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pixieledmemes2025-03-15 08:32 am
Test Drive Meme #2
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You wake up at a party.
You're not sure how, exactly, you got here. You may have just been walking in the woods or at a meeting for work or doing any other normal activity for you. But you know you weren't supposed to be at this party, you're fairly certain.
Anyone you ask about it will say the party is for you. You and the others also waking up and looking confused. Further questions will lead to the partygoers insisting you have something to eat. You're starving and others are eating the food without repercussion, so you figure there's no harm in a bite. You finish your portion.
It's a garden party at the crack of dawn, with the sun still in its early stages of climbing through the yonder, casting a good mix of pastel hues of blue, pink, and beige on everything. Heralding the first day of spring, the Ruler of the Spring Court has found it fitting to arrange this gathering where guests can feel the blades of grass touching their ankles, as well as the rich soil beneath their feet. Flowers of all kinds surround the party as if they were carefully curated. With spring as the "dawn of seasons," which marks a transition from winter's latency to the resurgence of life everywhere, the Ruler of the Dawn Court has also seen it fit to host aspects of this party during the one time of the year that dawn occurs the whole day. Tall candles and torches grace the outskirts of the garden party, providing warmth and an orange glow everywhere. Not one flame goes out even with the occasional wind, the Duchess always makes sure of this.
There are also freshly picked blossoms and branches with leaves on every table accenting the festive spread of food and drinks. This time, a lot of the food prepared for the Adopted guests are familiar to them with a little bit of a twist. Burgers might come in small packages and in toothpicks, while hotdogs in buns are also diminutive. Cookies look delectable but they have a flowery flavor to them, as if eating freshly picked daisies or daffodils. Fruits that may have been present in an Adopted's home, such as pineapples and watermelons, have seeds in odd places. Picking this selection of food is an attempt to be more welcoming and to appease the lovely guests the fae have invited.
As the party winds down and everyone's eaten, a tall, stately woman stands up and speaks. You feel her voice more than hear it.
I am the Lawspeaker of the Fae, elected by Seelie and Unseelie alike, and you are all, now, subjects of Faerie. You cannot leave this realm once you have eaten our food, and even if you could, there is no saying how much time has passed back where you're from. Your loved ones are likely dead, your problems have likely played out. We require assistance in various matters, and each of you has been chosen for your talent and skill. You will be adopted by one of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts based on your strengths and personality. Your Court will decide what to do with you from there.
As suddenly as she stood, she sits back down.
A party is not complete without dancing, of course, and while during the last gathering held for the Adopted, different fae danced to music exclusively for them around a glowing tree, this time they are insisting their guests to join in.
This is a party for you, after all.
If the prodding of the different fae hosts won't convince you, perhaps the music will. They play easily recognizable tunes that their wonderful guests must have heard before. These melodies have certain unique effects to their mortal attendees, which are as follows:
- Upbeat Music: You will believe that you and your dance partner have been friends forever and have known each other a long time.
- Romantic Music: You will become amorous and flirtatious towards your dance partner.
- Slow Music: You will develop some tension with your dance partner. It may be negative or sexual; completely up to you.
- Quiet Music: You will assume your dance partner is a threat and try to fight them.
At the Spring King's behest, every Adopted should wear a flower corsage or boutonnière to the gathering. After all, this is to celebrate the coming of spring and what better way to do that than to honor everything in bloom.
The thing is, though, the King of Spring, while amorous and friendly, also has a penchant for playing with mortals' memories, if not also affect their desires and despairs.
So, mischievous as he is, he made sure to enchant the different flowers present in every corsage and boutonnière for the party with the effects below:
- Rose: You will recall a horrific trauma
- Carnation: You will see a vision of your future, whether it's good or bad
- Orchid: You will remember a time you lost someone
- Chrysanthemum: You will believe someone among the Adopted is your soulmate
- Dahlia: You will believe you betrayed someone important to you, whether you actually did or not
It is perhaps a good thing that no one but the Adopted are allowed to see these visions and memories, but everyone who wears a corsage or boutonnière will be able to see each other's memories and visions when in close enough physical proximity to the vision-haver, for better or for worse.
