#the takeover was meant to be done by april

[killa-trav]

one normal day from this club is all i ask for i beg

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (7/18)

Chapter 7: Romantic as a Pair of Handcuffs

It has been a busy month for the Valentine Detective Agency—Madelyn, Nick and Piper regroup to go over all the evidence in the case against Eddie Winter. Marty Bulfinch arrives with a lead and an invitation to an event perfect for “Charmer” and Deacon. After having her partnership with the Railroad spy questioned a second time by Piper, Madelyn confides in the most unlikely of people. Later, at the Third Rail, it’s showtime for two undercover agents.

“Well, you’re about as romantic as a pair of handcuffs.” - Debby Marsh as played by Gloria Grahame (The Big Heat, 1953)

[read on Ao3] x  [chapter masterpost]

April 8th, 1958

The first signs of spring arrived in Boston not a moment too soon, alleviating the city from a harsh winter—weather wise, at least. Piper couldn’t resist using the change in seasons as a clever headline for the latest edition of Publick Occurrences— “Winter is over, but Eddie Winter isn’t.” It had been a busy month for the mob boss, who had all but taken control of all the major crime families in the city. With the exception of a few holdouts, his men had wormed their way across the criminal underground and begun to infiltrate once reputable businesses. Nowhere in Boston was safe.

Madelyn had kept herself just as occupied, juggling her work with the agency and the Railroad. Most days she would investigate leads with Nick, tracking down the necessary proof to pin Winter for his crimes. In her spare time she was partnered up with Deacon, fielding the work from Desdemona or Doctor Carrington, and the few odd job from Tinker Tom (maybe odd was putting it lightly). The two had caught a break and made contact with a surviving safehouse—Randolph—and worked to bring them back into the fold, strengthening the organization numbers. It was still slow going as the data from the Switchboard was decrypted, but she was glad to have given the group—and Deacon—a second chance.

Meanwhile, the agency had been successful in collecting the evidence that had been disappearing from police custody through their own unscrupulous means—but if there was sabotage within the precincts, their options were extremely limited. MacCready’s lead on recordings had so far been a dead end, as promising as it sounded. Nick had followed up on the rumor with his old friend Marty Bulfinch at Precinct 8 but finding physical proof of Eddie Winter’s crimes was like trying to capture lightning in a bottle. Winter’s corruption had spread through the entire government—from law enforcement to the mayor’s office—with anyone from beat cops to prosecutors offered bribes. Nobody could be trusted.

Madelyn was carefully inspecting the handwriting of a newly obtained letter, comparing the messy scrawl to the copies on hand, trying to determine if the note MacCready snatched off a drunken police detective belonged to their set. She read over the lines of text again, wishing that more than a few words in a sentence were intelligible. The most she could make out were the words sir, head, and artist. Whatever that meant. At least she could say the scribbles belonged to the same hand who wrote the other letters. Even though none had been signed, there was enough inference to say Eddie Winter had penned them all.

“He’s done it again!”

A Boston Bugle newspaper slammed down right atop of Madelyn’s work, causing her to snap up in alarm. Nick was fuming, pacing in front of her desk as a waft of cigarette smoke trailed behind his head like a halo. This wasn’t a surprising mood to find him in as of late—as they ramped up their investigation, the detective had become more stressed than ever, bordering on manic—relentless in his endeavor to stop Eddie Winter’s takeover of Boston. Late nights in the office had left his jaw shadowed, in need of a shave, and his light green eyes were dull with sleep deprivation.  

Madelyn glanced down to read over the newspaper print, frowning when she saw the bolded typeface—Boston mob leader Ron Trevio found dead. Nick paused in his footsteps and approached, reaching down to tap his finger against the article in question.

“What they don’t say is that Winter had him assassinated,” he muttered, reaching up to grab at the nearly burnt out cigarette. Madelyn scooted the ashtray she kept in her office specifically for him closer so he could snuff the smoke out. “Whoever he got to do the job blew his head clean right off, destroying the bullet in the process.”

She grimaced at the thought, swallowing down the sickly feeling that crept up her throat. Not that she doubted Nick, but she questioned what made him so confident. Trevio was a mid-level player on the mob-scene but had stayed out of Winter’s way—rumor was that he was even making plans to head east to New York. For him to wind up dead and deposed of in such a gruesome way seemed unbefitting of even Eddie Winter.

“Are you sure?” Madelyn asked, watching as Nick ran a hand through his dark hair, distraught. “We both know he’s unhinged but this…this seems brazen.”

Her partner gestured to the newspaper again. “He knows he can get away with it. He has this entire city in his palm, and this is a warning to anyone who dares to go against him.”

She considered his words, wondering if he had thought about what Eddie Winter would do if he knew about the depth of their investigation. It was likely no secret to the crime-family organization that the Valentine Detective Agency was after them, but Nick had always been considered a joke to the city—something that used to bring him shame, he was now using to his advantage to keep their work under wraps. Still, Madelyn was on edge. If Winter and his men knew how much they had discovered, how close they were to finding a smoking gun, her and Nick were as sure as dead.

“Hey doll,” her partner called her from her thoughts, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his eyes. “You alright?”

This was what she signed up for, wasn’t it? When she first came to the agency all those years ago, he didn’t just need a legal assistant, but somebody who would help him in the pursuit of justice. After Nate’s death, she wound up relying on him for similar reasons. Nick was more than her partner, but her friend and somebody she trusted with her life. She was more than ready to see the Eddie Winter case to the very end with him, even if it killed her.

She put forth a smile. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Before Nick could protest, quick footsteps echoed though the lobby and the two could hear Ellie correcting their guest to the right office.  

“Oh so we’re in here for a change,” Piper joked sarcastically, taking a second glance at Madelyn’s name on the door before entering. She had a copy of the Boston Bugle and her own newspaper tucked under her arm, her bright red coat thrown over the other. As she threw herself into one of the cushioned armchairs, she let out a large sigh. “You saw the news?”

“Yes,” Nick and Madelyn answered simultaneously.

Piper regarded them both, grumbling under her breath. She tossed the papers haphazardly towards the desk, and Madelyn had to fumble to catch the copy of Publick Occurrences. The front page lacked any information on the Trevio murder, instead focusing on Mayor McDonough and his finances—sources were able to track donations to the McDonough reelection campaign back to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—

“This wasn’t the first time a murder has occurred and we’re the last to hear about it,” she sneered, interrupting Madelyn’s reading. “Talk about a media cover-up. Police corruption is one thing, but now Winter is messing with the freedom of the press!”

Nick choked over a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course they’d have a mole at the Bugle. Control the flow of information to the public. Spread fear through lies.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Madelyn warned, reading over her friend’s newspaper again.

Ever since the agency had begun collecting hard evidence against Eddie Winter, Piper had been itching to blow the whistle, promising to site the two as anonymous sources. As convincing as she made it sound, and as safe as her previous unidentified informants remained, Nick vehemently denied her request. The agency and Publick Occurrences were cut from the same cloth, and it wasn’t because they shared the same building. If Piper shared any information, she’d be painting a target on her back too.

“I know Blue, I know,” she relented, looking more defeated than before. “We’re so close.”

Nick nodded, pulling a new cigarette from the pack in the breast pocket of his shirt. “We are,” he nodded towards Madelyn as he flicked at his lighter. “Let’s go over the list again.”

She shuffled through the small pile on her desk until she found her steno notebook, lined with the details of the case. With a pen, she started at the top, suppressing the memories the name conjured. “Johnny Montrano, Jr.”

Nick and Piper nodded in agreement that they could still find a way to pin Montrano’s murder on Winter, even without a witness. Based on the information she had learned from Henry, the casefile and street rumors, they could corroborate that Eddie’s old hitman Robert Cooper had been hired for the job.

“Mac said Winter’s boys have been trying to keep that one quiet from Johnny’s pop,” Piper quipped. “Maybe he’s afraid of somebody after all.”

Madelyn shrugged, continuing down the list. “Arlington Green three,” she paused. The bodies had been discovered in the sand-trap just before Thanksgiving while Eddie Winter was still incarcerated at Cedar Junction. “Doesn’t Boston P.D. want to pin this on one of the O’Malley brothers?”

“Doesn’t mean the order wasn’t given down the chain of command,” Nick said, tapping his smoke over the ashtray. “Did they ever identify the victims?”

She solemnly shook her head. “The theory is they were low-level members of the Irish crime families.”

“They also could’ve been innocent bystanders for all we know,” Piper argued. She waved her hand, encouraging Madelyn to read on.

“Arthur Black,” she spoke. “Murdered a waiter in Winter’s presence. His girlfriend was there too.”

“Claire Pozinski, what a piece of work,” Nick scoffed. “What she sees in him—”

“Money, probably,” Piper interjected. “That, or she’s got a few screws lose in the head.”

“That’s besides the point,” Madelyn brought them to attention, dragging her unclicked pen down the paper. “Black was found dead, multiple stab wounds outside one of Winter’s clubs.”

“He was a liability. Leaving him out in the open was a warning to the others,” Nick reminded, harkening her back to their earlier conversation.

She nodded, blood running cold at the next item. “Danvers.”

None of them said a word, silently nodding in agreement. Just over Christmas, right after Eddie Winter had been released from prison, there had been a shooting in a speakeasy in the small town north of Boston. Two rival gangs had encroached on neutral territory and it didn’t take long for guns to go blazing. When the dust settled, each side had their fair share of casualties, but civilians had also perished. The prevailing rumor was that Winter had sparked the confrontation, sending his men to provoke the fight. Police had closed the investigation with all responsible parties arrested, even if their leaders still walked the streets.

“Alice Lansky,” Madelyn voiced after a moment of silence. “The missing safety inspector that was found…” she shook her head, unable to form the words. The poor woman had been stuffed into a barrel, remained dissolved in hydrochloric acid. Out of all of the victims linked back to Eddie Winter’s crime family, her death had been the most grotesque.  

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around why they needed to off a safety inspector,” Nick mused, rubbing at the stubble along his jaw. “How does she fit into this?”

“Maybe she stumbled across something she wasn’t meant to see,” Piper suggested, lips falling into a straight line the moment she said the words. As if Madelyn hadn’t already been worried about meeting an untimely end at the hands of Winter’s men, now she was imagining being crammed into a metal barrel, never to be discovered again. She did her best to hide the shiver that ran down her spine.

“Other than the numerous unexplained disappearances, robberies and drug running that have been occurring,” Madelyn sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “That’s what we have so far.”

“I know we’ve been over this before but,” Piper started. “Are you sure there isn’t anybody you trust within Boston P.D. with this information? Other than Marty, that is.”

Nick smiled, shaking his head. “You must think I’m real thick if you believe I trust that snake in a blue suit, Piper.”

The reporter laughed along with him, though Madelyn held back her amusement as she noticed Ellie leading a guest towards the open office door. She straightened in her seat. “Speak of the devil.”

Marty Bulfinch stood in the doorway with a sly grin, hands poised midair as he surveyed the room. He looked disheveled as always—even the expensive, navy pinstriped suit he wore didn’t do much to hide his less-desirable features. “Nicky, you talking trash in here?”

“You can’t walk around Boston with ducks on your ties and expect people not to say something, Marty,” Nick joked, deflecting what they had been actually been speaking about masterfully.

The other man rubbed at his necktie self-consciously. “Hey now, the other guys think its hilarious.”

Madelyn grimaced, wondering when, or how Nick would’ve ever been friends with such a slimeball. Even if her partner kept him on a short leash, she had her doubts about having the police detective as an informant—it was too risky, for all parties involved.

“What brings you here, Mr. Bulfinch?” she finally questioned, motioning for him to sit in the other armchair. Madelyn knew that her politeness always seemed to unnerve him and fairly quickly his expression shifted, eyes fixating on her as he moved from the doorway to the empty seat. He looked like a nervous child, come to the principal’s office for a punishment—that is, until he flicked his gaze back to Nick.

“You know those recordings you’ve been asking about?” he said, hand disappearing into his jacket pocket before revealing a holotape—technology only used by police, the government and a few lucky hospitals—the others in the office were taken aback by its appearance. “Now, I couldn’t well smuggle a holotape reader out of the office, but, I have it on good authority that this tape has Winter’s voice on it. With some self-incriminating information.”

“You don’t know what it says?” Piper asked directly. “Is there a transcript?”

Marty glared at her, tired eyes unblinking. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he slowly handed it over to Nick, who carefully inspected the foreign piece of data in his palm before passing it over to Madelyn. Marty shifted in his seat. “You’ll have to find your own way to listen to it.”

She had her own ideas, thinking about all of the various gadgets and inventions Tinker Tom had built and tucked away beneath the Old North Church. Of course, she wasn’t about to make the suggestion in front of their guest—for all he knew, the Railroad was a fairytale.

“I also have a lead on where ol’ Eddie might strike next,” Marty continued, fidgeting with his tie again. “Tensions between Winter and Skinny Malone have reached a fever pitch and he’s ready to have him offed.”

“That frosty, huh?” Piper chimed in, eyeing the rest of the room’s occupants. “Last we heard, Winter was allowing Skinny and his Triggermen to operate the speakeasies downtown, as long as they got a cut.”

“Skinny Malone doesn’t want to share anymore,” Marty explained, flatly. “And that made Eddie flip his lid.”

“Any idea on when the hit is supposed to take place?” Nick asked, extinguishing his cigarette. He leaned against the front of the desk, staring his former partner down. “The whole scene has been brimming with activity lately, it could be any day now.”

Marty nodded in agreement. “Skinny Malone is throwing a bash at his joint this Friday to celebrate his broad’s birthday,” he tilted his head side-to-side. “Ya’ know, the Third Rail? It’s been pulling in customers from Scollay Square ever since it opened.”

“That has Eddie Winter written all over it,” Piper remarked, leaning forward eagerly. “There’s no way he’ll make an appearance himself, though, right?”

“I doubt it,” Nick grumbled, considering the information. “Is Boston P.D. working on this? Are they going put Skinny Malone into protective services?”

Marty shrugged. “A few of us are being sent to the Third Rail undercover just in case we have to intercept,” he explained. “That’s when the offer will be made. We don’t expect Malone to come in quietly unless he feels his life is truly in danger.”

“Speaking of,” the investigator spoke, pointing to Nick. “Say the word and I can get you on the short list and inside that club.”

Nick was dumbfounded by the offer for a split second before smirking. “Undercover work isn’t really my schtick, Marty,” he said, raising his right hand to emphasize the prosthetic he wore. “Kind of hard to blend in. And don’t get me wrong but working with a precinct of cops that already hate me seems…risky.”

“I could always fill your shoes,” Piper grinned, fanning her fingers through her hair. Almost immediately the others were shaking their heads.

Madelyn softly chuckled at her friend. “Everybody in town knows about Public Occurrences, Piper. Even if you dyed your hair blonde and wore Nick’s trench-coat, you’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

The reporter slumped, defeated. That’s when Marty reluctantly flicked his gaze to where Madelyn was sitting behind the desk. He cleared his throat. “What about the dame?”

Nick raised an eyebrow, irritated that he was still going on about calling her that. “Madelyn?” When he realized what Marty was implying, he made to argue. “Marty, if you think for a second I’m sending Madelyn in with the wolves, you’re outta your damn mind!”

The danger was very real, and while Nick had every right to be upset and defensive, she couldn’t help but feel offended. It brought her back to that night in the agency, after the destruction of Ticonderoga, when he and Deacon almost came to blows. If the last month proved anything, she did her best work not cooped up in the office or behind a desk, but in action.  

“Nick,” she said his name calmly, gaining his attention. The moment he met her gaze, he knew she had made up her mind. But she could ease his worries, if only slightly. “I don’t have to go alone.”

Piper caught on to what she was inferring immediately, a disgruntled expression pulling at her lips as she sank further into her armchair. Nick remained stoic, but eventually relented as he nodded, looking back to Marty.

“You can get her in?” he asked. “Plus one?”

The Boston police detective looked unsure, meeting her gaze for a long moment. “Uh, sure,” he mumbled, before quirking his mouth up in a smile. “You better come with one hell of a disguise, ya dame.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes, and Nick took the cue, politely gesturing to Marty that it was time for him to leave. “Come on, you oaf, you better get back to the pen before they start searching the gutters for you.”

Marty let out a hearty laugh, slapping Nick on the back as he brought him into a handshake. “Don’t be shy around the precinct, Nicky. They don’t hate you—that much.”

The three were silent as he exited the room, listening to Ellie wish him farewell.

“You’re seriously going to take whatshisname to the Third Rail?” Piper wasted no time in questioning Madelyn as soon as the agency door slammed shut.

“He has a name,” Madelyn replied with a sigh. “If I can’t take you or Nick, what’s the harm in taking Deacon? Undercover work is what he’s best at.”

“Are you sure about that?” Piper mumbled, crossing her arms.

Madelyn frowned. Her friend had been upset ever since she had first met the man and learned of the deception it took to keep the Railroad a secret. The strain hadn’t eased, even as she continued to work with the organization and as his partner. It seemed the reporter couldn’t get past the fact Deacon wasn’t willing to divulge much of the truth—at least with her.

“What do you have against him?” Madelyn asked, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m just saying Blue,” Piper’s tone softened. “You seem to trust this guy a lot, but you barely know him. How long has it been? A few months? And he’s come in here and—whew—swept you off your feet like it’s damn Roman Holiday!”

Madelyn was stunned into silence, a warmth settling in her chest. She couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, or excitement at having the relationship she had with Deacon described in such a way. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how whirlwind it had been. Since their first meeting in the Memory Den, she had been chasing that feeling back and forth all through winter. There was an unspoken intimacy between the two, lingering touches and close calls where she was sure either one of them could’ve closed the gap and just kissed. And yet, there was also a silent boundary, an invisible line keeping them apart—she had always assumed it was her guilt, the weight of the wedding ring she still wore on her finger, the specter of a dead husband lingering above watching her every move—but now, she wondered if there was something more.

“I mean, what’s with the codenames?” Piper sighed. “Do you even know his real name?”

“I—” Madelyn choked on her words, at a loss. Her friend was right, and she was suddenly second-guessing every one of her emotions all over again.

Nick had been silent through the entire exchange, but finally spoke, reading her mind in the process. “Maybe Piper is right,” he mused with a little shrug. “But damnit if this isn’t the happiest I’ve seen you in months.”

Madelyn was flattered, especially when she noticed the way Nick was smiling at her, considering she knew how there was still tension between the two men whenever they happened to interact. But her chest felt heavy—the doubt had already started to creep its way in. Piper seemed ready to continue her verbal pestering when Nick sharply shook his head in warning.

“Don’t let it get to you,” he assured—a little too late. Still, Madelyn put forth a small smile and nodded. “We should plan for Friday.”

They had work to do.

The conversation with Piper and Nick continued to replay in Madelyn’s head the remainder of the day and into the evening. Even on the carbide home (on which she insisted on, so that Nick could make it home at a reasonable hour for once), her mind was clouded with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t deny that she had felt livelier, more like her true self in recent months—but didn’t want to base that happiness on lies or deception. A part of her understood it was the way the Railroad operated, outside the fringes of society where dishonesty was a necessity.

“Remember, you can’t trust everyone.”

“Even you?” she asked.

“Especially me.”  

Months later, he would put an addendum to his well-spoken phrase, holding her hand as he told her he was in her corner, and always had been. As the memory came to her, all she felt was confusion. Madelyn wanted to see him, but she wasn’t sure what she would do or say, or how her feelings would shift—for better or worse? What was stopping her from acting on impulse like she had been as of late? What if Codsworth had never walked in on them that cold March evening? Would she have kissed him and sealed the deal right then? She shook her head, breaking herself free of her delusions, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to dream of what-ifs. Instead, she needed to focus on the future and what she really wanted—if only she could figure that out.

As Madelyn walked into the lobby of her apartment building, she noticed Drummer Boy at the mailboxes, sifting through various envelopes. He regarded her with a polite smile, moving to join her in the trek up the staircase.

“Have a good day at the agency?” he asked.

She sighed, trying not to sound too disgruntled. When he shot her a concerned look, she forced a smile. “It’s been very…busy. With the Winter case, that is.”

“Right,” Drummer Boy replied, letting her half-assed excuse slide. It was difficult to bluff when she was emotionally compromised, and exhausted after a long day—and hauling herself up seven flights of stairs. “I have a note for you, from Deacon.”

Madelyn swallowed down the tightness in her chest at the mention of his name. “Isn’t he in DC?”

He had been put on a special assignment by Desdemona to make contact with the southern branch—something about helping set up a new safehouse for the newfound agents and assisting with their first round of assignments. As much as Madelyn wished she could’ve joined, her obligation to the agency and the Eddie Winter investigation kept her in Boston.

Drummer Boy nodded, handing over a folded note. “I thought it was a serious correspondence, so uh,” his cheeks became red in color, which made her feel equally flustered. “I shouldn’t have read it.”

The two paused on the third story landing if only so she could scramble to read the letter, which was hardly filled with anything important, or relevant. Rather, it was incredibly lewd, and even a modern woman such as herself was turned flushed by the contents. Of course, she realized fairly quickly as the note rambled on and became more grandiose that it couldn’t possibly be real. Oddly enough, it sparked a wave of relief as she was unable to contain her laughter.

“You know he did this on purpose to get a rise out of you, right?” she chuckled, trying to give it back to Drummer Boy who waved it away, still red in the face.

“His idea of jokes sure are…elaborate,” he sighed, lifting his blue cap to run his hand through his hair. “Too much time on his hands, even hundreds of miles away.”

Madelyn regarded his words. “Do you think he’s bored?”

“No,” he answered as they continued walking up the stairs. “The opportunity to set up a new safehouse is right up Deacon’s alley. Not that he doesn’t have the experience, but to do it all on his own is a big deal.”

“He helped with HQ, right?” Madelyn clarified. She eyed Drummer Boy carefully. “After…”

He looked solemn but held back any grief. “After the Switchboard, yes.”

“Deacon’s been a big help to Dez even before the move, he does a lot more than is asked of a regular agent or heavy,” Drummer Boy mused. “You’d think he was the second in command, or the head honcho but…”

She stole another glance when he paused, seemingly in thought. “You know our history, right?”

Madelyn shrugged, taking a reprieve on the fifth story landing. “Tom once rambled off a lot of codenames to me in-between telling me how the air was going to poison me while I slept and that I needed to take the immunization shot he invented to protect myself against ‘invisible bugs’”

Drummer Boy softly laughed, nodding along. “Well, before Dez, there was Pinky Thompson. She only became leader because of a string of organizational failures under Pinky’s watch.”

“Are you suggesting that somebody might be vying for Desdemona’s position?” Madelyn questioned. “As in, Deacon?”

“No, not really,” he replied. “Deacon would never stage a coup like that. Carrington maybe, but never Deacon,” he smirked. “He’s been around…well, before my time. He was around when Wyatt and John D. ran the show, building the Railroad into the organization into what we know today.”

She found herself amused. “I always thought he was lying when he said he helped create the Railroad. Sounded too boastful, even for him.”

“Well, depending on who you believe or what you make of the records,” Drummer Boy flashed an impish grin. “Some of the agents like to think Deacon and John D. are one in the same.”

The confusion from earlier settled back into her mind, but this time, she wasn’t sure what to make of the information. This was just more conjecture—a rumor—Railroad gossip that had been passed down from agent to agent. Deacon himself had even fanned the flames, relishing in the spotlight. If anything, it only fueled the argument set forth by Piper that Madelyn truly didn’t know anything about him—about his past, about his present…about their future. Rather than anger, she felt despair—whatever had been built between them had to end, and when it did, it wasn’t going to be easy.

On the seventh floor, the two separated to their doors across the hall from one another. Almost as an afterthought, she turned back to him, motioning to her ajar door. “I prepared a pot-roast this morning, if you’d like to join me for dinner,” she offered, feeling more awkward than she meant. Even he looked perplexed. “As my neighbor, Robby. No Railroad business. Otherwise, most of it is going to Dogmeat.”

After a beat, he laughed. “Pot-roast sounds great, Hardy.”

April 11th, 1958

Madelyn hardly recognized the woman staring back at her in the reflection of her vanity mirror as she applied the finishing touches to her makeup, searching her drawers for the perfect red hue of lipstick. Her natural golden hair had been tucked back and hidden beneath a long, wavy dark brunette wig, the soft barrels falling over one shoulder and resting across the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Gown—she could hear Jenny correcting—Madelyn reminded herself she would need to be extra careful with the borrowed garment. It would not end up in the box of ruined clothes she had ripped or stained while running around the city investigating with the agency and Railroad.

Outside her bedroom, she could hear Dogmeat happily barking, Codsworth murmuring something while a third voice laughed along. Deacon—fresh from his trip to the nation’s capital, he had wasted no time in agreeing to an undercover operation and promised a show. She hadn’t seen him since he departed—communicating through dead drops to confirm their ‘assignment’—and could feel the anxiety bubbling to the surface over her conflicted feelings for him. But that night, more than ever, she would need to suppress her emotions for the sake of the investigation and stay focused.  

She slipped her feet into a pair of strappy black heels as she stood, reviewing her appearance in the full-length mirror. The strapless gown was black, with a sheen to it that sparkled under the right light. The fabric hugged her curves (and then some), loose around her legs with a slit along one slide that was almost too high for her tastes. It was unlike anything Madelyn had in her closet, and not something she would’ve expected her partner’s fiancé to own either, until it was offered as the perfect outfit for the evening’s festivities. The only problem was that she and Jenny weren’t exactly the same size—she stretched to reach the zipper again, struggling to get the right angle to make it budge.

“Miss Madelyn,” Codsworth buzzed outside in the hallway. “Mr. Deacon is inquiring about your presence. Is everything alright?”

With a defeated sigh, she opened her bedroom door for the robot, laughing at the way his mechanical eyes widened as he inspected her appearance. “Can you work a zipper?”

“Pardon, mum?”

She gave his metal chassis an affectionate pat as she walked past him, awkwardly holding the dress to her body as she walked the short distance to the main room of her apartment where Deacon was sitting at the kitchen counter, turned towards the hallway as if he had been waiting for her appearance. Or at least she thought it was Deacon—if it weren’t for his ever-present reflective shades, she wouldn’t have recognized him. The black pompadour (which High Rise had strongly hinted wasn’t natural to begin with) was gone, replaced with a short, wavy style instead, a warm ginger in color—it matched his eyebrows. He wore a different, well-tailored black suit than he had before, black wingtip shoes looking like he hadn’t been walked a step in. Handsome was an understatement—Madelyn wasn’t sure what to make of the not-so-subtle transformation—reminding herself to remain on task.

“Need some help there, Charmer?” he asked, breaking the silence. He gestured to her dress and beckoned for her to come closer.

Madelyn approached with a small nod, finding that her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth to speak. She turned her back to him, breathing in deep and straightening slightly when she felt his fingers brush across her skin for the zipper of the dress. What should’ve been a simple and quick movement had turned into another spark between the two, his touch lingering far longer than necessary, thumb sweeping across her spine. But she didn’t move away.

“You look downright sinful.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, hoping he couldn’t sense how nervous she was, how her skin had turned burning hot at his words. She focused on his hair, and curiosity got the better of her.

“Is that your natural hair?”

He smirked, one eyebrow arching up like he expected something a little more flirtatious from her. “Maybe.”

Madelyn twisted around to face him, resting one hand along the kitchen counter to balance herself. As Deacon pulled his hands back to himself, she noted the glimmer on his left hand and a new tightness formed in her chest at the sight of the golden band. Why was he wearing a wedding ring? At her confusion, he gestured to her own wedding band, causing her to clamp her right hand around the diamonds to hide the jewelry.

“I knew you weren’t going to take it off, even for the sake of an undercover persona,” he explained. “Figured we’d go for the easiest play in the book. Better to blend in than stand out.”

As uncomfortable as she suddenly felt, a new wave of emotions taking over her body and mind, Deacon was right. He was also far more of an expert at espionage than she was—he knew what he was doing, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed to trust him.

“We’ll need a good cover story,” she offered, nodding in agreement. Still, she anxiously twisted at the ring Nate had given her almost twelve years prior, burning against her skin. More than ever, she could feel the weight of his presence around her, the guilt compounding as she agreed to this charade—even for one night.

“What do you suggest?”

Madelyn deliberated, fidgeting with the slit of the dress before thinking of who had leant it to her in the first place. Her mother had always taught her that when in doubt, use what you know.

“I’m a nurse at Medford Memorial Hospital and you’re a retired army vet. We met when you ended up in my ward after a training exercise went wrong and I had to nurse you back to health. Sparks flew, our parents disagreed, and we had to elope. Thanksgiving weekend, 1954 in Manhattan.”

She thought about the rest of the specifics. “Catherine,” she said. Her mother’s name—not that Deacon needed to know that. “My name is Catherine. Kitty for short.”

Deacon looked stunned. “Did you just come up with all that right now?”

She softly chuckled. “Thank Nick and Jenny, give or take…the rest of the details.”  

“How romantic,” he mused. “I’d say you’re better at this than you think. A natural.”

He stood, signaling to the clock on the wall that they needed to catch a cab across town, or they would be more than fashionably late to the party. Feeling more confident than she had earlier, she smiled at him. “So husband, what should I call you?”

Deacon grinned as he laced their hands. “Dollface, you can call me Johnny.”

The Third Rail was classier than Madelyn expected for a speakeasy, built into one of the abandoned subway tunnels downtown. Even if Skinny Malone and his gang of Triggermen—as he dubbed them—were gangsters, she had to give it up to them for the ingenuity of the idea. There was a certain kind of ambience to the place—low lighting and dark linens spread across the tables—seedy characters lining the walls with leery expressions, it was enough to make anybody fearful. Yet Madelyn felt strangely at ease, and it had everything to do with the way Deacon’s hand was resting along her waist.

For an hour now, they had been seated at a candlelit table, chairs pushed close to ensure their cover as husband and wife remained intact. Despite her comfort, her mind had been running wild, filled with questions about Johnny. Was that supposed to be an allusion to John D.? As Madelyn took a sip from her glass of champagne, she took a side eyed glance at him, fixating on his hair. She wondered if this was his way of shedding his Railroad persona and if for a little while, he could be himself without anyone knowing. The mystery of not knowing frustrated her even more—this wasn’t exactly the place to confront him for the truth. Instead she continued to sip at her drink, allowing herself one brief moment to think about brushing her fingers through the ginger waves before looking away.

A gorgeous woman adorned in a sparkling red dress crooned a slow song about love from the lit stage, her small band of jazz musicians accompanying her like they had rehearsed the melody a hundred times. Skinny Malone had introduced her as Magnolia—a starlet in her own right among Boston nightclubs, there as a special treat for his beloved girlfriend on her birthday. So far the evening had been as calm as one could expect when in a room full of drunken mobsters, with no sign of anyone suspicious, even as she sighted a few men so green they had to belong to the Boston police force.

“Kitty darling,” Deacon leaned to murmur in her ear. “We’ve got eyes on us.”

She nonchalantly glanced to find a man at the bar taking too many looks at them over their shoulder. In spite of his disguise, his fidgeting and whiskey gave him away. Marty Bulfinch. With a small smile she shook her head. “That’s a friend.”

Deacon nodded, though his lips twisted into a thin line. “Looks familiar.”

“Hmm?” she was genuinely curious, wondering how their paths could’ve crossed.

He frowned, quickly dismissing the topic. “Not now. Later.”

Madelyn continued to survey the crowd as she drank her champagne, giggling on cue when Deacon would provide her with information from the conversations he was eavesdropping on, under the guise of saying something nonsensical into her ear.

“You didn’t happen to sneak a weapon past the guards, did you?” he asked, fingers tightening along her waist as he took a long sip of his brandy.

She brushed her foot against his ankle, catching his attention so he’d glance down to wear she was hiking up the slit of her skirt ever so slightly to reveal the holster attached to her garter belt—a trick Piper had taught her after watching too many detective movies. Madelyn didn’t realize how practical it would become, the .22 cold against her skin. Deacon made a low sound, somewhere between a hum and a growl and it caused a warmth to bloom in her chest.

