being hidden, which could cause problem for the business relationship along the way. Careful man that he is.

And June accepts this.

With the spell cast, she is asked and answers questions:

June is the name she currently uses. Preferred name. Her profession is – she smiles – well, she has sex for money or bounty hunting. Or they pay her to stand there and yell at them. Just recently, in the past 4 or so years she became said bounty hunter.

It’s like she has two hit lists, the hit just depends where it goes.

When asked, on whether she’d be fine with a detour, she would say she’s fine with traveling at a different location from the mission.

Also, importantly. She currently doesn’t follow Potencia. Her favorite color is lilac. Or red is also good. She likes a lot of colors. But purple specifically.

But there is, of course, a particular thing, that the party should know of her. She points out. As her skin grays out, her hair turns white and her eyes go a deep shade of gray.

Becoming a Changeling.

Jun, as her name really is referenced. But June is one of her masks. The one she prefers currently, though she has many a more, to go about. Much more into the idea of making her own creations, than taking someone else’s identity.

Given the country’s stance on Changelings, that is to be understandable.

During the conversation, Belli notes the rings Jun has. On her neck and on her right thumb, specifically. And asks on whether she knows someone by the name of “Ficus”. She’s heard the name Ficus, but not the last name. She knows an assassin goes by that name. She’s heard of him in circles.

Bellli would message Ficus, regarding this, only for the pajamas clad half-orc to come walking down the stairs, from Luck’s room, apparently?

Some more lore on the rings comes about, from the talk that happens next.

The rings are not a “prostitute thing”.Jun states. Though she does admit that they should figure out a way to incorporate that.

Her left mark means that she’s very good at interrogation. Which. Understandable.

Her ankle mark means stalking. And the ones on her neck mean aesthetic assassin.

In all this, Luck apologizes for the shenanigans that have just occured, noting the party being, well, strange. But Jun doesn’t seem quite as bothered, noting that she figured them strange from the moment she saw them, given that they brought a minor to Ebri’s Home.

An agreement is reached, upon elaborating on why the party would be detouring, first to Lake Stren. Luck telling the story of how the original five met, fought the cult, got their name and the ball and one of the visions including the lake, itself and something rising there, following a sacrifice by clerics, familiar and strange alike.

The meeting point? The stables. (Note to readers: Kevin and Killer had been mostly staying with the Narahs since Belli returned with her family to town. So the horses like her best).

As the group prepares themselves for the long journey, final checks for supplies and the like, Malak casts Augury at the Shrine, asking Keemis on whether what they are doing is right. If what the party is about to go for is good. And the all around vibe he gets as a reply is “yeah”. Good vibes.

On the way to the stables, Belli gets a voice in her head.

Nash, Cleric of Bellinas, checks in with the Half-Orc Bard, named after her goddess. And Nash warns Belli that Dak and the rest of the Fornas clerics had made like bananas and split from town. They were on their way to the location! SHIT!

Belli would call her in turn, asking her for details. And ultimately, to join them at Lake Stren, for whatever was to happen there.

Updating the party on what’s happened, the group take to the road with the horses, in their carriage. And dash along, exiting the city and heading on the journey back, through familiar and not so familiar paths.

The Game’s Afoot!

Through fields and flat planes, the party rides. Quite a few farms along the way, not that very effective, but like, Skyrim farms. 2 rows of potatos, basically. Potatos for days.

On the 2nd day, the party go through a dark and gloomy looking area. An extra path, between Gorrum and Lebovia. It’s gloomy-ish, shaded and hard to see far into the distance of it. So, hefty foresty area.

As the party travels along, the sky darkening quicker than expected, the five swear they could hear whistling from the trees and footsteps moving along the carriage’s sides. Trees for days. Owls and the like swooping past the transport. Until...

Nothing. A silenced area. Wide, lonely. And in the nearby. A strange waterfall, of sorts. Not so much a waterfall. But... with the water going upwards, more of a water rise???

Electing to investigate, Belli and Mournimar enter the clearing, where’s a glow comes off from said water rise. Moss is covering every rock, the water having an almost crystal like near ceiling with a chip in it and stuff.

The effects of this place, everyone, while here, benefits from a plus + 2 on Charisma. With everyone feeling safe and comforted here. Like this place is one big hug.

The fountain gives + 2 to charisma, we feel safe and the water gives poison resistence/immunity for 24 hours. Following the example of Belli and Mournimar, the rest fill their water skins and flasks with the Waterrise’s water.

Malak’s heard of certain spots on the continent, where magical plains drip over and make whole cool new things.

And wanting to waste no more time, the party goes along, for as long as they can, until a necessary rest.

On the third day, the group reach a fork in the road. With rocks rising several feet upwards, like a decoration to the split of the path

Familiar, as one path leads to Sa Doma and the other, on their preferred path for now. It’s like this half-big walkie outcrop thing. and... This place kinda seems off.

Malak is the one, who hears them. Sounds coming from behind the stone formation. There’s chuckling and rustling. Casting Tongues, he speaks: “I know you’re there and I know you can understand me! Come out right now!”

And then. A huge hand covers the rock and a large figure jumps over it, then picks up a boulder and prepares to throw it towards the group.

We roll for initiative.

Luck reacts quickest out of everyone and charges towards the Stone Giant that had appeared. Casting a successful Guiding Bolt, the magical fighter gets between the big Dave looking rocky man and the rest of the party, giving Mournimar advantage on his first attack. Whcih succeeds on hitting the 18ft tall man. As does the second. And with that, the eyes of the Hunter mark their prey.

Belli attempts to Polymorph the bewhildered giant, but alas, she can’t turn him into something smaller. Shaking aside her frustration, the Narah inspires Malak, for whenever he attacks.

Malak casts Ray of Sickness . It’s sick. And coincidentally, so becomes the Dave giant, who can but only watch as the cleric flips him off.

Hurt and frustrated, the big guy then stomps his feet in a wild rhythm. The ground under the heroes cracks and shifts some. And small creatures pop up from different places. Moving towards the group, ready to attack in their own, dusty way.

And after he summons his dusty friends, the giant yeets the rock at Belli and Jun, since they are so close to each other. But the ladies, with cheerleader like precision dodge out of the way, only taking a small subinterest of the damage.

The dust creatures then attack and attempt to blind Belli, Jun, Malak and Mournimar with their dust attacks. But each manages to avoid that action. And only get a growl from Mournimar for their troubles.

All the while, the one near Luctan attempts to put him to sleep. But much to it’s surprise, confusion and frustration, that does not work on the newly tattooed with elven resistence tiefling.

As the poor thing tries to miserably gnaw at Luck’s armor, the fighter can all but just stare down with distaste at it. “Pathetic.”

(And a meme has been referenced!)

Ready for action, Jun takes out her rapier, an elaborate piece and slices onto her skin with it, evoking her Crimson Rite. Rite of the Frozen (HOLY SHIT, SHE’S A BLOOD HUNTER, SON!) , and starts a cuttin’. Slashing into one of these beings (which we later learn are Mephits, of the Dust variety) and cuts it down, causing it to explode into sand.

And then she moves closer to Mournimar’s position, slashing onto the one next to him. And with her Gambler’s blade she strikes a killing blow again! Piercing through the creature and popping it like a bag of sand.

Luck takes his action to strike and do some modicum of damage, while also uttering healing words for Jun.

Mournimar, the ranger, moves closer to Luck’s position and fires with his bow, injuring the Mephit beside his ally. The, sadly, the second attack misses off of the cobble stone body of the giant and lands in the grass, while Belli tries and fails to polymorph the big man again.

Frustrated, she mocks him. Viciously! “The only thing that can get hard is the fact he’s made of rock. The rest of him is weak and limp.”

He is visibly upset by this, feeling fat shamed. and even Belli feels bad for her phrasing. Intending to go for a different part of his physique.

On Malak’s turn, the Holy snek makes his appearance again and goes near the biggun. Sadly, Samael can’t do much at this time. It’s ok, though, because Sam tries and that’s what matters.

With his axe, Malak makes a successful strike for the Mephit near him, though. He just axes him a question.

The fatshamed giant makes his move, then and strikes Mournimar. And clobbers him good with his big ass club, causing some bleeding on the poor digitigraded tiefling’s cranium.

A bloody Mourni spits blood “You really shouldn’t have done that, Motherfucker!” and charges up his Hellish Rebuke, burning the giant to a singed point.

Startled by this developement, the panicking big man attempts to hit Luck, but the fighter moves out of the way of the attack, his cape flowing majestically in the breeze.

While one Mephit attacks Luck impotently, another successfully blinds Malak with the sand at his disposal and attempts to run away, narrowly avoiding getting hit with Malak’s axe in the process.

Jun Hexes the giant, leaving a Profane experience as a Blood Hunter on this 18ft specimen of a man. But her distraction leaves her open to an attack from the fleeing Mephit, which bites her with all it’s tiny might! Which basically undoes Luck’s healing attempt.

Using her Gambler blade, she strikes at the Giant, opting out of attacking the small fry and does some harm on the stoney man. Confident, she attempts to pierce through his loin cloth, but... the sword gets stuck there. And they’re both kind of uncomfortable. Should she move first or should he move first?!

Still, though. Her initial attack. That Hex... It rendered the Giant at a disadvantage in the Charisma department.

And you know what that meeeeans...

Bane. Luck casts Bane on The Giant and the 2 Mephits.

And all three fail to protect themselves form the Tiefling’s own curse. With a surge of power, Luck strikes again at the giant and again at the dusty mephit. Taking note of the wobblyness of the big guy, Luctan calls out to the rest to subdue the giant, but keep him alive.

Wobbly in his own right, Mournimar puts away his bow and pulls out the enchanted All-Star Blade. And stabs a Mephit and said Mephit pops like a balloon. Attempting to follow in the ladies’ style, he attempts to stab the giant in the unmentionables as well. And fails. As well. Today just does not seem to be a good day for unmanning, it seems.

Having had enough, Belli uses her calling card, given Luck’s orders, and puts the giant to Sleep.

And while Jun helps clear Malak’s eyes from the blinding sand, the rest of the party use their ropes to tie the giant to the ground.

Very efficient with the rope work, they tie the big man down and good.

By the time Malak’s eyes are cleared, the giant wakes anew.

As Tongues does not require Concentration and goes on for a full hour, Malak still is able to understand the large highwayman.

And Malak begins questioning him. And getting answers in turn.

He wanted our money. It’s why he was there, for 3 hours, behind the rockmound.

A highwayman, indeed. Of the large variety. The irony of him being the one getting robbed now, as Belli began rifling through his stuff, was not lost that day. She would find a curious bracelet. And begin casting a spell to identify it.

When Malak asks him for his name, the giant answers that his name, is in fact, Dave. Malak asks him, with them not being his friends and all, why he should be kept alive.

Dave would not like to be dead is his reason not to die. And Belli chanting makes him nervous. Which Malak bluffs that is her putting a shrinking curse on him. The tieflings quickly join in on the charade, scaring the ever loving crap out of him as they start chanting in Infernal.

The Item Belli finds turns out to be a Bracelet of Alchemy. It raises the status of one’s Charismatic nature twofold.

And so. The giant is warned. That a curse has been put upon him. If he continues to be a shitheel, with every bad action, he will continue shrinking further and further, until he becomes a speck on the ground, easy for anyone to stomp on.

Malak would warn him to “Think long and hard about your life and all the decisions you’ve made and where they’ve lead you.”

And the panicking Dave, who was being untied in the process, would say a mighty “Ok!”, before booking to wherever his legs would lead him. As the party had. Successfully. Scared the shit out of him.

Previous Episode / Next Episode

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jessethejoyful · 4 years

Text

numinous

@carryonmylovelies and anonymous sent me:

numinous (adj): describing an experience which makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted, the powerful personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired

word count: 1,559

There’s something about the witnessing of power. Of pure, unrestrained strength and ability that can remove the breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your head. All that remains is him; His fluidity, his grace, but also the knowledge that with the flex of his elegant hand, he could snuff out my life. Almost wishing that he would.

When his head turns suddenly toward me, I realize too late that I’m caught. His vision and his hearing, his sense of smell, is all too good for me to possibly hide now. The ringing out of his voice proves that for certain. “Come out. I know you’re there - you can’t escape.” And then, almost like an afterthought, “I won’t hurt you.” This seems unlikely, I consider inwardly, as I had just watched him chase down two figures and take both of them down with only his hands. Were they villains? Was he a villain?

Against the screaming of my every instinct telling me to flee, I step out from my hiding place and raise my head. He’s closer now, but I didn’t even hear him move. Maybe he’s a ghost. A spectre, here to punish the living. He’s nearly as pale as one, the dim light from the moon overhead turning his skin close to translucent.

“You didn’t run.” It’s not a question, more of an awed statement. His voice is softer now that he’s come closer, but he keeps his distance.

“You told me not to,” I say, jarred by how blunt and gruff my voice sounds in comparison to his. “And I’m not very fast.” Unable to help myself, I look over his shoulder to where he’d left the two bodies. “What did they do?”

The man’s eyes snap like ice, his arching brows furrowing downward and his jaw setting. “How much did you see?”

I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb. “I’ve been following you since you left the town. From a distance.”

He scoffs. “I would have heard you. You don’t look particularly stealthy,” he snarls, giving me a once over again. He’s right; I’m stocky and broadly-built, not quite as tall as him but more solid.

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Those distracting eyes narrow, and I see his nostrils flare. I tense.

“A mageling,” he hisses, taking a step back. “You belong to the Academy.”

“I don’t belong to anybody or anything,” I snap in return, folding my arms. “Besides, what do you have against the Academy?” He’s watching me in a way that makes me shift my weight, uncomfortable suddenly beneath his discerning gaze. He steps toward me again, and I’m able to see the angles of his face, the deep gray-green color of his heavily lidded eyes, the curves of his lips. There’s something about his face that seems familiar, but I know I’ve not seen him before.

His isn’t the type of face you forget.

When he speaks again, his voice has changed into something harder, like he’s measuring each word in the same way he’s measuring me. “Once, it would have been my place. My home; my right. But that was torn away from me when I was a child, as was my humanity. Does that make sense to you, mageling? Do you know who I am?”

The fire. The Headmistress. The -

“Vampire,” I breathe, staggering my own retreat away from him. “You’re Headmistress Pitch’s heir.”

He doesn’t let me get far. I’m about to trip over a gnarled root when he’s suddenly on me, his powerful arm slamming me into the broad belly of a tree and winding me so badly I would have collapsed, were it not for his elbow under my jaw.

I’m reeling, trying to regain my balance and my breath, but I still hear him as he hisses to me, his mouth so close to my ear that I can feel the air from his mouth. “That’s right. I was cast out by my own family, a world of which I should have been the fucking king, all because I was caught up in the attack that killed my mother. Is that fair? Is it fair, mageling, that I’ve had to watch from afar as your new Headmaster destroys everything my mother worked for.” His arm is digging into my throat painfully, but I can’t move. “And you know what? It’s still what I deserve. It’s what my mother would have wanted for me, for being the monster that I am.”

His elbow pulls back suddenly and I drop to the ground, coughing and gasping to regain my breath. My eyes are streaming as I look up to him standing over me, his chest heaving as he watches me. Breathing, and being. “I’d heard you died,” I whisper, unable to speak any louder. He still hears me.

“Is that the story they went with?” he simpers, the irony evident in every movement of his body, the rolling of his eyes. “That would have been far easier. I’d have preferred it. No, my family found me, drenched in blood and already changing. They tried to heal my wounds, but they couldn’t stop the changes that were already happening inside me. So they sent me away, to fend for myself, a child, alone in these woods.”

Slowly, I push myself back to my feet, holding my hands out toward him in a sign of non-aggression. He still flinches away, his expression changing his otherworldly face into something ugly, animal-like.

“Basilton,” I say, and the expression drops away, leaving behind a look like I’d just socked him in the gut. “That’s your name, isn’t it? I’m Simon.”

There’s a beat, and then the rage returns, and I feel it wash over me like an icy wave. “The Mage’s Heir. You bastard. How dare you come here.” There’s a shimmer around the edge of his form like he’s about to rush me again, but I see it in time. This time, I raise my hands and my power rises to my skin, flickering around my palms and sending him scrambling away from me. “It’s his fault!” he howls, slumping against another tree and wearing an expression between hatred and absolute sorrow. “Everything that happened to me was done by your Mage!”

I lower my hands slightly. “What do you mean?”

“He’s the one who sent the vampires after my mother!” he screams at me, shoving a hand through his black hair and sending it wild. “He wanted her position, her power. So instead of challenging her to the duel that our tradition dictates, he hired a team of vampires to take care of her! How’s that for your fucking Mage?”

My blood is frozen. “You’re lying.”

His laughter is icy and high, without any real humor. “Am I? What good would it do me to lie to you, Mage’s Heir? It would serve me nothing.” He gestures behind him. “The two you saw me kill were the remaining vampires from the team who killed my mother. All that remains now is to kill the fucking Mage. And I’m going to. Nothing you or anyone else at that school can do will stop me.”

“Hold on,” I say, my head spinning with information. If what he’s saying is the truth - “You can’t kill him. He would destroy you.”

“Would he?” I feel it before I see it; magic, swirling from him and appearing suddenly. Fire rolls across the insides of his palms, just over his skin, but casting him in full relief. “I come from a centuries-long line of fire mages. Losing my humanity didn’t strip me of my power. Do you really think I’ll lose?” The light cast across his face makes him look ethereal and wicked at the same time. Like to be slain by him would be the ultimate boon.

I shake my head like I’m trying to clear away water. “Release me from whatever this spell is,” I spit, squeezing my eyes shut. “Make it stop.”

When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me in genuine confusion. “I don’t have you under a spell,” he says. “What do you feel?”

“Don’t lie!” I shout, holding my palms out toward him again. “You’ve enchanted me somehow. Your vampire magic is vile and tainting my mind. Release me!”

This time, his laughter is tinged with a hint of humor. “Enchanted you? Do you believe the wives’ tales that vampires possess the ability to lure you under our control? Our pheromones?” He comes toward me again, undeterred this time by my magic. Maybe he was never frightened at all. “If I had enchanted you, you wouldn’t be aware of it. You wouldn’t be able to question it.”

“Then what -?” I start to speak, but he cuts me off as he shoves his lips into mine. I’m frozen under his kiss for a moment, but my consciousness returns, and I slam my palms into his chest and send him sprawling. But it feels wrong.

He watches me from the ground, not bothering to get up. “You taste like power,” he says almost matter-of-factly, with an underlying tone of appreciation. “Like the universe.”

I step toward him, and he stands again, but doesn’t retreat. “All you have is power,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering. “Why do you want more?”

“I want everything.”

#my writing #this is a blurb that got really out of hand #carry on #snowbaz #rainbow rowell #carry on fanfiction #wayward son #carry on wayward son #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on au #idk what the au is but it's an au

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moeruhoshi · 5 years

Text

Single parent x demon

“There, there,” Lucy cooed as she bounced her baby on her hip, the child crying into her chest for whatever made him upset. “Are you hungry, hmm? Should I go get your bottle?”

The baby only continued to cry, his fists balled up as he clenched the fabric of her shirt. She softly lifted his face to stare into his teary brown eyes, a toothless mouth shrieking for comfort he didn’t know how else to beg for.

“Maybe your binky will help,” The young mother sighed, walking them to his dresser to retrieve the pacifier that sat on the surface. She popped it between his lips, relieved as he began sucking on the rubber nipple, his cries silencing into sniffles. “Is that better now, Ryuu?”

The baby only blinked as his mother smiled, setting him down in his crib for the remainder of the night. He eagerly took hold of the stuffed dragon she offered him, a silk cloth coming down to wipe away the trails of his tears.

“Goodnight, my love,” She kissed his forehead before tucking him into bed with his favorite quilted blanket, instantly soothing him to sleep.

The clock now read two hours past the witching time, both Lucy and Ryuu fast asleep. The pacifier soon fell from the child’s drooping lips, the slobbered item rolling over his stuffed animal and falling between the bars onto the carpet Lucy had been gifted by a friend. It was round and old, but still fuzzy and a kind purple that the mother felt fit the baby’s room. They didn’t have much to live with, so Lucy took what she could get to make her home as homey as possible.

The circular rug now lit with red letters, window curtains were left drawn open and shined the light of the full moon onto its center, fueled by the offering of a spilled human gift.

Ryuu began to stir as his lips puckered for the phantom nipple, his eyes glaring at the light filling the room. He rolled over and grabbed at the bars of his crib, confused as his mother was nowhere in sight, but instead a man stood and cracked his back.

