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hoodoo12 · 3 years

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Elegy (2/6)

Part 1

A trip to Dante’s Inferno Room. Drinking and rage and wanting to comfort. @clairjohnson ‘s Miss Argentina is a peach.

@turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beejiesbitch @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @angelicspaceprince

"Lead the way, muñeca."

Maria did her best to shoot him a look of disinterest, save for the arch of a manicured brow. Shaking her head and turning away to hide the ghost of a smirk, she headed towards the office exit. It had surprised her, more like mortified her, when she found out that he spoke Spanish. Spoke a lot of languages, apparently. A walking polyglot. Something that he’d neglected to mention when they’d first met. So many snide remarks and salacious comments that she thought were for her pleasure only, turned out to be shared. The day he’d replied in her native language, fluent and precise even with the grate of his voice, made her want to die all over again.

“Oh I’ll lead – but I’m sure you could get to Dante’s in your sleep, viejo verde.”

The beauty queen waited for him when she exited, stepping in tandem with his stride as they made their way to the netherworld’s brothel. Fortunately, they had an excellent bar. Maria gave his suit an appreciative once over, happy to see him not drenched in blood, then moved her gaze forward.

“So what happened?” Her voice was even, but there was amused interest behind it. “How did ‘The Ghost with the Most’ get shishkabobed by a moody teenager? Sounds like it should have been a cake walk.”

Miss Argentina was used to poking fun at the poltergeist, and though his anger had radiated off him in waves earlier, he’d seemed to be cooling down now – what was the harm in asking?

Her questions and the amusement behind them made him stutter step. There'd always been teasing between them – light, heavy, pointed, obnoxious (in his case) – but that stung and any chance of forcing the recent past behind him was shot.

"It was a fucking set up. I am not talking about it," he spit, his voice threatening to crack again.

If that was happening because of the hole in his chest he was going to have to get it patched quick. In the upperworld, he'd have punctuated his words with something: fire under each sole as each foot hit the ground in a stomp, popping light bulbs (impressive but baby-ghost stuff), or simply fading into the shadows leaving only the shine of silver eyes and unnaturally luminous, unnaturally sharp teeth as a warning to the person who dared stepped over a line. Here, he had a few tricks but nothing imposing like that.

He had to settle for the sharply bitten off words and hands made into tight fists shoved into his pockets. It wasn't too late. He could turn on his heel and walk right back to the Lost Souls' Room.

At his sharp, heated response Maria pulled back from him slightly, taking an unconscious half step to the side while she continued to walk. Sure, she’d expected him to still be a little upset – but whatever had happened cut him deep. Both physically and metaphorically. She furrowed her brow at him and let out a scoff, tucking her arms tight across her chest.

“Excuse me for asking. You sound like a petulant child, you know?” she chided. “Sulking about like this. It’s not a good look on you, Betelgeuse.”

Dante’s came into view as they rounded a corner and she’d never been so happy to see it in all her afterlife. She liked this man, usually, but something was off about him. He was furious, but there was a bleakness to him she wasn’t used to – she’d heard it back in the office, and she felt it now. Maybe the girls in the Inferno room would pull him out of this. The thought both comforted her and left a tightness in her chest she didn’t care for.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, I’m not your therapist.” She stayed in step with him as they approached the building. “But I ask, as your bank and cohort for the evening, have a drink. You’re really bringing the mood down.” Maria gave him a cheeky, well humored smile.

He dropped his chin and glared at her from under his brows. "You're not my mother," was on the tip of his tongue, but even the word mother made him want to spit venom, and despite the teasing, Maria didn't deserve to take the brunt of it.

"Oh, I'll have a drink," he ground out instead, "the mood'll have to take care of itself."

They walked through the swirling mists that always filled the alleyways of the Netherworld and the gaudy neon lights from Dante's were visible before the building itself. There were a few shapely demonesses on the balcony of the cathouse who called out when the two of them walked towards it.

A chorus of: "Hey BJ!" "Welcome back, honey!" "The girls have been waiting!" greeted them. Beetlejuice ignored them, took the lead, and pushed open the door.

Two things hit him like a solid wall: the advertised air conditioning like an arctic blast and a second blast of music loud enough to be a force of nature itself. Sitting on a stool just inside the door was the bouncer.

"Привет, Ivan," he greeted as the two of them were sized up by the Russian.

"Никаких проблем сегодня, Beetlejuice." It was an order, not a question.

"Wouldn't think of it." Ignoring the stages and that a few of the girls glanced over – especially ignoring the high-pitched squeal Bambi gave that could be heard over the pounding music – he turned to Maria. "Find a table. I'm going to go get that drink."

Unlike Betelgeuse she didn’t ignore the women on the balcony. Instead, Maria tipped her head up, peering with a bemused smile at the flirtatious greeting. As far as she knew Beej had never flush with cash – the man must have a ridiculous tab.

A mix of chilled smoke and thudding music washed over her when she entered, making it hard to hear the Russian the two men in front of her were exchanging.

Wouldn’t think of it! Maria heard when she got closer. Betelgeuse had turned to her, his expression still lingering with fake reassurance, and told her he was going to go get That drink.

“Those drinks,” she corrected, “I’ll have a Manhattan – don’t let them forget the cherry.”

The beauty queen pointed a manicured finger at him to emphasize her point before turning to look for a table. There were a few spots closer to the stage, and to the girls, but Maria fixed herself in a booth carved into a wall further back. The music was damped instantly as she sat back in the red domed cushions and she sighed with relief. A single candle on the table lit at her presence.

He nodded his understanding of the order and slipped away through the patrons to the bar, fully aware that not only were some of the dancer's eyes on him, but also the two bouncers and probably the club's Madame, from up in her office above the floor.

Leaning over the bar, he caught Niphera's attention, despite them pointedly trying to ignore him.

"Tab's covered tonight!" he insisted, and finally, finally got Maria her Manhattan and himself a bottle of Dante's self-brewed hooch – it wasn't supposed to be doled out by the bottle but he promised the moon. With his finger in a highball glass to hold it securely against the bottle he carried, he slipped back through the crowd to the far wall, where he found Maria seated comfortably in a booth.

She looked good on the velvet seat, with the candlelight on her.

"Your drink," he said, setting it carefully onto the table in front of her. "Two cherries, complete with stems."

He left off any words about tying those stems into knots with his tongue. With her, that ship had sailed a long time ago.

She had started to wonder if he’d gotten lost, or grabbed his drink and hurried off somewhere else. Maria wouldn’t put it past him. But when he came slipping through the crowd, Manhattan in hand, she was pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you,” she said, and took one of the two cherries out of her glass. Sweets had always been a favorite of hers (though she could rarely indulge when alive) and Maria wasted no time biting off the bottom of one of the cherries and placing the stem on a napkin.

“An entire bottle?” She questioned while taking a sip of her drink. “I will have to cut you off at some point, Mr. Betelgeuse.” The beauty queen gave him a coy smile and then turned her attention to the stage. Two of the girls had started their dances, and her eyes followed the fluid motions of their hips.

Averting her gaze Maria took another large sip of her drink - realizing that she may need to get another one soon.

“You seem to have a lot of friends here.” The words were cool and she didn’t look up as she said them.

Pouring himself two fingers' worth, pausing, then dumping two more in, it would've been nice to have ice. The air conditioning was something special, but even a booming place like Dante's couldn't score ice. That was an upperworld thing, and one he wished he'd had the chance to enjoy while he was there. But that teenage bitch –

Before he went down that road much further, he threw back and swallowed the drink in two big gulps before slamming the glass back down. Luckily her glass was in her hand at the moment so it didn't spill, or he'd be getting her a new drink before she finished the first. That goddamn hole in his chest burned, and to his dismay it felt like some of the alcohol was seeping out onto his shirt. Ignoring it, he poured himself another glass.

Maria's lips were as red as the cherry she had so delicately eaten. He snorted at her mild threat to cut him off.

"The girls here are friends to anyone with cash," he bit out as he raised his glass again and took another mouthful. He realized that sounded cruel, and luckily Bambi and Punkin were on the main stage at the moment, having fun, and missed the comment. Softening his reply to amend it, he said, "This is someplace I can come and they treat me well. Like I matter. Unlike pretty much anywhere else, it seems."

That came out much more bitter and personal than he'd intended. Fuck this booze; Maria had nothing to worry about, he was going to have to cut himself off!

His softer, mildly guilty expression surprised her after the sharp comment. Maria was further surprised, and frankly a little offended, by his follow up. How many times had he screwed up royally and Juno had let him off with a slap on the wrist? He’d been her assistant forever – she may have been firm with him, but he required it. And what about the two of them? They hadn’t been friends or anything, but she enjoyed having him around, appreciated their banter, and had been close to . . . other things.

Maria finished her drink and took in a long breath. “You like to burn down bridges.” She pulled the cherry out of the empty cup. “And your social skills have a tendency to resemble arson.”

There was a short silence before the beauty queen turned her brown eyes up to him. “You really feel like you didn’t matter for the decades we worked together under Juno? Or are you just feeling sorry for yourself tonight?”

Her sharp assessment made him scowl. It was accurate, of course, but did it need to be said out loud?

He polished off another glass but this time didn’t refill the highball immediately. Finding his still lit cigarette in the ether he stuck it back between his lips as he caught the attention of one of the waitresses walking the floor. Wordlessly he indicated Maria’s empty drink, confident Niphira would remember the cocktail.

“I said pretty much anywhere else,” he repeated, as a reminder. “The fucking breathers are the reason I’m back here again. And you know working under Juno didn’t make me special or mean anything. I was just another cog in the endless wheels of this goddamn place. So yeah. I don’t matter and I am feeling sorry for myself. Honestly, you’re the only – ”

It was on the tip of his tongue to finish the sentence with the truth – you’re the only good thing here, you’re the only one who ever takes the time to ask, you’re the only one who ever seemed to care, you’re the one who got away – but he wasn’t sure exactly which one he’d confess, so it was better to just cut it off before he said something she would believe was the booze talking and have a story to laugh about with the rest of the drones back at the office.

Instead he found another cigarette, complete with an elegant gold cigarette holder from the same pocket dimension, and held it out as a peace offering.

Betelgeuse signaling the waitress to refill her drink was a blessing. She had been putting up a fight with herself to get a second, knowing she should be staying sharp, but he’d thankfully made the decision for her.

When he started to open up about how he’d died this time she listened intently, her eyes watching his exaggerated, already slightly impaired gestures. When he’d rattled off that he didn’t matter, that he bitterly was feeling sorry for himself, she opened her mouth to protest – only to clamp it shut when he continued.

Honestly, you’re the only –

There was a long beat of silence after he spoke. His eyes seemed to look past her while he thought about what to say next – what to say about her. But only more silence stayed between them. What had he intended to say? Maria considered asking him, her nerves already buzzing with all the implications, but she decided it best to keep quiet. What would be the point, anyway? It was probably going to be something crude or sexual, something entirely Betelgeuse, like 'you’re the only one worth ogling at.'

The negative thoughts were hushed when he reached towards her with a cigarette. It was clasped in an ornate golden holder, the light of the candle catching the engravings. Maria took it from him delicately like she might break it.

“Thank you,” she said softly, then lit the end and took a long drag. “It’s very pretty.”

The waitress returned with her drink and placed it down on a coaster. Instead of leaving, however, the demon made herself at home on Betelgeuse’s knee. The scantily dressed woman leaned back against his arm and arched like a cat, giving him a wink while she giggled.

“You going to need anything else tonight, Beej? You never just come around for drinks.”

Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the cigarette holder from him. The engraved scarabs seemed to skitter along its length, but that was a trick of the candlelight, not anything of his doing. Maria's quiet admiration of it gave him a little thrill of pride, that he could create things of beauty and not just be gross, but he kept his mouth pinched shut. The waitress tottered over--Beetlejuice knew Madame didn't require the waitresses to wear stiletto heels, so her footwear was her own poor choice – and set the new cocktail in front of Maria, then flounced her barely-there skirt and took a seat on his knee. That should teach him from manspreading –

Her simpering giggle might have worked if he wasn't in such a foul mood. As it were, he scowled at her overly-intimate insinuation and jerked his leg out from under her, unseating her without caring about her surprised gasp.

"If I need something else I'll fucking ask for it," he spat, then fixed her with a hard stare. "If you wanna be a dancer and earn tricks, then do it. You'd better get more practice on those heels, though."

Offended, the waitress half looked like she wanted to smack him in the face with her tray, and half wanted to cry. She turned on her heel instead and made a very obvious effort to not wobble as she walked away. He knew he'd cost him their waitress for the rest of the night, and there was a good possibility Ivan or Lyra were going to pay a visit to this booth very soon to suggest politely – in front of Maria – that if he couldn't be civil to the staff, he should leave.

Pouring himself another drink, he dared glance up at her to see if this display of shitty behavior was going to cost him her company tonight.

Maria took a closer look at the intricate designs – were they beetles? Scarabs. Like the one on his ring. She had assumed he’d snagged this holder from some grave, but now that she saw the details . . . had he made this?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the waitress placed a drink in front of her. The polite smile she wore dimmed noticeably when the women sat on Betelgeuse’s lap. If there had still been blood running through her veins a splash of rose would be blooming on her cheeks. She scolded herself at the involuntary envy that bubbled in her chest. Betelgeuse was a fool – an absolute mess of a man who was inappropriate at the best of times and destructive at the worst. Regardless, it’s not like she’d expected anything else, right? He was a regular, as he’d so kindly pointed out, there were probably plenty of girls here he’d slept with – girls that apparently liked to see him come around.

The venom in his voice when he jerked his leg away shocked her. She’d never seen him talk to a woman that way – especially one that was interested. He was usually all smiles and snake oil charm if a lady like that came waltzing over. With a parting, harsh comment about her ability in heels, Betelgeuse turned from the waitress and poured himself another drink. When he looked up Maria’s expression was one of surprise, the previous look of jealousy almost completely gone.

“You didn’t have to speak to her like that. You should apologize,” the beauty queen rebuked, keeping her disapproving gaze on him while she took a sip of her new drink. There was a moment of silence before she continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn away an invitation like that. You said some breathers screwed you over, but is that all?”

God, she didn’t want to push too hard. But whatever had happened was weighing on him more than usual.

The mouthful of booze he'd gulped burned like hellfire as he forced it down.

"Where's my apology?!" he snarled, slamming his glass back down. This time he didn't care if shaking the table made her drink spill. "I'm straightforward. People want something from me, I deserve compensation. I'm not unreasonable! Those fucking breathers – that goddamn snot-nosed teenager – "

The rage that had been tamped down for a bit just being with her roared to life again. He ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. When he spoke again, it was to his hands on the table.

"She fucking – I gave her what she wanted. I upheld my end of it! Dad gone? Done. Adults out of her house? Done. Generalized mayhem? Done. She was a kid, so it was silly stuff – but it was fun. Then, then she wanted her goddamn mom back, and I can't do that! The stupid kid left me. Did she think there were no fucking consequences to that?"

He paused for an unnecessary breath and kept his head down to hide the tears that burned worse than the alcohol.

"Told her the only way to fix it all was to marry me. The get outta jail free card," he snorted with a strangled laugh like it was a good joke. "She agreed, stupid kid, then she and her friends ganged up on me and she fucking ran a pole through my chest, sending me right back here to this godforsaken wasteland!"

His voice had risen to another spitting roar by the end. Did he leave parts of the story out? Of course he did. Everyone creates their own narrative; he was positive if he asked any other person here – Maria included – their story would not be their full truths.

His throat dry, he unclenched his hands – would Juno's tab cover the gouges he just left in the table? – and grabbed his bottle again. Forgoing his glass, he drank directly from it. The alcohol compounded on itself, leaving a more potent burn in his gut this time. He locked eyes on Maria as he set it down again, not caring if she saw the extra wet in his eyes.

All she could do was look on in stunned silence while he snarled out his grievances. He was talking so fast – words coming out like a machine gun. When she caught sight of the glossiness in his eyes she had a sudden urge to reach across the table and grasp his clenched hand. But she didn’t. That would be crossing a line she wanted to keep firmly in place.

When he had seemed to finish, punctuating his last sentence with a large swig of alcohol straight from the jug, she spoke. Her voice was composed and soft, unintentionally trying to soothe the raw pain on his face.

“It sounds like you had a good time up there causing trouble with that kid.” She started, trying to begin on a positive note. “But what do you mean left you? And what did you expect her and her friends to do - – let a grown, dead man marry her??”

She stopped then, averting her eyes and taking a quick sip of her drink. Her intention hadn’t been to be aggressive – but the whole thing sounded ridiculous. Taking a long breath she continued.

“You said it yourself, Beej.” His nickname slipped out before she could catch it, and she stumbled for just a second before continuing, “She’s just a kid. A kid who wanted to see their mom. I’d love to see my mom – I miss her every day. Why would some teenager ditching you to find their . . .”

Something occurred to her then that hadn’t before, and she furrowed her brows at him curiously. “Did you become friends, or think that you were friends, with this girl and the others?”

Miss Argentina had never seen him with any friends. Most people found him mildly irritating or flat out hated him – he wasn’t exactly popular, and it wasn’t not his fault. Regardless, her chest tightened at the realization. Had Betelgeuse thought he’d found some companionship? Only to have it thrown back in his face? She couldn’t help the look of pity in her eyes when her gaze met his again.

He didn’t want her reasonable assessment. He didn’t want her accusations. He definitely didn’t want her pity. He thought he’d found someone in the upper world who understood him, who knew the pain of being invisible. A fucking suicidal teenager, who then used what he wanted most in the world – life, and even more than that, acceptance – against him like a professional barracuda duping the world’s easiest, densest mark.

