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webslingingslasher · 3 months

Text

Unknown Sender

happy valentine's day!

MONDAY: 13:52

‘hi.’ Peter squints at the message, then the unsaved number. He's not sure how, but it’s a scam.

‘i’d like to have your attention, please.’ Peter rolls his eyes, swiping left to not only delete but report the number as junk. No doubt it was a bot or someone with a flair for sextortion.

A new number. ‘that was actually so rude of you, parker.’

‘unblock me right now.’

Peter shifts in his seat, he does a slow look around the room and finds nothing off putting or alarming.

‘Who is this?’

Green bubbles pop up. ‘unblock me and i’ll tell you.’ Peter was right to guess about extortion. Another swipe, blocked and reported. Peter wasn’t participating in any games.

A new number. ‘oh, now you’re just being cute.’

Peter feels his heart pick up a bit, it’s a tad threatening and now he’s overthinking it a little. What if someone has it out for him? Is there a mark on his back? ‘Please leave me alone.’

‘no.’

‘can we play 21 questions?’

Peter’s face scrunches up, he spins his head around one more time, someone is fucking with him. He has no clue who has time for something like that in university, but he’s not a willing participant anymore, not since high school.

‘Leave me alone. Go torment a freshman.’

‘i don’t like freshmen. i like you.’ Peter chews at his bottom lip, there was a second of hesitancy but he knows the truth deep down. ‘I’m blocking you.’

‘sure. i’ll keep texting you, too.’

‘I’ll change my number.’

‘noooo please don’t do that. i had to work hard enough to get it the first time.’ Peter doesn’t respond. He blocks the number and moves on, and they don’t try to text him again.

Until the next day and Peter knows two things for certain. There is a note in his backpack, and it wasn’t there before his econ lecture. He remembers pulling that pocket open before he started notes, then when he went to zip it up, a note.

This upsets him. What good was any sense when someone could get that unnoticeably close to him without him knowing? Second, it’s a little frustrating not to know who this person is and how it most likely is connected to the texts he had a few days ago, and that it’s an extremely long played joke that’s mostly boring.

‘Peter Parker-

You’ve been secretly admired. It might not be very secret, because I think you’ve caught me staring at you a thousand times. I like you a lot.

Hopefully liked back,

-X’

But a part of him believes it’s true. He’s trying to think of who’s in his lecture, if he’s caught them staring then they’re either to the side or behind him. There are too many faces, too many times he’s been looked at, he’s almost centered, it’s his fault for choosing a focal point.

Instead of throwing it away, he refolds the pink handwriting and puts it back into place before hitching a strap over his shoulder and sliding behind chairs. One, two steps up he glances at your face, you have a weak smile, he returns the same kind, it’s more like a polite nod. Peter’s always thought you were pretty and he thinks you're nice.

But really, he’s wondering who left the note.

10:30

‘did you get my note?’ Peter does his normal scan across campus, again, his fault for being out in the open. This person could be anywhere, he’s on a picnic bench with a group of friends. If he’s smart, he’d start limiting himself to contained spaces and make you show yourself.

‘Yeah. Who is this?’ Peter’s thumbs dance around the screen waiting for a reply, it comes quick. ‘i told you. x.’ He stops himself from rolling his eyes, he doesn’t know anyone with an ‘X’ anywhere in their name.

‘Is that an initial?’

‘actually, i’m pretty sure it’s british for kiss.’

‘That’s a wild take. Are you saying the UK is responsible for XOXO’s?’

‘i’d like to make you responsible for my xoxo’s.’ Peter chews his bottom lip, he won��t play into anything in writing. He doesn’t believe this for a second, everything about this feels off. Someone’s fucking with him and they’re also in his class, or they have someone in on it in his class.

But this is too advanced.

‘sorry. i don’t mean to like harass you or anything. you’re really hot but you scare me, i don’t think you would like me so idk, maybe if you talk to me you’d like me for me or something.’

‘i just think i’m punching wayyyy above my weight class here and i may be making this worse because there is no doubt you think im weird.’

‘i am weird. i should leave you alone now. i’m sorry.’

Peter reads his screen four times, it’s still not clicking. He’s nothing special and he doesn’t mean that in a way to dog on himself, he’s just nerdy and quiet. It seems a little too authentic to be fake, but he’s got to make sure.

‘How’d you get my number?’

‘your friend. they have been sworn to secrecy but they know what i’m doing and they are in full support. take that as you will.’

‘Depends on the friend.’

‘i’ll tell you when you find out who i am.’

‘I’m going to find out? You’re not going to tell me?’

‘i don’t think i’ve been hiding it. you just haven’t been paying attention and now i want you to.’

‘Oh, but you’re shy?’

‘i’m about to pass out on the lawn behind this fucking screen, don’t play with me parker.’ A slip, you’re around him and you just admitted it. ‘Tell me, admirer, what are you wearing?’ The more detail the better, but he could work off of just a color.

‘nice try. but you’re looking mighty handsome in the blue.’ A glance down, he suddenly feels watched. ‘Are you stalking me?’

‘oh no! no no no. i PROMISE you i’m not that fucking psychotic.’

‘i’m just a “sneak a note into your backpack” level of crazy. i’m here with my roommate and her boyfriend. i saw you and just wanted to know if you got it, i promise.’

‘You do understand that this situation makes you seem psychotic, right?’

‘yes. but i am not.’

‘That sounds like something a crazy person who got my number from a third party would say. Especially after I blocked you six times.’

‘it was three and you didn’t understand my intentions but okay. you have a fair point and i extend the olive branch of brett. he gave me your number and he knows me pretty well.’

Brett? Easy enough, he nods his head towards him and slides his phone across the table. “Explain.” His friend scrolls through the thread, a trustworthy smile spreads. “Yeah, I gave her your number.” Her. Okay, it’s something. “Who is she?” Brett shrugs, “you know her. She’s kind of a firecracker, you just make her nervous.”

“That gives me nothing, Brett.” His friend blinks, “she’s not crazy. She likes you a lot for whatever fucking reason and has no idea how to approach you.” Peter’s letting his words soak in, “don’t believe me? Ask her about the grilled cheese, and make sure you tell her that I told you about how she went on for five fucking minutes about the grilled cheese.”

“What grilled cheese?” Brett slides Peter’s phone back, he’s telling him to ask you. Something tells Peter it’s enough to embarrass, or it might be Brett being the ultimate wingman.

‘I’ve been told to ask you about the grilled cheese.’

‘oh god. there is no need to ask about the grilled cheese, did brett tell you about the grilled cheese?’

‘He told me to ask you. And to specify that you went on for five minutes about it.’

‘five is excessive, it was more like three. second, there is nothing to speak about.’

‘I would like to hear about it.’

‘i’d prefer if you didn’t.’

‘But you’ll do it for me?’

‘i’m weak for you and you know it. it’s sicking, parker.’

‘i heard you talking about making one in class and you said something about the crust and i really fucking love grilled cheese’s so i had a trip to fantasy land where you made me one and how it’s probably the best thing i’ll never get to taste.’

‘Wow. Five whole minutes on that?’ Peter won’t admit it made him feel a little warm on the inside, the most mundane of things to have someone so squirrely makes him feel unworthy.

‘three.’

‘Tell me who you are and I’ll make you a grilled cheese.’

‘you have no idea how much that almost worked.’

‘What’s the plan then, master manipulator?’

‘i don’t know yet. i’m hoping you show me how smart you are and figure me out, then you can do all the hard questions.’

‘Hard questions?’

‘you know, do you wanna go on a date, do you wanna be my girlfriend, do you want to take my hand in marriage and have a summer home in the french alps? that kind of stuff.’

‘Totally not psychotic.’ Peter tucks his bottom lip between his teeth to hide the smile that wants to spread.

‘mostly not.’

WEDNESDAY: 13:57

Peter doesn’t know who X is, but they’re clever and have zero effect on his sixth sense. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Either way, he’s reading a note scribbled in blue pen and as he studies the words he knows it was rushed. It’s proof that he wasn’t being followed everywhere, instead you saw an empty table and an opportunity.

‘Peter-

You use mostly gender neutral pronouns. I think that’s very cool. Is it weird that I notice those things about you? Also- what is it that you’re always drinking from Nuthouse? Asking for a friend…

Have a good day!

-Your not so secret admirer, X.

‘Not so secret,’ Peter isn’t sure about that. You’ve done a good enough job at not trying to be obviously known, he might have looked up your number last night to find dust. One was from an app, but the one you’ve been using is a burner phone.

What he’s really not understanding is how you’re able to get so close to him without him noticing. You had to have been millimeters away when you rested the letter on his backpack, he was gone for less than two minutes and he had zero awareness.

Peter folds up the note and sticks it in the same pocket as the other one, his back slung around one shoulder as he moves up the stairs for the library. At the same time, you come down the opposite side, Peter gives a friendly acknowledgement.

You choke down the lump in your throat. “Hi, Peter.” He’s already past you, it’s echoed behind his shoulder. “Hey.” It’s something. You’re trying, you’re trying to be bold for him. But he’s not going to notice, he’s never going to notice you and if you tell him who you are you’ll never live past his disappointment.

Your phone vibrates, the other phone. Your heart picks up, Peter texted first.

14:02

‘Dirty chai.’

‘best of both worlds. how fitting. you’re such a nonconforming king.’

‘I don’t even know what that means.’

‘But thank you?’

‘you’re welcome!’

‘anything fun on the roster today?’

‘Roster? Who are you?’

‘idk you make me nervous. blame yourself.’

‘Well, coach. Nothing fun on the roster, just some math. Wanna swap places with me?’

‘gross. i hate math so if you like it that’s good with me. one of us has to be smart and it’s not me.’

‘Smart enough to use a burner phone.’

‘oooooh, someone tried to find meeee.’

‘Can’t blame a guy for being curious, can you?’

‘were you disappointed when you found nothing?’

‘A little bit. But, you know, it keeps the imagination alive. A little unfair advantage on your side though, you already know what I look like.’

‘if it helps, you already know what i look like too.’

‘I do?’

‘yeah. we’ve talked before.’

‘Wait, so I know who you are?’ Brett said he did but Peter thought he meant you’d be familiar, not that he actually knew you. This just opened the floodgates to a million more possibilities.

‘not really but yeah i guess. you know i exist but we’re not friends or anything.’

‘I’d like to think we’re friends, but okay.’

‘not outside the texting.’

‘That’s your decision.’

‘HATER.’

‘Anymore hints?’

‘.... no.’

‘HATER.’

FRIDAY: 12:15

You’re about to spill hot tea everywhere but it’ll be worth it to see his face. You ignore your pounding heart and stand in front of him. He’s got no clue you showed up, zoned out looking at the clock on the wall across from him.

“Hi, Peter.”

Full frontal attention, he’s looking at you. He’s perceiving you, he’s smiling at you. “Hi,” your eyes expand, he knows your name and it sounds so nice coming from his mouth. Sure, you’ve chatted with each other- even shared a few highlighters, but nothing serious. You’ve always been too scared to try anything else but maybe your fear has been mistaken for indifference.

“I um, I lucked out today at Nuthouse so if you like dirty chai’s I got an extra one.” Your knees feel weak at his bright eyes, “my favorite. I’d love one, thank you.” You pass over the paper cup, your fingers brush and you think you’re about to collapse.

“Yeah,” a weak laugh. “I had a feeling.” Peter tilts his head at you funny, you wonder if you pushed a little too far. “Okay, um, I’m gonna… have a good… lecture.” Peter nods and watches you go two rows up, he’s finally got a gut feeling. And it tells him to keep an eye out for you.

TUESDAY: 12:10

Not that Peter was reliant on your attention, he was used to it. So when the texts stopped for three days and he was unable to find any letters he assumed you had lost interest and moved on. That felt fair to him, no harm no foul, at least he never really got to know you.

Nevermind, there’s a folded notebook page on his miniature desk and his heart speeds up. His next task, put eyes on you. Bottom level, book and pencil in hand. He makes sure to note it’s a pencil and not the green ink that’s spread across the page.

Peter thinks it’s a mind game, you were smart enough to know he’d look. Unless he was totally wrong on his guess.

‘Peter-

I ran out of minutes on my phone and I’m having a broke college kid moment. However, a friend took pity and donated a twenty to the campaign. I hope you’ve been good- I’ve missed talking to you.

- Your not so secret admirer, X’

ps. stop keeping your backpack so close to you.’

It wasn’t anything personal, you just ran out of minutes. Peter smiles so wide he has to drop it, he almost clutches the paper to his chest in a thank you. Eyeing his backpack, he nudges it a little further behind him, following instruction. He’s kept it close in hopes to catch you, but instead he’s pushing you away.

Peter’s committing the writing to memory as if he’s going to find you by the handwriting alone. A quick glance at footsteps, you’re three steps away when you smile. “Hi, Peter.” He nods, “hey.” You pause for a moment, mind racing for words.

“Did you, um- did you do anything fun this weekend?” You’re about to crawl into a hole and die, it takes a moment to click that you were speaking to him. He went as far to look behind himself, then he spewed the answer to try and make up for the lost time.

“Oh, uh not really. My aunt got a new bed so I had to lug the old one down seven flights of stairs.” Your eyes widen, you feel your mouth go dry and your tongue go thick. “By yourself?” Peter crosses his arms over his chest, a boyish grin swept over and you feel heart eyes form.

“I’m a good nephew.” You want to pat his head and tell him you’re sure he is, then maybe hold him at gunpoint and tell you more stories about how he’s a perfect humanitarian. But you act like a normal human and smile back, “you sound like it.”

Peter thanks you and you return to your seat with wobbly knees and a weak stomach, it’s silent torture to tease yourself like this with him. But you can’t help it and it’s only in effort to go after what you want. Even if it blows up when he figures out who you are.

12:13

‘you’re looking mighty handsome today, mr. parker.’

‘I’m wearing a hoodie, but thank you.’

‘i said what i said.’

Boldly, ‘i see someone had another dirty chai. can’t stay away from them, can you?’

Another tick in Peter's stomach, he almost looks behind his shoulder at you, but he doesn’t. ‘It was a generous donation from a classmate.’

‘oh? pray tell, peter. pray tell.’

‘What? You don’t have a clue about who gave it to me?’

You swallow thickly, before you could get something out he sent another message. ‘No chance you didn’t see it go down?’

‘how could i? I was still on my way.’

‘... or was i?’

‘Tell you what, X. It one of the best teas I’ve had in a while.’

And you’d be damned if that didn’t make your entire chest flutter.

FRIDAY: 15:29

“Here,” Peter’s hand clasped over the paper slapped into his chest. A hint of a syllable, Brett cuts himself off. “She asked me to give this to you.” Peter quickly read it and stared down before confiding in his friend for a second.

‘Peter-

Roses are red, violets are blue, all that I think about is you.

It’s sweet in a cringy way, right? Boo on you for skipping class today, if you want, I could get you some notes.

I hope I’ll see you Tuesday.

-Your (really) not so secret admirer, X

ps. A pen exploded in my pocket. 10/10 chance my thigh will be stained.’

“I think I might know who it is.”

“Uh, huh.”

“But, she’s way out of my league.”

“Correct.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, “so it’s her?” He clarified with your name, Brett shrugged back.

“I won’t be confirming or denying.” Peter knows what that means, “the lack of a no usually means yes.”

“Bro,” Peter starts sputtering, “oh, c’mon! You know what I meant, I just meant that, I just- c’mon, Brett. Is it her?”

“I have no idea who that is.” Peter wants to call bullshit, he has a gut feeling and he swears it’s you. You’re right, it’s not so secret. In fact, you’re painfully obvious.

FRIDAY: 23:14

‘you are soooooooo cute’

‘like your hair is so cute’

‘i looooove curly hair on guys and you have that!!!!!!!!!’

‘and you’re really funny cause like it’s so quick and witty like you have such good one liners’

‘also you’re really fucking hot and i KNOW you’re hiding something under those fucking sweaters and the second i see skin i WILL go feral.’

‘Something tells me you’re at the Kappa party.’ Peter’s pretending he doesn’t have a searing blush. If he’s got an inkling this could be you… then he might have proof for the non-believers that god exists.

‘yes!!! are you here?? i should come see you.’

‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’m currently at a friend's house playing a Mario Kart drinking game.’

“But it’s nice to know that you’d give me your identity that quick.’

‘oh i can tell you who i am.’ Peter frowns at the text, he’s been doing nothing but crave the answer to who’s behind the love letters but it feels wrong. It’s not satisfactory enough for him, it’s also not what you want, you’re just drunk- and Peter’s going out on a limb here- horny.

‘Save it for later.’

‘And maybe drink some water.’

‘i’d do anything for you cause you have the world's prettiest brown eyes’

‘Thank you for the compliments.’

‘you’re super welcome i try to hold them back because i’m a good girl but you’re just so cute i had to let you know’

‘I think you’re going to super regret this in the morning.’

‘false. maybe fact idk’

‘i should trust you tho because you’re super smart and you’re a nerd.’

‘I fear this is taking a turn for the worse.’

‘and that is so fucking HOT’

‘Oh. Back to compliments. Thank you.’

‘if you were here i’d give you a kiss’

‘IGNORE THAT!!!!’

‘I DIDN’T MEAN TO SEND THAT!!!! IGNORE IT’

‘Not ignored. How cute.’

‘screaming crying throwing up’

‘i really didn’t mean to send that it was a joke ha ha funny.’

‘Idk, sounded authentic to me.’

‘peter?’

‘Yeah?’

‘i’m a little drunk rn. and you should know how cute you are.’

‘Oh, I’m talking about record breaking levels of regret. This is amazing.’

‘i have to pee but i do not reget this!!!!!!’

SATURDAY: 09:54

‘i stand by my claim and do not regret a thing.’

‘correction. i regret this hangover and the way my previous texts are not very cool girl of me.’

‘but i would like to know if you won mario last night.’

‘also, who’s ur fav character?’

11:12

1. Proud of you for owning it, that’s very cool girl of you.

2. I did not win.

3. Petey Piranha.

‘who tf is petey piranha.’

‘Mario Kart Sunshine. Came out in 2002. (Originally on GameCube but recently released on switch.) (Hell yeah.)’

Your heart thumps, he’s such a nerd and you wanna kiss the air out of his lungs. ‘out of all the characters and u choose him. why petey piranha’

‘One guess.’

‘PETEY PIRANHA.’

‘OH MY GOD.’

‘you’re petey piranha <333’

Peter fights a grin, ‘I am.’

‘you’re so cute. i love that.’

‘Personally, in the past 24 hours I don’t think I’ve heard enough about how cute I am.’

‘you’re insufferable and it’s sexy.’

‘Oo, new one to the mix. You’re making me blush.’ You really are. He’s never been considered sexy before and it feels really nice.

‘and i bet you look super cute.’

‘Super true.’

TUESDAY: 12:34

‘white t shirt white t shirt white t shirt WHITE T SHIRT.’

‘You like?’

‘i’m about to cry i’m biting my fist so fucking hard.’

‘:)’

‘you’re so ubuibabeyia.’

‘Bless you.’

‘?’

‘Sorry, I assumed you sneezed.’ Peter never whipped his head around so fast at an audible laugh behind him. It was short, it had escaped without being thought about. He’s looking for you, but it doesn’t seem like it was you who laughed. You’re engrossed in chatting to your neighbor.

On the other hand, you almost blew it by clasping your hands over your mouth. Instead you looked next to you and said, directly and with a burning gaze, “I need you to pretend we’ve been talking this whole time.”

‘Someone’s losing their edge, you’re just begging to be caught.’

‘oh, i’m begging all right.’

‘can you hear me whimpering too?’

‘Easy, killer. Let’s not start sexting at noon on a Tuesday.’

‘are you saying there is a time for it?’

‘Give me a little wave and we’ll see.’

‘too late, i’m passed out on the floor. the only thing that can resuscitate me are those thick arms wrapped around me.’

‘Let these strong arms sweep you off your feet, all you gotta do is come talk to me after lecture…’

Peter says that, but he doesn’t mean it. He’ll definitely eat his words when he sees it’s you, then he’d be coming up with a thousand ways to back out of it. He’s so much more than you deserve, you feel so safe behind a keyboard but in person you can barely say a sentence.

It’s stupid and a little humbling because you’ve never felt this way about a guy before.

‘trust me, i’m better in your imagination.’

WEDNESDAY: 14:22

‘Peter-

You know a little about a lot and I think that is one of my favorite things about you. Or maybe it’s your voice. I could listen to you talk forever.

-Your not so secret admirer, X’

A note under his textbook, if he follows his hunch then he’d be looking for… you. Conveniently three tables away and to the right of his own, you’re not looking for his reaction, you’ve got your focus on your own textbook but he swears you’re retaining none of it. It’s a distraction, or maybe it’s a diversion.

Peter doesn’t mind. He’s going to wait. He has all the time in the world today and he’s going to sit here with his eyes on you until you look up at him because he knows you’re going to and once you do, he’s going to have his answer.

If he’s right, and he swears he is, he’s going to absolutely lose is shit because what do you mean you like him and are intimidated? You boldly lied when you said you were punching above your weight class. Does it make him a jerk to say he wasn’t even thinking of you as a suitor and maybe a girl with a much more average look?

Peter counted to sixty twice, you glance up, eyes shooting to the note you left on the table. The next stop, Peter’s face. And oh, you were not prepared to have him looking right back. Panic, you shoot a wave, a desperate attempt to pretend you’re seeing a familiar face.

Peter waves back but he looks much more satisfied than you did, you wonder if the jig is up. Did he crack the code? Was he just trying to find a friendly way to let you down? Deny til death, he has no proof it’s you. You pack your things up, a hurried scramble before you could lose your cool.

On the way out you almost stop breathing, your forearm caught in Peter’s hand. You’re staring down at it, he’s not removing it. It burns in the best way. “Hey,” you wait, you can’t stop looking at his hand, the muscle, the subtle flex, his fingertips paler to show his grip. “Hi, Peter.”

It’s breathless, you think you’re about to die. If he asks, you don’t know how you’ll lie your way out.

Guess who’s got a stained pocket? The corner edge darkened with black ink that would never be washed out. Peter has his answer. You’re her. You’re X. “Thanks again for the tea.”

Maybe you wanted more, you feel a bit deflated when it’s all you receive.

“You’re welcome.” Your arm feels cold when he drops his touch, you linger for a second too long, you’re not sure when you’ll be this brave again. It was too much of a close call. “I hope the rest of your day is good.”

Peter’s got a charismatic grin, he feels settled now that he knows you’re the anonymous lover in his life. Even more so when you find yourself shy and reserved in person, it almost makes him giggle to think of the stark changes in confidence.

“You too.” Your body engulfs into flames when your arm is caught again, you’re struggling to keep calm at his boyish smile. “Quick question,” you nod slightly, trying to show zero paranoia for the following words.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Short circuiting. You see black spots, you think you’re about to pass out. There is only one thing that means, no guy asks that if they weren’t interested in changing that, right?

“No.” It’s anything but graceful. It sounds like you’ve never had a boyfriend before. It makes you sound like you’re scared he asked it.

But, Peter doesn’t take it like that. He smiles wider, like he already knew the answer before he asked it.

THURSDAY: 16:37

A new letter, stuffed under the top handle of his backpack. Peter listened and stopped setting it next to him, in return he was rewarded. He can’t stop the small smile, you make it involuntary at this point. Peter’s never felt so special in his life, a little part of him wants this to never end. But he’d much rather look you in the eyes.

‘Peter-

I had a dream with you in it last night. Don’t worry, you had your clothes on. I’m not sure what we were doing but you were across from me at a diner and we were sitting in those super thick booths and our friends were there.

I don’t know who these friends were, and I don’t think you do either. But I knew them as our friends.

It felt really nice. I’m happy to know you, even if I just get this little piece.

-Your not so secret admirer, X’

Peter’s been wrong a lot in his life but this time he really thinks he has it figured out. He’s much more bold now, this letter tells him it’s not infatuation, it’s love.

You love him and he thinks he could love you too.

FRIDAY: 20:08

‘Hey.’ Peter could be making the worst decision of his life here, he could be reading everything wrong and ruining this for himself.

‘hi peter!’ But he really thinks he’s got it right.

‘I really, really liked talking to you for the past few weeks but I think I should tell you that I like someone else.’

Gut wrenching despair. You knew it was too good to last, you knew he’d find someone more in his league. Someone who’d be willing to show him their face. There was no reason to respond because what would you say to that?

‘thank you for letting me know that opening up to you was all for nothing!’

‘thanks for making me doubt love!’

‘hope you and her are so fucking happy together!!!!!’

Fuck it all and fuck Peter. He just liked the attention until it came from somewhere else. You don’t think you like him all that much anymore. You think you’re lying, too. Before you can give into the desire of hurting him just as bad, you calmly turn the phone off and stuff it in the back of a desk drawer to never be uncovered again.

You slowly sit in bed and tug the blankets over your head. And only then, do you allow yourself to sob.

Peter chewed on his bottom lip and waited an hour with constant phone checks before he realized a response was never coming. It really set in during the weekend but even further when he got no note or letter on monday. Not even when he left his backpack unattended for five minutes.

TUESDAY -he was able to see you and how you avoided his eyes. How you pretended you didn’t see him send a small wave. How you had pulled back from him.

And if he hadn’t hurt your feelings, or X’s feelings, why would you do that?

You look up at a two fingered knock at the corner of your desk. “Hi.” You blink and ignore the white noise buzzing in your ears at the sight of Peter standing in front of you. “Hi, Peter.”

“How was your weekend?” Bitter. Terrible. Lonely.

“Fine. Nothing exciting.” Besides you breaking my heart.

Watching his fingertips dance on the edge of the plastic, you feel everything in you brighten. “You look sad.” There’s a burn in your stomach, he’s the reason for both the sting and the sadness.

“Do you need something? Or are you just doing a friendly check in?” Peter bites back the grin when you snap at him, he’s so, so, so right and it feels so, so, so good. “Neither. I’m just confirming my suspicions.”

“Suspicions?”

“Yeah. You passed.” Your eyebrows furrow, before you could try to question further Peter was giving half a wave, saying bye, and skipping a step to his aisle.

FRIDAY: 12:08

You stop breathing for a solid second before feeling your brain spark back to life. It could be anything, it could be from anyone, but you know there’s only one person who would’ve left a note on your desk.

Your fingers slightly shake when you unfold the graph paper, little squares bled through with black sharpie.

‘X-

Am I right?

Hopefully,

- Peter’

You can’t breathe, you can’t talk, you can’t move and you definitely can fucking not look at him. No, no, no. You can feel his eyes on you, you know he’s watching for your reaction. Peter figured you out and had his own fun along the way.

You were the girl he liked. Oh, wow. Is this how special you’ve made him feel? Something just for your eyes, from him. A secret you both shared between lines.

You spin and swear you can feel his gaze running over your back, he’s aching for the answer. You almost scream at a tap on your shoulder, a peek lets you know it’s the person you’re hiding from.

Another note, folded up just like the other one. It’s pushed into your hand, Peter doesn’t say a word, he just offers and leaves. He’s not watching this time, he’s sitting and focused on the front, you feel air leak back into your lungs.

Full on panic shaking, you’re so happy he’s not watching.

Your name is addressed on the front, just like you do for him.

‘I like you.

I think you not so secretly like me too.

We could talk more about it at dinner tonight. Will you let me take you out?

Circle yes or no.

- Peter.

PS. XOXOXO now you’re responsible for mine, too.’

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker blurb #my writing

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sfb123 · 2 years

Note

The TNA fic looks so good! I hated how TNA 3 started with a time jump so we didn’t get to see what happened after the end of book 2.

Hey Anon!

Thanks so much for checking out my TNA snippet and reaching out! I hope you enjoy the finished product when it eventually drops.

I think we all hated that they went for the time jump. Pretty much every conversation I had with people between books always lead back to dying to know what Sam’s reaction would be when he found out. But hey, that’s what fanfics are for, right? We take the mistakes made by PB and make them right. Hopefully this story (which I’m hoping to get finished soon) will give us at least a little satisfaction of that moment that was robbed from us.

I will say, it’s actually kind of difficult to write. Sam has never really been one to speak his mind about what he’s thinking or feeling until the very last second. And even then, he just does some dumb grand gesture (Rockefeller Center Christmas tree anyone?) and has a diamond moment with MC and that seems to be enough for everyone involved. Which is kind of insane, and definitely not healthy.

Anyways, thank you, again, so much for reaching out! I love talking TNA, so feel free to reach out any time to chat about it, especially since I’m sure things are only getting more nuts as book 3 goes on!

xoxo

sfb 💚💜

#anon ask #asks #tna ask #choices tna #the nanny affair fandom #the nanny affair #choices fandom #choices sam dalton #sam dalton

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bxtchforstyles · 3 years

Text

You Better

Harry Styles x CEO!Y/N

Harry's girlfriend is the CEO of Gucci, and it is no easy job, but getting to design her boyfriends suits makes it all worth it.

Warning: minor swearing

Word Count: ~1.5k

gif not mine

"Hi baby," Harry was quick to greet her at the door, planting a small kiss to her cheek. "How was work?"

"Long." Y/n sighed as she took her coat off, hanging it on the hook near the door. "Very, very long. never thought I could go to that many meeting in one day."

Harry loved when Y/N came home, and she loved coming home to him. He was an absolute angel to her, especially when she was stressed and annoyed. Always greeting her at the door with kisses, making her dinner, running her a bath. Harry was everything that Y/N dreamed of in a relationship.

"I have a question for you, love."

Y/N nodded as she followed him into the kitchen, seeing there was a large pot on the stove, most like some type of pasta that Harry loved making for her.

She sat down at the island of the kitchen as he went over to the stove to tend to the dinner, looking back at her occasionally. "Ya know how I have the tour for the second album coming up, right?"

She smiled, "Yes I am well aware that Love On Tour will be stealing my boyfriend."

"Well, that leads me to my first question." He takes a step towards the countertop she was sat at, looking across at her. "I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to go on tour with me, or at least the American leg of it.

Y/N smiled even brighter this time, "I would love to go with you! I'm sure I can work something out to where I can work virtually for a couple of months."

He was gleaming with excitement, never being able to experience tour with her the last time around because she didn't have much seniority at her job and didn't want to abuse her power of having a flexible schedule.

"Now, what was your other question?"

Y/N noticed how he almost immediately got nervous when she said that, making her stomach start to sink.

"I don't want you to see me asking you this as rude, or as if i'm using you, because that is definitely not the case whatsoever,"

"Babe, I know that you're not using me." She almost laughed, "what is it that you want to ask me?"

"The last tour, the suits I wore were a large part of my performance, since the fans loved them so much," He was completely rambling now, "and I loved them too, they were amazing. I just wanted to know there was any way-"

She cut him off, already know what he was going to ask. "You want me to design your suits for tour again."

He let out a sigh of relief before nodding.

"Of course I will bub!" She was now the excited one, "I've been waiting for you to ask me, I just didn't want to overstep if you already had picked out a designer."

"Oh thank god." He let out a sigh of relief.

"I've had so many designed that i've put aside for you. Home many shows are there going to be?"

Y/N was a very smart woman, and Harry knew that from the start.

When the two of them first met, it was when Harry had done the Gucci campaign in 2018. Y/N was just an employee at that time, working in the design as well as the management department.

She had been the one to style him for all of his photo shoots for that day, and at the end of, Harry knew he had to see her again.

That's when Gucci offered to design a suit for each one of his tour stops, which he was ecstatic about.

Y/N had been apart of the main design team working on all sixty of the suits, top to bottom. She had always secretly been a little star struck by Harry, always wanting to impress him.

Now though, four years later, they had been dating for almost three years and Y/N was now one of the CEO's at Gucci.

Her dream.

Some people thought that the only reason Harry got special promos, suits and other things of the sort was because his girlfriend had such an important role in the business. But what they didn't know, was that everyone in the entire Gucci enterprise work team loved Harry.

"Can i see some of them?" He asked, speaking of the designs she had mentioned.

She immediately got up out of her seat at the barstool she was sat in, trekking quickly towards the foyer to retrieve her work bag. She pulled out her design binder, where all of the pictures of the modeled suits were.

She set the large binder in front of him on the counter, "Now, I know that most of these drawers are on female models, but please, keep an open mine."

"When do I not?" He sent a smirk at her before opening the binder.

