#he's learned knowledgeable and a lot more sharp-witted than people give him credit for and infodumps as a love language

[canisalbus]

I have to ask what drew vasco into falling in love with machete?

His snivelling runt ways were just that irresistable.

[hiddendreamer67]

Giant Mers are Good Mers

That's right, it's MerMay baby! Introducing my new bois. Caspian is a giant siren with influences of Mediterranean monk seals and leopard seals. Beckett is a lil' human who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This piece is a completed oneshot, but I've got a couple ideas for more oneshots with this pairing, including a few ideas for alternate universes (especially after seeing all the fun @ibis-gt seems to be having with AUs of their bois).

Word count: 6,001

Initial prompt idea: human was taken by a giant siren but then let go (on a whim / siren got bored) but human doesn’t know why they were spared so they come back to thank the siren. The siren doesn’t even remember doing that because it was such an insignificant event to them, but now it’s interesting because humans never came on their own.

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Beckett had always been a simple fellow. He grew up in WhiteBridge, on a small town farm with his three older sisters picking on him ceaselessly. While he loved WhiteBridge and its quaint charms, Beck found his true passion in books, and studied at Oxford for several years before scouring the globe for his passion. In his quest for knowledge, Beckett chose to join a month-long excursion out at sea, and found himself regretting that decision a few weeks later.

“Steady on there.” One of the sailors, Michelle, handed him a pair of earplugs. “You’ll need these where we’re going.”

Beckett eyed the little pieces of foam dubiously. “And just where might that be?”

“Siren territory.”

Beck hardly believed in such fairy tales, but to calm the sailor’s superstitions he inserted the plugs as instructed. Siren tales aside, Beckett found himself growing as twitchy as the sailors. The coastline hadn’t been visible for ages due to a large amount of fog accumulation. The stormy skies were foreboding as well, indicating that proper precautions would need to be taken. This far north, the weather reports often indicated rocky waves far beyond what should be normal.

Would Beckett sink, out here in the middle of nowhere? Was that to be his fate? The young man began to fret, hastening to make himself useful as the first rolls of thunder sounded off and the waves grew steadily higher.

And then, he heard it. Beckett paused, arms slack on the rope as he attempted to hear that haunting melody. Was the weather playing tricks on him, or was someone calling out to him.

“BECK! EARS!”

Beckett blinked, stunned to find himself standing on the slippery railing. When did he get up here? Beck hastened to climb down, noticing the rest of the crew had their hands firmly clasped over their ears, even with the ear plugs inserted.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Even with the double protection, the voice grew in volume, its booming voice penetrating into their heads. Every single person on board fell victim to its call, the ship’s captain turning the wheel to head towards the beckoning beast. Beckett climbed back up to the railing, plunging overboard into the crashing waves.

With a sputter, Beckett fought to keep his breath, legs kicking desperately against the current. Even in his desperate survival state, the voice called to him, and instinctively Beckett swam in the right direction to answer its call.

Every time the voice paused to take a breath, Beck would regain control for only a moment, his heart pounding as his fate flashed before his eyes with nothing to be done about it. Between one blink and the next, the sky grew darker, a looming shape breaching in the distance. Another blink, and Beckett’s face lost all complexion staring up at his demise.

A great sea serpent, half man half beast, towered with its human half over the pitiful human. With a single shift of its body, the beast created waves that threatened to pull Beck under. Those sharp features and piercing blue eyes were unforgettable, and subconsciously Beck realized this was the last face he would ever see.

Another blink. This time, when the serpent let out a hum, Beckett remained conscious but still out of his own control. His body was lax but his mind manic. The siren reached for him, slimy claws surrounding his form and making Beck shudder as he was raised 50 feet in the air in seconds. Beckett whimpered, coughing out sea water as his gaze was drawn down to the siren’s lips. The creature grinned and revealed its razor-sharp fangs. Taking a deep breath in, the siren revealed the cavernous depths beyond as it prepared to inhale its next meal.

Beckett pleaded nonsense pitifully, tears pouring down his cheeks as the haunting nothingness washed over his mind yet again. Would he even wake once more? Was the beast merciful enough to let Beckett go in his sleep?

When Beckett woke up, he thought he was dead.

He squinted, the sun too bright for his eyes. The sun? What happened to the storm? Stranger yet, the water that had soaked him to the bone was no more. Beck was dry, wrapped in blankets in a stranger’s bed.

“You’re awake.”

Beckett turned his head, his sore muscles protesting the movement. Beside him sat an older looking fellow, hair greying with age. “Who’re you?”

“The name’s Seymour.” Seymour introduced himself. “And who’re you?”

“Beck.” Beckett’s voice felt like he hadn’t spoken in days. “Am I dead?”

“No, but you tried awful hard.” Seymour assured him. “Found you passed out on the shore two days ago. Guessin’ you were part of some shipwreck? Though there wasn’t much wreckage to be found. Awfully impressive for you to have swam that far.”

Is that what happened? Beck frowned, trying to parse out the details. His body ached something terrible. He did remember swimming for a great distance. Had the siren all been a strange vision of his adrenaline-infused thoughts?

“...huh.” Beck settled back into the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. “I… didn’t know I could do that.”

“Well that, or an angel saved you.” Seymour chuckled. “You’re one lucky soul.”

Beck squinted in thought. If that’s what angels looked like, he could understand why all biblical depictions had humans cowering in fear.

(...was it an angel?)

Beckett spent some of the most confusing weeks of his life recovering from the shipwreck. Even as his physical form healed, Beck couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the events that transpired that night. He couldn’t get the notion out of his head that the giant sea serpent was real. It had all felt so lifelike, the claws and the fish breath and the dark melodious tones that haunted his dreams…

Seymour was kind enough to open his home to Beck, offering the traumatized lad a position maintaining his lighthouse while Beckett still fought to gather his wits. “Yer’ not the first.” Seymour assured him with a chuckle. “It’s no water off my back if you want to keep me company while you figure things out.”

You’re not the first. Beckett had cleared his throat, wanting to address that thought. “The other people who wash up on shore… did they ever… see anything?”

Seymour raised a patient eyebrow. “What do you mean, seen? Figure you lot have all seen a lot, what with the wreckage.”

“No, I mean, out at sea.” Beck felt foolish, twiddling his thumbs a bit. “Like a… like a merman.”

To his credit, Seymour did nothing more than a slow blink. “A merman.” He repeated.

“But, not a regular merman.” Beck winced at his own words. Just what was a regular merman? “A big one, like a hundred feet long, and pale white skin, and white locks of hair, and piercing blue eyes-”

“Kid.” Seymour cut him off. “I’ll tell it to ya straight. No, I ain’t ever heard nothing like that.”

Today, Beckett found himself on the cliffside, safely back from the edge as he watched the distant waves. His knees were tucked up to his chest, chin atop them as Beck sat lost in thought. Somewhere out there, Beckett’s giant captor- and later savior- was out there.

Why did the beast let him go? Even further than that, the siren had gone out of its way to give Beck a chance at life. There’s no way Beckett could have made it all the way to the shore on his own, disoriented as he had been.

Despite his better judgement, Beckett had to know the truth. With this foolish notion in mind, Beck set out a few months later, having rented a boat from one of the local fishermen. It took a lot of practice for Beckett to learn how to guide such a vessel, as every crest of a wave made the poor lad jump.

Seymour must think he was mad. Often the kind old man reminded Beckett that he didn’t have to conquer his fear of the waves directly, but Beck had just shook his head. Seymour couldn’t understand the debt Beck felt to the creature that had saved his life, and his curiosity kept him captive. Beckett wouldn’t be free until he had answers.

Of course, once he was out on the waters, Beck realized how foolish of a plan this truly was- he knew nothing about aquatic navigation. Every part of the ocean looked the same to him. Even worse, his memories of the last sea journey were extremely muddled. How on earth was he going to find the same location?

And even as Beck drifted in waters that may or may not be similar, the human realized he had no surefire way of gaining the siren’s attention. He settled for calling out often, hoping his carrying voice would be enough. Did the beast understand english? It was deceptively human-looking.

Beckett’s throat grew parched, and Beck sat down a moment to take careful sips of water from his dwindling bottle. The sky was growing darker, and a familiar fog had begun to roll in. An eerie chill began to creep up the back of Beckett’s neck. Suddenly, this plan wasn’t feeling so wise.

That’s when he heard it. The familiar song of his dreams was echoing across the water. Beck had forgotten the feeling, his limbs stiffening against his will like a marionette pulled taunt.

Blink. A gigantic fish tail, just the tip cresting the waves. Blink. Beckett found himself in the waves, gasping as he kicked frantically to keep his head above water. Blink. All too soon, Beck found himself clasped between those claws, water dripping from his locks as he stared at those terrifying chompers.

Oh god. This was a terrible idea. What should he do? What was there to do? All the blood left Beckett’s face, watching the siren lick its lips. It raised Beck higher, dangling the human by the back of his shirt above a now gaping maw. Beckett let out an unholy screech, realizing he had made a terrible mistake.

Beckett squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the words out of his lungs before he never got the chance again. “WHY DID YOU SPARE ME?!”

To Beck’s great relief, he didn’t find himself lowered onto the beast’s tongue. Instead, after the longest pause of Beckett’s life, he opened his eyes to see the siren’s mouth had gone slack.

“What?”

Beck’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp, shocked to hear the siren actually speak. Guess that meant it understood english, too. Beckett cautiously raised his gaze, meeting the siren’s eyes instead of its teeth. The creature looked confused, to say the least.

“You-” Beck cleared his throat, knowing he had to keep the siren’s attention lest he become a meal. “You spared me.” The siren’s brow furrowed further. Beckett frowned. “You… you saved my life? I mean, first you threatened it, but… 3 months ago? You- our ship, and the song, and… I woke up on the shore…”

Unfortunately, despite being the most momentous occasion of Beckett’s life, the giant sea serpent didn’t seem to have given the night a second thought. Beck couldn’t stop the sinking feel in his chest, knowing this whole journey was pointless after all.

The siren slowly shook his head. “That sounds unlike me.”

“It’s true!” Beckett insisted, especially because his life seemed to be on the line. “I was baffled too, but for some reason you spared me, and-and I don’t know why either! It’s been driving me insane. Why else would I sail all the way out here trying to find you?”

“You came looking for me?” This, at least, caused the siren to raise an interested eyebrow. “That would be a first.”

Beck nodded quickly. “Yes! I’ve been shouting for you all day. And before that I’ve been training for weeks, saving up for a downpayment to borrow Ben’s boat, which I’ll probably be losing now that I have no idea where that ended up…” Beckett grimaced, once again meeting the siren’s gaze. “Sorry, I’ve been told I have a tendency to sidetrack conversations in uncomfortable situations. Boat’s not important. Please don’t eat me.”

To both of their surprise, the siren let out an amused snort, the hot fishy air rustling Beck’s hair.

“I apologize for that.” The creature had the decency to look sheepish, even as its words curdled Beckett’s blood. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Wait, what?!” Beckett immediately began screeching, attempting to squirm out of the claws still holding him captive.

“Stop!” The siren hissed, his grip tightening painfully around Beck’s ribs. “You will fall with that behavior.”

Beck winced, continuing to struggle against the crushing appendages. “That was kind of the idea. I choose waves over teeth.”

“Waves over…?” The siren shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. I will not eat you.”

Beck found that hard to believe. He squinted, judging the gigantic face before him even as the pressure stayed tight around his chest. “So, you were going to?”

“Yes.”

“But now you’re not.”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Because you’re quite interesting, little human.” The siren admitted. “Your question confuses me. Do you want to be eaten?”

Beck chose wisely to avoid that question. “My name’s Beckett.” He said instead. “Beck, for short. Not little human, or anything.”

The siren blinked. It must be strange putting a name to your not-food. “My name is Caspian.”

Caspian. For some reason, Beck hadn’t actually pictured the siren having a name. Or talking. Or generally possessing much humanity at all… the self-reflection made him feel a bit guilty.

“It’s nice to meet you, Caspian.” Beck greeted. He glanced around, realizing the sun had finished setting. “Can we circle back to the boat issue? I mean, I’m glad this hasn’t ended fatally, but it is getting late.”

“Hold on.” Caspian frowned. “You spent all that effort to reach me, only to leave? Little Beck, your story has holes.”

“No, no no no.” Beck quickly shut that down, hastily trying to avoid any possibility of a vengeful siren. “No that’s not it at all. It’s just, your time must be very valuable, and I don’t want to intrude. And also, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a great swimmer. Hence the boat.”

“Hmm.” Caspian seemed to consider this for several moments. The giant seemed to reach a conclusion, but Beck was uncertain what it was as he was raised up above Caspian’s head. “Climb on.”

“Climb on?” Beck repeated, confused.

“And hold on tight.” Caspian advised, opening his palm and tilting it so that Beck slid off with a yelp. “I was under the impression you need air to survive?”

“YES! Yes, that is- yes, I need that.” Beckett confirmed, quickly grabbing onto Caspian’s hair as best he could. Not the easiest task in the world with how everything, including himself, was soaked. Nevertheless, Beck was wise enough to prepare himself for whatever a massive sea serpent might have planned.

Without further warning, Caspian lowered himself into the water, only keeping the top of his head above the waves for Beck’s benefit. Beck hastily lowered himself onto his stomach, not wanting to slide off Caspian’s head as the mer began to swim through the ocean faster than a speedboat.

“Where are you going!” Beck shouted above the wind whipping at his face. He squinted, trying to see where the siren was headed but having no luck. Were they swimming to the boat? Had Beck really gotten so far away from it?

Unfortunately, the siren himself offered no answers. The night sky and fog did not help Beck’s visibility. In these conditions, he was practically blind.

After several minutes of this less-than-ideal water travel, Caspian came to an abrupt stop. Beck frowned, finding himself staring at a rocky cliffside shore. Was Caspian trying to return him to the lighthouse again? But none of this looked familiar…

Caspian raised his head above the waves, sending Beck scrambling to keep his hold. It didn’t matter, as those familiar claws came up and plucked the human from Caspian’s hair.

“Hold your breath.” Caspian advised. This was Beck’s only warning as he was cupped between Caspian’s hands, the mer diving beneath the surface.

Thankfully, Beckett was intelligent enough to take the warning to heart. He held his breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut to avoid getting saltwater in them. The pressure became quite intense as Caspian dove several dozen meters down with ease. It made Beck feel like his head would pop at any moment. Was Caspian trying to drown him? But why go through all the effort of telling Beck to hold his breath, if only to drag it out?

Just as Beck could take it no longer and felt on the verge of passing out, Caspian breached the surface. Immediately Beck began to suck in large gulps of air, snorting to get the water that got stuck unpleasantly up his nose.

Despite being above the surface, Beck couldn’t see anything. He tried not to panic, heart racing thanks to all the uncertainties of the situation. “Where- where are we?”

“Home.”

Caspian’s answer only brought on further questions. Home? What kind of home did a gigantic merman have, anyway? Slowly his human eyes began to adjust to the darkness, noticing that bioluminescent moss seemed to give the space just enough light to see the outlines of shapes. It appeared they were in some sort of underground cavern, the water lapping against a craggy water-worn shore.

“Ah, yes. Of Course. Home.” Beck tried not to think about the several deadly reasons a wild animal might welcome him into its living space. But thankfully, Caspian wasn’t just an animal. He could talk, he seemed half human- that had to amount to something, right?

Of course, Caspian had still planned to eat him. So. There’s that.

“You’re still not gonna eat me, right?” Beck asked, not about to leave something so important to chance.

“Right.” Caspian sighed, as if the question were a mild annoyance and not tied to Beckett’s entire livelihood. “But you have disturbed my hunting time. I’m hungry.”

“Not sure that’s entirely my fault…” Beckett murmured to himself.

Caspian lowered his cupped palms to the rocky shore, setting Beck down away from the water’s edge. “Stay here.”

“Wha-? Stay here?” Beck became alarmed, taking a few nervous steps to catch his footing on the slippery slope. “Where are you going?”

“Do not worry.” Caspian assured Beck, easing himself back into the water. “I’ll bring you back something to eat as well.” With that, Caspian dove back into the water, leaving Beck alone in this dark murky cave.

Beckett blinked, shocked to find himself alone in this enclosure. “I don’t think he knows what humans eat.” Beck grimaced, not eager to see just what Caspian would be bringing back for him. Would it be wriggling? Slimy? Would it be human? The thought made Beck want to throw up.

Beckett shivered, feeling chilly now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. He found himself in an unknown underwater cave off the coastline somewhere, still soaked to the bone in his wet rags. The icy temperature in here was freezing, and the water wasn’t any warmer. Was Beck going to die of frostbite here? How long was Caspian planning on keeping him prisoner?

Beckett walked up and down the shore, looking for any driftwood or materials to make a fire. He had no luck, of course, but even if he had Beck didn’t know the first thing about starting a fire. So with nothing to warm himself, what should Beck do? Beckett knew from all the books he’d read on environmental conditions that staying in his wet clothing was one of the worst strategies for survival, but standing around naked in the freezing cave didn’t sound any more appealing. Not to mention, Beck had no way of drying his clothes even if they left his person. He would just have to put the soaking wet rags back on eventually.

