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Never ever would the experience and dubious distinction of owning a Disneyland annual pass be one Azazel imagined he would acquire. A Magic Key, as they say, the most coveted possession of any adult. He would have preferred a real magic key. He's done a lot of world conquering, a lot of crimes, even been gay once or twice, but never has he invaded the Domain of the Mouse.
But then he listened to a lot of One Direction, had his brain rewired a la Clockwork Orange, and subsequently married a young woman.
“Disneyland, Disneyland, Disneyland, Disneyland!” squeals Megan. It's really quite boring teleporting everywhere all the time, so she and her red skinned hubby embark on an ultra aesthetic road trip from New York to California well in time for Christmas, ill advisedly driving Azazel’s red and black Lamborghini. A fancy car may be beautiful, but it's extremely uncomfortable, just like beautiful people. But on the bright side that means they are forced to stop at every even vaguely interesting landmark, purchasing bags full of fridge magnets, and taking copious photos, so many photos that Megan fills multiple memory cards before ever reaching the park, despite the generally boring ugliness of the environment. Of course they didn't do much planning for the actual drive and only aimed to hit Vegas and the dinosaur statue thing in the Mojave desert thanks to Azazel's obsessive playing of a certain video game.
“I shot the guy that was lurking up here.” he said, when they teleported into the T-Rex’s maw.
Megan looked away from her view of the barren yellow wasteland that is the desert. “In the game?”
“...”
“In the game, right?”
The couple encountered a wind farm upon approaching LA, which pissed off Azazel enough for him to set about sabotaging them, leaving Megan to drive, despite her not knowing how.
“I think my guy is a bit mental.” she said, doing her best to drive the Lambo while behind and around her red and black specks flashed from giant windmill to giant windmill, their giant blades crashing to the earth moments later.
After the adventures they had there and elsewhere (oh, boy) they arrive at the happiest place on earth…to find a horde of adult children present who have been similarly seduced by the siren call of the Mouse. They're staying at the Grand Californian Hotel (simply because it has the word ‘grand’ in it) the most expensive Disney hotel, and a place far more interesting and entertaining to Azazel than the park itself, because of two crucial elements - fine dining and a luxury spa. As a hotel it is like a giant, fancy cabin, all heavy dark wood and fake stone that makes one think of roaring fireplaces in every season. And there's orange motifs everywhere. Immediately Azazel is depressed by a Disney activity flyer he's given. The childishness on display is already beginning to gnaw at his Swiss cheese soul.
“That's it, where are the fluffy slippers.” dropping their luggage on a soft white bed, he spins towards the door, tail and jacket flying along after him.
“Don't you want to rest first?” asks his little wife, unzipping her pretty pink case to reveal a bunch of glossy woman's magazines.
“I'll be resting under the hands of a masseuress, my dear.”
Megan cocks an eyebrow, or attempts to, saying nothing, causing her hubby to teleport over and take her hands. “If anything untoward occurs, I'll drop the culprit off at the local jail, don't you worry.”
Smiling, Megan stands on tip toe to kiss him. “Plus, we can have a couple's massage.
She instantly regrets taking advantage of this opportunity, as one is required to take off all one's clothes in order to receive a massage. She was not aware of this.
“Think of these people as robots, bug. They're thinking about their jobs, not your body. Mostly.” Already lying down with nothing on but a prudently paced sheet, Azazel slings his tail around, hooking it around Megan's wrist, dragging her closer. He'd taken off his clothes in front of her, and that was intense enough for one day, thank you very much. How some people can be so comfortable with nudity, she'll never understand.
“I think I'm going to go buzz around the Christmas trees in the foyer, Az. I hope you aren't disappointed."
“I would hate it if you weren't like this, but give me a kiss before you go. And don't talk to any strange men. Or strange women, for that matter. You never know who might try to put you in a jar.”
The pecks on the lips they exchange makes the masseurs sigh.
🐁🌟🐀
After getting every hair, nail, and skin treatment possible, Azazel sits down to plan a military operation. Such a thing is required in order to make the most of a Disneyland trip. Unfortunately his priorities and Megan's priorities are not aligned.
Meg
- Disney Princesses
- Rides
- Lightshows and Parades
Az
- Food
- Shopping
Disney PrincessesBuild a Lightsaber
“We'll begin at the gate and go from there. We have lots of time.” Megan smiles like a satisfied kitten.
At the gate, Azazel holds up the pink mouse eared keyblade he was sent in the mail. “Magic key.” he says. He'll never admit it, but he intends to use it in battles against enemies whose testimonies won't be believed. The people (and robots) checking tickets stare at the devil and fairy couple harder than they've ever stared at any freaks who've ever come up to them demanding entrance to Walt Disney's Wonderland. They possess the required tickets and reservations and all that though, and one is not allowed to discriminate against mutants, so in they go. Still, a guard is posted to discreetly tail them.
“I should have taken Kurt here,” says Azazel five feet into the park, his voice a little morose. “He's probably too old for it now.”
“What about all your other children?”
“Huh?”