“If all else fails, there’s the hairpin in my curls,” she added, adjusting her dress and flashing him a knowing look.

He held her gaze, the candlelight flickering in the reflection of his sunglasses. “We both know how deadly you are with that.”

As Magnolia dedicated the next song to Skinny Malone and his gal, Deacon shifted out his seat and extended his arm to her. “Come on Kitty Cat, let’s dance.”

Madelyn took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, her heart racing with excitement and skin tingling alive with goosebumps. Almost immediately she was transported to that first dance at the Memory Den—the electric feeling that had engulfed her body and soul. Maybe she should’ve known then that she would be enraptured by his enigmatic nature. It was inescapable, no matter how hard she tried to deny herself the truth. But what was the truth?

Deacon tugged her close as they swayed to the slow song, dipping his head so his lips were angled near her ear. “What do you think?”

She blinked, struggling to remind herself what he was referring to. Her eyes danced around their environment, looking from the pairs of dancing couples to the patrons that sat at the surrounding tables. As far as she could tell, the only people present were Skinny Malone’s Triggermen and the people Marty Bulfinch had brought from the precinct. If any of Eddie Winter’s men were in the building, they had yet to make themselves known. She didn’t want to assume they wouldn’t take the opportunity to strike, not when the iron was hot.

“Something isn’t right,” she muttered, unsure. Madelyn focused on the bar where Marty was sitting earlier, only to find he had disappeared. In an effort not to panic, she steadied her breathing, looking towards where Skinny Malone was standing, entertaining some guests near the stage. A waitress came by with a new round of drinks, just in time for the birthday toast.

Madelyn tried to lead him closer, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Easy now, kitten,” Deacon assured, the hand at her waist tightening a little. “We have an audience.”

She flicked her gaze over his shoulder to the two Triggermen on the edge of the dancefloor, muttering to themselves as they gestured to where they were dancing. With one steady breath, she slinked herself closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “We need a distraction.”

“I like the way you think.”

Madelyn looked up at him through her lashes, and felt his fingers trail up to her shoulder and then her neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. Cupping the side of her face, she could feel the cool metal band of the wedding ring he wore, reminding her of the charade they were meant to be playing. He wasn’t Deacon, but Johnny—not her Railroad partner, but her husband. If she wanted to, she could kiss him, and blame it all on the undercover assignment. It didn’t matter what her real feelings were—she could face them later—or live in this fantasy and sin for as long as she wanted.

He noticed her hesitation. “I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to.”

She didn’t say anything, tilting her chin a fraction closer just as Magnolia finished her song. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of clinging glasses and the echoing sounds of cheers! It faded away as Deacon’s lips ghosted over hers, and she didn’t even care if the Triggermen were watching. Madelyn fluttered her eyes closed and could feel herself drifting—

A loud crash resonated through the entire club and on impulse she pulled herself away, inhaling a sharp breath as she focused her vision. For the split second she settled on Deacon’s face it was difficult to discern his expression—was he disappointed? It quickly melted away as they both diverted their attention towards the stage where Skinny Malone had collapsed, the table knocked over and glasses shattered. Madelyn was disoriented as she rushed over through the crowd of people—there hadn’t been a gunshot—what had happened?

A stocky man in a well-made, pinstriped suit was inspecting the tray of drinks that had been discarded on the floor. “Boss’ been slipped sumthin’!”

Poison? Madelyn felt the dread settle in her chest—this was unlike Winter—he always liked to take a direct approach when killing off his competition. But she had no time to question his methods when as of late, his crimes had become unpredictable.

“Move away!” she yelled over the crowd of frantic Triggermen. “I’m a nurse, maybe I can help!”

In the chaos, nobody made to stop her as she knelt over Skinny Malone’s crumpled body, pressing her fingers to his throat to check for a pulse. Frosty white foam was sputtering from his mouth and his eyes were wide, bulging. His hands were scrambling at the carpet for purchase, but a moment later they switched to yank at his jacket and tie. It was all in vein as he lie there suffocating, choking on his own tongue—there wasn’t anything Madelyn could do, even if she was a real medical professional. She gave him a sympathetic look, before noticing the thick pocketbook in the seam of his blazer. Without a second thought she snatched it, tucking it as well as she could in the front of her dress.

Skinny Malone began to struggle, gripping the arm of his nearest Triggerman. Madelyn was swept up at that time, Deacon’s hands tight around her waist as he led her away as calmly as possible.

“Time to hit the road,” he said through gritted teeth, suppressing his distress that they would be stopped in the confusion as they made their exit.

As they left the Third Rail, Madelyn felt as though their undercover assignment was a failure. Eddie Winter had gotten what he wanted with Skinny Malone’s death and was one step further in his complete take over of Boston.

It was time to play their hand.

[bookofjin]

Before the War of Eight Kings, Part 1

Just posting this to get it out of the way, I didn’t even manage to get to the death of Emperor Wu. Opinions are my own. I make no excuses.

King vs. Prince

The earliest Chinese rulers were called wang 王, as a hereditary ruler of an independent state, the most obvious translation of  王 is “King”. Later on, at the end of the Warring States era, the 王 of Qin conquered all the other Chinese kings, and invented a new title for himself, huang-di皇帝, which is usually translated “Emperor”. Qin was destroyed just a few decades later by an alliance of rebel generals who again took the title of 王 for themselves. In the end, the 王 of Han conquered the other  王, and declared himself Emperor. He made his sons  王 to rule over various conquered territories as vassals to the Emperor. Later Emperors continued to give out this title to their sons, but over time all their powers were stripped away. So basically what happened was that the Emperor sent away all his sons, except the heir to the throne, to pretend to rule over territories actually governed by officials appointed by the Emperor. It is actually quite similar to modern European royal families. The Duke of Sussex doesn't actually rule over Sussex. For these people translating  王 as “King” doesn't really fit that well, which is why “Prince” is often used as well. But at the same time rulers of foreign states continued to be called 王. The issue is further confused by a third use of the title, as a stepping stone to declaring yourself Emperor. At the end of Han, Cao Cao, Sun Quan and Liu Bei three at various stages took the title of 王. One of the privileges of being an amateur is that you can do what you like, so I have decided to always translate  王 as King. Create Assembly has chosen to use Prince. But you should know that it really exactly the same word, it is just a choice of translation. War of the Eight Kings

The Book of Jin is a history book written in the early 7th century, based on earlier now mostly lost books. It covers the history of the Western and Eastern Jin empires from 266 to 420 AD, and is divided into 130 Scrolls (or “Chapters”). From 291 to 306. the ruling family of the Western Jin Empire tore itself apart in a series of internal conflicts, eventually ending with the full collapse of the empire. Scroll 59 of the Book of Jin has biographies for the eight members of the Jin imperial family that had leading roles in these conflicts: Sima Liang, King of Runan (d. 291) Sima Wei, King of Chu (b. 271, d. 291) Sima Lun, King of Zhao (d. 301) Sima Jiong, King of Qi (d. 302) Sima Ai, King of Changsha (b. 277, d. 304) Sima Ying, King of Chengdu (b. 279, d. 306) Sima Yong, King of Hejian (d. 306) Sima Yue, King of Donghai (d. 311) Because of that, the whole time period has become know as the “War of Eight Kings”, but this is not really a very accurate description. First of all, all eight kings were never active at the same time, the youngest ones were just kids when the first ones got killed. It was also not just one war, but rather a series of palace coups, which escalated into a series of short civil wars, which escalated into a big messy civil war and general rebellion. I sometimes call the period for the “Jin civil wars”. War of Eight Kings sounds much cooler though. Rise of the Sima clan, reign of Emperor Wu I won't go into too much detail here on the rise to power of the Sima clan, and their takeover of of the Wei empire, the most of powerful of the Three Kingdoms. Sufficient to say, is that in 249 Sima Yi, one of Wei's leading generals and statesmen, and co-regent to the Emperor, launched a coup to effectively take control of the government of Wei. When Sima Yi died in 251, power passed to his oldest son, Sima Shi. And when Sima Shi died without sons in 255, power passed to his younger brother Sima Zhao. By the end of 260 Sima Zhao had done away with the last of his rivals, and installed a puppet emperor of his own choosing. In 263 his generals conquered Shu and Liu Shan's Han empire. On 2 May 264 he was granted the title King of Jin. Sima Zhao died 6 September 265. Sima Zhao was inherited by his oldest son Sima Yan, who quickly went through the final steps to replacing Wei, like Wei had previously replaced Han. The final Emperor of Wei abdicated 4 February 266, and on 8 February Sima Yan formally ascended the throne as Emperor of Jin. He has become best known under his posthumous title Emperor Wu – the “Martial Emperor”. Views on Emperor Wu is usually reduced to someone who indulged himself with a massive harem, while instituting policies that would eventually doom his empire. But compared to his predecessors, his almost 25 year long reign was a hallmark of stability. While court intrigues were sometimes quite fierce, in the end there were no political executions. And in 280 Jin's generals quickly overwhelmed Sun Hao's Wu empire in a massive invasion that reunited most territories of the old Han empire. Position of the Sima princes within the empire First the Han and then the Wei Emperors had kept their relatives out of political power, and instead sent them away with empty noble titles. This had the benefit of stopping them from interfering in the government and challenging the Emperor's authority. But it had the big downside of isolating the Emperor from his natural allies against takeovers from outside the imperial family. This meant that if the Emperor was a child, or otherwise incapable or uninterested in ruling, there was a power vacuum waiting for an outsider to fill. During the Han, the court had often been dominated by the Empress' family. During Wei nobody had been able to stop the Sima family from taking over. It turned out that while all the officials of course professed their absolute loyalty to the Emperor, most of them did not really mind someone not the Emperor being actually in charge. Based on these lessons, Emperor Wu decided to deeply involve his family in running the empire. First of all, at the beginning of his reigns he gave all his male relatives the Sima clan titles as kings. All descendants of his great grandfather Sima Fang were included. Sima Fang had eight sons, Sima Yi had nine sons, and Sima Zhao also had nine sons. So altogether there were quite a lot of them. I will try to include small family trees with those who become relevant.Having made his relatives Kings, Emperor Wu then also increased their privileges compared to what imperial relatives had enjoyed during Han and Wei. He gave the some say in appointments to their fiefs, the right to a personal armed guard, and let them stay in the imperial capital at Luoyang rather than requiring them to go and look after their fiefs, but most importantly he gave them important appointments at court and command of armies in the field. Sima Liang's political power did not come from his title as the notional King of Runan, but the important offices he held, and because he was the Emperor's trusted granduncle. Sima Zhong becomes Heir Emperor Wu had altogether twenty-six sons, but only nine survived to adulthood. His first wife was Yang Yan from the prestigious Yang clan of Hongnong. They had three sons, all born before he became emperor. The oldest died young, but the two others survived, these were Sima Zhong (b. 259) and Sima Jian (b. 262). When at the founding of Jin, Emperor Wu made Yang Yan his Empress, and almost exactly a year later, on 4 February 267, he formally established Sima Zhong as his heir to the throne. Sima Zhong was then seven or eight years old. On 2 April 272 Sima Zhong was married to Jia Nanfeng (b. 257), daughter of Jia Chong (d. 282), one of the most prominent men in the empire. Sima Zhong was then twelve or thirteen years old, she was two years older. In theory, the Emperor, as an autocrat with absolute power, could designate whoever he wanted as heir to the throne, but culturally the expectation was that the Emperor's oldest son with his Empress should inherit. There had not been a regularly appointed heir since Cao Rui. Quickly designating his oldest son as the heir signalled that the Jin empire would be run along orthodox lines. There was also the general fickleness of life to consider. Life expectancy in the 3rd century was much shorter than it is today, and mortality at all ages was much higher. There was no guarantee Emperor Wu would live to see his children grow up. Having an heir already in place, whose legitimacy was unassailable and who was connected by marriage to one of the leading families of the times, should have left the succession a settled question.

[glitterypeanutmugnickel]

Elon Musk wants a free speech utopia. The technologists clapped.

April 18, 2022 by Amelia

technology

Elon Musk, Tesla’s chief executive officer, in Berlin on December 1, 2020. Lisa Johansen-Kopitz/Bloomberg Photo

By Elizabeth Duboskin, The Washington Post

April 18, 2022 | 8:19 am

Elon Musk’s approach to Twitter is a public town square with few restrictions on what people can or cannot say on the Internet.

But the utopian ideal envisioned by the Tesla CEO ceased to exist long ago and goes unnoticed by what’s happening in the real world, say tech executives, Twitter employees, and Silicon Valley insiders. As Musk seeks a hostile $43 billion takeover bid for Twitter, critics say what should be the platform — his ambition for a largely uncensored space free of censorship — is naive, will hurt the company’s growth prospects. and make the platform unsafe.

Twitter, Facebook and other social networks have spent billions of dollars to create and implement policies to reduce hate speech, misinformation and other toxic communication and have employed armies of people that degrade public discourse. In doing so, they have provoked the anger of not only politicians on the right, who claim these actions amount to censorship, but also those on the left, who say tech companies’ enforcement is too limited and biased. .

“What Musk fails to recognize is that in order to have truly free speech today, you need restraint,” said Katie Harbath, Facebook’s former public policy director and CEO of consultancy Anchor Change. “Otherwise those who threaten and harass will be let off because they will drive others away.”

He added that content moderation and responsible platform design done in the right way can actually allow for more speech.

Jack Dorsey, the former Twitter CEO who co-founded the social media company 16 years ago, said in a tweet about Musk’s potential takeover bid: “I don’t believe that any individual or institution should be censored on social media, or media in general. Companies should be the owners. It should be an open and verifiable protocol. Everything is a step towards that.”

Twitter declined to comment. Musk did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Musk, a prolific Twitter user with more than 80 million followers, has touted the benefits of free speech under his leadership. hostile takeover bid unveiled in a Securities and Exchange filing last week. Following the disclosure, he conducted a poll on Twitter asking whether taking the company private at $54.20 per share should be for the shareholders, not the board. During A TED Conference in Vancouver On Thursday, he told about the benefits of free speech on the Internet.

“I think it’s very important for free speech to be an inclusive area,” Moscow said during the ted interview, “Twitter has become a de facto town square, so it’s really important that people have both a reality and a perception that they are able to speak freely within the confines of the law.”

Musk, who has previously referred to himself as a free speech maximalist, also said he hopes to make it available to the public. Company’s algorithm, helps people understand how the content gets on the platform. He also said that platforms must police speech in accordance with US laws, a remark that widely meant that he was advocating for limited content moderation because of the lack of direct calls to violence in the United States. Protected by the First Amendment.

And he said his bid was not about making money.

“My strong instinct is that having a public forum that is most credible and widely inclusive is extremely important for the future of civilization,” he said.

Some pro-free speech networks have been found by researchers to be a haven for white supremacists and those seeking to harm society.

Tech executives argue that Musk’s ideal originated from a time when the Internet served a different purpose – when government repression and concerns about news organizations as gatekeepers of speech led to early social media pioneers, including Twitter’s own founders. convinced that free expression was paramount above all other ideals.

The early Internet pioneers of Musk’s generation, which includes Dorsey, have long subscribed to the ideal that excess speech is the best antidote to harmful or bad speech. CEOs were shaped by experiences such as the Arab Spring, where everyday workers used social media services to share their experiences while governments were trying to suppress them.

They came at a time when governments could speak through them with a megaphone that could drive out the masses far more easily than they are today. This belief was so strong that a former executive of both Google and Twitter referred to Twitter as “the free speech wing of the Free Speech Party”.

At the same time, the people who built the Internet – during a period in Silicon Valley that many refer to as Web 1.0 – also took radical speech stances to fight against religious conservatives and opponents of the Internet, including Some argued the Internet should be banned as it would become a haven for “porn and sometimes first person shooters”, tweeted Yishan Wong, former CEO of internet platform Reddit.

“Service [many of the older tech leaders]“The Internet represents freedom, a new frontier, the flowering of the human spirit, and a great optimism that technology can usher in a new golden age of mankind,” said Wong, a Silicon Valley pioneer, a widely viewed Said in the source. “It is not that the theory is no longer valid (it is), it is that the practical issues of maintaining that principle are different, as the world has changed.”

Wong said the notion that more free speech is the best counter to bad speech is “naive” in today’s world.

Fast forward and the Internet is really a different place. Russian trolls sowed propaganda on social platforms in the 2016 US election, and President Donald Trump used misinformation megaphones to galvanize a network of followers in the lead-up to the previous election. Anti-vaccination activists have used social media to spread health conspiracies to millions. Even now, amid the conflict in Ukraine, researchers and Facebook have identified misinformation networks that are trying to sway public opinion toward Russia.

Wong tweeted, “The Internet is not a limit to where people can go to be free, it is where the whole world is, and every culture war is being fought over it.”

In an interview, Wong said that the early Internet pioneers of Musk’s era had “experience doing a great job of free speech, and the enemies of free speech were downright bad,” and that informed his worldview.

A year after the 2016 presidential election, when it was revealed that Russian operatives had spread propaganda on social media to try to tilt the election result toward Trump, Twitter’s strong content moderation over a largely unregulated platform. Changed in. Big rivals Facebook and YouTube took similar initiatives in response to the 2016 election.

In late 2017, Twitter began building tools and allowing content moderators to address disinformation, fake accounts, spam, and other forms of what the company called “unauthenticated behavior.” That effort became even bigger in 2018, when the company introduced “healthy conversations” and . launched an initiative towards solicited opinion From over 200 outside experts on how to keep the service free of harassment and bullying. (Previously, user complaints about harassment and bullying were widely ignored by the company, according to several reports at the time.)

Twitter in 2019 developed label It will cover tweets from powerful people and politicians who broke the rules of service but whose tweets were considered fresh. And in 2020, it developed new policies to tackle misinformation during the 2020 election and the pandemic.

All these new measures dramatically changed how speech on stage was polished and resulted in many more people deleting their posts and accounts.

Today, the teams working on healthy conversations on Twitter consist of dozens of people, some of them most worried According to internal documents obtained by The Post about a possible acquisition of Musk and according to people familiar with the discussions, who spoke on condition of anonymity to protect his job.

Researchers who study social media say Twitter has improved significantly in some areas, even as breaking some rules is still easy to identify on the service. For example, the company has become much better at detecting fake accounts and propaganda, and was also the first social network to punish Trump for violating its policies. (Trump has now been banned from Twitter.)

Advocates of technical accountability say it would be too risky for Twitter or other social networks to remove some of the measures they’ve taken in recent years.

Imran Ahmed, founding CEO of the non-profit group, said, “A platform that allows people to spam false and racist abuse is unsafe for anyone else and will rapidly lose advertisers, corporate partners and sponsors, Which would leave it husk commercially unfeasible.” , the Center for Countering Digital Hate, which promotes research and accountability for tech companies.

Wong, among others, pointed out that if Musk were to take control of Twitter, he would be in a “world of pain” because of the challenges of moderation.

“Given the misconceptions that there are about freedom of speech on the platform, I sometimes find it difficult to understand unless you are on the front lines to make these decisions to address the gravity and difficulty of the job. Its difficult.” tweeted Esther Crawford, a Twitter executive whose own social network, Squad, was acquired by Twitter. “I am very free speech but a platform must have boundaries to ensure the health and safety of people.”

He just wants to be in a position to give fakepresident his tweeting account back. He aspires to be a member in good standing of the military industrial complex and figures he needs the neocons (emphasis on the con) on his side.

[ryland-rambles]

Story Dumping - Triad

I know I’ve posted this before but just tossing everything that I’ve worked on for each story in a seperate post. Just to have a backup. Then I’ll start posting bits and pieces.. hopefully daily.

 "Truly?" Sam stared out the window, pressing her nose to the glass as if it would change anything. Nope, still snowed in. Still a fluffy blanket of white, unrelenting snow. Her car was still coated in snow. There was no way she would survive in the harsh snow that still blew down fiercely long enough to unbury her car, let alone safely drive down any roads back to town. She had left, figuring she would head up to the cabin that she had just recently inherited from her friend. Now, the friend hadn't died, thankfully, just chosen to leave the Human realm and return to Io, the Supernatural realm and thus had "officially" died in the Human government and willed her property to various people, Sam included. She hadn't meant to be gone long, had planned to drive up while her partners were away on a business trip. And frankly she needed away from Liyah, or she would strangle the bitch. And she meant that figuratively as well as literally. Liyah was a Carlyn, same as Nicolai, while Miguel was a Shuuheran. And Sam being half Leirth, half Sheona, some days she felt like a total outsider when they talked about wolfy business. Sam closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the window harder as if it would erase the scene outside. It was April, for the sake of the Mother. She hadn't expected it to snow in April. What happened to April showers? Rain? Not a literal blizzard outside. She had meant to drive up on Friday afternoon, stay until Sunday morning, and then head back and be home in time for the men to return home. Sam fingered her collar, tugging quietly on a link. She wasn't a riko, not like her friend Sinclair, but still she had felt the need to submit. Sam blamed it on the male part of her, for the Leirth were a matriarchal society in that men were instinctively driven to submit and obey the females of their people, to protect as well as obey. And yet the female part of her was stubborn, willful and more like to tell someone to fuck off rather than submit sweetly. Yet oddly enough Miguel seemed to like her, both parts of her. He had been the first person she'd actually shown her true self to, both the winged, tailed, and horned part of her demon self, but her dual shifter part too. Had shown him her nude form in her female form, and male form. They hadn't yet had sex, but that was mostly because he knew Sam really hated the idea of sex itself and had never pushed her. He always came and found her whenever he was done with whoever he had indulged in with, either Nic, or Liyah, and gently touched her shoulder. If she wanted the closeness, she would reach for him, and he would immediately sweep her into his arms and cuddle her on his lap. Or else, if she didn't think she could handle the sensory of being touched, he would simply settle beside her, his big warm presence a steady comfort, one long arm draped over the back of the couch she usually sat on, and would either talk to her gently, not really requiring an answer, or else settle his computer on his lap and let the click of the keys soothe her as he did his work. Sam still wasn't sure what he did, something about corporations, and takeovers, and whatnot, from what little she'd overheard. It had actually been Nic who had sought her out, had found her and made the effort to get to know her, to get her to trust him enough to come home with him one night and introduce her to his partners. Sam still wasn't sure why or how, but Miguel had made her feel absolutely safe that first meeting. Like something fated, and when he had offered her a temporary trial collar a week later, she had accepted. Nic had been very pleased, and Liyah had pretended to be pleased for her. But Sam knew the woman hated her, hated sharing. Miguel and Nic had been together for almost ten years, and they had collared Liyah almost two years ago. Miguel often took in various submissives who wanted either a safe place to stay for a short bit or else those who wanted to dip their toes into the Lifestyle and see what it was like, or else others who simply wanted a gentle yet dominant hand to teach them the ropes. Whatever they wanted, and Liyah had assumed Sam would stay for a week, maybe a month at most, and then move on. And yet, four months later, that temporary collar had turned into a real one, a pretty silver chain that could only be unlocked by someone else, as the angle was wrong for herself, and it looked enough like a normal necklace to pass wearing it in public and not draw attention. Liyah had been absolutely furious, and had attempted to ruin the official collaring ceremony. Sam had felt a little bad about the punishment that ensued, she hadn't seen it, but she'd heard snatches whenever she passed by the cracked door that lead to the basement, their playroom. Sam had never been down there, and frankly never wanted to be. 

Sam dragged in a breath, then another and pressed her forehead to the icy cold glass. It was so cold in the cabin, the heat had died yesterday. She was pretty sure something was broken, but not like she had any technological expertise to fix it. Slowly she banged her head on the glass, careful not to break it. It was only marginally less cold inside than outside where a swirling blizzard of snow still raged. Tuesday. It was Tuesday. Nic and Miguel were supposed to be home on Sunday. They sometimes took in those who were new to being rikos and needed a bit of training as well, and had gone out of town to fetch one of those. Sam had actually been looking forward to meeting the new riko, they were usually pretty fun to help teach. Did they know where she was? Sam had made sure to carefully leave detailed instructions on their whiteboard, half corkboard setup where everything important was supposed to be. It was actually three sets, left side was a clear dry erase calendar, middle was a corkboard where anything important was pinned, and right side was a white dry erase board where all sorts of things were scribbled against, mostly notes to each other. Sam had carefully written detailed instructions of where she was going, why she was going there, and when she was leaving and when she was returning, and carefully written out the address, double checking a couple times to be sure it was exactly correct. Were they waiting for the blizzard to settle down to come fetch her? A dark part of her thought that maybe Liyah had torn the paper down and tossed it, but even she wasn't that vicious, was she? Then again, Sam had left most of her stuff in her bedroom, and Miguel knew where her secret floorboard was and would know she hadn't run away by that at least, all her treasures still being safe. He had promised he would tell no one, not even Nicolai and Sam believed him. Still, it was Tuesday. And the bitch had thrown Sam's phone into the toilet of all places less than an hour after the pair had left the driveway. Sam still wasn't sure what she'd done to piss the other woman off this time. Exist? She had simply sighed, fished her phone out, told Liyah seriously, "I hope one day you grow up." Carefully wiped it clean with a towel, and went to pin up her paper on the corkboard. The corkboard was sacred, even the newbie trainies knew not to touch the corkboard. MIguel was weird like that, he was the only one allowed to erase anything on it, the only one allowed to take any papers off. Sam didn't mind his control freak nature, in that regard anyway. 

Sam wasn't a riko, not legally in the K'na'Gran Empire anyway. She wasn't a dual shifter like Sinclair either, who somehow wasn't collared, despite the fact it was safer to be when one was a dual. Still, the four of them followed something Nico called the Lifestyle, but he'd explained they modified the rules to match their specific needs and whatnot, apparently it was a Ds relationship. Sam reached up, fingered her collar again, tracing over the simple links. It looked like a basic necklace, with solid chain links and a plate with symbols engraved in Common on it. Whatever they wanted to put a label on it, it was a relationship she felt safe in. Miguel was the one in charge, and Nicolai, Liyah, and her were the ones who submitted. Though granted Nico was absolutely a brat and often in trouble, but it was usually done on purpose and Sam had seen them a handful of times talking quietly to each other, working out specific details in something they called a scene. Something planned out and then executed, sort of like a roleplay, Sam had figured out. Liyah, aside from tormenting Sam lately, was mostly a good girl. Miguel often called her that, ruffled her hair and always praised her for behaving. Especially on the days when Nico was being a serious troublemaker. 

Sam tended to stay out of their games. She wasn't a good girl like Liyah, or a brat like Nico. She simply was. When she wanted attention, she sought out her Sientra, she still called him that in her head, despite the fact that she called him Sir like the other two verbally. Sientra meaning Owner, usually used by a riko to a male presenting Free, Sentier for female presenting. When she wanted attention, she sought out Miguel and he was always willing to cuddle with her. And Nico would poke her and try to tickle her, and always, always let her feed from him, easily offering his neck when she was being grumpy and didn't realize it was because she was hungry. 

Half Leirth, half Sheona, she was an odd combination. Mostly because the two species had been a cold war for generations and only lately had decided to thaw and attempt a peaceful truce once more. 

[closetofanxiety]

NXT to the Main Roster: A Haphazard Examination, Part 2 (2016)

More wrestlers went from NXT to the main roster(s) in 2016 than in any other year, so I want to examine it separately in my ongoing question to determine whether getting a coveted spot on Raw or Smackdown (or a less coveted spot on 205 Live) likely means stagnation and disappointment. Again, the grades here are for the way these wrestlers have been presented to the WWE audience, not for the wrestlers themselves. Except, I guess, for the F handed out to Big Cass.

Sami Zayn

Call-up date: January 24. The perfect underdog babyface at the top of the card in NXT (a role they’re currently trying to give Johnny Gargano), Zayn has had a respectable but mostly unspectacular run on the big shows. While they were never going to build main event storylines around him the way NXT did, after his initial feud with eternal lifemate Kevin Owens, he kind of drifted around the middle of the pack without a clear character or motivation. Hampered by injuries, his heel turn was initially masterfully handled: by saving Kevin Owens from Shane McMahon, Zayn was, in the immediate aftermath, allowed to seem conflicted, uncertain, and anxious about what he’d done. It looked like there was going to be real character development, and then, in a few months, he was challenging Bobby Lashley to obstacle course races. 

Grade: C

Eva Marie

Call-up date: March 28. WE DIDN’T DESERVE HER. She could have been a sensational, crowd-baiting heel, as she was LOATHED by the super nerds in the WWE audience, who hated that she couldn’t wrestle and was only getting pushed for her looks. I mean, the same was true of Lex Luger ZING. Anyway, it wasn’t too be, and we’re left to wonder what could have been.

Grade: F/Incomplete

Baron Corbin

Call-up date: April 3. Big Banter has grown into the role that is probably the top-dollar best he can hope for in the WWE: a sneering heel near the top of the midcard who can talk well and wrestle well. He’s a plug-and-play guy for babyfaces who are being kept on the stove while the main event picture sorts itself out, and he does great at it. I saw Baron Corbin wrestle Tommy Dreamer at an NXT show in Albany once and thought, “This guy suxxxx.” But he has proved me wrong! Good for Big Breakfast Constable Corbin.

Grade: B+

Enzo Amore

Call-up date: April 4. I’ll go on record as saying he was used well as the shitty heel champion in 205 Live. Everyone hated him, and that was his role. That was probably his ceiling: top hate figure on the ‘C’ show, but we’ll never know.

Grade: F/Incomplete

Big Cass

Call-up date: April 4. His attitude and behavior must have really been something for Vince McMahon, The Big Man Liker, to so quickly part with a big man who could talk and was at least more adept in the ring than, say, the Great Khali. After the split with Enzo, they didn’t really seem to know what they were doing with him, so I’m not entirely sure we missed out on a legendary career or anything.

Grade: F/Incomplete

Apollo Crews

Call-up date: April 4. This decision remains a head scratcher. Crews made his NXT TV debut on August 22, 2015, and in less than eight months, was debuting on Raw. Although he’s an incredibly talented wrestler, I don’t know that his NXT stint was quite the rocket to the top that would justify this. Since his debut, he’s been totally lost in the shuffle and without a discernible character. His most significant match to date was a losing bid for the Intercontinental championship against The Miz on an episode of Smackdown. The Titus Worldwide stuff has helped, but not much.

Grade: C-/D+

Aiden English

Call-up date: April 7. Rusev DAAAAYYYEH. If it weren’t for his alliance with Big Matchka, English would be staring down the barrel of a D+. Initially arrived on the main roster as a tag team with Simon Gotch, the two had an undistinguished run that included Smackdown tag title tournament losses to the Hype Bros and Breezango. Now that he’s the guy who stiffly raps before Rusev comes out, English is basking in his Mizdow Moment. When it ends, though, what will become of the Operatic Superstar?

Grade: C-

Simon Gotch

Call-up date: April 7. His gimmick had a lot of potential: the super old-timey wrestler in a postmodern, post-kayfabe world. It never really got off the ground, though, and while his team with Aiden English worked at Full Sail, Vince’s dim view of tag teams generally, plus the material they were given, meant it didn’t have much of a shot on the big stage. WWE let the trademark on his name expire, which tells you a lot.

Grade: F

Dana Brooke

Call-up date: May 9. After kind of a hot start that I’ve largely forgotten - she was heel Charlotte’s protege, remember? - she quickly settled into the rut of main roster women’s booking, which tends to consist of two women fighting over the title and then everyone else forming an amorphous backdrop, occasionally emerging for random six-person tags involving the main eventers. Dana did eliminate Kairi Sane at the first-ever Women’s Royal Rumble, so that’s something, I guess. Since November, she’s been one of the few people in the company with a manager role, as an Alexandra York figure in Titus Worldwide. 

Grade: C-

Mojo Rawley

Call-up date: July 24. Did you know Zack Ryder’s been in the WWE system since 2006? He’s incredible. He’s like one of those NBA guys who you see playing five minutes in a playoff game, years after you assumed they had retired. Anyway, Mojo Rawley. He’s done as well as he’s ever likely to do, destroying Ryder after a heel turn, feuding with No Way Jose, and no longer being hyped. His main roster run hasn’t been disappointing, largely because his NXT run was about the same thing, minus the heel turn.

