#girls paranoid and doesn’t know how to process grief

[project-feive]

While Nicole is very outspoken and has a clear personality in the ZR world I know there’s an AU where this song is her because like one thing is if Nicole has to go undercover and mirror others she can, and like my sister as a kid would also do that to make people like her. (She didn’t realize this was manipulation at the time bc she saw our dad do it all the time and thought it was just how people acted.)

So since Nicole is based off my sister I decided to make a version of her during this period of my sisters life before she actually learned what she liked and stopped making herself mirror everyone else.

So there’s definitely like a spy AU or something where Nicole feels void of all personality bc she mirrors people and this song has a lot to do with it so take that as you will.

@catsoutofthebags @dorkylittleweirdo

[the-young-and-forgotten]

Chapter 1 - The Arrival

| masterlist |

A/N: this is set at the start of the marauders 6th year

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a clap of thunder and a single flash of lightning, four boys fell directly from the sun, slamming onto the concrete ground beneath them. 

As their backs hit the pavement, their mind whirled through memories that weren’t their own. A castle up on a rocky cliff, rooms full of magical equipment, a forest with danger at every turn and a fiery redheaded girl that made James blush.

Groaning, they all picked themselves up, dusting their clothes off.  Peter shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun, grumbling “Why did they have to go and drop us from the fucking sky?” Remus opened his mouth to respond but something hot and soft started falling from the clouds. 

James held out his palm to the sky and watched as a burning piece of ash floated down onto his open palm. He studied it, visibly confused. “The sky is.. raining fire?”  “Nah mate” Sirius said with his arms outstretched, head tilted towards the sky “The worlds shuddering at the weight of our power” At that, the other boys started to spin in the fiery rain, laughing as they caught the embers on the tip of their tongues. 

Unbeknownst to them, an old man had heard their laughter and was walking up to them, smiling softly. “So you must be the fallen gods” he stated bluntly, capturing their attention. A flash of panic flitted across the boys’ faces as they searched for an excuse. “Oh no,” James said quickly, leaning against Remus’ shoulder. The boy in question had just started picking the flowers out of his hair, which was not helping to sell their lie. “We are just four normal boys casually dancing in the burning rain.” The man laughed, looking at them with a twinkle in his eye. “I do not think I am mistaken, Hecate told me you would be coming soon.” Peter scoffed, “Psh Hecate. You should never trust the goddess of…..” He paused at this, looking at James in wonder who was waving his arms around haphazardly. Realising his mistake, he tried his best to backtrack.  “Wait I mean, who's Hecate? She sounds dumb.” 

Right at that moment, one too many ashes had landed on Sirius’ skin, activating his flames.  With a big flash, he turned into a humanoid fire. The flames gradually subdued, leaving a sooty boy who looked at his hands in shock before turning his gaze to blood brothers, eyes wide. “That wasn’t supposed to happen..”  James’ shoulders slumped, running a hand down his face as Peter ducked down to hide his grin. Remus finally looked up from picking out the flowers from his hair that now lay in a pile around his feet. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at him. “That uh.. That doesn’t happen often...” he explained, shaking his head at what a mess they all were. 

“Would you like to take a walk?” Dumbledore inquired. They slouch after him, visibly relieved that he didn’t question their insanity further.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dumbledore spoke up. “Are you boys familiar with… the tale of the Children of Hecate? It’s an old one.” Sirius laughed harshly at this “dude, we are a thousand years old we know all sorts of tales you couldn’t even dream up.” “You never answered my question young god.” “No… we aren’t” Dumbledore smiled, pulling out his wand. “I thought not.” He waved about his wand and silver mist broke out of the end, morphing into people, animating the story being told.

“A long time ago, there was a woman.  Cast out by the gods from helping out a paranoid mother, she, like you today, fell from the sky in a blaze of burning rain. Filled with hate and grief, she vowed to anger the gods in any way possible. For a hundred years she wandered this earth aimlessly, occasionally accompanied by Thanatos who came to reap the mortal souls. One day, she stumbled across seven mortals, cowering at the feet of Death, begging for life. Now, this woman had traveled among us, watching all our struggles and misery. Listening to our heartbreak and treachery. She took pity on these mortals and stepping from the shadows for the first time in a century, she addressed the seven. Pushing past Thanatos, she knelt to their level and placed a hand on the cheek of the child in front of her. Smiling kindly, she knew what to do to help them and fulfill her vow.  Reaching inside of her core, she drew out seven silver wisps. Weaving it around the mortals in front of her. “Upon you I bestow the power of the gods,” she whispered, transforming into her godly form. “Follow the path this shows you and life will come.” As the mortals scampered away, hands smoking and eyes dancing, Thanatos turned to her furious. From then on, Hecate was forced to spend the rest of her immortality guiding demigods, gods and mortals along the three crossroads. The mortals she blessed, though some may say cursed, used the powers how their minds begged them too, some for good, some for evil. But the magic went on, passed from generation to generation, family to family and will do so forever. Among all these powerful witches and wizards, as we call ourselves, were two men and two women. Born with magic unrivalled by anyone but Hecate herself.  They drew together and formed a school now known as ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’.  From then onwards, magical folk have been taught, honing their abilities to perfection. Carrying out the vow Hecate made many eons ago.” 

The boys were speechless. Remus pointed to Dumbledore then his wand and back again. “So you’re…” “Yes” Dumbldore answered, turning towards them and giving a short little bow, “I am a descendant of Hecate.” “And you want us at this school of yours?” “With Hecate's blessing, yes.” 

Peter cuts ahead of his friends, raising his hand. “Interjection! How the hell are we supposed to get magic powers?”  Dumbledore smiles at him and holds his hand. “If you four trust me, I will take you to where everything will be revealed.” The godlings look at each other before holding onto the man in question, watching as he whispers something, waving his wand around.

The boys feel a tug on their abdomen and gasped as the world around them blurs, like they are on a moving train. They felt themselves morph, as if they were travelling through time. Their very fibre being pulled and torn. Before long, the scenery around them started to solidify, changing into a strange room with silver instruments and hundreds of portraits everywhere. “What the FUCK was that.” Sirius shouted from a pile of broken items he had staggered into, being vulgar as always.  Dumbledore merely dusted himself off and fixed his robe before moving behind the desk. “That, dear boy, was a form of magical travel called apparition.”  Peter lay on the floor, gasping for breath. “I think I prefer falling from the sky.”  “And I prefer lying on a couch throwing grapes at the nymphs.” James groaned, stretching out his back.

“So magical powers?” Remus asked, walking up to Dumbledore's desk as his friends gazed at him in shock, wondering how he could be fine after that supposed ‘hell’ they just went through. “Ah yes!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together, reaching into a drawer just behind his desk. Out of the drawer he pulled four glasses filled to the brim with grey smoke.  “Within these glasses contain the exact wisps Hecate used to infuse those seven mortals with magic. Take this and it shall do the same.” “I’ll drink to that.” Says Sirius, pushing past Remus and picking up a glass. 

In one go he downs it, smiling devilishly. “See men? All fi-” Suddenly, Sirius’ face freezes in a half smile as his hands fly up to throat. He falls to his knees, coughing horribly, eyes glowing silver. His whole body twitching uncontrollably.  As quickly as it started, it was over. He lay there gasping, trying to formulate a sentence. “That was delicious…” he wheezed “110% recommend you give it a go.”

After seeing what happened to Sirius, the other boys were more hesitant to take even a sip.  But one encouraging smile from Dumbledore made them drink it, going through the same process as their blood brother. 

When they had finally recovered from the side effects of the potion, Dumbledore was reading through a small scroll covered in glyphs. “I just need to ask your four a question in order to secure your stay here at Hogwarts. Now this may feel extremely unnatural, since I am jogging memories that don’t actually exist.” 

He looked up from the paper, his eyes holding that twinkle they had seen before.  “Boys, what house were you sorted into six years ago?” The godlings felt their soul pulse for a second and their mouths fell open of its own accord.  A movie tape started running through their mind, twisted and slightly burning. Back and forth it ran, so fast everything was a blur of colours.  Finally, it landed on a vision of their younger selves sitting on a stool in front of hundreds as a hat screamed out something. The boys on the stools were faceless and the edges of their bodies were blurred, as if someone had edited them into a scene. They felt something invisible reach towards the memory and rip it out of the tape, forming it into words. Speaking together, they all said “Gryffindor.” 

Their souls pulsed once more, and they were brought back to reality, grabbing their heads and groaning. “I swear if we have to go through that everytime we remember some pointless memory-” Sirius spat, grabbing at his hair like he was trying to rip the headache out. “No, do not worry, Sirius. This should be the last time it will happen. You will feel dizzy and weird when experiencing a memory though, since they were forcibly planted into your mind.” 

“That reminds me,” Remus interrupted, wincing as he stood up “How come we aren’t going dizzy from the sight of you? Something tells me we should know you even though we don’t .”  Dumbledore laughed “My, aren’t you inquisitive?”  “That's Remus for you.” said Peter smiling fondly at the boy in question. “Has to know everything about a subject the moment he finds out about it.”  Remus made a face at him before turning back to Dumbledore, eyes hopeful.  Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and continued. “That’s because I personally asked the gods not to include me in your implanted memories. I would prefer to get to know you as the boys you are now. Not what fake scenarios portray you as.”

The godlings look at each other, questions of trust in their eyes.  Taking the first leap of faith, James extended his hand for Dumbledore to shake. “You have left a good impression on us sir. You have earned our trust.” Delighted, Dumbledore shook his hand, once again smiling kindly at them all. “Now, I must show you to your dormitories…”

“No need Sir.” Sirius said, finally standing up. “We can get there just fine.”  They turned to leave, heading for the office door. Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at their departing figures. “You may get lost” 

James stopped by the door just as the others went through, chuckling.  Turning around he winked at Dumbledore.  “That’s the thing about us chaos gods.” He said, grinning mischievously.  “We have impeccable navigational skills.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[thewidowsghost]

The War Gone Wrong (Obviously) - Stark! Reader x Steve Rogers

This is written for @rogersrogers334​.

3rd Person POV

Tony and (Y/n) Stark, the father-daughter duo, stand in the shadows as a projection shows Maria, Howard, and a Younger Tony talking.

After the projected scene is over, both Tony and (Y/n) walk out, side by side, to the front of the stage.

"That's how I wished it happened," Tony says softly into the microphone. "Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, or BARF."

"You really need a better acronym," (Y/n) teases which makes the crowd laugh for a minute or so before the attention turns to the two Avengers. "An extremely costly method of hijacking the hippocampus to . . . clear traumatic memories."

Tony blows out a candle, "Huh." The whole scene around Tony and (Y/n) dissolves. "It doesn't change the fact that my parents never made it to the airport . . . or all the things I did to avoid processing my grief, but . . ." Tony takes off his glasses. "Plus, six hundred eleven million dollars for my little therapeutic experiment? No one in their right mind would've ever funded it.

"Help me out, what's the MIT mission statement?" (Y/n)'s voice echoes through the hall now. "'To generate, disseminate, and preserve knowledge.' And work with others," she adds, "to bring it to bear on the world's great challenges."

"Well, you are the others," Tony picks up (Y/n)'s words - the two having rehearsed this. "And, quiet as it's kept . . . the challenges facing you are the greatest mankind's ever known."

"Plus," (Y/n) says, amusement lighting in her eyes, her voice taking on a teasing tone, "most of you are broke."

The crowd chuckles again and after a moment, Tony says, "Oh, I'm sorry. Rather, you were. As of this moment . . . every student has been made an equal recipient of the Inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in . . . all of your projects have just been approved and funded."

