#event: pleasant hill
Photo
With some of their own abducted by S.H.I.E.L.D. and assimilated into Pleasant Hill, the Quiet Council of Krakoa met for an emergency meeting to discuss how to proceed. Although they came to a solution, it turned out to be rather unconventional and paved the way for conflict in the future.
THIS IS OFFICIAL CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC
EMMA FROST/WHITE QUEEN (616): Unacceptable. It was simply unacceptable. There was no way around it. Some offenses were excusable and others were absolutely not.This? This was not. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been disrespectful more times than anyone could count in the past. They had lied and betrayed and done just about every other offense, but straight up kidnapping and brainwashing on a scale that warped reality was a new one. The former White Queen was far from impressed. White gloves covered the hand that propped Emma’s head up. She watched the proceedings with disinterested eyes before straightening when the group fell silent. “They have my daughter.” Her voice cut across the chamber. “My daughter. Your friends, your loved ones. Gone. Even the ones we’ve reclaimed still aren’t ours. Are we to take this laying down or we will finally act?”
KATE PRYDE/RED QUEEN (616): "We should've stormed the gates a long time ago." Kate glances up from where she's picked her cuticles raw. "I'm tired of meetings, aren't you?"
SCOTT SUMMERS/CYCLOPS (616): Scott takes in the room around him; goes from chewing one side of his cheek to the other. He'd not technically a chair on this council -- that was a decision he'd made years ago. But Jean is gone. Naturally, he is the one to take her place. "While I'm more than aware our people need to be rescued, we can't go in with some half baked plan and not expect to end up just like them. Any got any ideas?"
ORORO MUNRO/STORM (616): The Council sits fractured. Hope is gone, lost to Pleasant Hill. Irene has been recovered but is not herself. Sinister is -- well, Nathaniel is something else entirely that they don’t have time to get into. Shaw has declined to attend. Ororo herself sees the cracks where they should have been unified and they concern her. She isn’t scared, but she isn’t pleased. “Half baked plan like the last time.” She points out. “The time when we let Natasha Romanoff lead a charge into the town, resulting not only in gunfire but explosions as well.” That’s aimed at the blue skinned mutant who sits across the way. “I believe we take matters into our own hands now.” That’s why she’s invited Erik to sit in, in part. He’s a man of action, and that’s what they need.
CHARLES XAVIER/PROFESSOR X (616): “Judging by how dreadful everyone looks, I’m not to keen to believe it won’t just be half baked plan part two,” Charles shook his head, one hand reaching up to swipe at his brow from beneath the helmet before folding his arms in disdain, “This conversation isn’t exactly instilling confidence.”
KATE PRYDE (616): "You're doing a whole lot of blabbing without any contribution, Charles." Kate snaps, sliding further down in her chair. She remembers a time when that man basically walked on water and then turned it into wine in Kate's eyes. And then there was Krakoa. And then there was quite literal death. Her patience is thin at best. "What if we just wage war against SHIELD? I feel like we could make it stick this time."
RAVEN DARKHOLME/MYSTIQUE (616): Irene was gone. Irene was gone. They had taken her. From right under Raven’s goddamn nose, her wife had been kidnapped. Some would consider her resulting actions to be extreme. Shooting the ( LMD ) of Maria, attempting to blow up the town. They weren’t extreme. They were necessary. Even now with Irene back in their home, it wasn’t the same. Her wife had been warped into a stranger who, although had eyes that could see, was blind to reality. “When I suggest waging war it’s frowned upon.” Raven’s tone remains low. “But perhaps it’s more palatable if coming from Katherine.” Everyone at the table must know that there’s nothing that can stop her from righting this. She doesn’t care about Jean or Hope or Esme. It’s about fixing Irene now. “We shouldn’t be focused on breaking out those we’ve left behind, but healing those we have.”
EMMA FROST (616): “Maybe that comes from the fact that Katherine hasn’t proven herself to be rash and illogical.” Emma flashes pointed teeth. “She thinks through her actions and presents them to the people she’s working with instead of flying off the handle.” Is Emma bitter that Irene got Hope and Logan got Jean but Esme remains? Of course she is. Emma is nothing if not petty. “Just a thought, darling.”
CHARLES XAVIER (616): Charles scoffed audibly at Raven’s declaration before standing up out of his chair and leaning in her direction, palms on the table, “What, and leave the rest of them to rot?”
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): A shoulder shrugs. “You win some, you lose some.”
KURT WAGNER/NIGHTCRAWLER (616): “Fighting amongst ourselves is not going to bring our friends back.” Kurt finally spoke up from his seat next to Storm, eyeing Kate sympathetically. It wasn’t as if he wanted to call her out, but the bickering wouldn’t help anyone. The Council needed to be united on this. Raven was more than distraught over Irene’s capture, which meant that Kurt was distraught. Seeing his mother in such pain… Something had to be done. But war? That didn’t feel like the answer either. “Is that even possible? Their reality has been altered.” Unless they just killed the lot of them and resurrected everyone. But without Hope the process was sure to be tedious.
KATE PRYDE (616): Kate tries to hide her grimace. She can't. "This is more than just about rescuing our people." Her voice is quieter now, as if she's testing our her thoughts before committing to them. "This is about making sure this can never happen again."
ORORO MUNRO (616): “We must think about what we are saying here.” The words are a gentle warning directed at Kate -- a woman Ororo dearly loves. “If we attempt to wage war with S.H.I.E..D., we do not know how they will retaliate. This is them unprovoked.”
BENNET DU PARIS/EXODUS (616): "Ah, now there's an idea." Bennet smirked, hearing Kurt's last thoughts. He looked to the blue mutant before speaking, but didn't plan on giving away who it was that truly came up with the plan he was about to expose. "Rescuing everyone from the town might be a fruitless endeavor. We need to be thinking outside the box, don't you think? We wouldn't need to save them all if they were all dead. Then we could simply resurrect them here, safe and sound. And of course, it would be helpful to have Hope first. But it could work."
KATE PRYDE (616): "Are you fucking insane?" This time, her voice is not anywhere near quiet.
CHARLES XAVIER (616): Seated again, Charles removed his helmet slowly, revealing a horrified and disappointed expression hiding beneath, “Yes, because that’s more logical than waging war against S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Charles eyed the pink man from across the table, “Honestly, Bennet it’s insulting to even suggest—” Charles trailed off, eyeing Kurt as well. He was well aware of where the thought had originated. Kurt at least had the decency to keep it to himself.
EMMA FROST (616): “I’ve heard worse ideas,” the blonde muses. “An exception to harm no man isn’t unheard of. It’s not as if we’re killing the people we know and love.” She can’t help but slide her gaze to where Scott sits as a silent sentinel. It’s then she see Charles’ expression and something curls in her stomach. “Oh, Charles. Now you pretend to have morals and a conscious?”
KURT WAGNER (616): Yellow eyes widened slightly at Exodus’ words as he started to speak Kurt’s thoughts aloud, and then Kate spoke up and he just shook his head softly. It was an… outlandish idea, but that was why he hadn’t voiced it. His eyes drifted towards Charles as the Professor took his helmet off and he couldn’t help but to bow his head in shame. “We don’t even know if resurrection will work if their reality has been completely rewritten.” His voice was quiet.
KATE PRYDE (616): She wishes she could kick Emma's perfectly groomed calf under the table. "You want to take that chance? Listen, not that I'm the expert on this or anything, but sometimes we don't come back. Do you want to take that chance with what's left of us?"
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): “You will not touch my wife!” Her voice raises, tone lined with steel. It was nearly impossible to get Irene back the last time. Raven will not toil in the dark again, alone and cold as she’s been her entire life. She will fight tooth and nail to keep Irene safe, even if it means diverging from the Council.
CHARLES XAVIER (616): “We’re all well aware that’s a foreign concept to you, Emma,” Charles shook his head, tone resolute.
EMMA FROST (616): A smile crosses her face, cold and removed. “Oh, darling,” she all but sighs. “Words are weapons, and I would watch yours.” She knows too much about him, too much about Erik. Emma knows how and why Krakoa was formed, and with that all their dirty little secrets. “We could always begin with one and see how it goes.”
MAX EISENHARD/MAGNETO (616): "Start with one." Max almost laughed, but didn't. It was a ridiculous thing they were proposing, but it also could be their best option. "And who do we propose should be the one to die?"
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "I think that's obvious." Scott speaks up. "We start with the one that matters most."
BENNET DU PARIS (616): "Yes. Hope. I thought that would have been an obvious choice." Exodus stood up to speak this time, leaning forward with his palms flat against the table. "And while a war against SHIELD could have been quite interesting, if we wanted to get this done quickly we could easily have someone teleport in and retrieve her." He looked to Kurt again.
EMMA FROST (616): Emma points a gloved finger at him. “As hurtful as it is to hear, I concur.” She has four other daughters to think of. She doesn’t want Esme to be the guinea pig. Let it be Cable’s little trash goblin. “We can always go to war after, I suppose.”
KATE PRYDE (616): "So we murder Hope." Kate is now slouched down against the table, her chin resting in her hand. She's drawing nonsensical lines into the flat top. "Quite hilarious when taken literally."
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): Raven is seething, but Kate’s words elicit a small smile. “It used to be hard to kill an Omega level mutant. Now, it’s common place. We’ve lost all the fun, I fear.”
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "Can you do it?" Scott is now angled towards Kurt. He doesn't bother asking Kurt if he wants to. There is no room for wants.
BENNET DU PARIS (616): "No one can ever truly kill the Messiah. She will always rise again." He aimed his comment at Kate, his tone very serious.
KATE PRYDE (616): "Oh bite me, pink face."
EMMA FROST (616): There’s an audible groan at that. “Just fetch the girl and kill her already.”
MAX EISENHARDT (616): "So this is what I've been missing." Max mumbled to himself with a small shake of his head.
ORORO MUNROE (616): Ororo can barely believe what she’s hearing, but she makes no motion to stop it. The terrible feeling in her gut is confirming that they may have no other choice. She just watches with light eyes and her fingers tightly knotted together.
KURT WAGNER (616): Scheisse. They were all looking at him now. Of course they were looking at him, it was the most logical choice, teleport to Pleasant Hill, grab Hope, or whoever she was right now, bring her back. Easy enough. This entire plan was insane, but leave it to Exodus to do whatever it took to save the Messiah. Standing up from his chair and clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at Emma. “I’m not going to be the one to kill her, just so you all know.” That was a given, but it felt like Kurt needed to say it anyways. Taking a deep breath, he paused and closed his eyes, envisioning the green grass and friendly aura of the Connecticut town that he’d visited once before, and then bamf. Purple smoke lingered in the air for a few moments in before Kurt returned with a smaller figured blonde girl thrown over his shoulder, who was clearly losing it as she screamed and swatted at his tail in an attempt to get down. He dropped her in front of him, making sure she was steady on her feet as he held his hands out. “Well, this has gone just as poorly as I expected.”
KATE PRYDE (616): Kate contemplates. And she contemplates. Her brow knits, smooths out, knits again. If anyone is speaking, she doesn't hear it. Then, suddenly, she stands. Her long coat rustles behind her; she readjusts the leather on her shoulders. "I will not be a part of this." She glances to Emma briefly. There is no surprise in her gaze; Emma didn't earn her spot playing nicely. "You can all sit witness to the literal murder of mutantkind as if resurrection is just some factory we can toss people into and then they come out fresh and new on the other side. I won't. I absolutely fucking refuse." And in a sweep of red, Kate is gone.
EMMA FROST (616): “Quiet.” The word rings out both verbally and telepathically. The eyes of the flailing blonde briefly flash white before she falls limp in Kurt’s arms. Kate leaves then, red coat billowing behind her. She and Emma will always be fundamentally different in some ways. Emma will do what it takes. This is not a childs game and she intends on always being one of the deadliest players. Her gaze falls on Exodus. “She’s your Messiah, isn’t she?”
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "Someone should alert the rest of the Five." He directs his attention to Ororo. She is both complacent and uncomfortable, neither make for quick action. "Sorry Kurt. Can you go?"
KURT WAGNER (616): Kurt sighed softly as Emma telepathically calmed Not Hope down, his arms holding her up so she didn’t fall onto the ground before he slowly laid her into one of the Council chairs. This was getting to be very serious, and suddenly he was realizing the gravity of what they were about to do. The fundamental law of Krakoa that they were breaking. It made him sick to his stomach, but thankfully Scott caught his attention and he quickly nodded as he exited the chamber, heading towards Arbor Magna.
BENNET DU PARIS (616): Bennet nodded. "Yes. I should be the one to end this life of hers. So that she can be reborn again. It is a great honor." He walked over to the unrecognizable Hope that Kurt had brought back with him, and gently took her face in both of his hands. "This will not hurt, I promise you. We will see you again soon, Messiah." Hope hated when he called her that, and he knew it. But it felt fitting for the moment. After a moment he took in a breath and then telekinetically snapped her neck. It was over in an instant, and when she went limp he gently lowered her body to the ground.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): They were really doing this. Scott stands on surprisingly stable legs and meets Bennet on the adjacent side. Under any other circumstances, he would be quipping right now (he most certainly would not). "Do you mind." he shifts to nudge Bennet out of the way and gently picks the body up from behind the shoulders and the back of the knees. They have a place to dispose of them; he'll meet the rest of them after.
EMMA FROST (616): Harm no man. That’s the law, isn’t it? Harm no man, and yet, they have. They had killed one of their own in the chambers that Hope ruled over. Emma chooses to believe that this is worth it. For the cause, for the children. She watches blankly as Scott removes the corpse from the chambers. It’s easiest to be impassive right now. It’s with the others that she rises to move towards the Arbor Magna where they will wait for the four to resurrect Hope. “Ethically, we’re all rather fucked, aren’t we?” The crassness of her language harkens back to her Bostonian beginnings. “The people won’t be happy if they ever find out.” The Hope they killed has done nothing wrong other than being a victim of S.H.I.E.L.D. Instead of fighting to save her, they’ve killed her. “The optics are absolutely dreadful.”
CHARLES XAVIER (616): Charles didn’t even have any words for the scene in front of him. Hope Summers, dead in the Council Chambers. And by the hands of her own mutantkind at that. It was against everything Charles stood for and yet, he didn’t stop them. S.H.I.E.L.D. had overstepped and taken innocent mutants away from their homes. Kidnapped and brainwashed them to be complacent prisoners, and that couldn’t go unpunished. But this? He moved sullenly behind the others to the Arbor Magna as he stood behind Emma and shook his head. “No, they won’t. But it’s been done. Now, we focus on getting them back, if this works.” And God, he hoped it did.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "The people don't need to know." Scott responds smoothly. "Not the details, anyway. We'll figure out how to spin this." He sounds confident, sure of himself. He isn't quite sure what exists beneath the bravado, a complicated cast of emotion he doesn't extrapolate on.
ORORO MUNRO (616): They’re watching Hope bake, more or less. Her form is growing inside of the husk as the Four work frantically to resurrect. Ororo’s gaze wants to soften but remains hard. “We have done something we can never take back.” Has she already been this tired? It fees as if she has been forever.
EMMA FROST (616): There’s an indignant huff. “Because we know all about spinning things, don’t we?”
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "We have done what is necessary." He ignores Emma, arms tight across his chest. They stand in silence for a stretch of time, watching with a tired impatience that has Scott standing completely rigid, lest he start pacing around. The four work, quietly, privately. Though they can be witnessed, they seem to form a cocoon around themselves, blocking out the rest of the world around them. And then it fades and Scott notices that the sound seems to be returning, the air seems to settle normally again. The four step aside.
HOPE SUMMERS (616): At first, there is darkness. It is nothingness; it is just floating in a void. She has no name or sense of being. She just is -- and she isn’t. There’s a moment when consciousness kicks in and her body stretches outwards. It causes her to reach out until her hands finds something hard. Pushing against it, she break into the air as her chest constricts so lungfuls of oxygen can be inhaled. She crawls then out with the orange clumped to her skin, bare and fresh. Green eyes fall on the group that stands above her, mind blank and unknowing.
CHARLES XAVIER (616): Charles steps forward then, this process that once brought him a sense of fulfilment now tainted with a pit in his stomach as he reaches forward and places a gloved hand underneath her chin, and then onto her forehead as he presses his lips into a sad smile. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to telepathically link the husk to the last scan of Hope’s from before Pleasant Hill, and then Charles lowered his hand. “Welcome back, Hope.”
BENNET DU PARIS (616): "She has risen!" Bennet announced, arms raised high into the air.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): Scott shrugs out of his coat and approaches from the side, slinging it over Hope's body to give her some much needed cover. He's looking at Bennet as he does this, as Bennet shouts some stupid fucking line that makes him consider sending a little plasma beam at him. "Let's give her a second to adjust before you blow her hearing, yeah?"
HOPE SUMMERS (616): It all comes back at once. She’s Hope Summers: Omega level mutant and member of the Five. She servers on the Quiet Council of Krakoa and was once believed to be the mutant Messiah. Some still believe she’s one, if Exodus is any indication. “I’m fine.” Hope pulls the jacket around her tighter. It’s thankfully big enough to cover everything, and she climbs to her feet. “What the hell happened?”
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "S.H.I.E.L.D. happened. How much do you remember?"
HOPE SUMMERS (616): Her mind is wracked to no avail. “Uh -- nothing. I was in the Arbor Magna with the Five. Why? How outdated is my last back-up?” Something bad has to have happened. Eva moves to hug her, and Hope squeezes her friend back before turning furrowed brows to her colleagues on the Council.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): Scott takes a measured breath. Most of the council still stands around them -- only Kate has gone and not returned. He explains, in short detail, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s project. The mutants still trapped inside. At the end, he considers how honest he should be. He ends up telling her their plan to resurrect them all. "Any questions?"
HOPE SUMMERS (616): “You guys are fucking insane.” She scoffs. “But this is war. They declared war. If this is what being on the defensive means, then we don’t have a choice. I want to make a motion to the Council.”
CHARLES XAVIER (616): “A motion?” Charles inquired.
HOPE SUMMERS (616): “A motion that we consider this an act of war. We shouldn’t have to play defense. If my dad taught me anything, it’s that offense counts. We need to push back.”
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): Scott looks over in Emma's direction and mouths: her dad?
EMMA FROST (616): Your son, you insufferable fool.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): He rolls his eyes and gives her the subtle finger.
KURT WAGNER (616): Kurt straightened behind everyone, guilt weighing on his chest as he stared at Hope while she officially declared war. He had been the one to suggest this violence in the first place. Maybe not outright, but the sins were committed regardless. He decided to move past the war comment, deciding that there was other important matters to bring up before they pushed for something so drastic. “We can’t handle bringing everyone back to Krakoa at once. The town is too guarded. If we are to do this, we should bring Jean and Destiny back first and send a team in to get the others separately.”
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): “You’re not touching my wife.” It’s with a heavy heart that Raven will deal with it alone. She’ll apologize to Irene when she’s back in her arms. Glancing to her son, Raven watches her fellow blue skinned mutant warily. “I agree with Hope. We reclaim our mutants, we return them to their senses and then we strike back.”
ORORO MUNRO (616): “I agree with Hope’s motion.” Ororo finds her voice. People may think her a pacifist, but she’s not. She’s worn the skin of a vengeful goddess more often than not as of late. “We will do as we must.”
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): "You don't get to make that call." Scott is back to his rigidity. "Get them. Bring them here. We'll do it here." He's talking to Kurt again. As soon as he's gone, Scott shifts his gaze to Exodus.
BENNET DU PARIS (616): Exodus gave Scott a nod, teleported himself next to Raven. She fought him, but once he was able to get a grip on her he teleported them both away. It just needed to be done.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): The cave is quiet, like it's holding its breath. In a sudden pop of sound, Kurt unceremoniously drops two women onto the cave floor. They're scrambling, immediately kicking up dirt and dust as they panic crawl towards the wall. Away from the cluster of them. In a moment they both seize and fall quiet, subdued. They're really doing this, Scott thinks again. He's really going to do this. He approaches Jean, she's look up at him, glassy eyed and quiet. He moves with no haste; carefully lowers himself into a crouch. He does not recognize this face, this body, but he still runs his fingers through her hair to the back of her neck and pauses. In the next moment, there is a resounding crack of bone breaking and the body slumps to the floor.
EMMA FROST (616): Emma steels her jaw as it goes down. She does not flinch at the sound of bone cracking as Jean is executed, nor do any tears well in her eyes. All eyes then move to Erik and what used to be Irene.
KURT WAGNER (616): As Kurt phases back into the Hatchery, yellow eyes quickly scan the room for Raven, since she wanted to be the one to handle Destiny. But the other blue-skinned mutant was nowhere to be found. “Where is my mother?” He asks sternly, watching as Emma sets her gaze onto Max. “Raven, where is she?”
ORORO MUNRO (616): “She is gone, Kurt.” Ororo speaks gently. “Exodus removed her from the room. They thought she would be a... liability. She will be allowed back in when it is done.”
MAX EISENHARDT (616): Just as Scott approaches Jean, Max approaches the unfamiliar face of Irene. While he did know that this method would get them back, and it would be fast, it wasn't something that he was happy about doing. But, even though time has softened him, Magneto would always step up and do what was needed. This, unfortunately, was needed. He didn't say anything to Irene, even though part of him wanted to apologize. He simply mirrored Scott, and quickly snapped her neck. After lowering her body to the floor, he stood up and looked around the room. "It's done. Let's move on."
JEAN GREY (616): She’s been resurrected before. Jean knows how it goes, and yet, it still feels unfamiliar as she slides from the husk and into herself. Once her memory is intact once more, Jean wraps her arms around herself to cover her body. “I had a nightmare like this once.”
KURT WAGNER (616): “Gone?” Kurt repeats the word, blue brows furrowing as be just shakes her head at that. “No, that… This is wrong. She needs to be here for this. After everything the two of them have been through, she..” Trailing off, he just grimaced as Max stepped forwards towards the Pleasant Hill resident that was formerly Irene. He’d wanted to step out before it was done, but his feet wouldn’t move from their spot on the floor as he just stared blankly at the floor, jaw clenching. Even if he wanted to leave and go find his mother, Irene was being resurrected. Someone needed to be there for her.
HOPE SUMMERS (616): She’s impatient now that Jean and Irene are back. “Can we take a vote now?” Hope asks. When the others agree the voting commences. It’s six yes, three no and three abstained. The motion passes. To war they’ll go.
2 notes
·
View notes
Photo
For a full list of residents, please see the PLEASANT HILL DIRECTORY.
REASON FOR APPREHENSION: POLITICAL THREAT
PH-RES-001 (EARTH-616) was recommended for apprehension by M-HILL due to “volatile and unstable behavior” to a “potentially cosmic degree.” This is in regard to PH-RES-001′s work with the X-MEN: RED team, S.W.O.R.D. and the mutant nation of ARAKKO.
APPREHENSION STATUS:
PH-RES-001 was called into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s highly classified MESA, AZ bunker for a private meeting with M-HILL. PH-RES-001 was then apprehended without any difficulty and brought to location PH-H for evaluation and assimilation.
STATUS: RESIDENT -- UNAWARE.
PH-RES-001 has been assimilated into Pleasant Hill as LESLEY KRAMER, a forty-one year old housekeeper. Following the required weeklong stay in the Inn, PH-RES-001 has been released to their residence. PH-RES-001 is not currently eligible for parole.
0 notes
Text
i can't just "like" a song i have to convulse violently whenever the best part of it comes on
#random thoughts#should hope this is in no way related to the events of march 2022. fuck#my head is. spinning after. everything. fucking. oh wow the contents of my skull have been turned into liquid#my liquified intelligence would pour out of my ears if not for my blessed headphones. la musique me rend unwell#incapable of thought? hardly#this post is about a house on the hill!! at least. right now. i should put it on. loop. sounds so pleasant i must consume it
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
A destination wedding is more than an event; it's an experience that promises romance, adventure, and lifelong memories. If you're seeking the perfect backdrop for your special day, look no further than the destination wedding locations near Pune. In this article, we explore the charm and allure of these picturesque venues that are just a stone's throw away from the city.
Pune's Perfect Getaways
Pune's proximity to breathtaking natural landscapes and historical wonders makes it an ideal starting point for destination weddings. Whether you're envisioning a serene garden affair or an opulent celebration, the surroundings of Pune offer an array of options to match your dream wedding vision.
One exceptional option for a destination wedding near Pune is [Sunny's World](https://sunnysworldpune.com/). Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, this venue offers a blend of luxury and natural beauty, creating a dreamy atmosphere for couples and guests alike.
A Glimpse into Pune's Gems
1. Lavasa: Tucked away in the Western Ghats, Lavasa's picturesque landscapes and lakeside charm make it a popular destination wedding choice. Its European-inspired architecture adds a touch of romance to your celebration.
2. Lonavala: Famous for its scenic beauty and pleasant climate, Lonavala offers an idyllic setting for intimate outdoor weddings. The lush hills, waterfalls, and serene atmosphere create a tranquil backdrop for your special day.
3. Mahabaleshwar: Known for its strawberry fields and panoramic views, Mahabaleshwar provides a romantic ambiance for nature-loving couples. The mist-covered hills and verdant valleys set the stage for a truly enchanting wedding.
Creating Unforgettable Moments
Destination weddings near Pune offer more than just stunning scenery; they provide a chance to craft a one-of-a-kind experience. From the decor to the cuisine, every element can be tailored to match the destination's unique vibe.
Personalized Themes: Whether you're drawn to the rustic charm of the countryside or the elegance of a lakeside soirée, these venues offer the flexibility to align your theme with the location.
Cultural Immersion: A destination wedding allows you to infuse local traditions and customs into your celebration, creating a truly authentic experience for you and your guests.
Adventurous Spirit: For couples seeking an element of adventure, these locations provide ample opportunities for pre-wedding shoots in captivating landscapes or post-wedding activities that add an extra layer of excitement to your celebration.
Seamless Planning and Convenience
Planning a destination wedding may seem like a daunting task, but the venues near Pune offer seamless coordination and convenience. Many venues have experienced event teams who can assist you in every step of the planning process.
Travel and accommodations are also made easier for your guests, as these destinations are within manageable distance from Pune. It's essential to communicate the details with your guests in advance to ensure a smooth and enjoyable experience for everyone.
Forever Begins Near Pune
The charm of destination wedding locations near Pune lies in their ability to create an enchanting escape that feels worlds away. From Lavasa's tranquility to Lonavala's natural beauty, each destination paints a unique canvas for your love story.
As you embark on this unforgettable journey, remember that Pune's nearby getaways offer not just a wedding but an entire experience that celebrates love, adventure, and the promise of a beautiful forever.
For Reservation Call: +91-9667 555 555
Address: Sunny's World,Pashan - Sus Road, Sus Goan, Pune
Google Map: goo.gl/k2ANw2
Visit: http://www.sunnysworldpune.com| sunnysworldpune.com
#A destination wedding is more than an event; it's an experience that promises romance#adventure#and lifelong memories. If you're seeking the perfect backdrop for your special day#look no further than the destination wedding locations near Pune. In this article#we explore the charm and allure of these picturesque venues that are just a stone's throw away from the city.#Pune's Perfect Getaways#Pune's proximity to breathtaking natural landscapes and historical wonders makes it an ideal starting point for destination weddings. Wheth#the surroundings of Pune offer an array of options to match your dream wedding vision.#One exceptional option for a destination wedding near Pune is [Sunny's World](https://sunnysworldpune.com/). Nestled amidst rolling hills a#this venue offers a blend of luxury and natural beauty#creating a dreamy atmosphere for couples and guests alike.#A Glimpse into Pune's Gems#1. Lavasa: Tucked away in the Western Ghats#Lavasa's picturesque landscapes and lakeside charm make it a popular destination wedding choice. Its European-inspired architecture adds a#2. Lonavala: Famous for its scenic beauty and pleasant climate#Lonavala offers an idyllic setting for intimate outdoor weddings. The lush hills#waterfalls#and serene atmosphere create a tranquil backdrop for your special day.#3. Mahabaleshwar: Known for its strawberry fields and panoramic views#Mahabaleshwar provides a romantic ambiance for nature-loving couples. The mist-covered hills and verdant valleys set the stage for a truly#Creating Unforgettable Moments#Destination weddings near Pune offer more than just stunning scenery; they provide a chance to craft a one-of-a-kind experience. From the d#every element can be tailored to match the destination's unique vibe.#Personalized Themes: Whether you're drawn to the rustic charm of the countryside or the elegance of a lakeside soirée#these venues offer the flexibility to align your theme with the location.#Cultural Immersion: A destination wedding allows you to infuse local traditions and customs into your celebration#creating a truly authentic experience for you and your guests.#Adventurous Spirit: For couples seeking an element of adventure#these locations provide ample opportunities for pre-wedding shoots in captivating landscapes or post-wedding activities that add an extra l#Seamless Planning and Convenience
0 notes
Text
platonic yandere! Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario
Warnings: aged-up! reader [in early to late twenties], ooc, overprotective! Alastor, possessive behavior, implied yandere!vox, stalking, knowledge based on the six episodes of the 2024 season.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your Internet consumption!
Hey guys, welcome back to another Hazbin Hotel fic, starring Hell's one and only Radio Demon, Alastor and his little darling!
Special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing-desk and @isuckatwritingsobenice for providing criticism and feedback.
As always, bullying is not tolerated here. If you have nothing nice to say, please do not say it. Furthermore, if you believe the warnings listed above will make you uncomfortable, please leave now.
For those who have decided to stay, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on for tonight's broadcast :)
Tomorrow was your turn for Show and Tell.
According to Charlie’s lesson plan, it is an activity where your interests and stories are shared with a group of people. But you did not know what you could share with everyone.
They know why you are here at the hotel.
They know you were ex-military.
They know you have prosthetic arms after you lost them in the war.
They know you were an Auto Memory Doll for the Lieutenant’s company.
They know many things about you…what is else there to talk about? You had thought long and hard but nothing came to mind. Your Remington typewriter is only used for work. The only ones who would even be remotely interested in its history were Alastor and Sir Pentious. Including your nightgown and tool kit to fix your hands, there is nothing else in the hotel that is under your possession except for a crimson parasol that the Alastor had gifted to you.