Making a foolish decision, Beck kept his clothes on in the hopes that his own body temperature would help dry them eventually. Coming from the man who went out to sea to search for his would-be murderer all day, perhaps Beck shouldn’t be treating himself as a good source for advice.

“What was I thinking?” Beck murmured, pacing back and forth to try and keep the blood flowing to his extremities. His fingertips were growing numb, and Beck shoved them in his armpits to try and keep them warm.

Should he try and escape? Beckett guessed there must be some underwater entrance to this cavern, but there was no way of knowing how deep he would have to dive to reach it, how long the tunnel itself was, nor how high he’d have to swim to reach the surface on the other side. Beckett wasn’t known to be a particularly decent swimmer. Even just the idea of getting in the water right now made Beck shudder, not eager to get soaking wet once more.

Beckett let out a yawn, the excitement of the day catching up to him. He was cold, and tired. Nothing sounded better than stripping off these clothes and lying down in a warm, dry bed back at Seymour’s.

Oh gosh, Seymour. What was the old man gonna think when Beck didn’t return home like he claimed? He knew Seymour had little faith in Beck’s sailing abilities, but Beckett had foolishly promised to be careful. Would Seymour mourn him? Worse yet, would Seymour try to send out a rescue? What if Caspian found him and wasn’t so merciful?

Beckett was dead on his feet by the time the water began to shift. Beck slapped himself out of his stupor, standing to attention in his semi-dry clothes as the giant merman emerged.

Caspian pulled himself partially up onto the shore, holding out one hand to Beck. As expected, none of this looked edible in its current form. There was a live octopus, still wriggling around, a half dozen oysters, a few slimy eels, and a few other squirming entities Beckett wasn’t certain how to classify.

“Oh, thanks.” Beck tried to keep the disgust off his facial features. Even with not eating all day, Beck didn’t have much of an appetite. But would Caspian be mad if Beck didn’t eat it? It’s not like Beckett asked for it in the first place...

“I was uncertain what you would like.” Caspian admitted, a soft frown gracing his features as he nudged the human with his fingertips, encouraging Beck to eat. “Will this be good for you? Do not be shy, I ate my fill already.”

Beck cleared his throat. “Well, uh, some of this is what humans can eat, but we don’t eat it… raw. Or alive, usually.”

“Hmm.” Caspian considered this for a moment, taking one of the eels between his claws. Caspian raised the creature to his lips. In one swift motion, Caspian used his fangs to tear off the eel’s head, sending a small spurt of blood spattering down.

Beck cried out, quickly covering his head with his arms to try and avoid getting caught in the rain. “COOKED! IT NEEDS TO BE COOKED!” Beck hastily corrected, turning a bit green as Caspian tried to once again offer him the bloody corpse. “It needs to be prepared right, too, I don’t think I’m supposed to eat a lot of stuff found in live fish, they usually gut ‘em and stuff, and I’ve never been one for sushi in the first place.”

Caspian licked his lips, clearing away the blood stains as he tilted his head like a pup. “What do you mean, ‘cooked’?”

Beck slowly uncovered his head, thankful Caspian seemed to have backed off for a moment. “Right, cooked.” Beck nodded to himself. “Guess you wouldn’t know what that is, living in the ocean and all. Um, do you know what fire is?” It was Caspian’s turn to nod. “Wait, you do? How?”

“Fire chokes out life.” Caspian explained. “It creates the smoke and the ash that destroys the shores.”

“Well… yeah, I guess it does do that, sometimes.” Beckett admitted. “But we use it in smaller, healthy doses. You use it to cook your food, usually heating it up and changing it to be healthy.”

Caspian seemed more confused the further this conversation went on.

“Unfortunately, there’s no fuel here anyways.” Beck gestured to their surroundings. “And I don’t know how to make a fire anyways, so-”

“No fire.” Caspian said sternly. He sounded more like a stern parent, banning experimentation with firecrackers in the house.

“No fire.” Beck confirmed. He glanced at the ceiling. “Probably wouldn’t have been the best idea anyways, all enclosed like this. But anyways, no. I can’t accept your fish. Thank you, it was very kind of you, I’ll be forever grateful, but if I eat that I will be sick.”

“...hmm.” Caspian looked- disappointed? Frustrated? It was hard to tell the mer’s emotions, but Caspian at the very least seemed to understand Beck’s meaning, as he pulled his handful of fish back to himself. With a thoughtful expression, giving Beck one last option to protest, Caspian tilted the whole mixture into his mouth, chewing it into a paste and swallowing with ease.

Gross. Beck kept this thought to himself, grateful he was not on the other side of Caspian’s abs himself as the pleased merman gave his stomach a few pats.

“Then what will you eat?” Caspain asked, laying down to be more at eye level with the little man.

“Well, uh, I suppose I can always eat after I get home.” Beckett chose his words carefully, still uncertain what Caspian’s intentions were. “My friend would usually make meals with me. Stew, most of the time.”

Caspian’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can make stew with you.”

“No, you can’t.” Beck corrected. Gently. “No fire, remember? Fire’s needed for stew, too. And we don’t have any of the other ingredients. Vegetables, seasonings, broth, cooked meat… stuff like that. And any we got in here would be soaked with sea water, and that’s not great for humans either.”

The giant siren seemed displeased with this answer, obviously intent on keeping the human alive. This, at least, was one positive note in a storm of negativity for the evening.

With a displeased hum, Caspian reached out his hand towards Beckett. Instinctively Beck flinched away, worried the siren had gotten bored and wanted to do away with him, but all that happened was a giant digit began carefully stroking the top of Beck’s head and down the length of his back.

“Uh...what are you doing?” Beck asked, still stiff as a board.

Caspian didn’t seem inclined to answer. Instead he tilted his head, curious blue eyes intently studying Beckett. “Can you sing?”

Beckett blinked. “Can I what?”

“Can you sing?” Caspian repeated, and after Beck gave a nod: “sing for me.”

“Oh, well, I can sing, but not very well, mind you.” Beck admitted, looking a bit sheepish. The stage had always been his sister’s forte. “Certainly not to your caliber. I don’t think you want to hear me sing at all, actually.”

“Yes I do.” Caspian insisted gently. “Sing.”

Beck let out a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for such a task. What song does one even use to serenade a siren? After careful consideration, Beckett selected an old nursery rhyme from his childhood, both for its brief length and easy melody.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star-” Beckett began, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat, trying to project a bit more even as Caspian leaned in to hear. “How I wonder what you are. Like a diamond in the sky, up above the world so high…”

Beckett had shut his eyes, trying to forget about any pressures to perform. A nice benefit to this impromptu concert is that Caspian had paused his petting to allow Beck to focus. “Twinkle twinkle, little star… how… er, ...up… ah…y’know what? I’ve forgotten the last line, actually.”

Beck grimaced, opening his eyes. Caspian was as difficult to read as ever, the siren’s face passive as Beckett awaited any sort of review.

“That was it?” Caspian clarified.

“Yeah, not a very long song.” Beckett agreed. “Meant for children, y’know? Just to… well I don’t know the point of it, actually, I guess it’s just something to sing.”

“Ah.” Caspian drummed his fingers along the rocks. “It was…”

Beckett waited not so patiently. “Well?” He spoke up. “I told you I’m a lousy singer.”

Considering the siren made no effort to disagree, Caspian held the same opinion, yet he wore a pained expression. Perhaps Caspian had held out hope for Beck after all? But then again, even if he were a renowned opera singer, how could a human voice ever possibly appeal to a siren?

“I thought everyone could sing.” Caspian admitted quietly.

For some reason, this bashful admission is what finally set Beck roaring with laughter. Beck clutched at his sides, doubled over with mirth as a concerned siren watched. Caspian let out a noise of concern, reaching out his hand to prod Beck in the side.

“No- I’m good!” Beck hastily assured him, pushing away the finger as if he had any chance of telling the siren what to do. “It’s just- ah, fuck. What a day, you know?” And with that, tears began to pour down Beckett’s cheeks, the poor exhausted boy helpless to stop them as he alternated between laughing and sobbing.

Now Caspian let out a whine, the trill noise echoing across the cavern walls as Caspian scooped the human up into his hands. Beck gasped, momentarily without air as he was forced against Caspian’s chest. “Shh, shhh.” Caspian hushed him, patting his back like he was a child.

Well, what did it matter? Beck felt like a child. He was tired, and hungry, and cold, and he just wanted to go home. Unable to work on any of those things, Beckett tried instead to take the comfort that was given to him, so overwhelmed by the day that this might as well happen.

Beck hiccupped, his tears still coming but too exhausted to keep wailing. Beckett leaned into Caspian’s chest, the smooth seal texture feeling surprisingly warm and dry for a creature that spent most of its life in the ocean. If he focused, Beck could hear a rhythmic thumping. It was Caspian’s heart, just on the other side of this ribcage.

“I wanna go home.” Beck murmured, more to himself than the siren who wouldn’t listen. “I just wanna go home.”

A rumbling sensation filled Beck’s ears, which he slowly recognized as Caspian’s singing. Beck closed his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the call.

…

“...Beck?”

---

“-OI! Wake UP!”

Beck coughed, startled awake as he found himself once again doused in sea water. He blinked, disoriented to feel the surface beneath him was rocking like a boat. Before Beck could ponder that out, a bright light shined directly in his eyes, making him squint.

“Blimey, you look half dead.” Seymour whistled, taking stock of Beck’s appearance.

“I...what?” Beck frowned, looking around. They were on a boat. What happened? Last thing he remembered, Caspian had been coddling him like a wounded babe. “Where’s Caspian?”

“Who?” Seymour didn’t have a clue.

“Caspian! I- the giant siren!” Beck looked around, trying to spot anything in the darkness of night.

“Boy, I think you swallowed too much seawater.” Seymour shook his head, easing Beck back down. “Take it easy, you’re lucky to be alive.” Seymour pulled out an emergency orange blanket, wrapping it firmly around Beck’s shoulders. It was only then that Beck came to the startling conclusion he was naked, stripped of his wet clothes entirely. At least he could see them lying on the deck as well.

“The voice.” Beck insisted, staying down only because his head felt dizzy. “You must have heard him singing? He was singing. What’d I miss this time?”

Seymour had no answers, as far as giant sirens went. Instead, he explained his side of things. “When you didn’t come back yesterday, I came out to look for ya.” Seymour explained. “You must have a guardian angel after all. Caught you in my sights only by change with the spotlight, adrift in the waves. No idea how the hell you’ve got a speck of life in you, jumping in without a liferaft or lifejacket or nothin’. Holy hell son, ya got a death wish, there’s easier ways of going out.”

“I- what?” Beck frowned. “No, that… that’s not what happened.”

“Hypothermia can cause hallucinations.” Seymour swore under his breath. “Shit, you’re in a worse state than I thought. Never should have let you come out here alone in the first place, nevermind with Ben’s boat. He’s gonna kill ya, y’know, if you do manage to survive the night.”

“Didn’t mean to lose the boat.” Beckett rubbed at his eyes. “Got left behind on the way to the caverns.”

“To the caverns, he says.” Seymour rolled his eyes, handing Beck a warm thermos. “Drink. Sit. And don’t fall asleep.” With these last instructions, Seymour moved over to the captain’s chair, starting the motor and steering the boat back towards shore.

Beck stared at the waves passing by, sipping gently at the contents of the thermos. Tasted like hot lemon tea. Beck would have preferred hot chocolate, if shipwreck survivors were allowed to have preferences.

Was it a shipwreck? Did he jump in? No… no it was Caspian, wasn’t it? Dumb seal’s fault for it all. That, Beck was certain. Too bad he couldn’t charge the siren for Ben’s boat.

Before, Beck had barely escaped with his life, lost and confused about his potential giant savior. Now, he knew so much more than he had before. Caspian was real. Caspian’s name was Caspian. Caspian had intended to eat him, didn’t, and then let him go. Caspian had forgotten him.

Would Caspian forget him again? Why did that notion make Beck feel so uneasy?

It wasn’t like Beck owed Caspian anything, truly. The guy had saved his life twice now, but only after endangering it in the first place. But why did Caspian let him go this time? It seemed as if Caspian was intent on keeping him around like some sort of amusing lil’ pet. What had changed?

Beck’s mind was too tired to process through such things. He sipped more of the tea, growing drowsy.

“No sleeping!” Seymour yelled.

“Yes sir!” Beck jolted upright, regretting it when his head pounded. The sound of the waves had changed. Beck could hear them crashing against the shore, indicating they were almost to the dock.

Seymour expertly steered the ship into the harbor, a feat which took a good deal of skill in the middle of the night. Once securely fastened, Seymour offered Beck a hand, hauling the boy to his feet and keeping Beck steady all the way up to the lighthouse.

“Alright, in you get.” Seymour instructed, easing Beck into bed. He piled more blankets onto Beckett, disappearing briefly to grab a warm compress which he placed on Beckett’s forehead.

“I really did see him.” Beckett murmured, closing his eyes as the warmth lulled him into a deep slumber.

Seymour let out a low sigh. “I’m sure you did.” Seymour murmured, patting Beck’s arm.

[shenanigumi]

Alley, what kind of student do you think the guys are? Who is the best at cramming? Who does their homework the second it is assigned? Who is lord and master of post-its and post-its flags? Who is always skipping classes? You know... The usual.

Oh hell yes, this I can do!! (I’ll be ignoring SSL entirely despite the subject matter since, y’know, high school versus college, and also some of them were teachers for some reason.)

Hijikata tries his best but is constantly frustrated because while he has a very clear idea of what he wants to do with his life, he’s still not sure what his classes have to do with it, and they involve a lot of abstract theory when he’d rather be putting knowledge to practical use. He pours in effort and doesn’t miss any extra credit, so he does get good grades, he’s just salty because this isn’t quite what he imagined. But he got in on scholarships based on his circumstances, so he can’t just back out now.

Okita is great at doing the assignments he wants to do and will procrastinate until the very last second on the ones he doesn’t want to do, bitching and moaning the whole time. He makes no effort whatsoever to make any friends in class and can be kind of an asshole, but he’s also quick-witted, so his professors and classmates either love or hate him from a distance. No one’s ever seen him at a party, so people have no idea whether he has friends or who they might be.

Saito is basically your standard straight-A student. He is extremely methodical and has a meticulously arranged schedule, taking time to account for when he’ll do what step of each assignment the same day it’s given. Admittedly, he doesn’t have much human contact outside of class and clubs and dorm conversations, but he’s got the studying part down and has probably among the healthier sleep schedules.

Heisuke barely has his shit together, if we’re being honest. He does his best, but he doesn’t really take notes or keep much of a calendar, so he accidentally forgets about the finer details all the time. He’s also the king of excuses, as in, “I left it at my dorm” or “I forgot to print it out”. He gets passing grades since he’s terrified of failure, and has been known to pull a couple all-nighters before exams just to be sure, but there have been a couple close calls through sheer neglect.

Harada doesn’t really try too hard, because he abides by that old rule, “Cs get degrees”. As long as he’s passing a class, he doesn’t mind. It’s not that he doesn’t try at all—he’s not such a wild partier that he throws caution to the winds (though he does love a good occasion for social drinking)—he just prefers not to break his back stressing over something he doesn’t care about, like math. But when he does find a subject he loves, like social justice, he tackles it with all due passion and gets extremely good grades for his trouble.

Nagakura is a frat boy just like you’d expect, but also unexpectedly nerdy sometimes. Sure, he usually crams for tests last-minute and retains almost nothing in the long term, but he’s also a natural at political science and has won a fair few debates. In the beginning of a semester, he skips classes just because he doesn’t feel like going, then panics when he has to miss a class later and realizes he has a finite number of skippable classes. Despite his mischief and drama, he’s got a heart of gold and is also surprisingly capable of getting his shit together when it’s necessary, so the professors kind of like him anyway even if he can barely scrape through the class.

Sanan is that mysterious student who shows up for classes, clearly already having read about five chapters ahead, and then vanishes into the ether. Rumor has it he lives off-campus, but no one knows him well enough to say, or even knows anyone else who does. Professors usually kind of hate him because he constantly challenges them and questions the textbooks (and brings in outside theories and experiences to make it more about himself), but they don’t have much of a choice but to give him good grades since he’s so coherent.

Yamazaki takes notes. On everything. His pen is always moving even when nothing is happening, so you’re not even sure if he’s taking notes on the things you’re supposed to be learning about or if he’s writing a novel or something, but since he gets good grades, it’s probably the former. He’s a little sharp-tempered with his slower classmates, so there are people who don’t like him, but it’s really just out of impatience and he wouldn’t actually hurt a fly.

Iba is that social butterfly who knows everyone, is adored by all his professors, runs at least one club, and is all about that community service. He’s good in all the classes he takes, mostly because he’s savvy to the system and checks in with his advisor rather than trying to figure it out alone. He’s figured out how to get the units he wants without taking classes he doesn’t care about, so he can let his passion work for him.