Grade: C

Nia Jax

Call-up date: July 25. Rock’s cousin or no, she’s managed to remain above the midcard scrum in the women’s division by having a unique look, as the only credible monster in the locker room. She has the problem that all monsters have sooner or later, which is: what do they do after getting beaten? In her case, it was a clumsy face turn in a bullying-themed angle with Alexa Bliss that didn’t do much for either woman. Still, because of her size and ability, she’s always somewhere near the top of the card, something that’s unlikely to change.

Grade: B

Finn Bálor

Call-up date: July 25. To my mind, he’s one of the few wrestlers who’s been better served on the main roster than he was in NXT. He’s the longest-reigning NXT champion so far, but his tenure there seems largely forgettable apart from his Beast in the East match against Kevin Owens and the bloodbath against Samoa Joe at Takeover: Dallas. On the main roster, he’s regularly near the top of the card, with his painted demon character receiving the holy-shit treatment, as we saw at SummerSlam. He’s become one of their most recognizable stars and the company clearly loves him.

Grade: A

Alexa Bliss

Call-up date: July 26. One of the best examples I can think of that demonstrates how a turn can elevate a wrestler, she went from boring, sparkly cheerleader to the top woman in NXT by becoming a heel. Initially the manager of the lookalike midcard tag team of Make and Blurphy, it was clear from the start she was bound for greater things. She’s been the signal success story of the WWE System in developing stars, as opposed to repackaging stars from the indies, Japan, and Mexico: Bliss is, if not quite a mainstream star, one of the most recognizable women in the company, constantly on top of the women’s roster, and winning raves for her incredible microphone work. Nerds who complain she isn’t good at wrestling probably wouldn’t have understood Abdullah the Butcher either.

Grade: A+

Carmella

Call-up date: July 26. OH THE IRONY! When she managed Enzo and Big Cass in NXT, she was despised by the Full Sail nerds, who would chant “you can’t wrestle” at her. Two years later, and here we are: Real1 is making unlistenable hip hop tracks for his Instagram stories, Big Cazz is set to make his indie debut for Big Time Wrestling in Spartanburg, S.C., and Carmella is coming off a 131-day run as Smackdown Women’s Champion, having beaten Asuka in matches on pay-per-view and free TV. She’s not at Alexa’s level as a heel - not many people are - but she’s done a great job of establishing herself in a women’s roster that suffers from way too many bland characters and storylines.

Grade: B+/A-

Jason Jordan

Call-up date: August 2. Listen, Vince hates tag teams. American Alpha was a red-hot team in NXT, where they got over thanks to their phenomenal work inside the ring. But even there, they were kind of bland as individuals. On the main roster, where tag teams rarely last, this spelled trouble. Jordan has been hampered by injuries, but even without that he’s a man adrift, the highlight of his tenure so far being the kayfabe revelation that he’s Kurt Angle’s son, which has mostly been treated as an afterthought. 

Grade: D

Chad Gable

Call-up date: August 2. Second verse, same as the first. They tried to spark some of that American Alpha magic after disbanding American Alpha by pairing Gable with Shelton Benjamin, with predictable results. I don’t think Gable’s been on television since May, and he’s not injured. He apparently feuded with Mike Kanellis on Main Event back in June, to give you some idea. He taped a thing for WWE’s social media channels with amateur wrestling god Dan Gable, which I liked, so there’s that.

Grade: D

Bayley

Call-up date: August 22. I will admit here that I did not “get” her gimmick in NXT. It just always seemed vaguely unsettling, and now we know that it led to the Cult of Izzy. That aside, she had an undeniable connection with the audience, largely thanks to her palpable enthusiasm and tremendous in-ring skill. I never really bought the commonplace line that she could become the female John Cena, mostly because I think that underestimates how much of Cena’s appeal comes from the fact that half the audience hates him. But she’s a true-blue babyface in a company that doesn’t really know what to do with true-blue babyfaces, and so her main roster stint has been something of a disappointment. It’s weirdly fitting that she’s locked into this seemingly endless frenemies storyline with Sasha Banks, another woman who was adored in NXT and who hasn’t really found her footing on the main roster.

Grade: C

Rich Swann

Call-up date: September 19. He had his moments in 205 Live, but it was clear his off-kilter personality and presentation were not what they had in mind as the Face of the Division. They were trying to mold him into what they have with Mustafa Ali or Cedric Alexander, when they would have been better off trying to make Swann the Dean Ambrose of the cruiserweights. Instead, well, we know what happened instead.

Grade: F/Incomplete

Austin Aries

Call-up date: December 18. I have a theory that Vince McMahon thought Austin Aries was Bobby Roode, and that when they hired the real Bobby Roode, Vince immediately said, “Well, then who the fuck is this guy?” 

Grade: F

[xtruss]

US Asks Taliban to ‘Spare’ Its Embassy, Sends 3,000 Troops to Evacuate It

“The Empire Down to Pleading, Begging, and Bribing”

— Empire Woes | Dave DeCamp | August 13, 2021

In the meantime Herat and Kandahar have fallen to Taliban

The US is sending about 3,000 troops to Afghanistan to help evacuate some personnel from the US embassy in Kabul as the Taliban is making rapid gains across the country.

Pentagon spokesman John Kirby said the US is sending three infantry battalions that are due to arrive at the airport in Kabul within 48 hours. Additionally, an entire infantry brigade combat team is being sent to Kuwait to be put on stand by that could also be deployed to Afghanistan, and 1,000 troops are being deployed to Qatar to process visas for Afghan interpreters who worked for the US. In total, the US is deploying 8,000 troops to the Gulf and Afghanistan.

State Department spokesman Ned Price said the US would be “further reducing our civilian footprint in Kabul” but insisted that the embassy was not closing. He said there will be a “drawdown” of diplomatic personnel, but did not specify how many people are expected to leave. There are about 4,000 civilian personnel at the embassy, including 1,400 US citizens.

The US embassy in Kabul issued a warning to US citizens in Afghanistan on Thursday to leave the country immediately. “Given the security conditions and reduced staffing, the embassy’s ability to assist US citizens in Afghanistan is extremely limited even within Kabul,” a notice on the embassy’s website said.

— Source: Antiwar.com

As Afghanistan continues to fall apart at the seams, the Taliban invasion of Kabul appears imminent, and the odds of the Ghani government handling that attack are not good. This has the US considering what to do about its embassy there.

Early in the day, officials talked openly about the idea that the embassy would be relocated to the Kabul Airport, to make it easier to evacuate outright if the security situation gets any worse. The situation getting worse seems inevitable.

Indeed, the Biden Administration is sending some 3,000 troops to Kabul to facilitate the evacuation, and is planning to remove all but the core staff . The troops are scheduled to arrive within 48 hours.

Even that may not be enough, however, and negotiator Zalmay Khalilzad is turning to the Taliban to try to prevail upon them to spare the US Embassy from attack if and when Kabul gets hit.

The exchange here is that the Taliban would promise not to attack the embassy, and that the US would keep open the possibility of giving foreign aid to the Taliban government in the future. The US, of course, did provide aid to the Taliban before the invasion and occupation.

That this is publicly being put on the table at all is interesting, as US officials talking about the possible evacuation earlier in the day were insisting that if the Taliban took over Afghanistan “with guns” they’d never be eligible for US aid.

That’s not a total shock, as the US historically throws aid around to almost everyone for the sake of influence. Still, holding it out publicly to the Taliban mid-takeover underscores how cynically they view the fall of Afghanistan for the sake of aid. US law would frown upon sending aid to the Taliban militants after the takeover, but as has been the case after recent coups in places like Egypt, what the law says doesn’t always impact policy.

— Source: Antiwar.com

“Not Our Tragedy”: The Taliban Are Coming Back, and America Is Still Leaving

President Biden made it very clear this week that we’re out of Afghanistan, no matter what.

Regarding Afghanistan, the Biden Administration seems to have calculated that the President will not suffer politically from leaving behind an unwinnable war.Photograph by Alex Wong / Getty

At least Joe Biden is owning it. “I do not regret my decision,” the President said this week, as provincial capital after provincial capital in Afghanistan fell to the Taliban while the Afghan government—propped up by two decades of U.S. support—looked soon to suffer its long-predicted post-American collapse. “Afghan leaders have to come together. We lost thousands—lost to death and injury—thousands of American personnel. They’ve got to fight for themselves, fight for their nation,” Biden said on Tuesday, making it as clear as he could that he would not revisit his decision to pull out. America is finally, definitively, done with the war in Afghanistan after two decades, never mind the consequences.

The words from the Biden Administration in the face of this unfolding disaster have been strikingly cold. Biden himself, normally the most empathetic of politicians, did not address the predictable and predicted human tragedy that his April decision to withdraw the roughly thirty-five hundred U.S. troops remaining in Afghanistan has now unleashed. The White House press secretary, Jen Psaki, followed his comments by blaming the Afghan military, which the U.S. funded, trained, equipped, and built over twenty years, for its fate. “They have what they need,” she said. “What they need to determine is if they have the political will to fight back.” The State Department, for its part, put out the word that it was making a last-ditch diplomatic push to convince the Taliban that their government will be an international pariah if they take over the country by force. Does anyone think that will stop them?

There is, quite obviously, a calculation behind all this, which is that, after all this time and with more than enough blame to go around in both parties, Biden will not suffer politically from leaving behind an unwinnable war. Put bluntly, there is a strongly held belief in Washington that Americans simply do not care what happens in Afghanistan. Poll numbers back it up. Politicians in both parties, with notable exceptions, have generally supported Biden’s decision or at least have acquiesced to it, which leaves them either to second-guess Biden’s execution or simply to say nothing at all. (Cue the second-guesser himself, Donald Trump, whose exit deal with the Taliban Biden has largely stuck with, despite the Taliban’s failure to abide by its provisions. “It should have been done much better,” Trump said in a statement on Thursday, about the withdrawal. Of course he did.)

“The general sense seems to be, ‘Hey, look, we’ve spent a lot of blood and treasure there for twenty years, we’ve done a lot, there’s a limit to what any country can do,’ ” Richard Fontaine, a former foreign-policy adviser to the late Senator John McCain who now heads the Center for a New American Security, told me. “This is tragic, but it’s not our tragedy.” While Fontaine and I were talking on Thursday, the news came from the Associated Press that Herat, Afghanistan’s third-largest city and the gateway to the country’s west, had fallen to the Taliban. Hours later, Kandahar, Afghanistan’s second-largest city and the birthplace of the Taliban movement, had fallen as well. Kabul, the capital, will soon be encircled by the Taliban, who in a matter of weeks have taken control of twelve of the country’s thirty-four provincial capitals. By the time you read this, that number may well be higher. On Thursday afternoon, the State Department and Pentagon announced that the U.S. military is sending in some three thousand troops to help evacuate much of the U.S. Embassy staff from Kabul. Bitter irony of ironies—that was approximately the number of U.S. troops still deployed in Afghanistan when Biden decided to pull them out and perhaps insure the government falling to the Taliban in the first place.

None of this was a surprise, despite Biden’s embarrassing comment just last month that it was “highly unlikely” the Taliban would soon be “overrunning everything and owning the whole country.” Senior U.S. government officials knew what was coming, even if they hoped for better, or at least for more time until the Taliban onslaught—akin to the “decent interval” Richard Nixon sought between his own withdrawal from Vietnam and the inevitable victory of the North over the South. They were neither “clueless” nor “delusional,” as a person who has recently spoken with Biden’s advisers about Afghanistan put it to me. To those who were paying attention, there was a grim inevitability to the week’s events. The Pentagon has warned every one of the last four Presidents that an abrupt U.S. withdrawal would lead to some version of the Afghan military debacle we are seeing this week.

Still, in the four months since Biden’s decision was announced, I have been surprised by the lack of concrete debate and discussion about what the real consequences are of the pullout. Why? It’s hard to say for sure. Political calculation by both parties is part of it, undoubtedly, as well as the all-too-pressing problem of too much else terrible going on, with American democracy in crisis and a horrible summer coronavirus surge. But events on the ground do not wait for Washington, and this is the week that the consequences have started to reveal themselves. So, the question must be, and is starting to be, asked: What will come next from this disaster?

It is much easier to neither ask nor answer that question; it is easier to keep litigating the question of who is to blame for twenty years’ and two trillion dollars’ worth of war. Over two decades, there have been many, many rounds of this: George W. Bush botching Afghanistan because he decided to invade Iraq instead. Barack Obama botching Afghanistan because he decided to surge troops but then told the Taliban exactly when he would pull them back out. By the time Trump, eager to end the war but endlessly equivocating about how to do so, made what by most accounts was a terrible deal with the Taliban, in February of 2020, the multiple crises inside the United States meant that the deal received little to no attention in a capital consumed by impeachment, a pandemic, and economic collapse.

Biden himself was long a skeptic of what could be accomplished in Afghanistan, and when Obama debated the surge in 2009, Biden was on the losing side against it. This time, he made clear to his team that he would not bow to the generals. He even kept Trump’s Taliban negotiator, the former Ambassador to Afghanistan Zalmay Khalilzad, in place. In April, overriding the Pentagon recommendations and the fears of some of his advisers, Biden took the politically expedient course of declaring the “Forever War” ended on his watch. It is surely on Biden as much as on Trump how the pullout appears to have been organized: so rapidly that there were no plans in place to evacuate the twenty thousand Afghan interpreters who worked for the U.S., and without agreements secured in advance for regional bases from which to conduct the counterterrorism mission that the U.S. says it will continue. U.S. forces completed their withdrawal without major incident, but now come the urgent unanswered questions: Will the Taliban take Kabul by force? Will they march in before the upcoming twentieth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, which were planned and launched by Al Qaeda from Afghanistan, and which prompted the U.S. war there in the first place? Is there any realistic chance remaining of a negotiated settlement between the Afghan government and the Taliban to prevent such an outcome?

When I spoke with a senior Biden Administration official late Thursday, those were the questions the White House was focussing on, after a day of grim news that made clear only bad scenarios remain. “There is a totally credible possibility of some kind of deal cut here. And I think there is a totally credible possibility that the Taliban, riding high on adrenaline and momentum and whatever else they’re on, enter the city violently,” the senior official told me. “Those are both credible possibilities, and we need to be prepared for both and operating effectively on both tracks. That’s what we’re doing with our deployment, and that’s what we’re doing with our diplomacy.”

When I spoke on Thursday with experts who have decades of Afghan experience between them about the week’s events, they were contemplating even more apocalyptic scenarios for what may come. “Is this going to be Biden’s Rwanda?” asked one longtime acquaintance, whom I met in Kabul in the spring of 2002, full of determination to build a modern, functioning state out of the post-Taliban, post-9/11 rubble. Or, perhaps, “Al Qaeda/isis 3.0”? The possibilities, from large-scale human-rights atrocities to a new center for international jihadist terrorism, are bloodcurdling.

I mentioned the fear of an “Al Qaeda/isis 3.0” to Peter Bergen, the journalist and author who has just released “The Rise and Fall of Osama bin Laden.” Bergen, who interviewed bin Laden in the nineteen-nineties in Afghanistan and whom I met there when I was sent by the Washington Post to cover the war in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, told me that he thought the catastrophe in Afghanistan was very similar to the isis blitzkrieg into Iraq that followed the U.S.’s 2011 withdrawal. “The movie is exactly the same movie,” he said. “It’s basically the isis playbook.” Whether and when the Taliban roll into Kabul, it’s already clear that we are looking at a renewed and violent civil war. In short, he added, “It’s a fucking mess.” Which, come to think of it, is a pretty fair epitaph for this whole sorry affair.

— The New Yorker | August 13, 2021

[junker-town]

NBA MVP candidates for the 2020-2021 season, ranked

If we had an NBA MVP ballot, this is how we would vote.

A clear front-runner has emerged in the 2020-2021 NBA MVP race, but rarely have the other four spots on the ballot felt so difficult to fill out. The season has been compromised from the very start by a global pandemic and a condensed schedule meant to squeeze as many games as possible into an abbreviated window. Add in the shortest offseason in league history — just 71 days for the Los Angeles Lakers and Miami Heat — and the result has been a year full of regular absences from the game’s biggest stars.

Availability has been the buzzword of the season with so many injuries and Covid-related absences. In filling out our top-five, we decided that if Joel Embiid — who has played 46 games at time of publish — is going to be on the ballot, then LeBron James (43 games), James Harden (42 games), Kawhi Leonard (47 games) and Jimmy Butler (48 games) all deserved equal consideration. It just didn’t seem to make much sense to include Embiid but rule out any of those other players.

With apologies to Chris Paul, Leonard, Luka Doncic, Harden, and Rudy Gobert, this is how we would vote if we had an MVP ballot.

5. LeBron James, F, Los Angeles Lakers

LeBron James clearly wanted to win his fifth MVP this season. Before he missed the last game before the All-Star break with a sore ankle, James had played in the Lakers’ first 36 games despite coming off the shortest offseason (only 71 days) in league historyf. James’ ankle eventually buckled from the stress on March 20, and he’s just recently returned to the lineup, not yet looking like himself.

James developed a reputation for using the regular season to coast a few years back, and it would have been completely forgivable this season after carrying the Lakers to the championships in the bubble. Instead, LeBron seemingly dragged the Lakers’ offense to competence every night while also contributing to their top-ranked defense, all while Anthony Davis missed the majority of the season with a calf strain.

James’ regular season numbers have fallen since his peak, but his peak was so high that he remains one of the most productive players in the league. He’s third in Estimated Plus-Minus, and fifth in RAPM, two all-in-one stats that measure on-court impact. LeBron doesn’t attack the rim as much anymore and settled for threes at the highest rate of his career this season, but his ability to dictate the tempo of any game and find open teammates as a playmaker has kept him near the top of the league hierarchy. When it’s playoff time, there’s LeBron and then there’s everyone else.

LeBron won’t tie Michael Jordan with his fifth MVP this season, but he still has a chance to tie him with his sixth NBA championship even if the Lakers look shaky right now. James has said he’ll never get back to 100 percent in his career after the ankle injury, but maybe that will only serve as more motivation for the self-proclaimed ‘washed king.’

4. Giannis Antetokounmpo, F, Milwaukee Bucks

Photo by Brandon Todd/NBAE via Getty Images

No NBA player has won MVP in three straight seasons since Larry Bird, and Antetokounmpo won’t be the player to break that streak. While voters will remember the Bucks’ playoff flameout in the bubble last year and point to a Bucks team that hasn’t been as dominant in the regular season this year, Giannis remains nearly as good as he’s been the last two seasons when he took home this hardware.

With Jrue Holiday adding a new dimension to the offense this season, the Bucks have played Giannis as a big slightly more often. His usage rate is down, and he’s attempting three-pointers less frequently than last season, but he’s actually scoring unassisted more often than he ever has in his career. Holiday and Khris Middleton have occupied enough attention as legit co-stars to make Giannis more unstoppable than ever isolations, going from the 59th percentile to the 88th percentile in scoring efficiency on those plays since last season.

Antetokounmpo is still terrific defensively, and he’s actually raised his block rate and steal rate from last season when he won Defensive Player of the Year. His 49-point performance against the Nets over the weekend showed the type of two-way force he can be. The hope is that Holiday can make the Bucks’ offense less predictable in the playoffs, and Giannis can find some openings that he didn’t have a year ago. As long as he’s in Milwaukee, the Bucks are real title contenders.

3. Joel Embiid, C, Philadelphia 76ers

Photo by Tim Nwachukwu/Getty Images

The 76ers were among the most disappointing teams in the NBA last season. Daryl Morey arrived during the offseason to takeover as the franchise’s lead decision-maker, and emphasized finding players that were a better complement to Joel Embiid’s game. The result is a Sixers team that currently holds the No. 1 seed in the East thanks to the best season of Embiid’s career.

In an era that has devalued post play, Embiid has become an unstoppable force on the block. He leads the league by a mile in post possessions (9.3 per game, the next closest is Nikola Jokic at 5.9) and points scored in the post (10 per game, Jokic is next closest at six). If Embiid isn’t getting buckets on his endless series of counters, he’s likely getting to the foul line. His 17.1 free throw attempts per 100 possessions would be the second most in league history, per Basketball Reference, only eclipsed by Shaq in 2001. While Shaq hit 51.3 percent of his shots at the line, Embiid shoots 85 percent from the charity stripe.

Embiid has also made massive improvements as a shooter. From mid-range, Embiid is making 48.2 percent of his shots between 10-16 feet (last year: 40.7 percent) and 51.4 percent of his shots between 16-feet and the three-point line (last year: 35.5 percent). He’s also raised his three-point percentage from 33.1 to 37.7 percent.

Embiid has a case as the best two-way player in basketball right now, performing at a level that ranks in the 98th percentile offensively and 93rd percentile defensively, per Estimated Plus-Minus. While some would argue he’s not the most impactful defensive player on his own team, Embiid remains one of the very best players in the league on that end as a massive 7-foot, 280-pound center who can protect the paint and deter shooters from even thinking about taking shots at the rim. He rates as a top-10 defensive player by the RAPTOR metric.

Embiid has been limited to 46 games so far this season which hurts his MVP case, but his value to the Sixers is obvious to anyone who has paid attention this year. If he isn’t the MVP just yet, Embiid is unquestionably now one of the best players alive.

2. Steph Curry, PG, Golden State Warriors

Photo by Jordan Johnson/NBAE via Getty Images

Stephen Curry said it best himself at the start of the season: he had nothing to prove at age-33, but still had plenty to accomplish. So much has changed for his Golden State Warriors over the last two seasons: Kevin Durant is in Brooklyn, Klay Thompson has missed consecutive years due to injury, and the team has gone from winning championships to competing for a spot in the play-in tournament. Just about the only thing that has remained the same is Curry’s greatness, which he reminded us of again and again this season.

Curry leads the NBA in scoring at 31.3 points per game on the highest usage rate of his carer while still posting a ridiculous 65.8 true shooting percentage that ranks No. 10 in the league (he’s the only guard in the top-20). Curry scored a new career-high 62 points in his fifth game of the season, he hit 10 or more three-pointers in a game five times, and he averaged more than 37 points per game in April on 51.8/46.6/90.8 shooting splits.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about Curry’s season is that he’s done it while opposing defenses focused their full attention on him every night because the Warriors don’t have another player who can reliably create his own shot. With Curry on the court this season, the Warriors have an offense that ranks right at the edge of the top-10. With him on the bench, the offense performs at a level at would be the worst in the league over the last five years. That about sums it up.

Curry’s scoring explosions have been one of the true joys of the season, but there’s also something a little disheartening about him being stuck on a Warriors team that would again be the worst in the league without him. A player this good deserves to be competing for championships again, not praying to get out of the play-in tournament.

1. Nikola Jokic, C, Denver Nuggets

Photo by C. Morgan Engel/Getty Images

Jokic is the MVP because he’s been the best player in the NBA during the regular season. It’s as easy as that.

Jokic entered the season in great shape and was dominant from the first month of the season until the very end. He pulled off one of the most difficult tasks in basketball this year: raising his usage to career-high levels while also scoring more efficiently than he ever has before. Jokic averaged 37.2 points per 100 possessions (previous career high: 31.5) on 64.5 percent true shooting, buoyed by his 41 percent three-point shooting, which is nearly 10 percentage points better than it was last year. He also significantly improved his long two-point shooting ability by making 51 percent of shots between 16-feet and the three-point line.

Jokic has grown into a great scorer, but it is of course not the best part of his game. This is the best passing big man of all-time, and perhaps one of the best pure passers in league history. His 40.3 percent assist rate is No. 6 in the league, and he’s been passing teammates open — not just passing to open teammates — all season. His impact as a passer has helped unlock teammates Michael Porter Jr. and Aaron Gordon in particular since the latter arrived from Orlando at the trade deadline.

Jokic is blowing away the competition in just about every all-in-one stat that measures a player’s impact. He’s first in Estimated Plus-Minus, first in overall RAPTOR, and first in Box Plus-Minus, win shares per 48, and VORP. Jokic grades out as a slight positive defensively in most metrics while being a massive positive on offense. Basically every reputable metric shows that Jokic has been the league’s best player during the regular season.

When Jokic is on the floor, the Nuggets outscore opponents by nearly eight points per 100 possessions. When he’s off the floor, they get outscored slightly per 100. Unlike everyone else on this list, Jokic hasn’t missed a game all season. While the season-ending Jamal Murray injury is a brutal blow for Denver’s playoff chances, they still won’t be an easy out with Jokic playing like this. Regardless of what happens in the postseason, MVP is a regular season award, and Jokic has been this season’s top player.

[placetobenation]

The Road to WrestleMania is off to a white hot start!

Your first two superstars set for Tampa April 10-11 are Bianca Belair and Edge with their respective Royal Rumble wins. Both had magical runs with Edge running the table for a full hour from the #1 spot while Belair almost matched him from the #3 position, going 56+ minutes.

I thought both Rumble matches were very good with men’s being a bit more cohesive. They missed a storyline detail with Orton’s face being magically cured just 6 days after seeing it exposed on RAW. I’m glad they didn’t go down the road of Orton missing most of the Rumble with the new injury and then coming back at the end to eliminate Edge. Edge going wire-to-wire was inspirational. Ricochet being in and no Keith Lee was never explained, although I’m sure it was COVID-19 related for Lee with Mia Yim already announcing she had tested positive prior that weekend. Bad Bunny taking out The Miz & John Morrison was your entertainment clip for the next day and the start of a beautiful relationship with the WWE for Latin rapper/wrestling fan. Good showings for the returning Seth Rollins, Big E and Damian Priest with 4 eliminations a piece to lead the men. Omos got two eliminations from the outside when he pulled out Big E and Rey Mysterio. At what point do they expose him to some action in the ring?

Bad Bunny Hits Frog Splash Off the Top Rope at Royal Rumble, Take That Miz! https://t.co/d7AlwU7lqx

— TMZ (@TMZ) February 2, 2021

On the women’s side, Billie Kay was funny, Rhea Ripley was a beast with a night-topping 7 eliminations and the final three was fantastic with Belair, Ripley and Flair.

Roman Reigns and Kevin Owens stole the night going around Tropicana Field beating the holy hell out of each other. I’m just glad Paul Heyman finally got those handcuffs off!

Sasha Banks vs. Carmella was very good, but I just wonder what they do with Carmella now after all the hype.

Drew McIntyre and Goldberg did what they needed to do – pass the torch of respect and keep Goldberg in mind, looking relatively strong for another match at WrestleMania.

The less we say about the kick-off women’s tag team championship match the better. Predictable as the day is long and we get Nia Jax & Shayna Baszler as champs again, YAWN!

Star of the Week:

Edge – Seriously, is any explanation needed?!

RAW

RESULTS

United States Championship Match: Riddle defeated Bobby Lashley by DQ

Xavier Woods defeated Mustafa Ali

Damian Priest defeated The Miz

RAW Tag Team Championship Match: The Hurt Business defeated Lucha House Party

Triple Threat Tag Team Elimination Match: Naomi & Lana defeated Charlotte Flair & Asuka and Mandy Rose & Dana Brooke to win championship match

Jeff Hardy & Carlito defeated Jaxson Ryker & Elias

Alexa Bliss defeated Nikki Cross

Edge defeated Randy Orton

Needless to say Edge is having one hell of a week and Monday Night RAW and thus, we the fans, are benefitting.

Monday Night EDGE was full of the Royal Rumble winner from Sunday night. First, off, he sets the tone for the night by telling WWE Champion Drew McIntyre that he and he only, will set the place and time when he decides who Edge will face at WrestleMania.

Why @WWESheamus WHY?! The Celtic Warrior has just Brogue Kicked his best friend @DMcIntyreWWE on #WWERaw! pic.twitter.com/YoDWX6oyuN

— WWE (@WWE) February 2, 2021

Just a few moments later, Sheamus turned on his friend of 20 years, setting up their feud and future title match.

Amazing.@ArcherofInfamy just got words of encouragement from @EdgeRatedR. What a first night on #WWERaw! pic.twitter.com/WzjQ2KQxST

— WWE (@WWE) February 2, 2021

Then, later on in the show, Edge gives his rub and thumbs up to Damian Priest, RAW’s newest member after his Royal Rumble debut. Finally, after a challenge from old friend Randy Orton, Edge puts to bed his feud with The Legend Killer with an assist from Alexa Bliss. A fun night of EDGE indeed!

An unnerving distraction, to say the least, for @RandyOrton…#WWERaw @AlexaBliss_WWE pic.twitter.com/paRiHFui8X

— WWE (@WWE) February 2, 2021

Speaking of Little Miss Bliss, she continues to be a primetime player, inserting herself into the finish of the Edge/Orton match, paying back The Viper for his costing her the RAW Women’s Championship one week earlier. You wonder if at some point, they have them face-off in the ring in an intergender match. And oh yes, we’re just waiting for the reincarnation of The Fiend before WrestleMania.

It looks like we will get an intergender match between Xavier Woods and RECKONING once Mia Yim comes back from COVID-19. It’s now 2-2 between Woods and RETRIBUTION, so Woods wants the tiebreaker. We can only hope it’s as good as Sasha Banks vs. Reginald.

Damian Priest, along with Bad Bunny, made their RAW debuts a successful one taking out The Miz. Say what you will about celebrities, but I though Bad Bunny made a good showing with the leap off the top rope at the Royal Rumble and then with appearance on MizTV followed by the Priest/Miz match. I can just see a tag team match down the road, maybe at WrestleMania coming. It’s a win-win for the WWE with mainstream following of Bad Bunny. BTW: Booker T is hilarious in his old GI Bro get-up for the video.

Nice to see Carlito back in the Rumble and on RAW. Not sure why he’s teaming with Jeff Hardy other than filling up a spot to take down Jaxon Ryker & Elias, a team that seems to be going nowhere after an impressive start.

As for The Hurt Business, Bobby Lashley won the war but lost the battle by DQ to Riddle. There’s most to come between those two I’m sure. Meanwhile, the tension continues between Cedric Alexander, Shelton Benjamin and MVP. It’s only a matter of time before the unfortunate break-up between these three. It’s unnecessary for sure.

NXT

RESULTS

Dusty Rhodes Women’s Tag Team Classic Semifinals: Raquel Gonzalez & Dakota Kai defeated Kacy Catanzaro & Kayden Carter

Austin Theory defeated Leon Ruff

Dusty Rhodes Men’s Tag Team Classic Quarterfinals: Legado del Fantasma defeated Lucha House Party

Jessi Kamea defeated Toni Storm by DQ

NXT Cruiserweight Championship Match: Santos Escobar defeated Curt Stallion

Dusty Rhodes Men’s Tag Team Classic Quarterfinals: Timothy Thatcher & Tommaso Ciampa defeated The Undisputed Era

Talk about a jam packed two-hour show folks! NXT had it in spades Wednesday night.

.@KacyCatanzaro is a HUMAN HIGHLIGHT REEL.#WWENXT #DustyClassic @RaquelWWE pic.twitter.com/pm7E2BnePb

— WWE NXT (@WWENXT) February 4, 2021

To start the night, Raquel Gonzalez & Dakota Kai fought off a valiant effort from the underdog team of Kacy Catanzaro & Kayden Carter to gain a spot in the Dusty Rhodes Women’s Tag Team Classic Finals. Truth be told, I thought Kacy & Kayden were going to pull off the upset until Gonzalez’ brute strength won out.

What can you say about Leon Ruff and Austin Theory? Loved the way the match played out. Everything was entertaining and made sense. Ember Moon, Shotzi Blackheart, Indie Hartwell and Candice LeRae was just enough to let Ruff pull off an Eddie Guerrero tribute to get Johnny Gargano tossed. Theory getting the win was the right choice and then Dexter Lumis making the save while pulling out Theory’s hair extends the story.

Lucha Libre grabbed the spotlight as Legado del Fantasma took out Lucha House Party in a high-flying match. Now, we get MSK and Legado in the Dusty Rhodes Men’s Classic Semi’s next week in what will be a certain classic.