That was when you remembered something. A difficult man who lived by a lake. A man who struggled to write his next play until he asked you to take the pale blue parasol and….
You could show them that. However, there is no lake around the Pride Ring. The closest thing to an ocean was in another ring. Nor is there one here at the hotel because it stood on top of a hill. Yet…there is someone who is capable of conjuring something like that with a snap of his fingers. The Radio Demon.
Would he actually hear your request or simply say ‘no’ with a boisterous laugh was another question entirely. Your redemption was on the line here….at this point….you might have to make a deal with him after all. So you sought him out in his radio station in the hotel’s west wing. You had heard from Niffty that he was planning a special show this evening to celebrate his return. When you knocked on the door, he called to see who is the delightful visitor who has come to see him when he is quite busy at the moment.
“It’s me, sir.” You said. “Permission to enter?” You asked. Some habits were difficult to forget, especially when in the presence of a cannibal gentleman, as Vaggie has referred to Alastor. In the nicest way possible.
You only heard silence on the other side of the door. Assuming that he was not in the mood or struck speechless at the absurdity of your idea, you spoke again. “My apologies, Alastor. I didn't mean to disturb you. I will see you at dinner.”
You took a step away from the door, bowing your head. “I wish you good luck with your radio broadcast.” You turned around, grabbing the wrought-iron railing leading back down to the main floor with your gloved hand. You only took one step when the door leading to Alastor’s office swung open. You looked over your shoulder and saw Alastor leaning out of the doorway, wearing a wide grin as his bright red irises locked onto your gaze. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” You began. “I’ll ask Charlie if I could do something else for my Show and Tell presentation -”
“Nonsense, my dear!” He exclaimed. You watched his lanky form dissipate into wispy darkness, slithering across the floor and beneath your feet. Your mouth opened to interject that it was truly all right, but your body was not listening. Instead of leaving the Radio Demon to his work, you walked back up the stairs and straight into Alastor’s office. But you were not in control of your body. It had moved on its own.
The door closed behind you with a loud click, and you were seated on a couch adjacent to what appeared to be the soundboard. A shadow crawling out from the sleek wooden floor and up the golden bear claw of the furniture, twisting and writhing until he appeared by your side. “I didn’t know you could do that.” You said finally.
“Oh, I can do many things, darling~!” He said, leaning forward. “And do not fret over my listeners, they will get their daily dose of perfection as promised~! Now then, how can I help you?”
“I have an idea.” You replied. You then went on to explain what you wanted to do…but you were not sure if it could be pulled off. You clasped your gloved hands together, squeezing them in your lap. “Please be honest…is it possible for you to do this for me? I am willing to make a deal with you. Not for my soul because it is not worth anything to someone of your caliber as an overlord…but I am willing to do a favor for you.”
He stared at you for a long moment, still smiling as he tilted his head to one side. A high-pitched static noise bounced off of the walls till silence filled the room again.
“In the first place my dear there is no such thing as an unworthy soul, though I could name a few individuals. Certainly not yours. However, I will agree that granting this favor for your soul is asking for too much for something too little. Instead, let’s do a simple deal. Quid pro quo, if you will~! I do this for you, and you will help me as I host my radio show. Bringing me food and water, screening phone calls, the basics. Your choice. And~! Before we agree to this, I must be the one to see this little presentation first. Not even Charlie will see it. It will ruin the fun~!” He held out his hand, green smoke twirling around his gloved fingers. “Do we have a deal?”
You glanced down at his hand, then back at his face before raising your own to your mouth. Tugging the leather glove off your teeth, it fell into your lap. You extended your hand, the dim lights bouncing off of your adamantine skeletal fingers as you gently placed them into his open palm. You looked back at him. “Is this acceptable?” You asked. “Our hands being like this instead of a handshake. I do not want to push any more boundaries or waste your time further.”
Alastor looked down at your hands with a stupefied expression before he hummed, taking your mechanical wrist, holding your hand up and then….folding your hand over his own.
“If you want to make this deal official, both parties must shake hands on it. Finger tapping doesn’t count~!”
You watched the same green smoke from earlier envelop your intertwined hands, shifting into tiny skulls that circled around and around before disappearing entirely. The deal is made. You thought. Then you wondered, why is he still holding your hand?
You looked at him. “Sir?”
“Hm? Oh, my apologies~!” He quickly withdrew his hand, standing up from the couch. You followed suit, confused a little at his sudden actions.
“Now, let’s get started~!” He snapped his fingers again, and the vintage wallpaper of the radio station disappeared, replaced with the open, crimson skies of the Pride Ring. Looking around, you saw that the two of you were standing outside of the hotel. “So…you want to put the ‘lake’ here,” He said, pointing at the open space of the hill going down towards the city. “And you will be using a parasol while…performing this stunt?”
“Yes.” You said. Then you realized that you did not have your own on hand. “It will…make it difficult to perform without it.” And it was how Olive made it home after she had slayed the monster. To return to her father, whom she loved the most in the whole world.
“Fair enough.” Alastor said. “An act can’t be completed without the necessary props~!”
You speculated that him snapping his fingers is either something he enjoyed immensely or it was just how he conjured his powers that were not affiliated with his manipulation of the shadows. You have come to this conclusion after careful observation of him, and your parasol quite literally popped out of thin air and in your hands suddenly.
“Thank you.” You opened the parasol carefully, raising it over your head and now focused entirely on the space where the lake is supposed to be. Alastor hummed, and with the fourth snap of fingers, a foggy and inky body of water appeared several feet from both of you. Then he disappeared, his shadows slithering to the other side. He was ready. But were you? Yes. Yes, you were.
You stared at the water for a moment before taking three steps back, digging the heel of your boots into the ground. You bent your knees.
Then you took off.
Alastor thought you were a sweet little darling. Despite being insightful and a quick learner, however, you were oblivious to the signs of someone who takes an interest in you romantically. But he does not dare think that sending random gifts to the hotel, stalking someone through the cameras around the city whenever you leave the hotel for work or to run errands for Charlie, or even trying to ‘coincidentally’ mention your name and antagonize him on his broadcast qualifies. Alastor knows that Vox is doing it. He knows why, because the clout video podcast is bold to assume that you are his lover, the Radio Demon’s lover.
Ha! No. Not at all. You were simply someone who entertained him and needed protection from licentious fellows who would not hesitate to take advantage of your innocence and ensnare you in a contract. That will not happen. So unless Vox wants to make an appearance on his broadcast as a new voice for all of Hell to hear, the fucking egoistical piece of shit had better keep his distance.
But imagine his surprise when you approached him for help. You, the person who would rather try to figure everything out on your own! Why, he was delighted~!
Granted it was for one of Charlie’s silly exercises, yet how could he not take advantage of this opportunity to get to know his darling a little bit more? So he offered a deal with you, listing the terms and the two of you shook on it…though he had to put your hand around his in a handshake. You were still wary of him, no doubt, and knew he did not like being touched. Suppose there was a benefit of working under Rosie as her secretary in his absence.
No doubt she told stories about you as much as she told him about you. She would go on about how efficient you were, how you always showed up on time and dressed appropriately as per the rules of the Cannibal Colony, etc. Why, she told him so much about you that he had been curious to meet you~!
And he was not disappointed.
Now, as he watched you gracefully leap across the murky lake he had conjured, the parasol held high over your head in your gloved hand, Alastor was spellbound at the sight. His smile grew wider, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. But he refused to allow himself to get dirty again and pay another visit to the tailor; that was why he kept several feet away from the water, and he chose not to appear on the opposite side of the lake, as much as he’d like to. Oh well, there was always next time.
You had almost slipped, however, when your back foot began to loose traction on the water.
Well…nothing wrong with providing a little assistance, as far as he is aware of.
He summoned a tentacle from beneath the lake with a wave of his hand, letting you use it as leverage to bolster your speed and give you the stability needed to make one final leap to the opposite side. And you did, much to his delight and yours. When you smiled brightly at him….well, he was very pleased. He had just witnessed a new expression that he was quite sure no one else has seen since your arrival at the hotel. He chuckled darkly. He watched you walk back to him, face flushed, still clutching the parasol in one hand and the other one raising your skirt so that you wouldn’t tumble over your feet.
My, my, you truly are a fascinating soul.” He remarked, a hint of ominous delight in his voice. He had no doubt that you will dazzle everyone with your performance tomorrow and with his help. Afterwards…well, there will be no way for Vox to interfere. Oh, this was going to be entertaining.
Taglist
@dragonempress18
@angelltheninth
@star-fawn21
@tired-of-life-86
@bumblebeebluebell
@francisnyx
@victheauthor
@clownviti
@lunaramune
@candyladycry
@sleepy-hutao
@ozzersauce
@rain2bow2
@22carolina08
@weirdducky17
@justamegafan
@lanxianschoenheit
@frenchtoastmafia
@hellbornediamonddreams
@theunknowntravel3r
@chroniccorvus
@imperfectbloodmoon
@riddle-simp
@anielly-2010
@frompeach
@yandere-dark-cupid
@tonightwrites
@solandis-does-stuff
@silkythewriter
@oucx
@navierkalani
@the-cat-queen-peasants
@doc-tooth
@rebloglikeyouneedtoo
@sillypumpkins
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#yandere alastor x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#yandere male#platonic yandere#character!reader#violet evergarden!reader#cw possessiveness#tw possessiveness#yandere#ns.fw#forbidden-sunlight#tw stalking#cw stalking#yandere vox x reader#yandere vox
650 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! May I request 94. With Rook?
I certainly wouldn't mind the smoot if you think it fits into what you write-
Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt
Word Count: 1.2k
Prompt 94: "Don’t act innocent, you had me pinned underneath you 5 minutes ago."
🌶️ Warning for Mild Spice
[EVENT MASTERLIST]
“Just a bit of chase!” he says.
“The thrill of the hunt can be so fun!” he says.
Except now you’re covered in sweat and doubled over panting like you’re going to go into cardiac arrest. Because Rook’s idea of ‘oh, just a little run around, je promets!’ involved nothing less than a full fucking sprint through the wooded areas of the campus—over hill, and under hill, and godyou were so out of shape.
You gasped into your knees, bent over in anticipation of just, I don’t know. Death? Vomit? All of the above?
“Ah, don’t tell me you’ve given up already, mon cher!” the aforementioned demon cooed from somewhere in the trees. In the trees! Like a literal, freaking hunter of old, and not your coddling boyfriend smiling all pretty when he says ‘just a bit.’ Absolute bullshit. You wanted a refund. “We’ve only just begun!”
“It’s been—” you gasped, swiping a furious hand over your dripping brow, “—an hour! You fucking masochist!”
“A true predator knows best that a subtle, steady approach is always the most satisfying, mon petit lapin,” he hummed, voice echoing discordantly over your head. “And how could I not take my time, when the reward is bound to be so sweet, hmm?”
“What reward?” you snapped. “Me doing this at all is the reward!”
The blonde’s trilling laughter curled through the air like the tinkle of a windchime. Light, and airy, and pleasant. Which was deceptive. And entirely unfair.
“Ah, but mon favori. I doubt you could ever say no to a little death, hmm?” he cooed. And the continued, with an air of faux consideration. “A bit for you, and then perhaps a bit for me. And then a bit more for you—”
Fuck his poetry. It was going to be a big death. A literal death. With rigor mortis, and decay, and a bloating corpse if you didn’t have a chance to collapse into a puddle in the next five minutes. Normally Rook’s sweet sonnets and romantic ramblings were something you found quite endearing. But surely anyone would be pushed past their Cutesy Bullshit Tolerance after being chased like a bat out of hell for the past literal hour. You felt woozy, and wrong footed, and like maybe that muffin you’d snagged for breakfast might be in the process of making up its mind to come back up to say hello.
“You have to run, petit lapin,” that chittering voice called again. “That’s the whole point.”
“No!” you snapped, stomping your foot like a toddler. “I give up! I’m a dumb rabbit! A lame rabbit! A rabbit with no legs! Just—get me already!” you shouted into the leafy canopy.
Silence.
You glared up into the kaleidoscope of greens, eyes narrowed as you searched the shadows. Surely he was somewhere. Somewhere close. You just had to—
And then you were crashing forward with an inelegant screech—a familiar, gloved hand pressing into the skin at the back of your neck and the other twisting into your uniform jacket to push you down into the dirt. And then Rook was sitting astride your hips, looking down at you with a sharp, brilliant gleam in his emerald eyes.
“Ah, mon pauvre lapin perdu,” he sighed, all faux sympathy, and shifted to lean forward so that he could grin into your flushed face. “Whatever shall I do with you, hmm? Rolling over to show your belly so readily. Certainly that’s far from safe.”
There was a tight, warm, whoosh in your gut. A twisting thing that you knew far too well at this point. And it spelled nothing but bad things.
You raised your chin as best as you could, meeting that toothy smirk of his head on, and then—
Ah. Nope. That had been the muffin after all.
Your face went green and you rolled onto your side to barf chunks of banana-nut-nonsense all over the grass.
.
.
“Mon cher, how can you ever forgive me?” Rook wailed, dabbing a soft, silk cloth against your heated forehead, nearly in tears. “I have failed you so horribly! So completely! I deserve to be cast from your good graces! Cursed to errer seul! Mutilé par des chiens! Jeté en enfer! Forcé de se repentir pour toujours!—”
“Enough, please,” you whined, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “I’d rather you just, I don’t know, got me a glass of water.”
“Right away!” he chirped, shooting to his feet and darting out the door and down the hall. He was back hardly a moment later, depositing a clean cup into your hands and plunking a curling, purple straw into the center of it.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, leaning forward to take a sip.
“Anything at all for you, mon cher!”
This was almost worse somehow.
“Would you cut it out,” you sighed. “It’s fine. Really. Shit happens.”
He stared up at you from where he was kneeled on the floor at your side with the largest, most doleful eyes you’d ever seen. Like a kicked puppy dog had a sad, sad child with, like, an even more pathetic, more kicked, kitten. You jabbed at him with your foot.
“And stop that!”
“Stop what?” he asked, blinking those stupid, stupid green eyes at you.
“Acting all innocent!” you complained. “You literally had me pinned underneath you, like, five minutes ago!”
“I did, didn’t I?” he hummed, sounding almost pensive. He reached up to tap at his chin, like he was chewing over a thought. “And I wasn’t even able to keep my promise, was I?” he lamented, deflating.
“What promise?” you frowned.
“For a bit of mutual demise,” he sighed. “Une petite mort.”
You felt heat crawl up your cheekbones and all the way to the tips of your ears. Because this had been some whole, elaborate setup, hadn’t it? Something that you’d only agreed to because he’d seemed so, ah, enthusiastic. And then you’d gone and barfed up banana chunks and ruined the whole thing.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
Rook’s head shot up and he reached out to snare your hands in his.
“Non, non, mon cher!” he gasped. “This was hardly your fault to speak of! It is I and my poor planning that ought to make recompence,” he said.
And then, a terribly acute sort of brilliance came over his face. Like a lightbulb went off in his brain. Those green eyes went sharp with focus. He seemed to roll the his words around on his tongue, as if deciding exactly how they ought to taste when he let them fall back out again.
“And recompense I shall make!” he chirped, determined and shifted so his chin was resting in your lap. He sent you a coy little grin that had shivers racing down your spine.
“I literally just threw up,” you complained.
“This will certainly help you feel better,” he offered.
“That’s not the point!” you squawked. “Shouldn’t I—I don’t know—at least brush my teeth or something first?”
“Forgive me, mon petit lapin,” he laughed against your thigh. “But last I checked, I don’t think your mouth has anything do with this. And besides,” he crooned, reaching up to press a firm hand against your shoulder and help ease you down to the mattress below. “That was from overexertion, I’m afraid. Not illness. And I can promise, mon cher, that this time, you won’t have to bother putting any work in at all~”
.
.
#4k Event#twisted wonderland imagines#twst x reader#Rook Hunt x Reader#Rook x Reader#Rook Hunt#My Writing#Writing Prompts
772 notes
·
View notes
Text
nonidol!eric sohn x f!reader
you won't think golf is a boring sport after he's done with you! (but it's not about golf, and it's not about swings. just a young heir with money, love, and a thing for you.)
▷ genre, warnings. technically s2l, country club au, summer break au, starts with him already into you, slight pining? idk, fluff, humor, rich people™, golf lol, swearing, drinking, kissing, it gets like actually romantic, Eric Sohn bc he's so attractive someone help me.
▷ word count. 11.4k
▷ inspired by swing my way (cha cha malone & phe r.e.d.s)
a/n: my submission for the deoboyznet summer on you event! and @mosviqu who implanted the idea of country club rich boy eric into my brain @@
It wasn't like Eric Sohn, heir to his parents' multi-million dollar investment firm, prized shortstop of the UCLA baseball team, planned to spend his entire summer charming his parents' clients and partners. A summer spent at the Beverly Hills Country Club wasn't something new for the young heir either. The rolling, emerald green hills for golf; the clean cement tennis courts; the dim and classy bars were all ingrained in him since childhood. They were environments Eric had learned to thrive in, and when one had the advantage, one was always taught to wield it like a blade.
At least, that was what he was taught. Over the years, he'd also learned that his extroverted personality and charming smile were disarming—and his pretty boy appearance often resulted in others underestimating him. That was their mistake.
"...that trip to Taiwan will be such a great opportunity to explore the relationship between our companies."
Eric clasped Mr. Thomas Tsaur's hand in a firm shake as the two men stood at the final hole of the golf course. Eric beamed. "Yes, of course! I know my mom would love to see the night markets around Taipei; my parents have been looking forward to the trip all year," he said, as easy as breathing air. Of course, he didn't really know if his parents were looking forward to it. If he was the one on his way to Taiwan instead, he knew that he himself would be ecstatic.
During business meetings—and meetings that weren't officially classified as business, but were definitely about business—Eric tried to stay as true to himself as possible. Once in a while, some of the persona he'd built up slipped through the cracks, but there was a reason he liked baseball more than business.
Mr. Tsaur made a pleasant reply back about promising a fun-filled tour of the city with his wife, and the two of them were splitting up. There were offhanded comments about seeing each other for dinner when Eric's parents finally arrived, but that was all that was left of the interaction.
Eric jogged down the hill toward the conventional path where a white-topped golf cart sat waiting for him. His driver and caddy companion for the day was Jacob Bae, a regular worker here at the country club whom Eric had known for at least a couple years now.
But instead of just Jacob and the cart, Eric found that someone else had joined the group.
You sat in the second row of the golf cart with a circular serving tray pressed over your lap. Like some of the other staff members at the club, you wore the standard black, collared shirt and black skort. He'd seen you around this place plenty of times this summer and even greeted you once or twice, but he knew you were new.
Oh, trust that he knew a new face when he saw one, especially when said face was as pretty as yours. The only shame was that you were often assigned to areas where Eric didn't exactly frequent, but he never took himself as the type to give up easily.
You and Jacob were sharing a laugh as Eric approached the golf cart with his golf putter in hand. "Hey guys," Eric chirped.
All the attention flickered over to Eric, but he couldn't stop staring at the way the slight breeze this afternoon was making your hair fall in your face all pretty. Even in a braid, the little strands fell out to frame your face.
"Oh, hi Eric! How was the last round?" Jacob asked as he twisted around in his driver's seat to watch Eric round the back to put his putter away. You had shifted in your seat slightly to follow him with your eyes, as well.
Eric slid the stick into his bag and caught your eyes. His smile widened. "It went well. Same old, same old," he chuckled, bracing a gloves hand on the roof of the cart. "When'd you get here, Yn?" He asked you with a nod of his chin.
You perked up at the sound of your name. Cute. "Ah, just a few minutes ago," you said. You sheepishly gestured to your empty tray. "Haknyeon dropped me off a few holes over to deliver drinks, and then I saw Jacob over here and walked over to catch a ride back to the clubhouse."
"I can't believe he just ditched you," Jacob chortled.
Eric circled around the cart to take the seat in the front beside Jacob. "He ditched you?" He frowned, leaning his arm over the back of the seat to look at you.
As the cart began making its smooth return down the path and over a small bridge, you smoothed your braid over your shoulder. "No, no! He didn't ditch me; we were just headed in the same direction until we… weren't," you mused. "I mean, if Cobie wasn't here, a walk back wouldn't have been the worst thing anyways."
"I guess," Eric agreed, biting his lip. "So, uh… ever played golf before?"
"Golf? It's been a while, but yeah, I've driven the occasional golf ball across a green."
From the driver's seat, Jacob slapped his right hand down on Eric's shoulder. "Yn-ie! This guy's one of the best casual golf players you'll probably ever meet. His swing? So clean."
Eric chuckled, clasping a hand on the back of his neck, when he felt your attention flicker back to him again. "I'm no pro…"
"I'll have to see that for myself then," you said with a smile.
The golf cart slowed to a stop in front of the doors into the main kitchens of the clubhouse proper. Because this main kitchen was so large, they were given their own set of doors directly to the outdoor courts and beyond for easy access. While Jacob would drop you off here, he would have to continue onward for Eric's proper spot.
You clambered out of the golf cart, poking Jacob in the shoulder as you went. "Bye, guys! Thanks for the ride, Cobie."
"Bye, Yn!" Both boys chimed together. When you disappeared behind the swinging kitchen doors, Jacob pulled the cart back onto the main road to carry onward.
Eric settled into his seat to face forward once again. He lifted the cap off his head and carded a hand through his hair to let the strands, dampened with sweat, dry a bit. "I didn't know Yn was allowed to work the golf range," he commented as innocently as possible.
Jacob made a small humming noise. "Yeah, we're short a couple people out here because of the Ferndale event going on down by the gazebo."
"She wasn't sent there?"
"Did you want her to be sent there?" Jacob grinned slyly at the young heir, who turned his gaze elsewhere.
Eric coughed. "I didn't say that."
His companion still would not wipe that knowing smile off his face, even as he slowed the golf cart to a stop and Eric hopped out to collect his equipment from the back. "I didn't say you did," he snickered as Eric walked away.
He didn't give Jacob the satisfaction of an answer, instead, saying a "thank you" for driving him over his shoulder, before ducking inside the clubhouse locker room.
Jacob shook his head in amusement and began making his way further down the path to return the cart. Silly, silly kids.
You didn't realize country clubs were real until you were sitting in the office of the Beverly Hills Country Club's hiring manager and being hired. That was about a month ago, and no, you still didn't believe it was real. The entire training experience, in fact, had swept through like a fever dream.
The summer season had just begun, though, and they had taken you on in a rush of desperation. You hadn't failed to notice how relieved the hiring manager looked when you told him you'd worked as a waitress at an upscale wedding venue before you moved cross-country, and knew how to carry a drink platter and dirty dishes. That was part of the reason you'd been hired on the spot. You'd also mentioned your extensive knowledge of how to fold cloth napkins into swans, and you liked to think that was your true selling point. (Don't ask, the last part was because you had been very bored while waiting in the backroom during a wedding.)
And while you cared little about cleaning pools or catering to rich prick egos, you did care about the crisp green bills that graced your eyes with more frequency than a Superman actor on Hollywood Boulevard. There was also the possibility to gain some more experience in the dining and catering world; if you were lucky, you could butter up your manager to let you help out in the kitchen some.
After all, that was why you were here so far from home.
"Yn, you've got company at table five," Haknyeon said as he passed by you on his way into the kitchen.
You gave a nod out of instinct. You brushed your hands against your black waist apron, absentmindedly reaching up to also smooth out the black vest on your upper half. Usually when you worked at the club's restaurants and bars as wait staff, your uniform consisted of a white button down under a black vest, followed by a black skirt and apron. It was classy and chic, and definitely added to the expensive atmosphere.
You could see table five in your section up ahead. It was a little early into dinner service, but there were still people who came in. To your surprise, the company at table five was none other than Eric Sohn himself, along with two others you recognized as his parents. They were dressed casually—meaning semiformal. It was something out of a dinner cruise, with Eric's dark brunette waves styled effortlessly messy and the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal the slightly bronzed, toned skin beneath—
You cleared your throat, plastering a smile on your face as you approached the table. "Evening, everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Sohn," you gave a small greeting bow to his parents, then swiftly doled out little napkins for their drinks. "It's nice to see you on the grounds again today."
"Oh, Yn! It's very nice to see you this evening," said Mrs. Sohn with a delicate flourish of her wrist.
"Yes!" Mr. Sohn chimed in, "What have you been up to? Eric says he saw you on the golf range today."
Your eyes darted to Eric's, then went back to his parents when you realized his eyes were on you. You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and bracing the end of your serving tray against your waist. "Oh, uhm, yeah! I was just summoned down there to get some drinks to the Santos family—you know them, right?"
Recognition lit up in Eric's mother's eyes. "Yes, yes! Marina and her kids! Ah, well that sounds nice; I'll have to see if I can bump into her at the spa or something. Eric gave you a ride back in his cart, didn't he? The walk back is awfully far."
You nodded. "Yeah, of course. He was with Jacob, so I just hopped in the back and rode back with them here."
"I still owe you that golf date," Eric cut in smoothly, the hand with his Rolex draped over the back of his chair. His smile was casual, innocent, the kind that so easily could make anyone do his bidding.
"Golf date?" His parents glanced curiously between the two of you, and you felt heat rush up to your cheeks.
"It was just an offhand comment," you said sheepishly. "Jacob was telling me about how great of a golfer Eric is and I said I wanted to see his swing some time." Before anything else could be said on the matter, you tucked your tray under your arm and replaced it with your notepad and pen. "Can I get you anything to drink? An appetizer to start?"
That drew away the conversation promptly. It wasn't like you were uncomfortable with the idea of going on a date with Eric Sohn, it just wasn't that simple. Though the club officially encouraged good relationships between staff and club members, they didn't exactly encourage the romantic kind of relationship. Obviously, it would be impossible to enforce a no-entanglement policy completely, but you wanted to stay on your manager's good side.
You nearly folded in half over the counter of the tiki bar at the pool. Sweat streamed down the side of your face, and you were pretty sure your baby hairs looked akin to a lion's mane under your white baseball cap. Thank god the club didn't force you to wear a black colored hat instead; the black polo and skort were death enough.
Jacob chuckled as he passed you a clean, damp towel that had been soaking in ice water. "Before you get heat stroke," he said, then returned to preparing a tray of drinks someone had ordered at the hot tub.
You thanked him profusely, dabbing your face and neck with the cool blessing. "Sheesh," you groaned. "I think I need to reapply my sunscreen soon. How are you out here all the time, Cobie?"
He grinned with a half-hearted shrug. "Well, I work with cold drinks and I'm under the shade. And—" he tapped the handy little fan clipped to one of the structure poles of the tiki bar, "—this beautiful work of engineering."
"I need one of those umbrella hats and squirt bottles kids bring to Disneyland," you grumbled and plucked yourself up from the bar. You returned the towel to Jacob so he could toss it into the soiled towel bin on the other side of him. You watched as he finished up filling the tray and whistled at the pool waiter who had ordered it for the group at the hot tub.
As the waiter walked away with the drinks, you thought aloud, "How could they stand to be in the hot tub in this heat?" From here, you could see the group of girls gathered in the bubbling jets of the hot tub at the far end of the pool in their bikini tops and Gucci shades.
"They're not standing—they're sitting."
You sent Jacob an unimpressed look, to which he simply smiled wider.
"Hey guys!" Ji Changmin huffed and puffed as he collapsed onto the barstool next to you. He had a towel hanging around his shoulders and a white sweatband holding up his dark bangs dripping with sweat. "Can I get an ice water, hyung?"
"Yeah, man," Jacob said, already dumping a scoop of ice in a cup.
"You alright there, Changmin?" You glanced over at the club's dance instructor with barely concealed amusement.
Changmin took the corner of his towel to dry the dribble of sweat making its way down his forehead. "Whoever thought it was a good idea to do hot Zumba in the height of summer needs a reality check. I think I'm dying."
As one of the country club's primary dance instructors, not only did Changmin lead all of the dance activities on the grounds, he was also supposed to take over any dance aerobics classes like said hot Zumba. You knew it wasn't his favorite, but it was still funny to make faces at him through the window as he did can-can kicks in leg warmers with all of the rich moms.
You leaned down to check if he had the leg warmers on. He did not. At least he finally had the good sense to break uniform.
Jacob slid over an ice-cold glass of water, and Changmin drained it like a man who trekked through the desert for seven days. You glanced at Jacob's digital clock on the counter behind him—he kept it so he could be on time for all of his breaks.
"Oh shit," you said, quickly fixing your cap and adjusting your hair, "time for me to get back to work."
Changmin straightened. "Where are you stationed today, Yn-ie? Chanhee and I wanted to come pick you up later for dinner before we have to come back."
"That's right!" Jacob slapped his palm to his forehead. "We have to all be back here for the banquet. I almost forgot, damn it."
You cocked a brow at him. "Wow, you, Jacob Bae, almost forgot about the major event all of our jobs are riding on that's taking place tonight?"
A smile curled onto your face when Jacob narrowed his eyes at you. "Don't you have work to do?"
You let out a laugh and began backing away from the tiki bar and your friends. "Kim has me at the ice cream bar until the end of my shift, Changmin. I'll catch you boys later!"
Jacob and Changmin raised their hands in twin waves to you as you walked away. If you remembered the time on Jacob's clock correctly, you had about fifteen minutes to get up to the indoor ice cream bar for your shift.
Tonight, the country club was hosting a banquet for one of the business men here. It was supposedly one of the most important events for the club's reputation, so it was all hands on deck. Everyone from Chanhee at the spa to Haknyeon in the kitchen were called upon to clock into work once again tonight to help out. You were glad you weren't a part of the set-up and takedown committees, but you were expected to wait on the banquet. Jacob was supposed to be bartending tonight, as usual, and your other friends and coworkers would be waiting alongside you.
You glanced up on your walk out of the pool area and nearly tripped over the soles of your sneakers.
Coming in hot (literally) were none other than Eric Sohn, Lee Hyunjae, and Lee Juyeon—all of whom were very much shirtless. Swim trunks hung low on their waists, their stomachs carved like triplet Michaelangelos. Seeing shirtless guys at the pool wasn't new for you, but these guys were actually around your age.