The beauty queen across the table, who’d been decent enough to not just go and leave him to his misery when he threw his tantrum, latched onto that fact, and deep in his increasingly muddled mind, he knew that was significant.

“I thought we were friends,” he admitted in a choked whisper.

Embarrassingly, like before, his voice cracked. He attempted to cover it with another overly-large swallow from the bottle. Although only half full at this point, it felt heavy in his hand. The alcohol was affecting him just like he’d wanted it to: numbed.

The pull to reach for his hand again, to offer some sort of comforting gesture, was strong. In an effort to physically stop herself, Maria folded her hands in her lap and clasped her fingers together tightly. There were so many things she could say to him. So many instances she could point out where he was his own worst enemy in the “making friends department” – but she suspected he knew this already. Which was probably why this hurt him so much.

“Betelgeuse . . .”

What did she even want to say to him? That she was sorry? That she understood what it was like to hate yourself?? It’s how she ended up his coworker in the first place. All her perfection, all her work, her entire life had felt pointless when she’d lost Miss Universe.

“. . . you should slow down. Keep it up and I’m going to have to drag your drunk ass home.”

She gave him a sweet smile then, one that couldn’t hide the sympathy still etched on her face. In an act of solidarity Maria took a large swig if her own drink, covering her mouth politely as she coughed it down.

tbc . . .

#writing #role-play #BeetleTina #Beetlejuice #Miss Argentina #Beetlejuice x Miss Argentina #Movie Beetlejuice #Musical Beetlejuice #fanfiction #rp

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

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Let’s Review || Chapter 16

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark casual reminder: this story is r o u g h. themes of rape, kidnapping, power imbalances, etc.. This story does not depict healthy or safe relationships. Trigger warning for violence.

Peter Parker was persistent. He had the kind of focus not seen in many teenagers, a dead set determination and a clever tongue to boot. Tony knew his boy hadn't learned his fast-talking ways from Penny, who would rather plow through problems with a baseball bat and her boots than sweet talk her way through anything, and he honestly wished he could've met their aunt May. She must've been one cunning lady to have raised such shit kickers. Especially since Peter, for all of his brutal intelligence, knew when to feign his sister's bambi eyes and play young and dumb.

Unfortunately, Tony had a tendency to overlook the fact that Peter was a genius. It wasn't an exaggeration, it wasn't stretching the truth, Peter had a deadly combination of intelligence and cunning that was far beyond most people’s scope of understanding. Maybe if things had gone different, Penny could’ve explained that Peter was a fucking Slytherin. The kid had a level of ambition and determination that meant his intelligence went from ‘damn he’s smart’ to ‘oh no he’s smart’.

It was a thin line that Penny had learned to walk quite well, but that Tony wasn't quite aware of. If he knew how fast the teenager's mind worked, he would've waited to let Peter see Penny. Instead, he agreed that they would have dinner on the soldier's floor. The second they stepped off the elevator and through the door to the apartment, Peter had already begun calculating. Steve clocked it within minutes, the way the teenager’s eyes scanned.

Peter knew without a doubt that he was the safest person in the tower at any given time, both literally and figuratively. JARVIS had eyes on him every second of the day, regardless of privacy protocols and dark rooms. If Peter was in the tower, JARVIS was watching and entirely prepared to obliterate any danger in over ten miles, if Tony's spiel could be believed. If anyone decided to try to hurt Peter, they would literally be dead in seconds.

He also currently possessed at least 90% of Tony Stark's devotion. The man was admittedly a creep, but he was a very powerful and very dangerous creep. Peter had seen the kind of men who skittered away under the weight of Tony's glare, who were more afraid of Tony Stark than of their mobster bosses. People were scared of the power Tony had and that included every person in the tower— the soldiers were not exempt.

The soldiers were not exempt and Peter was savagely aware of his status in comparison to theirs.

And Penny wasn't right. Penny was good at hiding her distress she always had been. Even when all of her loved ones were dying around her she'd kept her head on straight. Peter couldn't remember seeing her falter even once when she knew he was watching. But she was not okay and he noticed immediately and he did not like it.

She'd greeted him when he and Tony came in. She'd hugged him tight and kissed his cheek and whispered she loved him. Tony had quickly inserted himself, wrapping around the pair and cooing at them both like they were puppies. Steve felt his jaw tick; Peter was subconsciously checking her for injuries, tucking Penny as close to his chest as he could and engulfing her small frame while his eyes scanned their surroundings.

It was strange to see a place so heavily influenced by Penny's tastes. They'd never had money before, never had the opportunity for Penny to so any sort of decorating, but the soldier's living room was decorated exactly to her dreams. There were plants everywhere, a giant hammock hung from the ceiling in front of the windows right next to an oversized beanbag chair. There was a delicate looking shelf with a vast array of yarn. It looked green and warm and there was a fireplace under the tv that he knew she'd love once winter hit.

Because they were still gonna be there in the winter. Peter understood that, to some degree. That it had been early May when they were first taken, he'd been about to graduate. Penny would turn 25 in August and he would turn 18 in September. And they'd be in the tower. They'd be in the tower for their birthdays and for Halloween and Thanksgiving and Hanukkah. Unless something happened.

The longer he watched Penny interact with the soldiers, the more Peter decided that something needed to happen.

He hadn’t seen a happy or pleased look on Penny’s face since the day they’d been kidnapped. There was no telling if Tony or the others could tell, but he got the feeling they couldn't. To be fair, she had a bit of a resting bitch face and it was difficult for some people to distinguish between ‘that’s just how my face looks’ and ‘if one more bitch throws a stone in this glass house I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it’. Even Peter could admit the differences were subtle; it came down to a slight dimple in her cheek caused when she grit her teeth especially hard on the left side, the way her nose twitched when someone said something especially fucking dumb. Usually when she spent so long looking so pissed off, she’d come home from the night shift with a bag of weed the moment she could afford it.

But the way she looked now wasn’t… anything Peter had ever seen before. Happiness was easy to identify if you knew her and he’d seen what she looked like two minutes before she started screaming in anger. He could remember the several times the pair of them had been in some sort of custody related court hearing and he knew what fear looked like on Penny’s face too. It wasn’t fear, though, the expression on Penny’s face; it wasn’t the fear he’d witnessed on her face when she’d been so, so afraid that she wouldn’t be put under aunt May and uncle Ben’s custody. It wasn’t even the same expression she’d made the day they were deciding on whether or not he’d be able to stay under her custody after aunt May died, but fear was the closest thing he could compare it too.

It was crushing to witness. Penny’s natural tan had gone pasty white, the blood drained from her features. Her hair was a frizzed up mess, meaning she’d been pulling at it constantly for hours. Her eyes were bloodshot and constantly scanning and she was staying within arm’s reach of the soldiers at all times. He almost wondered if it was some stupid rule they’d given her like the ones Tony gave him sometimes; arbitrary orders just to see if he’d follow the rules properly.

But the soldiers were acting incredibly casual and simply accepting the closeness like it was a gift. Every time she brushed near them, Peter could see the way their faces would light up. Both Steve and Bucky were unnecessarily attractive, problematically pretty and when they were happy— well, they were really attractive when they were happy. Steve looked like a golden retriever, exhilarated and bright. Bucky was a harder read but even his eyes were softer, his stance more relaxed.

“Food will be up soon, how about we pick the movie?” Steve was facing the TV as he spoke, remote in one hand while the other smoothed over Penny’s back, “anybody have any suggestions?”

“Not Star Wars,” Tony spoke up, tone light as he put his arms around Peter from behind, kissing the side of the teenager’s head, “we’ve been marathoning them for days and there’s still more.”

“Star Wars is great,” he automatically argued, forcing his body not to relax into the hold.

“What about a fantasy film instead of sci-fi then? JARVIS, could you show us options?”

The men all bickered casually over their options, but Peter turned his head to Penny and spoke in Hebrew, “what’s wrong Penina?”

The words seemed to startle her out of a trance and she turned to look at him, confusion in her eyes; he very rarely used her Hebrew name. It was common for Jewish kids to have a Hebrew name tucked away, the one that families generally used versus the English name they used by day. Penina Shoshana was her full name, her grandfather had been Penuel and was the reason Penny and Peter both had P names. Shoshana was named for her father, Ephraim.

“Nothing my love,” she answered quietly, eyelashes fluttering slightly and he could see the shine of tears in her eyes, “nothing is wrong.”

Peter squirmed out of Tony’s arms and walked to the couch, grabbing her arm and pulling her down onto the same cushion as him. He wrapped himself around her like an octopus, sending Steve a dark look when the blond looked back curiously, and tugged her closer.

“Don’t lie, please tell me what’s wrong?”

“Palti Chayim,” Penny rarely used his Hebrew name, only when she was chastising him, but it was all she could choke out, her eyes so full of fear, “don’t look at him like that, don’t make them angry.”

“But—”

“Hey, we’re feeling a little left out here,” Tony plopped onto the couch directly next to him and wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders, “I’m surprised you both know Hebrew so well, you must’ve learned it as kids?”

Peter tried not to grit his teeth; he was trying to have a serious conversation with his sister but if he didn’t answer Tony promptly and with the correct attitude he’d get called bratty and get threatened with a punishment. Penny was in a fragile state— Peter literally didn’t know how she’d react to him being threatened right in front of her. He’d never seen her like this before, he was missing key variables.

“Penny knows it better than me,” he answered, “I learned when I was little but Penny spoke it enough that it kept me from forgetting it all once we moved in with aunt May. Penina, please tell me what’s going on? What did they do to you?”

“Penina, is that what Penny is short for?” Bucky questioned, coming to sit far too close to them on the opposite side of the couch from Tony, “I thought it was Penelope?”

“Jewish kids have Hebrew names most of the time,” Peter forced himself to bite out, “They chose Penina first with Penny for a nickname, Penelope was just an easy derivative for an English name.”

“Peter you must let it go,” Penny’s voice almost startled him, especially coming from so close to his ear.

“I’m not letting it go! What did they do to you?”

Steve was watching him. The blond man was careful and incredibly discreet but Peter felt the tingle run up his spine. There was a dangerous energy behind the muscle bound giant, he retained the golden retriever essence but there was red behind it. Penny immediately clocked it as well.

“Do not speak in such a tone, Palti,” Penny’s tone was more controlled than Peter’s was but the panic was still there and she followed it up with a string of words he vaguely recognized from the Torah, mumbled so fast under her breath he couldn’t make out the individual words.

“Penny,” her head turned, nervous brown eyes landing on Steve.

It was probably a good thing that Peter couldn’t tell what was going on in her head. The fear she’d experienced for 7 and a half fucking hours of being alone with Steve. A man that she witnessed torture another human being without hesitation just 24 hours ago. He would’ve lost it and his captors would realize he was far more like Penny than they could’ve imagined.

“You need to speak a language we can understand, your tone is making us nervous,” the man’s words were calm and his tone was even.

There wasn’t a hint of agitation that Peter could hear but Penny’s spine stiffened and she nodded immediately, lips pressed tightly shut.

“Now, what movie should we watch?”

“They hurt you, didn’t they? Tell me, I’ll tell Tony, he’ll take you from them!”

“Palti Chayim, stop it!” An accent laced Penny’s voice, audible beneath her panic, “Now! You have to stop!”

“Peter,” Tony’s hand casually found the back of his neck, fingers massaging into the tissue gently but pointedly, “between the three of us, we know at least 10 different languages. You can pick any of those, but you need to pick one we understand.”

The order raced across his skin like a spiderweb, chills chasing down his spine at the nearly tangible sensation. Disobeying direct orders from Tony was one of Peter’s least favourite things to do, both because it resulted in a punishment 9 times out of 10 and because it meant Tony would be upset with him. He hated making Tony upset, despite everything.

Once again his brain repeated what he’d been thinking for days and days, ‘if you just hadn’t of hurt Penny, if you’d left her out of this, why did you have to do this, it didn’t have to be this way’. How was he supposed to deal with such an offense, the blatant disregard for his sister’s life. Penny was the single most important person in Peter’s life but he was just supposed to deal with how she’d been treated? Like an abused fucking dog. Passed off to whatever schlep would take her, beaten into obedience and expected to be kind and loving and loyal and beaten again every time she wasn’t.

“They hurt her,” he snapped, eyes locked on where Bucky was sitting so close to her, “they had to have, there’s no other reason Penny would be acting like this!”

“Peter—” Bucky cut Penny off before she could finish, standing up with her in his arms and taking just a couple of steps away from the couch.

“Hush, babydoll,” the way the man arranged her in his arms bothered him, the way he rolled her head against his shoulder and tilted his head down to shadow her face. Who the fuck did he think he was, touching his sister like that?

“Peter, I want you to listen to me,” Tony took his chin in hand and turned his face, “Penny has not been hurt, she was punished for acting out last night. She wasn’t hurt at all.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Peter snapped to his feet, heart racing under his ribs, “Y-You think whatever they did to her… was okay? S-She’s traumatized! I’ve never seen her so terrified in my entire fucking life, what the fuck Tony!?”

“Baby boy if you don’t calm down immediately there will be consequences. You’re getting your sister worked up over a punishment that should’ve been put to bed the moment it was over. You’ve earned yourself a couple of punishments yourself, haven’t you?” There was a cold calmness in the man’s voice, at war with the fire in his eyes.

Part of him wanted to believe that Tony couldn’t possibly mean what he was saying. Penny was broken, something was wrong. How could he say that, as if she deserved to be traumatized for whatever stupid behavior she’d displayed.

It would’ve been okay, maybe, for her to have gotten a spanking like he had before. It wasn’t a lasting punishment, it wouldn’t follow her in her nightmares. It certainly wouldn’t bother her while she was awake—he’d bet Penny would chew literal glass before allowing herself to act like she was in pain from something like a spanking. Whatever this was, it had changed her entire demeanor into something he wasn’t entirely sure he recognized. It wasn’t just some punishment for misbehaving, they’d hurt her and he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care.

Peter turned to look where Penny had managed to wriggle her way onto her feet despite Bucky’s arms remaining loosely around her, swallowing heavily, “I’m going to get us out of here, Penina. I promise Penny, whatever I have to do to get us away, I’m gonna do it.”

He didn’t notice Tony’s phone go off hardly a second later, but he did feel the way Tony’s hand closed over the back of his neck. The pressure steadily increased until he found himself squeezing his eyes shut, apprehension tangling its way down his nervous system.

“I know that you were told to speak a different language—twice, baby. You deliberately disobeyed. You’re not going anywhere, sweet boy, there’s no getting away,” Tony’s voice vibrated through his entire body, his knees trembled, “and you should know better than to be acting out like this.”

Already weak kneed, Peter was quick to collapse under the weight of Tony’s hand. The landing was jarring and painful but Tony immediately stepped up closer and pulled him to lean his weight against his legs, cheek pressed firmly to the hollow in the older man’s hip by a tight grip on his hair. Peter managed to tilt his head back just enough to see the way Tony looked down at him, the stern expression on his face.

It only lasted a second or two. At least, that’s what it felt like in Peter’s eyes. One moment, Tony was staring down at him, flexing the hand clenching his hair and the next he was just gone. All 125lbs of Penny had bulldozed him, shoulder finding prime real estate exactly where his sternum ended and the fragile connection of his false ribs became the most tenuous. There was a horribly awkward inhale followed by a pained wheeze. Tony stumbled and hit the ground and then everyone moved at the same time.

Penny darted forward to grab the injured man, hands already tucked into fists as she landed on her knees at his side. Before she could enact anymore acts of brutality Bucky and Steve had burst forward. Steve hauled Penny up and over his shoulder in less than a second, completely immune to her screaming obscenities. Bucky followed Tony to the floor and carefully felt out the prone man’s ribs, flesh fingers gliding over bruising skin as delicately as possible. He couldn’t find any fractures, nothing was obvious other than the abrasions, but they’d still have to call Bruce down. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too disturbed by the late hour. Or the multiple house calls in one day (to the same floor even, they were fucked).

“Penny, babydoll—twice in two days?” Steve sighed heavily as he manipulated her carefully in his arms, her own pinned to her sides.

“I’ll fucking kill him, I don’t care!” She screamed, tears of fear and rage slipping from her eyes, “Don’t you ever touch him! I’ll fucking die first, Stark! I’ll kill you myself!”

Penny’s knee slipped from Steve’s grip and she immediately drove it up straight into his face. She hit the ground full force, back taking the entire impact and knocking the breath out of her. Steve stumbled back a step or two before going through the coffee table, smashing it to bits while blood spewed everywhere.

Recovering from her rough landing took more time than she’d anticipated, but Penny managed to weakly grasp the leg of the coffee table, broken off in Steve’s spill, on her way back to her feet.

Peter’s eyes went almost impossibly wide at the sight; Penny had played softball since she could walk. She’d been such a good batter that had she finished high school, she likely would’ve gotten a full ride scholarship for the position. She hit harder than any other player in the state, harder than the majority of the baseball teams’ players in the area. Her wrist rolled and the wood spun around her hand before coming to rest in her palm again.

Bucky didn’t even really see it coming, but Peter watched it happen in slow motion. The man’s head turned one frame at a time while Penny adjusted her grip and wound up. He just barely managed to raise his metal arm in time to deflect the tail end of the hit.

Steve and Tony couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen Bucky hit the ground like a sack of bricks. A completely uncontrolled fall, head bouncing off the luckily carpeted floor. Tony would’ve been next, had Steve not gathered his bearings with an unsettling swiftness. He rose to his feet, blood pouring from his nose, and grabbed Penny from behind. It was fortunate that by now she’d run through her repertoire of bear hug hold escapes because she didn’t try anything that managed to surprise him, maintaining a carefully balanced amount of pressure and support.

