#also some of the close ups don’t have image description cause I’d just be repeating myself I hope it’s not too much of a hassle

[tea-cuz-why-not]

Fablehaven community, I bring thee: my loose interpretation(s) of Kendra and Bracken

Fought my executive dysfunction and perfectionism tooth and nail for months to get this one done

I literally started the sketch back when I finished Kore’s ref page but got really scared of it 😅

anyways, hope you enjoy them, I know I struggled but love them :}

[readyplayerhobi]

Jung Hoseok and the Magic to Happiness | 05

; Hufflepuff Teacher!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 3.5k

; Synopsis: An unexpected issue with your Ministry of Magic job leads to you taking the role of Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. It’s here that you meet your best friend’s younger brother for the first time in years, the Hufflepuff Head of House, Jung Hoseok. While you contend with seeing him once again, Hoseok tries to show you that he’s very much a man and no longer the gangly teenager you once knew.

; A/N: Not as much of an ‘interesting’ chapter as the last one, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it all the same! I know some of you have been hoping to see this character and what their thoughts are all about what’s going on. This chapter is more of one that’s just self-assessing!

Last Chapter ; Next Chapter

-

You don’t go to breakfast the next morning. Not because you’re trying to avoid Hoseok or anything, but because you didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning and so slept through the morning meal. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had kept your mind occupied instead of letting you drift off.

Thankfully, no one questions your absence. It might be because most of the castle is likely sleeping in today or is packing for the Hogwarts Express. You don’t have to be present when the students begin their journey back to London and you feel that’s probably a good thing at the moment. 

The awkwardness between Hoseok and you would be excruciating for anyone to be around, particularly yourself. So you’d burrowed into your duvet when the usual alarm went off and only woke up properly around noon. 

You’re still in bed though, the covers pulled up to your chin and helping you to feel snug and warm against the constant coolness of your stone room. Which means that you’re staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom intently, brows furrowed as you think over the night before once more.

As if you haven’t already replayed every moment in excruciating detail, latching onto the most ridiculous things. For instance, you couldn’t stop thinking of what Hoseok’s lips looked like up close or the heady scent of him that no longer inspired only safety and friendship in you. How hot his hands had felt against you.

It was embarrassing how often that thought morphed into you imagining the same scenario but minus any clothes. Would his hands be warmer? Would they be as gentle as they’d been on your back last night? Would his hands feel soft on your bare skin or would you be able to feel the subtle callouses formed from years of caring for magical animals?

Groaning out loud, you roll onto your side and bury your face into your pillow. How are you meant to face him when all you can think about is the taste of him on your lips? 

A delicate chiming causes you to peek at your bedside cabinet, eyes narrowing as the noise repeats itself. You don’t even need to check to see who it is; you know already. So you reach out and blindly grasp for the magic mirror, eventually feeling your fingertips pressing against the smooth, reflective surface.

Now your grimace is more because you know that you’ve just smeared fingerprints all over. But you don’t get a chance to clean it because as soon as you look at the hand-sized surface, it activates with a gentle tinkling. The silver mirror shimmers slightly and you’re left looking at the image of Jisoo’s pretty face, smiling at you.

For a moment, you forget that you’ve not even bothered to get out of bed yet. You’ve not been able to shower, and the crustiness of your eyes tells you that your makeup wasn’t removed either. You’d obviously been in more of a fugue state than you’d realised when you’d gotten back to your quarters.

Normally it wouldn’t bother you as Jisoo has seen you in much worse states. But this had been caused by Hoseok, her brother. Her little brother. Her little brother who was incredibly attractive, a great kisser and had looked at you like you’d hung the stars when you’d pulled away from him.

As you think that, you immediately remember his annoyance at any topic relating to age and feel like hitting your forehead. Chaeyoung was right; he did like you. Merlin, how stupid were you to miss all those obvious signs he’d been giving? The poor guy had been practically shouting it from the rooftop for weeks now.

“I��m so stupid!” You curse, spitting out a few more severe swear words after that to the surprise of Jisoo. It’s not helped when you notice how similar they look, maturity making the familial genes even more prominent between the two. Just your luck.

“Hi...are you okay?” She asks, her brow furrowing in concern and you sigh deeply. Ignoring her question for a few seconds, you take the time to push yourself up the bed and fluff up the pillows, letting them act as a backrest for you to prop yourself up. A quick spell cleans your face and mouth, studiously ignoring the fact that it’s considered lazy to use magic for these kinds of tasks.

Still, you feel a little more refreshed and not like one of those zombies from muggle television shows.

Taking a deep breath, alongside a few swallows of water from the glass you always keep by your bed, you pick up the mirror once more and smile at Jisoo. It’s pretty obvious that she doesn’t buy it though and you didn’t expect her to. She’s known you too long to let you get away with pretending, so you drop it quickly.

“I’m...okay, I promise. I just...I’m a little confused about something.” You’re not entirely sure that you want to admit the fact that you might fancy her little brother just yet. Jisoo is very open-minded and she’d always thought Hoseok’s obvious feelings when he was younger had been cute. But the unrequited emotions of your teenage brother are very different from the mutual attraction between your adult brother and your adult best friend.

“Oh? Did something happen last night? Hoseok was acting a little strange as well when I talked to him earlier.” The urge to sink under the covers is very strong when you hear that, but you use pure will to remain in place.

Of course, they’d already talked. 

Scanning Jisoo’s face closely, you try to use your own best friend's sixth sense to see if she already knows that you’d kissed him last night. But she’s either a master of acting or she has no idea because there’s only genuine concern in her expression.

You feel the need to talk though and you want to do that with your best friend, even if she is Hoseok’s sister. The feelings you have are confused and you just want to try to sort through them all. 

“I kissed Hoseok last night.” The words rush out in a breath, almost mumbling with how quiet they are. Still, Jisoo hears them perfectly thanks to the spell on the mirror. From the way her eyes widen in shock, you know that Hoseok hasn’t revealed that little tidbit to her. Part of you wonder if that’s to protect your privacy, but you don’t get a chance to consider it further.

“Merlin...so that’s why you’re both being odd! What happened? It was the Winter Solstice Ball, right?” Relaxing back, you nod and make an affirmative noise while chewing on your lips.

“Yeah, it was. It was all going fine, the students were having a good time and all that but then Hoseok finally arrived and-” Pausing, you frown before groaning out and running a hand across your face. “You don’t want to hear this! This is your brother.”

“Ignore that. As long as you don’t give me...descriptive details then it’s fine. This is one time that I have no interest in hearing about how well he kisses or what he’s like in bed, so keep that to yourself. Otherwise, keep talking.” Mortification runs through you at Jisoo’s mischievous smile and she laughs in delight.

“We didn’t do that! I swear.” Muttering, you reach for your glass and take another swig in an attempt to give yourself time to get yourself under control. Partially because you’re embarrassed about Jisoo thinking you’d slept with her brother so quickly but also because you’re feeling a little warm at the thought of sex with him.

A thought that you’d likely come back to at a later time but isn’t something to consider right now.

“I didn’t think you had. Firstly, you’ve never been the kind of person to shag someone on the first date. Or before the first date, I guess, as you’ve not even had a date. Secondly, neither is Hoseok. Don’t ask how I know, I’m surprised he didn’t blurt this news out this morning.” One of your eyes narrows in contemplation at that and you realise that you don’t want to ask.

The idea of Hoseok sleeping with someone else causes an unpleasant sensation to bubble in your stomach. Something else you don’t feel like analysing at the moment.

“Okay...well...firstly, I hate the word ‘shag’ and you know it. Secondly, I’m really confused right now. I mean, objectively I’ve known Hoseok is hot. Like, I’m not stupid. I have eyes and he’s well...yeah. But I think I’d always managed to have some kind of barrier between us, you know? Like...he was your little brother and he was just my friend here. But then last night he came into the hall and Merlin. It was like something switched in my mind, and I finally realised that he’s not just attractive, but he’s...he’s my kind of attractive.” You realise halfway through talking that you’re just telling Jisoo your thought process as you go through it.

She doesn’t respond though, just gives a considerate look with her lips slightly pursed before taking a sip of her drink. You don’t know what she’s drinking as it’s a mug, the image on the front just a generic cat. The fact it’s not moving gives away that it’s a muggle creation.

“And then we just kept talking, all night. Even when we had duties, we kept meeting back up and it felt so natural and normal. It’s like I’ve known him for all my life or something, our conversation is so easy and I don’t feel uncomfortable around him. You ever have that with someone?”

“Once or twice. It’s a good sign though. I know you’ve become pretty good friends over the last few months so maybe that’s why it’s all clicking now. Relationships that start from a solid friendship usually end up being some of the best. Maybe that’s why it’s all feeling a little more natural than normal. You’ve found someone that makes you feel comfortable and safe.” You wonder how many times you’d told Jisoo that her brother inspired those feelings within you since being here at Hogwarts.

As that runs through your mind, you suddenly become distracted with an entirely different thought.

“Hang on, did you suspect that I might like him? You’ve always been very accepting of my friendship with him and if I remember right, you’ve been the one encouraging me to spend time with him. Is that why you’re not surprised at this?” Jisoo’s cheeks blush a pretty pink, so like her brother that you can’t help but smile.

“I may have suspected something. I am your best friend, after all. And his sister. When you’re close to both sides, you notice things.” Her voice is teasing and you wonder if other people have been suspecting this as well. 

Suddenly, all the times your fellow professors had arranged for events and Hoseok had happened to just be attending as well began running through your mind. Was everyone scheming?!

You’d never considered yourself a suspicious person before but you certainly were now. Seokjin and Chaeyoung, in particular, were going to be at the end of a very serious set of questions whenever you next saw them.

“In all seriousness, I didn’t think that you might like him. I just thought you were enjoying having a good friend at Hogwarts as Hoseok is someone you already know, so you at least had a link with him. You finding him nice to look at was expected; I’m not stupid, I know he’s pretty. He’s my brother and I’m gorgeous,” There’s a slight smirk to her smile, and you roll your eyes at her ego, fully recognising that she’s trying to cheer you up. “But you never really gave the inclination that you wanted anything romantic with him, so I didn’t suspect too much with you.”

Humming, your nose wrinkles as you look away from the mirror and contemplate her words. She’s not wrong, mainly because you hadn’t considered that with him until last night. Hoseok had been firmly in the friend box in your mind. It’s only now that you realise he’d been subtly creeping into the romantic box without you noticing.

“That’s because I didn’t realise I wanted that. I feel like I missed something really obvious, and everyone around me knew. I’m pretty sure Chaeyoung and Seokjin knew; there’s no way that they wouldn’t try to interfere. They’re those kinds of people, you know?” Jisoo giggles lightly, running her hand through long, silky black hair.

“Sounds like my kinda folk. Seriously though, don’t stress over it. All you’re going to do by over analysing things is get yourself tied up into knots. I know you and you’ll just talk yourself out of anything that could potentially happen. There’s nothing wrong with going for what you want if it’s going to be good for you. As his big sister, I can safely say that Hoseok will be very good for you and to you. He’s a good guy and I don’t want you to throw away a chance at happiness.” 

You groan yet again, pulling one of your spare pillows to stuff your face into. Even if you’re feeling completely confused about what to think or do, you’re glad that you get to talk it through with Jisoo. She always knows just what to say and how to help you come to decisions that felt right.

Shifting, you sit up straight and look at Jisoo’s image in the mirror, feeling even more thankful that she’s willing to talk about this particular subject. At that thought you frown, knowing that she’s close with her brother.

“Did you suspect anything with Hoseok? You said that you got to notice things from both sides…” Trailing off, your eyes narrow as you watch the way she bites her lip in an almost coy way. It wouldn’t surprise you as she knows her brother far better than she knows you.

“Yes, I did with him. He fancied you so much when he was a teenager and I thought he’d just...grown out of it, you know? Neither of you saw each other for ages so I just assumed his hormones had finally settled down. But then he practically jumped at the chance to help you apply for the job and...well, he’s being very obvious lately. I swear, every conversation has to include you in some way and he gets this look on his face.” Jisoo says, brow creasing as she thinks back.

“What look? Does he get a look? What kind of look?” The questions pepper her but she doesn’t look annoyed by them. Instead, she just smiles before laughing lightly, taking another sip from her mug before taking her time nibbling on a milk chocolate covered digestive biscuit. It makes you scowl, realising you’d given yourself away once more.

“Yes, he gets a look. I don’t know how to describe it to you but it’s like...he gets this smile and I swear his eyes get all shiny. He’d be appalled to know I’d noticed this as he’s never come out and said anything but I know what he looks like when he likes something. Hoseok talks about you the same way he talks about anything else he loves.” The last word makes your eyes widen and you’re thankful Jisoo doesn’t comment on it.

She’s noticed though, you know that she has. 

“Oh, okay. Well...I haven’t noticed.” What a stupid thing to say, but you don’t have anything else.

“Obviously.” Jisoo gives you a droll look, causing you to glare at her. It’s probably not as effective as you’d like given the two of you are hundreds of miles away and only visible through a reflective surface. Still, it makes her laugh at least.

Not the reaction you wanted but you’ll take it.

The conversation between you both falls into a lull, the silence of your room almost deafening. It lets you start to think once more and you don’t think that’s a good idea. Jisoo is right in that you tend to talk yourself out of things that might have a big impact on your life.

You’d taken a whole month to finally apply for the job here at Hogwarts and even then, you’d had to have Jisoo convince you that you should accept the offer when they made it. A good choice now, but you had a constant fear that big change might have negative effects on you.

The possibility of beginning something romantic with Hoseok was perhaps the biggest change you could do and it had the potential for so many repercussions if it went wrong. He was your work colleague, your friend and your best friend’s brother. It wasn’t like if you tried dating him then you could just never see him again.

Hoseok was likely to always be a part of your life in some way.

But he was such a good person and he could be something positive in your life, too. You found him to be charming and kind, funny and thoughtful, intelligent and attractive. There were a lot of reasons against trying a relationship with him, but there were so many more reasons for it.

“Would it not bother you? If anything happened then you’d be stuck between us, and he’s your brother so you’d have to take his side.” Your words are quiet, almost reluctant. Jisoo doesn’t respond immediately though, giving you the benefit of thinking seriously about your question before shaking her head.

“I would be stuck between you both if it ended badly. But I don’t either of you are the kinds of people to make me choose something like that. More importantly, I have high hopes that kind of scenario won’t even happen. I have a good feeling about this, for both of you. You both have to decide what’s right for you but...I don’t have any issue with it. If anything, it’d be great. My best friend and my brother getting together? If you married him then you’d be my sister-in-law and your kids would be my nieces and nephews!” There’s palpable excitement in her voice now, matched by the way she almost vibrates as her imagination runs wild.

You, on the other hand, feel your cheeks going warm with embarrassment as you try to follow where her mind is running. It feels a little overwhelming if you’re being honest, but you just push those thoughts away.

The last thing you needed was to start fantasising about marriage when you’d only kissed the man once.

“Jisoo!” You scold.

“What? I don’t get to live this life of romance so let me have my dreams. I’d rather you marry him than anyone else. Your babies would be so cute.” She wriggles in her seat, hands clapping and you’re reminded once more how similar the siblings are.

“Jisoo,” Whining, you pout at her before rubbing at your temple. “Don’t marry us off before we’ve even talked after last night.”

“Fine, fine, spoilsport. Anyway, it’s your decision. Yours and his. But just know that I think you’d both be good together. Don’t push him away because you’re scared, he’s a good guy. Not saying that just because he’s my brother, either. If you decide no, then don’t be afraid of that either. I know him, he’ll be a gentleman and will accept it.” You know she’s right and it makes you feel a little better as you take a deep breath.

Nodding slowly, you give her a weak smile before wincing when your stomach gurgles almost painfully. A glance at the clock shows that it’s been a very, very long time since you last ate and your stomach is not happy with that. 

“I’ll think it through, I promise. I won’t make any rash decisions. For now, I need to just analyse my feelings and thoughts regarding him before thinking about anything else. But I’ll admit that I’m not opposed to the idea. As much as I’d like to continue this conversation though, I need to go get something to eat or my stomach might eat itself. I’ll talk to you again later, okay?” It’s only a few minutes later before you’re ending the spell on the mirror, watching as it turns into a reflective surface once more.

Placing it onto your bedside table carefully, you let yourself fall back onto the mound of pillows and simply stare up at the ceiling. 

Of all the decisions you’ve made in your life, this one seemed to be the most daunting. Yet just the thought of his bright smile makes your lips quirk automatically, causing you to let out a breathy laugh.

Yes, he’d be good for you.

[oh-boy-me]

Obey Me! Card Planning Tips

Hello!  This game causes us all a lot of pain and suffering, but I’m MANAGING (?), so I thought I’d give what I’d consider some tips to maybe make things feel slightly more possible for you :)

I’ll split it into three parts and put it all under a read more.

Team Strength Calculation

Team Preparation

General Tips for Resources and Daily DP

Part 1: Team Strength Calculation

Each stage has 2 sins tied to it, as you’ve probably noticed.  In chapters 1-20, the stats of these two sins are boosted for ALL cards (character and support) by 15%.*

In chapters 1-20, your team’s strength is calculated with the following formula:

Strength = 1.15(AttributeSin1Total) + 1.15(AS2Total) + Other5SinsTotal

For example, let’s look at Lesson 10-20, which is a Gluttony/Lust battle.  My team is composed of Pandas Mean Profit (Greed), A Special Ceremony (Lust), and Colorful Panic (Pride).  And I’m using zero support cards just so I only have to add up 3 numbers.

Strength = 1.15(24338) + 1.15(34921) + 122736 = 190884**

Keep in mind that the buffs only apply to the attribute sin scores.  If the battle is Gluttony/Lust, the Pride scores will stay at their base values.  This is the case for all lessons up through chapter 20, both normal and hard mode.

However, from Lesson 21 onwards, there are two changes.  One, there is a primary sin and a secondary sin for each battle, marked by which icon is bigger in the preparation screen.  (There always has been, but now it matters which is which.)  In boss battles, both are primary.  Second, the buffs have changed drastically.

Every card has its main sin, obviously, and its strength in that sin is the strongest.  However, they still have strength in the other 6 sins as well.  There are two non-main sins that a card is very strong in, two that it is average in, and two that it is terrible in.

The percent increase is now dependent on how good a card is in the battle's two attribute sins.  (Remember that these buffs still only affect that sin, not the card’s total strength.)

If a card is the same sin as the battle’s primary sin, that sin gets a 160% buff

If a card is the same sin as the battle’s secondary sin, that sin gets a 90% buff

If a card’s second or third best sin is the battle’s primary sin, that sin gets a 30% buff

If a card’s second or third best sin is the battle’s secondary sin, that sin gets a 10% buff

Any sins lower than third best no longer get a buff

I’m not going to make a formula this time because it’s too long and situational.  But let’s look at that same 3-card team again, this time with Lesson 21-5, a Lust/Gluttony stage in that order.

Pandas Mean Profit has an average Lust score, so it gets no bonus.  Its Gluttony is its 3rd best sin, so that gets a 10% buff (10752 > 11827)

A Special Ceremony is a Lust card, so its Lust gets a 160% buff (17308 > 45000).  Its Gluttony sucks, though, so that doesn’t get a bonus.

Colorful Panic has Lust as its second best sin, so it gets a 30% buff (10423 > 13549).  Gluttony is its third best, so that gets a 10% buff too (9866 > 10852).

With the new system, the team’s Lust score has skyrocketed from 40158 to 65739.  However, its Gluttony score dropped from 27987 to 26399.

This means that the sins of your cards suddenly matter more in battle.  (And honestly I don’t think that’s a bad thing.  I know people complain that it makes it harder, but.  If my Comedy team in A3! is made entirely of Action/Drama cards with poor Comedy, I shouldn’t expect that team to do well.  Idk why people think that shouldn’t apply to Obey Me.)  Which brings us to part 2.

By the way, colored glow sticks raise the card’s total strength by 10%, and rainbow glow sticks raise it by 30%.

* It’s actually like 14.99% but it’s effectively the same.  The “slightly under but so close that I’m just rounding for significant figures” thing will be consistent for all of these buffs.

** The actual in-game strength is 190881, 3 points off due to the .99% thing.

Part 2: Team Preparation

I’m so sorry.  But someone has to say it.  Are you listening?  Great.

URs aren’t automatically better than SSRs.  Honestly, they never were.  They ESPECIALLY aren’t now.  You’re not losing the battle because you’re using SSRs.  You’re losing the battle because you’re throwing Wrath cards at a Sloth opponent.

Morning Voice is an Envy SSR card.  My copy of the card is only level 10, and in a Lesson 21+ Envy battle, its Envy score is 6866.

What is my Level 90 UR Colorful Panic’s Envy score in the same battle?

3489.

Colorful Panic is a higher rarity and 80 levels higher.  It has worse Envy.  Why?  Because Envy is its worst sin.

Obviously you aren’t going to be using a level 10 card in a battle, so for a more realistic standpoint, my copy of Resentment Runs Deep (SSR Envy) has 46108 Envy in the same battle.  That’s 13x better than the UR.

I’ll repeat it one more time before I move on.  The sin scores of a card are far more important than the rarity of the card.  A random SR card of the right sin is better than a UR with no sin bonus.  The most impressive thing about a UR is how hard it is to get one.

Anyway, what does this mean?  Is it hopeless?

Well, if you wanted to binge all three seasons within the first month of playing, yes.  But let’s assume that’s not the case.  (Side note, but the feeling that our cards are never good enough is definitely exacerbated by the aggressive speed at which they release new lessons combined with the fandom’s apparent allergy to spoiler warnings, but that’s a point for another post maybe.)

Remember that having URs isn’t actually all that important.  Now remember the sheer amount of SSRs they release since they also aggressively release events.  Also remember that with every 10-pull, you’ll get at least one SSR+.  (Also remember to never do single pulls; they're not worth it at all.)  If you’re really struggling with a lot of battles, here’s how you can improve your scores while focusing on as few cards as possible.

Open an Excel document or Google Sheets page and make a chart that looks something like this:

[Image Description: An 8x8 Excel sheet.  The columns are labelled with each of the seven deadly sins, and the rows are labelled Cards 1 through 3 and Support 1 through 3, with a blank row in between.  The rest of the sheet is blank.]

Now choose a card you want to use.  Doesn’t matter why you want to use it, maybe you like how it looks, maybe you worked really hard to get it, maybe you like its ability, maybe it’s just your current strongest card.  I don’t care.  For my chart I’m gonna use Pandas Mean Profit because it’s really pretty and I got it from the 100-pull pity reward.

Look at your card’s top 3 sins and put them into the chart.  For the character cards, note who the card is, because you can’t double up.  For reference later, also note whether it’s 1st, 2nd or 3rd best.  (Be sure to do this through Contacts and not a battle so there are no buffs skewing the scores.)

Once that’s in, choose another card you like for a different sin and input that card’s top 3 sins.  Envy is still completely empty, so I’ll put Resentment Runs Deep in next.  It’s an SSR, but I really love the Refresh Team ability.  Do this for one character card and one support card of each sin at first, if you can.  It doesn’t matter what level they are right now.  Then fill in whatever blanks you have with cards that specialize in that sin.

If a sin comes up more than 3 times, keep whichever ones are strongest in that sin without overlapping characters.  Play around with it until you get something that works for you.  Keep note of the sins you’re lacking cards for.

[Image Description: The same Excel Sheet as before, except filled in with various Obey Me card names.  The cells in rows 2 through 4 are color coded to match the character of the card.  Each cell marks in parentheses how strong the card is in the sin of the column it’s in from 1 to 3.]

Mine looks like this.  This chart isn’t perfect (if you look, none of my cards had Envy as a good non-main sin, and Pandas and Bunny have too much overlap for the same character), but it works as a rushed example.  I used the cell colors to mark the characters.

Are these the teams you should be using for each battle?  No, obviously not.  First off there’s no single-sin battle, and second off the game will still build the teams for you.

BUT, this greatly lowers the amount of cards you need to pour resources into.  Instead of 42 cards, with this chart I only have to focus on 18 cards in order to be guaranteed that all my cards get at least a SLIGHT boost in each battle.  The best-case scenario would drop it down to 14 cards.

Later on, once you’ve managed the cards on your chart, the next thing to do would be to find main sin cards to replace those that are only third best in their sin.  On mine I’d definitely focus on a Gluttony character card next, but in general Sloth is the one you want to be the most proactive about.

That should help you get through at least Season 2.  Season 3 is admittedly where the difficulty actually IS ridiculous, but Season 2 really isn’t as hard as we’ve been saying.  It just requires more planning than “the first three URs I ever got.”

I do still apologize for the resources and Grimm it’ll take, though :’)

Part 3: General Tips for Resources and Daily DP

This section is just some extra tidbits to help you have the resources to get cards and upgrade them.

[Image Description: The “hard to swallow pills” meme.  The pills read “You don’t need every single card and unless you’re a whale eventually you’re going to have to prioritize some events and ignore others or you’ll never have the resources to improve the cards you already have.”]

However, events ARE good for farming Grimm, so it’s not the end of the world if you want every SSR.  The only issue will come up when you need hard mode items and never have any AP, but it’s manageable.

If you’re going to log in more than once throughout the day, you can do the 2-1 job distribution.  If not, do three jobs with one character each so you get the daily task done

To save money for leveling up your good cards, complete the devil tree daily mission with N-rank cards.

Use vouchers over DP whenever you can (and use Raven to get vouchers).  The 99 DP level-up sale IS worth it if you can afford it, because that’s like 50% off a 10-pull once you do two.

I’m not certain, but I THINK skill level also influences how often an ability activates?  I feel like my Lv 10 SSR cards activate often but my Lv 1 URs never do.  So if you’re relying on an ability, the permanent SSRs might be worth looking at over limited time cards.

Anyway, I hope this helps at all in our mutual suffering.

[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Seven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: This chapter contains description of a heavy panic attack. Please read at your own risk.

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho (Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!)

Author’s Note: A chunk of dialogue in this chapter comes from the movie and has been expanded on to fit the storyline. 

Previous

“And when exactly is your mother planning to visit us?” Monsignor O’Malley inquired as he followed Demetria. 

Demetria snapped a photo of the hallway before looking over her shoulder. “Most likely next month. Once I send her the photos , she’ll work on drafts and whenever she comes, we can all sit down and discuss how to go about the process.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what, I have her business card with me because she sometimes does work in Gotham City.” 

She pulled out her wallet from her purse and handed Monsignor O’Malley the thing off white card. “She’ll be happy to answer any of your questions and or concerns.” 

He smiled as he took the card. “This is awfully generous of you, Ms. Gallagher. We can’t tell you how grateful we are.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” she waved her hand. “Both Bruce and I want to make sure you, the sisters, and the boys are taken care of with whatever you need.” She paused. “How are the boys doing?” 

“They’re wonderful.” 

“Oh good! I was actually wondering if I could go say��‘hi’ or-.” 

“Unfortunately the boys are on a field trip with the sisters.”

Demetria nodded understandingly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Absolutely.” Then an idea hit her. “Do the nuns teach the boys?” 

“Some do. We’ve been thinking about incorporating more schooling into the boys schedules, but we’re a little short staffed and not all the nuns feel comfortable teaching certain subjects.” 

“I’d love to step in,” Demetria offered. 

Monsignor O’Malley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What is it you would teach?” 

“I’m excellent at English. All levels. I was a TA my senior year of high school. I even minored in it in college.” 

Monsignor O’Malley nodded his head, impressed. “Well, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule-.” 

“I don’t have one,” she laughed. 

He chuckled. “Then I suppose it’s something we can try out. Are you free next week?”

Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely!’ I would love that!”

Before she could say more, the sound of her phone ringing cut her off. She gave Monsignor O’Malley an apologetic smile as she dug into her bag. “Excuse me one second.” 

She glanced down to see it was a reminder that she had to start getting ready for the fundraiser. 

“Please excuse me, but I’ve got to head out,” Demetria said. “Remember, if you have any questions, you have my number as well as my mom’s.” 

“Of course. I also look forward to discussing you working here.” 

“I do as well.” 

The two shook hands and Demetria headed out of the orphanage.

She had taken Bruce’s Cadillac XLR, seeing as it was the only semi-low-key-looking car he owned and the only one she didn’t get anxious driving. She wished he had owned something a little less glamorous for trips like this, hating how it made her look, but it was what it was.

As she she opened the driver’s side door, she noticed a photographer snapping her from the distance. The two stared at each for a moment, acknowledging just what was going on. She exhaled softly, mentally reminding herself to keep it together.

Since her essay was published, the media outlets had backed off a bit. The Gotham Times were still insistent of doing a piece on her and published one on her, but it turned out to be a dud as no one close to her would speak to them with the exception of her former News Director and the Head Booker, her other boss. It also helped that a local mob boss was mysteriously killed and the news decided to fixate on that. 

She gave him a quick, tired smile before she slid inside and closed the door, driving off.

===================================================

Back at the Wayne Penthouse, Bruce adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt as he made his way down the stairs. 

Alfred wrapped up his conversation with the party planners and turned his attention to Bruce. 