You feel a vibration in your pocket sometime after the Lawspeaker addresses everyone. When you search for the source, you will pull out your Leaf, the device the Fae use to stay in touch with each other. Anyone who's used a smart phone will easily recognize how it works.
Greetings, Adopted. This is your Lawspeaker.
Tell us all of a time you gave someone a gift. Perhaps a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates. Was it appreciated or not? A reward might await the most meaningful gift given.
Frank Castle | MCU
( a party; )
ππ π πππππ
( floral arrangements; )
πππππ’
( one strong breeze from homicide; )
ππππ
( geis; )
π πππππππ
let's flip! that! penny!
So she excuses herself from the person she's talking to and moves, quickly, to intercept him. It means that her steps are hurrying, but she wants to come at him from an obvious angle, make sure he gets a chance to see her.
Her eyes are locked on his as she approaches, but she doesn't say anything yet. He can read her the same way she can him - like an open book, like he's got his own personal translation key. She's scared. She's worried.
Underneath it all, she's so pissed off. But maybe for the first time in their long history of blood and bruises, it's not him that she's mad at.
Her arms wrap around him as she pulls him in with a shaky exhalation. Her voice is quiet against his ear.]
Not yet. Put it away.
no subject
But once again, because circumstances align just right, Karen Page shows up to save Frank Castle from himself.
He freezes stone still for one incredulous moment, and then winds an arm around her back with a low, hoarse murmur of: )
Karen?
( Where the hell'd she come from, was she here the whole time and he just missed her? How in the hell-- these fairies must be out of their goddamn minds, bringing the type of people here that are gonna turn right around and make their lives miserable. Karen Page is gonna be their whole ass undoing.
Te next thing he clocks that not yet as opposed to not ever, as opposed to don't do it. Don't do it yet is a compromise he can more easily concede to for at least a minute, and the knife gets discreetly tucked away into a back pocket. Better to not have it in hand when he wraps his other arm around her briefly β before gently pulling her back by the shoulders so he can look her over quickly. )
Karen, what the hell?
no subject
Some of the tension in her back and shoulders loosens, just a little, when she feels his arm wrap around her.
She lets him pull her back, her hands moving to his arms. Running up along them before settling on his forearms, like she's checking him over the same way she always does. Making sure he's whole. Her head shakes a quick, almost imperceptible no.]
I've ruled out hell, actually.
[Her eyes are on his as she lifts one shoulder in a shrug, tipping her head to rest her cheek against his hand where it sits on her shoulder for a quick moment. And then she looks away, letting her eyes deliberately sweep the area behind him in a way that makes it clear she absolutely thinks someone could be listening to them. Even if they can't see them.]
Did you just get here too?
no subject
And yeah, it pisses him off a little how effective it is as a strategy. She brushes her cheek against his fingers, and the concept of doing anything that might catch her in the fallout dies abruptly.
God damn it.
This just means that whatever he plans, whenever he pulls the trigger, it's gonna have to be something both foolproof and permanent. )
Couple hours ago, maybe.
( As in, more than enough time to realize she was here β and the fact that he didn't almost certainly means someone didn't want him to. Her paranoia about being watched is justified if only because of that.
He flickers his eyes from her face, up to the people he'd been intending to attack, and then back down again β unhappiness written into the furrow of his brow and the downturn of his lips. Then he nudges her with a tilt to his head, an unspoken c'mon, come here; they can slip away from the crowd, go someplace quieter. They'll probably still be overheard, but at least this way they have the pretense of privacy to make themselves feel better.
