Party Planning and Other Deadly Hazards I

5k words of Shang Qinghua bonding with Linguang-jun over being overworked and underappreciated

For the sake of this story, Mobei is roughly 15, Shang Qinghua and Linguang-jun are both 18. Shoutout to @mysteryteacup, whose analysis posts convinced me of the potential in "Linguang-jun is Very Young, Actually". Our Mobei-jun's birth name is Mobei Xuebao (Snow leopard), Shang Qinghua is Shang Cangshu (Hamster), Linguang-jun is Mobei Taifeng (Typhoon)

Also on AO3.

It all started with a small change. You see, Shang Qinghua's shizun made a reckless promise that whoever could push a medicine deal through with the Black Mire Sect - a minor sect skirting the edge of demonic practices by specializing in gu poisons - would take over as his new head disciple. The sect was situated right on the borderlands between the human realm and the northern demon kingdom and they were very reluctant to trade away any of their precious poisons, because they faced constant harassment from a lesser tribe of Snowtusk Boar demons just on the other side of the border. Clearly whoever could get them to agree to a deal would have to be a naturally gifted negotiator!

Usually Airplane ignores these kinds of risky assignments, but the temptation of skipping three years of backstabbing, social climbing and manual labor was too tempting. Besides, he knew how to solve this one. It was one of the wife plots in PIDW so Luo Binghe could marry the sect leader's beautiful daughter.

Step 1: Get rid of the boars. He could, of course, not do this on his own. No way. However, through the power of authorial knowledge, he could tip Mobei-jun off that the tribe stole one of the ancient artifacts of the Mobei clan after a chaotic battle and hid it away in their stronghold. His prince was a little skeptical, but Qinghua had not led him astray yet in the few months since he became his spy. The next time they met, Mobei-jun was generously splattered with pig demon blood and he was proudly holding a crystal necklace that could control all the ice sheets of the northern sea at once, apparently.

So that was that for the boars.

Step 2: Wait a little for the other local demon tribes to fight out who gets to settle in the newly vacated prime location. Shang Qinghua made a passing comment about how the Silkwing tribe could supply a 'generous benefactor' with the highest quality fabrics in the entire northern kingdom and would you look at that, this conflict got resolved much quicker than in PIDW.

Step 3: Introduce the sect leader and their new, much more agreeable, demon neighbors to each other. The Silkwing tribe happened to be a tribe of crane demons who, just like the Black Mire Sect, specialized in insect keeping. Their most prized specimens were the various demonic moths and spiders they cultivated for their silk, but they kept a wide variety of other critters as well. It was a match made in heaven! (Or rather in one of Master Airplane's caffeine fueled all-nighters, just so Binghe could meet a cute bisexual crane girl at the negotiations and turn the whole adventure into a two-brides-special wedding.)

Step 4: Profit! Trade agreement in hand Qinghua showed up at his shizun's house and received his much deserved promotion. The whole plan went off without a hitch, job well done, success and happiness all around! The next morning he moved into the head disciple's apartment and breathed a sigh of relief that he no longer had to live in fear of someone discovering his association with Mobei by barging into his bedroom without knocking.

If only that was the end of it.

-----

Shang Qinghua has barely settled into his new duties as head disciple when one morning Mobei-jun grabs him straight out of bed, before he could comprehend what's happening or put on some actual clothes, and drops him off somewhere in the Northern Palace.

"Baobao, what in the fresh hell did you bring me?!"

The outrage cry comes from a stressed looking demon youth who stares at Qinghua like someone handed him a dead rat instead of a report. He's obviously a Mobei relative, his black hair glossy with a blue-ish sheen and his demon mark a bright teal, but his hair is done up with feathers and beads in the style of the wind demon tribes.

"Qinghua. He's good at organizing." As if on second thought, Mobei-jun snarls at the other demon boy, showing all his teeth. "He's mine. If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

After that he wordlessly stomps away, leaving the equally confused human and demon behind.

Shang Qinghua wants nothing more than to ask a million questions right now - where is he? why did Mobei take him here?? who's the other guy??? - but now that he's more awake than asleep he's suddenly realizing that the room is extremely cold and he's only dressed in his sleeping robes. Are his toes turning blue?! His toes are probably turning blue.

"Here." A delicately carved box is shoved in his face, open and full of uniform black pills. "Aurora Pepper pills. I asked to borrow the domestic staff from Xiao Bao’s castle, but if you are the only help I get, I want you not to freeze to death."

"My lord, are they safe for humans?" They should be. It's one of the plot devices he made up so the Wives could visit the North and still wear their ridiculously skimpy outfits without dying, but who knows what an ice demon would have mixed into them. Shang Qinghua carefully picks just one and pops it in his mouth anyway.

"No idea, they were for my mother. You are a cultivator, are you not? You can survive a little poison."

If this demon is as young as he looks - as young as his outfit leads Qinghua to believe, which is somewhere between fourteen and twenty - then his core is not yet settled. Even if the ice demon parentage runs stronger in him - which is obvious, he's wearing the equivalent of summer robes for northern demonkin - he would have bouts when his core slants towards wind and he would find the cold of the north unbearable for a few days. So this is likely his own stash of pills he offered one from, which is awfully nice when one of your kin just dumps their human on you.

"This lowly one thanks the young master for his generosity!"

"Hmph. At least you have manners, unlike your master." The youth retreats behind a desk piled so high with scrolls and bamboo slats he’s barely visible behind them. "Qinghua, was it? This lord is Linguang-jun."

"Answering, this one is Shang Qinghua, head disciple of An Ding peak." He thanks his survival instinct that he manages to fold into a bow before his surprise shows on his face. Based on the nephew abandonment incident he always pictured Mobei's uncle as someone much older.

"An Ding? Good. Maybe you will be of use, after all." Linguang-jun gestures for Shang Qinghua to join him at the desk. "On account of his sudden spirited showing in regards to the Silkwings and the recovered artifact, my royal brother has finally taken interest in his third-born son. To welcome him to court he ordered a feast to be held, the success of which will determine Mobei San's standing in court and reflect on this lord’s qualifications as an organizer."

"Forgive this lowly one for the question, but why is the Mobei-jun's own brother in charge of such affairs? It should be the duty of the royal seneschal." Or perhaps the queen consort. Since he never had to write a wife plot with any member of the main Mobei clan he might have handwaved a lot of the court related worldbuilding. Still, he's certain there were at least three or four people who had to be unavailable before such a task would land on the desk of the king's brother.

"This lord is the seneschal," Linguang-jun says in a dejected voice. A pained frown slips past his not-yet-perfected mask of stoicism and Shang Qinghua realizes that 1. Linguang-jun is very, very young to be filling this position and 2. he’s probably one stroke of misfortune away from an anxious meltdown. This Qinghua can relate, kid. "My royal brother's temper has decimated his household and, in his paranoia, he refuses to replace the staff he kills. Ever since this one's mother passed three years ago, he has been tasked to fulfill every duty pertaining to household management, including those of the late queen consort."

After looking over a crumpled scroll detailing all of Linguang-jun's current duties, Shang Qinghua has a sudden understanding why the demon resents his brother so much. It’s not just the duties of the royal seneschal, he is doing the work of at least five different people, all of them near full-time jobs in their own right!

"Sorry kid, you are clearly too young for this shit." He didn't mean to say it out loud, but luckily for him the demon doesn't react to the irreverent tone beyond an agitated twitch of his eyebrows. "All right, let’s see what we have to work with."

It proves to be very little. Shang Qinghua looks over the list of the available staff (too short), the amount of food and other supplies Linguang-jun managed to drum up since his brother saddled him with this task last evening (not nearly enough to feed the obnoxiously long guest list) and the time available to them…

“He wants you to put together this party in three days?!” For someone who had only been a vague shadow with malicious intent in the back of Shang Qinghua’s mind whenever he thought about the dangerous demons he might run into while serving his prince, Linguang-jun is rapidly gaining a lot of his sympathy. “Can you even get all these guests here in three days? Jiuzhong-jun lives two months away even if he takes the fastest horses!”

For a royal prince’s introduction to court it was important to get as many of the bigshots present as possible, so they could all take a good look at him and decide if they wanted to try to sic their own spawns on him for a courting chase or not. Jiuzhong-jun doesn’t have any children yet, but he has plenty of nieces he could try to marry out into other clans. He would never miss the chance to come and gawk at the introduction of a Mobei prince.

“Mhm. Xiao Bao has that part covered. While we make this feast happen somehow, he’s going to spend the next two days transporting in all the guests with his portals.” Linguang-jun digs into one of his many piles of scrolls and shoves one detailing the scheduled arrivals into Shang Qinghua’s face. “At least the issue of housing them until the party solves itself on its own. Granny Oxbones is the reigning queen of the guest wing and she wouldn’t accept my input on where to put all these guests even if I bothered to offer any.”

Airplane carefully files it away in the back of his mind that when Linguang-jun gets stressed enough he still refers to his nephew with familiar nicknames as something to consider later, and tries to focus on the task at hand. So the current Mobei-jun hasn’t eradicated all of the old servants - the kitchen and housekeeping staff escaped his paranoia, as well as most of the guards and the hunters - only the ones in the highest positions. That should solve at least part of their problems.

“Okay, so we only have to handle decorating the feasting hall, source a fitting outfit for my prince and get the food ready.”

“What about the serving staff? I don’t have enough people to cater a party this big.”

“That’s easy, have the guardsmen fill in. Let them do something more than standing around and gawking. If there are complaints about the task being below them, tell them that they can take from the leftovers, most of the guests will be too busy brawling or scheming to eat anyway.” Demons love to eat, same as everybody, and even a bite or two of the delicacies served at their lords’ table should be ample temptation to get the guardsmen on board. “But this does mean that we need to make sure that the food is great. Does Linguang-jun have the menu from either of the elder princes’ introduction feasts? No reason to break our brains coming up with something new, nobody will care as long as the food is good enough.” It’s still an awful amount of work for three days, but it’s not undoable if he can tap into the Mobei clan’s supply network and doesn’t have to account for whatever happens to the guests before and after the feast. 

“I think I have the menu for Mobei Er’s feast somewhere.” Linguang-jun abandons the desk to rifle through one of the filing cabinets dominating the walls of his study. “We will need to substitute some of the dishes, because that feast was in winter.”

“Still better than having to write the whole menu from scratch.”

“En.”

“Does Linguang-jun have any suggestion where to get my prince a suitable outfit?” For the lack of anything better to do, Shang Qinghua starts organizing the scrolls left on the desk. Linguang-jun’s handwriting is very similar to Mobei San’s, but nothing at all like the blocky characters of the current Mobei-jun. They probably learned from the same ice fairy tutor, which further confirms how absurdly close they are in age.

“I have something arranged with the Silkwings,” Linguang-jun calls back over his shoulder, halfway disappearing into the cabinet as he digs among the stored scrolls. “But - Hah! Found it! - Qinghua has to be the one to convince Mobei San to go. He won’t go anywhere if this uncle tells him to.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t just gape at me,” Linguang-jun says, smacking him reasonably lightly over the shoulder with the scroll until he gets the hint and takes it. “Take this down to the kitchen, then tell your master that if he doesn’t want to go to his own feast wearing my old robes, then he should go visit the Silkwings, the sooner the better.”

Shang Qinghua pales at the idea of wandering the main Northern Fortress alone. “I- this servant worries that the kitchen staff will not heed his words…”

Linguang-jun seems to consider this for a moment, but he finally comes to the conclusion that his life is easier if his nephew’s pet cultivator doesn’t come to harm. He digs around in his desk until he produces a bone hairstick with a bead and a feather dangling from it. “If you wear this, the staff will know that you are working for this lord. Ask a maid for directions and be quick about it!”

True to Linguang-jun’s words, the staff is nothing if not cooperative once they realize that Shang Qinghua is working directly with him to stop the upcoming party from crashing and burning. The demon aunties and uncles running the kitchen fill him in, between tallying all the ingredients they are going to need for the feast and plying him with sweet treats, that the staff has been in a panic ever since the first orders about the feast came in. There is the grim threat of death hanging over their heads if the end result isn’t impressive enough and Mobei-jun feels humiliated by their showing. Apparently this is going to be the first bigger event Linguang-jun is organizing on his own, without the help of his late mother, and his staff is worried about sabotage.

“Does Linguang-jun have many enemies in court?” Shang Qinghua asks, lifting a tiny demon granny up so she can take stock of one of the too tall ingredient shelves.

“He has one and it’s more than enough! Mobei-jun never got over it that his late queen mother birthed one more son after the acceptable period for fratricide was over.” Airplane was proud of that world building detail. Obviously no demon lord wants to have any relative who might challenge his claim, but eradicating the entire extended family is a very fast way for a clan to die out. So, following a leader’s grab of power, there’s a socially acceptable five years when they can murder any relative they can catch, but once that’s over they are expected to limit themselves to those who challenge their position. “I tell you, daozhang, it’s not a coincidence the feast is happening when the hunters are away and we are low on supplies! And what is the king doing instead of procuring a beast for the fighting showcase of his son? Drinking and lazing around in his quarters, that’s what! Poor Xiao Bao, such a sweet snowflake, this old granny worries that his entry to court will be ruined!”

-----

Shang Qinghua is still turning that around in his head when he goes to find Mobei Xuebao later - It took almost no effort to get the grannies to reveal his prince’s birth name. Such a cute name for such a fierce demon! Airplane jokingly wrote it on the margin of his drafts, but he never expected the System to take it and run with it - carrying a big mug of fortifying ice slushie.

His prince looks beyond exhausted after opening portals all over the demon realm since morning and he accepts the refreshing drink without so much as a growl. He does, however, hiss angrily at Qinghua when he recognizes the hairstick stuck into his bun. “How dare he claim you?! You are mine !”

“Ah, my prince, please be calm! It’s only a token so the staff won’t eat me. I am to return it once we are done here.” Qinghua is actually not sure about that, but better not aggravate his prince when he’s in a possessive mood.

“You’d better.” He stops trying to rip it out of Qinghua’s hair, but he still stares at it angrily while Shang Qinghua rattles off the details of the arrangement made with the Silkwings. Mobei shows no enthusiasm for getting new court robes tailored, but at Qinghua’s insistent nagging he makes an affirmative sound that yes, he is going to go, now stop asking .Airplane is not perfectly sure what the kitchen aunties put in the slushie, but Mobei’s mood almost thaws by the time he eats the last of the sweet berries they added to it. A wonderful good mood that lasts for all of five minutes before Linguang-jun turns the corner and yells at both of them.

“What are you still doing here?! Don’t you have things to do other than standing around?” Linguang-jun is flushed a pale pink from exertion and possibly frustration. He’s dressed for a hunt, carrying a Japanese style longbow almost as tall as him and a quiver of elegant, black-feathered arrows. It’s fascinating to see how Airplane’s throwaway details got implemented into the world - he made a passing note that Mobei’s grandmother was an eastern wind demon, then he made one of Binghe’s wives a wind demoness based on a Japanese princess and bird motifs and poof! The world combined these two details into multicultural Linguang-jun. He has to bite his tongue before he could ask Linguang-jun if he had a katana somewhere.

Mobei is clearly not happy to see that his uncle is gearing up to leave.

“Good time for a hunt, uncle,” he sneers. Linguang-jun sneers right back.

“ I am going out to fetch our hunting expeditions back so we have meat to serve at the feast. Someone has to, unless Baobao would prefer to play pretend with snow and ice and berries!” They both flinch, which is interesting. Clearly that’s a reference to a formerly fond memory. When Linguang-jun continues he’s not meeting their eyes and looks just a little sheepish. “Go get your rags, nephew. My reputation rides on the success of this feast. I’m not going to sabotage it.”

It’s hard to tell what Mobei Xuebao is thinking, but his expression seems a lot less murderous than a minute ago. “Take Qinghua with you,” he says, ignoring completely the way his cultivator freezes up. “He has a sword. He can fly high and scout for you.”

What is this? It almost sounds like an olive branch! If only it wasn’t poor Airplane being handed over like a cheap token of reconciliation, it would be great .

Linguang-jun gives Shang Qinghua a hesitant look, but Mobei chose a good way to sell his pet cultivator: Linguang-jun might be part wind demon, but even he can’t fly very high. Give Qinghua one more of those pepper pills so he doesn’t freeze in the icy wasteland and he can track their hunters down in a snap!

Before he can mount an argument about the general fragility of humans and the dangers of the desert, he is grabbed by the arm and the next thing he knows, he’s being swept up by Linguang-jun’s black wind. Nothing can compete with Mobei’s portal powers in terms of speed, but this is not too shabby either, and unlike the shadow portals, being turned into wind doesn’t make him sick. Perhaps because he doesn’t currently have a stomach to feel sick.

While they dash through the desert, Linguang-jun quickly fills Qinghua in: they need to recall three hunting parties, all of them within a day’s travel by horse from the castle. “There are others out hunting, but they are too far to make it back for the feast. And after we are done, I’m going to leave you somewhere out of the way and catch a Diamond-Clawed Tundra Devil.”

“Ah. For the fight showcase?”

“En.”

“Isn’t it the king’s duty to procure whatever his son is to fight?” His question is met by minutes of sullen silence so he startles when Linguang-jun finally deigns to speak again.

“There’s a wolf-bear-hybrid prepared at the palace. Da-ge wanted to give it to one of his concubines as a pet, but the lady has much better taste than to take a mangy mutt like that.” Qingua can’t see Linguang-jun’s expression, but the derision is obvious in his voice. It’s unclear if it’s directed at the concubine or his brother. “It would be acceptable prey for a less skilled prince, but Xiao Bao deserves better.”

“Huh. You really adore your nephew, don’t you? I figured he was wrong about you.” If he lives to tell the tale, Shang Qinghua is going to blame his current immaterial state for the failure of his brain-mouth filter. Never startle the person carrying you at high speeds!

He’s not even surprised when he tumbles painfully onto the snow, Linguang-jun standing above him with a murderous expression, the bow raised as if he’s ready to beat the hapless cultivator with it. “Does he still go around telling everyone about- even his pet cultivator?!”

“No! No, my lord!” He suspects it’s only because Mobei San doesn’t consider Qinghua important enough to fill him in about his backstory, but it’s technically true. “Servants gossip! I heard it from the servants in Mobei San’s castle!”

Linguang-jun lowers the bow, but his face colors with either indignation or embarrassment. He’s more expressive than Mobei, but it’s still not easy to read him. “Good. Do not ever dare to gossip about this lord! Understood, you, you…” He looks at Shang Qinghua sitting in the snow like a plump, bruised peach, face almost disappearing into the soft pelt the kitchen aunties dressed him up in. “You hamster!”

Airplane can’t help himself: he laughs. Then, when the laughter finally feels like subsiding, he notices the baffled face Linguang-jun is making and laughs some more. “Forgive me, my lord. I am not laughing at you. Except. My name does happen to be Shang Cangshu.”

The absurdity of it all finally douses Linguang-jun’s rage and the demon huffs a laugh. “Of course it is. Should I get a bowl of sunflower seeds for you tomorrow, hamster-daozhang?”

“I prefer melon seeds! But worry not, my lord, I can bring my own.” It must be a good sign that Linguang-jun is teasing him. A little bit of harmless farce is always good in anxiety-inducing situations, and the demon appeared to be on the verge of exploding all day. “I do have to wonder, though… I heard that when that incident happened, Mobei San was around four? So you must have been a rather young child yourself.”

Linguang-jun gives a tense, awkward nod and a scene starts to unfold in Airplane’s mind. This is not something he had written, but it is something he could have, if he ever tried to put Mobei-jun in the limelight for a while. Emboldened, he continues: “Traveling at the speed of wind as you do must not leave a lot of room to change course if, say, a tear to the human realm suddenly opens up in front of you. It must have been a terrifying experience, for both of you. Easy to lose track of each other in an unfamiliar world, hostile territory or not.”

Linguang-jun turns his head away, clearly trying to school his expression into a blank mask, but he is too worn down and anxious to manage it. He looks disarmingly young like this; just a teen with too much work on his plate. “He refuses to so much as speak to me unless he has no other choice. What does it matter how it happened? I admitted to trying to kill him.”

Of course he did. For Mobei San to survive an assassination attempt - a smart one too, leaving him in the heart of a cultivator sect that has a longstanding feud with the Mobei clan - was a testament to his talent even at such a young age. If Linguang-jun admitted that it was an accident, it would have only painted him as incompetent, which was the fastest way to political suicide even before he could officially get into court. “Ah, but he lent you this servant, hasn’t he? I think my prince doesn’t hate you as much as he wants to.”

“Hah! That will not save my neck when my nephew becomes Mobei-jun and comes to eradicate the threats from the family.”

“No! He would not kill you, I’m certain of it.” As he wrote it, Mobei-jun at the time of his ascension was secure under Luo Binghe’s wing and didn’t bother to go after any of his relatives - unless they attacked first, that is. “Leave it to this Qinghua, I will smooth this misunderstanding over in no time!”

The look of doubt Linguang-jun gives him almost hurts. “Wait until after the feast before you try. I’m short enough on staff without you getting yourself killed.” The demon makes a sharp gesture with his hand and a burst of wind pushes Shang Qinghua to his feet. “Up you get, hamster-daozhang. We have work to do.”

It all falls in place like a well-oiled machine after that, even the hunt. Turns out that Diamond-Clawed Tundra Devils are really fascinated by flying cultivators for some reason. The beast stands on its hindlegs, reaching fruitlessly for the flying sword, and doesn’t even notice Linguang-jun sneaking up on it until he traps it in a qiankun box. They work well together, Shang Qinghua and Linguang-jun, and the demon stays cordial - almost friendly, even! - to his nephew’s pet cultivator in the following two days.

-----

“I’m so glad that it went well, my prince!” Qinghua sighs a few days after the feast. He’s trying to subtly rescue some of his paperwork from Mobei, who decided that he wants to have this conversation while sitting on his human’s desk. “I wish I could have been there to see, but my shizun would have noticed if I was missing any longer and, let’s be honest, the chances of someone mistaking me for a side-dish were much too high…”

Mobei hums something vaguely positive, then very indulgently lifts one of his hands so Qinghua can remove the papers from there. “Good work.”

“Thank you, my prince! But I really didn’t do much. Your uncle did most of the work.” By the end of the third day Linguang-jun was openly bemoaning that he wanted to go to bed and sleep for a century. Airplane can only hope he got some rest since.

Mobei Xuebao growls at him in warning, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation, but Qinghua has dealt with so much shit in the last week that he’s too tired to be properly intimidated by empty threats. “No, really! I know he had a horse in this race, but he really wanted you to have a cool ‘welcome to demon court’ party. He caught the Tundra Devil for your fight and he certainly didn’t have to do that!”

“That was Taifeng-shushu?” There’s no better way to describe Mobei’s expression of surprise than ‘cute’. It’s a good reminder that despite his frosty disposition and already powerful physique, Mobei Xuebao is also still a teenager. (Airplane is not geeking out over learning Linguang-jun’s name, he is not . Mobei Taifeng was on his list of potential names when he brainstormed for Luo Binghe’s right hand man, before he even started writing - a character who eventually got split into Mobei-jun and the OG Shang Qinghua, because Tired™ second-in-commands who try to betray their employers so they could have one good day of rest please were more of a comedic relief trope and that didn’t fit the tone of the story.)

“Yes, my prince. This servant was there when Linguang-jun chose and captured the most impressive beast from the pack.” He was so picky about it too! He made Qinghua fly over the Tundra Devil pack five times before he identified the biggest one and by that time the beast noticed the flying cultivator. That’s how they found out about its fascination with the shiny spiritual sword.

Thinking about Linguang-jun reminds Qinghua of the hairstick he conveniently ‘forgot’ to return. He puts it in a plain box and pushes it to Mobei Xuebao. “My prince, I had no chance to return this to Linguang-jun, so you would do this servant a great favor if you passed it along.” Mobei makes a soft noise as he pockets the box, looking almost smug that Qinghua is, indeed, returning the token. His good mood makes the human a little reckless about how far he’s willing to push this matter. “My prince, I know you have no reason to trust this servant on matters of your family, but I have heard many rumors and hearsay while in the Northern Palace. I think there might be a misunderstanding between you and your uncle, so if you could talk to him openly when you return the hairstick-”

“Qinghua has not led me astray so far,” Mobei interrupts, his eyes narrowed. “This prince will talk to his uncle. But if Qinghua is mistaken…” He lets the sentence hang ominously in the air, but the sentiment is clear: if Shang Qinghua is wrong, then all of his credibility is ash.

“I understand, my prince.”

It's going to be fine. It has to be! Otherwise the System would have interfered, like it always does when he's about to alter the plot.

Right, System?

I wrote this quickly on my phone so beware of typos. This is the longest story I’ve ever written so I hope it doesn’t seem too long. I hope you like it. Reblog and like if you don’t mind.

Small Time Witch (20)

“Norns, girl. It’s hair. It will regrow. Just do it.”

“But I love your hair. Isn’t there another way? What if I take a piece of flesh?”

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose trying to shove scissors in your hand.

“Flesh will decay eventually if it has no blood source. Hair can last much longer.”

“Why do we need to cut it all off?!” You are being the biggest brat at the moment.

In order for you to become immortal Loki must bind a part of himself with the clipping of the Yggdrasil. Since it is a very powerful spell he assumes a large amount of hair is needed. Loki assured you he would make his short hair look as fashionable as any other mortal man. That’s exactly why you won’t let him cut it. He is anything but basic. Even when he’s in modern clothing he still looks like a fucking god and it’s all due to his luxurious hair.

Loki considers your earlier suggestion and genuinely fears for his safety. And this isn’t the first time he’s had to worry about you stabbing him. He taught you a spell using blood magick and you went for your athame so fast he had to knock it out of your hand. Now that it’s just you and him you have really let your true self shine. He can’t help but think he is also rubbing off on you a bit.

“While your violent tendencies turn me on immensely, I have to say your preference for my hair over my flesh is a little unnerving.”

“You are a Demi god. You heal fast.”

“Point well taken, my love. If you don’t cut it I will.”

He looks in the mirror holding the scissors open and he hesitates. He frowns at his reflection and drops the scissors on the counter. “On second thought, dearest, why don’t we go see the elves on Alfheim? Perhaps there is another way.”

With satisfied little smirk on your face you pat him on the shoulder and leave the bathroom. He is annoyed with your silent gloating but you really don’t care. You sit at the kitchen table quietly turning the pages of your cook book now full on smiling.

When Loki asked you to be immortal for him you hesitantly accepted. Forever is a long time and it was hardly a marriage proposal. You accepted none the less and so the complicated spell work began. The first step was binding Loki with the Yggdrasil and that was proving to be a challenge. So, as your life mate suggested, you geared up to take your first trip on the Bifrost to Alfheim.

You are very nervous. Loki held your hand trying to calm you but you couldn’t help it. Your thoughts were racing and your stomach was doing flips. You focused all of your energies on not puking. Loki called for Heimdall and you were whisked away.

Loki held on to your hips and braced you for landing. Your face was pressed up against his shirt and your eyes squeezed shut. It took a little bit of force to pry you off of him. “Relax, y/n. You’re safe. We’ve landed.”

Once you felt the ground solid beneath your feet you pushed Loki away and released the contents of your stomach. Inter dimensional travel was clearly not for you. He smoothed your hair back from your face and rubbed your back. A bottle of water appeared in his hand. “Drink this. Are you ok?” You shook your head and plopped into the grass trying to regain your composure.

