#soon I'll get fancy new metallics I think will be interesting

[mandareeboo]

N didn't infect Uzi with murder drone syndrome...

In my last theory, I posited that N may have accidentally infected Uzi with the murder drone virus. This new episode has given me pause to reflect and realize it's much, much worse.

He didn't infect her with robo-vampirism. He infected her with Cyn.

"Home" gave us a lot of interesting backstory and details, but in this case I think the fact that Cyn can control murder drones- hell, she seems to have built them from scratch- is what we need to focus on. V and J both were taken over by Cyn's control, and they were forced to do some wack shit under that power.

But some robots weren't. N seemed entirely out of Cyn's control, beyond some gentle manipulation of his emotions. This explains why N was considered the worst murder drone- unlike the others, he was always of full sound mind.

We don't know why, exactly. There's plenty of possibilities. Maybe something in N's hardwiring rendered Cyn unable to. Maybe she just enjoyed his company as is, and that's why she wiped his mind over and over again- to keep that dynamic. The point is- while Cyn wants to be close to N, she shows no interest in taking over his body.

Which means she has to go elsewhere.

JC Jenson may or may not know about Cyn. It doesn't really matter. What we know they're aware of for sure is that an entire party was ripped to robo-shreds by a herd of self-healing robots with metallic wings. Who better, they decided, to become their soldiers? The acid seems to be something they put together- something Cyn has since decided to evolve a tail to mimic.

Cyn wants to be free. She wants to keep chatting with N, and to do whatever her heart desires. There's very little she can achieve as simply a program inside of every murder drone. She needs a body.

When N stabbed her (or when he healed her, it's hard to say; but I'm banking on the former for a reason I'll get into soon) Cyn was inside his body. She's inside of every murder drone- it's why they heal. And part of her escaped into Uzi.

Uzi's showing every sign of slowly being infected.

THIS is what Cyn does. THAT'S how Cyn controls every murder drone. She's a virus, infected them and turning them into puppets OR a fancy new suit for her to wear.

And Uzi's not the only one! Doll's afflicted too, and I think it comes from V murdering her family. It's entirely possible that Doll cut herself on some claws, or escaped with "only a dent". I think Doll's taking longer because she's not in close contact with N. But does it matter? They're both suitable hosts. And I think...

I think this is the result.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter twenty - “collateral damage”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n deal with the emotional fallout of her departure from wakanda.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: mildly suggestive content, nothing explicit, 18+ readers please.

The flight home was wretched. Sleeping on the jet was impossible. Every time she shut her eyes she saw his face. If her mind did somehow manage to drift off to sleep, Y/N dreamed of him and woke up trying not to rip her hair out.

"We can still stay in contact, right?" Bucky asked as they were walking back from the waterfall.

They had left their catharsis by the water, still upset, but now calmer and more logical.

"I don't think so..."

"What? Why? It's not like we don't have the technology to do it."

"I know, but.." Y/N trailed off, trying to think of a sensible excuse.

Obviously they could stay in contact if they wanted. But any kind of phone call would be able to be tracked or recorded. That, and she didn't want him to hang on to someone who betrayed him. She couldn't imagine the guilt she'd have hearing Bucky's "I miss you's" or "Baby doll's" from miles away, knowing she lied to him.

"You don't even have a phone..."

"That's an easy problem to fix."

"I know... I just think you should focus on the rest of your healing, and... you know, I'll have a lot of work once I get back...." she took a breath. "I don't know if it's super healthy for us to cling on to each other when it... may be better to move on..."

"Move on?"

"Yeah..."

Bucky stopped walking and turned to face her. They both stood still and he stared at her, confused, as if he was trying to figure something out. He knew her well. She was scared he'd see right through her.

"So let me get this straight. When you're here we can talk all the time and... plenty of other things. But when you're away we can't even call each other?"

"Bucky..."

"That's not all, is it?"

She sighed. "I'm just... worried... about- like-... getting in trouble. If someone overhears or tracks a phone call...What if someone finds out where the 'Winter Soldier' is and comes here to exact revenge?"

That was partly true. She'd never want anyone bad to find out where he was. But no one was tracking her phone calls; she wasn't really a person of interest. In all likelihood, it probably wasn't something she'd have to be terribly worried about.

However, if anyone overheard or saw Bucky on the phone, they'd know it was her, and she doubted anything she could say would convince them that she didn't tell him about the arm.

Or maybe no one would find out. She just didn't want to take the chance. The last time she took a chance, this happened. She wasn't willing to do it again.

He stared at her with dejected eyes. "You know you don't have to worry about me. I'll be okay."

She rested her hands on his forearms and laughed sadly. "Bucky, I don't think I'm ever not gonna worry about you."

He was already in her heart. She didn't think he could leave now.

He let his eyelids fall shut. "I really don't want you to go."

She closed her eyes as well and let her forehead rest against the top of his chest.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to leave you either. But you're gonna do so well, even without me. And every day I'll wake up and think 'wow this man is sexy and has good coping mechanisms! I wish I was him!'"

In the midst of his sadness, she made him laugh. It was a despondent, quiet laugh, but she managed to lift his mood all the same - even if just a little bit. She'd always make everything better.

He gazed down at her, eyes heavy, and without even thinking about it... "I love you."

She looked down at the grass below her feet. "Buck..."

"I do. I'm sorry but I do."

She wrapped her arms around the middle of his back, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in tight, one arm up her back and the other cradling her head.

In the tiniest whisper, she let the truth flow out from her chest. "I love you, too."

The clouds provoked her, so peaceful and quiet, while her head was a big, loud mess. Y/N leaned her head on the window, glaring at them and wondering if she should've said what she did. That she loved him. Internally, she debated whether or not it would make things worse. But she wasn't going to see him again; she might as well have left him with the truth.

Time was lost to her. She thought she would be landing soon, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

-

Bucky sat at the lake - their lake - and just stared into the water. It felt so strange to him, that she was gone. One minute she was here and now he was just... alone.

It was so quiet. Too quiet. Of course being alone was quiet, but after Y/N left, the air just felt empty.

He wished he could talk to her. Whenever he was upset, all he wanted to do was talk to her.

"So, is this... d-do we say goodbye now?" he asked when they got back to his hut.

"Yeah..." she sighed. "yeah."

"Are you going back to Europe?"

"Yes. Belgium. Haven't been in my apartment in forever."

"Belgium," he wondered. "It's nice there. Safe. What are you gonna do for work?"

"Probably just continue where I left off on my research. Fancy brain stuff, ya'know?"

He grinned, proud. "My smart girl."

She looked around her, as if watching for something. Or someone.

"Buck, I think I have to go now."

"Just one more minute? Please. I wanna remember you like this. Not sad and crying."

Y/N smiled, grabbed his hands, and kissed his knuckles. Both flesh and metal. Because they were both part of him and she loved him. All of him.

Then, she placed both his hands on either side of her face. Softly she said, "remember me like this," before bringing their lips together.

He looked down at his vibranium arm, twisting his wrist to watch how the plates whirred.

Since the first moment he put it on, he had been using it to be gentle, loving, and affectionate. This arm was good. This arm wasn't used for death and destruction and violence.

With this arm he held her, kissed her, loved her. And now she was gone. And now it felt like dead weight.

— ONE WEEK LATER —

Whenever Bucky looked at his bionic arm he saw her. It began to make him sad.

His hair had been getting longer and longer. He could cut it now, now that he had two arms. But every time he tried, all he could do was stare at the arm and hear her voice in his head.

"That's your heart. That's you. You're all heart, Buck. You're so deeply, wonderfully human. All the way to your bones."