Souma is that rare student who’s motivated purely by a love of learning. Since he doesn’t dare write or highlight in his textbooks, even after buying them, he flags the important pages instead. The problem is that everything seems important, so he still loses track of his place more often than not. Fortunately, he takes enough notes to supplement them that he still knows what he’s doing and gets decent grades, though he has been known to accidentally read chapters/do assignments out of order.

Sakamoto is that student who somehow manages to perfectly juggle socializing and studying, getting amazing grades while still being the life of the party (even if guys are a little wary of him accidentally stealing their girlfriends). Professors either love him for being clear, since he’s got a definite handle on his own opinions, or hate him for being contrary since he has a tendency to be kind of radical.

Kazama is a theater kid through and through and lives his life as though he’s the star of a world-class drama, so he comes off as kind of a self-righteous asshole. He has no idea what a student loan is and is there mostly because it’s a reputable school, living off-campus in probably a luxury apartment of some sort. No one knows how he gets such good grades despite being so lazy, but there are rumors of bribery.

Thanks for the prompt!!

[onedayiwillflyfree]

When the Sun Begins to Fall  Chapter 2

Summary: The story in which Gilbert Blythe realizes what truly matters.

Despite all of the stresses that medical school had brought to Gilbert Blythe, he was thankful for everything he had learned over the last year. One skill he was exceptionally grateful for was the ability to stitch a patient's wound in under a minute flat. Especially when the patient was a ten year old boy who had been dared to climb the roof of the local church and tripped, only to have his fall broken by a sharp rock.

Benjamin Beckley, the daredevil himself, was trying his best to put on a brave face. To his credit, he was doing a decent job at it too, except the bravery didn’t quite meet his eyes. Tiny pools of water formed in each as Gilbert pushed the needle through the torn skin of his forearm for the last time. After tying off the thread, he reached for the scissors that sat on the table next to him.

“And there we go, my daring friend,” he said with a quick snip of the string. As he turned to put his utensils on the table, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben swiftly run his good hand across his lashes. Pretending not to notice, he grabbed a bandage and turned his attention back to the boy. In one swift movement, he circled the bandage around the freshly stitched wound. “Not too tight?”

Ben sniffed, shaking his head. “No sir.”

Gilbert smiled reassuringly as he tied the banage. “Good lad.” The young boy sniffed once again as Gilbert reached beside him to grab a rag to clean his hands. “You know, Ben, I know another individual who was once dared to climb a church roof as well.” For the first time since his arrival, the young boy met Gilbert’s eyes.

“What happened?” he whispered curiously.

“Well, she almost did it.” He put the rag back as a reminiscent smirk graced his lips. “But she fell and ended up twisting her ankle. Nothing too horrible. It definitely could have been a lot worse for both of you.” The young boy began to lower his eyes again when Gilbert placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to meet Gilbert’s eyes once more. “So how about you stay off of rooftops from now on? I think you already proved how brave you are just now.” Gesturing towards Ben’s freshly bandaged arm. His face instantly brightened as Gilbert slyly winked at him.

 “Yes sir!” Ben said proudly. Ben’s mother, who had been standing silently in the farthest corner, stepped forward with a stern expression. She held out her hand to Gilbert, which he accepted, giving it a shake.

“Thank you, Doctor Blythe. I certainly hope that Ben has learned his lesson about listening to those friends of his,” Mrs Beckley looked at her son with the same expression that Marilla had given Anne. Gilbert had to bite his tongue in order  not to laugh. “What do you say, Benjamin?”

“Thank you sir,” he whispered sadly. Mrs Beckley opened her mouth, ready to scold her son, before she was interrupted by Gilbert reaching out his hand and ruffling the boys hair. 

“Just be careful, alright?” Ben’s eyes met his and he smiled gently once more, which Gilbert returned. As the three of them made their way out of the examination room, Gilbert grabbed a small jar of golden salve. “Now Mrs. Beckley, apply this salve directly to the wound twice a day for the next week or so. It will help prevent infection as well as reduction of scaring. Once it is applied, make sure you wrap it back with a clean bandage and he should be right as rain before you know it.”

Mrs Beckley took the salve in her hands, tilting the bottle side to side before her hand slid up to the lid. Oh boy, here we go Gilbert thought to himself. She twisted the lid and brought the jar to her nose, surprise crossing her face when she took a whiff. 

“Is this honey?” She asked skeptically.

“Ah yes, mixed with a little bit of goldenrod,” he responded proudly. Early last summer, he had spent a week learning from the local tribe that resided near Avonlea. The Mi'kmaq had been hesitant about teaching a white man their methods, especially after everything that happened to Ka’kwet, but luckily a certain redhead had convinced them he simply wanted to expand his medical knowledge and would be respectful of their practices. It was one of the most fascinating weeks of his life and the knowledge he had gained from it had improved his skills tremendously.

“Well, that is certainly...different.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Doctor Ward teach you this?”

Gilbert straightened, preparing himself for the shouting that would soon follow his response. “No actually, I learned this from a lo…”

“He learned it from his time studying at the Sorbonne!” Winifred, who had been witness to the entire conversation, stood from her desk. He had almost forgotten she was in the office. She made her way over to stand next to Gilbert, sliding her arm through his. “Gilbert just got back a week ago from a semester abroad and he learned all sorts of new tricks of the trade. Isn’t that right, darling?” 

He desperately wanted to correct her, to tell them he had learned it from people who had been using these methods before their grandparents were even born. But for some reason, he couldn’t form the words. He was tired after a full day of work and wasn’t sure he had the fight in him at the moment. So instead, he pulled his lips into a tight smile and gave a curt nod. “That’s right.”

This answer seemed to please Mrs. Beckley, whose demeanor changed drastically. Smiling, she put the jar into her hand bag and put her hand on her son's shoulders. “Well, I am glad to hear that. Thank you again, and good day Doctor Blythe.” Winnie slid her arm out of Gilberts, gliding towards the front door to show out the mother and son. He lifted his hand in farewell then immediately bringing it up to run his fingers through his hair, only to find it stiff and unmoving. Damn forgot about the pomade. While in Paris, Winnie had convinced him to try out a new product that held hair in place, saying it would make him look more professional to have his hair out of his eyes. He agreed but at times, he missed his curls moving freely, especially when he was frustrated. 

“Come back if you need anything else,” Winifred called before he heard her bolt the latch. Swiftly she made her way back down the hallway. With a smile dancing on her lips, she made her way back towards her desk, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair. “Well, that was certainly an interesting last patient for the week.”

“Indeed,” he responded, making his way over to the water basin to wash his hands. He must have put the water pitcher down harder than he wanted because Winnie’s smile fell. Silently, she put her coat back on the chair and made her way over to him. She looked over his shoulder as he began to scrub a few spots of dried blood under his nails.

“I know you’re upset about my interruption,” she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I apologize.”

Gilbert stopped scrubbing and sighed. “I understand why you did it, but it still doesn’t make it any less frustrating.” He dropped the brush into the basin and grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf. “The Mi’kmaq have been using these techniques for hundreds of years and they work, Winnie. Their natural methods actually work. Why shouldn’t they be credited?” Winnie frowned as he dried his hands, throwing the towel into a basket on the floor. She turned him around to face her.

“Darling,” she spoke softly. “I admire how you are always willing to learn and try new things. But the world isn’t as forward thinking as you and I,” she slid her hand down to his, holding it at his side. “Perhaps some day they will be, but for now, we must adapt on occasion.”

Gilbert took a deep breath once more as a million thoughts raced through his head. He had never been one to adapt, it wasn’t who he was or who he wanted to be. His father had taught him that no matter what happens in his life, he must remain true to his beliefs. And at the moment, he felt as if he wasn’t following that lesson. But much like the frustration he had earlier with Mrs Beckley, he pushed this aside as well. He was exhausted and hungry. 

Winnie must have sensed this because instantly a coy smile made its way to her lips. “Now, Doctor Blythe, why don’t we close up the office and head off? We have much to discuss before tomorrow.”

Confusion crossed Gilberts face. “Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?” he asked cluelessly. Winnie’s smile dropped once more only this time, her hand joined it.

“Gilbert, did you honestly forget my parents are coming into town tomorrow? To help settle wedding plans?” Gilbert felt like smacking his head against the wall. Of course he had forgotten, he would forget his own head if it wasn’t attached to his body. The only thoughts he had anymore involved medical equations and how to identify whether or not a person had the common cold. It honestly didn’t leave much room for anything else. Or at least that is what he told himself.

In all honesty, he wasn’t exactly sure why he couldn’t focus on the wedding. He should be thrilled and full of joy, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to do so. When he proposed to her in Paris, just a week before they began their voyage back to the island, he had felt so sure of himself. But now, it was as if some mysterious force was begging him not to go through with it. 

He looked pinched the bridge of his nose before sliding his hand through his hair once more, this time pulling a curl lose. “Oh Win,”  Pushing the nagging feeling aside, he opened his eyes to look at his bride to be, who was wearing a look of mild disappointment. “I am so sorry. With all the traveling, covering for Doctor Ward, and preparing to go back to school...I am not even sure which way is up anymore.”

Her lips formed a tight smile as she brushed the curl out of his eyes, pushing it back into place with all the others. “It’s alright dear, I forgive you...this time.” She giggled as he rolled his eyes and smirked. Despite his doubts, he did thoroughly enjoy Winifreds company. She was easy to be with, never challenging him and supporting his ambitions, along with being exceptionally beautiful. It was everything a man would want in a wife, right?

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I am famished,” Winnie made her way back over to her desk, grabbing her coat once more. “I believe we have tea and cakes calling our names...that is, of course, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Gilbert must have looked as tired as he felt. And honestly, the last thing he wanted to do this evening was to sit in a posh tea shop, eating sandwiches that would hardly fill him. But as she had said before, sometimes you have to adapt, so he straightened up and tried to erase the exhaustion from his face. But just as he was opening his mouth to respond, a mysterious figure sprinted by the window, catching his attention. Within the next second a frantic knock came on the door. Winnie jumped, peering worriedly at Gilbert. He held up a hand as if to tell her to wait by the desk as he inched closer to the door. And of course she didn’t listen, instead choosing to step behind him, matching each step towards the door. Another frantic knock rang through the room, only this time, it was accompanied with a familiar voice. 

“Doctor, if you’re in there, please open the door!” Gilbert, knowing the voice could only belong to one man, ran to the door. He unlatched the door and threw it open to see Bash doubled over, fighting to catch his breath.

“Bash!” Gilbert cried in excitement. Sebastians head shot up. 

“Blythe?! I figured...” he took a deep breath and tried to stand up straight. “I figured you would be in Kingsport by now!” Once Bash had fully straightened, Gilbert couldn’t contain his excitement and threw his arms around his brother, holding him so tightly that the wind was probably going to be knocked out of him all over again.

“Doctor Ward asked me to fill in this week while he took time to rest…” He paused, pulling away from the hug. Now that the initial excitement had passed, he looked Sebastian in the eyes and saw one thing: fear. “Bash, not that I’m not thrilled to see you but... why are you here? Is Dellie alright?”

Bash wiped sweat from his brow. “Dellie is fine. But there is something wrong with…” he looked at Gilbert fully for the first time since the arrival. His hand instantly reached up to Gilberts hair, giving it a soft pat. “What is wrong with your hair Blythe? Lose a bet?”

Gilbert swatted his hand away and put his hands on either shoulder. “Bash, I need you to focus. What’s wrong?”

Fear flashed across Sebastian’s face once more. “It’s Anne.” Immediately at the mention of her name, Gilbert’s chest tightened and his throat dried. “Gilbert...she’s horribly ill...none of us have any clue what is wrong with her.”

The color drained from Gilberts face. Bash continued to speak as Winnie gestured for him to come inside. Even though he followed behind them, he couldn’t hear what was being said anymore, becoming too buried in his thoughts. Anne is sick… okay, it could be nothing, it could just be a cold. She could just be acting dramatic. Anne has always had a knack for dramatics. 

“Bash…” he willed his voice to remain steady and calm as he looked up to see Winifred handing Sebastian a cup of tea. “How sick is she exactly?”

He swallowed the entirety of the cup in one gulp, resting it down on the counter. “Well,” he wiped a stray drop of tea from him mouth. “She had this  coughing fit that weakened her so badly that I had to carry her back to Green Gables myself.”

“A coughing fit?” Gilberts throat dried, fearing the different diagnoses that were popping into his head. Winnie glanced over to him, worry consuming her eyes. A question formed in his throat but he seemed unable to ask it out loud. Come on Gilbert, treat her like any other patient. But she wasn’t just any patient. She was Anne. The smartest girl in all of Avonlea, the girl who fought to help those whose voices tended to go unheard in society. The girl who could make even the most boring school lesson fun. The girl that had hair the color of fire and ocean eyes. She was the girl who he had once dreamed of spending the rest of his life with. He forced the question out before he could stop it again: “Was there blood?”

Bash hesitated for a moment before nodding his head silently. Gilbert's body suddenly flew into a frenzy, racing into the examination room and threw open his bag. He began frantically filling it with everything his could possibly think he would need. Stethoscope, thermometer, different vials of pain medication, anything he thought might help.

“Gilbert?” Bash and Winnifred stepped into the doorway, watching the man frantically ran through the room throwing open cabinets and drawers.

“Bandages? No, we shouldn’t need those. Syringes…” he carefully placed two in his bag next to the pain medication, praying he wouldn’t have to use them. He made his way through the door, ignoring the two people who quickly stepped aside to avoid being pushed. “Winifred,” he shouted over his shoulder as he walked over to her desk, opening the top drawer to grab his wallet. “I am sorry but I need you to stay here and ring Doctor Ward first thing in the morning. Tell him he needs to come to Avonlea on the earliest train he can get.”

Bash and Winnie exchanged glances. Both confusion and worry crossed their faces as they watched Gilbert run frantically around the room, grabbing random books and throwing them into his bag. 

“Gilbert…” Winifred spoke softly in an attempt to calm him. 

“Alright, its 6:30 now. The last train leaves at 6:45, which means we can make it if we run.” Gilbert snapped his bag shut, making his way over to the coat rack, once again pushing past the two. He reached for his coat, trying to pull it on with one hand.

“Blythe!” Bash yelled, causing Gilbert to bump into the counter, which sent the teacup crashing to the floor. Silence engulfed the room as the three people stared awkwardly at one another. “Gilbert, take a deep breath brother,” Bash took a tender step towards him, gingerly taking in a deep breath while instructing Gilbert to do the same. He put his bag down and took a deep breath as he put his coat on. “Good, now answer me calmly, what do you think is wrong with Anne?”

He let out his breath and buttoned the middle button on his coat. “I can’t say for sure without seeing her,” he picked up his bag from the counter and stepped over the shattered teacup. “But let’s just hope it’s not what I think it is.”

For the first time since his frenzy had started, he looked at Winnie, realization dawned on him. “Your parents…”

She stepped forward, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Go. Go help Anne.” she smiled softly as she said their friends name. “I will phone my parents this evening and tell them not to come. When I get ahold of Doctor Ward, he and I will be on the first train out to help.”

He smiled at her, took her hands within her own and did something he had never done before: he kissed them. “Thank you.” She gave him one last smile before he turned his attention to Bash. “You up to run some more?” 

Gilbert made his way over to the door, grabbing the door handle. Bash walked up next to him, glancing at him sideways. “I am, but I wish you would tell me what has got you so worked up.”

His voice caught in his throat once more, so instead of responding, he threw open the door and began to run. Within seconds Bash had matched his pace and Gilbert's nerve returned. “Consumption, Bash,” he said between each step, his eyes stinging with tears. “I fear she may have consumption.”

[sserpente]

In a heartbeat (Chapter 31)

A/N: ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR A NEW CHAPTER?!

Doctor Strange possessed an extraordinary sense of perception. With his enchanted red cloak, nearly no enemy was enabled to sneak up on him. It clung around him like a second pair of eyes, scanning the environment behind his back to protect him from evil.

It startled him all the more when suddenly, the cloak flattered wildly, excitedly like a dog that had been promised a fresh and juicy bone. Alarmed, he turned on his heel, facing an all too familiar man only few feet from where he was standing, burying his nose in a magic book in an attempt to stop Thanos’ schemes.

“Loki,” he began dismayed, slightly tilting his head to replace a half-hearted greeting. His fingers were ready to cast a spell and send him flying through dimensions again when he took a threatening step forward but then, much to his surprise, lifted both his hands in defeat.

“Listening to what I have to say might turn out to be in your own interest, sorcerer. And in that of the entire Midgardian population.” He spoke darkly, his voice oddly calm.

Strange hesitated. “I have seen you and Thor in a vision. You are dead.”

“As far as Thanos is concerned, I am.” Loki simply replied, shooting him a stern look in the process. Strange understood immediately. So he was the first one to learn that the God of Mischief was still alive and had fooled death once again.

He nodded slowly. “So what do you want here?” Loki clenched his fists, fighting the itching urge to conjure two shiny daggers to stab the would-be sorcerer. Thanos’ lackeys would be here any minute. He did not have any spare time.

“I demand to know the whereabouts of my people. The Valkyrie and the Cronan took the Arc and fled. I know they have contacted you. Finding out myself would take too much time and energy that I have not to waste.”