The crowd of college students breaks out in applause and cheers.

"No strings, no takes . . . just reframe the future!" (Y/n) says over the cheering. "Starting now!"

Above the audience, the teleprompter now reads: Tony: Now I would like to introduce the head of the Foundation, Pepper Potts

Tony stares at the words sadly and then says, "Go break some eggs."

The two exit the stage, side by side.

Ignoring one of the teaches and one of her father's assistants, (Y/n) walks over to the bathroom and changes into a pair of casual clothes for the mission she was supposed to be on.

Approaching her father, (Y/n) says a quick goodbye, and the twenty-four-year-old woman closes her eyes and disappears, arriving in Lagos, Nigeria.

(Y/n), like her mother, was a mutant. (Y/n) had the powers of teleportation, absorption, and the ability to control elements, as well as the ability to shape-shift. 

Glancing around for a moment, (Y/n) pulls on a pair of sunglasses, places her COM set in her ear, and walks over to the Black Widow, who is sitting by herself with a tea in her hands.

"Morning, ma'am," (Y/n) greets Natasha Romanoff, "you mind if I sit here? There are no more open tables."

"Sure, go right ahead," Natasha says, hiding a smile at the sight of her best friend. Natasha and (Y/n) had been friends since Natasha had joined SHIELD, as (Y/n) and their partner, Clint, had recruited her.

A waitress walks over and (Y/n) orders a coffee, listening in on the conversation between Natasha, Wanda, Steve, and Sam going on.

"All right, what do you see?" Steve asks.

"Standard beat cops," Wanda murmurs around her cup of coffee in her hand. "Small station. Quiet street. It's a good target."

"There's an ATM in the south corner, which means . . ." Steve begins but Wanda cuts him off.

"Cameras," Wanda says.

"Nice Wanda," (Y/n) murmurs, and Wanda smiles softly at the approval in the older woman's voice.

"Both cross streets are one way," Steve says into the COMs.

"So, compromised escape routes," Wanda guesses.

"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out," (Y/n) says softly.

"She's right," Steve says and (Y/n)'s cheeks dust a slightly darker color. "See that Range Rover halfway up the block?"

"Yeah, the red one?" Wanda asks. "It's cute."

"Looks like my first car," (Y/n) says with a soft laugh.

"Not the point," Natasha says and (Y/n) grins. "The point is, is that it's bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guys, which means more headaches for somebody."

"Probably us," (Y/n) adds. "I should have stayed with Dad.”

Wanda laughs but then says, her voice more serious, “You know I can move things with my mind, right?”

“You know I can set things on fire, or freeze them, or throw them at people?” (Y/n) says. 

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature,” Natasha and (Y/n) say in unison. 

“Anybody ever told the two of you that you’re a little paranoid?” Sam asks. 

“Not to my face,” Natasha scoffs, exchanging an amused glance with (Y/n) for a moment. 

“Nor mine, probably cause my Dad could sue anyone for some odd reason, but, you know, whatever,” (Y/n) says. “Anyway, why?”

“Did you hear something?” Natasha asks. 

“Anybody tell you that you two are perfect together?” Sam asks and (Y/n) holds back a fit of laughter and from the expression on Natasha’s face, she was doing the same. 

“Eyes on the target, folks,” Steve says, keeping Sam from saying anything else. “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Oh, that’s why we’re here,” (Y/n) says. “Watch me get deaded by Rumlow if he’s here.”

“Okay Crazy,” Wanda says, holding back a laugh as the sound of Natasha smacking (Y/n)’s arm sounds through the COMs. 

Unknown to everyone but Steve, a garbage truck begins pushing its way through traffic, showing no regard to pedestrians or other vehicles. 

“Sam, see that garbage truck?” Steve asks. “Tag it.”

There is a moment of silence before Sam speaks, “That truck is loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

“It’s a battering ram,” Natasha realizes and (Y/n) sets a twenty on the table and stands up, heading for the alleyway where she’d teleported from MIT. 

(Y/n) teleports on top of the truck then just outside the Institute for Infectious Diseases Ward. 

Soldiers in black armor emerge from two trucks that had driven through the entrance to the Institution. 

“Go now!” Steve orders, readying his shield. 

“What?” Wanda asks. 

“He’s not hitting the police,” Steve says. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” (Y/n) grumbles as one of the soldiers shoots where she’d been standing a few moments before, while some of the soldiers shoot gas bombs into the building above (Y/n). 

Her fists lighting on fire, (Y/n) knocks out a few of the soldiers before Steve shows up.

“Nice of you to show up,” (Y/n) says with a warm smile towards the super-soldier. 

Steve smiles and says into the COMs, “Body armor, AR-15s. We make seven hostiles.”

Sam flies in and up to a rooftop, spinning and using his wings to block the gunfire, taking out two soldiers in the process. 

“I make that five,” Sam says. 

Wanda arrives and flies over a rooftop into the courtyard, blocking bullets with her powers. She takes control of a soldier and lifts him upwards. “Sam,” she calls, and the Falcon flies down and catches the soldier with one of his wings. 

“Four,” Sam says with a grin.

One of Sam’s drones flies by, scanning the inside of the building. “Rumlow’s on the third floor.”

“Aye Wanda,” (Y/n) says, running towards the girl. “Just like we practiced.”

“What about the gas?” comes Wanda’s questioning voice, her Sokovian accent thick at the moment. 

“Get it out,” (Y/n) says. 

Wanda uses her powers to lift (Y/n) up and through a window. 

(Y/n) grabs one of the soldiers and pulls off their gas mask. 

(Y/n) advances, taking out about five solders before making her way to the Bio-Hazard area. 

“Rumlow has a biological weapon,” (Y/n) warns. 

“I’m on it,” Natasha tells her, riding in on a motorcycle. She turns it on its side and skids it towards a soldier, taking out a few more in hand-to-hand combat. Rumlow comes up behind her, dragging her onto an armored vehicle. Natasha tries to electrocute Rumlow but it doesn’t work. 

“I don’t work like that no more,” Rumlow taunts. He throws her through a roof hatch into an armored vehicle, drops in a grenade, and shuts the hatch. “Fire in the hole!”

“Get out of there Nat!” (Y/n) calls, moving to stand on a balcony. 

Rumlow catches sight of her and sends a bomb her way and (Y/n) gets blasted back into a wall. 

Scrambling her feet, (Y/n) presses a hand to her bleeding forehead and breaks into a run as another blast shakes the building behind her. 

Another blast sends (Y/n) through a window and she falls over the side of the balcony, onto a metal container, and down onto the concrete below. 

(Y/n) groans, rolling over and staggering to her feet, her arm pressed tightly to her ribs, guessing some had broken. “Oh man, those are broken,” (Y/n) grumbles and Wanda rushes over, throwing an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulders, taking some of her weight. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wanda says. 

Steve, Sam, and Natasha rush after Rumlow and the soldiers, Steve finally pinning Rumlow to the ground. 

“Something’s about to happen,” (Y/n) says, her eyes widening, hearing the conversation between Steve and Rumlow over the COMs. Then she turns to Wanda, “You gotta trust me? All right?” Wanda nods and (Y/n) teleports them to where Steve and Rumlow are. 

(Y/n) wraps her arms around Rumlow and nods to Wanda, who shoots the two into the air, not a moment too soon it seemed, because Rumlow explodes, (Y/n) screaming as she absorbs half the blast. The remaining energy hits the side of the building, shattering glass windows and setting the building on fire. 

(Y/n) drops back towards the ground, her eyes blurring slightly and Wanda shoots her arms up, catching (Y/n) and lightly lowering her to the ground before the Scarlet Witch looks up at the building in flames and covers her mouth with her hand. 

“Oh my . . .” Steve’s bright blue eyes, wide with shock, his mouth hanging open murmurs, “Sam . . . we need . . . Fire and Rescue . . . and a MedEvac team . . . on the south side of the building. We gotta get up there.”

Wanda glances down at (Y/n), whose forehead was bleeding, her right arm resting on her stomach, and the side of her face slightly burned, the woman’s (E/c) eyes fluttering shut. 

Natasha and Sam show up a few moments later and Natasha stares wide-eyed at her best friend’s unconscious body resting in Wanda’s lap. 

Natasha rushes over and helps some of the medical workers lift (Y/n)’s body onto a stretcher. 

The next day finds Natasha and Steve fussing over (Y/n) as she sits up in the Med Bay in the Avengers’ Compound. 

“I love all of you, but stop fussing over me,” (Y/n) says, getting to her feet and shrugging off Natasha’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m injured, not dead.”

Steve smiles at the thought, the same words as he had said to Natasha and (Y/n) a few years back when they were on the run from SHIELD, well, HYDRA. 

“Steve,” (Y/n) stops the super-soldier as she, Steve, and Natasha walk out of the Med Bay together. “Would you check up on Wanda? She probably feels responsible for what happened.”

Natasha turns to (Y/n) as Steve walks away, towards Wanda’s room, (Y/n) guesses. “Don’t you ever do anything that stupid ever again,” Natasha scolds her friend. “You did it in DC and Sokovia before now. You’re going to kill yourself by the time you die.”

“That’s incredibly strange wording there Miss Romanoff,” (Y/n) says with a smile. 

Natasha goes to say something but Sam walks up and leads Natasha down to the briefing room. 

A few minutes later, after (Y/n) had changed into a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, she makes her way down to the briefing room, leaning on the doorway as she listens to Thunderbolt Ross, the Secretary of State, speak. 

“Five years ago,” Ross begins. “I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my back-swing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass . . . I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an un-payable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives . . . but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some . . . who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” asks Natasha in a falsely respectful voice. 

“How about "dangerous"? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?“ Ross says and (Y/n) steps forward into the room from the shadows. 

“You don’t think we’re unconcerned about what we leave behind, Secretary?” (Y/n) says in a soft voice, which still carries through the silent room. “I think the Avengers, above all others, know what it’s like to lose the ones they care about and the wreckage left behind.”

Steve and Natasha look over to see (Y/n) standing behind Sam’s chair at the back of the room. 

“But,” (Y/n) smiles with a look of disgust in her eyes, “if you must, please, continue.”

“Thank you, Miss Stark,” Ross says, rolling his eyes and pressing a button on a remote in his hands. 

News footage from past Avengers and SHIELD matters flash on the screen as he speaks, “New York.” A Chitauri leviathan. Terrified citizens. A soldier firing a gun. The Hulk smashing into buildings, sending dust clouds engulfing the camera.

Rhodey’s expression turns regretful and he glances over his shoulder at Natasha. 

“Washington DC,” Ross continues. Three Insight helecarriers, firing on each other. The destroyed Triskelion. A helicarrier crashes into the Potomac throwing up a massive wave while in the background, (Y/n)’s body hits the river below. 

Sam is the one who looks down this time, and Steve spares a glance at (Y/n), whose expression had hardened into one of carefully controlled anger. 

“Sokovia,” Ross says, pressing yet another button on his controller. Terrified citizens running. The city rising. A building falling over. Wanda and Tony continue to look at the screen, Wanda swallowing thickly at the sight of her former home behind destroyed. 

“Lagos,” The burning building. Paramedics moving bodies. A dead girl. An unconscious (Y/n) being lifted into an ambulance.

Wanda looks particularly affected by the footage from Lagos and (Y/n) steps forward to place a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. Steve also sees how discomforted Wanda seems and intervenes. 

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Ross nods to an aide and the images disappear. 