“Shhhh, babydoll, you’re gonna go to sleep now,” Steve’s hand closed over her throat, thumb covering her pulse with a careful pressure, “just go to sleep baby, we’ll take care of this.”

“D-Don’t hurt her,” Peter felt a panic attack coming on with rapid speed, twisting in his chest and knotting around his heart, “please, please—”

“It’s okay, Peter, you don’t have to worry, Penny’s safe,” the blond’s words were gentle despite the situation, despite the fact that Penny went limp in his arms within seconds and his eyes locked on the boy’s face, “all we want is for you both to be safe and happy and we’re going to figure out how to make that work. It’s our fault that everything’s been so difficult on you both, but we’ll fix it. Just give us a chance sweetheart, I promise we’re going to fix it.”

There was a shocking amount of meaning portrayed in so few sentences. They were going to figure it out, make it work. They were going to fix it and Peter had no idea what that entailed and no idea what impact it would have on his sister but he understood now. He understood why Penny looked so exhaustingly terrified; Steve Rogers was covered in blood, still actively bleeding while his nose swelled and his eyes bruised. His lover was knocked out cold on the floor, next to one of his best friends who still gasped for every other breath.

The golden retriever of a man transformed into something unseemly. There was a darkness in his eyes, a sharpness to his face, and a cunning cut to his stare. He was terrifying in a way that Tony couldn’t emulate, one that caused a primal sense of fear to build in the back of one's skull.

But Peter Parker was a fucking genius and if these bastards thought for a moment they could outsmart him they were wrong. Because if you gathered all that determination and all that ruthlessness together, it collected into a powder keg. So maybe he was the powder keg, not Penny. Penny was just the match and Peter was the one about to explode.

*edited 10/6/2020 — adjusted dates

#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!mcu #let's review #let's review chapter 16

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klayr-de-gall · 4 years

Note

Okay. 34 & 78, Harringrove. Ooof!

Thank you so much for this wonderful prompt! And also for all your support! It means sooo much to me! I hope you like what I did come up with!

Prompts from this List.

34: “I don’t deserve to be loved.”

78: “Hold me and never let me go.”

One Night At Tina’s

Honestly, Billy had just given into Tommy’s begging to go to this party - apparently the hip spot to be, an absolute shindig! - because there had been the promise of free alcohol and desperate and horny High School teens. All he had to do was throw on an absolute low effort costume and get in his Camaro, drive over to Tina’s, bet his eyelashes to be let in and be greeted with a red plastic cup with questionable content.

Maybe he could get his dick wet tonight, could get some desperate small-town- chick on her knees for him. If he could manage to find one of the more boyish ones it would be easier to pretend. To imagine that he was still back in Cali. Where things had been easy and he could find himself a cute boy to kiss any other day. But out here, one step away from the wilderness, Billy had already given up on finding someone interesting - someone interested - before he had even arrived.

And the crowd - if he could even call this pathetic gathering anything besides a lame-ass party - wasn’t nearly big enough to get lost in anyway, to be some anonymous face between faces. Billy is the new guy, an exotic bird in the middle of all these Indiana wallflowers, of course, people are staring at him like he is a rare exhibit in a good damn zoo!

He gets through a few hours, drinks, smokes, brakes the former Kings Keg-Stand-Record - Like what? That’s supposed to be hard? - and still, no one has even briefly caught Billy’s eye. The only remotely interesting thing had been the run-in with Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High and currently trailing behind his girlfriend on a short leash. So the fun had only been brief because Billy had been dismissed like he was nothing. And now he wasn’t just bored, he was also pissed as hell.

“Billy!Hey!” Suddenly Hill appears at his side, totally smashed. He swings a sweaty arm around Billy’s shoulders. “I got weed!”

Timmy dangles the joint in front of his nose, not fast enough to pull back when Billy snatches it away before untangling from the drunk boy, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

“This sucks. Don’t follow me.”

Some slurred jelling and protesting follows him through the room, but no one is dumb enough to block Billy’s path.

On his way to find some privacy, just to get away from prying eyes, to smoke the joint in peace, Billy found himself wandering upstairs.

The first door he tries is looked.

The second one leads him right into a bedroom where some third-base-bullshit is happening. He contemplates to stay and watch, seeing as how neither of the lovebirds has noticed him, but the girl sounds too much like someone is gutting a pic, and the boy just has no ass. Uninteresting.

The third door nearly breaks his nose. Or more like the girl that is dashing from the room behind it, determined and fucking drunk, nearly running Billy over even while he probably has 80 pounds of muscles on her. A bit bewildered, Billy looks after her retreating back. At first, he had thought she might be bleeding, but the dribble of whatever red substance she leaves behind on the carpet is too pale and thin to be blood. Maybe punch then.

He picks up on a noise from inside the room, some shuffling. Curiosity gets the better of him and Billy has a little peek. And if that’s not the former King! Finally some fine distraction. Tommy had introduced him to Harrington earlier that night if an intense staring session counted as an introduction at all before the King had dismissed him. So Billy is determined to continue on that interaction. He hadn’t been done staring at Steve. Harington definitely is pretty.

“Look at that. King Steve. Rubbing one out in the bathroom or what?”

Steve looks up, his dark brown eyes sad and big. Harrington looks like someone has kicked his puppy, or more like he is the kicked puppy himself.

“Not in the mood, Hargrove.”

He curls away from Billy, turns his back to him like he is no threat at all. Billy feels the anger rise in his chest, has to grind his teeth against it but can’t hold it in completely, let’s some of it spill out bitter and mean.

“What’s with the long face? Did your princess finally ditch you?”

Billy expects any kind of reaction, but getting a faceful of sad, angry brunette hadn’t been one of them. Steve is practically glowing while he shoves Billy backward, his back and head hitting the doorframe hard enough to see stars for a moment. Harrington looks beautiful in his fury, all pissed and shaking with it.

“Fuck. Off!”

A feral grin spreads over Billy’s lips. His skin starts itching for a fight, he can feel it.

“That’s all you got, Stevie? Your tantrums might work with your parents but not with me.”

The shift in tone happens immediately. Steve’s eyes glass over and he draws his eyebrows together, not in anger but in hurt. The expression hits Billy harder as every fist would have.

“My parents… they were right… Nancy just… I don’t deserve to be loved…”

“What the shit, Harrington?”

Turning away again, Steve rubs a hand over his face, taking a deep, shuddering breath, all flight leaving his body.

“Just leave, Hargrove.”

Stunned by the sudden change in the mood, Billy can only gab at the brown haired teen, feeling a bit dumb before his brain finally catches up.

And the thing is, Steve might have told him to leave, but his eyes say something completely different. ‘Hold me and never let me go’. Okay Maybe Billy is taking some liberties here, but why the hell would he leave a heartbroken, pretty boy alone? Instead, he takes a step forward, ignores how Harrington flinches, and throws his arm around his shoulder in some mimicking of a one-armed hug. Steve goes stiff, then tries to throw him off with a confused grunt. He struggles so much that Billy has to use his other arm too, to hold him against his body.

Breathing hard, Harrington finally subsides after a bit of wrestling, probably realizing that he doesn’t stand a chance against Billy’s way more muscular body. So the King just flops against him. He goes all soft and pliant, standing a bit slumped, his nose resting against Billy’s beer-slick collarbone, breath tickling. Billy really has to take a big breath to keep the blood in his body from traveling south.

“What now?” Steve’s voice sounds muffled against his skin. He is still not trying to get rid of Billy’s embrace, seems to have decided that he likes it and even press a bit closer.

“How about getting high?”

Needing his arms free but too afraid the Bambi he had just caught would try to escape, Billy grabs Harrington’s thighs and lifts him up onto the counter beside them. He steps between Steve’s legs while producing the joint and his zippo from one of the pockets of his leather jacket. Seemingly registering for the first time how close they are, Steves pretty brown eyes widen in shock.

“Hey, what? My girl just left, you can’t-”

“Chill out, Princess. Or are you suggesting?”

A blush creeps up Steve’s neck, colors his cheeks in a delicate, dark red, while he scoffs and looks away. Billy wants to bite that blush.

He brings the joint to his lips and takes the first drag, stays between that long legs.

Hawkins just got way more interesting.

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#lissieisspacey #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #prompt fill #my writing #steve and nancy break up #and billy picks up the pieces #season 2 fix it #things we could have had

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missstormcaller · 6 years

Text

CAN’T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD Vol.II Part 2 Full Translation

(This is part 5 on the app, chapter 7 continued.)

A few days ago - Department of Research and Development.

"Good grief, quite the stubborn one aren't you. I'm surprised your attitude is still uncooperative." Kurotsuchi Mayuri remained expressionless in the presence of the test subject before his eyes as he gave utterance to these words. There stood a large cylindrical glass tank. Inside, it was half filled with some sort of liquid solution, a woman who was currently submerged in that solution only up to the lower half of her body, raised her voice in anger.

"…How does it look as if I'm going to bend to your will under these circumstances? Huuhh!?" Faced with Candice who was in a state of containment as though she was sealed from head to toe, her limbs and the nape of her neck fitted with things like tubes and electrodes, Kurotsuchi Mayuri addressed her in an aloof manner. "That's an odd thing to say. The very moment you were able to shout in such a loud and clear voice, you might at least have realised that you are receiving the highest level of privilege as a specimen." "I have long been aware that you're a nutcase sadist." (TN -- she says サディスト [sadisuto] which is a loanword from the term 'sadist', that in mind the next line should make sense) "What a pity. If I were to put it in your own choice of words, I am not a sadist, but a scientist." (TN -- Mayuri says サイエンティスト [saientisuto] which is of course a loanword from the term 'scientist') "…But you don't deny that you're a nutcase huh." "Looking at it from an average person's point of view, it's only natural that you would perceive the work of a genius as strange. I feel a sense of pity towards those who can do nothing but waver in the face of unexplored endeavours and try to exclude themselves from it. It would only be a waste of time to deal with such people one after another." Candice clicked her tongue at Mayuri who displayed a haughty yet serene attitude. "And? Am I supposed to express gratitude and shed tears for the Shinigami punks who treated my injuries, and at the same time become your pawn?" "It is not accurate to say that your injuries were treated. Rather, we 'rebooted' something that was almost a corpse. Well anyway, during the time you were half a corpse, the experiments which included an autopsy are more or less complete." "Wait a minute… what did you just say!? Autopsy!?" "As far as I'm concerned, I rescued you lot from your cruel master who tried to eat his pets so untidily and without mercy too, not to mention casting you all away, so it's certainly not too farfetched to expect one or two words of gratitude." Whilst fixing a glare at Mayuri who said as such, Candice flashed a bold smile. "Ha… you merely removed the hunting dog collar from our necks. I will not fall so low as to choose a scumbag like you to be my new master."

"It's unthinkable that you would refer to me as scum. Given that I am known as a prominent gentleman among members of the Gotei 13, I don't want to treat women roughly."

"You have the nerve to say something like that and yet you don't consider this rough!?" While disregarding her cries of protest, Mayuri released a heavy sigh as he continued to speak. "In any case, my research into your rare species naturally came to a close long ago. The 'subspecies' known as Yhwach… no, I should say 'original species' to be more accurate shouldn't I… anyway, although it is somewhat trickier to carry out an analysis on you lot who have shared his powers, as long as I have a sample, synthesis of results is an easy thing. Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to continuously analyse things until things become messy, just like it did with past samples." Mayuri recalls the many gruesome experiments he used to perform on Quincies. Sometimes he would chop them up, sometimes he would grind them down to fine particles, sometimes he would drill holes into their skulls while they were still alive, and sometimes he would let the Quincy scorch their own fledglings to death during these 'experiment' days. Perhaps there is a reason why the same is not being done to Candice and the others today, whether it's simply 'because that's not necessary' as far as Mayuri is concerned, or there was a change of heart regarding some aspect of his research, this is something that would be impossible for others to comprehend. ---- As for Candice who knew nothing of the miserable fate of those Quincies much less comprehend such a thing, she was unable to accept his words as anything but a mere bluff. "It doesn't make any sense to me. If you've finished your analysis, shouldn't we have been disposed of right away? However, you don't think you can just kill me do you? Because I'll turn every last one of you assholes to ashes before I die! Starting with that Kurosaki Ichigo guy who made a fool of me!" Whilst it looks like idle talk, Candice spoke with an expression in her eyes that said she was brimming with motivation to put up a resistance for as long as she was alive. "That man has already left Soul Society. He is a naive man. So if he was to observe your current circumstances, he would probably complain that what I'm doing is unjust." Easily brushing aside her gaze which looked as if it could shoot a person to death, Mayuri gradually began to insert the 'candy’ into his words. (TN -- In Japan they say "candy and whip" to refer to what is commonly known in the west as a "carrot and stick" approach.) "Anyway, with regard to internal research, no more specimens are required. However, when it comes to actual combat in the future… that is to say, if the lot of you are uncooperative in an examination of your performance in battle, then it will be necessary to replace you with substitutes." "Substitutes…?" Mayuri fixed a piercing stare towards a perplexed Candice as he crafted his words. "I'm talking about that zombie girl and the little girl with a big appetite who mobilised together with the lot of you. It appears that recently, they've been sneaking around Hueco Mundo for some reason or another. Well, all my research concerning the zombie has been completed, and I can also make an educated guess about the big eater's abilities so I'm not particularly interested in them." "……?"

For a moment, she couldn't quite grasp what was being said, but her memory circuit soon made the connection, the sparks of hope that had already disappeared, began to flicker once more. "Hey… just a minute. Lil and Gigi are still alive!? Well then, is Bambi alive too!?" "Ah, if your talking about the girl with the bombs, it seems she's still zombified. Honestly, the one time they had made an appearance before me, they didn't even notice that I had administered tracking bacteria into her system, these so-called Quincies truly are an unsuspecting bunch." At Mayuri's unsettling grin, Candice masked her slight joy with irritation as she spoke up. "…If that's the case, why are you leaving them alone? And even regardless of you, other Shinigami will have no reason to turn a blind eye to them will they?" "Much to my disappointment, in the midst of war, the captain commander and others took the liberty of accepting the proposal to put up a united front against Yhwach. So it's come to be that those girls are no longer considered hostile forces. Dear me, even if it was for the sake of bringing down Yhwach, I think that's being far too lenient." "…United front? You mean, they betrayed his majesty…?" Candice was puzzled by the various facts she was hearing for the first time. However, since she distinctly remembered the feeling of Yhwach robbing her of her powers in her final moments, she extended the scope of her speculations in her own way. "… or rather, his majesty seriously wanted us to…… if that's the case, judging from Lil's personality, she would certainly……" In response to Candice who was mumbling to herself whilst contemplating something, Mayuri proceeded to take the conversation further. Like converting poison, injected in the form of information, into sweet candy. "How about it? For my part, it is said that I have compassion coursing through my veins instead of blood, that is, if the lot of you are compliant…" "……I'd even be willing to return the specimens I've finished experimenting on, back to their Quincy friends."

Present time. In reality, Candice Catnipp did not believe Mayuri's words. She never trusted Shinigami to begin with, but among them, that man named Kurotsuchi Mayuri in particular could not be trusted. Nonetheless, Candice considered it worthwhile to just play along on this occasion and have some means of connecting with the outside world. She took into consideration the possibility of working together with Meninas McAllon who was taken prisoner alongside her, and even the chance of catching the Shinigami off guard and taking advantage of the opportunity if she was able to get in contact with Lil and the others who were still out there. Of course, she can't be too optimistic, but as far as Candice was concerned, it's enough reason to temporarily pose as a Shinigami puppet. Even if the same had been included among Kurotsuchi Mayuri's calculations. That's why Candice did not plan to make any compromise for the task she was assigned to. "Incapacitate the Fullbringer and then secure him." As a Quincy, Candice had always fought against Hollows or Shinigami, however she knew next to nothing about the existence of Fullbringers. She felt as though Lil had told her something about them before, but after all, determining that they were a very small group of gifted individuals who weren't even hostile forces, she didn't pay enough attention to the topic. Nevertheless, Candice had no intention of being regretful of that. This is because she strongly prides herself on the idea that no matter what kind of foe, they would all fail to to keep up with her lightning strikes, nor could they even hope to ward off such an attack. Be that as it may, that pride was once smashed to pieces during the war with the Shinigami, beginning with Kurosaki Ichigo. ---- But it was precisely for this reason, that when her first arrow was repelled and sent flying by that big sword, her limit which was known as being short-tempered, was easily sidestepped. And then, utilising a transfer technique which employed the use of shadows characteristic of the "Wandenreich" and derived from the 'equipment' Mayuri had prepared, she was able to throw an extra large bolt of lightning at point-blank range towards her targets. Although her might has significantly weakened now that she has lost the power of her Vollständig, the blow from her "Electrocution" still far surpasses any lightning in the realm of nature. Kurotsuchi Mayuri who was observing the lightning strike from a fair distance away, shook his head whilst his eyes narrowed. "Oh for crying out loud, apparently the meaning of words 'Securing a target' has not been properly conveyed." The lightning strike was unleashed with the intention of completely reducing her opponents to burnt cinders. As a thunderous noise that tore through the very space itself reached his ears after a few seconds of delay, Mayuri released a sigh with a blank expression on his face. "I don't remember preserving her so haphazardly to the point where her brain tissue would be made to decay." At Mayuri's back, the throaty voice of a man could be heard. "I told y~o~u so, didn't I? I said that tomboy seems to lack refinement, and therefore she's not suited to this kind of delicate operation…" "Who permitted you to speak?" Without turning his face to look, Mayuri pushed a button in one of his hands whereupon the crackling sound of an electric shock came from behind him, corresponding with that, the shrieks of a few men and women resounded through the air. "Hmph…in the presence of ultimate beauty, this amount of lightning is practically a spotlight for me!" "Argh… quit making any more noise! Why must we all be implicated and receive an electric shock!" "Perhaps it's better to ask, why the all-important Charlotte is jumping around with so much health and vitality!" "He increased the strength just when I thought I was steadily getting used to this…" Four people characterised by white garments and scars on their bodies, each sang their own praises or let slip words of complaint. Charlotte Chuhlhourne. Dordoni Alessandro Del Socaccio. Cirucci Sanderwicci. Luppi Antenor. They are powerful members of the "Arrancar" who would not normally exist in Soul Society. Treated as deceased and brought back to life in the Department of Research and Development long before Candice and the others, they were forced to serve as members of the "Kurotsuchi Corpse Unit" which simultaneously held elements of being both a test subject and a hunting dog. In the end, Dordoni and Cirucci who were well prepared to accept jobs in the form of a contract, have not yet lost heart for the sake of their own objectives, Luppi has half abandoned hope and accepted the state of affairs around him, and Charlotte seems to enjoy his current situation to a certain extent, each had varying agendas. "What's more, was it really necessary for us to come along on this trip?" At Dordoni's query, Mayuri uttered his reply in a detached manner and without averting his eyes from the lightning.