Eric saw you first and waved. "Yn, hey!"
"Hi guys," you greeted back with a shallow nod of your head. "Nice day out for a swim."
"I know, right?" Hyunjae raised a hand to shield his eyes from the unforgiving summer sun. "You must be baking in that uniform, Yn." He raised his chin to gesture at the all black attire.
"I don't suppose you'd be able to join us?" Juyeon smiled. He knew you probably couldn't join them because you were clocked in, but he had always been pretty nice nonetheless. He and Hyunjae were cousins, and the Lee family was well-known around here for being big names in the legal sphere, as well as being one of the larger families. There was another cousin of theirs around their age running around here somewhere, too.
You gave a helpless shrug. "Duty calls, unfortunately."
"Yn, hey wait—" Eric caught your attention as you were about to continue walking up toward the main clubhouse. He flashed you that smile again, the one that made your stomach do flips and would convince you to do flips for him if only he asked. "You won't happen to be working at the banquet tonight, are you?"
"How'd you guess?" You replied good-naturedly. "Why do you ask?"
He began walking backwards toward the direction his friends had drifted off to, his smile tilting up slightly. "So I know which cologne I should wear."
And it definitely wasn't a trick of the summer sun that made you see him wink at you.
"He's into you."
"He is not—" you wrestled your sleeve up your forearm and made a frustrated noise when the button would not go through, "—into me."
Chanhee gave you a nice, slow eye roll just so you would see it, and he yanked the sleeve away from you so he could roll it up himself. "A lot of men around here like smelling nice, but no one pulls out the Acqua Di Gio just for the service girl or a business banquet," he hissed as a fellow waiter rushed past you two in the narrow corridor. "Jesus, why is this button such a bitch?"
"That's what I'm saying," you hissed back at him as the two of you both struggled to fix your sleeve. "Not the cologne thingy—I hate how you're able to just take a whiff and name the cologne. What kind of demon nose do you have?"
Chanhee sighed and collapsed against the wall opposite to you when he finally managed to get the sleeve right. The two of you were currently on break, not hiding, in this corridor. In T-minus two minutes, you would both have to be back out in the hustle and bustle of cleanup or after-party drinks in the lounge. Because the main course had finally been served, a lot of the waiters were allowed to go on break. The banquet thus far had gone relatively smoothly, other than the fact that when you had served Eric all of his courses, he'd made sure you practically melted on the smell of his cologne.
It wasn't your fault you had to bend down close to him to not spill the hot food. And it wasn't your fault that he chose to put his mouth right to your ear when he told you a joke, masking it as asking for more water.
You couldn't decide if you were going to giggle or let your knees buckle at that moment. Thank god you managed to laugh behind your hand and hustle away before anyone noticed.
But that was besides the point. The point was that Chanhee had also passed by Eric, caught the faint trail of Aqua De Whatever, and connected some dots.
"If you want a demon, you talk to Changmin," he said. "I just know my shit. And I also know that you only break out the Acqua Di Gio when you want to attract someone, and based on the fact he's currently seated around about fifty other businesspeople…" Chanhee made a wild, desperate gesture with his hands, eyes widened. Are you getting this? He seemed to ask. Because I will smack you if you aren't.
You fanned yourself, justifying it by thinking about how hot the back hallway was and this outfit was, rather than admitting that it was because Eric was hot. "Okay, okay. Come on, we have to get back out there," you said, already turning your heel toward the door.
"I'm just saying that clearly he's been trying to tell you something," Chanhee added as you both broke out of the hallway and into the kitchen. He grabbed a circular serving tray from a stack on the counter next to him to hand over to you.
"Well, what do you suppose I should do with that?"
He pressed his lips into a thin smile, taking hold of a small, empty cart and pushing it ahead of him. "Just keep an open mind, darling."
You and Chanhee separated at the kitchen doors out into the banquet hall. While he would be a part of cleaning up, you needed to head over to the next-door parlor where the party had moved post-dinner. Business would continue as usual, just with a few more drinks and pool involved.
The parlor room was arguably one of your favorite rooms in the club with its cozier atmosphere created by the evergreen walls, tiffany-shaded lamps, and dark oak furnishings. It was also outfitted with a hearth (unused during the summer and spring) and a billiards table. Most of those who had chosen to stay had migrated with a certain crowd of people they planned to continue chatting with. Your job, as well as the few others recruited to the parlor, was to be a fly on the wall until somebody needed something. If tips were passed around, you were free to pocket them.
You were probably standing and waiting for only five minutes before you saw Eric stand up from where he was on the far side of the room. He shouldered his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of his armchair, exposing the white dress shirt and black vest beneath. Whew, he was wearing a full suit to this event? You wondered how he even survived, but all conscious thought flew out the window when he caught you staring and started smirking to himself. The smug, little expression stayed etched into the sharp planes of his face even as he strolled over to the pool table and lined up his shot.
You wondered—and it was just a thought—what it'd be like (possibly) for him to lean over you—
"Excuse me, miss?" You shook out of your daze and remembered why you were here. Unfortunately, it was not to admire the young heir watching you from the other side of the room, but to serve guests.
For the next couple of hours, your job was exactly what you did. You had been so focused on running back and forth from the bar in the other room and back that you always seemed to have missed Eric trying to catch your eye again. If he wanted drinks, he had to suck it up and ask someone else who just happened to be near him instead.
As the evening dwindled into a sweet, humid night, the amount of guests also began to trickle down. You had grabbed a rag on your way back to the parlor room and said goodbye to your coworkers on their way out. Some still lingered for last minute clean up, and though you were technically done for the night, you wanted to wipe down anything you had missed. It was something simple that you could do to help out a colleague, and it wasn't like you were in a rush to go home.
When you walked back into the parlor room, however, you blinked—surprised—at the sight of an individual left. He leaned against the billiards table, one hand holding the edge of the suit jacket draped over his shoulder and the other scrolling through his phone.
Eric glanced up from his device and pocketed it at the sight of you. "Hey."
"Hi," you said back. "Uhm, can I get you anything—"
"Oh, no no. I'm good." He shook his head, pushing off from the table. He shot you that signature boyish smile of his and your heart began doing cartwheels. "I just wanted to ask if I could give you a lift home."
You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Truthfully, you were caught off guard, stunned. This wasn't what you were expecting from him.
He saw your hesitation and let out a sheepish laugh, cupping the back of his head. "Sorry, this is so out of the blue. I… it's a little late out right now, and I didn't know if you had a ride or not. I know you're not usually scheduled to work so late."
"You know my schedule?" You blurted. Though, the thought did warm you and amuse you.
His eyes widened. "I mean, uhm, definitely not in the creepy, stalkerish sort of way! I uh, I like to think I pay a lot more attention when it comes to you." His admission didn't do much to slow the racing organ in your chest cavity. You always saw Eric Sohn as one of those smooth and collected young men who were born to charm. But seeing him flustered and tripping over his words because of you?
You ducked your head slightly, flattered and most definitely charmed still. "I'd really appreciate a lift home, Eric."
You both shared a smile in the slightly dimmed, slightly warmed lights of the parlor room.
Once you had finished glossing over the surfaces of the parlor room with your rag to catch any rings made by perspiring liquids, your manager dismissed you for the night. Eric told you he would meet you out front where he would bring his car around for you. You found yourself standing at the edge of the curb with a gentle, yet rare summer breeze wafting through your hair. You had your bag slung over your shoulder, and you grasped the strap and fidgeted with the material.
A car pulled up to the circular driveway—it was a sports car. The Corvette, sleek and aerodynamic, was doused in a shiny orange coat of paint that glimmered even in the night. The passenger side window rolled down so you could see Eric leaning over the center console and waving to you.
"Hey, hop in!" He said to you with a grin, lowering the music he was playing.
Gingerly, you walked up to the car and managed to maneuver yourself inside. The passenger seat was lined in soft black leather, and the inside of the car made it all the more easy to suffocate on that delicious cologne of his.
Eric had ditched his suit jacket and vest in the backseat of the car, leaving him in just his white dress shirt and slacks.
"Nice car," you whistled lowly as you buckled yourself in.
His mouth tilted upward. "Thanks," he said. He fussed around with his phone for a second before passing the device to you. "If you wouldn't mind putting your number and address in."
"Oh." It was a brand new contact page. You didn't question it, swiftly inputting all of the necessary information before returning his phone to him.
Eric took a peek at the address, then pulled out of the country club's driveway. You didn't live too far away from the club, luckily. It was only a few minute's drive, but the walk sometimes felt a bit longer. California didn't exactly have the most convenient public transportation system, and in an area like Beverly Hills, it was near impossible to find a reliable bus or train service.
"Any music preferences?" He asked you quietly.
You shook your head. "I'm not super picky. What you have on is all good with me."
"I have to confess, Yn," he said with a half smile, eyes darting toward you, "that I was trying to steal your attention all night."
Your stomach flipped and you suppressed the smile that threatened to crawl onto your mouth. "Really?"
He laughed. "Yeah, but obviously, your work ethic beat me out, as well as my own luck."
"Any reason for seeking me out?" He'd technically had your attention all throughout the banquet, but he had also needed to entertain and chat with the other people around him. While the after party was sometimes used for business discussion, too, the banquet dinner itself was the main event.
"I mean, besides wanting to talk to the cute girl eating up all my thoughts?"
He was turning onto your apartment complex's street all too soon. The car slid into a parking spot along the curb, and he twisted in his seat to face you. "I really want to take you out, show you a good time. It doesn't have to be something fancy if that's not your vibe; we can always start with golf."
You let the smile bloom on your face at the reference to the "golf date" you both had yet to schedule. You still wanted to see his swing, after all. "Then it's a date," you said, "I should have a free day two days from now, if that works for you."
Eric bit his lip. "I'm all yours, hon."
Before you could start doing somersaults from excitement, you resolved yourself to getting into your apartment first. "Well, thank you again for the lift, Eric. You have my number?"
He nodded. "Never losing it."
You grinned something fond. He grinned right back at you. "Get home safe."
"I will. Good night, cutie."
You slammed the car door shut and left Eric to his lonesome. Through the passenger side window, Eric watched as you disappeared into your apartment complex, safe and sound. He had almost given into the urge to ask if he could walk you up, but it was a miracle you had even taken him up on his offer to drive you home.
He pulled up your contact and sent you a text so you could have his number, too, as soon as possible. He deposited his phone into the cup holder, then punched the roof of his car with a shit-eating grin on his face. He'd scored your number and a date in one night—damn right, he did.
You had reasoned with yourself that this was okay based on the fact that you weren't on company time.
"Shoooooot," you whistled with a slight arch in your brows and applause. You tracked the distance Eric's driving shot sent the golf ball flying, and in the early morning sunlight, the white sphere disappeared over the crest of green hill.
You figured being courted by a club member during your own free time was a loophole you could live with. Especially when such a loophole looked so good swinging a golf club.
His follow through was just as beautiful as he was, his arms lifting the golf club over behind him from the arc. When he lowered the club to turn back to you, he was beaming. "What's the verdict?"
Your golf club was currently acting as your arm rest as you staked the head against the grass. "I don't know, Eric," you sucked in a breath, teasingly. "I think you could've gone pro."
He laughed then, eyes narrowed into glorious upturned crescent moons. "Thanks, cutie." He made a gesture to the tee. "All yours."
"Let me preface this by saying that it's been awhile," you were quick to say as the nerves suddenly bubbled up into your chest and made you wanna do a jittery shuffle. You should not have let Eric go first.
"No worries," he chirped. "Why don't we practice first?"
Yes, practice. Thank god he knew where your head was at.
You eagerly agreed, and set your golf ball up on the tee. Nervously, you smoothed your gloves down the front of your pleated golf skirt. You lined up the face of the golf club with the ball and pulled it back a millimeter—
Then chickened out.
"Performance anxiety," you grimaced to your date.
"Oh, well, that's okay!" Eric set his golf club down on the field and made his way over to you. "Can I help?"
Yes. "Please do," you chuckled, leaving room for him to take your club.
But instead, he shook his head. "No, no. You won't learn anything from just watching, silly goose."
He grabbed the golf club over your hands and lined both of your bodies up correctly. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his front pressed against your back. His mouth was so close to your ear again, and there was that damned cologne making you see hearts.
"Sorry, is this okay?" He asked softly.
You gulped, nodding. "Yeah. Perfectly okay." You wondered if he could feel your heartbeat quicken like a drum crescendoing. If he wasn't careful, your heart might just fall out and run to his arms.
From this position, Eric smoothly guided you through the steps of a perfect swing. The pullback was cranked over your shoulder, then the club would swing straight through, followed by the arc back over your other shoulder and the appropriate turn of your body. As he had explained to you, getting the perfect swing or shot in sports mostly came down to the follow through. If one could not back up their initial movement, then why make the shot?
"—and you turn your body—yeah, just like that," he praised as you automatically rotated yourself from the side to the front, the toe of your foot digging into the ground and turning with you. "That's beautiful."
He backed up from you then, giving you some space. It suddenly felt like you were missing something with him gone. "You should try it now!"
You took a deep breath in as you lined your golf club up with the ball again. Cranking the club back over your shoulder, you swung it down and back up again. When the face of the club met the ball, it did so with a resounding PING!, and the ball went sailing.
(That sound… mwah. The sweet, sweet sound of triumph.)
"You did it!"
"I did it!"
It hadn't gone as far as Eric's had, but it had definitely traveled farther than it would have without his help. You whirled to him, clasping his hand with yours as you both shared equally radiant smiles. A giddiness flooded into you, and no doubt into the glow of your face.
"See? Not too bad," he said, squeezing your hand.
"All thanks to you," you pointed out.
He shook his head, using your linked hands to lead you back to where your golf bags were waiting a little ways back by the cart. "Nah, you had it in you, Yn. It was just performance anxiety, as you said."
The two of you each grabbed your own bags and hiked them over your shoulder to head down the hill and find your respective golf balls. From this view, you could see that the other patrons of the club were slowly trickling out onto the acres surrounding. It felt strange to be here as not a staff member, but as a guest instead.
Eric piped up, "Is it weird that I was hoping you would ask for my help?"
"Not really," you mused, then meekly added, "'cause I was kind of hoping you would offer your help."
He looked about as happy as you felt, and he swung your hands together between you.
It hit you, then, that you were still holding hands. But you didn't let go, and Eric didn't say anything. He just helped you find your golf ball, line up another shot, and hugged you from behind like it was nothing.
From across the pond, Jacob, Changmin, Chanhee, and Haknyeon pulled up over the bridge. The four of them were all piled into a golf cart, and Jacob stopped it just over the crest. They all knew about where you were today and why you were dressed in proper golf attire rather than the country club uniform. They watched with wide eyes (and maybe a camera or two) as you and Eric had a good time.
"Young love," Jacob sighed fondly from his spot in the driver's seat.
"I think it's gross," Changmin giggled. He yelped, furiously rubbing the place on his shoulder that Chanhee had whacked. "Hey! I was kidding!"
Chanhee rolled his eyes. "Let them have their moment. I'm glad Yn-ie let herself have fun with him."
"They look like they're having quite the time," Haknyeon said. "They're cute."
Changmin poked his head in between Jacob and Haknyeon from the backseat. "Just a thought, but what if we turned on the sprinklers like in High School Musical 2?"
An exchange of looks, a deep consideration… "No," they all chorused. They would get their asses kicked for that.
You were on lunch break when Changmin practically crashed onto the bench next to you with a crazed look in his eyes. "You. Me. Spa. Now."
You couldn't even say goodbye to the sandwich you were eating before Changmin grabbed your arm and dragged you across the club.
"Changmin! What the hell—"
"I'll explain in a second!" He hissed back at you while ducking into the service entrance of the spa.
The backdoor led to a staff break room, where Chanhee was currently (coincidentally) seated on a stool eating a box of Pepero while watching a cartoon on his phone. The man glanced up from his phone at the loud commotion, one cheek full of his snack, and he blinked. "You're lucky I'm not with a client right now."
"Yeah, yeah," Changmin said, dragging you and a stool over to Chanhee at the same time. He pushed your shoulders so you would take a seat. Changmin placed his hands on his hips as he stood before the two of you. "You're never gonna guess what I just overheard."
"What?" You and Chanhee asked at the same time.
"Well, you know Clara?"
Chanhee jumped right in. "The one fooling around with that Brian Yang guy. He's the heir to that one corporation monopolizing SIM cards or some shit."
How the hell…?
Changmin's head bobbed vigorously. "Yes, yes! That's the one. Anyways—I was walking past the manager's office and they were talking loud enough to hear with headphones on. Apparently, Clara and Brian had a nasty, nasty split, and Brian got her fired."
Silence.
Chanhee's eyebrows flew up. "Like… fired-fired?"
A grave nod. "Fired-fired."
You held your head in your hands. "Just because of a break up?" You asked. "Clara is such a nice girl."
Your friend's lips were pressed into a line. "Doesn't mean he's a nice guy. I dunno—" he threw his hands in the air and let them flop back against his legs, "—it's fucked, man. He said it was, like, too awkward to be around her all the time since he was here all the time. And because his father is one of the stockholders of the country club, Manager Kim could do little but do his bidding."
Your heart had fallen into the pit of your stomach. Drama like this didn't really happen often here, but there was always something going on.
You always thought there were assholes here, but sometimes they just kept on reminding you of it.
"And now I'm fooling around with one of the club members," you thought aloud. The realization hit you, a golf ball to the face. "Oh my god."
Chanhee's hand came up to your shoulder and gave you a soothing, warm squeeze. "Eric seems like a good guy, Yn-ie. You never know."
"But you really never know," you murmured. There was a reason why the club discouraged romantic relations between club members and staff. Perhaps this time, it wasn't about work productivity, but about keeping your damn jobs. You needed this job. You needed it so desperately because of the money, the opportunities, the connections. Not to mention all of the people you'd befriended here… it didn't seem right that you were scared of what Eric could do to you, but reality was settling in fast.
The Sohns were a major shareholder in the club, which meant they could pull strings like tying a shoelace.
But Eric is good. He's been good, you reasoned.
Changmin crossed his arms as he leaned back against the wall behind him. "You should talk to him. At the very least, you only went on one date, so it's not like you're completely involved yet."
That was a good point. You were going to run with it.
When Eric invited you over to his house, you should have known you were about to drive your beat up sedan into the driveway of a palace, not a house. A house was for normal people, not whoever the Sohns were, you knew that much. To say you were intimidated by the massive front lawn, iron gates, and limestone arches and columns would be an understatement. Maybe you should have worn something nicer.
You pulled up to the curb of the roundabout—he'd mentioned to you that you could just park there. Apparently the garage was a little inconvenient for guests, but you weren't complaining. The front of the house was a marvel to look at, and wherever that garage was would have left you unable to fully soak in this modern wonder. Plus, you had some time to pull yourself together before seeing Eric.
The plan was… no plan, really. He wanted to hang out with you, and you'd mentioned your love for cooking. Thus, he proposed a miniature cooking class in his kitchen, along with dinner on the patio. It sounded nice. It also sounded great when you remembered what you needed to talk to him about. (Yay.)
It's not a big deal. Eric's cool.
You finally managed to trek your way up to the front door and you booped the doorbell. It was one of those loud bells that must have echoed throughout the house, because you could clearly hear it from the outside.
A couple minutes later, you heard the locking mechanism come undone. The door opened after; you swore that every time you saw this guy, you became speechless.
You had seen him in a dress shirt before, but this tank top and over-shirt thing was new. It was casual and comfortable, yet chic. His hair was styled in the same manner his clothing was—simple and so attractive. A silver chain and matching silver rings added the subtle touch of elegance to pull everything together.
"Hi," he grinned—he was always smiling, you realized. It was such a pretty smile. He stepped aside and gave you room in the doorway. "Come on in, cutie."
"Thanks for having me over," you said pleasantly, trying not to openly gawk at the front foyer with the sky-high ceiling, chandelier dripping with crystals, and grand staircase wrapping around the walls up to the indoor balcony.
He closed the door behind you as you deposited your shoes by the small rack. Eric wrapped a loose arm around your shoulder to guide you through the foyer. "Of course! I'm so excited you're here; I went out—actually no, I…" he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "ordered it off that grocery app. I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for."
"Grocery app?" You laughed. "Are you talking about the stuff for dinner?"
"Yeah!"
The two of you entered the kitchen. It was a wide, open space that flowed straight into the living room. The cabinets were smooth and snow white, accented with countertops marbled with black and hints of gold. Though clean, it was a space well-loved with a recipe book left open to a lobster risotto; little candies left in a jar on the island labeled with chalk; barstools that weren't quite aligned, like they'd actually been sat on. The living room, too, was beautiful. Massive, but beautiful, with a wraparound couch sectional and a flat screen with family photos hung above it. It was framed by shelves filled to the brim with CD and DVD cases, more family photos, books, and little baubles.
And the lighting. Oh man, the natural lighting from the windows making up the entire back wall… it led out onto the acres of land his family owned, as well as a patio that overlooked the valley.
Eric had mentioned dinner on the patio. If your math was right, that meant you would probably be dining at sunset, all while overlooking a splendid view—how romantic. God, you hated how giddy you were starting to get. Those butterflies in your stomach would not cease.
"You have a really, really beautiful home," you murmured, letting him take your bag from you to place on one of the barstools.
You had always thought that big houses like this would be so difficult to fill. What was one supposed to do with so much space anyway? From the pictures on the wall, you could see Eric's parents, himself, as well as a sister who must have been out making her own mark on the world in that special Sohn kind of way. Even with just four people in this place… they still managed to make it feel like a home and not a house. It was like your own house back in your hometown, across the country. It was lived-in and warm and yours, and that was the beauty of it. And you were certain by just looking at this place that the Sohns were a family who loved each other.
How could you not believe in Eric? Not with all of this to vouch for him? He had grown up loved.
"Thank you," he said. "It's one of my favorite places to be. That's why I still haunt it like a ghost," he joked. He placed a warm hand on the small of your back and led you over to the fridge where he had put all of the grocery delivery bags in. Even the fridge was relatively stocked. "Not sure if everything I got was right, but hopefully it'll all turn out delicious anyway."
You helped him unload the bags onto the kitchen island, raising a brow at the labels on the groceries. They were on the higher end of price and quality, which definitely wasn't a problem, but holding a hundred dollar bottle of red wine just for sauce was making your anxiety levels spike. "Oh, no. It all looks great, Eric. Thanks for getting these, by the way. I would have gone out and brought them here, but—"
He waved away your worries. "You're busy and you're working. Plus, it lets me technically pay for dinner," he said with a cheeky look on his face and gesturing with a finger gun. It was cute. He was cute.
"Smooth, Sohn. I see you."
"That's what they called me in high school," he played along, dancing on his toes behind you to fiddle with his phone and turn on a speaker somewhere (you didn't know where). "Smooth Sohn."
You snorted, slapping a hand over your mouth. Eric's eyes glittered with a mutual mirth. "Whatever you say, honey."
He waltzed back over to you, tongue in cheek. "I like that better though—honey." He leaned back against the counter next to you and watched as you sorted out the ingredients in different piles depending on how they should be prepped. "So what's the plan, chef? You're the boss."
"I'd love to know where your knives and cutting boards are," you said.
He leapt into action. "Say no more!"
In reality, you did have to say more. It wasn't that Eric didn't know where everything was in the kitchen, he just wasn't as well versed in using the kitchen. He'd told you while teaching him how to hold a knife properly that he really only came in here for ramen. Good news was he could crack an egg with one hand; bad news was that was about all he could do. It was still charming, nonetheless. And the cute cooking lesson gave him plenty of opportunity to get close to you.
He had even insisted on you teaching him how to chop carrots like how he had taught you how to swing a golf club—over and around him—with your hands over his and your body wrapped around his, your chin on his shoulder.
But with dinner well past done, the two of you made your way out onto the patio just as the sun was sinking into the embrace of the valley below. It melted into the sky like a broken yolk, saturated and golden. He let you have the seat staring out into the valley. The way he looked at you though, made you feel like you were his million dollar valley view.
The table was set with twin glasses of red wine (amazing what a good wine paired with beef stew could do for the soul), plates separated by a hot stew pot, and a couple of candles for ambiance.
"Wow," he moaned as the beef melted on his tongue. "This is so good. And you're telling me you're pretty, smart, and can cook?"
You held back a giggle so you could swallow your bite. "And I'm single," you jested.
"And you're single!" He leaned his head back, eyes closed. "Thank god for that."
Eric leaned his cheek on his fist, his head cocked slightly and his eyes on you with a swoon-worthy admiration. "Thanks for coming out tonight and hanging out with me."
You could kiss him. "Please, I should be the one thanking you. It's been really fun hanging out with you." It was surreal, actually. The fact that this young heir had deemed you "worthy" or whatever to court and entertain—it wasn't like you defined your self worth by his attention and affection, but this felt nice. Your conversation with Changmin and Chanhee the other day came to the forefront of your mind.
"I, uhm, think this is a good time to ask if you wanted to do this more often? Hanging out with me, I mean."
You weren't sure if this was what you thought he was asking you. He reached for his wine glass, and in the fading sunlight and the candlelight illuminating the bashful expression on his face, your heart pounded.
"What I mean to say," he tried again after a small sip of wine, "is would you be my—"
"I think we should talk!" You cut in before you heard anymore. You were getting jittery, unable to figure out when was the right time to bring up the thing, but also, you wanted him to say his thing, and it was just a mess. But when you saw Eric's wide eyes, mouth zipped up, you repeated in a much calmer tone, "I think we should talk about something. It's not… it's not super serious or anything. I could just be overthinking."
Oh, you felt bad. He looked like a kicked puppy, but you saw him pull himself together for you. "It's—you're probably not overthinking, Yn. What's on your mind?"
The wine glass was put down. He even put his fork down.
Were you making a big deal out of this? Probably not, right? This was important, you reminded yourself. You pursed your lips. "So one of my coworkers—former coworkers," you amended, "Clara. Her name's Clara. She and this guy you might know, Brian Yang…"
He nodded. "Yeah, I know of him."
"Well, they kind of had this thing going on between them. And the other day, she was fired because they broke up and he thought it was too weird that she was working where he was hanging out all the time," you rambled on. "And I uhm, I just wanted to make sure from the get-go that… you know… it's stupid, I don't know. But it's my job, y'know? And—and I need this job, but I like you a lot, Eric. Am I making any sense?"
Neither of you were eating anymore.
You looked at him, hopelessly, searching for signs of understanding.
He leaned in slightly and reached for your hands over the table. "Yn, sweetheart," he said, lacing his fingers with yours over the pot of beef stew, "that is a valid point to bring up, and I can understand what you're probably thinking. That—that news must have been scary, or at least nerve-racking, and Brian's a dick for that—"
You nodded, swallowing.
"—and I don't want you to risk your job because of me," he said earnestly. "But I really want to see where this goes, you know? If anything happens and you don't feel the same way, then no harm, no foul. I'm not gonna take my emotions out on you like that asshole; that's not right."
The breath you had been holding in fell from your mouth, a wave of relief. A sappy, grateful sort of smile worked its way onto your mouth and you met Eric's own kind expression. "You are actually perfect," you let out a breathy laugh. "Where have you been all my life?"
He grinned. "Funny, that's what I've been thinking about you." Eric set your laced hands on the side of the table as he raised his glass to you. "So what do you say? Can we try this?"
You lifted your glass to gently clink it with his. "Let's do it."
"So he's perfect, but he hasn't kissed you yet?" Chanhee's gasp of incredulity hit you in a gust of air. His lips pursed like a penguin's beak. "Figures."
You sent him a look. "Oh, please. Figures what? He's just being… I dunno, chivalrous!"
"Chivalry is dead," Haknyeon snickered as he waltzed by you with fresh towels to lay out by the pool. "You should make the move, Yn."
"So you two are, like, dating now?" Asked Changmin as he hopped onto the tiki bar stool next to you and Chanhee. He kept on glancing down at his watch; he must have only a small break in between his dance classes today.
"They're 'seeing where things go,'" mocked Jacob with a shake of his head. He swirled a rag around the innards of a glass to dry it.
You sent them all dirty looks now. "Cobie, out of all the times you choose to be an imp—"
"An imp," Chanhee muttered, glancing away as he took a sip of his piña colada, "I'm dead."
"If it makes you feel better, Yn, I'm supervising a tennis match with him and the Lee cousins later today. I can get a feel of where his mind's at," Jacob offered.
You drummed your fingers against the bar. The offer was tempting… "It's fine," you insisted. "We don't have to rush things. We go to the same university and we live in the same city now. It's not like we don't have time… right?"
"Riiiight," Changmin drawled with an over exaggerated wink. He frowned at his watch, hopping off his stool. "Damn it, salsa class time. Catch you losers later!"
As he darted off into the distance, Chanhee sniffed. "Says the loser." He plucked the pink umbrella out of his drink and set the decoration down on his napkin. "You're not wrong, Yn-ie. Taking it slow isn't a bad thing. From what you told us, it seems like you're both on the same page now anyway."
"Thank you," you said.
"Maybe he's trying to plan a romantic moment." Haknyeon rejoined the conversation now that he had done his towel delivery.
Jacob nodded with an approving turn of his lips. "You might be onto something. He seems the type."
Your heart was fluttering as if it sprouted butterfly wings. Oh, the thought of kissing Eric Sohn in romantic lighting…
"I think you should take her back to her job before she drifts fully into La La Land." When you snapped back to reality, Jacob's eyes were twinkling, eyebrows wagging.
Haknyeon nudged you with the back of his hand and nodded up to the clubhouse. "C'mon, Yn-ie. I think Manager Kim wants to brief us on dinner service anyway."
Hours later, Jacob found himself on the tennis courts, overseeing a match between the three Lee cousins—Sangyeon, Hyunjae, and Juyeon—and Eric. He often thought it was luck that got him to land this job where all he did to pass the day was make drinks, drive golf carts, and occasionally play doubles with club members. For all that it was, he considered himself very content.
"—that was a foul," Jacob declared, jogging to go catch the tennis ball before it bounded into the bushes.