“I think your fundraiser will be a great success,” Alfred remarked. 

“Why do you think I want to hold a party for Harvey Dent?” Bruce questioned, almost annoyed at the thought of it. 

“I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham’s underbelly to try to impress Miss Gallagher.” 

“Very droll, very wrong,” Bruce responded, glancing up for a brief moment. 

Alfred looked over his shoulder for a moment, noticing the party planners were not in the room. “Have you considered telling Miss Gallagher what it is you’re doing at night?” Alfred inquired in a voice low enough for Bruce to hear him. 

Bruce glanced up. It wasn’t the first time this conversation came up between the two. “Soon.” 

“Before or after you say ‘I do’?” 

“When the time is right.” 

“Perhaps she should truly know what she’s getting herself into.” 

Bruce stopped in his tracks. “What are you implying, Alfred?” 

“Miss Gallagher has given you every ounce of herself.” 

“Who says I-.” 

Bruce’s attention was caught by the low sound of the television. He looked over to find GCN airing what appeared to be a figure of Batman, hanging with a rope around it’s neck on a building.  The lower third read “BATMAN DEAD?”

Demetria walked down the stairs and into the living room, tightening the belt on her cozy white bathrobe when she saw Bruce and Alfred staring at the tv. Curious, her eyes darted to the tv when she saw the lower third. 

Her blood ran cold with disbelief and shock, heart dropping into her stomach. 

The camera cut back to GCN anchor, Mike Engel. 

“Be aware, the image is disturbing,” he warned. 

The camera then cut to a man dressed in a cheap Batman getup, his plump cheeks spilling out of the cowl. He was sat on the floor of what looked like the back kitchen area of a butcher shop with a silver cart and a large pieces of animal meat hanging behind the victim. He had his hands tied behind them, his face lowered to the game. 

“Tell them your name,” the camera man said in a menacing, sing-song voice. 

“Brian Douglas,” the fake Batman answered weakly.

“Are you the real Batman?” There was a childish, teasing tone in the voice behind the camera to a point where it was menacing. It was almost as if whoever it was took immense pleasure in this man’s torture. 

“No.” Brian was barely hanging on. 

“No?” the voice repeated back, almost in a whine to mimic Brian’s pain. 

“No.”

“No?” The voice giggled. An arm reached over and pulled the cowl off Brian. “Then why do you dress up like him?” The camera pulled back, the arm dangling the cowl in front of Brian. The voice laughed a stomach curdling “Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Because he’s a symbol...that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you,” Brian retorted with a slight bit of courage in his weak tone. 

“Yeah. You do, Brian.” The hand grabbed the side of Brian’s face, the camera coming in close. “You really do.”

The hand pulled the top of Brian’s head as the man whimpered. The hand turned back and stroked Brian’s cheek. “Oh, shh shh shh.” 

Demetria shook her head, her stomach growing weak. Bruce’s eyes fixated on the TV, his expression stone cold with eyes colored in disbelief. 

“So,” the voice continued on, “you think the Batman's helped Gotham? Hmm?”

Brian didn’t respond. 

“LOOK AT ME!” 

The roaring voice caused Demetria to jump back, her hand slapping on her mouth. 

The camera swung around to reveal the person behind the voice, the sight causing Demetria to yelp, “Jesus Christ!” 

The red smeared smile was complimented by his chalk-white foundation and accentuated the long scars on the sides of his face. Two lazily painted black eyeshadow covered his eyes and he revealed his dark yellow teeth. 

“You see, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in.”

It was something behind the clown that Demetria recognized. A memory popped up in her mind, her jaw dropping at the realization. 

“Oh, and everyday he doesn’t, people will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

As the camera switched around, the man let out a menacing cackle as Brian screamed in the background. Demetria, overcome with her realization and the man’s grim promise, hurried up the stairs, Bruce and Alfred watching her. Bruce turned off the television and glanced at Alfred who shot him a look. He gave the old man a nod, indicating the message was received.

In their bedroom, Demetria grabbed a notebook from her nightstand as well as a pen. She began writing hurriedly, her cursive handwriting slightly smudged from the pen. Upon finishing, she ripped the page from her notebook and folded it. She reached back into the drawer, grabbing an empty envelope and shoving the folded paper in there. She licked the envelope, sealing tightly with her fingers and placed it back into the drawer. 

Just as she went to close the drawer, she heard the door unlock and grabbed her anti-anxiety meds.

Bruce entered the room.

“Everything ok?” he asked, gentle concern laced in his tone.

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just that video was, uh, pretty overwhelming to watch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” 

He eyed the pilll bottle in her hand. “You know you should probably put that in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. I’m just used to putting them in nightstand drawer. But considering we’re having a bunch of random people over, I guess you’re right.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Should I leave some viagra in a little bowl for our older guests trying to impress their much younger dates?”

He sat beside her on the bed, smirking at her. “I don’t have any because I don’t need it.”

She hummed, patting his leg. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He pulled her close, his breath hitting her lips. “Not funny.” 

“Oh, but it is. It really is.”

She gave him a chaste kiss, nuzzling her nose against his. “You think maybe we should cancel this party? I mean, I don’t think it’s safe.” 

“We’re going to be fine,” Bruce reassured. 

She sighed, realizing there was no point in changing his mind. “Then I guess I better continue getting ready.” 

He chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited, sweetheart.” 

“It’s just...” she stepped back, “I don’t know.” Her fingers toyed the robed belt. “I figured you’d cancel the party and we could spend the night in here...” She continued to move back toward the bathroom area, throwing off the robe to reveal her naked body to him. “And I’d let you do whatever you want to me. But since you won’t cancel it...” She shrugged. “Oh well.” 

Bruce could feel his pants grow a little tight and he was ready to have her pay the price. His hungry eyes stayed on her, like a lion ready to pounce on it’s prey. “You get back here. Right. Now.” 

She shook her head. “I have to get ready.” She pointed to the tent in his pants. “I suggest you take care of that situation before you leave this room.” 

She grabbed the robe from the floor and closed the door behind her, locking it so Bruce wouldn’t try anything. 

She exhaled and ran a hand through her damp hair. She wasn’t sure how long this party would last, but she had to make sure Batman got her letter. 

==================================================

Bruce waited outside near the helicopter landing pad, his hands in his pockets. He watched as the navy blue sky took over the sunset, but once he turned his head, his breath was taken away by an even more beautiful sight. 

Demetria walked out on to the helicopter landing pad, her black hair in an updo with long, curled strands of hair framing her face. Her navy blue gown was strapless with a subtle reverse sweetheart neckline, and hugged her small curves just right before flowing out on to the floor.  Her makeup stayed on the subtle side with her eyeliner and mascara accentuating her warm, emerald green eyes and her Goldilocks lips were the perfect shade of pink. 

“Is it too much?” she asked, stopping in her tracks. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling the knot inside tightening. Her face fell into a panic. “Oh shit, it is, isn’t it?” 

He shook his head, his thumb grazing her cheek as he smiled at her adoringly. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

Color filled her cheeks as her pink lips curved into a bashful smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Wayne.” 

His lips gently crashed on to hers as he cradled the side of her face. For a moment, as they relished in their kiss, the world was still and time froze. Neither of them could remember the last time they shared such a moment, but they truly savored it while they still could. 

Bruce pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his lips hovering over hers. “For the record, you still owe me from before.” 

She hummed against his lips. “I’ll take it into consideration.” 

He smirked at her. “You’re lucky I like you. C’mon, let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, leading her onto the helicopter. The pilot helped her up first, Bruce following right after. As the two sat in the back, Demetria turned to him.  “What’s the point of doing this again?”  

He took her hand once again. “Grand entrances are fun. Plus, wait til’ you see the view from above.” 

He felt her latch on to his arm as the sound of the choppers roared in. Soon enough, the helicopter began rising, the weight of the ground lifting. As it took off into Gotham City, Demetria watched the twinkling city below her.

As childish as it seemed, Demetria felt like Jasmine did on that magic carpet with Aladdin. Seeing Gotham from a bird’s eye view, the city looked beautiful and peaceful. 

Bruce relished in watching his fiancé’s amazement, hoping he could make her feel this way for the rest of their lives. 

She looked over at him. “You were right. This is incredible.” 

She scooted closer to him, leaning back on his shoulder as she continued to look out the window. Bruce pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching his hand over to hers on her lap, clasping them. 

Both stayed in the moment, wishing they could stay like this forever. 

But once the helicopter scoured every inch part of Gotham, it was time to descend back onto the landing pad. 

Bruce helped Demetria off the helicopter. Her eyes shifted to the once empty ballroom which was now filled with a large crowd inside staring at her. Her chest grew heavy, palms sweating.

“They’re staring at us,” she told Bruce. 

He took her hand. “They see how you beautiful you look”. He gave it squeeze. “Remember, I’ve got you.” 

She nodded and exhaled softly as the two made their way inside. 

She followed him as the door opened to the gala room. All eyes stayed on them. She flashed a closed mouth smile at partygoers until her eyes met Harvey’s. It wasn’t until his familiar, warm smile that hers became more genuine and honest. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Bruce announced. “Glad you started without us!” He let go of Demetria’s hand, clapping his together. “Where's Rachel?!”

Demetria eye’s turned to Rachel, who cringed slightly. 

Bruce motioned to her. “Rachel Dawes- my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say... ‘the guy from those god-awful campaign commercials? 'I Believe in Harvey Dent?' Nice slogan, Harvey.” 

As the crowd chuckled, Demetria’s smile faltered even more. She was thrown off by the Bruce that was speaking. It was like the second his hand left hers, he’d become another man. He’d become like everyone else in the crowd - pompous and slightly arrogance.

He’s putting on a show for them, she thought to herself. This is not the real him.

“Certainly caught Rachel's attention,” Bruce went on. “But then I started paying attention to Harvey, and all he's been doing as our new D.A., and you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. On his watch, Gotham can feel a little safer. A little more optimistic. But what he’s done for Gotham isn’t just the only good thing Harvey Dent has done.”

He then shifted his tone and his gaze, now looking at Demetria who’s heart dropped to her stomach. 

“Harvey convinced his good friend from college, Demetria Gallagher, to move to Gotham,” Bruce continued, smiling at her. “It’s because of Harvey and Rachel that I was introduced to the love of my life.” 

The crowd let out a collective “aw” as Demetria gave him a small smile.

“I spent years thinking I’d never find the ‘one’.” He turned back to the crowd. “I figured if I’m never gonna find her, why not have some fun? And I did.”

The crowd laughed. Demetria rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Then I ran into Rachel having a lunch with this beautiful woman and I couldn’t help myself. I asked her three times to have dinner with me.” Bruce shifted his attention to Demetria, taking her hand in his. “While I will never know who or what convinced you to say ‘yes’, all I know is that from the moment I left that dinner, I knew this witty, kind, beautiful woman was who I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Demetria, to say you are my heart and my soul is simply not enough. There will never be enough words or adjectives or uses of symbolism to describe how much you mean to me and how happy you make me. I love you more than anything.”

The crowd, once again, “awed” as he pecked Demetria’s cheek. He then grabbed two glasses of champagne off the server’s tray, handing one to Demetria. He then  turned back to the crowd, raising his glass. “To-.” 

“I just want to say something really quickly,” Demetria spoke up, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “If that’s, ok?”

Bruce smiled, her sudden burst of confidence bringing him pride. “By all means.”

She turned to the crowd. “You all know Harvey as your DA, but I know him as  my confidant, my greatest friend, and above all, my family. He’s also my get out of jail free card, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Everyone laughed as Harvey shook his head. Demetria turned to her best friend, her smile fading a bit. 

“Harvey, you’re selflessness and dedication to making Gotham City a safer one for its citizens is not just admirable, but also inspirational. You fight for the voiceless, the scared, and for those who want to make their home a better place. You’re one of the reasons Gotham has a brighter future.”

“So get out your checkbooks and let's make sure that he stays right where all of Gotham wants him,” Bruce toasted. “All except Gotham's criminals, of course. To the face of Gotham's bright future- Harvey Dent.” 

Everyone toasted and took a sip of their champagne.

As the crowd went back to their party, Bruce turned to Demetria.

“I’m going to go outside for a bit,” he told her, pecking her cheek. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

She opened her mouth to protest but it was too late - he’d wandered off. She sighed, wondering how he could he just leave her to fend for herself at their first gala together. She took a sip of her champagne, giving up and giving in to the situation at hand.  

“You’re a very lucky woman,” an elderly woman marveled. “And quite adorable. I bet Martha would’ve loved you.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind,” Demetria remarked. “Were you a friend of hers?”

“We were both on the chair for many charities. Such a wonderful woman. If you’re interested, I would love to bring you aboard some of them and get you acquainted.”

“I would love that! I’m actually working with the boy’s home and helping them with renovations and whatnot.”

“How wonderful!”

“I’ve also expressed interest in helping them with schooling and whatnot.” 

The gleam in the woman’s eyes softened. “Oh...really, now?” 

“Yeah, I would love to do some teaching.” 

“She’s going to do a fantastic job,” Harvey remarked, chiming in. He threw his hand around Demetria’s shoulders. “Those kids are going to be well looked after thanks to her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the woman agreed before walking off. 

Demetria turned to Harvey. “I think she realized I wasn’t one of them.” 

“Who cares?” he shrugged. “But forgetting that, you’re seriously going to become a teacher?” 

“I brought it up to Monsignor O’Malley about the possibility of teaching English. Besides, it would give me something to do that I actually like. You know, talking to them about novels and what it means to express yourself in your writing.” 

“That’s fantastic!” Harvey remarked. “You would be perfect for that.” 

“I hope so. How are you handling this...whatever it is?” 

He sighed. “I’m...just here. How about you?” 

“I wanna go into my bedroom and go under the covers and wait til’ everyone leaves.” 

“Well for what it’s worth, you look beautiful tonight.” 

“I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Bruce is very lucky.”

“Yeah, he should be. But he decided to give up on the party.” 

Harvey furrowed his eyebrows as Demetria motioned her head to the outside. He then turned his head, the two watching Bruce and Rachel engage in what appeared to be an intense conversation. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Demetria wondered aloud. 

He quickly glanced over and took a look sip of his champagne. “Probably nothing.”

Her lips curved into a smirk as she eyed Harvey. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“And you’re annoying me.”

“After that heartfelt speech I gave, that’s the thanks I get?” 

“It was alright.” 

She punched him in the shoulder, causing him to cringe. “Asshole. I gave a beautiful speech.”

He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, hopefully it will be just a nice ad one you’ll give at my wedding.” 

Her eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. You proposed to Rachel?” 

“Not yet. I’m planning to.” 

Her mouth hung open as she leaned in close. “Holy shit, dude! When?!” 

“Well first there are some things I gotta-.”

“So you two are friends, yes?” another female guest inquired, cutting him off. Her arm was linked with a man who looked at least 20 years older than she did.

Harvey and Demetria turned to her. “We most certainly are,” Demetria agreed, pinching his cheek. 

“So how long ago did you two date?” one man remarked, chuckling. 

Harvey and Demetria’s eyes went wide.

“We never have,” Harvey answered.

The man elbowed Harvey, laughing. “Aw, c’mon son. It’s alright.” 

“He’s basically my brother,” Demetria said. 

The man shook his head as he and his concerned date turned away. Demetria and Harvey turned to each other.

“Oh my god these people suck,” she giggled to Harvey. “At least they’ll fund you.”

“Yeah, I could give a shit,” he retorted. 

“Mind if I steal him for a bit?” Rachel asked, chiming in. 

“By all means,” Demetria motioned. 

Harvey and Rachel went off when Demetria  noticed Bruce still standing outside. She made her way out.

“Doing ok there?”

Bruce turned to her, smiling. “So far, so good.” 

“I love you but you’re not the best liar,” she chuckled, her fingers gently combing his hair. “Babe, if you want to leave, say the word and we’ll sneak out. We can go anywhere.” 

“Tempting,” he remarked, smirking. “Where do you propose we go?” 

She cocked her head back, shoulders shrugging. “Anywhere. We could literally get in a car and go anywhere we want.” She paused. “Anywhere you want.” 

Bruce’s body turned to face her, giving her his full undivided attention. She set her glass down on the railing. 

“While I think it’s sweet that you threw this for Harvey, I don’t want to be alone in a room with people I don’t know let alone give a shit about. I would rather be with you in the middle of nowhere where we don’t have to pretend we’re people that we’re not.”

His smile faltered, his eyes going to the ground. Demeteria shoulders tightened, fear creeping into her now uneasy stomach.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What did I do?” 

He shook his head. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s...” He sighed. “I never want to keep anything from you.” 

“What have you been keeping from me?” she questioned, her voice low 

He scanned the area as well as the inside of the ballroom. Realizing he wasn’t the safest, let alone most secure place, he leaned closer toward her. “I’ll go in the bedroom and grab a couple things. Go tell Alfred we’re heading out. We’ll meet at the elevator, alright?” 

“Bruce-.” 

He kissed her cheek and made his way inside. Bruce pushed through the crowd, fielding attempts of conversation from partygoers. She threw her hands up in defeat as an annoyed exhale left her mouth. 

“At least we’re leaving,” she muttered under her breath.

========================================================

In their bedroom, Bruce grabbed a set of keys for one of the cars from his safe in their closet. Realizing it was probably best to bring her anxiety med, he went into the medicine cabinet only to find it wasn’t there. 

He then remembered her saying she always kept it in the drawer in her nightside table. 

Figuring she put it back, he went over to it and opened the drawer and there it was. When he pulled it out, he noticed an envelope underneath with ‘For Batman’ written on it. 

He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the door was closed. He then set down the bag and opened the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

My Night Friend ,

There’s something you need to know about that viral video of the copycat. 

I recognize the kitchen in the video. It’s the Fatted Calf on East 28th. A guy I briefly saw in college worked there and I hung out with him in the kitchen while he was closing up the shop. 

What people don’t know is that there’s a secret room. The guy told me the owner had it made to be used as a bomb shelter back in the day. It’s located right beside the freezer. If you can get into the boss’ office, there’s a special key inside a safe that can open the door. The Joker may be taking shelter in there. 

Take what you will with this information. I hope it serves you well.

Sincerely,

Your Rooftop Friend 

Bruce’s couldn’t believe what he was reading. His fiancé, the love of his life, was helping the Batman. The severity of the situation as well as time the huge piece of information made him realize he needed to get both of them out of the penthouse and into the Batcave. He could explain everything to her there. 

Shoving the letter into the bag, he zipped it up and made his way to the door when something on the security camera screen made him stop. 

It was The Joker followed by some henchmen. 

He threw the bag in the closet hurriedly, closing the door, and made his way to the party. Seeing Harvey Dent close by talking to Rachel, he figured he’d had enough time to get Harvey to safety and then grab Demetria. 

He came up behind Harvey, putting Harvey in a headlock as Rachel’s eyes widened in fear. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” she exclaimed. 

“They’re coming for him,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. “Go grab her and get yourselves to safety.”

========================================================

Demetria spotted Alfred near the wall area. She made her way over, catching the old man’s attention. 

“There you Miss Gallagher,” he greeted. “Are you having fun?”

“I feel like a zoo animal. I’ve had more people stare at me than actually talk to me. Anyway, Bruce and I are heading out.” 

Alfred chuckled. “You and Master Wayne are a truly perfect fit.” 

She eyed the room before leaning closer toward Alfred. “Alfred, he said he had something he’d been meaning to tell me. Any idea what it could be?” 

Just then, the sound of a single gunshot silence the room. Everyone turned, including Demetria and Alfred, to see The Joker, the man from the video, enter the ballroom with his posse of men behind him wearing clown masks. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in a sing-song voice. 

His posse pointed guns at the crowd, a silent order to step back. The crowd formed a circle around The Joker. 

Alfred, who was a few rows behind the crowd, stood in front of Demetria. 

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to her. 

She watched from behind his shoulder. 

The sound of tray hitting the ground, broke the silence. The Joker looked back for a moment before turning back to the crowd. 

“We are...tonight’s entertainment.” He grabbed a piece of shrimp from a table, stuffing it into his mouth. He looked around. “Only one question - where is Harvey Dent?”

He eyed around, pointing the gun at a group of women before ripping one of their glasses of champagne from their hands and taking a swig of it. He set back on the table and began questioning those he passed, occasionally grabbing at them. 

“You know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?”

He squeezed one guy’s cheek. “Do you know where Harvey is? I need to talk to him about something. Something little.” 

He went up to an old white man. “You know I’ll settle for his loved ones.” 

Meanwhile, Demetria felt someone grab her hand. She turned to find Rachel. 

“We need to get you out of here,” Rachel whispered. 

Demetria went to follow Rachel when she felt someone grab her hand. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sweetcheeks?” one of the masked men retorted. 

He grabbed Demetria, despite her attempts to break free. Her heart rate quickened, stomach growing weak as the man pushed her in front of the crowd. 

“Hey boss!” He called out. “It’s her!”

The Joker turned to her, his fixation on her making her blood run cold. She stood frozen and helpless. He got into her face. “So this is the future Mrs. Wayne. You’re also Harvey Dent’s best friend.” 

He grabbed Demetria’s face, cradling it forcefully. 

“Harvey is your best friend, isn’t he? Your buddy ol pal?” He let out a vicious cackle. “Possibly an old lover? An unrequited love? Either way, you’re somewhat of an asset to him.”

She moved her eyes, looking around as the crowd watched her in fear.

“C'mere, look at me.” 

She whimpered, closing her eyes. 

He tightened his grip on her hair “LOOK AT ME!” 

She yelped, opening her eyes as tears filled to the brim.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her teasingly. “Well you look upset.” He asked, pointing to scars on his mouth with his knife. “Is it these? Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got ‘em?”

She didn’t have time to answer, at least he didn’t bother to give her a chance to. She went to move her head when he grabbed her again. “Hey, look at me.”

She stopped moving, her eyes on him. “So, I had a wife, who was beautiful...like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks.” 

She squirmed when The Joker pulled her back. “One day they carve her face. And we got no money for surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I just wanted to let her know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this to myself. ”

She squeaked, frightened as he put the knife to his scars. 

“And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves! Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!” 

He pulled her back, took the knife, and slashed her forearm, the sharp stinging, sensation causing her to let out a blood curdling scream.  She collapsed onto the ground, blood spilling down her arm and onto the marble floor. 

Demetria couldn’t move, her body frozen, mind unable to process what had just happened. She opened her mouth to speak, her chest stinging in pain and her head growing lightheaded as the Joker stepped on her bleeding arm.

“Please help me,” she begged in between her hyperventilating. “Please...I’m...I can’t...help!”

“Why doesn’t Harvey Dent come save his best friend?!” The Joker called out.

“Let her go!”

Rachel made her way. The Joker stomped on Demetria’s arm one last time.

Alfred rushed to her side. “Deep breaths, Miss,” he whispered. “Deep breaths.” 

“Alfred...I’m gonna....don’t let me...” 

“You’re going to be alright.” 

“Step back!” one of the masked henchman ordered, pointing a gun at Alfred. 

Alfred held up his hands stepping back from Demetria. The henchman walked away as Demetria continued to hyperventilate. 

She was going to die in front of everyone. Her vision became blurry, her breath uncontrollable. She watched in what she thought would be her final moments Batman attack The Joker. 

In and out of blackness, she heard glass shatter followed by footsteps. 

Tears strolled down her face as she struggled to breathe, trying to hold on to whatever breath she had left, her body shivering. Alfred rushed to her once again.

“Don’t just stand there!” he cried out. “Someone call a bloody ambulance!” 

He gave Demetria his hand, which she held onto tightly. 

“Stay with me,” he told her. “Stay with me.” 

But she wasn’t sure how long she could last. Between the chest pains and the pains from her wound and the light-headedness, she was barely holding on. 

How badly she wanted to see Bruce....and how could he leave her like this?

__________________________________________________________________

Dress: 

Hair/Makeup:

[divineluce]

Research Reunion || Orion & Luce

Timing: May 11th, 2021

Tagging: @3starsquinn & @divineluce

Location: The Scribrary

Description: Who else would know phoenixes better than a Scribe? Luce goes to Rio for help-- third time’s the charm. Right?

Grabbing her backpack from the passenger seat of her car, Luce glanced up at the Scribary. She remembered the last time she’d been here, vividly, in fact. She’d been asking Rio for help that day too. Help for… Swallowing, she slid the backpack over her shoulder, keenly aware of the books inside. They were the one she’d borrowed from Rio, months and months ago. Books about ghosts, about exorcisms. She’d poured over every single page, trying to figure out how she could do something. And in the end, she hadn’t even been able to help. She’d failed. Nadia was safe, but no thanks to her. It was like how Remmy was safe, how Bea was safe-- by virtue of being nowhere near this town, they were safe. Luce made her way to the door of Scribe HQ and knocked on the door. “Hey. I need your help.” She said, not looking at Rio. The last time they’d seen each other… She didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she awkwardly held up her backpack, “I’ve also got some overdue books.”

Orion hadn’t expected to hear from Luce. The two hadn’t seen each other since everything with Lydia. And the last that he had heard from her was the alcoholic apology for punching him. Rio just hadn’t been sure which time specifically she had been apologizing for. Maybe it was meant as a catch all. Broken cheek bone aside, getting punched was nowhere near the reason that Rio expected the two hadn’t seen each other since the incident. The whole situation with Lydia… it still weighed on Rio. People had died. Instead of getting to help, Rio had been promise bound into hurting his sister and friends all in an attempt to help a serial killer escape. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for being so naive. At the end of the day, Rio and Luce had never been particularly close. She was more like the sister of the best friend of the person Rio had been dating. Familiar with each other by extension, acquaintances by association. “Hi there.” Rio held the door open, scratching the back of his neck as a nervous tick while conveniently covering half of his face with his arm. Just the memory of Luce made his face throb. “I really hope we can do introductions without the uh- punching thing this time.” Rio smiled innocently, though the joke sounded more like a genuine plea than anything a normal person would laugh at. But if there was anything that could get Rio out of that funk it was the mention of his books. “Really?! That’s amazing. That means I can take you off my list. Come on, follow me we can head back to the library.” Rio waved her inside and started off down the winding hallways, “So uh- it’s been a while. How ya been?”

Grimacing at the memories of how she’d… greeted him in the past, Luce offered a tight lipped smile. “Nope. No punching this time.” She said. Christ. He was just a fucking kid. And she’d fucking clocked him. Twice. She needed to work on that. She needed to work on a lot of things, but decking kids was definitely on the list. Slipping the bag off her shoulder, Luce pulled out two of the thick leather bound books and tossed them to Rio. “Yep, right here. Ghosts and Ghouls and Diaries of an Exorcist. Real light reading.” She said before squinting in slight confusion. “A list?” She echoed as she followed him inside. The hallway seemed a bit brighter than the last time she’d been here and she realized there were lights installed along the halls. Lights that hadn’t been there before-- Winston’s handiwork, she realized. Winston must have fixed the place up before she left. Yet another person who was better off away from here.

Shrugging, she mulled over her response. Out of magic. Out of people to turn to. Which is why she was here, why she’d talked to Leah. “Keeping on keeping on. Just trying to fix some shit, that’s all. What about you?” She asked.

It felt like there were a million books in the Scribrary. Far too many for Orion to ever truly miss a random ghost book that Luce had borrowed a few months back. Still, there was something oddly comforting about knowing that one was going to be back where it belonged and he could mark it off the list. “Oh yeah. I sort of started a list. Like a book check out system, so that I can keep a better track where the books are. If I can’t find one I start to get stressed, so it’s a bit calming to know which ones are in someone else’s hands.” Rio shrugged following the explanation. Even he knew that it seemed a little over the top, but considering people had found their way in before without his knowledge he also thought it’d be a good idea to keep track just in case a book disappeared that he hadn’t lent out. Farther down the hallway, he couldn’t help himself from making further conversation, “For the record, what I said earlier? When you first got here? Totally a joke. I don’t blame you for either time you-” Rio held up a fist and motioned towards his face. “Just so you know.”

Rio wondered what Luce meant by that. What exactly was she trying to fix? It probably had something to do with what she was doing here asking for his help. “Good to hear.” Rio answered regardless. It hadn’t been the most positive answer, but keeping on was about as good as it got in White Crest, “Loaded question. I guess I’m alright, all things considered. It’s just been a long year already.” He didn’t want to bother Luce with all of his issues. It was just depressing and sad, “But I’m glad you dropped by. I’m happy to help with whatever you need.”

“Huh. Guess that makes sense.” Luce said, because it did on some level. She’d never liked books, never really cared much for anything that she couldn’t listen to or see or feel. But it made sense for Rio to keep track of shit. They continued down the hallway in relative silence, Luce aware of how fucking awkward it all was. She’d never really given a shit about Rio. Which was a pretty terrible thing, but it was true. Rio wasn’t someone she’d bothered to get to know-- he was just Winston’s boyfriend. But, he wasn’t just that, was he? He’d been there, that day… he’d seen what she’d done. He’d stood between her and Lydia and she hadn’t cared. And fuck. He was… human. Innocent. “You should. I shouldn’t have punched you. Either time.” She said, her voice dull, sounding almost as numb as she felt. The memories of that day still haunted her. Day and night, what she’d done, it stayed with her.