That was the first time he expressed real distress about missing a limb, he recalled. That was the first time they kissed. Funny how that transition was made, funny how she could remedy some of his worst emotions.

His days were boring and uneventful and nearly silent. He sat alone a lot. There was no laughter anymore, none of her laughter. There was no more holding, no more kissing, no more loving. The arm just felt... wrong? Like what it was born from had died.

-

In Belgium, Y/N felt incredibly uncomfortable. She knew she just needed to adjust to the change, after getting to used to life in Wakanda - life with Bucky. Her vacant apartment didn't feel as homey.

It had been, what, a year and a half? About a year and a half since she had been home. About a year and a half spent with Bucky.

Her apartment seemed so... barren. Void of life. And cold. She was used to the Wakandan heat. When she closed and locked the door behind her, she looked at the golden square that the sun cast through her window. It reminded her of that heat.

Y/N sighed, cursing her very own hippocampus for providing her with memory.

"God, I wish you had an AC in here."

She was in his bed. Well, she was on top of him, straddling him, in his bed.

"Is it hot or is it just you?" he joked, poking at her sides and trying to not pout at the loss of her lips.

"Ha. Ha," she rolled her eyes and brought her face back to his.

"Wait," Bucky said and gently pulled her face away to examine it. "You are a little warm."

"It's okay," she quickly tried to resume their previous activity.

"Hold on-" he got cut off as Y/N kept pecking his lips over and over.

"I have-"

Kiss.

"An idea-"

Kiss.

Lightly he pushed her shoulders away, nearly giggling. "Stop it! Just wait a second!"

Bashful, she conceded. "What?"

"Just-" he reached out and put the vibranium hand on her forehead, effectively cooling her down a bit. She closed her eyes and flashed a goofy smile.

"That feels nice."

Then, suddenly, he wrapped both his arms around her back and flipped them over so that he was on top. He smirked.

"Oh yeah, you just wait."

She hung her keys up and took a deep breath, absorbing the emptiness. This was her new normal; she just had to get used to it.

-

"I just- I don't really... I don't think I need it," Bucky tried to explain.

Want it, he thought. I don't want it. I can't stand to even look at it.

"You don't need it?" Shuri asked.

"Yeah, it-uh it takes a bit of getting used to and I think I just need a break. And I wouldn't want to damage it so... figured it's better with you."

He was better at lying than he gave himself credit for.

"Okay," Shuri accepted his answer and began to detach the bionic arm. "But you let me know if it's uncomfortable or painful anywhere so I can adjust it. Alright?"

"Alright. Thank you."

Finally he was rid of it- that cursed metal weighing down on his soul. Maybe now he could focus on other things. Maybe. It didn't seem likely...

However, as the days drew closer, it did make him slightly - only slightly -  less nervous about the trigger word experiment. Now he didn't have a weapon attached to him. Though he reckoned he was the weapon.

No. He wasn't supposed to think like that. He knew Y/N wouldn't want him to. He knew she would say something like, "You aren't what they tried to make you into. You're you and all HYDRA's awfulness can't change the good at your core. My Bucky. You're perfect."

He'd deny to high heavens that he was the farthest thing from perfect. Bucky had no clue how she could say such things. But her conviction never faltered.

Soon enough the day came. The experiment. All he could think about was how she was supposed to be there. He didn't want to do this without her.

But now, he found himself sitting at at a fire on some mountain with one of the Doras. It was dark and it was scary. He was scared.

"It is time," said Ayo.

Nevermind want. He wasn't sure if he could do this without her.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I won't let you hurt anyone."

He was still scared. He still didn't trust himself. But, staring into the fire, he thought back to a past conversation.

"You don't have to trust yourself. That's hard enough as it is and Hydra didn't make it any easier. You just trust me, alright? ... And I will not let anything happen to you."

Bucky didn't have to trust himself. He just had to trust her. Even if she wasn't here, even if she was on another continent, all he had to do was trust her. When Ayo began reciting the trigger words, that was the one thing thing he held onto. The one thing that kept him afloat.

His trust in her.

delicate taglist: @emmojoy @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Californian Dream (Pt. 01 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.8 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

Next part (02)->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Lemonade

Ignoring the meaningless chattering, you drink what's left of your water, then put the glass against your neck, hoping the cold will help with the hot weather. Summers in California are always this hot, and since you're under the sun, it doesn't help. Some of your friends, or better saying, the family friends, the people you grew up with, are here again, using your pool as if it was some kind of club they can attend. Standing on this badly shaped circle, you pretend to listen as Ryan goes on about some mansion he helped his father sell this weekend. He's excited, gesticulating a lot, and the others seem to be quite interested too. But not you. Honestly, you couldn't care less.

Through the corner of your eye, you see someone moving on the other side of the huge pool, behind some trees. Turning your head to see it better, you easily recognize the new pool guy, Billy Hargrove. He's been working here for only a couple of months, coming a few times a week to clean the pool or to fix something. You always pay attention to the staff, because nobody else does. You like to know them since they're working at your house after all, and that made you befriend a lot of them throughout the years. But Billy? You haven't even crossed paths with him yet. On purpose.

Billy is by far the most handsome guy you ever met, and you just don't think you can say anything to his face. He probably thinks you're one of the silly, rich chicks he meets on his job, and for some reason, it bothers you.

“(Y/N).” Ryan snaps his fingers on your face, dragging you out of your thoughts. “Are you in there? Aren't you listening?”

“Yup. Sorry, I tuned out for a minute.” Politely, you apologize. “What were you saying?”

“The gala. Who are you going with?”

“Uhm... Not sure yet.” Playing with the empty glass, you move your weight from one leg to the other. “I don't have any good options.”

“What?” Gisele exclaims, giggling. “Robert wants to go with you. Daniel would easily ditch his date for you. And Michael–”

“Don't wanna go with neither of them.” Cutting her off, you decide to just say it. Robert is the most hateful person you ever met. Daniel has been chasing after you for years, it doesn't matter how hard you try to make him understand you don't like him, and every girl he dates, he does it to try and make you jealous. And Michael is a manipulative jerk. All three members of the most prestigious families of California, and desired bachelors. And yet, you can't stand them.

“Who are you going with then? The pool guy?” Gisele gestures at something across the pool, and you know at who.

“Maybe. I bet he's way better than Michael, Daniel, or Robert.” This makes all the five of them laugh, in a very mocking tone. But you mean it. “I might go by myself. Who cares?”

“Are you crazy? Your parents will care, and people will talk, you know that.” Ryan rolls his eyes, lightly slapping his friend's arm. “C'mon, Antony, let's find (Y/N) a fourth option.” The two guys smirk and walk away, and you don't even bother to ask what they're up to. You don't care.

“For real now, (Y/N),” Alice says, running her fingers through her hair. “Gisele is right. The three guys are so into you, and Robert...” She chuckles, exchanging a glance with Gisele. “He's hot. He's... So damn hot.”

“Why don't you go with him then?” You ask her, taking a deep breath and already thinking of an excuse to get away from this conversation and back into the secrecy of your bedroom.

“Because I'm dating.” She answers as if it was the most obvious thing. As if she didn't have a different boyfriend every month. “James Whayland. The one and only, heir to the Whayland fortune? Do you happen to know him?” A rhetoric question, of course. Everyone knows who the Whayland are. “I'm so gonna marry him.”

“You must,” Gisele adds. “You'd be like, stupidly rich.”

And they go on with that, a conversation you don't even try to follow. A lot of girls do that, getting married to join the fortunes and shove more money into their pockets. Your mother herself did it, and she tries to push you into doing the same, pointing out the richest bachelors of California. But you'd never do that. You rather never get married than getting married without love. It's so obvious, yet, if you bring that up, it always becomes an argument. ‘Love comes with time’, she says. ‘Once you're provided financial stability, you'll learn to love the provider.’ None of that sounds appealing to you. You're hoping to fall in love one day. It hasn't happened yet, but you'll patiently wait.