Hyunjae let out a groan. "Nooo! It hit the line. Jacob, please, I thought we were cool!"
Sangyeon shook his head, smiling as he caught the tennis ball from Jacob with his free hand. "Hyunjae, we all know your eyesight is shit."
Hyunjae wrinkled his nose. "Hey! No one asked."
"Can we take a break?" Juyeon asked, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I think I need some water."
The boys all murmured their agreement, and Jacob reached down into the mini cooler he'd lugged out to toss them ice cold bottles of water. It was just one of the few perks that came with the club membership.
While Sangyeon and Hyunjae were bickering about eyesight and foul lines, Juyeon settled into a seat by them to referee. Eric sidled up next to Jacob as they both absentmindedly watched the chaos unfold from afar.
Jacob whistled. "So… Yn said she had a really good time with you the other night."
Eric perked up at the sound of your name. "She did? Well that's a relief to hear."
"It wasn't clear?" Jacob asked, face tilted in question. "I mean, not to completely expose her or anything, but she's been gushing about you all day, man."
A giddy smile took over the youngest Sohn's face. "She was?" He licked his lips, drawing the pad of his thumb over the corner of his mouth to catch the water that had dribbled from the bottle. "She's—she's so cute, hyung. Like, I don't know if this is weird for you because you're friends—"
Jacob coughed in amusement. "It's fine. Think of me as your guardian angel."
"Right," Eric piped up. "I think… I think we really hit it off, y'know? And I mean, she probably told you we just kind of had dinner and she had to leave, but she'd come after work, so she was probably tired and—"
Ohhh. Jacob understood exactly what was going on now. His heart warmed at the thought that Eric was being so considerate and not forcing you to stay. He was thinking about your long day, and didn't wish to prolong it anymore. Little did he know, you probably wouldn't have minded hanging around a tad longer.
"—I wanted to kiss her—"
Wait huh. Jacob tuned back in. "When?"
Eric blinked. "Uhm, at dinner. Or at least, when I was walking her out to her car." He glanced away and his smile softened at the thought. "I wish I had, actually. The moment was right there, and the lighting was perfect, and her smile—oh my god, her smile."
Jacob's eyebrows flew up to his hairline. So this was where Eric's mind was at; good to know. "Then do it—kiss her."
"Right now?"
"No! Not right now—"
"Hey, you guys ready to play again?" Juyeon called. The three Lees had already maneuvered themselves back to court.
Eric and Jacob exchanged glances. This conversation wasn't over, Jacob's look seemed to say.
They nodded to their companions, though. "Yeah, we're ready."
It did not come as a surprise to you when you found out Eric had a home theater in his basement. It was something like you'd pictured from the movies, the ones with the rows of dark leather armchairs, deep cup holders, and a giant screen and surround sound system. The foot of the theater room even had a little snack station to make popcorn, and a mini fridge stocked with drinks.
You and Eric shared the couch on the bottom floor that was big enough for the two of you. It was a random Tuesday, and you didn't have work today, so he'd suggested swinging by and hanging out with him for the day. You couldn't possibly refuse.
Eric scrolled through the movie options on the screen with the remote. "Are you sure you don't want any popcorn?" He asked you.
You shook your head. "I'm good, really. But it sounds like you want popcorn, Eric."
He caught his tongue in his smile. "Maybe."
If you weren't supposed to be watching a movie, you would have gladly curled up on that couch and stared at him for the rest of time. His jawline was enough to make a girl go mad, and the fact that he was just so sweet, too—
"How about this one?"
You snapped out of it, barely flicking your gaze back over to the screen in time to avoid him finding out that you were just blatantly staring. "Uhh, sure. I haven't seen this one, actually."
"Really? Oh my god, we have to watch it then." And so you did.
It was about halfway into the movie that you realized there was a draft coming down on you—the air conditioning in this room was awfully high, but you didn't want to say anything. You hiked your legs up onto the couch and hugged your arms, leaning back slightly against the quilt draped over the back of the couch. (How conveniently placed…)
Eric saw your movement from the corner of his eye. "You cold? We can share the blanket."
"My hero," you joked as he removed the quilt from behind your heads and draped it over your laps.
Because the article wasn't exactly miles long, you and Eric had to shift over closer to each other. Not that you were complaining. The arm and leg pressed against yours were warm, and it gave him the perfect opportunity to raise his arm and place it over the back of the couch behind you.
As you both watched the rest of the movie, you gradually let yourself lean into him, and his arm eventually fell to rest directly around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.
"I always liked the ending of this movie," Eric murmured softly to you as the credits rolled. He brushed his fingers along your arm in a warm, soothing manner. "What'd you think?"
You stayed with your head tucked onto his shoulder. "Hmm, not bad. I think they could have cut the romance though."
"Ah, I see your point," he said. "Sometimes directors just like to force it for the sake of a subplot."
"Wholeheartedly agree."
His fingers danced up to your shoulder and began playing with your hair. He pursed his lips. "Are you a fan of romance movies? That's kind of a random question, I guess."
"Not really—a random question, I mean," you said, and pulled your head off of his shoulder to face him. The thought occurred to you of how close your bodies and your faces were, sharing warmth and skin. You saw his eyes dart down away from yours for a split second. "I like romance movies. I think they restore my faith in humanity," you mused. "You?"
"I like 'em, too." He released a small exhale, an almost-shy smile etching itself onto his face. "Most of them are just… feel-good movies. They're really sweet, and I've always kind of wanted something like that."
"High standards," you whispered, though playfully. "Wouldn't we all like something from the movies?" To you, this was what the movies were like—"handsome guy sweeps girl off her feet, and he's perfect and she's happy." You were already living out your too-good-to-be-true dreams.
He laughed. "True. I think it's just a matter of waiting for the right person to come along, maybe. And following through."
You bit the bait. "Following through?"
"Backing up your initial swing," he clarified. "Something to drive the ball home and make sure you mean it. I feel like maybe that's what people forget about romance—that there's still an after, beyond happily ever after."
Wow. "Your brain," you praised. "That was actual poetry, I think. Is this how you get girls?"
He bit his lip through a smile, leaning closer. "Only one girl. I hope it's working."
"I think it's working a little too well," you admitted, voice barely audible now.
You could feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips as he came closer, about ninety-percent of the way; the other ten percent was left for you to either push forward or pull back. He was giving you the decision on a gold platter.
And who could deny something served so beautifully?
You closed the gap between you and pressed your lips against his. It was soft, at first, as the nerves in your brain and your vital organs threatened to go haywire. You breathed him in, your noses slotting against each other. He cupped the back of your head with his free hand, the other curling around your waist.
When you broke apart, it was for a split second, until he was kissing you again. You were half in his lap at this point, your legs draped over his, your side pressed to his chest.
Foreheads pressed together, you shared a breath of air with him. He nuzzled his nose against you as if unable to be so far from you. "Be mine," he said, simple at first. Then, "Please."
You smiled against him and felt his mouth do the same. "Only if you'll be mine, too."
"As if I would say no," he laughed, leaning in again, and crushing his mouth to yours. The theater room filled with both of your giggles as you fell backward.
If this was the happily ever after, then you would gladly follow through.
a/n: to anyone who read flight risk, i just redeemed myself from valentine's day
tbz m.list
permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @kflixnet
#kflixnet#bjnet#deoboyznet#the boyz x reader#eric sohn x reader#sohn youngjae x reader#the boyz scenarios#the boyz oneshot#the boyz drabbles#the boyz imagines#the boyz fluff#eric sohn drabbles#eric sohn oneshots#eric sohn imagines#eric sohn scenarios#eric sohn fluff#the boyz fanfic#dbn: summer on you
654 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Fall from the Heavens (22)
[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
He cursed himself in his head for giving in to her, for letting her fly on Larax, soaring towards the skies on Vhagar, looking out for her from afar with a clenched throat. Despite the fact that she hadn't run away with Daemon, he couldn't get over his fear that she would flee, that she would abandon him again.
That she would rip his heart out.
A sigh of relief left his lips as he caught sight of the shining, shimmering blue and silver slender figure of her dragoness in the distance, finding with satisfaction that they were heading in the right direction. He turned over his shoulder, terrified as he flew over them and heard a squeal below, Larax terrified by Vhagar's sudden presence panicked.
He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh when he heard his niece's commands, and after a moment her dragon calmed down and joined him, flying a little lower at his side.
He could not contain an involuntary smile of satisfaction as he felt the heat that filled his heart at the thought that here was his dream come true, and he was at last roaming the skies with his wife.
Although Aegon sometimes allowed him to accompany him on his visits to the Dragon's Pit, when he could get a close look at Sunfyre, it brought him neither joy nor comfort. He knew it was their mother who had forced him to take his little brother with him, thinking it would help him, meanwhile it only deepened his grief and sadness.
It wasn't his dragon, but his brother's, so what was he to be happy about?
His attitude, however, was quite different about his niece's dragoness when their betrothal was announced.
She was to become his wife, and as a wedded pair they were to share everything with each other, so he felt that he could also partly acknowledge Larax as his own.
When he saw her for the first time he thought that only Sunfyre matched her beauty.
Larax had blue-silver scales shimmering in the light of day, her nature gentle and docile, at the sight of his betrothed she acted and squealed in excitement like a small, happy child.
At first she hissed at him when he tried to approach her, however, when his niece took his hand in hers and placed it on her back, Larax allowed him to stroke her and from then on she accepted his presence with calmness.
Her scales were rough and sharp, yet smooth and pleasant to the touch, sparkling with various shades of blue like a gems, making him gasp in delight.
Looking at her now, he could not get out of his mind how she had grown, how wide and slender her wings were, with what lightness she swirled in the air.
Compared to her, his beloved old Vhagar was like a great flying stone fortress.
When they arrived, his wife landed by the fortress itself, but he had to find a lair for Vhagar in which she would pose no threat to anyone; he finally spotted a small grassy hill from below and ordered her to lower her flight, finally landing with a sigh of relief.
For some reason he was both joyful and terrified of what awaited them, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.
What if Rheanyra wants to kidnap her? What if she orders her to stay in the Eyrie? What if they reject their terms?
What if he has to kill them?
Despite the beautiful sunny weather and the wonderful journey at his wife's side, these gloomy thoughts consumed his mind completely. When he finally reached the gates of Harrenhal and spotted the figure of Larys Strong in the distance, he only prayed that he would be allowed to rest at least for a moment.
He glanced at his wife, who smiled at him uncertainly, tense, something about the person of Larys Strong or the woman standing next to him had obviously made her uncomfortable.
He decided it did not matter, tired and sore from sitting in one position, and directed his words to the heir of Harrenhal.
"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters."
Larys Strong did indeed direct them straight to his rooms, much more modest and cramped than those in King's Landing. He pulled off his leather gloves, frustrated that the Lord kept speaking and speaking and speaking, glancing up at him only when he mentioned that he had prepared other quarters for his wife.
No, he thought.
Her place was with him.
They were staying in a nest of vipers and he had no intention of letting any of them bite her.
"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." He said impatiently; Lord Strong raised his eyebrows as if genuinely surprised by his words.
"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you." He said lightly, and he pressed his lips together, casting a tired, enraged look at his wife, who stared at him with her big, warm eyes full of understanding.
They were both exhausted, but nothing could be done.
He sighed and nodded, ordering her to leave them alone, leading her and the woman who had followed her away with anxious gaze.
Was this the famous Witch of Harrenhal?
What if she does indeed cast a spell on her?
What if she pours poison into her honey or wine?
Larys Strong snapped him out of his reverie by sitting down at a table standing just beside the window, leaning his staff against the back of his chair, sighing softly.
"Your grandfather has conveyed to me what matter has brought you here, my Prince, and has asked me to personally take care of everything if the matter gets out of hand." He said meekly, as if he had just been telling him about the weather or what meals would be served to them at supper.
He felt an unpleasant shiver run along his spine, a cold sweat on the back of his neck as he threw him a quick, shocked look, his heart pounding like mad.
Lord Strong seemed amused by his reaction, a smile appeared on his face from which he felt an unpleasant squeeze in his guts.
"I have my little birds in the Eyrie who chirp to me about everything that happens there. Daemon and Rhaenyra arrived there this morning − they will also spend the night there after your negotiations. If their answer is not to our satisfaction, the matter will be resolved in a slightly different way."
He swallowed loudly, trying to calm his breathing, feeling like if he moved even a little he would vomit immediately, disbelief, shock and horror vibrating through his entire body.
They wanted to take advantage of the fact that they felt safe in their kin's fortress.
They wanted to kill them.
They wanted him to betray his wife.
He answered nothing, unable to even find the words for what he was feeling as he stared blankly out the window, noticing the silhouette of Larax shining in the sunlight, his hands clenched into fists.
"It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince. War is no one's desire." He said lightly, rising on his staff, walking with difficulty out of his chamber, leaving him alone with the cold, terrifying chill he felt in his chest.
He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry like a child.
What if Rheanyra did not accept their terms?
What option would be left for them?
He felt devastated at the thought that none.
There would be nothing that could be done.
They had to do anything to make them agree.
They had to lie.
His mind was filled with dark, gloomy thoughts as his wife stepped into the chamber where he and Larys were already seated, waiting for her to begin supper. He squinted as he saw that her hair was entwined around her head in braids, for some reason he felt frustrated thinking that this was surely the witch's idea.
What were they discussing?
What had she said to her?
"Beautiful hairstyle, my Lady." Said Lord Strong; he pressed his lips together, impatient, thinking he was a fucking snake plotting how to kill her mother while throwing her sweet, empty compliments.
He wondered, horrified, if, as far as she was concerned, he and his grandfather had their own plans too.
His wife expressed her gratitude to him with a happy smile and turned her eyes on him, her gaze bright and warm, completely unaware of what was happening around her.
"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked lightly, and he licked his lips, furious, horrified, devastated.
"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He replied drily, feeling however instantly remorseful at the look of sadness, pain of rejection that flashed across her face. She blinked and lowered her head, swallowing quietly as she grabbed for her cup, his heart beating harder at the thought that the wine might have been poisoned.
Nothing happened to her, however, and she did not look at him again for the rest of the supper, smiling despite her distress, exchanging courteous remarks with Lord Strong. When she rose, saying that she was exhausted and wished already to prepare for sleep, his heart pounded harder.
"As soon as you have finished, come to my chamber." He commanded. She nodded and left, leaving them alone.
There was an awkward silence between them.
"Your wife is indeed a sweet and innocent creature, my Prince." Lord Strong said, and he cast him a stern, furious look, sensing the subtext in that sentence, some kind of malicious threat from which he felt unpleasant chills running through his veins.
"If anything happens to her, I will rip out your tongue, I will gouge out your eyes, I will cut off your hands; I will cut off parts of your body piece by piece until only your torso and your head remain. Do you understand?" He asked in a low, calm, cold voice − Larys Strong looked at him piercingly, a smile on his lips from which he felt that terrible squeeze in his stomach again.
"Yes, my Prince."
When he returned to his chamber he was just a bundle of nerves, pacing around as if in a trance, terrified, confused, horrified, thinking only of the fact that he needed her, that he had to look at her face, speak to her in private, come up with some plan, anything from which he would be able to sleep a wink that night.
Should he tell her or not?
What if she decides that his family has betrayed her, that she can't trust them?
What if she panicked, if she changed her mind at the last minute, changed sides?
FUCK!
He waited and waited and waited, and she did not appear. He growled loudly, burying his face in his hands, desperate and impatient − the tension in his lower abdomen caused by the lack of their closeness for the last few days was unbearable for him.
He didn't want to make her suffer discomfort when she was already in such pain, thinking that if he waited and let her rest, he would thereby prove that he didn't just care about their physical intimacy, that he respected her and was willing to wait.
He broke from his seat, deciding that enough was enough, and walked out, heading aggressively with a quick step towards her chamber, opening the door with a loud slam. He froze in place, looking in disbelief at the scene before him.
The Witch of Harrenhal held his niece's hand close to her face, kneeling by her tub, his wife submerged in the water with only her nightgown clinging to her bare body, which was clearly visible through the thin material.
For one brief moment it seemed to him that the woman removed her free hand from under her skirt at the sight of him.
What the fuck was she doing?
Both of them looked at him in shock − the witch stood up and bowed to him, bending her head humbly.
"My Prince."
"− get out −" He growled enraged, feeling his whole body quiver in fury, his hands clenched into fists.
The woman left the chamber without a word, and he rushed towards his niece like a lion about to pounce on its prey − her large eyes widened in shock, her lips parted in a hastened breath, her cheeks all flushed in a way she looked when he took her in his bed.
The thought enraged him even more.
"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He hissed, looking at her expectantly, but she merely raised her shoulders in a defensive gesture, her hand clenched on the edge of her tub.
Gods, give me patience, he thought in fury.
"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He asked with rage as if he had just reprimanded a small, disobedient child. She blinked, clearly trying to get something out of herself after all.
"− I-I asked her for help −"
What?
"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −" He burst out, not believing a word she said, her cheeks turning scarlet at his words, the innocent hot look in her eyes killing him.
"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"
"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"
"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She finally mumbled out, and he furrowed his brow, understanding absolutely nothing of her explanation, increasingly frustrated that she wasn't telling him the truth.
"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled in a cold, enraged voice, and she swallowed hard, knowing he was about to explode.
"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −"
He was distrustful at first, but did as she asked.
And then his concerns, his fear and terror vanished, replaced by a complete dullness of his mind due to the surprising delight that the touch of her soft, warm lips on his fat, throbbing erection gave him.
When she added her fleshy, moist tongue to her caresses, licking the pink, swollen head of his cock with its tip he thought it was over for him.
He fucked her throat like there was no tomorrow, panting loudly with clenched eyelids, holding her hair in the firm grip of his hands, thrusting his hard cock deep between her sweet lips with the deep stabs of his hips, moaning helplessly as her tongue teased him with the sticky click of her saliva.
She squirmed loudly as he quickened his pace, again and again hitting the back of her throat, tears of exertion running down her cheeks as she tried to breathe loudly through her nose to keep from suffocating.
"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He mumbled out panting heavily, tilting his head back as his seed spilled down her throat at last. He heard her cough quietly, shocked, and swallow loudly, some of his spend trickled from the corner of her mouth down her chin.
It was the most indecent sight he had seen in his entire life.
Indecent and wonderfully beautiful at the same time.
"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −" He breathed out, grabbing her around the waist, lifting her lightly, sitting her on his lap. His niece sat down on top of him, cupping his cheeks in her hands, joining their lips in a hot, sticky kiss, her tongue slightly salty from his seed.
His cock pulsed hard at that thought.
He turned and threw her onto her back on the soft bedsheet, pulling her wet nightgown off of her, his swollen lips running over her sternum down her stomach leaving a wet, warm, sticky trail behind. Her body quivered all over as he took her thighs in his hands and spread them in front of him, her hands trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do when his face leaned over her heat.
"− n-no − I'm still dirty −" She mumbled helplessly, embarrassed; he gasped at her words, looking at her swollen folds, from between which her moisture leaked, running the tip of his tongue over her sensitive, fleshy womanhood. She tilted her head back with a moan of delight and desire, her body arching like a string, her hips involuntarily pushing forward to meet his lips.
He couldn't deny himself this, he was too desperate, too terrified, he needed her too badly to stop, to stop himself from sinking his mouth into her weeping cunt, begging him for fulfilment, the tip of his nose running over her bud while his tongue teased her opening with lazy, slow licks.
"− who made you so wet? − her? − hm? −" He hummed, feeling her quickly shake her head, her hands tightening in his hair, pressing him closer, wanting more, her breathing quick and raspy.
"− n-no − I was thinking about you − about you deep inside my mouth −" She muttered, a low, throaty groan escaping his lips that flowed in vibration through her body at her words, his cock swelling all over in his breeches at the memory of what her sweet mouth had done to him as he peaked deep into her throat.
"− did you enjoy it? − the taste of your husband deep in your belly? −" He cooed, sliding his tongue deeper and deeper into her tight, puffy slit; she cried out loudly at his question, her moist walls clenching greedily around nothing.
"− y-yes − oh, gods, please − put it inside me −" She begged, repeating it again and again, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin of her thighs.
How could he deny her?
He lifted himself up on his arm, panting hard, directing his once again swollen erection at her entrance – she was so wet that he thrust into her with one deep push of his hips. They both threw their heads back, delighted at their closeness, at how shockingly pleasurable and intimate the experience was.
"− I've waited so long for this − fuck, this warm cunt is my doom −" He exhaled, despite her cries and the shudders that shook her body imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, pounding into her with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips, her insides slick with her moisture, making their bare skin slap against each other with a sticky smack again and again.
"− u-uncle − ah − mghmm −" She mumbled, clenching her hands on the material of his tunic, responding devotedly to each of his stabs with the rocking of her hips, her eyes closed, her puffy lips parted sweetly in pleasure.
He leaned over her and kissed her greedily with her sigh of delight, his tongue full of her flavour bursting deep into her throat as he pressed her to the bed, thrusting into her so deeply and quickly that he was hardly slipping out of her.
They both moaned loudly and tightened their fingers on each other's bodies as she threw back her head in wonderful fulfilment, through which her fleshy walls began to squeeze and suck him inside. He cursed under his breath and sighed in relief as the heat in his lower abdomen became unbearable and his seed filled her again, this time taking root in her womb.
They both rocked their hips for a while longer, whimpering and panting into each other's mouths, their lips brushing and teasing each other, their hands stroking each other's faces and hair as they tried to calm down and come down from their peak. He fell on top of her at last without strength, closing his eyes, nuzzling his nose into her hot cheek; he murmured contentedly as her tiny fingers combed through his hair.
"− good gods − I needed this so much −" He muttered, allowing himself to feel like a small, helpless child again in her arms, with his eyes closed, focusing only on the tender, warm touch of her hand.
"− me too, my beloved −" She whispered, and he felt the heat in his heart, the love for her that filled his members like a living fire.
And then he felt a cold sweat on his back, his heart thumping hard at the memory of Larys Strong's words.
It is for the good of the kingdom, my Prince.
War is no one's desire.
He opened his eyes, looking at her soft face, at her closed eyelids, at her lips parted in a calm breath. She murmured with a gentle smile as his fingers ran over her cheek − he felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that perhaps he should tell her.
But what if it was necessary?
What if Rheanyra and Daemon didn't agree, what if they threatened his grandfather, his mother and his siblings?
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, not making a sound when a single, solitary tear of pain and grief ran down the side of his face onto the pillow beneath their heads.
A peaceful, deep sleep did not come to him that night.
Instead he fell into restless slumbers, during which he dreamt that for some reason his niece had stayed with her mother in the Eyrie, that a servant boy had walked into her chamber in the night and cut her throat.
That she had tried to scream his name, her husband's name, terrified and distraught, but only a grunt had escaped her lips.
He awoke with an aggressive tug, feeling his heart pounding like mad, looking down quickly at her body snuggled into his chest, entwined with his legs. His arms closed her in a tighter embrace with her silent sigh, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, inhaling her addictive scent.
The next day, just before they set off to the Eyrie, he left her bed reluctantly, telling her, while she was still sunk in half-sleep, that he would only go and change into his riding attire, that she would not eat or drink anything but wait for him outside the fortress gates.
He was afraid that someone would try to poison her.
He stepped into his chamber feeling that he was shaking all over, repeating in his head the elaborate plan he had devised.
He would lie that she was expecting his child.
That they were in fact supported by the gods themselves, that his father was right when he said that the kingdom could not be divided.
That if he becomes king-regent until his child is born, his queen-wife, her mother and Daemon will be given a seat in the Small Council.
That their family will have a say in all things concerning the kingdom.
In the meantime, they might actually be able to beget an heir, he thought, trying to calm himself down, and then all their worries would resolve themselves.
He tried not to think about what would happen if a daughter was born to them, or if they did not beget a heir at all, if his grandfather began plotting again fearing that it would be Daemon and Rheanyra's children who would sit on the Iron Throne.
They had to agree.
He shuddered, turning away impatiently when he heard the door to his chamber open, wanting to ask the servant how much longer he had to wait but froze, spotting the silhouette of the woman who had driven him to such fury only the day before.
"− get out, woman −" He growled, grabbing the tunic lying on his bed, deciding that he would rather dress himself than let this woman touch him.
She was manipulating his wife's mind, perceiving her innocence, her desires, and trying to inspire her confidence, to approach her in a way that was indecent and unacceptable.
"You will betray her."
He felt his heart stop for a moment when he heard her words and he froze, swallowing hard. He looked at her over his shoulder with his eye wide open, feeling his nostrils quiver with each of his terrified breaths.
Her eyes, the colour of an intense, bright green, seemed to pierce him to the core, something in her gaze that made him both uncomfortable and embarrassed at the same time.
"You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most. You will break her. You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again. You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your despair and longing. You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death."
Tears of horror, shame and disbelief gathered at the corners of his eyes as he saw her smile full of mockery and superiority, a shudder of disgust shook his body as she bowed before him and simply walked away, leaving him alone with her words ringing in his ears like a bell.
He felt that awful, overwhelming constriction in his stomach again, from which his head spun, barely managing to grab the bowl that lay on the table before his insides twisted in convulsions.
He vomited.
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond x female#hotd x oc#hotd fanfiction#hotd fandom#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#aemond fanfic#hotd smut#ewan mitchell smut#dark aemond#canon aemond#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#dark aemond targaryen#aemond ansgt#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst
225 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE WITCH'S SONG - part one
knight!osamu/witch!reader
tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact.
crossposted to ao3
MASTERLIST
The night air is sweet.
It’s still early summer, where the days are warm and bright before giving way to cool evenings, and the smell spring unfurled with its budding leaves continues to linger long after the sun sets. The aroma is fresh and green, not yet turned to the heady fragrance of singed grass and warmed earth which will slowly seep in as the days grow longer and the sun ever-brighter overhead.
There’s something captivating about this time of year; not quite the lush, blooming spring, nor the scorching, unforgiving summer, but a deliriously pleasant in-between that keeps the best of both.
On a tall hill, overlooking the rocky coast and a quiet village in the distance, sits a small stone cottage. Ivy crawls along the rows of uneven bricks that give the home its shape, having long settled and slanted in the time since it was built, each vine curling in long stems around four-pane windows and up towards the thatched roof.
In front of the house sits a garden, full of every plant anyone could possibly desire to find in the given climate; vegetables, fruits and unusual herbs abound. The rich earth that surrounds the cottage is fertile and generous—with a careful hand to till and tend it, there��s little it can't sprout. The gardens are still not quite at their peak for the season, the plants low to the ground but flourishing as they patiently wait for a few more sun-filled days to truly blossom into their prime.
Along the western side of the property, nearest to the towering forest’s edge, sits a greenhouse connected to a shabby little shed that greatly resembles the cottage in its quaint, unassuming construction. It’s there, in the dead of this cool summer night, that you—the owner of the cottage—toil.
Your fingers hold a glass vial over a small open flame atop the work station with a set of silver pincers. Your keen, well-trained eyes watch attentively as the fire licks up along the edges of the glass, heating the contents within. A breeze, northeasterly with a faint taste of salt air that creeps in with the nearby waves, whisks through the room and a shiver accompanies it in turn.
A soft sigh slips through your parted lips and your eyes, previously fixed on the tincture held over the flame, lift towards the door.
You aren’t startled when you see him standing there, though you barely contain the sound of annoyance that threatens to leave you; the momentary glance is the only acknowledgement you make to his (notably unwelcome) appearance as his figure darkens your doorway. You return your gaze to the solution you’re in the midst of preparing—a careful balance of valerian, mugwort, and poppy heads for a woman in the nearby village who has been unable to sleep restfully since the untimely death of her husband.
“Good evenin’,” he says to you once he realizes that you will not be the first to speak. He punctuates the greeting with a light clearing of his throat.
“Is it?” you reply, removing the slender vial from the flame and swirling its contents. You closely examine the colour and viscosity of the liquid, returning it to the heat for a few moments more after some consideration.
“Sorry to show up unannounced,” the young man’s own tone is rather tight and clipped as he speaks the words–obviously equally unhappy with the turn of events that had led him to your cottage this evening, though resolute to maintain some level of decorum.
“And yet,”—you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze with a firm and unwavering stare that you have up until this point denied him—“here you are.”
Finally satisfied with the tincture, you set about pressing a stopper into the tube. You reach over and pluck up a burning taper from the candleholder resting nearby on your worktop, tipping it forward over the still blisteringly-hot glass to seal the cork. A rivulet of molten wax runs from the candlestick in a slow drizzle, and you carefully turn the thin vial to coat the border where glass and cork marry evenly. A piece of blue ribbon is then carefully wound around the warm wax before it has fully hardened, sealing the small vessel shut.
The man watches silently as you slip the vial into a velvet pouch, tying the strings together tightly to draw it closed, and then you tuck the pouch safely away in the pocket of your flowing skirt—out of sight from where your visitor stands in the doorway to the greenhouse. Your eyes scan over the bench for a moment before you extinguish the oil burner you’d been using, turning the small knob at the base until the flame shrinks down to nothingness.
“I wouldn’t’ve come if it weren’t important,” the young man’s tone has softened slightly into something closer to a mumble, weary from his journey and seemingly in grave need of something he could only seek from you. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with grim shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that doesn’t suit him.
“Now that I do believe,” you remark, almost drolly, picking up your oil lamp and crossing the room towards where he stands. He stiffens a little as you approach, as though bracing himself against a threat, but you merely slip soundlessly past him, stepping out into the dark night.
Behind you, the man sighs.
He follows.
The two of you cross the yard, a few paces separating you throughout the silent trek, with the lamp you hold in hand the only light to lead the way. You tread carefully through the well-tended garden, careful but familiar motions deciding where each foot falls, and you sense without turning that he’s following your path as you move towards the stone cottage on the other side of the property—ensuring his own steps follow your footprints precisely. There are candles burning inside your cottage up ahead, their warm glow visible through the windows, and smoke curls steadily from the chimney and into the brisk night air. The smoke is perfumed with herbs, and the scent only grows stronger the nearer you get to your home.
You wonder if he notices.
“That’s far enough.”
