forgaeven

[forgaeven]

so where's my "i love you" "it'll pass" dynamic

[forgaeven]

i lessened my drafts by twelve !!!! as a celebration, mayhaps interact for one-liner ? please do specify muse(s), mi amor ♡

[forgaeven]

THE BEAR 4.02 – Soubise

[forgaeven]

“I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?”

[forgaeven]

my brain wanting to send my mutuals angsty things via an inbox call when i've just posted a starter call

[forgaeven]

i lessened my drafts by twelve !!!! as a celebration, mayhaps interact for one-liner ? please do specify muse(s), mi amor ♡

[forgaeven]

she knows he's only reacting like this out of— hurt. pain. anger.

the kind they probably should've sat around and spoken with a paid therapist for, but besides from a trusted psychologist she calls every other month just to prove to herself that she could, maria doesn't think that that was something they were both going to do—at least, not without struggle. not without, probably, a literal teeth pulled out. and she can't blame him on that too, not when they're too similar like this. pieces of a once whole vase.

but at least her redirection works.

and, listen, it isn't— it isn't because she doesn't trust him, really. in fact, he's probably the only few she has left that she could fully trust, even if she would never admit, not aloud, for his own safety, but it's— what she has going on, it's completely a fool's errand. and whatever mission she'll get herself roped in under fury's order to go dark would be on her. it's quite literally not his burden nor responsibility to bear.

and if he's hurt because of her stupid shit, she—

so this... works. this works better, actually. like she said, he's the few she still trusts fully. and so, she snorts, ❛⠀— at kissing asses, sure. ❜ god, CIA and INTERPOL. leave it to them to act so fucking smug when they barely half an idea what's going on with the world half the time. in any case: ❛⠀valentina allegra de fontaine — the current director of the CIA. think she's fury with heels, and possibly more hair. she's been ... recruiting, lately. i don't know for what, yet, though i have some suspicion. ❜

" YEAH , WELL - I'VE ALSO SEEN HOW NAT WORKED . and Stark . " he deliberately leaves Steve and Banner out of this . lost , sure , but let's not lump the ones that are gone for good with the ones that have simply chosen to abandon him leave . he occasionally catches himself listening to the quiet voice in the back of his head , trying to reason in favour of the folks that had just up and left and pretty quickly shuts it up .

he's allowed to be a little selfish these days . after years and years and years of giving his everything in favor of others . . . Clint believes he's earned that right .

just as he's earned the right to ( finally ) tell Maria off . kinda . still , in a remarkably respectful way . goddamnit . one day . he'll manifest that shit . and until then , she's simply not allowed to disappear on him . problem solved .

" the CIA ? 'bout as much as most people do . " his brows furrow . " foreign intelligence agency . covert work for the president and the national security council . allegedly only employs the best of the best but that's questionable . " not like he can help it . intelligence agencies need their little feuds and while he may not carry an ID anymore , he's still a SHIELD agent at heart .

" why you askin' ? "

[forgaeven]

spilled family blood ... ?

on the contrary to what most like to believe, hob could figure some things out, y'see. maybe it'd be some time yet until he knows the full extent of who his friend truly is, but he isn't a bloody idiot. he knows enough that his friend's much older than he is; that he is more than mere gods or devil. he's ... mysterious, and a little awkward, hob thinks, and could get quite stuck in his head even if hob believes he'd denied so, or perhaps that's simply another way to describe as focused—but cherished, nevertheless. endeared, forevermore. and now, it seems, troubled. quieter, too — which is quite a feat. his longest friend is never the one to talk so endlessly, unlike him, in contrast.

❛⠀are you hurt ? ❜ is the first question that spills out of him, because family blood—aye, that could mean what hob thinks it means, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have been a battle in and of itself. perhaps his dearest friend was forced into something unspeakable, but even if he weren't, hob doubts he'd cared that much. six hundred years, and he never claimed he lived it as a man without violence. hob's voice next is strained, hurried, and darkened with worry : ❛⠀who's after you ? tell me, please. ❜

it is a barely there touch, fleeting glance of shoulder against shoulder, arms brushing through layers of thin-woven cotton. but still it is enough to catch him off guard, muscle and bone and dust freezing in place. a statue carved from cold marble. ❪ could blame the hesitancy towards touch on a hundred years imprisonment, body grown accustomed to only the unyielding bind of iron and glass ❫. except even before — before the scar of endless solitude — he had often avoided the embrace of others. even those closest to him held at a distance, a wall to keep them at bay : silence and steel and the void between stars.