"You will be a sort of suppression device in the event of a malfunction with the Quincy specimens. Haven't I effectively communicated to you my benevolent mercy which is allowing you to breath in the outside air this very moment?" "If you merely want to suppress them, you can use the electric shocks and poisons you're so proud of." "Hey wait, quit provoking him. What's to be done if we receive electric shocks by being implicated again?" Cirucci muttered idle complaints and Luppi rebuked her for it, meanwhile Charlotte struck an enigmatic pose in a spot that was a little further away. "Anyway, what happened to the promise of letting me meet up with that orange-haired niño?" At Dordoni's words, a bored looking Mayuri gave a shrug of his shoulders as he replied. "I'm going to bring you along to the next best thing. After all, the target to be captured this time, was a substitute Shinigami same as that Kurosaki Ichigo… a man who lost his life by suffering a defeat at the hands of Kurosaki Ichigo." Hearing those words, Dordoni's facial expression became tense. "Woah… he actually killed a fellow human being rather than a Hollow like us, has he cast aside that innocent nature of his? If that's the case, I suppose I can't call him ‘niño’ anymore." "He's quite an extraordinary specimen, for a human. Moreover, he is also the man that once cut down the Quincy Ishida Uryū." Then, Cirucci who appeared to be uninterested until just now, raised her voice. "Huh!? Just a minute, stop screwing around! You don't mean to tell me that irritating Quincy four-eyes, was easily knocked down by that nobody over there!?" "Oh, and if it's true, then that fact alone would be proof enough that he's not a simple 'nobody'. Well, that's precisely why I ordered the Quincy corpses to recover him this time." In response to Mayuri who continued with his observations, Luppi mutters something as if speaking to himself whilst looking in the direction of the flash of light which gleamed brightly. "Recover you say, at this rate there's probably nothing left of them by now." However, there was no sign of anxiety on Mayuri's face. "…Interesting." "Huh? …What is, that?" And finally, the smoke that rose up from the scene and the afterglow that was scorched into the back of their eyelids simultaneously began to fade, watching what materialised within their field of vision ---- every member of the corpse unit including Luppi, widened their eyes. Whilst smiling in content, Mayuri compared the data streaming in from his observation mechanism with the spectacle before him. "If that is part of the power of his 'Fullbring', then I am truly intrigued."

#CAN'T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD #CFYOW #BLEACH #bleach novel #mytranslationtag #Mayuri Kurotsuchi #Candice Catnipp #charlotte chuhlhourne #luppi antenor #cirucci sanderwicci #Dordoni #ginjo kugo

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hiqueenbambiwaugh-blog · 6 years

Text

Bloodlines

Author: Dreamwvr73 (HiQueenBambiWaugh)

Fandom: The Magicians

Genre: AU, some canon events included

Word Count: 13000 +

Warnings: Possible triggers for mental health treatment, some mention of sexual assault

Summary: The Vikings are in Fillory to establish a relationship with the flourishing kingdom. When the king questions the lineage of High Queen Margo, will there be peace or war between the two kingdoms?

Author’s Notes: This is for the Welter’s Challenge Trials Big Bang, Tier 1! I don’t own The Magicians, they were created by much cooler people than me, but I thank them! I also want to thank All-Hale-Eliot... my BFF that was my own personal cheerleader when I had my doubts and served as my editor when the story was done. This is my first Magicians Fic.

Castle Whitespire was quiet for the night, and the only light that shone was from the torches along the wall. High Queen Margo’s black boots made echoing footfalls as she walked down the hall. The high queen wore a black silky shirt with gold sparkles all over it; her pants were black with gold piping down the legs.

Margo was muttering to herself as she stomped down the hall, then finally arrived at her destination: Eliot’s common room with its solid oak double doors. Margo gripped the cold gold handles, opened the doors, and poked her head in. There sat her husband Eliot in his favorite grey paisley outfit, his dark head slumped to one side. Clearly, the high king had been working late and had fallen asleep at his table.

“Oh Baboo…” Margo sighed as her anger bled out of her and she stepped into the room. She did an about face then closed the doors behind her. She crossed the room and went over to Eliot’s thick and heavy wooden chair. Eliot’s head lolled, and there was heavy stubble along his cheeks and neck, a sign of how hard he had been working.

Awww poor baby. She thought to herself. He works so hard…

“El, wake up.” She gently touched his face and straightened his head. The motion and touch made Eliot’s eyes open, and the exhausted amber depths peered at her.

“Bambi-” He said, bringing one big hand up and rubbing it across his face. “What time is it?”

“After midnight.” She turned to see the papers scattered all the shining surface of Eliot’s table.

“Christ, its late. A queen in your condition should be resting.”

“And what about you?” Margo motioned to Eliot’s round belly. “Idri didn’t just knock me up you realize.”

“I prefer the term with child, thank you very much.” Eliot swatted at her hand then gently touched his belly rubbing it. His thoughts drifted back to the night both he and Margo got pregnant. Shortly after the quadruple wedding, the royals had gone to the Outer Isles for their honeymoon. A rare moon had occurred on the island, and the resulting threesome between Margo, Eliot, and Idri, had resulted in the high king and high queen getting pregnant. The shock of being pregnant had shocked Eliot so much the high king had nearly fainted, but the specialness of it slowly won over his fear. Eliot’s thoughts snapped back to the present.

“Quentin and Gabriel?” Eliot asked as he stood up.

“Got back a few minutes ago, which is why I’m here. Can’t go to bed without the high king.”

“Fine,” Eliot sighed. “Our bed is a lot more comfortable than that chair.” He touched his hands to his lower back and leaned back, stretching.

“God, my back is killing me.” He groaned.

“The baby is putting pressure on your spine.” Margo stepped behind him and rubbed his lower back. “And wearing those boots isn’t helping either.”

“Me without my boots? You might as well ask me to run around naked.” Eliot pouted.

“For Christ’s sake El, you’re already ten feet tall, do you really need the help? You look like a curly, hairy tree!”

Eliot sighed. “Bambi, sweetie, can we talk about this later? I’m too tired to tongue battle with you.”

Margo nodded then slipped her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed into his back.

“Sorry, just tired too. Let’s go cuddle with our trio of hot husbands waiting for us in the royal bed chamber.”

“That’s the best idea ever.” Eliot slipped his arm around Margo, then the two of them headed out of Eliot’s common room.

***** *********** **********

The sound of the shower turned off and a few moments later, the bathroom door opened. King Idri wore a white robe, his dark skin shining from the shower. He had a thick white towel in his hands and used it to dry off the top of his smooth head. Sitting on the king-size bed were Quentin and Gabriel, the two men in robes, one blue and one grey. Quentin’s hair was almost to his shoulders, and the silver streak in his bangs drew Idri’s dark eyes. The younger man was reading a book and then turned to look at him.

“Hey, ready for bed?” Quentin set his leather journal book aside.

Idri then shifted his gaze to Gabriel, and if there was one unusual choice for a husband Eliot had made, it was Gabriel MacKenzie . Half witch and half magician, Gabriel was 6 feet tall, had broad shoulders, long legs, and the build of a California surfer with a shaggy mop of blonde hair. Gabriel’s handsome face and strong jaw was only accentuated by his light blue eyes, and a perfect bright smile that could easily earn him top billing in a Hollywood movie. Though despite his good looks, the combination of power he had was unprecedent, and he could perform spells with ease and talent. Eliot and Gabriel had met after Eliot was newly crowned the high king of Fillory. Adjusting to his new role was not an easy one, and Eliot had made frequent trips to earth. During one such short trip home, Gabriel had crossed his path in New York City, and it was love at first sight for them both. Idri stepped closer to the bed close to the two men.

“I’m ready for bed, and perhaps more.” He reached out and ran his finger along Quentin’s silver streak, a permanent reminder of when Quentin had faced down the fairy queen some months earlier, then leaned in and kissed him gently. Quentin returned it, blushing as he tucked a stray hair behind his ear. Idri then turned and captured Gabriel’s lips in a deep kiss; the young man returned it and began opening the tie on Idri’s robe.

“Mmmhpp!” Idri broke the kiss and laughed as he gently gripped Gabriel’s hand. “Patience my husband, we must wait for our other spouses.”

Gabriel pouted as he got up. “Then let me go get them,” He tightened the tie on his grey robe and rounded the bed.

He was about to open the doors when they opened on their own, and there stood the high king and high queen. “Shit! I was just coming to get you.” Gabriel tugged them both inside, and into his arms. “Mmmmm. Now that is what I need,” Gabriel nudged both of their heads.

“Yeah…” Quentin sighed as he watched. “Oh Gabriel, would you quit being a spog?”

Margo dropped her arms from Gabriel’s waist. “Quentin, what the hell is a spog?”

“Spouse hog.” Eliot answered for her then kissed Gabriel before stepping away from him. He went over to Quentin and slipped an arm around his waist.

“Don’t worry Quenny, plenty of me to go around.” Eliot drew Quentin’s head to his chest and closed his eyes.

“Spog,” Gabriel made a face then closed and locked the double bedroom doors. “You make me sound like Smaug’s country cousin.”

“Come and help me get undressed, Spog.” Margo wrinkled her nose at him then went to the walk-in closet. She opened the doors and stepped inside. Gabriel grinned and followed her into it, the double doors closing behind them both.

Quentin closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Eliot’s long, lean body in his arms and how his growing belly only accentuated his lovely shape. Oh, Ember, I love him so much. Quentin thought, then remembered the first time he had seen Eliot lying on top of the Brakebills sign. I thought he was a hallucination, and then part of me prayed he wasn’t because I fell in love with him in that moment.

“Quentin, if we stay like this much longer I’ll be asleep on my feet.” Eliot’s voice broke Quentin out of his thoughts and let go of him.

“Sorry, sorry, just…” Quentin backed off fast.

“Just what?” Eliot asked as he gently removed his crown and set it on the special purple velvet pillow with gold piping that sat on top of one of the oak nightstands on both sides of the bed.

“I like holding you.” Quentin said softly as he watched his spouse.

Eliot smiled as he unbuttoned his grey paisley jacket. Ever since the group of magicians had decided to get married to be one happy polyamorous family, they had all taken a vow to have total honesty, no matter what. Though it had been tough for Quentin to be that open, he slowly had been learning to express how he felt to his spouses.

“We have that meeting with the Vikings tomorrow, and we need to get some rest to make sure everything is ready. You know how anal Tick can be, and I don’t mean the good kind.” With that, Eliot climbed into the big bed and waved for his spouses to join him.

The last of the torches blew out, and Whitespire was silent and peaceful as the royal family settled into bed.

********** *********************

The next morning dawned cold, and the servants bustled to make sure that all the rooms in the castle were warm, especially the throne room. Margo was up before dawn and had slipped out of the bedroom to oversee preparations. The Viking contingent was due by 10 am, and she wanted plenty of time to get the castle ready, and then to get dressed herself. Margo barked out orders wearing nothing but a pink silk robe and her crown, which made for an interesting sight. Finally, the food was being made, the throne room was being set up with a large table, and all the fancy gold plates, silverware, and goblets were being polished up and set onto it. Margo glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall, and with one hour to spare, she headed back into the royal bed chamber. The others were already up and fussing over their outfits, Eliot being the most vocal. The king-sized bed was covered with clothing and he held each item up to his long, frame.

“Que, what do you think?” Eliot held up light grey pants with a white filmy shirt with see-through sleeves and heavy ruffles at the wrist. Quentin, who was all in black, looked at the outfit and shook his head.

“The pants are nice, but the shirt…” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s too… um…” He tucked a stray hair behind his ear. Eliot blinked at him expectedly, wanting him to finish his thoughts.

“Um what? What about the shirt?”

“From what I hear, these Vikings are pretty tough, and that shirt screams more like you’re doing a revival of Pirates of Penzance.”

“Nothing wrong with musical theater, Que but now is not the time for me to look like Rex Smith.” Eliot kept the pants but dropped the shirt on the bed and picked up a black silk shirt with a long black-and-grey tight-fitting coat with bright silver buttons.

“Oh yes! Now this is butch!”

Margo watched all this as she took her crown off her head and set it on the nightstand. She untied her robe and disappeared into her closet. Gabriel was in there with brown velvet pants on, and nothing else. Margo stopped a moment to admire his muscled chest and arms as he looked through the shirts. He pulled a tan paisley shirt out. One thing that most of the kingdom did not know about Gabriel was his fine sewing skills. Running a kingdom was a tough job, and the half warlock, half magician found sewing very soothing. He frequently made all the royals their clothing, and Eliot especially was delighted at his husband’s sewing ability.

“What do you think, Margie?” He turned to look at her, the shirt up to his broad chest.

“The shirt or everything else?” Margo smiled and went over to him. “You are a genius when it comes to making clothes, Gabriel, and I think you look hot.” The two briefly kissed, then she turned and pulled out a velvet dress with a gold-and-silver embroidered neckline. Gabriel had made her the dress, and a long velvet-and-gold overcoat that had the same embroidery as around the neck and down the sides of the dress to match it. Gabriel saw her choice and smiled.

“You too.”

“Where’s Idri?” Margo parted her robe and let it fall from her arms.

“Idri went out with the knights to greet the Vikings. He wore the white leather and fur outfit I made for him, he looks quite regal.” Gabriel slipped the shirt on and began buttoning it up. He watched as Margo choose her bra and panties and saw how furrowed her brow was.

“Margo… it’s going to be okay.” Gabriel stepped closer to her and touched her shoulders.

“It’s just—this is our first meeting with these guys, and from what we’ve heard, if they don’t make peace, they invade and slaughter. I’m pregnant and El is pregnant, so what if they think we’re easy prey?”

“You know I enchanted all these clothes, no one is going to see the babies, and Eliot can be tough when it comes to protecting his home.”

“You’re right.” Margo straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “I better hurry, I need to make sure Tick has everything ready.”

**** ***** *************

The sounds of marching echoed through the castle, and it made all the royals immediately stop what they were doing. In the throne room, Margo and Eliot glanced at each other.

“Did we stumble into the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade?”

Eliot wrinkled his nose. “Please, I wouldn’t be caught dead on 6th Avenue.”

The sounds grew louder until they were right outside the double doors. Everyone straightened their spines and Margo reached out to take Eliot’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He turned to look at her and smiled, then focused his attention on the doors as they opened. The knights were in blue tunics with the Fillorian crest on their chests and long navy blue matching cloaks, their swords at their sides. Idri’s expression was one one of pride as he escorted half a dozen burly men in. They resembled the starting lineup of a football team with their body size, all of them in various colors of velvet, leather, and chain mail. The leader was tall, with a heavy black beard and shoulder-length curly hair that matched. He had cat-like green eyes and a giant broad sword at his side. He wore solid black with a matching cloak and a heavy gold and jewel-encrusted necklace around his neck.

Idri took him to the base of the stairs then turned to Margo and Eliot.

“High King Eliot, High Queen Margo… may I present King Crissimar.” The burly man bowed his head but casually moved one hand to the hilt of his big sword.

The knights, who were surrounding the stage where the royals sat, all reacted to the move. In one swift movement, the men all drew their swords and pointed them right at the Viking king. The air in the throne room suddenly grew thick with tension. A tall knight with long blond hair moved to the front: he, too, had his sword drawn and moved closer to the king.

“Your sword, Your Majesty. You were permitted to keep it by King Idri, but only if you showed no threat with it.”

King Crissimar slowly raised his hand, palm up. “Forgiveness Sir Knight. You may take my sword and those of my men.”

“May I introduce Sir Alex. He personally guards the royal family.” Eliot said, and Alex gave the Viking a quick, shallow bow.

“The Fillorian knights are here for our protection and yours.” Eliot glanced to the other knights, who then looked to Alex, who nodded. The half dozen men, including King Crissimar, were stripped of their weapons before they stepped back.

King Crissimar straightened as Sir Alex removed his sword, then raised his chin. Eliot saw the look on the Viking king’s face and wondered if he was offended. Once the knights moved back with the weapons, he seemed to ease down.

“You have strong knights and good instincts, King Eliot, I know how I will be safe here. A pleasure to meet you both.” Crissimar’s light green eyes slid to Margo. He stared at her long enough for Margo to shift her stance a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Margo said as he continued to stare. She flicked her gaze to Eliot.

“King Crissimar, are you admiring my queen’s beauty or is there something else on your mind? You’ve hardly taken your eyes off her.”