“Yeah.” Luce said offhandedly. “I feel that. A long fucking year already.” It was hard to believe that a single year had passed since she’d been pulled from her cabin by her parents, forced to live with Bea and Nell. Now, she would give almost anything to even see her parents, let alone argue with them over whether it was really necessary for her to live with her sisters as a grown ass adult. Clearing her throat as they entered a room lined with shelves crammed full of books, “Great. I’m looking for books on phoenix’s. Specifically stuff on what can cause corruption. I reached out to,” Luce paused, not knowing if Rio was exactly on the up and up with Leah, “someone who knows about phoenix’s, but they didn’t know much either.”

It was obvious from her tone that Luce didn’t want to talk about it. Orion couldn’t claim that he wanted to talk about it either. It was awkward. Especially with someone he didn’t actually know well. “I mean the first time was just a misunderstanding. I can’t fault you for looking out for Winston.” Rio shrugged. He hadn’t loved it when it had happened. And he had mostly wished that Luce would have given him at least a minute to try to explain himself before she chose to punch him instead. But Rio and Luce weren’t super close. Luce cared about Winston and owed nothing to Rio. “I can’t say I would have done the same, but that’s just because I’m very non confrontational. I’d rather silently second guess from afar.” The second time was an entirely different story. “And we all know that I wasn’t in control with Lydia. You had to do what you had to do. If anyone should be apologizing it’s me. I threw a knife at you.” The reminder of it flashed through his head. The snapping of Athena’s arm. The air whistling as the knife flew and landed in the back of Luce’s leg. He blinked the images away and tried to focus again. “I’m just saying, neither one was exactly unmotivated.”

Inside the library, Rio was able to breathe a tiny bit easier. Something about the place calmed him. Maybe being here with Luce was not any less awkward than it was in the hallway, but it felt less claustrophobic. Physically and mentally. “Phoenixes?” Rio repeated, crossing his arms and giving a huff as he tried to consider what might be useful. “Honestly? There’s not a ton of information on them in the Scribrary. I have a theory, but can’t really prove it. But I think maybe one of them knew enough about their past lives to take the books that were stored here. Or the Phoenixes that worked as Scribes never trusted them enough with the knowledge.” All of that was speculation, a theory mostly beginning when he learned that Leah’s past life had been involved with the Scribes. Part of Rio wanted to question Luce’s source. Given her sister’s relationship with Leah, it made sense that Leah directly might be the source. But he didn’t have any interest in outing the woman if Luce wasn’t privy to that knowledge. Leah was actually starting to trust Rio, despite his hunter heritage. He didn’t want to give her any reason to jeopardize that. “But I definitely have some stuff on them. Follow me.”

“I should have stopped to think. To ask questions, get some straight answers.” Luce replied dully, her boots falling heavily against the solid stone pavers of the building. How fucking old was this place anyways, she wondered absently. It seemed older than the town itself. “I should have done a lot of shit differently.” She said, but grimaced at Rio’s next words. You had to do what you had to do. No. She’d done much more than that. She remembered the way she’d set fire to innocent bystanders, people caught in the crossfire of a world they weren’t even aware of. She could feel the flames curl and crackle against their skin. She could remember the way rage and fear had coursed through her. “Sure. They weren’t unmotivated.” But they were motivated for the wrong fucking reasons.

Glancing around at the massive store of books, Luce had a hard time believing that the Scribes didn’t have much on the subject of Phoenix’s. They had to have something. They had to have information. Or else… what was Luce going to do? Give up. Go back to Adam and tell her she wasn’t the right person for the job. Her magic was gone, her sister was gone, her family had abandoned her for what she was. And now, she couldn’t-- she couldn’t even find a goddamn book. Luce wrapped her arms around herself as she listened to him, as though she could hold all the remains of who she was together. “Alright. Makes sense to me. Theories and stuff aren’t my wheelhouse, but sure. Lead the way.” She nodded.

Unable to argue that, Orion just shrugged. At the time, he had certainly wished that Luce had stopped to question Rio on the topic or tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Partially because he didn’t enjoy getting punched in the face, but mostly because he had hoped that he ame off friendly and pleasant enough that Luce might have questioned the misunderstanding entirely. He had to remind himself that the two had not been friends at the time. He wasn’t even sure what they were now. “Yeah. Well I get that much. I would have done a lot differently too.” Like never promise a random woman that he would protect her at all costs. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure he would have done anything different. He still wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt. He just couldn’t help himself from making stupid decisions.

Rio didn’t waste any time leading her to the few materials that he had found on phoenixes. Most were journals by other scribes talking about their experience with them, though there were a few self-collected bestiaries that almost devoted a small section to them. Certainly not as vast as some of the more common supernatural creatures. Books about vampires or werewolves took up multiple bookshelves, while mentions of Phoenixes fit neatly on a single row. “I guess theories and stuff is sort of my area of expertise. If you want to call it that.” He honestly wasn’t sure what he would describe as his ‘wheelhouse’. When he got to the shelf, and pulled off a book and started flipping through it, “So if there’s anything about them it’s probably here. Feel free to start flipping through some of them. What kind of corruption do you mean?”

“Shoulda,” Luce kicked at a broken piece of cobblestone, “Coulda,” The stone bounced and skittered across the floor ahead of her, “Woulda.” She said, a grim expression on her face. There were a lot of things she would have done differently. She wouldn’t have let herself get carried away by fear, by anger. She wouldn’t have called in a favor from a woman she hardly knew or understood. She wouldn’t have listened to the words of a kid, of a… fuck. She was more than just a kid. Athena was Rio’s sister. Christ. Rubbing her forehead, Luce followed him to a different section of the scribrary. The books here were all old, leather bound things, with worn spines. No doubt used by generations of Hunters and Scribes alike. And now… her. To try and do something good for once.

“The way I see it, you’re the expert here on books. Theories go right along with that.” She shrugged. Luce wasn’t a theory gal, wasn’t a reader, barely even gave a shit about learning things she cared about. Rubbing a hand on her arm, Luce thought back to the scene she and Adam had witnessed in the forest. The way the fires had burned an natural red, the way a curved beak had seemed to jut from the phoenix’s face, while their head remained human. Pulling another book from the shelf, she paused at an anatomical diagram of a phoenix, in both human and full form. How had the person who wrote this book figured out the anatomy? Had the phoenix in this sketch offered this knowledge? Or had it been taken? Luce cleared her throat. “The flames, they didn’t burn like normal fire. Or normal phoenix fire either. There were feathers, on fire, being shed all over the place. And they didn’t go out on their own. They just kept burning, like oil. And the flames, they didn’t look right. There was this shade of red, to them. I’ve never seen fire look like that before.” She frowned, “And I know fire.”

Listening to Luce’s description, a worried line settled across Orion’ face. “That sounds scary.” He didn’t know much about phoenixes, but that definitely didn’t sound normal. Plus, he trusted Luce if she said that it hadn’t been normal. “Definitely not something you see everyday.” Rio had a bad feeling that if the former Scribe phoenixes did know anything about this it wasn’t something that they would want stored in Scribe records for anybody in the group to see. His only hope was that something was left behind, or somebody was studying the phoenix without their knowledge. Just the thought of that made him feel gross, though. He didn’t want to operate like that. Studying someone that didn’t want their secrets out. He would be better. He had to be. “Do you think they were dangerous?”

Had it been scary? Maybe. At this point, Luce had seen so much shit in this town, done so much fucked up shit… it hadn’t really registered as scary. Which was a troubling thought-- one that she could deal with later. When she wasn’t trying to stop half the woods outside of White Crest from getting set ablaze. Shrugging, she continued to flip through her book, “Nope. Not at all. Apparently, they also were able to melt through a car. Which means they’re powerful. Real goddamn powerful.” She said, thinking back to the melted shards of glass and obsidian, the dried streambed. At Rio’s question, Luce paused. Yes, definitely. But not because they wanted to be. “They’re dangerous only because they’re out of control. Whatever happened to them, it doesn’t look like it was intentional. Magic might change someone’s appearance, but it wouldn’t be enough to alter their flames. I think they’re in trouble.” I think they’re afraid of what they’ve done. What they might do.

Orion continued flipping through his own book, but couldn’t help but glance up at Luce as she described the encounter. She sounded so casual while discussing so insanely powerful. Rio had been dealing with the supernatural his entire life and he still couldn’t quite manage to keep himself that calm. “Woah. Didn’t know that was something they could do. That’s like… insanely hot.” Rio had no idea exactly how hot, but definitely not a safe amount of hot. He realized moments too late what he had said. “Hot as in like actual temperature hot, I mean. Not like attractive hot. For the record. I mean melting a car might be very attractive. I’ve never seen it for myself.” Definitely time to focus on reading that book again. He pulled it up to try to head his reddening face and only peaked over the top to look back at Luce when she gave him the best news he had heard so far tonight. That she didn’t think it was intentional. She didn’t think they were dealing with someone evil, but someone that might need help. Now that he could get behind. “In that case, we have to find something. I want to help.”

“Sure is.” Luce said off-handedly as she read a paragraph about phoenix feathers and molting patterns. Hm. Nothing there. A bit late, she realized that Rio was sputtering over his words. Glancing up from her book, she offered a grin. “Keep it in your pants there. But no, I know what you mean. It’s real fucking hot. I’ve melted metal before, but that shit takes time. And I only did doorknobs. I could never cut something as huge as a car. Guess that’s what happens when you’re basically a living sun.” She said before going back to her book. Fuck, she hated reading. Why weren’t there like… audiobooks for this shit? Or some wise old person to tell her what was up? Well. There were plenty of wise old spell casters in town, the difference was… they just wouldn’t have anything to do with her anymore. She couldn’t exactly go to them for help. So, Rio and Leah were the next best thing. At Rio’s words, Luce looked at him again, expression  pensive. “Why? This isn’t your responsibility, you don’t need to help me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are. But why?” Was he trying to ease guilt the way she was, was he trying to atone?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Orion laugh sarcastically, thankful that Luce didn’t spend much time teasing him on the subject. Instead, she surprised him. He knew about her family's power, but he had no idea she had been strong enough to use the fire to cut metal. “That’s impressive. I guess I should have known that fire magic like that could get that powerful.” The extent of his knowledge on spellcasters came from Winston and the Vural family admittedly. The Quinn family had never partnered much with spellcasters to help catch supernatural creatures. They had always been far too proud. He hadn’t been expecting Luce to question his intentions. It took him off guard, mostly because he didn’t really know them himself. Though he had more than a few ideas. “Um… I guess I don’t know the right answer to that.” Rio shrugged, but continued to consider the question, “I guess I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff in my life? I was raised as a hunter, told that supernatural people were inherently evil and unnatural. I knew that wan’t true, but I never got a chance to help them.” More often than not, Rio had stood idly by while watching them get slaughtered. It wasn’t a feeling that Rio would soon forget, the helplessness of knowing he couldn’t stop it. The disgust at himself for not trying anyways. He had failed so many people in this town. He just didn’t want to do that anymore. “Now’s my chance. I don’t want to waste it.”

“It can.” When it works. When it wants to. “But, I couldn’t do something like that even if I wanted to.” Luce said, saying the words her brain was thinking automatically. Luce’s mouth snapped shut and she stared at Rio. Fuck. Fuck. She hadn’t meant to say that. She didn’t-- she didn’t want more people to know about this than need be. She didn’t have the protection of the coven and Bea had only just gotten back from New York, she didn’t want to add more to her sister’s plate. Same went for Nell—she didn’t want to force her baby sister to watch her back. If more people knew that Luce was without her magic, it would paint a big fucking target on her back. “I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear anything about my magic. You got it?” She asked, voice shaking slightly.

Listening to his words, Luce couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could have thought that this kid could be a hunter. He might have the genes, but there wasn’t a cruel bone in his body. “Yeah. Don’t fucking waste it.” She repeated before looking blankly back down at the book that was clutched in her hands. Any other time, the pages would be scorched and smoking in her grasp, a byproduct of her stress and anger. But the pages were only slightly crumpled under her fingers. Fuck.

Orion was left confused and concerned about Luce’s comment. It had been said so quickly that it had almost completely gone over his head completely. But a few moments after Rio’s eyes narrowed as he became perplexed by the wording. His head tilted, glancing away from the book in order to get a better look at Luce. Before he even had a chance to question her, Luce was talking again. She seemed pretty adamant that this was not something to be spoken of. Or even remembered from the sounds of it. That only concerned Rio more. “Right. Uh- didn’t hear anything.” Rio bit his lip and considered if there was anything else he should say. Adam had experienced something similar with his own abilities. Why did that thing only happen to people that actually wanted the powers? “But uh- if I did hear something, I’d definitely be there for you. Like to help figure that out. But I wouldn’t tell anyone. If I had heard anything.”

Not wasting the opportunity would be a lot easier if Rio knew what to do to help. That was the first step in helping others. Still, he appreciated Luce’s energy. It was intimidating for sure, sometimes downright scary. But it was surprisingly motivating. It made Rio want to find the answer to this more than ever. “I won’t. We’re going to help.” Rio tried remaining confident. Good vibes only. “Even if we have to write it ourselves.”

“Nope. You sure didn’t.” Luce said flatly before looking back at her book. It was useless though. She wasn’t the studying type usually and even less so when she had an audience. She glared up at him, ready to tear him a new one if he kept up on this subject. But, as she looked over at him and saw the expression on his face, she couldn’t help but sigh. She didn’t want his help, but… “We’ve got more important things to deal with than my shit. But thanks. You don’t need to, though.”

“Yeah.” She said with a nod before flicking through her book. “Whatever it takes.” Luce said quietly, the words familiar to her tongue. Not in the same context, not in the same way, but the words were just as true as they were a year ago. Whatever it takes. She’d right her wrongs, one step at a time. As she skimmed over the pages, she paused on what looked like… an ingredient list. It seemed to be talking about some kind of illness-- not corruption, exactly. But something that affected phoenix flames. “Hey. What do you think about this?” She asked, pointing at the list. “Essence of the phoenix stricken by disease. White flowered herbs found where wild creatures roam, bound with sage and lavender to purify. Tears of another freely given and,” Luce squinted at the text, “Fire. Lots of fire.”

Clearly, Luce was serious about not bringing it up. Orion continued to peak over the book at her, trying to pick up on any signs without asking. Asking wasn’t the right idea it seemed. Rio wasn’t sure that he could necessarily relate. He had always hated his abilities, had wished that they would go away. For him, losing them felt like a blessing in disguise. But for someone that seemingly liked and enjoyed the powers they had always had, it must be a lot harder. Like an extension of themselves. Rio didn’t understand, but he could guess that it must feel like losing a part of herself. “Point taken. Subject dropped.” Rio assured her, though he hoped at some point it would come up again.

Rio continued skimming through his own book until Luce pointed something out in the book she was looking through. He bent around to get a better look at the list and scanned through quickly, noting a few words that stuck out to him. “A phoenix disease? Never heard of that before. But that could make sense.” If there was ever a disease specific to phoenixes, one of the first things Rio would consider was their fire abilities and temperature. “So is the list some kind of spell? Or potion maybe?” He squinted at the list further and sighed, “They kept it pretty vague. Except for the fire part.”

At least he dropped it. That was something. Luce focused on the list-- there wasn’t much to go off of at all. It read more like an old ritual that the coven would do, one of the ancient rites that they did on a yearly basis. Big magic, powerful magic. The books Bea had kept, the ones on necromancy, they had featured lists similar to these. They were written to be vague for a reason. “It’s a spell. A potion would have more specific instructions, discussion about tinctures or timing. This is a ritual, some kind of cleansing. The sage and lavender tell me that much.” She tapped the line on the book before flipping the page. But, there were no further instructions, no other words. “Whoever wrote this, they kept their cards close to their chest. And I don’t blame them. The Scribe who figured this out, they must have worked with spellcasters and at least one phoenix. Can’t imagine either of them would have wanted the specifics of a ritual to be written out.” She said with a sigh and pulled out her phone to take a picture of the list. “I don’t know exactly what all of this means. The fire is clear and the lavender and sage are easy enough to source. The specifics of it, though. Can’t tell you.” Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Luce wished she was better at this. Better at all the parts of magic that she’d scorned. Because then, maybe she wouldn’t feel so lost.

Orion listened to Luce’s description intently. He was thankful to have a friend well versed on spells like that. That is what Luce was, right? A friend? Today more than ever, it seemed like there was actually a small chance of that. “Good to know.” Rio nodded, making a mental note of this in the back of his mind. He may never be involved in a spell or potion making, but he would at least remember how to tell a difference between the two, hopefully. “Big shocker there, a scribe being cryptic and vague.” He sighed. For a group dedicated to cataloguing supernatural knowledge for historical use, a lot of scribes didn’t love putting things in layman's terms. “I can’t tell you anything for sure, but I have a couple theories. That part about wild creatures. I would bet they’re referring to more than just your average wild animal. Probably somewhere with a large population of supernatural creatures. And this part,” Rio paused to look at the part about the tears of another, “Phoenix tears are supposed to be special, right? Some kind of super healer or something.”

“Witches aren’t much better. Must be a paranoid magic thing.” Luce said with a shake of her head before shutting the book. She couldn’t make heads nor tails of what it meant and, honestly, she wanted to be able to study the book on her own. It took her time to parse through magical shit, she didn’t pick up written spells and rituals quickly. “Mind if I borrow this? I’ll give it back sooner than the last batch.” She said, shaking the ancient book in her hand. “As far as what you’re saying… It makes sense, but keep looking for anything that might help. We don’t even know if this would help a phoenix who’s been corrupted. This is talking about disease, but I don’t think what we’re dealing with is a disease. I’ve got some leads I might track down, see if they can help.” She let out another sigh. “But yeah. Thanks for your help with this.”

Magic seemed fickle. Orion nodded at Luce’s statement, wondering what made it so different from hunter strength or a werewolf’s ability to turn. In the end, it was all some kind of magic, right? Some unexplained phenomenon that made people stronger or more capable than regular people. None of it made sense. But without any insight, Rio decided to just nod in agreement and leave it at that. “Yeah of course. Take whatever you want. I’ll just make a note of them before you leave. For this archive thing.” He shrugged, sure that she wasn’t interested in hearing about his attempts to modernize this ancient library. “Definitely. I’ll keep looking. Keep me updated okay? So I can help with stuff.”

Shoving the book into her backpack, Luce nodded. “I think just the one will be enough for me. It’s not exactly light reading.” She said as she shrugged on her bag. As she turned to leave, she glanced at the young Scribe for a moment. He really did want to help. And fuck, she needed the help. She wasn’t smart enough, didn’t know enough about magic outside of her own fire. And she couldn’t do this alone. It wasn’t possible, not if she wanted to help this person. “Yeah, I will. I’ll keep you posted. And if you find anything… let me know.” She said before turning her back on Rio and walking back down the dark corridors of the Scribrary. First Leah, now Rio. Who else would know about this? Who else could help her? Who else would understand why she… needed to do this?

It didn’t matter. It really didn’t. “Whatever it takes.” She repeated to herself. Whatever it takes, to bring some scrap of balance back to the world. To right the wrongs in her past. Whatever it takes. 

[its-bound-to-get-loud]

If Walls Could Talk lyric analysis

I’ve been fascinated with If Walls Could Talk from the moment I started realizing what the lyrics said. I had to look them up, because it sounded a lot like a song about closeting to me. After reading the lyrics that thought was solidified in my brain. I’ve talked about it with @full-of-lonely-people (aka R) and she agreed with my ideas. Back in July, she actually wrote me an analysis. I read it and agreed with a lot, but somehow forgot about it after that (shame on me). Now that I’m working on an Ashton is not straight masterpost, the song came up again. I decided to write down some of my thoughts, but once I got into a flow it quickly became an analysis that needed to stand on its own. After showing R my analysis she brought the one she made in July back up. After taking a look at it, it quickly became clear to me that we shared a lot of the same thoughts and that we completed each other’s thoughts quit well. So I decided to add her parts as well, because I think it’s good to have multiple voices sharing their voices. That’s all for my intro, time to move on to the song.

First, let’s take a look at the description on the genius website about the meaning of the song:

“If Walls Could Talk” discusses the secrecy and intimacy of a relationship that is best kept private. This song is comparable to other 5SOS songs such as “English Love Affair” and “Greenlight” which also have suggestive lyrics.

“If Walls Could Talk” hints toward the romantic occurrences in the bedroom; the walls between rooms are the only thing to conceal the true events of a shared night, as well as witness them.

 It’s hard to see on the desktop website, but this is not an official description. These are submitted definitions. The only artist commentary the song has on genius is Ashton tweeting it’s one of his favorite songs of the album and everything the band said in the cocktail chats.

At first I figured that the song was probably about Muke. That was the obvious choice, since I already believed they aren’t straight. When I checked the writing credits I was surprised to see that the only 5SOS members credited are Ashton and Calum. Which sorts of excludes the possibility that it’s about Muke, unless Ashton and Calum wrote it about them. Which is not impossible, but it seems unlikely. As I’ve mentioned before, I do not believe in Cashton as a couple at this moment, so I don’t see this as a song about their relationship. I’m not entirely sure if I think Calum is straight or not. It’s not something I exclude. I just haven’t seen much evidence to back up any side to be fair. So this song could really be about either of their experiences.

In the cocktail chats all 5SOS members speak about the song from a musical point of view, but what stands out is that nobody speaks about the meaning of the song. So we have no official explanation about the song. Let’s take a look at some of the lyrics and how we interpret them.

“Some things are meant to be secret and not to be heard” C: The song starts with the mention of secrets. This could be about a relationship that for whatever reason you prefer to keep a secret. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be about a relationship. In the chorus the narrator does say “we’d fall from grace”. But that we could also mean the band, it doesn’t have to be just 2 people.

So if I tell you, just keep it and don't say a word C: This sounds like a very urgent call for someone else to keep it a secret. It sounds like it’s very important to the narrator to keep the secret. “Don’t say a word.”

R: I think maybe listening to the first lines instead of simply reading them takes away from how assertive they are – some things are meant to be secret almost implies that it's in their nature to be secret, and violating that is far heavier than simply spilling some secret; consequently, if I tell you just keep it, and don't say a word

Yeah, when the doors are all closing, it's bound to get loud C: Doors are closing, now this could be the doors to a bedroom. Loud could be a reference to activities in the bedroom. The doors could also be a reference to a closet. Closeting (for those who might not know) is a term used for hiding the fact that someone is not straight, either forced or by choice. If you look at the next line, loud doesn’t have to be sound or noise. It could also be considered loud in actions. Defying those who may inforce a closet on the narrator, by maybe making some references about not being straight.

'Cause all these bodies are hoping to get addicted to sound C: Bodies can be taken literally as people, but if you look at it from a closeting point of view, bodies can also be skeletons. Having skeletons in your closet is a saying about there being something people don’t know about a person, having secrets perhaps. To quote Wikipedia: “Skeleton in the closet or skeleton in the cupboard is a colloquial phrase and idiom used to describe an undisclosed fact about someone which, if revealed, would damage perceptions of the person.”

I’d say the information that a 5SOS member is not straight could definitely be considered a skeleton in the closet. It can damage the perception fans have of the band or some of its members. While a lot of fans would probably be supportive if it turns out any of the 5SOS members are not straight, there could also be backlash from some people. The people on their team (management, people at their record label, etc.) could consider it damaging to the 5SOS image to have them open up about their sexuality and therefore force them to hide their sexuality. There’s always a possibility that whoever this is about has chosen to stay closeted voluntarily, but that’s something we can’t really know for certain.

R: On a first read it almost sounds like what is being described is some kind of party – once the doors close, you can turn the music up, and “cause all these bodies are hoping to get addicted to sound” could be a reference to the party goers. But given the context of the song, it seems more appropriate to interpret this in a metaphorical way: “when the doors are all closing” could be a metaphor for privacy – as in, “when every way to access my personal life is blocked”, hence why I find the “all” interesting; it would make less sense if it wasn't a metaphor. “It's bound to get loud” could be a reference to the fact that once you become more secretive, or more private, people tend to talk more, probe more for information. “Cause all these bodies are hoping to get addicted to sound” could mean, sticking with the metaphor, a comment on how nowadays people become quite literally obsessed – addicted, you could say – with every bit of information they can get on others; interesting the use of “bodies” to indicate “people” - it almost strips them of their more “human” side. This, coupled with the first two verses, would suggest that it's not merely privacy we are talking about – it's things even deeper than that, not the simple, blanket right to privacy.

Pre-chorus: Oh, not everything is so primitive Oh, but I'm giving in

Primitive means something is in an early level of development or at the beginning of a process. A word related to it would be simple. It sounds like the narrator is either saying it’s not that simple to give up what he has going with someone, so he keeps giving in. Or it could mean that things are getting complicated because there’s pressure to hide to hide the secret, so he’s giving in to those who force him to keep the secret.

Then on to the chorus.

If these walls could talk, I'd hope they wouldn't say anything Because they've seen way too many things 'Cause we'd fall from grace, we're falling Yeah, we'd fall from grace

C: “If these walls could talk” is a pretty common saying which speaks for itself. If the walls could repeat what happened in a room there could be serious consequences. So if the narrator would be seen with a male partner or heard speaking to someone about their sexuality, this could have consequences for their image/career. They could “fall from grace” as the song describes. An important note to make is that the narrator is saying we would fall from grace. They’re not referencing just themselves. This could mean another person they are seeing. Or maybe even the band, because if one member of the band would come out/get outed that could have consequences for the whole band.

R: This song seems to alternate metaphors to very direct lyrics, such as these: “Not everything is so primitive, but I'm giving in” seems to describe a very specific situation, possibly the one that is meant to be secret, and not to be heard. The idea that “not everything is so primitive” almost suggests the need for a justification: the writer seems to be saying “most things aren't as primal as this, but this one thing is”, and it seems to recall the idea that “if these walls could talk, we'd fall from grace”: the writer might be justifying this that is, in fact, primitive, and that they're giving into it, but it's not everything, but they know that it would be enough to make them “fall from grace”. “Not everything” could be referring to “everything that is behind closed doors”, i.e. everything the writer wants to hide, that is not meant to be heard. “Not everything that I'm hiding is so primitive”. I think it's quite obvious this is referring to sex.

Let’s take a look at the 2nd verse.

I love your hair in your face I wouldn't dare let you down Don't let that glass go to waste Oh, you're a queen but uncrowned

C: This seems to talk about more stereotypical feminine things. Hair in your face reads like long hair, which is often associated with women. Although this could just as much be about a man. Queen is obviously a reference to a woman. One mention of a woman doesn’t just make this a song about a heterosexual relationship. Being closeted means you sexuality is a secret to most people. This means that a closeted songwriter will write songs referencing women even if the song isn’t about a woman.

The exact definition of this part is something I still struggle with a little. It seems to me like it’s appreciating the other person for who they are. An uncrowned king or queen is someone who is good at something, but who hasn’t had any sort of official acknowledgement for it, like a title or a crown. So this could be about keeping a relationship a secret. I want to be with you, but we can’t make it official to the outside world, because it would have consequences.

Uncrowned king/queen: A man or woman who is considered to be the best, the most famous, or the most powerful in a particular area of life, especially when they do not have an official rank or title.

R: The alternating between metaphors and direct lyrics becomes tighter: “I love your hair in your face”/”Don't let that glass go to waste” are very tangible situations; “I wouldn’t dare let you down”/”You're a queen but uncrowned” aren't referring to a specific situation, and are more metaphorical. The fact that this is how they should be paired could be underlined by how they rhyme. “I wouldn't dare let you down” could be a statement for the person “behind the walls” with the writer – so, out of metaphor, also meant to be kept a secret. It could also be a statement for the people on the other side of the wall – let's not forget the writer thinks that “if these walls could talk”, if their secret were to be let out, they “would fall from grace”, but it doesn't seem like the writer himself shares that sentiment: the writer doesn't think that what they're doing behind closed doors, as primitive as it might be, deserves to make them “fall from grace” - furthermore, one could argue no human being should even be seen in a position of “grace”. I lean towards this second explanation more because of how almost flippant the position of the verse makes this statement – which, by itself, could be a deep promise; however, once it's thrown in the middle, between “I love your hair in your face” and “Don't let that glass go to waste”, it loses value. Also, the addition of “dare” almost makes it sound like the writer is mocking this promise. “You're a queen, but uncrowned” probably alludes to the fact that whatever is kept secret, behind walls, loses some sort of shallow recognition because it is kept secret. “You are still a queen, but you haven't been crowned, you haven't received public recognition”.

C: I’m writing this after finishing my own analysis. Now that I’m reading R’s analysis there’s one specific thing that stands out to me, that I think is important to point out: “One could argue no human being should even be seen in a position of “grace”.” This feels so on brand for Ashton specifically. Just today I listened to him being interviewed for the podcast The Green Room with Neil Griffiths. On there he mentioned how he has trained himself to not see himself as “famous” or a “celebrity”, to keep himself grounded. Reading R’s words on the same day I heard Ashton speak about these things really blew me away. It further settles my belief that we seem to be on the right track with our analysis.