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” Ross receives a thick book from one of his aides and slides it across the table to Wanda. She picks it up and then slides it to Rhodey. 

“The Sokovia Accords,” Ross tells the Avengers. “Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries . . . it states that the Avengers should no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary. You say that it's enough to be a man. But there are gods. And the rest of us, what are we? They’re giants, we’re what they step on.”

The conversation has (Y/n) remembering what Phil Coulson had told Mike Peterson before he had become DeathLok. 

“The good ones, the real deal,” comes (Y/n)’s voice and everyone turns to look at her once again. “They’re, we’re, not heroes because of what we have that you don’t. It’s what we do with it that matters.”

Steve nods and sends (Y/n) an admiring glance. “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that,” Steve adds to (Y/n)’s words.

“Tell me, Captain, Miss Stark, do you two know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Ross asks, meeting Steve’s eyes. 

“I have a guess,” (Y/n) says, meeting Natasha’s green gaze. “Asgard.”

Ross ignores (Y/n) and says, “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies,” Rhodey guesses. 

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Steve glances at Tony as Ross heads for the door. 

“Talk it over,” Ross finally says. 

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Natasha asks. 

“Then you retire,” Ross says and Natasha stifles a smile. 

A few minutes later, (Y/n) finds herself sitting at the counter in the briefing room, her fingers pressed to her temples as Sam and Rhodey argue behind her. 

“I have an equation,” Vision interrupts. 

“Oh, this will clear it up,” Sam says, turning to listen to Vision.

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark and Miss Stark announced themselves as IronMan and Phoenix respectively, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve asks his eyes remaining on (Y/n), whose fingers had begun tapping lightly on the countertop in front of her.  

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict . . . breeds catastrophe. Oversight . . . oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom,” Rhodey says. 

(Y/n) glances over at her father, who was lying on one of the couches, one hand on his face. 

When Natasha speaks, he removes his hand to look at her. “Tony,” Natasha prompts. “You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve guesses.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony gets up, wincing, rubbing the back of his head. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

He walks over towards the kitchen and grabs a mug. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort. Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal” Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?” 

Despite the negative thoughts running through her head, (Y/n) cracks a smile at her father’s question.

Tony sets his phone in a basket and taps it. The phone projects an image of a smiling young ham. Tony looks down, then back up, and pretends to notice the picture for the first time. “Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where Sokovia.”

(Y/n) swallows thickly and glancing at her teammates, she can tell that the others are also affected by this. 

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose,” Tony says softly. “I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” Tony takes a pill with some coffee, then faces the others. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”

“Well said,” comes (Y/n)’s quiet voice, though everyone in the room heard it. 

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve says. 

“Who said we’re giving up?” Tony asks. 

“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blames.” 

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) says softly and the others turn to her once again. “Steve,” she pauses for a moment. “That’s dangerously arrogant,” there is an apologetic undertone to her words and now Rhodey speaks. 

“This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change,” Steve argues. 

“That’s good,” Tony presses. “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty,” Tony says, shooting an apologetic glance towards his daughter. 

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda’s gaze flickers to the others. 

“Us,” (Y/n) corrects, meeting Wanda’s fearful green gaze. 

“We would protect you,” Vision says. 

“Maybe Tony’s right,” Natasha says, shooting a glance at (Y/n), then Wanda.

Tony looks at the former assassin, surprised. 

“If we have one had on the wheel, we can steer. If we take it off -” Sam interupts Natasha. 

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kick her ass a few years ago?” Sam asks as (Y/n) rises from her place slumped against the countertop and walks over to sit by her friend. 

Natasha looks over at (Y/n) and sends her a comforting smile. 

“I’m just . . .” Natasha begins but (Y/n) continues for her. 

“She’s reading the terrain,” (Y/n) explains. “We have made . . . some -”

“Very public mistakes. We need to win everyone’s trust back,” Natasha finishes. 

“Focus up,” Tony says, still staring at Natasha in disbelief. “I’m sorry, did I mishear you or did you agree with me?”

(Y/n) cracks another smile as Natasha replies, “Oh, I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no,” Tony argues. “You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed--I win.“

Steve’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out to check it. (Y/n) glances over at Steve, a question in her eyes. 

(Y/n) knew that Steve had feelings for her - and (Y/n) did as well - and judging by the look on Steve’s face, she knew it had to be about Peggy. (Y/n) knew that, deep down, Steve still loved Peggy. 

“I have to go,” Steve says abruptly, dropping the Accords onto the coffee table and going downstairs. 

The others in the room glance at each other for a moment before Wanda stands up from her place next to Vision and (Y/n) stands up, following her. 

(Y/n) jogs after Wanda, catching up with the young brunette. “Wanda,” (Y/n) places a hand on her shoulder, but the girl continues to walk. “Wanda, stop.”

“What?” Wanda snaps, turning on (Y/n). 

“What are you going to do?” (Y/n) asks softly, her hand remaining on Wanda’s shoulder. 

“What are you going to do?” Wanda asks in return. 

“I’m going to sign,” (Y/n) says softly. “I think you should too. Like my dad said, if we don’t do this now, it’s going to happen later.”

(Y/n) gives Wanda’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before she turns, walking away. 

A few days later, (Y/n) and Natasha walk into the cathedral where Steve had just been mourning the death of Peggy Carter. 

(Y/n) smiles nervously at Steve as he speaks, “When I came out of the ice, I thought everyone I had known was gone. Then I found out that she was alive. I was just lucky to have her.”

“She had you back, too,” Natasha says, shooting (Y/n) - who was standing at her shoulder - a glance. 

“Who else signed?” Steve asks. 

“Tony. Rhodey. Vision.” (Y/n) answers. 

“Clint?” Steve asks. 

“Say’s he’s retired,” Natasha says, and (Y/n) and the redhead share an amused smile. 

“Wanda?”

“TBD,” Natasha answers. 

“We’re, well, off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords,” (Y/n) says. “There’s plenty of room on the jet,” she offers, hoping with all her heart that Steve would come. 

Steve sighs and bows his head and (Y/n)’s composer seems to fall. 

“Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” Natasha tells Steve.

(Y/n) had the feeling that her best friend was trying to convince herself as well. 

“What are we giving up to do it?” Steve asks, avoiding meeting (Y/n)’s eyes.

Natasha sighs and Steve shakes his head, unconvinced. 

“I’m sorry, Nat, (Y/n),” Steve says softly. “I can’t sign it.”

“We know,” (Y/n) says softly. 

"Then what are you doing here?" Steve asks. 

"I didn't want you to be alone," (Y/n) says, stepping forward to wrap the super soldier in a hug. 

(Y/n) pulls back after a moment, holding back tears as she says, "Good luck, Steve." 

Natasha puts a comforting hand on (Y/n)'s arm and the two walk out of the cathedral. 

A few hours later, (Y/n) and Natasha are standing in the UN building signing papers for the Accords. 

"Excuse me, Miss Romanoff, Miss Stark?" asks a UN staffer. 

"Yes?" Natasha responds.

"We need your signatures," the staffer says. (Y/n) and Natasha sign the papers. 

"I suppose neither of us are used to the spotlight," comes a voice and the two women turn to see Prince T'Challa standing in front of them. "Though, Miss Stark, it seems to follow you everywhere."

"Well, it's not always so flattering," Natasha answers with a smile. 

"You seem to be going alright so far. Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill . . . I wouldn't think you would be particularly comfortable in this company."

"Well, I'm not," Natasha replies. 

"That alone makes me glad you're here, Miss Romanoff," T'Challa continues. 

"Why? You don't approve of all this?" (Y/n) asks. 

"The Accords, yes," T'Challa answers. "The politics, not really. Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred."

"Unless you need to move a piano," comes King T'Chaka's voice. 

"Father."

"Son. Miss Romanoff. Miss Stark," T'Chaka's says in return, nodding to his son. 

"King T'Chaka," (Y/n) says, nodding respectfully to the king. "Please let us apologize for what happened in Nigeria."

"Thank you. Thank you for agreeing to all this. I'm sad to hear that Captain Rogers will not be joining us today."

(Y/n) and Natasha share a glance. "Us as well," (Y/n) answers.

"If it is okay, I would like to have a word with Miss Stark," T'Challa says and (Y/n) nods. 

Smiling at Natasha, then nodding to the king, (Y/n) follows T'Challa to the window. 

Before T'Challa can say anything, T'Chaka begins to speak. "When stolen Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon, we in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and women killed in Nigeria were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows. We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join. I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative." (Y/n) spots something outside and she nudges T'Challa, pointing to a news van outside where several officers were milling around the back. "Wakanda is proud to extend its hand in peace."

"Everybody get down!" (Y/n) and T'Challa yell, sprinting towards where the king was still standing, giving his speech. 

An enormous explosion goes off between the two buildings sending (Y/n) and T'Challa flying back. 

(Y/n) staggers to her feet, her hand wrapped around her bleeding forearm, and watches, horrified as T'Challa finds his father lying on the floor with his eyes closed. The Prince grabs his father's wrist and feels for a pulse, but King T'Chaka lies still. Devastated, T'Challa lies across his father, then lifting him and rocking him. 

Natasha darts forward and pulls her friend down onto the floor and rips off part of her sleeve to wrap around (Y/n)'s arm, (Y/n)'s eyes wide with shock.

The survivors are evacuated from the buildings and fire crews begin to hose them down.

Natasha and (Y/n) sit on the bench beside T'Challa's. 

"I'm very sorry," Natasha says softly. 

T'Challa glances at the two, holding a silver ornate ring which he toys with between his fingers. "In my culture, death is not the end. It's more of a . . . stepping-off point. You reach out with both hands and Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into the green veldt where . . . you can run forever."

"That sounds very peaceful," Natasha replies, her voice still soft. 

"My father thought so," T'Challa answers, placing the ring on his finger. "But I am not my father."

"T'Challa. Task forces will decide who brings in Barnes."

T'Challa clenches his fists, "Don't bother, Miss Romanoff. I'll kill him myself."

3rd Person POV

Steve - in his uniform - strides through an underpass, then jogs onto a private runway, heading for a grounded chopper. An electro-disabler slams onto the chopper and Steve looks up. 

Above him, Tony and Rhodey descend, landing on the ground. 

"Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?" Tony asks, his helmet retracting.

"Definitely weird," Rhodey answers. 

"Hear me out, Tony," Steve says. "That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this."

T'Challa, clad in his Black Panther uniform, leaps over a truck. "Captain."

"Your highness."

"Anyway," Tony says, walking behind Rhodey. "Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy," Steve answers calmly. 

"Your judgment is askew," Tony replies, some of his anger showing now. "Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday. 

"And there are five more soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't."

"Steve . . ." It was Natasha's voice now. ". . . you know what's about to happen. Do you want to punch your way out of this one?"

"All right I've run out of patience. Underoos!" Tony calls. 

A figure in blue and red spandex shoots what looks like a web, stealing Steve's shield and binding his hands, landing on a car. 

"Good job, kid," Tony praises. 

"Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit… Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's--it's perfect. Thank you," Peter stumbles over his words.

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation."

"Okay. Cap . . . Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man." 

"Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just . . ."

"Hey, everyone."

" . . . Good job."

"You've been busy," Steve interrupts. 

"And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart," Tony finishes. 

“You did that when you signed,” Steve answers calmly. 

“Alright, We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys . . . with no compunction about being impolite,” Tony scowls at Steve. 

Steve holds up his hands and Clint shoots the web off with an arrow. “Alright, Lang.”

“Hey, guys, something . . .” Peter says. 

He gets kicked back and a full sized man is now standing beside Steve, holding out his shield.