the other, however, had always wholly defied expectation, the exception to all presumed rules. living and living and living without any want to hear the gentle sound of wings, nor the hush after. death denied always with a carefree smile. and so he too does not withdraw, does not retreat into the emptiness within. instead, he allows gaze to linger, expression carefully measured but for the slightest frown. “ no. you cannot help me, hob gadling. ” neither dismissive nor ungrateful, but a mere statement of fact, a truth carved in stone. the pause that follows tainted with a heavy grief, an echo of finality, before he admits, “ i have spilled family blood. such action shall not go unpunished. ”

[forgaeven]

character list update : i will be temporarily moving my grrm muses to a private page. primarily, because my muse for them at the moment are currently very low, but also because, going forward, i believe i'd like to keep my writing circle within that fandom quite small. i will maintain any on-going threads that i presently have, but any new ones may need a personal approach for plotting !! with that said, if any of my mutuals within the fandom feel a need to soft / hard block me given my [expected] major dip of activity within said fandom so it would ease your dashboard further, then feel free to ♡

[forgaeven]

the ahjussi is—

it isn't that he's weird, zoey thinks. he's— rather well-put together. looks like the sort of man who knows exactly what he wants, like maybe he belonged in some office job, but at the high levels, than going about managing... well, managing idols. then again, maybe he's one of the producers, you know, and producers can come in various shape and sizes. most notably, of course, they're usually loaded. one of the reason they're a producer at all. or, well, at least that's how the stereotypes go. back in america, zoey knows one or two acquaintances who—

right, okay. she's getting side-tracked.

again, it isn't like ... this ahjussi is weird. in fact, zoey might think he's even—nice, to have spent some of his time with her. and when he speaks, it's... it feels like it's helpful ? the ahjussi spoke about his friends who were selfish, and who were only concerned about their own problems. that he had problem with it, but he had stepped aside — like me? a small part of her asks — because... his friends wouldn't listen to him ? oh, that... that must sucks. zoey's brows are furrowed. she mulls over his words.

❛⠀um, then— then what did you do ? ❜ she asks quickly, somehow enraptured to know how the story might've gone for him. how the tale ends. because— ❛⠀did they make up ? are you guys ... still friends ? ❜

His eyes were trained on the girl with her distant look on her face. He was curious as to where her mind had wandered, to which tragedy did she see right in front of her? Her repetition of his response seemed to be spoken with an edge of driving it in deeper, while she was in thought. Yu-jun remained silent, allowing her to process. His fingers slowly ran over the armrest, lightly tapping on the corner.

Humans relied so much on gentle reassurance and kind gestures, though the idea of it made the skin of his vessel crawl with repulsion. It would be kinder of him to reach out a hand, tell Ms. Yang that all would be well. However, that was not who he was. He was the man who kept himself distant so her loneliness, her fear of doubt grew higher like a wild fire.

What caught him off guard was the question of his friends. His eyes flashed briefly at the term. A sour taste filled his mouth, begging to spit out in disgust. Friends? A click of his tongue that he passed off as a moment of thought on how to properly respond.

"Me? The friends I knew were selfish and only concerned about their own side in problems that needed to be resolved. It was with great difficulty for me, but I stepped aside as they would not take my advice to make things right." His eyes cast down to feign sadness in his dilemma.

[forgaeven]

steve's name grates on her; if it'd been physical, it'd long peeled her skin open. she doesn't think about. throws her head back and take the long drag of the cheap whiskey instead.

❛⠀well, maybe it's better that they're in the spotlight — ❜ that anomaly sentry for one. she has no records of him, which, fuck. she hates having to whip her head up anywhere de fontaine might sniff her ass. it's better that she thought that she was dead, that all of who was important to SHIELD once was. maria fucking hates nosey intels. funny, she knows, considering who she'd been. maybe she ought to consider a career in stand-up.

❛⠀not that tracking barnes had been difficult, ❜ she murmurs, before her eyes rest on the redhead again. something in maria softens, though she doesn't speak it aloud. ❛⠀do they know, by the way ? not ... well, i have little to zero idea what went out between you and sergeant barnes—shocking, i know; don't tell clint—but belova. does she know you're— ❜ not dead. ❛⠀back ? ❜

maria's news get greeted by a snort. of course there would be another band of superheros in the wake of thanos. she's not surprised, not after earth has become so aware of the size of their universe. natalia grabs for the glass the moment her friend finishes pouring it, and takes a long drink. it's bad, but she still appreciates the burn of it.

glass lowers, and she catches her eyes. barnes. yelena. she already knows this, so the look of curious surprise is intentional. she sets the glass on the table, and offers the sky a shrug. "the avengers were good for me, was good for steve too. i don't doubt it'll be good for barnes and belova."