For a couple of nerve-wrecking seconds, Strange silenced. Staring Loki down in a scrutinising manner, attempting to read in his wicked blue eyes what side he was on. He decided quickly that he really did not know what had occurred after his fake death.

“I don’t know yet. Valkyrie never made it on the Arc. She stayed behind with (Y/N).”

Loki’s face fell. At the mention of your name he flinched, barely, shockwaves of fear and concern cursing through his entire body. If you had stayed in the village when Thanos attacked him… you had either witnessed his seemingly gruesome fate or gotten killed in the explosion. One possibility was more dreadful than the other, for both would have had you suffer unbearable pain he knew he was the reason for.

You finding out about his coup to fake his death yet again had never been part of the plan. He would have sought you after all the threats Thanos had caused had been eliminated, reunited with you and gifted you that happy ending he had always promised you in your sleep.

“She is alive.” Strange finally added, watching curiously how he breathed out audibly.

“And where is she now?”

“With Thor, somewhere in space, I’ve been trying to track them.” With his brother, she was at least somewhat safe. He knew that if something happened to her, Thor knew to expect a blood bath. Never before had he held anything so dear in his life, not even when Frigga was still alive.

“What about Banner?” He choked out.

“He is downstairs with Tony Stark. He will not be happy to see you.”

Loki snorted. “That feeling is mutual. No. Thanos believes I am dead and so does everyone else and I would appreciate if it remained this way until Thor kills him.”

“Thor? You think Thor will kill him?” Strange interrupted. Suspicion and distrust crawled up his spine, his body language betrayed him.

“My brother is a lot more powerful than you give him credit for.” And he was in a rage. Because of Heimdall—and because of him. He silently cursed himself. Of course his oaf of a brother would not take the hints and comprehend the hints he had provided him with.

“And what about (Y/N)?”

In an instant, Loki’s arrogant and superior gaze faltered again, his composed expression replaced by sudden sadness.

“Tell her nothing. Not yet. She will put herself in danger if she learns I am still alive and try everything in her power to go looking for me. She is stubborn.”

“You love her.” Strange stated simply.

The God of Mischief gritted his teeth. Yes. Yes, he did, with all his heart. It had been terrible to leave her behind like this but what business was that of his? “Now, are you going to help me or not?”

The sorcerer tilted his head. “Alright…” he started slowly. “Let us hear your plan.”

“The Tesseract is an undying energy source, nothing has changed about that. You tell Stark that if he clones the electromagnetic particles inside the stone, he can, with a little help of the princess of Wakanda, manifest them to a consistent object.”

He hated this kind of science talk. The words lay heavy on his tongue, yet fortunately, they were not his own. They were Stark’s. It was complicated.

“Let him know his Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing system and a man the size of an ant provided him with the information. He will understand, in time.”

The sorcerer frowned. “That is all?”

“This is vital knowledge he must receive immediately.” Loki hissed. “In the meantime, I shall be going to Jötunheim.”

“Hiding in a different realm will not stop Thanos from finding you if he succeeds.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes. “I have much more meaningful business on Jötunheim. Thor will need all the help he can get. I am the Frost Giants’ rightful king and I shall return with an army.”

Strange had to admit, Loki’s idea was promising—and pretty much their only hope. “And how exactly do you intend to do that? My portals cannot send you to a different realm.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “With this.” The sorcerer gasped the moment the brightly, blue shining Tesseract appeared in his palm.

“You had it all along.”

Loki nodded triumphantly.

“If you have the real stone… then what does Thanos have?”

“That, sorcerer, is a question you should probably ask your new friends. Tell no one I am alive.” And with that, he dissolved, a green shimmer of light announcing his magical departure only seconds before Ebony Maw arrived on Earth to demand the remaining Infinity Stones.

Travelling by Tesseract wasn’t exactly the most pleasant way to move between worlds. It was draining and exhausting, costing Loki a lot of energy he desperately needed to reunite with his brother and much more importantly, to get you to safety as fast as possible.

He could not make any mistakes—not that he ever had, of course, still, he needed to be extra careful about his word choice today. Especially in a place like this.

To say he had missed the planet he had been born on would be an atrocious lie. He knew now how was resistant to the cold, the ice and the snow around him barely affected his Jötun body. The frost-bitten air wrapped around his limbs as he strolled towards the ice palace Laufey had resided in, dark boots trampling through the ankle-high snow on the frozen ground.

His breath was visible before his eyes, white clouds evaporating with every step that he took closer to the species his adoptive father had taught him to fear.

“You…” A deep voice growled. Loki turned, already expecting to see one of the Frost Giants materialise sharp icicles that would pierce through his armour like steel.

“I must admit, I anticipated a little more joy upon my return.” He began with an arrogant smirk.

“What do you want?”

They had no desire to kill him—not just yet. No one travelled to Jötunheim just to ride a sleigh or make snow angels on the cold ground. There was always a purpose; and ever since their kingdom had fallen, they were desperate for every visitor who promised them a new reign and the revival of their bleak realm.

It was risky. If they took the lead or gained the upper hand, Midgard would be all but lost.

“I come with an offer you will not be able to dismiss.” He began confidently.

“Go on…” More Frost Giants appeared from behind icy walls, weapons at the ready.

“Our universe like we know it is in danger. Thanos, the last survivor of Titan, is attempting to accomplish what no one has ever accomplished before him. By wielding the Infinity Gauntlet and collecting all six Infinity Stones, he can wipe out half of the universe… including your race.”

“What business is that of ours?”

“I believe you did not listen,” Loki growled darkly. “If Thanos succeeds, half of you will be dead. Do you truly think you could deal with another loss? This place is already a pathetic excuse for a realm. You have no purpose, you have no king and you have no power. I intend to give you all of it.”

“A king?” The Frost Giants stepped closer. Anger was radiating off of them as they circled Loki. He looked small compared to them, despite his wit and obvious superiority. “What makes you think we would want an Asgardian to rule over Jötunheim?”

“Laufey had a son, did he not?” He began quietly. The Frost Giants had never known it was him who had killed his predecessor, his birth father. After Laufey’s defeat on Asgard, they had fallen, powerless without a skilled ruler and helpless without the casket.

He did not have it. It had been destroyed during Ragnarok, however, all of this was information he would wickedly withhold from them.

Swallowing thickly, Loki took a deep breath and embraced the cold around him like an old friend. It clung to his limbs like liquid metal, turning his skin blue and his eyes red. The Frost Giants took a step back, both shocked and flabbergasted at what they saw.

“I was taken from Odin the very same night your weapon was stolen from you. He raised me as his own, preparing me to one day claim the throne of Asgard. It was too late for Laufey when I found out about my true heritage, my destiny.” He lied, looking the Frost Giant he was speaking to dead in the eye. “I, Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief and Lies, am your rightful king… and I will lead you in a glorious battle.”

A/N: You didn’t think I would actually kill him, right?! COME ON.

[shachathabrah]

“Starfetched. I get it. Like starcrossed and farfetched. Which I guess is kinda what most people hooking up are.”

The angel stood in a small clearing, naked and half-naked trees reaching into a yawning canopy above him. A warm sunlight trickled through what leaves remained, interrupted intermittently by a cool, wispy breeze. He’d never heard of this part of the Nevernever before, nor the reigning high Sidhe - though upon looking around for more than a minute, it became abundantly clear that Edea was the queen of the short-lived, often chilly, midseason court. The ruling fae of Autumn. Wild.

“Both destined to be, and unlikely so. To be Starfetched is entirely an act of fate. To imagine that anyone could find someone they are truly meant to be with, crossing hundreds of miles or oceans or traversing the many realms to do so… It is truly something.” She was taller than Cath - then again, most were - and, like most in this realm, possessed an unnatural, almost feline-like grace. Her hair spun in spirals down to the small of her back, bits of leaves and other natural debris arranged in it more artfully than one might expect.

Cath nodded slowly in reply. “Yeah, it really is. Something. But it’s why I’m here. I’m requesting a… what should I call it. A reading? I couldn’t translate some of the writings on the process. I wanna get the deets on my relationship with him. We’re ready to take it to the next level.”

“It would appear as though you have already taken to the idea without our influence,” she mused, lips the colour of dead Autumn leaves curling ever so slightly at their corners, gesturing at his left hand. Cath knew at once she was motioning towards the ring Kay had given him. Well, the troll certainly had gotten his wish of wanting anyone that saw it to think ‘Wow, that fellow sure is engaged.’ Hastily, the angel clenched his fist, slicing the air in a ‘cut the shit’ motion with his other hand.

“You know as well as I do what it means.” Anger swelled, a sour taste on his tongue. “Like I’d be able to set foot inside a house of worship without being smited where I stood.” The determination in his expression faltered. “...Smited? Smote? Is ‘smote’ a word?” His bitterness melted into momentary confusion, his penchant for getting sidetracked brought out in full force by the general hazy and confuddling atmosphere of the Nevernever. Edea only giggled, shoulders bouncing, curled locks of fire engine red hair spilling over her shoulders as she did so.

“But your mind has been made up,” she offered, gliding closer to him. “The pair of you are set to be wed by any means, what ever would a reading tell you that you don’t already know?”

To this, Cath’s stance dropped; his shoulders lowering as he thought about it. Really, not much. He’d had his fears worked over by Kay often enough to be sure about this, assured beyond all shadow of a doubt that this was what they wanted. But… Beyond… all shadow of a doubt…? He chewed his lip gently, eyes never leaving the shifting pools of weathered copper the fae watched him through. “If I’m right. We’re - if we’re right. For each other, I guess.” Showing any kind of weakness before a fae was generally a really stupid idea, but he couldn’t - Cath had to be sure. If the powers in his life that ruled over most everything he knew and believed could give him some firm insight, he was hoping the last of the dying embers of doubt would grow cold, and just let him enjoy what had been gifted to him. This life, this love. He had to be sure.

“I’ve read it can do that. Prove that what we have is… Is worthy of being joined as one. It isn’t the same as being married, but it’s the closest thing something like me is gonna be able to get.” He did his best to recall up the notes he’d taken, not wanting to deface Daud’s book. (Even though he deserved to have a few dicks drawn in it. The motherfucker.) “And if I pass the test, we’re allowed the ceremony.”

In his heart, he knew Kay deserved more. Always the wedding planner, never the star. But the fae could put on one hell of a shindig, and maybe, lost in the beauty that the fae (despite being treacherous, nasty, vile, nasty, evil creatures) could produce, he might forgive Cath for being unable to give him what he truly deserved. “And,” he began again, lifting his chin once more, sticking out his chest just a little bit, “it’s the one thing you’re not allowed to bargain for. This is a freebie to those that seek it.” Knowledge was something powerful to the fae, something they had in spades, and they were never ones to give it freely. The Starfetched reading, however, was different. It was something the fae themselves had personal interest in, and it was how lore of married fae couples came to be. Humans, most of the time, had a very basic understanding of the bond magical beings shared - simply put, Titania and Oberon were married. No convoluted reading or ceremony required. It was beyond what patience they had to look beyond the label to find out what was really going on there.

He almost expected Edea to give him lip over it, but instead those lips stretched into a leonine grin. “You are correct,” she acquiesced with a bow of her head. “We are not required nor encouraged to seek payment for this service.” Though her eyes glittered as her head lifted again. “It is taxing enough on those who experience it.”

The angel swallowed. He hadn’t taken into consideration the reading might be dangerous in some way. Hell, it might kill him. The book hadn’t talked about the risks involved, it had only outlined the basic practice. Fae were nigh indestructible, save a severe allergy to cold iron. Reflexively, he touched the heart-shaped ring of his collar. Pseudo outsiders, however… Well. Shit. Kay couldn’t get hitched to a quivering pile of ectoplasmic goo, or a lump of smouldering feathers. But Cath was determined to see it through. “This will be the first time anyone of your ilk has attempted this reading.” There was almost something savage in her tone, though he could not place it. “Should you survive it, I daresay having witnessed it would be payment enough.”

Scared of fae as he was, Cath was not one to give into intimidation tactics. “Then you’ll have witnessed something no other fae has seen, yeah. So, let’s get to it. Enough chat. I hate being here and I gotta say I’m not too keen on you either.” The fae’s look took on a bit more ice, but the smile didn’t fade. “And for some reason you’re the only one in this dump that can do it.” He tilted his head a little. “Why?” Generally, fae didn’t give knowledge without something in return, but they sure did love talking about themselves.

“As seasons change, the summer and winter courts are at a mutual weakness. For a very brief period of time, I am in power. That power also happens to coincide with Samhain. The spirit world and the mortal world brush closest, and the barriers wear thin. Who better to deal with matters of the spirit, soul, and heart than someone in my position?” Said with no small amount of smugness, Cath noted. She certainly seemed to be more than willing to toot her own horn. But he had to give her some credit, no one else would ever really consider the fact of a smaller court in the fae realm. Hell, this was all news to him. But her logic was frustratingly sound. Not like he was jumping out of his skin to talk to the other ladies or queens about this, or anything, either. He liked them right where they were. None the wiser. Though he was sure that once this was completed, word would travel fast. There was nothing he could do about that.

“...Have you ever been in love, Edea?” The angel asked suddenly, his own voice taking on a tone much softer than he’d had initially, losing much of the edge and normal vitriol reserved for this place. “I mean like. The real thing.”

That seemed to strike some kind of chord, and the fae queen glanced away momentarily. “While it is not irregular for us here in the Nevernever to find ourselves in such a situation, It has never happened to myself.” She sounded… Sad, almost. Far be it from Cath to actually feel sympathy or pity for things that existed here, but he found his brows knitting gently.

“It’s because no one can do this for you, isn’t it.” He shifted his weight uneasily as the realization came to him. “No one can perform this rite, this.. seance, this ceremony for you. So you can’t even know if what you feel, if you’ve ever felt anything, can be considered true.” A little ‘huh’ sound left him. “That sucks a big fat one for you.”

Whatever he was expecting from her, it was not a laugh - one neither filled with anger nor malice, or anything negative directed towards him. It was still sharp and all edges, but it was a genuine laugh. “You’ve picked up quite the colourful tongue from living amongst humans, dear Shachath. It is no wonder that love has ailed you so.”

His face screwed up a little at that. Ailed him, huh. There may have been a reason it was called ‘lovesick’. He hadn’t considered it until now. He’d done a lot of things for this love. Faced some of his greatest fears, even, without even thinking of being repaid for his actions. He’d just done them, just like that, because doing it would help someone he loved. Very dearly, at that. Someone he’d do anything for.

Very, very briefly, he wondered if Edea - or the Sidhe in general, had people they knew like that. Their very state of being operated on a different level entirely, but Titania and Oberon were together. He was at least reasonably certain other creatures of the Nevernever could court and find love, too. But how far did their affections stretch? He found he could just as easily imagine Titania waxing poetic about her husband as he could imagine her ripping his throat out over a something as tame as what to have for dinner. But then again, as he’d learned, even the faerie queens were mortal once.

“Maybe it has ailed me. I dunno. But… I do know that I want it to work out. And your little ritual thingy will tell me if it can.”

“Child, no matter what the reading tells you, you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing anyway.” Her tone chided him slightly, though she made no further presses to dissuade him.

“You’re fucking right I am.” Reading tea leaves or tossing sand in a circle could tell him no more than what he felt in his heart. Even if it told him they weren’t… Starfetched, they weren’t soulmates, they weren’t some other form of word that essentially meant they belonged together, right now, they did. They were together right now, and however long it lasted was all that mattered to him. Even if it did scare him a little. He’d spent so long feeling temporary, just a placeholder for the next iteration of him to come along. Many, many versions of himself had come and gone. 26 - almost 27, now - years strong in this form had him… Antsy. He knew it was highly unlikely he’d go anywhere this time, but that ever-present fear lingered. Had he changed enough to be good for this? Had he changed at all?

And then there was still the whole fact that he might not survive the reading. Knowledge was a powerful thing, especially to the fae. It was probably their most valuable asset, and their strongest bargaining chip. Knowledge could make or break someone. Topple cities. End civilizations. Maybe, just maybe, his pathetic little human slash bird brain just wasn’t equipped to handle what vast knowledge Edea was going to forcefully shove into it. Maybe he’d survive. Maybe it’d drive him mad. Maybe that danger was the real reason the service was “free”. Nothing was free. He knew better than that.

Yet here he was.

For a long few minutes Edea regarded him with little more than amused boredom, watching the angel process things. His choice was obvious, even to him - though he didn’t want to seem all too eager to jump into bed with her. Metaphorically speaking. Eventually he nodded, sighing, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.”

Almost instantly, complete and total darkness engulfed him, and he let out a startled cry - stumbling on nothing and falling flat on his ass with a hard thud. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that he hated complete darkness, though through his scrambled thoughts he couldn’t think of any reason why she’d be doing this to him. It set his heart racing, and it was only moments after that he felt an icy vice grip on his arm. Another sound left him as four pinpricks of pain blossomed from his bicep, sending a numbing chill through him. An instant later he was dizzy, struggling to free himself as the dimness around him faded - like a lone fluorescent bulb slowly bathing a room as it warmed up.