“Oh great,” Tony says. “There’s two in the parking garage. One of them’s Maximoff I’m going to grab her.” Tony flies off in his suit. “Rhodey, you wanna take Cap?

“Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes,” Rhodey answers. 

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa shouts. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark. What should I do?” Peter asks. 

“What we discussed. Keep your distance. Web ‘em up,” Tony answers.

“Okay, copy that!” Peter uses his webs to swing away. 

Scott Lang - Ant Man - faces Natasha. “Look, I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” Natasha replies. She kicks him in the groin and he miniaturizes, throwing her head over heels. She zaps him off her wrist and he slams into a nearby truck, leaving a small dent. 

Tony is now hovering over Wanda and Clint. “Wanda, I think you hurt Visions’s feelings.”

“You locked me in my room,” Wanda retorts. 

“Okay first, that’s an exaggeration. Second, (Y/n) wanted me to protect you. Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, man,” Clint answers, readying his bow. 

“Clearly, retirement doesn’t suit you. You get tired of shooting golf?”

“Well, I played eightteen, I shot eightteen. Just can’t seem to miss,” Clint fires an arrow which Tony deflects. 

“First time for everything,” Tony replies. 

“Made you look,” Clint smirks. 

“Suddenly a sar slams past Tony and he looks up as dozens more come crashing down. Wanda moves her glowing red hands until Tony is burried under a pile of cars. 

Tony flies over to Natasha once he unburries himself and helps her up. 

“Is this part of the plan?” the redhead asks. 

“Well, my plan was to go easy on them. You wanna switch it up?” the billionare asks. 

Clint spots the Quinjet. “There’s our ride.”

“Come on!” Steve calls. 

Steve’s team runs towards the Quinjet but they are stopped by a fizzing stream of energy slicking across the runway and they stop. Looking up they see Vision hovering overhead. 

“Captain Rogers,” Vision begins. “I know what you believe what your doing is right. But for the collective good you must surrender now.” As he speaks, the rest of Tony’s team arrives. 

“What’d we do, Cap?” Sam asks. 

“We fight,” Steve answers. 

“This is gonna end well,” Natasha says. 

The two teams stride towards each other with grim determination etched on their faces. 

“They’re not stopping,” Peter says. 

“Neither are we,” Tony replies grimly. 

Steve blocks a punch with his shield from Tony as he lands. Clint fires an arrow at Vision as Rhodey flies after Sam and and Bucky, trading blows with T’Challa.

An explosive arrow hit Tony.

Natasha throws Scott as Peter wings through the air, struggling to evade flying vehicles.

Bucky lands punches on T’Challa. 

Clint and Natasha battle with batons and eventually, Clint pins her down with his bow. 

“We’re still friends, right?” Natasha asks. 

“Depends on how hard you hit me,” Clint answers.

Natasha spins the archer with her legs and jumps to her feet. As she’s about to kick his head, her foot stops and glows bright red. With a wave of her hand, Wanda throws Natasha back. “You were pulling your punches. 

As Natasha’s thrown back, someone catches her before she can hit the ground. 

“Nice to see you,” the figure says with a ghost of a smile as she sets the redhead back on her feet. 

“(Y/n)! What are you doing here?” the redhead asks. 

“I’m making sure nobody dies today!” (Y/n) yells over her shoulder, running to where Steve was talking to Peter. 

“Look kid,” Steve says as (Y/n) comes up behind him. “There’s a lot here that you don’t understand. 

“Mr. Stark said you’d say that,” Peter replies. “Wow.” He fires webs which stick to Steve’s leg and shield. He pulls and Steve slides towards him. Peter kicks him backwards and then rolls clear. “He also said to go for you legs.” As Steve runs to get his shield, Peter webs his hands and pulls. Steve grits his teeth, spins and somersaults, propelling Peter through the air. 

Steve catches one of Peter’s webs and tugs the boy near him, knocking him down with the shield. Peter recovers and pull himself on top of a gangway. “Stark tell you anything else?” Steve asks.

“How about don’t beat up kids?” (Y/n) asks teleporting in between the kid and Steve. 

“Go,” (Y/n) tells the kid, then readies her fists at Steve. 

Growling with frustration, Steve throws his shield at (Y/n) but (Y/n) stops it with a jet of water. 

(Y/n) charges at Steve but is stopped by Bucky, who had launched himself at her and pinned her to the ground. 

Bucky goes to punch his metal fist into her face but (Y/n) teleports away. “What the!” Bucky exclaims. 

Vision had just shot a shining beam of energy at the control tower and it collapses towards the entrance of the hangar. Wanda holds other hands, keeping the tower from collapsing, letting Steve and Bucky run through it. Rhodey descends behind her and fires a sonic disruptor and Wanda holds her head and screams. The tower falls around Steve and Bucky but they make it into the hanger. 

Natasha, who was in the hangar, catches sight of the tower falling on top of another figure. The two had made eye contact before the tower had collapsed on top of her, (E/c) on green. 

“Tony!” Natasha yells, running past, completely ignoring Steve and Bucky, who run past her into the Quinjet. “We’ve got a big problem!”

“Romanoff, what is it?” Tony asks. 

“(Y/n) . . .” the redhead trails off. 

“What happened?” Tony asks frantically.

“The control tower, it collapsed on top of her,” Natasha breathes. “We need somebody who can lift heave things.”

Tony, Rhodey, Wanda, and Clint show up soon and the five dig through the rubble and Natasha heaves one chunk of rock, moving it. 

(Y/n) raises up her arm, her hand trembling and everyone rushes over to move the rest of the rock. Her hand falls, palm facing up, and she exhales, her breath ragged. 

“I hope one of y-you can c-carry me,” (Y/n) stammers. “Cause I think my leg’s b-broken.”

The last slab of rock is removed and everyone looks at each other. A sheet of metal was stuck in her abdomen, and blood was pooling under her. 

“Y-you’re gonna have t-to c-carry me.”

Tony comes out of his suit and takes his daughter’s hand in his own. Natasha moves to take the other. (Y/n)’s eyes close in pain for a moment and then she opens them again. 

“I-I think i-it’s bad,” (Y/n) voice trembles. “Cause I can’t feel it.” 

Her eyes close once more and then she opens them again, looking at her father. 

“D-dad? W-when di-id you get h-here?” (Y/n) stutters and Tony squeezes his dying daughter’s hand. 

“Oh sweetheart, I’ll always be here.” Tony says, a tear falling from his eyes. 

“T-that’s sweet,” (Y/n) slurs. Her head lolls to the side and she sees Natasha and Clint, the archer’s hand placed on his redheaded friend’s shoulder. “Nat. C-clint.” A tear streaks down Natasha’s face. “D-don’t c-cry. I-I’ll be o-okay.”

“Only you could comfort us like this,” Natasha says, tears falling onto her hands. 

(Y/n) looks over at Rhodey, and his helmet retracts. “U-uncle R-rhodey?”

The man nods. 

“W-watch m-my Dad,” she says. “H-he tends to be r-reckless sometimes.”

“I will,” Rhodey promises. 

“Doll, that’s not every nice,” Tony scolds lightly and (Y/n) lets out a soft laugh. 

“Wanda,” (Y/n) says, addressing the youngest. 

Wanda looks up from her feet. 

“Y-you’re so s-smart and t-talented,” (Y/n) tells the young girl. “And d-don’t le-et anyone tell y-you different.”

Wanda chokes down a sob as (Y/n) falls limp against the rocks under her. 

Natasha runs her hands gently through her friend’s hair and (Y/n) jolts conscious once again. 

“N-nat,” (Y/n) stammers. 

“Breathe, just breathe (Y/n/n),” Natasha murmurs. 

“N-nat, t-ell St-teve I’m sorry,” (Y/n) slurs.

Then she falls limp . . . 

She breathes her last breath . . . 

And falls silent, not moving again . . . 

Well, this was, well, this made me cry writing it, so . . .

Word Count: 7,164 words

So yeah, I don’t know if this was what @rogersrogers334​ was looking for, but here it is. 

Anyway, Imma go cry in the safety of my bed now . . .

Love,          Kaitlynn ❤️😍

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Olly Olly Oxenfree (part five)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

im going to heaven with or without you

“Joan?”

Joan giggled in her daze, lolling her head back and forth across the sand. Except, the sand felt a lot harder than it should be...and it was so cold all of a sudden...and she couldn’t see the glow of the sunlight behind her eyelids.

“Joan!”

Joan’s body jolts awake for the second time that night. She sat up so quickly it sent a miniature gun salute popping and cracking up her spine.

“Joan? Are you okay?”

Cathy is kneeling beside her. She has her hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were deeply worried.

“You kinda- you kinda went weird for a few minutes.” Her sister said. “I thought I lost you.”

“No, I’m- I’m fine, Cath. Promise.“ Joan assured her.

“Nothing new hurts?”

“Nothing new hurts.”

Cathy nodded and stepped back, pulling Joan to her feet.

“What happened?” Cathy asked.

“I-” The words caught in Joan’s throat. The memory of what exactly went down flash through her mind. “I saw my sister again.”

Cathy’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” She said. “Okay- okay- explain it to me. Can you do that? Will you be okay to?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joan nodded. “We were...we were on the beach on some random Saturday. Catalina was there. It was...amazing.”

Cathy got a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Was it good— I don’t even know how to say this without... I just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

So many emotions were whirling through Joan’s mind- sadness, grief, closure, pain, misery, anger, longing. There was too much for her to process and it made her brain feel like it was going to burst apart in her skull.

“It was good to see her again,” She whispered. “It just— it sucks that she’s not- she’s not here, I guess. That’s all.”

Cathy gave her a quick, but tight hug.

“It’ll all be over soon, Joan. Don’t worry.”

Joan nodded.

Now that she somewhat had her bearings collected, she and Cathy began moving again.

They met up with Anne and Kitty at the bottom of the hill leading up to the field. Just a few yards behind them, the Lee Estate gate looms behind them.

“Great! You didn’t, uh, die!” Kitty said.

“Did it work?” Anne asked. “Did you get the key?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Cathy answered. “It’s actually a radio. Apparently it can open mechanical locks or something. Show’em, Joan.”

Joan nodded and took out the new radio. She walked up to the gate, seeing a small mechanical plate with three pieces of a pyramid on it. She began to tune in and, on channel 56, the parts of the pyramid lit up.

The gate swung open.

“Cool!”

“Wow.”

“Neat!”

Those were the chimes from the other three.

“Please have a boat, please have a boat, please have a boat...” Anne muttered as they all passed into the Lee property.

The salty tang of the sea was as sharp there as it was on the beach. Land broke away and became a wooden boardwalk, which creaked loudly with each footstep pressed against the boards. The black ocean churned loudly below the four of them. It sent spirals of anxiety through Joan, but she tried to stamp them down.

“A boat!” Anne cried in relief. “Oh, thank god. The keys are probably inside the house, which is HUGE by the way!”

She was right. The house was big. How some old woman got the money to pay for it was beyond all of them.

After finding that the door was locked, but had a tune in symbol, Joan took out the radio.

She didn’t like how much she was having to use it.

107.1

“That is a nifty gizmo.” Anne said as they all herded inside.

Surprisingly, it was quite warm inside the house, which was a relief because the temperature was definitely dropping outside. The four teenager scampered through the foyer and to the living and dining area, where they were hoping to regroup and maybe find someone to eat or drink (none of them had noticed how hungry they were before). However, all they ended up finding was a figure in one of the armchairs.

“There you guys are!”