He'll lead her off a ways toward the treeline, a few dozen yards from the outskirts of everything else β and by the time they get there the storm cloud over him manifests itself visibly again. )
no subject
[Well, that all but confirms it for her. Ben Urich had taught her to trust her gut. And she's gotten really good at following her hunches in the years since his death. It's part of what makes her so eerily good at her job. Granted, it's also part of the reason why more than one person has threatened to start naming gray hairs after her.
Karen gives her head a quick nod and lets him take the lead. She's quiet, walking quickly and thinking hard. They pass by a fallen tree that's got moss on it. It looks so suspiciously like a naturally grown bench that she automatically wants nothing to do with it. If they're chasing the illusion of privacy here, she wants a real good illusion, damnit.
They fetch up to a stop and she takes a breath, turning to look at him again. She can practically see the way that he's stewing. Like something is itching underneath his skin.
Reaching out, she takes his hand, holding it in between both of hers for a moment as she takes a step in closer.]
When's the last time you saw me? No one else here remembers getting here. Maybe we can - pin down a when, at least, between the two of us. [Start to work backward, to figure out what the hell happened. If there's some kind of...time fuckery happening. Her hands are moving while she talks, cradling the back of his hand as her index finger starts tracing a slow 'O' onto his palm, tracking the shape a few times over. Her eyes are entirely focused on him.] Have you ever heard stories about the fae? [Now she's tracing a 'K.'] I don't mean, like, Tinkerbell or the one from Pinocchio. But from - from myths, and pagan religion.
[Finally, she traces a '?' there on his palm, hoping he gets it as she clasps his hand between hers again. That he'll read it in her face, at least. That she knows he's angry. She knows he wants to start hunting. But this isn't like anything he's ever hunted before. And if she's going to figure out what's going on when they're both dead certain they're being observed - she's going to need his help. Not for them to be working at cross purposes. Which, given the fact that she still is very much in 'don't murder them yet' territory, they're already off to a better start than usual. She's trying to make a point, with that Ok? across his palm. That she's going to get information to him however she can, even if she has to finger spell it on his skin one letter at a time.
She hates that either of them got stuck here. But there's no one in the world that she trusts more than Frank Castle to have her back. The same holds true now that they're not in their world at all.]
no subject
Okay. Okay, yeah, he gets it. Hard to communicate back fuck this place, fuck the flowers that made me watch my family die again, what the hell is going on, I'm going to kill a court of immortal faeries with my own two goddamn hands in a subtle way, so her answer instead is the most minute, easily missed nod of his head. This is okay, the communication method, the talking, the plan to research - but he's not. This situation's not. Things could not be further from ok.
All the same, he turns her hand over in his β not to spell anything, just to wrap his fingers around it and gently squeeze. A quieter, less distinct telegraphed message. They're on the same page, the same team, he'll keep her safe, they'll figure it out. Pick your poison. All of the above.
He doesn't know much about this whole fairytale thing outside of children's books β yet. He will soon, he's got nothing better to do but brute force a single-minded conviction to learn how to kill them. )
The elevator. Last time I saw you, it was in the elevator. That was a while ago. You remember that?
( Time fuckery. Is she from earlier? She probably wouldn't be holding his hand if she were. Is she from later? And if so, does it break some kinda time travel rule to drill her about the future? Does he give a shit about that kind of thing? It's a little over his head, but- hell, they're in it now. Might as well embrace the chaos. )
no subject
Honestly, this has done a lot more for her state of mind than anything else that's happened since she woke up. Just standing here on the edge of an alien wood, holding his hands and feeling desperately grateful that they can read each other so well. It's a double edged sword though, because even amid that rush of relief, she knows with bone deep certainty that he's absolutely not okay. It's enough to make her feel guilty that she feels steadier, here, now, with a direction and a plan and his support.