“Hey, Earth to (Y/N).” Ryan raises his voice, and, a little annoyed, you look up at him.

“What?”

“You're welcome.” He says with a wicked smile.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you tilt your head to the side. “For what, Ryan?”

“For getting you the best date ever for the gala, sweetie.” He and Antony laugh, and soon enough the others follow. “The pool guy is taking you to a high society party. How amazing is that?”

It takes a while for you to even process what he's saying, but his mean tone makes you angry. He thinks he's superior to anyone who doesn't have a collection of fancy cars in their garage. “First of all, Ryan, the pool guy has a name, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. You're always close to the staff.” He emphasizes the last word, making a disgusted face.

“Second...” What? Second what? You know you can't go with Billy. That would get people talking. But then, the other options make you sick to even consider them. And honestly, you couldn't care less about what people say. It'll probably get you a hell of a lecture from your parents, a few weeks of gossips and mean comments, but that's it. Soon enough someone else will become the hottest topic. “You know what, forget it.” Putting the empty glass on the table, you walk away, ignoring how they call you, telling you not to be silly.

Maybe the guys are joking. Maybe they're just pulling a prank on you, but there's no problem with finding that out. Walking around the pool and into the garden, you walk around the supply closet, following the low noise of something being put into the metal shelves. The supply closet is open, so you patiently wait on the outside, barefoot on the grass as you move to stand to bellow a tree. Bouncing your leg, you look around, breathing deeply and trying to understand why the hell you decided to face Billy now. He's the only guy who works here you're making sure not to have any contact with.

“Good afternoon.” The voice startles you, and you immediately turn to face him. Billy is closing the closet door shut, eyes focused on you. And yes, he's far more gorgeous from up close. “May I help you, Miss–”

“(Y/N).” You cut him off, cursing yourself for doing so. “You may call me (Y/N).”

He simply nods, walking closer and stopping on a shadow spot too. “Do you need anything from me?”

“Uhm...” For a moment, you gotta think a little to remember what brought you here. “I just wanted to ask if maybe some two jerks came to talk to you... About a party... And... Taking a girl to this party...” Playing with your fingers, you wonder if he already thinks you're a total idiot.

“Yes. They said you needed a date for some gala.” Billy crosses his arms, not looking away from you. “If you need it, I can take you.”

Oh. Would he really do that? “Uhm... Look, Ryan and Antony meant it as a joke.” You gotta be honest, even if it means he'll give up the idea. “I mean, not for me, they're just... They're jerks. And they...” Holy crap. You have to get your shit together. “They thought it would be funny to make you think you could take me to this gala.” Taking a deep breath, you push the words out. “But... I would like it if you could because all my options suck. It's either Michael or Robert or Daniel, and you probably know they're all fighting for the award of the worst person on the face of Earth.”

“It might be really hard to make this decision. Might as well split the award in three.” He speaks up and you giggle. The staff don't usually speak like that about the families they work for. But Billy doesn't seem to care and you like that.

“Yeah. So... I know people will gossip about it but I'd be forever grateful if you could do me this kindness.” You're blushing now, biting your lip. “Because I know it's not your job or anything but I could pay you if you want.”

“There's no need.” Billy shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. “It's a party, right? It will be fun.”

“Oh... About that...” Calling such events ‘parties’ is a misunderstanding. Almost a crime. “These things... Suck. It's super dull, full of rich people donating, trying to donate more them someone else just so they'll show off how rich they really are... You'll absolutely hate it. I do.” Gesturing at yourself, you give him an apologetic look. “I'd owe you for life if you help me get through it without having to put up with any of those assholes.”

Billy nods, looking down before his eyes meet yours again. “I believe I'll have to wear one of those suits right?”

“Well, I'll be in some uncomfortable dress, so we'll both be unhappy about our clothes.” Your mind goes to the lilac dress your mother made you buy, extremely expensive.

“Alright then. It's on Sunday, right?” You nod. “Should I pick you up?”

“Yes. At seven.” He gives a small nod before gesturing at the garden. “I gotta go now.”

“Sure...” Billy waves before walking away, and you stand there, wondering if you should go back to your so-called friends. You're sure Ryan will have that stupid smile on, eager to know what you and Billy have spoken about. And you won't tell anything, but you also don't want to deal with that shit right now, or else you might tell right to their faces how much of a jerk they are. So you decide to follow Billy through the garden, easily finding him by a particular big tree. He's opening a leaf tarp on a clean space on the grass before taking a fan rake. “This tree is dying.” You say, getting his attention. Billy turns around, furrowing his eyebrows. “That's why there are so many fallen leaves. See how some of them seem healthy, normal green leaves? It only happens when the tree is dying.”

“Then you should have someone cut it down before someone gets hurt.” He says, looking a little confused. “Shouldn't you go back to your friends?”

“Yeah, I probably should.” You're tired of all the things you should do, so for today, you won't do them. As silly as it may be. “Do you need some help?” You ask, stepping forward a little.

“No, I'm alright.” It sounds like a question, and you blush from the way he stares at you, for several seconds, before focusing on his task, raking the leaves to the tarp.

“Ok.” Whispering, you move to sit on a wooden table, one of the many you have scattered around the property. You try not to look at Billy too much, noticing how weird it feels to do this. You barely know the guy, he'll be your date for a gala, and now you're awkwardly seated here, watching as he works. Well, it is better than whatever your friends must be talking about now. “So... What exactly do you work with?” You ask, hoping to get any kind of conversation going. “I thought you just took care of the pool.”

“I work for a company. BJ's Associates.” Billy starts, and you take this chance to look at him. Despite the distance, you can see the sweat glistening on his forehead. “They send me to any place I'm needed. Some of them are scheduled weekly, others are random. And–” He makes a pause suddenly, giving you a look. “Are you bored yet?”

“No.” Shrugging your shoulders, you giggle. “I actually wanna know.”

He turns his head to look at the pool, which is a little distant now. Maybe he thinks this is some kind of move, and you wouldn't blame him, judging by the way the guys probably came to talk to him. “That's it. I clean pools, fix cars, might paint walls or something, clean gardens... The list goes on.”

“You know how to fix a car?” Raising an eyebrow, you move to seat on the table, placing both your feet on the wooden bench. “My car is making this weird noise and I'm sure it's not some normal noise.”

“How does it sounds like?”

“Like a clunking, I think... every time I hit the breaks, even when it's softly.”

“It could be some damage to the brake caliper.” He's quick to answer, and you raise your eyebrows, impressed. “Or it's badly mounted.”

“Damn, you're good.” You exclaim, giggling at his funny face.

“I just–”

“(Y/N)!” Amelia's voice reaches you, and Billy stops talking, resuming his job. “I've been looking for you.” The old lady, with her gray hair tied up on a perfect, sophisticated bun, comes to the table you're at, a tray with a jar and six glasses on her hands.

“I've been here chatting with Billy.” You tell as she lays the tray down. “And no, I won't go back to the pool.”

“They're talking about James Whayland.” She starts, rolling her eyes. Amelia is the only one in this house, well, the only one you know who understands you. “Alice Martin was talking about marrying him...?”

“Yup.” A stronger wind messes with your hair, so you use a hand to keep it away from your face. “Something about joining their fortunes and being the king and queen of California. Some shit like that.”

“Poor Alice.” Amelia breathes out, taking a glass and pouring some lemonade on it before handing it over to you. “That Whayland kid is not the nicest guy on Earth.”