“Geez, that hurt. How long has it been since someone summoned me?” He groaned and scratched his stomach, looking around for the human who called him. The baby burbled and bounced slightly on his feet, and the strange man turned to give him a look.

“A baby? Are you who called me here?” He looked to the floor and saw the binky covered in drool and soaking into one spot on the carpet, the moon casting its gaze upon it. “What a fluke. Here you go, kid.”

The man offered the small thing back to him before seeing the carpet hairs sticking to it, shuddering as he moved to find a wipe and clean it properly.

“I can’t exactly leave without giving you something, stupid laws.” He grumbled and let the kid suck on the rubber nipple again, staring at the blonde boy as he sat on his diaper-clad behind, tilting his head as the man sighed.

“Alright! I’m a demon king, my name is Natsu Dragneel,” He began, pointing to the horns and sharp fangs he sported. “You must got somethin’ pretty powerful in ya if all it took to summon me was some of your spit. But I’ll grant any wish you’ve got. I can’t get home if you don’t tell me what ya want, it can be anything. A new toy if you want, though that dragon you got there is pretty cool.”

He grinned and lifted the toy for the boy, making faux flying noises as he moved the dragon back and forth to imitate its moves in the air. The baby giggled, his pacifier falling out again as he smiled and clapped his hands, enjoying the mild entertainment before him.

“I could get you a real one of these, they’re not easy to train, but I think you’ve got a lot of magic, kid. Not a lot of humans do anymore, I could teach you how to use it if that’s what you want.”

The baby only continued to sit and stare, reaching his hands out to be held as he became restless again. Natsu rose a brow as he lifted the small boy, balancing him on one arm as his hand held his back.

“I wonder if this counts as givin’ you somethin’. But I doubt it, do you really not know how to say anything?” The demon exasperated as Ryuu pat his cheeks and pulled on his shirt, lost in the maze of his baby mind as Natsu mildly bounced him.

“You’re a pretty calm kid,” He observed as the boy rested his head against Natsu’s shoulder and sucked his thumb. “Most babies don’t trust people right away, what’s your mom been teachin’ ya? How to be weird? Can’t be all that bad if it means you cause less trouble, I guess. But I don’t think you should, alright? Not everyone’s as nice as me, got it?”

“Damn, you’re kinda cute, y’know? And you smell nice, do all babies smell this good?” Natsu’s nose buried in his hair as the kid began to drift off, cozy against the oddly warm person who blathered on.

“Pa...pa...” Ryuu produced the word as he fell asleep, not really knowing what he had said, nor knowing how that triggered the contract to be etched on his and both Natsu’s soul.

“So you want a dad, hmm? Alright, I’ll see what I can do,”

“Lu-chan! Lu-chan, are you up?!” Levy called as she entered the Hearfilia apartment with her key, balancing a tray of coffee and bag of bagels in one hand before setting it down on the kitchen counter.

“In the shower!” She hollered back, the blue haired girl sighing with a smile as she fixed the food and turned on the T.V to catch up on the news.

“Ah! Not in your mouth, Ryuu, we don’t eat bubbles, remember?” Lucy rinsed the suds resting atop her son’s small fist, finishing her own hair with one hand as she held him in the other. Their dual shower ended shortly after, the blonde letting her son rest in the sink as she tied a towel around herself and picked him up in his even softer one.

“I’ll be ready in a minute, Levy-chan, do you mind getting Ryuu ready? I already laid out his clothes,” The shorter girl nodded as she eagerly took the baby in her hands, Lucy rushing into her own bedroom to finish preparing for the day.

“Alright, little dragon. Let’s get you ready, hmm? Isn’t it fun when Aunt Levy helps you get ready?” She hummed to the baby as she carefully dried him off, setting him down on his diaper changing table, fitting him for a new pair. She slipped his pudgy arms and legs into the red and white striped onesie, the next layer being a thin jean-like set of overalls. The weather outside called for a jacket as well, the baby ready to go after a ten-minute session. She grabbed his favorite stuffed toy and blanket from his crib, taking them to be packed in his diaper bag.

“Almost ready!” Lucy called as she finished slipping on a plain black dress and pink cardigan, tying her hair into a bun with some loose strands to adorn her features. She never bothered with makeup, much too busy rushing around with her son to take the time. Her matching flats were on in a second as she swung open her bedroom door, quick legs carrying her down the short hallway as she entered the shared living/dining room space.

“How’s my baby boy? Does your fruit taste good?” The blonde mother wooed and pressed several kisses to her son’s forehead as he sat in his highchair and ate the pureed mush Levy fed to him.

“Blended baby food is better than the packaged pulp, trust me,” Levy explained to the boy who continued to eat quietly, smiling and giggling when she made airplane noises for him.

“I could’ve slept another hour if we didn’t have a staff meeting today,” Lucy groaned as she multi-tasked, eating her own breakfast as she packed Ryuu’s food for the rest of the day.

“Don’t remind me,” Levy sighed, stretching as she sat up with the empty bowl, the Heartfilia son now drinking from a bottle of cold milk. “We get the same schpeel every time, these are becoming pointless,”

“Well, at least you get to spend some extra time with Gray-sensei, right, Ryuu? You like playing with Gray-sensei, right? Loke-sensei too, yeah?”

“Speaking of whom,” Levy wiggled a brow as Lucy rolled her eyes, drooping a towel over her shoulder and lifting her son up, patting his back as she began to burp him. “He asked you out, right?”

“Loke asks everyone out, Levy-chan. I’m in no place to date, nor would I let it be him.” She shuddered, content as her son let out a loud burp.

“I think you should still take advantage, get yourself some.” Lucy sputtered as her best friend cackled with a wicked laugh.

“Oh shut up! I don’t want any! Especially not with someone who takes care of my son, for heaven’s sake, Levy-chan!”

“Sure, sure. You’ll change your mind once you meet the right guy,”

“Sounds like you just want to brag about how happy you are with Gajeel.” Lucy stuck her tongue out as she picked up her bags and led them out of the apartment, Levy locking the door as they left.

“Maybe...” She puffed her reddened cheeks, grabbing the diaper bag from Lucy’s shoulder as they walked down to her car.

The ride to the daycare was only ten minutes from her home, Levy waiting next to the car as Lucy unbuckled Ryuu and grabbed his bag.

“You wait right here! I don’t want you saying anything weird.” She hissed to the blue-haired girl who only snickered and ushered her to walk into the child-care building.

“Good morning!” Lucy called from the front as she let herself in, walking toward the designated room for infants.

“Hey, Lucy, good morning.” Gray yawned as he met her inside the room, folding a stack of blankets in the corner of the room, Loke waving from the smaller playground outside. “And you too, Ryuu.”

“Sorry to ask you guys to take him early, I really appreciate it,” She said as she handed off the small boy, marveled in the sight of him smiling and lifting the baby above his head.

“No biggie, that’s what we’re here for. Has Ryuu eaten yet?” He asked, and Lucy nodded, handing him the virtual duffel bag as well.

“Some fruit and a bottle of milk, I mixed his lunch together too, and I put two bottles of milk in there for him. He was a little fussy last night, but his pacifier seems to calm him down a lot more if you don’t know why he’s crying.”

“He doesn’t cry when he’s with us,” Gray scoffed as Lucy feigned a nod, surprised as the door suddenly slid open behind her.

“Found the other blankets, they were in the wrong room,” A pink haired man grinned as he brought in the basket, his eyes catching Lucy’s for a moment.

“We just hired this loser, his name’s Natsu.” He gestured to the now scowling man who turned to the mother with a hand held out for greeting.

“He’s the loser, just so you know. Natsu Dragneel, nice ta meetcha!”

“Y-Yeah, nice to meet you too,” Her cheeks felt a bit hot as she stared at his charismatically wide grin, her attention soon stolen by her son waving his arms for the new teacher.

“Heya, squirt,” Natsu smiled to the baby as he took him from Gray’s hold, Ryuu instantly clinging to him.

“You must be really good with kids,” Lucy awed, her lip quivering a bit at the cute sight of her son leaning against his shoulder. “Ryuu never hugs people right away.”

“You got that right, better than that lame-o outside.” He snickered and pat the kid’s back. “Ryuu, huh? Looks like we’re gonna be friends from now on,”

#nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu and lucy #lucy and natsu #natsu x lucy #lucy x natsu #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #single parent au #demon au #nalu demon au

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kaiser-dracon · 4 years

Text

Chapter I: Welcome to Midgand, Mr.? (New Version)

The night was utterly still, silent like a held breath. The ageless moon glimmered brightly as "Sanguine", the crimson longship of the far-continent was sailing in the calm waters of Midgand. The ocean’s surface glowed with sea sparkle in bright blue light. A lone man let out a prolonged sigh as he gazed over the sea from his cabin on the ship.

He picked up a leatherbound journal from the nightstand beside his bed and seated behind a nearby table. He flipped the journal open. Smelling the salt in the air and feeling the boat creaked under his foot were his daily experiences since his journey began a few months ago. He turned the screw on the lantern that was near the table, turning it on. His features glowed visibly by the light; The lush, blond hair was coiffed over his shoulders to perfection. His eyes were pale green, like the hue of spring, bright and soft all at once. But a deep and distant gloom waved behind them.

He dipped his pen in ink, starting to write on a blank page.

“From the Veritable and Staunch Accounts of Sir Avernus Diphda, valiant Knight of the Hyland Empire.” He stopped as a sudden rumble shook the ship for a moment, eyes darting around the room. “...I have been sailing the ocean for two months before I finally arrived at Midgand waters. If lady fortune smiles at me, maybe I…”

"Having trouble sleeping, your majesty?" Avernus was interrupted by the captain of the ship who was standing in the door frame, an older man, long gray beard, wearing a blue and gold outfit of the Hyland navy, holding a bottle of rum in his hand. His tired eyes sank into his sockets. “We’re already there. Although, I have a bad feeling about this, child.”

Avernus pinned his pen in ink. “Yeah. You and me both, captain. Besides, I can’t stop thinking about home.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glancing back at the ocean over the window. “I hope I can find something in Midgand, otherwise…”

Avernus trailed off into the distance, thoughts hazing by a deep sadness. A sadness that he carried from the far-continent deep in his heart. The captain cast an appraising eye over his equipment beside him; A long silver scepter that was leaned against the wall, an ornamented wooden chest, and two daggers in their sheathes. He favored Avernus with a nod of approval.

“Aye. It seems you’ve come prepared, young lad. Your foresight will serve you well.”

With that, Avernus noticed gray clouds slid in to cover the moon. Another rumbled rocked the ship. Suddenly dread tightened in his stomach. “Something is not right…”

The captain took off toward the deck, and Avernus followed, picking up his scepter and darted out of his cabin.

"Report!" Captain yelled.

Suddenly they found themselves amid a brewing storm. Shouts filled the air as men rush about the deck.

Avernus felt the air getting thicked by malevolence; the corruption that took form emanating from the daemons; hellish creatures that roamed the earth, searching to kill and feast on humans and malakhims.

Captain gestured at the front mast as it appeared to be damaged. “Look to the prow! If we don’t fix her up, we’ll be feeding the fishes!”

A violent gust of wind swept across the deck, throwing the sailors and slamming some into the mast and wooden walls. Avernus braced himself against the railing and raised his hand. “I don’t have a malak with me, but I’ll be damned if I die here.” A red, glowing sigil of magic circulated his wrist like a crimson bracelet. It scratched his cuff, and the blood that came out turned into a sliver trickle of mana. “Heaven Bright!”

Rainbow-like magic raced out of his fingers and spread above the ship. The churning sea grew still for a second, but it didn’t last. The whole boat lurched on the choppy waters again. Avernus slammed his arte into his surroundings again, trying to blast the clouds and winds away. “Can you just, like, chill?!”

Suddenly, the vessel listed starboard. Avernus thought it was from a gust of wind, but then a glistening tentacle, wide around as an oak, came hunting upon the deck from the dark depth of the ocean.

"Kraken!” the captain screamed.

The tentacle smashed a group of sailors against the deck, throwing their bodies away like used toys and sending shock waves over the deck. The rest caught up in the surge and fell from the ship. Avernus hit his back to the railing. As he slumped on the ground, he saw the captain dashing at the tentacle and slashed it away with his cuttles.

The tentacle withdrew, slithering back into the briny waters. Avernus sprang to his feet. Captain waved at him from a few feet away. “I need your help, lad, or we won’t be able to get out of here alive!”

Salt spray mingled with the relentless lash of rain whipped against Avernus’ cheeks as he raised his staff, and the weapon extended itself from the top and bottom. He clenched his jaw in fury. “Show your foul face, if you dare! And I hope you dare!”

The surface water broke with a splashing sound several giant tentacles began rising from seawater, each nearly as long as the ship's mast.

"Ready the cannons, men!" The captain desperately cried as the seawater rained down on them from the tentacles.

"They are going to crash on us!" one of the sailors shouted in fear. Avernus scoped the enormous tentacles that were surrounding them, " No fire, no earth. Only wind and water. My choice is clear then,"

The sigils whirled around his wrists and sucked the blood out of his veins, turning it into mana. "Whirlwind Slash!"

Wind solidified into sharp mana and flew at super speed at the tentacles. The scales on the monster's skin was too tight, but the arte managed to cut some of the arms. The beast shrieked in pain and started hammering the deck. Avernus dodged the attacks, diving left and right until his second arte charge up, rushing to his hands. "Aqua Sphere!"

A large circular warding shield was appearing above the deck, stopping most of the tentacles in their tracks.

His arms shuddered. "I can't hold them for too long, go to the cannons and fire!" Avernus yelled at the sailors as he held the tremendous force of the Kraken's tentacle at bay. The remaining crew managed to reach the cannons, lighting the fuses.

"Ready... Fire!"

First, the port side cannons fired, and then the starboard side emptied their ammunition on the tentacles. The steel canon balls drilled into the flesh of limbs, tearing and burning them away. The large chunks of rotten meat fell into the sea.

"We got them! Yeah!" The sound of cheering filled the air as the tentacles began disappearing beneath the dark water.

For long moments, the sea churned only of its own volition, frothing and foaming like a horse’s lather. Avernus probed the surface but saw nothing stirring beneath the angry spume.

"It's not over! Re-arm the cannons, men!" The captain ordered again.

Then, with a tremendous roar like a hundred thousand death knells ringing as one, the colossal daemon broke the surface. Avernus brandished his weapon and whipped it at the monster as it stared with its pale yellow eyes.

"Wind Lance!" Avernus attacked the Kraken with swarms of wind arrows, targeting its eyes. The elemental bolts pierced the monster's right eye, but it lifted a massive tentacle, crusty barnacles clinging to its suckers, readying to strike.

Having no choice as his arte hasn’t recharged in time, Avernus dropped to one knew, teeth clenched, bracing for the daemon’s blow. The Kraken brought its mighty tentacle down upon the deck, showering them with slime and fragments of shattered wood.

Sanguine heaved upon the colossal impact, listing madly to and front.

Amidst the shakings, Avernus saw the captain challenging the beast, running at it with his sword drawn. “Get out of my ship, you ugly piece of sh--!”

Avernus watched in horror as the Kraken brought down an arm and smashed the captain with ease as if he was a little mosquito.

Avernus scrambled to his feet, rage cutting across his face. "Whirl…"

Before he could finish his arte, another tentacle batted him from behind, flooring him against the deck. A surge of burning anguish enveloped his body. Just as he was tried to move, he saw yet another one of the tentacles grab the captain’s wounded body and pulled him off the deck as he was cursing something unintelligible at the monster. Avernus crawled but immediately winced in the pain of his broken ribs, coughing up blood. The Kraken’s mouth yawned, and the body of captain disappeared inside of that infinite blackness, beneath a ring of thousand sharp teeth.

The Kraken reared up, fixing Avernus in its gleaming, beady gaze. It windmilled its flailing arms, beating them upon the angry water. Unbowed by its fury, Avernus blinked away the sting of sea and rain and staggered to his feet.

His body was numbed to the pain. "Abomination... I will show you what real pain is." Avernus raised his arms and clawed his hands. “For all the dreams that are lost!” The sky above them turned red. His breathing intensified. A new weight was pushed into his soul from beyond. “You will come to know my fury, beast, and you will learn to fear it!”

Rumbling, the Kraken surged forward and tangled its limbs all around the vessel. The deck quaked and bucked beneath Avernus’ feet. Its grotesque head loomed ever closer, blotting out the lightning-riven sky so near that Avernus could see himself reflected in the glassy, fearsome orbs of its eyes.

Two dark, purple sigils appeared in front of Avernus, and he pushed his hands into them. “May my face be the last thing you ever see! Begone! Celestial Crush!”

A pair of giant, dragon-like claws tore through the air and grabbed the Kraken’s head and crushed his eyes, pointy thumbs drilling into them. It thrashed its colossal head back and forth, clear ichor seeping beneath the claws that dug deep into its eyes. The Kraken shrieked in a piercing cry, seeking to unknot itself from the hull. But it was grasped onto Sanguine too tightly and couldn’t free itself. Avernus twitched his hands, and the summoned dragon hands mimicked his movement perfectly.

The rest of his stamina left his body as Avernus put the last of his endurance into one final movement twist of his hands, pressuring them and crushing the Kraken’s skull with a bone-crunching sound. The monster’s large body slumped and began to sink into the sea, pulling down the ship with its lifeless arms.

A massive wave of water hit Avernus, and his consciousness washed into the darkness as his senses blackened.

But as fate would have it, he eluded the hands of death for now.

Among his silent dream, Avernus sensed someone talking to him from a distance. The voice kept getting closer and closer.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead." A young and eager voice called to him, kicking his legs.

Avernus slowly opened his eyes. An enormous pain engulfed his skull as the light entered his sight. He raised his head to glance at the man; A skinny, short man with a missing front tooth was smiling at him. His ragged and vagrant outfit screamed one word: Pirate.

"Great. Thieves." Avernus observed, mumbling.

The pirate smirked. "Boss, the pretty boy is awake!" He exited the room in a rush. Avernus grunted in anguish and tried to move his body, but ropes tied his hands and legs. Destroying his bindings was an easy task for him, but what could he do in the middle of nowhere with pirates?

Another much taller and friendlier figure entered the cabin and opened his arms. "Welcome to the Midgand, traveler."

The man was wearing a purple coat with a purple hat and a pointy beard. Avernus sneered at his clothing. "Nice outfit. For a pirate."

The pirate turned to his subordinate in surprise. Avernus’ gall seemed to spark some interest.

"Benwick, look! Our man can bark!” He chuckled and turned to Avernus. “Such audacity! Wounded, broken, and tied up, and yet you do not beg for your life." The pirate crouched near him, shaking his head. “You are one interesting fish.”

“Shame you can’t differentiate between a shark and a fish.” Avernus mocked him, glaring from behind his messy hair.

"Even sharks are nothing but herrings in my grasp." The pirate clapped his hands. "Bring in the good stuff!"

Two pirates entered the room, carrying Avernus’ wooden chest and his scepter. Then another tall blond man followed them and sat on a nearby crate behind on the far side of the room. His attire consisted of tailored black trousers tightened with two belts and brown boots and gloves. He also wore an orange shirt, a loose white shirt, and a black waistcoat finished off by the long-dark business type jacket. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it in the air.

Avernus’ frowned eyes widened as the sensation of earth affinity washed over him alarmingly. The blond guy gaze suddenly fell upon Avernus, and they stared into each other’s eyes. A sense of imminent danger and dread pierced Avernus’ heart. That man had the eyes of death as the reaper himself was digging into his soul. The pirate leader followed Avernus’ gaze. As an average human, he couldn’t see the man, but he chuckled instantly.

"So you can see our ghost. That means you're a special one, pretty boy. Like one of those exorcists! This must be our lucky day, Benwick!"

The blond guy, now identified by Avernus as a malak, quickly took off and exited the room.

The young man shook his head at this coincidence. “Give me a break.”

The pirate captain picked his scepter and swept an endorsing gaze over it. "It's a lovely staff you got there, gold with ruby stones engraved in it. It is yours, I presume?"

"Maybe," Avernus replied in an indifferent tone and maintained his icy demeanor.

"You know I like something about you, and I don't know if it's the bravery or the foolishness.” The pirate captain reached his coat and pulled out a gray and silver pistol.

Avernus sighed at the sight of the gun. "An anti-dragon weapon in a pirate's hand, who would have thought…"

The pirate placed the barrel under his bloody and dirty chin, raising it. "You see, I'm aware of your handicrafts, and I have to say, your weapons are magnificent pieces of art!"