Alfheim was truly a sight. Sprawling mountains and crisp air, the sun shining and glittering on the water. Your eyes explored the landscape with childlike wonder. The grass even felt softer. You stood up slowly turning to take it all in. We should definitely build a vacation home here.

You had a pretty long journey ahead of you by foot no less. You hoisted your pack onto your shoulder and started walking. Loki stared at you completely confused. You walked with purpose like you knew exactly where to go. You were absolutely walking in the wrong direction but you looked so sure of yourself.

“Pet?” he called after you, “It’s this way and we can just teleport.”

“I’m not sure if my stomach can handle that again.” All the color drained from your skin and you gagged.

“It’s not as harsh as the bifrost and we aren’t going as far. Hold onto me.” He took your hand and in the blink of an eye you were standing in front of a large temple. “Steady, darling. Deep breaths.” He backs away a little as you right yourself. “Ok?”

“Yep.” you gag a little but choke it back. After a moment you feel well enough to walk. “What is this place?”

“The temple of the Ljósálfar. Light elves. Freyr, who is the king of this realm and a very powerful vanir, gifted me the Yggdrasil. He will help us when the spell. Bow when he greets us.”

Out of nowhere the elf appeared. He was just as glorious and ancient looking as the land he ruled. He looked impossibly old. Your brain couldn’t even fathom how long he’s been alive. Was he glowing? You forgot to bow so you did quickly. Loki couldn’t stifle his laugh.

“This is the Midgardian to whom you’ve pledged your life? A little rough around the edges huh?” His voice was gentle and playful. You have come to realize Midgard is known as the idiot child who ate paint chips that one time. Couldn’t help if it was true.

“This is her first time outside of Midgard, your Grace. I am working on polishing her up.”

“If you’re careful you’ll have an eternity” he smiled at you and spoke slowly, “you may need that long to make her presentable.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself but Loki squeezed your hand and gave you a warning stare. He’ll get an earful at home.

“Forgive me for the unannounced intrusion, Sire, but I’m afraid the spell you’ve given me is a touch advanced...”

He tutted Loki and held up a finger, “You flatter me, boy. You are as practiced as they come. If you hesitate ask yourself if her immortality is what you really seek.”

“It is!” you shouted. “I’m sorry. It is, Sire. We didn’t know what to use. You said ‘bind it with a piece of himself’. Which piece? I suggested flesh but we were worried about decay.” You rambled on for what felt like hours. He hung on your every word chuckling at your ignorance. This ought to be a funny story to tell at the old elf’s lodge later. Loki was mortified. Once you finished he patted your hand and laughed.

“You are a spirited little girl aren’t you? What fun! Loki I am surprised at you. To think hair or flesh could grant immortality. It has to be the essence of your life force. More powerful than blood. A piece of your soul.” Loki looked shocked. Minor detail. As if the elf could read his mind he said, “Did I leave that part out? Must be slipping in my old age.” He smiled at you again. “Come! I’ll get you fixed up.”

He lead you deeper into the temple down a dark path illuminated by torches. It should have been cold and damp but it was still comfortably warm. Loki felt your apprehension and squeezed your hand. You came to a gigantic wooden door with carvings depicting elves dancing around what looked like the Yggdrasil. You ran your fingers over the wood dipping them into the carvings.

You reached a long table that looked like an alter. He took the Yggdrasil clipping and Loki’s hand. With the tip of his athame he cut Loki’s palm. He took your hand and did the same. You placed your hand on top of the clipping and entwined your fingers. Freyr held his hands over yours and said something that sounded like a prayer. The Yggdrasil let out a stream of golden light that wrapped around both of your wrists.

“Now you will feel no storms,

for each of you will be shelter to the other.

Now you will feel no cold,

for each of you will be warmth to the other.

Now there is no loneliness,

for each of you is companion to the other,

You are two persons,

but there is one life before you, and one home.

Turn together to look at the road you traveled,

to reach this—the hour of your happiness.

It stretches behind you into the past.

Look to the future that lies ahead.

A long and winding, adventure-filled road,

whose every turn means discovery,

new hopes, new joys, new laughter,

and a few shared tears.

May happiness be your companion,

May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead;

And through all the years to come.

Go this day to your dwelling place

and enter into your days together.

May your days be good and long

upon the earth.

Your adventure has just begun!”

The Yggdrasil split into two pieces which he placed on your left ring fingers. Those words sounded an awful lot like vows. You and Loki stared at each other in shock. “Umm. Excuse me, Sir. Are we married?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yes! Of course! In the sense that your souls are bound and only death can part you. Sounds like marriage to me. Did I leave that part out too? Oh dear. Well joyous felicitations to the happy couple.” And he disappeared.

“Well shit.” You said to no one in particular. You left the temple in complete silence occasionally looking down at your finger. Loki called for Heimdall and you were home. You didn’t vomit this time thank goodness. That would have made your dramatic exit a lot less dramatic. You let go of his hand and walked into the house leaving him on the porch with a slammed door in his face.

“Pet?” He said after a few minutes. You were standing at the kitchen sink drinking glass after glass of water. “Y/N. Can you say something? I don’t know why you’re angry but I can tell you are and....”

“Did you know?” Your voice was deadly calm.

“Know about what? That he’d marry us today? No. He conveniently left out that tidbit. It’s not like it’s legally binding.”

“But it is spiritually binding. Your soul is bound to mine. Your immortality bound to me. That means something.” You had tears in your eyes and your fists were clenched. How could he be so casual about this?

His brow furrowed and he hated that you thought it didn’t mean anything to him. Now you felt each other even deeper. Subtle shifts were amplified. As soon as his mood shifted from apprehension to hurt you knew. It softened you a bit but you were still angry.

“Lok, I didn’t mean to say it didn’t mean anything to you. I know it did. I got married today in sweatpants with none of my friends or family there and my ring is a twig. Forgive me if it wasn’t the magical day I was expecting.” The weight of the Yggdrasil changed on your finger. The brown branches were changed to gold and an emerald of impressive size set in the middle. You noticed he changed his to complement yours. He weaved his fingers with your fingers and pulled you closer to him.

“It was magical to me. Couldn’t you feel it? The way we are now woven together like a tapestry? It’s not just the meaning of it all, a symbolic moment. We are physically one. Y/N I don’t care if you are in the finest gown or your sweats. We are bound together until death. Did we need the pageantry?”

Now you felt like an asshole. He gave himself to you mind body and soul and here you are crying about a dress. “I’m being a brat aren’t I?”

A soft smile warmed his face, “A little. I didn’t want to say.”

You slid your arms around his waist and rested on his chest. With a wiggle of your fingers the record player clicked on.

“Is this our first dance?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Mhmm. I love you. I’m sorry for ruining our day.”

“I love you too and you ruined nothing. It wouldn’t be us if we didn’t have a little drama surrounding our wedding. Dance with me.”

You swayed to the music in the dim light of your living room....in the cottage built in the glen where the sun hits it like a spotlight.

Before October’s Gone (Mammon × reader) | songfic

Author’s note: Please do not repost!! If you like my writing, please leave a like and a comment (and follow me to see similar content in the future :D)!

Inspired by Cimorelli’s song Before October’s Gone! You can listen to it here.

One of the longer fics I’ve ever written...I hope you guys enjoy it! I worked really hard on this one :3

_____

♪ Our phone calls got shorter

And the nights they got longer

You stopped replying

And I saw you with her

You tell me you miss me

I feel special for a second

But then you turn around and show me that you didn't meant it

I listen to your voicemail from last September

And I bet that you don't remember leaving it

But it's all I got

My last piece of you ♪

“Mammon!” The chirpy voice at the other end of the line made up for the weeks that he’d missed hearing it. Curse Lucifer for implementing the stupid roster for phone calls —having to wait his turn while his brothers got to listen your cheerful voice and melodic laugh was beginning to drive him up the wall. He understood why Lucifer would have to put such a rule in place for his brothers, but surely the peacock could loosen up a little for him right? The others may be “eating up too much of their time”, but such an offensive statement could never be applied to him. After all, he was your first. “Yo! How’ve ya been? Wait, lemme guess. You’ve just been wanderin’ around in that sad, depressin’ human world with no place to go and nothin’ to do...right?”

You laugh, and his heart does a somersault in his chest. How he’s missed it. Nothing in all of the three realms could make him happier than hearing the sound of your laughter; it’s like music to his ears. Knowing that he was the one that drew such an adorable sound from your lips was the cherry on top. The first time he’d heard you giggle, he’d sprinted back to the House of Lamentation to begin devouring joke book after joke book to ensure his chances of getting to hear it again. Hearing his brothers criticize him for acting like a fool had always been something that bothered him in the past, but your arrival had put a spin on things —if amping up his antics was something that got you to crack a smile, he was all for being the butt of his brothers’ jokes. “How’d you know?”

He grins. “What did ya expect? I mean, I was your first, right? Your first demon. Which means we share a special sorta bond! I know these things!”

Another laugh. Mammon wonders if he should shoot for a third time, but you don't give him the chance to try. “Listen, Mammon...it was great hearing from you, but I have to go.” The bitter taste of disappointment fills his mouth. He’d been looking forward to this phone call with the eagerness of a child awaiting to open their Christmas presents...and you had to leave already? The two of you had barely even talked for 5 minutes! That’s so unfair! “What? Already? C’mon, we barely got to talk—”

His whine of complaint cuts off abruptly when he picks up on the sound of someone else’s voice on your end of the call. Curious, Mammon turns up the volume of the call and strains his ears. It’s a male’s voice, one that sounds awfully familiar… He frowns. “Is that Solomon?”

“Yeah! We’ve been hanging out a lot more ever since we returned to the Human World! Keeping each other company and all that. Let me just pass him my DDD, I think he wants to say hi—”

“Nah, don’t bother. Y’all have fun, I’ll talk to you again soon.” Mammon hangs up before you can get the chance to say anything else and flops back against the pillow pile on his unmade bed with a sigh. Solomon, huh? The two of you sticking together made sense —after all, you were the only two humans living in a realm of demons for an entire year. Of course you would form a bond over this shared experience. Still, the idea of you hanging out with Solomon frequently didn’t sit well with him. He was your first, if anyone should be hanging out with you, it should be him.

Envy was Levi’s thing, not his. But there was no stopping the jealousy that was blossoming in his chest. In an attempt to keep his emotions in check, Mammon powers on his DDD and pulls up the voice message that you’d left him a few months ago. You were still residing in the Devildom then, back when he didn’t have to resort to playing back an old voicemail to make him feel less lonely.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that you’re lying in bed beside him, and not by someone else’s side an entire realm away.

♪ I heard all the rumors

I didn't want to believe it

You barely mentioned her once

I didn't think anything of it

Sitting there on my driveway

Said you could listen to me all night

Now you're the boy who never meant it

And I'm just the girl who "took it all the wrong way" ♪

You’d always been fascinated by the sports car that he kept permanently parked in the upper floor of his bedroom. The both of you had gotten into a playful argument over justifying the reason behind his “absurd decision” (your words, not his). Out of the dozens of possible reasons that they’d managed to come up with during the hour or so their discussion had lasted, your personal favourite had been “to allow a quick escape from one of Lucifer’s extensive monologues”. He hadn’t even bothered to come up with a counterargument for that. One, it wasn’t entirely false; he wouldn’t deny that getting behind the driver’s seat in order to get away from one of the peacock’s pointless lectures wasn’t a thought that had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. And secondly...the expression that you wore while you were coming up with all of these ridiculous thoughts was just too cute. Your brow would furrow in concentration, and your tongue would peek out between her lips —you looked just like the cats that starred in those “cat blepping” videos that Satan would relentlessly spam his DDD with. The way your face lit up when you’d thought of a reason satisfactory enough for your standards was even more adorable —Mammon knew that as long as you kept directing that megawatt grin at him, he’d go along with anything that you said.

At some point during their conversation, the two of you had  relocated from the couch you were perched on to the backseat of his car. Mammon doesn’t even remember whose idea it was to move in the first place —he couldn’t recall if this was the result of you pleading with him to allow you to take a better look at the vehicle or if he’d suggested it to you first. He doesn’t even remember what the both of you had talked about once you’d gotten in the car; the topic of their conversation had switched course multiple times. What was etched into his mind’s eye for the rest of time, however, was how attentively you’d gazed up at him when he was talking. You seemed as mesmerised by his words as he was by yours. The notion that someone genuinely wanted to listen to everything that he had to say felt foreign to him; his brothers had brushed him off as nonsensical and annoying a long time ago. You made him feel important.

“...Mammon! HEY, STUPIDMAMMON! Did you even hear anything I just said? Sheesh…”

Mammon’s train of thought is derailed by a pillow that hits him square in the face. Normally, such an action would trigger a rowdy pillow fight that usually ended in Lucifer barging in and bringing an early end to an evening of fun. But today Mammon was so lost in recollections of the past that he barely even kicks up a fuss as he peels the cushion off his face. “Huh?” Levi raises an eyebrow at the second born from where he’s seated across the room. Mammon could be a moron at times, but rarely was he this unaware of his surroundings. “I said, did you see MC’s latest Devilgram post? They were at this Human World anime convention with Solomon, you know the one I told you about last week? The one that Ruri-chan’s voice actress was going to appear at? MC’s soooooooo lucky that they got to see her perform live. I can’t believe Lucifer wouldn’t let me go, it’s so unfair…”

Mammon usually tuned out of the conversation entirely whenever Levi starts going off on a tangent about something related to his animes, but the mention of your name had caught his attention. You were at a convention? With Solomon? Like...on a date? Mammon snatches up his DDD from where it’s lying on the armrest of his seat and loads up your Devilgram page. As usual, the sight of your bright smile is enough to cause his heart to skip a beat —you’re so breathtakingly beautiful that it’s unfair. But the sight of the male posing beside you in the picture causes his mood to turn sour quickly. Solomon. Was that the human sorcerer’s arm around your waist?

Flipping his DDD over so that he doesn’t have to look at the screen, he sets it back down on the armrest with enough force that it actually causes Levi to cut his ramble short mid sentence. Pretending that he didn’t notice the odd look that Levi was giving him, Mammon settles back in his seat and closes his eyes.

If there was something going on between you and Solomon, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know about it.

♪ On that October night when I let you go

You didn't even try to make me stay, no

I didn't know that you could be so cold

Like the Minnesota snow

Somehow I always knew we'd end up this way

And I hope you feel happy someday

I just wanted you to open up to me

But now that's on the list of things you never did ♪

Mammon had spent the last couple of months waiting for this moment. You were back. Back in the Devildom, back in your room in the House of Lamentation, back by his side. A new semester of classes was something he’d never looked forward to in the past, but things were different this time. A new school term brought copious amounts of coursework and misery, sure, but it also brought you back to the Devildom. You’d returned from your vacation in the Human World with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, armed with souvenirs for each and every one of your favourite demons. Mammon was thrilled by the small paper bag bulging with keychains and other assorted trinkets that you’d thrusted into his hands, but the one gift that he’d appreciated the most was the warm embrace that you’d pulled him into.

The next few days pass in a blur, with Mammon still finding it difficult to believe that you’ve really returned (he has to keep pinching his arm to reassure himself that this isn’t a cruel joke that his subconscious is playing on him). He'd been there to greet you upon your arrival in the Devildom. And he’d seen you during meals and passed by you in the hallways...but he hadn’t actually gotten the opportunity to spend proper one on one time with you —you were too busy settling in and making up for lost time with everyone else. Until now. 

Seated atop of a hill overlooking the rest of the Devildom, the vantage point gives the both of you a spectacular view of the expansive shopping district. You can even spot the town’s affectionately dubbed “party central” —also known as the area where most of the popular bars and clubs are located— in the distance; or at the very least, the colourful lights that illuminate every building in that part of town. It’s quite a sight to behold, but the hustle and bustle that can be seen even from a distance makes you appreciative of the fact that you and Mammon are far away from the crowds of Denizens enjoying an evening out. You shiver when a passing gust of wind rustles the leaves of the tree overlooking the bench you’re seated on.

“Cold? Let the GREAT Mammon warm ya up.” Before you can even roll your eyes at the suggestive nature of that statement, Mammon has shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it snugly around you. Not that you’re entirely surprised by his words at this point, this isn’t the first time he used that line with you. Just like every other time he’s done this, he doesn’t remove his arm afterwards, keeping it draped around your shoulders. But unlike the previous times he’s pulled this stunt, you don’t nestle into his side, or even lean your head against his shoulder. He feels a pang in his chest, but he refuses to let it show on his face. “So how was your vacation in the Human World? I bet it had to be pretty borin’ without the GREAT Mammon there to keep ya company.”

“It was alright.” A pause. “Listen, Mammon...There’s something that I need to tell you.”

The smile that Mammon’s attempting to keep plastered to his face wavers, but he nods at you in encouragement as you chew on your lower lip anxiously. When your next course of action is to raise up your left hand instead of carrying on the conversation, his brows knit together in confusion. He’s about to ask if this was some kind of odd ritual and whether or not you’d joined a cult in your absence, but then he spots it. The glint of silver on your ring finger.

His jaw drops.

Noticing the expression on his face, you hurry to clear up any misunderstandings before he —understandably— jumps to the wrong conclusion. “It’s not what you think! I’m not engaged or anything, it’s just a promise ring. Solomon and I...we got together two weeks ago. I meant to tell everyone, but everything’s been so crazy ever since I got back —I’ve barely had the time to catch my breath, let alone make such a big announcement.. But now that thing’s have quieted down a little...I wanted to tell you first. After all, you are my first demon.”

The Avatar of Greed was uncharacteristically quiet as you rambled on. When he finally speaks up again, his voice lacks the boisterous energy that usually radiates from him. “I am, aren’t I?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, but there’s no humour in the sound. “You should head back to the house without me. I’ll catch up.”

“Mammon—”

“Look, don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m fine.” Mammon takes both of your hands in his and gazes up at you with earnest wide eyes, as if his overexaggerated acting skills were enough to sell his words to you. Ridiculous as it may be, his ploy seemed to work —or perhaps you just didn’t care enough about the hailstorm of emotional turmoil that flickered in his azure hued gaze. It didn’t matter. Either way, you were gone before Mammon could change his mind and convince you to not to leave him. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and blurs his field of vision, but he doesn’t take his gaze off of you as you disappear down the path that leads to the House of Lamentation.

You don’t even bother to turn around and look at him.

♪ Maybe sometimes things just have to end

Maybe sometimes there's just no explaining it

But you could've let me know

You'd be moving on

You'd be moving on

You'd be moving on before Octobers gone ♪

Chapter 23: Macros Rosales in New Katazonia

Macros led the three down an alleyway that eventually led to what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. Opening what seemed to be a window, he hopped inside, the others following behind. There were several large shipping containers of varying colors. From what they could see, it seemed like one of them had been turned into a bedroom of sorts while another seemed to contain supplies.

They stopped in front of a blue shipping container, to which Macros opened the doors. Inside were two mattresses along with a small wooden desk and a drawer. It was also as if it was prepared in the case that someone else came.

“Make yourselves at home.” He casually stated, “With those wanted posters up, it will be a while until Ya’ get out.”

“You saw that?!” Claudia fumed, obviously upset with that revelation.

“Listen, there are screens in every part of the city. It would be impossible for anyone to miss it!”

“Why I outta-!”

“Calm down everyone.” Cass stated, “I know we have a lot of questions, so we might as well answer them now.”

“I agree with her!” Macros proclaimed, “I honestly wanna know what ya’ did to get who is practically ruler of this place after ya.”

“Well I wanna know how this ‘New Katazonia’ came to be in the first place!” Claudia retorted.

“Then how about this? We take turns asking the other a question and they have to answer it truthfully. Deal?”

“Deal!”

The warehouse was silent for a few minutes, no one in the room knew what to say or where to start. Eventually, Macros broke the silence.

“So… I guess I will start. Why are ya’ three wanted? Ya don’t seem like the type to do anything bad.”

Claudia sighed, “Long story short, we teamed with Arctyle and an old fungus wizard, broke two chains which basically overthrew the leaders of the area, and now we are trying to destroy the other chains because a megalomaniac clown wants to combine the real world with the fantasy realm.”

“… Sounds fake but okay.” Marcos joked.

“Well, what about you? What happened here and what are you doing here?”

Macros’ expression suddenly changed from a smirk to one of sorrow as he looked down at his shoes.

“I came to Las Vegas with two of my friends for vacation. We were hoping to celebrate one of their birthdays here. The day after the birthday party, we all walked down the strip, debating on where to eat. Suddenly, seven brightly colored chains appeared, one of them just nearby us.

“The next thing I heard was screaming. People were running down the streets in fear, as if they were trying to get away from something. I didn’t realize what it was they were running from until I caught a glimpse of them. Strange creatures that seem like something you would see from a fairytale. I didn’t know what to do.

“My friends, being as bold as they were, attempted to fight against one of them together. I warned them that they should get away and how we didn’t know what they were capable of. They went on ahead anyways. They both managed to land a punch and kick on them. However, they didn’t even flinch at all. That was when I realized that we couldn’t defeat them. We couldn’t hurt them. We couldn’t even fight back.

“The same creature got a hold of one of my friends and dragged him away. My friend looked at us and shouted at us to get away as fast as we could. Hearing this, I quickly ran to my other friend, grabbed him by the arm, and ran with him, away from the creature. We went through the streets, the creatures chasing us along the way, an announcement blaring through the streets.

“The person behind it said, “Greetings, humans of the real world. I am the queen of the fantasy realm, Jester Acehearts! If you are wondering what is happening, don’t worry! No harm will come to you… well, at least most of you. We will not tolerate anyone standing in our way! Those who do will be taken care of. Please do not retaliate and accept this new era. My seven generals will make sure everything is in line and that their assigned area prospers. That's it for now. Welcome to the new age!

“We kept on running. Real world? Fantasy realm? None of it made any sense. Eventually, we reached a stone wall and with a boost from my friend, I managed to get over it. I grabbed his hands and attempted to pull him over the wall as well. However, the creatures caught up to us, ran towards us and grabbed him by the legs. I held on as I already lost one friend and I wasn’t about to lose another.

“We spent several minutes playing tug-of-war when he looked at me and told me to ‘stay safe and don’t worry about me’. Then… he let go.

“I fell to the ground, forcing myself up as I heard him getting dragged away. I needed to leave the area before I possibly got captured too. Soon, I found this place and set up a base here. From what I learned, anyone who fought back or retaliated against this so-called ‘Jester Acehearts’ were incarcerated for a certain amount of time while the others either became citizens of New Katazonia and other cities around the globe or joined her cause. Honestly, I am not sure if this is the same everywhere.

“The reason why I am not a citizen is because I actively try to break people out and mess with any tools or machines that they might be using. I just want my friends and family back. I admit that the world isn’t perfect but it’s better than being invaded by another world we didn’t know existed whose ruler would eliminate anyone who stood against them. So yeah, that is my story.”

The room was silent for a minute. The atmosphere was heavy and uncomfortable. No one knew what to say. No one but Claudia.

“I am sorry for your loss.” She stated, “I didn’t know-“

“Don’t worry about it.” He interrupted, “I think I said too much and need a break. If you need me, I will be in the red shipping container. There is food and supplies in the green one. Take some time to rest, okay?”

And with that, Marcos Rosales left the three alone.

Little Wonders

Starter for @algrimthestrong​ | Written to this | Chapter 1

1991, August 10th. Rock Creek Park. With summer coming to an end and fall just starting to begin, the air was much cooler and dryer than it had been the whole season. Yellowing greens and the sounds of soft footsteps muffled by the fallen leaves and insect song imprinted strongly into the young boy’s eidetic mind. Lise had taken in a deep breath, scenting damp and the nature around him.

His family had came to Washington, D.C. a month before his birthday, to fulfil some father-son bonding ritual Daniel was intent on having since he was allowed to take a vacation from his work, so this was the boy’s first time experiencing this change of season in America. His mother had remained in the city to do her shopping, while his father - Daniel - brought him to the park to teach him its history and how to recognise the tracks of the different wildlife here.

Or at least, that was how it was supposed to be.

Daniel had went to secure horses for them both, leaving Lise to his own devices. Bored, the young child found a secluded corner and started playing with magic. Though his mother always told him not to do so without her supervision, he truly couldn’t resist satisfying his curiosity about whether or not there would be a difference using his ability in a different land. Besides, he made sure there was no one else around. Gathering energy, Lise threw little spells without a sign of fatigue, seemingly unlimited by how much energy he could collect from his surroundings. It was crude, blunt even, but that was only because the boy was untrained still.

But in an instant, without being aware of anything, Lise had already lost consciousness.

The next time he woke, he found himself dangling by his shirt in some dark hallway. His mind felt heavy, as he listened to two people talking next to him, one of them being the person holding him like this. Then, that person’s hand came closer, drawing his attention and causing him to look up at it as it covered his small face and also reveal that he had already regained consciousness. Lise’s big grey eyes shrunk to silver pinpricks, sensing his natural glamour shatter and his half form brought to light. Tiny white ears peeked out of white hair bleached from brown and nine tails spilled out from his pants behind him. His fingernails too, sharpened slightly into small, slightly dangerous, opal claws. But throughout all this, he felt like lead, unable to feel fright like he thought he would. The hand holding him shoved him into the other man.

“… Where am I?” Lise clutched onto the cloth, concerned about falling to the floor. His pupils had dilated back to its original size as he looked up at the one holding him this time. Again, he felt calm, but as the footsteps of the one who shoved him over went further and further away, the fear that made his heart beat harder started bubbling up, adding a light of confusion and worry to those bright silver eyes.

Dark eyes pinned the child with wary intrigue, watching as what had been hidden was forcibly brought to light. Vulpine ears, as white as snow. Nine tails, agile and sleek. The claws, while still tiny and short, seemed sharp enough to open a man’s throat. Not quite a hound but not a hunter either. A strange hybrid, a cross between man and beast, his small body heavily saturated with magic. A part of Algrim felt sorry for the boy, who had been taken from his world, snatched from his parents, thrust into a foreign world with no choice but to surrender to fate, the life he’d known forever barred to him.

Midgardian lore was rich with tales of babes stolen from their cribs, swapped for a changeling to spy upon the guileless parents. When the boy’s father would return to collect his child, he might, perhaps, notice an air of wickedness surrounding his offspring, a glint of malignity in the little one’s eyes that had not been there before, and yet he’d take the wretched thing home and treat it as his own flesh and blood.

The Accursed, Algrim knew, desired no son to follow in his footsteps, no heir who might threaten his reign. The boy was not meant to be a successor, but a slave. A tool. A puppet on strings to do the king’s bidding. A new and prestigious addition to Svartalfheim’s fabled bestiary.

The Lord of the Hunt, however, had neither the time nor the patience, let alone the emotional aptitude to rear a child, and so the mantle of raising the boy had fallen to Algrim; Algrim, whose children had perished in ice and snow, leaving the aggrieved father to live on in a world darkened by loss and sorrow. The boy was a burden and a blessing. A millstone round his neck to remind him of everything he had lost, and a precious gift to lighten his heavy heart.    