C: The bridge of the song repeats the lyrics of the first verse. Which I don’t think is a common thing in many songs. It seems to repeat, once again, that there is some sort of secret that the narrator is afraid that if it comes out, it could mess up a lot of things. Hammering down that this secret has to stay hidden.

This is our full analysis of If Walls Could Talk, I hope you found our takes interesting. Personally I’m very glad R brought up her theory again, because it fills in my gaps so nicely. If you have any suggestions or questions, feel free to send me an ask. Please keep in mind that this is just our personal interpretation, we are not stating this as fact. Lyrics often have a lot of meanings and ours may be part of that or not at all. A big thank you to R for writing and bringing up her analysis, I’m so glad we can share ideas back and forth.

Lyric source: genius

[littlequeenies]

BEBE BUELL: MUSING ON MUSES AND OTHER FANS

📷BEBE BUELLJUNE 17, 2020

Before embarking on a musical career of her own, Bebe Buell was a much in-demand model but was most often seen as the second fiddle to the famous rock musicians she was dating. She, however, saw herself as the Muse to these musicians, inspiring and sharing ideas with them. Inevitably, the term “groupie” would arise. As she says, “I’m not opposed to ‘groupies,’ per se. I just don’t like being called a name or being tagged like a sheep to slaughter’. Bebe elaborates on this idea for PKM.

I remember the first time I saw a photograph of Oscar Wilde. I was five and it was Easter. We were at the Virginia Beach home of my mother’s friends, Poppy and Tilly, who were hosting a Sunday get together. We were dressed in our pastels and frills and the candy and food was flowing. It was an adult affair and, being the only child there, I wandered off to explore while the grown-ups enjoyed their martinis and snacks. I found myself in a living room study area and on the table was a big book filled with photos of poets, painters, sculptors and scholars. I was immediately drawn to an image of Oscar draped on a chair like a velvet throw! It stuck with me and when I got older I looked him up in the school library. At the age of twelve I read The Picture Of Dorian Gray, but my main interest was in Oscar Wilde, the man and his story. I felt an instant connection, just as I have with all the great inspirations in my life. In 1978, when I was living between NYC, Maine and LA, before finishing the year in London, I never missed one episode of Masterpiece Theatre and their 13 episodes of Lillie about the life of Lillie Langtry, played brilliantly by Francesca Annis. To my delight, it explored in great depth the relationship/friendship between Oscar and Lillie, and I became obsessed with knowing everything and anything I could about their dynamic. I was intrigued, too, by the descriptions of Mrs. Langtry in the press at that time in England and the U.S. She was often called a “Professional Beauty” or “The Jersey Lily” because she was born on Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands off the coast of Normandy. She was also one of the most featured women in advertising; her face was everywhere. She was the image for Pears Soap and the most respected painters of the day stood in line just to have a sitting with her. In 1877, she met Edward, Prince of Wales, later King Edward VII, and became his first publicly acknowledged mistress.

One of my favorite quotes was attributed to her from her conversations with Wilde: “They saw me, those reckless seekers of beauty, and in a night I was famous.” This reminded me of the back room at Max’s Kansas City, the temple of cool when I arrived in New York during the era of everything! It was this platonic duo that introduced me to the role of the “Muse”—that is the Artist and the Muse. Throughout history and especially in the arts, there seems to always be a driving force that brings the flora. In the series Lillie, they emphasized how Oscar would repeat Lillie’s quips and observations in his writing. Their banter with one another fascinated me and I often envisioned myself as a “Patron of The Arts”, in a sense, as I’ve always promoted and sang the praises of those whose work I liked. I felt an affinity with that spirit—the gift of inspiring and sharing special ideas with an artist I admired. It wasn’t just music. I adored musing with photographers, writers, film directors and designers, too. Creative energies have always fed my soul. The first time I referenced the term “muse” was in a 1981 interview I did with the Emmy-winning writer Stephen Demorest for the edgy publication Oui. Its sister magazine in France was called Lui. Playboy had taken over ownership of Oui so it was a glossy, classy, European-style men’s delight, targeting a younger demographic. When Stephen approached me about the piece, he showed me a couple other interviews with “It Girls” that had been published.

One was with Patti D’Arbanville, the inspiration for some of Cat Stevens’ biggest hits. He even used her last name in one of the songs, “Lady D’Arbanville”. I knew Patti from the early 70s and, in fact, it was she who introduced me to Jimmy Page in 1973 on a night out dancing with her in NYC. It was a quick meeting, as I was eager to get home to my boyfriend at the time, Todd Rundgren. A year later, I would run into Mr. Page again and the rest is the stuff of rock tales.

I adored Patti so knowing that both she and Jerry Hall had done this particular interview sealed the deal. Like Patti Boyd, Jane Asher, Linda Eastman, Maureen Van Zandt, Sara Dylan, to name a few, the musical muse is the most often of the muses referenced. I recall how so many people wanted to know my viewpoints and opinions about the word “muse” and why I preferred it to the term “groupie”.

Even in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous, his beloved character Penny Lane’s first words on screen are, “We are not groupies. We inspire the music- we are bandaids!”. The film was Cameron’s love letter to women and how even at that time a stigma was attached to calling a woman a groupie; it was not necessarily a compliment. It was almost like a dismissive jab, on par with “she’s such a slut” or “whore”. Another scene in Almost Famous has all of the members of the fictitious band Stillwater squeezed onto a small plane that, they thought, was about to crash. Secrets were spilled and fingers were pointed. In one of the most moving moments, the William character defends Penny when she is described as “that groupie” by one of the band members. William nails it when he points out who and “what” she really is- a bright light and cherished fan. Someone who loved them all and for all the right reasons.

I feel that women have been unfairly branded and labeled without cause. I’ve often said that I’m not opposed to “groupies,” per se. I just don’t like being called a name or being tagged like a sheep to slaughter. Summing me up for the life I’ve lived, seen through someone else’s eyes or, worse, exaggerating the truth. I didn’t want those I’ve truly loved or the relationships I’ve had to be considered less sincere because of the visibility of my partner.

Certainly loving music or dating musicians is not derogatory. Isn’t it logical, then, that birds of a feather flock together? Like-minded tribes mate or unite because of chemistry? Rock boys and models have been drawn to each other since forever! In the Netflix series Hollywood, you find that sex and sexual favors were the core of the industry. Several of the movie stars everyone loved on screen had started out as rent boys or nude models to make ends meet. Who decides why someone can give a blow job to the “right” person and get a starring role in a movie and another blow job by an aspiring talent gets tossed into the trash can of regret.

Why, after having four children with Mick Jagger, a successful modeling career and now being Mrs. Rupert Murdoch, would anyone refer to Jerry Hall as a groupie? Or gold digger, another favorite term used to describe women who marry well. Or Marianne Faithfull, Anita Pallenberg or Winona Ryder, for heaven’s sake? These are the questions I’ve always had and one of the main reason why I have rejected the term groupie in the press. It’s not a personal attack on those who identify with the moniker. It’s my own rebellion against being labeled and frowned on for the relationships I’ve had.

I’ve taken this stand for a long time, even though it’s also caused some judgement and negativity towards me from other women. It’s almost as if they think I see myself as better than them. Or that I’m not being honest when I don’t just call myself a full-on groupie, and own it. My closest friends tell me it’s just jealousy but that doesn’t make it any less hurtful to have tales and lies circulated about you by people you barely know or those who don’t know me at all. Or to have relationships that lasted for years being reduced to a laundry list of “conquests.”

This is nothing new, of course. Catherine The Great‘s enemies within the Emperor’s Court turned on her and started rumors that she was a sex fiend who had intercourse with horses. That stuck with her throughout her life and even in the museums of Russia, the tale has echoed although it’s completely untrue. Cleopatra and Anne Boleyn were also targeted. Ruining reputations was the way people got their revenge in days of yore. Or in some cases, the reason why some lost their heads to the guillotine. Why is it that women who have power or beauty have been subjected to crazy accusations of sexual voracity or deviance? Eve takes the blame for the banishment from Eden and although she was supposedly created from Adam’s rib, she is seen as a temptress and Adam as her victim.

I believe every woman should identify by how she feels comfortable and for the work she does. I personally prefer to be known for what I do, my accomplishments, my career. However, dating a rock star or an actor should not merit a nasty quip or name calling fest. It becomes unbalanced when just because someone gets famous as, say, a model or an actress and then dates a rock star, that she should get called anything other than what she does to earn a living. I’m not sure “groupie” falls under the umbrella of job occupation. I’d file it under pastime, hobby, passion, or fetish.

The origins of the groupie started with nothing more than a desire to be close to the band—the guys who made the music. Or in some cases, the women. The term came into use in the mid-1960s as slang for women who liked to hang out with musicians. It’s fair to say that not all “groupies” are the same. There are many tiers and pecking orders when narrowing it down. Certainly not every girl who dreams of being with a rock star will waltz backstage and demand sex or give oral gratification. That’s the image I despise and wish would not tarnish the entire viewpoint to the outside world. Some of the girls on the scene want to take the word “groupie” back, to personify what it meant in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. It became something entirely different when the ‘80s rolled around. Bands born out of the LA scene liked a different kind of arm candy than the Rolling Stones or the Beatles. They preferred exotic dancers and porn stars, the girls du jour of the time. Just as music changes with each era, so do the kinds of women who pursue the bands. But, more importantly, what kind of women the bands seek out. One man’s status is another man’s yen.

And then there are those who look at being a groupie as a form of prostitution. I’ve never understood that one because most girls who live that lifestyle don’t charge money to be with their favorite rock god or even their crew. It’s a thrill to be with the band, but it seems the glamor that was once attached to that goal has changed. For me, it was a thrill to fight to say “I’m IN the band”… or even “I AM the band!”

When I was living with Todd, he produced one of the first all-female bands, Fanny. They were so great! June Millington could shred! I felt bewildered when I would hear snide remarks wondering if Todd was sleeping with one of them. I thought to myself that would have never been said or thought if they weren’t women.

The bottom line is preference. We all have a choice. And we all can be whatever we want. We can wear many hats. I see myself as a mother, wife, musician, singer, songwriter, writer, mentor, animal lover… many different things. What I do in my spare time is how I make my soul happy. Who I date is based on connections, fate and karma. We end up with who we’re meant to be with and the experiences we have are all meant to be. I’ve been with my husband Jim for twenty years now. Our 18th wedding anniversary is coming in August 2020. So, I’m writing this piece from the perspective of a wife, mother, working musician, writer and mentor. Not just a girl who had lots of suitors in her youth. Every single little thing is part of the journey.

The first time I saw a photo in Rolling Stone of what they called a “groupie”, I was 15 years old and in the 10th grade. It was 1969, and neither the image nor the word was at all something ugly to me. It just seemed exciting and cool. The girls were so outrageously dressed, and it reflected an almost innocent charm. I didn’t aspire to be a groupie but they seemed like they were the ones who made the guys in the band cool. They helped dress them, created make-up looks and spread the word all over town about how good they were. It didn’t seem to be so much about sex and backstage antics. Maybe I was too young to fully understand everything, especially from the pages of a magazine.

On my first trip to LA with Todd in 1973, when I finally did meet some real girls who liked to be called groupies, it still didn’t seem derogatory. I started to see how it was all just tossed together in some people’s minds. It’s a complex dance between an artist and his muse. None of it is something so vulgar or tainted as being only about sexual conquest. Maybe to some, it’s about that. But for me it was a series of fated encounters that have lasted throughout my life.

Some people see a groupie as a girl who will do anything, including have sex with a roadie, to get to the band. There is that element to the rock n’ roll lifestyle. But it’s not the entire package. Others see groupies as a vibe, the girls who are there when the band makes it, the girls that helped them make it, the on-the-road bestie, or the girls who get the bands drugs and food. Or even give them the clothes off their backs if the band is short a cool stage look. I often joke that that’s how wearing your lingerie out became a signature rock girl look- the band had taken her clothes to wear onstage!

I recall reading where Pamela Des Barres said she was still a virgin when she first discovered her teenage heart being drawn to rock boys. It felt sexual to her and it was also just youthful and sweet. Not a salacious sexual quest. More a desire to be near the music and the men who made it. That’s perhaps what one would define as a “classic groupie”. Or, in some circles, “fan” is the preferred analogy. I can relate to that myself as I knew when I was ten years old, I would hang out with Mick Jagger one day. I knew those were my people… my kind.

Pamela has made a career out of her life as a proud groupie. But certainly she has a right to claim the term because she helped invent it! She now calls it her “groupie heart” and that is something anyone who’s ever had a crush on someone or loved someone’s music so much that it altered your DNA can relate to. Hasn’t everyone felt that way? Every guy or gal who picks up a guitar or slings a mic stand had to have been dazzled by their inspiration or felt a need to pursue that for their own futures. So, my point is this- none of it is negative nor should one word hold so much power that when it’s flung at a woman, she’ll feel shamed or scorned.

When I started to get a bit of fame, the media seemed to want to call me anything but “groupie”. It was “Friend Of The Stars”, “Queen Of The Rock Chicks”, “Leggy Model”, “The Mother Of All Rock Chicks”, “It Girl”… so when the internet entered our lives, I began to see just how judgmental and downright mean people were about the women who hung out with the bands. It started to become something so dirty and taboo that I wanted no part of that term. It’s a thin line, a hard one to walk. Personally, I feel loving music and being attracted to musicians is as natural as doctors and nurses getting along. Humans are drawn to their soul tribe. Music, musicians and all art forms attract me. I’m the moth to that flame.

As an entertainer myself, it always hurt me when what I actually do for my job was ignored or not taken seriously because of the famous names I’ve been attached to. It’s so one-sided to only put that burden on women. It has been the norm for men to be patted on the back and admired for their taste in women and especially if they were able to appeal to many and have tons of sexual experiences. Even in the animal kingdom, the male peacock has the massive plume bloom to attract as many lovers as he can. A male lion can rule the pride with his sexual domination. A male celebrity only becomes more famous if he’s got a beautiful model or actress on his arm. Whereas a woman who’s dance card is busy or even full is often ridiculed or bashed. Branded with the scarlet letter of infamy.

It started to get under my skin when I saw myself defined only by who I’d dated or had close friendships with. It’s the luck of the draw. Some women who are in the public eye can date and marry a celeb several times and be embraced for it. They use it to further their already visible life. They are proud and exploit all their lovers as the playthings that they’ve become. Some have become famous by leaking a porno or being on a reality show. What was once a limited field has become wide open with lots of branches of thought and assumption. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for me to fight for my image… my persona… my legacy. But I did fight. I turned down almost every request I was presented to be interviewed for groupie documentaries or sensationalized TV shows. Sometimes turning down large sums of money. But I wanted to work hard and felt if I worked hard enough one day I’d be thought of for what I did on a stage, in front of the lens of a camera, as a mother and at times even a manager, more than who I shared my life with. Dare I use the “R” word? I wanted RESPECT.

There’s lots of contrast in the definition of groupie or muse but what about “partners”… the duos who took the world by storm. Sonny & Cher, Karen & Richard Carpenter, Debbie Harry & Chris Stein, Jack & Meg White, Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourg, Stevie Nicks & Lindsey Buckingham, Annie Lennox & Dave Stewart, Kim Gordon & Thurston Moore, etc… Or Chrissie Hynde and Courtney Love, who both married musicians. There’s a kaleidoscope of ways women are seen. It all depends on how you are first perceived. The general public seem to hold on to how they first heard of you even if you go on to do many different things in your life. Marianne Faithfull is a perfect example of someone who has been able to transcend her detractors and carry on like the warrior she is. But it baffles my mind how anyone could call her or Anita Pallenberg anything but tastemakers and trendsetters. They were the women I would stare at for hours as a young girl. They fascinated me almost more than the guys they hung out with. Yet I still hear them sometimes referred to as groupies.

Like any entertainer, I have an overwhelming need to be loved and to give love and positive energy to others. That’s why I crave being onstage. The connection with the audience is almost like having the best sex in the world. Or at minimum, a great, soulful hug that sends sparks through your body. I’ve been doing this since 1980, in public anyway. This is my life… not the talented, special men I dated in my youth. That’s part of my story and I will never regret a single heartbreak nor will I ever regret loving to the point of forgetting myself and my own pursuits. But I want to be remembered for more than my dates or suitors. I gave birth to a child who grew up to become a superstar so the role of nurturer has followed me throughout my life. I’ve accepted the fact that my fate is to be a vessel for talent and to enrich those who possess it. It’s become who I am- all the parts and pieces of my karma rolled into one big bang! My artistic side occupies just as much space as my musing side- equal parts love and creative energy.

Things come full circle especially when I get approached after one of my shows by young girls that call me “High Priestress” or tell me that they are my “groupies”. When I hear the words “Bebe, Im your biggest groupie!”, my heart swells but I also like to immediately remind them that I do what I do onstage because of them. Because of the exchange being a performer gives to my being. It’s like fuel… hors d’oeuvres for the soul.

One morning in 2009, I got a call from an old industry friend who had landed at Interscope Records. I was awoken with, “Bebe, you’ve been touted in a song produced by Pharrell Williams called ‘Bebe Buell’ by a young band from Boston called Chester French.” I remember thinking “wow, that’s a nice compliment” because the gist of the song was that someone like me or Pamela Anderson Lee were the creme de la creme of rock-boy desire. There’s a clothing line called ‘Muse & Lyrics‘ that has a blouse/top called “The Bebe” and the brand ‘I’m With The Band’ has named their leopard scarfs and headbands the “Bebe”. There’s even a cocktail called “The Bebe Buell”.

But I think one of the coolest things was having Cameron Crowe name the lead singer in Stillwater Jeff Bebe. He gave me the original T-shirt that was used in the movie, too, and boy do I treasure it! Cameron sprinkled all kinds of little clues and messages throughout Almost Famous. I was especially touched by the Jeff Bebe nod because he knew how much I wanted to be a singer in a band. I remember him once saying to me that I should just go for it. At that point, people only knew me as a model and Todd Rundgren’s girlfriend. I hadn’t even done Playboy yet, so I was still trying to figure out who I was and how to do it. I finally did but it took me six more years to get in the studio and front a band!

It’s moving to be honored and it’s also nice to be appreciated by the younger generation of pop culture lovers. The first time my name was in a song, I was excited by it. My old friend G.E. Smith had a line on his solo album that was about coming to visit “Bebe and Liz”… he came over to my best friend Liz Derringer’s house to play it for us. We were elated… it was cool. I would never be so bold as to sit here and make a list of my lovers or the songs they wrote for me because it seems so long ago. I’d rather leave that up to the fans of the music to decipher and besides not all songs written for others are acknowledged as such. I’ve had several songs given to me as gifts or written to me in letters.

Sometimes the authors don’t admit it because their feelings change and they don’t want to upset their new love interest. Didn’t Bob Dylan write “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat”, “Just Like A Woman”, “Fourth Time Around” and “Like A Rolling Stone” about Edie Sedgwick, only to later deny it? I know the feeling because it’s happened to me. So, at this point in my life, I just cherish the letters (yes, I still have them so one day when we’re all gone they will maybe solve the puzzles) and I respect and allow artistic license to have its day. It’s an artist’s prerogative to change their minds so I hold no hurt feelings. Music buffs are pretty smart anyway and they usually know the truth, so it matters little unless it’s blatant. The one topic that irks me is that I claimed This Year’s Model was about me. Well, that’s impossible because I didn’t meet and start to date Elvis Costello until he was well into Armed Forces. I was living with him in London when he recorded it in the fall of 1978. He included a couple of lyrics from songs on Armed Forces in letters to me but I can say with certainty that “Party Girl” wasn’t one of them. I guess it was the timing of the release that made people speculate I was the subject, but I wasn’t and never claimed to be. He didn’t even know me when he wrote those records. Why this is disputed has always been a mystery to me. The songs Mr. Costello sent me in letters were from later albums, starting with Get Happy. I will always wonder too why he would say something so false and perpetuate a rumor twenty years later in the liner notes of a re-issue.  Here’s to hoping it is finally put to rest. And even with the shame and pain I felt at the time, I feel no regret or ill will toward anyone. To me the truth is pretty obvious. Remember the story I told earlier about Catherine The Great? Revenge is often used when hearts are hurt, and it is very common in the entertainment industry.

In summing up my thoughts on the topic, I feel it’s time in our culture to appreciate the roles women have played in art since the beginning of time. Dali had his Gala, Picasso would hide the initials of his mistresses in his paintings and secretly tell them so they would know it was for them, Clapton immortalized his love and lust for Patti Boyd with the ultimate ode in “Layla” and John Lennon may have written the most beautiful love song of all for Yoko in “Woman”. Or was it Paul McCartney with “The Long And Winding Road” about Jane Asher or “Maybe I’m Amazed” about the spectacular Linda Eastman McCartney?

We can’t leave out the spirited and unique George Sand whose given name was Aurore Dupin. She was born in Paris on July 1, 1804 and adopted the name “George” because women couldn’t write professionally with the freedom of men in those days. She became one of the most popular writers in Europe during her lifetime- one of the most notable writers of the European Romantic era. She would wear male attire in public saying it was easier and more affordable than women’s garb. She was a confidant to Franz Liszt and lover and muse to Chopin. She would lie beneath the piano while Chopin composed, saying it sent the music through her entire body instead of just her ears.

Music is primal and it gets into our bloodstream. It’s easy to see why young girls get crushes on their idols and some even grow up to marry their dream man. But the days of defining women by their sexual desires or “conquests” should be on the wane. I never looked at the men I dated or loved as conquests. Humans aren’t territories to be battled over or ceded to. The human connection is divine. Each and every person we cross paths with is part of our magical life story.  So, whatever you identify yourself as is fine. That is your privilege and judgement should not follow even if the choices aren’t the norm. As Oscar Wilde said, “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.”

*Closing side note* As I was finishing this essay, I was doodling with a People magazine crossword puzzle and one of the clues was “GROUPIE”. Guess what the answer was… “FAN”. The timing was uncanny!

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (11/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Graphic descriptions of violence, Viewer discretion is advised (short paragraph)

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 11/? (2247 words)

Author’s notes : The end of the second act draws nigh ! (also, I see some new followers, if you wanna be added to the taglist, feel free to ask !)

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“Eris, anyone home ?”

Leah's soft voice dragged me out of the void I'd been staring into for the past... Well, Gods know how long. I raised my head to meet her slightly worried gaze.

“Yeah, sorry. You wouldn't believe how many of those can't make the difference between a century and a millennium, it's appalling.”

She didn't seem that amused at my sorry excuse for a justification.

“Have you seen the bags under your eyes ?”, she reprimanded me in a hushed voice. “How long since you had a decent night of sleep ? You're so pale, you look like a damn vampire.”

I had a dry laugh. She wasn't wrong, to be fair. For the past four days, I barely got any sleep, any noise waking me up in a cold sweat, when I just didn't lay frozen in bed, unable to close my eyes, for hours on end, until the sun got up. Mostly, I only stayed up because of a carefully thought-out blend of coffee and anxiety.

“I'm fine, Leah. I just didn't put on any makeup this morning. That is my face”, I told her, trying to sound offended.

“Don't bullshit me. Go. Home.”

Her tone didn't invite arguing about it. She reached across the table, and took my hand in hers, smiling. She proposed calling me an Uber, but I figured walking would clear my head. I put away my stuff, leaving her to her books.

The library was almost entirely empty at this hour, and the normally automatic lights didn't even turn on as I passed through the halls. I slapped my badge on the door to get it open, and was welcomed by a gush of freezing air from the outside. The sun had only just set, and the orange lamp posts had everything seem grey, except the deep red of the sky, near the horizon. Everything was quiet, save from the intermittent cawing of a crow, or the rustling of leaves, in the light, but biting breeze that had set in with the night.

I started walking. The sound of my boots echoed in the empty campus' streets. At this time, there was about a tram every twenty minutes. If I walked fast, I'd catch the next one. As I started walking faster, I couldn't help but feel followed. That feeling, once it crossed your mind, could only set, seeping into every pore of your being, until you... I turned back. Nothing. Not even a shadow at the corner of a building, a suspiciously flickering light. Nothing. Even so, my chest felt too tight to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I kept on going toward the tram stop. Focus on that, the tram stop. Breathe in. I stopped, pushing my back against a post. Breathe out. I turned my head, trying to relax my tense muscles. In the corner of my eye, a shadow. I screamed, jumped back.

“I dream of a day where your first reaction to seeing me won't be that of a deer in headlights.”

He stepped in the light, as elegant as always, in his long, dark coat. He looked exceptionally well, about as much as I had to look dreadful. He took a step forward, and I instinctively took one back. He stopped, a look of disbelief painted on his features. He looked almost hurt by me pulling back.

“Is something wrong, Eris ?”, he asked, concerned, but equally demanding.

I tried to find an answer. Yes. Yes, something's wrong. Everything is goddamn fucking wrong.

“I'm gonna miss my tram”, I muttered.

I turned back to the way I was going, and in a second, I felt his hand on my arm stop me. My heart sank to my stomach, and I broke free of his grasp. My heart beat so fast I was almost gasping for air.

“Did something happen while I was gone ?”

“It's just- I don't- Nothing hap-”

My words came stuck in my throat. I didn't even know what to say. Where to start. He placed both his hands on my shoulders, calmly asking me to look up at him.

“You... You are shaking, what on earth... Am I causing this ? Do I scare you ?”

I raised my head to meet his gaze, jaws clenched not to have my teeth chatter. He looked so genuinely confused, I was finally able to take a deep breath.

“Can I trust you ?”, I managed to whisper.

He didn't answer a moment, seeming less ton consider his answer, than what prompted the question.

“Without question.” He was looking straight into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze leaving no place for a lie. Fuck, I wanted to believe him. The weight of his hands on my shoulders made me feel safe. How could it make me feel safe ? Wasn't that just another trick ? Another way to make me trust him, just to make the job easier ?

Tears I didn't notice building up burned my cheeks as they rolled down. He moved a hand to my face, and erased them with his thumb, softly.

“What happened ?”, he asked again.

If we are to stop this creature, we need your full support. For some reason, he trusts you more than most. You cannot tell him about your knowledge of this place.

I gently pulled myself from his grasp, and stepped back, forcing a smile.

“Nothing happened. I'm just tired”, I told him. “I really have to catch my tram, Vlad.”

“Nonsense, I'm bringing you home”, he insisted. “You are very obviously distressed, and lying to me. Get in the car.”

The authoritative tone had me shiver. I knew I didn't have any choice, in the end, and nodded. He opened the door for me, as always. I sat down, buckled up. Focused on the line of led lights, moving in a slow, red wave.

“If you refuse to talk to me”, Vlad began as he started the car, “I can only assume this has something to do with me. Now, understand that I could take a minute and find out, but I meant what I said, when I told you you could trust me.”

He kept focused on the road. I could tell him everything. That would be a risk. If he really was who MINA said he was, if he did... If he did what they said he did... That would most likely be my death warrant. If he started being too suspicious, he could just read my mind, and given how deeply those images were engraved into my brain, it wouldn't be too hard. I had no idea how to go about this.

“I found out the reason why Stephan was putting me off.”

“And that is ?”

“We looked into his family tree, and his mother is a Mary Van Helsing, from the Murray Institute for the Neutralization of Abnormalities.”

I said that on a single breath, and awaited his reaction. His face didn't betray any emotion, but his silence was speaking volumes.

“They found us out pretty fast”, I continued, figuring I was on too deep already. “We were taken to their headquarters, or whatever that bunker was. They were suspicious that I was acquainted with a vampire, posing as the respectable professor Vlad Balaur.”

“And what did you tell them ?”

His tone was frighteningly neutral. “For some reason I still can't explain, nothing”, I replied. “I had them believe I had no idea such things existed, less so that you were one.”

He had a short hum, but remained silent.

“They told me you were posing as a vampire they killed in 1896, Count Dracula, who apparently is quite the messiah in the Vampire World”, I jabbed at him. “That you probably manipulated my memories, my emotions, just so I'd end up like the others !”

Tears were streaming down my face, and despite my best efforts, my voice was shaking in anger. I couldn't help but think he could pull over and snap my neck at any moment. Might as well make the best of my last moments.

“Would you please clarify what you mean by 'the others' ?”

He sounded so calm, so composed. I tried not to think on the implications.

“They showed me the pictures, Vlad.” My chest hurt so bad. I barely was able to keep taking. “In retrospect, you were pretty clean with the horse. I guess he deserved better than human beings do, right ?”

“Eris, I don't understand-”

“Don't fucking lie to me !” My voice broke. I had no way to remain calm, the taste of bile going up my throat. “I saw it, I fucking saw the- the-” I slapped my hand over my mouth, desperately trying to catch my breath.

Vlad had the turning signal on, and pulled over. I couldn't stop crying, my face buried into my hands, unable to form any coherent sentence. The car stopped. He didn't say anything. At any moment, I thought I'd feel his hands around my neck, or his teeth. Instead, he only called out my name, softly, barely audible through my sobbing.

“Eris, please.”

I dried up my face as best I could with my scarf.

“You promised. You promised you wouldn't hurt anybody”, I managed to stammer between hiccups.