Crissimar finally shifted his gaze to Eliot. “News of how you became the king of Fillory has spread far and wide. Everyone knows how you were given the knife test, and your royal blood was revealed. However, what is not known is the blood status of the High Queen.”

Crissimar’s men began to murmur behind him, and everyone turned their gaze to Margo. Margo bristled at the attention and stepped forward.

“If you have something to say King Crissimar, you can say it to me.”

Eliot nodded. “Margo is the High Queen, I can assure you she is worthy of the crown.”

The men again began to whisper, and the world stafkarl was heard. Sir Alex frowned as he heard it and he gave a look to Eliot.

“Sir Alex?” Eliot waved him closer, and the knight marched up the stairs to where Eliot stood. He leaned in to whisper to him.

“The word they keep using is Old Norse, it means tramp.” Everyone watched as the blond man conferred with the king. Eliot’s amber eyes suddenly turned fiery and his jaw instantly clenched.

“King Crissimar, do you question the virtue of the High Queen?”

“Of course not, King Eliot.” Crissimar gave Eliot his most charming smile.

“Then why does my Head Knight tell me that the word tramp is what your men are whispering?”

“Tramp?” Margo put her hands on her hips. “You think I’m a tramp?”

King Eliot turned to look at Margo and discreetly shifted his weight. Though he wore shielded clothing to hide his pregnancy, the magic could not help the muscles of his lower back, which were starting to get tired. But he was not about to show any hint or pain or weakness in the presence of the Vikings.

“You dare insult the High Queen?” Quentin stepped forward, his brown eyes burning with fury. “You come into our kingdom and make an accusation like that?”

“We do not look kindly on future allies insulting our spouse.” Gabriel too was on his feet.

Margo looked at Eliot, who put his hands up.

“We must have peace between our two kingdoms, and this is certainly off to a bang-up start.” He sighed and looked back to Crissimar.

“What can we do to prove to you that High Queen Margo is not some…” He looked at Alex.

“Stafkarl.” Alex said, and Eliot wrinkled his nose.

“Stafkarl? Sounds like a venereal disease.” Eliot said, and Margo stared daggers at him. “As I was saying, how can we prove to you that Queen Margo is not some stafkarl in a crown?”

One of Crissimar’s men stepped closer and the Viking king turned so the two could speak. They were speaking Old Norse, and trying to keep it low enough so Alex could not hear them. Finally, the two men turned back to Eliot.

“We have a test for blood purity, much as the one you took, King Eliot. Permit us to test the High Queen, and then the peace process can go forward.”

“And where is this test?” Margo said. Crissimar pretended not to hear her and addressed Eliot.

“The blade and test can be brought from our land, we can send a message and it will take one day for it to arrive.”

“That’s fine.” Eliot stood. “Sir Alex, escort the king and his men to the guest quarters, and post double guards outside the room.”

“Yes, My King.” Alex bowed and motioned to the knights, who formed and escort around King Crissimar and his men. The double doors were then opened, and the group of men all headed out.

******** ************ ***********

After the confrontation in the throne room, the castle and kingdom were abuzz from what had happened with the Viking contingent. Every time the high queen walked into a room, it went instantly silent, and people would lean in close to whisper to each other. Finally, Margo had enough of the whispering and retired to the royal bedchamber, blaming her pregnancy for her absence. The weather outside had turned to snow, and she stood at the window, watching it fall. Having changed out of her clothes, she was back in her pink robe, her crown absent from her head. She sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest. The snow was beginning to cover everything in white, making Fillory look pure and innocent.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice said from the door, Margo turned to see Quentin come in and close and lock the double doors.

“No…. I’m not that cheap, despite rumors to the contrary.”

“What do you mean?” Quentin asked as he went over by the window and stood behind her. His fine-boned hands touched her shoulders and rubbed them.

Margo closed her eyes, trying to let Quentin’s touch soothe her. “Come on, Quentin, you’re not deaf or dumb! You heard what everyone’s been saying.” She said softly. “Good King Crissimar has me pegged as nothing more than a whore in a crown.”

“Margo, of course you’re not. Don’t ever say anything like that ever again!” He turned her around to they were face to face. “You’re the High Queen of Fillory.” The tips of his fingers brushed her cheek.

“And, you’re about to become a mother, and I know you’ll be amazing at that too.”

Margo’s eyes grew bright. “Thank you, Quentin.” Quentin hugged her tight.

“I’m going to let you rest, okay?” He pulled back and touched her hair.

Margo reached up to touch his hand then stood on her tip toes and kissed him gently, then touched her forehead to his. “I love you, Quentin.”

“To the moon and back.” Quentin said then kissed the tip of her nose. He then took her by the hand, led her over to the big bed, pulled the duvet back, and helped her into it.

“There!” He adjusted the plush purple comforter over her, then gently removed her crown and set it on her nightstand. “Get some rest.”

Margo turned on her right side, then she grabbed one of Eliot’s velvet purple pillows, pressed it into her chest, and closed her eyes as memories of chanting children filled her mind.

“Hey Shorty, smile so we can see you! The sun went down!”

“Margo Fargo, pudding and pie, her mom got knocked up by an unknown guy!”

“No one wanted you, Margo the Maggot! That’s why no one knows who your parents are!”

Margo whimpered in her sleep and turned. She had been sent to an orphanage when she was about two and had arrived on the doorstep of a police station with nothing but a small gold box with strange symbols carved into its tarnished surface she wore on a chain around her neck. Margo had absolutely no memory at all of either her mother or her father. Though despite their best efforts at detective work, the orphanage workers and the Department of Children’s Services were unable to find out anything about the little lost toddler they now had charge of. With local foster homes being filled to their capacity, the only place left for Margo to go was the Brooklyn Orphanage.

The box Margo had been abandoned with sat in her nightstand in a small lockbox, but she never looked at it because all it did was frustrate her. Margo had shown it to everyone she thought could help decipher it, but no one recognized the symbols. Despite its somewhat frail and weathered appearance, the box could withstand tools, lock picks, keys of every shape and size, and most of all, magic. Margo herself had tried to open the box with magic, but it had no effect. Finally, out of sheer annoyance, Margo had dropped the box in another lock box and put it in her nightstand. The only person who knew anything about Margo’s past was Eliot, and even though he knew about the box, she had never shown it to him.

“Darkie Darkie 2 by 4, daddy’s a druggie and mommy’s a whore! No one wants to see you live, the nurse will give you a sedative!” The echoing memories of cruel chants grew louder and louder, causing Margo to groan and whimper in her sleep as she tossed and turned. The double doors of the royal bed chamber opened, and a dark curly head poked in. Eliot came into the room quietly, then shut the double doors behind him.

“Margo the Maggot! Margo the Maggot!” Eliot heard the echo in his head thanks to his telekinesis, and his powers gave him flashes of a young Margo, surrounded by a circle of nasty-looking children that were shoving her around. He then turned to see Margo thrashing about on the bed and rushed over to her.

“Margo…” He reached out and gently shook her. “Come on Sweetie, don’t let those nasty little miscreants get to you!” Eliot shook her again, a little harder this time, his fingers pressing into her flesh.

“Margo!” The kids’ voices dissolved into a voice she recognized, and she suddenly sat up to come face to face with Eliot.

“Baboo…” She whispered before she burst into tears, covering her face. Eliot sighed as he drew her to his chest and held her.

“Shhhh, it’s all right. You were dreaming.” Eliot said as he stroked the back of her head.

“King Crissimar wants to know where I came from El, how can I tell him when I don’t even fucking know?” Margo sniffled. Eliot pursed his lips a moment then shrugged.

“Then let’s go find out.”

“What?” Margo pulled back to look up at him, her eyebrows furrowing.

“The orphanage in Brooklyn was where you were before Henry found you on the streets, right?”

“Yeah.” Margo wiped her face. “But after all this time?”

“Worth a shot right? And… did you ever show him your little lock box?”

“Yeah, but he’s just as clueless about it as everyone else.” Margo sighed. Eliot saw the conflict on her face and he touched her cheek.

“You are Margo, you are fabulous, and it’s time we found out just how fabulous you really are. Crissimar isn’t the only one that’s going to have questions.” His hand slid from her cheek then came to rest on her small belly. “Maybe it’s time all of us got some answers.” Eliot said softly.

********* ************

Little Lamb Orphans Home sat close to Upper Bay and was a red brick building built so long ago that it was now a faded orange color. There were two giant equally orange brick smoke stacks behind it, and from a distance, the building looked like a factory from the early 1900’s. The home had closed down a few years earlier, and now it was used for the Department of Children’s Services records storage. Margo stared up at the building, her heart sinking into her shoes. Though dressed in a loose black sweater, black jeans, and knee-high black suede boots, she felt like a five year old once again.

“Why do I feel like I should be wearing coveralls and a miner’s helmet?” Margo jumped as Eliot spoke beside her. The temperature was more than a bit crisp in New York, and Eliot dressed for it with a grey baggy cable knit turtle neck sweater, light plum colored slacks, and a dark-grey long wool coat with the collar turned up.

“What?” Margo asked.

“I said, I feel like I’m in the musical revival of Coal Miner’s Daughter.” Eliot wrinkled his nose as he looked at the building. “Or like I need a long, hot, shower.”

“I feel like I need more than that.” Margo sighed and ran a hand over her belly.

“Where did they keep the records in this place?” Eliot asked as he slipped a supportive arm around her shoulders.

“The orphanage records were kept in the attic, I doubt they changed that.” Margo leaned into Eliot.

“Shall we Abracadabra our way up there?” Eliot looked down at her. He saw the look on her face and gently kissed her forehead. “Courage, Bambi.”

“Trying.” Margo met his gaze. “Let’s get up there.”

Eliot let go of her and the two turned to face one another. They rubbed their hands together, then made a square with their hands then opened it, and formed a rainbow shape over their heads. The air around them rippled, and a moment later, the duo appeared in the attic of the ancient brick building. The overpowering aroma of dust hit Eliot so hard that he began to sneeze uncontrollably. Margo began to wheeze; she formed a circle with her thumb and index finger, then blew a bubble from it that encapsulated them both. No longer inhaling dust and mold, the two began to calm down. Eliot plucked a monogrammed handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket and touched it to his nose.

“Thank you, Honey. I think I can breathe again.”

“Me too, but you’re not the only one that needs a long, hot shower now.” Margo said as they both turned to survey the room. There were big industrial-size black metal shelves that covered every wall surface of the attic. The big brown boxes had white labels on them with a computer printout of a year, the name of a children’s home, and the office whose jurisdiction it was under. Eliot looked the files up and down.

“Accio Margo’s file!” He shouted, and Margo rolled her eyes.

“Really, King? Really?” Margo put her hands on her hips, her brown eyes fiery as she stared at Eliot. He winced at her flare of temper.

“Sorry… but I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Yeah. I get it, Eliot Potter, but it didn’t work.” Margo sighed as she looked over all the shelves. “You start at that end, I’ll start over here. We need to go back 10 years minimum.”

“You were there for over 12 years.” Eliot said as he walked to the other side of the room.

“I know, but who knows if they kept good records or not.” Margo in the opposite direction and started looking over all the boxes.

“Come on…come on…” Margo said to herself as she began looking over all the labels. The writing was faded, dusty, and difficult to read. Some of the shelves were too high to see despite her heels, so she closed her eyes and levitated two feet off the floor. Finally, the boxes at the top were in view and she read each one over before moving to the next set of three that were stacked on top of one another. Margo reached out and slid one box aside, getting a blast of dust right in her face.

“Goddamn it!” She started sneezing with such force that it made her start to bounce around the room like a deflating balloon. Margo zipped right into Eliot, who neatly caught her.

“Okay, flying queen!”

Margo held onto Eliot and opened her mouth to thank him when another powerful sneeze knocked them both of them into a shelf with such force that it made the whole structure shake. Eliot slid to the ground, his legs spread in a V shape, and Margo settled between them with her back to his chest.

“Well, that was dramatic!”

A box at the top of the shelf teetered a bit, came tumbling down, and busted open right in front of them.

“Sorry, El, I got a noseful of dust!” Margo brushed her fingers under her nose to scratch it, then glanced at the papers that were all over the floor. She was about to swear when she saw the name on the box.

“That’s it!” Margo got up fast and began sorting through the scattered papers. She set the box right side up and began pulling files out of it. Finally, she found a file on the bottom of the box dated 12 years ago.

“Jane Doe, age around 2.” Margo began to read out loud, then shifted from her knees to sit on the dusty floor.

“You didn’t even have a name?” Eliot took the now-empty box and put all the files back in it.

“I… I guess I didn’t.” Margo read the first page she found, then shuffled to the next one. Her brow was furrowed, and Eliot had never seen her look so serious or be so quiet.

“Margo? Bambi?” Eliot said softly, then reached out to touch her knee, which made her jump.

“Sorry.” He said as he slid his hand away, but then she grabbed it with her hand.

“They named me.” Margo said softly, then her dark eyes raised to meet Eliot’s amber.

“I was found covered in blood.” She handed him the paper that was labeled Police Report.

“Says you were found wandering this abandoned neighborhood in Brooklyn.” Eliot read from the paper. “You kept pointing to a house, but when the cops busted in, all they found was blood everywhere and no trace of any bodies.” He lifted his gaze, the amber depths bright with both sympathy and sadness.

“They never knew what happened, but you were the only survivor.”

Margo signed, her dark head bowing. “Maybe, I’m just not meant to know.”

“Margo…” Eliot set the paper down and drew his spouse into a hug. “No matter what, Margo Jane Waugh, you are the High Queen of Fillory and we all love you. The people of Fillory love you too, and frankly, fuck Crissimar and his horned assholes!”

“Eliot, we can’t say Fuck Crissimar!” Margo sniffled and wiped her face. “We need them to be our allies or they’ll invade Fillory. You know this!”

“He called the High Queen of Fillory a whore, and I should slit his throat for that!” Eliot snapped, and then he deflated and sighed. “We’re boned without lube either way, aren’t we?”

“No. You know what, El? I am the High Queen, and I deserve to wear the crown!” Margo smoothed her hair back. “And if I have to defend it, I will!”

Margo got to her feet as she gently tugged Eliot up too, then stared up at him.

“I want to do what’s best for our home, Baboo.” She said firmly.

“If High Queen Margo Waugh wants to fight for her kingdom, and what is best for her people, then it’s always the right decision.” Eliot said, then kissed her cheek.

Margo nodded, but then she went over to the window and stared out across the street. She saw another fading red brick building and an old memory flashed in her mind.

“Wait…what?” She muttered, and Eliot joined her.

“What is it?”

Margo raised her hand and her red painted nail tapped the dirty, dusty glass. “Do you see that building over there?”

“The disgusting one that looks like one good windstorm will make it collapse?” Eliot wrinkled his nose at the dust on the windows.

“Yeah! I remember it. Something about it is really familiar.” Margo’s hand drifted down to touch her small belly and she rubbed it.

“Well, since this little trip to Dusty Land is mostly a bust…”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

“Okay, I’m easy.” Eliot said, and Margo turned and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Of course you are, but I love you anyway.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave his lips a brief kiss.

************* *******************

The building across the compound was the same faded orange brick as its neighbor. However, it was in much worse condition with the bricks cracked and crumbling, and one half of it was sagging where the New York weather had taken its toll on the structure. The high queen and high king had chosen to go around the back of the building, which was not the part of that was sagging, and had found a door partially hanging off its hinges. With a well-aimed magical missile from Eliot’s palm, the door was sent flying, and Margo carefully stepped over the threshold and stepped inside.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” She said as she walked in and stood awe struck at the rows of stacked-up metal beds that filled half the room. The white paint was chipping off in big chunks that covered the floor, and the beds themselves were rusting and becoming twisted from the humidity in the air. There were huge chunks of plaster from both the walls and the ceilings on the floor too, and the smell in the air was thick with mold and dust.

“Jesus…” The sound of Eliot’s voice beside her made Margo jump about a foot in the air, and she whipped around to see him standing next to her, his nose wrinkled.

“You grew up in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“More like the Chamber of Horrors.” Margo whispered as she looked around. She could hear the echoes of the kids that made fun of her, and she reached down to rub at her own belly.

“Used to cry myself to sleep every night in one of those rotting beds.”

Eliot watched her with a touch of concern. The Margo he knew that could command a room with the quick sashay of her walk was gone, replaced by this tiny woman stuck in her past.

“And now you have a royal bedchamber you share with four hot men.” Eliot said, and it made Margo blink and turn to look at him. “Sorry, Baboo. Just…felt like that little girl again.” Margo sighed and straightened her spine as she took Eliot by the hand, and they began to look around.

“So much bigger than I remember it.” Margo squeezed Eliot’s hand as they carefully stepped around the huge stacks of metal beds. A staircase was on the far left side of the room, and the two stopped at the bottom of them. The wooden stairs were leaning over a little, the paint was cracking, and Eliot shook his head.

“No way Sweetie, we’re pregnant and this looks like a Final Destination scene waiting to happen, so I have another idea.” Eliot stepped back and held out his hands. Margo smiled as she faced Eliot, and slipped her small hands into his. The high king closed his eyes, and a wind began to blow through the old building, which made it whistle and howl. Margo and Eliot slowly rose in the air higher and higher until they were able to come down gently onto the second level of the building. The staircase groaned under their feet, and shook a little, but seemed to be much more stable than the staircase. Margo lost her footing a little, but Eliot still had her hands and steadied her.

“Geez, been awhile since you did that.” Margo let go of his hands and headed down the hall that had doors on the left side.