The couple spent the next couple of hours looking at all of the suits that Y/N had sketched, deciding what on the designs to keep, and what parts needed to be reconfigured.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Baby, I love how you look in pearls. They make your eyes shine." She gleamed as she walked into Harry's fitting room in her designing room.

"I really like this, actually." He told her, before attempting to adjust the suit jacket.

She took over, "Here, let me." He fixed the Jacket and the collar before directing him back towards the large mirror.

"Perfect." She stated.

"I really love it."

Y/N was over the moon looking at her boyfriend, seeing the many visions she had of the suits she designed for him come to life. The black suit jacket was lined with pearls, along with some pretty gold buttons that laid against Harry's torso.

She was smiling from cheek to cheek. "I'm really glad, hopefully you like all the suits I've designed for you."

That's when Harry turned around to walk into her office, immediately stopping in his tracks as soon as he entered. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, wondering what he was looking at.

Until she herself walked in her office behind him, then she knew exactly what he was looking at.

"Please tell me that one is for me." His pleasing eyes were already begging her.

In the center of her room, was a standing mannequin, covered in a dark purple suit, covered in pink and silver rhinestones.

"Um-"

He widened his eyes, grabbing his girlfriend by the shoulders dramatically. "Y/N, angel, I will literally pay you however much you want if i can have this suit."

It was in fact not meant to be for Harry, but looking at his face, Y/N didn't think she could ever say no to him.

"You don't have to fucking pay me for it, Harry." She laughed at her boyfriend's offer, but he only narrowed his eyes at her playfully.

"But I will."

"I don't want you to." She protests back before beginning to take the suit jacket off of the standing mannequin. "Let's see if this even fits."

As soon as she put the jacket on him, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Fits like a glove." Y/N smiled, adjusting the buttons on the suit.

"Okay, you have to give this to me now." Harry looked at himself in the mirror hung on the wall of her office.

"I'll see what I can do."

He sat down on the couch that was sat against the wall, opposite of Y/N's office. "Who was it originally for anyway?"

She sat on her desk, facing her boyfriend. "Well, it was supposed to be for Justin Bieber, he wanted a suit for the Met Gala that matched Hailey's, but i'll figure something out."

"Oh my-" He gasped in shock at the fact he was wearing a suit that was intended to be warm by Justin Bieber. "Wait," He then started.

"What now, Harry?" Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

"You're telling me my girlfriend is the CEO of Gucci, and i've never got to wear a cool matching suit with her? What the fuck is that about?"

"Ya know, I usually don't have the time to make myself a fancy dress to match Mr. I want a bright red suit that is entirely covered in hand sewn crystals."

"Oi! You have to admit that suit was one of the best I've ever worn!" Her boyfriend protests.

"One of them? It was the best!" She shoots back with a hint of shock in her tone. "Anyways, maybe I'll design us some fancy matching suits for when my insanely talented boyfriend sweeps the Grammys."

"Holy shit, I love you." He gasps as he plants his lips against here.

Y/N smiles into the kiss, "You better."

AUTHORS NOTE:

i hope you enjoyed, please send any requests that you have and I will try to respond to them asap!! thank you for reading! TPWK<3 xoxo- hails

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x ofc #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles blog #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #solo harry #harry styles #ceo! y/n

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

Text

Happiness Continues

Part 3: 8 Weeks Pregnant

Summary: Jensen and his wife get their first glimpse of their growing baby.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 2.6K+

Warnings: Language, brief descriptions of internal ultrasound, pregnancy related emotions

Author’s Note: This part is a little shorter than the others, but that doesn’t mean it won’t leave its impact on the story. Thanks again to @emoryhemsworth for giving this a once over, love you babes. As always, I love to hear what you all thought. Reactions, theories, or just plain flailing, I love it all xoxo Alex

“Brb crying,” @emoryhemsworth

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

There was absolutely nothing glamorous about being pregnant. Y/n now stood by that statement and if anyone tried to convince her otherwise, well, she might just stab them with a fork. That’s where she was at this point. Granted, she was still in her first trimester, but she was adamant about it sucking.

First of all, the baby wouldn’t let her eat a thing. She had figured out how to control the smells quickly. They still tended to make her stomach churn, but at least she could stave off the actual vomiting. Mostly, it was anytime there was a strong scent in her general vicinity; anything distinct enough for her to detect what it was could trigger something. Unfortunately for her, that included her husband’s cologne, a scent that happened to be both of their favorites. That was awkward when he walked out of their bedroom one morning all pressed and ready to go for the day, coming to hug his wife goodbye only to have her cringe and run away to the bathroom to lose the contents of her stomach.

For the past three weeks, though, she had been living on a diet of ginger ale, peppermint tea, and sugar-free hard candies. Her stomach would turn out just about anything else and, to be honest, its preferences for what it could handle changed daily and Y/n had given up trying. Every meal was a new adventure for her and the baby. Her hours of scouring the internet for something, anything, for her to eat were wasted. Their baby did not care for anything.

Hiding her symptoms was becoming increasingly easier, though. With it still being so early, and not having even seen a doctor yet, both her and Jensen were wary to tell anyone. Call them superstitious, but they didn’t want to jinx anything just yet. Besides, it was kind of nice basking in the news just the two of them. It reminded them of the start of their relationship, only this secret wouldn’t end in a fist to a jaw... hopefully. As far as they knew, no one was suspicious of anything in both their friends and family as well as coworkers in her office.

Y/n stood in their bedroom, the dawn light peering in through the curtains as she examined herself in the mirror. Lately, she had been sleeping like a cat, but today her anxiety was in full force. The woman had tossed and turned all night, finally deciding to crawl out of bed and jump into the shower when the sun first made its appearance over the horizon. It was no use trying to sleep anymore.

As she stood there, turned to one side, she ran a hand over her lower abdomen. If she cocked her head just right, she could have sworn she noticed the start of what would ultimately be a massive balloon in the middle of her stomach. Though, to be fair, she could also be imagining it. The mind sees what it wants to, right?

The sound of the sheets ruffling had her snapping her head around to her husband who still lay in bed. He stretched out his long limbs, the longer locks on the top of his head mussed from his night’s sleep. He blinked a few times as he woke, quick to take in the looming figure of his wife at the foot of the bed. A smirk graced his features as his eyes traveled up her bare legs, noticing all she had on was a pair of panties.

“Mmm, I’ll take this wake up call any day.” His voice was husky with sleep. His wife rolled her eyes but climbed up on the bed anyway, crawling into his waiting arms and laying against his bare chest.

Y/n sighed as she nuzzled into him, “I can barely go ten minutes without being either exhausted or needing to vomit, so unless you have some sort of The Exorcist fetish I don’t know about, then I’m gonna have to decline.”

“Ugh, god,” Jensen scrunched up his nose, pushing his wife away from him as he climbed from the bed. She laughed, chasing after him into their master bathroom. Y/n slipped her arms around his waist, pulling his back against her bare chest and placing a kiss between his shoulder blades. The pressure against her sore breasts was uncomfortable right now, but not unbearable. This one was her new least favorite symptom of pregnancy.

“You nervous about today?” He whispered, grabbing her hands with his own and threading their fingers together.

Y/n let out a huff of air, the action sending goosebumps across Jensen’s skin. Of course, he had picked up on her anxiety. “Yeah, and excited. I don’t know this kind of makes it all real, you know?”

“I do.” He pulled her hand up and kissed the back of her knuckles before releasing her. He turned around in her arms to lean in and press his lips against hers. Y/n leaned into her husband, taking full advantage of having him close to her.

Jensen pulled away, running his tongue over the swell of his lower lip and cocking his head. “Why do you taste like a bag of Warheads?”

“Oh, I woke up to my stomach rolling and the only thing I had within reach was the sour candies I bought last week. It actually helped a lot.” Y/n smiled sheepishly. If she thought about it long enough, she had eaten plenty of those candies to quell her stomach enough before she could even sit up in bed so it shouldn’t be surprising her husband could still taste them on her.

“I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like it.” He flashed her a grin that was all teeth before lunging to kiss her again. His wife laughed, shaking her head at all the boyish charm she had fallen in love with shining through so early in the morning. “Alright, I need to shower. Go, make yourself some tea, and try to eat something real for me.”

Y/n scrunched up her nose as he smiled at her. She didn’t want to eat, her already flimsy stomach on overdrive today, but for her husband, she would try, muttering an exaggerated ‘all right’ as he started the shower. The woman trudged her way back out to the bedroom, finishing getting dressed for the day in her comfiest sweats, before retreating to the kitchen to make herself some tea and buttered toast. It had been a week since she had tried toast, not willing to touch the stuff after the incident, so she hoped it was a safe bet.

As the kettle came to a boil and the toaster did its magic, Y/n looked out the large window onto their courtyard. The rising sun was casting elegant patterns against the white stucco of their house and dancing along the surface of the pool.

Y/n had scheduled the first appointment of the day with her doctor because she knew that she would be up early anyway. They still had time before they needed to leave their house, which Jensen would use to his advantage, taking extra time in the shower and getting dressed. Y/n on the other hand had already done that, so now she was trying to figure out something to occupy her mind until her husband made an appearance in the kitchen. When it seemed her breakfast was not going to make a reappearance, at least for now, she decided to put on some coffee for him and started the pan to make him an omelet.

Y/n was slipping the eggs onto a plate when Jensen made his appearance in the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast, I know how your stomach has been.” Jensen came up to her side and put his hand on the small of her back.

“I’m surprisingly okay this morning. Must be some sort of anxiety override.” She laughed as he kissed her cheek. Y/n grabbed him a fork as he turned to pour himself a cup of coffee. She slid the plate across the island as he sat down across from her.

“I was thinking,” Y/n spoke up from behind her mug of tea, “I mean, I know it’s still far too early, but I don’t want to find out the sex.”

“No?” Jensen quirked a brow at her, his mouth full of his breakfast, muffling the word on his tongue.

“There are few mysteries left in this world most days, and I just think this is one that would be exciting.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you aren’t wrong. Who cares about our baby’s genitals anyway?”

Y/n pursed her lips and bit back the emotion already bubbling up in her, instead, allowing herself to feel excited for now, “Then it’s settled.”

Jensen looked up at her then, a smile cracking on his face. He shook his head at the giddiness over taking his wife. With everything that she had been through lately, it was refreshing to see her truly smile again. He had missed that smile.

Jensen cleaned up the mess from her making his breakfast and the two were out the door to the doctor. The office was located in St. David’s North Austin Medical Center, over thirty minutes northeast of their home, depending on traffic. Y/n had been seeing Dr. Garcia as her gynecologist for years now, and she loved the woman and the attention she paid her patients.

The couple made their way inside the familiar building, checking in at the desk and waiting in the lobby for them to be called back. When the nurse came from them, she took Y/n’s weight, vitals, and asked the usual questions before giving her a cup for a urine sample. Once Y/n returned from the bathroom the nurse instructed her to get undressed from the waist down and cover herself with the provided blanket.

The room was silent as they waited for the doctor, neither of them quite sure what to say at the moment. There were too many questions that could only be answered by the doctor. Y/n had her eyes trained on the machine to her left when a knock came from the door before it opened. Jensen squeezed her hand as Dr. Garcia came in, a smile on her face.

“Y/n, it has been a while since I’ve seen you in here,” She noted as she pulled up her chart on the computer.

“Uh, yeah, that’s kind of why we are here now.” Y/n admitted, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Well, the urine sample you provided us confirms pregnancy.” Dr. Garcia continued to examine her chart, hitting some buttons in silence. “Looks based on the information provided, you are about eight weeks along now, which will give us an expected due date of February twenty-third, all of which I will confirm after an ultrasound. Tell me a little bit about how you are feeling.”

Y/n went into detail about her symptoms the past few weeks and the doctor gave her basic information on necessary diet changes as well as a prescription for a prenatal vitamin. She also handed over pamphlets to get the couple started.

“I’m going to do a vaginal ultrasound since the fetus is still small, take a few pictures, listen to the heartbeat, and then we will get you guys out here.” Y/n nodded, laying back on the exam table as the doctor pulled up the ultrasound machine and pulled up the footrest. She helped Y/n put her feet up in position.

“You’ll feel pressure,” Dr. Garcia talked Y/n through what she was doing, though it didn’t make the action any less uncomfortable. Jensen moved to stand near her head, never letting go of his grip on her hand. Both of them watched the screen with bated breath as the doctor searched for what was growing inside her. “Ah, there we go,”

A black spot made its way onto the otherwise white screen, in the center a small white bean-shaped figure. “That’s it?” Jensen asked, leaning in for a closer look.

“That’s it, and the little blip in the center there is its heartbeat.” Dr. Garcia pointed on the screen before taking a snapshot and starting her measurements. She hit a few more buttons and the rhythmic whoosh of the baby’s heart could be heard like a siren in the small room.

Jensen let out a small huff of air before he brushed away the hairs on Y/n’s forehead and placed a kiss there, his lips lingering for a second against her skin. There was no point in trying to hold back the tears anymore. The longer she stared at the screen, the more the realization of the fact that she had a tiny human growing inside of her began to take hold in her brain. Sure, she had known for a few weeks now, but not being able to see it on her body, finally having visual and audio proof had broken the dam in her head.

“I’ll print this picture and be right back. You can get dressed now.” Dr. Garcia smiled at the equally teary-eyed couple. Y/n finally broke her gaze from the computer to look up at her husband, her hand coming up to cup his jaw.

“Oh, Jay,” She sighed as she wiped away the tear that had fallen down his cheek with her thumb.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” He breathed out, staring at his beautiful wife below him. There had been nights he dreamed about starting a family, the woman always a blurry figure in his mind. Now, with the actual woman staring back at him, he felt like his chest might explode. He loved her more than his own life, and he didn’t think it was possible to love a person more, but seeing this ultrasound had changed all that. There was enough room in his heart for someone else, and that was his child.

****

Jensen dropped Y/n off at home before meeting Steve at the studio to work on their second album. His wife wanted to take a nap after not having gotten much sleep the night before, and he was more than happy to oblige her. If he was being honest, he would do anything for her right now as he continued to ride the high from their doctor’s appointment.

Y/n curled up on the couch with the television playing a soft jazz radio station and she fell asleep with ease. Most days, it felt like she slept better anywhere but her bed if her husband was not curled up next to her. The large king-sized mattress just felt too empty without him.

She woke up a few hours later, the sun now low in the sky. Y/n checked the time before cursing to herself and jumping out of the warm blanket she was curled up in. The trash would be coming their way soon, and in the excitement of the morning, she had forgotten to put it out. Slipping on a pair of sandals, she headed to the garage to grab the cans and drag them down the driveway. She pulled them to the end of the drive, making sure they would not be in her husband’s way when he returned.

Y/n pushed the recycling can to the side and something caught her eye. She squatted down, taking in the handful of used cigarette butts that were just barely visible against the stone of their driveway. A frown pursed her lips and she brushed the trash into the street before returning inside to find something to make for dinner.

Part 4: 12 Weeks Pregnant

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

Happiness Continues: @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67 @deanmonandnegansbitch @deans-baby-momma @death-unbecomes-you @dvnmbabe @harryhook-lover @hoboal87 @itsdesiree86 @let-me-luve-you @lunarmoon8 @onethirstyunicorn @parinarain @rebelemilu @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @traceyaudette @winqhster @zpandaqueen

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.27

Beaten and Lost

03/24/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,109

Warnings: language, canon level violence, injuries, wounds, blood, smidge of angst

A/N: So...I should really edit this more but I’m tired and I’m sure you all want this more than you want my edits. lol I’m pretty satisfied with it. Hopefully y’all like it too. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES. Reblogs are appreciated!

“No! Clint! Get to those citizens. I’ll handle James.”

“Oh, you’ll handle him? Much like you handled those bandits in Bosset?”

“I did handle them.” Nat argues, ducking as another flaming ball of tar goes soaring over their heads. “We got out of there, didn’t we?”

Shielded for the moment behind an overturned vendor’s stall, she and Clint find themselves catching their breath as chaos reigns around them.

Nat can see Peter flying across rooftops, shooting his web at Hydra soldier after Hydra soldier. Incapacitating them by grabbing them and knocking them out or suspending them from the streetlamps and balconies.

She can’t see, but she can hear the whoosh of wind as Sam flies overhead, aided by his specialized wing suit.

“Barely.” Clint nods. “It’s all over after today, you know that, right? Everyone in the kingdom…in all the kingdoms will know who you all are now.”

“It was bound to come out.” Nat shrugs. “It was Steve and Tony that wanted to keep things quiet, for their families’ sake.”

“I can relate.” Clint sighs.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.” Nat assesses her old friend, dirty blonde hair, handsome features only slightly aged and looking more exasperated than tired.

Time with his family has done him good.

“It was inevitable.” He nods. “Alright, on the count of three.”

Nat nods, reaching down to take hold of a long metal rod that has broken off from a carriage in place of her usual adamantium daggers.

“Is that really a good idea?” Clint asks, eyeing her sheathed daggers now out and visible with her lack of cloak.

“I love him, Clint.” Nat shakes her head. “I’m going to marry him. I won’t kill him.”

“You might have to.” Clint insists.

Nat only meets his gaze, defiance written all over her scratched up and dirty face.

“One…Two…Thr-” As Clint and Nat make to rise, the weight of their temporary shield falls out from behind them and they have to scramble up onto their knees as they watch the stall levitate up into the air.

“What the-?” Clint begins and they both watch as it rises higher and higher, a strange red energy lifting it into the air.

It swirls around the stall like smoke, vibrant in spots where it pulsates with power.

“Looks like we aren’t alone anymore.” Nat says, bringing Clint’s eyes to her.

He sees her watching the road in front of them and follows her gaze to a young girl, no more than twenty with her hands in the air, clearly directed towards the stall that had just been ripped away from them.

She’s wearing a form fitting red leather tunic and jacket over a pair of dark gray pants. Inexpensive clothing that looks as if it were once new, but now tattered and torn.

Nat at least wears a collection of torn up skirts woven together around her hips making it look as if she were wearing a skirt while leaving the front of her legs exposed so that she can reach her weapons.

This girl is wearing just the pants. No weapons, nothing but the strange red energy.

Her hair is also red, but duller than Natasha’s, and waist length. Left to do as it pleases, it floats around her body as the red magics that she is clearly manipulating dances about her.

With eyes like scarlet fire, she suddenly brings her hands down and both Nat and Clint scramble up just in time, diving out of the way as the stall crashes into the cobbled road and explodes into splinters.

As she approaches, they get to their feet only to feel the strange rush of air and force along their fronts and get knocked to the ground again.

“Do you see-?” Clint begins.

“No.” Nat replies.

They rise again, attempting to get to their feet only to feel the same rush of air and force against their back.

They’re shoved forward and fall onto their hands and knees, landing roughly so that the frozen stones beneath their hands draw a little blood.

Annoyed, Nat glares.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“The girl is a witch. Could she be doing this?” Clint wonders.

“No, I don’t think so.” Nat sighs and makes to stand again only to get pushed hard in the stomach. It sends her soaring backwards into the air a few feet until she makes impact with something large and hard.

It catches her under the arms and the heat suddenly makes sense as she’s helped to her feet.

“It seems you’re having a bit of trouble, Lady Widow, shall I help?”

“Thor!” Nat gasps, grateful to be up on her feet, but she frowns at him all the same. “How many times must I tell you? It’s Black Widow.”

Thor smiles at her. “It seems you’ve found yourself a bit of a nuisance.”

“Indeed.” Nat nods.

“Hey, how about a little assistance, your Majesty?” Clint gestures at the girl whose stopped advancing at the sight of Thor.

“That girl is not your problem.” Thor says, pointing at the girl and watching her with a furrowed brow.

“Then what is it?” Natasha asks.

“It’s the boy.”

“Boy?” Clint pushes himself up onto his knees and looks around, confused. “What boy?”

Without warning Thor draws his arm back, calling into it his hammer which very nearly reaches him when the body of a man wearing head to toe silver appears with his hand around the handle midflight.

As it reaches Thor, dragging the boy along with it, Thor quickly grabs him and slams him into the ground only to place his hammer on his chest.

“This boy.” Thor smiles down at him.

Nat’s mouth is slightly agape as she stares down at Thor’s catch, Clint then rises and moves over to look down at the lad as he struggles and grunts against the weight of Mjolnir and attempts to push it off.

“Why couldn’t we see him?” Clint wonders.

“He was moving too quickly for your eyes to see.” Thor explains. “He didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to lift my hammer.”

“Not so quick now, are you?” Clint taunts.

“I think Hawkeye and I can handle the girl.” Thor says, turning to Nat with a look of stern approval. “Barnes and Hydra are regrouping in the town square. You’d best head there and help the Spiderling, Pigeon, and Stark.”

“Spiderman and Falcon.” Nat corrects, but she’s already backing away from them. “Clint?”

“Go. I’ve got a God on my side.” He watches as Nat turns to run, then looks to the girl whose fingers are still dancing with red waves. “How are we going to handle this one?”

“You could never handle my sister.” Says the boy still struggling, glaring at both Thor and Clint. “The Scarlet Witch will warp you into your darkest nightmares. She will tear your mind apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a sobbing, whimpering fool.”

“You promise?” Clint asks, then turns to give him a smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

She can hear it before it hits. She can feel the heat against her skin before she can even form the plea for Tony to stay his hand.

“James, please.” She begs, holding his arm back behind him with as much strength as she can muster.

Behind her the Falcon has lost a wing as is fighting hand to hand against a mob of Hydra foot soldiers.

Peter is with him, attempting to help as much as he can while also pulling the occasional bystander away from the fight.

Nat has been able to hold Bucky off for only a few minutes. Seven? Eight minutes? Maybe ten.

They feel like hours. Every punch avoided, ever kick expertly maneuvered feels like another thorn in Nat’s heart.

“Please, my love.” She whispers into his ear as he grunts and with a surge of strength pulls his arm from her hold behind his back.

He turns around and grabs her by the neck, squeezing with his flesh arm so tight that her eyes grow red as her hands hesitantly travel down to the blades along her thighs. As her fingers make contact with the cool metal, she realizes that she can’t do it. Nat can’t hurt him.

She mouths his name, a haggard whisper through the constriction of her throat, and brings her hands up to hold the one choking her to death.

Nat thinks she sees a shift in his eyes, a return of warmth, but if it was real it came and went too quickly for her to be sure it wasn’t just her oxygen deprived mind wishing he’d remember that he loves her. That he asked her to marry him.

She wishes that she could have a chance to tell him yes. That she’ll marry him. That even if she can’t give him the life he deserves, if he will have her, she will happily live out the rest of her days by his side.

He flips her, then slams her down against the cobble road. Nat gasps in as much air as she can as the darkness in her vision begins to clear. Her head is pounding, she can feel blood pooling along her scalp.

Wheezing, she forces her body to move, to shift. She wants to see him.

Bucky has turned and is moving towards Tony who has somehow found one of his gauntlets. At the center of his palm is the gleaming blue shine of his blaster. The magic and lightning that he seams to have weaved into his suit and tamed it to use at will.

He raises his glove, holds it up towards the approaching threat.

Nat pushes herself up and throws her and out towards Tony, almost mimicking his movement as the blue light grows brighter faster.

“Tony, n-!” She tries, but he fires, and it hits Bucky square in the chest.

He’s sent flying back into a heap on top of a pile of wooden crates.

Nat falls onto her side, staring at him in relief that he’s down, but she knows it isn’t over. She moves as quickly as she can to subdue him and manages to get onto her feet.

Racing to his side, she reaches for his arm, but he throws it up towards her and she’s sent flying back into one of the now broken lampposts.

She hits it hard and crumples with a pained groan around the base. Somehow, she manages to refocus, pulling herself back up onto her feet with the assistance of the broken post.

By the time she’s up, searching for Bucky, she finds him charging at Tony who has found the rest of his suit probably kept safe in his carriage. Hidden, like Steve’s shield had been. Like all of their tools.

Bucky races at full speed at Tony, not stopping as Tony sends shot after shot towards him. He dodges each blast of energy. He even grabs Tony’s wrists and points his hands up at the sky rending his shots useless.

Tony counters with a kick to his chest, sending Bucky skidding back only to readjust his footing and dive at his target.

Tony punches and kicks, avoiding Bucky’s metal arm as best he can while also trying to blast him with his hands.

It takes only a minute for Bucky to get Tony down on the ground. On his back, Tony is at a disadvantage.

Nat begins to race for them as Bucky brings his metal fingers down around the blinding circle at the center of Tony’s chest.

With his swollen cheek, cut lip, bloody nose, Bucky huffs with the strength he uses to pry his fingers in around the orb.

Nat can hear Tony’s own wounded grunt, one hand pulling at Bucky’s normal arm to pry it away from his neck and the other squeezing and tugging at the metal one around his power source.

“Don’t make me do this Barnes.” Tony gasps.

“Don’t!” Nat cries, still too far away.

The orb within Tony’s chest begins to glow brighter, more blinding, more chaotic in its pulsing energy.

“Tony, don’t!” Nat pleads, pushing her leg to run through her limp.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispers, and the light in his chest explodes shooting up into the air with a twenty-foot beam.

Nat is thrown back by the force of the blast, but she recovers quickly, forcing herself to scramble up towards them.

Bucky lays motionless a few feet away from Tony’s gasping form his metal arm gone. Severed by Tony’s energy beam at the shoulder. Shards of sharp metal protrude from the wound.

“James!” Nat calls, falling to her knees at his side. “James, please.”

But he’s so still.

For one breathless minute, Nat watches the love of her life lay before her, not breathing.

But then his chest moves, and she’s saved the grief of mourning her one true love.

Turning to Tony, she finds him sitting up, one leg bent with his arm resting over it as he watches her and Bucky.

“Are you alright?” She asks him, ignoring the rage she feels towards him because she knows it was necessary.

“Alright?” Tony gets to his feet. Groaning and grunting as his body protests the movement. “I’m a king. I am…perfection. Urghhh…”

“Perfection my ass.” Nat mutters, turning her gaze back to Bucky.

“Is it my turn?” A shaking elderly voice suddenly speaks.

“By all means, old woman. Assist away.” Tony waves her over, walking with her as she exits one of the shops where she’d been hiding watching the entire fight.

Agatha stops beside Nat and gives her head a quick inspection.

“Get this bandaged up right away, unless you’d like to lay unconscious beside your lover.” She orders.

Nat frowns but tears a piece of fabric from her open skirt and begins to wrap the strip around the worst part of her wound. She doesn’t have time to do it justice.

Agatha drops down beside Bucky and begins to look him over. She opens his eyes and they look as normal as ever.

“Well?” Tony asks, impatient.

“He’s out. It also appears as if whatever spell he was under, it has been broken. His injuries are extensive. He will not wake.” She assures them. “Perhaps ever.”

“What?!” Nat demands, voice panicked.

“This wound.” She suddenly rips Bucky’s tunic open then unbuttons his shirt to show a massive amount of black bruising along the left side of his body. “This will not heal easy. We need to get him somewhere safe. The quicker the better.”

“Tony…” Nat begins, turning to him, but Tony is watching the crowd in the distance.

“We can’t just leave them. There are still too many Hydra soldiers running around the city.” He frowns, his mind also jumping to you and Steve.

Are the two of you alright?

“You won’t.” Thor says from above before he lands with a small earth-shaking boom beside them. “I will stay along with the Pigeon, the Spiderling, and the Hawk. The two of you should take Barnes and the other prisoners back to your castle.

“Someone also needs to begin the search for Steve and the little bird. From what Peter said, Steve was gravely wounded. And Y/N is pregnant. I need to know she’s safe.”

“Prisoners? What prisoners?” Tony wonders.

“Don’t worry.” Thor assures them. “They too will not wake before you reach the castle. Go, my friends. I will provide what assistance I can here.”

“Thor…” Nat begins, desperate to thank him.

“Natasha…” Thor cuts her off, turning a serious and suddenly terrified gaze on her. “Find her. Find Steve. Make sure they’re alright.”

Nat agrees, knowing that she too will not rest well until she knows that you’re home safe and that your little prince is hopefully, unharmed.

You’re exhausted, trudging through overgrown fronds and grass as you struggle to weave your way through densely packed sycamore trees.

The forest is old, the canopy all but obscures the night sky above.

In the darkness, you cling to Steve’s hand as he leads you through the trees. Every now and then the late winter wind blows and scatters the branches overhead to give you a stunning view of the clear sky. A jeweled sky dazzles you, then retreats behind the leaves once again.

Your arm is yanked forward, and you gasp tripping over your dress which you quickly yank up with your free hand to keep from falling.

Steve’s cloak, still around you to stave off the frigid air, nearly does you in with a second trip but you managed to find your balance.

“Steve…” You begin, a warning in your voice because he’s your guide. He can see better than you can apparently and you’re relying on him to keep you upright with your little prince at stake.

What you find is Steve slumped against a tree, still somehow standing, but clearly weak and unable to stand upright. He drops his shield where it falls with a muted clunk.

“Steve!” You gasp, releasing his hand which he was still holding onto tightly, and rush to his side.

Getting in close is the only way that you can see his face, so you get right up against him. His nose only a few inches away.

He has both eyes closed, one swollen and black, bruised so darkly you shudder to think what that might look like under proper light.

His lips are slightly blue and that gives you such fright. You throw the cloak off of your shoulders and quickly wrap it around him.

With a split bleeding lip, now crusted in the corners where he allowed the crimson to dribble and pool, he protests.

“No.” He says, still managing some volume and a stern tone despite the exhaustion he’s clearly feeling and the pain his body is fighting.

The longer he stands there pressed against the tree, the lower slides along the thick trunk.

“Keep it on. It’s c-cold.” He shudders and you frown at him.

“You need it more than I do.” You assert and clasp the cloak at around his neck then draw the rest closed to help him keep what little heat he has.

“But our baby.” He sighs, finally reaching the base of the tree where he sits with his legs bent but weakly splayed out as you make sure his cloak is secure.

“Our little one is warm and safe in my belly.” You give him a smile but begin to notice the way his shield arm is resting at an odd angle. “Steve, your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” He tries.

“Don’t lie to me Steven.” You frown.

“It’s dislocated.” He relents quickly not missing a beat, knowing the tone you’re using well from the night you found Sharon in his bed.

“Shit.” You bite your lip but move to position yourself beside him. “Steve, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“We had to get away.” He shakes his head but meets your eyes. “I needed you safe.”

“I am safe. But what will I do if you pass out here, in the middle of the forest? You should have told me. We should have stopped when I asked hours ago.” Your worry is outweighing your anger, and he seems to see that because he smiles weakly.

“Is this really the time to rub it in how right you are all the time?” He teases.

“Steve…” You fuss.

“I’m alright, my flower. Truly.” He lies.

You growl and move around the base of the tree sticking close to the ground. You move all the way around it, circling until you come up on Steve’s other side.

“What are you doing?” He wonders, curious but also wary.

“Looking for something. Do you still have your dagger?” You reopen his cloak and begin to feel around his waist.

He shifts for you, shoving his hips out a little and arching his back which makes him grunt with pain.

“Center of my waist. On the back.” He instructs.

Quickly you reach for it and pull it out before you pull his cloak shut again then turn around and begin to crawl away from him.

A tug on your skirts stops you and with his dagger in hand you turn to look back at him.

“Where are you going?” He frets, brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far.” You promise, reach back, and pull his hand away from your skirts.

You crawl around for maybe ten minutes, picking up every stone and pebble that your fingers blindly encounter. At one point you swear you feel a silky scaled body slither past your outstretched digits but you ignore it and swallow down the panic as you convince yourself that it was probably more afraid of you than you are of it.

At last, several trees away and just out of Steve’s sight, you find what you’re looking for. You reach around for the long thin branch that you’d felt earlier. With the knife, stone, and branch, you crawl back to Steve to find him sitting up, craning his neck for sight of you.

Upon it, he sits back and releases a long-held breath.

His legs are a little more relaxed, stretched out but still wide open in his fatigue. You settle between them, scooching as close as you can but turn back forward as you sit up as straight as you can.

“Can you undo my bodice?” You ask, with your collection of tools placed before you, you move your hair out of his waist.

“You can’t take off your clothes.” Steve says, not understanding what you’re trying to do.

“Steve…just do it. Open my dress and once you see my corset strings, open it and then rip the driest part of my underdress. As much of it as you can.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, defiant.

“Please.” You beg, but you make it clear it isn’t an option.