“The fuck,” he managed, free arm coming to support himself on the ground, eyes adjusting. The forest was exactly as it had been moments ago, and Edea herself was standing a few feet away. Her look suggested that of watching a child tucker itself out through a tantrum, and to fit the bill Cath scowled at her. “What the fuck was that for?” Eyes raked around again for some sort of answer, and he realized that it was perhaps an enchantment to blind him momentarily, rather than bathe everything in darkness. Which, of course, scared him more than anything: Edea hadn’t said a word, or made any move to do so. She’d simply willed him blind and it had happened. He quietly filed her under yet another ‘Fae to not fuck with’.

“It is very foolish of you to think that just because you are here to partake in this that you can handle it as you are,” she upbraided, removing a number of things he couldn’t quite focus on from somewhere behind a tree stump. “To put it simply, I’ve drugged you. An altered consciousness is required to… partake in this. I know you don’t use your brain quite so often, Shachath, but unlocking some extra rooms among those grey matter folds is necessary.” She tutted then, shaking her head. “Humans are so unfortunate.”

He really couldn’t argue, all things considered. Humans were unfortunate, and he had read something at some point about brain functionality being limited in a completely sober state. But this wasn’t like any drug he’d ever been on before. He mostly just felt dizzy, awake and sleepy all at the same time, like he was straining to focus on something that may or may not have been there. “So you had to scare the shit out of me first?”

“Blood flow quickens with the pulse, does it not? At least that is what I’m led to believe.” She sounded uncertain for a moment, and Cath had to wonder, briefly, what exactly made up the biology of a fae. But even still, he rolled his eyes and grunted in annoyance.

“Couldn’t you just have dropped a porn mag in my lap or something?”

At that, he actually got a scowl from Edea. “Ezra Shachath,” she began in a tone meant to deride children, “and you’re here to prove your love, too.”

Unable to help his uneasy grin, it faded quickly with a sigh. So, she’d made him blind to drug him, and scared the shit out of him to make it quick. He really didn’t like where this was heading, but it was probably a decent testament to her character that she hadn’t done anything else to him. For now. That could change in an instant.

Edea continued gathering her things, Cath watching in dazed silence as the forest spun gently around him. He counted his lucky stars that the drug he’d been given wasn’t doing much more than making him acutely aware of everything around him… It could have been a lot worse. And he’d bet dollars to donuts it wasn’t just some piddly human drug, either. Fae shit was dangerous. Strong. The stuff he made was comparable but at least it wasn’t ever considered deadly.

A figurative age passed by before Edea had settled in front of him, kneeling at a shallow table she’d set up between them. A large, completely smooth stone about the size of a post card but oval shaped sat on a what looked to be something like a dinner plate. The notion made him giggle, suddenly and uncontrollably, rocking back on his hands as the sound turned into a belly laugh. “It’s like. It’s like. You’re serving it up to me. Where’s the knife and fork? Lemme just cut a slice.” He didn’t see Edea roll her eyes, but he could practically hear it, and it only made him laugh harder.

When his laughter finally subsided, he sighed, wiping tears from his eyes. Hoo. Okay. He was calm. He could focus. Which he did. To the best of his abilities. Several stones had been placed around the plate (teehee), varying colours and sizes, all seeming important while appearing innocuous at the same time. She held her hands, palm up, an inch or so above the table, looking at him almost expectantly. “Your hands, Shachath.”

He hesitated, but eventually laid his own hands on hers with his palms down. It made him twitch, feeling the connection between them link suddenly. Some part of him knew that was just the drugs, but another part swore up and down it was fae magic bullshit. “Okay. Not what?” Impatient. High on fae drugs. He wanted to get this done and go.

“Close your eyes and focus on the stone before you in your mind. Take in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and count to ten.”

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted to being assaulted on every front and every sense with… everything. He could see so much, almost too much - he understood what Edea meant about needing to unlock more of his brain very suddenly. It was as if he was watching a hundred, thousand, impossibly more than that movies at once. All of them showing him Kay, and himself.

But things were… different. In one of the visions, they were meeting by chance, one of them having missed a train. The vision culminated to them in a coffee shop some time later, confessing their feelings. In another, Cath was a private investigator trying to prove Kay innocent of a crime. Unsurprisingly, they fell in love. In another still, the angel, merely a human here, was the lone cause of a zombie apocalypse, and Kay was the only person immune to his deadly influence.

There were too many to keep track of, but somehow he managed to watch them all, all at once, from start to finish. Cath sang karaoke. Kay was a prince, and Cath his knight. In one they were both angels. In most, they ended up hooking up in one way or another, happy and in love. For every one time they didn’t, a dozen other scenarios came up to soothe the heartbreak Cath felt in their instances. It was surreal. It was bizarre. It was almost too much to handle and the meek part of his bird brain that had squawked ‘It must be the drugs!!’ was saying the same thing again here. Unbeknownst to him, his nose had started to bleed, and he was breathing fairly heavily. Though his brain dutifully ignored the peasantry that was his semi-mortal body, plodding on with the task it had been given by the fae. He couldn’t stop watching. He wasn’t even sure he’d blinked in the past however long it had been. Every vision he saw was simultaneously over in an instant and took an eternity to complete.

It was a nightmare. It was hell.

It was so, so beautiful.

He didn’t remember collapsing, or how long it had been since the reading had started. His recollections were choppy at best, of Edea picking him up and sliding the stone into his hoodie pocket, now an almost impossibly deep shade of black. The forest around them seemed to melt as his consciousness slipped, mumbling incongruously to no one as darkness aggressively swamped his vision.

The home Edea found herself in was exactly that - a home. She felt a significant portion of her power dissolve as she crossed through the Way just to deliver the fallen angel back peacefully, though it bothered her little. She’d traced his origin point rather simply, and felt it maybe necessary to chide him at a later date for making himself so easy to find. At the bedside, she noted the sleeping figure already occupying the large bed. That… must be the one this had all been for. Fascinating. He seemed quite normal from this vantage, far more normal than someone she’d peg Shachath to be interested in. He always seemed so… Flighty, for lack of a better term. Not the kind to settle down in any sense of the word. Hum.

Silently, she placed the KO’d fallen onto the bed, moving to lower herself to a sit next to the other sleeping figure. He seemed strange, from this angle; like nothing she’d seen before. Maybe he wasn’t as normal as she’d initially thought. Though her curiosity got the better of her - a hand gently reached out, placing itself on his forehead (between horns, no less) and closing her eyes.

In an instant, she was standing no more than four feet from him, looking around and taking inventory of the sight.

“Well,” she said, tone loud enough to hear but not loud enough to disrupt, “this certainly isn’t what I’d been expecting.”

[helshades]

The Brodinsons: Kings of Asgard

Extracted from here for reasons related to practicality.

Quotation 1

“I start in the film as Thor’s younger brother and I think in the manner of all younger brothers I have a greater sense of freedom. I’m not the oldest therefore the parental expectations aren’t as heavy, so it’s like a lot of younger children in sibling groups; I think Loki has a bit more freedom. He’s not going to be King. He knows that. And so he’s freer to… he has less responsibility on his shoulders so he’s freer to have a bit more fun. And I think like everybody at Marvel has been very clear and brilliant about coming into this that Loki just has… they’re both enormously gifted. Thor and Loki are a two-man team and they’re both going to run Asgard when Odin steps down, and Thor has an ability and a physicality and a presence—a physical presence that is… he’s the type of man you follow. You just do. In the same way they used to talk about all the leaders and the captains and the generals that came out of both World Wars that those captains and generals weren’t necessarily elected just in battles. There were certain men who were followed. You know, leaders were born and Thor is that guy. And Loki’s gifts are different in that he is sharper, he’s cleverer, he’s more interested in tactics and strategy. He’s capable of thinking ahead and he enjoys chaos. So he enjoys reacting to chaos and that affects how given that he’s the God of mischief. Mischief is essentially chaos. He likes stoking the fire of chaos and seeing what happens as a result.”

                 — Tom Hiddleston on Loki, 2011 interview by Collider during the production of the first Thor film.

Quotation 2

“Thor is the favoured son, and destined to be heir to the throne of Odin and that kind of rubs Loki the wrong way, but at the same time they’ve had a great experience growing up together. Odin has been a tough but good and fair father to both of them.”

                  — Kevin Feige, quoted in the Art of Thor official book.

Quotation 3

                        ODIN           Do you think he's ready?                         FRIGGA           He thinks he is. He has his          father's confidence.                         ODIN           He'll need his father's wisdom.                         FRIGGA           And his humility?           Odin reacts.          FRIGGA (CONT'D)           Thor won't be alone. Loki will be          at his side to give him counsel.          Have faith in your sons.  

                — Deleted scene from Thor, to be read in the original script.

“Thor and Loki are a two-man team and they’re both going to run Asgard when Odin steps down”

“Thor won’t be alone. Loki will be at his side to give him counsel.”

I don’t think it has been pointed out enough that Odin and Frigga had always intended to have both of their sons rule Asgard, and that Thor and Loki themselves have long been a rather efficient team. Here’s to hoping they’ll get the occasion to be one again. (Before one stabs the other and runs away with the silverware, of course.)

star-sought-light:

I agree with everything you say. I was also reminded of the scene where Frigga *gives* Loki the throne; clearly, she thought him capable of being king, even when Loki initially refused, and it does feel like a further piece of evidence that both were loved and both considered equally capable of rule. Although why Thor over Loki, when they admit Thor wasn't ready?

The last question was just a criticism of them, but I haven't enough characters to express that. It seemed to make sense with the original script that Odin meant for Loki to rule Jotunheim, but - without that scene - makes little sense, as they're picking the seeming less capable child to rule over the capable one.

Quotation 4

“It's been in the works for many years, right, since we finished Dark World. What has Loki been doing on that throne in guise of Odin? And we always liked the idea that he was doing a good job! He was doing a good, but shortsighted job. The trains were running on time, but he wasn't paying attention to anything else going on in the universe or in the realms.”

                — Kevin Feige, interviewed by CinemaBlend shortly before the release of Thor: Ragnarök.

We have often discussed between us the fact that Loki is much more like Odin than many, including himself, would like to think; something that Taika Waititi had Hela comment upon in Ragnarök, in fact: ‘You sound like him’. No matter their differences, Loki was very much Odin’s son. He inherited the sharp wit and calculating mind of both his adoptive parents, in reality, whereas Thor had his father’s hubris but his mother’s heart. On the other hand, Thor is clever, much cleverer than everyone usually give him credit for, while Loki is somewhat less of the strategical mastermind than too many people have decided he had to be... After all, Loki makes up a lot of it as he goes along, and he lacks self-perception to a ludicrous extent—he lacks wisdom, probably because he lacks the humility and empathy necessary for change, and wisdom requires the capacity for change, like Thor, on the contrary, demonstrated in learning from his mistakes.

I’m not entirely sure this was the entire reason for Odin and Frigga choosing Thor over Loki for occupying the throne of Asgard, though; I would say the main reason for this was, quite plainly, the reality of Loki’s birth first and foremost. Not that it make him unworthy, but it seems highly likely that his true parentage would have eventually caused some turmoil within the realm... This is not the only thing, either.

Thor isn’t only an Asgardian citizen nor even an Asgardian prince; he is of the line of Odin, the line of Borr and of Búri (the former appearing in the prologue of The Dark World, the latter cited in behind-the-scenes material as the king who had the oldest part of Asgard built) before them. He descends from the founders of Asgard, you see, and, like his father Odin and his older sister Hela, Thor derives most of his power from the very people of Asgard. There is much to speculate here, but it would be hard not to state right away that the kings of Asgard are almost one with their people, and that in order for Asgard to prosper, a king of the line of Búri must occupy the throne. Which is not to say that Loki or someone else couldn’t be king, only that he would probably lack in power and oversight somewhat.

Remember that Thor, prior to Ragnarök, had visions of Asgard’s impending doom, whereas Loki saw nothing—and when warned about them under Odin’s guise he dismissed them as ‘just a silly dream... signs of an overactive imagination’. The Odinforce was never cited in the Marvel Cinematic Universe but it is very tempting indeed to assume that Thor, has inherited more from his mighty father than a throne.

          FRIGGA (CONT'D)           Thor won't be alone. Loki will be          at his side to give him counsel.          Have faith in your sons.                         ODIN           Yes, but Thor's still a boy. He          could be a great King...           Odin stops, notices HIS HAND SHAKING. It seems to be out of          synch temporally with the rest of the world, leaving a trail          as it moves. He stares at it determinedly, concentrating,          trying to stop the strange event through the force of his          sheer will.          Finally, the occurrence subsides, his hand normal once more.          A worried Frigga covers his hand with her own.          ODIN (CONT'D)                         (QUIETLY)           ...if we only had more time.                         FRIGGA           For once, our son needs something          we cannot provide.                         ODIN           I can fight it a little longer...                         FRIGGA           No. You've put it off too long! I          worry for you.           He touches her cheek.                          ODIN           I've destroyed demons and monsters,          devastated whole worlds, laid waste          to mighty kingdoms, and still you          worry for me?                         FRIGGA           Always.  

                         LOKI           It all makes sense now. Why you          favored Thor all these years.                         ODIN           Listen...                         LOKI           Because no matter how much you          claim to "love" me, you could never          have a Frost Giant sitting on the          Throne of Asgard!           Odin's body begins to shake, he lifts his hand. It starts to          move out of synch temporarily, leaving a trail, the effect of          the Odinsleep approaching. Loki doesn't notice as Odin tries          to fight it off.                         ODIN           Listen to me!           Loki strides away towards the exit.          ODIN (CONT'D)           Loki!           Odin starts towards him, when the enormous mental, emotional,          and physical strain of recent events finally takes its toll.          The effect of the Odinsleep consumes him. His entire body          now moves out of sync with the rest of the world, leaving          trails behind him as he staggers backwards.          Odin falls back against a wall, his face contorting in a          scream. He collapses to the stone floor.          Loki, shocked, hurries to him. He takes Odin in his arms,          calls out.                         LOKI           Guards!  

Inattentive people have made fun of Odin’s ‘convenient Odinsleep’ for a long time, but the truth is, Odin had been putting off this indispensable regeneration of his physical faculties, which he underwent once a year, for too long prior to the events of Thor, precisely because he sensed grave developments in the near future and wanted to be able to control whatever Thor wouldn’t know how. Of course, we know that Odin had been doing all he could to push back the inexorable advent of Ragnarök... and it seems more and more likely that he might have cheated death for quite a long time, in all likelihood using the Odinsleep, in the knowledge that as long as he kept alive, Hela’s reign of terror would be kept at bay. At the very least, he would be affording time for his sons to grow up, and especially for Thor to grow strong enough to, maybe, with hope, go against his sister one day.

          61 INT. ODIN'S CHAMBERS - DAY 61          Frigga sits at her husband's bedside, holding his hand. Odin          lies there—looking pale and lifeless, his body and the          space around it warped from the effect of the Odinsleep. The          walls of the chamber have moved close around him, protecting          him like a dark crypt, sealing off any daylight.          Loki sits at Odin's side, across from Frigga. She speaks          softly to him.                         FRIGGA           I asked him to be honest with you          from the beginning. There should          be no secrets in a family.                         LOKI           So why did he lie?                         FRIGGA           He kept the truth from you so that          you would never feel different.          You are in every way our son, Loki,          and we your family. You must know          that.           Loki takes this in, stares at Odin.          FRIGGA (CONT'D)                         (RE: ODIN)           You can speak to him. He can see          and hear us, even now.                         LOKI           How long will it last?                         FRIGGA           I don't know. This time is          different. We were unprepared.                         LOKI           I never get used to seeing him like          this. The most powerful being in          the Nine Realms lying helpless          until his body is restored.                         FRIGGA           But he's put it off for so long          now, I fear...

Once again, I’m also left wondering whether Loki wasn’t actually the son of the same mother who gave birth to Hela—we could call her Fárbauti, since there was one in the comics and since, like in the comics, the mythological mother of Loki, Laufey, was turned into a male in Marvel lore; or Angrboða, the mother of Hel in the myths. Note that if this were true, it would give Odin an acutely realistic reason for hiding the truth of his birth from Loki, in spite of his wife’s preference for telling him from the beginning. If Asgard’s bloodier past must be obfuscated, and Hela’s very existence forgotten by all, any mention of Loki’s dangerous lineage would have required similar secrecy.

It may also be, in the same vein, that Odin was well aware of Loki’s instability, be it linked to his true parentage or not, and wished him away from absolute power. Indeed, Thor himself wasn’t that much readier for kingship, but he was a hot head more than anything, whereas Loki’s ‘mischief’ evidently always had crueller undertones. Where power is concerned, he thoroughly needed his mother’s talents for appeasement. Probably, a lot like Odin did.

(Stripped of everything, Thor is a good man. Loki is not.)

[thisblogismysecret]

Parallels in Season Three

I typed up a good half of this post and then my computer froze and deleted all of it and now I’m dying inside but this is important.

