#this is supposed to be the night before susan leaves for america a year or two after the war ends

[rainintheevening]

Narnia and firelight 💕

I love you.

Lucy watches the firelight play over her sister's face, and she aches with the love and the loss of loving. Susan gazes into the fire, beautiful eyes wide with staring, as if she is already seeing away across the water, and when Lucy bumps their shoulders together, she does not react. They are touching, but her sister is already far far away, as if the steamer had left weeks ago, and in some ways Lucy feels that it had, that she has unwittingly said goodbye to her sister on some day when she wasn't paying attention, perhaps at the end of a telephone call or in the middle of a party, and now... now she doesn't know what to say.

"I love you," she says, before the world blurs, before she can't speak another word, before she loses her courage to some fear she cannot quite shake, before a dark head settles warm and heavy on her shoulder.

[beaststhattalk]

You Gave Me Reason

3,132 words | Post-The Last Battle | Find content warnings on ao3

Professor Digory Kirke had a short will. He had no children, no siblings, and was his parents’ only child. He’d had an aunt and an uncle, neither of whom spread the branches of their family tree. That is how Susan Pevensie finds herself with stacks of old books on God and history and art. They’d been meant to go to Peter, which spared them from the museum donations and auctions that swallowed up the rest of the contents of that mysterious house.

The funeral was a year ago. And what a funeral it was: so many guests. The young Scrubb and five Pevensies were all bid goodbye and buried in the same ceremony. Susan had agreed on it with her aunt and uncle. None of them wanted to drag things out with one funeral after another, especially when most of the attendees would be the same. It would’ve begun to get difficult in terms of preserving the bodies, as well, and Susan refused to let that become something she had to consider.

The priest had asked Susan if she’d like to speak. For each person, she spoke as truthfully as she could.

Six is too many, Susan thought, to waste time recounting happy memories. More than that, she was not inclined to wring her hands over which smiles to include—which hugs mattered, which inside jokes represented them all best. How was she supposed to take a family and whittle it down to a single moment? Who could sum up a life in a handful of stories?

Nor was Susan eager to weed through the memories she and her siblings argued about to find the ones they might agree on. It’s my chance to get the last word in, she’d thought one night, eating bread in the dark on the kitchen floor (she couldn’t bring herself to eat all day, and the hunger pangs sent her stumbling out of bed). Susan wanted her siblings’ side of things to be what people remembered. Since she didn’t understand their side of things, it was best to leave memories out entirely.

Instead, Susan stuck to what she was certain of. Things that everyone in attendance—her aunts, uncles, and grandparents; Peter’s, Edmund’s, Lucy’s, and Eustace’s school friends; her parents’ work friends; Father’s war friends—ought to know:

Lucy was a kind and hopeful girl who never let anyone suffer alone.

Edmund was clever as a whip and wise beyond his years.

Peter was studious and responsible and would’ve done so much with the years ahead of him. Whatever he would’ve accomplished, though, he deserves the credit for bringing three children through a war.

Mother loved people so dearly that she still had tea with friends she’d made when she was only three years old. And she loved her children well enough to send them away when, more than ever, she wanted them close to her.

Father built toys for his children, homes for families in England and America, and risked his life for all the people in the world during the war. If any of Susan’s siblings put others before themselves, it was because their father taught them how.

Susan only saw Eustace in visits every few years, and every time she saw him, he was taller, and smarter, and wiser than his old self. No one will ever be able to say what a wonderful man he would’ve become, given the time.

These were the words she scrawled in her journal a week before the funeral. After hours of crying, each blink felt like scraping gritty, dried mud off of one’s skin. It hurt like hell to swallow. However, she’d dried her face with rough hands, sat at her desk, and written one word after the other like climbing a hill. Over the following days, Susan did what she could to be more sentimental, more eloquent, more fair. She finished Edmund and Lucy’s last. She couldn’t even bear to say their names aloud, those first few days.

A year later, it is dreadful still. But in a quieter, duller way. The days are gray and slow. The sun feels either cold or loathsomely humid. Every Friday at 3pm, if not more often, Susan goes out with friends. They don’t ask about her life. Susan suspects that they are nervous to get a sad answer and turn the whole moment awkward. She thinks this is the best course of action for everyone. She sits with them at cafes, listening to them talk about their schoolwork and boyfriends and summer plans (none of which Susan has anymore). She asks questions and makes comments and teases them, as she’s always done. These visits go as they always have. Susan doesn’t laugh as often or as brightly as she used to, to be sure, but it’s the best remnant she has of a normal life.

When they all say goodbye, Susan’s four friends head off in separate directions, their sheets of silky hair bouncing as they walk away. Susan usually walks home feeling empty and cold. However, the days don’t bleed together quite so much, afterwards.

Her school offered her a year off, and with aunt Alberta’s firm support, Susan accepted. On the days she leaves the house, whether to do shopping for Eustace’s parents (who have taken her in) or to go to town with her friends, Susan dresses well. She puts on lipstick, curls her hair, and meticulously chooses shoes and nylons and clothes. She does it solemnly, always with the sharp light of dawn. More often than not she is observed by a cup of tea growing cold on the vanity. Making the tea is essential: another pattern for her body to learn and inhabit. Pouring whatever is left in the bushes below her window seems only appropriate. Susan feels that every morning, with everything she does, something is forsaken—put down, given to the earth, forgotten. Only after this is done can she walk out of the house, silently announcing to the gray sky or humid sun that her life still has somewhere left to go.

The Scrubbs go to church every Sunday. They go on Saturday and Friday evenings, too, when they have the time. They have become quite close with the priest—Alberta knows his sister by first name. Susan tried for a month or two, but gave it up. Sitting in a pew and hearing songs about beauty only served to agitate her.

Once, fairly early on in the big picture of things, the priest invited Susan for a walk. She accepted. She hadn’t yet heard anything from her friends except for condolences, and was ready to speak to anyone about anything.

They walked from the city into a park, where flowers were crawling with bees and flocks of birds turned bushes into chimes. The priest talked to her about peace and heaven. Susan politely agreed. He asked her, quite knowingly, if she believed a word he said. She responded that they were beautiful words, and she admired him for coming up with them. She admitted that that’s how she saw all the holy books, too: beautiful words, written with great skill and imagination. The priest agreed with her. He urged her, though, to consider them with an open mind. If she indulged the chance of their reality, they might speak to her more than she imagined they could.

So, Susan spent a lot of time—all those days that she didn’t put on her lipstick or her nylons or curl her hair—sipping tea and reading. Her uncle joined her on the weekends. They sat in silence, Susan with a bible or one of the Professor’s old books, her uncle with a newspaper. He always used his big chair near the window, but Susan moved about: sometimes the couch, sometimes the dining room, sometimes the small tea table by the window to the backyard. After all, this house was not quite home to her, yet.

Whether or not her uncle was home, reading was when Susan felt as if she were really speaking to someone. She never spoke truthfully to her friends or neighbors. She was rarely honest with her aunt and uncle. And, even then, it didn’t seem to strike anything true. Susan would tell them what was on her mind, yes. But all the meaning seemed to die as her thoughts left her mouth in the shape of chosen words.

Indeed, for the past few years, she didn’t feel like she’d even been speaking to her family.

Mother and father thought her interest in clothes and makeup was silly. Father insisted—always as if he were dealing with a fool and not his oldest daughter—that Susan was pretty enough without red coloring on her lips and cheeks. Peter and Edmund teased her, as Susan figured any boys would tease their sister, but it seemed to be more than just that. Really, it was the time they didn’t spend teasing Susan that troubled her. If she counted the hours, her siblings spoke in pairs or in a group so often that Susan barely factored into their lives at all. Even when she was in the room, they talked about fairy tales and childhood games with great seriousness, all without a glance at Susan. Eustace, surprisingly, seemed to be a part of it when he visited. Even without the particular silliness of fantasies, none of them seemed all that interested in practical matters. Peter and Edmund spent hours on end debating the fine details of philosophical texts. Whenever Susan tried to spark up a conversation about the goings on of Europe or Parliament, or even the local farms, her brothers looked at her with solemn eyes. As if they were sad she cared about things that had a tangible place in their lives.

Edmund was more blunt than Peter.

“Can we not spend all day talking about this?” Edmund complained one afternoon at their aunt and uncle’s. Susan and Eustace had been discussing an article about advancements in radio technology.

“I guess you’d rather talk about useful things, Ed,” Susan replied, “like how best to polish a unicorn’s horn.”

Edmund rolled his eyes. Then, Susan could’ve sworn he muttered: As if a unicorn can’t polish its own horn.

Lucy was not nearly so rude about it all, but Susan had felt furthest from her. Lucy spent nearly all her time outside of school at church or on walking paths. Susan could at least join in with Peter and Ed in discussing those old authors they loved, though she preferred to focus on how the writers’ real lives shone through their texts. Lucy, though, was beyond Susan’s reach.

They took a walk together at the beginning of summer, just a month before the accident. The two had been having a simple, meaningless chat about Lucy’s upcoming visit to the Professor's when Lucy spotted a rabbit at the edge of the path. Susan had hummed in acknowledgement, but Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. They spent minutes standing there, watching the rabbit nibble the grass. With each small shuffle of its paws Lucy had gasped with wonder.

After one of many moments of silence, Susan commented: “He must be used to humans. That’s the trouble with towns growing out into the wilderness, I suppose.”

Lucy had nodded, not taking her eyes away from the little animal. “It is, it really is. I wonder how it all shall end up.”

Finally, Lucy seemed to have had enough, and the sisters kept walking. “Goodbye, little fellow,” Lucy had whispered excitedly to the rabbit, and—this was what Susan found quite unbearably silly—waved at it as they passed by.

“Hmm,” Lucy had smiled when she at last looked away from the creature. “I hope he has a good life ahead of him, whatever it is he will do.”

The only thing Susan had genuinely thought when she saw the creature was, Oh, it’s only a rabbit.

So, Susan reads. She doesn’t enjoy the Professor’s books, but she is determined to understand. She will find out what it was that Edmund and Peter loved to talk about, what Lucy was thinking about when she gazed star-struck at the creatures of ordinary life. Susan reads the bible, and the annotations at the bottoms of the pages, and the difficult, stuffy translations of Plotinus and Boethius and Aquinas. She does what the priest told her and looks past the lack of scientific basis, the lack of practical knowledge. She opens her heart to the idea that Goodness is a specific thing that exists and the human soul is something higher than the human body. Susan gets frustrated and angry at every turn. It feels quite as if she is in conversation with a man who won’t let her get a word in. But, at the very least, she is finally in on the conversation.

Susan sits at the tea table by the window to the backyard, a full cup of cold tea next to her, Augustine’s The Confessions on the table before her. The window is at the end of a hallway on the second floor. On her left, bedroom doors interrupt the vine patterns on the wallpaper. The staircase, marking the other end of the hallway, lets in light from the living room below. Susan has a pen in one hand. The margins of the book are filled with her words, though not her opinions. The neat, black cursive contains her attempts to track down what this man meant. She knew a little more about this one going in, which helped her feel a lot less like a castaway at sea. Edmund had been quite fond of The Confessions.

“It’s because he can’t do it alone,” her younger brother had said one afternoon.

Ed was sitting in a reading chair. Peter was opposite to him, lying down on their family’s green flower-print couch, his feet on Susan’s lap.

“His will is divided,” Edmund said. “His desire for God is there, and he’s used his reason to discover that God is the ultimate good. But he still has his bodily desires. He’s not strong enough to bring those two parts of his will together. That’s why reading the book is the moment that he is changed—God’s strength unites his will.”

Edmund was leaning forward, pinching his fingers together in the air while holding intense eye contact with his older brother. Susan had seen her maths teacher acting the same way when explaining calculus. Susan remembered sitting in that class, thinking, How can anyone care so much about equations?

But Peter sat up. He swung his legs onto the floor and pushed himself upright, as if he heard a jazz band playing outside and was just dying to run out and dance.

“Of course!” Peter exclaimed. “He needs His grace! Oh, right as always, Ed.”

Susan remembers the way her brothers had smiled at each other. Even then, that warmth between them—that pure understanding and closeness—left her feeling stranded and alone. Now, at the tea table in her aunt and uncle’s home, the loneliness moves from Susan’s throat to the center of her chest like a dark, heavy blade. As the sharp pain dissolves, windy coldness fills her stomach. Through the window, there is sunlight on the grass and birds in the trees. The Scrubbs’ cat is splayed out on the lawn. It all seems like a drawing in a children’s book. It’s stagnant and lifeless, even as the birds flutter and the cat twitches its tail. Susan can feel the heat through the glass, but it doesn’t feel like people say heat feels. It feels suffocating and sharp. Susan wishes she could revel in sunlight, but it just feels unpleasant, and all she can think about is whether or not she’ll get a sunburn.

She takes a deep breath, and sighs it out.

If You are really there, Susan speaks in her mind, then nothing is happening that You haven’t planned.

Susan’s hands are resting on the book. She realizes that she feels as if she’s not alone. Her aunt and uncle are both at work, but the pages, the tea table, the wooden floor, the walls with their vine-pattern…all of the history and theology, these centuries of certainty that Something is out there, seem to be with Susan at the end of the hallway. Whether or not it’s God, or simply the ideas of thousands of people that were so confident He exists, Susan feels she is being heard.

You made me exactly how I am. You made my life exactly how it is. If You really gave me a soul to desire Goodness with, You gave me reason to find it with, too. Well, this is where my reason has taken me: I wear nylons and lipsticks, Sir, and I don’t go to church, and I’m not interested in meeting a good Christian boy anytime soon. And if You really are so far above this bodily world, so much more than the human mind can comprehend, how can anyone be certain that this isn’t what You want of me?

Outside, the birds go on chirping. The cat goes on dozing. Susan looks at the wooden gate marking the garden, the white house beyond that. She looks up at that bright blue sky. Vast white clouds drift in from the southeast.

You gave me reason. And I’ll use it, no matter what they say You want me to do. I’ll use it even if You speak to me Yourself.

The hallway goes on being warm and quiet. Susan looks down at the table before her. She caps her pen, feeling she’s written all she will for a while.

After a moment, she reaches for her tea.

It’s cold. The string of the tea bag has dried and crusted up against the cup. Susan leaves the bag in for far too long, these days. As she takes a sip, bitterness floods her mouth. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d become. She swallows again, then again and again, breathing deeply through her nose, the strong flavor soaking into her throat. When she sets the cup down, the empty hall rings with the quiet scraping of the china.

The tea, however it tasted, seemed to even-out something inside of Susan. The room doesn’t feel so unpleasantly hot. Susan looks outside again. The fluffy tip of the cat’s tail moves back and forth, casting a shadow on the grass. Its front paws twitch. Two birds hop up and down a branch of the nearby tree, eyeing the cat. Susan brushes a strand of hair off her forehead.

Perhaps, she thinks, I might enjoy sitting outside for a spell. Before those clouds block out the sun.

[creativeashproductions]

A Distant Dream I // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen year old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides wait to confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history.

Warnings: Swearing, strict parents, missing persons, cops, violence, death, and angst

Words: 3k

A/N: Finished one series, starts a new one then gets hit with a dream of a crossover with Narnia and JATP. My brain needs to stop.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Patterson Home, 1994

The teen’s hands laced up her boots with her mind stuck on the successful dinner with the boy situated on the couch. His eyes lost in daydreams of the girl he had shared a sweet goodbye with, seeing her at school felt like it would be years. Luke Patterson was slowly building up to ask out the girl of his dreams.

You glanced over at the messy-haired brunette you had known for years through your older brother Alex. A year separated you from Luke and Alex, but it didn't matter to the bond you had with them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Reggie’s picking us up.” You waved at the seventeen-year-old teenager cupping his cheek in one hand.

Unable to stay seated Luke rushed to tug you into an abrupt hug before just as quickly letting you go. Cheeks dusted pink Luke’s lips parted to form the words that could make one of his dreams come true.

"Would you…" Luke trailed off, feeling the confidence falter at the hopeful look in your pretty eyes, "Tell Alex that he still has that movie?"

The hope in your chest fluttered before it shuddered once more as Luke retreated from asking his question. With a nod, your fingers opened the door to walk down the streets to own home.

With one last wave Luke watched as you disappeared behind the trees in his front yard with the promise he’d ask her out tomorrow.

That chance wouldn’t happen.

That hopeful night in 1994 was the last night Y/N Mercer was seen. The night that it all started to fall apart in Sunset Curve’s lives.

The sword was thrust in the air as victorious cheers sounded over the hillside filled with the war's casualties. Chest heaving from the fight she had won against one of the Boggles in the White Witch's army. Your eyes scoured the battlefield for your friends you had made in the short time you had been in Narnia.

Across a great distance, you found Peter already beaming across at you as the adrenaline of winning overtook you. The happiness wavered when you saw the prone body of Edmund in the grass.

“No!” You shouted racing in the armour to the three remaining Pevensie children gathering around the youngest male sibling. The breath leaving Edmund’s body in the presence of his siblings he had made up with.

Let’s go back a few weeks to when your most significant issue had been the feelings for Luke Patterson. To when your decisions didn't include making battle plans with your new friends and avenging the death of Aslan; the talking lion.

Moments after leaving Luke’s place.

There was something about the night that soothed you from the disappointment in your body as being let down. Alex had been telling you for so long that Luke had feelings for you, but every-time you believed him it didn’t happen.

Once more, you had left the Patterson home with knowing if Luke liked you or not. Continuing to walk, you halted at hearing something. Soft music so unlike what you heard blasting from Alex's room or the gigs you attended to support the band. It was reminiscent of the music box that used to put you to sleep as a child.

"Hello?" You asked, shifting the beanie that slid on down your forehead a little. Your eyes peering around the silent streets.

The music grew louder as it entranced you into following the sound to a dilapidated building situated near older stores. So taken by the music you didn’t question why the door to the store was unlocked nor how a golden light shined from one of the antique wooden furniture.

“Come along.” A voice whispered from inside the imposing wardrobe.

Your fingers shook as you slowly pulled the door open with a creak that blasted around the darkroom. The first thing you noticed was the old fur coats hanging in the small wardrobe. The door closed behind you with a click, the golden glow dying as any suggestion she had been in the store disappeared.

The breath caught in your throat as the temperature dropped and somehow you found snow inside and trees. The crunch of snow beneath your boots surprising you but not as much as your hands pushed the branches away. Vision no longer obstructed you discovered a new world of winter and sunlight.

Standing not too far away you found four bodies of varying height staring around in wonder just as you had. The group turned on their heels at the sound of your boots crunching the snow.

The tallest of the group had honey blonde hair neatly cut and styled off his pale forehead revealing a startling pair of blue eyes. He was at least six feet tall as your estimation. His own widened at the sight of you before you took in the three other people with him—an older brunette girl standing over a younger brunette female. Set a small distance away was a young teenage boy appearing standoffish.

“I don’t suppose that is another one of your friends, Lucy?" The teen asked glancing down at the youngest of the quartet.

"No, but Peter maybe she's friends with Mr. Tumnus!" The little girl exclaimed already making her way to you when the other girl stopped her.

The next thing you noticed was their odd choice in clothing, the older boy Peter wore a light grey button-down with his dark slacks held up by suspenders. Not a single piece of clothing you recognized on people in your life.

“Lucy, she’s a stranger in a strange place.”

“This is Narnia.” Lucy stressed pouting, “Susan, it’s not polite.”

Susan's hand loosened at the reminder of manners, but with that, Susan pushed her little sister behind her. Peter stepped in front of his family to walk over to you.

"Hello, are you from around here?" Peter asked, coming closer, "I'm Peter Pevensie. This is my younger sisters Lucy and Susan. The boy over there is my little brother Edmund.”

The scowl on Edmund’s face twister further, “I’m not your little brother! I’m thirteen. Lucy’s the baby!”

“Edmund!” Susan admonished with a furrowed brow before stepping up with Peter, "What is this place?"

"Look, lady. I was walking home from my friend's place and heard this music. It's a little foggy, but I followed into an antique store." You spoke glancing at the winter wonderland that made you question if you had taken drugs.

“You’re American!” Lucy gasped rushing closer, “Why did you come to England? It’s it safer from the war in America?”

You stepped back in confusion, “I’m Y/N. War? In England? When did that happen?”

All four of the Pevensie’s stumbled back in shock at hearing that someone of your age being unaware. Susan finally took the time to take in your appearance a stark contrast to the modest, loose red and green tartan knee-length skirt. Instead, you wore a mid-thigh red plaid skirt over sheer black tights, but the most scandalous part of your outfit for Susan was your high neck black top that revealed your midriff.

“Are you daft?” Edmund questioned, stepping closer, his dark eyes pinning his angst on you, "We got evacuated from London because of it!”

Your eyebrows raised in response to the very posh accent berating you even as he was shoved back by Peter.

“You really haven’t heard about it?” Susan asked, confusing you further, but slowly it came together in your mind.

As a Mercer, you had expectations placed upon your shoulders to keep your family’s reputation in place. One of the expectations was academic excellence for your parents to boast about among their friends. To get them off your back, you studied hard with Alex in order to get away with the way you dressed and Alex being in a rock band.

Your eyes scanned the individuals' outfits before you while calculating the years London, England, was evacuated by war. A faint memory of sitting in your history class sparked on the action to evacuate mostly children. Operation Pied Piper. World War II.

"Can we go to Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy inquired, bringing her older siblings' attention to her shivering in the cool air.

“But we can’t go hiking in the snow dressed like this! Let alone Y/N in her clothing.” Susan protested also rubbing her cold arms. Peter simply strode back into the wardrobe, grabbing an armful of the coats still hanging in there.

“No, but I’m sure the professor won’t mind us using these.” Peter spoke, handing out a coat first to his siblings before turning to face you with a smile, "Would like you to join us?"

Your eyes turned to the tree hiding the door of the wardrobe to the place you knew. To return to the Mercer household where it felt stifling under the watchful eye of your parents. To a house that judged you for your dreams that went further than your parents' plans. To a boy that threatened to cradle your heart or shattered it to pieces with only a few words.

"I'd love to join you." You spoke sealing your fate by grasping a coat, but Peter stepped around to help you put it on.

The feel of his hands pushing the collar further rose a dust pink blush on your cheeks at the care he displayed. His blue gaze held firmly with yours before he shook it off with a throat cleared.

“Anyway Susan, if you think about it logically, we’re not even taking them out of the wardrobe.” Peter finished shoving the very last coat to Edmund to draw out the young boy’s discomfort.

"But that's a girl's coat!" Edmund whined offended at the fur pushed into his torso. His offended feeling rising at Peter's confirmation that he knew that too.

A cheeky smile expanded at the interaction that reminded you of Christmas mornings with Alex on who got to open the first gift. The sibling fighting that was never really as vicious as they felt like at the moment.

“To Mr. Tumnus’!” Lucy exclaimed skipping ahead of the group with Edmund trailing behind.

The Mercer home, 1994

Luke woke up with a feeling that last night had been his last chance to admit his feelings for his best friend’s sister. It felt like something had drastically changed from the previous smile he saw from you before you turned that corner. He made himself a promise he wouldn't break to shout his love from the rooftops just for you.

He couldn't wait for Reggie to pick him up, so he quickly grabbed his backpack to race out the front door. His plate barely in the sink before he was racing down the streets to Alex and your place. The grin of excitement faltered at the sight of a police car parked at the Mercer house's curb.

Mrs. Mercer sobbing in her husband's neck as a forlorn man, held his hat in his hands as he continued speaking. Luke's world lost colour for a split second before he found the blonde drummer collapsed on his knees, clutching his hair in his hands.

Then the colour leeched from Luke’s life as the once thought impossible happened.

"Alex, what's going on?"

“You!" Mrs. Mercer shouted, hearing the voice of the teenager that had taken something from the woman, "What did you do to her!”

Luke stumbled back at the heated glare from the mess of a woman so unlike the posh made-up woman. Alex was quick to push by his parents to stand shakily next to his best friend with splotchy red skin and swollen eyes.

"Luke didn't do anything! I saw her on the way home when I went to dropped that movie off at Luke's place." Alex smoothly lied to his parents saving Luke the exhaustion of a police station, and it would be the one lie that would go to their graves with them.

“My baby.” Mrs. Mercer screamed hands digging into the perfectly mowed green grass uncaring of the stains on her once immaculate elegant pearl satin slacks.

Turning robotic Alex ushered Luke down the street to the Wilson home they had turned into the band centre. Luke followed like a puppy into the open garage where Alex promptly collapsed into a fit of sobs and heavy breathing.

"She's gone." Alex cried, leaning into the sudden body hugging him with soft whispers in his ear, "Luke, Y/N didn't come home last night. None of her friends have seen her. My little sister’s missing!”

And just like that the world no longer made sense to the seventeen-year-old guitarist. The next year dragged by with running away from home. When Luke wasn’t writing music or sleeping in the studio, he was on the streets.

Clutching his favourite picture of you as he walked the streets asking if anyone had seen you while avoiding his own missing person’s poster.

Cair Paravel, Narnia

The sun rose over the land you had come to love and protect for as long as you could remember. Sometimes you hoped you’d see Aslan in the distance, but he had been gone ever since the coronation. The feeling of missing him shifted to something, no someone else you missed. It felt like a dream, and when the dream started to become clear, a hand brushed against your hip.

"Hello, darling," Peter spoke brushing a kiss on your cheek before his silky hair shifted on your skin to rest atop your own head.

A soft smile overcoming your features as his ring clinked against your own and you turned in your private chambers to stare up at him. Your hand brushing the stubble that had grown. Your eyes taking in his tanned skin from riding in the sun. For a second you swore his blue eyes flickered to hazel green.

Sometimes when you slept, you dreamt of a time where everything was different from what you knew here. Of a time when your heart fluttered for a man with hazel green eyes and a curtain of messy dark brunette hair.

“Are you alright?” Peter questioned leaning back to scan your features. It wasn't often, but he was sure you wandered off in mind.

“I’m feeling perfect.” You replied turning to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “I’m standing the arms of my King-“

“You looked beautiful tonight.” For a second, your personal bed-chamber melted away into a large room with poorly made decorations and lines on the floor of different colours. Instead of standing in Peter's arms, you found yourself moving to the music in another's arms. The same faceless person in your dreams.

"Maybe it's time we give Narnia an heir." With Peter's words, the world returned to the way it had left a bitter taste in your mouth, "What do you think of the name Luke?"

The name choked you with emotion.

Alex jogged into his sister's room, huddled over her white desk reciting information of her exam the next morning. His blue eyes lit up as he hurried to your side.

"What do you want, Alex?" You sighed turning to look at your brother with disinterest only wanting to ace this test. That way, your parents could rub in in their friends face on beating Sarah with the highest grade.

“I joined the band.” Alex beamed bringing your attention fully on him in surprise, “I’m tired of pretending to like classical music and wearing a suit that chokes me. I’m tired of having to play dress up in fancy clothes when what I want is that big pink sweater from that thrift shop. I’m tired of looking like they think a Mercer should look like. I wanna look like Alex, like myself.”

Your lips turned up at the passion ignited in Alex at the mention of three friends that had quickly become family. In welcoming Alex, they had welcomed you into the group as well. Luke being the closest friend you had that didn't care what you wore or what you said.

"You should come. You've never stayed to listen to them rehearse. Luke would love it if you came." Alex teased poking your side in the pale pink silk blouse and white knee-length skirt.

You were tired of pretending as well. You wanted to be the girl wearing a band shirt and ripped jeans. You want to wear what you wanted instead of what your parents expected. Instead of voicing a reply, you moved to the walk-in closet of designer clothing. At the very back hidden from sight was your chosen attire. In seconds you changed into one of Alex’s old band shirts tied in the back for a cropped shirt and your favourite pants.

A swipe of rebellious red lipstick to finish the look you followed Alex to his room with the large tree. You had no clue if the feeling of butterflies was from rebelling against your parents or seeing the teenage boy slowly stealing your heart.

“Not Luke.” You whispered to the man you had matured from an angsty sixteen-year-old to a twenty-five-year-old.

“Lucy may think we named him after her.” Peter joked retreating as the door to the chambers was knocked on, “I believe we owe Edmund a birthday feast.”

“I’d rather not live another year of his complaining.” You moaned lifting the skirt of your long midnight blue dress to exit the room. All thoughts of a former life disappearing like smoke once more.