He held the young whelp gently in his arms, watching his lord depart and disappear into the gloom of the castle. “You are in Svartalfheim, child.” Algrim’s tone was soft, gentle, comforting even as he turned his gaze back on the boy, watching large, innocent eye peer up at him with confusion and fear. How long had it been since he’d last held a child in his arms? An eternity, it seemed. A different life. The eyes of his children had been black, unreadable, the colour of obsidian just like his own, but the eyes of the boy were silver, shining as bright as starlight.

Algrim’s fingers splayed on the child’s back, adjusting his hold on the boy as the slightest of smiles graced the elf’s lips. “You are home.”

“Svartalfheim?” Repeated the child with perfect intonation, as large silver eyes took in the elder’s face. The smile and better support holding him helped soothe Lise’s mounting fears and the way he immediately started looking around them and back over his shoulder at the man leaving after being told he’s home, showed his quick understanding of the situation despite his age.

He had never heard of Svartalfheim, nor seen people like the one holding him, his gaze flitting at those pointed ears and hair as white as his against dark skin. Young as he, Lise couldn’t help trembling while he looked around again, as if searching for something. The quivering on his tiny tufted ears was most obvious, along with his tails which all curved downwards, tucked tight to his body. When those bright orbs returned to those dark ones, large with hope, another question fell from his lips again. “Is A- are.. my parents here?…” He asked quietly, changing how he addressed them to something more appropriate for people who weren’t family nor familiar with the language he used.

While Lise was still too young to hear of tales about changelings - his mother having started with stories originating from their homeland and gradually spreading from it - he had long been taught to be wary of being kidnapped. Recalling that he had been playing with magic just before this and how he was not supposed to - it was against the rules, his mother had once told him bad people would come take him away if he was found - the child was immediately both worried and regretting having done so earlier. He was wrong, he broke a rule and now he was taken away!

The boy was truly frightened now, even if the man holding him hadn’t done anything to harm him. He wished to see his parents, to tell them he was sorry for playing with magic and for his mother to scold him not to do it again, because that meant she’d be around to protect him. And that was why, he still clung onto the hope that they were here, enough to ask it aloud.

The flawless pronunciation with which the foreign word rolled off the boy’s tongue earned a look of approval from Algrim. “Svartalfheim,” he confirmed, “the realm of the Dark Elves. One of the Nine Worlds nestled amidst the roots and branches of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, of which Midgard – ‘Earth’ as you call it – is but one.” He lapsed into silence, granting the boy a chance to process what, without a doubt, was a lot to take in. He felt the child tremble in his arms, shaking like a leaf in the wind, distress and confusion reflecting on his young face.

The boy’s next question had Algrim’s features softening with sympathy. It was the bane of all children to think themselves invincible, to believe their parents would always be there to shield them from the evil in the world. Coming to realise their misconceptions was one of life’s hardest lessons to learn, and experience could be a cruel teacher. The little fox was still young, though. Young and pliant enough to be shaped and moulded to fit into his new life. “I am afraid not.” Algrim shook his head, carefully watching the boy for his reaction. He could easily relate to the child’s plight, the pain of separation and the despair that came with it as life as he had known it was torn asunder from one moment to the next.

There was, of course, the option of plying the distraught child with stories of uncaring parents who gave away their unloved offspring or traded the little one in for ample riches. Algrim, however, thought it best to tell the truth, to let the boy wail and grieve rather than risk building his fealty upon lies and deception.

“You are special, little one. So special that the king of the elves himself came to spirit you away.” He offered another smile, lightly rubbing the boy’s back. “Surely you heard about elves before? I heard our kind became quite popular on Midgard in the modern age.”

Gently, he set the boy down on his feet, both of his hands coming to rest on the young one’s shoulders as he stooped to speak to him at eye level. “The Accursed King sees great potential in you. You are to live with us and be taught the ways of the fae. I was appointed your guardian and mentor. You may call me Algrim.” Placing his index finger under the boy’s chin, he gently tilted the little one’s head up to look him in the eye. “What is your name, child?”

Dark Elves. Nine Worlds. None of those meant anything to the little fox, though the name Yggdrasil caught his ears in a familiar way. He remembered then, a short excerpt about western fables in the book of mythology his mother gave him. And it wasn’t wrong to say that elves were very popular back home either, what with them appearing in every fantasy game and how famous the Lord of the Rings were worldwide. But all Lise could hear was that his parents weren’t here and he clung onto that little hope just a few heartbeats longer as he fought the tears welling up in his eyes.

He was scared and clinging onto the elf who held him, trembling. For all the little boy’s pride and effort not to cry, his face soon scrunched up as crystalline tears ran down his delicately soft cheeks. He was wrong… he’s sorry… but his natural ability to sense truth that he himself did not yet understand ebbed strength out of the pup as he visibly wilted, ears and shoulders drooping and tails curling tighter. It was as if he was trying to make himself smaller and without a doubt, be hiding if he wasn’t held. The elf’s smile did little to soothe the boy’s grief, though the rubbing helped keep him calm as he started sniffing, a pup-like whine escaping from what little control he managed to have.

Lise didn’t want to be special. He already knew he was. That’s what his Eomma always said. And that was why he shouldn’t practice magic outside on his own. But he did.

Tightly curled fingers clutched the elf’s robes tightly even as he was placed down on the ground, reluctantly letting go to grab onto the front of his own shirt instead, a hand raising to wipe his sleeve over his eyes again and again. Both his blurry sight and sleeve couldn’t obscure how intent and kind those dark eyes were looking at him as his shaky sniffles gradually ceased. “Al-Algrim.” He repeated after the elf, pronunciation only marred by his weak voice and stuttering.

It took the boy a moment or two longer before he visibly made effort to gather his wits back together after his head was tilted up to look at Algrim properly. Blinking away his wet and sore eyes, Lise tried to stand taller, straightening his back even while his tails twisted together.

“Lise… my name is Lise…”

Compassion was in Algrim’s gaze as he watched the boy’s eyes fill with tears, feeling the child’s hold on him tighten with the strength of desperation as the elf’s words wormed their way into the little one’s mind. He let him cry. At times, crying was the best of medicines; to flush out the shock and sorrow, to wail and grieve, to let it all come out in a rush of tears and relief so acceptance could follow in its wake. The small, soft sound of distress that slipped past the young fox’s lips tugged at Algrim’s heartstrings with a poignancy that triggered a flood of memories. This time, he would not fail to protect the young life entrusted to his care. This time, he would keep the precious child safe from harm.

Giving the boy a moment to get his bearings after learning of his fate, Algrim stood back a little to watch him, noting the way he endeavoured to face his future with courage and dignity as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve before straightening his back to make himself look taller in the face of the tumble his life had taken. This one was strong. Proud. A fighter. Algrim could already tell that much. He could not keep the smile on his face from growing a fraction as the child repeated the name of his mentor to-be, testing its sound on his tongue, attempting to adapt to the situation rather than succumb to despair and cry for his mother to come take him home. Admirable.

“Lise,” Algrim repeated in turn, enjoying the ease which with the name flowed past his lips. He nodded approvingly at the little fox. “A beautiful name.”

He spent a moment carefully deliberating how to best introduce his protégé to the new environment he was to live in before reaching for little Lise’s hand, his fingers curling gently around the boy’s. There was no need to rush things. A well-fed, well-rested child would be far more susceptible to his teachings than a stressed one. “Well then, I suggest we get you a new attire, yes?” He paused to consider the child’s Midgardian clothes with a sceptical glance. “And then you can rest a little. How does that sound to you?”

Prompting Lise into tagging along with a gentle tug on his wrist, Algrim began leading the way through the castle’s labyrinthine passages, passing grim-looking guards and busy servants as they advanced deeper into the Accursed King’s realm. After a while, they arrived at a heavy wooden door which Algrim pushed open to usher the boy inside. “You will be staying with me for a while until I deem you ready to occupy your own quarters.”

The room was spacious and lavishly furnished. The dwindling light of the day filtered in through the gauzy curtains that framed several large, arched windows. The room was equipped with a bed, a heavy, elaborately carved desk, a smaller, lighter but no less intricately fashioned bureau, a table with several chairs, and a divan in front of a fireplace. Well-stocked bookcases lined the walls along with several cabinets, a dresser, and a full body mirror.

Letting go of Lise’s hand, Algrim turned to face the boy and gave him another warm smile. “Are you hungry, Lise?”

Lise. A beautiful name. The fox child latched onto the elder’s soothing baritone for comfort, white ears twitching in the dark Svartalfain halls. For a boy whom normally liked open spaces, the place suddenly felt too large and foreign. Lise huddled closer to Algrim’s side, clinging the moment his hand was taken.

Wide, soaked eyes peered up at the elf from near his hip, nodding to that suggestion merely in attempt to please. Honestly, Lise didn’t know what he should do. He wanted to try and get home. But fear and confusion reigned his little heart and mind and all he knew was this man was kind to him. So he followed the tug and through the many twists and turns, cataloguing the pathway and encounters in the back of his mind.

Ever the curious child, he couldn’t help stealing glances at the guards, servants and decorations, despite how they terrified him and sent him hiding into the skirts of Algrim’s robes with his little ears trembling. By the time they had reached the wooden door, the boy’s tails were all firmly tucked between his legs.

Into the new room he went with the elder and for the first time since he had woken, Lise found some form of security in his surroundings. The windows provided sufficient light unlike the shadowed hallways and there were no grim faced guards nor terrifying decorations. Unnoticed shallow breaths and rapid heartbeats gradually slowed and Lise loosened his tight grip on Algrim’s hand, just in time for it to be released.

Swivelling eyes which were looking around the room and soaking in every detail returned to the elder when he was addressed, pink lips parting slightly as his guard dropped even more at that smile. Even a child could recognise the elder’s beauty. Then his gaze fell and flitted back shyly, about to shake his head out of instinct to not be troublesome, when he felt his stomach gurgle.

His father had promised to bring him to the forest restaurant after the horse ride before he found himself here, not even knowing how long ago that was. Lise simply assumed the same amount of time passed was from the morning he was last awake on Earth to the coming dusk he now saw beyond the window.

Finally having a purpose instead of simply feeling lost, the boy squared his stance and looked back up at Algrim with determination and hope. “Yes!… Please!” He added after a second’s thought, remembering to be polite despite not having been offered food yet.

Curiously, Algrim watched the boy for his reaction, pleased to find Lise looking about the room with budding curiosity rather than trepidation. The younger they were, the better they adjusted to their new surroundings; the sooner they forgot about their old lives. His own heart ached with sympathy for the boy’s parents, who would have no choice but to live on, trapped in a never-ending cycle of grief, despair, and foolish hope, never to know of the fate that befell their little one. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, banishing the thought from his mind. This was neither the time nor the place for regrets.

He observed the young fox carefully, glad to see that Lise had lost some of his initial fear. Even his tails, which had been tightly twisted together and tucked between his legs in distress, seemed to have relaxed fractionally, he noted. A brief chuckle trickled past the advisor’s lips as little Lise’s stomach beat its owner to an answer, and he nodded approvingly as the dear boy made an effort to be polite.

As if on cue, the door opened and two servants came striding in, bearing silver platters with food and drink. None of them spared Algrim’s little guest a glance as they marched past. They set to work without preamble, dutifully laying out plates and silverware on the table and lighting the torches mounted on the walls, turning to bow low to their superior before departing again.

Algrim turned towards Lise with a smile. “Well then, dinner is served.” Taking the boy’s hand in his own, he led him to the table and helped him climb on one of the cushioned chairs. He went on to pour them each a drink, blackberry juice for Lise and wine for himself before taking the chair on the opposite end of the table.

Algrim had deemed it best to stick to dishes the boy might already be familiar with, saving the more exotic cuisine for when Lise had properly settled in and adjusted to his new life. On the table, a selection of roasted meats, steamed vegetables, baked potatoes, and sweet desserts was waiting to be enjoyed by the pair.

Now this was the crucial part, for only after the boy had consumed the enchanted faerie food would he truly belong to the realm, unable to ever leave. “Eat,” Algrim prompted gently, nodding encouragingly at Lise.

Not expecting to have his wish granted so soon, the little fox jumped with a startle and hid back into Algrim’s skirts, bolting behind him faster than he knew what he was doing. Staring at the servants coming to and fro, their appearance still so foreign to him, Lise couldn’t even pay attention to the food they brought in until he had made sure they left the room. Only then did his tension loosen and let himself be led to the table and helped onto a chair. He could jump on it, but he was also on the smaller side and Algrim’s aid meant being less clumsy and avoiding accidents.

Once there and able to see the spread on the table, his eyes brightened as he found comfort in familiar sights and scents, recognising the food offered. He was still making sure that he somewhat knew what meats and vegetables they were when Algrim spoke to him again, making him look up from the food and remember that he was hungry. With the faintest, hesitant smile, both in hope and ingrained manners, Lise nodded and answered as he picked up the utensils. “잘 먹겠습니다.” Jalmukesumneda. I will eat well. Such were the words to say to be polite at the table.

Still, he didn’t start eating. Holding his fork and spoon, he looked and waited for the elder to start patiently, ears starting to twitch left and right slowly along with his tails’ swaying, idling movements to help pass the time and hunger. Even though the child was very hungry, he naturally observed the customs his mother taught stringently. Subconsciously, the boy buried a newborn fear deep down in his heart, afraid of disobeying a rule again.

Algrim granted Lise a moment to take in the variety of dishes on the table, noting the look of bright-eyed wonder on the boy’s face at being offered what could well pass for a small feast.

The advisor caught himself smiling. This sweet, gentle-mannered child was very special - and that had nothing to do with the fact that Lise was a magical being. The boy was a rare gem, a diamond among pebbles, that only needed to be cut into shape and polished to brilliant perfection.

The wish to please was obvious in the boy’s demeanour, the phrase he uttered when picking up the cutlery a product of his strict and meticulous upbringing. Algrim moved his head in an almost imperceptible nod of approval. In a way, young Lise reminded him of— Algrim smothered the thought before it could blossom to life. If he began to view Lise through the eyes of a father, he’d throw objectivity to the wind, and this was something he could not permit himself. The boy was his responsibility. A task he had been charged with. An asset to groom and raise into a loyal follower of the Accursed, not a foster son to fill the void inside him.

“You may eat,” Algrim told the boy, seeking to dispel Lise’s hesitation (misgivings?) by offering a reassuring smile. “You need not be afraid.” Noticing the way Lise glanced at him, he realised the little fox was waiting for his host to start eating first despite his gnawing hunger. Whether such hesitation was born of fear, uncertainty, or politeness, Algrim could not say for certain. Reaching for a bowl of potatoes, he heaped some on his plate before proceeding to add spoonfuls of braised vegetables and a slice of venison. Algrim began to eat without hesitation, keeping his eyes on Lise to see whether the boy would follow his example.

Witnessing the elder eat, Lise started too. Though Algrim verbally gave him permission to do so, it simply confused the child even more when he was keeping so strictly to the rules he was brought up with. Thus he hesitated until he saw the given cue, almost pouncing on the food and helping himself to a share of them onto his own plate. Only his ingrained manners kept him from making a mess, naturally preferring meat over vegetables and other forms of food. He did take his greens however, just not as much as the other.

Digging in, the boy chewed as quickly as his tails wagged, eager to fill his grumbling stomach. The act of eating was comforting and the familiar food reassuring. It was with keen instinct that Lise focused greatly on his meal, to keep his fear and sorrow at bay, innocent to its true intent to chain him to this realm. Perhaps if he had known, he would not have wolfed down as fast as he did.

By the time he was done, though he had eaten more than he usually did, the amount was still not much. Yet it was also enough to give him a small contented belly. Sitting back in his chair and drinking water, Lise finally had the leisure to study Algrim and his surroundings once more and his large watery silver eyes rolled this way and that doing so. Of course, he was also waiting for the elder’s next instructions, not knowing what to do after meal when he was neither dismissed nor told to help wash the dishes.

Enchanted (Elriel) - Part I

Summary: Elain has always known there's more to her feelings towards Az than just friendly affection. When Azriel and Elain are sent to Adriata on a diplomatic mission, could this finally be the chance for close friends to become even closer?

Word Count: 3757

Read on AO3 here.

Part I | Part II | Part III

“I want you to know … that I am here. For you, I mean. Whenever you need me. I'll be there, always.” Elain exhaled, reaching out to touch the petal of one of her roses to distract herself from Azriel’s reaction.

The spymaster blinked. “I appreciate that, El.”

“I know you do. You're – I know. I know you. What I’m trying to say is … I like you. I just wanted you to know that I like you. I mean, I don't want to pressure you into anything but going there, together with you, would mean more to me than you probably think it does. And you don't have to do that if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Taking a huge breath Elain clutched her hands together. She could feel Azriel's stare bore into her and, gods, she couldn't look at him. Because now he knew. And he didn't even know everything. Of all the times she had stared at him, completely in awe, and wondered what it would feel like to be his.

She had been close to confessing many times, but anxiety had always locked up her throat. She didn't know why it had to be today. Of all the days Elain could have told him, it was the day they were supposed to go to the Summer Court together. They’d been asked to visit Tarquin and make sure the refugees from the mortal realms were being treated appropriately. Nesta and Cassian had the task to examine the situation in the Autumn Court, so Elain knew she and Azriel had the easier assignment. A vacation, really.

It might have been the broken mating bond to Lucien, or the simple fact of his horrible family, that made Feyre and Rhys decide to send the fiery duo to handle the breed of Beron.

Tarquin was of calm nature, her sister had explained. He wouldn't do anyone harm, especially not humans. Nevertheless, they had to be sure.

When Feyre had declared the seer would be traveling with Azriel, Elain had been ecstatic. She had realized months ago that the tenuous friendship they had built meant more to her than whatever she had felt for Graysen and certainly more than what the mating bond to Lucien made her feel.

Lucien … he was great. Kind hearted and generous, but what drove him to her was the mating bond, and only that. Ironically the Cauldron-forced bond was what Elain couldn’t bear; she didn't want to be loved for the sake of a bond she had no idea how to deal with.

The bond was not what she had chosen.

Many things in her life had been out of reach and out of her control. Like her ability of foresight.

It was another magical bond the Cauldron had forced upon her. But she had found a way to deal with it; with the never ending visions, the curse of seeing Fae die, cities destroyed and families broken. It was Azriel who had shown her how to deal with her newest sense. For he, too, had once figured out how to work with the shadows – how to own them instead of being owned by them.

Azriel had shown her a lot of things. Like true friendship.

When she was mortal Elain had never befriended boys. It was not appropriate to have a male friend in the mortal realms. People assumed the worst, and it wasn't like the boys had queued up to be the friend of a destitute girl. If they had any intentions with her, they were of physical desires – which Elain had fiercely denied.

With Azriel it was so easy. He made it easy to like him, to talk to him. For he listened with utmost attention, drank up every piece of information she had to offer and gave her the most inspiring stories in return. He had introduced her to the story of Nephelle, and Elain had felt inspired to get to know her self-proclaimed weakness of foresight. She went from thinking of it as a curse to a gift as she learned to control her power and helped prevent Fae and mortals from hurting, cities from crumbling and families from breaking.

After that, Elain had embraced her seer self – just like she had embraced Azriel's friendship.

It didn't take her long to realize that she wanted more, craved it, from Azriel.

To her misfortune the male was utterly in love with the Morrigan. It was clear in the way his eyes focused on her every step, how his shadows cleared whenever Mor was near him. To her defense, they also disappeared in the presence of Elain but she was sure he would not in the least feel the way she did. He had Mor.

That was the ultimate reason for her not confessing to him before now. Being stupidly in love with a male who didn't love her back was enough of a dilemma, she didn't need the male knowing of it.

But Azriel … he was so deserving of love. Sometimes she would look at him and feel like she didn't deserve him. For all the darkness that swiveled around him, he was one of the brightest lights to his family. To Elain. He had done so much for her, without even knowing. Without trying. And maybe that was enough of a reason for him to know how much she wanted him, how dearly she held him close to her heart.

Whenever she was sad and feeling undeserving of every good thing that came her way, he was there and cheered her up with his impeccable sense of humor, with his beautiful tales of light and darkness.

For he knew what it meant to feel broken and undeserving. As much as Elain wished he didn't, he knew.

And despite the obviousness of his feelings for Mor, the blonde female didn't seem to acknowledge them. Sadness overcame Elain at the thought of Mor being completely oblivious to Azriel's feelings. She would meet with her lovers and not even know of Azriel's tortured eyes or the agitated swivels of his shadows. He never showed them when Mor was around, obviously, but he didn't seem to mind Elain seeing them. After all this time he didn't seem to mind her seeing him react, feel.

But his love wasn't for her, and she would never be someone like Mor – radiant as the sun.

She would always be Elain, simple and lovely Elain, who was easy on the eyes but an even easier friend. Nothing more than a friend.

She had come to accept that Azriel would always love Mor and not her. As long as she could silently adore him and make him feel as appreciated as he deserved, she would take the brunt of an unrequited love.

“I'm never uncomfortable with you, Elain,” Azriel said now, staring at her with confused eyes and a slight frown. “And I like you, too. It would be a crime against all good not to like you,” he added with a quirk of his lips and softness gracing his hazel eyes.

Elain blushed but it was more out of frustration than of embarrassment. He didn't seem to know what she had really tried to say without actually saying it. She was in love with him, and her attempt of conveying exactly that had failed. Elain felt herself retreat into the shell of hers, where she kept her feelings hidden away in the shadows.

She shouldn't have said anything because next time – if she'd ever be brave enough to try again – it would take even more to get him to understand. To truly understand what was going on with her. What had been brewing underneath her skin and bones from the very first moment they'd met.

“So you'll go with me?” she mumbled, eyes still not meeting his.

Azriel touched her shoulder lightly before withdrawing. A small, simple gesture that was meant to be reassuring. Friendly.

“Of course,” he said and smiled. “Feyre would have me thrown into the sea if I let you go alone,” he joked but Elain blanched slightly.

Her attempt had so failed.

Such. A. Failure.

“All right then,” she uttered, turning back toward her flowers where they bloomed in her garden.

They'd been waiting just outside the river home for Feyre and Rhys to finally appear. Elain and Azriel were meant to leave within a few minutes, having planned to depart through Azriel's shadows.

Nesta and Cassian had already left at dawn, bickering all the while with Feyre's clearly annoyed frame wedged between them to winnow into the Autumn Court. Elain guessed her youngest sister was barely keeping herself from lashing out for them to stop arguing. Cassian and Nesta going at each other was one thing, but having them both snap with coupled force at you was all fire and fury.

Elain shuffled her feet now, trying to hide the uncomfortable feeling of having admitted your love for someone with them misunderstanding the whole confession. She could feel Azriel's confusion over her awkward silence but before he could address anything, Feyre and her mate came striding out of the house.

“Ready to leave yet?” Rhys casually made his way toward the two figures remaining in the garden, a gentle hand at the back of his mate. Elain thought it wasn’t an unusual view for them – to see Elain and Azriel together like that.

Over the months the flower-grower and the shadowsinger had somehow gotten inseparable. They most often found themselves sitting by Elain’s garden, sipping tea or walking through Velaris during the day or night – always together. It is what friends do, Elain thought chidingly. Friends spend time together.

After a few minutes of hugging each other goodbye and assuring they’d be fine, she turned to the spymaster whose shadows had already started gathering around them. Azriel cocked his head, a silent question to make sure she was ready, and Elain nodded. Sliding her palm against the hand he offered her, the scars and calluses of his hand tickled her senses and shot pleasant sparks down her spine.

Before they could vanish into the darkness, Feyre reached for Elain’s sleeve, stopping them.

“Make sure to head for the docks once you’re finished with the mission! They have the best fish I’ve ever tasted in my life,” the High Lady swore, making a smacking noise while rubbing her belly. She shot a knowing look at Elain then, winking as her lips lifted into a devilish grin. “Don’t miss out on the pleasures of this trip.”

Elain blushed furiously, hoping Az hadn’t caught on to the meaning of Feyre’s suggestive comment.

Rhys snorted and directed an indignant gaze at his wife. “Velaris has delicious fish, too, may I add,” was all they heard before Azriel stepped through the shadows with – what Elain thought was – an exaggerated sigh and brought them to Adriata, the castle-city of the Summer Court.

Elain could smell the change in the air instantly and hear the sound of seagulls above their heads. The Archeron and Azriel remained in darkness for a few seconds before he murmured an All clear and the darkness surrounding them dissolved – leaving Elain to squint her eyes at the sudden light greeting them.

Azriel’s shadows didn’t completely vanish, the shadowsinger keeping them on a close leash while quickly surveying the area with his eyes. They stood on a huge balcony of the High Lord’s tan stone palace – perched atop a mountain-island in the center of a half-moon bay.

Elain instantly liked the place – the breeze carrying the salt of the sparkling, turquoise sea, the sounds of waves crashing against the shore and the clatter of the city below. She surveyed the castle with wide eyes, and only noticed they weren’t alone when someone standing across the patio cleared their throat.

There stood a gorgeous male, with white and flawless hair surrounding his crystal-blue eyes – the exact same color of the sea. His dark mahogany skin almost glistened in the sun, while Elain sensed the trails of infinite power pouring out of every pore. This must be the High Lord then. Tarquin.

The High Lord of the Summer Court returned Elain’s curious gaze with a kind but reserved expression, inclining his head in a small bow once their eyes met.

“Welcome to Adriata, Elain Archeron,” he greeted her, eyes flickering to her silent companion. “It’s been a while, Shadowsinger. I am glad it is you arriving rather than the Commander of Night. I half expected to send out more rubies addressed to the Night Court. And lock all our newly restored buildings.”

Elain felt Azriel tense beside her and quickly stepped forward with a polite smile atop her lips. Rhys had filled her in on Cassian’s lifelong ban from the Summer Court, quite amusedly so, though she hadn’t expected Tarquin to address the issue in such a feline way – the High Lord seemed to have a wry sense of humor.

“Thank you for having us, High Lord. We are glad you accepted our request,” she began. “As far as Cassian is concerned: the Commander is currently on travels with my sister Nesta. You needn’t worry about the safety of your buildings, or your treasures for that matter.”

The High Lord of the Summer Court raised his brows in mild surprise, and after a moment … started to chuckle, much to Elain’s relief – having made a bold entrée with the referral to what had caused the initial mistrust between the Courts. Elain felt the tension flow out of Azriel, the male slightly calming at her side, making her relax in return.

“Call me Tarquin, seer of Night.” The High Lord inclined his head once more, though Elain could sense the sincerity in the gesture now. “And let me introduce you to my cousin Cresseida – Princess of Adriata.” He half-turned to the female standing beside him, all flowing white hair and beautiful features, too. The attractive Fae bowed her head at Elain, though her sparkling eyes remained on Azriel. She faintly smirked at the shadowsinger.

Elain immediately felt annoyance arise toward the Princess of Adriata.

“I believe you are already acquainted with Cresseida’s brother Varian,” continued Tarquin with amusement flowing in his eyes. “He seems to be enrapt by a certain Ancient One.”

The male, Varian, growled at his cousin, though it was only half-heartedly, he didn’t seem to mind the teasing of his High Lord. The Prince nodded in an acknowledging gesture at Azriel and Elain.

Truth be told, Elain could only agree with the High Lord of Summer. Whenever Varian visited Velaris, the purpose of his whole existence seemed to be revolving around the firedrake; Amren and Varian would not be seen for days, completely lost in each other. Elain couldn’t deny she liked the time whenever Varian was in town, for Amren was her most approachable when the handsome male was around – and once they deigned to join the Inner Circle.