It's just - something in the set of his shoulders. The way he's holding himself, the angle of his head. She lets him turn her hand over, returning that gentle squeeze. The ribbon from the corsage is still around her wrist, and a mangled trail of tiny white blossoms surrounding the spot where she ripped the blue orchid off. Her other hand lifts, her fingers running along the neckline of his shirt. She knows without asking that he doesn't want to talk about it. But she's here, and she knows what his nightmares look like. Knows too what he'll do to these fae. How far he'll go to protect people.
And her hands are steady. Unwavering.
Something in her gaze softens a little when he references the elevator, and she draws in a breath, nodding her head. The muzzle of his gun, up underneath her jaw. His arm around her. Blood and shrapnel and ringing ears. That long, quiet moment of understanding that had passed between them. Just - a whole world of things unsaid, things that they could mean to each other, that they'll never be able to mean to each other. Seems like they keep finding their way back to each other anyway.]
Of course I remember that. [There's a beat, and then a little smile at the corner of her mouth.] I've been tracking you for months. [No articles in the paper, but she might be the world's foremost expert on a Frank Castle crime scene. It's a really fucking weird thing to smile about, but what the hell. They're in a fae realm. Weird comes with the territory.]
Were you still on the road, or back in New York?
ππ π πππππ ( floral arrangements; )
She got to have a pretty pink dress and a blonde wig, once, and she felt normal. it was not real, just like the ill-fitting, 80s grunge look that Kali put her own. Nice things sit on her like costumes, like lies. At least, that's how she feels right now.
But the flowers... they're pretty. Perhaps she can take them, and put them on her wrist. Hide the number, avoid the questions. Feel... pretty. Normal. Like she belongs in this place in which nobody belongs.
A hand... clamps down on her wrist.
It's not Frank's fault, of course. He saw a hand creep towards the flowers out of the corner of his eyes, and his instinct was to protect. It's not his fault that he realizes about a split second too late that he clamps down on a wrist that's too small, too slender. Under his fingers, Eleven's pulse jackrabbits, immediately going fast and hard.
Hopper tells her not to be stupid, and she is stupid. She eats the food and gets tricked, and she reaches for a pretty flower and she is caught.
She feels the grabbing hands viscerally on her bone thin arms and wrists and legs like it was recent. Even Hopper, when he is loud. Even Kali, when she wants to see murder. ]
NO---!
[ It comes from between clenched teeth, so shrill and sharp that it sounds like it must have hurt her throat, and she yanks her arm, tries to pull away. She cannot push him with her mind, cannot break him away from her, her line of defence down because of how much closing the Gate took out of her, and that means her reaction is sharp with fear and helpless anger. ]
no subject
Hey- hey- hey, look at me- easy, kid. It's okay, nobody's doin' nothing. I'm not gonna touch you anymore, alright, easy-
( He's a hardened edge of a man, but he's also a father. It's rusty, and it's buried under blood, but it comes out of its own accord. It isn't even something he needs to summon, needs to conjure, it's just reflex. Not there, then there, right alongside that edge. )
I'm sorry. Okay? Hey- ( Pay attention, focus, so he can meet her eye and look at her imploringly to say it again: ) I'm sorry.
CW: references to / mentions of child abuse/neglect
Eleven doesn't like this. When the things she feels and remembers open up fast and raw like a wound, closing her in like the dark room, trapping her. Her emotions run white hot and volatile, and she has never learned to deal with them.
Her breath shudders, but he doesn't move, and his hands stay up, and he's...
He reminds her of Hopper, then. The way he has a voice that sounds like a rumble, the kind that she knows can clap like thunder. But he's calm. Still. He doesn't agitate her, doesn't push her to where she can only handle things by screaming.
She wipes at her eyes and cheeks. It smears black shadows all over, but the tears stop coming. And when he says Hey, she looks at his face, at his eyes. Pays attention, focuses. Hears him, when he says: I'm sorry.
A hiccup. Another shuddering breath. And then she says, with a small nod of understanding: ]
Nobody's doin'. Nothing.
orchid since I already threat-promised it
Clint's familiar with the kind of loss it is. Wife and children, gone in an instant. But his was much neater, cleaner, calmer. Effortless. And then they had come back. Years later, but they came back.