After staring for a few seconds, the pirate smirked and withdrew the gun. "I'm looking forward to adding this beauty of a staff and whatever you stashed in that chest to my collection. So until you can open your mouth and tell me how to use this weapon and the magic password for that chest, you are staying here as our guest."

With the pirates laughing out load, Avernus was left alone, broken and wounded in the dank corner of his cell. But little did they know what a sorcerer was capable of doing. Even without a malakhim bound to his spirit, he had some tricks up his sleeve. The mana that he had built up started to travel through his veins, fractured bones, and beaten muscles.

A day had passed. On the next midnight, the healing spell cured most of his wounds. Avernus conjured a minor fire arte and burned his binding. He raised on his feet and took a glimpse of the shore from the small window. He decided to put his escape plan in motion before the pirate’s ship distanced itself from the coast. Avernus silently trashed the cell's lock, breaking it.

He peeked over the wall: Two pirates were playing cards, oblivious to the fact that their prisoner was now on the loose. Avernus crept up behind them and quickly bashed their heads against the table, knocking them out cold. Avernus spotted his chest near their table, but his weapon was nowhere to be found, although he didn't need to know its location. After all, his weapon was bound to him. Avernus picked up the chest and moved outside.

Avernus was stopped in his track as he saw the blond malak in black, sitting on the top of large crates, playing with his strange coin, and waiting for him.

"Can't get a night of sleep?" the malak asked, stoically in a threatening tone.

The sorcerer sneered, treating it as a joke, "Nah, didn't like the hospitality nor the smell. Also, it is too boring for me here, and I crave for action, malak."

The malakhim jumped down to the deck in a quick move. "That's a shame, but you are not going anywhere." He bumped his fist together, gazing threateningly at Avernus, "Get back to your room nicely, and I won't have to break your fingers and your nose."

Avernus rolled his eyes and let out a sigh before leveling a challenging stare at him. "Stand aside, malak. I'm not in the mood to play games. Besides, why do you care? They can’t even see you."

“You know nothing, stranger. They are an interesting bunch, and to me, they’re important.”

The Benwick guy ran outside of the crew quarters, watching Avernus standing there on the deck, alone. "What?! The prisoner has escaped!"

Avernus turned uncaringly toward the pirate. He knew that to them. It probably looked as if he was talking to himself.

"Last warning." The malak threatened, prompting Avernus to turn back to him.

Avernus shifted into his battle stance. "Alright, let's dance, malak."

He raised his arm and opened his hand. "Dreamshadow, come to me!"

A thundering sound roared from the captain's quarters. The malak, fully aware of what was happening, rushed and pulled his arm, ready to slam Avernus with his clenched fist. The great staff broke through the wooden walls, twirling like a windmill, it flew back and reached Avernus in time to block the malak’s punch. The force of malak’s fist connecting with the protective ward boomed around the deck. Avernus slid a few feet back.

"Damn it!" the malak gritted his teeth and pinned Avernus under his reaper’s gaze.

The malak threw another punch, and Avernus dodged it in time. Then, a solution crossed his mind.

"He’s powerful, but he is also an earth malak on the sea, which means…” Avernus grinned.

"Bad mistake, my friend."

The young man's eyes started to glow bright white as magic waved through his body. "Colossal Surge!"

Suddenly, a massive wave towered over the ship and dived onto the deck, causing both Avernus and the malak to fall into the sea. Avernus quickly whipped his staff, and the water solidified under his feet. He turned back, only to see the malak paddling in the water for his dear life. "Have a nice swim, you stupid malak!”

After a few more minutes of surfing, his mana ran out, in time for him to crash into the shore. His exhausted body couldn’t do more. After rolling over on the sand, he turned on his back and gazed into the sky.

"Welcome to Midgand, Mr. Diphda …" he said to himself, breathy.

Another day had passed—a day of non-stop walking into unknown jungles. With no map and no clue of where he was, Avernus desperately probed the area for any signs of civilization. During mid-day, he came across a small river, flowing with clear water. He dropped to his knees and dipped his filthy face into it. He pulled his head and ran a finger over his messy long hair.

"Water… I wished I had time to bathe myself, but I've wasted enough time already.”

His hearing picked up footsteps nearby. Avernus raised his head and scanned the area. To his surprise, he spotted a small blond girl, wearing white attire and holding a strange umbrella, was standing on the other side of the river, looking at him with a stony face. She glared, her eyes checking his body.

Again, the vibes of another earth affinity malakhim radiated from her. Avernus squinted his eyes at her. “Is that another malakhim?”

She turned her back to him, looking like she shrugged him off coldly, and with slight disgust, she vanished into the jungle.

"Hey! You! Wait!" Avernus stood up, raising his arm, but it was already too late. As he picked up his chest, a wooden sign close to the river grabbed his attention.

“The village of Aball.” As he read the sign, a glimmer of hope sparked in him. “It seems lady luck is smiling on me--”

A supernatural howl pulled him out of his little comfort. His ears alarmed to an enemy that he fought its kind for the last six years of his life. Six years of untold responsibility would crush man’s soul.

“A werewolf!” Avernus whirled his head toward the sound and sprinted in haste. He pushed away from the bushes widely to the side and jumped into a wide clearing. He suddenly found himself between several broken pieces of bottles and shattered crates. A traveling merchant had lost their stash. Avernus raised his head only to lay eyes on a man, appeared to be the merchant himself, twitching and wincing, howling: His breathing became quick and ragged, his eyes turning red. Hooked claws burst through his fingers, dark fur rippling over his skin. Moments later, an enormous, jet-black wolf bared its teeth, howling a challenge toward Avernus.

Avernus stared at the Lycan’s long, vicious fangs. He dropped his chest and readied his staff. Duty called to him once more. He had no malak, and no blood was left in that pale body to fuel his mana. But he wasn’t a man to back down. Never.

His fingers fumbled around the middle of his staff, and the top extended with a metallic bang, and a pair of transparent scythe blades came out in parallel. Their surface was crystal clear and radiated with extreme magic built into it. “This is not a normal staff that any shepherd can wield. This is a gift from a malak.” Avernus heaved a heavy breath. “I shall grant you the eternal rest, poor soul.”

Avernus squared off against the daemon, catching his breath. “Come and meet your salvation!”

The werewolf stamped a gargantuan paw then charged forward, howling. Avernus pulled his long scythe-staff away and lunged to meet his opponent. The beast threw a clawed hand at him. Avernus shifted his body to the side, dodging its attack. Then sprang forward, slashing open the Lycan’s chest. The beast bellowed, blood gushing from two deep wounds.

Avernus’ heart pounded furiously. Suddenly his sight hazed. His exhaustion finally took its toll on his broken body. He stumbled back. Avernus struggled to control his balance. But he barely caught a glimpse of a young village girl watching the fight from afar. Avernus whipped his arm violently. “Go! Get out of here!”

Taking advantage of Avernus’ disorientation, the werewolf landed a solid punch on his chest, bowling him over. Avernus slid into the dirt and his body snapped against a rock, and his head cracked against the stone. Another pain surged in his back as he cried in agony. The daemon jumped on him and hammered viciously at his guard, landing blow after blow.

He was sensing his stamina flushing away. Avernus focused a sliver of his blood and streamed it into his weapon. The magic lit up his staff and enveloped it in a beam of light that blinded the daemon. “Veil’s Edge!”

His staff fired up his arte as a rainbow storm into the werewolf’s body. The daemon flew off of Avernus and slammed into the side of a tree, causing it to buckle outward. Avernus pulled stood up, his eyelids heavy and obscured by blood trickling from his forehead. Both adversaries, wounded and out of energy, prepared themselves for final showdown. The forest surrounded their warcries and howls for battle. Avernus launched himself at the daemon and slashed a full cut to the daemon’s stomach.

They both stood still for a moment, locked into their fighting pose, before the daemon went limp, falling to the ground with a crash that shook the jungle beneath Avernus’ feet.

His staff fell as the blades retracted and disappeared. Avernus’ crippled body faltered, stumbling to the front as the last of his stamina escaped him. The world stilled, and once more and the darkness was his host. His senseless body crumpled to the ground.

Again, he floated in darkness. There was nothing, no light, no ground to stand on. Then, as if a dam had split open, several voices flooded him. He sensed a golden light flaring to life a few feet away. The light grew closer, swelling outward to form a scene. Avernus reached out to the light as it dimmed.

For a mere second, he was taken back to his body. He opened his eyes to see a pair of blazing eyes watching over him. A kind hand put a wet cloth on his forehead. He squinted his eyes at that shining face. “You need to rest, mister.” The warm voice soothed his mind, but he passed out again from the pain.

In the infinite darkness, Avernus looked for that fiery gaze, and his hand desperately reached to the light, to that warm, kind voice before dark consumed him once more.

#fanfiction #my writing #talesofberseria #talesof #VelvetCrowe #eizen (tob)#alternative berseria the x

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fairyshuuu · 5 years

Text

Redamancy Jongin End

.summary. You’ve lived your whole life with your best friend by your side, the Neverland sun on your skin. Sadly, people grow up. What happens to your favorite person when you do? .word count. 2.3k .pairing. jongin x reader x baekhyun .genre. fluff

pt1. pt2. pt3. pt4. pt5. pt6. pt7. pt8. pt9. pt10. jongin pov. pt11. pt12. pt13. pt14. jongin end. baekhyun end.

You breathe in deeply, and look out over the waves. They swirl calmly out far, crashing down with a bouldering noise against the black rocks. The sun brushes your shoulders, and you take a deep breath. As you cross your arms over your belly, you smile. Your wound, though deep, has healed fine with the help of Mama. It has only left a scar, but you’re kind of glad it has. Now you’ll always be able to remember that you fought an army of pirates, and lived to tell. Barely, but still.

As you think that, soft footsteps sound behind you. You don’t have to turn to know who it is, and so you close your eyes to enjoy the sunlight just a little longer. The sound of the grass whipping back and forward. A small pout comes to your lips. You’ll miss this place. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, you know.” The voice behind you softly mumbles. You turn, and come face to face with deep brown eyes, and fluffy brown hair that is going every direction because of the breeze. You smile, and tangle your fingers with his, stepping closer.

“I know.” You sigh. You rest your face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that thumps steadily against his ribs. “I know, and I still want to. It’s just a little strange, saying goodbye. Again.” You giggle, and feel Jongin wrap his strong arm around your waist. He presses a kiss to your temple, and hums. “What about you?” You pull back to look at him.

“It is definitely strange.” Jongin admits. “But I’ve been waiting for a long time now. I want to see what the world looks like now, have for a long time.” He smiles, and squeezes your hand gently. “And that I get to do it with you, is even more strange.”

“If you think you can just kiss me like that, and get away, you’ve got another thing coming, mister.” You smile, starting to walk back to the house.

Jongin gives you a startled look, before breaking out in a big smile. “Not like that. I just mean, I can barely believe that you like me too.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand gently. “I’ve loved you for so long now that I kind of… assumed that it would always be that way. You know, with Baekhyun and all. I don’t know, I wasn’t sure if- W-What made you change your mind?”

You look at him for a few seconds, before looking away with a smile. “Nothing. Someone once told me that if you love someone, you’ll know. And I knew, with you. I love Baekhyun, of course. But something felt off ever since I came back, maybe even before that. I never knew what it was and it made me feel confused. That was why I kept pulling back from you. It was like a part of my heart was beating faster than the rest, if that makes sense. I didn’t know what it was, and wanted to cling to what was safe. However, you seemed determined not to let me.

And I’m glad you didn’t, because I slowly started to realize something. You can love a person, without being in love with them. I love Baekhyun, but I’m not in love with him anymore. We’ve both grown so much as people that it was to be expected, really. And as I realized that, I was slowly ridding myself of the guilt I felt. And finally ready to admit that the reason my heart felt so heavy, was because of you. You made my heart feel full, in a good way. Like… something you didn’t know was missing, until you finally got a hold of it?” You nod to yourself, and let Jongin pull you into his side more. “I’m really, really in love with you. It’s weird, that I only realized it so late into the game. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jongin smiles, “I was prepared to have this one-sided feeling for the end of time.” You two make your way back towards the houses slowly, feeling some nerves slip in. Jongin notices and gives you little smile.

“What do you say, sis?” Sehun grins, poking your side teasingly.

You break out laughing. “Not in a million years, Oh Sehun. Go dance with Kyungsoo instead.” Sehun pouts though, and takes your hand anyway, making you squeak in protest. Jongin just grins when you try to get him to save you, and allows you to be dragged into the middle of the field, between the groups of people dancing.

Sehun pulls you close to his chest with the widest smile you’ve ever seen him have, and sways you around gently, keeping you so close you can’t escape. You roll your eyes but give in, and wrap your arms back around him. As you look around, you can see that Kyungsoo is dancing with Mama, and Baekhyun with Minseok, who looks entirely unamused, and it is such a ridiculous sight that you break out laughing. Sehun joins in too. After while of moving around in silence, he clears his throat. “It’s going to be weird without you.” When you glance up, his eyes carry some sadness in them. “I want you to go, really. But I’ve just gotten used to you again, is all.”

You squeeze him a little tighter, and lay your hand on his cheek. “You can always come visit, Hun. You know that you’re more than welcome to. And with Tink’s help I’ll come ‘round every once in a while. I wouldn’t want that one to get homesick.” You cock your head at Jongin from a far, smiling at him. Sehun hums. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

The tall man debates for a second, before smiling. “I think all of us are going to join Chanyeol and Jongdae in the village. Through all of this we’ve learned that they aren’t anywhere near as secluded as we used to think. And then we have the case of Minseok over there.” Sehun beams, throwing a glance at Minseok who sits next to Jongin, downing his glass at once. “We’re all going to live together. And with Mama’s help, we’ll get rid of the spell.”

“Isn’t it going to be weird going back to being a boy, now you know what being an adult feels like?”

Sehun gives you a little look, and nods. “Totally. But I’ll be glad to be back. Being an adult is so… ugh.”

You giggle, and hug him tight. “You don’t have to tell me.” You two dance in silence for what feels lie hours, until someone taps your shoulder. Baekhyun stands with his hand out to you, a proud smile on his face.

“Can I have this dance?” He doesn’t even let you think about it, or he’s snatched you away from a scowling Sehun, and pulled you into his arms. He whirls you around for a few times, getting the hint and calming down a bit when you slap his chest. His cheeks are a bright pink, smile out for the world to see, and hair a messy fluff that lays to almost cover his eyes. Suddenly, your heart aches a little, knowing that tomorrow, you’ll be gone. Gone from this place, gone from their lives. And they out of yours.

You swallow, and frown. “I’ll really miss you guys.”

Baekhyun pauses for a bit, before smiling in agreement, and taking hold of your fingers. “I know. I’ll miss you too, and I’m sure that that counts for everyone here. But,” Baekhyun nods, “we’ll always be right here when you need us. You don’t have to see us to know that we’re here, right?” He puts his free hand on your chest. “I’ve always been in there, and I’m not leaving any time soon.” You nod, and send him a grateful smile.

“I heard that you’re all going back in time after I leave.”

Baekhyun giggles softly, and nods, looking around at the world around him. “Neverland can’t be Neverland without Peter Pan, right?” His eyes find yours then. “I’m not going all the way back. I’ve found that sixteen is a great age for me. The others, I’m not sure. Minseok probably doesn’t want to stay gray. Mama is going to break the spell.”

You pout at him. “How though?”

“Magic, Y/N.” Baekhyun winks. He rests his hands on your hips once more. “She cast a spell on Hook too. He won’t be coming around Neverland anymore.” His bright eyes flick from yours, to the floor. “I’m still sorry about what happened, you know.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Baekhyun. Though I do wish you’d have told me. You always do that, you idiot. Hiding things because you want to protect people. But sometimes it’s not up to you to decide.” You brush some of his hair out of his face. Baekhyun mumbles a defeated ‘I know.’ “It was really weird. When Sehun and I went to save Minseok, I figured out that Hook must have been causing you guys to age. He had tons of papers full of spells, and a map that showed him going all the way to Siren Island. And then, I felt so drawn to that one sword, even though I didn’t know it yet.”

Baekhyun nods. “When you cast a spell, you have to have one item you cast it on. With Hook it was the sword. With me, it was you. I mean… I never did it on purpose. Before we left the first time, I visited Mama. I asked her to craft me a protection spell, and she did. I didn’t know until much later that when you use a protection spell, it uses the person you love most to cling onto. I only know now because Hook figured it out right when I did. Still though, I’m sorry. Because of me he came after you in the fight.”

“Ah, that’s why. He needed to break the spell first, huh?” Baekhyun nods cutely. You smile, and rest your chin on his shoulder, looking at Jongin. “You’ll come visit me sometime, right, Baek?”

Baekhyun grins widely when he pulls back, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t miss it for all the money in the world.” His hands tangle in yours. “Don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

Your eyes are heavy when you lift them from the letters sprawled over the paper, to the room you’re sat in. The space is covered in a golden glow from the nightlight beside you. With a deep sigh, you put your book to the side and rest your hands on your belly. It makes a smile slip on, feeling the warm skin underneath your fingertips. A couple of months and you’ll have a freaking baby. The thought is foreign, but incredibly exciting. You can hear Jongin walk around downstairs, and smile even wider. You hope the baby has his eyes.

Right when you move to join your husband downstairs, something bumps into the window. You turn in surprise, walking over to the frosted glass to look out into the winter weather. It stays quiet outside, so you shrug and move to walk away. But from the corner of your eye, you can see a single line being drawn into the ice on the window. And very slowly, another, like someone is spelling something out by writing it on the window with their finger. You bite your bottom lip gently, eyes flicking between the glass and the peaceful outside every few seconds.

When he’s done, you run your hand under your eyes quickly, brushing away some wetness that sits there, and smile. ‘Congratulations!’ is messily written on the window. You can’t see your Baekhyunnie, but still send him a flying kiss. And you swear you can hear his melodic laugh from behind the window. You stay like that until goosebumps break out over your arms, tracing the letters with your fingertips.

A soft hum breaks you out of your little trance. “What are you doing by the window, love?” Jongin asks, sending you the sweetest smile. He walks over to wrap his long arms around your body, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. You hum and look back at where the letters were, a few seconds prior, and shrug.

“It’s a nice night, that’s all.”

Jongin nods, and rests his chin on your shoulder, hands finding your belly. His hands are cold, and you yelp slightly, breaking out in giggles. Jongin breaks out laughing too, and presses his lips to your shoulder, mumbling a faint ‘sorry’. When he pulls back, he turns you around to face him, and presses his lips to yours. “I ordered dinner. I hope that’s okay. I just really didn’t feel like making food right now.”

“It’s okay.” You nod, catching his lips again. “You have no idea how much takeout I used to eat back when I lived alone. Though, I feel a little bad for the little one in here.” At the mention of the baby, Jongin’s face lights up. He looks so cute with his flushed cheeks and adorable smile that lights up the room.

“Now you mention this little one,” he bends, talking to your stomach excitedly, “I have a present for them.” A little skeptically, you send him a smile and watch as he stuffs his hand into his pocket. “Well, you can’t play with it just yet but when you’re a little bit older…” He holds open his hand for you to see. A shimmery, almost glass like pearl lays in his hand, reflecting vibrant pinks and blues on it’s surface. You smile at your husband, and take his hand in his.

“I’m sure they’ll love it.” A ring downstairs makes the both of you look over.

Jongin excitedly tangles his fingers with yours. “Let’s go eat, I’m starving.” You hum, and follow him out, but not before sending the window a last little wave.

Adults sadly can’t see Peter Pan. But you know he is out there, and you loved him.

The end! The actual end. I’m sad, but also happy. I hope you liked this series as much as I did. As always, any thoughts you can leave in my ask box or in the comments.

@baekfanapleintemps @yeollieollie @kookiie-bear @very-important-army @shesdreaminginoverdose @rissa-is-a-nerd @honeybhive @i-love-my-exhoes

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claitynroberts · 5 years

Text

Ig-Pay Atin-Lay

Summary: The exorcism falls to y/n during a hunt (her first one ever), however, a miscommunication causes the event to go awry when she recites the incantation in Pig Latin

A/N: This came to me the other day and I cackled so loud I scared the students working in my Library! I hope I was able to do it justice!

Special thanks to @couldabeenamermaid for beta’ing for me! Your reactions always make me happy! (Direct Quote: “Hahahahahahahahahaha!”)

Written for: @spngenrebingo

Square Filled: “First Time”

Warnings: None really, canon level violence. Crack.