[forgaeven]

ooookay. there is probably something-something about making deals with demons, she thinks. like, you trade your soul for the deal sort of thing, right ?

except— none of those circumstances probably have a demon owing you for the... probably thousands worth of south korean won by this point because, well, apparently—who knew—demons probably couldn't own a bank account ! which... kind of make sense when you think about it. they don't really have any identifiable ID, and even if somehow they do... well, that'd be weird, wouldn't it ? like how would they even get one ? oh ! or maybe it wouldn't be hard at all because maybe demons probably had better access to criminal pools ?

or is she confusing that with santa's list of naughty children ? like, would a demon even know how to detect when someone's being extra criminal-ly and malicious ? they probably could, right ? because how else would they have approached vulnerable, vengeful, or ambitious people to make a deal with ? or maybe they... stalk people, which does make sense too ? ugh, so many questions. does she even make sense ? c'mon zoey, concentrate ! these could all be answered, right ? you just need to—say it first. speak it aloud. he's right there.

and then—

through her guilt and any restraint she has left, zoey blurts out, ❛⠀i want to know how it works, ❜ she tells him, the words — once again — coming out rushed; like it's strung together, held only by one hasty breath. there! she thinks. i said it! and oh my god, did the world truly not end ? but of course it doesn't, and of course mira or rumi hasn't suddenly jumped out from behind any bushes to accuse her for— for— for fraternising, probably, even though zoey'd like to think that that's the last thing she's doing.

she's— gathering information ! yeah. because how else... how else could they understand better on who exactly they're dealing with—right ?

❛⠀i mean—being demons or demon-hood, or whatever it is that you guys called yourself. ❜ she elaborates, eyes quickly hovering over his expression, identifying anything close to rejection that might pass over his face. ❛⠀i want to know if you—i mean... if you really need... souls to survive ? ❜ because if he doesn't, then maybe...

maybe there really could be nice demons? zoey refuses to finish the thought.

zoey proves his point almost immediately : fun. and curious. intriguing, in the whole, i'm not gonna kill you until you slip up and give me a reason to way. and quite funny again, that she doesn't have a better excuse for choosing to pay for his meals when he coaxes her into it, other than it's... well, not a kind act.

baby raises a brow at her, his stare deadpan to match. it sounds more like her trying to convince herself that's what this is. [ maybe because if she doesn't, she's going against what hunters have been doing for centuries / in the way baby ignores the mantra he's been told over and over for the past three decades or so. but what makes her choose to go against her teachings now? ]

he huffs at the second point, though less of frustration or affront and more akin to amusement. then, his gaze shifts at the mention of a trade.

fingers shift the chopsticks in left hand with a hum, feeling the wooden texture against skin, idling above his jeyuk bokkeum with his other hand tapping the side of the bowl. so she wants to make it transactional? not that he's surprised, really ... [ if anything, he's more surprised it took her this long to say it. ] ... but it toes a fine line, doesn't it? he's only been a demon a short time, but he knows enough to know that once he crosses the line, he can't just step back over into safety. he'll be worse than condemned. then it's goodbye to ramyeon, and buldak, and this really good jeyuk bokkeum he's conned zoey into getting him tonight.

but 𑁋 ❛ you've met other demons. they're not the pinnacle of niceties. ❜ though baby hardly considers himself having much in common with others. nonetheless, the demon sits back in his seat and kicks his legs out under the table, bringing his bowl of food with him / he gestures with the chopsticks in hand, going for his next mouthful. ❛ what are you hoping to get from me? ❜

[forgaeven]

determined to lessen my drafts by ten more tonight, post some owed starters, and then i wanna do a one-liner starter call !! 🫶

[forgaeven]

right.

he's— not really sure where he is, though hob's found himself navigating the space both like he knows it and like it truly is his first time traversing the plane. the walls are the sort of brick he remembers being from the 1600's, though the griminess in certain parts clearly had been something straight from the victorian ages — an awfully progressive time, yet so, so horrid all the same. because, what'chu mean there was mercury in the walls ? lord allmighty.

regardless, what he means to observe is—that the floor is somehow new, polished. like the sort of tiles that's just been installed a few years back in the new wing of the university, while some of the older buildings are still in a fight about it with management because, well, because it's old and the english have got that thing about preservation and whatnot. brilliant movement, to be honest — gave good lessons about how important it was to honour your history — yet one couldn't fully look away from the appeal of being able to mop good floors as opposed to rotting wood.

okay, well. he's clearly distracting himself because his point is—it's an odd place. odder that somehow it's a mix of what he thinks is a secondary school set-up. ought this to be a secondary school set-up ? hob can't remember last stepping into any high or secondary school. teenagers never really were the fondest members of society, not in any age nor time, not to hob at least. they're at that confusing age were they're both arrogant and confusing, he thinks; not very good at receiving feedbacks, nor very good at giving them. at this, hob shivers.

he turns to her, blinks.