After a moment of hesitation, he huffs out a gust of air before he gets to work on your dress.

It takes him five minutes to undo it and your corset, then another three to find and rip as large a piece of your underthings as he can.

“Is that dry enough?” He checks, holding out for you a strip long enough to wrap your arm several times.

“That’s perfect, my love.” You gush, taking the strip to feel how damp it might be.

Your skirts would have been too wet, trudging through snow all night.

Steve does your dress up as best as he can or attempts to before you’re up on your feet moving away from him.

“Wait…” He complains but you don’t stop and instead begin to feel around the large trunks you pass.

“You can dress me again in just a moment.” You tell him, but he growls.

“You’re going to catch your death with your back open like that!” He fumes.

You ignore him in favor of your search and after only two minutes this time, you find what you’re looking for. A knothole almost just out of reach.

Licking your lips, you push yourself up onto your toes and with trembling fingers search the space within.

You shut your eyes and refuse to think about what animals you may be disturbing.

Luckily, you find none, and instead find what you’re looking for.

With your stick and fabric in hand you scoop out as much dead and dried foliage as you can into the fabric with your stick placed in the middle of it all. The knothole is abundant in material, so you take as much as you need before you wrap it up around one end of the stick.

You cut a few small holes into the fabric to give the twigs and leaves and dried grass some air before you move back towards where you can hear Steve groaning in pain.

As he hears you near, he makes sure to stop.

Because he needs it more than you do at the moment, you find your spot between his legs again and turn around for him.

Quickly he begins to do your dress up, fighting the pain of his dislocated shoulder.

He’s pushing himself too hard and you know that he will pay for it. You hate that!

By the time he laces up your bodice, the spark from his steel dagger on your flint rock strikes a spark and your torch comes to life, blazing bright in what was only a second again pitch dark.

It’s blinding and you blink against the light before you grab it and turn to look at your husband.

He’s impressed, his face full of it, but what a face it is all beaten, black and blue.

“Oh, Steve.” You cry, your heart breaking.

“I’m okay.” He promises, reaching up with his good hand to stroke your cheek.

“No, you’re not!” You smack his hand away and shove the end of your torch into the ground to free up your hands.

With his cloak already open from him dressing you, you reach for his shoulder and feel for the shift.

Giving him time to fight you on this is not an option so you quickly force him back against the tree.

“Stay still.” You order, and without waiting for him to acknowledge what you’re saying, you begin to pull his shoulder up in small smooth circles.

“No, Y/N, wait.” He groans.

“Shh.” You frown but continue to lift his arm up.

“Y/N…” He repeats, his voice fighting the agony.

“Shush!” You insist, then finally feel the shift as his arm pops back into place.

“AH!” Steve cries, his breathing hard and his eyes shut tight.

You guide his arm across his chest and push it towards him to make sure he knows to keep it there while you tear more fabric from the thick layers of your skirts.

With his arm in a sling, Steve seems a bit more relaxed.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Steve wonders as you get up and fix your dress before you reach over for the torch.

His eyes are glued to your face, full of admiration and adoration, bloody lips curled slightly in a smile.

“I grew up alone, remember? I had to take care of myself.” You move to his good arm and hook your own through them. “Come on, your Majesty. On your feet.”

He groans and grunts as you pull him back onto his feet and tired legs. While he gets used to the sensation again, you hand him the torch and lean him against the tree. Then you move to grab his shield and with a long spare piece of your skirts available, you tie the disc to your back where you know it will be safe.

“You look good in my insignia.” Steve flirts.

“Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Steve huffs a small laugh.

“Come on, King Flirt. Lean on me.”

He wraps his good arm around your shoulders and leans as much weight against you as he’s willing which gladly is enough that the two of you can get moving again. And with the torch now out to show you the forest, you gasp as you realize just where you are.

“What is it?” Steve asks, sensing your glee.

“I know where we are!” You smile. “Come on. If we make good time, we’ll get there before the sun rises.”

It takes two more hours of you pulling Steve forward, forcing him to move faster just as he’d first forced you away from danger. You’re starting to feel the bite of the cold, but you don’t dare take the cloak from him. Only now are his lips beginning to show a bit of color. His cheeks aren’t so pale. His eyes are a little brighter.

You’re at the top of a hill when you finally stop and you’re breathing hard as your eyes take in the sight you’d thought you’d lost forever.

If not forever, then at least for a long time.

Below you both, nestled into the hillside is the Village of Bright Rise. A dozen and a half thatched roofed buildings that were once the only home you thought you’d ever know.

The church is on one end of the square, old and crumbling but still made with materials far better than the village houses that look to be in the midst of repairs.

The mill to the farms is on the right, and the old manor home—long since abandoned by the lord that had settled Bright Rise way before your parents had been born—sits derelict and half destroyed about a mile away from the village.

Still, despite the poverty you see before you, there is beauty in the large trees and the flower fields that you can only remember from your memories now with winter having taken the blooms. The small pond is frozen, and the roads are blanketed with fresh snow from earlier in the night when the sky had filled with clouds before being whisked away by winter winds.

“Where are we?” Steve wonders, staring at the little village below.

“We’re in Bright Rise.” You declare. “This is Bright Rise, Steve. This is where I was born. This is where my parents died and where I grew up. Just outside of the village, just before you reach that abandoned manor, you see that main road?”

Steve follows where your gaze to the spot you mean and nods.

“I see it.”

“That’s where my life changed. That’s where I found Grandmother fallen over in the mud. Where I searched, elbow deep in a bog for her purse. That’s where Father found me. Took me. Changed me.

“That’s where my destiny to be your wife manifested. This…this was my home.” You turn to him, watch as his face changes and devours every inch of the small place he sees below him.

“Do you see that small cottage over by the farms? To the right of the mill? With its crumbling walls and overgrown vine?” You ask, watching him.

“I see it.” He says, “Is that-?”

“That was where I lived. We’ll be safe there for a bit.” You whisper, suddenly nervous about him seeing your home. “Will you stay?”

Steve hears the insecurity in your voice, the fear of what your old home might say about who you were. Who you are. Because even if you are no longer that same girl that was taken at the side of the road, she is still within you. She’s your core. The base of who you have become.

“Anywhere.” Steve says. “So long as I’m with you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x you #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt27

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punsandfuturekingsmen · 2 years

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The Mystery and Vivi Gift Express came to a halt at the door of her one and only Sunshine. The snow fell silently from the darkened skies, silencing the ground and any outside noise. It provided the duo some great coverage. Vivi took her time grabbing the gifts from her Bag of Holding, all of them addressed to the blonde noodle boy (hopefully) sleeping soundly in his bed. The presents were arranged neatly at the shop's back entrance, away from the store front proper. She rang the doorbell a few times, in a particular rhythmic pattern like she tried making her own little tune. She quickly retreated back to Mystery immediately hoping on and escaping into the night. The kitsune broke his stride into a harsh sprint, until nothing but blue and red blurred lines were left behind.

Each gift was wrapped in orange paper with little lightning bolts across the packaging. Yellow ribbons decorated each box, and sitting next to those gifts was a small bag of treats for Galaham.

The first gift was a small package, and inside held a beautifully golden crafted sunflower necklace. He'd find that this pendant would change color depending on the day and the mood of the wearer. It could change into a silver flower, a golden flower, or even a rainbow design. The two parts divided in the middle and beneath the flower it read 'You are my Sunshine.'

The second gift was a variety pack of his favorite energy drinks with an added six pack of the more rare flavor. It may not be the best of gifts, considering his lack of sleep already, but she still couldn't resist gifting it to her love.

The third gift was a very large custom made blanket. The Kingsmen Mechanic shop logo was on one side, matching the golden fleece in the background. The other side was colors of gold, blue, green, purple, and red swirled together with the Mystery Skulls logo right at the center.

On top of the gifts was a small envelope, stamped with a blue snowflake and dog paw print.

'Merry Christmas Sunshine! I hope you enjoy the gifts and enjoy the time this season spent with friends and family. I love you with all my heart and all my soul. May this next year bring us more happy memories together, more fun and shenanigans, and lots of love as well. XOXO~'

Arthur--- found them through a call from his uncle. He'd been at home in his apartment working on something, when his uncle rang, telling him someone'd taken to ringing the bell on the shop back door, and when he'd gone to check, there'd been, in his uncle's words, 'a shitton of boxes on the stoop he needed to come and get'. He'd made his way there, snagged up all the gifts, after checking none had lance's name on it, and took them to his place.

Once settled on the floor in his living room/dining room space, he opened the card. The outside told him for sure it was a Vivi and Mystery. And the very first line let him know who exactly these had been from. He couldn't help but crack a small smile, finger tracing over the page. She was always so sweet. Thoughtful. He...hoped the same. That they'd get to spend more and more years knowing each other, being friends and family and just--- together. She was always worth every second, even at the worst the year had to throw at them.

Once he'd read the card, he laid it on the coffee table for safe keeping. He started with the first box, undoing each edge of the paper carefully to preserve it. The other two he ripped into, now having a scrap like a memory of the moment preserved. The first box made his smile pull at him in such a nostalgic way. His thumb brushed over the polished metal of the sunflower, and seeing the inside made his own warm and soft. The smile couldn't even leave his face, even as he used the latch to put it around his own neck that very moment. The second made him laugh--- and then he immediately hid them, so Mono or anyone else wouldn't find them. He'd put them in his room in his undies drawer, where Lewis was too classy to look.

The last gift pulled at him with the same expression, same feelings, as the last had. He clutched at the blanket, feeling it's weight and how soft it was under his hand. The prosthetic was careful not to pinch any of the fibers. He....wondered if she made this. It was definitely custom either way. Expensive. That was....just like her. To bury him in gifts and have them all mean so, so much. It made his eyes water, looking at both sides. Seeing his friends in their colors, and his family in his uncle's logo. It was.... it was really thoughtful.

Arthur took the blanket to the couch with him. And when Mono found him later that morning, he was asleep with a smile, flower pendant still on in a warm and rosy peach color, and blanket swathed around his sleeping form.

#answering things #ic #arthur speaks #bluescarfvivi #xmas gifts #I LOVE HER #THAT'S SO SWEET #THIS IS LATE BECAUSE I'VE BEEN WORKING EVERY DAY AND I WANTED TO WRITE THIS AT THE COMPUTER WHEN I HAD A MINUTE #BUT I WANTED TO GET IT OUT BEFORE 2022 #BUT goodness this is adorable #Arthur feels so loved by everyone but those gifts mean so much #he may keep the charm on with his other one from splat last year ;x;#Ectoimp Icon

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mysterystarz · 3 years

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authors note:

hey there everyone! this note outlines a bit more about the universe that iwaizumi's 8 is centered in and can hopefully provide some clarity as to why some things are structured the way that they are!

first off, i'd like to say thank you for reading this. it's a bit of a long note, but you'll definitely walk into iwa8 knowing a lot more about where it came from!

WHERE DOES THE STORY TAKE PLACE?: the story takes place in tokyo and consists of many instances that happen within the city, although none of the places mentioned have a real-life name. however, the places are fictional and are completely made up with no basis in reality. this is due to the fact that i'm american and have never visited japan (although i dream to someday!). that being said, i feel like it wouldn't be fair of me to assume the locations of things and use them and eventually wind up being incorrect. this story is fictional, so the places are too!

WHAT INSPIRED THIS?: it may seem ridiculous, but oceans 11/8 and the movie 21 were huge factors in inspiring this and placing an image into my head about where this wanted to go. also, i read desperado on ao3 which seriously solidified this plot in my head! it's a concept that I've always loved to visualize, so i'm hoping i can bring it alive for you lovelies as well!!

WHAT ROLE DOES THE READER PLAY?: the reader is a close friend of oikawa and is also a part of the squad that iwaizumi assembles for this heist. as always, i always like to do my best to make my works as inclusive as possible, which is why i leave physical traits ambiguous and the reader's gender unspecified! throughout the story, the reader will be playing part in the organization/execution of the heist, while spending time with iwaizumi and...well, you'll see where that goes :>

WHAT IS THE UPLOAD SCHEDULE?: well you all know me and how meticulous/busy i can get with my fics and real life obligations, so i have no set schedule. i'm hoping that with the right motivation, i can get a chapter out every week so i have time to write and solidify the plot and make sure this whole thing makes sense and is a fun read!!

WILL THERE BE A PLAYLIST?: i have a playlist that i use when writing to fit the vibe of each major event (one at normal speed and one slowed + reverb lol) and i'd be more than glad to share at popular request, although it might not make the most sense ;)

HOW CAN I JOIN THE TAGLIST?: easy, all you need to do is send an ask and you've got it ;) >>> note that there are only a set amount of spots, so it's going to be first come first serve.

anyways, you got this far, so this is a giant thank you and hug from you to me!! i have to thank you for coming on this journey with me (since i'm relatively new to tumblr and since this is the first time im writing a heist fic)! i love you all dearly, and can't wait to go and rob a casino with some hot hq men ;)

- xoxo nova

#iwa8 #iwa8 nav

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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Ficlet: This’ll Be the Day that I Die [Part 3]

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YES! AT LONG LAST WE HAVE PART THREE! *collapses* Geezus, this took forever! Prepare for something long and stuffed to the brim with exposition and world-building...hopefully wrapped up in an entertaining package, but even so. I had a lot of fun trying to explore the characterization of the four Founders of Hogwarts -- although Slytherin is easily the worst of the batch as the resident blood purity nut, it was still fun to try to give him depth the same way I have Rakepick. It was also fun to give some spotlight to Carewyn and Jacob’s magical historian mother, Lane Cromwell! And my precious ghost boy Duncan. ^.^

I apologize in advance for my horrid Old English, Welsh, and Norse: take any translations I’ve done with a grain of salt, I profess no great knowledge of any of them. XD; I did do a good amount of historical research for this, though, so the pieces of that I integrated in should hopefully make the whole thing feel that bit more real, disregarding the magic and dangerous Dark creatures.

Thank you to those of you who reblogged/commented on the last part -- @samshogwarts @dat-silvers-girl @mizutoyama @ruby-and-opal-withers @missnight0wl @that-ravenpuff-witch @weasley-adoptee @cursebreakerelmswood @nightrhea-hphm and @wandsandrings! If you haven’t read the first two parts, I’d highly suggest you do so, as I fear you might be completely and totally lost otherwise. XDD And...yeah, I hope you all enjoy it! Please consider liking/reblogging/commenting if you do, and hopefully part 4 (which will be the last part) will take MUCH less time than this one did to finish!! xoxo

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

While Patricia Rakepick had told her tale to Carewyn, Jacob, and the Circle of Khanna, the battle at the Black Lake had raged, with the Hogwarts professors – led by Heads of House Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Pomona Sprout, and Filius Flitwick – defending both the Lake and the castle from the forces of R. In the midst of the battle, Fawkes the phoenix was sent to the skies to track down his master, Albus Dumbledore, and bring him back to the school at once.

The reason Albus Dumbledore had left Hogwarts none of the teachers had known – for the night hadn't really gone as Dumbledore himself had originally foreseen either.

In the Fenlands of East Anglia, out of open night air, appeared two figures in the high grass surrounding a modest reservoir. One was very tall with a long, white beard, a pointed dark blue velvet hat, and flowing robes the color of a robin's egg and flecked with gold dust. The other was much smaller with shoulder-length blond hair, an off-white sweater with a chunky purple line zigzagged across the chest, and faded jeans tucked into a pair of scuffed-up black boots. This smaller figure released the taller wizard's arm as he glanced around.

“Quite deserted, as to be expected,” said Albus Dumbledore. Once he gave another look around at the stars twinkling over head, he indicated the skyline to his right. “If my navigation is correct, I'd say our destination should be about a hundred paces from here.”

The smaller woman nodded politely, before immediately setting off at a brisk walk. It was impressive that a man so much older than her was able to keep step, given how quickly she moved. As she walked, she kept her wand at her side in her right hand and a very worn scroll close to her chest in the other.

Within a few minutes the pair had reached what appeared to be an old brick warehouse. It was deserted – it was so late that anyone who worked there had no doubt already headed home for the day.

Dumbledore and his traveling companion approached the back of the warehouse, both raising their wands. They silently lit them, looking down at the muddy, wet marshland just underneath the stilts and platform holding the warehouse up and out of the water.

“I daresay Salazar Slytherin would seal any records in such a way that only a fellow Parselmouth could open it,” said Dumbledore airily.

The witch nodded.

“I haven't been able to study Parseltongue very thoroughly,” she spoke in a very soft, almost wispy sort of voice, and yet it was low enough in her throat that she clearly felt no fear or hesitation, “but I know what password Salazar would use – ”

Taking three striding steps forward, the blond-haired witch approached the edge of the marshland, the light from her wand creating dark shadows around her narrowed almond-shaped blue eyes. She opened her mouth and let out a messy cluster of hissing sounds.

At once, there was a rumbling under their feet. One by one, a set of stones burbled out of the murky water, pushing it aside, and formed a long set of cracked gray and black stairs that spiraled down in a wide spiral around and then under the brick warehouse and marshlands.

Dumbledore gave the witch a dewy smile. “Most impressive, Lane, my dear. What phrase was it that Slytherin chose, may I ask?”

“'As pure as the driven snow,'” answered Lane Cromwell, her soft voice sounding rather cool.

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, his own dreamy tone betraying some disgust despite himself, “for that was what Slytherin liked to think he was, in both blood and character. Very good.”

Holding his lit Elder wand aloft, the Hogwarts Headmaster led the way down the wet, cracked stone stairs, down into the depths of the shallow reservoir and then below it, under the ground. The murky water they passed was frozen in place almost as perfectly as the stone and earth under it.

At last they reached the base of the stairs and the small chamber it opened up into. Despite its modest size, it boasted a rather tall ceiling, as well as many completely filled bookcases full of dusty scrolls and books. In the far corner was a very old chair carved out of blackthorn wood, and in the very center of the room was a podium made out of marble, with beautifully intricate carvings of silvery, emerald-eyed serpents slithering up the base.

“Remarkable,” mused Dumbledore. “The library looks to be in very good condition, for its supposed age. This place likely hasn't seen a living soul since Slytherin first abandoned it, oh...nine hundred and fifty years ago, wouldn't you say?”

“Nine hundred and sixty-six,” said Lane gravely. “Since the day it was announced that Godric Gryffindor had passed away. But it's very possible Salazar's descendants may have come down here to check on this place over the years, to maintain it...at least until the last of them left the Fenlands, back in the seventeenth century...”

She tucked the scroll she was carrying in the waist of her jeans as she approached the podium. Bending down, the magical historian trailed a hand along the gleaming serpents carved into the podium.

“...This isn't silver,” she realized. “It's platinum.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “A rather rare stone to find here, in Britain.”

“Yes, but it's been well-documented that Salazar traveled to South and Central America in his young adulthood...the forests there are the only place he could have found the type of snakewood used to make his wand. And platinum would've been much more easily found in South America, during that period – the Spanish conquistadors found quite a bit of it themselves, when they arrived there in the eighteenth century searching for gold. But these stones...they weren't carved naturally. Judging by the angles here – and here, as well...it's clear that this was constructed with magic. There's even magic inlaid in the emeralds, judging by the slight discoloration around the edges – very true to magical artifacts of that time period...”

It was striking how Lane's volume never seemed to rise, even despite the passion in her voice. The magical historian's blue eyes narrowed as she rose to her feet again and frowned at the podium.

“Salazar clearly created this podium with a special purpose in mind,” she said slowly, “more than just decoration...but I'm not sure what that purpose would be.”

“Perhaps I might be able to discern that.”

With a little nod, Dumbledore took a step toward the podium; Lane politely moved aside so that the Headmaster could examine it himself. He trailed a hand over the marble, looking over the carvings himself; he tapped the podium with his wand in several places and cast several silent, experimental spells. At last, he trailed his wand along the snake carved into the right-hand side of the base.

In an instant, the carved snakes began to glow, silvery light rippling out of their platinum grooves. Short, almost pulsing flashes of green flickered out of their eyes, and a voice seemed to echo throughout the room.

“Secgan! Ic dôð rôf Salazar Slytherin, ûphêah orgilde duguð cýf ealdefæder orgilde Hogwarts Stellan râd Foretâc.”

The voice was low, almost like a hiss, but as fierce as a king giving an order. Lane also noted a unique, rather beautiful accent, though it was hard to place exactly what kind.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow curiously. “'Speak,' you say? Hmm...”

Trailing his wand along the carved serpent again, he spoke very firmly,

“I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore – Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

The serpents' emerald eyes stopped pulsing, their light locked in place. There was an ominous hissing, and then another voice bounded off the walls of the small room – it was Albus Dumbledore's voice, echoing back at them in perfect clarity, speaking words the Headmaster had never said.

“Speak! I am the great Salazar Slytherin, one of the four noble Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Lane couldn't hold back a gasp. Dumbledore beamed at Lane.

“It seems we have something of a translating magic here,” he said in an airy kind of amusement. “Upon hearing my response, the podium has repeated the phrase it greeted us with in my voice and language.”

Lane's eyes, identical in color and shape to her children Carewyn and Jacob's, lit up.

“Then this podium...would be able to translate anything written by Salazar Slytherin into Modern English?” she said excitedly, though again, her emotions couldn't manage to make her voice any louder.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “It seems that, for all of his faults, Salazar Slytherin was at least shrewd enough to discern that language changes rapidly over time. Any descendants of his might have difficulty understanding his writings, without such a measure.”

Lane immediately descended on the shelves of scrolls and books.

“His family history might also explain that,” she said as she opened several of them and skimmed their contents. “Salazar's family came from what is now modern Spain...evident by the name he was given, which had previously belonged to his maternal great-grandfather, Salazar Ordaño...and he was originally born near the coast of Ireland. People call him 'Slytherin from fen' – but in truth, the Fenlands, where we are now, are merely where Salazar settled in his later years, after he'd married and started a family.”

“Fascinating,” said Dumbledore mildly, as he settled himself down into the blackthorn chair in the corner. “I presume that explains the accent I noted in the first voice we heard – the one that must have been Slytherin's?”

“Yes. By the time Salazar was born, Ireland had transitioned into using early Middle Irish, as opposed to old Gaelic...but people living in England – where Salazar's family moved to, while Ireland faced off against the Norse Vikings – were still using what we today call Old English. That's the language Salazar would've used while speaking to the other three Founders. Early Middle English only started taking hold after Salazar died, after the Norman conquest in 1066 A.D. I daresay what we heard was something of a fusion between an Old Castillian and Middle Irish accent, speaking old English.”

“An interesting mix of cultures, indeed.”

Dumbledore's tone was very pleasant even if it wasn't even half as enthusiastic as Lane's soft-spoken, scholarly voice. He placed his wand back into his robin's-egg-blue robes at last, crossing his arms loosely over his chest and waiting patiently as Lane consulted the documents.

After about thirty minutes, Lane – an excited look in her eyes – brought a rather worn-looking leather portfolio containing a stack of parchment over to Dumbledore for him to look at.

“This looks like it might be a collection of letters...perhaps even a journal that hasn't been properly bound yet,” she said, her hushed voice rather eager. “See the dates there, in the corners?”

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at the line of runes and sketched crescent moons in the upper corner of the top page, and then down at the written lines below.

“Yes, that is what this seems to be,” he said, and his light blue eyes twinkled. “Given that I can only read about half of it...I would guess that it contains both Old English and Middle Irish – making it more than probable that this was written in Slytherin's hand, wouldn't you say?”

Lane nodded, looking even more excited. “Yes. Would you say the dates match up too? Judging by the condition of these pages compared to everything else I've seen, I'd guess these would be the newest documents, in this library.”

“I believe you said that Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts in July 1022, correct? Less than a year before Gryffindor's death? If so...”

Dumbledore turned several pieces of parchment over, consulting each of the dates, before settling on one near the bottom of the stack.

“...Then these moon runes match up perfectly.”

Lane's face was soon consumed by a wide, slightly crooked smile like the one her son Jacob often wore. She moved over to the platform with new confidence, removing the piece of parchment Dumbledore indicated from the stack and placing it down on top of the podium.

The podium gave another low hiss. The piece of parchment fluttered up off the marble as if trapped in a magical gust of wind, rotating in mid-air of its own accord as the podium created by Salazar Slytherin once again spoke in Albus Dumbledore's voice.

“Twentieth day of Harvest Month, 1022.

“Today marks the end of Hogwarts, as we know it.

“Despite all of my objections and disregarding all common sense, Rowena, Helga, and Godric remained obstinate in the decision to allow Mudblooded magical creatures to walk our hallowed halls in the upcoming school year. I urged them to reconsider, to the point that it bordered on pleading, and still, Godric absolutely refused to take heed. To my horror, not even the others would hear reason. I cannot fathom what virtue of theirs could possibly outweigh the safety of our school and our students – whether it is arrogance, ignorance, or just pure delusion – but whatever it was that fueled them to fight against me, it is a demonic magic that I cannot hope to exorcise.

“Although I can't stand by and let Hogwarts fall at the claws of treacherous rats that my friends would deign to call 'students'...I cannot halt my research, when I'm so close to tracking down the answer. Although we were able to petrify the Cetus, and no one should be able to access it without opening all of the Vaults in their proper order, the Beast will claw away at our enchantments the longer it takes for us to find a way to nullify its power. The magic of sacrificial love may indeed be our salvation – and yet a sacrifice made by one who has never feared Death – on the contrary, has frequently been tempted by it, like Odysseus before the Sirens – cannot possibly be powerful enough to destroy it. I only hope that the documents I'll find here in the Fen can help me track down the final answer. It may be the one thing I can still do, to protect my friends and the school we have created, now that they have fallen from grace. In the meantime, the safeguards I put in place should be able to protect the school, even in my absence, now that Garcea, Marvolo, and Amice have started their education – at least until I make my proper return, with the knowledge needed to finally slay the Cetus once and for all.”

The piece of parchment slowly stopped turning, fluttered back down onto the marble, and lay still.

Lane's eyes widened. Dumbledore's lips came together solemnly.

“I would say your hypothesis was correct, Lane,” the Headmaster said softly. “Slytherin was working on a method to destroy the artifact inside the Cursed Vaults.”

Still slightly stunned, Lane reached out to pick up the page of Slytherin's journal, holding it out and gazing down at the lines of Old English and Irish she could barely read herself.

“Even after he left the school,” she whispered, “even after he broke off from the other Founders and ended their friendship over his anti-Muggle-born bigotry...Salazar was still trying to find a way to prevent Godric from sacrificing himself.”

~*~

“Remind me again why it makes sense to unlock the inner door, if we don't want to open the column and set the Cetus free?” said Merula in an incredibly tart voice.

Duncan stuck his head back through the Vault's inner door to look down dully at Merula.

“Hey, you blokes said you wanted to find a way to stop that thing from possessing people and eating their magic, didn't you? Well, inside the inner Vault, there are four painted statues of the Founders. By common sense, those statues were carved and left there, rather than the ones out here, which were all people who got petrified. Plus there's this huge mosaic on the ceiling that sounds like the picture Carewyn saw in Rakepick's head, but there's different writing there than what Rakepick translated.”

“Therefore it's likely the Founders put those things there, as a hint of what to do when someone got inside,” said Bill logically, offering Merula an encouraging look.

“It's something we should investigate, at least,” said Rakepick in a very clipped sort of voice, her arms crossed over her chest, “considering it would take a lot longer for Duncan to jump back and forth through the door telling me each line so I can translate it.”

“You mean so we can translate it,” Jacob snarled.

“Ah yes, pardon me,” Rakepick couldn't help but scoff. “I apologize for not equating myself with a perfect amateur in reading Old English.”

“Don't bother,” Carewyn murmured dully when Jacob looked ready to snap back.

She turned to Rakepick coldly.

“Don't forget our terms, Rakepick – you'll stay under Jacob's and/or my watch at all times...so nothing you do will be just 'you.' It will be 'us.'”

“And for your information, Patty, the words on the mural aren't in Old English,” Duncan added rather coolly. “Otherwise I could've translated it just fine on my own, the Bloody Baron taught me more than enough to get by...”

Everyone turned to blink at Duncan. The ghost looked rather affronted.

“I've been dead for more than seven years, I had to fill that time somehow! Did you really think I just sulked about in the Prefect's Bathroom the whole time?!”

“Maybe not the whole time,” confessed Charlie sheepishly, “but...”

Duncan crossed his arms and gave a loud huff. “I came down to this Vault a lot after I died, I'll have you know. Deluded myself for a year or so that even if I was dead, maybe I could still find a way to break the curse...at least until I finally figured out that no, in fact, it's impossible to break much of anything when you have to give yourself a bloody migraine just to touch something...”

Jacob looked deeply ashamed and upset. The expression clearly bothered Duncan, for he rather gruffly said, “Well, come on, then!” and with a soft pop disappeared fully through the Vault's inner door.

Ben looked at Carewyn, his face betraying some doubt despite himself.

“Carewyn, are you sure we should do this? We're already going to have a hard enough time trying to keep R away from the Cetus as it is without the inner Vault being open.”

His eyes drifted over the rest of the Circle of Khanna, who were spread out over the rest of the glass-domed chamber. Diego, Talbott, Badeea, Jae, Liz, Tulip, and Tonks had started conjuring large Shield Charms around the hall. Meanwhile Beatrice, Penny, Ismelda, Andre, Cedric, and the twins had started levitating the dozens of stone statues off to the sides – as Beatrice had pointed out, it wouldn't be right to let a bunch of innocent people get smashed to pieces in their inevitable fight with R.

Carewyn bowed her head, her eyes resting solemnly on Ben's left shoulder instead of his face.

“I know...but we don't know how many members of R we'll be facing, or how long we'll be able to hold them off. If there's any chance we can destroy the Cetus's power so that no one can use it, R or otherwise – aside from Gryffindor's method, of course – we have to find out for sure.”

“Yeah...and well, just because we unlock the inner Vault now doesn't mean we can't lock it again later, right?” asked Barnaby, trying to be optimistic.

“Presumably yes,” said Rakepick. Her dark blue eyes flickered from the door to over at Carewyn. “Though I'd be hesitant to do it, considering we've come so close to the end...”

Jacob scowled, but he had to agree. He sighed and spared a reluctant nod. “...True. We don't want to take the chance that the Vault's Petrification Curse activates to protect itself, like it did last time. If that happened, we'd have to re-lock and unlock the other four Vaults all over again.”

Tulip, who'd been helping Jae seal any possible openings in the golden dome shield they'd created around the back wall, lowered her wand as she faced the others.

“Even if we don't unlock the door, R could just as easily try blasting it open like you tried to, when they get here,” she pointed out.

“Yeah,” said Jae dryly. “Then the Curse would activate, and we'd have to run for our lives – and anyone who wasn't suddenly a statue would have to go break the Vaults' curses all over again anyway.”

Bill nodded. “It is risky...but it'd be foolish not to try to find out everything we can.”

“Right!” Cedric agreed. He shot Ben a bright smile over his shoulder as he levitated a statue off of one of the stairs leading up to the Vault. “It's like my Dad says – 'nothing ventured, nothing gained.'”

With a sigh, Ben nodded, his eyes narrowing with fresh determination.

“All right, then – let's do this.”

Carewyn nodded too, her eyes just as firm as Ben's. “Merula...will you do the honors?”

Merula also gave a heavy sigh, but nonetheless strode forward, withdrew the coral key from the inside of her robes, and brought it up to the keyhole. Yet again it started to vibrate when it came within inches of the door, and the glowing white writing reappeared.

“Yeah, yeah, we know, 'don't let the Cetus out,'” Merula muttered irritably in the direction of the door.

She forced the key into the rusted keyhole and turned it. With a loud CLICK, the inner doors swung open, just as the outer doors had.

The inner Vault may have been a much smaller room, but that was only because the outer chamber was a hundred feet long with a mile-high green-tinted glass dome for a ceiling. The inner Vault was still almost as large as a standard Hogwarts classroom, though far more ornate and ancient. True to what Duncan had said, four limestone statues – two women and two men, all holding wands – stood in the four corners of the room on black zircon platforms, and on the ceiling was a gigantic, detailed mosaic identical to the picture Carewyn had seen in Rakepick's mind, made up of thousands of tiny colorful tiles. The only light in the room came from the magical blueish-white flames lashing out of the grooves cut into all four sides of the black zircon platforms, which left surreal, blue-tinted shadows on the statues' limestone faces. Even the air itself suddenly felt heavier, making them feel like a large weight had been lowered onto their shoulders, making the group all subconsciously shrink in the face of such a grand, imposing sanctuary. Strikingly, though, the gold-trimmed glass column housing the Cetus was nowhere to be seen – the statues surrounded nothing but an empty white-and-gold-tiled floor, marred by a large inky black stain that branched out like vines toward the walls and double doors.