Word Count: 2,625

“Hey, Y/n,” Dean’s voice cut through her reverie. The three of them were in the Impala riding down some two-lane road, the blustery wind causing the black car to drift over the line whenever a strong gust hit her broadside.

“Hmm?” She responded, letting him know she had heard him as she was flipping through the lore book on Demons and Demon kind.

“Can you read Latin?” He asked, his eyes punctuating his question in the rear view mirror.

“Latin? Yeah, I can read it. I can speak it, too.” She sent him an incredulous look and went back to her book.

“Really?” Sam asked, half turning to look over the back of the front bench seat at her.

“Yeeeaah… Can’t most hunters?”

Sam’s mouth pulled down in a noncommittal look of ‘meh’ as he bobbled his head back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion. “I mean, I guess it’s more common than not.” He shrugged. A few minutes later he was rummaging through a small notebook he kept with him. It contained thoughts, hunches, and things that did and did not work when it came to their line of work. He always preferred to write things down, at least if it didn’t help him it may benefit someone else later on.

He ripped a page from the back, then slung his arm over the seat-back offering it to y/n. She looked at his proffered hand, and took the paper from between his fingers. Flipping it over she glanced down at it. “What’s this?” She asked, her brows furrowing.

“It’s the Latin and English translations of a basic exorcism. Dean and I know it, and we thought it may be handy if you memorized it, too. Especially with the case we’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Dean piped up, “A black-eyed bitch who likes to prey on unsuspecting couples and play with the guy while making his girl watch?” His eyebrows had quirked up to his hairline in the mirror again, his tongue licking his bottom lip between his teeth quickly as he glanced at Y/n’s reflection. “Better safe than sorry. There’s no telling what could go down.”

Their rag-tag team had successfully found and saved the latest victims earlier that afternoon, and twenty minutes later, y/n and the boys had pulled up to the derelict house said to be the location of the deaths and disappearances. The house was weathered grey with flakes of white and green paint still clinging desperately to the siding and shutters. Shingles and pieces of the roof had either been blown away or had caved in from the roof, and the front porch was a labyrinth of dangerously molded and rotten boards.

Inside the remaining furniture had sagged to the floor or simply fall apart. Dust covered every inch of flat space, and cobwebs hung from the remnants of the ceiling. The whole property was remniscent of a haunted house from one of those cheap Hollywood thrillers from the eighties. Dean began shoving the rubble aside, as Sam dug through the supply bag for a can of spray paint. A canister of salt was shoved into y/n’s hands as Dean retrieved his own and ordered her to begin salting the windows and doors.

She had been reciting the exorcism incantation under her breath as she went about her appointed duties. When everything was readied, and each hunter had some form of weapon, Dean called out, riling up the demon. Minutes passed, and Dean provoked it once more using language coarse enough to cause even Sam’s face to tinge red.

Everything happened in a blur. A young woman with milky white skin and flame red hair flickered into appearance right in the middle of the pentagram. Windows and doors were flung shut, and anything not bolted down was thrown back against the wall effectively out of the demon’s way.

Cackling she turned to look between y/n and the Winchesters. “Oh, a ménage á trois,” she squealed, “How scandalously delicious!” She clapped her hands together in glee, recognition dawning as she realized just who these men were. “And with the Winchesters, no less. Boy am I going to have some fun with you two.” Her grin turning maniacal.

She began to pace toward Sam, the paint on the floor stopping her as she neared the edge of the circle. She let out a scream of frustration, her fists thumping against the invisible barrier in futility. “Not fair!” Her eyes flashed black and a growl erupted from her chest as she flung out her hand and Sam became airborn.

Sam landed against the wall, an oomph! And a groan leaving him as his head gave a solid thump after making contact with the dry-rotted plaster and lumber. The force knocked him out cold, and he was now laying in a crumpled heap at the base of the wall, the demon knife falling from his grip and skidding across the dusty floorboards.

The demon had Dean pinned against the railing of the staircase, force choking him and pulling him off the ground much like Darth Vader. He kicked his feet and stretched his legs trying to make contact with something in order to relieve the pressure, his hands scrambling at his neck, trying to get a purchase on the invisible force. Y/n watched on in horror from the opposite side of the room where she had been magically pinned to the ground kneeling.

“Y/n!” He managed to gasp out around the crushing of his windpipe. Her attention snapped to him. “La-tin,” he coughed. His mouth falling open in a futile attempt to draw breath.

Right! She thought, of course. The exorcism.

She took a deep breath preparing herself for the moment the demon cut off her air supply as well. Y/n just hoped it may distract the woman long enough to allow her power over Dean to falter so he could finish the incantation. She cast around in her brain, searching for the words Sam had presented her with just before they arrived.

Latching onto the first couple that came to her mind, she began, her voice uncertain and quiet. “E-way exor-yay-ise-cay ou-yay, every-way impure-yay irits-pay,” y/n’s voice crescendoed as the words came back to her, “every-way atanic-say ower-pay, every-way incursion-ay of-yay e-thay infernal-yay evil-day.”

The demon’s head began to turn toward y/n, her attention on Dean lost for the moment. An amused smile lighting her gruesomely beautiful features as she took in what was happening. The demon loosened her hold on Dean’s throat allowing him to breathe properly, though his mouth still hung agape, confusion creasing his features.

“No, y/n!” he coughed. “Latin! Like actual Latin!”

Y/n’s voice ringing in her own ears caused Dean’s to fade to the background. “Every-way ongregation-cay and-yay iabolical-day ect-say, erefore-thay ou-yay also-way ursed-cay ragon-day.” She persisted.

“Oh honey, you are too Ute-cay!” The demon squealed in delight. “You’ll definitely be the last one I kill.” She chuckled as she turned back to Dean where he was knelt on the floor. “Your girlfriend is adorable! Too bad I have to kill you.” She shrugged as she raised her hand to blast him.

“O-say at-thay our-yay urch-chay an-cay erve-say ee-thay,” the Demon’s face began to flash in quick succession between her real appearance and the meat-suit she was wearing. A confused look crossing her features as Dean looked at her bewildered.

“What the hell?” She barked as she began to convulse, black smoke slipping out of the vessel’s nose and mouth. She whirled around, leveling her gaze on y/n. “How,” she coughed, “is this working?” She screamed in annoyance.

The demon threw her power at y/n, knocking her to the side. Her head smacked against the floor, but she groaned through the pain, never letting up on the incantation. “In-yay ecure-say iberty-lay, e-way eseech-bay ee-thay...”

“Y/n!” Dean’s voice was drowned out by the demon’s screaming.

She was poised for another attack, smoke still trickling from her face as y/n kept on, Dean watching in horror.

“As-yay e-way ray-pay…”

The demon unleashed one last attack, blowing y/n into the wall behind her as the demon turned back to the hunter.

“Ear-hay us-yay!” Y/n bellowed to the heavens as she crashed into the wall. The force knocking the rubble down around her and burying her in dust and plaster.

“Aaaarrrgghhhh!” The demon’s head snapped back as a torrent of black smoke and goo was unleashed from the meat-suit’s mouth. Once the abominable force had disappeared through the window, the poor woman left behind dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Dean sat there for long moments, bewilderment and amazement swirling together in his mind.

“Dean?” Sammy’s voice broke him from his consternation.

“Sam,” he walked over to his brother, “You okay man?”

He groaned as he sat up, rubbing the crown of his head. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe a minor concussion,” he mumbled as he felt the goose egg that had sprung up. Another groan slipped from him as he stood. “And a few bruised ribs.” He looked over his brother. “You okay?” He asked, concerned. “Where’s y/n?”

“Shit, Y/n!” Dean jogged over to the other side of the room. The two hunters began moving pieces of the rubble that had fallen on top of the young woman, unearthing her rather quickly. Dust coated her body, her hair gray from the fine particles, and blood trickling from a cut at her right temple as well as the left side of her nose.

“Y/n?!” Dean questioned frantically, taking in the state of her as he lightly tapped his fingers against her cheek. Sam had grabbed her hand and was performing the same motion. “Please, be alright,” Dean whispered, his thumb rubbing lightly against her cheekbone.

A cough and a groan left her as she blinked the debris from her eyes. “Owwwwww…” As her vision came into focus, y/n saw Dean crouched over her, the worried look on his face morphing into one of hopefulness. “Dean, what happened? Did it work?” She tried to sit up, but dizziness washed over her. Sam and Dean pulled her into a sitting position, with Dean arranging himself so he was knelt on one knee, the other bent at a ninety degree angle in front of him as he settled y/n’s back against it.

“Y/n how do you feel?” Sam asked as he ghosted deft fingers over her joints looking for breaks.

“I’m okay, just dirty and bruised as usual.” She groaned.

“What’s your full name?” Dean asked.

She glanced up at the green-eyed hunter, “What? You know my name, Dean.”

He waved her question away with a flick of his wrist. “Just humor me, will ya?”

Rolling her eyes she answered his question. “I’m y/n y/mn y/ln. I’m y/age years old and I’m a hunter. You two are Sam and Dean Winchester, also hunters, and the biggest pair of mother hens I’ve ever met.”

“Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Is there any ringing in y—.”

“Sam Winchester, I am fine! Quit hounding me.” Y/n glared at the taller brother.

He threw up his hands in a placating signal. “Sorry, Sorry, just making sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“Maybe a minor one, but I’ll be okay.” She waved him off and turned her attention back to Dean. “The demon? Did it work?”

“Uhhh...y-yeah, it worked.” He chuckled before looking at her, “Surprisingly.”

“Surprisingly? Dean, we’ve used that incantation before,” Sam stated. “It’s foolproof.”

A laugh bubbled up from Dean’s chest. “Well maybe not the way y/n performed it.” He recalled the scene, and mirth began to spill out of him now that the danger had passed.

Her brow furrowed and she looked at Dean confused. “What? Did I get a word wrong or something? Latin can be kinda hard…”

Dean laughter quickly turned to full blown guffawing as Sam and y/n shared confused looks. The longer his fit of belly laughing continued, the more they became worried about the eldest hunter.

A voice groaned from behind them. All three hunters turned toward the new voice, Dean’s laughter subsiding quickly at the possibility of another threat. The young woman the demon had been possessing had woken up, apparently not too worse for wear. “Seriously?” She looked over at y/n, incredulity burning in her eyes and disbelief edging every feature as she pulled herself into a sitting position. “Pig Latin?”

The term set Dean off again, as understanding passed over Sam’s face. Y/n was still confused, and was looking between the hysterical older brother, the former meat-suit, and the young academic looking for some answers. “Wh-what? Is there another kind of Latin?” She asked innocently, looking to the young man with the chestnut mane. Dean’s side was now in stitches, and Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“S...so let me get this straight,” Sam said, using his pointer finger to put the events of the evening in order. “Dean asked you if you could speak Latin, you said yes, then I gave you a copy of the incantation?” He ended the statement in a questioning tone, waiting for y/n to confirm it was true.

She gulped. “Yes.”

“Then, instead of memorizing the Latin translation you memorized the English. And while I was unconscious, with Dean apparently out of commission as well, you decided to chant the English version? In Pig Latin?” The disbelief was evident on his chiseled face.

Another gulp, another mumbled ‘yes’.

“And it worked?” His brows were knitted together in confusion, as he looked to his brother for confirmation. Dean had folded his lips between his teeth to calm the joy he felt at the hilarity of the situation, nodding his head as sagely as possible.

“Apparently…” Y/n lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

Sam’s mouth hung open much like a fish out of water, his mind working through every possible reason it shouldn't have worked. All through the clean up process and the trek back to the motel, Sam’s mind was spinning, his brows pulled down so far over his eyes they nearly disappeared.

Y/n had slipped in the door to the room first, leaving the boys to trail behind. Dean had stopped in the doorway as he reached it, looking back to his brother and clapping him on the shoulder to bring him out of his reverie. “Hey Sam, let’s, uh—let’s give it some time. Y’know, before we start teasing her.” He waved absentmindedly toward the door behind him indicating just who he was talking as if his brother had forgotten.

“I, uh—yeah, agreed.” Sam looked at his brother to see the thinly veiled affection he harbored for y/n. “I just can’t figure out how it worked.” The night’s events confusing him the more he thought about it.

“Y’know, me neither.” Dean smirked. “Maybe it was a miracle from Chuck, maybe it was a fluke.” He shrugged as he turned back toward the room, glancing at his brother as Sam followed him inside, shutting and locking the door behind them. “Either way, let’s just chalk it up as a win, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sam agreed as he pulled a beer from the mini fridge. He flopped down in the tattered chair by the door, heaving a befuddled sign as he yanked the cap off. Bubbling the cool liquid a few times he plopped the bottle against his thigh, bracing it with the force of his arm. “Pig Latin,” he mumbled as his head plunked against the wall behind him. After a moment a baffled snort escaped him. “Who woulda thought.”

Tags: @speakinvain @katsanders @shamelesslydean @thekatherinewinchester @stusbunker @couldabeenamermaid @pisces-cutie @mzbones108

#Ig-Play Atin-Lay #First Time...for an exorcism *finger guns*#spngenrebingo #spn #fanfic #fic #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #reader insert #pig latin

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midnightblue32-ao3-asianfic · 5 years

Text

Headcanon For Fanfic

This is a long post that’ll serve to introduce Rivens’ home planet, new characters and the headcanons of characters.

Aergon

The planet is set afar from most planets in the magical universe. The ground is mostly a kobicha colour with splats of tyrian purple and raw umber. The oceans are Alice Blue and Atlantic wave. The planet has a ring of amethyst and ash gray clouds that contain blue and yellow crystals.

Travelers often miss or don’t see it due to it having a magical force field about 20 000 km that hides the planet. The people are referred to as Aergons.

Cities

Aergon has 3 main cities

Gaza

Is the biggest of the cities, housing over 35 million people. The city is ruled by the Regierung (the government) and the king Ganon and the future king Alucard. The city in renowned for it’s lavish lifestyle. Also the main housing for the Royal family.

It’s separated into 3 zones.

Zone 1 - Is of Aristocrats and high priests

Zone 2 - Is White Cloaks,Dracons, Withes and Military Personal

Zone 3 - Fairies, Fae ,Common People

Paloma

This city is a heavily faith filled city ruled by the High priests and the Fae .The Fae are the monks of the Goddess and mother Hecate.They mostly live in the city Paloma as they receive same treatment as those of nobility. It also has a high amount of dracons and military personal. It is the main facility for Grims’ Gaurds and temples.

It’s seperated into 3 cities.

Zone 1 - Aristocrats, Clergymen

Zone 2 - Fae, Dracons, Military Personal

Zone 3 - Common People, Fairies

Opia

Is a city that’s just starting to build. It’s undetermined whether what type of city it’ll be. So far though it seems to be a city that is fully controlled city by the Military and Royal supporters.

Children can be made in a manner of three magical ways. Not ranked in popularity

1.The couple goes to a holy temple to fetch holy clay from the ancestral pit. If the ancestors approve of the union of the couple they will give them clay.The couple mold the clay into a baby in likeness of them. Both cut their thumbs to place blood on the temple of the baby in which will absorb the blood making the clay a living baby

2.The second is if a couple goes to a healer. In which the healer will take a small part of their souls and join them into one.The healer will then place the conjoined souls into the decided carrier.

3.This is mainly for couples with fertile issues or of the same sex. Their is a potion which will allow them to conceive and carry a child. This potion is dangerous as most don’t carry to full term and the carriers often die after the birth.

Notes: Domino and Aergon have always had bad relations while Aergon has okay relations with Eraklyon and Lynphea.

Royal Family Line

Myth says the Royal family were born out of iron ore after the Goddess of Magic,Hecate.Wiped the previous inhabitants of Aergon (why Gaza has it’s ruins) to form her own magically inclined people.The royal family live longer than their people as they drink a gold liquor that allows them to live for centuries longer than their subjects.Their has only been about 6 generations of the family.

Note: This is also why Riven was initially interested in Darcy, before she cast a love spell on him after he realized he wasn’t into her.

https://www.familyecho.com/?p=NFGXD&c=rocavuowla&f=387667439928417678

I tried to get pictures of the line to work,but I got annoyed and gave up.

To be King has to be born on 31st of October at 3 in the morning.

Protection for Aergon (apart from the military)

The Kings’ Circle, the protection force for the king and his family. Consists of witches,fairies dracons and the krees. Their emblem is a black circle with gold crossing it out horizontally.

Grims’ Gaurds,they work for Mortimer who is the husband of Tabitha the granddaughter of Pluto, The King Of Man,who was a powerful Sedir. These guards are sworn to protect the people from beasts (wendigos,minotaur and leshy) and protecting magical creatures in the name of the Goddess, Katerina of beasts and magical creatures.

White Cloaks,the guards and protectors of Aergon that has anything do with magic. They consist only of witches,warlocks with the exception of Estelle & Gwen.

Species on Aergon

Null, are humans with no magical ability. These people cover the majority of the population. They often are within the middle class or lower class. Only a few are within the wealthy minority.

Dracons, these people are believed to be descendants of dragons. They are often are tanned,tall with straight hair. They are physically stronger than the null. They often have issues with their emotions often being cold or having no control with their powers. They live in the middle class or nobility often take jobs within The Kings Circle,Grims’ Gaurds or the Military.Note: Rivens father was a Dracon before being turned to stone by Cassandra.

Kree, a minority of people who are half Dracons and Warlocks/Witches encouraged by the government. They often excel with their physical strengths or with their magical powers. Some can excel in both, but it’s not common. Note: Riven is a Kree,but he excels in his magic even though he’s been cursed which doesn’t allow him not to access a lot of his powers.

Fairies, Are looked down upon for their magic,seems no consequence and wild with their use,easy to obtain. Their are two notable fairies on Fairy of Chaos,Estelle and the Fairy of Wind, Gwen. They mostly live in the middle class or lower class.

New Characters (come with headcanon)

Glinda, The Fairy of Stars. She is Stella’s cousin on her mother’s side. She works for La Mode magazine as an editor, that’s how she was able to get Stella the internship.

She has icy blonde hair with thick brown eyebrows (dyed them), small pink lips and amber eyes. She’s tall and has an athletes body since she has broad shoulders.

Loves to annoy Tecna, she likes to the Zenith princess show her emotions. Currently residing in Magix.

Kaden, is a human from Gardenia who is currently seeing Musa. He works as a historian for the local university. He is new in town.

He has tanned skin,silver hair wears glasses and has a bit of a beard. Is a little shorter than Musa.

Alucard, comes from a long line of pure blooded witches and warlocks. He has been announced to be king due to his birthday being on the 31st of October born directly at 3. His reasoning to choose Riven as consort is high controversial in court and to the family. Not because they can’t have kids together,but due to Riven being cursed he’s an unsuitable person to marry. He older than Riven by 3 centuries.

Alucard basically looks like Atticus Rhodes from Yu-Gi-Oh GX ,but with Alucard of Hellsing hairstyle. He also has dark amber eyes which he hides under a mask due to his blindness of magical reasoning,it’s not permanent. Also has a dark smile

Nabora, As old as Cloud Tower Nabora has spent her lifetime with the attempt of being immortal by sucking the lives out of her partners. Although of her high place in society she’s looked down upon due to her fairy blood.

The main reason she was placed on this team is because both members are respectful towards her even though she’s half fairy.

She has pale skin with long grey hair, that at times she can use as a weapon. Also her hair is a symbol for her lifeline. She is of average height and has normal build. She has light pink eyes and pouty blueish lips.

Castiel, a former High priest he was approached by Namath to join the the Gaurds after he defeated a Zero who tried to kill his daughter. Namath joins due to it bringing shelter to him and his family.

Castiel is dark skinned black man . Who is short and has big black eyes. He’s bald except for the back of his head in which his hair is shaped into a golden triangle. He is often seen in a black suit.Also wears golden earrings.

Character Headcanon’s

So in the comics it mentions that they’re supposed attend Alfea for 5 years. So that means they should be done at 21 when they graduate.But if a fairy wants to get honours for their magic they need to spend an additional 2 years at the school teaching and going on missions.

Riven: This is gonna be a long as fuq post cause it features a lot of history.

Riven comes from the Aristocratic family from Paloma. The child of Lord Nicklaus, a dracon and Zatanna a powerful witch from a low class family Kree Riven. They had a loveless marriage as Nicklaus had a strew of mistresses and Zatanna focused too much on her magic for either to focus on a young Riven.

At the age of 4 his mother began having magical breakdowns in which her magic is overpowering her making her physically and magically weak. This has also made her have an obsession over making herself powerful. Riven has only witnessed a few of these moments. This caused Klaus to restrict her presence in the household and to send her off for an unknown time to a temple.