TL;DR: The Paladins and Lotor’s Lady Generals are parallel characters in that their similarities in archetype show the most positive sides of the Paladins in contrast to the heaviest flaws of the Generals.

detailed explanation under the cut

Lance and Ezor

Lance, for all he claims that his main role in the gang is the one of sharpshooter (a battlefield specific role he does very nicely), is the team’s emotional support, first and foremost. He lightens situations with his humor, yes, but when it comes down to it, he’s the one the team (literally) looks to when it comes to supporting a team member who’s not feeling their best. He’s good with words and he’s genuine, which is made important with the introduction of his contrast.

Now, this is Ezor: 

She’s colorful, cute, and has a wit sharp as a tack. Her humor is her most defining feature, and in every interaction she’s in, she’s joking, to the point of being flippant. According to the official site she’s Lotor’s “friendliest” general, but she’s still a bad person. Her humor is degrading to its subject and often heightens tense situations instead of defusing them. 

Ezor’s humor may, on the surface, hold a similar place in her group as Lance’s, but if you look deeper, it’s not. Lance’s humor may annoy the Paladin’s at times, but it’s only ever there to lighten the mood, and that goes away when Lance knows it’s time to be serious. Lance’s humor is just one facet to his larger role on the team, unlike Ezor’s.

Hunk and Zethrid

Lance’s role may be emotional support, but Hunk is definitely a support role too. There’s a good reason they both started out their journey as Voltron’s legs. Hunk’s way of supporting his team is more general though. He boosts his friends most positive qualities to their full potential. He’s Lance’s partner in crime, Pidge’s tech support (which takes more smarts than a lot of people give him credit for), and he may not be able to calm down Keith as well as Lance, but he’s okay at helping him redirect his laser focus (Belly of the Weblum), and as they become better friends it can only get better.

Now, no, I’m not comparing the the two just because they’re both big buff cheeto puffs (although LOOK)

Zethrid’s most defining feature is her rage and her joy when it comes to violence. She is nothing like Hunk, who even when in battle focuses more on protecting his friends and stopping any violence. Zethrid’s actions are one hundred percent controlled. If she had her way, she would be constantly mucking up the mission and interfering with her teammates in her pursuit of violence. She does not, but with that comes a complete stifling of her personality.

Their parallel is their contrasting roles on their respective teams. Hunk’s actions and personality better the team as well as not losing his sense of self and importance. Zethrid hinders her team with her wants and desires, and loses her sense of (horrible, but still her own) self when following orders. Hunk is the glue holding his team together, Zethrid threatens to tear it apart.

Pidge and Narti

Pidge’s role on the team is probably the most straightforward. They’re the techie, the one the team looks to to solve a lot of problems. Their personality is obviously important, but it’s not as tied to their role in the team as the other paladins’ are. That being said, one of their traits is their love of knowledge, and that’s probably the most important one. They loves tech, sure, but they’re open to learning most everything, especially after their experience on Taujeer.

Narti is a similar character, in that she gather’s knowledge for her team.

While unable to see on her own, she uses her catlike creature to scout areas. Her most important skill, however, is to control the minds of others and use their skills and knowledge for whatever purpose the mission requires. We don’t know much about her character, but it’s her purpose and way of achieving it that makes her Pidge’s contrast.

Pidge loves knowledge, but their pursuit of it would never purposefully harm or use another creature. They are known for their friendly treatment of animals and other sentient creatures, like the mice, fluffballs, and even the probe. Pidge could easily fit into the role of mad scientist, but their kindness prevents them from that. Pidge is a protector, first and foremost, and they’d never abuse anyone in the pursuit of knowledge. 

Keith and Acxa

Keith’s team role is difficult, as it’s made a huge turn in season three, which is where the brunt of the examination is focused. Before, he was the loner, close to only Shiro, and focused almost solely on combat and bettering himself. In season three, he’s been thrust into the light as a leader, and he’s a bit shaky. But Shiro was right to want him where he is, because while he may still be learning, he’s a natural at the most important part of leadership: bolstering your comrades and having them work towards their strengths. Keith’s laser focus got the team into a lot of scrapes in the beginning, but on the battlefield isn’t necessarily where he shines. It’s most obvious in his scene with Lance, where he reassures him in his position as a paladin, but it shows in small ways too. He’s very observant with his team, and during his stint as leader, his choices with task-delegating were precise. On top of that, he’s not only open to suggestions from his teammates, but he defers to them when he is less knowledgeable about the subject than he (seen with Pidge/Hunk).

This is Acxa: 

She’s Lotor’s second in command and is often seen as a mission leader. She excels in combat, and seeing her work with her team, she seems pretty solid. In fact, in a lot of aspects, she’s a much better, much more experienced leader than Keith. She knows the skills of her teammates, and she uses them well. 

But that’s the thing. Keith is very aware that the people he’s leading are people, all with their own skillsets, of course, but also with their own emotions and issues. Yes, he pushes against their suggestions in the heat of combat, but he comes back down from that, apologizes, and tries to fix that. In fact, he does pretty well at learning from his mistakes. Axca already knows how to deal with her team, but she’s not actually a great leader. She uses her teammates like pawns, takes no alternate suggestions, and keeps them all at arms length. Keith is leading his friends, and that shows. 

(There’s also more to be said about how Axca’s deference to Lotor can be compared to Keith’s deference to Shiro, but that’s a can of worms for another post, and preferably one made after season four drops and I can see if the whole “Shiro’s a clone” thing pans out and also more “Keith is the leader but Shiro’s still leading” interaction happens.)

[sofaradaysogood]

Duty & Truth || Faraday & Vasquez

[ border patrol au for @poorlikeness and @knivesnothingtoit ]

It’s five-thirty am on Monday morning. Joshua Faraday has a got a coffee in one hand, his car keys in the other, and a gaping maw of sharp-toothed panic where his stomach ought to be.

To his credit, he’s hiding it well.

“What?” he asks, stupidly, his worry masquerading as pre-caffeine slowness.

“Oh-six-thirty,” Carter repeats, a little louder, apparently concerned the Faraday has gone deaf. “La Presa. Got a tip-off yesterday – someone smuggling kids.”

When Faraday continues to stare at him, Carter reaches up to ruffle Faraday’s hair, like he’s a child instead of his superior. Faraday scowls, and knocks the hand away; Carter only laughs and ducks back in case Faraday attempts retaliation.

“Keep up, boss,” he says. He saunters out of the car park, and after watching him retreat, Faraday sets his shoulders and follows on. When he knocks back a mouthful of coffee, he wishes it were something stronger.

Raids on suspected stash houses are a semi-regular part of his job, but that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy them. Sometimes they find illegal immigrants, and sometimes they find their bodies – the smugglers who promised them freedom abandoning the old and the weak and the injured to die when they can’t keep up.

Ordinarily, he is resigned to them. But then Carter had said La Presa, and suddenly it was something more.

La Presa isn’t even a village. It’s a census-designated place, an imaginary line drawn around a collection of ranches and houses that stretch out over a couple square miles on the border. One of those ranches, Faraday knows, belongs to someone called Robicheaux, and on any given day, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that there’s an illegal immigrant in his house.

Faraday doesn’t love knowing that.

It’s one thing for him to turn his back – to provide an opportunity that may or may not be seized. Plausible deniability. It’s another altogether to be complicit in Vasquez’s unusual trade: money for freedom. Though, Faraday suspects, the money isn’t always a sticking point.

He can’t decide whether this knowledge is a blessing or a curse, right now. It will, he thinks, all depend on the outcome – and isn’t that a sobering thought? He takes another mouthful of coffee and wonders where he left his hip flask.

He studies the maps before they set off, studying the lines of the land until they’re imprinted behind his eyes. In the jeep, he settles into the pretence of listening to the other agents laugh and joke and throw insults back and forth. In reality, he’s working out how he can give Robicheaux enough time to hear them coming.

Not that it’ll do much good. These men might not be the smartest pick of the bunch by everyday standards, but they are good at one thing – finding people that don’t want to be found. Hell, he’s good at it, too. When he wants to be.

The cognitive dissonance is astounding.

On the one hand, he’s a good border patrol agent. Good enough to get to Special Ops Supervisor, and good enough to have his own squad. He’s sharp-eyed and quick-witted and he is personally responsible for preventing dozens and dozens of illegal immigrants out of the US of A. He’s learned, as they all do, not to think of them too much as individuals, not to think about who they are or what they’re trying to escape from, because that way lies both madness and the bottle.

On the other, Vasquez brings children and Faraday turns his back, and risks his job and his freedom every damn time that he does. And now here he is, trying to figure out how best to deliberately fail in his own duty.

By the time their boots hit the dust asphalt, the joking has subsided. Faraday pairs them off, scatters them out towards the various dwellings in sight along the stretch of road. Assignments have been carefully rehearsed in his head, eased into an order that will seem natural and logical and pull attention away from the one, glaring, initial omission.

It's still early. The morning sun has a lethargic quality to it. Most of the residents will still be in bed when the hammering on their doors rouses them, as intended. No point giving them time to prepare. One by one, doors begin to creak open, narrow slivers of suspicious faces peeking out from behind them. The place begins to stir.

Faraday risks turning towards the house behind him, perched as it is on the edge of the ramshackle land that stretches out behind it. It extends for a good mile or two, he knows, before it hits the border. Perfect candidate for a stash house, and he’s just lucky that none of his boys have ever taken much of an interest in maps. They prefer gut instinct, and shouting a lot, and he’s suddenly glad of it. It’ll take them a while to realise where they should be looking.

He can’t see any movement at the windows, and it worries him. Has he done enough? The hammer of fists against doors and loud-voiced declarations of intent filter down along the street, muffled by stagnant air already warming itself to listlessness. If he were sleeping well, it might not rouse him.

Faraday doesn’t so much make a decision as find that his feet have made it for him. By the time his fist is raised to hammer at the door, he feels as though he’s dissociated from himself. He watches with a curious detachment as curled fingers rap smartly against wood.

“US border patrol!” he announces, a shout, just the same as every man up and down the street had done. “We have a federal warrant to search the premises!”

Must have been some solid intel, he thinks, to have produced that warrant without hesitation. But it’s nearing election time, and there’s nothing a politician likes more than a numbers boost to keep himself in office.

When the door opens, just a crack, he lowers his shoulder and barrels his way in without producing a copy of the warrant. It’s highly illegal, but Faraday’s priorities are a little different, today.

    (And besides – in case all goes wrong – everything he sees      from now on is inadmissible as evidence against Robicheaux.      It’s his ass that will pay for that, but consequences have never      been his strong point.)

The man who opens the door is petite, dark-haired, Asian. Faraday doesn’t fail to notice the way that muscles tense and posture drops as he muscles past, and he has enough experience to know that he’s about to get hit.

The second of warning doesn’t do him much good. The man is fast, preternaturally so, and Faraday only just manages to turn the first blow away, arm awkwardly thrust into the path of oncoming fist. It still makes contact hard enough to leave a twinging pain up his forearm.

He doesn’t have time for this. He goes for his gun, and the man stills. It’s reconsideration rather than surrender, but it’s enough time for Faraday to blurt Vasquez, no context or explanation. The man pauses, half a second, then nods towards the back of the house. He casts a wary glance over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone.

They are, for now, but Faraday of all people knows how little time there is.

He strides through to the back of the house, pushes open the door to a library whose walls are lined with elegant bookshelves, floor to ceiling, more books than Faraday has read in his whole goddamn life, probably.

There’s a man in a charcoal three-piece there, dressed despite the early hour. Behind him, Faraday catches a glimpse of dark hair and wide, dark eyes – a girl, no more than ten. His eyes are drawn immediately to the rug, slightly askew, corner pulled back just a little.

He knows without having to ask that there are more kids under that floor. Been doing this long enough to bet that they’re younger even than the kid before him. Younger siblings, entrusted to someone far too young. People are always more desperate to get their kids over than themselves.

Goodnight stares at him, hard, hand creeping around to push the girl a little more firmly behind himself. His gaze diverts a fraction just as Faraday hears someone at his back.

“He’s Vasquez’s,” the Asian man says, and now is not the time for Faraday’s stomach to wring itself into a knot at the way that sounds. His stomach, apparently, didn’t get the memo. The man who must be Robicheaux relaxes, just a little.

Faraday kicks back the carpet.

Behind Robicheaux, the little girl cries out – doesn’t understand what’s happening, only sees a man in uniform moving towards those she’s been tasked with keeping safe. Faraday ignores her in favour of bending down to yank more of the carpet back.

The trapdoor is one of the best he’s seen, barely visible against the grain of the wood. Robicheaux fumbles a latch key from his pocket, inserts it into what had looked nothing more than a knot in the wood. When it catches, he pulls the door open.

Faraday just has time to see frightened eyes wet with tears staring up at him before he reaches out for the terrified child who looks like she can’t decide whether to press herself small against Robicheaux or back away from him.

“C’mon,” he says. Impatient, not as gentle as he’d like, but they don’t have the time. The girl doesn’t move.

“Come on,” he repeats, beckoning with outstretched fingers. “Vamanos!”

Robicheaux coaxes her forward, and she takes one hesitant step, and then two. The moment she’s in reach, Faraday grasps her under the arms and lifts her down into the hidden space, mindless of the way she shrieks and lashes out at him.

Robicheaux goes to close the lid, murmuring reassurance, but Faraday prevents him with an outstretched hand. He tips his head as he meets the man’s eye, and then glances over to meet the Asian man’s.

“Hate to be that guy,” he says. “If you got any secrets, might be wise to make room for one more.”

There’s a tense moment where Faraday wonders if he’s about to get his ass kicked, properly this time, but then the man crosses the room. When he lowers himself in it’s with an elegant ease. Faraday notices the look that passes between the two, and feels all of a sudden like he’s intruding, even when the door is lowered and only Robicheaux is left in sight.

When four border patrol agents enter the room, they see a well-dressed man leaning against a table, Faraday talking to him. He looks over at them, raises an enquiring brow.

It’s Carter who speaks.

“No joy,” he says. “This place, though –”

Faraday shakes his head.

“Been through. Nothing here.”

“Like I told you,” Robicheaux interjects, the perfect picture of good-mannered, offended innocence. Faraday casts him the brittle, polite look he usually reserves for them that argue without making any real trouble.

“Maybe we should check again,” Carter suggests. He’s eyeing Robicheaux with no small degree of suspicion. Faraday shifts and keeps his face carefully neutral at the creak of wood underfoot. He prays to God that he’s only imagine the sound of four people under the floor, breathing.

“What?” he asks. “Just in case this gentleman here is actually two Mexican kids in a trenchcoat?”

The other three agents are quick to laugh at Carter, who reddens and gives Faraday a sullen look. Faraday only smirks. “I know what a child looks like, Carter. Seen a few in my time. Hell, maybe I even got one or two green-eyed bastards running around out there.”

He’d been notorious, before Effie. These men know it. Ordinarily, Faraday would brush away their attempts to goad him into telling stories, naming names. Today, he needs all the goddamn help he can get.

“Or you really think I’m that incompetent?”

“No, sir,” Carter mutters, and Faraday knows he’s pissed: Carter never willingly acknowledges rank unless there’s some kind of mutinous feeling brewing beneath his skin. Faraday’ll gladly take the next two weeks of attitude if the man will turn on his heel and leave.

“All right,” Faraday says, decisive. “Let’s clear out. Get the word to Anderson and his boys: if they’re not here, they’re probably in the trunk of some car, somewhere.”

There’s a knock-on effect, here. Increased vigilance on the road checkpoints and patrols means that doubtless some poor bastard will get found who wouldn’t have otherwise. Faraday can’t bring himself to care: no one seems more important right now than the three kids cowering beneath his feet. An oddly selfish feeling.

Faraday nods at Robicheaux on the way out, gives him a stiff ‘sir’.

His poker face is flawless, he knows it is. His gaze wanders away from the man, almost bored, and he doesn’t look back.

It’s only later that it hits him, what he’d done. What he’d risked. Ever since Vasquez, he’s been slowly losing his footing. Today, the world has fallen out from under his feet. Before, he’d known in some vague and undefined way that a line had been crossed. Today, he’s realised that there’s no going back. Even if he wants to.

He doesn’t see Vasquez for another two days. The whole time, he’s jittery beneath his skin, afflicted with a nervousness he can’t risk exposing. He waits for someone to say something, to hear that Robicheaux’s been arrested, to find an armed escort waiting to take him to a deep, dark federal prison that he’ll never get out of.

None of it happens.

“Guero,” Vasquez greets him, breathless, when they slip into their little no man’s land. “Robicheaux –”

Faraday’s alarm must show.

   “He’s alright?”

Vasquez stares at him like he’s grown a second head, all astonished disbelief, before Faraday finds himself flat on his back, Vasquez’s weight draped across his hips and thighs. A warm hand splays on his chest, pressing at the point where his heart beats, steadier than it ought to.

“Yes,” Vasquez says, and there’s laughter and admiration and something more tucked in amongst his words. “He’s ‘alright’.”

Faraday can taste the gratitude in the kiss, when it comes.

“Billy, too,” Vasquez murmurs against his lips, and Faraday’s hands creep up to rest on Vasquez’s thighs.

“The scary one who tried to kill me?”

Vasquez frowns.

“He didn’t try to kill you, Joshua.”