“I have not-”

“I saw the pictures !”, I repeated. “They showed me- So much blood-”

I turned my head to his. He slowly raised a hand to my face, hesitantly, waiting for a rebuffal. I did nothing, and he pushed strands of hair off my forehead, and cupped my cheek. His touch was so soothing. Not a bad feeling to die on.

“And you believed them ?”

“I- I- Of course, they just- Who else ?”

“I have no idea”, he admitted, his voice soft, and calm. “Eris, I have not, not a single time, done anything contrary to our agreement. I have not taken a life since our second meeting.”

I wanted to believe him, so bad. I wanted to believe he wasn't the monster responsible for the contents of Mary Van Helsing's case-file.

“How can I believe you ? How can I be certain you're not lying to me ?”, I breathed out, still resting my head onto his hand.

“You can't. You can only trust me.” He leaned in, placing a light kiss on my forehead, as was his habit. He pulled away, keeping close. “Do you trust me ?”

“Yes”, I replied, without thinking about it.

I did. As stupid, dangerously stupid as it was, I did. What else could I do ? What was the better option ? Were the MINA guys that much more trustworthy ? Well, if you took into account the fact that they didn't try to kill me yet, probably.

“As for the fact that I would be my own usurper, I don't know how to argue for it, to be honest. I have rarely been faced with the task of proving my identity.”

He sat back behind the wheel, and started the car.

“You would do well to remember that MINA was founded by people who were so terrified of me, they left without assuring themselves of the success of their mission, which led to accounts of my death being greatly exaggerated.”

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“There, I like that better.”

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, which was still arguably better than crying. Vlad finally pulled over in front of my building. I got out of the car, took a few steps, but didn't go further than that. Behind me, I head his door open.

“Should I wait for you on your balcony ?”

I took a deep breath. “No.” I turned on my heels to face him. “You're taking the stairs, for once.”

“I... Beg your pardon ?”

“Just follow me, will you ?”

He shut his door, and I went to open my building's door. I buzzed us in, holding the door for him. Guess he didn't need an invitation for the whole building, huh. What the hell was I doing ? There's a difference between not thinking someone does gruesome murders in his spare time, and inviting them over for a cup of tea ! Especially if their drink of choice isn't your damn Russian Earl Grey !

Well, too late to turn back now. I tried to keep a sense of dignity as we climbed the stairs. It didn't seem to put any strain on him, all the while I'd been living here for years, and was still dying inside. Catching my breath as gracefully as I could, I unlocked my door. Zardoz came running at me, agressively rubbing himself agaisnt my boots, screaming bloody murder, or, in that case, famine.

“You have a... cat”, Vlad stated.

I had a short laugh as I picked up the protesting beast. “What, are you allergic ?”

“They... Don't like me.”

He looked at the animal with some sort of defiance.

“Well, this one hates everyone, don't feel like it's personal.”

He stood at the door, nearly taking up all the space of the frame. Holding the cat in my arms gave me courage, as I felt his low purr against my hands. I took a few steps back, and had a curteous bow.

“Voivode Vlad Dracula Tepes, me and this cat welcome you into our home.”

He smiled, and stepped in.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy

[merakiaes]

One For Sorrow - Sandor Clegane

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Stark!reader, Ned Stark x daughter!reader, Catelyn Stark x daughter!reader, Stark!siblings x sister!reader

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Warnings/notes: Violence, cursing, death, changes in the timeline.This is reeeeally long so I haven’t been able to check for grammar and/or checking mistakes before posting, but I will once I get time. I also may have changed some details without realizing, so sorry for that if that’s the case! Also, Azar is a new character that will be introduced again in part 3!

Wordcount: 10438

Description: Prequel to ‘It’s Not Always True What They Say’. Takes place before and when meeting Sandor. 

“Tell me again why I have to wear this Gods forsaken dress?” You asked, glaring into the wall as your mother pulled at the strings of your corset. 

“You know why. The king is arriving anytime now and you are the only one who is not dressed and down in the courtyard.” She told you sternly, pulling the strings roughly causing you to curse. “And you will have to watch that mouth of yours during their stay, too. Do you understand me?”

You huffed a piece of your long hair out of your face. “You don’t have to act all strict with me, I can hear you just fine without that bitterness in your tone.”

“I tried being not stern.” Your mother remarked. “Three times. And yet here I am, dressing you like a five year old.”

You only rolled your eyes, letting go of the wooden pole you had been grabbing onto as your mother finished the last piece of clothing. 

You shifted uncomfortably, raising the right side of your upper lip slightly in distaste. “I don’t know how you walk around in these all day. The’re horrid.”

“Less horrid than those over sized breeches, I’d say.” She commented back as she started tugging on your hair from behind. 

You cursed as the comb got stuck in your locks, your direwolf whining from the bed, feeling his master’s pain. 

You gave him a glance, before turning back forward. 

“It’s not my fault you won’t get my clothes my own size.” You scoffed. “I have no other choice but to wear Jon and Robb’s old ones.”

“If you act like a lady during the King’s stay, I will give you clothes. Would you agree to that?”

Your face instantly lit up and you turned around to hug your mother, jumping slightly. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

“But you have to act like a real lady!” She repeated. “No cursing, no snide comments to any of the royal company, no matter how much they vex you. No pants, and most importantly, NO fighting!”

“I’m not wearing dresses for this whole week.”  You glared, letting go of her immediately. “The rest I can agree to.”

Your mother looked at you for a moment, before giving a curt nod. “Very well, no dresses. But if you misbehave in any other way, you can bid those new clothes farewell. Now come here.”

And with that, Catelyn turned her daughter around and went back to her hair, rushing it into a quick but beautiful northern hairdo, before they had to hurry down to welcome the King and his company. 

Unfortunately, your direwolf pup had to be left in your room, much to your dismay. 

You just about managed to get down and take your spots as the King rode through the gates. 

Your father gave you a look as you took your place between him and Robb. “Giving your mother a hard time as usual, I presume?” He snickered.

Before you could answer, your mother scoffed from his other side. “Would you expect anything else? She’s not my daughter, I’ll tell you that.”

You smiled widely, taking pride in having grown up to, truly, be your father’s daughter. 

Your conversation was short-lived as the king soon stood in front of you, causing you to put on a big smile and straighten your posture. 

“Your Grace.” Your father greeted his friend, bowing his head slightly in respect.”

Robert looked him up and down, face red and puffy from the cold. “You’ve got fat.”

Your father raised an eyebrow at this, looking the king up and down like he had done him only moments before, and you watched with a chuckle as they started laughing, embracing each other. 

“Nine years.” The king started. “Why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace.” Your father responded. “Winterfell is yours.”

“Where’s the Imp?”

“Will you shut up?”

You heard Arya and Sansa bickering from the other end of the line, causing you to snort quite un-ladylike.

This in turn, caught Robert’s attention. He turned to you, the big smile on his face faltering for a moment as he laid eyes on you, only to widen even more than before. 

“My…” He whispered as he came to stand before you, reaching out to touch a strand of your black hair. “You look just like her.” 

You smiled sadly, knowing in an instant that he was talking about your late aunt Lyanna Stark. It was no surprise that you were a spitting image of her. 

“Your Grace.” You bowed slightly, only to be pulled into a hug as you came back up. 

You wrapped your arms around his thick torso in an embrace, smiling into his shoulder. You had always been very close to Robert, closer than the rest of your siblings, seeing him as a second father. 

He held you at an arm’s length. “Look at how much you’ve grown.” He enthused, before looking at you with a teasing grin. “I assume you’re still ignoring your sewing lessons and playing in the mud.”

You laughed, smile reaching all the way to your eyes as you nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Robert smiled one last time at you, before moving on to your twin. “And who have we here?” He asked. “You must be Robb.”

As he went on to your siblings one by one, you let your eyes fall on the Queen who was just now exiting the carriage with her cubs, coming forward to let your mother and father greet and welcome her. 

Not being interested in the slightest of greeting her, you let your eyes wander along the crowd that had traveled with them, spotting soldier after soldier, one of which was the infamous Kingslayer. 

But, true to Arya’s word, the Imp was nowhere to be seen. 

The King and Queen’s oldest was, however, already complaining about the cold to his own personal guard dog. 

Only then did you allow yourself to look at him. The big man was towering over most of their company, dog helmet held under his arm and looking like a giant next to the whiny prince. 

You had heard many horrid stories about the man that was The Hound, many of which told about his horribly scarred face, but as you watched him from your spot, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of him as ugly. 

He was rather handsome, actually. But the scowl he wore on his face completely took away from that. 

He had this look in his eyes that made you wonder how many people he’s killed, but then he had this… scowl that made you realize he’d probably lost count.

As if feeling your stare, Sandor suddenly turned to look at you, half expecting you to look away when he did. But much to his surprise, you kept your eyes on him and offered him a smile and a curt nod. 

“Take me to your crypt.” Robert came back to the front then, talking to your father. “I want to pay my respects.”

You noticed the queen’s face hardening at his words, coming to stand behind her husband. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

But Robert only ignored her. “Ned.” 

Ned glanced at the queen, before nodding his head and walking off with his friend and king to bid to his wishes, leaving you all to your own business. 

“Well, then.” You spoke, turning to your twin who had now been joined by Theon and Jon. “Now that this horrid experience is finally over, I’m going to my chambers to change into more… fitting, attire.” 

You threw a distasteful look to your dress, before looking back up at the boys. “Sparring in ten?” 

“I need to practice my shooting.” Theon nodded, agreeing to your idea. Robb and Jon mumbled out responses of their own, saying they needed to practice their swordplay. 

Rolling your eyes, you picked up your skirts, throwing a look Theon’s way. “As if you need practice. I do, however.” And with that you were off towards your chambers. 

But it wasn’t all that easy as Sansa and your mother made it out to be. Being used to walking around freely in pants and tunics, the skirts were for the time being your worse enemy, causing you to trip over your feet more times than you would admit. 

But you managed to reach your destination eventually, quickly changing out of the dress to your usual clothing, wasting no time in running back outside to meet with the boys. 

As you arrived, you found them all coaching Bran as he practiced his shooting. Noticing his stance, you called out. “Your legs are to wide apart.” 

The boys all turned to look at you as you reached them, Theon shooting an arrow to his own board right before. 

Bran frowned, letting his bow sink slightly. “I’m never going to learn how to shoot.”

You walked up to him, a comforting smile resting on you pink lips. “Of course you will, Bran.” You then proceeded to slap Jon and Robb’s ‘helping’ hands away from the younger Stark, taking their place beside him. “Here, I’ll help you.”

Bran nodded, raising the bow again and drawing the string back. 

“Good.” You praised. “Now, the first thing you have to think about is to not think at all. If you keep your string held back for too long, your aim will get ruined. The trick is to shoot at once when you’ve gotten the aim in.”

You pushed his bow down again. “Now, try again, and this time release at once.”

Bran frowned, skeptic to what you were saying but following your orders nonetheless. 

Raising the bow, he drew the string back, aimed, and released, watching as the arrow hit the board just outside of the ring that was the second away from the edge.

“See!” You called, ruffling his hair. “I knew you could do it!”

The boys all clapped and Bran’s face lit up in a big smile. He turned to Robb. “I did it!”

“I saw.” Robb chuckled back. 

Theon gave him and Jon a teasing smirk. “She’s a better teacher than both of you combined, I’ve always told you.”

The two brothers waved him away, and the five of you, later also joined by Arya, played around outside until the sun went down and signaled that it was time for the feast. 

You once again found yourself in your chambers, Bone, your direwolf, resting by your feet as you tried your best to braid your own hair at the end of the bed. 

Sansa had joined you for a short while at the wishes of your mother to make sure you got into your dress like promised, before running back to her own chambers to “fancy herself up for the dreamy prince”, as she had so nicely put it. 

Of course, you had done what you did best and called him a bitch, but Sansa was too high up in the clouds to even hear what you had said. 

You shook your head at the thought. You weren’t against love, you didn’t deny its existence like your family believed, but you weren’t overly fond of it either. 

During the time being, you could’t see yourself ever falling in love. The lords you had met were all spoiled and horrible, and the ones who weren’t lords were still horrible. 

To sum it up, most men you had encountered were either horrible to look at, or horrible to talk to. The men you had met and actually liked were either your brothers, your father, or Robert. 

“You are never going to find a suitable husband by being sarcastic and vulgar.”  Your mother had said to you once after meeting with a potential suitor. 

You had only glared, not being fazed in the slightest, and responded: “Alright, no husband then.”

You might have been very controversial, being adventurous but cautious and careful, logical but also a dreamer, fierce and outgoing but sensitive, mysterious but trustworthy, childish but wise, sweet but moody, charismatic but quiet, bubbly but a pessimist and ambitious but lazy. But one of the things you would never be, was a liar. 

Changing yourself to get a stranger to like you, was simply something you would not do. Not today, not in a million years. In other words, never. That’s just not who you were. 

You would never be able to put your hair into fancy styles like Sansa or your mother, but after an hour of cursing and tugging, you decided it would have to do, despite being completely oblivious to how it looked. 

Luckily, it looked alright to the outside world. You figured, anyways, taking it as a good sign that no one had looked at you when you walked down the corridors and to the feast. 

The people were already eating and drinking like there was no tomorrow once you finally arrived, meaning you had taken longer than you had thought to get ready. 

As you walked through the door and Robb spotted you from his seat, he voiced your thoughts, confirming your suspicions. 

“Finally!” He called out over the chatter and music, moving slightly to the side to make room for you between him and some man. “Where have you been?”

You huffed as you sat down, having a hard time keeping your skirts intact. “I had to put this on by myself, fix my hair too.”

Theon laughed from across you. “For taking such a long time, you didn’t do much with it.” He motioned to your hair with his chicken. 

Glaring at him, you reached over and snatched said piece of chicken, taking a bite. “I don’t usually do my hair up like Sansa and mother, though, do I?”

He held his upp in surrender at the heated glare you were giving him. “Fair enough.”

You didn’t say anything more after that, only pitched in once in a while to answer when Robb or Theon or somebody else spoke to you directly. 

Now, in any other situation, you would have been thrilled about all the food. But seeing as you in this moment was, in fact, stuck in a hot, itching dress, the glare never left your face as you ate and drank. 

After a while, Theon left with some girl, and Robb left to take Arya to bed after she had made a shot at Sansa with her food. 

Both you and Robb had laughed at the sight, but with a stern glance from  your mother, Robb had taken off and you had shut up. 

But seeing as your only company had now left you, you were bored out of your mind. 

You grabbed a flagon of wine quickly from a passing server, and stood up from your seat, proceeding to walk outside to find your half-brother who, as per usual, had been cast out by your mother. 

A dick move of her, if you got to say so yourself, but nothing you were bothered to argue with, seeing as she in the end always won. Them Tully’s never were good at listening. 

“It’s always summer, under the sea, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh. The birds have scales, and the fish take wing .” You sang quietly to yourself as you wandered outside, skirts and flagon in hand, seeming to be a little more intoxicated than you had thought. 

“I know, I know, oh, oh, oh. The rain is dry, and the snow falls up, I know, I know, oh, o-”  You  cut yourself off as you stumbled slightly when going down the steps of the castle. 

“Fucking dress.” You cursed, looking down as you tried your hardest to sort out the fabric with one hand to make clear way for your feet to walk, however seemingly failing miserably. 

“Your mother never teach you that women shouldn’t curse?” A voice suddenly came from in front of you, causing you to stop in your tracks which in turn caused you to bump into the chest of said person. 

There, before you as you looked up, stood Sandor Clegane, watching you with a hand on the hilt of his sword. 

You took him in, before remembering his words, going to narrow your eyes at him. “Fuck off.”

The man scoffed. “Are you sober?” He asked, voice clear of any emotion whatsoever. 

“I’m moderately functional.” You sneered quietly, going back to mess with the dress, not daring to take another step until you were sure you wouldn’t fall. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” The much bigger man grumbled in response, going to grab your arm. 

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” You protested as he dragged you forward. 

“What’s it look like?” He grumbled again, keeping his hand on your arm so that you wouldn’t move as he bent down to pull your skirt from underneath your feet. 

“There.” He said, coming back up. “Now you can walk without falling on your face.” 

You glared at him. “I would have been fully capable of doing that myself.” 

“Didn’t look like it to me.” He fired back, clearly starting to grow more irritated by the second. 

“Well, you don’t look very well then, do you?”

This time it was his time to stare at you, eyes dark and emotionless. “Do you know who I am?” 

“Of course I know who you are.” You snorted. “There’s not many men in Winterfell with burns all over their face.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning backwards to take a better look at him, although regretting it as you stumbled. 

You steadied yourself and moved your eyes back to his face. “I’ve had worse nightmares about my mother finding out I’ve been skipping my sewing lessons.”

He showed his teeth from behind his beard as he looked down at you. “You should be scared of me. If you would have known where I’ve come from, you would be.” 

You rolled your eyes and glared at him, something you found yourself doing a lot when under the influence of alcohol. “I don’t doubt for a second you’ve done horrible things, but the only people I’m afraid of are the ones who make me wear these damned dresses against my will.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes, truth be told shocked that you weren’t even flinching under his gaze, and that you would willingly have a conversation with him, despite the fact that the conversation in question was not rather pleasant. 

“Do you regret it?” You leaned forward slightly, staring into his eyes in a way you thought to be intimidate, but in reality was making you look like a fool. 

Sandor looked you up and down, lip slightly raised in distaste at the look on your face. “Regret what?”

“The things you’ve done?” You answered without missing a beat. 

“There’s no sweeter thing than killing.” Sandor responded without batting an eye, and even though you wouldn’t admit it, a chill ran down your spine at his words. 

“So you don’t regret it.” You confirmed, raising an eyebrow in question. 

Once again, the man bared his teeth in annoyance. “The only thing I regret, is having this conversation.” 

You scoffed. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Don’t like me?” He asked. “Take a seat with the rest of the bitches waiting for me to give a fuck.”

“So dramatic.” You pouted mockingly, before moving to walk past him. “Well then, Ser, I’ll leave you to dramatically brood in your lonesome and go find someone else to converse with. Have a good night.” 

And with that, you started walking away, raising the flagon over your shoulder in farewell. 

Sandor watched as you walked away, but you didn’t get very far, the dress coming to tangle beneath your feet in less than a minute. 

“Dammit!” You yelled out, throwing the flagon on the ground to attempt fixing the mess once more. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Sandor cursed from behind you, and before you could even think of a response, he had taken you by your arm and heaved you up into his arms. 

“Let me down!” You ordered, wriggling about. 

“If you keep moving around like that I will, and it won’t be pleasant.” He snapped at you, causing you to glare and still in his arms.

“Fine, but at least let me get on your back. I’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.” You huffed.

“Fucking hell.” The man cursed once more, letting you down on your feet and getting in front of you so that you could jump onto his back instead. 

“You happy now?” He snarled, putting his hands behind your knees so that you wouldn’t fall off. 

“Happier than before.” You muttered, letting your arms circle around his neck, causing him to mutter something under his breath. 

The walk was quick thanks to Sandor’s long strides, and you soon found yourself being let down from his back in front of the door that would take you to your chambers. 

You wasted no time in pushing open the heavy wood, Bone jumping at you almost instantly. 

“Hi!” You gushed, bending down to pick him up into your arms, letting him lick your face as you walked inside. 

“Will you be able to undress yourself without falling or do I have to do that, too?” Sandor’s snarky voice came from the doorway. 

You put Bone down on your bed and walked back over to the door, skirts held up to your knees now that you were inside and wouldn’t freeze to death. 

“If you think you are getting your hands anywhere near my underclothes with that attitude, you are terribly mistaken.” You scoffed, grabbing a hold of the door. “Good night, Ser.” 

And with that you slammed the door shut, leaving Sandor alone to mutter in the corridor. “I’m no Ser.” 

After getting out of your gods forsaken dress and putting more wood into the fire, you had gotten beneath your furs and fallen asleep the second your head hit the soft pillow. 

You slept peacefully, thanks to the wine, but your waking was a little less pleasing, also thanks to the wine. 

Your mother had, true to her word, gotten you the promised clothes as you had fulfilled your end of the deal. Well, apart from the swearing to the Hound, that is. But she didn’t need to know that. 

But although you were happy about finally getting to wear a pair of pants that wouldn’t fall off when you moved, you were less pleased with the way you were awoken. 

The second Catelyn had waltzed into your room to see you lying face down with a pillow over your head, she had only shook her head. 

She had taken no regard what so ever to your headache and nausea from the night before as she pulled off your furs and forced you to get into a bath to ready yourself for breakfast. 

But at least now you could wear clothes of your own choice, thank the Gods. 

To say you were in a foul mood after last night’s amount of wine was a big understatement. As earlier mention, food was something you appreciated greatly, but today, you didn’t even feel like eating breakfast, instead opting to go for a ride in the woods. 

Being used to your morning-after changes of moods, no one in the castle dared to look at you as you walked down the corridors and outside. 

Bone, sensing your mood, or lack there of, took it on himself to show his loyalty to his master by taking on the same mood, growling to anyone who looked at you. 

Someone who didn’t seem to have gotten the hint by your terrifying stare or Bone’s low growls, however, was the very Hound who had made sure you got back to your chambers safely the night before. 

The man looked up as he noticed you entering, only sparing the not so little pup at your side a glance. 

“Who ate your bowl of sunshine this morning?” His voice came as you walked inside the stables. 

You didn’t answer, and for a second Sandor thought you might have been too drunk to remember your little encounter. But when seeing the familiar glare on your face, he knew you did. 

“What?” He grumbled as he saddled a horse. “No snarky remarks?” 

“Piss off.” You snapped finally, grabbing a saddle from the wall and going over to open the gate to one of the horses.

Sandor snorted, taking great pleasure in seeing you suffer after how you had irritated him the night before. 

“Don’t you have a breakfast to go to?” He voiced as he watched you get your horse ready, only getting a grumble in return. 

As you finished saddling your horse, you wasted no time in sitting up and steering the stallion out of the stables, speaking no more words to the prince’s guard dog, wanting to get out of there as quickly as you could knowing that the prince in question would have probably arrived any second. 

And while you weren’t really in the mood to deal with breakfast, or Sandor Clegane, you were not in the mood to deal with Joffrey Baratheon. Emphasis on the “not”. 

You’d never spoken to the prince before and you intended to keep it that way, while you hadn’t directly talked to him having heard him whine from a distance more times than you would have wished since his arrival the previous day. 

“Come on, boy.” You mumbled to Bone as you got the horse into a slow trott, letting him speed up into a galopp on his own, Bone running ahead. 

As you rode through the gates, the guards gave you a short hello, being used to you running away from gatherings like this to explore the woods. 

You’d think you would have covered the whole woods by now, but the woods that surrounded your home seemed to be endless. 

Not that you were complaining, riding alone through the thick trees being your absolute favourite activity on tired and pissed off days like these; it was your place to escape. 

As you trotted through the forest, you closed your eyes for a moment and breathed in the chilly air, just soaking in the moment. 

Bone was walking in front of you, sniffing on the ground and looking around. He was relaxed, in his natural habitat, but still ready to attack should you feel threatened. 

Almost a month had passed since you had found the direwolves on the way back to the castle, and Bone had already gotten so big. But despite him being the biggest out of the seven, you still called him a pup and took him into your arms every time you had the chance. 

But he didn’t complain, not that he could, anyways. You would never see him get as excited as when you’d gush him and give him that kind of attention. 

He was your baby. You had never realized that something was missing in your life until you got him. Now you couldn’t imagine a life without him. And if anyone even thought about hurting him, you’d kill them before he got the chance to do that himself. 

Two hours passed, and you had stopped in several places to check things out, whether it was animals, plants or simply admiring the landscape. 

But this time, you had stopped for something far more exciting than anything else so far. 

As you had been trotting around, Bone had stopped to smell something like he always did, but this time he hadn’t let it go. 

Getting down from your horse, you had found him pushing on a broken egg, a dead nestling hanging out of the shell. 

Your heart had broken at the sight, and you’d instantly started looking around for the nest, figuring it couldn’t be too far away as the egg looked to have fallen. 

After minutes of looking, you had finally found the tree with the bird’s nest. Luckily, it was a tree on which the twigs and branches started close to the ground, giving you easy access to safe footing. 

Less fortunate, the branches got sparser and more scattered after a while, leaving you less and less to climb on the further up you got. 

This left you not so far up at all, stretching your body as far as you could without falling, grabbing into the air to be able to reach the nest. 

But to no avail. 

You groaned in frustration as you gave it another go, reaching out with a strained sound leaving your lips, tip of your tongue peeking out. 

“The fuck are you doing up there?” You suddenly heard from beneath you, causing you to slip on the branch and come falling down. 

“AH!” You grabbed at the air desperately as you fell, trying to grab on to anything that could save you from a painful landing. 

But the feared landing never came. Well, not for you, that is. 

A grunt came from underneath you as you landed on the person who had dared sneak up on you, both of you falling to the ground with a thud. 

“What the fuck are you on?” The voice shouted as you stumbled to get up, them doing the same. 

Only then did your brain register the voice, and you quickly realized the victim of your rather rough landing was the one and only Sandor Clegane. 

“What are you doing here?” You huffed out as you managed to scramble to your feet, brushing off your pants. 

“What am I doing here? I’m heading back from a hunting trip to the castle with your father’s deer and I find you climbing a tree like you’re some kind of bird. What are you doing?” 

You crossed your arms, noticing Bone moving behind the man in front of you. You sent the direwolf a glare, pissed that he hadn’t made any sound to warn you. 

“That’s none of your business.” Turning back to look at Sandor, you keeping the glare on your face as you looked at him for a moment before going back to the tree for a second attempt. 

“You’re going up there again? Are you clinically insane or just incredibly annoying?” He called as you stepped onto the first branch, pulling yourself up. 

“Take your pick.” You snapped back, going to grab the next branch, however finding that it broke during your fall. 

“Damn it.” You cursed under your breath, before looking at Sandor. “Come here.”

“What are you on about now?” He asked, irritated. 

“Let me stand on your shoulders.” You responded. You pointed to the ground closer to you. “Now.” 

“Fuck that. You can do whatever you’re doing yourself.” He snarled, moving to go back to his horse. 

You scoffed. “Fine.” You shifted your eyes back to the tree, looking for a good branch to climb. You reached up when finding one who looked thick enough, only to find that it was too dry, it snapping off as soon as you put weight on it.  

Sandor watched you with an unimpressed expression, and you could hear him grumble from where his horse stood, before your foot was suddenly grabbed and put on his shoulder. 

You glanced down at him, coming face to face with an annoyed glare. “Get on with it.” He snapped, and you did as told, pushing yourself up on his shoulders all while holding on to the tree for support. 

Sandor’s hands went to your feet to hold you in place, only letting them go when you pushed yourself onto a branch. 

This time you had managed to come further up than you had without Sandor’s shoulders, allowing you access to the higher branches, which in turn let you climb all the way to the bird’s nest. 

“Yes.” You cheered to yourself as you sat down on a branch beside the nest. 

In it laid one single egg, white with black specks all over it. It was bigger than the one on the ground, about as big as your hands put together if they were clenched. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. You had never seen an egg like this before, the one on the ground being slightly different. 

Picking it up, it was cold and heavy in your hands, but as you held it you could feel warmth coming from inside. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to take the eggs from their nests, but it didn’t look to have been built on for a long time, giving you the suspicion that this was one of the species where the mothers left their chicks in the nests to fend for themselves. 

“What the fuck are you doing up there?” You heard from below you suddenly, causing you to jump slightly in your seat, but thankfully not enough to drop the egg. 

“I’m coming down now.” You called out, carefully putting the egg in your hip bag, hanging it on a branch and moving it along as you climbed down. 

You reached the bottom in no time, the bag now hanging from your shoulder as you bent down to let Sandor lift you down. 

“It takes a very special kind of idiot to pull off what you just did.” Sandor commented gruffly. 

You panted as you were placed on the ground again, swaying slightly. After steadying yourself, you grabbed the strap of the bag and put it around your shoulder properly so that it wouldn’t fall off. 

Sandor watched you from the tree as you went to your horse without a word, Bone at your heels. 

“What did you find that was so important you fell down a tree for it?” Sandor grumbled as he followed your lead, getting back onto his horse with the deer hung across the back. 

“I found a dead chick, so I wanted to look in the nest.” You answered, lifting the top of your back to expose the egg. 

He looked at you, aggravated. “I let you fall on me for an egg? A fucking egg?” 

You glowered at him. “It was no one’s fault but your own that I fell on you. If your head tells you it’s a good idea to sneak up on someone in a tree, you’re not very smart.”

He scoffed. “Blame that beast of yours, he’s not doing a very good job keeping you out of danger’s way.”

You rolled your eyes, looking at Bone who was walking calmly between you. “He likes you for some reason. Is it a dog thing?” You asked, earning yourself a glare.

“Shut your mouth.”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady. Don’t your spoiled prince discipline you before going somewhere?”

“Somehow you don’t even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt.” 

“I usually have that effect on people.” You let yourself smile for the first time that day, mocking him. 

Sandor noticed, scowling at you. “What are you smiling about?” 