After two years of not seeing his mother she returns as cold as she usually is. His parents marriage remains the same and her magic although controlled at times overpowers her due to her practice of Necromancy. After spending the day with another aristocratic household he returns one day to his mothers eyes being completely white, her blonde hair unruly in a mess of knots and overly brushed hair and grey skin.

She places a curse over him, why his hair is magenta, and locks him in a trunk suitcase.The nanny witnessing this sends a magical emergency telegram to a Temple close which houses the White Cloaks before Zatanna turns her to dust. The White Cloaks arrive with Grims Gaurds (Nicklaus is a part of this team) and turns most of the Cloaks and Gaurds into stone statues.

But Nicklaus stabs her and a wizard named Namath stops her from taking Riven who is in the trunk suitcase. Leaving Riven traumatized and an orphan as his father was turned into a stone statue too. He is then raised by Namath a White Cloak who has a high position within the faith. Reason being is that Namath recognizes that Riven holds a lot of magic within himself, but is unable to access the power.

At age 16, Riven is sent to attend Red Fountain although it’s part of his training to join Grims Guard. Riven is very secretive at school as most Aergons who leave home world. Now we follow Winx canon for a while. After the death of Nabu,his closest friend Riven is sent a letter to return home.

Riven returns to Aergon and immediately joins Grims Gaurds. During the two years Riven is put into a team with Nabora (half witch and half fairy) who is close to age as the creation of Cloud Tower and Castiel a strong warlock from Paloma. Until the soon to be King Alucard, betroths himself to Riven.

Riven although not wanting to be engaged attempts to be in a proper relationship with him whether it be one of companionship or love. He chooses one of love not wanting a situation like his mother. Two years into his duty Mortimer sends Riven and his team to Magix to return magical creatures and using the discovery of a ruin building located in Magix for their official reasoning of being there.

Rivens’ new hairstyle, I personally can’t stand that troll hairstyle with a point especially since it’s been around for like 15 years. Also I do think this will suit his face and personality now. Since he is a calmer person now who at times still does get angry.

Rivens’ Headpiece was given to him in sign of his engagement to Alucard. They don’t wear rings until marriage and even then they wear bands of gold,silver,copper and platinum on their right arrm most of the times to show their married status.

Stella: Although Stella loves designing and clothes in general she’s realized she prefers working behind a desk. And although it does seem out of character she’s managed to convince her cousin, Glinda, to get her an internship at La Mode magazine. She has all the time to do what she wants the most in life with her coronation being moved to her 26th birthday.

Bloom: Being away on Domino has surely helped her the first weeks of her and Sky being on a break. All she wants to do is get back in the art studio, spend time with her friends and finish getting her honours.

Tecna: Tecna’s life is mostly planned out on calendars with chores put in built points. Heck she and Timmy scheduled their breakup two months in advance. Tecna loves her plans and gets mildly annoyed when someone ruins them especially if that person is Glinda who for the better part of a year has been getting on her nerves.

(Also Tecna’s hair has been genetically altered. Since she’s from Zenith the technology to change certain parts of yourself without magic or surgery is possible i.e Height and bone structure. Also I’m gonna let Tecna be a princess here cause in the comics she is one)

Musa: Over the years she’s put herself and her singing career on hold to finish her honours for her fathers sake. Since she’s going to get her honours soon ,she’s so excitied to get back onto the stage. She’s been seeing a guy called Kaden a man from Earth who she met at the Juice bar. She likes , she really likes him,but she doesn’t think it’s gonna work out with her lying to him constantly.

(What I mean by this is she hasn’t told him she’s a fairy and that she’s planning to on being a solo artist. He knows she’s a teacher since her class had a trip to visit earth.)

Aisha/Layla: Her home planet is divided into two kingdoms and although her parents make it seem easy for both kingdoms to co-exist it’s really stressing her out. It also doesn’t help that her and Nex aren’t the best and the stress of obtaining her honours is really stressing her.

Flora: She’s excited for her studies to come to an end. Especially since her and Helia are planning to get married over the spring and with Flora joining the high council of fairies in Lynphea. Life couldn’t be any better.

Sky: With his impending coronation coming soon he’s chosen to take a break this off with Bloom for a while. He think’s it’ll be the best for him to focus on him becoming King and squash a rebellion.

Brandon: Has always stuck to Sky’s side and he’s fine with that. What he isn’t fine with is him being given a position in Sky’s royal court.

Timmy: He doesn’t know much of himself. He doesn’t know what he likes or who he is. He’s always followed a plan that wasn’t meant for him. He wants to live his own life.

Helia: He’s happy with his life and the upcoming wedding. What he’s not happy with is his father, who not only disproves of his relationship ,but also wants him to be with Krystal.

#winx #winx club #winxriven #winxmusa #winxstella #winxbrandon #winxbloom #winxsky #winxtecna #winxtimmy #winxaisha #winxlayla #winxnex #original character #fanfic #headcanon #thewriteristired #sleep #goodnight

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cranberrybogmummy · 5 years

Text

The afflicted gift chapter two.

Link to chapter I: http://cardboardfacewoman.tumblr.com/post/181554081647/hey-all-im-writing-some-fantasy-fiction-set-in

She felt a gentle pressure on her left shoulder, and a fluttery soft sensation of hair against her skin, it was Dolly, laying her head against Hypatia’s shoulder as she had done so many times before. She felt Dolly’s ghostly fingers on her collar bone, softly tapping. Hypatia sniffled, smiling wanly she pressed her head against the phantom body of her sister. Since Hypatia was currently in her body she could not, see Dolly or hear her but she felt her. Hypatia fell asleep again, and dreamt deeply of her lost family, together and happy. How she wanted to stay in that dream, to sleep for days, but there was no way Hypatia could stop time, and a loud knocking at the door woke her once more.

“Mistress Pat! Mistress Pat!” Called the voice of her housekeeper, Betty form outside the door. “There is a visitor, who says he must speak to you!”

Hypatia groaned and shouted at the door: “Tell him, I’m not receiving callers!”

“He’s from your uncle Philiscus, your trustee, you have to receive him!”

Hypatia groaned wearily and muttered the spell to unlatch the door. “You can come in Betty.”

Betty entered, she was a thin, bespectacled, wiry woman, with thick curling grey hair under her mop cap. She wore a dress of olive green and over it a white apron.

Hypatia reached to her left side, but Dolly’s presence was gone, she moaned softly. Betty was putting her hand on Hypatia’s head, running her fingers through her dark blonde hair.

“Oh Mistress Pat, we lost Dolly today. I went, and could hardly see the gallows for the tears in my eyes. All of us in this house want time to mourn and bury our dear Dolly,” Betty said, cradling Hypatia’s face in her hand. “It seems it ’twas just yesterday that you were but little girls, sneaking sweets, and your Father at his desk, your Mother at her loom.”

Betty broke off to cry and press Hypatia to her. They hugged and cried for a little while, then Betty gently got off the bed and went to the heavy dark wooden dresser. “Oh, you’re uncle’s man is here, what will be become of us? I hope that servant who is sat at my kitchen table picking his teeth with a knife, can tell us the reason, You’re uncle abandoned his goddaughter to be executed!”

Hypatia found the nightstand and poured out water from the basin. She washed the tears from her face and began to unbraid her hair. Betty was laying out a plain black dress with the best white lace collar, cuffs and cap. The lace collars and cuff had been her mother’s as was the dress, it smelled of camphor, cedar and dust, it had been adjusted for Hypatia, but not worn since Father died. She was dressed, and her hair was done. in between she ate a piece of toasted bread which Betty and given her.

“Thank you. Betty,” Hypatia said quietly. “without you and Mrs. Watson, our family would be helpless and diminished.”

“It’s just what I’m supposed to do, Mistress Pat,” Betty said with a soft smile.

Finally they were ready to leave the room. Betty went down the stairs first and Hypatia, waited, a cold fear in her belly, then she smelled Dolly’s scent, and felt her sister’s hand in hers. Together, hand in hand they walked down the stairs.

Uncle Philiscus’s man servant sat at the worn wooden table, in the kitchen, his boots resting on the tabletop. Mrs. Watson, round and sweet, Dolores’s nurse sat across the room from him, glaring at him and knitting. The man servant was picking his teeth with a small knife, his clothes were mud stained and travel worn. His hair a sandy blond, short and greasy. He leered at Hypatia with his sunken green eyes and smirked. Also he had a unwashed miasma about him. Hypatia Dolly’s on her hand tighten, she could almost feel Dolly’s nails digging into palm.

“Wainthrope, at yer service Miss.” He said his teeth were big and yellow, his eyes hungry as a starved dog.

“Take your boots off the table, and treat my house with some respect.” Hypatia said.

He smirked but did so. “I’m sorry miss, tell your maid that when a man travels as far as I’ve come, he expects a small beer and something to eat fer his trouble.”

Hypatia glowered at him. “My uncle’s letter, if you please, Wainthrope. Then I’ll see to it you are fed, impudent cur.”

Wainthrope lowered his greedy eyes and took a letter from inside his coat, and laid it on the table. Hypatia grabbed it and saw it bore the blue wax and seals of her uncle.

Now she could feel her sisters hand on her shoulder tight as a vice and almost swore she could hear Dolly’s anxious muttering.

“Leave,” Hypatia ordered.

“You said I could eat,” Wainthrope protested.

“I’ll have my housekeeper take you something outside our gate.” Hypatia said firmly.

Waintrope got up muttering something foul under his breath.

“My sister died today, cur, you have some pluck to come here and act this way.” Hypatia growled.

Wainthrope turned back for moment. He smiled toothily said: “I know.”

Hypatia opened her mouth to shout at him.

but he turned back and walked out the door. The stink left with him. When he was out of sight and ear shot, Hypatia sagged, Dolly’s nervous ghostly touch was gone.

“Betty, please take him out a heel of stale bread, a mug of small beer, the chipped mug and the smallest greenest sausage we have.”

Betty nodded. “Aye.”

And set to work.

Mrs. Watson chuckled.

Hypatia caught herself smiling. She ran her thumb over her uncle’s seals.

“Now I shall read the letter uncle sent.” She said and left the kitchen. Dolly did not leave with her.

She went into their old sitting room, mother’s loom was covered with dust, where mother wove her spells with common thread, father’s dark wooden desk, also dusty and unused since his death five years ago. Hypatia popped open a drawer and removed a silver bodkin, with it saying the words of the spell she opened the letter, the bodkin glowed as it ripped through the seals, one was her uncle’s sigil a cat rampant, then the other two which were magical sigils cast in wax to protect the contents of the letter. The letter, was blank, not a even a inkblot. Hypatia felt her temper swell for moment, then realized, it was enchanted. She opened a another drawer, and took out a small glass bottle stopper’d with a cork, inside was a powder that shimmered blue, when shook, but was dull gray when still. Hypatia took out the stopper and removed a pinch of the powder, she dusted it over the letter. Now she could see writing, but it was scrambled into nonsense words! Of course, uncle Philiscus would write in code. She took her hand and traced a pattern in the air over the letter. The words began to unscramble on the page making sense but just for a moment. She sighed, another hitch. She traced the pattern over the letter again, and held it up to the light of a distant window. NOW she could read it!

“Dear Patty,

I know my method seems dull, like non-magic folk use. But all other ways are to fraught. I do not trust the fellow that carries this letter, or anyone but you and Tom.

Your missive reached me of Dolly’s plight. Tragically the work I am engaged in was to important for me to reply or come. I attempted to send for a fine lawyer for defend Dolly, but alas! By the time I was able to get a message to him, Lord Stedwell (your magistrate) had sentence her to hang! I loved dearest Dolly, she was the brightest flame I knew. However I cannot leave my task nor can I tell you. I recommend you come when you are able to live with myself and Tom. I will let you make the choice yourself. If you have a good, loving young man marry him. If you have a place at Fordsley sorcery college, go! I will send on your allowance, shortly. Please bury our dear Dolly with family, damn those who will try to stop it! Ye shall prevail, my goodly niece. We shall prevail!

-Your loving uncle,

Phil.”

Hypatia sat thinking on the words, for a good space of time. She had no offers for her hand, what man would want a poor, half trained sorceress? There was Fitz… but he never made a offer, so she wasn’t sure. There was that time in the grove, where they kissed. but maybe his time at Fordsley had introduced him to finer ladies then her. She had no place and Fordsley herself, no one had secured one for her, since places were passed down the father’s line usually… what hope did she have? Besides Dolly was dead. No matter what Dolly’ spirit, free and godless said. She could no longer stroke her sister’s hair, listen to he breathing or share the games they’d play. She’d never hear her voice in the bodied realm again. Though Dolly didn’t talk, exactly, but hearing her made Hypatia feel safe. Never again.

Mrs. Watson cautiously entered the room.

“Excuse me Miss,” She said in her soft soothing voice. “Betty’s husband and sons, have Dolly’s poor corpse with them. what should we tell them?”

Hypatia bit back her tears and summoned all her strength. “Thank them for retrieving her, before the riffraff could marr her. Tell them to bring her to great room. we are going to lay her out, and give her a proper burial.”

Mrs. Watson smiled. “Ah, Miss, that’s so wonderful of you.”

#The afflicted's gift #fantasy #magic #My writing #ASD #Original fiction #fiction #original writing #writing #Autism #Actually autistic

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bittyreaders · 6 years

Text

Cheating

Sans hummed as he knocked on the door to the Meta Space, rapping out a quick ‘Shave and a Haircut’ on the wood. When there wasn’t an immediate answer, he added a quick ‘Two Bits’ to the end. He then shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting for her response. It would likely be one of two - either a cheerful “Coming!” followed by a grinning deer throwing open the door to greet him, or an equally cheerful “Fuck off!” as the harried author tried to beat another deadline. Either way he would enter the odd, dark room that compromised the authors mind and they’d have a quick chat, mostly about where she had been the past few months.

He, as well as the rest of the characters in her headspace, had been happy to hear she had a job in her field - teaching American history to seventh graders on a short-term basis while the real teacher had a baby. Despite gaining a full-time job she had promised to continue writing, planning to revamp the world building for her Bitty Reader series and work on her other stories. That promise had gone out the window within a week, and the creative part of her headspace had gone dark.

She was back now, however, and he planned on nudging her towards finishing some of her unfinished chapters sitting Google Docs. So Sans rocked back and forth on his heels, but heard nothing from the other side. Frowning, the skeleton tapped the door again, making sure it as loud enough that there would be no chance of the writer missing it.

Beyond the door something shuffled, and a series of whispers erupted, followed by someone shushing the other voices. So someone else had beaten him to the punch, huh? Stars, he hoped it wasn’t those creepy Five Nights at Freddy’s robots, or that skeleton Itward from Fran Bow. Those horror games freaked him out. Horror or no, though, he needed to have a word with the deer. Time to join the party.

The door swung open with a bit of a shove, but as soon as Sans had stepped into the Meta Space, three bright-blue bullets were soaring for his head. With a startled yelp and reflexes honed by pulling perfect pranks alongside his alternates, he teleported two feet to the left, farther into the room but out of the path of the bullets. Said bullets shot through the doorway and disappeared.

“Oh, uh. Hi, Sans!”

Sans snapped his gaze from the vanished bullets to the middle of the room. Rivet was there, though something was wrong. She was smaller than before, antlers mere bumps above her hair, eyes black ovals with small pie-shaped wedges cut from them. She was sprawled across the cross-legged lap of a large man with a purple-colored suit and a die for a head, while on either side of her sat two - boys? - with what appeared to be tea-cups for head. The two boys and her had their gloved hands aimed at him, pointer finger sticking out and thumb raised to the ceiling, creating a ‘gun.’

All three immediately stuck their hands behind their back and gave him large, guilty grins. The die-headed man huffed a sigh and leaned back on his hands, eyeing the three as though waiting for them to give him trouble. The two boys shifted as Sans simply stared at them, prompting the deer to scramble to her feet and smooth down her pale green dress.

“So, uh, Sans,” she stepped towards him, having to look up to meet his eyes for once, “This is a pleasant surprise! But, uh, what are you doing here?”

The skeleton pulled his eyes from the odd-headed characters to meet the nervous black pupils peering up at him. If he squinted he could see a bit of pink in them when the light hit just right. The deers brows were drawn up in worry, and her ears were laying against the back of her head. She always did have a bad poker face.

“Just checkin’ in, kiddo,” he answered after a moment, taking up his ‘lazy-bastard’ mantle and shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets, rocking back on his heels and slumping slightly, creating a slacker chic look he had worked hard over the years to cultivate. “Haven’t heard from you for a while.”

“Oh well, you know, with the job, and the holidays…” Rivet wouldn’t meet his eyes, looking away and twisting her fingers together. “It’s just been busy.”

“Mhmm.” Sans eye lights flickered to the three still sitting on the floor. The dice-man - he hadn’t played the game, so he wasn’t sure of his name, and settled on calling him Dice - was watching with dispassionate eyes, which flashed green with malice. The two main-characters of the new game, Cuphead and Mugman, shifted uncomfortably in the larger mans lap. The red-colored one, Cuphead, glanced at the TV screen they had been watching, and Sans followed his gaze to see their game displayed, a ‘GAME OVER’ card pasted over the battlefield. A flower with a pointy nose was mocking them with a witty rhyme. The other character, Mugman, pulled down part of his straw (how did it work? Was it like a hat? Or another appendage?) and twisted it in his hands, like Rapunzel worrying her hair while waiting for her prince to come.

“Sans?” Rivet had come even closer and reached out to rest a hand on his arm. “Sans, I didn’t forget you, I promise.” She gave him a weak, hopeful smile. “I just got a little...sidetracked.”

Sans forced his grin back on his face and shrugged off her touch, then pulled his arm from his hoodie pocket and ruffled her hair, tangling the gray strands into a messy nest. “It’s okay,” he reassured her, “Cheating on your fandom takes a lot of time.”

There was a long pause as the woman froze, then shoved him away. “WHAT?” The deer demanded, shaking her hair out and glaring at him. “I’m - I’m not cheating on you!”

“Really?” Sans leaned to the side a bit, as though he couldn’t just see the others over her hair, and raked his eye lights over the trio and the TV. “Looks to me like you’re having a full-blown affair with the Cuphead Crew over there.”

“I - what - NO! I’m - I’m not cheating on you with the - the Cuphead Crew!” Rivet stomped her hoof, hands curled into fists and held tightly at her side. She opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a smooth voice tinted with a Brooklyn accent.

“She’s right, bud.” A new character, made of black and white with horns on his head and an oddly-familiar smile on his face, leaned around Dice and winked at him. “We got a regular ménage à trois going on here.”

“Bendy!” Rivet whirled on the demon, cheeks flaring bright red as she snapped at him. Dice chuckled deeply in his throat, while Cuphead cackled and Mugman blushed brightly and hid his face behind his hands.

“Think about it, doll. For someone not interested in romance,” Bendy dragged his eyes over the other characters, expression sparkling with mischief, “You sure do keep a lot of us guys around.”

The deer made an uncomfortable noise, then whirled around to face Sans. “Ignore him! I haven’t even bought his game!” She demanded, trying to fight down the blush still staining her cheeks.

“But you did get mine,” a new voice chimed in. A tall, thin figure emerged from elsewhere in the room, holding a large bowl of popcorn, and joined the group around the TV, sitting with his legs crossed at the ankles in front of him beside Bendy. He had a black and white color scheme as well, except on his puppet-like mask, which had purple tear streaks, red cheeks, and red lips. “Well, two of mine. The two that were free.”

Rivet made a frustrated noise in her throat and wilted a bit as Marionette offered the popcorn to Bendy, who threw a handful in his mouth before saying, through the popcorn, “So this would be a ménage à quatre, then?”

“ARGH!” The deer threw her arms up in defeat, before turning and stomping off to a corner of the dark space, pouting.

“Look, bone-boy,” the dice finally spoke, sitting up and shooing the two cups, who hurried to check on the deer. She had made this new avatar the same height as them, Sans noted absently, and they threw their arms around her and began telling her how much of a jerk Bendy was. “Oie!” Dice snapped his fingers, and Sans dragged his gaze back to him, stepping further into the room when the man motioned him closer.