King Peter and Queen Y/N took their time to the dining hall where the rest of their family was patiently waiting. Susan and Lucy sharing a smile at the topic that had been flooding the kingdom since the royal wedding two years ago. Narnia was wondering when High King Peter and his Queen would proudly show off their firstborn.

"About time. I thought we'd enter another hundred years before you two came." Edmund spoke from his chair, but instead of the same tone as the boy that first entered Narnia, it was teasing.

"Shove off and eat your cake." Peter laughed, keeping his hand encased in yours. All of them at ease with the only worry on the conflict that threatened the royals from the Ettinsmoor nation.

Part Two

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[inkandpen22]

Fate in Narnia

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Female!Reader

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: A year after the Narnian Revolution, Y/N, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie are sent back to Narnia. This means the three have a chance to be King and Queens, but most importantly, it means Y/N and Caspian can see each other again. 

Masterlist

I return home from my classes at the university with groceries for dinner. After a long day like today, I’m reminded that it’s just me left to take care of Edmund and Lucy. Peter and Susan joined Mother and Father in America six months ago. They write to us often, promising they’ll send for us too when it’s safer. Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can balance classes, work, and picking up the slack for Aunt Beatrice. Her son Eustace and her husband don’t do anything to help around the house. Sometimes it feels like I’m taking care of five people. 

“Edmund! Lucy!” I holler up the stairs after I set the groceries down in the kitchen. 

When I don’t hear a response, I jog up the steps. They should be back from school by now, it’s nearly time for dinner. I hear a commotion coming from my and Lucy’s room. If it’s Edmund and Eustace going at it again I might just scream and I’m supposed to be the more patient older sibling! 

I swing open the door to find Eustace and Edmund fighting. However, my attention is stolen by Lucy standing in front of a picture frame spewing water. 

“What have you three done?!” I rush into the room. 

“It wasn’t us!” Lucy explains, grinning brightly. 

I glance between my sister and the ocean painting frantically. “You mean-” 

Narnia. Caspian. 

Eustace and Edmund finally notice the water swallowing up the room. Edmund hurries over to us. Based on his grin, he’s thinking what we are too. Eustace screams and goes to rip the frame off the wall. 

“I’m just going to smash it!” He threatens. 

“No!” My siblings and I struggle with our cousin for the frame. 

The ice-cold water fills the room in a matter of seconds. We each struggle to kick ourselves to the surface as the furniture of the room starts to float. I close my eyes, afraid of what may happen. I keep kicking to the surface, in the need of air. When I finally reach the top after what feels like an eternity, I take in a deep breath. 

“Swim!” Lucy shouts. “Eustace swim!” 

I snap open my eyes and a massive wooden ship is sailing toward us. I scream and Edmund grabs my arm to get me to start swimming. My brother and I swim like Olympians to get away from the path of the ship. 

“It’s Caspian!” Lucy yells enthused. “Guys, It’s Caspian!” 

Edmund and I halt immediately. Two men swim up and take each of us safely. 

“Caspian,” I repeat breathlessly, searching the surface for him. 

“You’re alright now,” the sailor assures me as he starts guiding me toward the ship. 

“Are we in Narnia?” Edmund asks one of the sailors helping us. 

“Yes, you’re in Narnia,” the man chuckles happily. 

After Edmund and I are brought up on the side of the ship, one of the sailors offers me his hand to help me on. I step onto the deck and immediately start scanning the many faces for the one I want to see most. 

“Y/N!” 

I spin around on my heels and am met with the raven-haired prince I’ve been longing to see. A bright smile appears across my lips as I run across the short distance. He opens his arms to me and I leap into them. He laughs deeply, twirling me around playfully. His embrace is warm and strong, just as I remember. Oh, how I’ve missed him. He lowers me to the deck, but his hands remain on my waist. 

“How long has it been for you?” He checks instantly. 

“A year and you?!”

I can’t hide my worry that it’s been forever. Granted, he looks far too good for it to have been too long. He looks practically the same except for the facial hair. 

“Three years,” he smiles and relief rushes over me. 

“Thank heavens it wasn’t over a thousand again,” I sigh, laughing lightly. 

“You still are older though...” he sucks in air sharply between his teeth. 

“Oh stop it!” I swat his arm playfully. 

“Beautiful as ever I might add,” he compliments and leans in to plant a kiss on my forehead. 

“Caspian!” Ed interrupts joyfully. 

“Edmund!” 

Caspian and Edmund embrace and Lucy comes to join us. Our attention is stolen when Eustace lands on deck failing. 

“Get this rat off of me!” He screams. 

A mouse comes leaping off Eustace and bouncing over to us. 

“Reepicheep!” Lucy gleams. 

“Good to see you again, Rep,” Ed greets. 

The mouse bows to the three of us. “Your Majesties, always a pleasure.” 

Caspian comes up behind me and drapes a blanket over my shoulders. I thank him quietly and wrap the fabric around myself. His hands remain on my shoulders as we watch my cousin go mad. 

“Where in the blazes am I?!” Eustace fusses. 

“You’re on the Dawn Treader! The greatest ship in all of Narnia!” A minotaur announces to Eustace. 

The boy faints instantly, making everyone on the crew laugh, including Caspian and Edmund. Lucy ridicules them. 

“Was it something I said?” The minotaur asks us. 

“No, don’t take it personally. He’s just never been to Narnia,” I explain kindly. “In our world, there aren’t any minotaur.” 

“Oh, interesting,” the creature replies with a shrug. 

Caspian slips his arm around my waist and appears at my side. “See to him will you?” He asks of the sailor. 

“Right away, Your Majesty,” the minotaur bows. 

Caspian then jogs off to the stairs leading up to the helm of the ship. 

“Gentlemen!” Caspian gathers everyone’s attention. “Behold our castaways! Edmund the Just, Lucy the Valiant, and Y/N the Gracious! High King and Queens of Narnia!” 

Each of the sailors gets down on one knee and bow their heads. My brother, sister, and I can’t help but smile. 

Caspian hurries back down and takes my hand to guide all of us inside. “Come! Let’s get you changed and I can show around!” _________________________________________ As the sun starts to set on the horizon, I watch over the side of the ship as the waves hit against the wood. Dolphins play in them, dancing along with the white foam. It reminds me of when I would watch them at sunrise when we lived in Cair Paravel. 

A pair of arms snake around my torso and bring me into their chest. I rest my head back against Caspian and slip my arms over his. He plants a kiss to my temple gently. For a year I’ve missed this. The last time we were in Narnia, Caspian and I hardly had any time after the revolution to settle. It came as a shock when Peter announced we would be returning home. I wasn’t ready to go and Caspian wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It took every ounce of willpower to leave. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Caspian whispers in my ear. 

“Oh do you?” I snicker. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs with a nod.

Reluctantly, I close my eyes and hold out my hands. I feel a familiar leather sheath and strap brush against my palm as Caspian lowers the object into my hands slowly. 

“Okay, open!” Caspian gleams. 

My eyes flicker open and sure enough, it’s my old weapon gear. “My dual-swords!” 

“I’ve kept them safe since you’ve been gone!” Caspian tells me. 

Over the moon, I spin on my heels and pull him into a hug. I can’t believe he’s kept them with him after all this time and even took the liberty of taking them on the voyage. His arms linger around me and I ponder the feeling. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers against my shoulder. 

“Me too,” I mutter solely, resting my cheek against his chest. 

Caspian tightens his embrace upon hearing my words. Three years have gone by for him. A year was long enough to feel like a lifetime to me. 

“So Caspian-” Edmund voices, making Caspian and I part. I place my weapons down on a barrel and lean against the rail behind me. Edmund doesn’t notice my glaring at him for interrupting. “-have you managed to find yourself a queen in the three years we’ve been away?” Edmund asks, amused. 

“Oh uh...” Caspian stammers nervously. 

My lips part as I stare at my brother dumbfounded. “Ed-” 

“No, none to compare to your sister,” Caspian answers to my surprise. 

“Ew,” Edmund grimaces in disgust and cowers off somewhere. 

I turn to Caspian in awe. “Do you really mean that?”

“Every word,” he whispers, reaching up and caressing my cheek. 

I lean into his touch as my eyes fall shut with immense peace. A sense of peace I haven’t felt in over a year. 

“I’ve counted the days, waiting for your return. I knew there was a chance it may never happen, but I couldn’t give up hope. I still love you, Y/N,” he confesses and I open my eyes. “If not more than I did when you left.” 

I step forward, leaning into my press my lips to his softly. The sensation is exactly as I remember, if not better than before. I part from him for a second, resting my forehead against his. Our eyes meet, my Y/E/C ones, and his jet black ones that I adore so much. The eyes I’ve dreamt about each night for the past year. 

“I love you too, Caspian,” I whisper. 

He smiles, releasing a breathless laugh of joy and takes a step back. His hands take both of mine and he rubs them with his thumbs softly. “I... I know you’ve never had a choice and I know I’m asking a lot of you but... will you stay here in Narnia... with me?” 

My eyes search his face at a rapid rate. Is he truly asking me this? I take a moment to consider what he’s really asking me. I would be leaving behind my world forever. I may never see my family again. After all, this could be the last time we ever come back to Narnia. 

“And I know that would mean asking you another question,” he continues. “I have something else for you.” He steps back and lowers himself to one knee. 

My lips part as I start to comprehend what’s happening. The crew takes notices and starts to gather, along with Edmund and Lucy. 

Caspian reaches into his pocket and a reveals a gold floral engraved ring in his palm. “It was my mother’s. I’ve kept it with me, waiting for you to return. I don’t wish to bombard you. I know I’m asking you to make an impossible decision and-”  

“Yes,” I answer. 

“Yes?!” He repeats, rising from his position. 

I laugh, “Yes! Yes, Caspian I will marry you!” 

He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the deck. “Oh, I love you so much, Y/N!” Above him, I lower my head and bring my lips to his. 

Instantly in my heart, I can feel that my fate was always meant to be forever with Caspian in Narnia.

Masterlist

[mermaidsirennikita]

books (in the time of corona)

PART I: ADULT EDITION

Let’s get real--we’re all going fucking insane.  

Therefore, I’m recommending some books with which you can kill time.  I’m breaking them into categories--the romance category including several subgenres but by and large covering books that focus more heavily on the romance than anything else.  These will all be adult books; I’m doing a separate page for YA recommendations.

I’ll be adding to this list as I finish books that I feel belong here.

ROMANCE

A Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Deveraux.  A young woman is abandoned by her scoundrel of a boyfriend, only to find a literal medieval knight in shining armor.  Pure 80′s cheese, a classic in the time travel subgenre long before Outlander ever happened.

The Circle Trilogy by Nora Roberts.  Six sexy people, three men and three women in Roberts fashion, travel across time and parallel dimensions to fight an evil vampire and her undead army.  Come for three fun romances, stay in particular for the “virgin bookworm queen captures the heart of the formerly evil 1,000 Irish vampire” ship.

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne.  Rival coworkers who’ve always hated each other compete for the same job--until maybe?  They start?  Hooking up?

From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata.  A down on her luck singles figure skater pairs up with the pairs champion she’s always despised... Unless they in fact, in a STUNNING TWIST, do not hate each other?

Pestilence by Laura Thalassa.  A BIT ON THE NOSE RIGHT NOW, but I promise that this tale of a hot virgin Horseman of the Apocalypse spreading his plague and the one woman brave enough to fuck him is WORTH IT.  As is the sequel, War.

My Lady’s Choosing by Kitty Curran.  A literal choose your own adventure novel, but the adventures bodice ripping Regency romance plots!!!

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang.  A sweet and smart woman on the autism spectrum hires a male escort to teach her to be good at sex.  Shit goes DOWN from there.

The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary.  She works days; he works nights.  She needs a cheap place to stay, and he needs a roommate.  So they share a flat and even a bed (sleeping on opposite sides and never at the same time) only communicating through post-it notes throughout the apartment.  What could go wrong?

Marriage for One by Ella Maise.  She can only get her inheritance if she’s married.  Good thing a glacial attorney has offered to marry her out of nowhere, only for paper purposes.  What could go wrong???

The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa.  Lina is a wedding planner who was left at the altar.  Max is the younger brother of the man who left her, and apparently convinced him to do the leaving.  What happens when they work together?

Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert.  Chloe suffers from a chronic illness, which means that she’s never had a life--and so she compiles a list that will help her get one.  On the list?  Meaningless sex.  Which she won’t have with her building’s superintendent, even though he’s really down to help her cross off all the other items, riiiight?

HISTORICAL FICTION

Passion by Jude Morgan.  The dramatic and intense height of Romantic England, told from the perspectives of Caroline Lamb, mistress of Lord Byron; August Leigh, his sister and lover; Mary Shelley; and Fanny Brawne, fiancee of John Keats.

Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier.  Impoverished Griet becomes a maid in the household of the painter Vermeer, becoming his muse after he realizes that she has a natural eye--much to the dismay of his wife.

Snow Flower and The Secret Fan by Lisa See. In nineteenth century China, best friends Lily and Snow Flower follow each other through emotional and cultural revolutions, communicating through the secret language of fans.

The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George.  Cleopatra recounts her life story, from her earliest memory, through her affairs with Caesar and Antony, and her end.

Mistress of Rome by Kate Quinn.  In Domitian’s Rome, a Jewish girl rises from the position of lady’s slave to the emperor’s mistress through wiles and scheming.

The Tiger Queens by Stephanie Thornton.  The rise and fall of Genghis Khan’s empire, as told through the women of his family--from his favorite wife to a clever daughter-in-law.

At the Water’s Edge by Sara Gruen.  A socialite follows her incompetent to Scotland as he struggles to find the Loch Ness Monster and redeem his ancestor’s name--finding herself and questioning her life in the process.

A Year of Ravens.  A collection of short stories by different authors, all centering on Boudica’s rebellion through the eyes of her countrymen and her enemies.

Feast of Sorrow by Crystal King.  A slave becomes a chef in the treacherous household of a social climber struggling to gain the favor or Caesar August.

Fatal Throne.  Six authors tell the stories of Henry VIII’s wives, all from their differing perspectives.

Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid.  The rise and fall of a 1970s rock band is charted through the recollections of its members--as they recall what drove them apart, and in particular the intense relationship between the leader singers.

THRILLERS

The Girl in 6E by A.R. Torre.  A woman with murderous impulses locks herself in her apartment to keep the public safe, making a living as a camgirl.  She’s left torn between morals and impulse when she begins to suspect that one of her “fans” is dangerous.

Little Deaths by Emma Flint.  In 1960s America, a single mother finds her personal life and image called into question when she’s accused of murdering her two young children.

My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite.  A nurse covers up her beautiful sister’s murders, only to be caught between loyalties when the doctor she loves falls for said sister.

The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine.  A plain “nobody” transforms herself in order to steal a high society housewife’s husband, only to deal with more than she bargained for.

The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen.  A woman obsesses over her ex-husband’s new fiancee, leading her to disturbing lengths.

The Other Woman by Sandie Jones.  After meeting her ideal man, a woman must contend with his possessive mother, who will do anything to maintain her hold over him.

Something in the Water by Catherine Steadman.  A couple on their dream honeymoon find something in the water that will change the course of their life together.

The Au Pair by Emma Rous.  The day Seraphine and her twin brother were born, their mother flung herself off a cliff and their nanny disappeared.  Decades later, Seraphine discovers a photo taken of her parents just before her mother’s death--with only one baby.  The only person who holds the key to the mystery?  The au pair.

My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing.  A couple keeps the spark alive through murder.

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager.  A young woman takes a job apartment-sitting in a high-end Manhattan building.  Shortly after she befriends another sitter, the girl goes missing--with everyone else acting like nothing is amiss.

The Wives by Tarryn Fisher.  Thursday is one of her husband’s three wives, though she’s never met the other two.  When she finally does meet the third wife, she discovers a woman far different from what she expected--and covered in bruises.

FANTASY/SUPERNATURAL/HORROR

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier.  Sorcha is the youngest of seven children in medieval Ireland.  When her stepmother curses her six older brothers to live as swans, Sorcha agrees to weave them shirts of painful thistles, all the while remaining silent, to break the spell.

Black Pearls by Louise Hawes.  A collection of dark fairy tale retellings.

The Incarnations by Susan Barker.  A man receives letters from an anonymous source, detailing his supposed past lives throughout historical China.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust.  A dark Snow White retelling, with a stepmother whose goals extend far beyond the princess.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo.  Alex Stern is discovered as the sole survivor of a brutal multiple murder, and is promptly scooped up by a group charged with monitoring the occult societies at Yale.  Now disguised as a university student, Alex must figure out who’s been murdering locals, while also hiding what happened the night she lived.

The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell.  A young widow in Victorian England is sent to her husband’s country estate to wait out her pregnancy, and is not alarmed to discover a “silent companion” (a painted wooden figure) in the house.  But when the figure’s eyes begin following her, she is sucked into a history beyond her imagination.

Circe by Madeline Miller.  The story of the woman who would seduce Odysseus, from her beginnings as a plain witch born of Helios and a mother who couldn’t care less.  A classic rise to power story.

CONTEMPORARY LIT

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal.  Down on her luck Nikki takes up a job as a creative writing class instructor for the Punjabi widows in her West London neighborhood.  It turns out that the widows thought she was there to teach them to write in English--which leads to the class becoming a place for them to share their stories orally instead.  And it turns out that they’re a bit... erotic.

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones.  Upwardly mobile newlyweds Celestina and Roy have their lives upended when Roy is falsely accused of a terrible crime and sent to prison for twelve years.  When he’s released early after five, he returns home to find that Celestina has changed completely, and their marriage is entirely unknown.

Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo.  A young Nigerian couple has always been against polygamy; but after the wife fails to get pregnant, her in-laws show up on their doorstep with a second wife.

NON-FICTION/MEMOIR

Harem: The World Behind The Veil by Alev Lytle Croutier.  An examination of the Ottoman Empire’s harem culture, focusing on the women within.

Love For Sale: A World History of Prostitution by Nils Johan Ringal.  Not really a GLOBAL history of prostitution, but a good introduction starting with ancient times and going into the cases of more recent madams in America, with a strong case for legalization worldwide.

Georgiana: Duchess of Devonshire by Amanda Foreman.  A readable biography of the famously scandalous and tragic duchess, to be read while you kill time rewatching “The Duchess” starring Keira Knightley.

Lucrezia Borgia: Life, Love, and Death in Renaissance Italy by Sarah Bradford.  A fair but none-too-precious assessment of one of Renaissance Italy’s most controversial women, and an analysis of her relationships with her father and brother.

The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn by Eric Ives.  While you’re quarantining, you might as well read the definitive Anne Boleyn biography, yes?  This one is responsible for much of the modern attitude on Anne.

Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution by Caroline Weber.  A fascinating analysis of Marie Antoinette’s political life through her clothes.

The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi.  An analysis of the infamous, unsolved “Monster of Florence” case.  One of the most gruesome serial killers in Italy’s history, the monster’s crimes were pinned on several different men, and even investigated by the prosecutor who botched the Amanda Knox case.

The Forger’s Spell: A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century by Edward Dolnick.  An examination of the case of Han van Meegeren, a painter who forged and sold many Dutch master fakes, and the pretentious art world that let him get away with it for years.

The Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan Rescued His Empire by Jack Weatherford.  A study of the women in Genghis Khan’s family, and in particular those that kept his empire from falling to ruin after his death.  A good companion read with Stephanie Thornton’s fiction novel Tiger Queens mentioned above.

Chasing Aphrodite: The Hunt for Looted Antiquities at the World’s Richest Museum by Jason Felch and Ralph Frammolino.  How did the Getty Museum end up with so many stolen artifacts?  This book aims to find out.

The Creation of Anne Boleyn by Susan Bordo.  A different kind of Anne Boleyn book, studying her portrayal in culture and fiction--complete with input from Natalie Dormer following her portrayal of Anne Boleyn on The Tudors.

Blood Sisters: The Women Behind the Wars of the Roses by Sarah Gristwood.  An examination of the women of the houses of Lancaster and York during their famous, long-running conflict--and how these women had an impact on battles and politics alike.

The Dragon Behind the Glass: A True Story of Power, Obsession, and the World’s Most Coveted Fish by Emily Voigt.  The author delves into why people are so obsessed with the arowana, a rare and exotic fish, to the point that they’ll commit murder--and becomes wrapped up in the fascination herself.

The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy.  Over the course of a month, Ariel Levy watches everything she held true in her life--her financial security, her career, her marriage, and her pregnancy--fall apart.  Levy must confront what it means to live an “unconventional” and “free” life, only for that to become meaningless, and pick up the pieces.

From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to find The Good Death by Caitlin Doughty.  Doughty recounts her global travels to observe and study different funerary and death rituals, recounting and analyzing her experiences with respect and personality.

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer.  A collection of female serial killers, analyzing why they did what they did and the cultural legacy they left behind.

Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found by Frances Larson.  A history of decapitated human heads, and what different cultures have done with them.

From Scratch: A Memoir of Love, Sicily, and Finding Home by Tembi Locke.  Tembi Locke was never truly accepted by her husband’s Sicilian family, as a black American woman.  But when Saro dies young of cancer, she finds herself more deeply entwined her in-laws, as she works to pick up the pieces.  (Warning: one of the most achingly romantic books I’ve ever read; but it will destroy you.)

[crmsfanfiction]

Second Chances-Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Broken Promises

3 am and Willa was still awake. She’d cried twice more since her initial breakdown in her uncle’s arms. Both times had been cathartic for her. She had finally stopped crying and was instead trying to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she saw him in bed with someone else. She knew he was probably wondering where she was. In fact she was sure he’d tried to call her and text her multiple times. She just couldn’t bring herself to check. She didn’t want to hear his voice. She didn’t want to hear his lies and the concern in his voice for her.

Realistically she knew they needed to sit down and talk, make a clean break of it, but the pain was still to close to the surface. It was too soon. She knew she would not handle it well. Tomorrow she would send him a message. She would tell him that she saw him and that she was done. They were done. She doesn’t need a man like him in her life. While everyone thought they were perfect for each other, everyone was wrong. She would not forget what he did. She might forgive him someday, but she would never trust him again. That was broken for good.

Thinking back to when she first met him in 2010 made her smile sadly. They had locked eyes across the cafe. Grey eyes and brown. He had walked over to her and introduced himself as Tony. They talked for hours that night. It was easy. It was simple. She fell hard for him. He asked her out on a proper date and that was it. They were inseparable. They moved into together 6 months later into a dinky apartment while she finished nursing school. 18 months later he asked her to marry him and they bought the house. They had built a life together. She as a nurse in the ICU and him trying to get published. He was working as a waiter in the mean time.

Anthony Malstrom was supposed to be her happily ever after. Her knight in shining armor, but turns out he was just a toad in tin foil. An impostor. They had carefully planned out their wedding. Everything was paid for and ready to go. In two months she should have become Mrs Malstrom, but now she was laying in bed heartbroken and numb. Closing her eyes Willa felt more tears slip down her face as thoughts played more memories.

She had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, when someone bounced on her bed waking her up with a giggle. Grinning tiredly Willa knew who was in her bed. It was Little man. Pretending to stretch she grabbed him and tickled his belly causing him to shriek in laughter. Opening her eyes she gathered him close and hugged him. This was a good way to wake up, even if she didn’t sleep much the night before. Sending him out of the room, Willa got up and headed for the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror and nearly didn’t recognize herself. Dull gray eyes, lank auburn hair. Dark circles under her eyes. Pain etched on her face, in the lines that weren’t there yesterday.

Willa used the bathroom quickly and washed her hands. She pulled her hair up into a low pony tail as she headed downstairs to the kitchen and the smell of coffee drifted into her nose. She sat down at the table as a cup of liquid bliss was set in front of her. Inhaling deeply, she smiled at Robert and nodded her thanks. She reached for the sugar and dropped two teaspoonfuls in and stirred quickly.

“Hey Willabee. How ya holding up?” asked Susan as she looked up from feeding Princess her breakfast. Willa shrugged as she sipped her coffee. Susan looked up at her husband and nodded her head when he raised his eyebrows.

“Ok Willa. Time to get into the shower. You’re coming to set today. No moping around the house. You got an hour before we have to leave. Scarlett is dying to see you again. I told her you were in town for a few days.” Robert said as he turned to her clapping his hands. Willa sighed and nodded as she headed upstairs to jump in the shower. It would be nice to see Scarlett again and maybe spend some time with her adorable little girl.

After her shower and some make-up to cover the dark circles Willa felt slightly more human again. Anyone could still see the absolute sadness in her eyes and the heartache she in her stance, but she looked better as she slid into Robert’s car with him. She had dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Opting to throw her hair up in a ponytail and sliding on a pair of sunglasses. She had completed the look with a pair of black sneakers.

“Looking better Willabee. Ready to go? Today is going to be good. Everyone is going to be on set and I know several are looking forward to seeing you again.” Robert said as they drove towards the lot. He had given her the permanent pass to get onto the lot whenever she wanted too.

“What movie are you filming? Another Avengers?” Willa asked as they pulled into the lot.

“Actually a Captain America movie. This one is called Civil War.” Robert replied as they got out of the car and headed to his camp of trailers. Willa nodded, like she knew what he was talking about. She had avoided watching most of the Marvel movies. It was always weird to her to see people she knew in real life on screen. She had attempted to watch Iron Man 1 back in 2008, but it was so strange to see her Uncle Bob on screen, that she had to turn it off. So far the only movies of the MCU she’d been able to fully watch and enjoy was the first two Thor movies.

“I am heading to hair and make-up, feel free to pick a trailer and chill or wander around. You know how these sets work. Scarlett’s trailer is like five down on the left hand side. Buttercup might be there.” Robert said as he dropped a kiss on Willa’s forehead and walked away. Tossing her purse in Robert’s main trailer, Willa headed out in search of coffee. Finding the liquid gold she poured a cup and inhaled deeply. She had always loved the smell of coffee. It reminded her of someone she knew years ago. They had always smelled of coffee, cigarettes and mint.

Willa wasn’t paying much attention to where she was walking, when she ran into a brick wall. “Damn Evans what the hell are you lifting? You’re even bigger than the last time I saw you.” Willa said as she looked up into the blue-green eyes of Captain America himself Chris Evans. He grinned and hugged her.

“Hey Willa. Robert said you were in town. How you doing?” Chris asked as he gently pulled her with him as he resumed walking towards the set. He could tell something was going on with her. Robert hadn’t gotten into details about why she was in town, but he seemed concerned about her and asked Chris and Scarlett to watch out for her.

“Doing as well as can be expected. Found Tony in bed with someone else. Now it’s over. The wedding is off.”

Chris stopped short at her confession about Tony cheating on her. He had met Tony a couple years ago and he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. He had been warm and kind. They had even hung out a few times since, when Chris wasn’t busy filming. Both seemed to be besotted with each other. He was supposed to be going to their wedding in a couple months. Wrapping his arms around Willa, Chris hugged her tightly. She melted into his hug. “I’m sorry. He is a fool.” He whispered against her hair. She nodded, not trusting her voice and she didn’t want to cry again.

“So what scene are you filming?” Willa asked as she pulled away from Chris and headed towards the set.

“Fight scene as always. Have you even watched the other movies?” Chris replied as he steered her towards two other men. Willa shook her head and then stopped short when a voice from the past said something. Willa touched Chris’ arm and smiled as she turned to head the other direction. She wasn’t ready to see him. It would bring back some memories that she didn’t want to think about yet.

“Hey I’m going to see if I can find Scarlett. See you later Evans.” Willa said as she turned on her heel and quickly headed back the way they had come from. Never noticing the steel blue eyes watching her leave. She found her way back to Uncle Bob’s camp and grabbed her phone out of her purse. Taking a deep breath she turned it back on and waited for it to stop buzzing from all the missed calls and text messages she had. 15 missed calls from Tony. 25 missed texts from various friends and family.

She deleted all the voicemails without listening to them and quickly texted back friends and family. She finally texted Tony telling him she was fine, but that she’d seen him with the other woman and that she didn’t want to see or hear from him until she was ready to talk face to face. She told him that she would contact him in a few days when she was ready. He sent one text to apologize and then nothing after that. He knew he’d messed up.

“Mina?” Willa stiffened at the voice. Only one person had ever called her that. Not many people knew her full first name was Wilamina. Even Uncle Bob always just used Willa when he was yelling at her.