.@EdgeRatedR hasn't held the #NXTTitle yet. Ya know, #WrestleMania would be a great time to hold it… just saying.#WWENXT @FinnBalor @PeteDunneYxB pic.twitter.com/GMU6NixS4e

— WWE NXT (@WWENXT) February 4, 2021

What better way to put more intensity into Finn Balor and Pete Dunne’s NXT TakeOver: Vengeance Day announcement then to put the Rater R Superstar right in the middle of it! Edge’s first visit to NXT puts even more intrigue into who the Royal Rumble winner will face at WrestleMania. Talk about a promo bringing goosebumps. That was it, friends. Straight to the point and I loved the line about sometimes in WWE they focus more about the “E” but in NXT, it’s more about the “W.” 

"𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒂 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦."#WWENXT pic.twitter.com/Y0WphQYYE6

— WWE NXT (@WWENXT) February 4, 2021

How old is Tian Sha? Did they 1,000 years old? #Intrigued

I could’ve done without the run-in by Mercedes Martinez and Io Shira in the Toni Storm vs. Jessi Kamea match. The DQ ending in under two minutes didn’t do anyone any justice. But, let’s be honest, when Shirai, Storm and Martinez is the low point of your show, that’s a pretty damn good night!

Never scared, never intimidated, ALWAYS Chingon #NORespect

@WWE belongs to my Legado. pic.twitter.com/djbR1uL8UB

— SANTOS ESCOBAR

(@EscobarWWE) February 4, 2021

Santos Escobar is Elite. That much he proved again with another successful defense of his NXT Cruiserweight Championship over Curt Stallion. There’s few that can match in move for move in the ring. But, now where will this latest beef with Karrion Kross lead to while Scarlett watches him win and then Kross gives him the gift of time after beating up Joaquin Wilde and Raul Mendoza. Tick. Tock. Who’s on the clock. Could it be Edge and Kross? Yes, please!

"Words like that, they can be motivating. They can motivate me to come back here. I don't think you'd like that." – @EdgeRatedR to @WWEKarrionKross We'd like that very much tho' #WWENXT pic.twitter.com/QplaMEd2fY

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) February 4, 2021

Pretty sure bodies aren't meant to bend like that. #WWENXT (via @WWENXT) pic.twitter.com/5dUnjnWpog

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) February 4, 2021

For a team that was just thrown together out of respect, Tommaso Ciampa and Timothy Thatcher are making things mighty interesting in the Dusty Rhodes Men’s Tag Team Classic! I knew it would be a good main event, but that was one fun, physical match against The Undisputed Era. Thatcher even gave himself up so that Ciampa could get the pin over Roderick Strong with the Willow’s Bell. Now, it’s the Grizzled Young Veterans in the semis next week.

SMACKDOWN

RESULTS

Dominik Mysterio defeated King Corbin

Cesaro defeated Daniel Bryan

Bayley defeated Ruby Riott

Non-title SmackDown Tag Team Championship Match: Robert Roode & Dolph Ziggler defeated Otis & Chad Gable

Intercontinental Championship Triple Threat Match: Big E defeated Sami Zayn and Apollo Crews to retain title

Even an assault on both Rey and Dominik Mysterio before the match didn’t eliminate the chance of yet another Corbin vs. Dominik match this week. At least Mysterio got the pinfall this time, but it still didn’t really give me any intrigue as to why I should be invested in their story. Has Corbin given us any reason why hates the Mysterios so much? Nah, didn’t think so.

.@WWECesaro picks up a HUGE win over @WWEDanielBryan on #SmackDown! pic.twitter.com/qGw3wq4G3H

— WWE (@WWE) February 6, 2021

In better news, we get more Cesaro and Daniel Bryan. Just give these guys 60 minutes and an Ironman Match already! Love the run that Cesaro is on. There’s got to be a nice payoff coming for the King of Swing. Maybe he’ll get the spot against Roman Reigns that we all thought Bryan was going to get.

It'll be #BossTime at @DAYTONA!#SmackDown @SashaBanksWWE @NASCARONFOX pic.twitter.com/qdZr8ssMC3

— WWE (@WWE) February 6, 2021

Vroom! Vroom! Sasha Banks is going to get them started at the Daytona 500!

Give me more Reginald! Every week, he puts himself more and more of the spotlight. This week, though, he does protest too much and after telling Bianca Belair that she can’t beat Sasha, he gets a hairful of whipping ponytail across his backside. No official decision from the EST, but things are heating up with Banks, Carmella, Belair and of course, Reggie.

New music for the tag team champs plus a win over Otis & Chad Gable. Nice commentary work by The Street Profits. I’ll put this one in the same place as Bayley vs. Ruby Riott, more filler than anything special. Not bad, just not memorable.

#SmackDown @EdgeRatedR @ShinsukeN pic.twitter.com/MGbHheksHX

— WWE (@WWE) February 6, 2021

Edge and Shinsuke Nakamura. Respect.

Not sure Edge needed the Hulk Hogan rub but it was nice going down memory lane 33 years ago for Hogan vs. Andre on The Main Event.

Bye bye, @SamiZayn! #SmackDown pic.twitter.com/dfP9gvs3va

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) February 6, 2021

Good three-way work for the I-C Title between Big E, Sami Zayn and Apollo Crews. Poor Sami, gets power-pressed into the timekeeper’s area after Crews stopped him from pinning Big E for the title. In the end, Big E retains over Crews and continues his ascent on SmackDown. Who’s next?

Who will @EdgeRatedR choose to face at @WrestleMania? pic.twitter.com/Agl2AmYqap

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) February 6, 2021

Edge wraps up his week on SmackDown. But, will we get an answer to who he’ll face at WrestleMania? Reigns wants acknowledgement. Edge says he’s already taking up space in Roman’s head but he’s not here alone. Bingo! Once Reigns clears Paul Heyman and Jey Uso from the ring, Kevin Owens is back with a stunner. No decision from Edge but we do get one long smirk to end the show. Keep the intrigue going! Great decision. Slow walk it and build up the anticipation on all the shows!

Parting Shots:

Still cannot believe @RonKillings managed to cut a flawless promo on my show after tossing me around my room and taking my title! https://t.co/nIck9htkey via @YouTube

— Peter Rosenberg (@Rosenbergradio) February 2, 2021

Nicely done Peter Rosenberg. Less than 24 hours as 24/7 Champion and losing it on the YES Network LIVE!

Things are looking sweet for Valentine’s Day at NXT TakeOver: Vengeance Day.

NXT Championship: Finn Balor vs. Pete Dunne

NXT Women’s Championship Triple Threat Match: Io Shirai vs. Toni Storm vs. Mercedes Martinez

NXT North American Championship Match: Johnny Gargano vs. KUSHIDA

Dusty Rhodes Women’s Tag Team Classic Finals

Dusty Rhodes Men’s Tag Team Classic Finals

Coming up this week:

RAW: What’s next for Sheamus and Drew McIntyre?

NXT: Cameron Grimes returns Dusty Rhodes Women’s Tag Team Classic Semifinals: Candice LeRae & Indi Hartwell vs. Shotzi Blackheart & Ember Moon Dusty Rhodes Men’s Tag Team Classic Semifinals: Grizzled Young Veterans vs. Tommaso Ciampa & Timothy Thatcher Dusty Rhodes Men’s Tag Team Classic Semifinals: MSK vs. Legado del Fantasma

SMACKDOWN: Seth Rollins returns

Thanks for letting us share our thoughts! Shoot me an email at jcrowe567@gmail.com. We’d love to hear your comments and suggestions! You can also check out my blog, The Crowe’s Nest as we delve into more pro wrestling, sports entertainment and the World of Sports. My apologies ahead of time – I AM a Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics and Bruins fan! If you’re not down with that, I’ve got TWO WORDS for you… NEW ENGLAND

[quentinsquill]

The Magicians: “Midway Between Gods and Beasts” (Fic)

Midway Between Gods and Beasts

Author: Lexalicious70 (all-hale-eliot)

Fandom: The Magicians

Genre: AU, some canon events included

Word Count: 20,868

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

Summary: Successful hedge witch Eliot Waugh finds his comfortable life in Chelsea with his best friend Margo unexpectedly interrupted when young, untrained magician Quentin Coldwater comes into his life, pursued by those who believe he is mentally ill and by a terrible beast from another world who wants to use Quentin as an unwilling pawn in its takeover of a magical world.

Author’s Notes: This is for the Welter’s Challenge Trials Big Bang, Tier 2! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun and to pass the time until my next therapy session. Thanks to @kings-of-fillory, @justcallmeasmodeus, and @highqueenbambiwaugh for advice and inspiration!  Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy, and thanks for reading.

Midway Between Gods and Beasts

By Lexalicious70

 CHAPTER ONE

 Spring in Chelsea didn’t arrive all at once.

 It wasn’t like the arrival of winter, which often came with the suddenness of a busload of tourists tumbling off a trendy, double-decker Gray Line. Spring was an ambling, wayward urban explorer more intent on finding hidden architectural gems than visiting tired tourist traps. As the last piles of dirty snow retreated under shade trees, park benches, and store alleyways, where they finally melted away, sun-warm breezes made their way into the neighborhood that promised its trees, shrubs, and flower boxes would be rioting by May, now only four weeks away.

 They were, in fact, the kind of breezes that almost made one not as sorry he had ever been conceived.

 “Christ, Eliot, close that window! It’s April, not July!”

 Eliot glanced up from the window seat and the cigarette he was enjoying to see his roommate and best friend Margo standing in front of her bedroom door in a sunflower-yellow robe, her long brown hair damp and tousled. She put her hands on her hips.

 “Come on, seriously, I just took a shower and that air feels freezing!”

 “So use a warming spell or dry your hair. You know I don’t like to smoke in here with the windows closed.” Eliot replied. His fellow hedge witch narrowed her dark eyes for a moment before crossing the high-gloss hardwood floors of the loft they shared. A slim metal carafe sat on the counter in the roomy kitchenette, and Margo filled a mug with the blonde roast they both preferred.

 “You’re lucky you’re the only person on this whole planet I can stand to be around for more than five seconds.” She groused, sipping the coffee before adding a packet of natural sweetener.

 “I’m so very flattered.”

 “You should be.” Margo took her coffee into the living room and sat on the couch, her feet tucked up under her thighs as she reached for a leather-bound notebook. Inside, dates and names were inscribed in Eliot’s slanted, elegant scrawl. “Are we seeing anyone today?”

 “Mmmh.” Eliot nodded as he crushed out his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window and into a ceramic urn that sat on the fire escape. “Two hedges from Soho. Low level and looking for introductory thermogenic spells.” He got to his feet and stretched, his tall, thin frame elegant instead of gangly, as many tall men appear to be. A glance at the window dropped it closed, but not before a final warm breeze ruffled Eliot’s dark, curly hair. He went to the kitchen and took a coffee mug down, the hem of his open satin robe flapping around the black silk lounge pants he wore. His chest was bare, but he and Margo had lived together for more than two years now, and he knew it would bother her no more than occasional glimpses of her bare breasts or panty-clad ass disturbed him.

 “Thermogenic spells.” Margo sipped her coffee. “Are we sure we want to sell those to newbies? They might accidentally set themselves on fire.”

 “You know our disclaimer. Magic is likely to maim or kill you, cast at your own risk, et cetera. We’re here to provide a service, not wet nurse a bunch of inexperienced hedges.”

 “Hey, we used to be inexperienced hedges.”

 Eliot tapped a bit of sweetener into his coffee and frowned at her.

 “Correction, Margo darling. We chose to be inexperienced hedges. One semester at Brakebills was enough to show us that learning magic formally is bullshit and that it’s much more profitable and fun to discover spells and hone our skills on our own.” He went to sit next to her and she leaned against him.

 “The cottage was all right.” She allowed, and Eliot nodded.

 “Though not terribly private.”

 “El, you entertained a different guy every night.” Margo pointed out, and Eliot glanced down at her.

 “So did you. Sometimes we both entertained the same one on the same night.” Eliot sipped his coffee. “I used to hate it when they’d gone to you first . . . smelling your perfume on them always made me flaccid.” He ducked the throw pillow Margo swung at him almost before he finished speaking, covering the rim of his mug with one hand so it didn’t spill. Margo narrowed her eyes at him.

 “A, you better go get ready to meet these hedges and B, eat me!”

 “Oh, Bambi.” Eliot sighed as he got to his feet and dropped an affectionate kiss on top of her head. “I won’t even look at sliced cold cuts at the 8th Avenue Gourmet Deli.”

 The throw pillow connected solidly with his ass as he walked toward his room and he gave a token yelp of protest before hopping up the four steps that led to his room, which was quartered off from the rest of the loft with hand-painted flexible wooden panels. The door was connected to a curved archway and featured ten rectangular frosted panels, etched with delicate Japanese cherry blossoms. Eliot shut the door behind him and shed his robe before slipping out of his lounge pants. He was under the hot spray of the glassed-in shower a moment later, letting the water and goat’s milk sandalwood soap wash away the smell of tobacco and the musk of deep sleep.

 Of course, Margo hadn’t been wrong in her estimation of how many young men he’d entertained in his room at Brakebills, the school for magical pedagogy, during their time there. His telekinesis and ability to throw a party had made him popular on campus, but as far as Eliot was concerned, he’d had his fill of rigidity and rules growing up in rural Indiana under the thumb of his father, a religious fanatic who had no patience for a son who was nothing like him.

 When Eliot’s telekinetic ability announced itself by allowing him to force-push his bully in front of an oncoming bus at the age of fourteen, his mother had packed him off to a cousin in Ohio, where he’d attended high school. A month after graduation, a dressing room in a local department store had opened up into the world of Brakebills, where he’d passed the introductory exam easily and met Margo. While they were both highly adept at learning magic, the formality of the school had urged them to strike out on their own as self-taught casters, which formally-trained magicians called hedge witches.

 Now, two years later, he and Margo were both successful, high-level hedges, and their talents were sought out by others like them, as well as Brakebills students who wanted spells that were forbidden to them by the school. Eliot’s loft, which was on the top floor of a building inhabited entirely by magical adepts under the watchful eye of their stern landlord, Henry Fogg, was the young hedge’s domain and he held meetings the way a king might hold sway over his court. He was unforgiving when he had to be, fiercely protective of Margo, and feared in the underground magical community for his power and reputation, mostly spread by those who had crossed or severely annoyed him.

 Learning what magic is and isn’t on your own has taught me more than I ever could have learned at Brakebills, Eliot thought to himself as he rinsed his hair and turned off the shower. A wall of mirrored cabinets faced the shower door, and Eliot glanced at himself as he reached for a towel. The insides of his long arms were covered with star-shaped tattoos, and each of them contained a number in its center. The ink ambled up his skin in clusters, petered out at the elbow, then regrouped on the back of his neck and shoulders. The final tattoo, resting between Eliot’s shoulder blades, was slightly larger than the rest and read a single number in stylized, wine-colored ink:

 300

 “Top bitch in Chelsea—maybe even the whole city. Why anyone would waste their time at Brakebills, I’ll never know.” Eliot murmured to himself as he went to his closet to choose an outfit. Outside the door, he could hear the soft babble of voices as Margo let the Soho hedge witches in. He dressed quickly and straightened his paisley tangerine tie. New hedges meant spending the afternoon drinking good wine, a stimulating barter session, and money in his pocket.

 All in all, it wasn’t bad way for a Brakebills dropout and a former farmer’s son to pass the time.

 CHAPTER TWO

 Dolborough Mental Health Facility

Queens Village, Queens, N.Y.

 “Quentin? Quentin, are you listening to me?”

 Quentin Coldwater glanced up across the wide wooden expanse of the desk his doctor sat behind. The pudgy man, who had thinning blond hair and wore steel-rimmed glasses, frowned at him.

 “You know deflecting my questions and trying to deliberately sabotage these therapy sessions with silence won’t help you.”

 “I do know that.” Quentin nodded, pushing back his lank, tawny hair with one hand. The roots were dark with oil—he hadn’t bothered showering that morning. Or the morning before that. “Because nothing you’ve done in the nine fucking months I’ve been here has helped me at all.”

 “Quentin, you’re eighteen. You’re quite brilliant, from what your father tells us, and you could have a happy and productive life outside these walls, but you have to want it!”

 “Happy?” Quentin’s fingers slipped into the kangaroo pocket of his grey hoodie, which was almost two sizes too big for his skinny frame. “Do you want to define that for me? Is it a set of objectives everyone should work toward, or is happiness for me different than happiness for you? And if that’s so, then how can you define what it is or isn’t for me? I think happiness is the illusion and how I feel every day, that’s the reality, Dr. Beekman.”

 “That’s the reality if you choose it to be!” Dr. Beekman pulled a prescription bottle from his desk drawer. “Now. We’re going to start you on these this evening, since the previous medications we’ve tried haven’t been very successful. They should start to elevate your mood. Once we accomplish that, these therapy sessions should become more effective.”

 Quentin gazed at the transparent orange bottle, the inside stuffed with pink and grey capsules.

 “I don’t want to take them.”

 “Quentin, your father is quite concerned that you haven’t made much progress since you’ve been here. I’m concerned as well.”

 “You should be concerned about how the meds are for shit . . . and they won’t keep Him away forever.”

 “Him—your father?”

 “No.” Quentin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Capital Him.”

 Silence spun out for a few moments and Dr. Beekman folded his hands on the desk’s faded blotter.

 “I thought we agreed that He didn’t exist.”

 “No. I told you He did and you decided He didn’t. I think the drugs have made it harder for Him to track me, but He’s going to find me. Soon.”

 “That’s the medication working, Quentin. The more you allow us to help you, the less He will be a presence in your psyche!” The doctor’s pale blue eyes dropped to Quentin’s wrists, which became briefly visible as Quentin shifted in the chair. Vertical scars ran from the base of his palms to just past his wrists. “You will come to understand that this—this—”

 “Beast.” Quentin supplied, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie back down until only the tips of his fingers showed.

 “That this Beast you believe is pursuing you is a hallucination, brought on by anxiety, paranoia, and depression! Once you embrace your treatment fully, you may able to transition to outpatient status. Until then, it’s time for you to return to your room. I’ll inform the night nurse about the addition of the new medication.” The doctor rose and opened the door. “Gordon will escort you back.”

 Quentin stood as he eyed the long shadow of the orderly who stood just outside the door. He came into view as Dr. Beekman spoke, a beefy twentysomething with a football player’s neck and squinty green eyes. He wore a military crewcut but the front had been left slightly longer and spiked with gel, making his carrot-colored hair look like the teeth of a rusty saw. Quentin stepped into the hall and the taller man wrapped his hand around Quentin’s left bicep.

 “Come along then, Quenny.” The orderly cajoled him, and Quentin scowled without looking at him.

 “It’s Quentin.”

 “See you soon, Quentin!” Dr. Beekman called as if they’d been having tea, and the office to his door swung shut. Pain radiated up Quentin’s arm as Gordon Kozak tightened his grip.

 “Your name is what I say it is, you little sack of shit.” The orderly murmured through clenched teeth, nodding at doctors and nurses as he passed them. “Maybe you need another reminder?”

 Quentin looked away from the sweaty-smelling orderly to glance into patient rooms as they passed by. Some were open and contained a single human, either confined to a bed or drooling in a wheelchair. Others, Quentin knew, were locked all the time, like his own door. Kozak marched him into the elevator at the end of the hallway and jabbed the up button with a thick finger. The doors parted, and they stepped into together. The moment the doors slid closed, Kozak’s hand moved from Quentin’s upper arm to the back of his neck, where it squeezed until Quentin gasped.

 “What’s your name? Huh? Answer me, Pisswater!”

 “Quenny.” Quentin ground out as the man’s big fingers dug into the sides of his neck. Kozak rounded him, his hand slipping around to grip Quentin’s throat. Quentin kept his eyes on the elevator’s floor indicator lights, counting them off as the elevator rose to the 25th floor.

 4, 5, 6 . . .

 “Wrong!” Kozak’s other hand dropped down between Quentin’s legs, where it gripped him. Quentin tried to bring his legs together.

 12, 13 14 . . .

 “Try again!” Both hands tightened. Quentin could feel his Adam’s apple bob against Kozak’s big hand.

 “My name is whatever you say it is.” Quentin murmured, and the hands fell away.

 “That’s a good boy.” Kozak nodded, leaning in toward Quentin. A moment later Quentin found himself losing half his air as Kozak shoved him against the back of the elevator wall. It jerked to a stop, and Kozak yanked him forward and out. The hallway was deserted and the orderly half-dragged Quentin down to room 2505, unlocked the door, and shoved him inside. Quentin stumbled and caught himself on the metal footrest of his bed as he looked over his shoulder to see whether Kozak was going to come after him. The big man filled the doorway, his expression filled with disgust.

 “Take a fucking shower, Pisswater. You stink.”

 The door slammed shut and Kozak’s keys jingled briefly as he locked Quentin in. Relief flooded through Quentin; sometimes Kozak locked the door from the other side and gave Quentin one of his lessons, the kind that left his knees bruised and his jaw aching. He gave the door a single, sullen look, pushing down his disgust and anger as he crawled into bed and pulled the rough grey wool blanket over his head, ignoring the stale odor of his unwashed skin. The flat, thin mattress, spartan bathroom, barred windows, and the room’s single decorative item, a tattered poster of a sunrise framed with flexible material and shatter-proof plexiglass inscribed with the caption, “EVERY DAY IS A NEW BEGINNING,” were a far cry from the comfortable home he’d shared with his father since he was nine and his parents had divorced, and light years away from Yale with his best friends James and Julia, where he should be sharing a dorm room with James and squabbling boyishly over wall outlets and closet space and the best lighting.

 Instead I’m here, Quentin thought as he brought his knees to his chest.

 It had started with the dreams. At first, they seemed like common nightmares where Quentin was pursued down a garden path by a monster he couldn’t see, yet knew was there. From there, they became night terrors, and Quentin would scream himself and his father awake, thrashing in his sheets, his lap a sodden mess of hot urine. Ted Coldwater, who had always been a bit puzzled by his introverted but brilliant son, took him to a therapist. Quentin and his father left the office ninety minutes later with a Prazosin prescription and on the way home, Ted spoke up after ten minutes of silence.

 “It was the divorce, wasn’t it.”

 “The divorce?”

 “That made you this way. That caused your—your strangeness.”

 “You think I’m strange?” Quentin asked, and Ted shook his head a little.

 “I don’t know what else to call it. You’re seventeen, but you’ve never had a girlfriend or even shown an interest, you never picked up a sport, you’re obsessed with magic tricks and those damn Fillory books—and don’t think I don’t know that you still play pretend when you vanish for hours on the weekends! Imagining you’re Martin Chatwand and I don’t know what else!”

 “It’s Chatwin. And—and there’s nothing wrong with imagination, dad. It helps me cope.”

 “If you ask me, it’s hurting more than it’s helping, and it’s high time you stopped. Or do you want to go into Yale with the mindset of a schoolboy?”

 So Quentin had stopped—at least when it came to reading Fillory books in front of his father or sneaking off to cosplay with Julia, when he could talk her into it. For him, the land of Fillory and its questing, magical Chatwin children that had ruled the land and protected its magical creatures in a series of five books, had always felt more real to him than his own life in Brooklyn. Quentin’s own urban quests were mostly the last of his boyish urges to wander, but in the back of his mind, he was always hoping he’d find a way to Fillory, just as the Chatwin children did in each of the books. Then one day, while Quentin was out on his own, he’d followed a path into a community garden that led him into thick foliage and where the slant of sunlight seemed to change. A single moth, electric blue and larger than any Quentin had ever seen, appeared out of the foliage, and then another and another until the air was thick with them. A man had stepped onto the path then, his face obscured by more of the fluttering moths, their scent musty, like old clothes that had been stored away unwashed.

 “Quentin Coldwater.” This creature, this beast, had purred. “There you are!”

 Quentin had stood frozen, his throat thick with the awful smell, and a strong hand with multiple, seeking fingers had closed over his mouth, making him breathe through his nose in panicked snorts. What might have happened if a nearby factory whistle hadn’t gone off down the block and startled the thing into retreating, Quentin didn’t know, but since that day, he had felt the thing’s presence close by, malicious and deadly. It pursued him through his dreams and he caught glimpses of it wherever he went. When Quentin had tried to escape on a more permanent basis by opening up his wrists with a razor blade, mental health services had convinced his father that Dolborough was the best place for him.

 Except He’s going to find me here, sooner or later, and I won’t be able to get away from Him if He does, Quentin thought to himself. I have to find a way to get out of here.

 A muffled thump out in the hallway caught Quentin’s attention and he emerged from his blanket burrow to sit up. Footsteps sounded back and forth past his door and he crept over to peek out through the thick mesh of the small window. Orderlies were carrying large cardboard boxes and stacking them at the end of the hallway, next to Quentin’s door. He could see that they were filled with coils of computer cable, old, dusty monitors, clunky-looking 90’s-era keyboards, and hard drive towers. Some of the boxes were overstuffed and hung open, and others had been shut with their flaps folded. Quentin knew there was a storage room at the opposite end of the hallway, and the orderlies must have been recruited to clean it out.

 They’re stacking that stuff by the elevator, which means it’s probably all getting donated or chucked out. Quentin plucked at his lower lip with a thumb and forefinger for a few moments before he turned back toward his bed. A large button printed with the outline of a nurse’s cap hung from a white cord, and he thumbed it several times before throwing himself onto the floor in front of the bed. He heard the door unlock and swing open a few moments later as the young floor nurse, a pretty brunette named Monica, came to answer the call button.

 “Mr. Cold—” Quentin heard her stop just a few inches away as he began to fake a seizure, letting his limbs flail and spit run out of the corner of his mouth. Her hand touched his chest, then his face, before Quentin heard her footsteps rapping away down the hall as she went for help. Quentin knew the duty desk was out of sight of his door and that he only had a minute at best to escape. He cracked an eye open and then crept to the open door before bolting for the abandoned pile of computer equipment near the elevator. One of the boxes was larger than a coffin and about four feet deep. It contained an old monitor and a pile of cables, but the other side was empty. Quentin dove into it, hastily shoving the monitor aside before he pulled the flaps shut. He curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, his heart hammering in his ears. The elevator dinged a moment later and Quentin held his breath as the two disgruntled orderlies stacked the boxes inside.

 “Fuckall, some of these are heavy!” One of them groused, and Quentin squeezed his eyes shut as he heard footsteps approach in a hurried way from the other end of the hall. The elevator doors rumbled shut, and Quentin gave a tiny sigh of relief as he felt himself carried away from the 25th floor. It was impossible to tell how far down they were traveling, but when the car bumped to a stop and the doors opened, Quentin heard the muffled sounds of street traffic. The steady, pulsing beep of a large truck backing up rang out a moment later, and one of the orderlies spoke.

 “All of this is going to the Bowery Mission!”

 The box shook and Quentin tried not to grunt as the monitor thumped and banged against his back. The thick scent of truck exhaust filtered into the box for a moment before it settled, and then a door slammed shut. The truck lurched briefly before pulling out of the alley and Quentin clapped both hands over his mouth as he felt it carry him away from Dolborough. Tears spurted from his eyes.

 Away. I’m away!

 As the truck headed away from Queens, the motion lulled Quentin into a doze where he plunged through a darkness filled with the white noise of a thousand musty, fluttering wings.

 CHAPTER THREE

 Eliot used his telekinesis to yank down the wooden grate of his building’s converted freight elevator, a bag full of trash dangling from each hand. He rode the elevator down to the ground floor and carried the bags down the short hallway, where he hip-bumped the rear door open. A steady rain darkened the pavement and pattered against the large dumpster the residents of his building used. He hunched his shoulders against the fat drops of rain as he tossed the bags into the open side of the deep unit, where they tumbled down inside. Wine bottles clinked together, the chiming muffled, and as they settled, Eliot heard another sound, almost like the mewl of a newborn animal. He paused, his head cocked to one side, and the sound floated up from the inside of the dumpster again.

 “Oh, what fresh hell is this?” Eliot sighed to himself. The alley was a private one, so Eliot cast a spell that allowed him to levitate above the unit. Another murmured spell caused light to spill from his fingertips, and he pointed them downward.

 From the innards of the dumpster, empty all but for two discarded pizza boxes and the two bags he’d just tossed inside, a skinny teenager peered up at him in mild awe. The grey hoodie and checkered lounge pants he wore were smeared with muck and grease, his ankles dark with dirt. Worn leather slippers covered his feet. The kid pressed himself into the corner, his dark eyes hollow and hunted. Eliot used his telekinesis to open the opposite lid and close the other so he could crouch on it and look down at the kid at the same time.

 “Hello.” He said at last. The kid brought his knees to his chest as rain started to pelt into the dumpster, but he didn’t respond. Eliot frowned. “You do realize this is a private trash receptacle?”

 “M’sorry.” The kid murmured at last, and in the grey light of the rainy morning, Eliot could see that he was shaking. “Saw the pizza boxes. Climbed in but then couldn’t get out.”

 Eliot sighed. It was Tuesday, which meant it was trash day and the trucks would come to empty the dumpster no matter what was in it. And pizza boxes? Was the kid going to eat out of the dumpster? Eliot’s stomach lurched at the thought. Two blocks over, a garbage truck’s engine droned and the boom of a dumpster being lifted and emptied echoed in the alley. Eliot could almost sense tiny devil and angel versions of himself appear on each shoulder as it began to rain harder.

 Leave the kid where he is. It’s not your business or your fault he’s down there.

 You could be where he is if not for a few strokes of luck and good fortune. Give the kid a hand.

 “Karma better pay me back for this in spades.” Eliot muttered after a moment as he gazed at the kid and lifted him out of the dumpster with his telekinesis. The kid didn’t seem surprised that he was rising into the air and when Eliot set him on his feet, his legs folded under him like a wounded deer and he thumped down onto the concrete. Eliot judged that he was maybe two or three years his junior. He was also thin, filthy, and obviously a drug addict.

 “Thank you.” The kid said in a raw, croaky whisper, and Eliot nodded.

 “Sure. You better move along now, though.” He said, although he made no move to turn back toward the building’s back door. Rain dripped off the ends of the kid’s hair, which looked like it had been washed back around last Halloween or so. “You can, can’t you?”

 “If I could just sit in your doorway a minute? Then I’ll go, I swear.”

 “All right.” Eliot allowed. The kid managed to get to his feet, but even taking the few steps to the doorway seemed to exhaust him. He sat down and pulled up the filthy hood of his pullover hoodie. Eliot stepped around him. “Take care.”

 The kid sniffled in reply and Eliot let the door shut behind him. He got halfway down the hall when muffled sobbing made him pause. He shook his head, took three more steps, then stopped again.

 “You’re going to regret this. You know you will. Idiot!” He said to himself before turning back to the rear door. He opened it to the sight of the kid’s shoulders shaking, the grey hoodie dark with rain.

 “Hey.” Eliot said, and the boy’s head jerked around, the dark eyes startled.

 “I—I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’ll go.” He struggled to his feet and Eliot held the door open wider.

 “Wait. I thought maybe you might be hungry. I have plenty of leftovers . . . I cook as sort of a hobby, you see. I could heat something up for you.” He rolled his eyes as the kid’s gaze turned wary. “Please. If I wanted to harm you, I would have done so when I pulled you out of that dumpster. Well?” He asked after a moment of silence. “I’m not going to stand here all day.”

 The kid stood with difficulty and mopped his face with his sleeve. It did nothing to improve his appearance.

 “Thanks.” He murmured as Eliot ushered him into the hallway and walked him down to the elevator. The kid walked like a drunk with a serious case of DTs and he reeked like month-old pot roast, but there was something about how he had trusted Eliot when he’d freed him from the dumpster that roused curiosity in the hedge witch. Most people would have run screaming at such a display of magic, but the kid didn’t seem to be afraid of him.

 And Eliot was used to being feared.

 “Where are we?” The kid asked as Eliot pulled the elevator door down and it began to rise.

 “The building doesn’t have a name, but we are almost precisely in the center of Chelsea, on the west side of the glorious borough of Manhattan.”

 “What day is it?”