“Oh my god!” Cathy shrieked. “You scared me!”

“Catalina!” Kitty rushed up to the older girl, nearly knocking her over in a hug. “Jesus! I was so worried about you!”

Catalina blinked and stumbled, slightly stunned by the sudden contact, but then she laughed softly and stroked the top of Kitty’s head. The girl nuzzles her face even closer, tightening the hold.

“I’m okay, Kitty. I promise.” Catalina told her.

“Wait—”Joan said. “How...did you get in? The door was locked. Did you have a radio?”

“No, I didn’t have a radio.” Catalina said, looking at Joan absurdly. “The kitchen window was open. I climbed in.”

“And the fence?”

“I jumped it. I’m not as dainty as you think, Johanne.”

Joan scanned Catalina over. The older girl has always been an amazing liar, but she didn’t seem to be hiding anything...at that moment. She nodded softly.

“Alright, Catalina’s here, great!” Anne said. “Everyone start looking. Find something and hope that it helps.”

They break.

Joan and Cathy went upstairs, finding a string for a pulldown ladder, which Cathy very helpfully called a “cat toy”. They climb up it, finding a musty old attic and a chest in the far back.

A chest with a padlock.

“Of course.” Joan sighed, then muttered, “Paranoid old woman...” She walked back down the ladder and made her way to the exit of the house. “Hey, Cath. How are you doing?”

“How are you doing?” Cathy fired back at her.

“As crappy as everyone else.” Joan said. “I feel like I just got run over by a truck. With acid wheels.” She paused. “If that makes sense.”

Cathy laughed. “I got it. I think everyone feels the same. We’ll make shirts when we get home!” She quickened her pace to walk right beside Joan as they stepped off of the front porch. She placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”

Joan can only manage a wry, barely-hopeful smile.

They walk down the front path and back down to the boardwalk. On their way to the basement, they stop by the boat docks to check in on Catalina and Kitty, who were having a friendly conversation to pass the time.

“Hey, Kit,” Joan said, walking up to the younger girl first.

Kitty smiled at her. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

“As steady as she goes.”

Kitty leaves it at that. Joan moves on to Catalina.

“Catalina.”

“Your Highness.”

Joan’s mind flashes back to the time loop in front of the tunnel, however she can’t muster up even an ounce of anger or rage. When she looks into Catalina’s eyes, so unloving, unlike in her flashback memory, any ember she may have conjured gets instantly smothered and replaced by freezing cold misery.

“For the eight hundredth time— and I don’t know why I have to keep trying to sell you on this, but here it goes— Maria wasn’t my fault.”

Catalina crossed her arms, and Joan prepared for a vicious hurl of flaming words, but she just sighed and looked dejectedly at the murky water. Maybe she’s imagining what it must have been like for Joan on that day.

“If that’s what you believe in, I guess.” She finally said.

There’s a momentary burst of flame, but a rock to the boardwalk from a particularly big ripple puts it out. Catalina looks upset, Joan realizes. She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just turns and walks to the basement. Cathy trails quietly behind her.

“Find anything useful?” Joan asked, stepping inside the stale-smelling basement. Cathy goes to check out a desk as she speaks with Anne.

“Nothing yet, but the night’s still young.” Anne answered. She’s definitely calmed by degrees since the argument on the tower, but Joan can still see betrayal glinting behind her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Joan pressed. She wanted Anne to know she still cared about her. “Physically, I mean. Everyone looks like they’ve got the flu.”

They were all pale- too pale for it to be healthy. It as if their blood was slowly being drained from her body as the night progresses, leaving it blanched and cold. The only color that remained on their faces were their eyes, although very dull and void, like scratched gemstones, and the pink flush that dusted their cheeks. There was the shaking, too- the incessant trembling of their limbs, but they all knew it wasn’t from the cold. Not really.

“Why do you care?” Anne snapped. She marches past Joan to inspect a projector. “Seriously,” She whips her head around to look at Joan. “why didn’t you let me go with you to Main Street? Did I do something that bad?”

The hurt in her eyes returns. The pinch against Joan’s aorta does, too.

“I’m sorry, Anne. I’m sorry.” Joan said. “I just thought you needed a breather. I mean, an hour earlier you were literally possessed!”

“That-” Anne processes it. “-it true. That is true. But it was still annoying!”

Joan went to say something else, but Anne turns away to dig through a shelf. She sighed and regrouped with Cathy, who managed to find a padlock code in a desk, so they make the hike all the way back up to the attic and opened up the chest.

Inside were the keys, which made Joan’s heart leap in joy, but also a map of the caves.

“Tune into the signal.” Is what the page said and, as Joan was reading this as she and Cathy made their way back downstairs, a glitchy wave contorted the entire house.

Joan is back in the attic.

“Joan...”

That was Catalina’s voice.

“Oh, Joan...”

She was calling to her.

“Come down here please. We have something we want to show you.”

Joan didn’t want to move, she wanted to huddle up and hide in that attic until dawn, but she feared what would happen to her if she didn’t obey, so, slowly, she crept down the attic ladder.

Out of her peripheral vision, she notices two bodies- Anne in the study and Kitty in the bedroom. Joan rushes to her best friend first.

The spacebun girl is slumped low in a chair, her limbs completely limp and her head sagging.

“Anne, come on, babes! We got a boat to catch!”

Anne does not stir.

Joan goes to Kitty, next. The girl in sprawled in a position on the floor that looked painful. Her muscles were probably straining just to keep her in that form. Like she cousin, her eyes were shut.

“Kitty, let’s go! We gotta motor!”

Kitty does not move.

Joan hurried down the stairs. She found Cathy’s barely in a chair. Her legs were bent on the floor, and the only thing keep her body up was the way she was propped on the seat cushion.

“Come on, Cathy, I— I need you! Don’t blank out on me now!”

Cathy does not wake.

Joan backed up slowly. The thought that all three of them may have been dead hit her like a freight train.

“Ah.”

A voice from behind.

“There you are.”

Joan turned slowly.

There is Catalina, standing in the dining room. She almost looked normal. Aside from the glowing red eyes of course.

“Now, we imagine you’re a bit confused.” She said. “But don’t fret. This will be the final part of your training, Joan.”

“𝔸𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕤.” Chimed the radio in Joan’s pocket.

“Training?” Joan echoed. “I-I don’t want to be-“

“You signed up for this, Johanne.” Not-Catalina got her off.

“̧. Lêåvê. þð§§ïßlê.”

“So please,” Not-Catalina continued. “I cannot bear your excuses, offspring.” Her voice is flitted and splotched with stinging irritation.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Joan said. “How many times do you want me to say it? I had no idea what would happen!”

Not-Catalina held her hands up in a calming gesture, then set one on Joan’s shoulder. The touch was icy cold.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She said. “Trust us on that.” Joan doesn’t budge beneath her hand. She goes on: “The test is easy. We-”

Ninety-six figures appear all throughout the house, eyes glowing, bodies flickering in the darkness that holds them. They disappear as quick as they came.

“-will speak of something we see in the house and you will go and find it. See? As simple and good-humored as your mother’s apple pie.”

Joan doesn’t answer. Not-Catalina draws her hand back.

“Let’s start off with something easy.” She said. “I spy with my little eye...radiation.”

Joan jars out of her daze.

Catalina began to count down.

Joan started to search the house frantically. It was difficult having to pass by her friend’s bodies- she nearly tripped over Anne’s strewn-out legs.

Finally, as Not-Catalina hit three, she went with the only thing she could think of.

“Is it- are you talking about the TV?”

“Very good! Well done!” Not-Catalina praised. “Now, next... I spy...a knot.”

The countdown began again.

Joan searches, but she couldn’t find a damn knot anywhere in the house. It didn’t help that it felt like she was upside down again.

“One.”

Joan’s stomach coiled painfully.

“Johanne. What a disappointment you’ve turned out to be.”

A grandfather clock chimes loudly.

Cathy’s body began to shudder.

“No! Don’t do anything to her!”

But They didn’t listen.

In the blink of an eye, Cathy is gone.

“Aw, your new sister.” Not-Catalina cooed in pity.

“Bring her back!!” Joan cried. Tears edge her vision. “Right now!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” Not-Catalina said. “As they say- what’s done is done. And now, it’s time for the bonus round, Joan. Stay sharp. I spy a memory.”

Joan’s mind flashes.

She staggers away from where Cathy used to be and up the stairs. Not-Catalina is watching her from the study, by Anne’s body, as she hobbles to the bedroom and stairs at a photo on the wall.

“The picture.” She croaks.

“Very good. Very nice.” Not-Catalina purred. She appears beside Joan and pats her head like you would a dog. “That’s a picture of Margaret Lee and her friend, Anna. You see... you and your schoolyard chums are experiencing— well, this has sort of happened before.” She turned her head to photo. “Maggie and Anne tried to...sport with us many years ago. And, well...”

Images flash by Joan’s eyes.

“Only one survived.”

Not-Catalina turned and began walking back down to the living room. She seems to drag Joan along by an unseen force.

“But in the process, we discovered a way to return, so to speak.”

They both stop.

“It just takes a little time.”

“What happened to Anna?” Joan asked softly.

“Let’s just leave it at: the poor girl didn’t know what she was playing with. It doesn’t matter.” Not-Catalina answered. “The waves. It’s the waves, we think. And we will use those waves to absorb into your friends as sunlight blooms into flowers. And we will grow. And we will engulf.”

Joan’s entire body felt as if it were just dunked in arctic waters.

“You— you can’t do that!” She cried. “Think about what you’re doing!”

“We can do that, Joan.” Not-Catalina said. “And what has seemed to your parents as eighty years has been eons to know an existence without life.” Her words seep in before she begins again, “We tried it too quickly with Anna, but now we know to wait...and soak.”

Down down down- Joan is pushed deep into the ice waters. She’s frozen, unable to fight against this.

“We has to keep you here, on the island. It will be a great honor, Joan, really...to carry us through this life.” A wicked smile curls on Not-Catalina’s lips. “And onto the next.”

Joan backed away, but she knew running would do her no good.

“Please, just don’t do this,” She begged. “We’re— we’re not—”

“It’s sad, I know, to lose the facility to feel...” Not-Catalina said. “...to be, but...we have not felt anything for a very long time. And we’ll do whatever is necessary.”

Not-Catalina chuckles at Joan’s horrified expression. She kneels to her height and leaned in close.

“When our vessel dashed on the rocks we had until dawn.” She said. “So do you.”

She pulled back suddenly.

“We would spend our time wisely. And,” She smiled, “we thank you for your good service.”

Joan’s vision blurs and she’s back in the attic. She trudged down the ladder and found three tape players in the place where her friend’s bodies used to be. She sluggishly cranked the handle of the top two, her mind far away, but when she walked downstairs and passed the large mirror, her reflection shifted.

She froze.

“Let Maria go out on her own.” The Other-Joan said.

“Why— why does it even matter? She’s not— she’s not here.” Joan growled, but her reflection shifts again and it’s back to normal.

She sighed and went to the last tape player and cranked the handle.

Everything around her buzzed.

“Ugh...”

Kitty is on the floor in the foyer, with Anne and Cathy strewn out beside her. They all groan.

“I think I’m gonna be sick...” Kitty mumbled.

“Me first.” Anne said.

Joan wanted to leap into all of their arms, wanted to express how happy she was that they were no longer hollow shells of human bodies, but she couldn’t. She felt too dizzy, too nauseated, too scared to do anything besides slowly lower herself into one of the armchairs in the foyer. She propped her elbows up on her knees and held her head, letting everything that was said to her sink in fully.