When Carewyn moved toward the center of the room so as to try to get a better look at the mosaic, she was stopped abruptly by a terrible, booming voice.

“Gan ne latost!”

She whirled around.

The voice had come from the statue she'd just walked past – a large, broad-chested man of about 30 with a short red-painted beard and sparkling eyes made of blue-green agate. The left hand not holding his wand rested on a silver-painted sword hilt at his side.

Bill hurried over to Carewyn's side, crossing in front of the statue next to the first, only to halt in front of Carewyn and whirl around at the sound of a female voice, booming just as gravely down at him.

“FÆr sy hêore.”

The statue Bill had passed was that of a tall, willowy woman about the same age as the man with ebony-painted plaited hair so long it almost reached her feet. There was an odd-looking, silver-painted tiara resting low on her forehead and her eyes were made of smoky quartz.

Rakepick strode forward, not flinching at the sound of the woman's voice again booming“FÆr sy hêore” down at her, as she came up to stand beside Carewyn and Bill, her dark blue eyes narrowing upon the statues.

“Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw,” Rakepick murmured.

“I know,” said Carewyn. She glanced at Rakepick out the side of her eye. Despite knowing she was their ally now, it was hard not to still look at her with suspicion. “...What are they saying?”

“'Go no further,'” said Rakepick. “'There is danger here.'”

She also seemed to have trouble looking Carewyn in the face. Carewyn couldn't sense Rakepick's thoughts anymore, since the older woman was using her Occlumency again, but Carewyn could still surmise that Rakepick also had not expected to be working side by side with her again and was a bit uncomfortable about it.

'She should be uncomfortable,' Carewyn couldn't help but think resentfully. 'No matter what her motives were, I can't forgive her for what she did to Rowan.'

Jacob, Merula, Charlie, Barnaby, and Ben all slowly made their way into the inner Vault. All of them flinched as they walked past the two large statues of Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw, which once again boomed their warnings down at them.

Jacob, the one who was the least warded off by the voices, strode across the tile floor, stopping in front of the statue on the corner across from Gryffindor's – a weedy-looking gentleman of about 35 with a black-painted goatee, his left hand not holding his wand resting on a gold-painted locket resting around the high-collared neck of his robes, and striking eyes made out of grayish Blue John fluorite.

“Nanu, nanu, Slytherin, you old feck,” Jacob said coolly.

He waved an arm broadly in front of Salazar Slytherin's statue and – predictably – another booming, cold voice emanated from it.

“Linnan nû.”

“That'd be something like...'surrender now,'” Jacob translated slowly. Rakepick nodded.

With a determined look on her face, Merula approached the last statue – a round, beautiful woman a few years younger than the first two statues with long pink-painted ribbons braided into her mane of chocolate-painted curls and a pair of boulder opals for eyes, presenting a chalice in the right hand not holding her wand as if she planned to propose a toast. The so-called “Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts” flinched when the Helga Hufflepuff statue spoke in an older, clearer voice than the rest, but she recovered very quickly.

“Beorgan!”

“'Beware,'” said Duncan idly.

He floated down from the ceiling, hovering next to Jacob's left shoulder.

“They've said those same things every other time I came in here,” he explained. “I figure there's some sort of Sensory Enchantment on them – though I gotta admit, I wouldn't have thought a spell like that could be so sensitive it could even sense a ghost's presence. But yeah...”

He floated up to the ceiling, pointing up at the mosaic.

“That's not Old English. Any guesses, Jacob?”

Jacob squinted up at the line of text. He mouthed something silently to himself, as if he were trying to imagine how the words might sound. Then his eyes lit up.

“Welsh!” he said eagerly. “Old Welsh! Helga Hufflepuff grew up in Wales – this inscription must have been written by her! And that there...”

He dashed right past Bill, Rakepick, and Carewyn to the other side of the room and pointed at another cluster of text near the bottom left corner of the mosaic.

“...That looks like some kind of early Germanic language – like Old Norse! Rowena Ravenclaw grew up in Scotland – I think the country was still only about half-formed by that point, so there would've been all sorts of languages floating around back then...”

“...One of which would've been Old Norse,” Carewyn surmised.

“Right!”

Jacob smiled almost wistfully up at the mosaic. “Aw, Mum would love this...”

Carewyn's eyes softened fondly at the thought of how thrilled magical historian Lane would be, seeing a written record by two of the Founders of Hogwarts.

“Can you read what Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw wrote, Jacob?” asked Bill.

Jacob frowned irritably. “Mm, perhaps...I haven't studied either language very thoroughly. But Old Norse, being a Germanic language, is distantly related to modern German and therefore to modern English, so it might be easy enough for me to suss out. And Welsh as a language fortunately hasn't drifted as far as English has, over the centuries – so even if Hufflepuff's is harder to read, I can always compare it to what I know of modern Welsh...”

His gaze settled on Ravenclaw's Old Norse text first.

“'Með imprisonmentrinn ór kreature'...'after the imprisonment of the creature' – no doubt the Cetus – 'we the Founders...created...a series of...false chambers.' The other Vaults, she means. 'Now that you...have opened these chambers...you can now meet it. Take heed – '”

He glanced at Carewyn, who'd come over to stand beside him and look up at the words too.

“' – Cetus...is a living thing. It eats magic to live. It will eat and eat...forever. Only the strongest...weapon – a spell...cast by selfless love...might be enough to...purify it.'”

“Then it's just like Rakepick said, after all,” muttered Charlie, sharing a glance with Carewyn out the side of his eye. “Sacrificial love is the only thing that can stop it...”

“It also means we learned absolutely nothing new, from reading that,” said Merula impatiently.

“That's not true,” said Barnaby softly. He glanced up at the picture of Ceto Annis on the mural. “It said...that the Cetus is alive. I mean, yeah, Rakepick said it's a parasite, but...from the way Ravenclaw was talking about it...it kind of sounds like a magical creature. Like a Puffskein!”

“I reckon it's a bit more like a Dementor, mate,” said Charlie darkly.

Jacob squinted up at one section of the Old Norse lines critically, frowning deeply in thought. He crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyebrows knitting together tightly as his hollowed-out blue eyes bore into the ceiling.

“Jacob?” asked Carewyn.

Jacob shook his head. “There's something...weird, in the word choice. Ravenclaw uses the word 'ástir' in the final phrase, when discussing the magic of sacrificial love. The ending 'ir' makes it plural. A single act of love would probably use the form 'ásta' instead.”

“So does more than one person have to die, in order to kill that thing?” said Ben, his eyes narrowing.

“Let's not jump to that conclusion,” said Bill very firmly.

Carewyn nodded. “Maybe Hufflepuff wrote something that can help...”

Jacob strode back to where he started, raising his gaze to the two lines of Welsh in the upper right corner of the mosaic.

“Looks like Hufflepuff was a lot more succinct,” he said dryly.

He squinted a bit as he read the couplet several times.

“...'I gael mynediad i'r golofn'...'golofn' means column! It's talking about how to find the column! 'Mae'n rhaid...' Hmm...'you must...walk!' 'Walk'...either 'into' or 'through'...'the past?'”

“'Walk through the past?'” repeated Merula incredulously. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe we need to use a Time Turner!” suggested Barnaby.

“Doubtful,” scoffed Rakepick. “Anyone who uses a Time Turner ages the amount of years they've gone back on return trip – we'd all be dust, by the time we got back.”

Jacob rested a hand on his chin thoughtfully as he read and reread the second line several times.

“'Datgloi'r basn gyda phedwar ffrind fel allweddi,'” he murmured. His blue eyes drifted up and away, as it often did when he was thinking hard. “...'Unlock the' something...'basn,' 'basn'...”

He straightened up sharply, his whole face lighting up as if a Lumos charm had been cast behind it.

“Basin! 'Basn' means 'basin!' In order to walk through the past, we have to use what wizards in the Dark Ages used to call an 'ingemyndláu' – a 'memory dish' – ”

“A Pensieve,” realized Rakepick, her eyes growing very wide.

Duncan grinned down at Jacob. “That's it! Rather than waste space on the wall trying to write down everything she knew...Hufflepuff must've decided to leave her memories behind instead!”

“Including the memories of when she and the other Founders fought the Cetus in the past!” said Bill, his freckled face nearly as bright as Jacob's. “Brilliant!”

Carewyn looked at her brother with a new determined spark in her eyes. “How do we reach the Pensieve? What's the rest of the line, Jacob?”

“Let's see,” said Jacob, and it was clear he was getting excited too. “'Gyda phedwar'...we need four of something...four friends! 'Ffrind' is 'friends!' We need 'four friends as keys!'”

“Well, there's more than four of us in here,” said Charlie, gesturing widely around at himself and the others. “What are we supposed to do?”

Ben glanced up at the mural of the four Founders and Ceto Annis and then around at the four statues.

“Maybe we need only four people in here,” he said slowly.

He started to walk back toward the door frame. On his way, however, he passed in front of the Gryffindor statue – as soon as Ben's shadow passed over it, the Gryffindor statue's agate eyes flashed as it once again proclaimed, “Gan ne latost!”

“Ben!” said Carewyn.

Ben had noticed the flash too. He backtracked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Then, slowly and deliberately, he stepped back in front of Gryffindor's statue. At once, two beams of dazzling blue-green light flared out of the statue's bejeweled eyes as it said again,“Gan ne latost!”

Duncan suddenly looked more excited than anyone had ever seen him – his shoulders were hunched up and both of his translucent fists were clenched over his chest. He whirled on Jacob standing to his right, his ghostly robes flaring as he spun around.

“Jacob! Take a step back so you're in front of Hufflepuff!”

Jacob did so. The Hufflepuff statue once again warned, “Beorgan!” – but her opal eyes didn't glow like Gryffindor's had.

Jacob stepped away from the Hufflepuff statue, shooting it something of a halfhearted glare. Rakepick considered the statue carefully, her white-gloved hand coming to rest over her lower lip in thought.

“It seems that Duncan is on the right track,” she muttered, “but Jacob's placement is wrong, somehow. I've seen rooms like this before, where you need several people to stand in certain places in order to unlock whatever treasure it's hiding. There's generally some sort of correlation between the person in question and where they're standing – such as eye color compared to the color of a platform, or height compared to certain notches on the wall. I would guess any such correlation here would be related to the statues themselves.”

The once-Head Cursebreaker's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits upon Ben and the Godric Gryffindor statue as she considered this.

“...Perhaps gender is the issue.”

Rakepick strode up to stand in front of Hufflepuff's statue herself. Once again, Hufflepuff's warning echoed throughout the room, but still the opal eyes did not light up.

“Apparently not,” said Carewyn.

“Well, duh,” scoffed Duncan. “Slytherin's statue didn't respond to Jacob when he was waving his arm in front of it earlier, did it? I thought it might be an issue of order, like you have to start with Gryffindor and end with Slytherin, but...”

He trailed off, his light-less eyes flickering between Rakepick stepping away from Hufflepuff's statue and Ben standing in front of Gryffindor's statue. Then he seemed to get an idea – with his mouth spread into such a wide grin, he almost resembled his friend, Peeves the poltergeist.

“Wait just a tick – ”

In a flash, the ghost flung himself right through both Ben and the Godric Gryffindor statue (making Ben shudder from the cold) and phased right through the wall back into the outer Vault. A moment later, Duncan had reentered the Vault, soaring back over toward the Hufflepuff statue. Running through the open double doors after him were Cedric and Tulip.

“You! Puffball!” Duncan shot at Cedric. “Stand right here!”

Looking thoroughly confused, Cedric nonetheless walked into the center of the room. He and Tulip both gave a start at the sound of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor's voices bellowing down at them.

“It's okay,” Carewyn reassured them, “it's just a Sensory Enchantment – ”

“Move it!” said Duncan, sweeping around Cedric impatiently and back around to point down at the black and gold tile floor in front of Hufflepuff's statue. “We don't have all day!”

Despite the hesitant look on his face, Cedric obeyed. His eyes still very wide as he looked around, drinking in the rest of the room, he strode over to stand on the spot Duncan indicated.

Once again, the Helga Hufflepuff statue said, “Beorgan!”, but this time the blue-streaked brown gemstones lit up, just as the Gryffindor statue's eyes had.

“Yes!” hissed Duncan.

He whirled on Tulip. “You! Red! In front of Ravenclaw's statue, over there!”

With a braver and much more determined face than Cedric's, Tulip very quickly turned on her heel and darted over to stand in front of the Rowena Ravenclaw statue. Its dark brown gemstone eyes began to glow too as Ravenclaw's “FÆr sy hêore” bounded off the walls.

Jacob's eyes widened, becoming almost over-bright.

“It's house placement!” he cried in delight. “Ashe, you're a genius!”

Duncan smirked. “'Bout time you finally acknowledged it!”

Merula's pink eyes were suddenly alight with a kind of exhilaration better suited to a child before a Little League game.

“Stand back, Cromwell,” she said with a broad, smug grin at Carewyn, “I've got this!”

She darted over to the final corner to stand in front of Salazar Slytherin's statue. Its fluorite eyes blazed grayish-white as it rumbled, “Linnan nû” once more.

All of a sudden, the floor began to quake. Carewyn threw up her arms protectively in front of the others, silently urging them back, as the black and gold tiles rippled apart like water after a stone was skipped across it. Then out of the rippling floor emerged a large, shallow silver dish that looked like it was carved out of pure moonlight. Runes were carved along the edge, and it was full of a strange, half-liquid and half-gas-like substance, almost like dry ice, except fuller-bodied and ethereally sparkling.

Carewyn took a step forward and approached the Pensieve. Bending down beside it, she brought up a hand to trail along the edge, her blue eyes running over the runes carved into the shimmering metal.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered.

Rakepick couldn't stop herself from bending down beside Carewyn, looking just as awed as she was. She brought her own gloved hand onto the other side of the dish, examining the runes.

“This Pensieve is different from any I've seen before,” Rakepick said slowly. “It's too shallow to place one's head in. Judging by the runes...” she rotated the dish a corner turn to the right, “...one would have to step into it, in order to access the memories contained.”

“I did some reading about this,” said Jacob casually, and he not-so-subtly bent down too so that he created a physical barrier between Rakepick and his sister. “Pensieves have actually gone through a lot of changes, over the centuries. The model we use today is considered safer, since it's easier to remove someone from inside the memories – just grab the person by the scruff of the neck and yank their head out of it, you know? The older models, like the kind from the medieval period, ran the risk of the person becoming trapped in someone else's memories.”

“Trapped?” said Cedric anxiously.

Carewyn's eyes narrowed upon the Pensieve. Then she took a deep breath.

“...It's a risk we'll have to take. I'll go.”

“No,” Ben said very harshly.

“No way, Carey!” snarled Charlie, his voice hard with anxiety. “If you get trapped – ”

“Then I'll need to come up with a way out, somehow,” said Carewyn, as she offered her fellow Fireball a small, reassuring smile. “Just like we always have.”

She glanced at Bill. Her best friend had gone very white and his eyes were even more stricken and full of anxiety than Charlie's, but he tried to put on a brave face all the same.

“Carey's right,” Bill said softly. “We have to find a way to stop the Cetus from hurting anyone. ...This might be our only chance.”

Ben and Charlie looked very upset, but they seemed to know in their hearts that Bill was right. Charlie bowed his head and looked away; Ben strode over to Carewyn, bent down, and grabbed her shoulder.

“I'm coming with you.”

“No, Ben – I need you here,” said Carewyn. Ben tried to argue, but she cut him off as kindly as she could, “If I'm going, then you, Merula, Charlie, and Bill will need to lead. There won't be any enemies to fight in the Pensieve, but there will be plenty of them here, if R arrives before I come out. You're better at Charms than anyone else I know, and one of the best duelists too. You need to be here.”

Ben's hand holding her shoulder had started to tremble. Carewyn's eyes softened as she brought up a hand to take his holding her shoulder and give it a light, supportive squeeze. Ben's eyes narrowed in frustration – then, exhaling through his nose, he moved forward to rest his forehead on the top of Carewyn's head in something of a quasi-hug.

“Promise that you'll come back alive,” he said very lowly.

Carewyn knew Ben was thinking of that terrible night in the Forest – the night he'd refused to let Carewyn go in there alone and tried to protect her and Merula, only for Rowan to jump in front of him and take the Killing Curse meant for him. Carewyn was forced to close her eyes to obscure the pain and raw emotion that had taken them over at the memory.

“I promise,” she whispered.

With a squeeze to Carewyn's hand, Ben lifted his head and pulled away, his dark eyes harder and more determined than ever as he slowly rose to his feet.

“What I will need with me, though,” said Carewyn more solemnly, “is someone who can translate. I don't think anyone in Hufflepuff's memories will be speaking modern English...”

She looked over Jacob's shoulder at Rakepick. Rakepick held Carewyn's gaze and nodded.

“I'll go with you, Miss Cromwell,” she said lowly.

Jacob whirled on Carewyn, his blue eyes flashing.

“There's no way in Hell I'm going to let you go somewhere alone with Rakepick, Pip,” he said fiercely. “Either we go together, or you don't go at all.”

Carewyn exhaled through her nose and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“I'm coming too,” said Duncan.

Carewyn blinked at him in surprise. The ghost crossed his translucent arms irritably.

“It's not like I have anything left to lose,” he said gruffly. “And I reckon I can speak Old English just as well as old Patty here can read it – probably better.”

His light-less eyes flickered beadily in Rakepick's direction. Despite his excuses, Carewyn thought she could sense some genuine suspicion from Duncan toward the ex-professor: he was likely feeling the same kind of protectiveness that Jacob was.

Carewyn gave her brother's best friend a small, soft smile. “Thank you.”

'I guess since Duncan can phase through anything, he'd be able to get out of the Pensieve more easily, if something goes wrong,' she thought to herself.

Duncan averted his eyes uncomfortably, a stubborn grayish flush clinging to his cheeks, as Carewyn turned to Bill.

“Take care of things here – we'll be back soon.”

Bill swallowed and nodded, his shoulders straight and strong even though his freckled face was so pale.

“Please be careful, Carewyn,” said Barnaby very quietly.

Carewyn faced the silver Pensieve on the floor. Her jaw set and her left fist clenched around her wand at her side, she inhaled slowly through her nose...and stepped into the basin.

Rather than touch the bottom, her foot fell right through it as if she'd tried and failed to walk on water. In an instant, Carewyn felt herself somersaulting in mid-air. Her feet were thrown up over her head as she was yanked down into the basin's swirling, misty contents.

~*~

“Something still troubles me, however,” said Dumbledore solemnly. “If Slytherin did, in fact, discover a way to destroy the Cetus artifact...then why is it that it still exists? If he had truly found the answer, would he not have returned to Hogwarts, to cast the proper counter-curses?”

Lane strode back across the small library over to the enchanted podium, ruffling through the loose pages of Slytherin's journal as she went.

“It's a troubling question...but it doesn't prove Salazar's research didn't come to anything,” she murmured, and her soft voice was hard with determination. “Salazar died only two months after Godric did. Plenty of historians theorize that Salazar had been struggling with an illness even while he was still at Hogwarts, given that his appearance aged so dramatically in the last ten years of his life...but whether he was or wasn't, I don't think it's far-fetched to think that there was a connection. Salazar and Godric knew each other the longest out of any of the Founders – it's well-documented by Salazar's descendants that the Slytherin family settled in the area of what would become Godric's Hollow, after they first left Ireland, and that Salazar tutored Godric in magic before they worked together as equals. I remember the Sorting Hat even loved to sing about what good friends Salazar and Godric were, no matter how different they were as people.”

“Indeed, the Hat does reference that rather frequently,” granted Dumbledore. “It is interesting how much good and evil can have in common, at first glance.”

“Yes, but I'm afraid none of the Founders can be boiled down to such shallow words as 'good' and 'evil,' Professor,” said Lane, and her voice actually sounded a bit cool. “Don't forget that it was Godric who stole a sword from a goblin craftsman and then slapped his name on it to claim it as his own.”

Returning the piece of parchment she'd put on the podium back to the stack in her hands, Lane then withdrew the next page and placed it down on the marble. The podium gave another low hiss, and the piece of parchment rotated in mid-air as Dumbledore's disembodied voice again filled the room.

“Autumnal Equinox, 1022.

“Thus far, my search near home has run dry. It's remarkable how a place like the Fen, which has always been so attuned to magic, can be so utterly devoid of the very magical knowledge I need!

“Fortunately, for all of my bitterness toward my sweet Fen, there are witches and wizards here with contacts elsewhere that appear promising. I shall set off for London tomorrow, in the hopes of meeting with Eadric Bald, a wizard who specializes in the study of rare and exotic magics.

“First day of Holy Month, 1022.

“The school year has started. It pains me beyond words that I shall not be present, to welcome the newest members of my house to our school. I thought of sending an owl to Helga, passing along my best wishes for our newest class to her and the others, but in order to do that, I would have to extend those well wishes to the rats that they've seen fit to dress in student robes. And I see no reason to poke the dragon of their ire by purposefully excluding those Mudblooded magic users.

“To my frustration, I am leaving London with no more knowledge than I started with. Bald is a talented wizard, it's true, but his mind is too focused on concrete magics that one can hold in one's hand and bend to their will. Considering love is perhaps one of the least tangible magics one could hope to find, I believe him to be thoroughly unhelpful, in such a situation. Fortunately he was able to provide a Wiggenweld Tonic for my return trip home to Fen.

“Full Moon, Holy Month, 1022. Helga's birthday.

“Followed up with my neighbor Kendrick Creed about a contact of his in Yorkshire who has recently boasted about his invincibility due to a spell of sacrificial love. Although Kendrick himself doubts that the wizard is as protected as he claims, I plan to pay him a visit to make absolutely sure.

“Feast of St. Matthew, 1022.

“Kendrick's contact apparently was rescued by his lover, who threw herself in front of him in order to protect him from another wizard's Killing Curse. The wizard in question was then able to ward off his assassin with the declaration that because the witch sacrificed her life for him, he was protected by her love, and that anyone who tried to hurt him would only be hurt themselves. This worked for about one month until yet another person who this wizard had wronged caught up with him and hurled a javelin through his chest. I might have found some dark humor in the situation were I not so utterly frustrated.

“Will spend the night here in York before returning home in the morning.”

~*~

Carewyn felt as if she was floating down to the bottom of a sparkling, silvery swimming pool, and yet, her loose red hair and her brown and red “Fakepick” robes weren't weighed down with water. Instead they floated upward as if they had no gravity at all, even though Carewyn herself was slowly falling.

'Is this what Alice felt like, when she fell down the rabbit hole?' she couldn't help but wonder, thinking back on one of the Muggle fiction books she'd liked reading as a little kid.

As she fell, murmured voices and broken words she didn't understand swept past her ears. The swirling mist around her took on colors that brightened and then grew, abruptly blooming into deeper, more radiant shades with shadows and highlights and depth and warmth –

Carewyn maneuvered her legs so that when she reached the newly created gray stone floor below, she could land on her feet. She looked around, and she couldn't stop herself from letting out a soft gasp.

'It's Hogwarts...'

It was remarkable how similar her surroundings looked to the castle she'd left earlier that evening. Perhaps some of the portraits were different and everything did look considerably newer, but the gray stone walls, lit torches, and high ceilings were nearly just the same. Even the sunlight pooled through the stained glass window panes and bounded tinted light across the marble floor in just the same way.

Rakepick landed on her feet to Carewyn's right. She brushed her strawberry-blond hair out of her face as her eyes glided around, taking in their new surroundings.

“This would be the fifth floor corridor,” she murmured, “the one that leads to Gryffindor Tower...”

“And Ravenclaw Tower.”

Jacob's feet had barely touched the ground before he'd barreled over to stand between Rakepick and Carewyn again, shooting Rakepick a dirty look. Rakepick's eyes narrowed on Jacob's face in return, but she didn't reply.

Duncan swirled down in leisurely spirals to join them, coming to a halt over Carewyn. He smirked around at the hallway around them – his crossed translucent arms rested on the top of Carewyn's head just enough that it felt like she was standing under a particularly cold air vent.

“Would you look at that, it's my corridor,” said the ghost, his face consumed by a huge, cheeky, over-bright smirk. He nodded to the door just past a portrait of oranges that led to the Prefect's Bathroom. “See, there's my digs – and just past it, the eagle door knocker that guards Ravenclaw Tower. Never did understand why Ravenclaw thought riddles were a better safety measure than passwords...”

“Anyone can regurgitate a password,” said Jacob coolly. “Only clever wizards can use their brains.”

“And get a bunch of clever wizards from other houses sneaking into your dormitory,” Duncan shot back just as coolly.

“We Eagles don't mind company – as long as it's intelligent company.”

“For goodness' sake, will you two focus?” Rakepick said with a roll of her eyes. “We're on a mission.”

Carewyn pointed up the hall. “Look over there.”

Coming up the hall were two figures – a beautiful dark-skinned woman even smaller than Carewyn with a round frame and dark brown curls held out of her face by sunny yellow ribbons, talking to a slightly older, weedy-looking gentleman with thin black hair, striking gray eyes, and a black goatee. They both were around Rakepick's age and wore dress robes, the woman in modest light blue, the man in more elegant black trimmed with white ermine fur.

“Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin, in the flesh,” breathed Jacob. “Well – not really, but...”

Hufflepuff was holding Slytherin's arm and talking very animatedly to him as they walked. Although the older man didn't look nearly as excited, his lips were still upturned slightly and his gray eyes were rather soft. Carewyn found it kind of weird to see her house founder – who she'd only ever seen as a haughty old man in his portraits and statues – with such a gentle, almost fond expression on his face.

Whatever they'd been talking about was cut abruptly short, however, by the sound of a loud CRASH outside. Both Founders stiffened, dashing over to the closest window to look out: Carewyn ran after them so she could look out too.

The Training Grounds below had been full of students dressed in black linen robes, but those students were suddenly screaming and running for cover as a horrible, inky darkness descended upon the Hogwarts grounds. It was massive – about the size of a whale – and although its consistency resembled an oddly full-bodied mist, long webbed claws, a long eel-like tail, and gnashing teeth lashed out of its smoky depths, tearing away at the school as it pursued the terrified students.

In alarm, Hufflepuff made as if to run down the hall, but Slytherin grabbed her by the arm. Looking almost more scared himself, but clenching his jaw in determination, he shoved open the window with his wand arm, climbed up onto the ledge, and then reached out a hand to Hufflepuff. She hesitated only for a second, before grabbing her comrade's hand. In an instant, Slytherin had transfigured himself and Hufflepuff into a strange kind of black and white fabric-like shape, which flapped through the air of its own accord down toward the ground.

Carewyn felt a bizarre yank in the area of her pelvis, and all at once, their surroundings had changed, becoming the grounds below. Hufflepuff and Slytherin had reached the ground and turned to face the blackness that awaited them. Hufflepuff looked very scared as she yelled something at Slytherin.

“She's asking what it is,” said Rakepick. She, Jacob, and Duncan had ended up right behind Carewyn, in the same positions they'd been in when they'd still been indoors.

Slytherin shouted something back, his gray eyes narrowing. The inky blackness turned on the two, and with the speed of a cobra, lashed out – Hufflepuff and Slytherin had to hurtle themselves out of the way before its large, fanged jaws clamped around the space they'd just been standing on.

“He called it an abomination,” Duncan said lightly. “Guess the Cetus didn't take kindly to that.”

Hufflepuff and Slytherin cast different spells in an attempt to force the creature back. Unfortunately thanks to its body's smoky consistency, the Cetus was able to twist and contort around their blasts. It once again lashed out, snapping jaws that seemed unnaturally large and grotesque even for how massive it already was. Before long, the Cetus had cornered the two, backing Hufflepuff and Slytherin into a corner. Slytherin conjured up a large gold-domed Shield Charm around himself and Hufflepuff, trying to use the barrier to shove the creature back away from them. But instead of keeping the Cetus back, the creature instead gnashed its teeth at the Shield, biting off chunks of golden light.

“It's eating Slytherin's Shield Charm!” said Carewyn, her eyes widening.

“It possesses witches and wizards in order to feed off of their magic and life force,” said Rakepick. “This must be why the Cetus is so difficult to destroy. It drains the life out of anything in its path, yet every spell you cast to try to defend yourself only strengthens it and makes it pursue you even more.”

“Magister Slytherin!”

A young witch, likely the same age as Beatrice, dashed out onto the grounds. Her curly blond hair had come loose of the hood she was wearing – Carewyn guessed the hood was the school's original variation on house ties, given that it was a bright Slytherin green with silver trim.

The Slytherin student began blasting Incendio charms at the Cetus's back. The smoky mass gave a startled, shrieking sound, but it didn't sound like it was hurt: if anything, it kind of reminded Carewyn of a dolphin...if the dolphin had somehow been turned into a vampire.

'She's trying to distract the Cetus,' Carewyn surmised. 'Make it chase after her, so that it'll back off of Slytherin and Hufflepuff...'

Slytherin shouted something at his student, but it was too late. In an instant, the Cetus had whirled around, violently slapping the air like a whip. The young witch was snatched up by the Cetus's flippered, eel-like tail and then, just as quickly, disappeared into its inky depths all together.

Hufflepuff screamed. Slytherin, his gray eyes wide with panic, ran forward, lashing out at the creature with fierce violet and black spells from his wand –

Suddenly, from out of the creature grew a large, golden dome, just like the Shield Charm Slytherin had cast mere moments ago. Slytherin's spells bounded off, right back at their owner, who had to leap out of the way once again to avoid them.

The black mist had largely dissipated to reveal the young Slytherin witch floating overhead. Her hair whipped at the air in much the same way as the Cetus's mist had and black mist trickled out of her mouth and nose and out of the corners of her pitch-black, pupil-less eyes. Her wand had fallen to the ground, discarded – the Shield Charm itself seemed to have come solely from her hands, which had grown a terrible set of black, claw-like nails.

“So that's what it looks like, when the Cetus possesses someone,” murmured Jacob.

Hufflepuff stared up at the young witch bleeding black smoke from her eyes, mouth, and nose, her hazel-brown eyes widening in horrified realization.

“Ceto?” she whispered.

Slytherin turned to look at Hufflepuff in confusion, but before he could say anything, the young witch raised a clawed hand and pointed at Slytherin. A flare of yellow burst from her finger like a blowtorch, and Hufflepuff was forced to hurl herself in front of Slytherin and conjure another Shield Charm to protect them from the blast.

“SALAZAR! HELGA!”

Gryffindor had arrived, his brown-fur-trimmed gold robes billowing behind him. His russet-colored beard was a little longer than the modest one worn by his statue back in the Vault, but his wide blue-green eyes were the exact same color as the agate gemstones inlaid into the limestone statue's eyes.

He unsheathed the silver sword at his side and charged at the person attacking his comrades. Carewyn couldn't stop herself from subconsciously lurching forward and raising her wand.

'Stop! You can't – !'

“Godric, BID!” screamed Hufflepuff.

The young witch turned around, and Gryffindor instantly froze up, his sword halting over his head – he must not have realized that it was one of their students, or that she was possessed. The Cetus, however, showed none of the hesitation Gryffindor had. As soon as he'd halted, the young witch brought up a hand to the older man's chest –

BANG.

In a large blast of white light, Gryffindor was blasted clean off his feet. He was thrown full-force into the closest wall back first, before he collapsed in a shuddering heap, the chest of his gold robes stained with scarlet.

His face blanching with terror and rage, Slytherin barreled forward. He conjured up thick black manacles that flung themselves at the young witch and lashed her to the ground. The witch threw back her head, shrieking in frustration as more black smoke leaked out of her mouth and eyes.

Slytherin and Hufflepuff both ran to Gryffindor's side. Hufflepuff immediately raised her wand and got to work trying to heal the damage to Gryffindor's chest. Slytherin appeared too scared to help; instead he was muttering something very quickly under his breath at Gryffindor.

“He's scolding Gryffindor for being so stupid,” said Duncan.