You pause in your stride as you reach the stout stone wall that circles your cottage in a knee-high ring, resting with your feet together at the place where a gate might be were there any need for it. Behind you, the man falters to his own stop, surprised by your sudden halt and your sharp words.
“I need yer help,” he sounds confused, and frustrated—impatience creeping into his tone again. There’s a sharpness to it, like he’s forced each word out from between clenched teeth. You don’t look back to verify your suspicion.
Another cold wind blows from the direction of the sea, and the budding leaves of the garden’s plants around you rustle as it passes, whispering amongst themselves as they spectate your exchange.
“I care very little for what you need, Miya Osamu,”—you glance at him over your shoulder, and see the way the distant light from your windows dances in his eyes—“and it will be a cold day in hell before I help a royal knight.”
The garden seems to still in the wake of your low-spoken words, the breeze dying out like the temporary peace ahead of a storm’s rage.
Before you, Osamu’s eyes have hardened. The lines of his sharp jaw set underneath his skin.
“Ya know me.”
“I know of you,” you correct him flatly. “Fortunately, our paths have never crossed.”
Until now.
Osamu’s nostrils flare, then he swallows.
“How?” he asks, his voice low and deceptively even.
“One of the king’s most trusted knights tearing through the outskirts of the kingdom in search of a healer is news powerful enough to reach even my ears, Miya.” Your lamplight dims slightly as you hold it aloft in your hand, the flame beneath the glass slowly shrinking. The oil is burning low. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got desperate and I got unlucky.”
He flinches, his lashes fluttering slightly like he’s fighting back a more violent reaction. Like he’s accepting a blow he could easily return but chooses not to. The knight's gaze casts down to his feet as his fingers curl into fists at his sides.
“My brother's ill,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with an anxiety that rolls off of him in waves. “My twin.”
“Atsumu,” you specify, since he did not. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and there’s a spark of something new behind it. Something more volatile. He looks angry that you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak his brother’s name.
“I know what you are,” he says slowly, wielding his next words like a blade and aiming to kill.
“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side in a show of guilelessness.
“Yer a witch,” he continues, overlooking your feigned ignorance.
“There are no witches in this kingdom,” you reply. “The crown you’ve sworn your life to saw to that.”
“Our king h—“
“Your king,” you interrupt him. The unexpected interjection seems to shock him, and his shoulders square indignantly.
“Yer also a subject of this kingdom,” he counters, and your distaste is made perfectly evident in your responding sneer.
“I’m governed by no monarch, and certainly by no man.”
Osamu’s hands are still held in tightly-clenched fists at his side, the lines of his body as clear an indicator as any to his palpable anger. “You’d admit to treason before a knight?”
“You’ve already accused me of witchcraft,” you spit, your teeth gnashing together as you force the words out. “What’s another crime to be burned for?”
You know all too well the end that awaits a woman accused of such a crime.
It’s the fate your mother met before your very eyes, after all.
Seconds stretch between you in the garden—sticky, and uncomfortable, and polluted with the animosity you feel for each other. It takes root in distrust and blossoms into something ugly, like a weed.
Osamu takes a breath, letting his head hang forward. His shoulders slump.
“An old man two towns west from here told me a young woman in this cottage once cured his ailing wife in her final hours, and she lived a decade more. That she was brought back from the brink of death thanks to the woman’s care.” He looks up at you again, and his stare is insistent. Beseeching.
You know the man he speaks of, and his gentle, lovely wife. It was half a century ago now since you’d first met them, and you’ve heard the old man has gone a bit senile in his old age. You doubt he meant you any harm in his revelation, regardless of the trouble it’s come to cause.
“I’m nothing but a humble herbalist.” Your hand sweeps out in gesture to your garden, but the man before you is unmoved.
“Who’s been a young woman for fifty years.”
Even the distant sea seems to have stilled as the tension intensifies between you, the waves falling silent to make room for the hostility that spreads with every passing moment.
Osamu swallows. “They say witches have powerful healin’ abilities. That you can make potions that’ll revive a man half-dead.”
“It’s folklore,” you reply dismissively.
“It’s fact,” Osamu snaps. "I know it is."
“And what else do you claim to know of these so-called witches?” you deride, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to quickly trace you.
He squares his shoulders, then he meets your gaze. “They say ya maintain yer beauty and youth by devourin’ the hearts of good men.”
“Is that so?” you muse, though you seek no sincere elaboration. You look to your left, east towards the sea, and then sweep your gaze across the expanse of your garden to the right. You meet his dark eyes again after surveying your surroundings. “Well, I see no good men nearby, so I believe you should be safe.”
In the dim light, you swear you see something throb at the corner of his tense jaw.
“There’s not a healer in the royal court who’s been able to cure my brother,” Osamu’s voice breaks, taking a step towards you. “I’ve come here unarmed, and mean no harm to ya.”
Your upper lip curls at the lie and his proximity, baring your teeth.
No man has ever once approached a witch with pure intentions.
The seek only their beauty, their power, or their beating, bloody hearts.
Your mother’s screams ring suddenly through your ears, piercing and agonized. The memory makes gooseflesh raise along your skin. Makes the back of your tongue taste sour. You squeeze your eyes shut as though to quell it, but this only seems to trap the sound in the recesses on your brain. They grow louder, and harder to forget.
You see your mother on a wooden stage constructed in the town square before a crowd of horrified spectators, the gnarled boards underfoot already stained in scarlet.
The white linen shift they’d forced her to wear, and the way the thin material flowed away from her frame in the breeze.
The glittering hilt of the jewelled knife that carved out her heart, with the sigil of the king etched into its blade.
The crackling flames that consumed her as she wailed.
A witch can live without her heart, you see, so long as it’s kept close to her. Your mother wasn’t spared a second of the misery of being burned alive. She was granted no mercy in the final terrifying moments of her life.
You open your eyes and the dark sky above you seems to hang closer overhead, as though it’s more suffocatingly near than it was before. The garden around you suddenly feels colder.
Osamu’s eyes widen, like he feels it too.
Your dying lamp burns out.
“Leave this place,” you say to him, low and warning. Your voice rings clear in the unearthly still night. “And if you value your life, never come back here again.”
481 notes
·
View notes
Text
pairing: dino x reader
word count: 3.8k
warnings: swearing, alcohol, kissing and the barest of suggestive content (it’s hardly there, but it’s insinuated)
Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary.
false alarm by matoma, becky hill
i heard sirens in my head
from the first time that we met
thought it was a false alarm
yeah, we started as a spark
didn’t think we’d come this far
but here we are
now I’m burning in your arms
endless fire in my heart
no, it’s not a false alarm
A/N: Happy Birthday to our Makdoongie!!
*****
Everything is currently a bit of a blur, but a pleasant one.
You’re sufficiently buzzed, the thumping of the bass vibrating through you as you wait in line at the bar. You sway contentedly to the beat as you manage to slide onto an empty barstool, waiting as the song changes to see what the new vibe is. You’ve just opened your mouth to order from the frenzied bartender when you register the first few beats of Bruno Mars’ Finesse, and you squeal. You stand up abruptly, nearly falling off the barstool as you do so, and whirl around to face the crowd.
You push yourself up onto your tippy toes, eyes scanning the room frantically. You’re on a mission now. Everyone and everything is a blur in the dim light of the club, fading into the background until you find exactly who you’re looking for. He’s already looking back at you, both hands in the air as he points in your direction. He’s too far, and the music is so loud that you can’t hear him, but you know he’s shouting your name.
You push through the crowd towards him, one half-finished drink order and a confused bartender forgotten behind you, your own hands raised in the air as you whoop and holler. You’re practically vibrating with excitement as he weaves through the huddle to meet you halfway, and when you meet in the middle, you’re absolutely euphoric.
You both immediately drop it down.
You’re not a bad dancer, and Chan is far from it. You’re sure that the two of you are being stared at as you take over the floor, fake twerking and throwing your hands in the air. The movements are absolutely ridiculous but you’re hitting the beat, feeling the music — honestly, you’re absolutely killing it. All you can see, all you care about, is Lee Chan next to you with his head thrown back, laughing and having the time of his life. You can just barely hear his laugh over the pounding of the bass, but you know the sound of it by heart, anyway. You’re beaming, inhibitions thrown to the wind as you find your rhythm with him right there beside you.
You never feel as happy as when you’re with him.
This is something that you’ve come to acknowledge as truth. It’s also something you don’t allow yourself to dwell on — because the implications of what it means is terrifying.
The song has just reached Cardi’s rap part when you catch Chan mouthing something, and your eyebrows raise in question. He tries again, and you shake your head. I can’t hear you, you try and mouth back, gesturing, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ in understanding. Then he’s leaning down, lips by the shell of your ear.
“This song is the best,” he yells, a hand finding your hip to keep you steady as you’re jostled by the ever-moving crowd, and you nod, turning your head to reply.
“It’s our song!” You yell back, and he pulls away just enough to grin down at you, nodding furtively in agreement. His hand is warm where it’s still settled on your waist.
You think time stills for a second when your eyes meet. His gaze is unwavering as he beams, and you can’t help but feel like the only other person in the room when he looks at you like this.
Shit, he’s beautiful.
It’s not the first time the thought has hit you without warning. You’d blame it on the alcohol if it wasn’t something you catch yourself thinking almost every single day now — that he’s beautiful, your friend Chan. That he’s beautiful and warm, and all things good, and that he’s one of the best things to ever happen to you.
He still hasn’t let go of you when the song changes, but the moment between you ends so quickly that you wonder if it even happened at all. You hear the opening notes of J.Lo’s On The Floor and Chan cheers again, his hand slipping from your waist to find your fingers. He moves to twirl you and you oblige, letting him spin you out and back in. You belatedly realize what a poor decision you’ve made when you end up with your back flush against his chest, bodies pressed tight together. His arm is snug across your chest, holding you to him as he sings the lyrics into your ear, swaying you dramatically to the opening lines. You think it can’t get any worse — and then the beat drops.
You are wholly unprepared for the way Chan begins to move against you. Both of his hands drop to settle on your waist as he begins to move his hips back and forth to the music, and your breath catches as your eyes flutter shut.
Shit.
There’s a reason you never dance seriously with Chan, and it’s because you know the damage he can cause. You’ve seen him dance, seen him do it all from hip hop to contemporary, and you just knew that his body could move against yours in ways that would make you blush.
You were right.
Don’t panic. Don’t make it weird.
You’re grateful for the drinks you’ve downed because with the liquid courage, you somehow manage to swallow your nerves and allow your friend to guide your body along with his as he dances. Your head falls back against his shoulder and your fingers reach up, searching for his hair, his neck, anything that will help anchor you to him. He responds by pulling you even closer, his breath warm in the space between your neck and shoulder. You can feel him everywhere, can feel his body pressed against yours, can feel your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. But you don’t hesitate, don’t let yourself think, don’t question anything. You just let yourself feel it all.
Until he abruptly comes to a halt, the song not even halfway through, and brings you to a stop with him.
It feels like you’re moving in slow motion as he turns you to face him. Gone is silly, giggly Chan, and in his place stands serious, pensive Chan, staring down at you like he’s trying to figure something out. He’s so close, your hand falling to rest on his chest as the two of you remain frozen in the middle of the dance floor. You have absolutely no idea what to think, or say, or do, as his eyes wander across your face in the haze of the flashing lights. You’re not sure how long it takes but he decides what to do for you both, taking your hand and pulling you towards the exit. You hold on for dear life, not daring to let him go.
As soon as you step into the cool of the night air, Chan turns around, backing you up gently against the wall of the building. You’re sure you’ve been floating for the last ten minutes. You can’t see or hear or think about anything or anyone but him, and how gorgeous he looks in front of you, hair messy from dancing, cheeks flushed. His hands find your face, his forehead falling to rest against yours, and it’s all you can do to just breathe. He’s so close, and all you can think about is how you want him even closer. You swear you can hear his heartbeat — or is it yours? You’re not sure. You’re in a daze, because of the alcohol and because of him, and you’re desperate for him to do something. Anything.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “Do you want to—”
“Yes,” you cut him off almost immediately. He inhales a sharp breath at your hasty response, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments, and you wait. Then he’s taking your hand again, pulling you to the curb, and hailing a cab.
You don’t let go of each other’s hand the entire way back to his apartment.
You’ve been in Chan’s apartment many times. This shouldn’t be new.
But it is, because his hand is in yours as he pulls you through the threshold, and then his hand is finding the middle of your back to pull you in, and then he’s backing you up against his front door.
You don’t think you’ve ever held your breath this long. You feel fuzzy, untethered, a little bit insane as he looks at you. You don’t think he’s breathing, either. His free hand finds your face, and his thumb is brushing your jaw, and you wish you knew what was the right thing to do.
You know what you want to do, you just don’t know if you should.
“Y/N?”
When he says your name, you let out a breath. “Yeah?”
His eyes search yours, and you can tell he’s struggling, too. “Do you… Um, do you want to shower?”
You almost laugh, because that was not what you were expecting him to say, but you suppose he’s right. This was probably a terrible, awful, horrible, no-good bad idea. That doesn’t stop your heart from sinking, though.
You nod and he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. You try to clear your thoughts, try to calm your racing heart as you follow him to the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything else, just hands you a clean towel from the cupboard with a soft smile. You thank him quietly, and the door is almost shut behind you when he says your name.
“Y/N?”
You turn, embarrassingly quickly. “Yeah?”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out for a moment. Then he tugs on the towel in your hands, pulling you closer and nearly causing you to stumble. His forefinger and thumb catch your chin, holding you steady as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.
You don’t remember much of your shower after that. You’re in a daze, hot water streaming down your face, when you hear a soft knock and you jump a little.
“Yeah?”
Chan's voice sounds softly through the door. “I just put some clean clothes on the floor outside, okay?”
When you get out, you take your time drying off, trying desperately to wrap your head around what’s happening. You pull on the t-shirt and shorts he’d left you, taking a deep breath before heading out and into his room. You don’t miss the way Chan’s eyes widen as you enter the room, the way his eyes give you a onceover, or the way his fingers brush yours as he passes you on the way to get a shower of his own.
The air is tense when he re-enters. You’ve already crawled under his sheets — which, again, should be nothing new. What’s new is the way he hesitates, his eyes meeting yours as he towel dries his hair.
“You can get in with me,” you say softly after a moment of quiet, and he nods. He seems to hesitate for a moment anyway, hand lifting to run through his damp hair. Then he’s climbing in next to you, and you can feel your heartbeat roaring in your ears as his warmth joins you under the covers.
Are you allowed to touch him? Are you allowed to want to?
You decide that there’s no going back now. He’d kissed you first — it’s your turn.
You inhale a breath, and then you’re rolling onto your side to face him. He looks at you in surprise, and it gives you some sense of relief to find that he looks just as nervous as you feel. Before you can lose your nerve, you close the space between you, your head finding his bicep as you curl up into his side. You can feel it as he lets out a breath before he relaxes next to you, his arm sliding under your shoulders, and you goosebumps erupt across your skin. You move to wrap an arm around his waist. You can hear Chan let out a quiet laugh when you do, and you look up at him with a smile. He raises his eyebrows, almost as though you’ve challenged him to something, and then he’s pulling you in and turning his body into yours so that he can tangle your legs together.
Alright, you think as you roll your eyes at him fondly, you win this time, Lee Chan.
The two of you stay like that for a while. Your head is clearing itself of alcohol more and more as the moments pass, and everywhere he’s touching you has your head spinning for an entirely different reason now. His hand has found the space where his shirt has ridden up on your waist, just above your shorts, and he’s begun to trace gentle circles against your hip.
“Chan?”
You break the silence. He hums from his place beside you, fingers stilling.
“Yeah?” His voice is just above a whisper, hushed in this sacred space between you. Like he doesn’t want to break whatever bubble you’re currently trapped in. You don’t blame him.
“I’m not imagining what’s happening here, right?” You finally say, and you can feel his body tense up. Your voice is quiet — you’re just as terrified as he is.
After a moment, Chan moves his arm from under you and props himself up on his elbow so he can look down at you. His other hand finds your thigh, and he squeezes gently as he responds. “No. You’re not.”
You pause, biting down on your bottom lip, and Chan’s gaze follows the movement. Then you admit, as soft as ever, “I’m not really drunk anymore.”
“Neither am I.”
There it is.
For a moment, all you can hear is the background hum of Chan’s air conditioner and the beating of your heart in your own ears.
“So…”
“I’m pretty sober now, and I know exactly what’s happening,” he says, trailing off before adding quietly, “and I’m okay with it. I’m more than okay with it, actually.”
Oh.
“Me too,” you murmur, and then he’s smiling, his gaze on you so soft and warm that you almost want to look away for fear of melting under the affection of it. You don’t.
“Long time coming,” he says, and if your heart wasn’t skipping beats yet, it is now.
“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Way too long.”
He smiles, head falling back to the pillow. It’s quiet for a moment as you just look at one another.
“Please let me kiss you again,” he says after a pause, voice even softer than before, and you feel your entire body alight with electricity.
“Absolutely, yes.”
The wide smile you’re rewarded with is worth its weight in gold. The hand on your hip slips around to the middle of your back and he pulls you in, your arms wrapping around his neck as he finally, finally presses his mouth to yours. Once, twice, three times; he kisses you, deep and warm and slow, and you can feel it all the way down to your toes.
You can’t help but chase his mouth as he pulls away, which feels embarrassing until you’re rewarded with the sound of a soft, breathy laugh full of pure joy from his lips. His nose brushes against yours, foreheads pressed together as you both catch your breath.
“Why’d you stop?”
The laugh you receive this time is loud. It’s one of your favourite laughs; it’s the one that comes out when he can’t hold back just how happy he is.
He doesn’t waste any more time. His lips meet yours, and you find yourself on your back again as he kisses you breathless. You find yourself taking mental notes and pictures of it all, just in case. You want to remember how he kisses just like you always imagined he would, soft and slow; how his hands are gentle in their wandering, just like you always knew they would be; how his mouth moves languidly against yours as his hand finds the side of your jaw. Tender, and as warm as the sun.
You don’t know what this means for the two of you, but you don’t think you ever want to forget how it feels.
When you break apart again, you can’t place exactly how you’re feeling. You feel shy, and nervous, and excited, and a million other things all at once. His eyes lazily wander across your face, thumb brushing your jaw.
Minutes pass. He doesn’t look away, so you don’t, either.
You both know that there’s so much more that needs to be said, but you’re terrified to let anything ruin whatever is going on right now, so you don’t say any of it. Neither does he. Instead, you let yourself relish the feeling of his thumb against your cheek, let him look at you, let him lean down and kiss you one more time. His fingers are warm against your skin where they’ve slipped under your — his — shirt, and you hum against his mouth as he squeezes your waist gently.
“I think kissing is all I want right now,” you whisper, and he nods, brushing his nose against yours.
“That’s okay,” he murmurs, leaning down to find your mouth once, twice more, before he’s rolling off of you. He turns away from you, and you panic for a moment, fingers reaching for him a little desperately, because space is not what you wanted. That’s not what you wanted at all.
“Please don’t go too far,” you say, and you would regret the desperation in your voice if you weren’t rewarded with the softest look from him in return.
“I’m just turning off the light so we can try and get some sleep,” he explains gently, fingers finding yours and squeezing. He doesn’t let go, even as he reaches for the lamp with his free hand, pulling you back and into his side as soon as the room goes dark.
You want to stay like this, to stay awake, to kiss him some more. But when there’s no more light and you’re wrapped in his warmth again, you can’t help but let your eyes fall shut.
It’s you that wakes up first.
You know where you are as soon as your eyes open. You’re in Chan’s room, which is nothing new. What is new this morning is the way he’s got his arm draped over your waist, and his face is right next to yours on the pillow. And also that you kissed last night. A lot.
You panic a little when it all comes back to you, but your overthinking is overpowered by your need to pee. You manage to get out from under him with minimal damage. You try not to freak out as you wash your face, your brain reeling with what all of this might mean. You don’t regret it, of course you don’t, but does he?
You fight against everything in you that wants to run, to leave his apartment and pretend nothing happened. Because it’s Chan, and he’s a good friend, and you owe him that much, even if you’re a coward.
You’re grateful that you don’t have to wait for him long, because the longer you sit there, the more you want to throw up. You hear when he stirs in the other room, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment in order to steady yourself. You wait with bated breath on one of the stools in his kitchen like a robot, rigid and tense, until you finally hear him enter.
“Hey,” he says softly, and your heart leaps into your throat.
“Hi,” you reply, voice just as quiet, and you meet his eyes. He smiles tentatively, a hand lifting to run through his hair. He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful like this, you think, when it’s early in the morning and he’s on his way over to you, eyes a soft brown in the sunlight that streams through the kitchen window.
”Did you sleep okay?”
You think he knows you were staring when he speaks and it takes you a second to react. You blush, abruptly turning your head away from him.
“Yeah, I slept well.”
“Hey,” he says, and you can practically hear him trying not to smile. “You can’t hide from me after you kissed me like that last night.”
“Chan!” You’re absolutely scandalized as he uses the bottom of the stool to turn you back towards him. Your hands lift to cover your face, and he laughs. You wince as his laughs subside, but you don’t fight him as he gently pulls your hands away.
“Hi,” he says again, and you purse your lips. “I’m sorry for teasing you.” The smile fades from his mouth as his expression turns serious. “We should talk about it.”
You nod, even though you’re so nervous you don’t know if you can talk at all.
“Do you…” He trails off as he lets go of your hands. He leans against the counter next to you, and you wait for him to continue. “I mean, would you want to do that again?” You furrow your brows, and his eyes widen. He’s quick to speak again, stumbling over his words. “God, I meant… Did you enjoy it? Kissing me and everything? Do you, um, do you want to do this?”
His eyes squeeze shut as he finishes his sentence, and you can’t believe how flushed he’s gotten.
“Do you?” Is all you can manage.
Chan’s eyes open again, and he blurts out, “I asked you first.”
That’s fair.
“Well,” you say softly, “my head’s definitely a lot clearer now.” You watch as Chan deflates a little.
“Oh.”
Your heart stutters in your chest as you clock the look of disappointment on his face. “Wait, no! I meant that — what I wanted to say is that even though I’m sober now, I still want to kiss you. Of course I wanted to kiss you last night, too. I wasn’t that drunk —” It’s your turn to flush crimson red now, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that of course I want this, Chan. I have wanted to be with you for so long, and I —“
Your surprised gasp is muffled as he pulls you into him, squeezing you so tight around the waist that you think he might break you. He buries his face in your neck and murmurs, “You should have said that first, oh my god. I have liked you for so long it’s embarrassing, so you need to stop talking before I literally explode.”
It takes a second for everything to process. Then he’s pulled back to look at you again, your legs moving to let him stand between them, and he presses his forehead to yours. Your hand lifts to his face, and you’re flooded with affection when he leans into the warmth of it.
“So,” he says softly.
“So,” you repeat.
He gazes at you, warm, and you bite your lip.
“Us?” You finally ask, and Chan nods with a smile.
“Us.”
A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Here’s the fourth of our Thirteen Valentines in honour of Channie’s birthday. I know I just posted the Woozi fic yesterday, but it’s Chan’s birthday. What can I do?
Also, this fic in particular is very important to me, so I would love to hear your thoughts!
Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.
Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)
#Dino fluff#dino angst#dino x reader#dino x you#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#chan x reader#lee chan x reader#lee chan imagine#lee chan fluff#lee chan angst#Seventeen imagine#my writing#thirteenvalentines#lcfic
225 notes
·
View notes
Photo
It’s been determined that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been attempting to recreate their Pleasant Hill town experiment under the new name Project Andromeda. A group of heroes led by the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier met near the town in order to formulate a plan. In the end, a group entered Pleasant Hill with explosive results.
THIS IS OFFICIAL CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC
NATASHA ROMANOFF/BLACK WIDOW (616): Hadn’t they done this before? That’s how it seemed, at least. Pleasant Hill: the goddamn dream. A town with vision unlike no other -- except, well, that wasn’t true. A town like the one S.H.I.E.L.D. had already done, a phoenix that should never have been resurrected from its ashes. The reasons behind why this was happening wasn’t quite clear yet, but with the rate at which things were progressing it likely would come out soon. Not that soon was the theme of the endeavor. Over the past two months, Natasha had been trying to draw water from a stone. She had flown around the country, done recon and blown up outposts. The last part, admittedly, was cathartic. What was less cathartic was finding an Airbnb in a town neighboring Pleasant Hill in Connecticut. The reservation was booked under an alias, and the seemingly innocuous house was now full of spies and superheroes. The dining room and kitchen were part of an open layout that allowed people to spill from one to the other, and Natasha stood against a back wall while she waited for Barnes. With one nod, she gestured for him to begin.
BUCKY BARNES/WINTER SOLDIER (MCU): James wasn’t sure if he was fully prepared to tell all of these people the true reason behind their loved one’s disappearances. And the worst part of the entire thing was that there was no legitimate reason why most of them needed to be dragged into the prison that was Pleasant Hill. The airbnb was bustling with faces, eyes boring into him for answers that he hardly had the heart to give. “All of you have questions, I get that. If you’re here, you’ve read what the Whistleblower had to say.” And by Whistleblower, what he really meant was this team of whistleblowers had compiled together to leak to the public. Natasha, Daisy, Monica, Clint, it was a group effort to get the entire leak together to tell the public what they deserved to know. He flexed the fingers on his metal arm as he spoke, a tic he hadn’t quite been able to shake recently as he continued on. “We’re about five miles out from the town where everyone is being held.” Close enough to be nearby but far enough that it was safe to hold this meeting. There was no reason for anyone to suspect where they were. “But we wanted to meet with you all personally first. Answer individual questions and come up with a plan.”
MATT MURDOCK/DAREDEVIL (MCU): Matt was donning the full Daredevil getup, red and yellow covering him head to toe as he stood alongside Jen (not in her She-Hulk form). There were no doubts by now that Elektra was inside of Pleasant Hill, judging by the Whistleblower reports and the town database that he had Foggy read over a second time to be sure his computer hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Elektra Natchios. Alive. PH-RES-005. Elodie Boyd. Sheriff. He’d memorized the file by now, but it still didn’t feel real. And Matt doubted it would feel real until he was face to face with her again. The prospect terrified him, seeing Elektra again after all this time, after the Hand had turned her into the Black Sky, but Jen’s presence certainly helped. Even as Bucky spoke, Matt was completely silent as he kept his jaw clenched and his hands at his sides.
STEPFORD CUCKOOS/WHITE QUEENS (616): Four pale heads sat next to one another as they took up an entire sofa. No one wore white on that day; instead, they mourned. The sisters had been broken apart before but it stung all the same. To be four was unnatural. It was wrong. They came on behalf of both Emma and themselves. Their mother was locked in the chambers of the Quiet Council of Krakoa as the respective delegates tried to grapple with not one but *two* missing members. Without Hope and Destiny, the Autumn seat was all but crippled. “Come up with a plan?” They tittered. “Shouldn’t there already be a plan by now?”
RACHEL SUMMERS/ASKANI (811): “For once, I agree with the Cuckoos.” That was a statement Rachel never thought she’d say out loud. The telepath’s eyes were tight as she crossed her arms against her chest, the absence of her mother loud. And Rachel was just doing her best to keep her anger in check after the hacker had revealed just where her mom was being kept all this time. Warped and twisted to be some reporter inside of a fake town, with no memories of her family and friends. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was bold enough to take Jean freakin’ Grey, who was to say they wouldn’t just take anyone who got in their way? “What’s stopping us from just going into the town ourselves to retrieve them?”
SAM WILSON/CAPTAIN AMERICA (MCU): There were a lot of places he wouldn’t have minded being, but Connecticut sure as hell wasn’t one of them. The Captain America swag was left in the duffel by the door, hopefully to remain there unused and unneeded. Still, it was good to come prepared. “I, for one, appreciate it. Bein’ in the loop feels good.” It was a shitty loop, but still. He was Captain America. Sam had a duty to uphold and a responsibility to know what was going on. Especially if things were as severe as this was. “Whatever you need, I’m able and willing.”
AMERICA CHAVEZ (UTOPIAN PARALLEL): Big discussion meetings weren’t really her thing. She was also in the mindset of let’s just portal in and storm the town, but she kept silent with one hand propping up her head. If anything, America was there for moral support. If they suddenly decided to take action, she’d be one of the first on her feet.
CAROL DANVERS/CAPTAIN MARVEL (616): In theory, yes. There should be a plan in place, methodically orchestrated and carefully organized. In a perfect world, there would be no use for a meeting like this, to discuss their usefulness. Carol glances out of a nearby window, catches shifts of greens that spill shadows onto the concrete below. Stripping criminals of their free will -- it's an outrageous measure. Regardless of supposed crime, it's too slippery a slope, too many factors to take into consideration. Entire personalities were being altered -- memories, faces. "All of SHIELD, for starters. We don't have the manpower to make enemies of them right now."
STEPHEN STRANGE/DOCTOR STRANGE (MCU): It was safe to say that Stephen furious as he stood there in the dining area and stared at Bucky while the soldier spoke. With all the time he’d spent helping Clea resolve the whirlwind that was her husband returning from the dead, now it seemed that this had taken up most of his waking hours. Dark bags sunk underneath his eyes as he ground his teeth and fought to keep his composure. By now, he’d caught the other Strange up on everything going on with Clea (like the child she was apparently bearing with Marc Spector inside of the town). It was disgusting, S.H.I.E.L.D. was disgusting for this, and the sorcerer was truly just at a loss for words at this point. Maybe it was the sleep exhaustion finally catching up to him, but he was tired. As far as Stephen was concerned, action needed to be taken as soon as possible. “The reality stone is whats stopping us.” He spoke up, answering the mutant’s question as he turned his gaze to the stove, making eye-contact too much of a feat at the moment as he shook his head. “Their entire being has been altered. The people we care about may as well not even exist right now.”
HOPE VAN DYNE/WASP (MCU): Scott was gone. He was gone, and he had been for a while. Not as long as most, but long enough that his absence had formed an ache inside of the people who loved him. Raised to be pragmatic, Hope shook her head when the woman suggested going in. Carol, at least, seemed to have a good counter. “Wouldn’t we also be running the risk of it happening to us as well if we weren’t careful?”