“One of these used to be my room.” She stopped at the fourth door down and tipped her head to one side. “Something else…” Margo turned to Eliot. “I know there was another door here, like a small storeroom.” She went over to a wall at the end of the row, and it had blue and white striped wallpaper that was speckled with rust spots from the pipes behind the walls. Margo reached out to place her palm on the paper, and part of it flaked off. She brushed off her hands.

“Gross!”

“Here, let me.” Eliot said, then he rubbed his hands together and formed a square with his thumbs and index fingers. He raised the square up to his face and peered through it at the wall and saw a small room with boxes that was similar to what was across the compound.

“You’re right, there’s a small room back there.” Eliot said as he lowered his hands.

“Looks like there’s boxes of files.” Eliot went over to the wall and tapped it, listening for a place he could break. He found a hollow-sounding place near the middle and waved for Margo to step back. Eliot tutted, then clapped his palms together then opened them, and a small magical missile emerged from his palm to strike that section of the wall. The wall blew apart with bits of the plaster, wood, and paint erupting out of it. Margo and Eliot both turned away, waiting for the air to clear, then stepped closer when it finally did. Eliot bent over a little to see the old white door with a tarnished brass door knob. Eliot put one long arm into the small hole, turned the knob, then pulled the door back. The ancient door creaked, but then the hinges gave, and the paneling over it broke off and fell to the floor.

“Thank you, Oh Mighty Hercules.” Margo teased as she stepped around him then into the hidden room.

“Please, like I’d be caught dead in a toga!” Eliot brushed the dust, paint, and bits of plaster off his sleeve then followed her. The room was in the same terrible condition as the rest of the building with its holey walls, holey ceiling, paint chips all over the floor that creaked badly with every step they took. The only difference was the north wall of the dilapidated room had three dark grey filing cabinets that were rusting and leaning a little from their weight affecting the floor on which they sat.

“Okay, you start on the left cabinet, I’ll start on the right cabinet, and then we’ll meet in the middle.”

“If the cabinets don’t crash through the floor, you mean?” Eliot said as he went to the right cabinet, gripped the tarnished handle, then tugged open the drawer. A cloud of dust came out of the drawer and Eliot turned his face away and coughed.

“Jesus! I’ve inhaled enough lint, paint, and dust to sneeze a house out of my nose.” Eliot then focused his attention back on the files and began flipping through the sections that had faded tags with faded letters written on them. Next to him, Margo had tugged open her drawer and was sorting as well.

“Cathy Ryerson.” She said out loud, then stopped a moment as memories began to fill her mind. She saw a sandy-haired, green-eyed girl with freckles on her nose.

“I remember her.” Margo looked at Eliot.

“She vanished one day.”

“Vanished? Like kidnapped or something?” Eliot’s amber eyes looked concerned.

“I don’t know, I guess they figured she ran off.” Margo flipped to the next file and saw another name.

“Scott Smith.” Margo saw flashes of a young red-haired boy. “He was gone, too.”

“That explains why they’re in here.” Eliot said. “Hiding their sins. It’s much easier to hide the files in here, and pretend the kids weren’t here, then to explain their negligence.” He pulled out a folder with Margo’s name on it. “Here’s yours.”

Margo saw the faded yellow folder in Eliot’s big hands and closed her eyes. “I don’t know if I can look at it, El.” She said softly and turned away.

“I can,” Eliot leaned down, kissed her cheek, then took the folder, opened it and took a few steps away from her as he read. “This file has more information about what happened when you were found.”

“Like what?” Margo went over to him and looked at the file in his hands, then took it from him and glanced at its contents.

“Elizabeth Arias Hanson was married to Peter Hanson for two years, but the marriage was unhappy and there were many visits by Child Protective Services.” Margo read more words and took in a big breath.

“They found enough blood to draw the conclusion they were both killed, but no bodies.” She raised her gaze to Eliot, and there were tears in her eyes. “No information about them could be found but… at least I know their names.” She said, and Eliot drew her into a hug.

“It’s all right Sweetie, whoever they were, I’m thankful for them both because I wouldn’t have my Bambi and queen if not for them, no matter what happened.”

Margo closed the folder then wrapped her arms around Eliot. “Thanks, Sweetie.” She said softly, then pulled back.

“Let’s just take the folder and go home. The Vikings are probably getting antsy.”

“You’re not alone in this, Margo, I swear.” Eliot said softly and gently placed a hand on her cheek.

**** ******* *********

Margo and Eliot arrived back in Fillory, but because of the time difference between Earth and the magical kingdom, it was very late at night. Gabriel, Idri, and Quentin were in their robes, pacing circles in the royal bedchamber. Quentin finally stopped and tucked the hair behind his ears.

“Ugh, I hate this!” He said as he jammed his hands into the pockets of his tan robe.

“We should have heard something by now!”

Gabriel went over to his husband and took Quentin’s hands out of the pockets so he could hold them.

“You know the time difference between here and Earth, and you know they had to do a little investigating about Margo’s past.” Gabriel touched Quentin’s chin and raised it so they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“They’ll be home soon, okay?” Gabriel said to Quentin then looked at Idri, who nodded.

“Our treasures will return to us soon.”

“I know, but they’re both pregnant and…” Quentin started to speak when the double doors opened and Margo and Eliot stepped into the room. The High King and High Queen both looked weary, and the pair were instantly scooped up by their worried spouses.

“Thank Ember!” Quentin said as he hugged Eliot to him. “Are you all right?”

Eliot blinked at the fierce hug, but raised his arms to return it. “We’re okay, Quentin, just feel like I need a long hot shower. The buildings we were in were in a shambles and it’s a miracle they didn’t collapse with us inside of them.”

Gabriel had his arms around Margo, and he saw the folder she carried. “Margo, what’s that?”

“My past.” Margo said softly as she rested her head on Gabriel’s right shoulder.

Idri stood between the two of them and placed a hand on each of their backs. “Your safe return makes my heart soar, my treasures. We were worried about you both.”

“And the Vikings?” Eliot asked as the hug with Quentin ended and he began to take off his clothes.

Gabriel let go of Margo and began to strip. “King Crissimar is in a guest room, and the rest of his men are bunking with the knights. Alex promised to keep a close eye on them.”

“What about the test?” Margo took off her jacket and shirt, then crossed the room and dropped them both in her hamper.

“Not sure really, King Crissimar said it was arriving and he claims it’ll be here by the tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

Margo heard this then went into the bathroom. The moment the door closed, Idri, Gabriel, and Quentin all turned to Eliot.

“What happened?”

“All you found was this one folder?”

Eliot put his hand up. “Yeah all we found was that file. Margo just decided to take the test since we didn’t find anything else.” He striped out of his shirt. “Whatever happens with the Vikings happens, and we’ll deal with it from there.” Eliot said as he went into the bathroom to join Margo in the shower.

***** ****** ******

The next morning dawned cold, and the quietness of Whitespire was interrupted by a lot of noise coming from the Vikings, who were eating breakfast and making themselves comfortable in the castle. King Crissimar was among the men as he sat in Eliot’s chair and ate a hearty porridge. The doors to the dining room opened and Elio and the other male kings entered. Crissimar saw Eliot and he stood up and moved out of the high king’s chair.

“Good morning, King Eliot, King Idri, King Gabriel, and King Quentin.” He gave them a bow, and his men all stood and returned the respectful gesture.

Eliot, dressed in a dark grey silk shirt and black-and-silver streaked pants with a matching jacket, cocked an eyebrow when he saw Crissimar in his chair.

“Good morning.” Eliot’s gaze flicked to his chair, with its purple velvet backing, gold crown, and a carved E at the top. It was clear who the chair belonged to. He wanted to say something, but trying to keep the peace between the two kingdoms was foremost on his mind, so he held his tongue. Gabriel saw the look on Eliot’s face and he leaned in. “Sire, do you wish for me to fetch the Lysol?”

“Do we have some?” Eliot said as he turned to look at him.

“I think we do.” Gabriel said, but then Eliot put his hand up.

“I have another solution.” Eliot reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a folded gold-and- purple embroidered hanky. He went over to his chair, unfolded it, then draped it over the seat.

“Tea, please.” He said to a servant before he sat down gracefully and crossed his legs.

King Crissimar chose another seat and sat down, watching as Eliot was given his tea and he doctored it with cream and sugar.

“The test arrives today, King Eliot. Is the high queen prepared to take it?”

Eliot lifted the delicate tea cup to his lips and had a sip then he cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” He lifted his gaze and pointed with his chin to the doors of the dining room. Margo stood there in a purple-and-gold dress with a matching shawl, the material sparkling in the candlelight. She saw all eyes on her and raised her chin.

“Whatever test you have for me King Crissimar, I will take for both myself and my kingdom. I’ve earned this crown and it is rightfully mine.” All the men in the room stood as Margo entered it, and she walked around the table to where Eliot stood. He held out his hand to her, a small smile of both pride and affection on his face. Margo slid her smaller hand into his, and he raised it to his lips in a kiss before guiding her to her chair beside his.

“You look stunning.” Eliot said to her, and she winked at him.

King Crissimar nodded. “I understand Queen Margo, and I hope for the sake of both our kingdoms this test goes well.”

Margo’s gaze flicked to Crissimar as he spoke, then she looked at Eliot and the way he looked at her spoke volumes. You have our support Bambi, you are the High Queen of Fillory and your spouses and fellow monarchs support you. Margo stared at his handsome face then she suddenly turned to the Viking king.

“You know something? The test doesn’t matter. If you want to negotiate a treaty between our worlds, then fine, we’ll talk all day long. If you don’t want to because I won’t let you bully me into some stupid test which, hello…” She pointed to her head where her crown gleamed in the candlelight. “Percy… who’s queen?”

Margo spoke in a higher voice and both Eliot and Quentin looked at each other. Eliot sighed.

“Blackadder…see? See your influence on the high queen?” He said to Quentin, who only grinned.

“Hey! She’s a woman of taste and sophistication!”

King Crissimar flicked a look and Eliot and Quentin, then it went back to Margo. “So, you will not take the test, Queen Margo?”

Margo’s dark eyes turned fiery and she was about to open her mouth when Eliot squeezed her hand.

“I’ll handle this, sweetie.” Eliot said, then turned to King Crissimar and flicked his hand. Magic burst from his fingertips and the word NO appeared in shimmering gold letters over their head, then burst into a shower of gold glitter and rained down on them all before vanishing.

“As she said, we are welcome to negotiate peace between our worlds.”

Margo leaned over and kissed his cheek, but the air in the room turned tense. King Crissimar’s face bore a deep scowl. He rose to his feet, and his men got up along with him. Before he could speak one word, Alex and the Fillorian knights quickly filed into the room and stood around the monarchs. Alex scowled as he watched King Crissimar and his hand went to his right side, where his thick broadsword was sheathed.

“If you will excuse us, your majesties, my men and I must talk.” King Crissimar said, his spine was straight as a board as they all filed out of the room.

**** *********** ***********

King Crissimar returned to the guest room he had been given. Located in the west wing, it was a modest room with grey stone walls that were covered by tapestries that depicted the woods, Whitespire, the village, and of course, the royals. Crissimar was in a heavy brown fur cloak, and he untied it hastily and dropped it on the big bed in the center of the room. The king began to pace, and his big thick boots made a low booming noise in the room.

“How dare she mock our test!” He said to himself, then went to the fireplace and waved his hand. It burst into big flames and he stood there a moment, warming his hands. A knock on the door raised his head and he scowled.

“Telanor, that better be you!” He barked, then turned, strode over to the door, and almost yanked it off its hinges. A small man with thick round glasses and a black fur outfit stood there and he bowed. He had a wooden chest in his hands.

“The test arrived, Sire.” He said, then dared to shift his gaze to the scowling face of the Viking king. Telanor had served Crissimar since he was a teenager, and the small, boney man with a big nose, thick round black framed glasses, and a thin body looked more like a rat on two legs than a human.

“It’s about time!” Crissimar grabbed the chest and yanked at it, which not only gave him the chest, but tugged Telanor into the room. The thick door was kicked shut and Telanor went over to the fire to warm himself.

“Forgiveness, your majesty, but a terrible storm delayed our returning here, and you know magic does not work to cross the Lonely Sea.” He stretched his hands out to the fire and sighed at the warmth.

“Snow has also begun to fall, which also made the crossing treacherous.”

“Yes, yes, I know there were delays.” Crissimar went over to the table and chairs set in the corner of the room and set the chest down. He folded his hands palm to palm, then opened them over the chest and whispered a spell. The metal on the box began to glow, and the chest promptly popped open.

“Yes….” King Crissimar said as he reached into the glowing chest and pulled out a dagger of pure gold and held it up. “Such a beauty you are.” He whispered as his gaze traveled along its long smooth glinting surface.

Telanor watched how Crissimar admired the knife. “What is your plan, Sire?”

“Oh…” He said with a smile. “The high queen and I have a date.”

*** ********* ************

The Vikings were quiet the rest of the day, but for the most part, they had accepted Margo’s decision about foregoing the test. Finally, around supper time, the tension in the castle settled down, and the monarchs and Vikings were able to enjoy a nice dinner of brazed beef, roasted potatoes, steamed veggies, and plenty of wine. King Crissimar seemed the most cooperative and festive, but the knights were posted around the castle to ensure everything was calm and peaceful. Despite the fact things with King Crissmar seemed settled, the trip to New York, and the tension of everything left Margo feeling a little worn out. Outside, the weather had turned for the worst, and snow began to fall. After standing at the dining room windows and watching her kingdom turn white, Margo went over to Eliot.

“Sweetie, I hope you don’t mind, but I need a hot bath and some tea.” She said as she took his hand. He squeezed it and tugged her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

“Proud of you, bitch.” Eliot whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek.

“Thanks, Sweetie.” Margo said, kissing him back as she moved away and casually slipped out of the room. Telanor’s beady little eyes watched as Margo left, and he skittered over to his master then practically slithered to his side.

“Queen Margo has left.” He said to Crissimar, who was enjoying a gold goblet full of ale.

“Good eyes. I didn’t even see her leave.”

“I have watched her the whole time, My Lord.” Telanor said with a hint of desire for Margo in his black eyes.

“Of course you have, she’s a beautiful woman.” Crissimar downed the rest of his ale then casually set the goblet down. He gave a nod to his men as he made his way to the door. The number of men in the room made it hard to keep an eye on everyone, but not only did Alex and his knights keep watch, but there were powerful wards in the castle that acted like intruder alarms. Eliot sat on his throne watching, sipping from goblet of honey wine. Alex made his way over to him and leaned over.

“Sire, do you think Crissimar is up to something?”

The high king cleared his throat and nodded. “I’m certain of it, but the wards are tightened. He won’t be able to do much without us knowing.” Alex turned to look at him.

“The alarm wards?” He asked, and Eliot gave a small smile.

“I’m both beauty and brains combined, Sir Knight.”

******** ************* ********

Margo entered the royal bed chamber and took off her crown. She put it on one of the purple pillows Eliot kept for all their crowns, and she took a moment to rub at her lower back.

“Ohhh baby, you are hard on Mama’s back.” Margo closed her eyes and bent backwards a little to stretch, then unzipped her black dress. She wore a dress Gabriel had made for her, black with interwoven gold thread that glinted in the light. Gabriel created a long skirt too, and she also unzipped that and let it puddle at her feet. Now clad in just a bra and panties, Margo sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to open her nightstand. She took out the tarnished lock box and held it in her hands, turning it over.

“My stint as Nancy Drew didn’t go over so well.” She sighed, then set the box on the edge of the nightstand.

Outside the door, Crissimar took the gold dagger out of a sheath on his belt and held it in his hand. He closed his eyes.

“O great Thor, God over all, guide me and help me do what is best for my people.” The dagger began to glow, and as it brightened, the wards that showed up as glowing gold lines all around the castle began to flash and vanish. Crissimar began to change too, and after a moment, both he and the dagger turned invisible. With a wave of the dagger, the bed chamber doors blew open, and Margo was on her feet fast to see why. She took a few steps toward the doors, but then they closed on their own.

“The fuck?” Margo said, and then the air began to shimmer as she backed away. Crissimar stepped closer to her, and he smiled as he saw her in her bra and panties.

What a shame…. He thought to himself as he held the dagger tight in both his hands then jutted it straight into Margo’s chest. She felt the air shift and had put her hands up in a battle magic pose, but it did little to prevent the attack. The blade ended up between her breasts, and she barely had time to utter a syllable before a spray of blood erupted out of the wound. Margo’s face, the bed, the floor, and the nightstand were spattered with blood. She saw Crissimar, slowly dropped to her knees, then fell over.

A ripple went through the castle, and it stopped everyone cold. Eliot stood up then looked at Alex, the color draining from his face. He began breathing hard.

“Margo…” He said turned to see the three other male monarchs felt it too. Quentin, Idri, Gabriel, Eliot, Alex, all ran from the room.

“Secure the Vikings!” Alex’s voice carried back into the room, and the knights all drew their swords and surrounded the Vikings.

Eliot burst through the double doors and saw the carnage that lay within. His eyes were huge as he walked around the bed and saw Margo laying on the floor.

“Bambi…” He said as his eyes grew bright, then his amber eyes flashed. The rest of the men came in behind him, but the doors quickly slammed. The air around Eliot began to crackle, and he slowly raised his head.

“I know you’re here.” Eliot spoke calmly, then raised his hands up to his eyes in the formed square, and threw his arms out. Crissimar appeared in the corner, and Eliot raises his head to see the Viking king. The anger in Eliot’s face had turned it red, and around him, the air was sizzling, with a small flame that was traveling around him like a glowing moth.

“Crissimar!” Idri, Gabriel, and Quentin all charged him, but Eliot’s power had created a power shield that actually protected him.