'Scolding – no,' thought Carewyn. 'That's only what it sounds like.'

Slytherin's expression was too upset and tense to truly be angry. It reminded Carewyn of when she'd disappeared for a whole 24 hours after Rowan's death and Duncan, after finding her curled up in a closet in the Astronomy Tower, yelled at her to the point of tears.

Within moments, however, the black mist trailing out of the young witch's eyes had effectively nibbled away at the chains binding her. With a loud SNAP, she broke the chains, turning on the three Founders once again. The young witch raised her hand and it lit up with violent light blue lightning –

WHAM. CRASH.

The Cetus's attack was blocked by a massive crystal ball that had abruptly materialized around Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. The spell was strong enough to shatter the crystal and sent it flying, making Hufflepuff and Slytherin huddle over Gryffindor protectively to shield him from the falling shards.

Standing in front of the school with her bronze-painted wand pointed at the young witch was Rowena Ravenclaw. There were some age lines and shadows on her face that her statue didn't have, but otherwise she looked very much the same, from her floor-length black plait to her sparkling dark eyes. She was dressed in violet silk trimmed with sparkling silver embroidery the same color as the tiara resting over her brow.

As Ravenclaw rushed to confront the Cetus, Hufflepuff yelled over to her, her face very worried.

“'Rowena, look at her eyes!'” translated Duncan. “'Didn't Ceto's magic used to black out her eyes the same way, when she didn't have a wand?'”

Ravenclaw's eyes flickered with a strange, horrified light. As the young witch blasted another spell and Ravenclaw blocked it, the dark-haired Founder shouted up at her.

Rakepick and Duncan both looked oddly stricken.

“She's...appealing to it,” said Duncan.

“To her,” corrected Rakepick in a hushed voice. “She's appealing to Ceto Annis – saying she doesn't want to hurt her...”

Carewyn could tell why Rakepick and Duncan were so shocked. She could see it in Ravenclaw's face – this wasn't an act of mercy: it was a plea. It was desperation, worry, and caring, all rolled up into one.

The young witch possessed by the Cetus at first seemed to consider Ravenclaw, her posture very stiff and guarded as her pupil-less black eyes bore into her. The dark-haired Founder's face broke out into a very fragile, scared smile as she took several slow, cautious steps forward, still talking in as reassuring of a voice as she could muster.

Jacob's eyes widened too as he listened to Ravenclaw. “'Leorningcild' – did Ravenclaw just call Ceto one of her students?”

“Yeah,” breathed Duncan, his light-less eyes just as wide.

The young witch suddenly gave an abrupt lurch forward in mid-air. Her chest contorted like she was having trouble breathing.

“NE!” screamed Slytherin.

Ravenclaw just barely managed to grab hold of her comrade's arm to prevent him from attacking, but there was nothing any of them could do. In an instant, the young witch's mouth was almost ripped open by the Cetus's mass of black smoke as it left her body and returned to the air. The little Slytherin student was thrown to the ground in a motionless heap.

Slytherin tore out of Ravenclaw's grip and ran over to his student, turning her over. Her broken jaw was covered with blood, her veins were pitch black, and she was very pale and shaking from head to toe. Slytherin cradled the small girl in the crook of his left arm, murmuring as gently as he could despite the fear in his face as he trailed his wand along her arms, trying to heal the damage.

The Cetus, however, hadn't seemed to slow down at all. Ignoring Ravenclaw's continued pleas, it lurched through the air toward Hogwarts, slamming its tail against the side of the castle as it went.

“The Cetus must've taken all of the magic it could from that little girl,” said Jacob, his eyes narrowing upon the black smoke-like mass in hatred, “so it's looking for more victims to feed off of...”

Rakepick nodded grimly. “Ravenclaw's pleas were useless. The documents say that when Ceto Annis reduced herself down to her barest essence, all that was left was a parasitic shade. A monster, more than a human being. There was no point in appealing to Ceto's better instincts...because Ceto Annis the person no longer existed.”

Duncan and Carewyn exchanged a glance before they both looked up at the Cetus smashing stone off of one of Hogwarts' ramparts, shrieking that piercing, dolphin-like cry.

“Rakepick,” said Carewyn slowly, “you said that the Cetus was all that was left of Ceto's magic...and that it needs a host to strengthen and protect itself. And Ravenclaw, she said...that the Cetus eats magic to survive...”

Her almond-shaped blue eyes drifted over to Ravenclaw, who had started conjuring shields around the school to try to drive the Cetus back.

“...I think Ravenclaw must have realized...the Cetus wasn't doing any of this because it wanted to hurt people. It was made by Dark magic...but it lost any humanity or moral code when Ceto stripped herself down so much that she...well, lost 'herself' completely.”

Carewyn looked up at the Cetus. She tried to make out where its eel-like tail and sharp webbed claws were, inside the hulking smoke, but it was too opaque to see.

“Barnaby was right,” she said, her heart full of pity. “It's not a monster – it's a magical creature.”

~*~

“Fourth day of Winter Full Moon, 1022,” the podium read the next page of Slytherin's journal aloud in Dumbledore's voice, “Upon discussing the matter of sacrificial love with my dear Cyneburga, I've come to a thought I had not yet considered. There's nothing inherent in the word 'sacrifice' that slims it down to just the giving up of one's life. Is it not possible, therefore, that such magical love could be invoked by more means than dying? It's something I hope to examine further.

“Tomorrow I shall set off for Kent to follow up with the witch Merry Millard, who specializes in the study of love-centric spells and potions.

“Twentieth day of Winter Full Moon, 1022.

“Fie! My trip to Kent was a loss and a waste. I was forced to sleep in the woods outside Kent for the night before starting homeward, for all inns and residences in the area were owned by Muggles. I was able to conjure up a bluebell fire to keep me warm, but was unable to do much more for fear of drawing unwanted attention.

“All Saints Day, 1022.

“Thanks to my brother-in-law, Oswine, I was given access to the records owned by a wizard in Tamworth of a successful application of sacrificial love from the 9th century. The records testified to a young wizard who protected his younger brother during a Viking Raid. The boy was sick in bed, and the young wizard refused to leave his brother's side, no matter how the Norsemen urged him to get out of the way and let them take what they wanted. In the struggle, the young wizard was killed, and when the Norsemen made one step toward his brother's bed, they were thrown backward by a massive Shield Charm.

“I must confess that the account brought many things back to my mind that I wish it hadn't. The younger brother was even described as having bright scarlet hair.

“Full Moon, Month of Sacrifice, 1022.

“The flight home from Tamworth was delayed by heavy snow, which forced me to take shelter at the Peverell estate just outside London. My lateness greatly upset Cyneburga. She has grown very restless about my frequent traveling, expressing concerns for my health, but she needn't worry. Once the Cetus has been slain once and for all, there shall be much more time for us to enjoy each other's company.

“New Moon, Month of Sacrifice, 1022.

“The wizard I spoke to in Tamworth followed up with me by owl, forwarding me a copy of a passage from a book of White magic from the 5th century. The passage discusses another such instance of successfully applied sacrificial love, where a witch was imprisoned and later executed, only for her son to be magically shielded from harm when he was nearly killed in a duel several years later. I find it interesting that the spell she cast didn't manifest for so long – perhaps because the son's life hadn't been in life-threatening danger until that point? There are some details missing, but the question of whether or not the witch sacrificing her freedom or her life was what cast the spell would lend some credence to the idea that the sacrifice one makes does not have to be one's life.

“There has been a terrible chill in the air, as of late. I remember Godric once saying that the coldest winters exist so that you better appreciate the glory of summer – well, I certainly do long for summer, if only to thaw the ice that encases me every time I step out my door.

“Feast of St. Andrew, 1022.

“I have tracked down a promising lead just outside Oxford. Will write more, upon my return.”

~*~

Little by little, the memory of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw trying to beat the Cetus back away from Hogwarts began to blur. Carewyn watched as their surroundings melted and darkened – soon it was night, and the battle between the Founders and the Cetus raged on. There were several more students and teachers lying prone across the grounds, their veins pitch black and their bodies motionless. The four Founders had managed to steer the Cetus toward the Black Lake, encircling it in an attempt to keep it from escaping into the Forest or returning to the castle.

“Nûna!” cried Gryffindor.

At the same time, the two witches and two wizards shot blasts of blueish-white light from their wands. The light grew and grew, expanding and brightening, until it had completely enveloped the Cetus's mist. The creature shrieked in fury, its darkness lashing out; the light grew brighter still and more violent, like flames; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin all hunched in on themselves as their wands began to quake in their hands – the blueish-white light began to crack through their wands, spilling out at both ends and lashing at their hands –

“The magic's so strong that they're having trouble controlling it,” said Jacob, his hollowed-out eyes narrowing tensely. “Wands are supposed to help you focus your magic – if what they're doing is so destructive that their wands can't channel it properly – ”

The blueish-white light attempted to suffocate the Cetus, pushing and shoving it into submission in the same way someone might try to shove some extra clothing into a suitcase. With every bit of force it used to trap the Cetus, however, that light also seemed to drain the Founders of their life and strength. Gryffindor had fallen to his knees, his wand arm visibly shaking; Ravenclaw was breathing very heavily and her eyes were so unfocused and glassy it was likely that she was barely conscious; Hufflepuff was holding her crackling, quaking wand with both hands and struggling not to collapse; Slytherin's hair and beard had turned gray and he clutched at his chest, gasping for air.

At long, long last, the Cetus was completely encased in light and began to shrink. With one last massive blue-tinted flare, the Cetus collided with the ground and fell still, encased in a thick stone shell that was about the size of an ostrich egg.

All four Founders collapsed, unable to stand and barely able to breathe. Carewyn couldn't help but walk up to them – she knew they were only memories that she couldn't touch, and in Slytherin's case, he was a blood purist bigot that she could never like as a person...but it didn't stop her from wanting to try to help them to their feet, when they were clearly in so much pain.

Jacob brought an arm around Carewyn and squeezed her against his side.

“It took that much out of them, just to imprison the Cetus,” he murmured.

“And even with that,” said Rakepick lowly, “the Cetus's power wasn't destroyed.”

She pointed to the egg-like artifact on the ground, which was already starting to form tiny black cracks.

~*~

“Sixth day of Old Yule, 1022. Godric's birthday.

“My research in Oxford has uncovered a story of a wizard who successfully applied the magic of sacrificial love in order to save his wife. The wife in question was a magic-less Muggle, so I hardly think he should have bothered – but nonetheless, the protective magic created something of a barrier around the deceased wizard's home, making it so that anyone who tried to attack the Muggle was instead injured with their own weapons. A local magical family was forced to intervene so that things didn't escalate. It's through that magical family that I acquired some interesting details –

“First, the wizard's Muggle wife was the target of the witch-hunters' wrath. Apparently it was a case of mistaken identity, where the Muggle townspeople saw some evidence of the wizard's magic and stupidly assigned blame to the one living thing in the house that wasn't able to cast magic.

“Second, the witch-hunters – since they presumed the wizard's innocence – gave him the chance to step aside, saying that he wouldn't be harmed if he bent to their will. The wizard, however, refused, and pleaded with the witch-hunters to take him in his wife's place. It was only after he refused to move that the witch-hunters attacked and killed him, and thus the protective enchantment was cast.

“These two facts reinforce what other successful cases have shown. In order to invoke the magic of sacrificial love, there must be a choice presented. Simply hurtling yourself in front of someone in the height of battle or dying with others in mind would not create that kind of postmortem shield. Therefore any sacrifice like the kind Godric has suggested would not invoke the magic needed to destroy the Cetus's power. Even if his emotions would no doubt be sincere, the Cetus would still have the power needed to eat away at the enchantments we've cast to contain it. Once it does that, it could theoretically turn our own Cursed Vaults against us and against Hogwarts itself. The Vaults we created to protect our students would attack them instead.

“Still looking into my second theory, regarding the nature of sacrifice. Hopefully I shall have a proper answer to that question, once I'm able to follow up with Johannes Eriugena.

“This winter has been colder than any I've ever seen. I may need to spend a few days in Oxford before setting off for home.”

~*~

The Black Lake dissolved, and suddenly Carewyn, Jacob, Rakepick and Duncan were inside the Cursed Vault they'd just left. It was devoid of the dozens of statues they'd seen when they arrived, so there was nothing halting Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw from running across the hall toward the Inner Vault. Both women looked a good ten years older than they'd been last, and they only looked about half-dressed, given that Hufflepuff's mane of brown curls and Ravenclaw's graying dark tresses flapped freely behind them and Ravenclaw wasn't even wearing her tiara.

Hufflepuff reached the inner doors first, taking out the same coral key Merula had used not too long ago – when the key came close to the keyhole, it began to vibrate, which alarmed Hufflepuff. She and Ravenclaw watched in horror as the silvery-white written warning appeared.

“Godric,” Hufflepuff breathed.

Ravenclaw turned to Hufflepuff, her face as white as a skull's as she frantically cried something else.

“She says he must have written that message, in case something went wrong,” said Duncan, and he actually looked rather troubled himself. He looked at Carewyn. “This was the day that...”

Carewyn nodded, her blue eyes welling up with pain as she watched Hufflepuff quickly unlock the door and the double doors swung open.

Lying in a heap on the floor beside a gold-trimmed glass column in the center of the Inner Vault's floor was the lifeless form of Godric Gryffindor. Like the two women, he looked a good ten years older than he had when he fought the Cetus, as well as quite a bit broader in the chest – but, Carewyn thought, he only looked a little older than Professor McGonagall. He was far too young to have died like this...

Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw both ran to their friend's side. Hufflepuff desperately pulled at Gryffindor's shoulders, talking rapidly as if she were begging him to wake up. Ravenclaw said nothing, instead staring down at Gryffindor helplessly through her tears. Her hands trembling, she rather quickly turned to look at the column – in a flash, she'd dashed over to it, before she raised her wand and silently lit it.

As Ravenclaw stared at the column, however, both she and Carewyn standing behind her could see a mass of inky black smoke throbbing dangerously just under the enchanted glass.

Ravenclaw's wand clattered to the floor. She covered her face in her hands and began to cry.

“She says that Gryffindor's spell failed,” said Rakepick. Her own face had lost most of its color as she stared at the inky darkness pulsing inside the column.

“'The Vaults...must remain locked,'” Duncan translated sadly.

Tears streaming down her face, Hufflepuff clutched the back of Gryffindor's red and white robes, hoisting him up and off the ground with as much strength as she could in a vain attempt to turn him over. When her strength failed her, she fell upon Gryffindor's back, and the room was filled with her scream of utter despair.

~*~

“Last Day of Yule, New Year 1023

“As expected, Johannes is a true philosopher among wizards! I think the answer to the Cetus dilemma may finally be within my grasp!

“Sacrificial love is, in truth, just that – a sacrifice, namely, anything that one would be hard pressed to lose, made solely out of the purest, most sincere love. Therefore, as you might presume, one needn't necessarily sacrifice their life in order to activate it, if there was something of equal or somehow greater value to give instead.

“The one problem this leaves us with, however, is how to purposefully cast such an enchantment – for now that I know the power that such a spell might have over the Cetus, my motivation for casting it would no longer be done out of selfless love, but for my own gain. One could always try to deceive another person into making such a sacrifice, but I would hesitate to try it, for deception is deathly poisonous to all forms of love. Nevertheless, it may be something to broach with Rowena, if she will accept my owl. Perhaps if I start with Helga, it will be easier – she knows the demons of despair Godric has faced over the years, and I know she cares for his safety as much as I.

“Will spend several more nights in London before starting the journey home. Hopefully the weather will have improved enough by then that the broom flight will be speedy.”

The last page of Slytherin's journal flapped back down onto the podium and fell still.

Lane picked it up, her blue eyes trailing helplessly over the Old English words, so much more shakily written than the ones written in the previous months. Dumbledore looked at Lane sadly.

“It looks like that's all he wrote,” he said softly.

Lane closed her eyes. “Godric's death was recorded on January 5th, 1023. Salazar would've learned of it either as soon as he got home, or en route.”

She bowed her head.

“...Salazar put in so much work, to try to save Godric's life. With Godric dead...he must have lost the will to keep fighting.”

~*~

Hufflepuff's scream echoed endlessly until it had faded away completely. Then the inner Vault's walls again began to quake, and molt, and change. The blueish-tinted darkness of the Vault was broken up by the warm, golden glow of firelight, and suddenly Jacob, Duncan, Rakepick, and Carewyn found themselves in the main room of a small cottage.

The ceilings were so much lower than back at Hogwarts – had this not been a memory, Carewyn thought that Bill and Ben would've probably hit their heads on it, were they standing at full height. The walls were made of dark red bricks and the low rafters, decorated with carvings of galloping unicorns and rearing dragons, were crafted out of warm cherry wood. There was a long table and stools set up on the far end by the sooty brick fireplace in the far right corner, while on the far left corner, there was a small library with two oak bookshelves full of well-worn books and two small, rounded Dante chairs with soft emerald green cushions.

Sitting in the Dante chair closest to the stained-glass window was Helga Hufflepuff, resting the Pensieve she'd left in the Cursed Vault for them down on a small table next to her. She looked far older now – her chocolate brown curls had gone gray, her dark skin was wrinkled and age-spotted, and she looked incredibly frail. And yet she smiled toward the empty Dante chair beside her and talked to herself with as much composure as she would at a fine feast.

Duncan and Rakepick both stiffened uncomfortably.

“What is it?” asked Carewyn.

“She said 'hello,' but...” said Duncan uneasily, “...there's nobody there.”

As Hufflepuff continued to speak, Rakepick's eyes narrowed upon her face.

“She's reassuring the chair that she's not mad,” she said, her eyebrows raised scornfully.

Her dark blue eyes then abruptly widened.

“...She knows we're listening.”

“What?” said Jacob, taken aback. “But she can't know that – this is just a memory!”

“Yes,” said Rakepick, her eyes still very wide upon Hufflepuff. “And she knows that, as well. Hufflepuff knows this memory of herself will go into the Pensieve – so she's talking as if the person who will find the Pensieve in the future is sitting with her in this room!”

Carewyn looked from Rakepick to Hufflepuff. The little old woman did indeed look like she was having a pleasant, but still serious conversation with an unseen person in the chair beside her.

With a purposeful stride, Carewyn crossed the room, settling herself down on the ground in front of the chair Hufflepuff was speaking to.

“Translate everything she's saying, to the word,” Carewyn told Rakepick firmly, keeping her eyes locked on the old woman's face.

Rakepick followed Carewyn across the room, slowly lowering herself to the ground so that she was bent down beside Carewyn, her eyes also on Hufflepuff.

“'You must have put in a lot of work, to end up here,'” Rakepick translated little by little. “'I applaud your courage – I can only hope that you either are or were one of my students.'”

Hufflepuff laughed softly, before growing much more serious.

“'The same day that Godric passed away, I received a letter from Salazar. Although he'd left the school, he'd continued his research into how to use sacrificial love – the strongest white magic there is – to purify the Cetus of its evil, parasitic power. Unfortunately his letter did not arrive soon enough to save Godric's life...and after the news of Godric's passing reached Salazar, his health declined very quickly. I never received another letter from him again.

“'Several years later, Rowena's health also started to fail. Like Salazar, she had trouble recovering from the Cetus's attack, thanks in no small part to her emotional attachment to Ceto, when she was still alive. Despite the animosity that grew between them in later years, Ceto was Rowena's first student and – I would think – something of a daughter to her, long before she gave birth to Helena. Sometimes I wonder if the reason Rowena had such difficulty relating to Helena all the way up until her death was that she never fully recovered from the heartbreak of Ceto embracing Dark magic and turning her back on Rowena's teachings.

“'This is why I am the only one who can give you this final piece of wisdom, in how best to defeat the Cetus. According to Salazar's research, a spell of sacrificial love requires that the spell's caster be given a choice of whether or not to make a sacrifice, and that they choose to make the sacrifice for someone else, for no other reason than pure, selfless love. The sacrifice needn't be one's life, but it must be something of equal or greater value that they would be hard-pressed to give up. There can also be no element of righteousness or self-gain in play. The reason Godric's sacrifice failed is not just because he struggled with whether or not to value his own life many times over the years...but because, in the end, he chose to die with the aim of defeating the Cetus and saving our school from evil – because he made the choice in order to live up to the code of honor and chivalry he aspired to, not solely to protect those he loved most and who loved him in return. Therefore he was not invoking sacrificial love, when he gave up his own life. It was a noble act – but it was not an expression of true love.'”

Rakepick's voice had become very quiet. Carewyn glanced at her out the side of her eye – she'd lowered her gaze to her gloved hand resting on her thigh.

Hufflepuff's hazel-brown eyes flickered with a bit more sadness.

“'This is, sadly, where Salazar noted a terrible paradox,'” Rakepick translated her once more. “'In your pursuit to discover a way to purify the Cetus so as to protect yourself and others, you've come seeking a way to invoke the magic of sacrificial love. But now that you know that sacrificial love could be strong enough to defeat the Cetus...any attempt you might make to use it will likely be tainted by your desire to defeat it, rather than simply being about expressing love for the people you cherish most. The magic you seek to invoke...you cannot...simply because you wish to purposefully invoke it.'”

Duncan lashed through the air down toward Hufflepuff, hovering over her with righteous anger. “WHAT?! So you're saying that even if we know what to do now, it won't even work!?”

Carewyn's face blanched. 'No – no, that can't be! There has to be some way we – !'

Hufflepuff's expression softened with a smile, but her eyes were still far too sad and full of regret to be anything happy.

“'It's possible that a third party could cast the spell of love in your place – making the sacrifice for you, without knowing that it would serve as the counter-curse you need...but for that to come true, you would have to keep the knowledge you've learned completely to yourself. The person would have to make a sacrifice...without knowing that it could save your life, or the lives of others.'”

Jacob glanced at Rakepick out the side of his eye warily.

“'I myself could never do such a thing, to anyone I truly loved...but perhaps this is why, in the end...I'll die before I can ensure the Cetus never harms my Hogwarts or my students again.'”

Hufflepuff's gaze drifted down to the seat of the chair. It almost looked like she was looking Carewyn right in the face, though of course her eyes never lit up in acknowledgment of her.

“'...You must be a very brave, clever, hard-working, and determined person to have made it this far. I almost wish I could see your face as clearly as you must see mine, in whatever future you live in. I wish I could give you all the answers – I wish I could tell you how best to protect yourself and the ones you love from the Cetus. And I'm sorry – so sorry – to leave this heavy burden on your shoulders. One thing I do know, however, is that love is most powerful when it's reciprocated. Even if you can't invoke the otherworldly protection of sacrificial love...I truly believe, with all of my heart and soul, in the power that comes from loving someone who loves you in return.'”

Hufflepuff's eyes had filled with tears as she raised her gaze back to the chair itself.

“'Cherish your friends. Embrace your differences. Think of their well-being before your own pride. Let their memory give you strength and their love give you courage.'”

Her lips spread into a soft smile as the tears trailed down her wrinkled face.

“ ...Now go. The column will be waiting for you, when you get back. The Pensieve might be a bit hard to navigate, but you should be able to pull yourself up and out with a proper Ascending Charm. It always worked well for Rowena, whenever she consulted her past memories.'”

And with one final smile, Helga Hufflepuff's old, wrinkled, tear-stained face slowly faded away and disappeared once again into endless, silvery mist.

~*~

All of a sudden, echoing through the walls of the underground library came a wonderful, otherworldly song. The sound made Lane's heart swell, despite never having heard anything quite so beautiful before in her life.

Dumbledore blinked up at the ceiling in surprise, but rose from the blackwood chair at once.

“Come, Lane – we should return to the surface, quickly.”

With a sweep of his robes, he climbed the stairs up and out of Slytherin's library, Lane at his heels.

When they reached solid ground once more, they found Fawkes the phoenix soaring down toward them. Dumbledore extended an arm for the scarlet bird to land on, taking the scroll from his shining beak and unrolling it. His light blue eyes narrowed upon each word.

“Lane, my dear,” he said very gravely, as he looked up at her, “it appears that Carewyn and Jacob have entered the final Cursed Vault.”

“Jacob?” gasped Lane. “He's...”

“He's alive,” said Dumbledore as kindly as he could. “My guess is that he seeks to atone for the mistakes he has made. Nonetheless...Hogwarts is under attack, by those who would seek to use the Cetus for their own evil ends – I must return at once – ”

Lane grabbed the older wizard by the sleeve of his robes.

“Professor, please, take me with you,” she urged him. Despite the frailness of her voice, her grip on his arm was very firm.

Dumbledore looked upon Lane with a rather concerned expression. “I understand your feelings. But I must warn you – you do not just have family on the side protecting Hogwarts.”

Lane's blue eyes narrowed upon Dumbledore's face. She clearly understood what he meant – her father and siblings were there too, trying to break into the Vault.

“This battle will be very dangerous,” said Dumbledore, “far more dangerous for you than most.”

“If I'm in danger, then so are my bairns,” Lane shot back, her soft, level voice low in the back of her throat with determination. “Please take me with you.”

The Headmaster inclined his head respectfully to Lane. “Very well. Hold on tightly.”

He raised his arm – Fawkes took flight, and Dumbledore seized hold of his pet's tail. In a flash of scarlet and gold flames, Lane and Dumbledore vanished. Mere moments later, the steps leading down to Slytherin's library melted away back into the reservoir from whence they came, leaving no trace that anyone had been there.

~*~

When Jacob and Rakepick both helped her out of the Pensieve, Carewyn soon found herself enveloped in a gigantic hug by Barnaby, Ben, Charlie, and Bill, all of whom looked very pale and relieved at the sight of her. True to Hufflepuff's words, just over Bill and Barnaby's arms, she could see a gold-trimmed glass column, identical to the ones in the other Vaults, waiting for her – Bill had said it appeared just before Duncan and Jacob first emerged from the Pensieve. Just like back in Helga’s memories, Carewyn could see a large shadow burbling behind the glass -- there were also more inky black stains covering the base of the column, not unlike the stain that spread across the white and gold tile floor.

“Not long after you left, there were these really bad rumbling sounds, coming from outside the Vault,” Charlie told Carewyn. “Liz and Tonks went to investigate, and they'd found the Giant Squid attacking what looked like four red-robed figures...”

“One had black trim around the hood of his robe,” said Bill solemnly. “Jae said he sounded like the Leader you saw at the meeting with R.”

Rakepick's shoulders straightened tensely.

“Charles Cromwell,” growled Jacob.

A chill ran down Carewyn's spine at the memory of Charles's cold, cruel face in Rakepick's mind, alongside her tortured screams and his heartless taunt.

“It's what you deserve, isn't it?”

Ben's eyes narrowed. “Badeea and I conjured up the strongest shields we could around the front doors and Talbott helped me Transfigure the doors into a wall, to keep them out, but...”

“If we don't do something soon, it could turn into a siege, Cromwell,” said Merula very solemnly. “What's the plan? How do we destroy the Cetus?”

Carewyn didn't reply for a long moment. Hufflepuff's words once again echoed in her ears.

“It's possible that a third party could cast the spell of love in your place – making the sacrifice for you, without knowing that it would serve as the counter-curse you need...'”

'I could lie to my friends, to save them,' she thought, 'just like I tried before, when I first decided to go after the last Vault alone...but...'

The memory of Rowan pushing Ben out of the way of Rakepick's Killing Curse – of her being tossed to the ground by the force, and her eyes staring unblinkingly and lifelessly up at Carewyn as she grabbed hold of her, screaming –

'Rowan's death couldn't even evoke the magic of sacrificial love because she wasn't given a choice,' thought Carewyn, and her clenched fists began to shake her sides. 'She loved us more than anyone – yet I would give just about anything, if it meant she could still be here – '

The leader of the Circle of Khanna closed her eyes. She was silent for a very long moment before she finally responded.

“We...can't destroy the Cetus, Merula.”

Everyone straightened up, startled. No one looked more surprised than Rakepick.

“Miss Cromwell – ” she started, her usually cool, haughty face betraying genuine concern.

“I will not lie to them, Rakepick!” Carewyn cut her off fiercely. Her voice lowered significantly as she regained control of her temper. “...Not this time.”

~*~

And so Carewyn gathered the entire Circle of Khanna together, just outside the inner doors of the Vault. She told them everything that she'd seen in the Pensieve. She told them about the Founders' battle with the Cetus, how much damage it had done to them, and what Helga Hufflepuff had said.

“The spell needed to destroy the Cetus's power requires an act of selfless love – something done with no thought of morality or self-gain,” said Carewyn. “But it's a spell I can't cast. Neither can Jacob. Neither can Rakepick. Because all of us are too focused on making sure that R is defeated and that the Cursed Vaults never hurt anyone again. If we tried to make that sacrifice, we'd just end up like Gryffindor – dead, with nothing to show for it.”

Carewyn bowed her head, unable to look any of her friends in the face.

“Hufflepuff said that if I kept the knowledge to myself...someone else could make the sacrifice instead, ignorant of the power it would have, and it could work...but...”

Her blue eyes welled up with pain – she closed them to try to keep her composure.

“...I cannot and will not lie to you, if it means I might lose you forever. I've already learned the cost of not trusting the ones you care for most. I do not intend to make that mistake again.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat that made her want to cry.

“So all that's left to do...is to plan a proper evacuation.”

Everyone looked shocked.

“What?” said Talbott.

“Carewyn...” murmured Andre, looking stunned and horrified.

“Merula said it best – if we don't do something soon, this'll turn into a siege,” said Carewyn. “There's only one way in and out of this place – once R reaches those outer doors, there'll be no way out for any of us. And if my grandfather is leading the group on its way here...then he won't hesitate to kill every last person who stands between him and the Cetus.”

‘Jacob, Rakepick, and I...there is no going back for us,’ she thought. ‘We can’t run from this...but...’

Carewyn steadied her grip on her wand, forcing herself to raise her head and look up at her friends. Her blue eyes were swimming with tears, but she put on the bravest expression she could.

“I'm grateful to all of you...for everything you've done. But I don't want you becoming martyrs. So I'm disbanding the Circle of Khanna. Everyone is free to go. I'll cover your retreat. Go back to the castle. Go find the teachers and send them down here, if you want. You've all done more than I ever could've asked for or dreamed of, and...”

She choked.

“...And...thank you.”

There was a resounding silence. Then Bill came up beside Carewyn, bringing an arm around her so that he could clutch her shoulder.

“We'll cover the retreat,” he corrected firmly, “of anyone who decides to go.”

Carewyn looked up at Bill, her eyes widening.

“Bill, it's suicide. If you stay here, you'll die!”

“I'm not afraid of dying, Carey,” Bill said sharply. “You know what my Boggart is – what it's always been. It's losing the ones who mean the most to me, and that includes you.”

He used the hand he'd anchored on her shoulder to pull her closer to him so he could take hold of her other shoulder too and look her straight-on in the face.

“Carey...we started this thing together,” he said, his brown eyes boring into her blue, “and I promised myself a long time ago that we'd finish it the same way. No matter what that 'finish' is – I'm with you.”

Carewyn stared at Bill, disbelieving and speechless. Charlie strode up behind Carewyn, wrapping his arms around her from behind and leaning his head on her shoulder.

“We're with you,” he said with a small smile. “Fireballs, remember? We fight together.”

Ben took Carewyn's hand on Bill's shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze, his dark eyes very hard and determined. “We'll fight together and fall together.”

“Right!” said Barnaby brightly. “And we'll kick R's tail real good, too!”

“Reckon they could use a good Dungbomb to the face too, while we're at it,” said George.

“Chuck it down their throats!” laughed Fred.

Talbott looked at Carewyn very seriously. “Whatever anyone else chooses to do, Carewyn...I'm staying right here.”

“Me too,” said Penny, her eyes full of tears.

“Both of us will,” agreed Beatrice.

“All of us will,” corrected Andre.

“You bet!” said Tonks, and Liz, Jae, Diego, Tulip, and Cedric all nodded.

“We love you, Carewyn,” said Chiara gently. “Even if we can't cast that spell...Hufflepuff said love is strongest when it's reciprocated. We're stronger together than we could ever be apart.”

“You said you didn't want us to be martyrs,” said Merula harshly. “Well, you haven't presented a better option, save us leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Her pink eyes bore into Carewyn's face with a kind of fire she'd never seen before.

“If it takes every last one of us to keep R's slimy mitts off the Cetus...then so be it.”