“I think the better question would be why you give off the impression that you want to murder everyone you look at.”

“Killing is the swe-”

“Sweetest thing there is, yes, I remember.”

He sneered, going back to look at the ground in front of him. 

The rest of the ride back home was quiet, just the two of you being annoyed with each other’s presence, so why you would willingly walk alongside each other, you didn’t know. 

But you guessed it was because you were, even though you wouldn’t admit it in your moody state, fascinated by him. 

You had always loved things that the rest of the world forgot. Snails and slugs and broken flowers; birds high up in the trees. 

That was the reason you had gotten along with Tyrion so well during the feast te night before, and you figured it was also why you felt so drawn in by the Hound; they were both broken things that the world had left behind.

However, they weren’t much like each other in the slightest. 

While Tyrion preferred to use his wits as a defense mechanism, the Hound was known for fighting and killing anyone who dared to look at him in the wrong way. 

And while you didn’t doubt that he had many lives on his back, you didn’t believe the stories of some of the things he had supposedly done. 

In your world, everyone has a story. A background. And if you looked deeply and closely enough, you could find meaning to anything.

And while you were in a foul mood this day, you felt attracted to the Hound, you realized, as you watched the side of his face. 

He was a handsome man, one of the most beautiful people you had ever seen, you’d say, despite also being the most complicated one. But you didn’t mind. The second you managed to calm your headache and the temper with it, you would make sure to get to know the strange man. 

He was a tangled mess of silky string just waiting for you to sit down cross-legged and untie the knots.

You crinkled your nose as the thought ran through your head, disgusted that you would actually think something so soppy. You were starting to sound like Sansa, and it was making you nauseous. 

No. That’s the wine from the night before. 

Sandor looked at you as he noticed you stopping your horse in the corner of his eye, watching as you fell down from you horse and vomited in a ditch, a disgusted look coming to rest on his face. 

“For fuck’s sake.” 

“It’s a Sweetling fowl.” Maester Luwin spoke as he inspected the egg. 

You had returned a little while ago, after emptying your stomach’s content in the snow and yelling at Sandor for bitching about it. 

No matter how many times you told him to go back to the castle, he wouldn’t, instead staying to complain about you slowing him down. 

Some piece of work, that man was. The thoughts you had been having about him only moments before throwing up, were gone in an instant as soon as he opened his dirty mouth. 

Leaving you annoyed with him. Again. 

Your mother had been waiting for you by the gates as you returned, and had of course, not let you hear the end of the fact that you had been associating yourself with the Hound. 

You had only walked past her, hurrying to the kitchens to grab an apple before running off to the Maester. 

Which left you where you were now, sitting in a chair opposite of him as he inspected the egg you had found under a candle. 

“A what?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. You had read every book in the Winterfell library, and you had never heard about such a bird. 

“A Sweetling fowl.” Maester Luwin repeated, turning the egg around in his hands as he inspected it closely. “And the embryo seems to be intact.” 

“I’ve never heard of it before.” You confessed, coming to sit beside him to inspect the egg with him. A small shape could be seen on the inside as he held it up in front of the candle.

“It’s been extinct for hundreds of years, and even when they were alive, they would never be found in Westeros.” He spoke, not taking his eyes of the black and white shell. “Where did you say you found it?”

“In the woods east of the Godswood.” You told him, repeating what you had told him when coming to find him. 

“Strange.” He wondered out loud, looking at it for a second longer before handing it back to you and standing up, fetching a book from a shelf. 

“They’ve always been quite rare, especially in Westeros. They used to live in Essos, but they’ve been thought to be extinct for centuries.” He put the book down on the table, opening it up and bringing up a page that showed a drawing of one of the most majestic creatures you had ever seen. 

“You see its tongue and claws?” Maester Luwin pointed into the book. You nodded. “It uses its claws to open wounds in his enemies, and use its bristly tongue to insert Sweetling Blight into the wounds. The deadliest poison known to man.”

You took in the information all while you let your eyes run over the drawing to register the bird’s appearance. Its beak was long, and the tongue peaking out was just as long, if not longer, and you could see clearly the rough flaps of razor-like skin on it, liquid dripping from them. 

Next to it was a horse to give you an idea of its size, looking to be about as big as the horse, only a little bigger. It’s wings were big and folded onto its back, clad with thick, long feathers, and on it’s head sat two long horns on each side. 

“They’re usually a dark brown, bronze or yellow, and is known for their use in battle. But the last time anyone saw one in real life, much less in battle, was a long, long time ago.” Luwin spoke, letting his hand turn over the pages slowly so that you got a chance to skim through the information. 

“It’s beautiful.” You said as you let your fingers trace the drawing. 

“Truly majestic creatures. Their eyes is the most mesmerizing part, looking like a night sky. But they’re blind from birth, they depend on their hearing and horns. The horns work as a sort of a motion sensitive vision, letting them know what happens around them and allowing them to get around.” 

Maester Luwin turned to look at the egg again, shutting the book once sure you had gotten the chance to read everything. “It descends from the warmer parts of the world. It’s very unsure if it’s going to survive this weather.” 

“So the mother is probably dead.” You thought out loud, getting a nod in return.

“Yes, most likely. The weather of the North is harsh to a creature like the Sweetling. But there’s nothing wrong with trying, if you manage to get it to survive the cold, this could be the beginning of their rebirth.”

You nodded, looking at the egg in your hand with fascination overtaking your every feature. “How do I get it to hatch?”

“Like any other egg. Keep it warm, if it survives the development process, it will hatch.”

“Thank you, Maester Luwin.” You thanked the old man, standing up to kiss him goodbye, before walking out the room. 

The following days you had done exactly what Maester Luwin had told you, keeping the egg by the fire when you and Bone warmed up after being outside for a whole day, and wrapped in a blanket every time you weren’t able to take it with you. 

Arya had been just as fascinated as you were, but as she had been close to breaking the egg several times, you had started locking your door when you left. 

A lot happened after your adventure in the woods. 

Bran was pushed out of a tower, and had been in a deep sleep ever since. You had had your first personal encounter with Joffrey, and had been tormented by him on a daily basis ever since, something that was making you have a hard time controlling yourself, but your brothers to have a good laugh every time they were reminded. 

To sum it up, it was getting on your nerves. 

But luckily, as everything was going wrong and you were on the edge of exploding, the egg hatched, preventing this from happening. 

You couldn’t say that the chick was cute, because it wasn’t. It’s skin was naked and wrinkly, and its eyes were, despite being stunning, bigger than its head. But you knew that once it grew feathers and horns, it would look even more majestic than the one in the book. 

But of course, with your luck, the happiness was short-lived, your father soon telling you he would be taking the position of Robert’s new hand, and you would be going with them. 

You, Theon, Robb and Jon had burst into your parents’ chambers that evening, catching them stark naked in bed. 

But none of you were able to care about their lack of clothing or the probable activities they had been partaking in the moment before you stormed in, too busy yelling their ears off in a desperate attempt to get you to stay. 

But Robert had insisted. 

Forcing you to leave the home you loved more than anything behind alongside your father and sisters. 

Sansa was, seeing as she was completely head over heels with Joffrey, getting on your nerves just like everyone else. 

The only people not stomping all over your nerves as you rode down the Kingsroad, were your animals, and Arya and Sandor Clegane, seeing as you were still angry with Robert and your father for forcing you along. 

You had named your sweetling Azor, after the legendary hero Azor Ahai, who in the faith of R’hllor, the Lord of Light, thousand of years ago forged the sword Lightbringer to defeat the darkness of the Great Other.  ​

You hadn’t come up with the name yourself, of course, Arya being slightly more obsessed about warrior heroes than you. But it was a nice name, and it fit good to the dark bronze feathers he grew to get, reminding you of fire. 

You were currently sitting with your back against a tree with Arya, Bone and Nymeria curled at your feet and Azor perched on your shoulder, eating small pieces of chicken you were feeding him. 

Arya had moments before been crying as the Hound had killed her friend for offending the prince, and you had comforted her until she no longer cried. 

But of course, she was still heartbroken. The boy having been her first friend other than yourself. 

She sniffled as she chewed at her bread, patting Nymeria’s head and watching Sansa and Joffrey from afar. “I can’t believe she didn’t defend him.”

You grabbed Arya’s hand carefully in a comforting manner. “There was nothing she could’ve done, none of us could.” 

Arya turned to look at her. “But you stood up for me, at least you took my side. She just stood there.” 

You frowned. “Sansa is… in a phase, right now. You can’t take her actions, or lack there of, to heart.” 

Arya glared at her red headed sister from afar. “I never want to get married.”

“Then don’t.” You said. “I sure won’t.” 

“Father says I’m to marry a high lord. I want to be as strong as you, maybe he’d listen to me if I was. Or if I was a man.”

“You’re stronger than I ever will be.” You told her as Azar climbed down your arm to pick at the grass once there was no more chicken left to eat. 

“You’re young.” You continued. “You still have time to decide who you want to be. You can be that girl who wakes up with purpose and intent, who shows up and never gives up, who believes anything is possible and is willing to work for it. Those are the things you have to do to become greater than any man, and you certainly don’t need the help from one of those men in question to be able to do it. Because you’re Arya Stark, and you can do anything.”

Arya turned to look up at you, eyes sad. “Do you really think so?”

You smiled at her, squeezing her hand. “I know you can.” 

As the two of you turned your heads to look forward again, you spotted Sandor coming your way. You turned to Arya, seeing her put on a glare as she stood up. 

“I’ll see you by the horses.” She told you, giving you no time to respond before walking away with angry steps. 

As Sandor came closer, you stood up as well, brushing the dirt from your pants and straightening your doublet.

As Azar climbed back up your body to sit on your shoulder, Sandor reached you. 

“Your father sent me to take you to bathe.” He grumbled out, seeming to be even more cranky than usual. 

You raised an eyebrow at this. “Why did he send you?”

“Fuck do I know.” He snapped. “But he did, and we’re leaving soon. So you better hurry up.”

You rolled your eyes, saying nothing as you started to walk towards the woods where you knew the pond was. 

Bone went ahead of you like he always did when you went somewhere, taking the lead. As you walked, you glanced at Sandor, finding him sporting a frown instead of his usual scowl. 

“Are you alright?” You couldn’t help but ask as you turned your face back forward, despite the fact that you were beyond pissed at him for running down the boy and killing him, and despite the fact you knew he would probably do everything in his power to avoid the question. 

“I’m fine.” He muttered, voice gruff. 

“You don’t look fine.” You commented as you took another glance at him. 

This time, his scowl returned, eyes hardening. “Then stop looking.” 

You kept quiet for a moment, pondering whether you should keep pressing it or not, this being the first time ever he had slipped out any other kind of feeling than pure anger. 

You came to the conclusion that should you keep pressing, he would most likely turn back to his usual gruff self, but if you let it go, he might become more comfortable with you and finally open up in his own time. 

Being the impatient girl you were, you, of course, did not go for the latter.

Smacking your lips, you spoke up again. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Do you never know how to take a hint to shut the fuck up?” He turned to you suddenly, causing you to stop in your tracks. 

“I do. I just usually choose to ignore them.” 

“You better stop ignoring them before I rip out your tongue.” 

“I don’t talk that much.” You scoffed. 

“No.” He agreed. “But the times you do, you always find a way to dig into my head. You’re always in my fucking head.” He roared, knocking on his head for extra effect. 

You stared at him, eyes wide, not at all having expected the word spilling out of his mouth. You knew he probably meant it as an insult, but you couldn’t help but feel a tingly feeling shoot through your entire body as he spoke those words, staring you down. 

You were both quiet for a minute, before Bone came back panting, shaking his now wet fur all over the two of you and causing you to snap out of your trance, reminding you that you still needed to get cleaned up. 

“Get on with it.” Sandor told you bitterly, although much more quiet than usual, as you reached the water. 

You wasted no time in pulling off your clothes as he went around a few trees to give you your privacy, getting into the water as soon as you had dropped your last piece of clothing to the forest floor. 

It was cold, but not even close to how close it would have been had it been the North. You hated being in the water and hence had no problem with being quick, rushing to wash your body and your hair before getting out and drying off with the cloth your father had sent with Sandor, getting into your clothes as soon as you were dry. 

You didn’t say anything else to Sandor as you walked past him to let him know you were done, figuring he needed time to think alone seeing how abnormally much you had seemed to vex him this time. 

You got back to the party quickly, got on your horses and continued the road to the Capital. 

The second you arrived, chaos started breaking out as your father and yourself were dragged into the Game. You discovered some information and dug up secrets that turned out to be very threatening to the crown. 

During the time your discoveries were still secret, you managed to spend more time with Sandor, the man having a very fun time seeing you walk around being cranky about the dresses you had to wear all day. 

It was horrid, and you missed home more and more for every passing day. Luckily you had Azor and Bone to keep you company when Sandor and Arya weren’t around. 

Arya was mostly off practicing her water dance, and Sandor was off following Joffrey around. 

When he wasn’t though, you were always finding ways to keep the two of you busy. 

“Do you trust me?” You asked Sandor with a wide smile, looking down at him. 

“No.” He grumbled at you, waiting to see what you would do this time. 

“Smart man.” You sent him a teasing smirk, before speaking again.“Catch!” And with that, you flung yourself from the branch you were perched on and let yourself fall, skirts fluttering in the air. 

“Fucking bitch, why do you have to pull stunts like that all the time?” He yelled as he barely caught you, knees bending slightly at the force but not enough to fall. 

You only laughed. “I have to keep you on your toes, somehow, don’t I? What fun would it be if I didn’t?” You asked as you hurried to scramble out of his arms, running off, only looking back briefly to yell out, “Are you coming or are you going to stand there and brood all day?” before turning forward again. 

Sandor shook his head, with a glare but started walking after you nonetheless, armor shining in the sun. 

It had gone slow, especially with the Game being in full play, but eventually the two of you developed feelings. Or well, the feelings had probably been there ever since you first met, but it took a long time for any of you to act upon them. 

It started slowly, with small, lingering touches as you passed each other in the hallways or after dinner, and soon developed into stealing small kisses whenever you were left alone in the same room. 

The first kiss had been interesting, to say the least. You, being the way you were, had just gone up to him and kissed him one day like it was nothing. 

And him, being the way he was, had pushed you away and cursed at you, wiping his mouth as he yelled. 

But as you had kissed him again to shut him up, despite not yet kissing you back, he hadn’t pushed you away. And a few days after that, he had started easing into it, slowly but surely starting to respond to your movements as you pressed your lips to his. 

Then he started distancing himself from you, leaving you bitter and impatient as he avoided you to every cost. 

When you had finally been able to catch him alone and dragged into your empty chambers, you had had your first fight. 

“I don’t see the problem! I thought you wanted me as I wanted you!” 

“That is the problem!” He yelled. “You want me. I’m sworn to serve the Lannisters until the day I die. I’m the Hound, a killer, I’m no man for you to be with! You should be married to some lord by now!”

“It’s not like I can just shut of my feelings, Sandor! I don’t want a high lord, I want you!” 

“See, there’s the problem again! Why do you keep saying that sappy shit? You just had to be your stupid little self and fall in love with a killer, didn’t you?!”

“I am not sappy! I never thought I’d be in love, I never thought I’d have the same thoughts about somebody like Sansa did about Joffrey, but I was wrong!” You began, not letting him get another word in as you ranted. 

“And I didn’t fall in  love with you, I walked in love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I don’t believe in fate and destiny, but I believe we are fated to do the things that we choose. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you!”

The second you were done, Sandor had for the first time taken the first step to kiss you, capturing your lips heatedly and roughly. The kiss let you both get out every single feeling your were feeling in that moment. 

That was the first time the two of you slept together. 

And although you might think it was as rough as the front Sandor put on, it wasn’t even close to it. Every single minute of the time you spent together that night was filled with one thing and one thing only; complete and utter infatuation. 

After that, Sandor started being more outgoing about his feelings towards you, one of those moments being when a man had approached you during a feast, trying his best to talk you up and cup a feel. 

Sandor, having had enough when the man finally managed to get a feel of your bottom through your dress, had marched up to him and yanked his hand so hard you were surprised it didn’t pop out of its socket. 

“Put your hand on her one more time and I will rip it off and beat you to death with it.”

He had said to him, sending the man away with fear shaking his body. Sandor wanted to stay with you, so bad, but as he was still on duty, he returned to his post at once to avoid anyone seeing the exchange. 

Luckily for the two of you, none of the Lannister had witnessed the scene, but your father had. 

And ever since, he had been less cautious around the Hound. He hadn’t seen a smile on your face since before you left Winterfell, and it pained him deeply that he was part of the reason why. This led him to give Sandor reasons to leave as often as he could so that he could go be with you. 

You knew your father like the back of your own hand, as he did you. You didn’t need to speak of it for you to know what he was doing, and for him to know that you knew. 

Just like the situation with Jon being an actual Targaryen. 

Your father would always glance at you in a certain way when planning to send Sandor out on his own, and every time you waited outside the throne room, catching Sandor’s arm and dragging him away as soon as he was out of view of the people inside. 

Sansa witnessed you running off with Sandor on multiple occasions, and although she had to admit she was quite skeptic at first, she soon seemed to realize the same thing that your father had: you loved each other. 

Arya knew this, of course, the little girl being the only one you had told willingly, knowing you could trust her. She didn’t like it one bit, having hated the man ever since he had killed her friend. But she accepted it, because she had never seen you this happy. 

But the Game evolved. 

The crown found out of your father’s discovery and locked him up for treason. 

Eventually, they found out that you had been apart of it, and was about to send you to join him, when Joffrey changed his mind and wanted to have you married to his Hound instead, seeing it a more torturous punishment. 

But it was the only good thing that came out of it, as you now got to spend every night with the man you had grown to love. 

In the same span of time as your father was locked up, and you were married to Sandor, Joffrey and Cersei sent out goldcloaks to search for Arya, who had luckily managed to get away with Nymeria and Azar, both the wolf and the bird having grown quite lot by this point. 

You had begged Sandor to come with you and Arya once you started your plan to escape, but he refused, saying this was the reason why you shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. 

The night you were planning your escape, you found out you were with babe. And that only made it harder to leave him behind. 

But even though it pained you greatly, you did what you saw was best in that moment and wrote Sandor a note, leaving it on the bed, before changing into your beloved pants and tunic, and sneaking out of the Red Keep.

You tracked down Arya in Flea Bottom, finding her in the far back of the crowd as your father was about to be executed. 

You had looked at him as he was lead up to the stage, and as if feeling your gaze, he had turned to you. 

“Winter is coming.” He spoke as he looked into your eyes, giving you a nod as he was bent down by the guards. You heard him loud and clear even though the crowd’s yells should have prevented you from hearing anything at all. 

You couldn’t look on any longer, and advised Arya from doing so as well. Yoren showed up only seconds later, and you sent Arya and the animals with him as you noticed the goldcloaks coming for you through the crowd. 

You had just barely managed to get away with your life intact, thanks to Bone. 

Managing to steal a horse on your way out, you had hit his sides with your feet once in the saddle, sending him off, away from the castle. 

As you rode down the road and into the woods to shake off the guards, you spotted one lonely crow sitting on top of a rock, looking straight at you, leaving you to think about an old poem Old Nan had told you all your life, as you left your sister and love behind. 

One for sorrow

Two for mirth

Three for a wedding

And four for a birth

Five for silver

Six for gold

And seven for a secret never to be told.

(SEND ME A DM IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED WHEN I POST IMAGINES)

[marvelmando]

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - two

notes: this story definitely isn’t taking off like i hoped it would, but honestly i don’t really care. this is the one project i’ve kept working on, and i’m almost done with it. for the twenty or so people that have liked and reblogged the past two chapters, thank you guys so much. i do realize that p.parker x reader imagines are always going to be more popular, but i’m really proud of this story, and how much i’ve put into it. 

dedicated to the wonderful anon that sent me a message last week, you really kept me inspired to keep uploading. if you ever choose to make a blog, please shoot me a message, i’d love to become friends! i struggle with anxiety too, so i would understand if you didn’t haha

contains: swearing, probably

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 4.7k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

“UH, IT’S NOTHING—NOTHING!” Spider-Man shouted back, his voice growing increasingly high-pitched. He looked back at the boy with wide eyes.

“You’re the Spider-Man,” the boy said breathlessly. He seemed to have not noticed Marin yet. “From YouTube.”

Spider-Man, apparently forgetting that there was a girl in the room, smacked the emblem on his chest, his suit deflating and Marin watched as it pooled around his ankles in a red and blue puddle of cloth—leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Marin stared unabashedly at the hero’s chiseled chest and stomach. “I’m not, I’m not!” He protested desperately.

“You were on the ceiling!”

“No, I wasn’t—Ned, what are you doing in my room?!”

“May let me in! You said we were going to finish the Death Star!”

“That was the Death Star?” Marin blurted, causing the boy—Ned—to whip around at the sound of her voice.

Before anyone could react, the door to Spider-Man’s room opened, revealing a beautiful woman in her fifties waving a rag in front of her face as a cloud of smoke trailed in from behind her. Spider-Man scrambled over to Ned, subtly nudging the suit underneath a pile of loose clothing with his foot.

“That turkey meatloaf recipe is a disaster!” The woman laughed, pulling out her clip and letting her long chestnut hair spill over her shoulders. Finally getting a good look around the room, her eyes immediately landed on Marin. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know Peter had a girl over! I don’t believe he’s introduced us yet?”

Marin’s eyes flicked over to the half-naked boy who looked very uncomfortable to be caught in this situation. So that was his name. “Oh—I’m, uh, Marin.” She smiled at the woman. Luckily, the room was dark enough to hide the dark shadow of dried blood crusting on her chin.

“I’m May, Peter’s aunt; nice to meet you! So, let’s go to dinner. Thai? Ned, Marin, you want Thai?”

“Yes,” Ned said immediately, ogling at May, but Peter shook his head.

“No.” He answered for them. “They’ve got a thing to do.”

“A thing to do… after.” Ned tried to reason with Peter.

“Well that’s too bad, Ned, but Marin has to come! You’ve never brought a girl home, Peter!” She backed away, clearly refusing to take no for an answer. As she was halfway out the door, she gestured to Peter’s naked chest. “Maybe put on some clothes, especially in front of female company, Pete.”

As soon as the door shut behind her, Ned whisper-yelled, “Oh, she doesn’t know?!”

Peter whirled around, grabbing the closest shirt and tugging it on roughly. “Nobody knows! Well, expect Marin, and now you. And Mr. Stark knows because he made my suit, but that’s it!”

“You know Tony Stark?” Marin gasped the same time Ned choked, “Tony Stark made you that?!”

Peter looked exasperated.

“Are you an Avenger?” Ned gasped.

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, basically.” Marin’s eyes widened with no small amount of awe.

Ned grabbed the railing of the top bunk like he was going to faint. Peter stepped in close to him. “Ned you cannot tell anybody about this, you have to keep it a secret,” Peter begged.

“A secret? Why?”

“You know what she’s like!” Peter gestured at the door, presumably referring to his aunt. “If she finds out people try and kill me every single night, she’s not gonna let me do this anymore!” He was quiet, but his voice was squeaky. “C’mon, Ned, please.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll level with you. I don’t think I can keep this a secret—this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me! Peter—!”

“Ned, May cannot know—I cannot do that to her right now. You know?” Peter’s voice wavered. “I mean, with everything that’s happened with her, I… please.”

Marin glanced at Peter, whose back was facing her. She could hear the familiar heartache laced in his pleading tone, and she silently wondered what this boy had been through to make him sound like that.

“Okay,” Ned relented after a brief pause.

“Just… swear it, okay?”

“I swear.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

“I cannot believe this is happening right now.” Peter paces, his hands flying up to his hair, reminding Marin of the night they first met.

“Can I try the suit on?”

“No.”

“How does it work? Is it magnets? How do you shoot the strings?”

Marin giggled at Ned’s curiosity, how he managed to shift the mood from sullen to hyper in mere seconds. She watched Peter groan in frustration.

“I’m gonna tell you about this at school tomorrow.” Peter said, hurrying Ned out the door.

“Great.” Ned nodded but stopped short at the door. “Wait! You!” He turned, pointing accusingly at Marin. Her eyes widened. “How do you know about this? Peter, how do you know her?”

“Uh,” Marin stammered, blood rushing up her neck to her cheeks and ears.

“Uh, the internship! Yeah, we met through the internship.” Peter nodded like he was trying to convince himself, too. Marin was strangely grateful that he wasn’t revealing her powers. Wait, she thought. What internship?

“So… how do you do this… and the internship?” Ned queried.

Peter stared at him in disbelief. “This… is the internship.”

Ned let out a long ahhhh as Peter pushed him out the door. When he shut it behind him, he grimaced, clutching his head.

After a moment, as Peter reflected to himself, Marin tried breaking the silence. “That went well.”

Peter huffed. “Why are you even still here?” He muttered, grabbing the closest pair of sweatpants and pulling them on angrily.

Marin paled, stunned at Peter’s sudden harshness. She opened her mouth, about to either apologize or defend herself, when the door swung open, and May peeked her head in the room.

“You two ready for Thai?”

+++

To say dinner was awkward would be the understatement of the century.

May insisted that Marin take a seat next to Peter, who sat stiffly in his chair the whole time, refusing to look Marin in the eye, and say no more than two words at a time. Marin had guzzled down water from the sink in the restaurant’s bathroom as soon as they’d arrived, so the blooming bruise on her nose and cheek could heal before May would notice, as well as wash away any dried blood. Her entire face still ached from the injuries and the weird tingly feeling she got when she used her powers to heal herself, but at least she didn’t look beat up anymore.

“So… how did you two meet?” May attempted to alleviate the tension.

“Um, the… internship?” Marin supplied uncertainly when Peter stayed silent. She still didn’t know what internship Peter had meant, but she knew that it was in her best interest to keep the stories the same if she wanted to keep her secret from Ned and May.

“The internship…” May repeated wearily, shaking her head. Marin felt a spike of panic. Did she not know about the internship? Or did she know about it, and know that she was lying? May poked at her larb. “I have to tell you… not a fan of that Tony Stark. Peter’s distracted all the time; he’s got him in his head.”

Marin snuck a wide-eyed glance in Peter’s direction while May’s head was down at her plate. Not only did he have a suit made by Tony Stark, but he also worked for him?! Peter raised his head to look incredulously at May.

On the TV behind May, Marin recognized the image that was being shown on the local news. It was the dilapidated remains of the corner store from earlier that night—Delmar’s Deli shop, it was apparently called.

“…after an ATM robbery was thwarted by Queens’ own colorful local crime stopper: Spider-Man, accompanied by an unidentified ally. As they attempted to foil their heist, a powerful blast was sett off, slicing through the bodega across the street. Miraculously, no one was harmed. Officials have not yet been able to identify the other powered individual shown in the CCTV footage, but experts say that she has the ability to control water.”

Marin was still studying the clips of the CCTV footage when May turned around to face her and Peter. “If you two spot something like that happening, you turn and you run the other way.”

Marin shared a look with Peter when May was distracted. He made some sort of words of agreement and mentioned something about a new backpack. Marin had lost focus as she worried about being recorded and broadcasted over the news—her face was obscured and her clothes were generic and non-descript enough to conceal her identity, but if there was any chance that Charles was monitoring social media for her location, she knew he could recognize her in an instant. Besides, she doubted that there was a lot of hydrokinetics apart from herself, and especially not ones that coincidentally show up on the news the same day they run away. The only thing she could do was hope that Charles wouldn’t see it.

“Oh, Marin!” May said suddenly, causing Marin to jump in her seat, caught off guard. “I meant to ask, how are you getting home? Do you need a ride?”

Marin winced slightly, shaking her head as her cheeks warmed. “No, I don’t really… I don’t really have a home, right now.” She shrugged and took a bite of her noodles.

“What?” May cried out, looking distressed. Marin’s heart throbbed at the genuine concern in her eyes. “What about your parents?”

“Um…” Marin gulped, glancing briefly at an equally confused Peter before staring down at her dinner. The food rolled uncomfortably in her stomach. “My parents… um, are dead.”

“Oh, honey,” May sighed sympathetically. “But… you must live with someone, right? What about any relatives?”

Marin shook her head. If she had any, she certainly didn’t know them. She searched for an explanation that was as truthful as she was willing, without giving away the hint that she was a mutant. She obviously didn’t know Peter’s secret, and Marin still didn’t want to reveal that particular secret yet (if ever). Besides, even if she hadn’t resolved to keep it from Peter, Marin knew how humans normally reacted to mutants, anyway. “I lived in a… group home, but they, uh, kicked me out today, so…”

May shook her head defiantly. “You can stay with us for the time being. Right, Pete?”

Marin risked a peek at the boy, who stared at her with shock, guilt, and empathy in his warm brown eyes. He nodded. She smiled gratefully at the kind, beautiful woman, and finished her dinner with a newfound sense of hope.

Back at the apartment, Peter pulled Marin into his room.

“Marin… I’m sorry,” he wrung his hands together nervously. “For what I said earlier, I didn’t know that you… that your parents…”

“It’s alright, Peter.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he looked strangely relieved. For all that he could snap at people, Marin saw the genuine kindness in him, and it warmed her heart.