“Baz.” Willa said as she turned to face him. She refused to look him in the eyes, knowing if she did the memories of their time together a decade ago would come back and she wasn’t ready to unpack that box yet. It had taken a year before she could even hear his name spoken without wanting to burst out crying. He was why she’d avoided watching to first two Captain America movies. She had avoided all his movies after The Covenant. Of course she avoided that movie now too. It brought up to many memories from on set and off.

“How are you Mina?” Sebastian asked softly as he stood looking at a shell of the woman he knew a decade ago. He was surprised to see her walking on set with Evans. He almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was shorter and her eyes held none of the fire he was used to seeing in them. Evans had said she was in a bad way. Something about her fiance and cheating. He had tuned out as memories flooded back. Memories that he’d thought were locked away in the deepest recesses of his mind.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather you left. I have nothing to say to you.” Willa said as she closed the door to the trailer she’d been using when he walked up to her and locked the door. Sliding down to the floor Willa bit back a sob as the memories flooded back. The memories of stolen kisses, long sleepless nights wrapped in each others arms. The smell of coffee, cigarettes, and mint. Him walking away and breaking her heart. Her not stopping him from leaving. Promises whispered in the dark. Promises broken in the light of day.

Sebastian walked away from the trailers head hung low. It was no more than he deserved, her ire. Her refusal to speak to him. He never should have let them convince him to walk away from her. It was his biggest regret. He had been weak. Easily convinced she didn’t love him as he did her. A memory came to him of a promise that he’d broken the day he walked away. A promise to never lie to her.

______________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: Sebastian isn’t her fiance, but he did break her heart. Who convinced him to leave her? Feedback appreciated. Constructive criticism encouraged. Flames will be used to keep plot bunnies warm this winter.

[pl-panda]

Vegas Vacation - chapter 1

Disclaimer: See Master Post

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While in darkness, some look for the light. Others, light up a match. There are also those who learn to adapt and push through.

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Vegas Magic - chapter 1

Hang-black-over

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*pain*

Harry felt a headache at least the size of Fluffy. He tried to open his eyes, was momentarily blinded by the light. He tried to lift his hand to look for glasses, but something weighed him down. Something warm and soft... Something that started to move!

His head instantly snapped in that direction only to see a mess of black hair. From under that mess, he could see a girl staring at him with a smile on her face. She had soft blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a slight tan. For a moment his eyes wandered a bit lower and he blushed Gryffindor red. She was naked. It took him a moment to notice he was naked too. Seeing his reaction she giggled. A melodic sound hitting his ears was enough to finally break him from the daze.

Absentmindedly, he tried to pull the cover up to regain at least minimum modesty and maybe stop the blush. This earned another giggle from her. When he finally managed to at least partially cover himself, she pouted.

"Why the sudden modesty, mister?"

"Um… eh… I… did we…?" He managed to ask, which earned more giggle from her. She sure was in a really good mood.

"I think that is quite obvious."

He tried for a few moments to remember who she was, but his mind came empty. "I… I'm sorry… I… I kinda don't remember your name." He managed to finally squeeze the thing out.

"Why I am offended, mister." She gave him a smile that could only be described as sultry. "I thought the night we just had would be rather memorable. I will definitely remember it for the rest of my life. As for my name… I think since yesterday it's Zatanna Potter."

Harry was too surprised to answer. He could only gape at the girl next to him. She decided to add fuel to fire and raised her hand, showing him a small golden ring on her finger. Harry managed to grab his glasses from the night table and put them on before taking a close look It was a beautiful wedding ring that could double as a family signet. Harry's seen a similar ring on Narcissa Malfoy's hand. Just to check, he raised his own hand and saw an almost identical ring. His was a bit bigger and bulkier though. He also noticed that there was an identical coat of arms engraved on both.

Harry let out an audible groan. There is a dark lord after his head and the first thing he does is get married.

"Am I that undesirable?" She teased him while slowly trailing fingers along his arm.

"No… No! You are breathtaking! Beautiful!" He quickly reassured her.

"Good answer." She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips before standing up. Now Harry could admire her in all her glory. He noticed that she must have been about his age. Her… assets were well developed. She could probably rival Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass in his year. "I am going to get a quick shower. I guess we should sit up and talk after that…" He trailed after her long legs as she made way to the bathroom. He would bet his wand she was intentionally swaying her hips just to tease him.

As soon as the doors closed, he let out another groan. Resigned, he got up and started to gather his and her clothes and sort it into separate piles. He froze for a moment when he picked a pair of lacy thongs and a matching bra, but he quickly got back to work. He just hoped that it could be fixed. Maybe they could just cancel the whole thing?

"One thing for sure. I am not drinking again…" He said to himself before sitting back on the bed. Harry tried to remember how exactly he got there, slowly retracing his steps in memory.

He could remember being at the Dursleys' after the Tournament. He could remember Prophet informing about Bellatrix LeStrange escaping. They blamed it on Sirius. He then remembered a missive from Goblins, informing him that Sirius Black was dead. Harry was devastated by this. Sirius was one of the few links he had to his parents. He promised that once he was cleared he would be able to live with him. For a moment, Harry hoped for a family. And then Sirius was gone. Just before Harry's fifteen birthday

Then there was the last will. In his infinite wisdom Sirius made a stipulation to his will that for anyone to access anything of his or the whole Black Family, Harry was to take vacations. Remus was to be his chaperone while they were to leave to 'Black property somewhere in America'. Dumbledore was really against the idea, but Sirius' old house that he let Dumbledore use was locked tight until the stipulations of the will were met. As such the wisened Headmaster had no option but to allow Harry the trip. He and Remus were taking a portkey from Gringotts, making any tracking impossible. While it was clear that Dumbledore was against the idea, he could not stop them in any way. Also, while the headmaster was unable to follow them in any way, so were the Death Eaters.

They arrived in Magical Las Vegas, which was in normal Las Vegas. The two made their way to Black Casino, which was the 'Black property in America'. Harry hoped to enjoy the luxurious hotel, but a waitress that strangely reminded him of someone he saw somewhere handed him a drink when Remus was distracted. He hesitantly downed it, enjoying the burning sensation. From there, it was hazy. He could remember flashed. They didn't stay at Black Casino. Remus took him to a magic show. Apparently, it was similar in fashion to a talent show for Magicals. This was supposed to be a world-famous Giovani Zatarra.

The show was taking place in another Casino. Harry could remember that he lost Remus in the crowd. He ended up at one table where a man that also looked a bit familiar gave him a bunch of tokens.

He played, won, played again, won even more.

Through the mist, he recalled taking his win and going to look for Remus. The rest of it was a total blur. He could remember meeting Zatanna. More games, cards, machines, roulette, etc. Then he had a brief flash of… Elvis? Then there were a bit more games and finally, Zatanna dragging him to a hotel room. At each stage, he got more and more drinks. The drilling headache still served as a reminder of the amount of alcohol he consumed

The doors to the bathroom opened and Zatanna walked out, wrapped in a towel. Once again, Harry stared at her for a moment with open mouth before quickly averting his gaze. She grinned and slowly walked to him.

Zatanna took a seat next to him. "So…" She started solemnly.

"Um…" He really had no idea what to say

"What is the last thing you remember?" She asked suddenly after a brief, but uncomfortable silence.

"Well… I was separated from my chaperone. I ended up at some table where a guy handed me a lot of tokens and I won quite a bit. Then I packed and left looking for Remus… I walked into some empty corridor and after that, I can't really remember much. Everything is hazy.

"I actually think this is where we met…" She mused for a moment. "My dad was giving a show. I actually had a bit of a fight with him just before he left." Seeing Harry's raised eyebrow, she frowned. "He keeps treating me like a baby. No helping at the shows, no Justice League stuff, if it was up to him, I wouldn't be allowed to date anyone until sixty." She quickly blushed, remembering last night. "That was actually why we argued. He overheard me talking to a friend about a cute guy I've met recently. I was so angry. He showed no respect for my privacy and to boot that up scolded me."

"He sounds… strict…" Harry was unsure of what to say.

"I mean I love him, but he just… Anyway, that evening I was angry. I walked out of the room, hoping to maybe at least watch the show from backstage, but then I stumbled upon you. I… I kinda decided to spite my father and invited you for a date. You agreed and we played several games. You were so sweet and cute." She smiled at him. "Not to mention hot."

Harry focused on what she was telling and remembered meeting a girl in that corridor. They spoke for a moment before she asked him if he wanted to join her in an outing. They returned to main hall and Harry kept on winning. At some point, they decided to switch casinos. The next one was very interesting too.

"How is it that nobody batted an eye at our age?" He asked suddenly.

"I mean… it's Magical Los Angeles. As long as you have money, they don't ask questions…"

"Yeah. That's about right." He grumbled. "It's probably the only reason why Malfoy still walks around to torment me…" She placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry looked at his wife and nodded. "Sorry. It's been… a hard year for me."

"I remember… mostly. I am pretty sure you omitted some details, but I won't dig…"

"Okay. We cleared some casinos. But how did we end up married?"

"I… I received a text from my father. He was furious that I went behind his back. I wanted to spite him, so I… kissed you. Hard." She blushed, albeit not as hard as Harry earlier. Or now for that matter. "I tried to push further, but you were a perfect gentleman." She smiled at him. "You said that you wanted to wait until marriage. It was so sweet. I kissed you again as a reward." Seeing his look, she smiled sheepishly. "I was not exactly sober either…"

Harry quickly raised his hands in a surrender gesture. "I am not saying anything."

They both laughed weakly at that. "Anyway, you had this goofy grin on your face after that. The Casino we were at… Black Casino I think… Had a chappel in it. You actually proposed to me and we got married on the same evening. Then… let's just say I am a very pleased wife." She gave him a sultry smile like before. Harry squeaked when she moved to sit on his lap.

"Um…" then a dreadful thought entered his mind. "Oh, Merlin! Remus! He is going to kill me!"

"You mean the werewolf?" She asked surprised. Harry skipped over the fact she knew his secret "He was at our wedding. With another woman at that. I'm not sure if he was there for us or waiting in line…"

Harry was about to answer when he heard a knock at the doors. He got up and was about to move to open when Zatanna caught his hand.

"wait a moment." She nodded at him and Harry realized he was completely naked. "Let me… Sserd pu um dnabsuh!" In a puff of smoke, Harry was now wearing a two-piece suit and white shirt underneath. For a moment he wanted to ask her about that, but the knocking got more irritated and he actually worried who might that be.

"Maybe… Dress up while I check whose that?"

She nodded and Harry walked to the next room. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. It was an exclusive suite of the kind he saw on movies when he sneaked a look at the Dursley's. He focused on the doors. He had his wand in one hand when he opened the doors. Outside he was greeted by a very much alive Sirius Black, his godfather!

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 46)

Treasure

Reader receives a gift that gives her a reason to smile, and then she smiles a whole lot more.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

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Days went by, nondescript and immeasurable, practically the same routine everyday. I woke up, I did chores, I went to bed, and repeated it all the next day. The sense of hope that I'd kept at heart in the days following the discovery of that newspaper article was dwindling steadily, and every day felt longer and longer, harder and harder, till I was just going through the motions until I could go to sleep again. 

People noticed. Charles first, of course, he'd been keeping a keen eye on me the whole time, checking in on me each day to ask how I was. He was soft and careful with me, speaking to me in a tone that reminded me of how one would talk to a spooked horse. I appreciated his kindness, but it didn't matter how many times he asked me if I was okay, I'd always just say yes. I wasn't, obviously, we both knew that. But mine was the sort of sadness that nothing could cure, but perhaps time. Even that seemed impossible, for the more time that passed, the smaller the flame of hope grew, and the more I came to believe that my Arthur was gone. It was a scenario I didn't want to accept. 

Sadie approached me one afternoon an indiscernible number of days since Abigail and I's trip to Saint Denis. I hadn't left camp since, excluding the ride I'd taken that evening. 

"Hey there. I heard you was a good con-woman. You wanna come out with me, see if we can rustle something up?" She asked. I lifted my head from the arrow I was working on – Charles had taught me how to improve them to make them stronger and more accurate – to look at her in bewilderment that she'd want me to do something with her, the miserable mare I was.

"Right now?"

"Sure, nothing too fancy. Just something to put a little extra money in our pockets," she said, offering me a kind smile. 

My lips parted and I was hesitant to answer. In truth, Christ no, I did not want to go conning right then. It was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. It took enough energy just to pretend to be not on the verge of crying constantly, I didn't think I had it in me to paint another layer onto the facade for the sake of a con. But how on Earth could I say no when the gang was in such a dire situation?

Thankfully, she saw my hesitation for what it was, and her face fell just a little. She sat down on the crate next to me, leaned forwards with her elbows on her knees and stared at her hands. 

"I know what you're going through," she said quietly. "I ain't making you work, I just thought you might wanna do something more interesting than chores, try and get your mind off it. For me, that's all I wanted at the start." 

"That's a kind sentiment, Sadie," I whispered, smiling, "but I'm okay here, jus' doing this," I waved the completed arrow at her then placed it with the bundle by my feet. 

"Okay then, if you're sure," she said, then after a moment, moved to leave. I stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

"I'm so sorry about your husband. I know that was real raw when I first showed up, I never said nothing about it. I hope you don't think of me as rude for not giving you my condolences," I told her abruptly.

"I don't. You didn't know me at all, and no offense, I barely even realised you were new for a start. First couple weeks were a blur, I don't remember much. I was too torn apart," she admitted, and I nodded sympathetically. "Keeping busy helps, I know. But you gotta be careful not to just shut everything out and rely on monotony to get you through the day, you lose a lot of time that way. You wake up one day and realise how long it's been and–" she stopped abruptly, sighed and shook her head.

I felt awful for Sadie. She was a married woman, I didn't know for how long but she was married. I knew how painful it was no longer having Arthur by my side and he and I's relationship was relatively young. I couldn't even claim to know exactly how Sadie must've felt losing her husband. 

"I always liked Arthur," she began on a different note, lifting her head, "he's one of the good ones, ain't he?"

I nodded my head. 

"You keep hold of him, if he makes it back here," she advised, patting the back of my hand where it rested on my knee. I met her eyes. 

"I fully intend to. I don't know how I'd– it's hard because I don't know whether I should be grieving or not," I said, and her brow creased in sympathy. 

"Yeah, it's an odd situation. But some hope's better than none, ain't it?" She offered and I nodded slowly. 

"I suppose it is. Every time I see something move over there–" I jerked my head towards the entrance to Lakay– "my heart goes mad and I'm searching for him." 

Sadie looked at me, her eyes full of pity throughout the lull in conversation. She pressed her lips together, then sighed and looked down. 

"After my Jakey died, Abigail was a good friend to me. She'd sit with me and let me cry and whine and feel sorry for myself and she did it all with compassion. I know you and I ain't particularly close, but I want you to know, I wouldn't mind paying Abigail's favour forward. I'm here for you if you need a shoulder to cry on. Someone who knows your pain," she told me. 

She was speaking as if Arthur was definitely dead and while her kindness was appreciated, I hated what it meant. She didn't think he was coming back. She pitied me, saw herself in me, in what I was going through. I was far from ready to start accepting the very real possibility that Arthur was dead, and when a reasonable response to her offer failed to materialise in my brain, I just stared at her. I stared with parted lips and tears welling in my eyes and anger building that I did not want to direct at her. So I got up, and walked away as quickly as I could. 

I shut myself away in the building with the painted wall, my usual spot, and threw myself down on the bed that resided there. The sheets were musty and unclean, I had no clue how long they'd been there or who had slept in them last, but I couldn't care less. I curled up on my side and squeezed my eyes shut. 

Arthur wasn't dead. If he was I'd have a gut feeling, wouldn't I? I'd somehow know. It had been weeks since the night of the robbery, but it would take weeks for him to get back to America after leaving on a boat. There was still a feasible chance that he was heading home, or he could be back already, and just looking for us. Or maybe he and the others were just giving it some time, letting the heat die down before attempting to come back to us. There were plenty of alternative reasons for his absence and the likelihood of it being because he was dead was probably the smallest. Arthur's strong. He's clever.  

I squeezed my eyes ever tighter, and the next thing I knew, I was being roused by a hand on my shoulder.

I woke with a start, my eyes flashing open to find Miss Grimshaw looming over me, her expression unreadable. My heart dropped and I shot upright.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep– I know it looks that way, I'm laying in a bed, but I– I was–" I stammered, giving up on excuses and sighing. She sat down on the bed next to me, her expression shifting into a small smile. 

"It's okay, darlin'. I ain't here to tell you off," she reassured me, squeezing my shoulder once. I shifted, crossing my legs and watching her with intrigue. "Sadie told me that you barged in here earlier on, she was worried she'd upset you."

I shook my head and closed my eyes in frustration at myself. "No, she was being kind. I just ain't myself right now."

"I figured. That's why I wanted to talk to you. And give you something," she said, looking down into her hand. She was holding something I couldn't see. "Things are tough on everybody right now, but I know you must feel especially worried."

"I don't wanna claim that I'm worse off than everyone else just 'cause–"

"It ain't a competition," she cut me off, "that ain't my point, just let me speak. Your relationship with Arthur is different, more intimate, you're bound to have more intense feelings about his absence, I'm not looking for a debate about that." 

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling like a scolded child. 

"I wanted to do somethin' nice. Or at least something I think is nice, you might hate me for it, I don't know," she shrugged, she had an air of stoicism about her, but I could see that she cared. I frowned in confusion. 

"What is it?"

"I have this necklace," she began, unfurling her hand to reveal a silver necklace with an oval shaped pendant engraved with the image of a heron. It was very pretty. "It's a locket," she added, then handed it to me. 

I draped the chain over my fingers and perched the pendant in my palm, lifting it for a closer inspection. There was a lot of detail in the engraving, I could even make out the suggestion of feathers. 

"I dug around in all our old things. We've got a box of photographs we've kept for years, I had a look and found one small enough to cut up and go in there. I never wear that locket, so you can have it. It was a gift from a lover from years ago," she chuckled playfully at that. 

I pressed my nail to the groove down the edge of the locket and popped it open, carefully parting it to reveal the photo inside. My eyes were blurry in a second. Of course, it was a photograph of Arthur; it looked quite old, he was a little younger, probably in his late twenties, but he was equally as handsome as the Arthur I knew. I blinked and felt tears roll down my cheeks and wordlessly threw myself forwards, wrapping my arm around Susan and burying my face in her shoulder. She made a surprised sound, but hugged me back after a moment. 

"Alright, that's a good response," she chuckled.

"Why on Earth would I hate you for this?"

"I figured it might hurt you, seeing him when he ain't here," she explained. 

"The only pictures I have of him are my silly drawings, I will treasure this," I told her, pulling back to look once again at the locket. I held it close to my face, relishing the opportunity to refresh the image of him in my mind, to remind myself of his lovely eyes, the cute dimple on the end of his nose, the shape of his lips…

"There's that smile we've all missed," she said, nudging me. 

"Thank you so much," I whispered, pressing a kiss to the locket before carefully closing it. 

"Would you like me to help you put it on?"

"Yes please." 

I handed her the necklace and twisted around. Susan draped the thing around my neck, and I peered down at where it laid against my sternum. She fiddled with a clasp for a moment before letting it go once it was secured around my neck. 

"So, there you go, any time you miss him you'll be able to see his face," she smiled at me and I returned it, holding the locket within my palm. "Now that you're smilin' again, are you gonna come help with dinner?" She queried with a stern tone, though it was coloured with playfulness too. I smirked and nodded, rising to my feet and following her back outside.

Every night since then I fell asleep with the locket laying open in my palm. It dulled the empty feeling in my chest made by his absence enough to give me some peace. Though I still of course longed to have him back by my side, Miss Grimshaw's gift certainly helped ease my upset. I went hunting again with Charles, and he noted that I seemed to be doing a bit better, either that or I was getting better at putting on a facade. I wasn't entirely sure which was true, sure, the locket gave me something to hold at night but it wasn't flesh and blood, it wasn't my Arthur. I just told Charles that the people at camp treating me with kindness was probably helping. And it was. 

I'd grown closer to the likes of Charles, Abigail and Sadie, who each seemed to have some sort of perceived duty of care to me. I felt as if I was tucked carefully under each of their wings, and they all took the time to check on me if I'd spent too much time on my own. It made sense. We all had something in common. For Charles, it was that we were missing Arthur, both of us were particularly close to him in our own ways. Abigail, she was missing her man too, though she knew exactly where he was. She rarely outright admitted it of course, continuously mentioning Jack, who – bless him – didn't even fully seem to know what was going on. And Sadie kept looking at me with a certain softness in her eyes and I knew she still saw me as analogous to her when Jake passed, and she felt a sort of responsibility to offer me support.

We gravitated towards each other, I seemed to always have one of them nearby. I appreciated it. I felt less alone while my most treasured person was missing, and it allowed me to feel more like a part of the gang again. I realised that despite my intentions not to, I had aligned myself with Arthur while he was there, sticking to him so closely and allowing my bonds with the rest of the gang to sink into the background. When he first disappeared, I felt like an impostor, similar to when I first joined. I often wondered if that was how Molly had felt too, though she had opted to leave rather than staying. In my case, my strengthened relationship with the others helped me to once again feel at home, though it was an incomplete home. 

After a couple more days passed, I found myself feeling a little numb. It was neither positive or negative. I guessed that my emotions had been so unsteady for so long that they'd stopped knowing what to do and had given up altogether. I took it while I could, grateful for the reprieve. 

I found myself stood cleaning dishes with Abigail one evening, it had been pouring rain all day and we were standing outside underneath the shelter of the lean-to attached to one of the shacks. I lost myself in the constant hiss of the water hitting the ground as I scrubbed the plate in my hand dry. Abigail had been upset that morning, having found out that John had officially been moved to Sisika. I'd done my best to comfort her as she had done with me over Arthur, but she had been quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the day. I stuck by her side, helping entertain Jack when it was clear that she was too distracted to give him her full attention. He was asleep now, though, curled up inside with Tilly and Mary-Beth.  

I couldn't hear much over the sound of the rain, so when Abigail spoke I was sure I'd missed half of her sentence, because all I heard was: "Arthur?" 

I glanced up at her, she was standing on the other side of the table, looking over my shoulder. 

"What about him?" I asked. Then felt a hot jolt of adrenaline surge through me when I heard wet footsteps and noticed Abigail's eyes following something behind me, I could only take a split second to pray that the conclusion I had drawn was true, then I cranked my neck around so fast it'd hurt in the morning.

There he was. In the same white shirt and dress trousers he'd left Shady Belle in, a few weeks worth of beard grown in, rosy, sunburnt cheeks and a build-up of grime covering every visible inch of his body. My Arthur. 

My knees felt as though they would buckle beneath me and my hand moved to the table behind me, gripping tight. 

"You're alive!" Abigail cheered, a joyous laugh rippling through her words as she rounded the table and jogged over to him. Arthur's eyes never left mine as she gave him a brief hug.

"Hey ladies," he said, his tone friendly but he sounded tired and strange, a little like he was forcing it. My brain had disengaged and I hadn't yet reacted to his return, I was well aware of that, but could do no more than stare at him. 

"Come on, get out of the rain," Abigail said, tugging him by the elbow until he was underneath the shelter, standing a mere few inches away from me, gaze still fixed on my face, his eyes trying to read mine. "I gotta tell the others!" Abigail added, then she was rushing into the house, calling out. 

In the moments we had alone, Arthur reached for me, and I met his hands with mine, entwining our fingers. His shoulders dropped and the creases between his brows softened, then he leaned forward, his forehead kissing mine. 

"My Angel–"

"I thought that you–" we both began, then laughed breathily. That was as far as we got. 

"Hey, Arthur!" Uncle cheered, stepping outside, joined by everyone else inside who seemed equally pleased to see Arthur. I stepped back, turning to face them. Everyone crowded around, clapping him on the back, guiding him inside, I watched as he was whisked away from me, surrounded by his family. 

I followed the crowd inside, watching everyone hug him, silently resenting the fact that I hadn't had the chance to do the same. 

"Where on Earth have you been?" Uncle questioned as a chair was pulled out and Arthur was pushed down into it, a cup of water thrust into his hand. Arthur's eyes scanned the room until he found me. 

"Some island somewhere. Uh, Guarma, I think it was. Washed up there when our ship went down," he explained. 

"So that was your boat we read about in the papers," Lenny pointed out. Arthur downed the water and handed the cup off to an outstretched hand. He was then plied with a bowl of stew. I leaned up against the doorway and felt an easy smile cross my lips at the sight of him. Alive. Right there in front of me. 

"I guess," Arthur mused. 

"We all thought you were gone for good, laying at the bottom of the ocean," Uncle admitted and everyone looked at him with a warning in their eyes. "What? Ain't my problem none of y'all would admit it."

"Well, we nearly was. We all made it, though. The others'll make their way back over the next few days, we thought it best to go one at a time, draw less attention. I volunteered to leave first, I had to–" Arthur explained, his eyes settling on me again. 

"Dutch is still alive?" Someone asked, and Arthur nodded with a mouthful of food, a look coming to his eye that I couldn't place. It wasn't a positive look, that was all.

"And Javier. And Bill," he murmured, then with a tone that nobody had to question, "and Micah."

"We buried Hosea. We got his body back and gave him a nice send off," Abigail told him. Arthur looked at her, slowed his chewing, and nodded in silent appreciation. His demeanor shifted further at the mention of his name, and my heart hurt to look at him that way. 

"The horses all came back, Kieran's been doing a fine job of taking care of 'em," Mary-Beth announced when the silence became uncomfortable. Kieran squirmed under the attention but Arthur nodded at him once. 

"Thanks, Kieran," he murmured. 

"Just doing what I do," Kieran breathed, a lopsided smile on his face. 

"How 'bout I get some water warmed up for you? You really do look like you've been washed up on an island," Miss Grimshaw chuckled, then headed outside. 

"Thank you," Arthur called after her. After a few moments people seemed to realise that staring at him while he was eating wasn't exactly making Arthur feel comfortable, so everyone moved to give him some space and murmurs of conversation filled the room. Charles came up behind him, patting him on the shoulder and bending down to speak to him.

"Good to have you back," I just about made out over the noise in the room. Then Charles' eyes peeled up to me, an expectant look in them. He smirked and pulled a chair up next to Arthur, knocking his knuckles against the back of it.

"He's all yours," he told me. 

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

The Avengers held a debriefing meeting to go over Norman Osborn’s announcement about his own Avengers, X-Men and Cabal. Before they were able to find any answers, however, C.R.A.D.L.E. operatives arrived on the scene and demanded  that all underage heroes who were present be turned over.

THIS IS THE OFFICIAL COMPLETE CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC

CAROL: America’s Avengers — that’s what Norman had called them. Ten costumed clad heroes with masked identities, hidden from public and hidden from them. The last decade had been an opportunity for heroes to gain public trust in a way they never had before. Offering themselves, unmasked, had created a line of trust from hero to layperson. Revealing your identity opened you up to untold threats, and that was before the people you cared about were involved. Carol had never hidden her identity, she hadn’t ever really needed to. Most of her time spent was on a different planet in a separate galaxy and she didn’t have much to protect on earth. People knowing who she was just allowed her to save them in broad daylight and she never really had to think much of it. But then Osborn had stepped into the limelight and floored everyone with his own set of heroes – and Carol was hesitant to call them that. Every bit of information had been pulled on this masked heroes and the database barely offered them crumbs. Super-people running around under Osborn’s authority felt like a power grab instead of a shield, and Carol still didn’t know how to respond to it. At the helm of the table, Carol didn’t say much as people filed, filling their respective seats. She tried not to pay attention to the idle murmuring as it buzzed around her, her thoughts too easily dismantled with her current stress level. This threat was so soon after the war with the mutants and she wasn’t eager to have to face another set of supers. “I would say thank you for coming, but I know most of us don’t want to be here given the recent events. As you all know, President Norman Osborn has revealed a very unorthodox plan to completely level everything we’ve known and built. He has his own set of Avengers, his own intelligence agency, and even his own X-men. He has done this with little regard to the Avengers and the X-men already established and standing, and his dissolution of SHIELD is alarming. Unfortunately, we can only surmise as to what it is he is doing and why — and how he plans on enacting whatever that is. We’re left with more questions than answers, so if anyone has anything to offer, please feel free to share.”