“Poor James!” You giggle, putting your glass down and serving her some lemonade too. She doesn't like when you do that, since she's here to serve you. Amelia, the woman who raised you is here for nothing else than to serve you. So unbelievable it almost makes you laugh. “Alice isn't nice either. She can be very manipulative to get what she wants.”

“Don't I know?” She mutters. “Well, I must go. Serve this to your friends.”

“No, no, no. Take your glass and leave the rest. If someone complains tell them I'll drink the whole jar.” Taking the tray from her hands, you place it down on the table again.

“Alright, Miss–”

“(Y/N). Honey. Bunny. Anything, but not this formal stuff, ok?” You correct her, and Amelia gives you a bright smile.

“Alright, (Y/N).” She repeats before turning around and walking away, cordially greeting Billy.

Taking a sip from your glass, you smile to notice Amelia's lemonade is as good as always. A little too sour for your parents taste, but you like it better this way. Your attention goes back to Billy, still dealing with the fallen leaves, despite being almost done. If you ask, he might say no, so you just pour another glass before jumping to the ground, making your way over him. “Here.” Raising your voice, you get his attention. And once again he has this confused expression on his face when he sees the glass. “Lemonade. It's hella hot out here and this might help.”

“Thanks.” Squinting his eyes a little, he takes the glass from your hand, taking long sips, drinking almost everything.

“Sorry if it's a little too sour. I don't like much sugar on it and Amelia knows so...” When he's done, he gives you back the glass. “Why are you looking at me like that? I swear I'm not a ghost.”

“That's not it. I'm just not used to being treated like that by the owners.” Billy's voice gets a little darker, and he pronounces the last word with certain anger. But you can imagine exactly why. Most of the people you know aren't very fond of their employees. They're just the people they pay off to do what they can't do by themselves.

“I know how some of the families can be mean.” Drumming your fingers on the empty glass, you stand there, staring at Billy, just now noticing the deep, beautiful shade of blue from his eyes. Involuntary, you breathe out, smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing!” You burst out, clearing your throat and finding your legs again, making the way back at the table. “I–”

“(Y/N)!” A shout startles you, and when you turn at the source of the voice, you see it's Gisele. “Get back here! You won't guess who just got here.”

“If it isn't Michael Jackson ready to perform Beat It, I'll be disappointed.” You mutter, only loud enough for Billy to hear it as you walk back to the pool.

“Call me if it's him,” Billy says and you giggle, giving him one last look.

It's not Michael. Well, it is, but not Jackson, just Michael Rothford. He stands by the pool, where everyone gathers around him. Trying not to look pissed, you move closer, offering a polite, fake smile. “Good afternoon, Mike. How have you been?”

“I'm way better now.” He answers, and you try to ignore how everyone moves a little, giving you more space to move closer to Michael. He takes your hand, giving it a shake, and awkwardly squeezing it softly. “I'm here to ask, once again, for you to let me take you to Sunday's gala.”

The two idiots, Antony and Ryan start giggling, and you know exactly why. “Sorry, Mike, I can't.” Pulling your hand away, you cross your arms. “I already have someone, so...” Thank God you have the perfect excuse, and it's not even a lie. You're so damn relieved you won't be forced to attend to such a boring event with someone like Michael.

“Who?” He snaps, suddenly pissed. “Daniel is going with that Angela chick. Robert, you can't stand. Andrew isn't in the country, Willian–”

“You don't know him, alright?” Cutting him off, you sigh.

“Oh, shit,” Ryan mutters, and you give him a look. He has a hand covering his mouth, trying to control a laugh. “You're really going to the gala with the pool guy.” Antony burst into laughter, and the others try to control themselves not to.

“You rather go with the staff than with me?” Michael sounds offended as if he was punched in the face. “Are you kidding me, (Y/N)?”

Quickly, you try to think of something to say. You can't say the truth, that he's a hateful human being you can't stand being next to. But nothing comes to your mind. “No, I'm not. I... Actually wanna go with Billy.”

“Honestly, (Y/N), screw you.” He barks, and before you can answer, he grabs both your shoulders and pushes you straight into the water.

Everything happens way too fast for you to process, so there was no way you could tell him you absolutely can't swim. So the moment you hit the water, you just sink, your body moving to the bottom, way too far from the surface. You do try moving your legs a bit, uselessly. But you're suddenly pulled, strong arms moving you through the water until you finally reach the surface, gasping for air. Breathing fast, the terror finally starts kicking in, and you push yourself up, stumbling a little, ignoring all the hands that offer help. Once you're out of the water, seated on the edge, you finally see who saved you, Billy, also pushing himself up, only with a lot more grace than you. You exchange a glance, and his hand is the one you take, pulling yourself back to your feet.

“You can't swim?” You hear Michael's voice, a curse caught in your throat. “I never met a Californian who can't swim.”

Not minding the small crowd around, you make you walk to Michael, losing no time before slapping him right on the face, the loud noise of your wet hand colliding to his cheek startling some of your friends. “Asshole!” You yell before storming away, embarrassed, still struggling to catch your breath, feeling cold thanks to your soaked clothes.

“Hey.” Someone calls, but you ignore them, walking fast into the house. “(Y/N).” Your arm being grabbed makes you stop walking and turn around, ready to make hell rain on whoever it is, but your fury melts away when you see Billy. “Are you ok?”

Taking a deep breath, you relax a little, nodding. “Yeah, I just... Got scared.” He lets go of your arm, but you don't step away, looking into his blue, calming eyes. “Thank you, though. You saved my life.”

“Can't believe he threw you at the water like that.”

“See why I need you to take me to that stupid party?” Crossing your arms, you pace around. “I can't even begin to imagine how it'd be to spend the night with that prick.” Looking down, you notice how you and Billy are dripping, soaking the white floor. “I gotta go change, and you should... I don't know. At least you got to enjoy the pool for a while.”

“I'd rather enjoy it when you're not drowning.”

“Yeah, that would be better.” Shyly smiling, you give a step backwards. “I gotta go... But thanks again.” Stopping in your tracks, you decide to be just a little brave. Stepping closer, you tiptoe to place a quick kiss on Billy's cheek, before turning around and rushing upstairs to your bedroom.

×

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @alwaysadreamingoptimist

[alri-xo]

Ship of Dreams (Titanic 1997 AU) | Chapter 1

Gif not mine

A/N: Hello everrrrybodyyyy so after about twelve hours, chapter 1 is here 🎉 and like... Yeah... I hope you enjoy reading this part bc it's gonna be pretty long. (Italics are short flash backs). Made a few tweaks in how the scenes flow but still, it gets there. Don't worry bout it. And I added links below for you to easily navigate between the current parts of the story, and I'll be doing that for all the other chapters for easier access. Channelling this Bucky (thanks babe @witchymegg ) and post serum Steve in this fic, but in whatever Jack and Fabrizio wore.

Pairing: Alexander Pierce x Reader

Warnings: Age gap?, rich people being rich people, social discrimination, gambling. Swearing... I am on the app so this has no page break

The whirring of the large helicopter was heard through out a far radius, Y/N and Meg seated inside and Diamond on the old woman's lap.

As one of the submarines were being swung over to begin another mission, Jared and Baron walked over, talking. Baron was rather aggressive in his perspective on meeting lil old lady Y/N, calling her an old liar. Saying that her claims that she is Y/F/N is false as she 'died' in the Titanic.

However, Jared was too set in finding the precious jewel to listen to Baron's claims. He'd care less of his friend now that he finally has a walking diary willing to tell the tale.

Jared's Point of View

"She's dead, McKinley... Look it up. She might be another person for vanity... She's an old goddamn liar..." Baron says harshly as the loud propellers of the heli fill the ears of everyone on deck.