This isn't something that one gets brought back from.
It punches him in the gut and is a fire in his head. The shock, the confusion, the horror. The deafening sound of gunfire.
It's seconds, seconds, a family's day out and then chaos, and Clint grabs hold of the man's arm just to keep himself steady and upright and on his own two feet instead of flattened to the ground.
Doesn't say anything. Can't say anything. What is there to say in the wake of something so fucking awful when the waves of it are still shaking through him, like he lost his own all over again?]
no subject
NO - !
( The trouble with it is, the first thing he feels is a grip on his arm, and the tension runs through him, ready to spring. Ready to pounce. Ready to rip his arms away and launch himself at the guy he assumes is trying to hold him back, pin him down-
But before he does it, he catches sight of the guy's expression.
The face is familiar, but that's not as powerful as the expression on it. He saw it. He must have. That's why people are freakin' out about these flowers β he saw it, and he's coming apart at the seams the way Frank sometimes does himself.
The fact that he isn't already trying to break Clint's nose is as good of a start as they're gonna get. He doesn't manage to find his voice to say take it easy,, he doesn't manage to say anything about the scene at all, or don't I know you from somewhere, or anything. Anything at all. All he manages to do is reel himself in enough not to shake the guy off immediately, and stare back at him, watching him as he processes it. Feeling himself hollowed out and cored, feeling himself scraped raw all over again, feeling a phantom pain in his head from a bullet that's not there anymore.
When at last the ticking seconds pass by enough to unlock him, the first thing he says is: )
You got kids? ( It only takes a moment longer looking this guy in the face for him to answer his own question: ) Yeah. Yeah, you do.
no subject
The question is like ice water thrown on him. If the fading bits of memory and shock weren't enough to bring him around fully, that is.
They aren't a secret anymore. Not ever since the Accords, the house arrest, the conditions of being released from the Raft. Family made public instead of one of Fury's best kept secrets. He loves them to death, just, actually talking about them in public, to most people, much less strangers, is something that he's still coming around to learning to do.
But yeah. It must be written all over his face as he sobers. Takes a breath and centers. Unlatches the hand locked around the big guy's bicep. Put his hands in jacket pockets instead. Out of sight. No grabbing. Definitely no touching flowers.]
Yeah. [Unnecessary confirmation, but confirmation nonetheless. He clears his throat lightly.] Three of 'em.
[He could say something like sorry, but he knows how empty and useless and awful that word is.]
no subject
( That's about right. He can tell. Probably at least a boy and a girl among the three, and it doesn't really matter what ages. You have kids, you see something like that up close and personal, the age doesn't matter. They're babies again in a second, aren't they? Just kids, just kids. Things that should never be used in the same paragraph as the word bullet, things that would be immune to them if there were any real rightness in the universe.
But there isn't.
And the longer he stares at this guy, the more familiar the face becomes β until Frank's head is rolling back an inch, chin lifting, recognition visible. Clint's probably seen this look on a stranger a dozen times by now. Maybe more. It usually preempts something like hey, I know you! or you're hawk guy! or I've seen you on the news!
Frank's got a less optimistic take on it. )
Shit, so this is that kinda problem.
( The out of his league by miles kind. Yeah, okay. Makes sense. )
no subject
It still makes his head spin even now that, for a couple more years yet, Nate was nothing but dust for longer than he ever got to be alive.
What does saying any of it do to the man who lost everything so permanently, so horrifically?
So the shift is actually kind of nice. A gift to them both in a way. Even if the recognition never gets easier, he at least takes it with a little more grace than he used to back in the prime Avenging days. Still makes him awkward, still gives him a strange embarrassment. But yeah. He recognizes the look long before the guy says anything.
Though what he says makes Clint huff out a tired half-laugh, tight smile on his face.]
Seems like an everyone kinda problem, but, yeah, doesn't sound like you're wrong.