 “Tuesday. April 9thth.” Eliot added as an afterthought. The elevator reached his floor and Eliot opened the door as he pulled his key out. Magical wards protected the apartment, but Eliot preferred the security of a solid steel deadbolt as well. He unlocked the door and crooked a finger at the kid.

 “Come in. What’s your name?”

 “Oh. Uhm—Martin. It’s Martin.”

 “I’m Eliot.”

 “Hi.” Martin’s eyes darted around the loft. “This is yours?”

 “Mmm.” Eliot nodded, wondering if it would to do spread a towel over one of the kitchen nook chairs to keep the damp, dirty seat of Martin’s lounge pants from soiling it. His pants weren’t the only issue, though. Margo’s bathroom had a tub, maybe—

 Sure. Then you can comb out his hair and watch him shake himself off to sleep. And if Margo catches you at this, you’ll be the one taking a bath—in the toilet, when she dunks your head in it for bringing a junkie into the house!

 A thump brought Eliot out of his thoughts to see that Martin had fallen again. He looked up at Eliot as he got to his hands and knees.

 “I’m sorry. I—I haven’t eaten in a long time. I’m sorry.” He barely got the last word out before he passed out at Eliot’s feet, his cheek pressed against the hardwood floor.

 Eliot closed his eyes a moment as he weighed his growing empathy for this kid against the odds of death by Margo.

 “She can only kill me once, right?” Eliot muttered to himself as he visualized the bathtub taps turning. As the tub began to fill, Eliot force-tugged Martin to his feet and floated him toward Margo’s room. He cast a spell to mask the sound of his movements and held his breath as they passed Margo, asleep on the other side of the room. The tub was nearly full and Eliot used a simple tutting spell to strip the kid’s filthy clothes off him before settling him into the water. The jut of his ribs was visible under pale skin as Eliot propped him up. Thick scars on his wrists stood out under the bathroom’s lights.

 Kid looks like a refrigerated turkey carcass, Eliot thought to himself as he rolled up his sleeves and set down a folded towel next to the tub to kneel on. Using a bar of soap he’d collected from one of his many hotel stays, Eliot lathered up a sponge glove and washed the unconscious teen the best he could, staying well above the waist. As he lifted Martin’s right arm, Eliot noticed a sturdy white plastic bracelet on his skinny, scarred wrist, the kind you wore during a hospital stay. Eliot lifted Martin’s arm to examine it more closely. It contained three typed lines, in all caps, with a bar code underneath:

 DOLBOROUGH M.H.F.

COLDWATER, QUENTIN  SEX: M

DOB: 07/20/92

 “Dolborough?” Eliot looked down at the boy. “And not Martin, either. Kid, what the hell have you—”

 “A-HEM!”

 Eliot flinched at the sound and looked over his shoulder to see Margo in the doorway, wearing her yellow satin pajama set and fuzzy pink slippers. Her small stature made her gaze no less imperious. Eliot gave her what he thought of as his most charming smile.

 “Good morning . . .?”

 Margo put her hands on her hips as her dark eyes narrowed. Eliot read the promise of hellfire there.

 “Rub-a-dub-duck, what the actual fuck!”

 CHAPTER FOUR

 “You need to get rid of him.”

 Eliot focused on the cranberry spritzer he was making at the kitchen bar, which ran along a cherry wood counter on the far side of the sink. Bottles gleamed in a glassed-in cabinet above the shelf, and an open cabinet filled with tumblers and built-in wine glass holders sat below it.

 “Eliot!”

 “Mmm?”

 Margo’s eyes narrowed.

 “Now!” She commanded, pointing one lacquer-tipped nail at the kid sleeping on the couch. He was cleaner now, his hair more dark blond than brown once Eliot had shampooed it several times. He wore a tee shirt that Eliot found in the back of his closet, one of those garish “I ♥ New York��� souvenirs, left at the apartment by one of Eliot’s guests. It had a red wine stain at the hem but it fit the kid otherwise. The sweats were much too big on him, as he was about nine inches shorter than Eliot himself, but Eliot had burned those awful lounge pants and gross slippers to ashes out on the fire escape.

 “Margo, be reasonable. It’s pouring outside and he’s obviously starved. I know we’re supposed to be arch and haughty and look down on most people, but there’s not much sport in doing that to something this pathetic!”

 “You can’t start taking in strays!” Margo glanced over at the kid. “Even if they might be somewhat reasonably cute. I don’t want the responsibility, and if word gets out, we’re going to have them on our doorstep every day! Not only that, but what do you plan to do with him? Did you even think about that before you brought him up here?”

 Eliot began to reply when a rapid pounding sounded out on the other side of the apartment’s main door. He sighed, sipped his drink, and pulled the door open to reveal the perpetually scowling face of his downstairs neighbor, Penny Adiyodi. Eliot groaned inwardly. Penny was young, handsome, and reminded Eliot of a rebel monk turned punk, but he was also touchier than a badger with punctured scrotum. He was a talented magical adept, like most people in Eliot’s building, and his ability to read minds, astral project, and travel would have made him highly attractive to Eliot if he wasn’t so Goddamned pissy all the time. And straight. And had a temperamental girlfriend who specialized in battle magic.

 “Yes, Penny?” He asked the scowling psychic, who shouldered his way into the room. “Won’t you come in?” Eliot drawled, trying not to spill his drink. Penny turned.

 “You do realize that I can hear everything you say when you start arguing like that? I don’t even have to read your minds.”

 “That’s fucking rude.” Margo pointed out.

 “What’s rude is ignoring the rules Mr. Fogg set for us when he opened this building to give magical adepts a safe place to live! You’re going to get us all kicked out!” He glanced around. “So where is it? Because if you’re not gonna get rid of it, I will!”

 “Where’s what?”

 “Don’t give me that Jack Tripper shit! I heard you! You brought a stray animal in here! It’s against the rules and I’m not gonna get kicked out because of some bleeding heart hedge! Now I’m gonna ask you one more time before I start punching you in the throat! Where is it?”

 Eliot lifted one shoulder and gestured behind Penny’s shoulder to the couch. Penny turned and his scowl melted into confusion.

 “The fuck . . . that’s a kid!”

 “Well spotted, Inspector Lestrade.”

 “Just—the way you were talking, it sounded like you were hiding some starving dog up here or something.”

 “Not that it’s any of your business, but he was trapped in the downstairs dumpster.”

 Penny watched Quentin shake in his sleep.

 “Kid’s an addict. He’s gonna rob you blind.”

 “And how would he hold us up, exactly, seeing as how he can’t even hold up his own head?”

 Penny fell silent before his usual scowl showed itself again.

 “Whatever, man.” He stared at the kid for a minute and then backed off, his eyes widening. “Whoever he is, he’s got some fucked up dreams. Shit.” Penny headed for the door. Eliot sipped his spritzer.

 “Always a pleasure!” He called as Penny left without shutting the door. Eliot stepped over to pull it closed. “Twat.”

 “Twat or not, he’s not exactly wrong about this kid being an addict, El.” Margo folded her arms across her chest. “We can’t have him here.”

 “Wait—just let me show you something.” Eliot picked up the hospital bracelet from where he’d left in on the counter. “I found this on him.”

 “Quentin Coldwater? My God, with a name like that, I’d take drugs too.”

 “When I got him out of the dumpster, he told me his name was Martin. Do you know what the Dolborough facility is?”

 “Yeah. It’s a mental health place in Queens. Mostly inpatients who have gone permanently off the deep end. What about it?”

 “That’s where this kid was, and I have a hunch that they don’t know he’s gone. Why else would he give me a fake name?”

 “Um—because he’s a nut job?” Margo replied, sounding out her words slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. Eliot frowned and went over to a glassed-in bookshelf, crooking his fingers and muttering a spell to unlock the wards that protected it. The five shelves were filled with spellbooks, and Eliot ran his fingers over the spine of each until he pulled one out. “What are you doing now, when you should be tossing this kid out?”

 “I’m pretty sure whatever he’s addicted to, it’s prescription. Dolborough is known for its use of serious psychotropic drugs.” Eliot’s long fingers flipped pages.

 “So what are you looking for?”

 “A spell that will heal him . . . get all that negative shit out of his system.”

 “In case you’ve forgotten? We make a living off casting and selling spells. And we didn’t get to where we are now by doing it for free.” Margo tapped her fingers on the countertop.

 “I haven’t forgotten any of that. But, well . . . sometimes you have to work pro bono.”

 “I’ve known you for almost four years and I’ve never seen you do anything pro bono.”

 “Excuse you!”

 “Okay, fine.” Margo held up a hand in supplication. “Almost nothing. My point is, Eliot, why do you care about some dorky-looking kid who probably ran away from home or cut himself when daddy took away his X-Box?”

 Eliot flipped another page and tapped it before glancing up at Margo.

 “For one thing, I think he’s a magical adept.”

 Margo blinked over at the skinny kid, still fast asleep and sweating under the blanket Eliot had thrown over him.

 “You think—that?” She pointed. “Is like us?”

 “I do. Except he might not know it.” Eliot went to the cabinet where he and Margo kept their spell ingredients.

 “Exactly how do you know this? And even if he is, didn’t you say just the other day that it’s not our job to wet nurse newbie hedges?”

 “He’s not a hedge, Margo. He’s not anything, he’s like—like a spell with one ingredient missing.” He held up a glass jar with a handful of dried herbs in it. “And the telekinesis gives me kind of a sixth sense about other people’s magical abilities. It’s like . . . well, almost like a shiver. And I feel it with this kid. He’s capable of something, but he’s missing one thing that makes magic work.” He sat down next to the kid with an armload of ingredients. “Are you going to help me?”

 “No. I have to go scrub out my tub for the next eight weeks for which, by the way, you. So. Owe. Me.” Margo replied.

 “Put it on my tab.” Eliot bent over the spellbook and Margo stormed back toward her room, muttering about putting tabs where they usually didn’t go and how she was going to insert them sideways. Already focused on his task, Eliot placed one big, elegant hand on Quentin’s thin chest and began to cast.

 CHAPTER FIVE

 The first thing that lured Quentin toward consciousness was the smell of frying bacon.

 It was an insistent scent, growing stronger with every passing moment, and Quentin used it as an anchor as he crawled up from a darkness that was blessedly free from dreams. He forced his eyelids open and they felt sticky, like they’d been closed with a weak glue. The surface underneath him was soft, and a high ceiling with vaulted beams met his muddled gaze.

 Not Dolborough, He thought to himself. His memory of the four days since he’d escaped the facility were fragmented, like a jigsaw puzzle with some sections missing. He’d hid much of the time after sneaking out of the truck at the Bowery Mission, fearful they would send people to look for him. Begging for change had netted him about $1.50, which bought him a plain burger at the local McDonalds the same day he’d escaped. He remembered wandering, being hungry, an empty dumpster, and—

 Quentin sat up all at once, ignoring how it caused his head to spin. The smell of bacon made his stomach clench with a powerful hunger pang. He turned his head to see someone he thought he’d dreamed: the tall stranger with the wild, dark curls and eyes like sunlit amber. He was plating the bacon next to a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs that made Quentin struggle not to drool.

 Eliot. That’s what he said his name was.

 The taller boy glanced up as the couch creaked. Quentin met his eyes for the space of a heartbeat and then lowered them to stare at his hands more out of habit than actual shyness—meeting anyone’s gaze at Dolborough was usually perceived as a challenge.

 “Well, you’re awake.” Eliot brought the plate over, along with a cup of something steaming that smelled rich and sweet. “How do you feel?”

 “Uhm . . .”

 “Weak? A little washed out?”

 “Yeah. How did you know?”

 “I’ll explain that in a moment.” He set the plate in Quentin’s lap. “Try to eat some of that.”

 Quentin stared down at the food. The bacon was delicately crisped and the eggs had tiny cubes of fresh tomato mixed in. It was light years away from what he’d been eating at Dolborough, which was mostly powdered eggs, tough biscuits, and lumpy, bland oatmeal. He picked up a slice of the bacon and took a bite, and his stomach responded with an eager gurgle. Under another circumstance Quentin might have been embarrassed, but the bacon was filling his senses and before he knew it, he was eating two and three pieces at a time.

 “Hey! Easy . . . I don’t want to have clean vomit off my suede couch!” Eliot offered the mug, and Quentin sipped from it. Caramel, whipped into something frothy and topped with cinnamon. Bliss.

 “Do you remember me?” Eliot asked as he offered Quentin a napkin. Quentin took it and wiped bacon grease from lips and chin.

 “I think so. Eliot, right?”

 “That’s right. And this is my place. Which, by the way, you passed out in the middle of almost exactly 24 hours ago.”

 “I—I’ve been asleep for a day?” Quentin asked, and Eliot reached one hand toward the kitchen. A second steaming mug of latte floated into his hand and he sipped it.

 “Asleep, unconscious . . . whichever you’d prefer. Do you remember me getting you out of that dumpster?”

 Quentin took a few bites of egg.

 “Yeah.”

 “You didn’t seem frightened.”

 “I guess I was pretty out of it, but—can I ask you something?”

 “As long as it’s not personal or professional.” Eliot replied. “That’s a joke.” He added when Quentin avoided eye contact for over thirty seconds.

 “Oh. So—are you a hedge witch?” He asked, and Eliot drew back a bit.

 “I am. And how did you know that?”

 Quentin looked down at his plate.

 “I know this is going to sound stupid, but . . . I’m really into, uhm, magic. Or I used to be. I taught myself card and coin tricks, and there’s lots of magic shops in Brooklyn—that’s where I’m from—and I used to hear things. Rumors about real magic and people who knew real spells. That’s what I heard them called. Hedge witches.”

 “Before you went into Dolborough?” Eliot asked, and this time it was Quentin’s turn to flinch.

 “Dolborough?”

 Eliot opened his hand and Quentin’s ID bracelet fluttered into it. Quentin frowned.

 “Where did you get—”

 “Off your right wrist when I cleaned you up . . . Quentin Coldwater.”

 “Oh. Oh shit.”

 Eliot waved a dismissive hand.

 “Relax. I haven’t called the police, no men in white coats are on their way here. What were you in for?”

 “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 “Kid, you’d be surprised at what I’d believe.” He watched Quentin lick bacon grease off his fingers and handed him another napkin. Quentin set the empty plate aside.

 “This is pretty crazy, even for what a hedge witch might believe.”

 “Try me.” Eliot replied, and Quentin closed his eyes a moment before he opened them again to look out the window, where rain was still falling in a steady mid-April patter.

 “I used to be normal. I mean . . . as normal as a sixth grader who had to have his math classes outsourced to the local college could be. They always told me I was smart, but I never really felt smart, if that makes sense. My best friend Julia and I never really cared that much about all the academic things. We mostly hid out in the park or at her house and read the Fillory and Further books. I don’t know if you know them.” Quentin said, the tips of his ears going red. Eliot nodded.

 “From a very long time ago.”

 “I started studying magic because of them. Not real magic, I didn’t know it actually existed. But card and coin tricks, like I told you. Julia got over the books by the time we started high school, but I never really did. They always felt so real to me, so tangible. And they helped me cope during high school.” He pushed a lock of tawny hair behind one ear. “I know how stupid this must all sound to you.”

 “People cope with their shit in different ways.” Eliot lifted a shoulder. “Go on?”

 “I started having dreams last year. Bad dreams. At first I thought they were just stress dreams . . . you know, like the ones you have about being naked in school or having to take a test on a subject you know nothing about. But in them, something was chasing me. I never saw it, but I could feel how bad it was. Then, one day when I was—I was out walking, something happened.” As much as Quentin wanted to trust the man who had probably saved his life, there was no way he could admit that he’d been cosplaying alone as Martin Chatwin that day. “I followed this path into a community garden a few blocks from my house. I don’t know what happened. It was like the path just got longer and longer and then I saw—” Quentin paused and wiped a hand over his mouth. Eliot waited.

 “I don’t even know what I saw, really.” Quentin continued. “It was some kind of—well—monster, I guess. Like a man, but his face was obscured by these huge moths. They were blue and bigger than my hand, and they had this musty smell. But this thing, he called me by my name and put a hand over my mouth, like he wanted to smother me or maybe even break my neck. One of the warehouse whistles went off and it must have startled him because he bolted and vanished back down the path.” Quentin looked away from the window to Eliot to find the hedge listening, no trace of amusement or disbelief on his face. He paused. “You believe me.”

 “This is one world among many, Quentin. Just because people don’t or can’t believe that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. What happened after?”

 “I ran home. I didn’t tell my dad . . . I couldn’t. My mom left us when I was nine and after the divorce, he worried about me all the time. But I felt this thing’s presence all the time after that. My dreams got worse, and it was like that smell followed me wherever I went. It got really bad one night . . . I was alone in the house, uhm . . . my dad had gone to his bowling league. But it was like this thing—this Beast, it was all around me.” Quentin slid his hands up under his arms. “I tried to get away the only way I could think of.”

 Eliot thought of the thick scars he’d seen on Quentin’s wrists when he’d bathed him.

 “You tried to kill yourself.” He said, and Quentin nodded.

 “And that’s how I ended up at Dolborough. It’s funny . . . if my dad hadn’t forgotten his bowling shoes and come back for them, I’d be six feet under.” Quentin’s gaze slid away from Eliot’s again. “I’m still not sure I’m better off.”

 “How long were you at Dolborough?” Eliot asked.

 “Almost ten months. I managed to escape by getting out of my room and hiding in a cardboard box stacked with a bunch of old computer equipment that they were donating to the Bowery Mission.”

 “Clever!” Eliot nodded as he rose and gathered the empty plate and cup. “But once you got out, you had a hard time finding food, I’d assume.” He set the plates in the sink and waved a hand at them. The sink turned on and Quentin watched, round-eyed, as the dishes washed and stacked themselves in the nearby drainer.

 “Uhm, y-yeah, pretty much. The drugs they gave me at Dolborough, I think they threw the Beast off track for awhile, but He was going to find me there and I would’ve been trapped! I had to get away.”

 Eliot crossed the room to his bookshelf and pulled down two spellbooks, which he brought to the couch.

 “I performed a detox cleansing spell on you—you were coming down too hard. But don’t worry, this building is well warded, and there’s no way this Beast can get in without me knowing. Now . . . you know what I told you before, about there being more than world out there?”

 “Sure.”

 “Sometimes we open doors to them without even realizing it. You said the Fillory books always felt more real to you than your own reality and that everyone thought you were crazy because of it. But I don’t think you’re crazy at all, kid. I think you might be a magical adept and opened a door to a world that was making itself visible to you.”

 “What—what are you saying . . . that Fillory is real? And that’s where this Beast is from?”

 “Some mythical worlds have their basis in fact.” Eliot opened one of the books.

 “Fact, but—wait, did you say I’m a magical adept? What does that mean?”

 “It means you might have natural magical ability, and that’s why this creature is pursuing you. If it’s crossed over, it might be looking to gather power from whoever it can. Most of us protect ourselves with magical wards, but if you’re not aware of what you can do, you’re vulnerable.” Eliot’s long finger traced down a page and then tapped an ink sketch as he showed it to Quentin. “Look.”

 Quentin leaned over to look at the drawing and his heart leapt into his throat, where it crouched and trembled for the pace of half a dozen heartbeats before he swallowed hard. The drawing of the electric blue moth was too realistic, like it might leap off the page and flutter into his face, filling his senses with that dead, dry scent. He pointed.

 “That . . . that’s what I saw. The moths that cover the Beast’s face! Does it say what it is?” Quentin glanced at the text below and frowned when he discovered it wasn’t in English. “Does it say what this thing is or why it’s after me?”

 “It’s not like an instruction manual, Quentin. It doesn’t offer specific details.” Eliot turned a page. “You mentioned how much you love the Fillory books . . . have you collected any original memorabilia?”

 “A few things. A couple of posters, I have a collection of first edition books, and a button I bought from this guy near my favorite magic shop. He’s a homeless guy, I think, and he’s got this cart full of odds and ends. He knows how much I like Fillory and told me it was the same button that the seafaring rabbits gave Jane Chatwin so she could travel to Fillory whenever she wanted to.”

 “Did you believe that?”

 “No, of course not, but I felt sorry for the guy. I gave him fifty bucks for it.”

 “When did you buy it?”

 “About two weeks before what happened in the garden.”

 “Where is it now?” Eliot asked he closed the book.

 “It’s hidden in my room. I put away all my Fillory things because of my dad.”

 “So it’s still in your house?”

 “Yeah . . . unless my dad found it all and tossed it out.”

 “Right.” Eliot crooked a finger at him. “Come on, can you get up?”

 Quentin threw the blanket aside and got to his feet, one hand hitching at Eliot’s too-big sweats.

 “Yeah, I feel stronger. Where are we going?”

 “To play a hunch.”

 “Where?”

 “At your house. Either that button you bought was a very expensive piece of plastic, or the man you bought it from is working for whatever is chasing you.”

 “You mean, he wanted me to have it?”

 “Precisely. I think Fillory could be very real, and that this button is the key to its door.”

 CHAPTER SIX

 “So. Quentin Coldwater, hmm?” Margo watched from her bedroom doorway as Quentin tugged on the hunter-green sweater Eliot had bought him from the discount clothing store on the corner. It was no fashion statement, but better than the stained tee. “He’s not that cute.”

 “Shh!” Eliot hushed her as he tugged her back into her room and closed the door to give Quentin privacy: he’d bought a pair of serviceable jeans, a pair of clean boxers, and sneakers to go along with the sweater so the kid—who it turned out was only two years his junior, wouldn’t have to go out in those droopy sweats. “Christ, he’ll hear you!”

 “I thought you wanted me to be down with this?” Margo asked, her dark eyes tipping up to Eliot’s, the corners of her mouth quirking up. Eliot sighed; the introduction between Margo and Quentin had gone better than he’d expected, but he’d forgotten how damn perceptive her natural abilities made her.

 “I do want you to be—down—” Eliot frowned at the expression. “Because I need your help with this and so does Quentin. But you don’t have to get into my head, all right?”

 Margo reached out and squeezed his hand.

 “Don’t worry, El. Your secret is safe with me.”

 Eliot cleared his throat as he turned from the doorway to check his appearance in Margo’s full-length mirror.

 “There is no secret. So I find him attractive. So what? It means nothing.” He adjusted his shirt collar. “Are you going to help us?”

 “God knows someone has to come along on this fucking quest-cum-break in.” Margo rolled her eyes.

 “Quentin lives there, Margo! How do you break into your own home?”

 “He hasn’t lived there for almost a year. You do realize you could get arrested?”

 “I’m trying to help him. This Beast is real and it’s after him for some reason! I need to get a look at this button.”

 “Fine. But if you get us arrested, I’m making you my prison wife!”

 “That’s my Bambi.” Eliot bent down to kiss her cheek. “Always thinking about my welfare. Come on.”

 _______________________________

 The Coldwater home turned out to be a modest but stately three-story affair in a suburb about thirty minutes from downtown Brooklyn. The low-trimmed yew hedges were starting to green, dripping with rain, and Quentin stood between Eliot and Margo as they loitered on the opposite corner, looking up at the house.

 “I can make a portal. Or if you know away around back, I can float up to your bedroom window and we can get in that way. We could also use a teleportation spell, but it’s cooperative and—” Eliot broke off as he realized Margo was tugging at his sleeve and that Quentin was no longer standing next to him.

 “Where—?”

 Margo jerked her chin at the house, where Quentin was jogging up the front walk. He stopped at the front door, bent down, and retrieved a spare key from under a realistic-looking rock nestled in a nearby flowerbed. He unlocked the front door and looked over his shoulder as Margo and Eliot caught up with him.

 “You guys better stay out here. I know where everything is and I can grab it all quick, all right? Try to stay out of sight, we have a neighborhood watch here.” Quentin slipped inside before Eliot could protest. Margo glanced down the street.

 “There’s a bus stop shelter at the corner, we can watch from there. Come on.” She took Eliot’s arm and hurried him away as Eliot looked over his shoulder.

 “Are you sure we should have let him go in there alone?”

 “It’s his house, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing! Come on, we need to look inconspicuous.”

 Inside the silent house, Quentin climbed the stairs to his room. He felt like time had slipped backwards and he’d been doing nothing more than whiling away a few hours at the downtown library. He paused at his father’s closed bedroom door a moment: his father would be at work, editing the latest issue of some district textbook. He moved down the hall and opened the door diagonal from his father’s.

 The room looked like it hadn’t been touched in the nearly ten months since Quentin had been away. His bed was made, the blue quilt he’d had for years pulled up over the pillows. The closet door was closed but Quentin knew his father probably hadn’t gotten rid of anything, hoping his son could be cured enough to return home. A few high school pennants were still tacked over his bed, and a shelf across from the bed contained an impressive collection of academic trophies and ribbons. Quentin barely glanced at them as he crossed the room and moved aside an end table to reveal a small door. It was locked with a hook-and-eye combo, which Quentin pried open before he yanked the rectangular door open to reveal a crawl space. Inside were his rolled-up Fillory posters, his vintage messenger bag (identical to the one Martin Chatwin carried to Fillory with him in The World in the Walls,) his first editions of the Fillory books, carefully bagged, and the small velvet bag containing the button the homeless vendor had sold him. Quentin slipped the button into the messenger bag, along with all his Fillory books, then opened the closet to add a few shirts and several pairs of jeans in as well. He tugged open his bedroom window and lowered the bag as much as he could, dropping it into the bushes below. It shimmered and vanished a moment later—Eliot’s handiwork—and Quentin grinned.

 If Eliot is right and I am a magical adept, he can teach me what he knows! Magic . . . real magic, just like I always—

 “Hello, Curly-Q.”

 Quentin turned, his heart giving a startled thwack at the words. His father stood in the bedroom doorway, his expression somehow sad and angry at the same time.

 “Dad.”

 “I knew you’d come back here eventually.” Ted Coldwater stepped into the room. Quentin glanced around, sudden anxiety crowding his chest.

 “You—you’re supposed to—I mean, I thought you’d be at work.”

 “I took some time off when you went missing from Dolborough.” He held up both hands and approached Quentin. “Don’t you worry, son. Everything’s going to be all right. You don’t need to be scared . . . no one’s angry that you left the hospital. We’ve all been worried, that’s all. Very worried.”

 “We?”

 “Yes, son. Myself, Dr. Beekman, everyone at Dolborough. But you don’t need to worry. Once we get you back there, we’re going to try some new treatments that—”

 “No! I’m not going back there! Ever! I’m eighteen now dad, and—and I met people after I left there! Friends who are going to help me!”

 “Quentin. Ever since you harmed yourself, I’ve had power of attorney. You can’t make decisions on your own, you have no idea what’s best for you!”

 Outside, from the other end of the block, sirens began to sound. The wails grew closer, and Quentin stared at his father.

 “What did you do?”

 “What’s best for you, Curly-Q. I called them the moment I saw you downstairs. They’re here to help you and so am I—”

 Quentin bolted, pushing his father aside as he raced out the door and down the hallway. He took the steps two at a time, hit the landing, and yanked open the door to find Dr. Beekman and half a dozen policeman standing there. Dr. Beekman smiled, but it never touched the man’s eyes.

 “Quentin. We’re very glad to see you safe, very glad indeed.” He nodded to the policemen, who seized Quentin by the front of his sweater and dragged him from the doorway. Quentin fought them as they carried him bodily over to the ambulance, followed by Dr. Beekman and Quentin’s father.

 “Please, don’t hurt him, not if you can help it, he doesn’t understand what he’s doing!” Ted said, and Quentin looked around wildly.

 “Eliot!” He cried.

 At the end of the block, Margo had Quentin’s messenger bag slung across her chest as she used both hands to hang onto Eliot’s arm. Eliot was struggling in her grip as he watched the cops heft Quentin off his feet and carry him to the ambulance.

 “Eliot, don’t! You can’t just charge over there tossing battle magic around and you know that! Not only will that get you arrested, it might possibly get you dissected at the nearest government facility once they see what you can do! Damn it, El, stop!” Margo felt her grip slipping.

 “Kinnimear, a’thane azu!” She chanted it three times, in rapid succession, and felt the magic shudder down her arms and through her fingertips, freezing Eliot where he stood. Only his eyes moved, and she rounded him so he could see her. Despite his locked expression, she could see the fury there.

 “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me, El, but I’m not letting you get arrested and God knows what else because of some kid you’ve known two days! We can help him, but not like this!” Margo said, hardening her heart as Quentin called Eliot’s name, then hers.

 “Let me go! Get off me! Eliot! Margo!” Quentin shrieked as the cops hauled him into the ambulance and many strong hands buckled him into a stretcher. Thick leather restraints snaked around his wrists and ankles and he lifted his head to see his father standing by the open doors, watching. Tears stood on his unshaven cheeks.

 “It’s gonna be all right, Curly-Q. They’ll take care of you. I’ll come see you when they say I can.”

 “No! Dad please, don’t let them do this! He’ll find me there, we need to open the door before He does, you don’t understand! You have to let me—owwwww, no, please!” Quentin cried as Dr. Beekman rucked up his sweater sleeve and slipped a needle tip into his inner elbow. Quentin felt the warm sensation of liquid sedative entering his vein there and it spread rapidly, making his extremities numb and his thoughts lose their cohesion. He tried to speak, but his lips felt like as useless as those of a dying fish, gasping out its last pointless breaths at the bottom of a trawler. The sound of the siren chased him down into unconsciousness as the ambulance pulled away from the curb and headed east, toward Queens.

 CHAPTER SEVEN

 “It seems that Quentin’s issues go far beyond depression and hallucinations, Ted.”

 The words echoed in a bubbly quality that Quentin almost couldn’t make out. The faces of his father and Dr. Beekman seemed to float high above him, like untethered helium balloons. He could sense that his wrists and ankles were restrained to the bed, the same one he’d slept in for the past ten months.

 Since being returned to Dolborough, Dr. Beekman ordered that Quentin be kept moderately sedated and under physical restraint. In the 24 hours since, Quentin had done his best to keep Eliot’s face in his mind. Despite his efforts, the drugs made it fade and blur, and with every moment he didn’t show, Quentin’s certainty that he’d been abandoned by his new friend grew.

 “Is there anything that can be done?” Ted asked as he looked down at his addled son, and Dr. Beekman nodded.

 “I believe the answer is an anterior cingulotomy.”

 “What does that involve?”

 “It’s a psychosurgical treatment for schizophrenia, depression, and certain types of OCD. We place bilateral lesions in the anterior cingulate, which slows or stops certain impulses to the cingulum bundle. It should eliminate Quentin’s hallucinations about this Beast creature and ease most of his depression symptoms.”

 “What are the risks?”

 “Possible hemorrhaging, seizures . . . but those are usually rare. He might experience headaches, nausea, some vision problems, but those should fade with time. Ted . . . I know that brain surgery isn’t what you wanted for your son, but I believe it’s the best option for him. We have a surgeon over at John Hopkins that works with our facility that could perform the procedure—Quentin would be in good hands.”

 Ted reached down and touched Quentin’s face.

 “If you really think it’s the only answer.”

 “I do. Come with me to my office. I’ll make some calls and have you sign some papers.” Dr. Beekman led Ted out the door, leaving Quentin to struggle with his opium-soaked thoughts.

 Gonna crack open my skull, he realized as he moved through a fading consciousness that was filled with shifting lights and the slow mental thunder of cognitive impairment. Can’t stop them. Eliot, where . . .

 Darkness rushed up to envelop him, and Quentin fell headlong into its embrace.

 ________________________________

 “Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

 Eliot glanced up from the bar, where he was mixing a drink with more force than was probably necessary. Margo watched him from the couch, her feet tucked up under her thighs.

 “Eliot. Come on. I know what I did was wrong—”

 “Wrong?” Eliot slammed the lid down on his stainless steel ice bucket. “It was more than wrong, Margo! You used restraint magic on me! In the three and a half years we’ve known each other, you’ve never cast on me like that!”

 “I know.” Margo stood up and went to him. His slender frame stiffened but he didn’t retreat, as he’d been doing since she’d released him from the spell at the bus stop near Quentin’s house. “Because up until yesterday, I didn’t have to. You know damn well what would have happened if I’d let you go over there and blast the cops with battle magic! They would have shot you into so much big eye swiss cheese and then played Operation with your corpse at the nearest morgue! It wasn’t the answer, and the only one who would have been regretting it is me, because you’d be way too fucking dead to reconsider your poor choice!”