They were going to die. Or maybe just become vessels for ghosts that will wear their skin like coats, and she isn’t sure what is worse.

“Did—” Cathy’s voice falters for a moment. “Did that just happen? With you and Catalina? That wasn’t a dream, right?”

“I wish it was.” Joan sighed. She raised her head, but found doing so more difficult than she expected- it was like her skull was now made out of the heaviest metal in existence.

“Catalina, she’s...” Kitty looked around. “Those weird nuclear submarine monsters took her to the caves. We have to go get her back!”

“Yeah, of course,” Joan nodded. “But how?”

“Maggie has a bunch of old military tapes in her basement,” Anne nodded. “I know there’s some slides on the tunnels dug all around this island. Maybe they’ll help?”

“Worth a shot.” Cathy said.

The four them walked out of the house and out the basement. The ocean was churning loudly, black waves rolling over one another like they were fighting for power over the sea. The boardwalk rocks treacherously, the boards practically threatening to cave in beneath the teenagers.

They all ducked into the basement and Anne went over to the projector while Joan grabbed a reel. They put it in.

The first slide to pop up was of two young women around their age or maybe in their early twenties reading a journal together. One has long, maybe brown hair (the slide wasn’t colored) and the other was dark-skinned with seemingly black short hair. They both seemed...happy.

“Oh god, if this is a prehistoric scrapbook...” Anne said.

“It’s cute! They’re learning!” Joan said. “But it doesn’t help us. So onto the next...”

The next slide shows the blueprints of a bunker up on the fields and the one after that is a sketch of the weird triangles.

“Woah, Maggie knew about those things?” Kitty said aloud. “That’s so weird...and creepy.”

They continued to search, eventually coming up with a plan: The bunker in the field leads right into the cave. To open it, Cathy and Joan would go into the Catbird Station in the woods and send a signal, then Kitty and Anne will wait for the door to open. Then, they’ll all regroup and the sisters would head inside and hopefully save the day.

It was a stretch, but it was all the got.

[centrifuge-politics]

Brick Club 4.5.1, 4.5.2

“Was the fire dying out entirely? or was it merely becoming a bed of embers?” The bonfire of young love has died down, but there’s still the question of whether Marius was an infatuation that has entirely left Cosette’s system, or if she, entirely independent of outside influence, managed to mediate her desires into something more sustainable. Hugo doesn’t offer an answer and it’s pretty much impossible to judge while Cosette and Marius still haven’t met. While Cosette takes notice of the lancer passing by her garden daily, she doesn’t seem to have much more interest beyond observing how regularly he visits. I’m more inclined to chalk this up to being the daughter of noted paranoiac Jean Valjean rather than another infatuation, despite Hugo’s half-hearted attempts to convince me otherwise.

“Marius was of that temperament which sinks into grief, and remains there; Cosette was of that which plunges in, and comes out again.” Cosette lives in the moment, she’s remarkably aware of her own reality, something she never gets credit for outside of the book. Her ability to process and look out for her own sense of self is too often confused with self-absorption and ignorance when it’s probably the thing that has kept her alive. Unlike Marius, she hasn’t always been afforded the space to allow herself to be swallowed by grief.

Cosette may bond fast, true, “the heart of an isolated young girl resembles the tendrils of a vine,” but she’s also shown herself to be rather critical and calculated about the nature of attention she receives or gives out. I have no doubt that Cosette has a highly developed warning system to alert her of any “misalliances,” given her past. Hugo skirts awfully close to making a “girls only date assholes” complaint, using the justification that Cosette is at heart an orphan still desperate for any scrap of human connection, but if there’s anyone I would trust to know what was best for herself, it’s Cosette Fauchelevent. Besides, Cosette has literally never spoken to either Marius or this ~mysterious lancer~ so any assumption about her reaction to nice guys or bad boys is still entirely speculation. She hasn’t been given anything resembling a choice yet! All she’s doing is living the life she’s been given.

So this is what is “perhaps the finest piece in all music.” It’s pretty good, a little adagio for the style maybe and I can’t speak to the libretto. More amusingly, this is a really weird piece for Cosette to default to. It’s entirely sung by a tenor/bass chorus and is accompanied by trumpets, not piano. This has no bearing on the rest of the chapter, but it’s so self-indulgent on the part of Hugo I had to mention it.

Cosette hears footsteps in the garden and sees the shadow of a man lurking about the gated plot and her reaction is exactly that I would expect from Jean Valjean’s daughter, “What! two days in succession? One hallucination may pass, but two hallucinations? What made her most anxious was that the shadow was certainly not a phantom. Phantoms never wear round hats.” This is stupendous logic. Cosette isn’t afraid of phantoms, she’s afraid of what definitely isn’t a phantom. Just as with Theodule the lancer passing by, she makes specific note of the pattern of visits.

Also phantoms don’t wear round hats. Those fashion backwards specters are still sporting bicornes. Cosette invented the Elle Woods defense.

I like that Jean Valjean validates Cosette’s concerns. I know he’s paranoid and would act on any odd occurrence regardless of Cosette’s input, but it’s also the fact that he takes her fear seriously enough to offer her a viable explanation instead of simply dismissing her fears. He wants her to feel safe, but he also wants her to know that the things she sees are real. Good move, because now she’ll keep coming to him with her serious worries and not keep them secret from him.

[redscullyrevival]

Fool’s Assassin: Fitz and the Fool Rundown

OH MY GOD @sonnetscrewdriver

Plot/Narrative/Setting:

Uhhhh, holy SHIT???

Now, I know I’ve consumed these Elderling books in a rapid fashion but this one I friggin’ devoured. 

I loved it so much, so many aspects of this first book I completly adored and got very emotional over.

Plot aspects and writing aspects.

Bee’s first chapter from her perspective?! 

Oh my god you guys I had to put the book down and wander about my house in a glow for a bit, but I’ll come back to that in a little while.

For now I just wanna say that I feel a little vindicated! Heh.

I said it felt like Blood of Dragons was leaning into another book and that feels true here, especially thematically - at least with how I viewed the end of Rain Wilds anyways.

The fresh baby Elderlings are going to have time to grow and look back on their past and their experiences and see them anew; time is it’s own change but in The Rain Wilds Chronicles the young keepers couldn’t see past their own immediate trials and tribulations, and had no need or desire to do so. They’re young. 

Fitz and the Fool seems it will focus on change and we all know every Elderling series is about change, duhdoy - but this time around the variation on theme seems to be “reflection as change”.

And this is being done in really interesting ways I’m gobbling up!

Looking back and reflecting on the past can’t change the past but it can change the observer, it can shift our perspective and self understanding.

Experience and time changes how we feel about our personal stories, changes how we feel about ourselves and our actions and choices and is a willing practice most people indulge in as they age.

And then there are children.

Children are a near constant form of self reflection; parenting is a daily grind through one’s own childhood memories and habits and looking at yourself and experience through your parent’s eyes as well as your newly acquired parent lenses - it is very intense. 

Raising children is achingly sweet, oddly nostalgic, uniquely frustrating, guilt draining, and terrifying. Trust me. 

And I don’t imagine there are many experiences that forces someone to be as introspective and unwillingly mining and measuring their own life as much as raising children does. It’s a type of change where your sense of control is lacking to nonexistent. 

Parenting is basically adolescence 2.0 okay? 

Nobody knows what they’re doing the first time around and all the experience in the world won’t prepare you for the amazing differences each child possesses. Parenting is just an adaptive process of change on the go.

So far the Fitz and the Fool series seems to be focusing on these two particular types of change by merging parenting’s hyper focused self-evaluation with the natural backward glance of ageing into a snowball of dread (and I assume later acceptance).  

It’s fantastic stuff!  

Fitz

I feel as if my personal prayers have been answered.

I’m so over the moon that Fitz is a professional wayward child collector, it’s so beautiful I can’t stand it! 

When reading Tawny Man I thought “You know what would be great? Fitz adopting more children” - a thought I had AFTER he married Molly and thus had like nine kids already. 

HehehehhaaahahAHAHAHABAAAAHAHAH!

This is my favorite Fitz.

Still making poor choices driven by self isolation of course, you can’t teach an old wolf new tricks evidently, but still my favorite Fitz so far. 

So much calmer. 

Quick to listen and slow to speak.

Empathetic, less paranoid.

A sturdy man. 

Retirement suited Fitz, and I’m so glad his edges softened and his eyes adjusted to the light. 

I want him to keep his found peace and take it with him through this new gauntlet of horrible happenings, I believe in him. 

It’s a little upsetting Fitz still doesn’t believe in himself, or rather he doesn’t believe in others.

Fitz is still afraid of what he can’t immediately control; doesn’t see his friendships clearly; and takes up more responsibility then he can handle without asking for help.

Frankly, after Molly’s death Fitz isn’t a very adaptive parent. 

He tries! He does, and if time was on his side I think Fitz and Bee would have built something wonderful and symbiotic.

PS Molly was so real in this book. So warm and defined in my mind, I grew to really see her. Devastated! 

Bee

Oh my sweet summer child!

We’ve broken into a new perspective! For the first time we see Fitz from the outside! I LOVE IT.

I also love Bee.

I really love Bee.

On the Fitz side of things I’m pleased with how he is now; on the Bee side of things I think there was a lot Fitz could have done and didn’t when it comes to his younger daughter.

Much of what Bee knows and understands of her Father (and other adults around her) is from her own observations and intelligence, not from him sharing information with her directly. 

Most informative communication between father and daughter is instigated by Bee.

And that’s frustrating. I’m frustrated on Bee’s behalf. 

I’m frightened for her now as well! 

Oh Bee, stay save. 

Be smart. 

The Fool

*anguished war cry*

Shun

Shun obviously has problems and I’m doing my best to not hold anything against her.

If she can she needs to get her shit together and sooner would be better than later.

She’s going to need herself and Bee isn’t going to admit it but she’ll need her too. 

God I hope Shun rises to the occasion of total survival - I’m on your team Shun! You can do it!

Lant

What the fuck lol?

Who is this clown? 

Shun is a mess but Lant is a disaster. What’s his deal?

Thankful for small miracles that Shun went with Bee - cause these two were getting chummy and I’m pretty sure they’re brother and sister or something.

Bee’s observation during dinner one night about how Shun and Lant were like mirrors of each other is going to ring true I’d wager.

AND I BLAME CHADE. 

I hope this kid turns around and becomes helpful, otherwise I’m cool if he stays home.  

Highlighted Passages

Time is an unkind teacher, delivering lessons that we learn far too late for them to be useful.

A tiny motion caught my eye. It wasn’t much. Steady had opened his mouth and then shut it again. It was not much of a trail but I’d pursue it. I looked at him suddenly, pointed my finger, and demanded, “What did Chade tell you not to tell anyone?”

At intervals throughout my life, I had tried to record all I had seen and done. And often enough I’d had to hastily destroy those accounts when I feared they would fall into the wrong hands. I winced as I thought of it. I only regret the time I spent writing them when I had to burn them. I think of all the time I spent carefully writing, only to have it burn to ash in a matter of minutes. But you always began again. Writing it down. I almost laughed aloud. I did. And each time I’ve done so, I’ve found that the story changed as my perspective on life changed.

I had been young, I excused myself, and who does not put himself in the best possible light when he presents his tale to someone he loves? Or his excuses to someone he has wronged.

It was a very good life I had. When melancholy overtook me, I knew it was not for anything in my present, but only darkness from the past. And those bleak regrets were only memories, powerless to hurt me. I thought of that, and yawned suddenly. I could sleep now, I decided.