[Shame half the Avengers are gone and one's off world for who knows how long and one just wants to retire to Mexico and one just wants to stay the hell retired for once jesus christ-- Not that there aren't others. But they aren't a team. They're individuals with their own shit going on. The ones that are left. Or the ones just coming into what they are, who they are. Kate's not exactly fit for the big leagues, but someday she will be.
Not exactly placing bets on who's going to come to the rescue. Might have to be an inside job.
Clint doesn't have quite the same reaction. But. When playing the 'don't I know you from somewhere' game, it isn't like the big guy's completely foreign. Or that...a New York park massacre is foreign to him. And...wasn't this guy arrested? For murder? Lots and lots of murdoh god that's the Punisher.
That's fine. This is fine. The fucking Ronin has no judgement to give on that.]
no subject
At least this one's subtle about it. Someone less perceptive probably wouldn't have clocked it at all, but he's keyed in right now to exactly one person. Hasn't had time to grow out a beard or a head of curls.
Tell you the truth, he's half-expecting to have to throw down all over again for a second, but that moment never comes, and he's left standing stiff and wary, eyeballing the other guy while he decides whether his first move should be to throw a punch, dodge a punch, or bail while he's got the chance (never likely).
Could be worse. At least he's not eye to eye with the green guy.
Still, he feels the need to put it out there: )
I worked with homeland security. Technically, I'm Pete now. So.
( Legally, don't start none won't be none. Just in case Hawk Guy's getting any ideas about making a citizen's arrest in the fucking faerie realm. )
no subject
Technically, I'm retired. [And technically is supposed to have been for years, ignoring that five year stint where he did anything but be retired.
He can't throw stones. He's just not particularly interested in letting any more people than absolutely necessary know that fact. In any event, he offers up a hand.]
Hi, Pete. I'm Clint.
[Maybe they can try to start off on a more normal foot?]
no subject
He reaches his hand out in turn, offers up a shake β the steady kind, not the compensating for something kind.
A little wryly, he volleys bacK )
Hi, Clint. I'm Frank.
( Don't bother calling him Pete, the cat's already out of the bag. Normal's fine. He can do normal.
When their hands fall away, his expression's back to being something grim, something tense β but it's aimed entirely at the people who brought them here. )
What do you make of all this? I guess this kinda shit must be normal for you, but uh- this isn't really my thing. Kinda outta my wheelhouse.
no subject
So. Frank it is. Normal people in a normal situation having a normal handshake. God, how did all this end up happening?]
Wouldn't call it normal, exactly. [For Thor, sure. Carol, definitely. Strange, absolutely. He's just the guy with the sticks and strings.] Best guess is another planet or some kind of alternate dimension, and I'm really hoping it's the planet one, because then the only issue with getting back is a spaceship and knowing what direction to go in. And I wish that was the craziest thing I've ever said.
[He doesn't really like admitting 'I have no fucking clue', but he'll call shit like he sees it.]
Guessing you were in the middle of something when suddenly you were here? Not even a flash of light or a warning of any kind?
the party
He's also observing everything that's been happening when a tall guy with an obvious New York accent asks him. He glances at the guy, shakes his head, and when he speaks, Peter has an obvious accent of someone from Queens. ]
I've been here for two months now. This is their way of kidnapping people and making them feel welcomed.
no subject
This kid, he's not as young as some of the others, but he's still a kid. It's still young enough to piss him off that these assholes had the audacity to take him away from his home, steal him, do this shit to him. Bullshit with the flowers, playing with him, testing him or toying with him, it pisses him off.
But he reels all that in under a steady, stoic countenance. )
Welcomed, huh? That how you feel about? Welcome?
flowers + wildcard
BurΓ‘rum, it is true, this display seems to have dark magic imbued into it! Have you witnessed their behavior for yourself? I do not delight to see the ways it seems so many are suffering at the hand of our hosts.