“What?” He snapped, not wanting to talk to the deers new fling longer than he had to. Honestly, it made sense. Undertale was over two years old, and there were newer games with rich storylines just waiting to be eaten up and fuel the creativity of the fandom. He’d need to go back and break the news to the rest of the gang. Oh, Papyrus would be heartbroken…

“Stop wallowing in yer self pity and listen,” Dice snapped, standing and brushing off his suit. He absolutely towered over Sans, his face cast in shadows near the ceiling of the Meta Space. “This place,” he motioned around with an elegant twist of his wrist, “Doesn’t belong to you,” he shoved a finger in Sans chest. “Or him,” he thumbed down at Bendy, who stuck his tongue out in response. Marionette grabbed his tongue and gave it a quick twist, making the demon swear at him using car horns and bird whistles. “It doesn’t belong to Mari there either, even though Hart has a soft spot for him.” Said puppet beamed at the mention and gave Sans a little wave, barely avoiding Bendy when the little demon snapped his shark-like teeth at his three-fingered hand. “It don’t belong to me or my buds either. It belongs to her.”

He motioned to Rivet, who had accepted the teacups hugs and was holding them both tightly. “She’s got enough room in here for all of us, but you ‘n your kin are the only ones she’s writing about.”

Sans jolted a bit at that. “Really?”

“Yeah. She’s got a crossover ‘tween me ‘n’ Mari but hasn’t worked on it for months,” Bendy chimed in, picking at a kernel of corn stuck in his fangs.

“To be fair, she was writing about me and my ‘kin’ first,” Marionette pointed out, his voice soft and even. “If Rivet was cheating on anybody, it was on me, with you.” Despite his face being a mask it moved as though made of skin (or magical bone), and his mouth quirked into a sympathetic smile. “I was mad when she stopped too. But just because she’s not writing about us or drawing us, doesn’t mean she’s forgotten us. She’s just a bit…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Scatterbrained,” Bendy offered at the same time Dice said, “Easily distracted.”

“Yes,” Marionette agreed to both. “You may not be her favorite character, but you are far from being forgotten and left to rot. Er, or dust, I suppose.”

Sans looked at his slippers, brow creased, as he thought for a long moment. “Wait - who is her favorite, then?” He looked between the three.

“It’s it obvious?” Bendy rolled his eyes hard enough that his head actually lifted away from his shoulders, then resettled. “It’s that brother of yours, Stationary.”

“He means Papyrus,” Marionette cuffed Bendy on the head. To Sans surprise, the demons entire head was sent flying, rolling across the floor to the far corner where Rivet and the cups stood, complaining all the while. The deer glanced down and looked as though she was seriously considering punting the annoying demon head across the room.

“Her favorite, out of all of us, is Papyrus?” Sans asked, not sure he had heard right.

“Yes,” Dice adjusted his cufflinks, looking bored of the conversation.

“Heh,” Sans felt his shoulders slump, smile relaxing into something far more genuine than before. “I can get behind that.”

“Wonderful.” Marionette gave him a bright smile, then reached up with a too-long arm and gently tugged Sans to sit beside him. “Come, have a seat. She has been trying to pass this level for days, I believe she almost has it.”

Dice snorted and retook his own seat, crossing his legs once more and picking up the Xbox controller that had been dropped when Sans knocked. “Was she ever able to defeat you, in that ‘Genocide’ mode your game has?”

Sans plopped down between Marionette and Bendy (well, Bendy’s body - his head had been picked up by Rivet, and he was currently trying to tell the upset deer some extra-dirty jokes to cheer her up) and snorted. “Nah. She tried a few times, then rage quit and reset the game.”

“Heh,” Dice’s mustache twitched as he smirked, “Then I’ve already won the bet, Mari. Want to pay up before you embarrass yourself?”

The puppet sniffed and offered the popcorn bowl to Sans, “Not on your life, King Dice. I happen to have faith in our dear friend.” Sans snorted into his handful of popcorn at the pun.

“Your choice,” Dice conceded, reloading the level, then hitting pause. “Rivet, are we going to continue, or are you done for the day?”

The four (well, three and a head) in the corner jumped at his call. The two mugs let out a whoop at seeing the game reset and rushed back over, throwing themselves onto Dice’s lap and settling in to watch. Rivet glanced down at Bendy, who gave her a cheeky wink.

“Just remember, if ya ever need a smile, I know this great joke ‘bout these aristocrats,” he offered as she dragged her feet back over to the group. She gave him a weak smile, then dropped his head back on his shoulders. While Bendy readjusted his head, her gaze flickered to Sans.

“Sans, I’m not - I would never -”

“Eh, fuggedaboutit,” Sans waved off the half-stuttered apology, “It’s your headspace, not mine.” He took another handful of popcorn when Mari offered it. “Besides, I’m too lazy to hold a grudge.”

He wasn’t prepared for the hug and nearly dropped his popcorn when Rivet (god, was she tiny in this form! He didn’t know if he liked her better like this, or in her ‘Undertale’ form when she was taller than him!) threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you, Sans. I promise, I’ll never forget you, or Undertale.”

“I know, kiddo.” He gave her back an awkward little pat, then pushed her away a bit. “Now, show me how you fail at this game.”

“Sans!”

“She does it really gracefully.”

“Cuphead!”

“Swears like a sailor when she dies, too.”

“Bendy!”

“Don’t get your tail in a twist, girly. Now show this bone-head how Cagney kills you.”

“DICE!”

So...this is the first thing I’ve written in a few months, and oh my gosh it was cathartic! So when I bought Cuphead I had this mental image of Sans getting upset I was ‘cheating’ on him and Undertale, which became this idea. It was more of a warm-up write and an “I’M NOT DEAD” announcement. I have some new World Building stuff written for Bitty Readers, I just need to fiddle with my computer and see if I want to illustrate it. I may not - new computer, no art program I actually like. I had one, but it’s on CD and my new laptop doesn’t have a CD drive. Anyway, I’ll figure it out.

I hope you enjoyed this bit of meta-silliness! Every artist has their own little headspace, and this was a peek at mine. Love you all, and Happy New Years!

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quentinsquill · 6 years

Text

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

#The Magicians #fic #Queliot #The Trials #The 2017 Welters Challenge

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vergilsangel · 6 years

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Meddling in her Affairs: Chapter 1

Summary: Three years ago Trish's life had been uprooted from the modern day New York. For three years she learned how to survive in Colonial America and fell in love. Now she's been uprooted again and dropped right at the beginning of another war. Will she be consumed in the fires of war or will she rise up and push back the darkness with Noctis and his friends? Rating: M for later chapters Triggers: None for this chapter

Chapter 1

Trish was walking back to Davenport manor, the moon lighting her path. She had been on her favorite lookout, gazing at the stars. After a long day of hunting, she just wanted to sit and relax before heading home. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail so she could spot her prey easier. Her blue eyes were tired from scanning the area and coming up empty. Her hunt had been very unsuccessful for the day and she was a bit angry at herself for not helping more.

Connor had been gone for three weeks on a mission and the homestead was quiet without him. It had been three years since she first arrived and still had no idea what she was supposed to help Connor with. She sighed and looked up only to find that the trees were missing from view. Was she at the main path already? Looking around, she realized she was in a barren land. The darkness spread across the land like a blanket, making it hard for her to see more than a few feet in front of her.

“Now where am I?” She mused quietly. A howl rose from the darkness and she had never been more grateful for her bow and knife. Her petite, five-foot-two frame offered her little protection, but working on the homestead had given her some muscle. Her heart began pounding hard in her chest as fear swelled inside her. She heart footsteps, a four-legged creature was walking around. No, not just one, there were more. She was surrounded. Drawing her knife, she tensed, listening, trying to see in the thick dark, but failing. In the distance, she saw a light from a campfire and wondered if someone was there that could help her, but she was too far for them to hear her. Trish thought her options over. She was alone in this fight. Somehow, she had to break free and make for the campsite.

There was a growl and she heard one of the footsteps coming towards her. She could barely make out the creature, but felt her blood run cold as she realized how skeletal and demonic it looked. It walked on all fours, it’s snout longer than a wolf’s, it’s tongue twisting out of its large mouth. In the gloom, she saw its eyes were white, it’s fangs large. The creature lunged and she buried her knife into its chest, hoping she got its heart. The creature let out a pained whine, it’s front claws scratching at her and slicing her stomach.

Letting out a cry of pain, she pulled her knife free, and using the opening, she made a run for the campfire, feeling warm blood trickle down her stomach. She ran through the darkness, stumbling over bushes and rocks, but managing to keep her footing. The campfire grew larger as she ran and she heard the beasts behind her, howling and growling.

“HELP!” She screamed, hoping someone heard her. Suddenly, she felt her foot twist painfully over a rock and she crashed down to the ground, her knife clattering away from her hand. Rolling onto her back, she saw the creature lunge at her.

“NOOO!” She screamed, holding her hand up. A tremor ran through her and something blasted outwards, sending all the creatures through the air and away from her. The shockwave had lit up the area for a few seconds, allowing her to grab her knife, scramble to her feet, and keep running. Her ankle throbbed painfully after the first step, making it almost impossible for her to keep going, but adrenaline and her survival mode were making her run from the creatures. As she looked towards the campfire, she saw four white lights running towards her.

“HELP PLEASE!” She screamed, hearing the creatures coming for her again. One of the lights vanished in a streak of blue and she heard one of the creatures howl in pain.

“IGNIS! TAKE CARE OF HER!” Came a male voice from where the creatures were.

“NOCT! BE CAREFUL!” Came another male voice, this one was the one coming towards her.

‘His accent is British, did I end up with the British army?’ Trish thought. The other two lights, that Trish realized were attached to people, ran past her to help the first.

“Are you hurt?” Came the second voice and Trish looked up to see a man standing over her, his hands out and ready to help her if she needed it.

“One of them got me.” She said, trying to catch her breath. Several cries went up and Trish looked back. In the light from her rescuers, she saw the creatures better. They were bigger than a wolf, their spine very distinct on their back.

“What the hell are they?” She asked, looking at the man helping her whom she assumed was Ignis.

“A creature known as Sabertusk. You are bleeding, do not worry, they can handle this.” Ignis said gently to her. Carefully, he helped her back to the campfire and Trish saw runes on the stone glow blue. What did they mean? As her adrenaline wore down, the pain became more pronounced and she whimpered softly.

“You are more hurt than I first thought. Sit down here.” Her rescuer said gently, leading her to a yellow folding camping chair. Trish took off her bow and sat down, wincing in pain. The man went to the tent nearby and soon returned with a vial filled with red liquid.

“Here, drink this, it will heal your wounds.” He said gently. Trish took the vial and looked at it curiously before opening it and drinking the contents. She coughed at the taste, but was surprised when she felt the wound on her stomach heal and the pain from her ankle fade.

“What is this?” She asked, looking up at the man. In the light of the fire, she saw him more clearly. He wore jeans, a button up shirt, dress boots, a belt, and jacket that were all black. His gloves were finger-less on the thumbs and both were silver. His hair was a lighter color and his bangs were sticking straight up, but was a good look for him, not a funny one. His eye color was hard to tell in the darkness, but also were hidden behind a pair of prescription glasses. His features were sharp, but kind and Trish realized he couldn’t be part of the British army, his outfit was too modern.

“It’s a potion, we use it to help us heal after a battle.” The man explained and Trish nodded, understanding.

“What is your name?” He asked gently.

“Trish. Trish Uesugi.” She answered.

“I am Ignis. Ignis Scientia. I am royal adviser to Noctis who is the prince of Lucis.” Ignis replied and Trish felt her world crumbling away.

“Prince of Lucis?” She asked and Ignis nodded.

“I do not recognize your clothes. What part of Eos are you from?” He asked.

“Eos? That’s where I’m at now?” She asked and felt her heart ache. So, in the end, she was torn from Connor’s side. She shouldn’t have let her guard down. She shouldn’t have let him in. Ignis was confused.

“What do you mean?” He asked, but he didn’t get an answer as the three from before returned.

“Ignis! How is she?” It was the same voice as before and Trish turned to see a man with black hair, a black jacket that was opened and stopped at his elbows, a dark gray shirt, black cropped trousers that stopped an inch above black buckled boots, and a black motorcycle glove on his left hand. There were two other men with him. A bigger man with a black jacket, black jeans, black boots, a black wrist band on his left wrist, no shirt under his open jacket, a necklace, tattoos on his arms, and a scar over his left eye. The other one was a smaller blonde who also wore an outfit of black, except his jeans were white at the bottom where they met his boots. His jacket was cropped at the shoulders and he wore biker gloves and had a chain on his right hip.

“I gave her a potion and she seems to have recovered quite well.” Ignis replied. The first man nodded and turned his gaze to her. Where Ignis’s gaze was kind, this man’s gaze was cold and expressionless.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Trish Uesugi.” Trish answered.

“I’m Noctis. The blonde is Prompto and the big guy is Gladiolus. You already met Ignis.” The two on either side nodded at mention of their names.

“Nice to meet you.” She replied. In a different circumstance she would’ve smiled, but she was still recovering from the shock of everything.

“What were you doing out in the wasteland after dark? Don’t you know about the daemons? They would kill you without proper weapons.” Noctis asked.

“It’s not my fault. I was walking home and I was in Davenport a moment ago. I was safe. All I had to worry about was bears and wolves, but they never came too close to the homestead. One minute I was walking in the forest and the next I was being chased by those things.” Trish replied.

“What about the magic you performed? I’ve never seen anything like that before!” The blonde, Prompto, exclaimed.

“Magic?” She asked, then remembered the blast she had sent towards the Sabertusk. Trish looked at her hand, trying to think of how she had cast it.

“I don’t know, I was so scared and desperate to get away. I don’t know what I did.” Her head was spinning. She had changed worlds again, that much was obvious, but this one seemed much more dangerous than the last one.

“It seems it was summoned subconsciously in an effort of self-preservation.” Ignis stated, adjusting his glasses.

“I don’t know any magic. In the places I’ve been, magic doesn’t exist. The closest I even came to magic was when I arrived in Davenport from my world.” Trish replied.

“Your world?” Gladiolus asked and Trish nodded.

“When I arrived in Davenport, I was walking home from a shift at the local bar. I was walking through the park and got chased by a wolf when someone rescued me.” Trish answered.

“Then why are you armed?” Noctis asked and Trish glanced at the bow that Connor had given her.

“I was there for three months and decided I had enough of people saving me from wild animals so I had someone teach me how to survive. I lived there for three years.” Trish answered.

“Davenport…Davenport…” Prompto mused, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Why does that sound familiar?” He asked, looking at Noctis.

“It does sound familiar, but it isn’t anywhere that I know of on Eos.” Noctis replied, glancing at his friend. Suddenly, Prompto’s face lit up with clarity as he remembered.

“Oh! Right! That’s the place in the Assassin’s Creed video game! In the third one!” Prompto exclaimed.

“Oh yeah!” Noctis replied. Trish felt a knot forming in her stomach. She knew Connor was an Assassin. She had only found out about it recently. Absently her hand touched her stomach where the scars still were.

“What was the name of the Assassin in that one? He was a Mohawk dude. Ugh, it’s on the tip of my tongue.” Prompto asked. Trish felt the knot growing tighter and tighter.

‘Don’t be Connor. Please don’t say it’s Connor!’ Trish silently begged in her mind. Her silent prayer went unanswered.

“I think it was Connor.” Noctis replied, still looking at his friend. Trish closed her eyes and shook her head. This wasn’t happening. The last three years of her life weren’t just a video game. She had felt real pain. She had gone through hell and worked hard. She had made real friends and had felt real love with Connor. Trish couldn’t believe that it had all ben make-believe. She pulled out her phone and pulled up the photos of her and Connor.

“Please tell me this isn’t who you mean.” She said and held her phone up. In the picture, she and Connor were smiling, his head resting on hers. Around their necks was the scarf that she had made him. Trish had taken that picture on Christmas day, one of the rare times he was home.

“Yeah! What part of the game was that?!” Prompto asked. Trish felt her eyes pricking with tears. Prompto looked up at her and saw the heartbroken expression on her face.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked and Trish shook her head, taking the phone back. She had lost him. She had been right. Of course she had been right.

“I need a minute.” She whispered, her voice breaking. She stood and went to the edge of the stone circle, looking up at the night sky. Tears fell down her cheeks. None of it had been real. She knew that she would get torn away from Connor, but what she didn’t realize was that the universe would play so cruel a joke as to tell her it was all make believe. Was Juno even the one who called her there? Or had Juno sent her here as punishment for something?

A hand gently touched her shoulder making her jump and look. Ignis gave her a reassuring smile and quickly she wiped her tears away.

“Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“How would you feel if you found out the last three years of your life were make-believe?” She asked and looked at the sky again. The stars were faintly twinkling and she felt comforted by the fact that they were still in existence.

“You came from an alternate dimension where the video game was real?” He asked and Trish nodded.

“I guess so. Juno had told me I was there to give Connor some power. That power would help protect the world I knew. I had no magic there so I had no idea what power she meant for me to give him and now…now I’m here and I still have no idea what to do. All I can think of is that it’s some cosmic joke to mess with me. Throw me in a time period I have no idea about, my boyfriend from my world left me, then just when I open my heart again and fall in love again, I get sent here and torn away from him and I don’t know why.” She answered and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Trish hated crying in front of people.

“Gentiana!” Noctis sounded from behind them. Trish turned and saw a woman with long black hair, a black lace choker, a black and gold dress with the front cut out, black open-toed boots that went up to her thighs, and a white scarf with golden embroidery wrapped around her arms. The woman smiled at Trish and Trish got the sense she wasn’t human.

“Hello, Trish, we finally meet.” The woman said and Trish became confused.

“Who are you?” Trish asked.

“This is Gentiana, messenger of the Gods.” Ignis said to Trish. Trish glanced at Ignis then back at the woman.

“The Gods were the ones who brought you here. A terrible error had been made.” Gentiana spoke gently. Trish felt hope fill her at Gentiana’s words. Had they brought her here by mistake? Her hopes were short lived however.

“Three years ago, the Gods tried to bring you to this world. You were to come and learn how to protect the Prince and the Oracle. Unfortunately, in the process, their power was intercepted by Juno and you were taken to the wrong dimension. The power that you wield now was taken just before you reached that world unbeknownst to Juno.” Gentiana explained. Trish felt her world crumbling away. So, it had all been one huge mistake?

“Why did the Gods or whoever wait so long to fix it?” Trish asked. Anger rose inside her, but she managed to keep it in check. If she did hold a power, she wasn’t sure what would set it off and the last thing she wanted was to kill the messenger of the Gods.

“Juno blocked their every attempt to retrieve you. Finally, they were able to retrieve you when Juno’s power weakened. She will not have the power to bring you back since all trace of you from that world has been erased.” Gentiana replied. Trish’s blood ran cold.

“What do you mean ‘erased’?” Trish asked.

“We could not have Connor going to Juno and giving her the power to bring you back to that world, so we erased his memory of you. All your belongings are removed from the world so they do not spark a memory.” Gentiana answered. Why had she asked? Trish looked down, trembling.

“What power could Connor have given her? The Pieces of Eden only control people they can’t give Juno power. Juno is only a spirit anyway.” Trish said finally, looking up at the messenger.

“The Pieces of Eden in control of one who came before are very powerful. They not only control humans, but they give the ones who came before more power. We believe Juno was in contact with a Piece of Eden when she took you, but is no longer in control of it. And now that you are here in Eos, even if she comes into contact with another Piece of Eden, you will not be taken back.” Gentiana explained. Trish nodded, her head down, eyes closed tightly. That was it then. There was no way she would ever see Connor again. All that time spent there had been a lie and now that she was torn from him, Connor would never know the difference.

“So, I’m here to help Prince Noctis?” She asked, looking up at Gentiana who nodded.

“You saw the power earlier. You are to learn how to control it and use it to aid the Prince.” Trish nodded, wondering how she was to control it.

“Do not worry any longer, Trish, you are in the company of those who will help you.” Gentiana said and vanished.

“Wow, that’s some heavy stuff.” Prompto said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah. You alright, Trish?” Gladiolus asked.

“Ask me again in a few days.” She said quietly, rubbing her face with her hands and sighing.

“Picking up the pieces again. They do this with no regard to the person they are doing this to. I’m not just a toy the Gods can fight over, I’m a human being who is trying to have a life.” Trish grumbled.

“We will help, just like she said. I don’t know why she wants you here or what the Gods have planned, but we will help in any way we can.” Noctis said and Trish looked at him. His face was expressionless still, but he was sincere and Trish nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry at all? Or tired?” Ignis asked.

“If you’re hungry, Ignis is a great cook. You should really try one of his dishes, they are amazing.” Prompto said excitedly. Trish glanced at Ignis who adjusted his glasses.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy cooking.” Ignis replied. Trish smiled, but shook her head.