JENNIFER WALTERS/SHE-HULK (MCU): So her boyfriend had an undead girlfriend. Not ideal, but worse had happened. Jen still wasn’t sure on all the details, but she understood enough. At the moment, she was choosing to not focus on how that would effect her. Instead, she looked at it as one piece of an extremely complicated puzzle. She had talked to Bruce, of course. His experience with the Infinity Stones made him a valuable resources. These weren’t their Stones, though. They were from Earth-616 and that made them foreign. Although he had promised to look into it, Jen knew he was busy. She wasn’t putting pressure on him. Instead, she stood as just Jen beside Matt. His identity needed to be preserved through his suit, but she had nothing to hide. “So we’re running under the assumption that they may not exist but there’s a way to make them exist again?”
KAMALA KHAN/MS. MARVEL (MCU): It kind of felt like being asked to sit at the adults table during a holiday. Kamala was there ( in full costume, mind you ) and was alternating between trying to keep her cool and trying to think of something intelligent to say. Finally, she decided to play it safe with, “I agree with Captain Marvel.” There. Nailed it.
DAISY JOHNSON/QUAKE (AOS): Daisy wasn’t talking much, still not really a 100% of herself ever since Maria decided to detain her inside of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Coming to terms with the organization that she’d dedicated most of her life to doing something so heinous was difficult, but she was doing everything she could to fight back against it. To do what was right. All she could think about these days was Rosalind, the words the other agent had said to her before she disappeared just like everyone else, and there was a fire within her to get Roz back. To get all of these people back who had been wrongfully placed inside of the town. “We have a running theory that they’re holding Ripley Ryan and using her power to alter the entire town. She’s listed as a Jane Doe and her entire file is redacted.” Even Daisy couldn’t crack the code to fully decrypt that file, which was beyond frustrating. But it was definitely a strong lead. “If Star can rewrite them, odds are she can reverse it.” That was a big if, but it was all they had right now.
TONY STARK/IRON MAN (616): Tony found himself leaning against ones of the walls, arms crossed. "Even if we get these people out of the town, what if Star can't dig their real selves out from the garbage they've been buried under? Or can't do it right away? What do we do with a town full of confused, traumatized people? They can't go back to their lives if they don't remember said lives. Are we ready to take on mass hysteria?" He paused, taking a moment to look at a few faces around him. "I'm not saying that their situation in ideal, but they are safe where they are. Is this really something we are ready for right now?"
MONICA RAMBEAU/SPECTRUM (MCU): The S.W.O.R.D. agent stood beside her friend, dark eyes periodically coming to rest on Daisy. She was concerned, of course. It would be impossible not to be. When the agent had approached her about joining Natasha’s ragtag team, she had agreed right away. Her mother had always been fearful of the power that big agencies would wield and had run S.W.O.R.D. accordingly. This entire thing put a Westview aftertaste in her mouth. It was a bit triggering, in all honesty. It made her think of Geraldine with the ‘fro and the bell bottoms. It made her think of humiliation and being degraded at the expense of another. But this wasn’t about Monica, was it? She was able to compartmentalize and move on. Her mouth was open to reply to Daisy when Tony spoke, and Monica pursed her lips. “I think we owe it to them to be ready.”
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): “So what is your alternative that you’re suggesting, Stark? That we leave them in there to carry on with their fake lives?” Stephen snapped, the sleep deprivation evident by his tone as he turned his head to glare at the other reality’s Avenger. “Safe? Are you serious right now? They’ve taken Clea and given her fake children with a supposed third on the way.” Who was to even say the children were made up? Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. really was brazen enough to pull children into the town too. It wouldn’t be the most shocking thing Stephen’s found out about this entire thing. “No, I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. There’s no scenario where we just leave them inside there.”
SCOTT SUMMERS/CYCLOPS (616): "Do we know how deep the rewiring goes?" He expects the answer to be obvious -- altering reality wasn't a magician's trick. If they were changing faces, then he couldn't be sure Krakoa would be any use anyway. Still, they had his family. "Maybe we don't wait." He glances briefly at Rachel. "Maybe we should mount an offensive before this gets too out of hand." He'd argue that they were far behind too out of hand, but that wasn't going to be helpful.
JESSICA JONES (MCU): Jesus fucking Christ. Jess wasn’t sure if she had said the words aloud or in her head, but it didn’t matter. She had come as a courtesy to Matt. After spending the last month and a half researching missing people for a number of cases, it would stand to reason that Jessica possibly had the best working knowledge of who had been snatched. That didn’t mean that she wanted any part of it. Finding a mug in the cabinet, she had poured her flask directly into the ceramic and took a sip every time someone said something stupid. She’d had to refill twice already. It was helping her headache, at the very least.
TONY STARK (616): "Did I say that we would just leave them there forever?" Tony shot back. "We started this meeting by pointing something out: the fact that we are currently lacking a plan. And something like this calls for, dare I say, more than one plan. We need contingencies for if something goes wrong, or if there's a bump in the road and we need to take a different path. I think all of us here should know by now that we can't count on things just falling into our laps. We could land in even deeper shit if we run in, guns blazing."
STEPFORD CUCKOOS (616): “Would you look at that?” Phoebe inclined her head to the side. Celeste met her gaze. “Amazing.” “Mum would be so pleased.” They all united, “Scott Summers has made a good point.”
LANCE HUNTER (616): Hunter was a fairly independent, self-sufficient individual when it came to his everyday life, but when he formed bonds with others, they were air-tight. And Bobbi’s absence had left him feeling as though there were a hole in his chest. It wasn’t just her absence that freaked him out, but the reason she was taken. Test subject. The situation was already stressful enough as is, now he needed to worry about SHIELD turning his girlf— best friend into a lab rat. “If we need someone to go undercover, stay a bit more under the radar than these flashier folks,” he gestured to the various costumes heroes around the room, “I volunteer.”
PETER QUILL/STAR-LORD (MCU): Peter could tell Mantis was watching him as he fiddled with a hem on the edge of his jacket as they listened. His thoughts raced as he kept his gaze focused on the floor, alternating between listening, trying to take in all this new information, and worrying about Gamora. Though their last encounter hadn’t exactly been positive, it didn’t mean he didn’t still care deeply for the woman. She might not have been his Gamora, but she was still Gamora and he’d do everything he could to help get her back— including sit in a room full of pompous, self-obsessed idiots and listen to them try to discern their heads from their asses.
GREER NELSON/TIGRA (616): Greer took personal affront to the flashier folk comment.
RACHEL SUMMERS (811): Rachel returned her gaze towards her father and straightened her back at that, itching at the prospect of confrontation as she nodded her head. Maybe if they didn’t wait they could actually do something about this instead of just sit around in an Airbnb and talk about it. She let the Cuckoos words roll off her back in that moment as she held her head high. “But if we go in, won’t we just get warped too? How does that work?”
STEPHEN STRANGE/HARVESTMAN (616): It was his wife that was stuck. That wasn't lost on him. However, so far he had found it easier than the alternate Strange to keep his composure. The lines between life and death had become blurred to him at this point— that left other life-altering events feel almost dull in comparison. Plus, this wasn't the first time he and Clea had been separated. He wasn't about to give up on her, but he had thicker skin now. This felt more like a detour than anything else. "I want her out too, Stephen." He replied calmly, talking to directly to the other Strange. "And we will get her out. But that family means nothing to her, not really. It's manufactured— even her third child, I would guess. Don't make this about yourself, your anger, and play it off as wanting to protect her." Even while looking collected, his bitterness tinged his words. The other Stephen was sounding far too invested and it was hard for him to not say back off. His own anger, of course, felt self-righteous.
MANTIS (MCU): The air was thick with emotion. Mantis knew that without making contact with anyone. She had so far kept her hands to herself, but that was out of basic respect for human boundaries that Peter and the others had been working to teach her. Keeping her fingers interlocked, Mantis stood silent by her brothers side. “I could try to feel them,” she offered quietly. “Feel if they are in pain, feel if they are happy.”
RIRI WILLIAMS/IRONHEART (616): “There’s a lot we don’t know about here.” Riri spoke up from where she stood next to Miles. “And I’m not sure what getting in their feels will do to help the situation.”
AMERICA CHAVEZ (UTOPIAN PARALLEL): “I like action.” America perked up. “I’m for the counter offense thing.” She had been watching the Stephen’s and wasn’t sure how to navigate that situation.
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): Anger had never been an emotion that used to resonate within Stephen Strange very often. Bitterness, resentment, sure, but pure, unbridled anger? That was a new one. And right now it was washing over him in waves as he listened to Tony’s retort and then the other Stephen himself responding to him. He opened his mouth to form a response, but it died on his tongue just as fast as he let out a frustrated huff and walked across the kitchen. Maybe the other Strange was right, maybe Stephen was being guided by his anger, but he didn’t care in that moment. If it got Clea back faster, so be it. She was being violated inside of that town and he couldn’t stand for it. Pulling up a duffel bag that was sitting next to Daisy, he unzipped it and revealed a pile of chip implants, reality blockers that had been recovered from the S.H.I.E.L.D. outposts. “If any of you would like to join me, I’ll be going in.” It was unlike him, to be this brazen with his decisions, to not think things through down to every possible outcome, but he was at his wits end at this point. Love would make you do crazy things, apparently.
DAISY JOHNSON (AOS): Daisy peered over to the duffel bag as Stephen practically snatched it from her side and narrowed her eyes at him. Her hand raised slightly in his direction, tempted to just quake him back into the wall considering how irrational he was acting, but the cat was out of the bag now. Or well, the blockers were out of the bag. "Wow, yeah. I guess we're just doing things without asking. Thanks for that."
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): “You’re going through our stuff.” Natasha deadpanned as she watched Strange pull up the duffel bag. They did have reality blockers, yes. A purpose of the meeting had been to propose a team going in, not go in without a plan because they were angry and in love. “Barnes and I have been in there. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”
BUCKY BARNES (MCU): Bucky almost stepped forward when he saw Strange go for that bag, but it was too late. The sorcerer seemed to be on a mission. Albeit a stupid mission, but a mission nonetheless. "It's not as simple as just going in there. Natasha is right."
PETER QUILL (MCU): Peter gave Mantis a small smile, gaze filled with more pain than any other emotion, before his expression morphed into one of caution and hopefulness. Leaning in to semi-whisper in response, “Do you think you could do that? Is that even possible?”
MANTIS (MCU): “I can try.” Her words were spoken earnestly. “I will enter the town.”
LANCE HUNTER (616): Hunter stepped forward as things began to escalate, “Woah, easy doctor— I’m not a fan of this ‘who really needs plans’ plan, but whatever you do, you ain’t doin’ it without me.”
TONY STARK (616): After hearing Natasha and Bucky speak up, he let out a scoff and shook his head. "This is what I'm talking about, folks. Rushing in because you're sad is not a good idea."
NEBULA (MCU): Nebula crossed her arms alongside Peter and Mantis, eyeing the two carefully as Mantis spoke about feeling if they were in pain or not. That was when she decided to finally speak up, still in a quieter tone. "Do we even want to know if she is in pain? Even if she is happy, that doesn't make it any better." She missed her sister all the same, even if this wasn't technically her sister. But she knew Gamora well enough to know that being dumbed down to some suburban citizen was torture enough.
JESSICA DREW (931): Jessica drew had been observing this ongoing disaster in silence. She was adhered to a wall, masked in a shadowed corner, until mantis spoke, and then she decided to introject. “yeah. Hey. Resident spiderwoman with being-kidnapped-by-shitty-people here. That sounds like a suicide mission.“
MILES MORALES (1610): Miles was sure that this was a terrible idea. Ninety percent sure, at least. But still, the idea of going to find Lana, it was all too tempting. He glanced over towards Riri and raised a curious brow, wondering what she thought about going in. She'd probably smack him upside the head and tell him it was a dumb idea, but maybe he needed that.
PETER QUILL (MCU): Nebula had a valid point, but Peter would rather have that knowledge, no matter how painful, than continue struggling with the unknown. He gave her a quick look of understanding, but turned back to Mantis, trying to offer up whatever encouragement he could. “Just don’t hurt yourself if it becomes to much. It’s okay- you don’t have to push it.”
CLINT BARTON (616): Clint took a deep breath at Jessica's words, knowing that she was right. this was definitely a suicide mission. Or at the very least, just them begging to get sucked in and warped into mild mannered townsfolk themselves. But Lance was throwing himself head first towards going in for Bobbi, and there was no way Clint could let Lance Jolly Ho! Hunter be the one to save the day. No way. Maybe his pride was getting the best of him, and he knew Natasha would kill him for it, but he spoke up. "I'm in."
STEPHEN STRANGE (616): For a few long moments, all Strange could do was stare at the reality blocker being presented to them. Part of him wanted to shut down and let Stephen go in himself. The stubborn streak that seemed to exist across the Stephen Stranges of the multiverse was strong, meaning that it clashed harshly when mirrored by its own intensity in someone else. If the other Strange wanted to jump in and potentially make things worse, he was welcome to. But if they somehow did manage to get Clea out, there was no way he was going to let the alternate Strange be the only one there when it happened. So there, his decision was made. Without a word, he looked Stephen in the eye and took the reality blocker from him.
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): “So we’re doing this.” Natasha’s lips pursed. That was fine. She knew why Clint was going in but it was still disappointing. There was no way Natasha was letting them go in without a chaperone, though. “We only have so many reality blockers. How many of you want in?”
JESSICA DREW (931): is this for fucking real? Jessica needs a drink. And a burger. But first, she needs to slap some sense into Clint Barton. So she does! She jumps off the wall and strides right up to him, smiles coyly, and backhands him across his cheek. “You’re even dumber than I remember!” Is she screaming? She’s definitely screaming. “Storming a shield protected, reality altered town without any extraction methods and without any actual plan is going to get you killed. Or worse!” Because worse, for her, is ending up like one of the pleasant hill inmates, your life rewritten for you, your mind stolen from you, your agency forcefully ripped away. She shudders. “Is anyone here actually thinking straight?!”
LANCE HUNTER (616): Hunter stepped up to stand beside Clint. There was no way in hell he’d let the man rescue Bobbi on his own. Not when he and Bobbi had a tally going. He flinched when the other man was slapped, unable to keep the smallest of grins from creeping into his face, but spoke up anyway, “I’m in.”
AMERICA CHAVEZ (UTOPIAN PARALLEL): Snatching one from Stephen, America held the device up to one eye and checked it out. “If he’s in,” she looked to Stephen. “I’m in.”
JESSICA DREW (931): “are any of you testosterone-fueled jackasses even listening to me?!” She’s a minute away from picking up Lance hunter and throwing him into a bedroom with Clint. Let them sort out their ridiculous crushes on each other in private. Then, maybe, their brains will work enough to actually come up with a viable solution. she’s staring at Natasha romanoff instead, a hand dragging down her face. “What are you all going to do when this is all over, huh? Just walk out of there and pretend shield isn’t going to fire back?”
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): Pushing his way through the condensing crowd around Strange, Logan grunted and reached out a hand once he was close enough. "Gimme one of those." It was a demand, not a question. Jean was in there, and if this was the time to head in he was going to make sure she was found.
STEPFORD CUCKOOS (616): “Oh, we absolutely will *not* be doing that.” The sisters sniffed. “But we’ll tell Ms. Frost and the Council.” Please, the telepathic afterthought went out. Find our sister.
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): “Pretending S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t going to fire back would make us even more stupid than them.” Natasha replied to Jessica coolly. “But S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fired on us before, haven’t they?”
JANET VAN DYNE (616): “I could sneak in undetected, I’m sure! Find a way to infiltrated the room where they’re keeping the source of the town — maybe Ripley Ryan — and at least do some recon for the rest of you?!” Janet’s flexing her arm and flashing a wide grin. “We’re all in this together, team!”
JESSICA DREW (931): “just saying, this is going to turn into another accords situation. Or worse.” She’s rolling her eyes at Natasha’s response. At some point in time, they’d been teammates. Maybe even friends? But clearly the Natasha from this world didn’t care about that. So be it. “Whatever, nat, it’s your funeral.”
SAM WILSON (MCU): Even though he didn’t really want to, Sam made his way over to Strange and nodded his head once to signal that he was with him.
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): "SHIELD is always shooting at someone! Why not have it be us this time, hm? If we let fear of their retaliation stop us, why don't we just give up now? Let our friends stay where they are and forget about them." Frenchie shook his head, feeling the anger build in his chest. "Non! We must try!"
CAROL DANVERS (616): Carol didn't have to ask -- didn't have to make any demands. She was just a step ahead of Sam, the weight of his presence heavy over her shoulder. They'd solidified their relationship with one another through tenuous agreement and heated argument. But they'd worked tirelessly to build something with a stable foundation. She was already going in -- Sam was just a reinforcing point.
JESSICA DREW (931): “that’s not what im suggesting. I’m just saying there’s a better way. A stealthier way.” Whatever, no one’s going to listen to her. She’s used to that, anyways. Jessica eyes Carol, whose mind also seems made up, and the betrayal flashes in her stomach. Fuck it. She might not be on board with this plan but—- maybe Jessica could find a way to frame hydra this.
SCOTT SUMMERS (616): Scott watched as Logan stampeded through the thickening crowd. He would be going after Jean, a dog on a short leash. It didn't aggravate him nearly as much as it had in the past -- years ago when Krakoa was still infantile and they were barely building their family up from nothing. Now, Scott could look on with indifference; could accept Logan's dogged persistence. He made his way through the crowd -- Logan would sniff her out and Scott would be there, he's always been there, since the very beginning.
CLINT BARTON (616): Clint took the slap like a champ as he kept his face neutral, a hand slowly reaching up to wipe his stinging cheek before taking a deep breath. “It already has turned into an Accords situation, Jess. They’re holding people captive in there. Good people.” People like Bobbi, who had been reduced to test subjects. There was no way he was going to just sit back if people were going in. And again, especially not if Lance was going in. “The town is holding a communal barbecue right now.” The time of their meeting in Connecticut was no coincidence, that was for sure. “Is anyone else going in? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
KAMALA KHAN (MCU): She was vibrating. “I volunteer as tribute!” Kamala raised a hand before realizing that she needed to walk over and physically take a reality blocker. She did so somewhat abashedly.
DAISY JOHNSON (AOS): Daisy eyed the crowd as they made their way towards Strange, and when Natasha spoke up, that’s when she reached in and grabbed a blocker for herself, eyeing Monica apologetically. But if there was a chance that Maria would be inside the town, there was no way she was going to sit back at the Airbnb and hear about it later.
LANCE HUNTER (616): “You payin’ attention, Barton? I think the ayes have it,” Hunter looked around the room, everyone who was willing to participate was on their feet, rearing to go, and he’d be right there - right alongside them.
MONICA RAMBEAU (MCU): “Not me.” Monica held both hands up. She respected Daisy’s decision, but someone had to stay on the outside. Besides, Monica knew she couldn’t handle another Westview. It felt too soon.
LANCE HUNTER (616): He took two reality blockers, keeping one for himself, and slapping the other against Clint’s chest. “Hope you’re ready, pretty boy.”
JESSICA DREW (931): “get a room!” Jessica chides to hunter and barton, eyes rolling dramatically in their direction. “Or at least slap each others asses or something.“
LAURA KINNEY/WOLVERINE (616): Logan was going, and Laura had promised to be there for moral support. She took a reality blocker as well, looking to him with pursed lips.
RIRI WILLIAMS (616): “Aw, hell.” Riri shook her head. Miles wasn’t always her favorite person, but she wasn’t going to let him go in without back-up. Sure, there were plenty of others. But they weren’t Champions. They weren’t like Miles and Riri. “I want to check out the tech anyway.”
MATT MURDOCK (616): Matt had been quiet up until this point, but then there was talk of actually going in and he couldn’t help but to walk forward and grab a blocker for himself. Foggy and Karen were for sure going to kill him for this, but if Elektra really was in there, he couldn’t help the temptation to go in himself to find her. Maybe he was teetering on the line of going back to that dark mindset that he always seemed to go to when Elektra was involved, but he couldn’t help it. He listened closely to see if Jen had followed him or if she was staying behind, despite it not having any influence on his decision. He was going.
BUCKY BARNES (MCU): Bucky shook his head along with Monica as he held his hands up. "I don't think I can go back in there." Not right now, at least. There needed to be at least two members of their little team that stayed behind. Maybe Val wouldn't take too kindly to that decision, but he didn't give a shit. They needed a back-up if this went south, which it probably would.
PETER PARKER (MCU): Peter had been lurking since the beginning. Decisions were really, really hard to make sometimes. Heading in there with everyone else volunteering felt like the right thing to do, but there was a big part of him that was telling him to stay. He knew Felicia was in there. And that guilt ate away at him. But there was instant panic when faced with the idea of messed up memories. He didn't want it for himself, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't immediately crack when faced with it in others. It was a touchy subject still, apparently. So he figured it would be best if he didn't go. He might become a liability if he went. Noticing that Tony (not his Tony, of course, which was still something to get used to) wasn't jumping at the chance to head in, he inched his way over to him and let the rest of the group divide themselves up.
TONY STARK (616): "Well, you are all going to be so glad that I stayed behind. When your rash decisions bite you in the ass, the rest of us are going to have to come save you. Thankfully, we'll have time to come up with that extraction plan." Tony stayed put, glancing to the young Spider-Man who had made his way over. "Smart decision, kid."
JENNIFER WALTERS (MCU): It took some heavy deliberation. Jen wasn’t sure which way she wanted to go. She knew she was technically a tank and that would be helpful, but the idea of being warped set her on edge. Still, she was learning how to be a hero. And hey, reader, who doesn’t want to stay relevant? “I’m in,” Jen finally rolled her shoulders back.
CLINT BARTON (616): Clint placed his hand on top of Lance's for a brief moment once he slapped the reality blocker against his chest and raised a defensive brow at him before attaching the device to the side of his neck. "I was born ready."
HOPE VAN DYNE (MCU): “I need to get home.” Back to Jan, back to Hank, back to Cassie. They needed to know what had happened.
JESSICA JONES (MCU): “Fuck no.” That went without saying.
JESSICA JONES (616): “Isn’t Trish in there?”
JESSICA JONES (MCU): “What the hell am I going to do for her if I’m also a mind wiped zombie?” Jessica would find a way to help from the outside.
JANE FOSTER/VALKYRIE (616): Silent up until that point, Jane took a deep breath. She remembered the first Pleasant Hill and how it had been in there. It felt like she was required to go back.
JESSICA JONES (616): “You must be real fun at parties.” JJ retorts with a snort. Not like she’s going in there either but, fuck, there’s not a single person she cares about missing. So. Eh.
PETER QUILL (MCU): Peter was hesitant to stand as the risk seemed to be quite great, but Mantis had already made her decision, and he wouldn’t dare let her go in without him. He’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there to prevent it. He silently retrieved one of the chips and attached it to his skin like so many others had already done, his expression a picture of quiet determination.
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): Natasha respected Jessica. The Drew she knew was dead, but she had faith that her multiversal variant was as well. That didn’t mean she agreed with her, though. The assassin watched as Clint spoke with her, nodding once when he finished. Valkyrie took the last of the reality blockers, the duffel now empty. “Stephen, Hunter, Mantis, Spider-man, Star-Lord, Stephen, Hawkeye, Black Widow, America, Wolverine, Wasp, Wolverine, Captain America, Duchamp, Captain Marvel, Cyclops, Quake, Ms. Marvel, Daredevil, Ironheart, She-Hulk and Valkyrie. Interesting group.”
JANET VAN DYNE (616): “Okay, team. Let’s do this!”
DAISY JOHNSON (AOS): Daisy nodded at Natasha’s recap and took a deep breath as she assessed the group in front of her, the realization of what they were doing finally hitting her. They were going into Pleasant Hill, officially. It was bound to turn into a disaster like Stark was saying, but it felt right to at least try. She sure as hell wasn’t going to let Stephen Strange crusade into the town by himself with no back-up, and judging by the amount of people that volunteered she wasn’t alone in that sentiment. It didn’t take them long to get to the perimeter of the town thanks to America Chavez and her portals, and pretty soon they were just outside the outer gates of the town. They weren’t conspicuous by any means, but once they got into the town that wouldn’t matter anyways. This many strangers was bound to be a red flag, especially considering the amount of them that were in full on suits. Rolling her eyes a bit at the red and yellow disaster that was Matt’s suit, she took a deep breath and fixed the blocker onto the side of her neck. “The agents are in the middle of a shift change right now. I’d say we have about—“ Pausing, she glances down at her watch before speaking again. “Two minutes to get in without a fight.”
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): “You heard her.” Natasha took her own blocker and moved the fabric of her suit to affix it to her skin. She made her way to the keypad at the gate that bordered the thick ring of trees at the barrier. As soon as the lock blinked green, she entered. Everyone else could follow if they liked; it was the last chance to back out. With determined steps, Natasha made her way to the town center where all the people had gathered.
LANCE HUNTER (616): Hunter knew some of the people joining in on this rescue mission were more qualified than others, so for that reason he chose to stick close to Natasha, following quickly behind as he passed the gate and entered the town.
AMERICA CHAVEZ (UTOPIAN PARALLEL): “Hey, so,” short legs moved quickly to keep up as America walked between the Stephen’s. “Just tossing this out there, but is there a spell or something one of the two incredibly powerful former Sorcerer Supremes could cast that would make the bug lady look less like un insecto?”
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): Stephen paused for a moment, making eye contact with the other Strange and pressing his lips into a tight frown as he caught sight of mantis and realized that America was right. They couldn’t go into Pleasant Hill looking the way they did. Not when Mantis had literal antennae sticking out of her head. He waved his sling ring up for a moment and moved his hands, calculated with the spell as orange sparks emitted over everyone and cast a glamour to change everyone’s faces to be a bit more agreeable. In a few seconds, everyone looked like they could fit right in with the aesthetic of this suburban town they now found themselves in. Stephen’s own appearance changed, but the sling ring was the only remnant of himself as it sat nicely on his hand. “There. We should also probably split up across the park. We’ll draw less attention to ourselves that way.”
GREER NELSON (616): Her nose twitched once. Tanned flesh now replaced the orange fur that Greer had grown accustomed to, and she flexed her fingers before turning to an unchanged Duchamp. “We’re looking for Spector.” It was a statement, not a question.
MARC SPECTOR/MOONKNIGHT (MCU): Hot-dogs and patties sizzled on the grill in front of him as Oscar contributed to the cook-out while his children played on the grass nearby. And it was there, with longing eyes watched Gugu as she sat there with Delilah and played personally with her while Jason ran around with a soccer ball to his heart’s content. This? This was life right here, and it was good. More than good, actually. He had a third child on the way with the love of his life, and things were going well enough at work that he was heading toward a promotion here soon. “Hey honey, do you want a hot-dog or a burger?”
MANTIS (MCU): She couldn’t see her face, but Mantis could tell magic had been used. “I am changed?” She asked Peter.
MARIA HILL (616): Maria had gathered the people of Pleasant Hill in the town square. Her intention was to provide a speech that would boost morale, keep the inmates complacent, and reinforce group cohesiveness. "And so, I thank you all for attending today's barbecue. It is my responsibility as mayor to ensure all the people of this town feel supported. Should you have any questions or concerns, please come speak with me any time during the barbecue." Her intercom beeps. Again. And again. Something was amiss in Pleasant Hill. Maria clears her throat. "Now, I encourage you all to enjoy the rest of your day, help yourselves to refreshments, and get to know your fellow neighbors better."
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): He debated ignoring her. Frenchie didn't necessarily trust this Greer person but for now, they could work together. He was more than happy to look for Marc on his own, but another set of eyes was technically useful. "You don't know him. Not like I do." He answered her statement with one of his own. "I do the talking."
CLEA STRANGE/SORCERER SUPREME (616): “Burger for me, but only if there’s cheese.” At the word cheese, Delilah grinned. “Make that two. Hotdog for Jason.” They had set up their blanket close to the center of the town square. Gugu had been seated on it with Delilah while Jason acted like a spun out puppy, and her heart was content. Gugu paused, head tilting to the side while the mayor spoke. “She’s such a nice woman,” she sighed.
PETER QUILL (MCU): Peter wasn’t entirely sure how to answer, but he knew Mantis would be able to tell instantly if he was lying to her, “Yeah,” he shrugged, “— but we’re undercover, you know? That’s the whole point.” He could tell his own appearance had changed as well, but he knew it was Strange’s doing and that the magic wasn’t, of course, permanent.
GREER GRANT (616): “I’d argue I know Marc Spector pretty well,” Greer arched a brow. But that was in another reality, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to fight with him. “It doesn’t matter who talks as long as we say the right thing and get them out.”
MANTIS (MCU): “Am I...ugly?” She asked, genuinely unsure. Drax told her she was ugly, so she had to have been. It was what she was used to.
PETER QUILL (MCU): “— god, no Mantis.” Drax should’ve kept his big mouth shut. “If anything, I prefer your old face,” he remarked, hoping it was taken as the compliment he meant it as.
DAISY JOHNSON (AOS): Daisy’s jaw was already square the moment they walked into the town center and Maria’s voice could be heard over the loud speaker. Liar. What a liar Maria Hill was, boasting about making everyone in town feel supported when really she was holding them all hostage in a suburban fantasy. A nightmare, was more accurate, really. It took everything in her not to just march onto that stage and take things into her own hands, but she was smart enough to stick back as she looked to Natasha and Hunter. “This is bullshit.”
KARLA SOFEN/MOONSTONE (616): Lucy Maneri was the town's baker, so perhaps it was only natural that the mayor asked for her to partake in preparing dessert for this barbecue. She was adorned in a checkered, 50s style apron, her hair tied back, and a bright smile on her face as lucy went around with a tray of fresh baked cupcakes. She stops the first person she sees, waving them to her cupcake tray. "I have a variety of flavours, plus gluten free, dairy free, kosher, hallal, nut free, keto-friendly, and vegan! Would you like one, darling?"