"Y'know what, do something you fancy right now, Martins... This is what I fancy, and if you don't want in, go some place else..." I say sternly as I walked over to help the old nutshell out the Sea Stallion.

Claiming that she's dead is rather harsh, now that she's here. In a wheelchair, frail, basically looking like time wasn't too good to her, no... She's no fine wine.

But she is definitely a fine piece of the puzzle, for my reputation and for this shipwreck. Thousands of dollars will go to nothing and will prove Baron right.

I'm his boss. I should be right...

Right?

"Good day, Mrs. Treville... Welcome to the Dal'nomer... I'm Jared McKinley..." I greeted as she was carried down the heli in her wheel chair, a young woman following her as she descended from the small door.

"Hello, Mr. McKinley... This is my granddaughter, Meg..." She greets me as Meg reaches out to shake my hand for a brief moment, following her grandmother soon after, a fish bowl with a few small fishes inside being handed to me.

Who the hell brings their entire house in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?

💎

"How's the stateroom, Mrs. Treville?"

"Lovely, Mr. McKinley... Very lovely..." she says happily as she looked around the room, "Have you met my granddaughter, Meg? She takes care of me..."

"Yes, we met a moment ago, grandma..." She smiles as I caught Baron roll his eyes and chuckle... I looked at him, making him stop.

"Oh yes..." she says remembering me meeting her granddaughter. A short pause filled the air for a moment, as I looked at the mass of picture frames on top of the bedside table.

I mean, it's pretty inconvenient and her actions are pretty different than any old lady I ever met.

"That's nice... I like to bring my pictures with me... And Diamond of course..." she says pertaining to her white Pomeranian, seated on the foot of ther bed.

Old ladies... Quite peculiar specimens.

But that's not the thing I'm after. I'm after that big juicy jewel, and the story behind it. The safe combination, how did Pierce grab hold of it, of such a controversial piece of pressurized carbon.

"Anything else you need?"

"I would like to see my drawing."

💎

Reader's Point of View

We entered the lab. The white paint prominent all around. Technicians in their white garments as they fiddled with the tech around them, like children playing with their dolls.

They lead me to a place in the lab, a rectangular dish on top of the cold, busy table. A drawing of a woman submerged in the clear water.

"Lay there... Just like that for me..." his steel blue eyes focused as he directed my form, bare flesh but a large gem on my chest, dark as the rim around his irises.

His large hands held his pad of paper as he sketched in dark grey strokes.

His dark brown locks loose on his face as he glanced at me.

His muse.

It puts a smile on my face, as I remember how I was too innocent and certain to love someone for the grade of good, not knowing any better.

Jared nears to me, holding a black and white picture in his hands, the 'Heart of the Ocean.'

"Louis the Sixteenth, wore a fabulous stone called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, it disappeared in 1792. About the same time Louis lost everything from the neck up..." Jared said as he sat beside me, showing me the picture... I just listened to him and the gem's origins.

I always knew it cost a fortune, but now I just realized a thing that I felt back then... A diamond fit for royalty on a girl like me, marrying for what good reason?

It's a gorgeous piece, truly. However, by what Jared is saying, it is one for that of the Olympic Dieties.

"... Today, it would be more expensive than a Hope Diamond," his friend Baron nodded, agreeing that such is worth a fortune.

All I could think was I was both lucky but undeserving of having to wear it. A thing worth more than my whole existence is wanted by these people for whatever reason. I wouldn't want to jump into conclusions.

"Oh, I remember how heavy this was..." I said touching the picture of the necklace and looking ay the drawing, "I only wore it this once..."

Meg looks at me reluctantly, raising an eyebrow, "Do you really believe that's you, Grandma?"

I smiled at her and chuckled, "Why yes, dear... I was quite the looker..."

Jared smiles as my granddaughter giggles behind me. All is well on my part.

However, I can sense that one of the men, Baron, is skeptical of me. I wouldn't want to think so paranoid but, a man like him looks at someone like me differently.

Jared goes on with his story, and I listen, any rational human should do the same, "We tracked in down through insurance records but it was deemed confidential... Do you know who the claimant was, Y/N?"

"I believe it may be someone with Pierce..." I say in a lively tone. But that surname irks me.

Pierce...

"Ding ding ding! The father, New York personality, worked for the Navy as one of it's top asset and next part of his story, became one of the most known socialites of his time in the US. For his son, Alexander Pierce, heir of all that cash, splurged on the necklace during his trip to France..."

He paused a little, "For his fiancee, you... One week before the Titanic set sailed from England. Claim was made after the ship sank... Meaning, it went down with the ship."

Meg looked at the date, dictating it to Jared as he snapped his fingers.

"So if your grandma is who she says she is, it means that she wore the necklace when the Titanic sank..." Baron butted in like an omniscient being, but I don't really mind. What is there to mind anyway?

I can't force someone into believing who I say I am. I have gone through enough in my 100 years of existence and that's a thing I learned along the way, before I rode that ship. I couldn't force even my mother who I think I am... When she was alive of course.

Jared smiles at me like the Cheshire cat, eyes gleaming with anticipation, "And that makes you my new bestfriend."

💎

We went forth to another part of the lab. In front of me stood a table, antiques submerged in the Atlantic laid out in front of me.

It felt as if I was travelling through time, in my younger years. My glory days. The mirror looked in shape, though faded a little and cracked, it's still the mirror I once held.

"My reflection is a little different..." I smiled as I set it down. I took another antique from the table, a hair piece this time and inspected it. It still dawns its jewel toned colors, except it has faded through the test of time.

All these items still vivid in my memory. How new they were and the materials that made up every piece on this table, were so rare and priceless. It's extraordinary how they are still in mint condition, after such a long time.

The people connected to these items however, didn't stand the test of time very well. They come and go.

"Are you ready to go back to Titanic?"

💎

Third Person Point of View

"Live from 12,000 feet," Baron begins with his lecture, a simulation of what happened to the Titanic, the video running the events that lead to the sunken disaster, now at rest in the Atlantic.

Jared thought she doesn't need to know this, but Y/N insisted. She said she was curious, despite her thoughts on this skeptic, Mr. Martins, it would be rude to decline. Men can share.

Y/N, seemed facinated with the tech around her, showing the bottom of the ocean but seemed interested at a certain part of the sunken ship, which made Jared pay attention to her expressions, to unlock memories that may lead him to a successful mission.

He simply can't let every bit of this pass. Not a damn chance.

Baron went on and on... making sounds along the visuals on screen...

"Morse code, DIT DIT DIT..."

"Sank on the bottom like junk, BOOOM..."

"Pretty cool, huh?" Baron says happily, smiling at her, ancient eyes stoic as it ended.

"Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Martins. Of course the experience of it was far less... Scientific..." she says, her voice frail, but willing to tell what it's like. Willing to be a primary source of information, a walking book... Diary rather.

"Will you share it with us?" Jared asks, preparing the tape recorder.

Y/N stands from her chair, looking around the monitors, the sad ruins of the ship below. Algae and sea garbage on its once metal hand rails and deck.

Reader's Point of View

I looked at the ruins of the ship from the monitors. Every part of it, every set of stairs, every surface of the ship, I see people, from all walks of life. The door, now rusted and covered in debris and underwater plants.

"Good day, Ms. Y/L/N..." a man says, who works in the Titanic opens the door for me, metal tinted in gold as its windows, the varnished wood engraved with expertly made carvings.

Futher past the door, the ivory staircase on full display. Passengers of first-class in their fine garments and black suits, up and down its grand halls.

It all flashes in my head, before my eyes. All the opulence, the lush life... And how lives clinged to the metal rails for dear life.