“Thanks, I am mostly just overwhelmed right now. I just want to rest a bit.” She answered. Ignis saw her smile and hoped she would recover quickly and hoped they could help her recover.

“I have an extra sleeping bag in the car. I’ll go get it.” Gladiolus said and turned his mini flashlight on. He took off into the dark before Trish could thank him or even protest about him going out.

“Do not worry. Gladiolus is the bodyguard for the Prince, he will be fine.” Ignis said, seeing Trish’s concerned look. Trish nodded and jumped when her phone rang in her pocket.

“Stars in heaven.” She muttered as she dug it out and saw it was her friend, Hitoshi.

“Hello?” She answered, holding the phone to her ear.

“Trish? Why is your stuff in my living room?” Hitoshi asked. Trish sighed and rubbed her cheek. So that’s what the Gods had done with her stuff.

“Can you track my phone and bring it to me along with some of my normal clothes? I promise I will explain everything when you get here.” Trish asked.

“Why do I need to track your phone? Aren’t you in Davenport?” Hitoshi asked. She could hear him shuffling as he gathered some stuff for her. Gladiolus soon returned and set the extra bag down on a folding chair for her.

“No, I’m not. I…uh…switched worlds again.” Trish answered. There was silence on the other end of the line and Trish wondered if she had somehow been disconnected.

“Hitoshi?” She asked.

“How in the hell did that happen?” Hitoshi asked.

“The Gods deemed it so.” Trish answered with a hint of scorn. The shuffling on the other side resumed, but was moving faster.

“How many clothes do you need?” Hitoshi asked.

“Uh…I’m not quite sure. Just bring me four shirts, four jeans, a hoodie, and 4 pairs of everything else.” She replied.

“Gotcha. Okay. I will pack these up and track you down.” Hitoshi said.

“Thanks, Hitoshi.” Trish said gratefully. Hitoshi was silent a moment and Trish wondered if he had hung up.

“Are you alright? Is Connor with you?” Hitoshi asked. Trish felt her heart sink at the question.

“I’m not physically hurt. No, Connor isn’t with me.” Trish replied and she heard her friend curse under his breath.

“I will be there soon. Hang in there, okay?” Hitoshi encouraged. Trish felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks, Hitoshi.” She said again. When they hung up, she looked up at Ignis.

“Uh…we are going to have company in just a bit.” Ignis tilted his head curiously.

“What do you mean?” He asked, but soon had his answer as suddenly Hitoshi appeared before them. He was about 5 feet 5 inches tall with shoulder-length blue and black hair, green eyes, dark blue shirt, black pants, and black and white canvas shoes. Trish smiled at her friend.

“Hey, Hitoshi.” Trish greeted and Ignis turned to face the newcomer. Hitoshi set down the bags and hugged Trish tightly.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked and Trish nodded. They parted and Trish introduced Hitoshi to everyone before sitting down with him and explaining everything that happened. Hitoshi listened and shook his head, sadly, when she finished.

“Jeez. You can’t catch a break, can you?” He asked. Trish gave a dry laugh and shook her head.

“No, I don’t think I can.” She replied. Hitoshi knew his friend was hurting and didn’t know how he could help.

“Do you want me to go and see if I can get him?” Hitoshi asked, but Trish shook her head, the small smile she had fading.

“No. The Gods have made him forget all about me. No one from there remembers me and any trace of myself was sent to your place. The only things I have to remember him by are the pictures on my phone, the weapons he gave me, and the necklace he made for me. Plus, I’m sure that if he touched your device it would send him flying.” Trish replied.

“Send him flying?” Ignis asked and Trish glanced from him to Hitoshi.

“Hitoshi’s device doesn’t seem to like it when someone else touches it. Mostly if that someone is me.” Trish answered.

“What if that isn’t the case anymore? What if that was just Juno doing something?” Hitoshi asked and Trish looked from him to the device. The device Hitoshi had created looked almost like an old cellphone with a long antenna. It had red numbers and letters, the top being the dimension she was familiar with, where Hitoshi was from, and the bottom the dimension she was in.

“I’m a little nervous to find out.” She answered truthfully.

“Can’t hurt to try.” Hitoshi egged.

“Yeah it can, you’re not the one who gets sent ten feet away.” Trish replied. Hitoshi couldn’t help but laugh and he nodded.

“Fair point.” He replied and sighed.

“I should head back. If you need anything you call me, okay?” Hitoshi said standing up. Trish nodded and hugged him again.

“Thanks again, Hitoshi, for everything.” She said and let him go. Hitoshi smiled and nodded.

“Anytime, Tishie, take care of yourself.” He said. He touched some numbers on the device and was gone.

“Incredible. Who knew that inter-dimensional travel was possible?” Ignis mused and Trish nodded.

“He figured it out when I initially fell into Connor’s world. He brought me stuff I needed and in turn I gave him a bunch of revolutionary war stuff to sell.” Trish replied.

“Amazing.” He replied sincerely and Trish smiled. Her heart was still heavy at the loss of Connor. At the loss of everything once again. But she knew with time she would recover.

“I’m going to change and go to sleep. I’m still overwhelmed with everything and just need a chance to recover.” Trish said and the others nodded.

“Of course.” Ignis said.

“Go ahead and use the tent, there is plenty of room in there and we aren’t going to sleep just yet.” Prompto said with a smile. Trish echoed the smile and nodded. She grabbed the bag with her clothes and went into the tent.

Later that night, Trish was sleeping, but not dreaming good dreams. In her dreams she was with Connor, but he was torn from her side by a Sabertusk. When she reached for him, it was too late and he was already gone. Trish called his name, but then the world went black. She saw visions of what looked like an older Noctis and a voice could be heard from far away, but she couldn’t make out what it was saying. When the dream ended, there was a flash of light and she heard a scream.

Trish jerked awake, sitting up and panting. The sight of the dark tent filled her vision and she slowly calmed. The soft snores of her new companions hit her ears and she was glad she hadn’t woken them up. Quietly and carefully she got out of the sleeping bag and left the tent. The fire was died down to a small blue flame. It gave off heat, but she sensed it wouldn’t set anything on fire. The low light gave her the perfect view of the stars. She sat down in one of the folding chairs, gazing up at them.

Sleeping had helped everything become less raw, but she still missed Connor. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to him. All because of Juno. Because Juno had wanted to be set free. Trish sighed, feeling anger bubble up inside her at the thought of being used by Juno. There was a rustling behind her, making her jump and look to see Ignis emerging from the tent.

“Oh, hi.” She said, relaxing. Ignis smiled and sat down beside her.

“Good morning.” He greeted.

“Good morning. I didn’t wake you up did I?” She asked concerned. Ignis shook his head.

“No, I always wake early to start breakfast. What woke you? Hopefully not Gladio’s snoring.” Ignis said and Trish couldn’t help but laugh. Ignis smiled, glad to see her laugh.

“No, not his snoring.” She answered. She looked up at the sky that was beginning to brighten, wondering if she should tell him about her nightmare. She was sure she saw an older Noctis, but she wasn’t sure what it meant.

“I won’t pry. Just know I’m willing to listen if you need it. I cannot begin to understand what you are going through, but I can try.” Ignis said kindly. Trish smiled at him and looked at the blue flame.

“I just feel bad for burdening you all more.” Trish said and Ignis shook his head.

“You are not a burden. You are a young woman in need of assistance and we shall assist you in whatever way you need it.” Ignis replied and Trish smiled.

“I do appreciate it. I just had bad dreams is all.” She answered and Ignis nodded.

“Understandable if you are not familiar with the creatures here and given what you’ve gone through. Why don’t you help me make breakfast and we can talk about them if you wish?” He asked and she nodded. They both stood and Ignis gave her some vegetables to begin cutting. As Trish was cutting, Ignis was getting the meat ready.

“So, these nightmares, what were they about?” He asked. Trish thought back to them as she was cutting the vegetables.

“Connor and I were walking through the homestead when we were attacked by the things that attacked me. Connor vanished as did the creatures and there wasn’t anything I could do to help him.” Trish answered. Ignis nodded, stirring the pot.

“I believe it is pretty obvious where the dream came from. As soon as everything settles down, I’m sure they will cease.” Ignis stated and Trish nodded. She finished the celery and reached for the mushrooms.

“Ah! Don’t do the mushrooms or carrots. Noct hates mushrooms and carrots.” Ignis asked and Trish nodded.

“I take it, he’s a picky eater?” She asked and Ignis sighed, nodding.

“A very picky eater. I try very hard to get him to eat vegetables, but he refuses. It’s made many of my dishes fall short of their potential. I’ve come up with some recipe’s though that don’t include them and still give him the proper nutrition he needs.” Ignis replied. Trish nodded, understanding.

“Some of the children on the homestead were picky eaters as well. Although my tactics for getting them over that may not work on Noctis.” She answered and Ignis chuckled.

“How so?” He asked.

“I don’t think Noctis will believe that if he eats his vegetables he will grow up big and strong like Connor.” Trish answered. Just the mention of his name was enough to make her chest ache. She concentrated on cutting up more vegetables and Ignis saw her smile fade.

“You and he were quite close, weren’t you?” Ignis asked gently. Trish nodded.

“He saved my life countless times. And when I left…when I left we were in love. We had just admitted our feelings for one another and we were taking it very slow. We really connected and he was always very kind to me. When he would leave on missions, the homestead seemed quieter.” Trish answered and sighed, finishing cutting the vegetable.

“I guess I should stop dwelling on it. It’s only making me sadder.” She said softly. Ignis looked at her, seeing the dispirited expression on her face.

“You dwell on it for as long as you need to. You cannot force those feelings away. It won’t do you good to bottle them up either. Feel your pain and let yourself heal. I know you don’t want to be a burden, but for now, let us bear your weight until you find your footing. I can see how strong you can be just from what you’ve told me and I cannot wait to truly meet the woman you truly are when grief isn’t weighing you down.” Ignis said to her, adding the vegetables to the stew.

“You cut those perfectly. Now, we just let that simmer then we can continue onto part two of the recipe.” He said with a smile. Trish found herself echoing the smile. She felt as though through his words, she found footing. She found the strength she needed to pick up the pieces again. Ignis turned to gather the other recipes and Trish turned with him.

“Ignis?” She called, causing him to stop and look over at her.

“I promise, you won’t have to wait long.” Ignis smiled at her words.

“I look forward to it.”

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iamvegorott · 6 years

Text

Returned Chapter 16 (Final)

Returned

“It’s okay, Chica. It’s all good, girl.” Mark was rubbing Chica’s head and cooing at her while Amy sat on the ground next to him. Jack was double-checking his suitcase that was sitting on the couch.

“Why are you guys taking suitcases?” Signe asked, sitting on the end of the couch and helping Jack properly fold his clothes since he had just tossed everything in there.

“It’s just cautionary, Alec told us to be prepared for anything,” Jack answered, pocketing his lighter.

“Are you planning a party or something?” Signe asked, holding a bottle of vodka in her hand.

“If everything goes well, I will throw the biggest party in the world.” Jack chuckled.

“Should me and Amy pack a bag too? You’re making it look like we’re going to be gone a few days and I’m not wearing the same shirt for that long.” Signe laid a shirt inside of the suitcase, gently tucking it in.

“You won’t need to worry about packing.” Jack’s voice was very soft.

“Why not? Are you planning on buying me new clothes or something?” Signe noticed that Mark and Amy were quiet.

“No…” Jack chewed on his lip.

“Why not?” Amy asked, giving Mark a stern look. Jack only shook his head, telling Mark that he wasn’t going to say it. “Mark? Is there something that we don’t know?”

“You’re not going,” Mark mumbled.

“Excuse me!?” Amy snapped.

“And neither is Signe,” Mark added.

“What do you mean I’m not going!?” Signe turned her glare from Mark to Jack.

“It’s too dangerous,” Jack said, putting his hand on Signe’s and dropping his head when Signe pulled hers away.

“There’s nothing more dangerous than an angry woman,” Signe stated.

“I know, I know, but I can’t risk you getting hurt.” Jack brushed aside a strand of hair that got into Signe’s face, he could still remember the blood dripping down it when one of Vince’s creatures hit her. He could never let that happen again.

“I can handle myself,” Signe said.

“I can too,” Amy added to Mark, whose only response was to hug the woman. “Mark, this doesn’t get you out of the doghouse.”

“I have met Death because of Vince and Nina has caused my night terrors to be the worse they’ve ever been since I was a child. I will not allow those assholes to cause any form of harm to you, not while I live and breathe.” Mark hugged Amy tighter as he finished his statement.

“We’re still going,” Amy said.

“Amy, please!” Mark pleaded, hands still on Amy’s shoulder as he pulled away.

“I’m not letting you go without me, I need to be there for you.” Amy patted on Mark’s chest. “My big, strong man can only do so much by himself.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Mark groaned.

“You two are heading to fight off against someone who’s part of a group that kills people like it’s nothing and you expect us to just sit here and twiddle our thumbs?” Signe huffed. “That’s unreasonable.”

“Then Mark will stay.” Jack said, earning a loud ‘what’ from the others. “Nina is only going after me, this is my fight and it’s selfish of me to bring anyone else into this.”

“No, no, don’t pull that shit with me.” Mark stood up. “These magic fucks are fucking with you, which means they’re fucking with me and ain’t nobody fucking me without my fucking permission.”

“That might have been the weirdest way to put it, but thanks, man.” Jack chuckled.

“We need to leave, now,” Alec stated when he appeared in the room. “Nina’s on her way and I don’t think Mark wants his house on fire.”

“We need to pack,” Amy said.

“I’ll be just one moment,” Signe added as they ran off.

“Let’s go.” Jack zipped his suitcase shut while Mark grabbed his.

“But-”

“We need to go.” Mark made it very clear in his tone what they were talking about and Alec grabbed both of their shoulders.

“Callie, keep an eye on them,” Jack said to the creature before they disappeared.

Jack wasn’t expecting to see green when they came back into reality. They were in a large open field, meaning they were far away from civilization. This was it. He was going to do this. Jack’s entire body stiffened when he heard a chirp, a very familiar chirp. His heart leaped into his throat when he saw that Amy and Signe were on the ground down the field, they were both looking around, confused.

“Did you bring them!?” Mark yelled at Alec.

“How could I!? They weren’t touching me and teleporting someone without contact is a more difficult spell to cast and I need to save my magic.” Alec explained.

“Then who-”

“I thought that bringing certain people would help persuade you,” Nina said, appearing several yards away from the men.

“Mark, get over to them,” Jack ordered. Mark looked at Nina before taking off, knowing it was best to listen to his friend. “Callie, go with him.” Callie shook their head. “Go!” The creature twitched their nose and took off as well, catching up to Mark and climbing up his back to sit on the man’s shoulder.

“And, let’s add a few more to the mix.” Nina snapped her fingers, making Bob, Wade, and Felix appear with Amy and Signe.

“What the fuck!?” Jack heard Felix scream.

“Leave them out of this!” Jack snapped.

“They’re just here to show you what would happen if you don’t get trained by me.” Nina’s voice was overly sweet. “They’ll get hurt if you don’t get help. Isn’t that why you signed up for therapy? For them?”

“Jack has not given you information nor consent about his therapy, you are not to speak of it outside of a professional setting,” Alec said harshly.

“Am I wrong?” Nina crossed her arms and chuckled. “Think about it, Jack. Everyone was upset with you, everyone worried for you, you suffered alone until you finally signed up for therapy with Alec here. I have to say, Alec, you picked a nice field to meet up, but if I recall correctly, I asked to meet your client in his home.”

“He requested otherwise.”

“That’s beside the point.” Nina turned her attention back to Jack. “Remember how much it sucked to be alone? How terrible it was to not have someone there to help you? How much it hurt? That’ll be you all over again if you don’t start getting trained now. I can help you and you can help me.”

“Fuck off,” Jack stated. “You don’t want to help me, you just want to use me.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“You’re a full-fledged member of the Magic Society, you can’t do certain things because you’re under their thumb. But they don’t even know that I exist. They don’t know who I am. I can do things that would get you in trouble and if I were to get caught-” Jack shrugged voice raising. “Oh, well.”

“You need me,” Nina stated, kindness dropping.

“I need you to fuck off,” Jack stated back.

“Without me, who would show you how to deal with this!” Nina threw a fireball towards Jack. Jack could hear his friends yelling, but he raised his hand, fireball going into his palm. He lowered his hand with a large grin on his face.

“I don’t need you. No one needs you. Now, for the last time. Fuck. Off.”

“Who taught you magic!?” Nina demanded, not getting a response. “Alec!? Did you!?”

“I am under no legal requirement to either accept or decline that accusation,” Alec said very smugly.

“Fight me, bitch.” Jack chuckled. “Also, Vince says hi.”

“Vince…” Nina balled her hands into fists. “That spineless coward.”

“Go. If you know what’s best for you.” Alec warned. “You’re outnumbered. You have two Spellcasters and six others against you. They might not be able to use magic, but they can sure as hell hold you down.”

“Now, how is this fair?” Nina asked, putting her hands behind her back, shifting her shoulders in a way that made Jack feel uneasy.

“When have you ever done anything fairly?” Alec huffed.

“Point taken.” Nina quickly stuck a hand back out and fired a gun she was holding. The bullet went through Alec and the men fell over, motionless.

“Alec!” Jack threw himself to his knees and covered the wound.

“Jack! Look out!” Signe screamed while the others started running towards the two. Nina shot the gun towards the group, not hitting anyone but making them all go to the ground.

“Let’s start this over, shall we!?” Nina yelled as she tossed the gun to the side. She stood a little wider before opening her arms out. Jack looked down and saw that there was a small ball forming under him.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Jack cursed as he tried to pull Alec away with him. “Everyone, run!”

“Goodbye! I might see you later!” Nina laughed before pushing both hands down, the ball becoming a large, black portal.

“No!” Jack cried as he and everyone else fell through. All they saw was one color. Everything went gray as they were returned to when all of this began.

No need to fear, there will be another story called 'HiJacked'. It should begin within the next day or so.

#jacksepticeye #markiplier #pewdiepie #muyskerm #lordminion777 #youtube #fanfiction

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winedwords · 7 years

Text

Aleister| In The Dark |Black

Title; In The Dark

Pairing; Aleister Black/Reader

Words; 5200

Summary; He ate my heart out.

Warning; NSFW. SMUT. AU AF. Heathens!verse. Sex pollen/venom trope. Magic healing dick trope. Thigh riding, oral sex, public sex. Kinda dubcon. Persephone and Hades spin if you drink some wine and squint. morally flexible aleister. porn with the faintest traces of plot. shit editing and proofreading is shit. ye have been warned.

A/N: Repost from the old blog

I don’t know how I got talked into this.

This wasn’t my scene. There were too many people entirely too close to me. The lights were blindingly bright and the strobing made my eyes hurt. The music was so loud, I could feel the bass rattle in my chest and thrum through my veins. Or maybe that was the several shots of tequila that I felt in my veins? Even if this was an outdoors event, there was little to no airflow and sweat clung to every inch of skin from the heat and exertion of my pitiful attempts at dancing.

My roommate and coworker, Adrienne, had talked me into coming to coming here and wearing as little as I was. This wasn’t me, at all. Whereas I would have been content with a game night and a couple of glasses of wine, like the homebody I am, she wanted the lights and the sounds and the feel of writhing bodies pressed against each other. She wanted the crush of uncontrolled euphoria brushing against and dancing with her magic.

I love her to bits, I really do, but this is what happens when your friends worship Dionysus. They would throw themselves into anything hedonistic and it would feed their magic. That magic would then reach these euphoric pinnacles and Adrienne swore that it was better than any orgasm she’d ever had, so I just had to come with her to this club.

My usual night out attire was not appropriate, oh no.

Adrienne had insisted on the tiniest, strappiest neon blue bikini I had ever seen. I’d balked at her as she pulled it from the shopping bag, the microscopic bits of polyester would barely cover anything and I’d told her as much. She’d just laughed and said that there would be others wearing far less and to stop being such a prude. Her Circle would be there and nothing would happen she said, so why not have a night of fun? Like an idiot, I relented.

Yes, it was a Circle dedicated to hedonism and the worship of Dionysus, but I knew that if they had any say about it, no harm would come to me. Not when they would have to face the unholy wrath of the North American Council.

I guess you could say that I was special, even amongst the magic folk.

See, magic is a finicky thing, temperamental and as unique as a fingerprint. Most magic folk do not fall into strictly black magic or white magic, but rather on a spectrum of grays. We are all born with innate ability, affinities and knacks for certain types of spellcasting. Our magic comes from the blood and each individual had different talents. Some, like Adrienne, are ridiculously skilled at charms and summoning magics. Others, like those in the Order of Osiris, were stewards of the dead, shepherding lost souls to the afterlife and banishing malignant spirits.