SAM: He didn’t do well in cages. Never had. Sure, there was ancestral trauma that he could talk to his shrink about but the truth of the matter was that Sam Wilson didn’t do well in cages and he didn’t like being locked in. With dislikes like those his career as a pararescuemen made sense, as did the huge emphasis on the freedom that being Cap came with. That being said, he had seen his fair share of bars. There had been the literal ones of the Raft, but Osborn’s new world felt even more constricting. It was terrifying because they were supposed to believe they were free when they were anything but. Sam let Carol talk. He gave her some space while he paced in the back of the room before his arms found a home crossed over his chest. These debriefings never went well. It was like the Sokovian Accords all over again, but this time the ghosts of Tony, Nat and Steve were all too present. He kept scanning the peripheral for a glimpse of red or straining his ears for a sarcastic retort, but they were gone. Whatever was happening they’d go alone. “I think it goes without saying I may not be Norman’s biggest fan,”  Sam piped up from the back wall. “But let’s try not to look at it personally. We’ve done this song and dance before. They may have a harder time touchin’ us, but you guys?” He jutted his head at the minors. “We need to get smart and fast.”

PETER: If there was one thing that Peter valued, it was his privacy– and that was being threatened, big time. Peter glanced over to Sam’s finger as it jutted over in his general direction, the eyes of his suit widening just slightly like he had been accused of something. “I don’t have any ideas.” Yeah, that was definitely worth saying Peter. “Anyone else? Because this really sucks.”

NADIA: Ever since the Coles Incident - which is what they were calling the event where Nadia had potentially lost two of her best friends - she had been doing her best to brainstorm in moderation without  driving herself crazy. “I would say that we try to talk to them, but we did.” That whole hearing had been awful. They had asked questions that weren’t even about what happened, like they could create problems out of nowhere. “I agree with Peter. It sucks.” 10 points for the children being helpful.

IDIE: Idie sat with the other representatives of Krakoa, listening carefully to what Carol was saying. The last few weeks had all felt like a whirlwind – so much was happening so fast. Her eyes wandered round the room as Carol spoke, looking over the familiar faces and the new ones, making a note in her head that these were people she could somewhat trust in these troubled times. She didn’t trust this new world she was living in – even though the people in this room were united against one cause, it was the Krakoa mutants Idie trusted most with her life, and she hoped they trusted her. Her eyes flickered to the new Captain America – who piped up after Carol had finished speaking, and his words resonated with her. He was right. They needed to work harder and smarter than they had before. President Osborn’s new Avenger’s felt like his own personal paramilitary, and she worried how he would use his new X-Men team. “I was a child when I came to the X-Men,” Idie stood up as she spoke, taking a breath as she gathered her thoughts. “I see myself in these young heroes. While they are young, they’re also smart. They are aware of the world around them and its dangers. No one cared that I was a child when my powers mutated, all they saw was a witch who deserved to die.” There was a bitterness in Idie’s tone as she spoke. “What I’m trying to say is, these young heroes are assets, not dangers. With the right training, they can be stronger and smarter heroes. We should be giving them a chance, not turning them away.”

SUSAN: This was, unfortunately, not a new rodeo. The Fantastic Four had always been hyper visible as a group and that had bled into their private life. People who didn’t understand how they operated had tried to have say in their parenting and fighting off CPS while also trying to save the multiverse was exhausting. “Every hero needs responsibility, but I know most of you didn’t choose this. Even if you did, you’re all doing a good thing.  I know C.R.A.D.L.E.  started raids. Is there any kind of sanctuary we can make in the short term?” Susan glanced to her husband and children. “I think we need to be prepared to fight them.”

ERIK: “While I will not argue that the future of our young heroes here is important, there is more to focus on than them. They are more than used to standing up for themselves, no matter their age.” Erik figured that it was his turn to speak now, since there was much to discuss. “The group of mutants parading around under the direction of the President have broken away from the ideas we on Krakoa hold sacred. They threaten the incredible amount of work, blood, tears, and pain we have suffered through to get to where we are now.”

VALERIA: Valeria sat quietly, listening to the other heroes speak. A lot was going on in the room, and a lot of different opinions were being said – it was going to be a difficult night ahead. “My mom is right,” Valeria spoke. “We can fight as well as any of you in this room, but C.R.A.D.L.E. poses a risk to our lives. To our futures. If we are to be put in a sanctuary, we should be prepared to fight. Give us training, don’t put us in a corner and leave us be. That will only end badly.”

JEAN: The announcement of ‘America’s X-Men’ had sounded wrong from the moment she had heard it. Sitting with her son swaddled against her, Jean nodded along lightly as Erik spoke. It was strange. Her own younger self technically fell outside of the law now. “As does his Cabal. Whatever deal he and Emma made is not reflective of the Quiet Council or Krakoa. Kate,” the redhead glanced towards Pryde. “You’re Hellfire. Was that planned?” It stung, a bit. Jean and Emma had grown closer and her decision to drag Krakoa into Osborn’s circle was made without warning. Out of respect the telepath had stayed out of her mind, but the situation had become icy.

IDIE:  Idie nodded as Erik spoke. She could have laughed at the fact she found herself agreeing with Magneto of all people (perhaps Quentin had been right all these years, although she would not be admitting that to him. “For some of us, Krakoa is the only home we’ve ever known. This X-Men group threatens to take it away from us.” She glanced at Jean, an eyebrow raised at her comment. “Ms. Grey, I don’t think now is the time for fighting between us. We need to be united.”

GWEN: “I don’t even live here,” Gwen was slouched over with her head in her hands, “but they’ve made it pretty clear I’m at risk as well when I’m here.” Her identity in Earth-13130 remained a secret to the general public even though at the meeting her hood had been pulled back to rest against her neck. She didn’t just want to ignore people in trouble though if she saw them. “Val’s right. Fighting is our best option. They can’t push us around just because we’re younger.”

VALERIA: A smirk crept across Val’s face as Gwen said she was right. “We may be young but we made a commitment to be who we are, if we didn’t we wouldn’t be sitting in this room discussing it.” She rested a comforting hand on Gwen’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “It’s our choice, isn’t it? We chose this life. We want to fight this, and if you put us somewhere for our own protection without giving us the tools to fight and protect ourselves, you might as well let C.R.A.D.L.E. find us, capture us, and do God only knows what to us.”

PETER: “We can fight, but what’s that really gonna do?” Peter spoke up again. “If we fight them.. isn’t that just going to make them want all of these rules even more? It’s true that we can stand up for ourselves, but I don’t know if there’s a way to actually get them to stop.”

ILLYANA: “Who said anything about fighting?” Blue eyes were trained on black painted nails. It was ridiculous that she fell under the rule considering her history. Illyana’s words were directed at Idie though, not any of the other people who had actually discussed fighting. “I don’t think Jean did, but the blonde with the big brain - that was Val - seems interested.” Illyana was too.

KATE: Reclining back as far as her chair would reach, Kate had been fiddling with the edge of her coat as people spoke around her. Osborn’s sudden resurgence into society along with his reveal of his shiny new squad didn’t sit well with her. And as Kate understood, it didn’t sit well with anyone. It took a moment for her to register that Jean had addressed her and she automatically wanted to respond with a ‘what’, but Jean’s words managed to sink in before she did. Dark eyes shifted around the room, not really focusing on anyone, before coming to land back on Jean. “You’re asking the wrong person. I wouldn’t work with Norman if you paid me, but considering the affairs of the Hellfire Club, I can only assume there is something to gain. Emma wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

REED: “I see where everyone is coming from, but it’s never as simple as we want it to be.” Reed replied to both his daughter and the rest of the group. “Putting the kids together and making sure they’re safe sounds logical at first, but is it really smart to put all of them together? If something were to happen, they make an easy target that way.”

JESSICA: “Mutants, underaged heroes,” Jessica ticked off the issues on one hand. “the fact that we don’t know who these heroes are. Should we try and pick a topic or do we like bouncing around?” She opposed everything on the grounds that it felt wrong and S.H.I.E.L.D.,  while imperfect, was often more good than bad. Now a mother herself of a kid with super powers, Jessica hated the unease that came with considering this version of the future. “Did literally anyone see this coming?”

IDIE: “All I meant was that we can’t be seen at each other’s throats.” Idie turned to Illyana. “It would only give people reason to support Osborn’s X-Men, and I think we can agree that is the last thing we want.” Her eye glanced over at the underaged heroes for a moment, spotting the blonde Illyana had spoken about, then turned back to the other mutant. “Fighting whatever Osborn is up to. If we want to stand against it, we need to stand together.”

VALERIA: “We’re stronger together than we are apart, Dad.” Valeria stared at her dad, her eyes wide. “We need each other right now. We can protect each other. We aren’t just a group of dumb kids, Dad. We have powers, just like the rest of you.”

JEAN: Deciding to ignore both Illyana and Idie, Jean kept her gaze on Kate. She’d always have a soft spot for her and her inability to get on Krakoa meant that the two didn’t see each other near enough. Part of that was on her, of course, but with the baby and the Council one thing often turned into the next and suddenly a week had gone by. “If Emma had talked to anyone it would have been you, Kate, or Scott.” Her glance didn’t flicker over to the husband who sat beside her. “This Cabal is international. Do we know anything else about it?”

SUSAN: “Of course you aren’t, dear.” Susan’s tone was more patient than patronizing. Valeria was one of the smartest there was. “We just need to be strategic and delicate here. They’re looking for another incident like what happened with Ms. Marvel. You’re all out of grace and chances.”

PETER: “My paranoia saw this coming.” Peter’s reply to Jess was meant to be quieter than it ended up being. “And still, I have no idea what to do other than just.. not register. But I’m not ready for the whole city or-or the whole world to hate me or think I’m the bad guy.”

XANDRA: Her goal had been to remain as innocuous as possible. Although she preferred not to, Xandra had slipped from her chamber and left an illusion in her place. It had taken a great deal of concentration to maintain her own physical camouflage but as soon as she arrived on the premise she allowed that to fall. “My aunt betrayed me.” Feathers ruffled around her face as she spoke. “Which knowing Deathbird should not be a surprise.” And yet, it was. Xandra had truly hoped for the best. “She joined your President’s Cabal without my approval. Her vote does not represent the Shi’ar people.”

SAM: “Sometimes they’re gonna think you’re the bad guy. It’s inevitable when we’re the ones doing the hard stuff people don’t want to deal with.” Sam knew that unfortunately too well. “We fight, we look bad. We don’t and we end up screwed. We’re just all in agreeance that we don’t know enough yet about what’s going on.”  

VALERIA: Val slouched back in her seat, running a hand through her hair as she thought. She was a child to most of these people, it didn’t matter how smart she was, or what she thought. Peter’s remark made her scoff as she held back a laugh. “Separating us and putting us in safe houses where we will feel useless will give them another Ms. Marvel incident,” Valeria tried to be patient, but it felt like her words were falling on deaf ears.

NADIA: “Can we please stop calling it that?”  Nadia’s voice was quiet. She loved Kamala. The two had been close ever since Kamala had tried to help Nadia get her citizenship set up. Hearing all the terrible things the world was saying about Ms. Marvel in Kamala’s name made her sick. There was no way she’d stand behind any of it. “She’s my friend.”

KATE: "I didn’t say we hadn’t talked.“ Kate responded cooly. They had talked. Kate had outright confronted her, but Emma had brushed it off. No big deal. The excuses given to her were easy enough to accept if you wanted to, but Kate didn’t trust Norman, so she didn’t trust that Emma was telling her the whole story. "I just assume Emma has her reasons and I don’t demand people to give me information. I trust her.” Half of that was true. Kate did trust Emma, but she didn’t know how much of a hand Norman had in this.

PETER: Underneath the mask, Peter’s face burned a light red. Sam was right, but that didn’t mean he was going to admit it. He could stay stubborn, clinging to his idealism for as long as he could. “We keep talking about another incident, but that’s the worst case scenario right? It’s not Kamala’s fault.” He glanced to Nadia, expression soft even if it wasn’t easy to read under his mask. “It’s not our fault at all. It’s Norman’s. There’s gotta be something we can do before it’s too late.”

SCOTT:  He’d chosen to remain quiet on the issue thus far. A team of mutants with Madelyne on it already gave him everything he needed to know about Osborn’s intentions, and he didn’t need to chew on it to get the point across. This had threat written all over it — he just couldn’t figure out why Emma would work with him. He almost considered that she was defaulting to who they had used to be, but Scott knew that even if she was, this was not the route to take. “She hasn’t talked to me.” He responded to Jean before Kate had the chance, his tone level. “This is all still fairly new.”

JEAN: It hadn’t really been accusatory, but Jean still needed to make sure everyone knew that Scott wasn’t involved with what Emma was doing. Jean didn’t want to turn people against  Frost but they needed to be clear on where everyone stood. “Emma joined the Cabal and we had no idea. Your aunt,” she turned to Xandra. “Did so without your permission. And then there’s Loki and Maximus. Did the Asgardians and Inhumans know?”

ODINSON: “Loki’s schemes are never ending.” Odinson replied with an eyeroll. “It’s difficult to guess their intentions, but I am not surprised by where they ended up. If teams like this were to be formed, Loki would be drawn to it all like an insect to a flame.”

CRYSTALIA: Even though it may have surprised most, Crystalia had stayed mostly quiet throughout this. New Attilan was almost exempt from the problem but her connection to the Nuhumans and Kamala Khan made it her problem. “My cousin is a snake in the grass.” Prior fondness was dulled by years of backstabbing. Lockjaw was panting in the corner, his massive head nearly in the doorway. “The Inhumans have struggled enough without him causing trouble.”

SAM: “We’re going to figure it out, kid. I promise. There’s no way in hell we’re going to let you guys go down here. But we gotta ask ourselves: who are these people and how did Norman recruit them without us knowing?”

CAROL: "Are we really surprised he did?“ Her question was directed at Sam’s. "He doesn’t exactly strike me as all that forthright. If anything, this is expected. You gather a set of heroes who will follow you and you have a perfect war machine.”

VALKYRIE: “Well, one of them is a two faced wench with a preference for green.” Val was leaned forward in her chair, one tattooed forearm braced against the table. “The Enchantress. Amora has never spelled anything but trouble.”

THOR: “And the Minotaur.” Thor piggybacked off of Val. “I knoweth him, unfortunately. His name is Dario Agger. He runs Roxxon and his bloodlust is… unfortunate, to say the least.”

SAM: “Surprised? No. Disappointed? Yes. There should only be one War Machine, and that’s Rhodes. Taking up the Iron Patriot without saying anything was meant to be disrespectful. What about Star? Wanda, you said you got a reality stone reading off of her. You, Vis and Carol know the Stones pretty well. Do we know her deal?”

KATE: “Look I could be wrong,” Kate had leaned forward at this point, interjecting between Sam’s and Carol’s conversation. “But I think I talked to her. Star, I mean.”

WANDA: “You did?” Wanda turned her attention to Kate, speaking for the first time. She had spent the night picking up on different energies but had turned a blind eye due to how caught up in the Vision she had been. Now, she was regretting her decision. “I admit that I didn’t look close enough. Who was she?”

KATE: “She actually came with you, I think.” Kate said, subtly pointing towards Carol. “God, all I can picture is the atrocious pink dress. In a gala like that, you’d expect opulence or at least something formal. Not mid 2000’s Barbie dreamhouse. I didn’t catch her name, but something about her was off. Like Norman Osborn off.”

JEAN: “Kate,” Jean shifted so she could pass (baby) Charles to Scott. “Would you mind if I entered your mind for a moment to pull the name and face out?”

SAM: “You brought an American Avenger as your date, Danvers?” Sam’s brow rose. He couldn’t place her face. It was a bland blonde mix. He hadn’t been there long at all. Mostly a quick stop in and then bail to try and get home to rest.

KATE: For a long moment, Kate just stared at Jean, her features blank. She didn’t want to give anything away in the moment, but she wasn’t comfortable being in her own head, let alone letting someone else navigate around there. But she’d offered this tidbit of information, so maybe she should see this the whole way through. “If you think it’s necessary.”

JEAN: Thank you for trusting me. Jean’s words were spoken so only Kate could hear. Her eyes turned pink as she carefully dived into Kitty’s mind, dancing around anything intimate to find her way to the night in question. It took a moment to bring a blurry memory to focus, but then “—I thought I said I didn’t want to know your name.” Jean spoke along with the memory as the blonde rose from her barstool and began to back away. “Ripley.” The light died down then and Jean let the image of ‘Ripley’ be projected towards the others. “Do we know who she is or why she has a reality stone?”

CAROL:  She had suspected that Ripley was who Kate was referring to, but Carol hadn’t been struck with the same vibe. “She’s just a reporter.” She said in slight defense. “Are you sure you think it’s her?”

JESSICA: “Jesus Christ.” Jess shook her head, looking to Carol in disbelief. She should have put it together and felt stupid for not doing so, but Jess hadn’t even attended the Gala or seen who Carol had brought with her. “That ‘reporter’ is a psycho bitch. Ripley Ryan. Star. She’s from my reality.” As in, Earth-616. “She had a major bone to pick with you, Carol. Went as far as being experimented on to get back at you. You both almost died, but she was carted off to the Raft. I haven’t been home since then. I had no idea she’d gotten a Stone or came here.”

CAROL: Carol’s eyes shifted quickly, meeting Jess’s. Behind her gaze, there was a twinge of surprise but she did her best to keep her reaction neutral. “And you’re sure.” She didn’t doubt Jess, she hadn’t even known why she bothered asking, but a part of her wanted to believe in the girl. Carol always felt she had great instincts, and to have something be so carefully hidden right before her eyes was a hard pill to swallow. “She does realize that I’m not from her reality.”

GWEN: She had forgot to turn it off. Flipping your phone to mute seemed like a pretty simple thing to remember if you were going to very respectable Avengers meetings, especially when you lived in another reality and your dad couldn’t even contact you on this emergency line. Her phone was so often ignored that she was surprised when it began to trill that awful sound usually reserved only for Amber Alerts. She quickly fumbled with the device, about to turn it off until she caught sight of the picture that had come with the headline. Suddenly, Carol’s murderous girlfriend or whatever was way less important. Nadia and Lana’s phones  went off as well, and Gwen quickly tried to read and reread what had been sent out. “–uh, guys??”

PETER: Peter knew something was off even before Gwen reacted. He watched her reach for her phone but ignored his own that vibrated on the surface in front of him. The anxiety made him freeze, but as Gwen’s eyes stayed glued to her phone he knew he had to see for himself. He reached for his own, clicked it on, and there it was. It took longer than it should have for it to all sink in. What was in reality only a few seconds felt like minutes to him, and suddenly he became hyper aware of everyone focusing in on him. “What?” Maybe his eyes were tricking him? He felt his heart begin to race and heard it echo in his ears. This wasn’t really happening, was it? That was.. him. Right smack in the middle of his screen– and everyone else’s for that matter. It was out. Someone must have been following him, or someone here maybe sold him out.. or– “No, no no no no–!” Everything went cold, and his hands began to shake. His phone would have dropped out of his grasp if he hadn’t held on to it just a bit too tight, causing the screen to splinter at the edges. Right now he was surrounded and it felt like he was in a cage. Vulnerable. Exposed. Terrified. Betrayed. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And there was no taking it back. Even though they had all just been discussing the future of people like him, suddenly Peter didn’t trust a single one of them. But his brain was in a fog�� rage, confusion, terror. He couldn’t get himself to move, but he was at least thankful he had his mask on so no one could see the few tears trailing down his cheeks. “–what am I supposed to do now?” His voice was barely at a whisper.

JESSICA: Well, shit. That had taken the meeting in a way no one had expected. Jessica had to fish her phone out of her bag to see what everyone was staring at. Once she did she almost wished that she hadn’t. Maybe it was her unearthed motherly instinct, but she was quickly on her feet and moving around the table to crouch beside Parker. “Hey, kid,” her voice was low, dark head bent towards him. “Right now? Take deep breaths.”

LANA: “What the actual @#$@#. So they’re just going to out people and endanger them now?” Lana’s hands were curled into fists. She had never had a secret identity in the traditional sense. If the government wanted her they’d likely be able to find her unless she was on Krakoa. “We have to @#$@# do something.”

CAROL: Interesting how the world had just been introduced to a series of masked crusaders and one of their very own had just been forced to reveal who he was. Choosing to stay back, Carol observed the panic and frustration, understanding both but reacting to neither. Turning to Sam, she tried to catch his attention with a soft tone. “Convenient timing, wouldn’t you say?”

SAM: “It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.” Sam couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. Peter was a good kid. If someone wanted to out themselves it was fine, but a public callout wasn’t. “This is the kind of game we’re going to be playing. I hate to say it, but we won’t have time to sit back. They’re going to come straight at us.”

PETER: The grip he had around his phone tightened more and he could hear the quiet cascade of cracking glass from underneath his fingers. Peter was breathing. But it was definitely not deep breaths. The skin-tight red fabric around his chest rose and fell heavily as he sat there fuming, and he eventually got to his feet. ”I’m breathing just fine!” His voice wasn’t at a whisper anymore, and as he turned away from Jess he slammed a fist against the table. For a split second his mind wandered to Aunt May. How long would it take for her to hear the news and call him? What was he going to say to her? Was it even safe for him to go home? The equal levels of fear and anger had shifted as the seconds ticked by, and Peter found himself seeing red. His empty hand rose up and ripped off his mask, and he closed his eyes as the cool air hit his skin. “What’s the point of this anymore?” The fistful of red he had just pulled off was promptly thrown harshly to his feet, where it stayed and he stared at it. “Who did this to me? Why me? Why now?”

CAROL: She hated how right he was. A tic in the back of her jaw worked as she watched Peter, choosing to keep her personal emotions to herself. There was no reason to amplify the stress in the room. “Then we take the fight to them. Look, I don’t know how the Avengers were run before, but we’re not going to wait until they drop a bomb on New York to react. If Norman wants a war, I say we give him one.”

SAM: “We miscalculate this and we could be over. Osborn doesn’t need much to spin things against us. Whatever we do, we do it right.” If Steve were here he would have told him whatever it takes. But once again, he wasn’t. “If you have a secret identity, you may want to consider telling your loved ones.” Sam addressed the group. “Or if you can’t, let us know and we’ll find away to keep them safe. I’m sorry, Peter, really, but this isn’t about you. Osborn’s making an example out of you and it’s a real piece of shit thing to do. This has got to be our wake up call, guys. Things can turn and fast.”

JESSICA: Jess didn’t flinch as Peter lashed out. Had it been her she would have done worse, green energy tearing holes in everything around her. For a long time she had wrestled with the  fact that she had almost never had a secret identity. She longed for anonymity but was also grateful to avoid things like this. “Norman Osborn is not a good guy where I come from. We can talk about it later, if you want.” As much as Jess tried to keep reality separate it couldn’t be avoided tonight. She and Peter B. had decided long ago that some things should be kept secret. Not lied about, per se, but what happened to Peter B.’s Gwen had never been something this Peter needed to bear. With everything happening now some truths may have been inevitable.  Catching Gwen’s eye over his shoulder, Jess gave her a look before rising and facing Carol and Steve to listen in on their conversation.

GWEN: Gwen wasn’t really sure why she was being passed the baton, but she did know being a teenaged spider person sucked.  She had seen frustration and fear in her Peter and it scared her to see it again, but she did the best to shake the feeling off. Webbing quickly shot the mask into her hands, and Gwen placed it in front of him once more. “The point of this is that you get out there and help people. Your mask is your badge, even if you don’t need to wear it. I think you need some air, Peter.”

PETER: “Well it definitely feels like it’s about me! That’s my face on your phone! Who knows how many people have seen this.” Finally Peter loosened the grip on his phone and let it drop back to the table with a thud. He didn’t want to believe that Norman would do something like this, not something so personal. The harder he tried to ignore that horrible feeling deep in his gut, the worse it got. He took a long glance at Jess as she moved away, not offering her up either a yes or no– but filing away the invitation for later. As Gwen moved closer he fought hard against his urge to move away before she reached him. It would have been so easy to tell her to leave him alone. But he stayed. He let her grab hold of his mask and through the mess of brown curls covering his eyes, he found himself unable to look away as she held it out to him. His lungs were still taking in harsh shallow breaths. He was still angry. But she was right– he needed some air. ”–fine. Peter picked up his phone and turned to head out of the room without grabbing his mask, and without bothering to see if Gwen would follow him. It was hard to tell if he wanted to be alone right now or not. The feelings of loneliness and being completely stifled were too hard to separate. Every feeling was, truthfully.

H.A.M.M.E.R: It started with the peeling of an alarm. Some kind of sirens were blaring and then there was the pounding of boots that never heralded anything good. We’re here under the authorization of C.R.A.D.L.E. in regards to S.315,  the Underage Superhuman Welfare Act, an amplified voice accompanied the sound of the door being ripped open before H.A.M.M.E.R. agents inundated the room. “This is Carolina Washington, C.R.A.D.L.E. officer.” A woman shouldered her way to the front with her weapon raised. “We were made aware that underaged heroes who have not yet complied with the law were converging here. We need to bring them in to register. Please, let’s do this the easy way.”

CAROL: Carol jumped to her feet so quickly that her chair kicked out from under her and landed cockeyed on the floor. The alarm blared in her ears, a torrent of sound that was as startling as it was telling. She didn’t bother paying mind to the introduction; when a gun was raised at her, she didn’t quite care for formalities. “I think the time for doing things the right way has passed, Sam.” Carol tossed over her shoulder.

PETER: Peter made it about two steps before he sensed it. Eyes that were once glued to the floor shot up and landed on the doors just before they were slashed open. He glanced back to the rest of the group, to his friends and the people his age that they were here for. It only took a moment for Peter’s face to harder with resolve, and now he was going to the right (or maybe very stupid) thing. Once he turned back around he shot out webbing and swung himself to the center of the room to place himself in front of the CRADLE officers. “Yeah? Well I’m Peter Parker– but I guess you already knew that didn’t you?” He held out his arms wide out at his sides, almost inviting them to come at him. “I would say that it’s nice to meet you Carolina, but it’s really not. So why don’t you just get outta here, and leave my friends alone. I’m in a really crappy mood.”

H.A.M.M.E.R.: “It’s nice to meet you, Peter Parker.” Carolina replied coolly, one hand signaling her men. “I thought your face looked familiar.” They had brought collars, already prepped and warned by the telepath they were working with on what to expect. It had been a precaution to bring back-up with them, Star of the American Avengers and the Goblin Queen of the American X-Men as back-up. “You and your friends are going to follow the law now and come with us.”

RIPLEY: Carol was here, but Ripley didn’t really feel like saying hi. The hot brunette from the bar was as well but this was business and needed to be treated as such. “Collar.” The word left bored lips as the newly minted Avenger pointed towards a female mutant in a ridiculous coat, a collar solidifying around her throat a second later. “Next?”

PETER: “Yeah, that’s me. Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you didn’t set that picture of me as your lockscreen.” He took one more determined step closer and then criss-crossed his arms, each hand aiming at the guns closest to him to send webbing flying towards them. It sealed the ends of the barrels. He didn’t dare look behind him, but he hoped this was giving them all enough time to find another way out. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

ILLYANA: Oh, she was so not into this. “C’mon, you. Time to go.” Illyana took a step closer to Scott and Jean, her overall purpose there to make sure they could get the baby back unharmed. There was a flash of light before she dipped and took the Grey-Summers family with her.

LANA: “@#$@#.” Gloved hands clawed at Lana’s throat. “Seriously? Me first?” She looked to Nate as if he had some way to remove a collar.

KATE: No, they weren’t. Phasing through the floor, Kate maneuvered until she was just beneath one of the agents, reemerging with enough force that she knocked his weapon from his hand and took it into her own. Aiming it at Carolina, she tightened her finger on the trigger. “You brought a gun to a mutant fight; I’m not really sure how you planned on winning this one.”

RIPLEY: “With a little extra firepower.” Ripley moved fast enough to materialize behind Kate, crimson eyes trained on the gun.  “That gun doesn’t work.” The red in her chest flared up in a  moment of red intensity before a smile settled over her lips.

GWEN: Her body rippled as the black of her suit overtook the white, pink threading down the material. “Love the energy Pete, really, but maybe less angst and more focus?” Her symbiote always whispered louder in her ear when she let it manifest like that but they weren’t going to rip anyone in half tonight. “Maybe we need to go somewhere as in away from here and their guns.”