The entrance to the park is lined on both sides with food places and shopping opportunities, all singing siren songs designed to lure visitors to their death.
“You can exercise the calories away in an early morning power walk around the park. I saw it on the activity flyer." says Megan.
“I'd rather die, dear.”
A crystal shop sells a crystal version of every possible thing imaginable, including all the Disney figures. Before Megan can even learn of its existence, Azazel has purchased the most expensive thing in the park, a crystal Sleeping Beauty Castle for three hundred thousand Hellfire bucks.
Megan flies onto her man’s back while ‘cast members’ kneel at his feet in adoration of his immense spending power and insanity. “Oh, is that for me? It's really purdy.” she says, kissing one of his ears.
“Huh?”
He also purchases a Darth Maul framed autograph for an obscene amount of dollars.
🐀🌟🐁
Speaking of autographs..
“Belle! Snow White! Cinderella!”
A group of women dressed up as cartoon characters initially mistake Megan for a child, and treat her accordingly. They then become extremely perturbed when it seems as if she's possessed, but the demon is lurking outside her body instead of in it. Disturbance intensifies, and VIP treatment increases when they instead realise that they're in the presence of celebrities. Serious celebrities, one of which is mega dangerous while the other is unpredictably mischievous. It's like being in the presence of unleashed pit bulls.
“Wow! My autograph book is so nice and fat!” Megan shakes her book over her head like a prize of war.
Azazel taps it with his tail. “Is my signature in there?”
“...I don't think it is, actually.”
“I'll have to remedy that forthwith, dear.”
With the most red shade of red lipstick every invented (nabbed from the hand of a demon calling itself ‘Lilith’) Azazel sits down on the chewing gum infested ground and scrawls his singular name over multiple pages of Megan's autograph book, his wife looking on in mingled consternation and amusement.
Azazel will be forced to take up the power walking offer, because he begins eating everything in sight, all the quirky little themed and intensely sugary confections, as well as the savoury items.
“I need to get my money's worth. I'm going to be bankrupt by the end of this week.” he mutters, after his tenth turkey leg.
“So ask Mr Shaw for more money.“
“...Bug, you have no idea how much what you just said wounded my soul.”
Rides are not something easily enjoyed together, as, though he is not scared, Azazel detests being confined and can't understand what is so attractive about going very high, only to come down very fast. He uses such a quirk of natural forces in order to kill things, so why are people paying money to experience it? They should pay him for the privilege, though sadly it's limited to one trip per person.
“Az, please try and stay in your seat this time.” sighs Megan, as yet another bar comes down over their heads, there to prevent death whilst riding a roller coaster. She has to say such a thing, because every other time he's teleported away two or three minutes into the ride.
“Who are these people to imagine they can confine the great Azazel? I'm the devil, I've got things to do.” he says, already as antsy as a cat trapped in the same room as a bath.
“Babe, I love you, but you're wrong on two counts there.”
The day passes in this fashion, every moment filled with energy and activity, till even mutants and fairies begin to feel fatigued. But the show must go on, and they need to claim a good spot for a parade Megan wants to witness. Thanks to his teleporting and hers, the couple manage to evade the ocean of prams and obesity that fills the streets of Disneyland, retreating to perch on top of a fake Victorian lamppost. Actually Azazel perches, while Megan sits on his shoulder. As soon as the sun dips completely below the horizon and the lamps and lights turn on, the streets fill with people dancing in absurd costumes, inane and childish music making the Red Lord wish he were deaf.
It's a Christmas parade, so a group of actors in Mexican outfits trot down the street, Azazel actually seriously contemplating stealing a pair of tight trousers and a massive hat before he's distracted by nutcracker men in red, and then by creatures he never expected to encounter in a theme park - dancing snowmen.
“Oooh!” laughs Megan.
“Oooh.” hisses Azazel. His tail begins lashing from side to side. If he took a male and a female snowman, could he get them to breed? An enthusiastic exotic pet owner, a flock of miniature snowmen is something he'd love to acquire.
After that they attend the Sleeping Beauty Castle lightshows, where they encounter a crowd of grown men balling their eyes out. This is too vile a sight even for Megan, so they decide to call it a night, to be ready for early park opening the next morning.
🐀☀️🐀
“We really need to have a baby so we can bring it here, Az.”
“The first part of that sentence I agree with, sweetheart.”
“So where is my baby then? You're the master baby maker, why do I have no baby still?”
“Don't look at me. I'm trying my best.”
“I dunno. Why does everyone else have your children, but not me, your actual wife?”
“It's not something I can control! It either happens or it doesn't! Usually it doesn't! Why do you think I had to sow my seed so widely? Interrogate your womb, girl!”
“Are you saying it's my fault?!”
“Of course not-”
“You are! You're saying there's something wrong with me!”
“Meg-”
“No. Leave me alone.”
“...”
🐀🌟🐁
The next morning is somewhat less jovial than previously anticipated. Afraid for both his waistline and his marriage, Azazel attends the advertised power walk around the park, greatly upsetting everyone else, which is just what he needs to feel better. That's what he'll do, he'll ring up Doc Ock and tell him about his reproductive problems in great detail. They aren't specifically his problems, of that he is well aware, but naturally Megan doesn't want to hear that the issue is on her side.