Then there was me.

The only White Witch born in nearly four centuries.

White magic was beyond rare. Difficult to wield, incapable of actually causing harm, and the only magic capable of healing wounds and curing illness, those with white magic had been worshipped and revered throughout history as living deities. With white magic, everything had a cost, every action had an equal reaction.

The biggest reaction was the prevalence of black magic. My tutors had said that white magic burns so brightly, that it must always be followed by the impenetrable darkness as its shadow. Black magic was expressly forbidden by mainstream casters, for good reason. Blood magic, sex magic, necromancy, there was no taboo that was considered to be off limits. Black magic could steal free will, snuff out life, summon inconceivable eldritch horrors from parts of the universe best left untouched.

My tutors had warned that white and black magic were inexorably drawn to each other, like two primeval magnets. That they were two halves to the same coin, the light and the dark, yin and yang. Precautions had been taken to never allow myself to be anywhere in proximity of a user of any type of dark magic, lest the inconceivable were to happen.

I felt him long before I ever was able to lay my eyes on him. The brush of his magic against me felt like velvet and tasted like single malt scotch.

I’d been followed before. Since my birth, there was always someone watching from a respectful distance. They were always nondescript people, blending in with their surroundings, if it weren’t for the feel of their eyes trailing me. I’d grown used to them with time, knowing they were there at the back of my mind, but also knowing that they’d never approach.

He was disturbingly handsome and not trying to blend in, in the least. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of writhing humanity, as still as a statue with the slicked back mohawk and the clearly tailored black on black suit. He wasn’t dancing like the others around him, I wasn’t sure he was even breathing. He was just staring. At me.

I was close enough to make out the tattoos on his hands and the crescent moon high on his cheekbone through the crowd and I shivered for reasons I was not ready to examine closely right now.

Illuminati. And an enforcer at that.

Why in the world would they be sending someone who should be doing their wetwork and other unsavory bits of business to keep tabs on me instead of their usual nondescript types? Both the Templars and the Illuminati sent the same types of people to shadow me, always nonthreatening and certainly never got this close to me.

Both groups, the Illuminati and the Templars, were tasked with keeping balance in the world, maintaining order, and cleaning up any… messes to keep the ordinary and non-magic from discovering us. They just happened to go about it from each other.

The Templars were an ancient order, able to trace their beginnings to Babylon, with a strict code of ethics and morality. Everything was for the greater good. Duty, honor, and sacrifice were revered amongst them and it was not unusual for them to sacrifice their lives so that others may live. The ultimate white hats and do-gooders. The handful of Templars I had interacted with had reminded me strongly of the Knights of the Round Table and my mentor had laughed, saying that the Templars made up the entirety of the Knights of the Round and that Arthur was practically a saint to the later generations.

The Illuminati were a whole different breed. Young in comparison to their arch nemeses, the Templars, only about three centuries old, and infinitely more ruthless. They would do anything, no matter the cost, to keep balance. Blackmail, treason, deceit, murder, torture, it was all on the table. They had no such scruples about manipulation or power grabs. It was well known that they were the people on grassy knolls, the shadowed faces in corporate board rooms, and the kingmakers in every political system around the world.

I had been followed and tracked by both factions since I came into my magic. The Council had told me to not be worried, that this was par for the course whenever someone was born with significant magic, especially when it was black or white magic. I was warned that eventually, when the time was right, they would make a play for my allegiances. I had been assured that I should barely notice them with time, that they would eventually become fixtures of my everyday background. The Council was right, they had become my personal shadows, the faces and shapes changing but never enough for me to pay them much mind because I was never approached.

Until this one.

As soon as I had registered who and what he was, he was gone in the blink of an eye. Even if he was gone from my sight, the taste and feel of his magic still lingered.

So much darker than my own, that mysterious suited man’s magic felt like smoke and velvet and tasted as heavy as the darkest of chocolates with the after burn of a finely aged scotch. It seemed to swirl around me teasingly, caressing along my skin like a lover’s hand would. Then it was gone. My own magic crackled along my skin pleasantly at the loss and it reached up and out of its own accord to seek his out again.

I panicked, it felt like my throat was closing up, and I began attempting to push through the crush of the writhing crowd. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, my magic which I had such a tight control over from a young age, attempting to do something of its own will. The loss of control paired with the tequila and the hum of the euphoria spell that the Dionysus cult had cast was fogging my thoughts and I just needed a moment to breathe and to collect myself.

The bodies of revelers were tightly packed and it was damn near impossible to make any headway to the back of the venue, where there were fewer people. The bass of the music was overwhelming and the strobe lights were dizzying, making progress through the teeming masses of human flesh all that more difficult.

I’d made it a scant few feet when a delicate, but impossibly strong, hand latched onto my wrist. I pulled hard to attempt to get out of the iron like grip, but there was no give. I turned back to confront the person accosting me, but the anger and panic rushed out of me as soon as I made eye contact with a pair of hypnotic and eerily dark eyes. The woman holding onto my wrist tightly gave a blinding smile and leaned in close.

“Dance with me.”

The will to fight drained from me and I smiled dreamily at her. She was petite, with a delicate heart shaped face and an overly full sensuous mouth. Those eyes had hooked me in and all I wanted was to please her and make this strange woman happy. I moved closer to her, my hips swinging to the rapid fire beat that the DJ was playing over the speakers, and she leaned in to press a teasing kiss to my shoulder.

“God you smell divine.”

Her words tickled and I threw my head back with a giggle, exposing the tender skin of my throat. I didn’t see the way her eerie dark eyes zeroed in on the thumping pulse point in my neck, nor did I see the way her teeth seemed to elongate into sharp points. I was too entranced by this woman, the feeling of being around her seemed to enhance the tequila that was lowering my inhibitions.

“You don’t mind if I taste just a little, hm?”

She didn’t wait for a response, leaning in with fangs bared for my exposed neck. I stood stock still, my head heavy from her hypnotic eyes. I could feel the heat of her breath against my skin and then the pinprick of fangs. I relaxed for the barest of moments into her touch before she paused, a strange gurgling noise at the back of her throat.

Then the fog around my brain cleared, the gravity of what just almost happened weighing heavy. My eyes were wide as she practically exploded into dust, her mouth wide in a silent scream, revealing that handsome suited stranger from before, holding a wickedly sharp wooden stake in his left hand.

He cursed in a language I didn’t understand, his eyes drawn to the small pool of blood at the nape of my neck from where that… creature’s fangs had broken skin. I wouldn’t have even noticed the small scrape if it weren’t for the slight burning irritation that emanated from the area. Dust from the creature clung to the lapels of his dark suit jacket, which was clinging to his broad shoulders in what was becomingly an increasingly interesting way to me.

“Do you like men or women?”

The sound of his voice startled me. Deep, cultured, with just the faintest traces of an accent. My skin was starting to feel almost too tight and the thrum of the bass of the electronic music was vibrating straight to my core. I laughed uncomfortably at his words as soon as they registered through the returning fog that was becoming thicker and thicker in my head.

“What? Get out of here you creep.”

The suited man’s face tightened into a grimace, still deathly serious. His magic flared and surrounded me completely. It was heavy, all encompassing, and so dark that it sung to my own magic in a way I had never known before. It was simultaneously exhilarating and comforting. I couldn’t help the purr that escaped my throat and the answering bright burst of magic. I was so lost in the feel of his energy that I missed the way he shivered and the rapid bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“You were bitten by a dhampir, woman. They have a rather potent venom that acts as an aphrodisiac in their saliva.”

Well that certainly explained a lot about the way I was feeling. I’d begun to break out in a cold sweat and I could feel slickness that was most decidedly not sweat clinging to my inner thighs. My heart was racing and I could feel the panic bubbling up inside of me. How did I miss the signs of the dhampir? It was clearly trying to influence my behavior and get me alone… I could vaguely remember something about an anti-venom, but the crush of the bodies around me and the fog of the aphrodisiac was clouding my memory and judgment.

“Anti-venoms?”

His smile was wry but unapologetic. His sharp eyes were cataloguing my every reaction, likely calculating how long I had until my senses left me and I was reduced to a babbling, horny mess.

“The blood of the offending dhampir, which is out of the question now, or… a high dosage of the unique cocktail of adrenaline, endorphins, and oxytocin that’s released during orgasm. Now tell me, men or women?”

My mouth was dry and my brain was still whirring to process. My answer was clearly taking too long and he hurriedly pushed his hand through his dark hair with a frustrated sigh.

“The venom works quickly, you only have about five more minutes before the it overtakes your nervous system and begins to liquify your internal organs. Which means someone needs to make you cum in the next five minutes to stave off the effects. Do… Do I have your consent to see you through this?”

I was most certainly not ready for this, to be afflicted with a venom that was going to take away my free will, let alone a man offering to help and asking for my consent before I was turned into a mindless sex machine who’s organs turn to mush. He was dangerously handsome, I could definitely do a lot worse, and the touch of his magic alone pulled me to him. What was I forgetting though? This damn pink fog was beginning to take over my vision and I had somehow inched myself closer to him, so close I was practically plastered against his front, the brush of the soft fabric of his suit making my blood roar.

“I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do. B-but what’s your name?”

He smirked, something dark and hungry crossing over his face, but the venom was pumping too thickly through my body for me to pay too much mind.

“Aleister Black. It’s a pleasure, (Y/N).”

There was no chance to respond, as Aleister had swooped in for a sinfully feverish kiss one hand cupping the back of my head and the other playing with the many straps of the neon bikini at my hip. The cool metal of his lip ring felt like a brand against my lips and a quick nip from his teeth had my lips parting to make way for him to deepen the kiss. My insides clenched at his touch and I was already so, so close. His lips began to trail downwards along my jaw line and he chuckled as I shivered against his lips.

I felt like I was burning up.

Every nerve was on a razor’s edge, to the point where every touch by a dancing partygoer and every touch of his lips against the bare flesh of my decollete was a pleasurable torture that bordered on pain. I couldn’t say what part of my body’s reaction was due to the guttural, primal attraction that drew me to him and what part was what that…. thing did to me.

It felt like someone put a live wire to my sweat drenched skin when he pushed his thigh between my legs and up against my core. The pressure on my hypersensitive center was delicious, already on the brink of release, and I couldn’t stop my hips, even if I had wanted to, from rutting against his firm, muscled thigh. Mere seconds had passed of my feverish grinding and the fabric of his suit pants were completely soaked by my desire.

My mouth was agape at the combination of friction and pressure in the place where I needed it the most and Aleister seemed to realize it. Both of his hands grasped my hips in a vice like grip and pressed me down hard and faster than I could manage against his thigh. His teeth clamped down on my earlobe and my release jolted through my body like I was struck by lightning.

I writhed in his arms, hips jerking shortly while my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Aleister hummed his approval, raspy foreign words spoken into my ear. My body eventually stopped shuddering, my chest heaving with my inhaled breaths and my heartbeat still fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. The relief was only momentary however, then the lust was back and just as overwhelming as before.

I mewled in desperation, frantic for something, anything to bring relief to the pressure. The suited man in front of me made sure to double his efforts of dragging my core along his thigh, before gliding a hand underneath the small polyester triangles of my top. The rough pads of his fingers teased, then pinched the pebbled flesh of my nipple, the pleasure-pain sending jolts of pleasure directly to the tight bundle of nerves between my legs. Aleister caught my lips again, his tongue twisting with my own in the most ancient of dances.

The crush of the bodies around us was pressing me tight against him and it just took a sudden shove of a partygoer against me to send me into another orgasm at the rough treatment. Shudders wracked my body longer this time, the release feeling three times as strong as the one before it. It took several deep breaths to finally gain some semblance of control over my motor functions again, the white hot pleasure finally fading.

The pink fog that clouded my brain and my vision seemed to lessen in its density for just the barest of moments, long enough for me to begin to paw at the front of Aleister’s suit pants. He chuckled and swatted my hands away, only to be met with a high pitched whine that somehow came out of my mouth.

“You’re so cute when you pout.”

His affectionate words only served to double my effort in getting his pants off. His much larger hand grabbed both of my wrists and held them tightly, his once amused face now like stone.

“Sorry, beautiful. Not here, and most definitely not right now. I need to get you somewhere safe before others come for you.”

His magic swarmed me, the taste and feel of it overwhelming my already compromised magic. I weakly in his arms and against his magic for a couple of breaths, before I fell unconscious.

An undetermined amount of time later, I found myself splayed lewdly across the back seat of a large SUV, Aleister between my legs lapping at my core with abandon. I had only been conscious mere moments before I was shrieking his name and grasping at his hair. The pressure and pace with which his tongue had been moving lessened considerably as I rode out my pleasure, the shudders of my body slowly lessening.

It was then that I noticed the hastily drawn symbols on my thighs and lower abdomen, the vast majority of which I could not make out.

“What are these?”

My voice was so much breathier than I would have liked and Aleister looked up, the lower half of his face and beard glistening from the fluids of my core. I flushed brightly at the sight, arousal and embarrassment burning through me. His smile was predatory and filled with male satisfaction, the bright white a stark contrast with the darkness of his beard.

“Sex magic. Increases your pleasure while staving off the effects of the venom. I had to do something, you were starting to seize as I brought you to my car.”

The squawk I made would have embarrassed me further if I wasn’t so indignant.

“Sex magic?! Are you out of your fucking mind? I cannot be party to this!”

I scrambled to get up and he made no movement to stop me, still crouched over my lower body as still as a stone, waiting. I had no idea what he was waiting for, too preoccupied with looking for the skimpy bottoms of the neon bikini, when a muscle cramp unlike any I had ever felt before wracked my lower abdomen. I groaned and attempted to curl in on myself to try to quell the pain.

“You’re going to have to be party to it. The only other choice is to die. Now come to me, this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

The cramp passed for the moment, leaving me exhausted and weak.

“You talk as if you speak from experience.”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing a kiss to the skin of the top of my thigh, his tongue flicking across the gooseflesh that his kiss caused.

“Enough experience to know how long this will last. Your mind is coming back to you, but your body is still prey to the effects of the dhampir venom. It’s going to be a long night.”

I hesitated, just a moment too long, then I choked off a scream as another cramp seized me, this one even more vicious than the last. Aleister’s face was hard, before making short work of his button up dress shirt, the suit jacket in places unknown.

“Do you trust me?”

My eyes were bleary with tears of pain and I could barely make out his face through them. He’d seen me through this far, the only untoward thing he’d done was drawing symbols of profane magic on my body in sharpie, in an attempt to ease the process. There wasn’t even a question.

“Yes.”

I didn’t have the time to read into the flurry of emotion across his face or the way his magic rubbed and purred against me in a decidedly feline way. Aleister had practically lunged upwards to my lips, his kiss demanding and unrelenting. I groaned and arched upwards into him and into his mouth, returning his kiss with equal ferocity. I was so distracted by the flurry of our tongues, teeth, and the taste of myself that I barely noticed Aleister pushing his pants down his thighs.

It was the heavy press of the blunt head of his cock that made me pull away from his mouth with a gasp.

“Last chance. Say the word and I’ll do my best with my fingers and my mouth.”

His raspy words made me tingle in the most delightful of ways, the need in his voice pulling at the dark and primitive part of my psyche. The heavy pink fog had made its return with a dizzying speed and I frantically shook my head. I was just so… hungry for him.

“If you stop now, I could never forgive you.”

Aleister didn’t respond verbally, surging forward between my slick folds and not stopping until he bottomed out inside of me. My scream was wordless and he didn’t pause for a moment, his hips setting a bruising pace against my own. My hips were stuttering upwards into his, desperately craving every generous inch of him, needing more more more.

I was already on the brink, my magic crackling like lightening around me. It reached up to touch his skin, sizzling against the sweat and he groaned. Aleister began muttering in a language I was wholly unfamiliar with, his magic caressing along my skin so heavily it felt like an actual touch. He shifted ever so slightly and the heavy drag of his length inside of me caught that one spot that made me gasp at the immensity of the pleasure.

“Found it.”

I couldn’t be mad at his smug words, because they were delivered so breathlessly. Every thrust of his hips caught the hidden bundle of nerves inside of me, my hands clutching desperately at him as I mewled and moaned and writhed underneath him.

The orgasm was too big, too intense, and came on entirely too quickly for me to adequately prepare. I tried to say something, to warn Aleister, but his thrusts felt like they were driving the air straight out of my lungs. Then the knot that had been coiling inside of me snapped.

I remembered screaming, a sudden rush of fluid leaving me, and the delighted curses from Aleister’s mouth.

After that everything had faded and blurred into a rush of orgasms, different sex positions, and Aleister, most importantly Aleister. Somehow we had made it to a residential building and made it inside, unseen. My memory was hazy and I didn’t remember collapsing from exhaustion.

I woke in an unfamiliar bed, the silk sheets a sensory overload to my touch sensitive skin. The venom may have been out of my system, but it was still wreaking havoc on me. Religious and occult artwork decorated the walls of an otherwise sparsely furnished room and it took me some time to gather my bearings, the walls seeming to seep magic and the smell of Aleister surrounding me. There was an unfamiliar thrum in my chest and at the back of my mind, I could feel annoyance that wasn’t my own.

It took several moments, but I was able to gingerly make my way out of the bed, every muscle in my body screaming from the overexertion last night and my feminine flesh was almost painfully sore. I shuffled my way out of the bedroom, turning to what must have been the kitchen by the sound of a coffee machine and Aleister’s voice. I felt like I was being pulled by a cord towards him.

He was speaking with someone.

It wasn’t until I got further down the hall and closer to the kitchen, did I realize that he was speaking about me to someone on the phone.

“I understand that this was not what the bosses meant when they said to watch her, but what was I supposed to do?”

He paused, before chuckling.

“I’d like to see what you would have done with a pretty little thing like her begging for you.”

Hurt burned in my chest when he gave a bellow of a laugh. Was this some sort of sick cosmic joke?

“No, no, it was not like that. Dhampir venom. You just don’t get it though Michael. Her magic practically sings to me. That’s… its impossible to describe.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, running his hands through his hair.

“She knows that I used sex magic last night to fight off the venom last night. I just don’t think she realizes that her magic bound us together. It’s for the best though, the bosses will be thrilled that she’s ours now. And it wasn’t even as hard as they were making it out to be.”

Aleister paused at my gasp and took a breath. My magic had bound us last night?

“Dante, I must call you back.”

He hung up the phone, not turning to face me. Even through my shock and hurt, I was still struck by his terrifyingly beautiful appearance and the tattooed skin pulled taught over expanses of muscle. I wasn’t of the mind last night to have explored him as thoroughly as he had explored me.

“Did… did last night mean anything at all?”

Aleister turned towards me, his eyes suspiciously dark and molten, with a small and secretive smile on his face. I blinked and then he was in front of me, body heat seeping through the thin fabric of the t-shirt I wore. He filled my vision, all I could see, smell, and feel was him. Anticipation curled in my stomach and my breath was caught in my lungs.

“You were my mission.”

He hooked a long and tattooed finger underneath my chin and pulled me in for a kiss that was simultaneously chaste and claiming. I could feel my magic begin to crackle in the air as my anxiety began to rise. He could sense that between our neophyte bond, brushing his thumb against my lower lip to give me some comfort. Affection was all I could feel from him, with the barest traces of pity.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t have done to have you.”

I wanted to sob.

“Th-that’s not what I meant, Aleister, you know that.”

He gently pushed an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers caressing slowly down my cheek. His touch was almost reverent and my skin seemed to hum with pleasure in the wake of the path of his digits.

“It’s all that mattered at the time.”

The lump in my throat felt like a boulder, cutting off my airflow. He may have answered my question, but I hated that I still had to ask.

“And now?”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine and one thick, tattooed arm snaking around my waist. Aleister’s magic washed over my skin like the heaviest of velvets and instinctively, I relaxed into him. This is what I was warned about, the bonding of magics like ours. We were two halves of the same coin, one light and one dark, forever drawn to each other by forces so much bigger than us.

“You are mine as I am yours. I would open the gates of Hell and let every demon loose before I let anyone, including my brothers and sisters, touch you.”

Aleister then ducked his head just a little further and caught my lips in a claiming, soul searing kiss. The touch of his lips did not quell my unease for what was inevitably to come. The… circumstances of our joining was sure to start a war.

#aleister black fic #aleister black imagine #aleister black smut #repost from the old blog #dog days of summer challenge fic #heathens verse

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