CABLE: Nate’s first instinct was to grab his gun and aim it right at the person who put the color on Lana. His second instinct was to try and get the collar off of her. And his second instinct won. He quickly grabbed her and teleported the two of them into the farthest corner of the room, then immediately dove into trying to find a way to help her– even though he already knew that there wasn’t. “I can’t–” Nate didn’t finish his sentence, both hands on the device at her throat as he looked back towards the rest of the action. “I’m sorry.” He was scared– for both her and himself. Getting collared meant that he would be helpless to save himself against the metal clawing his way through his body.

KATE: With an annoyed cock to her brow, Kate pulled the trigger just for good measure and lo and behold, a string of bubbles came out of the chamber. Not exactly the kickback she was looking for. With a frustrated grunt, Kate shifted her grip on the gun and spun, aiming to knock Ripley right in the mouth with it.

LANA: “Oh, @#$@# this. You have to go.” Lana forced herself to say words she really didn’t want to. She knew about his stupid sickness and what it did. “I’ve done this bullshit before. I’m going to be fine.” Because she was an incurable dumbass she fired off one test shot but the hot flash of pain nearly made her vision go black. There was no way she’d be able to get it off of herself. “Please don’t apologize. We’ve already died together once and I’m really @#$@# over this whole thing. So, go.”

CABLE: “I–” Nate cringed when she tried to get the collar off. He shouldn’t have to leave her like this. Frustration took over and his metal hand clenched into a fist before he punched the wall closest to him, leaving a noticeable dent. “Shit. Don’t do anything too stupid, alright?” He forced himself to take in a deep breath and then planted a kiss on her lips before backing away. “I’ll see you soon.” Nate took one last look at her and then activated the device on his wrist, disappearing in a flash of blue light.

RIPLEY: As the gun connected with her face Ripley frowned slightly, grateful she had already protected herself earlier. “Okay, first off, no thank you.” She grabbed Kate’s wrist, twisting it so she could throw the woman backwards towards the wall. Was she powerful? Sure. New to all of  this? To an extent. Her only main fight had been Carol  and everyone knew how that had ended. “I liked you better when you weren’t trying to be a hero.” She hissed, stepping back to survey the room. There was a flash of blue as someone teleported away. Gaze settling on the person left behind, Ripley shook her head. “Time to go to sleep.” The body hitting the ground meant she could move onto the next fighting hero.

PETER: “You go then!” Peter shouted back to Gwen as he webbed two more guns and yanked them out of the officers’ grip. “They already know who I am. This way everyone else has a chance to get out.”

CAROL: The hole the wall made when Kate collided with it suggested that Ripley was more overpowered than Carol originally thought. Honestly, she was surprised Kate didn’t go right through it, either phasing or not. Redirecting her focus, Carol allowed her powers to ignite, illuminating her palms as she aimed the energy blasts straight for Ripley, not bothered by the guards she’d have to go through to get to her. There was a bit of a personal vendetta there, her anger at a lower simmer. “Now’s probably a great time to get out of here.” She tossed at Sam. If it ended up just being the two of them, then so be it.

GWEN: “Oh shut up. I’m not going to leave you.” Not again, her mind filled in. She couldn’t let down yet another Peter Parker. Her dad was completely and totally going to murder her when he found out what was going on. Her suit was moving alongside her webbing but the emission of a high pitched buzz drove her to her knees as the symbiote squirmed and tried to separate from her.

SAM: Shields didn’t work very well in confirmed spaces and Sam couldn’t use it without potentially taking out an ally as well. “I always say no man left behind and these are kids.” That being said, they weren’t looking good. One was already being dragged out collared and unconscious  and the last thing they needed was for anyone else to get hurt. “Any last ditch plans, Cap?”

RIPLEY: Now that one hurt. Ripley’s mouth was tugged into frown as she glared at Carol, pulling herself to her feet. The C.R.A.DL.E. agents were already removing some of the minors but this pointless violence was tiring. “The best thing you can do is let them come with us. They’re safer in a holding cell registering than here where an accident can happen.” To emphasize her point an agent cranked up the volume on the buzz device. “Can we end this now?”

CAROL: Lowering her first, Carol let the charge in her arm die down a bit as Ripley stood back up. She all but shook it off and as Carol’s eyes scanned the room, she almost felt like her desire to push Ripley back was only going to compromise the people around her. And not to mention the building itself. They weren’t outside, they weren’t even in a very large room. As much as she wanted to unload on her, Carol damped the power and shot at Ripley again. Nothing debilitating, but until she focused on her, Carol was going to keep shooting at her. “Leave us and take as many kids as you can. If I can keep her occupied, she can’t control the kids. I don’t know if there’s another option here.”

PETER: Dammit, Gwen. Peter kept his jaw clenched painfully shut to make sure he didn’t snap at her. This was his fight. He was hit hard and he wanted to hit back– and it was better to do that alone. But his anger-fueled adrenaline was beginning to die down, and as it did the rest of the room came into focus. Carol’s blast caught his attention and suddenly, he realized just how stupid this idea of his had been. He wasn’t going to win this one, not without causing more harm than good. He opened his mouth to reply to Gwen when the same high-pitched sound hit him, and he instinctively slammed both hands over his ears to try and block it out. ”No!” She fell to her knees and all Peter could do was watch her and her symbiote struggle. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. “Alright, stop! Stop it! I won’t fight you, just– turn it off!”

RIPLEY: “Would you - knock - it- off??” Ripley raised her voice more than she had before. “Your shots are bouncing back.” Exasperation lined her tone. One day she’d need to learn to rewrite reality without literally having to telegraph what she was planning on doing verbally. “There! That’s the spirit. Let’s all be more like Peter.”

H.A.M.M.E.R: “I’m sorry, Captain, but he won’t be leaving with any of the children. We’re here under direct orders from the United States government.” Carolina said. A gloved agent knelt down to put a collar on the symbiote clothed teenager before another roughly grabbed another underaged hero. “Believe it or not, this is the best course of action for everyone. As an official Commander under C.R.A.D.L.E. I, Carolina Washington, hereby issue the arrests of Peter Parker, Gwendolyne Stacy, Gwendolyn Poole, Nadia Van Dyne, Laura Kinney, Lana Baumgartner and Jean Grey for failure to comply with S.315,  the Underage Superhuman Welfare Act. You will not be read your rights but will be given a full list of legal requirements upon arrival at our facilities. Any further attempts of violence will result in extended consequences. Do we have any other questions?”

GWEN: The sound was gone but they had put a collar on her. Gwen had no powers of her own anymore. Whatever they clamped around her neck was emitting some kind of frequency that stopped the symbiote from being able to compose itself. A few spiders wandered off of her, creeping down across the floor. “Do not be like Peter.” She moaned despite her cotton mouth. As in, Peter go.

SAM: This was a fresh layer of bullshit if they thought that they could waltz in, bang up some kids and then just cart them off to god knows where to do things on their terms. “Some of  these heroes aren’t American, they’re Krakoan. And Empress Neramani isn’t from Earth at all. You better watch what you guys are walking into.”

H.A.M.M.E.R.: “We know exactly what we’re walking into. The law states that any underaged hero operating on American soil is liable and able to be tried. These mutants were born American citizens. They’re under our jurisdiction. But thank you for reminding me of Empress Neramani.” Her gaze drifted over to the feathered Shi’ar. “We have received express permission from Cal’syee Neramani to take Xandra into custody as she is both half mutant and also far underage.” Family politics were messy, but Carolina just followed orders. She was a clean-up specialist, after all. “Your resistance will be noted and recorded.”

CAROL: The glow she was emitting didn’t die down this time as Carol approached Carolina, getting right up in her face. In the corner of her eye, she kept Ridley in sight, ready to send her supercharged ass flying if she had to. “You can take your Act and shove it up your ass for all I care. If you’re going to take these kids, you’re going to have to arrest me too, because I’m not letting you leave with them.”

RIPLEY: Theatrics. That’s all superheroes were. Theatrical little bitches who thought the Earth  orbited around them. Ripley could get into her hatred of Carol Danvers and all she stood for, but at that moment there was more to focus on. The Stone was twitching in her chest and her head snapped to the side to see the Scarlet Witch with magic glowing around her fingers. Could Wanda kick Ripley’s ass? Definitely. Did Ripley get the element of surprise? Definitely. One  word and the brunette went down and the blonde prayed they’d leave before she got back up. With her attention returned to Carol, two words were spoken under her breath before lasers erupted from her eyes and clipped Carol in the temple.

CAROL: If Carolina even made a move, Carol was going to put her fist through her chest. It was impossible not to be seething, to watch the kids, who were barely old enough to even have mastered their abilities, be taken into custody for them. She didn’t battle Thanos or the X-men just for people to be robbed of their freedom, especially not by those who Carol knew were more than eager to weaponize them. Or something worse. In a split moment of distraction, Carol took her focus off of Ripley just in time for her to knock her with a laser blast, forcing her off her planted stance. As she fought to regain her footing, all the energy Carol had been carefully suppressing erupted, engulfing her in one fell swoop. Without thinking, without taking it into care, Carol just shot a mega beam right back at her, her emotions getting the better of her.

PETER: This.. definitely didn’t go as he had wanted it to. Even though the sound wasn’t nearly as devastating to him as it was to Gwen and her suit, it had slowed him down enough that they slipped the collar on her without him being able to stop them. It shifted to a low hum that he was sure was still loud to her, and once he refocused he felt his stomach twist into knots. He looked to her with disbelief and panic as he realized that they were losing. He didn’t want to leave them. Even though he was scared, he was stubborn and defiant and pissed off. But there were other heroes here that were sticking their neck out for them, and because of that.. maybe it was wrong to simply let himself get taken. His mind was full of paradoxes. But Carol was doing a nice job distracting them, which was exactly what he needed right now. “Sorry–” He mumbled a pained last word to Gwen and then took off, aiming for the ceiling to swing over and kick one of the officers down to make an opening for himself. He easily broke the glass on the closest window and then flung through it, not looking back.

ERIK: If there was one thing Erik hadn’t expected to see, it was Wanda being taken down. His daughter was a force to be reckoned with, but this whole situation was new and strange and tonight wasn’t the time to get into what made sense or not. He quickly made his way over to her, ready to fight back if he was met with any resistance as he gently scooped her off the ground. Neither of them were the targets right now, and he was thankful for that as he got them out to head back to Krakoa.

RIPLEY: “Jesus fucking —” the blast from Carol was strong enough to send Ripley tumbling head over heels through the wall. It was yet another reason to despise Carol Danvers even though she had far too many already. For a moment she just laid on the ground spitting out chunks of plaster. She could hear Carolina running her fat mouth and some glass was broken.  Despite the suit and ability to rewrite reality she was new to this. Being some fake ass Avenger wouldn’t change that. Her bones cried out in protest as she pulled herself to her feet, already commanding herself to heal. “You know,” Ripley staggered back into the main room as she  wiped some blood off of her face with one arm. “I really want to kill you. Like really, really want to but they said no. Our rematch can wait for another day. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going down. Hard. And when you wake up you’re going to have a nasty headache. Sweet dreams, bitch.” Whatever cosmic power fueled her words took its toll before Ripley straightened and shoved a few locks of hair out of her eyes. “Wrap this up, Washington. Now.”

KATE: The force that Ripley had used to shove Kate back and into the nearest wall had come too fast and too hard and she hadn’t been able to will her body to phase through it in time. Though Kate didn’t know how it would matter — she would’ve either skidded on the floor outside or smacked into another wall. The impact had been powerful enough that it had knocked her out, only coming to to watch Carol crumble and collapse in a heap on the floor. A heart punched in her chest as adrenaline forced her to her feet, pushing through the aches and pains that wanted to keep her ass planted where it was. The impact had been strong enough that she’d either broken her arm or dislocated it, but she just held it as more agents rounded up kids and Ripley kept those who would fight back at bay. “I don’t think we can win this.” she said, not knowing if her voice carried over the commotion.

H.A.M.M.E.R.: The last of the underaged heroes were being collared, cuffed and carted away.  An agent had manage to subdue Sam Wilson and handcuff him to a chair and Carol Danvers was also down. “No, Miss Pryde.” Carolina shook her head. “You’re not going to.”  At her command an agent ambled over to the mutant and grabbed her by the injured arm for leverage before slapping a collar on her throat. “It’s set to turn itself off in an hour. Expect to feel weak and dizzy in the meantime. We very well could have taken you in, but Ms. Frost asked us to avoid doing so if at all possible.” Now that the room was nearly emptied, Carolina regarded the two remaining heroes with a slightly aloof smile. “We’ll be issuing a statement later about the minors. Until then, have a nice evening.” With the heels of her boots crunching over broken glass, Carolina and the H.A.M.M.E.R. agents left.

SAM: Nothing had gone according to plan, and now they had lost six people and an intergalactic diplomat. Carol was out cold and Pryde wasn’t looking too hot either. The Inhumans had escaped with Lockjaw near the beginning and the Asgardians had also left.  Reed and Sue bailing with their kid made sense; they had to get her home. But the others? Sam couldn’t swallow his guilt. He couldn’t even wipe the blood that  was dripping off his temple, the dark skin above his eye turning purple already from the butt of a gun that had taken him down for a few minutes. With both his hands cuffed to the table, it really felt more like a humiliation and a warning. Try to intervene and this is what happens. “Jesus.” He exhaled in one heavy breath. Back-up would be coming shortly to help them assess the situation, but it was too late. They lost. Now they just needed to see where they could go from here.

[yconic]

I don't think you understand how much I love the concept of single dad Tony being protected by his kids, because, quite frankly, they don't think anyone is good enough for him. And the list of possibilities on how he becomes a single parent is infinite, but I personally prefer the one where he adopts on his own, be it because the kids were left on his doorstep or because he picks them up from an orphanage.

That being said, I loved this concept so much I came up with an AU for it! It's kinda like this:

A nonpowered AU where Tony always loved baking because he always used to do it with people that he loved. Maria and Jarvis used to bake all the time when he was a kid and he'd always stay in the kitchen to help them and have some bonding time together since Maria used to be busy working and baking hours were almost the only times she was free.

So you best believe Tony opens a bakery as soon as he graduates! Ever since he was a little kid he'd save up for it and kept it up in adulthood because he wanted to build something with his own money since Howard always used to say he couldn't do anything on his own. So he buys a busted up building, and makes it into his dream.

Everything goes smoothly for a year or so. The business prospers, Tony's got himself an apartment, finally moved out of Rhodey's basement. ("You know I don't mind if you stay for a day or two more.") ("Awww, admit it, you love having me around!") ("I changed my mind, have your bags ready to go by morning you fucking menace.") ("I love you too, Platypus.") He's doing pretty good financially. It all goes great!

Until it doesn't.

One day, two kids walk in. They can't be older than nine, their clothes are obviously hand-me-downs, and they're ogling the pastries like they're some kind of never seen treasure. They're siblings, Tony can tell that much. He doesn't want to be an asshole and assume they're here to do what he thinks .

He can count on one hand the number of times he walked into a store and the manager or the stuff followed his every move with their unkind eyes, subtly (not so) trying to make it seem like they're busy in the area he was at. But it was obvious they expected him to snatch something and dash out of the store. Their behavior made Tony feel helpless, unwelcomed and inferior, like someone like him had no place in a place like that.

He didn't want to act like those assholes, so he welcomed the kids with a smile, deciding to give them the benefit of the doubt.

They snatched some pies and dashed out the door in a blink.

He chases after them of course, not with the intention of dragging them to the police or give slapping them a new one like Howard would've done. Not for something as simple as pies. But he well knows he wouldn't have taken if they stole money, either.

Tony is convinced that if his father was alive, he would've called him weak, soft, a disappointment, for just wanting to pull them aside and ask them why they did it, ask if they needed help, as Tony planned on doing. It was clear they were in a desperate situation, otherwise the thievery wouldn't have been done.

After an hour or so of chasing, where Tony had to stop two times because damn the kid with silver hair was fast, they barge into an old orphanage. It was obvious the building's seen better days, if the paint peeling off the cracked walls and broken windows covered with rotten planks was anything to go by.

He explains the incident to the woman who runs the place as he looks around, bottom of his shoes sticking to the dirty floors and the overwhelming smell of mold invaded his nostrils, making his stomach clench in disgust. The children in there look like they haven't seen a bath and warm meal in weeks, some in their lives.

It's unbearably infuriating how the staff acts like everything is normal, ignoring how the kids were obviously unhappy and in need of care, as they lead him to the room where Pietro and Wanda were.

He learned their names when they were practically spat by the director, and that they were Sokovian refugees, sent to America by parents who didn't want their children to bask in the violence and bloodshed of war. The room the twins lived was small, two bunk beds and a single closet.

The duo was on the floor, scarfing down the pie they grabbed with two other kids, younger than them, Tony noted. The twins noticed he was there, but their eyes were downcasted on the ground, refusing to look at him.

With his mind made up, Tony turns to the director, no trace of hesitation in his voice "I want to adopt them." He wants to yell when she practically hands them over like a pair of unwanted, old jeans, barely even letting the ink dry on the adoption papers.

The first two months are tough on them all. It's hard for them to accommodate to a normal home after spending so much time in a house full of neglect, hostility, and constant state of unsafety. The fact that they got three meals a day bewildered them, that Tony didn't yell, or hit them confused them, and Tony's heart broke every time.

The situation improved as time passed, with gentleness and patience, with love and acceptance of differences and difficult pasts, leaving them behind and looking forward, they build a small but united family. And unknown to them, it will extend with a new member on the night of December 24th.

It's Christmas and Pietro's was on the couch, playing video games with his head on Wanda's lap as she was reading a book, waiting for Tony to come back from work, when the doorbell rang so insistently Wanda smacked him on the back of his head, ordering him to open the door.

"Uh, " Pietro dragged the sound out, eyes glued to the crib on the doormat, where a pair of big, brown eyes stared back at him, just as puzzled as he was "Hey, Wanda?! There's a baby on our doorstep! I'm bringing him inside to adopt him so I can take his allowance!"

"That's nice, Pi," Wanda replied, absentmindedly flipping the page of her novel, "you better share it with me, shithead," but immediately her eyes winded in realization, standing up in a hurry "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

"I FOUND A BABY ON OUR DOORSTEP!'' Pietro yelled, emphasizing his point by literally shoving the baby in her face, who immediately began to cry at the loud noise.

"DON'T YELL AT ME! YOU MADE HIM CRY!''

"YOU YELLED AT ME FIRST! "

Right then, Tony entered the apartment holding grocery bags which he desperately fought for against Susan, the annoying neighbor from above, only to be welcomed by a shouting match "What's all this yelling?! I can hear you guys from across the, --" he dropped the bags the minute he saw Pietro holding a baby. A human baby. A breathing, human baby.

"What's, " He started after a moment of silence, pointing at the crying babe in his son's arm "that?"

"Um, 'that' is a he, and his name is Peter! Can we keep him, dad? I want to steal his allowance and birthday presents. And stick his dirty diapers in Wanda's mouth when she's sleeping."

"Do that, and it'll be the last thing you do."

"What's it doing in my house? " Tony asked, taking the fragile baby in his arms, and the cries immediately stopped. The little hands hooked on his shirt tightly, having no intention of letting go. Heart melting, he smiled down at the baby boy, steading him in his arms "you said his name was Peter?"

"Yep! It was written on the note attached to the crib. We found him on our doorstep. We're keeping him, right?"

"Please, dad?" Wanda chimed in "he's so cute! And I might finally have the servant Pietro was supposed to be!"

"Hey, fuck you, alright? But yeah dad, let's keep him! I always wanted a brother! Please? I said please, so you know how much I want this."

"Oh, kids, I don't know, " Tony whispered, eyes warm as he looked at Peter who was playing with his index finger, trying to bite into it with his squishy gums. Looking at the twins, he wasn't surprised to find a set of begging puppy eyes staring at him. There was no changing their minds.

Sighing, he smiled "Hope you guys like smelly diapers and midnight wake up calls." Susan complained about the noise of their cheer and the thud after the kids tackled him in a hug. Tony couldn't bring himself to give a fuck, though.

-

Two years later, standing in his bakery, laughing with Pietro and Wanda while they told him about their day at school, between bickering with each other, of course, preparing cakes with a happy two year old Peter in his arms, Tony couldn't be happier with his decision.

He had a family. A happy family, nonetheless. After so many years, Tony can say he's nothing like Howard, he can say his kids are content, he can say they're safe and comfortable, and happy with him. Tony made sure to give them everything Howard didn't give him. It couldn't get any better than that.

"Dad, don't look now, but that blonde over there has been checking you out for the past hour or so, " Wanda whispered to him with a smile on her face, gesturing to a blonde man drawing in a corner. Their eyes met for a brief second before he moved his eyes away in a flash, red dusting his cheeks and neck.

The baker snorted, passing Peter to a glaring Pietro, who pinned the man down with a stony gaze before 'hmph' ing. Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn't question him, instead hurrying to serve the apple pie and hot chocolate to the artist (?). Giving the other man a friendly smile, he set the order on the table.

"Apple pie and hot chocolate, right? Interesting combo, If I do say so myself, " Tony commented with a small chuckle. The blue-eyed man finally looked up. Tony could get lost in the sea of his eyes, as cliche as that sounds.

He chuckled, thought it was a tad nervous, and played with the circles that held his sketchbook together, blush still flaming on his porcelain fair skin. "You've never prepared weird orders before?"

"Weird isn't the word I'd use, but I had. One time, a guy told me to shred some cheddar cheese on his chocolate muffin. I still want to puke everything I think about it." Tony laughed at the memory, Pepper's deranged face appearing in his mind.

The other man laughed "Oh, that's not good, " he extended his hand, giving Tony a smile that made him weak in the knees "I'm Steve. Wanna sit down and tell me horror stories about disgusting food orders?"

Turning to his kids to see what they thought about it, he got a thumbs up from Wanda and some clapping from Peter. In the meantime, Pietro shrugged, not taking his piercing eyes off Steve, but he softened, shrugging his shoulders.

His eyes fell back on his Steve, the corners of his mouth lifting as he sat down "I'd love to!"

[doctortreklock]

I’ve Been a Fool and I Have Been Blind - February 20, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Phil goes on five dates...and marries the man of his dreams (summary of x - title x)

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Words: 3665

"You need to get out more," Nick informed him flatly.

Phil scowled. A little. With a twitch of his right eyebrow. "Just because I leave the office before 8 once or twice a quarter does not mean I have time to date," he told his best friend flatly.

Nick blinked his eye once, attempting to make it look casual, but Phil knew he was surprised. "When was the last time you got laid, Cheese?"

Phil's entire face scowled this time. "None of your damn business, Marcus."

Fury whistled. "A while then."

Phil huffed out a breath and settled back into the chair across from the Director's desk. "I need a drink," he admitted, loosening the knot of his tie an imperceptible amount. He paused, then loosened it several inches more.

Nick frowned in concern and pulled a bottle of scotch and a pair of glasses out of the bottom right drawer of his desk. He poured them both a finger, then - when Phil's eyebrow glared balefully at him - added two more to the senior agent's glass. He slid it across the desk towards Phil. "You need a date," he countered.

Phil snorted and snatched the glass from the edge of the desk before draining half of it in one go and sighing deeply as he relaxed further into the recesses of the chair. "And where do you suppose I go about finding one of those?" he asked. His tone was flippant and casual, but he kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid he swirled in the glass.

Nick retreated back into his own chair and sipped his scotch before humming in consideration. "You could go somewhere new and see who you find there," he offered.

Phil's mouth twisted. "And where am I going to find the time to go to new places?" he snapped. "Barton and I have a mission in Chile tomorrow."

Fury smiled enigmatically. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he drawled.

--

The "new places" thing Nick had come up with had absolutely not worked.

Phil had ventured to a new coffee shop the next morning and had doggedly attempted to "see who he found there." What he'd found were co-eds, failed screenwriters, and a hoard of busy businesspeople, none of whom gave more than a passing glance to a balding, middle-aged man in a suit.

There had been one woman there who had given him the half-interested once-over that had defined his social life to date. His dating history skewed male, but he had dated one or two women before (he considered himself a solid Kinsey 5), so that wasn't necessarily a deal-breaker. He had smiled and she had blinked, then returned it. He had flirted and she had responded and he had asked if she wanted to get a drink sometime. She had looked at him appraisingly and had agreed and they had set a time for drinks three days later. Phil had made his excuses and hurried back to HQ so he could get on a plane to South America.

Evac had been scheduled for thirty-six hours after they arrived in Chile. Phil's drinks date with Susan had been scheduled for seventy-four hours after they arrived in Chile.

Thirty-nine hours after they arrived in Chile, Phil successfully rescued himself and his bleeding sniper from the clutches of the local cartel. Forty-three hours after they arrived in Chile, they finally made it to the secondary evac point. At fifty-seven hours, Clint was safely ensconced in medical. At fifty-eight hours, Phil settled himself, his work tablet, and his book next to his agent's bedside for the long-haul. At fifty-nine hours, Phil started enumerating to his unconscious agent all the reasons why a, Phil had never been to South America, and b, why Phil would never go to South America again, complete with addendum c, why Clint would never be allowed to return to South America on his watch. At sixty-one hours, Clint woke up from his medically drugged sleep and shot a sleepy smile at his handler before falling unconscious again. At sixty-five hours, Clint woke up again and told Phil that he needed to go lay down before he fell down and get some honest-to-god sleep. At sixty-six hours, Phil flopped down on the couch in his office and fell instantly asleep.

Seventy-eight hours after they arrived in Chile, Phil blinked himself awake, yawned drowsily, checked the time on his phone, groaned in realization, and gave up on the whole date as a bad idea.

--

But now that Nick had gotten the idea of dating stuck in his head again, Phil found it was remarkably difficult to shake loose. Every time he thought about it, though, it got more and more terrifying.

"Do you know how many people there are in New York?" Phil demanded. "How are you supposed to find someone it might work out with from a pool of 8.6 million? And that's just limiting it to one city! There is a literal world of possibilities."

Jasper ignored him and poked around in his cheesy fries for the one with the most bacon on it.

"I'm serious," Phil told him, kicking him lightly under the table. "Jasper."

His friend sighed and abandoned his quest. "Phil, most of the people in New York are too old, too young, seriously taken, or not attracted to your gender," he explained flatly. "Your eligible dating pool is much smaller than you think."

Phil groaned and buried his face in his hands. Jasper selected the nearest fry with at least two pieces of bacon on it. With the rate Phil was going, they would all be cold before he got a chance to finish if he persisted in sorting through them.

Before his friend could have the uncharacteristic meltdown that Jasper could see brewing (and that would subsequently ruin his chances for even semi-warm fries), he tossed out a suggestion. "Try finding someone you have something in common with and start there."

"Maybe," Phil said, his voice muffled by his hands. Jasper shrugged and ate another fry.

--

His name was Marco, and he owned a complete run of 1975-78 "Captain America's Howling Commandos" kids magazines, complete with tear-out trading cards.

They had met once briefly at a convention in '07 and had frequented the same forums for a decade. Phil had first noticed Marco when he had written a long, well-annotated post about Peggy Carter's role in the formation of modern intelligence agencies and had cited three of Phil's own posts on the subject. One comment led to another and the two had kept up an amicable, if casual, relationship since. It wasn't more than a half-dozen conversations a year about collectibles that popped up on the market and the rudeness of some of the new Cap fans, but it was some form of human interaction outside of work.

Phil had carefully considered Jasper's words, and had brought up the idea of coffee with Marco. The other man had seemed open to the idea, so the conversation had proceeded to planning. Marco consistently had time Tuesday mornings and Thursday evenings, but Phil was usually on the practice range with Clint Tuesday mornings and they usually watched new episodes of Dog Cops Thursday nights. Marco had some time next week, but Strike Team Delta was going to be in Pakistan. Phil could have an evening two weeks after that, but Marco had a work conference.

After two months of conflicting schedules and last-minute cancellations, they quietly and mutually agreed that it was best to just ignore the whole thing.

--

Melinda had no patience for any of Phil's whining today.

She rarely had patience for complaints from anyone except, on occasion, her boyfriend, but dear gods in heaven Phil Coulson was not usually this irritating.

After the fourth time she put him flat on the mat in fifteen minutes, she gave up on any hope of a good workout today.

"Try dating someone with a schedule as weird as yours," she snapped as she stalked out of the room, leaving Phil wincing on the mat behind her.

--

Chris was an FBI agent.