The flood of affection was too much for Carewyn to handle. She couldn't summon any words at all – all she could do was just stand there, wrapped up in Bill and Charlie's arms and holding Ben's hand, while trying to contain the trembling in her shoulders.

Carewyn caught Jacob's eye as he stood off to the side, Duncan floating just over his shoulder. The older Cromwell's eyes were also filled with tears, his expression touched by a very soft smile. He looked like he'd never been so proud of his sister in his life.

“Thank you,” Carewyn's voice came out as a very fragile, tear-soaked whisper, even though she managed not to actually cry. “...Thank you.”

~*~

Within moments, the entire Circle of Khanna had gotten into formation in front of the Vault's inner doors like an army prepared for war. The younger students – Fred, George, Cedric, and Beatrice – were scattered among the ranks so that they each had two sixth years on either side of them who could support and protect them. Carewyn stood toward the back of the formation on the top stair in front of the Vault, flanked by Rakepick and Bill on her left and Jacob and Merula on her right.

As the Circle stood tall and waited, listening to the rumbles and crashes of Charles Cromwell and his reinforcements fighting off the Giant Squid and barraging the outside of the Vault, an eerie stillness filled the air. It made time feel like it was moving very slowly – like every lone beat of your heart echoed over several times in your ear.

Despite being a ghost who wouldn't be able to do much fighting, Duncan had nonetheless also chosen to stay. He drifted up between Jacob and Carewyn, his light-less eyes likewise focused on the reinforced outer doors of the Vault in the distance.

“I didn't think I'd have to worry about you two dying,” he said quietly. “Especially you, Carewyn.”

Jacob gave Duncan a dark smile. “You mean you didn't really think I was going to get myself killed, all those times you got mad at me for doing something dangerous?”

“Piss off,” snapped Duncan.

Jacob tried to give a light “ha” of laughter, but it died before he could fully open his mouth. The smile slid off his face as easily as if it had been wiped off with a handkerchief.

“Just promise me one thing,” Duncan said lowly.

“What?” asked Carewyn.

“Promise me that you won't stay behind.”

Jacob looked up at Duncan, startled.

“I stayed behind because I was too much of a coward to die,” mumbled Duncan, his head falling noticeably. “Because I couldn't accept that I couldn't do all the great things I'd wanted to do – that nothing I'd done really mattered – that my life was so insignificant that...nobody would really care, after I was gone.”

“Ashe...” murmured Jacob, but Duncan shook his head and forcefully cut him off.

“But you...neither of you are like me. You're not cowardly. And...there are people who love you. So...so don't stay behind. Even if you're worried about me being lonely or something stupid like that – don't. Because if this is the day you die...”

Duncan's face cracked into a bittersweet smile.

“...I want you to let go! Be free. Sing and laugh and...rest. Not...linger.”

Jacob's blue eyes were full of pain as he stared up at the ghost of his best friend. Carewyn's eyes rested on Duncan's ghostly hand instead of his face, feeling genuinely touched by the sentiment.

'You may have been hard to deal with sometimes, Duncan,' she thought, 'but I'm really glad that I got to be your friend, too...like Jacob did.'

She looked up, once again looking out at the outer doors in the distance.

'If this is the day I die...'

The thought hurt her too much to contemplate. If it was her last day, she'd never see Hogwarts again. She'd never play in Quidditch friendlies again, or challenge her friends to Wizard Duels, or sing to the creatures at the Magical Creature Preserve again. She'd never had the chance to tell Professor McGonagall how much she admired her or thank Professor Snape properly for teaching her Legilimency and Occlumency. She'd never see Orion fly with the Montrose Magpies. She'd never be able to visit Torvus again or to help Hagrid with his magical creatures. She’d never graduate school. She’d never join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or help anyone with their legal problems, like she’d dreamed. She’d never be able to live the life she’d always wanted, free of the Cursed Vaults and R, with her brother beside her. ...She'd never see her mother again...never hug her tight again, never listen to any more of her historical lectures...never sing Christmas carols with her again.

Carewyn closed her eyes, exhaling heavily. Then she took a deep breath.

“A long, long time ago...

I can still remember how that music used to make me smile...”

On the other side of Bill, Rakepick stiffened visibly. Everyone else turned to glance at Carewyn. Her voice was very soft and low in her throat, to the point that it was almost a whisper – it was only because the Vault had been so very still and eerily quiet that her voice could've been heard at all.

“And I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance,

And maybe they'd be happy for a while...

But February made me shiver – with every paper I'd deliver,

Bad news on the doorstep...I couldn't take one more step...

I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride...

But something touched me deep inside...the day...the music...died...”

Carewyn's voice trailed off into silence. She brought her right hand not holding her wand up onto her shoulder, as if subconsciously wanting to shift the terrible invisible weight that rested there.

The unsettling quiet returned, settling down over everyone like a cold blanket. Then, abruptly, the silence was broken by Duncan, who had leaned backward in mid-air in a “lying down” sort of posture with his left leg crossed over his right and his arms behind his head.

“So bye, bye, Miss American Pie –

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.

Them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye – ”

His voice was less melancholy than Carewyn's had been, but no less quiet. He glanced at her out the side of his eye, and Carewyn couldn't help but smile at him as she again slipped in,

“ – Singing, 'this'll be the day that I die'...'this'll be the day that I die...'”

Another voice had joined Duncan and Carewyn's on the last word. They both turned to Jacob, whose face broke into a smile as he continued the song, picking up the tempo and lightening the tone.

“Did you write the book of love, and do you have faith in God above, If the Bible tells you so? Ahh, do you believe in rock and roll? Can music save your mortal soul, and Can you teach me how to dance real sloooow?”

It didn't take long for Jacob's enthusiasm to rub off on Duncan and Carewyn. Regardless of how strange it must have looked, the three sing the song a bit louder and cheerfully, in spite of the dark Vault they were in or how heavy the hopelessness of their situation weighed on their shoulders. Duncan swirled around Jacob in lackadaisical spirals, his translucent hands passing through Jacob's shoulder and hair a few times as the two danced around each other.

“Well, I know that you're in love with him, 'cause I saw you dancin' in the gym! You both kicked off your shoes... Man, I dig those rhythm and bluuUUUES!”

Jacob's high note was excellently pitched despite the flippancy with which he sang. Merula couldn't keep the huge, amused grin off her face.

“I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck with a pink carnation and a pickup truck, But I knew I was out of luck the day the music died...”

Soon everyone else was laughing and smiling – some of the half-bloods like Penny, Beatrice, Chiara and Badeea were starting to sing along, in places. Ben, the lone Muggle-born in the group, even sang along with the chorus when they reached it again.

“I started singing,

'Bye, bye Miss American Pie!' Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye, Singing 'this'll be the day that I die'...'this'll be the day that I die!'”

Before long, this miserable, rag-tag band had devolved into a laughing, singing, dancing gaggle of teenagers. Duncan, Jacob, and Carewyn took turns singing different stanzas, passing the invisible “microphone” from one to the other with over-dramatic flourishes, as those who knew the words jumped in when they could and those who didn't danced and swayed along. Diego was dancing more passionately than anyone, of course, but Tulip was giving him a run for his money. Fred and George pretty consistently shoved themselves in front of whomever was dancing so as to hilariously upstage them. Diego was even able to somehow rope Ismelda into dancing with him for a stanza. Before long, even those students raised by wizards who'd never heard the song in their lives like Andre and the Weasleys were able to sing gleefully along to the chorus.

“Oh, and there we were all in one place, a generation lost in space, With no time left to start again...

So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick –

Jack Flash sat on a candlestick 'cause...fire is the devil's only frieeeend...

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage,

My hands were clenched in fists of rage – No angel born in Hell could break that Satan's spell!

And as the flames climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial rite, I saw Satan laughing with delight the day the music died... He was singing,

'Bye, bye, Miss American Pie!' Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye, Singing, 'this'll be the day that I die' – 'this'll be the day that I – '”

BOOM.

Everyone came to an abrupt halt.

The rumbling, blasting sounds that had echoed over their heads previously hadn't been so close as the one they heard now. It came from the outer doors of the Vault – as if someone was ramming at the other side with a battering ram.

The entire Circle of Khanna stared at the doors once more, all cheer and laughter fading from their faces. All at once, the gravity of the situation had returned.

Any minute, R would be ramming down that door – and then they'd have to fight with everything they had, with no guarantee that they'd survive to see another day. It made them suddenly feel both incredibly stupid and so much, much younger than they'd felt just ten minutes ago.

Before the freezing cold silence could completely congeal, another lower, more resounding voice broke through.

“I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her for some happy news,

But she just smiled and turned away...”

It was Rakepick.

The entire Circle of Khanna turned to face the ex-professor. She'd not joined into any of their revelry, staying on the sidelines and silently watching – but in that moment, her dark blue eyes locked on the outer doors much the same way as everyone else’s had been earlier, she sang the next stanzas in a soft, crisp, untrained voice that reminded Carewyn of the crackling of autumn leaves.

“I went down to the sacred store where I'd heard the music years before, But the man there said the music wouldn't play...

And in the streets, the children screamed,

The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed, But not a word was spoken – The church bells all were broken...”

Carewyn walked over to stand beside Rakepick, watching her silently.

Was that pain in her eyes? Were there tears? Carewyn couldn't poke around in Rakepick's head – but she couldn't help but wonder how much of what Rakepick had told them, about her background with R and about all of the regrets she had about what had happened with Jacob and...well, Carewyn herself...was running through the ex-professor's mind, in that moment.

‘She learned all the words, in that time after she heard me singing American Pie, as a kid,’ thought Carewyn. ‘Even though before then, she’d turned her back on all things Muggle.’

Rakepick’s dark blue eyes grew a bit smaller, almost sadder, upon the far wall.

“And the three men I admire most – the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost – They caught the last train for the coast the day...the music...died...”

“And they were singing – ”

Rakepick looked up, startled, as Carewyn joined her, her almond-shaped eyes also resting on the outer doors on the far end as she sang a sweet harmony part over her.

“'Bye, bye, Miss American Pie...' Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye, Singing, 'this'll be the day that I die'...'this'll be the day that I die'...”

In that moment, the Circle of Khanna seemed to have regained their posture.

Yes, it was silly – yes, it was stupid, to find any bit of comfort in something so insignificant and pointless – but no, in fact, it wasn't pointless. Perhaps things were hopeless. Perhaps they would fail. Perhaps they would die and never see their loved ones again. But they were together – and in that togetherness, they felt strong. In that community, they felt courageous – enough to sing about the specter of Death looming over them with optimism and heart rather than despair.

These children were, in truth, an army.

“They were singing, ‘Bye, bye, Miss American Pie...’ Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye, Singing, 'this'll be the day that I die.'”

[To be concluded...]

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cocos-cocoapuffsarenotforsale · 4 years

Text

What You’ll Sorely Miss

MASTERLIST

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this story. I was re-reading Goblet of Fire like a week ago when I got the idea for this story. This is one of the first Harry Potter Fanfics I’ve written so I’m pretty nervous to post it. I really hope you all enjoy it! Love you guys! Xoxo

Summary: When Harry’s sister disappears the night before the second Triwizard task, Harry’s not the only one who’s worried about her.

Warnings: Swearing, AU where Harry has a twin sister (Y/n), AU where Sirius never went to Azkaban and raised Harry and his sister, Fluff, Worried!Harry, Worried!Draco, Happy ending, Harry accepts their relationship (pretty quick), Nice!Draco, Sweet!Draco

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“Harry, what exactly did the egg say again?” You ask your twin, after putting away what must have been the tenth book you had read so far that night. You, Ron and Hermione, were attempting to help Harry figure out how to stay underwater for an hour for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

You were gonna have to find a way to tell Draco there was no way you could meet up with him tonight. While Draco and Harry may not have gotten along well you and Draco were an entirely different story. Of course with you being a Gryffindor and not to mention being Harry Potter’s sister and Draco being a Slytherin, the two of you had kept your relationship a secret for the past year.

Harry repeated the egg’s song for what must have been the 20th time that night. You were still just as stumped about what to do as you were the first time.

“Maybe we could ask Sirius?” You suggest half-heartedly, knowing your brother would refuse. Sirius was both your and Harry’s godfather and had raised the two of you after your parents’ murder. Harry and you were both extremely close to him. Harry, however, was constantly worried about disappointing him. And considering how quickly he had shot you down earlier about asking for Sirius’s help, you doubted he would agree to it now.

“Y/n, I can’t. I swore to him that I had figured it out weeks ago. He’ll kill me.” Harry sighs, dropping his head onto the book he was currently reading.

“Hard at work, eh?” You heard a familiar voice chuckled, looking up you saw George Weasley smirking down at you. Accompanied of course by his twin, Fred.

“As a matter of fact yes. So if that’s all then-” Hermione starts before Fred cuts her off.

“Actually, we came to get you and Y/n,” Fred says with a wink.

“Why?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at them. The last time the Weasley twins needed you it was to test out their nosebleed candies. Needless to say, you weren’t too keen on helping them anymore.

“McGonagall wants to see you and ‘Mione in her office,” George responds cheekily.

“Alright. Let’s go Y/n. Don’t worry we’ll be back in a bit to help you guys. But keep looking in the meantime.” Hermione says seeing the look of fear on Harry and Ron’s faces. Those two were practically hopeless without you and Hermione. Hermione loops her arm with yours and the two of you follow Fred and George to McGonagall’s office.

You knock on McGonagall’s door once the two of you reach her office.

“Come in.” You hear her reply. You open the door and enter to find not only Professor McGonagall but Professor Dumbledor, Ludo Bagman, Cho Chang, and a small blonde-haired girl.

“Miss Granger, Miss Potter, please take a seat.” Professor Dumbledore says gesturing to two chairs next to Cho.

“You needed to see us, Professor?” Hermione asks McGonagall looking around nervously.

“As I’m sure you all know the second task is tomorrow. Each of the champions will have something taken from them that they must retrieve. You are those things. Gabrielle, Miss Delacour’s little sister, Miss Chang for Mr. Diggory, Miss Granger for Mr. Krum and of course Miss Potter for Mr. Potter.” McGonagall explains gesturing to each of you.

“We ask that each of you take this potion. It will put you to sleep and as soon as you are above the water you will wake.” Dumbledore explains handing each of you a small vial of bluish liquid.

“What if they don’t reach us in time?” You ask nervously.

“My dear do you think I would ever allow anything to happen to students. You will all be fine even if your champion doesn’t reach you in time.” Dumbledore promises, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes. You nod before locking eyes with Hermione and the two of you take the potion at the same time. God, I really hope Harry figures something out. You think to yourself before falling asleep.

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Draco’s POV

I’ve been looking around for Y/n all morning. Where the hell is she? She never showed up last night which hadn’t surprised me considering that the second task was today. But I didn’t see her at breakfast and she’s not with Saint Potter, so where the fuck is she? I couldn’t very well go asking about her whereabouts seeing as we had agreed to keep our relationship a secret. But now I’m really starting to regret it.

“Draky poo are you alright?” Pansy asks me with a look of concern on her face.

“I’m fine Parkinson. Get off.” I hiss as she tries to fix my hair. Only Y/n gets to do that.

“What’s wrong baby?” Pansy asks in her sickly sweet voice.

“Nothing and I’m not your baby! Just stay the hell away from me!” I say storming away from her. Crabbe and Goyle follow me looking very confused. They knew I hated Pansy and how she was always hanging around me. But normally I was very patient with her. Little did they know a big reason why was that seeing Pansy around me got Y/n all riled up. Y/n is so adorable when she’s jealous.

“Malfoy, are you ok?” Goyle asks.

“Fine. Let’s go watch the stupid task.” I growl as I climb in the boat. Hopefully, I’ll see Y/n out on the lake. I need to see Y/n. That’s all I could think about.

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Harry’s POV

“Where are they?” I ask Ron as we make our way down to the boats. Luckily we ran into Neville last night and he told me about Gillyweed. He gave it to me this morning at breakfast. So thankfully that part of the task was handled.

But we hadn’t seen Y/n or Hermione since they left the library for McGonagall’s office. And I was worried, Y/n would never miss this. She had never missed a Quidditch match, even when she was sick and miserable she came to cheer me on.

“I don’t know. It’s not like them to disappear. Maybe it’s a girl thing or something. I’m sure they’ll be out there waiting to watch.” Ron says patting my shoulder trying to reassure me. It doesn’t work.

Once we are all lined up about to dive into the lake I take one final look around and still don’t see them. The next thing I know Moody pushes me into the lake and I force myself to focus on the task.

Swimming towards the center of the lake I finally figured out where Y/n and Hermione were. Of course, I think to myself, “We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss”, Y/n.

After Cedric and Krum came I tried to wait to make sure Fleur got her sister. But after a while of waiting, I figured she wasn’t coming and I decided I would save both Y/n and Gabrielle. The merpeople were not happy about this but I won. Once we reach the surface they both wake up and gasp for air.

“Oh, Harry! I’m so sorry for not helping more!” Y/n exclaims wrapping her arms around me while we are still in the water.

“It’s ok Y/n/n. Can we get out of the water though I’m freezing?” I ask, making her laugh at me. We swim back towards the docks and all of a sudden there’s a splash and someone swimming towards us. Malfoy?

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Your POV

“Draco, what the hell are you doing?” I ask as he swims towards Harry and me.

“Y/n, oh thank god!” He exclaims wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back to the dock. Harry’s in shock and just treading water looking at us with his jaw open.

“Harry!” Hermione shouts, shaking him out of his stupor. His look of shock turns to rage and he swims as fast as he can to the dock.

Draco reaches the dock and pulls me out with him before grabbing as many towels as possible and wrapping them around me.

“Are you alright love?” He asks cupping your face with his hand.

“Yes, Draco, I’m fine. But you might not be for much longer.” You giggle watching Harry storm over to the two of you, Ron and Hermione following him.

“Get your slimy hands off my sister Malfoy!” Harry shouts shoving Draco away from you.

“Harry it’s ok-” You try to say before he cuts you off.

“No, it’s not Y/n/n. What the bloody hell do you think you are doing Malfoy?!” Harry shouts.

“Potter calm down. Y/n/n and I have been seeing each other for the past year-” Draco tries to explain but Harry’s look of rage makes him stop.

“WHAT? You’ve been seeing that git for a year?! Did he put some fucking enchantment on you?” Harry yells making people turn and look, including all the teachers and the Headmaster.

“Harry, calm down. We’ll talk about this later. Let’s hear the scores.” Hermione whispers to him and forces him to turn towards the judges.

“This isn’t over Malfoy,” Harry growled before he walked away.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Draco asks you after Harry, Ron, and Hermione leave.

“I’m fine Draco. I’m just worried about Harry. He hates me now.” You feel tears well in your eyes. Harry was your best friend and your brother all wrapped in one and you can’t stand the idea of him hating you.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you know?” You ask, turning away to hide the tears that were now streaming down your face from Draco.

“Hey, don’t cry Pretty Girl. He loves you more than he hates me. Besides just think about it, the task was that the person they would miss most would be taken from them. Harry’s person was you. He loves you,” Draco says wrapping his arms around you and placing a soft kiss on your temple. “And so do I.” He whispers the last part so quietly you weren’t sure you heard him right.

“What?” You ask breathlessly, as you turn in his arms to face him.

“I love you Y/n Potter,” Draco whispers, nervously.

“I love you too Draco!” You exclaim pressing a hard kiss to his lips.

“Y/n, Draco,” you hear your brother murmur. Draco and you break apart and you look down at your feet to scared to look at Harry.

“Y/n/n, look at me,” Harry pleads, the desperation in Harry’s voice making you look up.

“Y/n, I’m sorry about how I reacted before. Does he treat you right?” Harry inquires, seriously.

“Yes, he does. I love him, Harry. But I love you too and I can’t lose you.” You reply.

“You will never lose me Y/n/n. I love you too sis,” Harry says pulling you into a hug.

“Do you love her?” He asks Draco after he and you break apart.

“With all my heart,” Draco replies, giving you his signature smirk.

“If you hurt her in any way-” Harry starts but Draco cuts him off.

“Yeah, yeah, Potter, you’ll kill me. Don’t worry Potter, if I hurt her I’ll gladly let you.” Draco gives Harry his signature smirk before Draco wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Nice job today Potter, thanks for saving our girl.” Draco congratulates Harry.

“Yeah me and my stupid moral fiber. I could’ve gotten first if I wasn’t such a moron.” Harry replies with a chuckle.

“I can’t argue with you there.” Draco teases and it warms your heart to see your boyfriend and brother getting along. Even if they were still giving each other shit at least they weren’t hexing each other.

“I think you did splendidly,” you say giving your brother a high five.

“Thanks, Y/n/n. I gotta go party in the common room, can’t be late.” He explains before rushing off to join Ron and Hermione on the way back to the castle.

“Wanna go to the party with me?” You ask Draco.

“I don’t know, even if your brother doesn’t hate me I’m still a Slytherin. And we both know how Gryffindors feel about Slytherins.” Draco replies hesitantly.

“Maybe it’s time we start to change that.” You suggest giving him a small smile.

“Anything for my girl.” Draco agrees walking back towards the castle with you.

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x potter!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x potter!reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #potter!reader #harry potter x sister!reader #fluff #CANON DIVERGENCE #fanfiction #fanfic #CocosCocoaPuffsAreNotForSale #Happy Ending

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

One In A Million - Chpt.9

Summary: Now that the timeline is irrevocably altered Rose has to make a tough decision. Content Warning: smut, a good bit of it.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Well, we’re winding down now. Only one more chapter and the epilogue to go. Honestly this chapter is a bit of serious plot followed smut, like half the chapter is smut lol. So... enjoy! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Nine

You know there is no fixing what’s happened. The timeline is irrevocably changed now that Bucky made it through the draft. Your jump point is a month away, circled in red on the calendar hanging in your kitchen. You had spent so much time thinking of ways you could extract yourself from their lives but now the looming reality is, you don’t necessarily have to. You had forged a split in the timeline and this reality is going to keep going whether or not you’re a part of it. The pressing need to jump back to your time so as not to disrupt realities is no longer an issue, the damage is done.

You’re quiet that night while the guys celebrate Bucky’s good luck. They dance around the living room to old records, trying to get you to join in on their fun. Steve puts on La Vie En Rose, imploring you to dance with him to the sweet tune that initiated your first kiss. You relent, dancing around your tiny living room in his arms, Bucky watching from the sofa with soft eyes. It’s difficult to accept that this could be your life. There are so many pros and cons to staying and you had never really stopped to consider it as a real option.

Later that night you lay awake in the darkness on your side of the bed. Steve is tangled up with Bucky like an octopus but you only have one ankle looped into their jumble. You stare up at the ceiling running through plans and calculations and options. It’s some time around 2am that you come to the conclusion that you don’t want to go back. A scary revelation for sure, but one a small part of you had suspected was coming for months now.

The 1940s are problematic compared to your modern life but all the issues don’t overshadow your love for Steve and Bucky. You’ll have to be careful, hiding your relationship until well into your old age when polyamory becomes more acceptable. Steve and Bucky will have to hide their love until then too, unfortunately. You’ll have to put up with society considering you inferior just because you’re a woman. There won’t be a Starbucks latte back in your life until you’re too old to really enjoy one. You won’t have the luxury of a smartphone or a decent computer until you’re well into your eighties. It’s jarring to realize how much you had taken for granted when you were volunteering to go back.

You look over at your guys, sighing quietly to yourself in the darkness. It’s still worth it. Every inconvenience, every struggle, it’s worth it to have them in your life. To get to see the soft little looks Bucky gives Steve when he’s overcome with love for him. To spend a quiet day listening to the scritching of charcoal on paper as Steve loses himself in another drawing. Getting to see the way the first rays of sunlight hit Steve’s golden mane of hair in the early morning. Hearing Bucky’s laugh, so loud and authentic, when something funny catches him off guard. The way they both will randomly scoop you up in their arms, peppering you with kisses and whispers of I love you. Staying with them is worth it all in spades.

The next day you’re the first one up. You had caught a few hours sleep in the wee hours of the morning but they were restless ones. A pot of coffee brews on the stove, the smell alone helping to wake you up. You’re making pancakes for your guys, a special Saturday morning treat that you make sometimes when the mood strikes. There are fluffy stacks waiting on plates when Steve finally emerges from the bedroom looking adorably sleep rumpled. Bucky is only a few steps behind, yawning and stretching as he joins you.

“Wow, I got lucky two days in a row now. I should put down money on a game or something.” Bucky teases, snatching up a plate for himself.

“Actually these were a treat for Steve.” you say just to be smart.

With a wicked smirk, Steve grabs the plate away from Bucky who scrabbles after it frantically, unwilling to lose his precious breakfast treat.

You roll your eyes and give one of the other plates to Bucky, placing a kiss on top of his disheveled hair when he takes his seat at the table, “You’re lucky I love you both.”

“And we know it.” he tells you before taking a bite of the hot syrup laden cakes.

You spend a lazy weekend at home with the guys, quietly working through your plans to get word back to your team that you’re okay. Steve paints with watercolors and Bucky works on repairing the broken slats in your fence out back, both of them happily occupied while you plan. You’ve run through every scenario you can think of and it should work the way you intend it to. The jump point is designed to take you back to the lab and it’s timeline, but it may not necessarily need you. The brooch needs to be activated and then, after a short countdown, the brooch and whatever it’s attached to will blink back to the lab. You don’t know if it requires an actual living creature or if an inanimate object will do but you figure something with a pulse is a safer bet. Some poor little mouse or bunny is going to have the journey of a lifetime. The team will be displeased you messed up the timeline but hopefully they understand your reasons for staying.

Plans set in your mind, all you have to do now is wait a few weeks until the jump point. The world seems to shift again now that things have been decided. You feel connected to the thrumming city around you again. The older man running the butcher shop seems kinder, the girl who works at the bakery could be a potential new friend. Possibilities are endless now that you have time.

Dinner is a lively affair. All three of you are restless after a whole day of hanging around the house. Bucky cooks up the steaks you’d bought on your quick trip out and you toast the bread you’d gotten from the bakery in the oven with lots of butter and garlic. Steve mixes up a salad of vegetables from your kitchen basket and your garden, wanting to contribute to the meal. It’s a nice spread by the time you’re all done and you choose to eat outside on a blanket so you can watch the sunset. The weather is warming up finally and as long as you have a light sweater you’ll be okay to stay out for a bit even once the sun goes down.

As expected, none of you want to go inside, even after nightfall. Stargazing in the city isn’t great due to the light pollution but you can still see some of the twinkling stars in the night sky. You’re lying between Steve and Bucky who are wrapped around you and holding hands across your middle. It’s sweet and you can see why Bucky loves being in the center of the bed. The guys are up to something, you can tell when they start to stroke along each other’s hands and wrists with slow, fluid motions. Soon they’re littering kisses on your shoulders and nuzzling in closer.

“You see that pretty little constellation there?” Bucky says pointing at the night sky, “The one to the right of the moon?”

“Cassiopeia?” you ask him, zig zagging your finger along its shape.

“Our girl is smart, Steve.” Bucky praises, “Yeah, darlin’, cassiopeia. Did you know you have almost the exact same pattern in freckles on the back of your right thigh?”

“I do not.” you snort.

“You do,” Steve chimes in, adding in a low tone, “I would be happy to show you if you’d like to move this inside.”

You roll your eyes at his antics but shrug, “I think that can be arranged.”

Bucky is standing before you can even fully sit up, he scoops you up into his arms and you let out a very unladylike squeal. Steve is shushing you, grinning as if he approves of Bucky’s ridiculous show of bravado. You’re glad you ran the dishes in earlier but the cups and blankets will have to wait until morning. All three of you have other things in mind.

Bucky carries you all the way to your bedroom, depositing you on the enormous bed with a playful flop. Bouncing on the mattress elicits another squeak from you and Bucky chuckles at the sound. Crawling over your body like a lion going in for the kill, Bucky starts unbuttoning the long trail of opalescent buttons on the front of your dress. He only gets down to your waist before he showers your breasts with kisses, mouthing over the slippery satin of your brassiere until your breaths are coming in harsh gasps. You roll your head to the side, eyes fluttering open for a minute and you catch sight of Steve. And what a sight it is. Steve is leaning up against the door frame, still fully clothed, palming himself over his trousers. His cheeks are stained a deep pink, pupils blown wide with lust. “Stevie.” you gasp out his name like a prayer.

Bucky lifts his head at your voice and looks back catching sight of Steve himself. “Gonna join us?” he asks, pulling back from you to extend a hand.

Steve gives him a lazy, smug smile before coming over to take his hand. Bucky pulls him in quickly, Steve slamming against his chest roughly. Bucky’s mouth is demanding, possessive, and Steve can’t get enough. You lay back, content to watch them have their moment. Fumbling with your buttons you get them all undone and push the sides away, leaving you bare except for your bra and panties. Your guys are taking their time loving on one another above you so you take the opportunity to slip a hand down between your folds. If you’re going to have a front row seat, you might as well enjoy the show.

A breathless unf slips past your lips; you got yourself closer to the edge much faster than you’d expected. Both pairs of blue eyes snap down to look at you and your hand stills beneath your panties. “Hi” you say sheepishly.

“Whatcha doin’ doll?” Steve asks with a smirk.

“Enjoying the show.”

“If you’re enjoying it so much maybe you should join in.” Steve leans down to trail kisses from your throat down to the lacy edge of your panties. Bucky is kissing lines along Steve’s back and you don’t know which is working you up more, Steve’s mouth on your skin or Bucky’s on his.

“You like watching us?” Bucky taunts, having caught on to your not so subtle staring.

You nod, “Yeah. So much.”

“What if, instead of taking turns, tonight we can all enjoy ourselves together?”

Steve’s whole body shudders at the suggestion but you’re unsure of the logistics.

“How? I mean, yes. But, how?”

“Well, you can stay right there and let Stevie fill up that perfect little pussy of yours, and while he’s busy doing that I’ll be busy filling him up.”

Steve whimpers and you moan. Bucky knew his suggestion would be a hit but he loves hearing your reactions. You nod frantically, helping Steve get your clothes off while Bucky undresses himself and starts tugging at Steve’s shirt. “Stevie,” Bucky coos after he gets all three of you bare, “Why don’t you go down on our girl while I get you ready?”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice, sliding quickly down your body to oblige Bucky’s request. You lean up a little on your elbows, wanting to watch. Bucky is so careful with Steve, slowly pressing a vaseline coated finger into his hole until Steve gasps against your throbbing clit. Bucky is babbling a stream of praise as he adds another finger, slowly working Steve open. Steve has to pause, resting his head against you, hips thrust involuntarily, when Bucky grazes his prostate with two curled fingers. “Buck, enough. I wanna feel it. Enough.” Steve pants out, desperate.

“You good, darlin’?” Bucky asks you, making sure you don’t need more time yourself.

“Mhmm” you moan in assent.

Steve moves up from between your legs, holding onto your hips with a loving squeeze as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly as always, letting you get used to the size of him before burying himself fully inside you. Steve stills and you see Bucky running a hand along his back, giving Steve a moment before he breaches the tight ring of muscles and drives himself home. Steve is shaking, breaths coming in pants, and he’s gripping your hips so tightly you’re certain you’ll have bruises in the morning. You’re not sure who starts moving first but after a moment the three of you fall into a rhythm, gradually increasing your pace until it’s frenzied and desperate. Steve reaches a hand down to toy with your already too sensitive clit and you fall off the edge of your orgasm. Steve curses, knowing he should have expected the chain reaction he just set off. Between Bucky hitting his prostate with every thrust and your inner walls squeezing around his cock while you come beneath him, it’s all just too much. Steve comes with a shout, harder than he has ever before in his life, and thinks he may actually black out for a breathless moment. Bucky, driven to his own edge watching you fall apart for Steve, is lost when Steve’s muscles clamp down around him while he comes. Bucky gets a few more stuttering thrusts before he’s spilling deep in Steve who shudders a few more futile thrusts in you at the sensation. You’re breathing heavily under the pile of your guys, amazed and blissed out beyond words.

Bucky is laying delicately on Steve who is laying not delicately on top of you. He’s so light though, it doesn’t bother you and you wrap your arms around him when he starts to roll off to the side when Bucky finally lets him go. All three of you need cleaned up but no one’s brains are working quite yet and instead you lay in your tangle, idly stroking whatever limbs are closest and enjoying the quiet post orgasmic bliss.