I felt my face get hot and my eyes burn as tears ran down my face, my mouth slightly agape as I covered it and gasp in air, as it drowning in my memories and in my emotions.

Meg's face paints to worry, as she takes my wheelchair, "I'm taking her to rest."

"NO!"

My voice strong and in authority. I called Mr. McKinley, and I am here to give it to him. Not for him to aid in my old age.

I sat down with the monitors behind me as the people in the room settled down, Jared holding a tape recorder in his hands.

"It's been 84 years-"

"Just tell us what you can... Anything at all..." Jared interrupts as I began to tell of my experience. Took aback, I thought to myself...

Does he really want me to say what I have to say or he just wants something else out of me?

"Do you want to hear it or not, Mr. McKinley?" I ask sternly, he falls quiet signalling me to continue.

"It's been 84 years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china has never been used. The sheets have never been slept in... Titanic was called, the 'Ship of Dreams,' and it was... It really was..."

Third Person Point of View

Everyone was smiling ear to ear, hugging each other as they boarded the large ship. People segregated, the first-class passengers need no such inspection, just by the looks of them.

Third-class however, needs to go through inspection. Health, appearance... Certain things were contagious back in the day.

In the sea of people, old fashioned automobiles honked loudly, the aristocrats. Easily distinguished as gold curls surrounded the edges of the vehicle's doors and windows, one after the other. It's contents may be people or their stack of belongings.

To these aristocrats and socialites, there is no in between when it comes to needs and wants. Every want is a need.

Reader's Point of View

So this is a ship, they say? It's but a big boat to me... Looks like any other ship. So much for taking me here when I could've lived my life on land like a normal girl.

I reached out my gloved hand to the chauffer, helping me off the vehicle. I looked through my wide brimmed hat, the Titanic in front of all the people bidding goodbye.

To these people, this is the grandest ship in their eyes and hearts. For me, who had a fair share of being on different ships, this just looks like a joke to me.

So much for bringing me here, Pierce.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about... It doesn't look bigger than the Mauretania..." I say to Alexander as he stepped down the vehicle.

"You can belittle all other things, Y/N but not the Titanic..." he pressed as if he himself already entered the ship, "It's over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania and far more luxurious... You're gonna love it..."

I walked forth a little to give space to my mother, Katherine, Karen for short. I call her that, but without her knowledge as she likes to make herself be heard and she wants it exactly how she wants it.

"Your daughter's far too hard to please, Katherine..." Alexander says as she helps her off the vehicle.

May I add, she's a feisty one.

"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable, huh?" She says looking at the ship, raising her thin eyebrow. Her hands tucked inside her hand warmers.

"Yes, it is unsinkable. God himself can't sink this ship." He beams as my mother looks at him impressed.

A small man approached Alexander, telling him that the luggage should go to the main entrance around the ship somewhere. He hands him a good tip, a more than good tip. His eyes grow large as Alexander tells him to look for Brock Rumlow, his right hand.

It's funny because his right hand man is nearer to my age than he is.

Choices.

We head off to the ship, my mother's arm linked to Alexander's, looking more like a couple than how we are meant to look the part as I walked passed the third-class passengers being inspected.

We walked on the ramp, the water under it and the people below us.

Upon entrance, Alexander made me link my arm with his. Thanks, mother for finally thinking that you set me up with this person and not you setting yourself up with him.

Although that last part sounds better to me. He's as old as someone like him should be.

It was the ship of dreams... to everyone else. To me it was a slave ship. Taking me to the the United States in chains.

Outwardly I was everything a well brought up girl should be. Inside, I was screaming.

💎

Third Person Point of View

Forget the ship for now, the focus should be inside the pub. A pub full of people from the working class, drinking liquor, good enough that their money can afford, as cheap prostitutes flirted with the men for a quick buck for a bite to eat.

Four men, playing a serious game of poker. Every last bit of coin they had, were on the table. One takes a drink of his brown liquor as he speaks in Swedish.

"Du dumma, satsar du på våra biljetter! (You dumbass, you bet our tickets!)" He says to his companion who snaps his attention to him.

"Du förlorade alla våra pengar och jag försöker få tillbaka dem. Välj nu ett jävla kort! (You lost all our money and I'm trying to get them back. Now pick a damn card!)," One of them says gritting his teeth at his friend, who was playing all he got.

One of them puffs a cigarette, his grey blue eyes focused on his cards and the man across the table. Caring less of his brunette locks getting in the way of his vision.

"Hit me again, Ivan..." he asks as one of the Swedish men slip him a card and he takes it.

His blonde companion, begins to worry a little. Thinking they bet everything and are about to lose everything and stay in Southampton for another long time before they get lucky.

He notices, his voice in a low, raspy whisper, "Don't worry buddy, we've got nothing to lose..."

"We have nothing to lose because we literally have nothing, Bucky..." he says worried, as his friend bet everything they had, except for their clothes...

The ship horn toots its mighty note, alerting the gamblers, Bucky looks around, his competition sweating seeds off his forehead.

"Moment of truth..." he begins looking up at the four other men, anticipation and worry painted their faces, "Steve..."

The blonde lays out his deck, "Nothing..."

He continues, "Ludvig..."

The man lays out his deck, "Oh, squat..." he continues to the other one, "Ivan, two pair... Hmm... Sorry, Steve..."

Steve's face pales, he begins to sweat buckets... Fear rushing over him as he feels cold, palms sweaty.

"W-we lost? I won't be able to see ma another while... Darn it, Bucky..." he begins to stammer and curse... Thinking luck was not on his side...

"Sorry, Steve... You lost and I WON! FULL HOUSE, BUDDY!" Bucky cheers as Steve stands up happily hugging him, kissing the two tickets, "We're going home!"

Profanities streamed from the lips of the two other men who bet their tickets. The poker gods not on their side.

The taller man stood up, over 6 feet tall, maybe 6 foot 7, and grabbed Bucky by the collar. Bucky closed his eyes to take the impact of the large hand balled up in a fist. Instead, he punches his companion, knocked out like a light.

"We're going home, Steve!!"

"America, here we come!!"

Their celebration came to a halt, the pub owner cutting in looking at the two men.

"You're not going to America... Titanic is, in five minutes..." he says pointing to the clock, every second wasting away.

The two men exchanged looks and rushed out the pub, all their belongings they stuffed in their bags like sacks.

They ran in the crowd chasing time, as Steve cheered excitedly as they were coming home.

They ran and ran, cutting between the crowd of people and the honking automobiles. They skipped the line for inspection and went straight to the third-class passenger entrance, Bucky waving the tickets at the guard.

"Passed through inspection?" The guard asks, like he does for every passenger.

"Don't have lice, don't worry... We're both Americans..." He says flushed and panting, waiting to get on the ship to their quarters.

The guard was testy, but there was a sliver of trust shining through, "Alright, come aboard..."

They entered the ship, but it came to a halt. The guard passed the ticket on to another guard to inspect them, to see if they are not posers.

He begins saying the names, "Eklund and... Norberg..."

He says, raising a brow... he thought, 'these don't look like Eklunds and Norbergs...'

He hands them the tickets, granting them entrance to the RMS Titanic.

"Come on, Ivan!!" They ran in the corridor, whooping in victory...

"We are the luckiest sons of bitches alive!"

They quickly run up the metal stair case, excitedly throught the crowd of people finding their way in the ship. They busted out the door as they stood along the people on the poop deck.

"BYEEEE" Bucky yells out to the crowd, as if someone important to him is in the crowd.

Steve looks at him puzzled, "You hung out with some skank?" He asks, knowing that Bucky's a smooth wolf where ever he went.