Phil's work was focused on international threats, with the occasional homegrown mad scientist. The FBI's jurisdiction was strictly domestic, which meant there wasn't much chance of conflict there. Between their schedules, the pair had only been on three dates in five months, but Phil still thought it was going well. Chris knew how to handle a firearm and one of their dates had been at a gun range, where Phil had shown off his aim with a sniper rifle and his date had shot increasingly tighter clusters of bullet holes into paper targets.

Chris was just beginning to break in a new promotion when Phil got called in to take care of an 084 in South Dakota. Chris had the same instructions and Phil didn't hesitate to go toe-to-toe with his datemate and ruthlessly exclude them and their team from the site with nothing more than a coolly raised eyebrow and a smug smirk.

Phil didn't hear from Chris again after that.

--

"Well," Maria said thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "I think I know where you went wrong there."

"Please tell me," Phil said, staring morosely at his coffee mug. "I thought it was going well."

Maria snorted at that. "C'mon, Phil. Just because it hadn't been a train wreck didn't mean it was going well."

"I was having fun. I thought they were having fun." The coffee was still vaguely steaming. Phil wondered how hot it was.

She shook her head and pursed her lips at him. "How many dates did the two of you even go on?"

"Three," he said defiantly. It was more consecutive dates than he'd had with anyone since college. "One dinner, one movie, and one trip to a gun range."

"A gun range," she echoed.

"Yeah. Clint was showing me the--"

"I'm going to stop you right there," she interrupted him. "Did Chris actually want to go shooting?"

Phil frowned. "They weren't opposed to the idea."

She sighed. "Phil...maybe you need to be looking a little closer to home."

Now he was just confused. "Where? Like Manhattan?"

"Like SHIELD," she said pointedly.

Phil considered the idea. "Maybe. I'm pretty sure inter-agency cooperation is a myth, anyway."

He sipped his coffee. It was cold.

--

Phil carefully considered Maria's advice.

The problem with dating inside of SHIELD was that he was a senior agent with level 7 security clearance. There were perhaps a dozen people he could date without there being any potential for conflicts of interest or coercion. Noah Petersen was the head of SHIELD's financial division, overseeing budgeting, HR, and office management.

He was also gay.

It was late on a Friday when he knocked on Petersen's office door.

Petersen took one look at him and said "You better be here about next quarter's projected budgetary deficit, Coulson."

"Actually," Phil started smoothly, "I'm here to ask you to dinner."

"No," he said flatly, then went back to reading through the open file on his desk again.

Phil blinked. "May I ask why not?"

Petersen looked at Phil, sighed heavily, and rubbed the bridge of his nose before waving Phil in. "Let me explain something to you, Coulson. I have worked too hard to get where I am to play second fiddle to anyone. I won't date someone who's hung up on someone else, and trust me," he leveled a knowing look at Phil over his glasses, "you don't actually want me anyway."

"Chris and I weren't--"

But Petersen was waving off his excuse. "I'm not talking about you screwing so-and-so at the FBI," he said.

Phil was lost. "Then I have no idea what you're talking about."

Petersen just looked at him with pity. "You really don't, do you. You poor bastard." He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Unfortunately for you, I really don’t have time for this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the next eighteen months of SHIELD's budget to completely overhaul. Again."

As Phil neared the door, Petersen glanced at him again. "Call if you magically find 3.8 billion dollars."

Phil just nodded and left.

--

Phil was still very confused when he arrived back at his own office.

When he unlocked his door, he found Natasha standing in the middle of his office next to his desk, her arms casually crossed. "That didn't go well," she told him, as if he didn't already know that.

Phil didn't bother asking how she knew what had happened in Petersen's office. She always knew. Though usually when she turned up in his office with obscure knowledge that could only have been gathered by eavesdropping in ventilation ducts, she had Clint in tow. The archer was nowhere to be seen now. Phil frowned slightly at that. He hadn't seen Clint in a while, actually.

"I am aware of that," he told her tersely as he walked around her to sit at his desk, beginning to mentally sort through the files he could take home for the weekend's entertainment.

She didn't reply and he looked up to find her appraising him with one manicured eyebrow slightly raised.

"What?" he asked her defensively.

She put her palms flat on the edge of his desk and leaned down so her face was six inches from her own. She stared coolly at him. He stared blankly back at her.

"Maybe you should try looking closer to home," she told him pointedly, pushing herself vertical again and turning to slink out that door.

"Maria already suggested that," he told her quickly.

Natasha looked back with a sly smile. "Hence Noah Petersen, I take it." She tilted her head, then turned to look him fully in the eye. "Find someone who knows you, Phil. Someone who makes you laugh and knows you inside and out, all the good parts and bad."

Her eyebrows seemed to be trying to communicate some idea to him, but he had absolutely no clue what it could be. He felt like Natasha's meaning was going so far over his head she might as well be having a conversation with the ceiling, but then he usually felt like that when talking to her.

She was searching his face for something, and she must have found it, because she smiled her enigmatic Black Widow smile and vanished through the door.

--

Clint and Jasper were having a late dinner in the caf when Phil found them. He'd spent half an hour staring at the narrow strip of wall above his door and wracking his brains for what Natasha's eyebrows had been trying to tell him. He thought he might have some semblance of an idea.

"Hey, Phil," Clint brightened when he saw him, putting his fork down on his near-empty dessert plate.

"Hey, Clint," Phil replied warmly. "Hey, Jas." He took a seat next to Clint, their shoulders bumping companionably. "What are you guys up to?"

"Barton's telling me about Brussels."

Phil smiled at the memory. "With or without the lemur?"

"Without," Clint said. "We'd be here til next week if I included the lemur."

Phil hummed in agreement, then turned his attention to why he was here. "Jasper, would you--"

"Not a problem," he said cheerfully, standing up with his tray. "I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy."

Phil frowned blankly at him. "Why would I want you to do that? I wanted to ask if you'd consider going on a date with me."

Next to him, Clint froze in the stillness that only a sniper can reach.

Jasper gaped at him. "If I would-- Okay, even if Melinda wouldn't kill me, the answer's still probably not."

Phil squinted at him in confusion. "Melinda?"

"Yes," Jasper said slowly. "Melinda May, my girlfriend."

"When did you start dating Melinda?" Clint rasped next to him in a poor facsimile of his usual energy.

"Seven months ago," Jasper said, but Phil wasn't paying attention. He was looking at Clint in concern, noting the paleness of his face.

"Are you alright, Clint?" he asked in an undertone.

Clint nodded. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

"Phil." Jasper eyed him shrewdly. "Why did you ask me out?"

"I--" Phil reluctantly allowed his attention to be drawn away from Clint. "Everyone's been giving me dating advice. Natasha just told me to find someone who knows me well, and you've been one of my closest friends since Academy."

He could almost see Jasper internally rolling his eyes and letting out a huge sigh. As it was, the other agent closed his eyes for a brief moment before zeroing in on Phil. "Let me tell you something, Phil Coulson," Jasper began, slamming his tray back down on the table and looming in Phil's direction, an unconscious mimicry of Natasha's pose less than an hour before. "You are an idiot."

At this point, Phil was convinced he had absolutely no evidence to the contrary.

"You are," Jasper continued, "without a doubt the most stupid man I have ever had the pleasure to watch sabotage his own love life."

Phil thought that might be going a little far.

"Finding someone to date isn't actually that hard. All you do is look at the people you know. Find someone who knows you so well, they can pick up on your signals from three-quarters of a mile away in the rain."

"Jasper," Clint said softly.

Jasper ignored him. "Find someone who makes you laugh so hard you start chuckling over live comms."

"Jasper," Clint warned louder.

Phil watched Jasper with wide eyes, his brain kicking into high gear as he tried to parse what his friend was telling him.

"Find someone who can do one little thing and make you so happy the junior agents get nervous."

"Please," Clint said.

Phil thought about perfectly completed files in his inbox after every mission, no matter how bad it had been. He thought about waking in medical to a friendly face every time he was injured. He thought about spending the whole day whistling and sending baby agents fleeing before him when Clint first called him "Sir."

"Find someone who you love spending time with so much that they fill up all the blank spots in your calendar before you even noticed they were there."

Phil thought about lessons with sniper rifles and nights watching Dog Cops. He thought about lazy afternoons in his office talking about everything and nothing. He thought about downtime on missions spent wandering foreign cities and staring at cloudless night skies.

"I can't--" Clint broke off.

"Find someone who's so beautiful that when you look at them, you feel like you're staring at the sun."

"Jas," Clint tried again.

Phil thought about strong hands with knobby knuckles and long graceful fingers. He thought about lean athleticism better suited to gymnastics than brawling, but brilliant at both. He thought about the poetry of an archery shot that never missed.

"Find someone who trusts you enough to give you the most painful parts of themselves."

Phil thought about stories of lion tamers and elephants. About orphans and foster homes. About the way seeing a child's face through a sniper scope can change a life forever.

"Don't," Clint told Jasper, almost pleading.

Jasper wasn't swayed. He stared at Phil. "Find someone who cares enough to let you go."

Phil thought about flying to Chile and telling Clint he was thinking about dating again. He thought about never finding Clint when he wanted dating advice. He thought about all the people he'd tried to connect with and how none of them worked out and how Clint seemed to be a common factor in all of them.

"Please," Clint breathed. Phil wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore.

"Find someone who loves you exactly as you are, idiot and all."

"Oh," Phil whispered in sudden, breathtaking realization, and thought about love.

He thought about grey-hazel-blue-green eyes and fresh cups of coffee on his desk. He thought about blood on the floor of a cartel's cell and the subsequent blood that had stained his hands. He thought about trusting an archer enough to feel fletching on his cheek from a half-mile shot.

He thought about three years of tracking and six months of training and seven years of working together. He thought about "trust me" and fifteen hours of silence and a Russian assassin brought in from the cold. He thought about the possibility of someone else asking before he did and the immediate, fierce jealousy that bubbled up.

In short, Phil thought about Clint.

The sniper next to him was still and quiet. Not the heartbreaking stillness of before, right after Phil had asked Jasper out - oh Jasper was right, Phil was such an idiot - but an inward quiet with hunched shoulders and a dipped head, his hands loose in his lap.

He was still breathtaking.

Phil's hands were trembling, but he reached one out and gently touched Clint's arm. The muscles twitched under his fingers, but Clint didn't pull way. Phil slowly trailed his fingers down Clint's arm until he reached his hand. He carefully slipped his fingers across Clint's palm, holding his hand. The archer's hand tightened quickly around his own and Phil could feel Clint take in a deep, shuttering breath.

He squeezed Clint's fingers a little tighter, and Clint leaned into his shoulder.

"Clint." Phil's mouth was dry. "Clint, will you--"

"Yes," Clint rasped.

"My work here is done," Jasper said, brushing his hands off. His loud voice was a jarring contrast to the thin, fragile moment that had built between them. "Ciao!" He picked up his tray again and sauntered away from the table, one hand raised in a jaunty farewell.

Neither man watched him go, both focused on the ball of warmth in the pit of their stomach and the feel of a hand in their own.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Our Lady of the Incarnation

Or, Positive Sum

Summary: Summoned to Ledford Park under false pretenses, Edmund Marlcaster is offered a trade he might be unable to deny.

Rating: K - Content suitable for most ages. Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 2160

Notes: Hello, people of the XXI century. How do you do? A few clarifications, I do not know whether intraracial marriages were in fact abolished in Paraguay under de Francia’s dictatorship (c. 1810 - c. 1836), but I do know that it is a popular folk tale, and I also know that Paraguayans are amongst the most miscigenated populations in South America.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy it!

“And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.”

~ 1 Corinthians 13:2

Edmund Marlcaster rode silently through the dark of the night, the only light being the one from the full moon above him and the only noise was the sound of roofs hitting against the pebbles on the road.

He took a leisure pace, his carriage had suffered an accident on his way to Grovershire a few days ago, and his ribs still felt sore. In fact, if the destination was not so close and the tone of the request was not so urgent, he might had declined.

“Mr Marlcaster,” Theresa had said, on occasion of his father’s wake. “I understand you might not be at your best condition, given all that happened to you those last few days, but my father is becoming impatient about our wedding.”

“Miss Sutton, do you not realize I am burying my father or you simply does not care?!” He asked, on an uncharacteristic harsh tone. She usually tires him, but his response is always cool disinterest.

She, in turn, sighs. “I know, Mr Marlcaster, and I understand. However, it took all of my persuasion to keep him from coming here himself to hand you a demand. If you could only… talk to him, explain that during your closed mourning, it would not be proper for your family to hold a marriage celebration…”

He had to concede that the woman had a point. It was so rare he had to take note of it.

“I cannot travel long distance.” He responded. “I am still unwell from my accident.”

“I understand. That is why I had required of Mr Sinclaire the use of Ledford Park for an evening next week. I am sure I can convince my father to come, and it is not so far as in to be extenuating for you.” She said, and turning into pleading eyes, she continues, “Please, Mr Marlcaster. It is of utmost importance.”

How could he decline such a simple request from his fiancée? To meet her at Ledford Park for an evening. The young man may not care much for Miss Sutton, but he had to admit she was a dotting, loving woman; he owed her at least some deference.

So, he complied. He had the groom saddle him a stable ride and departed through the three-mile road that separated Edgewater from Ledford Park.

Upon arrival, he notes there were three footmen waiting for him at the entrance, what was most unusual. Edmund may not have had many an opportunity to interact with Mr Sinclaire, but he never appeared to be one for such gestures of grandeur.

It must be Miss Sutton’s idea, he dismissed quietly.

As two footmen care for his horse, the third asks to be followed, as his master awaits for him at the study.

When he reaches the room, and the footman disappears, is that he notices it was all a carefully engineered set-up. There were three people inside that room, and neither one of them was Mr Sinclaire or Mr Sutton.

“Good evening, Edmund.” His stepsister greets, smiling wickedly from the chair behind the bureau. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Miss Sutton, what is the meaning of this?!” He barks at his fiancée. “Where is your father?”

The young woman glared in response. “Mind your tongue, Mr Marlcaster! Believe me, I wanted to do much worse. You ought to thank your sister for that deceiving you is the least I am due.”

“Edmund, please.” Miss Daly tries to reason with him, from the right-arm side of her mistress. “Just listen to what Susan has to say. I promise you, it is not something bad.”

What was particularly striking about Briar is that she was not wearing her uniform, but she also did not seemed to be wearing anything a servant might on their holy days. No, instead she wore a royal blue dress, highly embroidered and decorated.

It was so fancy that, if not for the perfect measurements on her figure, she would have swore it was a loan or a donation from Lady Susan.

“It seems it is you I have to blame for this whole spectacle.” He glares, furious, at the natural daughter of his stepfather. “Very well, then. What is that so important that you have to tell me, Miss Beauchamp?”

She smiles like a lioness closing on her prey. “Edmund, please. We are supposed to be family. You can call me Susan.”

“Miss Beauchamp, please.” He growled.

“Very well, as you wish.” She smirked, stood up and walked around the Bureau, in a pensive fashion. “Tell me, Edmund, do you know where the Parana River is located?”

He huffed. “No, and I do not see how that relates to anything.”

“I am getting there, I am getting there.” She smirked and then pointed a map hung on the side of the study. “It is in southern America, between the old colonies of Portugal and Spain, up the estuary of Rio de la Plata.”

Susan walks around the bureau once more and sits back on the chair. “Say, Edmund, would you not mind to take a seat? This would be much easier on both of us.”

As if on cue, and perhaps exactly like that, Miss Daly sat on one of the chairs in front of Susan, while Miss Sutton retained her sneering post on the left corner of the study.

Feeling the tiredness of his ribcage, he begrudgingly complied with a chair next to Briar.

“As I was saying, some nine hundred miles from the mouth of Rio de la Plata, up the Parana River, lays a small village named Encarnación, at the Intendancy of Paraguay. Lovely place, I am told.” She smirked once again, probably out of her own inner joke. “A few years back, I have you hear, their ruler decided to outlaw marriages between any two locally-born Whites. Their men often marry Indians. Isn’t this so very curious?”

“Very.” He grunts. “Again, what does any of this have to do with any of us being here?”

“You see, Edmund, my mother and I were not completely destitute, she could amass some savings out of a lifetime of work. That, coupled with a generous loan from Mr Sinclaire, was just enough to buy a sizeable chunk of land, just outside Encarnación.”

“I see. Are you sailing to the New World, then?” He questions, a tone of hope on his voice.

“Not really.” She responds. “You see, I never hated you. If anything, I pitied you. A mother who did not care for you, a stepfather who would take more to a daughter he never seen before than the son he raised from age five. The only person who loved you, and whom you loved in return, was dead and buried.

“Furthermore, you have no tact for business or administration. You were positively lost with the legers at Edgewater under the watchful eye of the Earl, now that you are alone, you would absolutely wreck the books. And if you did think I would not notice your infatuation with my maid, you are more naïve than I thought.”

Briar chooses that moment to interlock her fingers on his and to smile kindly at him.

“Given our situation regarding the Earl’s last will, and your mother’s delusions, I am here to offer you a way out, so to speak.” She opens a drawer and fetches a few papers. “There is a ship that sails from Liverpool in a fortnight, headed towards Buenos Aires. From there, it is a three-day journey upstream to Encarnación.”

“Susan wants you to leave.” Theresa blurts out, and, under the intense glare of the aforementioned woman, retracts with a, “Pardon me.”

“While I would not put it in quite those terms, yes.” A pause for effect. “I do believe it is mutually beneficial for you to immigrate to Paraguay.”

He looks at the woman dispassionately and then chuckles loudly. “Are you insane, woman?”

“Edmund, please.” Briar holds his hand tightly. “Think carefully. More than once you complained to me your unwillingness to inherit Edgewater. Lady Susan is offering you a way to back off from it, and still have a comfortable lifestyle.”

“Yes, but in Paraguay.” He stresses the word, as if it is poisonous. “How can I trust that this is not a plot to take me away from the country long enough to usurp Edgewater from under me?”

For the disdain for the land, Briar takes her hand away, as if terribly hurt. Edmund notices it, but does not understand why.

“Well, Edmund, I chose Paraguay because it was the most suitable place for you and Miss Daly to live together as a lawfully-wedded couple. There would be no man to bat an eye to it there, of this, I am certain. In here, though…” She trails off.

“The British are harsh with those of different skin colours, and even more so of those who collude with them. If you doubt me, I can have Mr Harper to come here and attest to it. However, if you so desire, I am sure we can find something here in England to your tastes.”

Such a statement made the grinds on his mind to swirl. Edmund did not think about the complications arising from Briar’s skin tone. He was still stuck on those related to her position as a maid and his status as an engaged man.

Furthermore, while he did feel a great deal more strongly about Briar than he did for Miss Sutton, or any other woman, for that matter, he was still unsure about whether he wishes to actually marry her.

“As for whether you can trust me, I am willing to make a concession. The current owner of the estate I am proposing is a business associate of mine, a Frenchman who lived in Paraguay for many years.” She continues, off-handedly. “He has agreed to guide you through your journey from Buenos Aires, to show you the estate. You need only to sign your claim to Edgewater to me if it is all to your liking.”

“What about my mother?” He asks. Wretched or not, he still had a duty towards the woman.

Susan shrugs. “I do not care what you do with her. Leave her here, send for her after you settle, take her with you in the ship. Just be certain she will have no home with me.”

It was to be expected, he considered, seeing how strained is the relationship between his mother, his step-grandmother and his stepsister.

Despite Susan’s assurances, however, he was still very insecure about it all.

“That being said, the ship goes off in fourteen days. While my offer leaves with it, I am sure you can afford a few days to think about it, dear brother of mine.” Susan says, detecting the doubt on his features. “The farmstead is not attached to a marriage to Miss Daly, as well, though I believe it to be in good taste, considering your night-time activities.”

“Very well.” Edmund breathes out. “I will consider your offer.”

The brunette nods. “It is all correct. Miss Daly will be awaiting for you with your tickets and the name of my associate at Ranelagh Place in Liverpool. You needn’t to speak to me about it any further, but I am willing to respond to any further doubts you have. Miss Daly shall relate to me whether you made the deadline or not.

“There is one thing I ask of you, and it is of utmost importance. Do not speak to your mother about my offer. I am trusting you, but I do not trust Henrietta.” Susan glares at the mention of the name. “If I know you consulted with her, I will be interpreting it as a refusal of my generosity.”

“Sure, seems reasonable.” He agreed.

“The major domo shall show you out.” The woman points to the door and he left with no further words.

Later that night, when Briar and Theresa had already left for Liverpool, Susan sat alone at the study with the master of the house.

“Do you think Mr Marlcaster will take it?” Ernest comments, thoughtful. “The deal, I mean.”

Susan hums her affirmative. “I suppose he will. He desires a fight for Edgewater just about as much as I do. He knows he has no talent for administering an estate of such nature, and he has been blessed with the lack of desire for it as well. The Paraguayan farm I offer him is much more manageable.”

The esquire smiles. “In any case, it was generous of you to offer.”

“Eh.” She shrugs. “I know how much value Edgewater holds, monetary and emotionally-wise. If a few hundred pounds and the loss of a handmaid is enough to keep it, then I say it was mighty cheap.”

Taglist: @catlady0911; @choicesyouplayandmore; @cocomaxley; @enviouslylove; @hellospunkiebrewster; @mrsernestsinclaire; @shelivesinthewoods; @tornbetween2loves

[moistwithgender]

Curry Read 60s Marvel, King-Size, Nuff Said

According to my tag, it took me about a month to get through this decade (eight years, technically), spending most of my free time reading. I’ve been following Comic Book Herald’s “My Marvelous Year” reading guide because it seemed like the quickest way through while cutting out the chaff. This was not...consistently the case. But, I’m still glad I followed it because this started out with me just chewing through early Spider-Man in black and white (don’t do this to yourself, nice flat colors do wonders for these older stories). I’m gonna go ahead and give the disclaimer that because I was following a speedy reading guide, I missed a lot of stuff, so if you know some really good issues I missed feel free to say so.

I’m afraid to type all this out because it’s a lot and idk where to start!

Okay well I have one idea of where to start.

Fantastic Four

This is Marvel’s best series up to this point and the fact that we’ve had so many garbage movies is a tragedy (don’t @ me about The Incredibles, I know). The FF comics are consistently the most fun, the weirdest, and the most creative.

Going through my reading list, I had to skip parts of FF, which is probably going to be where more of the good stuff was. Though, I will say that I prefer the latter half of the decade over the first half. FF started off with Mole Man, Skrulls (something I first realized was a thing back when they showed up in MvC3), The Puppet Master, The Red Ghost... The first few years of FF was probably best whenever it involved Namor and Doctor Doom. I don’t think anyone’s gonna argue with that. The latter half had The Inhumans, Galactus, The Silver Surfer, Black Panther, the Negative Zone... a whole lot of neat stuff! I actually missed the introduction of the Negative Zone, so all of a sudden Reed’s just got a portal to A Very Bad Place in the middle of his lab and he keeps opening it whenever things get slightly inconvenient. Stop doing that, Reed.

Highlights: - Namor being Namor. Usually at his best as a fish out of water (heh) in human society. With his absurd monarchic pride, and his occasional anti-hero tendencies, he’s...kind of like a wet Vegeta in hot pants. - The Thing. For a while he was back and forth as a character I liked or tolerated, and his incessant backtalk would occasionally become one of those “telling an unfunny joke until eventually it’s hilarious” things. - The Watcher. A being so committed to his vow to never interfere with the fate of the universe that he jack-knifes out of his lane every single time he gets the chance. EXCEPT FOR THE TIME HE WATCHED THE BIRTH OF GALACTUS AND DID NOTHING. THANKS UATU. - The fact that Doctor Doom is a Romani character being written by Jewish authors. That’s a lot to unpack. - The Sandman. Wait, you say, you mean that one Spider-Man villain who was played by the guy from the sitcom Wings? Yeah, it turns out once he’s done being a Sinister Six villain, he goes on to harass the Fantastic Four and gets his own Jack Kirby style super villain outfit!

Look at that badboy. Also he teams up with an angry furry made of explosions from the hell dimension that is the negative zone. - The Inhumans. All of these kids are cool, Lockjaw is an adorable giant bulldog that can teleport across infinite distances, and even Maximus is some sort of play on Shakespeare villains. The fact that differentiating these guys from mutants is really awkward. The short version (if I have it right) is that mutants are born with a unique x-gene, and inhumans come from a hidden society that commonly did genetic manipulation on its citizens at birth. - Galactus. He is arguably the weirdest thing Marvel has in this decade. A thirty foot tall man who flies around the universe and eats planets. He’s literally so powerful that he and the narrative both treat his eating habits as natural, and any victims that happen to get in the way as unfortunate but unintended sacrifices because GALACTUS MUST NOT DIE. Galactus is a vegan metaphor (maybe). - The Silver Surfer. The shiniest, angstiest boy in the multiverse. Originally from a planet where global society had literally hit its logical utopic conclusion, he was bored as shit. Galactus comes along, the entire planet gets spooked and blows itself the fuck up on accident, and Norrin Rad agrees to be Galactus’ herald and pick out planets safe to eat if he leaves his planet alone. Sometime after that he gets punished for trying to fight Galactus, and is punished to remain on Earth, where he would play around with being a very obvious Jesus analogy for a while. - That time where a guy impersonates The Thing in order to kill Reed, and then ends up getting respect for Reed and sacrificing himself atop a meteorite speeding off into an atmosphere of explosions. Really fucked up issue, honestly. - Black Panther. Wakanda is not as cool as it would eventually be portrayed, and BP’s first appearance is as an antagonist (he kidnaps the FF and hunts them for sport), but he has a fucking slick cape. - That time Doctor Doom stole The Silver Surfer’s infinite cosmic power and nearly fucked up everything for everybody for four straight issues. Also he got into a fist fight with the Thing, which is like...hell yeah. - The Negative Zone. WHY DO YOU HAVE A WINDOW TO HELL IN YOUR HOUSE, REED. - The Kree. I have no idea why the Kree are just white people in space. Bad move imo, even Namor’s race are mostly blue people. Anyway, there’s a rad fight with a sentry robot, and a decent introduction to Ronan the Accuser, who you might remember was the (reasonably overshadowed) villain in the Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1 movie, where he is blue. - Psycho Man. This guy has a remote control that makes you feel emotions and that’s kinda dumb but more importantly he’s from a microscopic universe and controls a non-microscopic robot version of himself to fight the FF and the implications of all that is absurd. - Reed goes into the negative zone (again) to try and find something he knows nothing about that might help his pregnant wife and unborn child survive the gamma radiation they still have in their bodies. He gets pretty lucky. Jesus christ, dude.

The worst parts of the FF this decade is probably every time Susan gets the shaft because she’s a woman, whether it’s her being talked down to by Reed or whether it’s her being written as way more concerned about ~lady things~ when things are going to hell. In the issue where her life is on the line and the baby is coming and Reed has to go into the negative zone, she doesn’t even make an appearance until like the last page. Susan deserves better. My reading guide actually didn’t recommend any 1969 issues of FF? I wonder what was going on...

Oh, skrulls impersonating 1920s gangsters and doing super-human trafficking, of course. Well, let’s move on.

The Incredible Hulk (Tales to Astonish)

I have had a soft spot for the Sulk ever since...probably the 2003 three Ang Lee film? Where I realized that 1) Bruce has bad dad issues and no one likes him, and 2) Hulk isn’t just a big boy, he is really fast and jumps crazy far and that’s a physical concept my teenage brain had never considered. I hadn’t even considered liking the Hulk growing up because I was so uncomfortable with almost all expressions of masculinity and machismo. My mom in fact was the one who told me “Don’t you want to see the Hulk? He’s big and scary like a bad guy, but he’s a good guy!” and I assume that’s what helped change my mind?

Anyway, Hulk has had a rough time in terms of popularity as well. His magazine lasted some six or seven issues before being canceled and his stories would continue, shorter, in Tales to Astonish, alongside Ant-Man (and eventually Namor’s own series). In the last few years of the decade he’d get a new magazine starting with The Incredible Hulk #102 (following Tales to Astonish #101... comic numbering is extremely bad), and...it’s okay so far! In the modern era, Hulk had a cartoon I never watched, a few nonstarter films, there was that series with Lou Ferrigno I know nothing about... He seems to always function best as a side hero. It doesn’t help that all the villains in his series are, like. Weird? Not like FF crazy weird, just like weird and not seemingly a great match for Hulk himself. Most of the ones that come to mind are dudes who are also mutated by gamma radiation or something else (and sometimes also green? why is the green supposed to be a common thread, that feels coincidental).