“For what it’s worth,” Peter looked down at his bare feet, his dark curls falling around his head. “My parents are dead, too.” Marin nodded, giving him a knowing smile. She didn’t console him; she knew that he didn’t need it, just as she didn’t. It made sense to her, then, why Peter lived alone with his aunt.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” He asked eventually. Marin nodded.

After staring at her for a moment, Peter reached into his closet and pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Here,” he handed the bundle of clothes to her. “These were from… before, so they should fit you.”

Marin didn’t know how Peter got his powers, but he obviously wasn’t born with them if his aunt didn’t know about them. So, she assumed by ‘before’, he meant before his transformation. She took the clothes with a shy smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Marin noticed the reddening of Peter’s stuck-out ears when she exited the bathroom, wearing his clothes. Grinning to herself, she helped Peter put a sheet over the couch’s cushions and grabbed a blanket and pillow. As she tucked herself into the makeshift bed, Peter went to turn off the table lamp.

“Goodnight, Peter.” She whispered into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Marin.” He responded just as softly, and she didn’t need to see him to know that Peter was smiling warmly down at her.

+++

Waking up early the next morning wasn’t as insufferable as one would expect it to be.

Used to early mornings from her days at the Institute, Marin had no trouble waking up at seven-thirty in the morning to walk Ned and Peter to school. For all May knew, Marin had been previously homeschooled, and didn’t expect Marin to keep up those sorts of appearances. But Marin had plans for the day, and she figured she might as well get an early start.

Marin sipped quietly on her ice-cold bottle of water as she and Peter descended the floors of the apartment complex in the elevator.

Once they exited the building, Ned was already waiting for them with a plethora of odd questions.

Marin laughed and rolled her eyes at the inane questions Ned had come up with, but the group of three slowed down once they reached the intersection where Marin and Spider-Man had been the previous night.

“Whoa,” Ned breathed. “You were here?”

Police officers and firefighters swarmed in and out of the two damaged buildings, emergency vehicles blocking off the center square pavement between them. Marin felt light-headed as she took in the extent of the damage, now easily exposed in the daylight.

“And you were with that other dude, right? The water-bender?” Ned asked.

Marin wasn’t sure whether to be offended or relieved that people thought she was a boy in the footage. “”’Water-bender’?” She scoffed because she definitely hadn’t heard that one before.

Peter gave her a warning look, but Ned only shrugged. “That’s what people are calling her on Twitter, at least.” He looked at Peter. “But you could’ve died, though, Peter.”

A moment of eerie silence passed as the three assessed the scene in front of them, only to be interrupted by Ned.

“Do you lay eggs?”

+++

Marin parted ways with Peter and Ned after they reached the edges of their high school. “Are you sure you’re fine getting back by yourself?” Peter had asked when Ned walked ahead and out of earshot.

Marin had given him a knowing smirk. “I can handle myself just fine, webs.”

He had hesitantly nodded, pulling away from her and giving her a small wave before disappearing into the sea of teenagers. Marin looked longingly at the camaraderie she noticed between groups of friends, before turning determinedly on her heel.

Shoving her hands into her hoodie’s pockets and her bottle tucked under her arm, Marin made her way back to the Metro entrance. She’d borrowed Peter’s spare metro card, taking the J train over to the East River, then switching to the F train to get to Midtown Manhattan. The train cars were smelly and packed with bodies, but Marin found a surprising comfort in the new sensation of becoming invisible in a crowd of strangers.

Stepping out into the busy streets of Manhattan, Marin took a deep breath in through her nose to settle her jumping nerves. According to a tourist map she’d picked up while waiting for the F train, her destination couldn’t have been far.

Sure enough, it only took her ten minutes of maneuvering the streets of the busy city to reach it. Folding the map back up, she tucked it into her jeans’ back pocket and adjusted her grip on her water bottle. Draining the rest of her water for courage, Marin marched her way inside the Stark Tower.

Unsure of where to go, but determined to get there, Marin stopped at the front desk in the lobby, presuming it was some sort of receptionist’s desk. A woman sat perched in the ergonomic chair, her acrylic nails tapping away at a fancy, touch-screened device.

“Hi, I’m here to see Tony Stark.” Marin announced, and the lady glanced up at her, unimpressed. She belatedly wondered if Mr. Stark was even here.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked, bored.

Marin clenched her jaw. Nuts, she thought, what do I do now? Panicking, Marin blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I’m his daughter.”

The lady narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Mr. Stark doesn’t have a daughter.”

“Tell that to my mother,” Marin sneered her lie. “I need to speak to my father. Immediately. My mother is dying and I need to speak to him.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll scream.” Marin threatened, placing a flat hand on the desk, leaning over as menacingly as she could. “And I’ll be sure to tell everyone that Tony Stark had his orphaned daughter dragged out by security.”

The lady glared up at her but eventually pulled out a phone. “Mr. Hogan? A girl is in the lobby, claiming that she is Mr. Stark’s daughter.” A pause as Mr. Hogan responded. “Her mother is apparently dying and she needs to speak to Mr. Stark.” Another pause, this one longer. “Alright, I’ll send her up.”

Marin smiled sweetly as the lady handed her a visitor’s badge, one that allowed access to the top several floors. She told her what floor to go to with a poorly restrained scowl.

Marin clipped the badge to her hoodie and jogged over to the closest elevator. There was already a crowd of people crammed into the boxcar, and Marin asked a gentleman in a nice suit to press the button that flashed ‘97’.

Sweat gathered on her chest and uncomfortably ran down the groove between her breasts, causing her to grimace and rub it away as discreetly as she could. Both men and women exited and entered the elevator as it stopped several times throughout the trip, and by the time she reached the thirtieth floor, she was the only passenger left.

Now that the car was empty and blissfully devoid of nicely-dressed adults, Marin noticed soft piano music flowing from the speakers above her. She tugged off her hoodie and straightened her faded and slightly distressed Led Zeppelin shirt. Marin stared at her reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator’s car, nervously rearranging her bangs.

The elevator dinged musically as the doors opened to reveal floor ninety-seven. It was a massively open space, with luxurious black couches surrounding possibly the biggest flat-screen TV Marin had ever seen, and a fully furnished kitchen on the opposite side—complete with polished marble countertops and fancy kitchen appliances of all kinds. Marin stepped out onto a plush rug that covered the narrowed entrance that led from the elevator to the rest of the room, privately wanting to take off her shoes so she could run her toes through the soft fibers.

She glimpsed around, and when she didn’t see anyone, she called out, “Hello? Mr. Stark?”

“Who the hell are you?” A voice spoke up from behind her. Marin whirled around, coming face-to-face with the man she’d idolized for years. Even through his long sleeve shirt and a graphic tee over it, she could still see the faintly circular glow of his arc reactor.

Reigning in her excitement, she thrust out her hand. “I’m Marin Frost.”

Tony Stark looked down at her hand and back up to her face. He tentatively took her hand and shook it. “Tony Stark. Now, what are you doing here, kid?”

“I’m not actually your daughter,” Marin confessed sheepishly, and Mr. Stark rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. Although, you probably could be the right age…” he trailed off thoughtfully.

“Trust me, I’m not.” She rocked on her heels. “I’m here to talk about a position.”

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. “A position, huh? What for?”

“To be an Avenger.” She simply said, and he just stared at her.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He grabbed her shoulder, pushing her toward the elevator. “You—”

“Wait!” She cried. “I know Peter!”

Mr. Stark stilled behind her, then turned her around. “Peter Parker?” He looked at her suspiciously.

“Yes. Well—I don’t know his last name, but—”

“And how do you know him? School? Neighbors? Lovers?”

Marin grimaced. “No to all of them. I’ve got powers, too.” She said, and Mr. Stark released her, giving her a signal to explain. “I met Peter a few months ago when I tried to stop a robbery, but he was already there—but I had to go back home and I hadn’t seen him until yesterday, when I got kicked out of my home and went to Queens to find Spider-Man—but then I learned that his name is Peter and that he worked for you; so I came to find you because I want to be an Avenger and help save people.” Marin rushed out to explain.

Tony Stark looked at her for a solid minute, presumably trying to decide whether she was lying or not. Or crazy.

Eventually, he just sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “You want something to eat, kid?” He strutted past her into the kitchen. Nodding, Marin followed and sat at the kitchen’s bar, facing the billionaire as he pulled out some grapes. “Sorry, haven’t restocked in a while.”

Stacking them in a ceramic bowl, Mr. Stark handed the grapes to the girl. She picked at them ravenously, not realizing how hungry she was until she had food in her mouth. Mr. Stark watched her scarf down the grapes, looking concerned.

“So… you got kicked out of your home?” When Marin nodded, Mr. Stark asked why.

Marin’s hand hovered momentarily as she reached to pluck a grape from the stem. “They hated me,” she whispered, almost ashamed. “The other kids hated me, or feared me for what I could do, and I was alone. Even the adults, it turns out,” she laughed dryly. “They all thought I was some sort of… monster. And they wanted to control me—to lock me away so I couldn’t hurt anyone else like they… like they thought I wanted to.” Her face crumpled in disgust. “They thought that I liked hurting people. I wasn’t—I didn’t really get kicked out, but I never belonged there. I left because I was never supposed to stay, and it’s not like anyone wanted me to stay, either. I couldn’t stand to stay in a place where no one believed me. Where no one knew who I really was, and still hated me anyway.”

Her eyes burned and her nose ached like she was going to cry, but she held it back, instead, distracting herself with picking the rest of the grapes from the stem. She blinked until the tears cleared from her vision, and was surprised to see empathy on Tony’s face. She cleared her throat, and he nodded.

“So, what can you do, Marin?” He asked, obviously changing the subject, for which Marin was grateful.

“I can manipulate water,” she started, grabbing her empty water bottle and unscrewing the lid. “Can you fill this up, please?” She handed it to Mr. Stark, who obliged. When he handed it back, now full, she set it down in front of her and pulled out a sphere of water about the size of her fist with her mind. “I can freeze it, boil it, grab things with it, and I can even use it to heal minor wounds on other people, though I’m better at healing myself.”

Tony looked mildly impressed as she shifted the water between phases to prove her point, which was more than she was expecting.

“And I have nine years of martial arts training, as well as expert aim with weapons of all kinds. I’m also interested in fluid mechanics, obviously, and mechanical engineering. I’ve also dabbled in some types of physics. I particularly enjoy quantum physics.” Marin listed.

Tony Stark stared into her eyes for a beat. “Where are you from, kid?” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Marin through narrowed eyes. “How’d you get these powers?”

“I was born with them.” It was technically the truth, although she wasn’t about to tell him her secret. Even though she had the advantage of knowing Peter now, she still wasn’t certain that if she told Mr. Stark the complete truth, he wouldn’t send her back to the Institute.

Mr. Stark sighed. “Yeah, but where are your parents?”

“They died when I was six.” She stated, chewing on another grape. She siphoned the blob of water back into her container. “’s why I was sent to a group home.”

“And you want to be an Avenger, is that right?”

“I do.” Marin straightened in her seat, tilting her chin up confidently.

Tony Stark paused. “Got a code name?”

Marin grimaced, recalling the awful name given to her as an X-Man. “Not any good ones.”

“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll come up with something.”

Marin grinned.

+++

“Marin, you home?” Peter’s voice carried through the apartment later that day, to where Marin lounged against the sofa with a random book in her hands. “Marin we’ve gotta talk—is that a Stark hoodie?”

Marin caught Peter’s eye, smiling. “Yeah! I went to his house today—I was lucky to catch him right before he left for India or something—and I—”

“Wait, wait, wait, what?!” Peter threw his backpack off his shoulder and came to sit next to her on the couch. “What do you mean, you went to his house?! You mean the Tower? Why on earth would you go there; I thought you were trying to lay low!”

Marin creased her eyebrows. “Well if you would let me finish—I showed him my powers and asked if I could join the Avengers!”

Peter stared at her with his jaw dropped. “What?!”

“He was impressed by my abilities, and even though I can’t join the Avengers—because apparently, they’re not a ‘thing’ right now, or whatever—he knows that I don’t really have a home and I guess he felt really bad for me, because he was going to let me stay in a hotel for a while,” she rambled excitedly. “But I told him that I was staying with you for now, and he didn’t like that I wasn’t going to school so he went ahead and enrolled me in yours!”

A brief moment of silence passed. Suddenly, Peter shot to his feet with his hands in his hair and paced the living room. Marin was grateful that May was out on a grocery run at the moment. “What the hell; what the hell?! You’re going to Midtown now?! You don’t even have an official guardian!”

“Oh, Mr. Stark said he’d take care of that stuff,” Marin interjected. She tilted her head in thought. “I don’t know why May doesn’t like him—he seems like a really nice guy!”

Peter slumped back down on the couch. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

“I—” Marin started, but then realized how distressed Peter seemed. “What’s wrong?”

Peter exhaled. “Ned told everyone in our gym class that I ‘know’ Spider-Man,” he made quotations with his fingers, then passed a hand through his hair. Marin was beginning to recognize it as a nervous tick. “And there’s this guy at my school who hates me for some reason, and he doesn’t even believe that I’ve got the internship with Mr. Stark. So, he convinced me to go to this really popular girl’s party tomorrow night, and bring Spider-Man as my guest. I don’t even like parties,” he whined, throwing his head back against a cushion.

Marin thought for a moment, before suggesting, “I could come with you? Maybe I could wear the suit and pretend to be you?”

Peter sat up, shaking his head. “No; knowing Flash, he’s gonna want to make you show off your powers, and you can’t very well climb up onto the ceiling, too.”

So, it’s not the suit that lets him do that, she noted. “Maybe I could distract them, then? Tell them you ran off to find him while Spider-Man shows up, and leave shortly after?”

Peter thought for a few seconds and nodded slowly. “That… could work.”

Marin clapped once, rising to her feet. “Alright, let’s get this party started!”

Peter just rolled his eyes.

[jamie-leah]

Dancing Shadows- Part 7

Bucky x Reader 

Summary:  You’re a fire elemental that has been in love with Bucky for a long time. He doesn’t know and you can’t tell him because of his girlfriend. And with an enemy threatening you and everything you love, will you and Bucky find each other before its too late?

Word Count: 2217

Warnings: Graphic description of death, violence, swearing 

A/N: Here’s another part! Enjoy lovelies and don’t be afraid to give feedback and talk to me!! Tags are OPEN! 

Dancing Shadows Masterlist   Series Masterlist   One Shot Masterlist 

YOUR POV

Your hands are numb. Your voice is almost non-existent. You curl up on the floor and close your eyes. “There is no sleep here, child”, the Black Death’s voice echoes around the glass.

You sigh, your voice cracks when you say, “fuck off”.

He carries on, “you will join me. It is only a matter of time”.

You put your hands over your ears, but he only appears in your head, “there is no escape here. Join me and this will stop”.

Frustration and anger flow through your body, trying to reach the fire you had known all your life. You can feel sparks, embers of what you used to feel. You can just about get a flame on your finger. He keeps talking to you. His voice grates on you. It makes you want to scream. You want him to stop.

You drown him out by saying their names in what little voice you have left, “Bucky, Steve, Tony and…”. Your eyes flit around the darkness as if you’re waiting for the name you’re missing to appear. He keeps talking so you have no choice but to say, “Bucky, Steve, and Tony”.

He disappears suddenly, and you breathe a sigh of relief. The darkness almost comforting until the screen turns on. You’re looking into an almost empty room. A chair and a woman tied to it sit in the middle.

She’s pretty, dark hair cascading down her shoulders in waves, her eyes light and you knew she would have a sunny smile. She looks up when you and the Black Death walk in. She looks unharmed physically, but she also looks drained. Her eyes are wide and terrified, and she lets out whimpers now and then.

The Black Death speaks, “I have come to punish you for your treachery”. He says nothing more as the girl struggles to free herself. She weeps and begs to be spared, but he stands there like stone.

You watch the screen as you see yourself move forward. You approach the woman as a feeling of dread settles into your stomach. Your hands reach out to her as you lay your palms on either side of her face. She’s looking at you with tears streaming down her face, “please don’t do this. I’m begging you, I don’t want to die”.

Before you can blink after her words your fire comes to life on your fingers. Her screaming is instant as the fire burns her face. You watch her skin start to peel away as her screams reach a pitch high enough to cause bleeding in your ears. You smash your fists against the glass screaming with her, wanting him to stop. You try to reach that fire within you but its like you don’t have it anymore.

You look away as you dry heave in the corner of the glass box. Its not long until her screams stop, but you still hear the fire crackling. You see the light from the screen flickering in the darkness due to the flames.

The light dies as the screen turns off. You feel his presence in the darkness, but you don’t look at him. He starts to chuckle, “you’re too weak for the power you possess. You could do this to thousands for our kind and you choose to sit here”.

You whirl to face him. You shout at him so hard that the glass catches your spit, “I don’t want to kill thousands! You’re a disgrace to our kind”.

He just shrugs, an oddly human gesture from such a monster, “you may not want to kill thousands child, but you will. This was only your first”.

You scream at him, “I didn’t kill her!”, as he disappears once more. You scream it again and again and again. You scream until you can’t. You look down at your hands seeing them shake but unable to feel them. As images of the woman flash behind your eyes you whisper, “I didn’t kill her”, as if trying to convince yourself that those weren’t your hands, that that wasn’t your fire, that your face wasn’t the last thing she saw.

You curl into yourself as you feel the first tears slip, repeating, “Bucky, Steve, and Tony”.

 There was no time here. It could have been weeks or maybe just a few days. It felt like years. You still hadn’t slept. You close your eyes and he appears, you keep them open and you see the darkness move like an entity of its own.

You were slowly forgetting yourself. You couldn’t pinpoint how old you were. You forgot if you had blue eyes or brown. You couldn’t remember what you were doing before this. You forgot what the sun felt like, what food tasted like, what home smelt like.

The prominent things in your memory were not to trust the Black Death and two names: Bucky and Steve.

 You were curled up on the floor when the screen came on again. You didn’t bother getting up, looking at it from the side. You felt too weak to scream and fight. You were trying to remember the two names from last time, but only coming up with one: Bucky.

You remembered the name and could picture a blurry image of him. You remembered that he was important to you, but you couldn’t remember why. It’s hard to picture anything in this darkness.

It hurt to think of the name Bucky, it hurt to know he was important and to not remember them clearly. You focus on the screen instead. You see a city, the buildings tugging at your memory but bringing nothing to the forefront. You notice that it’s just you and the Black Death in the middle of the street. Traffic stops in front of you as people get out to run at the sight of you and him.

You watch yourself stretch a hand out as you set cars on fire. You can hear screams and people running. The fire comes out of you in a continuous flow as he controls where you point it. It wasn’t long until you see a disk come flying towards you and the Black Death. He doesn’t see it in time as it catches him in the stomach knocking him back.

The fire stops for a few seconds as the man who threw the metal shield speaks to you, “Y/N, come on”. He offers you his hand, but you do nothing, only staring. He looks at you confused until your hand sparks flames once again. You aim them at him and watch him narrowly miss the flames as he rolls and dives behind a car.

You’re still curled up on the floor in the box, watching as the events unfold. A man in a red and gold metal suit flies out of nowhere and sweeps you away. You see the sky over the metal shoulder, blue with little clouds. You hear him say, “I’ve got her”, before your hands heat up again. You watch the flames start to melt the metal. You can see him glance at you alarmed, “Y/N?! What are you doing?!”. You don’t answer as you watch the fire eat the metal. You feel him take you back down to the ground before dropping you in your back.

You vaguely hear him say, “does she not recognise us?”. You see another man with wings in the sky as you get up, the Black Death next to you. You look around and see a few of these people dotted around. The heroes you guessed.

You watch the screen swing around taking them all in until you paused on one. A man with shoulder length hair and steel blue yes, accompanied by a metal arm. It takes you a few minutes, narrowing your eyes, to recognise him. You place the name Bucky with his face. He’s staring at you too with a mix of pain and relief?

You get up from the floor in the glass cage as you stare at him some more, willing memories to come back to you. He calls out to you, except he doesn’t use your name like everyone else, “doll”.

“You have ice-cream on your forehead Doll, how did you manage that?”, Bucky is smiling while shaking his head. You continue to stuff the cold food in your mouth and close your eyes to savour the taste. While your eyes are closed you feel his thumb wiping the stain away. You give him a bright smile which makes ice-cream dribble down your chin. He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “what the hell am I gonna do with you?”.

When you focus on the screen again everything has moved. Fire is flowing freely from your hands as you see a girl with red hands engage with the Black Death. You will yourself to seek the man out with the metal arm. It takes a few moments, but you catch him again, blood in the corner of his mouth.

You bring the cold cloth up to Bucky’s lips again, trying to stop the bleeding. You talk in a serious tone, “you need to be more careful on missions Buck”. He chuckles, and you raise your eyebrows at his response, “I’ve had worse”. You sigh heavily as you take the cloth away. Your tone stays serious with a hint of sadness, “you need to be careful because I don’t like seeing you hurt. I wouldn’t know what I’d do with out you Buck”. He smiles wide before wincing at the movement. You shake your head as he gives you a smaller smile, “well, you’re lucky that you’ll never have to find out”.

You come back to flames being aimed at the man that had the shield again. They never get there though as Bucky throws the man’s shield at you, knocking you back.

You stare up at the gym ceiling as Bucky knocked you down for the tenth time. You let out a noise of frustration as you get back up. He’s standing there smirking at you which enrages you more. His smirk never falters as he says, “are you even trying Doll?”. You narrow your eyes at him as he turns around to grab his water bottle. You see the opportunity as you bring a flame to your finger and throw it onto his ass. It’s a tiny flame so he doesn’t notice until you say, “your ass is on fire Bucky”. He chuckles thinking you’re joking until he looks over his shoulder and sees some smoke, “what the hell? Put it out Y/N!”. You laugh as you smother the fire. Once the fire and smoke clear you see a small hole in his bottoms, seeing the black boxers underneath. You laugh harder as he says, “its not funny! My ass was smoking!”. You give him a smirk to match his own, “was smoking? Bucky, your ass IS smoking”. He laughs at your joke as he grabs his things from the gym, leaving you with a kiss on the forehead.

You come back to see his face filling up the screen trying to talk to you. You take his face in as you remember him more clearly. His voice sounds desperate, “Y/N, do you recognise me? Its Bucky”. Your hands have stopped spreading fire as the Black Death is distracted, but they’re still alight. Bucky doesn’t seem to care though as he steps closer to cup your face with his hands. You start to remember more and more as you start kicking and punching the glass again.

His voice fuels you and his words help you to remember, “come back to me Doll, please. I need you to fight whatever he’s done to you. I know you said in that note that if you were beyond saving that I should kill you, but I don’t believe you’re beyond saving. I can see that you recognise me. Come back to me. I need to tell you something important. I need you”. You punch again and again on the glass. Your hands leave smears of blood on the glass, but you don’t care. You keep going and soon you see cracks form.

The sight just adds fuel to your fire. Bucky keeps talking and it gives you the strength to keep cracking the glass. The spider web of cracks spread until it over takes the entire wall of glass. You feel so close to being free and then you hear those words. You look up to see his eyes intensely watching you. You watch his lips move as he says them again, “you hear me Y/N? I love you”. That’s when you feel the fire. You will it to spring to your hands and fire so thick, lights up the darkness, that you can’t see your hands. You bang on the glass one more time as it shatters.

You feel a wave of power flow out of your body as you blink in the city of New York. You can feel yourself back in your body as you look around to see all the fire gone along with the Black Death. You look at Bucky and you can practically feel him holding his breath. You manage to get out, “Bucky?”, before you black out.

Permanent Tags: @glimmering-darling-dolly , @justakpopfan4 , @overlywhelmedfangirl

Dancing Shadows Tags: @imeannooffensebabybut , @wandressfox , @animegirlgeeky , @writing-for-a-chance , @damnbuckyishot , @sw-michelle , @lovely-geek , @spngeronimo , @sideeffectsofyou , @myladytitania 

[corishadowfang]

WIP Prep Tag Game

Tagged by @siarven--thanks for the tag!

Rules: Answer the questions, then tag as many people as there are questions (or as many as you can).

I debated back and forth about which WIP I’d do, but since I’m going to be entering the rewriting/editing phase soon, I thought I’d do it for On my Heart!

FIRST LOOK

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

A boy named Aiden is temporarily turned into a dragon by his Familiar, Kiru, in order to save his life--something that’s both incredibly illegal and incredibly dangerous.  Now on the run, he enlists the help of a former police officer and a hermit with an unusual amount of knowledge about dragons to help prove he’s not the monster everyone thinks he is.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

I’ve planned the story so that it’ll fit into a single book!  Right now it’s approximately 250 pages, but after rewrites I think it’s going to be closer to 400 pages.  (I ended up rushing through a lot of things to finish this draft, so...lots of additions are needed.)

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

It’s very...blue.  This is probably because Kiru’s--and by extension, Aiden’s--primary color theme is blue.  Most of the time when I imagine scenery there’s a mix of monochrome and blue-tinted colors with a couple muted colors thrown in.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

The two most notable are the Fate series and Brave Story.  Fate was actually one of the things that initially inspired the story (more accurately, it was a question that came up while I was playing Fate/Stay Night), and Brave Story has a nice mix of fantastical grounded by more relatable problems that I’d really like to emulate.

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

They’re not neatly organized or anything, but there they are.

MAIN CHARACTER

6. Who is your protagonist?

The primary character the story follows is Aiden Cooley.  He’s a sarcastic, adorkable child who really isn’t cut out for the nonsense he’s being put through.

7. Who is their closest ally?

Technically speaking, that would be these three:

Kiru, Aiden’s Familiar, who is something of a trouble-maker but cares deeply for Aiden

Gertrude, a very morally gray woman who would probably be really helpful if anyone could figure out what her motives are

And Jackie, an amputee who helps Aiden out of a combination of pity and worry that turning him in could actually cause bigger problems than helping him out.

8. Who is their enemy?

I joke that it’s himself, but that’s actually not entirely wrong.  One of the biggest problems for Aiden is that he tends to sabotage himself, whether by accident or on purpose.

As far as outside problems go, though, the most immediate ‘enemy’ would be the police.  They’re not really ‘bad guys,’ but they’re the major antagonists considering the position Aiden’s been put in.  The wider-scope antagonist would probably be society at large, though it takes a while for this to dawn on Aiden.

9. What do they want more than anything?

He’d really, really like to just go back home and, you know…not be arrested.  (He had other worries before the story’s start, and they get to be addressed throughout the course of the story, but this has quickly become his immediate concern.)

10. Why can’t they have it?

To give a really brief explanation about how some of the workings of the world: Familiars a readily-available for purchase, and, while all of them have the ability to turn their owners into dragons (should the owners so choose), the act has been outlawed both due to the fact that this would normally kill a user, and because dragons running rampant in the streets would generally cause a lot of panic. Aiden not only transforms into a dragon (albeit against his will), but is completely unharmed by the transformation. Basically, this means that even if he somehow manages to not be arrested, nothing’s going to be the same for him ever again.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

He tends to have very low self-esteem.  To explain a little, he talks to his Familiar a lot because Kiru has higher artificial intelligence than most Familiars.  However, most kids outgrow this habit by, like…ten, and since Kiru can’t actually talk to anyone but Aiden, the rest of his peers all think he’s pretty weird. This has kind of seeped into his psyche over the years, to the point where he agrees and assumes that no one would actually be interested in being around him and Kiru.  He’s mostly convinced himself that he might be able to live a quiet, uneventful life where no one has to be disturbed by his ‘oddities,’ even though he wouldn’t be entirely happy doing so.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

OH GOSH.  Okay, so, this picture is pretty old, but here’s a rough idea of what Aiden looks like:

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

I’ve obviously already explained some of it for Aiden; there’s a lot about him learning how to move forward after an event that has drastically changed his life and how to find a ‘new normal,’ and also kind of learning to accept himself.  

For Kiru, a lot of the conflict relates to his own sense of self.  How much of him was created by Aiden as coping mechanism, and how much is himself?  What kind of role does he really play in a world ruled by humans?

For Gertrude, a lot has to do with her own past failings…though I won’t say too much on that.

Jackie’s arc actually parallels and ties with Aiden’s.  They complement each other, since Jackie has already started to learn how to find a ‘new normal’ after a life-changing event (the loss of her leg), and slowly helps Aiden come to terms with the situation through her own experiences.  On a more personal note, her views on Familiars and the people who use them are challenged constantly through working with someone who’s so close to them.

14. What is the external conflict?

The biggest conflict revolves around both evading the police and figuring out a way to get Aiden out of a situation where there are no real easy answers.  On a less important note, trying to understand why Aiden wasn’t affected by his transformation is a constant current in the background, and factors into some key areas of the story.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?  

The only remaining support system he has turning their backs on him would probably be pretty bad.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

That’s spoilers.

17. Do you know how it ends?

That’s…actually a good question.  I’ve finished the draft, so I know how that ends, and originally that was the ending I’d always envisioned for the story. However, I know this draft’s going to need a lot of edits and rewriting, so there’s a very strong possibility that a new ending will appear that works better.  So, we’ll see if it stays the same or not!