“Could have fooled me,” Faraday says, but he’s smiling. Something like concern touches the corners of Vasquez’s eyes above him, and the hand at his chest presses a little firmer, just for a moment.

“This was a very dangerous thing you did.”

“Probably.”

“And if they find out?”

It feels like a test. Faraday shrugs, a strange movement against the dust ground. His fingers slide against the column of Vasquez’s throat to coax him closer. Close enough to kiss again, to stop this talk of future and consequence, the kind of talk Faraday has always avoided.

Hand tightens its grip for just a moment, and he grins.

    “What if they don’t?” he asks. “So far, so good.”

[lunaelumens]

“Starfetched. I get it. Like starcrossed and farfetched. Which I guess is kinda what most people hooking up are.”

The angel stood in a small clearing, naked and half-naked trees reaching into a yawning canopy above him. A warm sunlight trickled through what leaves remained, interrupted intermittently by a cool, wispy breeze. He’d never heard of this part of the Nevernever before, nor the reigning high Sidhe - though upon looking around for more than a minute, it became abundantly clear that Edea was the queen of the short-lived, often chilly, midseason court. The ruling fae of Autumn. Wild.

“Both destined to be, and unlikely so. To be Starfetched is entirely an act of fate. To imagine that anyone could find someone they are truly meant to be with, crossing hundreds of miles or oceans or traversing the many realms to do so… It is truly something.” She was taller than Cath - then again, most were - and, like most in this realm, possessed an unnatural, almost feline-like grace. Her hair spun in spirals down to the small of her back, bits of leaves and other natural debris arranged in it more artfully than one might expect.

Cath nodded slowly in reply. “Yeah, it really is. Something. But it’s why I’m here. I’m requesting a… what should I call it. A reading? I couldn’t translate some of the writings on the process. I wanna get the deets on my relationship with him. We’re ready to take it to the next level.”

“It would appear as though you have already taken to the idea without our influence,” she mused, lips the colour of dead Autumn leaves curling ever so slightly at their corners, gesturing at his left hand. Cath knew at once she was motioning towards the ring Kay had given him. Well, the troll certainly had gotten his wish of wanting anyone that saw it to think ‘Wow, that fellow sure is engaged.’ Hastily, the angel clenched his fist, slicing the air in a ‘cut the shit’ motion with his other hand.

“You know as well as I do what it means.” Anger swelled, a sour taste on his tongue. “Like I’d be able to set foot inside a house of worship without being smited where I stood.” The determination in his expression faltered. “...Smited? Smote? Is ‘smote’ a word?” His bitterness melted into momentary confusion, his penchant for getting sidetracked brought out in full force by the general hazy and confuddling atmosphere of the Nevernever. Edea only giggled, shoulders bouncing, curled locks of fire engine red hair spilling over her shoulders as she did so.

“But your mind has been made up,” she offered, gliding closer to him. “The pair of you are set to be wed by any means, what ever would a reading tell you that you don’t already know?”

To this, Cath’s stance dropped; his shoulders lowering as he thought about it. Really, not much. He’d had his fears worked over by Kay often enough to be sure about this, assured beyond all shadow of a doubt that this was what they wanted. But… Beyond… all shadow of a doubt…? He chewed his lip gently, eyes never leaving the shifting pools of weathered copper the fae watched him through. “If I’m right. We’re - if we’re right. For each other, I guess.” Showing any kind of weakness before a fae was generally a really stupid idea, but he couldn’t - Cath had to be sure. If the powers in his life that ruled over most everything he knew and believed could give him some firm insight, he was hoping the last of the dying embers of doubt would grow cold, and just let him enjoy what had been gifted to him. This life, this love. He had to be sure.

“I’ve read it can do that. Prove that what we have is… Is worthy of being joined as one. It isn’t the same as being married, but it’s the closest thing something like me is gonna be able to get.” He did his best to recall up the notes he’d taken, not wanting to deface Daud’s book. (Even though he deserved to have a few dicks drawn in it. The motherfucker.) “And if I pass the test, we’re allowed the ceremony.”

In his heart, he knew Kay deserved more. Always the wedding planner, never the star. But the fae could put on one hell of a shindig, and maybe, lost in the beauty that the fae (despite being treacherous, nasty, vile, nasty, evil creatures) could produce, he might forgive Cath for being unable to give him what he truly deserved. “And,” he began again, lifting his chin once more, sticking out his chest just a little bit, “it’s the one thing you’re not allowed to bargain for. This is a freebie to those that seek it.” Knowledge was something powerful to the fae, something they had in spades, and they were never ones to give it freely. The Starfetched reading, however, was different. It was something the fae themselves had personal interest in, and it was how lore of married fae couples came to be. Humans, most of the time, had a very basic understanding of the bond magical beings shared - simply put, Titania and Oberon were married. No convoluted reading or ceremony required. It was beyond what patience they had to look beyond the label to find out what was really going on there.

He almost expected Edea to give him lip over it, but instead those lips stretched into a leonine grin. “You are correct,” she acquiesced with a bow of her head. “We are not required nor encouraged to seek payment for this service.” Though her eyes glittered as her head lifted again. “It is taxing enough on those who experience it.”

The angel swallowed. He hadn’t taken into consideration the reading might be dangerous in some way. Hell, it might kill him. The book hadn’t talked about the risks involved, it had only outlined the basic practice. Fae were nigh indestructible, save a severe allergy to cold iron. Reflexively, he touched the heart-shaped ring of his collar. Pseudo outsiders, however… Well. Shit. Kay couldn’t get hitched to a quivering pile of ectoplasmic goo, or a lump of smouldering feathers. But Cath was determined to see it through. “This will be the first time anyone of your ilk has attempted this reading.” There was almost something savage in her tone, though he could not place it. “Should you survive it, I daresay having witnessed it would be payment enough.”

Scared of fae as he was, Cath was not one to give into intimidation tactics. “Then you’ll have witnessed something no other fae has seen, yeah. So, let’s get to it. Enough chat. I hate being here and I gotta say I’m not too keen on you either.” The fae’s look took on a bit more ice, but the smile didn’t fade. “And for some reason you’re the only one in this dump that can do it.” He tilted his head a little. “Why?” Generally, fae didn’t give knowledge without something in return, but they sure did love talking about themselves.

“As seasons change, the summer and winter courts are at a mutual weakness. For a very brief period of time, I am in power. That power also happens to coincide with Samhain. The spirit world and the mortal world brush closest, and the barriers wear thin. Who better to deal with matters of the spirit, soul, and heart than someone in my position?” Said with no small amount of smugness, Cath noted. She certainly seemed to be more than willing to toot her own horn. But he had to give her some credit, no one else would ever really consider the fact of a smaller court in the fae realm. Hell, this was all news to him. But her logic was frustratingly sound. Not like he was jumping out of his skin to talk to the other ladies or queens about this, or anything, either. He liked them right where they were. None the wiser. Though he was sure that once this was completed, word would travel fast. There was nothing he could do about that.

“...Have you ever been in love, Edea?” The angel asked suddenly, his own voice taking on a tone much softer than he’d had initially, losing much of the edge and normal vitriol reserved for this place. “I mean like. The real thing.”

That seemed to strike some kind of chord, and the fae queen glanced away momentarily. “While it is not irregular for us here in the Nevernever to find ourselves in such a situation, It has never happened to myself.” She sounded… Sad, almost. Far be it from Cath to actually feel sympathy or pity for things that existed here, but he found his brows knitting gently.

“It’s because no one can do this for you, isn’t it.” He shifted his weight uneasily as the realization came to him. “No one can perform this rite, this.. seance, this ceremony for you. So you can’t even know if what you feel, if you’ve ever felt anything, can be considered true.” A little ‘huh’ sound left him. “That sucks a big fat one for you.”

Whatever he was expecting from her, it was not a laugh - one neither filled with anger nor malice, or anything negative directed towards him. It was still sharp and all edges, but it was a genuine laugh. “You’ve picked up quite the colourful tongue from living amongst humans, dear Shachath. It is no wonder that love has ailed you so.”

His face screwed up a little at that. Ailed him, huh. There may have been a reason it was called ‘lovesick’. He hadn’t considered it until now. He’d done a lot of things for this love. Faced some of his greatest fears, even, without even thinking of being repaid for his actions. He’d just done them, just like that, because doing it would help someone he loved. Very dearly, at that. Someone he’d do anything for.

Very, very briefly, he wondered if Edea - or the Sidhe in general, had people they knew like that. Their very state of being operated on a different level entirely, but Titania and Oberon were together. He was at least reasonably certain other creatures of the Nevernever could court and find love, too. But how far did their affections stretch? He found he could just as easily imagine Titania waxing poetic about her husband as he could imagine her ripping his throat out over a something as tame as what to have for dinner. But then again, as he’d learned, even the faerie queens were mortal once.

“Maybe it has ailed me. I dunno. But… I do know that I want it to work out. And your little ritual thingy will tell me if it can.”

“Child, no matter what the reading tells you, you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing anyway.” Her tone chided him slightly, though she made no further presses to dissuade him.

“You’re fucking right I am.” Reading tea leaves or tossing sand in a circle could tell him no more than what he felt in his heart. Even if it told him they weren’t… Starfetched, they weren’t soulmates, they weren’t some other form of word that essentially meant they belonged together, right now, they did. They were together right now, and however long it lasted was all that mattered to him. Even if it did scare him a little. He’d spent so long feeling temporary, just a placeholder for the next iteration of him to come along. Many, many versions of himself had come and gone. 26 - almost 27, now - years strong in this form had him… Antsy. He knew it was highly unlikely he’d go anywhere this time, but that ever-present fear lingered. Had he changed enough to be good for this? Had he changed at all?

And then there was still the whole fact that he might not survive the reading. Knowledge was a powerful thing, especially to the fae. It was probably their most valuable asset, and their strongest bargaining chip. Knowledge could make or break someone. Topple cities. End civilizations. Maybe, just maybe, his pathetic little human slash bird brain just wasn’t equipped to handle what vast knowledge Edea was going to forcefully shove into it. Maybe he’d survive. Maybe it’d drive him mad. Maybe that danger was the real reason the service was “free”. Nothing was free. He knew better than that.

Yet here he was.

For a long few minutes Edea regarded him with little more than amused boredom, watching the angel process things. His choice was obvious, even to him - though he didn’t want to seem all too eager to jump into bed with her. Metaphorically speaking. Eventually he nodded, sighing, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.”

Almost instantly, complete and total darkness engulfed him, and he let out a startled cry - stumbling on nothing and falling flat on his ass with a hard thud. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that he hated complete darkness, though through his scrambled thoughts he couldn’t think of any reason why she’d be doing this to him. It set his heart racing, and it was only moments after that he felt an icy vice grip on his arm. Another sound left him as four pinpricks of pain blossomed from his bicep, sending a numbing chill through him. An instant later he was dizzy, struggling to free himself as the dimness around him faded - like a lone fluorescent bulb slowly bathing a room as it warmed up.

“The fuck,” he managed, free arm coming to support himself on the ground, eyes adjusting. The forest was exactly as it had been moments ago, and Edea herself was standing a few feet away. Her look suggested that of watching a child tucker itself out through a tantrum, and to fit the bill Cath scowled at her. “What the fuck was that for?” Eyes raked around again for some sort of answer, and he realized that it was perhaps an enchantment to blind him momentarily, rather than bathe everything in darkness. Which, of course, scared him more than anything: Edea hadn’t said a word, or made any move to do so. She’d simply willed him blind and it had happened. He quietly filed her under yet another ‘Fae to not fuck with’.

“It is very foolish of you to think that just because you are here to partake in this that you can handle it as you are,” she upbraided, removing a number of things he couldn’t quite focus on from somewhere behind a tree stump. “To put it simply, I’ve drugged you. An altered consciousness is required to… partake in this. I know you don’t use your brain quite so often, Shachath, but unlocking some extra rooms among those grey matter folds is necessary.” She tutted then, shaking her head. “Humans are so unfortunate.”

He really couldn’t argue, all things considered. Humans were unfortunate, and he had read something at some point about brain functionality being limited in a completely sober state. But this wasn’t like any drug he’d ever been on before. He mostly just felt dizzy, awake and sleepy all at the same time, like he was straining to focus on something that may or may not have been there. “So you had to scare the shit out of me first?”

“Blood flow quickens with the pulse, does it not? At least that is what I’m led to believe.” She sounded uncertain for a moment, and Cath had to wonder, briefly, what exactly made up the biology of a fae. But even still, he rolled his eyes and grunted in annoyance.

“Couldn’t you just have dropped a porn mag in my lap or something?”

At that, he actually got a scowl from Edea. “Ezra Shachath,” she began in a tone meant to deride children, “and you’re here to prove your love, too.”

Unable to help his uneasy grin, it faded quickly with a sigh. So, she’d made him blind to drug him, and scared the shit out of him to make it quick. He really didn’t like where this was heading, but it was probably a decent testament to her character that she hadn’t done anything else to him. For now. That could change in an instant.

Edea continued gathering her things, Cath watching in dazed silence as the forest spun gently around him. He counted his lucky stars that the drug he’d been given wasn’t doing much more than making him acutely aware of everything around him… It could have been a lot worse. And he’d bet dollars to donuts it wasn’t just some piddly human drug, either. Fae shit was dangerous. Strong. The stuff he made was comparable but at least it wasn’t ever considered deadly.

A figurative age passed by before Edea had settled in front of him, kneeling at a shallow table she’d set up between them. A large, completely smooth stone about the size of a post card but oval shaped sat on a what looked to be something like a dinner plate. The notion made him giggle, suddenly and uncontrollably, rocking back on his hands as the sound turned into a belly laugh. “It’s like. It’s like. You’re serving it up to me. Where’s the knife and fork? Lemme just cut a slice.” He didn’t see Edea roll her eyes, but he could practically hear it, and it only made him laugh harder.

When his laughter finally subsided, he sighed, wiping tears from his eyes. Hoo. Okay. He was calm. He could focus. Which he did. To the best of his abilities. Several stones had been placed around the plate (teehee), varying colours and sizes, all seeming important while appearing innocuous at the same time. She held her hands, palm up, an inch or so above the table, looking at him almost expectantly. “Your hands, Shachath.”

He hesitated, but eventually laid his own hands on hers with his palms down. It made him twitch, feeling the connection between them link suddenly. Some part of him knew that was just the drugs, but another part swore up and down it was fae magic bullshit. “Okay. Not what?” Impatient. High on fae drugs. He wanted to get this done and go.

“Close your eyes and focus on the stone before you in your mind. Take in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and count to ten.”

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted to being assaulted on every front and every sense with… everything. He could see so much, almost too much - he understood what Edea meant about needing to unlock more of his brain very suddenly. It was as if he was watching a hundred, thousand, impossibly more than that movies at once. All of them showing him Kay, and himself.

But things were… different. In one of the visions, they were meeting by chance, one of them having missed a train. The vision culminated to them in a coffee shop some time later, confessing their feelings. In another, Cath was a private investigator trying to prove Kay innocent of a crime. Unsurprisingly, they fell in love. In another still, the angel, merely a human here, was the lone cause of a zombie apocalypse, and Kay was the only person immune to his deadly influence.

There were too many to keep track of, but somehow he managed to watch them all, all at once, from start to finish. Cath sang karaoke. Kay was a prince, and Cath his knight. In one they were both angels. In most, they ended up hooking up in one way or another, happy and in love. For every one time they didn’t, a dozen other scenarios came up to soothe the heartbreak Cath felt in their instances. It was surreal. It was bizarre. It was almost too much to handle and the meek part of his bird brain that had squawked ‘It must be the drugs!!’ was saying the same thing again here. Unbeknownst to him, his nose had started to bleed, and he was breathing fairly heavily. Though his brain dutifully ignored the peasantry that was his semi-mortal body, plodding on with the task it had been given by the fae. He couldn’t stop watching. He wasn’t even sure he’d blinked in the past however long it had been. Every vision he saw was simultaneously over in an instant and took an eternity to complete.

It was a nightmare. It was hell.

It was so, so beautiful.

He didn’t remember collapsing, or how long it had been since the reading had started. His recollections were choppy at best, of Edea picking him up and sliding the stone into his hoodie pocket, now an almost impossibly deep shade of black. The forest around them seemed to melt as his consciousness slipped, mumbling incongruently to no one as darkness aggressively swamped his vision.

The home Edea found herself in was exactly that - a home. She felt a significant portion of her power dissolve as she crossed through the Way just to deliver the fallen angel back peacefully, though it bothered her little. She’d traced his origin point rather simply, and felt it maybe necessary to chide him at a later date for making himself so easy to find. At the bedside, she noted the sleeping figure already occupying the large bed. That… must be the one this had all been for. Fascinating. He seemed quite normal from this vantage, far more normal than someone she’d peg Shachath to be interested in. He always seemed so… Flighty, for lack of a better term. Not the kind to settle down in any sense of the word. Hum.

Silently, she placed the KO’d fallen onto the bed, moving to lower herself to a sit next to the other sleeping figure. He seemed strange, from this angle; like nothing she’d seen before. Maybe he wasn’t as normal as she’d initially thought. Though her curiosity got the better of her - a hand gently reached out, placing itself on his forehead (between horns, no less) and closing her eyes.