Which reminds me, Bruce is almost never present in what I’ve read so far. It’s just Hulk, usually talking way more than feels natural for him (it took a while for him to start speaking mostly in the third person). As a result, Hulk is usually given a very limited range of characterization and expected to coast on that, and it doesn’t often work. You have to put Hulk in casts and settings that complement him. For a while there he has a support character in Rick Jones, a (very uninteresting) teen boy who eventually can’t keep up with the increasingly antagonistic Hulk, bounces over to Captain America as a ward, eventually is confused by a cosmic cube-wielding, Cap-impersonating Red Skull, and fucks off on his own. He is immediately possessed by, and becomes a host for, Mar-Vell/Captain Marvel. I do not give a single fuck about Rick Jones.

In the earliest issues, the Hulk is gray, and also...just a non-furry werewolf. HE changes at night, until issue #102 retconned this.

Highlights: - That first issue has some really nice panels but I’m gonna say that’s all Jack Kirby’s doing. - Ends up harassing the FF, Spider-Man, the Avengers (after being one of them and then getting buttmad and running off), the Silver Surfer, the US military (regularly)... - Hulk goes to the far dystopic future?? He gets back I guess. - Hulk goes to Asgard! This is arguably the most interesting place to put him because all Odin’s warriors try to fight him and then decide lol this guy’s cool let’s go hang out. Meanwhile, Loki keeps fucking with him. But then the Enchantress and the Executioner become the villains and things get kinda boring again. - The Leader (that’s actually the name of a villain) makes a big robot and Hulk throws it into a volcano and then activates said volcano with his FISTS to fuck it up. Then he manually diverts a nuclear missile into the atmosphere after suddenly caring about people even though he has no reason to. Shrug! - Hulk goes to Attilan, the hidden nation of the Inhumans! There’s potential for interesting stuff here, but it’s mostly wasted by a full cast of extremely uninteresting one-off characters. This is all in a double length annual issue with a gorgeous cover by Jim Steranko, but the issue itself is drawn by Marie Severin. She does good stuff! But Steranko’s work is gorgeous.

Whatever!

The Mighty Thor (Journey into Mystery)

Thor’s winged helmet is really dumb, goodnight everybody!

Okay but yeah Thor started out in the Journey into Mystery magazine, and I guess I’d describe his stuff as... Dungeons and Dragons by Marvel? I struggle with it aesthetically but I like some of the ideas. Mjolnir is fucking cool, Asgard is both a real place and an planet (a flat one, even?), fucking Olympus is also a place and Hercules exists, Loki is... well, Loki hasn’t come into his own yet, but we’ll get there one day. On the other hand, some of the villains are dull as dishwater and a number of the good guys took their time getting interesting. Clearly there was some appeal, because he did eventually get his own magazine starting with Thor #126, I think? There’s that bad numbering again.

A big weird problem with Thor is that originally he has a secret identity. Like. Donald Blake is a surgeon who needs to use a cane to walk, and he goes hiking by himself and gets lost I guess and finds a stick and it turns out oops it’s Mjolnir and he becomes Thor! And Thor is not just a new identity, but also a person that is both the Thor of Norse myth, and the actual son of Odin up in Asgard and has been so forever and aaaaaaa

Donald Blake is not super important. He mostly exists to give Thor a weakness in that he can’t let go of his hammer for 60 seconds or he’ll turn back into a guy with a PhD. Eventually, in the latter half of the 60s, they add on to his backstory in a way I like, by saying��“oh no no, he was always Thor. At one point Odin punished him by sending him to Earth with amnesia and in the guise of a handicapped guy getting through medical school. For some reason.” Which really only makes his dual identities more confusing, and I actually dig that. The MCU does not fuck with this at all, and I’m assuming the comics throw it out in the decades to come. Also, this semi-retcon was not included in the reading guide, I found it on accident. Anyway.

Highlights: - Thor joins the Avengers! I mean, duh, of course he does. He eventually leaves because he’s too popular and needs his own series or something. He occasionally pops back in to do cool stuff. - Thor accidentally ends up on Olympus and gets into a big sweaty fight with Hercules. They decide they are pals. This was an annual issue. - Thor goes into space! This is where things get good, and I really like Thor’s archaic ass as a cosmic sci-fi hero. Great juxtaposition. - Thor meets/fights Ego, the Living Planet! Okay, I said Galactus was the weirdest thing, and I was wrong. Ego is. Ego is almost as described on the tin, because he is actually described as an entire “bioverse”, and capable of changing the entirety of his physical makeup at any time. It is intensely cool. He’s also kind of evil and wants to spread out to control everywhere. Also, Thor makes friends with a nice recording robot and becomes an ally of robot rights. - Thor dies! A guy with a giant crowbar is accidentally given asgardian power by Loki, and then kills Thor because Thor has lost his power because Odin is punishing him again. And then Hela shows up as the goddess of death and says hey Thor. And he says hold on I got this and gets back in his body and saves the day and it’s fine. Hela does what she does best, stand there and look cool and do nothing else.

god she’s hot

- Thor rescues Ego from Galactus? Kind of on accident, he’s just trying to save the people inbetween who got their planets ate. Actually though, this arc fucking kicks, and he hangs out with the recorder bot too. In the end, Ego is grateful and lets the planetless nomads live on him. - Thor hangs out with Galactus and listens to his tragic backstory! Then Thor decides he’s gonna hit him anyway, and Odin decides “that’s enough for this story arc” and whisks Thor off to fight a robot instead. - Volstagg. - Volstagg.

- VOLSTAGG.

- Thor’s dudes go to the human world and there are shenanigans. It is good.

The Amazing Spider-Man

We all knew this was coming. Marvel’s own Pikachu. Possibly the most popular superhero alive (well, second to Batman anyway). And probably the hero I cared about the most growing up. We got associated a lot because we share a name. Spidey is probably the coolest idea for a superhero anyone has ever had, and they better CGI gets, the better his fights look. I do not care how many QTEs are gonna be in that new videogame, I wanna look at Spidey swing. Spider-man is just cool cool cool cool.

Early Spider-Man comics are fucking boring! Goodnight everybody!

Okay just kidding sort of. Spider-Man takes a while to pick up, in my opinion, and I’m 100% positive part of that is because I’ve seen these early stories retold in better and better definition so many times. I watched the cartoon as a kid, but the Sam Raimi movies are probably what comes to mind when I think of Spider-Man. Steve Ditko nailed a fucking iconic costume design, and did a great job of visually communicating Spidey’s agility on paper. But, in the earliest issues there was rarely any variation in panel size and shape, and action scenes were laid out like diagrams. Both those factors, along with the fact that each panel had dialogue because Peter kind of never shuts up, meant that pacing slowed to a crawl, and I had to chew through those issues. Also sometimes he just fought, like, mobsters with lassos. Jesus christ that’s boring. As the decade goes on, we start getting some good stuff, and to be completely honest, I’m looking forward to the weird dumb 90s stuff the most?

Highlights: - Peter has a persecution complex and uses his secret identity to be an asshole! Even after Peter’s iconic and still very well written origin story, he spends a lot of time harassing people, good and bad. He regularly breaks into JJ’s office in costume and makes fun of him, he crashes the Torch’s party to beat him up and flirt with his girlfriend, he breaks into the Baxter building to fight the FF in hopes they’ll recruit him with pay, he...gets into an argument with black students who are very passionate about affordable housing? He wasn’t even in costume for that one. Jesus, Peter, go to a therapist. - Nobody likes Spider-Man! Kind of makes sense why he’s got those personality issues, though those start with jocks calling him a nerd (he’s a nerd). Half the city doesn’t trust him, he works for a newspaper that is dedicated to anti-Spidey propaganda (Peter, you’re partially at fault for this), even the X-Men just assume he’s a bad guy, and that’s usually a problem they have to deal with. - Really appropriate villains! Wow! The Vulture matches his high up action, Doc Ock is both another victim of weird science and an intellectual rival. Also, like, their namesakes have a lot of legs. The Lizard is...Florida Man. Maybe the better argument is that many of these villains are memorable, in a decade that featured a concerning amount of “large humanoid monster/robot” baddies in all of the running series. - Like the Green Goblin. Who knew that would be Spider-Man’s Joker? Maybe that’s a bad comparison. Also bats and clowns aren’t usually connected with each other. Where was I going with this. - Spider-Man tries to quit the superhero gig twice, I think? He’s the only Marvel hero to consider this, as far as I know. Part of Peter’s appeal is that not only is he a young adult, unlike the rest of Marvel’s adult cast, but he’s also financially disadvantaged, has a non-nuclear model family, and has to look out for his often ailing Aunt. He has to work a side job while going to school while fighting bad guys, and it’s a lot more interesting than what Tony Stark’s doing up to this point. This has all been said so many times by so many people, but it’s an obligatory mention. - Peter donates blood to Aunt May at one point and accidentally gets a radioactive particle in her body. OOPS. Spider-Man goes on a rampage to find an antidote and tears a metal stairwell off its hinges. He also, like, completely destroys a villain’s underwater base and nearly doesn’t get out himself. - The Green Goblin discovers Peter is Spider-Man! Most of the Marvel heroes have this anxiety, but it never ends up a problem, so this is pretty big. The Goblin kidnaps him in broad daylight, ties him to a chair in a secluded place, and infodumps his origin story that he’s actually the father of Peter’s college roommate and is kind of very unhinged and obsessed with Spider-Man? In the end, Gobby gets amnesia and forgets the whole supervillain and mental illness thing and turns back into a good dad. - Spidey goes to the Casbah! Yeah, go figure. He learns his parents were traitors to America, and it fucks him up so much he flies there to find the truth. He ends up exploding the Red Skull and learns his parents were actually double double agents and were spying for America and so things are a-okay!

also peter kills a dude with a missile

- That aforementioned thing about affordable housing happens! Some black college students are unhappy that the university is taking old dorms that could be used as low rent housing for students and instead giving it to visiting alumni, and start a big protest and the narrative actually pins them as sympathetic even when they get overzealous and physical? I’m...kind of surprised, to be honest. Not used to seeing this at all.

Ant-Man, and...other identities. (Tales to Astonish)

ima keep it real with u founding member of the avengers hank pym, this will not improve marvel’s declining sales

This guy is a goddamn mess.

People like to say “pfffft there’s an ant-man? that’s goofy! that’s the weirdest thing ever! that’s a bad idea!” and buddy let me tell you, Hank Pym has a career specializing in bad ideas. Let’s list them!

- Adopt a young woman while she is grieving over the loss of her father and take her in as both a crime-fighting ward (The Wasp!) and also a love interest. Feel bad about it for about five minutes so it’s okay. - Develop a “growth capsule” that allows you to turn huge and decide to adopt two super hero identities, Ant-Man and Giant-Man. Assume this will not confuse anyone. - Eventually do weird science to make it so you can grow and shrink at will. Assume this will not have negative repercussions on your body. - Change the name Giant-Man to Goliath because you feel like Giant-Man is a dumb name. Confuse everyone for multiple issues. - Get stuck as a twelve-foot tall 90s beverage mascot lookin ass motherfucker (you are terrible at costume design, hank) and get real mad at everyone all the time about it. - Create an evil robot called Ultron and forget about it. Oops! Surely this will be fine.

IT’LL BE FINE

- Fail to relate to your robot-grandson-turned-avenger The Vision. Be a bad grandpa. - Inhale chemicals and get all fucked up on temporary schizophrenia (???), adopting a second personality. Call yourself Yellowjacket, claim to have killed Hank, and kidnap your girlfriend and force her to make out with you. - When assaulting your girlfriend makes her, uh, somehow realize that you are Hank, she will rope you into marrying her, thereby...uh...legally cuckolding yourself I guess? Realize you are Hank during/after the wedding, and be perfectly fine with this egregious violation of consent. Nothing about this will have lasting negative consequences. - Adopt the identity of Yellowjacket, and abandon Goliath. Continue to confuse people. On the bright side, finally have a nice costume. - Make a new Goliath costume in celebration of refusing to ever be Goliath again (WHY), and store it and a beaker of growth serum (WHY) in an unlocked locker out in the open (WHY). Hawkeye will steal it and become the new Goliath II.

So far that’s everything about Hank-Man! Stay tuned to see more of this trainwreck.

Iron Man (Tales of Suspense)

YO THIS DUDE SUCKS

I really like Iron Man’s origin story and his overall concept but the tech culture would not advance far enough to match it for a while. Also this was in the era of the Vietnam War and so Tony’s greatest enemy is The Mandarin, an extremely awkward asian stereotype and I! Ain’t! Got! Time! For! That!

Avengers

The Avengers are, at their most interesting, characters already in their own magazines. At their worst, they’re a bunch of characters no one cares about, fighting villains no one cares about, with last second ass-pull victories. There was a brief period there were I suspected the Avengers magazine was going to be true gristle of Marvel I was gonna have to chew on for hours to get through. Thankfully we are eventually given Marvel’s goodest boy, Vision. After that, things start to pick up a lot.

bless him and his little intangible heart

Highlights: - Captain America is found frozen in an ice cube! He’s been in cryo for twenty years, wow how the world has changed. I guess. Another case of time passing eventually making an origin story better. At this point Marvel has revived three 1940s comics properties: Cap, Namor, and the Human Torch (the lattermost in this case being an entirely different person). - Kang the Conqueror! Kang is a hell of a villain concept. He’s a time traveler who once ruled ancient Egypt as a pharaoh named Rama Tut and, uh, will eventually rule over Earth in the 41st century. He keeps harassing the 20th century for some reason. Also he is hint hint maybe related to Doctor Doom, I guess. - Hawkeye joins, having previously been a one-off villain, and proceeds to be an asshole to everyone forever. Eventually he becomes Goliath II because why not I guess. - Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver join, having recently bailed on Magneto’s Brotherhood, and they are...kinda boring, tbh. Wanda’s “hex power” isn’t very well defined (it makes unlucky things happen), and neither of them have much personality yet. At one point they fight Doctor Doom and he uses a machine to cancel out the hex power (???) and outpaces Quicksilver without using any enhancements (???). Some of these issues really blow. Quicksilver’s costume is lazy as hell. - Hercules joins for some reason, even though he says he doesn’t wanna be part of a team.  - Magneto does some sneaky bullshit and tricks Quicksilver into thinking someone at the UN shoots at Wanda on purpose. Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch join Magneto again because fuck normies. - The Avengers are killed (sort of) by the Grim Reaper! Their newest member, the Black Panther, rescues them.

Pick a color you trilobite.

- The Vision joins, Ultron-5 is introduced, and things finally settle in for the good stuff. - Ultron rebuilds himself in adamantium as Ultron-6 and replaces his legs with a rocket chariot thing. No one is brave enough to tell him it looks dumb.

no shut up its cool and i can fit still fit through doorways

immediately the next chapter he re-rebuilds himself with legs and calls himself Ultimate Ultron. mmmhm.

sounds like somebody was havin some self esteem issues about their body. sounds like a talk that ultron and their dad hank pym could probably relate to each other over.

- The decade ends with an arc where Kang abducts the Avengers and ends up himself wrapped up in a proxy wargame with the Grandmaster. Kang uses the Avengers as his pawns, and the GM creates four superhumans that he totally didn’t get from DC no sir. Perfectly original characters, do not steal.

I just...I just really feel like that last one could have used a few more minutes in the boardroom.

- Even better, the second half of the arc pits the avengers against Captain America, Namor, and the Human Torch...in their 1940s renditions!

Hank even comments on the fact that Namor’s diction is different. It’s great.

The Uncanny X-Men

So I grew up in the 90s, and despite never really engaging with comics, I was quite aware that Marvel’s hottest shit at the time was Spider-Man and X-Men. The X-Men had a slow start, but once they caught on, they never really dropped off. Actually, I think they might be less popular now? They’re at least not the ever-present icons they used to be, and I suspect that is partially to do with middling-quality movies diluting the brand.

But, the appeal is there from the start. Children born unique but feared by society are adopted by Patrick Stewart and spirited away to a special boarding school that is secretly dedicated to teaching them to use their powers for the sake of fighting evil. This was the proto-Harry Potter, though Snape’s gonna win no contests against Wolverine.

Unfortunately, we don’t have Wolverine, yet. We’ve got...these guys!

(Not pictured: Marvel Girl/Jean Grey)

The creative potential in mutant design has not quite picked up yet, so the main team (of five teens and an old man) includes such marvels as Guy With Wings, and Guy What Got Big Feet. Seriously, Beast’s feet get way too much attention.

I cannot wait until you are a blue cat instead of this.

I wish I could comment on the political commentary on the series, but it hasn’t quite started up yet, whether that is intentional or not. The rampant fear of mutants is there, we’ve even had a Sentinels arc, but it’s mostly just surface stuff. I had a lot to say about Spider-Man, so I feel kind of silly coming up short here!

Highlights: - Magneto. Despite the slow start this series is going through, Magneto is immediately introduced and has his wonderful costume design and his super threatening magnetism powers. I am a bit confused as to how his magnetism affects all things, not just metal, but magnets are an irl mystery and I’m willing to let it slide. - The Juggernaut. The two-issue arc introducing Juggz himself are effectively told, if not sliiightly silly in structure. The first issue has the X-Men building up defenses because he’s coming, and later, as he tears through each single one, unseen to both the kids and the reader, Xavier explains his and the Juggernaut’s tumultuous childhood together. It builds the tension really well, but it’s a bit funny by the fourth time the X-Men are saying “we gotta go meet him before he breaks in here where we are!” and Xavier’s like “I’M NOT DONE TELLING MY ORIGIN STORY.” - The Sentinels. This is probably the last interesting arc in the 60s, published as early as ‘65. It’s almost the last material in the reading guide, next to an issue where they all get into a fight with Spider-Man for no reason. If I understand correctly, the Sentinels are later depicted as humongous robots, where here they’re closer to ten feet tall or so. I’d always thought the idea of “a bunch of mass produced robots designed to kill mutants” seemed uncreative growing up, especially given that they don’t, like, have an x-gene suppressing ray or anything, but it works well enough in the moment. - Wholly unnecessary amounts of sexual harassment towards Jean Grey. All the boys have the hots for her (well, maybe not Iceman (pun not intended)), including even Xavier saying that she’s attractive when she first arrives. What the fuck, dudes.

X-MANS IS CANCELED

Doctor Strange (Strange Tales)

The reading guide included a ton of Strange Tales to read, including an 11-issue arc at one point. Good grief it was a lot.

Steve Ditko, of early Spider-Man, did the art for Strange for a good while, and I found that contrast between the diagram like action of Spider-Man, and the much more fantastic illustrations of Strange to be the most interesting thing. Eventually Marie Severin would take over as the penciller, and it would take a bit of time to adjust, but the more abstract it got, the better. Also, I don’t really like the footie pajamas Severin draws him in.

This is Steve Ditko. He has thin lines and exact shapes and while you don’t see it here, his magic fights are very clear and easy to follow.

This is Marie Severin. In comparison her lines are thick and smudged (well, okay, we have to give credit to the inkers for these as well, though I think she did her own inking?), but is capable of uniquely evocative images like this. Her action scenes are harder to follow, but she is equally capable of the kind of surreality that appears in Doctor Strange’s comics.

Also, while the topic has been touched on a lot, especially around the time the movie came out, it still bears repeating that Doctor Strange is built on a foundation of cultural appropriation and mystic eastern boogie woogie nonsense. I’m parroting the words of people that know this much better than me, but it’s a problematic and somewhat common trope that media will depict a white protagonist in a foreign setting who not just excels but surpasses everyone else, particularly peers who are native to the setting. At best it’s well-meaning and oblivious, at worst it perpetuates a narrow worldview where everything has to revolve around white people.

Anyway, when the comics focus more on the dread dark dimension of Dormammu, most of these problems aren’t around, and you get lots of fun and bizarre imagery and goofy spell casting.

Highlights: - Dormammu. He’s a prideful otherworldy being who refuses to be caught explicitly going back on his word when beaten at a game of skill, but easily breaks down and claws at loopholes with which he can attempt his petty revenge against Strange. He is also portrayed as a necessary evil, in that he uses his power to erect a barrier that keeps his servants safe from mindless laser-eye cyclops monsters that are just perpetually punching each other. That conflict makes for complicated situations where usurping him may be more harm than help. Also his head is always on fire, and that’s cool. - Trippy visuals. Ditko’s backgrounds lean closer to pop art with abstract shapes, bright colors, and twisting pathways. Severin’s art, if I can remember (there hasn’t been a lot yet) leans closer to mysterious and somewhat vague settings. I’m describing it very poorly.

That’s kind of it for Strange, I guess!

Daredevil

oh my god how many of these have I done now im so tired

I haven’t read much Daredevil yet! The reading guide has given me some seven issues so far out of the full decade, and while there has been some good stuff, I don’t know if I can draw a big mental picture.

DD is, theoretically, in that same category as Captain America, where rather than being a super powerful character, he is merely very very good at what he has. DD got hit in the face with a radioactive dildo or something and it blinded him but enhanced his other senses so intensely that if you sneeze he can tell what brand of nasal spray you use. Also, he’s super acrobatic and has a swiss army walking cane that he can use to do just about anything. And he’s a working attorney. Fuck you and your eyeballs, Batman.

Marvel has not begun to embrace noir, and as I understand it, that seems to be the genre most people know DD for aligning with. As a result, things are kinda silly! DD’s first outfit was yellow and he fought a man who had robot stilts in broad daylight.

Highlights: - Killgrave, the...Purple Man.

I can’t believe this is how Jessica Jones starts.

Uhh, Killgrave got some pheromones or something embedded in his skin on accident and now everyone just does what he says to no matter what. He’s purple now, too. This has not been taken to its terrifying possibilities yet, but I’m very excited to see where it goes. - Daredevil fights Namor. Okay, seriously? Seriously? This is my favorite issue, no joke. Namor busts out of the ocean demanding a lawyer (Matt himself) so he can sue the human race. Shenanigans ensue, and a trial is attempted, but ultimately falls apart when Namor decides “you know what? fuck this I’m gonna start breakin shit”. Matt changes into the DD costume and takes on Namor with everything he can think of, including construction equipment, but fails.

Out of respect, Namor leaves.

- Stilt-Man.

Stilt-Man. (Stilt-Man eventually shrinks into a quantum state that he remains trapped in for months until he suddenly isn’t.)

- And finally, Mike Murdock. In an attempt to ward off suspicion that he might be Daredevil, Matt...pretends to be his twin brother who is never in the same room at the same time as him. As Mike, he is a cocky jerk to everyone and insists that he is Daredevil. And people believe him.

As you would expect (for once), this nearly gets people killed.

Nick Fury (Strange Tales, Agent of Shield)

NICK FURY IS THE BEST GOD DAMN SONNUVA BITCH IN THE WHOLE MARVEL LINE UP

Nick Fury is like if you took James Bond and made it not suck. You get to keep all the gadgets and world traveling but swap out the “ooh, I’m so cool and serious” with kicking open doors and telling fascists to go fuck themselves. Most importantly, it’s a near-parody of the overwrought machismo that the series runs on. It’s so busy getting from point A to point B in as fun a way as possible that it’s impossible to take seriously.

Actually, it might be like if Battle Tendency was less sympathetic to real world fascists. Which is to say, it’s the pinnacle of evolution.

Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t a JJBA action scene. (Also, Jim Steranko blessed us with a shirtless Fury in latex pants.)

A highlights list would be ridiculously long because I love these comics, so I’ll instead focus on one thing in particular.

- Jim Steranko’s art is gorgeous

Yes, these are all Nick Fury title pages.

Captain America (Tales of Suspense)

Steve is just now starting to get interesting, mostly through his own series, but he’s had plenty of time for notable moments throughout his screentime (pagetime?) in Tales of Suspense and Avengers. While talking about Daredevil I mentioned Captain America and how he’s less of a nigh-supernatural being like most heroes, and more of a particularly exceptional human. He hits really hard, but more impressive is his stamina and agility. Something that I’ve liked in the MCU is how they’ve portrayed him as always capable of what is just one step beyond what people think is possible of him. He can’t fly, but he’ll do as many impossible leaps as necessary. He’s not super strong (well, not to the degree of Spider-Man), but he sure can run for miles, and he knows his way around that shield.

I feel like a lot of what I’m writing is surface level readings of these comics, but the characteristics of Steve that really identify him haven’t quite shown themselves yet, I think. When I think of him, what always comes to mind is that his “american good boy” values take priority over allegiances, and so you’ll see Captain America himself abandon his title if America no longer represents the values of protecting the weak. Steve Rogers is kind of a perfect flawless human (when not written terribly), but that’s pretty okay at the end of the day, when a superhero is more of an icon than a person.

Highlights: - That time the Red Skull got the Cosmic Cube (not the Tesseract), and became a god for like five minutes.

- That time Cap fought a giant baby.

- That time Cap pretended to be dead and then stopped Hydra from burying all the avengers alive even Vision who would...be able to just phase out of the grave. I’m not really sure what the plan there was. - That other time the Red Skull got the cosmic cube and then switched bodies with Cap and they made a lot of facial expressions.

- That time Rick Jones thought Captain America didn’t like him, meanwhile Cap was stranded on a desert island and hanging out with The Falcon and it was cool. Nobody cares about Rick Jones.

Namor, The Sub-Mariner (Tales to Astonish)

I didn’t read a fuck shit about this dude! Sorry!

Captain Marvel

we’re so close to being done

The reading guide gave me nearly nothing on this dude. Issues #1-3 and then #17. He’s a Kree (whoa!) named Mar-Vell (lol) who should be helping to fuck up Earth but ends up liking it and chooses to defend it. He’s got a jet pack and a laser and a really shit costume and he’s NOT BLUE.

Marvy, I need you to move over, the more interesting hero is behind you.

He’s got an asshole commanding officer who keeps trying to get him killed because he wants to fuck his girlfriend and SNORE, I do not care. Come on dude. I have been psyched to learn about 

At some point in-between chapters #3 and #17, and...shit, I’ll just quote wikipedia for this:

After aiding humanity several times, Mar-Vell is found guilty of treason against the Kree Empire and sentenced to death by firing squad. Mar-Vell escapes in a stolen rocket, but becomes lost in space. After drifting for 112 days, he is weak and on the verge of madness. He is manipulated by Ronan the Accuser and Kree Minister Zarek into helping them overthrow the Supreme Intelligence. To better help them, Mar-Vell is given a new costume and enhanced abilities. After the conspiracy is foiled, Mar-Vell tries to return to Earth. On the way, he is hit by a blast of radiation that traps him in the Negative Zone.[16]

The Supreme Intelligence enables Mar-Vell to telepathically contact Rick Jones, which he uses to lead Jones to a set of "nega-bands" at an abandoned Kree base. When Jones puts on the bands and strikes them together, he trades places with Mar-Vell and is encased in a protective aura in the Negative Zone. The pair discover they are able to maintain telepathic contact. Using this method, Mar-Vell can remain in the positive universe for a period of three hours.

well what the fuck that might have been worth reading, thanks reading guide

Anyway, so yeah, Rick Jones! Both of these characters were pretty boring, and mayyybe this will help the both of them. Or not. At least the new costume is cool.

Silver Surfer

IT’S THE LAST ONE THANK GOD

Once again, I don’t have much to say here! I wrote all my thoughts on the surfer up in the Fantastic Four section, so you can read that if you haven’t. The reading guide only gave me three issues to read, though they were quite good. The first was his origin story, which I already wrote about above. The second one was about invisible aliens that manipulated the surfer and people’s distrust of him (part of this is because he keeps occasionally attacking humans because he thinks it’ll make them be nicer to each other). And in the third issue, Mephisto kidnaps his long lost girlfriend from his home planet. It works out kind of badly for everyone involved.

begone, thought

And that’s everything for the 60s. Phew! This took a long time and I don’t know if it was worth it. Let me know if you read it, if you enjoyed it, if you pity me, whatever. I got more comics to read.