Alex pulled his sword from the sheath and held it straight out.

“Sire, may I dispatch him?” The blond knight said, his mouth tightened in a sneer.

“Back off, Sir Alex. If anyone will get justice for Margo, it’ll be those that called her wife.” Eliot could barely get the words out, and he raised his hands. Alex lowered his sword, but he kept it in his hand.

Crissimar did not flinch or back off. He straightened his spine and raised his chin.

“Whether you understand or not, I did what I did for my people.”

Eliot opened his mouth to say something when a small bang got his attention. He turned and saw Margo’s tarnished box shift on the nightstand.

Quentin wiped his eyes and turned too to see the box move again.

“What is that?” He asked Gabriel and Idri.

“Margo’s box.” Gabriel said, and Idri took a step toward it when it fell off the nightstand and landed in the puddle of blood around Margo. A beam of light emerged from the keyhole, and it widened and scanned Margo like a giant computer. The lock clicked: the lid popped open and slid to one side. A bright light came out of the box, and a woman who looked exactly like Margo emerged. The woman wore a gold gown, and it seemed to glow. Eliot went over to her; he thought for the briefest of moment that it was the ghost of Margo, but she had light-colored eyes and the shape of her lips was different.

“Are you…?” Eliot asked, and she smiled.

“You know who I am, but you don’t at the same time.” She said, then touched the crown on her head.

“But first . . .” The woman crouched down and pulled the dagger out of Margo’s chest. She set it down and placed her hand over the gash. The wound began to glow, then it slowly sealed up, and Margo stirred.

“Oh Ember, she’s alive.” Eliot said, then touched his belly as he watched Margo sit up and touch between her breasts. The wound from the dagger was gone, and the only hint it was there was the blood stains on her bra. She raised her head to see the woman, and a flash from the past came back to her. The face was familiar, and it made her heart start to beat hard as tears began to fill her eyes.

“You’re my-”

“Mother.” Elizabeth Hanson said, then helped her daughter to her feet. The two women stared at each other, and for a moment, Margo thought she was hallucinating from her recent death. Elizabeth smiled as she placed a hand on Margo’s cheek.

“You grew up to be so beautiful.” She said softly as her eyes grew bright. Margo looked up at the crown on her head.

“I… I don’t understand.” She said, her voice thick with emotion, then she saw the opened gold box. “What happened?”

“Let’s deal with one thing at a time.” Elizabeth said, then both mother and daughter turned to Crissimar; the Viking king’s mouth formed a perfect circle.

“Oh, Thor!” He said as he dropped to his knees.

“I did it for my people, I only want to do what is best for them!”

“By putting a dagger between my tits?” Margo snapped, and Elizabeth gently patted her hand.

“The Norse gods demand purity of blood to keep magic strong in our land!”

“And that’s exactly what you tried to destroy!” Elizabeth shouted, then she waved her hand and the Viking king rose to his feet. She walked over to where Crissimar floated and threw him against the wall with her power.

“Do you see this crown on my head? Do you know where I got it?”

Margo watched the scene unfold and went over to Eliot, who hugged her hard, blood covered or not.

“Margo…” He said then the other kings came over and each one grabbed Margo, and hugged her so hard that she nearly fell over.

Elizabeth paused a moment to watch Margo reunite with her spouses, and the love she saw between them all only fueled her anger.

“Do you see what you almost did? Denied my daughter her life, and her child as well?” She watched as Idri dropped to his knees and kissed her small belly; there were tears rolling down his face. Margo gave him a watery smile as she stroked her hand along his head. Elizabeth waved her hand again, and the opened tarnished gold box floated in the air. She closed her eyes and it began to glow, then a small gold light came out of the box. The firefly-like light rose in the air, then it flashed, and the image of a man in pure black appeared, and he, too, wore a crown on his head. He was light skinned, with thick black curly hair and sharp dark eyes, and he looked like a distant relative of their servant, Tick, only with lighter skin color and a longer, thinner frame.

“Peter…” Elizabeth said then held her hand out to him. He smiled, and when he did, Eliot blinked because he suddenly realized who this man was. He went and got a black silk robe for Margo out of their closet and put it around her. Margo once again wore a stunned expression on her face as she watched her parents.

Crissimar struggled against the power that held him to the wall. He looked down to see the dagger on the floor and he closed his eyes, trying to get it to him. The dagger slowly rose in the air and began to float toward him. Peter caught it in midair and held it up, then took the outstretched hand of his wife.

“This is the dagger you used on my child?” Peter asked in a deep booming voice that made the Viking king flinch.

“Blood purity is important to my people.” Crissimar squeaked out, and Peter shook his head before lifting his gaze to see Margo.

“Jasmina.” He said, and Elizabeth sighed.

“They named her Margo. The earthlings.” Elizabeth said, and he held his hand out to his daughter.

“I know you have questions.”

Margo wrapped the robe around herself, trying to stop the shivering she suddenly felt that had nothing to do with her death or the cold. She looked up at Eliot, her dark eyes questioning, and he smiled as he smoothed her loose hair from around her face.

“You wanted answers, Margo. I think you’re about to get them.” Eliot said softly, then kissed her forehead.

Margo went over to her parents, and Peter took her hand and looked her over.

“The last time we were all together like this--” Peter started to say, then his dark eyes grew bright.

“We were attacked.” He sighed, then looked at Elizabeth.

“Your mother is from earth, but I am not.” Peter turned to look at Idri. “He took over for me when I disappeared.”

“Idri.” Margo said then the former Lorian king’s eyes grew wide. “Shalimar?”

Quentin gasped beside him, and all eyes turned to him.

“I read about this!” Quentin said as he went over to the bookshelf in the room, and pulled out on of his Fillory books.

“King Shalimar ruled Loria, but then one day he vanished.” Quentin tucked a hair behind his ear as he hastily flipped through the book. He stopped when he saw a picture and turned the book around to show the picture of the dark-haired man wearing the same crown.

“See? According to the book, Shalimar just vanished and Idri was appointed king.”

“Not vanished… was killed when he and his earth wife tried to establish a life there. The Pennon saw to that.” Peter touched Margo’s cheek. “You were so young, and they had attacked several times before, but this night they were prepared. We fought them as best we could, but in the end we were killed, and they carted our bodies away.”

Margo’s eyes widened as she remembered what was in her file. “I was found alone, and covered with blood, but there was no trace of either of you.”

“The Lorians returned to earth to find the princess, but you were gone too.”

“Taken to some filthy, disgusting orphanage where I stayed for 12 years before running away.” Margo scowled, but then it faded and she took her father and mother by the hand.

“I was so angry for a long time because I knew nothing of either of you. I had to go out and find my own family.” Margo turned to see Eliot, Idri, Quentin, and Gabriel and she smiled at them.

“If not for what happened, I wouldn’t have any of them, my kingdom, or my baby on the way. I wouldn’t change any of that.”

“Princess Jasmina.” Quentin said with a smile as he closed the book and pressed it to his chest.

Margo straightened her spine, then looked over at Crissimar. “So, what do we do about the Vikings and their assassination attempt on the Princess of Loria and the High Queen of Fillory?” She turned to look at Eliot. “Do we play the Red Queen card?”

“Sweetie, that’s so cliché.” Eliot went over to her and slipped an arm around her.

“And what would we do with a severed head anyway? Turn it into a table lamp?” Eliot then looked at Crissimar. “Though I should, considering what you did.”

“Would that really be best for your two kingdoms?” Peter put his arm around Elizabeth and kissed her gently before he touched his forehead to hers. Elizabeth closed her eyes as she nuzzled the side of her husband’s face.

“We created the gold box as a way to tell you the truth, if the worst should happen.”

“And it did.” Peter said softly. “But, I praise the god for you surviving, and I see the love your spouses have for you.”

Elizabeth lowered Crissimar to the floor with her power. The Viking king took a moment to adjust his clothing, then his gaze turned to Margo.

“I asked for your lineage because the Norse gods demand the best for the people.” Crissimar then slowly sunk to his knees. “I attacked you, Queen Margo and I was wrong. I’ll do what I must for my kingdom, even if it means surrendering my life for what I’ve done.”

Quentin, Gabriel, and Idri all went to surround Margo and Eliot. The high king and high queen looked at one another.

“Normally, anyone that did what you did, I’d be wearing your balls as accessories.” Margo moved away from her group of spouses and stood over Crissimar. She saw that Peter had the gold dagger, and she took it from him and looked it over.

“Its beautiful.” Margo looked down to see the dried blood that was still on her chest.

“And sharp.” She sighed. “Crissimar, I’m a queen and I get that the people come first.” Margo reached out and touched his chin then raised it so they were eye to eye.

“My people mean everything to me, to us.” She corrected herself. “You came here to make peace with Fillory so both our kingdoms could prosper. I think despite what happened, we need to talk about that.” The tension in the air lightened considerably; Alex still had his sword out and he put it back in its sheathe. Eliot too breathed out a sigh of relief.

“High Queen Bambi is wise.” Eliot went to his wife.

“Rise, King Crissimar.” He took the gold dagger, flipped it in his hand, and offered the handle to the Viking king.

“Sheathe your dagger. We have a lot to discuss.”

King Crissimar stood up, took the dagger, then bowed to Eliot and Margo.

“I think we do, your majesties.”

*** ********* ***********

The talks between King Crissimar and the monarchy of Fillory lasted all day and into the night. There were breaks in between, but by suppertime, things were winding down. A supper was prepared for the royal family and the guests. The meal consisted of fine venison steaks, roasted potatoes, roasted vegetables, rice, mashed potatoes, fresh baked rolls, and plenty of wine. Margo finished her meal and excused herself. The tales of the high queen’s resurrection spread through the castle, and the voices of earlier gossip were now whispers of awe as she walked down the hall. Finally, she opened the double doors to the royal bed chamber and went inside.

Margo removed her crown, set it on the nightstand, and disappeared into the closet. She emerged a short time later with her pink plushie robe over a long pair of fuzzy matching pink pajamas with flamingoes on them. The bedroom had a window box, which featured a built- in seat, and Margo frequently liked to sit there and look out at the amazing view. Before taking her customary seat at the window, Margo opened her nightstand and pulled out the tarnished gold box. She went back to the window, sat down on the built-in cushion, and began to turn the box over in her hands.

The snow had returned, and she watched as the fat white flakes began to cover the already-frozen ground. Margo took in a deep breath, then sighed it out as she replayed what had happened in her mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The voice of Eliot interrupted her thoughts, and she whipped her head to see him coming into the double doors.

“I’ve already died once today, don’t need a sequel.” Margo set the box down on her lap.

“Thought you were busy entertaining?”

Eliot slipped into the closet, and he came out wearing a black silk robe with a gold embroidered dragon on the back of it. The hanging open robe revealed black flannel lounge pants that also had big gold dragons on it, and he tied his robe closed. Eliot sat across from Margo in the window box and held out his arms to her.

Margo quickly crawled over to Eliot and into his lap. She held the gold box in her hands as she adjusted the way she sat. Sitting side saddle on Eliot’s long legs, Margo leaned her head on his left shoulder.

“Here…” Eliot said as he took the box from her hands and looked at it.

“You finally know the truth Sweetie, but if you don’t mind, there’s a few things I want to ask about.”

“I figured you would.” Margo said softly. “Go ahead. Before they went away, my parents and I had a really long talk, and they told me everything.”

“How did they even meet?” Eliot asked as he stroked a hand over Margo’s loose hair.

“Open the box.” She said as she raised her head. Eliot took the box and slide the lock open. He ran his finger over the keyhole and the seam of the box popped open. Inside the gold box, Eliot saw a small glowing old-fashioned brass key.

“A key? To what?”

“To Earth, apparently.” Margo picked the key up and looked at it. “Doesn’t seem like much does it?”

“Not really.” Eliot looked into the box and shook it a little to see if anything else came out of it.

“Take the key, put it in a lock, and turn the key toward the left.” Margo said then handed him the key.

“All right.” Eliot stared at Margo and she slowly rose off of his lap.

“Hey!” Margo laughed as she hovered in midair. Eliot got up then she slowly sank back down to the cushion.

Eliot took the key and went over to the bathroom door. He stuck it in the lock and gave it a twist to the left. The wooden bathroom door shimmered, and dissolved away to reveal flashing neon light. Eliot creased his brow as he stepped closer.

“The fuck?” He then stuck his head into the open door and looked around. He craned his neck around the edge and saw the flashing Coca-Cola sign located in Times Square.

“Holy shit!” Eliot pulled back then tugged the key out. The flashing neon light faded and returned to the master bathroom.

“This is a key to New York City.”

“New York City is the key. It’s the place they met, fell in love, and had me. Mom was a student at NYU working at some hipster coffeehouse and Dad went there whenever he came to Earth. She noticed him, and would slip him free coffee, and the next thing you know…”

“Romeo and Juliet over latte?” Eliot sat back down in the window box, then pouted.

“And now I want a latte.”

Margo once again climbed into Eliot’s lap. She took the box from him and set it aside, then wrapped her arms around his neck.

“What is it, Bambi?” He stroked a big hand over her hair as she frowned. Margo closed her eyes as Eliot touched her, the touch soothing her a little.

“Just feel like things are unsettled. I got some answers, but still have some lingering questions.”

“You’re a princess of Loria, and the high queen of Fillory. You live here, but maybe what you need to do is go see Loria, which is technically your kingdom too.”

“A trip to Loria.” Margo sighed. “Idri is here now, Ess has taken over, and what do I tell him about the fact my father was the king?”

“The truth above all else.” Eliot said plainly, a serious expression on his face.

“All the time we’ve been here, we’ve never stepped foot in Loria.” Margo sighed, then reached up to take Eliot’s hand and laced her fingers between his. He knew her so well that he could tell she had a lot of lingering doubts.

“You found out a lot these past few days, Margo. You need to give yourself some time to sort things out.” Eliot touched her chin and raised it so he could see her eyes.

“Figure out some things, and then we can go to Loria, or even back to New York if you need to, okay?”

“How Princess Jasmina got her groove back?” Margo gave a small smile, which made Eliot smile too.

“You never lost it, Jasmina, which is a very beautiful and fitting name for you.”

A knock rang out on the double doors, they opened and Quentin poked his head in. The young king wore a tarnished silver helmet with two giant white horns on it. The horns were outlined with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, and both Eliot and Margo looked at each other.

“Hey check it out!” Quentin strutted into the room, then spun and put his hands on his hips in a super hero style pose. With the hunter green pants, and shirt, he looked like the grownup version of Peter Pan.

“Bambi…” Eliot blinked. “I think we need to change his name from Quentin the Maladjusted to Quentin the-”

“Horny?” Margo finished as she got up and went over to him. “All right, show me the size of your sword.” She poked his waist, and Quentin laughed as he tugged her into a hug.

“Maybe later.” Quentin kissed her hair. “So glad you’re okay.” He said softly.

“Me too.” Margo pulled back and kissed him.

“King Crissimar wants you both to come back out.” Quentin still had his arms around Margo.

“All right, duty calls.” Eliot said as he stood up and went into the closet to change.

“Coming.” Margo let go of Quentin and followed him.

From outside the closed doors, a burst of cheers rang out that echoed throughout the whole castle. Quentin turned at the noise then smiled.

“Okay, okay, we’re coming!” Eliot came out in his grey paisley shirt and pants, then slipped his jacket on. Margo was in a gold and black dress and slipped a gold coat over it, which had a long train behind her.

“Royalty, bitches!” Quentin took their hands and tugged them out into the hall. Eliot waved the doors closed with one flick of his wrist.

Margo smiled and squeezed the hands of her husband’s. She held her head high and smiled.

“Royalty, bitch, and I got the pedigree to prove it.” Margo said as she marched down the hall toward the dining room.

END.

#TheTrials #2017 Welters Challenge #TheMagicians

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bamby0304 · 7 years

Text

She Howls I: Awaken

Summary: There’s nothing extraordinary about Angela’s life… until she joins her brother and best friend for a walk in the woods at the dead of night. After getting bitten by a mysterious beast, things begin to drastically change. Now she can do things she’s never been able to do before. But with the change comes complications, like hunters, monsters and a whole lot of secrets…

Chapter Nine: What’s the Wager?

Masterlist

Warnings: A lil’ bit of fluff... and, well... the gif ;);)

Bamby

I stood on the roof of the video store with Scott and Derek. The three of us were looking down at the scene on the ground below us. Someone had been killed by the Alpha in the store, then Jackson and Lydia had been attacked. Now the cops and ambulance were there- including Stiles and his dad. They were all busy, attention focused on the crime scene, so no one had noticed the three of us.

Glaring at Jackson, I had to use a lot of self-control to keep myself from jumping down and ripping him apart.

He stood in front of Sheriff Stilinski, yelling at my best friend's father. "What part of, 'I'm fine', are you having a problem grasping? Okay, I wanna go home."

"And I understand that." Sheriff Stilinski nodded.

"No, you don't understand, which kind of blows my mind, since it should be a pretty basic concept to grasp for a minimum-wage rent-a-cop like you! Okay, now, I wanna go home!"

It took a lot for me not to jump down. My anger was bubbling inside me, ready to unleash the wolf.

That's the thing with me. Nothing irked me more than when someone insulted, hurt, upset or disrespected the people I care about. Sheriff Stilinski was one of those people. I'd do anything for him. That included beating Jackson into a bloody pulp.

Luckily- for everyone- Derek was standing right next to me, his body angled in a way to let me know that he would stop me from doing anything stupid.

"Oh, whoa, is that a dead body?" Stiles asked, his voice cutting through the tension in my body.