Nevertheless, Elain and Azriel hadn’t traveled to the Summer Court for pleasantries. There was a task to be accomplished; they needed to make sure the mortals were all safe and adequately supplied.

Azriel and Elain, accompanied by Tarquin himself, proceeded to go to the camps. They’d been constructed for the mortals who had fled from the war and whose homes in the mortal realms were now destroyed – all thanks to Hybern and his armies. While several Courts had temporarily opened designated areas to displaced mortals, Tarquin had opened up all of Adriata to the humans. Yet most of them still seemed too scared to take him up on his offer and stayed to the tent city amongst their own kind.

Nonetheless, at seeing these people – they were genuinely at ease here albeit a bit wary – Elain felt excitement bubble up within her. Fae and mortals living side by side, the ultimate goal she and her sisters had devoted themselves to in the past few months after the war. Velaris had already opened up its borders for Fae and humans from all over the continent, but Adriata seemed to be just as ready to thrive from the alliance.

They saw Fae walking around the tents, talking to their human friends, and Elain gaped when she spotted children – faerie and mortal – playing and squeaking in joy. She grabbed Azriel by the arm then, pointing towards the showcase of trust and peace, feeling herself tearing up at the image. Azriel smiled his soft smile, the one she found endearingly cute, and watched the scenery with Elain by his side.

Given his reserved and closed off nature, Tarquin wouldn’t have been able to recognize what Azriel felt, though Elain knew. The shadowsinger enjoyed the mingling between human and Fae just as much as the Made female – going so far as to let himself be ogled by the inhabitants without fading into his shadows.

Quite the contrary, his shadows could not be seen during the time they spent in the mortal camps. Azriel forgoing his own shadows and the eternal knowledge they provided him, was a sacrifice Elain knew to appreciate. He was so obviously Fae, with his towering, dangerous-looking frame and the glorious wings – mortals were staring as it was. Many seemed to be extremely wary, even hesitant to go about their days after seeing the mighty Illyrian, with his many Siphons glowing the brighter for the increasingly heating sun.

As much as Elain was thankful for Azriel, trying to spare these people from being frightened of his shadows, she couldn’t help but feel sad, too. For Azriel was the kindest Fae she had encountered, and Elain had never been scared of him or his shadows. Much less of his gorgeous wings.

In fact, Elain realized, she had always felt drawn to the shadowsinger – with his scarred, beautiful hands and the stories within his eyes she so clearly saw from the very beginning.

The more they became acquainted with the camps, the more Elain was convinced that there was next to nothing they could do here. Adriata – and Tarquin – was kind to her mortals. They would be safe here, just as Feyre had predicted. And as they finally left the part of town where the camp was located, she felt as light and relieved as she hadn’t for a long time. Azriel seemed to be on board with her.

Tarquin having just bid them goodnight, they now walked through the High Lord’s palace toward their respective rooms. “We could talk to them tomorrow and see if they need anything else,” Azriel suggested, tugging on his lower lip with his fingers while in thought.

Elain adjusted the hand she had looped around his arm and averted her gaze from Az’s lips. It had become a habit for him to offer her his arm, and it always made her think of the very first day in Velaris when he had led Elain to the garden to try and bring her some peace.

“I talked to some of them today,” she mused. “They seemed well supplied. I don’t think there’s anything we could add.” With a shrug of her shoulders, Elain added, “And I don’t want Tarquin to think we don’t trust him with these people. The relationship between Night and Summer is still timid. Prying more than we need to might demonstrate mistrust, and that, we can live without right now.”

Azriel cast her a twinkling glance, while they passed several doors and turned into the hall with their rooms located right across from each other. Rhys had sent their bags of clothing a day prior to their departure and Tarquin had assured everything was accommodated already. So all Elain had to do was to throw herself onto her bed and sleep the exhaustion of the day off.

“I always knew you’d be perfect in matters of court politics,” he admitted, quite with mischievous fondness doing so. Elain blushed.

“Ah, you’re charming me, spymaster,” she hummed, squeezing his arm in playfulness, earning a private little smile from Azriel. Her heart leaped at the sight; he gifted those grins rarely someone who wasn’t her. Maybe Mor, Elain contemplated, though discarded the thought immediately, lest her heart would weigh down her chest after such a successful day.

“I am inclined to agree, though,” Azriel said, returning to the matter at hand. “We should trust Tarquin handling the situation. He seems to be making effort anyway.”

Elain recalled the beautifully organized camp, with its ornate tents and own little market containing fresh fish and vegetables. There was definitely effort there.

They had reached their rooms in the meanwhile, coming to a stop in front of Elain’s door.  It had been quite the hot day in Adriata; despite her light clothing the pressing heat had left Elain’s skin sticky with sweat. She hoped to find a bath waiting for her before a well-deserved night’s sleep. Yet with her hand still around Azriel's arm, Elain frowned.

“Are we returning home tomorrow then,” she asked, silently cursing herself for finishing their task this fast, “since we’re done with the mission?”

Azriel faced the middle Archeron, her hand sliding off his arm. Elain’s fingers briefly brushed his hand – his scars – and a whiplash of heat surged over her body at his touch. Her skin was covered in goosebumps she tried to ignore.

Azriel’s brows furrowed, he scratched his neck. “We could, if that’s what you want.”

Elain felt herself deflate in disappointment. Did he want to go home already?

“I suppose we could,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes. Azriel was silent for a few moments. Then, with slight nervousness caressing the tenor of his voice, “Or we could scout the city – see what Adriata really has to offer for a few days.”

Elain looked up in surprise and, what was impossible to hide, increasing excitement. “You mean like a vacation?” she asked somewhat hopefully. There was a mild blush high on Azriel’s cheekbones, Elain noted in delight. Endearing.

Azriel cast her a rather shy but still mischievous glance and nodded. “Like a vacation.”

Elain started clapping her hands eagerly, a bright smile blooming on her features. Seeing Azriel’s lips turn into his very own, very unique grin brought the blush to her face as well. She stifled the urge to run him over, and hug him down right then and there. Opting for a more calm and mature response instead, she folded her hands neatly in the folds of her peach-colored gown and stared up at the male through her lashes.

“I would very much love that.”

***

Click here to read Part II of Enchanted✨

***

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Switching Lanes With St. Vincent

By Molly Young

January 22, 2019

Jacket (men’s), $4,900, pants (men’s), $2,300, by Dior / Men shoes, by Christian Louboutin / Rings (throughout) by Cartier

On a cold recent night in Brooklyn, St. Vincent appeared onstage in a Saint Laurent smoking jacket to much clapping and hooting, gave the crowd a deadpan look, and said, “Without being reductive, I'd like to say that we haven't actually done anything yet.” Pause. “So let's do something.”

She launched into a cover of Lou Reed's “Perfect Day”: an arty torch-song version that made you really wonder whom she was thinking about when she sang it. This was the elusive chanteuse version of St. Vincent, at least 80 percent leg, with slicked-back hair and pale, pale skin. She belted, sipped from a tumbler of tequila (“Oh, Christ on a cracker, that's strong”), executed little feints and pounces, flung the mic cord away from herself like a filthy sock, and spat on the stage a bunch of times. Nine parts Judy Garland, one part GG Allin.

If the Garland-Allin combination suggests that St. Vincent is an acquired taste, she's one that has been acquired by a wide range of fans. The crowd in Brooklyn included young women with Haircuts in pastel fur and guys with beards of widely varying intentionality. There was a woman of at least 90 years and a Hasidic guy in a tall hat, which was too bad for whoever sat behind him. There were models, full nuclear families, and even a solitary frat bro. St. Vincent brings people together.

If you chart the career of Annie Clark, which is St. Vincent's civilian name, you will see what start-up founders and venture capitalists call “hockey-stick growth.” That is, a line that moves steadily in a northeast direction until it hits an “inflection point” and shoots steeply upward. It's called hockey-stick growth because…it looks like a hockey stick.

Dress, by Balmain

The toe of the stick starts with Marry Me, Clark's debut solo album, which came out a decade ago and established a few things that would become essential St. Vincent traits: her ability to play a zillion instruments (she's credited on the album with everything from dulcimer to vibraphone), her highbrow streak (Shakespeare citations), her goofy streak (“Marry me!” is an Arrested Development bit), and her oceanic library of musical references (Kate Bush, Steve Reich, uh…D'Angelo!). The blade of the stick is her next four albums, one of them a collaboration with David Byrne, all of them confirming her presence as an enigma of indie pop and a guitar genius. The stick of the stick took a non-musical detour in 2016, when Clark was photographed canoodling with (now ex-) girlfriend Cara Delevingne at Taylor Swift's mansion, followed a few months later by pictures of Clark holding hands with Kristen Stewart. That brought her to the realm of mainstream paparazzi-pictures-in-the-Daily-Mail celebrity. Finally, the top of the stick is Masseduction, the 2017 album she co-produced with Jack Antonoff, which revealed St. Vincent to be not only experimental and beguiling but capable of turning out incorrigible bangers.

Masseduction made the case that Clark could be as much a pop star as someone like Sia or Nicki Minaj—a performer whose idiosyncrasies didn't have to be tamped down for mainstream success but could actually be amplified. The artist Bruce Nauman once said he made work that was like “going up the stairs in the dark and either having an extra stair that you didn't expect or not having one that you thought was going to be there.” The idea applies to Masseduction: Into the familiar form of a pop song Clark introduces surprising missteps, unexpected additions and subtractions. The album reached No. 10 on the Billboard 200. The David Bowie comparisons got louder.

This past fall, she released MassEducation (not quite the same title; note the addition of the letter a), which turned a dozen of the tracks into stripped-down piano songs. Although technically off duty after being on tour for nearly all of 2018, Clark has been performing the reduced songs here and there in small venues with her collaborator, the composer and pianist Thomas Bartlett. Whereas the Masseduction tour involved a lot of latex, neon, choreographed sex-robot dance moves, and LED screens, these recent shows have been comparatively austere. When she performed in Brooklyn, the stage was empty, aside from a piano and a side table. There were blue lights, a little piped-in fog for atmosphere, and that was it. It looked like an early-'90s magazine ad for premium liquor: art-directed, yes, but not to the degree that it Pinterested itself.

Coat, (men’s) $8,475, by Versace / Shoes, by Christian Louboutin / Tights, by Wolford

The performance was similarly informal. Midway through one song, Clark forgot the lyrics and halted. “It takes a different energy to be performing [than] to sit in your sweatpants watching Babylon Berlin,” she said. “Wherever I am, I completely forget the past, and I'm like. ‘This is now.’ And sometimes this means forgetting song lyrics. So, if you will…tell me what the second fucking verse is.”

Clark has only a decade in the public eye behind her, but she's accomplished a good amount of shape-shifting. An openness to the full range of human expression, in fact, is kind of a requirement for being a St. Vincent fan. This is a person who has appeared in the front row at Chanel and also a person who played a gig dressed as a toilet, a person profiled in Vogue and on the cover of Guitar World.

The day before her Brooklyn show, I sat with Clark to find out what it's like to be utterly unstructured, time-wise, after a long stretch of knowing a year in advance that she had to be in, like, Denmark on July 4 and couldn't make plans with friends.

“I've been off tour now for three weeks,” she said. “When I say ‘off,’ I mean I didn't have to travel.”

This doesn't mean she hasn't traveled—she went to L.A. to get in the studio with Sleater-Kinney and also hopped down to Texas, where she grew up—just that she hasn't been contractually obligated to travel. What else did she do on her mini-vacation?

“I had the best weekend last weekend. I woke up and did hot Pilates, and then I got a bunch of new modular synths, and I set 'em up, and I spent ten hours with modular synths. Plugging things in. What happens when I do this? I'm unburdened by a full understanding of what's going on, so I'm very willing to experiment.”

Coat, by Boss

Jacket, and coat, by Boss / Necklace, by Cartier

Like a child?

“Exactly. Did you ever get those electronics kits as a kid for like 20 bucks from RadioShack? Where you connect this wire to that one and a light bulb turns on? It's very much like that.”

There's an element of chaos, she said, that makes synth noodling a neat way to stumble on melodies that she might not have consciously assembled. She played with the synths by herself all day. “I don't stop, necessarily,” she said, reflecting on what the idea of “vacation” means to someone for whom “job” and “things I love to do” happen to overlap more or less exactly. “I just get to do other things that are really fun. I'm in control of my time.” She had plans to see a show at the New Museum, read books, play music and see movies alone, always sitting on the aisle so she could make a quick escape if necessary. But she will probably keep working. St. Vincent doesn't have hobbies.

When it manifests in a person, this synergy between life and work is an almost physically perceptible quality, like having brown eyes or one leg or being beautiful. Like beauty, it's a result of luck, and a quality that can invoke total despair in people who aren't themselves allotted it. This isn't to say that Clark's career is a stroke of unearned fortune but that her skills and character and era and influences have collided into a perfect storm of realized talent. And to have talent and realize that talent and then be beloved by thousands for exactly the thing that is most special about you: Is there anything a person could possibly want more? Is this why Annie Clark glows? Or is it because she's super pale? Or was it because there was a sound coming through the window where we sat that sounded thrillingly familiar?

“Is Amy Sedaris running by?” Clark asked, her spine straightening. A man with a boom mic was visible on the sidewalk outside. Another guy in a baseball cap issued instructions to someone beyond the window. Someone said “Action!” and a figure in vampire makeup and a clown wig streaked across the sidewalk. Someone said “Cut!” and Clark zipped over for a look. It was, in fact, Amy Sedaris, her clown wig bobbing in the 44-degree breeze. The mic operator was gagging with laughter. It seemed like a good omen, this sighting, like the New York City version of Groundhog Day: If an Amy Sedaris streaks across your sight line in vampire makeup, spring will arrive early.

Blazer (men’s) $1,125, by Paul Smith

Another thing Clark does when off tour is absorb all the input that she misses when she's locked into performance mode. On a Monday afternoon, she met artist Lisa Yuskavage at an exhibition of her paintings at the David Zwirner gallery in Chelsea. Yuskavage was part of a mini-boom of figurative painting in the '90s, turning out portraits of Penthouse centerfolds and giant-jugged babes with Rembrandt-esque skill. It made sense that Clark wanted to meet her: Both women make art about the inner lives of female figures, both are sorcerers of technique, both are theatrical but introspective, both have incendiary style. The gallery was a white cube, skylit, with paintings around the perimeter. Yuskavage and Clark wandered through at a pace exclusive to walking tours of cultural spaces, which is to say a few steps every 10 to 15 seconds with pauses between for the proper amount of motionless appreciation.

The paintings were small, all about the size of a human head, and featured a lot of nipples, tufted pudenda, tan lines, majestic asses, and protruding tongues. “I like the idea of possessing something by painting it,” Yuskavage said. “That's the way I understand the world. Like a dog licking something.”

Clark looked at the works with the expression people make when they're meditating. She was wearing elfin boots, black pants, and a shirt with a print that I can only describe as “funky”—“funky” being an adjective that looks good on very few people, St. Vincent being one of them—and sipped from a cup of espresso furnished by a gallery minion. After she finished the drink, there was a moment when she looked blankly at the saucer, unsure what to do with it, and then stuck it in the breast pocket of her funky shirt for the rest of the tour.

A painting called Sweetpuss featured a bubble-butted blonde in beaded panties with nipples so upwardly erect they actually resembled little boners. Yuskavage based the underwear on a pair of real underwear that she'd constructed herself from colored balls and string. “I've got the beaded panties if you ever need 'em,” she said to Clark. “They might fit you. They're tiny.”

Earrings, by Erickson Beamon

“I'm picturing you going to the Garment District,” Clark said.

“There was a lot of going to the Garment District.”

As they completed their lap around the white cube, Clark interjected with questions—what year was this? were you considering getting into film? how long did these sittings take? what does “mise-en-scène” mean?—but mainly listened. And she is a good listener: an inquisitive head tilter, an encouraging nodder, a non-fidgeter, a maker of eye contact. She found analogues between painting and music. When Yuskavage mourned the death of lead white paint (due to its poisonous qualities, although, as the artist pointed out, “It's not that big a deal to not get lead poisoning; just don't eat the paint”), Clark compared it to recording's transition from tape to digital.

“Back in the day, if you wanted to hear something really reverberant”—she clapped; it reverberated—“you'd have to be in a room like this and record it, or make a reverb chamber,” Clark said. “Now we have digital plug-ins where you can say, ‘Oh, I want the acoustic resonance of the Sistine Chapel.’ Great. Somebody's gone and sampled that and created an algorithm that sounds like you're in the Sistine Chapel.”

Lately, she said, she's been way more into devices that betray their imperfections. That are slightly out of tune, or capable of messing up, or less forgiving of human intervention. “Air moving through a room,” Clark said. “That's what's interesting to me.”

They kept pacing. The paintings on the wall evolved. Conversation turned to what happens when you grow as an artist and people respond by flipping out.

“I always find it interesting when someone wants you to go back to ‘when you were good,’ ” Yuskavage said. “This is why we liked you.”

“I can't think of anybody where I go, ‘What's great about that artist is their consistency, ” Clark said. “Anything that stays the same for too long dies. It fails to capture people's imagination.”

Coat (mens), $1,150, by Acne Studios

They were identifying a problem with fans, of course, not with themselves. It was an implicit identification, because performers aren't permitted to critique their audiences, and it was definitely the artistic equivalent of a First World problem—an issue that arises only when you're so resplendent with talent that you not only nail something enough to attract adoration but nail it hard enough to get personally bored and move on—but it was still valid. They were talking about the kind of fan who clings to a specific tree when he or she could be roaming through a whole forest. In St. Vincent's case, a forest of prog-rock thickets and jazzy roots and orchestral brambles and mournful-ballad underlayers, all of it sprouting and molting under a prodigious pop canopy. They were talking about the strange phenomenon of people getting mad at you for surprising them. Even if the surprise is great.

Molly Young is a writer living in New York City. She wrote about Donatella Versace in the April 2018 issue of GQ.

A version of this story originally appeared in the February 2019 issue with the title "Switching Lanes With St. Vincent."

Keep Hope Close at Hand - Chapter Two

Note:  Okay, so, apparently I have a lot of thoughts about this fic and my mind won't let me stop working on them. Not to mention all of the lovely comments and messages I've gotten about this story -- all of you fantastic readers are a large part of the reason I keep working on this as diligently as I have been. You guys are all the greatest! Don't stop!

Summary: When a curse is going to send the inhabitants of Enchanted Forest, Captain Killian Jones, husband to the Princess, must take their daughter through the wardrobe to save them from the curse and give her the ability to break the curse when the time comes.

Rated G // Read on AO3 //

Start at the Beginning: tumblr // AO3

Chapter One: tumblr // AO3

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As he opens the door to the room that will house them for the near future, Killian realizes something: he’s never stayed at a Bed and Breakfast.

He’s never even felt the need to, if he is completely honest with himself.

Not that the place isn’t lovely, with its light walls and dark wood, one large bed taking up most of the center of the room. It’s just that rooms like this, the whole concept of the Bed and Breakfast to begin with, hits him just a little too close to home. Selling out rooms from what used to be someone’s house? Being able to go downstairs and eat breakfast in an actual kitchen with other guests, other travelers and the host always wanting to know who you are, where you came from? He’s lived through this before, just in much different circumstances.

Captain Hook was a fan of the “bed and breakfast” setup in the Enchanted Forest and in every realm that he could get his ship to. He would show up, drink everyone around him under the table, and take some woman back to his ship, or — even worse — upstairs to one of the rooms, leaving immediately afterward and never seeing her again.

Sure, he enjoyed it while it was happening. He was a pirate, the most vicious and hated pirate to sail any sea in those days. He was living what he believed to be his dream: long weeks on the sea, no one to tell him who he needs to be, what he needs to do.

But in those days, days that he frequented “bed and breakfasts” as often as he could, he was a completely different man. A man with no family, with no love, his only reason for living being his revenge.

He wasn’t a husband. He wasn’t a father. That man, the man whose identity he slowly began to shed when he met Emma, would never have sacrificed his own life to raise Hope on his own in a strange land, something he realized many years ago, before he even went through the wardrobe. That man, the man he used to be, would have run back to the safety of his ship at the slightest sign of danger and run to a new realm, leaving anything he built behind him.

That man had all of the wrong priorities. And, of course, he realizes that those priorities made it possible for him to live for hundreds of years, but none of the time he spent on the Jolly Roger comes anywhere close to the life he has lived in the past twenty years.

When he and Hope had gone away for vacations, which did not happen very often (why would anyone spend that much money to take their child to a place that worships an animated mouse?) and always consisted of trips to places with long stretches of beach and exciting attractions for his little girl, they had stayed only in hotels. People in hotels do not care where you came from, why your daughter does not have a mother, do not constantly barrage you with questions about your life just because you come down to get a bloody cup of coffee.

Hotels didn’t exist in any other realm, so they could not pull back memories of any other realm.

As Hope pokes around their room, exploring every nook and cranny that she can find, Killian tosses his duffel bag next to the bed before tossing himself on it, burying his head in the pillow.

He likes nothing about this situation. He likes nothing about this small town, which he knows is going to start suffocating him soon. He likes nothing about his lack of a plan, his lack of any sort of knowledge about what he needs to do to be reunited with his love. And, perhaps more than anything else, he likes nothing about that man from the diner, the smug look on his face and his arm slung over Emma’s shoulder like she was just a possession to him.

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Breaking curses tended not to be. But he can’t help but ask himself questions that he probably shouldn’t. What if she really loves him? What if she doesn’t want to go back to the life they left behind because she likes the one she has found here more? Would he even be able to get through to her, given that she has been blinded by the curse? Does she even want to know the truth?

Gods, he hates this. He hates every single thing about this. The only bright spot in all of this is his daughter, his Hope — his hope — who climbs up on the bed next to him and nuzzles herself between his side and his arm, which he wraps around her small body.

They stay like that for a while, and he almost believes that she has fallen asleep beside him until she rolls away from him, turning to face him as he rolls onto his side, so small against the large California King bed.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

At first, she doesn’t answer, her brows knit in a way that makes him believe she is reading every line of his face, the same thing her mother used to do before answering a particularly difficult question.

But he lets her search his face for whatever she is searching for, a few moments of silence passing between them before she finally speaks, her question pulling all of the air out of Killian’s lungs:

“Mommy’s here, isn’t she?”

His eyes go wide, suddenly unable to breathe. He doesn’t know what to say, but if he knows one thing about his daughter, it is that she inherited her mother’s ability to know a lie the moment it passes through his teeth.

“Yes, she is. But how did you know, my cygnet?”

She slides back across the bed, hugging him as best she can and he opens his arms to her.

“I don’t know, daddy. Really, I don’t. But I can… I can feel it, somehow.”

Finally he is able to take a deep breath, and somehow, he does understand. Because with his arms wrapped around his daughter, he can feel it, too. He can feel that he is exactly where he is supposed to be, and all of the questions that tried to drown him just a few minutes ago beginning to move away as his daughter drifts off to sleep beside him.

Not wanting to dive into the whole small town mentality yet, Killian researches pizza places that would deliver to their room (of which there is only one in town, not to his surprise in the least) as Hope sleeps next to him. (One of the perks he found with his lack of a left arm, he learned once Hope started falling asleep next to him, was that, unlike the right, it did not “fall asleep” when Hope decided she wanted to use it as a pillow.)

He waits until she begins to stir from her nap, making sure that she is okay with their normal order of extra pepperoni before he calls in the order. (Pepperoni is something from this world that he quickly realized was heaven-sent, unlike large pick-up trucks, smart phones, and skiing.)

Their lunch arrives quickly, the shop only a block from where they are staying, which seems to be normal for “Storybrooke,” the name of the town, according to Google. How quaint. After scarfing down a few pieces each, they agree on a movie on the television, but Killian is only half-watching, trying his best to formulate some kind of plan in his head while trying not to get caught up with the memory of Emma's eyes meeting his at the diner.

He fails on both accounts.

 By the time Hope asks about dinner, Killian has come to the conclusion that he can't continue to avoid the town if he needs to figure out how to break the curse. He hopes for anywhere other than Granny's, the memory of Emma there with her cursed husband and their cursed son weighing too much on his already-straining heart.

The only other alternative that appeals to both of them, though, is a burger-and-ice cream place, Any Given Sundae. When they walk in, it's thankfully almost empty, the only patrons an older couple in the back corner who Killian is thankful to notice fail to give him and Hope a second glance. He has to hold in a chuckle, though, when he realizes the woman behind the counter, who he assumes to be the owner, is one of Queen Elsa's aunts from Arendelle, the one who had the same ice powers as Emma's best friend.

She owns the ice cream parlor. Funny.

As always, he lets Hope choose their seat, halfway up the aisle opposite the older couple. Even though Killian has taken to trying to eat healthier recently (it absolutely had nothing to do with the strip of grey hair amid the sea of black, not at all), but he decides on a burger and fries anyway. His whole life has been flipped upside-down over the past few hours, so if his diet takes a sudden plummet, this is apparently a great time for it to happen.

Hope is halfway through her chicken sandwich, and Killian's burger long gone, when the bell on the door jingles, causing Killian's eyes to snap up to see who joined them. When he sees that it is none other than the young boy that was sitting across from Emma at the diner earlier, his eyes go wide and his heart stops in his chest, waiting for one of this parents to follow him into the building.

But that doesn't happen. Instead, the young boy meets Killian's eyes and smiles at him before crossing the restaurant to slide into the booth next to Hope.

Before Killian has a chance to comment, he speaks, the words coming out quickly. “You’re the man who was in the diner last night.”

“Aye, lad, what of it?”

He shrugs, turning from Killian to Hope. “My parents were trying to figure out who you are, we’ve never seen you in Storybrooke before.”

Killian expected the small-town questions to start the moment he stepped out of their room, but he never expected that a young boy would be the first source. Trying to sound as calm as he can, he replies, “My daughter and I are just here for vacation, some time away from the city.”

Henry reaches across the table and takes a French fry off of Killian’s plate, and he is amazed just how outgoing he is.

“That’s not true, though, is it?” the boy asks, and just as Killian starts to get defensive, Henry pulls a storybook out of his bag. “I know who you really are, and what you’re here for.”

“Is that so?” Killian shares a look with his daughter across the table, her eyebrow cocked in exactly the same way his probably is, and he takes a sip of his water.

“Yeah, of course,” Henry says, taking another fry off of his plate. “You’re Captain Hook.”

He stays silent, taking another mouthful of water to try to keep his face completely blank. But when Henry speaks again, Killian is not able to keep a straight face.

“You’re also my dad.”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, the last of his soda almost getting stuck in his throat.

“I’m afraid that’s entirely impossible, young man.”

Completely ignoring Killian’s comment, Henry jumps up to get back to wherever it was he was going, but leaves his storybook with Killian. “If you don’t believe me, just read the book.”

And he’s gone.

Hope looks up at Killian, just as confused as he is.

“Well, that was weird,” she says.

Killian agrees, but is unable to respond as he starts flipping through the pages of the book.

 That night, he is unable to sleep. The light on his side of the bed is on all night as he flips through this book full of stories that can’t exist in this land, stories with pictures of people he knew. Stories he knows are true: how Snow White and Prince Charming met, when Belle saved Prince Philip, Mulan’s time with the Merry Men.