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling then looking at him in disbelief, "NO, Steve... It's a thing!!!"

Steve shrugged and started waving at the crowd as the ship moved away from the dock.

"Bye, everybodyyy!!! I may or may not forget youuuu!!" Steve yells to the crowd as the ship set sail to New York, back to their country and to their homes.

<- Previous | Next ->

A/N: CUUUUT so this is chapter 1 of Ship of dreams... You finally reached the bottom of this chapter... Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it 💕 keep saaafe

-Alri

Taggies 💕 (ASK ME IF YOU WANT IN)

@witchymegg @underworldqueen13 @amisutcliff @luna4501 @likeit-or-leaveit @vhsbarnes @uglipotata72829

[treeofmuffins]

The Marten, The Rogue, and The Wardrobe

“For the second time in her bizarre life, Lyra Silvertongue found herself hiding in a wardrobe. Once again, she was exploring a place she was not meant to be exploring and had gotten in a little over her head.”

Roughly three years since saving the multiverse, Lyra and Will, with the help of friends old and new, will be whisked into another unforgiving series of events. It seems they will continue building the Republic of Heaven… in SBURB?

Read it on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11128947

Or below:

Chapter 1: Lyra’s Oxford

For the second time in her bizarre life, Lyra Silvertongue found herself hiding in a wardrobe. Once again, she was exploring a place she was not meant to be exploring and had gotten in a little over her head. Both herself and her Daemon, Pantalaimon, who settled as a pine martin, had grown since their last closet adventure and it was a little cramped. In fact, it was considerably cramped. No longer the short-for-her-age eleven-year-old, this wardrobe could barely contain her and Pantalaimon.

“Pan, really? D’ya have to stand up there?” Lyra whispered loudly, not quite remembering the urgency of the situation.

“Lyra, shhh, they’ll hear us!” Pan replied, ignoring her query and remaining stock-still on top of her head. The lavish study outside was quiet, it seemed the patrolling officials had passed. “Lyra, why did we run in here? What are you hoping to gain from this?”

“Dearest Pantalaimon, have you misplaced your sense of adventure?” Lyra mocked, speaking just like the ladies at St. Sophia’s had insisted, “I know we’ve been hard at work these past few years, but I didn’t think you’d become such a bore.” Of course, speaking about Pantalaimon was the same as speaking of herself.

Lyra opened the door, trying ever so hard not to fall out of her constricted hiding space, and looked upon the elegant wooden desk in front of her, only a few metres from the wardrobe. A thin but wide metallic box rested on top of it. As Lyra closed the distance between her and the silver treasure, it became apparent that it was far too flat to be a box, nothing but a few sheets of paper would be able to fit in such a container. Pantalaimon, who had leapt onto the floor upon leaving the wardrobe, had just scampered onto the chair to get a closer look.

“Lyra, what is it?” He asked, open curiosity on his face.

“I’ve no idea, Pan,” Lyra answered, extending a hand to brush along its cool flat surface.

Pantalaimon stood on the desk, opposite the chair now, and sniffed the strange object. He scrunched his nose at the smell, the metallic scent reminiscent of blood. “Lyra, we shouldn’t be here. Please, let’s just leave,” He pleaded.

Lyra ignored him, entranced by the mysterious thing in front of her. It reminded her of the great armour of a Panserbjørn, strong and intricate. There was a white symbol of a fruit somehow embedded into the top, and a rectangular indent in what appeared to be the front of the treasure, which extended into a smaller groove that ran around the edge, with holes-

“Lyra!” Pantalaimon whispered insistently from across the room, “We need to go. Now.” Lyra could hear for herself what he meant: footsteps and conversation, getting louder every second. Feeling the rush of adrenaline, Lyra frantically looked around the room, coming out of her daze.

The window.

Lyra lifted the treasure (that was somehow both heavier and lighter than she had imagined) and stored it in her satchel, turning away from the desk, quickly rushing to the window behind it. It was the perfect escape route, she could clearly see the way out of the grounds and back to her Oxford. If only she could open it. Pantalaimon was still standing nervously near the door, glancing back and forth between Lyra and the corridor outside. Lyra retrieved a hairpin from her long dark blonde hair and began frantically picking the lock of the window as she heard the footsteps approaching. In her panicked state, she dropped the pin.

Quickly, she picked it up, took a deep breath and began again, praying to all of the universes that the guards did not pick this moment to survey the room. Meanwhile, Pantalaimon carefully stood by the door, listening for any indication that they would be caught.

“Gotcha!” Lyra burst out, startling Pantalaimon.

“Lyra! They’re coming!” Pan resounded, hurtling towards Lyra. He leapt upon the chair, then the desk, and jumped through the now open window into the bright afternoon sun. Lyra quickly followed, exiting the ornate study and landing in a row of bushes. Despite the situation, a huge grin appeared on Lyra’s face as she and her daemon ran away from Lord Boreal’s house. She supposed she should feel bad for the theft she had committed, but the man with the serpent daemon had stolen from her before - and the alethiometer no less!

Besides, he was dead now.

Safely away from the house, Lyra and Pantalaimon walked out of Summertown, as if they were merely on an afternoon stroll, and back to Jordan College.

|||

Back home, Lyra sat on her bed with Pantalaimon. Although she studied at St. Sophia’s College, she still lived in Jordan College. The old place was a part of her and she would always consider it home, no matter where in the multiverse she was, or as she would soon experience, no matter if she were outside the multiverse itself.

Lyra retrieved the thin, silver box from her satchel and set it on her bed. Pantalaimon was still not keen on the object, but Lyra was curious.

She ran her finger around the edge of the box along the indentation until her finger caught on the hollow of what she had come to consider the front. Carefully, she tried to pry open the box. It didn’t take much force before it suddenly popped open, allowing her to easily lift the lid back against its hinges. But before Lyra could properly see the contents, she heard a sharp rap at the door and quickly closed the lid.

“Miss Silvertongue, need I remind you that you are attending the function tonight in the hall?” Spoke a feminine voice from behind the door.

“You can remind me all you like, it won’t make me any more likely to go,” Lyra responded.

“Well if you’d just let me in, I might be able to change that.”

Lyra stored the box in her satchel and slid it under her bed, before approaching the door to her room. “What could you possibly say that would change my mind about going to this stuffy dinner?” Lyra asked.

“What if I told you, that my infuriating mother let slip a very intriguing piece of information in one of her drunken stupors yesterday?”

“I might just ask you to tell me more.”

“I see. May I?” Asked the voice, requesting entry.

Lyra rose from the bed and unlocked the door to reveal the delicate face of her close friend (and mentor) Rose Lalondé, her stunning purple eyes full of knowledge, looking even more vibrant next to her dark skin. Her daemon, a New Alban Crow fluttered down to the ground, “Greetings, Pantalaimon” she spoke.

“Hi, Cyäegha,” Pan responded. The large black crow flew back to rest on Rose’s shoulder, who was one of the rare people born with a same-sex daemon.

“Alright, I’m intrigued, fill me in on the latest ramble of Ms Lalondé,” said Lyra.

Rose sat down on a chair in the corner, one leg over the other, as she began to speak. “Well, last night she was particularly inebriated. Thankfully she had not brought home any gentlemen suitors this time, she was far too preoccupied wallowing in self-pity for that. During a passive-aggressive display of affection featuring eschatological musings, she let slip information about a discovery the scholars have made in the crypts.”

Lyra let out a dramatic sigh, “You and your darn crypts. If you didn’t look so stunning I’d say you were a ghast.” Rose wiggled her eyebrows at what she considered a compliment. Lyra retorted, “Oh shut up, you know what I meant.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Lyra. But I’m serious about this. Although obscenely drunk, my mother did sound genuinely intrigued by whatever they have discovered.”