BITS AND BOBS

18. What is the theme?  

A pretty major over-arching theme is what you do when you’re in a situation where there are no good answers—where there is no clear-cut right and wrong, and you just have to try your best to pick the right option.  This isn’t just present with the main characters, either; the police officers—especially Chief Harris, who hates this whole situation—and Aiden’s parents have plenty of their own struggles trying to figure out the right thing to do.

A smaller theme, though, is the subject of humanity—what makes us human, and, to use a trope name, “What measure is a non-human?”

19. What is a recurring symbol?  

…Dragons, I guess?  Or water, maybe, because it plays such a heavy metaphorical role in the story.

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

On a large scale, it’s set in an alternate version of Earth where dragons and humans once coincided. The two races ended up fighting, and humans eventually drove dragons to extinction.  A couple decades later, humans decided to try and make the power of dragons their own.  This eventually led to them creating Familiars, which would bestow the power of dragons on humans (with the idea that they’d be less likely to turn on their own kind).  Unfortunately, the dragon transformation was pretty fault due to the fact that it forces a person’s body to change and grow in unnatural ways.  Familiars are still used in every-day life, though—and they’ve been given extra abilities to compensate for the fact that they can’t really be used for their original purpose.

On a smaller scale, the story takes place in the city of Provenance, aka “The Birthplace of Familiars.” It’s a medium-sized city that sits along the bank of a river and used to be the fishing village of White Water. Since the creation of Familiars and Familiar Co. (the primary Familiar manufacturing company), it’s started relying more and more on tourism and Familiar-based exports.  Provenance is kind of this weird mix of historical, tourist trap, and modern city with a lot of weird legends and out-of-the-way places.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already? 

Originally there were several scenes I had in mind, but as for this upcoming draft…I actually don’t? I might once I get through with editing, but right now there’s nothing major.

22. What excited you about this story?  

So you can probably guess from the theme question, but I really like exploring difficult topics and morally-ambiguous situations in fiction.  A lot of times it’s how I personally work out solutions to those problems (at least on a personal level), and exploring those themes can actually be pretty fun!

But I also really love the characters and their interactions.  They’re basically one big messed up family and I love them.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!  

Honestly, it’s nothing very exciting.  I usually pick out a song to listen to on repeat—most of the time it has some relation to the story, but other times it’s just one that I like a lot.  Then I’ll set it going and start writing.  I usually have a goal in mind.  So, for example, “Get to the end of this part,” “finish this chapter,” or “write this many pages.”  Basically this just makes sure that I actually make a decent amount of progress on it.  And that’s…basically it?  Sometimes to get myself inspired I’ll read world-building or analysis posts, but that’s not every time; it just kind of depends on my mood.

This was a lot of fun!  Now to tag people...

I’ll tag @paladin-andric, @touchingmadness, @moonbow-ink, @diwrites, @sleepy-and-anxious, @fatal-blow, @focusdumbass, @thatsmybluefondue, @junglefae, @feathersandfortunes, @roselinproductions, @forlornraven, @aureliobooks, @maple-writes, @jess---writes, @aleshirewrites, @ad-drew, @nepeinthe, @novelier, @spacebrick3, @infinitelyblankpage, @insertpenname-here, @theta-lee, and anyone else who wants to do this!  (No pressure if you don’t, of course; this one’s pretty long.)

[oceanwriter]

WIP Prep (tag)

I was tagged by @paladin-andric -- thank you!!! I loved filling this out, and sorry for the delay!

Rules: Answer the questions, then tag as many people as there are questions (or as many as you can).

The Colors of War

FIRST LOOK

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

Sent from London, England to Maine, USA by her guardian to escape The Blitz of World War II, Marjorie Borchert is left to navigate her young adult years in a tight-knit and foreign town. As the years progress, she learns war stretches far beyond the front lines.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

A single book with possibly a collection of shorts from the other character’s lives.

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

Chilly mountains and moose.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

Little bits from Number The Stars by Lois Lowry and the character of Emily Bennet from the Molly American Girl series.

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

MAIN CHARACTER

6. Who is your protagonist?

Marjorie Borchert. She is in her mid-teens at the beginning of the story. Moody to say the least, but she has a big heart.

7. Who is their closest ally?

Daniel Reynard. Nikita Savas is a close second but Marjorie’s had a special bond with Daniel from the beginning.

8. Who is their enemy?

Kate, Beatrice, and Gina. Kate is the worst despite the fact Marjorie shares a room with Beatrice.

9. What do they want more than anything?

For things to be as they were before the war.

10. Why can’t they have it?

Her parents were both killed.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

She believes nobody wants her -- which is understandable after being passed off to strangers by her guardian and, in a way, her brother.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

I’m not much of an artist and she’d look like a cartoon, do description it is.

Tall, though not towering over everyone. She keeps her brown hair short or shoulder length until she’s older. She’s thin, possibly malnourished, when she first comes to America. She fills out a bit the longer she’s at the farm and eating three full meals a day. She’s pale, partly due to locations she’s lived. She had prominent German features, most notable, her accent which is mixed with a British tongue.

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

There’s different stages I’ll say. In the beginning, it’s about Marjorie trying to find her place in this small and established community. Her biggest conflict being a target for the prejudiced Kate. Then it moves on to the progression of the war and her fears around America’s involvement. But she comes to see that war doesn’t just affect those fighting or being captured and bombed. She also sees how different people handle things differently. Priorities fall into place through this.

14. What is the external conflict?

Trying to get by and adapting to the changes the war is bringing to the community. Acceptance, too. Internal and external kind of work together.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?  

Losing her brother for good and/or not being able to return to England.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

My only secret might not end up working. There would have to be a second book. Either way, I’m not going to reveal it. It might end up being one of things only me and a couple of my writing friends will ever know....

17. Do you know how it ends?

Yes, unless Marjorie decides to change her course of action.

BITS AND BOBS

18. What is the theme?  

Acceptance and making the best of a bad situation.

19. What is a recurring symbol?  

Change.

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

Jackman, Maine, USA. A small town with a population under 1,000 a few miles from the border of Canada. It’s a heavily wooded area with beautiful mountain and lake views. Lots of wildlife, too. The town is small, running along a single street branching out into houses.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

So. Many.

22. What excited you about this story?  

The time period. I’m a history buff and the 1940s has always been my favorite era.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!  

Procrastination. That’s really it. I do my best writing at five in the morning and knowing I have to pick my little cousin up from the bus in a few hours. I tag (if you’d like): @throughwordsiescape @silverscreenwriter and @rachelradner

[gingywritesimagines]

Memories

requested by the cool anon B)

Title: Memories

Fandom: Disney Descendants

Pairing: Gil x fem!reader

Request: “WHAT TIME IS IT? REQUEST TIME!!! The reader is the long lost daughter of King Adam and Queen Belle. She grew spent the past twelve years on the Isle of the lost. She lost her hearing shortly after losing her memory. She arrives back in Auradon and falls heads over heels in love with Gil...” -anon

Warnings: memory loss, mentions of severe injuries, overuse of commas as always

Description: After a series of unfortunate events, (Y/N) finds themselves in the Isle of the Lost with no hearing, no family, and no recollection of who they are. It is only after a series of fortunate events that everything starts to piece together.

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long I am dumb and I am sorry. I tried my best with this one and honestly it’s not as bad as I thought it might be. I don’t know very much about deafness or hearing loss but I tried my best and I’m sorry if I didn’t it quite right (I also wrote it so that the reader communicates by reading lips because I feel like the Isle wouldn’t have access to ASL classes/information and I doubt any of the villains would learn/teach her sign language anyway). Also it’s super long to make up for how late it is. Enjoy!

“Wait!” you cried, chasing after the limo desperately, “Wait for me!”

You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, but you couldn’t keep up with the automobile ahead of you. You wouldn’t give up though. You were barely six years old, you weren’t ready to live any life other than the one provided by your parents’ palace. You could barely live outside the castle walls, let alone on the island where the country held all of its most infamous criminals. You could barely comprehend all of that, but that didn't stop you from running like hell.

You kept calling out, “Wait! Wait for me! Hey, wait!”

You followed the limousine onto the bridge, running as fast as you could. The barrier opened up to let the car through, and despite being so young, you knew what that meant: run or you’re not getting home. You broke into a sprint, screaming along the way... but you were too late. The barrier closed right as you marched up to it, and the impact was detrimental. The blast threw you backwards; you went flying back and crashed into a pile of steel barrels. Everything started going fuzzy, and you could barely breath with the wind that was knocked out of you and the barrels crushing you. Then, suddenly, the barrels were moved. A small boy- with hair as white as snow and as many freckles as a Dalmatian has spots- peered at you from above.

“She’s hurt.” he observed, “Can we keep her, mama?”

A woman appeared behind him, an evil smirk on her features as her two-toned hair dangled around her face, “Of course, Carlos. You know how I love strays-”

The more she talked, the harder it became to hear her, and then everything went black...

Twelve Years Later

You were woken up to Carlos shaking you ridiculously. You groaned, slapping him briefly and rolling deeper into your thin blankets. Realizing that shaking you wasn’t going to work, Carlos opted to leap onto your bed and jumping on you repeatedly. Using various limbs, you threw him off of you and sat up, glaring at him.

“What?” you growled.

He took deep breaths, clearly pacing himself to make sure he’d talk slowly enough for you to be able to read his lips.

“Big news” He said.

“Big news?” you repeated.

“Mom just told us this morning.” He explained, practically jumping in place, “We’re getting out of here, Purdy! We’re going to Auradon!”

You stared at him in disbelief, “What?”

“Come on!” He cried, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out into the living room of the building your ‘mother’ often shared with Maleficent and her daughter Mal. All three of them- along with the Evil Queen, her daughter Evie, Jafar, and his son Jay- were already scattered around the room discussing the news.

“You will go, you will find the fairy godmother, and you will bring me back her magic wand.” Maleficent was saying, lounging across a chair and filing her nails, “Easy peasy.”

“What’s in it for us?” Mal asked.

Her mother shrugged, “Matching thrones. Hers and hers crowns.”

“Um, I think she meant us...” Carlos interjected, gesturing to all 5 of you kids with Mal following his lead.

Maleficent gestured Mal to move closer and spoke to her daughter directly, “It’s all about you and me, baby. Do you enjoy watching innocent people suffer?”

“Well yeah.” Mal chuckled, “I mean who doesn-”

“Well then get me the wand!” Maleficent screamed, “And you and I can see all that and so much more! And with that wand and my sceptre, I will be able to bend both good and evil to my will!” 

“Our will.” The Evil Queen corrected her lazily from the other side of the room.

“Our will. Our will, and if you refuse, you’re grounded for the rest of your life, missy.”

“What? Mom!” Mal protested, but she was cut off by Maleficent’s snapping.

A mother-daughter stare off ensued, both Mal and her mom fighting with their supernatural abilities for dominance in the conversation, and Maleficent came out on top.

“I win!”

“Fine.” Mal groaned in defeat, “Whatever.”

The leftover tension was lifted as the Evil Queen called to her daughter, “Evie! My little evillette in training. You just find yourself a prince with a big castle, and a mother-in-law wing, and-”

“Lots and lots of mirrors!” Evie giggled.

“No laughing!” Her mother scolded, “Wrinkles!”

Next it was your ‘mother’s turn to talk, “Well they’re not taking my Carlos or my Purdy because I’d miss them too much!”

Carlos looked between you and her in surprise, “Really, mom?”

“Yes!” she insisted, “Who would touch up my roots, fluff my furs, and scrape the bunions of my feet?”

With that last question, she threw her leg into yours and Carlos’ arms.

“Maybe a new school wouldn’t be the worst thing.” you grumbled. 

At that, your ‘mother’ quickly wrapped around both you and Carlos, “Purdy, they have dogs in Auradon.”

In a frenzied panic, caused by years of conditioning, you both rambled, “Oh no! We’re not going!”

Maleficent groaned as Jafar spoke up, “Jay isn’t going either. I need him to stock the shelves in my store.”

Once he’d said that, he rushed Jay into a corner as they whispered to each other excitedly.

“Evie’s not going anywhere until we get rid of this unibrow.” The Evil Queen insisted, pulling tweezers from her bag.

“What is wrong with you all?” Maleficent yelled, “People used to cower at the mention of our names! For 20 years, I have searched for a way off this island! For 20 years, they have robbed us from our revenge! Revenge on Snow White and her horrible little men! Revenge on Aladdin and his stupid genie! Revenge on every sneaky Dalmatian that escaped your clutches!”

“Oh, but they didn’t get Baby!” Your ‘mother’ argued, squeaking the toy that made up her coat.

She was ignored as the so-called Mistress of Evil continued, “And I, Maleficent, the evilest of them all. I will finally have my revenge on sleeping beauty and her relentless little prince. Villains!”

“Yes?”

“Our day has come!”

The villains continued their conversations, rambling too fast for anyone to catch up. Suddenly, Carlos grabbed your arm and your bag of things.

“Time to go.”

You nodded and followed your friends outside, to a limo that looked oddly familiar. The feeling made you uneasy, so you opted to look around one last time. You caught eyes with a blonde boy across the ‘street’; you’d seen him many times before but you’d never learned his name. He was cute, that was for sure, and looking at him like that kinda made you happy. He smiled, a dopey little smile, and waved at you. You waved and smiled back, but you were quickly ushered into the car. While you became more and more uneasy at the familiarity of it all, Jay and Carlos fought over the sweets provided and Evie and Mal had a quick chat. Noticing your stiffened posture, Carlos wrapped a reassuring arm around your shoulders. Before he could ask what was wrong, however, Evie pointed through the windshield which was now visible.

“Look!”

You sped closer and closer to the barrier and your four friends shrieked- ducking for cover- in fear of injury, but you sat there slack jawed as you found it harder and harder to breathe. When you made it through the barrier, you nearly fainted, and your friends rushed to your side to make sure you were okay.

“Purdy? Purdy, what’s wrong?”

“Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

You could barely process anything that was happening as flashes of images raced through your head; balls and parties, throne rooms and dining halls, a stern woman standing next to a couch covered in brown fur. You had no idea what these images meant but they bombarded you relentlessly. Before you knew it, the limo had pulled up to Auradon Prep, but you still couldn’t seem to pry yourself off the floor. Carlos, Mal, and Evie made their way out, standing before the Auradon citizens who volunteered to greet you, as Jay helped you up and out of the vehicle. As you forced yourself to stand up properly, you were met with a young boy who looked uneasily familiar. He stared at you in shock, along with almost everyone else there, and slowly moved towards you.

“(Y/N)?”

You squinted at him momentarily, before your mouth moved on its own accord, “Ben?”

After that, your time at Auradon became a blur. You were rushed to the king and queen, who welcomed you- sobbing- with open arms. You were brought to hospitals to inquire about your hearing, which concluded that since they didn’t know how you’d lost your hearing they couldn’t do anything to fix it; not that you minded much, the system you’d worked with for years did just fine. You were brought to live in the castle, and the staff as well as your family helped you regain your memories. You grew very very close with Ben, but still made absolute certain that Carlos knew that he was still your brother too. Auradon took some getting used to, but you and your friends found ways to enjoy your new lives off of the Isle. You worked your way through orientation, the mess at the coronation, the drama with Mal’s ex-friend Uma, and the showdown at the cotillion. Your time at Auradon became a blur, but as your brother worked to restore peace, that blur began to slow down. You got to help organize the welcoming ceremonies for newcomers from the Isle, you got to make friends, you got to join sports teams, and you got to spend more time with your fellow students. One student in particular, you noticed, was the same blonde boy that you’d seen across the street the day you first left for Auradon. He intrigued you, to say the least, and he certainly was cute; however, people always talked about him and his friends very quickly in hushed conversations, so you could never pick anything up. One day, you decided enough was enough, and you decided to talk to the one person who knew the student body better than anyone- your brother.

“Hey, Ben! Wait up!”

“Hey, (Y/N).” he smiled, “How’s it going?” 

“I’m good.” You nodded to affirm your statement, “I’m good, but I do have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

You smiled slightly before pausing to figure out how you should word your question. It was then that you noticed the mysterious blonde boy at the end of the hall; you knew then what your move would be.

“You see that guy over there?” you asked, turning slightly so Ben could see who you were talking about discreetly.

“Gil?” He arched his eyebrow, peering over your shoulder at the young son of Gaston.

You beamed at the small word, “Gil? That’s his name?” After Ben nodded, you continued, “I’ve seen him around the Isle and here and he’s...kinda cute. Do you think I’d have a chance with him?”

Ben winced lightly, and explained when he saw the look on your face, “He’s the son of Gaston, (Y/N).”

At the look of confusion on your face, Ben stopped and sighed, “But he’s a pretty great guy, I guess. Why don’t you go say hi?”

You grinned, hugging Ben tightly before taking a deep breath and turning around and marching up to the blonde object of your affections.

“Hey.” You greeted, “You’re Gil, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me!” Gil smiled, sticking out a hand for you to shake.

“Nice to finally meet you, I’m (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too!” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, “Hey, I was gonna go grab something to eat. Wanna come?”

“Sure!” you nodded, “That sounds great!”  

Carefully, as if he were afraid you would break if he moved a bit too fast, Gil took your hand and led you in the direction of the cafeteria. Hand in hand, you were laughing and smiling; you’d never looked happier than you did when you were with Gil. Ben watched as you turned down the hallway, glad to have you back but even happier to see you doing so well. You were loved, you were happy, you were more loved than ever. All was well.

This is really weirdly written but I hope you like it anon!

Taglist: @tina20213 @berry-kitten-paws @fandomsneverdie14 @mcoomcoo

[satoshi-mochida]

Some thoughts on my last Gamefly rental, Song of Memories.

It did not get off to a good start from me. First, I was kind of tired when I decided to start playing. And you know that ‘MC’s best friend whose always has bad romantic luck that people don’t like and acts like a horndog’ trope? Yeah, it starts off with one of them. It thankfully moves past that part fairly quickly, but I learned my lesson from when I played Our World Is Ended, which I started playing while I had a headache and had a bad time for a while, so I held off on getting back to it when I wasn’t tired. 

There is a decent amount of fanservice, though it’s spaced out and actually less obnoxious than I was expecting, but the game does unfortunately make the mistake of putting it in a couple scenes that are supposed to be more serious, hurting the mood, in my opinion(thankfully not many).

Though it’s not even close to the point of being unable to tell what’s going on, there’s quite a lot of text goofs, like a couple naming inconsistencies, and typos that I think needed a second pass to clear up. Seems like third lines in dialogue boxes had a bad habit of having the first letter cut off for some reason.

Oh, and one heroine, Fuuka, is the MC’s adopted/non-blooded-related sister.

Decided to get my more negative thoughts I had on it out of the way first. If that hasn’t made you decided to skip it, good, since there is plenty more to it than that.

The game uses something like Live2D and a unique ‘Emote’ system for the dialogue and, surprisingly, CGs, and actually does something neat with it: at some points in both, they have the characters do several different things, such as change expressions on the fly or look at speaking characters instead of looking forward the whole time, and it actually looks like it’s done pretty naturally most of the time to me. A few nameless characters, and specific enemies, don’t get this full treatment, just the standard ‘looks like they’re breathing’ effect. This might make more sense to see than have described to you, though. If you’ve played Yuzusoft VNs, they do something similar, but are still just static images. I hope this system gets used again in another VN.

Speaking of the CGs, the MC, default name Minato Kamishiro, is drawn in them without visible eyes(the way he’s shown is like a generic character with his eyes meant to be hidden under his hair), or sometimes his face is cut off by the screen, and I think that hurts the impact some of the CGs he’s in, since it makes him much less expressive compared to the others. 

A fun extra that you get after getting a character’s Normal or True End is letting you mess around with the character portraits and the various poses/emotions they have that lets you see how expressive they are.

There’s a very handy flowchart that you can use to jump around to pretty much any point in the story you’ve seen before, which makes getting all the endings easier, as well as a Trophy that requires you to pick every dialogue choice, which can get monotonous, at times, especially all of the ones for D4U.

At one point, a battle system is introduced, using virtual idols to fight enemies(just roll with it; it sort of makes sense later), which is pretty much just a very simple rhythm game(though higher tier moves are more complicated). They can be skipped if you want, and you still gain EXP(expect for certain fights later on). There’s only one battle before the route split(except if you’re going for Akira’s), though. Its mostly done fine, though there’s no HP bar for enemies(only the MC has visible HP), and a few battles just have static art that doesn’t react to damage, which made me think I was doing something wrong at first. If they decide to have something like this again, I hope they expand it to look more fleshed out, like it’s from a normal RPG game.

The first half of the game is the ‘Joint(Common) Route’, where you work on getting onto a specific heroine’s path. After a certain point, the second half, and a specific character’s route, begins. It’s probably best to do one full blind run before using a guide. There is a Bad End for the Joint Route, but it’s pretty hard to get it accidentally.

If you’ve seen the game’s actual box art, which isn’t what's shown above, you know it has quite a different tone. Though the official descriptions hint at it, I’ll put stuff about the second half’s events under a Readmore.

On a certain day, which you’ll probably be able to guess, someone with the X-Virus starts attacking people, and chaos ensues. There’s even a second opening made for this section, to help set the mood.

The shift in tone is a bit jarring, and even though I knew it was about to happen, it actually startled me for a second, but what happens is foreshadowed at a few points during the game. I think this is where the story starts picking up more, too.

Since this is the point where the story splits into Character Routes, the events of each, for the most part, are all pretty different from each other, though some specific details and events are a constant through each. 

For the heroines, I liked Yuno, Satsuki and Natsume’s routes the most, and though I didn’t hate it or her, I liked Fuuka’s route the least, for the reasons mentioned above. Kanon’s seems like the one that’s probably supposed to be ‘official’, since she’s very important to the story’s events, is front and center in the official art, and gives the most background information on what caused the outbreak.

Makoto has a route, too, where he actually acts like a good friend instead of his usual self in the end, though it stops before the outbreak.

This part of the story, like Devil Survivor that has a similar premise, is good at showing people’s possible behavior changing, and losing their humanity and rational thinking during such a lockdown, though I feel the former does it better, overall. Themes like the mobs of survivors possibly being scarier than the monsters is something shared between the two, I think.

Speaking of, the ‘horndog best friend’ I mentioned above, Makoto, gets changed by the events that kickstart the story’s second half pretty differently depending on the route. In one, I’d say he redeems himself in my eyes, while in another, he goes way off the deep end. I can see what drove him to become like that, but it and something else he almost lets happen are inexcusable. 

At certain points in the section, you’ll have to pick where to travel on a map, one section at a time, and it’s possible for random battles to happen here. The rate increases on repeated playthroughs. 

...not to get too topical, but due to current events, some parts where characters that are known to be infected with the X-Virus go out to where some groups of people are getting relief supplies just kind of bugged me. ^^;

I was skeptical of it first because of previews, but this was actually worth taking the chance on playing, some annoying parts mentioned above notwithstanding. Each route is also fairly long(some shorter or longer than others). I want to see them use that Emote system in another visual novel; it really helps add more life to characters during dialogue scenes. 

I did use a guide, but I’d recommend trying it mostly blind unless you get stuck, since it’s not spoiler-free.

Next game being sent is: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutants in Manhattan.

[stimtoybox]

Antsy Labs Fidget Cube - Antsy Labs, $22 USD.

This was a gift to me from @ambiguouspieces, who ordered one and received two. (In no way can I justify ordering an Antsy Labs cube, especially not with the cost of shipping to Australia.) The awesome thing about this gift (aside from a Fidget Cube being an awesome thing to gift someone) is that it lets me compare the Antsy Labs cube directly to the Zuru cubes. Since the Zuru cubes are priced at around $10 USD, and the cost difference is even higher in Australia ($13-$15 AUD versus approximately $50 AUD after shipping and dollar conversion) I’m very interested in seeing if the higher prices get you a better cube.

I do think the Antsy Lab cube is a slightly better cube. Some elements move more smoothly compared to my Zuru cubes. It’s not that different, though, when compared to a working Zuru cube (the problem being the risk of getting a somewhat defective cube, like my first cube).

I’ll note that the Antsy Labs cube comes with a drawstring bag and a sticker. The case is different, too, with a raised piece of plastic meant to resemble the switch, and the cube is held down with a piece of cross-shaped tape, not the plastic tabs attached to the top and bottom of the Zuru case.

I wept trying to get the Antsy Labs cube out, it caused me that much pain. The case itself wouldn’t let me click it open, and then the tape was so sticky that I couldn’t pull the cube free from the tape. My pain after attempting this was quite severe, and I can’t recommend the Antsy Labs cubes for people with hand pain or dexterity difficulties. I didn’t have anywhere near the same struggle in trying to open my Zuru cubes (the outer tape seal was hard to peel off, but that was it) and folks who fear they might not be able to open the Antsy Labs cubes should get a Zuru cube instead. Trying to get mine open was an absolute nightmare, one I don’t plan on repeating. If I didn’t have a relative handy, I’d still be trying to prise the cube free from the tape sticking it to the base!

(I also think the cases themselves are a waste, since I can’t use them for storing the cubes due to smell or difficulty opening them. They look nice, but they’re really just taking up space on my bookshelf.)

There’s a few major differences I’ve observed across my three cubes:

The Antsy Labs cube is a bit heavier than the Zuru cubes, and it feels a little denser. Not a great deal heavier, though; the difference isn’t as severe as that between a Zuru cube and a knock off.

The roller ball isn’t silver. I like the matching black ball.

The spin wheel is smoothest on the Antsy Labs cube; it makes the wheel on my functional Zuru cube look stiff in comparison, even though it turns just fine.

The gears are louder on the Antsy Labs cube than they are on both Zuru cubes. Not as loud or grating as they are on fake cubes, but loud enough that I notice the difference.

Any other differences, when comparing the Antsy Labs to two Zuru cubes, I think are down to variances in individual cubes, and that might apply to the spin wheel and gears, too. There’s some difference in the sound made by the press buttons, for example--one of the Zuru cubes is quietest, while the other is the same as the Antsy Labs cube.

Things that aren’t different include:

Size. The Antsy Labs cube fits the Zuru Prism just fine. Since the Zuru Prism is far more accessible to me, this is a good thing.

Joystick. I’ve got identical range of movement across all three cubes.

Switches. Same sound, same ease of movement.

Texture. I can’t find any significant difference in the feel of the plastic used. Fakes often feel very different; these don’t. It’s that nice, slightly-silky ABS.

I do find myself reaching for the Antsy Lab cube more, as it has the smoothest spin wheel and it’s my favourite side (along with the ball and gears). But the wheel on my second Zuru cube works well enough, and I have to keep coming back to price. I enjoy using this cube, and the black roller ball is pretty. But can I justify paying three times the price of a Zuru cube for a little smoothness? Nope, nope, nope.

For US-based folks, it’s perhaps a closer call, although given that most of us are disabled people on limited incomes, I’m still unsure that the smoothness is worth paying twice the price.

I really like the Antsy Labs cube, and I am so glad to own it. But I am also glad, so glad, that it was a gift. Especially when the Zuru cubes are freely available at my local K-Mart ... and are much easier to open.

Image descriptions under read more cut:

[image description: five photos, taken on a round red and green watermelon slice pillow background, of a white-with-black-buttons-and-gears Antsy Labs Fidget Cube.

First photo shows the cube, inside its plastic box, wrapped with a layer of bubble wrap. The black sticker holding the bubble wrap closed reads “This bubble wrap kept your Fidget Cube safe on its journey to you. Take a moment to treat yourself and pop a few. #fidgetfever”.

Second photo shows the cube, inside its plastic box, free of bubble wrap. The switch/flip side of the cube is facing up. The box is a clear plastic case that clips into a grey plastic tray, similar to that of a display case merged with a gashapon case. A raised section of clear plastic, mimicking the Fidget Cube’s switch, protrudes from the top of the case; a black cardboard liner covers the tray, surrounding the cube.

Third photo shows the cube, still in the case, sitting beside an empty Zuru Fidget Cube case with a pink tray with no liner. The Zuru case has clear plastic prongs reaching downward from the top of the case, meant to hold the cube in place inside the case. It doesn’t have the raised “switch” section at the top of the case.

Fourth photo shows the cube, wearing a red Zuru Prism, sitting beside a white-and-pink-switch Zuru Fidget Cube, wearing a blue Zuru Prism. The ball-and-gear sides are facing up, showing the Antsy Labs’ black ball versus the Zuru’s silver one.

Fifth photo shows all that comes with the cube: the top of the case, sitting loose on the pillow; the tray and its cardboard liner; a sticker of a Fidget Cube, white with black and grey switches and buttons; a white drawstring back with a blue cord and the Antsy Labs beaker logo printed in blue above black text reading “Antsy Labs”; and the Fidget Cube, ball-and-gears-side up. The white text on the tray liner is clearly visible and names the sides of the cube, with arrows pointing to the referenced side: “glide, spin, flip (on top), breathe, roll, click (on bottom)”. The grey cross-shaped tape that sticks the Fidget Cube to the cardboard tray is clearly visible.]