In an instant, she was standing no more than four feet from him, looking around and taking inventory of the sight.

“Well,” she said, tone loud enough to hear but not loud enough to disrupt, “this certainly isn’t what I’d been expecting.”

[princebxte-blog]

Understand that I specifically say timeline and not “ verse” for a good reason. I am going to be polishing this, and placing it in my backstory page towards the end for all to read. This is for those who do not have a historical era-ish -type muse. And for those who wish to rp in modern time! Only upon request and upon my request, though!  but I would like to keep ‘for funsies’ as minimal as possible. Because I rp Adam in late 18/early19th for a reason.

Anyways.--- Without further adieu.

After the second curse was placed, and Belle had gone from his life. Adam was left to help tend his country as Dauphin. A Dauphin is someone who is named heir to the throne; aka,  next-in-line.

The king was very ill, suffering a chronic condition that debilitated him-- to which shed most of his heavier, stressful responsibilities on to Adam.

Adam basically, was [king]-- doing everything His Majesty would, but without bearing the title. Which was probably best, considering the revolution and the numerous counts of kidnapping and executing of nobles.

At this time, Adam had reigned for about almost 10-ish?? years. Aging was slow, and to an extent. WHICH his aging eventually stopped due to his curse. [ details of curse will go into headcanon. Or another post about why this is] BUT Because his curse keeps him from dying, [wanting to keep him alive for as long as possible]. After a certain period, people began to question Adam’s youth [hello dorian gray ref. ;)] , and because the revolution was so conveniently placed-- he was able to make an escape.  Joining the barricades, and the fight for those who deserve equal treatment.

After this, Adam picked up the pieces of his trading business, and disappeared. No one heard from him since

[[ during this gap of time -- I leave open because Adam may have gone and done multiple things all over the world. And included himself in many significant events--which, I will over time, list ]]

When Adam reappears in our modern world, of year 20XX, he is living a fairly busy life in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Work life;

Still in charge of his trading company from when he established  in the Early 19th century. It has become a pillar in the modern world as one of the older most successful of companies. However with multiple shifts, and changes. It diverged a bit, with changes to government and technology. Because of regulations, and the government’s shift in laws as well as policies. Adam’s business would have to pay it’s share of taxes and leave the people who work for him [ thousands] without much to what the earned. To which Adam highly disagrees with. It is not right. He has been always doing this a certain way, and he does not believe in change-- or such a negative change. It would damage his company. It would also damage his company if FBI catches on to him. Which he has had a few knocks on his door. BUT-- because of these things with government and his company etc.  he will place money in accounts all across the board between France, Switzerland, and the US to ensure people get their paychecks.This makes Adam a certified money launderer.

 Having also acquired a large enough $$$$  living over the years ADAM HAS ALSO become a GREAT big investor, as well as a major day trader to which he has hired assistants to help. He has bought out PROPERTY  in Vegas seeing the opportunity from back when, and owns about half the city. He keeps himself hidden by providing different names, or other people to stand in his place as a representative of own the land-- but behind the scenes he owns it.

Adam will get many emergency calls about his work which can be at any time of day. To which he might need to make a run to wire transfers and save his company from plummeting. His company is the only thing he has left from his past that he feels might be worth any merit, so he keeps a clean hold on it always. But because of his serious amounts of money. Adam leads a glamorous lifestyle as show.

And he works remotely, because he has assistants-- and mainly operates everything from his mobile device[s]

Social life; Adam has no real friends, besides his business partners who lean on him for his wit and skill in the market. Mainly Armenian, to which Adam has a hand in knowing some of the language. They like to drag him out to the exclusive clubs they all own, and party hard. A glamorous lifestyle. Some of which they bring Adam on purpose because they know that he covers their hefty bill, and that the dancers will gravitate towards them if a member of their party ain’t so bad on the eyes. And when this happens things get a little wild. Because Adam will drink to lose his anxiety, and drink to lose himself--- To which he goes a bit MANIC

Living;

Because Adam has been living so long-- he tries to ensure that his ‘secret’ for having lived this long does not get out. To which he has acquired multiple aliases. If one were to look into his wallet, they would find a multitude of IDs [kinda scary because people may put together that he is some serial murderer] he does his best to avoid anything that requires his name being put into the system. Such as police reports and medical records. He abstains-- by paying off the cops [they see his name, they let him move along-- ] and has his own sort of black market doctor who comes in when he needs help with a particular... task. [ will talk about this in a LATER as an ADD ON] forbes, rolling stones etc. etc. have tried getting him into interviews, for he raises so many questions and eyebrows-- but he makes sure to turn down and remain in the dark. Or breezing it off on a colleague who is actually born in this generation!!

Appearance; Adam still looks much the same, besides his strawberry blonde hair. Properly cut with a length that suits the time period better, groomed to make him appear professional.

So it has a little bit of length on the sides where there is a wave,

Other times it is a bit longer at the top.

--Sometimes longer, sometimes shorter. His facial hair varies. As for attire, he wears fairly semi-formal business suits. With a few twists. Having picked up styles across the years. Like! suspenders!

BUT will wears ties to impress a potential client, or business exec. who he might have to potentially pitch a partnership or production idea to. BUT just like cravats---

HE STILL HATES THEM

*RIPS OFF TIE MOMENT MEETING LETS OUT*

Otherwise he just likes to feel comfy and wearing suits or sweaters over dress shirts with nice pants and shoes are comfortable. He likes looking sharp, but also playing the part of his company. Being at the top of it-- It is lonely at the top. So he wears suits in the way that he likes.

Hobbies/Likes/Dislikes; *TRIGGER WARNING: HEAVY DRUG & ALCOHOL USE*

Unfortunately, this part about Adam gets a bit dark. Over the years Adam’s curse, and the loss of family, home, friends etc. His country, even! All things have disappeared and withers away, all bit himself. He feels alone, this world is a place he feels more unfit for than ever, and to make things worse, his curse does nothing but progress. His original method [will get to in a moment] is not enough to suppress the lows that he feels in this world. He makes enough to do drugs, and the current typical -- is the shooting up a heroin.

Highly addictive. It takes Adam to another world, to his old life where he feels like a human-- senses heighten. Worries wither-- he is without stress, or worry or knowledge of what or who or where he might be.

But just the feelings of his body in that exact moment. And because he cannot die [or die easily by typical means of a way a human would off themself] he does not mind his addiction. For there are no severe enough negative effects. Of course he gets sick from it-- he might suffer some other negative side effects-- and he becomes subject to paranoia, and happens to inherit other mental illnesses..... Otherwise this is his life. Especially when he feels most alone. He will go into withdrawal if it’s been longer than two days without the drug.

Another is his whiskey. It still provides a comfort, it is good for easing his anxiety, but it is the motions of drinking and tasting it that give Adam satisfaction. Pairing this with the H-- makes Adam feel alive, but also sick.

MORE Likes;

Adam loves to read the newspaper. Because he has been everywhere, he is up on worldly events. So he owns quite a few, and they kinda build up--he does not like throwing them away. Even though his assistants give him shit since he could just learn these things on the internet and bookmark them.

Piano -- Still loves to play. Occasionally he plays his violin, but not has kept up with it as much as his piano playing. There is just something about the comfort of pressing his fingers down on smooth, cool ivory.

Classic 1940s Jazz

Record player/phonograph!!

Dancing and classy Jazz lounges where he can just drink whiskey/scotch on the rocks and enjoy--despite... Himself.

The radio is the best thing! [hug music and podcast listener]

SLIDES ARE THE SHIT

Loves coffee, it overtook his affinity for tea.

MORE Dislikes;

Denim. Wearing it, that is. It looks good on other people, but for him he does not feel attractive or comfortable in it very much. Which he probably is gorgeous in jeans, with his nice butt-- but if he can, he would rather wear the dress pants. Dockers.

Television. [a well- up to date one], kinda gave up on technology when film came out. He will go to movie, but after the radio came out that is where he keeps himself up to date. And Newspaper, why need TV?

Computers--  he owns laptops [credit to his assistants], but does not use them. His phone is a gateway to the internet, but he never uses that option either. Unless he HAS to. Like GPS or anything relating to his stocks, and his company.

PERSONALITY;

 Adam  always tries to remain fairly upbeat.  For himself. For his business. He has to be this way! He owns a lot and is a great influence! Hell!! Forbes attempts to contact him to be listed as a top successful, young exec. which is completely untrue. He is the oldest. He must act like he has little conscientious, little anxiety, high self-esteem, high individuality, competitiveness-- he MUST display himself as being the Dark Triad type--mostly altruistic [ unless you catch his eye], extraverted[which is EXHAUSTING because he is not] and practically MANIC. Adam basically exploits himself--and the curse helps in this.

And --There is a darkness about this TRUE personality, of course. As the curse--the alter the BEAST is a complete psychopath. Adam sometimes feels himself phasing into his Alter personality, making true his ‘business’ type of façade. Slowly day after day, he feels his real self drifting into this ugly person-- he might as well become a Beast AGAIN. Which is not surprising considering all the years he has gone on like this.

Having lived so long, with such loneliness, he has had such a sad life thus far. As an aristocrat prince; things were tough. He was haunted-- jilted... But not like this. For he feels a jilt within himself. Not belonging to the century like he should, and he knows it. He should have passed on like everyone else. And feels this somewhat purgatory--type feeling where there is no up or down.. No direction. Going forward means moving on, but he cannot simply move on. Seeing as he has tried for 200 years. But this part of Adam is usually kept to himself. When one is close enough, there is an obvious sense of Adam having been jaded. For so long-- he feels almost nothing anymore.

No sadness, no pain-- no happiness.. simply nothing. The glass if not half full, not half empty-- the glass is simply not even there! It is like being a shell, with a small essence of him there. So RPING with a modern Adam is probably going to be quite depressing for a person. Even if he is smooth, even if he is suave and has mature tastes-- in him there is a numbness that cannot really be removed. Not unless you have heroin, not unless you can make him feel something-- He might as well pretend to be James Bond, his fake personality does the job right-- though, deep down. Adam just wants to go home to his family. He misses his loved ones. Which makes this character; like I said-- unbelievably heart breaking.

Of course when he IS happy in this time-- he is genuine upbeat, genuinely suave-- and extremely generous with protectiveness of whomever is helping achieve these genuine feelings. Without the heroin.

CURSE;

Going off personality, it would be important to sort-of explain what is going on with Adam and his curse.

IN A NUTSHELL IF YOU HAVE NOT READ MY BACKSTORY [[WHICH I HIGHLY RECOMMEND FOR MAKING SENSE OF ANY OF THIS  NEXT LITTLE BIT]]:;;; Having manifested IT AS a young child BEFORE he had become THE OFFICIAL  Beast, THERE WAS ALWAYS this other personality, this possessive entity--BECAUSE OF WHAT ADAM WENT THROUGH AS A CHILD HE DEVELOPED THIS OTHER PERSONALITY AS A MEANS TO COPE AND FIND SOLACE AND CONSOLATION. AN IMAGINARY FRIEND BUT IT WAS MORE THEN THAT. IT WAS ANOTHER PERSONALITY A THING--  it HAD grown!! and completely gone out of control. Sipping off the agony and negative energies Adam gave off day after day, it became stronger, however it remain trapped. Unable to really control the prince-- As a beast FOR 10 YEARS it was able to INFLUENCE  him, but the presence of Belle within Adam had overridden any of those negative feelings... After the spell from the enchantress broke and Adam’s death between that time and returning to his human form, it ALL activated this other personality MORE SO. Enabling it to become more of a split entity. Jealous of Belle’s control on him. And when he passed away again, but more officially without magic, the SECOND TIME-- he had made a deal with this personality, this demon/fallen angel that had clung to him as a child to return to him his life in return for a portion of himself. His soul-- so he could rescue someone he loves. BUT IT WOULD NOT BE SO PRETTY. And after doing so, lost everything including the very person he sold himself for.  Over the years this thing has fed off Adam more and more-- his agony, his suffering-- it keeps him alive and well, it keeps his body from breaking down [aka aging to a point and then he stops]-- his metabolism and muscle content are in primal shape. He can become ill, it is rare-- but he can... He can have flesh wounds. But any mortally damaging situation will always transform [ INTO THE BEAST] the prince and return to him his health and life he was in process of losing. SO after the years of living this way, with this

ALTER/BEAST/DEMON/DARKNESS [Adam has many names for it] it has almost managed to phase into Adam’s original personality-- at times. Adam might lose control--sometimes black out, sometimes awake, and this thing will become a part of him as human, awake and a live and he cannot control it. As it plays him as a Beast-- Adam will chain himself to a wall, in a space he has created for this Alter’s episodes. But at times when he is most negative, most tired-- Adam cannot fight this thing wanting to come to life. It can take over. Does not matter how long. It is still much the same as before, only it has become more sophisticated. It displays the traits of  a psychopath, a narcissist, ruled by machiavelliansim--altruistic, less agreeable, neurotic, and conscientious. All the types of Adam’s ‘fake façade’ he plays in front of his coworkers and partner exec.s Except with a little twist. It likes to go out at night, when Adam is most vulnerable-- it likes to take the blood AND THE FLESH  of another and drink & EAT, for when this thing does it feels as close to a human as it can be. AND IT KNOWS that if ADAM KNOWS, Adam’s sel loathing will only make it’s power grow.

Sometimes this personality/demon will come into control within Adam for MONTHS at a time. That is what’s most frightening.

Adam will sometimes wake up having blood all over himself. Only finding that none of it is his own. Shaking. Vomiting-- disgusted with himself, with the smell and taste.

This is most damaging to the old prince-- for he leads such a glamorous lifestyle, and yet he has such a jekyll&Hyde living inside him. A beast, unchanging-- always wanting to get out.

This is probably another reason why Adam goes manic, and gets himself involved in heroin. For if he drugs himself hard enough, he might wake up drooling-- and looking like a fool, but he will wake up with just drool. And that is all. Everyone besides himself remains SAFE.

[this will probably be polished and edited-- and added on to later]

Car; Aventador [AKA Lamborghini]  

Classic rally in black, scissor doors-- probably the most noticeable thing on the strip. Adam would not try to make a getaway in this-- even though he could, it is too easy to spot. We will just use UBER for chases.

Living;

Adam lives in a condo/penthouse in a 27 floor dark gray building, highly secure. Adam holds the top two floors, a penthouse that has high ceilings and a spiral staircase. With large windows. The style is this sort of 18th century contemporary--

THE WEST ROOM [see what i did there?? West wing]-- no one is allowed to go in here, because it looks like it might be a s copy to Christian Grey-- only instead of a play room, it is a chain, and heroin room, full of scratches and blood stains--All the horrible things.

Furnished to the NINES with antique 18th century furniture.  

Almost a tad gaudy-- and his decorator will give him shit too [yes he has a decorator!]  Of course this keeps getting more depressing--

having a his and hers  his/his her/her any/any?? THE POINT he has a double bathroom to NOT share with anyone. B’((((((    my child suffers

And you get the main idea! Adam holds on to some furniture, some books, some original paintings-- etc.

HEALTH;

Because of Adam’s heroin addiction. Here are some things that go with his behavior.

| | ----| | PHYSICAL THINGS FROM THE H | |---- | |

Shortness of breath, Dry mouth, Constricted (small) pupils

Needle track marks visible on arms

Cycles of hyper alertness followed by suddenly nodding off, Droopy appearance, as if extremities are heavy

Substantial increases in time spent sleeping, Increase in slurred, garbled or incoherent speech

Wearing long pants or long sleeves to hide needle marks, even in very warm weather

Disorientation

Depressed respiration (shallow breathing)

Clouded mental functioning, Decreased pain from either physical conditions or emotional challenges

Chronic pneumonia for Adam he has this is on and off

Seizures

Adam does not share his needles with anyone. He does not get disease or much infections because of his curse. But he has seizures time to time, especially if he has been in withdrawal for too long-- which will probably more than likely cause him to transform into the Beast anyway.

| | ----| |  BEHAVIORAL THINGS  FROM THE H | |---- | |

Lying or other deceptive behavior

Avoiding eye contact, or distant field of vision,

Withdrawal from friends and family, instead spending time with new friends with no natural tie, Lack of interest in hobbies and favorite activities,

Hostile behaviors toward loved ones, including blaming them for withdrawal or broken commitments

Uncontrollable feelings of itching that result in compulsive scratching or picking at skin (itchy blood)

Regular comments indicating a decline in self esteem or worsening body image

Some of these are well hidden. Adam DOES keep some interest in certain activities, but they are not as grand as they could be if he were not addicted.

MENTAL HEALTH

Adam exhibits swings in his moods at times , mostly effected by the drugs he uses. However, on the outside- he might appear to have subclinical dissociative personality disorder.

He suffers anxiety

PTSD

a lot of coping for depression

SPEECH; [[coming]]

LOVE LIFE; AHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHA!!!!!!

MILITIA; [[coming]]

[[anything else I must add that I may have forgotten for this-- i will place on the page!]]

ALL in all Adam is a giant ass gary stu who hates himself.

The end!