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): Matt stopped abruptly, feeling out of place without a pair of tinted glasses on his face and without the suit on as he kept an arm linked around Jen's and took a deep breath. Shaking his head slightly, he finally turned to her direction. "Listen, if you.. If you don't want to get dragged into this, I understand. I know I've already tried to warn you, but Elektra, she's..." What was Elektra, exactly? Someone who brought out the best and the worst in Matt simultaneously somehow? "It's a lot. And if it's too much, I get it."
RIRI WILLIAMS (616): Oh, hell no. Riri had seen enough Jordan Peele movies to know that this place was not where it was at. She had stuck by Miles, the sleeves of her flannel already covering her nano gauntlet even before the wizard had cast the spell. “Uh, no.” She tried to sidestep the white lady with the excessive amount of options. “Hard pass from me.”
STEPHEN STRANGE (616): "I still think we should have thought this through more." Stephen remarked, eyes straight ahead as they walked. He tried not to focus on the changes to his own appearance— bare arms and shirt fabric replacing the bandages that were normally there. There was no golden mask, no cape. It felt odd, but it also felt freeing. His soul still wasn't his own, but he could at least feel a bit of detachment from that fact. "It's because of your rashness that we are here. Which is what you should keep in mind if things take a turn for the worst."
KARLA SOFEN (616): "Why so glum, dear? They’re only cupcakes. You're treating them like they’re poison! A little sugar will put some meat on those bones, you know!" She laughs in the forced way a housewife would, her smile stretching a bit wider across her face. She picks up a cupcake -- strawberry! -- and holds it out. "Are you sure?"
JENNIFER WALTERS (MCU): The spell had left her unchanged. Jen remained herself: short, curly haired and linked to Matt by an elbow. As they abruptly stopped, she turned to face him fully. “Look, you don’t have to warn me. I’m good with dealing with a lot. It’s like, kinda my thing.” Jen tried to reassure him, all the while attempting to silence her own doubts. “Let’s just find her. Then we can deal with the lot part.”
MARIA HILL (616): She was seeking out agent carter now with practiced nonchalance despite the urgency of the situation. Once she had captured the other's gaze, Maria tapped two fingers three times against her right thigh, a secret code that alludes to the fact they had been compromised.
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): “I’m sorry, if I recall things correctly it seems that you have followed me out here on this rash quest. After I pushed you to eventually have the motivation to come save your own wife.” Stephen remarked back almost instantly, his tone sharp and his expression firm until he noticed a few stares being cast in their direction. He straightened up after that, adjusting the button up shirt he was now wearing as he flattened it out and took a deep breath. “I’m not doing this here with you. Not right now. If you’d like to go try and help her, you’re more than welcome to join.”
MILES MORALES (1610): “Nah, I think I’m good.” Miles answered instantly, seeming to get the same exact energy that Riri was picking up on from the baker lady as she smiled at them with an uneasy grin. It was the kind of grin you saw in a horror movie, right before you got stabbed or something. No way. But then she held out the cupcake and Miles felt awkward declining it as he just took it from her hands and tried to offer a grateful smile. “What, uh.. what flavor is this one?”
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (616): "Mmm no, no thank you mon amour. One of those burgers perhaps? Those look good." Frenchie managed to hear the question as they walked up, tipping his head to catch Marc's eye as he ungracefully made himself part of the conversation between him and his fake wife. The smile on his face could almost be considered a shit-eating grin. "What kind of mustard do you have, hm?"
RIRI WILLIAMS (616): She just shook her head. If one of them were going to get the *Get Out* treatment, it wouldn’t be her. “Shouldn’t we focus on finding our friend?”
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): Matt couldn’t help the self deprecating laugh he let out at Jen trying to reassure him as he just shook his head. If only she knew. There was no way he could ever give her a recap of everything that went down with the Hand that could convey the full weight of it all. He still hadn’t told her about how he’d let himself get crushed to death in that building with Elektra that night. How he’d gotten back and couldn’t even bring himself to be Matt Murdock anymore for a long few months. God, he hadn’t even told her about Fisk. But things between them were so nice and lighthearted that he’d almost let himself forget about all of that. About the dark stains of his past that he was still trying to atone for. And here Jen was, trying her best to be supportive despite not knowing just how deep all of this went. And it meant the world to him, even if he knew soon all of it would change the moment he got Elektra back. There was no world in which Elektra just let him move on. The sound of jangling keys stopped Matt in his tracks and he paused and listened for where the noise was coming from. “Just behind me, the Sheriff.. Is she there?”
KARLA SOFEN (616): "It's strawberry, dear! i hope you like it!" She tilts her head sideways, waving the two youngins off with a bright smile. "Stay safe! Enjoy the barbecue! You know where to find me if your friend would like cupcakes, too!"
MARC SPECTOR (MCU): Oscar’s brows raised a bit when suddenly a man was responding to his question, a French man at that. There was no one in Pleasant Hill with any sort of accent of any kind, really. It was intriguing, even if it was also very confusing. “You, uh.. you want a burger? Yeah, I can get one for you.” He responded politely, a slightly nervous smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed a set of buns and tilted his head towards the stranger. “There’s more than one kind of mustard…?”
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): Logan wasn't sure this would be an option at first, but he was thankful to learn that things pretty much smelled the way they were supposed to smell in this weird time. There was something off of course, but the people were still themselves. He caught Jean's scent pretty quickly and just started following it. Scott and Laura could follow if they wanted. When he finally saw her, his senses felt like they were lying to him. It was Jean, he had followed his nose right to her, but it wasn't her face. It shouldn't have been a surprise but it made him feel sick. "Jean?" Her name slipped out of his mouth before he could catch it.
MILES MORALES (1610): As soon as the woman walked off and was out of sight, Miles subtly threw the cupcake away in a nearby garbage bin as he turned to Riri and nodded quickly. "Right, yeah.. Her name is Danielle here." Miles knew that much from the file he'd skimmed over about a hundred times.
DAISY JOHNSON (AOS): Daisy watched with careful eyes as Maria made a signal to someone, and with a quick glance across the park she realized that it was Sharon. That was enough to make her nudge Natasha as subtly as she could. "Maria's signaling. They know." Not that it was a surprise, but they were definitely on a time crunch now if they weren't before.
JENNIFER WALTERS (MCU): It was hard to be supportive about something so clearly painful and shrouded in mystery, but Jen had never shied away from something because it was hard. She had taken the Bar in California. It was the hardest state to pass in with a 34% chance. That remained one of her greatest accomplishments, even next to being She-Hulk. It was important to her that every part of her identity was acknowledged and treasured. The same went for Matt, even when she didn’t understand him. Trying to be casual, she glanced over her shoulder. “There’s a woman with a badge, yeah. I want to go out on a limb and guess that it’s her. Are we just walking over or do you have a plan?”
PETER QUILL (MCU): Peter’s subconscious was telling him to look for green skin, but he quickly realized that was incorrect when he remembered their appearances had been altered. He tried to conjure up a mental picture of the photo that had been in Gamora’s file. Zoe was her name now, right. He began to move around the gathering, smiling and nodding in acknowledgement at anyone who happened to look his way as he continued his frantic search for this new face.
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): "I don't.." Trailing off, Matt grimaced. Was talking to her really the best course of action? It wasn't like he could tell for certain that it was Elektra. Not unless he could hear her. Smell the familiar shampoo she usually used, anything that could give him an inkling of her real identity. This person was certainly not Elektra, and he still wasn't fully convinced that it was even underneath. "Walking over is a good start." And with that, his arm guided Jen towards the direction of the Sheriff. Ironic, considering he was the blind one, but being guided around was usually just for show anyways. And right now, they needed some show. "Hi, you're the Sheriff here, right? Sheriff Boyd?"
JEAN GREY (616): She wasn’t officially working, so the microphone stayed at home. Instead, it was nice to socialize off the record and actually spend time with the people she lived around. Megan loved Pleasant Hill. She had a dog, a good career and friends. A partner would have been nice, but there was time. Although she was in the middle of conversing with Chris Turati, Megan paused when a man spoke to her. “Megan.” She pointed at herself. “I’m sorry, are you new?”
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): Frenchie's face twisted up like he had tasted something bitter. "Oh my, what have they done to you?" He sounded genuinely heartbroken, thinking back to the multiple times he had lectured Marc on the multiple types of mustard that existed in the world. He took the buns and grabbed a plate, eyes gravitating towards the single sad yellow bottle next to the ketchup. Talking to his best friend like this was harder than he anticipated. It was taking all of his willpower to not reach over, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him back into remembering. He would have to try a different approach. "Why don't you take a seat, relax, eat. I can take over the grill." Frenchie took the spatula from him and gently booted him away from in front of the grill. He scooped up a burger for himself and then casually flipped another, not caring if it needed to be flipped. "I own a restaurant, you know. Does that ring any bells to you? Do you enjoy Italian food, mon ami?"
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): “Of course they know.” Natasha’s face remained impassive as she glanced around the town square. There wasn’t much time before they’d be converged upon. Everyone had dispersed at this point. “Odds of this being a success?” Her words were a low hum. “Low. But we knew that, didn’t we?” Still, they tried. “How do you want to play this?”
TRISH WALKER (MCU): Blake Miller was laying in the grass, a cat in her lap, a dog by her side, living her best life, honestly. At some point, her dog wandered off, seemingly interested in sniffing out something (or someone?), who didn't belong here. Blake approached them, confusion in her face. "I’m sorry, I didn't realize we had new neighbors!"
RIRI WILLIAMS (616): Riri failed to relax even when they walked away from the cupcake lady. “I don’t like the name Danielle,” she tossed out. “But we know what she looks like. At least we have that going for us.” She scanned the area and spotted a group of teenagers. “Worth a shot?”
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): “Elodie, yes.” The Sheriff corrected him. Everyone in Pleasant Hill was on a first name basis. “Please, tell me you’re here to introduce yourself and *not* because someone committed a crime.”
MARC SPECTOR/KHONSHU (MCU): Oscar frowned at that, now completely lost on the conversation as he just stared blankly at the man in front of him and shrugged his shoulders a bit, not sure what he was supposed to say. No one had done anything to him. Not that he could remember, at least. He was just out providing some food for his neighbors. “What?” He asked softly, his eyes glancing back over towards Gugu on the grass for a brief few seconds. Within a few seconds, suddenly he found himself seated as the stranger took the spatula from him and started to do the cooking for him. It was more than bizarre. Part of him wanted to call over to his wife for a little bit of help, but then the Frenchman was asking more questions and they piqued his interest enough to turn his attention back to the conversation at hand. “You know, I can’t say it does. Italian food is great, though. Spaghetti night is pretty big at our house.” Ah, so I see. Marc summons more than one worm when he is in need of aid. Jean-Paul Duchamp, this will not work. Khonshu’s full presence was revealed now to Frenchie and Greer as he towered just behind Marc, concealing his presence from his avatar for the time being. Marc Spector is not fully present. I will have to fix it myself. But not here. It is too open a space. It had taken the god this long to even find Marc because he could not even sense his presence on their normal plane of existence. Taweret had been in the same position with the bug.
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): “Elodie, yes.” The Sheriff corrected him. Everyone in Pleasant Hill was on a first name basis. “Please, tell me you’re here to introduce yourself and not because someone committed a crime.”
DAISY JOHNSON (AOS): "Yeah, stupid low." Daisy confirmed as she grumbled to herself and just shook her head. They did know that. But they couldn't let it be for nothing. "Hill. We take Hill down, we stunt this operation from the top, right?"
STEPHEN STRANGE (616): "The motivation—" Strange had to practically bite his own tongue off to cut that sentence short. What composure he had managed to keep up until then cracked wide open. How dare Stephen suggest he needed external motivation to save Clea? But, he kept that to himself and slid one set of fingers through his silver hair, pushing it away from his forehead as he took in a breath. Stephen was right— this wasn't the time or place for them to blow up at each other. But he was confident it would happen soon, no matter the outcome of this expedition. Once they found Clea, the shock hit him. The strange french man was there already, adding an odd element to the group. But now he was right in front of Clea, and the words caught in his throat. "I'm— I'm sorry to bother you—" He approached her with caution, eyes glancing between her and the children. "Could we talk to you for a moment?"
JANE FOSTER (616): Upon seeing a dog, Jane automatically bent down to pet it. There was a saying that people in New York would step over a dead body to pet a dog, and they weren’t totally wrong. She looked up when the other woman spoke, the realization of where they were hitting once more. “Uh, yeah, yeah. Some of us just moved in.” Even though Jane had read the profiles, she didn’t recognize the woman. “Cute dog.”
MILES MORALES (1610): Miles eyed the group of teenagers that Riri pointed out and nodded quickly, deciding that that was a great place to start. He could barely remember what her face looked like, but a name was good enough for now. They'd find her, they had to. Walking over there with Riri by his side, Miles clasped one of the boys into a generic handshake as he nodded at the group. "'Sup? We're both pretty new here and just figured we'd check out the barbecue."
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): "Megan?" There was a split second of confusion before he remembered that name being attached to her file. He let out a huff. "Yeah, sure. Right. Megan. I guess you could say I'm new. Just got in today, in fact. The name's Logan. And this is my daughter Laura."
CLEA STRANGE (616): Some odd man was assaulting her husband. Not technically, but he was behaving strangely and Gugu had half a mind to step in to save Oscar. Delilah chose that moment to have a meltdown though, and it took a second to get her straight again. She was calling to Jason when two shadows fell over the picnic blanket. “Sure. Is everything alright?” They weren’t familiar. New, maybe? Gugu couldn’t help but crane her neck to look around them to see if Oscar was paying attention. He wasn’t. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
LAURA KINNEY (616): She got an introduction. That was nice. Laura offered a tight lipped smile and a finger gun.
JEAN GREY (616): “Megan.” She confirmed. “Logan. Laura. Great. We all know each others names now. Can I help you with something?”
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): There was no doubt in Stephen’s mind that there was bound to be a head to this endless cycle of bickering the two of them were finding themselves in, but now was not the time. They had a job to do, and that was find Clea and get her the hell out of this town. But then they were actually approaching her and standing just feet away from the fake children and all of the breath was practically sucked out of Stephen’s chest as he just stared with widened eyes at the scene in front of them. He knew it’d be bad, but this was worse than he’d imagined. Seeing her look so complacent in all of this, so.. so happy. Not knowing that all of this was fake. “Oh, yes, everything’s just fine. We just wanted to come introduce ourselves. New to the neighborhood and all that. I’m Stephen.” The introduction came quickly, partially in spite of the other Stephen so he could at least get his name out first. He resisted the urge to hold out a hand to shake as he took a slow deep breath in through his nose.
RIRI WILLIAMS (616): Not wanting to play games, Riri just gutted her chin at the others before crossing her arms over her chest. “My brother and I are looking for our neighbor, actually. Danielle. You guys know where she is?”
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): "Quel désastre.." Spaghetti night? Really? But before he could get out another word to Marc, the form of Khonshu appeared. He let out an annoyed sigh, letting the hand gripping the spatula fall defeated to his side as his eyes moved away from Marc. "Oh now you show up? After I do the hard work of finding him?" It was no secret that Frenchie was not fond of the bird-god. He hated him, in fact. He brought Marc back from the dead but everything after was a disaster. "What do you want me to do, throw him over my shoulder and carry him away? He will be terrified." Although, Frenchie thought to himself, that wasn't the worst idea.
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): "Elodie, right." That was strange. He couldn't recall the last Sheriff he'd met who didn't demand to have their title flaunted around in every single conversation. "Just introducing ourselves, I'm afraid. Though, judging by the state of the town, I doubt there's really much crime to counteract at all." It was the entire point of this, right? "I'm Matthew. And this is my girlfriend, Jen."
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): Elodie made a point to never forget a face, so she took a mental snapshot of both of them. “God, you’re a good looking couple. Welcome to town. You’re right, though. I have a painfully easy job. We’re lucky here, but we all know it.”
RAVEN DARKHOLME/MYSTIQUE (616): They took her Irene. Raven just got her back. and S.H.I.E.L.D. fucking. took her. Raven was coming for blood. This was more than an eye for an eye. This was a life for a life, and she was murder incarnate. She was bloodshed wearing the skin of Janet Van Dyne, but the moment she entered the town, Raven shifted again. She was one towns person, then another. And this little game of charades continued until she was close enough to Maria Hill for the slaughter. She waited, of course. bBd her time, acted the part, until Irene was within eyeshot. Yntil she would bask in the blood of redemption. That’s when Raven turned her skin blue, when she was nose-to-nose with Maria Hill. When she brought the gun to the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s stomach and pulled the trigger.
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): Matt couldn’t even get another word out before he heard the clicking of a gun being cocked, and his first instinct was to grab both Jen and Elektra down onto the ground with him as he kept his arms over the top of them. “Get down!” And sure enough, a gunshot rang out through the town square just seconds later. Chaos ensued almost immediately afterwards, the sounds of screaming people echoing throughout Matt’s entire field of hearing as he stayed down on the ground for a moment to make sure there were no more gunshots coming.
STEPHEN STRANGE (616): "Right. And I'm— Vincent." There was a more than obvious pause before he said the name, not wanting to confuse her by saying the exact same name she was just given. Their similar appearances probably have caught her eye already— no need to bring shared names into it quite yet. He opened his mouth to continue but was shocked by the sound of a gun going off. A split second later, the crowd around them erupted into screams of panic and terror. His instincts kicked in and his hands went up, conjuring a magic shield in a sudden flurry of sparks. He crouched down to get closer to Clea, wanting to cover her but recoiling a bit when he got to close. Not only would she not want him, a stranger, close to her. They still couldn't touch.
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): Stephen’s immediate instinct was also to throw up a shield, sparks emanating all around them as he crouched down beside the two of them and made sure to keep the children covered, even if they weren’t real. It still felt like it may as well have been real given how realistic the reality stone made everything seem. When he realized that he’d done the same exact thing as the other Strange, he shared a look with his multiversal counterpart before glancing back towards Clea and raising his brows. The park was now in complete and total chaos, considering the mayor had just been shot onstage. His eyes searched for where Marc went, since Clea would surely be screaming about him once she got over the shock of the magical shields, but he was nowhere in sight.
CLEA STRANGE (616): “Oh my God.” At the gunshot, Gugu’s first instinct was to grab Delilah and curl her body around the child’s. And Jason -- where was Jason?? She still had Delilah pinned down as she shot up to look for her son, seeing instead sparks raining down seemingly from Stephen and Vincent’s hands. Jason was -- there. Jason was there. They were all huddled together under what appeared to be some kind of shield or barrier, and Gugu clutched Delilah even harder. She tried to scramble backwards, but the blanket got tangled up around her legs and stopped her from going anywhere. “What the hell are you?”
MARC SPECTOR (MCU): Alright, now this was just getting out of hand. Suddenly the French guy was looking behind and above him and having a full fledged conversation with thin air, and that was enough for Oscar to stand up from the seat he’d been forced down into. “If you’ll excuse me, I, uh.. My wife and kids are hungry.” He tried to keep his voice firm as he grabbed a plate and started to grab some buns, but then suddenly a gunshot rang out throughout the park and his fight or flight mode was kicked on. Gugu. The kids. Where were they? He could barely see through everyone starting to run on the grass, and as he stepped past the stranger and into the crowd, a woman crashed into him and sent them both crashing down onto the grass in a panic. “Gugu! Jason! Delilah!” The names were shouted with urgency as his voice cracked and he tried to pull himself up from the ground, but then suddenly he was looking up at a large skeletal bird creature and he couldn’t help the scream that ripped from him as he covered his head with his hands. This was a nightmare. A terrible nightmare that he just needed to wake up from already.
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): The gunshot sent everything into disarray. Logan hadn't come up with what to say next, so it at least saved him from floundering, but it was a huge shock. His adrenaline shot through him, heart pounding and chest heaving. His hands closed into fists and then the claws came out. Logan could smell the blood, and looked to Laura before taking a defensive step closer to Jean.
LAYLA EL-FAOULY/SCARLET SCARAB (MCU): She had never heard a gunshot before. Not in real life, at least. May had in movies, but that was about it. The sound was enough to startle her into motion; the crowd all seemed to be moving in different directions, pinning her in the middle. She was about to break free when she collided with a man and went careening to the ground. Oscar Nuñez. She knew who he was because she had cut his kids hair. His daughter had loved holding the little stuffed hippo that May kept on hand for the youngsters. Now, they were both on the ground. May was trying to untangle her legs from Oscar’s when she saw the skeleton bird. She had only a second to try and process that before she saw a hippo in a wig staring down at her with a scarily jolly grin. Hello, dearie. Glad to see you! Been looking everywhere for you, you know. Never mind that! We’re together now, aren’t we? Now we can fix this pesky business, set it all to right. May just screamed.
STEPHEN STRANGE (616): Stephen tried to calm himself, feeling his heart beat through his chest. He turned to look at Clea as he steadied his breath, then slowly stood back up and let the shield dissipate. "We're uh—we're magicians. Stage magicians." Because he was unsure of his answers, it sounded vaguely like a question. He shrugged and looked to Stephen for a moment. "Are you alright? It sounds like it was just the one shot, we're all okay. But we should get out of here. Get somewhere safer." It was his attempt at trying to get Clea to come with them. The fear and adrenaline from the gunshot made everything feel even worse, and he was worried they weren't going to get her to come.
JEAN GREY (616): However Megan was going to react to the gunshot was overpowered by her surprise at seeing giant knives come out of the mans knuckles. “I’m sorry, what?” She needed her camera crew ASAP. This wasn’t something you wanted to miss.
JENNIFER WALTERS (MCU): Matt’s arm pushed Jen down, but she was already mid-transformation. A second later, she stood in her full Hulk form with fists clenched as she tried to see if there was any immediate threat after the shot. If need be, Jen would throw herself in front of Matt and Elektra (?) due to her increased durability. “Are you two okay?” She-Hulk looked down at them.
MARC SPECTOR (MCU): When Oscar finally gained the courage to remove his hands from his head, his screaming didn’t stop as he looked up and saw not only that the skeleton bird was still looming over him, but there was a hippo now too. A large talking hippo and— his screaming wouldn’t stop, he physically couldn’t stop as he tried to pull his legs away from May’s. Marc Spector. I leave you for two seconds and you get yourself captured almost immediately. Typical. The bird’s voice reverberated in Oscar’s head, so loud that it sounded like someone had shoved a speaker on full blast right against his ear. It hurt. This won’t take long. Don’t resist. The pain only got worse from there as his eyes lit up bright white and his limbs moved without his consent. His neck strained as he tried to fight it, but eventually the otherworldly power coursing through him won as bandages began to wrap around his arms and chest, eventually covering him entirely in the suit. And in that instant, Marc’s mind seemed to catch up with everything that was happening as the suit unravelled itself and he fell forward, limp from Khonshu no longer straining his muscles. His face was his own again, but his mind was completely scrambled. Blinking twice, he stared down at the grass and panted as he tried to figure out where he was. Not uncommon for him, but this time felt different.
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): What had she just been saying about the town being safe? Almost as soon as the gunshot rang out, Elodie was under Matt’s arm. The protection was nice for a second before she remembered her job and whipped her own gun out, safety clicking off as she raised her arms. “Shit. The Mayor. She’s ---” That’s when it clicked that Jen was now seven feet tall and green. Elodie’s gun clattered to the floor.
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): Mystique is unfazed by the chaos around her. She eyes the body in disappointment, but reaches down regardless. Taking the dangling "corpse" in her hand, and waving it to the crowd. "So you all see how they deceived you? Your beloved "mayor" was nothing but a robot. Someone to observe you. sSmeone to keep you complacent. This world of yours is as fake as your mayor was. But you can leave, if you don't believe me. Nothing is stopping you now. Walk out of the town and see for yourself."
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): "Uh—" Logan looked down at his hands and then retracted his claws. They healed instantly as always, leaving behind a small trace of blood. "It's nothing. But you-you aren't safe here. You can't stay here."
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): Matt stood up with Jen's help as he tried to ground himself and listen in to just what was happening, but the screaming was so loud. When he tried to listen in towards the stage, he noticed something different. The person who had been shot on the stage, something was off. "I'm fine. And so is the Mayor, apparently." He nodded in the direction of the stage as the mutant paraded the "body".
IRENE ADLER/DESTINY (616): She was a teacher. Not a medic, not an officer. A teacher. That didn’t stop Emilia from running straight towards Mayor Hill when she went down. Everyone else was running away, but she had to make sure the woman was okay. She had to come up short when the assassin began to wave part of the corpse in the air. “Why are you doing this?” The words left her mouth on their own volition. They were happy. They were safe. Who would want to strew chaos like this?
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): "Why?!" Raven turns to Irene. Ro her Destiny, and pulls to woman flush against her, kissing her deeply. When she pulls away, the blue skinned mutant grits her jaw. "Because you are my wife, Irene. This world stole you from me once before, and I refuse to let anyone take you from me again." She’s throwing the robot onto the ground, crushing LMD Marias face beneath her heel. There’s death in her pure yellow eyes. Uninhibited, feral rage. "I'm doing this because you're blind, Irene." Poor choice of words. Oops. "You should know this world is a calculated ruse. You should know who I am!" She’s trembling fists clenched at her sides. Raven’s voice drops to a low growl. "This world is a lie. I need you to see the truth. I need you to remember."
JEAN GREY (616): “A big part of my job involves being in places I shouldn’t.” That’s how you got the story, after all. “You’re not gonna just nothing the stabby things, Edward Scissorhands.”
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): “Your girlfriend is green.” Elodie slowly bent down and picked up her gun. “She wasn’t green before.”
LAYLA EL-FAOULY (MCU): The hippo kept talking at her. In all honesty, May didn’t even know what she was saying anymore. Her voice trilled high and bright ( a bit obnoxiously ) and just kept going and going and going. One thing she said, however, was this will only take a moment. May wanted to ask what was only going to take a minute when her body was suddenly enveloped in new fabric. Cuffs solidified on her biceps as the fabric moved up her body and covered her face. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. May thrashed and tried to pull it off her face, and -- No. May didn’t. Layla did. Her name was Layla. Her name was Layla and she was finally free from the material covering her as she sat slumped in her Scarab costume. Conflicting realities collided in her head, and she just looked to Frenchie helplessly.
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): Everything happened so fast. The sound of a gunshot drew Jean-Paul to draw his own weapon, aiming it in the direction of the blast. The blood was pumping in his ears as the world erupted and then Marc was scrambling. He got maybe two steps in before he watched Marc and Layla crash into each other. He kept his gun out for a few more seconds until the pair of them started screaming, then he holstered it. Cautiously he moved closer, and watched as the suit wrapped around Marc. He couldn't help but let out a shout of excitement and relief, and then started running to close the distance between them. "Marc!" Frenchie fell to his knees, gently grasping at his best friend's shoulders to help him sit up. He looked to Layla, offering her a hand as well. "It's alright. You are alright! We are going home, just trust me." They were back. They were really back. Once they were both at least sitting up, Jean-Paul wrapped his arms around both of them and stifled a sob as he hugged them. "Dieu merci. Vous allez bien tous les deux. Je t'ai récupéré."
MATT MURDOCK (616): "Yeah," Matt replied with a nonchalant tone, before remembering that this all must be more than jarring for Elodie. "It's kind of a long story. One that I don't think we have time for right now. But listen to me, this town isn't what it seems. We need to get out of here, and now." But what would happen to Elektra if they did leave the town with her like this? There was no way she'd revert back to herself just like that.
IRENE ADLER (616): A lot was being thrown at her. One second, Emilia looked on in shock. The next, the assailant was pulling her close as their lips locked. The kiss instantly sent her walls flying upwards. It took her a moment to regain her bearings, but the second she did, Emilia was pulling back as her palm connected with blue skin. “Who the hell do you think you are?” She ripped herself away. “Blind? I’m not --- I don’t need to remember anything. You’re delusional.” Where the hell was the Sheriff?
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): Logan rolled his eyes, wishing he had just kept the claws hidden. "We can talk all about it later." He shouldn't be surprised that this wasn't easy. This life was all that Jean knew. Normally he would tell her to just read his mind, but she didn't remember her powers. "If you just come with me you can ask me all the questions you want."
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): Alright. yes. She deserved that. but Raven is still glowering about it. She’s shapeshifting into Irene’s true form, then back to her own form, arching a brow. "You’re testing my patience, my love. We have a child together." She’s pursing her lips in consideration, glancing down at the LMD underfoot. "No. I'm not delusional. If I was, this body would be one of flesh." She’s taking her phone out. Flashing the lock screen to the two of them. "I've been alive for centuries, Irene. Never in my life have I cared for someone as I care for you. so I am not leaving you here. And if you won't come willingly?" She presses a button on her phone. An explosion resounds somewhere in the town. "-- I'll take you by force."
CLEA STRANGE (616): “Stage magician? That doesn’t even make sense.” Managing to free her legs, Gugu climbed to her feet and staggered back a step while holding Delilah. There was a girl with the two men, and she was on a knee talking to Jason. Gugu couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her son seemed to relax. “I need to find my husband.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Where’s Oscar?”
MARC SPECTOR (MCU): There was a thousand yard stare in Marc’s eyes as he examined each blade of grass, counting them in hopes that it might ground him a bit to where he was. To who he was. A pair of hands were grabbing onto his shoulders and for a brief moment, it wasn’t clear who was looking at Frenchie, if anyone was at all. Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Oscar Nuñez. His children. No, they weren’t his. They weren’t real, this wasn’t real. His name was Marc Spector, he was an avatar and the man in front of him was Jean-Paul Duchamp, his best friend. And Layla El-Faouly was his wife. His eyes drifted away from Frenchie’s and towards the last place he saw Gugu and the kids, and once he caught himself the entire notion made him want to throw up as he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “I have children here. My…” His voice broke as he stared at the two kids just across the grass that were standing next to Gugu. Not his wife, because Layla was his wife. Right?
IRENE ADLER (616): “I think I would remember having a kid with a smurf.” Emilia all but spat. Why her? Why -- out of everyone in town -- was she being targeted by the apparent bomber? “What, are you going to throw me over your shoulder and kidnap me?”