A part of me did not wish to leave her when her mind was so unsettled, and another part of me longed for a respite from indulging her delusion. I called Revel aside and asked that he pay special attention to her requests while I was gone. He looked almost offended that I thought such a command necessary. “As ever, sir,” he said, and added his stiff little bow that meant, You idiot.

I was almost annoyed at her for spoiling my perfectly good sulk. And that was when I realized that was what I had been doing. I’d been sulking because the Fool had sent letters to Jofron and not to me. And like a child, I’d been testing the people who loved me, pulling away from them almost for the sole reason of seeing if anyone would come after me.

I did not begrudge Molly her years of marriage to Burrich. He had been a good man for her. But this was like a slow knife turning in me, to watch them recollect an experience I would never have. I stared at them, the outsider again. And then, as if a curtain had lifted or a door opened, I realized that I excluded myself.

“Fitz! Must you always leap from one imagined disaster to another? Listen to what I’m actually saying, which is that I don’t know what path Nettle chose for herself. But if she is alone now, it is because she chose to be alone, not because someone decreed it for her. Her life is hers to live, not yours to repair.”

Ah, I do not know what comfort anyone could offer me, save to let me say these things aloud and not recoil in horror from my heartlessness.

There would never again be anyone like her. Never anyone who would love us so completely, with so little reason.

I reined my heart away from exploring those losses. It was one of my faults, one that Molly had sometimes rebuked me for indulging. If one bad thing befell me, I immediately linked it to every bad thing that had happened in the last week or might happen in the coming week. And when I became sad, I was prone to wallow in grief, piling up my woes and sprawling on them like a dragon on a hoard. I needed to focus on what I had, not what I had lost. I needed to remember there was a tomorrow, and I had just committed myself to someone else’s tomorrow as well.

There was a danger in asking too much of a child, but the danger of asking too little was almost equal.

Like him, I bore some scars from the things we had exploded together. Just as we had this girl’s life.

I think I decided that night that the discomfort of being close to him was preferable to standing away from the only person in the world who I knew loved me. I suspect that at some point he had made the same decision.

In many places Patience had written scathingly skeptical notes about the veracity of what she was reading. Often they made me giggle uncontrollably: It was a glimpse into her that no one else had shared with me. Her notes were fading, so I renewed them in black ink as I found them.

I felt a flash of anger toward Chade at the bubbling kettle he had sent to my home. Who would be scalded when she finally boiled over?

“It’s too short to braid. I cut it because my mother died.” I looked at her directly for one instant. Shun met my gaze coldly. Then she said, “I can only wish my mother were dead. I think it would make my life easier.” I stared at her knees. Her words cut me and I tried to understand why. After a moment it came to me. She considered her pain more significant than mine.

I suspected that in her thoughtless wretchedness she could employ cruelty such as I had never experienced from an adult.

The best an assassin can do is create a setting in which he does not have to witness the pain he causes.

We live in our bodies. An assault on that outside fortress of the mind leaves scars that may not show, but never heal.

I hugged my knees tightly to my chest, pulling them in hard, wishing I could break my own legs. Wishing I could destroy myself so I could escape these terrible feelings.

“I will always take your part, Bee. Right or wrong. That is why you must always take care to be right, lest you make your father a fool.”

I could be my father’s daughter. Impervious to what he had done. Sure of my own worthiness. I lifted my chin.

FitzVigilant had failed as an assassin, so Chade had assumed he would do better as a scribe and teacher. And I had gone along with such a crooked piece of logic. Why? Did either of us believe that teaching children might be easier than killing them?

“Torture strips one of all dignity. Pain can make you shriek, or beg, or soil yourself. There is no privacy when your enemies own you and have no compunction, no human compunction at all about what they will do to you. So, among my friends, yes. Privacy is still an obsession. And a gift from them. A restoration in small part of what dignity I once had.”

I bowed my head to that. After a moment, she added, “People love you far more than you deserve, Tom Badgerlock. But you don’t even believe that they love you at all.” I was still pondering that when she added, “And I am one of those people.” “Nettle, I’m so—” “Say it again and I’ll hit you. I don’t care who is watching. If I could ask one thing of you, it would be that you never say those stupid words again.”

[just-seheun]

bye 2017, hey 2018

I feel like I always get around to writing an end of the year post on tumblr even if i never really even get to use this site during the year.

well I guess it’s that time of the year (or new year I should say) where I try and look back as well as look forward.

let’s see what happened in 2017...

- let’s say, for one, ‘Murica as a whole kinda went through a lot of bullshit (still is honestly) - we’re getting rid of DACA, the tax cut bill was passed (holla @ the rich 10% and say bye to the other 90%), we’re slowly trying to get rid of/fuck up the EPA despite climate change being very real (if category 4-5 hurricanes occurring back to back is what we’d call “real”), and ya know just the firing of members of the HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention council in the government - to name a few (not to mention, continued police brutality, racial discrimination/injustice (tbh just racism as a whole), and dumb ass fucking people who - ugh 

well, moving on to maybe more lighthearted moments...

- I tried to infiltrate the Asian community a little more with (mixed, mostly unsuccessful) efforts. Idk man I tried. I think I did make stronger relationships with the Asian friends I started out with so, I think that’s definitely a major plus. (*insert thumbs up here*)

- also, kinda along with that one, I think I dived into more adventurous food/hangout spots in terms of finding kinda Asian hubs and places I vibe with (an accomplishment of last year too that I think worked and flourished even more in 2017). 

- Kind of cooled down with the whole going out scene. I still go out occasionally and have a pretty good time but it’s definitely dwindled down. We definitely started the year going out more but like I said, definitely calmed down a lot. 

- Went to my first Terp Thon FTK! Started my TTPT journey with the 1 million dollar year - pretty crazy and amazing. It was truly and unreal experience for all those kids and wouldn’t have changed it for anything. Super sad I won’t be there for Terp Thon 2018 though. 

- oh! successfully (kinda) resurrected my GPA from a sad 2.7 (result of getting a 1.7 from failing calc2 and getting a D in bio) to a nice and solid 3.23 which I am tbh very proud of. A 3.8 and 3.88 (technically straight As - woo hooooo) these last two semesters - yay! Just also improving in school as a whole. I’m really starting to enjoy what I’m doing. yeah, spring ‘17 sem was more chill and fall ‘17 sem was more like hell but, overall I’m pretty excited about the work and studies I get to do. (like hell as in 3 2900-3200-word papers in the span of like 2 weeks) 

- Another academic thing, I added Art History (officially) as a Double Major which probably means a winter term here or there but still very exciting. I also feel like I’ve really learned a lot about the fundamentals of art history that I really felt like I was missing this whole time. Just like the basic timeline of movements and key artists from Burgundian Netherlands to Venice to Rococo to Realism to Cubism (and all its various forms) to Der Blauer Reiter to Contemporary and everything in between. All cool stuff - definitely makes you pay attention more to dates and stuff when visiting galleries and museums and just makes me feel more in the know if nothing else. 

- Again, another academic thing, I’m officially in the English Honors Program - woo hoo! This does, however, mean I’ll be writing a 25-page thesis but honestly it’ll be fine, I’m fine, it’s all fine... I mean I don’t really know what I’m gonna write about and I have to skype my professor for like 2 months in the summer but hey, it’s all good and if it’s not I’ll just figure it out (*insert nervous sheepish grin here*)

- Kind of started the process of cutting off 아빠 which take that with a grain of salt. It’s a mess tbh, I don’t even know what to say honestly. 

- Finally left Slaveway for good. It really tbh started becoming too much of a risk and just uncomfortable for me to stay. Not an awful job (despite the shit customers a lot of the time) but I just couldn’t stay longer.

- I feel like there was also definitely a more solidifying of sustained relationships and a distancing in others. I don’t know definitely still a lot just up in the air and a lot of familiar faces but a lot of new things and stronger bonds in 2017. 

(now, post looking at my snapchat memories from the year and realizing how much shit I did this year... lol)

- I went to 2 concerts (kinda); one being 2 Chainz and all of the many acts that came before him at Art Attack 2017 and the other being Khalid’s bomb American Teen Tour concert at the Filmore that I initially just went to because Sam wanted to go and Anh had an extra ticket that ended up being real lit. 

- Had like a little fame after writing an Odyssey Online article about Moco which was kinda cool and kinda ridiculous lol. I also just stopped writing for them all together after like less than one sem rip. 

- Also realizing I went to a lot of really cool exhibits and art-related things this past year which I’m really happy about actually. Yayoi Kusama’s exhibit was crazy amazing and well worth the wait. Artec house was really cool and just visiting the NGA, the PMA, the Hirshorn, the Freer/Sackler with a fresh and more knowledgeable outlook was really nice. Also starting those solo museum trips during the sem was really nice no matter how short-lived they were. 

Honestly this year was very different from 2016 in many many ways. I think there’s been a lot more growth in this past year but I and the community around me definitely went through a lot. 

- Something I realized this past year in unfortunate circumstances, was the prevalence of loss and losing individuals close to your community. I never thought things like death, loss, grief, and suicide were things that I would ever come across (let alone, this often) at this age. We really did lose a lot of young lives that were filled with so much potential and hope this past year especially in this community, including an old classmate. Things that we always thought to be intangible and far away landed right in front of us and I don’t think a lot of us including myself still know how to grasp all of that. It’s hard to see the people around you, the ones you grew up with and always had by your side whether you knew them well or not, lead such a tragic fate. This year made us think about mental health more and more. You realize in the most unfortunate circumstances that everyone has there own demons that they’re fighting. No one is free from them. Even in regards to Jonghyun, it affects everyone in the darkest of ways. 

This past year really made me think more about how fragile life truly is. I’ve dealt with and still deal with my own demons and the dark thoughts of my past and truly wonder especially in light of all the tragic events from this past year, what things would be like. It would be a lie if I said that they didn’t make me wonder about past thoughts of my own more. 

I think it’s sad to think that even as I wonder about all this, I still feel empty about it in the midst of being unable to process it all. I feel like in a way, whether as a result from school distracting me and my own self protecting or shielding itself, I’ve grown numb. I feel like my own mind is trying to avoid emotions at all cost in a way that’s pushing away emotion and problems by just not dealing with them (which by no means is the right way to deal with things at all bc you’re not dealing with anything). I don’t know, I guess I’m getting by and I’m not as broody as I was in the past but I wouldn’t say I’ve improved, I’ve just kind of paused in a way I guess. 

I want to end this post with a brighter look toward the future though. I think 2018 has a lot of potential waiting to happen with lots of things to look forward to that I think should be highlighted in this post. After all, a new year means moving forward, not burying your past necessarily but, using the past to cast light on the future. 

So with that, things to look forward to in 2018...

- First things first, STUDY ABROAD IN ROME for Spring ‘18 sem! I mean it doesn’t get more exciting and new than this honestly. Yes, I am super stressed and there’s so much stuff to do besides the fact that I’m paranoid and don’t know what to expect at all. I’ve never traveled abroad in my life, let alone lived away from home (ever) so this is just gonna be absolutely nuts tbh. I have lots of hopes though. Do I want a fairytale, movie-like experience? Lowkey, of course. But I also try to be a harsh realist when I can so, we’re staying generally tame about our study abroad fantasies lol. Still, I’m hoping this will be a chance to make new friends and hopefully make some of them in my art history classes as well as in the school in general. It’s been a hard few years in the whole making friends department seeing as how all my past roommates are very antisocial. Yes, I myself am also very much like this but that doesn’t mean my internal self doesn’t want a lot of friends lol. I’m excited to take a class with Evelyn and just experience the city while hopefully staying safe and smart. It’ll be a crazy and hopefully amazing semester with a lot of travel and just a lot of fun before my senior year. I could go on and on about all my thoughts and hopes for this coming semester but, I’ll just leave it at that (your girl really needs to sort her life out/figure out what to pack/pack/schedule the rest of my home excursions/get her documents together/everything else. Bottom line: we’re a mess lol.