“Why are you interrupting my holidays in order to tell me that you're unable to conceive, Azazel?” Otto, long suffering and sharp edged under a layer of pleasant chub, is sailing the ship of his own romance, and also sailing a ship at the time of his friend’s call, but luckily he possesses more than two hands. Margali raises her eyebrows at him from under her sun hat as he turns away from the steering wheel of their yacht.
“Because my wife is blaming me for it, that's why.” Comes an ashy voice from the other side of the phone.
“Naturally. I suppose you expect me to do something about this, and aren't simply calling in order to offload some misery onto sympathetic shoulders?”
“Da.”
“Well I can't do anything right now. Just carry on, have fun, distract her. Hopefully the issue will resolve itself soon. Tell her her half fae nature could be making things difficult.”
“If I even hint it has anything to do with her I risk a fight or a wild goose chase all over the country when she teleports away.”
“Yes well, I did recommend a tracking tag, my boy. Women find them to be a show of love.” Otto winks at the witch sunning herself in his boat. She winks back.
Already tired of exposing his problems to the light, Azazel says goodbye and hangs up.
In an effort to cheer Megan up, and maybe to self flagellate a little, he orders a Princess Breakfast for her, which comes included with ‘real’ Disney princesses, different ones to those they met yesterday. It's hell on earth to sit and listen to them chirp away about things that aren't real, to watch them try and pretend he's not there, harshing the vibe by his mere existence, but his wife seems to enjoy it. Certainly she smiles a lot.
Unfortunately the park, while overrun with adult babies, is also home to actual babies, and he endures a different circle of Gehenna in watching Megan's eyes go to every single one, a desperate hunger filling them. Contrary to popular opinion, he likes children too, at least when they're cool and strong willed enough to tell him to go to hell, and naturally he wants to have a family with Megan, so they're both plunged into deep torment. Torment like burning pitch.
However, child hunger is not something building one's own lightsaber can't fix, at least temporarily.
“What colour are you going for, Az?” asks Megan, stepping up to the display, and barely clearing the top of it.
“Guess.”
“Red and black.”
“Well done, dear.”
The fact that a real laser doesn't shoot out the end of the thing is another problem Doc will have to remedy for him, but for now he can secretly pretend he's a Sith Lord, and when Megan decides that she needs to go back to the hotel for a nap, he returns to the park to look for someone to fight with his new swords.
“I can't get my wife pregnant, so someone is going to get their ass handed to them.” He mutters under his breath, his eyes darting around the crowd.
The first victim is one who should expect it - Jack Sparrow. He's to be found near his associated ride.
“Oh, hey mate, you're my spirit animal.” says the pirate, upon catching sight of the demon in the badass suit. The captain makes a heart emoji with his hands, but his glowering would-be opponent’s tail continues to lash aggressively.
“Huh…”
“En garde.” whispers Azazel, looking up from under his eyebrows, his keyblade in his right hand, his lightsaber in his left.
“...Ey?”
The second victim should expect it even more than Jack - Mickey Mouse.
The Mouse lurks near Walt Disney's former flat, surrounded by a horde of children, and looking intensely creepy.
“I want your clothes.” rasps Azazel, again affecting an extremely disturbing and disturbed expression, his swords at the ready.
The Mouse slowly pulls his own keyblade from behind his back.
There is a location in the park where more fights might be had and so Azazel (now wearing a pirate hat and white gloves) makes his way there.
Avenger's Kingdom, or whatever it's called, is full of people he knows and dislikes. People like Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and that guy with a bow and arrow. He expects those attention seekers to be loitering around children. What he does not expect is one of his own possessions to be standing around giving out signatures like all is right with the world.
“What are you doing out of your cage?” He barks at an evil faced youth in a golden helmet topped with obnoxious horns.
“Pardon?” answers a bewildered ‘Loki’, the man caught in the middle of signing a photo.
When Megan wakes she discovers a distressed green duck walking around on top of her, quacking.
🐁🌟🐀
Beating the hell out of people he dislikes has not improved Azazel's mood as much as he hoped, leaving him still thinking about his failure, even if it isn't truly his failure. It's not Megan's either, it's just how it is.
“Let's indulge in a fancy dinner.” He suggests, falling back on spending a tonne of money to get the anesthetic flowing through his system.
Megan makes a face, then turns towards the bathroom. “...Okay.”
The restaurant housed in the hotel is suitably fancy, featuring a wine waiter, or sommelier, as Azazel says, in a perfect French accent which draws a giggle out of his companion. Several cocktails help to keep the giggles coming.
When joyful dancing begins, he holds out his hand to his wife, his smile crooked.
Christmas lights cover the ceiling, reforming the dancer's skins into a multicoloured mosaic. Megan looks so sad under them that Azazel ducks his head, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She responds by tilting her head up so that their lips collide and fit together.
“We'll overcome this, little bug, as we overcame everything else, I promise. We just have to be patient.”
“I know, Az. I know.”