[creativeashproductions]

A Distant Dream IV // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen year old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait to confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history

Warnings: Swearing, grief, mourning a relationship, sadness, angst, war/death, mention of strict parents, and fluff

Words: 3.1

A/N: This is a disclaimer: just because the reader and Luke start to get along better and have a date does NOT mean she isn’t grieving her relationship. Whether the love faded or not with Peter that is still a large part of who she was/is or don’t expect her and Luke to fall into a relationship immediately.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

The phantoms had disbanded for the night, leaving Julie alone in her room surrounded by books and Flynn. You’d snuck down to the basement as you had since you arrived in 2020 from a different world. The wardrobe that quite literally changed your life was in the back corner, unassuming for the young girl.

Your e/c eyes pinned to the antique wooden furniture that had traveled from England to America as if fate had guided it. No matter how long time went by you’d never been able to touch the wardrobe, let alone touch remotely close. A part of you feared finding if you could return to Narnia or not.

It was something you kept private from the new people helping you to assimilate back into a life on Earth. The boys often refused to leave you for very long after the traumatic disappearance, even when you urged for space. It had almost been as tricky as negotiating peace with a land boiling with civil unrest.

Alex had taken to holding your hand as you slept for peace in both him and you; he’d noticed the state of sleep you endured. It was fitful and often filled with memories in the form of nightmares. The one from last night reared its head once more.

An intake of breath as you pulled your fingers closed to your cheek. Eyes on the movement before you released the bow. The arrow sailed true into the unsuspecting enemy with a faint whistle as it travelled.

The body dropped, one of many of the battles you had attended since defeating the White Witch. A life was still a life, and taking one was incredibly difficult. You saw it in the eyes of Peter, heard it in Susan’s strained voice, saw it in the way Edmund carried himself, but the most heartbreaking was the feeling of Lucy’s tense shoulders in certain moments.

Edmund and Lucy had been children when the White Witch had reigned and fought. Lucy had been only nine years old when her foot first touched Narnian snow. At that tender age, she’d watched the evil of the world up close. Edmund not that incredibly older. The youngest Pevensie had watched her brother take his last breath. Felt the trauma of Edmund’s gasping as the cordial bled one life-giving drop of liquid.

“I’d like to say it gets better, but it truly doesn’t, Your Majesty.” General Oreius’ announced from his station beside you. It was a lull in the tension building as people got ready for the enemies on the horizon.

Oreius’ addressed you but kept his gaze on the approaching army from an enemy land; the General was gifted in multitasking. He’d stopped to give you a little peace in only the way he knew how to.

“Thank you, Oreius.” You informed the General as he took off into the land ahead, leaving you to hold off the enemy with arrows. The short lapse is a game-changer for you as you run into battle.

Last night’s dream had been a reprieve from the dreams of Peter staring sadly at you curled around Luke. It hadn’t happened, of course, but that didn’t dim the bonfire of emotions you felt for the hazel-eyed guitarist.

You couldn’t quite figure out if you loved Peter the way a wife should love their husband. It wasn’t solely Peter that made you come to the wardrobe frequently. It had to do with the family that became yours when your parents had been shitty.

“Hey.” Julie spoke, stepping up to your side. The first person to have found you in the basement where you had an entirely different life.

“Hi.” You murmured, breaking your stare to meet the lovely teenager who had taken your brother and friends into her home. Even if it hadn’t been a smooth start, the band had grown infinitely closer.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” Julie softly questioned with soft brown eyes taking in the action you’d known for years. Your fingers brushed a strand of her gorgeous coil hair behind her ear with a gentleness you’d done so with Susan and Lucy.

Julie watched as your eyes saddened, “I don’t know. Mere seconds before I stumbled out of the wardrobe into your home, I was an adult. I had been in my early ’30s reigning beside my husband, and then I was the same sixteen-year-old girl breaking the chains of the Mercer name.”

“You feel guilty you left Alex, Luke and Reggie without answers, but you feel like you’re betraying your new family?” Julie questioned, shifting on her sneakers to stare at the emotional mask you’d developed in Narnia.

“Something like that.” You simply replied, casting one more look at the wardrobe in your haste to leave the basement.

Julie waited until you had left before she opened the wardrobe with a loud creak. Her hands brushed material hanging before her hand met a solid surface. Her face dropped at the physical evidence that Narnia couldn’t be reached from this wardrobe again.

Julie adored you, but she wanted to know how true happiness looked on your pretty features. Even if she had to give up you just so you could be happy, it was worth it, so when you left the basement each visit, she’d check the wardrobe.

It always failed. Not a speck of snow or a call of your royal title. Had Julie not seen you tumble out of the wardrobe, she’d have never believed the story.

“One day.” Julie murmured to the silent wardrobe.

Your foot barely passed the threshold of your attic space when your ’90s friends dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Each wearing a big grin that matched the fake one you plastered on.

“Where’d you go this time?”

“Top of the Hollywood sign.” Reggie piped up, skipping over to distribute a cheesy tourist keychain of the sign. Had it been someone else than Reggie, you would have joked about it, but you never could with the sweet puppy like teenager.

“Thank you.” You told the boy who had taken to grabbing little souvenirs for you. You couldn’t remember when he’d sat beside you, but he’d softly informed you how much he’d missed you. 

In the year following your disappearance, Reggie had built up a collection of trinkets he thought you’d love; he was the one with the most optimism. Even if he believed you’d met an end, that little spark of hope never died. He wouldn’t be Reggie Peters if the hope wasn’t there.

“I wish I knew if my parents kept that box.” Reggie sighed, referring to the trinkets he had collected the year you’d gone missing. You merely squeezed his shoulder in response before catching gazes with Luke.

“Flynn still here?” Alex questioned, pushing himself to sit on the box bench underneath the window. He’d proudly chosen the wear one of the t-shirts Flynn had personalized for the band.

You shrugged, “Dunno. Julie found me.”

Reggie and Luke were oblivious, but Alex knew to the core of his soul where you tended to spend alone time. Alex would see how you’d return with that ache in your eyes more prominent, and your lips quirked down just enough for him to tell. He saw the guilt when you looked at Luke, the way you thumbed your ring.

“Do you want to hang out? Maybe to use Julie’s computer to search for our childhood friends? See if Sarah got valedictorian?” Alex asked, swinging his feet, trying to pull you from your thought which he was successful with.

“Sure.”

Reggie and Luke watched as you and Alex left the attic for some one on one time together, leaving the two.

“I wonder where they’re going?” Reggie questioned, staring after the closed door. His hands pushed into the back pockets of his jeans.

Luke shrugged, “You wanna write a song?”

“Sure! We could-”

“Not country,” Luke told the bassist, who pouted but followed as his best friend poofed to the garage. 

The two Mercer siblings wandered the streets of Los Angeles, each in their own thoughts but comforted by the odd brush of their arms. For Alex, it felt like the old days when you both snuck out of the house just for some air. To just to leave the tense expectations shoved on their shoulders by their perfectionist parents.

“If I’d never disappeared and you didn’t die, where do you think we’d be?” You mused, thinking of all the what-ifs. Would you have gotten together with Luke? Would Sunset Curve had gone on to do sold-out shows.

“I don’t really know, to be honest. I think if we’d gone on to be successful that Reggie would have a ranch somewhere. He might have even released an EP of country songs. I think you and Luke would be together.” Alex thought with a bittersweet smile.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Where do you think you would be?” You questioned the older Mercer, who simply shrugged, “I like to think you would have been happy. Whether that was with someone, who was worthy of you or just by being yourself. Maybe you would have started a charity or been an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community.”

Your e/c eyes caught the smile growing on your older brother’s mouth, bringing a lightness to your body.

“I don’t think it matters. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. If we had survived, I would have never seen you again.” Alex confessed, “I think we were always meant to meet Julie.”

You went to open your mouth when your eyes found one of the last places you wanted to be. Somehow you and Alex had walked into the area where the country club was sitting just as it was back in the ’90s. From a distance, you could see the unmistakable form of Sarah, the girl in your grade who had always unwillingly competed academically with you. Sarah was just another girl with heavy expectations from her own wealthy parents.

“Is that Sarah?” Alex softly chuckled as the girl, now a woman, holding the hand of her husband with genuine happiness, “She looks happy.”

“She deserves it. The rivalry all our parents had was insane, so I’m happy one of us got the least complicated life.” You informed Alex bumping your hip against his leg as you talked with the pink-loving male.

England, 1940s

Four youth occupied one of the many rooms in the manor that didn’t hold a candle to Cair Paravel grand size and beauty. Not that the four confused siblings spent time taking a gander in the room. Each focused on how they’d lived well into their thirties before regressing back to the ages they were when they stepped into the wardrobe. There were minor changes.

Edmund wasn’t acting like a knob, Susan inserting herself as dominant, and Lucy was quieter than usual. Peter, however, had a boiling rage he could barely contain within himself.

“Do you think Aslan did this?” Susan questioned her siblings. A single tear rolling down her face at the grief she felt.

Each Pevensie was in the beginning stages of grief. They had to grieve the life they had lost in a magical place. A place where the war didn’t ravage like it did to their home country. For the suitors, she’d only just started to seriously look into.

Not a single shred of evidence tied themselves to Narnia.

“Who else?” Peter scoffed, bringing a gasp from Lucy’s mouth. They had all proudly reigned with Aslan in mind. Not a word is spoken against the great lion who’d died for Edmund and came back to life.

“Pet-”

“This is your fault.” Peter told his younger brother with a grimace on his face, “We had everything we ever needed in Narnia. Why did you need to catch that stupid stag?”

Edmund’s eyebrows furrowed, “You make it sound like our lives were perfect. Newsflash, King Peter, but it was far from that. You barely focused on your marriage, let alone Y/N.”

“Edmund.” Susan admonished, glancing between her brothers as if watching a tennis match. The only sister paying attention as Lucy stared out the window at the overcast day.

“It’s true! His marriage was a sham, and he lied to the entire kingdom!” Edmund shouted with a heated glare, “You acted like you were the most important person in Narnia, like the only reason the place worked was because of your hand solely.”

“Shut up,” Peter growled, stepping right up to his little; Edmund had lost a lot of inches, brother with a sneer. Their hair mussed from rubbing against the furs.

“Just because you’re older and you had High in front of your title doesn’t lessen our power too.”

“STOP IT.” Lucy screamed, stomping her foot, “Who cares about that. How about we focus on where Y/N went? She was right with us in there, and then out of nowhere, she’s gone.”

“I know.” Peter’s shoulder dropped in defeat as it settled further into his mind. Not only had he lost the years he’d lived, but he’d also lost you somewhere along the line.

While you’d fallen out of love, or maybe you’d never even been in love with Peter; he’d faithfully kept feelings for you. Part of him had always known your heart was taken by another, but he cherished the times you had together.

“And she’s not in another place right now. She’s somewhere in the far future.” Edmund added with his arms crossed over each other, “She never elaborated on when, where or what the future looks like. How can we find someone that doesn’t exist yet?”

“We hope our future selves can find her.” Susan finished sending a look at each of her siblings, “In the meantime, let’s live our lives for her, so we have tons of stories for her to listen to.”

Molina Household, America 2020

Luke Patterson shook in his black vans, his best pair he owned, holding simple flowers Julie had gotten. Money from busking down at the pier for some cash the boys could have for anything they wanted. They always left money with a note when they got items.

The flowers’ stems were definitely in a battle to survive the grip from the scared teenage ghost. He’d started the day with a tickle in the back of his mind to ask you out. Just a simple date with no strings attached to see where it could go. He couldn’t chicken out when he’d already knocked, and the door was opening.

“Oh! Luke.” You gasped, blinking at the sudden appearance of the phantom. Luke’s eyes melted at the oversized flannel layered over a cropped dark blue sweater.

Your style pre-Narnia and during Narnia had coalesced over the few months you’d found yourself on Earth. Your love of cropped tops returned with a modest twist, the modesty unshakable.

“I know it’s been hard adjusting from Narnia, but I was wondering if you would go on a date with him?” He blurted, dancing on the balls of his vans with an expression of pure nerves.

Your mind flew twenty miles an hour thinking through the implications of accepting a date with this teenager. A dead teenager at that. Sure he was only a year older, but fate had a sick sense of humour. 

“I don-”

“I know in your other world you have a husband. I get that, but there’s something undeniable between us. It’s been there since the ’90s, and we always just pushed it away. I learned over the twenty-six years that life is too short.” Luke pleaded, slowly pushing the pretty bouquet into your arms, “Just one date to see if this is worth pursuing.”

You should have said no, but you couldn’t, “One date.”

Luke mentally pumped his fist in the air in celebration as if he was starring in a John Hughes movie. As if reading his mind, you teasingly thrust your hand in the air, the very same hand coming into Luke’s grip.

“There isn’t a lot that we can do, but Willie knows a guy unaffiliated with Caleb. Well, he knows him through a few guys, but he hooked me up. In this lovely basket, we have a menagerie of food that I can eat.” Luke spoke proudly with that same twinkle he always had with you by his side.

Your lips parted in pure elation. Luke Patterson was taking you out on one of the things that had been on your bucket list. A picnic date, something you and Alex each desired to enjoy.

Luke led you down a few streets to a park notorious for cute dates. Julie stood over a cliche checkered blanket. In her hand was an old iPhone or iPod hooked up to a Bluetooth speaker, a playlist curated of your favourite songs ready to go.

“You remember how to use this?” Julie questioned the teen ghost with one raised eyebrow. Luke nodded in his mission to unpack the food in a form that was as romantic as possible.

Julie nodded before casting a quiet goodbye to the two ’90s teens.

“How’d you know?” You questioned Luke as he poured a glass of the beverage he’d chosen. His ever-changing eyes flicked up to yours with an endearing expression.

Your eyes scanned his messy hair. He had taken the time to meticulously styled for his date with you. He’d chosen that gorgeous purple corduroy long sleeve shirt that turned his hair to melted milk chocolate. He hadn’t done a 180 on his style; he’d never tell you he’d styled his hair off his forehead into what Alex had dubbed the Prince Charming hair.

“1994 in the studio for Alex’s fifteenth birthday. Bobby snuck some alcohol he’d collected from his uncle’s BBQ and his father’s stash. We got drunk for the first time and played truth or dare.” Luke recalled with a smile. 

He remembered how much of lightweights they were and the way his heart fluttered when Alex answered Reggie’s question. He explained how his ideal date was a picnic in a park with either a guy he was seeing or his celebrity crush. He’d mentioned it was something he shared with you, and then all Luke could think about was taking you on a picnic.

“Dealing with Alex’s hungover ass was a nightmare.” You grunted, swiping one of the pieces of watermelon from a container.

“I can only imagine.” Luke chuckled, slowly shifting closer to you with a sandwich in his left hand. His right arm slowly slinked over your shoulders to rest, the movement halting as your shoulders tensed momentarily.

“Were you really gonna confess that night I disappeared?” You asked the guitarist currently focused on the delicious sandwich. It reminded him of his mother packing his lunch every day, even in his high school years despite telling his mom he could do it himself.

“I was. I chickened out.” Luke admitted and had he been alive, his ears could have flushed along with his cheeks. The bashful ghost struggled to meet your gaze, “I had-have this massive crush on you. I’ve had it since you called me your knight in shining armour-”

“When I sliced my knee open, and you carried me home.”

“I’ve never told anyone, but you’re kinda the reason why I started wearing no sleeves. The guys and us were watching a film, and you mentioned something about the actor’s arms.” Luke snickered with a smile that faded at your sheepish grin, “Oh my god, you knew.”

“Bobby let it slip, ‘I watched him cut the sleeves of his shirts, stitch the raw edges of the fabric, prick his fingers a ton, and he nearly broke my foot’”

“Yeah I almost dropped a weight on him.” Luke snorted, shuffling to lay his head to rest on top of yours. He’d quickly learnt in his mission to gain muscle for your attention that he liked the exercise. He continued to get in shape and grow some muscle, but he still wore sleeveless shirts for you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Luke beamed at your words, “Nah, you’re the beautiful one.”

The rest of the date was everything you had ever wished for. Luke went above and beyond your expectations, even as a ghost. He’d packed a sweater to help you into when the night appeared, and the cold came. He held your hand on the way home and walked you straight to your attic door.

Luke didn’t push for a kiss either. He simply raised your clasped hand to press a lingering kiss on the back of your hand.

“Sweet dreams.” Luke murmured before he walked down the stairs. The euphoria ensuring he forget his ability to poof.

He wore the same lovesick expression into the studio where two ghosts waited for all the details. Alex and Reggie each buzzing in anticipation for their guitarist best friend.

In your room, you analyzed your feelings closely.

The guilt wasn’t as suffocating as you’d anticipated after going on a date that wasn’t with Peter. Just the guy that had been a reason your marriage with Peter wasn’t how it should have been. You also knew in your heart that Peter would want you to be happy and move on. In fact, in the last two years of your marriage, things had changed to just being two best friends married. 

Your eyes met the window of your attic bedroom with a small smile. Your right hand slowly sliding the symbol of love from your finger. For the first time in a very long time, your wedding and engagement band left your hand.

“I’ll always love you, Peter Pevensie.” You murmured from your place in front of your dresser. The two rings slid into the old jewellery box where they would stay.

The only signs of your previous relationship status are just memories and a pale line on your ring finger.

Time to move on. Time to accept that Narnia was in the past and not in your future. Time to accept that Luke Patterson always had and always would hold your heart in his hands.

Tag List(s) PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!

Julie and the Phantoms Taglist

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9-1-1 Taglist:

[daffronc-blog]

Final Project Part Two-Orange Skin: A Modern Retelling Of Bluebeard

Reflective Essay:

I’ll try and keep it brief since I think the story will speak for itself. I decided after looking at the options for part two of the final project that I wanted to retell one of the fairy tales we read in class. I decided to choose Bluebeard because there were a lot of ways I could retell that story and present a wide variety of outcomes and morals.

I decided to try and channel my frustration with the Trump administration’s treatment of immigrants into the story. It made perfect sense. Set the story in the present day, substitute a blue beard for orange skin, and the dead wives for immigrant children and you’ve got an effectively chilling and gut-wrenching reimagining with a startling amount of relevance.

For this story, you could say the devil is in the details. I tried to heighten the story’s impact with visuals like American flags covered in the blood of innocent immigrant children and the eventual and ironic demise of Trump with one of these flags, since he loves to wave them around and brag about how much of a patriot he is while instituting policies that are straight out of dystopian fiction.

Also, most of the things that Trump says in the story to justify his actions are based on actual things I’ve heard or seen family members and people I went to high school with say in defense of his administration's current actions and policy on immigrants in general. When you think about it, that adds a much more frightening edge to the story.

The heroine of the story is Senator Susan Collins, a real Republican Senator from Maine. Originally, I was going to make up a fictional female senator, but then an idea struck me: Why not find a real, Republican Senator that opposes the Trump Administration’s policy of family separation. After a bit of searching, I found exactly what I was looking for.

There’s plenty more I could say about the story, but I don’t want to spoil more than I already have. So, I’ll leave you with some wise lyrics from a song my Australian friends The Decline wrote called “Refujesus”: 

“Everyone’s an immigrant and I’m tired of all your racist shit/There’s a fine line between national pride and racist bigotry/You’re ignorant if you deny we grew from the same seeds/Convicts, immigrants, Asylum seekers, refugees – We’re all the same”

I hope you enjoy the story, or it at least makes you think,

Charlie

Orange Skin: A Modern Retelling of Bluebeard

 Once upon a time, there was a nasty, orange-skinned United States President named Donald Trump. He was disliked by many people across the country because he was a belligerent, racist, sexist, homophobic and transphobic human slug who was as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside.

He was very difficult to work with because he was either constantly firing his staff or they were resigning.

On this particular June day, Trump’s White House Chief of Staff, John Kelly, had just resigned after spending less than a year in his position. Republican Senator Susan Collins had been chosen to replace Kelly.

On her first day, Collins was called into the Oval Office, where she met with the president to discuss her duties and his schedule. While she was there she was given her key card which would allow her access to all areas of the White House.

“Now this key card will open any door in the White House,” Trump said, “But there is one room that you must never enter under any circumstances. That’s the last room on the bottom floor of the West Wing. The only one who’s allowed in that room is me. If I ever catch you in that room you will be severely punished.”

Collins nodded, signaling that she understood. She did think it was a little strange that there was a secret room in the White House, but she supposed every president probably had a room like that. Trump’s was just in the West Wing where there was always a lot of activity. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what was behind that door that was so secret that Trump wouldn’t allow anyone else to see it.

***

Collins’ first week went by fast. There was a lot to do. She completed all of her work carefully, making sure that she did everything well, otherwise Trump might throw a tantrum.

That weekend, Trump did what he did on many other weekends. He flew to Mar-a-Lago, Florida to play golf.

Meanwhile, Collins and the rest of the White House staff went about their duties as they normally would.  

Collins spent her Saturday night organizing the president’s calendar and setting his meetings for the upcoming week. He was scheduled to give speeches on the construction of his beloved wall and his proposal for the United States Space Force.

When Collins had finished her work for the night it was late, but she was still wide awake.

She decided to go for a walk in the West Wing.

Since it was late the halls were empty. Eventually, she reached that forbidden door at the end of the hall. She stared at it inquisitively. It didn’t look any different than any other door in the West Wing. So, what made it so special?

After deliberating for a few moments, she pulled out her keycard and approached the door. The president was gone for the weekend and she was all alone, who would find out if she opened the door? All she would do was peek in and that was it, no one would be the wiser.

Collins swiped her keycard and the door unlocked with a click. She pushed it open and was immediately hit with a strong, horrible stench. It smelled vaguely familiar, but it was so overbearing that she couldn’t place it.

The room was dark and the light from the hallway wasn’t doing much to illuminate it.

Collins took a step inside the room and felt along the wall for a light switch. She finally found one and flicked it on. Then she turned around to finally see what was in the room.

What she saw was a sight so horrible she could barely process it.

The room was strewn with the corpses of dozens of dead immigrant children, the looks of sheer terror still frozen on their innocent faces. The floor of the room was covered with blood stains, some of them fresh. The walls were adorned with posters of Trump’s sneering face and the slogan, “Make America Great Again”.

In each corner of the room, there was an American flag, splattered with the blood of the children. The bloody flags were mounted on tall wooden flagpoles tipped with a bronze point. They stood there as if silently they were watching over the carnage.

Collins sank to her knees with tears in her eyes.

“They were so young, what kind of monster could do this to an innocent child?” she thought.

Just then she heard a voice behind her.

“This country will never be great if it’s full of filthy illegals exploiting the system, stealing jobs from real, hardworking Americans, and flooding our streets with crime,” Trump said, “If they won’t leave I’ll teach them a lesson, even if it means kidnapping, imprisoning, and murdering every immigrant child I can get my hands on.”

Collins struggled to her feet, slowly backing away from Trump in terror.

“You shouldn’t have opened the door,” he said, “Now I have to kill you too. I tried to warn you. It’s sad how no one wants to listen to me.”

He clamped one of his sweaty hands around her arm and started dragging her towards the door.

She struggled against his tight grip and finally broke free, running towards the back corner of the room.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, licking his lips, and looking at her with a predatory grin.

He lunged toward her but tripped over one of the bodies in his path.

Collins reached for anything she could use to defend herself, her hand closed around one of the wooden flagpoles. She seized it, pulling it from its pedestal and holding it in front of her like a spear.

Trump had regained his footing and lunged toward her again with his arms out. She thrust the flagpole at him with all her strength, burying the tip of it deep in his chest.

He looked up at her in shock, then down at the bloodstain spreading rapidly across his white button-up shirt.

“Fuck you,” she said, twisting the flagpole, pushing it in deeper before letting go of it.

Trump sank to his knees, the tip of the flagpole now protruding from his back, his blood soaking the flag.

He gripped the flagpole, trying to pull it out, but his efforts were futile.

“I was only doing what was best for the country,” he sputtered, before finally slumping over, lifeless.

***

A lot happened in the weeks following Trump’s death. Vice President Mike Pence and several of the other members of Trump’s cabinet, including Jeff Sessions and Betsy DeVos were arrested for aiding Trump in the murders of hundreds of immigrant children during his presidency.

The nation was left reeling from the truth about what the President had been doing in that room. It wasn’t long before Congress appointed a new president, someone new who hadn’t been involved in the Trump Administration in any way.

Collins resigned. For years after the events in the West Wing, the faces of those dead children and their crying parents when White House officials informed them that their kids would never be coming home still haunted her dreams. But, she was glad that she had been able to help stop Trump before he was able to spread his evil any further.

 The End

 Moral: Any government policy that allows children (regardless of their citizenship status) to be ripped from the arms of their parents and imprisoned is wrong. There is no religious or moral justification for something that twisted. It doesn’t matter what your political party is, you can stand up for the people who don’t have a voice. If we don’t protect immigrants, legal or illegal, today who knows who the government will come for tomorrow. This injustice cannot be allowed to continue.

[xtruss]

As the Taliban Sweeps Into Power in Afghanistan, a Look Back at How the U.S.-led War Began.

— By Priyanka Boghani | AUGUST 16, 2021 | PBS - FRONTLINE

An Afghan National Army soldier stands guard in Kabul, Afghanistan in 2014. (AP Photo/Massoud Hossaini)

On August 6, the Taliban seized its first provincial capital in Afghanistan after spending 20 years out of power. Just nine days later, after a stunning advance through several other cities, the Taliban’s forces entered the country’s capital — Kabul — and the nation’s president fled.

With just weeks until the last U.S. troops were scheduled to withdraw from Afghanistan, the Western-backed government appeared to have collapsed. The Taliban swept back into power, leaving many Afghans fearful and uncertain of the future.

President Joe Biden addressed the situation on Monday, saying he stood “squarely” behind his decision to withdraw U.S. troops from the country. “We went to Afghanistan almost 20 years ago with clear goals. Get those who attacked us on September 11, 2001, and make sure Al Qaeda could not use Afghanistan as a base from which to attack us again. We did that. …Our mission was never supposed to have been nation-building.

“After 20 years, I’ve learned there was never a good time to withdraw U.S. forces,” Biden said. He added: “This did unfold more quickly than we had anticipated,” but placed the blame on Afghan leaders who “gave up,” and the Afghan military, which he said “collapsed.

An excerpt from FRONTLINE’s upcoming film America After 9/11 traces the roots of the U.S. military’s failure in Afghanistan back to the aftermath of the worst terror attack on American soil.

The night of the September 11, 2001 attacks that killed nearly 3,000 people, then-President George W. Bush addressed the United States. “Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature,” he said.

The attacks were “an evil act,” said Thomas Ricks, an American journalist who covered the war on terror that followed. “But once you define yourself as good and the other side as bad, it’s a slippery slope, because you start thinking anything you do for your cause is good, and we wound up doing some very evil things in the name of goodness.”

Within the U.S. government, a plan took shape to go after the figure behind the attacks: Al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden. At the time, bin Laden was operating out of Afghanistan, harbored by the extremists running the country — the Taliban.

A small CIA strike force arrived in Afghanistan two weeks after the 9/11 attacks and used money to buy the cooperation of the Taliban’s enemies, rival militias and warlords.

Susan Glasser, an American journalist who covered the war in Afghanistan, said, “I remember immediately realizing the horrific choice that was being made. We got into business right away with the warlords who had been running and ruining Afghanistan for many years.”

American aerial bombardments allowed Afghan fighters to push the Taliban out of the country’s capital, Kabul. But bin Laden, the CIA’s primary target, disappeared. Bin Laden’s survival “fed into a defeated organization’s narrative that served to breathe new life into them and enabled them to survive,” according to Bruce Hoffman, author of Inside Terrorism.

The post-9/11 invasion of Afghanistan would also embroil the United States in what would become the longest war in American history — lasting through three presidencies.

President Barack Obama made the war in Afghanistan his priority. A surge of troops was sent to the country to turn the war around. An attempt to oust the Taliban from their stronghold in Marjah failed and U.S. troops faced constant counterattacks.

“What was thought to be a war that could be turned around with some additional troops really starts to look like it’s fundamentally unwinnable,” said Rajiv Chandrasekaran, an American journalist who covered the war. “Marjah brings the challenges of Afghanistan into much starker focus in the White House.”

Afghan civilians would continue to pay the price of war. Even before the Taliban’s latest lightning advance, the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan warned in late July that civilian casualties were set to hit an unprecedented high this year if violence was not stemmed.

Premiering on PBS and online Tuesday, Sept. 7, 2021, “America After 9/11” traces the U.S. response to the terrorist attacks and devastating consequences across three presidencies. From the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq to the January 6th insurrection, “America After 9/11” exposes the legacy of September 11 – and the ongoing challenge it poses for the president and the country.