- Hopefully a summer internship. Forreal forreal like actually. Your girl was stuck at safeway again this past year and we’re not having that shit again. Nope nuh-uh, not happening. Not this year mm mm, no. We’re gonna find one. We have to - it’s gonna happen. Trust and believe. Trust and believe! 

- Also turning 21 this year (although, this probs won’t be exciting seeing as how I’ll be legal all semester while I’m abroad, then come home and be nonlegal for another like 2 months and then be legal again). Look, I’m just looking forward to getting mimosas and going to bars without memorizing random identity information from Illinois. 

- Also 2018 is really gonna be a year for me to REALLY think about me. In all contexts, really. Academically; figuring out what it is I really want from my education and working toward making the most out of it, finding a real path for myself in terms of grad school and other things school-related. Lifewise; gauging how I’m going to continue my life. Graduation is coming faster than I can think and by this time next year, I’ll be gearing up for my last semester as an undergrad. That is so wild. 2018 is really gonna be me trying to buckle down, I suppose. Trying to cloud out my peers and their success/failures/paths and really try to hone in on myself. It’ll be a challenge but we’ve got to start somewhere, right?

All in all a lot was thrown onto the table in 2017 in a lot of different ways. It’s been a different kind of roller-coaster with much much more to come after this year (my favorite number year really, 2017). 2018 will be a test of time and one of the biggest challenges but, also hopefully a year with a lot of hope and potential for success. Wishing everyone the brightest new year with health, opportunities, growth, and burgeoning happiness! Cheers to all 2018 has to offer all of us and to all the things 2017 gave us! 

[nicolawritesnovels]

I always used to use writing as a way to process life. And you can see it in my old stories. There are parts of me in everyone, parts of me that have disappeared over the years, as I grew and became someone else. 

Lexington was me in her love of mysteries, in her desire to bring something exciting and mysterious to her boring life.  

Cacy was me in the cough that lasted for the whole month I was writing her story, in my completely paranoid fears that I was dying, in my dreams to create a flying broom stick and visit the Amazon rainforest. 

Nemmy was me in the way she walked down the street, her confidence, her unending compassion and her desire to solve problems, and under stand people to the point of her own destruction. It was a part of myself I wouldn’t realize was a problem for years. 

Lily was me in her boring life, in her wanting to help people who were vastly different than her, to bring something new to her life, and to help people. 

Kaycie was me in all the obvious ways, in the whale watching trip, the friends who weren’t always good for her, the obsessive even creepy crush on her old English teacher, and in the fantasy that held her through the novel. 

Cippie was me in the way of revenge, in the way of ridiculous plots that would never work, in the fear of a failure she brought upon herself. Cippie was me in her wild ideas and her creativity. 

Robbie was less me than the rest, and it started a new phase. But in some ways, he still was. He was me in his fascination with Samanda, and with Kat. In his desire to help Kat, even when she was beyond saving. 

Ari was me in her relationship with Katie, her inability to let go, the way she wanted to believe the best in Katie even when she knew it was wrong. She was me in the way she wanted to make Katie better, to be there for her, even at the cost of herself. She was me in the ways she hated gym class, and the way she was afraid when everything moved so fast. She was me with her ADHD, and the way that shaped her life, even though my life was so much different than hers.

Ellie was me more so than the rest. Ellie was me at the most vulnerable part of my life, when I was so afraid of the loss I had just suffered. Ellie was me in her relationship with Neal, in her writing, in her hatred of her creative writing class. Ellie was me in every way she was, except for the parts about her parents. Ellie was me in her depression, and in her grieve, and in her regrets. 

Alicia....and Rachel, I don’t know how much of me they were. They were in their impulsiveness, but they belonged more to the fictional characters than anyone else. I don’t know them as well as I should. I wrote their story in 26 days, without a thought before it, or a thought after it. I don’t know their story, and maybe I should. 

Alex was me in the way she grew, in the way she couldn’t chose between Terry and Lexi, and the way she wanted to explore before committing herself. She was me in the way she was Dark Blue, so far deep in the ocean that she was as dark as you could get before everything turned to miles and miles of pitch black. 

Nick was me in the way he was obsessed with Vada and Warrick, together. In the way he wanted to explore them together, to love them together. Kate was me in her aggression with Eee that was nothing more than love. Eee was me in her optimism. Mouse was me in his desire for everyone to get along. Vada, Vada was me in her regrets, so much worse than my own, but I put real feelings into her. 

And it was around then that they stopped being me so much. There were still ways, but more and more, they were other people. 

Cat Dunkle, she wasn’t really me. She was me in her optimism. She was me in her curiosity. But her in so many ways, she was more Cat Valentine. She was a persona I was trying to put on. The dark and deep, with a surface of optimism. She wasn’t searching for love, but she found it. Tomie was me in her family, in the way they loved her and cared, and they were nothing but good, and she shut them out anyway, didn’t even tell them when she was dying. That was more me than anything else, although I didn’t realize it until much later. 

Jamie Todd was me in her regrets, in her guilt. Our guilt was never the same, because hers was deserved way more than mine ever good me. Jamie Todd was not a good person, and I never believed that I was either. But I was. And she wasn’t. If I was anyone, I was Miles. I was Miles in the way that I believed that everyone was worth saving, was willing to put in the effort to make someone better, even when society had deemed them the worst of the worst. I was Miles in his believe that no one was too far to come back. 

I was Keely in her money, in her ability to get what she wanted. I was Keely in her love for Robin and Tommy. But Keely too, she was so much more of Cat Valentine. She was my persona, but with new parts to it. She was the persona, but now with money, because money had become something that mattered. 

And Molly. I was Molly in her guilt, I was Molly in her desire to grow. I was Molly in the way she got caught up in Leah. I was Molly in the way that I used my friends and I regret it now. I was Leah in her past, in her future, in her unhealthy behaviors. I was both of them in that. I didn’t want to be them, and I hated their story. But I don’t regret it now. 

I was Lucy in so many ways. I was Lucy in her questions. I was Lucy in her habits. I was Lucy in her love, in her guilt, in her regrets. I was Lucy with her family, who support her even when they find out her secret. I was Lucy in my desire to make peace with a past too big to fix. I was Lucy in my realizations that I would have to admit my past to give other people the peace they needed, and that it was a sacrifice I had to make. 

I was Wendy in her desire to fly, I was Wendy in the way she wanted to get away. The way she wanted to help. I was Wendy in the way I saw a girl in orange tights, and I wanted to help her, I wanted to make sure that she would be okay. She was. Even though Emma wasn’t. I was Wendy in the way I thought I should be running from my past. I was Wendy in the way I wanted my friends to make peace with each other, to make my Priscilla and Emma stop fighting, before it was too late. I was Wendy in the way I wanted to help, and the way I couldn’t. I thought I was Wendy in the way I made my dreams come true, in the way at the end, I finally got to fly. I didn’t. I missed my chance. But not for another two years. 

I was Jacobina in my search for the truth. In the way I wanted answers. I was Krysten Clarice Thorne in the way I wanted to make a statement, to say that we can be bad too. I was Mere-Kait, in the way the character original was. In the ideals I built her up to, that never made their way into the story. I’m Mere-Kait, in the way I let the story down. 

I never really meant myself to me McKenzie, but I was. I was McKenzie in the way that I agreed to help, at sacrifice to myself. In the way I left my boyfriend behind. And Lo, I wasn’t Lo. I wasn’t really ever Lo, except in my love of books, and the fact that I always seem to be an exception to the rule. 

I was never really Autumn, and I wasn’t meant to be. Instead, I was Bennett. I was a girl who had everything, and a girl who had to find her own family, even though she had a perfectly good one. I wanted to be Autumn, a girl who had talent, a girl who was able to make her own. But when you look at it closely, I’m more of Dana than anyone else, a small character without much role, a girl who didn’t fit in in her group, but was as much a part of it as everyone else. A girl who read while everyone else partied, who was weird, and who was respected. 

I was Grace in the same ways I was Ari. I was Grace in the way that I thought of myself as something I wasn’t, in the ways that I was paranoid, and so afraid to move. So afraid of everything. But I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t really. Not in the same ways Grace was, and not for the same reasons. She had reasons to be afraid, and I had nothing. Grace was the last great tragedy, in the tradition of my ones before. In the tradition of Jamie, and Emma, and Molly and Cat and Tomie, and Samanda. 

I was April Scott, in the way that I had it all. I was April Scott in the way that she wanted to help people, in the way that she didn’t always think about the way she wanted to help people. I was April Scott in the way that she used Nate. I was April Scott in the way that she could love more than one. I wasn’t Cody, not really. And I wasn’t Nika either. 

And after that, things changed again. Because I was writing a different story, the same story. Over and over again. 

I was Sid in his luck. I was always Sid in his luck, and that was more intentional than the rest. It was the basis of his creation, rather than an attempt to process the world around me. I was Sid in his life, in his luck, in his desire to help. I wrote myself into Sid, with care. And I wasn’t Sophie, not at all. Sophie belongs to other people, people I care about a lot. 

I was Clare, sometimes. I was Clare in that she has more, and that she has a privileged point of view. A different sort of privilege than Sid has. 

But as much as I was Sid, I was never a hero. Not like Sid was. 

I wasn’t Jake. I could never be Jake, because Jake was made of a loss I couldn’t claim. And while there was a real Harper, they weren’t my Harper. I don’t know who I was. I felt the grief Jake felt. I was Ramona, in the way I liked to mess with people. But Ramona was full of emptiness and hatred, and revenge, and things she doesn’t even know. 

I was Cara, if I was anyone. I wasn’t a hero like Fifi, and I was never a dancer, and I wasn’t anything about her. But I admired her, like Cara did. I was Cara, in that it wasn’t my story, but I was a part of it. But that story is more removed from me than the rest, because Cara didn’t struggle with anything I struggled with. Cara didn’t struggle. Fifi did. Antoinette did. 

And then it’s back to Sid. I wasn’t Sophie. I wasn’t Marisa. 

I was Sid in the way I needed to get away. To run away from everything I had, and to cut everyone out. To start again. But I didn’t. Sid did. And then Sid, grew past it. Maybe I did too. 

It wasn’t until I wrote about Summer that I stopped writing about Sid. I was Summer in the way she craved freedom. In the way she was sure of who she was. I was Bugs in the way that I wasn’t. 

And maybe the problem when I got to Skyler was that I was none of them. I wasn’t Sheila, and I never lived the kind of life she did. I never had to run like she did. I was never Lauren, with her big family, and the things she loved. I wasn’t Charlie either. Skyler, Skyler was someone else. I don’t know who I was, and maybe that’s why that story never got finished. 

I was Hazael in the way that she didn’t want to grow up. In the way she wanted to help. In the way she felt for Zeph. I was Hazael in her hopes and dreams, but never in her past. 

And I’m K-Dance too. I’m K-Dance in the ways he feels for Katie, in the way she’s growing away from a friend she used to be close to. In the secrets she keeps, even though she’s got no reason to. I’m K-Dance in the way she is trying to keep her dedicated to something she loves. I’m K-Dance more than I was any of the more recent characters.