 “He was calling for us and we just stood there and let it happen. We let those bastards take Quentin back to that hell hole of a psycho ward! Do you know what he must be thinking, if they’re letting him think at all?” Eliot glared at her. “Do you even care about him?”

 “He’s your pet project! I didn’t realize I was required to care!”

 “You—” Eliot began in a sharp, rising tone when a knock on the front door interrupted him. His amber eyes flashed. “If it’s that menu boy from Pei Wei again, I’m going to turn him into a fucking human potsticker!” He yanked the door back. Penny stood there, along with his lover Kady, a temperamental high-level hedge with flashing eyes and wild brunette curls. Eliot scowled. “Oh, marvelous. Punch and Judgey. What?” He asked, and Penny returned the scowl in equal measure.

 “For one thing, your mental wards need serious repair. And for another? We can hear you right through the fucking ceiling! Will you just fuck or kill each other or whatever the problem is so Kady and I can get some peace?”

 “And will you mind your own business for once?”

 “Who’s this Quentin?” Kady asked, shouldering her way into the apartment. Penny followed her and Eliot’s fists clenched at the intrusion. Margo sighed.

 “Just tell her, Eliot.” Her gaze slid over to Penny. “Maybe they can help us.”

 “And why would they do that?”

 “Look.” Penny interrupted. “If what you said is true and that skinny nerd you had here really is like us, we can’t let a bunch of head peepers keep him locked up. Way too many of our kind are dying because no one helps them understand what they are, and those that do find out end up smoking themselves trying spells they aren’t ready for!”

 “That’s not the only issue. Quentin unlocked a door to another world and now some kind of Beast is chasing him. It’s how he ended up at Dolborough in the first place, because no one believes him! They think he’s hallucinating.” Eliot adjusted the collar of his shirt. “If you really want to help one of our own, then help Margo and me break Quentin out of that place before it’s too late.”

 Penny and Kady traded glances and Eliot could almost see the silent, telepathic conversation that took place before Penny nodded.

 “Fine. You’ve got a deal, Schmendrick . . . if you make me a drink before we talk about it.”

 __________________________________________

  “This sounds like a bunch of nerdy fanboy shit.”

 Eliot rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers as Penny leaned over the spellbook and peered at the image of the moth Quentin had identified. They were four whiskey sours into their meeting, and Eliot had gone over Quentin’s story twice now.

 “I know what it sounds like, but you know as well as we do that what Quentin saw was real. But no one at the hospital is going to believe it, and now that he escaped, they might Randle McMurphy him to make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble!”

 “That’s their answer for anything they can’t explain away.” Margo sipped her drink. “And the kid doesn’t deserve this . . . he’s eighteen and he hasn’t even had the chance to become a magician.”

 “The only way we’re going to get into Dolborough is by acting like we belong there.” Eliot said, and Kady shook back her curls.

 “You mean pose as patients?”

 “No. According to their website, Dolborough partners with a few medical universities in the city, and it’s a teaching hospital twice a week. With some scrubs and illusion work, we can pose as medical students and get to Quentin that way. We find his floor, Penny travels into his room to unlock it from the inside, and we portal our asses out before anyone knows we’re even there!”

 Penny knocked back the rest of his drink and grimaced at the excited light in Eliot’s amber eyes.

 “I’m gonna hate this.”

 CHAPTER EIGHT

 “Right this way, move along please, follow me.”

 Eliot, Kady, and Margo marched along with the two dozen or so other med students from Queens University, led by an attending physician and dressed in blue scrubs and dark shoes like the rest of them. The hedges each wore a lanyard with a laminated ID card clipped to it; Eliot had picked them up at a souvenir stand near Central Park and had changed the photos of the Statue of Liberty into student IDs with a bit of illusion work. They had left Penny in the lobby, shielded from sight with an invisibility spell, until they could find Quentin’s room number. It had been simple enough to slip into the crowd of students as they had gathered in the lobby: in their identical scrubs, they blended in, and the attending physician had barely glanced back since gathering them.

 “Did you bring it?” Margo asked Eliot from the corner of her mouth as they were led along, and Eliot nodded as he slipped one hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around Quentin’s plastic ID bracelet.

 “We need to get to a nurse’s station where we can scan it.” He replied quietly as the attending slid his ID card through a security pad and opened the doors to a restricted area.

 “Move quickly now!” He barked, and Eliot straightened his spine as he scanned the area beyond the door. There was a small lobby, two vending machines, and diagonal from that, a semi-circular nurse’s station. Two older women stood behind the counter, glancing at charts and murmuring to each other. Eliot cut a glance at Margo and Kady.

 “That’s where I need to be.” He hissed. “Create a diversion!”

 “What do we—”

 Crack! Kady’s open palm snapped against Margo’s cheek, cutting off her words and making the shorter hedge stagger back a few steps. Eliot stared at Kady, his mouth falling open. Kady’s green eyes glittered with challenge, and Margo recovered.

 “You bitch!” She was on Kady a moment later, her hands twisted into Kady’s curls, and the two of them went to the floor in a barrage of curses and flashing, painted nails. The other students, the attending, and the station nurses rushed over to separate them, and Eliot ducked down to slip past them and behind the counter. A scanner sat to one side of the station monitor, and Eliot pulled the bracelet from his pocket. A red light reflected against the shiny plastic, and the small readout spat back Quentin’s information at him.

 “Room 2505.” Eliot murmured as he risked a peek over the counter. Margo and Kady were still in the middle of the knot of shouting, staring crowd as the nurses and attending tried to break the girls up. Eliot dropped his mental wards and let Penny in.

 2505. I’ll meet you there in five minutes!

 Eliot hurried toward the nearest elevator, knowing Margo and Kady could extract themselves from the melee and make themselves scarce before the others realized they wouldn’t be able to say for sure who had started the fight.

 ______________________________________

 Penny felt the familiar shiver in his nerves as he traveled from the lobby to Quentin’s room. He took a moment to glance around at the surroundings: a dresser, barred windows, and a metal-frame bed. The kid Penny had come to think of as the Nerdling was strapped to the bed with thick leather buckles, both hands and feet, and it roused a sick, angry feeling in the traveler. No one of his kind deserved this, even a dork like this. He dropped the invisibility shield and leaned over to pat the kid’s cheek.

 “Hey! Hey, come on, look at me! Yo! Nerdling! Snap out of it!”

 Quentin’s eyelids twitched and then blinked open. His dark gaze was muddled, his irises blown wide with prescription dope. Penny began to work the heavy buckles open.

 “I don’t wanna have to carry your skinny ass, so come on!” He slapped Quentin smartly on one cheek, and Quentin stared up at him.

 “The hell.” He mumbled, and Penny got his hands free.

 “Hell is what these people are gonna put you in unless you try and focus on what I’m saying!” He freed Quentin’s bare feet and shoved them into a pair of sneakers from the dresser. He pulled Quentin into a sitting position when a distorted chiming sound began behind him. Penny turned, his stomach clenching as the air wavered with dark magic. A hand stretched out from the tattered framed poster on the wall, one with many extra fingers. It gestured, stretching the frame into the size of a full-length mirror, as if it was made of taffy. A figure stepped out as the plexiglass wavered like a pool of still water that had been disturbed.  The creature, dressed in a natty grey suit and polished dress shoes, was whistling. His entire face was obscured by fluttering moths. The doorknob to the room rattled and Eliot’s voice rang in Penny’s head.

 Let me in!

 “Ah ah!” The Beast chided Penny as he stepped closer to the bed. “I believe that’s mine!” He shot a hand out, deformed with many extra fingers, and Penny gasped in pain and surprise as he was flung against the opposite wall. His head struck the dresser and dark spots bloomed in front of his eyes. Agony wracked his senses a moment later and he gave a breathless gasp as he turned his head toward the door. Eliot’s shadow loomed in the small square mesh-lined window.

 Penny! Open the fucking door!

 Penny lifted a hand toward it, but the spell died on his lips as the syllables fell into a meaningless jumble within his addled consciousness. The sound of the doorknob rattling took on an echoing quality as the Beast tugged Quentin from the bed by his arms and pulled him across the room. Quentin turned his head and stared at Penny, wide-eyed and helpless, as the creature whistled a happy little tune, dragged the teen through the poster frame, and vanished.

  Part Two: One World Among Many

 CHAPTER NINE

 “He’s dead, Margo.”

 Margo glanced up from the loft’s bar at Eliot’s words. Kady sat with Penny on the couch, dabbing at a swollen, red lump on the back of his head with a damp cloth. Margo brought them each a glass of brandy and frowned when she had to push the tumbler into Eliot’s hands before he would grip it.

 “We don’t know that. Yes, the Beast took him, but it has to be for a reason! If he’d wanted to kill Quentin, he would have painted that room with his brains with the flick of his hand!”

 Eliot closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the Eames chair. The four exhausted hedges had managed to portal themselves out of Dolborough before security reached Quentin’s room, with Kady and Eliot having to almost carry Penny. The traveler was stunned and had only just begun to come around as they’d regrouped at Eliot’s loft.

 “She’s right.” Penny nodded, his voice a bit stronger than it had been a half hour ago. “The Beast said, ‘I believe that’s mine’ right before he—fuck!” Penny flinched as Kady pressed a square of gauze to his head wound. “Right before he dragged your buddy off. How the hell did he find us, anyway?”

 “Quentin told me the drugs they were giving him at Dolbrough made it hard for the Beast to track him, but it was only a matter of time before the bastard found him! I warded him when he was with me, but once they took him back to Dolborough, he was vulnerable.” Eliot pushed his dark hair back with one hand. “The door Quentin opened had to be to Fillory. It’s the only thing that makes sense! Once he had that button, Fillory presented itself to him, only the Beast was guarding the entrance. Guarding it, and waiting for him.” Eliot rubbed a hand over his chin. “He told me it happened right in his own neighborhood, in Brooklyn, but I don’t know the exact location, and there’s no guarantee that the door will open for us, even if we find it.” He drained half the brandy from his glass. “We have to find another way.”

 Margo got to her feet and left the room. Kady taped the gauze to Penny’s head and squeezed his hand, and he allowed her to touch her forehead to his before resuming his usual stoic expression. Margo returned, Quentin’s messenger bag in one hand.

 “Fuck me if I didn’t forget we brought this from Quentin’s house the day they took him back to Dolborough!”

 “And what good will that do, exactly?” Eliot sighed. “I already looked inside, there’s nothing but clothes and those Fillory books.”

 Margo opened the bag’s clasp and up-ended it over the couch. The Fillory books slid out, each one encased in a protective plastic sheath, along with a small assortment of clothing. She frowned and pulled the bag open wide, dipping one hand in and feeling around. Her fingers slid along a thin mouth of fabric, and she tugged on it. A Velcro pocket opened and Margo smiled as she pulled out a small black velvet bag.

 “Oh yeah, smart guy? What do you call this?” She pulled the drawstring open and shook a clear plastic octagonal white box into her hand. It was about the size of a half dollar and contained an eggshell-white button. Eliot and the others stared at it.

 “Is that . . .?” Eliot asked, and Margo set the case on the table before popping the lid open. Penny leaned close.

 “Fuck me! Can you feel that? Like it’s practically leaking magic!”

 Kady reached out with both hands, her slim hands working in the air above the button.

 “Wherever that kid got this from, it’s the real deal.”

 “Quentin told me he bought it from a homeless vendor in his neighborhood. Whoever that was or is must have been working for the Beast . . . He wanted Quentin to be able to open that door.”

 “But if he didn’t know he has any magical ability, what good would that have done either of them?” Penny frowned. “That’s like giving someone a key to a car that has a fucked-up motor.”

 “Except that Quentin isn’t fucked up.” Eliot’s stomach turned as his quick mind began to make connections. “He’s untapped—what’s inside him is pure, and that’s what the Beast is after. For whatever reason, He’s taken Quentin to Fillory to gain access to Quentin’s magic.” His hand tightened around the forgotten tumbler in his hand. “To drain him.”

 __________________________________

 “Wakey Wakey!”

 Quentin struggled to consciousness at the sound of that voice, the one that had filled his dreams with terror and his bed with rank fear sweat and urine for months. He forced his eyes open and a pained, surprised whimper of pain escaped his throat as he realized tough steel manacles encircled his wrists, paired with thick iron chains that suspended him from a cold stone wall. He kicked his bare feet, only to find that they were secured as well. A cold, fetid dampness against his skin made him shiver, and he realized as he came fully conscious that he was naked—the blue-checked hospital gown he’d been wearing when the Beast claimed him was laying in a nearby corner in a sad heap. The Beast himself stood in front of him, his face still obscured with the large moths. Panic gnawed at Quentin’s nerves as that musty, dry smell assaulted his nostrils.

 “Quentin Coldwater.” The voice purred, laced with a posh British accent. “I’m so pleased to have you in my company! It’s been much too long since we last met, wouldn’t you agree?”

 “Who are you? How do you know my name?” Quentin asked, trying to arch his back away from the damp stone. It was impossible to see the man’s face, but amusement laced his tone.

 “Why, I’ve known it for years!” One multi-fingered hand reached out to stroke Quentin’s cheek. “My poor lad . . . you really have no idea who you are, do you.”

 “I’m—I’m just Quentin. Please, whoever you are, you’re making a terrible mistake!”

 “There’s no mistake, dear boy. The prophecy is at hand . . . the events that are destined to bring my reign and my life to an end!” The Beast’s voice rose in pitch, cracking with anger.

 “Your reign? Fillory . . .” Quentin glanced around the cold stone room. A Fillorian crest, faded but visible, covered much of the space on the wall opposite him. “Fillory is real.” He murmured, and the Beast chuckled.

 “Of course Fillory is real! And you’ve known it your whole life, Quentin. Even as you played your silly questing games with Julia, you always looked for a way in that went far beyond fantasy. The truth slept deep within you, and now it’s awake, but it slumbered too long, it seems! I was a wily fox, you see, and I gave you a way to unlock the door, only I was waiting there to trap you, at last!”

 “The button.” Quentin yanked at the manacles that pinched and rubbed against his skin. “Eliot was right! You gave that button to the vendor to sell to me!”

 The Beast’s open palm cracked across Quentin’s cheek.

 “He can’t help you, and he can’t help Fillory! The prophecy is at an end, my sweet boy, and once I drain you of your magic and make a tasty meal of your flesh, every door into Fillory will be mine to command!” A hand with extra, seeking fingers wrapped around his throat. “I’m going to devour you, and when your would-be magician king sees what I will leave of your corpse, it will drive him mad!”

 Quentin swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the creature’s hand.

 “I don’t understand.” He said in a strained voice. “Who are you?”

 “I rule all of Fillory, past, present, and now, the future!” The hand fell away from Quentin’s throat and he screamed in terror and sense memory as the moths engulfed him, their wings landing dust-filled kisses against every inch of his skin.

 CHAPTER TEN

 A late-April shower was moving through Chelsea, drenching empty sidewalks and dripping off storefront awnings in a steady patter. Thick rivulets of rain scrawled down the glass of Eliot’s loft windows, making shadows on its occupants’ faces like tribal tattoos. Eliot, Margo, Penny, and Kady stood in a circle around the coffee table, their hands joined. The button sat in its case there, the lid open.

 “So . . . if anyone wants to bow out of this little field trip, speak now and forever reveal your cowardice.” Eliot said as he slipped one of Quentin’s Fillory books into the pocket of his camel coat, his gaze flicking to each member of the party, one by one. Penny’s eyes narrowed.

 “Fuck you, like you’re not shitting dry peach pits?”

 “Have your pissing contest later, boys.” Margo squeezed Eliot’s hand. “I don’t think Quentin has the time.” She glanced at the book. “What’s that for?”

 “It has maps in it. I was thinking that might be of help to us.”

 “Are you sure this is even going to work? If Quentin had the button all this time, why didn’t it take him to Fillory when he touched it?” Kady asked.

 “Because he hasn’t accessed his magical abilities yet. He’s untapped . . . the button might have sensed his innate powers but couldn’t make the connection with him.” Eliot looked down at the button. “Are we ready?”

 “Ready.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Just fucking touch the stupid thing!”

 Eliot opened the hand that gripped Margo’s just enough to float the button into his palm. When he closed his fingers around it, the air in the loft seemed to implode with the sound of a pile of wet laundry hitting a tile floor. Eliot felt himself being drawn inward, as if he was turning liquid and being sucked up through a very long straw. He struggled to hang onto his consciousness as his inner ear spun like a risky carnival ride. His form then solidified again and he tumbled through crisp, sweet air before falling with a heavy splash into chilly water. He fought his way to the surface, gasping like a landed fish. The others popped up all around him, struggling to get air in their lungs as well, and Eliot realized they’d fallen into the waters of an ornate fountain. A granite statue of a centaur, three times Eliot’s height, graced the center of the round fountain, and water spurted from its mouth and from the tip of the gilded spear it held. Eliot half-paddled to the fountain’s edge, climbed out, and then pocketed the button before he helped Margo onto dry land as she coughed and shuddered.

 “Fuck!”

 “Are you okay, Bambi?” Eliot asked, pushing her sodden hair from her face, and she thumped him on the chest twice with her small fists.

 “No, I’m not okay! That fucking button turned me into a human enema and squirted me up the multiverse’s motherfucking colon!” She hit him again. “You dick!”

 “All right, okay!” He took hold of her wrists. “I know it wasn’t exactly first class on Jet Blue, but it worked. It’s pretty clear we aren’t on earth anymore.” He looked up at the fountain. Kady pushed her curls back and wrung water from them.

 “How can we be sure we’re in Fillory?”

 “Children of earth!”

 The party turned as one as the deep voice spoke. A towering male centaur, his coat a mix of silver and white, stood watching them. He held a spear in one hand. His curly hair, the same color as his coat and tail, fell well past his bare shoulders. His eyes were the color of wet slate. The group stared at him as he gave a graceful bow.

 “I welcome you all to Fillory.”

 Eliot cleared his throat as his heart tried to climb up into his trachea.

 “I think that’s a pretty telling clue.”

__________________________________________

 The centaur’s name was Clabbercloud. He worked as a sentry for the Northern Meadows clan, who worked mostly in weaving and textiles. As children of earth, Eliot and the others were welcomed with solemn but sincere respect by the clan and given dry clothing, hot black currant tea, and delicate oat cakes in Clabbercloud’s rangy tent. The interior ceiling was draped with gauzy silk squares of material in varying shades of red, giving the space an Arabian Nights pastiche.

 “Long have we awaited more children of Earth to visit Fillory. Many had given up hope you would ever arrive, and we would be forever ruled by the Many-Fingered King.”

 “The Many-Fingered King?” Penny frowned. “Hang on . . . that thing I saw in Quentin’s room at the hospital! It had a bunch of extra fingers! That’s the king of Fillory?”

 Clabbercloud snorted.

 “He is more a ruthless dictator than a king. We live in fear of him! But it was not always so . . . when he came to Fillory as a boy, he and his siblings ruled wisely, but over time, our king’s quest for power grew so that he began to study the dark magic, spells that twisted his heart and mind. He learned of the prophecy of the Light Bringer, and since then, he has worked to destroy the one who would dethrone him.”

 “Wait, hold up.” Margo held up a hand. “What’s the Light Bringer, what prophecy, and who was this Squidward-looking asshole before he was a king?”

 Clabbercloud moved over to a wooden chest filled with books, their covers thick and ornate. He chose one from the pile and brought it to the group, opening it to a marked page.

 “Look upon this.”

 Eliot took the book and settled it across his knees. The others leaned over his shoulders to see. The left page featured scrawled Fillorian text, and the other, which was torn away at the upper right corner so about a quarter of the page was missing, featured two figures ascending from a fountain. One was radiating with light and reaching for an open jade crown of many colors, which was surrounded by a cloud of what appeared to be butterflies or moths, but the other figure was mostly missing from the torn page. Only the legs and feet were visible.

 “The Light Bringer.” Kady glanced up at Clabbercloud. “And who’s this?” She pointed at the incomplete figure.

 The centaur shook himself.

 “There are many who believe he is little more than a guide. Others think he is something of a page to the Light Bringer.”

 “So where is this place?” Penny asked pointing to the drawing, and Clabbercloud cocked a hind leg as he worked through a plate of oat cakes.

 “The fountain is said to be the same that can be found at Coronation Beach, where all Fillorian rulers are crowned. It lies twenty miles south of our village.”

 “When I saw the Beast, he wasn’t wearing that crown.” Penny nodded to the drawing.

 “The Many-Fingered King wears no crown, Traveler. It is power and submission, not fame and attention, that he desires most. The crown lies in a chest at Coronation Beach, and none but the Light Bringer can open it.”

 “So you believe this Light Bringer is your next king?” Margo asked, and the centaur nodded.

 “Only Children of Earth can rule here.” He replied, and Margo glanced at Eliot.

 “So technically . . . any one of you boys—you or Penny or even Quentin—could be the king they’ve been waiting for.”

 “But we don’t know where Quentin is.” Eliot said, his fingers tightening around the cup he held. Clabbercloud turned his head to reply when another sentry approached the open tent flap, his spear jabbing at the back of what looked like an oversized ferret. The thing was walking on its hind legs and it had one deformed eye that made it bulge from its socket like an infected boil. It carried a miniature version of Quentin’s messenger bag and wore a red and black leather jerkin, but nothing else. The sentry goaded the creature inside.

 “This intruder says it has a message for the children of earth!”

 Eliot rose to his feet. Although the ferret barely came to his knees, the creature didn’t cower. It withdrew a velvet bag from its jerkin.

 “The High King of Fillory and Lord of All He Surveys and Beyond offers parley for the life of the human called Quentin Coldwater! He sends this, in the hopes that it will spur you to bargain quickly.”

 Eliot took the bag, pulled the top open and shook it out. A pinky finger tumbled out into his hand and he jerked back, color draining from his cheeks. While the digit bore no identifying marks, Eliot’s heightened senses and his familiarity with Quentin’s aura told him that it belonged to the younger magical adept. The skin and meat around the first knuckle had been gnawed. Cold arrows of dread punched into Eliot’s gut and spread before the tips burst into flame and replaced it with fury. His long fingers curled around the severed thing as Margo, Penny, and Kady stared with varying expressions of shock and disgust. The ferret bared its sharp teeth.

 “His Highness will bring Quentin Coldwater to Coronation Beach at sunrise and offer you his bargain there. If you refuse or do not show . . .” The ferret licked its lips suggestively. Eliot took a deep breath and turned his back on the creature.

 “Are you supposed to return to His Majesty with my answer?”

 “No, magician. Your presence or lack of it at sunrise tomorrow is your answer!”

 “Excellent.” Eliot spat the word out before he turned and shot out his left hand, the air around it shimmering with magic. The force push knocked the ferret off its feet, drove it through the air, and impaled it on the sentry’s spear by the back of its head. The force of the push popped the deformed eye from its socket, leaving it to drip thickly off the tip while the creature twitched the last of its life out on the shaft.

 “You literally killed the messenger.” Margo said after a few moments of silence, and Eliot slipped Quentin’s finger back into the velvet bag.

 “Pity it didn’t live long enough to appreciate the irony of the message I gave it in return. The bastard used Quentin’s finger as a fucking teething toy.” Eliot said as the sentry shook his spear and sent the dead mammal flopping to the ground. “Clabbercloud, which way is it to Coronation Beach?”

 “My sentries can take you as far as the Rainbow Bridge, but we cannot venture any further. Beyond our borders, child of earth, you and your companions must face the Many-Fingered King alone.”

 CHAPTER ELEVEN

 Coronation Beach was a stark study in negative contrast: soft black sand stretched for nearly ten miles against seawaters that were foamy white instead of blue. Dawn approached, wrapped in thick swatches of fog as Eliot and his companions reached the beach and stood near the fountain Clabbercloud had mentioned. In the center of the pool, a granite king stood with his sword at the ready. Eliot squinted into the near-darkness and frowned.

 “I wonder if the sun rises in the east here. Wasn’t there something in the books about a daily eclipse?” He paused and pulled the Fillory book from his coat to flip through it. “Quentin would know.” He said, almost to himself, and Margo peered off into the horizon.

 “We can’t even be sure Fillory operates the way it does in the books. At least I don’t remember a psycho moth man in any of them.”

 “Flattery will get you nowhere, dear girl!”

 Eliot turned at the words, his heart volleying up into his throat. The Beast was approaching from the opposite direction, dressed in the same fine suit Quentin had seen him in previously. He walked with a skip in his step, the moths swirling around his face in a noxious cloud. He dragged Quentin along behind him on a length of enchanted chain, the other end clipped to a black collar that seemed to writhe and shift against his skin like an agitated snake. Quentin stumbled across the sand, dressed in a pair of ragged linen breeches and nothing else. His right hand and arm were painted with blood, and in the low light, Eliot could see the ragged stump of the pinky finger. The Beast halted a few feet from the group and glanced at the rising sun.

 “How considerate of you to be punctual!”

 “Fuck your faux manners.” Eliot replied in conversational tone. “The talking rat you sent told me you wanted to meet here.”

 “My loyal servant, who you killed in cold blood. He was unarmed. Quite cowardly of you!”

 “About as cowardly as abusing a kid you gaslighted into a mental ward!” Margo snapped, and Eliot gave her an approving glance before he stepped forward.

 “And speaking of cowards, why don’t you show me your face before we make a deal? I’d like to know who I’m speaking to.” He flicked a glance at Quentin, whose wordless plea was clear.

 Be careful.

 “Very well. I don’t suppose I have any reason to conceal myself anymore, do I?” The Beast waved a hand and the moths dispersed, seeming to dissolve as they moved away from his face. Behind his living mask, Eliot saw a man with a rather bored countenance, a man with graying hair and a weak chin—a man you wouldn’t look twice at if you passed him on the street. Only his eyes gave a clue to his power, and they glittered as he met Eliot’s gaze.

 “Dude looks like a life insurance salesman.” Penny muttered, and the Beast chucked.

 “You clueless children. You have no idea who I truly am . . . although perhaps our dear Quentin here might tell you. I’m the once and future High King of Fillory, the missing sibling of a group of children who ruled here long ago. One who found a way to remain here always, to remain and rule, as I was always destined to!”

 Quentin stared at him.

 “Martin Chatwin.” He murmured, and the Beast nodded.

 “Precisely. Now.” He turned back toward Eliot. “As to the terms of my bargain. You give me back my button, agree to forsake the prophecy, and leave Fillory forever. In return, I will allow all of you to live.”

 Eliot tipped his eyes up to the dawning sky as he considered the terms. He thought of Clabbercloud, the story of the Beast’s complete rule over Fillory, his cruelty, and the good he and the others could bring to Fillory—if he could defeat the powerful magician in one-on-one battle.

 I learned magic for my own purposes and gain, Eliot thought to himself. But if what the centaur told us is true, I may have a destiny here. And what good is having all this power if I can’t outwit and out-cast this asshole? Top bitch in Chelsea . . . time to prove that to yourself and to everyone else.

 “Here’s my counter offer.” Eliot said, removing his long camel coat and undoing the buttons on the linen shirt the centaurs had loaned him. It was ill-fitting across his shoulders and down his arms, so he stripped it off, exposing his hedge tattoos. “We battle, one on one, for the crown. The winner gets control of Fillory, and the loser goes six feet under.”

 “Eliot, no!” Quentin spoke up, and the Beast yanked on the length of chain, choking off any further complaints. He stroked his goatee.

 “An interesting wager!” He eyed Eliot’s tattoos. “I see you’re a hedge witch . . .” He led Quentin to a nearby boulder and used magic to weld the end of the chain into it, trapping him there like a disobedient dog. “Isn’t it ironic that I learned magic in much the same way!” He glanced at Margo and the others. “You realize, of course, if you lose this battle, the lives of your friends, including this delicious little dish—” He nodded to Quentin— “are all forfeit as well.”

 “Then bring it.” Penny challenged, eliciting a nod from Kady. Marg scoffed.

 “If El goes down, which I doubt, then it’s three against one, Beast Boy.”

 “You’d battle me for table scraps?” The Beast asked, glancing at Quentin. “Courageous but idiotic.”

 “Do you agree to my offer or not?” Eliot asked, and the Beast nodded, looking almost jovial.

 “Agreed—let’s end this, shall we?” The older magician raised his hands before he finished speaking, a magic missile blasting from his palm. Eliot cursed and strengthened his wards with one move of his hand. The blast rocked him backward and he murmured in Arabic. A blue glowing rope of pure energy flowed from his fingertips and entangled the Beast. Eliot jerked the rope, adding a dose of telekinetic energy to it, and yanked his enemy’s face into his closed right fist. The Beast grunted as the cartilage in his nose shattered under the impact. Eliot then force-pushed him into the air and sent him flying across the beach, where he bounced off a cluster of rocks before swaying to his feet, bleeding from his nose and chuckling.

 “Impressive, hedge witch! Now let me show you what true power is!” He raised one hand, spread his thumb and index finger apart, then began to pinch them together slowly. Eliot gasped in surprise as his air supply was cut off, and he struggled to counter it. His lungs burned in panic and he fought the sensation, using his fading energy to summon his telekinesis. He envisioned the Beast’s fingers smoking, then glowing like banked embers, before bursting into flame. The ruling king of Fillory screamed in agony as those two fingers imploded in a flash of bright orange flame and then fell to the ground in ashes. Margo pumped a fist.

 “Yes!” She hissed, and Eliot took three gulps of air before moving his right hand in rapid circles, the fingers moving precisely in repetitive motions until glowing runes flowed from them. They hissed and crackled and Eliot drew that hand toward his chest before flinging the runes outward. They slammed into the Beast, burning away some of his suit and leaving deep, bleeding groves in his chest and arms. The older magician fell to his knees, stunned, and Eliot advanced on him, gearing up for another volley.

 Take him apart piece by piece if I need to . . .

 “It seems . . . I underestimated your abilities, hedge witch!” The Beast said, deep, glowing gashes visible in his torso, the edges charred. “But Fillory is mine, and who lives or dies is at my command! Perhaps you need proof!” He turned toward Quentin and raised both hands. A white-hot whip, made of pure energy, grew from both palms and twisted into a thick braid. Quentin watched, chained to the rock and helpless. The whip hissed and writhed like downed power line, and Eliot whispered a speed spell with his ebbing magical energy. He felt his wards flicker and fail as the spell allowed him to move at five times his normal speed. He reached Quentin, shielding the boy with his body, his bare arms stretched wide, and Quentin screamed as the whip sliced into Eliot’s left shoulder and cut diagonally across his body, opening him like a flayed trout. Quentin screamed as blood sprayed upward in a crimson arc.

 “ELIOT!”

 “EL!” Margo’s cry of agony echoed Quentin’s as Eliot dropped to his knees, his expression filled with the knowledge of his death but quietly triumphant as well. He fell to one side, his amber eyes half-open, blood staining the sand in a wide, spreading pool. The Beast watched, laughing.

 “The king is dead!” He shouted in a wounded but jovial tone. “Long live the king!” He threw his arms in the air. “And now . . .” He turned to Margo, doubled over as sobs wracked her frame. Penny dropped into a defensive crouch as he and Kady moved in front of her. The Beast grinned. “Oh children . . . you mustn’t even try, there’s no point in it, it will only make your deaths more painful!” He took two steps toward the group, his hands raised, when thunder rumbled over the water. The Beast looked up, frowning, as roiling black clouds, lined with lodes of molten gold, raced over the sky. They cast the beach into near darkness, eating up the dawn, before one of the glowing molten lines split open the clouds. Rays of pure white light shot out, lined with gossamer sheets of flickering, shifting colors. They engulfed Quentin and he stiffened, his dark eyes wide, his mouth dropping open in a sudden fit of awe and ecstasy. The enchanted chain and collar melted away like warm taffy and Quentin flung his arms outward as the rays lifted him into the air.