He flips through pages covered with stories of himself, his stories from the past hundred years. His time in Neverland, the death of his brother. His relationship with Milah. Going back to Neverland.

Meeting Emma, on a Royal mission to Neverland to try to gather information about Peter Pan. Falling in love with her.

Marrying her. Having Hope.

The Curse.

But at the end of the book, on the very last page, is a picture of Emma and David standing in their room in the castle, purple smoke billowing around them, which must be from the last moments before the curse took them, not long after Killian and Hope went through the wardrobe. Emma is crying, David’s arms wrapped around her, but her own hands are laid across her stomach.

“But, not wanting to hurt her True Love any more than was already inevitable with their parting, Princess Emma did not tell Killian her secret: that she was pregnant again, going to have another child, and she carried this secret with her as she said goodbye to her husband and daughter, just as the curse was about to strike.”

The book falls to his lap, his hands shaking as he reaches up to wipe a tear off his cheek. It was true. All of it was true. And if everything else was true, then the last part he read must have been true, as well. Emma didn’t tell him that she was pregnant again, so as to not hurt him any more than he was already hurting.

For the first time in a while, Killian purposefully pulls her ring out from under his shirt, on a long chain next to Liam’s.

And he has hope, for the first time in a while.

Because Emma is living with cursed memories, believing that man he saw her with is her true love, believing he is Henry’s father.

But now he knows the truth, and Henry knows the truth.

It’s time to tell Hope.

Savage Spite: 1

Masterlist

Ch. 2    Ch.3  

Warnings: None yet, cursing if it counts, Loki being a ass.

A/N: Written in three parts! Ended up longer than I thought! This was a request from @moonfaery. This is the original prompt & I hope I did it justice. Loki really makes a mess & it seems it will take longer for him to right the mistake than originally thought! So enjoy! Reader is a young celestial that is younger than Loki and whose powers have yet to know just how strong she is but the reader is stronger than Loki she just hasn't realized it yet. Morgan Stark is Tony’ daughter, she and the reader were raised together by grandparents.

Words: 3,400

The gentle rustle of a cell phone vibrating had Loki rolling over to realize that Y/N had left the device on the edge of the bed while she got a shower, citing she needed to meet with Morgan, Tony Stark’s daughter about a new design for a suit. It normally didn’t bother him but here lately the goddess had spent more time with the Stark & his brother. Well truth told it was mostly Thor which was beginning to eat at the god of mischief. Looking over to note the message flashed for a second with a few words of a text.

Thor: My sweet dove, I want you to know how much I love you.

It made Loki’s heart drop, never had the younger god thought or never had Y/N his lover, betrothed would betray him like this, not with Thor. Lithe hand reaching for the phone to easily unlock it both knew the codes to the others phone, quickly he opened the message & began to read more.

Scrolling through the thread, noting Y/N’ response in the goddesses distinct slang that was Midgardian, having been raised & adopted by mortals of the realm 36 years ago. She was confessing an unrequited love to Thor followed by addresses to known hotels & the like. Scheduled meetings as well before locking it back as he heard Y/N coming out of the bathroom &t putting it in its spot. Turning to watching the thick framed woman he had fallen for step out & sitting up as she stepped to the night stand to pick up the ring he had just given her not long after Halloween.

“Morning love,” Loki began as if asleep, testing the waters as he reached out to wrap bear arms around cold plump middle to nuzzle at the goddesses soft belly worriedly as the phone vibrated again, the go holding tight as she called it to her hand with blue seidr, free hand combing through messy raven locks as she scanned the messages.

“Morning Loki,” she hummed sleepily herself.

“Who is it,” he asked innocently, curious what her lie would be, wanting to tear into her then & there for betraying his trust, his love a thing he refused to give easily.

“Morgan & your pesky brother,” Y/N admitted locking it back to cram it into her pocket, wrapping cold arms around his bare shoulders & placing a kiss to his head, the god unable to detect the lie.

“I’ll be back by 6. You still wanting to go walk the park,” Y/N ventured, filling tension in the gods shoulders as the phone buzzed but this time it was a call.

“Aren’t you going to answer that,” he spoke into soft tummy filling her chuckle, muttering something about Morgan being impatient.

“So, park at 6? Meet me at the compound & we will take our walk & go get something to eat so I don’t have to cook,” Y/N bribed filling him let out a sigh, lithe body tensing slightly more as she carded through his hair.

“How about a quiet night at home yeah,” Loki countered quickly, “order in?”

“Then meet me at the compound to drive me home, I love it when you chauffeur me, around 5 then,” Y/N bargained as she paused her carding curious to the gods response as tension faded but picked back up.

“Sure love,” he finally lamented as cool nose nuzzled at the young celestials belly.

The phone vibrating with a text once again, surprised Y/N continued to hold to him, puzzling over why he was holding to her so tightly.

“I gotta go baby,” Y/N cooed to the god that continued to hold tight squeezing plump midriff before letting her go, looking over curvaceous body when she stepped back, nothing the ripped skinny jeans & long sleeve shirt to blend in with the weather though she didn’t need it, emerald eyes raking over the boots to realize he was showing just how much he enjoyed the view.

“I’ll take of that tonight,” Y/N smiled as she took a step forward to place a kiss on his lips but stepping back quickly before he could catch her.

“Love you,” she shouted as she hurried out of the house, keys jingling as she grabbed them from the table at the door & hurried out to her Jeep.

It still didn’t sit right, Loki standing to clothe himself with a thought, standing at the door to the house the two shared away from the city to note Y/N was already talking to someone via hands free dawning on the god she had taken up with Thor over the last few months & recalling it was known the older brother was dating Stark’s daughter Morgan, HIS Y/N’ best friend or trying to at least. The idea of Y/N deceiving him sent dull splinters under his skin, making him itch with jealousy as he decided today he would be making an appearance at the compound unannounced.

The god could cloak himself, shadow Y/N, but she would know immediately. The young goddess, a celestial, the daughter of the oldest creature of the universe, born with seidr more powerful than his own, Y/N having barely touched it's potential as well as gave her a cold body temperature perhaps colder than his own. He would have to do it the old way, deciding if it was true he would make sure Morgan knew & make the two pay.

“No Thor look you’re wording it wrong & that last address you gave me, I don’t think it will work,” Y/N began plopping next to the burly god in the common room leaning hard into his scorching side so Sam or the others wouldn’t over hear the surprise they planned for Morgan.

It was brainchild of Thor to take her on a quiet vacation in the Montana wilderness, the daughter of Stark, tech savvy but all too happy to take a quiet vacation to a cabin to get away & especially with Thor the two having dated for a little over two years. The god feeling, he could only trust Y/N with the advice he craved, especially since the two had been raised together when the young Stark’s grandparents adopted Y/N as well as Morgan. The goddess as everyone took to calling her since true parentage was unknown the only one that was willing to help pulling up a cabin she had found.

“I hope Loki doesn’t find your damn lover letters that you want me to go over,” Y/N commented handing the phone over for Thor to look over the cabin.

The god looking at the simple engagement ring Loki had given Y/N, the winding silver band shining as if new though it was centuries old, the goddess refusing to take it off for any mission since his brother had put it on, the emerald the size of a pencil eraser, sparkling as if alive & knowing Loki it probably was.

“I don’t think he would think you would cheat on him or leave him Y/N. This cabin is nice, can you arrange it for me,” Thor asked handing the phone back to watch Y/N clicking to reserve it.

“What name,” she asked the god getting ready to type in the information.

“Oh, Drake,” he smiled at Y/N throwing an arm over the back of the couch to watch her intently swearing she was the little sister he never had, “thank you again.”

“It’s no problem. You manage to find the reservations for the restaurant I sent over? She really likes to eat there,” Y/N began, phone buzzing with a text from Morgan herself asking about dinner reservations for the 4 of them for a small Christmas dinner & Y/N telling her it was a go.

“You owe me by the way. So, lunch,” Y/N smiled at the god that chuckled at the brave warrior that got to her feet waiting on Thor to join her.

“Sure, sister in law,” Thor laughed holding out his arm so he could escort the goddess down to the parking garage, the woman smirking at his use of Midgardian slang.

It wasn’t out of place for Loki to walk the compound looking for Y/N, mostly everyone stayed out of his way or did speak with him, but today he had his mind clouded with thoughts of Y/N, his Y/N speaking with Thor & the text he read. Not to mention having found several other things by looking over her laptop out of paranoia, finding the bank account Stark sat up for Y/N & noted money transfers from Thor the money going to a hotel or rental company.

He had hoped she wasn’t that stupid to leave it all out, well actually not in the open because he never messed with any of her things & gave her privacy, but the text ignited something in the god that made him scowl instantly as he looked up to see Y/N hanging on Thor’s arm laughing at the oaf. Quickly Loki took a quick turn to step down a side corridor to allow them to pass.

How could she do this so openly & he never noticed? A pling from his pocket alerting him to a withdrawal from the account & a deposit as well to a cabin rental in Montana.

That was it, the god lost his reasoning, a quick press of the screen had the deposit & transfer denied as he stalked off down the hall way with one thought in his mind.

“Good evening Morgan,” came a smooth voice as the god of mischief stepped into the tech room of the compound.

“Hey Loki! Where is Y/N? She said you two had plans to go have a day to yourselves,” the dark headed woman began the fire in Loki growing almost out of control, pushing it down, once a well thought out plan turning to one of instant gratification.

“I believe they changed. Have you seen my brother,” Loki began almost cold making the woman look away from the tablet she was working on.

“Umm… he said he had to prepare for a mission. What’s wrong,” Morgan finally picked up on Loki’s attitude, he had to hand it to her, the mortal was very perceptive but wondered how both could be so blind to the fact they were being treated like shit by their betrothed's, knowing Thor had been planning on asking Morgan to marry him.

“I believe we are both being betrayed by those we love as we speak,” Loki spoke hotly stepping forward to take a seat to explain it all.

Thor looked over at Y/N who was furrowing her brow at her phone, witnessing the frustration brewing behind Y/E/C eyes as she looked up at the god & back to the phone.

“What’s wrong,” the god asked as the waitress sat their drinks in front of them.

“The cabin rental was denied because payment was stopped & now it is telling me it went to the next in line. I can’t access my bank account,” Y/N spoke worriedly looking up at Thor who was upset himself.

“Well, we can figure something else out. I’m sure there are others… but why is your account froze,” he questioned, feeling it get cooler in the room, knowing it was Y/N’ frustration manifesting.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had that happen. F.R.I.D.A.Y can tell me, I will send a text to see what she can find,” Y/N commented trying to keep nerves calm, looking at Thor just as his phone buzzed, the god frowning himself to show the goddess it was the jewelry store where they were to go next.

“They said a man came & picked up mother’s ring,” Thor worried as he was growing frustrated himself.

“Loki? He would be the only other right,” Y/N began, the younger god was the only one who knew about the ring being sized, a gold ruby ring belonging to their mother just like the emerald one she wore, both had been in a soft animal skin pouch that Loki had taken & stashed when they had to allow Surtur to destroy Asgard.

“They didn’t say. Why would he…,” Thor began Y/N’ phone buzzing signaling F.R.I.D.A.Y had gotten back to her.

F.R.I.D.A.Y: The bank claims it was frozen by your husband. I removed the hold but if you make a purchase again he has the ability to freeze it once more.

Y/N took a deep breath, what the hell had just gotten into the god?

“Y/N,” Thor asked gently knowing it took a lot to get the goddess upset Y/E/C orbs looking up at him rimmed with tears.

“Can you pay? Um… we need to go. Loki has put a tracker on the account & I ... I can’t ..,” Y/N spoke quietly anger rising in her chest that Loki was all of the sudden showing this side of him, swallowing the lump, preparing to completely lose her composure whole Thor looked her over worriedly as the temperature around them drop more, a blue shimmer to her eyes.

“I’ve got it. Calm down Y/N,” Thor spoke quietly pulling out his wallet to place more than enough cash to pay, getting up to walk out with Y/N, the goddess handing him the keys stating she couldn’t focus enough at the moment.

“He knows correct? I told him that you are helping me with Morgan as did you,” Thor began as they headed back to the compound.

“He does. I swear he does. I made a point to explain what I was doing by helping you surprise Morgan with the ring & ... you honestly think he would believe...,” Y/N’ voice cracked not looking away from the road the god maneuvered the vehicle down, knowing if she looked at him the dam would break because the engagement was ruined due to Loki.

He did, Loki thought the worst & played the nastiest out of the bunch. Morgan was fit to be tied pulling surveillance & the like of the two supposedly cheating when in fact they were planning the perfect time for Thor to ask Morgan to marry him ,unlike Y/N & Loki in the middle of a battlefield. The two-sitting foot into the silent compound making their way to the Avengers floor & into Thor’s room Y/N fuming until the lights clicked on to reveal Loki & Morgan.

“Well nice of you two cheats to join us,” Loki spoke eerily calm watching anger & seidr flash in Y/N eyes.

“Loki... I need a private word with you, this isn’t what you two believe,” Y/N began calmly trying to salvage the situation.

“Oh, I believe it has been kept private long enough pet. Or should I call you dove,” Loki snipped looking at Thor who was losing his own calm.

“Morgan,” Thor began but the woman would have nothing of it shoving past Thor in an attempt to leave the three but Y/N quick to go after Morgan using seidr to hold the door& lock them in.

“LOKI! WORD! NOW,” Y/N snarled blue mist wrapping the god to bring him to her & wrap them in a battle of silence only they could hear.

“I never took you for a whore Y/N,” was the first words to be spat out of Loki’ mouth as he stepped so he towered over her, knowing how much she loathed for anyone to try to dominate her.

“Whore? What the fuck Loki! I was helping Thor to surprise…,” she attempted to finish explaining the engagement, but Loki was in very rare form as he seethed with green seidr.

“Oh, I bet you where! I thought I could trust you,” he snarled, making Y/N try to take a step away but he barred down on the goddess more as if trying to provoke her.

“You can,” the goddess shouted back hatefully the air around them becoming colder.

“No, it’s obvious I can’t the way you fawn over him! I should have known you wouldn’t have stayed satisfied with me for too long,” he growled out at her, his hands reaching out as if to grab her to hold her close but stopping.

“Loki I love...”

“No, you don’t. If you did...,” he spat with venom making Y/N heart drop to her feet, a tear falling from her eye as fury seized her.

“LOKI SHUT UP & LET ME FUCKING EXPLAIN,” Y/N lashed out temper getting to the young goddess for cold blue strings to sow the gods lips closed.

“I was helping Thor surprise Morgan with a trip out to Montana. I was helping him with the arrangements, I volunteered to pay out of our account since it never went noticed how much we spend on certain activities & Thor was writing it off as business thanks to some clever work from F.R.I.D.A.Y! He was planning on taking her to Montana on a quiet getaway to propose instead of on a dank battlefield like you! I told you what I was doing Loki! You told me you trusted me! And you know I share no interest in Thor & would never hurt Morgan because she is like a sister to me! You should have just come to me & asked instead of this,” Y/N spouted, rage finally ebbing to call it back stepping up to Loki with her hand out & his lips free to speak.

“Where is the ring,” the goddess sighed, knowing Thor was going to have to salvage this somehow, the god pulling the box from his pocket to place in Y/N trembling hand as she took it straight to Thor & looked at Morgan.

“We were planning a surprise for you,” the blonde began as he turned with ring in hand, “I wanted to take you to a cabin in Montana & ask you to marry me.”

“Y/N... I’m sorry…,” Morgan began, tears beginning to flow from the young Stark’ chocolate brown eyes, taking a step towards her best fried who waved her off & masked her own tears with seidr.

“It’s OK,” Y/N smiled at the brunet, picking at her own hands, turning the silver band to delicately pull it free to rest in the palm of shaking hand before handing it to Thor.

“Make sure Loki gets that. I don’t want him to be obligated to marry someone that he fills he shouldn’t trust,” Y/N croaked quietly taking strides to step out of the room & down the corridor.

“Y/N,” Loki began starting after her, his brothers heavy hand falling on his shoulder to stop him.

“Give her a few minutes to calm Loki,” Thor warned, Loki taking the ring hatefully out of his brother’s hand to go after the goddess.

“No. I need to speak with her,” the god began rushing after her with Thor on his heels.

Loki didn’t think twice as he ran up behind Y/N grabbing strong biceps to pull her back flush to his front making her body go ridged against him.

“I can fix this love,” he began nuzzling at soft lose locks as he released one arm to place his hand palm up in front of her to present the ring back to her.

“I am your god still Y/N,” Loki murmured into her ear the goddess looking straight ahead, ignoring the asshole behind her.

“Thor,” Y/N began getting the older brothers attention who stepped in her peripheral.

“Do you hear something,” the celestial spoke calmly knowing Loki felt her growing colder.

“It sounds like an asshole trying to apologize for jumping to conclusions,” the blond spoke up smirking at Loki who scowled at him but stayed focused on Y/N.

“Thought so. Morgan OK,” Y/N spoke ignoring the god that was trying to keep his own cool so to say.

“She is waiting to speak with me, but she understands,” Thor reassured the goddess who nodded in understanding.

“Good. Tell her I’m sorry for all the panic. I think I’m going to take the rest of the day off,” she spoke quietly.

Steady hand pushing Loki’ hand out of the way, leaving the two gods in the hall & stepping on the elevator to the parking garage. Yeah she could technically think about being home & would be there in an instant, but she needed time to think. The drive home would do that & give her time to make a decision that was making heart thud & hard to breath.

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Aeon

Aeon: Prime

Part I: Phoenix

QUIN'S NOTES

[Asian] Jin has the power to manipulate metal. (Ivory)

[Black] Thomas psychically controls water. (Emerald)

[White] Sarah can generate copies of herself, as well as summon lethal light energy. (Silver)

{Alien: brown skin} Cassidy generates devastating blue-malleable mist. (Sapphire)

[Inuit] Joseph can bend fire at will. (Scarlet)

These five are known throughout the galaxies as The Protectors; after synchronizing with the mystic force that granted them their superpowers, diamond-shaped, different-colored gemstones manifested on each of their foreheads. The heroes teamed up with the Tenth Division of Earth, which is a private military, aimed to bring peace to all worlds.

The Protectors' mysterious abilities allow them to morph into white light in order to merge into a doppelganger of the source of all magic; in this form, they appear as a giant swordsman, which contains all of their powers.

Chapter 1: The Protectors

Year: 2988

The Protectors, in the form of a titanic warrior, are currently levitating hundreds of feet above the brown sand; in this conjoined mode, their skin is pale and incandescent, their eyes radiate gold, its head is bald, and the figure's clothed in a black kimono and sandals. In their hands are two steel swords, covered in fire. The sandstorm below is blinding the four different, titanically-built opponents, who're dripping with dark slime that oozes from their mouths and eyes. One of them is a gorilla with the tail of a scorpion; it has four arms, massive and extremely sharp teeth, and sable fur.

Another is a two-headed rhino with an incredible amount of strength and speed; its horns are sharp, and it's standing on two robust legs. It also has exceptionally-strong anthropoid arms, and proportional-human hands. The last two are both lion hybrids, that have the arms and legs of a man, and ferocious paws. One is covered in ebony hair, and the other, in white. The maned beasts are capable of flying with the use of their feathered wings, and have exceedingly sharp claws, as well as dragon-like-spiked tails.

Suddenly, the lions break out of the storm, and pursue The Protectors. The colossus turns to face its opponents.

Simultaneously as the heroes focus an energy blast (which expels out of their fanged-filled mouth) at the ivory one, who attempts to block the attack with its crossed forearms, they fire frost from their flaring eyes, at the other. This beam of ice freezes its target, and after falling to the ground, it shatters into thousands of shards. The lion's guard fails. Once the laser catches his face, its lifeless body is flung onto the sand. The intense weather begins to dissipate.

Right before the remaining ogres, who're nervously scanning their whereabouts, are able to spot them, the mountainous blade wielder breaks apart into the individual team members (they're wearing matching-black compression suits; excluding Joseph, whose lower half is covered with metallic armor, on their feet, are dark, futuristic, jika-tabi boots); they roll upon touching down behind their enemies. Jin creates two-ginormous swords that levitate over each of his shoulders, and Joe aims his gun-blast technique at the gorilla. In sync, they propel their projectiles into the same foe; Jin's blades penetrate into the back of its head, while Joe's beam connects with its upper back, instantly causing it to fall over onto its face.

His body hitting the sand generates a brief quake. To defeat the last enemy, Cassidy summons six-prodigious-open hands, and sends them at the monstrosity; they grab onto each of the mutant rhino's arms and legs, as well as its two horns, and apply pressure, which effectively slows down the hulk, who's charging at the team. While this occurs, Sarah creates ten of her copies, and bolts up to its position. She and her clones expel bursts of silver energy into its face, through their eyes; this completely obliterates one of the heads, causing its red blood to squirt out, and cover the surrounding area. Thomas finally ends this fight by landing on the beast's constrained head, and thrusting two spears into its remaining eyes.

"No!" screams a strange, distant, voice.

The heroes form into the flying swordsman, and advance in the voice's direction. It's Mr. Ladva, a mad scientist who specializes in turning regular animals, into ghouls and freaks. He's wearing a special helmet, that allows him to control the mind of his creations. He lowers his binoculars, and hops atop his steed's neck. He hugs on tight, as the enormous crow lifts off with great haste. After a brief chase, they move away from the desert, and are now flying over tree-filled forests. The glimmering-red ray from their mouth-cannon connects with the bird, causing it to crash land into the plant life, below. The Protectors dive to the impact zone, and split apart. They instantly spot both the mutant animal, who's disintegrating into inky ooze, and Ladva, whose body lies still in the dirt.

"That's ten million more, in the bank," says Jin. Cassidy retrieves Ladva's body, and places him over her right shoulder.

TWO WEEKS LATER:

Sebastien, the male Tenth Division member, who's wearing his military attire, is sitting at his desk. His communicator is attached to his ear, and by holding its center button down, he continues the conversation with the client. "I hear you, Mr. Quin, I understand why you're so up in arms, but the guys are on vacation right now. The best I can offer you with what you're bargaining with, is Squad 11. Now if you don't like that option, then you're going to have to find somebody else."

Tom, who's now sporting a blue flannel, a gray tank top, and advanced compression pants, along with Joe, who's clothed in a (flame-resilient) black-Adidas tracksuit, make their way into the small office. The officer's attention is captured by the men.

"One moment please, sir-" the receptionist says. He releases his finger from the device on his ear, and acknowledges them. "What's up, guys?"

Tom asks, "Who are you on the phone with?"

"Someone that's offering ten mill for a job that involves undead parasites, and a desolate moon within the Garbu Galaxy."

"Sounds like fun, to me," responds Joseph.

"I told him you're on vacation."

Thomas approaches his desk, and says, "Let me talk to him." Sebastien removes the communicator, and hands it to him. He equips it. "Hello sir, this is Thomas. I'm one of the members of The Protectors; you mind explaining to me the details of this operation?"

Many hours have passed, and The Protectors are positioned near the railing that borders the ocean; Jin is wearing a white tank top, and dark compression shorts. Sarah is dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, and Cassidy is fitted in her Tenth Division uniform. They're standing beside each other, and are facing the sea and sunset, ahead. "So, you're sure about going through with this?" asks Jin.

"Yeah. In fact, this job came at the perfect time," answers Thomas.

"Why's that?" Sarah asks.

"Well, the same date that my wife passed away, is in just two weeks. I wanted to head out to Earth and visit her grave, as well as take the opportunity while I'm there, to contribute some money to the charity where I'm from. There was a bad storm that hit recently, and things aren't looking good. I think with this check, I can do a lot for them. I got my man Joe backing me up on the mission, too, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah there is, we've never dealt with this type of opposition before; plus you said they're parasites? What if they get in your brain, and make you go crazy. Before you know it we'll have to come and-"

"Jin, shut up. Nothing like that is going to happen. This will be a walk in the park," states Joe.

"All right, fine. By the way, if anything seems sketchy, don't hesitate to call."

"Jin, we won't be needing your help," interjects Tom.

Chapter 2: Quin's Map

Quin, now suited in a highly-advanced spacesuit with a see-through helmet, is piloting his all-black gunship; The Protectors accompany him within the cockpit. The heroes' outfits haven't changed. A screen that's crafted into the wall on the right, is displaying a commercial. Jin is the narrator. While Jin's words are spoken, an image of him appears; his skin is covered within a metal shell. He's standing fifteen feet away from the camera. "My name is Jin, and my team has been honored to combine our forces with the Tenth Division of this galaxy. Together, we have set out to eliminate anything that threatens the peace and longevity of the universe."

The image then switches to a recording of Sarah, who, along with the rest of The Protectors, are standing the same distance away from the recorder. She, now in a compression suit, engages her power form (this mode makes her appear shrouded in white energy). She hovers in space, and releases an incredible ray of light from her eyes, which she aims, upward. Jin, while still off camera, states, "We are the greatest warriors of this realm, and have vowed to never use our powers to harm anyone other than the enemies of the innocent." After Sarah, it's Joe's turn to advertise. Joe, now completely covered in fire, points his index finger at the device, and releases a shot into the lens, blowing it up, instantly. A new camera then cuts to Cassidy, who's hovering with the use of her blue wings; the energy that she both manipulates, and is covered in, morphs into ten rapidly spinning swords that revolve around her body. "Our services are not free, however, I assure you that we're worth every penny."

Thomas appears last. To demonstrate, he first changes his hands, into blades, then into axes. He then kneels to touch the ground with both of his palms. He first creates an ice replica of himself that stands five feet ahead of him, and then conjures a pillar, that in three seconds, extends him fifty feet into the air. From the top, he launches a Fuuma shuriken at his statue, smashing it to bits. The commercial cuts to a recording of the team standing together, and facing the camera. Cassidy is standing first in line, to her right is Joseph, then there's Sarah, then Jin, and last in line, is Thomas. Jin says, "We live to serve, not to incite fear. Peace be with you all." The recording ends.

"That's my first time seeing that," says Tom.

"Me too," replies Joe. "I think that I looked like the weakest one."

"Yeah, I agree." They simultaneously chuckle.

"Shut up," he returns.

"We made it," states Quin. Quin's spaceship jumps out of hyperspace; the metal shield that's covering the exterior of the windshield, disengages and folds back. From beyond the window, the red surface of the tremendous moon, is revealed. The Protectors' attention turns to the spectacle.

"Wow, this place is huge," Joseph says.

"All right gentlemen, remember, you're looking for the hidden entrance to the underground laboratory; the watch I gave you will lead you to its location. Once inside, your job is to locate the black briefcase that's containing my map. You will see horrific life forms down there. Some may look human, but don't be fooled. Those who resemble us, are the result of the alien parasites having complete control over them. Now, they're nothing but brainless-monstrous beasts, and must be taken out of their misery. There's no cure, so don't think that bringing one back to base, is a good idea. They'll only succeed in turning everyone that's not like you, into one of them."

"If you don't mind me asking, where does this map lead to?" inquires Tom.

"It contains the coordinates to an abandoned planet, where many priceless items reside; I won't go into anymore details, however, I will tell you that I only wish to sell the treasure." They suspiciously look into Quin's eyes. "To customers with integrity, of course."

"You don't have any other option," says Joe.