A little while later Steve nudges your chin with his, getting you to look him in the eye. “That was okay, right?”

You give him a reassuring smile, “More than alright.”

He lets out a relieved breath at your words. “Good. Great. I love being with you, I really do. But Buck and I… we go way back and I still need him too sometimes.”

“Sweetheart, I didn’t expect you and Bucky to stop having sex just because we started. You two should still enjoy each other whenever you want, whether it includes me or not. I’m sure there will be times when it’s just you and me or just Bucky and me. That needs to be okay too.”

“You really are one in a million.” Steve says, his voice soft with something akin to wonder. He snuggles closer, wrapping you so tight you can scarcely breathe. Bucky huffs seeing Steve enveloping you and dives on top of you both so as not be left out. Between the squirming and laughter somehow you get comfortable and a shower is put off again until cooler heads can prevail.

Tag list! @wolfarrowepz

#one in a million #steve rogers #bucky barnes #reader insert #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #named reader #captain america #stucky fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #preserum steve rogers #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #time travel #1940s setting

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obscure-sentimentalist · 4 years

Note

“Don’t shut me out.” “You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.” These two seems really interesting but I can't deciiide 😖 Sorry Oh, and I guess it would fit the merlyn boys au really well :) I love this au! And the au's of this au :) Xoxo

[*shows up months later with a mug of hot chocolate* In my defense, I didn’t settle on the direction for this one until just recently, and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Hopefully it’s worth the wait! (And thank you, Anon! I did end up using both prompts in here!!)]

Prompts from the drabble challenge list

Old enough ‘verse

January 2013

When Tommy jolts awake, the startled release of air from his lungs doesn’t echo off the walls of a too big, too empty house, like he expects.

Instead, he’s immediately aware of the crick in his neck from resting on the pillow propped against the couch arm, and the carpet fibers underneath his fingers as they drape down. They’re not particularly specific sensations, and the dark conceals any features of his surroundings, but it’s enough to ground Tommy and assuage his immediate fears.

Just the lingering vestiges of a dream, a memory. Wherever he is, it isn’t there, and he hasn’t been quite so little in a very long time—no matter how some people still try to make him feel that way.

The couch cushions groan (echoing the one in Tommy’s mind) as he sits up and shuffles back to prop up against the arm. He lifts the hand that was resting limply on his chest and scrubs at his face—rubbing out the pair of damp trails marking his cheeks—before dropping it onto the thick wool blanket in his lap. The one grazing the floor, though, fumbles along in search of the foot switch for the floor lamp his brain sluggishly remembers is right behind him. It doesn’t take too long for his fingertips to catch on ribbed plastic, and with a click, the space floods with a momentarily-blinding light.

Tommy hisses as he ducks his head, only to bring it back up a moment later so his eyes can adjust and take in the details of the room, to latch onto anything familiar to fully drag himself out of his head and into the present.

His anchor makes that choice for him, letting out a sleep-slurred grumble from the well-loved recliner perpendicular to the couch.

“Whuzzgoinon?” The leather creaks, and a dark head of mad scientist-level mussed hair leans forward with a swollen-eyed glare.

Well that slams Tommy back to awareness and alertness faster than anything else would have.

“Sorry,” he blurts none-too-quietly, but when Connor winces at the noise, Tommy drops his tone and tries again. “Sorry. Got a little disoriented, forgot where I was. And, frankly, didn’t expect you to be here, seeing as I can now tell that this is your apartment, and you have an actual bed.”

“Mm,” his brother, epitome of eloquence, mumbles, flapping a hand in acceptance of that explanation as he drops into the widest yawn Tommy’s ever seen. “Must’ve passed out here.”

“Well, we did have a real fiesta of a night,” Tommy teases in reply, his brain catching up to his more recent memories. “Chucking balls across the floor in borrowed, questionably-smelling shoes makes for quite a workout.”

Connor’s hand lands over his eyes with an audible smack. “What even made you think of going bowling, anyway?”

Tommy shrugs. “Just seemed like a bit of light fun. I’ve needed something like that for a while, and thought it’d work well for my Birthday Coin Toss win.” The explanation out, he switches gears and tries to nudge his twin’s attention away. “Go back to sleep, Connie—for real this time, yeah?”

Luck, it seems, is not on Tommy’s side tonight, as Connor only sits up straighter at the suggestion, hand slipping from his face to reveal a much clearer gaze as it locks on Tommy.

“You needed a bit of light fun,” he repeats slowly, a pensive crease forming in his brow. He pauses a moment to turn the words over, then tries again. “I thought you said things were getting better. With Laurel, and being cut off, and…”

“They were,” Tommy cuts in frantically, almost physically leaping off the couch as he does so. “Are. Everything’s fine. It’s just… still a lot of change, you know? Gets a little draining.”

Connor meets that with a slow nod, but the fact that his frown doesn’t ease makes it clear that he’s not done picking this apart. “Makes sense for wanting to go with lower-key hijinks…”

“Oh, come on, the perfect word was right in front of you. Tomfoolery. Practically named for me.”

“…But if the effects are disrupting your sleep, too?” Connor finishes, giving Tommy a heavy stare. “You’re not going to get by me with a hand-wave-y explanation like that.”

Any amusement that Tommy coerced into his expression with his previous (and clearly ignored) quip bleeds out at those words. “What?”

“A minute ago, you told me you got disoriented,” Connor reminds him. “But what woke you up in the first place? And why was it enough that you needed to throw the light on?”

Oh, Tommy’s not liking how close his brother is tripping to the truth.

“You had a nightmare,” Connor concludes with the confidence of the medical professional he’s becoming. He motions with his hand as he settles back in the recliner. “Tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”

Tommy’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline in dubiety. “You switch your residency from Trauma Surgery to Psychology on me, or something?” He pats both hands around his forehead and face in vague measurement. “I’m happy with the size of my head, no shrinking necessary, thanks.”

Connor’s lips thin at the comments, but still he persists. “You said it yourself—it’s a lot of change. And while it sounds like, from what you’ve told me, it’s mostly good change… ‘mostly’ isn’t ‘completely’.” He leans forward, elbows dropping to his thighs for balance. “Is there something bothering you?”

“You mean besides you, right now?” It comes out as more of a snap than Tommy wants it to be, but if his brother would just leave it alone…

That only serves to bring a slightly pained expression to Connor’s face.

“Tommy, please.” There’s a faint thread of exasperation in his tone, but the cracking on that last word gives Tommy pause. “Don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, let me help, okay?”

That twists something in Tommy’s chest, almost like guilt.

It’s been almost five years, and yet he’s still not used to the fact that having a brother means having someone else in his corner—emotional support he’s already much too short on. So much of his relationship with Connor has been centered around lower-stakes, silly fun; just getting to know each other after a lifetime separated. It’s not that truly opening up is something that Tommy is averse to doing; there’s just rarely been a real need to do so.

Being a brother—a twin—settled in both of them so bone-deep that it just… is. Putting things in words and vocalizing them feels superfluous.

Oh, there have been conversations and misunderstandings cleared up, discussions of each other’s current aggravations and concerns—words falling freely and meeting a willing ear. Those topics were more trivial, or at the very least easier to slip off the tongue (even the heavier ones, though those were typically loosened and floated along by alcohol). Arguably, talking about a nightmare should count among that number of insignificant subjects, but there are always exceptions to that rule.

Still, Tommy falters on his rejection in the face of Connor’s plea—doctor’s head and brother’s heart, working in tandem and wanting nothing more than to heal.

“This was a one-off bad dream—it… hasn’t happened in a long time,” Tommy finally confesses, draping an arm across his forehead as he lies back. “But yeah, I guess the fact that it’s come back is related to everything that’s going on, or at least one particular corner of my life.”

His vision obscured, Tommy relies on the hum of acknowledgement and the shuffle of fabric over leather to confirm Connor’s attention, before continuing. “I- I told you that, after Mom died, Dad disappeared for a good two years, right?”

“‘Good’ doesn’t seem like the right choice of word for that situation, in any use,” Connor growls lowly, “but yeah, you did.”

“Cool.” Tommy swallows thickly, and lets his arm slide back down from his face. “So, uh, he did that. Which meant that, from ages eight to ten, I kind of bounced between staying with Ollie and the Queens—huh, that’d make a good band name—and living back home with the part-time staff.”

Connor doesn’t seem to have any words to verbalize in response, but the living room definitely feels a bit more frigid than it did a moment ago, before Tommy dropped that truth.

“And, you know, it was fine during the daytime, when it was light out and there were more people around the house. By evening, though… well, the nanny was there a number of nights, and I slept over at Queen Manor for most of the ones when she wasn’t, but still, that was when I was so aware of how empty the house was.”

For a split second, Tommy finds himself slipping again, into the tiny body that hasn’t been his for nearly twenty years, burrowed protectively under layers upon layers of blankets to muffle the mansion’s hollow echoing—to hide himself away from the nothingness before it consumes him. Or maybe it’ll just see in him what Dad must have and leave too, because Tommy’s never been good at giving reasons to stay…

“Hey.”

The cushion under Tommy’s feet jostles lightly, and he snaps back to the now with a sharp breath. The sound doesn’t clatter noisily against too-still silence, instead landing softly in the glow of the lamp and the shadow of Connor’s concerned expression.

His brother draws his own outstretched foot back from the edge of the couch to settle again on the floor in front of the recliner. “You’re not there anymore.”

An obvious statement, given that Connor’s never set foot in the manor and Tommy can hear the faint city sounds of Gotham beyond the living room window, but he recognizes it for the grounding it is and grabs on with both hands.

“Right,” he sighs, his gaze locking on the ceiling. “Been a long time since my nights were like that, and… not quite as long since my unconscious last decided to screw with me and yank open that particular memory box.”

Connor lets out a low hum of acknowledgement at that, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject. He’s informed enough on the goings-on of Tommy’s life these days that he can puzzle out the culprit behind the resurgence of such dreams.

(Hilarious how Malcolm trying to wedge his way into Tommy’s life invokes recollections of a time when his absence was a weeping wound. It’s not like Tommy needs to be reminded of the consequences, were he to actually let his father get close.)

“What do you need?” Connor finally asks, his voice dipping quiet and thoughtful with the question. It’s not a tone that Tommy is used to hearing his brother speak in, but it rings of such sincerity that he rolls his head to the side to meet Connor’s expectant gaze. “What usually helps you after these kinds of dreams?”

“Gonna write me up a prescription for the good stuff, Dr. Rhodes?” Tommy cracks instinctively, even as his chest fills with a certain warmth.

Luckily, Connor takes it as the knee-jerk reaction it is—reaching for humor to mask vulnerability, even when it’s entirely safe to have it exposed—and just rolls his eyes fondly. “You snore enough already without the help of sleep aids. Pick something else.”

Tommy clicks his tongue in a jokingly disappointed way, but sobers as he casts his eyes carefully down. “I think just… noise helps. Voices, more specifically. Nothing too loud, or punctuated in any particular way.” His runs his fingers up and down over the carpet in a slow drag, trying to focus on his thoughts. “A lot of times, I’d put on headphones and whatever music with quieter vocals I had, or maybe a late-night radio station that had hosts on-air. After I moved out, it was whatever early-morning programming I could find that wasn’t sitcom reruns or Law & Order marathons. Feel like I can recite Shake Weight infomercials in my sleep.”

“Please don’t.” Connor sounds incredibly pained by the thought.

“Hypothetically, of course. You and I both know that I’m not the Comatose Chatterbox here.”

“Asshole.”

“Now that I’ll own up to,” Tommy concedes, lifting his hand from the carpet to jab a finger at his brother for emphasis.

Connor seems to accept that, and shifts back in his seat. “I can turn on the TV, find something that’ll work,” he offers, gesturing to the flatscreen to his right. He pauses a moment, considering, before he cracks a faintly amused smile. “Or I can captivate you with standard treatment procedures for various traumas. Lots of nonsense words, all mashed together with numbers—perfect boring material to pass out to.”

“Oh, great,” Tommy starts cheerily. “So helpful to know how many ccs of whateverthehellthisis I’d need if I got, like, stabbed in the chest or something.”

Connor raises his hands in playful surrender. “Just tossing out ideas. You have something better?”

It’s only as Tommy is giving the challenge some thought that he realizes how muted and distant the lonely ache of his nightmare now feels. The vacant house has bled out of mind and body, retreating back to the dark, locked corner in which it belongs. Tommy would even dare say he’s tired again, ready to drift back off and into better (or at least weirder) dreams.

But then there’s Connor, always so determined to fix and heal whatever he can, cycling through ideas for how best to help. His brother, trying to be there for Tommy now when he wasn’t for the initial hurt, through no fault of his own.

Maybe sleep can wait a while longer.

“Compared to yours?” Tommy scoffs, lips spreading in a taunting grin. “That’s not even a question.”

The sharp arch of Connor’s eyebrow is evidence enough that this is a challenge most eagerly accepted.

#obscure-sentimentalist writes sometimes #tommy merlyn #connor rhodes #merlyn boys

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Wasteland, Baby, Chapter 2 (Crygi, Nicky x Jaida) - Metaluna

Summary: With the end drawing near, tensions are high, emotions are aplenty. As everyone need someone to lean on, secrets come out. a TW for descriptions of child abuse, not super graphic but still there

A/N: Hi guys! I’m back with another chapter. I didn’t anticipate going this long without an update but I was super stuck (I wrote a whole ass four chapter fic between the last chapter and now) A big thanks to Bell for helping me by beta reading xoxo Enjoy!!

While preparing for the end of the world, Jackie learned a lot of skills she never thought she would. There was never a time in her life where she thought she would learn how to make a radiation monitor out of a coffee can. She had to admit, learning about nuclear half-lives was much more interesting than she thought.

The one thing Jackie was nervous about was learning how to shoot a gun. She was nervous, her hands shook as Crystal handed her what she thought was a rifle. Crystal informed her it was a 12 gauge shotgun. Thankfully, because the house was in the middle of the woods, they didn’t have to worry about stray bullets or the noise.

“Jackie, you need to calm down.”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re shaking! It’s not that bad, I learned to do this when I was like fourteen. You can do it.”

Crystal set up a mock shooting range in her backyard. She had rigged metal garbage can lids with spray painted targets haphazardly sprayed on into the trees. There was an old table with beer bottles spaced evenly apart on top. Jackie was impressed at the amount of time that Crystal put it all together.

“I’m a pacifist, Crystal.”

“You think I wanted to learn how to do all of this?”

Jackie fell silent. On the few occasions that Crystal did talk about all that she’d learned, she always looked unhappy. Jackie knew her best friend wasn’t happy with the direction her life took, and no matter how hard she tried to hide it, it showed.

Jackie took a deep breath in.

“Oh, no. You’re holding it all wrong. But that’s okay! Let me help you fix it!”

It was very clear that Crystal spent all day teaching children how to paint, and was probably damn good at it, if her ability to teach someone to fire a gun was at all similar to teaching a twelve year old how to paint a sunset. She explained to Jackie how to load the shotgun with the same tone that she probably used with her students.

“So first of all, even if it isn’t, always treat a gun like it’s loaded. It’s good practice, and sometimes you never know, you know?” She got behind Jackie to help her move her body into the correct position. “Move your left hand so it’s over the middle. Okay, great. Next go into firing position. Stand shoulder width apart. Good, good. Alright, so align your eye with the stock.”

“What the hell is the stock?”

“That’s the part… yeah, yeah, yeah. That part. Perfect. So okay yeah, align… Great. Put the butt closer to your shoulder.”

Jackie turned her head to look at Crystal.

“The butt. Of the gun. Okay good. Now. Flip the safety off. You’re gonna squeeze the trigger. Do it firmly like you’re shaking someone’s hand kinda. It’s going to hurt, I’m just warning you now. That’s the kickback. ”

Jackie shut her eyes and shot, and missed the target completely. The gunshot made her ears ring. Even though Crystal had warned her about recoil, she wasn’t prepared for feeling as though she was about to fall backwards. Thankfully, Crystal was behind her, holding her upright.

“Jackie, did you really just shut your eyes?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Here. Watch me do it.”

Jackie had never seen Crystal look so sure of anything in her entire life. She confidently took the gun and stood just the way she had shown. Without hesitation, she fired the gun and hit one of the beer bottles.

“Holy, shit Crystal! You did that!”

“And you can too.”

Even though she looked confident, Crystal had never been a confident markswoman. Whenever her and her aunt would go out back and practice, her aunt was always told how bad of a shot she was. As much as she hated to admit it, shooting a gun again felt nice.

“But did you see how I actually kept my eyes open?” Her tone was sarcastic.

“Shut up.” Jackie took the gun back.

“Also, to make sure the kickback isn’t as bad, make sure that you hold the gun tightly. You’ll still feel it but it won’t be as bad, and hopefully you won’t feel like you’re going to fall. I’ll still stand behind you just in case.”

Jackie exhaled as she took the shooting stance. She closed her left eye and looked ahead. She aimed, and squeezed the trigger. With a loud clang, the bullet hit the trash can lid. It wasn’t centered, but it was close.

“You did it!”

“I did it!”

“Now you can do it on your own. Try one of the bottles now.” Crystal stood to the side to watch Jackie’s technique.

After taking a deep breath, Jackie pulled the trigger, and barely grazed the neck of the bottle. Crystal encouraged her to try again. After another deep breath, she hit one of the beer bottles dead in the center, causing it to shatter.

Jackie was so excited seeing the bottle explode she started jumping up and down, forgetting she had a fully loaded weapon.

Crystal ducked. “Okay, so you really don’t want to do that with a loaded gun.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning on the safety.

“You did it!”

“I did it!”

Jackie shot three more bottles, and managed to hit the garbage lid dead in the center. Her confidence raised considerably. Maybe, just maybe, she could survive the end of the world.

–

The environment of the shelter was unlike anything Gigi had ever experienced. Everything was ran militaristically, even though she was pretty sure that the military wasn’t involved. The amount of structure was almost jarring. One night, Gigi and her friends accidentally loitered a little too long after dinner and were promptly yelled at by a man who probably dropped out of the police academy.

Gigi was incredibly thankful for her friends. They spent almost every moment together. However, they agreed to give each other space for a few hours every day. If the president made good on his promise, they would be spending an entire year together. During this time, everyone used the lackluster Wi-Fi to talk to their families.

Everyone except for Gigi.

As it turned out, the shelter had side rooms that Gigi wasn’t aware of. They were small and soundproof, and meant specifically to have private conversations. Everyone else spent time in the rooms every day. When her friends spoke to their loved ones, Gigi went into the common room and watched the news.

“That man is not right in the head,” a woman with a strong Russian accent sitting on the couch adjacent to Gigi announced.

“No, he’s not.”

“People like him are why I left my country.”

Gigi didn’t respond, and instead focused her attention on the television. Politics were never something that Gigi followed. She voted every November, but the extent of her knowledge of current events was via Twitter. Anytime she learned something bad happening in the world, she felt panicked. Usually, she could shake the feeling, but with the amount of stress she was under, this time she couldn’t. She felt her chest tighten and could hear her heartbeat.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

Gigi shook her head and left. By the time that she made it back to her room, Gigi was mid panic attack. She hoped that by the time she got there, there wouldn’t be anyone in the room. Unfortunately for her, Jan was sitting on her bed singing to herself.

“Gigi? Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Can’t breathe.”

Jan wrapped Gigi into her arms. “Focus on your breathing. In and out.”

As Gigi tried to focus on her breathing as Jan stroked her hair.

“Thank you,” Gigi managed as she came down from her panic attack.

“Anytime. It’s a tough time and if I can ever help you, please come find me. I know what it’s like to have anxiety, and I don’t want you to go through this alone. Did anything trigger you?”

“The news.”

Gigi was genuinely surprised with how kind Jan was. She had known Gigi for just a few short days, and Jan treated her as if she’d known her for years. Her warmth was something that Gigi envied.

“Did you talk to your family today?”

“I got to talk to my mom a little bit today. It was…rough.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gigi offered.

“It just really sucks that I can’t be with her right now.” Jan’s voice broke. “She couldn’t afford to stay at a shelter. I offered up my spot, but she wouldn’t let me. She doesn’t have enough to even reinforce her apartment. It’s literally just her and her cat. I can’t be with them. They’re my only family.”

“Shh, Jan. It’s okay.” Gigi tried to mimic the way Jan stroked her hair. Comforting people was something Gigi never excelled in. She never knew what to do when people cried. Usually she felt so uncomfortable she started involuntarily laughing. Thankfully, she held it together.

“Thanks Gigi. What about you? Have you talked to your family?”

Gigi was hoping she could avoid this question. “Uh… Not exactly?”

Before Jan could question any further, Nicky and Jaida entered the room.

“Time for dinner, bitches,” Jaida announced.

As she stood up, Gigi could feel Jan’s eyes on her. Gigi knew no matter how hard she tried to dodge questions about her family, it would come up eventually, especially if Gigi was to be spending the entire year with the same group of girls. The thought continued as Gigi tried to force down the driest spaghetti and meatballs she ever had the displeasure of eating.

Jan stared at the large countdown clock on the wall. “Twelve hours, ladies.”

Twelve hours. In just twelve hours, life as they knew it was going to cease to exist. Gigi felt as though her stomach dropped to her feet. Jan wasn’t the only one who noticed. Everyone’s conversations in the dining hall all came to a halt, as they all looked at the ominous red numbers. As everyone sat in silence, Gigi had never felt so connected to a room of strangers before. A few moments later, the Russian woman Gigi sat next to started talking. All of the inhabitants in the shelter took this as a cue that they could start talking, too.

The women engaged in lighthearted banter. Somehow they went from talking about favorite ice cream flavors, to zodiacs, to first pets. Eventually, the bell announcing the end of dinner rang.

“Not how I imagined the last supper going” Nicky joked.

Gigi didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “It’s finally feeling real.”

Silently, the women made their way back to their room, and Jan promptly sat on the floor. One by one, the others joined her. Gigi was the last, sitting tentatively, trying to not think about how dirty the floor probably was. She reasoned with herself telling herself it had to be clean, since it was a newly built building.

“Circle time,” Jan announced with fake enthusiasm.

“I still can’t decide if I believe this is all a pissing contest between the president and Korea, or if I’m just trying to convince myself,” Jaida mused.

Nicky kissed her girl’s hand. “I hope it’s the pissing contest.“

Jan rubbed her hands together like a comic book villain. “Does anyone have any deep dirty secrets they want to convince?”

“Your first,” Gigi challenged.

“Okay. Sure. Well, when I got my first role, I didn’t get it based on talent alone. I fucked the casting director. No one knows that. Not even my best friend, Brita.”

“Damn, girl,” Jaida exclaimed. “I’m impressed.”

Jan flushed. “What about you?”

Jaida pursed her lips. “Nicky knows this. But, when I first moved to LA from Wisconsin, I was broke. Like, broke broke. Rent was due the next day, and I didn’t know what else to do. I walked past a stripclub and saw that there was an amateur night. That night I became Jaida Essence. I made enough to pay rent plus some.”

“Wow. I’m not surprised you made so much. You’re hot as fuck.”

“Thanks, G. It wasn’t just that one time. I did it enough that they eventually hired me. I quit about a month before I held your hair back at that party.”

“I’m in love with a strippa,” Nicky sang.

“Shut up!” Jaida playfully smacked her partner. “What do you have to say for yourself ma’am?”

“Mine sadly isn’t as shocking,” Nicky began. “When I was in university in France, I fucked my professor. It wasn’t for a grade or anything. She was just hot.”

The group laughed before Gigi asked, “What subject?”

“Ethics.”

“Oh, the irony,” Jaida said, rolling her eyes. “Gigi?”

Gigi thought about giving a disingenuous answer, but thought about how she couldn’t keep her secret forever. She sighed. “So, you know how I haven’t talked to any family since we’ve been here? Well, that’s because I don’t really… have a family.”

No one said anything, so Gigi continued. “My mom had me when she was seventeen years old. She was a senior in high school, and her boyfriend… my dad left her. I still don’t know who he is or where he is. Anyway. She made a lot of… poor decisions. I was taken from her when I was nine. I bounced from foster home to foster home until I eventually aged out of the system.”

“Wow,” Jaida said as she took Gigi’s hand.

No one wanted to ask, but they all had the same question, which Gigi knew.

“The reason I never told anyone is because I was, I don’t know, ashamed of it? I know I shouldn’t be because it made me who I am. All throughout school, I was surrounded by these rich kids from nuclear families,” Gigi cringed at her unfortunate word choice. “As I moved up in the fashion world, it was just all these privileged people that lived so opulently. Growing up, all the belongings I had growing up had to fit into a trash bag.”

Jan wrapped Gigi in a tight hug, and Nicky and Jaida followed suit. Gigi wasn’t sure how long they sat wordlessly holding each other. She shut her eyes and tried to take in the moment. She knew that in just a few hours, things weren’t going to be the same. She wasn’t going to be able to launch her new collection. She wasn’t going to have a design on the cover of Vogue. None of it mattered. In that moment, all she could focus on was the group of girls who were the family she never had.

–

Crystal and Jackie sat across from each other in the basement. Between the two of them was a bong. Jackie couldn’t calm down, and Crystal had a solution. Jackie had never smoked before. While Crystal knew starting someone on a bong wasn’t the best idea, it was all she had.

In the past few days, Crystal had taught Jackie a lot. It felt suiting that the last thing Crystal taught her was how to get high in an attempt to be calm. Just like with anything else, Crystal was an incredible teacher. Jackie successfully hit the bong, managing not to cough. Before too long, Jackie felt the weed hit her system.

“My arms feel heavy.”

“That would be the weed.”

“I wanna lay down,” Jackie said before dramatically falling backward onto a pillow. Crystal decided that the ground looked lovely and also laid down.

“One hour,” Crystal whispered as she looked at her watch.

“Things aren’t going to be the same, are they?” Jackie’s tone reminded Crystal of a child asking if there was a monster in their closet.

Jackie already knew her answer, but Crystal responded, “No.”

Suddenly, Jackie’s knowledge of foreign affairs bubbled to the surface. “Even if the president and the dictator don’t make good on their promises, our foreign affairs are fucked. It’s either the world ends, or more than likely all of our allies are going to pull out because he’s so unstable. If he threatened to nuke a whole country, no one is going to want to be our ally. If for whatever reason we had a world war, which honestly a huge possibility, we are fucked.”

Crystal blinked. She knew her best friend was smart, but anytime Jackie talked about politics, Crystal couldn’t help be impressed. “I’m too high to process what you just said, but I’m going to assume that whatever you said is really, really bad.”

“Correct.”

Crystal closed her eyes. She didn’t know how much time passed, it could have been seconds or minutes. “Hey Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Thank you for being there for me. You are the only friend I’ve ever had. You were there for me when my aunt was in one of her moods. You didn’t stare when I came into school with a black eye the next day. You are the only person who got to know me, and didn’t see me as the second coming of my aunt like everyone else did. I love you.”

Jackie sat up. “I love you too, Crystal. I was the new kid that had no friends. I ate in the bathroom until I met you. Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without you in my life, and I am thankful to call you my best friend.”

Tears began to form in Crystal’s eyes. She rested her head on Jackie’s shoulder. In a tone barely louder than a whisper she said, “I’m scared.”

“I am, too.”

Five minutes.

Jackie looked at her watch. “Fuck.”

Wordlessly, Crystal grabbed Jackie’s hands and held on for dear life.

Four minutes.

Jackie and Crystal were both crying. In the moment, both women felt so horrified they couldn’t speak.

Three minutes.

“Jackie…” Crystal trailed off unable to speak anymore.

Two minutes.

Jackie hugged Crystal tighter than she’d ever hugged anyone.

One minute.

“It’ll be okay,” Jackie said, trying to ease her own mind more than Crystal’s.

Zero.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #jaida x nicky #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jaida essence hall #nicky doll #jan sport #jackie cox #slow burn #lesbian au #wasteland baby #metaluna #tw child abuse #submission #s12

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amyvictoriali · 5 years

Photo

Hey beautiful reader!

As an impending shelf exam for my 3rd year medical student surgery rotation draws near, I of course decided to procrastinate.

Some of you may remember I once had a blog named sweetskindreams with my own URL/domain and everything. Well, it was incurring an annual fee and I honestly wasn’t blogging regularly enough to make that worth the money. I also wanted my blog to expand to a lifestyle blog, where it’s not just regarding skincare but also discusses makeup, fashion finds, food, med school woes, relationship updates, etc. As for the decision to opt Tumblr yet again (rather than the more formal Wordpress) - it is because most of my closest friends (cough people who will actually read this cough) are already on Tumblr and can easily be updated via a follow, whereas a formal blog requires a mailing subscription and the idea of my blog posts being e-mailed out to folks seems a bit extra. For how casual I’m treating all of this anyways.

Intro aside, I wanted to kick off this new lifestyle blog with my recent Spring/Summer 2019 beauty hits and misses. Hopefully this will save you some money if you’ve been eyeing any of these products because there are definitely options I would avoid.

Let’s start with the MISSES:

- Touch in Sol No Problem Primer, $18: this was gifted by my roomie, so I really wanted to love it, but I gave it a miss because it still doesn’t beat Benefit’s Pore-fessional (quite frankly, nothing has) for pore minimization purposes and it doesn’t really act well as a primer either. Doesn’t ease foundation application nor prolong anything. It feels silky and nice to apply but I can’t perceive any useful benefits.

- Too Faced Cooling Matte Pore Perfecting Primer, $34: people need to stop labeling things as “pore minimizing” or “pore perfecting” when they do absolutely nothing for the pores. Similar to Touch in Sol, this primer didn’t do anything special to prime the skin or cover up pores. It does feel cooling, and SMELLS AMAZING like much of Too Faced’s products do (a sweet fig scent), but those are secondary perks that don’t mean anything if the primary function is lacking. I also didn’t enjoy the application, which was hard to spread over the skin and knotted up easily. Hard pass.

- Fresh Rose Deep Hydration Facial Toner, $45: it pains me to put this in the ‘pass’ category but I do so because the effects are not worth the price. Rose petals in the toner make this so beautiful and an addition to my routine I so wanted to incorporate for aesthetics alone, but my skin remained dry only minutes after application. It just can’t justify the hefty price tag.

And now for the FAVS:

- Hourglass Mineral Veil Primer, $54: Ugh. I can’t find a better one. Gifted to me on my b-day by my beautiful friend Liz, I treasure this DEARLY. I’ve known since college how effective this primer is, how flawless the application (very sheer liquid form makes it glide easily over your skin), and yet because it’s been on the pricier side I’ve never actually repurchased. To receive it as a gift is definitely a nod to how well my besties know me and I am so thankful for them. I only use this on special occasions/going out. Hoping I can make this last for a good few months. I have yet to find a better primer, although Laura Mercier is a close second.

- Laneige Berry Lip Sleeping Mask, $20: Again gifted by Liz (WHY DID YOU SPEND SO MUCH ON ME THIS YEAR STOP) and IT IS THE BEST LIP BALM I HAVE EVER USED. And I’ve tried everything from Glossier (overrated) to all the usual drugstore brands (Eos, Baby Lips, Burt’s, Nivea). Nothing beats this. Not to mention it smells/tastes delicious. Laneige kills it with their sleeping mask for skin and the lip one does not disappoint either. Keeps my lips hydrated and doesn’t leave them extra dry after (that’s the main issue with all those other chapsticks, they moisturize for a bit but leave you drier than you started off. This does not have that issue, and is the only thing I’ve ever come across that doesn’t leave me more dried out!) looks glossy too and that’s always a bonus :)

- Missha Magic Cushion Cover, $12 on amazon: ok so... cushion BB creams are my new fav thing. They are so damn easy to apply (literally pat your face for 15 seconds and you have flawless looking coverage) and don’t dry your skin out as much as foundation. Looks super natural too. I can’t rave about these enough. Sure, regular liquid BB creams/tinted moisturizers are also nice and good for summer but those require brushwork or beauty sponge work which both take a couple minutes, whereas the cushions take mere SECONDS. For someone who has to drag her ass to the hospital at 5am, the shorter the routine the better. (AND YOU CAN’T BEAT THIS PRICE TAG! Altho sadly these do only last about a month with daily use)

- Lastly, I received 2 Drunk Elephant samples for my Sephora B-day gift this year. I’m sure y’all have heard of this brand as it is advertised constantly on instagram and has iconically beautiful packaging in bright, fun colors with minimalist designs. The samples I tried were the Beste No. 9 Jelly Cleanser and the Protini Polypeptide cream. Both are ... phenomenal. Very mild scents, free of all the junk that irritates your skin (mineral oils, silicones, alcohols, etc) and just what my currently cystic acne covered skin needed. (Yes, my acne is back, and I am so bummed about it. Definitely a result of me neglecting skin care when I was studying for Step. I ran out of my prescription retinoid for a couple weeks and sure enough these zits came flying back. Recovery has been slow but there is improvement.) The only caveat to Drunk Elephant products are their prices. Full size Jelly cleanser is $32 and Protini cream $68. Decking yourself out in the Drunk Elephant line will definitely hurt your pockets. But omg... I am seriously contemplating trying their whole line now. It’s not just how beautifully the product wears and how effective it is at what it advertises, but the FREAKING PACKAGING. And I don’t just mean the looking pretty part but more importantly the functional design. Go to Sephora and try the already opened samples yourself and you’ll see what I mean. The Jelly Cleanser cap “twists” (but does not come off) and has a little hole in the center that allows you to squeeze out a tiny dollop of product so you can quickly “twist” it back. And their serums are all in little dispenser bottles. You already know how much I love convenience, and DE makes everything as convenient as possible (and so so clean!)