“As intrigued as she was with Lord Boreal’s treasure?”

“That ordinator-like contraption did pique her interest, somewhat,” Rose paused for thought, “No, I’d say she was far more interested in this latest discovery. Although it was hard to tell if that was just her musings of the end times creeping in.”

"Well, where in the crypts is it?”

“Also unknown.”

Lyra looked at her suspiciously, “Do you honestly not know, or are you just trying to get me hooked enough to come to this fancy dinner?”

Rose smirked knowingly and said, “Lyra, have you considered the field of psycho-analogy for study? Sometimes you seem to have quite a natural grasp on it.”

Lyra groaned, “Right, well I guess I'll have to go in order to have some more fun around here.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rose said, as she got up. She walked over to Lyra and pulled a twig out of her messy hair. “Honestly, you can’t expect to attend a formal dinner like this.”

Reluctantly, Lyra agreed, “Fiiine, let’s get ready.” Rose gleefully walked towards the wardrobe as Lyra decided she had better wash up in the bathroom.

|||

Lyra and Rose walked down the corridor leading up to the Hall, Pantalaimon at Lyra’s feet, Cyäegha on Rose’s shoulder. Lyra’s hair was curled in loose ringlets and she was wearing a long golden dress that ended at her ankles. She was also wearing a pair of fancy gloves that extended almost to her elbows. Rose was in a shorter white and purple dress that contrasted perfectly against her complexion.

Rose had taken to Lyra quite quickly after their initial meeting and had made it her duty to guide Lyra through her studies as well as making sure she was suitably dressed for formal occasions; although she didn’t have such an aversion to being clean as she used to, Lyra didn’t find the task particularly appealing.

“Being a postgraduate student of Oxford, as well as daughter of the College’s Cassington Scholar, it wasn’t hard to acquire an invitation to this soirée, but I’m still curious as to why you were invited by name, being still so young,” Rose inquired as they continued walking, “this isn’t your typical evening meal with the scholars.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. They were fairly insistent, but I hadn’t put much thought into it.” Lyra replied.

“Well, it must be important, whatever the reason. Regardless, we should be able to wheedle some information out of at least a few of the attendants here tonight.”

By this point, the two of them had reached the large open doorway into the Hall - a large chamber usually occupied by four tables, one perpendicular to the other three. Tonight, however, things had been rearranged. Two of the usual tables were pushed aside, against the longest walls, whilst the third was missing. The final table was still present,  parallel to the fourth and furthest wall. Upon the wall, was the skull of Iorek Byrnison, hanging proudly above them, his empty sockets watching over the hall.

After returning to Svalbard as King with the rest of the armoured bears, he had established order and begun rebuilding the panserbjørn society that had been lost to Iofur, the previous King. The Bears returned largely to their solitary ways,  with the addition of trade being established between Svalbard and the humans of neighbouring islands and any aëronaut willing enough to make the trek. However, dissent existed within bears still set in Iofur’s way - they trusted Iorek not to have the communities best interest at heart and opposed the newly established trade. A brief civil war occurred between the armoured bears, one which Iorek quashed at the cost of his life. The survivors responsible for the attempted usurping were exiled, and in Iorek’s place, a new leader rose to the throne - following in Iorek’s great footsteps.

Sometime after their late leader’s death, his skull was presented as a gift to the university - a gesture of goodwill to the people of Jordan College for the role Lyra Silvertongue played in assisting Iorek in returning panserbjørn society to normal in Svalbard. It was always the first thing Lyra noticed when she entered the Hall.

As Rose and Lyra entered, Ms Lalondé waved an arm at her daughter, “Ayy, Rose darling, you made it!” Rose looked visibly tense as her slightly intoxicated mother sauntered over, her dark Siamese cat daemon following in similar fashion. Despite Rose being an adult herself, her mother still babied her, “I was starting to worry about you, the party’s already begun!”

Rose loosened up and took on an unimpressed tone, “You know this isn’t a party- in fact, you should know more about what’s going on than I do, I thought this was a formal dinner.”

“If I know more than you do,” Ms Lalonde hiccuped, “then I say it’s a party.” With that, she walked away, off to socialise with some other scholar or experimental theologian. At that moment, Lyra realised that she couldn’t actually see many scholars around the room, and - barring Ms Lalonde - they all seemed to be quite sombre. Although the usual scholars weren’t exactly chipper, the people in this room were certainly glum and unusually quiet, most speaking barely above a whisper.

“Rose, what’s goin’ on” Lyra asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she replied.

Two men stood out from the solemn crowd, one in a long white coat with an armadillo daemon and what Lyra could only describe as perfect hair, the other in an odd ensemble of mismatched clothing and a margay daemon. Upon being noticed, they started walking towards Lyra and Rose.

Rose noticed them too and quietly said, “Dr. Ramirez?”

“Ah, hello again Rose,” the man with the armadillo daemon said, “and you must be Miss Silvertongue? I’m Dr. Ramirez.” He addressed Lyra, his hand outstretched.

“Call me Lyra. Pleased to meet you.” She responded, shaking his hand.

“I’ve heard great things about you Lyra, mainly from the Gyptians, but from other sources too, I mean I’m from Hispania Nova, so your tale’s travelled far. Stories of panserbjørn, of angels and other worlds, also is it true that you could read an alethiometer by grace alone? Anyway, none of that matters, well it does - I mean it’s theologically fascinating-” Dr. Ramirez was interrupted by a cough and a nudge from his partner. “Sorry, I was rambling wasn’t I,” he gave a nervous laugh and looked slightly embarrassed. The oddly dressed man took over, his voice deep and melodic, “What Dr. Ramirez is trying to say, is that we have an important message for you Lyra. One that we believe you should hear immediately.”

“Yes, it was lucky that we were able to make it here at all. Ms. Lalonde helped greatly with that.”

Rose responded, “Really, my mother managed to help?”

“Oh yes, remarkably,” the other man said.

Rose looked unconvinced, but Dr. Ramirez continued regardless, “Listen, there are disturbing anomalies appearing globally regarding Rusakov concentrations; a worldwide increase in sightings of meteorological phenomena; and an abundance of localised minor tremors around 2.16 on the Richter scale.”

The other man chimed in, “Disregarding the theological jargon, the world is experiencing a dangerous shift in activity, that is bordering on the apocalyptic.”

Rose replied, "Well that explains the demeanour of everyone else here, I presume they are all aware of this too?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, what’s this gotta do with me?” Lyra asked.

“Oh Eve… Lyra. You’ve sacrificed a great deal, and achieved so much more, but it seems that the universe expects more of you yet.”

Lyra’s stomach dropped, Pantalaimon shrunk in size against Lyra’s feet; Dr Ramirez put a comforting hand on his partner’s shoulder.

“I do not know the details, and it is probably best that we keep it that way, but what I do know is that you urgently need to head to the crypts below the college What you will discover is of great importance, and I trust that you will know what to do once you have found what it is you need to find. Trust in your friends, and Lyra…” he said, forlorn, “You must continue building the Republic of Heaven.”

Before Lyra could question the strange man, she noticed a commotion occurring in the Hall. People were making their way to the tall windows on either side of the chamber, and she noticed a deep rumbling that resonated within her. A loud boom sounded from above, and the rumbling continued, making her unsteady on her feet. She picked up Pantalaimon and held him tight against her chest, scouring the room.

“It has begun,” The oddly dressed man said, looking distant.

“Lyra, what do we do?” Pantalaimon asked.

“We need to hurry Pan,” Lyra responded, sounding more confident than she felt, "To the crypts.”