"I see; well since you question me, can I ask you something?"

"Go for it," answers Thomas.

"Why don't you need a suit?"

"Our bodies have been merged with a power that allows us to function optimally under any condition within this universe."

"Fascinating."

Quin's ship halts one hundred feet above the surface of the moon. The two exit out of the cargo bay's doors; they jump, and land gracefully against the rocky surface. The heroes begin their trek; Quin ascends, and escapes into hyperspace.

"How far is this place again?" asks Joseph.

"It says an hour; but it's underground, so if we don't find the hidden entrance, it could take us a lot longer."

Joe suddenly sees a set of two different pair of tracks. "Hey, over here." They make their way to the location of the prints.

"I think we should see where they lead to," says Tom. They follow the indentations.

"You know what I always wanted to know?" asks Joseph.

"What?"

"What was your most memorable mission as a Pegasus agent, like?"

"That one's a long story."

"Well, lucky for us, we have time to kill."

Chapter 3: Agent Glass

Almost Four Hundred Years Ago:

Thomas, now dressed in a brown-leather jacket, and jet slim-fitting jeans, approaches his motorcycle that's parked outside of an abandoned apartment building. A street light shines bright over his customized, futuristic matte-black bike. He mounts it, and puts the key in the ignition; the bright-red rims light up as it turns on. He disengages the lock that connects his wine-colored helmet to the seat of his bike, using his fingerprint, which he places on the lock's screen. He puts the helmet on his head, and in the corner of the visor, is a built-in screen that displays the map of the Neo Sector. He kicks up the kickstand, and accelerates down the lonely street.

As he drives, Thomas replays his mission briefing; he recorded it with the use of a feature on his special contact lenses, which allow him to project the recording across the visor. Paul Simmons, his boss, is sitting in the chair at the edge of the briefing table as he explains the objective to the Nimrod Task Force. This squad consists of Agent Thomas Glass, Agent Ariel Garcia, a young Hispanic woman, clothed in a brown dress, Agent Gabriel White, a dark-skinned man, wearing a sable suit, Agent Chad Smith, who appears to be of Asian descent, and is dressed in a gray ensemble, and Agent Bruce Jones, who's an older-white man, sporting a blue business outfit; all of them are sitting in their designated seats around the oval table. "Last night, I got word that Vincent Cecil has escaped from prison; he's also Incognito, which makes him our priority," Paul says.

Tom is now speeding through an encapsulated freeway, passing by and weaving through many cargo trucks and buses.

"He escaped, again?" asks White.

"I know. We're still unsure how he pulled it off. We tried hacking his Seeker chip to track him down, but Overwatch soon realized that his file has been completely erased from our A.I.'s system."

"Do we have any idea on who the surgeon could be?" asks Garcia.

"His chip wasn't removed surgically; Vincent hired a hacker for the job," replies the chief.

Thomas continues to skillfully maneuver through traffic as he speeds down the highway that's bordering ruined infrastructure and wasteland on each side.

Paul pulls up a projected image of Simon Ryder (who's Tom's old boss, and Pegasus' target) on his holographic projector that's resting on the table. He slowly skips through the five obscure close up images of the target. "This man's name is Simon Ryder. For the past ten years, he's been in charge of running a criminal hangout spot; we've been able to confirm that his base of operations is some sort of nightclub in the Zero Sector. Apparently, for some time now, he's found a way to get his hands on stolen Guardian gear, and has redesigned their flight devices, to fit onto people he calls The Bozos. He records these criminals, in a type of betting-game show, to see which one can capture the most amount of flags that he's got hidden. Little did we know, this event is a fan favorite amongst the Underworld."

"How do you know they're criminals?" asks Thomas. Paul presses a button on the projector. The display switches to the images of the racers. It automatically alternates, every five seconds.

"Agent Garcia has successfully infiltrated Simon's establishment. We've since discovered that they too, have somehow attained Incognito status; and, like Vincent, these other guys didn't use surgery to remove their chips. If Simon isn't responsible for this, then he knows who is," says Paul. Thomas' expression indicates how deep in thought he is as he gazes down at the table. "Garcia has also informed me that in three days, Simon plans to air the final event. Normally, there's nothing you can do to make Simon come out of hiding, however he promised his fans to make an appearance on the night of the finale." Paul looks over at Tom. "Something wrong, agent?"

"No sir," he says, as he readjusts his composure, and sits attentively.

"Then keep your head up, and listen to what I'm about to tell you; I want you and Garcia to make the arrest on Simon. He's the first step to putting Vincent and the others, behind bars."

The footage ends just as he arrives at Simon's nightclub; sand and ruins fill this abandoned area. Tom parks his bike on the street opposite of the building. He locks up his helmet, and approaches the wooden-front door. He knocks three times. Sam, the security guard, opens the speak-easy panel, and peers through. "Who are you?" he asks.

"It's Glass; James' replacement." Sam's eyes scan Tom's body up and down.

"You're late."

He slides the panel close, and proceeds to unlock and open the door. Tom enters, and is immediately bombarded with loud and aggressive techno music. Prostitutes and criminals fill this top secret place. Motorcyclists ride around in circles within the tall spherical cage at the center of the club. A voice is heard through the small-hidden radio inside of his right ear.

"I'm to your left," says Garcia.

He turns his attention to the bar, and spots Agent Garcia, who's now working undercover as a bartender, and wearing black lingerie. The coworker standing beside her, begins making an alcoholic beverage; Garcia grabs her jacket that's resting on the counter, and puts it on.

"Hey, can you take over for a few minutes? I have to make a quick call."

"Just don't leave me here for too long," she replies.

Garcia continues toward the hallway that leads to the exit. Tom follows her through the club; he passes by many drunk clubbers. The door that leads to the outside, slowly closes, as Tom enters the corridor; he catches it right before it's closed, and proceeds through. Garcia runs into Rich and the Camerabot, on her way; Richard is the host of the Bozo Games, and the Camerabot is a re-engineered Guardian, which they use as their cameraman. As she makes her way to the benches overlooking the packed parking lot, Rich grabs her by her arm, and says, "Whatever you're doing out here, make it quick; we're heading out in fifteen." He lets go, and continues toward the back entrance. The host notices Glass standing near the door. "You don't happen to be James' replacement, do you?"

"I am."

Annoyed, Richard asks, "Then why aren't you suited up, yet?"

"I was just going to-"

"I don't want to hear any excuses, just know, if you're not on the bus in time, I'm the one who'll get chewed out for it, so do me a favor, and get a move on."

"I will." Rich shakes his head in disappointment, and advances into the club. He proceeds to take a seat beside Garcia, who's now seated on the bench. "First off, Ariel, I want to thank you for meeting me like this."

"I hope you're not about to make me regret it."

"I'm going to need you to hold off on Simon's arrest." Garcia turns to him; her face indicates her confusion and astonishment.

"You must be out of your mind? Why are you sticking your neck so far out for this guy, anyway?"

"Because I owe it to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Both of my adopted parents passed when I was only fourteen. My real father died while my mom was pregnant, of a heart attack. My mother died almost right after I was born, due to complications during the delivery. My adopted father died of a heart attack as well, and my adopted mother was killed by a mugger three days later. Their names were Adam and Sandra, Saber. The day Sandra was murdered, was the same day I ran away from home; I knew that if I stayed, I'd be taken back to the orphanage where I grew up, and that wasn't an option for me. I was homeless for two years before Simon found me on the street, and took me in. I doubt I would be alive today if it wasn't for him."

"Have you told the chief about your relationship with the target?"

"No. If he found out that I kept all this a secret, he wouldn't hesitate to have me discharged."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go through with this, Glass. It's just too risky."

"What if I made you an offer?"

"Are you trying to bribe me?"

"I'll give you one hundred grand for your cooperation."

"Where are you getting one hundred grand from?"

"Tonight's prize money. If I lose, you can proceed with our orders, and take him in like we planned; but if I win, you'll take the money, and not report any of this to the chief." A pause occurs; he looks into her eyes and says, "I know about Crystal's condition."

"How dare you bring my daughter into this!" she quietly exclaims.

"You know just as well as I do that this money could mean life or death for her."

Garcia folds her arms, and looks down at the ground. "And what do you suppose we tell Paul about Simon?"

"We tell him that there was no race tonight; Simon never showed up, and this night never happened." Garcia's expression reveals her contemplation. "Don't worry, everything will be fine." He retrieves both a small business card, and a pen, from inside his jacket pocket. "Write your information on here. I'll be sending you the money directly into your account; and don't worry, it won't be traced."

He hands the card and pen to Garcia; she begins writing. "What makes you so sure that you're going to win?"

"Before I started working with Pegasus, I raced here for a living. Believe it or not, but I never lost."

"Impressive." She finishes jotting her personal bank details, and hands the card back to him, "You think you still got it?" He places it into his right pant pocket.

"I certainly hope so."

"I have to know, how does letting a target walk, work in our favor?"

"In exchange for my participation tonight, Simon's agreed to give me the location of Vincent's hideout."

"Are you serious? He knows where-"

Ariel's fellow bartender interjects, "Savannah!" she shouts; this name is Garcia's alias. She turns around to see her coworker standing in the doorway of the back exit. "Rich needs you inside!"

"I'll be right there!" Agent Garcia returns her attention to Thomas. "I have to go."

Legacy

I think it’s about time you guys actually met Gingie Joey, huh? He IS the Joey in my AU after all. Here’s a drabble about the father-son type relationship he and Henry have in my story. Oh by the way, the location here is a real one called Mackinaw Island, a wonderful vacation spot I’ve been blessed to have visited a few times.

(As a side note, I want to state that my Henry is Asian-American. These things don't really pop up opportunistically when I write, so might as well just let you guys know. even if it’s not super relevant here).

Henry could hardly see through the slits his eyelids made, fighting almost in vain to keep them open at all as wind and his bangs whipped about vigorously. His stomach ached as it rammed into the railing with the bouncing ferry. Whose idea was it to ride to the island on the upper deck of the ship? Joey, of course; Henry had planned on sitting in the peaceful inner chambers, sketching the waves as they lapped up towards the window. Henry supposed that was a good representative of the distinction between he and his business partner, the contentment of serenity as opposed to jumping in the eye of the storm.

Not that Henry wasn’t enjoying himself anyway, of course.

He let a smile creep his lips only to fall as he heard a shrill, familiar yelp. The young man turned his head to investigate. What is that over there, a large cloud-?

His eye was besieged once more by a flash of cream accompanied by a soft but firm blow. Fortunately, the rail of the upper deck prevented a flailing Henry from tumbling overboard, but he felt his raised hand graze against something. Instinctively, fingers clasped down and met a texture firm yet smooth like cloth. His poor, poor eyeballs eventually gathered the might to open once more and inform him it was exactly that- cloth.

A hat, to be precise, and its owner was standing in front of him, grin as wide as its brim.

“Joey, what made you think that wearing this on a boat would be a good idea?” Henry really meant the question, but it was one inevitably soaked with the care and amusement of the most substantial friendship he ever had. As such, Mr. Drew simply let out an enthusiastic chuckle, the wrinkles near his eyes more prominent as the corners of his mouth pushed upward. The marks of decades of laughter had imprinted themselves upon the cartoonist’s face, proof that some people only grow more beautiful with age.

“Good catch, my boy!” Joey’s voice rang, muted like bells clinking in a wind tunnel as it struggled to be heard. How utterly ridiculous the studio director was, Henry realized once again. Mr. Drew was an individual of short stature- even shorter than himself, and Henry wasn’t exactly what Americans considered to be tall. His usual “public” attire was replaced by what could only be considered its vacation counterpart, wrapping around his figure with the breeze. It was a light peachy-pink suit, brown and cream highlights in the tie and pocket handkerchief reminiscent of shells. But if it was a suit meant to match their nautical circumstances, it certainly wasn’t working. Definitely much more to fit whimsy than function.

A playful glint shone from Joey’s gaze as his hat returned to his head, informing Henry that this was exactly what he wanted.

“I knew what I was getting into, Henry! It’ll be worth it!”

Ah yes, Henry would have to continue to trust his friend till the end with this. He had been asking himself the whole time why he didn’t ask Joey more than a few questions about where he was taking them and why; it probably made sense to assume that- well- Joey would just say so. But Joey wasn’t like other people, was he? Henry’s almond eyes squinted just a bit more as he let out a soft exhalation of a laugh. He should have known. Just as Henry was a little too passive, Joey was a little too adventurous, but neither of them seemed to mind in the end.

And that’s why they were on a ferry this moment, an island in the distance beginning to sharpen in focus if one could see past the mist sprayed at the boat’s side. A grasp fell upon Henry’s shoulder as the old man approached, encouraging him to look back over the railing with him. Finally came the slightest of explanations:

“You’re going to love this, just you wait! I can’t wait to see how it’s changed over the years!”

Ah, so Joey had been here before after all.

They were the last to step off, shoes clicking onto the wooden dock as luggage came in hand. Speaking of luggage, all Henry had known up till this point was that he would need it- a weekend’s worth to be precise. Where were they going, anyway?

The gentle sigh of the lapping water below filled Henry’s ears, black hair tickling his forehead as it swayed to and fro. Henry closed his eyes for a second and let the lake air drift into his nose until he could taste it in the back of his throat. He was a city boy, born and raised, but not necessarily by choice; he was hardly an adult after all, and finally he was taking in the world as he always wanted. Never expected it to be so soon early in life, though.

The man it was all thanks to soon interrupted this peace, and Henry felt a hand at his back trying to push him forward.

“Come on, my boy, it’s just this way, just this way!”

Admittedly, Joey was eccentric, delighted, and most of all, excitable. But even so, this was unlike him. He was a man of aesthetics, someone who wasn’t afraid to stop in his steps as quick as a dime just to turn his chin up and appreciate where he stood. And they were truly in a place worthy of such admiration. As Joey grabbed his free hand and began to pull to the front of the dock, Henry did his best to take in the sights.

A cloudy sky, but not so cloudy that the bright blue didn’t shine into their eyes, running over colorful rooftops like a fairy tale. On the shore was a shop with rows upon rows of bikes, waiting on a long slab of cement a foot or two above the waves. He let himself look straight ahead past the obscuring view of his older friend’s top hat, but not much could be seen; once they finally moved through the last gateway, an arch overhead was weighed so heavily with shadow that the light at the end was blinding all in front of them.

What came to be was truly a fairy tale after all.

Flowers, flowers everywhere, their fragrance surrounding them the moment they entered a realm backwards in time. They were in the trees, in the railings, in the windows of every home. He had never heard the clip clop of horseshoes hitting pavement before, at least not so close. The carriages they pulled were striped like circus tents, touting the names of inns and restaurants, assumed to be the short buildings that lined the street with pastel signs and windows full of-

No way.

His head turned and turned and turned. This was impossible. He counted.

One. Two. Three.

…Six?!

His feet took a mind of his own. Eyes wide and emptied of all but disbelief, Henry began to walk down the street, shoulders brushing past those of other tourists. He looked and kept a tally, triple checking he wasn’t repeating any one.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

And another and another and another.

Finally, he reached a point where the shops ended. He stood at the last one, a light pink and brown shack somehow both untidy and obviously cared for. It was much more evident now that the perfume of petunias was tinged with something else. A different sort of sweetness. Its source sat right on display through the glass of the shop, just like all the others he counted.

“Seventeen fudge shops!”

One of the ginger man’s arms wrapped round Henry’s side while the other was thrown up into air, thinking nothing of dropping his luggage to do so. His youthful companion blinked, finally able to tear his eyes away from literally piles of candy. An isle of fudge shops?!

“…And you found the right one,” Joey answered more quietly. Henry knew this gentleness. It was familiar. It was the one that always came alongside a smile as warm as the sun, its light matched in the glint of half-closed eyes.

And certainly, there they were to look back at the boy now.

“…The right one?” Henry replied in a tone matched in all but Joey’s confidence. The cartoonist nodded in reply, dimples deepening even more.

“This is the place.” And before Henry could even ask, Joey once again read his mind. “This is the place it all started.”

The bells of the shop door tingled in song, a small but chirpy “hello!” ringing from the counter. A teenaged girl stood there with a tired, wary gaze. Her dark eyes widened just a touch at the sight of these two men- or surely just the one that looked like the cartoons he made.

“Hello!” Mr. Drew answered for the both of them, “I’ll be sure to buy something in just a moment but give me a second!” With the last word, he rose and fell from the tips of his toes and a point of the finger to the sky; the point soon fell in front of his nose, however, as his sight squinted, making a panorama from corner to corner.

“Joey-”

The point rose once again, accompanied with nothing but the silence he demanded. Henry rolled his eyes until they fell on the worker, a shrug from his shoulders and a grin that screamed “whaddaya gonna do, huh? That’s just Joey Drew for ya.” She kept her unattached demeanor, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. These guys were certainly different; that much was something to appreciate.

Especially when one of ‘em looked like he lived in this shop in the first place.

“Oh, of course!” And suddenly they were dashing to the front counter, a glass display at the girl’s left side. His fingertip finally found its destination, touching just above-

“The Mama Melt Forever Chocolate Center Cookie!” he yelped like finding buried treasure, “Exactly how mama used to make it!”

A half scoff, half laugh came from the corner.

“You mean like how mama used to make it,” the girl quipped, “That there is a secret recipe.”

“I know,” Joey returned with just as snarky a tone, “My mother made it.”

And she was either too flabbergasted to reply or felt too sorry for a crazy old man to argue, simply letting a “pfff” buzz through her lips as the redhead asked for two.

Soon they were outside once more, one hand for a bag of clothes and one hand for a cookie each. The clouds had grown heavier and just as they stepped underneath them, a drip fell on Henry’s nose.

Joey commented how the island was crying because it missed him so much.

“Come on!” the gentleman said with an encouraging wave five times younger than he, “It’s time to go home!”

“Home?” Henry blinked once more. “You mean the uh- the hotel, right?”

Joey’s shoulders drooped in playful exasperation and his honey irises met eyelids as he looked up at comrade. “Hotel- home- same thing! Same thing when you’re on vacation! Get into the spirit, my boy!”

And so at his best friend’s heed, Henry allowed an eyebrow to raise and his own smirk curl. “Fine, Joey. Tell me where home is.”

He couldn’t believe it.

He still couldn’t believe it.

The Grand Hotel. Literally so grand that it was the! Grand Hotel.

And they were not only inside it. Not only staying there.

The sun was setting and the rain had left them, and Henry’s suitcase fell along with it to the porch floor, radiance kissing his dark locks and pale skin till it was lined with fire. The highest room in the best hotel on all this magical island, the summertime equivalent of a penthouse apartment. His back was turned to the inside of the room- twisting, golden architecture fit for royalty. That alone was enough, but this…-

Henry twitched his head a little to see if it was a dream, but the sunset over an endless lake remained, an ocean of candlelight underneath a sky shifting from orange to indigo. Geraniums teased the bottom corners of this sight, planted at the balcony where Henry stood.

Where they stood.

“Isn’t it something?” came a sigh. It was steeped in…hm. Joy? Whimsy? Memory. “We made it,” Joey continued in quiet victory. He looked to his partner. “And we made it again.”

Henry’s brow furrowed, and he studied the man with hair that matched the sky. No, he’d need help to solve this riddle.

“Joey, this is all spectacular but- but-…” He shrugged once more in defeat. “You gotta tell me what’s going on!”

Something in his peripheral. Henry looked down and saw a rosy hand, a circular thing slipped in thin paper between its fingers. Ah, he’d forgotten about the cookie.

“Good?”

Henry had hardly taken a bite when his shoulders pulled up like a marionette. “Amazing!” he gasped in a rare moment of verbal excitement, “It’s still gooey in the middle but- but it’s been hours. How- How did they-?”

Joey’s own brow flicked up and down in a split second of humor. “It’s hers.” He somehow grew…gentler. “It was Mother’s.”

And soon the old man’s elbows were leaned over the railing, his gaze leaving Henry to look not at the tide ahead but simply towards it, as if the quickly darkening sky above now projected his reminiscences.

And with the way Joey talked, Henry could almost see it, too.

“She invented it. The cookie with a chocolate center that never ever got hard. Always fresh. Always melted.” One of his hands absentmindedly curled his thumb and index finger together in a point, as if explaining to someone ahead that wasn’t there. “That was her creation.” His shoulders lifted in a silent sigh. He missed her. He may have been a middle-aged man, but that could never stop a boy from loving the woman who raised him. Eventually, strength returned to him, and eyes sparkling with fairy dust and passion fell back upon Henry. “We have our creation, too.”

Henry’s blue-grey collar skimmed against his neck in a tickle, wind suddenly but tenderly rustling again as if that word was a summoning. He didn’t have anything to say though; not yet. He knew there was more that’d come from Joey.

And he was right.

“She-” Joey coughed just a little, almost bashful at this next statement, “she made a lot of money selling the recipe, you know. And this was the first place they took it to. Test run, you see. And we followed right along with it to celebrate. Wouldn’t have had the money otherwise, of course.”

Ah, so that’s how he knew this place. He had an awareness that Joey came from a poor family, so Henry had always wondered how he came to start the studio in the first place. Who’d guess it’d be such a story to tell?

“…Henry.”

The man whose name was called was taken aback. This tone was different. Mr. Drew was a genuine man, certainly.

But vulnerability was a beautiful thing indeed.

Stars started to twinkle in the sky behind Joey, like sprites playing tag as the breeze toyed with his hair, and his round glasses were slicked in growing moonlight. The man himself was certainly enveloped in an aura, Henry surmised. The young artist wasn’t a religious or spiritual sort, per say, but Mr. Drew? Mr. Drew made it seem like anything you believe can be seen.

And that was how he felt this very moment, only the slightest of smiles laid across his face.

“She gave me her legacy, Henry. When she died she- she gave it all to me. ‘Be magical,’ she said,” And there was a flash of something deeper on Joey’s expression, something words couldn’t describe. “’Be magical, my dear, sweet boy. There’s enough inside you to fill the whole world.’”

His smile grew and suddenly his gaze was no longer mindless but truly directed at the boy in front of him.

“And I think you and I can do just that,” he confessed in the softest voice Henry had ever heard.

It was then Henry noticed that either Joey’s hand had never stopped reaching out to him or that he had put it back between them once more.

“If I have a legacy…I want it to be not mine but ours. Bendy is-…really something. Marvelous. Spectacular. He’s- oh, I can’t describe what you’ve made, son-!”

Both men blushed a bit as they realized one called the other his son.

…No.

No, that wasn’t a mistake, was it?

“H…Henry…”

For once the great spellcaster Joey Drew was at a loss for words. Good thing he didn’t need them.

Henry was the one to clasp hands this time, the one to assure, the one to be bold. Tension in Joey’s knuckles, and then release.

A handshake of partnership unfolded into a hold of commitment. It had been without description all this time, how they were two lost souls that never felt quite in place, never felt quite like someone understood till the other came along. They were polar in many ways, yes, but they both wanted the same thing:

“Let’s make the world a more magical place.”

And that was the day Henry began to feel like he was really his son, that he had a dad who loved him after all. And finally, finally Joey knew he wouldn’t be left alone anymore. They’d be separated over his dead body.

             ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 (41) – 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂.

“the sunlight was warm on his face and the heat of the quickly fading day perked up his hope that this summer would be different than all the others. so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in novels, there was that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the holiday.”

   The students of Hogwarts get a nine week summer holiday, before having to return for schooling. What they get up to during this time is anyone’s guess, aside from the small collection of summer assignments, but it’s safe to say that regardless of whatever year of schooling they’ve just finished, they’ve all got one thing on their mind: relaxation.

ITINERARY:  

Timeline: You can write threads from any point of the summer, whether it’s late June to late August. These weeks of writing the summer holiday are yours to do whatever you wish.

Muses: Whether you write a student muse, a professor or teaching assistant muse, or a muse who has absolutely nothing to do with Hogwarts at this point in their career doesn’t matter. Just to reiterate, you can literally write whatever you want in the realm of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Hell, write your muse getting chased by a skeleton in the catacombs of France, or some kind of other magical adventure. Or maybe they just want a vacation. You could also just be mean to them and have them work the whole time; ( unless they teach at Hogwarts, in which case, they’ll have to get another job for the summer if you want them to! ) whether they’re alumnus muse who can’t get any time off, or a student muse whose parent forced them to take up an internship or work study somewhere. Really. It’s up to you!

Travel: Your character can travel by broom, portkey, floo powder, or train. There is also apparition, comparable to the muggle theory of teleportation. No is wand needed and therefore it does not qualify as wandless magic ( though some wizards hold theirs to channel magic more easily. ) Your character can get their apparition license once they turn seventeen / have taken the course prior to their birthday. There is regular apparating, which is by yourself, and side-along apparition, which is when multiple people apparate together guided by one individual. Please keep in mind that while international apparating is possible, it can potentially dangerous and there is a higher risk of splinching, which is basically when you lose body parts. 

Starter Tagging: Due to the new starter tagging system, there will be no limit to where a student muse may post an open starter location wise in the #wizard:world tag. However, the main does ask that you refrain from using the #wizard:hogwarts tag during this time, in conjunction with the #wizard:open tag. They also ask that you don’t use it altogether unless it makes sense. For example, if you’re writing a throwback thread ( ie. you’re writing a 1x1 event that took place during a past school year that wasn’t this last one, ) a 1x1 thread relevant to a character transferring to Hogwarts, a self-para or 1x1 thread of a Professor who lives there year round, a muse applying for a position, etc. Otherwise, your threads should be focused on life outside of Hogwarts 99%. Again, you may NOT under any circumstance, post an open starter using #wizard:hogwarts. If you must post a starter at Hogwarts, it should be posted under #wizard:closed and thought out for a specific muse. Lastly, no student may stay at Hogwarts for the summer holiday, no exceptions.

Communication: It’s highly suggested that you participate in communication threads. This can involve sending letters by owl post, but do keep in mind it takes days to be delivered. It’s asked that you date the letters at the top if you’re writing a continuous thread, so that way ic it was spread over several days or weeks. Try not to date anything prior to June 20th, just to give an idea of where to start. There’s also two way mirrors. Characters with money would be likely to purchase these. They come in pairs, and it would be similar to facetiming. They would say the character name of the other who has the matching pair, and they would be alerted to being called. You can read more on two way mirrors here.

Underaged Magic: As far as underaged magic goes, there’s the law that states no one under the age of seventeen ( the legal adult age for wizards ) can perform it outside of school. Still, the trace doesn’t actually pin point who performed underaged magic, just that it was performed in the vicinity of an underaged individual. So unless your character is the only magical person around, they’re not going to get busted for it. As far as mixed canon between the movies and books go, while it was harped that it was of the utmost importance to not perform any magic outside of Hogwarts in the books, it didn’t stop the many occasions of it being used in the movies, sometimes in plain sight. ( ie. Hermione fixing Harry’s glasses in Diagon Alley, Hermione saying she’d already practiced spells before they’d even gotten to Hogwarts, Harry performing the lumos charm despite being the only wizard in the vicinity. ) Nothing bad happened, except for when extreme charms were used. ( ie. when Harry used accidental wandless magic and blew up Aunt Petunia like a balloon, and sent away the Dementors. ) So, with that being said, along with the fact the rule was primarily made to make sure muggles never see anything they’re not supposed to, the main chooses to go with that while the rule on underaged magic still stands, it’s only heavily enforced when it’s performed outside of Wizarding Communities, ( ie. Hermione would’ve gotten in huge trouble if she’d fixed Harry’s glasses in muggle London, verses Diagon Alley. ) and that’s only if 1) it was something other than a simple spell, 2) they catch wind of it at all / figure out it was an underaged individual performing magic due to the inconsistencies of the trace. You can read more on the “Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery” here, which essentially echoes all of the above. There’s also more on this on the kiosk page.