 The others watched, stunned, as Quentin’s injured hand seemed to light up from the inside and his pinky finger reformed before the rays turned him and another of the golden lines reached out from the clouds, more delicate than a jellyfish tentacle, and vanished into his bare back. Quentin stiffened, his lean form jerking, and then golden lines began to fill up his skin. The lines formed, then connected, until they formed a hedge star. The gold filament withdrew, but not before it formed a stylized Q in the center of the star. A kind of serenity filled Quentin’s expression, replacing his usual timid, anxious countenance, as the rays faded and he dropped to his feet on the beach. He faced the Beast, who scoffed.

 “How very dramatic, that! Pity it’s come too late!” The Beast raised both hands, firing off red bolts of energy from both palms. Quentin raised his own hands, batting the bolts away as if they were spitballs as he walked toward the Fillorian king. The Beast paused, scowled, then used his remaining fingers to squeeze the air from the young hedge. He watched, his expression shifting from triumph to disbelief as Quentin kept on approaching, his dark eyes ringed with molten gold. He seized the Beast’s hand as if to give it a vigorous shake and twisted the appendage off his wrist as if opening a stubborn pickle jar. The Beast gave a high-pitched, breathy scream of agony as Quentin tossed the hand over one shoulder and buried his right hand into the man’s hair, forcing him to his knees. The Beast stared up at him.

 “Quentin. Quentin, my dear boy, listen to me, please . . .”

 “I’m done listening to you. I’m done being afraid, and I’m done running.” His eyes blazed down at the king. “You killed Eliot. You killed the only person in the whole world—any world—who ever gave a shit about me.”

 “But you have no idea what I could offer you! Power, fortune . . . allow me to rule you, and you could have all that you ever dreamed of!” The Beast countered, and Quentin closed his eyes a moment.

 “I had what I dreamed of. I had someone who was like me. Someone who could have taught me who I really am . . . who might have loved me.” Quentin gave the Beast a somber stare. “You took that away.”

 “Quen—”

 The dark magician’s words were interrupted by the cracking of his own spinal cord as Quentin twisted his head around in a complete circle, then kept twisting until the Beast’s head separated from his body. A cloud of moths roiled from the neck’s stump and fell to the sand one by one, like a musty cloudburst, until the Beast’s headless body fell backward and landed, motionless, among the insects’ twitching corpses. Quentin threw the head in the dead man’s lap and raised one hand, casting a fire spell as if he’d been doing it for years. The head and body burst into flames and burned to ashes within moments. Quentin stared at the ashes, and then Penny approached him. Quentin turned, that gold glow in his eyes fading but still noticeable. Penny raised both hands slowly, palms out.

 “Yo. I’m on your side, remember?”

 Quentin nodded and Penny flicked a glance at the pile of ashes.

 “So what the fuck happened? What unlocked your magic, and why is it so crazy strong?”

 Quentin turned his head to look at Eliot, laying motionless on his side.

 “Eliot.” He murmured, padding across the sand. As Penny, Kady, and Margo gathered around them, Quentin sat cross-legged by the body and lifted Eliot’s head into his lap. Margo wiped a shaking hand across her mouth.

 “He stepped right in front of you. I felt his wards fail . . . he must have known what would happen.” She said, and Penny nodded.

 “He knew.” He said. “But protecting Quentin was all that mattered to him.”

 “You used my real name.” Quentin said, glancing up at Penny.

 “Yeah, well. Figure I owe you one for killing that asshole Beast.”

 “How did you even do that?” Kady asked. Quentin shook his head.

 “I don’t know.” He stroked Eliot’s face. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, it’s all for nothing, it’s all for nothing!” He cried, the last words hitching on tears as he bent over and kissed Eliot’s rapidly-cooling lips. Several tears dripped onto Eliot’s long, pale throat and slid into the top of the terrible wound the Beast had made. A low thrumming sound bloomed from the gash, and it began to glow gold before a glittering sheer curtain of humming energy covered the open flesh. Quentin watched: the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once and contained an entire symphony of tiny chimes, all at different keys, as the gauzy netting of magic undulated over Eliot’s wound and left Eliot’s bare chest whole and unmarred.

 “Look.” Kady murmured after a few moments, pointing to Eliot’s face. Color was blooming back into the hedge witch’s high cheekbones and turning his pale blue lips pink. The chimes grew louder and then both Quentin and Eliot were rising into the air, ascending over the fountain.  Eliot’s eyes opened, his expression almost comically surprised. Out in the sea, the water began to bubble and hiss before a jade crown surfaced, its surface flashing in the sun. Golden shafts of light erupted from Quentin’s fingers, bathing Eliot in a radiant glow as the crown floated into his hands as if it belonged there. Margo, Penny, and Kady watched as the two magicians circled each other in midair before their lips met in a long, explorative kiss. They descended together a moment later, the crown in Eliot’s left hand.

 “Fuck.” Margo breathed. “The prophecy had it wrong the whole fucking time! The future king of Fillory isn’t the Light Bringer at all.”

 “Nope.” Penny sighed. “It’s Quentin.”

 CHAPTER TWELVE

 “So what Clabbercloud showed us in that old book didn’t tell us the whole story.”

 Penny paced around the area where Eliot had faced the Beast less than an hour earlier as he spoke.

 “The story of the prophecy was handed down orally. All the people had to go on was what they had been told, and that drawing.” Eliot replied. Since being resurrected, Quentin had helped him clean himself up in the water and brought him his coat. He wore it over bare skin, the centaur shirt having gone out with the tide. He stood flanked by Margo on one side and Quentin on the other, and the sensation was so comfortable he wanted to wear their presence like a second skin for the rest of his life.

 “They were wrong about the future king being the Light Bringer. And it wasn’t the crowning that unlocked Quentin’s magic . . . it was Eliot’s sacrifice.” Margo looked up at him and then he was doubling over as she elbowed him in the gut. “And that, by the way, is for getting your asshole self killed right in front of me!”

 “Noted!” Eliot wheezed, and Margo threw her arms around him.

 “You cock!” She whispered fiercely, and Eliot recovered enough to put his arms around her.

 “If you’re jealous, know that I would’ve done the same thing for you.” He said, lifting her chin and wiping away an errant tear from her left cheek. “Bambi.”

 “I don’t think you’d be standing here if you had.” She glanced over at Quentin. “Hey . . . Droopy.” She said, and Quentin glanced up, not quite meeting her imperious gaze, but then her features softened. “You did good.”

 “Thanks, Margo.” Quentin replied with a shy smile.

 “There’s still some shit that isn’t clear to me.” Penny said. “Like the Beast must have thought that Eliot was the Light Bringer, otherwise he would have killed Quentin a hell of a lot sooner. If he was so powerful, how did he get that wrong?”

 “He didn’t. He knew all along.”

 The group turned as one as the new voice spoke. By the edge of the fountain stood a young girl in what looked like a, English schoolgirl’s pinafore and skirt. A blue beret sat perched on her head. Quentin stared.

 “Holy shit.” He said, his voice cracking. “You’re . . .?”

 “Jane Chatwin.” The girl nodded. “And just as you always felt deep within your heart, Quentin, Fillory is very real and has existed for centuries.”

 “What do you mean, the Beast had it right the whole time?” Penny demanded, and Jane came closer.

 “My siblings and I once ruled Fillory. We understood that other children of earth would come eventually . . . all but Martin. That’s why he began to study dark magic. He wanted to live forever, and to rule forever. So when the seers of Whitespire foretold of the coming of a new king, it sent him into a paranoid rage. He made it his quest to find The Light Bringer and destroy him. It was my brother who ripped the page from the seer’s book.” She glanced at Eliot. “The book you carry in your coat . . . may I see it?”

“Book—oh! Forgot I had it.” He pulled the first edition book out and gave Quentin an apologetic glance. “If it’s damaged, I’ll buy you a new one. We thought it might come in handy.”

 “It’s okay.” Quentin nodded, watching as Jane opened the book. On the inside of the first page was an identical drawing of what the group had seen at Clabbercloud’s tent. Jane murmured a few words in Arabic and then teased the page open further, where it unfolded into a complete image of what they’d been unable to see before. The other figure was no page or guide—shafts of light were streaming from his fingers, surrounding the other in an ethereal glow.

 “Most people in Fillory knew about the prophecy, but thought the future king would be the one to bring the light. What they didn’t know is that the king would be brought to Fillory because of his love for the one my brother would steal from him.”

 “If your brother knew Quentin was The Light Bringer, why didn’t he just smoke him back at the looney bin?” Penny asked, and Jane smiled and shook her head.

 “My brother always had more than a touch of the theatrical to him. He loved cat-and-mouse games. He simply couldn’t resist playing one last time.” She glanced over at the pile of ash. “I always said it would be the death of him. Now . . . I think it’s time to crown the new kings and queen of Fillory.” She nodded as an ornate wood chest appeared at her feet and popped open, revealing two more crowns.

 “I call High Queen!” Margo announced, and Eliot gave her a warm, approving grin. Quentin took the crown from Eliot’s hand.

 “Kneel, Eliot Waugh.” He said, and Eliot’s smile widened. Quentin felt heat rise to his own cheeks.

 “Come on, it’ll just take a minute.”

 Eliot bowed his head. “As you wish, Light Bringer.” He said in a somber tone, but his amber eyes gleamed with humor. He knelt on the black sand, and Quentin stepped forward with the crown in his hands.

 “I know all of this was supposed to be spelled out in some kind of prophecy . . . but I think that destiny is bullshit when you’re a magician. Our futures, the kind of people we are, or turn out to be . . . it’s in our hands, no matter what the storybooks about us say.” His dark eyes filled with tears as he spoke, meeting Eliot’s bright gaze. “And I know that you are going to be a really, really good king. More than good. So—I, Quentin Coldwater, the Light Bringer, crown you High King Eliot, the Spectacular.” He placed the circlet of jade on Eliot’s head, and Eliot’s long dark lashes swept down in an expression that was close to ecstasy.

 “Thank you, Quentin.” He said after a moment. “I will do my best to live up to your expectations.” He offered his hands, and Quentin took them as he helped Eliot to his feet. Their gazes remained locked, and then Eliot leaned over to kiss the younger magician’s cheeks, then his lips. Surprise mixed with joy lit up Quentin’s face as Eliot pulled away. Margo glanced at Kady and Penny and shook her head, and Eliot grinned at them. “It’s good to be the king!” He turned to the chest and picked up a delicate crown made of gilded gold leaves. “Margo?”

 Margo went to him, her dark eyes tipping up to him.

 “I’m not kneeling.” She said in a jovial half-challenge, and Eliot nodded.

 “And I don’t expect you to.” He raised the crown and gently placed it on her head. “I hereby crown you High Queen Margo, the Destroyer.” He bent forward and cupped her face with his large, elegant hands. “I’ve known your worth since the day we met, Margo Hanson . . . and I wouldn’t want to rule Fillory without you by my side.” He said before kissing her cheeks, then her lips, as he had with Quentin, and Margo looked up at him.

 “We’re going to be legendary.” She said, and Eliot nodded.

 “And I thought being top bitch in Chelsea was a lofty position.” He picked up the last crown, silver shot through with delicate veins of gold, and turned to Quentin.

 “Kneel down, my Light Bringer.” He said, and Quentin went to one knee before him. “You bested the Beast, Quentin, but even before that, you were much braver than you ever believed, and you deserve to shape your own destiny. So, that being said, I hereby crown you King Quentin, the Courageous.” He set the crown on Quentin’s head and helped him stand. Quentin smiled.

 “No one’s ever called me courageous before.”

 “Except that you are. And not just because of what you did. You’ve been brave your whole life, Q . . . anyone else who lived the way you did without knowing they were a magician would have been dead a long time ago.”

 “Maybe.” Quentin looked up at the High King. “And if you’d allow me to be brave for a moment longer, I—I want to tell you that—uhm, I care about you, El. And you’re the only one who’s ever cared about me.” Quentin’s glance skittered away from Eliot’s as he finished speaking, and Eliot reached out to touch his chin with his thumb and index finger, stroking Quentin’s skin until the younger man looked up at him again. Eliot then claimed his lips as well as his gaze, their crowns creating a shining halo around them as their heads touched and the Fillorian sun bowed on the horizon for their joining.

 Epilogue

 Castle Whitespire

Six months later

 “Oh, My God . . . are you two at it again?”

 Eliot glanced up from the bed he, Quentin, and Margo shared. The mattress, stuffed with pegasi feathers, tilted as Quentin’s tousled head emerged from a mountain of blankets. His full, curved lips were shiny.

 “Oh! Uhmm—hey, Margo!”

 Margo sighed and put her hands on her hips.

 “The High King and the Bi King.” She drawled. Quentin sat up.

 “I guess I’m still getting used to this whole polyamorous marriage thing.” He admitted, and a small smile quirked up the corners of Margo’s mouth.

 “It’s fine, Q. I’ve actually admired your efforts over the past few months.” She took a few running steps and jumped into the roomy bed with them. Quentin slipped an arm around her as she leaned against Eliot’s shoulder, and Eliot smiled down at them both as the muted sounds of life at Whitespire went on as usual outside the walls of their castle sanctuary.

 In the months since the Beast’s defeat, Fillory had transformed from a fear-filled and dreary world to one of plenty and burgeoning joy. Eliot, Quentin, and Margo all ruled equally, and at Eliot’s suggestion, the three of them entered into a polyamorous trio that only strengthened the people’s trust in them. While Eliot and Margo remained close as ever, Eliot left the physical aspect of their relationship up to their husband, who was eager to explore his newfound sexuality with both his partners.

 “Any word from Kady and Penny today?” Eliot asked, and Margo settled in between them.

 “They’ve found over half a dozen doors into Fillory so far, not counting being able to travel with the button.” Margo glanced over at a nearby glassed-in shelf, protected with multiple wards, that held their magic button. “Kady is more than happy to act as our general and gatekeeper, just to make sure no nasties get in. She and Penny are still living at their loft, but they asked about maybe keeping a room here at the castle, too.”

 “Life with Penny. Just what I always wanted.” Quentin groaned, and Eliot chuckled as he reached over to stroke Quentin’s hair, which he was growing out.

 “Don’t worry, Q. As king, you can always decree that he not speak while he’s in the castle!”

 “Something tells me he’d find other ways to annoy me.” He slipped from the bed and pulled on a red and gold silk robe before going to the window. Outside, Fillorians bustled around the nearby village and along the roads, trading, working, building. Structures the Beast had destroyed were being rebuilt, and the stain of his terrible rule was slowly being wiped clean.

 “Q?” Eliot asked after a few moments. “What is it?”

 “I was just thinking about where I was six months ago . . . and where I am now. It’s everything I wanted, but nothing like I imagined. You know?” He asked, turning back to his partners, and Eliot nodded as he got out of bed and put on a robe.

 “It’s a far cry from Chelsea, but I don’t really miss it.” He went to Quentin and touched his face with both hands before slipping an arm around Margo as she followed him to the window. “For better or worse, Fillory is my home now. There’s a lot of good we can do here—at least as good as hedge witches can be.” Eliot picked up his crown from the purple velvet pillow it rested on while he slept and put it on, artfully arranging his dark curls around the glittering points of jade. As a few of Fillory’s residents spied Margo at the window and began to cheer, Eliot looked down at Quentin.

 “My Light Bringer.” He whispered, and leaned in to capture Quentin’s lips in a long, loving kiss. As the people outside continued to chant and cheer, Quentin pulled back and let all his fears, worries, and terrible memories of the past fall away into the promise in Eliot’s bright amber eyes as he reached up to touch his face.

 “Long live the king.”

 FIN

[wordsby-bon]

(I realised there is a typo after posting!!! meant to say MAY not april - absolutely nobody commented on this mistake which just goes to show how scattered COVID has really made us all. I had to have a giggle at this. Nonetheless, the takeover was successful!)

Our second team takeover was done by one of our production team members Grace and it went really well! She volunteered to do this herself which showed great initiative and helped boost follower engagement.

[bigyack-com]

Japan Takes Aim at Carlos Ghosn’s Wife

Good morning. (Want this by email? Sign up here.)

Japan issues arrest warrant for Carole Ghosn

The Japanese authorities said this morning that they were seeking to detain Carlos Ghosn’s wife, Carole, accusing her of providing false testimony about her husband’s legal case, according to Makiko Inoue and Eimi Yamamitsu of the NYT.“They said Mrs. Ghosn testified in April that she did not know a person who was involved in Mr. Ghosn’s case, even though she was in communication with that person while the person was wiring money between companies at Mr. Ghosn’s request,” the NYT reports.It’s meant to ramp up pressure to bring Mr. Ghosn back to the country to face criminal charges, the NYT adds.But the chances of getting Mrs. Ghosn are slim. She’s believed to be in Beirut with her husband, and it’s not clear that the Lebanese authorities will cooperate with a Japanese request to extradite him.

Facebook bans ‘deepfakes,’ but not all fake videos

The social network said yesterday that it planned to ban “deepfakes” that use A.I. to manipulate video. But there are plenty of exceptions, which may let videos like a controversial one involving House Speaker Nancy Pelosi stand.Facebook announced that it would delete misleading videos if they were the product of A.I. that “merges, replaces or superimposes content onto a video, making it appear to be authentic.” Clips edited to make the speakers say words that they hadn’t said, in ways that aren’t obvious to the viewer, could also be taken down.The company won’t ban videos “manipulated for the point of parody or satire,” the WaPo notes. Other forms of manipulation wouldn’t be outlawed either, though “they could be fact-checked and limited in their spread on the social networking site.”That may include a video of Ms. Pelosi last year that was edited to make her sound drunk, which was done using simple editing techniques, the WaPo adds.Critics say the policy is too narrow. Expect Facebook’s vice president of global policy management, Monika Bickert, to face tough questions on the issue when she testifies before Congress tomorrow.

U.S. consumers are paying for Trump’s trade war

President Trump repeatedly, and incorrectly, asserts that China is bearing the cost of his trade battle with Beijing. A new research paper says that claim isn’t true, Jeanna Smialek and Ana Swanson of the NYT report.“U.S. tariffs continue to be almost entirely borne by U.S. firms and consumers,” according to the working paper by Mary Amiti of the New York Fed, David Weinstein of Columbia University and Stephen Redding of Princeton.They studied the value of imports from before and after the imposition of tariffs — and found little impact on China. “We’re just not seeing foreigners bearing the cost, which to me is very surprising,” Professor Weinstein told the NYT.It’s the latest piece of academic research to show that Mr. Trump’s trade fight has come at a steep price to American consumers and companies, even if it’s forcing China to revise its trade relationship with the U.S. Tariffs on $360 billion worth of Chinese goods, some of which are as high as 25 percent, remain in place, even though the U.S. and China are moving to sign an initial trade deal this month.More: The wine industry is worried about the Trump administration’s threat to impose 100 percent tariffs on wine imported from Europe. And The New Yorker takes a deep dive into the current state of the U.S.-China relationship.

Blackstone peers into its crystal ball for 2020

The investment giant’s top investment strategists, Byron Wien and Joe Zidle, have taken their latest shot at predicting what’s in store this year. (They wrote that Mr. Wien’s forecasts for last year got many things right.) Here are some of their “surprises” — events that investors think have a roughly 33 percent chance of happening — for 2020.• The Fed lowers its main funds rate to 1 percent from 1.75 percent. (The central bank signaled last month that it was in no hurry to continue cutting rates.)• The S&P 500 surges above 3,500, though there will be several market corrections of more than 5 percent.• Democrats win back the Senate in November. (Most political analysts think it’s possible but not likely.)• Britain turns out to be a winner from Brexit, with its stock market and the pound rising.• Boeing’s 737 Max returns to the skies and “becomes a fixture around the world.”

Harvey Weinstein faces new charges in Los Angeles

Prosecutors in Los Angeles filed four criminal counts against the Hollywood producer yesterday, just as his long-awaited trial in Manhattan began, Jan Ransom and Jose Del Real of the NYT report. It’s a sign of the long legal battles ahead.The L.A. district attorney charged Mr. Weinstein with one felony count each of rape, forcible oral copulation, sexual penetration by use of force and sexual battery by restraint. He faces up to 28 years in prison.There’s some overlap in the New York and California charges, with one of the victims in the Los Angeles case expected to be called as a witness in the Manhattan proceedings.The new counts complicate Mr. Weinstein’s defense in the New York case just as jury selection is about to begin. “It’s all over the news,” Mark Bederow, a defense lawyer who is not representing Mr. Weinstein, told the NYT. “How are jurors supposed to ignore it?”Protesters gathered outside the Manhattan courthouse yesterday, carrying signs with slogans like “justice for survivors” and “coercion is not consent.” The actress Rose McGowan, who has accused Mr. Weinstein of assault, addressed the producer at a news conference yesterday, saying, “You brought this on yourself by hurting so many.”

Inside economists’ fight against bias and harassment

At a major economics conference this weekend, attendees celebrated their field’s progress in combating racial and gender discrimination. But many think there’s more work to be done, Ben Casselman, Jim Tankersley and Jeanna Smialek of the NYT write.• At the conference, a woman held “office hours” to help victims of sexual harassment and abuse, and there were panels on racism and sexism in the profession.• But leaders told the NYT that they needed “years of sustained effort to begin to erode the structural barriers” that remain in the field. Their latest step: finalizing procedures for investigating and punishing violations of the economics association’s code of conduct.• Next up is considering moves like grading university economics departments on diversity.• “Embracing diversity means opening up to the kinds of new questions and new ways of seeing the world that will eventually improve economic science,” Cecilia Conrad, an economist at the MacArthur Foundation, told the NYT.

The speed read

Deals• Boeing is said to be considering borrowing money to ease the financial strain of the 737 Max plane’s grounding. (WSJ)• SoftBank’s Vision Fund has reportedly walked away from several deals to invest in start-ups, irking entrepreneurs. (Axios)• Borden Dairy filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection, the second big dairy producer to do so in the last two months. (NYT)• Xerox has lined up $24 billion in financing for its $33 billion hostile takeover bid for HP. (WSJ)Politics and policy• The Environmental Protection Agency moved to tighten truck emissions standards, in part to head off even tougher rules from states. (NYT)• State and local governments’ offers of targeted tax breaks to attract and keep businesses don’t live up to their promised economic benefits, a new study finds. (WSJ)• Could taxes on vaping nudge people toward cigarette smoking instead? (Upshot)Tech• Tech giants are urging the E.U. not to hold them legally liable for content on their platforms, but signaled that they need more regulatory oversight. (FT)• The tech industry is betting on quantum computing to create new supercomputers. But many quantum machines are still slower than traditional computers. (WSJ)• California has sued the billionaire venture capitalist Vinod Khosla over his efforts to close off public access to a beach near his home. (Business Insider)Best of the rest• The furniture seller Pier 1 Imports announced plans to close nearly half of its stores. (NYT)• How 7-Eleven is punishing a Japanese franchisee after he closed his store for one day. (NYT)• Impossible Foods, the maker of plant-based burgers, has something new: a vegan “pork sausage.” (WaPo)Thanks for reading! We’ll see you tomorrow.We’d love your feedback. Please email thoughts and suggestions to business@nytimes.com. Read the full article

[zel-cs]

@k-9-dog-cs made an ask list so here we gooooo 1.) How did you find ChickenSmoothie? A moderator on the German version of Howrse had a little green caterpillar pet on their profile page. I thought it looked cute and went to the website to find out what it would look like grown up. 2.) What was your first pet you’ve adopted? Since it was the butterfly wolves that brought me there, my first pet was also a bwolf. Here she is! 3.) What was your first pound catch? A queen of hearts card dog. I no longer own it, but it randomly ended up on a friend’s account so that’s cute, too. 4.) What is your current best pound catch? I grabbed a Spotted Tribal this year! 5.) What’s your favorite species? Chickens! The hens with the fluffy tail are the best. 6.) What’s your current favorite pet you own? This deer is my favourite pet on the site. 7.) If you could get a new animal species to adopt on ChickenSmoothie, what would it be? Consider: Tortoises 8.) What is your current dreamie(s)? Maybe a Dark Pink Shima bwolf? I also want to try getting a Cinnabun at some point, but I’ve been too lazy so far. 9.) Do you have any achieved dreamies? If so, which one? My dreamies were the black UR Cat, Noncoon, and GWJ. I own all of them~ 10.) What was your first list pet? I joined before the List even existed, but the second pet I ever adopted was a Nonballoon, so I guess that counts. 11.) What was your first UR? Oh man I can’t remember for sure if I got the UR Bwolf or the UR Cat first. I think it was the bwolf, because I remember trading the Moonswirl I got from the 2009 re-release for it. 12.) What was your first store pet? I think the red and yellow Androids. Not sure about it, though. 13.) Out of all the seasonal events, which one is your current favorite and look forward to every year? Advent Calendar! My birthday is in December, I always get excited to see what we get on that day. Or about picking up a new gift every day in general. 14.) Which past summer event is your favorite? The 2013 Slumber Party. I adored the story and the aesthetics. The whole Dreams vs. Nightmares thing was very cool. I also have fond memories of the discussion on the forums. We had a lot of fun with our speculations and stories. 15.) What is your favorite item(s)? Either the Oarfish from the Lost City event, or the yellow Plasma Scythe from the store, probably. 16.) What’s your current favorite dress-up? Hm. I’m not very invested in dressing up my pets for the most part, so I don’t have many. Maybe this one? It’s just a pet dressed as one of my OCs. 17.) What’s the most funniest dress-up you’ve done? I’m such a boring person, I can’t even remember ever attempting to make a funny dress-up. 18.) What’s your best memory of ChickenSmoothie so far? This one is always difficult for me to answer. There’s a lot of moments to choose from! I already used the 2013 summer event as my answer for the summer event question, so here’s two others: I remember that back in 2010-12 I was very invested in my hoards, often spending all day trying to get more pets. It was a lot of fun to compete for the (then more active) hoard records thread, especially! I met a lot of really cool people among other hoarders; it was perhaps the most social I’ve ever been on CS and it felt great to make friends. Becoming a GH in 2015 was awesome, too. Doubly so because I applied together with my friend Irisidium/aaron, and we both got picked. I think my heart stopped for a moment when I saw the message from Tess, ahah. 19.) What’s your most funniest ChickenSmoothie memory so far? April Fool’s is a blast every year, but the first ‘event’ for it in 2010 was beautiful. Nick pretended to have taken over the site; it looked like our adopts were Nick pets only, and some people got legitimately worried that Tess wouldn’t be coming back. “ Hi there everybody!!! It's Nick here I have so many fans in the "I <3 Nick" club that I decided that I don't need Tess any more. I can just draw all of the art myself! I hope you like April's pets!!” 20.) What’s one positive thing  ChickenSmoothie taught you? It’s going to be a testament to how bad I was at this IRL, but I’m pretty sure CS improved my social skills. I feel like the site encouraged me to be more outgoing, generous and considerate. I was a rather abrasive and blunt person as a teenager. Not saying CS did the job alone, but it definitely contributed. 21.) If you could be a mod, which job would you want? (General helpers, admin assistants, etc.) I was made a General Helper in 2015, and since then haven’t felt like I’d want any other position. I think it’s the best match for me! If I had to choose something else, I guess I’d like it as an Archivist. But Solloby does a fine job at that, no need for a replacement :D 22.) If you could add a whole new feature or even improve a feature on ChickenSmoothie, what would it be? I wish we had a spoiler function on the forums, mainly to make image-heavy threads easier to browse. It would be lovely if all those lists of pet images could be hidden until opened. I can see how it would tempt people to post more rule-breaking content, though... 23.) What is your favorite 2nd Gen pairing? These two were a match made in heaven. 24.) What 2nd gen pairings would you like to see in the future? This dog and either this or this one. Cyborgs, please. 25.) If you could make any new UR, what would it be? I remember talking to friends about this a while ago, and coming to the conclusion that we need more foods like the cinnabun. Coffee, maybe. I’ll take one UR coffee, please. 26.) Who are your friends and buddies on CS? I would have to name so many people, because there’s just so many lovely users I’ve met over the years. Based on which ones I talk to the most, it’d be Thalassic, Raire, aaron and torpor, as well as the GH team (including former GHs like Swiftalu, Aquila, Nadine, Simon and Seasonal). I’m active on a CS discord chat, too, so I talk a lot to the regulars there. There are more people who I consider friends, but trying to make a full list would make me scared to leave someone out :( 27.) If you roleplay, what’s your favorite roleplay you’re currently in on CS? 28.) If you roleplay, who’s your roleplay buddies? 29.) How many forum posts have you made so far? 23,568 30.) Which forum section on CS you like/lurk the most? CS Discussion, by far! I also like reading the introductions board. 31.) If you draw, what’s your favorite Oekaki board(s) you post your art on? 32.) If you draw, have you ever gotten featured? If yes, what got featured? If not, what one would you prefer to get featured? 33.) If you could add a new tool/feature or improve a feature/tool in Chicken paint, what would it be? 34.) If you draw, do you use a tablet or mouse or both? 35.) If applicable, what’s your favorite usermade adaptables? 36.) What usermade adaptables you own/made/mod/an artist of? If none, which one would you like to be an artist/mod of? 37.) What forums do you run/mod? Unsure if that means boards or threads; I’d assume threads? I technically ‘own’ the religion thread on the 18+ board, but I wasn’t the one to create the original, and there’s nothing for me to ‘mod’ because generally, if something happens on there, the actual mods need to get involved. I used to briefly be a mod for Adopt a Newbie some years ago, but school got in the way as I was about to graduate. As a GH, I don’t mod anything, but we are expected to keep an eye on the Help and Intro boards. 38.) What’s your favorite stamps? I’m happy that we have the pronoun stamps! Other than that, I like the bird lover stamp :) 39.) What’s your CS username? ZΕL I used to go by Amazilion before that. To this day I sometimes come across people who didn’t realize that’s me and thought I left the site, whoops. 40.) If applicable, what’s your favorite gift you’ve given/received? I have a friend who currently has the username lkjhgfdsamnbvcxz, but used to be known as Discord for the longest time. They haven’t been active for years, and last contacted me in 2014, but when they were still active they loved to help me with my hoards. Once they entered an art contest and won a Vixen Advent for me. Another time they became the first person to hit the limit on buying a token pet (that wasn’t meant to be hit) because they got me so many vixen bunnies. I am forever thankful to them for how much effort they put into getting me gifts. They’re an absolute angel who I didn’t deserve. 41.) If applicable, what’s your favorite hoard you’ve completed? This one of the entire March 2015 moth bwolf litter. 42.) If applicable, what’s your current on going hoards? I have 16 incomplete and 11 endless hoards at the moment. That’s too many, so let’s stick to the endless ones. Lightning/Arrow owls, Blue Nebula dogs, Microbiology dogs, SoulWings Sundogs, Gummy ponies, Ozone deer, Hummingbird bwolves, Vixen Advents, Vixen bunnies, Vixen rats, and a Bakery themed hoard. Phew! Out of the still incomplete hoards, though, I am particularly proud of the Sushi PPS cats and Conure owls. 43.) What’s the most interesting pet ID you have? I own pets with my birthday and my boyfriend’s birthday as an ID, but I’m not going to point those out. I also have a dog with the ID 6666666. 44.) What’s your favorite April fool’s prank chicken smoothie did so far? Tied between the chicken uprising and Totoro’s takeover. Because birds. It was a lot of fun to bicker with Kyar on the ‘17 April Fool’s thread. He’s a traitor. 45.) Who would win: Avian or Totoro? I think Totoro answered that for us this year :’) Bird all the way! 46.) If you were able to get a custom pet, which oc of yours would it be based off of? If you don’t have an oc, what pet lines would you use? Hm, I don’t think I’d want to use one of my OCs. But I’d probably go for a black/gray/yellow colour scheme. Matches both my favourite character, and that fursona I had when I was a teen. And it’d have to be a chicken! 47.) What’s your oddest CS habit? No idea. I can’t think of anything particularly odd. Some people I talk to find it amusing that I will spend ages in the Pound waiting for a pet with a specific name to show up, though. The longest I’ve had to wait was an hour and a half, I think? 48.) What’s the oddest Ad that popped up on the site? I don’t pay attention to them tbh. They’re usually just for other pet sites or pet care products, anyway. 49.) What’s your ChickenSmoothie username? Last time I looked it was still ZΕL :P 50.) What species (that ChickenSmoothie has available) would you want to see more? It can even be PPS/EPPS lines too! I believe we all need more chickens in our lives. And those sheep bunnies, especially PPS ones.