RAVEN DARKHOLME (616): "Oh, good, so they made you a racist, too." Admittedly, the comment hurt. How many centuries did it take before she could actually look herself in the mirror? Raven is shapeshifting into a white woman with hauntingly blue eyes. It does nothing to sheathe the pained expression, but it does protect her from any further smurf comments. "If that's what it takes to get you home." She’s seething now. the smurf comment was all it took, really. Any consideration she had for doing this amicably was erased. This woman was not her Irene, and she wouldn’t be treated as such. Therefore, Raven does exactly that. She grabs this woman by the wrist and pulls her over her shoulder, glaring at nothing.
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): “Get out -- what, like leave? I can’t leave. I’m the Sheriff.” And his girlfriend was still green.
JEAN GREY (616): “Are you offering me an exclusive?” That caught her attention. “I want video footage of the claws though, or no deal.”
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): Stephen turned to glance back towards where Marc had been on the grass not too far away, and was more than shocked to see Marc himself standing there. Layla too. He was curious as to just how the hell the French man had managed that, but then he remembered how distraught Clea sounded. Quickly turning his head back towards Clea, he found himself just shaking his head with a soft sigh. "He's.. he's gone, Gugu. I'm sorry." The false name had to be forced out, the syllables not rolling off of his tongue properly. Even though this woman did not share Clea's face, it took everything in him not to say her name.
MATT MURDOCK (MCU): Matt tried to keep his expression neutral, but his jaw clenched when she still insisted on staying in the town as he just took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Fine." They'd be back, they had to be at some point. There was no way this was finished.
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): Eventually, Jean-Paul releases the two of the from the hug. Both of them still looked incredibly dazed, and he needed to get them ready to leave. Both of his hands reached up to grasp Marc's face, his grip solid but not tight, hoping to ground him a bit. "Hey. Hey. Look at me, mon ami. Your mind has been twisted, but I am going to get you and Layla out of here. Do you hear me?" There would be plenty of time for questions and rest once they get out of the town. "It is time for you to stand up and move, Marc! This is a dangerous place and we need to go!" The explosion barely registered to him. Frenchie was so tuned into Marc and cared about nothing else other than getting the three of them home. This is what he came here to do, and he was going to finish the mission.
ELEKTRA NATCHIOS (MCU): Elodie frowned slightly “Thanks for the permission? I need to go do my job now.” With one last wary look at the couple, the Sheriff gripped her gun and hurried into the fray.
JENNIFER WALTERS (MCU): Jen watched Elektra turn and flee -- assuming that was Elektra at all. She was still green and it felt necessary to stay that way. “I’m sorry.” She looked to her boyfriend. “We can come back.”
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): Somehow, Logan found even this strange version of Jean endearing. Her strength was always something he admired, but right now that bit of stubbornness was also delaying them. "Sure." He was giving her the answers she wanted— anything to get her attention and get her to follow him. "As long as you leave this goddamn town, I'll give you whatever you want." He didn't want to have to carry her out. He could do it, of course. Especially since she couldn't get into his head and make him drop her. But it would be much easier just getting her to come on her own. Less traumatizing.
IRENE ADLER (616): “Against smurfs??” Could one even be a racist against smurfs? This seemed like such a small thing to get hung up on considering the fact that this woman had just shot the mayor and threatened to bomb the town. She was going to comment on the changing faces when her wrist was grabbed. In one motion, Emilia was suddenly being hoisted over a blue shoulder. “Put me the fuck down.”
JEAN GREY (616): Megan instantly stopped dead in her tracks. “Wait -- leave the town*? I can’t leave town.” She didn’t even know this man. “Why the hell would I need to leave town?”
CLEA STRANGE (616): “Is he dead?” A part of her heart ripped out. He couldn’t be dead. There was no way. Oscar was fine, wherever he was. They had kids and -- “I’m pregnant.” The words were blurted. He couldn’t just be gone.
MARC SPECTOR (MCU): The longer they sat there on that field, the more clarity Marc seemed to have as he started to finally process his surroundings. The two of them had done this song and dance before plenty of times, gunshots and explosions sounding off around them as Frenchie pulled Marc off of his ass. The familiar French accent was oddly comforting enough to ground him as he blinked again and gently shook his head. I am going to get you and Layla out of here. Layla. Layla. Layla. His eyes finally met hers now, his face falling as he tried not to glance at the children just across the way. They’d had the kids conversation several times over, and Marc was unrelenting on wanting any. And now S.H.I.E.L.D. had gone and given him two. Three? “Layla, I—” His voice came out softer than he would have liked as he swallowed and lifted his heavy limbs off the ground. Now that she was here, in front of him, he just needed her to know. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you so much.”
STEPHEN STRANGE (MCU): "No, just.. gone from the park. We'll find him." Stephen tried to retcon it the best he could, but there weren't really any right words to explain to her what had just happened. "Let's just get you home, okay? Get you somewhere safe?" He tried to ignore the pregnant comment, but it stung more than he would have liked.
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): Logan sighed, trying to take a beat before blurting out another response. This was Jean. And he loved her. It was uncomfortable, thinking about dragging her out against her will. But it felt worse just leaving her here. He tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, and that she would understand why he did what he did. "People are getting shot. Explosions are going off. This place isn't safe. And I'm not staying here. So if you want answers, you have to come with me." He readied himself, his gut telling him that she still wasn't convinced.
LAYLA EL-FAOULY (MCU): She cut hair for a living. Her apartment was a studio and kind of tight, but she kept plants in the windows and lit candles that made it smell like gardenias. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. Her home, her life. No, not her life. It was a life that didn’t exist. After god knows how long, Layla knew it all to be false. She was Layla Abdallah El-Faouly, daughter of Doctor Abdallah El-Faouly and wife of Marc Spector. She was the avatar of Taweret, as of late. Right then, Frenchie was talking. He was hugging them and talking ( some more ) but she wasn’t computing. She wasn’t really computing much of anything until she heard Marc say that he loved her. Brown eyes met his, her head bobbing once. “I love you, too.” She had no clue what was happening, though. She had been meeting with S.H.I.E.L.D. and then... Blank. Being forced into her suit by Taweret. With that, she climbed to her feet. They needed to go. She didn’t know much at the moment, but she knew that much.
CLEA STRANGE (616): She was exhausted. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the fatigue was setting in. It didn’t make sense for Oscar to have left, but her mind couldn’t come up with any other scenario here that wasn’t terrible. “Okay,” Gugu relented. She leaned against Stephen, shifting Delilah on her hip. “I’ll show you where I live.”
JEAN GREY (616): This man was bugging. “You can take your answers. I’ll find them elsewhere.” She wasn’t insane.
JEAN-PAUL DUCHAMP (MCU): "Great." It was, genuinely, heartwarming to watch the two of them reconnect and confess their love for each other. But he was getting impatient now. "Follow me, s'il vous plaît! I have lots of wine and pasta back at my restaurant!" He lead them out of town, not looking back at the mess they left behind.
LOGAN HOWLETT (616): "Alright." There was no hesitation— Logan picked Jean up and swung her over his shoulder. "I know you won't believe me, but I promise I'm not going to hurt you. It's all gonna be alright." And with that, he carried her right out of town.
NATASHA ROMANOFF (616): You won some, you lost some. This felt like a mix. From what she could see, Wolverine had Jean, Mystique had Destiny and ( the other ) Natasha had Yelena. All three women were still warped but leaving the barrier. Somehow, Duchamp had gotten Marc Spector and Layla El-Faouly back to their original forms. They’d have to go over that later. At the current moment, Natasha was herding everyone else out of town. They couldn’t just leave with a bunch of brainwashed residents. As loathe as she was to admit it, Tony was right. They were on the way to mass hysteria. There was now no doubt that S.H.I.E.L.D. would be coming for them. Mystique had quite literally blown the town up. How S.H.I.E.L.D. would triage was a problem they’d solve another time. Right then, they had to reorganize and reassess. Time wasn’t something they had. They didn’t have the luxury of sitting and debating things. Not when they were as bad as they were. Natasha didn’t have the answers she craved. All she knew was that things were escalating and were destined to come to a head soon.
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi!!
I'm so excited for this event - I love seeing your writing, and this theme is so cute!!
For my request, may I suggest the combination of Jade with prompt 8 ("by the babbling brook"), and the emojis 🖌,🤝 and/or 🍵?
Best of luck (and have fun!) with your writing!!
*.ﾟ+ヽ(○^▽^○)ﾉﾞ +.ﾟ*
By the Babbling Brook; Jade Leech
Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, I allude to romance but you get to choose your ending ;)
Word Count; 700+
AN; The first of three Jade requests. I have no idea where all the Jade kissers came from, but I'm THRILLED to see it. Hope you enjoy your request! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist
It was a pleasant day, both in the weather — being not too hot, with a gentle breeze and fluffy white clouds dotting the sky — and in today’s activities. It was picturesque. For you see, you spent the majority of your day painting plein air by a quaint brook. You don’t really know what compelled you to grab the easel, brushes, and most likely expired paint that was just collecting dust in some random closet in Ramshackle, but you didn’t regret it. It was nice, just sitting under the shade of an aging birch tree and painting the scene in front of you. Just you, the sounds of nature, the gentle warmth of the sun, and your paints and easel.
Well, it was just you for the majority of the day. Seems like someone else had a similar idea.
“Prefect,” a familiar voice called behind you, “this is quite a pleasant surprise. I was not expecting to see you here.”
Looking behind you, you saw none other than Jade Leech carrying a wicker basket partially filled with mushrooms and a thermos bag slung across his chest. “Jade? I could say the same about you.” You would have thought that he would spend his summer in the sea with his family, but the mer-eel was very much still on land. At least for today, judging from his rather decent fungi haul.
Jade let out a soft chuckle and chose to ignore the rather large chaga growth on the birch tree in favour of enjoying your company. He could always get it later, your company was far greater worth to him than the fungus anyhow. “I enjoy stretching my legs every so often, plus it serves as an opportunity to explore new places and-”
“Was Floyd getting on your nerves,” you ask, closing the cap on the paint you were using.
A small smile graced his face, and his eyes glimmered. “Hmm, perhaps. Why are you here, Prefect? May I see what you’re painting?”
He leaned over your shoulder and inspected your work. He was so close that you could smell sea salt, the earthy smell of mushrooms, and the scent of matcha. He hummed to himself and stepped out of your personal bubble, giving you a nod. “A rather lovely piece.”
You blinked, “Thank you.” And then you remembered his question. “Wanted to get out, get some fresh air. It is a lovely day, after all, would be a shame to spend it cooped up inside… Would you like to walk for a bit?”
Jade raised a brow, “Fair enough. And where to?” He looked at you with curious eyes, waiting for your answer.
“Wherever we please,” you answer. Painting could wait for later. “We can see where the brook brings us.”
So the two of you walked together beside the brook, an easy quiet with each other. But it was comfortable, and you knew that he would share eventually, so you felt no need to push or fill the air with awkward attempts at small talk. Until you reached a steep hill in which the brook ran under, eroding the soil to form an underground system.
Jade offered you his hand, “Looks like it ends just on the other side.” He looked back at you expectantly, his hand still outreached.
You grabbed it, and Jade helped the both of you get up the steep embankment. Upon reaching the top you saw a small pond, full of water lilies and looking like it was plucked out of a Claude Monet painting. The very setting of a fairy tale.
“Wow,” you breathed out and looked back to Jade.
But Jade wasn’t looking at the quaint pond, he was giving you a soft look instead. “I take it you’re happy with how this trip unfolded.”
You were still holding hands, but neither of you made any move to separate them. Screw it, you don’t get this chance every day. Take your shot! And you brought Jade’s hand to your lips, placing a kiss to his knuckles. You had wanted to do that small, yet world-shifting, action for what felt like forever, and so, you took it. “Beyond happy.”
His eyes widened before he let out a soft breath of air, bringing your hand up and placing a kiss on your wrist. “That’s wonderful… you’re wonderful.”
“You’re wonderful too, Jade.”
#dove does events#100 follower event#twst#twst x reader#twst x gn reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland x gn reader#jade leech#jade leech x reader#jade leech x gn reader#even if you aren't the best painter; jade still thinks your work is beautiful#also decided to give him one of those thermos slings cuz yeah; his thermos is filled with matcha hence why he smells of it#KISS HIS HAND HE WOULD BE SO OFF GUARD AND SURPRISED#i am completely normal about octavinelle <- LIES#love seeing the jade kissers show up#I WILL FEED YOU#krenenbaker!#also EVERYONE IS SUPER NICE WHEN REQUESTING MY HEART-#also glad that everyone thinks the theme for this event is cute#wanted to do something 1) summer themed 2) nostaglic and 3) i want summer to end cuz it's hot as hell#enjoy the tag easter eggs
166 notes
·
View notes
Text
good night ☾ 2
summary: having the Vash plushie as a companion is a big help but sometimes you can't help but think about the past. Vash plushie to the rescue!
the plushie series: 1 , 2 , 3
warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, fluff? vash plushie is such a sweetheart :'),
A/N: i can't help but bring my angst urges into things okay im sORRY LMAOOKDNSLKNF but fr i 100% believe the plushie is gonna try to cheer you up when you're sad like ugh u lil cute thing plz. Hope yall enjoy this lil thing! am waiting for june to come
To be honest, the cute little guy really helped you a lot mentally, stopping those depressing filled nights and nightmares that you’ve had after that event from engulfing your conscious.
Has it been 2 years already? Time flies doesn't it? You never really noticed how aware the plushie was until he asked you if you were alright one night.
Sometimes he’d cuddle against your cheek to, in his words, "help" you sleep, and other times he’d sleep under your blanket, but the poor thing had nightmares of its own too.
Often times you’d catch him whimper and curl into a small ball in his sleep, to which you couldnt help but put your hand out and softly rub the top of his head with your finger to soothe the poor plushie.
But the lil’ thing was a trooper! He’s up the next morning urging you to get some donuts for breakfast and man.
You've never seen the plushie so happy that he almost popped a stitch! He ran around in circles, jumping up and down around your feet so much when you came back to your camp with a box of them that you kinda got scared you were gonna step on him.
"The pink one!" He screeched out, elated as you picked out a pink sprinkled donut and handed it to him. The damn donut was the same size as himself!
"Hey! Be careful!" You shouted out, watching as the small figure tumbled down a small sand hill with the donut, causing you to sweatdrop.
Why'd he kinda look like a tumbleweed....
You heard him squeak out from below, before seeing him cutely hop up to your temporary camp, a big bite already visible on the donut as the nibs of his arms held it up above his head "I-Im okay!"
“Good! I don’t think I have any sewing supplies to fix you bud.” You grinned as he waddled over to where you sat at the fire.
"What'cha making?" He curiously asked as he peeked around your ankle. Poking at the cooking fire, you looked down at him, the blue beady eyes of his staring into the fire "Well, I'm cooking some chicken I had left-over from the other day." You smiled down at him as he jumped up and down "FOOD!"
You couldn't help but giggle at the excitement the plushie gave out, how did he even digest things? You haven't really seen him eat anything during his time traveling with you but maybe that was a question for another time.
"Ya know," You couldn't help but say "I think my friend would've liked you.." You softly smiled, turning to the fire as you turned the roasting chicken.
"Friend?" He tilted his head "What friend?" You stared on into the fire, the wind blowing the heat mildly into your face "You haven't met him, but it was a friend I deeply loved."
"You loved him?"
"..." You couldn't help but put your knee up to rest your head on "Yeah, I did. But they passed a few years ago." You heard the plushie take another bite of his donut before coming up and plopping down to sit beside you "Never got to tell him I did though.." You quietly chuckled as the plushie looked up at you, a dead stare had been painted on your face as if it were a past that hurt to touch.
The Vash plushie stayed quiet before taking another bite of his donut "Well, I think you're a very pleasant person to be with! I mean, you've taken care of me pretty well!" He squeaked out "You treat others with the respect they give back! You're a kind person!" His feet started moving up and down.
"I think he would've loved you too."
AWWWWWWWALSFfknsk
You couldn't help but let out tears at the comforting words the plushie provided you as he patted your leg, telling you it was okay and that you weren't a bad person for having continued with your life without him. To which he proceeded to trying to do cartwheels to cheer you up you didn't want to admit it kind worked. But at some point you asked him to stop because the poor thing had been on its 5th failed attempt, every time belly-flopping onto the ground.
"Okay okay, I'm okay now Vash!" Trying to get the lil' guy to stop, you took a whiff of the air before freezing "I-Is the chicken burning?"
"Yup!"
GODDAMN IT-
You owed this plushie another donut.
And the night passed, you having slept better than most other nights. But the two of you had to hit the road again, getting packed up and ready to go by the morning.
Back in his usual place in the pocket of your shirt, he put up an arm nib and pointed it forwards "LET'S GOOO!" Snorting at his burst of energy, you began your stride in the sand once again with the map in hand.
"We're not far from getting to the city, I'm estimating one more day before we arrive." You said, fixing the hat on your head from the glaring sun before squinting ahead at something that caught your eye "You see that too right?"
The plushie's eyebrows furrowed as he copied you, squinting and physically pushing himself forwards to see if he could see closer "A man?"
The sight of a man in black stuck out like a sore thumb in the tanned desert just a few feet away from the two of you. A grey motorcycle propped up next to him as the man tuned and did something to the metal's gears.
He looked a bit familiar, too familiar.
"I think I know hi-" You wondered out before the plushies' loud and high pitched scream interrupted you.
"HELLOOOOOO!!!!"
The man turned and there you were met with a pair of sunglasses and the mischievous grin of someone whos' gospels often had you wanting to beat him half to death.
"Well well! Fancy meeting you here!"
oh god....
#vash x reader#vash the stampede imagine#vash the stampede#trigun imagines#trigun headcanons#trigun#trigun maximum#trigun drabble#vash plushie#fluff#trigun fluff
260 notes
·
View notes
Text
How each Moon Signs chill during rainy season 💫
Aries Moon Sign: Aries moon sign individuals are full of energy and enthusiasm. During the rainy season, they would love to go out and enjoy the rain. They would take a long drive in the rain or go for a walk in the park with their friends.
Taurus Moon Sign: Taurus moon sign individuals love to stay indoors and enjoy their own company. During the rainy season, they would love to curl up with a good book, sip on a hot cup of tea or coffee, and enjoy the pleasant weather.
Gemini Moon Sign: Gemini moon sign individuals are social butterflies and love to be around people. During the rainy season, they would love to host a get-together with their friends or family at their home and enjoy the rain together.
Cancer Moon Sign: Cancer moon sign individuals are emotional and sensitive. During the rainy season, they would love to spend time with their family and close friends. They would cook delicious food together, watch movies, or just simply sit and chat with each other.
Leo Moon Sign: Leo moon sign individuals love to be in the spotlight. During the rainy season, they would love to organize a party or an event and invite all their friends and family to enjoy the rain with them.
Virgo Moon Sign: Virgo moon sign individuals are perfectionists and love to stay organized. During the rainy season, they would love to declutter their home and organize their belongings. They would also love to indulge in some self-care activities like a relaxing spa session or a yoga class.
Libra Moon Sign: Libra moon sign individuals love to maintain harmony and balance in their lives. During the rainy season, they would love to spend time with their loved ones and maintain peaceful relationships.
Scorpio Moon Sign: Scorpio moon sign individuals are passionate and intense. During the rainy season, they would love to indulge in some creative or artistic pursuits like writing, painting, or playing music.
Sagittarius Moon Sign: Sagittarius moon sign individuals love to travel and explore new places. During the rainy season, they would love to go on a short trip to a hill station or a place with scenic beauty to enjoy the rain.
Capricorn Moon Sign: Capricorn moon sign individuals are practical and hardworking. During the rainy season, they would love to complete their pending tasks and focus on their work. They would also love to take up a new skill or hobby.
Aquarius Moon Sign: Aquarius moon sign individuals are innovative and unconventional. During the rainy season, they would love to explore new ideas and experiment with their creativity. They would also love to spend time with like-minded people and discuss their ideas.
Pisces Moon Sign: Pisces moon sign individuals are dreamy and imaginative. During the rainy season, they would love to indulge in some creative pursuits like writing, photography, or dancing. They would also love to spend time by the water, like at the beach or a lake, to enjoy the rain and the beauty of nature.
Please Reblog if you enjoy reading ✅
For Paid Readings,
Please Refer to my Pinned Post For Reviews ⬇️
Certified ✅
#astroworld#astro observations#astro community#astroblr#astrology#tarot reading#astroloji#vedic astrology#advertising#astro notes
187 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I request Mammon reacting to Reader who is always scolding him for being rude in general especially he said only he can save him or she should die but she would defend him whenever he's wronged or persuade Lucifer to change his punishment for something more suitable for his actions? He tried to befriend her multiple times while still being rude & dishonest that she snapped at him that he either be honest with her or leave her alone? With a happy ending please!
His Usual Tactics {Mammon}
A/n: thank you for requesting, I hope you like it.
I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL DEFENDING MAMMON AND NEVER AND I MEAN NEVER DEFENDING THE REST OF THE BROTHERS WHEN IT COMES TO DEALING WITH HIS BEHAVIOUR AND TRAUMA.
Pairing: Mammon x fem!reader
Trigger Warning:
A small warning about the demon who was supposed to protect you would have been nice; though judging from the rest of the brothers' reactions, you should have expected how everything would eventually play out.
Things in the beginning were awkward, for you at least. Mammon would often ignore you, sometimes taunt you because of your human lineage and the list went on. At first you thought it was just you, but you soon found out that he was like that with pretty much everyone.
But not once during the time you were staying in the Devildom had he left you behind. You had to give it to him, he never forgot about you. He was always on time -if being exact thirteen minutes late could be considered on time- and overall, despite his bad behaviour, he was attentive and present when the others weren't that much.
This was the sole reason why whenever Lucifer called him to his office to punish him, you would usually try to deal with the demon of pride for a better punishment; a more lenient one. More often than not, he had gotten away from being strapped to the ceiling in exchange of cleaning up everyone's bathrooms. Was this more pleasant? You couldn't really tell but you definitely slept better at nights knowing that the brothers weren't picking on him while he was upside down.
Unlike him, whenever something bothered you, you spoke up and this had led to many late nights staying up with him, dissing the entire Devildom. Those somewhat rare moments were the best moments in the Devildom for you.
Because, you see, Mammon was never calm. It seemed as if it was in his nature to be snappy and rude and mean and he always snapped at you, never apologising unless told so by Lucifer.
From his point of view, however, Mammon was trying. He was doing his best to prove himself to Lucifer that he could carry out any task no matter the difficulty level. In this situation the task was protecting you.
And at the end of the day, having tolerated his brothers and their behaviour for so many years (after their fall to the Devildom), all he knew was being mean and rude. Plus, sometimes the stress of gambling and being caught by Lucifer was too much.
Every night though, Mammon made it a goal to go over the day in his head. Not everything, just the important parts which always included you and where did he go wrong during gambling.
Tonight was no different and after he kicked off his shoes, he allowed himself to fall back on his white couch since the three steps walk from the couch to the bed was a bit too much for him. Today's events were no different: him taking the ice cream from your hands because he couldn't quite tell you that he had read on one of Satan's books that too much ice cream was no good for humans, him telling you that the brown shirt you were trying on in the shop was the worst shirt he had ever seen since he couldn't really say that he preferred the light blue one you had tried earlier on...
It didn't take long for him to get angry. He couldn't understand why on Hell you couldn't realise that he cared for you and apart from his tiny tiny crush on you, he wanted to repay you for all the light punishments he had received this week. You were being so stubborn and had dared to even tell him to never talk to you again unless he was going to fix his behaviour.
Talking like that to the Great Mammon was almost a criminal offence in his mind.
And if you couldn't understand what he was saying, he would force you to understand.
Having changed in his grey sweatpants and white tank top, he rose from the couch and headed all the way to the library. Five minutes later, he was knocking on your door so impatiently he actually made it obvious that he was the one knocking.
"What?" You answered the door and it was painfully clear that he was the last demon you wanted to see today.
Without saying a word, he forced the book in your hands and took out his phone. "Go to page 4587 and read the last paragraph." He rolled his eyes.
Letting out a sigh, you leaned against the doorframe and searched for the page he told you. "Large amounts of sugar can result to rotten teeth..." You read out loud and then raised your eyes to look at him.
"This is you with the brown shirt and this is you with the blue shirt." He swiped between the two pictures Asmo had taken of you and had sent to the group chat. "You may not believe me human since Asmo is the one fixed on beauty and shit but I am the model in this family and brown? It wears you out."
You just blinked, unable to find an answer for him. Slowly, you stepped to the side and with a nod you urged him inside your room.
"What are ya going to scold me again?"
"You could have been a little nicer." You set the book on your desk and walked to the closet, taking out the light blue shirt. "The brown one was indeed hideous," you let out a chuckle and put the shirt back.
Mammon stood there a little confused. To begin with, he hadn't expected you to answer the door without him having to break in. And you weren't yelling at him, something that the past few days had become quite regular.
"My brothers will make fun of me." He finally said and took a seat on your bed. "It's not like I don't care about you human. That 300 Grimm you found yesterday? I placed them there but my point is... I am tired of being made fun of for... being me."
Before leaving that room, Mammon had made a deal with himself: he was the Great Mammon and if he were going to say something to you, he would do so while looking at you in the eyes. And he was actually doing just that.
"I can... tolerate that," you chuckled and sat next to him. "Only when we are in front of the others and without any harsh words."
"Nah... I'll just... tell them. I am their older brother and I deserve respect. I've done more than enough to earn it." Deciding that this was enough for the day and that he could always confess his actual love tomorrow, Mammon stood up and looked at you. "How about we steal Goldie again?"
"I'll cover for you."
Mammon wasn't mean and rude and you knew this. All those late nights you had spent with him had made you realise that he was far from that. He was sensitive, funny, energetic, fun to listen to and so much more than a gambling addict and all the other insults his brothers used on him.
You had forgiven him silently, in your head time and time again and you would continue to do so because there were times when he would slip up and apologise without realising it. Besides, he was making progress slowly but steadily and you loved being a witness to that.
#mammon x reader#mammon obey me x reader#mammon obey me#mammon x reader angst#mammon angst#obey me mammon#om! mammon#writing#anime and manga#anime#manga#obey me x reader#obey me shall we date#obey me shall we date x reader#obey me
38 notes
·
View notes
Note
where do you stand with living in the moment, feeling grateful, and how do you personally approach it?
It's interesting, I actually struggle a lot with staying in the moment even though I also tend to notice small things so easily--I could be having the worst day of my life but I will always notice the veins on a leaf, for example, or how light falls into the train carriage, or a patchy section of grass erupting between the footpath and the street.
More than anything I think that, even if I struggle with staying centered, the thing for me is making sure I find these individual pockets to slip into and you really can find them everywhere: watching steam rise from a cup of warm milk, a slant of afternoon sunlight in mid-winter, tree roots buckling the tarmac along a footpath, overgrown patches of ivy, a flower stall in the middle of the high street etc. They don't even need to be traditionally "romantic" or pleasant or picturesque things, either: there's something in a moment of sympathy for a pigeon hobbling across the tram tracks with an injured foot, or the patterns made by paint peeling off a dilapidated door, or even the geometric cross-sections of electricity wires against the sky (whether blue, or pink, or grey).
It's not necessarily that I actively root myself deeply in these moments (as I said, actively quieting my mind is hard for me to do), but more that, because I always notice them, and because I always take note of myself noticing them, because I feel something for them, even just fleetingly, they create a kind of interruption to whatever was going on before. The interruption might last a second and no more, but I've noted it for that second. It doesn't automatically make a bad day go away, but it's a nice reminder that a bad day doesn't have to be all consuming. There's always going to be something new to see, even if you have seen it before because each time you see it is it's own unique event. I'll be going through it and see a pigeon huddled by a window as the bus passes and when it's out of sight I'll still be going through it, but I'll be going through it having just seen a pigeon and there is a kind of momentary lull in that for me. The easiest way I can describe it is like a dark and empty room where all you've done is lift a single blind. The room is still empty, but also it's not--does that make sense?
In any case when I am trying to stay present my favourite thing is to try and find some kind of immersive activity--this could be a small craft like origami or braiding bracelets, but my favourite is to just go on walks along the beach or through a park and pay as much attention to things as I can: the smell of vegetation when I pass the wild compost heap, or if the grass has been cut, or the gulls picking their way along the sand, or the faraway voices of people and dogs. Sometimes, if I really, really need to calm my mind I'll narrate everything I do: now I am walking up this hill, now I am crossing the grass, now I can feel the mud because it's rained, now the hill is steeper and my legs are pushing harder and I feel it in my thighs etc.
Gratitude, I think, is maybe partly tied in with the whole noticing every little thing--it's not a conscious decision, but I think it does open space for it in a way even if I'm not thinking "I'm so grateful I saw that toddler dressed as Sonic the Hedgehog". It's like the open blind in the dark and empty room again: there's space for something, even if the room itself doesn't change.
But like the rest, there are a lot of things I struggle with where I do need to train myself to be actively conscious of gratitude: I have a series of cue cards tacked over my bed and one of them is, literally, "choose gratitude, bitch ❤️" (heart included). The rest involves me not letting my inner voice doom-monger my life as much which is difficult, but I try. By far the most important to me, though, is trying not to counter the compliments people close to me give by going "actually, I'm really not" or something along those lines. It's not about whether or not I can see these things in myself (some days I can, a lot of days I can't) but about acknowleding that I can't dictate what others see or feel: rejecting their kind words is, in essence, the same as rejecting them, and I don't want to do that.
None of this is to say they have all been failsafes for me or that I don't struggle with things because I do--but they're the scaffolds I have and use the most and that make the world what it is for me. Granted, I think I've always been like this, even as a childhood (I was the very opposite of an apathetic teenager)--so maybe I'm always tuned up this way already and that makes it a little easier; but, again, it doesn't make you immune to the world or to your own troubles so while it isn't necessarily a conscious thing, the older I get the more aware of it I become, and the more intentional I try to make my approach to things, if that makes sense 🤍
80 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
chaoticdarkprincess
•just a hippie bad bitch•
hyltaylor
mari
trevelmobilmalang
Travel Mobil Malang
re-seto
Re-Seto
financialplanning51
Untitled