Student Positions: The main will be asking the roleplayers next in line, whom have been here the longest after those who have already written prefect characters, if they’d like their character/or to create a character to be a Head Girl or Boy. So, just to reiterate, those titles are not up for grabs. There will, however, be new spots opened up due to characters graduating or going up a school year ( leadership positions like captains, duelling club, quidditch positions, etc. ) and those will be first come first serve, although as far as captains and positions for the quidditch teams go, they won’t know they’re apart of the team until the ic written tryout period is over later on, though you will know ooc. The same goes for prefect positions, although fifth years do find out during the summer before school starts. Feel free to send ask requests once the main has made a post indicating everything has been updated. 

Old threads: You may continue threads from this last school year until completion, but if there was anything you missed writing that hasn’t been started, it’s preferred you write it with the other person on another website like Chatzy or Discord, then post it under read more with details such as summary, location, pupils involved, and a title above as well. Please also refer to the Starter Tagging section.

Plot Drops: Please have your character mention and, in some respects, have their summer holiday revolve around the recent plot drop series, Cauldron Heists. Click here for the update tag.

UPDATES NOTICE:

NEW ALUMNI CHARACTERS: Roleplayers with characters that have just finished their seventh year, will need to do the following. Submit the alumni application, which can be found here, so that way they can be transferred to the alumni character page. If you don’t know what career they will be pursuing, simply put unemployed in their application. It can be updated at any time. All careers in use will be added to this page ( there’s suggestions at the bottom of the page if you’re looking for ideas! ) Please submit the age they will be as of September 1st to avoid confusion and unnecessary updates. Everyone should be eighteen, nineteen at the oldest if they were born in September-December of the year before what the majority of students were born in. EXAMPLE: ___ was born in November of 1970. Due to having a late birthday, they started school later than everyone else born before September 1st. The majority of their classmates were born in 1971, from January to late August. They will be turning nineteen before everyone else because of this.

CURRENT ALUMNI CHARACTERS: Please submit the age they will be as of September 1st, so that the necessary updates can be made. If you’re confused, reference the before applying page’s help section for alumni.

STUDENT CHARACTERS: All student character information will be updated by the main. They will be upped a year, and if their age doesn’t fit the year according to the before applying page, it will be automatically updated for how old they should be come September 1st. This does not apply to any student character that’s joined after the IC summer has started.

OOC DETAILS:

This event will start on JULY 8TH AT 12 AM EST and will end sometime on the earlier side of AUGUST, unless the majority of the roleplay chooses to have it extended. Please put all posts (including any private thread starters, pictures, anything related at all) under the tag wizard:summerholiday89.

The START OF TERM will be SEPTEMBER 1ST ic. Please await more details.

This event is mandatory. Everyone, both student and alumni, is expected to participate and write their character’s summer in one way or another.

This is a semi-canon event.

Please like this post after reading it.

If you have any questions, please feel free to message the main!

While he doesn’t know it, Aspis does have a connection to the supernatural prior to becoming a hunter. His mother’s side of the family were are descendants of a once well-respected sage. This sage initially did travel to further their knowledge but was brought to the island that Kai lived on because of aura it held.

The island was a place rich with magical energy, which yielded such a rich land and could empower the magic-inclined. However, it also meant a weakness in veil between planes. Particularly between the ‘mortal’ plane and that belonging to infernals. The sage took to keeping watch over this side of the plane with an infernal taking up the opposite side. They kept others from wandering into the others’ plane and maintained a close friendship because of their common goal. 

Yet, the life of a human is transient to an infernal and another took their place. And it became like this, each relationship differing from the last and all eventually passing away. The infernal didn’t mind this dealing as it kept her position from becoming boring. 

What changed this was a descendant over two centuries since the sage’s beginning, who thought of instead of having a watchman over this doorway to simply close the door. At first he conferred with the infernal and she spoke of it being a taboo for her those on her plane to close any exit from their world and would/could not close it. 

Rather than accept this, the descendant pursued this path without her. While successful in making the portal inaccessible, it did not shut the portal and it harmed the infernal, whose life was tied to the portal. She spent years tearing at the seal made and during that time, the descendant taught of furthering the seals and began talking of the infernal as a monster and enemy.

This bad blood only continued hardly a few generations down when the seal threatened to break. For this, the family sought the help of the Bastion, who had only just established its prestige, to have exorcists close the portal. A small faction during this time came to consider alternatives. They still possessed the history and knowledge of the infernal that was considered their ally and heard of her cries when she came close to success. It led to debate and tension. It ended when the faction was later found to have committed suicide, supposedly unable to bear their actions. 

The permanent seal was put into place within a temple and it had gone silent. Slowly the location of the former portal was hidden. The practitioners of the magic their family possessed eventually either left or faded with the generations. By the time Kai’s grandfather was around, their family was mostly stories and much of magic gone, except in those believe to have good spiritual power. Kai’s great-great-grandmother and his grandfather were people of such power. Kai’s great-great-grandmother had studied with the Bastion but ultimately retired to her homeland and taught both her child and Kai’s grandfather. 

The seal was in place during this time but Kai’s grandfather claimed it was something ‘not right’ with it. It was something he had brought up with his wife, who while not of any magical/spiritual ability, knew of and talked with him about it. They had gone together to check on it and found that the area they looked after was only a ‘halfway point’ to the actual location of where the portal used to be. They found the portal to have been reopened but the construction of the temple kept it from fully opening. However it was open enough that aberration was able to slip through and kill her.

The incident caused Kai’s grandfather to contact the Bastion to resume visiting the island and a distrust of magic and the occult from Kai’s mother. Enough so that she made her father never speak of their history to her children, using her mother’s death as to why it was bad. 

So when Kai was naturally curious about those subjects, his mother worried of it but was talked down by her husband, claiming that ‘he’s just a boy’ and that he’ll grow out of it eventually. Kai’s grandfather was elated to Kai to have the interest but could only encourage his curiosity because of the promise to his daughter. Kai’s grandfather was certain that both Kai and Keahi held spiritual power but never an idea of how much.  

And with the whole portal thing...yes, the Bastion did come to investigate it. However, because of how it was built and wards in it, they didn’t believe that it was enough to warrant as much attention as Kai’s grandfather asked. The hunters that go here barely even know what they’re looking for or why they come to the island so it usually ends up being an assignment taken when hunters want, essentially, a paid vacation. 

And it was this sort of thought that led to the trouble that plagued the island. A pair of hunters were sent to the island and went to the temple. Kai, noticing newcomers out of place, followed them. These hunters found the lower halls (hunters have slowly explored the temples depths since coming) when the infernals that leaked out of the rift found them. Some could use magic so one of the hunters used a magic nullifier in this area. This also nullified the magic in the immediate area. The temple worked with various rooms acting as nodes with the room they were in being one that connected with a few others. With the unrenewed seal, this mistake taking down part of the wards, oh and infernals banging from the other side...the seal broke. And hell broke loose. 

So when Kai was wandering around further up, he did get surprised by infernals around. And these infernals were types that did not care how they got out of their plane but wanted to get out to fuck shit up because they could. So they attacked him. And out of desperation, Kai begged for help before he blacked out.

What he doesn’t remember is that something answered him. In the realm these infernals come from, there is an infernal that watches over every exit and usually that infernal presides over the infernals that come to the mortal plane from their portal. So the island, now overrun, is the domain of the infernal from centuries ago. Her patience long since run out and her ire towards those that dared to disgrace her only kindled with time.

Consider it a gift to her that the descendant of the blood that banished her and had been a friend came called for help. Her help. She is nothing if not fair and upholds a deal with the unwitting child. She’ll give him power but he has to uphold something to her. What it is, the infernal keeps close to her chest.

Portugal- Places to Visit While You Are There

KNOW MORE ABOUT LISBON, ALGARVE & LAGOS - PORTUGAL

In the northwestern tip of continental Europe, Portugal is an old college region. In the following informative article, we now take a look at Lisbon, Lagos, and the Algarve.

Lisbon

Lisbon may be the largest city in Portugal and is found on the Atlantic coast in the middle of the country. I have been around Lisbon for 3 days, but only for a day or two each moment. Every time that I come away with the impression of sophistication.

Inspired by train, your very first preference of Lisbon will be when you walk out of the rail channel right onto the shore of the harbor. Since you visit the ocean, the title"bay area" immediately springs to mind. Mountains rise up on both sides of the mouth area of the harbor and then there is the bridge. Running across the mouth of the bay can be a bridge that looks for all intensive functions including the Golden Gate Bridge at San Francisco. I've never really had a chance to research it, however, there has to be an associate.

As you head into Lisbon, what's clean and relaxed. You will find walking just roads with cafes and garden areas. Needing to mind San Francisco back, there are cable cars running through the guts of the town. I can not tell you, however, Lisbon can be just a rather low-stress town on both your head and your wallet. Yep, it is cheap and also a superior destination for funding travelers.

Algarve

The Algarve is your northwestern tip of Portugal and borders on either Atlantic and Mediterranean oceans. This is definitely an interpretation in my area because a few believe the region just addresses the beaches to the Mediterranean Ocean. Regardless, the Algarve is still an assortment of beach cities that remind me of Southern California from the 1940s. No, I'm not that outdated. I'm just counting on family members' tales and graphics. Jeez, give me some credit! One of the many highlights of the Algarve is Lagos.

Lagos

I grew up in North Park, California. It is really a remarkable place for always a young child and an adult. The single gripe I have is a lot of individuals appear to feel the same. The people have exploded beyond view, freeways are busy on weekends and housing prices moderate roughly $500,000 to get a deluxe cupboard without a push. It's nice, but I've started to think about shifting. Should I actually do, Lagos can be my vacation spot.

Lagos is just a tired beach group with only about what you could want in paradise. White shores, private beaches, grottos, wine climbing, a playful nightlife, contemporary comforts and just about the best people you have at any time met in life.

You can stay in a hotel while in Lagos, however, this is a mistake in my opinion. As an alternative, head towards the rail station and book a room with a family. Chemicals in towns all over the world achieve so, but Lagos is different. The family you stay with less or more adopts you personally as one of the own. They'll pull you over town, introduce you to other sailors and normally give you a genuine taste of Portugal. For veteran vacationers, almost nothing could possibly be even better.

Rating

For a total evaluation, I offer Portugal and Lagos that the maximum rating of"bar." I loved it much, I wanted to stay and almost bought a bar by blackmailing, bribing and begging that a buddy in California on the phone. Alas, his spouse did not think it had been such a superior idea.

Hey, What about you personally? We might probably still receive a good deal!

No, seriously.

MOST TOP EMERSION IN LISBON PORTUGAL

In the event you really go holiday and also do the standard tourism around the city, then you are going to see lots about Lisbon history, then listen to the interesting narrative of this earthquake at 1755 and start to see that the effects with the disastrous occasions much though lots of amazing and intriguing monuments still continue being. However, also for somebody that has achieved similar holiday with this town along with many others round it such as Porto, Fatima, Faro, and Albufeira, there's just another significant part Lisbon Portugal at which you might also know its own history, present, and past. Why don't we dip into the hot realm of wine along with its particular foundation?

Lisbon Portugal along with its particular wines

About the outskirts of all Lisbon, you can find just four grape developing places. On the west, only a tiny northwest of Estoril could be your place named Carcavelos. The wine, such as lots of different wines from Lisbon, gained its very good standing because of the alliance with the English. It's just a wine using a flavor that is striped using the following flavor of nuts, in fairly to semi-sweet. 

Colares, moving in direction of the northeast, which makes a few of their absolute most unusual perfumes round. The metropolis is situated involving your mountains of Sintra into the west and also west Atlantic shores to the west coast. The number of this grape utilized, a tiny dark blue, has increased from the plantations of the Atlantic Ocean. Since you are able to picture, the procedure is just a rather tough one as the origins need to have been implanted inside the Mesozoic coating of clay. As a result of the mild and thick kind of property, the grape-vines which can be used now endured the plague that struck Europe from 1870. Hence, the wines and plants are only since these were just 100 decades in the past. Notice just how many records you may find! All these perfumes are both half-bodied and then depart from orally with a flavor that is concentrated. 

For an even longer nicer and floral odor, a cleanser and dryer flavor even using a small marked acidity, then proceed to get a Bucelas wine. These wineries are approximately 25 km north of Lisbon, staying expanded over the clay Hill Side and at the earth nearby the shore of this River Trancao. Nearly all those wines have been young folks or spend time but are also remarkably popular along with other countries of their European neighborhood. Thus, it's all up into this traveler to come across that a goos obsolete Bucelas. The one that's spent a couple of a long time in freshwater pine barrels earlier it was brewed, rendering it even have a profitable and additional unique flavor. The elderly kinds are thought to be on the list of most effective white wines in Portugal.

Thanks to Oporto

The Hindu blossoms have been famous due to this oporto wine in Porto, their distinguished ambassador that has been made as 18 30 with all the cooperation of their British. Using a lengthy and intriguing heritage, the Oporto wine has gained its own place one of the other amazing sweet wines such as Sauternes, Tokai along Madeira. It's a fortified wine whose grapes are cultivated from the mountainous and rocky terrain of this substantial Duero. It might be white or red, even though it's the reddish wine that has been awarded celebrity. If a wine has been reportedly fortified, this usually means the pure ingestion of these sugars from the blossoms I have been ceased in a predetermined moment as soon as the accession of Portuguese strawberry liqueur was additional. This inclusion raises alcoholic attention between 1-5 and 24 percent, which makes it a lively and reasonably sweet wine.

Traveling out of Lisbon to Madeira

even when you aren't accustomed to ingesting lots of diverse wines, then you are unable to help but to really have found out of Madeira wine during buddies, in an assembly or over the tv screen. By the sixteenth century, the island of Madeira has been blindsided by sailors which makes their prolonged travels into the newest universe and utilized Madeira because of stopover, to unwind in its own paradisical setting and why not drink its own domestic item. You can find just four different types of wine: Sercial that's the driest, light in color with a mild human body and also drunk using the appetizer. Verdelho is really a moderate dry wine additionally employed for sandwiches or using soups. Malmsey wine would be your most loaded using its plump twang, candy and hence most useful using desserts. And it's Bual having a smokey savor, medium-bodied and marginally sweet therefore that it goes with sandwiches or desserts. Madeira wine is aged in barrels everywhere from a few to four 3 years, therefore, they are sometimes categorized to labels too antique. Antique blossoms are simply produced by the many select blossoms and thus the current weather also has a vital part in just about every many year's calibers.

And right after done your wine course, traveling down into the absolute most southern place into Faro or even Albufeira to absorb several beams putting to the terraces of the most useful hotels whilst the elements are normally quite agreeable a lot of months of this year. Or see the neighboring city of Tavira, certainly one among the earliest & most enchanting spots from the Algarve location, only a stone throw off from Lisbon, Portugal.

BEST BEACHES FO PORTUGAL

I acknowledge it I'm ashore enthusiast. I really like travel to shores all around the entire world due to the fact, if you ask me personally, every shore has a unique persona, nonetheless, have the exact identical caliber that I like -- that the capability to exude immediate serene. That is correct, although people rugged, rugged shores with all the waves that are hard on the stones could instill immediate tranquil.

Someone asked me another day when I needed to select only 1 shore to go to, that you is it? Even the Algarve in Portugal appeared in my mind. Ok, it truly is perhaps not a single shore, it truly is a location (the southern part of Portugal to be accurate ), however, the Algarve is therefore varied, but it offers whatever shore will match my disposition.

Very first, Tiny heaven. Going west, the western suggestion of this Algarve may be that the ending of continental Europe. The truth is that in early situations the location has been believed to become the advantage of earth. Thus, as soon as you are setting up sunlight in the shores of this Algarve, it truly is interesting to merely imagine your self in the border of earth.

You will find around 100 kilometers of beaches at the Algarve! Thus, whichever form of all beachgoing experience-you would like is certainly found. Starting about the west shore there really are the windward shores with big plantations. This equates to unbelievable browsing. In the event, you want cove-type shores which tend to be more scenic, try out the southern shore.

Among my own favorite beaches at The Algarve lies south of Lagos in the western shore - Dona Ana, and it really is a bunch of coves. Dona Ana is still only an ideal spot to receive lost from the great thing about the Algarve. I could only sit and await hrs. And, when I am throughout sitting down, it really is interesting to research the various caves and grottos which energies this location.

In case you are contemplating an excursion to unwind, then '' I recommend The Algarve, Portugal. Your spirit will undoubtedly be happy you made the excursion.

Home and Half Bios: Xerci

I got super carried away with Xerci’s bio since I was having so much fun. OTL

Because there’s not much to say about babies, a lot of Xerci’s bio focuses on his biological parents and what he’ll be like when he grows up.

Therefore, his bio is NOT spoiler-free!

Name: Xerci Kul Kogane

Age: 2.2 (Galra years)/20 months (Earth time)

Birthday: 40th of Catik, E11304 (Galra cal.)/October 13th (Earth cal.)

Height: Getting him to hold still long enough to measure is a difficult thing, but Xerci is about 24 inches tall (67 ri) currently. He will not stay this way for long.

Weight: 15.6 vit/75 lbs. A bit chubby. He won’t stay this way for long either.

Species: Half Galra, half Ixillis. Like the other two Galra children, Xerci undoubtedly has ancestors from other species across the universe, but his father, Myvon Vulis Khaez, was an unremarkable looking man who easily passed for a full-blooded Galra.

Family Story: Unlike Dulsara’s mother and Niresh’s parents, Myvon’s ancestral line was from the near south, on the temperate mountainous border between Daibazaal’s northern desert and the frigid southern shadow; therefore, like Kolivan and many others, although he was a furred Galra, his fur was very short, to the point that in many places it might simply be mistaken for purple skin. Possessed of a mild and unambitious temperament and from a low-to-midling family in the Galra social hierarchy, Myvon was a fairly low-ranking soldier with no real interest in being part of the military. He lacked any special loyalties to Zarkon, and took employment in the armed forces only because it seemed like the easiest career to pursue after having just graduated from school with nothing more than mediocre grades to show. This is not to say that Myvon was unintelligent or incompetent in any way; rather, he was a sensitive but pessimistic young person whose drive and motivation were deeply eroded by the terrible reality of life in the Galra Empire. Why bother trying for any other career when you’re liable to end up drafted anyway? Why bother studying hard when the military will take you even if you can barely read? Why bother putting in effort to rise through the ranks of soldiers, when low-ranking soldiers get assigned to peaceful, meaningless bases far, far from High Command, where nothing bothersome ever really happens?

Despite (or perhaps because of) his lack of dedication to the Galra Empire, good luck seemed to follow Myvon wherever he went: he was accepted to a non-combat routine maintenance position immediately after graduating, on one of the most desirable outposts in all the outer rim of the empire: Ixionide, home to the ethereally beautiful Ixillis, whom not even the empire wished to attack. Although he felt like his own looks and even personality were nothing to write home about, within mere months of service on the base, Myvon found himself in the clutches of Celandine, an Ixillis woman of unsurpassed beauty but a tragically fickle heart.

As a race, the faun-like Ixillis are best described as a perfect product of their planet’s environment: Ixionide would easily suit the human definition of paradise. Prior to the Galra occupation, the Ixillis were Ixionide’s only sentient race and the only large mammalian species on the entire planet. Gently rolling hills, lush forests, and crystal clear rivers coat the landscape, locked in a seemingly eternal spring, with no deep winter to wither the flowers or harsh summer heat to crack the soil. The planet is home to no native venomous animals or poisonous plants, no towering cliffs to fall from, no volcanoes to erupt... Essentially, before the Galra arrived, the Ixillis dwelt in an extremely safe realm in which there were no natural disasters, no natural predators, no endemic diseases, and a virtually never-ending supply of food and other resources, preventing any need for conflict.

This total lack of threats profoundly affected the evolution of the Ixillis species. They are a race entirely without fear—they simply cannot feel it—and thus they behave in ways that seem unspeakably reckless and even negligent to other races. They do not build permanent homes, trusting that there will never be weather poor enough to require a roof over their heads. They have no form of government, nor do they even have a concept of private property—they simply wander wherever and whenever they like, living in and off of the planet’s endless bountiful forests. They have no need to band together for safety or to consolidate resources, and therefore maintain relatively solitary lives, greeting other wandering Ixillis they encounter like happy accidents, well-met fellow travelers on the road of life. They adopted clothing only after the Galra arrived—not because they suddenly felt it necessary to cover up, but because they found the concept so hilariously novel. Ixillis have no need to work and therefore no form of currency. They do not barter or trade, but will happily accept gifts, up to and including the “gift” of a Galra base…

Unfortunately for Myvon, monogamous relationships are unheard of among the Ixillis. They fear no jealous lovers nor incurable diseases, feel no need to “make a home” anywhere, and do not worry about their offspring’s futures; therefore, they drift from lover to lover just as easily as they drift from meadow to meadow. The Hippies of the American 1960s wish they’d achieved love this free. The very idea of “settling down” is entirely laughable to the Ixillis—they genuinely do not understand how remaining with one person, in one place, for any extended period of time, could possibly have any meaningful benefits.

Ixillis children experience their parents’ carefree lifestyles from the moment they are born, and have also evolved to suit: it is extremely rare to find an infant Ixillis still in the care of its mother past one month old. At just two weeks, they can already crawl and eat solid foods, and because foraging is spectacularly easy on Ixionide, children as young as three weeks of age can typically find sufficient food on their own. Despite this prodigious ability to feed themselves, however, Ixillis children develop very slowly in all other regards. They do not need to master language, mathematical reasoning, or any higher brain functions for a long period of time—they don’t even need to learn how to run, because there’s nothing on Ixionide to chase them. Given that long lifespans are simply par for the course where Ixillis are involved, slow mental and physical development is of no concern. They all have time.

Naturally, none of this coincides very well with the regimented, traditional lifestyle of the Galra Empire. Myvon met Celandine when she simply wandered through the gates of the Galra base because she wondered what she’d find inside. He was immediately taken in by her otherworldly beauty (Ixillis have plenty of time to spend making themselves pretty, since there’s nothing much else to worry about!), but the most charming thing about her was her utterly dauntless curiosity, which no number of stern warnings could dissuade. No matter how many times Myvon tried to tell her she couldn’t stroll about naked on the base, that she couldn’t just ask whatever questions about their operations popped into her head, and that she most certainly could not just… just… touch without permission, Celandine could not care less about the great and terrible “Emperor Zarkon” and the empty threats that accompanied his name.

For someone like Myvon, who lived his whole life just going with the flow, not sticking his neck out at all, Celandine’s audacity was equal measures terrifying, exhilarating, and irresistible. But although his growing admiration for her was genuine, Celandine had no special interest in changing her ways and planting roots in a dark metal military base, far from the freedom of the sunlit forests. Perhaps secretly, Myvon may have thought that having a child would encourage his flighty mate to settle, but though Celandine showed her newborn son as much affection as any Ixillis parent could, her fascination with the Galra eventually waned, taking with it any reason she could see to linger on the outpost any longer.

Xerci was less than two months old when Myvon woke and discovered Celandine was gone, wandering out of his life as suddenly and surely as she had wandered in. Faced with the task of raising a hybrid infant on an empire base without assistance, with minimal understanding of Ixillis development and needs, and at the risk of being discovered by any of the numerous less sympathetic higher-ups taking their vacations on the paradise planet, Myvon called in an favor and sent a communication to an old friend, once former member of his coalition: Yedgi Kir Ne Ven.

With Yedgi’s (and Ulzrani’s) help, Myvon’s transfer to Pishkos was approved quickly, and Xerci immediately attached himself to his new babysitter and the other Galra children on the base (much to both Dulsara and Niresh’s deep regret).

Xerci’s mental development is faster than normal Ixillis, but still noticeably slower than Galra. Unlike most Galra children, who by 20 Earth months old would already be speaking in simple sentences and forming rudimentary episodic memory, Xerci will not really have the cognitive and linguistic capabilities to form even semi-coherent long-term memories until he is at least three or four Earth years old. Unfortunately, this means he will never have a single memory of his biological father—or that he even used to live somewhere else before coming to the Castle of Lions. For all intents and purposes (no matter how much Dulsara tries to correct the impression), even in his earliest memories, the only father Xerci is ever going to remember is Keith.

Appearance: At the moment, Xerci resembles nothing so much as a small purple watermelon. He is a round little baby, with a penchant for curling up like an armadillo when left to his own devices, furthering the image. Currently, his deer-like ears are slightly oversized for his head, as he hasn’t grown into them yet. Although he has Galra hands, his claws are notably smaller than a full Galra’s would be, and his feet do not resemble normal Galra talons at all: he has dainty little cloven hooves, just like his mother (though with his boots on, no one notices). Unlike Dulsara and Niresh, he does not have a Galra sagittal crest. Big-eyed and perpetually grinning, but with a baby fang or two still not erupted, Xerci has an air of saccharine sweetness about him that leads everyone who sees him to assume he will grow up into a short, soft, squishy sort of adult who will always have his arms open for a hug.

And they would be very, very wrong. The only one of the children to be removed from the heavy Pishkos atmosphere and limited military food rations at an early enough stage of development, Xerci will eventually achieve the height of an average full-blooded Galra male, at least seven feet tall, and in the process lose all his baby fat, trading it for the broad shoulders and whipcord lean muscles of healthy Galra adults. Yet he will also grow gracefully into the regal looks he inherited from his mother: the same shapely, curving eyes under heavy lashes, narrow elfin chin, high-bridged nose, delicate line of his neck, textbook symmetry and proportions, with velvet suede fur, a prim little tail, and a perfect crown of jet black antlers settled around his somehow artfully tussled, wisteria-colored hair—in short, Xerci is going to grow up to be devastatingly beautiful. (And thanks to Lance, he’s absolutely going to know how to use it. His white, wicked grins? They warn their girls about those on more than one planet.)

Strengths/Skills: As of right now, Xerci doesn’t have much in the way of strengths or skills, unless you count being cute, which he is good at (at least occasionally, when he isn’t being clingy as a purple octopus or whiny as a War’yanian sqwogbom). But life in the Castle of Lions, with so many different sources of guidance (plenty of it conflicting) and near constant exposure to new sights, new cultures, and new customs is going to ultimately shape Xerci into a truly unique young man. Spending all his formative years leaping between alien races, each with their own complex patterns of communication, ways of expressing emotion, and senses of morality will give Xerci stunning insight into people—why they act the way they do, what motivates them, what they really mean when they obfuscate, and how genuine they might (or might not) be. Although Xerci will never be as book smart as Dulsara nor as observant as Niresh, his emotional intelligence leaves both of them in the dust, even given Dulsara’s advantage of being slightly empathic. Xerci is going to grow up dangerously street wise, with a keen understanding of what makes people tick. Within seconds of meeting someone, he’ll already know how to make them laugh, how to bring out the best in them, how to win them over (…or how to break them down completely). Like Lance, Xerci is a people person who loves to be in the spotlight. Nothing makes him happier than commanding other people’s love and awe—or manipulating that awe and respect to get exact what he wants, exactly when he wants it.