[demonphannie]

Inevitable

ao3 link

summary: There's an ampersand glowing on top of their bookshelf and seven years between the two of them. He wants to give Phil everything. Or the cloyingly nostalgic proposal fic.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: swearing?? really this is just pure

notes: hi enjoy the quickest fic i have ever written (i wrote it in a night). i am a sap. that is all.

He does it because it’s been over seven years.

There’s an ampersand on top of the bookshelf. Dan turns it on every night even though there is more than enough light in the lounge. One of the bulbs has burnt out but he hasn’t fixed it yet.

They built a taller Ikea bookshelf last year by the lounge door. There were too many memories to store in the shorter one they had bought two years before. Phil rolled his eyes when he saw Dan had spelt out the word memes on the tiny billboard they bought. The picture of Dan with his family’s dog rests on one of the new shelves. Phil put it there because he thought the picture deserved more space to be seen. Dan has to blow out the candle Phil lights everyday before they leave the house. They stay in more often than not though.

Dan felt a little guilty when he cleaned his room in September. They had just finished with the Australian tour. The suitcases hadn’t been unpacked and wouldn’t be for another three weeks. His room was messy. Or rather it wasn’t his anymore. He’d completely stopped sleeping in it. He didn’t need to. They didn’t go to sleep angry anymore. Dan dusted thoroughly because it had been months since actual use and he needed things to be orderly again.

Dan felt a little guilty because they didn’t need the room anymore but they needed more space.

He does it because he wants more than a production company contract binding them together. A gaming channel. A book. A tour. A film. Another film. He wants something solid and he wants a ring around his finger and papers outlining their devotion.

He knows it’s all just a formality but he’s always been more materialistic than he lets on.

Understandably, Dan knows they won’t be slow dancing to ‘Interrupted by Fireworks’ but there’s just been too many tweets to put out of his mind. There’s tweets about the names of Dan and Phil’s future children. There’s tweets speculating when they are going to move (the date is in May but they haven’t told anyone they’ve started looking into buying a house). There’s tweets about dogs and storage and the future.

(Dan’s looking into all of those things but he hasn’t told Phil.)

It used to irritate Dan that people could just assume he was with Phil. Now it gives him a slight rush.

It seemed like the most natural thing when Phil’s away for Christmas. Dan’s train left the next day so he had time to go out to the shops. His train left Reading for Manchester the day after Christmas. So when he walked into a jewelry store during a bout of last minute Christmas shopping, it felt natural. He didn’t leave with anything (God forbid - he’s not that impulsive) but Dan asked for a few rings to put on hold. He’d think about them later.

He really wants it all with Phil. He’s wanted it since it was three in the morning in India years ago. It was balmy and he had barely any connection to the shitty wifi but Phil was on the screen in about eight pixels in a video only for Dan’s eyes.

It’s been since then. It didn’t really seem like a decision to make, rather a gradual I could really spend the rest of my life with you kind of thing.

Dan wanted to.

Phil’s family wants to go ice skating when he’s up north. Dan ducks out. He can easily pass up the chance to look like a stumbling fool around Phil’s parents. The idea that they could be his in-laws gets caught in his throat.

They were invited to Felix’s New Year’s Eve party. It was an email with a fancy e-card Dan was sure Marzia had drawn up. The next day Phil forwarded Dan an invitation he had gotten from his (now their) friends up in Rawtenstall. It was unspoken that there wouldn’t be any vlogging cameras or competitive social media posting at that one. They went up north.

Coming out seemed inevitable. Neither of them wanted it big or bold or even too noticeable. They just wanted to relax a bit more at parties, if they were being honest. But if they were being really honest, it was because they wanted the world to know it was them two against it. That they were really together in all aspects of the word.

Dan wanted the implications of being with Phil and being known he was with Phil. He wanted the warm nights under the blue and green covers and movie marathons and for the spare bedroom to be known as a spare bedroom. He wanted to show people how close he was with Phil.

It wasn’t mentioned that often. Coming out would happen when it happened. Dan knew communication was important but they didn’t have to talk about it when Dan started flirting with Phil when the camera was on. Phil flirted back. It wasn’t talked about because it became a silent competition of who could go farther without getting caught. Not getting caught because it seemed half the internet was in on the joke but rather without saying it out loud.

Phil said, “I love you,” before Dan did. Very un-Phil-like in Dan’s opinion. It’s always actions over words with that man. But it was snowing and romantic and undeniably cliche. But Dan is obsessed with cliches and Phil.

Dan has to have control of everything. He wants all the responsibility so it can’t fuck up. That’s why they spent two weeks straight in a dark room with thousands of clips of the tour and show in front of them. Dan felt a little bad he was bossing around a bunch of film editors to have specific clips in certain places but the finished products were wonderful he forgot about it. Phil was out of the room to get lunch when they edited together a few seconds of the segment of the documentary about Phil being sick (what the hell, Dan was literally making a documentary about him and Phil). Dan remembered that week well. Phil refused to so much as kiss Dan which was unusual for a sick Phil. But they were on tour and couldn’t really afford to have Dan ill as well. It was a buzzkill.

They had to bring a flash drive to the production team of all the videos they had on their phones that might be considered for the documentary. There were a lot, more than Dan realized, but it was pretty easy to narrow down. The world didn’t need the clips of Phil giggling in a hoarse voice as Dan struggled to bring two bowls of cereal into their tour bus bedroom or Dan filming himself kissing Phil’s cheek at the fake Eiffel Tower in Vegas or the moments only meant the space between them.

(Dan will never admit to having a folder on his phone dedicated to videos of Phil when he misses him but they are there.)

Dan nods when an editor asks if a video of him playing with Phil’s hair to wake him up can be added in. It’s less than twenty seconds. Dan knows Phil slipped it onto the flash drive thinking Dan would never let it in the documentary. When they watch it in full for the first time, Phil squeezes his hand sharp and quick. The clip is actually seventeen seconds. Not that Dan was counting.

Phil wasn’t even sick when Dan took the video but that’s nothing to be concerned about.

He does it because Phil bought him flowers every few weeks after he had bought them for himself in 2014. Phil knew it wasn’t necessary but he also knew Dan likes having roses because they’re pretty.

Dan wonders how much it would cost for a wedding with only roses for the floral displays.

He wants it to be perfect when he asks. The idea of trying to resurrect the Manchester Eye just to propose seems a little too drastic but it does cross his mind.

Phil’s mum is warm around Dan now. Not that she wasn’t before but she can sense this one’s for the long haul. It’s the first time Dan spends the days after Christmas with the Lesters. They even bought him presents to which he blushed and went out the next day with Phil to hastily buy some presents in return. Phil must have told his mum something about forever because she’s treating Dan like a proper son now. It’s warm.

He’s pretty sure Phil knows by now but Dan’s had a document of links for wedding venues and florists and DJs and caterers since April 2015.

His heart hurts in a good way when Phil casually told him he’s home now. It was the final days of editing the documentary and Phil nudges Dan and says he’s really been the little piece of home all along. It’s sappy and Dan’s eyes may have been a little damp when he looked at the floor and held Phil’s hand.

Of course all their friends know. It’s not a well kept secret. Their friends just don’t tell it out of respect for what they have. No one knows a couple that’s as in sync. Dan’s forgotten what it is like not to have a person so attuned to him.

They can laugh together now about what they were like the first few times of seeing each other. It would be a little embarrassing but they both can admit now how desperate they were for each other, even then. Even now.

Not only that but it looking back it seems like they were less than discreet. Even when they weren’t officially together until midway through the first November.

Dan can spot tweets about cherry lube a mile away but it doesn’t bother him anymore.

They ate at so many diners in America that Phil is sure he will never have another burger again. Dan stopped ordering pancakes halfway through the tour because the portions usually served are enough for the both of them. Phil always complained that Dan was leeching off his pancake supply but if Dan hadn’t done that they would have had to throw out at least ten take home boxes of pancakes.

Dan and Phil cancelled the Internet Takeover before they went on the American tour. It was sort of sad and Dan would miss the lighting in the studios and feeling all important as a radio DJ. But sometimes things had to end. It was comforting that even though they had moved to London for the job, they were staying for each other.

Dan made the reservation for a really fancy brunch place. Reviews rated it five stars. It’s a revelation that they wouldn’t have dared step into such an expensive restaurant four years before but a lot has changed. The reservation was actually just booking out the place for the morning but the details didn’t really matter. He tried not to be extravagant about the whole thing but he couldn’t help it if he had emailed the manager some of Phil’s favorite songs to play or ordered a £100 bouquet.

He had made sure there was food Phil would definitely like and large windows overlooking the city. The ring he had chosen was really simple but Phil never wanted anything too decorative. Dan was going to get an engraving on the inside of it but he refrained. It was all too cheesy.

Dan didn’t know what it was about Phil. He just made him glow inside. He was so much happier with him around. It didn’t really make sense. They really shouldn’t have worked out. How the hell did that stupid eighteen year old catch an internet famous twenty-two year old? And how the hell did it work out? Dan doesn’t question it too long or Phil will have to drag him into bed and cuddle for hours. Phil refuses to let Dan do anything productive when he’s had a few tears.

Dan’s been very productive over the past year.

Phil complains the morning they go out for brunch. It doesn’t hurt Dan’s feelings because he would also rather stay in and just have their coffee and tv shows. But it feels like asking should be more than late-morning-post-pajamas soirée.

Phil laughed when Dan told him it was a date. He somehow already knew.

Dan’s glad it was always more than a Twitter interaction, a Skype call, a roll in the sheets, a kiss on the lips, a move to London.

The brunch is quite lovely. Phil loves the panoramic view of the city and the food. The music is an added bonus. Dan’s heart is beating wings in his chest and he knows he’s smiling too much for the morning.

Dan thinks the best part of the day is the morning. He always wakes up before Phil. Sometimes he even sees the sun rise out over the buildings opposite them. He’ll stay in bed as long as it takes for Phil to wake up which is often a few hours. That’s fine. It’ll be sun peeking around the shade that wakes Phil up. Or Dan playing with his hair. Phil’s voice in the morning is an octave lower and sandpapery.

He has some words on a card tucked in his pocket. Dan doesn’t pull them out. He never needs to. He always has the words when he’s with Phil.

Phil with his houseplants and socks with cool patterns and an affinity for wearing Dan’s shirts and sleeping with the windows open during the summer.

He does it because he doesn’t want to spend another morning without Phil.

Dan feels like the answer to this question was obvious from the first day.

Yes.

fin

[cynthiajayusa]

What’s Hot Central Florida: April 2019

Thursday, April 4

The Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts presents Piff the Magic Dragon in The Lucky Dragon Tour at 7:30pm. 50% Comedian. 50% Magician. 100% Dragon. After earning national acclaim as the standout star of NBC’s America’s Got Talent and Penn & Teller: Fool Us, Piff the Magic Dragon continues to win over audiences across the globe with his mythical mixture of wizardry, wit and sarcasm that ignites a one-of-a-kind comedy magic show you have to see to believe. Joined by his trusty sidekick Mr. Piffles, The World’s Only Magic Performing Chihuahua™, the dynamic duo performed to sold out rooms at the world-famous Flamingo Casino in Las Vegas in the Piff the Magic Dragon Theatre. Now Piff and Mr. Piffles—along with Jade Simone, a genuine Las Vegas Showgirl, and Francis the Squire, a.k.a. the Eunuch in a Tunic—take to the road for the Dog Who Knows national tour.

Ballet and drag – merge in The Trocks, the world-famous all-male comic ballet company. Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo give new meaning to men in tights and go where no man has gone before: on pointe. Their hilarious spoofs of famous ballets like Don Quixote, Swan Lake and Nutcracker are done with impressive classical technique, making The Trocks “a mocking, loving, beady-eyed and wildly merry view of ballet. Not to be missed.” (Financial Times, London). Catch them at the The Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall tonight at 7:30pm and tomorrow (April 5) at the Straz Center for the Performing Arts in Tampa at 7:30pm.

Friday, April 5

Southern Nights Orlando welcomes Soju, from RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 11 (18yr+ Welcome). Drag Shows at 11pm & 12:30am featuring Roxxxy Andrews, Maya Andrews, Sassy Devine, Tasha Long & Tashae Sherrington!

Southern Nights Tampa presents their monthly NeiBEARhood Takeover with the 4th Annual Circuit Cub GLOW Jockstrap Party (Neon/Glow/Jockstraps strongly Encouraged) starring DJ Neon the Glowgobear. Come early and stay late as this is one of our LARGEST events of the year!! 21+ Only with free admission before 10pm.

Saturday, April 6

Cristoph’s Tampa will be celebrating their 1st anniversary tonight with performances by Alexis De La Mer, Stephanie Stuart, and Lady Janet along with music by Mike Sklarz. We here at Hotspots Central wish Jaqueline and her entire staff a very happy anniversary and wish her many more years of success!

The Parliament House presents a celebration of hair:  “Wigfest 2019” featuring a Wig Fashion show featuring the most creative looks, on-site barber and wig stylist, vendors & exhibitors, and $300 cash for the best wig.

One of Tampa’s best parties is back with a new name, a new look, but the same “eat, drink, party” spirit! Best of Tampa Bay is now TASTE at The Straz, an ALL-INCLUSIVE all-you-can-eat food and drink extravaganza boasting more than 50 of Tampa Bay’s finest restaurants and caterers, and wine, liquor and craft beer tastings. Also, enjoy full open bars and 5 live bands! Since its inception 34 years ago, the Straz Center’s signature fundraising event has generated more than $2.5 million for arts education programs. Supporting the arts never tasted so good. Admission is $85 and $140 for VIP Admission. To purchase in advance call  at (813) 229-7827.

Tuesday, April 9

Winner of six 2017 Tony Awards, including Best Musical—and the 2018 Grammy Award for Best Musical Theater Album, Dear Evan Hansen makes 2 stops in Central Florida. The first is in Tampa from April 9-14 at the Straz Center for the Performing Arts, and the second is in Orlando from April 16-21 at the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts.  A letter that was never meant to be seen, a lie that was never meant to be told, a life he never dreamed he could have. Evan Hansen is about to get the one thing he’s always wanted: a chance to finally fit in. Dear Evan Hansen is the deeply personal and profoundly contemporary musical about life and the way we live it. To find out more see the feature in this issue.

The Straz Center for the Performing Arts presents, Spamilton: An American Parody from today through Sunday, May 12. Don’t miss this “convulsively funny” (The New York Times) parody from the comic mastermind behind the long-running hit Forbidden Broadway. After tearing it up in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, Spamilton: An American Parody will stage a singing, dancing, comedy revolution in Tampa for a limited time only. The Huffington Post raves “you don’t have to see Hamilton to have side-splitting fun at Spamilton.” Tickets start at only $30. To find out more see the feature in this issue.

More than two decades ago Jonathan Larson’s RENT opened on Broadway and forever changed American theatre. It continues to speak loudly and defiantly to audiences across generations and the world. And now, this Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award-winning masterpiece returns to the Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall with its vibrant 20th anniversary tour. A re-imagining of Puccini’s La Bohème, RENT follows the lives of seven artists struggling to follow their dreams without selling out. With its inspiring message of joy and hope in the face of fear, this timeless celebration of friendship and creativity reminds us to measure our lives with the only thing that truly matters—love.

Thursday, April 11

Derek Hough: Live! The Tour comes to the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts at 7:30pm. This new production comes from the EMMY award winning mind of Derek Hough! The show features brand-new stage production, astounding versatility and, as always, Derek’s magnetic stage presence. Fans will journey through a true fusion of dance and music, as Derek explores styles ranging from ballroom and tap to salsa and hop-hop and everything in between. Creative team and two-time EMMY winners, Napoleon and Tabitha Dumo, also known as NappyTabs (Jennifer Lopez: All I Have Residency; Michael Jackson: The Immortal World Tour; GRAMMYs® creative direction), will co-create, direct and supervise choreography for the tour.

Amalie Arena presents KISS in their End of the Road World Tour at 7:30pm. After an epic and storied 45-year career that launched an era of rock n roll legends, KISS announced that they will launch their final tour Known for their trademark larger-than-life blistering performances, KISS has proven for decades why they are hands down the most iconic live show in rock n roll. The Rock & Roll Hall of Famers who have sold more than 100 million albums worldwide have said this tour is devoted to the millions of KISS Army fans. Tickets start at only $25.75.

Join EPIC (Empath Partners in Care) and people from across Tampa Bay as we Dine Out to End HIV. Dining Out for Life is an international event, with more than 3,000 restaurants donating a portion of their proceeds in benefit of local AIDS service associations. For 14 years Tampa Bay restaurants have joined together in support of EPIC and those they serve who are effected or affected by HIV. Visit their website at DineTB.org to view a list of participating restaurants. Be sure to check back – new restaurants will be added daily up to the day of the event. For more information or to become a sponsor, please contact: Brooke Boccacino at (727) 523-3352, or at Events@EmpathHealth.org.

Friday, April 12

Cristoph’s Tampa presents a Blackout Party starring Stephanie Stuart with music by Mike Sklarz and a clothing check available.

Saturday, April 13

The Parliament House presents 8time Grammy nominated Dawn Robinson (formerly of En Vogue) live in concert singing her hit songs “Free Your Mind,” “Don’t Let Go,” and Giving Him Something He Can Fee.”

Stonewall Orlando presents   Neema’s Legendary Birthday Party as part of his Amor, upscale Latin Party. Dorrs open at 9pm with $10 cover till 11pm and $15 thereafter. An expanded show time is at 12 midnight featuring Yeisa Jovovich, Angelica Michelle Jones, Kimberly Vasquez Arciliares, Nouba Soleil, Natalie Nayles, Kandy Ho’ and Naomi Aguilera. I would personally like to wish Neema a very happy birthday and wishing him many more years of success!

Thursday, April 18

Southern Nights Orlando presents “Avengers EndGame Party” with the Freshman Lineup at 10:30 Hosted by MrMs Adrien, and the main show at 12:30 Hosted By Axel Andrews with Kaija Adonis , Roxxxy Andrews , Kitana Gemini and special guest.  Music by DJ DLUX and there will also be a costume contest. Free admission before midnight if you are 21+.

Saturday, April 20

Cristoph’s Tampa presents their monthly Bear Soup with the one and only Alexis De La Mer and music by DJ Mike Sklarz.

Tony Award -winner (Cabaret) Scottish-born Alan Cumming returns to the Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall with his new show Legal Immigrant, celebrating his ten years as a US citizen, growing older and what it feels like to be an immigrant in today’s America. The show is a true old-fashioned cabaret, a smorgasbord of songs and tales; laughter, tears and, of course, provocation! Alan is also known for his role as Eli Gold on The Good Wife and as co-host of the Tony Awards in 2015.

Saturday, April 27

Cristoph’s Tampa presents a “Super Hero Party” starring Lady Janet and music by DJ Jayson.

Join Balance Tampa Bay for their 9th Annual Kickball 4 Kids from 10am to 1pm (at press time the location is TBD)! As always they will have teams in a tournament type of game with a $20 suggested donation per person; $175 suggested donation for a team of 10. Their beneficiary this year will be their friends at Academy Prep Center of Tampa! Academy Prep has a mission to inspire and empower students qualifying for need-based scholarships to become future community leaders through a rigorous middle school program coupled with ongoing graduate support.

Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall presents Whoopi Goldberg who is one of a very elite group of artists who have won a Grammy (“Whoopi Goldberg,” 1985), an Academy Award (Ghost, 1991), a Golden Globe (The Color Purple, 1985 and Ghost, 1991), an Emmy (host of AMC’s “Beyond Tara: The Extraordinary Life of Hattie McDaniel,” 2002), a Daytime Emmy for “The View,” 2009) and a Tony (Producer of Thoroughly Modern Millie, 2002). She is equally well-known for her humanitarian efforts on behalf of children, the homeless, human rights, education, substance abuse and the battle against AIDS.

Saturday, April 30

Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts presents The Temptations & The Four Tops at 7:30pm. For more than fifty years, The Temptations have prospered, propelling popular music with a series of smash hits, and sold-out performances throughout the world. Their hits include: ”My Girl,” “It’s Growing,” “Since I Lost My Baby;,” “Get Ready,” “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” “Beauty Is only Skin Deep,” “I Wish It Would Rain,” And many more. .the hits kept coming. The Four Tops made their first single for Chess in 1956, and when Motown’s Berry Gordy Jr. found out they had hustled a national “Tonight Show” appearance, he signed them without an audition to be the marquee act for the company’s Workshop Jazz label. Their first Motown hit, “Baby I Need Your Loving” in 1964, made them stars and their sixties track record and their other hits include:  “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch),” “It’s The Same Old Song,” “Reach Out I’ll Be There,” “Standing In The Shadows Of Love,” “Bernadette,” “Ask The Lonely,” “Shake Me, Wake Me (When It’s Over),” “Something About You,” “You Keep Running Away,” “7-Rooms Of Gloom” and their covers of “Walk Away Renee” and “If I Were A Carpenter.”

source https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2019/03/27/whats-hot-central-florida-april-2019/ from Hot Spots Magazine https://hotspotsmagazin.blogspot.com/2019/03/whats-hot-central-florida-april-2019.html

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What’s Hot Central Florida: April 2019

Thursday, April 4

The Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts presents Piff the Magic Dragon in The Lucky Dragon Tour at 7:30pm. 50% Comedian. 50% Magician. 100% Dragon. After earning national acclaim as the standout star of NBC’s America’s Got Talent and Penn & Teller: Fool Us, Piff the Magic Dragon continues to win over audiences across the globe with his mythical mixture of wizardry, wit and sarcasm that ignites a one-of-a-kind comedy magic show you have to see to believe. Joined by his trusty sidekick Mr. Piffles, The World’s Only Magic Performing Chihuahua™, the dynamic duo performed to sold out rooms at the world-famous Flamingo Casino in Las Vegas in the Piff the Magic Dragon Theatre. Now Piff and Mr. Piffles—along with Jade Simone, a genuine Las Vegas Showgirl, and Francis the Squire, a.k.a. the Eunuch in a Tunic—take to the road for the Dog Who Knows national tour.

Ballet and drag – merge in The Trocks, the world-famous all-male comic ballet company. Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo give new meaning to men in tights and go where no man has gone before: on pointe. Their hilarious spoofs of famous ballets like Don Quixote, Swan Lake and Nutcracker are done with impressive classical technique, making The Trocks “a mocking, loving, beady-eyed and wildly merry view of ballet. Not to be missed.” (Financial Times, London). Catch them at the The Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall tonight at 7:30pm and tomorrow (April 5) at the Straz Center for the Performing Arts in Tampa at 7:30pm.

Friday, April 5

Southern Nights Orlando welcomes Soju, from RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 11 (18yr+ Welcome). Drag Shows at 11pm & 12:30am featuring Roxxxy Andrews, Maya Andrews, Sassy Devine, Tasha Long & Tashae Sherrington!

Southern Nights Tampa presents their monthly NeiBEARhood Takeover with the 4th Annual Circuit Cub GLOW Jockstrap Party (Neon/Glow/Jockstraps strongly Encouraged) starring DJ Neon the Glowgobear. Come early and stay late as this is one of our LARGEST events of the year!! 21+ Only with free admission before 10pm.

Saturday, April 6

Cristoph’s Tampa will be celebrating their 1st anniversary tonight with performances by Alexis De La Mer, Stephanie Stuart, and Lady Janet along with music by Mike Sklarz. We here at Hotspots Central wish Jaqueline and her entire staff a very happy anniversary and wish her many more years of success!

The Parliament House presents a celebration of hair:  “Wigfest 2019” featuring a Wig Fashion show featuring the most creative looks, on-site barber and wig stylist, vendors & exhibitors, and $300 cash for the best wig.

One of Tampa’s best parties is back with a new name, a new look, but the same “eat, drink, party” spirit! Best of Tampa Bay is now TASTE at The Straz, an ALL-INCLUSIVE all-you-can-eat food and drink extravaganza boasting more than 50 of Tampa Bay’s finest restaurants and caterers, and wine, liquor and craft beer tastings. Also, enjoy full open bars and 5 live bands! Since its inception 34 years ago, the Straz Center’s signature fundraising event has generated more than $2.5 million for arts education programs. Supporting the arts never tasted so good. Admission is $85 and $140 for VIP Admission. To purchase in advance call  at (813) 229-7827.

Tuesday, April 9

Winner of six 2017 Tony Awards, including Best Musical—and the 2018 Grammy Award for Best Musical Theater Album, Dear Evan Hansen makes 2 stops in Central Florida. The first is in Tampa from April 9-14 at the Straz Center for the Performing Arts, and the second is in Orlando from April 16-21 at the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts.  A letter that was never meant to be seen, a lie that was never meant to be told, a life he never dreamed he could have. Evan Hansen is about to get the one thing he’s always wanted: a chance to finally fit in. Dear Evan Hansen is the deeply personal and profoundly contemporary musical about life and the way we live it. To find out more see the feature in this issue.

The Straz Center for the Performing Arts presents, Spamilton: An American Parody from today through Sunday, May 12. Don’t miss this “convulsively funny” (The New York Times) parody from the comic mastermind behind the long-running hit Forbidden Broadway. After tearing it up in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, Spamilton: An American Parody will stage a singing, dancing, comedy revolution in Tampa for a limited time only. The Huffington Post raves “you don’t have to see Hamilton to have side-splitting fun at Spamilton.” Tickets start at only $30. To find out more see the feature in this issue.

More than two decades ago Jonathan Larson’s RENT opened on Broadway and forever changed American theatre. It continues to speak loudly and defiantly to audiences across generations and the world. And now, this Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award-winning masterpiece returns to the Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall with its vibrant 20th anniversary tour. A re-imagining of Puccini’s La Bohème, RENT follows the lives of seven artists struggling to follow their dreams without selling out. With its inspiring message of joy and hope in the face of fear, this timeless celebration of friendship and creativity reminds us to measure our lives with the only thing that truly matters—love.

Thursday, April 11

Derek Hough: Live! The Tour comes to the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts at 7:30pm. This new production comes from the EMMY award winning mind of Derek Hough! The show features brand-new stage production, astounding versatility and, as always, Derek’s magnetic stage presence. Fans will journey through a true fusion of dance and music, as Derek explores styles ranging from ballroom and tap to salsa and hop-hop and everything in between. Creative team and two-time EMMY winners, Napoleon and Tabitha Dumo, also known as NappyTabs (Jennifer Lopez: All I Have Residency; Michael Jackson: The Immortal World Tour; GRAMMYs® creative direction), will co-create, direct and supervise choreography for the tour.

Amalie Arena presents KISS in their End of the Road World Tour at 7:30pm. After an epic and storied 45-year career that launched an era of rock n roll legends, KISS announced that they will launch their final tour Known for their trademark larger-than-life blistering performances, KISS has proven for decades why they are hands down the most iconic live show in rock n roll. The Rock & Roll Hall of Famers who have sold more than 100 million albums worldwide have said this tour is devoted to the millions of KISS Army fans. Tickets start at only $25.75.

Join EPIC (Empath Partners in Care) and people from across Tampa Bay as we Dine Out to End HIV. Dining Out for Life is an international event, with more than 3,000 restaurants donating a portion of their proceeds in benefit of local AIDS service associations. For 14 years Tampa Bay restaurants have joined together in support of EPIC and those they serve who are effected or affected by HIV. Visit their website at DineTB.org to view a list of participating restaurants. Be sure to check back – new restaurants will be added daily up to the day of the event. For more information or to become a sponsor, please contact: Brooke Boccacino at (727) 523-3352, or at Events@EmpathHealth.org.

Friday, April 12

Cristoph’s Tampa presents a Blackout Party starring Stephanie Stuart with music by Mike Sklarz and a clothing check available.

Saturday, April 13

The Parliament House presents 8time Grammy nominated Dawn Robinson (formerly of En Vogue) live in concert singing her hit songs “Free Your Mind,” “Don’t Let Go,” and Giving Him Something He Can Fee.”

Stonewall Orlando presents   Neema’s Legendary Birthday Party as part of his Amor, upscale Latin Party. Dorrs open at 9pm with $10 cover till 11pm and $15 thereafter. An expanded show time is at 12 midnight featuring Yeisa Jovovich, Angelica Michelle Jones, Kimberly Vasquez Arciliares, Nouba Soleil, Natalie Nayles, Kandy Ho’ and Naomi Aguilera. I would personally like to wish Neema a very happy birthday and wishing him many more years of success!

Thursday, April 18

Southern Nights Orlando presents “Avengers EndGame Party” with the Freshman Lineup at 10:30 Hosted by MrMs Adrien, and the main show at 12:30 Hosted By Axel Andrews with Kaija Adonis , Roxxxy Andrews , Kitana Gemini and special guest.  Music by DJ DLUX and there will also be a costume contest. Free admission before midnight if you are 21+.

Saturday, April 20

Cristoph’s Tampa presents their monthly Bear Soup with the one and only Alexis De La Mer and music by DJ Mike Sklarz.

Tony Award -winner (Cabaret) Scottish-born Alan Cumming returns to the Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall with his new show Legal Immigrant, celebrating his ten years as a US citizen, growing older and what it feels like to be an immigrant in today’s America. The show is a true old-fashioned cabaret, a smorgasbord of songs and tales; laughter, tears and, of course, provocation! Alan is also known for his role as Eli Gold on The Good Wife and as co-host of the Tony Awards in 2015.

Saturday, April 27

Cristoph’s Tampa presents a “Super Hero Party” starring Lady Janet and music by DJ Jayson.

Join Balance Tampa Bay for their 9th Annual Kickball 4 Kids from 10am to 1pm (at press time the location is TBD)! As always they will have teams in a tournament type of game with a $20 suggested donation per person; $175 suggested donation for a team of 10. Their beneficiary this year will be their friends at Academy Prep Center of Tampa! Academy Prep has a mission to inspire and empower students qualifying for need-based scholarships to become future community leaders through a rigorous middle school program coupled with ongoing graduate support.

Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall presents Whoopi Goldberg who is one of a very elite group of artists who have won a Grammy (“Whoopi Goldberg,” 1985), an Academy Award (Ghost, 1991), a Golden Globe (The Color Purple, 1985 and Ghost, 1991), an Emmy (host of AMC’s “Beyond Tara: The Extraordinary Life of Hattie McDaniel,” 2002), a Daytime Emmy for “The View,” 2009) and a Tony (Producer of Thoroughly Modern Millie, 2002). She is equally well-known for her humanitarian efforts on behalf of children, the homeless, human rights, education, substance abuse and the battle against AIDS.

Saturday, April 30

Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts presents The Temptations & The Four Tops at 7:30pm. For more than fifty years, The Temptations have prospered, propelling popular music with a series of smash hits, and sold-out performances throughout the world. Their hits include: ”My Girl,” “It’s Growing,” “Since I Lost My Baby;,” “Get Ready,” “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” “Beauty Is only Skin Deep,” “I Wish It Would Rain,” And many more. .the hits kept coming. The Four Tops made their first single for Chess in 1956, and when Motown’s Berry Gordy Jr. found out they had hustled a national “Tonight Show” appearance, he signed them without an audition to be the marquee act for the company’s Workshop Jazz label. Their first Motown hit, “Baby I Need Your Loving” in 1964, made them stars and their sixties track record and their other hits include:  “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch),” “It’s The Same Old Song,” “Reach Out I’ll Be There,” “Standing In The Shadows Of Love,” “Bernadette,” “Ask The Lonely,” “Shake Me, Wake Me (When It’s Over),” “Something About You,” “You Keep Running Away,” “7-Rooms Of Gloom” and their covers of “Walk Away Renee” and “If I Were A Carpenter.”

from Hotspots! Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2019/03/27/whats-hot-central-florida-april-2019/ from Hot Spots Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.tumblr.com/post/183748610055