❛⠀hard to be fired when i'm not employed here, ❜ or at least, he thinks he doesn't employ here. when he looks back again at the so-called Principal Office, it's turned itself into the familiar shape of what he'd known to be the board's office. aw, shite. ❛⠀alright, now i might be fired. i knew takin' the kids to the site without the management's approval was goin' to bite me in the arse one day. ❜

and then, to her, ❛⠀why r'you here, then ? ❜

@forgaeven gets a starter

It’s not unusual that adults dream of teenage anxieties and yet.  Anni found it both concerning and comforting. That anxiety was some ever present force that kept rearing its head in people, and comforting, in that it was a constant. There were not many things that had been constant over the last hundred or so years since she had been created but 

It’s rare to find a dreamer this old, this one's older than the rest of them, she can feel it…though what it is she feels is still strange to her. For a nightmare, she is young, and she’d never really experienced many of the things the mortals dreamed of. 

The hallway is long, cold, old…she’s pretty sure the building is older than she is, which is a strange thought for an immortal creation to have but then again, she was a new immortal creation. 

A slow blink, the dream looks up at the man, irises so dark brown they’re black, skin a little too pale, she couldn’t have been any older than sixteen but the clothes looked like something out of middle school. A dark blue sweater covered in white cat paw prints and pink sweat pants, she swings her legs under her as she sits on the bench watching him. 

“You’re in trouble…” she knows that. Her voice has a twinge of worry and yet a hint of melody to it. “You have to be or he wouldn’t have called you here.” Her head turns, to look up at the sign above the door beside them; The Principal's Office. 

“Are you getting fired?”

[forgaeven]

a scoff leaves his throat.

❛⠀why ? so all of your court could mock it to my very face how i am the son you've abandoned, bestowing so unceremoniously the title i know they have long assigned me with. what was it again – right. the flightless dragon. ❜ and not because his dragon has died or perished under his care; or that he'd been rejected by those ancient creatures which have came his way, or he it — if only even such privilege was allowed.

no. the very bond said to be oh-so-cherished and unique only to those of high valyrian-descent was not one ever extended to rheowyck. there had been a promise of one, a long time ago, he believes — but nothing came to fruition. so busy father had been with his life in king's landing, defending his blood against any who might rail against it, that... well. if he says more, he risks only of repeating himself. and isn't that dull ?

❛⠀it's a good thing then that i shall shed your family name once i am made lord of runestone, is it not, father ? ❜ rheowyck asks, though what he hoped had been another mock only reduces itself into a restrained sort of whisper. he wonders, so sharply, so pathetically, if he is ever loved by daemon targaryen. ❛⠀— i shall go with you. ❜ he decides, despite his best judgement.

❛⠀let my king uncle bless me. then, let it be the last time i dine with you as your son, father. ❜

daemon paused. did his son want him there for his ascension? he had assumed rheowyck wanted as little to do with him as rhea had, and as he had wanted to do with rhea. it threw the last two decades into a new relief, and he didn't like it.

he's never dealt well with the way that guilt gnawed at his innards.

nor does he do well with barbs that he can not just laugh off with a sharp swipe of his own. and he can not retort at the forced realization that he has done to his son what he has always railed against from his family.

"i belong in king's landing the way that you belong in the vale." but now, he's beginning to wonder, where did rheowyck belong? with the targaryens he favored in looks if not heart? or the lands he had inherited from his mother and grown in? there is a way for daemon to kill two birds with a single arrow, and if his son allows it he will take it. "i would take you back with me to king's landing to present the new lord of runestone."

[forgaeven]

the lie feels familiar – after all, mary jane used to grow up on them.

not that ... not that papa was— was like that, even if there had been ... a few close calls. but it wouldn't be right to say that she'd came out of it unscathed, either. still, what evidence would she have against peter's words when he claims that it was merely an accident ? and, you know, maybe he was telling the truth. mary jane's brows continue to furrow and she wishes, so suddenly, that she's someone peter trusted enough to be honest with.

but she won't be greedy, she decides. if this is all peter could give ... she thumbs at the bruise carefully, just as mary jane finally smiles – a last-ditch attempt to ease him right back. as though to say, okay, okay. i'll play along too. as long as you'll always want me near. ❛ i'd preferred it if you weren't hurt at all ... ❜ she says, half-pouting, before she asks, ❛ you okay now, though ? ❜

Before Peter can even really reply to Mary Jane, she spots the bruise. Shit. He clears his throat, attempting to buy himself some time to come up with an excuse. Can't use skateboarding accident, he already used that last week. Tripped? Mugged? No, she'll panic. "It's nothing - Wasn't watching where I was going and knocked right into the corner of the wall." He sticks his chin out, pasting a grin onto his lips. "Does it make me look tough?"

[forgaeven]

the way i was so confused why ahn hyo-se0p would often do interviews alone but then i remembered the rest of the saja boys didnt have proper V.O. for the movie or otherwise we might've known just a little bit of who they might've been and ahn hyo-se0p wouldn't have to be alone 😭😭😭