Because Xerci is cunning. With just the flash of a pretty, cleverly affected grin, he has the universe wrapped around his little finger, right where he wants them. Perilous social interactions and intricate machinations are like candy to him, and he delights in running rings around less socially adept people (up to and including poor Keith). Anyone he turns his charms on can’t help falling for his guileless, well-meaning façade, his friendly touches, his casual flirtations… And Xerci not only enjoys the effect he has on others, but has weaponized this innate magnetism to make sure that he (and anyone he considers his own) comes out ahead in every situation. Xerci is the consummate diplomat: charismatic, refined, conciliatory, extroverted, just the right degree of self-deprecating, with a keen sense of witty humor and an evident hunger to excel. If peace needs to be made between the bitterest rivals, he can make it. (And if the smoldering embers of revolution need to be fanned back up into flames, well… he can do that easily too.)

But Xerci is not malicious, he’s just a born actor. Putting on a charming persona is as automatic to him as breathing, and even if his performances aren’t genuine, Xerci does genuinely have fun fooling people and stealing the spotlight, so long as it’s harmless… or, barring that, at least done in the service of the greater good. Xerci carefully reserves his tricks for people who won’t be hurt by them—or for people who deserve to be hurt by them. Though Niresh’s stealthy ability to observe unnoticed is a prime skill for espionage, Xerci’s ability to ingratiate himself to anyone and everyone actually makes him one of the most effective spies in the entire greater alliance.

Unlike Dulsara who struggles to handle people’s capricious whims, or Niresh, who doesn’t care to bother in the first place, Xerci knows that true power isn’t fists or fighter craft—it’s who you know.    

Weaknesses: Although Xerci is a natural extrovert, his friendly exterior belies a more unsettled inner-life. Xerci is actually a fiercely private person who never lets anyone get too close to his “real self” (wonder where he learned that from). He’s the type of guy you’re best friends with for ten years before you realize that you don’t even know his favorite color, let alone where he actually stands on any matters of deep importance. This extreme discomfort in putting himself out there, coupled with his natural ability to throw on a distracting mask without even blinking, means that it’s sometimes hard for Xerci to actually let people in, even when he actually wants to. Frequently the team has to remind him that, as much as they enjoy his impish act, it’s okay if he’s lets it go every once in a while and just relaxes. Even more than Dulsara, Xerci despises feeling vulnerable, and he’s become so used to hiding behind an outgoing persona that anyone who gets “too close” runs the risk of being perceived as a threat. Xerci’s so-called social circle spans from one side of the known universe to the other, but as for real friends… he doesn’t have very many. (No matter what anyone says, Keith blames himself for this, and the accompanying guilt puts a strain on his interactions with Xerci sometimes.)

Although Xerci is clever enough to avoid getting himself into trouble so deep there’s no way out, drama is his guilty pleasure, and so, in the course of his work, he frequently ends up in the heart of political and social scandals that could make even Coran blush. And despite the fact that no one can ever quite recall Xerci having any actual romantic relationships, 90% of the alien races he meets with are convinced that none of their girls should ever go unsupervised with such a handsome rogue, a fact which has made peace talks on planets with princesses particularly troublesome many times.

At the end of the day, Xerci’s worst flaw is that he grew up being absolutely, horrendously spoiled by every single member of Team Voltron, even Shiro and Allura. Whatever he wanted, he got. Whenever he craved attention or affection, it was freely and immediately given. Nothing he asked for was ever unattainable, and if one person (cough, Keith) told him no, he’d simply work his way down the list of team members until someone finally told him yes. Although he’s less obnoxious about it as an adult, Xerci is still very used to people bending over backward to serve him, and he’s definitely not afraid to wheedle, trick, whine, and moan his way to whatever wants.

Favorites:

- Food: Ixillis children have no drive other than to ensure their own survival by eating anything and everything they come across. Xerci, despite being half-Galra, is no exception to this instinct. He is a completely un-discerning eater and will devour everything put in front of him—sometimes even when what is put in front of him isn’t actually food. If it looks remotely edible, you can bet that Xerci will attempt to eat it, much to the horror of many small alien species Team Voltron came across in the early years. Ixillis are largely herbivorous, while Galra are primarily carnivorous.  Xerci falls somewhere in-between, a true omnivore, and is therefore able to eat and enjoy a much wider range of food than Dulsara and Niresh, who are mesocarnivores. An un-picky eater, it’s difficult to tell whether Xerci has any favorite food at all, but he absolutely never turns down anything with sugar in it—the sweeter, the better.

- Color: Cool green-blues and dove or gunmetal greys, although he also knows the value of a flashy entrance and often dresses accordingly instead. Despite the fact that it looks terrible on him, Xerci still has a soft spot for “the crimson of House Kogane” (or maybe it’s just that he enjoys teasing Keith about it? Hard to tell.)

- Smell: Money. >_> Okay, being serious, Xerci is definitely a lover of luxury and extravagance. With a less sensitive nose than the other children or even Keith, Xerci can put up with many bold smells that other Galra wrinkle their snouts at. Scents that might waft around the palaces of princes and queens are par for Xerci’s course: jasmine, sandalwood, patchouli, allspice, cinnamon, orange, myrrh, chai.

- Animal: As a child, Xerci was the sort of oblivious boy who could barely telling living animals from stuffed animals. They were never really big on his register—even growing up, he got much more enjoyment out of being near people. Xerci can be cordial with animals, particularly calm ones, but (perhaps a bit ironically) dominant and noisy animals bother him. Has a long-lasting and disproportionate grudge against Kaltenecker, who has done no wrong ever. Xerci will leave the husbandry to Niresh, thanks.

- Voltron Lion: Like with real animals, Xerci’s ambivalence toward things that cannot hold active conversations with him extends to the Voltron lions too. He digs in his heels at the Red Lion’s pushy attitude, the Green Lion’s assertive curiosity, and the Black Lion’s ever-watchful eye. Though Lance insists the Blue Lion loves Xerci and his goofball nature, Xerci himself was never able to relate to its role as the team’s selfless emotional pillar. So, Yellow Lion it is. Still, there’s something about the Yellow Lion’s gentle, modest nature that appeals to Xerci. Not to mention Hunk and Yellow can make the exact kind of Big Damn Entrance Xerci loves to delight people with sometimes.

- Pastime: Shopping, and he does not care at all how girly you think his hobby is. Or how many bitter tears Keith has cried over his “mysteriously” emptied wallets over the years. Allura is Xerci’s worst enabler; their habit of buying each other extremely tacky jewelry is a running family joke. Unironically owns a pair of Gucci shades. He’s on first-name basis with salespeople at twenty different space malls.

- Place in the Castle of Lions: Wherever Keith is, always. All the time. 24/7. From the time he was tiny. Naturally he grows out of this as he gets older, except… not really? Even when he’s grown enough to tower over everyone else in the castle, the first place anyone looks for him is wherever Keith is currently haunting. For a while, this was a source of extreme hilarity to everyone else, watching Keith being trailed by the universe’s tallest, purplest duckling. On his part, it took Keith a very long time after Xerci’s growth from bean to beanpole to realize that Xerci still wanting to spend so much time with him might look weird to other people. To Keith, Xerci’s constant pestering presence is just… normal. It’s the times Xerci’s not around that feel strange.

Dislikes: - Any sort of serious verbal conflict. Getting chased out of a foreign palace by aunts wielding hatpins by incensed alien chiefs is one thing (which Xerci would call fun), but actual person-to-person arguments deeply disturb him; once the screaming and hurling insults starts, Xerci is immediately gone. His poor pacifist Ixillis heart can’t take it, and being yelled at by any of the few people he actually cares about can make him physically nauseous.  

- People who refuse to play his intricate games of aristocratic intrigue. Boring.

- Being touched by people he doesn’t deeply care about. He puts up with it for the sake of his everyone’s-best-friend persona, but he really doesn’t like it. Even as a tiny child he was this way.

- Buy one, get one half off sales. THAT’S NOT A REAL SALE, DAMMIT.

- Being told what he can and cannot eat. (Who cares if that might be poisonous? I want it.)

- Kaltenecker.

- The fact that he has to get every pair of pants he buys tailored because almost nobody sells Galra-shaped pants with the appropriately-sized tail hole.

- Being ignored. The face of true evil is a baby with claws who isn’t getting enough attention.

- The fact that royal purple and gold don’t look good on him, no matter how much he tries to dress them up.

Weirdest quirk: Ixillis, deeply attuned to nature, travel, and the movement of life energy in a planet, are always aware of which direction they are facing. Even on planets with reversed magnetic fields, bizarre alien geometry, pure and utter darkness with no light to see by, while blindfolded, after being spun around in dizzying circles… It doesn’t matter, Xerci can always find true north instantly. He’s essentially a living compass, an extremely useful skill to have while lost on missions. However, being partly of a wandering breed, Xerci did not inherit the Galra homing instinct, and therefore even if he knows which direction he is going, he often does not know which direction he should be going. Niresh is not helpful in the slightest, but they make frequent roaming partners. For a while Lance sewed “If lost, please returned to” tags inside all of Xerci’s uniforms. And you know, sometimes getting lost leads you to the very best adventures…

Just for fun: - Hogwarts house: Slytherin (A friendly Slytherin, truly dangerous…)

- DnD class: Bard

- Favorite Disney movie: Aladdin

- Earth Horoscope/Chinese Zodiac signs: Libra, Fire Monkey

- Lucky number: 9

- Best Earth school subject: Government

- Earth Spirit Animal: Egyptian Mau

- MBTI personality type: ENFP – The Campaigner

- A vice and a virtue: Gluttony and Charity

- K-pop image song: ROAR- SF9

Rude Awakening, Chapter 1

Aaand, after some delays preventing me from getting it here, here’s a chapterfic. It’s a crossover of Pokemon and Fire Emblem Awakening, and has ties to not only the Yangverse but some RP shenanigans of mine involving both franchises. Knowledge of Fire Emblem is nice but not strictly required due to the characters explaining stuff along the way. Anyway, to start off, Chapter 1, where Palkia gets some weird vacation ideas.

Chapter 1: Off The Clock You'd expect picking a vacation spot would be easier for the goddess of space, Palkia thought. Unfortunately, it wasn't, for the vacation spots were ones a bit out of her comfort zone in that regard: Alternate universes, ones mostly heavily displaced from the ones she sometimes casually visited. It didn't help the guide to said multiverse she was reading had various terrible jokes and memes scrawled in it by a certain brother of hers. She groaned and looked up to gaze around said brother's home dimension, looking among the black and purple haze and the chunks of off-looking earth with off-looking plant life until she spotted Giratina in his Origin forme, idly hovering and levitating a Nintendo 3DS he was playing before him. Knowing her space-bending powers would probably be affected by the nature of the place, Palkia spread her wings and summoned a jet of water to propel her to a chunk of the off-looking earth near where her brother was idly floating to wave the book at him, scowling. "Hey! Giratina! You agreed to help here!" Giratina turned his attention away from the video game to address his sister. "Ooh, right, the vacation! What's it for again?" Palkia sighed and shook her head. "We're trying to cheer Dialga up!" "Isn't bro too stuffy and busy for a vaycay most of the time?" Palkia paused, then looked away. "It... Hasn't been that long since... What happened with Cyrus. I see him more than you do. As much as he tries to hide it he's still really upset over it." She turned back to him with a still-despondent look."And... Well, we both already owe you, that kid, and Cynthia big time for stopping him... But you know the multiverse better than I do, so I wanted you to help me pick a fun spot. So we could both cheer him up." Giratina paused, then nodded somberly himself. "Good point... We could all try to find a place to chill after that..." He then promptly turned back to his game. "Just let me get to a spot where I can save..." "Alright, then-" She took a closer look at the game he's playing and scowled. "Hey, wait a minute!" She snatched the game and system from him. "That's my copy of the latest-" She paused, stared at the game for a few seconds, then snapped two of her claws together and grinned. "That's it! We give Dialga one hell of a theme vacation!" Giratina stared at her in confusion. "Why would we want to take him video game shopping?" Palkia smirked. "A bit deeper than that, dear brother." She gestured to the eldritch space around them. "Your little... abode ties into all sorts of other worlds! Now, not even we know exactly how many are out there, but likely millions, trillions, quite possibly an infinite number of 'em! And if there are that many, well, some might just very well be kinda familiar..." She points to the 3DS's screens. "...But that's more your department. Can you find out if there's a universe anything like the thirteenth and newest installment of my favorite strategy game series?" Giratina blinked and stared a good while before responding. "Um... Lemmie try something." He soared off further into his realm until he was a speck in the distance, leaving Palkia to stand impatiently and cross her arms to stare after him a while. Eventually, Giratina returned levitating a small rectangular device in front of him, using the points of the tentacle-like structures on his back to tap it carefully. Palkia eyed the device quizzically. "Is that… A Sliphpad?" "Yup! State of the art. Use it for keeping track of all the really out there universes as well as the closer-to-home ones." Palkia glanced at the book she was holding then at Giratina irritably. "Why'd you give me the musty guide with all your doodles in it then?" "Hey, don't diss my modern art." Palkia flung the book at Giratina's head. He didn't notice as it bounced off of one of his facial plates, but he did notice something on the screen he quickly tapped a tentacle to and levitated toward Palkia for her to look at. "Is this it, sis?" Palkia grumbled as she took the Sliphpad, expecting Giratina to have found a world closer to Dragonite Quest or Last Legend or, if she was lucky, a previous game in the same series as the one she wanted, only for her own eyes to light up upon seeing she was wrong. "This… This is it! It's pretty much it! I can't believe I'm saying this, Giratina, but you're a genius! Thank you so much!" She embraced her more serpentine brother, who reciprocated with his three sets of tentacles. After the hug was broken, she bounced up and down excitedly on her large feet, her claws clenched and her long tail thumping the ground in excitement. "This is gonna be great! We're gonna take Dialga on vacation there and all have a blast, and he's gonna be so much happier and we just need to think up some good disguises and get access to -" She froze in place mid-sentence, then scowled, tapping her foot. "Great. I just realized there's one particular obstacle to getting the resources." Giratina gave her a puzzled look. "...Um, we're Legendaries? We can just get 'em however?" Palkia sighed and put a claw to her forehead. "...Problem is that "however" involves one particular other Legendary." ---------------- "So... let me get this straight, space babe." Palkia's eye twitched at that particular moniker from the small, grey-and-pink creature with gold hoops before her and Giratina within a quiet forest grove, but allowed him to continue. "You want to take your bro on vacation to a fancy swords 'n sorcery universe to cheer him up after that Cyrus guy tried to push the reset button on the universe, and honestly, I don't blame ya!" said Hoopa. "Some asshole trying to do that has gotta rub you guys the wrong way." He then raised an eyebrow. "That said, why do top-tier deity Legendaries like you guys need into... The Stash?" Palkia sighed. "Hoopa. Everymon knows you are the ultimate hoarder. Your pocket dimensions are filled to the brim with the sorts of things we need for this fantasyland vacation we can have easy access to anytime, so we're gonna need you to tag along." "Plus, if I screw with your pocket dimensions enough I can let us get to the wifi and stuff back home!" said Giratina. "Can't forget the essentials." "...What he said too," said Palkia. Hoopa tapped one of his mitt-like hands to his chin in thought for a bit before looking to the other two Legendaries and nodding. "...Alright then. You guys are the bosses. Plus, If you wanna cheer your bro up that bad that's a hell of a nice thing to do. I guess I can let you in on The Stash for this little trip of yours." He then smirked a bit. "...On three conditions." Palkia scowled. "Figured. What do you want, you greedy little djinn?" Hoopa's smirk grew wider. "First, all use of the Stash is under my supervision." "Okay, that's fair enough. Next?" "Second, I actually want in on this vacation, not just to be some sort of luggage carrier. And if it helps on your end I'll at least try to help cheer your brother up." "Also fair enough, what's the thi-" Hoopa made a gesturing motion with one of his hands as his smirk morphed into an outright mischievous grin. "...Bottle." Palkia's scowl likewise grew more intense. "You know full we-" "Deal's a deal." "Just roll with the dude, sis," said Giratina. "...Fine," said Palkia, "but keep an eye on him." A rift in space opened, which she quickly dashed through. ------------ In a Hoenn Pokemart winding down for the evening, a lone employee stood idly lost in thought as he waited for his manager to bring his paycheck, only to hear a voice in front of him. "Yo!" He blinked and turned to see a young, pink-haired, red-eyed woman in pink and white clothing - he noted her t-shirt had characters from the TV show Valiant Knight Skarmory on it - giving him a doe-eyed look that to the worker seemed a tad too innocent. "Hi there! Let me guess, you were working the night shift one night some time ago?' "Erm, yea-" "And this crazy old man came in and robbed the place?" "...Y-yeah?" "And then he gave you this bottle and made all these oh-so-creepy mutterings about this Hoopa Pokemon whose power would be unsealed for three days if you opened it but when you did nothing happened and it was all like, to use the phrasing of one of my brothers, two spoopy four you?" "H-how-" "And you've just been oh so dearly hoping you can find some passerby you can feasibly pawn it off to so you don't have to deal with it anymore?" "U-um..." The woman extended a hand. "Gimmie." The man quickly pulled out a strange purple-grey-and-gold bottle and plopped it into her palm. "Thank you sir, have a nice day!" A rift in space opened next to her, which she darted through just before it closed and vanished. The man simply stared blankly a good while after. "...I need a raise." ---------------- Palkia quickly emerged back in the grove where her brother and Hoopa were, her more natural form and scowl quickly returning. "Found it." Giratina blinked. "How'd you find it so fa-" "The 'pay a guy to act like a creepy hobo and pawn it to some nobody' trick is losing its luster, Giratina." Giratina fell silent as Palkia grumbled and popped open the bottle. Immediately a sparking haze of black energy emerged and swirled around Hoopa, and he laughed maniacally as he grew and grew until the haze dispersed to reveal a towering, six-armed, monstrous version of himself. "Yes! My true power! And I know just what i'm going to do with it first!" He created six portals from his hoops and reached through them with all six arms to pull out countless boxes of donuts of various brands. "Hey!" Said Palkia. "You're supposed to help us with-" "Aye, space babe, hold up! Getting my true form back works up an appetite!" He promptly used all six arms to shovel the donuts into his toothy maw and toss the boxes away, let out a resounding belch, then turned back to the two dragons before him. "Alright, appetite sated, I'm ready. What are we gonna need from The Stash for this little renaissance affair?" Palkia's expression became more passive as she put a claw to her chin. "Hmmm..." -------------- In a dimension dominated by an omnipresent blue haze and teal, diamond-like, crystals of various sizes floating through it, Dialga was peaceably reading a book - a long one, he needed it to keep his mind on it for long. He flipped to one page, blinked at something scrawled in the corner, and groaned. "Giratina, must you leave your mortal innuendoes and cultural crude jokes everywhere?" It was right then he heard a voice from behind him."Bigger question, bro, you ready for us to rock your world?" Dialga stiffened with an annoyed expression and turned around. "Please tell me you weren't stupid enough to replicate a certain-" He blinked to find not only Giratina, but Palkia and Unbound Hoopa standing together before him, standing under a banner that said "VACATION TIME!" With a strange teardrop-shaped sigil Dialga didn't recognise below it. "...Alright, what are you three up to?" "We're up to cheering you up by going on a multiversal vacation!" Said Palkia. "Sis got a crazy idea for the theme," said Giratina. "And it only took just under three days for us to get most of the stuff read-" said Hoopa. Suddenly a mass of black energy dispersed from him and entered someplace on Palkia's person, reverting him to the form of a small, poltergeist-like creature. "...Scratch that, exactly three days," said the now-Confined Hoopa. He made another beckoning gesture to Palkia, who wagged a claw back in a scolding fashion. "Ah ah. You're gonna need to be small and innocuous-looking for part of this." "And what exactly are the fine details of "this"?" said Dialga, scanning the other three skeptically. "Well," said Palkia, "You - and really, all of us - could use a load off after... the Cyrus incident..." Everyone grew silent. Dialga stiffened a bit but allowed Palkia to continue. "...But me and the others found a good way to do so!" Said Palkia. "Go on a theme vacation to an out-of-the-way universe and have fun incognito with the locals to let off steam better than Volcanion does!" "Erm," whispered Hoopa, "Knowing Volcanion personally, if you take what you just said metaphorically it totally works,but more literally not so much since she can get kinda-" "I know, stick to the script!" Palkia whispered back. Dialga just stared awkwardly until hesitantly continuing. "...Go on?" "Well," said Palkia, "Giratina and I found a universe just like the thirteenth, newest game in my favorite strategy game series! And Hoopa here's gonna join the ride and let us all have access to local niceties while we're at it!" *"We'll go incognito, chill with the locals, relax, have a good time," said Giratina. "It'll be perfect!" "And I've got all we need to keep access to conveniences back home!" said Hoopa. "It's a win-win situation!" Dialga looked at them all, conflicted, before sighing. "All of you, I appreciate the effort and" - he paused - "concern. But this sounds rather risky, especially given things have gotten iffy via Palkia getting me too deeply into her interests in a less literal fashion. Remember when you tried to get me to read that Home-whatsit comic, sister? I had to drown my sorrows in Giratina's alcohol over all the convoluted meddling with time in its narrative!" Palkia frowned and raised a claw. "Okay, that was an exceptional case, yet I get why you're wary. But me and Giratina found a spacetime coordinate in this universe that'll be totally fine." "How?" said Dialga. "Doesn't that strategy game involve war? We can't barge in on another universe and commit wanton murder on the locals!" "That sweet spot Palkia mentioned is an era of peace, bro, just long enough for a good cooldown," said Giratina. "...Era of peace?" said Dialga. He turned his head away and thought a bit before turning back and nodding. "...That does, in fact, sound nice." He frowned again. "But abandoning our posts here might cause complications, especially so soon after a disruption..." "Well first," said Palkia; "we're not Legendaries from some human fantasy novel that go poof if no one is around to clap their hands and believe, You know we're made of tougher metaphysical stuff than that. We can leave and come right back in a spacetime sense just fine. And just to make sure, Hoopa can help us keep an eye on things back home." Dialga paused, then lowered his head and closed his eyes a bit before looking up and smiling. "...Very well. This vacation could be just what we all need." Palkia pumped her claws. "Yes! Thank you, Dialga, you're going to love this! We're going to love this!" "Alrighty then!" said Hoopa. "Now the multiversal getaway is a thing, we gotta get the disguises ready!" Dialga eyed him oddly. "Disguises?" Hoopa grinned. "Newsflash, Timeasaur! Me and your sis teamed up on the filthy cosplaying and LARPing bit!' ---------- The four Legendaries, all but Hoopa having assumed human forms, were gathered around four of the latter's pocket dimension hoops, all going over a book together with Palkia. "OK, to start I think I'll demonstrate what we're going for..." said Palkia. She hopped into the hoop-portal and emerged a few minutes later wearing a distinctly flamboyant dress-like outfit themed around her more natural dragon form, complete with a long staff that had the Lustrous Orb embedded atop it. "Ta-da!" Dialga raised an eyebrow. "I thought this was a universe stuck in the medieval period, not one of your human magical girl shows." Palkia huffed and waved her staff at Dialga. "Not so fast. I'm a Valkrye, I've got a balance of healing and offense magic. Granted, latter for self-defense, but still." Dialga tilted his head. "So this is one of those character class things?" Palkia smirked. "Exactly." "Ooh!" said Giratina, balling his fists excitedly, "What do I get to be?" Palkia grinned. "Found a perfect one for you, Giratina..." She flipped the book to a new page and presented it to him. "Dark Knight!" "Ooh!" he said again, his red eyes giving a rather off-looking sparkle, "Is this like that one Gligarman movie?" He struck a dramatic pose. "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the vil-" Palkia quickly frowned. "Not quite right either, you've got a lot of both physical and magical power and can still take a hit." Giratina blinked. "Oh, that's cool too! Lemmie get mine on..." He ducked into his own portal and emerged in plate armor themed around his own natural form, complemented with a sword adorned with a Griseous Orb on its hilt. "Ready to kick ***!" <OK, wait, if you guys are all putting on human suits for the locals, how do I get in on that?> said Hoopa. Palkia raised an eyebrow. "You likely have something in that "stash" of yours... " Hoopa placed a mitt-like hand to his chin and thought a bit before his eyes widened. <Wait! There's that one armband doohickey, hold on!> He jumped into his hoop portal and emerged shortly after as a scrawny, bronze-skinned youth, more teenager-ish in looks than his fellows, with pink hair tied back in a ponytail. "Geez, I dunno how you guys are so used to the whole funny looking monkey gig, such weird spindly legs..." He shuddered, then turned to Palkia. "But I'll live with it for this. Speaking of which, what do I go as for this whole LARPing session?" Palkia smirked and turned the pages of the book to a page she held up for Hoopa to see. "Trickster." Hoopa looked and grinned. "That's my style." He lept through his portal again and emerged wearing clothes themed around his confined form that seemed a paradoxical combination of jestery and roguelike. "Ready to role!" He turned to Dialga. "Your turn, vacation boy." Dialga put a hand to his chin and thought, then turned to Palkia. "May I see the book?" Palkia handed it over, with Dialga immediately flipping through it until he came upon a particular page and grinned. "Perfect! This "Manakete" class suits me nicely." Palkia raised an eyebrow. "The dragon one?" "Yes! It'll let me assume my natural form while still blending in!" Palkia scowled. "Hey! You may be vacation boy, but no cheating!" She smiled and flipped to another page in the book. "How about a Taguel? Turns you into a critter other than a dragon, good for variety, huh?" Dialga looked a bit before nodding. "Acceptable." "Great! Can I have your Adamant Orb?" Dialga hesitantly handed it over before Palkia and Hoopa whispered to each other, she dived into his hoop, and emerged with the Adamant Orb emitting a strange glow. "Here you go!" Dialga warily took the orb back and gasped and shuddered a bit as his human ears grew much longer and floppier in shape and excess blue hair sprouted in several places on his body. "What just-" "I tweaked it a bit to let it serve as your Beaststone. It'll let you shift between what you are now and your more beastial form. Though for this form you should get that armor you saw in the book on." Dialga blinked, but hopped into his own hoop anyway, and hopped out in armor that was, like his fellows, themed around his more natural form, but in his case form-fitted around his upper arms, lower legs, waist, and chest with no noticeable weapon. "I... believe I am ready." "OK!" said Palkia. "I think our usual human monikers will work here." "Valentina for you, Howard for Giratina, and Quentin for Dialga, right?" said Hoopa. Palkia smiled. "Yep." Hoopa smiled back. "Call me Bartimaeus then." "Fine by me. Everything we need packed in The Stash already?" Hoopa nodded. "Yep." Palkia turned to Giratina and grinned. "Gratina? Rev up that portal." Giratina grinned back to spread his hands in front of him and summon a large, distorted portal with a bright light emerging from within. "So we're going?" "Ayep!" said Hoopa. "You bet," said Palkia. "But Giratina?" "Yeah sis?" "No flirting with the locals." Giratina raised a finger to object before Palkia cut him off. "Of any gender or species." Giratina grumbled, and crossed his arms as he followed the others into the portal. ***