Hope you enjoyed this review and stay tuned next month for a review of a splurge purchase I made on AmorePacific products. I am especially curious about their Treatment Enzyme Powder to Foam Peels, so will review that later b/c I understand $60 is a lot to drop on something without knowing it will be worth your $. My brother is in Taiwan right now and has been instructed to bring back a hefty haul of sheet masks, eye masks, skin toners/essences/serums galore, so more to come in August. Until then, happy shopping!

xoxo, Amy

#beauty haul #hourglass #laneige #missha #toofaced #drunkelephant #touchinsol #noporeblem #fresh #rose toner #beste no 9 #protini #sleeping mask

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.25

Adventure Awaits

02/22/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,688

Warnings: language, light smut, angst, fluff, so much fluffffffffff, obscured nudity

A/N: Hopefully things will continue to come forth easily. The beginning of this chapter wrote itself, then I hit an emotional block but I finally got through it and here is the chapter! Things are a-moving and I can’t wait to share with you all what I have planned! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What’s this?” Her voice is wary, eyeing the spacious kitchen which has been cleared out of the two long tables used to prepare all your meals.

Every servant has been given the day off with the exception of your head cook who is busy preparing your meals in the smaller manor where Peter has been staying. And one servant to tend to your needs.

However, you don’t want any interruption so the first chance you had you sent her off to relax on her own.

At the center of the kitchen with it’s carefully decorated and cobbled floors in shades of dark grays and browns is a large copper basin, big enough for two.

Floating amongst the pleasantly heated bath waters are the deepest of burgundy rose petals. A few of your own signature peonies thrown in, but the deep roses darken the surface. The clear waters are made milky with oils and imported salts that your research indicated would reduce stress.

“What does it look like?” You tease, moving past Nat still wearing the white nightdress you’d been put in for your examination in the morning.

“It looks like a very large bath.” She says a small curl to her lips.

“Because it is a very large bath.” You chuckle. “Peter?”

Your partner in this endeavor moves forward from the large double doorway, smiling at the look of surprise on Natasha’s face.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Make sure no one enters? And inform me at once when Steve returns. Or of any news. Or if he sends word for me. Or-”

“Y/N…” Nat chuckles, watching you with amusement as she cuts you off.

“Sorry. I’m just-”

“Worried.” Peter nods. “He’ll be alright. Knowing about what we do isn’t easy. But trust us…we’re very capable.”

“And he has Samuel and Bucky with him this time.” Nat reminds you. “They are a tough trio to overpower.”

You’re not exactly comforted but knowing that Steve isn’t alone this time does make you feel better.

“I guess you’re right.” You sigh.

“Don’t worry, your Majesty. I will make sure that no one disturbs you unless it’s Steve.” Peter promises.

With a quick bow of his head, he leaves the room and shuts the door tight.

“So, what is the bath for?” Nat wonders, moving over to stand by the edge of the large basin.

“For you.” You tell her and move to stand beside her. “Take off your clothes.”

You don’t wait for her to be ready. You reach behind her and start to tug at the ribbons underneath her bodice.

“Wait! Y/N!” She twists in your grasp, trying to see what you’re doing.

“For what?”

“Your Majesty…” She complains.

“Stand still.” You fuss, and finish tugging her bodice free then peel it off and toss it aside before moving onto her skirt.

“What are you doing?” She laughs, true happiness in her voice. “Why a bath?”

“Because…” You begin, getting her skirt off before tossing it onto her discarded bodice. “…I have wanted to repay your love and support for a while now and seeing as this is how you have taken care of me, I wanted to reciprocate.”

You peek up at her beautiful face to find her slightly stunned but also impressed?

“Have you been reading a lot?” She asks, no doubt noticing your improved vocabulary. You really are trying very hard to be the Queen that Broklin and Steve deserve.

You feel your cheeks flood with heat. “I’ve been studying.”

“You’re doing wonderful.” Nat smiles.

“Our first week here Steve was so busy I only saw him when we went to bed and a few hours in the morning, if that. I had a lot of time to read.”

“Are you finding it easier?” She wonders.

“A bit. My writing has improved as well. Looks a bit more polished now.” You declare proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N.” Nat praises and you smile.

“Take off your undergarment and get in, while the water is still hot.” You tell her, then proceed to remove your own.

As you strip, you caress the tiny swell of your belly. Once you’re undressed, you very carefully climb into the basin and with Nat protectively holding onto your arm to help, sit yourself down on one end leaving the opposite open for her.

Settled, you watch as she strips, and feel your mouth fall open as she drops her underdressed and exposes the exquisite perfection beneath.

Natasha’s body is a vision. Beautiful and porcelain smooth. Every curve appears sculpted by a master craftsman. There is no bit of Nat’s body that is not the ideal of what you think every man hopes his lover will look like. You aren’t even ashamed of your gawking because she is stunning.

“No wonder James is so eager to marry you.” You realize.

Natasha scoffs. “He only wishes he’s seen me so exposed.”

Hm…you would have thought that they’d already been together with how affectionate and open they are.

“That’s my point.” You tell her. “He might very well faint when he finally sees how beautiful you are.”

Nat shakes her head but settles into the steaming water and with one heavy sigh, you see the stresses of her day to day life leave her. And though you know that she does not begrudge you her care, you must be an added stress too.

You should have done this a long time ago.

“Are you comfortable?” You check, wondering if maybe different oils might have been better or if the water has gone too cold.

“Perfectly.” Nat assures you. “Is this what you had in mind for our special day together? Getting me naked in a tub?”

You laugh but nod. “Since coming here, to Broklin marrying Steve, there’s a decorum that I-no, that we are expected to adhere to. So much of our lives are spent abiding by everyone else’s rules. I wanted to give you an opportunity to relax.”

“Thank you.” Nat nods. “But after the morning you just had I would think you need this more than I do.”

You feel your smile waver and then fall leaving a sorrowful grin in its place. Pushing yourself to sit a little straighter, you begin to gather your hair up and away from your shoulders. It drips a little at the tips but it’s mostly still dry.

Nat’s own fiery red locks are already piled up on top of her head in beautiful waves. You’re still absolutely dumbstruck by her beauty, milky skin glistening in the steam, her breasts just barely hidden in the clean yet murky waters.

The rose petals help to keep her shielded.

“I’m not bothered by the examination. Doctor Selvig was very gentle. And it’s good to know that the babe and I are progressing healthily. However, I am still worried about him. What if he’s born with all of the problems that Steve had as a child? Will we have to seek help as the Queen Mother did to cure Steve and save his life?” You chew on your lip, finishing up with your hair and sitting back carefully.

Your hands find your belly and you begin to caress the bump gently.

“I’m sure you and Steve have nothing to fret over. From what I understand of his cure, it changed him in every sense but who he was as a person. He’s always been a reckless, self-sacrificing idiot.” She means for it to make you laugh and you do smile, but your worries as a mother will not relent.

“I hope you’re right.” You sigh.

“Shall I distract you?” She offers. “I did promise to tell you my story.”

Suddenly, your worries are shoved to the wayside as your need to understand this woman, your closest friend, completely.

“I suppose I should start from the age of three?” She begins, “I grew up in a small village, poor. Very much like you did. I don’t remember it, but what I do remember is being somewhere new. I was taken from my home—or maybe sold? I’m not certain. I have searched for my parents but have found nothing—and placed in what I thought was an orphanage for girls. For a long time, that’s what I assumed.

“I had no parents. I was given a bed and food, but also other things that I did not know weren’t normal until I was almost fifteen.” She confesses.

“What kinds of things?” You wonder.

“Violent things. Styles of fighting. Techniques to infiltrate, mimic, a form of acting I suppose you could call it. I was taught to be a spy. To charm those around me and then extract from them whatever it is I should need from them.

“Most importantly, I was taught how to kill, proficiently. And I’m…I have done so many times. The number of people…”

“Is this why you think you don’t deserve to be with James?” You’re astounded by her reasoning. Everyone has done things that they are not proud of.

“It is part of the reason, yes.” Nat admits.

“Nat-”

“I should be dead.” Nat tells you, shocking you into silence.

You wrap your arms around your tummy, trying to hold yourself together at this stunning revelation.

“What do you mean?” You whisper, terrified of a world without your best friend within it.

Nat’s lips curl up into a small sad smirk. He shakes her head once and draws her eyes down to her hand as she passes a floating rose petal between her long feminine fingers, which you suddenly notice are calloused and scarred.

“Back before I met anyone on the team, I was on a…I’ll call it a quest as I think that is the best word to describe it…on this quest, what must have been my twenty-third in a fortnight? I don’t even remember where I was.

“I was closing in on my target, some duke or prince—it didn’t matter—when suddenly, an arrow shot straight through my arm. I still have the scar.” She says, reaching up to stroke the faded line on her left bicep. “It was Clint.”

“The Hawkeye?” You wonder, remembering the pseudonym for the effectively retired member of the Avengers.

“Yes. He was given the order to kill me on sight. And it’s no wonder for I had caused so much turmoil among the Southern kingdoms by killing many high-ranking officials and members of countless courts.

“The price on my head was high but an old group known as the Shield had the highest bid. The man in charge, General Fury had instructed Clint to bring him my head. But Clint instead incapacitated me. He tied me up and spent a week trying to get through all of the cobwebs in my head.

“It took another few months before he was willing to turn his back on me. Literally. He was no longer afraid I’d attack him.

“By the end of the year, every bit of mind control that the Orphanage had me under was broken and I could see myself for the first time in my life.” Nat smiles, this time more genuinely, but it shifts back into the sadness you’d seen in the examination room earlier in the morning. “But although he gave me back my truest self, there are things that the Orphanage took from me that I can never get back.”

“What do you mean?” You’ve shifted closer as she’s spoken, drawn in by this astounding life of violence that she’d lived before you met her.

“The reason that I won’t marry Bucky…” She picks some more at the petals as they float around her breasts, the pads of her fingers stroking the crimson velvet. “…is because I could never be a proper wife for him. Not as one should be to a lord of such high standing.”

“Nat-?” You begin, growing frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“I can never give him children, Y/N.” She meets your eyes, emerald jewels glistening with tears as she lets her words sink in.

Your hands wrap just a little more tenderly against your belly.

“Oh, Nat.” You lament. “And you can’t-?”

“There’s no way to fix it. They were very thorough.” She tells you, dropping her head as she lets her sorrow flow through her beautiful alabaster figure.

You scoot closer with a splash as your body cuts through the fragrant water. Your arms are around her shoulders as you meet her forehead with your own, shutting your eyes as you embrace her close and will yourself to take her pain.

“I am so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to speak louder for you might very well cry. “You have known a life that I would not have wished on my worst enemy. It pains me to know that I can’t help you or erase what’s happened.”

Nat sighs, bodily relaxing as your hands stroke the silky moistened blades of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, opening your eyes to look at her large lower lip as it trembles. “Even if you cannot have your own children, my son shall be your Godson.”

Your promise is true. If something should happen to you, you would hope that Nat and Bucky would take care of your boy. Raise him well. To be a good King and a good man.

“I will need you to care for him as if he is your own. He will be yours, as much as mine. How could I do any of this without you, Nat? I need you. My son needs you.” You lean away to meet her eyes, hoping she can see the sincerity in your own aching expression.

She stares at you for a minute, her eyes shifting between your two, back and forth as her mind races with mysterious thoughts.

Suddenly she smiles. “How are you so…so wonderful? So kind?”

You’re not sure what she means, and you try to think about what it is you just said. Whatever it is that makes her feel that you’re wonderful and kind, you know it’s only because it’s Nat and you would do anything to ensure her happiness.

“Because I love you.” You tell her, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Because you’re you and I want you to know that you aren’t alone. You’ve been with me every step of the way on this chaotic journey that has been the first year of my marriage…”

Has it really been less than a year?!

“…and you deserve every happiness.”

Nat reaches back to take hold of one of your hands then brings it up to her lips to kiss it.

“My gracious Queen.” She sighs.

You let her hold your hand to her lips for a moment as you watch her and the true fear that washes off of her.

“Nat?” You probe, “Does Bucky know?”

She nods, another small sigh escaping her lips. “He knows everything. Where I came from, what I’ve done, what I can never do for him…”

“He still loves you.” You realize.

“Yes.” Nat nods. “The idiot.”

You smile but reach up to caress the sides of her face to draw her gaze. “Nat, my love, Bucky adores you more than anyone or anything else in this world. If he has no qualms with your inability to give him children, then why should you protest?”

“Because he deserves more than that.” Nat replies exasperated and you don’t doubt that she’s had this discussion with Bucky countless times, and she must be tired of trying to get her viewpoint heard.

“And I understand that, but he loves you. If he feels in any way how I feel about Steve, there will be no getting rid of him.” You argue.

Nat growls, “I know.”

“Nat…” She looks at you. “…earning someone’s love can be as natural as breathing. It was that way for Steve and Margaret. Or it can be one of the most difficult things we ever have to do.

“Some of us have to fight for our love and the struggle can be grueling and exhausting. It can damn near kill you. Trust me. I know.

“You and Bucky have managed to find each other, and he loves you so much that he doesn’t care that you cannot give him what you think he deserves.

“If you can, if it doesn’t feel like too much of an imposition, I beg you to let him love you.

“Let yourself be happy.” You stroke her cheek with your thumbs, nodding as her eyes are glued to your own. “You deserve to be happy. Just as Steve did. Though his past will always be a part of who he is, it doesn’t weigh him down any longer. You can let go too.

“I worry, Nat, that if you continue to fight it, Bucky might very well run away just as I did. And then you would be without him…”

Nat scoffs. “I don’t think I could handle him going missing again.”

“Again?” Your brow furrows.

“It’s not important. It was years ago.” Nat shakes her head.

You open your mouth to protest, but your stomach gurgles loudly.

The sound breaks the tension and Nat chuckles then rises slowly before stepping out of the water to quickly drape herself in a thick deep green robe.

“I think you’re hungry.” Nat tells you, grabbing your own fur trimmed blue robe.

She holds it open for you beside the large tub.

“Or at the very least, our little Prince is.” She reminds you.

“You cannot just say something like that and not explain.” You argue.

“Later.” Nat brushes your curiosity off. “Come on.”

With a pout, you let her help you out and into your satin slippers, then reach to take your robe. Nat hisses, pulls it out of reach, then points at you with her chin.

Frowning, you turn around so that she can wrap you up in the soft warm fabric.

“Cheer up, your Majesty. Perhaps Steve has returned?”

This is a rude and shameless tactic of her to use, but it works and with a small pouty scoff, you move for the door suddenly eager to see your blonde, bearded, and blue-eyed scrumptious husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve hadn’t returned when dinner came. He hadn’t returned when it was time for you to go to bed.

You'd sat all night in the plush blue chairs by the fire, counting the haunting calls of the Barred owl, no doubt nesting in the aftermath of the blizzard.

You’re on call number three hundred and seventy-two when your eyes close and don’t reopen.

You hear a sigh and they’re coaxed to reopen.

In front of you, on the cushioned footrest that you rarely use as you much prefer to curl up on the large chair, sits a handsome king.

His blonde hair is damp with small flecks of snow still clinging to the strands.

His cheeks are red, flushed from the biting cold, his lips only slightly blue.

You don’t like that. You want to reach out and massage some life back into that frowning pucker.

Instead, your sleep weary body adjusts in the seat to lean your head against the left side as you wrap your arms around yourself more tightly.

You smile, happy to see Steve despite the disapproval he seems to have with you.

Blinking is a chore. You’re so tempted to just close your eyes again and drift into dreams.

Instead, you lick your lips and swallow.

“Hello.” You croak, voice protesting use so soon after regaining partial consciousness.

“Why are you sleeping in the chair?” Steve asks.

This is what has offended him. This is the source of his frown.

“You’re with child, my petal. You can’t be sleeping in chairs.” He states.

Your back agrees and as you make to sit up, you scrunch your face as the pressure in your back nearly overwhelms you and then subsides.

“I’mmkay.” You lie.

“Well, I’m not.” Steve argues.

With a bite to your bottom lip, you lift your head again, realizing his genuine irritation.

“Have I done something?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Not you, my flower. It’s…Pierce isn’t convinced of your pregnancy.”

“But…” You begin, your heart beginning to pound. You can already feel the fear and the stress building within you.

You cup your bump, fearful of what this means for your baby. Steve scoots closer, his arms tucking in beside your hips to cup the small of your back. It makes him get off the stool and he kneels in front of you, getting as close as the chair will let him.

You like this about him. He seems to know that you need the physical reassurance. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always touching you, holding you, making sure that you know he wants you to be near.

After so much of his distance, you appreciate the proximity in which he keeps you, both in private and in the company of others.

“He’ll have to wait to see the child born. He has no choice.” Steve tells you, voice low and soothing. “Doctor Selvig has assured him that you are with child, Lord Ross saw and was convinced by your growing belly. He has a daughter. Before his wife died, he was very devoted to her while she was with child as well. He knows what to look for.

“Pierce has never had a family. He has no wife. No children. He’s an idiot.” Steve sighs.

Although it’s comforting to know that Lord Ross believes your expectant belly, knowing that Lord Pierce will be looking for any signs that it is a farce—perhaps actively trying to prove it even if doing so should put your son at risk—fills you with a dreadful fear unlike any you have known before.

“Steve…” You shudder.

“It’ll be alright, my petal. I won’t let anything happen to our little prince. You and he are both the only thing that matters now.” He promises and you believe him, despite the crown that rests upon his head.

Your head.

You pull him close, resting your forehead against his, your hand a vice around the front of his shirt.

“Why can’t we just be?” You wonder in whisper.

“I’m sorry.” Steve grieves. “This is all because of me. If I was not your husband-"

“Hush.” You frown, pulling back to look at him. “I’ve fought tooth and nail to have you, I won’t have you wishing yourself away from me.”

He smiles softly, eyes brimming with love and pride.

“I would gladly suffer ten times what I suffered when we started if it meant that we could be as we are now.” You gush.

Steve’s smile widens, teeth exposed transforming his handsome face with more beauty.

“Is that why you ran away from me?” He teases, brows scrunched in amusement but genuine curiosity.

“I ran away from you because you were being an ass.” You shake him, hand still fisted around his shirt front.

“You are the best of women.” He states, “The only one that would have put up with what I did and the things I said…I wish I could take them back.”

“I don’t.” You realize, shaking your head, looking down at your hand clutching his shirt. “Save for our wedding night…there is not one moment of agony I would erase. I know you better for it. I know how stubborn you are, and unaware of yourself. I know how strictly you abide by your morals and how reckless you can be when your emotions are running high.

“But most importantly, I know how fiercely you can love. The lengths to which you’ll go to protect it.

“And if you hold ours in importance to a fraction of the love you had for Margaret, then I am content. All I wanted was a chance to love you.” Steve reaches behind your head, caressing the back and tickling the nape of your neck.

His face is torn with intensity, brow furrowed, jaw tight, eyes piercing with their sorrowful passion.

“A fraction-" He begins but stops as he stares into your eyes, hopeful devotion is all you can offer him.

Is that enough?

“Y/N you are my whole world now. I may have duties and responsibilities to my kingdom but having you in my life now, I could never go back to one without you.

“I always thought that my purpose was to defend the less fortunate, the defenseless and it is…but you have given my life true substance. I thought my life would begin and end with the fight I have been struggling with since I could throw my shield.

“Even with Margaret our lives were nothing but this job, this unspoken calling. I didn’t know that there could be something more important than the fight. And there is.

“There’s you. Our family. Our life together is…if you asked me to give up this life, I would do so in a heartbeat.” Steve gushes.

You’re a blubbering mess. You began to tear up at his admittance that he could never go back to a life without you. You laugh once sniffling and probably looking insane with tears pouring across your cheeks.

“Don’t do that.” You argue, tightening that fist around his shirt. “You love doing it.”

You see it in the way his eyes brighten when he talks about it. As much as you hate the idea of him showing up, broken and bleeding the way he had before, you couldn’t take this part of his life from him.

It’s who he is. You see that.

“But I would stop. For you. For our family.” Steve insists.

“I’ll never ask you to.” You assure him.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You won’t have to. If the time comes that the stress of this life becomes too much for you. I will abandon it.”

“No.” You fight. “I’ll deal with my own stress, you can’t stop!”

Steve chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck with affection.

“Have you always been this stubborn?” He asks.

“Have you?”

Of course, you know the answer to that better than anyone.

He laughs again but pulls you down to meet his lips with a kiss. It gets heated quickly and while your head is still spinning from the way his tongue rolls against your own, he’s scooping you up.

He places you in bed, tracing a line from your jaw down along your neck, collarbone, chest—he circles your nipple, pebbled from the attention over your thick blue nightdress—along your side, then around to your growing belly.

He cups the curve of it, nipping at your neck as your breathing heavies and a soft moan slips through your parted lips.

With your eyes closed, while your body burns for him, your mind races through a million thoughts before it settles on the fact that he’s in his Captain uniform, without his mask, sans his shield.

“Was everything alright?” You wonder.

“With what?” Steve asks, voice octaves deeper, rough as his hand begins to slip along the curve of your thighs, pushing the left one up to open you up.

“The attacks?” You clarify, voice breathless.

“Oh.” Steve stops, his hand drifting around to rest along your hip, still tight and possessive but he props himself up on his right elbow to look down at you as your heaving bosom slows.

“I was worried about you, of course, but the people…?” You explain.

“We lost a woman who was protecting her elderly parents.” Steve sighs, sadness in his storm blue eyes.

“Oh.” You reply, a small hitch in your voice as your chest aches.

You blink hard, trying to banish the tears from your eyes.

“Things aren’t going as well as I would like.” Steve explains. “I’m calling in some help. I’m afraid I will have to take Natasha with me next time. Peter as well, if things do not improve.

“But it terrifies me to leave you without some type of significant protection.” Steve brings his hand back to your belly.

If it were only you, you wouldn’t mind being left unprotected. But with your prince…

“I could always go stay with my father?” You offer.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m going to need him on this too. But you’re right. His castle may be safer for you as Pierce is always so present in ours. I’ll write to him today, see if he likes the idea. I doubt he would mind his own daughter staying for a few weeks.”

“I miss mother too.” You admit. “And Morgana.”

“Malibia it is then.” Steve nods.

Then he lays there, smiling at you, content.

But you shift beneath him, left leg still pushed to the side, bent at the knee.

“Steve…” You complain and bite down on your lower lip.

He grins. “My queen is ravenous.”

“Yes...please.” You plead and there’s a shift in his expression as you beg for him.

His jaw tightens and he dives down between your legs, hands renewed along your thighs, pushing them up to spread you as he devours you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Steve calls, drawing you away from the pile of books by the chair you’ve settled in for the afternoon.

After the exertions of your morning, Steve was eager to get you off your feet and his pleading for you to read to him became unbearable. You caved.

So while he’d settled in at the desk to write the letter to your father, you’d read to him, reciting from an old book of sonnets about spring and summer winds making your skin ache for the comforting rays of the sun.

You pull the small blanket from across your legs and your tempest blue gown spills out around your legs. The fabric is smooth but warm, like silk but thicker and better for the colder climate here at the cottage.

“What’s the matter?” You check, rising with worry at the tone in his voice.

“Nothing.” He assures you, then moves back into view from around one of the bookcases towards the door.

You’d chosen to sit by the large window to look out at the grounds as the snow continue to salt the already frozen earth.

“Agatha is here.” Steve tells you.

“Grandmother?’ You move towards him and he nods.

Steve has taken to the old woman like he would a parental figure. It’s sweet the way he tends to her and though you’re sure it’s because he’s a good man and she a sweet woman, you wonder if maybe it’s also because he knows how important she is to you.

“Where is she?” The aged voice asks.

“Through here, grandmother.” You call, making to walk to her but Steve places his arm around your waist to stop you.

The old woman moves into view and you can’t help the smile that crosses your face as stunning relief takes away any stress you still held in your body.

“Oh, my dear.” She fusses, and moves for you, hands extended.

You take her hands, bringing them up to your cheeks to warm them with your own heat. She’s so cold. You wonder if she didn’t bundle up enough.

“It’s so frigid outside.” You worry. “Where is your cloak?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, girl. Romanoff said that you were experiencing pains?”

You chance a glance at Steve, terrified of the worry it might bring him to hear this, but you nod when you see him looking intentionally calm. There’s a small shift in his jaw that tells you he’s keeping it in for your sake.

“Yes…” You nod. “I think. Just a bit. A small ache in my lower back and my stomach. But the pain was short lived and I have not felt it since.”

Your assurances don’t do anything to make her feel better. She frowns at you then glares at Steve.

“Your doing, no doubt?” She accuses him.

“Grandmother…” You disapprove.

“It is. Forgive me Grandmother. It was an oversight on my own part. I should have made certain to take care when I went out.” He wraps his arm around you more tightly.

“Yes, well, as long as you know that you were in the wrong.” She nods.

“Your Majesties?” A voice interrupts before you can defend Steve to the old woman.

“Come in, Peter.” Steve says, and all three of you turn to look towards the doorway and the bookcases that shield it from view.

There are two sets of footsteps you hear before two bodies round the shelf of aged and multicolored volumes of text.

One of them is, of course, Peter. Wearing a thick gray tunic with sleeves that button along his wrists. He’s getting bigger and bigger by the day. His muscles hardening even more than they already have.

He’s sprouting up. Filling out. He’ll have the girls at court in a frenzy when the lot of you return to Castle Town.

He’s smiling from ear to ear and for a split second you wonder what might have brought on such a pleasant visage when the second body rounds the shelf and your father saunters in.

“Tony?” Steve say, his eyes narrowing a little before his face breaks into a genuine smile.

He releases your waist to move forward and meet your father in a firm shaking of hands.

“Steve.” Tony nods.

“I was just writing to you.” Steve tells him, finding it all a little fateful probably. “What brings you to the cottage?”

You sweep past grandmother and Peter and sidestep Steve as Tony knowingly opens his arms for you.

Devouring him with your eyes, you appreciate the healthy way he looks. Skin glowing, eyes bright, dark chestnut hair layer with only the thinnest layer of snowflakes. His dark leather tunic is weathered and old but probably a comfort in such terrible weather.

“Father!” You gasp, as you settle within his embrace.

His chuckle brings you comfort, and you smile as he gives you a squeeze.

“I think I owe you a somewhat sincere congratulations?” He checks, leaning back to look at your face.

For a moment you’re utterly confused. “Why?”

“Aren’t you with child?” He asks, leaning back and holding you at arm’s length to look you over.

“Oh!” You laugh, so giddy to see him that your joy is infectious, and everyone laughs with you. “Oh, yes! Thank you. I’m so happy, father.”

Tony’s smile widens, a smug look of triumph on his face. “I knew you could make my daughter happy.”

His words meant for Steve are only slightly tinged with venom.

“Yes.” Steve nods, a strange look of remembrance flitting across both their handsome faces.

“I hope you can continue to make her shine like this.” Tony threatens. “I’m not afraid to punch you again.”

It’s like a lead weight falls into your chest and sticks your heart against the bottom of your stomach.

“What?” You gasp, quiet but sincerely shocked.

Steve laughs nervously, moving to stand closer to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders to give you some comfort.

“Nothing. He was only joking.” Steve assures you. “Weren’t you Tony?”

His insistence is so firm that you’re now certain your father wasn’t joking.

“You punched Steve?” You ask in shock.

Tony clears his throat, averts his eyes, and moves on.

“Why were you writing to me?” He asks, moving towards the letter on the desk, half written.

“I…things are getting worse here in Broklin and I was going to ask you whether it would be too much of an imposition to take Y/N in for a time? Perhaps until after she has had our son?” Steve doesn’t look at you, but he pulls you closer. He squeezes you in against his side.

“You know very well that Y/N will always be welcome in Malibia. Her mother is always in earnest need to see her and Morgana writes to her often. Does she not?” Father asks, looking at you for response.

You nod. “Yes. Very often.”

“Mm.” Father agrees, looking back at the letter and giving it only a cursory reading before he begins to adjust the cuffs of his tunic shirt, pacing before the large window.

“What is it, father?” You ask him, very aware of what he looks like when he’s deep in thought.

“It’s fortuitous that you should need to come to Malibia for safety when I was actually here to ask you both for a rather large favor. And I think you, at least, son-in-law, owe me.” Father stops, hands gathered behind his back as he stops pacing and turns to look at Steve.

“What is it that you need, Tony?” Steve waits, no sign of dread or apprehension of being in debt to your father it seems.

“The people in my Kingdom have begun to grow restless. When they heard about the hidden Princess, they were outraged at my deceit. We had only just begun to settle things with the public when word of your disappearance began to circulate.

“Some of them thought that you’d killed her.” Father tells Steve and your mouth falls open.

“Yes. I heard that rumor too.” Steve agrees.

“What?!” You turn to look at him. “You never said that the rumors were that specific.”

Steve shakes his head at you. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Steve, maybe you should start to let me worry about what’s going to worry me? I don’t need to be coddled.” You snap, frowning up at him.

“I’m sorry.” Steve nods. “I should have told you. But it wasn’t important anymore. I just don’t want to risk anything with our little one on the way.”

He places his hand on your tummy and it’s hard to argue with that reasoning.

“Please don’t exclude me. I’m your wife. Am I not equal to you?” Maybe you aren’t? You don’t know how things work with Broklin. It seemed as if you and Steve were mostly on even footing, but perhaps as Queen your rule is less than his?

“Of course, you are. You’re my Queen. If I’m not around, you will rule in my stead. You are my partner, not my inferior.” He assures you, and it gives you ease of mind to know that he thinks this way.

“I don’t want to feel like you’re hiding things from me.” You sigh.

“You won’t. I’m sorry, petal. Truly.” He caresses the back of your head, hair stroke softly before a clearing of a throat brings your eyes back to your father.

“Is this what you look like when you fight?” He asks, amused for some reason.

“We’re not fighting.” You counter.

“Right…” Father says.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “I interrupted you, please father, continue.”

“There isn’t much more to it.” He shrugs. “The people of Malibia are in desperate need to see their eldest princess, now Queen of Broklin, in the flesh. So, will you come? We’ll make it a grand affair. Parade through the Castle city. Feasts. Dances. Celebrations in the streets. It’ll be extravagant and obnoxious.”

Father’s accompanying smile is almost tempting to refuse. He looks like he’s planning a joke or prank, not a royal procession and day of celebration.

“I have no obligations here at the cottage. I may have to take a few meetings with my councilors, but I am open to it. Y/N?” Steve checks, looking down at you.

Although you’d just told him that you wanted to be his equal, you’re a little surprised to have your input counted.

“I’m always eager to see my family again, and it would be nice to visit my old homeland.” You nod. “I’m willing to if you are my love.”

There’s a look of tempered shock on Steve’s face before his cheeks flush and his ears flare a bright burning red.

“What?” You ask him, amused by the expression on his face but confused by it.

“You’ve never called me that before.” He gushes shyly. “Your love?”

You smile, even more amused by his reasoning. “Well, you are my love. Are you not?”

“Always.” Steve coos.

“Oh, jeez…” Tony groans.

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