Everyone's attention turned to the stretcher being rolled out of the store, a white cloth draped over an unmoving body, covering it.

"Starting to get it?" Derek asked Scott and me.

Scott shook his head. "I get that he's killing people, but I don't get why. I mean, this isn't standard practice, right?" He asked, turning to look up at Derek from where he knelt by the edge of the building. "We don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?"

"No." Derek answered, watching the people still. "We're predators. We don't have to be killers."

"I don't think the Alpha got the memo." I mumbled.

"Why is he a killer?" Scott asked.

"That's what we're gonna find out." Derek told us before he turned and began to leave, knowing Scott and I were right behind him.

"You know, we have a life, too." Scott noted as he and I stopped in the entrance of the Hale house, while Derek started up the stairs.

Stopping on the fourth or fifth step, Derek turned to us, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he gave a simple shake of his head. "No, you don't."

"Yes, we do!" Scott exclaimed. "I don't care what you say about him making us his pets or-"

"Part of his pack." Derek and I corrected him at the same time.

But it didn't seem to matter to my brother. "Whatever." He rolled his eyes. "I have homework to do. I have to go to a parent-teacher conference tomorrow because I'm failing in chemistry."

Derek paused a moment to see if Scott was finished before he spoke. "You guys wanna do homework? Or do you wanna not die? You have less than a week until the full moon. If neither of you kill with the Alpha, he'll kill you."

Scott shook his head in frustration. "Okay, seriously, who made up these rules?"

"It's a rite of passage into his pack." Derek explained- not for the first time.

"You know what else is a rite of passage?" Scott started, not dropping the subject. "Graduating from high school! And you don't have to kill anyone to do it! Why can't you just find him yourself? Angie and I have school, work… our mum. Why can't you just sniff him out when he's a human?"

"Because his human scent could be entirely different. It has to be one of you. You two have a connection with him, a link that you can't understand. If I can teach you to control your abilities, you can find him." Derek noted, getting notably irritated with my brother.

I stepped in then, not wanting them to do something stupid. "Look, how about this. We've got about a week until the full moon, correct?" I asked, getting a nod from Derek in return. "And you need one of us to help you find the Alpha, right? So, why don't I help you? I have more time than Scott."

It was true. I worked so efficiently at school that I rarely got homework. I used my lunch breaks and study periods to work on any assessments. I could get some time off from work and swap some more hours with Scott. I could easily get more free time if that's what we needed.

Scott thought about it for a moment. I could tell he didn't completely agree with the plan, but he also couldn't think of anything better. "If she helps you, can you stop him?" He asked Derek.

"Not alone. We're stronger in numbers. A pack makes the individual more powerful."

"So, you teach me how to use my sense to find him, and teach me how to fight." I shrugged. "Deal?"

Slowly, Derek nodded. "Deal."

We then both turned to Scott, waiting for his response.

Sighing, he reluctantly agreed. "Fine, deal."

We were walking towards the front entrance of the school. Usually I didn't like the idea of having to go to classes where I'd be alone, but today I was looking forward to it. Scott just would not shut up.

My eyes were constantly rolling, they had been for the past twelve hours. Ever since we'd left Derek's Scott had made it his mission to make sure I understood how worried he was about me. He also felt the need to remind me how much he didn't trust Derek.

"He's done nothing to help us."

"Not true." I argued. "He helped you during the first full moon. You were going to rip someone apart, but he knew how to pull your attention away from anyone who couldn't defend themselves."

"He led me into the woods where the hunters were looking for werewolves. And threatened me… multiple times." He countered. "He beat us up-"

"You attacked him first."

"He's constantly threatening Stiles. He keeps saying the Alpha is going to kill us, but we don't know that."

Once again, my eyes rolled. "Well, it's not like it's gonna give us a bear hug and offer some cookies."

"Angie." He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop, turning me so I faced him. "I don't want you alone with Derek."

"How else am I supposed to train with him?"

Sighing, he looked to the ground, trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. "Go somewhere public, where there's lots of people, and security cameras."

"Yes, because the best place to learn how to be a werewolf is in the middle of a crowded mall." I rolled my eyes once more as I pulled my arm from his grasp. "Now can we go?"

Nodding stiffly, he followed me to the doors, finally falling silent.

I held the door open for him, feeling a little better already. As worried as he was, I didn't feel the need to stress. I actually trusted Derek… to a point. As long as we had a common enemy, he wasn't a threat- at least I hoped.

Moving around the corner, I spotted a familiar and friendly face down the hall. Allison.

Scott spotted her as well, a smile spreading on his face the instant his eyes landed on her.

Amused, I shook my head at him and stepped back. "I'll see you later?" I told him.

"Uh, yeah, sure." He nodded absentmindedly, not even watching as I turned and walked away.

There was no point in trying to say anything else to him. Once Allison had his attention it was hard to get him to focus on anything else…

Despite the dragging beginning of the day, things had actually run pretty smoothly once classes had started. The hours ticked by and before I knew it, it was lunch time.

Sitting at a table in the cafeteria, I flicked through one of my texts books, skim reading it as I waited for Scott and Stiles to join me.

"You seen your brother?"

Looking up from my book, I gave Stiles a questioning frown. "You're the one he has classes with."

"Yeah, and he hasn't shown up to any of them." He noted as he took a seat across from me. "I'm freaking out, Angie. Scott's not answering any of my texts, Lydia is totally M.I.A, Jackson looks like he's got a time bomb inserted into his face, and another random guy's dead. You have to do something about it."

Nodding, I used my spoon to scoop up some of my yogurt. "I am." I assured him, before sliding the spoon into my mouth.

His eyes went wide. "You are?"

"Yeah." I shrugged. "Derek's gonna teach me some stuff so we can stop the Alpha."

Stiles' hopeful mood faded in an instant. "Derek?" He sighed. "Do you have a thing for him or something?"

It was my turn to be shocked. "What?" I laughed. "You think I like Derek? That's ridiculous."

He didn't respond with words, but he didn't need to. After being friends for so long I'd learnt how to read Stiles' expressions, and right now he was making it clear that he didn't think for one second that I hadn't thought about Derek like that.

To be honest, I had. It was hard not to when Derek looked the way he did. But I'd never actually liked a guy before, so it was hard to tell whether I was attracted to him, or if I liked him.

"Whatever, I'm just saying, you have to be careful. I don't trust the guy."

My eyes rolled, just as they had a million times that day already. "You sound like Scott."

"We're just worried about you, Angie."

Offering a kind smile, I tried to reassure him. "You don't have to be, Stiles."

Once lunch was over I had a free period and then gym... which was technically another free period for me, seeing as my asthma used to keep me from participating. Knowing that I didn't have to be at school, I cut my lunch break short so I could leave. As soon as my things were in their rightful place inside my locker, I pulled out my phone.

Walking towards the front of the school, I flickered through my contacts to find Derek's number.

I ended up only waiting outside for a moment or so before his car rolled up. With his window down, he simply nodded to me as a form of invitation. Pushing off the wall I'd been leaning on, I headed towards him. I didn't realise it, but a smile was trying to slip onto my lips as I unknowingly walked with a slight skip in my step.

Maybe Stiles was right? Maybe I did like Derek?

…

Turns out when Derek said he was going to train me, he meant in. I thought there was going to be a lot of theory at first, but nope, instead he wanted to get straight into building my strength, stamina and agility. So, within an hour of being at his house I was drenched in sweat and wondering if it was possible for me to still have my asthma…

Luckily Derek had been prepared when it came to clothes, because there was no way in hell I would ever workout in the black flats, deep purple dress and black cardigan I chose to wear today. Instead I was dressed in one of his shirts- which was loose on me even though it was a little tight on him. My leggings stayed on though, they were fine.

After working hard, I was finally allowed a break, which was why I now sat on the ground, water bottle set in front of my crossed legs, as I watched Derek continue. He was currently doing pull-ups, using the door frame to the room.

It was a sight to behold, seeing him sweaty and shirtless. His muscles worked under his skin as he moved effortlessly, pulling himself up without a struggle. It was a wonder I wasn't drooling all over him.

Dropping to his feet, he didn't even glance my way as he got to the ground and started doing some push-ups. I couldn't tear my eyes away. When he lifted one hand off the ground and continued the workout, my awe grew.

Is there anything this guy can't do?

To test my question, I spoke up, hoping not to sound like an idiot. But by this point I had no real control over my actions.

"Bet you couldn't do that with me on you back."

Pausing, he glanced my way. "What's the wager?"

"Self-satisfaction." I answered as a grin pulled on my lips. Getting to my feet, I stood there, feeling a little cocky. "So, what's it gonna be, Hale?"

"Get on."

With no hesitation, I moved to stand beside him. "How do you want me?"

I swear I heard him growl ever so slightly… but it had been so faint I had to have imagined it. Right?

"Any way." He told me. When I hesitated this time, he looked over his shoulder so our eyes met. "You won't hurt me."

Part of me thought this was insane and was sure I'd break his back. The mere idea of hurting him made me feel sick. But I'd opened my mouth and put myself in this situation, so it was only right I went through with it.

Carefully, I set myself down on his back, crossing my legs like I had done while sitting on the floor. My hands pressed against his shoulder blades for balance, which allowed me to feel all those muscles I'd seen working before, and boy did it feel good.

"Ready?"

I gave a firm nod. "Ready."

Turns out me being on his back didn't affect his ability to perform. He continued with the push-ups just as he had, with only one hand, and seemed to only struggle ever so slightly.

Despite being wrong, I still felt pretty good, because I might have lost the bet but I didn't completely lose. I mean, I was sitting on his bare and sweaty back, feeling his muscles work while he did push-ups. How could that be a loss?

When he stopped, I got off quickly before taking a step to the side to watch as he pulled himself up to his feet and turned to me.

"I'm officially impressed." I smirked.

He tried to fight the grin pulling on his lips as he stepped closer to me- consciously or not, I wasn't sure. All the while, I continued to look up at him, biting my lip slightly.

Then, suddenly, he stopped as his grin disappeared. It was like it had never existed.

I frowned. "What's-"

He cut me with a quick, "Shh."

Falling silent, I listened for whatever he could hear. The moment I realised what it was the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Hunters were right outside…

Neither of us had to say anything in order for both of us to know what to do. We both hurried for the back of the house, into a room and towards a broken window that led into the woods.

"Go." Derek told me.

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving without you. We're stronger in numbers, remember?"

But before either of us could slip out or argue more, we heard the front door being kicked in, followed by the voices of the hunters.

"No one home?" A man asked.

"Oh, he's home." A woman answered. I recognised her voice as Kate Argent's. "He's just not feeling particularly hospitable."

"Maybe he's out," another male voice spoke up, "burying a bone in the backyard."

"Really?" Kate didn't sound too impressed. "A dog joke? We're going there, and that's the best you got? If you wanna provoke him, say something like, 'Too bad your sister bit it before she had her first litter'. Too bad she howled like a bitch, when we cut he in half!"

The change in Derek's body was instant. There was no point in trying to stop him, I knew that. The moment he was pissed, there was nothing I could do.

As he rushed out of the room, growling, I made a break for it. Jumping out of the window, I then ran as fast as I could, knowing I had to get as far away from the hunters as possible. My bare feet pounded on the cold dirt ground, but I fought through the pain as rocks and twigs cut through my skin. I just kept going, moving as fast as I could, hoping Derek would be okay.

Stiles' house was closer than mine. I had no idea whether I'd been followed or not, but I needed a break, so I headed for his place. Just like how he walked into our home without invitation, I hurried into his, panting hard and fast, slamming the door behind me before I pressed myself against it, trying to calm my rapid heart and breathing.

"Hello?!" I managed to call.

"Angie?"

The sound of running footsteps could be heard from the second floor as Stiles headed my way. He jumped down the steps as fast as he could, coming to stand by the front door with me, concern written all over his face.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I was training at Derek's. Hunters came. Not sure if they spotted me." I answered, feeling my heart rate slow and breathing calm more and more as the seconds rolled by.

Taking the time to look me over, he frowned at the shirt I was wearing. "Please tell me that's one of Scott's shirts."

"It's Derek's." I responded without a care. "I needed something wear, and he offered this. Don't make a big deal about it. Besides, I know I have some clothes here."

When my parents started arguing- before they got a divorce- I began to sleep here more often than not. The drama and tension was too much for me to handle, and Sheriff Stilinski was more than happy to offer Scott and I a bed every now and then. Soon enough this had become our home away form home, so it only felt natural to leave some spare clothes here.

Following Stiles, we headed up to his room so I could change.

As I slipped out of my clothes he sat by his desk, explaining his most recent dilemma. We'd both seen each other getting dressed before. It really didn't bother me that he was in the room as well- though he'd turned in the chair, his back to me.

"So, Lydia caught the Alpha on camera, and you've been trying to contact Scott and me to figure out what you should do with the footage?" I asked, trying to see the problem.

He nodded. "Exactly. Yes."

"Why didn't you just delete it?" I shrugged, slipping my tights off. "What else would we do with it?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you might want to see it?"

"No." The word came out more harshly than I'd intended. Quickly, I corrected and explained myself. "I mean… the thing attacked Scott and I, has murdered a bunch of people, and wants us to join the killing spree. The only time I want to see it is when we stop it."

Nodding his understanding, Stiles lifted Lydia's phone off his desk, and pressed a few buttons. "Done." He assured me as he set the phone down again. "It's deleted."

"Cool." I took a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. "Thanks."

Walking out of the bathroom- back at home- dressed in a baggy jumper that sat on me like a dress, I pressed my towel to my wet hair as I dried it. I took a few steps towards my bed before jumping out of my skin, seeing someone standing by my window. It took a second for me to get over the shock, but once I recovered I actually realised who it was.

"Derek?" Dropping my towel, I moved over to him, relief flooding into me. "You're okay." I breathed, relaxing my muscles that had been tense since I left his place.

Standing in front of him, my eyes roamed his body to make sure that he really was okay. Last time he dealt with Kate he nearly died from wolfsbane that was introduced into his system through a bullet wound… I wanted to make sure there wasn't a single scratch on him this time.

When I was sure he was definitely okay, I let out yet another sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. I was worried sick. I thought they might have killed you. Or maybe you were dying in some ditch. I thought I'd never see you again. Then I thought about Scott and me, and the Alpha, and how we don't stand a chance without your help. We need your help. But it's not just that." I rambled uncontrollably and unconsciously. "The thought of you dying makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don't know what I'd do if anything-"

Grabbing my arms, Derek pulled me to him, cutting me off with a kiss that not only sealed my lips to his, but the shock from his actions had me freeze and fall silent. Everything faded away as I let myself kiss him back, my head went blank, my stomach fluttered and my skin rose with goosebumps...

Until my mind eventually caught up to what was happening.

Pulling back, I glared up at him. "You know, in movies and books and stuff where the guy shuts the girl up with a kiss… it's not romantic."

His lips turned up in a slight grin as he pulled away to give me some more space. "You were rambling. I wasn't sure how to stop you."

"So what, you thought kissing me was the answer?"

He simply shrugged in response.

Rolling my eyes, I looked up at him, glaring. Then, I reached up, grabbed a fist full of shirt and pulled him down to my lips, sealing them with my own just as he'd done to me moments ago.

He kissed me back in an instant, his hands grabbing my waist and pulling me to him as he deepened the kiss. My head buzzed and skin vibrated as heat pulsed through my body. It was an unfamiliar feeling, at least to this intensity… but it felt incredible. He felt incredible. The lines of his body. The way he held me closely and tightly but carefully and cautiously, as if he thought he would break me but felt as if he had to protect me. The press of his lips against mine, eager and wanting.

But there was more. He smelt amazing, and tasted amazing and sounded amazing. If my eyes were open I'd be able to see how amazing he looked. Everything about him was incredible and amazing and just… perfect.

His hand slipped to the small of my back, pressing me against him more. It was then that he growled ever so slightly, but that was enough to wake me up.

Pulling back slightly, I looked up at him, confused and flushed. "What… what are we… what are we doing?"

"Do you want to stop?"

"No." I shook my head. "Trust me, I really don't. I just don't want to get you in trouble. Scott will kill you if he finds out about this." It was true. Or, at least, he'd try to kill him.

Derek frowned slightly as if realising something. Looking away from me, he glanced at the door, listening out for something. "Where is Scott? And your mum?"

"They're at the school. Parent-teacher conferences."

"You didn't have to be there?"

"I'm top of my class… in all my classes. Straight A student. Who almost had enough credits last year to graduate early… so no," I grinned, shaking my head lightly at him, "I don't have to be there."

A slight smirk found its way onto his lips then. "Good." Leaning down, he pressed his lips against mine once more. Though the kiss wasn't as deep. It was still nice, still perfect, it was just a little more relaxed and sure.

Something occurred to me then. Pulling back slightly, it was my turn to frown a little. "Why are you here?"

"I had to make sure you were okay."

Smiling up at him, I felt my heart skip a beat. "You were worried. That's cute. Although, you could have brought my stuff back. I left my cardigan at your-" I cut myself short, seeing the look on his face. "Derek? What's wrong?"

His eyes fell to the ground as a troubled look crossed his features. "I can't go back there. Kate won't leave the place empty. She'll have hunters watching it day and night, waiting for me to go back."

"So… where are you supposed to live?"

When he stayed silent, I knew what he was trying not to say. He wasn't going to live anywhere, because he had nowhere else to go. At least that's what he thought, but he wasn't necessarily right.

"Stay here."

"What?"

I shrugged. "Stay here."

"What about your mum?"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Contemplating the idea, he then shook his head. "Scott would never-"

"He doesn't have to know either." Grinning again, I grabbed his jacket and pulled his lips down to mine once more.

Bamby

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